#i feel like I would be so much better with life if time just fucked off

[keeksandgigz]

18+ smut ahead !!!

older!coworker!eddie

this is kinda gross-ish if u don’t like it don’t interact <333

It’s disgusting, really, the way he has you bent over the dirty sink in the staff bathroom, sending you on your break so he could finally get his fill of you, so cruelly denied to him. You like to tease him with the idea of letting him have you, often bartering an earlier dismissal or a later shift on the schedule in exchange for your soft lips wrapped around him.

God knows how many times he’s scheduled you to close alone with him, turning off the cameras in the stores just so that he could get a taste of you, hanging on to the creaky shelves of the store for dear life as tears weep down your thighs and onto his face, where he’s stuffed his face down your dress, fingers bruising into your hips.

This time isn’t any different, really. “Can't believe you let me do this to you.” He pants over your bare back, feeling the plush of his lips trace your spine “M gonna take care of you, sweet girl, don't you worry.”

You respond with a whine, as his hand creeps around your face to cup at your mouth. He molds you and moves you as he pleases, and you let him. Even when his thrusts get a bit violent and your eyes seem to find a better home behind your head, a sharp smack to your ass brings you back down to earth, trying to squirm away from the never- changing overwhelm of pleasure.

“Don’t run from me” he singsongs in between grunts, his grip at the crease of your hips, letting the fat there hug his fingers, as you feel his nails dig into your skin, his rings pinching at you “You wanted this, didn’t you?” he continues, removing his hand from your mouth for a split second, to hear a pornographic mhm! escape the fullness of your lips, bitten raw from Eddie’s ministrations a moment before, as he picked you up and sat you down on the sink.

“One of these days” he begins, his smoker’s lungs not allowing him much reprieve between his rough thrusts into you and his ragged breath. “One of these days, I’ll take you out, huh pretty girl? After work, jus’ me and you. Take you on a nice date, bring you home” a sharper thrust comes after that, your head becomes smushed against the mirror, your ragged breath fogging up the glass.

“Fuck you on a real bed, would you like that? I’d be so good to you baby” he almost pleads, as if he was a dumb teenager trying to convince you to run away with him. His tone is pouty, condescending. He knows that he could get you to do whatever he wanted if he asked, and the thought of it makes you weak in the knees.

You know he only has a few thrusts left, with only five minutes of your break remaining. The loud schlick sounds fill up the dingy, neon- lit bathroom, your ears ring as strings of fuck, you’re so tight and your muffled cries against his hand accompany Eddie’s impeding release. Not for you, not when you’ll be closing with him in a couple hours.

He spills himself into you, biting on your shoulder to muffle the loud grunt that escapes him. He quickly tucks himself back into his black trousers, pulling up your panties with a wicked grin.

“I’ll see you at closing time, sweet girl”

_

lmao idk what this was (i think i’m ovulating)

(pssst @littlexdeaths this is for u)

[megamindsecretlair]

Hi, beloved! ❤️ Would you be down to write about Terry Richmond using some rope tricks that he learned from his Marine training on reader? 🤭 If not, I completely understand and you’re still amazing !😘

A/N: Forgive me, I know this doesn't technically fit the bill, but this got my mind spinning. Let me know if you want a more faithful response.

Touch Me Like You Care

Pairing: Daddy Dom!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female), fingering (fem receiving), teasing, size kink, dirty talk, mean Terry, daddy kink, praise kink, spanking, lite bondage, overstimulation, reader is able to be picked up, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some, rushing.

Summary: See Ask. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog . Terry comes home to find you reading in bed, all thoughts of getting dressed out of your mind as you rest. He was prepared to let you, truly, but then he finds that you’re not wearing the bracelets he bought you. And well, he can’t let that slide, can he?

Word Count: 4,475k

AO3 Link

A/N: @planetblaque knows I can deny her nothing!! Whew, everytime I think I can take a break from this man, ya'll pop out with all of these amazing fics! I'm so over the moon to see so much activity. We fr just tossing this man around like a beach ball and I love that for us!!! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You pulled your dresser open and searched for your favorite pair of thigh high socks. Ever since the weather turned, you were back to shivering every two seconds, feeling colder than a witch’s broomstick no matter what you did. 

After a refreshing shower, you opted to dry under your blanket hoodie, feeling the need to retreat from having to be “on” all the time. Navigating the world as a Black woman was fucking exhausting. 

You picked up your phone, scrolling through your latest dirty book. There was a subtle increase in Black led romances that were making you stay up to the wee hours of the morning reading. The latest book was absolutely filthy from your favorite author. The anticipation for this book had been immense, the group chat blowing up with speculations and guesses.

The book was getting better, when the couple who swore they hated each other was about to fuck that tension out since fighting got them nowhere. You squealed, picking up the nearest pair of socks. You tore your gaze away long enough to put your socks on.

You looked around the room for your blanket hoodie. It was sitting on the famous chair, piled on top of a mountain of clothing that was near toppling over. You grabbed the hoodie and then checked in on your phone. 

Oh, the tension. The passion. It just ate you up inside when the characters got to that part. Confessing their love in drunken confessions or in the middle of an argument. Ouee, your body was on fire just thinking about it. Your pussy clenching at the details. The rich words creating a movie in your mind’s eye.

Abandoning your hoodie, you laid across the bed and decided to air dry. With the way this book was going, you might need a second shower. You rested your head on your closed fist and let your mind drift, picturing the scene.

You didn’t hear when your boyfriend called your name after he arrived home. Or how his heavy footfalls padded down the hallway to your bedroom. Or how he called your name again when he stood in the doorway. You didn’t hear the subtle camera click as a picture was taken.

Somewhere between the fifth and…counting?... sex scene, you ended up on your tummy, legs high behind you, tapping your socked feet together. You were literally kicking your feet as the characters kept telling each other that they hated each other as they were clutching onto each other for dear life. 

You sighed. You simply ate this shit up. You were already mentally typing up your notes for your review on Goodreads. Ouee, maybe you should start keeping a side notebook. Just to jot down bullet points so your scatterbrained mind didn’t forget a single detail. 

Fingers reached across your ass and you yelped, looking behind you ready to scream. Terry stood behind you, his head tilted and a smirk on his luscious face. You choked out a laugh, rolling to one side so you could look at him better. 

He looked damn good in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Terry slid his fingers absently across your bare ass, tracing the globes up and down. Your body shivered, pussy clenching with need. You gazed at your man. At the smooth planes and lines of his face, the cut of jaw, those big pink lips. 

“You didn’t hear me calling you?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Sorry,” you said, giving him a cutesy grin. 

His lips twitched but he didn’t let himself smile. “You’re not cute. You have to be more aware of your surroundings,” he said. 

“Yes, sir,” you said, nodding. “Though to be fair, the only man getting in here is you.”

“Mhm,” he said, nodding his own head. “You reading your dirty books?” 

“Yes! You remember my favorite author?” You asked. 

Terry nodded, hiking his eyebrow up as he encouraged you to tell him all about your favorite author. And the book you were currently reading. “And I just got to the good part,” you said.

Terry chuckled and nodded. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it,” he said. He trailed his fingers between your legs as he moved away and you gasped. For two reasons. On the one hand, Terry’s hands on you always instantly put you in the mood. With your pussy already wet, you were thinking it was a good time for a break. 

On the other hand, you forgot that you had taken off your gifts from him while you showered. It was the only time you were allowed to do so. You meant to put the ankle and thigh bracelet back on when you lotioned up but plum forgot.

Terry stopped and you could feel his stare. It burned in the back of your head. Your heart thumped in your chest. You had no idea what he was going to do.

“Baby,” Terry’s deep timbre was a physical caress down your spine. You stretched your back and bit your lip. 

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you said, pitching your voice higher. 

“Where are your bracelets?” He rubbed his thumb across your thick thigh. The weight of those words pressed down on you, making you want to retreat in your mind. You began to pant, feeling out of sorts. You were so turned on you could barely breathe. But you were also worried about what kind of punishment you were about to receive. 

“I just showered,” you said. You rolled so that you could look at his pretty face. To at least try to gauge where his mind went. Terry stopped you by wrapping his hand around your thigh. 

“I believe you. But you’re out of the shower now,” he said. 

“I really forgot this time,” you said. 

Terry sighed, the sound like a coin drop in an empty room. “You know what we have to do now, right?” He asked.

“You sure I can’t bargain out of this one? I can be pretty cute, you said so,” you said. 

“Up,” he said, his calm voice making matters worse. You may as well have been pleading your case to a brick wall. There was no changing his mind.

You got to your knees and then flipped over, scooting to the edge of the bed. Terry rolled his shoulders as he moved to your closet. He pulled a pine green box down from the top shelf. 

He placed the large, repurposed gift box on your dresser and opened it. Cheery snowmen looked at you from the painted edges as Terry rummaged around. He drew out a pair of leather cuffs and crossed over to you.

