#to write and plot and chat on there !

[sceletaflores]

where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.” 

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name. 

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.” 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?” 

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves. 

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. 

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts. 

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. 

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils. 

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup. 

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you. 

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you. 

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around. 

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach. 

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.” 

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off. 

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness. 

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso. 

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in.  You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass. 

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock. 

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts. 

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks. 

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door. 

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted. 

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!

[iinarizaki]

pro freak

things just don't go so well on a call for poor Aizawa...and he needs you 🫵 tags: 18+, 4.0k, aizawa x f!reader (sorta, I don't think I used any pronouns or gendered petnames with this one), guys it's sex pollen there's like unprotected marathon sex, cunnilingus, cum, sweat, masturbation (m!), dry humping, things are happening.

“Ha! Even the great Eraserhead can’t beat me. So sad how the heroes are falling since All Might’s retirement!” The lanky twenty-something currently attempting to do circles around him taunts him with that annoying, grating voice of his. 

Attempting is the key word here. While still being surprisingly fast, Aizawa has still managed to stun him twice but there was some stupid counter to his quirk that is proving full capture a little challenging. And the– admittedly foolish as he knows much better– added distraction of being almost late to a dinner date with you is tugging his full attention from the urban jungle that he chases this young idiot through, swinging from buildings and lamp posts like that one fictional American superhero All Might compared him to one day not too long ago… Spider-boy or something. 

It’s just the thought of disappointing you, of missing the expensive reservation that he somewhat reluctantly booked six months in advance at some hyper popular restaurant you wistfully mentioned wanting to go to after seeing an instagram reel…

Just to see you happy. 

Knowing it’s work related and you would forgive him easily is a weak comfort but he would rather not have to ask for forgiveness in the first place. Having you in his life is something he never realized he needed until one day you just seemed to show up and he quickly realized that it would kill part of him if you weren’t around. 

He just needs to hurry and wrap this guy up, then alert the police or Best Jeanist or whoever else is close enough to pick him up. It’s not like he really cares if he gets all the glory…

Especially on a minor incident like this. The guy was stealing from an improperly unsecured bank truck and knocked out the guards. It’s basically kid shit. 

As he tries to quickly consider his options and form a plan, an opening appears when his opponent turns his head to taunt him further, only to clip the side of a building, falling to the ground with a heavy thud, his plastic helmet cracking on the sidewalk. He dives forward with his scarf, activating his quirk and using his scarf to carry him closer to further incapacitate him when he passes the opening of a street and out of his peripheral he sees something coming towards him at speed.

Before he can react, a cloud of something pink is thrown at him. He flinches when it slips through the slats in his visor, the powder burning his already sensitive eyes harshly. Thinking quickly despite the burning sensation that now spreads down his neck, rolling over his shoulders and making him shudder. 

Taking a literal blind chance, he flicks one end of his scarf out to suspend himself from a street light. Unable to stop his momentum, he swings wildly, bumping his leg painfully as he wraps his other scarf around the second perpetrator.

His shoulder protests holding his weight, Aizawa forcing himself to bite back a grunt and the growing hot feeling beginning to thrum through his veins. He carefully drops himself to the ground before launching the now freed second end of his scarf to wrap the first of the hooligans that still lays unconscious. 

“What is this?” He asks sharply to the grumbling form on the ground, trying to open his eyes but every time he tries it just burns so badly that his eyelids can only flutter. 

“My quirk. You got hit with a full dose of my love dust!” 

Aizawa grimaces, and not just at the corniness of the bullshit these young villains have been spouting recently. 

“And what does it do?” He asks sharply as he uses his chin to bump the comms button on his watch. “Eraserhead here. Need assistance.”

“Already have your location. Best Jeanist is in the area and on his way. Hang tight.” Dispatch crackles back via his earpiece. 

“It’s in the name, wise-ass.” His aggressor snaps back with a clear grin that Aizawa can hear in his voice while the dispatcher spoke. Honestly he couldn’t be more happy that he can’t see the full expression on their face, though the burn is starting to subside, leaving more of that weird pleasurable tingle in its wake that seems to be intensifying. 

“We’ll just have to ask you two more questions at the station.” He sighs, forcing himself to breathe normally when that pleasurable tingle spreads past his shoulders in earnest, snaking down towards his groin. 

“If you make it that long.” The dust villain mutters before they start to laugh, earning a renewed glare of disgust from Aizawa. 

