#I am not at all an expert on the subject but I do think it is an interesting topic

[thewalrusespublicist]

Re: John and domestic abuse, and your tag: 'John as an abuser is something I don't think the fandom knows what to do with'. 

I think my big thing about why and how it's all so difficult to unpack this is that the stories predominantly stem from and around the Dakota years and that is an incredibly murky time, in terms of straight facts and reliable narrative. Most of what leaks out of there comes via blackmail or disgruntled ex employees who are then silenced with gag orders. I think only May Pang's version of events is the most clear cut, level headed. And for what it's worth, I think she describes a mutually abusive relationship between John and Yoko, which I can believe. (I also take from it that she was in an abusive relationship with John, but that’s my take and I’m not going to put words in her mouth). And I know that you link to AKOM's discussion about John's beatings and abuse of Yoko, where they read from Goldman's book, but I think it's worth saying that AKOM wrote a eleven episode series to highlight how important it is not to take Tune In at face value because of Mark Lewisohn's clear bias in favour of John, and against Paul, and how this bias can inform a narrative and therefore objective facts can become subjective statements... and then go and quote *directly* from Goldman, who plainly and nakedly despises John - even three year old John is held in utter contempt! That doesn't mean that I don't believe the stories aren't true; as you point out, John and Yoko themselves have openly discussed John's violence. But just like I can't use Lewisohn as a source, unless it’s for a specific recording date, say… I can’t use Goldman either. 

So with regards to fandom, yeah, many people don’t know how or where to put John’s violence and abusive behaviour. But that is true of *all* of the Beatles. It’s an undisputed fact that three quarters of the Beatles have been accused of, or admitted to domestic violence, yet it’s airbrushed from Paul and Ringo’s stories. Ringo will forever be a beloved king and no-one will bring up the fact that he beat his wife so hard that he believed he had killed her. And as for Paul and Heather Mills; while those allegations have a right to be strongly contested, it’s a fact (and I am old enough to remember), that Mill’s was utterly destroyed in the British press (Amber Heard has nothing on the sheer hatred that the media had for Mills), to the point that her testimony was obliterated and has been erased from any narrative to do with Paul. But Paul is a Blorbo, and no one wants to fold any negative character traits into his persona. And as for John - I’m not surprised you got it in the neck for saying that John had mental health issues - but I am surprised that it came from John stans! I got yelled at for trying to discuss John’s very likely mood disorder, but the yelling came from influential Beatle people who saw that as an ‘apology’ or defence of his behaviour (which it wasn’t). I actually think of all the arena’s of fandom, Tumblr has the healthiest approach None of them are held in reverence or as Saint’s, and they aren’t just out and out assholes either. 

t/w coercion, abuse, child abuse

Hi anon, thank you for your message and for putting forward your perspective! This is a difficult topic, and I am not an expert in these matters. However, I’m going to try and answer this the best I can and with the amount of sensitivity I think this conversation needs.

Just to start off,I totally agree with you that Tumblr is by far the best place in terms of their approach towards the Beatles and their behaviour. I think in other places like Reddit, some of the fans there are older and grew up with the ‘Saint John’ image put forward by the Lennon estate. If you have that context, the minute it’s revealed that maybe your hero wasn’t perfect, the natural response is to either deny it completely or start to demonise them. It’s not healthy or productive but it’s understandable. I also agree that the fandom does not know how to deal with the allegations of domestic abuse with all the Beatles and that is a widespread problem. In the case of Paul, I think his negative traits are acknowledged and there is good discussion about it, though equally some of these issues are played more for laughs. I’m also not the right person to do a deep dive on the flattening and cinnamon-rolling of Ringo in the fandom but I think one needs to be done. I do however want to put forward an alternative perspective on a couple of points that you mentioned.

Despite my belief that all of the Beatles probably engaged in terrible behaviour towards women (the repeated mentions of Paul’s control issues from multiple sources really concern me), what sets John apart from the others is the consistency and the severity of the allegations. With Paul and Ringo, the allegations or the incidents are, as far as we know, situated in the context of a crisis and not an established pattern. This could be wrong, but we don’t have any further information to dispute it properly (Paul’s long, adoring relationship with his first and third wives and his children suggest not in his case at least). The same can’t be said for John. You raise the point that AKOM cites Goldman and how this could be seen as hypocritical and that a lot of the information comes from the murky Dakota years. I understand where you’re coming from but I don’t think this is is 1000 percent accurate. On the AKOM point, I think this mischaracterises what the ladies were doing as they were citing direct reports from staff in Goldman’s book, not Goldman’s interpretation. As Beatles historian Erin Torkelson Weber states, Goldman was excellent in obtaining information, it’s how he construed the information that raises severe problems for his credibility. As the ladies said as well, whilst they acknowledge Goldman’s problems, the tapes with this information on are available in the archive. Still, he is a dodgy source, so the points need to be cross-referenced with other sources. In this instance, the sources are John and Yoko themselves.

It’s also true that a lot of the allegations for the Dakota years are from the disgruntled employees pack and so are harder to verify, however allegations of violence and abuse both predate this period and are corroborated later on. Whilst John Lennon fanboy of the decade Lewisohn tried to downplay it, John did hurl insults and abuse at one of his early girlfriends to try and force her to sleep with him. John did beat up a random woman in the Bob Wooler incident and barricaded Little Richard in his own dressing room whilst hurling mocking abuse at him. Further, whilst Cynthia said that John rarely hit her, John himself disputes that in Hunter Davies. Post Yoko, we have reports of continued violence from different sources like Nilsson that corroborate stories like John choking May. Mintz, who was/is doggedly loyal to Yoko, was the one to repeat the story of John purposefully humiliating Yoko at the party by loudly sleeping with a stranger. Then you have Sean and Julian’s own recollections of abuse. These aren’t one off incidents, this is a repeated pattern of documented abusive behaviour that exist throughout John’s lifetime as well as the well-worn pattern of victims trying desperately to defend his behaviour in language hauntingly familiar to most abuse victims (‘he didn’t mean it’, ‘he’s sensitive’, ‘he didn’t know what he was doing.’) In this context, it is hard to say why the disgruntled employees narratives should be seen as so outlandish.  This is what sets the conversation about John apart from the others as his pattern of abuse is inescapable and entrenched in all his close interpersonal dynamics (yes, including his relationship with Paul but that’s for another time).

I’m not saying all of this to demonise John, all of this has to be understood in the context of a man with a deeply traumatic childhood, who likely had a severe mood disorder as you said, was in what I believe was a mutually abusive relationship as you and May Pang posit, and was trying his best to improve in a time period that could not give him the support he needed. But this is a lot to ask a fandom to deal with and handle carefully so often it gets shoved down or outright ignored when it’s integral to understanding who John was and why we need to take so much care in certain discussions about him.

[constellama]

For how little I talk about Orange I actually think about him a lot, which means I have so many fun concepts for him, so I present to you,

Headcanons/Theories/Concepts about Orange that don’t all make sense but are fun to think about anyway (aka, me rambling about Orange):

(also short disclaimer please don’t take this too seriously I am not any sort of expert in media analysis or anything this is just for silliness)

- I’m mainly going into this with the theory that Orange is some kind of form of externalization, whether that be wrath or just forbidden emotions in general. Honestly my opinion of what he represents is still kinda nebulous but like. Please don’t leave I promise I have good ideas.

- From what we saw with Logan, I think Orange’s abilities might be some form of enhancing the others’ emotions— forcibly externalizing them in some way. There’s so much tension between the other sides, what with Logan wanting to be listened to, Patton never sharing how he feels, Roman still clinging on to Thomas’s selflessness, and idek how this is all affecting Virgil. Not to mention Nico is in the mix. Orange is gonna somehow force the others to actually talk about their feelings. Basically, Janus can force the others to shut up, so what if Orange can do the opposite? (trust me this can only go well and nothing bad will happen)

- We already know Thomas’s perception of the dark sides tends to be what he thinks is “bad” or the opposite of good, like Janus being portrayed as a snake because of snakes’ reputation in Catholicism. I think it would be fun if Orange also leaned into the religious imagery. What I’m saying is that I think Orange should have goat motifs. Please. Goats are animals also associated with the devil and sin and if Thomas believes that whatever Orange represents is “evil” in the same way he initially thought Janus and Remus were evil, then it makes sense he may subconsciously see him that way. But like, this is mainly because I want orange to be a silly goat. Give that man rectangular pupils please it’s beneficial to my mental health.

- We still know next to nothing about Orange’s personality so this is where it really gets fun! I want to believe Orange is cold. Cold, calculated, a completely icy demeanor. More on his relationship with Logan here, idk if this is an unpopular opinion but I don’t think Orange has much to do with Logan at all. I don’t think they’re as connected as we think, actually. I think the only reason we see orange manifest with Logan is just because Logan happened to be the first person he got to. If anything, Logan now knows to avoid whatever brought him on, which we see in the gift exchange episode when he shuts down Remus after he said “Kinda makes you wanna scream, huh?”

- Adding on from the last part ☝️ I think it would be really funny if Orange got to Roman next. It would be completely unpredicted and with how vulnerable Roman is, he’d be forced to come to terms with the fact that not everything is black and white. Let him have ugly emotions and put a mirror in front of him, if you will.

- ok this is so unorganized but back to Orange’s personality, I think he should be completely devoid of emotions. Analytical in every way Logan wants to be. Idk how to explain this part but his emotions are outside of him, externalization in the way his emotions are external and forced out of the others. This isn’t saying he’s possessing them, but more like he’s an empath. An empath if he was evil but not really. I sound insane but I swear it makes sense.

- also as a bonus, there’s this fun hc that I have (I promise this has to do with Orange) but we know Virgil’s name is a sensitive subject for him. We also know the dark sides like to take advantage of that. And it’s so deliberate in a way that makes me think there’s more to it. SO HEAR ME OUT. You know how Virgil’s name was taken from the Roman poet Vergilius? What if that was his actual full name. What if when he separated himself from the dark sides, he cut off the “ius” because he felt it associated him with them. He told the others they can call him “Virge” as a nickname so they had no reason to assume Virgil was already a nickname. Now imagine that when we meet Orange, because he needs to sides to externalize everything, he refers to Virgil as Vergilius. Yippee more tension for everyone!! Another thing the sides have to discuss as a way to fully come to terms with the fact that they have to communicate and let Thomas breathe!!!

If you made it to the end of this post!!! What !!!! Ty for reading my silly rambles, reminder that none of this is serious, this is entirely for fun and also probably doesn’t entirely make sense. (I tried to make this as coherent as I could). I doubt that any of this is going to end up canon, but the concepts are fun to think about !!

[nieves-de-sugui]

The Yaoi Ronso and Akiko Mizoguchi

here the original post this one stems from. I advice reading that one first if you haven't. Please note I am no expert on this, and this is a post to give an overview of the different topics treated. There might be some inaccuracies.

The Yaoi Debates - 1992

In 1992, a “confrontation between women yaoi fans and gay men about the relation between the representation of homosexual love and society’s prejudice against gay men in real life” that happened in the japanese feminist magazine Bessatsu CHOISIR. 

The Yaoi Ronso (or Yaoi Debates) were a series of letters published in the magazine between Masaki Sato (a gay activist), who criticized the genre, and the female readers, who defended it. Masaki Sato criticized yaoi for showing examples of homosexual life that could negatively impact young gay men who read them. Meanwhile female readers argued back that shonen ai/yaoi was not meant to depict reality, or real men. This exchange of letters ended with Masaki Sato and some of the female readers agreeing in some points, and Sato suggesting that instead of escaping from reality these stories should make reality easier to live in. 

Up to that point, in most of the 20 years of academic studies regarding the subject, it has been argued that the men depicted in these stories chould be thought as a third gender free of societal expectations, object of love in a pure form. A means for female sexual liberation and exploration, made possible thanks to its detachement to reality. Lots of theories at the time said that women used these “boys” to avoid having to become “women”, and the expectations that came with the title. Maintaing the “boyhood” from childhood that is lost as they become women. 

After the Debates, female academics started evaluating the power of the symbol of male homosexual love fantasies. And so started a discussion about the difference between reality and fantasy, getting to question topics such as depictions of rape being easily allowed. All of this as part of gender studies and manga studies.

One of the more discussed things in academic studies regarding shoujo and BL is its heterosexual female public. The shonen-ai/yaoi/BL has served as a medium for homosexuals to find each other but also for heterosexual women to flee society’s heteronormative and gender pressures, heavily associated with fantasy. One example of this is the magazine Barazoku (meaning Rose tribe, bara is a term highly associated with gay content). Which featured a column where letters of female readers would be published. At first these letters expressed the desires of these women to marry gay men, or become gay men themselves to enjoy a freedom they believed gay men enjoyed (they would usually be referred to as okoge or fag hags). Despite its problematic nature, the chief editor of the magazine went against advice and requests to stop publishing such letters. From there on started to appear letters from lesbian women (which ended up being the only kind of letters that woul d be featured) who, interested in depictions of homosexual love would realize their own desire for the same sex. This column was then changed to the name Yurizoku (the Lily Tribe, yuri is a term highly associated with lesbian content). 

The 1990s were also when there was a “gay boom” in japan (lgbt movie festivals and other things started happening). Many of the manga magazines that published BL would feature articles that introduced the japanese gay lifestyle to its women readers. Like, gay bars, Shinjuku Ni-Choume (the gay district of Tokyo), or art popular among gays or even foreign gay communities. Gay men and women has been learned from each other in this way for a number of years now. 

Academics noticed the impact of the Yaoi Ronso on BL as they started to observe gay characters who reached a happy ending emerging. The Yaoi Ronso had a definite impact on the evolution of the gerne as it started to take into account that (having meant to or not) they had a power of influence that affected real people. 

sources Kayo Takeuchi James Welker Wim Lunsing

However, Wim Lunsing brings an important point to the table:

“Gay manga are not essentially different from BLB manga.”

It is true that BL is the most popular form in which we find gay stories in Japan. However, gay comics had existed for almost the same amount of time as yaoi. 

Short introduction to Male Love (ML)

ML, Gei Komi and Bara are the terms with which gay content made by and for gay men are refered to. Gengoroh Tagame is one of the most prominent figures of it. Before he started publishing his very sexual BDSM comics, the beauty ideal that was pursued was the bishonen aesthetic. However, Tagame’s characters where big, muscle-y, fat, hairy men, with a clear influence by Tom of Finland, and its popularity changed the tastes of japanese gay men.

Gengoroh Tagame also started writing slice of life manga in an effort to educate japanese society about gay life and LGBT issues. He is the author of the manga My Brother’s Husband (which was later turned into a 4 episode series).

Another notable manga is Until I Met my Husband, based on an autobiographic essay by Ryousuke Nanansaki.

Akiko Mizoguchi, the Rape Fantasy Expert - An Extra

Akiko Mizoguchi is a notable researcher of BL studies. She is the expert in regards to the analysis of depictions of rape, however she writes mostly in japanese, and my comprehesion of it is very limited for academic readings. 

She has wrote an extensive book: Theorizing BL As a Transformative Genre: Male-Male Fictions by and for Women - which is currently being translated to english.

Summary:

Identifying Mari Mori's 1961 short novel as the origin of the genre and the 1970's-1980's "Beautiful Boy" manga within the girls' (shojo) manga as the precursor, Dr. Akiko Mizoguchi discusses how the commercial BL genre has transformed into an unprecedented genre with feminist and queer activist potential. Recent commercial BL genre has produced stories that portray strong female characters and gay-identified characters who come out and engage in other realistic negotations. Mizoguchi argues that while BL represents beautiful male characters at the center, for veteran women fans and authors, it functions as a female sexualized discursive space in which they exchange pleasure to the extent that these women can be called "virtual gay men" and "virtual lesbians."

source

Mizoguchi is a lesbian woman trying to bring a new type of analysis of BL taking lesbianism into account. 

Other academic authors with a lot on yaoi manga/BL are Mark McLelland and Thomas Baudinette. 

Conclusion (of sorts)

Even though The Yaoi Debates ended, it is still being had up to these days. Both in academics and within the BL fandom. If we change the exhange of letters in magazines for the internet, we find ourselves in a similar situation. I hope that through this post the Debates have become clearer and easier to understand for those who didn’t know about it. 

I close with this quote from one of the text I read for this post:

“The implication that gay sex is objectified for the purpose of the sexual liberation of women surely is a queer use of male homosexuality par excellence.”

Together with a longer version of the previous quote:

“It rather seems that gay men like Satō have difficulty with the idea that women may look at them as sex objects. Gay manga are not essentially different from BLB manga.”

Make with it what you will, but it is indeed food for thought.