You pouted at him as he strapped the cuffs to your wrists. There was a small golden link between them keeping it connected and not giving you much room to escape. You tested the pull on it as you tried to separate your wrists. No dice. 

Terry grabbed the link and pulled you into a standing position. He sighed deeply, his voice a rumbling thunder behind it with a hum as he stared you down. “I had plans to treat you so well when I got back,” he said. 

“Fuck,” you said, the curse flying fast. You rubbed your thighs together, staring up into his pretty colorful eyes. Every time you looked at them, they were a different color. You loved to see the changes, especially this up close. His eyes went more brown when he was like this, when he’d sunk into that role of being in charge. Of being protective. 

He kissed your cheek, softly, reverently, his juicy lips leaving a small wet spot behind. He moved down to your lips, not quite kissing you. He hummed and smirked. “Whatever happens, just know that I love you, okay?” 

“Terry,” you huffed. His name was a plea and a curse all in one. You didn’t know what was worse. Knowing the torture was coming or having to live through it. Your thighs were on fire, burning with the need to have him between them. 

He pulled you closer by the cuffs, kissing you completely this time. He brought his free hand up to cup your cheek, hands warm. You licked his lips and he moaned. “Nice try,” he said against your lips. 

He said that, but you stepped closer, rubbing yourself against his growing bulge. He chuckled, letting you, looking down while you rubbed on him. He grinned and then grabbed your shoulders, turning you around. He pushed you down. You let out a soft oomph, flopping onto the bed. 

He grabbed your hips, pushing you further up your big ass bed. He positioned you how he wanted, close to the edge, but not so close that he didn’t have free range behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you could only hear him moving around behind you.

It sounded like he was rummaging through the goody box again. You sighed. Digging your toes into the bed. “Start reading,” he commanded, voice sharp.

How the hell were you supposed to read anything? You hesitated, looking at your phone. There was no way you’d be able to concentrate and he knew that. 

“Baby,” you said and licked your lips. 

Terry said nothing and again, you felt his gaze bearing down on you. You whimpered as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it, and swiping back to your phone. You began reading aloud, reading about the sex scene you were in the middle of. 

Reading it aloud to Terry, picturing him as the main male character, you were miserably wet. Dripping practically. You sighed, thinking of your ruined bed. You’d have to spend tonight doing laundry. 

Terry’s massive hand slapped across your ass, the recoil loud enough to rival a gunshot. You squealed, falling forward onto the bed. Heat bloomed between your thighs, warming up your core to a dangerous level. 

It still really fucking hurt though. Your ass stung and you swore that you could feel aftershocks of his hand, slapping across your ass over and over. “Fuck, fuck!” You yelled out. 

“Keep reading,” he said. 

You got back to your knees and arched your back like he positioned you in before. You returned to reading out loud, pussy throbbing at the way the words made you feel. You got to an explicit part when Terry’s hands came back down. He smacked your ass a handful more times, covering a wide area and making your ass light up like a Christmas tree.

Tears welled in your eyes from the pain and the pleasure. It was too much stimulation. “Please, please, fuck me. I can’t take it,” you whimpered. The words on your phone swam in your vision as your body contracted with shivers. Both from the radiating waves of heat and the burn low in your belly. 

Terry rubbed his hands across your ass and you screamed, kneeling away from his hands. Wherever he touched, your ass sang with pain. “Are you going to remember to put your bracelets on?” 

You nodded. “Yes, I swear,” you said. 

Terry shoved his fingers between your legs, plunging right up your pussy. You collapsed onto the bed, twitching. “Mhm, I didn’t give you permission to cum,” he said. 

“Daddy, pleaseeee,” you pleaded, lower belly twinging with the pain of fighting off your orgasm. 

“You can get wetter than this, baby,” he said. 

“I can’t,” you said, drool seeping into the navy covers beneath you. Your face was smashed into the bed, no way to hold yourself up while his fingers stroked your walls. The loud squelching of your pussy, wet because of him, made you clench around his fingers and moan. 

He placed his free hand on your ass, giving you the dual sensation of sweet torture and cruel relief. He moved his fingers faster, stretching you out with his long, thick fingers. You rode yourself on his fingers, throwing it back and he moaned. He smacked your ass more lightly this time, more in encouragement than anything else. 

“Please let me cum. Please let me cum,” you said, legs twitching. You couldn’t hold off any longer. 

Terry leaned down over your body, placing his lips as close to your ear as he could get it. “Nahhh,” he said slowly, a subtle rasp in his voice. You bit your lip and rode him harder, showing him that you needed more. “Gotta earn that shit.” 

You sobbed into your bed, tears streaming freely. You were about to explode. Come undone at the seams. “Daddy, please. Pleaaseee. Pleaaasseeee, ouee, pleeasseee,” you moaned, desperately riding his fingers. 

“You know what Daddy needs,” he said. 

Tears leaked freely, mixing with the drool and pooling onto the covers. Your mind turned to mush, no longer able to keep reading. Your moans were loud and near screaming. Your throat raw with the effort. Your essence flooded his fingers and he hummed in satisfaction. 

“There’s my good girl,” he purred. He suddenly flipped you over, not giving you a chance to work with him. He was too impatient, too needy, too rough as he positioned you on your back. He pushed your arms above your head, giving you a look. You planted your hands above your head and knew better to move them. 

It pushed your breasts up, giving him a total view of your chest. He groaned, eyes tracking to your pert nipples. Terry folded you in half, scooting his thighs beneath your back, holding you spread open for him. 

He placed soft kisses to your wet pussy, lips smacking from your juices. “Baby, I can’t hold it no more,” you said.

“You’re gonna hold it because Daddy told you to,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. You whimpered, whined, trying to breathe through being folded like a pretzel. 

Your toes brushed against the bed with every rocking motion from Terry as he got himself comfortable. He continued kissing your pussy, stopping to look back and stare at your pussy. His lips began to glisten with your essence. 

You groaned, a primal, possessive side of you jumping out. You marked your claim. It was your juices on him. Your essence feeding him. 

“Daddy, please,” you cried out. From this position, you saw his face perfectly. He stared at your pussy like a man possessed. Like a greedy man with the richest treasure in the world. Your heart softened just as your pussy throbbed. 

Terry smirked. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy. She miss me?” He asked. As if you hadn’t gone two and half rounds when you woke up this morning. As if he wasn’t driving you insane nearly every time you got within two feet of each other. 

“Yes, Daddy, she missed you,” you moaned. 

“Yeah? She gon’ be good and cum when I say?” He asked. He stared at you from beneath his long eyelashes framing his stormy blue eyes while his tongue rolled out of his mouth. He used the tip of his tongue to search through your soaked curls, separate your pussy lips, and flick across that little bundle of nerves. 

“Ouee, shit,” you moaned. Sweat beaded on your forehead. Your heart beat so loudly, it was a miracle he couldn’t hear it. You huffed, watching his tongue work around your clit. Feeling it was even better. His breath was hot across your pussy, making your breaths stutter in your chest.

His lips followed his tongue, going deeper, playing with the rim of your entrance before dipping his tongue inside you. You cried out, belly fluttering. You moved your hands and Terry’s eyes narrowed. 

Fresh tears leaked from your eyes, dripping down the side of your face. “Pleasseee,” you begged. 

“You’re doing so well, already,” he moaned. He sped up, licking you, eating you, devouring you as he lapped at your pussy. Fresh essence dripped out of you and he licked that up too. He moaned, burying his nose and face into your pussy. He ate like a man starved. Sloppily. Messily. 

“Oue, fuck, ouee,” you screamed.

Terry moved closer, like he was trying to shove his whole face inside of you. His plush lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. 

“Oh fuck! Terry! Terry!” You screamed. Your body began twitching. The orgasm you staved off was coming whether you wanted it to or not. Terry stopped altogether, suspending your body in the midpoint between denial and reprieve. 

Your eyes rolled lazily to him, panting, huffing, body feeling like you had been tossed into a barbeque pit. “T-T-”

Terry tilted his head, tongue flat against your clit. You throbbed and pulsed on his tongue but he didn’t move. Your body retreated from the edge in slow increments, relaxing against him. 

You blinked at him, no longer able to communicate a single thought. Terry’s eyes gleamed with sick pleasure. He hummed, moving his tongue against your clit once more. He brought you to the edge and then denied you the rush of pleasure at the last minute. He did it one more time, letting you relax and then bringing you back to the precipice. 

Your belly cramped so bad. Your mouth stopped working. You couldn’t do anything but pathetically moan as he ate his fill. Your toes brushed against the bed again as he leaned back far enough.

“She too tired now?” He asked.

You shook your head. Furthest thing from it. Terry smirked. “You nice and dumb for me, baby?” He asked. He gave you teasing little licks. You hissed and moaned, eyes aching from how hard you closed them from the torture. 

“Answer me when I’m talking to you,” Terry said, smacking your ass for good measure. It woke you from the fog long enough to nod. 

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you said. 

