#if you read this you can send asks to my inbox or just pm me I WONT STOP THINKING ABT THIS FOR 7 YEARS

[blythings]

Tom blyth birthday smut if you can?

it's the 2nd of feb in australia so hbd to the loml!! thank you for sending me this req anon, perfect timing with this one 💞 this is super self-indulgent since the reader is a corporate girlie like me. also this is unedited and super rushed but hope you enjoy anyway!!!

CAKE | TOM BLYTH

— pairing: tom blyth x fem!reader — summary: when the birthday cake you had planned to make for your boyfriend doesn't go according to plan, he comes up with an alternative gift to salvage the celeberation. — content: mdni, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, very minimal dirty talk —word count: 958 words

requests are open for tom and his characters!~

As Tom steps into your shared apartment, he’s greeted by the inviting aroma of rich chocolate, tinged with the simultaneous smell of something burning, which only intensifies with each step he takes.

He calls out your name as he leans against the entry into the kitchen. It’s two pm on a Friday afternoon — normally, you would still be at your office during this time, fending off the mid-afternoon fatigue by drinking too many cans of Coke Zero and texting him some of the ridiculous items that would land in your inbox. 

That said, it doesn’t take two seconds for him to know why you would be home so early. You had been apologetic all week about not having enough time to plan something more elaborate for his birthday and while he had tried to reassure you, he still sensed the faint trace of guilt behind your expression.

At the sound of his voice, you look up from the mixing bowl, filled with a chocolatey concoction. “You’re home early,” you say — ironically — before you return to mixing, your frustrations from the week seemingly being beaten into the side of the bowl. You had rolled up the sleeves of your blouse though powdered sugar still dusts the fabric. There is a brown lump by the sink that Tom can only assume had been your first attempt at baking a cake, and the reason why his kitchen smells like a hazard site at that moment.

He pads over and wraps his arms around your frame. He asks, “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

You sigh, your shoulders sagging. “I had to at least get you a cake,” you answer, “and I didn’t want to just grab one after work. I’m gonna make you a cake even if it kills me.”

“It looks like it might.” Tom mumbles under his breath, kissing the side of your head.

It isn’t like you didn’t have plans for his birthday during the weekend. But between Tom’s acting career taking off and your own job picking back up after the holiday break, the chaos that had followed is enough to eat away at your time and energy. You had been too caught up in work to plan anything special. You recall Tom’s words, his easy-going reassurance that he didn’t mind if you had a more lowkey celebration that year. Even so, guilt had been gnawing at your insides all week, fueled by the knowledge that you haven’t been as attentive since you had returned to work. 

But as the two of you stand in your cluttered kitchen, it is obvious that you might’ve miscalculated your own culinary ineptitude.

“I even got this stupid cake mold for this.” You huff, lifting the heart shaped cake mold that you had picked up on your way home. “But even when I try to read the recipe, I’m not getting it right. It’s stressing me out.”

He kisses your cheek. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but I don’t want you stressing over this. We can just buy a cake from the bakery. I assume you don’t have to go back and finish any work, right?”

You shake your head. “I said there was an emergency.”

“Tell your work that something was burning. That way, you wouldn’t be lying.”

“Clever.”

“I have my moments.” He says, trailing his lips down the side of your neck. A hand trails lower and you drop the spatula into the mixing bowl as he turns you around, his mouth slotting against yours. 

You’re prepared for his kiss, the years you’ve been together bringing about a level of ease that you’ve never had with any of your previous partners. He moves the mixing bowl to the side, lifting you up to rest on top of the counter. You scrunch your nose at the thought of having to do a deep clean of the kitchen later in the afternoon.

But your thoughts don’t stray from Tom for too long as he licks into your mouth. His hand moves down to your knee, tugging your legs open as sinks to the floor between your spread thighs.

“Still wanna give me something sweet?” He murmurs, pushing the hem of your skirt up. You can only offer a nod as he loops his fingers around the sides of your underwear, pulling it down your legs.

“I should be the one who — ” You start to say but he shakes his head, running two fingers up your throbbing core. 

“Couldn’t even get me a proper cake,” He cuts you off, teasing, “let me taste you instead.”

You’re about to reply before he’s burying his mouth between your thighs, your mouth releasing a string of whimpers and gasps as he mouths over your clit. You cry out in pleasure as he begins nudging your bud around his tongue, his eyes watching your reactions intently. He pulls away with a lewd pop, leaning back. “This cunt is mine, isn’t it?” He asks, placing a kiss on your inner thigh. You want to bask in his touches, but the drag of his fingers and the feel of his lips sets your body ablaze.

His fingers trail down your slit before he slips two digits deep into you. You cry out when he shoves his fingers deeper inside, a warning for you. “Yours,” you manage to choke out.

Your thighs quiver around him as you cry out his name, the tightness in your belly snapping apart as your body spasms from your orgasm. 

“That was fast.” He teases you, chuckling as you push him off your thighs. “Want me to help you clean all of this up?” He asks as he gestures around the kitchen, and you shake your head.

“Later. We’ve got a birthday to celebrate.”

[qqueenofhades]

May I ask about prompts 14 and 38 for Dreamling, perhaps?

Dr. Robert Gadling presently has ninety-nine problems, and students who cannot read the module handbook are, at a minimum, ninety-eight of them. (How did they finish school? Take their GCSEs or A-Levels, any of it, while being functionally illiterate? Etc. etc. dismal condition of British state education and indeed the entire British state under the Tories, but still.) He has just fired off a hopefully polite-sounding group email advising everyone to please have a proper look at the posted content before sending him individual queries, when there's a knock on his door and he glances up, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah?"

"Rob?" It's Philippa, again, which makes his heart sink on reflex. They've already had several serious conversations intended to make him consider the possibility of becoming Head of School when her term's up next May, and -- frankly, over his dead body, which in his case is not at all a metaphor. It turns out, however, that she's not here to harass him to take on more professional responsibility, but rather to attend to his personal life. "Your boyfriend's skulking in the foyer and frightening the freshers again. Make him knock it off."

"My boyfr -- ?" Yeah, yeah, all right, the gentleman doth protest too much. Hob hasn't felt up to taking Dream to any faculty functions just yet, but he did tell Amira the other evening at the welcome-back mixer that he was seeing someone, and the news must have spread as fast as any other juicy department gossip. Hob sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Right. Thanks, Philippa. I'll tell him off."

With that, not sad to get away from the horror of his inbox, Hob pushes back his chair and gets to his feet, trotting out his office door and down the stairs. Even before he descends into sight of the foyer, he can tell where the problem is located. Dream is standing spookily just inside the door, in full goth-black, long-coat, pale-faced, looming-in-your-nightmares splendor, and students are indeed outright sprinting to get past him. Others seem to think he's some weird piece of performance art from the theatre department and are asking for selfies, which makes him stare at them even more. Hob swallows a groan, speeds up, and reaches the ground floor. "Oy," he hisses at the unrepentant King of Dreams. "What are you doing here?"

As per fucking usual, Morpheus haughtily disdains to provide a sensible answer (or indeed, any answer). Hob adores the skinny eldritch weirdo, he really does, but one problem he did not foresee now that they're officially an item is that Dream has gotten downright clingy. After going a hundred years between seeing each other, with each of those meetings usually ending in disaster, Hob's still getting used to the idea of seeing him regularly -- weekly, even. It's not like he minds. Variety is the spice of immortal life, and all that. But it does mean that they need to have a few conversations about boundaries, and this is definitely one of them.

"I'm busy," Hob says, doing his best to sound stern. "I've got work to do, love. Like we do in the human world, eh? Can't all sit around in magical throne rooms, brood, and spin magical stories."

Dream looks miffed at this lightweight estimation of his professional duties. He opens his mouth for some sort of pompous reprimand, but Hob holds up a hand. "Be back at five PM and save me from the emails, and we can jog off together somewhere, all right? But not until then. And stop scaring the students, or Philippa will have my head. Or make me be the Head, and I'm not sure which one's worse."

Dream once more appears about to object -- he still hasn't gotten in a word edgewise, which is probably for the best. But Hob looks furtively in either direction, then kisses Dream on the cheek, spins him around, and propels him out the exit, whereupon he looks very much like an extremely ruffled bird -- raven, probably, which Matthew is bound to find amusing. Mother of God, Hob's life is strange.

Biting a smile despite himself, he trudges back upstairs and dutifully applies himself to the remainder of the paperwork and otherwise makes sure that everything is in order. Then at 5:04pm, he gets up, grabs his things, and heads back downstairs, where Morpheus is waiting for him. "You are," he announces stiffly, "late."

"Only by four minutes. Pretty sure the world won't end." Hob grins crookedly. "Eager to see me, then?"

Morpheus, of course, cannot countenance actually saying this aloud, but it doesn't matter. He holds out his hand, Hob decides he doesn't care who sees him take it, and does so. Then all at once, the familiar surroundings of the Department of History stretch and ripple and fade away, and the next instant, they're not there at all, or London, or Earth. They're here, in Morpheus's home. The Dreaming.

