#i'm pathetic sry

[hikeyzz]

the dirty confession is that i held it for too long today bc i was horny and fucking myself and as soon as i came i .. well i um uh i peed myself 🥺 and it was rlly embarrassing and humiliating and umm 🫣😵‍💫 yeah anyway 🥺

[save-the-villainous-cat]

(not sure if I'm doing this right, sorry :'0) I'm somewhat new to tumblr so this is my first request (or whatever we call them XP), so totally understandable if you can't do it BUT!!!!!!!!!! It would honestly make my pride month if you could possibly perchance do a flirty villain (top) x wounded but tryna laugh it off and reciprocate the flirtation but failing to keep a brave face (bottom) hero!!! Sry that's a lot in one sentence but I always detail the thing I want the most for some reason (=w=;)

"Oh god-" The hero grabbed their side. Deep in their throat a groan took form. "I'm gonna pass out..."

"Lay down."

"I'm fine. I'm totally...fuck-" The villain couldn't tell if the hero was stupid or simply too stubborn but they figured both suspicions could confirm their overall assumption. They took another step towards the hero.

"Lay down," they repeated. They probably wouldn't even need much force to push the hero to the ground themselves but it was something they deemed to be unnecessarily violent.

They needed the hero alive. They needed all those nasty secrets to spill out of that chatty mouth.

Without another second of hesitation, they seized the hero's wrist and pulled them closer.

"If we don't act in the next minutes, you will bleed out like a slaughtered pig," the villain said. Their voice was low and they had taken the liberty to be as close as possible to the hero's ear. "So, if you would like to continue to follow me around like a good dog, you need to lay down."

The hero still had their fingers on their wound and by now, the blood covered not only their hand but also their clothes.

"Please, just..." With the hero's debatable consent, the villain decided to lead them towards the ground. At first, they sat down together but soon enough, the villain pushed them gently against the ground and climbed on top of them.

Before the hero could protest, they pressed their palm into the wound, making the hero curse and lift their hips.

"Fuck-" The hero tried to laugh but it was much more pathetic than that. There were even tears in their eyes. Without further ado, the villain pushed down their hips again. "You devil-"

Their enemy was probably seeing stars right now.

The villain knew this type of pain a little too well. A stab wound this deep was scary. It was terrifying. The hero was losing a lot of blood pretty quickly and although the villain was aware of their ability to heal from such a wound within hours, them losing blood was still a major problem.

Once, the villain had tried to stitch a wound themselves and they had ended up with a frequently reopening wound they had to deal with for weeks. It was torture. A wound like this was so disruptive to the entire body that the villain didn't even want their enemy to go through this.

So, they decided to do something irrational. Something so stupid only the hero could think of it.

"I like being on top of you."

"Huh?" The hero's breath was horribly quick. Their heart was probably raging itself to a quick death in their chest. Distracting them was the best way to keep them alive.

"It's a great view," the villain said. They put more pressure on the wound and the hero whimpered so pathetically, it did something to the villain. They were sweating, contorting their face because of the pain. However, the hero managed a tired smile.

"Christ...you're flirting. Now?!"

"I believe listing all the causes you could die of in the next minutes would be counterproductive. So. Do you always like it this rough?"

This time, the hero actually laughed and grabbed the villain's wrists. They took in a deep breath and groaned when another wave of pain hit them.

"Great way to die...with you flirting...I mean, you out of all people..." The hero dared to look down at the injury but the villain knew that it was certainly never a good idea to do so. They had passed out in the bathtub while caring for their own wounds one too many times.

"Eyes on me." The hero obeyed and tired eyes found focused ones. They kept staring at each other. The villain noticed some patterns in the hero's irises that were quite pleasant to look at. "What? Do you think I have no sex life?"

"I thought you were the quiet type," the hero said. Their nails dug into the villain's arm but it seemed cruel to order the hero to stop it.

After all, pain demanded violence, or did it not?

They hoped the hero's wounds could heal quicker this time. It seemed to be a utopian wish — since it usually took hours — but the villain couldn't imagine that the hero's body was going to give up on them.

First of all, they had to stop the bleeding and it didn't look too bad right now. The hero wasn't losing as much blood as before. Something was working.

"I'm the type to let you know what I enjoy. Which means that I can be quite loud."

"Fuck...you are awful."

"I don't know what you are referring to."

Again, the hero smiled.

The villain could feel the warmth of the blood on their hands. Most certainly, the hero's skin was going to regenerate soon. It had to. Stopping the bleeding seemed to be working and the villain was not ready to give up on the hero.

"All it took was a stab wound for you to finally flirt with me," the hero said. Finally?

Their voice was quiet and even though they were still struggling, they seemed to be a little too tired to put up a fight. What the villain didn't expect was for them to put their bloody hand on the villain's cheek.

Something happened and the villain felt like throwing up. It was inexplicable.

"I..." the villain began. But there was no time to dwell on any unnecessary feelings. "You have regenerative powers, right?"

The hero nodded.

"Is your body also able to produce some kind of sedative?"

"Sometimes," the hero said. "It's weird..."

Their hand was still on the villain's cheek. Their thumb was moving across the villain's skin. But the villain took their hand and moved it away. They could already feel the blush forming on their neck and for a moment, they looked away.

The hero didn't look happy about it, though.

"Focus." The villain didn't know if they had said this to themselves or the hero. Their chest hurt. "You need to stay awake, got it?"

"...yeah..."

"Eyes on me," the villain commanded again. "And they stay on me, got it?"

The villain was aware of the challenges their enemy was facing. Fighting the sedative and still holding on until their body was able to hold in the blood on its own were two tasks the villain was sure they would fail immediately. But the hero was strong. They were determined.

Their eyes were on the villain and they remained there for half an hour.

However, when a soft layer of skin had grown over the wound and seemingly everything was over, the villain couldn't tell why their own heart was pounding so hard.

Nor could they remember what kind of information they had wanted to squeeze out of the hero.

[slutfactory]

GAROU drabble [mass request]

cw :: fingering, prostate stimulation, toy usage, sadist reader, overstimulation, dry orgasm. a/n :: this was longer, but i cut out about 3 really long paragraphs and now it's super short and really fast paced sry

<400 words

what the hell.

was what garou wanted to say. ever since you had found his sweet spot, you had been ruthlessly attacking it with your fingers. nothing but his broken moans and attempt at cursing you out filled the room; reveling in the man's pathetic tries to resist submitting to you, you continue abusing his prostate.

garou gripped the sheets below him, tearing the fabric as he felt himself orgasm for the second time, covering himself in his fluids. the intensity of it almost made him forget about his plan to kill you later on. for a moment, your hand ceased motion, giving him a chance to collect his thoughts. “my hand's cramping up.” he heard you mumble.

just as you were pulling your fingers out of garou's ass, he grabbed your wrist. even if he couldn't quite get the words out, you could see a familiar, piercing look of ‘don't you fucking dare’ in his golden eyes; as teary as they were. since his grip wasn't as arm-breakingly strong as usual, you were able to shake off his hand and pull your fingers out. “i was only going to switch hands.” you laugh before pulling out a small, pink vibrator and remote from seemingly nowhere. “but maybe i'll use this instead.”

“you fucking wha– hya–! mmhf—!” before garou could finish his sentence, he felt the rotor slip inside him; he slapped a hand over his mouth to at least muffle the shameful noises that left his lips. you pressed the on/off button on the remote—the sudden vibrations made garou arch his back; it felt as if the rotor was moving in different directions—maybe even rotating. slowly, you removed his hand from his mouth, thin strings of saliva connected his palm to his tongue and bottom lip.

garou let out another broken cry, feeling himself cumming again; to his and your surprise, nothing came out this time. “aw, how cute.” you cooed. “was that your first dry orgasm? i'm flattered.” you caressed his tear and drool-stained cheek gently.

