#and your own sense of humor is so fucked that you aren’t even sure that it’s actually funny

[honeymark]

𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒏𝒄𝒕 𝟏𝟐𝟕 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 ㅡ

click 〔 here 〕 for the hyung line.

˗ˏˋ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 :: hi miss soojin ! could u write smth ab 127 comforting their insecure gf ? thank u so much ! ´ˎ˗

⇢ 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍 feels the most secure when you’re by his side, so he’s quick to notice when you start pulling away from him. at first, it was the texts — on the days you didn't see each other, you'd always text him throughout the day, even though you knew you wouldn't get a written response. it's not that he didn't read them; he was too busy with work to respond, so he'd always react with a thumbs up or a simple "haha." but then, your daily text threads stopped. he knew you had your own life, so he assumed you were too busy to send updates, but the nightly phone calls stopped, too. did he do something wrong? did you find someone else? what the fuck was going on?

he waits until the weekend to talk about it, and he listens attentively as you open up about wanting to be “less clingy and annoying.” he takes your hand in his with soft, cool fingers in a reassuring grip. “i didn’t know you felt this way, y/n,” he says softly. he presses a light kiss to your knuckles before delicately pulling you into a warm embrace. “you aren’t clingy or annoying, baby. you’re the cutest person in the world, and in a perfect world, i’d spend the rest of my life right by your side. nothing is as special as the time we spend together, and that includes reading your daily updates and watching all the tiktoks you send me and falling asleep to your soft snores on our nightly facetime calls. i love it all, and i love you, so don’t pull away from me, please?”

⇢ 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐎 isn’t one to ruminate on the past, mainly because he tends to overthink and overanalyze every little detail in a sticky situation. that being said, it would be a blatant lie to say that he hasn’t looked into your former relationships and partners. he’s matured enough over the years to keep his jealousy in check, but no matter how much time he spends with you, he just can’t seem to shake off a lingering insecurity that’s convinced him he isn’t fulfilling your needs…

which is why he’s all the more surprised when you bring up the same insecurities to him. he listens without judgement or interruption as you express how you’ve been feeling, his heart aching as you tearfully open up about not being enough for him. he waits for you to finish before enveloping you in a tight hug, and he thanks you for being vulnerable with him, reminding you that your feelings and concerns are valid. he gets carried away with listing all of the qualities he loves about you, and he doesn’t stop until you seal his lips yourself with a kiss. “there’s nothing to compare, my love. no one holds a candle to you. you’re the one for me, i mean it!”

⇢ 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 knew from the moment you met that there was no hope for him; he was going to fall head over heels in love with you. it’s been five years since then, and his affection for you has only increased tenfold. he truly admires everything about you, from your ability to understand and empathize with others, to your independence and strength, to your resilience and readiness to bounce back from any setback, to your creativity and ridiculous sense of humor. of course, he appreciates your beauty (something that he reminds you of very frequently, especially at night 🤠), but more than anything, he loves you for who you are and genuinely cherishes the depth of your connection.

so, unsurprisingly, he’s concerned by how suddenly adamant you are about not wanting to get dressed in front of him, something you’ve been doing for years now. at first, he doesn’t think much of it; you reserve the right to privacy, and he respects that, but it goes on for over a week. he’s sure something is bothering you, and his suspicions are confirmed by how you immediately burst into tears when he asks you about it. he holds you in a firm embrace as you describe how insecure you feel because of your stretch marks and acne scars. nothing hurts his heart more than to hear you disparage yourself, and he waits until you calm down to share his thoughts.

"it's okay to feel that way, babe. but i'm going to be honest...i think you're beautiful no matter what. who cares about stretch marks or acne scars? those are just nouns. they don't mean anything, and they definitely don't take away from how amazing of a human being you are. you’re beautiful, and i can’t get enough of you.”

⇢ 𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 is the first man you’ve ever met who’s been able to intellectually and humorously keep up with you, and you haven’t given him a chance to escape from your grip ever since (not that he’s ever wanted to, of course). the two of you met in college, and after months of constantly riffing off each other, you made the first move and confessed your feelings in an uncharacteristically sincere way. it’s been a few years since then, and while it’s undeniable that you two have the most fun when you’re together, you start to wonder if he really loves you. it’s not that your relationship was necessarily lacking anything; you two were plenty intimate, both emotionally and physically, but…it still couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

it’s one of those “let’s order pizza and rot on the couch for hours” kinds of nights when you finally find the courage to ask him, “do you love me?” he hears you, but it’s clear he doesn’t take you seriously; he doesn’t even bother looking up from his phone as he answers with a sarcastic “of course not.” he waits for you to respond with some sort of witty comeback, but you don’t. he glances up and nearly drops his phone on his face when he sees you tearing up. he immediately asks if you’re okay, and he solemnly listens as you make light of your insecurities. he pulls you into a rough hug and kisses you, his lips soft and sweet against yours. “shit, baby, i’m sorry. i didn’t know you were feeling this way. of course i love you. y/n, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and i’m sorry that i don’t say it enough. i love you, baby. i love you so much.”

#nct imagines #nct reactions #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct 127 reactions #nct 127 imagines

[merakiui]

scummy, sleazy floyd who messages you randomly one day (just like him, most of his texts are often sporadic and spontaneous, but somehow he always texts when you’re available—as if it’s some psychic skill of his) and asks if you’re doing anything for new years. your friends who are in relationships are busy and you’re really not looking to third wheel, and friends who aren’t have their own separate, personal plans. this leaves you perfectly alone. you consider turning him down because you know the new year will be rung in with you and floyd rolling around in his bed and you’ll be stuck wondering if anything more will come out of this situationship. but then what else did you have planned for the evening? as fun as sitting around and drinking champagne is, you wouldn’t mind the company, even if that company is coming from your fuck buddy. besides, it might be fun. floyd always knows how to pull you out of your own head when you start to worry.

so you pack an overnight bag, as you have plenty of times in the past, and you arrive to his apartment within the hour. it’s jade who opens the door, greeting you with that pleasant smile of his. it stretches just a tad wider when floyd leaps over the sofa in an effort to get to the front door and shoo jade away so he can drag you inside. it’s adorably humorous to see him so enthusiastic. he’s even wearing those goofy sunglasses that are molded into the shape of the new year.

you weren’t expecting to be treated to an entire buffet for dinner. floyd tells you jade made too much, and jade tells you it was floyd who spent hours in the kitchen preparing every dish. he even prepped some of the ingredients last night, which you find unlikely because you know floyd’s not one to plan in advance or follow rules by the book. you’re not sure who to believe, but it doesn’t change the fact that the food is delicious.

at some point, between discussing resolutions and arguing over whether or not they’re pointless, you find yourself watching tv with floyd. jade’s slinked off to somewhere (likely his bedroom), which leaves the two of you alone in front of the large flatscreen. floyd, expert in silly icebreakers, asks a curious question when your previous conversation stalls out into silence.

“what’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do during the holidays? can be anything ya think of. somethin’ cheesy or somethin’ sexy. doesn’t matter s’long as it’s somethin’ ya’ve always wanted to do.”

you sense there’s an encroaching punchline to this question, so you don’t take it seriously when you jokingly answer with: “have sex in front of a fireplace.”

floyd blinks at you, allows your reply to sink in, and then, completely stone-faced, reaches for the remote to change the screen to that of a ten-hour magitube video of a real life crackling fireplace. you stare at it, watching the flames flicker and pop. your gaze slides to floyd next. he’s looking at you with an expectant grin, and there’s a glimmer of hope in those two-toned eyes of his.

oh, he’s actually serious about the fireplace…

#meraki mumbles #floyb you are so silly <3 #this was funnier in my head #but i just had to write it despite that orz

[valeskafics]

"Veritas Et Aequitas" - Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Modern Law School AU) - Chapter Three: A Reluctant Partnership

a/n: read part one HERE and part two HERE ❤️

Summary: Midterms are upon you and you find yourself forced into a reluctant partnership with Aemond while your boyfriend visits from New Haven.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, sexual references, references to p in v sex

Word Count: 2,800 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

You fall into a pretty easy routine in law school. Of course, your courses are far more challenging than in undergrad and reading and briefing cases has become how you spend most of your time, but you love it. You’re thriving at Harvard Law and you know your professors can see it.

Unfortunately, your nemesis is thriving too. Aemond and you are locked in a constant battle for who can answer the most questions, who can make the best case briefs, who can be the most popular in the class even. Everything becomes a competition for the two of you. While law school is indeed a competitive environment, you’ve made friends with two of the girls in your cohort, Aliandra Martell and Maris Baratheon. They both have a similar sense of humor as you do and you genuinely enjoy studying with them.

Well, that is until they get partnered together for your Property Law class and you? Of course you get stuck with Aemond. You cannot believe your luck as he walks up to you, wearing that stupid black coat with that stupid cashmere sweater and those stupid pants- Fucking asshole. Dark academia aesthetic douchebag. You’re imagining all the ways you can murder him with the textbook you hold in your hand as he approaches you.

“Hey there, partner,” he smirks, pushing his glasses slightly up the bridge of his nose, “We’re looking very pink today, aren’t we?”

You glance down at your hot pink blazer and bite back a scowl before stating primly, “I’ll brief James v Taylor, you brief In re Marriage of Horn. We don’t need to be together to do it. Just… Ugh.”

“Aw,” Aemond chuckles, “You’ve got me thinking you don’t want to spend time with me, partner.”

“Geez, Emo Boy, I wonder what ever could have given you that idea?” you scoff, turning on your heel and walking away, feeling Aemond’s gaze follow you as you go.

A couple of days later, Aemond sees you from the corner of his eye in the law library, grabbing a book. He hums to himself, wondering if he should approach you and decides that he doesn’t really give a shit if it’s a bad idea or not, he’s going to do it. He casually walks over, trying not to make it obvious that he’s noticed you, and stops just behind you, peering over your shoulder. How can he go about annoying you now, he wonders? You look so cute when your face scrunches up in that little scowl-

And that’s when you notice his presence. There it is. There’s that scowl.

“Targaryen.”

“What’s the matter, love?” Aemond speaks in a mocking tone, “Do you not like my company?”

You sigh, walking toward one of the empty desks and placing your book down on it, doing your best to ignore the imposing blond and work on your case brief. Aemond rolls his eyes at you and watches you work, arms crossed as he takes the seat opposite you.

“You’re no fun at all, you know that?” he says with a sly grin, trying to get just one more reaction out of you before returning to his own work.

You offer him a fake smile, “Amazing, my mission in life has been accomplished. I’ve robbed Aemond Targaryen of his fun. Someone inform CNN,” you pause before questioning, “By the way, when are you going to be done with your brief for the Horn case?”

“Not sure yet,” he hums, “Maybe later tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Who knows? I’ll get it done eventually,” Aemond declares, knowing full well that he’s going to finish it tonight.

You pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration before hissing, “It’s due in two days, you ass!”

Aemond’s grin widens as he realizes how annoyed you’re getting and he taunts, “Aw, is Barbie Girl mad?”

“You know what?” it’s your turn to smirk at him now as an idea comes to your mind, “I’ll brief both of them and tell Professor Bracken you refused to cooperate. That should teach you a lesson.”

“Oooh, is that a threat? How cute.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands before meeting his gaze, “Look. I want an A. You want an A. Clearly we need to work together.”

“Then why are you being so difficult?” Aemond retorts, before realizing how stubborn he’s being and letting out a sharp exhale, “Fine. Let’s work on the briefs right now. But, I have one requirement.”

You can feel the migraine coming in advance of his question as you respond, “What?”

“Well, for our little bet, since the winner gets to ask the other to do whatever they want,” he leans in almost conspiratorially as he smirks, “Does that mean I can kiss you if I win?”

You scoff at him, shaking your head, “You already said you want a date if you win, now it’s a kiss too? You’re changing the terms of the contract, you greedy fuck!”

“The bet is that the winner gets to do whatever they want. And I happen to want both a date and a kiss if I win,” Aemond says, “So? Deal or no deal?”

“Fine, whatever,” you grumble, “Not like you’re gonna win anyway.”

“Perfect. Now, let’s focus on these briefs,” Aemond is thrown for a loop when he sees you reach into your purse and put a pair of glasses on; he’s never seen you wearing them before and they fit you quite well, making you look even smarter than you already do, “You look really good with those glasses,” he comments, “You should wear them more often.”

“Then I’ll never wear them again if you like them so much,” you sass, feeling the heat rise to your face in spite of yourself as you add, “I usually wear contacts but I wanted a break from them today.”

“Well, they suit you,” Aemond shrugs.

You mutter to yourself, “Boyfriend isn’t a fan.”

Aemond raises an eyebrow as he hears you say this, “Why? Does he prefer you without them? If you like them, he should support you wearing them,” he pauses for a moment before adding, continuing to work on his case brief, “If I was your boyfriend, I’d love it if you wore them. They look great.”

You remain silent, unsure of what to say, scribbling notes and trying to throw yourself into your work. The two of you continue for the next hour or so, editing your briefs and trying to get them absolutely perfect.

Aemond hands you his notebook as he finishes, questioning, “Is this good? Ready to hand in?”

You look at him, surprised that he’s asking for your input, before taking the notebook and looking over the document, “Maybe just add a bit more for your conclusion and try to get your rule a little more concise. Looks good other than that,” you wait a beat before questioning, “Can you look at mine?”

“Sure,” he smirks, taking your notebook, “I’ll tell you if it’s good enough.”

You roll your eyes, watching as he reads your brief, “Don’t hold anything back, I guess.”

After a few minutes of reading, Aemond turns to you, a small smile on his face as he speaks, a bit of surprise coloring his tone, “Wow, you’re actually sort of good at this, you know that?” he pauses, “You’ve already got the outline done, everything looks good to me. Seems like an easy A.”

“If we don’t get an A, I’m taking the professor’s gradebook and tossing it into the harbor. My own Boston Tea Party of sorts,” you mutter under your breath.

Aemond bursts into laughter, “A bit of an extreme measure, no?” the two of you are shushed by the elderly librarian, upon which you exchange an amused grin and Aemond speaks again, “Well, should we go hand them in?”

You nod, standing up and stretching, unaware of Aemond’s gaze trained on you as you do so, his good eye taking in every curve, every bit of the slight hint of skin you’ve revealed. He stands and gestures for you to walk first and of course, you stride off, attempting to walk faster than him. Aemond also begins walking faster to keep pace with you.

“You can try to get away from me all you want, but it won’t work,” he says cheekily, the two of you both now speed walking to your professor’s office.

You manage to get there at exactly the same time, both of you trying to go through the door, to which you grouse, “Oh, fucking hell, haven’t you heard of ladies first?”

Aemond sighs and steps back, gesturing for you to walk in first. Professor Blackmont looks at the two of you, entirely amused at the sight. Aemond turns toward him with a polished, polite smile.

“I hope you’re ready to be amazed by our briefs, Professor,” the little shit begins, “You see, I think Y/N here and I make quite a good team,” he says confidently, hoping he can get some bonus points from his little speech on teamwork.

You give him the most judgmental side eye you’ve given another human being in your life before handing in your brief and turning to leave. Aemond follows after you since, of course, he’s your neighbor and you’re both heading back toward the same place.

“So, dinner at mine or yours?” he drawls, smirking at you, “To celebrate a job well done.”

“Neither,” you retort, “My boyfriend is visiting me from New Haven.”

“Ah, right,” Aemond grins, “The elusive boyfriend. You know, you’ve never even shown his picture. Is he just another made-up story to get me to leave you alone?”

“No,” you hiss, “I talk about him all the time!”

“I don’t think you really have a boyfriend. I think you just made him up because you’re shy and don’t want to admit you like me,” he teases, a cocky smile on his face, utterly convinced that your boyfriend is just a fabrication, at least until you grab your phone and pull up a picture of you wrapped up in the arms of a reasonably good-looking man with reddish brown hair and blue eyes, “Well, I’m impressed. Guess you weren’t lying after all,” Aemond mocks, placing his hands on his hips, “Well, you have my apologies. And your boyfriend has my condolences.”

Your jaw drops, “Fucking excuse me?”

Aemond’s smirk widens, “Well, he’s dating you, after all. If anyone should be getting sympathy in that relationship, it’s him.”

“Coming from the guy begging me to go on a date with him,” you sass, “That’s rich.”

Aemond glances over at you as the two of you walk, a smug grin playing on his lips, “I wouldn’t call it begging, but I digress. I think I’m a pretty good catch, you know.”

