#sorry is that too gross and weird for tumblr i take it back

[insert-this-fire]

Overpoweringly Sweet

Logan Howlett aka Wolverine x gn!nonspecified mutant! Reader

Summary: Somehow you contracted Hanahaki for a man you hardly ever spoken to. Cant end well can it?

W/C: ~9k Warnings: a little OOC, angst, graphic description of coughing up flowers with blood.

AO3 Mirror A/N: I never post actual fics on tumblr but I feel that it needs to be done here. So sorry if its kinda formatted weird? it will also be on AO3!. First x-men fic too so sorry if its a bit ooc. Not really based on any specific iteration of Wolverine. Also not edited like, at all. Also I take requests! :3

~~ :3 ~~

You know, having a crush on someone so unattainable is laughable at best. Having a crush on them and apparently somehow contracting Hanahaki is even worse. How does that even happen? You haven’t even spoken to the guy more than a few words. Too embarrassed to open your mouth to introduce yourself and you work together. Yet here you are, petals on the bathroom floor and a constricting feeling in your throat. Your head lying on the back of the stall door. Still heaving from the sudden onslaught of overly sickly floral-scented petals that spilled out.

Gardenias. Pure white and mocking. 

The smell of them made you nauseous. The sight of them even more so. After looking up what they meant. It just made things even worse.

Secret love. How fitting.

It’s a damn crush, and the world decided it was love. Love for a grumpy ass old man with hair that kinda made you think of a cat. Actually, he reminded you of a cat in general. One that you want to rest your face on and fall asleep. Bury your face in those pecs of his. Muscles may look hard, but they do have a bit of squish. By God, does he have muscles. You’ve caught him shirtless a few times. All by accident, of course. You weren’t a pervert. Anytime you think of it, your jaw clenches tight.

Ah, getting off-topic here. Back to the fact that apparently, hanahaki doesn’t care if you’ve ever talked to someone before.

The stall door was cool against your cheek when you turned your head, and it was less gross than hugging the toilet like you wanted to so you could flush the flowers down the drain. It was terrible. The petals surround you, and a single full bloom floats mockingly in the toilet.

You know how to cure it. The moment that the flower petals started to spill from your lips, you desperately looked for what it was. It wasn’t that hard to find, apparently some find it sickeningly romantic. Bet they never had to deal with the ache that was constant around your lungs. You found the cure for it as well. Should be easy to do, right? Tell the person how you feel and they return it, or get it surgically removed. The surgery should be the right choice. It’s the only choice. You’ve hardly spoken to the man who coveted your affection, but the thought of not feeling the tug of your heart when you see him was too much to bear. Which makes no sense! It’s a dumb crush.

God, you’re an idiot.

A deep breath fills your lungs slightly, and the pain wraps around your chest as you try to get a full breath. Your hands find purchase on the rim of the toilet, and you push yourself up. Now, on two shaky legs, you wipe your mouth. You need to clean up the petals before anyone comes in. It was still the middle of the day, and classes were still going. Thank God the coughing fit didn’t hit you till lunch, or you would have to explain to a classroom full of students. That would be embarrassing. Yeah sorry class, your teacher is in love with someone they can’t have, let’s continue with the lesson now! Embarrassing.

Your hands start to pick up the petals. Each one feels as if it was searing into your skin. One, two, five, ten, thirty. Thirty petals and one full bloom. You were screwed. You could go to Hank. See if he knew any other way around it, any way to fix the disgusting flowers that took root in your lungs. Maybe being a mutant changed how to cure the disease? That was just hopeful thinking, though.

After mulling over the choices for a few moments more, you finally unlock the stall door and walk over to the garbage, quickly discarding the petals that did not make it into the toilet.

Your feet then carry you out of the bathroom and, as luck would have it, right into the chest of the one person you did not want to face yet.

Logan.

You were right, though. The muscles on his chest were squishy. God you want to just motorboat him real fast. Would that be weird? Yeah it would be. As quickly as you ran into him, you tried to remove yourself from his personal space. You know the guy wasn’t too fond of touch. You think. You actually… don’t know. Words quickly spill from your mouth as you try to apologize. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t see you.”

Logan just makes some gruff-sounding noise and continues on his way. You could faintly see as he walked away scrunching of his nose. He was probably able to smell the faint floral scent that was clinging to you. It probably wasn’t pleasant. You didn’t like the scent, it probably was a lot stronger on his end.

As you stand in the hallway after the sudden bump into your crush, you place your hand on your chest to calm your beating heart, and you walk in the opposite direction to your classroom. It hurt that he didn’t even say anything back to your apology, but that seemed pretty in character. To you, at least. If you were on friendlier terms, maybe not, but you doubt he even knows your name.

The thought of the surgery resurfaces in your head. Maybe you should get it. Ignore the deep-seated pain in your heart at the thought of losing your feelings for him. However, the repercussions of a botched removal is another reason not to do so. It could remove the feeling of ever being in love again. Would that be so bad though?

You shake your head. You have a class you have to get back to… and a phone call to make.

The day continued on like normal after that. Classes, grading papers, discreetly removing petals from your mouth into the trashcan by your desk as you graded papers. A new norm for you. It did seem that a few students had noticed a slight change in you. In fact, one of them even got you a get well soon card. Sweet, but it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

If you don’t get better soon, you will probably end up another statistic for the disease. How many people were there that had it and perished as the roots wrapped around the lungs and slowly filled the valves on the heart. Too many, probably. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at that. That’s why you were now sitting in your now empty classroom, making a phone call. You had found a number to a doctor who specializes in the disease. You would get some advice and decide from there what you want to do.

The phone rings, once, twice….

“Hello, this is Dr. Forrest’s office. How may I help you?” How fitting a doctor who knows about Hanahaki has a nature-based last name.

You quickly introduce yourself and ask if you could speak to him or schedule an appointment. Apparently the only way to talk to him is with an appointment. The next one isn’t for a few months. You don’t even know if you’ll last that long. You’ve been keeping track. A full bloom appeared today. A singular full bloom, no steam. The petals were loose so it had to be in the early start of the mid stages. It was taking its time infecting you. It must be due to not seeing Logan all the time.

You do tend to avoid him when you can. The thought of seeing him always makes your cheeks burn. Man was just too hot. It made it seem like you were in love with just his looks! You weren’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be coughing up all these petals. You’re pretty sure it wasn’t just his looks. The flower has a meaning, after all.

Maybe if you avoid Logan, actually stop trying to see if you can see him across the halls. Stop looking for him during dining hours. Just try to ignore him. Though unless he was going to go on one of those sudden long vanishing acts. Well, you doubt that you actually will be able to avoid him enough to live till the next appointment. You really are screwed. Shit.

Running a hand over your face with a groan you lean back in the chair behind your desk. What should you do? The surgery now seemed to be out of the question. So now you either confess and die, or you just die. Which definitely was not the ideal thing to do. You were screwed. Hands down. Your name is on the death warrant the moment the receptionist said months. Maybe you should go to Hank. Dude was a certified genius right? He would know something.

A knock at your door made you jump. Quickly you lift your head and look over to the closed door to your classroom. Could be a student, another faculty member? Whoever it was either needed you or the room.

“Come on in.”

Silence followed and then the door opened up. Your gaze turns to the door, ready to answer whatever questions that are going to follow. Till you hear the tall tale sound of boots, heavy. The sound of jeans rubbing against legs. A jacket rustling slightly from movement. Jeez, why are you suddenly so aware of the sounds?

Your eyes hone in on the man you’ve been thinking about. Logan. Twice. TWICE in one day you’ve seen him up close. See him in your space. He never seeks you out. You never get to see him up close like this more than once or twice a week. It’s like you’re in a fanfiction and someone is pushing the two of you together.

That’s silly though, this was real life.

“Oh, Logan. How can I… help you?” Could you sound any more awkward? You want to bang your head on your desk. Especially with how he was just looking at you. Should you have called him Wolverine? Mr. Howlett?

“You need to let up on that perfume you’re wearing. Can smell it all over the hall.” His face gives away the fact he smells something he doesn’t like. 

Perfume?... Perfume… The flowers. Of course he could smell it. The floral scent has been clinging to you since the first petals slipped from between your lips.

“Oh, heh sorry. I’ll try to use less of it.” You just laugh a bit, still feeling a tad bit uncomfortable, the sudden tickle in your throat reminding you that you could not stop the smell from permeating your skin. That it will linger on you till you no longer have these flowers growing inside of your chest. “If I use too much again I’m sorry. Can’t really tell when I use too much or not.”

Blue eyes narrow at you, you can tell he doesn’t believe you. That he should call you out on it. “Thanks bub, it’s masking everything else.”

With that he left the room as quickly as he came, there was a slight pause and you can tell he glanced at the trash can by your desk. The trash can that had a few petals thrown in haphazardly. Thought to be hidden by the papers that you threw on top. You hope that is all he sees.

That was such an awkward interaction. You slam your head on the desk once more. God why are you such an idiot.

~~ :3c ~~

Time continues on like normal, but recently you catch Logan at the corner of your eye. Which is normal, you usually do seek him out. Yet now it’s like he is everywhere you go. Walking in the gardens, he’s out there smoking one of his cigars leaning on a tree or the wall of the mansion. You’d be eating and you’d see him a table or two away, his eyes on you. You can feel them boring into your skin. You’ll be walking in the hallways and see him turning a corner before you fully spot him. More often than not you find him outside of the bathroom you were just in after coughing up a storm. Just standing by the door like a guard dog. Always scrunching his nose when the door opens and the aroma of flowers follows you out.

He knew. He had to. He had to know something was wrong with you. There is no way he doesn’t. The man has been alive long enough that he probably knows the signs of what you have. The disease that is currently ruining your life. He has probably seen all sorts of people who have had Hanahaki. You won’t be the first, nor the last person he has seen inflicted with it either. It’s probably why he’s keeping an eye on you. He must have found out when he came to ask you to stop using so much perfume and yet you still smell that sickeningly floral smell on you.

Unless you’re just suddenly more aware of him than you were before. Which you shouldn’t be. You were already highly aware of him due to your damn dumb crush that’s killing you. Eyes are always lingering on him.

It’s probably because of the scent that’s following you around. It is probably sticking out more than your usual scent, which was. You don’t know. What do you normally smell like? Apparently, it’s something non-distinct since the new smell is pretty overpowering. If you can smell it, it must be strong.

You wish you knew what was going through the man’s head. You couldn’t really ask him. You aren’t close to him like that. Can’t ask the people he is close to either because you aren’t close to them. You kinda just, are here in the mansion teaching. You’re not a part of x-men, you aren’t too interested in fighting anyways. You earned your keep teaching. You are vaguely close to Hank though. Well, in recent events at least. You could ask him?

Yeah, no, you aren’t. You’re going to suffer through this. You can handle it. You don’t need to know what’s going on in his mind.

Which reminds you, you need to actually go talk to Hank. You’ve been putting it off, but the full blooms are startling. Every other coughing fit brings one full bloom. It has only been a week since the first bloom and with the sudden influx of Logan sightings, it is speeding up. You needed an out and fast. Before it kills you.

Thus here you are walking through the mansion to head down to his lab. Quickly avoiding anyone you see. The scent of flowers following you through the halls like a wraith. Leaving a trail of sweetness to waft into the air. Disgusting.

As you make your way into the lab you spot Hank, or Beast? Shit, you don’t even know which one he prefers to be called. You really should ask, huh. Anyway, you spot him.

When the blue-furred man spots you, he quickly greets you with your name: “It is good to see you this fine evening. What do I owe the pleasure? It is not often I see you down here.”

If you could, you would sigh deeply. The rattling of vines stops the motion before it begins. “Hi yeah uh. I got into a delicate situation and I don’t know who else to go to? The doctor I had called can’t really see me and I don’t know what else to do and you’re like… The smartest person I know so I’m hoping… you could help?” The words spill out quickly.

Hank raises an eyebrow and fixes the glasses perched on his face. The man was upside down for some odd reason, and he quickly flipped to land on the ground. With grace you don’t expect for someone his size. Then again, you’ve seen some weird ass mutations. He motions for you to sit down on one of the beds stationed in the lab. One used when needed for situations like this. Medical, scientific, not something you can throw a punch at and fix.

After sitting down on the bed, you start to explain. Words flowing like a waterfall. He is the first person you have gone into detail about your condition. How the petals slip from your lips like a poison, the tightening of your chest with each breath. The fear of losing yourself to unrequited love and dying because of it. You do not mention who it is directed at nor the fact you thought it was a crush and did not deserve to have evolved into such a disease.

The room fell silent after your reveal, a silence that stretched on longer than you would have liked. God, you hope he has an idea about how to help you out of this mess.

“From my knowledge there are only two cures. I assume you already know.” A pause as you answer with a curt nod. “I do not believe there are any other alternatives other than what has been proven to work. I assume that you are here to find out if there are any or that you require the surgery.”

“I can’t tell them… I really had hoped that you would know. I don’t.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair, messing it up slightly. It was already a mess from earlier, but you know how hands are in hair. “It’s not an option to tell them.”

“I see. It will take some time, but I will see if I can learn the correct procedure so that there will be minimal to no complications.” Hank pats you on the shoulder and motions for you to head out. He had some things to do and research to go over. Escorting you out of his lab so Hank may do what is necessary. He didn’t give a timeline, but you trust that he can do it before your time is up.

You really hope that he can do this.

After leaving the lab, you had to pass some of the other faculty. Or X-men? Yeah, it seems they are setting off on a mission of some sort. You pass Cyclops, Storm, Jean and. Yeah, that is exactly who you don’t want to see right now. Logan. Seems he is going with them. To, wherever they have to go. You give them all a small nod in acknowledgment as you pass them. Each one provides you a small smile or nods back.

Logan though? He pauses when you pass him. His face contorted into something you weren’t too sure of. He probably caught another whiff of the flowers on you. Great. The others give him a look and he just grunts at them. Somehow they understand and continue on their way. Leaving you with Logan.

A hand grabs your bicep, fingers wrapping around the muscle. Your gaze drops to the hand, in another life you were sure it would be rough with use, but it was surprisingly soft. The grip was not, natural strength hidden behind the hold. A promise that you would not be able to pull away without exerting yourself.

“You’re smellin’ worse. Thought I told you to let up.” A gruff voice, oh how you want to roll in that voice. That was a weird thought, you should probably stop thinking of that like a weirdo. God are you a weirdo?

An awkward laugh bubbles up from your chest. You can feel your own muscles tense under his hold and gaze. Damn he’s never looked at you like this before. A slight glare, crinckled nose, and a slight snarl on his lips. You must be really weird because damn was that kind of a hot look. Which somehow in turn makes your chest tighten and the tickle of a cough is trying to break free. You swallow hard to bite it back. Yet you can feel the petals moving through your throat. 

“Sorry sorry, I guess I overdid it?” You pull your eyes away from his. Unable to continue to look at his face. Be it from your weird thoughts, the tickle in your throat or your inability to keep eye contact with someone. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“You’re hiding that you're sick.” The grip on your arm tightens. Not in a painful manner no, but a reminder that you cannot run away from this conversation. Which is odd right? Why does Logan care? You two hardly know each other. Sure you apparently love the man, but you’re still sure he doesn’t even know your name. You’ve seen him care for others in the mansion, a good friend in an odd way. A father figure and mentor to some of the students. Also in a weird way. You’re sure he’d brush off that idea and say he isn’t. He is.

Wait, he just said you’re sick… “I’m not sick?” 

Logan's eyes narrow as he stares at you. Do you look sick? Sure you’ve gotten a little pale and eating has gotten a little hard so you haven’t been eating as much as you usually do. Does being sick have a smell to it? Fuck that is weird. Well, some animals could tell when others are sick before physical symptoms show. Maybe that's how he knew. No, that wouldn’t make sense because you aren’t really sick. You just have a big fat crush that's killing you. 

You can tell Logan doesn’t believe you. “Just fix it. Can’t stand the smell on you.” His hand lets go and he stalks down the hallway to where the others had walked off to. Your eyes linger on his form as he walks away. The ghost of a feeling on your arm where his hand had wrapped around it. The slight warmth seeping into your skin slowly vanishes. God you’re fucked. 

~~ >:3 ~~

And fucked you are. It’s been at least two months since you told Hank about the hanahaki. Hank is taking his sweet ass time researching the procedure, the doctor you called has called back finally and mentioned that his next opening for a consultation was still months away. Which you decide to say fuck that guy, you trust Hank can do it. The doctor probably won’t even work on a mutant. Logan is still always at the corner of your eye. A scowl or sneer on his face anytime he looks at you. Not to mention the flowers! They’re getting worse.

Full blooms, multiple at a time. Their petals no longer loose around the center. Now they are tightly packed, fully bloomed and speckled with blood as they escape through your throat. Occasionally there would be a flower that had not bloomed yet. Still wrapped tightly, not fully formed. You weren’t sure what that meant, but you’re sure it wasn’t good. At least they were not roses. You feel bad for those who dealt with that. Thorns were something you were happy that was not in the mix of your own flower hell.