“turn it off– please.. 's too much—” he sobbed. “can't take anymore–”

“one more orgasm and i'll think about it.”

[xshines]

mizu x reader enemies to lovers

sry for being inactive, im lazy af; also i might continue this one

Falling pieces of snow slowly began to cover the surface of the broken sword, thrown somewhere in the distance on the cold ground, no longer incapable of saving you. The cold snow slowly began to compact and melt beneath your shivering, warm body. The cold metal of your rival's sword blade hugs your thin neck. You dared to look up at her as she hovered over you, her expression blank. She finally has you. She looks at you lying so pathetically in front of her now. She squints those blue eyes of hers to scan you once again, your scratches, your torn clothes, a moment longer she lingers on your torn side, which stains your clothes and the snow beneath you with a dark crimson. But finally her eyes land on your face, finally able to take a closer look at the face of one that has been getting under her skin so much lately. Her enemy. Oh, how she hated you.

You know your fate very well, you are very aware of what is about to happen. Even though your body is shaking from exhaustion, from the snow and cold wind, you try not to show your fear. Despite your increasingly throbbing wound, you don't even hiss or whine. You're not asking for mercy. On the contrary, you frown and even give her that defiant look. Like you're daring her to cut your neck.

She hesitates, hesitates the longer she looks into those big eyes of yours. She has killed countless men, but their facial expressions were different, they were afraid, they were begging, they were screaming, asking for mercy. You are different. The sight of your helpless body, covered with blood dripping from your side, invokes sympathy and nostalgia in your eyes. For some reason, she finds in them a strange innocence that she herself was stripped of a long, long time ago. You look so soft. You look so pretty. “You’re so young…” her voice whispers while her eyes stare into your face. You could only wonder why she hadn't yet swung her blade and sliced your neck cleanly once and for all. "Does it matter now?" You answer in an equally quiet, hoarse voice. The cold wind blows strands of hair and sticks them slightly to your forehead.

Your words echoes in her head. She is brave. You haven’t shown fear nor pleaded for life, which makes her feel…something. She is strong. The cold blade still doesn't pierce the soft skin. "Why didn't you ask for mercy...?" She speaks quietly, only a silent breeze passes by, whispering snow in her hair. She is special. Not many survive an encounter with her, even those who have begged and fallen to their knees.

More and more you felt the blood flowing down your side, staining your clothes and coloring the snow. You just snorted at her question. Despite how much blood you've already lost, you still collect the remaining energy to growl in response. "I am not a dog. I'm not going to whine for mercy." You even dared to give her that determined look again.

All sorts of thoughts were running through Mizu's head now. She’s not afraid. She doesn't know her place. She's just like me. She lowers her katana. Her enemy is more than just an enemy.

"What are you doing?" The question falls from your lips as your eyes follow the blade as it moves away from your neck. „You should kill me.”

The moral monologue battles deep within Mizu. She still wants me to kill her. I should kill her. With the sound of the blade, Mizu raises her sword and returns it to its scabbard. Her gaze falters — a rare moment of weakness. "How old are you?" She steps closer as her voice echoes in the snow-covered landscape, while her blue eyes scan their enemy's body, taking in every tiny detail — bruises, scars, wounds. A glance at the blood that continues to seep down your side and stain the snow. An unexpected feeling, unknown to her, wells within her. An urge to protect this young person, as if you had reminded her of her younger self.

This sudden change in attitude surprises you. You swallow, gritting your teeth as you consider whether to answer the question or ignore it. After all, you no longer have a weapon, and even if you wanted to get up and run away, with this wound by your side, it wouldn't be difficult to catch up with you. "… 20." Mizu frowns when she hears the answer. She really is just like me. You are only a few years younger than her, but you have already chosen this terrible path of violence. “Stand up” she demands quietly. You look sharply at Mizu, as if trying to feel the catch. Slowly, you tuck your legs and push yourself up into a sitting position with your arms. You grit your teeth and widen your eyes as now your wound reminds you even more of its existence. After a moment of deep breaths, you gather yourself to get up. You'd rather bite your tongue than hiss in pain in the presence of your enemy, and finally you slowly, swaying slightly, stand in front of her.

Mizu’s gaze remains fixed on her rival, not taking her eyes off you for a single second. She sheaths her katana entirely, and a soft snow breeze fills her senses. The sound of snow crunching beneath her enemy’s feet resonates inside her mind, echoing inside of her heart. "What is your name?"

You think for a moment. You don't have the strength to think about why she's suddenly asking you so much information about you. The only thing you focus on is the throbbing pain at your side. "[Y/N]" You reply quietly, your head slightly bowed as you grab your side and try to apply pressure to your wound. “[Y/N]…” Mizu repeats after you. Her enemy’s name echoes in her mind, as if a whisper. The cold wind passes by, caressing her senses, touching her face with invisible fingers, carrying a hint of fresh winter air. Her blue eyes soften, as if looking at the most beautiful thing in existence. “Your name…is beautiful…" she sighs, unable to take her eyes off her enemy. “…like you,” Your face relaxed slightly at this sudden compliment. It's been a long time since anyone complimented you or your appearance. You opened your mouth as if you wanted to say something, but after a while you remembered the situation you were in and frowned again. She is your enemy. „Shut up” You groaned, unable to hold in the pain any longer. You lowered your head and clenched your eyes and teeth. When you looked at your hand, entirely stained with blood, you shuddered. Mizu watched your reaction very carefully. Deep down, she admired you for still having the nerve to tell her to shut up despite bleeding profusely and being on the verge of death. She's strong. She’s beautiful. “I’m taking you with me,” Mizu said sternly, as she approached you. She lifted you, her enemy into her arms.

Her closest enemy. Oh, how she adored you.

[jasmineoolongtea]

Hiiii how ya doing? I'd like to req a Megumi X Reader plsss. Smth where the reader is super shy and antisocial (could be due to trauma or their own experience whatever works for you) so they're mostly by themselves because they choose to and avoid people unless it's training and even so they're just alone (or with a mentor IDK). Still, everyone tries to get close to them and Megumi seems like he doesn't care but he does little gestures to make sure reader is comfortable and reader appreciates that a lot. IDRK how to describe this anymore but this is the big picture for me. The rest is up to you. I'M SRY IF THIS LOOKS CONFUSING BUT THXXXXX

a/n: hii anon, i'm doing alright !!! (just kinda busy this week ;-; so sorry for the delay in responding to this) hope you're doing well too !! don't worry i totally get what you mean so i hope that this lives up to your vision 🫡🫡🫡

if most people had to describe you, the word 'loner' or a more polite 'shy' would probably be thrown around a lot with other vague descriptors that only scratched the surface of who you were as a person, but to you, that was the least of your worries.

it was better this way. honestly, was it so wrong to want to keep people at arm's length? contrary to popular belief, there's merit to be found in being alone and you just wish that others had the same understanding that you did.

a 'how are you doing' here and 'wow, the weather's pretty cloudy today' there and you can already feel your energy being sucked away like there was some sort of energy vampire following you around. getting invited to places as a part of a large group was even worse as you were forced to spit out a pathetic excuse that you were sure would leave them wincing from just how bad and thinly veiled it was.

in a better-case scenario, they would pass on an apologetic smile your way before clumsily making their escape away from you and that would be the last you'd hear of them for a while. in worse cases, and unfortunately the more common one from your own personal experiences, their previously friendly faces would quickly morph into a snarl with all of their old pleasantries going out the window as they scurry away from you, though not before throwing some... colourful words and jabs in your direction before they disappear out of your earshot.

you once heard a phrase that sums up conversations like this perfectly; 'water cooler conversations', conversations that are only born out of the belief that silence between people is bad and that superficial, surface-level talk is the better alternative which is a notion you strongly disagree with.

