#I’m so fucking tired. I’m so goddamn tired of it all

[emchant3d]

part 2 of runaway bride stevie! modern au, exes to lovers, transfem stevie harrington pt 1

Eddie Munson is not having a good day.

His phone died last night so his alarm didn’t go off, his bassist is sick so their gig tonight has to be canceled, and his last three Uber rides have stiffed him on a tip.

He accepts a request from some dude named Scott with a terrible comb-over in his profile picture and gives himself two seconds to bang his forehead into his steering wheel in frustration with a closed-mouth scream. Then he dials it back so he doesn’t seem absolutely fucking insane. He can see the suit he’s about to escort to some fucking meeting even though he’d rather be doing any-fucking-thing else, and he pastes a fake smile on to greet him. He’s gearing up to fall into the usual routine of this godforsaken job, but then it all goes a little sideways.

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and then a blur of a body is slamming into poor Scott from behind, shoulder checking him and almost sending him careening onto the sidewalk. The dude pinwheels his arms like a cartoon character, suit jacket puffing up around his shoulders awkwardly, expression so baffled it makes Eddie snort despite himself.

“Oh, shit,” he mumbles, and he’s reaching for his seatbelt to see if the guy needs any help - he looks like he might break a hip if he hits the ground - but then a whirlwind of white fabric swoops into his backseat and a loud, desperate voice yells "DRIVE!" in his ear, and he sort of just thinks 'sure, why the fuck not,' and slams his foot on the gas.

The car fishtails a bit and the tires squeal as he swerves into traffic, horns honking after him, and he picks a direction at random, going way too fast for this area of town.

His heart is pounding in his chest, worst case scenarios running through his head. He’s going to get car jacked. He’s going to go to jail for being an unwitting getaway driver. But there isn’t any more yelling from the back seat, just heavy, panicked breathing, and he settles into traffic and slows down to a more normal speed before he cuts his eyes up to the rearview mirror.

Time stops.

It’s Stevie.

He can’t believe he didn’t recognize her the second he saw her, but in his defense, it's not like he was expecting to see his ex-girlfriend in a goddamn wedding dress running like she stole something today.

Pure panic wraps tight around his throat as he takes her in - is she hurt? In danger? Nothing good could have had her sprinting away from her own wedding, but it seems like she’s just shaken up.

His heart calms a bit once her tears dry and they get properly on the road.

And shit, it’s so unfair, because she's just as breathtaking as she was the day they split. She looks just as sad, too, which is certainly not how a woman like Stevie Harrington should look on her wedding day. But seeing her in a gown like that - Jesus Christ. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest. It’s like something out of a fantasy, seeing her in the exact kind of dress she used to whisper to him about wanting, the kind of dress he’d once promised to marry her in. Of course, they fell apart before he could even get a ring on her finger, but it still sends his stomach swooping to see the future they’d spoken about come to life.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he can’t help but ask, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah,” she says, voice high and a little squeaky. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. Just in my ex-boyfriend's car after I left my fiance at the altar, it’s all fine, it’s chill.”

“Okay,” he says haltingly, delicately, because Stevie Harrington is not the kind of person who says it’s chill, “it’s just that, you know, all of that sounds decidedly not chill.”

“This is so chill. It’s the chillest I’ve ever been, actually - hold on–” she says, and next thing he knows a swirl of silk is blocking his view and he sputters a bit as the train of her dress smacks him in the face, but she’s clambering gracelessly from the back seat and over the console to plop down on the passenger side with a loud huff and a cloud of perfume.

It’s different from what she used to wear. She used to smell spicy and warm, with notes of amber and cinnamon. He’d kiss the little spots in her wrists where she’d spritz it on, trace the veins beneath the tan skin with his nose to keep the scent of her with him.

Now she smells like vanilla and something floral, airy and light. Like he stepped into a bakery. It’s not bad, of course it’s not bad, but it’s…different. Not her.

Or not his version of her, anyway.

This is someone else’s Stevie now, and she smells like fucking cookies instead of home.

Instead of commenting on it, he just tells her to put on her seat belt, and she looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“And wrinkle this dress?” she says, her nose curling a little, and God she’s such a bitch and he’s missed it so much.

“I hate to break it to you,” he tells her, “but some wrinkles are not the worst damage that thing has seen today.” There are small grey splotches on the bodice where her makeup dripped as she cried earlier, and the hemline has some muddy staining from her mad dash on the sidewalk. It’s not ruined, but it’ll have to be cleaned, and a couple of wrinkles will be the easiest thing to get out of the formerly pristine fabric.

He glances over at her in time to see her run her hands over the skirt of the dress, smoothing it out over her thighs. It shifts, the leg slit parting to show her skin, teasing at the hint of a crease where her thigh and stomach meet, and Eddie rips his gaze away to stare at the road instead.

“Probably for the best, anyway,” he says, and he feels her eyes latch onto his profile.

“And why’s that?” she asks, and he smirks.

“Well, pure white? C’mon, Stevie, we both know that’s a lie.” He flashes her a wicked grin and she makes an outraged sound, but a small smile is teasing at her mouth even as her cheeks flush.

She kicks off her heels - red bottoms, because of fucking course they are - and slouches in the seat. She pushes herself up, adjusting in the pile of silk and corsetry she’s been strapped into, and he sees the absolute mountain of a rock on her hand, and manages to bite his tongue about it being the gaudiest thing he’s ever seen.

