#But if i go by my own logic of what a woman and man is

[goldengamer2500]

My theme would probably be the 3AM theme from Animal Crossing New Horizons. It's confusing but silly.

I mean I only realized that I might be trans slightly under a year ago by now, but honestly it wasn't much of a shock, it just... made sense.

I don't have that many "oh my god, I did/said this thing and I didn't think I was trans?!" since even as a child I was at least aware of the existence of trans people but I at the time I just didn't see it as something that was worth seeking out because "Well, I don't really feel like a man and I'm not interested in feeling like a man, but I also don't feel like a woman already so I cant be trans" (apparently that kind of circular logic is pretty common among unhatched eggs...)

To be honest I don't even know what clicked, I didn't go through anything traumatic, I didn't have a sudden epiphany, it just happened one day, probably while I was watching Onimai or something (which like, totally cis thing to immediately seek out and binge after hearing the name ONCE) and even then it was like "Wait, cis people don't think that it'd be fun to be the opposite gender? What do you mean most of them haven't even considered it or completely reject that possibility? I guess that makes sense... wait, does that mean I'm not cis?" and everything else just started coming naturally from there.

I still have my doubts every now and then and I still haven't come out of the closet but I've given my family (particularly my brother) so many hints that I'd be surprised if they didn't at least suspect it, so for now I'm just waiting for a good moment to bring it up.

It's not like i can do much else anyways since I'm a broke college student that still lives with their parents... knowing my parents I doubt that they would try to kick me out or something if i told them but I don't think that they'd be completely supportive either... and even if they were supportive I doubt we'd be able to afford HRT with our current financial situation so for now I'm just... existing, being openly trans on the internet and overtly trans in real life.

Hence the music. It's just, there, vibing in its own silly way.

Source

[inkskinned]

it's because the bear wouldn't kill me just for being a woman. the bear doesn't kill me for fun. the bear can be shouted at, and will leave me alone. the bear won't make a tiktok complaining about how i crossed to the other side of the path when i saw him coming. if a bear kills me, it's just being a bear: it cannot understand logic. it is not acting out of malice - just fear or hunger.

bell hooks once wrote about how porches might be the only outside space left for women - it is still the domain of the house while it is also outside-but-safe. when i am in the woods, i am in the bear's home, and he has a right to defend his property. outside spaces - anywhere at night, certain parks in the day - those are often implicitly "owned" by men. i cannot explain the feeling of knowing when you have entered a man's "territory." you walk into a place and just know you are in their space. you get a sick sense - you're in danger.

the other day a group of about 8 men were fooling around in the woods while i walked my dog. i had to go around, take the extra 3 miles just to avoid them. it's okay, i like walking. this wasn't even a #feminism moment. it was just a tuesday.

what a plain and easy question. only one of the situations is seen as a tragic accident. i would rather die and have a park bench erected in my honor rather than have my family questioned about why they let me, an adult, walk in the woods in the first place when i should really be at home in the kitchen.

i worked in retail and food service. i have had women say and do absolutely heinous and abusive things to me - not because i was a woman, but because i was there, and they were angry. the way men treated me when angry was different - it was because i was a woman. you can always feel the difference, how there's an undertone of i'd hurt you worse if i could get away with it. i keep seeing people try to cite stupid statistics. why is there always a strange rage whenever women agree on things? like men can argue their way out of our lived experiences? it isn't a buzzfeed quiz - which of these traumas are you? 10 super cute ways not to fear strange men.

i have actually (thrice!) seen a bear in the wild, by the way. i died each time, obviously, and am a ghost writing to you. (it was scary but completely and utterly fine). the second encounter was a black bear with her cub. she looked at me like - do we have to do this or are we good? my dog was busy sniffing a bush, completely nonreactive. i felt like i was in a sitcom: feminist poet reacts - does she actually mean she'd choose the bear? my only thought was - she's so beautiful. her paws are massive.

and there's a part of me that feels the rage spinning out in a corner. why do we have to come up with quippy little comments in order to teach men empathy. would you rather die in a car accident or due to a mugging? and would you rather your house burn down due to an electrical fire or due to arson? gee willikers - it's almost like we're human people, and want to risk the accident versus the intention.

i would rather my last thought be oh shit, a bear rather than i'm a person too. why doesn't that matter? why don't you care?

[nerdvi]

In the wake of the whole james somerton fiasco and inspired by this post, I wanted to share a few of my um, soft signs, like, orange flags to detect when someone is bullshitting you.

First of all, I am on the spectrum which means 1) I tend to take what people say at face value and 2) I have a strong sense of justice which makes me prone to biases, all of which combined means I am at perpetual risk of swallowing the bullshit.

So, what to do about it? You turn on the critical thinking and pay attention.

As one of my favorite youtubers, Hannah Alonzo, likes to say: "consider the source, remember the motive". Who is talking to you?? What do you know about them?? What biases might they have?? How do they interact with your own biases?? Where are they talking from?? Is it anger?? happinness? boredom?? Also, why are they talking to you? Are they trying to sell you something?? Are they trying to convince you and why?? How do they go about the finantial motivation, if present? If you have, in this case, a white cis gay man talking to you as it he has it the worst of the worst in the world, there's probably some exaggeration and you should start to wonder. There's a good chance he's bullshitting you.

How they talk about women and POC No, no, stay with me. There's a rule I had back when I was dating men: Always beware of how they treat their mother. With the exception of extremes like mama's boys and cases of abuse, how a man treats the woman with whom they have that familial bond is a good indicator of how they are going to treat you. Do they berate her? speak ill of her? are aggressive or controlling? do they dismiss her opinions? Same with creators, and by god I tell you, specially cis male creators, queer or otherwise, always always beware of how they speak of women, how they treat women, how they treat POC. Somerton had a weird vendetta against straight women. It went mostly unnoticed. Then, he was dismissive towards lesbians and other queer women and it was once again overlooked. Then he went ahead and made sinophobic content about genres and cultures he knows NOTHING about. Again, it went unchecked. What I am telling you is IT'S NOT NORMAL. Contempt about women and non white-western cultures is not normal and if someone has them as them as an enemy or a scapegoat, they're probably bullshitting you. Take what they say and fact check it, see for yourself.

If at any point in a video or an essay you find yourself thinking "wait, really??" then it's time to fact check. Is it a bit suspicious?? is your logic telling you that's not quite how this works?? Then take to google, my friend, they might be bullshitting you. At worst, you dodge a fake fact, at best, you learn way too much about a topic you were already interested in.

Beware of the lack of nuance. I can not stress this enough. We all love monochrome, but life and societal issues are never black and white. It's just impossible, there's too many factors to consider. If you are being presented situations or anecdotes as absolute truths, you're probably being bullshitted. If it's too good to be true, it is. If it sounds waaay too convenient, it probably is. A good researcher, a serious investigator, will always have some nuance because they have done the work and checked the sources. If someone provides you 1) no nuance and 2) no sources, THEY'RE BULLSHITTING YOU.

These are the ones I can come up with just of the top of my head, I'm sure there's more and please, add them. Remember that naivité isn't a crime, I'm fairly naive and that's made me distrustful, and these are some of the techniques I've found that help me navigate through a world of information without losing myself.

[purplecoffee13]

NFWMB - part 1

Summary: “Harry is a retired boxer who owns a gym and teaches self-defense classes. He considers himself a strong man, but when a gorgeous innocent woman attends a try-out class, she manages to leave him weak in the knees…”

Wc: 4.3k

Tropes: boxer!Harry x innocent!reader

Warnings: mentions of violence and SA

A/N: hello everyone! This is my new series NFWMB, named after one of Hozier’s most horny songs😄. I am so incredibly excited for this series omg it’s gonna be so good!!! If you don’t believe me, go listen to NFWMB and you’ll get a vague idea of what’s coming ;)

P.S. header = pov change

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Harry Styles was not one for regrets.

His life may not have turned the way he expected it to, but he was still proud of where he had come.

Being a professional boxer was a risky job, and Harry had known that when he had decided that it was going to be his career. But there was no other logical option. Harry was an exceptional boxer who was able to go pro at age 18, where he defeated a lot of men who were older and bigger than him.

It was his passion, it always had been. Which was something that was quite remarkable, especially to his closer family members, because Harry was anything but a violent person in his day to day life. He was quite reserved, and managed his temper very well. The years in the boxing ring did harden him quite a bit, his reserved nature developing into something more akin to stoicism.

Nevertheless, Harry loved boxing. It wasn't so much a fight to him, but more of a puzzle. Each opponent had its own made up riddle, and it was up to Harry to solve it as quick as possible. Much like a dance you learn the steps to along the way. A perfect combination of intuitive technique.

He hadn't planned on having to retire at the age of 27 already. It was supposed to be his peak; it had been for almost all boxers in history, and he was looking forward to how far he would be able to push his body during his prime.

He never got the opportunity to get an answer to those questions. A car accident got in the way.

He wouldn't have been able to stop it, he knew that, and he had forbidden himself from thinking about what could've happened had he not taken that specific road back home that horrible night. There was nothing he could do about it now, so there was no point in dwelling on it.

After a year of recovery, he was slowly able to get back into the rhythm of his old life again. Well, except for the boxing part. Knowing that his career in that field was over, he began thinking about some other options of his, and decided on fulfilling another dream of his: opening a gym.

He had always wanted to do it, but he always imagined to be retired by the time he would start on that.

Now, two years later, his gym was already in multiple locations, but Harry was still working at the first one he opened. He would visit the other ones every once in a while to see how everything was going, but he was mainly at the one nearest to his house. It was special to him, the place where it all started.

Despite running the place, and therefore not needing to be on location all the time, Harry was at the gym 24/7. He wasn't a personal trainer—wasn't really his style—but he would help people and teach self defense classes to women.

Every Thursday between 6 and 9, he would teach groups of ten women everything they needed to know on defending themselves from whatever threat they may run into. It was one of the things he was proudest of; the turn out at those classes. That these women put their trust in him, and let him help them become even tougher than they already were.

Tonight, after teaching the last group, Harry had gone to the bar with some of his friends. One of them was Sophie, a woman he had become friends with since she'd joined his self defense class. She was a great person with an impeccable sense of humor, and Harry was glad he had introduced her to Greg, his best friend. They were basically made for each other.

Harry had to admit that he envied his friend for the relationship he had. He was happy for them, but sometimes couldn't help but think that his lack of a partner was this one puzzle piece that would make his life even better. All in good time, he reminded himself.

"Hey," Sophie caught Harry's attention when she waved her hand in front of his face. His gaze shot to hers, eyebrows raised. "So, I was talking about your self defense class today at work. You know, promoting your business and all."

Harry chuckled at the cocky tone in which Sophie told her story, chin up high. He mumble a soft 'thanks', to which she grinned.

"You're welcome. Anyways, I have this new colleague and she seemed so intrigued by it, but she was too insecure about joining. I mean— she didn't outright say that, but I could just tell." She huffed, Greg rubbing her back. Sophie was a very happy person in general and wanted the best for everyone, this new colleague of hers included. Harry had the same habit, it's why he immediately suggested:

"Why don't you invite her along next week? A free try-out."

"But your try-out classes aren't for another two weeks." Sophie noted.

It was true. The self defense classes had become very popular, and since Harry taught them himself, he had scheduled one night of try-out classes a month. He was only able to take on so many people, but he didn't mind making this exception.

"She can join your regular class." Harry shrugged, and Sophie's eyes beamed with excitement.

"Thank you Harry!" She squealed happily, giving Greg a hug to channel her enthusiasm. "Oh, I hope she'll come along!"

"I'm sure she will." Harry assured her with a smile, and took another sip from his beer.

Y/N had never been one for risks.

She had never been the type of person to take the leap of faith, relying more on familiar feeling of security. Why risk hurting yourself when you could be safe and content?

It was the logic she had always operated with, the logic she had been taught from a very young age. Y/N had had a sheltered upbringing. Her parents wanted her and her little brother to be as safe as possible, and that was just fine to Y/N.

Her little brother was the more feisty one of the two, and his childhood consisted of a lot of fighting. It hurt Y/N to see the people she loved so much be so angry all the time, and it only motivated her to be as good as possible. She never drank, smoked, or went to parties. She turned in her homework early and got an A on almost every test. It did put a strain on her relationship with her brother, especially since Y/N's behavior would be used as ammunition towards him.

They still didn't talk all too much, but Y/N hoped that one day, she could repair that relationship again.

Moving a few towns away was a big deal for her parents, but the wonderful job she had gotten as a secretary at quite a prestigious law firm had made it all worth it. They helped her with moving into her apartment, but Y/N would regularly visit them on both weekdays and on the weekends. All in all, she'd had a safe, comfortable, content life.

Until a few months ago.

It was a Friday night, and Y/N had agreed to a date. One of the lawyers at the firm, Oscar, had been flirting with her ever since she started working there. Not wanting to be impolite, Y/N never outright rejected him, and so the flirting continued. She was a bit uncomfortable about it — especially since he was nearing his forties and she was only 23 — but figured the banter was part of the job. She was so shocked when he did ask her to go on a date, she said yes.

It wouldn't be too bad, she figured. She would just go on the date and tell him she wasn't interested afterwards. It could be casual, and no one would be too hurt. The date was definitely out of her carefully moderated comfort zone, but she would step out of it for one night.

The date was fine. Like she had expected, she wasn't interested in Oscar in a romantic way. Still, she listened to his stories, laughed right on cue at all his jokes, and told some of her own anecdotes as well. The dinner was great, and he even offered to walk her home.

They were nearing Y/N's apartment when Oscar had suddenly slowed down his walking pace. She only noticed when she was a few feet away from him, and walked back to where Oscar was standing.

"Are you okay? We're almost there, I promise." Y/N smiled politely, much like she did in the office. Oscar didn't say anything in response, only the corners of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly.

"You're so beautiful, do you know that?" He  complimented her, and Y/N looked at her feet, not quite knowing how to handle the flattery.

"Thank you." She said softly, and froze when Oscar's fingers tilted her chin upwards. Her eyes widened when he suddenly leaned in and put his mouth on hers. After the first few seconds of pure shock slowly passed, Y/N pulled her head back.