You swipe your keycard, enter your apartment building, and walk toward the elevator. You press the button to call it, doing your level best to ignore the man standing beside you, but he goes on about how many girls in your cohort alone have given him their number, and you find yourself snapping back.

“So go bother one of them.”

Aemond barks out a laugh, “But none of them are as cute as you. You’re one of a kind,” you ignore him, jabbing at the elevator button over and over, willing the stupid thing to come faster, which Aemond finds entirely amusing, “You seem a bit impatient. Probably not good for your blood pressure.”

You give him an unamused glare, shoving past him when the doors finally open, leaning against the wall and ignoring him as you wait to get up to your floor. Aemond snickers at your annoyance, standing close to you.

He leans in and murmurs, “You’re so cute when you’re annoyed.”

You scoff, “Amazing. You called me cute. I don’t even need to continue going to school here. All my life’s aspirations have come true. Emo Boy called me cute.”

“That’s a pretty lame life aspiration,” he taunts.

“It’s called sarcasm, genius.”

“Well, you’re doing a terrible job at it,” Aemond speaks again after a moment, “You know, the sooner you just say yes to going out with me, the sooner I’ll stop annoying you.”

“I’m not a cheater, so I’ll pass.”

Aemond raises an eyebrow, “Well, you say that, but you’ve been flirting with me all term. Does your boyfriend,” he spits out the word with as much vitriol as he can muster, “Know you’ve been doing that?”

“Flirting?” you scoff, “With you? Jesus, where do you get these delusions? I’d love to smoke some of whatever the fuck it is you’re having.”

“Looks like I struck a nerve,” he taunts, “You’re really gonna deny that you’re flirting with me? What do you call it then? All the teasing in class? The little looks?”

“That’s rivalry, not flirting!” you protest.

“Is it really a rivalry?” Aemond retorts, “Because it seems like you’ve been enjoying it a bit too much in that case. Maybe you have a bit of an attraction to me that you don’t want to admit,” he leans in, grinning, “Do you have a crush on me? It’s okay, you know. You can admit it, just between us. I won’t tell your boyfriend or anything.”

You laugh sarcastically, “Yeah, I’m crazy about you. I write about you in my diary all the time.”

“Oh, is that a fact?” his grin widens, “So what do you write about me in that little diary of yours with those cute pink little pens? Please do tell me, I’m dying to know.”

“Dear Diary, today Aemond pissed me the fuck off.”

“So I’ve annoyed you enough that you feel compelled to write down all the ways I get under your skin?” Aemond smirks as the elevator doors open and the two of you get out, “Good, I’m glad to hear it. My goal to drive you crazy is already working.”

You stop in front of your door, grabbing your key, “Alright, buh bye now.”

“What, already?” Aemond questions, leaning against the wall beside you, “You barely got mad at me today.”

“Well, my boyfriend’s here so you can fuck right the fuck off.”

Aemond chuckles before walking the few feet to his apartment next door, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Well, we’re going to be fucking, which from the looks of it, you don’t get to do a lot of,” you retort sharply, slamming your door shut with far more force than necessary.

You find your boyfriend laying in your bed, messing around on his phone. He smiles as you approach him, only to be silenced by you slamming your lips on his.

Next door? All Aemond can hear is a cacophony of increasingly loud moans as your bed frame hits the shared wall between your apartments. Damn, you are loud, he muses.

“Fuck, yes, Daddy, oh my God, you’re so big, don’t stop-”

Aemond scowls at hearing your stupid perfect voice and turns on his speakers, trying to drown you out, but then you just start moaning louder and louder.

Fucking hell, why is he getting hard from this?

Then, he hears you let out an obviously exaggerated moan and his jaw drops. He smirks to himself realizing that you, very clearly, just faked an orgasm.

That evening, you do your laundry after a rather disappointing visit from your boyfriend. Robin is back in your apartment, sound asleep, ready to take the morning train back to New Haven. You wonder why you had such a hard time finishing today, to the point that you just gave up and faked it. Maybe it’s because every time you closed your eyes, you could hear that stupid fucking nepo baby talking about how bad you want him, how you could hear him complimenting your glasses-

Then, as if he was summoned by your thoughts alone, Aemond walks in, a basket of his own laundry in hand. He smirks at you, setting his basket down and moving over to stand behind you, his back pressed up against your front as he questions if you’re done with the washer.

“Yeah,” you say thickly, attempting to ignore the feeling of his hard-on rubbing against you, “I’m using the dryer. I’ll just move.”

He rests his chin on your shoulder and whispers in your ear, his breath tickling your skin, “You know,” one of his hands slides to your hips, squeezing softly for a moment before letting go, “If you ever want to have a real man make sure you finish, I’m right next door.”

You scowl as the dryer begins its chiming, indicating your laundry is all dry. You quickly load your things and run out of the laundry room, leaving behind a very self satisfied Aemond Targaryen.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #modern!aemond #modern!aemond x reader #modern!aemond targaryen #modern!aemond targaryen x reader #modern!aemond targaryen x you #modern!aemond x you #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond x reader #hotd fic #hotd x reader #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon x reader #my writing #veritas et aequitas fic

[pedroshotwifey]

Hungry Like The...

Pairing: Werewolf!Frankie Morales x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags/Warnings: Smut, PIV sex, oral sex (f receiving), fluff, established relationship, no use of y/n, Frankie has a monster cock, im missing stuff but I want to go to bed so...

Summary: You and Frankie decide to attend an 80s themed Halloween party. Through all of the excitement, you must have forgotten what day the full moon falls on.

A/N: I'm gonna go ahead and say that I rushed the absolute fuck out of this one, but I think it turned out pretty good. I really kind of jumped outside of my comfort zone with this, so I'm kinda proud that I did that. That being said, please feel free to call me out on anything that might not make sense or anything that I should change at all because I'm half clueless with this kind of stuff. Please consider reposting and/or liking. Thank you for reading and HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! <3

***

You have no idea where Frankie snuck off too. 

He claimed he was going to get the two of you more drinks, but that was about ten minutes ago. You’re well aware that it should have taken less than half of that for him to find his way to the refreshment table, pick up some drinks, and bring them back to you. 

Right now, though, you’re too blissed out to care—not that you have much to worry about with your loving boyfriend anyway. The lights are almost blinding as you spin around beneath them, but they transform into a nice glow thanks to the buzz you’re sporting. “Mony Mony,” is blaring through the speakers and you're in your zone as you swing your hips to the beat. 

You’re glad that Frankie had suggested that you two attend this party specifically. The only requirements were that you had to dress up as an 80’s character in order to fit the era the party revolves around. 80’s costumes, 80’s music, 80’s decor. Luckily for you, the 80’s is one of your absolute favorite decades, and you’re pretty sure Frankie knew that when he signed the two of you up. 

The dance floor is packed with people to the point where you can’t stretch out all the way without bumping into someone. Usually, that would irk you, but you can’t find it in you to mind tonight. It’s not like anybody else does. 

As you snap your hips to the beat, you look around at all the different costumes in the crowd. You see a handful of Star Wars characters, a couple of Freddy Kruegers, some Ghost Busters, and—of course—a shit ton of Madonnas. The rest, for the most part, are pretty original. 

You’re pretty proud of your own costume, to be honest. You had spent a couple of weeks configuring a custom-made Storm costume. You’ve been an X-Men fan for as long as you can remember, and it made you so happy to try on your costume for the first time a few days ago. It’s pretty damn spot-on. 

Frankie, on the other hand, had insisted on being a werewolf. Like turning into one once a month wasn’t enough already. You had simply rolled your eyes and asked him what he had in mind so you could make his costume. It was worth it to see the way he lit up, even though he’s cutting it close with the party’s theme. 

After the year he had, he deserves to be happy—even if it means you have to endure his stupid jokes every now and again. When he gets tipsy, his goofy humor always makes an appearance. It’s one of your favorite parts about nights out with your boyfriend. He never fails to make you laugh. 

Just as you begin to worry that he might have gotten lost in the crowd, you feel a hand spin you around. You’re getting ready to tell someone off until you come face to face with those irresistible brown eyes. 

“Hey there, Hermosa,” he says as he cuddles up to you, swaying you to the song. “Having fun, sweetheart?” 

You giggle as he bends down and nuzzles his face into your neck. Glancing down, you almost aren’t surprised to see that he doesn’t have any drinks. 

“Frankie?” You ask casually as you throw your arms around him. 

“Hmm?” 

“Did you find the drinks?” 

Suddenly, he stops moving and stands up straight again, a playful smile plastered across his face. 

“Guess not,” he says. “Found something to eat, though,” he winks and you playfully roll your eyes as he throws himself back onto you. As the song changes to “When Doves Cry”, he begins to dance with you. Frankie has never been the best dancer, but it's better this way. Neither of you take anything seriously as you push and pull your bodies together, giving eachother flirty kisses every now and again. 

You laugh as you bump into someone and flash them an apologetic look. Frankie really loves to bring out your careless side. You honestly didn’t know you were capable of being so care-free until you had met him. Sometimes he makes you feel as if nothing else matters but you and him. It’s times like these that you really realize just how lucky you are to have him. 

“Alright, baby,” Frankie says after a moment, bringing you out of your thoughts. “I’m going to go get us those drinks now.” 

Instead of answering him, you get up on your tip-toes and kiss him. He begins to wrap his arms around you again, but you gently push him off, giving him a faux stern look. 

“Alright, alright, I get it, baby, I’m going!” he says over the music before turning around to scamper away.

You have to suppress a giggle when he jolts as you deliver a light slap to his ass. He turns just enough to flash you a dirty look, and you give him one of feigned innocence in return, well aware he’ll get you back for that eventually if you continue to tease. 

“Hurry up, wolfboy!” you shout after him. 

***

Alright, you’re actually about to be pissed this time. 

There’s absolutely no way he lost you—or rather, you lost him—twice. He has to be playing with you, right? Whatever, if that’s the case, two can play at that game. 

You’ll just pretend like you don’t even notice something is missing. Maybe once he sees you where he left you, completely unaffected by his absence, he’ll stop being such an ass. 

Perfect. Perfect plan. 

You shake your head and dance as the song ends. You can have fun by yourself if your boyfriend wants to be immature. 

Well, it would have been a perfect plan. 

As if he could somehow read your mind—which you almost wouldn’t doubt at this point—you spot Frankie in your vision once again. However, this time, he’s not coming over to you. 

He has a familiar dark look in his eyes that immediately soaks you, despite yourself. You stop dancing because as quick as you see him, he’s gone again. You spin in a panicked circle as the song changes to one by Duran Duran. You almost laugh at the irony as “Hungry Like the Wolf” blares through the speakers. 

Your phone buzzes in the small pocket of your bodysuit, and you pause your quick search to look at it. Your brow furrows as you see that it’s a text from Frankie. What the fuck is he playing at? Quickly, you unlock your phone and open your messages. 

“Better start running, baby,” the text reads. You look up, your eyes frantically scanning the crowd around you. Maybe the song choice isn’t so ironic after all. 

“Don’t let me catch you… feeling hungry like the wolf tonight…”

You don’t stop to think before you make a mad dash toward the exit, your heart dropping to your stomach as you go. You get some pissed looks as you shove through people, your heart hammering in your chest and your eyes darting every which way. 

You have no idea where he could be at this point. Maybe he’s somewhere inside, having missed your exit. He could be trailing right behind you, ready to grab you at any moment.

Soon enough, it is revealed that he is, once again, always one step ahead of you. As soon as you step out of the doors, a large body is engulfing yours and carrying you to a secluded spot on the patio, though there’s nobody outside anyway. 

You would scream if not for the large hand that covers your lips when he grabs you. You know it’s Frankie, of course, but the exhilaration that comes from the scare really adds to the game the two of you just started. 

You ignore the heat simmering between your legs as he sets you down on your own feet and removes his hand from your mouth. Neither of you move, you don’t look up, he doesn’t crouch down. You just stand there, breathing heavily as Frankie embraces your figure. 

You can’t help but lean back into him, letting your guard down probably isn’t the best idea right now, but you can’t find it in you to care about that fact at the moment. 

The fresh air feels nice on your heated cheeks, but Frankie's front against your back feels even better. The music continues to play faintly behind you as you sway side to side, Frankie’s arms wrapped tightly around you, his head resting on your shoulder. 

You swear you could stay here forever. Actually, you could stay anywhere, as long as you had Frankie. But right now, you can’t imagine anything more perfect than this. As long as you have your boyfriend’s arms around you, you would do anything or go anywhere he wants to. 

Your body may be his, but you decided a long time ago that your soul belongs to him as well. He can pick it up and do whatever he wishes with it, and you know he could never do anything that would cause your trust or love for him to dull.

“Look up, sweetheart,” Frankie’s soft voice brings you out of your thoughts, making you open your eyes. You hadn’t realized they had slid shut in the first place. 

The sight of the full moon high up in the night sky confirms your suspicions. Frankie’s going to turn tonight. 

Fuck, you’re screwed, your subconscious automatically screams at you. 

You can't miss the way your panties dampen as the thought crosses your mind. Your body stiffens as you fight the urge to run, the adrenaline getting the best of you.

Frankie must feel the way you tense up because his arms immediately tighten around you. 

“It’s alright, hermosa,” he whispers into your ear. “Just means we’ll have a bit more fun than usual.”

You try but fail to stifle your grin at his menacing tone. Just because you know you’re screwed doesn’t mean you don't enjoy it. 

“Probably got less than ten minutes now,” Frankie says far too casually. “Let’s pick up on our little chase, yeah?” 

He lets you out of his grasp this time, and you turn around to give him a peck on his cheek, allowing your hand to brush past his erection as you pull away. The touch is just enough for Frankie to grit his teeth as he hisses out. The warning glance he gives you makes arousal burn deep into your core, only serving to make you more excited. 

“I’ll give you a head start, sweetheart,” he says, his tone giving you a warning, “I’d take it if I were you.”

With his word, you spin on your heel, ready to plummet into the forest, but you only get about a foot before he has a large hand wrapped around your wrist. Your heart beats louder in your chest as you turn to look at him, his eyes dark with lust. 

“Don’t let me catch you this time,” he says, pulling you close enough for his lips to flutter across your ear as he speaks. “I won’t go easy on you.”

You ignore the shiver in your spine as you pull back as much as you can. 

“Maybe I don't want you to go easy on me,” you whisper back, earning a slight growl from Frankie. He lets his hand linger on you for only a moment more before letting go, this time allowing you to back away. 

“Don’t push yourself too hard then, because I’m going to fucking exaust you when I catch up.” 

You smile before turning once again, pushing yourself into the trees without looking back. 

***

The sound of your heartbeat is deafening as you run through the otherwise silent forest. The steady pitter-patter of the organ combined with your ragged breathing and your frantic footsteps make a horrifying symphony. Even those sounds seem muffled, though, with the amount of pure adrenaline that courses through your veins and drowns out your senses. 

Frankie can’t be too far behind you now. You guess you’ve been running for about fifteen minutes. There’s no doubt that he has turned at this point; he proved it with the howl you heard bellowing through the woods a couple minutes ago. 

Since then, you haven't stopped to take a breath. There is pure fear in the fact that you have a beast on your trail, but also excitement in knowing what will likely happen once he catches up. 

For now though, fear is the dominant emotion. It’s prominent enough to keep you going even as your hair gets tugged by branches and your skin gets scratched and torn by twigs and thorns. None of it seems to matter right now just as long as you can keep your distance from the monster hunting you down. 

Suddenly, you hear a snap from somewhere behind you. The noise is sharp, a twig snapping beneath heavy weight. It reverberates all around you, sending a shiver down your spine. Soon after, You pick up on the steady thumping of what sounds to be an animal hot on your tail. 

The sound gets closer and closer even as you push yourself to run faster. Your entire body is shaking and you can feel tears welling up in your eyes. You can practically feel Frankie’s breath on your neck, the sensation almost more powerful than the ache overtaking your legs and abdomen. 

“Please, leave me alone!” You cry out the plea over your shoulder, your voice bordering a sob. Your gut is curling with a mixture of panic and arousal. The responding growl makes the tears you have been holding spill over and your knees buckle. 

For a second, you’re worried that you might fall, but you’re pushed into the ground before you have the chance to do it yourself. The weight of Frankie pouncing on top of you knocks the wind out of you, a sharp cry leaving your lips as your breath is taken. 

In the time that it takes you to get your breath back, Frankie has your bodysuit torn enough to pry off of your shaking body, and your lacy panties shoved–or ripped–down your legs. Luckily, the bodysuit was the cheapest and easiest to find component of your costume. You can feel a whisper of his claws against your skin as he drags scraps away from where he needs you most.