As usual, the place looks eerie, magical, mystical, and lovely, and Hob is getting somewhat more used to the abrupt transition between worlds, so he only swallows hard a few times and then is good to go. They ascend to the castle, he and Lucienne greet each other warmly, and then Morpheus jealously squires him up to his rooms at the top of the tower, beneath the vast dome. The great bed is a temptation, and doubtless they will end up there before too long, but a supper is already laid, glimmering in the fey candles, and Hob blows out a relieved breath. "Could eat an ox. You're a lifesaver, darling."

Morpheus looks the usual blend of awkward and pleased he always does when Hob casually uses endearments or expresses affection. "Does this make up for me alarming your pupils, then?"

"More 'n." Hob sinks into the chair and tries not to wolf down everything in sight. "But still. Don't do it again."

They eat (here in his own realm, in his own stuff, Morpheus eats too). They drink, they talk. It's like old times, and more. Afterward, they go outside to gaze at the stars, a thousand times brighter and more brilliant than anything on Earth, and Morpheus's tousled dark head sinks slowly onto Hob's shoulder, like a feral cat finally becoming close enough with one trusted person to let itself be petted, let itself be loved. Hob bites another smile, this one unspeakably tender, and leans in to kiss Dream's hair. Aye, his life is bloody strange, and it always has been. But he would not trade it for the world.

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

Welcome to Wings of Fire confessions!

I’m the admin here, and I use he/it pronouns. I have been in the fandom for a long, long time, since around arc 1 concluded.

I’m a bit tired of the current echo chamber of Wings of Fire opinions, so I decided to make this account where you can anonymously post any opinion you have held in out of fear of being burned.

Rules for submission below the read more line!

1. Do not mention anyone by username in asks if they are under 15 in age or 2k in following to discourage dogpiling of users, especially young and vulnerable members of the fandom. You can refer to someone as “the younger WoF au person”, but calling them by name will have your ask deleted.

2. No threatening people. “I want to kill all Whirlpool fans”, for instance, will not be allowed. Or, "I think X should rot in jail" is also not allowed. "I hope X gets what is coming for them" is, however, allowed.

3. What I post does not truly represent my opinions. This is just an inbox for anonymous confessions. For most asks, I will reply with a "." unless I think it needs further explanation or evidence.

4. Rules will be added or changed as necessary.

5. Polls may be added to the end of submissions. If you feel uncomfortable with a poll being added, please add (-poll) to the end of your submission.

6. If you want to show evidence about something, feel free to PM me the images! Everything will still be kept anonymous. Unless you send death threats to me, gore, or something of that nature.

7. Please do not add links to pirated versions of any of the books.

[headspacedad]

so you're ready to socialize

You've got your blog set up. You've posted or reblogged something. Your icon isn't a faceless orange shape. You're no longer in danger of being blocked on sight as a bot.

Now what?

I recently got an ask in my inbox for help with this whole 'tumblr' thing. The person that asked me had a lot of the basics down so I focused on expanding your social circle - except it took me so long to write that I saved it in my drafts to add to and only then found out that once its in your drafts you can't reply privately.

so - Imma post it here without the actual ask so if the person didn't want to be mentioned they won't. Let's go!

First off, doing what you're doing right now by sending me an ask is a great way to get the ball rolling. Reaching out to other people and engaging them is a big part of how you can build a circle on tumblr.

You can do that with inbox messages.

You can do that with DM/PMs (the box that pops up to the side where you can have real time text conversations).

You can do that by reblogging other people's posts and leaving notes in the tags commenting about the post (most posters read these, though they're more for your followers to get your thoughts on a matter, like whispering in a movie theater except without the dirty looks)

reblog their post and add your own comments in the body of the post, basically chaining a response to their post, usually used when you've got something that adds to the original post like a continuation of the joke or more facts, etc.

and you can comment on the posts via the little speech bubble next to the reblog button, which is kind of like replying personally to the post (interacting with the poster themselves).

Not everyone will automatically engage in response. Some people are just here to chill and don't want to be social (some days I know I don't have the brainpower for it). A lot of people do want to be social though and so the more you comment outward the higher your chances of finding other people you can jive with. A good way to make your chances better at finding someone that will back and forth with you is over shared interests. We're a very interest based site. So find something you're excited about - maybe its a hobby like knitting, maybe its a streaming series like Good Omens, maybe its hamsters, maybe its Elizabethan neck ruffs! Whatever it is that you're interested in punch the words that will get those kinds of results into tumblr's search bar and look at the posts that come up. I tend to search by 'newest' instead of 'most popular' because it guarantees me people that are currently interested in whatever I am, who are actively putting their posts out there for others to find. Often if you start reblogging someone's posts, they'll see it and check out your blog. If you really want interaction though, the best way to go is one of the above bullet points, especially inbox or speech bubble commenting. It shows you want to talk about something they want to talk about too. A lot of times this is a great way to get more interaction with others and widen your circle (as well as find new stuff about something you enjoy). It might be slow going, I still haven't figured out what the magic is that gets someone a blow up of followers overnight, especially not the all important holy grail of Interactive followers but slow and steady still builds a good group of people you can enjoy sharing things everyone's interested in and it keeps growing over time.

This also works in reverse. A good chunk of my followers (friends honestly) come from my days in the Voltron fandom. I was VERY active making posts while the show was airing. Lots of fanfiction, lots of meta, lots of speculation, just lots of being loud and excited (and then loud and not excited). A lot of other people were interested in VLD too at the time and they found me and bounced off my ideas with ideas of their own and things really ballooned. To this day, a huge hard core of my social group are ex-VLD fans who have moved on to other things (mostly) but still hang around because we built that core and we enjoy seeing what the others in the group have moved onto and found to share with the team. So, again, find your interests and make posts about them so that other people with the same interests can find you. The more popular something is the more attention its going to get - but also the easier it is to get lost in the shuffle of everyone talking about a thing. Not every post is going to get responses. Sometimes I'll post something I think people will enjoy and get crickets. Sometimes everyone and their cousin jumps onboard. Don't get discouraged. DO use the tags. tumblr sucks when it comes to finding things in the tags but its still worth doing because sometimes, randomly and with no pattern, it doesn't suck. The first five tags are the really important ones. Make sure you put the biggest details there. For instance if you're making a post about the One Piece live action from Netflix your first five tags should be something like: one piece, opla, netflix, zoro, swords are cool. You want people looking for One Piece posts about Zoro and his swords to be able to find you easily. And, once they find you, hopefully to engage you about Zoro and his swords.

There are a lot of ways to find other people to interact with on tumblr. One of the pleasures of the site is you get to take things, for the most part, at your own pace and level of comfort. Just remember, the more active you are interacting with other people and their posts, the wider your circle will grow. Its not a 100% success rate, like I said, a lot of people are just here to vibe after a long day of having to be socially 'on' all day, but a lot of people are happy to find other people to get to natter about interests with. Do what you're comfortable with and before you know it, you'll have a group of people that interact with your posts, and you, regularly!

[valverii]

i LOVE UR SKK SWITCH AU SO MUCH. IM LITERALLY GOING INSANE OVER iT, so im curious, idk if this has been answered yet but I HAVE A FEW QUESTIONS SORRY IF ITS LONG

1, what exactly was the event that happened that lead to chuuya getting kicked out of the pm? i heard it was something to do with dazai framing him, but how did that go and how was the fight between chuuya and dazai

2, chuuya has a hat from ranpo, so im wondering if it was modified to be like fedora that chuuya got from verlaine, so he would have better control over his ability, or if he doesnt need that anymore due to fukuzawas power

3, speaking of verlaine, what was HIS reaction when he found out chuuya joined the ada?

4, if i get the motivation, could i try write fics based on this au?? i love it so much and really wanna explore the pm!dazai and ada!chuuya dynamic!!

HIIII hello, tysm for enjoying the au :))) and no worries you asked a couple of repeat questions that have been sitting in my inbox for a while so i can hash them out now.

1. this one’s been a q that many ppl were asking about :,)) not to worry i’m working on actually drawing both the events and the fight afterwards once i finally flesh out the details

2. YES THE HAT!! also another one that has ppl curious. i’ve been wracking my brains on how the hat situation plays out (not a sentence i ever thought i’d say) since i’ve only recently started diving into stormbringer events. i do really like the idea you brought up of fukuzawa’s ability actually being able to offer that control he needs while the hat just remains a normal hat.

3. veraline, my love,,,,, he probably went bonkers for a bit. (“you left the port mafia for THESE guys??”) i will definitely try to draw him more in the au bc i’m realizing the comedy potential he has lol

4. absolutely! anyone is free to write fics for the au (i would shed tears /pos) i was also thinking of whipping up a fic for the switch au if only to help me keep track of events—though it may just be smth i keep for my eyes only lmao. TLDR, go for it and plz do send me the finished products! i would love to read what you guys write!

i hope i was able to answer your questions sufficiently!! thanks for asking!!