Closing Remarks

For those curious ones, wanting to look into how the gay community of Japan was in the 70′s, check out Funeral Parade of Roses. And if anyone is interested in male prostitution in Japan, check out Boys for Sale (if you can, if not here’s an interview).

If you’ve made it to this point, I hope you found this post interesting or helpful in whichever way it may be needed. I have mainly summarized what little I know on the topic but if anybody is curious about the big details in an academic way, here is the best article on it I have been able to find: The Yaoi Ronso (by Wim Lunsing).

Edit: this post has been updated to correct some mistakes. If you happen to see any more please do point them out

[umbrellacam]

sure would be nice. if people could debunk a dumb exaggerated/incorrect fanon without people immediately turning it 180° and happily hauling ass right into another dumb exaggerated/incorrect fanon. while gleefully crowing about how canon and correct this opposite take is.

sure would be nice 🙃

[thissmycomingofage]

.

[bellamygate]

idk if anyone has had the balls to say it yet and im def not the one to put it eloquently as it deserves but im seeing some uneasy & alarming trends surfacing in the manifestation & self-help community that look like cult indoctrination

[liinos]

it's crayz bc i know my sisters will vent to each other about me/talk about me when i'm not there but *i* can't do that with either or them bc they always tell the other and it's like 🧍🏻‍♀️ well who am i supposed to vent to then🧍🏻‍♀️

[celtrist]

Next thing you'll say is he doesn't have a tail

ref to this pic

EDIT: Just to keep things clear I didn't really think about bringing it up but not everyone's gonna click to see the first picture and might be confused. Alastor was stated to know only a little bit of broken French, the reasoning due to being from New Orleans. Speaking standard French is very much not a thing in New Orleans, so he would logically only know French-Creole. This is very different from the standard French language and a large misconception that people from New Orleans speak regular French. So yes, he does speak some French, just not as well as people make him nor would it, in theory, be the regular French that everyone makes him speak [but I wouldn't put it past the writers to not do that research but maybe I have too little faith in them]. I'm not from New Orleans, I visited it once so it's not like I'm an expert. But I HAVE looked into it and just bothering with one Google search will tell you it's not common and you'll even have a special term called "Louisiana French" pop up. With that all said, these were statements made on years past streams and could've been changed in the official series. However, as of right now, the official statement is that he speaks only a little broken French that should technically be French-Creole if they're going by and that he's from New Orleans to know that language. And again, I don't have a lot of faith in writers to do the research into it being Louisiana French rather than regular French, but now I'm rambling lol This is just a bit of context for this comic so people who were curious can understand it a bit more. And it's totally possible I got something wrong, so feel free to point it out when I do. I just like to dig into the nooks and crannies of information for things :3 2nd EDIT: Just for any future reblogs, I did get somethings incorrect in the above (not surprising), so here's some of the corrections I got:

@mangotangerine: "A tiny nitpick - it would likely be Louisiana Creole, which is one of the French-based Creole languages (Haitian Creole is prob the most well known as it has about 10-12 million speakers vs Louisiana Creole which has around 10,000 due to multiple factors but especially legislation in early 1920s outlawing it). Louisiana French is an umbrella term for the various French dialects/etc in the region (e.g., the dialect Cajun French)." (We actually had a whole conversation in the comments of this post and highly suggest looking down there in case you're interested in learning more!)

@alyssumflowers: "I am from New Orleans and a little bit of a language nerd. You're confusing some things here. Cajun French is a dialect of French. My great grandmother spoke it fluently, my grandfather in pieces.

Louisiana Creole is another language entirely. The word "creole" means mixed and a creole language is basically a mixture of two or more languages. Sort of, it's a linguistics thing. Anyways. Louisiana Creole has next to no speakers left and I've had a hard time trying to find somewhere or someone to learn it from because I really want to." (Always great to hear from someone who has more insider knowledge on the subject! So I wanted to give this it's share due as well, hope you can fine somewhere to learn it! /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡ )

Thank you for the comments! My previous statement still stands about Al probably not speaking normal French, but I wanted these corrections still known and pointed out :3

[darkdemeter]

THE THREAT OF INTIMACY

⚤ Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Angst — insecure reader and depictions of negative thoughts and fear of sexual intimacy — profanity — SMUT 18+ mdni — virgin!reader/loss of virginity — unprotected sex — hurt/comfort — oral (female receiving) — le dasha of body worship —cream pie — mafia bucky being a huge softy for his wife — I think that's it ✎ 7.4k A beautiful bride marrying the man of your dreams. But when faced with what comes after the vows and first dance as Mr. and Mrs Barnes, you suggest that a particular arrangement be made.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

It’s not so much of a grand show once the curtain falls. There hangs a greed of mischief and ominous silence. He looks at you, blue eyes piercing the exposed skin of your back, the white gown hangs an elegant silhouette on you. Its embroidered sculpts become melded into the fabricated folds as you stop midst the gate of your saunter forwards, each step a reminder drawing nearer as you do to the bed. 

Did you really have to do this? 

It was an era of change after all. But his seniors were old school, and so you expected him to be as well in the matters of the marriage bed. It is expected of you — the both of you. Your hands fish through the elaborate style of your hair, musing it loose and gaining a comforted scalp as you turn away from the bed and walk over to the large windows that extend from top to bottom, overlooking the twinkling space of stars fallen to earth. 

Being far away from it means you are torn from it. Once you step foot back in that place, you are no longer the girl you once were.

You are now Mrs. Barnes. A wolf among sheep. The queen of the Bratva. A cooperation of mobsters who have bought police eyes and silenced officials of the government. But was this status and power worth what is intended to follow? 

You didn’t have a real choice in the matter. Well, maybe you did. You fell for him, you won’t deny it, and you fell hard for him. Other pickings were not as savoury, nor did they explode with the chemistry you shared with him. But this wasn’t the only factor. 

It’d been clear that your hearts were set on one another. With the subtle whispers into the other’s ear, hugging and kissing, fingers entwined, or the more assuring hand on the low of your back. This intimacy had been a flavour sweet – loving – and you came to embrace these softer textures of your life at his side. His proposal was impossibly expected but even then, you couldn’t contain your surprise and eagerly said yes.

You never gave the thought of what came next exactly. The very intimate aftermath. Until his mother pulled you aside, a smile on her painted ruby lips as she guided you to walk with her through the hedged gardens. That conversation is one you will never forget. Her love is shocking, her devotion to her husband and family, you can hardly stand the thought of not loving her in return. 

But that talk shocked you. 

Half of it because of the gory details she regaled, but the other half because of your own mind. Your poisoned mind that festers with anxious insecurities. 

Of course it’s expected. Your virginity doesn’t exactly wave you as an expert, no matter what talks of womanhood you are subjected to. But by the standard of Mr. Bucky Barnes, his former bachelor days had given him what you lack: experience. 

What if I’m so bad that he’s repulsed by me? 

He’ll only need to take one look at me and that’ll be enough.

What if I can’t make him cum? 

What exactly am I supposed to do— I don’t think I’m ready. 

You continue on in your panicked, internal reverie, hand raised to rest your lips against your knuckles, the shine of diamonds catching in the dark reflection, a momentary blindness befalls you that then causes your stomach to writhe with unease.

“Hey,” your husband whispers, breath warm over the shell of your ear and his lips tease the curve of your exposed neck with light kisses. Your body flinches at the suddenness of his appearance right behind you, his chest to your back; you feel tears deep into the corner of your eyes, hot and wet and annoying. The stronghold of air chokes you in the back of your throat.

“Mm, hi…” 

Your forced smile is quick to fade, just barely passing back a glance at him before looking away. He catches this falter. His expression is shadowed by a troubled frown. He noticed the way you flinched before him. And that glistening of tears is hard to miss when it comes to you.  

“Talk to me,” he presses gently, “you okay?” 

His hands are strong and sure as he holds you, turns you to face him directly now, putting the window to your back. Your ring bound hand massages over your face with a breath hollowing out in a deep sigh. 

“Yeah. I’m good, I think we should get some rest. It’s been a big day.” 

Before you can step around him, his hand circles the entirety around your forearm, holding you in place.

“You don’t want to…” At the trailing end of his words with his blue eyes alluding to his meaning, the sting of tears prick your vision again and a flush paints your cheeks and neck red. He lets you walk away with the train of your dress flowing behind you like a silken shadow. 

“I don’t think tonight.”

Or any other night… 

Bucky’s throat bobs with a thick swallow, nodding as he watches you. Always a man who knows what to do, how to maintain composure — his power — he feels that confidence wane like the fading moon. Powerless.

The words brewing on your tongue are tart, poisonous and unpleasant. Not the sort you would ever want to say to your husband, no less on your wedding night. 

You’d ventured over to the vanity by now, you say beneath a shaken exhale, “I’ll look to hire a mistress.”

“Excuse me?” He gasps sharply. 

Your reply, voice short of anything joking or playful. You sit before the vanity and bend forward, unfastening the golden clasps on your heels before you set them aside. “I’ll have a mistress contracted for you. We’ll do everything else together but she will… provide the sexual affairs.”

“And you?” His question makes you pause midway of turning fully towards the mirror, only barely do you see him trail the outskirts of the room, just only in focus of your view. With a sigh, you pluck your earrings out, saying more so to your own reflection than him, “I’ve gone this long without sex, Bucky. I’m sure I can go on the rest of my life without it.” 

“No, no, we’re not doing things like that. I married you — I want you.” Why is that just too hard to believe? You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes in the mirror, so you look away, anywhere that doesn’t meet his gaze. “Honey, where the fuck did this come from?”

You don’t answer. The man is practically brought to his knees before you like a servant ready to obey you like a goddess. Treatment he committed to you, though you don’t feel deserving of. He spins you slowly on your stool until you face him, knelt before you, he tries to find the stunning awe of your eyes only to find you hiding away from him. “Did somebody say something to you? Who was it?” 

Quick to spare someone needless bloodshed, you stand abruptly, almost knocking him back and storm away from him by some feet, putting distance between you both, your voice carries over your shoulder, “Nobody said anything. I just think this arrangement will be better for us.”

You’re blinking back a curtain of tears that threaten to unleash. A wave rises high like a tsunami in your soul with these stupid, incessant thoughts. 

You’re imperfect. 

You’re ugly. 

Let another woman – a beautiful woman – please him. 

He’ll regret marrying you once he sees you.

Fingers ringing the course of massaging your temples, you are slowly being drowned by many, many thoughts like these. They're endless. They’re relentless and they are loveless. Not once do you give yourself the internal piece of mind that maybe, just maybe, there is hope in this relationship. That they are wrong. That he won’t judge or run from you. But who can say for sure?

It’s best to play it safe and keep what dignity you have left. Despite the spitefulness of seeing him become satisfied by another woman, it would be better than depriving him for the rest of his life. And you care more for his own happiness. It’s all you want for him. 

He speaks up again, his voice going stern in his verbal study. “So, let me get this straight: I marry the love of my life, the very essence I love and breath for, only to… fuck another woman. After I swore a vow to you.” 

“Bucky, you’re making it sound—”

“I’ll go without sex for the rest of my life than have some whore in our bed.” 

You spin on your heel, mouth agape. Finally you look at him long enough as he works to slowly approach you and he sees just how badly you’re hurting on the inside. “Bucky—” 

How quick he is to cut you off before you can even utter another heinous thing, now reaching you. “I wouldn’t stand at the altar for just anyone. I gave up that bachelor life to have you. I chose you. I want to have all of you.”

You mutter, mumble off-centred excuses that come out as broken noises on a record, and then you let out a shaken breath, chest feeling like it's being cleaved and ripped apart to the point your body trembles. You try your hardest to suppress your quiet sniffles as the flow of tears begin, fingers hastefully dapping away as to not smear your makeup; your only means of perfection that you’ve felt in a while.

When you saw yourself in the white dress every little girl dreams of for the first time in a bridal shop far too expensive for the average, then again in the dressing room with hair and makeup done to the nines, it all almost made you forget about the gut-wrenching aftermath once the reception concluded. That you were walking down that aisle with a purpose you would never come to regret. 

Was it all a foolish fairytale to idolise this facade of beauty?

The hand bearing his ring uses a force so gentle you think it’s the end, that when you look up, he will be gone. That your wedding dress will fade into your everyday jeans and grandmother’s patchy sweater you treasure too much to throw away, her scent still lingering there to inhale on a bad day. 

He drives your focus upwards until your eyes meet, your vision hindered behind a blur that wets your lashes as you blink. A vibrant colour of blue that once intimidated you now attends to assure you, to quiet your riled fears, but there is a reluctance to let your guard down this time. 

His hands cradle your jaw in his hold with a promise to never let you go. To never let you know this fear again.

“I won’t judge. I won’t run in disgust or whatever you think I’m gonna do. I think my vows can be credited to that, yeah?” 

Your bottom lip sinks inward slightly, teeth biting down hard on the plump of flesh, muttering a softly broken, “I-I guess.” 

“You’re scared.”

It is shame that brings your eyes to falter, chin wobbling until it crinkles. “Yes…”

It’s like he could read you, knowing that your next move is to shove him off – push him away – he leans down and presses his lips to your own. Warm, a little roughened yet still retaining a softened plush of texture, he breathes some sort of cooling flame that soothes you if not for a short while. A rattled, sharpened gasp teeters on the edge of your voice and he parts from the kiss with a low and silky drawl. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, love. We can take our time with this.” 

You’re hoisted into his arms, strength unyielding as he carries you over to the bed and sets you atop the mattress like porcelain. For him, he’s scared how easily it is to break you, no matter how hard you hide this fragility. You use the outside of your hand to wipe at your nose and exhale loudly, mind prattling on with your swirling thoughts. 

Pathetic. 

He’ll definitely need a mistress after that display. 

And all you’re better off getting is a toy. 

His family will ridicule you. He’s going to tell everyone that his little wife refused to have sex with him on his wedding night.

Poisonous thoughts. They aren’t going away. With a sniffle, you watch Bucky begin to strip himself down, leaving himself to his boxers. However much you admire the act in itself, it’s far too intimate than anything else. The idea of you doing that for him sickens you. You become repulsed by yourself. 

Your mind is a hideous beast. 

Like you.

Shut up!

You make this wedding dress look ugly.

“Come on, doll,” Bucky’s voice breaks through the hazardous cloud like a lighthouse awaiting for you ashore, guiding you to safety. He offers you a smile you try to match only to feel your lips twitch, muscles cringing as you keep the well of tears and cries inside. He invites you to join him and you move up the bed. You can’t bear to shed the second skin of your dress to reveal the lavish, risque lace and frilly lingerie you’d picked out at the encouragement of your bridesmaids.

You never really gave it much thought before until it was too late. This culture of intimacy you perceive as a threat. 

Your husband doesn’t question you. Instead he lays beside you, arms stretched out to invite you into his embrace. An invite you half-heartedly indulge in, inching yourself awkwardly to his side but remaining to keep some inches from him.

Head laid on the tucked shelf of your arms, hair mused to fall over your features, you intend to wallow in silence until exhaustion overtakes you into sleep. 

You’ve ruined his day.

“What are you thinking in that pretty head of yours?” The question is directed to you, you’re sure. But it also sounds like he’s asking himself for the answer to a riddle he cannot begin to understand. 

“I’m sorry I ruined your day…”

The contortion of his features almost has your body locking up into a tightly wound position, the form of his dark brows bevelling in the middle, eyes widening until the blackened pupils shrink into tiny dots. 

“What?” he sputters, “No– no, honey. This is our day.”

Our day?

There is a storm of emotion battling in his own eyes, however, he is just as quick to hide it from you. He trails again to caress the line of your jaw, his thumb strokes along your bottom lip. “Love, I will never force you into anything. Not your first time, not your hundredth. You hear me, yeah?”

Your eyes only look to stare at him with a stillness, before you absently nod. Then you turn, putting your back to him. You cannot bring yourself to look at him out of sheer guilt that no matter what, he cannot silence the honest and cruel torment of voices in your head. Not forever. They will find something to pick out and gnaw at to send you into this spiral. 

If you could do so without the judgement of your husband, you would cry and howl into your pillow for hours until the perfect mirage of your makeup fell apart, you’d spare the dress from being a ridiculed taint by being on you any longer. You’d be on the phone to your sister pleading for her to keep you company and distract you from this pain, you’d cry into her chest as she held you with all the strength she possessed. You’d ask your parents to call you beautiful, even though it’s a lie. 

But you keep it all in. And it breaks you so harshly on the inside that it cuts you like thousands of shards shredding you apart. 

You’re not sure exactly how much time has passed between the void of silence. You can’t sleep. The tyrannical storm of emotion swarming inside you makes it impossible to even try lest you break and let it all out, letting it show. 

“B-Bucky?” you squeak, clearing your throat and you hear him hum immediately in response, the weight of him rolling over until his body is a ghost along your back. “Can I… uhm, can I ask you something?” 