"So who was the lucky guy?" Eddie asks before he can stop himself, and the glare Stevie gives him could cut glass. “Or lucky woman. Person? Far be it from me to deny you your bisexual rights.”

He probably sounds like a jealous asshole, but he can't help it. He's the getaway driver for his one that got away on her fucking wedding day, and he feels like he deserves to ask a few questions.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel as the silence lingers, but eventually, Stevie just groans, letting her head fall back against the headrest dramatically.

"Don't laugh," she demands, and Eddie shakes his head.

"Scout's honor," he promises, and he swears a wry little grin teases at her lips.

“You were never a scout. You would have been kicked out for inciting a riot.”

“Hey, I just ensured we all earned our arson badges, okay? I did every one of those kids a favor.” Stevie scoffs, and it almost sounds fond.

Then she says, “Tommy,” and he almost swerves into oncoming traffic.

"HAGAN?" he says, louder than he means to, and her hand flies up to grab the oh-shit bar.

“Eddie, Jesus!” she says, glaring at him, and he shakes his head, focusing back on the road.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, but fucking - really? “Really?” He can’t help himself. “Tommy Hagan?”

“Yes, really, Tommy Hagan,” she says hotly, like she’s defensive, like she didn’t just leave the schmuck at the fucking altar.

“Well that explains the ring, at least.” She reaches over, smacking at his arm, which, thanks to the aforementioned ring, is probably going to bruise. “Hey, ow!” He glares at her, taking a hand off the wheel to rub his bicep. “Watch it, that thing’s a weapon.”

“Then stop sassing me about it,” she snaps, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms and her face falls into that adorable bitchy little pout he’s always fucking loved, and he looks away again.

He can’t help but glance back over at her left hand. The ring is…certainly something. Giant, square, one big diamond surrounded by other, smaller diamonds, with even more diamonds on the band. It looks heavy and cumbersome and like she’s going to smack it into every wall and door and get it caught in her hair and seriously, he’s pretty sure he’s already got a knot forming on his arm where the thing hit him.

It looks like Tommy walked into the priciest jewelry store he could find and asked for the most expensive ring they had.

It looks like a status symbol.

It doesn’t look like her.

“Apologies, highness,” he says, shaking himself free of his thoughts. It’s not fair to hold her to those standards. He hasn’t spoken to her in years. He can’t know what kind of person she is now.

But there’s still a bone-deep knowing that overtakes him at the feeling of the woman next to him. A sense of deja vu so strong it threatens to knock him over.

A different car, a different time, a different circumstance, but the same person. The same love.

He’d picked a direction at random, but as the streets become more familiar, he realizes he’s heading towards his place. It’s as good as any, he figures, and he shifts lanes, reaching to tap on his phone and shutting down his Uber account.

“You know, I almost expected you’d still be driving that beat up old van,” Stevie says suddenly, and he crows a laugh.

“Ah, Van Halen, you served me well until you almost blew up on the highway,” he says fondly. “Lost her about a year ago. It was tragic. I held a funeral.” She laughs again, shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she says, turning that pretty smile his way, and his heart does a somersault.

“That was a very impressive move back there, by the way,” he tells her, “that shoulder check of that old defenseless businessman?” He whistles. “Haven’t seen anybody move that quick to steal an old man’s ride before, really, it should have been documented.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” she says, but there’s a laugh in her voice, and she brings up her hands to press to her pink cheeks. He can’t help but keep digging.

“No, seriously! And sprinting like that in heels? And in that dress? What’s that thing weigh, like twenty pounds?”

“It’s a dress, not a suit of armor,” she tells him, but her smile is growing, making her eyes crinkle.

“Just saying, it was pretty metal,” he shrugs, and she snorts.

“Well, you would know,” she says, and he ignores the way his face flushes in response. She gives a little sigh, wiping below her eye and frowning at the smear of black on her fingers.

“Here,” he says, reaching across her. His arm brushes her leg as he opens the glove box and he’s so fucking normal about it. He pulls out a few fast food napkins, holding them out to her. “No makeup wipes in here, but that’ll help with the worst of it.”

“Thanks,” she says, and she flips the visor down, tapping a napkin to her tongue to wet it before wiping at the mascara tracks running down her face. “God,” she groans, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn smear, “I look like a raccoon.”

“A very cute raccoon,” he says before he can stop himself. Jesus, Munson, dial it back. “Like the raccoon that’s about to get the best trash in the bin, she doesn’t even have to ask for it.” Stop talking. “The other raccoons are just gonna give it to her, on account of how cute she is.” He’s gonna throw himself into traffic.

“Did you just call me a raccoon on my wedding day,” she asks. Fine, commit to the bit.

“You called yourself a raccoon on your wedding day. I was just agreeing with you,” he replies, keeping his eyes fixed to the road.

Her eyes are on him - he can feel her stare burning into the side of his face, and his cheeks are going pink and blotchy and God, he’s an idiot–

And then she laughs. Not her polite little contained laugh, either, no, this is that loud, wide mouthed laugh that she hates, that makes her shoulders shake and her head fall back. It’s squeaky and hearty and a little obnoxious and he’s always been so obsessed with getting her to let it out, and he can’t help the smug beaming little smile he gives at the sound.

