#Unfuck your weekend

[mydeclutterjourney]

Not necessarily decluttering...

But this weekend I managed to tick off a load of things I'd been procrastinating on for weeks. I sorted out my pension, ordered birthday presents for my partner, washed my car, changed and washed the sheets, did another 2 loads of washing that all dried outside the same day, and washed a load of dishes, and cleaned a bathroom sink. I did all of this and still had time to sit out in the garden and enjoy the sun, and go to the cinema.

This morning I've sorted out sending my phone for repairs and changed back holiday money from last month (buuuut once again my laziness saved me with that one because if I had done it earlier I would have had to pay conversion fees!).

There are still quite a few things I still have left to do on my weekend to do list. This evening I need to put away all the washing from the weekend and tidy up my corner of the sofa because there is yarn everywhere. But I think I did achieve quite a bit and still felt like I had some time off.

[saltofmercury]

Secrets

Pairing: Soap x f!reader

Author's note: a little bit of angst with Johnny, remember he's loyal to his job before anything else.

"Secrets"

Things with Johnny had been going good. He had come back into your life, settled in there and was attempting to make it permanent. Waking up to his pout, him coming to your work to drop off lunch, lingering by the entrance of your office as he kissed you goodbye, small attempts to remind you he was here.

Johnny had enjoyed it too. He liked waiting for you to come home, make dinner for you, and watch you be you. He enjoyed planning the weekend, taking trips together, being snuggled on the couch with you and your many blankets and decorative pillows all over.

It was a small bubble you two had formed, willing to step on eggshells around one another as not pop it.

Things were going great—

—But there was the lingering tension between you two. As much as you wanted to ignore it and continue being with one another…There had always been this string of commotion between you, the chaos of his world, his reputation that he never talked about with you. You were both at fault, not wanting to crack the safe cocoon of domestic bliss you had been creating with one another.

So when it came to him leaving so suddenly, you cracked the bubble between you two.

“I don’t want you to go.” You had said one morning watching him take the duffle bag out of your closet.

“Dinnae say that to me, yeah? This is my job.”

“This is my job” a bit of “Soap” had come out when he spoke to you. Cold, heartless, and prideful.

It was childish but you pushed harder, for some hope of information.

“How long?”

“Not sure hen, but I’m positive for at least three months.”

Three months.

“Are you going to keep in contact with me?”

He had turned to you, seeing how hurt you were. You were met with his cold gaze, that had softened a bit. Johnny never expected to get hooked on someone so fast. He never expected someone other than his family to worry about him.

“You know I can’t pet,” he said, he had to keep a distance with his home life and work life.

“Johnny” didn’t exist out there, “Soap” did. And you knew nothing about Soap.

“This is unfucking stupid!” You had pulled your hair from your head and went to your living room leaving him alone to pack. In about four days he would be gone, no communication or trace of him for three months.

You put your show on, trying to distract yourself. Mentally repeating to yourself that you would not cry about this. Over a man who didn’t want to open up to you emotionally or be honest with you.

About two episodes in, he had come out, leaning against the wall, staring at you.

Flashbacks of talking to Gaz had flooded his brain. The things he told him after a mission, Gaz had mumbled about,

“You’re falling in love.”

He had brushed off Gaz’s comment. Laughing at him for being so stupid, but also for calling it how it is. How on the nose he was. Gaz was probably one of the only ones on the team who could read through Soap’s bullshit.

Johnny spoke softly, willing to negotiate with you.

"This is all new to me, I'm sorry."

You still didn’t turn, hurt that he wouldn’t open up about his job.

“Come on hen…” he walked over to where you were.

“Cannae have you poking around my job, it’s serious.”

You looked over at him, taken back that he would assume you wanted such a thing.

“All I’m asking for is a phone call, an email would suffice Johnny.”

He felt it in his stomach, he felt it in his heart, but he could not give that to you. Not after Ghost’s past.

“I’ll let you drop me off hen. But you’d got to give me time.”

He was serious again, the base would surely be safe enough for you to know about it, but he could not let anything happen to you because of his job.

It was a small small start.

*

Four days later it was quiet in the car. The navigation of your phone adding to the dull atmosphere that had settled between you two.

Johnny had been staring out the passenger window, with no attempt to hold your hand or to talk to you. He was nervous. Was it in the best interest even having you know where his base was? It was a different country, but people lurked everywhere. Paranoia had swarmed his thoughts.

He asked you to park further away to where people were actually dropping off family members and friends.

You followed his orders, kind of surprised that his side of him was coming out.

He got out first before you could turn the car off. He had stomped over to the driver's side, opening the door and enveloping you with his hands.

His mouth had found yours, feverishly and hungrily opened it. He had held your face with his hands, tucked it under your hair, and caressed the other side of your face.

“Come on, get out.”

You got out of the car, and he proceeded to kiss you even more, pushing you against the car to show you how much at this moment he had regret not saying goodbye properly last night for not being honest, not being more open about his job, and leaving you behind.

He had pulled away from the kiss, his lips lingering on yours, his hand rubbing your chin.

“You know I’m sorry right?” He whispered. You nodded silently.

“This is as far as you can come.”

He looked down at your eyes, placing soft kisses on your lips.

“I think I love you, hen and I’m sorry.”

He didn’t let you speak, he didn’t really care if you said it back right now. He grabbed his bag from the backseat and walked up to the base, not looking back.

*

You had been out with friends grabbing a coffee. You watched the milk swirl into your second cup, trying to focus on the conversation. You excused yourself to go to the bathroom.

Your phone rang in your bag from an unknown number. You didn’t have the chance to answer it or wonder who it was, due to a blocked number.

*

Johnny grabbed the hour of leisure to lock himself up in his office. He grabbed the phone he had been supplied, blocking his number so that you wouldn’t be tempted to call or text the phone number. He entered your phone number memorized in his head, then hesitated pressing the call button.

It rang and rang, no answer. Your voicemail had greeted him;

“sorry I can’t come to the phone, but leave a name and number and I can call you right back! Byeeeeee!”

He smiled at your voicemail, realizing he’s never heard it before.

“Hiya pet. It’s me, but you won’t be able to call me back. Thought I’d surprise ya, but guess I got ya at the wrong time. Miss and love you, see ya in about a month.”

He drummed his fingers on the desk, then decided against trying you again. He deleted the number from its history and locked the phone up in the desk. He had about a month left and everything was going bad. Everything was being resorted to plan B, C, and D. He just hoped that for one hour of his job he could hear about you for a change.

He dragged himself up again, ready to finish the mission.

*

The month passed by and you had filled your car with balloons you had blown up yourself. You got the snacks he enjoyed, and filled a small cooler with the chocolate milk he drank. You had taken the initiative to go pick him up. You had just hoped that he would be arriving exactly a month after you had received the voicemail.

How annoyed you were with yourself for going to the bathroom to cry, when seconds before he could reach out to you. You swear it was like you two communicated through telepathy.

To your surprise, and true to his word, by the time you pulled up to the parking spot there were other people waiting as well.

