#wolfe writes

[wolfe-marvin]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48546835

Something You Aren’t

Word Count: 777 words

Tw: transphobia (minor commentary toward a nonbinary character)

Description: The Big Bad Bazz Brigade is out on vacation. When they get split up in a shopping district, Bazz unfortunately is faced with the less than respectful views of a lone Sheikah.

Note: it’s mostly fluff? Sort of. I started writing, and it was supposed to be a Roleplay starter for my wife, but I got a little carried away and couldn’t figure out how to work it into being a starter rather than a whole story. Either way, here you go! Enjoy. If you draw anything, I’d love if you tagged me!

———

The ONE TIME Bazz takes time away from the Zora Domain. Not on duty. Just traveling with the Bazz Brigade. They’re stopped in a little miscellaneous shop, the rest of the Bazz brigade out on the road outside or ahead to a different part of the shopping district.

They don’t even recognize that it’s them being spoken to at first, pausing to tilt their head to look in the direction of the other. “Me?” Bazz questions, standing up straighter and placing the item in their hand back down on a shelf.

“Yes.” The masked figure clicks back, stepping back slightly as if Bazz would get aggressive. Confusion flits over the Zora’s face in an instant. “How am I delusional?” The captain clicks, turning fully toward them.

“You’re a man, but you pretend you aren’t. You don’t stop being it because you think you aren’t.” The figure tsks.

Bazz actually takes a pause, registering that for a moment. While Bazz had been planning on giving them a response, they don’t even get anything out before the person’s figure is freezing in place.

The Sheikah is stumbling back, knocking an item off one of the shelves in the process, practically scrambling out of the shop in the same instant. Leaving Bazz even more confused. “….weird guy,” They muttered, shaking their head as they turn back around toward what they had been looking at. Only to get spooked as they accidentally bump into Sidon, who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“I thought you were waiting outside?” Bazz huffs slightly, looking up at their friend. The prince is definitely getting up there in height nowadays, practically towering over most average sized Zora (and other races for that matter).

Sidon flashed a sheepish smile toward the other. “I saw something that caught my eye. Are you okay?” He questions, tilting his head even though he’s already ducked down slightly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” Bazz questions, side-eyeing their friend.

Sidon hummed quietly, glancing away. “No reason,” He replied, “but I think I’m going to step out again. This shop is not quite built for my size.”

Bazz snorts sharply, watching as the comically huge Zora Prince just about bonk his head on the ceiling. “…No kidding. I’ll get whatever it is you were looking at, just get out. Before you give yourself brain damage preferably. Or break something, for that matter.”

Sidon waves them off, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. I changed my mind. I’m just going to go wait outside.”

Bazz shakes their head, “Suit yourself.”

Sidon flashed a smile before trying to make his way out of the shop- succeeding but not without smacking his forehead on the doorframe.

Bazz snickers softly as they hear the Zora swear under his breath.

It’s not long before the captain is following suit, paying for their things and making their way out. Only to hear something along the lines of “Feral Zora! He’ll kill you!” from an (unfortunately) familiar voice. The Sheikah was pointing in Bazz’s direction, but, upon them moving to the side, the pointing revealed it was the prince that was the target of the claim.

Sidon snorts, just flashing a bright grin in the other’s direction. All the sunshine vibes he could muster were poured into it. “I’m sorry if we spooked you, but unfortunately your ignorant accusations toward our friend were uncalled for, and you could use a bit of humility.” He states, still smiling despite his very pointed words. Flashing extremely pointy teeth in the process, which only manages to further crumble the Sheikah’s composure, their hands shaking as they point. “SEE?!”

Bazz blinks, confusion flirting across their face. “What did you do?” They drawl, fixating their look on the Prince of the Zora.

“Nothing. He’s delusional. Pretending we’re something, we are not.” Sidon shrugs.

It clicks then what might have happened, and Bazz’s gaze flits from between the horrified Sheikah to their sunshine friend. A warmth blooms in the captain’s chest at once. They’ve never felt more validated than in that moment.

“Well. That’s too bad. They seemed nice.” Bazz drawls, a smile finding its way onto their face. “Let’s get on our way anyway and catch up with the others; we’re wasting daylight.”