“You’re such an ass,” she says through her laugh, and Eddie can’t help but laugh with her even if it’s at his own expense, because at least she doesn’t look so goddamn sad anymore.

When they finally reach his apartment complex she’s a little more subdued, but the look on her face isn’t totally heartbreaking, and he’ll take what he can get. He comes around to the passenger side to open her door for her and helps her gather the dramatic skirt of her dress to keep it off the pavement as they head towards the stairs, and he knows he looks like an insane person as he carts a bride down the hall, but he just smiles at his nosy neighbors and lets this cement his reputation as the weird as fuck off-putting metalhead he knows they all think of him as.

He feels a little self conscious as he opens the apartment door for her, sweeping an arm dramatically to allow her to enter first. For the first time since she swept into his car, he wonders if this is a good idea. But it’s too late now – Stevie’s giving him a little smile and stepping into his home, and part of him knows this was inevitable. She may not have called him, but he was always going to come if she needed him.

He follows her inside and tries to calm the pounding of his heart, watching her take in his space, struck all over again by her beauty and the impossibility of her standing here, and silently prays he isn’t going to fuck it up all over again.

this was almost even longer, but I figure 2.5k is enough for a part 2! no tag lists, sorry, but part 3 will be here at some point. thank you to everyone who's had a kind word to say about this au these two are very near and dear to me 💕

#steddie #trans steve harrington #transfeminine steve harrington #stevie harrington #runaway bride stevie #my fic #steddie fic

[c0mbatchameleon]

hi anna my love would you mind telling us what the possession au is about 🥺🤲🏼💗

LUNEEE ABSOLUTELY ABSOFRUITLY I CAN.

Ok so the tldr here is James is a demon that possesses reg. This all came from a drunk 3am note in my phone about the “intimacy of literally inhabiting the same body, to become a singular noun; my thoughts are yours now, you don’t even know where you end and I begin, your soul would feel so empty without me here to fill in all the gaps” etc etc. Right ok. Long ramblings below, be warned.

So picture regulus, our resident high-strung control freak who has lived as a puppet on a string at the whims of his family ever since he was a teenager and they began staging him to join / eventually take over their major capitalist conglomerate empire or whatever. Iffy on the details still but there’s a lot of politics involved. Think like the richest of the rich in the world and they want to keep their family on the top—regulus is their vessel to do so.

And the thing is, he goes above and beyond. He gave up on trying to escape the life he’s been (to him) imprisoned in a long time ago, and his (perceived) lack of control and agency has only driven him to climb higher, hungry for even more disgusting amounts of wealth and power, fuck everyone else, he wants to be at the fucking top, and maybe then he’ll be free. He’s terrible and he’s miserable and he’s everything they wanted him to be, he feels like a slave to time and to the life that was carved out for him, and it manifests in him exerting extreme amounts of control over the one thing he can have some semblance of control over, which is his own body.

(slight tw for disordered / obsessive eating / body habits?)

Picture him scheduling his days down to the minute. He wakes up at 5:30am everyday after getting the exact amount of sleep to complete five rem cycles, he has a strict workout regimen every day perfectly planned out for the week, meals all the same mapped out down to the calorie. You’d think he’s in the army. His skincare routine puts patrick bateman to shame. He jerks off once a week cuz he thinks it has health benefits or keeps him sharp or something (if you’ve watched The End of the Fucking World I’m pretty sure this is where my brain subconsciously picked this from) and it’s mechanical and he’s dead in the eyes and he knows it will take him exactly 5 minutes and 8 seconds to come.

And then. Suddenly. He’s having weird dreams about some man he doesn’t know and they’re making him feel things when he has specifically trained his body to NOT feel things and what’s happening to him? And then dreams become daydreams. And then he’s losing time. HES LOSING TIME. Which is literally his worst nightmare. It’s making him fuckinf spiral, his routines are being thrown off, the small semblance of control is slipping, so he’s already at his wits fucking end when a goddamn voice in his head starts talking to him. Like that’ll do it.

But then the voice, the man, the figure from his dreams, James, is telling him to relax. Telling him you’re so wound up. I can feel it, you know? How tired you are. It’s okay baby, let me take the reins for the day. You just have to sit back up in that head of yours—of ours—and let it all turn to static for a bit. Don’t worry. I’ll give you your body back tonight. Don’t you trust me? Wouldn’t it feel good to just.. let go for a bit?

And eventually regulus discovers that it DOES feel good. He fucking loves it. He gives up control willingly for the first time, he lets James do it all for him, to move him around like a puppet in the most literal sense but it’s different from his family, from everyone else. It’s freeing.

and it’s like this weird corruption-anticorruption thing because yes james is influencing him and planting thoughts in his head and literally taking over his body at points but it’s all to make him do…kinda good things? “Fuck the company, don’t show up today, let’s go to the coast like you used to as a kid,” “don’t pick up the phone, I know you’ve never declined your mother’s call before, but just try. Don’t you feel powerful?” Until eventually reg is sabotaging the company, his family, he’s basically suicide-bombing the stock market, he’s giving all his money away, etc etc. he’s more free than he’s ever felt in his life and to the outside world he looks absolutely insane and, shit, maybe he is, but it feels fucking amazing.