Terry grinned and then relented, giving in and eating you with a renewed fervor. “You can cum now, baby,” he moaned into your pussy. His tongue and lips teased your clit. His fingers dipped back inside your entrance, coaxing that sweet, sweet orgasm out of you.

You screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Or hell, maybe you joined them. Lights burst behind your eyelids as you came with so much force, you couldn’t breathe. Your pussy ached and throbbed, thighs shaking against Terry’s face as he teased you throughout the whole ride. 

He slowed down as he sensed that you were coming down, drawing out his teasing licks and kisses to your pussy. He pulled back and your essence dripped from his face. He looked like he went swimming in your pussy. His entire jaw was covered, shiny and wet. You wish you could take a picture of him like this.

A long spit chain connected you to him and he moaned, ending on a hiss. “That’s a good fuckin’ pussy,” he huffed as he regained his own breathing. “Turn that ass over.”

Terry lowered you to the bed while he hopped off. He made quick work of his clothes, his huffs and puffs the only indication of how badly he was rushing. You were just a noodle, watching him reveal inches of his bronze skin, the veins in his biceps, the tattoos on his arms.

You traced the tattoos more times than you could count, lips twitching with the urge to do so now. His thighs were equally delicious. As big as tree trunks, a light dusting of hair. And that ass. He turned to the side briefly so he could free his long legs from his underwear and sweats. 

“You are so damn pretty,” you mumbled. 

Terry chuckled. You didn’t think he heard you. “That’s my line,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure I told you what you need to be doing.” 

You couldn’t flip over fast enough, giggling. He’d just bent you over and ate you so well, your leg was still wobbly and shaky. Yet you yearned for more. Yearned for his body surrounding you, protecting you, caging you in his embrace. You were greedy. Needing, wanting, craving more. 

Terry descended onto the bed, roughly grabbing your hips and sliding inside with a savage thrust. 

“Oueeee, SHIT, Daddy!” You screamed. He slid out and then slid back in, coating his long dick with your essence. 

“Cream this shit,” he moaned, sliding inside faster. His massive hands gripped your hips and pulled you onto his punishing dick, ramming into you. “Made for me. You were made for me, weren’t you?” He asked.

“Yes, Daddy, I was made for you,” you moaned. He stretched you beautifully, slamming into you just as rough as you wanted. As you needed. 

“Just a pretty, tight hole for me to abuse whenever I want?” He asked.

You sobbed, tears gathering in your eyes once more. He hit that magical spot inside of you, the spot only he could reach. No other man, not even your toys, could hit that spot with such precision. With accuracy. He was just as much made for you. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you moaned, voice muffled by the covers. The bed dipped as Terry leaned over, planting a fist beside your head to hold up his weight. He used his other hand to grab a handful of braids and yank, baring your throat to him. 

“I wish you could see how creamy you are. Pretty little ring on my dick. So nice and wet,” he cooed into your ear. He pulled your head back so that he could kiss you. His face smelled like you. You moaned and clenched around his dick. He hissed and then growled in your ear. 

“Filling me so deep, Daddy,” you moaned. “So fuckin’ deep, ohmygoood.”

Terry chuckled. He shifted his hips and drove in deeper, possibly down to his base, as he fucked you into the mattress. Your hands stretched out in front of you, gripping onto the covers just trying to meet his thrusts. 

“Untie me, Daddy. Let me feel you,” you begged. 

Terry responded by kissing you, tongue licking your lips. You opened your mouth and played with his tongue. His beautiful, amazing tongue that was capable of the sweetest words and the filthiest things. 

“You don’t know how to behave when you’re free,” he said against your cheek. 

“I’ll behave, I promise,” you whispered. 

Terry moaned, dick throbbing inside you. “I want to believe you,” he said. 

He kept up his brutal, savage thrusts, digging into you and making your belly clench. “Pleasse, Daddy. I want to feel you,” you moaned. 

“All you need to do is feel this dick, baby. Feel how much you mean to me. How much I want to take care of you,” he said.

Each thrust felt like it was going straight to your heart. There was no way you were still flooding his dick. Still making it easier for him to glide and thrust and stroke so far inside you, you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. 

“Fuck me so good. So well,” you moaned. 

Terry gripped your hips and then pulled you down harder, faster, rougher. You yelped and squealed, stretched out on the bed, trying to escape. Terry yanked you back, fingers digging into your skin harder. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you moaned. Your thighs trembled from trying to hold yourself up from his hold. He kept you in place, filling you, fucking you good and deep. Your eyes rolled back into your head. But still, your body propelled you forward. Both because of his thrusts and because you just couldn’t take any more. All the edging from earlier had you spent. 

“Sit that ass up,” he panted, breaths falling across your damp back. 

“C-Can’t,” you stuttered. 

Terry grunted and pulled you by the hair until you were on your knees. He sat on his haunches, continuing to pound inside you. 

“You keep telling me what you can’t do. But all this time you been takin’ this dick and doing what Daddy tell you to. Do you know how proud I am of you? So pretty when you listen,” he moaned. 

“Fuck, Daddy, please,” you moaned. 

Terry grabbed your arms and pulled it until the cuffs went over his head. It made you thrust out your chest and he grabbed your titties, playing with your sensitive nipples. He pinched and plucked as he fucked you, kissing your neck and biting your shoulder. 

Your pussy made smacking noises on his dick, sounding thick and creamy. You moans mingled in the room, mixing with the pound of the headboard against the wall. You were constantly getting little dents in it from the force of your lovemaking. It was too much. You tried to sit on his lap but he grunted.  “Mhm,” he said, pulling you into a kneeling position one more time. 

“If I gotta stand you up one more time, you ain’t gon’ like it,” he snapped. 

You whimpered and whined but concentrated on holding yourself up. His dick slammed into your walls while he kissed your neck. One hand gripped your titty and squeezed while his other hand searched lower, rubbing two fingers against your pussy. 

You screamed out, unable to hold off this one. It gobbled you up with the force of it. Tearing you down to your roots, breaking you down to your center, to the very last atom that makes you you. You cried out, shaking, twitching. 

Your vision turned black and your right ear rung with a tinny bell as you came and came in rolling waves. One triggered another for an extended orgasm, body jerking uncontrollably. 

“Cum so pretty,” he said. “You ready for this nut?” 

You could only manage a nod as he rolled his shoulders and moaned in your ear while he came, unloading a thick load of cum inside of you. 

There was no more air in your lungs enough to moan. You could only sigh as he warmed you up from the inside, soaking your walls with his cum. Nothing leaked out as he continued to stroke into you.

Your body arched as he stilled, buried to the hilt. He kissed your neck, your cheek, your jaw. He brought the fingers he used to play with your clit up to your mouth and bid you to suck. 

“Taste that?” He asked.

You nodded. Too spent, too tired, to fucked out to do anything else but yawn. Terry chuckled, and slipped out. His cum leaked out with him, sliding down your leg and dripping onto the bed. 

“Sleepy,” you mumbled.

“I know, baby. But let’s run you a bath first and I’ll change these sheets,” he said. He lowered your arms from his neck and then laid you on your side. He gave you a kiss on your forehead. 

“Don’t let me catch you without your bracelets again,” he said.

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you yawned, stretching out onto the bed to await his tender, loving aftercare.

WHEW. If you need more like I do, here ya gooo! The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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[gor3sigil]

What being trans means to me

I love being trans. I love transitioning. The thing is, most of the time, I read about other trans people experiences. And I just can’t relate.

I have plenty of tattoos and piercings, and if I have to be 100% honest with y’all, I see transitioning like a bodmod. To me, getting top surgery was one, as I wanted to at least get my nipples removed before I even knew top surgery was an option.

I see HRT as much as a bodmod. A few years back, I wasn’t so sure I even wanted HRT, but after thinking it through and doing a lot of research, I decided to do it. And I never looked back. I’m close to 2 years on T, which isn’t a lot, and I don’t even know if I plan to stay on T for very long, maybe I’ll stop at some point. Who knows.

It goes hand in hand with the everlasting identity crisis I’ve been having since I was born, basically. I was a different person before, and she was so tired, so she left the body to some dude, and he got tired, and they fused, and it was me, and I’m in a trans body, I’m trans, I take T like I paint my nails, I take T like a cigarette, I take T like a hot bath. It’s comforting, it makes me feel good, it makes me feel at home in this body.

I got surgery because I wanted my silhouette to be mine. I changed my name because since I was little, and that’s the only point for which I can say confidently I knew since I was a kid, I never understood why we couldn’t name ourselves. To me, a name was so intimate, so personal, that I couldn’t understand why it had to be someone else’s choice. So I took a new one and changed it.

And now I look at myself in the miror and I’m Cyan, and I got a flat chest, and I have a deep voice, and I’ll do my T shot on friday just like I do every 14 days since almost 2 years, with the same pleasure, with the same smile on my face, the same rush I ever have when I’m excited for my shot.

Close to the feeling I get when I get a new piercing, when I up the size of my lobes, when I feel the first tingles of the needles that tattoo me.