Sidon’s expression blinks into his own confusion before flirting back into a more genuine grin. “For sure. Let’s go, then.”

Bazz shakes their head, amusement slipping through as they started on the path. And If the Sheikah has anymore left to say, neither of them pay it any attention from there.

[who-canceled-roger-rabbit]

Some spins on the "mostly male team with a token woman" trope:

The woman is trans and stayed in her old circle of bros even after transition

The woman is the only one in her circle of "girls" who didn't turn out to be a trans man

[adrianfridge]

Height gap romance except the shorter one is frequently depicted in situations where they are contextually taller. The taller one sitting while the shorter one looms over them. Both of them lying in bed with the taller one’s head pressed to the shorter one’s chest. The shorter one straddling the taller one’s lap and leaning down for a kiss. The taller one on their knees as the shorter one tilts their head up. Please, it makes me go feral

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[bebs-art-gallery]

Dear Desolation by Eliran Kantor † Love of the Wolf by Hélène Cixous

[sicknessinmotion]

EVERY TIME I LOOK BACK, MY CHILDHOOD GROWS HORNS; ON AGING.

lorde // iasoup on tumblr // alain de botton // jenny slate // katie maria // silas denver melvin // chelsea wolfe

[d3arapril]

“cover her mouth and make her listen to how wet she is” aka jackson!ellie putting in WORK. i’m sick.

⭐️ warnings: smut(obviously), dom!ellie, language, ellie has a dirty mouth, an ass slap. think that’s it? 18+ minors dni <3

you’re pretty sure you’re dead, or at least you will be soon at this rate. you don’t even realise the obscene noises you’re making until ellie slaps a palm down onto your ass.

“shut the fuck up,” ellie hisses from behind you, breathless. she’s fucking into you at a speed that you’re certain she’s never met before and if she goes any faster you think the bed might break the thin wall separating the both of you from the bathroom.

“fuck,” ellie’s voice snaps you back into reality and you find yourself reaching back to push at her stomach, looking for some relief from her practically bruising your cervix. “you really want me to stop?”

you whine, but don’t respond. she knows you don’t want her to stop, especially when your legs give way and you slip forward onto the bed, chest pressed against the mattress. she knows you like it like this.

she slows her pace, switching to slower, deeper strokes and she leans back slightly, sucking in a small gasp when she sees how wet you’ve gotten. it’s all down your thighs, between your ass cheeks and ellie’s thighs are beginning to get sticky and she can’t tell if its from your or her but she doesn’t really care.

“you’re wetting the fucking bed, babe.” she teases, leaning forward until her chest is pressed against your back and you’re almost sticking together from the sweat. she shuffles closer to you until your ass is flush against her lower stomach and raises a hand to push against your head, keeping you flat to the bed.

“ell-fuck, please, please..” you’re whimpering at her, trying to look at her from the corner of your eye but she’s just out of sight. you feel her though, her breath hot against your ear.

all she does is scoff and draw her hips back before pistoning in, somehow even harder than before, and you’re basically fucking crying at how good it feels.

“i thought i told you…” ellie leans down and you think she’s going to brush the hair from your eyes or give you a quick kiss but instead she grabs a fistful of your hair, arches your neck up and slaps her palm against your mouth. “to shut the fuck up?” she whispers in your ear and you practically gush against her, the wet noises coming from your pussy echoing through her room.

“you hear that?” she’s still in your ear, breathing heavily as her hips slap against your ass. “hear how fucking wet that pussy is? how much she loves me?”

you’re definitely crying now, nodding frantically against her hand. you’re gripping at the sheets so hard you’re certain you’ve ripped holes into them and your eyes have rolled so far back into your head you don’t think they’ll ever go back to normal again.

ellie knows she has a dirty mouth and she uses it to her advantage when she’s fucking you like this. knows that you could cum alone just from the dirty shit she says to you, and she’d have it no other way.

the squelching noises coming from your pussy are so loud - you’re thanking heavens that joel opted to cancel his garden party tonight. both of ellie’s hands are now covering your mouth and she’s leaning back, using her grip on your cheeks and jaw as leverage to fuck into you.

she’s hitting right against your g-spot and you’re biting at her palm, trying your best not to scream bloody murder but it’s becoming increasingly difficult when she’s fucking you so good. she leans forward again, hard nipples pressing into your back and you feel her lips ghost the shell of your ear,

“want you to make a fucking mess for me. can you do that, hm?”

you are absolutely going to die tonight.