I just love the thought of James’ more mundane influence on him too. He’s craving hot Cheetos for the first time in his life and absolutely appalled and confused and James is like “shit my bad I was thinking abt them.” James has him smoke weed for the first time (the scene I have planned for this……) and he has to take over to roll the joint for him. Why the fuck is reg enjoying abba music? But also—why the fuck is a demon enjoying abba music?

I’ve rambled way too much so I’ll reign it in there. Lots of details subject to change, but this is basically all I’m thinking abt these days.

#lovely lovely lune thank you for indulging me #I fear this response got away from me. forgive me—I’ve been possessed once again #fic / possession au #lune tag #mail #jegulus #jegulus fic #regulus black #james potter

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

TW: NSFW, dubcon if you squint

You are laying in bed, not sleeping, feeling sorry for yourself when your phone rings on your bedside table. You don’t recognize the number, so you answer with a cautious, “Hello?” 

“Hi, pretty girl.”

You pause a long beat, and not because you don’t recognize the voice on the other end. “How the ever-loving fuck did you get this number?”

It’s Officer Tom Ludlow, of course. Just what you need, on this night from Hell.

“I’m a detective, remember?” You can just hear the self-satisfied smirk, and he’s lucky he’s not standing in front of you, because tonight you just might have slapped him.

You use your moderately adequate brain for some deductive reasoning of your own, and realize, “You took my number from Julian’s phone. After you assaulted him.”

On the other end he lets out a long whistle. “Baby, that’s such a strong word.”

“Do not call me baby.”

“Alright. Sweetheart.”

“God, you are such a fucking caveman.”

“Thank you.”

You sigh, too fucking tired for this shit. Your heart feels like a chewed up piece of gum, and your lady parts are pulsing angrily at you for ruining their evening earlier.

They like the sound of Tom’s deep voice in your ear, and that is so not good.

“You okay?”

The question actually takes you aback, because the smarmy shit-eating tone is gone, and he sounds…serious?

“I guess. Why?”

“That doesn’t sound okay.”

“Why do you think it’s any of your goddamned business?”

“I told you. If Dr. Bitch hurts you, it is my business.”

“He didn’t hurt me,” you grumble. In fact, he didn’t really do much of anything to you. Now that more time has passed, the more annoyed you are about that.

Fuck if Detective Ludlow doesn’t seem to hear that in your voice too. “Ohhhh. Sounds like the Good Doctor didn’t hit anything?” 

“Oh my god. I hate you. Do you know that?”

He gives a low chuckle that absolutely goes straight to your deprived pussy, and you squirm a little in bed, so grateful he can’t see you.

“You wish you hated me.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Don’t hang up, pretty girl. Tell me what you’re wearing.” His voice dips low, and smooth as velvet.

Every hair on your body lifts in response to this, your nipples pebbling into painful points. Bastard.

“A parka.”

“Pshh. You sleep in a parka? Come on, baby.” How effective that soft, coaxing tone is at dissolving your inhibitions is alarming. You can almost see yourself, as though standing at the edge of a great abyss. If you jump…there will be no going back. 

“Fine. I’ll use my own imagination. I think you’re wearing…a cute little lacy negligee that just floats on your luscious curves…”

Well, you guess you’re getting a picture of what he likes.

“Jesus Christ. I’m wearing a tank top, you pervert,” you grouse, trying to shatter his fantasy. Nevermind the fact that you are now soaking wet, again.

“Nice. No panties?”

“I am wearing panties.”

“You aren’t going to need ‘em. Do you know what I’d do to you, after dinner, my beautiful nurse?”

“Gee, I bet you’re going to fucking tell me.”

“Oh come on. We’re having fun.”

“You are having fun.”

“But you’re still listening.”

Well, he has you there, the smug sonofabitch.

“Maybe.”

He chuckles at the other end of the line, a low sound that makes you clench with need.

“You’ve got to answer a question for me first.”

“What?”

“You’ve got to dip into that sweet little pussy for me, and tell me how wet you are on the scale from one to ten.” 

You should rip him a new one for this. Or just hang up. Why can’t you just hit the button and end this nonsense? But then…you’d be alone. Your real-time reaction is less dignified, but maybe more honest. 

You laugh.

It starts as a giggle, then crescendos into an all out guffaw. “Tom…you are a nut.”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he answers, and goddamn if you don’t actually start to feel better. “Oh come on baby, don’t hold out on me. I’ve got a solid ten inches in my hand for you here.”

This makes you laugh even harder. “Ten inches?!”

“Ok. Maybe nine and a half.” 

You giggle, and you can’t stop. “I don’t know if I can handle all that, Officer Ludlow.”

You don’t know how his voice lowers even more, as he says, “Oh, I know you can take it. Don’t worry, I’ll ease it in nice and slow.”

Suddenly the bubbles of laughter in your gut go flat, replaced with an aching heat that sears your insides, your clit throbbing in response to his dirty mouth. It’s possible a kittenish little sound squeaks from the back of your throat.

You really don’t know where you get the courage to ask softly, “Yeah? Then what?”

“Then I would kiss all over those pretty, soft titties. I want those perfect nips in my mouth.”

You know you make a sound then, and he surely hears it. “Will you check them for me? Lick your fingers and give them a pinch.”