albeit, you know deep down it would be wrong to fault them as after all, they only had nothing but good intentions. however, good intentions can only carry you so far when the recipient isn't necessarily the most willing participant.

at times, some people would just try to strong-arm you into a friendship with them, whether it be figuratively or literally, and those were almost always the most intense and ironically, short-lived ones. there were some who would just flail the moment you stopped responding to them. sure it was awkward, but at least you had the benefit of silence. with others, it felt like looking into the sun and the longer you stared at them, the more likely you're going to end up with a sunburn and the more you missed the comfort of the darkness that you've become so accustomed to.

but with megumi, it was different, in a good way.

with megumi, things felt... easy, for lack of a better word. you didn't feel like you had to force on a polite grin or shallow laugh for appearance's sake. every word, expression and reaction with megumi was raw, genuine and natural and suffice to say, you craved this more than you were willing to admit.

exchanges with megumi were largely wordless most of the time with more being said in between the silence that the two of you frequently shared with one another. it was like you two had your own secret language which was spoken through brief touches and lingering glances and that if you blinked, you would have missed it.

after a particularly rough training session (no thanks to the boiling heat of the midday sun), you find yourself more exhausted than usual to the point where you simply collapse on the nearby bench in a boneless pile.

when you look up, you're met with the sight of an outstretched hand holding a drink, your favourite drink no less, in your direction. the sun's shining right in your eyes so you have to squint slightly to get a better look at the good samaritan that has managed to stumble on you in this state and are surprised to find out that it's someone you're more than well acquainted with.

turns out, it's megumi who's offering you salvation in the form of a bottled drink and you eagerly accept his offer (albeit a bit more eager, which almost veers on the side of desperation, than you were hoping to come off as). for a brief moment, your fingers brush against his as you reach forward to grab it and maybe it's a trick of the light, but you swear you catch a glimpse of the tips of his ears turning bashfully red.

you take a sip of your drink and a grateful sigh escapes your lips. he's not looking in your direction, seemingly more interested in something far off in the distance, however, his shoulders visibly relax and his whole posture loses its once-tensed-up stance once the sigh leaves your lips. his hand hangs awkwardly by his side and for some reason, you're met with the sudden urge to grab it and you wonder what it would be like to hold it - would it be calloused and rough from years of training or would it be surprisingly soft and relatively scar-free despite your lifestyles - but you quickly shake those thoughts away in an attempt to fight the butterflies that flap around in your stomach.

instead, you settle for a tap on his arm which gets him to turn towards you, a curious expression painted on his face as you pat the spot beside you. a silent invitation for him to join you there. he pauses for a moment, as if weighing the decision in his mind before relenting and taking you up on your offer. you don't say it but this is your silent thank you to him and you know he understands you because that's just who he is.

once seated, you're suddenly met with the burning heat of the sun again and you realise that megumi was purposefully standing in the way of the sun for you and was using himself as your own personal source of shade. another little gesture from him to you.

there he goes again, you think to yourself. you're not sure how he does it but it's like he has an uncanny ability to anticipate your needs, sometimes even before you realise it yourself. furthermore, megumi never asks anything from you, not even a verbal thank you, seemingly just content with being able to be near you.

it's a bit confusing if you're going to be honest. to someone who's so used to being perceived as either a social pariah or as someone who can be used for the benefit of others, you're not sure why he keeps on doing all these things for you and why you find yourself being so drawn to him despite everything but you choose not to push it.

deep down, you know that you're scared that if you question it, then it'll just be nothing more than a nice dream that the universe has allowed you to indulge in for a bit but that's a topic for another day.

seeing that the sun is deciding to be very stubborn today and is not easing up on the strength of its rays, you search around the largely abandoned training field by now for a more shaded place and spot a small clearing underneath a tree on the opposite side. you stand up, startling megumi slightly as he jolts upright, and open your hand towards him. he looks at your hand and at you, his gaze drifting up and down before gingerly reaching out and taking your hand in his.

you're right, his hand is softer than you were somewhat expecting though it's a pleasant surprise nonetheless, and make your way towards the shaded area as he trails behind you with your hands connecting you two together like paper dolls. now under the cool canopy of the leaves above you, the heat is much more bearable and you take a seat with your back against the tree trunk.

you let go of his hand as you do this and he quickly follows suit, though this time, instead of allowing there to be a small space between you, he sits right next to you to the point where if you allow yourself to lean right ever so slightly, your shoulders are going to brush against his. even more shockingly, you feel a warm presence on top of your hand and when you look down, you see that it's megumi's hand resting on top of yours. you both don't look at each other, perhaps in an attempt to hide the pale dusting of pink that surely adorns your cheeks.

maybe one day, you'll get the courage to break the silence you've grown so comfortable with but for now, this is all you could ask for and more.

[withonly-sweetheart]

shattered illusions - leon kennedy x reader

<><><>

his skin is paler than it’s ever been, cheeks rosy but hollow, hair flumping in wet strands over his forehead, where a sheen of sweat glistens as younear his bed.

“leon?” you whisper, fingers ghosting your lips.

“sweetheart?” he responds, eyes still closed. “is that you? i’m... not dead?”

“no,” you murmur. “you’re still here.”

“with you,” he sighs, but it doesn't sound like relief.

“you didn’t tell me,” you say, but it comes out more like a question.

“what was I supposed to tell you?” he retorts, voice quieter than you can bear to hear. “that my uncle got me addicted to that shit? now I can’t quit? now I'm stuck lying here pathetically, like this?"

“i could’ve helped,” you say, heart clenching in your chest. “i could’ve done something.”

“you couldn’t have,” he replies, shaking his head slightly, as if the very motion pains him.

“you’re not dying,” you say, more urgently, as if trying to convince yourself that if you say it enough times, he'll stay, as if it's in his hands.

“i am. and since I'll die here, i hope the eyes of heaven forgive me.” fluttering eyelashes open slowly, exposing the azure gems that are his eyes. “i hope whoever is up there forgives my sins, so when you die, i can live the rest of my days with you.”

you stare at each other for a bit longer, the steady beeping of the machine and the gentle whooshing of air playing peek-a-boo with the curtains the only sounds in the room.

“me?” your voice cracks, like you're just growing up, like the moment will forever be hung in time, but the grief that threatens to overwhelm you is stronger than the realization that he loves you.

“yes, you.” he chuckles, voice hoarse. “i did the wrong thing. i’ve done so many bad things. i know that. you don’t… have to stay.”

“i’m not leaving,” you say quickly. “i’ll be here.”

“we lost so much time,” he says faintly, staring up at the moldy ceiling. he cranes his neck to check you're still there, and the expression on his face is a mix between hurt and regret. “i should’ve said something, hm?”

“you dumbass,” you say, unable to alternate between sobs and laughs. 

“don’t cry,” leon hushes, his right hand lifting to cup your cheek, calloused, rough fingers wiping at the corner of your eye. “don’t cry for me.” 

“i’m not.” you blink once, hard, fast, trying to keep him in this moment with you, scared that if I close your eyes again, he’ll be gone.

“sleep,” he says soothingly, as if reading your thoughts. “i’ll be here when you wake up.”

and with that string of a promise, you lay your head down near his torso, covered in the flimsy blanket, and drift off to sleep.

<><><><><>

this is to prove to that one anon in my inbox that's been waiting for a week im sry girl i have a lot of shit going on but js know im getting there. i love you sm for sending in ur amazing request <3333

i'll make a part two if u want just let me work on other shit <33

[blitzwhore]

Hi! First, congratulations on achieving 1K followers! Good job, mate! Second, who am I to lose almost free fanfic))))? Let's say, hmmm, romantic, two words will be... "hot night", and word count will be... 427.

PS.: sry for probably bad English!

