my gfs literally shakespeare wtf

18 they/them - ppl who follow @ccwpidsblog r so hot

[ccwpids-blogbiggestfan]

The discourse about black reader / urban fics i try to ignore it and stay out of it, but i promise you, honey, you're not different for not liking or reading black reader fics.. you want something different? go ahead and write tht shit yourself instead of complaining. at the end of the day? you're yapping and down talking other black women's creativity and hard work ion like that at all. it's always better to move in silence. this is fiction, and I think it's a heavy YOU problem and not that deep at Alll. let mfs write their silly little fanfictions damn.

[ccwpidsblog]

WITNESS — K.Nanami

Summary: A woman who tells the truth calmly. A man who believes her completely. A town that cannot allow both to exist

Pairing: Town Constable!Nanami x reader

Themes / Warnings: Heavy religious trauma & themes, gendered punishment, psychological horror, communal violence, moral coercion, death, dark historical atmosphere, restrained slow burn, tragic romance, faith used as social control, public execution, domestic abuse (non-graphic), public execution, misogyny, small-town surveillance & prejudice, moral cowardice collective violence, death, unresolved grief, slow-burn tragic romance

Word count: 3.7k

Authors note: This year I’m allowing myself to write freely. I’ll be exploring Southern Gothic and psychological horror, following what interests me instead of limiting myself to one genre. This is my first fic of the year, thank you for reading!!!

Nanami Kento does not speak of love.

That is why Yuji asks.

They are walking the river road at dusk, boots sinking lightly into damp earth. The apprentice chatter as he always does —about markets, about girls, about nothing at all — until Yuji glances sideways at Nanami and grins, curiosity sharpened into courage.

“Sir,” Yuji says, “have you ever been in love?”

Nanami stops.

The river continues behind them, patient and indifferent. The others slow, sensing something they do not yet understand.

Nanami adjusts his gloves. Leather creaks. His voice, when it comes, is even. “That is not a productive question.”

Yuji laughs nervously. “I just meant.. people say you’re too serious to have been.”

Nanami looks at the water. He sees instead a dirt street, a woman standing barefoot, eyes steady as if she has already accepted the ending of things.

“Yes,” he says at last. “Once.”

Yuji blinks. “Then why didn’t you marry her?!”

Nanami’s lips press into a thin line.

“Because the world feared her more than it allowed her to live.”

Yuji looks down at the ground, suddenly unsure of what to say. Even his chaotic curiosity can sense the weight of the answer.

“…Did she love you back?” Yuji whispers.

Nanami stares at the water solemnly. “That was never the tragedy.”

He does not explain further.

He does not need to.

He first sees her at the market, though seeing is not quite the word.

She is not arranged like the others, no basket at her feet, no hands busy with trade or apology. She stands just off the main path where the dirt has been worn smooth by years of yielding bodies, and she does not yield. People divert around her without comment, irritation muttering under their breath, as if she has disrupted something sacred by remaining still.

Nanami notices the space before he notices her.

Then her.

She watches everything. Not hungrily. Not with curiosity. With the steady attention of someone taking inventory. When his shadow falls across her, she does not flinch. She does not smile to soften herself. She looks up at him as if she had been waiting for him specifically, though there is no triumph in it.

“You are blocking the path,” Nanami says, voice measured, already expecting compliance.

Her head tilts — slight, considering. “No,” she replies. “You are choosing not to step around me.”

The words are plain. So is her tone. No heat, no apology, no challenge offered — only fact, laid bare.

Nanami pauses.

He is trained to read disorder. To spot nervous hands, shifting weight, eyes that dart toward witnesses. He sees none of it in her. Her hands are clean, fingers relaxed at her sides. Her breathing is even. Her gaze does not flicker away from his, nor sharpen in defiance. She looks at him the way one looks at weather — aware of its power, uninterested in pretending it isn’t there.

A woman unpracticed in shrinking.

“What is your name woman?” he asks, after a moment.

She considers this as though it is a real question. As though names are not automatic things, but choices with consequence. “You can call me whatever makes you comfortable.”

Nanami’s mouth tightens. “That is not an answer.”

She holds his gaze. Something like pity passes through her eyes, quickly gone. “It is my truest one.”

Around them, the market noise resumes — voices, coin, the scrape of wood — but Nanami feels, distantly, that something has shifted. He steps around her at last, aware that he is the one yielding now, though nothing about her has moved.

Later— much later —he will understand what unsettled him.

Not insolence. Not mystery.

Only this

She would not lie, not even to survive. And the world had no mercy for women who refused such small, necessary mercies.

They speak again by the river.

Nanami tells himself it is duty. The boundary markers blur here, and the reeds conceal too much. It is reasonable to patrol this stretch more often. Reasonable, too, that he begins to notice when she is not there.

When she is, she stands where the bank slopes shallow and forgiving, skirts untouched by mud, gaze fixed on the water as though it has addressed her first. The river does not hurry. It moves with the confidence of something that knows it will outlast every name ever given to it.

She does not turn when Nanami approaches.

“You’re far from the market,” he says.

“So are you,” she replies.

He stops beside her. Not close. Never close. The space between them is deliberate, careful, as if either of them understands that closing it would turn something unmanageable into something visible.

“You see patterns,” Nanami says after a while. He watches the water as he speaks, the way it bends light, the way it hides depth. “Things others don’t.”

She exhales softly, almost a laugh. “I see people. Patterns are what men call it when they don’t want to admit guilt.”

The river laps against the bank.

Nanami feels the weight of what she has said settle somewhere behind his ribs. He should correct her tone. He should caution her. He should say this kind of language is dangerous. Instead, he measures the current, the angle of the sun, the sound of his own breathing.

“You shouldn’t say things like that aloud,” he says finally.

She turns then — not startled, not offended. Just attentive. “Why?”

He looks at her and finds no good answer that does not sound like betrayal. Because they will hurt you. Because truth makes cowards cruel. Because I may not be able to stop them.

So he chooses the smallest honesty he can bear.

“People do not like mirrors,” he says.

She studies him, something intent and searching in her eyes. “Neither do men who enforce order,” she replies gently. “Yet here you are.”

The words are not a challenge. They are an acknowledgment.

He says nothing.

She never asks him to promise anything. Never reaches for reassurance or safety. She does not thank him for listening, does not soften her thoughts for his comfort. She stands beside him as if standing is enough.

And it is.

Something settles between them — not affection, not hope, but alignment. The knowledge that if either of them speaks further, something will be set in motion that cannot be undone.

Nanami thinks, briefly, of warning her properly. Of telling her to leave. To bend. To lie.

He does not.

The river keeps its counsel.

And the town begins to notice what the river already knows.

A woman who will not look away.

A man who lingers when he should pass.

A silence between them that feels deliberate— chosen —and therefore threatening.

Fear does not announce itself loudly at first.

It watches.

And it remembers.

They meet again at the edge of the churchyard, where the iron fence gives way to worn stone and trampled grass. It is not private. That is the danger. Parishioners pass at a distance, their eyes drifting without settling, their steps slowing just enough to register presence. Sacred ground used not for mercy, but for memory — for who belongs, and who does not.

She stands near one of the older markers, its name eroded into suggestion. Nanami approaches along the path he knows by heart, the one he has walked so often it has ceased to feel like a choice.