“You are ridiculous.” It comes out small, and breathy, and it doesn’t really sound like an insult at all. So what, if you do as he tells you? And so fucking what, if imaging it’s his hands on you makes you feverish with desire, a spear of longing throbbing in your cunt.

He doesn’t answer you right away, which means he’s busy with something else. Maybe Tom is just as pent up as you are from all this edging the two of you have been putting each other through. 

“Are you.. are you really?” You ask, hating how your voice exposes the fact that you’re not only pinching your nipples, but borderline feeling yourself up at the sound of his hiking breath. 

“Yeah, honey, I am.”

“Oh,” you say, because it’s the only thing you can think of. Your cunt is screaming below about how she wants to talk to Tom Ludlow because you’re doing a shit job at it. 

“Ah, fuck. Are you doing what I told you?” 

“No.”

“Good. Lick your fingers again, circle those pretty nipples for me. Close your eyes and imagine it’s my tongue. Fuck, I wanna suck on your tits so bad.” 

He doesn’t have to know that you’re following orders. That you’re grinding on the bunched blanket between your legs while you imagine his big, rude hands playing with your tits instead of your own.

“You listening to me, beautiful girl?”

“Yeah. Don’t get a big head about it.” 

“Good job. And too late.” 

“I do hate you, you know. I’m serious.” It has no real venom; in fact, it sounds more like a term of endearment at this point. 

He laughs. “C’mon, tell me how soaked she is.”

She’s flooded, is the answer. She’s dampening the pressed comforter, she’s throbbing and screaming and crying and pulsing to the tempo of his black coffee voice. 

You’re not much for vocals when you get off. You have neighbors that already have to hear about your dreams, and the act itself seems like more business than pleasure sometimes. When you were younger, you shared a room with your two sisters, so you learned to be quiet and discreet about rubbing your pussy. That all flies out the window when you sink two fingers into your sopping cunt at Tom’s direction. 

“10,��� you hiss, straining to hit your gspot. Maybe you really do need to invest in one of those toys Sheila is always elbowing you about.

“Oh, poor baby.” Your walls flutter violently at his mocking tone. 

“I thought you were going to tell me what you would do to me after dinner?” Maybe you’re desperate, or just stupid. It doesn’t really matter when all you want is to orgasm on Tom’s voice.

“Thought I was? Didn’t I tell you about how I’m gonna dip into that sweet wet pussy, and play with your little clit with my thumb while I fuck you with this big cock? How do you like it, honey? Slow and deep? Fast and hard?”

You make a strangled little sound–because your fingers are just not enough, and it hurts. It hurts that he’s not here with you, filling you up, holding you down with those calloused hands and that filthy, insatiable, mouth.

“What was that?” 

His voice is strained, and you think you’re not the only one in pain here.

“Slow,” you answer. “At first.” Why exactly are you handing him this ammunition? How stupid, how dangerous, to offer up the keys to your undoing? You know he will only use this information against you.

“Mmm.” His breathing is labored, and the thought of him with his cock out, stroking himself to this dirty talk is almost too much to stand. Julian had you trussed and at his mercy right in front of him, but couldn’t keep it up. All Tom Ludlow needs is the sound of your voice. After the night you’ve had, that alone is nearly enough to make you cum.

“But then I like it deep,” you pant. “You think you got what it takes?”

“Baby, I’ve got everything you need.”

You are trying to be as quiet as you can, while you abuse your clit with your two middle fingers, practically holding your breath, getting high on the oxygen deprivation. You’re too quiet, you suppose.

“Don’t be shy, beautiful. Gotta let me hear it when you cum for me.”

“Or what?” you grouse. “Maybe I’m just…mixing pancake batter.” 

His laughter is strained, and you just know he’s close. “Or you’ll regret it, sweet girl. When I finally get these hands on you? Mmm I’ll make you pay. I’ll make you cum without mercy.” 

Again, you can’t help but compare the versions of punishment to the men in your life. Julian wants to hurt you. Tom just wants to make you cum.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah? You there, baby?”

You try to just breathe through your nose, to not give him the satisfaction–but you fail spectacularly.

“Y/n?” He calls, singing your name and making it sound so pretty and good and special. 

“Y-yeah?”

“You coming with me? I’m waiting for you.”

You’re right there, dangling over that sweet, slippery precipice that you can usually ease yourself over carefully. Tom gives you a little shove, and you’re plummeting. 

“That’s my girl.” He doesn’t sound much better off than you while you sob from the unexpected, haywire orgasm. 

It takes a long minute for you to come back to earth, come back to breathless Tom who isn’t saying anything for once in his life. 

That pleasant, floaty post coital bliss gets stained with shame when the clarity of who you just mutually masturbated with hits you. 

He talks first, what a surprise. “Do you feel better?”

“No.” But then, “a little bit.”

“At least one of us does.” You hear him shuffling around on the other end, maybe opening a fridge. It makes you smile to think of him jerking off at his kitchen table. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Why in God’s name are you still entertaining this conversation? You both got what you wanted, and if you stay here too long listening to his voice you’re going to be right back where you started—ready for round two. 

“I won’t feel better until you’re mine.” He sounds humorless, which worries you in itself even without the possessive words added. “C’mon, sweet nurse, aren’t you supposed to help me feel better?”  