PPS.: night here is really hot, lemme look..... 37°C (idk what's that in Fahrenheit, sry my Russian ass please 👉🏻👈🏻)

Thank you :3 and please don't apologise for your English, it's not my native language either! I also don't understand Fahrenheit 😂 37ºC is really hot, please take care!

Also, you didn't specify a ship, so I took the liberty to write some Martha x Ms Mayberry because I felt like writing toxic femslash <3 here are your 427 words!

On AO3

Warning: mature

“Fuck,” Mayberry muttered to herself, “heat waves were supposed to be an Earth-specific problem.” 

With two fingertips, she peeled the front of her drenched shirt from her skin. Even her shorts and thighs were soaked with sweat, fuck's sake. 

A scoff came from the floor behind her. “You're in Hell, darlin’, in case you needed a reminder. It's supposed to be hot.” 

She rolled her eyes, refusing to dignify that comment with a reply. 

“Anyway, I thought you were tryin'a kill me? Again? I'm gettin’ kinda bored here.”

Mayberry spun around to glare at Martha, who hadn't bothered to get up after being stabbed repeatedly on the chest. Her shit-eating grin almost made Mayberry want to finish the job, but… what was the point? It wasn't like she could make it stick. The bitch always came back annoyingly fast. And it was way too hot for it to be worth the effort. 

“Just get the fuck out before I change my mind,” she muttered. 

“And boil to death? No, thanks,” Martha scoffed. “At least your floor is sorta cold.” 

The audacity of this bitch—

“Listen here, you whore.” She straddled Martha and grabbed her by the collar, which was sticky with blood and sweat. Martha's coy smile didn't falter. “If you don't shut the fuck up I swear I'll—” 

“You'll what?” Martha leered. “Bore me to death? This is gettin’ a bit old, darlin’.” 

Mayberry growled. 

“Don't call me that.” 

“Why not?” Martha teased. “Does it turn you on?” 

Ugh. 

“You fucking—sex-crazed freak,” Mayberry spat. 

“Maybe.” Martha's fingers were suddenly trailing up her bare thigh. “I'm not the one who gets off to killing you, though.” 

Mayberry growled, hating the way that touch made arousal pool in her crotch, which was very much still pressed flush against Martha.

“Not that I'm complainin’,” Martha said. “I always thought you were pathetic, but I gotta admit, it's kinda hot when you go all crazy on me, darlin’.” 

Mayberry grabbed the dagger still lodged in Martha's chest. Martha just grinned defiantly and trailed her hand up to the front of Mayberry's shorts, tickling. 

With a snarl, Mayberry let go of the dagger and slid her hand down. 

It's the heat, it's just the heat, she told herself as she groped Martha's boob, squeezing her nipple hard through her drenched blouse. 

The slut never even wore a fucking bra. 

Martha grinned triumphantly. “That's more like it.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Mayberry barked. 

Martha unbuttoned Mayberry's shorts. She gripped Mayberry's hips, pulled her closer—licked her lips. 

“You'll have to make me, darlin’.”

[soleilnomoon]

i would love to place an order for Meringue Cookies, Dark Chocolate, Jelly Beans, Candy Necklace, & Blan Manje, with Caramel & Honey. Side menu # 1 for Boa or Nami. either is fine! with a g/n reader! These stories are a blast to read!

anon i am so so sry this took forever 😭💕💕💕 but i finally finished and i'm actually happy with it; also ty for requesting, i love boa hancock sfm i wish more ppl wrote for her.

4.3k words, gn reader (no pronouns), nsfw, 18+ mdni; angst angst angst bc that's how i vibe & smut, and if you squint real hard there's some fluff somehow i think. hancock is a brat as usual and reader ain't shit, but they go great together <3 feat. cute things like oral (f receiving), fingering, a lil bondage, hair pulling, some pussy slapping, more stuff that idr anymore ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა (if u see grammar/spelling errors no u didn't ;_;)

tagging lil’ kaia bc she asked so nicely ❤︎ @cvvor

“our love would be death” — anaïs  nin

sea salt sifts through the wind, warm and fine enough that most don’t notice its intrusion. it lands on your nose and lips, coats your tongue when you exhale through your mouth; no matter how many times you try to wash away the taste, it still lingers. a persistent annoyance that refuses to leave you alone. it’s a bitter, yet familiar taste — one that fills your heart with memories you’ve long wanted to keep buried. you’re no stranger to heartache, but this is different.

you find that you can never sleep through the entire night without dreaming of your ex — of how you begged them to stay, of how you told them you couldn’t live without them. pathetic, you tell yourself one morning after another restless night — you know you need to find a way to move on, but there’s no way you can, not when you carved so many pieces of yourself to give away without much thought.

what you’re left with is a battered heart that can barely function on its own; it flops pitifully in your chest, rattling against your rib cage weakly. every day it gets harder to breathe, harder to face the truth that you’re all alone — again.

boa hancock doesn’t know why she even fucking bothers, but she can’t seem to stay away from you. it’s a privilege, in her opinion, for you to be graced with her presence, let alone be allowed to touch her intimately. so, when she finds you staring wistfully out of the window, sighing to yourself again she snaps.

“y/n, look at me,” she commands loudly, voice piercing through your body like a thick arrow that keeps you frozen in place. you know better than to disobey her, even though you want to; you know you’re being unreasonable, but the heart always wants what it can’t have, right?

not that she cares about any of that. in her mind, your ex is an ex for a reason. she grabs your face with her hand, squeezing tightly, delicate brows furrowed together as irritation drips down her spine. she could easily kill you and you know it. “i’m the most beautiful woman in the world,” she boasts, although there’s something melancholic about the way she says it.

you narrow your eyes at her, mouth moving before you can think better of it. “and what of it?” it’s not often that you challenge her like that, but today you’ve had enough of her games, of constantly catering to her whims and desires, of her veneer that she insists on keeping even when she’s alone with you.  

it dawns on her then what the actual problem is. “you’re still in love with them.” anger seeps through her pores, and she knows if she doesn’t walk away soon, she might say or do something she’ll possibly regret.

you flinch, eyes widening — she’s not entirely wrong, but she’s not right either. you’re just stuck in limbo, unable to move on because you refuse to do so; after seeing them so happy with someone else, you can’t fathom finding any sort of happiness yourself. so, you cling onto the past, even when it threatens to destroy your present life.

for some reason, this pisses you off — that hancock is so much more perceptive than people give her credit for; that she’s not afraid to tell you the truth, despite how your friends sugarcoat everything for you. the rage that’s bubbled deep inside of you for months finally pushes out; you can barely think or see properly, and you forget yourself when you practically shout back at her.

“and you’re just jealous because for once, you’re not the focus of my attention.” you’re not sure why you say it, but as soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel like shit.

there’s rarely a moment where hancock finds herself in absolute shock, but your venomous words cut into her bruised ego with vigor. it's a harsh reality that she refuses to accept, so she lashes out at you again.