The flowers aren’t fully developed yet. Stems have not fallen with them. Yet you are unsure if you would survive long enough to see the end stages of hanahaki. Your body is getting weaker and weaker each day. Your own mutation even fighting against you. You can hardly call on it now. Once you had wished to be a normal person, but that has been years ago. Now you feel like you are losing a part of yourself. These damn flowers truly are killing you. Both physically and emotionally. 

You had to leave class more often. The coughs that tore through your chest made it unbearable to speak long enough to teach an entire class to its completion. Students start to worry, other faculty seem to notice the sudden change as you have to start asking for people to cover your class for you as you rush to the restroom to hug the porcelain throne to exude the flowers of love. Each time more and more petals fall from your lips, tears stain your cheeks more often due to the pain and energy it takes to clear them out from your throat. 

It has gotten to the point where you had to ask someone to cover your class in full, or cancel it. You don’t want to cancel your classes, but at the rate you are going it will be the only thing you can do. Today is probably the last full class you can handle, you feel like shit. Your throat itches, your stomach aches from the lack of food. Your head hurts because of the lack of sleep from the coughing. Yeah, you might have to take a break from it all. What surprises you is that Logan is waiting outside of your classroom.

Ok it’s not that surprising. You’ve been catching him outside your classroom since he came back. It is like he is suddenly more aware of you. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes on you. You would be excited usually, your crush suddenly paying attention to you! How great is that? Yet lately it just makes things feel so much worse. Especially with that sneer on his face. You know he knows something is up, he made it clear two months ago. Though he hasn’t brought it up again. Yet he is always there. Like a shadow. 

Which is honestly a bit uncomfortable. You aren’t used to this amount of attention. 

“You don’t have to stand out here you know?” Papers you needed to grade were in your arms. You may need to take a break, but you should at least grade these papers before someone takes the class over. Your last bit of work. 

Logan just stares at you. The slight glare, the wrinkled nose, the arms crossing making those muscles bulge out of his shirt. You had to quickly drag your eyes away from his arms so you aren’t caught staring. You don’t meet his eyes though. It was too intense. 

“You’re getting worse.” Way to point out the obvious Logan.

“Good observation.” A short pause follows after. Silence falls for a few moments. “I uh, it’s why I’m takin a break. Sick leave? Uh… Yeah…” You really don’t know how to talk to him. The tickle in your throat is back again. Too soon, you just hacked up half your lung just moments before. You really don’t want to cough in front of him. You thought he might already know what it is, but he still thinks the smell on you is perfume. So no way do you want him to know the truth. 

Logan stares at you a few moments longer, a slight grunt. His head motioned for you to follow him. That’s how you read it at least as he starts to walk down the corridor and only pauses to look at you. Looks like you’re following him. This can’t end well can it? 

The two of you walk silently through the corridors. Your arms are still full of papers, but it seems the two of you are heading out into the garden. Probably for the best, the crisp air outside will dull the floral scent. Hopefully at least. Even if it lingers on your skin and it has gotten to the point others have even started to point it out. The halls were mostly empty though at this time. Most students are already off doing their own thing, you can vaguely hear a laughter from down the hall as the two of you finally make your way outside.

Into the garden, the cool air bites at your exposed arms. You should have worn a jacket. Too late for that now it seems. The trees are already turning orange, autumn making its way across the land. Oranges, reds and browns. If you weren’t full of anxiety you would be enjoying the sights. Especially as Logan brings you over to a small bench by the man-made pond. A bit away from everyone, but still close enough to the mansion you can dash inside if needed. 

You take a seat first. The papers sit beside you. Logan stands in front of you. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He isn’t sitting. Why isn’t he sitting?

“So uh…” Your voice comes out first, awkward and a bit unsure. The tickle in your throat grows again as you fight it back.

“It’s not perfume on you is it?” Logan’s gaze never leaves yours, but you can’t help but look away. Too uncomfortable with the eyes boring into you. You never once used perfume, though you did use that as an excuse didn’t you?

Silence followed after. Your eyes looking at the ground as you kick your legs back and forth. Unable to voice the truth. Logan is still looking at you, jaw clenching most likely. You don’t have to look at him to know.

His voice finally cuts through the silence. Apparently he was sick of you beating around the bush and not answering him. Your name on his lips startling you slightly. You honestly thought he didn’t know your name, but it seems you were wrong. “What's makin you so sick that it’s leaving you to look like that and smell like that.”

You should tell him. Tell him. TELL HIM. 

… 

You’ll tell him without actually telling him. You don’t think you’d survive telling him the full truth. You’re a pretty good liar most of the time. He might be able to pick through the lie but he’s not that perceptive right? 

“I uh… It’s.” You feel like you’re stumbling over your words, your throat constricting. “I have.”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Your muscles tensing as a cough tears through you. Violently. Your body lurching forward as your hand shoots up to cover your lips as the cough pulls out petals and blossoms alike. Your hand can’t catch all the petals as they spill to the ground. Your eyes clenching shut as tears prickle the corners due to how painful it was. The other hand not covering your mouth grabs at your chest. As if you could claw the roots out through your skin. It burns. 

It burns, it burns, it burns. 

It won’t stop. You can’t stop hacking up the petals. Each cough brings out a sob with it as well. It has never been this bad. The scent of gardenias explodes. It burns your nose. You hate the smell of it. If you survive you’ll never be able to handle this scent again. Your body retching forward as you double over. Body crumpling in on itself as you try desperately to get some air into your already filled lungs. You would think having plants living in your lungs would give you more oxygen. If only it didn’t wrap tightly around your lungs and neighboring organs. Leaving little space for what you truly needed.

You almost forget Logan is there with you. An unexpected presence sits beside you. Warmth seeping into your side. He doesn’t set a comforting hand on your back. Doesn’t say any words. But him sitting beside you is enough comfort. You don’t think you could handle physical touch anyways. Your body would probably jerk harder at it. Hanahaki really was a killing disease wasn’t it. It was going to kill you before even getting to the final stage. You can’t do this.

Slowly the coughing fit lessens. The petals and blooms spilling from your mouth as if it was all you breathed came to a stop. Your body still hunched over, tears filling your eyes as you finally, finally stopped coughing up the damned flowers. You were still shaking, trying to catch the lost breath.

“You’re ok sweetheart. Just try and breathe.” Something large, heavy, warm rests on your upper back. Small soothing circles. He called you sweetheart, that was strange. You don’t expect comfort. You don’t think Logan expected to comfort you like this either. It was an awkward movement, but comforting. You wanted to lean into it, lean into him. You weren’t going to though. Pain was radiating through your chest and you weren’t sure you would be able to sit up straight without coughing again. Fear that any movement will bring on another coughing fit settled inside of you like a vice. You can still feel the slight tickle in your raw throat. 

You taste blood.

It takes a few tries, gasping tries, before air finally was able to fill your lungs enough that you could breathe properly. Or well, as well as you can with roots wrapping around your insides. You pull out a few petals that were still stuck in your mouth and let them fall to the ground as you slowly sit up. Still slightly hunched over but no longer practically hugging your legs. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, blood from your lips smearing across your skin. Eyes on the ground where the mess you made mocks you. There's so much, white and red. White flowers that you would have thought beautiful covered in splotches of your own blood. Tainting the gardenias, tainting the meaning of secret love. Disgusting. You’re disgusting. 

Your eyes linger on the ground as you finally speak. Voice raspy and strained. “Sorry.” 

“Nothin to be sorry about, nasty thing you got. Seen it a few times.” Logan’s voice is gruff, yet there is a touch of something tender in there. Unexpected. You don’t like it. He shouldn’t be treating you like this. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know that you’re like this because of him, because of your dumb crush on him that the world decided was good enough to practically kill you.  

Ok that’s not true. You know under his rough and tough demeanor and the huge, insensitive ass he could be. He’s caring and trustworthy. Loyal as fuck and self-sacrificing. It’s what had drawn you in in the first place. The soft look he’d give to people he cared about when no one was looking. The way he treats the younger mutants. It was heartwarming. Your admiration for him turned from simply looking up to him to wanting him to look at you that way.

Silence falls between the two of you again as you continue to try to take in oxygen. The taste of iron and earth is still on your tongue. The sound of fellow mutants distantly chatting and the occasional bird cuts through the silence. You don’t want to talk, you don’t want to tell him who your affliction derives from. You doubt he would ask, but he might. You’ll need to think of an excuse. A lie. Anything to keep him from finding out it is him. He’d reject you. You know this already. You’ve seen him look at others. He doesn’t look at you like that. You just learned he knew your name too! The two of you hardly spoke before. This is the most attention you have ever gotten from him. He doesn’t love you the way the disease needs him to. 

“Who's the asshole?” His words cut through the silence again. Surprising you once more. This definitely is the most words he has ever spoken to you.

“Doesn’t matter… He doesn’t feel the same.” Your throat continued to feel raw. It hurt to speak, but you needed to answer. You couldn’t stay quiet when he asked. Your gaze moves from the ground to glance at him from the side. You try not to meet his eyes but you can see a look on his face that had never been directed towards you. In any other situation you would be happy, ecstatic. Right now though, it makes your stomach tie up in uncomfortable knots. 

A slight hint of anger crosses Logan’s face and his hand just rests on your back, no longer rubbing those soothing circles. You know he wants to know. The look he has on him makes you think he sees you as someone under his protection, it’s nice. Even if it is not really what you want at the moment.

“So you’re willing to die for him.” There was a short pause between his words. His tone is soft, you don’t like it. “Seen most with it die that way. Shouldn’t have to die like that.”

You decide not to reply to the fact that you were willing to die for these feelings. Why? Because you still don’t want to believe it is true. Even with the flowers clearly showing signs the crush was love. Infatuation. You hate this. “Dr. Mccoy is going to perform the surgery for me. Should be any day now.”

You at least hope it will be any day now. You spoke to him a couple days ago and he seemed a bit all over the place so you couldn’t ask him if he was ready yet. You know he hadn’t forgotten, you saw the books laying on one of the tables next to some tools, but time was ticking and it was ticking fast. You know it and now… Now Logan knows it too. You’re on limited time. 

“I… can’t tell him. He doesn’t feel the same, he can’t. I’ll die if I tell him. I have to do the surgery. I’d rather chance not feeling love again than to confess and die. I…” Your hands curl into themselves as you look back down at the flowers. The tightening in your chest squeezes harder. You don’t need to explain yourself, but you feel like you have to. This way you can come to terms with it. Speaking it out loud makes it all too real. “I trust Dr.Mccoy. He won’t fail. He… he can’t.”

“Lotta trust in the guy.” Logan leans back on the bench, his hand lingering on your back removes itself as he crosses his arms. You feel the itch in your throat again, it’s too soon for more petals. You at least hope so. Logan then continues, “Remember watching someone choke on their own blood cause of that shit. Don’t want to see you on that end sweetheart.”

Logan called you sweetheart, again. It made butterflies fly around your stomach, churning with the anxiety already there. It was not the most comfortable of feelings. You weren’t expecting it this time either. It was nice. Would be nicer in better circumstances though. “Thanks Logan, but I’ll survive this. I have to…”

“Still think you should tell me who this asshole is. Could talk to him.” You hear the familiar snikt sound, a clear sign he extended his claws. A glance over was all you needed to confirm he did, the light gleaming off the metal. 

“God no! Sure actions speak louder than words for him, but it wont help.” Because he’d be threatening himself. You couldn’t help but let a pathetic laugh bubble up. Pain radiating through your chest and throat as you do so. At least you can still find some humor in this. Logan’s claws go right back under his skin and between his knuckles at your words. Though you can tell he still seemed interested in using violence against who is causing this for you. God, you wish you could tell him.

The two of you fall into another silence. Your own thoughts are swirling through your head and you’re sure Logan is also dealing with his own thoughts. Your disease is now out there. What truly ales you has been revealed without you actually saying the words. You wished you could have said the words, said what it was, told him your feelings. Though things never work out that way do they. 

You aren’t sure how this was going to end.

Logan looks at you the same time you gaze at him. Your eyes meet his blue ones. You would wax poetic about his eyes, but that seems pretty cliche. Everyone always does when talking about blue eyes, how they look like the ocean, or the sky. Logan’s reminds you of steel, the silvery blue that almost matches the adamantium claws you see on occasion. There is something in those eyes though, something you can’t read. Something behind that wall everyone knows he puts up. You want to dig deeper, fall into those eyes to avoid all your problems. Be free of the pain you can’t escape. The two of you seem to just stare at each other far longer than it felt. 

“Tell me when you get the surgery. I want to be there.” 

“...Okay.”

And just like that, the two of you break eye contact and fall into a silence. A silence only broken by the occasional cough from you and the sounds of nature and other mutants about. You wish you could have experienced this sooner. Before your world decided to crash down on you. You’ll just have to enjoy the time with him like this while you can. Before the feelings you have for him are forever torn away. Leaving only a hollow space in your chest for the fellow mutant. 

You’re not ready. 

~~ :3 !! ~~

Hank Mccoy finally let you know he was ready to do the surgery a few days after your chat with Logan. You weren’t ready for it. You didn’t want to lose these feelings, you didn’t want the complications that may follow, but fuck you don’t want to die either. You will die if you don’t do this surgery. You can’t… You have to do this. 

Which is why you are outside of the room Logan usually occupies when he is in the mansion. You've been standing outside of his room for what felt like hours now. You knew he probably could hear your heartbeat, but he isn’t coming out. He asked to be there when you got the surgery. He wanted to support you for some reason. You could just go, leave and get the surgery without telling him. Your anxiety welling up along with the urge to throw up. Your hand is already raised before you could stop yourself and you knock three times.

Silence follows after. The sound of shuffling and the door opens. Logan standing there in one of those slutty little white tank tops and jeans. A classic look that was all too hot in your opinion. Your mouth feels dry as he looks at you.

“I’m getting it now.” You rub your arm, unable to look him in the eyes. You do look at his face though. Just long enough to see shock cross his face for a few seconds, which quickly vanished back behind his usual look. Logan steps out of his room and shuts the door, head tilting to the side a bit as he waits for you to start walking to Hank’s lab. 

The two of you walk silently through the halls. It was late in the afternoon. You could have gotten it earlier in the day but your body was so exhausted from the coughing fit you had that night that you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed. In fact you’re still in your pajamas mostly. Sweatpants and a t-shirt. Comfy. You’re going into surgery, you deserve not to dress up for it. Logan doesn’t comment on it either so it’s fine. You’re fine. 

Everything is fine.

The two of you enter the lab quietly. No one else seems to be here but Hank. After all, one else knew. People knew you were sick of course, but you kept a tight lip on what exactly was inflicting you.

Hank greets you with your name. A look of surprise as his eyes drop onto Logan. Quickly he glanced back at you and you just shrugged your shoulders slightly. Letting Hank know the situation. How Logan knew what was wrong with you and wanted to be here with you. Moral support from the emotionally constipated x-men. Well, mostly constipated. 

After going over the procedures and what needed to be done you step behind the curtains, changing into one of those flimsy hospital gowns. The cool air nipping at your skin as you bite your bottom lip. You were scared. You didn’t want this. You couldn’t do this. You can’t do this! You don’t want to lose your feelings for Logan. He just now is starting to show you attention. It’s not fair! You shouldn’t have to deal with this! You can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t. 

“Are you okay?” Hank's voice cuts through your spiral. Eyes watering and your chest heaving. Ohm you were crying. No, you were sobbing again. Your hands are shaking at your side. You glance at the curtain that hid you from the other two. You know they heard you crying, heard you falling apart. How embarrassing. Your hand grips at the gown, bunching it up at your chest as you take a shaky breath. Lungs barely able to hold a full inhale. 

“Yeah… Yeah sorry. I’m ok. I’m ready.” You step out from behind the curtain. Clear concern was on the blue mutant's face. You can’t read the others. You don’t like this. You silently pad over to the table, bed, whatever it is, that is set up for you. Another strained breathe and you sit on the surface. A glance at the two of them and you lay back. You’re surprised the professor wasn’t here to help out. Maybe he wasn’t needed. Hank could handle this on his own. You can handle this. Logan was here, you didn’t want him here, but it was a strange comfort knowing the man you loved was here to support you. Even if said surgery would remove all feelings for him. How poetic. 

You stare at the ceiling, unsure of what to do as Hank moves around you. Logan who had been leaning on the wall walks over and takes your hand in his. Holding it as if you would shatter at the softest of touches. You hate it. 

“Offer still stands darlin’. Can make the guy love you back.” Although the words would work well in a teasing tone. There was a hint of seriousness behind it. Like he didn’t want you to go under. To have the gardenias removed from your chest. Your hand squeezes his weakly. You knew you didn’t have much time left. You had to do this or confess. Only one of those was an actual option.