Before he can inquire further into whatever the hell that means, the sound of confident steps approaches from behind as Best Jeanist interrupts them. 

“Good evening, Eraserhead. Seems like you’ve gotten into a bit of a situation.” Best Jeanist’s proper tone clips along, never overly friendly, but that’s something he’s always appreciated about him. All professionalism and getting the job done so they can just go home. 

“Yeah, uh, hey, Jeanist. There’s just this one and the kid on the corner.” 

“Understood. I have backup on the way.” Best Jeanist just nods, strings whipping out to secure the two of them so Aizawa can undo his scarf.

“Ugh but c’mon, you need to let me go, I have class tomorrow! We didn’t even do anything!” The whining would-be villain at his feet huffs. 

“Should have thought about that before throwing weird dirt at me.”

“It’s not dirt.” 

Well that can be said for sure. The the initial burn was closer to lightning, sparking through him harshly, but now burn is slowly licking its way down his spine, over his abdominals, almost too uncomfortable at first before it subsides into a pleasant buzz, his thoughts drifting to you now– in compromising positions, whimpers and breathy moans replaying in total replay. 

Everything in him begs to go see you, very nearly overwhelming him as he attempts to stay professional and alert…except he brings his hands up to his eyes and makes the mistake of rubbing at them to see if he can open them yet. 

The heat that explodes immediately catches him off guard by how potent it is. He staggers forward, the sensation almost bringing him to his knees. 

“Are you alright, Eraserhead?” Best Jeanist asks curiously. “Do I need to call for a medic?” 

“No, it’s fine. I will go see Recovery Girl myself.” He says quickly, not really wanting anyone else to know about whatever this ‘love dust’ is. 

Getting attacked in battle was easier than now having to sit in Recovery Girl’s station, his scarf unraveled from his neck and strategically placed in his lap while she finishes running her tests. 

It’s not like he can just knock out their well-meaning nurse, nor does he want to but the embarrassment is terrible and invasive, and being rock hard while she shakes her head at him and chastises him is even fucking worse. His skin feels like it’s on fire, desire to be with you heavy in his gut and balls even heavier. 

Fortunately between texts to you to let you know that ‘yes, I’m safe’ but ‘sorry I won’t be home in time to go to dinner. Go ahead and take a friend. We’ll go another time.’ and keeping his hands and mind busy with an end of his scarf keeps his thoughts from wandering too badly. Folding an edge, then smoothing it out, folding it back down, rinse and repeat.

“You need to be more careful.” Recovery Girl scolds him. “But you’ll be fine. It’s just a case of um, well, increased libido for at least the next several hours. Nothing I can do about it unfortunately.” 

A fresh fat bead of sweat rolls down his neck uncomfortably and Aizawa fixes her with a tired, blank stare, only to be taken aback completely by her next question: 

“Have you ever heard of sex pollen?” 

“Excuse me?” He half asks, half says way too quickly. He was young and curious once and some of the stupid things he’s confiscated from the students over the years from drawings to handwritten fanfiction have been wildly inappropriate in nature…But he’s not going to talk to Recovery Girl about sex pollen. 

He must maintain some shred of distance and self respect today. 

A beat goes by as Recovery Girl debates explaining it to him before she just waves him off. “Eh, forget about it. It’ll probably go away by tomorrow. Maybe if you found a partner it would go away quicker?”

Clearly a reference to you, but he does feel a little…weird about seeking you out when he finally gets home just to work out the lingering effects of a villain’s quirk. Even if the craving he has for you right now physically hurts him. 

“I’ll just head home and wait it out. Thanks.” With that, he quickly stands, still trying to keep the mess of his scarf in front of him to conceal the biggest issue with him wanting to stay lowkey about all of this. 

“Good luck.” Recovery Girl offers as she finishes her report, what he’s fairly certain is a grandmotherly giggle managing to sneak through the crack of the door as it shuts behind him. 

By the time Aizawa gets to the apartment he shares with you and starts to unlock the door, he’s feverish. His thoughts are cloudy, he’s hot and sweaty all over, and worst of all, his cock has throbbed painfully nonstop at not being paid any attention to in the last couple hours since his initial exposure. 

Separate warring feelings of relief and disappointment flood through him when he steps through the door and it’s dark, only the hum of the appliances in the air to suggest that the power is on, and the place you usually occupy on the couch by this time of the evening is empty and cold. Maybe, hopefully, you did take his suggestion and took a friend to your reservations. 