Your arms flail wildly, your fingers trying to grasp a handful of fur from the beast atop you. Frankie sees what you’re trying to do, and with a growl, he ducks down and slides toward your feet, away from your hands. 

Before you can question what he’s doing, you feel something thick, wet, and warm against your bare, soaked cunt. 

A high pitched moan tumbles from your lips as Frankie drags his tongue across your pussy before dipping it into your core.

The hot muscle digs deep into your cunt, curling once it's in all the way. You can feel his nose bobbing up and down against your ass as he starts to work his tongue in and out of your cunt.

“F-Frankie, fuck!” You scream, feeling your orgasm building embarrassingly quickly.

The way his tongue swirls and scrapes against your walls is absolutely delicious, and that combined with the tip of the muscle prodding against your g-spot? You’re fucking done for. 

You’re writhing as Frankie brings his tongue out to swallow down the slick he’s collected, and you can feel the way a combination of your arousal and his saliva leaks out of your pulsing cunt, coming down to collect at your clit and make you shudder. You’re so close to coming, a warm feeling that can only be described as pure euphoria making a home deep in your lower abdomen. 

Almost as soon as he was gone, Frankie shoves his tongue back inside of you, meticulously prodding all the right places. You’re gasping and moaning so loud you have half the mind to feel bad for whatever critters might reside in these woods. 

That thought passes quickly, though, once you feel yourself returning to the edge. Frankie flicks his tongue one more time and you’re suddenly convulsing around him. The high seems to go on forever, your toes curling and your fingers grasping at the leafy ground in front of you. 

The beast doesn’t pull away as you come, instead, he allows you to rock your hips back and forth in order to prolong your pleasure for as long as possible. You don’t even notice that you moved your arm until you feel one hand entangled in soft fur, your subconscious mind telling you to hold him to you. 

You hear Frankie whine from behind you and you have to suppress the urge to giggle. He’s always liked it when you tug at his hair, and apparently, being in this form leaves no room for exceptions. 

Your body goes limp as Frankie backs away from you, making it easy for him to nudge you to prop you up where he wants you. Hands and knees, of course. He wastes no time in getting into position behind you, crowding you in with his massive form. 

The tip of his cock feels massive against your swollen cunt, but it only takes a few swipes of the beast’s hips before he is notched into your entrance. With one more thrust, he’s pushing in all the way, making you scream as your pussy stretches to accommodate his girth. 

Frankie lets out a series of whimpers as he starts a brutal pace, not giving you a second to adjust. Your hands come up to grasp above his paws, which are positioned on either side of your head, and then up a little. 

“F-Frankie!” Your moan comes out more like a screech, the pain quickly turning into a sick pleasure as he rips you open on his cock. Each time he thrusts, it’s accompanied by a puff of breath which fans out across your cheek. 

The sound of his whines and ragged breathing mix with the squelching noises coming from your cunt and the panting coming from your lips, everything combined making the filthiest symphony you’ve ever heard. 

Your second orgasm starts to build rapidly, your cunt beginning to flutter around Frankie’s unforgiving length. With each punch, the tip of his cock touches something heavenly within you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

You’re pretty sure you’re drooling, but you find that every limb has turned to jelly, preventing you from bringing your hand up to check. If not for the monster above you impaling you on his length, you would likely be flat on the forest floor right now. 

Every thought that had previously occupied your mind is forced out of you as Frankie effortlessly pries another orgasm from you. He doesn’t slow or pause as you squeeze around his cock like a vice. If anything, it only spurs him on and gets him going faster, if that's even possible. 

With each slam of his hips, you feel your body being sent forward, only stabilized by your palms, which are somehow still firmly planted on the ground. 

‘Oh god, Frankie,” your voice sounds hazy to your own ears. “F-feels so fucking good, Francisco.”

You hear him grunt at the sound of his full name, something you usually only call him in bed—or in this case, in the middle of nowhere. 

It does feel good, his cock feels absolutely massive. You know that it is definitely bigger than when he’s in his human form—the size of which should be considered supernatural in it’s own way. Right now, though, he feels bigger than ever, thicker, longer. The only thought occupying your mind at the moment is how badly you want to suck his cock. 

How the fuck does this man fuck you so good to the point where you fantasize about giving him a blowjob while he’s already inside of you? Next time, you’ll have to get his dick in your mouth before he shoves it into your cunt. 

Your eyes droop as your second orgasm morphs into a third, your body growing weaker with each movement from Frankie. You ignore the shaking to spread your legs wider to allow him better access, which results in him getting to a deeper spot with the new angle. 

Your mouth drops open as you begin to come again, a silent scream getting stuck in your throat. This time, as you constrict around his monstrous cock, you can feel his hips stutter. He’s getting close, which is probably a good thing considering you’re about to pass out from both pleasure and exhaustion. 

“C-come on, Frankie, f-fill me up,” you command through moans. It very obviously eggs him on because before you know it, he’s stilling inside of you, howling into the trees, and blowing his massive load deep into your core. 

The feeling of his cum painting your walls is fucking heavenly. Spurt after spurt of his warm seed fills you to the brim until it eventually starts to seep out around the base of his cock. If you thought you had felt full before, that was nothing compared to now. 

Frankie gives you a few minutes to calm down before he starts to lower himself to the ground, laying on his side and tugging you with him. Your body and mind are equally compliant with his request. 

As your eyes shut once again, you can feel Frankie starting to shift behind you, probably making his transformation back to his human form. Try as you might, you know you won’t have enough energy to wait for him to be done, so you make the most of it and snuggle into his soft fur. You know that you’ll wake up safe and sound in your bed, tangled with your kind, attentive, and very much human boyfriend.

#pedro pascal #fan fiction #ao3 #smut #pedro pascal smut #frankie morales #triple frontier #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #werewolf #werewolf smut #halloween #happy halloween #one shot #pwp

[charleslee-valentine]

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Fanworks Event Day 6: Music is my Life

Ship(s): Radiohead/Vietnita/Brocktop (Chop Top x Stretch)

Word Count: ~1,800

Warnings: Alcohol use, hangovers, abuse mention, mild sexual content.

@texas-chainsaw-fanworks

________

It wasn’t intentional.

Bobby was supposed to be out and back before anybody even noticed he was gone. To just grab a couple drinks and then get the hell out. Easy.

Now, nobody else knew that plan, so did it matter that much when two beers turned to three, then three to four? Probably not. He wasn’t far from home and hadn’t driven anyways. He could be there in time still.

Except he didn’t walk his goofy ass home. He woke up in a pretty girls bed.

She greeted him with a soft, close-lipped smile, “Morning. Didn’t think you’d be up before the afternoon.”

A groan slips past his lips. His head is fucked. Bobby tries to sit up and then lays right back down, rubbing at blurry eyes, “Time?”

“‘Leven thirty. You got somewhere to be, I’ll drive you.” She informs him, sitting on the side of the bed. Her bed.

Bobby should tell her he’s got to get home. But he’s barely awake, and barely able to remember what happened last night either. Speech isn’t coming to him.

He just shakes his head ‘no’.

“Your head still hurtin’ you?” The woman observes, when he nods again producing a little pain-pill bottle from somewhere, maybe the night stand, and giving it to him, “Here. Don’t leave it on an empty stomach. I can make you breakfast too.”

Really, he appreciates the offer. There’s no way in hell he’d lie and say he doesn’t like the attention from this gorgeous lady. But, one thought creeps up in his head and he has to ask, wondering if maybe she’s one of those women that take advantage that his big brother warned him about. After all, she doesn’t seem to be affected by last night in the least.

Maybe she was sober while he wasn’t.

“A-Aren’t you hungover t-too?”

“Sugar, I do that every night. If I still got as fucked up as you, I’d’ve been kicked out by now. My drunk lasts a lot less than yours.” She informs him, kind but a little humored.

That’s when Bobby remembers some. Pretty girl is the disc jockey from the bar. Stretch is her work name. Vanita is her real one. Even that part of her is beautiful.

Okay, so he might be a little pussy whooped, but he can’t help it. She played good music. Actual rock and not the radio approved shit. Alcohol in his system meant he was probably rambling about all the artists and such for hours last night, and she’d done nothing but listen contentedly. And then kiss him.

It was really pretty fun, dancing all night, sharing drinks and cool facts and kisses. Nothing like the other quick hookups he’d had in bathroom stalls and seedy motels. The kinds where they wouldn’t look him in the face or kiss him after they got their rocks off.

Those times had been better than being lonely, but not being hat he wanted. Nothing like miss Vanita.

Even now, she could kick him out. Instead of sitting here close and brushing stray hairs off his face, she could be dragging him out the door.

Not that he even should be still here. He’s a long several hours overdue to be back home. They’ll have noticed by now he ain’t there.

He looks her in her eyes, half squinting from the stubborn headache, “I-I kinda lied. M-My brothers’ll be look-lookin’ for me.”

Stretch seems understanding, putting her sweet hand in his hair like she’d done the night before and makin’ him blush like some kinda idiot, “I can take you home, hon. Promise it won’t bother me none to do it.”

“I-I don’ wanna.” Bobby doesn’t know why he’s honest. Like he’s her puppy or something.

“Mm. I hear ya.” Stretch can sense the sadness in him, the part of the truth that isn’t being told. She just misunderstands it’s meaning a little, “Bobby, are you sure you got somewhere to go? You can tell me the truth.”

“Huh? O-Oh yeah. M-My brother o-o-own’s a real big farm house. We all l-live there. All-“ He counts his siblings on his fingers, including his Sissy even though she doesn’t come home often, “Five of us.”

That doesn’t fully answer her question though. Stretch asks him slowly, “And you’re safe there?”

“S-Sure. Drayton says..says I-I’m in my r-rebellion phase.”

All he means by that is that he’s on a slightly longer leash than he used to be, not getting beat up the same as he used to either. Safe enough. He might get smacked around a little for coming home so late, but it’s nothing miss Stretch outta worry her little self about.

She sure looks like she’s worrying though, with her eyebrows all shot up high on her forehead, “Mister, you told me you were 30 something.”

“Yeh. I-I am.” Bobby tells her bluntly, even though his stutter makes him sound less sure.

“Alright then.” She relaxes quick, looking at him in this infatuated way, the kinda look nobody ever gave him before. A light laugh bounces her strong-frame shoulders, “You are a mystery, Robert Sawyer.”

It sounds nice, but he wants to be sure she isn’t trying to pull one over on him. “I-In a good way?”

“The best.” She promises.

“Cool. Gr-Groovy.” Without the whiskey and beer, he ain’t exactly some Romeo. He feels awkward and dumb, so he tries to make up for it, “Hey, c-can I kiss you?”

Stretch hums with tiniest play of a smirk on her face, “Honey, you done a lot more than that.”

Oh she knows just how to make him blush. It’s nice having someone who challenges him back.

He smiles really genuinely, even though he’s been told his overbite is gross looking, he hopes she won’t mind, “I-It’s polite to ask.”

She must like his smile.

“Then yes, baby. Anytime you like.”

Stretch even initiates the kiss, already holding him in her arms, only taking a little effort to lean in and connect their lips. Everything about her is gentle, but not her kisses. Those are hungry. Fierce.

Dominant.

Bobby makes some kind of a noise like a whimper and a mewl combined. It makes Stretch laugh softly.

Flushed as pink as a peach, he pulls away a little, for the sake of catching his breath as much as to get his bearings back, “Wh-What’s funny?”

Her soft hands never leave his face, “You just weren’t this shy last night, baby. Don’t worry though; I like my boys a little soft.”

Soft isn’t really a word he’s been called before. Or even been allowed to be. In his head, soft translates into pansy ass. To sorry excuse for a brother.

He knows his face must light up like a puppy dog when she says that. Every instinct in his body screams to kiss on her, so he does. Not that he’s usually one to deny things like that, but it seems especially right, being here with this special girl.

He lungs and kisses all over her face. Any inch of skin he can reach gets a smooch.

She’s howling with laughter by the time she gently pushes him off, “Calm down now, mister!”

But he doesn’t want to go far away from uer. The contact and the pressure and the warmth are too nice. He leans on her while his hands get tappy and a couple little noises squeak past his attempts to stop them. That happens when he gets happy. Stretch might have to get used to that.

She doesn’t seem off put at a glance. If anything, the look in her eyes is kinda fond. Loving.

Her fingers card through his long hair again, careful not to catch on any tangles, “You and me gonna party ‘gain soon, sweet thing?”

Bobby shrugs, “M-Maybe once I’m ungrounded. I-I’m gonna be in biiiiig trouble.”

“Even if I come back with ya and explain?” Stretch offers.

That makes him feel silly. People don’t really think it’s normal, him being old as he is and still being pushed around by his big brother. Living with him ‘stead of on his own.

They think that it makes him either some drooling idiot, or a spineless pushover. Like he’s just supposed to walk away from the man that raised him, and his other two brothers that need the extra help. The man feeds him for thirty years, takes care of his brothers and helps with his medicine, and that’s supposed to mean nothing?

Thankfully, Stretch ain’t most people though.

Bobby looks at her all wide eyed, “Y-You’d do that f-for me?”

She sounds real genuine as she explains her reasoning, knowing he needs to heard it to believe it, “Sure, hon. I get it, you been gone all night, but it’s better’n both of our drunk asses winding up in a ditch somewhere. They’ll understand that.”

He nods, and wraps his arms right around her, determined to look in her eyes while he declares, “I-I won’t let ‘em be mean t-to ya. Y-You’re my girl, miss Stretch.”

It was mostly a success. His eyes do that blinky twitchy thing they do, which has always annoyed him, but it doesn’t seem to bother her.

For once, she’s the one between them that blushes “Am I now?”

“Y-Yeah. My..My fave.” He promises, hoping she understands what a high compliment that truly is.

But then she says something that surprises him. “Ain’t always you get to meet the folks this early. That’s gotta be a new record.. Hope I’m not comin’ off too desperate on you.”

As if. Not when Bobby’s around, he thinks. His middle name might as well be desperate (He actually doesn’t officially have one on paper.) It’s awful weird having someone who doesn’t just automatically point out that he’s annoying or blame him for everything. Stretch really thinks she could be too much?

“N-No way. Y-You and me, we c-could be s-soulmates o-or somethin’.” To prove it to her, he belts a line from a Van Morrison song about love, “I'm run into to her like a river strong-“

Music gets to a girl like her. One who knows allll about it from her nights dj-ing at the club. She interrupts him with a kiss.

Strong as all the other ones with even more tongue. There’s intention behind it, a silent but perfectly clear question. An offer to do a repeat of last night, but sober. Bobby gives her some little sounds as confirmation. Moaning little whines.

All the confirmation she needs.

Stretch throws her leg around his waist, using the added leverage to pin Bobby to the mattress and straddle his waist.

Somehow they stayed connected through all that, but she breaks the kiss to ask him, panting, “How much longer b‘fore you hafta go?”

“A-A little while more w-wouldn’t hurt nobody…” He confirms.

It’s true enough. Might get him hurt, but he’s more’n used to that.

Something tells him he ain’t never gonna get used to the feeling of a pretty girl on top of him this way. So he’s sure as hell gonna revel in it.

#tcmfanevent #chop top sawyer #bobby sawyer #vanita stretch brock #choptop x stretch #stretch tcm2 #tcm fanfic #my writing #my moodboards

[christallise]

the show must go on

pairing: bang chan x reader (afab)

word count: 1k

warnings: dirty talk, masturbation (f), voyeurism?? i guess??, mentions of cheating, reader is clearly a hoe

a/n: why can everyone write chan so easily and i struggle so much PLEASE?? anyways, i hope you enjoy!!

Forbidden fruit often tastes the most sweet. Maybe that’s why the wine tastes so good when it comes from his lips. Lips that stain the most alluring crimson red, that are tinged with bittersweet lust, that beg to be kissed —and you’re infatuated. Intoxicated by the way your tongues dance in perfect rhythm. You aren’t entirely sure when it began, when the insatiable need to fuck Chris consumed you but you didn’t care; all that mattered to you now was how good it felt to taste him.

He’s kissing lower now, branding your skin with lips like fire. It sears. It scorches. It incinerates every last inch of you until your breath turns to tenuous wisps. Chris devours you, ravenous with desire, his teeth sink deep into your neck and you moan; through the pleasure and through the pain — a true Jekyll and Hyde. All that remains of his frenzied hunger are marks of deep purple.

“Mine,” he growls while admiring his art. “All mine.”

“Yours.” you chime.