“You’ve heard ofthe Miller boy,” she says, before he can speak.

“Yes,” Nanami replies. “He is ill.”

“They say it is because his mother hasn’t been attending service.”

He exhales. “People look for reasons when they’re afraid.”

“They look for permission,” she corrects gently. “Fear comes later.”

Nanami glances toward the church doors. They are open. Voices drift out — measured, calm, instructive. He keeps his own voice low, though he knows audibility is not the true risk here.

“It’s easier,” he says, “to explain sickness as punishment than as chance. It preserves order.”

“Does it?” she asks. “Or does it just keep the wrong people afraid?”

He considers that. He always does. “Order doesn’t require truth,” he says finally. “Only agreement.”

She nods, as though she expected nothing else. “And agreement is easier when the blame already fits.”

She does not look at him when she says it. She does not need to.

They stand in silence for a moment. The bell rope inside the church creaks faintly, a sound like breath being drawn.

“You shouldn’t speak about it the way you do,” Nanami says at last.

She turns then, slowly. Not startled. Not offended. Curious. “Why?”

He hesitates. The answer arrives fully formed and unusable.

Because they listen when you speak.

Because they remember calm women longer than loud ones.

Because you make certainty look simple.

Instead, he says, “Because people mistake precision for certainty. And certainty makes them cruel.”

She studies his face, searching for something he cannot quite name.

“Do you ever notice,” she says quietly, “how truth is only dangerous when a woman says it calmly?”

Nanami does not respond.

“If I cried more,” she continues, voice steady, “would they mind me less? Would they see me as something sad instead of something… sharp?”

He feels the weight of it then — not accusation, not plea. Anatomy. She is naming the shape of survival.

“They are kinder,” he admits, carefully, “to grief they can recognize.”

“And anger?”

“They punish it,” he says. “Especially when it’s quiet.”

She looks away toward the graves, the names that no longer need defending. “So I should learn to look smaller.”

He opens his mouth — and closes it again.

He is trying to help. That is what makes it dangerous.

“There are ways,” he says slowly, choosing each word as if it may bruise her. “To make yourself… less noticeable. Less exposed. People listen differently when—”

“When I dress differently?” she asks, not unkindly.

“When I speak less plainly?”

“When I stay closer to places that already belong to me?”

His silence answers.

“There are spaces,” he adds, almost reluctantly, “where a woman’s presence isn’t questioned. Where thought is permitted but contained.”

She turns back to him then. Really looks at him.

“A nunnery,” she says.

He does not deny it.

For the first time since he has known her, she goes still. Not guarded. Not defiant. Simply quiet, as if something has passed through her too quickly to stop.

“And if I disappear gently enough,” she says, “will they forgive me for having been right?”

“No,” he says, too quickly. Then, more softly, “But they may forget to be afraid.”

“And you?” she asks.

He meets her gaze. “I wouldn’t.”

She watches him for a long moment. Then, almost as an afterthought, she asks, “Do you believe in me?”

Nanami answers without pause. “Completely.”

Her breath stutters — not a sob, not a break. The smallest fracture. She turns away, one hand resting briefly against the cold stone of the marker beside her.

“No man,” she murmurs, “should ever be allowed to say that to a woman he cannot save.”

The truth of it settles into Nanami like something permanent.

“And no woman,” he replies, voice low, precise, “should ever have to know she is right this early.”

They look at each other then — nothing unresolved, nothing promised. Only understanding, clear and unsheltered.

A voice cuts through the space.

“Constable.”

Nanami turns. One of the elders stands a few paces away, expression neutral, eyes sliding past her as though she were already a memory.

“We’ll need you at the south gate.”

Nanami nods automatically. Duty reasserting itself. The path beneath his boots suddenly registers in his mind — not as ground, but as jurisdiction. A route he oversees. A space he controls.

When he looks back, she has already stepped away from the marker.

They do not finish the conversation.

They never will.

The story comes to him first.

A man had beaten his wife in the market square. Not a quarrel. Not a scandal. A punishment for a dropped basket, a misheard word, a minor slight. People had laughed, murmured, turned away, as if bruising the one you claim to love were simply part of the day.

He wants to go, wants to find her hands in the crowd, wants to stop the casual cruelty from shaping itself into habit — but the words stop him cold.

He hears her name.

She had been there. The only one to step between them, calm as the river.

And now she is spoken of, in the markets, in alleys, in the hall of the magistrate, in whispers as heavy as smoke:

“Witch.”

Witch.

The word curls through alleys, through markets, over doorsills. It rests in children’s ears, in the heads of men too lazy to measure the weight of it, too quick to judge.

“She sees too much,” someone mutters, leaning close to the magistrate.

“She doesn’t bow,” another adds.

Nanami can feel his chest tighten. He argues — first politely, then with teeth pressed behind measured restraint.

“She has committed no crime,” he says. “She did not strike the woman. Where is the law that allows such accusation?”

“She unsettles people,” the magistrate replies, voice smooth, practiced.

“That is not illegal,” Nanami says.

“For a woman,” the magistrate snaps, “it should be.”

Nanami’s stomach knots. His hands tremble. His voice does not falter, but he feels it cracking beneath reason.

“No,” he says. “That is not law. That is fear.”

“And fear,” the magistrate replies, voice low and certain, “is all they need to survive. You cannot protect one from it.”

Nanami leaves, the word witch still crawling through the streets behind him like smoke, a warning, a verdict, a promise. He sees her face in every shadow, in every gaze turned away, in every whisper.

He argues. He reasons. He reminds them of law, of scripture, of fairness. He cites precedents, witnesses, facts. His voice grows tense, tight around words he knows cannot hold the world at bay.

She has done nothing wrong. Yet the town has already decided.

And Nanami knows, finally, that the world has claimed her before he could reach her.

He finds her in the cell, the smell of damp stone and straw heavy in the air. The door swings open with a hollow groan, and there she sits on the bench, hands bound—not tightly, merely enough to mark the formality of captivity. Her posture is straight, composed, unshaken. She is content in the way someone who has met inevitability can be, the quiet of certainty folding around her like a cloak.

They have not touched her. They do not need to. The world has already done its work.

She sees him and smiles. Not softly. Not bitterly. Not with hope. Just truthfully.

“I told you,” she says as he reaches her side. Her eyes are calm, direct. “They don’t want justice. They want quiet.”

He moves instinctively, almost without thinking, as though urgency alone could undo the design of the world.

“I can take you away,” he says, voice low, urgent. “Anywhere. You won’t have to face them again. You can disappear. I can make them forget—”

She lifts a hand, stopping him gently, firmly, and he catches the subtle weight of command in it. “No,” she says, calm, measured. “If I convert… if I bend myself to their prayers, to their scripture… I remain untouchable by them only. Untouchable by God, perhaps — but not by myself. Not by truth. Not by what I have seen. Not by the fear they breed in every shadow.”

Her words cut through him more sharply than any accusation.

He reaches for her anyway, desperate, reasoning with her as if logic could bend fate. “I can keep you safe. I can—”

Her hands rise then, and this time, he does not stop her. They cup his face, firm but tender, the smallest pressure that grounds and unmakes him all at once. Her eyes meet his again — steady, unflinching, and filled with the quiet certainty that has haunted him from the first moment he saw her in the market.