But God, his heart and cock aches for you. 

At any rate, he quickly undresses and throws his still contaminated clothes in the washer before he finds himself attempting to remedy the issue himself in the shower, the leading thought of removing any remnants of dust that hasn’t soaked into his skin yet quickly forgotten when he accidentally grabs your body wash instead of his own. 

Cool water running over his defined back and surrounded by the scent that has become so you, he finally begins to palm at his cock, red and swollen and begging for attention. His head falls forward to rest on the shower wall, long dark hair curtaining his face as a pant escapes his lips. 

It feels good, a slight relief to take some of that gnawing edge off, but his hand is not your hand, and pulling from his expansive memories of experiences with you is not helping the same way it usually does. He strokes himself, squeezes, tries all the tricks he’s come to enjoy over the years with growing desperation to cum, but every time he’s so very close it fizzles out. 

The water runs freezing by the time Aizawa gets out and dries off, pulling his wet hair back in a loose bun, yet the heat that burns under his skin still rages, and he’s more frustrated than he has ever been in his entire life. 

He curses under his breath as he strides to the bedroom. Heading straight for his wardrobe, he grabs a pair of boxers to wear, the thought of putting on any more clothes than that right now makes him feel as if he very well could die. And the only person who can help him is…

Well, Aizawa needs to check his phone to see if you’ve texted him back since he was in the shower. It’s been nearly an hour judging by the time on the clock by your side of the bed. He pads back out to the living room, a small groan rumbling in his throat as sweat starts to roll down his back and chest again. 

As he picks up his phone from the kitchen counter, the front door opens and it takes all he can possibly muster not to immediately sweep you off your feet. 

“I’m home!” You call. “Shota?” 

“In the kitchen.” He calls back, attempting to clear his throat when his voice comes out a little husky. 

“How are you feeling? I stopped to get some things for you and I sweet talked them into letting me bring you home some takeout from that restaurant.” You flounce in with a sparkle in your eye, setting plastic bags down before moving in to hug him. Something he immediately dissuades by holding a hand up that stops you in your tracks, a confused frown pinching your brow as you wait for him to explain. 

“Don’t come too close right now. Sorry.” It’s a dagger to his heart to have to refuse you right now. Aizawa bites his lip, looking away from you, one of his hands coming up to rest on the back of his neck, “Thank you for dinner.”

“What's wrong?” He looks back towards you, watching as your concerned gaze roams him, searching for any obvious signs that he is hurt but coming up with none aside from a bruise forming on his calf from his slight collision with the light pole during the chase. 

“I was attacked by a villain with a, uh, quirk that makes you very horny for a while.” 

“Oh.” The frown turns into a look of surprise, before you start giggling, the sound even sweeter than usual and so fucking dangerous but the final nail in his terrible coffin is when you pair it with a gesture to the treacherous bulge in his boxers. “I was wondering why you were so happy to see me.” 

His face feels even hotter, and he pitches forward to rest his elbows on the counter, planting his head in his hands with a long groan. 

“Don’t bully me.” He grumbles, muffled behind his hands. “It is so hard not to drag you off to bed right now.” 

What answers him is another giggle that is both his salvation and his destruction. 

“Awww, poor thing, how can I help you?” Your voice gets closer, all but purring in his ear, and he wants so badly to bury his face between your legs, sink into your pretty cunt over and over again, hear you cry out in pleasure until you’re hoarse, leave you covered in love bites and cum and— 

He starts to deny you but the second your lips plant a soft blissful kiss against his shoulder, one of your hands starting to rub over his tense back, letting your nails drag down lightly, his brain short circuits. He moans into his hands, dropping them down to turn and seek you and your pretty lips instead. 

You meet him halfway, soft lips brushing against his and another needy noise rumbles in his throat as one of your hands rubs over his chest through his dark, neatly trimmed chest hair. A scrape of your nail over his nipple and he pushes you up against the counter, hips rolling against your half perched thigh. 

Stars sparkle behind his eyelids with the friction against his cock, the relief almost palpable. He breaks from the kiss to mouth at your neck, hot breath fanning out over your skin as you hum so sweetly.

“Thank you.” He breathes, fucking himself against your thigh desperately, “Fuck, thank you.”  

“Come, Shota. You’re doing so good.” You purr, stroking fingers along his scruffy jaw and down to drag your nails over his shoulder lightly again.