Hank returns and holds up the mask. You lift your head up as he slides it over your mouth and nose. It’s too late. You can feel the tears threatening to fall again. You’re scared. Your grip on Logan’s hand tightens as Hank moves around you, making sure you’re hooked up correctly. Your vision starts to blur slightly. You try to inhale the gas as deeply as you could, it hurt. Your lungs didn’t want to fill, you think you can feel the roots wiggling deeper through your lungs and closer to your heart. Your eyes are on Logan, fear clearly radiating off of you. Your own eyes showing the anxiety inside of you. Logan just stands strong next to you. Like a silent guard. 

As the world starts to blacken around you, the corners of the room vanishing slowly. You couldn’t help yourself. You were getting the surgery. You can say the words now. It won’t matter. Your head was already floating and consciousness was fading. Eyes focusing on Logan, like a tunnel. All you could see was him as the world around you slowly vanished into nothingness.   Three words slipped out of you without much thought.

“I love you.” 

The world shifts and the world goes dark. 

The quiet beeping echos. A steady rhythm that matches the slight pounding in your head. Your eyes slowly open, only to quickly shut again. The lights were a bit too bright and everything was… Numb. Your mouth feels dry and you physically can’t feel anything. Did the surgery go wrong? Why can’t you feel anything? A groan bubbles up from your throat as you force your eyes to open. That’s when you feel it.

You can feel every muscle, every fiber of the blanket covering you. The heaviness in your chest is gone. You take a breath. You can… You can take a breath. Your lungs are fully filled with oxygen. Chest rising higher than it has in months. You can breathe. Your eyes open again, the bright fluorescent lights above you illuminate the room. You tilt your head away from looking up at the ceiling. Eyes moving around the room. Gaze falling on the little monitor you’re hooked up to. The beeping was your heartbeat. Ok. That looked good. 

Your head turns the other direction as you take in another sweet deep breath. Eyes landing on Logan. He was still here, sitting beside your bed, head lolled to the side clearly asleep. Your chest tightens in the familiar feeling you have been dealing with for months. That can’t be right. You shouldn’t still be feeling this longing. You shouldn’t still be feeling the warmth that spreads through you over the fact that he had stayed. You shouldn’t be feeling the soft tug on your heart as you look at him or the soft smile pulling on your lips.

This was wrong. Something was wrong. You raise the arm that wasn’t hooked up to all the devices and set it on your chest. There was pain there, raw and uncomfortable, but there was no bump on your chest to show there was a bandage, no pain pulling at your skin. The pain you felt was all under your skin. This isn’t right, something is wrong. Your chest felt clear but you have no evidence that you underwent the surgery. You force yourself to sit up. Pain shoots down your spine. You groaned in pain and a hand was suddenly pressing down on your shoulder. Forcing you back onto the bed. Logan had gotten up.

“Logan?” Your voice was scratchy. It felt just like the times you coughed up all those flowers when he found out. “What… What’s going on? Why do I…” 

“Yeah it’s me. Lay back down. Can’t have you moving around too much yet.” Logan’s hand was still on your shoulder, a gentle pressure making you lay back down onto the bed. Your eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the look he is giving you. You can’t read him. “Don’t talk too much either. Hank said you got to heal.”

Yet you’re pretty sure you didn’t get the surgery though! You should be dead. You… You told Logan how you felt. How you still feel. Yet the urge to cough is gone. Your chest feeling lighter than it has since before the disease took its hold on your life. That has to mean something. Something happened when you went under. What happened? Why won’t he tell you? Why is he looking at you like that? 

Logan’s hand finally pulled away from your shoulder. He just stares down at you as you stare at him. Silence falls between you two. His hand then slowly moves again. Your eyes darting down to the hand. Slowly his hand goes to push some hair out of your face. The same look he has been giving you for the past few months crosses his face. You still don’t know what it means, but it is making your stomach flip. 

“Glad you didn’t die for a guy like me. World be a lot darker without you in it.” His hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek. His hand was soft and warm. The touch a bit too tender for someone like him.

Wait. Wait wait wait. He heard you. He heard what you said before going under. You didn’t go through the surgery yet your chest feels lighter than it should. That could only mean one thing. Your eyes go wide in surprise and your lips part as you go to speak. Pain still itching at your throat.

“You heard me…” Of course he heard you! He was right next to you holding your hand. He has enhanced senses. He heard you confess. He heard you say you loved him. You’re still alive, you still feel for him and you confessed! That has to mean. Your face suddenly lights up. Heat pooling both on your cheeks and in your stomach. There is only one explanation. There is only one way you were able to live and still feel this way. Logan loved you back. That doesn’t make sense though! Before you started smelling like flowers the two of you never spoke to one another. Yet he…

He loved you back.

“Yeah, I did. Could have told me sooner to save you the pain. Told ya I’d make sure the guy felt the same.” His hand leaves your face. He turns to grab the chair he had been sitting in before and pulls it over. The chair legs screeching across the floor making you flinch at the noise. Once the chair was next to you he sat down and took your hand in his again. Once more treating you like glass. Though you appreciate it, you feel like glass right now. 

Logan lifts your hand up to his face, blue eyes staring straight into your own as his lips find your knuckles. Leaving a soft kiss. You were already blushing before, but you swear you feel like you’re on fire. His lips brushing against your knuckles as he speaks once more. You really aren’t used to hearing him speak so much. “Looks like we got a lot to talk about sweetheart.”

You just silently nod, unable to break your gaze from his. Your hand is lowered, your heart beating out of your chest. You are sure he can hear it. You lick your lips, unable to speak a word out of fear you’ll embarrass yourself further. Logan just chuckles slightly, a deep reverberating one. 

“Guess I should say it, not really good with the emotions shit, but I love you too.”

A few blinks and then a small laugh comes out of you. A wince follows after, but the biggest grin spreads on your face. All it took was you almost dying to finally hear those three little words. You’ll never look at gardenias the same again, nor will you be able to stand the sickly sweet smell of a strong floral scent. That doesn’t matter to you though. You obtained something you thought was unattainable. The love of the man you were in love with. The secret love no longer hidden. 

You can now understand the look Logan was giving you. It was the same you had been giving him. You both were in love with each other but were unsure how to go about it. All it took was the flowers that no longer were growing inside of you. 

You finally say the words, more confident than when you went under. “I love you.” 

“Love you too sweetheart.” 

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

what’s your favorite scary movie?

summary: porn star eddie is doing a halloween film with his costar, one that involves a certain mask.

pairing: porn star eddie x porn star reader

word count: 5.9k

warnings: being filmed, daddy kink, use of a realistic plastic knife (nothing weird with it, though), unprotected sex, creampies, choking, brief oral sex (m & f receiving), mentions of anal, breast play, anal fingering (f receiving), degradation, rough sex, kinda dubcon

a/n: im aware halloween is over, but its always Halloween in my mind! also, sorry if anything like this has been done. I just returned to tumblr, and haven’t read many fics here in like 8-9 months.

18+ ONLY. minors do not interact or follow, or you’re getting blocked.

————————————-

Ring! Ring!

The phone next to you was ringing its familiar ringtone, and you looked at it with an eye roll. Unknown number, typical. You were acting the part of someone who didn’t like spam calls, but you hated them just as much in real life, too. You turned your attention back to the TV, ready to forget all about it and delete any voice mail they may leave, when it began to ring again. The same number popped up, and you killed the call. They called again, and again, and after the fifth time, you’d finally had enough.

“What do you want?” you asked irritably.

“y/n,” a deep voice came over the phone. “How nice to catch you.”

“Who is this?” you asked. 

“That doesn’t matter,” he said, and you could hear a grin in his voice. “I was lonely, and thought I would give you a call.”

“Very funny,” you said. “Tell me who you are.”

“What’s the fun of that?” he asked. “Isn’t mystery supposed to be more fun?”

“Is it?” you asked. “You’re probably just someone I know, trying to play some kind of weird joke.”

“Am i?” he asked. “I don’t think I know you at all.”

“Then how did you know my name and my number?” you asked. “Answer me that.”

“Maybe I have my own methods,” he said. “Ever think of that?”

“Ha ha,” you said with an eye roll. You hung up, but the same number called again and you picked up. “Yes?”

“That wasn’t very wise of you,” he said dangerously. “You didn’t even let me ask my questions.”

“They’re probably something really fucking gross,” you said. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Now, now,” he said, tsking. “What do you take me for?”

“A pervert,” you said.

“You’re right,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “But that isn’t why I’m calling you.”

“No?” you asked with a chuckle. “Coulda fooled me.” 

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” he asked, and you could almost hear the grin in his voice.

“What the fuck?” you asked, sitting up on the couch. “What kind of question is that?”

“Are you going to answer it?”

“No, now goodbye–”

“Hang up again, and you’ll regret it.”

The threatening tone of his voice gave you pause. “Who is this?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” he asked again.

“Whatever,” you said, and dared to hang up. It didn’t last long until he called again, and you rolled your eyes as you answered. “What?!”

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” he said. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m not gonna entertain you,” you said. “You’re a fucking creep.”

“Just answer my question and I’ll leave you alone,” he said.

“Fine,” you said with a sigh. “I really like Psycho, Halloween, Friday the 13th, The Exorcist.”

“I know you like Friday the 13th,” he said, and he laughed evilly on the other end. “I can see that you’re watching it right now.”

You froze, sitting bolt upright. “What did you just say?”

“Never mind that,” he said. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No..” you answered automatically, looking around the darkness of your windows for any signs of life. “How do you know what I’m watching…?”

“Just a guess,” he said.

You got up and turned on all the lights, looking around again to see if you could spot someone. “Look, I need to go–”

“Don’t hang up,” he nearly shouted.

“Look, this isn’t funny or cute anymore,” you said. “I’m really uncomfortable, so if you could please–”

“You look really sexy in your pretty lingerie,” he said. “I mean, I think that’s what it is. You’re wearing that pretty pink babydoll with a thong. You like to tease people, y/n? That isn’t very nice.”

“Fuck you, creep,” you said.

“You didn’t ask what my favorite scary movie is,” he said.

“I don’t care!” you cried. “Leave me alone!”

“It’s The Strangers,” he said, and you could swear his voice sounded different now. More echo, closer somehow. “You know, that movie where those people break into that house.”

“I’m–” you began, and your back collided with someone as you backed away. 

You played the part of terrified really well, and you could see the cameraman giving you a thumbs up as you kept the facade. You turned around slowly, shouting in surprise when you came face to face with a man in a mask. He was in all black, and the rest of his mask was black as well, except for the face. It looked like a ghost, its mouth agape in some kind of eternal shock. In his hand was a knife, but you knew it wasn’t a real one. It was plastic that was made to look like the real deal, something the director found at a joke shop for a little bit of nothing. You shrieked and tried to run away, but he grabbed you and held you against his back as he stroked your hair in a near-loving gesture.

“Shh,” he said in your ear, trailing the knife down your arm. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Could have fooled me,” you said, feeling yourself already starting to get wet as you felt him hardening against your ass. “Why are you here, then?”

“I was hoping maybe I’d get lucky,” he purred, moving the knife between your breasts as you shivered. “You’re so much hotter up close.”

“And what do YOU look like under that thing?” you asked, your voice conveying the whole “stall him” vibe that the director wanted you to go for. “It’s not really fair that you see me and I can’t see you. If you’re really not gonna hurt me, then why won’t you show me?”

“I’ll show you,” he said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “If you do one thing for me.”

“What?” you asked, turning your head so that you could look at him slightly. 

“Show me those pretty, perfect tits,” he said in your ear, running the knife between them again. “Outside of that baby doll.”

“And what would you do for me in return?” you asked, turning around in his grip and looking into that mask. “Let me live?”

“Maybe,” he said, looking you up and down. “But first, I’ll just show you my face if you do. Let’s start there, yeah?”

You smirked at him, lowering the thin straps of the baby doll and biting your lip. “You’re probably some total asshole under there. I mean, who calls random women at nine on a Friday night, stalks them, then breaks into their house?”

“Keep going,” he said, his eyes on your breasts. “Show me.”

“You’re a real pervert, you know that?” you said.

“And look what you’re doing,” he said smugly. “Giving into me.”

“You came here to kill me,” you said. “I know that to be true, but it seems like you changed your mind. Why?”

“Because why would I waste such a good set of tits?” he asked. “And I know that pussy of yours is also perfect.”

You swallowed, but smirked as you pulled the baby doll down. You exposed your breasts to him, and heard him suck in a breath. That wasn’t scripted; it was his genuine reaction. You bit your lip again, smiling as you stood before him. He took the knife and dragged it over one erect nipple, causing you to shiver and moan slightly. That also wasn’t scripted or an act, and you knew that whatever happened from this point onward, it was going to be genuine. Well, aside from the basic acts they wanted you to perform on each other, but the reactions? It would be all you, and him. 

“Like what you see?” you asked, shaking them a bit as he groaned.

“Fuck yes,” he said, his ringed hands coming up to grope them. You moaned a little, head tipping slightly as he massaged them in his hands. “I guess I need to hold up my end of the bargain, too, huh?”

“Mmm hmm,” you said, mewling as he gave your nipples a soft pinch. “Shit…”

He stepped back, and you whined at the loss of contact. He lifted the mask with one hand, revealing his face underneath. You acted as though you were surprised to see just how sexy he really was, and his pierced tongue came out between his lips with a devils-horn gesture at the top of his head. You smiled, moving closer to him and running your hands down his chest as he looked you up and down again. Soon, he was grabbing your head forcefully, and drawing your lips to his in a passionate, hard kiss. It turned sloppy, your hands wandering and his, too, finding purchase on your hips as he squeezed. Your tongue played with his piercing, and you could feel the presence of the cameraman in front of you both as you made out. One hand tangled in his hair, the other palming the big bulge that was forming in the front of his pants. His hands came up, grabbing your breasts hard as you moaned into his mouth. He tugged your lower lip between his teeth, moving away to start kissing down your neck. 

“You feel so big,” you breathed, mewling as his teeth found your sweet spot. “Fuck…”

“You have no idea,” he said, pulling your body to his before grabbing your ass. “I want you so bad.”

“Come on,” you said, taking his hand and leading him into the living room. You pushed him down on the couch, straddling his lap before grinding against his dick. “You know what I want you to do?”

“What?” he panted. 

“Want you to rip this thing off of me,” you said in his ear, tugging the lobe in your teeth. 

“Oh?” he asked, grabbing the back of it and tearing it down the middle. “Like that?”

“Mmm hmm,” you hummed, kissing his neck as he moaned. “And I want you to put the mask back on.”

“Okay,” he said, smirking before his face disappeared beneath the Ghostface mask again. 

“You know what else I want?” you asked, moaning as you continued to glide along his clothed erection.

“Hm?”

“I want that big, thick cock down my throat.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You could hear the smirk in his voice, and it would have infuriated you under any other circumstances. Right then, though, you were too turned on to care. You moved from your spot on his lap to slide to your knees, keeping your eyes on him as you did so. You palmed the bulge in his pants again, feeling how hard he was and suppressing a moan. He watched you from beneath the mask, both of his arms stretched along the back of the couch as you pulled his pants down. His breathing picked up a bit as you put your mouth over his cock through his boxers, and soon, you were pulling those down, too. He was exposed to you now, all nine inches of his thick, pierced, flushed erection at your mercy. As per the script, you teased him a little, sucking on his piercing before swirling your tongue around his slit. He mewled, panting as you took the tip in your lips and sucked eagerly. His arms remained on the back of the couch, not moving yet as you started planting messy, noisy, open mouthed kisses all over the entire length of his cock. You moved farther down to take his big balls into your mouth as well, sucking on them with a moan as you jerked him off skillfully. He was panting a little more heavily now, and you traced his large vein with your tongue as you made your way back up his length.

“Don’t fucking tease me,” he growled.

“Sorry, uh…” you said. “I don’t know what to call you.”

“You can call me Daddy,” he said, reaching down with one hand to stroke your cheek. “And what shall I call you, huh?”

“Anything you want,” you said with a wink, spitting on his cock and jerking him off. “Such a big dick, fuck.” 

“What did I say about teasing?” he asked, tilting your chin up with the knife.

“Sorry, Daddy,” you said, opening your mouth and taking his entire cock.

You gagged for a moment until you got your reflex under control, which was something you’d gotten good at in the business. You could feel him in your throat, stretching, his piercing at the back of it as you drug your head up, then back down. He was moaning above you under the mask, his head tipped back as he tangled a hand in your hair. You looked up at him, bobbing your head slowly as you gripped his base in one hand. You began to jerk him off in time with your movements, ignoring the camera man as he came around to get some close up shots. It felt as if he wasn’t even there, that’s how into it you were starting to get. You could feel your pussy throbbing, wetness settling in the thong you still wore as you sucked him off.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, tugging on your hair as you hollowed your cheeks. “You’re so fucking good at that. You’re a filthy little cock slut, aren’t you? I mean, who else just gets on her knees for a man she’s just met, especially one who broke into her house to hurt her?”