Aside from the odd hiccup and sniffle here and there, you hold firm to sounding as you were before, the bubbly and playful girl Bucky couldn’t help but tease until you were a flustering mess, the girl who attempted to flirt back only to fumble over your words and proceed conversation with a shy smile. The girl he fell in love with. The one he gladly stood at the altar for. Before the voices.

“Of course, doll. Anything.”

 Nervously your fingers flex and wind together, thumbing the fabric over your breasts, the enclosed circlet of cleavage pressed closely together. You wish you could giggle at the way you caught Bucky gawking numerous times in supposed awe of you throughout the day. He often is like that every time he sees you though, now that you come to think about it. 

Supposedly.

Not likely real…

I’m going to regret asking this, aren’t I?

With a heavy swallow coated heavily in your hesitance, you take a breath in hope that proves to fail to settle your nerves. “You’ve been with plenty of girls before me… you know how to please them, what did…” you pause upon a whimper, “were they all the same?”

The amount of strain behind your vocal cords makes you cringe in disgust. You sound like—

“No, they were all different. Unique to each girl.” You can almost sense the way his head props up to look at you. His eyes staring a cool layer of heat into your back. “Just like you.”

“How can you say that?” Your voice betrays the toxins of a heart and mind poisoned together over far too long. Bucky hears the loathe of self in your words, dry and cynical, unbelieving in his words and your own image. “You’ve never even seen what I look like… you don’t know how I’ll be, I’ve never—” 

Your hands press over your eyes in hope to suppress the tears glassing over your vision. 

“Hey,” Bucky admonishes with a low drawl, tutting you, “hey. I’m not expecting the fucking grandios of perfect sex. I’m expecting you and only you. I want what makes you and your body unique.”

You turn your head to see him, chin wobbling slightly. How he’d crawl through hot coals and glass for you, seeing the beauty of what you see are flaws. He then grins and for a moment, it disturbs you how he could smile when you’re like this. 

“I wasn’t the best for my first time. In fact, I’m telling you–”

“Bucky, no, you don’t have to,” you interject with a stifled cough. You shoot to sit up and your husband follows, chuckling. 

“No, I will tell you I was shit at sex. Horrible. My first time—”

Your hands paw and pat at his mouth to silence him to no avail, your chorus of hiccups and sniffles turn into shy giggles. 

“I–couldn’t–”

You giggle a little louder this time. “Shush, Bucky! No-ho!” 

“Couldn’t even– find the cl—”

Your fingers are a heavenly pillar even as they hold his lips prisoner from speaking aloud. He smirks behind them and plants delicate kisses to them, enamoured by the faint smile on your face and the softness of your eyes. Seeing you cry and be tied to these human emotions makes a fire burn in his chest. Like for the longest time, he’s finally found someone who can make him feel whole. If only he could help you feel the same. In the make of those blue, puppy dog eyes, you crack and scoff out a snort. “New York’s infamous Mob Lord…” 

He beams from ear to ear at the unfinished implication, taking the time to fall so hard in love with you all over again. He leans his forehead against yours with a rumbled, “Mhm.”

Mascara smudged under the barrage of wet lashes and tears, your lips part with a shaky breath. “Bucky?”

He hums again, so you press on, throat suddenly tight. “Do you think you could make me feel that way?”

His response is instant, deep voice trailing along the bridge of your neck, much like it had done earlier as his arms circle the lower curve of your arse and hoist you until you balance atop his thighs, keeping his weight on his haunches. “Moya zvezda, that and more.” 

Your arms drape over the burly muscle of his shoulders, breath mingling with his in hot gusts laboured with anticipation, you hear him groan as you ever so slightly lower your hips against his and he pushes you that little higher on the pedestal he holds you on, it’s height greater than any earthly accomplishments men can dream of. 

It’s why you’re his star. 

I love this man.

With all my heart. 

His front presses fully into you, he works to weave one hand beneath the shower of your gown and feeling along the sheer stocking attached to your garter; he groans again, more feral sounding in his sensational marvel of how perfect you are. How blessed he is to be the one to touch you like this. To hold and have you so intimately. 

At his touch, your body erupts with a shudder, momentarily staggered by the electric push and pull and thriving buzz between your legs; though the stir of arousal isn’t foreign to you, it certainly is a stark contrast with his attentive action. 

His lips smother the embers of your trembling gasps with a kiss, passion tasting as a fine wine on his tongue. The kiss is paced slowly to attend to your cautious nature, an utter surety that he won’t make any move against you. You take no part in stopping him as he pushes aside the obstructive barrier of your panties. 

The way his fingers are gentle to stroke your core has you keening, teetering on a choked whine, his work deliberate in focusing on the pearl of your sensitive clit and the slickened beginnings of your folds. His hands that have sinned many times now amend themselves with the purity of worshipping every inch, exploring you with the intent to please. His thumb rolls in drawn circles, eliciting from you mewls and heated pants of air too heavy to stay in your lungs, cooing at your slow induction. 

“Atta girl.”

I’m alright. 

“You’re doing amazing.”

I’m safe. 

His two fingers run along your entrance, causing your spine to arch slightly and he smirks, pulling from the kiss. 

“You like that, doll? Yeah?” he asks smoothly, seeing you nod shakily with eyes half lidded. 

Your hands entangle themselves to the bedded roots of his hair, tender as you can to pull with each spark that has your stomach tying knots and your muscles tensing, his thumb begins to roll a little harder and faster. At hearing the apparition of a moan escape you, he applauds you with his encouragement despite the way your hand covers over your mouth to silence these noises.

“Fuck, please again, zvezda. Please.”

“I want to hear you.”

“Please… fuck you sound so beautiful…”

In your stun over his pleas, your hand lowers away and you continue to let your moans lull him, hips moving at a slow crawl against his fingers that press to your core and with a single look you let him know you’re willing. He fights the tantalising grip of your fingers to reach your lips as he pushes two fingers past your folds. Your gasp is a sharp sound to his ears, one of alert that he seeks to comfort you through the kiss.

The trajectory to pull your hips away stabilises and you begin to find that rhythm with each grind and thrust onto his fingers, the waves of pleasure coming from your clit has your stomach tightening. 

“B-Bucky…” you whisper and he swallows your words with a deep moan. Your walls clench around the intrusion of his fingers, moreso when he adds a third, curling them as if to beckon your body furthermore to his touch, to yield your fears and let him set alight that bloom inside your core and unto your bliss. 

You pant harder, “B–ngh… Bucky… th-there.”

“Right there?” He asks with a sultry grin. Your voice comes out in a strangled response. “M—mhm.”

The voice of your whine is his commandment. He installs a level of dedication at gently fucking you with his fingers right where you needed him – wanted him. That swell inside you grows and grows, furthering into a maelstrom that leaves your body shivering, unexpected of where this sudden burst will implode. 

“Good girl, you’re doing so well, doll,” he praises with a low timbre, groaning with a prided grin when you tug a little harder at his hair, your softer nature betraying to act out this darker side of yourself; this almost forbidden wanton. 

I feel…

Your hips move to become greedy and much to Bucky’s approval, feeling the swollen bulge of his cock straining against his boxers has you weak and some instinct to move against it drives you, a louder moan slipping past your lips. Bucky’s mouth leaves a heated trail of passionate nips and teasing flutters of kisses against your neck, spoiling you. 

You gasp and your hands fly to his shoulders to hold you at bay, the sudden shockwave a prelude to ride as your orgasm ascends upon you, he hears the feverish whimpers you make and he purrs, pumping his fingers, “That’s it, love, let go. C’mon, let me feel you cum for me. I’ve got you.”

The suppression of a scream hides in your chest, leaving only a choked sob to rack through you as you thrust and claim your first release, a hot flush of white behind your eyes blinds you, your muscles convulse in tensing and relaxing as you ride out your high. 

Your arms that wound around his shoulders squeeze a little tighter in your recovery, your breath timed to slow down after a few minutes but your body remains to quiver against him. The form of his aroused cock clear and unhidden has your core weeping for more.

“There you go, that’s it,” he coaxes softly with a smile while he eases a kiss to the corner of your lips, “how’re you feeling?” 

“G-good… really like… wow.” The words come out jumbled to you, as if you were still influenced by the strong wine at the reception, having made you reserve your consumption to a very limited amount. 

Bucky hums and withdraws his fingers, leaving you to mewl at the loss. The sight before you has you in some chokehold, a crimson heat flushes into your cheeks and down your neck, rendering your blood into fiery rivers beneath your skin, a sudden jerk picking up in your heartbeat as Bucky cleans the slick of your release from his fingers, the crystalised shade of blue dimming with a certain darkness as the taste of you rolls over his taste buds. 

He’s tasting me…

He moans with a thunderous growl. “Fuck… you taste amazing,” he grins, teeth gleaming with that cute, charming esteem. 

I do?

The warmth in your cheeks glows ten fold, bringing a sight for Bucky to admire. That cute girl who’s face becomes rosy with embarrassment. It’s like he could read your mind and the way he says your name has you at a loss of breath, drawing your attention back to the shine of his eyes. 

“You are exquisite…” 

Following in action as the continuation of his proclamation, his hand finds the spine of your dress and upon reaching the apex between your shoulders. He seeks to pause and his eyes seek out your permission, brows slight to bevel. “May I, Mrs. Barnes?”

The crescents of your palms brush the exterior of his stubble, every inch of your hands covered by the sensational prickling that leaves you like putty. How he stares at you with this amass of love and fondness that feels overwhelming at times. 

He’s just so… perfect.

The return of tears glasses over your eyes and you smile, brightly and toothy and nod, cupping his jaw in your hands before you press a softened kiss to his lips. You feel it in unison with him; it steals the breath from you both. 

“You may, Mr. Barnes.”

With your approval, he draws the zip undone. Anticipation lines your nerves like a trail of gunpowder ready to be set ablaze. He’s testing the waters, ensuring that this is what you want and when you give no indication of refusal, he glides the dress from your shoulders, revelling in the delicate sculpt of your body; the warm, ambient light hitting the surface creates a heavenly glow upon your skin. With the overhanging light above, it frames a golden halo around you as his sights steer upwards. 

Your gown drapes a sultry form over you, accentuating the mounds of your breasts pushed close together and the nakedness of your shoulders and neck. Bucky growls under a vice of hunger. But something lays in the glassy waver of his stare. 

“Please be real?”

His voice barely rises above a near shattered whisper. A man who fears losing you just much as you fear losing him. His voice pleads with you. Your lips part, jaw coming to drop slightly as your eyes widen.

Please be real for me?

“I-I am, Bucky. I’m real…”

The man before you exhales loudly, gasping for breath to keep himself drowning. “Good. Because I want this to be real.”

He doesn’t waste another moment. His mouth clashes against yours, hunger succumbing as he ravishes you with the heated intensity of his kiss, tongue running a pleaful line along your bottom lip. You part them and he awakens the stir of arousal flooding through your veins, tongues dancing in an artistic battle for dominance he undeniably wins. You moan a muffled song and he drinks every lyric of it, intoxicated by it. 

His hands are wild in their exploration, peeling your dress lower to reveal the laces and frills of your lingerie, not permitting you to shy away and hide from him this time, his hands feel every inch of it, mesmerised by the way it fits to you so beautifully that even the most talented of sculptures would struggle to capture your raw and enticing beauty to its complete and apex design. 

Your hands scour to claim the roots of his hair again. This time, you hold no restraint and he loves it. He loves the radiance of confidence you find in every following second. You are claiming what is rightfully yours as his wife. As his one love that he will kill and die for without question. Though time and mortal breath dares to intrude and part you, you find ways around the schemes, momentarily gasping for air within the clash of your lips, too far entranced to pull away. 

His hands glide up your sides until his thumbs are able to tease your stiffened nipples through the thin fabric, groaning at the noises you create from it, his touch sending those blissful tingles throughout your body. When time comes to see you both departed from your kiss, you each still remain to linger, tasting one another in the inch spared between you, chests heaving madly and brushing together. Dress pooled to a rolled belt over your waist, Bucky drinks in every detail of your body. 

Why does he look at me like that? 

His nose buries into you, nestling into the warmth and softness of your body as he utters phrases of praise to your skin, a trail of his devotion painted upon your skin with the invisible ink of his love and adoration for you. 

“You feel what you do to me?” he asks, strong hands guiding your hips down to roll in unison with his, the swollen mound of his erect cock still suffering in confinement has you hiccuping in your stun.

Though your voice is light, you nod as you answer. “Yes.”

“That’s how fucking hot you are,” he says with a deep, velvety drawl, his words slightly muffled by the way his mouth caresses you. “You have me so hard right now, fuck, the things I wanna do to you, doll.”

His confession has you blushing. 

He can’t possibly mean that…

He can’t help himself. He’s a man enslaved at your whim. Though you try to bring this madman to his senses with an embarrassed huff of his name, he only leans in to claim your lips with his, the melding of hunger brings you both into that feverish haze again. Tongues entangled with one another, Bucky’s hands paw and pluck the garments of your lingerie from your form, peeling away the details of floral patterns and lacy sheer to feel the heat of skin below, the way your muscles twitched under his touch. 

You moan between the kiss and allow your hands to feel the soft tresses of his hair between your fingers, carefully weaving through the darkened locks and nails scratching at the roots against his scalp, a rumbling purr escaping him. 

The rock of your hips move together, a desiring fire burning in your core to the point it borders on a painful ache between your legs. Your dress is discarded, left aside with your undressed garments to be reclaimed at a later time. He lays you on your back, your head nested atop the plush cushion of the pillows, bodies flush together without leaving so much as a morsel of space apart. 

Entrapped by his lustful kiss, you thrust and grind your heated sex against him with shocking eager, a whine is tugged from your throat, unsure.

Bucky is quick to assure you of your arousal, that its intoxication is a vice wanted. He uses one arm to support his weight above, caging you, as his other takes hold of your thigh and gropes at it fervently while somewhere in the mixture haze his boxers are tossed aside. His swollen tip oozes with glistening, droplet streams, his size heavy and long that has a gasp escaping you. 

W–will he fit?

Such worrisome thoughts are snuffed out like speckled embers as he deepens the kiss, tongues gliding together and moans and limbs entangle. His tip brushes over the sensitive spot of your clit and your hips take languid actions against his practised thrusts. 

“It’s going to hurt at first,” he mutters across the skin of your jaw, “but it won’t for long. I’m right here, moya zvezda, I promise.”

A crystalline glint appears on the waterline of your eyes, a tender smile on your lips as your lips connect with a chaste kiss. 

“I’m ready, Bucky…”

His blue eyes take the time to carefully read your expression. For a man so immersed in being so gentle and caring with you, you have come to know that with the very same hands he caresses you with – he has broken jaws, bloodied and bruised noses and strangled the very life of more than one person. He can tell when a man is lying just by looking into his eyes. 

He sees you’re telling the truth. That you want this with him. You want him. Cock nudging at your folds, you push your legs a little wider to better accommodate his size after hearing him chuckle at the crimson blush creeping into your face, flustered at the thought of his entire cock sheathing inside you. 

“Gonna fit all of me, my sexy little wife?” he’d teased with a wink. 

His eyes retain their focus with yours as he pushes the head of his cock into your cunt, meeting the slight of resistance and surged forward, a sigh heavily laced on his breath that has his head bowing to press his forehead to yours, eyes scrunched tightly. 

A hitched note on your throat is silenced, cut out with a high pitched whine as he sinks deeper and deeper, breaching past the wall of your hymen. Your nails mark their bite into his shoulders and down his back with angry red scars, tracing over the blackened inks already imprinted there. 

Your walls constrict around the intrusion of him with a searing pierce that brings your tears to streak down your temples, chin slightly trembling, you feel Bucky’s lips hover over yours. 

“O-ow,” you mewl, “It hurts…”

“I’ve got you, zvezda, I’m here.”

Your chest feels tight, suffocated, but his words comfort you. You cling to him tighter, thighs trembling at his sides and you feel his hand resume its place there, gentle to knead and rub soothing circles as he coaxes you through the blight of your pain. 

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he whispers to your lips, the crinkle of a smile forming on his features. Just as quickly as it had come, the pain subsides and you feel so full at the point where your bodies meet, you finally nod for him to continue. 

He goes slowly. 

He sets a rhythm paced to ease you into the forcing motion of his cock gliding through your hot, velvety walls that clamp and shudder with each movement he makes. Your gasps turn to softly sung moans as you begin to grind your hips to meet his and he smiles down at you. “There you go, love. That’s it, you’re taking me so well.” 

“This body… so perfect, so beautiful… I love it, I love you.”

Another moan escapes you. He heaves a deep breath with every thrust, still focusing hard to keep this steadiness, until you moan for him, 

“Bucky… please, I-I need…”

“What do you need, love? Tell me.”