“you’re pathetic.” her tone is cold, and she steels her face enough that she almost looks bored with you. hancock releases her hold on you and swivels on her heels to walk away. you don’t bother calling after her, but she pauses in her gait to look over her shoulder at you. “i’m done playing with you, get out of my sight.”

the dismissal is the first slap of many and her insistence on blatantly keeping her back turned while she ignores you is another. something in you breaks, but you know you’ve angered the pirate empress enough for one day. you don’t hesitate before scrambling to your feet and leaving her alone. after you close the door, you hear a shriek that’s accompanied by what sounds like a large vase shattering. you don’t bother checking on her, because you know you’re not wanted in her presence right now.

you should’ve seen this coming. one doesn’t simply think about another lover while in the presence of boa hancock; it’s absurd and theatrical, but it’s an unspoken rule that you keep breaking over and over. in the back of your mind, you know you should go make things right with her, but you just don’t know how.

hancock’s frustration continues to build throughout the day. she doesn’t know why someone — you, a commoner who should be groveling at her feet daily — can be so insolent without remorse. she’s smashed several expensive sculptures, shredded her mattress and bed sheets with large scissors, and cursed out every staff member in kuja palace. her anger only intensifies when she hears someone whisper your name, so she locks herself in her bedroom, refusing meals or assistance from anyone.

you’ve always thought that the pirate empress was annoying, self-centered, and unnecessarily mean without reason. you’ve told her this on several occasions, stunning her into silence — a feat that most cannot achieve. hancock would normally sentence someone to death for those sorts of callous remarks, but for some reason she spares you. maybe it’s because despite her incomparable, unrivaled beauty, you don’t helplessly pine after her.

and she absolutely hates that about you.

hancock’s not someone who’s used to being treated like a regular person, and yet that’s what you do to her. you barely hold any reverence for her, give her the minimal amount of respect owed as a citizen of amazon lily, and you don’t flinch when she threatens you publicly. most are afraid to be associated with you, out of fear for incurring the snake princess’ wrath — not that you care, you’ve known that your personality can’t be tolerated by most because you tend to happily go against the grain.

you’ve always found her beauty to be intense and intoxicating — imposing like the sun, forcing a heat to surge through you that has yet to dissipate. you hate that your attraction to her impedes your daily life, especially when you’re plagued by dueling thoughts of her and your ex. you’re barred from entering the palace, and you’re thankful for it as you don’t know how you’d be able to face hancock after all that you’ve said. you know that you should apologize profusely, but a woman like hancock requires something extravagant and elaborate — something that’ll prove that your adoration and loyalty is genuine and not forced.

the first few days are relatively easy; you work tirelessly to keep your mind and body busy, and you’re so exhausted by the end of the day that you sleep without dreaming. when a week passes, you start to notice that certain things are off; you didn’t make it a habit of frequenting the palace that often, but you were there enough that the staff didn’t give you a hard time when you showed up unannounced. you tell yourself that distance is good — it means you’ll be able to finally focus on the things that are important to you.

but, when you sit and think about it, you’re not quite sure if that’s entirely true.

after the second week, you start getting antsy. your friends keep pestering you, asking why your mood keeps shifting day to day — you’re intolerable and grouchy, snap at minor things and make mistakes all day. your heart, as tired and as worn out as it is, still skips a beat when you think about hancock despite what you try to tell yourself when you’re alone. somehow, you’ve convinced yourself that the only reason why you’re thinking about her, is because you miss fucking her.

the lie is tough to digest, but you keep repeating it and sooner or later you’ll believe it, right?

soon, everything reminds you of her.

on a warm night, a small festival is held, and you wander around listless and slightly tipsy. memories of the first time you met boa hancock — outside of all the fanfare that her royal title awards her — plague you relentlessly. you remember the warmth from that night, similar to this one; you remember how highly oppressive and unbearable the humidity was; and you also remember that you were on your third drink when you unceremoniously bumped into the pirate empress.

at first, her sisters demanded you apologize, but you were annoyed and had just been dumped so you chose audacity instead.

hancock’s irritation was evident, despite her not saying much — and it wasn’t until your rambling struck a nerve that she fired back. it was the first time he’d let her walls down, and her sisters watched in shock as both of you went back and forth over nothing. hancock called you all sorts of terrible names, and you sneered and laughed in her face. the fact that you weren’t cowering in fear or salivating over her beauty set her skin on fire in a way she didn’t understand.

you remember her dismissing the other gorgon sisters, insisting that she’d be able to handle you on her own. and she did, in a way. if anyone were to ask her about that time, hancock would easily admit that she regrets meeting you that night — but it would be a lie. the only thing she regrets is allowing you to infiltrate her heart, to settle without permission, to make her feel less than when she knew she was anything but.

her brattiness is unappealing on the surface and you normally wouldn’t be attracted to a woman who boldly wears such an ugly personality with pride. somehow, hancock has made the trait endearing to you, in a strange way; she’s so unapologetic with her behavior, that you find it rather comical. why people take her seriously is beyond you.

but, despite all of that, you do miss her.

you miss seeing the way her nose would scrunch and wrinkle when she was disgusted with something insignificant and minute; you miss kissing her in the middle of arguments and watching her easily melt underneath your touch; but you mostly miss hearing her complain about your lack of etiquette, about how odd she finds your views on the world, and about how you see her more clearly than anyone else on the island.

that sort of vulnerability terrifies her, and it’s why she’s been so miserable without you.

her sisters pay you a visit one morning and implore you to talk some sense into hancock. they tell you about how her temper tantrums have gotten uncontrollable (even for them) and how she barely eats or bothers leaving the palace these days. that bit surprises you, as hancock thrives off the validation from the populace. at first you mean to refuse them, but when you take note of how marigold anxiously fidgets with the gold bracelet around her wrist and the way sandersonia has dark circles under her eyes, you give in.

after taking a long, long soak in the bath, hancock pads back to her room naked, deciding to keep the windows open so she can air dry properly. you find her shortly after, out of breath from running over to the palace; she didn’t lock her door — and why should she? she’s the empress, after all — so you enter her room with ease. because she’s been so out of it lately, she’s been sluggish in her reactions to certain things; especially since she hasn’t stopped thinking about you.

with the door shut and locked behind you, hancock’s mind clears a bit; she blinks slowly, her dark eyes honed on you, taking in your thick thighs and toned body. as usual, hancock’s face only features an impassive expression, and she keeps her tone flat when she addresses you.

“why the hell are you in my bedroom?” she grabs the silk robe that’s draped over her mattress and puts it on in a rush.

before you can answer her or move closer, she picks up a large pillow and chucks it at you in the hopes that you’ll get the hint and leave her alone. you sidestep the attack, lips pressed together as you hold back a laugh; she can’t honestly think that a pillow will stop you, can she? hancock keeps throwing things, anything within her reach that isn’t nailed down to the floor or wall. you try to reason with her, try to make your way closer, but stop when you see the way her lips quiver.

she keeps fumbling with tying her robe properly, keeps looking down at her trembling fingers — the same ones that have tugged on your hair more times than you can count — but still she won’t say anything else to you.

after a minute, hancock manages to compose herself once again, her lips pressed tightly together as she fights the urge to berate herself for looking weak in front of you — as if you care about any of that. your silence compels her to swiftly make her way towards you, long legs shimmering in the sunlight, captivating you so much that you forget you’re supposed to be angry with her.

“look at you,” she stands tall, her pride giving her the confidence she needs to verbally tear you apart. “you’ve come begging for my forgiveness, right?” she doesn’t wait for you to respond and simply flips her hair over her shoulder before continuing. it’s all she can do to keep her composure around you; she knows if she gives you even a fraction of an inch, you’ll take a whole damn mile. “i should have you gutted for entering the palace without permission. you should know your damn place.” while her words are harsh, her delivery doesn’t quite match the expression on her face. maybe it’s because you haven’t taken your eyes off of her since you entered her room; or, maybe it’s because she’s standing much closer than necessary but can’t physically move herself away.

did you cast a spell on her without her knowledge?

while her eyes do narrow at that possibility, she highly doubts that you could, as there’s no one on amazon lily that doesn’t succumb to her treacherous beauty. but you continue to defy her expectations and you never know when to quit. which is why she just wants to grab you by the neck and toss you out the window; maybe if she actually kills you this time, she’ll be done with you forever.

except, she could never bring herself to harm you — not really. so she continues with her rant, reminding you that you’re beneath her, that you should be happy someone like her gave you any attention at all, but the more she talks, the more you want her to just shut the hell up.