[thecomfywriter]

Hey, I saw that gross anon message you got about somehow 'only supporting certain writblrs' by sending asks to people, and I just wanna say, fuck that guy. You do a huge amount to support the people on here, from this, to running a writer discord, so making up tag games. Just because you can't conceivably send asks to every writblr on here doesn't erase that support. You're doing wonderful work <3

hey jaan! thank you for the kindness :)

honestly, i do understand the point of view of the anon. i think it was a message sent out of frustration, which i get. ultimately, the point of my blog has always been to try to help other writers, whether it’s through #thecomfywriter toolbox posts, answering asks, creating interactions posts, or just interacting with the community and doing writeblr features— at the end of the day, that was my original brand.

recently, with the release of my book, i have drifted away from the original advice and toolkit posts i usually deliver. HOWEVER, that’s not to say i don’t pop into random writeblr ask boxes or read their entire blogs. i want to know a person’s wip before i ask them a question, which is why if you’re a stranger to me and i’ve only come across your blog through my explore feed or interacting with that one post, im going to need to research your work a bit before i send an ask, so i can give you a proper question to réspond to. i’ve been asking gaffier questions to my mutuals because i already know their stuff LOL

regardless, all of that is to say, i do understand the frustration of feeling been promised something and then not receiving it. and yes, while i do acknowledge @illarian-rambling’s point of technically i didn’t promise to respond to everyone’s post with an ask, i do still recognize i had prompted that excitement from people. i feel like our inboxes arent used enough (i don’t get many asks either LOL) so the post was also another way to prompt other users to do the same— something that DID happen with @leahnardo-da-veggie ‘s response to the post.

ANYWAYS, thank you illarian for the love. i am very happy to be friends with you, and i’m glad the tag games and discord is of use to and the writing community! for anyone who wants to join the writers discord, shoot me a PM since the link is buggy at times.

happy writing! <3

[callofdudes]

Hi, I'm El 👋🏻. This is my little blog dedicated to Call of Duty. You can find anything from rambles, thoughts, drabbles, headcanons, and stories to a couple mental health posts.

I started this blog to share my love of Call of Duty with you guys. Any pronouns - Aroace. And this is my space.

Fluff -> 🌤️angst -> ⛈️ romantic -> 🌩️ sexual undertones -> 💨

Platonic friendship headcanons: Roach, Gaz, Ghost, Soap, Rudy/Ale, König, Alex 🌤️

Crushing on you - König, Ghost 🌤️🌩️

Tattoo headcanons 1 & 2

König's childhood.

Rodolfo headcanons. 🌤️🌩️

Cat shifter!Simon drabbles in no particular order. 1, 2 🌤️

Autistic Reader - König, Ghost 🌤️⛈️

ADHD Reader - Ghost 🌤️

Platonic cuddles - Ghost, Price 🌤️

Incorrect quotes - 1, 2, 3 🌤️🌩️

What are you reading? - 1 & 2 🌤️💨

Random GhostSoap drabbles/prompts: Prompt - Prompt - ficlet. - ficlet 🌤️🌩️

Httyd/cod crossover: pt 1, pt 2 🌤️⛈️

The characters I write for include, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Captain John Price, König, Horangi, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo Parra, Kate Laswell, Alex Keller, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Keegan P. Russ and more to come in sure.

There are a few rules before requesting that I hope you'll read before dropping by.

Firstly, I won't write smut. Detailed sex unless it is character x character and I am comfortable won't be something I'll do. I won't write for rape, non-con, cheating of a character I'm writing for, etc. No OC's or anything other than cod unless previously discussed. Crossovers are iffy unless they come from me.

I will however write for anything platonic or romantic. Sexual undertones are okay and little things like a choking kink here and there are fine, as long as it isn't sex. I'm fine writing for gore, angst, torture, pregnancy, family, any aus, etc.

This list will be constantly updated if it needs to be. For now these are all the things I can think of that fit in these lists.

Boundaries: Because apparently I need to state those.

Please DO NOT pm me and attempt to flirt with me. No it wasn't a bot, and yes I will block you if it happens again wtf.

Please DO NOT send any political takes to my inbox. I do not care, that's not what this blog is about, quit asking 'what side I'm on'.

Please DO NOT send me smut requests. Especially if you're not anonymous and I can see you're a minor. But just please don't do it.

If you don't like something I say on here, you can either leave, or face me and stop hiding behind anon like a pussy.

Love y'all 😊♥️.

[tailorvizsla]

Alright, Tailor, Sith Obi-Wan has invaded and demands more attention. After your encounter with him, you are determined to show him how good and loyal you can be. You take on any project you can that might catch his notice, and when an opportunity to transfer to a position in his main division is announced, you eagerly apply. You make it to the interview round where there is a panel of superior officers and Lord Kenobi himself. You're very prepared and ready to show him how qualified you are. Yet, as soon as those golden eyes lock onto yours, your mind is flooded with images of him and you doing every dirty act you can imagine. You try to focus and answer the questions as best as you can, but each time you look at him, a new filthy scenario comes to mind. At least Lord Kenobi looks amused, and you can only wonder what he must think. The interview ends and you're crushed thinking you've blown you're only chance at working more closely with him.

Ugh OKAY look you can’t keep doing this to me my heart CANNOT take this! Here you go!

(the thot inbox is open fyi if y’all want to send some in!)

Your superiors have been raving about your work for weeks now. Reports? 100% accuracy. Your subordinates? All in line, and most of them even give you good reviews. Your inventory? Not a single nutri-cracker unaccounted for. You’ve been receiving so many positive remarks that you feel like you are literally glowing whenever you turn your data pad on. You’ve been sending money back to your elderly parents back home, and they’ve been taking good care of the rest of the family. You…you really do hope to retire soon, and go back to them. You just want to see them again.

You’re at your desk for another day of reading and filing paperwork when your pad buzzes. A frown crosses your face - you’ve silenced non-critical alerts. The only people who should be able to bypass that are much higher than you in the organization. Nervously, you turn it over and check it, hoping your superior won’t catch you reading messages

Your presence is required for an interview in conference room 19-562.1A at 3:00 PM. Do not be late.

You check the sender, but there’s nothing there except an official stamp from the Corps of Logistics. There’s a tap at your door.

“Lieutenant, reading messages? On the job?” your superior asks in a vaguely teasing tone and you put your pad down in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say, “I got a note saying that I’m scheduled for an interview at 3? Do you know anything about it?” They shake their head and you frown again.

“Who is it from?” they ask, coming around to your side of the desk.

“It’s a generic message,” you say, showing them the message. “But it’s on the executive floor…” They sigh.

“Well, either someone is really happy with you, or they’re really pissed at you.” You nod in response, and turn worried eyes up at your superior.

“If…anything happens…you’ll send my last check to my family, right?” They give you a mirthless smile and nod. “Your service has been exemplary thus far…we should be able to arrange that.”

You know what organization you work for and the dangers it brings. All it takes is one misinterpreted look and you could be thrown in prison. Or worse.

At 2:40 PM, you head out for your meeting. It’s a short elevator ride away, but if you’re late, you might as well shoot yourself and save them the trouble. You step out into the marble-clad atrium and then step through the ostentatious glass doors. A secretary at the desk gives you a look, their eyes sliding from your rank bar to your face.

“May I help you?” they ask, and you feel like you are being judged harshly by this random person. Still, you nod respectfully and give your name and rank. Then you add on, a bit unnecessarily, “I have an appointment, but I am not certain with whom. Only a generic stamp was used.” They look down at the pad and tilt their head. “Go take a seat. You will be seen shortly.” 

You murmur a hasty, polite thank you and sink down into one of the plush velvet chairs. You cross one leg over the other neatly, your hat in your lap, and your eyes focused on the wall in front of you. The entire room is decorated in harsh scarlets, golds, and white marble, and it looks atrocious. You wonder who committed the crime of decorating here. At least the window grants you a view of the beautiful city outside.

You’re being watched, of course, by the secretary and the numerous cameras around the place, undoubtedly looking for something. You keep as calm as you can. At precisely 3, the door opens. The secretary doesn’t look at you as you get to your feet and head in, following the droid. It leads you to yet another room, where the decor is tastefully done in earthy colors. You wait at the door, standing at attention, waiting for the person who had called you - 

“Sweetheart,” comes the familiar purr. Your body jerks in surprise and your pulse skyrockets. “Sir,” the reply falls automatically from your lips.

You can feel as he comes into the room, his electric presence brushing up against the corners of your mind. He sinks down in his chair and crosses one long, lean leg over the other. He rests his chin in his hand as he watches you. Like before, the presence is subtle, golden, as he tastes your mind. Once he’s satisfied, he gestures you forward. You stop just in front of him, hands at your sides as you stand at attention. 

“Your performance has been exemplary this quarter,” he says. “Were you thinking about having my cock, sweetheart? Or are there other reasons?”