Quickly and with the force of a train, finally his first orgasm drowns him, vision whiting out as he clutches on to you tightly, tensing as he fills his boxers with ropes of warm cum. 

Aizawa shudders while the last sparks of pleasure roll through him, rough pants and soft hums tucked into the crook of your neck. But he only gets to enjoy how satisfied he feels for a moment before that awful hot thirst grabs him by the throat again. 

“How do you feel now?” You ask, continuing to rub your hand up and down one side of his back soothingly.

“Hah, we’re not done yet.” He rasps against your neck, easily hooking his arms around you and picking you up to sweep you away. You laugh in his arms as he quickly strides down the hallway and into your bedroom, his heartbeat thumping in his ears.

You’re so satisfying in his arms, substantial and gorgeous and everything he could ever hope to get lost in as he drops you down onto the soft covers of the bed. Immediately you start shedding your clothing, everything thrown off in a rush to the four corners of the room. 

A few sticky rogue webs of cum take their sweet time to break as Aizawa steps out of his boxers. His cock lurches upwards, tapping against his stomach before he’s kneeling on the bed and draping himself over you with a blistering hunger and need you have only rarely seen before. 

He kisses you again, all teeth and tongue and whimpering desire, his breath catching when you return his kisses with the same desperation. As much as he needs to fuck you with abandon, he forces himself to slow down, beginning to kiss down your body until he’s half off the bed, supporting most of his weight on one outstretched foot before he spreads your thighs a little wider to reach your soft glistening cunt. 

“You’re so pretty.” He compliments before he spreads your folds with his nose, bumping your clit as he licks broadly with his tongue. He moans against you, not usually minding your taste, but today you just taste incredible. Like the finest fresh strawberry in the world. 

“Oh, god.” You whine under the overwhelming onslaught of his mouth. He smiles when you cant your hips into his mouth, feeling a fresh gush of wetness on his tongue. He introduces two fingers, so gently stroking over your folds before they delve into you with abandon. 

Ever aware, Aizawa knows all your spots. All the little tricks to have you coming completely undone before he’s even been inside of you yet, anything he can do to hear you crying out his name and leave you struggling to walk on boneless legs, he’ll do. 

And he takes advantage of that now, latching onto your clit and crooking his fingers to brush against that rough spot that always makes you see stars, fucking into you with punishing speed and accuracy as your hips jerk and you desperately try to muffle yourself even just a little bit, but he doesn’t care about the neighbors hearing tonight. 

His thoughts are filled with only you and fucking this quirk bullshit out of his system. His hips grind against the edge of the bed with every sweet moan of his name, his cock twitching when you tumble over the edge, cunt clenching tightly around his fingers. Your hands tangle into his hair tightly, loose pieces falling over his drenched face. 

Pulling his fingers from you, he sucks them clean, wiping the spit and remainders of your juices off on the covers before he pushes back up onto the bed, tendrils of still damp black hair brushing against your collarbone. 

“So, how was dinner?” He asks between heavy breaths as he reaches down and grabs his cock, angling it down to slip into you easily and to the hilt with one stroke. 

You keen at the fullness, still sensitive from your orgasm just a few moments ago, the most gorgeous sight to him when your head tilts back into the blankets and exposes your neck for him to mark up, let everybody know that you are his. 

It’s so juvenile, Aizawa is more than aware, but he saw Hawks flirting with you the other day and it ignited a little something in him, even though he knows you would never betray him like that. 

“Ah, it was sooo good. There was—Ah, Shota,” You start off strong, voice dying off into a whine. “Wish you had been there.” 

Obscene noises fill any silence as he rocks his hips into you, barely pulling out before he’s hitting himself again roughly, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t. I tried to make it.” 

“I know, baby, I know.” You coo, “I’ll tell you more about it after you’re done railing me as long as you tell me how you got hit by— harder, please, oh fuck —this sex quirk.” 

Aizawa snorts though heavy breaths, “Deal.” 

The sight of you underneath him, sweat slicking your skin from the heat radiating off him, smelling so sweet and musky and sexy, he dips his head down and licks over your chest, up to just under your jaw as he snaps his hips into you, salty and sweet and driving him wild. 

Every stroke inside of you feels like the first one, the pleasure leaving his head swimming as he continues the quick pace of snapping his hips into you once more, another orgasm blinding him harshly as he falls forward onto you, barely braced by an arm he throws out to catch himself. He continues to grind into you, curses and whimpers of your name are panted against your collarbone as warm ropes of cum paint your walls.