“I– need more– please.”

He groans, the thought of ruthlessly fucking you with abandon crosses his mind in flashes, the way you’d look spread out while being pummeled by his cock that ruts into your pretty pussy until you’re stuffed full of his cum that it overspills as a creamy ring around his girthy base. 

To fuck you the way of a mafia lord. 

“You want that, sugar?” he asks, his voice sudden to drop lower into a silken, deepened purr with a darkened smirk. “You want to be fucked the way a mafia queen should be? H–hmph, you want it harder? Faster?”

You choke on the release of your words, sounding breathless, “Y-yes!”

Your walls clench tight around him, a series of moans spilling from your parted lips as he then picks up his pace, the incentive of your permission driving him to thrust harder, his hand fists and squeezes the flesh of your thigh within his grasp, holding you fast to him as he strikes deeply into your pussy. His muscles bend, curve and tense and your hands greedily explore every single portion of him, granting you this chance to be upheld by the prison of your thoughts that may hold you back later.

You howl, whine and cry – all for more, for him to keep going, to not stop. His body arches over yours, hands now ahold of you at the hips he uses the advantage of his strength and position to forcefully piston himself back and forth, back and forth until you’re writhing beneath him  Your hands attach themselves to the veiny reins of his wrists, your hips arched up until your lower half is lifted for his leisure to fuck into that spot that has you seeing an galaxy of stars.

“Bucky– Bucky, oh Bucky!” you cry out. 

“Fuck— yeah baby, fuck you sound beautiful, shit— baby, keep screaming my name, I want to hear you.” Each word is intensely laced with an exerted breath or guttural groan. “Fucking hell, zvezda, you look fucking amazing like that—” 

“You’re taking my cock so well.”

“I’m never getting over the sight of this.”

His eyes burn with lust at the sight of your breasts bouncing without restraint, the shudder of your body with each clash of your thrusts, how your face contorts so beautifully with pleasure and the holstered grip of your legs hooking around his waist repeatedly only to falter each time after several pumps, only kept upright by his hold. A knot coils inside you, a tidal wave of pleasure coursing through your veins that sets your nerves aflame and your vocal cords to strain with every sound you make. The more and more he slams his cock into you, your neck is forced to arch back against the pillows with a pleasured shriek. 

You call out to him, “Bucky, I— I’m gonna… ah!” 

“Cum for me, doll, I wanna feel how tight your pretty pussy is around me.” Your back arches further as his tip continues to hit that spot and the sensational toying of his thumb rolls on your clit, eliciting a flourish of sparks to ignite until you’re suddenly overcome with a flush of white, that euphoric hit crashing over you while heat pours into every inch of your skin with your eyes rolling back.

You chant his name like a sacred prayer, the meaning of your vows imbued within your slurred, intoxicated mantra. He pants, hot and heavy in your ear,

“Shit, shit— fuuuck, baby— ‘mgonna cum, gonna cum for you. I want my seed in you, I want it in you so bad.”

His thrusts increase, the sound of skin slapping skin is erotically loud. You don’t want it to stop. You don’t want him to stop and so you beg him to keep going. 

You continue to whine, low and cooing, walls stretching and clenching around him, milking him of his release that sweeps over him with a long, baritone and throaty moan. His head presses into the crook of your neck to suck at the skin of your collarbone, marking you with dark bruises of his love and possession as he paints your pussy with his seed. The air is faintly filled by the sound of oozing slick of your combined orgasms that leak and drip around his still thrusting cock.

The erratic pace in which his rhythm held eventually wanes, instead he moves to a slow-crawling grind to ease you off your combined highs. His chest rises and falls and you allow your eyes to admire his form above you, A balance of skin and ink layered in a thin coating of sweat, as is your own, the muscles of his body rippling with each motion he makes. 

His hands release from your hips after he’s lowered you back down to the bed, allowing your body to succumb to the exhaustion undoubtedly taking hold of you. Your gaze meets his own, the colour of them haloed by the shine of tears and his heart yearns for you. 

He fears he’s done something wrong and his hands quickly raise to caress your face, thumbs stroke over your cheeks. 

“Moya zvezda, are you—”

“I’m…” you trail off, blinking rapidly to see him through the watery veil and you grin up at him and nod. He’s relieved to see that smile, coming to mirror it himself. 

She’s okay. My girl’s okay.

You reach your hand up, the warmth of your palm contrasted by the cool adornment of your ring. Bucky leans his face into your touch. “You stayed… you didn’t—” Though your words fail you, Bucky sees what you mean to say in your eyes. 

“Of course. You’re everything I ever wanted…” Your brows furrow, touched by the sincerity in his words. Before you is a man whose heart is held in your very hands. And his heart is one you wish to cherish, hold dear and never break. To think you almost bargained him off to another woman— 

“Have me again tonight, zvezda. Have me any other night. I promise, I will be there every time, every moment.”

He doesn’t want a mistress. He wants me. 

Those voices are gone, replaced by newer, kinder ones.

You’re perfect. 

You’re beautiful. 

I’m not scared anymore. Not with him. 

You now realise that intimacy was never the threat. The voices in your head were. 

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Did you want some tissues?

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @mostlymarvelgirl @hollyseb @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @identity2212 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @boobsbeesbongos @mrsnikstan @floralwsloki @mcira @schneeflocky @greatenthusiasttidalwave

[exeggcute]

the great reddit API meltdown of '23, or: this was always bound to happen

there's a lot of press about what's going on with reddit right now (app shutdowns, subreddit blackouts, the CEO continually putting his foot in his mouth), but I haven't seen as much stuff talking about how reddit got into this situation to begin with. so as a certified non-expert and Context Enjoyer I thought it might be helpful to lay things out as I understand them—a high-level view, surveying the whole landscape—in the wonderful world of startups, IPOs, and extremely angry users.

disclaimer that I am not a founder or VC (lmao), have yet to work at a company with a successful IPO, and am not a reddit employee or third-party reddit developer or even a subreddit moderator. I do work at a startup, know my way around an API or two, and have spent twelve regrettable years on reddit itself. which is to say that I make no promises of infallibility, but I hope you'll at least find all this interesting.

profit now or profit later

before you can really get into reddit as reddit, it helps to know a bit about startups (of which reddit is one). and before I launch into that, let me share my Three Types Of Websites framework, which is basically just a mental model about financial incentives that's helped me contextualize some of this stuff.

(1) website/software that does not exist to make money: relatively rare, for a variety of reasons, among them that it costs money to build and maintain a website in the first place. wikipedia is the evergreen example, although even wikipedia's been subject to criticism for how the wikimedia foundation pays out its employees and all that fun nonprofit stuff. what's important here is that even when making money is not the goal, money itself is still a factor, whether it's solicited via donations or it's just one guy paying out of pocket to host a hobby site. but websites in this category do, generally, offer free, no-strings-attached experiences to their users.

(I do want push back against the retrospective nostalgia of "everything on the internet used to be this way" because I don't think that was ever really true—look at AOL, the dotcom boom, the rise of banner ads. I distinctly remember that neopets had multiple corporate sponsors, including a cookie crisp-themed flash game. yahoo bought geocities for $3.6 billion; money's always been trading hands, obvious or not. it's indisputable that the internet is simply different now than it was ten or twenty years ago, and that monetization models themselves have largely changed as well (I have thoughts about this as it relates to web 1.0 vs web 2.0 and their associated costs/scale/etc.), but I think the only time people weren't trying to squeeze the internet for all the dimes it can offer was when the internet was first conceived as a tool for national defense.)

(2) website/software that exists to make money now: the type that requires the least explanation. mostly non-startup apps and services, including any random ecommerce storefront, mobile apps that cost three bucks to download, an MMO with a recurring subscription, or even a news website that runs banner ads and/or offers paid subscriptions. in most (but not all) cases, the "make money now" part is obvious, so these things don't feel free to us as users, even to the extent that they might have watered-down free versions or limited access free trials. no one's shocked when WoW offers another paid expansion packs because WoW's been around for two decades and has explicitly been trying to make money that whole time.

(3) website/software that exists to make money later: this is the fun one, and more common than you'd think. "make money later" is more or less the entire startup business model—I'll get into that in the next section—and is deployed with the expectation that you will make money at some point, but not always by means as obvious as "selling WoW expansions for forty bucks a pop."

companies in this category tend to have two closely entwined characteristics: they prioritize growth above all else, regardless of whether this growth is profitable in any way (now, or sometimes, ever), and they do this by offering users really cool and awesome shit at little to no cost (or, if not for free, then at least at a significant loss to the company).

so from a user perspective, these things either seem free or far cheaper than their competitors. but of course websites and software and apps and [blank]-as-a-service tools cost money to build and maintain, and that money has to come from somewhere, and the people supplying that money, generally, expect to get it back...

just not immediately.

startups, VCs, IPOs, and you

here's the extremely condensed "did NOT go to harvard business school" version of how a startup works:

(1) you have a cool idea.

(2) you convince some venture capitalists (also known as VCs) that your idea is cool. if they see the potential in what you're pitching, they'll give you money in exchange for partial ownership of your company—which means that if/when the company starts trading its stock publicly, these investors will own X numbers of shares that they can sell at any time. in other words, you get free money now (and you'll likely seek multiple "rounds" of investors over the years to sustain your company), but with the explicit expectations that these investors will get their payoff later, assuming you don't crash and burn before that happens.

during this phase, you want to do anything in your power to make your company appealing to investors so you can attract more of them and raise funds as needed. because you are definitely not bringing in the necessary revenue to offset operating costs by yourself.

it's also worth nothing that this is less about projecting the long-term profitability of your company than it's about its perceived profitability—i.e., VCs want to put their money behind a company that other people will also have confidence in, because that's what makes stock valuable, and VCs are in it for stock prices.

(3) there are two non-exclusive win conditions for your startup: you can get acquired, and you can have an IPO (also referred to as "going public"). these are often called "exit scenarios" and they benefit VCs and founders, as well as some employees. it's also possible for a company to get acquired, possibly even more than once, and then later go public.

acquisition: sell the whole damn thing to someone else. there are a million ways this can happen, some better than others, but in many cases this means anyone with ownership of the company (which includes both investors and employees who hold stock options) get their stock bought out by the acquiring company and end up with cash in hand. in varying amounts, of course. sometimes the founders walk away, sometimes the employees get laid off, but not always.

IPO: short for "initial public offering," this is when the company starts trading its stocks publicly, which means anyone who wants to can start buying that company's stock, which really means that VCs (and employees with stock options) can turn that hypothetical money into real money by selling their company stock to interested buyers.

drawing from that, companies don't go for an IPO until they think their stock will actually be worth something (or else what's the point?)—specifically, worth more than the amount of money that investors poured into it. The Powers That Be will speculate about a company's IPO potential way ahead of time, which is where you'll hear stuff about companies who have an estimated IPO evaluation of (to pull a completely random example) $10B. actually I lied, that was not a random example, that was reddit's valuation back in 2021 lol. but a valuation is basically just "how much will people be interested in our stock?"

as such, in the time leading up to an IPO, it's really really important to do everything you can to make your company seem like a good investment (which is how you get stock prices up), usually by making the company's numbers look good. but! if you plan on cashing out, the long-term effects of your decisions aren't top of mind here. remember, the industry lingo is "exit scenario."

if all of this seems like a good short-term strategy for companies and their VCs, but an unsustainable model for anyone who's buying those stocks during the IPO, that's because it often is.

also worth noting that it's possible for a company to be technically unprofitable as a business (meaning their costs outstrip their revenue) and still trade enormously well on the stock market; uber is the perennial example of this. to the people who make money solely off of buying and selling stock, it literally does not matter that the actual rideshare model isn't netting any income—people think the stock is valuable, so it's valuable.

this is also why, for example, elon musk is richer than god: if he were only the CEO of tesla, the money he'd make from selling mediocre cars would be (comparatively, lol) minimal. but he's also one of tesla's angel investors, which means he holds a shitload of tesla stock, and tesla's stock has performed well since their IPO a decade ago (despite recent dips)—even if tesla itself has never been a huge moneymaker, public faith in the company's eventual success has kept them trading at high levels. granted, this also means most of musk's wealth is hypothetical and not liquid; if TSLA dropped to nothing, so would the value of all the stock he holds (and his net work with it).

what's an API, anyway?

to move in an entirely different direction: we can't get into reddit's API debacle without understanding what an API itself is.

an API (short for "application programming interface," not that it really matters) is a series of code instructions that independent developers can use to plug their shit into someone else's shit. like a series of tin cans on strings between two kids' treehouses, but for sending and receiving data.

APIs work by yoinking data directly from a company's servers instead of displaying anything visually to users. so I could use reddit's API to build my own app that takes the day's top r/AITA post and transcribes it into pig latin: my app is a bunch of lines of code, and some of those lines of code fetch data from reddit (and then transcribe that data into pig latin), and then my app displays the content to anyone who wants to see it, not reddit itself. as far as reddit is concerned, no additional human beings laid eyeballs on that r/AITA post, and reddit never had a chance to serve ads alongside the pig-latinized content in my app. (put a pin in this part—it'll be relevant later.)

but at its core, an API is really a type of protocol, which encompasses a broad category of formats and business models and so on. some APIs are completely free to use, like how anyone can build a discord bot (but you still have to host it yourself). some companies offer free APIs to third-party developers can build their own plugins, and then the company and the third-party dev split the profit on those plugins. some APIs have a free tier for hobbyists and a paid tier for big professional projects (like every weather API ever, lol). some APIs are strictly paid services because the API itself is the company's core offering.

reddit's financial foundations

okay thanks for sticking with me. I promise we're almost ready to be almost ready to talk about the current backlash.

reddit has always been a startup's startup from day one: its founders created the site after attending a startup incubator (which is basically a summer camp run by VCs) with the successful goal of creating a financially successful site. backed by that delicious y combinator money, reddit got acquired by conde nast only a year or two after its creation, which netted its founders a couple million each. this was back in like, 2006 by the way. in the time since that acquisition, reddit's gone through a bunch of additional funding rounds, including from big-name investors like a16z, peter thiel (yes, that guy), sam altman (yes, also that guy), sequoia, fidelity, and tencent. crunchbase says that they've raised a total of $1.3B in investor backing.

in all this time, reddit has never been a public company, or, strictly speaking, profitable.

APIs and third-party apps

reddit has offered free API access for basically as long as it's had a public API—remember, as a "make money later" company, their primary goal is growth, which means attracting as many users as possible to the platform. so letting anyone build an app or widget is (or really, was) in line with that goal.

as such, third-party reddit apps have been around forever. by third-party apps, I mean apps that use the reddit API to display actual reddit content in an unofficial wrapper. iirc reddit didn't even have an official mobile app until semi-recently, so many of these third-party mobile apps in particular just sprung up to meet an unmet need, and they've kept a small but dedicated userbase ever since. some people also prefer the user experience of the unofficial apps, especially since they offer extra settings to customize what you're seeing and few to no ads (and any ads these apps do display are to the benefit of the third-party developers, not reddit itself.)

(let me add this preemptively: one solution I've seen proposed to the paid API backlash is that reddit should have third-party developers display reddit's ads in those third-party apps, but this isn't really possible or advisable due to boring adtech reasons I won't inflict on you here. source: just trust me bro)

in addition to mobile apps, there are also third-party tools that don’t replace the Official Reddit Viewing Experience but do offer auxiliary features like being able to mass-delete your post history, tools that make the site more accessible to people who use screen readers, and tools that help moderators of subreddits moderate more easily. not to mention a small army of reddit bots like u/AutoWikibot or u/RemindMebot (and then the bots that tally the number of people who reply to bot comments with “good bot” or “bad bot).

the number of people who use third-party apps is relatively small, but they arguably comprise some of reddit’s most dedicated users, which means that third-party apps are important to the people who keep reddit running and the people who supply reddit with high-quality content.

unpaid moderators and user-generated content

so reddit is sort of two things: reddit is a platform, but it’s also a community.

the platform is all the unsexy (or, if you like python, sexy) stuff under the hood that actually makes the damn thing work. this is what the company spends money building and maintaining and "owns." the community is all the stuff that happens on the platform: posts, people, petty squabbles. so the platform is where the content lives, but ultimately the content is the reason people use reddit—no one’s like “yeah, I spend time on here because the backend framework really impressed me."

and all of this content is supplied by users, which is not unique among social media platforms, but the content is also managed by users, which is. paid employees do not govern subreddits; unpaid volunteers do. and moderation is the only thing that keeps reddit even remotely tolerable—without someone to remove spam, ban annoying users, and (god willing) enforce rules against abuse and hate speech, a subreddit loses its appeal and therefore its users. not dissimilar to the situation we’re seeing play out at twitter, except at twitter it was the loss of paid moderators;  reddit is arguably in a more precarious position because they could lose this unpaid labor at any moment, and as an already-unprofitable company they absolutely cannot afford to implement paid labor as a substitute.

oh yeah? spell "IPO" backwards

so here we are, June 2023, and reddit is licking its lips in anticipation of a long-fabled IPO. which means it’s time to start fluffing themselves up for investors by cutting costs (yay, layoffs!) and seeking new avenues of profit, however small.

this brings us to the current controversy: reddit announced a new API pricing plan that more or less prevents anyone from using it for free.

from reddit's perspective, the ostensible benefits of charging for API access are twofold: first, there's direct profit to be made off of the developers who (may or may not) pay several thousand dollars a month to use it, and second, cutting off unsanctioned third-party mobile apps (possibly) funnels those apps' users back into the official reddit mobile app. and since users on third-party apps reap the benefit of reddit's site architecture (and hosting, and development, and all the other expenses the site itself incurs) without “earning” money for reddit by generating ad impressions, there’s a financial incentive at work here: even if only a small percentage of people use third-party apps, getting them to use the official app instead translates to increased ad revenue, however marginal.