It’s a symphony of deceit with your body as the score. His name is not to be uttered; hushed, even. “Can’t fuck you like I do,” Chris whispers, before snaking behind you, setting you in place between his legs and resting his chin on your shoulders; his fingers now composing a silent melody against your thigh.

“No one can,” you affirm through shaky breaths, your underwear drenched at the mere notion of his cock inside you. You’re drunk on desire, cunt yearning for his touch so when his fingers ghost past and feign ignorance in favour of teasing your thigh, you lament. 

“Tell me what you want,” Chris’ voice is laced with venomous arrogance, it boils your blood and he knows it too well. It’s humorous to him, watching you thrash and writhe in want, he chuckles darkly while his fingers thread through your hair. “Speak up, pup.”

He’s relishing in your shame and fuck it only soaks your underwear more, “Wan’ your fingers, Chris.”

“Yeah?” It’s rhetoric but still your head bobs in agreement and he laughs. “So desperate to feel me, huh? So desperate to be full?”

Now he’s mocking you but you simply do not care — you whine, confirming his comments by rocking your hips in misery. “Please, please, please fuck me.”

“Baby girl,” Chris taunts with a tut while pushing your panties to the side and tentatively dipping two of his fingers into your wetness, “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

You nod wildly, manoeuvring your hips in a failed attempt to brush his fingers against your clit eliciting laughter from Chris once more.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he says, promptly retracting his fingers and cooing at you as you sob, “I have something else in mind.”

You dread to think what it is. Chris’ lips have returned to your neck, giving you a false sense of security. He nibbles on your earlobe, breath hot.  For a moment, you are disarmed. 

“Show me how you play with yourself.”

What a fool you were. 

Still, you’re desperate; and as Chris pry’s your legs open, the familiarity of your own fingers is welcomed as you finally feel the built up pressure start to alleviate. Slowly, you begin to spread your own juices up and down your slit — legs trembling and heart pounding just knowing you have an audience in Chris who is centimetres away; eyes glued to you, his sheathed cock pressed against your back. 

“Good girl,” he breathes from behind when you begin to rub harsh circles on your clit, mewling so quietly in his lap, “God, you’re so fuckin’ dirty, aren’t you?”

You’re far too busy getting yourself off to answer, your jaw hangs agape as your fingers messily circle your most sensitive spot. Chris’ hand snakes up past your chest until it grips tightly around your neck and you choke.

“Tell me,” he whispers lowly into your ear, “How often do you fuck yourself and think of me?”

“All the time,” you gasp, partially due to the brutal honesty and partially due to the how fucking sensitive your pussy is. Your fingers never falter though, alternating between rubbing your clit and dipping inside your hole.

“What about when he fucks you?” Chris continues, his grip around your throat firm enough to remind you of who you belong to. “You think of me then too?”  When you nod, you can feel his cock twitch behind you as he tuts once more. “So fucking filthy.” 

Although it’s your own frantic fingers doing all the work, you are hardly in control — your body merely a marionette with Chris pulling the strings and you simply cannot live without the euphoria of the performance. In your ear, Chris whispers words of inelegance as your fingers come to a brisk tempo on your clit.

“You gonna cum already?” He muses, placing soft kisses over your shoulders. “But I haven’t had a chance to play with you.”

Even if you could delay your climax, you wouldn’t — you’re too far gone. The ecstasy builds and builds, your head slumps back into Chris and you wail, your fingers relentlessly circling your most sensitive bud and Chris can’t help but grind his now fully hard cock against your back while you ride out your orgasm.

Then, all falls silent, excluding your haggard breaths. For a moment, you lie there nestled neatly between Chris’ legs; too exhausted to move, too fucked out to care. Chris moans softly, messily kissing between your shoulders and neck.

“Surely you can’t be done, baby girl. The show must go on.”

#bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #bangchan smut #skz smut #skz x reader #skz x y/n #chan smut #chan x reader #chan x y/n #mine #chan

[theloveinc]

(warning: makes no sense, you’re kinda mean, gn)

-

Bakugo is a little bit in love with you.

Well, he likes to think it’s not love so much as it is just a ginormous, fantastic, debilitating crush. But it could be love, eventually. If, one day, you let it be.

Right now, you’re just friends. Good friends, ones who study together. Ones who do more than that, sit in the cafeteria and eat together, maybe even walk home together after, too. And it’s slow going, but it’s going. A little mundane, but far more than he’s ever before hoped for, which he knows because there’s a part of him that has already decided that he’d do anything for you and let you do anything to him.

So Bakugo knows how he feels (he knows a lot about things when it comes to you)... and that, in itself, is enough. 

Especially, when you get questioned:

“Isn’t he a little…” a person asks one day, hesitates, almost as if they’re scared for you when they say it, their eyes flitting between you both, “mean?”

“Mean?“ you ask, eyes wide.

They nod, “he gets mad all the time.”

Bakugo feels his blood start to simmer, his heart begin to race, and he has to clench both his fists and his jaw to stop himself from committing an act just short of violence. Or even worse, one that scares you off.

But on the other side of the table, you just stare at his assailant; blinking like they’re dumb, like the whole thing doesn’t matter, and like they didn’t just insult him in a way that he wants to forget but he’s sure he’ll dwell on for a long time to come. Because truth is, he’s mean and he knows it, but not how to spare the people around him from facing the brunt of it. 

And that… is what feels bad.

You, on the other hand, don’t seem to mind, replying to the question like it’s easy, like the words aren’t true when it’s very apparent they are. In any other case, to any other person, would be. He can feel his chest prickle.

“Not at all,” the words are confident, comforting, surprising, and you turn to face him with a pretty smile. “Watch this: 

“Hey, Bakugo,” you get real close to his face, close enough that he can almost count your eyelashes, see the trust in your irises, the humor, and it’s another thing he finds that he loves. “Fuck you.”

The words don’t really sting, the blood in cheeks cools… and he can’t help but admit that he’s just a little bit proud of himself when he smiles easy, too. The curl in his lip humorous, your very own inside joke.

“Fuck you right back.”

You grin, and for some reason, Bakugo feels safe.

#bakugo #don't read this #me writing things that only make sense to me #sdlkfjajsdfaksdjadjka hate that lowkey #but whatever #this was actually supposed to be about like. bakugo being proud of himself for like being in love with u such that when u bully him he #enjoys it #or something #but that got lost in the draft bc I lost the mood going to class #and bc I realized I’m not the same person who wrote my other drabble #about bakugo thinking it’s hot when ur mad #that caitie could’ve done it #anyway was gonna scrap this but I figure I just need to stop caring about whether the moral of the story is comprehensible or not #so . sorry #caitie post

[bobfloydsbabe]

FIC REC FRIDAY | october 20th 2023

dancing beneath the moon – @delopsia ↳ rhett abbott x reader

WHY I LOVE IT

I’ve read most of Del’s fics, each one better than the last, but Dancing Beneath the Moon is something else entirely. Not only is Rhett a ghost, but he’s a little shit who makes Reader’s life a little more interesting. Del’s trademark attention comes out in full force, painting a picture so vivid it feels like I’m standing in the room as the story unfolds. The way Del describes Rhett’s ghostly appearance and presence is so different from anything else I’ve read, and it was amazing to read. As the story progresses, you get a sense of longing and despair woven through every word. Rhett and Reader yearn for each other, long for a world where he’s alive and they can be together, and your heart truly aches for them. A standout element of this story is the humor, and while it isn’t a humorous story, it provides a break from the tension. Rhett and Reader are clearly comfortable and aren’t afraid to poke fun at each other. Reader’s amusement at Rhett’s confusion about a video game consol was truly precious, and as readers, we feel the affection they feel toward him. The smut is another brilliant part of this fic. Del could teach a masterclass on writing smut that is both filthy but also intimate and sweet. I love the moment of them stumbling up the stairs because Rhett’s a little unsteady on his feet. I love that he’s mindful of being dirty and uses Reader’s fingers as opposed to his own. I love the inclusion of lube. They’re joking and laughing and enjoying themselves, and it shows even as it gets hot and heavy. The ending is just another layer that I absolutely adore. Del pulls back and looks at the bigger picture, and gives us a vague idea what happened to Rhett that made him a ghost, but it’s never spelled out. And finally, Rhett being confused by crabs is so fucking funny that I laughed out loud.

TOP 3 REASONS YOU SHOULD READ IT TOO

➛ Ghost!Rhett but make it sexy. That's it. That's the reason.

➛ Attention to detail and truly atmospheric writing sets this fic apart from others. It feels like you're moving through the story with the characters.

➛ Rhett being a little shit and possessive menace is so funny, and it made me chuckle several times while reading. I'm sure you'll do the same.

A NOTE ON THE PROCESS

fics are assigned a number. i then use a random generator and recommend you the fic corresponding to the number the tool picks. all recs are my personal favorites. if there's an author whose work you think i should check out, please reach out.

JOIN THE TAGLIST

REBLOG TO SPREAD THE WORD AND SUPPORT THE WRITER

TAGLIST: @roosterforme, @sweetwhispersofchaos, @wkndwlff, @sylviebell, @blue-aconite, @yanna-banana, @desert-fern, @anniesocsandgeneralstore, @ereardon, @horseshoegirl, @callsign-magnolia, @callsignspark, @teacupsandtopgun, @bradshawsbitch, @bradshawsbaby, @seresinsweetie, @scarlettwidow19, @bobgasm, @notroosterbradshaw, @fanficfandomlove, @nenelysian, @b-bradshaw, @cherrycola27, @kmc1989, @keyrani, @sebsxphia, @withahappyrefrain, @laracrofted, @lewmagoo

#fic rec friday #fic rec fri #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott smut #outer range #outer range fic #friends fic #del tag

[graveyard-ghoulish]

Ok spetsnaz reacting to someone (anyone you want) saying theyd totally bang their friend (Who is the reader). i crave conflict >:)

NO CAUSE this is exactly how me and my friends talk 😭 we’re always like “now let’s fuck <3” even though we would be disgusted by even holding hands. Anyways I tried to add variety to these pls enjoy 🫣

Warnings: jealous spetz boys, possessiveness, tachanka sending someone to god (he is god so doesn’t count but still)

Kapkan;

It takes everything in him to keep himself seated. He knew you and Bandit were close, but his remark was way too far, especially since Maxim was sure bandit knew y’all were dating.

Maxim’s practically foaming at the mouth silently while trying to plot how he’s going to make it clear you’re taken. Almost everyone at the table can tell Kapkan is close to jumping across the table and strangling him.

Usually he tries to not let such things bother him but he’s a boiling tea kettle at the moment. So when you walk in to join them for lunch, you’re immediately snatched and pulled into Kapkan’s lap into a possessive grip, he thinks about marking you right then and there but he’d rather not face your wrath for doing so in public.

RIP your neck and pretty much any area not covered by clothes tonight. In the morning you’ll look like a wild animal savaged you with a still pissed but smug Maxim shadowing you closely.

Tachanka;

We all know Alexsandr is hands down possibly the most overprotective one here, and incredibly clingy/jealous so his rage meter instantly breaks when he hears your friend’s comment.

You’d become friends with one of the recruits over a little while, which Alexsandr didn’t really care about. They seemed innocent enough, until he overheard them saying they’d bang the shit out of you. Unacceptable.

He swore he never punched someone so hard in their life. You could hear the damage being done from across the gym. Alexsandr was about to pounce on them again (despite them being knocked tf out with a new nose job) and had to be restrained by both you and his teammates.

You thought he was all over you before? You can’t get rid of him for the next week. Good luck with him not shadowing behind you during training and glaring at anyone who dares be friendly with you. Even his own team isn’t safe from his look of death for a while.

Glaz;

It’s pretty hard for Timur to get jealous, he’s got a good sense of humor and deffo is the one who makes fucked jokes all the time, plus he knows damn well you’re his and his only.

But it’s hard for him to keep calm when his teammate of all people is the one making the comment. He knew your guy’s relationship was relatively new but he didn’t know tachanka was that unobservant sometimes.

Timur doesn’t make a scene. Instead, when you both happen to be near Tachanka’s line of sight, he sweeps you into a soul searing kiss to prove a point. You’re not complaining about the random affection and Tachanka is successfully scared off by the wild amounts of PDA Glaz is displaying all of a sudden.

Fuze:

Good god he’s pissed. But he doesn’t do anything other than shut down, it’s the only thing he can think of doing that won’t cause a scene or end up with him attempting murder.

Shuhrat doesn’t like your friends as is because he’s a little pissy when it comes to meeting new people, especially ones close to you that aren’t family, so when one of your ‘best friends’ says something like this to your face and you laugh it off he is incredibly tempted to walk over and stab them.

Is a little reassured when you come to find him for comfort, since you weren’t expecting the comment either. He’s still pissed tho. Just slightly less salty towards you.

While Shuhrat is a big fan of marking you, he prefers to not let his jealousy shows so he instead just drags you off elsewhere whenever that specific friend is nearby. It’s not a permanent solution but it works for him until he’s calmed down.

#x reader #r6s x reader #r6siege #rainbow six siege #fuze x reader #glaz x reader #tachanka x reader #kapkan x reader #r6s fuze #r6s glaz #r6s tachanka #r6s kapkan

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

*crashes in like the kool-aid man*

hi ya! would you be interested in sharing some HCs of Ilani x CodyWan 👀?

Looking forward to hearing your ideas! 💙💙

Sev, you're a genius. A genius, I tell you. I'm unwell for these three together, and it's all your fault <3

all HCs below the cut

Ilani x CodyWan

How they met:

Ilani and Obi-Wan were practically creche mates; she’s only a few years older than him, at most, and so they spent a lot of their childhoods together. She was there after Qui-Gon abandoned Obi-Wan on a wartorn planet for a year, being the first one to welcome him home and make sure he was okay. As a youngling, she harbored a crush on Obi-Wan (a mutual attraction); as Padawans, they never did more than kiss, but that was enough at the time. And when the time came, she couldn’t have been prouder of her best friend’s appointment to the Council.

When the war broke out, and they were assigned to separate clone units, they still stayed in touch via comms at least once a week. On joint missions, especially the ones that required a subtler touch, Ilani was often assigned to keep Obi-Wan in check—Obi-Wan, and his clone commander, Cody. 

Ilani could tell instantly that there was something between the two of them from the get-go, even before either man was willing to admit it to themselves or each other.

General HCs

At first, she was a little jealous—but one night, a year or more into the war, Cody approached her, his Force signature absolutely shot through with nerves, to ask how best to ask his General about his feelings. He even went so far as to request that she be present for that conversation, since “you know him so well. Better than I do. I want...no, I need your expertise, General.”

She obliged; during that encounter, Obi-Wan looked at her with wide, fearful eyes—fearful not because he was taken aback by Cody’s forwardness, but fearful that his attachment to them both would tear them all apart. Ilani assured him, as did Cody, that he didn’t have to choose between them. He could have them both. It surprised all three of them; but in the end, it was the best decision all three of them could have made. 

Cody and Obi-Wan have the stronger bond of the three, but Ilani’s history with Obi keeps them grounded. Her dry wit is a perfect mirror of Cody’s, and they both drive Obi-Wan crazy with their senses of humor. 

Often meet under the guise of discussing battle tactics or reviewing the most recent skirmishes for ways to improve. (They fool most people, but their former padawans know better. Not like Anakin can say shit anyways.) 

She sometimes forgets that Obi-Wan is a Jedi Master in his own right, and Cody gently reminds her when she attempts to tell her creche mate when he should be more careful, or not put himself in harm’s way, or do anything rash.

NSFW HCs: 

Tentative at first. For both Obi-Wan and Ilani, there’s a lot of guilt and repressed desires to work through; Cody is endlessly patient with both of them, even when they aren’t patient with themselves. It’s because of this that Cody often takes the lead in the bedroom. He implements a check-in system, though at some point he realizes he can just tell by looking at them how they are.

Ilani doesn’t always need or want to be involved. She’s perfectly content to lay back and watch Cody and Obi-Wan make love, bringing herself to climax with just her fingers, satisfied enough with experiencing the afterglow in their Force signatures. She also always reaps the benefits of post-sex cuddles. 

Her favorite, and Obi-Wan’s too she suspects, is when she sits on Obi-Wan’s face while Cody fucks him. It lets her play with both of her boys: sloppy kisses traded with Cody before she sucks them both off and/or jerks them off simultaneously, both of her hands just big enough to fit around their cocks together. 

For their parts, Cody and Obi-Wan both love watching the other pick Ilani apart and put her back together. Cody’s favorite is to bury his face between her legs for hours, just tasting her, making her cum again and again. Obi-Wan, by contrast, discovers early on that he immensely enjoys cockwarming, and Ilani is more than happy to lie there and simply flex around him until he breaks and gives her what she wants.