“You may think you are failing me,” she says, voice soft but certain, “but you are not. Witness is enough. Truth is enough. It will linger, long after the town forgets my name.”

He stumbles back a fraction, the words lodging in him like stone. She does not look away, and he cannot look away.

Her hands fall. She remains composed. Her wrists bound loosely, the world having done its work in advance. He wants to argue, to beg, to reason with the inevitability she has already accepted — but there is nothing to say that can reach her.

Nanami realizes then

His authority, his skill, his reason — all are irrelevant. The world will have its verdict, and she will face it with the calm of one who has already accounted for every outcome.

He cannot save her. He cannot protect her.

All he can do is witness.

And he will.

The silence stretches, heavy and absolute, the kind of silence that carries the weight of the world’s cruelty, its fear, and the quiet defiance of one woman who will not bend.

They take her to the lake at dawn.

It is called mercy, because there is water. Because fire would draw too much attention. Because drowning can be framed as purification instead of punishment. The town gathers anyway. People always do when they believe they are about to be proven right.

Nanami arrives before the procession finishes forming. He stands apart, not by choice but by instinct — his body rejecting proximity to what it already understands. The air smells of wet earth and cold iron. The river is still, unbroken, a sheet of gray that reflects nothing back.

They bind her wrists loosely. They do not need to hurt her. The stone is heavy enough to do the work for them.

She walks without resistance.

Nanami notices her first, before the crowd fully settles — the woman whose life she saved. Her face is swollen, yellowed with healing bruises. She stands slightly behind her husband, one eye dark, her mouth pressed into a line too thin to be fear alone. The man’s hand rests on her shoulder, possessive, warning.

She does not look at him.

She looks at her.

Nanami’s gaze moves then, slowly, unwillingly, and he sees them.

More women than he expected.

Not loud. Not weeping. Not defiant enough to be named. They stand with hands folded, eyes lowered or fixed ahead, bodies angled carefully to avoid notice. Women who have learned when to disappear — and who are here anyway.

She sees them too.

Something in her posture changes — not pride, not triumph. Recognition. A subtle straightening, as though the weight at her ankle has already been accounted for.

The rope is secured. The stone rests against her shin, dark and ordinary. Someone asks if she has last words.

She shakes her head.

They wait. The town always waits for a spectacle.

She lifts her chin.

Her gaze finds Nanami once — and only once.

There is no plea in it. No forgiveness. No accusation. Only the same steady acknowledgment she has always given him, from the market, from the river, from the cell.

Witness.

She steps to the water’s edge.

They expect hesitation. Tears. A scramble. They have prepared themselves to feel righteous about it.

She gives them nothing.

She jumps.

The splash is sharp, ugly, immediate. The rope snaps taut. The stone does its work without ceremony, dragging her under with efficient indifference. Ripples break across the lake, widening, then fading. The surface closes as though she had never been there.

Someone exhales in relief.

Nanami does not move.

The woman she saved does.

Just barely. Her hand curls into a fist. Her eyes follow the place where the water has stilled. Her husband tightens his grip, but she does not look at him.

Neither do the other women.

The town watches until it is certain. Until certainty replaces fear.

Only then do they begin to leave, murmuring prayers, explanations, reassurances to one another. Order restored. Quiet achieved.

Nanami remains.

The river keeps what it is given.

And the truth —heavy, unyielding— settles somewhere deeper than water, somewhere the town will never reach, no matter how much it prays.

Nanami stands at the edge of the river again, years later. The surface is gray, still, unbroken — almost serene, if the world weren’t so cruelly aligned beneath it. Yuji lingers a few steps behind him, hesitant, unsure how to breach the silence.

He has not brought a crowd. No one else watches. No one is meant to.

Nanami holds something in his hand. Small. Ordinary. A token of the world she once inhabited — a stone he picked from the shore months before, smooth and dark, one he had carried when the grief was too sharp to bear silently.

He turns it over, letting it rest in his palm, feeling the weight as though it were her. He does not speak. Yuji says nothing. He cannot. Words are useless here.

Finally, Nanami bends and drops it into the lake. The stone disappears beneath the surface immediately, pulling the water down with it, sending faint ripples outward. He watches until they fade, and when they do, the lake is again still. Quiet. Unforgiving.

Yuji glances at him. “Is… is that for her?”

Nanami does not answer. He only stares at the horizon, at the mirror-gray water. Some truths are not spoken. Some truths are simply witnessed.

“You never speak her name,” Yuji speaks again softly.

“Some names are too loud for a world that only wants quiet,” Nanami replies, voice low, precise, carrying more weight than he will ever release.

Nanami watches the lake, silent.

And then — something small and unassuming happens. A bird lifts from the trees along the far shore, startled by the splash. It rises, feathers glinting faintly in the dull light, wings cutting the gray sky. It pauses above the water for a moment, hovering, and then arcs away.

No words are spoken again. Yuji glances at Nanami, unsure. Nanami does not answer. He knows what the lake has done: acknowledged. Carried. Witnessed. Something alive has noticed, and in its small, quiet way, the world has remembered her.

They turn away together. Yuji still does not speak, and Nanami does not ask.

Some truths do not need voices.

The lake keeps what it is given. And, if one watches long enough, it sometimes whispers back.

© ccwpidsblog — my work is soul-crafted & spell-touched. don’t steal. i’m divinely protected & your karma will be swift

[ccwpidsblog]

untitled — e.jeager

a/n: tiny something before i clock into AO3 tonight. ill edit tags etc in the morning xoxo

content warning: freaky froggy stuff

you were yelling at him again

the smirk on his face only made the volume of your voice rise.  your brain was fumbling, trying to keep up with hateful things  spewing from your lips, but you were always more of a talker than a thinker. eren knew this all too well. the people seated around you started shifting uncomfortably, and if you had the power, the heat and anger from your words would have made the whole restaurant shake and tremble. "you make me sick! i can't stand looking at you "

"if i made you sick, why are you here then, baby?" he had you stumped. why did you even agree to meet this asshole anywhere? you stood up, chair sliding from underneath you doubling over. grabbing up your purse, you aggressively shrug it over your shoulders. "i don't want to see you ever again, eren. i mean it this time, lose my number." stroming out the building like an angry bull.

well now you seem to remember exactly why you agreed to meet your ex-boyfriend again. there's this euphoric feeling you get with him that you can't seem to find anywhere else. it's toe curling and makes your brain turn into mush. backed up against the damp brick wall your face deep in erens neck as his hands grip onto the pudgy flesh of your hips, guiding your weeping core onto his thick cock. acrylics digging into his scalp, tugging on his dark locs, causing him to groan twitching inside your walls. your lips met his ears

"this is all you're good for." you huff in his ear, and his thrust began to quicken with each degrading word that left your lips. "you're nothing but fuck- nothing but a good fuck."

"you're such a lying bitch" he growled teeth sinking in your neck causing you to hiss.