You responded by twisting your wrist, eyes still on him as you sucked him off messily. Drool cascaded from his dick and onto the floor below, and your throat was starting to hurt a bit from his piercing. But he was so hot, THIS was so hot, and you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. His hips bucked upward with a loud moan, and you choked as more of his cock went down your throat again. He stroked your cheek tenderly, before yanking you off of his dick. Spit bridged your lips to the tip, and you looked up at him in surprise. Was this scripted? You couldn’t quite remember, but either way, it sent a fresh wave of arousal to your cunt.

“Rub my dick across your tits,” he said. 

“Those are one of my biggest insecurities,” you replied, but did as he asked as he moaned filthily. “But you like them, huh?”

“Fuck yes,” he panted, watching as you sucked his tip again. “You’re so hot.”

“Thanks,” you said, and you continued to alternate between rubbing his dick over your breasts and sucking him off. After a little while, he forced you to stop by grabbing your jaw. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re gonna make me cum if you keep that up,” he growled. “Did I say I was ready to cum yet?”

“No, Daddy,” you said, reaching out to jerk him off. “But I can’t stop worshipping this huge, perfect dick of yours.”

He grabbed your wrist and pinned it to the couch, causing you to whine. “Let me make you feel good.”

“You already did,” he said, grabbing your spit-soaked chin in one hand and forcing you to look up into his mask. “Now, it’s my turn.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to take him into your mouth again, but you were greeted by a light slap to your cheek. “What?”

“I said stop it,” he said, pushing you away as he got up off the couch. “Sit up here for me.”

You whined, but did as he said. You sat down on the couch, watching as he lifted the mask again. He kissed you hungrily, sloppily, one ringed hand squeezing your jaw before it found your throat. He choked you for a moment, and you moaned as his hands found your breasts. He massaged them skillfully, his rings cold against your heated skin, his fingers rubbing your nipples until they were hard buds. He pinched them, tugged on them, swiped his fingers across them, all while you moaned hotly in his mouth. He grabbed his plastic knife, running it over & between your breasts before dragging it over your waist and stomach. 

“I’m going to show you just what I’m capable of,” he said, kissing down your neck after leaving a series of hickeys in his wake. He nipped at your collarbones, before he found your breasts. “You have the hottest body I’ve ever fucking seen.”

“All the other girls you broke in on weren’t as hot, huh?” you asked.

“Not even close,” he said, pulling one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking generously. “Such an amazing set of tits.”

“Fuck…” you whined, one hand in his hair as he tugged your nipple in his teeth. You knew the cameraman was probably getting a pretty good shot with that; Eddie was skilled, he knew what he was doing and how to work a woman’s body. You were reacting to him, wetness pooling in your thong, and you spread your legs for him as you grabbed one of his hands. “I want you to touch me. Please, I need it.”

“So needy, princess,” he said, giving your other nipple the same treatment as the last. He drug the knife down, running it over your cunt as he smirked. “I’ll bet you’re soaking wet for me, aren’t you? You’re such a depraved fucking slut, you know that? Putting out for me like this, soaking that pretty thong for me.”

“Touch me the right way and find out, asshole,” you challenged, and you could feel him grinning against your breast. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he said, smiling up at you as he started to kiss his way down your stomach. They weren’t gentle, tender kisses; they were needy, hard, bruising. You knew you’d have some marks there tomorrow. “Just that you think it’s so funny and cute to be calling me names right now, when I’ve got the upper hand.” 

“Who says you’ve got the upper hand?” you asked, and he slapped your thigh hard as you yelped. “You didn’t have to do that!”

“Shut up,” he snarled, kneeling in front of you and spreading your legs as wide as they would go. He peeled off your thong, and the cameraman moved behind him to get a shot of your pussy. “Fuck, look at that. So fucking pretty and so goddamn wet.”

“I can’t help it,” you said, shivering as he ran the knife over your bare cunt. “Daddy…”

“I’m going to make you fucking scream, baby,” he said, and he immediately began to devour you.

You had never been eaten out like that before, either off camera or on. The way his pierced tongue moved through your cunt, so skillful and hungry, had you moaning loudly. You usually had to fake your moans, or at the very least, over exaggerate them. Not now; right now, every single noise that fell from your lips was genuine. He was devouring you, his tongue flicking your clit with every drag upward, his hands gripping your thighs tight enough to leave more bruises. You reached down to grab his hair, and he moaned as you pulled it roughly. His piercing dragged through your saturated folds, slowly and teasingly, before he pressed it tightly against your clit. More wetness soaked his face, and his fingers soon joined the mix. The cameraman was getting some great shots, and Eddie began to fuck you roughly on his fingers while his mouth did its magic.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” you gasped, rutting against his face as you clenched around his fingers. “I need more.”

“More?” he asked, his free hand dragging the knife over your thigh. “How much more? I’m giving you all I can, you greedy whore.”

“I want more,” you insisted, your eyes nearly rolling back as he started sucking on your clit. “Please…”

“Is this what you want?” he asked, gathering some of your wetness on the fingers of his free hand and pushing a finger inside of your ass. “Huh?”

“Yes,” you gasped, looking down into his big brown eyes as he started to eat your pussy again. “Fuck, please…”

He took his fingers out of your cunt, instead focusing on your ass. He shook his head back & forth rapidly, growling, his eyes still trained on your face. You kept looking down at him, playing with your breasts as his tongue swirled your clit. You tugged your nipples, and soon he was slapping your hand away with his free one to take over. He squeezed it, massaging it, pinching the nipple as hard as he could. You cried out, and you could feel the familiar sensation in your lower stomach that indicated an orgasm was imminent. He kept going, lapping at your pussy as if his life depended on it, shaking his head occasionally, using his piercing to his advantage. He began to fuck you on his tongue as he fingered your ass, moaning as more of your taste flooded his tongue.

“So fucking good,” he mumbled, moaning as he reached down to jerk himself off. “I’m going to fucking cum just from eating your pussy.”

“I’d rather you cum inside of me,” you said. “I wanna feel that big dick in my tight, wet pussy right now. Wanna feel you pumping me full of cum, and feel how good you are inside of me. Please.”

“You’d rather cum around my dick?” he asked, raising a brow at you.

“Mmm hmm,” you said. “But you gotta put the mask back on.”

“Tired of my face already?” he teased, pulling his finger out and putting the mask back on. “Alright, have it your way. How do you want me to fuck you?”

“From behind,” you said.

“Just like a disgusting fucking whore, huh?” he asked, slapping your ass as you stood up. “I’m going to make you feel so fucking good, baby.”

“Then do it,” you said. “Stop talking about it and just do it already, asshole.”

He slapped your ass hard, leaving a large red handprint in his wake. You yelped but giggled, wiggling your ass toward him as he spanked it again. He held the knife to your throat, pulling you up by your head as his mouth found your ear. You could feel his giant cock throbbing against your ass, and knew he was close already. But if everything you heard about his reputation was true, you knew that didn’t mean anything. He could apparently hold off for quite awhile, even that close, and you were looking forward to having him inside of you. In fact, you needed it more than you ever needed anything. You were tired of doing films with men who had average or below average dicks; they didn’t do anything for you, and you always had to fake it. But with Eddie? You highly doubted you would have that problem.

“Keep calling me that and I’ll slit your fucking throat,” he said in your ear, pressing the hard plastic a little more firmly to your throat. “You’re in no position right now to be a fucking bitch.”

“I think I am,” you said, grinning smugly at him as you pushed back against his cock. “You’ve got me right where you want me, right? So, instead of making empty threats and being a douchebag, why don’t you just fuck me?”

He slapped your ass hard again, dragging the knife across your throat ever so gently. “You’re fucking lucky I think you’re so hot. Otherwise, I would be ending this right fucking now by cutting you wide open.”

“Fuck me already!” you said. “You’re–”

You were cut off by a loud moan as you felt him pushing inside of you. You cried out as his thick length stretched your pussy, and you could feel his piercing deep inside. He held onto your hips to anchor himself, bending you over the couch as he pushed himself deeper. You nearly screamed as you felt that piercing on your cervix, but it hurt so good. You reached down and squeezed his hand, and you could tell that he was trying hard not to break character to hold your hand. He had to know how it felt, and you could tell that he was holding back, even still. The director seemed not to notice, though; he just instructed his cameraman to get a shot of his cock buried deep inside of your pussy. He was almost fully inside, and it took you a minute to adjust to how it felt. Never had you been this full, never had anything felt so good, and you weren’t sure how long YOU would be able to last. He was moaning behind you, and you felt his dick twitch. That caused you to moan filthily, and you looked behind your shoulder into his masked face, a smirk on your own.

“What are you waiting for, Daddy?” you asked, biting your lip. “Fuck me.”

He started to thrust, keeping them slow and shallow at first. The cameraman looked up questioningly, and the director simply shrugged and instructed him to keep filming. You moaned, feeling that piercing against your cervix again with every movement inward. He kept hold of your hips, and soon, he was fucking you a little harder. You knew that he was making sure you were okay first, something that he seemingly didn’t do with any of his other costars. Maybe he found a soft spot for you, or maybe the rest of them were used to taking dicks his size. Either way, you thought the gesture of going off script was rather touching, and you looked back at him with a smile. You couldn’t tell if he was reciprocating, but the sharp thrust inside of you somehow told you that he was.

“You’re so fucking tight and wet,” he said, starting to absolutely DRILL you as you nearly screamed. “Listen to that, can you hear it?”

You could. As he fucked into you harder, you could hear just how wet you truly were for him. His fingers dug into your skin, his breath in your ear, and you just moaned as you clenched hard around him. That caused him to groan, and you smirked as you did it again. This brought another loud crack to your ass, and you yelped as the knife made another appearance at your throat.

“Stop doing that,” he growled. “You needy bitch.”

“Sorry,” you said, but did it again.

He stopped thrusting, putting the knife down to grab your throat with his hands. He choked you for a moment, chuckling darkly as you kept clenching around him. He began to move again but kept his grip, letting go only when you started clawing at his hands. He reached around to grope your breasts, rubbing the nipples as he absolutely pounded you against the couch. He was panting and groaning, the sounds filling the air as the cameraman got another shot of him fucking into you. You could feel your lower stomach tightening, but you weren’t ready for this to be over yet. Fuck, he felt so goddamn good; you never wanted it to end. You would have been content going on forever just like this, with him inside of you as you whined desperately. He knew you were getting desperate, too; he reached down, rubbing your clit in hard, fast circles as you cried out. You clenched again, his hands now on your shoulders as you braced against the couch. He drilled your needy, soaking cunt, each bump to your cervix causing you to moan even louder.

“Cum for me,” he said. “Show me just how much you fucking love what I’m doing to you. Show me what a greedy whore you are for my cock.”

You moaned, and were shocked to see that he was pulling out of you. The director was about to intervene, but Eddie was pushing you onto your back on the couch. He lifted your legs to his shoulders and pushed inside of you again, causing you to moan hotly as he filled you up again. The director stopped and instructed the cameraman to keep going, and you looked up into his masked face with a look of pleasure on yours. You arched under him, writhing, your hands finding his clothed back and digging your nails into the fabric. He pounded you hard, the new angle causing him to hit into your sweet spot. He didn’t use his entire cock this time; instead, he decided to get creative, and fucked directly into your G-spot. The feel of the piercing against it was so fucking good, and you tore at his dark shirt as he pounded against you.

“That’s it,” he cooed, the strokes of his cock remaining shallow and deep as your mouth fell slack. “Cum around my cock, princess.”

“Fuck,” you whined, your jaw still open as your head tipped back. “I’m gonna cum so hard, Daddy.”

“Cum for me,” he coaxed, his fingers rubbing hard circles on your clit again. “Do it for me. Show me how desperate you are to let some stranger fuck you like this.”

Tears began to leak out of your eyes. They weren’t bad; it was just so much, so overwhelming. You could tell that he was having doubts, so you sat up slightly to bury your face in his neck. He groaned, thrusting harder before pushing you back down. He pinned you to the couch, both of his large hands holding you down as he mercilessly pounded you. More tears leaked from your eyes, and he laughed wickedly under the mask.

“What’s wrong?” he taunted. “Is my dick too big for you, you disgusting slut? Can’t take it all?”

“No, i can,” you said, trying to get out of his grip. 

“Then take it and cum for me,” he coaxed, fucking you as hard as he could. “Go ahead, show me you can do it.”

It didn’t take much more for you to cum. A few more strokes of his cock, a few more swipes with his fingers, and that was it. You screamed in pleasure, and none of that was exaggerated or fake, either. You squirted around him twice, and the director was staring in awe as the cameraman caught everything. You kept arching, moaning, bucking up against him as he continued to pound into you. He was panting above you under the mask, moaning as you felt him twitch inside of you. He was fighting hard to keep going, but you knew he was going to lose that fight very soon. You reached down and took his knife, holding it up with a smirk.

“You wanna hold this to my throat again?” you asked. “Maybe that would get you off.”

He took it and did just that, holding it on your throat as he pounded you. You moaned, clenching around him, bucking your hips up against his thrusts to aid him. He looked down at your breasts, then back to where the knife was held to your throat, and you felt him twitch twice. You knew it was coming and, sure enough, it did a moment later. He came hard inside of you, moaning through it, his head bowed as he allowed his orgasm to take him over. He continued to thrust until it was done, stopping and nearly collapsing on top of you before pulling out. But he wasn’t finished, and you already knew what was coming because of the script. He pulled you to a sitting position and opened your legs, eyeing your dripping cunt as he rubbed the knife between both of his hands. 

“Look at that,” he said, running his fingers through your sensitive pussy before he knelt in front of you. “I made such a mess of you, didn’t I?”

“Mmm hmm,” you said, moaning as he lifted his mask. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“I think you know,” he said, dragging the knife over your thigh again before he started eating you out once more. “I’m nowhere close to being fucking done with you, you fucking slut. If you think that I am, then you’d better think again.”

“So much for scary movies, huh?” you asked, moaning as he began to devour your pussy even more desperately. 

“I think this is much better,” he said, eating you out more feverishly. “You know what we should try? You know, since you’re such a filthy girl.”

“What?” you asked, moaning as he fucked you on his tongue.

“Giving it to you up the ass,” he said. “I think that would be fun, don’t you agree?”

“And cut!” the director called.

You whined as Eddie broke away from you, standing up as he helped you. The director was coming onto the set to talk to the cameraman, both of them seemingly pleased with what they’d gotten. Eddie sat the mask and the knife down on the couch, grabbing a water as someone on set offered one. He handed it to you, and you accepted it with a big smile. You took a drink, and Eddie’s hand was on your shoulder in a comforting gesture. He pulled his pants back up and gestured for someone to bring over your clothes. You slipped them on once they did, and Eddie wrapped your jacket around your shoulders for you with a smile. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. “I mean, I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I? I tried to be as careful–”

“No, I’m okay,” you assured him. “Really. I just wasn’t used to someone that big.”

“A lot of the women aren’t,” he said with an apologetic grin. “I always ask them to let me go in slow and careful, but they never really let me. I guess they don’t want to shatter the illusion. It’s just…you were crying, and i was so scared that i was hurting you.”

“Well, I can promise you that I’m totally fine,” you said, taking another sip of the water. “Do you think we did well enough for them?”

“Oh, I think we did,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Something tells me they’ll be asking us to do another one together very soon,” you said. 

“In that case,” he said, smiling as he leaned closer to you and offered an arm. “How about I buy you dinner? I know I’ve worked up a hell of an appetite tonight.”

You grinned, taking his arm with a nod. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

____________

taglist: @littledemondani @andvys @wroteclassicaly @succubusmunson @eddieschains @trashmouth-richie @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @reidsbtch @taintedcigs @happylilthought @sunkillerdreamer @battymunson @whore4romance @hallovoid @harrys-housewife14 @alovesongtheywrote @filthy-gorgeous @emmyshortcake @softgoodsstyles @deathlyweird 

[tropicalszns]

hello kitten 😈

PLEASEEE do gojo 🙏 can you do like really silly gojo annoying reader from the SECOND she wakes up to the end of the day, like him and utahimes dynamic basically, and we’re extremely annoyed by him and are always trying to get him to shut up ? you’re welcome to do whatever prompt but make sure to make it FLUFFY!!! and smut if you’d like, i wouldn’t mind 🌚 with muchhhh love xoxo

ROOMMATES !

⋆˚⟡˖° 𐙚 gojo satoru x black!fem!reader

about

your roommate gojo can’t stop annoying you

content contains

fluffff, silly gojo, friends to ??, they were roommates!, slightly suggestive.

word count

1,242

a/n

hey let’s get married frl I love u 🙏🏾😍😍 THANK U FOR BEING MY FIRST REUQESY, forgive me for my tumblr being so glitchy and weird so like I can’t do what I wanna do!! but thank u again for requesting and I’m gonna try and make this the best I can possibly be 🫡 so sorry if it isn’t up ur standards 😭

“UGH!” You groaned. You were once again picking up the dirty socks Satoru left lying around the floor. In the living room, the kitchen, his bedroom, the bathroom, and your bedroom? You put two fingers up by your nose, squeezing hard to block out the stench of the sock you’d just picked up. “This is so gross..” you told yourself.