Ye Olde Ragu Liste: @the-hexfiles @thorsterstrudle @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @dreamie411 @bobaprint @imarvelatthestars @originalcollectionartistry @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl if your name has a strikethrough, I can't tag you so check your settings! (if you'd like to be added or removed, click here!)

#my ocs #star wars oc #codywan x oc #cody x oc #obi-wan x oc #oc: Jedi Master Ilani Taryn #rhiplies #rhiwrites

[sacred-sacrilege]

Leviathan NSFW Alphabet

Reader: gn (implied amab, the term “cock” is used), top!dom

Warnings: Levi being a pervert, crossdressing, feminization, extremely subby gamer boy, Levi slander.

A = Aftercare: Regardless of whether you were rough with him or not, he’s going to be a wreck afterwards.  Get him some water and run a bath for the both of you, his mind is going to be too hazy to clean up on his own.

B = Body part: Loves your hands.  It doesn’t matter if they’re big or small, veiny or smooth.  What matters is the way you handle him, fingers digging into his hips, pulling his hair, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look you in the eye.

C = Cum: He’s happy knowing you cum because of him at all, but it’s something else when you release in his mouth after fucking his throat like a toy.

D = Dirty Secret: Used to steal your underwear before you were together.  He fantasized about you catching him and putting him in his place, telling him how disgusting he is while you push him around. 

E = Experience:  Absolutely none.  Levi had never had a romantic partner before you, let alone a sexual one.

F = Favorite Position: Cowgirl. The feeling of you bouncing him up and down on your cock (bonus points if his hands are tied behind his back so he’s extra powerless) completely ruins him.

G = Goofy: It’s not that he’s serious, it’s just that he’s way too flustered to find humor in his situation.

H = Hair: Something tells me that our sweet little reptile doesn’t have much body hair, if any.

I = Intimacy: He simultaneously views sex as extremely romantic, and extremely perverted.  Because of that, he’s in a pretty volatile emotional state during it, while also being extremely easy to tease.

J = Jack Off:  Average hentai viewer, nothing new here.  Before he met you, that’s pretty much all he got off to.  However after developing feelings for you, those private moments became playing with himself in his tub, imagining all the things he wanted you to do to him.

K = Kink: We’ll start off with the canon ones: Degradation and humiliation.  What is it with the most self deprecating people and being into that?  He already calls himself a gross Otaku, but if you do it?  That’s going to hit a lot different.  Secondly (this will be obvious if you watched the anime): Crossdressing.  He loves cosplay, including cosplaying as female characters.  Which leads me into part 2 of this kink: Forced feminization.  Nothing is more shamefully arousing to him than the thought of you calling him a stupid girl while you lift up his skirt and fuck him.

L = Location: His #1 favorite place is his room, but more specifically, on the floor in front of his mirror.  Force him to look at what a debauched slut he is for you, shaking and overstimulated.

M = Motivation: It’s more difficult to find what wouldn’t turn him on.  Compliment him? Horny. Insult him? Horny. Look at him a certain way? Horny.  He’s very easy to rile up.

N = NO: Cucking/non-monogamy.  Seeing you with anyone else would break his heart, even the suggestion would severely damage his already lacking sense of self worth.

O = Oral:  He loves it when you use his mouth, but the reverse is also worth mentioning.  Suck him off while he plays games, and edge him every time he dies.  Just be sure to reward him properly if he wins!

P = Pace: Levi typically prefers it more fast paced, as he feels like he has less control.  However, slow and sensual is the way to go if its a more emotional/romantic occasion.

Q = Quickie: They aren’t his favorite, but he doesn’t have a problem with them- just as long as you don’t have a problem with him being needy and clingy until you can have a full length session.

R = Risk:  This one is complicated.  On one hand, he’s very self conscious and terrified of getting caught in an intimate situation with you.  On the other hand, he really wants to know what it would feel like for you to clasp your hand over his mouth and tell him to be quiet while you fuck him against the wall of a random alleyway.

S = Stamina:  He’s not exactly the most fit, considering his hobbies include watching anime and playing video games.  His stamina isn’t awful, but it’s definitely below average.  Doesn’t particularly matter either way though, he’s just getting tossed around.

T = Toy:  Definitely used toys on himself before you got together, now you’re typically the one in control of those.  The most common occurrence is you messing with the speed of the bullet vibe in his cute ass while he tries to focus on his game.

U = Unfair:  It’s really not his fault, he doesn’t mean to tease you, he just doesn’t realize how much of an effect he actually has on you.  He couldn’t begin to understand why you’re so enthralled by the way he blushes at the simplest things, hands flying to his face to try and hide it.  It’s his usual quirks that drive you crazy, and he has no idea.

V = Volume:  Loud. So, so loud.  He lacks any restraint, though not for a lack of trying.  No matter how hard he bites into his hand, he can’t stop the whimpers and moans that escape his lips.

W = Wild Card: You actually found out about the crossdressing cosplay when you walked into his room without knocking.  He was petrified and frankly expected you to dump him then and there.

X = X-Ray:  Almost average! Almost. Poor boy has way too much working against his self esteem.

Y = Yearning: Surprisingly, his sex drive isn’t actually that high.  It’s exceptionally easy to turn him on, but if you somehow manage to avoid doing so, he can go plenty of time without getting off.  Especially if he’s immersed in a game.

Z = ZZZ:  How quickly he falls asleep is entirely dependent on how long cleanup takes.  He can’t fall asleep afterward unless you’re holding him, so make sure you can stay the night.

#Obey me x reader #Obey me x gn!reader #Obey me x gn reader #Obey me x male reader #obey me x m!reader #Obey me x mc #Obey me x gn!mc #Obey me x gn mc #Obey me x male mc #Obey me x m!mc #Obey me shall we date x reader #Obey me shall we date x male reader #Obey me shall we date x gn reader #omswd x reader #Omswd x gn!reader #omswd x male reader #Omswd x m!reader #Leviathan x reader #Leviathan x mc

[rfsak2]

Easy Target, Pt 1.

So we'll see if anyone even reads this but Ima post it anyways. This has been brewing for decades at this point and it is somewhat of a rewrite of something I posted on Sycophant Hex (~I’m aging myself~) years ago.

For the record I acknowledge that Snape is OOC. He’s taller (by a lot), capable of healing and kindness, and has a sense of humor and hella PTSD.

His characterization is due partly to having started reading these books as a kiddo well before the end of the series (which ended when I was in college ~I’m old~). I have been collecting and revising headcanons since I was a child and now, as an adult and a therapist, I have a very specific idea of Snape that may not be canon, but I might like better.

I also have un-unalived some characters. Lupin and Tonks and maybe more as we go. We’ll see. Again it may not be canon, but I like it and my Snape better. (Fuck JKR).

If you like my Snape, let me know. If ya don’t… also let me know. I’d love to discuss and compare our thoughts

Easy Target

They thought wrong. Severus/OC

Warnings: nothing right now, some bad language words. There will be warnings if continued including mentions of past abuse/assault, violence, smut.

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE. 

“Little Lottie Beauregard.” The woman grinned maliciously. “How the hell are you doin’?” 

Charlotte sighed and set down the book she had been perusing. She glanced over her shoulder and made sure her son was out of earshot. “My last name is de Vilieré, Annabelle, or are your drinking habits finally impairing your memory?”

Annabelle grit her teeth. “No, ‘course not. Say, did you hear about who was at Antoine’s last night?” 

Charlotte made a face. “Can’t say I care about gossip.”

“Beau was seen with the Dreaux girl.” 

“Good for her.”

Annabelle fidgeted with her hair, disconcerted that she wasn’t getting a reaction. “I mean, I would think you’d be interested as that’s why y’all got divorce ‘n all.”

“I didn’t get divorce because Beau was fuckin’ other women. Sorry that I can't validate your petty jealousy.”

“My petty jealousy?” Annabelle shook herself free of following that line of thought. “Why did you get divorced then?”

Charlotte caught her eyes and held them, dispassionate and disinterested, sliding a book back onto the shelf.

Annabelle shied away from her. “I just know that the Beauregards aren’t the kinda family you leave. So you had to have reason to try.” 

“I didn’t try, Annabelle, I succeeded.” Charlotte began flipping through another book. “Maybe, they aren’t as bulletproof as all y’all thought.”

“Rumor has it, your mother has already started undoing all your success.” Annabelle managed to make faux sympathy look as vicious as direct assault. “I reckon you’ll be back at home in no time.” 

Charlotte chuckled, eyes fixed on a spell in the book she was reading. “Well, my mother is hot on the heels of her own divorce, so maybe she should mind her business.” Charlotte turned towards Annabelle and shut the book with a snap. “Ironically, that’s advice you’d find helpful too.” 

Annabelle batted her eyelashes. “Oh, didn’t y’know: my business is anything I make my business.”

“That’s why your family business is failing, ain’t it?” Charlotte nodded. “Makes sense, too many fingers in too many pies.”

Annabelle blanched.

“Though, gotta say, don’t know why’d you want me to remarry Beau.” Charlotte mimicked her simpering tone. “After all, now you can fuck him all you want and you’ll be the only one committing adultery. I mean, he may need to hire a secretary to manage his…  social calendar but I’d imagined this would be good news for you… and the others too, ‘course.”

Annabelle ignored her, pushing her straight, dark hair over her shoulder. “Don’t be silly. Your father isn’t going to divorce your mother. Seriously, it’s a bluff.”

Charlotte smiled. “Would you look at that? There’s at least one thing you don’t know anything about.”

Annabelle hummed, trying very hard to remain calm and disinterested. She failed.

Charlotte bared her teeth. “You don’t know my dad.”

Annabelle rolled her eyes. “No one knows your father.”

Charlotte nodded, eyes on Hadrien, lest he hear more than he should. “That’s not one hundred percent true. I mean he is the eldest son of one of the founding families of this city, a descendant of the first Creole governor of Louisiana. He’s a philanthropist, an expert in his field, he’s active in all the right circles. Everyone knows my father. My father just doesn’t cast pearls before pigs.” 

“Pigs?” Annabelle sucked in a breath and looked down at her hands, trying to school her emotions. “And yet, even the illustrious de Vilierés needed the Beauregards-“

Charlotte laughed. “We didn’t need the Beauregards. My mother made what she thought was a calculated bet. She put her money on the wrong horse, hence the divorce.”

“What horse should she have betted on?”

Charlotte grinned. “Me.”

Annabelle swallowed. “Seems to me that the de Vilierés aren't as prominent as they used to be. Seems to me that she bet on the only horse she had.” She simpered. “After all, the shame was only narrowly avoided. If she had not acted so soon… well, one shudders to think.”

“Must not shudder often, huh?”

Annabelle shot her a nasty glance. Charlotte returned it.

“I just think y’all are awfully big in your britches, considering…”

“Considering, what?” Charlotte challenged. “Quit pussyfooting and say it.”

Annabelle demurred.

Charlotte nodded, sighing. “See now… That’s how I know just how prominent my family is. You wanna drop hints and flirt with what you think is true, but you are too coward to say it. You lack conviction. I doubt you really believe the shit in your mouth. It’s just fodder for your imagined superiority.” Charlotte shrugged and returned Annabelle’s earlier malicious grin. “But then, maybe you just don’t know. Just like you don’t know my dad. You don’t run in the right circles. You want to, for sure. Badly. Desperately. You spend too much money -more than the rumor mill says you have- on dresses for balls and cotillions hosted by social circles you’ll never be welcomed in, to climb a ladder you can only get so high on.”

Annabelle shrunk back.

Charlotte didn’t press forward. Her posture remained loose and unbothered. “Just remember, Annie, my family built the ladder you’re trying to climb. I firmly believe everyone deserves a chance to try to climb the ladder, but knocking us off won’t get you any closer to the top any faster.”

“How egalitarian of you.” She sneered

Charlotte shook her head. “It’s not equality per say, but desire for quality competition. Can’t know how good I am if I don’t know how good my competition is. As it is, I’m not sure I have competition.”

Annabelle flushed. “See, the problem with y’all is-“

Charlotte hummed, cutting her off and set the book in her hand back on the shelf. “The problem is you decided to make my life momentarily difficult instead of minding your damn business. The problem is you’re boxin’ outta your weight class. Shoulda kept your mouth shut and you wouldn’t have embarrassed yourself. But then, the problem is that you got that inferiority complex gnawing at your brain. Makes it difficult to think, I reckon.”

“Charlotte.”

Charlotte turned over her shoulder, away from Annabelle’s slack-jawed stare, and smiled at her brother-in-law’s mother, her godmother.

“Bonjou, Mama Oya! Koman sa va?”

“Mo bon, babygirl.” Tall and ebony-skinned, Oya Dillioles glared down her nose at Annabelle with more regal dignity than any monarch the world over had ever possessed. “Mrs. Brennan.”

Annabelle just managed to not sneer. “Mrs-“

Charlotte tsked. “Madame.” She tilted her head, blonde ringlets tumbling over her shoulder. “I mean, you gotta know I ain’t about to let you address her recklessly.”

Annabelle locked her jaw. “Madame Dillioles.”

Charlotte smiled. “That’s better.”

Oya hummed and turned sharply away from the fuming brunette. Leaning down, she placed a kiss on each of Charlotte’s cheeks. Charlotte stretched up to return the gesture.

Oya shifted so she was standing full in front of Annabelle. “Charlie, cher, I was on my way to the Shop and felt faint. I was hoping you and my strapping, young grand-baby could walk me over, if y’all were done here?”

Charlotte fought back a smile, knowing full well that Oya Dillioles had never felt faint a day in her life. Charlotte would unhesitatingly put money on her living forever. 

“Of course, Mama. We’re meandering that way.” Charlotte called over to Hadrien, who stood from where he had been inspecting a low shelf of books. “Baby, is there anything you wanted to buy? We’re gonna walk over to the Shop with Mama Oya.”

“No, I’m good. I didn’t see anything that we don’t already have at the house.” Hadrien approached with a bright smile, giving Annabelle Brennan a wide berth. “Hey, Mimi!”

Oya’s smile was beaming as she reached up for Hadrien’s peach-fuzzed cheek. “I see you everyday, baby, and I swear you get taller every time. Just the spittin’ image of your Grandpa and Uncle.”

Hadrien beamed and stopped ever so slightly to press a kiss to his de facto grandmother’s cheek.

They left without glancing at Annabelle Brennan. Meandering idly, Hadrien regaled Mama Oya and Charlotte with a complicated potion he had been helping his uncles with all summer.

“Nonc Ogun said that my-“ he stopped short in front of a beignet shop. “Do you think they’ve eaten?” 

“Your uncles?” Charlotte glanced at her watch. “I doubt it. It’s only 10:30, baby.”

“I’ll get them coffee and some pastries then. Be back in a second.” 

Charlotte smiled. “Get me a coffee too, H. Mama Oya?”

Mama Oya pinched Hadrien’s cheek. “Me too, baby. Thank you.”

When Hadrien was clear of the door, Mama Oya glanced down at Charlotte. “You shouldn’t let her get to you.”

Charlotte smiled. “She doesn’t. I’ve known her all my life and the worst she can do is try to taunt me about my divorce? A divorce I wanted and instigated?” Charlotte grinned. “Pathetic. I ain’t worried about her.”

Oya hooked her hand in Charlotte’s elbow. “Who then? Who are you worried about?”

“My son, me, all of my family including the Dillioles..” Charlotte shrugged. “I love NOLA, it’s in my blood-“

“But?”

Charlotte sighed. “But I’m not sure how much longer I can be here without hexing someone into the next century.”

Oya frowned. “Are people harassing you? If so, I can get Amadioha or Eshu to walk around with you.”

“No… that’s not necessary. They both have more important things to be doin’ than babysitting me.”

Oya clicked her tongue. “They would happy -proud- to keep their Auntie Charlie safe, you know that, especially if you’re being harassed.”

“It’s not that bad.” Charlotte sighed. “People mostly just stare or make little snide comments. I kinda wish someone would try something. Give me a reason.” Charlotte caught her eyes. “I just- I’m done. I don’t have it in me to pretend anymore. To show people only what they want. To allow them to spew shit about situations they know nothing about without retaliation. It’s killin’ me.”

Oya nodded. “You’ve never been good at politicking, playing nice. Straight to the point. It’s one of the reasons we should’ve known that you didn’t want to be with him. That there was more going on.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I worked real hard for a long time to keep y’all out of it. I just wish I had said something sooner.”