“I don’t belong to anyone, Tom. I never will.”

“Oh? Bullshit.” 

“I’m hanging up.” 

Almost as if he knows you’re full of it, or maybe he just doesn’t care about talking into an empty phone line, he continues. “You’re telling me you’ve never wanted a man to take care of you? Protect you, defend you, fuck anyone up who even thinks to raise a hand or word against you?”

Honestly? That’s all you’ve ever wanted, although you’ll take that admittance to your grave. After a lifetime of taking care of other people, having someone to do that for you in return sounds like a castle in the sky. But, the thing about castles in skies? They’re imaginary. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Let me guess, you’d do all that and more?” Maybe the venomous sarcasm is a little too mean. 

He sighs as if you’re the one assaulting his date, stealing his number, and then calling to harass and annoy him. “Okay, tough girl. Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“No you won’t.” 

“Mm. Night, beautiful.” 

You wait for him to hang up. He doesn’t. You don’t, either. You feel his grin blossoming through the white noise of the line, listen to him rustle about, hear bottles clinking, water running, fabric swishing. Your eyes get heavy to the sounds of his nightly routine, lashes threatening to touch cheek. 

His voice is void of its usual gruff when it permeates the pleasant, strange, foggy land between awake and unconscious. “Baby?”

“Mm, yeah?” You try to make your mouth move properly, but the words come jumbled and slurred, weighted with exhaustion. 

“Sweet dreams.” 

#tom ludlow x reader #tom ludlow #street kings #tom Ludlow fic

[sleepymaddy]

turns out repressing every single emotion I feel was a load bearing kind of thing. who knew.

#me.txt #I have cried. so fucking much these past two days. i spent so much of today just crying all the time #love this therapy shit. sooooo helpful #I’m genuinely unsure what the fuck is going to happen this week #it’s going to be difficult enough if I don’t start fucking crying every fifteen seconds #I’ve also not been able to shake thinking of dying At All today <3 #is this karma for lying about having suicidal thoughts. that’s kind of funny actually #but there was no way in hell I was telling that woman about those. i have no idea what the consequences would have been #maybe there wouldn’t have been anything. but if there had been. ooooh boy #plus it’s not like I’m actually at risk I would never have the guts but like #the thoughts Do exist lol #and are in fact very difficult to ignore today #which makes me feel like the worst fucking excuse of a human being on this planet god bless #god I need a fucking nap. maybe a new brain. to get over myself already probably Jesus fucking Christ girl #I’m so fucking tired. I’m so goddamn tired of it all #there’s no way out of this because no matter what I do I’m still there #it’s still /me/ and that’s the goddamn problem isn’t it? me. that’s the problem

[why-the-heck-not]

Trying to listen to podcast to calm down to sleep -> loud as fuck ad. Trying to check something quick from a youtube tutorial -> first gotta watch 2x 30 second unskippable ads. Trying to go to a website -> 2 popups and an ad video automatically start to play. Trying to listen to the radio while driving -> 7 minutes of uninterrupted ad time. Every single free app with those shitty game ads with the stupid annoying ass king. I’m tired !!! I never wanna buy anything ever again !!!!!!!

#watched youtube and skipped the ’’this video is sponsores by’’ only to get hit with 2 30sec unskippable ads and I just deleted the youtube #app from my phone with pure rage I’m fucking tired of ads everywhere all the good goddamn time #nYx PLuMpIng GLoss pLumP yOurSeLf Up BabY go fucking die #(also im tired so im unreasonably mad at every minor thing rn but like this has been the sentiment for months) #(should’ve gone for that walk I was thinking abt would’ve been much calmer) #(bc now rage deleted all the ''fun''' apps from my phone it's now just the essentials in there (tho did keep podcasts & Spotify bc those I #refuse to give up) like idk this better stick I want phone screen time of 1-2h per day) #april 2024 #2024

[honeypleasejustkillme]

i hope i die soon

#at least then i wouldn’t have to worry about being in debt or literally anything else in my shitty fucking life anymore #i just want to have decent luck once in a fucking while but apparently that’s too much to fucking ask for #i’m so fucking tired of this goddamn life i live #i just want it all to stop #bpd shitposting #actually bpd #bpd vent #actually mentally ill #sorry this is a complete vent in the tags.. oopsie

[seventh-district]

OCD will literally remove your brain's ability to register when a task is Complete and then create 10,000 incredibly ridiculous and extremely specific rules for you to follow in every single aspect of your life (to keep you safe, of course, it tells you.) and then tells you that if you don’t do them Correctly and Completely every single time it tells you to (it tells you countless times per day) then the Entire Fucking World Will End and then it’ll do this fucked up thing where it makes you believe that nonsense.

and then people that don’t have it will make silly little jokes about being soooooo OCD and make t-shirts with fun little acronyms on them like Obsessive Coffee Disorder and tell you how much they like it when things are organized and clean, too!!

and then you’re supposed to just. laugh. like you haven’t been robbed of your entire being and potential and been taken over by a mind and life altering disability