“Sorry.” He groans, relieved as it seems to be wearing off now, that sense of urgency gripping his body and mind easing off. “I think it’s over.”

“I don’t know, I think this is pretty hot.” You laugh. “Seeing you so wrecked is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, Shota.” 

“Glad someone is enjoying this.”

“And you aren’t?” 

“Oh, I am. You taste so fucking good.” He kisses you, slipping a little tongue before he pulls away and licks at a bead of sweat on your chest. “So good.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” You laugh, pushing a stray damp strand of his hair back behind his ear.

“Uh huh.” He rolls his eyes, a sense of dread filling him when that now familiar heat fogs over his mind again, racing down his back towards his groin. “Fuck.” 

“Again?” 

“Uh huh.” He shudders when you purposefully clench around him. He begins to rock into you again, his hip popping and starting to ache. 

“I heard that.” You comment. “Let me get on top. Have a rest.” 

He rolls the two of you so he’s underneath you, carefully enough that his cock barely moves from where it’s buried in your warm cunt. You sit up and Aizawa can’t help but moan when you shift and the erotic sight of the mixture of your fluids slips from your pussy down his shaft, pooling on the dark hair around the base of his cock. 

You start to move your hips and his eyes are fixed on how gorgeous you look like this, his cock disappearing between your thighs, the slick sound of wet skin on skin, the way your chest jiggles, he remains transfixed as you push yourself to keep the rough pace he set a few moments ago. 

“Shota,” You moan, “Touch me. Please.”

His heart hammers in his chest as he meets the rhythm of your hips, pistoning up into you desperately as he brings his fingers up to caress your chest and rub at your clit in short fast circles that leave you keening. 

When you fall apart on him and Aizawa cums again with a hoarse cry, disgusted yet beyond turned on by the slick mess he’s making out of you, he’s so grateful that it’s you by his side. 

The effects of the quirk subside by the morning after a night filled with exhausted love-making, leaving the two of you sore and soaked in cum and hickies and exhausted— and throwing this set of sheets out as soon as possible.

[sunsburns]

the complete knock was SUCH a good fic. like genuinely one of the best avenger!reader fics I’ve read in a rly long time. I could read a dozen more chapters of it fr. very excited for part 2

also you got Valentina’s character PERFECT. Val basically just Selina from Veep but eviler, and your dialogue for her and behaviour felt like something straight out of the show. 10/10 no notes

thank youuu omgg ☺️☺️ i’m gonna be honest i was kinda scared to post it because it was more plot and other characters than anything else and we only met bob after 6k words 💔 but im so happy so many people are enjoying it !! here’s a sneak peek for part 2!!

[astro-can]

how I feel after rewriting the first chapter of my sbg x hunger games fic 15 times

[batcavescolony]

I hate AI. You wanna see your favorite character say something? Here

Dick Grayson: Hi, Don't use AI to make me say things. I'm literally a fictional character, just think.

Look at that Nightwing himself told you not to! Want another?

Dean Winchester: AI is fuckin' stupid, nothing can fake being a human on my watch.

Wow, amazing!

Support the actual humans in your fandom.

[meowstix]

i do think probably my biggest issue with fury is how like. they really don’t think very hard about the idea of the legendary bladers. like, okay there’s a LOT of potential things to go into here. how might different people react to being one of god’s specialest little guys? how would these reactions conflict with eachother and the prophecy? how reliable even is this information, and are these people REALLY the only ones who can stop nemesis?

fury does atleast go into the viewpoint of those who aren’t chosen, though, but it’s… not very encouraging, to say the least. like ok so my thoughts on this were mostly spurred on by some discussion from the other day, cause… no, i don’t think fury is at all critical of the concept of legendary bladers.

like, okay, i’m gonna preface this by saying king was ABSOLUTELY in the right here. or atleast… he should’ve been.

despite someone for once ACTUALLY OBJECTING to the idea of needing to gather these legendary bladers, everyone is still going along with that line of thinking. he’s never actually proven to be right. because like it or not, this is just the way things are. it doesn’t matter how hard you work.

except… hold on. there’s a catch. so i was partway through writing this post, right? and then i realize NOBODY FUCKING MATTERS NONE OF THE LEGENDARY BLADERS DID SHIT EXCEPT FOR WHO DO YOU FUCKING THINK, IT’S GINGA HAGANE

they’ve played us all for FOOLS. no matter who you are unless you’re GINGA HAGANE you are just the supporting cast. nothing matters. tumblr the site hates me and wants me to die because i wanted to put a video in this post.