[finnlongman]

Dear Tumblr, I have been desperately wanting to share this news with you since May last year and now I finally can: Gollancz is publishing not one, not two, but THREE of my queer medieval retellings over the next few years! You'll have seen me posting little bits about these books in the past, but I'm so excited to get to share them with you properly.

First up in 2025: The Wolf and His King, a queer retelling of Bisclavret that uses werewolfism as a metaphor to explore chronic pain and illness. It's also very much about gay yearning, fealty, and the mortifying ordeal of being known. Partially in second person and partially in verse, you can see my previous posts about it under the tag the wolf and his king or, for the really early ones, werewolves and gay yearning.

In 2026, I'm bringing you The Animals We Became [working title], which is a queertrans retelling of the Fourth Branch of the Mabinogi, looking at gender, compulsory heterosexuality, and trauma, via nonconsensual shapeshifting. Lotta trans vibes, lotta trauma; I wrote a first draft of this last year because I got carried away writing the sample chapters for my proposal and I'm excited to get deeper into it in edits. Aka t4t shapeshifting and trauma; generally tagged as also owls are transmasculine now.

And finally, in 2027, which is the one I've honestly been most excited to tell you guys about, it's To Run With The Hound [working title]. If you've been following me for a while, you'll know that I wrote a book with this title way back in 2018… well, the one I've sold isn't exactly that book, it's a proposal for how I intend to completely rewrite that book from the ground up, but yes, this is it: my Cú Chulainn novel, my queer medieval Irish book, my (hopefully) magnum opus. Haven't written it yet, but the plan is to use a nonlinear narrative to explore why Táin Bó Cúailnge is a tragedy, featuring a great many feelings about Fer Diad, Láeg, and Cú Chulainn himself.

There's a bit more detail and some FAQs on my website right now, but the most important thing is QUEER MEDIEVAL BOOKS WRITTEN BY SOMEBODY WITH MULTIPLE DEGREES IN MEDIEVAL LITERATURE. If that sounds like your jam, stick around.

[trickster-shi]

Sterek library au idea 📚

[genderqueerdykes]

someone identifying as nonhuman doesn't affect anyone but them unless they choose to neglect their needs/the needs of others they are responsible for. other than that, the person i saw walking around with realistic fox ears and gloves with paw pads on them wasn't hurting anyone. they made me feel better, as an autistic wolf therian/nonhuman. we weren't hurting anyone when i complimented their ears and they said thank you. we were just two passing canine folk who sniffed each other out then went on with their business. not a problem was made, but the both of us walked away a little brighter for it. being openly nonhuman hurts no one.

[charliemwrites]

Woof woof… whimper

(Part 10… but technically a continuation of part 9)

Same warnings as last time for dub con and general Johnny nastiness.

It takes your cock-addled brain a second too long to process what Soap’s just said. What he’s implied. And by then he’s all ready for you to buck against him, confused and angry.

“That’s so — that’s not funny!” You shout.

But he’s got you pinned thoroughly, your chest flat against the mattress and your ass flush against his hips. His cock buried so deep you can feel the hot head of it bullying the deepest parts of you. All your struggling does is make you clench up tight around him, makes him feel that much bigger and meaner inside you. Makes him grunt low and ragged in your ear, all animal appreciation.

“I’m not laughin’,” he replies, nipping at your shoulder.

“G-get off of me, get out, get—”

His hand slides into your hair again, gets a firm hold at the roots and presses your face into the blankets, muffling your protests. Shushes you like soothing a panicked animal.

“Now, now,” he chides, “I still gotta prove I’m not compensating, don’t I?”

You suck in a breath, squeezing your eyes shut. There have to be a million explanations other than the absolutely ludicrous one he’s just presented to you. Cameras, microphones….

How did he know where you live?

How did he know where the spare key was?

How did he know where your bedroom was?

How did he find you at the bar?

Stalker, you tell yourself. He’s a creep, you’ve always known that.