You can’t stop yourself from thinking about your family still living in near-poverty back home, and you decide it’s best to be honest. It’s not like he doesn’t already know what you’re thinking.

“Having your cock would be nice, sir,” you say. “But I also have family back home. My brother…he wants to become an artist.” You cut yourself off from your rambling. Don’t be a distraction. He didn’t ask for you to elaborate. Lord Kenobi hums as he looks at the pad in his hands.

“Truly phenomenal work, sweetheart…perhaps it is time for your reward?” he asks, looking up at you. Pure heat fills you, and he gestures for you to sit down. He levitates another pad to you.

Position: Imperial Administrative Assistant, Level 7 Pay Grade: 7A - SRT5 Hours: Standard Travel: 25% of the month is typical, but may require longer stretches depending on circumstance. Clearance: 8-TN9 or Higher Qualifications: Recommendation from superior. Five years in administrative assistant position, specialization in diplomacy/negotiations… 

You frown in confusion. He watches you intently. The pay increase is mind-boggling.

“I’ve recommended you for a transfer,” he purrs. “Should you accept, you and I will be seeing each other far more frequently.”

You stare down at the pad for a moment, “Lord Kenobi, I am truly honored…however, I do not have these qualifications…and I am afraid I won’t be able to provide the same level of service I am providing in my current position. Will that be a problem?”

He gives you one of those soft, dangerous smiles. “That will be no issue. You will be taught all you need to know.”

At long last, you swallow down your anxiety, and ask, “If I pass the interview…who would I be working with?” He waves your comment off. “Do not concern yourself with that information. Your interview is at 4 PM.” You frown. “Tomorrow?” He gives you an annoyed look.

“Today,” he says curtly, and pure horror fills you.

“What? I haven’t prepared - my resume isn’t updated,” you babble out, “I don’t have recommendations, and I haven’t even had a chance to ask my references for permission to give their information out - sir, I - “ He waves you away. “You’ll be fine. You may go wait in the lobby for the interview.” 

Standing on shaking legs, you get to your feet and scuttle away. The secretary doesn’t give you a second look as you step out into the blazing red and gold hellscape in the lobby. You take a minute to try and center yourself - you’re being tested under pressure, that’s what they’re doing. They want to know you can handle last minute changes. Swallowing, you sit down and try to go over the questions you could still remember from your interview for your current position.

All too soon, you’re called back for the interview, and you step into the same room as before. You can see six much higher ranking individuals at a desk. Lord Kenobi sits at the head of the table, his golden eyes fixed on you. Oh, you’re fucked. So, so fucked. Your mouth is dry as Tattooine right now, and you’re pretty sure you’re shaking in your boots. You sit down at the end of the table by yourself.

The first few questions are standard - name, rank, how long you’ve been working at the Empire, and what your daily routine is like. As the nerves start to wear off, you feel a tiny bit more comfortable, and your death grip on your hat loosens. The Admiral asks your first landmine question, probably designed to test your diplomatic skill.

“Why did you apply for this position?” he asks, his nose curling slightly as he looks down at your profile, “You haven’t the qualifications.”

“I was recommended for this position, sir,” you say calmly. “I am aware I am unqualified, but it is my greatest hope that I can continue learning so that I may perform well, if I am chosen for this role.” 

- warmth engulfs you, and you’re spread out in a nest of soft, silken sheets and pillows. A warm, wet mouth covers yours as a hand squeezes your thigh. As your head falls back, you feel something probing at your folds, something warm and blunt and - 

You swallow and try to push the thought away as the others discuss something between themselves. You try to ignore the heat rising in your belly as another Admiral speaks.

“...and are you aware of what this position will entail, exactly?” she asks, a brow raised at you.

You recite the requirements back at them, and they share a look between themselves. They go back to muttering.

- a gasp falls from your lips as you dig your fingernails into someone’s back. His cock starts to inch inwards, spreading your slick walls open. He’s so, so thick it makes you squirm and whine, forcing you to gasp for air as your poor little pussy strains to take him all in - 

Oh no, not right now. Why is your brain misbehaving? You hope they can’t tell that you’re squirming in your chair as you try to remain calm.

“Lord Kenobi, I do not believe she is fully educated on what this position will entail,” the Admiral says carefully. “I think it would be…ethical…if we reiterate the requirements to her.”

Lord Kenobi gives you a small smirk.

- he finally seats himself all the way inside, drawing a short, soft cry from you. His teeth find your shoulder and he starts to move. As he pumps into your body, your sodden cunt makes the most obscene sounds, wet and loud and messy -

“She knows exactly what she will be doing if she chooses to work under me,” Lord Kenobi says.

With a rush, you realize that’s why he recommended you for this role. Pure heat fills you - this time, it’s all your own, and you gnaw on your lower lip. Boldly, you look him in the eye and ask the most important question you have for him.

“Would I be your slave, sir?” you ask. “Or will I be your equal?”

The others exchange a look as Lord Kenobi gives you a long look. You’re not going to be a toy to be tossed aside once he’s bored. If he really wants you in his bed, if he truly wishes to have you, he will have to be prepared to have all of you. And if he’s not prepared to give you that, you’re not sure you can fulfill that role in his life. Sith Lord or not, you will be treated with respect, and you will not settle for anything less. He smirks at you.

“You can never be my equal,” he says, and you know that’s true. You’re not a Sith lady, and you don’t have the same desire for conquest that he does. “But…you will never be a toy. You will be mine - body, mind, and soul. You will sit by my side, and only mine.”

“Does that go both ways, sir?” you dare to ask.

He laughs. 

“Come here, sweetheart,” he says, and you obey. You hope the Admirals can’t see the shaking of your legs, or how drenched the back of your pants are. Lord Kenobi pats his knee and you sink down, embarrassed of the wet spot you will undoubtedly leave on his linen pants. He tilts your face up to his and stares deeply into your eyes.

“You will serve me well,” he says.

“I’ll send the transfer orders,” one of the Admirals says. “You have chosen well, Lord Kenobi.”

“You may leave,” Lord Kenobi says to the Admirals. “I require privacy with my new assistant.”

[montrealmadison]

hello beloveds!

so sometimes on this earth you make amazing friends, who you meet in all kinds of ways. sometimes they’re through class, or work, or a common interest you share—and sometimes, if you’re lucky, they come into your life via a tumblr dm about an edit that you made of a fictional southern hockey player set to a taylor swift song.

THEN, as if that wasn’t enough, they roll into your inbox with a google doc titled “the scariest thing is experimental prose and facing your feelings” at 10 pm, which leads to long writing sprints and sending screenshots of paragraphs with “ok i fixed it does it hurt more now” and, ultimately, tens of thousands of words about building a legacy and finding yourself again after a change that feels insurmountable.

enter the lovely, wickedly funny, fabulous kate @ohyoufool, whose christmas gift to me this year was a hand-bound (!!!) copy of our fic creation myth.

to say i’m honored would be an understatement. this is a work of art and a labor of love from cover to cover and i would absolutely love any excuse to show it off so please don’t hesitate to ask. i’ll do it.

2023 was a super weird year for me. i quit my job, started grad school, and moved six hours away from everyone i knew in the world. the omgcp fandom has been a huge constant amid the insanity, and without y’all lurking in this corner of the internet i’d be nowhere near as happy as i am. i think this is as good a moment as any to say thank you for all the support this fic has received. we’re really, truly humbled by everyone’s comments (and tears. sorry. we’ve been enjoying them.) 🩵

kate - i really wanted to say all of this via text but i think all i can manage is another 70 variations of “how can i ever thank you” and “i am unwell” so i hope it’s okay if i borrow a few of your words: “in writing this, i realized this story is not about me. it’s about jack zimmermann, but it’s also about all of us, and about finding and making the connections that make life worth living.” i wish i could have told the version of myself i was in august—and the version of jack who went to play for the aces—that it’s going to be okay. friendship, inspiration, and laughter are all just around the corner. you just have to be brave enough to keep going till you get there.

in conclusion: look for the owls. hug your friends today. read creation myth.

love, emma 🩵

[nymphoheretic]

SIN-FILLED SATURDAYS

Where you can send me your character + the nastiest, sluttiest, sin filled prompts and I will give you a little blurb.

Step into the sin bin! Sinful Saturday is a unique writing extravaganza on this blog, where I explore your every idea and curiosity about your beloved characters. Got a headcanon burning to be shared? Craving to explore a particular kink? Look no further, you're in the right spot! Send me an ask, and in return, you'll receive either a little blurb or set of headcanons! Share your thoughts anytime you fancy. Saturday morning is when the floodgates open, and the posts will come pouring in! 😉🔥

Firstly, I write for many a Fandom, but to keep it easier for me: I'm limiting it to Naruto, Bleach, Demon Slayer, JJK, TR, and Blue lock(anime only for now as I'm still reading the manga). But you are welcomed to send in any ideas for any other character! I may feel inspired to try my hand at them or you just wanna gush about them to me!