Not getting the hint, Oscar grinned and leaned in again, this time with both his hands on her face. Y/N let out a yelp, stumbling backwards. Her body's alarm bells were ringing so loudly, but Oscar must've been deaf to her body language because he backed her up against the wall and kept kissing her.

Y/N cried out as she tried to push Oscar off with her hands, but he only grabbed them and pinned them above her head. Finally, not knowing what else to do, she lifted her knee and kicked him right in the crotch. Oscar shot backwards, groaning loudly as his grip finally loosened on her. He looked incredibly angry.

"What the fuck?!" He bellowed, standing up straight again. Y/N's lip quivered, tears running down her face.

"You wouldn't stop." She said softly, almost in a whisper. Her entire body was shaking from the adrenaline. Oscar's mouth opened to say something, but the conversation got interrupted.

"Oscar!" A woman's voice shouted from down the street. He turned his head, and his face morphed from sheer rage into a lovely smile, the same one he always put up for Y/N back in the office.

"Sophie!" He said, but the mention of her name sounded strained. Sophie... Y/N recognized her name, but she hadn't ever met the woman. She was one of the three female lawyers at the firm. Had been working there for only five years, but her reputation was so badass, everyone knew who she was.

"What are you doing out tonight?" Sophie asked as she gave Oscar a hug, and turned to Y/N. "Who's this?"

"This is Y/N." Oscar replied. "She's a secretary at the firm."

"Nice to meet you." Y/N extended her hand, and Sophie shook it.

"Nice to meet you too! How come I've never seen you around?" She tilted her head.

"I— I work on a different floor."

"Well, I'm glad I met you, Y/N!" She said, the kindness in her tone being a real comfort after that scary moment she just had to live through. Somewhere in the way she said it, and in the way her eyes softened slightly, it almost felt like Sophie knew.

"I— I should go. It's getting pretty late." Y/N decided that this could be her sweet escape.

"Right, I'm gonna bring Y/N home." Oscar said, and your eyes shot to him. Anxiety filled your lungs until all you could breathe was fear. You didn't want to be alone with him. You had no idea what he would be able to do to you. What were you going to do about it? You weren't even half as strong as he was.

"Oh, which way is it?" Sophie asked, turning to Y/N, who was about to open her mouth but got interrupted by Oscar.

"That way." He pointed toward the direction of Y/N's house. Sophie side eyed her colleague, then nodded.

"Exactly the way I was going! Let's go." She hooked her arm into Y/N's, and began walking, ranting about how it was unacceptable that they didn't work on the same floor.

Y/N wordlessly nodded along, filled with gratefulness to Sophie or the universe—or both—for not leaving her alone with Oscar again.

She got home safely about five minutes later, not daring to look Oscar in the eyes as she hugged him and said goodbye, and she only allowed her tears to fall down her cheek when she closed her front door.

Y/N spent the rest of the weekend in bed, not in the mood to do anything. By Monday, she felt both better and worse. She had had some time to come down from the shock of what happened, but the terror that filled her at the realization that she was to see Oscar again, had her stomach turn. On Monday morning, she even got into work late as a result of a wave of nausea that hit her once she'd grabbed her keys, spending the time she used to drive to work to puke her guts out instead.

Later, she'd found out that Oscar had called in sick that day. It gave her some time and space to breathe. Sophie visited her the same day, and she hadn't stopped visiting since.

Oscar did eventually return to work, but they never talked anymore. Y/N didn't dare to look him in the eye, and she avoided him at all costs. One day, about two weeks after everything happened, she did see him waiting by her cubicle, but she hid in the toilet for half an hour and by the time she returned he was gone.

It had been two months since that horrible event, and Y/N had entirely isolated herself. Back to the normal routine, back to what was familiar. It gave her a sense of control. She was fragile, and sensitive. She had just pressed down her sadness and anxiety that lingered as a result from the date, and instead focused entirely on what she could control.

She figured it would be easier. Well, except for the mental breakdowns she'd get when something small didn't go right. The dishes not being cleaned, her vacuum not taking up every speck of dust; it just set her off. It wasn't healthy, but she had no idea how else to deal with these things.

When Sophie mentioned she was following self-defense classes a couple weeks ago, Y/N's ears had perked up. She tried to be subtle about it; asking questions to pry some information about the classes from her. But, being the amazing lawyer she was, it didn't go over Sophie's head, and before she knew it she had an invite to a class.

"See you next week!" Harry exclaimed as the last of the women from the 7pm class left the room. He was still busy putting everything back into place before the next class which would commence in about five minutes.

He was just about done with everything when Sophie walked in, another girl walking in close behind her. Harry couldn't really make up her face, as she stayed closely behind Sophie, even upon nearing him.

Sophie looked proud, probably feeling very accomplished about the fact that she had been able to convince this colleague of hers to take her up on her offer.

"Hey!" She greeted Harry cheerfully, giving him a quick hug. He was still smiling when he turned to the woman standing next to Sophie. His mouth went a bit dry when he took in her face.

"Harry, this is Y/N."

For starters, she was a bit shorter than Sophie, and quite frail too. Her hair was up in a ponytail, leaving her features to be admired out in the open. Her eyes were soft—radiating mostly insecurity at the moment—and wide. Those Bambi eyes and plump, rosy lips...

She looked so... innocent?

He wasn't sure if it was the right word, but he was sure that he had to say something before the silence became too long.

"Hi Y/N." He repeated her name, seeing the slightest flicker of surprise run through the eyes of the woman in front of him. But the slight relaxation of her body told him that his usual trick was working. It was a typical 'strategy' that he would often use with people who were a bit unsure about him. His voice would soften, he would always wear a hint of a smile on his face, and he'd repeat people's names to create a bit more of a familiar environment. It always worked, and he was glad it did. He never wanted anyone, especially a woman, to feel uncomfortable around him.

"Hi." The corners of her mouth tugged up.

Angel.

That's all he could think of as he looked at her. Jesus Christ, she was beautiful.

"Thank you for joining the class. You don't have to join in on everything if you don't feel comfortable. Just observe and see if this is something you would like to practice more often, okay?"

The girl in front of him nodded intently the second he had finished talking. Her eyes widened ever so slightly before she peeped out an, "okay."

Harry grinned, his gaze shooting to Sophie—who was looking at him with this suspicious look on her face that she only got once in a while—before calling everyone in a circle and commencing the class.

This girl, Y/N, turned out to be a real distraction for him. He was so focused on trying to read how she was feeling that he trailed off during explanations a couple times. It was embarrassing, really. He was a grown man for God's sake, why couldn't he just concentrate?

Y/N only joined in for a couple of the basic movements, but she stayed back for most of the class. Her big eyes observed every movement Harry and the others made, impressed with how developed everyone seemed to be in their techniques. He noted that it only seemed to make her more timid, though.

His eyebrows kept knitting every time he looked at her, getting lost in his thoughts on how he could help her become more comfortable in his class. She'd caught his stare about halfway through the class, and at the way her eyes shot to the floor he realized that his gaze was actually doing the completed opposite of what he wanted to do, which was help her.

When the class ended, Harry gave his usual speech about how good everyone had done their job, and that he would see them all next week. Afterwards there would always be a couple of women hanging around to ask questions, and he would stop a few on their way out to compliment their improvements. When the rest of the women had left, Sophie walked up to Harry, Y/N following closely behind.

"Great class, Styles. Thanks for teaching me some ass kicking again." She teased, smiling at him before she took a sip from her water bottle.  Harry chuckled, shaking his head faintly.

"Glad you liked it." He turned to Y/N. "What about you?"

Her cheeks started heating up, mouth falling open ever so slightly. "M— me? Oh, uhm, yeah, pretty good."

"I'm going to use the bathroom really quick, I'll be right back." Sophie chimed in, and began walking towards the door. "Keep her company for me, will ya Styles?"

Harry almost laughed at how Y/N's eyes nearly popped out of her sockets at Sophie's announcement. She was nervous around him, and it was quite endearing, but she didn't need to be. Although it was very cute, Harry wanted her to be comfortable around her.

"You hated it, didn't you?" He said as soon as Sophie was out of sight. Harry was amused, watching Y/N scramble for words when she realized what he had said.

"What? No, no of course not! You're great! Teacher— you're a great teacher, I mean." She stumbled over every last one of her words, making it sound even less convincing than it already was, even though she did really mean it.

Harry solely raised his eyebrow, indicating that he did not buy any of that, and it was all it took for her shoulders to slump and a little sigh to leave those pretty lips of hers.

"It's really not you, I promise. I just get... a bit nervous in group settings, especially when it comes to sports. I don't even go to the gym." She confessed, and Harry nodded. That certainly made more sense. His heart warmed a bit at the fact that she reassured him that he wasn't the reason she wasn't liking the class all too much.

"Why don't you go to the gym?" Harry asked further, his tone soft. He didn't want to press too much, but he did want to know more about her.

"It's... embarrassing." She shrugged. Harry chuckled.

"I go to the gym all the time. I mean, I own this one. I can only imagine how embarrassing I must be."  He joked. He had to say he thought it was pretty funny, the way she blushed as he teased her.

"No, I didn't mean it like that! You're not embarrassing at all— I mean, you’re like the opposite. You're lean, and strong. You have like— big arms and you know what you're doing." She ranted, and had no idea how much Harry's ego was fueled by the compliments she was unknowingly throwing at him. "Whereas I— I have no idea what to do at a gym. I hate the idea of people being able to watch me and judge me if they want. Not that I think everyone's focusing on me all the time! I— I don't think that..."

Y/N's heart was racing as she finally got herself to stop talking. It was a nervous habit she had always possessed. As soon as something got awkward, her mouth would open and it would just never shut again. All communication skills flew out the window as soon as something — or in this case someone — made her nervous. She couldn't even remember half the words she just said.

"I can teach you, if you want."

The offer was as unexpected to Y/N as it was to Harry. He hadn't quite anticipated the words rolling off his tongue, but he didn't regret them either.

"It'll be a private class, and it can be in a closed room, like this one, or after closing time. Whatever suits you." Harry tried his hardest to sound casual, and not like what he was offering was something he literally never did. He had to hire a cleaner at home because he was too busy to get around to cleaning the house, that's how much he had to do. But the prospect of losing even more free time did not seem to bother him at all. In fact, he hoped Y/N would take him up on his offer as he scanned her face and waited for her to say something.

"No, I wouldn't want to ask that of you. I'm sure you're busy with a lot of other things." She declined politely, but he didn't miss the glimmer of hope in her eyes. Those private classes had sounded intriguing to her, he just knew it. So instead of accepting her rejection, he shrugged.

"How about this. I'm always in till late on Tuesday's. If you're sure you don't want private lessons, that's fine. But if it does sound like something you want to do, just be there at 9. I'll be there either way." Harry suggested. He didn't wait for a response — hearing Sophie's footsteps nearing — and instead said,

"Just think about it, alright?"

Y/N merely nodded, not even able to croak out a 'yes' before Sophie walked back into the room.

"Okay, I'm ready to go. Y/N?" Sophie asked, watching as her friend agreed and grabbed her things before walking towards the door where Sophie stood.

"Thanks for the class." Y/N turned around and smiled at Harry, throwing him a small wave as she started following Sophie out the door.

"Anytime." He winked at her.

"Bye Styles!" Sophie shouted, her keys clinking as she waved at Harry, behind her.

"Bye Soph." Harry called out, his eyes still transfixed on the girl behind his friend.

He didn't take her eyes off her as they walked towards the exit, taking in every detail of her delicate body as she moved further and further away from him. She was painstakingly beautiful. How had she just walked in? As soon as the girls disappeared behind the door, Harry let out a big sigh.

"Fuck." He murmured under his breath.

He really hoped Y/N would take him up on his offer. Harry had very quickly and very suddenly developed this intense need to help the girl, and that couldn't mean anything good.

Maybe he'd never see her again. She did sound very unsure. Besides, who said that she even wanted to go to this class? For all Harry knew, Sophie could've just used her manipulative convincing tricks, and Y/N, the polite angel she was, would've felt too bad to decline. Maybe, she thought he was an ass and didn't want anything to do with him.

In spite of the countless theories flying through his head, he knew that she wanted it. He had seen it in her eyes. She did really want to join the class, she was simply too nervous. But whether she would take him up on the offer, that was the question. He'd have to wait until the following week.

Strangely enough, he couldn't wait until it was Tuesday. He couldn't wait to find out…

[anxiouslyextroverted]

I use any pronouns because i dont gender pronouns idk why people see she her as feminine. ive been raised to see nothing as gendered and that includes names body and pronouns.

When i hear she her i dont think woman or feminine, i just hear words. Same with he him and they them ect.. i never was taught otherwise. I know many people that say an enby person goes by they them pronouns or that a cis person that wants to go by they th is enby by default. but i just dont see pronouns that way. If im wrong, im fine for someone to explain to me. But they arent gendered imo nor have gender expression.

tumblr users who use multiple sets of pronouns,

like if you use she/they/it do you want people to swtich up which ones they're using or if someone just always uses it/its for you is that fine

i read once someone being like "if someone uses multiple sets of pronouns and you don't alternate that's the same as misgendering them" and that really stuck out to me since i don't feel the same way at all like if u wanna pick ur fav pronoun and use that i really don't care, but i wanted to see if im like ? weird 4 that ?

pls reblog im so curious and also i have 3.5 followers

[ashthemadwriter-archived]

TW: Irrational jealousy

"Here. You left this at my apartment"

Stealing your gaze from the book, you look at your boyfriend who's holding a wine red lacy bra in his hands, stretching it toward you. Unlike his usual attitude, GOJO doesn't look much lively at the moment. In fact, he looks somewhat... meticulous, like he's operating a very dangerous experience and is about to witness the outcome of his efforts.

Having your eyebrows knotted together, you wordlessly take the bra in your hands, the base of your fingers gently but painfully rubbing against the soft fabric. Gojo tries his best not to let his smirk break out when you give him a quizzical look and squeeze the lingerie in your hands.

"This isn't mine"

There it is. Victory. The awaitened result of his brilliant plan to give you a taste of your medicine.

Gojo cups his mouth while expanding his fingers to give you a better look of his fake gasp through the gap between them, humming abruptly. He carefully takes a second look at the bra, then begins to mutter in a not so low voice.