[ccwpidsblog]

a/n: since when was fat a bad word? dni ugly fatphobes genuinely kiss my fat black ass.

content warning: more freaky froggie stuff becus cupid does it best!!

men whom love fat women !!

yes fat. with bellies that fold under their clothes and poke through their high waisted jeans. chunky arms that jiggle when they move, and that oh so lovely layer of fat under their chins, giving their round faces an almost childish glem. don't get them started on stretch marks— the tiger strips that cover their tummies, shoulders, and jiggly thighs only add to the mouthwatering appeal. fat women that are just so biteable, edible, and loveable. big strong men who laugh find it absolutely laughable at the thought of not being able to handle a woman with extra meat on their bones. was that a challenge? they sure see it as one.

big strong nasty men who laugh deep and proud as they squeal and gasp in surprise when they're lifted off their feet and chucked around like they didn't weigh over 225. proud nasty brutes who prove they can handle it by fucking their chunky lady standing up. holding every squish of fat up as they ram their even bigger cocks into their messy little pussies. dropping dumb dick that has them gasping and begging for air.

brutes who don't stop until they have their woman fucked out and panting. proud like they've just won the lottery. "still think i can't handle you?."

fuck. he sure can..

— REINER! REINER! REINER! SOAP! SOAP! SOAP!

[ccwpidsblog]

౨ৎ — rating: 17+ ( im not your momma you're in control of what you consume )

౨ৎ — sub armin , polyamory , dom reader , eren knows , handjob , daddy kink , poor armenn , cum eating , readers appearance isn't described but as always blackcoded, boys kissin boys hehe 😋😋

౨ৎ — hi welcome to my blog!! if you look through you'd just find me reblogging stories and cute shit lol but im gonna start postin' my own stories here so look out for that!!!

armin always felt like his presence always stopped the flow of yours and erens' relationship.

the three of you have been inseparable since grade school. though you and eren have been dating since the beginning of 8th grade so armin was always left to feel like the third wheel. when he expressed these feelings on a drunken night to his surprise he was immediately cooed and the next day the two of you came to him and explained that he was an important part of your relationship and that led to feelings being thrown out and suddenly armin was a part of your relationship.

now as a throuple the affection you’d show eren was immediately transferred to him, more intimate kisses and lingering touches.

the only dynamic armin wasn't brought into yet was the sexual aspect. being friends with you for a long time he knew some of the kind of thing the two of you are into. it’s not like he didn’t have kinks of his own, it was just the fact that he wasn’t sure if he fit in. so he asked if the two of you could wait.

that didn't mean you didn't get handsy when the two of you kissed.

your legs on both sides of his hips, hands moving up his chest, thumbs lightly flicking his nipples causing him to choke. you leaned down to him sweetly kissing and teasing. it got more heated and your hips began to roll desperately over his growing erection

“bunny.” eren spoke finally.

he knew that voice very well and so did you. the deeper authoritarian voice of eren echoed throughout the living room.

the glint in his eye was familiar in a way it always came about when you were doing something you weren’t supposed to. so you gave armin one last sloppy kiss then returned to your original spot pouting and mumbling under your breath.

when the two of you were alone you were really something else. armin always seemed to be fighting for his life around you.

eren says you're a nymphomaniac and anything will get you going. he was hyper aware of your presence behind him, you leaned against the kitchen counter watching armin with a heated low gaze. that he of course tried his hardest to ignore. in this moment he was scared to look at you with the way you watched him like a predator ready to pounce.

eren was off to the store to get more of the ingredients that armin needed to finish their dinner. you mentioned before you thought it was sexy when the blonde went all house husband.

"you are so mean to me." you watched him stop his movements at the stove as he slowly looked at you. you were biting onto your plumped and glossy bottom lip, tits practically spilling from your tight white tank top as the necklace he and your other lover bought you. the simple a&e initialed chain dangled in between your cleavage.

"how" he squeaks, watching you round the table.

"not letting me have what I want"

"what do you want?"

"you.”

that's how he ended up getting jerked off by you in the middle of the kitchen. "good boy kitty. you're so sensitive and cute! daddys' gonna love playing with you." you stroked him with quick twists of the wrist, bracelets jingling. watching his pale thighs shake, sucking red and purple bruises on his neck, the wet sounds from your spit and cum covered hand loud and lewd. armin squirmed, eyelashes and cheeks wet from tears of pleasure.

milking him from his third orgasm there was a loud thud at the front door and the sound of bags rustling. hearing eren stomp the white snow off his tims he called "they didn't have any garlic paste so I just got some regular garlic"

“you can turn this shit into paste right?”if armin wasn't in the predicament he was in now he would have smartly replied 'what do you think garlic paste is made of?' but with your hands squeezing his shaft and throbbing balls he was in no shape to be smart.

"It's rude not to answer when daddys' talking to you." whispering in his ear licking his cheek

"th-that's fine yea!" he squeaked out shaking as his stomach twisted in knots.

"shit. i left the bread in the car" the front door opens and closes again.

"cum 'fme kitty" you lick up his throat and he whines as his eyes roll back cum spurting on your palm. you finally let him go licking his essence off your hand, kissing him sloppy before moving away, climbing up the stairs leaving him hot and bothered. the front door opens again and he scrambles to pull his pants back up facing the stove.

eren entered the kitchen placing the grocery bags on the counter. "where's bunny?”

"napping!" he rushed out, stirring the soupy broth. eren began to mumble about how you should be helping walking over to armin, placing the garlic and other items beside him. when he went to kiss his cheek he stopped. from the corner of his eye—armin saw a frown set deep on his face.

"what's all this?" gripping the smaller man's chin examining the very fresh hickies and sticky glitter gloss that was left on his neck.

"nothing." he gulped, a nervous laugh left his lips watching erens' face — the look was back in his eyes as he gripped his chin tighter, softly pecking the blondes lips. when he let go armin watched his jaw tick.

"huh.. alright." eren didn't say anything else about it the rest of the day thankfully.

[ccwpidsblog]

untitled — a.artlet

content warning: incel!armin artlet, male masterbation, slightt mommy kink, panty thief!minie, slut shaming, lmk if i missed anything i lit suck at tagging

cwpids notes: if this looks familiar it's from my old Wattpad account, this was originally a shiggy fanfiction but im not into mha anymore and wattpad deleted that book SAURRR just enjoy 😁🏹

armin artlet hated you with a passion. you came into his house and bothered him with your dumb staring and weak attempts to seduce him. his discord server and online friend knew everything about women like you. you'd try to take everything from him knowing his family was wealthy. that's exactly why you bothered him just like every other woman that approached him did. they didn't see armin they saw his money. he hated your stupid face when you batted your more than likely fake lashes at him and smiled at him with your fake smile, he hated the way your smell lingers when you leave a room, he hated the outfits you wore it was like you were begging for attention, he hated everything that has to do with you

his shirt was in between his teeth, left hand rubbing the soft cotton of your panties onto his cock,, his right was gripped onto the wall steadying himself. "fuck, y/n..." armin bit down onto his shirt harder, throwing his head back closing his eyes.

he was hot and bothered often, masterbating was something he did daily; he even had his fair share of toys. but this was his first time ever taking someone's underwear. he just couldn't help himself. sneaking into the guest bedroom while you were busy decorating the house for some shitty party his sister was throwing. he'd took the first pair he saw from the hamper. he felt gross not in the way he usually did while he stroked one out but in the best way. this didn't mean he did not hate you anymore; it was more of a lust thing he told himself.

he just lusted you.