Certain characters I do not write for include: Ego, Kisaki, Ran, or Mahito(I just don't trust my characterization of him rn)

Please be advised that I am just one person and it will take time to get.

For Sinful Saturday participation, kindly ensure you're 18 or older. Your safety matters, and I'll tag my content accordingly. Please respect this request and do your part.

Feel free to send in your ask, headcanons, prompts anything you'd like really!

My inbox is open for this event from 5:01 am to 11:59 pm every Saturday! Anything sent after that will either be rolled over until the next Saturday or will be written at a later date

you're also welcome to share your own headcanons or imagines for the character of your choice! I'm eager to engage in conversations about them with you 😊

Sinful Saturday-specific tag for all asks, blurbs, and headcanons will be: #nymph's sin-filled saturday♡

[nakamotos-blog]

E-mails

Yuta (Performing Arts Major, Football captain) x Reader (Fashion Design Major), College Au, Strangers to lovers (Part two)

Genre; Fluff

Warnings for this chapter; Non

Word count; 1291

Dear Yuta,

 You probably think I'm weird by now, and I wouldn't blame you. It has been a month since I have been sending these emails to you, and I have decided that it is time that I stopped. I don't know if you ever read these stupid emails. Either way, I just hope it wasn't a bother.

 I just wanted you to know that it helped me in many ways. It sounds stupid, but it did, and I guess this will be my last email!

 P.S Eat healthily and stay safe.

Love, (your initials)

 You hit send as you sigh loudly. You closed your laptop and leaned on your chair as you felt hopelessness. Looking around the library filled with students, your eyes hungrily looked for someone specific. Defeated, you started to pack as you teared up. You were hating yourself right now, and you were wishing that you could do many things. Among those, what you wished for most was confidence to at least say hi to him, but no, you had to be so cowardly.

 It had been a month since you decided to e-mail him to interact with him. You thought it would be a great idea. Clearly, you thought wrong, because he never replied. You had been so hopeful, even after a week had passed, but to your dismay, there was no reply. You tried to be hopeful and you tried to make up every excuse you could for him. Rambles and complaints, everything you never said but wanted to say, you wrote it to him almost every night. Your bubble ended up bursting as it hit a month and so you decided to stop. To move on from all this, you knew you had to.

 Yuta is a popular figure; everyone knows him. Everyone likes him and adores him. Like his healing smile is just enough to melt anyone's heart. He was everything, and you were just one of the girls who drooled over him. Due to the difference in their majors and years, it was hard to cross paths. Not even once, never close by, just from afar.

 You were still lost in a pool of degradative thoughts, even though you were walking out of the library and towards the dorms. It was disheartening and disappointing as well, but you knew you would get over it. Somehow...

 As soon as you reached your room, you slept. The unmotivated self of yours woke up at 11 pm. What a time to be awake, right? Frustrated, you dragged yourself out of bed, freshening up before sitting down at your desk. You opened your laptop as the unfinished homework wouldn't be finishing itself. It wouldn't take so long; you thought while you scribbled down in your notebook.

 "Almost done," you talked to yourself as you stretched. You take a deep breath before you attend to the rest of your work, but before you could start writing, a familiar "beep" sound caught your attention. Clicking on the notification from desktop Gmail, your eyes widened as you realized there was a new email in your inbox. It wasn't just any inbox, though; it was the Gmail inbox that you used solely to send him those emails.

Dear (your initials),

 Hi, I feel like you would hate me for replying to your goodbye and not the others. But I just want to be selfish and ask you to keep sending them. Except this time, I promise to write back. I'm sorry for not writing back earlier. I have read all of them and it has never bothered me.

 Hopefully, some day we can meet up and hang out too. I don't think you are weird, by the way.

Love, Yuta

 You didn’t expect a reply, so your first thought was that you were dreaming. Pinching yourself to clarify whether it was real, you shoved your face right at the display to re-read the mail from that familiar address you wrote to every day. He was right. You kind of hated him for not replying and you wanted to kick him for it.

 Out of everything, though, what stood out to you most was his question. You still weren't ready to. Maybe you will never be However, happiness overtook any of your feelings. He will be writing back to you. You squealed as you stretched yourself before writing a reply.

Dear Yuta,

 Your reply almost knocked me out of my chair, honestly. I really didn't think you would reply! I forgive you, so you better keep your promise!

 I’m glad you don’t find me weird (or stupid, of course), and I was really worried that I might have gotten on your bad side. Now that I know that I didn’t, I’m on cloud nine.

 How was your day? You must be tired, with all the Football practice going on and everything. Tell me about it.

Love, (Y/I)

 You hit send again, this time with stars in your eyes. I was not expecting a reply tonight as it was almost 12am and you got back to your homework. It didn’t take too long until you heard the same "beep" again. You smiled from ear to ear as you read the reply you had just received.

Dear (Y/I),

 Well, I’m glad you are happy (and that you didn't fall off of your chair).

 I’m actually pretty tired. Football practice is so tiresome, though it is fun. Classes were boring, as usual, you know. Those long lectures feel like hell. But it was better than yesterday because I had coffee to keep me company in class. Speaking of classes, what major are you? I promise I won't look into finding you until you are ready to meet me.

 The boys had ordered pizza from outside of the campus, so I’m so full and lazy now. I've just got to lie on the bed. They always drag me out to join their fun. Oh, and I hope you have eaten by now since it is late.

 What are you up to?

Love, Yuta

Dear Yuta,

 Your day sounds fun compared to mine. I'm guilty of sleeping the whole day (basically). Maybe I could attach some of the rest that I got so you can have them.

 Oh, I'm majoring in fashion design. I'm a first-year, so it's painful. You better keep that promise too, or else! And it's nice to know that the boys take care of you. It's really cute. I have met Jungwoo a few times by the way (a hint again, yes).

 I should help myself to some ramen I think I could hear my stomach growling. I just finished my homework since it won't get done itself.

 You should get some sleep, Yuta. Since the competition is soon, you must practice tomorrow too, right? Good night, sweetest dreams!

Love, (Y/I)

You thought of waiting for a few minutes to go through your notes and also for his reply to come. A few minutes passed, and there was that beep again. You hurried to read it before you headed to fix yourself a cup of instant ramen.

Dear (Y/I)

fashion designer? If you need a model, I'm available at any time, okay? I’m handsome, you know, fit to be a model!

It's good you had good rest today, and thank you for sending some of it my way! Take care of yourself, okay? And don’t help yourself with cups of instant ramen all the time; it's not healthy.

Oh yeah, the competition. You should come and cheer for me both at practice and at the competition too. Maybe I could spot you.

You should sleep soon too. Eat well! Good night and sleep well!

P.S. Jungwoo is so lucky then.

Love, Yuta

(I hope you like it! There will be a next chapter so stay tuned!!)

[urdinosaurs]

-ˏˋ 𝗥𝗨𝗟𝗘𝗦 ˊˎ

hey! you! please take a minute to read this before continuing further on my page!

BLOG RULES/WARNINGS

DNI if your racist, misogynistic, islamophobic, homophobic, zionistic, or spread any kind of hate or violence. you will be blocked and reported.

i don't care if minors interact with my non nsfw posts, just please don't be weird about it. the posts will be tagged that way, and warnings will always be there to let you know if it's safe or not. (spice is considered NSFW in my book)

however, do not expect the same treatment for NSFW works. if i see ageless/minor blogs interacting with my smut, reblogged smut, or anything NSFW, your blocked. i have warnings on every post, and by now, you should have seen it on enough of nsfw posts to know that minors aren't allowed.

I may write about mature or heavy topics such as alcohol, drugs, smoking, mental health, etc... please read the warnings and use your discretion. i would recommend that only adults read it, but ultimately, it's your choice. don't blame me.

this is a secondary blog so i can not be your mutual, sorry :(

if you take any kind of inspiration or use any of my characters from my work please credit me! fanfiction takes a lot of time and effort and if your using anything of mine, i would like to be properly acknowledged.

INBOX RULES

do not by any means bring up topics such as rape, pedophilia, incest, etc...(you get the picture). 

i may write about mental health issues, but that does not mean i want discussions about it. tagging, sending, or texting in my inbox about big trigger topics like suicide, self-harm, eating disorders, and intrusive thoughts is a big no. 

politics and religion, personal questions, or venting are not permitted in my inbox. 

that said, i do very much enjoy interaction and would love to communicate with you all more, so please don't be shy!