Nerves struck your stomach and you began to fidget. You were crossing a boundary here.

You had waited about half an hour before you saw him, walking side by side with someone else.

The other man – had his height, a serious face, and curls on his head. The man had eyed you down, recognizing you, but didn’t say a word. He gently nudged Johnny, poking his head towards you. You had started to fidget with your knuckles.

Because at that moment, there was no relief to see you. You were embraced with confusion, like his brain had tried to piece together why you were here, and his face never dropped the confused look and it erupted into looking furious. He walked towards you.

“Why are you here?”

You had become disoriented, wounded by how he was speaking to you.

“Go in the car, i’ll be with you in about five minutes.”

He couldn’t believe what was happening. He needed to take a few minutes to calm down so that he didn't explode.

You couldn’t believe what was going on. Was the voicemail you had received for someone else? Did he not mean what he said? You got in the driver's seat and turned the car on, chewing on your lip to evade any tears piercing your eyes.

He had gotten into the car without a word. He didn’t even realize the small balloons everywhere, or the effort you had put into throwing small confetti in your car. Just stayed quiet, still in the passenger seat.

By the time you merged onto the freeway, you decide to take the first exit. You weren’t going to continue in silence.

Swerving into a pharmacy parking lot and setting the car in park, you turned to him,

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Do you just plan on ignoring me the entire ride? You could’ve easily taken the ride with your friend.”

He had continued watching outside the window, his mouth being bumped by his hand.

“Can you at least fucking look at me?”

He turned to you slowly, still serious as ever.

“Nobody asked ya to come get me.”

You were livid. You had been just playing house with this asshole a couple months ago.

“Look i’m sorry I crossed a boundary here, but I thought this meant I could come see you, you practically gave me the location!”

Soap kicked himself mentally for this. Yes, he did give the location to the military base he left from. But he never called you to come get him. He knew he was being an asshole but there was so much to him that he did not want to reveal, and Gaz being the first to see you was already strike one.

“Hen, if I didn’t give you permission to come get me, please don’t do it.” He grabbed your face, pleading with his eyes.

“Look, I know I was a proper bampot back there, but you can’t surprise me like this.”

“You know you’re such an asshole, you still climbed into the car with me knowing that — actually just forget it I’m sorry I even came.”

You were hurt. It seemed like he could do everything in the relationship except show any sort of emotional reciprocation towards you. He didn’t even give you a good explanation as to why.

You drove home in silence.

You had arrived back to your apartment, locking yourself in your room. Johnny had gone to take a shower. Tears that had been lingering for three months came out. You sobbed and cried into your pillow, upset that you had been given someone so special as Johnny, but clearly with no room to be available to you.

He had knocked on the door, before realizing it was locked. He unlocked it with some hair clip laying around, then came in.

“Can we please talk?”

“Don’t ignore me hen, come on” He creeped up behind you in bed, whispering i’m sorry to your neck and back, cradling you and hoping he didn’t fuck this up.

You turned to your side, feeling the regret of the decision you came up with.

“I don’t think I can be with you Johnny,”

There’s a sharp pain that drops in his stomach.

“Come on, don't say that.”

“I.. I don't think you want a relationship, because this isn’t what a relationship is.”

He stands up now, clenching one of his fists, because he’s stupid, he’s overreacted, he does want this.

“Hen, please, I –I'll give you more. We were on a mission in Africa and –”

“It’s not fair Johnny, it’s not even you ignoring me, but shoving me aside that’s not how it works.”

He had got down on his knees, grabbing your hands in his.

“I told you to give me some time hen, I don’t want you to …”

He had replayed several instances like this late at night wondering what you would think of him once he did tell you about his job. What he did.

“Can you just sleep on the couch tonight? I want some space.”

And Johnny obeyed, a dull pain surrounded his body because he was willing to spill the secrets he kept safe just to have you by his side.

[not-goldy]

https://x.com/stopkookminpls/status/1720433468826386471?s=20

JK ending both tkk and jkk 😭😭 he said 'don't come' to his supposed boyfriends. I thought your partner will be welcomed no matter how you or your house looks.

Actually in real life, we shit our pants, run to the store to get supplies, call the cleaner, change the beddings, douche, wax, floss, floss again, spray vanilla essence on our vaginas, delete call history, browser history, go through contacts to block people, cook something, make sure it's not burnt, check the bed again, run a steamer over the bed- and then come back to answer the door like we weren't in our onezies all weekend.

But you straights can't relate cos your mans don't even wash their ass

Unless I'm depressed there's no way my woman is coming home to meet a mess I'm sorry but I'm tryna impress her and get some.

You sound unfuckable. When was the last time you got fucked? Nasty ass.

But you are right

He ended TKK.

COULDN'T EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE HIM TILL HE NAME DROPPED PARK JIMIN 💀💀💀💀💀

Look at the screen- not a great day to be a Tuktukker 😭😭😭😭😭😭

If my friend said they were coming to my house with my crush unannounced I'd panic too😵😵😵😭🤣

[yeetlegay]

You have no idea how obsessively I'm stalking your page for an update

😭😭😭 as soon as I finish unfucking the giant continuity error I just happened to notice over the weekend, this chapter is hitting the fking bricks (ie going on ao3 where it can no longer threaten my psyche 🔪)

[fuckyeah-dragrace]

38. “Ignore me all you want, you can’t unfuck me” with Jaysa 🤭

oooo this should be fun

38. “Ignore me all you want, you can’t unfuck me.”

Jasmine looked up from her laptop and huffed. "Wipe that grin off your face, Betty." She glared at the blonde across from her.

"Why don't you wipe it off me like you did last weekend, Blondie?"

She groaned and looked back at her. "Can you just focus on your part of the project please?"

"I already finished mine." Daya grinned. Her platform shoes were kicked onto the table top in their secret spot in the back of the library. Of course it was Jasmine's luck to be paired with her weekend hookup for their midterm project.

"Then leave me alone so I can finish my half."

"But it's so fun to tease you." The taller girl snickered. "You're so responsive."

Jasmine sighed rubbed her temples and closed her eyes, trying to find some restrain in the depths of her spirit to not jump across the table and smack her across the face.

"Ignore me all you want, you can't unfuck me, Blondie."

She didn't need this right now. She was beyond stressed with her midterms, rehearsals only getting more intense, and for some reason all of her friends wanted to come to her for advice on their relationships. It was too much and she didn't know how much more she could take.

Daya heard quite sniffles and furrowed her brow. She stopped and sat up straighter, her feet off the table. "Blondie? Hey, you okay?" The sniffles only got louder and her concern grew. "Jasmine, hey what's up."

"Just leave me alone." Her voice wobbled as she wiped her eyes, very careful to not look at her. She wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing her cry. The blonde leaned forward in her seat across from Jasmine and held onto one of her arms, squeezing in a comforting way that pulled the younger girl out of her mind. She lifted her head and looked over at her. She could see the worry evident in her eyes and felt something tighten in her chest.

"Hey," her voice was soft and serious, different from how joking and snarky she usually was. "Jas, I'm sorry for what I said."