Then where’s your dog?

“N-no,” you warble, bucking again. Nearly scream as his cock twitches inside you; only reason you don’t is because you can barely breathe as it is. He’s so deep inside that he’s practically in your lungs. “No way you’re my — there’s no way. You’re crazy. I’m gonna— ah!”

He draws out as you speak, gradual, and then plunges in again all at once, cutting you off. Grinds his hips in a dirty circle too, burying himself as deep as he can.

“Aww, poor thing,” he coos. “S’alright, baby, I knew this would happen. We jus’ gotta get all those big, scary feelings out first. Then I can explain it all nice and slow.”

You try to scream at him. Try to curse him out, tell him there’s no way in hell you’re listening to a word he says now; never mind letting him spend another second with his dick in you.

All that comes out is a high-pitched keen as he starts fucking you without further preamble. It aches, but you can’t tell in what way. If it hurts, if it’s the best you’ve ever had. Both? Your nerves feel haywire, brain dragged to lust-stupid depths.

“See, there we go,” he rasps, punctuating with a sharp snap of his hips on that last word. “My perfect little mate. Your cunt was made for my cock, made to be bred by me. Isn’t that right?”

You try to shake your head, but his grip keeps you from doing more than sending electricity down your spine, hair pulled taut.

“Yeah it fucking is,” he growls to his own question, canting your hips back further. His fingers grip cruelly into the flesh, sure to leave bruises. You wish you didn’t enjoy the sensation, wish it didn’t make you spasm around him helplessly.

“‘Bout time I owned you right back, don’t you think?” He continues, never stopping or even slowing. You yelp as he tugs your necklace again, arching your back at a steep angle. “Even collared yourself up for me. All it needs is my name.”

Something about that drives some awful, slutty part of your brain fucking wild. The idea of you with a tight leather choker — a collar — with his name (you don’t think about what name) hanging from your throat…

“Like that, don’t you?” He chuckles meanly. “Who’s my good little slut? Who’s my perfect, soaked little breeding whore?”

Tears spring to your eyes as you realize the “I am” is right there on the tip of your over-saturated tongue. If you had air, brain cells, any ability at all, you’d be crying it to the ceiling like the toy he’s treating you as.

He’s going to ruin you, you think. He’s going to fuck you broken. You’re crying and wailing on his cock, think you’d actually throw a tantrum if he pulled out and left you on the edge right now. Would, you realize in horror, beg for him to keep going.

And then he snakes his hand around your hip and starts rubbing your clit — fast, hard little circles. Just the way you like; the way you’d do it yourself. Relentlessly and cruel, even when you try to writhe away from how fast you can feel yourself getting to the edge. Almost frightened by it, how quickly he’s mastered your body’s pleasure.

Frightened by the extra stimulation at your entrance, too. A little extra friction at first — shocking because you’re leaving a puddle on the sheets. But then the friction becomes pressure, becomes… more.

“W-wha….?” You slur, hips wriggling.

Soap (Johnny?) snarls in your ear and that feeling at your entrance grows. Feels, you realize with alarm, like stretching.

“Gonnae take my knot so well,” he rambles, accent thick like syrup, trickling into your empty brain, filling you up with meaningless sounds. “Plug you up full of my cum, breed you right just like you need.”

Any questions or confusion are whisked away by the extra stimulation at your entrance. The sensitive nerves getting just as much brutal attention as your inner walls, your cervix, that sweet spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.

It all becomes too much all at once and crashes through you, devastating. You clamp down around him tight and needy, lean all your weight back into his thighs. And he practically howls as he sinks into you and stays, grinding and humping without ever actually pulling out again. You feel a flood of heat that seems to go on for an absurdly long time, cock pulsing against your overstimulated walls, milked for every last drop.

You shudder as your brain tries and fails to process it all. Like trying to decipher a foreign language from white noise. It’s nothing but static to you.

You can feel a tongue against your shoulder, scraped of blunt teeth. Soap/Johnny licking the sweat from your skin and nipping bruises into the flesh. You make an annoyed noise that comes out whinier than intended, shoving at his face.

“Get off, you bastard.” Your voice is pathetic, thick with tears and fractured in a hundred places.