WRITING RULES 

right now requests are closed but thirsts are welcome, and if i'm feeling it, i may write something for it, but please don't expect it

my writing is mainly directed toward female or afab readers. I will occasionally do gender-neutral. 

i would like not to write the reader with a specific race, religion, disorder, etc...

i may and will write for characters who are minors, but i will never age them up to write smut about them

i don't write about any hate, daddy kink, scat, vomiting, hard bdsm, vore, feet, gore involved in sex (no blood at all), noncon, incest, pedophilia, piss, raceplay, ageplay, sado-masochism, gunplay, etc... if your unsure whether to send it or not, if it's hardcore or involves some form of violence i probably wouldn't send it! 

if you don't see me currently talking about a fandom, then i am probably not a part of it and have no interest in writing it. 

please remember that i have a life outside of tumblr and i have had requests take months before. patience is all i ask of you. if i can't get to it or for whatever reason can't do it i will pm you or if you're an anon, post it on my blog so you know and can ask another writer if you want.  

however don't send the same request to multiple blogs. i've had it happen before. it's shitty. don't do it. 

that's it! if you have any questions feel free to ask! thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy my blog!

©urdinosaurs. do not copy, translate, modify, or repost my content onto other sites without my permission

[justonemorewallflower]

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

WELCOME TO MY PAGE

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

✧*̥˚ charlie *̥˚✧

now playing:

somebody else by the 1975

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

n𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

- they/them & she/her pronouns

- 21 years young

- infp

- gemini

- happily engaged

- cat mom to two beautiful calicos

- fanfic writer and reader!

- enemies to lovers enthusiast

- writes angst religiously

- poet

- roleplayer

- aspiring author

- this is a 16+ blog, as i often write and share works with triggering and/or nsfw content

- i have a wattpad: blurry-vintage

- i also have an AO3:

guidelines will be below the cut

GUIDELINES:

please keep in mind that this is a 16+ blog. i of course do not have the ability to monitor and check the ages of all who follow me but if i find out you are under 16 and are interacting with my NSFW content, i will block you. my blog being 16+ cannot be enforced, it's more of a recommendation because of the sort of content i post. if you are under 16 you can still follow me but please be warned and again if i see you interacting with my content that is meant for older audiences, i will block you.

before requesting/sending any asks, etc. please make sure to read through the following guidelines! this blog is mainly battlestar galactica (2003), wednesday (netflix) and stranger things (netflix) themed. check out characters i write for here!

ASKS/PROMPTS

1. my inbox is usually open for everyone. if you want to have a chat, have questions, have fanfic requests, etc. feel free to send them (but please be respectful as you do! i will not respond to rude or disrespectful pms).

2. please do not trauma dump in my inbox or in comments of any of my posts. basically, ask before trauma dumping on my account or to me directly.

3. just a general rule of thumb, be respectful and nice. anyone who uses hateful/offensive language will not be tolerated and be blocked!

4. if you so desire to want to send me fanfic prompts in asks, please limit it to only one prompt per ask, it makes it easier for me to keep track of.

5. i do take requests for drabbles, aesthetics/moodboards, one shots, playlists, and even whole fanfics! that being said, i may not necessarily do all of them, just simply take them into consideration and only go through with them if i really like them and could see myself being able to complete it!

6. please be patient and don't spam/request the same thing multiple times! i will block people who spam my inbox or asks, especially if it's the same thing every time. i have a life outside of tumblr and so i will get to responses, etc. when i have time.

7. don't be creepy or weird in the sense of asking for pictures of me or any really personal information, etc. that i don't have public on this account. (with the exception of if we're friends/i consider you a friend). i am over 18 but that doesn't mean asking for personal things or making any sexualized comments about me or anything of that sort is okay. i will block you if you do anything i've mentioned here.

8. i will add more rules as i see fit. for now, these are my rules and if you plan to follow my account i expect you to respect them.

thank you, i hope you enjoy your time here and the content i have to offer.

[queenharumiura]

GET TO KNOW NEO

name — Neo and on some other blogs An-chan

pronouns— She/her

preferred comms — I get webhooks alerts to replies and asks, and tumblr very rarely alerts me to ims, but it is available to those who prefer communications via tumblr. Discord is the most reliable.

name of muse — Haru Miura on this blog and many more that i'm too lazy to list out on other blogs.

experience in RP — Around 16 years I think. Crazy as it is, I started out on Quizilla when you used to be able to message people. Then I moved to a proboards site when a friend invited me to join one she created. Was there for a long time. Dabbled a bit in RP'ing with a group on DeviantArt. Did a bit of skype rp from there. Then I moved to tumblr rp. I may have attempted to dabble in discord RP and ye- it's not exactly for me, but I can do it. I hate feeling limited though.

best experiences— Any iteration of: "You know, you made me change my mind on how I see Haru." Truly, the biggest serotonin boost I'd ever need in life. This is my goal in life. What I aspire to do with my writing. Not RP, but I got a Haru hater to like Haru after reading a few of my fics years back. You thought you were going to hate read and give hate? Jokes on you, I OPENED YOUR EYES.

pet peeves/dealbreakers — If you've reposted fanart without credit nor permission and i've talked to you about it and you dismissed my concerns about reposting fanart, i'll instantly block you. It's in my rules for a reason. Tho- I suppose that's just breaking my rules so maybe it doesn't count as a dealbreaker?

Not necessarily a peeve but more of a turn off, but I really don't like it when someone has the repeat energy of 'No one would want to rp with me, I don't see why I bother,' 'Did anyone miss me? No? Okay' etc. It probably sounds petty of me, but I don't like it. It dismisses the efforts of those who have been trying to connect to you, and I come onto tumblr to have fun, so I don't want to come here and feel bogged down. The energy actually disheartens me and brings my own mood down because I end up sympathizing with them too much. For the sake of my own mentality, I end up distancing myself.

muse preference ( fluff, angst, smut ) — I enjoy fluff and angst a lot. Smut... depends... on the muse... and relationships... and how comfortable I am with the mun. I'm big shy in general so it can take time to warm me up to talking about smut in regards to muses. Once I'm used to talking to you about it and i'm comfortable with you, i'm pretty open about it. Truly, I'm big on troll humor though, so crack humor kinda threads really have my heart. If you wanna talk smut with me, you gotta be the one to bring it up because 99.5% of the time, it won't be me bringing it up first.

IF we aren't shipping, then you better hope one day I even reblog a risque meme for you to inquire about it. I'm a lil wary about talking about it to begin with.

plot or memes — Plots, as some of us know that i'm not very keen on memes as my relationship with the inbox is not positive. Still working on it though, one blog at a time. Memes are fun when i'm in the mood for them. This goes for reblogging them or sending in to people.

long or short replies — Both are fine with me, and both are great in their own right. Long ones are nice as they give you a lot to explore but it also takes a while to reply to and it can tire me out. Short threads are short and simple. They're nice, and then you get me being suddenly inspired and whoops- suddenly it's a long thread. (short replies = 3 paragraphs in my mind).

best time to write — I'm finding myself to be more active in the night hours, so the PMs. I do tend to be high inspiration in the AMs, but i'm usually at work or low energy. So that's when I spend the time thinking of what i'll write and then stow those ideas for when I do have the energy.

are you like your muse?: I've been told that I'm very much like Haru, and it's mostly in some habits, i'd say. Haru is a way better human than I am. Fit for life. I, a dehydrated prune is not fit for life. We both share our troll heart, our tendency for conspiracy thoughts, dramatics, speaking in third person and such. Basically, consider me the unhealthy introvert AU for Haru.

Tagged by: @ryuusake

Tagging: I don't tag

[ratskcoreddie]

welcome to my humble abode. please be courteous and read the following rules & introduction before following my account. thanks! i hope you enjoy the show! ↓

im very thankful that you’re visiting my blog! this corner of tumblr is my safe space and i plan to keep it that way. to help me do this here’s a few things before you start trekking around these parts. please be kind and considerate to my boundaries.

before you follow & interact with me:

my blog is an nsfw, fem!reader blog. i write content and consume / repost media that is 18+. be aware that if you under the age of eighteen you should not view this blog. if you follow me and are blank or ageless you will be blocked. if you are an account that post nsfw content but have a 16+ in your bio, that makes me uncomfortable and you will be blocked! minors stay away!

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my name is eri! i'm twenty-two, & i'm a june gemini. my name is just a nickname because i have a really unique name outside of the tumblr verse and would hate for anyone to find my account, but i’ve gone by this name on other sites such as twitter for awhile! my handle is rockstareddie but backwards; ratskcoreddie, hope that makes sense! i use she/they pronouns and i work in the entertainment industry. i love strawberrys, my favorite colors are red and beige. i have a pretty extravagant music taste and love traveling.

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im currently working on a series in the au i’ve created, four parts are already done and they will be posted every tuesday between the times 4:00 pm - 11:00 pm. after these four queued post i will definitely slow down on posting!

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tldr: eddie munson, steve harrington.

currently, i only write for steve harrington, eddie munson, and in the stranger things universe. this is probably what im going to stick to on my blog. there will be appearances from other characters (but only to benefit the story i'm writing).

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[justsome-di]

Nobody Ends Up Dead In a Bathtub, Everyone Keeps Their Organs: Chapter 20

Summary: Alex is an ordinary, highly-introverted office worker. He clocks in and out and goes home to his little apartment he shares with his younger sister. He hasn’t dated in years by the time his co-workers set him up on a blind date.

The only issue is he and his date are not on the same page. At all.