(also worth mentioning that chatGPT and other LLMs were trained via tools that used reddit's API to scrape post and content data, and now that openAI is reaping the profits of that training without giving reddit any kickbacks, reddit probably wants to prevent repeats of this from happening in the future. if you want to train the next LLM, it's gonna cost you.)

of course, these changes only benefit reddit if they actually increase the company’s revenue and perceived value/growth—which is hard to do when your users (who are also the people who supply the content for other users to engage with, who are also the people who moderate your communities and make them fun to participate in) get really fucking pissed and threaten to walk.

pricing shenanigans

under the new API pricing plan, third-party developers are suddenly facing steep costs to maintain the apps and tools they’ve built.

most paid APIs are priced by volume: basically, the more data you send and receive, the more money it costs. so if your third-party app has a lot of users, you’ll have to make more API requests to fetch content for those users, and your app becomes more expensive to maintain. (this isn’t an issue if the tool you’re building also turns a profit, but most third-party reddit apps make little, if any, money.)

which is why, even though third-party apps capture a relatively small portion of reddit’s users, the developer of a popular third-party app called apollo recently learned that it would cost them about $20 million a year to keep the app running. and apollo actually offers some paid features (for extra in-app features independent of what reddit offers), but nowhere near enough to break even on those API costs.

so apollo, any many apps like it, were suddenly unable to keep their doors open under the new API pricing model and announced that they'd be forced to shut down.

backlash, blackout

plenty has been said already about the current subreddit blackouts—in like, official news outlets and everything—so this might be the least interesting section of my whole post lol. the short version is that enough redditors got pissed enough that they collectively decided to take subreddits “offline” in protest, either by making them read-only or making them completely inaccessible. their goal was to send a message, and that message was "if you piss us off and we bail, here's what reddit's gonna be like: a ghost town."

but, you may ask, if third-party apps only captured a small number of users in the first place, how was the backlash strong enough to result in a near-sitewide blackout? well, two reasons:

first and foremost, since moderators in particular are fond of third-party tools, and since moderators wield outsized power (as both the people who keep your site more or less civil, and as the people who can take a subreddit offline if they feel like it), it’s in your best interests to keep them happy. especially since they don’t get paid to do this job in the first place, won’t keep doing it if it gets too hard, and essentially have nothing to lose by stepping down.

then, to a lesser extent, the non-moderator users on third-party apps tend to be Power Users who’ve been on reddit since its inception, and as such likely supply a disproportionate amount of the high-quality content for other users to see (and for ads to be served alongside). if you drive away those users, you’re effectively kneecapping your overall site traffic (which is bad for Growth) and reducing the number/value of any ad impressions you can serve (which is bad for revenue).

also a secret third reason, which is that even people who use the official apps have no stake in a potential IPO, can smell the general unfairness of this whole situation, and would enjoy the schadenfreude of investors getting fucked over. not to mention that reddit’s current CEO has made a complete ass of himself and now everyone hates him and wants to see him suffer personally.

(granted, it seems like reddit may acquiesce slightly and grant free API access to a select set of moderation/accessibility tools, but at this point it comes across as an empty gesture.)

"later" is now "now"

TL;DR: this whole thing is a combination of many factors, specifically reddit being intensely user-driven and self-governed, but also a high-traffic site that costs a lot of money to run (why they willingly decided to start hosting video a few years back is beyond me...), while also being angled as a public stock market offering in the very near future. to some extent I understand why reddit’s CEO doubled down on the changes—he wants to look strong for investors—but he’s also made a fool of himself and cast a shadow of uncertainty onto reddit’s future, not to mention the PR nightmare surrounding all of this. and since arguably the most important thing in an IPO is how much faith people have in your company, I honestly think reddit would’ve fared better if they hadn’t gone nuclear with the API changes in the first place.

that said, I also think it’s a mistake to assume that reddit care (or needs to care) about its users in any meaningful way, or at least not as more than means to an end. if reddit shuts down in three years, but all of the people sitting on stock options right now cashed out at $120/share and escaped unscathed... that’s a success story! you got your money! VCs want to recoup their investment—they don’t care about longevity (at least not after they’re gone), user experience, or even sustained profit. those were never the forces driving them, because these were never the ultimate metrics of their success.

and to be clear: this isn’t unique to reddit. this is how pretty much all startups operate.

I talked about the difference between “make money now” companies and “make money later” companies, and what we’re experiencing is the painful transition from “later” to “now.” as users, this change is almost invisible until it’s already happened—it’s like a rug we didn’t even know existed gets pulled out from under us.

the pre-IPO honeymoon phase is awesome as a user, because companies have no expectation of profit, only growth. if you can rely on VC money to stay afloat, your only concern is building a user base, not squeezing a profit out of them. and to do that, you offer cool shit at a loss: everything’s chocolate and flowers and quarterly reports about the number of signups you’re getting!

...until you reach a critical mass of users, VCs want to cash in, and to prepare for that IPO leadership starts thinking of ways to make the website (appear) profitable and implements a bunch of shit that makes users go “wait, what?”

I also touched on this earlier, but I want to reiterate a bit here: I think the myth of the benign non-monetized internet of yore is exactly that—a myth. what has changed are the specific market factors behind these websites, and their scale, and the means by which they attempt to monetize their services and/or make their services look attractive to investors, and so from a user perspective things feel worse because the specific ways we’re getting squeezed have evolved. maybe they are even worse, at least in the ways that matter. but I’m also increasingly less surprised when this occurs, because making money is and has always been the goal for all of these ventures, regardless of how they try to do so.

[gummilutt]

Custom food commitment is a thing of the past!

I want to highlight a creation by someone else today, because I think it's super cool and very useful to the community! Have you ever wanted to use custom food, but were put off by the fact that once in, you shouldn't technically remove it because it creates broken memories and tokens and whatnots? Do you have food in that you wish you could remove but don't want to because of those aspects?

Well fret no more, because jonasn has posted an updated version of his Memory Commander, that now has an invalid food removal option under Mass Deletion.../Remove EVERYONE'S Invalid Food. It cycles through the entire hood, removing memories where the food subject no longer exists, leftover plates that are empty (does not include apartment lots, or secret society lot) and fave foods referring to non-existing dishes. It could already sort of do it for one Sim at a time, but now it can do the entire hood all at once! How amazing is that?!

Check out this great mod object here

I was a tester for this function and it's been working perfectly in my testing. That said, please know that I am in no means an expert on corruption or anything such. To me this seems like a great tool that is super useful, but use is at your own risk. I've run a number of tests for jonasn on the functionality, and he's done what he could to verify the outcomes to see it's all good, but as with anything complicated there's always a slight possibility that there is something you overlooked. The object pops up a dialog that informs you how many things were removed, and if you exit lot without saving then the actions aren't saved, so I recommend just testing it if you are interested :)

Aside from this one function, the Memory Commander is also basically a one stop shop for anything memory-related you could possibly want. It can assign any game memory, it can modify existing memories to change subject etc. You can even assign other custom memories with it, as long as at least one Sim has gotten it in the hood. It's such a handy tool for anyone that likes memories, and as you know, I am memory obsessed so I am a big fan!

[hanihaato]

a/n: jealousy themes, yandere sunday x reader, mentions of abduction, incapacitation, drabble

Your artistic silence is broken with a snap of fingers and a question.

“Now, who is that man?”

Before the vision disappears, you have a split second to admire your efforts. Your skills have improved over the last three hours where Sunday had left your dreamscape to attend to some urgent and questionable matters.

This time, you have delved into the concept of imaginary creations that followed your newfound belief that even in this kind of twisted dream, deliberately manipulated by Sunday, you could still treat it like… a dream.

Do wonders. Keep yourself occupied to take care of your sanity.

The man you’ve created doesn’t have a name as you don’t recognize him. Maybe he was your own creation, or maybe he was one of the countless tourists at Reverie Hotel whose face you’ve been fortunate to remember. He would have made for a much more entertaining company than Sunday is, especially as he presses his lips into a thin line and looks disappointed in you.

“A secret boyfriend. We were planning to elope tonight, before you…” The story cuts short, as Sunday closes his eyes and sighs heavily, as if dealing with a troublesome kid. You take the warning and end your joke here, but because you know you have the privilege to as his beloved, you pout at him. “Alright. I was bored. Happy now? I thought you said I can do whatever I want here. Well, you keep calling it my dreamscape, after all.”

Sunday sits you down on a sofa that materializes within a blink of an eye. It’s another reminder you’re not in Penacony; there, nothing like that could happen, as it’s a dream with rules you are bound to obey. But at least there, you could understand its mechanism as it was created to mimic the real world.

‘Your’ dreamscape was solely ruled by Sunday’s whims.

You fall on a stack of heavenly puffy cushions, with his arm draped around your waist.

“Dearest. It’s our dream. This fantasy wouldn’t exist without any of us,” Sunday promptly corrects you and smiles gently at your irate gaze. “Believe me, I wholeheartedly would love to give you a fair share of power over this place, but it would be a bit dangerous to someone not practised in lucid dreaming.”

If you didn’t exceed his tolerance for defiance for today, you would have hit him with one of the pillows. Instead, you sink yourself deeper into them.

“Alright, then… What do I have to do to be classified as experienced? As far as I am aware, spending a whole three months in a dream should have made me an expert.”

“That’s a lovely conclusion. But does spending time in a library make you able to get a degree in every subject that’s written in the books?”

The question silences you. The break is long enough for Sunday to design your surroundings: a coffee table that matches the times, a porcelain tea set with golden details and some infusion with fascinating taste. They go with a tray of cookies and little sandwiches, as well as a bowl of fruits and nuts that would taste better if they were real.

However, you have to do with what you have on your hands.

You bite into a biscuit. “Then, what should I do? To be adept enough, that is.”

“There are many other requirements…” He falls into a reverie, and just as you think he closes the topic—you’ve been willing to give it up at this point, solely for the quiet to continue—Sunday speaks again. “If you can wake up on your own or overwrite any of the aspects of this dream, for example, gravity, I will consider giving you a little more power here.”

So, he’s asking you for the impossible.

“…I won’t be wiping myself out only for you to ‘consider’.”

Sunday takes a sip of tea. The porcelain can’t hide a tenderish smile, but the unexplainable gleam in his eyes is exposed.

“There is always a shortcut.”

“That doesn’t, um, doom me for eternity?”

“Yes. If I have a say in this, it’s a very delightful one.” And after the next sentence, you know why he’s so engaged in this discussion. “Marrying me.”

…

Sighing, you cross your arms and shake off Sunday’s arm from your shoulder. “I thought you hated liars.”

“Which part of what I said do you consider a lie?”

You ignore him and get up from the sofa, heading towards the big door. Sunday might have changed the look of the place, but the layout always remains the same. Behind that door, you will find a short hall that leads to several other rooms that don’t have Sunday in them and so are preferred.

“I don’t want to talk (to you) anymore, sorry,” you mutter out the apology just to defend yourself if Sunday was going to accuse you of being rude. “I am going to daydream—dreamdream?—about, I guess, men, if I can’t have anyone here. Goodbye.”

You reach for the pair of doors and find them uncharacteristically too heavy. You try to open the door, but just then a big silver chain crosses over their handles, a small lock appears, but you don’t have time to notice the details as you find yourself staring into a plain wall.

“Now, no need to rush,” Sunday purrs, and you turn around to see your beloved doors behind his back. “Would you like to play a round or two with me? I think we could have a wonderful conversation about how to pry the imaginary door locks and who are the people you’ve been thinking about so much.” He smiles. “All with names and examples. There shouldn’t be any secrets between us, isn’t that so?”

[jm-2406]

Hi! I saw that your requests are open and I read your rules. Can I request a Theordore Nott with a Hufflepuff reader? A Hufflepuff who is quiet, but not shy. Like she speaks when spoken too or whenever she deems it necessary. Maybe they get grouped together in a project or something where they cross paths. Preferably fluff. Thanks love

You're feisty.

Summary - a study session ends with a confession.

Pairing - Theodore Nott x Hufflepuff! reader.

Word count - 775.

Note - I think I strayed a little and my work is rusty, I've written after a long break. I hope you like it.

Warnings - none.

Requests - open || find my work - here.

Being in hufflepuff was a good as well as tiring experience. Your housemates were cheerful and had a positive vibe, most of them were smart and badass but to others, you guys were portrayed as a bunch of smiles and laughs. The most common assumption that other houses had regarding you was that they thought you were shy, sweet and naive but you are not, you are just quiet and enjoy your alone time. It was a given that most of them who tried to bother you or make fun of you were pleasantly shut down and put into place. And on such days, your friend Hannah would find you in a sour mood.

“What happened now?” She asked curiously after seeing your grumpy expression. You shook your head and mouthed ‘potions’. That was enough for her to guess what might have happened. You shared potions with the Slytherins and one of them always bothered you because he considered himself as an expert in the subject just because of his house when in reality he was not. As you guys were about to sit down and relax, someone's footsteps caught your attention. To your left stood Theo, the boy with whom you were paired up, courtesy of professor Snape.

“Need to discuss something.” He said plainly and turned around. You didn't know what he was expecting but still stood up to follow him. Hannah looked at you with wide eyes and a smirk, knowing well about your crush on the tall boy. “Out of my league.” You would say but she was convinced that he liked you back.

Theodore led you to one of the quiet spots in the library. You took a seat in front of the windows while he wandered off to select the books needed for the potions assignment. After a few minutes he came back with not one but three thick books making you chuckle and the tall Slytherin graced you with a rare smile of his own. It made your heart flutter.

“All good, badger? You sure this is a study session and not a tutoring program for yourself?” A nasty voice interrupted your study session. You were too deep in the books to notice him the first time.

“What do you want, Codnor? We're busy here.” Theo said to his housemate. The boy continued to stare at the two of you until you finally snapped.

“Codnor, please go to madam pomfrey and get your eyes checked. They're stuck at our table, I think that might be a serious issue.” He looked at you with a very displeased expression but before he could retaliate, Theo had gotten up and made him leave.

When he returned, he saw you mumbling and couldn't hold back his laugh. “Stop it.” You whispered angrily. Theo raised his hands in surrender and took his seat. “You know [Y/N], there's something about you that I might've guessed wrong.”

“What?” You looked at him confused.

“I thought that you were one of those shy ones but you're not. You're feisty. I like that. I like you more now.” An awkward moment followed after his unexpected words. Theo cleared his throat and tried to find the right words.

“What do you mean, Theo? You're not teasing me, are you? Because that's a little evil considering you know how I feel.”

“No. I'm not. I'd never.” He reassured you. “And I know about how you feel.”

For the first time since you reached Hogwarts, you saw Theo at a loss of words. “Are you saying that you feel the same?” You asked him quietly, hesitantly.

“Merlin! Yes. I am not good with words but I'll try. [Y/N] [Y/L/N], i am infatuated with you, your personality and intelligence add to your charm. Will you do me a favour by being my girlfriend and making me the happiest man alive?” He forwarded his hand, palm up, to you.

You blinked in shock then did a little dance while sitting on the chair because you couldn't shout in the library. “Yes. A thousand times yes.” You placed your hand in his. He brought it up to his lips and placed a chaste kiss at the back of your hand.

The rest of the afternoon went away peacefully and by the end of it, you ended up in Theo's lap, sharing your first kiss.

THE END.

[emithecharmer]

Shakespeare's Apprentice

Vampire!Hyunjin x human!reader

Warnings: One swear (kind of), vampires

"Soo.." I bit my lip nervously.

"What do vampires do exactly?" I asked, unconsciously bringing some of my hair over my shoulder.