"ah, faster..." he demanded of himself, his hands obeying his orders. the pace gradually picked up, using the same hand that gripped your panties tightly wrapping around his cock, while the other slowly smoothed up the skin of his stomach, feeling himself in ways he wished you could . armins hips bucked upwards into his hand, his quiet moans now turning into grunts of rapture with every thrust.

he imagined you on your knees in front of him allowing him to thrust himself into your mouth. begging for him to touch you in ways no one could "gonna cum, gonna fucking cum...ohh my god, more."

armin whined as he tightened his fist around his fat length, vigorously jerking himself off. his eyes flutter open to look down at how red and swollen his mushroom tip was, and how your panties were covered in his pre-cum, roughly biting down on his chapped bottom lip as he kept fucking into your panties, veins protruding with his grip tightening even further. "so tight, so tight."

"oh fuck, fuck mommy!" he cried out, voice breaking into a sob when his orgasm gushed out of him in hot spurts. placing his forehead on the cool tile he breathed heavily gaining his composure again. washing his hands and cleaning himself off his stuffed spoiled into his pocket. opening the door he came face to face with you.

his stomach twisted into knots as he stared down at you. your face scrunched and eyes watery like your were on the verge of crying, the braids you originally had in a bun were now down your back, it was your outfit that ticked him off. all these people here and you're walking around in a skimpy bathing suit. he didn't want to be mean or make you cry but it couldn't help himself.

"prancing around like an attention whore. not surprised since it's you."

[ccwpidsblog]

content warning: lesbian sex, black reader, scissoring , pussy drunk ellie, subby top ellie, pet name (pretty girl, baby), dirty talk, slight nipple play

summary: letting your loser 'roomate' ellie be on top for the first time.

cwpid notes : posting more very old drafts from deep within the depths of my google docs. i tweaked it just a bit but this is my first girl on girl smut ever so i hope this doesn't disappoint and sound too vague.

"i wanna get on top this time." with a raised eyebrow you look at your 'roomate' who practically leaped on your bed. "on top?"

"you know like when we're bumping cooters, you're always on top but i wanna try."

". . . bumping cooters" you repeat slowly, putting your phone grimacing at the analogy. "dude do you wanna scissor right now or no?"

ellie's flushed face looked so pretty as she stared down at you. pieces of her hair fell from her low ponytail sticking to her sweaty skin as she slowly grinded her vulva against yours. hands gripping the insides of your thighs pushing your legs back far enough that your knees practically touched your ears. soft squishes of your cunts echoing throughout the room. her moans were just as loud and pathetic when she was on top. "such a pretty girl" you breathe out biting onto your lip. she whines leaning down to capture your swollen lips against her own, gripping onto your neck, grinding down more desperately.

"don't tell me you're gonna cum already baby" you cooed, watching her shake her head in denial. eyes watering as her pretty noises become more high pitched and desperate.

sliding your hands up to pinch her pink perky nipples. her eyes roll back hips thrusting now, causing wet slaps to fill the room as she came. collasping on top of you she breathed heavily puffs of soft air leaving her lips. quietly you rub your nails up and down her back as she came to her senses.

"did you cum?"

"no but it's fin-" suddenly she's up again folding you completely now. her puffy clit now rubbing against yours, while both of your juices ran down your ass. " 's not okay"

mumbling and whining from overstimulation as she fucked herself harder into you. looking down at the sight of pink and brown mixing against each other.

"oh fuck baby" your head falls back onto the pillows as you cum hard. she huffed whining again orgasms ripping through the both of you gripping your shaking legs. she's letting go again collapsing. laying in silence you hum as she brushes your hair aside kissing your forehead.

"should totally let me strap you next time"

"go to sleep ellie."

[ccwpidsblog]

WILD WOMAN — taskforce 141

summary: "so we're saving the wild woman, after she tried to kill us?" the captain nodded tugging a cigar from his vest ignoring the men as they groan. "you're a pain in my ass cap".

content warning: gore, guns, soap being soap, ghost is tired, slight sewer side mention, 141 loved feral women <33 , reader is named but it isn't her real name, eventual everything

pairing: taskforce141 x femme fatale reader

cwpid notes: hi hello i have zero knowledge on how the military works nor do i know anything about cod. my partner tried to explain and it just went in one ear and out the other. im just a girl who reads n writes silly fanfics. sorry if non of this nonsense isn't accurate.

bones.

the bones were endless as the four men began to walk further and further into the dark and damp cave. their boots are loud as they break the brittle pieces of calcium under their feet. they stack high against the limestone walls along with glistening gold and vintage armor. none of it was appealing to them— they were here for one thing and the treasures were the least of their worries.

“what the hell have you signed us up for, john?”

kyles voice echoes off the damp high walls causing his captain to huff examining the bloody drawings that decorated wall. “not so sure myself, gaz. stay close, no wondering.” throwing a look over his shoulder at soap who touches a skeleton causing the jaw of a the fully decomposed body to clatter to the floor. kyle shivers in disgust, speeding up to stand beside his captain making the scottish man snicker at his princess-like behavior.

“nae that bad just think o' it as a bunch o' wee simons” the big masked man in question grunts at the comparison “stop your chattin’ and come back ‘er”

john falls back into step with his team scanning over everything until he sees a pair of red eyes staring back at him. his breath is caught in chest as he stares back, unblinking. the moment he does find himself blinking it's gone. now feeling the seriousness of the mission he sniffs practically clinging close to simons’ back. the deeper they walk the wider the cave becomes. the stalactites on the ceiling grow sharper and sharper along with the stalagmites that grow taller and taller. it was extremely dark inside; the only access to light they had was the tiny flashlights equipped on their weapons.

'johnny' the mohawk wearing man jumps on his heels.. "did ye ca’ my name, si?” only getting a quick side eye over his wide shoulder from the man before his gaze sets back in front of him.

‘johnny’ this time the voice is feminine bouncing off the forewalls of his head. “hey cap?” he whispers looking to his left, seeing the glowing red again. he couldn't move no matter how hard he tried to feet planted on the ground. “Cap!” he shouts, causing the three ahead of him to pause. he was staring at the red-eyed woman. her head tilts as she smiles, showcasing pearly white teeth like razors. she raises her hands to his face, sharp nails brushing over the skin of his cheeks as she leans herself close to her ear.

ghost raises his gun to shoot but price stops him. “can't. they want her.”

“kill them, johnny, be a good puppy.”

then she's gone only leaving behind a trail of giggles. johnny turns eyes hazy as he raises his gen-12, “youre a fuckin’ idiot johlnny”

he opens multiple rounds, the four men all take cover behind the large rock forms as they wait it out. “the ‘ell did she do to him?.”

“he must've picked up something while we weren't looking.” john curses head falling back on the large boulder slumping down further as the bullets fly above him.

johns rain of fire stops when he's kicked to the ground with a grunt cheek slamming into the cold ground below him. his weapon slides away as ghost presses his knee into his back, searching the man's pockets pulling out a tooth. “okay okay let me up dammit” soap whines underneath him squirming under his weight.

“almost killed us all for your shitty souvenir.” ghost hisses tugging him up by his vest like a child smacking the back of his head. “ah ken a'm sorry.”

shoving him away soap rubs his neck with a frown. “she fucked with my head could nae think”

“women will do that.”