While Alex thinks it’s a normal date, Damián is under the impression Alex is a client who paid to be there. No-so-quickly, they realize something is up. It’s all a prank. Damián is a sex worker Alex’s co-workers hired as a sick joke.

After reassuring that they’re both okay, Alex decides he wants revenge for both him and Damián. The plan is to use the stigma of sex work and start a 6-week, scandalous fake dating scheme with a big finale at the office Halloween party. Alex’s co-workers will be too horrified to try to prank him again. At least, that’s the plan.

You can also read this on AO3. If you don’t want to wait for new chapters, the complete story is on Patreon for only $4 with bonus stories! If you’re enjoying the story and want to support me in other ways, consider dropping me a message in my inbox or reblogging this post!

The following Monday, Alex was wasting time in the staff room with Martin. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the stained, slightly-leaky pot that nearly burned Alex every time he tipped it over for a mediocre, burnt serving of poorly-roasted grounds. They were a very successful business that raked in a lot of money every year. They should have been able to update some of their appliances. It was just one of his many gripes that he forgot about once his paycheck came through.

“Then Sam actually found that coffee in Target this weekend and was like shit. It’s supposed to be sold out everywhere at these bougie shops—and it’s just in stock at Target? She bought three bags before anyone else noticed.”

Alex didn’t mention that coffee had an expiration date. Even if it wasn’t pre-ground, if it was still the beans, coffee didn’t stay good forever. How long would it take them to go three bags? Surely, not quickly enough.

“So, did she make the tiramisu? Was it everything TikTok promised it would be?” Alex asked.

“She hasn’t made it yet. She wanted to save it for guests. Anyway, this is us asking if you and Marcus want to join us Thursday for the Tiramisu debut. Kris and Clara will be there.”

“I’ll have to check if Marcus is free, but I think we’d both be down if we can make it.”

Alex was pleased to get another invitation. He could start looking forward to regular after-work hangouts to get him through the week.

He would have to cough up more money for Damián to go with him, but he was willing to do it for another night with Damián. He would give a year’s wages to Damián if it meant he was getting to spend so much time with him. Maybe he’d keep hiring him after the party. Or maybe that would be weird.

You down for another night with Martin and Sam this Thursday?

Hold on let me send you some nudes.

Alex waited for whatever was coming, knowing full well he was not going to get a lewd picture of Damián. At least he hoped not. Sometimes Damián struggled with knowing that people worked at 1 pm on Mondays.

But even then, Damián wouldn’t send nude pictures of himself to Alex of all people. They weren’t actually dating.

A couple of seconds later, a professional picture of a bowl of ramen was sent through. Nudes. Noods. Noodles. Alex got it. He didn’t laugh.

Can we get ramen for dinner tonight? I just found this new place, and it looks so good.

Of course! Can you answer my question about Thursday?

I would 100% be down to see them again, but I have a client :( Let me know if they want to do any other night, I’m free a few nights this week.

Once he and Damián went their separate ways, Alex hoped that and Martin could keep up some type of friendship—that he wasn’t only valuable to Martin and Sam because he was part of a couple.

“Sorry.” Alex spoke while typing out his reply to Damián. In hindsight, it was a bad idea. He should have put all of his focus on either conversation. “Damián has to work.”

“Damián?”

Alex looked up. Martin was throwing him a confused smile.

Shit.

His face went numb.

“Uh.” Alex didn’t know how to correct himself. It was too late. “Marcus. Marcus has to work.”

“You said Damián,” Martin said. He laughed a little. “Is Marcus his work name? That’s okay. I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah! When he hired him, we assumed he wasn’t giving out his real name. But you kept calling him Marcus, and I started to think you guys just weren’t comfortable with anyone knowing his real name yet. I won’t tell anyone, though. I’ll play along with you guys.”

Alex was going to suffocate in that little staff room. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! And honestly, Alex, I know Sam and I got off on the wrong foot with you guys, but we promise we’re trying to do better. And Kris and Clara are already cool. You guys would be safe using his real name in front of us—if he’s comfortable with it.”

“Okay.”

“There’s no reason to pretend like he’s working when he’s not. If it’s just us—I mean, if you trust all of us, and I know that might be hard—you guys can relax. You don’t have to pretend.”

Alex stared at Martin. Fuck. The downside to making new friends was that he felt bad about lying to them.

Martin had grown so much in just a matter of weeks. He had become so aware of boundaries even when no one told him about them. It was incredible how just a couple of interactions with Damián and getting away from Andrew had completely changed him.

“We’re not actually dating.”

Alex didn’t mean to say it. There was immediate regret when he saw Martin’s face change from soft acceptance to furrowed confusion.

“What?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Alex was in too deep now. It was spiraling. He was going to die right there in that office.

“What do you mean you’re not dating?” Martin asked. “You and Marcus—Damián? You’re not dating?”

“No.”

“Then why have you been saying you’re dating?” Martin laughed, but it was awkward and nervous. “Sam and I literally introduced to you our friends as a couple.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated as in ‘we’re not doing as well as we thought we would, and now we can’t define it?’ Or ‘we never really wanted a label on it?’ Or is it complicated as in ‘we’ve been lying?’”

Alex squeezed the handle of his coffee mug. His knuckles burned against the ceramic. “Complicated as in ‘we’ve been lying.’”

Martin stared at him for a second.

“What the fuck?” he whispered. “Why would you lie about that?”

“Okay, hold on, you’re the one who set us up in the first place as a prank—“

“And I’ve apologized, and I’ve been working really hard to make up for it. I invited you to my fucking home.”

“Can I explain?”

“Yes. Please. Quickly.”

Alex set down his mug. His hands were so sweaty and shaky, he might have dropped it and gotten shitty coffee all over the already-stained linoleum.

He should have been consulting Damián before he went any further, but he was in so deep he just wanted to explain himself before Martin hated him forever.

“The night Damián and I met, we decided that we would pretend to be dating for real until the office party at the end of the month,” Alex said. “Like, as revenge. We thought it would disgust you three, so we wanted to mess with you. When you apologized, we thought we’d keep up the whole thing to make it more believable. I think it just went further than we thought it would.”

“Christ, Alex,” Martin said. “That’s evil.”

“Is it?” Alex had a sort of manic momentum. “Do you know how Damián and I felt the night of your prank? Do you know how scary it is for a sex worker to find out he made advances on a man who had no idea he was a sex worker?”

Martin looked to the side. He mumbled, “No.”

“It was cruel,” Alex said, quietly. “To me and Damián. We were just planning on a little revenge and then putting the whole thing behind us after this month.”

Martin shoved his hands into his pocket. He didn’t look at Alex. “I’m sorry. But you didn’t have to accept our invitations to dinner and to our apartment. You could have said no. Everyone sees you and Damián leaving the office together every week. That would have been enough.”

“We could have, but I—this sounds so stupid—after a week, I wanted to spend more time with Damián. That’s why I kept saying yes. It wasn’t totally manipulative.”

“And you couldn’t have just told him you want to be his friend? You had to create a whole Fake Dating Universe and pull me and my wife and our friends into it?”

“I couldn’t have just told him.”

“Why not? He obviously likes spending time with you. Why else would he play Trivial Pursuit for three hours?”

“Probably because I’m paying him for all of this.”

“Whoa. Stop.” Martin crossed his arms. “You hired him for three hours of a board game? How much are you paying him?”

“I think I’m up to $625. That’s for the two dates with you and Sam and the party date. Plus a planning fee.”

“What?” Martin leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “He charged us $550 for one night. How are you paying barely more than that for three nights?”

“You paid $550?” Alex slapped his hand over his mouth when he shouted it. “For one night?”

He vaguely remembered Damián telling him his regular charge was $250 per hour, but it had sort of been filed away to the back of his brain. They had spent so much time together, surely Alex should have been up in the thousands.

“He’s a pricey escort,” Martin said. “Not the priciest. God knows we found people who charged insane rates. But he said it was $250 for the dinner alone. After that, the other $300 was for the—you know. What would have been sex. We put a lot of thought into our budget. And, might I add, we didn’t want to hire just anyone. We wanted to give you a nice experience.”

“Thank you?”

“Have you been unaware this entire time that he’s, like, a really good, in-demand escort? He’s not charging you his usual rates for a reason,” Martin said. “He likes you. He’s going easy on you.”

“He might just feel bad for me. This is all probably a pity discount.”

“There’s no such thing as a pity discount. I really think he likes you. Kris and Clara were going on and on about how sweet he is to you. So, he’s either the world’s best escort and needs to start charging way more, or he does genuinely like you—and at risk of sounding like a middle schooler, I mean he likes you.”

Being liked by Damián was so much worse than what Alex thought it would feel like. It was something he had secretly wanted, but now that it was a real possibility, Alex could only think how horrifying it was. If Damián really did like him, then Alex no longer had an excuse for not pursuing anything. Feelings were mutual. Alex might no longer have to be single, alone, the state he found painful solace in.