Oya nodded. “I know, baby, I know.”

“I just don't know if I can be me here. Everyone already has an opinion here. About me, about the family, about the divorce. I feel like I’m suffocating.” She sighed. “I'm trying to make it to January but I don’t know if I can.”

“When Hadrien turns eighteen.” 

Charlotte nodded. “I have an interview. I haven’t told anyone yet.”

“For a job?” 

“Yeah, with a school out in the UK.”

“Hogwarts?” Oya whistled. “Ain’t that somethin’?”

Charlotte swallowed. “They’ve finished fixing up the school after the- after and the Headmistress was their transfiguration professor so they need a new one.”

Oya smiled and pinched at her cheek. “Well, I’ll miss you for sure, but I can’t think of a better person to take over a transfiguration professorship.”

Charlotte turned wide, vulnerable eyes on Oya. “Are you sure?”

Oya pressed a kiss to Charlotte’s forehead. “Never been surer about anythin’, cher. You are the best transfiguration master I’ve ever met.”

Charlotte breathed deep and nodded. “One thing that would make it easier, tell you what. Once Dad’s divorce is final…”

Oya sucked on her tongue. “Hush you.”

Charlotte grinned. “Gotta get rid of your boy toys though.”

Oya pursed her lips to tamp down her smile.

**

Charlotte yawned and glanced at her watch. 

6:00 am. Goddamn.

She could barely keep her eyes open as she dropped her portkey into the waiting basket, set down the bird cage in her hands and stepped off the platform. 

This is bullshit. People don’t actually exist at this hour.

She looked around quietly, hoping to catch sight of not only the customs office, but also a coffee shop? Or at least someone who could tell her where to find one?

She sighed upon seeing the customs office, sans coffee, and made her way towards the line she could already see forming, catching a brief glimpse of herself in a large decorative mirror. 

She winced, taking in her bedraggled appearance.  

As per normal, her blonde hair was a mess of frizzy ringlets, her blue eyes tired and clouded over the bags that normally haunted the sleepless. To top it off, she hadn't really even bothered to get dressed beyond a faded t-shirt and a pair of cuffed, faded blue jeans that had once been dark. It just seemed too much effort to get all dressed up for traveling and the inevitable errands she had to run.

She shivered. It was full-summer sweltering, bordering on hellish in NOLA. She had worked up a sweat walking from the car to the porkey office in NOLA not thirty minutes ago. She would have to dig a sweater out of one of her bags at first opportunity.

She swallowed dryly and set her shoulders. She was a de Vilierè. She could do this.

She felt her posture collapse, the energy required to keep upright almost too taxing on her frayed nervous system. 

I’m not sure I’m human currently, much less me.

She pinched the bridge of her nose feeling the caffeine headache starting up.

There was so much to do after she finished fighting her way through the red tape. There were new clothes to buy, books to peruse, money to exchange and bank vaults to set up. She then had to portkey to some remote town in Scotland and become acquainted with the school that she would be living in for the foreseeable future.

She sighed and shook off a raging headache and a distinct sense of melancholy. Best get to work.

**

After an hour waiting in the line at the customs desk in the British Ministry's International Portkey Office, she imagined she had seriously considered casting nearly dozen unforgivables, a great majority of them directed at either the execrably slow customs officer or the man in front of her that sported excruciatingly severe body odor.

It took a further fifteen minutes of abject torture before the man in front of her moved away from the counter and cleared the way.

To be fair, she tried valiantly to put on a smile and remember the manners society expected of her, but upon reaching the front of the line, the portly woman found there launched into a laundry list of items that the Ministry had deemed 'restricted.' 

No hello. No good morning. Just a list of vegetables and restricted potions ingredients.

It took another ten minutes and all of her easily exhausted patience, after pulling nearly all of her worldly possessions out of her bespelled satchel, to convince the officer that she was carrying none of the restricted items  in her luggage.

Finally, after checking the last item off her list, the witch turned back to her and held out one chubby hand. “Hand me your wand, Ms. de Vilieré.”

Charlotte raised a blonde eyebrow in response, both at the butchering of her name (de Vil-ear) and the idea of placing what amounted to a part of her soul into the hand of a customs officer who she doubted would treat it with the respect it deserved. Knowing it would get her nowhere, she relented and handed her the wand.

The woman examined the wand carefully and then measured it, calling back to one of her cronies, “Yew, ten inches, with...” She paused and cast a spell on the wand, “A snake's scale.” She shot Charlotte a skeptical look. “You yanks believe that snake scales hold magical properties?”

Charlotte smiled frostily, her deep south accent deepening further (if that was even possible) in irritation. “It's not just any snake, it's Li Grand Zombi and it does hold magical properties or it wouldn't be in my wand.”

“It's a zombie snake?” The woman guffawed. “I'll believe it when I see it.” 

“I can demonstrate if y’want.”

The woman froze, staring at her from under her lashes. “No, mum, it’s not necessary.” 

Charlotte simpered. “If you’re sure.”

She cleared her throat and gave the wand an experimental flick, turning her back on Charlotte. “Yew, ten inches, springy and with a zombie snake's scale at the heart.”

A red-headed man sat behind her and stared at Charlotte from behind a set of clerical file drawers. “Got it, Matilda.”

Matilda cast an appraising look at Charlotte and whispered, a bad parody of sotte voce. “Though, I reckon she’s not the type we’d be wantin’ ‘ere after You Know Who.”

The man nodded. “Yew wood and a snake core. Bad omens, they are.”

Charlotte grit her teeth. “Can I please have my wand back, Matilda?”

Matilda looked uncomfortable and handed back her wand. “Here y’go, mum.” She nodded, awkward anxiety written in her posture. “You’re done ‘ere, mum. Passport control and visas are two floors up.”

Charlotte thanked her quietly as she accepted her wand. She made to leave and paused. “For the record, Voldemort didn’t have nothin’  on some of our racist madmen.” Charlotte delighted in their shivers, fighting down her conscience. “And I’m an absolute pussycat compared to them. Adieu.”

She didn’t get far before regretting her ill temper. She’d be lucky to make it to Hogwarts at this rate. Matilda was probably calling the passport office right now.

Tossed out because I couldn’t watch my mouth. Who’da thunk?

Charlotte glanced up at the clock and cussed under her breath. She made her way towards where she assumed the elevators were. She had at least another hour of bureaucracy and red tape before she could do something fun.

Three hours later, she was sitting on a bench in the middle of the now-bustling Portkey Authority, trying valiantly to fight of the wave of sleepiness that had latched onto her mind with a vengeance as soon as she stopped moving.

As it were, she was quickly falling into a light doze when an indignant squawk broke its way through the fog of sleepiness.

“Hermés, shh.”

The squawking did not stop and the bird-cage sitting next to her on the bench shook violently. Charlotte sighed a little and, with a small indulgent smile, twisted around to find her steadily over-filled satchel on the other side of the bench next to her. She pulled out a bird treat and moved the leather cover out of the way looking at the falcon within.

She offered the treat as one would offer a peace treaty and got a hearty nip to her forefinger for her trouble.

“Yeah, yeah, screw you too, bitch. You never stay angry for long, and you know it.” She reached into the cage and smoothed the ruffled feathers on the falcon’s head, before retrieving another bird treat.

“I don't mean to intrude, mum, but are you Charlotte de Vilierè?”

Vil-i-ear. She shrugged. It was better.

Charlotte started and turned toward the representative of the Authority she somehow missed approaching. “Um yeah, that’s me.”

The short man cleared his throat. “Well, we are ready when you are, ma’am.”

“Yeah. Okay.” She took a deep breath and grabbed Hermés’ cage. “Let's go.”

**

Charlotte took another deep breath of clean, cool air, trying really hard to not jostle Hermés in his cage. She looked around Hogsmeade slowly, taking in what amounted to a tiny sleepy village in its full summer splendor. The sun was bright, the foliage green and the air cool and clean, a startling difference to the muggy, sweltering heat of New Orleanian summers. 

She took another deep breath to savor the beauty around her and stepped further onto the street.

“Oh and yeh must be the new professor!”

Charlotte started and turned towards the large man standing next to a carriage. She nodded slowly watching as the man began to walk towards her. He shot her a broad grin, then stuck a hand out.

“Th' name is Hagrid, I teach Care of Magical Creatures. Nice ta meet yeh, Professor.”

Charlotte felt her body relax, smiling easily and slipping her hand into his. “Charlotte de Vilieré. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

Smiling, he reached for the bird cage in her hand and relieved her of her satchel as well. He bowed slightly and opened the door for her. “Go ahead, then. Get in the carriage. I'll be taking yeh up to the grounds.”

She nodded again and made for the carriage quickly. “Um thank you.”

He smiled and nodded then followed her into the carriage, setting Hermés on the ground between them. “You're welcome.” He settled back and shifted around her until he was comfortable. “So where are you from, Professor? The headmistress said you were from across the pond, but was mum as to where exactly.” A small self-deprecating smile flitted across his face. “Probably guessed we wouldn't have no clue what she was talking about anyways.”

Charlotte smiled softly.  “I'm from New Orleans, Louisiana.” At his look of confusion, she clarified. “It's in the South, along the coast of the Gulf of Mexico.”

Hagrid nodded enthusiastically. “Mardi Gras, right? I don’t rightly know where that is but I've heard about Mardi Gras. I probably coulda guessed that you were from the South from your accent.”

She chuckled lightly. “It is rather distinct. Maybe when I am settled in I can show you New Orleans on a map.”

“I would like that, professor.” Hagrid smiled broadly again. “So you're gonna be takin' over teachin' Transfiguration?”

“Um, yes. I'll be teaching Transfiguration and taking over a couple of the Arithmancy classes so that Professor Vector, I believe, can do more research.”

The sound of gates swinging open cut off the rest of the conversation.

“We're here.”

**

“This here is Professor Snape, our Deputy Headmaster. He'll be showin' yeh around Hogwarts.” Hagrid smiled brightly and motioned to the dour-looking man in all black standing on the steps of the school. As if sensing her anxiety, he whispered from somewhere over her head, and took Hermés’ birdcage from her hand. “I know he looks a fright, but he's a war-hero. Never met someone as brave ‘n trustworthy as the professor. Man deserves to be a little grumpy after what all happened. I’ll take your owl and your bags to your quarters.”

She nodded absently, choosing not to mention that he didn’t look a ‘fright’. He wasn’t smiling, sure, looked to be pretty ticked to be standing there, but that wasn’t the problem. 

She had done her research and knew who Severus Snape was. She knew to expect some curmudgeon-esque behavior. His personality had been extensively reported on, but so had his deeds, his skill, his intelligence. 

Severus Snape was capable and, while she knew she was intelligent and the Headmistress had been impressed with her, seventeen years trapped in a marriage had done little for her professional confidence. The imposter syndrome was kicking her ass. 

That and he was attractive. Sure, he wasn’t Brad Pitt or Leonardo DiCaprio, but she’d never been really interested in conventional. He was tall and intense and wore intelligence and ambition like armor. 

It had been a long while since she’d felt any type of attraction for anyone. It was enough to set her nerves on edge.

And honestly, she probably looked like she had been dragged backwards through a swamp. Bedraggled and disheveled.

Her mother’s voice came to her unbidden. Really Lottie. Put more effort into how you look. That’s your job as a wife, to be ornamental. He didn’t marry you for your brain.

Maybe if you took being Beau’s wife more seriously he wouldn’t-

She shook herself free of that memory and started up the stairs toward the tall man. She wiped her hands on her jeans, hoping he didn’t see, knowing by his sneer that he did. “Hello, Professor Snape. I am Charlotte de Vilieré.”

One black eyebrow rose as a pair of black eyes looked down in disgust at her hand. His eyes flickered back up to hers and he intoned a brief: “I'm aware.”

She breathed deep. So it begins. “‘Course.”

He hummed. 

Her jaw clenched slightly, before she forced herself to relax. “Nice to meet you.”

“I'm sure.” He sighed negligently and waved her into the castle. “Shall we? The Headmistress thinks it a good idea that I show you around the school.” His tone left no room for imagination as to his feelings on the matter. 

She sighed and followed after him, noting with more than a little resignation, that he seemed determined to lose her. At maybe six-three or six-four and towering a foot-plus over her not particularly impressive five-two, he had a much longer stride and used it to his advantage. He was in the building before she even had time to clear the first level of stairs.

Breathing deeply, she scampered behind him. Once in the building - the castle, good god, where am I?- she became easily distracted by the architecture, the smell, the feel of the place. Nothing in NOLA, as opulent and storied as it was, could compare to this.

He stopped abruptly, she almost ran full-tilt into his back, and turned towards her, watching in sarcastic amusement as she put a hand to her chest and huffed a shaky, “Shit.”

“Having problems keeping up, Ms. de Vilieré?”

What a dick. She glared at him and stood up straight. “Please continue, Professor.”

The smirk fell from his face, indicating that she had likely said that out loud. She flushed and felt a brief stab of something more than anxiety as he appraised her with dark eyes. 

He seemed to come to some decision and turned away, drawling a quiet: “Indeed.”

Turning toward the giant doors in front of them, one large hand came out from the depths of his pockets with a wand. A negligent flick of his wrist later and the doors opened.

She followed him into the room and looked up at the enchanted ceiling silently, awestruck by the sheer complexity of the charms needed to pull something like that off.

“Do close your mouth, Ms. de Vilieré. It is rude to gape.” He shot her a smug look and continued to walk further into the room. “This is the Great Hall...”

After that she found it rather hard to concentrate on what he was saying. Somewhere in between imagining a dozen or so wordless, wandless jinxes she could throw at him, she completely zoned out.

She was just considering the mathematics behind a wandless color change spell, when the subject of these musings cleared his throat.

“Ms. de Vilieré, if you would kindly listen when I speak to you.” 

With a swift shake of the head, the woman rejoined the world of the living and stared up at the very tall man in black with tired eyes, realizing yet again just how tired she was. She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face, chastising herself. She seriously considered attempting to throw a jinx at the man just because he was being a little ornery.

“Professor Snape?” A sour look passed over his face briefly as he waited for her to continue. Her accent was thick with exhaustion and she was sure she looked a mess, but she struggled to focus on his disapproving black eyes for more than a few seconds. “I know that it's pretty late in the afternoon here, and that by all rights I should be as cheerful as you, but,” she paused to yawn, peeking with one eye over the hand shielding her mouth at the glowering man, “But I have not stopped goin' since midnight and I need to sleep desperately.”

He looked down his long nose at her, black eyebrow raised in disdain. “I see. In that case, I will show you to your quarters. Will that suffice?”

She nodded mid-yawn before adjusting her tote on her shoulder. “By all means, lead the way.”

He nodded curtly and turned sharply on his heel. “This way, Professor.”

**

When next he saw her, this time hours later at staff dinner, she looked if possible, even more ridiculous. She seemed to be wearing the same trousers as she had been wearing this afternoon, wrinkled as if she had fallen asleep in them, accompanied by an over-large gray sweatshirt, with the word ‘Saints’ emblazoned across the front in garish gold lettering. Her curly blonde hair was free of the ponytail it had been in earlier and had formed a cloud around her head that made her look like an overgrown mushroom.

A beautiful mushroom, to be honest, with an alluring, impressively glowing recommendation from Minerva and a surname that tickled at his memory for some god forsaken reason. 

But a mushroom, nonetheless. 

She approached the table timidly, with the near imperceptible scuff of trainers on stone, and made for the only open seat, the one directly across from him.

The table fell silent, even Rolanda and Lupin choosing to forgo their rather obnoxiously loud discussion of quidditch in lieu of watching the tiny, blushing woman take her seat.

Minerva cringed slightly at the woman's less-than-professional appearance, before forcing a thin, polite smile on her face. She cast a look at Severus and he knew immediately that she was warning him to play nice. “And how did your travels go, Professor de Vilieré?”

“Charlotte’s fine.” The woman smiled, her hair arranging itself into a neat bun of its own accord. 

Wandless and wordless. Severus shrugged it off, it was likely a spell she had been using most of her life. Proficiency was a given. 

“It went alright, I guess, Headmistress. Thanks for askin’. I'm exhausted but I reckon I'll be right as rain in the morning.” She shrugged with a self-deprecating smile. “And more put together too.”

Minerva responded with a pleasantry he didn't care to catch and the woman responded in kind with a soft smile and soft admonition he couldn’t make out. 

As she spoke recounting some particular or another about her journey, he allowed himself to listen to the odd cadence of her voice. Her voice was soft and her accent thick and drawling, lacking the staccato rhythm of the Minerva’s brogue and brusque quality of his own voice, but there was something annoyingly pleasant about it.