"Ah— well, this is awkward" He looks at your bewildered expression from the corner of his eye and continues. "I didn't want you to find out. Not this way"

The logic behind this clever act was easy to understand. You chose to spend your day offs with your stupid, lame old friend from college instead of your incredible, handsome, mind blowingly gorgeous boyfriend, and this is your punishment. Your reasoning was too dumb and made up. Huh, how could you even look him in the eye and say you're doing this because he's just gotten back from Austria and needs you to show him around town and introduce him to your colleagues? You should've just shoved a dagger in his aching heart and told him that you dont love him anymore. So yes, you deserve this; and as they all say, revenge is a dish best served cold.

"But you see, I'm not the only one to blame in this. You are too. You were the one who left me in the dark hanging to go on a romantic getaway with that good for nothing punk"

"Satoru—"

"Let me finish. I know that it was just for three days and you did nothing but work together, but I'm a man y/n! A proud, strong grown man who has his own needs"

"Satoru—"

"I'm not an animal y/n, but how do you expect me to close my eyes and pretend like nothing's wrong? Because it is, and since I'm also an honest man, I couldn't bare with the feeling of getting abandoned by my own woman. You and I were supposed to rule the world, but you never wanted what we were—"

"Satoru!!"

Gojo grits his teeth and looks at you with slight irritation, wondering what's so important that has to interrupt his dramatic show; but his liveliness and acting power vanishes in a glance when his eyes land on the part of the bra you're pointing at while holding it up.

"There's a price tag on this"

Oh.

The small, round label is linked to the inside of the bra, which is probably why Gojo had forgotten to remove it. Yes, it was totally that; not because he was too focused on his dialogues that he forgot to even check the bra out.

Gojo stares at your jumped up eyebrows and annoyed expression, flashing you one of his most charming smiles; Only this time he can't make it as shameless as it usually is.

"Eh, I guess this shows how much I actually love you and care about you"

"You bought this two sizes bigger than mine you asshole"

"My bad, I kinda got carried away"

[malwaredykes]

well. here she is. miss Leigh Stasik.

trans woman. stubborn, incorrigible, eccentric. communist; she has leftist in-fighting with herself on the regular. a cannibal; she has no moral qualms about this, and its both a bit of a spiritual thing and a bit of a pragmatic thing. medic (not a doctor. no medical license). she knows for sure she had some kind of significant personality change from being shot in the head, but she doesn't remember what she was like exactly before it happened, it all became this kind of distant memory soup. shes originally from west new cali, but she grew very attached to the mojave. and has a lot of contempt for the ncr. She Will Serve Crack Before She Serves This Country. thank god the army discriminates against transsexuals etc. zero tolerance for the legion, obviously.

she firmly believes she is not nice, or kind, or compassionate, but instead her actions and her general sense of justice stem from her simply doing whats the most logical and objectively beneficial. it may be true to some extent, but she might also have a wee bit of ocd of the "i am a horrible person whos at all times like 2 seconds away from committing atrocities" variety.

shes a SCIENTIST. unofficially. she doesnt have a degree nor a chosen field of study. she makes her own hrt and other mysterious concoctions, including designer chems. which she claims she ingests injects etc not for recreational purposes, but to Enhance Her Powers And Possibilities. she reads old world books about psychology so she can manipulate people better. and makes weird contraptions and doohickeys while high. shes a HACKER of course and hacks terminals and systems for fun and just to see if she can.

her stats are out there due to implants and intense training, originally they were rather average. in-game she wears combat armor mk 2, but i see her having spruced it up like this. her main weapon is the ycs/186, the unique gauss rifle, but before that she used a modded plasma pistol. which she very much enjoyed the silly appearance of. because it was so small and with so much shit tacked on and she could just hold it in one hand like a mutated revolver like Hands up motherfucker bang bang bang lol. her melee weapon of choice is the machete gladius, but she's been training to be able to wield a thermic lance.

in my head the trajectory of her actions and the fate of the mojave that follows is different from what you can do with the game, because leigh could only go for The Secret Leftist Route Which Was Supposed To Be In The Game But We Were Robbed Of It.

boone was the first friend she made after leaving goodsprings and their relationship is particularly notable. they are Comrades, Siblings-In-Arms, Worsties (like besties but fucked up). theyve seen each other at their worst. they annoy each other on purpose. theyve had serious ideological clashes with each other and some ways in which boone perceives the world drive leigh absolutely nuts. they're ride or die for each other. theyre the kind of comfortable around each other where she'll be on the toilet and smoking a cig with the door open and talking to him, while he's naked sitting on the floor removing stitches from his leg. she's done surgery without anesthesia on him. he's projectile vomited blood on her from being poisoned by cazadores. she strongly encourages him to become a traitor to the ncr and to take part in the revolution and the formation of the new independent mojave alliance. somehow, it works on him in the end. shamefully they kinda like snuggling... boone bro come to bed man its nighty night man its beddy bye time.

shes in love with lily bowen. i havent decided yet whether she actually makes a move. but she thinks lily is sooooo dreamy. and shes right. if you dont think the enormous 203 year old blue mutant woman is dreamy thats your problem. outta her way

[dixons-sunshine]

The sound of muffled cries filled Daryl's ears. He stopped in his tracks and cocked his head to the side, trying to find the source of the sound he was hearing. He soon discovered that it was coming from Dale's RV, and against his better judgement, he walked up the steps and opened the door, hoping to figure out who was crying. However, he stopped in his tracks when he figured out who those cries belonged to.

They belonged to you.

The sound of feet shuffling caught your attention. You quickly wiped at the tears that fell from your eyes, hoping that you could shield your true emotions from the person's gaze, but you knew it would be to no avail. You simply sniffled and looked up, prepared to tell whoever that had entered to please leave you alone. However, your words got caught in your throat when you saw it was Daryl.

Daryl's cerulean eyes locked with your own eyes. He was awkwardly fiddling with his thumbs. He wasn't entirely sure what he had expected to do once he had found out who was crying in the RV. However, although his brother's voice rang through his mind, reminding him that “chicks crying was an automatic no” and that he should run, a strange feeling overcame him.

He wanted to kill whoever was causing you so much pain. Even though he logically knew that you could've been crying because of something else, something told him that it was your boyfriend, that Shane prick that made you cry like this.

“Ya alrigh'?” He mentally kicked himself for starting with that. You obviously weren't okay. He felt like a perfect moron.

You chuckled bitterly and shook your head. “Yep, I'm just peachy,” you told him with a fake smile. “But I'll be fine. Don't need you to worry about me. Go and do... whatever it is you do.”

Daryl knew that was your way of telling him to get lost. He didn't blame you; your last interaction with him hadn't exactly been all sunshines and rainbows. The two of you had formed a friendship that was blossoming rather beautifully, but then he had snapped at you, and he didn't blame you for not wanting him to pry into your life after that. However, he couldn't stop himself from saying what he said next.

“Want me to kill 'im?”

You looked up at him with confusion clear on your features. However, you quickly realized what he meant, and you decided to play along with the joke—what you didn't know was if you really wanted him to, he'd go through with it. “Please, or else I will. I can't have a murder charge on my record. How will I find a job?”

Daryl chuckled at your joke and shrugged. “I dun' mind takin' the fall, as long as ya visit me in prison.” He took a few steps further into the RV, getting closer to you with each step. “But seriously, what'd he do this time?”

“Lori's pregnant.”

Daryl didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out what you meant by that. He was painfully aware of the fact that Deputy Dick—as Merle had so affectionately nicknamed him—hadn't been able to keep it in his pants, and so were you, Shane's actual girlfriend. Daryl couldn't explain it, but the urge to stab Shane for doing that to you was strong.

“And,” you began, snapping him from his train of thought. “I finally broke up with him. I'm mostly relieved, but I'm also... I don't know. I mean, I dedicated four years of my life to this man. I didn't expect it to end like this. Hell, I didn't expect it would end at all. We had our fights, but I never once thought he'd do this to me. And now he got another woman pregnant, and I don't even know if Rick knows. If he doesn't, how do I possibly break this news to him?”

Daryl didn't know how to respond to that. He hadn't expected to have all of that dumped onto him. Feelings and comforting had never been his strong suits, so he didn't know how to make you feel better.

You laughed bitterly and shook your head. “I'm sorry for dumping all of that on you. Just forget I said anything.”

No, he wouldn't have any of that. He may not be able to comfort you, but maybe he could distract you. And after seeing the flowers in the vase on the counter, he knew exactly how.

“Ya know that Merle was really into flowers when we were younger?”

You scoffed in disbelief, but when you saw he was being serious, your eyes widened in disbelief and a smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. “Seriously?”

Daryl nodded. “I didn't know 'bout this until he was high one night. We were out on a huntin' trip and he had his nose all covered in some drug. He had jus' had a bad encounter with a boar he didn't kill properly. I was cookin' up some squirrel stew when Merle pointed out to a bunch'a flowers in the distance. “Do ya know what daisies represent?” he had asked me, real serious, too. Of course, I didn't know, so he told me, “They represent innocence, purity, but above all else? They represent new beginnings. We're gon' grab the bull by the horns and take the world by storm, lil' brother. They ain't ready for us Dixons, that's for sure.” Yeah, that was bullshit. Ain't much of our lives that changed.” Daryl cut himself off before he could ramble any more.

You smiled at him, your heart fluttering at the sight of his shyness. Was it just you, or was Daryl kind of stunning? “Daisies really represent that?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. I looked it up. It actually does. M'surprised Merle knew that, though, but I didn't bring it up. Merle would just deny it and give me one hell of a beatin' if I did.” Daryl took a flower from the vase—a daisy—and extended it towards you. “What m'trynna say with that whole story s'that the situation with Shane and Lori definitely sucks, but ya can't let it get ya down. Be like a daisy. S'yer opportunity to start fresh. S'yer new beginnin'. Dun' let this be yer setback.”

A few beats of silence passed. Daryl was beginning to think that he had overstepped his boundaries, and he was about to pull back, mumble a “sorry” and hightail it out of there. However, you finally took the flower from him and sent him a small smile.

“That's actually kind of wise. Thank you.”

Daryl shrugged and took a few steps back. “Ain't nothin'.”

“Whatever you say,” you told him with a small smirk. It soon turned into a more genuine smile, however, when you glanced down at the daisy in your hand. “I needed that. Just... thank you.”

A moment of silence passed before Daryl spoke up with his usual nonchalant demeanour. “Yeah, yeah. No need to get all mushy 'bout it. Jus' can't have ya mopin' 'round camp and bringin' the mood down.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “There's the Daryl I know.”

And for some reason, as you looked up at him, you realized that you wouldn't want Daryl any other way.

[euthymiya]

how to tame a fox — kamisato ayato

somehow, you manage to catch the menace that’s been nibbling away at the plants in your garden—it’s not exactly what you’d expect, however. and the culprit is determined to stick close to you, too

before you read: fem reader ; fox hybrid ayato ; sly and playful ayato and tired and grumpy reader ; banter ; reader as a garden ; reader sprays ayato with a hose

notes: ari and risu said he’d be a fox hybrid and i think they’re very right

Something has been eating at your garden—something cunning and clever. Your berries have dwindled, your vegetables are harvested before you have the chance, and your carefully kept little plants are a mess.

You think it’s bunnies at first, but bunnies are not smart enough to skillfully work around the netting you’ve set around each plant to keep them safe from trespassing paws.

Which begs the question—just what is so conniving enough to be so good at getting to your garden, and how on earth are you going to catch it?

You don’t have to ponder on the question for too long.

It’s dark when you open your door to wander into your backyard—the moon is full, and you’d like to appreciate the sky and the stars for a bit from the comfort of your own yard.

Until you notice the pair of eyes staring back at you, that is. You let out a piercing shriek, grabbing the first thing you can get a hold of. (It’s a hose—the same hose you use to water the plants that keep getting eaten against your wishes.)

“What in the gods names—” you gasp, jumping back as the creature—no, man flinches at your presence. “Who are you?” You hold up the hose like a threat, and his nose wrinkles in amusement.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” The man rises from where he’s knelt, and you notice the strawberries he’s picked, held in his hand.

And then you realize he’s not just a man—no, there’s two pairs of long, fluffy ears over his head and a bushy tail that waves around behind him. His eyes gleam with a sort of mischief you don’t like.

“What am I doing in my garden?” You ask incredulously, “the better question is what are you doing with my strawberries? Don’t you see the nets I’ve covered them with to keep animals away?”

“I’m not an animal,” he gasps offended, “and yes, these nets have caused quite the troublesome experience for me. My tail gets caught in them often.”

You spray him belligerently, earning a surprised grunt from him as he jumps back at the impact of the water, dropping the berries he’s collected.

“How dare you harvest my vegetables?” You ask in disbelief, “I’ve been trying to keep you away for weeks.”

“Hey,” he cries, “cut that out! I don’t appreciate my fur getting wet, you awful woman!”

“Awful?” You parrot, offended. “How am I awful when you’re the one eating my garden?”

“You have plenty of things,” he huffs as you finally stop spraying him, shaking the water out of his ears as he grumpily eyes his tail. “Sharing is a wonderful virtue to have, you know. Especially for poor, cold, young men like me.”

“You’re nothing but a scoundrel,” you correct, hands on your hips. “Now shoo! Off my property before I call someone to make you leave. And don’t let me catch you here again!”

You spray him one last time for good measure before turning to enter your home when you feel a presence behind you, making you whip around to see what it is. Sure enough, the tall, slender man with an awfully troublesome glint in his eyes is face to face with you, his ears twitching excitedly as he leans in to get a better look at your face.

You get a much better look at him now—pale blue hair and deep purple eyes, a small mole below the left corner of his lip, and, the most noticeable detail, his pale blue ears that are drenched with wet fur. He’s handsome, in an annoying sort of way.

You almost—almost—itch to scratch at his ears, but logic and reason tell you this is the same man who’s been stealing from your garden. Your hard earned plants that you cared for delicately and diligently. And he’s enjoyed the fruits of your labor without so much as a care.

You watch as his tail waves behind him, bushy and thick even with wet fur.

“It’s awfully cold out here tonight,” he murmurs with a pouty look, “and you’ve drenched my poor fur, too.”

“It’ll dry,” you say blandly.

He pouts further, tilting his head as he argues, “not before the cold air gets me sick and shivering. Perhaps I could spend the night in your warm home—”

“Absolutely not,” you cut him off, furiously planting your hands on your hips as you glare at him, “what makes you think I’ll be letting the very person who’s stolen from me into my home?”