[cuhnthater]

If I see anyone publicly critiquing the ending of any tomarry fic, I will personally exorcise their spirit and pray on their downfall in the afterlife.

[sagisbrainrot]

bingliushen omegaverse au where while out trying to handle disputes between demons and humans, bingqiu run into alpha!lqg while he’s hunting. Lqg of course decides to help them and they end up in some odd palace that even sqq knows little about. While navigating the area, omega!sqq and alpha!lqg get separated from lbh and trapped. On their way back to lbh, liushen unknowingly stumbles upon a plant that not only temporarily swapped their secondary sex (including their scents), but also induced heats / ruts

[saras-almanac]

Letting Go Sequel - snippet

So... I am working on this 2017 break up fic again. Still trying to figure out the particulars (aka if Robert goes away, how long they stay broken up, what he does in the mean time) so bear with. But I do have a little piece from their second chat about the arrest. We'll see how it goes as I keep writing! For anyone interested, here's the original piece: Letting Go. It's a canon divergent AU where after Robert finds out Liv's behind his arrest with the police, he breaks up with Aaron.

“I want to get passed this,” Aaron said. “I miss you, I miss you so much. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“I don’t either,” Robert said.

“Then let’s just get passed this, yeah?” Aaron asked.

“It’s not that easy,” Robert said.

“Yeah it is,” Aaron argued. “We just have to talk about it.”

“I have done,” Robert said. “I’ve done nothing but try and talk to you, but you don’t listen to me. And I’m… I’m just so tired.”

“What do you mean I don’t listen to ya?”

Robert looked at Aaron, saw the bloodshot and red eyes, the too long stubble, and the lack of gel in his hair and wished he felt anything—relief that Aaron was struggling as much as him, sadness that Aaron was hurting, even anger at himself for causing Aaron a moment of unhappiness. But he felt nothing, just a bone-deep exhaustion with everything.

“Can you honestly stand there and say that you’ve listened to me when I’ve spoken to you about Liv, about anything recently?” Robert question. “I warned you when she turned up that something was off about her and she was spying for Gordon. I tried to get you to stop putting her above what you need and your mental health when it comes to him, you have made yourself worse being there for her—”

“She’s just a kid, Robert!” Aaron defended. “What was I supposed to do? Just leave her alone?”

Robert shook his head. “It’s not that you didn’t do what I was suggesting. It’s that you get angry any time I bring it up and then we fight. I’m worried about you and what this is doing to ya and for my concern I’m treated like I’m actively trying to get rid of her, which isn’t the case. It’s not what’s happening. At all.”

“So what, I’m not strong enough to deal with this? It’s just too much for poor, fragile Aaron?” Aaron shot back.

“This! This is what I’m talking about!” Robert said. “Any time I say anything at all, it’s turned back around on me. And I’m tired. I’m tired of caring about you, being concerned for you and then it being thrown back in my face. I’m not sorry for worrying about you, Aaron, and I won’t apologize for voicing it.”

Aaron said nothing.

“Do you even understand why I’m so hurt by what happened with Liv and the police?” Robert asked him.

[beneathsilverstars]

i love themes. i love when i'm writing and i'm like ughhh i have to come up with some filler bullshit details to go here because it's necessary to the rest of the plot but not actually very relevant to it, and then i'm like wait. i know how to make it relevant. i just have to make the details echo the overarching themes of the piece. and suddenly it stops being filler bullshit and starts being, like, foreshadowing or allegory or some cool shit like that ^w^

[sttoru]

when will porn with plot be appreciated . WHENNNNNNNNN ?????

[avroravia]

https://www.tumblr.com/avroravia/781275862627696640/be-with-you-pairings-dadsbsfdallas

i usually really like your fics but your characterization in this kind of sucked. there’s no way dallas would be that nice to a girl he just met? he was so rude to cherry in the book idk why he’s being so nice in this

and tbh your fics are getting kind of gross, like this is a really weird plot? the age gap is huge and the fact that it’s darry’s daughter is even weirder

ok so you saw the numerous warnings i put before the fic even got started, and you still decided to read it, and then you wanna come talk shit to me about it???

also in the actual book it’s canon that dallas was nice to steve’s cousins when they were visiting from kansas so what makes you say he wouldn’t be nice to darry’s daughter?

and the whole point was for it to be kind of gross and weird? tbh hot take but i feel like a lot of the reason outsiders writers burn out is because they only write what other people want them to and they don’t write for themselves? like i feel like every outsiders x reader fic i read is just something recycled, and it has the same plot same characterization same type of reader and everything?

sorry i’m writing for MYSELF on MY account on MY free time? like please don’t pmo and go clock in?