You walked the living room to see Satoru on his phone, his feet kicked up against the armrest of the couch you just cleaned not too long ago. “Stop leaving your dirty socks around the floor, stinky idiot.” You tossed the sock on his chest, seeing him immediately sit up and push the sock away. “Hey! Don’t do that! I just bought these clothes, not cool.” He frowned, glancing at his sock. “And for the record, I am not stinky, that’s all you.”

You raised your brow, “Me?! You leave your dirty laundry for me to clean!” You scoffed, “I’m not arguing with you, clean up after yourself and stop being lazy.” You begin to walk away. Gojo huffed, mocking you as you walked away, “Not my mom.” He murmured to himself. “I heard that!”

“Cmon! Cmon!” You bit your lip, your fingers fidgeting to your controller. You were in an intense game with your friends and so close to winning. “I got him!” You said excitedly, leaning back against the couch. Your eyes focused on the TV, you couldn’t have any distractions, no interrup- “Do you know where you put the leftovers?” Gojo announced. He slid his hand up his shirt and itched his side and yawned. “Not now, Gojo. Can you shut up?” Your brows pulled together, your frustration building up.

“I don’t know can I?” He snickered, hearing you say nothing after. His laughter died down as he pouted. “No fun, party pooper. Before I went to sleep I didn’t see anything in the fridge, did you make something?” He continued to speak, walking to the couch and glancing at the TV. If he was being honest, he didn’t really care that you were playing the game. He was hungry, and he wanted food now.

“Heeeeyyyy..” he nagged in your ear. You glared at him, swiftly slapping his face. “Ouch!” He held his nose, rubbing his face. “Seriously- not now! Go look for something to eat, stop bothering me!” You urged Gojo, putting your attention back on your game. “Fine.” Satoru sulked and walked over to the kitchen. He stood in front of the fridge, feeling too lazy to even open the fridge door.

He walked back into the living room and crossed his arms. “I don’t see anything, just your stupid drinks.” Satoru deeply sighed, crossing his arms. “Pleaaaseeee, make me something to eat! M’hungry! M’gonna die!” He whined. You felt anger boil your veins, before you could turn around to yell at him, you had gotten killed and finished in 2nd place. Your eyes widened, dropping your controller.

You were speechless. Your lips curled into a line, trying to take breathers but nothing worked. You turned your head to Satoru slowly, watching his sly grin. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, you’re so fucking annoying!” You began to yell at him but Satoru only smiled. “Sooo.. are you gonna get me some food?”

Safe to say that the day ended off with Satoru getting cold microwaved left overs and a bruised body.

“This food is cold..” he whined, picking his fork at the cold mash potatoes. “You asked for food, stop complaining.” You narrowed your eyes at him, scoffing. “Such a baby.” You muttered.

Gojo laid in his bed peacefully, wrapping himself in his blankets with the only light in the room is his phone. “Oh my gosh! Satoru!” You squealed, barging in his phone. Your eyes looked around the room, “Ugh, you’re so..” you rolled your eyes and opened the blinds. Gojo groaned, putting his blankets over his head. “Stooop!” he insisted. “No, anyway, I got a date! So you know what that means!!” You smiled.

Gojo gasped, lifting the covers. “You’re gonna come home crying about your date, then somehow make it my problem because you are always annoyed!?” Your face dropped, “I should kill you, I don’t know how we are roommates.” You blurted. “‘Cause you’re broke!” He smiled.

“I hate you!” You groaned, walking about and slamming the door behind you. “I love you too, I think!!” He yelled back.

A couple hours later, you walked into the apartment, tears streaming down your eyes. Your mascara running down your cheeks, ruining your make up. You continued to sob with your head aching and barely being able to walk in your heels, you dashed to your room and slammed the door behind you. Satoru lifted his head, raising a brow as he heard your sobs. “Eh?” He hummed. He took the pillow off his chest and rested his phone on the coffee table. Satoru got up and walked to your room, the door closed.

He placed his ear against the door. Your sobs being heard so loudly, he jolted. He knocked on the door, his heart slightly wrenching from your heavy and horrific sobs. “Uh, are you okay?” Something he probably wasn’t supposed to ask but he didn’t know how to comfort you. Usually you’d come back from your dates upset or irritated because they were a jerk, now you’re crying. He’s never seen you cry, nor did he have it on his check-list for today.

“Go away, asshole!” Your voice was muffled by your face deeply hidden in the pillows. “Uh huh, no. I don’t wanna.” He testified. Satoru twisted the knob and opened the door to see you sulking in your bed. Your dress still on and one heel on the side of the room and another on your foot. Your pillow dirty from your make up and dry tears and mascara implanted on your face.

“You look horrific.” He snorted. He quickly shut down by you throwing a pillow at him. “Go away! You’re so! Ugh!” You cried. “I was just joking, oh my god! Such a downer.” He rolled his eyes, but he secretly was chuckling to himself. He sat on the edge of your bed, watching you try and hide yourself from him. “You don’t have to be upset because of a date, you’ll be fine.” He shrugged. Satoru wasn’t in your shoes, nor does he ever want to be in it. He didn’t know how to comfort you because he knows eventually you’ll find another date that’s probably better than the last.

“He probably doesn’t even deserve you, and you should be confident to know that. I think.” He added. You didn’t speak, only keeping your face buried in the pillow. “I’m not helping, am I?” He asked, you nodded. “M’sorry.” He apologized. He looked around the room, seeing your posters and plushies, it was like he was somewhat interested in it. He moved a bit, pushing himself further in the bed.

“Do you want a hug?” He offered. You somewhat nodded your head which is enough for him. He awkwardly laid down next to you, pulling you in for a hug. “You’re kinda heavy, no offense.” Satoru blurted out. “Shut up.” You replied harshly. “You’re right, my bad.” He snickered, putting his chin on your shoulder. It felt like more of a cuddle instead of a hug, but you weren’t complaining.

“Wait, what is that poking my butt?—”

made by, tropicalszns, please do not copy, steal or repost my work without permission

[laiosynth]

come away, oh ghostly child... (pt 2)

( PT 1 <-) (-> PT 3)

For about 3 months now, there's been a ghost in Gotham. He's young, maybe 3 or 4.

The people of Gotham have come to accept this ghost (who says his name is Phantom) as a regular part of life, just like the heroes, villains, and other general weirdness surrounding Gotham. He has his own twitter and tumblr tags, #phantomwatch and #gothamsnewson respectively. He's as much a part of the ecosystem as the rest of Gotham.

She kept her promise, the city is his playground.

But Danny is lonely.

Maybe that's why he starts to frequent the heroes' haunts more often.

Nightwing is Danny's favorite. He's kind, more so than even his parents had been to him in his hazy memory. He's strong, too, and he protects people. And he's like Danny- he has a secret identity! Nightwing puts on a mask to keep himself safe, just like Danny.

The other vigilantes are the same, but some of them smell- literally. They reek of rotting, decayed, corrupted ectoplasm. It's gross. Icky. They're still fun to be around, but Danny wishes he could help. The one time he did try to approach one- Red Hood- to help, the vigilante had been busy.

That night, though, Gotham visited him in a dream.

"Danny, my lovely child, you are not my only. These Bats, they are my children too. They are your friends, your brothers. They are safe. They will keep you safe. I know you are lonely, little one. They will keep you company."

The night after that dream, he resolves to meet one of his new brothers. Nightwing is kind, surely he wouldn't mind!

And so, that night, he follows Nightwing! On the way, while Nightwing is resting, there is a churro stand. The smell is heavenly, and he's so hungry, so how can he resist?

So he approaches the churro stand.

"Hello, Mister. Can I please have 1 churro?"

The man running the stand doesn't take kindly to Danny's appearance.

"Back, foul demon! Evil Creature!"

The look on the man's face as he grabs a cross and exits the stand to go after Danny makes him remember his parents, chasing him with ecto-guns and weapons. It makes him cry. He sobs, his wails filling the street, echoing off the walls unnaturally.

"No, no, no! Stop, stop, please!"

The man does not stop his berating. Instead, he raises his cross over his head, intending to bring it down on Danny.

The man does not get that far, because Nightwing has grabbed his hand, and is saying something to the man that makes him flee back to his churro stand. Then, Nightwing kneels down to him.

"Hey, buddy. I'm sorry about that guy, are you okay?"

Danny wails, because he's scared, and he still remembers.

"Hey, hey, Phantom, can I touch you?"

Danny looks up at Nightwing, kind Nightwing, and nods.

Nightwing picks him up, and then they're flying, a different kind of flying than he's used to, and despite himself, he giggles because it's fun and feels funny.

They settle on a roof, and Nightwing moves Danny to his lap, carefully checking him over.

Danny reaches up to Nightwing's face, brushing his gloved fingers over the black mask.

"Yeah, that's my mask. It keeps me safe."

Danny knows all about that.

"I'll be quiet so you can be safe," he whispers, "They can't find out. That would- that would be very- very bad."

Danny wonders what Nightwing needs to stay safe from. He hopes it isn't right around the corner!

"Yes, shh, they can't find out. Very good, Danny."

Danny reaches a finger up to shush him, scared.

"Shhhhh! If they find us, they'll disstect us. Molcle by Molcle..."

Danny wants to cry again. He doesn't want Nightwing to be dissected!

Nightwing cups Danny's face with his hand, and suddenly, Danny feels a lot safer.

"It's alright, Danny. They can't get us up here."

They can't get us... Danny's safe. He's really safe!

Danny lets his ghost form fall.

Suddenly, he's very, very tired...

...

tags: @basilf1res @angelheartgamer @justgray15777 @terzatheunderscorerima @phantom120 @undead-essence @crazydoughnutlady @big-flrda-kys

(tell me if this works, im still very new to tumblr ;-;)

[sdvshanewife]

I literally avoid TikTok because of their opinions on Shane. They have such this warped sense of depression that’s kinda terrifying; gives me tumblr 2013 vibes where a lot of people were just saying shit like ‘uwu such a depressed wil baby bean uwu’ (I mean it’s still like that now but I feel like it was worse before), that when they see the ‘grosser’ side of depression they don’t know how to comprehend it.

Depression isn’t just ‘feeling a bit down’, it’s a serious mental illness that can and has killed people before. Shane himself literally shows suicidal ideation during his cutscenes.

If he barely finds reason to want to stay alive, where the hell would he be able to find the motivation to clean his floor, or fix the holes in his jacket.

Shane cannot be fixed, he can only heal, but like a broken vase glued back together, the cracks will always remain - and that’s not a bad thing.

He will still drink, he never claimed he was stopping, but he cuts back and it shows - that alone is a good step. He has dialogue explaining his mood will get ‘weird’ and he’ll seem cranky because depression can and does fluctuate between good and bad.

You cannot just fix him with a hug and a pat on the head. Depression doesn’t work like that. It’s not an ‘uwu soft bean’ illness, it’s serious. And I hope many of the people that do hold this mentality towards Shane are simply young, and therefore don’t fully grasp the situation because it means they can learn.

You can’t fix people, and you should never form any form of relationship under the guise of ‘fixing someone’. You care people for who they are, including flaws, and you act as the rock they need to ground and support them when they hit their lows.

I hope these people that talk about Shane this way never interact with someone depression, because I honestly think they will cause so much harm than good.

I guess that’s a lot of rambling to say: depression is awful and manifests in many ways, including symptoms that may come across as ‘gross’, but that doesn’t take away from the seriousness of it. Shane is one of the best depictions of depression in media I have seen, and while I’m not saying you have to like this character, the lack of empathy is concerning - even more when concerned to Hayley who is a completely different character to Shane. And if you do have this TikTok mentality, please learn more about depression and how awful it gets. It kills, and your comments and understanding of it, projected onto Shane, are the sort of things that will make people suffering with depression feel far worse - I know from experience as a depressed person who is very similar to Shane in many aspects (just not the alcohol part, just an unhealthy relationship with food, TMI), and has had people say this shit to me because I didn’t want to leave my room cause I was too busy using whatever energy I had to not end my life.

Sorry for the ending I know this got sad fast.

But yeah, hate TikTok, please learn how depression works, and leave Shane alone.

- mistresskezzie (sideblog hence on anon)

you said it all

[nowoyas]

Koi no Yokan 1: the first impression matters most (Nishinoya Yuu/Reader)

Next - M.list - Ao3

A/N: so this has technically been up on ao3 for a month or so but I decided I'm simply going to post it on tumblr and live with less control over the formatting over here. for a more fun way to read, I highly recommend hopping over to the ao3 link above.

EDIT 9/20: DUE TO A URL CHANGE LINKS ARE CURRENTLY BROKEN. FOR EASE OF READING PLEASE PROCEED TO AO3. I HAVE NINETY FOUR FIC LINKS TO UPDATE SO IDK WHEN THIS WILL BE FIXED BUT SOON.

taglist is open!

Summary: Love at first sight isn't real. Whatever this Nishinoya guy was feeling when he proposed to you on sight, it wasn't love. And if you're wrong? All he has to do is propose another nine hundred and ninety-nine times to prove it. (nishinoya x fem!reader)

Warnings and Tags: fem, non gender-neutral reader, mental health + family issues, implied child neglect, hurt/comfort, coming of age, slow burn but like in a weird nontraditional way, gratuitous usage of footnotes

Word count: ~2800

p1. Love is real.

This one's simple enough. You grew up around your parents—hopelessly in love with one another, the romantic types put on this planet specifically to make their kids' life hell in a non-traumatizing, wholesome way, all sweet kisses and gross, get a room! to fill your childhood home. You've seen love. During at least one point of your life, there was love.

p2. Love takes work.

Also simple enough. Again we'll point to your parents—long nights worked by one or the other, working too hard, coming home to find you asleep on the couch with whichever parent was home for you. Bruised egos and hearts, fights that didn't need to happen but always would have, heated discussions whispered in the kitchen when you should have been in bed, but always always always coming back to each other. Separating from one another whenever there was yelling—keep the peace, come back when we can have a discussion. Trying to love you even when your grades fell too hard to overlook, but disappointed all the same, until you're yelling, until you don't fall asleep on the couch waiting for your mom to come home anymore, until you fall asleep studying at your desk listening out for your father, hoping tonight he'll be home before you finish your homework.

p3. Love must be earned.

—or at least, it can be lost. It'd explain the past two years. You lost his love, and you'll earn it back.

p4. If love must be earned and love takes work, then love at first sight does not exist.

Of course, none of this explains anything about what's taking place now, your utterly petrified classmate (one Yachi Hitoka, sits two seats in front of you, never interacted with) darting her eyes back and forth between you and the offender who could perhaps use a reality check against your worldview. For your part, the—question? demand? statement?—had the fun side effect of pitching your voice in embarrassment and disbelief, not to mention totally ruining the vaguely detached image of yourself you've very carefully cultivated over the years.

"I—uh—I'm sorry, what did you just say to me?"

p5. Love at first sight does not exist.

Although the other members of the Karasuno High School Volleyball Club wear expressions currently ranging from disbelief to exasperation, you're not entirely convinced you've heard the offender correctly until he steps forward, chest puffed out without a hint of self-doubt in his eyes.

Point of interest: as far as you were aware, volleyball is a sport about really tall guys yelling a lot and hitting a ball just real hard, and this one doesn't seem to have the height or the shoulder muscles for that. If your first impression is anything to go by, at least he has the volume. He's got a small build—lithe, even, and it's hard to tell with most of his teammates dropping their heads into their hands, but you'd say nearly everyone else here is a good head taller than him at least. It'd explain the hair: save for a little bleached tuft hanging down over his forehead, he's gone to the trouble to spike it, adding a few centimeters to his height total. All in all: confusing, but not unattractive.

c. Therefore, this is not love at first sight.

"Sorry," he says, tilting his head with a wide smile that doesn't look very sorry. "That might've been a bit rude. Please marry me?"

Yeah, that's what you'd thought he'd said, alright.

Shimizu, the gorgeous third-year who'd brought you into this line of fire, lets out a long-suffering sigh. One of the other guys is now on the floor, both hands threaded through his hair.

Point of disinterest: this behavior is clearly the offender's usual.

"Are you stupid or something?" the silver-haired guy on the floor finally manages to say, stage-whispering in utter disbelief. "Seriously, are you just a complete—"

Impulse: Have fun with this.

It's not that you really intended to cut the guy off—honestly, for all you care, he can yell at his teammate or anyone else all he wants. Hardly your problem. But—

I mean, how are you not supposed to laugh?

This is who you are: logic and impulse at war. Doubled over laughter, immediate stock taken of the situation, and, just because you appreciate his initiative, you let yourself speak without thinking too hard about it, full-body laughter subsiding to giggles as you meet his eyes. "You know what? How about you let me finish introducing myself and ask me that… oh, I dunno, we'll say a thousand times or so, and then I'll think about it. 'Kay?"