Like almost everything else about her, he decided it was irritating. She was a lesson in extremes. She was too short, her hair too wild, her jumper too garish and her accent too American. She couldn't just be average.

That thought led into another rather interesting thought. Why was it that this blasted school couldn't hire anyone normal? 

“Severus!” A long fingered hand landed on his sleeve heavily. “Are you quite alright, dear?”

Severus snapped to attention and focused on Minerva. “Yes.”

“What has you so distracted?” She retracted her hand.

He sighed, frustrated that he had been caught lost in his thoughts. “It is of no importance.” He caught de Vilieré’s eyes and grunted, looking down at his food.

**

“That jumper, Ms. de Vilieré, may I assume that it is in...support, shall we say, of a sports team?” Despite his polite, maybe even pleasant, phrasing, the deep baritone of his voice dripped with sarcasm. He didn’t like her or her sweater and desired that she knew it.

The asshole.

She looked up from the mush she had made on her plate and caught his arched eyebrow with one of her own, and spoke in a deliberately cheerful voice, nodding. “The New Orleans Saints. They are my hometown’s professional football- American Football- team.” She deliberately ignored his contemptuous look.

“Ahh,” he drawled, smirking slightly. “Muggle football, I’d suspect.”

She breathed deep, trying to steady herself. “Yeah, it’s a no-maj sport.”

“Not Quidditch?” Professor Hooch frowned. “Do Americans play quidditch?”

“Some people are into it. There’s a club league in NOLA that my brother-in-law tried out once. Quidditch is more popular up north, I think. The South has been obsessed with Football as long as people have been playing it.” Charlotte smiled. “To be honest, I don't think I've ever watched Quidditch. I’m not really a sports girl."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Then why the jumper, I wonder?"

Charlotte shrugged, watching as the Headmistress shot Snape a look. "I think my brother gave me this sweater, to be honest, or my dad.”

Professor Hooch looked scandalized. “Did you play quidditch at Ilvermorny?”

Charlotte smiled. “I didn’t go to Ilvermorny. The US is a very large country. Most states have their own school or schools. I went to the Convent - the Lafreniere School of Magic in New Orleans. The no-majs believe the school buildings are an old Ursuline Convent. Most still call it the Convent rather than by the school’s official name. Everyone in my family went there and it’s, like, right around the corner from our house. My dad wouldn’t have felt too secure sending his children that far from home.”

“It’s not a boarding school?” Professor Lupin leaned forward.

Charlotte rubbed at her face. Their questions were to be expected but this level of social engagement was exhausting her already rock bottom stores of energy. “No. Most schools in the States don’t board their students. Ilvermorny does and I think there’s a boarding school out in California.”

“I’ve heard that Americans often pursue higher education. Did you attend university?”

Charlotte winced imperceptibly, having dreaded this question. “I had planned to. Life got complicated around the end of my time at the Convent.”

“Complicated?” Snape drummed the pad of his middle finger against the table, dark eyes on her.

Charlotte nodded. “Complicated. I decided it would be more feasible to pursue apprenticeship in my chosen fields.”

“Complicated how?” 

She turned back to Snape and considered him quietly. “Complicated enough that it derailed many of my personal plans.”

He caught her eyes and held them for a long moment.

“How interesting.” The Headmistress smiled, sensing the rising tension. “The differences in culture are astounding.”

She blinked and he looked down.

Sprout leaned forward, ignoring her. “I’ve heard about something called Mardi Gras?”

Mar-tee Grass. Jesus Christ. 

Charlotte chuckled but didn’t correct her. “It’s one of the things New Orleans is famous for. It means Fat Tuesday. It’s the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday.” 

“Ash Wednesday?”

Professor Snape sighed. “The Wednesday before the start of Lent.”

He was met with blank stares. He caught Charlotte’s eyes. “The forty days before Easter. Meant as a time of repentance. Catholics observe it.”

Professor Sprout turned back to her. “Are you Catholic?” 

The look on her face must have been unedited because Professor Lupin chuckled. 

She marshaled herself and made a so-so motion with her hands. “Culturally, I guess. I did all the sh- rites that were expected of me. But I haven’t willingly stepped inside a church in years.” She shrugged. 

“Why did you do all the rites if you don’t think you believe it?”

“Pomona!”

Charlotte nodded at the Headmistress. “It’s okay. It was expected of me, given my cultural heritage and family. I don’t know of any member of a Creole family that would risk social censure by rejecting Catholicism. You just do it, take Communion, light the candle, get it over with. Grease the wheels and all that.”

“How do you know about Lent, Severus?” Pomona turned to Snape with curious eyes. 

“I was raised Catholic.” Snape nodded to Charlotte. “Similarly to Ms. de Vilierè, I did all the shite that was expected of me and no longer practice.”

“I didn’t know that about you, Severus.” Flitwick hummed, kind smile on his face. “What did you mean by Creole, Charlotte?”

“Being of French heritage from the city of New Orleans.” 

“And being Catholic is part of being Creole?”

“I think it’s widely assumed to be essential to being Creole.” 

“You would disagree?” Severus watched her quietly.

“I don’t think it matters if I agree.” She sighed. “New Orleanian magical communities are very… culture-bound and committed to maintaining tradition. As a result, these communities retain a lot of the historical prejudices that the no-maj communities have lost to some extent. My family is Creole and, outside of school, I didn’t really socialize with people who weren’t. Creoles live in the Quarter and go to Mass at St. Louis, Americans live across Canal Street and attend church at First Magical Baptist, the Irish live in the Channel and go to their local Catholic church, and so on. If I had wanted to change that, make a different decision, -hell, if I had wanted to move out of the Quarter- the social pressure would’ve been intense.”

“Americans? Aren’t you all American?” Lupin smiled.

“Now, yes, but again, the Creole magical community holds to a lot of older, traditional prejudices. There’s a pecking order- a superiority complex. We were the original colonists. I’ve always been taught to identify as Creole first, American second.” 

“What’s Cajun?”

Charlotte blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“What does the word Cajun refer to?” 

Charlotte’s smile felt tight. “Of French heritage from outside of the city.”

Professor Binns nodded. “I thought it was food.”

Charlotte breathed deep. “It means that too.”

The Headmistress sighed loudly and set her hands on the table with some amount of finality. “I think we’ve all asked too much of our new colleague already. She’ll be here past today so you can ask more questions at a later date.”

Professor Sinistra smiled. “New Orleans sounds fascinating.”

Charlotte ducked her head. “NOLA is unlike anywhere else in the US. It’s truly unique.”

“Why are you in Scotland then, I wonder?”

The air left the room with a whimper. The Headmistress rubbed at her face.

Charlotte nodded, biting at her lip, glancing over at Snape. There was a part of her that wanted to be honest and another, larger part that wanted to meet his sarcasm head-on. 

The latter part won. 

“The weather.”

Professor Sprout snorted.

He hummed, eyes on hers. “You’ll be disappointed then.”

She chuckled. “I already am. It was summer when I left NOLA this morning. I should’ve kept a jacket out when I packed. ‘Bout near froze.”

“Disappointed and of delicate constitution.” Snape sighed dramatically. “You’re not likely to last long here.”

The Headmistress's jaw clenched. “Severus.”

“I’m cold-natured, sure.” She shrugged, smiling the edgy little smile that used to irritate Beau. Despite the obvious being exactly what she meant, she clarified for the sake of professionalism. “I do get cold easily, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m delicate.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I wouldn’t worry about my longevity, I have survived much more frigid climes. I’m tougher than I look.”

Severus made a face that communicated clearly that he didn’t believe her. “I’m sure.”

She hummed. She wasn’t going to let him goad her into revealing more about herself than she was ready to share.

Professor Lupin glanced between the two of them. “At the risk of being nosy, why did you decide to move to Scotland?”

She considered Professor Lupin and saw Snape watch her out of the corner of her eye. After a moment, she shrugged. “The magical community of NOLA isn’t small, per say, but it is insulated and very interconnected.“ She paused and looked at Snape again. “I felt a little stifled at home, I guess. Needed a new environment.”

“A new environment for what?” Snape traced the wood grain of the table with a single long finger.

She bit back the urge to shock him with an absurd lie. “To grow, develop. A bit like a houseplant, I needed a new pot.”

Professor Sprout made a pleased sound.

“You felt stifled in a city with the culture and history you’ve spent the last hour describing?” He demurred sarcastically. “Your new pot may be a mite small.”

“I’m sure it’ll be alright. After all, it seems big enough for the current residents.” She lowered her chin, eyeing him from under her lashes. “If such illustrious company can grow to fit such a space, I’m sure I will do alright.”

Professor Lupin choked on his wine. Professor Flitwick dropped his silverware with a clatter. Hagrid froze as if he was in the presence of a predator.

“Touché, Ms. de Vilierè.” Snape nodded. 

Part 2

#severus snape #snape/oc #Severus Snape/oc #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #severus snape fanfiction #pro severus snape #fanon severus

[waheelawhisperer]

My (very critical and generally unimpressed) thoughts on RWBY Volume 9 Episode 4 are behind the read more.

Poor Weiss. Her suffering continues.

Don’t worry, Yang, none of this makes sense to me either.

Why is the creature wearing Blake's skin like a suit calling itself a cat isn’t “Faunus aren’t animals” Blegh's whole schtick at this point

Oh wait that’s telling your fellow minorities to protest in a way that makes their oppressors more comfortable and then pining over Yang in the Kingdom most closely associated with Faunus oppression

I agree with you, Weiss. Like every other denizen of the Ever After, the Cat is constantly fucking annoying

Not sure if Yang is making fun of the Cat or Weiss here, but either way the humor actually does land for me for once. I do genuinely enjoy the Freezerburn dynamic. It's arguably my favorite in the show, especially after what the writers have done to the Bees so far this Volume.

Good plan, Blegh. I like the initiative she’s been showing spurts of throughout the Volume so far. It's the one bit of characterization she has left that doesn't revolve around Yang.

Okay they’ve snagged themselves a guide. That’s progress. Maybe soon we can get WBY back to normal size and leave this fucking setting

Love the Bees being visibly fed up with the cat because holy shit so am I

Saw on Twitter that Miles said he really liked this episode. Not hard to see why, given how much this writing team loves the smell of their own farts. This scene reads to me like a middle finger to anyone who's critical of the show, and like, I get it. Some of the people who don't like this show are real jackasses about it, and I completely understand the impulse to say "fuck the haters" at any time and for any reason, and even support it, but, like... bro. You are not good enough at your job to be this arrogant. You're not even good at your job. If you wanna take shots at the people who think your art sucks, you'd better produce better art than this, otherwise you just look like an insecure dumbass with an overinflated ego. Lampshading criticism doesn’t make it less valid. Hate to tell you this, but the shit the Cat mentioned is a set of actual flaws your show has. Sniping at the people who point them out doesn't make them disappear.

At least Weiss is focused on getting back to her normal size, and we get an interesting bit of worldbuilding, comparing the world to toys and explaining how each acre has its own characteristics and inhabitants

Once again, Yang, the bad sister, is the first to pick up on Ruby’s distress

but for the love of God please stop forcing Rubes it feels so out of place if you wanted to make this a thing you needed to do it before the ninth fucking Volume of the show

At first I was annoyed by Blegh saying they shouldn't worry about Remnant yet because dear God do I want someone to actually engage with the events of Volume 8, but after thinking about it I'm not too bothered by it. It makes sense to focus on the immediate problem right now. I just wish I felt like the writers cared about anything beyond the immediate.

I think it’s kind of funny how Yang is the official cat tracker. She’s more responsible than the fandom likes to think...

Little has been downgraded to Emergency Rations again

Let it all out, Weiss. I share your frustrations. Go off, queen. You are rapidly rising in my estimation this Volume.

"I'm getting really tired of that question" So am I, Ruby, so am I.

Keep up the snark Yang and you might fend off Weiss’s challenge to your throne (the coveted position of Heela's Favorite Character)

Looks like we’re getting more of the Ever After’s emphasis on purpose.

The “What is a Huntress?” question has the potential to serve as an interesting callback to the Mountain Glenn conversation around the fire. Let's see what the show does with it.

I like the Herbalist he’s as fed up with all of this as I am

I enjoy seeing the clash of perspectives here. Team RWBY and the Herbalist have fundamentally different approaches. Really drives home how different Remnant and the Ever After are.

Oh boy a magic hookah den. Really don’t like this choice, but not because I think it's inherently bad writing, I just have personal issues with drug use. I don't like it. I don't like being around it, I don't like seeing it depicted on-screen, I don't like it when media presents it as a positive thing... I'm not condemning people who use intoxicants or trying to prevent them from having the autonomy to do so, but I have a very strong negative reaction to it. I don't like this scene.

Having Yang call out for Blegh before Ruby is certainly A Decision and I’m not sure how I feel about it (poor Weiss, guess we all now where she is on Yang’s priority list lmao, baby I’m sorry your dom doesn’t treat you better). I don't really agree with them, but I can see where the people who think Yang isn't concerned enough about Ruby are coming from, even though Yang's been picking up on Ruby's emotional state better than anyone else so far. I can understand how it would be jarring to see Yang go from flinging herself in front of a fatal blow days or hours earlier and then first call out for someone else in a strange situation.

I don't think this bothers me yet. I think what the writers are trying to do here is set up a situation where Yang ends up prioritizing Blegh and misses the fact that Ruby needs her and then things go Very Wrong as a result, so I'll withhold judgment until I see what they do with this. I definitely get why some people are bothered, though.

Okay guess they’re confronting their past selves somehow?

Go back to before, Yang, back when this series still had potential and the cracks in the foundations weren’t tearing down the whole damn house. Go back to when I still had hope that the show would improve Volume over Volume. Do it. You know you want to.

Lmao did we really just offer the minority a chance to not be a minority anymore and compare her to an animal in the same sentence what is with this Volume and comparing Blegh to a cat

Like the writers already stated that the White Fang Arc is a direct analogue for the American Civil Rights Movement and explicitly equated Faunus oppression to black Americans' struggle for equality so the "human" and "Faunus" categories pretty clearly correspond to "white" and "black"

which means they just directly compared black people to animals lmao

This is actually so disgusting ngl but what do I expect from a company that called black employees racial slurs and let their community harass those same employees for years without doing shit about it

Dude MKEK you wrote your racism arc out of the story and still managed to be racist. Amazing.

God I hate this company and these writers

Blegh when have you ever been a bridge between humans and Faunus

Was it when you were blaming your fellow Faunus for their oppression and telling them to be nicer so the humans would like them?

But hey at least Yang's hitting us over the head with the impending change in her relationship status

What culture Blegh we don’t know shit about your culture there’s been close to zero evidence of it onscreen

Not that this is a problem exclusive to Faunus culture. We don’t know shit about any other Kingdom’s culture except maybe Atlas either because this show’s worldbuilding sucks ass. That said, this is egregiously bad. If Blake’s culture matters to her so much maybe make it a part of the show before now

Weiss your grandpa built fucking fantasy Amazon and helped colonize Vacuo but I don’t really hold this against you because to you he is a hero and you haven’t seen any of the effects (and the show really likes insisting that Nicholas was Good and all the Bad started with Jacques). At least you understand your daddy blows. Your magic acid trip sucks the least so far and you're coming very close to toppling Yang from her position as my favorite

Not sure how I feel about Yang’s whole conversation tbh, I feel like they're probably being gross about her disability again somehow but honestly I don't necessarily think offering a disabled person a chance to have their disability "fixed" is a bad thing because that can be a very powerful fantasy. I know that if I could have magic mushrooms take away the need for me to wear contact lenses I'd do it in a heartbeat, but I don't trust this company with this topic so this puts me on edge.

MKEK I hate to tell you this but having your characters turn to the screen and claim they’ve experienced character development doesn’t mean it happened. This is one of those moments where RWBY tries to insist a thing happened without doing a particularly good job of actually showing it on-screen (see: everyone hugging during the Volume 6 reunion despite the Beacon Volumes never taking the time to properly build all those relationships and the insistence that everyone cared about both each other and Pyrrha when fucking Jaune and kind of Ruby are the only ones ever allowed to grieve for her).

We are FINALLY diving into Ruby’s head and feelings. I love this for real. There's some good in this Volume.

We're finally learning a little bit about Summer Rose and how Ruby views her. Maybe this is the Volume she becomes a character instead of a plot device.

Okay it’s starting to look like Ruby’s depression is manifesting as a desire to not be herself/not exist anymore. I wonder what would’ve happened if the cat hadn’t showed up.