I didn’t “always knew” I was trans. I remember being a kid with a shit ton of OCs, and names for myself that I couldn’t choose, and whose dream was to live a thousand lives before I died. I don’t know who I will be in 3 years. Or in 6 months.

It says on a letter that I suffer from gender dysphoria, and by all means it was true before top surgery. Not so much now. I still am insecure about my body a lot of times because there’s some things missing to my chara design and I am fatter IRL lmao, but with this body I cum, I eat good food, I get drunk, I smoke, I feel hot and fresh water, I swim, I sing, I write this. Even when it’s half broken and it’s raining and my joints ache and I feel like I’m already old, I love this body. I’m not the type of people who will be like “your body is a temple, you HAVE to exercise and eat only fresh veggies” because if I have to be here let me at least have fun. I take care of myself though, maybe not as much as I should, but the best I can.

If I hadn’t overcome everything I did in my life, maybe I wouldn’t have transitioned. Or maybe I would. I don’t care. I don’t need a reason, and neither do you.

This is what I mean when I say that everyone should do whatever the fuck they want because, I wasn’t born trans, or at least I don’t think so. But does it make my transition less valid ? No. I’m better in my skin that ever, even when the low self esteem hits, and I know I would feel way less good if I hadn’t transition. That’s all that matters.

[mynameisjag]

For anonymous: Prompt: Nicepool crushing hard on Weapon X.

Author's Note: If given the chance, I will write Logan as the embodiment of a feral cat unless specifically told not to.

-

The usual thing about the TVA force hiring Deadpool and Wolverine to help handle cross universe dilemmas happens. Which was usually solved with a good fight, quips, and hauling their blood covered bodies back home for a greasy dinner.

Handling the situation with words…was abit more…problematic…

No one wanted to get near Weapon X to demand the variant go home and Deadpool, well, he had his own issues with his variant.

“The forces of fanfiction are against me, why are you fucking here?!”

“Good to see you too buddy!”

“Fucking how!”

Nicepool just shrugged and did a little wave over at Logan, who waved lightly back, “The forces of the multiverse are a mystery, death and life is at it’s own whimsy command. Much like love.”, and the man was now dreamily sighing and staring lovingly at the pissed off Wolverine variant.

Who was currently distracted by Wade’s Logan.

Logan was steadily just watching the other black clad mutant circle around him, both bristling.

Wade ignored that whole situation, they could take care of themselves like the big girls they are.

“You can not “Pretty Woman” this situation, Miss Lola over there is a man eater in the way Hannibal Lector is.”

“Oh, their name is Lola? That’s so pretty…Lola…”

“Is this what everyone back home feels like dealing with me, shit, I’m going to have to some apology letters or flowers when we get back home.”

“I should get them some flowers, what do you think they’re favorite is?”

“Lily’s, like the ones they use at funerals because that’s what is going to happen.”

Both Wolverines were on all fours and doing great imitations of cats now, hissing and teeth baring included.

“Awe, they are making friends!”, Nicepool clasped his hands in front of himself, sighing deeply again.

“Just fucking stick your dick in a trash compactor, it would end the same!”

“I can give them a better life, I can save them from the streets, I can be their hero.”, there seemed to be actual anime sparkles around the man…Wade waved it all away like a bad fart.

“Lola” was now purring and rubbing up against Logan, both chittering away like the ferret cousins they were.

Deadpool was just staring at his variant, his face being covered did not deter the aura of his annoyance being projected full force at the other, too bad Nicepool paid absolutely no attention to the waves of hatred sent his way, “You know what “Mr. Salt is too spicy for me”, go on, go confess your love,” he dramatically pointed over to the Wolverines, “go on, go-wait, where’s the other one?”

Logan shrugged nonchalantly, “He left.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he went home.”, he pointed at one of the doorways usually made from the TVA for dimensional travel, “I think he wants me to follow him.”

“Nope, I kidnapped you fair and square, we have a dog and rent together now, so you are not going anywhere. I’ve gotten too used to stealing your body heat at night. I’ve got no body hair to keep me warm, Lo, you’ve got too much, it’s a perfect balance, we can’t mess with the balance.”

Nicepool took a deep loud breath, interrupting the other two as he placed his hand on Wade’s shoulder, who just shrugged it off, “I know what I should do now, wish me luck,” he then turned and went through the gateway like a soldier on a mission, the entryway closing behind him in a zip of light.

“Wow,” Deadpool clapped his hands together once, “he is going to be murdered. Violently. Lola is going to use his thighs and squeeze his head like a watermelon in absolute viscous glee…I’m sorta jealous that’s how that cheery fuck will go out this time,” he turned toward his partner, “will you-“

“-I’m not getting your rotted out brain shit all over my crotch.”

“Fucking damn it!”

-Lola comes from the lyrics, “Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl.”

[daysofyellowroses]

pumpkin

richie jerimovich x afab!reader | 1.3k | part one of two | warnings: none

hello, i am (kind of) back! due to work/being prone to depressed slumps i have not written anything for a long while but (tmi alert) my last period was the worst i have ever experienced, and towards the end of it the only thing that made me feel better was the thought of literally just sitting on richie's lap like it got me through, then that thought spiralled into this, which will have a second part that will basically just be plotless fun! hopefully you enjoy this, and if you're still reading then i will use the opportunity to shout out @thecapricunt1616 she is the actual best so go check out the most amazing blog you'll ever see 🫶🏻💗🌼

🐻

You know when you can tell a storm is coming, but that doesn't make you feel any more calm about the storm? That was the feeling you'd been having for a few days. Your period tracker app had told you that you were due soon, but the pain had started a little earlier than usual. It was never a good sign. Some months your period came and went without a fuss, other months it was like torture, and evidently it was going to be one of those months.

You threw yourself into work to try and distract yourself for what was coming. It was perfect timing, the bear had officially opened and service was beyond elevated. You'd been a waitress in the Beef for a couple of years, but that mainly consisted of handing over hot dogs, wiping down the occasional table and rolling your eyes (affectionately) at yet another terrible joke.

Now you were in at the deep end. The restaurant was was different, the clientele were certainly different, your uniform was different, your attitude had to be different. No more sneaking out back with Richie for a quick cigarette, stealing his hoodies when it was cold, no more hanging around in the kitchen chatting with the chefs.

You focused on doing your job perfectly, trying to ignore the PMS burning inside you. It wasn't easy, but you managed to style it out.

Until the day came.

You woke up in more agony, barely able to drag yourself out of bed for some aspirin. You still hadn't officially gotten your period but you knew it wouldn't be long. In most other jobs you would have a Saturday off or be able to call in sick, but that wasn't an option. Everyone was needed, there were no backups, no subs to be drafted in at the last minute.

Most of the day was spent in bed, layers of blankets wrapped around your aching body, willing the pain away.

It didn't go anywhere, rather it intensified as the day went on.

Taking a shower and getting ready was agony, all you wanted was to get right back into bed and forget the world existed, not go into a busy restaurant competing for a Michelin fucking star.

When you arrived, Richie was giving his usual speech/pep talk. He gave you a nod which you returned before standing beside Sweeps and trying to take in what Richie was saying.

Before service, you were standing by your locker taking a moment to breathe deeply and attempt to focus yourself when your solitude was ended.

"Hey," Richie gave you a nod. "You okay?"

"Yeah, all good," You lied, looking over to him with as much of a smile as you could muster. "Thanks."

"Just making sure," Richie raised a brow, watching you for a moment. "I'll see you out there, let's do this."

For a brief moment, you thought you would be okay. It would just be more bad PMS then tomorrow when your period actually made an appearance you could sleep it off.

But life could never be so simple.

It was already hot in the restaurant, every table full, the lights and the music making you feel overwhelmed, the heat and noise every time you walked into the kitchen not helping.

It all happened at once, you were taking the mains to table 10, your mouth beginning to water, not from hunger but from bile rising in you throat.

You delivered the food as calmy as possible, being the perfect waitress before you made your way to the bathroom as quickly as possible.

You barely made it into a stall before you were on your knees hugging the bowl.

It could have been hours or minutes later, you weren't sure, but eventually you heard a knock on the door.

Slowly getting up, you took a breath, grabbing some tissue to wipe your mouth before opening the door.

To your immense surprise, Richie was standing on the other side, a serious look on his face. You braced yourself for a scolding, ready to snap back if needed.

Instead, he touched your arm gently, his expression softening.

"You should have told me if you weren't feeling well."

"What does it matter?" You sighed, glancing behind you and tossing the tissue in the bowl. "You can't lose a waitress tonight."

"I'm down one right now aren't I?" Richie raised a brow. "We'll survive for a minute. I wish I could send you home but since I can't..tell me what I can do to make life easier for you right now."

You looked at him for a moment, the feeling of his hand on your arm making you feel calmer.

"Right now I need a tampon and some pain relief," You told him, taking a breath. "There's some in my-"

"I got it," Richie was already halfway to the door, waving his hand. "If you could get out there and keep Fak outta trouble that'd be great thanks."