“Stolen is a very harsh word,” he gasps, hand over his chest as though the accusation shocks him—maybe even mildly offends him. “I was borrowing the goods you’ll grow back eventually.”

“The season is almost over!” You says frustratedly.

“There’s always next year,” he hums, “it’s good to help those in need, you know.”

“I don’t even know you,” you try again, pursing your lips as you grow tired of the back and forth.

“I’m Ayato,” he beams. He seems almost proud of his problem solving skills. “There, now you do.”

“You don’t need me to help you,” your patience is wearing thin, and faintly, you realize he’s right. It is cold. You’d like to get inside as quickly as possible and warm up the prickling goosebumps along your skin. “You’ve made it this far just fine. Evidently.”

“But I have no one, you see,” he sniffles petulantly, “my parents have long passed and I’m just lonely and on my own. Nowhere to go,” he leans closer, pout deepening as he bats his lashes.

And, well…he’s sort of cute. Far too old to use the parent excuse, you want to scoff, but it’s a cute effort all the same. You realize he’s not going to leave you alone, either, so it’s best just to let him in for the night and promptly escort him off your premises in the morning.

Yes, that’s right, you think resolutely, this will only be until the morning.

“You can stay for the night and only just the night—”

“Marvelous!” He brightens, cutting you off. You realize a little too late you might making a huge mistake when he swiftly moves past you, walking through the door of your home and inviting himself in before you can properly allow him permission.

Sly as a fox, you think agitatedly. You should have realized that much from the get go.

When you walk into your home, he’s already looking around, touching this and that, humming in approval and disapproval as though he’s in any place to judge the arrangements of your home.

“Hm, yes, very nice,” he says dryly, eyeing your interior. Your eyes twitches. “I suppose it shall do.”

“I’m sure it’s infinitely better than the outdoors,” you scowl, “I would count my blessings, if I were you. And don’t get used to it—you’ll be leaving in the morning.”

He grins smoothly—like he knows something you don’t, like there’s mischief already brewing in that quick-thinking little brain of his.

“Won’t you be a dear and dry my fur?” He saunters back over to you, grabbing your hand and pulling it to his ears to guide your hand along the dampness of his coat. You gasp at the gesture slightly, stiffening under his touch as he pouts. “I hate wet fur, you know.”

“Surely, you can use a towel and dryer yourself,” you deadpan. “I’ll grab them for you—”

“Oh, but I wouldn’t want to break anything,” he insists. “Perhaps you should just do it for me.”

Well, his cunning little scheme is at least abundantly obvious this time, you think. So he craves a little affection, someone to handle the matter of grooming his fur for him. It’s a bit troublesome, but you suppose you can let it slide if it gets him to be quiet and leave you alone for the night.

“Fine,” you concede, sighing tiredly as he perks up at your response.

He follows you, silent, but evidently pleased as you gather a dry towel and the blow dryer before settling on the edge of hour bed.

To your surprise, he settles on the floor, tucking himself against your leg as his cheek rests on your thigh. You blink down at him.

“Go on then,” he hums, “I do like when it when I’m scratched behind my ears. And make sure you use the warmest setting there is, I don’t like the cold. And don’t hold it too close to my ears—I’m a bit sensitive to sound, you see.”

“Are you usually this demanding with all the people you steal from?” You snap, raising an unimpressed brow.

He grins, nuzzling against your thigh before he gives you a sweet, innocent look as he murmurs, “only the ones who keep me in their homes.”

Something tells you he’s not going anywhere, and something tells you that when morning comes, he’ll have yet another scheme to stay indoors—just like a sly, conniving fox would manage to. Oddly enough, when your fingers gently brush through the fur as you dry the dampness away with the warm air of the dryer, the way he nuzzles closer grows on you. Just a little.

You’ll still find a way to get him to leave you alone eventually—and your garden, too. Until then, though, perhaps you can allow yourself to scratch behind his ears just a few times.

Foxes are nocturnal so you know that was about to be a longgggg night

[leclucklerc]

Something Immortal CL16 - 02. Bad Idea

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Wayne!reader

Summary: Y/n Wayne knows that this is a bad idea. But well, going against the law is something that runs in the Wayne Family.

Word Count: 4.4K

Previous Masterlist Next

“Is B really going to buy an F1 team?”

Y/n looked up from the plate of dessert in front of her towards where Jason was sitting. The both of them are in the VIP lounge of the Monaco GP, waiting for the race to start before being ushered towards the Ferrari garage.

“What makes you say that?”

Jason gave her a pointed look. “I’m not dumb,” he said. “I can see a business talk even if it’s miles away.” At this, he pointed towards the paddock that could be seen from the windows in front of them.

They could see a glimpse of Bruce, laughing and talking with people with different team kits. Y/n recognized most of them as the team principals or even the management team from different F1 teams.

“Y/n, seriously, I don’t have time to become a driver,” said Jason. “And I’ll probably suck at it, most of these guys had been racing since they were in diapers.”

“Still,” defended the woman, fully aware that Jason’s argument was fairly logical. “You don’t have to be a driver, but I think being around Formula One, something that you’re passionate about, can help you, Jason.”

He doesn’t have to be a driver if he doesn’t want to. Hell, truthfully, if Jason really puts his foot down and strictly declares that no, buying a whole Formula One team is not going to help him, then y/n and Bruce will stop. The both of them will leave this silly idea behind and never look back once more.

But she had seen him. How his eyes followed every garage that they passed in rapid attention. How he attentively listened to what John had said about Ferrari’s Formula One team, how he had watched the free practice and qualifying alone the days before.

It’s been a while. Maybe the last time she saw him being this passionate about something was before his death. To see Jason looking forward to something, to see his brother actually enjoy doing something outside of his crime-fighting activities.

“I-“

“Jay,” she said again, reaching out to hold the older man’s hand. “I- I know we’re not the best family. B is not the best father and the rest of us have not been the best siblings but still I-“ she stopped at that, eyes searching for Jason’s own. 

Years of guilt appeared inside of her. Years of missing memories between the two of them. Years full of regret and anger that had soured their relationship beyond words. 

Y/n, only wants what is best for her brother. “I still want you to be happy,” she said, blue eyes with a hint of green meeting hers. “I want to see you laughing again, be integrated into society, and live your dream-!”

Jason looks lost and y/n is really glad that this section of the VIP lounge was reserved for them.

Because the man in front of her looks so fucking vulnerable. 

She still remembers that time when Jason just returned to Gotham. All Lazarus green eyes and rage oozing out of his form. How he had practically attacked Tim, taunting the rest of them, and begged their father to choose him over that clown.

Y/n also remembers the emptiness that appeared in his eyes when they informed him that the Joker was dead.

It was one of the most terrifying moments of her life. Because Jason had it made his mission to kill that clown. To avenge the fallen Robin that had remained unavenged. To finally end the reign of terror that the prince of clowns had put upon Gotham City.

To know that he’s dead?

Well.

There are just so so many things left unsaid between the two of them. Too much pain and history that had happened between the two of them. To see, Jason who had always raged and raged looking this lost is-

“I’ve been wondering-“ said Jason, leaning forward. “Ever since that clown died, I’ve been wondering what the fuck I should do with my life-“

It’s a familiar conversation. Something that Jason had told her months ago under the darkness of the night. When there are only the two of them on top of his safehouse rooftop, sharing a stick of cigarettes to fight off the cold.

Y/n leaned forward, touching their shoulder together. It’s something that they often did before Ethiopia all those years ago. When Jason was nothing but a short and skinny kid that’s not too far off y/n own size. 

It’s been years since Ethiopia and a lot of things have changed.

“Have you decided, Jay?” she asked, eyes closing and head leaning towards his shoulder. “Whatever you want, you know that we will support you.”

Jason was silent for a bit.

The female too, sat there in silence, giving the older male a chance to think it through.

“I still want to be Red Hood,” he whispered, far too low for anyone to hear except y/n. “I still want to make Crime Alley a better place for people to live in.”

Y/n has to fight off a smile at that. Such a typical answer for a bat. Such a typical answer for the son of Bruce Wayne.

“Yeah?” she said. 

Jason hummed. “But I also want to live my life.”

A smile appeared on y/n face. She can feel the excited thrumming of her heart as she continues to listen.

“Oh?” she asked. “And that is?”

“Going to university, getting an English degree,” at this, he stopped. “And living the dream F1 fan life ‘cause my family owned a fucking team here.”

Y/n laughed at that; happiness clear on her face.

Bruce got the honor to wave the checkered flag that marks the end of the Monaco GP.

Her dad looks pleased, but she also knows that inside of that large smile and laugh, her dad simply doesn’t care. This business trip to Monaco had been a risky move after all, if it’s not for Jason’s happiness, y/n doesn’t think her dad would even consider going on this business trip.

In the end, when her dad was handed the checkered flag, the man put the flag into Jason’s hand.

“Do you want to do it, Jay?”

Jason blinked. “Huh?”

“Waving the flag,” answered her dad, letting out a smile. “Instead of me, my son can do it, right?” asked Bruce, turning his head towards where the president of FIA and the chairman of Ferrari stood.

“Of course, of course!” Said Ben, the president of FIA. “It would be an honor for us!”

“But they literally asked for you” answered Jason.

Her dad merely laughed at that. “They said you can do it, son.”

Jason may look like as if he wants to protest, but y/n knows that the man is far too excited at the prospect of waving the checkered flag at the Monaco GP. He may grumble and curse her dad a few times, but he really can’t hide the happiness that’s shining through his eyes at the mere thought of it.

The older man too, seemed to notice his son’s excitement as he let out an indulgent smile as he watched her brother being escorted to his position.

“Jason looks happy,” she said. “It’s been a while since I saw him like that.”

“I know,” murmured her dad. There was silence between the two of them before her dad leaned forward towards her a bit. “I saw you earlier.”

Y/n raised her eyebrow. “What?”

“I saw you flirting with one of the drivers,” replied her dad. “The Ferrari one.”

Ah, she thought. He was referring to Charles. “It was an act, Dad,” she simply said. “You know, like your Brucie Wayne persona? I just think that it will do us some good if we’re on a friendly term with the paddock.”

Her dad stared at her. “There are better ways to do that, like chatting with the FIA president, for instance,�� replied the man as he turned his gaze toward where Ben and John were talking with Jason near the track. “I don’t think flirting with a driver will really help our cause.”

Y/n shrugged, “He’s cute, what can I say?”

“Y/n.”

“What?” she hissed out. “I have to watch you flirt with Selina the entirety of my life, let me flirt with cute boys for a change!”

“You know it’s different,” pointed out her dad, leaning closer towards her. “Don’t associate with anyone outside of the masked community.”

The woman rolled her eyes at that.

She knows that the older man has a point. She knows that he’s doing this in order to protect all of them. Not only his hidden identity, but the rest of the family and possibly the rest of the Justice League. Bruce has always put a tight leash on all of his children regarding the interaction and the social circle that they all kept. Most of the time, the man didn’t have to worry considering most of his children worked inside the masked community, resulting in most of their friends being another superhero.

But y/n?

Despite her close association and frequent presence in their nightly activity, she sometimes thinks that her dad forgets that she’s not a vigilante or a hero. Yes, she knows all of their secret identity, yes, she often assisted her brothers on their not-so-legal work.

Outside of all of that, y/n is a civilian. She’s just a normal doctor who’s not saving the world during her past time. She’s a normal woman that’s working in a perfectly legal job.

Friends are hard to come by when you’re the daughter of the richest man in the world. Friends are harder to come by when you’re the daughter of the richest man in the world who is also hiding the fact that he’s the dark knight himself.

“I know,” she hissed out. “It’s a persona dad, I doubt we’ll talk again.”

Her dad gave her a look as if he didn’t believe in that.

And well.

Um.

Charles won the Monaco GP. The first Monegasque driver to do so in the last 93 years. Jason had failed to hide his excitement as he waved the checkered flag.

Her family was there, right in front of the podium as they watched the Ferrari drivers and the McLaren driver celebrating the win that they acquired. Y/n was standing there, smiling politely as she watched the champagne shower that was happening in front of them.

It was also then, that their eyes met.

She was not sure if Charles was looking at her or at someone near her, but the man’s already wide smile had gotten wider as he locked his eyes with her. And it was also then, that Charles sent her a wink.

Huh.

Okay.

Oookay.

I’ll meet you later, he seems to mouth off, a bit quickly, before he continues the champagne shower with the rest of the drivers.

So much for not talking with him anymore.

“Hi, stranger.”

Y/n can’t help the quirk of her mouth at that greeting.

The woman turned her gaze towards the source of the voice, eyes immediately falling towards where Charles Leclerc stood next to her. There’s a smile on his lips, hair tousled and green eyes twinkling.

“Hello,” she greeted back, raising her glass of champagne. “Drink?”

Charles chuckled. “I had enough champagne for the day,” replied the male as he took a seat next to her.

She can’t help but laugh at that. “I mean, you won today,” answered the female, putting down the glass of champagne on top of the table in front of them. “How does it feel to be a Monaco GP race winner? And did you actually drink the champagne that’s being sprayed earlier?” Being sprayed with a bottle of champagne sure is an experience, it seems. 

“Amazing,” he breathed out, inching closer to her. “I guess a change of mindset is the only thing needed to break the curse.”

“I told you,” said the female, amusement dripping on her tone. “Guess I did become a really lucky girl today.”

“I hope so,” answered Charles. “I did remember your words throughout the race.”

“Oh? You did?” teased y/n. “Seeing Charles Leclerc win the Monaco GP live and being constantly on his mind? What a lucky girl I am.”

Charles let out a laugh at that.

The dinner party around them is buzzing with blaring music and drunken chatter. The event itself was hosted by WE and the FIA. A collaboration work between the two entity that marks the beginning of WE’s involvement in the motorsport industry. It was the reason why her dad – a reclusive who hardly leaves Gotham if he can help it – needed to do a business trip in Monaco.

And of course, for the simple reason of buying Jason an F1 team. 

Not that y/n is complaining. She had wanted to visit Monaco forever and this was the perfect opportunity to do it. Watching a Formula 1 race live is a bonus that she will never miss out on.