#PSA: don’t fucking tell me to Seek Therapy or Try Medication. i am Aware. i have Tried. it isn’t that fucking simple #and this is my blog. i’ll complain about my illnesses all i want to. if you don’t like it i strongly encourage you to unfollow me #ocd #actually ocd #cw ocd #cw mental illness #mental health stuff #Seven.txt #Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is actually SO goddamn insidious. and only ppl that have lived with it will understand that #it’s a terrible terrible thing. to have something ruin your entire life under the guise of keeping you safe #it’s like being abused by your own mind and i don’t say that lightly #okay. stopped crying long enough to get this post out of my brain and onto my blog #gonna put Walking Disaster on loop and return to my Mental Illness Floor Time now #if no one hears from me for a little while it’s not personal i just. need to not be a Person right now. i’m so tired

[purplelupins]

Really need to just have my imagination copy and pasted onto a page cuz this whole “writing” thing is just so damn hard

#nora speaks #goddamn #I love writing stories #but #fucking hell I’m so tired and I know the story is up there in my brain #but just getting it out is like pulling teeth #I could have finished all of my abandoned fics if I could just PASTE MY IDEAS FROM MY BRAIN WITHOUT THIS TYPING BULLSHIY

[sapphic-loser16]

genuinely thinking of deleting this blog

#Just #whats the point anymore #I can’t fucking stand Zelda anymore which makes me sick #Because I used to love it so much #I try with my art but what’s the goddamn point of having 360+ followers if I can’t even get twenty notes on a piece? #So many creators are getting harassed because the Zelda fandom is fucking entitled and insufferable and cruel #I’ll never be good at art so what’s the point of even making any #All the friends I used to have are gone #And I just feel so damn empty and tired #I want to do stuff with the power play au #But it’ll never measure up to what’s in my head so why even try?? #I swear to god the only reason this still exists is because I’m terrified of losing my rebels blog #I’m just so tired #i want to go to sleep forever and never wake up

[daincrediblegg]

Tired of people saying “oh look at my old man😍” and the picture they attach is some buff anime dude with grey hair grow up

#I’m so fucking ill #HE AIN’T EVEN THAT OLD HE AIN’T EVEN INTERESTING IN PHYSIQUE #go back to fawning over captain fucking america you’re not welcome in this space #he has laugh lines and fat on his belly and flabby arms or its NO DEAL #AND IM SO FUCKING TIRED #the real halmark of old man fucking is the unconventional attractiveness of natural features becoming more pronounced with time #and my brother in christ you’re not even appreciating graceful aging. get a GRIP #seriously just make peace that you’re attracted to convention or embrace the skrungly. or like idk die if you can’t do either of those thin #i’m so tired #sorry I’m being such a hater lately but yk what with all my stress I’ve earned it #and even if he does have the requisite qualities one word about him being fucking daddy and I’m calling the goddamn cops #so so so sick of it

[kaeyaphile]

y’all i am so fucking sick and tired of being sick and tired chronically ill

#kayleigh.txt #went to the rheumatologist today and the prognosis isn’t ideal at all lmao #i’ve been going to the rheumatologist for a hot minute now but like. none of the medication is working #i can either a) get weekly/biweekly infusions via iv #b) get an injectable that i will administer to myself via abdomen or thigh once per week #or c) add yet another medication onto what i’m already taking #LMFAO WHAT IF I JUST KEELED OVER DEAD. WHAT THEN. CAN’T BE CHRONICALLY ILL IF I AM FUCKING DEAD RIGHT?!? #i am already taking two (2) immunosuppressants as well as muscle relaxers #and folic acid to counteract the bad side effects of one of said immunosuppressants #not even including all the other fucking medications i take for my mental health/heart/etc #i am just. so goddamn tired of being in constant fucking pain and discomfort 24/7 365 #don’t even get me STARTED on the fucking depression/adhd/autism bullshit that makes it all a million times worse

[warriorsatthedisco]

Man I used to sympathize people with chronic illness, but now I can really empathize. This shit sucks and it has the worst snowball effect too.

#helped my friend with her art booth at a con this weekend and it wasn’t even like a ton of work but it fucking exhausted me so much #I think I pushed myself too far because I also got sick and now I feel like shit and I’m so so so tired #and of course this is with steroids. like the drug that gives you energy to do shit and I’m barely functioning at work #I’m going to up my dose to 30mg bc the doctor said I could. cause even at 20 I’m still getting crohns symptoms #nothing like picking up groceries and feeling sudden impending doom where you have to get to a toilet as soon as possible #and then being so tired from just picking up groceries that you don’t have energy to make food #so you just lay in bed but you can’t sleep because you’re in pain and it’s hard to breathe from this stupid cold #this cold shouldn’t be kicking my ass but of course my steroids are immunosuppressants so it’s like I have fucking Covid #(I don’t have Covid) #and then crying because even on the steroids I still have to follow this stupid miserable diet because apparently #my body just fucking hates all good food #including goddamn rice #RICE! #not to mention the fact that prednisone can make your vision bad and it’s been making it hard for me to read even with my glasses on #and the foot cramps. idk what that’s about but I’m drinking so much water and taking supplements #anyways. rant over. hope I can work tomorrow. I accidentally slept thru my alarm today and was an hour late #personal

[lightspren]

I do not know how to explain to a 55lbs dog that the 8lbs cat really does not see her as a Fun New Friend, and in fact sees her as a terrifying eldritch horrorterror. because dog REALLY wants to play. And thusfar seems to think cat’s growling and swatting is weird attempts at playing. and i’m trying really hard to be chill about it but oh my god i’m gonna strangle the dog if she doesn’t leave the cat alone because I feel way too shitty to be playing referee today.