“you’re right,” you say, cutting her off without remorse or any regards for your own safety, “and i deserve all of that,” and possibly more, but you don’t add that bit in. it becomes a little difficult to focus, what with hancock watching you with a different kind of intensity than you’re used to. “i… should’ve just explained myself properly before. but, more importantly,” you decide to take a risk and gently grab her by the hips.

silence wraps around her, blending into her thoughts, warping her perception of everything that’s happening. your hand is warm — much too warm, hot almost; she can feel the heat through the flimsy fabric as she presses her body closer to yours. whatever it is you want to tell her doesn’t matter — maybe she’ll pester you about it all later, but right now all she wants is you.

so, you give in and allow yourself to be more selfish than usual.

when your lips brush against hers, she completely comes alive — the longing you both felt for weeks, the irritation and unsaid words, they all prompt her to wrap her arms around your neck. it’s something short of a loving embrace, but you know better. your kiss goes from slow and tender to something much more fevered and enthusiastic; her lips are soft and supple, wholly inviting and terribly mesmerizing. you back her against the wall as she threads her fingers through your hair, tugging on it roughly, her patience practically nonexistent from all her wanting. you laugh at her in between kisses, breath warm against her skin — a feat that simultaneously annoys and arouses her — and remind her to play nice.

when she tugs on your hair again, you bite her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, but run your tongue along the miniature wound to soothe the sting. she inhales sharply, the pain not noticeable, but the way you suck on her lip makes her head spin while also leaving her breathless.

 a woman like hancock doesn’t beg, but when you grab her ass roughly — aggressive, yet completely undoing — she lets out a whimper so pathetic she’s almost ashamed of herself.

she should slap you, but all she does is roll her hips forward once you spread her legs and run your fingers against her folds. in a fit of desperation, to excuse her reactions, she tells herself that it’s because she hasn’t been touched in so long — but deep down she knows the truth; she knows it’s because there’s no one else she’d rather have here with her, and that is a terrifying revelation. still, she’s very receptive to your touch, her back arching as soon as you spread her with your fingers.

her arousal drips down slowly, and while you’d love to take your time with her, you also know that if you don’t hurry up you might actually lose your mind. you trail kisses down the length of her neck, and hancock presses her lips together to keep from making any more embarrassing noises. it’s ridiculous the way her body can easily be commanded by you without much effort; she wants to hate you for leading her down this path, but she can’t ever bring herself to do so.

love makes people incredibly foolish and tender indeed.

“that won’t do,” you remark lightly, gliding your fingers back and forth, barely grazing her clit. her breathing stops momentarily when you open her robe completely and drop to your knees in front of her. “why are you holding back?” you don’t ask her because you actually want the answer; you ask because you know it’ll annoy her greatly.

you tease her entrance with your fingers and a shiver fires through her entire body; with her lips parted, you strain your ears a bit, but you hear through her all of her light panting, her softly saying please, please, please. she’s trying so hard to hold it together, and you commend her for her efforts by inching your fingers inside of her slowly. hancock’s façade finally shatters, and you hear her moan audibly as you plunge your fingers in and out of her pussy. you love the way she clenches around your fingers — warm and tight, soft in a way that just doesn’t make sense to you — and the way she moves her hips once your tongue playfully swirls around her clit.

you drape her long, shapely leg over your shoulder and scissor your fingers inside of her pussy; you hum against her skin, thoroughly enjoying the way her chest heaves and how she can’t seem to stop moaning your name.

if only she was always this compliant.

a heat passes through your body as her nails rake against your scalp, and if you weren’t so hellbent keeping her steady, she’d probably fall over by now. you eat her pussy with vigor, swapping your fingers for your tongue; you thrust it inside without remorse, and she quickly becomes a whimpering mess as she chants “yes, yes, yes.” you mean to tell her to keep it down, but a part of you also enjoys it when she lets go and gives into her desires. you don’t want to get caught, but the thrill of it incites you to lap at her pussy — greedy and eager, as if it’s the most savory meal you’ve ever had. her wetness drips down your chin, glistening along your lips but you don’t stop.

she watches you in a trance, unsure if she’ll ever be able to let you go after this. possessive by nature, hancock never thought she’d find herself in this sort of position, but there she is, completely under your spell. every swipe of your tongue brings her closer and closer to the edge — a dangerous dance that she does without thinking. she brings her free hand to cup and knead one of her breasts — hefty and round, moaning repeatedly, voice already straining as she shamelessly rides your face.

you love it, though and when you suck on her clit roughly, lightning wraps around her veins, time slowing down around her, causing her vision to blur. she’s so wound up, that the orgasm takes her completely by surprise — her hips buck wildly and you hold her firmly as you work your fingers back into her pussy. you pull away just to give her a haughty look — one that she catches by accident through her tear-stained lashes — voice low and husky as you continue teasing her. “you’re doing so good,” you lick her clit hard enough to have her eyes roll back, “do you trust me?”

it's not fair of you to ask her genuine questions right now, but you need to know.

hancock swallows hard, unable to think properly, but answers without hesitation: “y-yes.”

her voice is sweet, much more demure than you’re used to; your heart suddenly feels much too big for your chest, the beats growing louder and thunderous; a dangerous combination when coupled with your cowardice. but you know better than to cower away, so you muster the courage to quietly respond with, “good, i’m glad.”

you’re not sure why you ask her that, but you keep thinking about it when you have her naked on her bed with her hands bound above her. thanks to you, her normally blemish-free skin is littered with bite marks and dark red bruises — small and harmless, but you do feel a sliver of remorse when you realize she’ll have to cover herself up for a bit when she’s outside of the palace. you tell her she’s a masterpiece worthy of exhibition, and she tells you that you’re insolent for stating the obvious.

she’s so beautiful and vulnerable in this position — flushed cheeks, tears in her eyes, legs shaking as they’re spread wide for you; her pussy is swollen after you slapped it a few times when she gave you lip a few minutes ago. out of habit, hancock wants to run her mouth again when you hover over her, but her words never come out. she looks up at you, silently wondering why you keep coming back to her. the melancholy that accompanies those thoughts is heavy enough to make her want to cry, so she ignores it. she wraps her legs around you as you rock your hips against hers, cunt still dripping — eager and inviting.

fucking hancock is like being trapped in a feverish dream, one where you fall over and over, unable to predict if you’ll survive in the end. it’s an unending maelstrom — powerful and unpredictable, wild, and all-consuming. sweat pools at your temples, but you don’t slow down until you wrench another orgasm out of her. her voice grows hoarse, and she claws at your chest; you lick the tears off her cheeks and kiss her in a way that deludes her into thinking that she’s your one and only.

when you finally cum, it’s with her name on your lips. your hips stutter and your breath is uneven — for you, your pleasure comes mostly from watching her unravel underneath you. hancock never lets you stay over, but she’s surprisingly soft with you afterwards, even letting you run your fingers through her silky, ink-black hair.

the intimacy scares both of you, but you can’t stop yourself from touching her like that. and even though you’re both sticky and sweaty, skin burning in a way that doesn’t make sense, you still stay close to one another.

she opens her mouth several times, the compulsion to curse you out for driving her mad grows weaker as time passes. she watches you fall asleep and she admires your features without restraint. she refuses to tell you that you’re much more attractive than she’d like you to be; she’d rather you be hideous with a shitty personality, but that’s not the case, is it? she’s hopelessly enamored with you, and you with her.

nothing will ever be perfect between the two of you, but you don’t need perfection or superficiality — not with her; you like dealing with the true, raw version of herself. there will be a moment — not now, but in the near future — where you’ll be brave enough to finish your confession; but for now, you keep it to yourself, tucked safely away in your heart, and enjoy the way your limbs are tangled with hers.

[krikeymate]

Hey, I just want to tell you that you're an incredibly talented author, and all of your posts make me happy and excited.

I also have a request (I love angst, sry not sry) and the Carpenter sisters are kind of my new obsession rn (thanks to you lol)

Could you please write a scenario in which Sam comes back from school (she doesn't know about Billy yet) and witnesses Christina's violent outburst towards Tara?