'simon' he heard her voice echo through his head as he looked behind john. long black silky hair covered her bare breast, gold trimmings in her hair swaying.

'simonnnn' she smiles, eyes glowing as he watches her lips move. “i can set you free, I can make you forget.” his gun raises to point to his head. soap grips him tugging the weapon but he's easily knocked over on his feet. he doesn't hear the shouting of his name, he doesn't see price tugging something from his pack nor does he notice the damage he's done to soap and kyle. he can only see her, he can only hear her.

“we can be together simon.” his index finger finds the trigger of his gun. “pull the trigger.”

he's tackled to the ground and the gun is kicked away from him. he can finally hear again and he sees the woman being dragged over prices shoulder.

“fuckin bitch.” is the last thing he muttered before falling unconscious.

the team watched her from behind the glass. she crouches like an animal hissing at them. her lips moving rapidly more than likely sprouting the poison that almost cost the life of one of their finest soldiers. she gave up after ten minutes of realizing there was no escaping her confinement. so just as they watched her, she watched them. kneeling in front of the glass unblinking as she gazed at the four terribly confused men.

“we should git her some clothes mah cocks chubbin” huffs of annoyance from the room at the awfully timed announcement.

though john was right, the wild animal of a woman needed clothes. her breasts weren't covered by her hair anymore, her brown nipples were perked from the nippy air of her holding cell. her makeshift skirt was riding up giving the men a generous peek of bare cunt.

the man austin moon who had thrown them this mission enters the integration room with a look of surprise. "oh! you all are alive, wonderful"

the four give him unimpressed looks causing him to uncomfortably shift. "you all will be paid generously for your troubles. i was hoping that—"

"what is she?" kyle cuts not caring for his words or money. what was he going to do with her. the man walks to the glass kneeling in front of her, she snarls crawling backwards.

"i cannot tell you exactly what she is but she is special. special enough that my family has spent centuries trying to capture her and you four have done the impossible."

he presses a button on the wall and begins speaking. "hello xoana." they watch her jump eyes frantically darting around the room. "i do hope your stay hasn't been unwelcoming."

her face turns into an unpleasant frown, "i do not care for your hospitality." her voice was a low and smokey hiss but her words caused the man to chuckle. "you will settle in nicely. im sure you know if my father?"

"your father was an awful man who thought he could take from me without consequence. i surely did enjoy watching the life drain from his eyes when i removed his organs with my teeth. i wonder if you'll screams will sound just as his." she's smiling again watching him clench his jaw in anger. "if you release me within a days time i will be generous to you all." she wasn't speaking to austin she was speaking to price, staring into his eyes as she spoke.

"you will stay here until i am done with you." austin removes his fingers from the button, face red with anger. when he turns to the task force he fixes his frazzled system.

"thank you again for your troubles. i will have a helicopter ready to transport you back to london tomorrow night until then please enjoy the scenery around you."

he then leaves them quickly— slamming the door behind him. "she tried to kill us john." ghost says before his captain can voice his thoughts. "because you both touched her things."

"you're nae seriously thinkin' o' helping her" soap eyes trained on the woman who let her tongue drag across the glass as you stared at him, soaps gulp was extremely audible. "who knows what the creeper might be up too. plus i think she might be a good addition to the team."

"so we're saving the wild woman?" he nodded and the men to groan. "you're apain in my ass cap"

[ladynephthyss]

words to use when writing

Appetite:

craving, demand, gluttony, greed, hunger, inclination, insatiable, longing, lust, passion, ravenousness, relish, taste, thirst, urge, voracity, weakness, willingness, yearning, ardor, dedication, desire, devotion, enthusiasm, excitement, fervor, horny, intensity, keenness, wholeheartedness, zeal

Arouse:

agitate, awaken, electrify, enliven, excite, entice, foment, goad, incite, inflame, instigate, kindle, provoke, rally, rouse, spark, stimulate, stir, thrill, waken, warm, whet, attract, charm, coax, fire up, fuel, heat up, lure, produce, stir up, tantalize, tease, tempt, thrum, torment, wind up, work up

Assault:

attack, advancing, aggressive, assailing, charging, incursion, inundated, invasion, offensive, onset, onslaught, overwhelmed, ruinous, tempestuous, strike, violation, ambush, assail, barrage, bombard, bombardment, crackdown, wound

Beautiful: 

admirable, alluring, angelic, appealing, bewitching, charming, dazzling, delicate, delightful, divine, elegant, enticing, exquisite, fascinating, gorgeous, graceful, grand, magnificent, marvelous, pleasing, radiant, ravishing, resplendent, splendid, stunning, sublime, attractive, beguiling, captivating, enchanting, engaging, enthralling, eye-catching, fetching, fine, fine-looking, good-looking, handsome, inviting, lovely, mesmeric, mesmerizing, pretty, rakish, refined, striking, tantalizing, tempting

Brutal:

atrocious, barbarous, bloodthirsty, callous, cruel, feral, ferocious, hard, harsh, heartless, inhuman, merciless, murderous, pitiless, remorseless, rough, rude, ruthless, savage, severe, terrible, unmerciful, vicious, bestial, brute, brutish, cold-blooded, fierce, gory, nasty, rancorous, sadistic, uncompromising, unfeeling, unforgiving, unpitying, violent, wild

Burly:

able-bodied, athletic, beefy, big, brawny, broad-shouldered, bulky, dense, enormous, great, hard, hardy, hearty, heavily built, heavy, hefty, huge, husky, immense, large, massive, muscular, mighty, outsized, oversized, powerful, powerfully built, prodigious, robust, solid, stalwart, stocky, stout, strapping, strong, strongly built, sturdy, thick, thickset, tough, well-built, well-developed

Carnal:

animalistic, bodily, impure, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, libidinous, licentious, lustful, physical, prurient, salacious, sensuous, voluptuous, vulgar, wanton, , coarse, crude, dirty, raunchy, rough, unclean

Dangerous:

alarming, critical, fatal, formidable, impending, malignant, menacing, mortal, nasty, perilous, precarious, pressing, serious, terrible, threatening, treacherous, urgent, vulnerable, wicked, acute, damaging, deadly, death-defying, deathly, destructive, detrimental, explosive, grave, harmful, hazardous, injurious, lethal, life-threatening, noxious, poisonous, risky, severe, terrifying, toxic, unsafe, unstable, venomous

Dark:

atrocious, corrupt, forbidding, foul, infernal, midnight, morbid, ominous, sinful, sinister, somber, threatening, twilight, vile, wicked, abject, alarming, appalling, baleful, bizarre, bleak, bloodcurdling, boding evil, chilling, cold, condemned, creepy, damned, daunting, demented, desolate, dire, dismal, disturbing, doomed, dour, dread, dreary, dusk, eerie, fear, fearsome, frightening, ghastly, ghostly, ghoulish, gloom, gloomy, grave, grim, grisly, gruesome, hair-raising, haunted, hideous, hopeless, horrendous, horrible, horrid, horrific, horrifying, horror, ill-fated, ill-omened, ill-starred, inauspicious, inhospitable, looming, lost, macabre, malice, malignant, menacing, murky, mysterious, night, panic, pessimistic, petrifying, scary, shadows, shadowy, shade, shady, shocking, soul-destroying, sour, spine-chilling, spine-tingling, strange, terrifying, uncanny, unearthly, unlucky, unnatural, unnerving, weird, wretched