The offender—your suitor, you suppose—gains an extra centimeter of height at the words, eyes lighting up his face in a way that might actually be dangerous to someone with a few less brain cells to spare. He looks ready to say something, but stops himself. Nods firmly, mimes zipping his lips as though to let you know you can continue.

You stifle a lingering giggle, take a deep breath, and smooth out your uniform skirt carefully. You know how to smile and know how to charm and now you've got a reason to be just interested enough to bother with either. "O-kay. Um, I'm [full name]. Like Yachi-san here, I'm in class 1-5. It's a pleasure to meet all of you!"

"Nice to meet you!" they shout in eerie, overly-loud unison, bowing to the both of you. Beside you, Yachi nearly shrieks, hiding behind you a little as Shimizu steps forward to ask them not to scare the shit out of you both. To their credit, everyone seems genuinely confused as to what could possibly be startling about suddenly being yelled at by twelve or so guys standing around you in a semi-circle.

As for you?

You adjust your uniform bow carefully, suppressing a smile.

Maybe this "managing a club" idea won't be as bad as you thought.

~

Okay, point of order: it's not that you thought managing a club would be bad, necessarily. It's more that, well—look, pretty third-year approaches you in the hall while you're barely paying attention, assumes you're walking with some other random girl in your class, and you're looking for any excuse to stay out of the house as much as you can, anyway, so why not waste a few minutes this afternoon and some more tomorrow? It's not like you're agreeing fully to join or anything. And Yachi, at least, seems nice, though you're a little sorry she's been lumped with you.

You'd decided to make it up to her with a tepid offer of friendship, if for no reason other than to reassure her you don't want her dead (which appears to be a serious concern of hers?), but in the three minutes it took you to draw this conclusion and walk up to her desk, you'd been absolutely steamrolled by two of the club's first years from yesterday (Hinata: short, loud, springy, insists that you drop all honorifics for him. Kageyama: tall, quiet, blunt. Appears to just be along for the ride.) and somehow ended up jointly tutoring the two in English.

The days that follow give you no opportunities to learn any further names—your attention splits neatly between trying to figure out how volleyball even works and not fucking dying whenever a hit or whatever goes out-of-bounds. You'd been right about the yelling, mostly right about hitting the ball really hard (the really tall first-year sometimes hits the ball Not Hard, and your suitor doesn't seem to hit the ball at all?), and wrong about the guys needing to be tall (Hinata, for one, and most of the other guys are only tall in direct contrast to you).

That's about the extent of what you've gotten so far, beyond a bruise or two in preventing Yachi's soul from leaving her body. The guys seem to want to prevent those, but they're certainly not perfect. As for your co-trial manager, she is the very definition of skittish, and thus far has confided in you the following:

someone may want to kill her for standing next to Shimizu for several uninterrupted minutes (fair, Shimizu is extremely pretty)

the coach is going to kill her (maybe a bit narrow-minded—the Sakanoshita cashier is plenty nice, even if he does look a bit scary)

someone here is going to break a finger or perhaps an arm (yeah, no way to counter that one. It's athletics.)

someone here is going to unintentionally break her face with a stray volleyball (perfectly reasonable. You keep an eye out on her behalf.)

Despite this, she connects to the others far better than you ever could. When Hinata's study session with the three of you results in a boosted quiz score, he notices her before you and drags her into the hype session, allowing you to sneak on by while they cheer together. That's fine. You can't really match their energy, anyhow. Every now and then, though, she gets this look or makes some offhanded comment that makes you think she probably won't stick with managing.

For your part, you aren't really decided either way. The Karasuno High School Volleyball Club is full of… well, people. They're all different, you can't keep anyone straight, and while they're certainly polite enough in small doses, as a group, they overwhelm you with an energy that reminds you why you've never really gotten into sports before.

Your suitor is perhaps the worst offender of this—everyone gets louder around him, either out of necessity to be heard or simply because he seems to raise the energy levels of whoever's standing closest to him. He seems to be the root of about thirty percent of the volleyball club's total volume, and his boundless energy is extended your way whenever possible. Without fail, sometime between your feet crossing the threshold of the volleyball gym and getting your shoes on each day, he'll shout your name, followed by a full-chested compliment about how great you look today. It was unsettling for two minutes until you saw him take a flying leap at Shimizu in hopes of hugging her and end up getting slapped instead. For now, you'll take it as a relief that no additional marriage proposals have come your way.

You don't know whether to be disappointed that your suitor apparently is just your average horny teenager and you're not exactly special or relieved that, at least, you're not ugly enough for him to discredit you as an option entirely. If nothing else, it's hard to sense any sort of real threat from someone so openly and earnestly interested in anyone who breathes.

This is what you tell Shimizu as the three of you walk home after practice, the third time in a week she's apologized to you for his behavior. She's not the only one who has—the captain, a taller, average-looking third year, and the vice captain, the pretty third year with the silvery hair, have both gone out of their way to apologize on his behalf, as well as one of the more responsible-seeming second years. Each one has offered, repeatedly, that they can make him shut up if you want them to, but you've staunchly refused.

"I mean," you tell them each time, "he's harmless. All he's doing is complimenting me and like, little helpful things like helping me up. But I'll take you guys up on that if he actually crosses a line."

What you don't—won't—admit to Shimizu or Yachi, and will never admit to any of these guys, is simple enough: you like the attention. You like having a reason for your cheeks to feel a little hot. You like feeling like someone wants you here, like someone's not just being polite because they haven't yet found a reason to be rude.

The morning of the first day of your second week of this little trial membership, and like clockwork, your suitor is already in the gym, already fully awake like he actually rests when he sleeps or some completely batshit concept to that tune. It's six-something in the fucking AM. Normal people should at least be a little groggy right now, but here he is, running right up to you with a brilliant smile that makes you feel like squinting.

Then again, you suppose normal people aren't the type to propose marriage before you even get your name out.

"Good morning! You're looking lovely as usual today!"

You huff softly, open your mouth to mumble in some sleep-deprived reply, and end up cutting off in the sort of yawn that hijacks your full body to make its point. When you've recovered, you nod to him, rubbing the corner of your eye. "Sorry. I don't think I'm real for another twenty minutes or so. Mornin', Senpai."

Your suitor goes uncharacteristically still, jaw dropping as he stares at you. Suddenly self-conscious, you run through your memory of the past week. You'd assumed he was an upperclassman, not having seen him on the first-year's floor at all and having noticed that he seemed to be one of the more solid members of the team. Were you wrong? "Um… did I say something wrong?" you ask at last, hoping on hope he doesn't detect the nerves in your voice.

At your words, he seems to snap out of whatever stupor he'd suddenly gone into, shaking his head furiously. Unless you're mistaken, his face is turning a lovely shade of red, though you can't fathom why. "Uh—no! No, nothing's wrong. I mean, you didn't say anything wrong! You're—perfect, you're perfect, sorry, I—" He clears his throat, clutches a fist at his chest. You're starting to think he's having some kind of medical issue. "I'm not entirely sure you've ever done anything wrong in your life, actually."

You stifle a nervous laugh, tilt your head a little. "Um…?"

"Okay, sorry—I'm good. Perfect. Fine. Please marry me."

Ah. Alright, then.

A bit more laughter bubbles out of you, less nervous this time. "How about this: you tell me what your name is, because we still haven't been introduced properly, and ask me that nine hundred and ninety-seven more times, and I'll think about it."

The star-struck look on his face gives way to the brightest smile known to the human race. He holds out a hand for you to shake. On the record: your stomach does not flutter in reply.

"Nishinoya Yuu, at your service. Will you really marry me if I ask you a thousand times?"

You take his hand. Shake it carefully. Wonder if this is what dying feels like: no struggle, just letting happen what will happen, feeling strangely overwhelmed for no reason at all. "Hey, I said I'd think about it."

His hand's warm. It lingers in yours for just a moment before he drops the hold. "Challenge accepted, then. I hope you're ready."

You snort, wave him off as you head over to greet Shimizu. "Sure, sure. We'll see how long it takes for you to give up, yeah?"

"If that's what you're holding out for, you're gonna be waiting a while," he calls after you.

You toss your head back with a laugh. "We'll see about that!"

Koi no Yokan¹ (恋の予感): "premonition of love" or "love at second sight". in contrast to love at first sight, koi no yokan refers to the sense when meeting someone that falling in love with them is inevitable.

Footnotes

1. I spent a lot of time digging for the origin of this phrase and it appears to be attributed to a quote from one Nicola Yoon. I'm not certain that 恋の予感 is actually a Japanese concept the way that "love at first sight" is a concept in certain English-speaking cultures, and my research into this only turned up, like, BBC articles and an album by the American alternative metal band Deftones, so it's possible that this phrase is more of an Orientalist hallucination of Japanese culture more than it is a real thing.² Regardless, I truly love the concept, and I could not think of a more fitting title for this fic, so I am proceeding with the given interpretation.

2. For what it's worth, the BBC article I found does ask actual Japanese speakers about the phrase and claims it's common nowadays in shoujo manga circles. One of my good friends reads mostly shoujo manga and is more fluent in Japanese than I am, and I had to explain the concept to her, and also, no one can point me to any specific examples, so I don't really have any strong evidence that this is actually true. (Any examples of this out in the wild are more than welcome in the comments; I'm genuinely curious about this.)

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

cw, age gaps, aarmau discussion (/neg)

i feel like people focus a lot on the super senior thing and forget that the age gap is weird anyways.

like obviously the Super Senior thing makes it WORSE, but him being a regular senior doesn't make it any better, if that makes sense. I don't blame people for like trying to figure it out because its so regularly spouted in the fandom but i think the conversations over why the ship is wrong shouldn't end with 'hey he was held back a year!'/'No he wasn't!'

If we want to talk about why Aarmau is wrong as a ship, we should be taking in every aspect of their relationship, because these things do not exist in a vacuum, and analysing the fact that Jesson made the decision to write the relationship with all of these traits in conjunction is a lot more damning than the super senior thing ever was.

Yeah, 14/15 and 18/19 is gross. But aarmau is gross anyways.

Like i think the apology a while ago was needed, but wasn't enough to address the wrongness in how they portrayed this relationship, and the age gap was only a beginning point in where it began going weird.

When i rewatch MyS i plan on doing a whole big series of posts about my thoughts on MyS, there will likely be Aarmau discourse within that, but jesus.

No hate to anyone who does post about the super senior thing, or anything, and sorry to anyone who thought that tumblr was entering an aarmau-free era. I just think we're not discussing any of this stuff deep enough and it leads to it being too easily 'debunked' when it really... really is something that needs to be given the airtime to be spoken about. Like yeah we have gone over this a billion times.... but have we really addressed the weird shit? Or have we just gone over the surface level and obvious because we were kids with no media literacy skills or ability to vocalise our discomfort at the time?

idk, maybe i got into the fandom too late but i never see actual compilations of evidence and points of people bringing up why Aarmau is distastefully written, only ever people bringing up the super senior stuff and other kinda surface level things. which i guess makes sense. kids show and all.

[loser4loserswhok1ll]

I just ended up watching Black Christmas last night and Billy is currently living in my head rent free (just like the attic) so I gotta send a request

How would Billy feel if he tried to call a female victim and ended up with a deep-voiced (trans) guy on the other end? What if instead of just insulting Billy or hanging up, he actually played along and got kind of into it? 👀

oh this is everything i want out of an ask. god bless you. (sorry this was so late i couldnt find an ounce of motivation to drop by tumblr. but we are so back.)

sorry for typos idgaf

canon billy stuff, f slur used (im gay and trans so bite me), a lot of obscenities, degradation, phone sex, masturbation, reader has deep voice and top surgery BUT a tdick and no bottom surgery (srry if thats a yuck for you its my personal preference), yadayadayada

reader didnt just get kinda into it, fella deep dived into it.

the ringing of the phone blared through the house. of course, you walked to go answer it. with a lazy hand and even lazier posture, standing against a nearby wall, you answered. before you could even get a word out, a loud shrill shriek nearly blew your eardrum out from the other side. it was so loud that you had to hold the boxy phone from a distance, brows furrowed and confused.

"piggy cunt. i want your piggy cunt. im gonna lick it! lick it lick it! you know you want billys cock!"

gross. the mans voice on the other end screamed and shrieked and gagged and sputtered out obscenities like he were a teen boy discovering porn for the first time. you cautiously brought the phone closer to your ear, speaking into it. "hey man, wrong number. also, gross." the line went silent for an uncomfortable amount of time, but the line wasnt dead. "hello?"

and with a deep growl, the man responded. "faggot." woah, alright, this just got wilder. "excuse me?" you spoke into the phone, both shocked and mildly pissed. the voice giggled, the giggle growing into a loud screech and manic laughter. "faggot piggy wants billys cock! gag on billys cock with your deep voice." god, this guy was insufferable. yet... this was kind of... fun. you stood straighter, wrapping the phone wire around your finger, listening to the absurdity across the line. "oh, do i?" why the fuck are you playing along? this is weird! "oooh piggy wants to choke on billys fat cock like a faggot. billy will fuck piggys pretty lips with his fat juicy cock." his voice was low, nearly a growl, and there was a sort of desperation to it. his breath was picking up and faint slapping noises could be heard.

realization dawned on you, and dammit, so did a twitch in your tdick. you bit your lip and listened closer, as close as you could with his impossibly loud threats and fantasies. as he spoke, you grew embarrassingly harder, your boxers soaking through way too quickly. "what else does billy want to do with me?" you bit your lip as you unbuckled your belt, undid your pants, and slowly reached a hand down. you were sensitive as is, benefits of being on testosterone, and this sensitivity was only heightened by the sound of the freak on the phone jerkin his shit.

you let out a small gasp into the phone as you palmed yourself through your wet boxers and heard the line go silent again. fuck, he heard your noise. your cheeks flush with embarrassment and you hold your breath, pausing your hand in your pants and not moving an inch. the noises on the other side of the phone continued suddenly. the slapping, the heavy breathing, though this time it was louder and heavier. this time, he was moaning and spitting out his words like they were overwhelming to say.

"piggy slut cumming for billys voice? fucking slut. billys gonna take your cock and suck it and suck it and suck it until piggy cant breathe." your hand continued moving, slowly getting faster. your boxers were dripping wet and suddenly you became very conscious of them, needing them out of the way so you can fuck yourself right. you shoved your hand down your boxers and slickened your fingers and used it as a makeshift lube to stroke your cock faster. you moaned into the phone, your face red at your own noises, as well as the responses you were getting from billy. "faggot piggy, stroke your cock faster, faster, faster. billy thinks you sound stupid now. you want billys cock in your ass so bad, you slut." you moaned out a yes to his words, your orgasm drawing nearer as your stomach tensed and tied in heated knots. billys moans got louder, he got more frantic with his noises. animal noises, screams, yelps, girly moans, low growls, any noise you could imagine. the slapping of his own masturbation was almost as loud as his voice now. fuck, it was so hot. and fuck, you were so close.

"billy, fuck. im so close." you moaned desperately into the phone. "piggy slut gonna jizz already? stupid fucking slut. you moan like a bitch." hes one to talk. he continued his verbal assault and his voice began to crack and break, letting you know hes also close. as your orgasm edged you, you nearly yelled into the phone for billy to fuck you. insane words, even more insane context. you heard him spit into the phone his obscenities as he let out a long, loud moan. that was it, that is what you needed. you came undone, twitching against your hand and rutting violently into your palm. your legs shook and you threw your back against the wall for any sort of support. your hand tightened around the phone and you sat still after for a few moments to catch your breath and come down from your high.

after snapping back to reality, you realized the line had went dead. the embarrassment from the situation settled in as you released your soaked hand from your pants. you hung the phone back up and decided a shower was in order, probably a long talk with yourself too. as you got ready for your shower, stripping and looking at yourself in the mirror, you sighed.

god, you pray that stranger calls again.

[romegaketh]

M, Q, and D for in the pocket!

Lots of text so I am putting this under a cut!

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

I had to kill a Randy/Cody subsection of Seth Rollins Has A Bad Time In Omegaverse and I probably won't follow through on it ever because Randy is too gross for me to want to spend like... lots of time in his head. But I really like the internalized homophobia Potential (wow, florals for spring, tumblr user romegaketh is interested in internalized homophobia) of Randy being like ... very angry that he desperately wants Cody to top him and frustrated that he can't stop feeling like that ever and willing to take out that confusion and frustration on Seth and Cody, probably. I just think Randy's particular combination of gay for pay and homophobic lends itself to him having spent a lot of time baiting Cody into topping him and then being furious about it later.

(Also weird for Cody, obviously, but he can just go to Japan and be insane there xx.)

Randy and Seth had history. Randy had history with everyone; Seth had history with everyone. Cody and Randy were so complicated that when Cody thought about trying to explain it the words leapt into his mouth and tried to strangle him. There was no denying that everything Cody was today bore the print of Randy’s fingers. He had been betrayed - brutally - and just as brutally fought for.  And still there was nobody who misunderstood him so deeply as did Randy; who if asked would probably say that Cody, in turn, misunderstood Randy himself. 

Q: Do you have any discarded scenes/storylines/projects?