You stood for a moment before quickly fixing yourself up and heading back out to the restaurant. There was no sign of Richie, but you threw yourself back into work. You didn't feel any better, and the need for protection was growing, but you tried to power through.

Around 15 minutes later, Richie re-emerged on the restaurant floor and caught your eye. You made your way over to him, half expecting him to subtly pull a tampon from his shirt cuff.

"Everything you need is in the office, you got five minutes," Richie told you, giving you a small grin before striding across the floor. You watched him for a moment before heading into the kitchen, ignoring the noise and heading to the office.

What looked like half of the entire feminine care aisle of a pharmacy was laid across the desk, along with a couple of bars of chocolate and a bag of candy you had a fondness for. You took what you needed and headed to the bathroom, feeling a little more calm and unable to stop yourself smiling.

After service, you were feeling better, though more than ready to go home and sleep through most of the following day.

When everything was done and everyone was getting ready to leave, you noticed Richie hanging back despite being ready to go. When you were heading out, chocolate and candy safely in your handbag, (the feminie care aisle had been left in tbe office for future emergencies) Richie joined you.

"Are you not driving?" You asked, raising a brow as you passed the car park.

"Not tonight," Richie shrugged, looking ahead before glancing over to you. "I'm making sure you get home safe."

You rolled your eyes with a grin, linking your arm through the older man's.

"It's just my period Rich, I'm not gonna die."

"I know," Richie scoffed. "Just let me be a gentleman once in my life."

So, you were joined on your commute home, the train ride and walk to your apartment feeling much quicker. Before you knew it you were hanging up your coat and dropping your handbag on the table.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Richie asked, glancing around your small living room.

"Do you need anything else?"

"You can drop the gentleman act now, it's getting old," You teased, touching his arm.

"But thank you for everything."

"Least I could do," Richie nodded, looking back at you and holding your gaze for a moment as you gently squeezed his arm.

"Well I uh..I should let you..get some rest."

"How very thoughtful of you," You smiled, letting go of his arm. "Are you sure *you're* going to get some safe? I would offer you the couch but your lanky ass would probably snap it in half."

You laughed as Richie gave you the middle finger, giving him the same back.

"I'll see you Monday, god help me," Richie sighed, stepping a little closer to you. "Now go get some rest."

"Yes, sir," You grinned, leaning up and placing a soft kiss on his cheek before stepping back.

"Let yourself out before the neighbours start a rumor."

"You should be so lucky," Richie grinned giving you a wink before heading out of your apartment.

You went to the kitchen and got yourself a glass of water before heading to your bedroom, the smile never leaving your face.

[winxanity-ii]

IT'S ME, MARIO!

ship: itadori x fem!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 1.7k a/n: idc idc idc, yuji would definetly make a fool of himself if he knew you were nervous

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Since living on campus, you'd adjusted to being on your own. It had been… interesting, to say the least.

Moving from the comfort of your hometown, where you knew everyone and everyone knew you, to a sprawling university was like stepping into another world.

But you'd managed. Slowly but surely, you'd found your rhythm.

You'd been pushing yourself to attend those countless events and programs that the campus threw at you, dipping your toes into the waters of socializing at your own pace.

Sometimes, it was easier to just be a face in the crowd, observing from the sidelines, taking mental notes of how people interacted, what made them tick.

You'd practiced small talk like it was an art form—commenting on the weather, complimenting someone’s shirt, asking what their major was—and for the most part, you'd gotten better at it.

It was a slow process, but you were learning to navigate the chaotic dance of college life.

Currently, you were sitting in your honors open communication class, trying to remember how to breathe without making it seem like you were hyperventilating.

The classroom, with its cozy size of about ten people, should have felt intimate, manageable. But instead, it felt like a pressure cooker. Every word, every glance, every single goddamn breath felt magnified.

You were staring blankly at the front of the room as your classmate, Akane, wrapped up her presentation on how to cook a traditional Japanese breakfast: tamagoyaki, miso soup, grilled fish, rice, and even a beautiful spread of pickled vegetables.

It sounded extravagant, yet she made it look so simple.

Probably because she didn't have to wrestle with the invisible, clawing beast of anxiety like you did every time you so much as thought about public speaking.

Your palms were sweaty, knees weak—okay, maybe not that dramatic, but still. You were jittery and nervous, your pulse a steady drum in your ears because you were up next. And Akane, bless her, was finishing up with a flourish, her smile bright and confident.

You tried to take a deep breath, feeling your throat tighten. Yuji, sitting right next to you, leaned over slightly, his shoulder brushing yours, and whispered, "Hey, you okay?"

You managed a stiff nod, mumbling out a barely audible, "Yeah." But you didn’t dare look at him, because you knew the concern in his eyes would undo you. Instead, you stared hard at the scratched-up desk in front of you, willing yourself not to freak out.

Yuji knew about your anxiety. You'd confided in him more than once, spilling the mess of thoughts that spiraled in your head before you had to speak in front of people.

How your heart raced, your mouth went dry, your hands shook. How no matter how much you prepared, how many times you practiced, your body still froze up.

It was like your brain and body were in this weird, dysfunctional relationship where neither of them wanted to cooperate.

"L/N-chan?" Your professor, Nitta Akari, said your name with that polite, expectant tone that sent another jolt of panic through you.

You opened your mouth, but before you could make any sound that resembled a response, Yuji spoke up.

"Sorry, teach, but is it alright if I go first? I'm a little shy…" His voice was as smooth and casual as ever, and you turned to look at him, utterly confused.

What the hell?

Nitta-sensei blinked but nodded, clearly caught off guard. "Uh, sure, Itadori-kun. Go ahead."

Yuji stood, giving you a quick wink as he made his way to the front of the room. You were still processing what just happened when he started speaking, but instead of launching into the well-thought-out paper on global warming you helped him prepare, he began with: "Mario, the Idea vs. Mario, the Man."

You blinked. Once. Twice.

What the fuck?

"Everyone knows Mario is cool as fuck. But who knows what he’s thinking? Who knows why he crushes turtles? And why do we think about him as fondly as we think of the mythical (nonexistent?) Dr. Pepper? Perchance…"  

You couldn't even react properly because he was already going off, delivering the opening lines with this bizarre mixture of enthusiasm and conviction, as if he was genuinely pondering the existential meaning of a pixelated plumber's life.

Everyone in the room, including Nitta-sensei, was staring at him with varying degrees of confusion.

There was a couple of snickers, and you saw one of your classmates, Yuki, already recording this on her phone, probably for TikTok.

Yuji, however, was undeterred, fully committing to the bit as he paced slightly, gesturing with his hands like he was giving a TED Talk. "Why does he crush turtles? Is it because he's saving the princess? Or is it because he's trying to save himself from his own internal void? Is it about the princess or the chase?"

You were sitting there, mouth slightly agape, because this was not what you spent hours helping him research. You'd spent countless nights, coffee-fueled and sleep-deprived, going over statistics and climate change projections, not pondering Mario’s deep-seated motivations for stomping on Goombas.

"And those mushrooms. Seriously, who decided that eating weird fungi would make you bigger? What kind of metaphorical bullshit is that? Some kind of growth narrative, maybe? Mario, the eternal underdog—"

"—Itadori-kun," Nitta-sensei interrupted, her voice carrying that unmistakable tone of an adult who's trying very hard to stay patient. Her eyebrow was twitching ever so slightly, and you could almost hear her internal scream as she tried to make sense of whatever the hell Yuji was talking about. "What point are you trying to make with this?"

Yuji blinked, completely unbothered, like he'd only just noticed he'd wandered off into another dimension of thought. "I dunno, but I think…" he trailed off, his eyes flickering around the room like he was looking for the answer somewhere in the air.

It was almost endearing, the way he tilted his head like a confused puppy, his lips pursed as if deep in thought.

There was a pregnant pause, the kind that stretched on just long enough to become uncomfortable. Nitta-sensei exhaled, the sound barely restrained, and she muttered his name again, "Itadori-kun." There was a warning there, a gentle push for him to get back on track, but you could tell her patience was wearing thin.

And in that moment, something in you snapped, like a rubber band stretched too far.

You knew you should let him flounder in his awkwardness, let him take the hit because, well, he put himself in this situation. But instead, you heard yourself saying, "I think Itadori-kun is trying to say that Mario isn't just a game character. He's a symbol of all the pointless shit we chase in life, only to find out the reward wasn't even in the castle—it was in the journey..." The words tumbled out in a rush, your voice wobbling slightly, and you felt the eyes of the entire class on you.

There was a beat of silence, then another, before Yuji broke into a grin, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Yup! That's what I was trying to say!" He clapped his hands together, looking almost proud, and you couldn't help but feel a little heat rise to your cheeks.

How does he make everything sound so simple, so obvious?