"What're you doing?" She asked.

"I'm apologizing. I didn't mean to make you upset. I'm sorry." She lifted her head from her hands and smiled softly, wiping her eyes and sniffing.

"Do you always make your hookups cry?" That got Daya to chuckle.

"I mean, not like this but.."

Jasmine laughed loudly and snorted behind her hands. "God you're foul."

"You asked about it." She still had her hand holding onto Jasmines arm, thumbing rubbing over soothingly and making her relax even more. "How about we take a break from this school shit and get coffee or something."

"I thought you said you were going to meet with your friends after this? I don't want to stay with me just because I cried."

"I want to know you're okay, Jasmine. I may seem like a rotted bitch most of the time, but I'm not a dick."

Jasmine chuckled and wiped her eyes again. "Yeah, most of the time. But I'd like to get some coffee."

"Good." Daya nodded. "Come on, I know a place."

[sunmontuewrites]

APRIL TASKS

A NEW PINNED POST (for me more than anyone else)

General jobs/tasks that need doing

Take Teapot to the vet

Parent-Teacher interviews (4th April)

Finish sewing ~100 bandages for Practical Training Solutions

Finish hand sewing quilt for friends' baby

Wax to friends' birthday party on 6th April

Dawn service (25th April)

LPs birthday - make present

UNFUCK YOUR HABITAT LIST (one per weekend?)

Hallway cupboard

Bathroom cupboard

Laundry cupboard

Under bathroom sink

WORK SHIT

Weekly lab tours (5th / 12th / 19th/ 26th)

Kilikiti Tournament (5th April)

Tauranga work trip (16th/17th April)

Postgraduate Seminar (23rd April)

E2 (19th April)

Farewell morning tea for MD (30th April)

Lunch out with MD (30th April)

SOCIAL STUFF

Dinner with LH and NC (4th April)

Dinner with Work Hubs (date TBC)

Catch-up with RB (dates TBC)

Quiz night (10th April + 24th)

WRITING STUFF

Finish Fine Fine Sunshiny Day

Finish Laws of Thermodynamics

Finish More than Movie Magic

Finish Once Upon a Time in 1986...

Finish Team Player

Finish a Bingo piece

[falselyprofound]

Hello hello random new burst of followers, i don't know where you came from but I guess it's time to do a Twitter User Move™ and make a pinned post that plugs my shit:

Hi I'm CJ! my main post genre is niche horror-comedy media. some of my current interests get rather graphic or contain pretty messed up subject matter, so please don't follow me if you're under 18.

I'm not a big name blog. I'm also not archived by search engines. I don't know why tumblr recommends me to people. might i suggest downloading xKit Rewritten or the dashboard unfucker if you would like that to stop

I make games sometimes! my latest is there's something in the pipes, a very serious occult plumbing simulator. you can play it in your browser!

I also made beat the buzzer and i wasted a lot of bandaids making those sprites

I don't shut up about my ocs, but if for some reason you want even more of them you can find info about them (or ask them questions) on australiaishaunted.

I write silly poll comics over on my sideblog, 830poll. it updates daily unless it's the weekend or on hiatus which it currently is

[farahsamboolents]

WIP Wednesday Weekend

i got tagged (ish? i'm counting it :P) by @shares-a-vest in this, and a) i forever wanna share what i'm writing, i genuinely LOVE these tag games and b) maybe the yay squishy feelings from people interacting w my post will unfuck my writers block, so IM DOIN IT YAAA

Rules:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

My WIPS:

On The Mundane (Sarge Series)

LET'S DO THE TIME LOOP AGAIN

Broken Crown

The Will Camping Fic (Sarge Series)

The "what if Eddie was only on the periphery of S4?"

Snippet: so this one was actually supposed to be for a birthday... in may... but the writers block did the writers block thing, and also chronic illness and other life stuff, blah blah blah. anyway, Deanna, look away. Anyhow so this is from the "On The Mundane" fic, which is really just a collection of mundane lil one shots from my Sarge Series :) Y'know, the kind of thing that isn't gon be big enough to be a fic fic, but lil minor updates on their lives. Here ya go:

~

“Hey, I heard a loud noise. You okay in here, dude?” He said.

“Just peachy!” Said Robin, trying not to voice the irritation she felt.

“Is Steve okay?”

Robin froze.

“I heard the window, man, you know you guys don’t have to hide from me, right? I’m cool.” Argyle frowned. “You don’t think I’m like, a prude or anything, right? I’m not gonna tell anybody’s mom.”

“Uh. No. There’s just nobody here, just me and the open window, because it’s cold, I mean hot, my room was just stuffy, so I wanted the window open to make it colder. That’s all.”

“But I heard the fire escape?”

“Neighbour has a fat cat.”

“We’re not allowed to have pets.”

“We’re also not allowed to smoke weed.”

Argyle shrugged, turning back around. “Show me the fat cat next time, I wanna pet it.”

“I’ll try. It’s shy.”

He closed the door closed behind him.

Robin rolled to her side and peered underneath the bed, meeting Vickie’s sparkling eyes and shining smile.

~

Ta-daaaaaaaa okay this was fun, I tag @dreamwatch (thank u for tagging me last time), @eddiequinns, and @atmilliways :D and also anyone else who wants to do it, i genuinely love love love these things.

[spontaneousmusicalnumber]

I unfucked the collar facing now I need to decide how much silk to show off

I can be your angle (simple design that would be done and wearable by the weekend) or your devil (design that would be very fun and impressive but would get put on the finish-later pile)

[sarcosuchus--imperator]

This post was helpful because my job is "department jester" where they all pick a simple task and assign it to me and then laugh and laugh as I fuck it up. "How's the fuel pump requirements going?" They say as they pass my cube, fully knowing that the fuel pump requirements are fucked and I'm too stupid to unfuck them. I hear them laughing as they walk away. "how was your weekend?" They asking, grinning because they know that I was sad because it was my birthday. "Oh, can you represent the department in this meeting?" As they bring me onto a zoom call with 20 people to awnser questions that I don't know the answers to. They all are muted so they can giggle and chortle to thier hearts content. My boss calls me into 1 on 1 meetings every week to say things like "nobody in the entire company has solved this, and you haven't had any training on this. can I leave this in your hands? Also I need it by tomorrow". It must be hard, I can see his eyes bulging with mirth , but he keeps a straight face. I guess that's why he's the boss. It's not an easy job, but someone needs to do it. Nobody else is stupid like I am, so it falls on me to entertain the office. The good news is that as long as I don't cry at work, they won't fire me. Job security 😊

life is just humiliating yourself over and over and learning to live with the inherent shame of being alive !! do what makes you happy !! it is impossible to live life without embarrassment, so why bother trying !!

[marieshyperf1xations]

Yeah so I should probably put my therapist on speed dial during race weekends (especially when Lando starts on pole)

And McLaren if you could kindly unfuck your car please?