She can't believe it at first because her mother always treated Sam like a princess (we all know why), and Tara is known to be a "clumsy" kid. So, basically, her little sister lied to her about where the bruises come from, but WHY?! I can't answer my own question, and it's frustrating.

I imagine a larger age gap between the two sisters. Sam knows that her mother doesn't love Tara as much as she adores Sam, but the physical abuse always happens when she isn't around.

Thank you so much for your time and effort!

(I'm sorry if I made a mistake, English isn't my first language)

Thank you so much!! I'm glad to hear you like my stuff :) and your English is great!

This will fit pretty well in my five years late AU! The age gap is 10 years, Christina loves Sam and treats her well (although Sam began pulling away once she discovered her father isn't her father - although she never learnt who was). Christina becomes pretty absent when Sam is 15 and their father leaves, but she's never been violent (to Sam's knowledge), or particularly mean to Tara... she just... doesn't care about her so much. She does the bare minimum, and Sam picks up the slack.

It's October, Sam's 18 and in her senior year, and usually she would be at basketball practice right now, except coach started throwing up 10 minutes into practice and sent everyone home. Sam's pretty irritated, all things considered. They didn't need coach there to train, and boy did they need to train. It seems like nobody practised over the summer, and Sam doesn't want to end her final year with as many losses as last year.

But hey, at least she'll get to spend an extra couple of hours with Tara today! Her sister's been upset lately about all the extra time Sam spends at practice now. It was the same last year, she seems to recall. But she got used to it before, and Sam knows she'll get used to it again.

Mom even bought Tara a soccer ball to kick around the garden, she said that her sister was probably just jealous that Sam's good at a sport. Sam can't say she's ever seen her sister touch it once, but mom says she uses it all the time when Sam's at practice, pointing to Tara's bruised legs and scuffed hands and knees. Then she complains that Tara's been kicking the ball against the kitchen wall, and tells Sam to remind her sister to behave herself.

So, Sam's not expected when she arrives home at 3.45 instead of 6pm. She sneaks around the back, hoping to catch her sister practising soccer - an activity Tara refuses to discuss with her but her mother assures her is happening - but finds only an empty backyard... and it sounds like her mother is yelling in the kitchen. It's pretty alarming to hear, mom rarely raises her voice, and it has Sam scrambling over the fence to pull open the backdoor.

It takes a moment for her to realise what she's seeing.

Tara's on the floor, crying, and crawling backwards, away from their mother. Her cheek is bright red, the indentation of fingers spread across it, complete with several scratches. And her mother is screaming at her. She's in the middle of "I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR PATHETIC C-" when Sam runs forward and involves herself in the scene.

"What are you doing?!" she cries, standing between Tara and their mother, hands held out as if to push her mother away.

The way her face goes from angry to calm in an instant unsettles Sam. It feels a lot like watching the theatre kids practise at lunch, the way they could go from happy to sad to angry at a click of the finger.

"Honey," she coos, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder. "You're home early?"

"Practise was cancelled," Sam answers warily. Her mother's avoiding the question. "What are you doing?" she repeats, looking over her shoulder to her sister. Tara's rubbing at her face now, breathing heavily through her hiccups to try and control her breathing. Sam frowns, she's going to need her inhaler.

"She was kicking the ball against the wall again," her mother lets out through gritted teeth. Sam can see fragments of frustration leaking through her mask. She knows there was no answer her mother could give that would make this ok, but she had still hoped for better than this. Something reasonable. Something that makes sense.

"So you hit her? Are you kidding me, what the fuck mom," she growls, shaking off her hand and turning to her sister. Sam picks Tara up off the floor, holding her to her chest, and stares down her mother as Tara burrows her face into Sam's hoodie.

"You have no idea what it's like, Samantha," her mother finally responds. "Trying to raise that girl. She's not like you, she's trouble."

Her mother's words floor her. Sam can't believe what she's hearing. She can't believe this is her mother saying these things, doing these things. Sam exits the room backwards, her head shaking the entire time.

Even once they're sequestered away in Sam's room, Tara won't talk to her, won't tell her what happened. She just stays curled into Sam's side, sniffling. Sam has the nagging feeling that her mother wasn't telling the truth. The football's always in the same place every time she sees it, today was no exception. And if that was a lie, then... where did the bruises come from?

Sam has to choke back the nausea. Her sister needs her right now.

She quits basketball the next day.

[zazter-den]

i almost sent this on anon bc i’m not used to sharing this kind of filth for this fandom. then i realized you’d probably know it was me anyways 💀 so i’m being brave. 😔

hi love! still thinking about oral fixation with hythemet. sure a spitroast could be cool but

i totally see emet-selch being the type to shove a couple fingers in your mouth and press your tongue down, make you gag on them by pushing his hand in further while he’s taking you from behind. hyth just grins and watches, maybe strokes himself a bit. but they’re both entertained by how pretty and pathetic your voice sounds in tandem with the sloppy sounds of your [🫣].

sry if it’s a bit much. i’ve had a full day for this to rot lmao.

Oh no, bring on the filth! I love hearing what's plaguing your mind, esp when it comes to ffxiv! (۶•̀ᴗ•́)۶ The kudzu keeps growing in my mind lmao (Context: Part 1, Part 2) I need to replay Endwalker so I can write Hyth CW: Dubcon, Public Sex, Freeuse, Gagging

Emet knows exactly what he's doing, asking Hythlodaeus with a sneer if he'd like to join the two of you, when the lilac haired fraternity brother has a class in less than half an hour. He continues to keep a frustratingly precise pace, keeping you on the very edge for well over an hour. Deep punishing strokes, that seem to get maddingly slower the closer to cumming you get, before teasing you back up. "Is this your new pet?" Hyth can't turn down a chance to spin his friend up a little. Deciding to join their little corner by the fire, instead of hurrying across campus just yet. "Tell me, what's your name princess?" Clearly him talking to you only irks Emet further. Because the moment you open your mouth to stutter an answer in your fucked out haze- his manicured nails are pressing against the back of your tongue, pulling the loudest and possibly the most obscene noise you've ever heard from your throat. "Don't you have someplace to be?" Emet glowers.

It's the exact opposite of a deterrent to Hythlodaeus, he only strokes himself harder in front of your face as your eyes go blank with Emet's renewed attention to your oversensitive clit. the crackling of the fire couldn't hide the sound of you gagging on your new owner's fingers or the squelching noises under the table anymore. "I have just enough time for this" Hythlodaeus said with a ragged hitch in his voice, his fast fingers working his cock faster in front of your blank gaze. "Oh no you don't" Emet hisses at his friend, "I'm not cleaning up your mess." Emet slick fingertips withdrew from your lips, and dug into your cheeks. Your jaw dropping just in time for Hythlodaeus' first spurts of cum to land on your aching tongue.

[ko-existing]

I'm literally cringed at the recent ND plus LOA post. If they talk loa let them talk only abt that. Why are they even mixing LOA with ND? 😵 ND is non duality do they even know that? They should read some real materials from AV books(not a must) rather than reading just a 2 post about ND on Tumblr and making their own concepts. I feel sorry for u guys🥲. Them saying awareness is not nameless 😑. I'm done. Well they can do whatever they want to but they don't understand what you guys r trying to say here. JUST BE, go within!!!!!!! Know thyself. What more do they expect? Hand them their illusory desires? I thought you guys were pathetic to say that desires are illusory but reading AV books it helped me to go deeper and it helped me. It's the mix of ND with LOA for me😭 .Anyways sry for rambling they should really know what non duality is.