Nitta-sensei just sighed, rubbing her forehead like she was trying to ward off a headache. She looked at Yuji, then at you, then back at Yuji, her expression caught between exasperation and something almost like amusement. "Alright, thank you, Itadori-kun," she said finally, her voice dry. "For that… unique interpretation."

She waved a hand, clearly done with the whole ordeal. You could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, like she was trying not to laugh, and it made you feel a tiny bit better.

At least she wasn't mad.

Just as she opened her mouth again, probably to call your name, the bell rang, loud and obnoxious and utterly glorious. You nearly sagged in relief, your muscles unwinding all at once.

The class collectively began to shuffle, packing up their things with the sluggish enthusiasm of students who had made it through yet another class.

Nitta-sensei sighed again, louder this time, and you almost felt bad for her. "Those of you who didn't present today will need to submit a recording since we spent too much time on…" She gestured vaguely at Yuji, who grinned sheepishly, "…this."

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, relief flooding through you as you started packing up your things, all the tension and worry melting away like snow in the spring sun.

You glanced at Yuji, who was already waiting for you by the door, his bag slung over one shoulder, looking like he'd just casually won the lottery.

As you walked over, you couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at him. "What the hell was that, Yuji? Why didn't you read the presentation we practiced?"

He shrugged, giving you a lopsided grin. "I saw you were nervous, and I figured if I made a fool of myself first, maybe you wouldn't be so worried. You know, like, break the ice or something."

Your heart gave a little flip at that, and you couldn’t help the small, soft smile that tugged at your lips. He'd always been like this since you met him—considerate in his own goofy, unpredictable way. "Thank you, Yuji..." you murmured, feeling your face heat up a bit, the corners of your mouth curling up despite yourself. "Seriously, that was… really sweet."

Yuji beamed at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "No problem! I like being there for you, you'd do the same for me."

You giggled, the tension easing out of your shoulders as you nodded. "Alright, how about I buy you lunch at The Den to fully show my appreciation. Deal?"

"Deal!" He practically bounced on his feet, his energy infectious, as he reached out and took your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours in a warm, comfortable grip.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but his touch was gentle and familiar, and you found yourself relaxing, your hand fitting perfectly in his.

"Come on, I'm craving those teriyaki burgers!" he said, already pulling you into the hallway, the two of you blending into the sea of students rushing off to their next classes.

You couldn't help but shake your head, a fond smile playing on your lips as you let him drag you along, your heart feeling a little lighter, your worries a little less daunting.

Maybe public speaking wasn't your thing, but having someone like Yuji by your side, you figured you'll be just fine.

A/N: hahaha i just couldn't help myself after seeing this meme going around online...

[rotthepoet]

ILOVE YOU MATHEO FANFICS!!! And your Theo ones omg they're so cute and make me smile every time I see them!! Could you do something like this? If you want to of course!

It's like in Brookline nine nine where Jake and Amy have that bet where whoever gets the most arrests by the end of the year get to make the other do whatever they want.

• what if Matty boy or Theo (ether is good Matty would be my pick tho! Or if you like the prompt you could do one for each <3 ) and the reader had a bet about who could get the best marks on a test or something like that.

• And he wins and they make you go on "the worst date ever"

• like Jake made Amy in BNN. But like Jake that's when he realize his feelings for the reader.

Supper fluffy and cute!! Rivals/friends to lovers !

Love ya!!

HAHAHHA LMAOOO I’VE ACTUALLY STARTED WATCHING BROOKLYN 99 AGAIN AND THIS MADE ME CACKLLEEE

Because it was a complete and total shock when Mattheo made a better grade than you on your latest potions exam. He doesnt even show up to class half the time? Where the fuck does he get the time to study between all the ciggies hes smoking??

So fuck your life, because outside your door is Mattheo in a suit, holding a bouquet of flowers he knows you hate. He doesnt give them to you, tossing them out after you roll your eyes and nag at him.

Then onwards he takes you, an arm around your waist, walking you aorund Hogsmeade, and oddly enough the date doesn’t suck? He just keeps referring to you as his girlfriend, or his in general. He seems way too into this, to be honest.

He takes you out for a nice dinner, pays for everything, and honestly anxiety is chewing away at your stomach because its actually been a really pleasant night? When is the “worst part coming”

You actually stop him as he drops you off at your dorm, holding his arm. “You said this was going to be the worst date of my life?” “Was it not?” “No?” “Then since you enjoyed it so much, we should do it again sometime.” And he winks at you with all his skibity rizz.

And shit your heart is RACING on top of the blush spreading across your cheeks.

[redsrooftopprincess]

Assassin, Part 4

Warning: alcohol, graphic description of a bipolar crash and panic attack (or, at least how I experience them). Please take care of yourselves and don't read if you think it might trigger you. Much love to my fellow rapid-cyclers. 💚

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Stepping into the foyer, the soft darkness envelopes him. Holding the door gently, he makes a futile attempt to mitigate the screaming hinges, before giving up and just closing the damn thing.

He's tired. It feels like he's been running a marathon, and as far as the exhausted muscle in his chest is concerned, he has. It's been pounding like a god damn drum, nonstop, for hours.

If you asked him, he couldn't tell you a word that was said during the ceremony. You'd consumed his senses, filled them completely. He only looked away from you once, to fumble in his pocket for the ring, otherwise he couldn't stop his eyes from roaming over every inch of you. He caught your scent on the evening wind, and the spinning in his chest turned faster.

He tried to hold onto his thoughts, but they ripped from his grasp as they started to spiral. He clenched his jaw, he had to hold it together. He was the Best Man at his best friend's wedding and he had shit he was responsible for. But his mind has always been a bigger beast than he is.

Look at her.

Fuck, she's beautiful.

She's perfect.

Your kind of perfect.

This will never be you, you know.

Freak.

Unwanted.

If you were human, you'd be together already.

If you were human, you'd probably be engaged by now.

Why does she waste her time on you?

All you do is drag her down.

Chain her to the sewers when she should be living a real life.

With a real person.

Why?

Why do you do that?

Why are holding her prisoner just so you can feel better about yourself?

He couldn't hear past the rush in his ears, but he was vaguely aware that there was cheering around him. Then you'd turned to look at him, smiling like the sun, and the answer crashed over him like a violent wave.

You're a monster.

He stops just short of the sitting room, eyes closing and jaw clenching, as the memory floods him.

You'd turned to him and smiled and for one moment everything stopped. You were the only thing that existed in the universe. You *were* the universe.

That's when he hit the wall.

A sharp inhale was the only outward indication of the crash. But inside, he was screaming.

You're light streaked through his veins like fire along saltpetre. Burning away all pretense. No matter how much he wanted, no matter how much he needed, he would never be more than this. He could dance with you, sing with you, laugh and cry with you, but he could never ever love you.

Unacceptable.

Unworthy.

Unloved.

The guests in attendance began to disperse, while the bridal party stuck around for pictures. Through the smoke haze he could see very little, and could hear equally as well, though his body seemed to know what it was doing. He had no choice but to trust it.

His heart was pounding, and he's pretty sure at some point Casey thanked him, but his only thought by that point was to get away from everyone.

As soon as there was an opening, his body excused itself and made for the house. He was winded by the time he reached the side opposite the party, the panic attack threatening to consume him.

He put a hand on the wall, leaning against it with his head down, trying to breathe through the burning. His hand flexed and the antique wood siding of the house cracked under his fingers. He ripped his hand away, scalded.

You destroy everything you touch.

He'd stumbled backward, staring at the spiderweb cracks left behind by his fingers, a dry sob escaping him.

What hope does she have?

Eyes closed tight, he balled his hands into fists and pushed everything down. Get it together, he'd berated himself, you still have shit to do.

Three deep shuddering breaths and then he could breathe evenly. He locked the panic down tight and opened his eyes. It would hit him later, and twice as hard, but this was more important. Just a few more hours.

The reception was a blur of flashing light and discordant sound, and he avoided you for most of it. Or tried to, anyway. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape you.

Four separate times you had hunted him down and begged him to dance with you. And as the champagne flowed, and the night spun on, you became harder to avoid.

"Boo!" you said, peeking around the bar at him, grinning. Your cheeks were flushed pink from drink and dancing, and your scent wrapped around him with the night air. He tightened his jaw and tried not to breathe.

"Yoooouuuuuu've... been avoiding me," you accused, slinking around the wall, practically lying against it.

"Busy," he rumbled, starting to mix a drink for no one, and not looking at the siren calling to him.

"Oh come on, Red," you'd pouted, standing up from the wall, "The night's almost over and you haven't danced with me once." You walked over to him "Please? You've been working this whole time, come have some fun. I promise the reception won't fall apart without you." You teased, placing a hand on his forearm.

He froze the moment you touched him. He was shaking and he prayed to anyone who would listen that you wouldn't notice. The last thing he needed was you knowing that something was wrong. you cared about him too much, and your knee-jerk would be to fix it.

His hand tightened around the high ball and Mike popped his head around the corner like a god damn superhero, "Hey, they need you for the bouquet toss."