[chiefatticcreator]

Yeah, I know he was grinning when he sent that message. He saw this as a victory already and I feel like I can't really blame him. I'm here, am I not? So it for sure feels like a defeat. And at the same time like a win. At least, that is what my brain tries to tell me.

Something inside of me is stubborn though and I am kind of happy about that. It prevents me from darting straight inside. But like this I stand here waiting, staring at the message, then back at the door. I take a step back and it feels like a huge accomplishment. It shouldn't feel this big, right? No one is probably seeing this, so it's only me to celebrate that I am not one of his brainless bimbos already. Yes, I came here. But only to the city, I tell myself. I haven't entered yet.

I bite my lower lip, as I type again: "You seem pretty certain about that." I take another step back, let my eyes wander around me. "I proved that I may be interested, from you I only got big words again, Jack. I might need some convincing to step into your building." I nod as I read those words again and hit send. I sound confident(ish), having power and control over the situation and for sure not giving in so easily. More like at the beginning of previous meetings.

"I can see you on our cameras." Comes his answer a few moments later. "How you're fighting yourself, looking around, thinking you're so strong for not making the final step... but you've come so far, it would be a shame if I decided to spend the weekend fucking my other bimboes, no? Then you'd need to go back home with that ache between your legs, still unfucked. "

[helentso]

Unfuck your weekend challenges 4 and 5. Bed made and All of The Clothes have been Put Away.

[suzukiblu]

Long time no write but here’s some further adventures in Mace Windu unfucking the timeline for @twird96. 

Currently obsessed with “has just taken charge of the Chosen One oh dammit” Mace, so for starters: he is thinking of Anakin as “Skywalker” and Anakin is calling him “Master” and there’s definitely, DEFINITELY going to have to be a moment where Mace just, like . . . stops, and Realizes. Specifically realizes that calling the kid “Skywalker” is not great master/padawan relations, for one, and VERY specifically realizes that Anakin calling HIM “Master” is EVEN WORSE. Just . . . dammit. Damn it and damn all the things and WHY DID HE NOT THINK OF THIS IMMEDIATELY, FOR FORCE’S SAKE. WHY. 

The conversation where Mace finally explains “no seriously call me Anything But That” is an incredibly awkward/stilted conversation, and this will probably not be helped by the fact that he’s gonna have it the literal SECOND he realizes it’s a problem, never mind what kind of what else might be going on (i.e., training, an argument with Qui-Gon, an active firefight, whatever!). Once Anakin gets the idea in his head he is gonna live and die by it, though. He will call him “Mace”, he will call him “Mom”, he will call him all sorts of random weird shit that makes only the barest threads of sense until he settles down about the whole concept and settles on alternating Mace/Mom. And one day he will be a Jedi Knight in his own right and then he will ABSOLUTELY call Mace “Master” all the ding-dang time just because he can. Mace will not understand this logic but he’ll have hands so whatever. Whatever!! 

Also yeah, Mace, just bite the blaster bolt and call him “Ani”. Don’t go all weird and formal with your new padawan, forreal. And of course if MACE is calling him Ani, so is Depa, and Qui-Gon probably never stopped, and Obi-Wan picks it up from Qui-Gon, and yeah by the time we get to the clones it is feared Vaapad master, powerful Jedi, hotshot pilot, and accomplished commander Ani Skywalker. Possibly the clones will not know the name “Anakin” until the first time one of them goes to space Sunday dinner and Shmi just casually drops it over space casserole for whatever random reason, after which point ALL THE CLONES know and also all have to admit that most of them thought “Ani” was a Korun term of endearment but they were still using it anyway. 

Speaking of space Sunday dinners, there’s gonna be at least one or twelve of those where Shmi randomly spends the whole weekend cooking and then just shows up with C-3PO and All The Food like “hey Mace I brought the entire 187th dinner” and Mace just sighs and calls out for space ice cream for dessert, because of course he does, this is just his life now, of course this is happening. 

Anakin is not going to get to be a knight until after the war because Mace trusts NO ONE letting his padawan go off and be a general without the buddy system going, and Anakin is perfectly happy with this lot in life because being a general would imply a) less time to hang out with Mace and cause temple mayhem together and b) less time to hang out with Ahsoka and cause temple mayhem with HER. Also, probably less Padme-time, which would be a whole other crisis altogether.

[sunmontuewrites]

Okay - there is NO WAY IN HELL that this can all be done this weekend. I am more than aware of that. However I want to at least put it all out there that I'm TRYING to get it done. Feel free to open the list and feel over whelmed along with me.

(You can see some of the really BIG jobs I have split into quarters or eigths. I will take before and after photos because this is likely one of the biggest 'unfuck your habitat' things I've done in about a decade...)

Change sheets on bed

Change sheets on kids' beds (kids to do)

Clean toilet

Clean shower (Hubs)

Basins (Kids)

Mirrors (Kids)

Vacuum (Hubs)

Trip to the rubbish dump

Trip to metal recycling (Hubs)

Trip to garden centre

Dismantle swing set

Buy new shoes

Do tshirts for nephew

Wrap presents and prepare for posting

Wash cat bowls (kids)

Wash compost bucket

Buy Car Light bulbs and Wiper blades

Wash car and clean inside

Pick up undelivered parcels (Hubs)

Water blasting?

Wash house?

Email winners of auction #1

Email winners of auction #2

Email winners of auction #3

Arrange pick-ups of parcels (Hubs)

Auction 1 picked up

Auction 2 picked up

Auction 3?

Grocery list

Grocery shopping (Hubs)

Make spare bed in Max's room

Tidy kids' bedrooms (kids)

Facial

Manicure

Pedicure

1500 words Saturday

1500 words Sunday

Post Saturday chapter of AT on AO3

Post Sunday chapter of AT on AO3

Dye hair

Fold/organise blankets/bedding in family room

Breakfast - Lunch - Dinner Saturday

Breakfast - Lunch - Dinner Sunday

Glue bottles

Clean/Vacuum under couch cushions

Wipe down family room curtains

Garage 1/8 (starting from left and going clockwise)

Garage 1/8

Garage 1/8

Garage 1/8

Garage 1/8

Garage 1/8

Garage 1/8

Garage 1/8

Clean Garage windows

Sweep/Blow all dirt/leaves out of garage

Lawn Edges around circular garden

Lawn Edges around vegetable planters

Lawn Edges around blueberries

Lawn Edges around concrete rectangle

Lawn Grass driveway diamond

Weed Circular garden

Weed Vegetable planters

Weed Strip by letter box

Weed 1/4 bedroom garden

Weed 1/4 bedroom garden

Weed 1/4 bedroom garden

Weed 1/4 bedroom garden

[disturbedbydesign]

Special Girl - Part 2

Summary: You arrived at Harvard as a shy, nerdy girl. You never thought a guy like Lloyd Hansen would notice you. But Lloyd saw you—really saw you—and for a time you became his special girl. Now, years later, you’re stuck in a sexless marriage. Unloved and unfucked for months, you’ve decided enough is enough. The fact that Lloyd has been keeping tabs on you for years has nothing to do with it… or does it?