“Can’t, bonnie, even if I wanted to.”

You scowl, try to look at him over your shoulder. He takes that opportunity to nuzzle against your temple.

“What?” You ask. “What are you talking about?”

“Did ye hear me?” He chuckles. “Well, maybe not with the way you were screamin’. You’re all knotted up, baby. Can’t pull out — ‘less you want this pretty pussy to tear.”

You jolt, nearly yank yourself off out of pure fear, but Johnny keeps you still again, humming.

“Easy now,” he croons. “Still fussy? Need another to settle down?”

Useless as your brain may be, it recognizes what he means by “another one.” You think you might pass out.

“No,” you snap, petulant even to your own ears. “I want you to explain… explain everything.”

“Alright, hen. C’mere.”

He gently lays you out prone on the bed, then rolls you both on your sides. Hitches your leg up over his hip. You want to protest, but it helps the ache in your poor cunt.

“H-how are you still hard?” You pant, traitorous pussy twitching around him.

He growls in your ear, can feel him grinning against the lobe. “Will stay that way for a bit, lass. Don’ worry, you jus’ have to lay here all nice and still. Keep me warm while I explain things to you.”

And he does. How there are shapeshifters out there in the world, rare as they are. That he comes from a line of them. Recruited to military, as most of them are.

How he was on standard patrol when he smelled you for the first time.

“Like a wet dream, bonnie. Fertile. Spring. Smelled like mine.”

How he instantly knew you were his mate. That he just needed to make you see it. Never a good time to explain it all to you — and then there were interlopers and your silly little books and your pesky toys. How he tried to drop hints around the house, let you come to the correct conclusion on your own. But you never did.

“Honestly it’s a good thing I’m here, hen. You’re so oblivious. Lived with a man and never even knew it.”

That he tried to go about it the other way ‘round, as a man, but you’re just so stubborn. And then how it all led up to tonight. To you finally, finally realizing what you really needed: your mate.

You should be angry, furious. There’s a lot to say about… well, all of it. It’s horrifying and violating and… and…

And he hasn’t stopped bullying your clit since he started talking. Cruel, tight circles. Drawing the hood back with two fingers and stroke with a third, slow and languid and just soft enough to make your head spin. Rhythmless taps. Even pinches when you try to chew him out at one point, half turning to scowl. Instead have his tongue lapping sloppily at yours as your mouth gapes open soundlessly.

Makes you cum twice just like that without ever interrupting his own story, cock still hilted — knotted deep inside you. Honestly, you probably miss a good portion of it, some of the finger details for sure. But you get the broad strokes (among other strokes).

He licks at your overstimulated tears when he’s finished, nuzzling and kissing your cheek.

“I-I miss my dog,” you mumble finally, hands balled against your chest.

“Aww, darlin’,” he sighs, sounding genuinely apologetic. “We’re one and the same. I’m always your boy no matter what form I take.”

It would be more comforting if his dick didn’t throb calling himself your boy.

“‘Sides, I’m better than a normal mutt,” he continues, tugging you against his chest. You want to hate that is instantly makes you feel a little better. “Wolves mate for life, after all.”

[wolfe-marvin]

Does anyone know me? Or am I truly cursed to walk this earth, a canvas filled to the brim with intricate artistry done in invisible ink that no one has a black light for?

A hive mind, yet no extensions of one’s self exists. Does a hive truly exist when there is and can only be one?

I live my life as an open notebook, each page covered in writing, yet rain has smeared each and every letter.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

a little fashion show

kinktober, day four

a/n: bro, the amount of time this idea has been in the notes app on my phone....

warnings: stiles stilinski x reader, smut, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, trying on lingerie, teasing, flashing, kissing

word count: 990

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

“Who was at the door?” Stiles asked as your giddy form appeared in the doorway to your room once more. 

“The mailman,” you giggled, unable to contain your excitement, “and look!”

“You got a package!” not getting as revved up in the excitement as you were, he nonchalantly pointed out the parcel in your palms, “oh, cool!”

“Not just any package, only the one I’ve been waiting about a billion years to arrive,” you shut the door behind you, gazing down at the bundle in your hands with heart-shaped eyes, “you don’t mind if I just try this stuff on right now, do you? I just don’t know if I can wait till you leave.”

