#Women's rights and women's wrongs you know how it is

[rpwprpwprpwprw]

jeon jungkook fanfics: weekly recommendations edition 💌

hey this is my… new long… very long.. list of recently readings! let me know what you guys think cause this took forever to organize 😭 💋 (also is the letters too small?

jungkook masterlist

🌟 swipe right by @ppersonna (genre- best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers | completed)

summary: after a horrible breakup, you sign back up for tinder and ironically match with your best friend, jungkook. a date for fun is harmless, right?

my review

🌟 stuck with you by @aajjks (genre: crack, 18+) | ongoing (?)

summary: Imagine being stuck in a room with a walking nightmare who really wants to fuck you.

my review

🌟 what’s your name again? by @solarhysm (smut, oneshot) | completed

summary: jungkook met you at a costume party for the new year eve. you're bold, drunk and horny.

my review

🌟 teach me how to love by @kookooluvr (genre: fluff, angst, smut, fwb au, economicsprofessor!jungkook, politicalscienceprofessor!reader, slow burn, some emotional constipation, some sappy moments, lots of sexy moments) | pairing: professor!jungkook x (fem) professor!reader, fwb to lovers | ongoing

summary: jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.

my review

🌟 webbed heartstrings by @focusonkayjay (genre/Tags: spiderman/ campus heartthrob! jungkook, college student! reader, friends (but not exactly) to lovers, i think they're in a situationship, spiderman au, spiderkook au, angst, fluff) | ongoing

my review

🌟 fuck me up by @jungkoode (genre: enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut with plot, fuck buddies) | ongoing

summary: When your search for affordable NYC housing leads you to apartment 6B, you think you've hit the jackpot. That is, until you realize your new roommate is the guy from that one wild night on January - the one who ruined you for anyone else. Now you're stuck sharing walls with the living embodiment of your worst mistake, and the sexual tension is thick enough to choke on. Between his emotional damage and your trust issues, this arrangement is a disaster waiting to happen. But hey, at least the hate sex is phenomenal.

my review: my review my review

🌟 letting fear run the show by @focusonkayjay (genre/tags: fuckbuddy! jungkook, secret friends with benefits to lovers, angst, fluff, smut) | completed

my review:

🌟 playing the part by @goldenchimmy (genre: smut) | older!jk x reader, age gap | completed

summary: needing money for college, you come across an ad for a female escort. You didn't expect the person posting the ad to be a rich, older man.

my review

🌟 mutt by @letsbangts (genre: smut, angst, friends with benefits au) | fuckboy!jk, tattooartist!jk | completed

summary: when you realize you can’t teach an old dog new tricks

🌟 answer your phone by @letsbangts (genre: angst, smut, fluff, friends with benefits au) | fuckboy!jk, tattooartist!jk | completed

summary: when the consequences of his actions come calling

🌟 the jorts by @gukslut (genre: Established Relationship/fluff/smut) | completed

my review

🌟 back and forth by @gukslut (genre: smut/fluff) | completed

my review

🌟 the speedo by @gukslut (genre: fluff/smut) | completed

summary: JK has fallen in love. Too bad the object of his affections thinks he’s a fuckboy who gets blowjobs in women’s locker rooms. How did Jungkook convince his future wife to give him a chance when none of his usual tricks  work? 

my review

🌟 freak - quency by @gukslut (genre: Smut/fluff, Sub!JK, Rockstar!JK AU, PWP) | completed

🌟 beyond the job by @kooggukk (genre: ?) | girl dad!jk x reader | ongoing

summary: babysitting the cutest angel on earth is the perfect job. (except when her father is fucking hot and wants all of you)

🌟 vampire boy by @smartkookiee (genre: smut/supernatural) | vampire!Jungkook x human!Reader | ongoing

summary: So your boyfriend is a vampire…It’s actually not too different than having a human boyfriend. He is kind and caring and genuinely loves you. He’s just a touch afraid of garlic and he’s kind of cold. Other than that everything is the same and you couldn’t ask for anyone better. You cannot imagine spending your life with anyone else, except… it would be only your life going on. which wasn’t a problem… right

my review

🌟 true love by @lovieku (fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, somewhat f2l) | tattoo artist!jk x reader | ongoing?

summary: when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.

my review

🌟 get him back by @inthelow (genre: fake relationships trope, kinda growing up womanhood thing, female rage (a LOT of female rage), funny but cringe in the same way, a lot of drama - in a comedy way but also very shitty things - a lot of bad jokes and some angst ) | f!producer/writer reader x idol!jungkook | ongoing

summary: after a hard breakup with who you thought would be the one, the only thing in your mind was a sad playlist of Taylor Swift songs and red wine. But, what happens when your neighbour- who is done of hearing you cry at 2 am in the morning - puts the idea in your head of getting your ex back? but with a good and sweet revenge… of course everything will be easier if you didn’t have any feelings for your ex and if your neighbour wasn’t a superstar idol who doesn’t have a problem at pretending to be your boyfriend to piss off that ex - who also happens to be his ex best friend -. What a mess, right?