"Stay out of sight, but you can see how that's going." Hyunjin chuckled, resting his head on his arm, turning to face me.

"Do you sleep?" He shook his head.

"Can you eat human food or-?" His lip curled up at that.

"We can, but it's not good." My jaw dropped.

"So, all of the times I cooked for you-" He perked up.

"Now, that was good. It reminded me of when I was human, your soup tastes like my mom's did." He smiled softly.

"Do you miss her?"

"Every single day. I stayed with her until her dying breath, she was a bit curious on why I hadn't aged, but..She never cared much about it." He chuckled a bit.

"Was it hard?" He shrugged.

"I think what helped was the fact she was my mom. I would hate myself for the rest of my life if I hurt her," He tilted his head to look at you, "or you." My heart fluttered and he smiled.

"Is it hard being around me?" I asked, turning to face him, although it was a bit difficult, due to us being in the car.

"Not at all. You're a breath of fresh air." I blinked, surprised at that.

"You're my mate, which means your blood has no appeal to me, only you do." I frowned.

"So, you wouldn't like me if I wasn't your- mate?" He shook his head.

"It's not that simple. A mate is..someone that we're tied to. It's someone that we protect, and that was..made for us? But not in a weird way..It's like..You know what a soulmate is, yes?" I nodded.

"It's like that."

"So we're soulmates?" He nodded at my question.

"Is it weird?" He asked, a bit self-conscious at the new ground he was treading.

"..Well, I mean, you are kind of a vampire, so besides the obvious, not really." He chuckled at my answer.

"'Kind of a vampire?'" I rolled my eyes at his teasing, gaining confidence.

"You know what I mean." He nodded, smiling.

"Your smile's pretty." I said without thinking.

"You're pretty." He replied, reaching out slowly, as if not to scare me, and grabbed my hand, holding it in his. I noted the temperature difference, but it somehow didn't bother me as much as I thought it might.

"Am I cold?" He asked.

"Yeah, but it's nice."

"You're really warm." He said.

"..Can I ask more questions?"

"Can I keep holding your hand?" I nodded.

"Then yes."

.

"What about kids?" I asked.

"I don't really know, I guess it's not impossible? But I'm not exactly an expert on the subject."

"How old were you when you were turned?"

"18."

"Do you know any other vampires?" He nodded.

"I have a coven."

"A 'coven?'" I tilt my head.

"We're basically a band of vampires." He explained in simple terms.

"Oh, right, duh, 'Twilight.' And a 'band?' Ooh, i'll buy tickets." He snorts at my lame joke.

"I'll get you a backstage pass." I smile.

.

"So, what do you do? I mean..I hope you don't do what the Cullens did." He groaned.

"Heck no, I think we'd kill ourselves doing that. I paint, and sell them online. Chris, our 'sire' or 'leader,' whatever he is, he produces along with Bin and Jisung, all online. Minho sells recipes and Felix does the same, but he's also a masked gamer on Twitch and YouTube. Seungmin is a masked singer, along with Jeongin, but both of them kind of dabble in their interests." I nod, entranced as he talks, and i think he notices based off his smirk.

"Don't make me wipe that smirk off." I warn.

"Don't threaten me with a good time." He teases back, smiling softly as he looked into my eyes. "They're gorgeous," he continues, "your eyes, I mean. The rest of you is beautiful too, but your eyes make me feel like i'm somewhere else..Like i'm," he struggled to find the words, "human."

"Ok, Shakespeare, don't go all poet on me." He laughed, leaning in.

"Forgive me, my love, I must have forgotten how small-minded you are."

"Oh really? I'll show you small minded." He laughed again as I struggled to open the car door.

"You may want to try unlocking it."

"I was testing you."

"Ah, of course." He didn't call out my lie as we both got out of the car from where we were parked in the riverfront parking lot.

"Is this how you change me, drown me and then sink your teeth in me." His eyes widen at my joke.

"I would never! But yes, drowning is typically the way we go." He said, obviously joking and making me roll my eyes. "One of these days, they'll get stuck up there."

"Damn, okay mom." He huffs, smiling, but it soon disappears as he looks up to the sky.

"What is it?"

"It's going to rain soon, we should head back, I'll drive you home."

"....Or..." He turns to me, his brow furrowing.

"What?" He asks as the first few drops fall onto the smooth rocks under our feet.

"..Well, and call me crazy if you must, but uh..We could dance." His face softens for a split second before he smirks.

"Who's Shakespeare now?"

"Uh, still you, babygirl. I'm just super-uber romantic." He smiles, walking to me and taking my hand in his, laying it gently on his shoulder, taking my other hand and interlacing it with his.

"Luckily, i am too." He smiles, and I swear my heart stops as he leans down, pressing our foreheads together.

"I'm glad I met you, Hyunjin." I say as we sway to the music that can only be heard in our hearts.

"I'm eternally blessed that you've chosen to grace me with your beauty."

"Someone call up Italy, cause I got Shakespeare right here."

"I take it back." He says, before kissing me softly.

[projectionistwrites]

FOR SCIENCE | SUBJECT 1

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

Steven Grant x afab!psychologist!reader (8.0k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: fetishization of mental disorders (DID), psychoanalysis, potentially unethical scientific practices, SMUT (dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f! and m!receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, intense overstimulation, non-ejaculatory orgasm, cumplay, cum eating, praise kink, dirty talk, use of the stoplight system) NOTES: steven is my baby. he deserves the world. i hope i did his character justice. DISCLAIMER: although i’m incredibly knowledgeable about psychology, i am NOT a professional. all psychoanalyses made throughout the course of this storyline are entirely my own, based on my own interpretations of the characters. in a similar vein, i am also not an expert on DID specifically (although i am well-read on mental disorders and diagnoses), so i apologize for any incorrect terminology or misrepresentation. don’t hesitate to call me out if i say something wrong!

← previous part | next part →

CASE STUDY: STEVEN GRANT

ROLE IN SYSTEM: Caretaker / Internal Self-Helper

ATTACHMENT STYLE: Preoccupied

CHARACTERISTICS: timid, introverted, sensitive, unassertive; inferiority complex; the epitome of a people pleaser.

SPLIT FROM HOST: assumedly a result of simultaneous emotional and physical abuse from mother.

TRAUMA RESPONSE: alter likely emerged as a way to maintain the childhood innocence of the host; a personification of the word 'hope'.

SEXUAL PRESENTATION: shy, reserved, submissive, responsive, doting; views relationship as transactional (i.e. his only value is derived from what he can provide to a partner, whether that be physically, fiscally, materially, or emotionally); incredibly receptive to praise and validation.

Silence.

It filled the room and weighed heavy in the air—only interrupted by the buzzing of the filter in Gus’ fish tank near the center of the apartment.

You swallowed.

Why did it have to be Steven first?

You knew why. You’d made the decision deliberately, carefully—Steven was the softest, most vulnerable and hesitant. The most emotionally mature, but also the most emotionally fragile. Sensitive, caring, empathetic, loving—he really, truly cared. That’s why he had to go first. This was more than just an excuse to have sex with you—this was intimacy, passion, a closeness he so desperately craved. And you knew, deep down, he’d be comparing himself to his other alters. Envying their confidence, their forwardness, their unapologetic sexual prowess. Steven had always felt inferior—you needed to prove to him that that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

But still. As much as you cared for him, as much as you were looking forward to getting to know him physically, in that moment, you desperately wished for a hint of Marc’s initiative, or even a sliver of Jake’s assertiveness.

Steven was sat on the couch, hunched over, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Nervous energy pulsed from his body in waves—his clear stress wasn’t doing anything to help with your own trepidation.

You shuffled beside him, crossing one leg over the other at the ankles. You drew in a breath.

“Do you... do we need to go over anything again?”

He flinched at your intrusion on the silence—without sparing you a glance, he offered a brief shake of his head.

“Well, I think we should go over it one more time, just in case. So. Today is—is about you. Whatever you say goes. Obviously, I have my limits, but, I mean, I really don’t see that being much of a problem with any of you—except maybe Jake...”

You digressed, but the mention of his alters clearly ruffled Steven’s feathers, even if he hid it well. You continued.

“And—and you’ll be fronting the whole time. No co-consciousness, or interruption from the others. Right?”

Steven nodded again, more firmly this time.

“Okay. And lastly—well, I’ve thought about it, and—and I think we should be fine without condoms.”

That got Steven’s attention. His head turned to you, eyes wide with bewilderment.

“What?”

You looked away abashedly, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“I just—I’ve got the implant, and well—Marc gave me documentation confirming that you’re negative for any STI’s, which—so am I. So I figure—unless you’re gonna be having sex with anyone else in the time this experiment is being conducted, then—then I think we should be fine... for now.”

“You told us we had to be abstinent in the week between each experimental window.”

You laughed at this, amused at the incredulity in his voice.

“Oh, so you were planning on seeing someone else in between, then?”

His face flushed with alarm as he attempted to backtrack.

“Wha—no! No, I didn’t mean—you just—you said we should refrain from doin’ anything, as in—anything. So I just—”

“Relax, Steven, I’m just teasing you.”

You giggled, reaching to grip his bicep reassuringly. Your fingers making contact with his body seemed to jostle him—he stared down at the place your fingers wrapped around his arm, electricity crackling from your fingers and lighting a fire in his belly. He swallowed.

His sudden attention to your presence grounded you back into reality as well. You felt the taut muscles of his bicep flex beneath your hand, the parting of Steven’s lips and fluttering of his lashes making your breath stumble.

When he looked up at you, finally, his eyes were dark—lustful, desirous. Still, there was a sense of restraint within him, his diffidence preventing him from moving unto you further. You realized that you would likely have to make the first move.

“Steven.”

You spoke softly, drawing him in.

“Are you—do you feel ready?”

For a moment, he looked terrified, like a deer caught in headlights. He glanced away from you for a moment, trying to reason with himself, to will the anxiety away. You squeezed his arm.

“You don’t have to do this, Steven, really. It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“I want this.”

“But Steven, really, it’s alright—”

“No, you don’ understand—I really, really want this.”

His words were breathy, but certain, the desire in his tone undeniable. You felt your breath hitch at his confession, and before either of you had time to worry about it anymore, you closed the gap between you, pushing yourself up against his side and tilting your head so your lips met his. He whined into your mouth, his initial hesitance wearing off and making way for his insatiable hunger for your touch, your taste, you.

His hands reached to grip the back of your head, fingers threading in your hair as he pulled you closer, forcing your lips to meld against his deeply. You leaned into him, allowing yourself to shift into his lap, your thighs straddling his. As you settled your weight onto him, he audibly groaned as your core pressed against the hardening tent in his pants. Your hands traveled up his chest and along his shoulders as your tongue explored his mouth. He fought back with equal fervor, and you could sense that there was a hint of desperation in him—as if he was finally acting upon the months worth of repressed sexual tension between the two of you.

You pulled away with a gasp, coming up for air as you lifted your chin slightly, away from the chase of his lips. Instead, they began a sloppy assault on your throat, mouthing and teething at the supple flesh of your neck and down into your collarbone. You let out a breathy moan as Steven lavished your skin with attention, quickly gaining the confidence to suck a mark into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. You keened.

“God, Steven.”

The sound of his name falling from your lips was heaven. He pulled you back down for another searing kiss, and you offered an experimental nip to the swell of his bottom lip. He groaned.

“Christ, you’re a minx.”

His voice was throaty, gravelly, and you giggled at his comment as he pressed kisses to the corners of your mouth and the surrounding flesh of your cheeks.

“Should we... do you want to move to the bed?”

You asked quietly, and the man stiffened, clearly enticed by the proposal.

“Yes. Gods, yes.”

You regretfully pulled yourself from his lap and he followed immediately after, reaching for your hand as you guided him back towards his bed. It was neatly made, the corners tucked in and the blankets pressed. For some reason, it made you want to cry. You’d been at his flat plenty of times before, but never had you once seen his bed made up so tidy. He did that for you.

As you reached the end of the bed, you hesitated. You had taken the lead, carefully easing Steven into the interaction, but now, you needed to see what he wanted. You looked to him.

“What—where do you want me?”

He swore he almost blacked out at the sheer compliance that your tone offered. He had to squeeze his eyes shut tight in an effort to slow the rapidly building arousal in his groin—you hadn’t even fucking touched him yet.

“Would you—could you just lay down f’me, love?”

You smiled at him gratefully, offering a small nod at you followed his careful instruction. You shuffled up towards the head of the bed, turning to lie flat on your back with your head propped against the pillows. You looked at Steven expectantly—he was just watching you, fists slowly clenching and unclenching at his sides. Christ, you were a sight to beheld.

Cautiously, Steven lowered onto his hands and knees and crawled up towards you, allowing himself to hover over your body with his own, his waist slotting between the parting of your legs. He rested on his elbows, forearms framing your head as he gazed down at you. The sheer reverence and devotion in his eyes was almost too much to bear.

“Bloody hell, you’re gorgeous.”

He mumbled, fingers moving to stroke your hairline, tracing the curvatures of your face. You smiled softly before tilting your head upwards to close the small space that remained between you. These kisses were softer—slow, gentle, repeated slides of his lips against yours. It made you feel lightheaded.

You reached for the hem of his jumper.

“I—can I?”

You questioned against his lips, and he nodded slowly, sitting upright to help you pull the top up and over his head. He flung it to the side carefully, and you spread your hands out against the warmth of his torso, the ring finger on your left hand just barely brushing his right nipple. He hissed as the feeling of your cold hands pressed into his abdomen, but at the same time, the sensation was intoxicating. You let your fingers slide up towards his chest, skating across both of his hardened nipples before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back to you. He happily obliged, malleable under your touch, but you could feel his fingers twitching as if desperate to touch you. You pushed him back slowly, reaching to take off your own shirt.

“Wait.”

Steven panicked, and you froze, a flash of hurt cresting your face. But he just smiled gently.

“Can—let me.”

He offered, and you laid back, letting his fingers skim the flesh of your stomach as he gripped the hem and pulled the fabric away from you. You sat up briefly to allow him to pull it completely off, revealing your simple white lace bra beneath it. You watched him drink you in, completely infatuated. His hands skated up your sides, over the curve of your hip and across your ribs, but they halted before they reached any further. You nodded in encouragement.

“It’s okay, Steven. You can touch me.”

A whimper escaped his mouth as he slowly reached up the palm at your breast, still contained in the cup of your bra. He could feel the peak of your nipple through the fabric as he massaged the flesh carefully, kneading and squeezing. The sigh you let out spurred him on, and he reached behind you towards the clasp, eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort. Instead, he was met with a warm smile and nod, and his fingers worked to unclip the material beneath you. After a few brief seconds of his fumbling, his brows furrowed in frustration.

“What the—bollocks, why’s it so bloody hard to undo?”

Your saccharine giggle melted his annoyance as you offered him assistance, reaching behind you to unlatch the hooks. When it was finally unclasped, the cups loosening their hold on your breasts, he let out a shaky breath, gripping the straps and watching them glide down your arms until you were topless beneath him.

His movements were slow, deliberate, as he watched your body react to his touch. Tracing beneath the swell of your left breast, dancing across the valley between them, repeating the movement on the right side. Goosebumps trailed in his wake as he stared, utterly entranced at the softness of your skin and the rhythm of your breathing.

His eyes met yours once more, and stayed there as he slowly leaned down and pulled your right nipple into his mouth. You mewled at the action, back arching just slightly as his other hand came to cup your other tit, massaging it gently as he sucked at your flesh. He switched sides, lavishing your other nipple with equal attention, and even offering an experimental nip to the swollen bud, earning a cry from you—a mix between a sharp pain, quickly soothed with the swipe of his tongue.

You hardly noticed when his lips began pressing kisses lower across your chest, your breasts, across the expanse of your stomach, until his lips were skating over your navel, just above the button of your jeans. His dark eyes found yours, and he offered you a silent question, to which you immediately nodded. His trembling fingers reached to undo the button—with which he had much more success than your bra—and pulled the zipper down. As he slowly coaxed the fabric away from your skin, he pressed two hot kisses against each of your hip bones before pulling the pants completely off and discarding them nearby.

His hands roamed the newly exposed skin of your thighs, fingers creating divots in the soft flesh with his firm grip. He leaned down and pressed his lips against your calf, sliding them upwards until he reached your inner thigh. You whimpered at his proximity to where you needed him most, but he evaded you by switching to mirror the same path on your other side. Your toes curled in frustration.

“Steven.”

You huffed, head thrown back, and his head popped upwards, eyes wide with concern.

“Stop teasing.”

His gaze softened, and you felt his lips press right above your pubic bone, where the waistband of your panties was settled.

“Sorry, m’love, I couldn’t help it. I’ll make it better, I promise.”