The dinner party that they hosted was the formal event that they made for the winners of the race. Though, it seems most of the drivers are in attendance. No doubt advised by each of their respective team to gain the elusive Wayne sponsorship.

She knows that the news of Bruce Wayne wanting to buy an F1 team or become a major sponsor had already made its rounds. Even the bigger teams who don’t really need more money came in order to make some kind of connection with Wayne Enterprise.

Truthfully, this dinner party made her nervous a bit. After all, it’s not like she attended a party outside of Gotham.

But still, Charles’s sudden presence helped ease up her nervousness for a bit.

“Where’s your brother?” asked Charles, eyes flickering around the room.

“Ah, Jason is not feeling well,” replied the female. “He decided to stay in our hotel.” Which is a blatant lie. Y/n knows that Jason brought his Red Hood gear all the way here. He’s probably prowling the streets of Monaco, searching for that gang boss who made him join this business trip to Monaco initially.

Charles hummed at that, taking a seat next to her.

“I heard you helped orchestrate this whole dinner party,” started the man.

Y/n laughed at that. “Orchestrating is a big word, considering me and my family just throw some money at the event organizer.”

“Still, I really like the red accents, it was as if you already know that Ferrari is going to win today’s race,” said the male as he gestured towards the red flower as well as the red napkins on top of the tables.

The woman grinned cheekily at that. “Who said I don’t? Maybe I have the power to see the future?”

Charles raised his eyebrows at that, amusement clear in his eyes. “Oh?” he prompted out, leaning forward. “Can you see my future then?”

Y/n hummed, mouth closing in a wide smile as she too, leaned forward. Both of their face are really close to each other. “Hm…” she let out. “I think… You’re going to be really drunk tonight.”

He laughed at that, eyes crinkling. “It’s given,” he said, grinning.

“Really?” she said, sounding amused. “Do you want me to see further into your future?”

“You can?” asked Charles, with a tilt of his head, mouth still grinning. “What a fearsome power that you have.”

The female giggled. “I think I can see…” she whispered. “A future world champion here.”

Now, Charles is full-blown laughing, the glass of champagne that he had been holding now forgotten as he lets the amusement to envelop his very being. 

“Seriously,” he said the first part in French before he switched back to English, “You really know how to appease someone.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah,” said Charles. “You better be careful, or I’ll think that you’ve been flirting with me.”

It’s a bold thing to say, especially to Bruce Wayne’s daughter.

She knows that she’s one of the most desirable women in the marriage market, considering her looks and her family. Many people had attempted to flirt with her, to trap her with their honeyed words and kind gestures. 

But still, it’s been a while since there’s someone this bold.

“Well, I’ve been flirting with you,” replied y/n instead. “It would be embarrassing if you thought otherwise.”

Yeah, the moment she uttered those words, she knew that this was a bad choice to make.

Because at that moment, she could see the sparkle of interest in Charles’s eyes. The light that suddenly shone behind those green orbs as the man leaned forward toward her. Y/n could faintly smell the cologne that he wore, a masculine one that reminded her of her dad for a bit.

“Oh?” he said, mouth quirking up and eyes crinkling. “I’ve been flirting with you too, if you haven’t noticed.”

Okay, this isn't good. She needs to stop this before they go further and ignite her dad’s anger. 

“I see,” answered y/n with a smile. “Anyway Mr. Future World Champion, I think your team principal is looking for you-“

It was the perfect excuse because she really did have seen Fred wandering around the room in search of his driver. However, whatever she was going to say stopped immediately when a hand reached out to grab her wrist. She immediately looked down, staring at Charles’ palm.

“Hey,” said the male, grinning. “Wanna go somewhere fun?”

She should say no.

Y/n can already imagine her father’s disappointed sigh and the loud protest from her brothers. She can already see her doing the walk of shame tomorrow, with Jason silently judging her. It would be stupid of her to say yes because there are just so many consequences waiting for her if she took up that offer.

There’s literally no reason for her to say yes to someone that she barely knows.

But well-

Charles looked at her with those bright green eyes of his, the corner crinkling up from how wide his smile was. There’s something about his expression – so transparent, so genuine, something that she rarely saw in Gotham – that tickled her heart at the right place.

Maybe it’s the dimpled smile, maybe she was simply swept up by the moment.

But the next thing that she knew was-

“Yes,” she answered.

The smile that Charles let out can ignite the room.

The music is loud. Louder than what she used to.

There’s a huge misconception of her back in Gotham. Due to her father’s public persona, as well as her brother’s less-than-idle nature, the media had portrayed her as a party girl once upon a time.

But really, this is the first time for her to be in a club.

Clubs are not that common to start with in Gotham. Due to the high crime rate, and the many many dangers, clubs scarcely exist in the city. Galas though? Galas happens almost every week. Due to that, y/n only ever attended galas and galas.

So this, this is a new experience for her.

She could see the throngs of people around her, dancing and laughing, fully immersed in the music around them. There’s something about the air that just made everyone highly excited as if there’s no tomorrow.

It didn’t take long for her to be swept up by the atmosphere too.

 “So, how are you enjoying the night?” Yelled Charles as the two of them laughed and danced in the middle of the dance club. Y/n was glad that she had opted for a short dress because really, the ball gowns that she used to wear for galas will be sticking out like a sore thumb in this kind of scene.

 “It’s been fantastic!” answered the woman, amidst the loud music. Her mouth is a bit aching from how wide she’s been grinning but that really can’t dampen her mood. “It’s not my usual scene, but I guess a change of environment is not that bad.”

“Oh? Gotham doesn’t have a lot of parties?” laughed Charles, hand finding themselves around her wrist.

She stepped closer, face almost touching. “Mostly galas, or gatherings,” said y/n, letting out a shrug, before a grin overtook her face once again. “It’s not exactly safe to throw a wild party like this in a city like Gotham after all.” 

Something flickered in Charles’ eyes as he let out a hum.

“So,” started the woman, wanting to change the subject of the conversation. She leaned forward, cocking her head for a bit. “Is Monaco nightlife had always been this lively?”

“It is when it’s my party,” said the man, as they stepped out of the dance floor towards the bar.

Ordering for the both of them, Charles sidled close to her.

“You’re really trying to get drunk tonight?” teased the woman.

“Not too much,” replied the man. “I wanna remember you.”

She hummed. “Well, what’s stopping you?” she asked. “Don’t you think we should make more memories then?”

Charles turned to her, and the grip that he had around her waist tightened.

“Oh?” he said, voice lower. “Are you sure?”

The grin that she lets out must’ve been enough of confirmation because the next thing that she knew, they’re stumbling into Charles’ Ferrari, lips interlocked with each other in a desperate and sloppy make-out session.

She’s grateful that the parking space is located in a discreet place because her appearance right now is less dignified than what Bruce Wayne’s daughter should be. Though, she really can’t seem to care right now. All she knows is the taste of Charles’ lips on her and how his hand traveled all across her body, giving her a delicious tease of pleasure.

They fell into bed together.

That night had been a bit of a blur, to be honest. He remembers dancing with y/n, laughing, and touching her under the club lights. He remembers dragging her to the edge of the dance floor, head leaning forward.

“Can I?” he had muttered, head cocking sideways.

Y/n had let out a laugh at that, hands winding around his neck before she too, leaned forward.

He remembers the sweet taste of her mouth, how she had opened her mouth, letting their tongue meet in a wet mess. How his hands had wandered around, starting from her back before reaching downwards towards the edge of her short dress.

“Let’s take this somewhere,” muttered y/n back then, releasing his mouth with a string of droll still connecting them. “Somewhere more private,” the last part was whispered and he remembers the jolt of arousal that hit him at that very moment.

Charles doesn’t have a clear memory of how they managed to get into his apartment. All he remembers is how he pinned y/n by his front door, savoring her as they rutted against each other like a teenager. 

The night ended with them on his bed, rustling against each other and-

Charles cracked his eyes open, watching the sun filter into his room from the crack of his curtain.

He could feel the pounding headaches as the memories from last night rushed into him like a tsunami. Of him winning the Monaco GP, of him attending the formal dinner, of him and y/n stumbling into bed together-

His eyes widened as he immediately turned his gaze toward the other side of the bed.

Sitting there, still topless with a blanket covering her, is y/n Wayne, brow furrowed as she scrolled something on her phone. That sight immediately warmed something across his heart as he stared at the woman silently, not wanting to avert his gaze for a second.

“You’re awake?” asked y/n, turning her gaze towards him.

He let out a hum, shuffling closer towards her.

At that, y/n’s hand fell on top of his head, caressing his unruly mop of hair. It’s soothing, something that he really needs amidst the headache that’s been throbbing inside of his head. They stayed like that for a couple of moments, basking in each other presence.

The moment didn’t last long because y/n phone rang.

“Yeah?” asked the woman before she stared at him for a moment before she began talking in a language that he didn’t understand.

Charles faintly recognizes it as German. He knows a couple of words, but with the way y/n talking as if she’s a native speaker, well, it’s safe to say that he really doesn’t have a clue about what she’s talking about. The phone call didn’t last long. Only a couple of minutes at best. Though, at the end, y/n let out a sigh.

“Something wrong?” he asked, sitting up.

“Charles, listen,” stated the woman. “This is a bit awkward, but I gotta go.”

He ignores the disappointment that erupted inside his chest. The driver had been hoping that they could have breakfast together before taking a stroll around Monaco before he had to see her off.

“I really enjoyed last night but-“

Before she can even finish that sentence, Charles interrupts her again. “Can I see you again?”

Y/n blinked, staring at him. “Yes?”

“See you again,” said the driver, leaning closer. “I really enjoyed last night. More than simply enjoying it,” he continues. “I like to do it again.”

The woman is still staring at him.

“Of course, I mean not only fucking, but like, I would love to have a date with you,” he continue, tongue a bit tied at the sight of an angel in front of him. “If you give me the chance?”

Honestly, he was not expecting much. A woman like y/n must have had a lot of suitors or partners all her life. Charles will be the luckiest man on earth if y/n even gives him a chance for a single date, let alone dating her.

It was silent for a bit, as the both of them stared at each other with no words being exchanged.

The moment was broken when y/n let out a loud laugh.

It startled him a bit, Charles doesn’t really understand what’s funny about his declaration and yet, he doesn’t really mind it. After all, the sight of y/n letting out such a carefree laugh is something that he will integrate into his memory forever.

“Yeah,” said the woman, finally. “Let’s see each other again.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” grinned the woman. “But next time, bring me to a proper date, okay?”

Charles laughed at that, giving her a single kiss.

taglist!

@piceous21 @myloveforfandom-blog @barnestatic @ilivbullyingjeongin @fangirl-dot-com @halleest @a-beaverhausen @sagestack @redcellghost @mac-daddy-210 @kellysthilaire

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

along for the ride

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count:

summary: when joel finds out tommy put out a craigslist ad to get him a date for valentine’s day, he doesn’t expect it to go as well as it does.

author’s note: i finally finished something! was it anything from my extensive wip list? no! don’t think about it too hard! anyways, if you enjoy this fic, please consider giving it a reblog, a comment, or dropping into my ask box 💕

warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors dni), no use of y/n, pre-outbreak!joel miller, no mentions of sarah, little shit!tommy miller, blind date, internet safety whomst, vaginal fingering, oral sex, woman on top, p in v, dirty talk, pet names. let me know if i’ve missed any!

“I have a surprise for you,” Tommy says at dinner. Joel pauses, fork scraping against his plate.

“That can’t be good,” he sighs. “What now?”

“Why do you assume it’s somethin’ bad?”

“Last time you said you had a surprise for me, I had chickens in my backyard.”

Tommy laughs. “It’s nothin’ like that this time.”

“Well, then, spit it out,” Joel demands.

Tommy reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper that he opens on the table, smoothing out the creases before sliding it over to Joel.

“Reservation confirmation?” Joel reads. He recognizes the name of the restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters dress in all black and the menu doesn’t have prices listed beside the items. 

“Yep. I got you your first Valentine’s Day date,” Tommy replies proudly. Joel glares at him.

“What do you mean?”

seeking valentine

36M looking to treat a lady to a date to remember. pic attached. email tmill@aol.com with a pic and bio for consideration.

[img01.jpg]

You’re half a bottle of wine deep when you stumble across the Craigslist ad. When you click on the picture, your interest is further piqued by the handsome man that appears on the screen. He’s standing in front of a black pick up truck dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that stretches across his tan muscles. His brown hair is cut short, just enough length for you to notice that it’s beginning to curl across his forehead and by his neck. His beard frames a bright smile that crinkles the corners of his dark eyes.

Whoever he is, he’s hot. He’d be the perfect way to get over being dumped two weeks ago by your boyfriend of two years.

Your logic was lost somewhere between your second and third glasses of wine, which is why you click on the e-mail address in the ad and start typing. The reply is normal, at first, facts about yourself like your name and age and occupation, but you quickly end up derailing the message with an explanation about why this handsome guy should pick you, making sure to include that you’ve already got a reservation at a popular restaurant for the occasion. The picture you add is a recent photo from a cousin’s wedding that your aunt had e-mailed to you. 

Before you can think better of it, you click send. You take one last look at the man’s photo before shutting your laptop and stumbling off to bed to dream of brown eyes and tan skin.

Joel taps his fingers against the white tablecloth, eyes fixed on the door of the restaurant. This is stupid, he thinks. Why did he agree to this? Why did he let Tommy convince him this was a good idea? He should have just told him no and been done with it but somehow he’s here, sitting at a table for two in a fancy restaurant and feeling like a sore thumb in the only suit he owns. 

He’s lost enough in his thoughts that he doesn’t see you when you first come in, doesn’t realize you’re here until the hostess is walking up with you close behind in a beautiful dress and he suddenly remembers exactly why he agreed to Tommy’s idiot scheme. 

“Joel?” You ask. He stands, nearly knocking the table in his haste to greet you. You lean in for a brief hug and he catches the warm vanilla scent of you before you pull away and smile at him. 

He rounds the table to pull your chair out for you and makes sure you’re settled before returning to his seat. A waiter swoops by to offer the wine menu and explain the pre fixe menu for the evening while he pours two complimentary glasses of champagne into the crystal glasses beside your plates. An awkward silence settles when he leaves, Joel’s leg bouncing anxiously beneath the table as he tries to think of something to say.