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Word Count: 6K

Warnings: DUBCON (alcohol use/manipulation); INCREDIBLY unsafe/unhealthy/deadass wrong BDSM practices (Lloyd doesn’t do safewords or aftercare); plus-sized reader/fatphobia; cheating; degradation; bondage, spanking/whipping, gagging; knife kink; blood kink; CNC roleplay; gunplay; rough oral (m receiving); explicit sex (O,V,A); unprotected sex (Lloyd doesn’t wear condoms, ok?); unwanted pregnancies/abortion; physical intimidation/abuse; general toxicity; Lloyd is a psycho and he’s fucking mean—Dead Dove Do Not Eat! 18+ only, no minors.

Series Masterlist

Part Two

You let Harrison play with his Switch on the drive home because you need to think. You never thought you’d see Lloyd again, much less feel his body and his lips pressed against you. Now that you have, you’re right back in that place again—you’re that clueless 18-year-old, desperate and needy and following him around like a stray dog hungry for even the smallest of table scraps. And that’s what he’s always thrown you—just enough to sate the hunger but never enough to eradicate it. You’ve never stopped being hungry for him, though, not for one hour of one day since the first time he touched you. It made you feel desperate then; it makes you feel daring now.

When you get home, you decide you won’t be cooking dinner. Tonight, you’re ordering pizza and opening a bottle of your favorite red. You’re celebrating because you know that Michael won’t want to fuck you tonight, that D-day will come and go without even a hint of intimacy, but you don’t care anymore. You don’t want Michael to fuck you, you want Lloyd to fuck you, and you’re finally willing to admit that it’s always been that way. So, yeah, you’re celebrating, because you’re ready to move on from this half-life you're living.

Of course, you don’t hold any delusions about Lloyd: he’ll fuck the life out of you on Friday night and maybe through the weekend, and then he’ll go off the grid for god knows how long. He didn’t show up to steal you away from Michael so he can have you for himself. He didn’t show up to claim Harrison and play happy family. He showed up to remind you who you belong to, who you’ve always belonged to, and how stupid you are for forgetting. 

You’re mine, Porkchop. Your body, your heart, your fucking soul—it’s all mine, and I’ll take it whenever the fuck I want it. 

You can hear him saying it like he’s right next to you, and if you’d listened to him seven years ago, you could have saved yourself a lot of heartache. He’d told you not to marry Michael. He knew then. He’s always known what you wanted—what you needed—even when you didn’t.

But a part of you can’t help but wonder if maybe something has changed. Why would he still be watching you all these years later and why would he show up now, the very day he knows you’re deciding whether or not to end your marriage? He’d seemed almost giddy at the idea of you going unfucked for so long, ready to give up on the “spineless loser” you’d decided (against his strongly worded advice) to marry. Is it possible that Lloyd Hansen actually cares? That he has feelings? Are you really stupid enough to believe that he might actually, finally be willing to love you back?

Apparently, yes, you are. Because you still love him. You fucking hate him for everything he’s done to you, but you love him and you need him and you always have. You’d long ago disabused yourself of the notion that Lloyd Hansen is capable of love, and yet here you are still clinging to the hope that he’s not really pure evil—that he only acts like a sociopath because of some deep-seated childhood trauma he’s refused to unpack, that he likes to hurt people because he’s hurting. Here you are yet again, all these years past 18, telling yourself that there’s hope for him, thinking to yourself: I can fix him.

But you decide you’ll still give Michael one last chance, if only to cement your decision to leave. It’s a late one for him at the office—there have been more and more of those lately—so it gives you time to freshen yourself up and put on a Suzy Homemaker dress and fix him a hot dinner. It’s easy enough to put Harrison to bed, exhausted as he is from practice, and once you hear him snoozing away, you return to the kitchen and pour yourself another glass of wine and you wait.

Michael walks through the door at 8:30, tossing his briefcase down by the door with a deep sigh. As he toes off his shoes, you approach him to take his coat and hang it in the closet.

“Bad day?” you ask.

“More of the same,” he replies, and then it seems he suddenly notices you—sees you—along with the table set with candles and the glass of wine poured and ready for him. “You look nice. This is… unexpected. What’s the occasion?”

“Do I have to have a reason? I just know how hard you’ve been working lately. I wanted to do something nice for you. I made you a ribeye and those potatoes you like.”

Michael looks at you and there’s something strange in his eyes—some odd mixture of remorse and anxiety. “I, uh, thanks,” he says. “You really do look beautiful.”

You smile as you take his hand and guide him to the table, and you sit down next to him and pick up your glass. “To my hardworking husband,” you say.

Michael winces a bit before clinking glasses and taking a large sip of his wine.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask. “It’s ok if you don’t.”

Michael sighs as he cuts into his steak—a perfect medium, just how he likes it. “I’ve just got this client that’s been nothing but trouble since the start,” he says. “I can’t get into details, but you know that.”

“I’m sure you’re doing your best,” you tell him.

“I’m not sure my best is good enough in this particular case, but yes—I’m trying.”

You catch Michael up on the latest Harrison news, leaving out all the parts that he might find troubling (which is most of it), and when he’s done with his dinner, you clear his plate.

“Let me get the dishes,” he says. “You cooked.”

“Leave them. Come sit with me.”

You lead Michael into the living room where the fire is blazing and you sit next to him on the couch.

“You look so tense, baby,” you say, and you can’t remember the last time you called him that. “Is there anything I can do to help you… relax?” You run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and he shivers. “Maybe a massage or… something else?”

“Honey,” he says, leaning his head back into your touch, “I don’t know if-”

“Shh.” You press your finger to his lips. “Just let me make you feel better.”

You stand up and position yourself between his legs, kneeing them open wider before dropping to the floor in front of him.

“Honey, really, I can’t. I-”

“Yes,” you purr, “you can.”

You run your hand over the crotch of his pants and you feel nothing at all stirring below, but that’s not atypical for him so you reach around and unzip your dress, letting the top half fall to your waist, exposing your bare breasts. He’s got his eyes squeezed shut and his hands clenched into fists at his side, but the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes heavily keeps you going. You make short work of his belt buckle and the button and zipper of his pants, but when you reach inside his boxers you feel him flaccid in your hand. You’re starting to get frustrated, but you pull him out and start to stroke him anyway, telling him, “Just relax, baby. I’ll take care of you,” and when you feel him start to harden slightly in your hand, he finally looks at you.

“Please, honey. We can’t. I… oh, fuck.”

You take him half-hard in your mouth and his hips jerk off the couch as he curses again. You suck him hard until you feel the blood pumping under your tongue and he’s finally at full mast, and when you take him swiftly down your throat, he whimpers and his thighs start to shake.

“Fuck. Fuck. Honey, please. You have to stop. We can’t. Ohhhh fuck.”

You moan onto his cock and he starts moving his hips a bit, fucking into your mouth gently as he moans your name, but he keeps saying “No, please no,” and the mixed signals are confusing the hell out of you. When you look up at him with your best blowjob eyes, you see that he’s crying and you push off of him, horrified.