Discretely readjusting in his comfortable seat on your mattress, he waved a hand, “no, no, it’s fine.”

“Really? Great!” you squealed, digging your fingers into the opening of the package, “you can help me see if any of it doesn’t suit me or fit right, give you a little fashion show and everything.” 

“Alright, sure,” he agreed with a soft chuckle as you disappeared behind the wide bookcase that acted as a divider in the middle of your room.

After changing into the first item, you couldn’t stop yourself from springing back out, arms raised high above your head as you sang, “tada! What do you think?”

“Wow, oh, wow,” you watched Stiles eyes grow wide as they landed on the extremely short nightgown hanging around your form, “that’s-, that’s-…”

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” you turned your back to your stunned friend to glance at yourself in the mirror, “the floral pattern especially.” 

Gaze tracing your hands as they played with the tiny skirt, “y-yeah, it is,” you just barely managed to catch sight of his reflection discreetly move one of your pink pillows over his lap, “it’s good, you should definitely keep that one.”

You hadn’t thought that his blush could have gotten any worse, but evidently, as you soon pranced out clad in the next thing, it very much could. 

“What about this one?” you innocently observed the lingerie set in the long mirror, turning a bit to see how the high-waisted, black underwear hugged your bottom, “do you think it fits alright?” 

Looking like a broken PlayStation 2 game you’d have to pull out and blow on, Stiles simply hummed, “huh?”

“I just feel like if I jump around or bend over in this, the girls are just gonna spill out,” your nose crinkled as your fingertips ghosted over the cups of the matching bra. 

“I mean,” he blinked hazily, “you could test it out, if you want.”

Obliging twice, jumping gently in place, the squint to your eye didn’t fade away as not only you observed how your boobs jiggled in the cups, “hm, I don’t know, maybe one of the ones that has a different cut then this one…”

Peeping through the shy slivers of the bookcase, you bit down on your smirk as you watched the trouble you’d stirred up on the other side. As you slid off the black number, daringly arching your back and purposefully sticking your butt out far enough for him to catch a glimpse, you spotted how a string of your want clung to the panties as you dragged the down your legs. 

If this last one wasn’t gonna do the trick, make the guy you’d had a crush on forever fess up and make a move, then you didn’t know what would.

Pink, skimpy and sheer, your pebbly nipples weren’t the only thing on full display as the see-through thong also made your puffy pussylips no secret to anyone. 

Your pace as you returned to the mirror was purposefully slow, not looking to Stiles even once as you felt your desperation for him soak the pretty garments. 

“T-that-, yeah,” his fluttering eyes were trained on your bare bottom, “that’s nice.”

“Yeah?” you still didn’t dare to look at him, “you think so?”

“Mhm,” he nearly groaned. 

Grazing your touch ever so lightly over the elastic edges, you uttered, “you really think it’s pretty?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Stiles,” you sucked in a deep breath and gathered up the courage through the pumping adrenalin of being so exposed before your crush, “can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” flowed from his lips nearly instantly.

“Would you have sex with me?”

The room was dead silent a moment before Stiles choked, “what?”

“Would you fuck me?” you rephrased, still not looking back at him in the refection. 

“Would I-… I’m sorry, what?”

“Would you fuck me?” gnawing at your bottom lips, you finally turned to face him, “because I kinda really like you, like a lot,” your feet slowly carried you closer to where he sat, “and I don’t know, I’m sorry, am I being too forward? Is this too much? Do you not like me in that way? Because I totally get it if you do, I’m really sorry for everything. I thought you’d picked up on the hints I’ve been dropping for a while now and that you-”

“I do like you!” he rushed to cut off your concern, “I-I-, yes,” seizing your hand in his as he emphasized, “yes.” 

“Yes or yes?” you asked, eyes flickering to the pillow hiding his own excitement. 

“Yes,” he nodded, swiftly tugging you down in his lap before you could withdraw your proposal. 