“This is weird, right?” You finally say. “This feels weird.”

Joel breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s just what I was thinkin’.”

"Oh, thank god." You take a long sip of your champagne. "I can't believe I actually responded to a Craigslist ad for a date."

"I can't believe my stupid brother came up with this whole thing," Joel replies. "I could'a killed him."

Your eyes go wide. "Wait, your brother made the post? Why?!"

"He seems to think that at thirty-six, I should have had a date for Valentine's Day by now," Joel explains. "Why did you respond to the ad?"

"I had been drinking a lot of wine and having a lot of feelings and the internet was unfortunately not helping the situation."

Joel laughs, tension leaving his shoulders as he does. "We're an interestin' pair, huh?"

"Cheers to that," you reply, lifting your glass for him to tap his against with a gentle clink. 

As the dinner progresses, the conversation starts to flow with surprising ease. No topic goes untouched, from jobs to hobbies to a long list of favorites. When you’ve exhausted those topics, you move on to swapping stories about your friends and families. By the time he finishes paying a hefty check (and declining your offer to split the cost), Joel feels like he’s known you for a lifetime.

"I had a really nice time, Joel.”

"Me, too," he replies. Christ, you're pretty, bright eyed as you look at him with a soft smile. He reaches for your hand, pulling you closer until your chest brushes his and can wrap an arm around your waist. "This okay?"

"Mhm," you hum with a little nod. Joel's gaze drops to your mouth and he finds himself wondering what your pretty lips would feel like as he kissed you. Would he be able to taste that chocolate torte from dessert on your tongue?

“Joel?” You whisper. He didn’t even realize how close he’s gotten, a few scant inches separating you now. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

He chuckles. “You want me to?”

“Please.”

Joel kisses you, warm lips moving in perfect harmony with yours. It’s chaste, until it’s not. It’s chaste, until his tongue sweeps against your bottom lip and dips inside to tangle with yours. It’s chaste, until his hands are pulling you closer with a tight grip on your hips and—

“Get a room!” 

You break apart, startled by the shout from someone passing by on the sidewalk. You can’t stop the laugh that breaks free, your shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“You wanna get out of here?” Joel asks. “I can walk you to your car.”

“I took a cab, actually.”

Joel smirks. “You want a ride, sweetheart?” 

Your face grows hot from the look in his eyes, the double meaning to his words not lost. He holds a hand out and you slip your palm against his, fingers folding together so that he can lead you to the parking lot down the street from the restaurant.

Joel opens the passenger door of the truck you recognize from the photo in the ad, helping you step up into the cab and going so far as to pull the seatbelt down, reaching across your body to fasten it. He looks up at as he pulls away, hand dragging across your stomach and making you shiver.

He shuts the door and gets in the driver’s seat, pulling out of the parking lot and following your directions toward your apartment. At the first red light, he settles his broad palm on your thigh, just above your knee, giving you a little squeeze. Feeling bold, you spread your legs the tiniest bit and Joel takes the invitation for what it is, sliding his hand higher. 

The light turns green and the sudden movement presses you to the back of the seat, jostles you enough that your legs fall open further. You move to close them, but Joel’s hand moves again, high enough now that if you moved the slightest bit, you could probably get some relief from the ache that’s been building since he kissed you.

His pinky stretches, barely grazing your pussy, but it makes you gasp nonetheless, squirming in your seat from the want. At the next red light, he abandons all pretense, slipping his hand beneath the elastic of your panties and dragging his fingers through the embarrassing amount of wetness that’s already gathered there for him.

“Fuck,” he groans. You turn your head to look at him, his sharp jaw clenched tight as he circles your clit with his index and middle finger. “This wet for me already, baby?”

You moan in response, unable to form words as he touches you, alternating between soft strokes and fast circles over your sensitive clit. Your hips chase his every movement, desperate for relief from the pressure building in your core. 

“Joel,” you whimper, grabbing his forearm, digging your nails into the muscle. Your eyes squeeze shut against the overwhelming sensations.

He turns the truck and hastily throws it in park, pulling his hand from you just as you were cresting that wave. You whine at the loss but he shushes you, undoing your seatbelt and getting out of the truck with a slam of the door. It takes you a second to realize he’s stopped because you’ve reached your apartment complex.

The passenger door opens and Joel is there, gripping the door tightly. “Let’s go.”

You lead him to your door on unsteady legs. He follows you inside your apartment, pressed close to your back while you set your bag on the table by the door. 

“Where’s your room?” He asks, hands already rucking up the fabric of your dress. “I gotta finish what I started.”

You hurry down the hall to your room together and you silently thank your past self for cleaning up before your date. Joel wastes no time reaching for the hem of your dress, tugging it up over your head and tossing it into a heap on the floor.

“Fuck, even prettier than I imagined,” he groans, dropping to his knees. “Soon as you walked in wearin’ that I knew I was a goner.” He eases your panties down your thighs, helps you step out of them without toppling over. “On the bed.”

You obey without hesitation, crawling across your familiar mattress and lying on your back, head on your pile of pillows. Joel removes his suit jacket, eyes dark as his gaze roams across your body and makes your skin prickle under the intensity. His shirt and pants follow in quick succession, leaving him in a pair of boxer briefs that highlight an impressive bulge.

Joel joins you on the bed and you’re hypnotized by the movement of muscle beneath tan skin. He urges your legs apart, calves draped over his broad shoulders to give him room to settle between your thighs. He looks up at you, holding your gaze as he takes his first taste of you with a deep groan you feel through your whole body. 

Your head drops back to your pillow with a shout, legs tensing around Joel’s head. You bury your hands in his hair, holding on tight while he devours you. His tongue circles your clit before dipping down to your dripping center to curl inside of you. A thick finger follows, pressing deep and withdrawing slowly.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” Joel says. “How’s that feel, huh?”

“So good,” you moan. “More, please, Joel.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He eases another finger into you, curling them along your front wall with pointed focus. That knot of release tights again, your muscles growing tense with it the longer he moves with your body. He wraps his lips around your aching clit, alternating between sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth and working it with his tongue until you’re shouting a string of curses and shatter beneath him.

Joel works you through your orgasm until you’re gasping for breath, more puddle than human. He crawls up your body, leaving kisses on what seems like every inch of you as he does and you pull him close when he’s face to face with you, kissing him deeply and chasing the earthy taste of yourself from his mouth.

His hips press against yours, grinding his length against your inner thigh. The kiss turns sloppy, his breath coming in sharp pants and thrusts growing frantic, skin dappled with sweat in the warm air of your room. You tilt your hips, pushing a hand against his shoulder to get him flat on his back with you straddling his waist, stomach flexing beneath you.

He’s deliciously disheveled beneath you with messy hair and kiss swollen lips. His hands find your thighs, sliding upward over your stomach to find your breasts, pinching a nipple between his fingers and making you hiss. Your hips rock over the softness of his belly and you reach behind yourself to palm his cock.

“Look real good like this,” Joel pants, flexing into your touch. 

“Well, you did ask me if I wanted a ride,” you tell him. 

You lean over towards your nightstand, tugging the top drawer open and rummaging around for a condom. Foil packet in hand, you lift off of Joel for a moment to allow him the chance to hastily shove his underwear off before settling back down on top of his thighs and taking his length in your hand with a slow stroke that makes his mouth drop open, cock pulsing against your palm. You lean forward, licking the flushed tip clean of the pre-cum gathered there. 

“You’re killin’ me,” Joel says through gritted teeth. “Wanna feel you, quit teasin’.”

You decide to put you both out of your misery, ripping the condom wrapper and rolling the latex over him. You lift up and he holds his cock steady with a fist around the base as you position yourself over him on your knees and slowly take him into your tight heat, twin moans echoing in the room as you do.

When your hips are flush with his, the wiry curls at the base of his cock grow damp with your arousal as you rock above him, grinding your clit against him and clenching around his length. He holds your hips in a loose grasp, not urging your movements but feeling them as you chase your pleasure. 

“Christ,” Joel moans, head tipped back and eyes squeezed shut. He plants his feet, thrusting up as you grind down and making you gasp. “Ain’t lastin’ much longer, baby.”

You lean forward, changing the angle and allowing him to pound inside of you, his cock pulsing as his release nears. You’re right there with him, the drag of his cock against that sweet spot inside of you making you tip over the edge with a shout muffled into the sweat slick skin of his neck. 

He slams himself deep, cock pulsing as he spends himself into the condom inside of you. You collapse against his chest, the two of you catching your breath in the aftermath. When you roll off of Joel and onto the mattress, he’s quick to pull you back against him, your head resting on his chest.

“That was—“

“Yeah,” you interrupt breathlessly. “It was.”

After a moment, Joel quietly asks, “What now?”

“You can stay…if you want.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing along your shoulder. “I want that.”

Joel’s phone rings at an ungodly hour the next morning. He struggles to find his discarded pants in the dark but when he finally unearths the obnoxious device, his greeting is a snapped, “What?”

“He lives!” Tommy cheers from the other end. “It was a fifty-fifty chance you were dead or in bed.”

“What do you want, Tommy?”

“Just checkin’ to see how the date went. Must’ve been pretty good, seein’ as how I’m at your house and you’re nowhere to be found.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Fuck off,” he says. He’s about to hang up when he hears Tommy shout, “Wait!”

“What now?” Joel asks.

“Ain’t you gonna thank me?”

Joel snaps the phone shut, tossing it into the piles of clothes and crawling back into bed with you.

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

[sgiandubh]

idk if you’ve watched it yet but in the 10th celebration video, the part where Sam says “we dnt even know when we’ll be released” and Caitríona’s reaction to it had me👀….like the rest of us it seems they too can’t wait for it all to end so they can finally “released” and free from St*rz clutches. But i thought that was interesting thing to take notice of

Dear Reaction Anon,

Of course I watched it. Friday, even. But I have a dinner to plan for Wednesday, my car to sell (plot thickens...), dinners in town and various people to see.... So, sorry for the delayed answer and so incredibly sorry for being also late to the Shipper Feast.

Almost everything has been dissected to death, as it always happens, but I might still throw in my two cents, after all. So, I'll simply relisten to that video as I answer you and hit stop every time something interesting that has not been mentioned in here yet, made me go hmmm, ok?

At the 01:35 mark, S: 'yeah, it was such a whirlwind, you know, I mean, going straight into screentests and then looking for THE Claire, and it took quite a while, and then this one landed in Scotland, you know, weeks before we just started'

Here is her reaction - definitely fed up with this peasant, right?

Also, as a side note, did you notice how emotional S gets every single time babies and domestic scenes are mentioned? For a man who supposedly has no family of his own, that is surely strange.

And then you are so, so right, Anon, this is how she reacted to his 'being in a bubble for ten years and we don't even know when we'll be released what the world looks like' comment:

Did I notice an impish smile? Well, I surely did, Anon - and so did you.

It was a smart move to watch them watch OL. I found it very interesting, lots of clues about their joint dynamic:

She, as always, is leading the pack. He is more reserved and usually takes his cues from her, constantly seeks her approval. Gradually relaxes as she seems to imply the context is 'safe enough' to loosen up a bit. And yes, this is all instinctive, by now. If I knew absolutely nothing about These Two and saw them act and react like this IRL, I would definitely have questions.

And yes, I think he could listen to her talking about WWII medical pamphlets and bandages for days and still never get bored. This guy still lives to make her laugh:

Psst, Anon - see how they hate each other, here? Which really makes me think the 'just promo/fan service' argument is borderline schizophrenic, really - and why is S wooden and clumsy when promoting anything else with ANY OTHER WOMAN in our galaxy, by the way? Also, S and McTavish pretending they were still friends at that MIK event in London was 'just fan service' - this? This is not really that.

And then, oh dear me darling, that photo. I can almost hear two different kinds of 'shiiiiit' reactions, here:

He knows he mustn't slip - as he usually does, she is more like 'shiiiiit, hehehe, see what we've done here'. Logically, then, he brings about that sorry modicum of an excuse 'I've been so jetlagged' (jetlag was actually the least problematic thing, in that pic, ROFL; also, there are two people in that pic, bless your 💖🤣). Followed by the only diversion he could think of: bringing in the 'thousands of people, that was incredible, blah blah' - and then she dutifully chimes in: ' I think we did Hall H...? the big one...?' (strange comments for a pic where one can see two very cozy and scantily dressed people, LOL). Dilute, dilute, dilute. But it's Horowitz reply that interested me the most: ' it's too bad you guys aren't photogenic, even after a long flight, like what a mess you guys look like, there':

He threw a bait, C took it: 'weeelllll...' and then Josh ended it with a simple, smiling 'please' that, in my mind, is on par with KDS' 'believe what you want'.

I also found very telling one of the last remarks by Horowitz, too: ' it's ok, they can't fire you now, it's too late, it's way too late'. Granted, it was about the trivia and allegedly in jest, but really?

And there you have it, Anon. Perhaps it's not much, but as always, I tried to take the road less traveled by. Thanks for giving me the opportunity.

[foldingfittedsheets]

One of my earlier jobs in life was at a little pizza place. I worked there when it was first starting up. It’s the only job I’ve ever been fired from and it was because a new manager came in and cleaned house. Because my state requires a reason to be fired he said I used too much pepperoni. So now on job applications I get to write that I was fired for “excessive use of pepperoni.” Never fails to get a laugh.

Anyway! For this story to make sense I’ve first got to set the stage. This pizza place started out as the Wild West of management but one of the original investors was super committed to work programs through the prison. We hired a ton of ex convicts and they were all, to a one, super hyped on Christianity. Like born again for the sole purpose of lauding Christ with their every breath.

I hadn’t been working there long but I’d definitely noticed the Jesus bug had gone around, and as I’ve never been religious at all I tried to steer clear of the topic for my own safety.

The day our story takes place, I was folding boxes. Anyone whose ever worked pizza can attest, there’s so much box folding. It’s something that happens at every lull, the pizza machine demands box folding on a grand and epic scale.

On my right folding his stack of boxes was a guy wider than he was tall, made of pure muscle, Corey. He was newer on staff, and due to a stutter he didn’t talk much. All I knew about him was that he got hired through the rehabilitation program and had done time.

On my left folding was a tall middle-aged woman who loved to yell at me, Cindy. She and I rubbed each other the wrong way and had nothing in common, leading to a tense working relationship.