I love to keep a little scrap file for every wip because it helps me to feel less like I am killing my precious babies. I was very unsure about how to fit pocket into current timeline and this was the option I was running with initially but have now discarded, thank you for coming back, Roman.

Seth came into the hotel room wearing basketball shorts and an old Shield t-shirt. This was textbook appeasement and it would have worked if Roman had not watched the show from the hotel bed, getting steadily angrier and angrier, until there was something banked and roiling burning in his chest.  “Two weeks,” Roman said. He got up and shut the door behind Seth. “To fight Damian Priest. For the title.” “Some of us like doing our jobs,” Seth said. This was 2012, do you miss football, did your dad teach you that move; Seth with the single blond patch, in the trunks. Roman caught him by the chin. The blond hair fell around his face; he was tan from all the time next to Roman’s pool, in Roman’s yard. The roots were showing already. “I have been with you for ten weeks,” Roman said. “Try that again.” “I’m gonna say his name, so you need to settle down.”  Roman gritted his teeth. Fuck you. Seth shook himself free, pulled himself up to his full height. He was wearing the fucking brace, at least he retained an increment of sensibility. “Hunter and I talked. We went through preliminary testing, I’ve wrestled some under supervision. It’s going much better than anyone expected.” “Under supervision-” He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. “Jesus,” Seth said, and he caught Roman’s shoulder, guided him to the bedroom, to the bed, where he knelt on the mattress with only a singular wince, pressed his forehead to Roman’s, stroked his other hand along Roman’s side. “Hey. It’s me. I’m here.” The chair.  “I only didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to stop me. But now you know, now everyone knows. You’re here. It’s fine.” “Seth.”  “I'm sorry,” Seth murmured. He kissed Roman's forehead, pressed that whole long line of himself against Roman as if Roman were not one wrong breath from violence against him. “But you would have stopped me, big brother. You would never have let me get on the plane.” “I love you,” Roman said, furious, exhausted, terrified. “Is it still you? Would you tell me if it wasn't?”  Seth cupped his cheek with painstaking tenderness. “I don't know. But I'm me, I think. I do love you.” He said that, too. He felt his hands around Seth's neck. The Royal Rumble. I never want to hurt you, he'd told Seth in Ohio.   “This isn't the hotel room I booked.” “You're returning. You were entitled to a penthouse on your own terms.”  “Did you do this to other people?” Seth asked. “Other partners?” Roman shrugged. “Nice things? Yeah.” Other partners, he thought. Seth in the same universe as a girlfriend, Seth in the same universe as Roman’s ex-wife - “It's not nice,” Seth said. “It's about control.”  “It's nice, though.” He waved a hand: bedroom, living room, enormous bathroom, balcony. “He should have done this for you.” “I'm not fucking him. If that's what you're implying.” Not this time. His heart hammered. “You've held every title in this company. He ought to respect that.” “Do you?”

D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [right in the pocket]?

Well. I did not expect pocket to be a billion words long so it is titled from this song and it's a bop. Whatever, we'll all live.

[ayeforscotland]

Hiya, I was wondering if you might have some insight on some posts I’ve been seeing around Tumblr lately (not sure if you may have seen one or some of them) insinuating Scotland wasn’t colonised, and that we Scots shouldn’t be able to take issue with England’s constant meddling in our affairs as strongly as we do because it’s an alliance Scotland went into willingly back in the day.

I’m not contesting that the historical Scotland formed a pact with England and thereby reaped benefits from their colonialism (plus the benefits from colonialism of Scotland’s own, such as with Nova Scotia). But I’m confused at the implication that Scotland wasn’t itself colonised. In my understanding, England did very much ban the speaking of Gàidhlig, the wearing of tartan/traditional Highland clothing, and other cultural practises when they gained control over Scotland. To this day our own language has been so wiped out to the point where there are only something like 50k native Gàidhlig speakers left? On the whole planet. I get that Scotland entered into that alliance with England willingly, but as far as I know, that was only solidified after the Jacobites (i.e. the resistance to English rule, as I understand it) were defeated. Though if I have my facts mixed up here, hopefully you or someone else can let me know?

In any case, though, I suppose I feel weird by people acting like we who support Scottish independence and the recovery of our language and culture have no right to hold a grudge against the English simply because a bunch of guys who DIDN’T support Scottish independence willing entered into a deal with England several centuries ago. In some of these posts it genuinely feels like the implication is that every single Scot is/was totally on board with losing our culture just to reap imperial wealth, and it makes me feel very gross. I am fiercely anti monarchist, anti colonialism, anti imperialism, and that ferocity comes as much from an understanding of how so many cultures and nations and people suffered under the British yoke, as it does from things like me not being able to speak my own language, amongst other things. That sense of loss doesn’t go away just because the people in charge of Scotland back then agreed to it, at least for me. I don’t feel like a hypocrite for grieving the loss of Scotland’s culture/freedom while also hating England for its role in it, and for hating colonialism in general. And maybe I am wrong in thinking this way, in which case I would appreciate anyone willing to help me understand how and why.

I’m not saying what Scotland suffered is comparable to the atrocities that happened in India, Ireland, Hong Kong, the Caribbean, South Africa, etc. I’m not advocating that we SHOULD be lumped in with them on lists of places most devastated by colonialism. I agree that Scotland is not on the same level. And I have no intentions of absolving Scotland of its own historical colonialism—that happened, and we must own it. But I feel like there should be enough nuance in the situation for us to 1) own up to that colonial past, 2) not compare our history to the likes of India etc, and 3) also be able to mourn the smothering of our own culture and the loss of our language at the hands of the English. To celebrate the Queen’s death, to vie for our independence, so forth, etc. Our history shouldn’t be cherry picked on one side or the other. Scotland participated in colonialism, and also suffered from colonialism. I’m not proud of our history, but I’m proud of my culture. All these things are true and I don’t know why that can be so difficult for people to see, but then this is Tumblr we’re talking about 🤷‍♂️

Anyway you don’t need to have the answer to this yourself, but I felt like I needed to get this out to someone who might understand the angle I’m coming from. I’m sorry this got so long. If I do have facts mixed up or wires crossed, I’d appreciate anyone willing to correct me. I’m saying all this as a white person, too—I don’t pretend to speak for people of colour and diaspora from other colonised regions, or understand their exact experiences. I can only offer my own perspective.

Thanks for reading and thanks for running this blog!! Slàinte mhath!

That is one hefty ask! I haven't seen any of the posts in question - it sounds like I'd partially agree with whoever is saying Scotland isn't a colony (for reasons I'll explain below). I don't agree with all of it though. To be honest, I kinda thought we were done with the conversation but every so often I think there's some folk who like to think that every Scottish independence supporter refutes the idea that Scotland was involved with the empire. (There are some who do - and these people are very wrong)

In this post - I talked about how often people on Tumblr get fundamental aspects of Scotland & The Union wrong. It's frustrating seeing it repeated a lot on here. People get the Union of the Crowns and the Union of the Parliaments mixed up - or think they are the same. Some people avoid mentioning or don't know about the riots that occurred in Scotland after the Act of Union etc etc Personally, I tend to be hesitant to use the word 'colonisation' in regards to Scotland - often because I cringe when some fringe pro-indy people say that Scotland is currently colonised. I also think it's hard because so much wealth entered Scotland through our colonisation of the world and not in the "Well the British Empire built trains in India" angle that some people take to pretend the Empire was good. So yeah, I find it hard to say that Scotland was colonised and there's always a portion of people who say "Well in that case what are we then?" The problem with this is that it was more often that not, Lowland Scots destroying the Highland way of life. And then the conversation tends to devolve into the classic "Well colonisers routinely used populations against one another." Which I agree has happened, but I don't have the academic background in colonial history to articulate properly why it feels wrong to say. What I can talk about, however, is that it's really silly for anyone to be making comparisons between the 1700s and today. Saying things like "Scotland can't complain about Westminster dragging them out of Europe, destroying the economy, austerity etc" is just really silly. I think it's fine to look to history, but sometimes, and particularly on Tumblr, it's done at the expense of the here and now. The most vulnerable people in Scotland right now care about paying for food and heating - telling them they shouldn't be complaining because wealthy upper-class Scots sold Scotland out to a union in 1707 is very odd.

[davekat-sucks]

Many curses upon you for making me look at Jane with arm hair, JK no curse only love.

I get your point about art styles from tumblr looking sketchy and lazy. I feel the same way but it’s hard to articulate why it bothers me because there’s a million things wrong with it. 1. It’s ugly 2. It’s disrespectful 3. If you’re critical of it, people assume it’s because you’re an “ist” or a phobe.

I often think these tumblr artists want people to look ugly on purpose. I think they’re trying to “redefine beauty.” Which means making black people look like a caricature, women having a lot of body hair and everyone needs to have scars and stretch marks.

What sucks in my eyes is that plenty of over weight people I’ve meet are great at makeup and styling their hair. They portray fat people like slobs and then pretend they are representing fat people well. Course, if you’re 300 pounds and five foot four that’s not good but what’s healthy isn’t my point right now. My point is fat people and/or chubby people are depicted by the tumblr crowd like they’re ugly monsters.

(((Off topic a bit; it’s pretty funny that Jane is the “fat” character in Homestuck and yet she’s the meanest bitch in HS^2 and the fandom agrees with the plot shitting on her.)))

So my main point is gonna be this; Art should be made to express something and/or capture beauty. The intent of these tumblr artists is to portray someone else’s characters through a tumblrified lens, so it feels more like a trend than a legitimate take on a character. No different from when everyone made characters look like pastel goths or wear swag 2013 LMFAO clothes. It feels like a dumb trend that’s existed past its due date.

Sorry my ideas are a bit all over the place here but I’m really trying to understand why the art style bothers me. That being said though, if people wanted to make any character any race or weight it’s something I welcome. Just I wish there was more thought about if what they’re drawing is done well or respectfully.

I like to see twilight sparkle drawn black or at least with dark skin cause it’s just my headcanon but I don’t want to see her drawn like a horrible stereotype like that pinkie pie drawing from a while back.

I wouldn't mind if grotesque art is shown as beauty itself in the context of the strange and horror one can make. Ugly art mixed with comedy too is great to show contrast that strange figures or shapes should terrify us but makes us laugh at how weird and crazy it is. People call that 'Newgrounds' art because of figures such as Egoraptor, Spazkid, and Zach Hadel (one of the creators of Smiling Friends), showing weird expressions or animations that looks so strange out of context by using grotesque art as their main point.

It is really is people thinking they have to take all the faults and flaws as a serious thing. If anybody dares laugh at it like it's a joke or think it is portrayed as shock value, they get labeled as the ist/phobia bullshit. It's strange that people want others to see fat, beauty, stretch marks, and everything that seemed as bad, as a positive thing. But the more they emphasize it, it can be taken to extremes that it turns into a negative. That's the paradox of it. God knows those people hate stuff like BBW or weight gain art because it "fetishizes" those traits. I don't mind strange weird art if the point of it is something like for laughs or horror. There probably can be gross art that still portrays it as oddly sweet. Just that the execution of it by the new gen, doesn't pull off well these days.

[amyisherenowitsokay]

claps hands together. hi hope you've been well, sorry i haven't asked much. buuuut. I forgot you wrote a thing until lately. :}

War On Love. How would it have continued/ended, what plot beats where there supposed to be if you remember any, etc?

also this'll sound weird, mainly because I can't really explain it and I'm still working thru it, but I wanted to say thanks for writing it? Finding it again and reading through it reminded me of things I had forgotten about myself for a while. Which has really helped from then to now. So, yeah, as silly as it sounds, thank you. :}

Lmao you're never obligated to interact with me homie, dw. Feel free to send me whatever when you're vibing, but don't also feel pressured to engage. You're too kind.

Long answer under the cut

I go back and forth on whether I'll ever update WoL. It just has so many bad connotations and memories for me about the headspace I was in while writing it, and where I was at emotionally, etc. On the other hand, I'm also incredibly proud of some of the insights I wrote about Gaz's perspective, and the overall plot twists and where it was going. I also still have a TON of writing for it still in bits and pieces, both important chunks and unimportant, AND like 4 chapters of the sequel written.

Sometimes I'm like, well, I could sort of finish it in the same style that like That Thing on Your Wrist and What We Become, which are more written in sort of continuous blurbs with gentle transitions and takes occasions to focus on really important scenes. I think with what I have written, it'd be feasible, but that'd also mean taking time away from my more important projects like Dead Weight and Re:MHNY2, so I hesitate to really commit to anything. You are not the first person to ask though, so that may be something I end up doing in the long term. A quick add up of the chunks of the story I have written says I have roughly 53k words of unpublished story for WoL. On the one hand, a shame to go to waste, on the other hand, I'm not really sure how I'd feel emotionally about trying to dig it back. Like I said, I go back and forth. Just for bonus trivia, since I gave the unpublished word count for WoL, it's sequel, which had a pending title of War on Finality, has 25k words written, and about a 2k words worth of ideas that I wrote, but wasn't sold on including.

I super appreciate btw your note about "things I had forgotten about myself for awhile." That really resonated with me. WoL has is a bittersweet for me because while it was my attempt to push through the gross stuff happening during that time period that I hadn't processed yet, I'm still also really proud of the messages I was going to include, some of the plot points I'd come up with, plot parallels, the OC's character development and direction, and how incredibly different it was going to be from anything I'd written at that point. I think it'd probably have ended up being one of my most emotive fics, and definitely with the (initial) darkest ending.

That being said, the plot of WoL definitely is it's own whole ass post, so apologies for not being able to answer immediately, but I genuinely think I'd break the character limit of tumblr if I tried to go into it all here lmao. Also, since it comes up sometimes from other dm's I've gotten, I think the better idea for me to do is make a masterpost about WoL and where it was going, include some screenshot blurbs for context, etc. That might take a few days, but when that posts, I'll reblog this with the link to the masterpost.

[catpine]

gonna be real this has been eating at me for so long but i can finally get it off my chest since that hellsite is going down!

i’ve been envious of your writing for years. you are such a creative, fluid, and articulate writer i craved so much of your approval and honestly i’m too scared to say it to your face, even with the death of quotev, but i really mean everything i say even if i’m on anonymous.

sasha, you are gonna go so far with whatever you do wether that’s an article writer for some new york magazine or a cookbook writer - whatever it is. i have felt stuck in the same place with my writing for years and i’ve never improved. never gotten better, never gotten good, and i stopped trying. you are such a beautiful writer but i never had the confidence to actively participate in your groups. i would maybe join and never get past the forms because i never started in fear of writing.

when i joined aberdeen, it was so… weird. i don’t know if that’s the right word i’m looking for but when you accepted me it was like, “okay, cool, whatever.” and i convinced myself i was ready to write again and try for the millionth time to improve. reading the description over again and then the pre-planned episode introduction and it made me feel that same twisting in my stomach, one of dejection and excitement. on one hand i wanted to write like you and it motivated me to try again but on the other i knew i would give up too quickly before i could even study another style.

i always wanted to approach you to be like “hey sasha!! can we do a 1x1 roleplay i kinda crave your approval creatively but please don’t think i’m a weirdo for wanting you to like me!!” and i could never say it, could never get it out properly because i always wanted to be your friend, too, but i think i’m living way too different of a life. i’m sorry if this is weird but i just had to say it before it turned me into lilico and ate me from the inside out whole. i’m not saying this to just be like “i hate your writing, it makes me think low of myself” it’s more so just my way of trying to say you have a gift that you should never give up because some shitty site is taking that away. i’m sure you’ll get used to tumblr or discord or whatever else you move on to but don’t let quotev ruin your fun. percy is a character i love because he is so much fun, so realistic in the way you wanna hate him so bad because you’re a shitty, mean sorority girl at heart who has a trashy hot pink bra somewhere in her dresser but you know that growing up in such a lonely space, to know what it means to be a social reject with a sense of superiority that you just… relate to him in this gross way you can’t explain. you wanna scrub the skin off of your body because holy fuck, why are you still alive and your brother is dead? why are you miles away from his grave without a pulse and above ground but he’s six feet below the soil and not coming back? it’s almost unfair - no, definitely unfair.

don’t let quotev take away shit, adapt and develop. like i said, wherever you end up, you’ll do great.

can i just say i'm genuinely sitting here with my mouth wide open and almost crying because this is so unbelievably sweet. i'm writing this and visibly gesturing my head in disbelief. HELLOO????????????? this is the absolute kindest thing ever and i can't articulate my appreciation enough, this kinda made my life. did you know you were gonna make my life with this?!

but i'm gonna encourage you for a minute so buckle up. writing, at least for me, is such a tangible feeling and if i do not feel it, i do not do it. sometimes i'm okay with that, but the majority of the time it is the worst feeling. i'm sure you know, but some of my recent posts on quotev were me airing out (sometimes cathartically, but mostly just screaming to the void) about lackluster feelings within myself, the point of my writing and various other grievances. i say all of that to say: i've been there and will be there again. it comes with the territory of writing, with anything really, but if you truly enjoy it (and from this message, i get the feeling you do) you know nothing feels better than seeing it come together in words. whatever you were trying to communicate from something very literal to a description, to the effect certain verbiage leaves on you; you know it can make you proud, it puts you somewhere. i'm always trying to recreate that feeling. if i get it from my own writing, a quote somewhere, an entire movie: i try to replicate what it means to see so clearly a vision. like you mentioned rereading the aberdeen description, THAT IS THE FEELING. it's an obsession and i know that sounds so radical and comedic, but it's not. it's rewatching particular scenes to entire seasons of a show because there's that liminal, undefinable feeling to it. it's going back to annotated essays because there's something written with articulation pulled from your own unique, lived experience by someone who died before you were born. a song because that specific chord sounds exactly like the way a certain place looks. my simple understanding of it all is that if you get that feeling, you should probably continue chasing it. unless its like fatal, maybe not then.

as for everything else, i would love nothing more than to work with you on some writing project. if it ever comes to fruition or not, that's besides the point. i think it would be a great joy to just work with you and see what our minds cook up as that's always been my favorite part anyway. shoot me a DM, i don't care!

i just want to express how moving this genuinely was and how happy i am you reached out. the one thing better than that aforementioned feeling i described is someone to share it with and i swear by that.