Delicious:

enticing, exquisite, luscious, lush, rich, savory, sweet, tasty, tempting, appetizing, delectable, flavorsome, full of flavor, juicy, lip-smacking, mouth-watering, piquant, relish, ripe, salty, spicy, scrummy, scrumptious, succulent, tangy, tart, tasty, yummy, zesty

Ecstasy:

delectation, delirium, elation, euphoria, fervor, frenzy, joy, rapture, transport, bliss, excitement, happiness, heaven, high, paradise, rhapsody, thrill, blissful, delighted, elated, extremely happy, in raptures (of delight), in seventh heaven, jubilant, on cloud nine, overexcited, overjoyed, rapturous, thrilled

Ecstatic:

delirious, enraptured, euphoric, fervent, frenzied, joyous, transported, wild

Erotic:

amatory, amorous, aphrodisiac, carnal, earthy, erogenous, fervid, filthy, hot, impassioned, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, raw, romantic, rousing, salacious, seductive, sensual, sexual, spicy, steamy, stimulating, suggestive, titillating, voluptuous, tantalizing

Gasp:

catch of breath, choke, gulp, heave, inhale, pant, puff, snort, wheeze, huff, rasp, sharp intake of air, short of breath, struggle for breath, swallow, winded 

Heated:

ardent, avid, excited, fervent, fervid, fierce, fiery, frenzied, furious, impassioned, intense, passionate, raging, scalding, scorched, stormy, tempestuous, vehement, violent, ablaze, aflame, all-consuming, blazing, blistering, burning, crazed, explosive, febrile, feverish, fired up, flaming, flushed, frantic, hot, hot-blooded, impatient, incensed, maddening, obsessed, possessed, randy, searing, sizzling, smoldering, sweltering, torrid, turbulent, volatile, worked up, zealous

Hunger:

appetite, ache, craving, gluttony, greed, longing, lust, mania, mouth-watering, ravenous, voracious, want, yearning, thirst

Hungry:

avid, carnivorous, covetous, craving, eager, greedy, hungered, rapacious, ravenous, starved, unsatisfied, voracious, avaricious, desirous, famished, grasping, insatiable, keen, longing, predatory, ravening, starving, thirsty, wanting

Intense:

forceful, severe, passionate, acute, agonizing, ardent, anxious, biting, bitter, burning, close, consuming, cutting, deep, eager, earnest, excessive, exquisite, extreme, fervent, fervid, fierce, forcible, great, harsh, impassioned, keen, marked, piercing, powerful, profound, severe, sharp, strong, vehement, violent, vivid, vigorous

Liquid:

damp, cream, creamy, dripping, ichorous, juicy, moist, luscious, melted, moist, pulpy, sappy, soaking, solvent, sopping, succulent, viscous, wet / aqueous, broth, elixir, extract, flux, juice, liquor, nectar, sap, sauce, secretion, solution, vitae, awash, moisture, boggy, dewy, drenched, drip, drop, droplet, drowning, flood, flooded, flowing, fountain, jewel, leaky, milky, overflowing, saturated, slick, slippery, soaked, sodden, soggy, stream, swamp, tear, teardrop, torrent, waterlogged, watery, weeping

Lithe:

agile, lean, pliant, slight, spare, sinewy, slender, supple, deft, fit, flexible, lanky, leggy, limber, lissom, lissome, nimble, sinuous, skinny, sleek, slender, slim, svelte, trim, thin, willowy, wiry

Moan:

beef, cry, gripe, grouse, grumble, lament, lamentation, plaint, sob, wail, whine, bemoan, bewail, carp, deplore, grieve, gripe, grouse, grumble, keen, lament, sigh, sob, wail, whine, mewl

Moving:

(exciting,) affecting, effective  arousing, awakening, breathless, dynamic, eloquent, emotional, emotive, expressive, fecund, far-out, felt in gut, grabbed by, gripping, heartbreaking, heartrending, impelling, impressive, inspirational, meaningful, mind-bending, mind-blowing, motivating, persuasive, poignant, propelling, provoking, quickening, rallying, rousing, significant, stimulating, simulative, stirring, stunning, touching, awe-inspiring, energizing, exhilarating, fascinating, heart pounding, heart stopping, inspiring, riveting, thrilling

Need:

compulsion, demand, desperate, devoir, extremity, impatient longing, must, urge, urgency / desire, appetite, avid, burn, craving, eagerness, fascination, greed, hunger, insatiable, longing, lust, taste, thirst, voracious, want, yearning, ache, addiction, aspiration, desire, fever, fixation, hankering, hope, impulse, inclination, infatuation, itch, obsession, passion, pining, wish, yen

Pain: 

ache, afflict, affliction, agony, agonize, anguish, bite, burn, chafe, distress, fever, grief, hurt, inflame, laceration, misery, pang, punish, sting, suffering, tenderness, throb, throe, torment, torture, smart

Painful:

aching, agonizing, arduous, awful, biting, burning, caustic, dire, distressing, dreadful, excruciating, extreme, grievous, inflamed, piercing, raw, sensitive, severe, sharp, tender, terrible, throbbing, tormenting, angry, bleeding, bloody, bruised, cutting, hurting, injured, irritated, prickly, skinned, smarting, sore, stinging, unbearable, uncomfortable, upsetting, wounded

Perverted: 

aberrant, abnormal, corrupt, debased, debauched, defiling, depraved, deviant, monstrous, tainted, twisted, vicious, warped, wicked, abhorrent, base, decadent, degenerate, degrading, dirty, disgusting, dissipated, dissolute, distasteful, hedonistic, immodest, immoral, indecent, indulgent, licentious, nasty, profligate, repellent, repugnant, repulsive, revolting, shameful, shameless, sickening, sinful, smutty, sordid, unscrupulous, vile 

Pleasurable:

charming, gratifying, luscious, satisfying, savory, agreeable, delicious, delightful, enjoyable, nice, pleasant, pleasing, soothing, succulent

Pleasure:

bliss, delight, gluttony, gratification, relish, satisfaction, thrill, adventure, amusement, buzz, contentment, delight, desire, ecstasy, enjoyment, excitement, fun, happiness, harmony, heaven, joy, kick, liking, paradise, seventh heaven 

Rapacious:

avaricious, ferocious, furious, greedy, predatory, ravening, ravenous, savage, voracious, aggressive, gluttonous, grasping, insatiable, marauding, plundering

Rapture:

bliss, ecstasy, elation, exaltation, glory, gratification, passion, pleasure, floating, unbridled joy

Rigid:

adamant, austere, definite, determined, exact, firm, hard, rigorous, solid, stern, uncompromising, unrelenting, unyielding, concrete, fixed, harsh, immovable, inflexible, obstinate, resolute, resolved, severe, steadfast, steady, stiff, strong, strict, stubborn, taut, tense, tight, tough, unbending, unchangeable, unwavering

Sudden:

abrupt, accelerated, acute, fast, flashing, fleeting, hasty, headlong, hurried, immediate, impetuous, impulsive, quick, quickening, rapid, rash, rushing, swift, brash, brisk, brusque, instant, instantaneous, out of the blue, reckless, rushed, sharp, spontaneous, urgent, without warning