[sympathytea]

So this is a sequel to this post mainly because there was some crucial details in the finale that I missed, but this is specifically going to be focusing on Parrot rather than Evbo, although Evbo is still going to be part of this whole theory. Lets start.

[Transcript Start] Evbo: -My iron sword, so their swords will never break. Thats why I have to get out of here, so that I can prove to people that there is a way out! Obviously, to do that, I need to make it to level 4. But its a bit tough to do that, since theres no way to rank up apparently. Parrot: ...Wait, what do you mean theres no way to rank up? Evbo: Oh yeah! I probably should've mentioned that every time I try to rank up to a golden sword- Woah, getting up close and personal. But..yeah, theres no water at the bottom, I've died-

[End of transcript.]

This exchange to me, at first, read as rather inconspicuous. Other players have killed Evbo before, or straight up hit him. So it didn't particularly click with me that this was something to pay attention to, but it was a bit weird considering how Parrot is first characterized. His whole introduction with Evbo and Tabi, and him talking about the iron sword layer being peaceful, and trying to protect Evbo's immortal identity, being depressed and isolating himself in a mansion.. It seems odd that this would suddenly shift when the situation becomes "Theres no way out" and him almost getting violent here, like every other character in the series. But he shows restraint in his anger rather than lashing out. Good right? Well... Next time we "meet" Parrot the implications are less than ideal. We learn he is a bow, and that he attempted to tell Evbo this, but the message about Tabi's betrayal got through to him too late. Then something else happens. Evbo, post betrayal and probably wanting to let off some of the stress that has most definitely been bubbling under the surface, Kills the entire iron sword layer. Or atleast very heavily implied that he did, along with Parrot's help. In Evbo's words, he "Killed all the people that were against me." which could either mean like, two people or the entire layer, and I don't think Evbo was particularly keeping track of the "bad" iron swords that came into his cell depending on how populated that layer actually is. The way someone would typically twist this, is that Parrot is willing to do terrible things for his friend's safety and comfort. Which is fine, but hear me out. Considering that Parrot got very close to snapping at Evbo back in episode 4, and was pretty absent throughout the arc where Evbo trains until he gets to the diamond sword layer, and then out of nowhere, helps with a murder spree despite him being one of the more peaceful residents? One that doesn't appear to get into fights, nor is seen going into Evbo's cell for kills? Evbo lets something slip near the end right after describing the massacre that he and Parrot did together. Parrot says:

"I will do my best to make a difference in this world."

Now, this sounds good in theory. Great, even! But consider the stuff we learned from him up until this point, the tiny details that you could easily miss or disregard entirely. Now, what does that phrase imply? Especially with the surrounding context being Evbo and Parrot killing a layer together?

What difference does he intend to make in this world? We don't get more than what Evbo tells us in the narration, but he does mention that he isn't willing to see Parrot just yet, and needs to piece his feelings towards him. What went down between these two that went unseen that left Evbo not wanting to talk to him let alone see him? Fishy, fishy, fishy.

[gorbo-longstocking]

starting this geta and caracalla x reader fic and realizing with horror that im 2.2k words into the first chapter and not even a quarter of the way done with what i want to happen in it AND THERE ISNT EVEN GOING TO BE GETA AND CARACALLA IN THE FIRST CHAPTER 😭😭😭😭😭

anyway heres a sneak preview

[poetry-protest-pornography]

If you ever read a book or a fic and think "wow, that was messed up", please know that it's got nothing on what the author talks about with their writer friends in DMs, and those DMs got nothing on the stories that author keeps in their brain.

That's not to say you should be relieved, because you should actually be very jealous. The really good, really messed up stuff is out of reach unless you are in the really good, really messed up stuff cheering section.

[crimeronan]

hate that i'm back to drafting the actual canon for the original fiction project now because i'm plotting some of the sexiest stuff i've ever written and i'm so ridiculously excited to write it and i can't even post about what's happening because it's actual real plot spoilers :/