“Good news for me, I guess, is that you guys were shit at lying to us,” Martin said. “I don’t think I feel so hurt knowing you two actually fell for each other.”

Martin was still angry. He deserved to be. But Alex didn’t want him reverting back to the person he was only a week ago—blindly following Andrew and Stu, a little malice tucked away in his heart.

“I’m sorry,” Alex said. “Can we still keep this all between us?”

“Yeah. Whatever. I won’t tell anyone.”

Martin took his coffee and walked past Alex, out of the break room.

The worst part of it all was the text Alex immediately sent to Damián.

Damián, I accidentally let Martin know that we’ve been lying, and I accidentally told him your real name. I’m really sorry. I don’t know how I let it slip, and now his feelings are hurt. I’m really, really sorry.

Alex walked back to his desk, set down his coffee, stared staring blankly at e-mails. Damián didn’t reply for a while, but Alex could see three dots periodically appearing and reappearing on the bottom of his screen. There was nothing he could do but wait. He refused to start typing out a self-deprecating apology. It would only make things worse. Besides, he was paralyzed with fear.

What if Damián hated him? What if it was a huge violation of his privacy—and it was—that would get Alex blacklisted, and Damián would drop him as a client? And a friend.

He sat frozen at his desk for an hour trying to convince himself he hadn’t lost both of his new friends to the same fuck up.

Finally, a text came through.

I’ll see you later, and we can talk about it then.

Okay. Not terrible. It wasn’t the worst thing Damián could have said.

Damián sent him an address a minute later.

Meet me at my apartment.

Okay. I’ll see you then. I’m really sorry

Alex had to go through the rest of his day alone. Damián didn’t text him anymore. Martin steered clear of him. It was what he was used to, at least.

He pretended to work and pretended like he wasn’t spiraling. The day ended, and he gathered his jacket and his bag, and he followed the address on numb legs to an apartment complex not all that far from his office.

Damián answered his door with a frown, arms wrapped firmly across his chest.

“I would have liked a little heads up before you did any of that,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Alex said.

Damián turned around and led him inside the apartment. Walking out of the entrance hallway, Alex hid his shock at how nice of a place it was. Not that he had assumed Damián was living in a bad place. Just that he had assumed that his own apartment was pretty average for a single man in his 30s—tiny, cramped, one window—and that Damián must have been living in a similar setup.

But Damián’s apartment was spacious. Alex believed that Martin and the others paid over $550 for a single night. There was no other way Damiàn would be able to afford such a place on his own. It momentarily distracted Alex from the vague feeling of wanting to vomit.

Damián had a living room that could actually hold a sizable couch, a coffee table, and a chair. It wasn’t too close to his kitchen which had a table. A table! Alex had never had a kitchen table of his own.

And on that table was a brown paper bag of takeout. Damián dug into it and pulled out two plastic bowls. He held one to his chest.

“Tell me why you did it and then you get your ramen,” Damián said.

“I didn’t mean to,” Alex said. “I really didn’t. I slipped with your name, he was understanding, and then after that, the rest just. Spilled out of my mouth. I couldn’t stop it. I felt guilty about lying to him.”

Damián didn’t relax his hold on the ramen. “Is he going to tell anyone else my name?”

“No. He promised he wouldn’t.”

“He isn’t going to go back to pranks now that he knows we’ve been deceiving him?”

“I don’t think so?”

Damián held the bowl out. Alex accepted it, knowing full well he didn’t deserve it.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“It’s fine, I guess.” Damián sat down and pulled out his own bowl and two packets of wooden chopsticks. “You didn’t mean to. Accidents happen.”  

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

Damián looked up and smiled with half of his mouth. “But I will. You didn’t mean to. I’d rather you hadn’t revealed my identity to a man I just met, but I think it’ll be fine.”

“He won’t do anything harsh.”

“We better hope not.”

Alex tucked his hands between his knees. Damián cracked open his lid. Steam rolled up and covered Damián’s face.

“I don’t have time to properly scold you, anyway,” Damián said. “I have a client tonight.”

“I thought you didn’t take clients on Mondays.”

“Well.” Damián scooped noodles onto his chopsticks. “I usually don’t, but I’m setting money aside for Leo’s tuition next year.”

Alex never offered to help Eve with tuition. But then again, they had parents and Damián and Leo didn’t seem to be totally in touch with theirs. Or if they were, it must have not been a situation where Leo could ask for help. But regardless, it made Alex feel like an inferior brother.

“Can I try to make it up to you?” Alex asked.

Damián sighed. His face relaxed. “It’s really not a big deal. It was an accident. Martin doesn’t strike me as the type to try to ruin someone’s life over this, either. What’s the worst he’ll do? Tell his wife?”

“It would make me feel better if you let me at least try to make it up.”

Damián always had such a soft, tender look about him. He set his chopsticks down on the edge of his plastic bowl and linked his fingers, setting his chin on top of them.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

“Anything you want from me.”

Damián pulled his hands apart and laid one across the table, palm up. Alex unclasped his own, brought them up from between his knees, raised one above the table, and finally laid it, shaking, in Damián’s. It was the first time they had held hands since the first night they met, when Damián led him down the hallways of the hotel.

Alex’s face was hot. Little tremors shook his whole body.

“If you insist on making it up to me,” Damián said, “you can let me take you out somewhere that’s not just cheap dinner or ice cream.”

Alex liked their cheap dinners and their single ice cream trip. They were so ordinary, so easily fit into his normal routine, that it had made Damián feel like a solid part of his life. He had settled into Alex’s days so easily, like he had always been there.

Damián folded his fingers over Alex’s hand. They were warm and soft. Alex’s were still chilled from the outside.

“If you let me take you out for a night, I’ll forgive you,” Damián said. “Not a hired appointment or anything. Me genuinely taking you out.”

A date. That was what Damián was asking for. A date. A date!

The little bit of residual trauma from last month let itself be known, and Alex immediately felt a rush of panic. What if it was another prank? What if it was all going to be fake in the end?

But he remembered what Martin said, and he thought about all the days he and Damián had already had together.

“When do you want to go out?” Alex asked.

Damián pulled his hand away. Alex missed it immediately. His palm felt cold, and his fingers wanted to curl back around something.

Damián scrolled through his phone calendar.

“Okay. Friday. My stupid client canceled Friday because he felt bad about cheating on his wife. Is Friday good?”

Alex ignored the cheating comment. “My parents are visiting Friday, but they’ll be gone by the evening. They’re taking Eve back home with them for the weekend.”

Damián’s eyes were bright. “Perfect. Friday it is! Have you ever been to Dorothy’s? The club?”

“No.”

Alex hadn’t been to any clubs before. They weren’t really his scene. People who went to clubs were sexier and had better wardrobes and liked being in big crowds. Alex was more of a stay at home with Netflix and Twitter type of guy. Though, he had to admit the promise of going out with Damián made him willing to try something new.

“It’s a gay club,” Damián said. “It’s one of the best on this side of the city, I swear. Best drag queens, best DJs, best drinks.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Damián tilted his head. “Have you been to a gay club at all?”

Alex’s chest tightened. He had been to so few queer places in his life. He had taken Eve to pride events, of course, but never a place like a club. There were so many queer spaces that were noisy and crowded—and that was great! Alex loved that queer people got to take up spaces and be loud and get to exist with such force and strength. It was great. It was lovely. Alex was so proud that he got to be part of a community that, after trauma and tragedy, still went out to party in large masses.

But he still didn’t like clubs.

“No.”

“Want to try one out?”

“Uh.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No! I will!”

He might have fun after all. Alex trusted Damián. He trusted him a lot. And it would probably do him good to hang out in a queer space. He needed a little more socializing, he had realized, after micro-dosing a social life with Damián.

“Okay,” Damián said, nodding. “And whenever you want to leave, we can. But I promise you you’ll have fun. Dorothy’s is a good space. If we go early, it’ll be chill. There won’t be any huge crowds.”

“Can I ask a few questions?”

“Of course!”

“What do you do at a gay club?”

“We chill. Watch other people dance. Get drinks. If we stay late enough, we can watch a drag show.”

Alex had always wanted to see a drag show live.

“What do you wear?” he asked.

“What do I wear? I’ll probably wear a crop top. I just bought a new one, and I haven’t had a chance to wear it yet. You can wear whatever you’re comfortable in. But fair warning, nightclubs get hot. So, don’t wear a sweater or anything like that.”

“Can I wear a t-shirt?”

“Yeah! Perfect.” Damián took Alex’s hand again and squeezed tight. “This is so exciting! I’ve never taken anyone to their first gay club before.”

Alex would have never expected to be excited to go to a club, but he was. He was wildly excited at the idea of being around other queer people—so many queer people. And a drag show! Every second that passed, he was getting more excited about seeing a queen perform live.

“I’ll ease you into the whole scene,” Damián said.

And best of all, Alex would be spending the whole evening with Damián. Martin was right. He and Damián had totally fallen for each other.