His fingers gripped the waistband of your underwear and pulled them down your legs, successfully leaving you completely bare beneath him. You had half the mind to feel insecure at the exposure, but when you caught sight of the look on Steven's face, his eyes transfixed on the sopping folds of your cunt, any hesitance was thrown out the window.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

He whispered, letting the pointer finger on his left hand just barely graze between your pussy lips to gather some of your wetness, causing your hips to jolt. He let out a short ‘ha’ sound at your reaction to his touch.

“Is this—s’this all f’me?”

He looked at you again, lips parted and eyes hooded. You nodded vigorously.

“Yes, Steven, yes—all for you.”

He rewarded you with a groan, his finger offering another, firmer swipe through your folds, easily sliding through with the slick of your arousal. The tip of his finger caught on the hood of your clit and your hips jumped again. Instead of removing his finger, he slid it back downwards, slowly circling the entrance of your pussy with careful ministrations. Before you could even ask, he pushed his middle finger deep inside you, curling forward, and almost instantly, the pad of his digit nudged at the most sensitive part of you. You cried out at the abrupt sensation, hips unconsciously grinding down against his hand. He smiled wickedly.

“Ah—there you are.”

He mumbled to himself, repeating the motion once more to ensure he had located the spot where your sensitivity peaked. Again, your body followed the movement of his hand, and he easily added a second finger, slowly beginning to pump them in and out of you, all while continuing the well-received come-hither motion. You squeezed your eyes shut, core muscles clenched as pleasure spread from your cunt upwards, and then his thumb found your clit and you were reeling.

“Oh, fuck, Steven, shit—oh God, I can’t, m’gonna—”

His free hand came up to stroke your hair tenderly, eyes peeling away from where they were watching where his fingers sank into you to ogle at the face you'd make as you climaxed.

“That’s it, love. Doin’ so well. C’mon, give it to me.”

Your orgasm reached its peak, toes curling and back arching as you let out a salacious, pornographic moan, thrusting in time with Steven’s diligent fingers as he coaxed every last drop of pleasure from your dripping folds. Your skin buzzed with sensitivity as the waves of stimulation rippled through you—your breathing was labored when you came down from your high, sinking back into the mattress and grounding yourself back in reality.

Steven pressed a kiss to your lips, which you accepted gratefully, although your energy was significantly less than his—he didn’t seem to mind. He pulled away, just barely, noses brushing together in a moment of intimacy. You felt dizzy.

“So good, Steven—make me feel so good.”

You rambled, hot breath fanning across his face. He glowed at your praise, pressing another soft kiss to your lips. Even after your first orgasm, your hunger for him was nowhere near sated. Your walls were clenching around nothing, desperate for the hot drag of his cock inside of you.

Something resembling a whimper came from the back of your throat, and Steven’s eyes found yours, softening.

“I know, darling, I know. S’alright, I’ve got you. Let me take care of you.”

Your fingers trailed down his stomach and covertly ghosted over the skin right atop the waistband of his jeans. Fuck, he still had his jeans on?

You reached for the button, and Steven took the hint, pulling them off of himself rather ungracefully and tossing them to the side. He was left in just his boxers, and when your hand stroked over the hard outline of his cock within them, he hissed, almost as if he were in pain. He recoiled from your touch just slightly, and you felt brief concern at the reaction. He squinted one eye open at you, wincing.

“Careful, please, love, I—don’t want this to end too quickly.”

“Whatever you want, Steven, I’m yours.”

You breathed, fingers caressing the side of his face and beneath his jawline. He grunted at your words, still fighting to maintain control of his body. It only served to turn you on more. When your fingers once more reached for the band of his boxers, he interrupted you with a kiss.

“Patience, love, s’alright.”

"Want you so bad."

You cried against his mouth, absolutely desperate, and you felt the stutter of his exhale as he pulled away.

“I know, I know, but I—Gods, ’m sorry, but I just have to taste you.”

You barely had time to process his words before his head was between your thighs, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inner flesh between them. Your eyes fluttered closed just as he licked a long, experimental stripe between your folds, making you jerk up towards him involuntarily.

Your cunt was puffy and swollen from your previous orgasm, but Steven wasted no time diving in. He let the tip of his tongue dance around your bundle of nerves, suckling it into his mouth and humming at the taste. The vibrations traveled all the way through you, and you moaned, head thrown back in ecstasy. You tried to force your legs from caging him in, but when he noticed the strain in your muscles, he tucked his arms beneath your thighs and let your knees rest on his strong shoulders, allowing him an even better angle with which to pleasure you.

He changed course, tongue now prodding at your entrance, pushing in and out carefully and slowly. At the feeling of your walls clenching, Steven jostled just slightly, the bridge of his nose rubbing against your clit just right. You cried out, fingers flying to fist at his dark curls, pulling him back in against you.

“Fuck, do that again, Steven, please.”

Steven wasn’t one to deny you of what you wanted. He obliged, repeating the motion, his tongue penetrating you rhythmically and his nose pressed against your clit in a way that had you seeing stars. You thighs tightened around his head, and you felt more than you heard the groan that it pulled from him. You were suddenly teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

“God, Steven, gonna make me cum, don’t stop, please—”

Steven maintained his pace, smart enough to know not to speed up or slow down or change up his rhythm at all as your toes curled. You briefly opened your eyes, and the sight in front of you toppled you over the cliff—Steven’s dark eyes staring up at you, the lower half of his face buried in your cunt, his hips rutting up against the mattress unconsciously as he watched you come undone. You practically sobbed as the shockwaves overwhelmed you, your thighs squeezing Steven’s head and holding him in place as you tugged at his hair. He happily lapped up your arousal, the taste of you lingering on his tongue when he finally pulled away after you had stopped squirming.

You tasted yourself on his lips when he kissed you, and the sight of your slick coating his chin and smeared across his cheeks was one of the most attractive things you’d ever seen. You smiled at him with hooded eyes, still coming down from your high.

“Please, will you fuck me now, Steven?”

You pleaded, and Steven groaned, pressing his still-covered cock against the heat of your pussy.

“Oh, yes, please, can I?”

He asked for confirmation, because of course he did, he’s Steven, and you nodded feverishly, watching with lustful eyes as he pulled his boxers down, his length finally released from the confines of the fabric. It stood at full height, long and big but not too thick, and you practically felt yourself drooling at the sight. His head was flushed a deep reddish purple, sheened with precum that had accumulated there. There was a prominent vein that ran up the underside of his shaft, and all you wanted to do was run your tongue along it. Steven caught you staring and grimaced, moaning lowly.

“Christ, darling, you keep lookin’ at me like that and ’m not gonna be able to last.”

His hand reached down and gave a few strokes to his cock, pumping it as he moved in towards you. He leaned down over you once again, eyes finding yours, and you felt the tip rub up and down your folds a few times. Steven’s lips were parted in pleasure, his breathing ragged. You felt the head of his cock barely breach the entrance of your pussy.

“Is this—are you sure?”

He asked you one final time, fingers reaching to stroke your hair. Instead of answering, you pulled him in for a sloppy kiss, and slowly, slowly, he pushed into you.

The groan that escaped him was hellish, sinful, practically animalistic as he sheathed himself within you, pushing in to the hilt until he was buried completely in the warmth of your walls. Your eyes never left his face, absolutely living for his expressions of pleasure—his pinched brows, parted lips, heavy breaths. His eyes were squeezed shut as he held himself there for a moment, offering you time to get settled. You didn’t need time. He had opened you up plenty, and your wet channel practically swallowed him with need.

“Alright?”

He breathed, checking to see if you were experiencing any discomfort. You nodded at him and offered a roll of your hips upward, your clit rubbing up against his pubic bone deliciously. He whimpered, pulling his cock out just enough before rocking back into you. You mewled, pressing your face into his shoulder as he repeated the motion, pulling out a bit more each time as he gained confidence and momentum. Soon, he was thrusting into you steadily, each move punctuated by barely audible ‘uh, uh, uh’ sounds from his lips as he lost himself in the feeling of you.

“Yes, Steven, fuck. Fucking me so well, such a good boy.”

That awoke something in him, and his pace faltered just barely, hips stuttering as he let out a high-pitched whine.

“Shit, shit, don’t—you can’t just—I’m not gonna last, Y/N, fuck.”

The look on his face was pained, sweat sheened on his forehead from how hard he was restraining himself. You wanted—you needed to see him fall apart.

“Want you to cum for me, Steven.”

You hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and he whimpered, shaking his head as he continued pounding into you.

“No, please, not yet, want—want you to cum on my cock.”

He sounded desperate, frantic, but you could feel within yourself that you weren’t going to get there soon, and he couldn’t hold out much longer. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him into you as you cradled his face in your hands, forcing his eyes on yours.

“Need you to cum, Steven, please—please, please, need you to cum for me—”

You clenched your muscles, walls clamping down on him, and with a sharp cry of your name, his cum spilled deep inside you, cock fully nested in your cunt as his spend coated your walls and filled you with warmth. His hips kept thrusting into you, almost of their own volition, forcing his seed deeper and deeper into you as he grunted with each move, face contorted in a look of sheer bliss.

Your hands were stroking his back, fingers tracings patterns on the soft skin as he collapsed on top of you, burying his face in the crook on your neck, his cock still sheathed within you.

“Good boy.”

You whispered repeatedly, lips pressed to his temple as he caught his breath and tried to slow the rapid thumping of his heart.

“Such a good boy.”

He let out a sigh, nose pressed into the side of your neck as he closed his eyes, allowing himself a few moments to sit in the moment and really feel it. The softness of your body beneath him, the comforting swirl of your fingers on his back, the quiet hum of praise eliciting from your lips. He wanted to live in this moment forever.

You shifted, just slightly, from beneath him, and he immediately jumped into action. He pressed a chaste peck to your lips before pulling out of you slowly, taking a second to appreciate the view of his cum leaking out of you before he made his way to the bathroom, grabbing a warm wet washcloth to clean you up. When he came back, he just had his boxers on, but the toned taupe of his skin still made you blush. His eyes regarded you warmly, reverently, as he wiped away both of your combined arousals from your folds, touch gentle and careful. When he was done, he reached onto the floor to grab his jumper, sitting back up and offering it to you. You smiled graciously, holding your arms in the air like an expectant child as Steven slipped it over your head, pulling your arms through and straightening it down over your body.

God, you looked good in his clothes.

He crawled beside you, nestling in next to you, body curling to fit the curvature of your side. His head found its place in the crook of your neck, the smell of your skin sweet, and he hummed in contentment, relaxing into you. You smiled softly, reaching up to stroke his hair.

“Is... Is this what you’d normally do after sex?”

You asked carefully, hesitantly, afraid to lose the intimacy of the moment. Steven bristled at your words, just slightly, before he sank further into your embrace.

“I mean... in what little experience I have, yeah, I’d say so.”

He offered, voice laced with grogginess, his eyelids drooping. You giggled quietly at his sudden exhaustion, finding the sight quite endearing.

“So you want me to stay, then?”

He lifted his head at your question, worry reflecting in his big brown eyes.

“Did—do you not want to?”

He asked hurriedly, preparing himself for your rejection, but you shook your head defensively.

“No, no! I’m just—this is about you, and what you want out of sex. Do you... I mean, would you expect me to spend the night?”

Steven’s stare was reminiscent of a puppy as he looked up at you, seeming almost lost. Hesitantly, he nodded his head, confirming that he wanted you to stay with him. You smiled softly, pressing a kiss atop his forehead.

“Great—then I’ll stay.”

He relaxed back into you, eyes closing almost immediately, his breaths slowing. After a few minutes, you’d assumed he’d fallen asleep, but then his voice called out softly in the silence.

“M’sorry, by the way.”

Your brows furrowed.

“Sorry? For—for what?”

A long sigh. He buried his face further into your shoulder, hiding himself.

“I didn’t get to—I mean, you weren’t able to—I wanted you to, you know—before me.”

Oh.

His innocent avoidance of vulgarity melted your heart, as it was obviously something he struggled to speak about regularly. You pulled your head back, turning to face him, and he lifted his eyes, cheek smushed against your collarbone. You smiled at him, a hand coming to stroke his cheek.

“Don’t be sorry, Steven. It was perfect.”

You assured, and although he would normally never believe it, something in your eyes was genuine. His lips turned upward at the corners.

“Yeah?”

He asked, excited at the prospect of your validation, and you laughed shortly, smiling wide.

“Yeah.”

With that, Steven let his body meld against yours, finally allowing himself to relax completely and relish in the feeling of being so close to you.

Your mind was already racing with ideas for tomorrow’s trial.

POINTS OF CONTENTION:

- being open to unconditional care without obligation of reciprocation

- feeling adequate and worthy of affections

- accepting praise and compliments without denial or doubt

TREATMENT: - receive without giving - deserving of everything and anything (should not have guilt over being pleasured) - high praise and validation

Twelve hours, that was the deal. You needed at least twelve hours apart before you could begin the second phase of research. Partially to record the data you needed and begin developing a profile, but mostly because you knew that both the boys and you would need time to recuperate before going at it again.

Especially Steven.

Standing outside his apartment door, you were somehow more nervous this time around than you were yesterday. You’d spent the night with him, wrapped in each other’s arms, and you’d left early that morning, promising to return in the evening after the appropriate time had elapsed. You’d showered, eaten, relaxed, but mostly, you’d planned. The key to this study, you’d realized, wasn’t actually the sex at all—it was about challenging the alters, exploiting their vulnerabilities. Exposure therapy.

Sexual interactions are intimate. They are reflective of some of our deep-rooted, unconscious desires, and are significantly related to events that occurred in our childhood that shaped our attachments styles. Certain sexual preferences, turn-ons, fetishes, and kinks, are indicative of different cognitive dispositions. You were trying to figure the boys out—using what they wanted to get to what they needed.

You had predicted Steven’s diagnosis from the start.

When the door to his flat swung inward, his eyes were crinkled at the corners from his smile. He looked soft—rosy pink cheeks, mussed brunette curls, baggy sweats—almost as if he’d just woken up. You returned his grin, slipping past him and into the threshold of his flat.

The door slammed shut behind him, and you turned to him, surprised to be met with a slow, deep, passionate kiss, his lips lingering on yours for just a moment before he pulled away.

You blinked.

“Wow.”

You whispered, slightly reeling. You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Steven looked down sheepishly.

“Oh, goodness, I don’t—m’sorry, love, I wasn’t really thinking, I just—missed you, s’all.”

He confessed, rubbing at the back of his neck bashfully. His words pulled at your heartstrings and you walked into him, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your chin on his chest so you were looking up at him.

“No, don’t be sorry, just—took me by surprise.”

You smiled.

“Hell of a welcome, though.”

He smiled, letting out a nervous breath.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You nodded, tilting your head upwards to capture his mouth with your own again. He hummed against you, one hand coming to cup the side of your face and the other pulling you in closer by your waist. His tongue swiped at your bottom lip, and you immediately submitted, parting your lips to grant him full access. He started walking backwards towards the couch, but you pulled away to stop him.

“Bed.”

You whispered, your fuck-me eyes almost making him feel faint. He nodded obediently, kissing you again, and changed direction, guiding you to the other side of the flat. The back of Steven’s calves collided with the mattress and he fell backwards into a sitting position onto the bed, but you stayed standing between his parted legs.

“What’re you doin’, love?”

He asked, laughing almost nervously. You just smirked down at him, leaning over to capture his lips once more. You hands were on his shoulders, traveling down his back and around his neck. His found your hips, fingers digging into the flesh there as you continued your passionate making out. Finally, you pulled away, but stayed close, nose still brushing his. His eyes were closed.

“Steven.”

You whispered, and he hummed in acknowledgement, an expression of contentment on his face.

“Are you ready?”

His eyes fluttered open, his gaze focusing in on you. Your lip was pulled between your teeth, as if contemplating something.

“Ready? For... for what, exactly?”

You leaned a bit away from him, standing up to your full height. You looked down at him, stroking his hair comfortingly as you addressed him.

“We’re—I’m gonna try something, okay? But I need you to know that you can stop me at any time. Do you know the stoplight system?”

His big brown eyes looked up at you, and he shook his head.

“It’s a technique for safe words. So if I’m doing something and you want me to stop, you say red. If you need me to slow down, you say yellow, and if you’re doing okay and want me to keep going, you say...”

“Green.”

He finished for you, slightly breathless with anticipation. You nodded down at him proudly.

“Yeah, you’ve got it, good boy.”

You heard the way his breath caught in his throat at your praise, and you pressed a soft, quick kiss to his lips.

“So—are you ready?”

The way he looked at you—eyes filled with such wonder, such reverence, such infatuation—filled you with so much pride and confidence. God, you wanted to ruin this man.

“Gods, love, you’re makin’ me a bit nervous.”