“What the fuck, Michael?” you snap.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I just… I can’t do this with you.”

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t do this with me? Who the fuck are you doing it with?”

“No one,” he says. “I didn’t mean it like that… it’s just… I just… I can’t.”

“Why?” you yell, not caring if you wake Harrison because you know now this is going nowhere—that it’s all over. Now all you need are some fucking answers. “Why don’t you want me anymore, Michael? What the fuck is so wrong with me you can’t even bear to get your dick sucked? You haven’t touched me for months. I’m your wife and you won’t fuck me. You barely even kiss me anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, sobbing as he tucks himself back into his pants. “I…” He looks at you and he looks so fucking scared but he’s also angry—angrier than you’ve maybe ever seen him. “Fuck, I just… I don’t want you anymore, ok? I’m bored of you and I don’t want to fuck you and you’re too goddamn stupid to take a hint.”

You feel like you’ve been slapped across the face, and you would have preferred a slap (or a punch or a kick or a knife slicing through you) to those words coming out of Michael’s mouth. You’ve heard them before. The tears fall even though you know he doesn’t deserve them.

“That’s it,” you say, your voice oddly calm given the storm thrashing inside you. “I’m done. We’re done. You can sleep on the couch tonight but I want you out tomorrow. I don’t give a fuck where you go.”

Michael hangs his head and stares at the floor. “I understand,” he says. “I’ll go tonight. Just tell Harrison I… fuck, I don’t know… I’m on a business trip or something.”

“Fine,” you say. “Just get out.”

You sit on the couch, finishing the bottle of pinot as Michael packs his bags. You stare at your reflection in the bay window, completely numb as Michael mumbles his feeble goodbye. You hear his car starting and rumbling out of the driveway and you feel nothing—you’re not sad, you’re not even angry anymore. Because it was always going to end today, one way or another. He was never going to want you enough to make you stay, even before Lloyd popped back into the picture. At least now you know—you heard it from Michael’s own lips: he doesn’t want you anymore.

And now you’re free.

***

The weeks after The Game were a blur. You spent your Thanksgiving break in a daze, trying to act normal around your family when you felt anything but. You didn’t exactly regret what happened with Lloyd, but you knew you’d been taken advantage of and you’d never felt more ashamed—because you liked it, you weren’t sorry it happened, and you wanted it to happen again. You told Shay about your night with Lloyd but you fudged the details a bit, telling her that you just made out with him a little upstairs but that it didn’t go any further than that. You knew if you told her the whole truth she wouldn’t get it. She’d see him as a predator and you as his prey, and while she might have been right about that to some extent, you knew she’d never understand the truth: that you were his willing victim.

When you got back from break, you found yourself making any excuse to walk past the Phoenix, hoping to catch him coming or going, but you never did. You felt like a stalker trying to find out what house he lived in and what classes he was taking from Maddie, but she took pity on you and told you the little information she knew about Lloyd (even though she doubled down on her warning to stay as far away from him as possible). He was in Dunster House with a bunch of the football guys so you started taking walks along the Charles even though the brisk fall air was quickly turning to a bone-rattling winter chill. He was concentrating in psychology so you lurked around the psych building. Try as you might to “accidentally” stumble across Lloyd Hansen, he was like a ghost, physically absent but haunting your every waking thought (and oftentimes your dreams, too).

“I don’t understand why you don’t just go to the next Phoenix party,” Shay said as you walked from the coffee shop to your next class. “I mean, you know he’ll be there, and you’re already basically stalking him.”

“I don’t want to go back there,” you told her, but that wasn’t entirely true.

You did want to go back there, you just didin’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how desperate you were. You wanted to just so happen to run into him around campus and see what happened from there, not show up at his doorstep like a starving puppy. But then another Lloyd-less week went by, and that’s exactly what you did.

You went a little less slutty this time, wearing a turtleneck and a pencil skirt that hugged your ample curves. It was tasteful but still showed off the body you’d always tried to hide—the body he’d seemed so enamored of, though a part of you still believed it was all a cruel joke. And even if it wasn’t, he’d made it clear to you that you and your body were to be coveted only in secret. Still, you dressed yourself up and made yourself up and you headed to the Phoenix Club with Shay on the last Saturday night before fall term exams. It was a more lowkey affair than the Game Day celebrations, but it was still pretty crazy by your standards. You were slightly more confident as you approached the door, and the same guy was there screening potential party goers. He smiled at Shay and then, a bit more darkly, at you.

“I was wondering if we’d see you again,” he said, giving you a once over. “Come on in. Lloyd’s probably still running the beer pong table.”

You felt your cheeks flame as you walked past him and down to the basement. So they all know, you thought to yourself. What the fuck did he tell them? And why? You thought you were supposed to be a secret. You grabbed a red solo cup and handed it to the guy operating the keg, who you recognized as Maddie’s (sort-of) boyfriend, and once you had a cold beer in your hand you chugged half of it to ease your nerves.

“Slow down there, champ,” Shay said. “We’ve got all night. You wanna be my beer pong partner?”

“I’ve never played,” you said. “I’ll just fuck you up.”

“I don’t mind losing,” she replied. “It just means more drinks. Besides, it’s fun. You might have some beginner’s luck.”

Shay, always fearless, elbowed her way past the crowd surrounding the beer pong table and you followed behind her, apologizing to the people she’d shoved past. When you got to the keeper of the list, you saw that there must be at least 30 pairs ahead of you.

“Forget it, Shay,” you said, but then you heard him.

“They’ve got next.” Lloyd’s deep voice cut through the cacophony of music and chatter.

“What the fuck, Lloyd?” you heard some girl complain. “We’ve been waiting forever.”

“Sorry, darlin,” he said. “I made my friend over there a promise and I intend to keep it.”

Lloyd looked at you then, and you could feel his blue eyes searing through your clothes and into your skin. You were already sweating in the sweltering basement filled with body heat but now your whole body was on fire. He smiled at you and there was a bit of the devil in it, and that’s when you noticed the tall, skinny blonde girl next to him—who seemed like more than just his beer pong partner—hanging off of him with one arm around his waist and the other over his shoulder.

You were so fucking stupid. Of course he had a girlfriend. You turned around to leave but he called out your name.

“You’re with me,” he said, pointing straight at you. He turned to the girl next to him. “You need a break. You’re shitfaced and I’m sick of carrying your ass.”

“But Lloyd,” she whined. 

“Go get some air, drink some fuckin water, get your shit together.”

The blonde huffed and stomped off towards the courtyard as you tentatively made your way over to Lloyd’s side of the table.

“Was wondering when you’d show up,” he said. “Thought maybe you died.”

“I’ve been around,” you replied. “Just busy, that’s all.”

“Whatever you say, Porkchop.” He reached around you to grab the stack of cups on your side of the table and gave your ass a little squeeze before he picked them up to rack them. “You any good at this game? Or, wait, let me guess—good girl like you doesn’t play drinking games.”

“I’ve never played,” you said, “but I want to learn.”