my review

🌟 motive by @luvismenu (genre: smut, written) | brother's best friend , e2l , childhood friends

suqmmary: jungkook is your brother’s best friend, someone you’ve grown up with. the two of you have a knack for clashing, always throwing attitude and finding ways to piss each other off. yet, there’s a connection neither of you can ignore.

my review

🌟 sthings attached (to my heart) by @jungkoode (genre: smut, superhero, spider-man au) | spiderkook x reader | ongoing

summary: You were a journalist at Yonsei University when you started noticing the strange coincidences between your favorite bumbling freshman and Seoul's newest superhero. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when flustered. You tell yourself it's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

my review

[cheer-nympho]

Thinking about Eddie driving up to the quarry one night to try and sell to the teenagers that usually hang around here,

But when he gets there only one car is parked and hidden behind the bushes framing the road.

A very familiar BMW with it’s windows steamed up.

‘Of course Harringtons getting some again. Lucky fuck.’ Eddie thinks as he lights a smoke, if only to warm him up a bit in the cold night.

Damn. From the condensation dripping down the BMW windows, they’re having no problem keeping warm.

Even from the distance it takes effort to not startle when the hand slams against the back window, creating a messy handprint on the white glass. Even from here he can see it’s a mans hand. Steve, he assumes. Jesus, whoever he has in that back seat is clearly getting railed practically through the seats.

He should look away, really. Knows that this is a bit fucked up. But…he can’t actually see anything. And really, Harrington shouldn’t have brought her out to the towns most known hangout. And its not like he was straining to hear, they were just SO loud. And…deep?

Eddie’s not exactly a connoisseur in the different noises of women, try as he may, but he’s pretty sure he’s only hearing a man right now. Sure, its still a pretty high pitched and punched out sound but noticeably a dudes- which confuses Eddie for a minute.

Harrington must just be really sensitive and loud. Maybe that’s why he had so many girls falling over him, the noises certainly weren’t turning Eddie OFF the interaction.

He can physically see the change in the cars bouncing when he assumes they’re…’finishing off’

Eddie doesn’t know why he’s still here. He could have- no, he SHOULD have left ages ago. But not long after the bouncing stops, the car door swings over and 2 legs swing out, hands coming down to fix their socks- clearly having hastily thrown his clothes back on.

The only thing is…Eddie doesn’t remember Harringtons legs being so long? The body looks out or place sitting in the open door, not like the familiar and practically famous silhouette of Steve against his vehicle. And it hits Eddie square in the face when the guy stands upright.

Cause Eddie DOES know the guy. He’s just stomach tippinglys aware that it is NOT Harrington.

That’s Johnny. Eddies (admittedly one sided) rival at the hideout. A fucking punk. Not in the way the adults of Hawkins use the term, he’s literally a punk rocker.

And his punk rocker ass is currently stepping out of Steve Harringtons freshly christened back seat. Well that…can’t be right. Harrington must just…rent out his car to couple or something. That must be it. Rich people are weird like that.

His theory is very quickly destroyed as Johnny knocks lightly on the roof of the car, cigarette already in the other hand, and pokes his head into the back. He laughs before a pair of legs flop out of the door. Legs attached to someone clearly too tall for a backseat. Legs attached to someone very male.

He should go. He needs to go. If not because of how his stomach feels like it’s trying to eat itself, then because his best-buddy Johnny just tipped his head non-subtly towards Eddie’s van.

‘Shit shit shit shit-‘ He puts the keys in as fast as he can with shaking hands.

— And he so nearly got away too. So nearly never had to look at that BMW or its occupants again, live his life carefree.

All hope of that was cruelly dashed when he left hellfire to see Steve leaning against his van.

He scanned the area, in hopes someone else had stayed late because he was pretty sure Steve was about to give him the “talk and you’re dead” followed by a beating up. And that would suck.

Nowhere else to go but forward, he clutched his DND bag and hobbled over to Harrington- who hadn’t offered him anything other than a blank stare.

“Harrington.”

“Munson.”

“Pretty late to be lurking around school. People might get the wrong idea.”

“Don’t lecture me on lurking, man. We both know you were at the quarry.”

“I don’t really-“

“Johnny told me, would recognise your beat up ride miles away he said.”

Thankfully Eddie had enough brain power in him to add that to the list of reasons to fucking hate Johnny. In the time he had to scowl at the ground, Harrington had rounded behind him. Eddie span to meet him but was met with a rough hand to the chest.