Okay so the Cat did the same thing they did for the Red Prince, apparently this can calm/stabilize people?

What the fuck

No seriously wtf just happened to the drug dealer

Shut. The fuck. Up. Little. You aren’t funny, you’re just annoying. MKEK, please stop undermining every serious moment with humor. Not only is the tone inappropriate, you’re not even good at making jokes.

Anyway it was pretty cool to see the V1-3 outfits in the new artstyle, and the crew did a really good job of making the whole series of scenes with the Herbalist feel very creepy, so props to them there.

Still laughing at the way Yang was just like "Weiss who?" during her magic bong hit babygirl really has been getting the short end of the stick ever since she dropped into the Ever After. Treat your sub right, Yang.

Marginally better than the first two episodes, worse than the third. If not for the "fuck the critics" vibes I'm getting and the frankly gross racism, it would've just been bad, but as it is I have to dock it points for that.

Overall rating: Fucking Horrendous/10

#rwby

[rpmemestorehouse]

Until Dawn Real-time Fandub Starters: Part 1

Change wording as needed

“Oh my Goood, it’s so fucking cold in herrrreee!”

“Are we seriously complaining about how cold it is right now?”

“Oho this is gonna be so fucking funny.”

“There better be some goddamn blankets in here.”

“Hey, I’m not a blanket but maybe I can keep you warm.”

“Whoa! That guy was straight-up looming! I wish I could loom like that...”

“You have pants?”

“You told me it was Shorts Sunday!”

“I heard there were pants in here!”

“It was for a prank video! Come on!”

“I gotta loom at somebody!”

“You’ll teach me how to loom, right?”

“I didn’t bring my phone! It was in my other pants!”

“This is a really long high-five...”

“Are you gonna laugh at me for wearing pants again?”

“Grab my stinky hand!”

“You see, that’s a joke there. I like to try and play a trick on people when they come into my office, lighten the mood a little.”

“My real name is [Own Name]. They got my name plate wrong.”

“Well, with my 10-step plan, I’ll be happy to go plumb the depths of your sad, scared little mind, and see what makes you...tick, as it were.”

“I noticed you don’t have much of a sense of humor.”

“I don’t speak corn.”

“Oh so NOW you’re a funny guy, huh?”

“It’s going to be a long, and arduous, couple of weeks.”

“Who talks to screens? Maybe you can! With this new video series.”

“I’m not gonna answer that. Not look like an idiot.”

“When those girls died? That was funny.”

“A Butterfly Affect appears when your actions have changed the narrative of the game.”

“WH- HELLO?!”

“I love Animal Crossing!”

“Check it out! I have this gun. It’s really really cool.”

“I’ve just been playing a lot of Among Us recently, I’ve just been really trying to get good at lying, but the thing is I yell so much so that they think I’m lying.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so hungry.”

“Where are we going, anyways? We, I-I was just kinda following, following you.”

“Are we going somewhere safe?”

“Why did you hit me?! That hurt so much!”

“I’m sorry, I’ve - I’ve been in jail, for a while.”

“Alright, just gotta make sure I packed all of my equipment. Uh, I packed the USB interface, I packed the...did I pack the shirt, or...”

“I gotta get the precision!”

“This is my Smash invitation, and frankly I deserve it!”

“You don’t have to butt in to every conversation.”

“Jesus. Everyone is so rude.”

“What is this, Rude Mountain?”

“I just got my lips unstuck.”

“I can’t believe you brought me all the way up here.”

“I’m here to be rude to people.”

“As a gamer, I know exactly all about Among Us.”

“ ‘Sus’ - it’s used when someone is suspicious.”

“I think I just want to, lay down, and sleep.”

“That’s pretty cringe of you, buddy!”

“They don’t, carry packages, I haven’t unlocked that skill yet.”

“Eh, you know what? I have two arms. So, I guess I can carry both of them at the same time.”

“You got the bag carry skill?!”

“It’s a very expensive perk.”

“Hey babe, you wanna go, and, record a vlog with me? In my expensive studio?”

“See, aren’t my pranks as good as Markiplier?”

“You better pay me back that fucking quarter.”

“Mmm, I love hugging. This is as far I as I know.”

“Wait wait when did they get the hugging perk? I haven’t gotten the hugging perk!”

“She won’t even hug me!”

“I wasted all my points on two-arming!”

“Yes, there’s, there’s a lot of grinding, I won’t say it’s worth it.”

“You see, that’s what I think of your problems as, they’re just some kind of joke.”

“Gender isn’t real.”

“I think you have some very strange misconceptions about, you know, publicly perceived notions about masculinity and femininity.”

“That’s the only reason I bought this metronome, is to make people feel bad about not being able to play the piano.”

“Your insurance isn’t covering these sessions, by the way.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I made it up to Rude Mountain, only to be discovered by, rude people.”

“I did not pack warm enough for this.”

“We can send like, aura to each other, y’know, like, uh, vibes.”

“You’re not believing the vibes? You’re not believing the aura?”

“And really I miss my Xbox more than anything, so...”

“[Console exclusive] is like the only good game on it!”

“Have you ever heard of the Kinect?!”

“I don’t guess, I know, I never guess anything, I know everything, I do the math.”

“Why am I getting hurt so much?! I think I’m okay, I think I just hurt all of my bones...”

*from the other room* “DID YOU SOLVE MY WOLVERINE PUZZLE?!”

“This is place is kinda big, and, cold.”

“I’ll show you what this two-hand perk can do!”

“Save the fight until I have the camera ready, okay?!”

“Hello? Are the recording demons out there? They always mess up my takes.”

“You should trust me, I have Gold Play Button from YouTube. That means a million subscribers.”

“Hey look at this! It’s a view!”

“Here, let’s take a picture!”

“Framing is not your strong suit.”

“I was born in a lab out of a tube.”

“I think you’re in the Corridor of the Monkey!”

“Next, you go to the Papaya Room and solve the puzzle!”

“I should have known coming to, Rude Mountain would have made you worse as a person.”

“If you throw that at me, I’m gonna flip my goddamn lid.”

“You want some snow, BITCH?”

“Oh shit they don’t have my bath salts here!”

“Water’s lookin’ a little green, that’s just the way I like it.”

“Hey [Name], did you make sure that the, that you put the mud in the pipes, right?”

“Did the ghosts take my friends again?”

“I’m actually half-ghost.”

“It’s the vibes. Once you get connected to the vibes, you kinda die.”

“Only if you ask *very nicely*, say please, and accept the Pact of the Vibes.”

“I’m kind of working on the Curse of Rude Mountain right now, I kind of want to dispel that so we’re not dicks to each other this whole trip.”

“Drama is necessary for content.”

“I had a fucking dragon egg in here, and they fucking stole it!”

“God I’m feelin’ the Rude Mountain effects.”

“Oh God why did I high-five with a scalded hand?!”

“[Name] you gotta be nicer to yourself.”

“You know, your self-deprecation’s not getting you nowhere.”

“We’re in Rude Mountain I’m not nice to anybody.”

“You gotta be nice to yourself or else it’s gonna get us!”

“I lost my hearing in the war, but I felt it.”

“Quickly, use a psychic blast on it!”

“I do dig the wizard robes you’ve got now.”

“I’m gonna level with you: I hate being the same room as you.”

“Aahh, hello patient. I see you must have woken up by about now.”

“You like philosophy, kid?”

“You ever heard of the Ship of Theseus?”

“I know a little place down by the bay...”

“This isn’t a proper Luigi board, I mean there’s no ‘yes’ or ‘no’, you can’t say ‘goodbye’ - you’re gonna get fucked if you can’t say goodbye to a ghost!”

“I can get fucked? FINALLY!”

“Well I’m the only one in the group who knows how to read, and that’s the only reason you invite me to your parties.”

“Could you read me another bedtime story please?”

“I got some Sonic comics, but uh, they’re Ken Penders era so it’s not gonna be very good.”

“I don’t think I can stay here. I’m a Gemini, and I know my vibes don’t go with Libros.”

“THAT WAS A HEALING SPELL?!?”

“I can be as rude as I want and I can say it’s the mountain’s fault because we’re on Rude Mountain.”

“I don’t care about your agency.”

“I’m casting a hex on you now.”

“Oh, my god, I-I have so much trouble with doors.”

“Telling them the vibes made you do it won’t hold up in a court of law.”

“The nose is off.”

“Not like you’ve ever done anything on purpose in your entire life, you fucking hack.”

“Would you look at the time? It’s time for me to rip you a new one again!”

“I love runnin’ through the forest like a fuckin’ weirdo.”

“Would dropping be so bad? No, let’s go - ow it was bad!”

“The thrill of the hunt has gotten my adrenaline pumping high. I don’t feel any pain.”

“I didn’t see a single draugr in that cave!”

“Hey funny voice! Fuck off! Please!”

“It’s a Saw trap, you dumb piece of shit!”

“I will live on in the vibes!”

“PERISH IN A FIRE YOU HORRENDOUS BEAST!”

“Get your smelly, sweaty hand off of my fucking face.”

“Wow. We’ve had an uneventful day so far.”

“Are you charging a super attack [Name]?”

“You’re just not receptive to my methods.”

“So that’s it. Our partnership is over.”

“You had your chance. Go home.”

#original memes #ask meme #ask starter #sentence meme #sentence starter #source: youtube #inbox meme #inbox starters #rp starter #rp meme #rp prompts

[xocasper]

Okay so I don’t wanna expose my main account but holy. shit. You write the BEST MCR smut I’ve ever seen- and I’ve been in this fandom for 4 years. Out of the thousands of fics I’ve read about the guys, yours are the most accurate to personality/demeanor, sexually plausible (like they aren’t changing positions every paragraph and I can easily imagine what’s happening), and realistic. You balance out softness/asking for consent, with humor, with being so fucking hot. I’m definitely following and staying tuned for kinktober!

- 👻

(I’m just gonna sign off as 👻 so you know when it’s me)

FOUR YEARS??? high honor. that’s insane. thank you so much.

i’m so glad that my fics are accurate, i try my best! i really hate when people are like “gerard is a hard dom and basically spends the whole fic sexually harassing the reader and then he fucks them without prep and calls them a slut the whole time.”

sure, you can make him a hard dom, idgaf, but keep him in character? he can be rough, but why is he groping them in public? also prep and foreplay are incredibly important? degradation is fine, i’m into it, but some stuff is really ooc. potentially unpopular opinion, but when people make the reader call him daddy… ☠️☠️

again, i really try to make them accurate! there are definitely ways to make them dom or sub (as seen in kiss and tell and midnight rendezvous) without making it ooc. i’m very grateful that i’m capable of doing that!

funny that you mention switching positions and stuff because i constantly feel like i’m being too descriptive. i swear i spend half the fic talking about where their hands are, but i feel like it’s important. it’s very sensual to me :)

CONSENT! i try to weave it into all of my fics because it’s so important. there are ways to make consent a little sexier! eye contact, “is this okay?”, “tell me when to stop”, “are you sure?”, and even a nod and a soft “yeah” do the trick. it doesn’t have to be totally jarring.

i love making my fics funny! i’m not sure how funny they actually are because it’s definitely my sense of humor, but it’s not for lack of effort! i don’t want all of my fics to be the same thing over and over again, so i try to make them fun. glad it doesn’t totally kill the mood either! if my breathing stalls while i’m picturing my own writing, it’s a keeper. i have swooned over my own fics before. mentioning mikey kitchen sex fic again because WOW. if no one gets brainrot over it in my inbox after i post it, i will cry.

thank you so much for the message!! i’m very grateful to have you as a reader, and i hope you enjoy kinktober! <3

#answered asks #👻 anon

[wafaelsx]

the reality of long-term solitude (III)

i’m not so great at structuring these things. imma just write as i go but basically something a friend told me a couple of years ago is starting to click. i find that oftentimes i accept what people tell me as true in the moment while i still have my doubts, because i don’t particularly enjoy discourse unless it’s just so pertinent to moving the conversation forward. i believe we were talking about what we’re looking for in a partner, and i said i want someone who completely understands me. i had the presumption that if i met someone that i was already very compatible with, that in due time she’d come to, solve me perhaps. it’s funny because that’s the last thing i want from anyone else, even friends of mine. i believed that whoever i end up with for a long term romantic relationship would domesticate me in a way. i had a mental image in my head of myself as a pet, and my partner as my owner, but not even in a ddlg kind of way as it probably sounds. i don’t particularly like being dominated or what have you, i’m pretty ‘vanilla’ on those fucking bsdm tests. part of me, i suppose, was and still am tired of living, in the traditional sense. i think if i found someone that i was extraordinarily compatible with personality wise, and was also moderately attractive, i’d be willing to marry this person. i keep going back and forth between referring to my potential partner as a woman and them, but i’m heterosexual.. believe it or not. hopefully i can find a fucking woman before they’re not even called that anymore. but in any case, the vision in my head is something like i’m left to my own devices for about 65% of the time, and the other 35% of the time would be spent with them. this time i would also surrender to doing actual activities, going out, whatever the fuck. i kind of see myself as a bit of a science experiment in a way in that regard. i envision myself being like shown off in a way, like ‘look at this guy, he sure is something! i also fuck him, for reasons that may not be apparent!’ because i do believe on the surface level, there isn’t much to desire in me as a person. i’m probably a lot funnier than most people, because i have an easier time finding humor in situations, or making connections others wouldnt, based on my knowledge of, i mean everything. i’m probably also a bit smarter than the average person. those two attributes alone make me unique in a sense, other than that i don’t know what you’d see in me as a person, both personality and physical attraction wise.

anyway, my friend’s response to my desire for my partner to understand me in an all encompassing way was quickly shot down, basically. he told me that no one will ever truly understand me, because humans aren’t capable of doing that, not even for themselves to an extent. this probably should’ve been obvious to me, i know. i’m not naive in many ways, but as it pertains to romantic relationships i certainly don’t have it all figured out. my attempts at such have all fallen pretty much flat, and i can’t say i’ve found that those experiences made it easier for me to find someone new, as many might allude to. they were swings and misses, wholly, and i get frustrated with myself thinking about my missteps in that regard. a lot of things u just have to experience to get it, and i will say this is probably one of them. advice about ‘‘women’‘ or ‘‘how to get pussy’‘ or whatever never sounds very good coming from anyone, especially cause whatever advice they give you probably won’t work because they aren’t you, and don’t understand you. the nuance involved in courting a partner is quite complicated in my own estimation. there isn’t really a guaranteed way to convince someone that you’re worth fucking, and to be honest, you’re probably better off misleading them in a way if thats your goal. lying isn’t necessarily what im getting at, but it seems in my experience that what women found attractive in me wasn’t actually who i was, so when we make it out the ‘‘talking phase’‘ and they see me a bit more transparently, many of them were quick to throw in the towel. i’m a bit of an obsessive person, so it’s been hard for me to let go of people from my past. all in all, i chalk it up as a learning experience and i’m pretty unfazed by my past dealings with women. it doesn’t keep me up at night, but i do sometimes wonder what, or if i had actually done wrong, or if it just wasn’t meant to be. i will also grant that sometimes u meet people at the wrong part of ur life and the maturity difference/difference in actual place in life proves too great to overcome. logic tells me pretty much every relationship ive seriously been involved with couldve been salvaged, or maybe a better way of saying it was i doubt that we were different enough to not eventually work it out, if we both tried. most ppl arent patient tho with relationships, and i get it. people often bring up just the staggering amount of humans on earth as an antidote to your dismay about unrequited love, or what have you. i think that’s a pretty stupid thing to tell people when theyre going thru it, partly because i dont think the logic actually holds any water. i think most people could be in a committed monogamous relationship if they were both mature enough, i think thats the biggest determining factor above everything else i’m still very young, so most women i encounter are not really enticed by the idea of lifelong commitment. i believe if we have enough in common and we like fucking each other more than average, what else is out there really? i think those two things together are probably extremely difficult to find in one person, especially for me.

i probably have more to say, but i can’t think of how i want to format it, even in an approximate sense. so i’ll try to sum it up with these closing thoughts. i guess i’m just saying i realized that i have to learn to live with myself. oftentimes i express my thoughts or beliefs, and i can see in real time how my words are just failing to land on people, even my own fucking parents. maybe this all just sounds like an emo wall of text, idk. people are more unique than i suppose i had considered, so to ask of someone to solve any other person would be quite the undertaking. i also realize that before i can be successful at anything, i’m going to have to change in a very profound, fundamental way. the answer isn’t clear to me, i’m unsure what lies ahead.