An airy whimper escaped your lips as he then kissed you, your whole body feeling like puddy in his grasp. Drawing back a moment from his long-awaited pecks, you found yourself offering bashfully, “you know, I could also just give you a handjob or blow you or something if you’re not-”

Using his leverage, he suddenly flung you down against the mattress, effectively cutting your suggestion off as he scurried to hover above you, an earnest grin adorning his lips as he then exclaimed “oh my god, just shut up and let me screw my best friend.”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[cosmicvisitor]

don't be afraid. cut off all your hair and dye it pink with bright orange flames painted on it. wear that headband with the fluffy cat ears. hook that fox tail to your belt and wear it to your favorite coffee shop. get the tattoo. wear the mood ring. ring your eyes with black eyeliner the way your mom told you looked bad. do it to piss her off, but do it for yourself, too. howl at the strawberry moon. befriend the monster under your bed.

you don't know if there's a life after this one, and that's part of what gives this life its value. don't waste it hiding your light.

[queenie-the-court-jester]

Yandere farm x farmhand reader 🌾

A/n: this contains few nsfw mentions, mdni please! They're not all that yandere, just a bunch of dumb silly hybrids trying to catch their favorite humans attention. This is their intro

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙

★yandere farm x farmhand reader. I know this isn't original, but I always love the concept. Just minding your business, sweaty and hot from the sun, when suddenly a certain German Shepard hybrid starts sniffing you up and down, lapping up your sweaty skin and grinning when you swat him away. How did you end up here?

★maybe you came here for a summer job, maybe some relatives owned the farm, maybe you were always working here. Either way, it doesn't take long for the hybrids to notice you once you arrive.

★the bulls and cows watching curiously from the fields, the centaurs trying to peek from their stables, the merfolk living in the lake just down the property poke their little heads out. The dogs barking from their Little homes, and the cats watching from the windows. You couldn't help but gawk at the variety of hybrids, there were so many! Merfolk, avians, cattle, cats, dogs.

★your first week there was nice, the other farmhands were nice, and the owners were so sweet! Always speaking fondly of their pets, the old couple would watch them run in the field or play by the lake. You yourself found them a little annoying. Always sniffing, grabbing, nipping at your clothes. You've had to fight your overall bottoms free from one of the pooches one too many times. The cats were no better.

★your second week you meet the cattle and centaurs. And unlike the house cats and guard dogs, they're less handsy. Simply observing from afar. Occasionally sniffing you before nodding their heads and pulling away. Letting you do your job of combing, cleaning and fixing up them and their stables. The cattle would happily let you milk them, applying the breast pumps to the females and a cock pump to the males. You ignored how they looked at you strangely during milkings

★the third week you meet the avians. Odd little bunch, hopping around and puffing up their chests. They watched you enter their enclosure curiously, you were busy picking up their molten feathers because you thought they were pretty. So bright and colorful! Walking around bent over a little when you finally notice the peacock male standing right Infront of you. He gave you a pointed look before his tail feathers expanded. Looking prideful, tilting his chin up as if in an arrogant way. Swaying side to side and closer to you, while you just held the feathers in your hands, a little confused. He got closer until he let out an incredibly loud squawk. Turning around abruptly to glare at the cuckoo who bent down to poke his butt. The cuckoo gave you a grin before climbing back up the tree, using this time as distraction, you quickly escaped.

★on the fourth week, you meet the merfolk. Having been here a month, they were eager to meet you. Watching you walk on the dock with fish feed, eagerly Perking up and swimming closer. You shook out a good handful and chucked it out for the koi fish to eat. They swarmed the area until all the food was gone, simply staring up at you. One poked her head out, tilting it a bit and making a 'click' sound with her tongue. You mimicked her, doing the same. She seemed elated, making various whistles and clicks, splashing up and down the lake. The lake was manmade and filled with koi fish when it was finished, but then again there may be more fish not even the owners know about since it was so deep. How'd they get in there? You're not sure, but you just know it.

★on the fifth week your owners told you about how they had bought multiple sheep, and goats. One male for each group. Watching the loading truck approach the little barn they were finished building. So that's why it was there, they started construction when you arrived the first week. You helped the other farmhands get them situated, at first they were rowdy and a little aggressive but for some reason calmed down when you approached them. Your colleagues now called you the sheep whisperer. You quickly learned how to shave their wool and milk the goats properly. Sometimes braiding their long hair, you just wish the ram would stop headbutting the nearest male colleague for your attention.