Thrust:

(forward) advance, drive, forge, impetus, impulsion, lunge, momentum, onslaught, poke, pressure, prod, propulsion, punch, push, shove, power, proceed, progress, propel

(push hard) assail, assault, attack, bear down, buck, drive, force, heave, impale, impel, jab, lunge, plunge, press, pound, prod, ram, shove, stab, transfix, urge, bang, burrow, cram, gouge, jam, pierce, punch, slam, spear, spike, stick

Thunder-struck:

amazed, astonished, aghast, astounded, awestruck, confounded, dazed, dazed, dismayed, overwhelmed, shocked, staggered, startled, stunned, gob-smacked, bewildered, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, horrified, incredulous, surprised, taken aback 

Torment:

agony, anguish, hurt, misery, pain, punishment, suffering, afflict, angst, conflict, distress, grief, heartache, misfortune, nightmare, persecute, plague, sorrow, strife, tease, test, trial, tribulation, torture, turmoil, vex, woe

Touch:

(physical) - blow, brush, caress, collide, come together, contact, converge, crash, cuddle, embrace, feel, feel up, finger, fondle, frisk, glance, glide, graze, grope, handle, hit, hug, impact, join, junction, kiss, lick, line, manipulate, march, massage, meet, nudge, palm, partake, pat, paw, peck, pet, pinch, probe, push, reach, rub, scratch, skim, slide, smooth, strike, stroke, suck, sweep, tag, tap, taste, thumb, tickle, tip, touching, toy, bite, bump, burrow, buss, bury, circle, claw, clean, clutch, cover, creep, crush, cup, curl, delve, dig, drag, draw, ease, edge, fiddle with, flick, flit, fumble, grind, grip, grub, hold, huddle, knead, lap, lave, lay a hand on, maneuver, manhandle, mash, mold, muzzle, neck, nestle, nibble, nip, nuzzle, outline, play, polish, press, pull, rasp, ravish, ream, rim, run, scoop, scrabble, scrape, scrub, shave, shift, shunt, skate, slip, slither, smack, snake, snuggle, soothe, spank, splay, spread, squeeze, stretch, swipe, tangle, tease, thump, tongue, trace, trail, tunnel twiddle, twirl, twist, tug, work, wrap 

(mental) - communicate, examine, inspect, perception, scrutinize

Wet:

bathe, bleed, burst, cascade, course, cover, cream, damp, dampen, deluge, dip, douse, drench, dribble, drip, drizzle, drool, drop, drown, dunk, erupt, flood, flow, gush, immerse, issue, jet, leach, leak, moisten, ooze, overflow, permeate, plunge, pour, rain, rinse, run, salivate, saturate, secrete, seep, shower, shoot, slaver, slobber, slop, slosh, sluice, spill, soak, souse, spew, spit, splash, splatter, spout, spray, sprinkle, spurt, squirt, steep, stream, submerge, surge, swab, swamp, swill, swim, trickle, wash, water

Wicked:

abominable, amoral, atrocious, awful, base, barbarous, dangerous, debased, depraved, distressing, dreadful, evil, fearful, fiendish, fierce, foul, heartless, hazardous, heinous, immoral, indecent, intense, mean, nasty, naughty, nefarious, offensive, profane, scandalous, severe, shameful, shameless, sinful, terrible, unholy, vicious, vile, villainous, wayward, bad, criminal, cruel, deplorable, despicable, devious, ill-intentioned, impious, impish, iniquitous, irreverent, loathsome, Machiavellian, mad, malevolent, malicious, merciless, mischievous, monstrous, perverse, ruthless, spiteful, uncaring, unkind, unscrupulous, vindictive, virulent, wretched

Writhe: 

agonize, bend, jerk, recoil, lurch, plunge, slither, squirm, struggle, suffer, thrash, thresh, twist, wiggle, wriggle, angle, arc, bow, buck, coil, contort, convulse, curl, curve, fidget, fight, flex, go into spasm, grind, heave, jiggle, jolt, kick, rear, reel, ripple, resist, roll, lash, lash out, screw up, shake, shift, slide, spasm, stir, strain, stretch, surge, swell, swivel, thrust, turn violently, tussle, twitch, undulate, warp, worm, wrench, wrestle, yank 

[sleepingwiththeenemyyy]

Such a win comment!!!

[tayatimiko]

in honor of gojo’s birthday here’s some of the drawing of him i did i had fun doing

Happy Birthday fatass

[copblood]

here’s 75 Actually Sapphic artists who actually like girls and make Actual gay people music about loving women (for those lost soul dykes who think taylor swift is a gay icon for some reason)

[shitswiftiessay]

reblog if you’re a proud red flag 🚩

[honeybleed-deactivated20240509]

coming on here and i see fluff fics barely getting over 20 notes 😭 but u fix ur mout to say all black authors do is make black girls be hypersexual? pick up a mf book we been hypersexualised BY WHITE SUPREMACY. Us embracing our own sexualities does not make YOU 🫵🏽 look bad. Most smut fics be reader ambiguous so spare me the “making black women look bad” talk

[merakidoll]

my virgin ass going to look up sex positions to use in a fic and seeing something called the pretzel

[ccwpids-blogbiggestfan]

The discourse about black reader / urban fics i try to ignore it and stay out of it, but i promise you, honey, you're not different for not liking or reading black reader fics.. you want something different? go ahead and write tht shit yourself instead of complaining. at the end of the day? you're yapping and down talking other black women's creativity and hard work ion like that at all. it's always better to move in silence. this is fiction, and I think it's a heavy YOU problem and not that deep at Alll. let mfs write their silly little fanfictions damn.

[xoxoviva]

But let’s be for real here. I write ‘quirky’/alternative/historical black reader/oc fics and they’re not reading my shit either. They just want to fucking complain about fandom rather than supporting or contributing to it. It’s bullshit and exhausting to hear the same boring arguments. Just say you hate black artists and go about your day.

[ilyilyilyilyilyilyiyliyj]

niggaeren

I'm sorry but the whole "nigga eren" discourse is so cringe, it's weird to me how when eren is being written with a black reader suddenly he's a drug dealer, a rapper, a baby daddy or a shitty boyfriend and HYPER SEXUALIZED likeee 🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️ my people will never be free 😭 and don't even get me started on the aave, hood, black persona yall be tryna force on a German white man 😭😭 PLEASE let's try to do better yall cuz nigga eren ain't it

[tabloidangel]

i usually scroll past these post but i’m honestly tired..

i personally don’t even write for eren but it’s the same drama in the small group of black writers on tumblr. eren is a fictional drawing. an animated character on a screen. imaginary. Fanfiction is literally written by a fan with their own spin on a character whether it’s cannon or not.. that’s why it’s fiction.. so why are we mad at that person for creating a fanfic that caters to their fantasy? story, imagine, or drabble not really your cup of tea? find a writer who is.. a writer is too sexual for you? don’t interact with smut tags.. need a lil more affection and lovin’ down you tl then interact with the fluff tags.. don’t care for a certain tag at all? block it.

critiquing and insulting someone’s work are two different things.. c’mon it’s the same thing every couple months, just find someone who writes what you prefer rather than downing someone else choice of writing.

[ccwpids-blogbiggestfan]

CLOCK THAT TEA