We folded boxes in silence. This was really my best case scenario as a quiet Cindy was a Cindy not riding my ass, and Corey intimidated me.

But the weight of the silence grew too much for Cindy, who finally said, “I really want to go to bible school.”

I folded a box. I had less than no idea what bible school even was and I didn’t want to get sucked into a religious topic.

On my right Corey said, “W-why, Cindy?”

“Well, cause I believe what’s in the Bible, but I just don’t know it all.”

He nodded sagely to this.

Cindy continued, “And every time I sit down to read the Bible I get real sleepy. And I know it’s the devil.”

It’s so hard to convey her tone in written format. It was delivered with the emphasis and exasperation of an inevitable inconvenience. Like, I just know it’s the squirrels eating the bird seed.

I froze in place at this pronouncement. My only exposure to Lucifer was Neil Gaiman’s Sandman comics and I was trying to mentally twist into a frame of mind where The Morningstar cared enough about this one middle aged lady expanding her knowledge of the Bible that he followed her around cursing her with sleepiness when she picked it up.

I think I expected Corey to say, “Well that’s silly,” or something to acknowledge what a bizarre thing Cindy had just said.

Instead he said, “Yeah!” In a tone of complete agreement.

I didn’t look up. I tried to keep my face neutral at this development.

But something must have shown. Corey said, “You don’t believe in God?”

I shrugged casually and said, “If I did I wouldn’t talk about it at work.”

“C-cause it’s t-true. If y-you t-ry to r-read the B-bible on unsanctif-fied gr-round the d-devil m-makes you s-sleepy!”

I made a noncommittal sound and fled into the back room.

Over the next week it drove me crazy though. The logic of it wouldn’t leave me alone so finally one day when it was just Corey and I in front, and the restaurant was empty, I said, “Hey man, I have a question.”

He shrugged and listened.

“I really don’t mean this with any disrespect, I just genuinely want to know about the logistics-“

“J-ust ask.”

“Okay, so if Cindy gets tired when she reads any book, is it only the devil making her tired when it’s the Bible?”

His face went purple with fury and he yelled, “F-fuck you!” at my retreating back as I fled once more into the back room.

It will forever remain a mystery.

[blacknedsoul-blog]

Montresor is the Bad Ending of White Raven

So Montresor has a religious trauma. And from what little we know of the flashback to his death, the man was apparently a corrupt preacher.

What that tells me about his life made me crack my knuckles, because holy shit, this guy is an even better villain than I expected. And not for the reasons I thought at first.

Montresor's possible backstory

A fun fact: "unholy men" used to be called "sons of Belial". Same as Monty's Spectre type, so there's the initial connection, but with what we saw in chapter 87, this phrase from his mother resonates quite a bit:

Montresor was most likely a bastard (literally), and if he was raised in a religious community, that immediately made him and his mother outcasts. Possibly his mother hated him for "ruining her life". Whether this is true or not, the implication is that he grew up a victim of a system that decided he was sucked by the devil from birth.

In this light, Montresor's attitude towards the world is actually a logical consequence: he has decided that abuse is the only way to relate, and you can either be the victim or the victimizer. Of course, he is now the victimizer.

But he decided that because life taught him two lessons that were important enough to make him the person he is now.

"I know this game better than anybody"

We know from the clothes and hat in his flashback, and the cross around his neck, that Montresor was a preacher. And I would venture to say an excellent one: he has heard all his life that he is a demon, he knows better than anyone what terror hell produces in people, so he knows exactly what to say (or not say) to manipulate others through that fear.

Montresor, like Annabel, is someone who exploits his own traumas.

Annabel has been almost conditioned to behave like the perfect high-society lady, and that includes going to impressive extremes if it means getting something in return. She has engineered her way through life by identifying the currency of the people around her and knowing exactly what to give them so that they will, in her words "kissing her rings".

Loyalty gained through fear vs. loyalty gained through pretended sympathy.

Same goal.

If the world has made them that way, both Annabel and Montresor will use every last footnote of knowledge gained through trauma to get what they want.

But then there's something else they have in common: this deep knowledge of the rules of the game has also made them both know that the odds are too stacked against them to ever win. In the past, we've seen Annabel throw in the towel on her arranged marriage, but Montresor took a different path, much more along the lines of…

"So I'm not afraid to cheat."

Montresor decided that if people wanted a demon. He would give them one. The worst demon of all, because this one knows the rules: he knows how to play the game, he knows how to cheat and get away with it. We don't know the extent of his atrocities, but given what happened in the flashback and the fact that his idea of a sleepover is stuffing someone behind a wall to slowly suffocate, this guy must have a long rap sheet.

So long, in fact, that he was tied to the tracks of a train to be torn to shreds without even a trial.

Because if the rules are just there to screw you, then screw them: the only option left is to cheat.

Which is exactly what Lenore did when she burned down her house and pretended to be a man to go after Annabel. Lenore jeopardized everything Annabel said was important to her.

And she got away with it. At least until they were both killed (or, if those of us with our chips on Annabel's childhood friend, they may have both died without anyone knowing).

Now, in Nevermore, Lenore is still doing that, as we can see in her reluctance to kill or destroy Montresor: she refuses to play the game, refuses to follow the rules.

She will look for ways to cheat here, as she did before (something Annabel actually expects her to do). The woman is too stubborn to bend, and so far she seems to have the wind at her back (the question is, for how long?).

The bad ending

These elements make Montresor a complete exhibition of the ultimate consequences of taking Annabel and Lenore's attitudes to the extreme: a person who instrumentalizes her own traumas to unravel and try to inflict them on others, and who is not afraid to cheat for her own benefit if it means getting what she wants.

The only thing that separates Annabel and Lenore from Montresor is that they both still use these attitudes in the name of other people: Annabel for Lenore herself, and Lenore for the people she cares about. That both of them (still) seem to have their hearts in the right place.

But if Annabel continues to use her vast knowledge of this twisted game to work her way through people without caring, and Lenore still believes she's above all rules, here's Montresor to show them (and us) what's waiting for them at the end of the road.

[wellofdean]

how can a show be about hatred of women when there are no women in it who are important that aren't doomed by the narrative? now misogyny is for men? supernatural hates and kills women, and you want to claim that that the misogyny is towards the men? god forbid women do anything i guess.

You know what? Your unwillingness to own your opinion publicly and your tone notwithstanding, this is actually a good question, anon. You are referring to this post, I think.

Misogyny in its simplest definition is hatred of women. For me, though, that definition feels a bit too narrow and a bit too gender essentialist. As a rejector of gender essentialism, I would broaden that definition to say that misogyny is the hatred of that which is seen or understood as feminine, or all the things that appear to exist on that side of the binary -- man over woman, logic over intuition, rationality over emotionality, etc. The things on the feminine side are weak, irrational, soft, untrustworthy, dangerous.

I like philospher Kate Manne's take on it -- she calls misogyny the enforcement arm of the patriarchy in her excellent book Down Girl: The Logic of Misogyny, arguing that misogyny (like racism) is not about personal feelings, it's “a social and political phenomenon with psychological, structural, and institutional manifestations”, and it's mission is to maintain the status quo of gender hierarchy. Misogyny operates as patriarchy's "police force" to enforce gender roles, punishing those (usually women) who deviate from them, and keep everyone (again, usually women) in their rightful places, and while obviously misogyny is directed at women, and this is the topic of Manne's book, I would argue that if women under patriarchy have a place to be kept in, so do men, whose deviation is, in some ways, even more threatening to the status quo.

I said in my post that the overt misogyny directed at women in Supernatural is cartoonish and ridiculous and feels too obviously stupid to be unintentionally placed there, and amounts to a depiction rather than a replication or approval of it. Meanwhille, Dean's masculinity is often just as cartoonish. He's practically play-acting Fonz Solo when he shows up at Sam's in his daddy's big leather jacket and muscle car. However, while Dean does performatively pose as the ultimate man's man and womanizer, leering at college girls and cheerleaders and even Sam's girlfriend, when he is actually called upon to interact with a woman who is not troped to the gills with hot girl stereotypes or posing for Sam's benefit, he is very consistently nothing but respectful and does no leering whatsoever.

Meanwhile, though Sam is too cool and urbane for the leering, he is lying to Jessica about his life and his family, which endangers her and gets her killed, while Dean, we learn soon enough, told Cassie everything the minute he thought he was in love with her. Dean play acts misogyny, but Sam is the one infantilizing his woman. And, even though Dean spends a lot of energy aggressively big upping his man-cred, the fact is that he is the intuitive, emotional one, and he plays an undeniably feminine role in his family. He's John's partner, Sam's mother. He's the one who wants to hold the family together for the sake of love.

All of this is in the FIRST SEASON. Watch it again. Think about the way Sam only agrees in the end of episode 1 to go with Dean after Jessica gets classically fridged, so Sam gets called to his hero's journey. Think about how Dean went to his brother, vulnerable, alone and afraid, needing help, and how, in the end, Sam's acceptance of their quest is not an acceptance of Dean at all. Think about how Sam is a direct mirror to John who has deserted Dean at the time the story begins. John wants Dean to submit himself to John's will, but he treats Dean with scorn, and respects Sam, who refuses to do so. Think about how trope-loaded Mary's white nightgown and Jessica's skimpy tomboy/girlish and self-consciously cute briefs and smurf crop-top are -- how what is being killed when they both die is symbolic mother/modern-twist on maiden (or whore?) femininity, which sends John and Sam on a revenge quest, and about how Dean DID NOT CHOOSE to be on that journey; he was DRAFTED.

The final episodes of the season make Dean's role explicit when he pleads with Sam and John for family, for love; tells them they are all he has, and Azazel, possessing John, praises Dean for being the one who keeps them together, who always looks out for their family, and think about what a knife to the heart it is that that's how Dean knows that John is possessed: his real father would never value those things about him. He'd think they were too soft, too feminine.

If you watch Supernatural from the beginning, keeping an eye out for every time Dean is feminized or someone (often SAM!!) drags him by impugning his masculinity (I think @ilarual is doing a tally of this? Or someone else?) it's really hard to unsee once you start noticing it: Dean is subjected to misogyny ALL THE TIME, and he subjects himself to it -- pushing down all his softer feelings until all he has is anger and fear -- it's the kind that tells him that he's isn't man enough.

Like, can you not see that a saying 'Supernatural kills female characters' ergo it is a misogynist story is just...too blunt an instrument? Supernatural kills women, and it also kills and tortures men. Is there misogyny in it? ABSOLUTELY. Misogyny is a deep vein running through absolutely everything in it, but most of that misogyny is THE REASON TO TELL THE STORY. The fact that it is a story ABOUT MEN is not misogynist in and of itself, particularly when it is so critical of what men become and and are forced into by hegemonic masculinity. For my money, Dean is intentionally and thoroughgoingly queered from the off! It is no accident. It would be difficult to do that as completely as they do without it being part of the actually DNA of the story.

WHICH IT IS.

And PS. the fact that you think none of the women in SPN are important is pretty misogynist of you.

[phoward89]

Masterlist

Stepcest, Stepson!Coryo x Stepmother!Reader, Sub!Coriolanus, Soft!Dom!Reader, Crassus Snow x Younger!Reader

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Crassus Snow is a cold hearted asshole, but he's a hot asshole... Stepcest, Cuckold, older man/younger woman, arranged marriage, cheating, affairs, secrets, cussing, secret love child

Part 2:

Your son Cassian Xandros was the spitting image of his father; his grandfather too. But nobody knew that. Mhm… Everyone thought that Coriolanus was the big half-brother and that Crassus was the proud father.

And that's the way it's going to be.

It's best for everyone involved.

And after Crassus arrived to visit you in the hospital after you gave birth, he ended up ordering his son to go to the University’s library to study and to work on whatever class assignments he missed out on. Coriolanus begrudgingly did as he was told; leaving you and Crassus alone with baby Cassian.

Alone to bond as a family.

Ha! As if…You'd rather be bonding with Coryo and Cassian right now, but you're married to Crassus. So you're stuck having a family moment with him.

Crassus picked Cassian up from the bassinet Coriolanus had put him back in, only to cradle the newborn while taking a seat in the open chair next to you. Looking between you and your son, your husband asked, “Has your mother seen him yet?”

“No.” You shake your head. “But Coriolanus called her as soon as Cassian was born tho.”

Crassus didn't make a remark about your mother being MIA, but he did have a disapproving glare in his cold pale blue eyes. “Has my mother been here to see her grandson?” The war hero asks, assuming that Coriolanus would've arranged for Tigris to bring Grandma'am to the hospital hours ago.

“No, but Coriolanus said that he'd bring her by to meet Cassian.”

“How? The sniveling brat doesn't have a car; he walks everywhere.” The stern man asks in a biting scoff. Cutting down his oldest son (like he always did).

“I know that, Crassus.” You dryly sigh. “I assume he meant to bring her by in a cab.” You logically supply while watching Crassus smooth his large hand over your son's wisp of pale blonde hair.

Standing up and placing the baby in your arms, he told you, “You need to nurse him; I'll go pick up my mother and bring her here.” The cold, giant blonde man’s mouth turned up at the corners with pride. “She'll be happy to know that our son looks like a true Snow heir.”

Before going to your penthouse to pick up Grandma'am, Crassus went to your childhood home to see your mother. He had a few choice words about her not visiting you and the baby in the hospital after Coriolanus called. Helenium’s your mother, she's supposed to visit you and Cassian, her grandson.

What kind of grandmother snubs their own newborn grandson?

“Crassus Snow, why am I being cursed with your presence on my threshold?” Helenium asked your husband, cigarette holder dangling between her fingers, after answering her front door.

Crassus, who was well over 6ft tall, towers over your mother as he dryly remarks, “That's not any way to speak to your son-in-law.”

Your mother wasn't in a mood to stand around and chit chat with your husband. Glaring at Crassus, your mother reminds him of why he's even your husband in the first place. “You're only my son-in-law as a favor to Javani, your dead war buddy and my late husband.”

Crassus didn’t find Helenium's remark to be amusing. He didn't go out searching for your hand in marriage. In fact it was quite the opposite.

“Hey, you're the one that came running to me for help; wanting me to find somebody to marry your daughter- somebody that wouldn't make her completely miserable, because General Byzantine kept harassing you about her.”