#kit talks #i know the dog is bored rn but i also feel too fucking shitty to be entertaining #so now back to my stewing in worry that i will not be able to adequately care for the dog because i’m too goddamn tired all the time #and that i may be in over my head and may have fucked up #except i need to not stew bc i’ll start ugly crying again which makes my sinus congestion worse

[muttsandmustelidae]

.

#wisdom teeth have started to hurt which is. just fucking great. 🙃 #literally can’t do anything about it so i guess i just have to live in pain or die #i am so fucking tired of being in pain all the time and not being able to fix it #why is everything so goddamn expensive #i’m so tired

[ghostwithaheartbeat]

Day three of holding everyone’s laundry hostage until my father takes a shower.

The last of my father’s beloved white socks have fallen to the filth. There is little hope, and even less in terms of rest. The battle is ongoing, and it feels often that I am fighting alone. Morale is low; my ally in this conflict, mother, is injured. I long for the days when I can rest. When this war will cease, and all will be clean again. The dishes done, the people bathed, the laundry washed and folded. Alas. We know the struggle will never end.

I am Sisyphus, and my father’s horrid stench and apathy are forever my boulder.

My father is a war profiteer, and I am a hapless young recruit greeting a doomed mission.

Last shower date: December 25th, 2023

#collective tag #it spoke #i’m venting #but like… only half serious #god I am so so so so tired. #I’m so pissed man #at just. everything #this house is falling apart around me and It’s like I can’t do anything #I have begged and begged and begged this fucking man to take a goddamn shower. #I cry about this #because he just doesn’t fucking care #I CANT DO EVERYTHING!!!!! #NOT FOREVER #huge ass ants everywhere? sure. fuck it. why not #piles and piles of laundry? okay. I can do that. #not paying the mortgage until our shit gets shut down and mom and I yell at you? #cooking halfassed meals that are only barely tolerable to you and inedible to everyone else #and then complaining when we don’t eat them despite how much we’ve all told you? #and leaving the whole kitchen to rot? #PISSING YOURSELF REPEATEDLY AND NOT CHANGING YOUR PANTS BECAUSE YOU DONT FEEL LIKE IT AND NEVER SHOWERING FOR MONTHS ON END? #I’m just… words cannot describe how tired I am right now. #mom has a broken foot too so I also have to take care of her even more than normal #how did baby me handle this all the time on top of school? #‘yeah sure i can take care of two fucked up angry disabled adults on top of my crippling childhood trauma and schoolwork!’ #—> #‘I swear to fucking god I will telepathically make my heart stop beating by sheer force of fucking will if I hear you call for me again’ #delete later #deepest apologies to any poor soul that reads this #i really just needed to cry and scream and cry harder again until I throw up #and maybe a hug

[deathsmallcaps]

My mom has suddenly decided I say sorry to much. And she’s right but god getting angry at me about it just triggers it :pppppppppppppppppppp

(She hates it when I stick my tongue out at her so :ppppppppppppp more)

SORRYSORRYSORRYSORRYSORRY

:pppppppppppppppppppppppppppp

It also makes me angry because it reminds of all the times I’ve had to apologize and I DIDNT MEAN IT. And by ‘didn’t mean it’ I’m talking about the times where I had to be the bigger person or someone else was having a power trip or some shit. >:ppppppppp

I just want a totally guiltless, consequence free day where I can be as mean as fancy strikes me. And this is okay. It’s an unrealistic dream and should stay that way. But it’s also okay to feel aggressive and hurt. Two things, surprisingly, can be true at the same time. :ppppppppppppppppppp

#suddenlyish. this ain’t the first time #vent #don’t mind interactions just ain’t looking for solutions #my mom and I had a good day today actually #I’m just winding down and feeling things #my mom cannot function when it’s cold #and by cannot function I mean more her neural pathways for being nice shut down #she’s improved a lot but between her and customer service things to do today I’m just feeling a little upset #I’m also week 8 out from my period and goddamn this hormone shit is cumulative #like you’d think #oh dsc gee whiz since it’s been 8 weeks since your last period #assuming it starts tomorrow #that means all the steps of the period cycle were stretched out proportionally over the doubled length #NOOOOOOO ITS CUMULATIVE #it was 10 weeks in between the second to last one and the last one and I WAS FUCKING MANIC #FUCKKKKKK #BUT IN GOOD NEWS I GOT TO LISTEN TO ALL THE WAKANDA FOREVER SONGS TODAY #AND I GOT A NEW WINTER COAT BASICLALY FOR FREE AND ATE CHEESECAKE AND HAD A GOOD MINI DANCING SESSION #I DO NOT NEED TO MENTION GOOD THINGS IN ORDER TO MAKE MY NEGATIVE FEELINGS VALID BUT IM STILL CONVINCING MYSELF OF THAT FACT AND IM TIRED #AND YELLING FEELS GOOD. UNFORTUNATELY IM AT MY DAD’s house so if I scream I’d probably wake a neighbor #SO IM GONNA SCREAM HERE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #the cute aggression article on Wikipedia is a fun read #EMOTIONAL EXPRESSION #I might go eat more cheesecake