"Okay, one sec," you replied, and he disappeared again. "Please try and have *some* fun tonight?" You squeezed his arm gently, before letting go.

When you removed your hand his skin burned, and it wasn't until you were out of sight that he risked breathing again. He'd set down the glass, braced himself on the bar, and closed his eyes so he didn't have to see the cracks in the glass where he'd been gripping it too hard. He drew a deep breath.

He wasn't going to make it.

Snatching the bottle and leaving the broken glass, he made for the house. He skirted the perimeter of the reception, trying to be as inconspicuous as a 6'5, 350lb, bipedal turtle dressed in a tux can be.

He heard the countdown and made the mistake of looking over as April's bouquet flew through the air. You weren't even trying, you were talking, but, as if the Gods were punishing him, it had landed in your hands anyway, and he felt his pounding heart clench.

He watched as one of the other guests came up to you and placed a very human hand on your arm, presumably asking you to dance.

It will never be you.

He turned and continued toward the house until he heard familiar clumsy footsteps coming up the hill behind him.

"Hey, where's the fire, Red? Oops!" You'd said, giggling as you nearly tripped.

Your voice pierced him like an arrow, pinning him in place. He tried to take a deep breath as quietly as he could, but you've always been too good at reading him and asked if he was okay.

You'd persisted when he tried to brush you off, and he'd come up with some excuse. The longer you stayed there with him, the faster his resolve was crumbling, and he didn't want to fall apart in front of you. This was not your problem, and there was no point in runining your night, or your friendship.

He attempted to sidestep you, and you'd brushed against his arm. Your touch seared him, and reflex caught your wrist in his hand. For the first time in hours he met your gaze.

Disgusting.

Unworthy.

Why? Why make him this way? Why give him the ability to fall in love at all if he wasn't allowed to? What kind of cruel bastard...

Your wrist flexed in his hand and you looked up at him with an expression that said, I'm here. Whatever it is, I'm here. It's a familiar look, and it brought him back to himself. You're always the one he runs to. Now he was running away.

He dropped your hand, muttering an apology and fled without another word, leaving you behind.

Heart hammering in his chest, he nearly stumbled with the force of it. He made it to the other side of the house and collapsed, a wave crashing over him. He couldn't breathe. He was drowning, pulling in air, and getting nothing except dizzy.

On his knees, hands pressed to the ground beneath, it felt like his shell was crushing him. He maneuvered himself to sitting on the cold slate tiles, pulling his knees up to his chest.

There were no more words inside his head, only screaming, and he squeezed his eyes shut, and gripped his head tight, begging for it to stop. Some vague part of him was aware that he was crying, but any thoughts were swept up into the vortex inside of him.

The panic attack held him, shackled to his faults, for seventeen minutes, but it could have been a year. By the time he finally felt it begin to subside, he was exhausted and trembling.

He'd retrieved the bottle of whiskey that had rolled under the nearby bench, and, with great effort, managed to pull himself onto it. He'd held onto the bench to steady himself, before opening the bottle and drinking nearly half of it.

He remained there until his father found him.

He takes another deep breath, exhaustion seated heavy, like a stone in his chest, and rests a hand on the wall beside him. He needs sleep. He continues to make his way toward his room at the back of the house, passing by the open archway to the sitting room.

Where he finds you.

...

Less a lover, more a fighter

But I'm tired of fighting to hold on

Got too many scars to hide them

So it's easier being on my own

But you

Shoot first, draw blood, before I know

Yeah you

One shot, one touch, and I let go

How did this happen?

My walls were up and

You moved without a sound

Never imagined, like an assassin

One look to me down

Assassin - Sultan + Shepherd

...

Tag List:

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll

[hellonerf]

endless insanity incoherent shit about ame and love and family(featuring england and cana a bit specifically sorry france i actually do have thoughts about that there but i'm lazy and tired and this is incoherent already)(it didn't start off like that this is honestly like some stream of thought shit hence the incoherence)

some shit when i think about. sorry. colonial ame extremely upset tantrums theres no way england didnt hit him or spank him which would just upset ame more. ame would sulk and wish for england to drop dead because theres not much else he can say or do about the frustration. cana goody two shoes kid would be like why do you have to act out like that so much... ame immediate rage. probably hits cana like GO CRY ABOUT IT!!! and cana cries and then england walks in like America!!! and it just gets worse. but in the end when england has to leave again ame still clings and cries after england is saying his goodbyes. england does feel that he cares about ame deeply, so he does try to show his affection. theres some gap here between the care he shows and his "responsibility as a caretaker" if you will... and he's like a teen dad at this point? with his own shitload of baggage and ideas on responsibility from that baggage. man this family can be so interesting. i love tension

of course. this is just my crazythinking that in situations where, you could say, england's parenting was abusive of sorts, specifically in the physical way, to punish tantrums or etc... i think cana would be inclined to try to play polite kid to avoid punishment. and so he would feel maybe more vindicated? that he's the good example. in this it creates kind of a chasm between england/cana and ame. (why i think mapletea would just drive ame crazy wall smashing head insane, besides that ame already feels jealous/insecure like that anyways no matter what) this feeling is pushed by the revolution where ame and england are Like That, and here again cana sides with england(he's not Fully in it but he does technically side with england, and ame definitely views it like that). to him this is proof... of what you ask? i don't know..... that period where he was on decidedly bad terms with both of them, i always think he's like teenage-losing it about it. won't show it or at least will try not to of course, but it's genuinely something that eats at him so hard. (ame voice Nobody loves me. Everyone should love me. i could probably make that happen.) and ame decides things like that first and foremost with personal relations. this is specific, but im like, i think it's a mental testing he does on people. example, completely without their knowledge, someone's random act can register in his brain as an opposition to him, because his mind decided that's what it means.(somewhere subconscious). so for some time i'd imagine in his mind, that cana and england hated him, or looked down on him, or expected him to wind up dead anyways. ame is never not looking for approval and this fuels that sooooo much. it's like spite and anger and crying and stomping on the ground and in a way grieving. he's staring at the sky like it's unfair. they don't want me in their life. because i'm better than them. i hate them so much.(he wouldn't say it like this to other people, hate is a strong word, and i wouldn't say he hates them here either)

despite his bravado of "whaat? everyone likes me right?" the mental cogs are stuck here no matter what he says. cana loves him, even if it's so frustrating to, cana cares about him deeply. it fucks with ame's brain but he knows this deep down, that cana does love and care about him. at some point too he knows the same for england. but i also think he's like, specifically with cana too when he's specifically being really cynical about relations is like, "oh and he's only around... cause he has to be..." and ame wouldn't entirely be wrong there. and cana would argue so what! do you need a cosmic soulmate love to prove something? and ame is like (yeah i kinda do....). love can't just exist for you right here right now?! cana's love is "invalidated" in this sense. and also it hurts his brain too much to really think about the complexities in his relationship to both england and cana. that they really did care about him, but it's not easy. (hurts his brain... like why is interaction so stressful? why is it complicated? why can't people just go i love you and the end?). ame is not a romantic person but i think his view on love can get so fantastical like this. (he wants to be the one proposed to awwww omg you guysss...) at the same time it's a very simple view on love. he doesn't want to end up humiliated and is willing to humiliate others to avoid it. if love is true then there is One True Love... For him... JK! NOT FOR HIM!(slurps soda) who needs that shyit!!!(eats burger). a lot of things he can't/really doesn't want to accept. this is why i'd say anytime he ever felt feelings significant enough that even he would call it love it was mindnumbingly overwhelming. putting his eggs in one basket... don't fail me now!!! (and i always think none of his relationships are stable. duh. so). i like fics where ame is made to be like a crazy ex girlfriend. because he would. rather than love as a constant thing to do it sometimes feels more like an achievement or endpoint for him. something that happens at the end of movies lol... if love was happening REALTIME it'd be surreal for him to process. and like true genuine love not his fake idea of what love looks like

[alittlebitofloveliness]

HEAR ME OUT.

Younger pony, and he still does but tried to act like he doesn't, ADMIRES Darry bro, like So much. Everykittle thing, like if a strand of Darrys hair was out, you better believe pony was making sure the same strand of hair was out on him.

This was even bad things like smoking but mostly good things, he would sneak into Darrys room to watch him play with his friends.

You better believe Darrys Soc friends treated pony like shit though, the only one nice to him was Paul.

Low-key Darry for so pissed, noboyd hurts his bb.

PONY LOWKEY STILL DOES HE GOTTA BE JUST LIKE DARRY.

You're so real for this. I feel like people sometimes forget there's SIX years between Darry and Ponyboy. So when Darry was fourteen Ponyboy was EIGHT, you'd best believe he thought Darry was the coolest person on earth at that point in time, of course he'd try to be exactly like him. I think too, that people forget that Darry was a lot more relaxed/indulgent before their parents died, so he was probably even more of a hero to Ponyboy because he would play with him, talk with him, etc.