He admitted sheepishly, but his breathing stuttered as you slowly lowered yourself to your knees in between his legs, placing one hand on each thigh and coaxing them farther apart. He was watching you intently.

“Don’t be nervous, sweetheart, it’s okay. But remember—you just tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

He slowly nodded, waiting earnestly for your next move. You reached for the hem of his shirt, lifting it off of him and tossing it to the side. His pants followed shortly thereafter, leaving him only in his boxers. You could see just how hard he already was for you—excitement bubbled in your stomach.

He reached for your shirt, but you tutted at him condescendingly, gently guiding his hands away from you.

“No, sweetheart—this is about you.”

You whispered, returning to your position on your knees in between his legs. He was leaning back, his arms stretched out behind him as he held himself up, watching you. Your fingers were stroking at the skin of his upper thigh, where the leg of his boxers ended. Slowly, your fingers passed over his bulge with a barely-there touch, and he hissed at the ticklish sensation, the muscles of his thighs rippling with strain.

While his head was tilted back and his eyes were closed, you took advantage of his temporary distraction and leaned forward to place opened-mouth kisses on his cock through his boxers. The warm heat from your breath passed over him and he groaned, watching as you finally reached up to remove the final barrier between you.

He shifted his hips up to help, and you pulled his boxers down his legs and off of him completely—now, he was completely naked before you, and you were fully clothed.

Perfect.

You settled back in between his legs, fingers slowly creeping up his inner thigh and towards his weeping length. You looked up at him through your lashes, where he was waiting with bated breath.

“Listen to me—you’re gonna cum whenever you want to, whenever you’re ready, okay, Steven?”

He whimpered in response as your fingers skirted around his base. When he didn’t verbally answer, you stopped.

“Okay, Steven?”

“Yes, yeah, alright, yeah.”

He nodded frantically, acknowledging your instruction, and you rewarded him with a grin.

“Good boy.”

Your fingers finally wrapped around the base of his cock and he sighed, groaning as he watched you lean forward and allow a string of spit to dribble through your lips and down onto his awaiting length. You coated your hand with the slickness and started a slow, steady pace, pumping him with a slight twist of your wrist. He whimpered, particularly sensitive when your thumb stroked at the sensitive head at the end of your long up-and-down strokes.

“Shit, Y/N, oh, Gods...”

He whined, his hips slowly starting to react to your pace by thrusting upward into your fist.

“There you go, Steven, doing so well.”

You praised, speeding up the pace of your hand a bit. His lip was pulled between his teeth, as if focusing intently, and you let your other hand come up to cup at his heavy balls. This earned a low groan from him, his hips jolting with each twist of your wrist.

“Shit, shit, you’ve got to slow down, or else—oh, fuck—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I wanna see you let go. It’s okay.”

You whispered sweetly, maintaining your speed but tightening your grip just slightly. The muscles in his abdomen were visibly straining, and you could tell he was close.

“Come on, sweet boy. Cum for me.”

He let out a breathy whine, and you could feel the tightening of his balls as his stomach clenched.

“Oh, fuck, I’m cumming, Y/N, oh, mmmmh—”

You kept pumping him as thick spurts of white spilled from his tip, dripping down the sides of his pretty cock as he throbbed beneath your touch. You allowed his spend to drip over your fingers and knuckles as you continued stroking him, pace slowing just slightly, but not entirely.

His head was thrown back, still reeling with aftershocks, and—fuck.

He jolted when he felt the hot sting of your lips, tongue swirling over the head of his cock, cum still dripping over your hands as your wrist twisted around the base. He cried out, hips thrusting upwards, his legs spasming involuntarily as you began bobbing your head up and down repeatedly, eyes on his face as you watched his face scrunch up in pain.

“Oh, Gods, fuck, fuck, what are you—oh, Gods, s’too much, I can’t, stop, please—”

His hands were fisting at the blankets atop his bed, trying his best not to bury his fingers in your hair as you pulled off of him with a gasp, but your hand kept going.

“You gotta use your words, sweet boy.”

You reminded with a sympathetic tone.

“If you want me to stop, use your words.”

You leaned forward to clean up his release from the sides of his cock, tongue gliding at the same speed as your hand. He was hissing through his teeth, legs still kicking every once in awhile with overstimulation. He wasn’t responding, so maybe you should stop, maybe—

“Fuck, fuck—green! Green, I’m—it’s green.”

He cried, and you wrapped your lips back on his cock, starting to bounce your head once more. The cries that were escaping him were delicious—pathetic whines and whimpers, begging incomprehensibly as you tried to keep his cock hard beneath your touch. It was working, because you could see his abdomen clenching again, and each of his panted breaths was paired with a short grunt.

“Oh, fuck, I don’t—oh, gods, it’s—m’gonna cum again, oh, shit, oooh—”

You pushed down on his cock as far as you could take him, and the second he hit the back of your throat, he felt his orgasm rock through him. His legs curled around your back instinctually, holding you in place as his hips thrusted into your mouth. This was different, though, this—his muscles were contracting, balls tightening, but it wasn’t accompanied by his cum down your throat. You gagged on him and he practically yelped, one hand finally reaching up to grab at your hair. He pulled you off of him, and you gasped for air. Your face was red and there was spit smeared across your cheeks and down your chin. When you looked up at Steven, his eyes were red and there were tears in his eyes. Your hand was still on his cock, pumping slowly. His legs were still twitching.

You stood up, finally releasing him, and he collapsed backwards onto the bed, arms eagle-spread on either side of him, panting. But then he heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor, and when he looked up at you, you were undressing.

He stared at you incredulously, and you smirked at him, discarding your pants and panties simultaneously, leaving you completely bare. You approached the bed again, swinging your leg across Steven's waist to straddle him. You held yourself up just a bit so you were hovering over his cock.

“What, you think we’re done already?”

You teased, sinking down to rub your dripping folds over his still half-hard length. His hips jumped at the feeling.

“No, no, I can’t, not—”

He whimpered, and you leaned forward to shush him, giving him a quick kiss. His bottom lip quivered.

“Such a good boy, Steven—you can give me one more.”

You nodded encouragingly, and he whined, his head pressing back into the mattress with frustration. Your hand reached to stroke at his chest.

“Words, Steven. Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

You offered, suddenly serious, and he took a few deep breaths, tears trailing down his cheeks. When he opened them again, he looked wrecked, but he met your gaze.

“Green.”

It was barely a whisper, but you heard it. You reached down to wrap your fingers around his slick length once more, stroking him to coax him back to full height. He was still mostly hard, as his second orgasm had occurred in the midst of his refractory period, so fairly soon, his tip was prodding at your awaiting entrance and you stifled a mewl.

“There we go, sweet boy. You ready?”

His brows were pinched, but he nodded, and you slowly, carefully sank down on him, burying him into you all the way to the hilt. He was crying now, sitting upright to wrap his arms around you and hold you close against him as you gave him a moment to adjust. His face was pressed into your shoulder.

“Doing so, so well, for me, Steven. Just give me one more, okay? Whenever you want, whenever you’re ready, give it to me.”

You encouraged, lips pressed against his ear, and you slowly lifted up your hips, sinking back down onto him as he whined into you.

“Oooh—oooh—”

“Shh, shh—I know, sweetheart, I know.”

You cooed, cupping the back of his head with one hand as you continued to roll your hips, grinding back and forth against his lap. You were entirely focused on Steven and helping him reach his peak, but still, the way the tip of his cock prodded at something deep inside you was addictive.

“Such a big cock, Steven, fills me up so good.”

He was panting, you could feel his thighs trembling beneath you as you bounced on him, picking up your speed.

“Being such a good boy. Can you give me one more, huh? Think you can?”

He was sobbing, hips jolting every time your weight came to settle back down onto his balls, skin sticky with sweat as you held him close to you.

“Oh, please, please, please, I’m so close, oh fuck—please, I can’t—”

You bounced on him harder, feeling the ripple of tension in his shoulder blades as his body was wracked with sobs.

“Oh, yes, gonna cum, gonna cum, Y/N, gonna—oh, oh, oh fuck, fuck, fuck fuck—”

His teeth sank into the flesh of your shoulder as his cock pulsed within you, and you granted him the kindness of stopping the roll of your hips so he could thrust into you, his seed painting your walls and filling you with warmth. You could feel the hot, wet tears from his eyes against the skin of your shoulder, and you held him close to you, cradling his head against you and rocking him gently.

“Good boy, Steven, so proud of you. Did so, so well for me. My sweet, sweet boy.”

You peppered kisses to the crown of his head, burying your face in his curls as he clung to you desperately, and you stayed there until you felt the drumming of his heart slow and his breathing even out. You slowly, carefully peeled yourself away from him, his softened and sensitive cock slipping out of you as you shakily got to your feet. He whined at the loss of contact, reaching for you, but you shushed him.

“I’ll be right back, okay?”

You followed his lead from yesterday, cleaning yourself up in the bathroom before bringing a damp rag to wipe away the arousal that was drying against his thighs. He hissed at your touch, but you gently cleaned him up, returning to the bathroom again. You considered slipping his jumper on, but for some reason, you felt the need to be as close to Steven as possible. You’d pushed him to his limit, and you wanted to be there for him in every sense of the word.

When you came back to the bed, you gestured for him to crawl up towards the pillows. He obliged, albeit a bit shakily, and you pulled the covers back for him as he curled up beneath them. You joined him immediately after, fitting your body to the curve of his back and wrapping your arms around his warm abdomen. You pressed a few gentle kisses against the back of his neck, the top of his spine, across his shoulders. He hummed in response.

“You feel okay?”

You asked quietly, words muffled in his skin. He scooted away so he could turn to face you. His eyes were red, but there was a glimmer of calmness in them—the high-strung Steven looked truly relaxed.

“Feel floaty.”

You laughed at his drawled words, hands reaching up to cradle his face in your hands. Your thumbs stroked against each of his cheeks gently, soothing.

“You really did so well, Steven. Thank you.”

Your eyes were soft, and you saw the way his lips quirked at the corners at your approval.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to—I mean, if you’d still like to—”

You sent him a glare, and he immediately silenced himself, gaze casting downward and away from you.

“No. This was about you, Steven, about you feeling good and that’s it. It was perfect. I loved it.”

His eyes brightened.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You assured, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. He sighed, shutting his eyes briefly as a warm, fuzzy feeling overtook him.

“S’just—wish I’d gotten the chance to—”

“Next time, Steven, okay?”

You regarded him carefully, tone gentle. His brows furrowed.

“But—my turn’s done. S’just—Marc and Jake, and then—”

“Next time.”

You reiterated, and when your words finally sank in, the smile that lit up his face was one of the most beautiful things you’d ever seen. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him, embracing you tightly like he never wanted to let go.

TAGS: @kezibear143 @gingermous

[dekariosclan]

Hello my friend!

So we all know how amazing and wonderful Gale is, how kind, good, caring and funny he is. He is, in so many ways, a perfect man.

He is, however, only human. I have the tendency to idealise him, and forget this.

My question to you is - what do you think his flaws are? Both generally and as a husband/life partner.

💜

Ohhh I love this question so much ❤️ I am a hopeless romantic, and I adore Gale’s charming, sweet, loving adorkableness! He is truly amazing—but I can confirm NOBODY (and no relationship) is ever 100% perfect.

The thing about a long-term committed relationship is that, while your partner’s charms make the relationship wonderful, their flaws are what make it REAL. And that’s just as important.

So let’s talk about our charming Gale’s less-than-charming aspects, shall we?

[warning: this went from a short & concise answer to a rambling dissertation, please prepare yourself accordingly! Also I know this ask/answer was supposed to make Gale a little less perfect and help lessen our obsession, but uhhhh, I seem to have veered hard in the opposite direction 😂]

———

First off: The Pomposity™️ (I’m not 100% certain that’s even a real word but you know what I mean right) So we all know that by the end of the game, (human) Gale has come to accept himself as he is, and decided to henceforth be known as ‘Gale Dekarios, a most brilliant wizard of intentionally limited reknown.’ He’s come a lonnng way in cutting down his ego, but let’s be honest: some of it will never truly go away. And that’s fair, because he IS brilliant, and he IS talented, and he IS extremely passionate about magic.

…but it’s tough to remember all that and give him a pass when that usually-oh-so-adorable-finger-in-the-air is now aimed at YOU, as he declares that ‘after all, he IS an expert on [*insert topic here*] because he WAS awarded [*insert scholarly award here*] from the one and only [*insert impressive Blackstaff Academy professor here.*]’

And all you wanted was for your opinion to be taken into consideration regarding the wine selection at dinner.

———

Second: The Disarray / Messiness. Gale has a brilliant mind, one that he applies full throttle to any and all situations: concentration on magic spells, lance board strategy, calculations, poring over ancient tomes, and even figuring out how to cook something edible out of rotting fish heads and some moldy cheese (no veggies, though!)

The problem is, while his mind is brilliant and he will keep it laser-focused on his chosen subject at that current moment, from a day-to-day perspective he is straight-up scatter brained with all the things he has his hands in. We can see this in his vision of his tower: BOOKS. BOOKS EVERYWHERE. Some stacked in piles, some shoved onto shelves, some left open on the page he was reading when he got distracted, etc.

We also get confirmation of this from Tara in the epilogue:

Tara: The way he leaves his potions in absolute disarray—I know for certain he wasn’t raised in a barn, but you’d never know it.

It’s one thing to have books & potions & scrolls scattered throughout his library and sitting room—you have no complaints against that, you HAVE moved in with/married a wizard, after all—but to find them in the kitchen, wine cellar, even occasionally stuffed into your own wardrobe? It’s a bit much.

TLDR: Our rizzard is a hot mess.

———

Which leads us into perhaps his biggest flaw: The Fussiness.

So about all those books everywhere, on everything, all at once? You didn’t try and ARRANGE them or organize them for him, did you?…You did?! Oh, gods! No, no, he had an ORDER to them, you see, and he knew that the exact spell he needed could be found in the third book down in the stack next to the piano, page 453, why did you ever decide to move it?

Well, you explain as patiently as you can, it was in the way, and frankly you could tell from the dust on it that he hadn’t touched it in several yea—

BY ELMINSTER’S ELBOW, did you ALPHABETIZE his illusion scrolls??! Oh, for the love of—!

You get the picture.

There would undoubtedly be moments when you found yourself fully exasperated by this man and his exacting, fussy nature.

———

All that being said: true fights would be rare.

The occasional huffy remark or quickly-forgotten gripe would occur now and then as in any relationship, but a real, anger-filled argument? With heightened emotions and hurt feelings? Rare indeed.

The only thing bigger than Gale’s brain is his heart. And while his mind is dedicated to a great many things as mentioned above (magic studies, lance board, etc) his heart is 100% dedicated TO YOU, and you alone. So on those rare occasions after a fight has occurred, it does not take long for him to come down from the heat of the moment and realize, oh, hells, he’s been an ass, hasn’t he?

He knows you love him. His anxiety about not being enough for you has long since disappeared, and he’s calmed his worries that you would ever leave him, but still…there’s always a lingering concern that maybe you’ll grow distant from him after an argument.

If you are in the wrong and he is certain of it, he will be stiffly polite until you offer an apology, and then he will be taking you in his arms, kissing you passionately and telling you ‘all is forgiven my love, let’s never speak of this again’ (and trying hard to hide his relief that you apologized first, because he was not sure how long he would be able to hold out and stay mad at you.)

If HE is in the wrong, though? And you are truly mad at him? And he knows he really stuck his foot in it? Oh, boy.

You’ll be treated to an apology so eloquent it would make poets weep, and it will come packaged with hand-holding, pouting, pleading, and Gale getting down on his (bad) knees.

And if you’re still mad at him after that?

Well, then you’ll have to complete a gauntlet harder than anything Shar could ever throw at you. You’ll have to try and stay angry, explain your anger, AND explain to Gale why he won’t be easily forgiven, all while looking directly at this:

And this:

AND THIS:

…

…needless to say you will be failing, and hard.

Not that you mind, because the make-up sex will be absolutely phenomenal. Gale doesn’t just want to repair your loving bond after you’ve had an argument, he wants to improve it. Which requires much study and experimentation, of course.

And for awhile afterwards, all will be bliss again.

…until you find a pile of scrolls shoved under your side of the bed, and some open books scattered across your dresser, and you decide it time to do some organizing. ———

So yes, my friend. Gale definitely does have some flaws, and at some point they WOULD drive you crazy in any sort of relationship you have with him. Gale is wonderful, Gale is loving, but Gale isn’t perfect!!

…but when he takes you in his arms after you’ve made up, and his mouth is hungrily devouring yours, and he’s murmuring words of adoration against your skin as he trails his kisses down your neck, chest, hips—

Nevermind! I take it all back. He’s perfect. 😂