“Oh, I’ll teach you, Porkchop. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

To both you and Lloyd’s surprise and delight, you were surprisingly good at the game. The two of you won the first three games you played together, and the more you won, the handsier Lloyd got. You liked it, of course, but it confused you. If he didn’t want to be seen with you, why would he call you out to play with him? Why would he place his hands on your waist to steady you when you took a shot and why would he hug you tight when you emerged victorious? He was acting like you were together and it was obvious to everyone watching—especially the Phoenix guys who had gathered around the table to watch his winning streak. Of course you heard the whispered comments—words like “fatty” and “chubby chaser” tended to pierce through the all the racket and shoot straight into your ear, like they were spoken at a frequency made just for you to hear them. These were the same guys who oinked and squealed at the Game Day party, you knew—the guys who had given Lloyd shit for even looking at you—and yet here he was with you in full view of everyone, seemingly without a care in the world about it.

Maybe it was all a front, you thought. Maybe he actually liked you enough to want to be with you openly. Maybe he was grown up enough not to care what his buddies think. Lloyd sunk the final cup of your fourth winning game and you smiled up at him as he raised his fists up above his head and cheered, talking shit to the losing team who had 5 cups to chug. Lloyd turned to you and you thought for a moment he was going to kiss you, but instead he just grabbed your ass and leaned down and spoke into your ear, “Let’s go upstairs. I’ve got something else I want to teach you.”

The second Lloyd got you in the master with the door closed, he threw you against the wall and stuck his tongue down your throat. His hands were everywhere, roaming over your body and kneading your flesh like dough as he moaned into your mouth. He held you against the wall with his body and you could feel him already hard through his jeans. You grabbed onto his shoulders and squeezed, the firm muscle barely giving under your fingers, and then he pinned your arms above your head with one hand while he shoved the other up under your skirt. His mouth didn’t leave yours as he pushed your panties to the side and ran his fingers across the slick at your entrance, grunting when he felt your wet heat coat his fingertips. He slid two thick fingers inside you without warning and you gasped at the burning stretch of it.

“So fuckin wet and tight, goddamn,” he said against your neck as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. He tried to knee your legs open wider but your skirt was too tight. “Take this shit off. All of it. I wanna see you.”

He pulled his fingers out and you clenched around nothing, dazed and breathless against the wall.

“You want me to do it for you, Porkchop? I’ll fucking shred every scrap of clothes you got on to get to that sweet little pussy.”

“Don’t,” you said.

“Then hurry the fuck up. Don’t keep me waiting.”

You scrambled to get out of your clothes, first your sweater, then your tank top, then your skirt, and when you stopped at your bra and panties, Lloyd tsk tsk’d you.

“I warned you,” he said, and then he ripped your panties straight off your body. He went for your bra next but you got it off before he got a chance to ruin that, too.

“There she is,” he said, taking in the sight of you standing naked in front of him. “Get on the bed. Now.”

You walked over to the bed on wobbly legs but you weren’t fast enough for Lloyd. He grabbed your arm, spun you around, and tossed you backwards onto the mattress, watching you bounce as you hit it. He ripped his shirt over his head with one hand and shucked off his jeans, and you licked your lips at the sight of his cock through the gray boxer-briefs that left nothing to the imagination.

“You missed my dick, didn’t you? Look at you, you’re practically drooling for it. You want my cock in your mouth, Porkchop? You wanna get stuffed full of me again?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

“Beg for it,” he demanded, stroking himself through the fabric. “I wanna hear you fucking beg.”

It should have been demeaning but it wasn’t because it’s all you’d been thinking about for weeks. In your head, you’d already begged him for his dick a hundred times.

“I need your cock, Lloyd,” you whined. “Please. I wanna suck it. Wanna feel you in my throat. Wanna taste you. Please give it to me.”

“I dunno, Porkchop. Might have to do better than that.”

“Fuck, Lloyd, please give it to me? I’ll be so fucking good for you if you give it to me. I’ll do anything you want just gimme your fat fucking cock pleeeeease?”

One hand still palming himself, Lloyd snapped with the other and pointed at the ground. “Get on your knees and beg me for it like your life depends on it because it just fucking might.”

You slid off the bed and onto your knees, crawling towards him and looking up at him with needy eyes. “I need you, Lloyd. I can’t stop thinking about you. I need your cock so bad. You can do anything you want to me please just fucking give it to me. I’ll die if I don’t get it.”

“That’s my good little slut,” he said, shoving his boxer-briefs down and kicking them away. “Go ahead and take it. Take all of it. You know what to do.”

You’d been preparing for this moment. After last time, when you felt completely at a loss for what to do, you’d looked up some blowjob tips on the Internet and discovered that your performance last time must have been seriously lacking. Of course, he hadn’t really wanted you to suck his dick; he’d wanted to fuck a hole in your head, and you’d let him do it, which seemed good enough for him then, but this time you wanted to impress him. You grabbed the base of his cock and swirled your tongue around the head a few times before taking it between your lips and lapping up the precum from his slit.

“Mmm,” you said, looking up at him. “You taste so good.”

“Such a little cumslut, aren’t you?” he said, and you nodded. “Keep going.”

You dragged your tongue from the base of his cock to the tip before spitting on it and taking him in your mouth. You used your hand and your mouth together, just the way you’d read about, and your cheeks were already burning from how hard you were sucking him.

“Goddamn, Porkchop. You been practicing while you waited for me? You been sucking off other guys wishing it was my dick in your mouth?”

You shook your head no with his cock still nudging at your throat.

“Just me, then? This the only dick you want?”

You nodded.

“Goddamn right,” he said. “This mouth is mine, you got that? I see you even talking to another guy with it I’m gonna slit his fuckin throat, you hear me? You. Are. Mine.”

You nodded again, taking your hand away and preparing to take him all the way down, but before you had the chance, Lloyd grabbed your hair and pulled your head back.

“Fucking say it. I wanna hear you say it.”

“I’m yours,” you said, and oh god you fucking meant it. “I’m all yours, Lloyd.”

“That’s right. Now suck the soul out of my dick like a good little slut and maybe you’ll get a special treat tonight.”

You took him down your throat, gagging and choking on him the way you knew he liked—the way that made him curse and moan and his hips start to jerk of their own volition. You bobbed on his cock for a while, making a mess of yourself and staring up at him with wide eyes that watched him watching you with a mixture of awe and self-satisfaction and just a hint of cruelty when he grabbed your head and started to fuck your face.

“That’s it,” he said. “Take it. Just like that. Such a good little whore for me. You were made to take this dick. Do it so fuckin well.”

You were lightheaded from lack of oxygen by the time he pulled out of your throat. He bent down and grabbed you under your arms, lifting you to your feet as you coughed and choked down air and walking you back towards the bed.

“You ever been fucked, Porkchop?” he asked, and you shook your head. “Didn’t think so.” He pushed you backwards and your legs fell open for him like they had a mind of their own. “You gonna let me fuck this tight little pussy tonight? I’ll be real gentle with her, I promise.” He ran his fingers through your folds and you whimpered each time they grazed your clit, and when he pulled them into his mouth to suck them he moaned at the taste of you. “So fuckin sweet.”