🙆🏻‍♀️🤷🏻👌🏻

[niningtori]

ok u know what EYE think is better than angsty beomgyu…. similar to pathetic beomgyu but the mc is emotionally unavailable 🙂‍↕️ like pure zen. she does not care about things that don’t concern her like she’s just cool~ it’s angst but bc of the mc 🙂‍↕️ i love that trope bad bc it’s kinda me sometimes 🙈

i’ve stopped being desperate over men for a few yrs now hahahah… (not really but yes really) and i believe if i was fully content with my life, i wouldn’t bat an eye at anyone unless i know they r willing to just follow me bc they love me!!! that’s been my thing for dating lately… like don’t hold me to expectations cuz i will do what i want pls.. if u wanna be with me knowing i might pick up my life and do something else then so be it! like a puppy hahahah .. (i haven’t had a therapy session in a few weeks im sry she’s on vacation til next week) anygays (im queer) im so excited for everything girl the previews r tew good 🐰

i’m sorry i just woke up this is a mess

OMGGGG i love that trope too but i love it when she's like that bc she's been traumatized so much she jus doesn't care anymore... like that's rlly me NWNANSj it'll take a lot for me to truly give a fuck about a man i actually know irl. shoutout to my fellow emotionally unavailable babies 🫡

i think that's a great way to look at things tbh but maybe i'm just an enabler. but my reasoning is that i personally think that women compromise themselves too much for men and ik i've done that in the past by dating men who r uglier than me n treat me like shit... sooooo that's not happening ever again. ik ppl say this to the point where it's overexposed but we r like black cats we jus need our golden retriever partners

ANYGAYSBWHANSJS i'm laughing i'm queer too i think comphet jus kicks my ass sometimes but i really am only attracted to like 12 men on this planet sooo take from that what u will

also omg my therapist is going on leave for like a month i'm gonna be so lost w/o her... sigh...

and thank u for the compliments 🥹❤️ ur opinion means the world to me MWAH

[youareinlove]

i have thoughts about speak now (taylor's version)

this is not even all of them lmao but i can't think rn so here

mine: my perfect sweet angel beautiful perfect baby. nothing can ever compete sorry. i will fight for mine i will kill for mine i will die for mine and the re-recording did not disappoint

sparks fly: remember when i thought "lead me up the staircase" was the horniest thing 19 year old taylor wrote

back to december: the little twinkling instrumentals 🥹 i love the tiny little instrumental changes that come with the re-recordings. sometimes they miss but sometimes they hit and this HIT

speak now: "you wish it was me, dont you (HAHA)" was what sold me on this album re-recording ngl. it was just the moment i knew that this would be a good one

dear john: my jaw physically dropped when i heard her vocals. she just brought the energy with this one and it is very hurtful. but also i'm very proud of her

mean: and a LIAR 😏 and pathetic 👏 and alone in life 😤 and mean 😡 and mean 😡 and mean 😡 and mean😡 and-

the story of us: this was the first song on this album that i thought was BETTER than the original. like the others were just as good, but the story of us ate and left no crumbs

never grow up: we could unpack all of that OR- or, we could choose not to. and i think ik what im going to do :D (it was better than the original)

enchanted: i hope that wherever adam young is, the sun shines and it's a beautiful day

better than revenge: ok so the lyric change is what i know everyone's on about but like its a really good lyric. i'll miss the original but come on "he was a moth to the flame she was holding the matches" that's so funny. better than revenge already paints the guy as like, a trophy that gets passed around. now he's literally a hapless bug this is so unserious in the best way

haunted: once again better than the og. she just really delivered with the vocals and the emotional performance, and i almost feel like this moves haunted up in my ranking (almost)

last kiss: i hear the shaky breath idk what you guys are on about. maybe i'm the one who's wrong and i just hear it from force of habit but its really good anyway??? like it's probably her most emotionally delivered song in the original, so i was nervous about this one. but i really like it and i actually had to check while listening to it for the first time to make sure i wasn't streaming the stolen version.

long live: this song still makes me so emotional and its just like. we did point to the pictures. and we do tell them her name. and she's still here and shining! fate did not force us into a goodbye! ughhhhhhhh (also its heartbreaking with the added context of castles crumbling but that's for another day)

ours: i always loved ours so i hope you guys give it the love it deserves this time sry

superman: i also really liked superman and like haunted, this was a song she just EMOTED on like crazy. ate and left no crumbs AGAIN and it was a great finishing point for the non-vault songs

thoughts on vault tracks are in a seperate post bc i have too many

[starrspice]

could i ask what the joke sun told in ur first au post was? sry my comprehension is like -99. also! when y/n first saw sun & moon, what was their FIRST first thought?

I'm not sure if you mean you didn't get the joke or just couldn't understand my writing (which is reasonable my handwriting is awful) so I'll just repeat the joke here

Why did the last court jester get executed?

Because the Queen got the joke at the last second!!!

When Y/N first saw Sun and Moon they thought "This is the King's next best warriors? How pathetic" they really didn't expect much from them and honestly took pity on them

[b1mbodoll]

gosh what is up with people saying the most outrageous thing in the world and hiding behind the anon button? even so, why are they so worked up over a colour gradient? i'm not even joking when i was first curious i searched on tumblr for five minutes and found direct links on how to do it.. its really not that hard and definitely not smth you needa call someone a "slut" or "whore" for.

like... if you wanna act like shit then come off the fucking anon button.. c'mon don't be that pathetic:)

but yk what i'll be an example for that fuckhead and i wont go on anon cause i'm not a pussy like them;)

~ its ur bae 🍵 anon here talking btw,, love u mwah mwah<33

it’s so crazy ppl think theyre allowed to speak rudely jus bc theyre able to hide behind anon -_- like if you have the confidence to talk all this shit why dont you have the confident to say it publicly??? like obviously they must still want to view my blog since they didnt let me block their account -_-

n omg its SO easy to just google or search something urself if ppl arent replying??? sorry writers have lives outside of their blogs???? n ur so right its easy to find info abt it ON tumblr too!!!!! theyre weird sry

n hihi 🍵 nonie ! m happy u decided to come off anon :D ur an icon and omg coming off anon to prove a point !!!! i know that mean anon is shaking in their boots rn

ps i love u too sweetie!!!! mwah

[spurgie-cousin]

ok rant incoming and i can't do read more on mobile so SRY

one type of ask i ignore a lot or delete usually if i do answer it is some form of "what kind of trauma do you have" or "how bad can raising your kids with these values really be if you have good intentions" or something and ok here's one thing: i can't ask for help. to the point of complete detriment and kind of along those lines, i have the hardest mouthfucking time confiding in ANYONE because i view it as a burden and both of these things are going to be the reason i have a brain tumor one day i stg

how this relates back to Christian/conservative values: 1. self sufficiency, parents whose default for dealing with emotions they couldn't handle was ignoring (buck up!) or praying 2. cheerful disposition, you don't want to be looked at as a sad, pathetic woman so poor on a veneer of contentedness even if you don't feel it, etc like I don't have the energy right now to do a full thesis, there's some jumping off points

but I'm 31 years old, I've been through therapy, I've been trying to help myself since I was a teenager and it still like.......I can't fucking get past it. even as I'm writing this I'm thinking "yea that's bc you're not trying to fix it the right way" or "you just look like an idiot no one wants to hear your problems" or "this just let's people now you're weak and can't put minds over matter" and intellectually I know that's not true but it doesn't matter bc it's like, ingrained in my DNA.

anyway it sucks. every time i don't reach out it just builds and builds and builds of the last time until I get overwhelmed and have to panic on the bathroom floor and I feel like a 13 y/o again who has so much emotion in them that they want to break a wall or hurt themselves (I won't) because they don't know where to put it. And I know ok not the only one now and that that's super common but I guess what I'm saying is: even if you have good intentions it can harm your kids and you never know what aspect of a restrictive ideology is going to snowball into something they're still struggling with at 31, 41, 51, 61, 91 years old.