SO I think their bond was pretty strong back then, so even when Darry was trying to be cool he'd let Pony hang around and Ponyboy would feel on top of the world. And Darry's the older brother. As an older sibling myself, ANYONE who fucks with my brothers is gonna have their life ruined, friend or otherwise, and we know from CANON that both Darry and Soda are protective over Pony this way. So yeah, if any of Darry's friend ever said or did anything mean to Pony OR Soda I know Darry would lose it. My brother once cussed out one of his friends when his friend made fun of me on the bus, and I bet Darry would be just the same, just no holds barred, that's my little sibling, you fuck with them you fuck with me.

(also to the bitchass kid who tried to get my baby brother kicked off the basketball team I am coming for your THROAT, you better count your days)

Thanks for the ask xx

[aspd-culture]

I wish I had the stereotypical aspd that empaths talk about. The calculative and well groomed businessman who’s incredibly independent even at the cost of other people.

I’m honestly a useless loser. I don’t do anything for anybody yet am livid when they don’t do something for me, 80% of the time I forget or don’t do the tasks I’ve been asked to even if it’s the simplest thing. I pass it off to other people. I get threatened by my parents constantly, called useless and a lazy fuck. I’m not motivated for anything, not employed and the thought of it makes me want to rip my skin off or rip their faces off whenever they mention it. It feels like another extension of control. Everything feels like an extension of control and an excuse to assume power over me.

People in my life are moving ahead of me no problem and I’m still stuck on my ass debating whether to break everything in my parents house when they use my lack of employment and symptoms to make fun of me. My friends talk about it like it’s just so simple to suck it up and march forward and I loathe them for it because they don’t understand.

Maybe this is just me being a whiny brat or a bad person

No, this is you struggling with being in a toxic environment - one that will continue to make you feel like this for as long as your parents act that way towards you. It's not possible to heal and recover and learn to process your symptoms and change your behavior in a toxic situation like that. It's likely keeping you in survival mode.

Truly I think in that situation the best way to get yourself to do the things you would need to do to leave the toxic situation is out of spite. Spite can do a lot for pwASPD when we harness it to use for good, since our PD is so reactive to it. If you think to yourself as though you're talking to them "ha, yeah okay sure I'm getting a job just like you wanted right? Except I'm doing it to get the hell away from you", you might find yourself more able to get to do those things. It's not guaranteed to work, but it's something that might help.

And, if it makes you feel any better, prosocials don't actually like us in that stereotype either AND generally ppl who fit that stereotype are in some other way coping destructively. No one who actually has ASPD is managing to not struggle at all with it bc a disorder can only be diagnosed if it significantly and negatively impacts your life. It's important to remember the stereotypes of this demonized disorder are made out to be supervillains - hyper capable beings who choose to be monsters - bc otherwise the prosocials have to admit that they're bullying people who are hurt and wish we could stop dealing with our symptoms just as much as they wish we didn't have them if not more. It's not fun for them anymore if they think about our actual struggles with ASPD, so they try and make it sound like we're having the time of our lives when none of us do. I promise you're far from alone.

It's also worth noting that if you find yourself entirely unable to work without your mental health destructing, that that's called a disability and there are things you can do to either get accommodations or potentially payment for it bc unlike your parents by the sounds of it, the government understands that mental health is a valid reason one might not be able to work.

You're not a useless loser - you're a person with a disorder that is known to be potentially disabling who is being mistreated and stuck in a toxic environment - at least going by this post.

Plain text below the cut:

No, this is you struggling with being in a toxic environment - one that will continue to make you feel like this for as long as your parents act that way towards you. It's not possible to heal and recover and learn to process your symptoms and change your behavior in a toxic situation like that. It's likely keeping you in survival mode.

Truly I think in that situation the best way to get yourself to do the things you would need to do to leave the toxic situation is out of spite. Spite can do a lot for pwASPD when we harness it to use for good, since our PD is so reactive to it. If you think to yourself as though you're talking to them "ha, yeah okay sure I'm getting a job just like you wanted right? Except I'm doing it to get the hell away from you", you might find yourself more able to get to do those things. It's not guaranteed to work, but it's something that might help.

And, if it makes you feel any better, prosocials don't actually like us in that stereotype either AND generally ppl who fit that stereotype are in some other way coping destructively. No one who actually has ASPD is managing to not struggle at all with it bc a disorder can only be diagnosed if it significantly and negatively impacts your life. It's important to remember the stereotypes of this demonized disorder are made out to be supervillains - hyper capable beings who choose to be monsters - bc otherwise the prosocials have to admit that they're bullying people who are hurt and wish we could stop dealing with our symptoms just as much as they wish we didn't have them if not more. It's not fun for them anymore if they think about our actual struggles with ASPD, so they try and make it sound like we're having the time of our lives when none of us do. I promise you're far from alone.

It's also worth noting that if you find yourself entirely unable to work without your mental health destructing, that that's called a disability and there are things you can do to either get accommodations or potentially payment for it bc unlike your parents by the sounds of it, the government understands that mental health is a valid reason one might not be able to work.

You're not a useless loser - you're a person with a disorder that is known to be potentially disabling who is being mistreated and stuck in a toxic environment - at least going by this post.

[sharkylad]

Thinking about the fact that Mabel and Dipper didn't know they had two great uncles.

Yeah they are 12 and at 12 I had a shotty understanding of my family tree- But really? Nobody brought up their great uncle? Stanley? Especially since they'll be staying with his twin brother, Stanford?

Shermie never went to Stan's fake funeral, which to me means the twos relationship was strained on some level. If Shermie is older that means his view of Stan was poisoned in some way, that even as kids they weren't close. If the Shermie is younger then he never even got to meet Stan and all he knew about him was how he failed his family. Hell, people probably barely mentioned Stanley TO Shermie.

The fact that Stan had become a black stain upon the Pines family name makes me so vividly upset. Stanley faked his death and the family just- seemingly decided to strike him from the record. To pretend he didn't existed to spare themselves the sadness and shame.

Stanford and Shermie Pines. The only children worth mentioning of Filbrick and Caryn Pines.

It was never Stanford that was lost to the world. It was Stanley, ever since he had to leave New Jersy- it was always him that had to be struck from the record. Change his name, change his state, change his affiliations, destroy the remains of ghost that was Stanley Pines. Kill him so the family doesn't bring him up, doesn't ask questions, stops asking "Stanford" about his twin.

I just keep thinking about the fact that since the day he made one single mistake all the way up until Ford walks out of that machine- Stanley Pines was killed and did not exist. And Stan himself had no one to blame, he had to play the part in his own demise- He is the only one who ever knew Stanley was alive and has been for decades.

He lives in the multitudes of every personality he's ever taken, all in the hope that he himself can stop being Stanley Pines.

[tacagen]

one of the things that fascinate me about thawne: yes, he CAN be normal with kids! surprisingly normal!

((not at all times, though. his mental illness still spills through and as usual he, in trying to manipulate or hurt others, spits out at them the exact stuff that would hurt him (or have in his childhood/barry's rejection interpretation) the most in the first place lmao))

but at the same time. his like second instinct when doing his bullshit is FUCK THEM (as) KIDS

(and, well. whatever this classifies as)

[sockdooe]

I don’t know if maybe it’s just me, but is anyone else seeing a rise of people claiming that they could do a better rewrite of Voltron and then immediately say they’d make K/L cannon or Adash/ canon?

I don’t know about anyone else but I genuinely don’t think making ships canon would make the show better.

In fact I think It’d make it worse.

And considering shiro isn’t even mentioned in these and if he is it’s just to be Keith dad…. Is telling.

[undead-moth]

I know I've been on about this for a while now and I'm being a hater but you're telling me SydCarmy was "always meant to be platonic" even though there are two seasons of writing making use of tried-and-true explicitly romantic tropes, themes and writing signals, and SydLuca is going to be romantic because...he was nice to her on screen for a few minutes?

I don't even care if people ship SydLuca, or if they just prefer it, but you can't honestly tell me that you believe Carmy was always meant to be a friend but Luca is an obvious love interest.

Just because Syd and Carmy haven't kissed or confessed their love to each other doesn't mean that isn't very obviously the direction this show is going. The Bear has already shown you who is endgame. It has shown you every episode of the show so far.

Honestly I really don't think The Bear fanbase understands this show or cares about these characters or the story being told here, which is unfortunate because this show is shockingly well-written in comparison to most shows right now, and we should be so grateful for it but all we're doing is complaining that the writers led us on by not making a ship canon fast enough. It's just. Sad.

[apollos-boyfriend]

the instant downwards spiral of danganronpa’s female characters after thh is so insane to me. like while thh has its issues and is no way perfectly written its female cast is largely treated like Normal People with real motivations and complex inner lives on par with the male cast. and then you get to literally every other game in the series and it’s like. killing women off to enhance male characters’ development. obscenely obvious pedo bait. literally 0 character. sexualized sa victim. killing women off to enhance male characters’ development. killing women off to enhance male characters’ development.