★On your sixth week, you went for a walk in the forest when suddenly a little body of fluffy fur tackled you, growling with it's teeth barred. You looked up to see a Pomeranian hybrid, trying it's best to look intimidating. Their fluffy tail gave them away, it was wagging 100mph. They visibly deflated when you reached up a hand to pet them, letting you for A couple minutes before getting off. Walking back into the woods towards three wolves. Dissapearing with them. Not soon after you found a friendly garden naga. Just lounging on a rock and enjoying the sun. You asked to join and they let you, laying there for a good while until you had to go back to the farm. Noticing they had wrapped their tail around you, oh boy. It'll take a good while to get out. Welp, might as well make yourself comfortable and wait for the dogs to come find you

•°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆

HYBRIDS AND THEIR NAMES:

Week one, cats and dogs;

Brutus, dog hybrid, 18, German Shepard, he/him

Dolly, dog hybrid, 26, doberman, she/her

bladviba, dog hybrid, 25, black Russian terrier, he/him

Molly, dog hybrid, 17, chow chow, she/her

Sweet pea, dog hybrid, 17, samoyed, they/them amab

bubba, dog hybrid, 37, borzoi, he/him

Princess, cat hybrid, 18, ragdoll, she/her

Prince, cat hybrid, 19, Norwegian forest cat, he/him

King, cat hybrid, 27, Khao manee, he/him

•°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆

Second week, cattle and centaurs;

Miss bené, cow hybrid, 49, white park cattle, she/her

Miss blackberry, cow hybrid, 22, Aberdeen Angus, she/her

Miss Polly, cow hybrid, 26, Aberdeen Angus, she/her

Miss frufru, cow hybrid, 28, Aberdeen Angus, she/her

Miss Vivian, cow hybrid, 35, Aberdeen Angus, she/her

Big daddy, bull hybrid, 52, Aberdeen Angus, he/him

Johnny, bull hybrid, 18, Aberdeen Angus/white park cattle, he/him

Jacqueline, centaur, 19, shire horse, she/her

Timothy, centaur, 21, galineers cob, he/him

maya, centaur, 17, fjord horse, they/them

Casper, centaur, 23, ardennais, he/him

miguel, centaur, 18, Andalusian horse, he/him

harmony, centaur, 25, Breton horse, they/them

•°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆

third week, avians;

Sydney, avian, 22, cockatoo, they/he

Evangeline, avian, 19, peacock, she/her

Gabriel, avian, 20, peacock, he/him

fajarah, avian, 24, indian ring necked parakeet, she/her

Foolish, avian, 26, owl finch, he/him

simon, avian, 28, tyto alba, he/him

•°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆

Fourth week, merfok;

tancho, koi fish merfolk, 19, tancho koi, he/him

kiko, koi fish merfolk, 19, kikokuryu koi, she/her

hime, koi fish merfolk, 19, hirenaga koi, she/her

Tsu, koi fish merfolk, 19, doitsu koi, they/them

koromo, koi fish merfolk, 19, koromo koi, he/him

Mason, lake 'monster' (crocodile), 20, freshwater crocodile, he/him

•°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆

Fifth week, goats and sheep;

Sally, goat, 25, angora goat, she/her

Opal, goat, 24, Tennessee fainting goat, she/her

Sasha, goat, 26, australian cashmere goat, she/her

kim, ram, 23, dutch landrace goat, he/him

Poka, sheep, 19, Valais black nose, they/them

Juniper, sheep, Valais black nose, she/her

violet, sheep, 18, harri, she/her

azucar, sheep, 17, Columbia sheep, she/her

Wehrner, ram, 21, American black belly, he/him

•°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆

Sixth week, the forest creatures:

roxy, wolf hybrid, 19, grey wolf, she/her

Silas, wolf hybrid, 21, grey wolf, he/him

Milo, wolf hybrid, 20, albino Grey wolf, they/them

Kiki, dog hybrid, 18, Pomeranian, they/them

Coachella, naga, 27, garden snake, they/him

•°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆ •°. *࿐ ⋆

[mournfulroses]

Chelsea Wolfe, from She Reaches Out to She Reaches Out to She; "Whispers in the Echo Chamber,"