[demonicnarwhale]

Fun times

read below for like some ideas, might be / very much, a bit -pulls on collar yeesh- but like, my tumblr i get free range (If you're viewing this on like, your normal dashboard, sorry, cuz of the text, it works with the Keep Reading when looking at my tumblr but dashboard the whole "expand" so yeah, again, sorry!!!)

So, I like to think that at any opportunity to have any sense of control, Die will take it. Especially if it means being able to have a hand or control physical harm. As he's used to being the butt of many jokes, tortures, pain, you get it. It is his chance to cope, to get the upper hand and feel like he has a choice. And in this case with HK, she's too, naive? passive, I guess, to really do anything about anything. And she really just wants to help in any way possible. Die can get away with this stuff and knows that there won't be any terrible consequences through his actions. As HK can always be brought back. And he's not harming any real member of the Felt. (Minus being "scolded" by Crowbar, but like, who really actually listens to him at the end of the day?) He's just fascinated by/with death, and in a way, how bodies work. He's only been in the presence of Snowman, and ya know, can't go off and nearly kill her cuz 1. She fights back/won't be down for this shit 2. universe. So, HK, a carapace and different anatomy, wouldn't you wanna exploit explore that? She lives in the manor, she works for them, how convenient. (I know, MC but those mfs fight back as well and ofc don't live with the Felt) Also, carapaces can tank a good couple of hits, perfect ain't it?

Now, what does HK get out of this? Death lol. Nah, the feeling that hey, maybe she's actually helping! Wow! That makes her feel better, being a people pleaser or something along those lines. She can and does talk back or defend herself with the likes of Itchy for example, just cuz they're friends, she's comfortable enough to express any signs of discomfort or "hey cut that shit out" also because funny slapstick. But with Die??? She doesn't really know him all too much, the guy locks himself in his room for most of the time. This counts as like some sort of bonding exercise (to her) but also because she doesn't want him to react worse or hold a grudge against her. She can't deal with when people hate her it makes her feel very gross and disgusted with herself.

This is a very unhealthy... (coping for Die) mechanism/dynamic???? Taking your feelings out on someone who doesn't know this is not helping at all. And thinking you're helping someone and being helped when it's doing the opposite.

And what about the others? Do they know? Some do...

...perhaps.

But again, HK isn't gonna go around and tell the others about this because she doesn't want Die to be harassed even more, she believes this'll get her weird and disgusted looks, and she's generally not bothered by any of this. (Also may or may not be because she only views herself as just the Felt's house keeper/maid, someone they could easily just replace like as if it were nothing. So to her, she believes her importance is just to clean. So why would they care/bother with this?)

Giggles twirling my hair. It's fine, HK can be brought back. Also, I know I like to draw her getting hurt but ya know twirls hair again, that's just how it be when you got ocs. And don't tell me that it isn't funny. No, but augh I'll draw her happy sooner or later. And some actual finished art.

[astharoshebarvon]

To think there are people actually celebrating the death of a boy whose tragic and horrifying end even their fav regretted shows exactly how straight shippers/homophobes minds work, you know they are the ones who despise lucerys/aemond.

Anti Lucerys tag? Ugh, seriously? What did the boy ever do to you except being shipped with Aemond in fandom thus driving straight shippers, homophobes completely mad.

Then they shouldn’t get upset if other side says we look forward to Daemon driving the dark sister through his nephew. That fact will never ever change. I look forward to Caraxes biting grandma Vhagar’s neck. And he is the one who at least gets to the shore with his last breath. Go Caraxes!

You can’t quote your books one second and dismiss the show then quote show and dismiss the book. Pick one.

This weird behaviour isn’t even something new. I’ve seen it enough times that now I just feel kind of tired. It’s just - sometimes it gets too much, the homophobic comments and attitude, people excusing women off their gross actions, not calling bastard women bastard, because gasp, we can’t do that. Not calling women rapists even if the book shows you they were that.

I am sorry Tom Riddle Sr, you have always been a victim and are still reviled by the mad fandom and author. Good of you to run from your rapist and never forgiving her. You deserve to be applauded for being brave.

As someone who likes Ben Barnes and adored his portrayal of Darkling, you could see how manipulative, power hungry he was, he was brilliant!

I can say without hesitation his character deserves to be in purgatory regardless of how good looking he is. Did I like how he controlled the volcra and came out of the fold, yes! Do I look forward to him being defeated? Yes!

It’s hilarious how far straight shippers will go to excuse a character’s horrendous actions. I am sorry if you think how he looked the other way with Genya is not extremely vile of him. What good person doesn’t care if the people they are supposed to care about are hurt like that?

And, no I don’t care if people ship Darkling and Alina or not. I read a few works of it on ao3 and laughed when most were grooming, that creepy parent kink, pseudo parent child relationship. It turned me off the ship completely.

I like Lucerys/Aemond but if you are going to sit there and say that boy deserved to die then I feel sorry for you. Though it doesn’t stop the straight purists from erasing the boy from HIS ship and putting their self insert/ofc and clogging the MM ship tag with their fem luc bull.

Have a bit decency, even his name tag says son. Ugh.

The best part of this whole thing is straight shippers getting upset and saying slash ship will be forgotten once xyz fem characters comes.

Now lets take a look at how true that statement is. It’s not.

Witcher

Geralt/Jaskier- 19k thousand fics and lots of fanart and shippable moments. Top ship on tumblr, pretty sure ship with Yennefer didn’t make it and has 2k fics. But they have sex scenes on the show so, yeah.

Steve/Aunty, I refuse to call her anything else. It’s laughed at by even casual viewers. My friend doesn’t ship Stucky and she was like, why’d he go back to aunt ? What is this?

Stucky and Stony’s popularity shouldn’t even be a surprise.

Mcu is so hell bent on shoving straight steve down people’s throats they have to specify he is not a virgin and had sex with a female in their lame shows. As if it’s a crime if he died virgin or is asexual. God, seriously!

And that show invalidated Bruce’s trauma. We should forget the man put a bullet in his mouth and care about their lame, dumb girlboss show character.

Merlin/Arthur- it’s been almost a decade and they are still loved.

Sirius/Remus- I needn’t elaborate, it’s that loved.

Thorki, it still remains to this day popular ship for both characters.

not loki with mary sue oc was loathed by people who don’t even care about thorki, so, there is that too.

Hannigram! Still beloved by so manys that it’s embarrassing if you try to say but the sex scenes were with females. Please don’t. You have to be deaf, blind and plain stupid if you think they werent a thing.

Anakin and Obi Wan, yup, it exists and is loved, even more after the show came.

I can go on but it would just become embarrassing and pitiable.

My beloved cherik, Erik Lehnsherrr/Charles Xavier. I should just stop.

I am not surprised by this behaviour since the fans of got deluded themselves with thinking jonsa was a thing, and it was somehow better than aunt nephew since they are cousins. Incest is incest, don’t be stupid.

I dislike both, Jon is happier with his wolf, grey ghost than with either women. It’s predominantly het fandom and now they are pissed a MM ship is getting all the love. Isn’t that the crux of the situation? God, don’t take it out on that sweet boy, he doesn’t deserve it.

Then again this callous behaviour shouldn’t be surprising. I remember seeing top tumblr ships post of last year, characters posts and even there the posters were upset that majority of ships were slash. Only twenty percent were straight or something like that, they even went so far as to say this isn’t diversity. Seriously?

My God, please, don’t be so horrid. Don’t get so pressed if people like gay ships.

[chippedaxe]

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Title: Irritated Arousal

Warning(s): cursing, NSFW, thigh f!cking, sub reader, tell me if I should add more warnings.

Pronouns: They/Them, non specific anatomy

Synopsis: Karl with a reader that gets angry when they’re h word <3

Pairing: c!Karl X Sub! Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Note: unedited* idk why I wrote this? I was just bored one night and couldn’t think of anything else to do.

- also don’t bully the title, LITERALLY couldn’t think of anything better!

- also I copied and pasted this from my notes instead of writing it on tumblr so that’s why it might look a bit weird or different!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Your head whipped around to stare blankly at the silly boy “what?” You spat out at him as he stared back dumbfounded “why’re you upset, is it because of me?” He poked your cheek innocently and you slapped his hand away.

“Yes! It is- go away!” You waved him off “please tell me what’s wrong! What did I do???” He started nagging at you and pulling at your clothes which annoyed you even more “stop it Karl!” You exclaimed “ah- sorry!” He pulled away and apologised “I just- I’m really annoyed right now!” Your face was tinted with what he thought was anger but was really embarrassment.

You knew how you got when you were horny and you knew the crabby attitude that you were portraying was just a front to hide how desperate you are. You crossed your arms and tried to take it off your mind, trying to avoid Karl as well.

“Come on sweetheart, what did I do wrong?” Karl caressed your cheek and you shivered slightly “don’t do that- I told you! I’m just annoyed!” You pushed him away “would it be better if I let you alone for a bit?” Karl got up to give you some space but you stopped him “Yes! Wait- no? Maybe? ugh- I don’t know!” You held your head in your hands.

Your thought process is literally fucked when you’re horny, most of the time you’re unable to think of things other than sex when you’re aroused. “Can I do anything to make you feel better?” Karl gave a sweet smile, you knew exactly how you wanted to answer that but hesitated.

“Maybe..” you considered whether or not to just straight out tell him, you’d expect him to tease you for being cranky over something so silly. “What can I do for you, honey?” Karl leaned back on the couch “you.. could..” you tried to think of something but your mind only led you back to one thing. Sex.

“AH! You’re a stupid nerd!” You shouted and then stomped off, you were obviously irritated and a bit annoyed but you didn’t wanna say or do anything that would actually be damaging. “Stupid? I’m literally the smartest person in the world” he joked around and you gave him a weird look.

“Aw come on! I thought you’d like that!” He lowered his head, you sighed in defeat. He was really trying to cheer you up even though he didn’t know what was wrong! You may as well tell him your problem, right? I mean he should be happy to help!

“What is it?” He noticed your sigh and came over to caress your face, you lowered your head and buried your face in his chest as you confessed sheepishly “I’m horny.” He gave out a little laugh “sorry- what?” He asked again “I’m.. horny!” Your face was full of embarrassment, you felt slightly humiliated.

“Is that all? I thought you were really upset with me for a moment!” He snickered, his lips pressing to your cheek for a moment. He straightened his back “alright then- we walking back to the bedroom or are you happy for me to take you here on the couch?” You pouted at his question, obviously you didn’t care where he stuffed his dick inside of you!

You didn’t bother to move so he just assumed you wanted to fuck on the couch, Karl got on top of you and started to lean in for a kiss. You snubbed him and turned your head, you still weren’t feeling happy with how long he took to figure out you were horny!

“Still mad? That’s alright, I’ll fuck the happiness into you! Or at least fuck the anger out” Karl kissed your temple lovingly “shut up” you tried not to smile at his silliness “make me!” Karl tried to kiss you again but this time you let him, his lips capturing yours in a passionate and loving kiss.

His lips were warm and soft, it made you melt underneath him- or the anger might just be melting you. You reached up and took a hand full of his hair, using it to deepen the kiss. Your tongue made its way into his mouth, the pink muscle slithering around every crevice of his mouth.

He pulled away for air, his face red and Karl’s hair sticking to his forehead. He was panting and starting to become really sweaty “aw gross! You’re all sweaty!” You complained but he laughed “oh baby, I know you love it!” He kissed your cheek again.

Karl unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off “it’s starting to really get hot in here” he sighed when the cold air hit his body. Karl then took your shirt off for you and inspected your body, the way he looked at it was like he’d never seen it before, like this was the last time and he’d never see it again.

You squirmed under his predatory like gaze “don’t stare at me like that, hun’ it’s making me feel exposed..” you complained lightly “oh I’m sorry darling, didn’t mean to make you feel ‘exposed’” he laughed to himself as he slowly leaned in and began leaving light kisses along your jawline.

You tilted your head back a bit to allow him more room, he smiled against your skin and began to suck a little bit as he kissed your jaw. His hands roamed your chest curiously, pinching and grabbing at the soft flesh. You whined out loud as he groped you up, hands clawing at the couch.

“Y-you’re taking too long..” you voiced your complaints, feeling slightly agitated at how he was testing your patience “just thought you might like a bit of foreplay, forgive me..” Karl caressed your cheek. You slapped his hand away and huffed “I’ll hurry it up now then, pants off please darling” he smiled at you.

You pulled your pants down your thighs and let it drop to the floor, thumbs hooking under the waist band of your underwear and sliding them off as well. Karl leaned back and admired your body, eyes glazing over every nook and cranny.

Karl gently parted your legs, his eyes immediately being drawn to your aching hole. “Oh darling, that looks painful.. let me help you” he lowered his hand down and allowed one of his slender fingers to curl up inside of you. You gasped and covered your mouth with your hand, eyes squinting to look at him.

“Is this too much?” He asked you, you shook your head and decided to be a bit of a brat “n-not enough.” You told him. Karl’s smile faltered for a bit but then returned when he shoved a second finger into you, your hole taking his hand so easily.

Your tight fleshy walls clenched around his two fingers, your breathing became a bit more heavy as you were starting to get close. “G-gonna cum..” you warned Karl “oh? Already? But I thought you wanted me to fuck you..” he pouted at you. You could see that he was obviously teasing you but you still gave him what he wanted.

You opened your legs up more and looked at him through your eyelashes, head tilting downward slightly “I want you to fuck me still..” you spoke quietly. Karl smiled and pulled his hand away from your hole which made you whine, you then quickly dismissed your negative feelings as he replaced his two fingers with his penis.

Karl slid himself into you gently, your hole already being stretched open- sucking him in. You leaned your head back and arched your back a bit, your hips aching from the hold that Karl had on them.

Karl gripped your hips tightly, starting to thrust against you. His balls slapped your ass with every thrust he did, the sounds of skin on skin echoing around the room. You hoped your disturbing noises wouldn’t be heard from outside.

You squealed and struggled to keep your mouth shut as Karl pressed himself deeper inside of you, the head of his cock pressing against your insides. Karl let out a soft groan as he rocked his hips against you, nails gently dragging along your thigh which left light scratch marks.

You couldn’t help letting out a loud moan, feeling much better letting it out than to conceal your pleasure. Karl started going faster the moment you started being more vocal which only encouraged you to stop being quiet.

You were sure the whole SMP could hear the two of you now, heaving sweaty bodies pressed to each other with the sounds of clapping and groaning in the room. Your hands wrapped around Karl’s torso, nails threatening to scratch his skin.

Tears pricked at your eyes gently as you felt what may have been the best orgasm of your entire life about to approach, you tapped Karl and tried to make it clear that you couldn’t hold on for him any longer and you had to let go “g-gonna cum!!” You exclaimed “that’s okay baby, do it for me..” he encouraged.

You let go, cumming around his cock. Juices from you started to leak out of your hole and onto your thighs, making you groan in annoyance “oh perfect.. Baby, you don’t mind if I get off with your thighs, do you?” Karl smiled up at you.

You shrugged and laid down, panting heavily as you tried to catch your breath, feeling a bit sensitive as Karl pulled out of you and slid himself between your legs. His dick slipped between both of your thighs closed together.

He started to fuck himself against you, now only thrusting for his own pleasure and enjoyment “oh thank you, baby..” he moaned out softly. His hands gripped onto your soft plushy thighs, his cock twitching against you which let you know he was about to cum.

Karl shuddered, his hips pausing their movement as he suddenly came; cum shooting out onto your thighs and covering a bit of your stomach. “Ah! Thank you!”Karl flopped on top of you, arms hugging your sweet body “No problem but I’m all dirty now!” You complained “I guess we’ll have to bathe together then, my dear” Karl chuckled before kissing your forehead and getting up to run you two a shower.