Your cunt was throbbing with need for him but you didn’t know if you were ready. It’s not like you hadn’t thought about what it would be like with him, even fantasized about it and made yourself cum to the thought of it, but in the moment you were afraid. His dick was just so goddamn big and you knew that, despite his promises, Lloyd Hansen was not the type to be gentle about anything.

“Will it hurt?” you asked.

“A little,” he said, “but I know you’ll like it. You know how I know?”

“How?” you asked.

“Because you’re special, Porkchop.”

He crawled up onto the bed and hovered over you, dragging his teeth down your neck to your shoulder and biting the spot where the two met. He bit you hard and you hissed, but fuck it felt good and you wanted him to do it again—to leave his marks all over your body, inside and out.

“Do it,” you whispered. “Fuck me, Lloyd. I want you to.”

“I know you do,” he said. “I could smell it on you the second you walked through the door tonight. Your little cunt is so fucking ripe and ready for me, but I’ll be nice and make you cum first. You wanna know why?”

“Because I’m special?” you asked.

“That’s right,” he replied. “You’re my good little slut and you get to cum before I fuck you.”

Lloyd kissed his way down your body—hungry, open-mouthed kisses with tongue and teeth that left marks on your breasts and your tummy and your hips. When he got to your thighs, he grew ravenous, his big hands squeezing your flesh with a bruising pressure as he took a mouthful of your upper thigh in his mouth and bit down hard.

“Fuck,” you cried out, and he just laughed.

“You like it,” he said—it wasn’t a question, and he was right.

He gave the other side a matching bite mark and you bit your bottom lip bloody as you clenched around nothing.

“First,” he said, “I’m gonna stretch you out with my fingers. Then, I’m gonna eat this sweet cunt until you’re shaking and gushing on my face. And then, Porkchop, then I’m gonna teach your tight little pussy how to take this dick. You ready?”

You weren’t. You never could have been ready for what he was about to do to you. He fucked you with his fingers—one, then two, then three, then four with his thumb on your clit and his teeth breaking the skin on your thigh. He lapped up the blood as you came, and when he kissed you after you could taste the coppery tang of it. He ate you out like it was his last meal, your legs pushed as far back as he could get them so he could get his tongue into your ass, too. That made you squeal, and he laughed against your flesh as you squirmed under him. You couldn’t have gotten away if you wanted to, though. He was holding you down with just one arm across your waist but he was fucking strong and you knew it.

You didn’t want to get away, though. You wanted everything he had to give you, and when you came on his tongue you grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and you pulled it hard as you cried out, “Oh, fuck. Fuck me, Lloyd. Please fuck me.”

“You ready for it?” he asked.

“Yes. God. Please,” you replied, though you didn’t yet know what you were begging for.

“I don’t have a condom,” he said, “but I’ll pull out. Do you trust me, Porkchop?”

You always did and you never should have.

Even at 18 you knew better than to have sex without a condom but he’d brought you right to the edge and you were fucking aching for him and he knew it. He could have stopped, run downstairs and grabbed a condom from one of the million college kids down there who had one, but he knew you’d let him fuck you raw the second he got you upstairs. Maybe he even knew that first night. You weren’t thinking straight, already cockdrunk and he hadn’t even stuck it in you yet. From the very first time you met him, and every single time after that, Lloyd Hansen could always get exactly what he wanted from you. He knew exactly how to pull your strings and you let him. Every single time, you let him.

Lloyd spit on his dick and rubbed it in between your puffy folds, drenching himself in your slick before he lined himself up with your entrance.

“Deep breaths, Porkchop. This is gonna sting.”

Just the tip of him had you clawing at the sheets and your eyes watering, and it just kept going. He moaned low as he pushed his way inside and when you thought he was all the way in, you looked down and saw it was only halfway there.

“Fuck, it’s so big, Lloyd. I can’t. I can’t take anymore.”

“Yes you can,” he assured you. “You can do it. I know you can. My special girl. You feel so fucking good, you know that? Come on now, just breathe. You can take it. You were fucking made for me. You’re mine, remember? This pussy is mine. Say it.”

“It hurts,” you whined, the tears slipping out the corners of your eyes.

“Say. It.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, tears flowing freely now.

“Fuck, baby. You know how hard it makes me when you cry.” He snapped his hips and moaned as he shoved the rest in you and you felt like your insides were on fire. “There it is. That’s my good girl. I know it’s big. You’re taking me so well. Such a good fucking girl for me.”

“It hurts so bad, Lloyd.”

“I know, baby. I won’t move yet, ok? You’ll get used to it. It’ll feel so fucking good, I promise. Just trust me.”

He stayed that way, deep inside you, as he kissed your face and your lips, licking the tears up as they fell. Your pussy was still burning from the stretch of him but you started to feel something pleasurable inside that pain and you clenched around him involuntarily.

“Oh, fuck. I gotta move, baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t understand why he was apologizing until you did, because when Lloyd started to move his hips he went from slow and shallow strokes to hard and deep in under a minute. It hurt like hell but he looked so fucking sexy on top of you, sweat-slicked with his hair wild and hanging down in his face, his eyes rolling back in his head and his mouth open in a perfect pink oval as the most animal sounds came out of him. You gritted your teeth and you took his dick, however fast and hard he wanted to give it to you, because it made you feel powerful—that you were the one making him lose control like that, that you were the one he wanted to claim as his. You took it like a champ and you didn’t cry and you didn’t tell him to slow down or to stop because you weren’t boring, you weren’t ordinary; you were Lloyd Hansen’s special girl.

“Oh, fuck. I can’t stop. I can’t fucking stop. Your pussy’s too fucking good I’m gonna cum.”

You knew you should have said no or stop or shoved him off you but the truth is—and you can be honest about it now, after all this time, after everything—you wanted him to cum in you. You wanted to feel what it felt like for him to lose himself inside of you. You wanted to feel it all—everything he had to give. So you let him, and the sound he made… you can still hear it even today if it’s quiet enough and you close your eyes and picture him on top of you in that room. You can see his neck veins popping and his jaw clenching and you can hear it: that feral growl that you could feel rumbling in your own chest as he blew the first of many loads inside of you.

Because, you see, Lloyd Hansen doesn’t wear condoms. That, he says, is a you problem.

He pulled out of you and his dick was Harvard crimson and white—the evidence of what you’d just let him do to you dripping off his cock onto the expensive bedspread below you. He ran his forefinger up his shaft from the tip to the base and gathered some of your mess on his fingertip and then popped it in his mouth.

“You know what they say about virgin blood?” he asked. You shook your head, too in shock at the sight before you to speak. “It’s got magic powers. Like a spell. It binds people together.”

He gathered some more and pressed his fingers to your lips, painting your blood and his cum on you like lipstick. You didn’t hesitate. You stuck your tongue out and licked your lips clean. It should have tasted awful but it didn’t; it was magic.

“You wanna go again?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied. 

PART THREE >>>