“That horrible man’s friends with Strabo Plinth, the richest man in the goddamn Capitol, so yes I wanted you to help me marry Y/N to somebody before Strabo came knocking on my door shoving a blank checkbook in my face while his friend gave me a pen and marriage contract to sign for my daughter.” Your mother told the man standing at her front door. A man that she couldn't stand the sight of.

A man that she absolutely, undoubtedly, without a doubt hated with every fiber of her being.

Shaking her head, she revealed, “I never thought you'd marry her yourself, Crassus.”

“Yes, well, Y/N is young and beautiful.” Crassus told your mother before revealing his true need for you with, “And, since I plan on running in the presidential race as soon as President Ravenstill either resigns or dies from his poor health, Y/N’s beauty will make for the perfect First Lady on my arm.”

“I'm not voting for you; I'll vote for your opponent.” Your mother tells your husband.

But little does your mother know that when the time does come to vote for a new president that she'll be voting for Crassus. That she'll approve of Crassus in the Presidential Mansion ruling over the nation of Panem rather than his young opponent.

And unknown to everyone, the next presidential election’s going to be very close and very very dirty…

“Yes, well, I'm not here to hash out my career goals or why we’re in-laws. I'm here to tell you that you need to go to the hospital to see Y/N and Cassian.”

Your mother took a long drag off her cigerette holder, only to look up at Crassus and blow a lungful of smoke into the direction of his face as he towers over her. “No, I'm not going tonight. But I'll see them tomorrow.”

Crassus narrowed his cold, icy blue eyes at your mother. “Y/N’s your daughter and Cassian's your newborn grandson, why aren't you seeing them tonight? As a grandmother shouldn't you want to see your own grandson?”

“I'll still be their mother and grandmother tomorrow, Crassus.” Helenium flatly reminds your husband. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready for work tonight.”

“Javani would be appalled, ashamed, and disgusted by what you've become, Helenium.” Crassus told your mother, disdain dripping from his tongue, before pivoting on his heel and heading towards his car that was parked on the curbside.

“Mother, have you noticed a change between my wife and Coriolanus?” Crassus asks his mother, who's dressed to the nines in her fineries to meet her newest grandson, as she sits in the backseat of his car while he drives them to Capitol General Hospital.

Crassus, unlike other Capitolites, didn't have a chauffeur. He prefers to be in control; like to be behind the wheel. General Snow doesn't trust a driver's judgment. In fact he trusts his own judgment over that of a hired hand.

“What kind of change, Crassus, dear?” Grandma'am asked, her voice a bit aloof, as she looked out the window. She looked like the epitome of a fine Capitolite lady, which in fact she truly was.

“Have you noticed if they've become closer as of lately?” Crassus asked, brow raised.

The middle-aged man had noticed for the last few months how his whinny, spoiled brat of a son kept looking at you with a certain- yearning? And the. He called you mommy, which was unsettling to Crassus to say the very least. The only instances he knew of where grown men call grown women who's not their mother ‘mommy’ is when that man's a sub with a kink.

Crassus wouldn't put it past his son to be subby, but a mommy kink? Yea…well…he supposes he can see Coriolanus being into that as well.

Lord knows that Crassus has the stamina of a race horse. That he's been taking libido suppressants ever since getting with you since he doesn't think you can handle his true nature, being so young and all. Plus, it's not as if your marriage is a love match. It's a marriage of convenience, so quick meaningless sex is the expected norm.

Isn't it?

Well, you never complained so Crassus figures you're fine with the very boring vanilla sex life the two of you lead.

If only he knew that wasn't the case at all. That you're fulfilling your needs elsewhere. And with his son: the sub…

“Coriolanus called Y/N mommy in the hospital while explaining that she let him help her narrow down the baby names.” The war hero adds in, to future accentuate his worries and questions for his proper Capitolite lady of a mother.

“Oh, Crassus, it seems like Coriolanus is finally accepting a maternal figure in his life.” Grandma'am waved off her son's concerns. The old woman was a typical grandmother who felt that her grandson was a spotless, precious, innocent, baby lamb in her eyes.

If only Grandma'am knew that her grandson Coriolanus is actually a wolf in sheep's skin.

Crassus shook his head, knowing that he wouldn't get anywhere with his mother. She was an old woman who was charmed by her grandson’s smile and proper demeanor. She'll never think that her grandson could have perverted thoughts.

Crassus on the other hand decided to keep a closer eye on his son’s actions around you. He already picked up on how Coriolanus looks at you, so doing his own little investigation on his son's feelings for you won't be too hard.

But Crassus thinks that his son doesn't have the balls to try anything with you. That Coriolanus would be too scared of the punishment (being cut off from his trust fund) that would befall him if he seduced you.

If only Coriolanus was truly that ball-less. But he wasn't. He had a pair since he successfully seduced you, his stepmother, to become his lover. His ‘mommy’ that rides his cock hard and fast; who bosses him around and indulges him in all of his fantasies.

“I suppose you're right, mother.” Crassus tells Grandma’am as a way to close out the subject he brought up. A thin, barely there smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he tells his mother, “Your new grandson, Cassian, looks like a true Snow. Platinum blonde hair and icy blue eyes.”

“Oh, Crassus, I can't wait to meet him.” Grandma'am replies with the excitement Crassus expects from a normal grandmother. A reaction that your mother never showed.

Grandma'am Snow fawned over Cassian Xandros the moment Crassus placed him into her arms. The old woman smiled at your son, only to look at you and Crassus and say how proud she was that another Snow grandbaby was born. One that looked like a true Snow too, since the Snow looks are very important to upkeep in the family’s lineage.

You thought that the old woman was a bit extra for saying that, but to each their own.

Before Crassus and Grandma'am left to go home a nurse came into your room to explain that you and the baby would only be staying for a day since the labor went without a hitch. The nurse gave your husband the information about the date and time of your discharge so that he could be around not just to take you and the baby home, but to help you fill out the baby's legal paperwork.

So, that's why you're in your hospital room with your husband and a nurse as she asks the required questions that are on the form that will become your son's birth certificate. His legal paper proving his Capitol citizenship.

First the nurse asked the baby's name, to which your husband answered, “Cassian Xandros Snow.”

When the nurse asked about your name and birthday Crassus let you answer that yourself. And when the nurse asked your address, the cold natured man that you're cursed to call your husband answered for you with, “Road of Hope 26, 12th floor Penthouse.”

The nurse nodded and scribbled down the address before asking what your occupation, to which Crassus answered with house wife. Looking at your husband, the nurse asks, “Father's full name, please.”

“Crassus Xanthos Snow.”

You blinked your eyes, shocked to hear that your son's middle name was so similar to your husband's. You didn't even realize it when you discussed it with Coriolanus. Did your lover know that your baby's middle name would be so similar to Crassus'? Hmm…

Then the nurse asked Crassus his birthday, but his answer had you reeling more than the discovery of his middle name. When you heard the year of your husband's birth you quickly did the mental math and came to the startling conclusion that he's younger than you initially thought. Crassus isn't 60, but he's only middle-aged. Crassus is in his mid-40s.

Yea, he's much younger than you thought he was.

So why did both your mother and Coriolanus let you believe that he was old?

And since he's essentially a DILF, why does Crassus pop blue pills; why is your sex life the bare minimum?

Nothing makes sense.

Argh.

Why couldn't you be married to Coriolanus right now? Things would be so much easier if he was your husband.

And talk about the devil…

Coriolanus strolled right into your room, bouquet of white roses in his hand and a smile stretching wide across his face; baby blues flashing manically. And then when he saw you sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed with the baby cradled in your arms and his father sitting next to you all while a nurse asked the question of, “Father's occupation?”, the younger blonde man’s smile faltered.

“Military.” Was Crassus' curt reply to the nurse, all the while Coriolanus was asking why he wasn't told about your discharge. A question to which Crassus answered with a clipped, “Y/N’s my wife, not yours. And Cassian's my son; your baby brother, so you have no need to know about such things.”

Turning to you with tears brimming in his icy eyes like shiny diamonds, Coriolanus’ lower lip quivers as he asks, “Mommy, why wouldn't you call me about your discharge? Didn't you want me here to help you?”

Oh boy…

Not now. Not here in the damn hospital room. What the hell's wrong with Coryo? Is he crazy? He can't just go around calling you mommy in that subby tone of voice: the one he uses when he wants something from you whether it be in the bedroom or out of it.

Oh gods…

Coriolanus, your step-son, is acting up right now in front of both his father and the nurse. Oh, how you wish the floor could just swallow you up right now.

The nurse looked flustered, as if she was intruding in a family moment she shouldn't be a part of. Meanwhile, your husband's brows furrowed, as if the wheels inside of his head were turning.

Locking your eyes with Coryo's cerulean ones, you mustered up your soft dom voice and told him, “I have your father here to help me, Coriolanus. Crassus took some time off work to bring me and the baby home.”

Crassus' face was stern and his voice was low and cold as he told his young doppelganger, “Son, you need to be in class; not here tormenting my wife while she's being discharged with our newborn.”

“I told Dr. Gaul about mommy and the baby; she said I was excused from class to bond with my new mommy and baby brother.” Coriolanus countered his father in a bratty tone while placing the bouquet of white roses on your bedside table.

Oh gods, how you wanted to slap the boy with the light blonde halo of curls across the face. What the fuck’s wrong with him? This isn't funny. This isn't a game he's playing and breaking the rules with, this is your life.

You're married to Crassus; Coryo knows that, but here he is acting bratty and dropping hints here and there that you two are a little close.

The nurse seemed very uncomfortable by what was going on in your hospital room. So much so that she seemed a bit skittish as she flipped the paper on the clipboard to reveal the discharge papers. Before Crassus, you, or your brat of a step-son could say another word the nurse shoved the clipboard and the attached pen at your husband while saying, “Just sign, initial, and date the marked areas of the discharge papers please.”

Crassus nods at the nurse, only to pick up the pen and start marking up the papers in the prompted areas. Never looking up from the vast amount of paperwork, he sternly says, “Dr. Gaul's class is a tough one and one that's passing is required for Military Strategies majors. You, son, being a double major in both Military Strategies and Political Science, can't afford to skip a single day of her class.”

“I’m Dr. Gaul's star prodigy.” Coriolanus boasted with a charming smile. “She even says that once I graduate she'll be offering me a position as an Assistant Gamemaker right underneath her.” He added in, wanting to prove that there was nothing to worry about when it came to his studies with Dr. Gaul.

That woman gave you the creeps. And she says that Coryo's her star prodigy…

What the hell?...

“I thought after graduation you're signing up as an officer in the Peacekeepers; going to 2 for a couple months of quick training before receiving your commission?” Crassus asked Coriolanus, his brows arched, as he handed the clipboard back to the nurse.

“You decided I was going to follow your career path, but after talking to Dr. Gaul I've decided that I'm going to become a gamemaker.” Coriolanus told his father in a tone that screamed entitled brat.

“I'll go scan this into the computer and print out a copy of the birth certificate, then you'll be ready to go.” The nurse rattled out before rushing out of the room. Poor thing just had to get away from the Snow family before she cracked.

Father and son didn't even pay the nurse any mind. She left to scan the paperwork, good for her. Crassus and Coriolanus were too engrossed in their pissing match to care what the nurse did.

“You think you know better then me, son, but you're just a sniveling boy trying to play at being a man." Crassus told his son in a low biting tone that expressed his frustrations. Giving his son a hard, stern look, the older Snow said, "Now, you'll call off these silly notions of gamemaking and enlist as an officer in the Peacekeepers.”

“I am a man, father, and I'm not going to waste my abilities in the military like you did. I'm going to become a gamemaker and then I'll become a politician." A sneering smile crossed his face as he announced, "The best politician in all of Panem.”

“You're a bit too ambitious for your own good, aren't you, Coriolanus?” Crassus rhetorically asked his firstborn son- his deep voice stony and cold.

“And you're not ambitious enough, father, otherwise you'd be more than a minister of some military department.” Coriolanus hurled out without thinking. His bratty boy behavior was on full display right now.

Was he showing out because you're with Crassus, filling out paperwork for baby Cassian. You know that Coriolanus wants to be the one by your side when all of this important stuff is happening, but it's no cause for him to get jealous and become an unbearable brat.

Coriolanus is nearly 22 for Christ's sakes!

He needs to stop being a jealous brat. You're married to Crassus, his father, so he doesn't own you. Coriolanus has no claim over you. All he has is the same as you, the stolen moments in his bedroom during the dead of night.

Crassus' voice was a low hiss that reeked of danger as he gave his son the warning of, “You don't know a damn thing about my ambitions or my career son. So, I advise you to go to class before I throw you out of this room.”

“I have a right to be here-” Coriolanus began to protest, only for you to cut him off with the order of, “Go, Coryo, before things get worse between you and Crassus.”

The young platinum blonde's shoulders slump upon hearing your words. Are you siding with his hateful father over him, your lover and baby daddy? If Coriolanus wasn't so turned on by your bossy tone, he would've objected to your order. But he loves it when you tell him what to do in that soft dominant way you have.

It always sends a twitch straight down to his cock.

Hopefully later tonight, once the baby's put to bed and his father's asleep, you'll be able to take care of his hard, aching cock for him.

“Okay, mommy, I'll be good and go home.” Coriolanus told you, a hint of a smile on his face. A face that was so similar to his father's, only that his features were more youthful.

“Get your useless ass to class, Coriolanus. There's no need for you to be home so early in the afternoon.” Crassus snapped at his son, who was walking out of the room.

Turning to you, Crassus said in a neutral voice, “I have the day off to help you and the baby settle in at home, but I'm afraid I'm needed back at work tomorrow.”

“Don't worry about it, Crassus. I'll be fine.” You assure your husband right as the nurse entered the room with your son's birth certificate along with the paper of his stamped footprints on it.

“I wasn't worried about it; I was telling you so you wouldn't expect me at home cooing over you and the baby whenever I have more important things to attend to.” Crassus told you in a low, bland tone that hinted that he didnt view you or the baby as a priority in his life. That his work was worth more than you and your baby.

If only you were married to Coriolanus. He clearly values you and the baby more than his work.

Or at least you think that he does.

In time you'll find out that Coriolanus’ ambitions will turn him into a monster. A monster some deems worse as his father.

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