He was pushed up against his van with a sharp movement, pulling a winded breath from him followed by a large ‘bang’ as Steve’s hand slammed to the side of his head.

“So, Munson. What did you see?”

“I didn’t see-“

“Try again.” A hand crept into his hair, not pulling but clearly threatening it with the way it was clasped.

“I saw…you and Johnny. In your car.”

Steve hummed and looked away from Eddie. “That’s not very specific, Eddie, try again.”

“Wha- I don’t know what you-“ The hand in his hair yanked, pulling his head so that even with their similar heights he was forced to look up at Steve, hands gripping uselessly to the side of his van.

“Try again.”

Oh.

Oh.

That’s what he wanted.

“I saw Johnny fucking you.”

He managed to lift his gaze to look at Steve and was met with an almost dopey smirk, his eyes barely focused as they stared down at Eddie half closed. Eddie melted right into the wall of his van because Steve Harrington was looking him like he’d never been hornier in his life.

“Fuck. He was Eddie, he really was and it was so good. You saw it right? Saw the car moving? Shit, man, it’s hard to get it moving like that. He was so rough.” Eddie just stared as Steve started falling further towards him, sinking into the weird little hold they both had.

“But there’s just one problem Munson.” Steve said into the side of Eddie’s neck, making him shiver and use all his willpower to keep his head where Steve’s grip had moved it.

“What- What problem?”

“My car is just too small. We needed more space, I needed more space.”

He brought his free hand up and slammed it to the other side of Eddie’s head. “Do you think you might know anyone with something more…spacious?” And when Eddie clocked exactly what he was implying, what he was begging for- he had never been so thankful for his shitty van.

[thesporkidentity]

[Image: “Never believe that anti-Semites are completely unaware of the absurdity of their replies. They know that their remarks are frivolous, open to challenge. But they are amusing themselves, for it is their adversary who is obliged to use words responsibly, since he believes in words. The anti-Semites have the right to play. They even like to play with discourse for, by giving ridiculous reasons, they discredit the seriousness of their interlocutors. They delight in acting in bad faith, since they seek not to persuade by sound argument but to intimidate and disconcert. If you press them too closely, they will abruptly fall silent, loftily indicating by some phrase that the time for argument is past.”]

this quote is actually by jean-paul sartre

the vonnegut quote i think op might have been referring to is this one, from his book mother night, the fictional memoirs of an american who moved to germany and became a playwright and nazi propagandist

This once-proud country of ours is falling into the hands of the wrong people,' said Jones. He nodded, and so did Father Keeley and the Black Fuehrer. 'And, before it gets back on the right track,' said Jones, 'some heads are going to roll.' I have never seen a more sublime demonstration of the totalitarian mind, a mind which might be likened unto a system of gears whose teeth have been filed off at random. Such a snaggle-toothed thought machine, driven by a standard or even a substandard libido, whirls with the jerky, noisy, gaudy pointlessness of a cuckoo clock in Hell. The boss G-man concluded wrongly that there were no teeth on the gears in the mind of Jones. 'You're completely crazy,' he said. Jones wasn't completely crazy. The dismaying thing about the classic totalitarian mind is that any given gear, though mutilated, will have at its circumference unbroken sequences of teeth that are immaculately maintained, that are exquisitely machined. Hence the cuckoo clock in Hell — keeping perfect time for eight minutes and thirty-three seconds, jumping ahead fourteen minutes, keeping perfect time for six seconds, jumping ahead two seconds, keeping perfect time for two hours and one second, then jumping ahead a year. The missing teeth, of course, are simple, obvious truths, truths available and comprehensible even to ten-year-olds, in most cases. The willful filing off of gear teeth, the willful doing without certain obvious pieces of information — That was how a household as contradictory as one composed of Jones, Father Keeley, Vice-Bundesfuebrer Krapptauer, and the Black Fuehrer could exist in relative harmony — That was how my father-in-law could contain in one mind an indifference toward slave women and love for a blue vase — That was how Rudolf Hoess, Commandant of Auschwitz, could alternate over the loudspeakers of Auschwitz great music and calls for corpse-carriers — That was how Nazi Germany could sense no important differences between civilization and hydrophobia — That is the closest I can come to explaining the legions, the nations of lunatics I've seen in my time.

everyone trying to own trump about the "he doesn't know sex isn't determined at conception" thing really fundamentally does not understand what the point of that was, and learned basically nothing from his first term. he is not invested in scienve, biology, or any rational discussion where his provably false beliefs would be subject to scrutiny. he is signaling to everyone in the country that it does not matter what you say, he will never care and he will take every action to enforce these views and embolden his followers with the same rhetoric. you cannot logically talk to a person like this when they are reasoning with emotion, not logic. you cannot dunk the transphobia away. someone post the vonnegut quote.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Spring (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Slightly less unreliable narrator (Cregan has come to his senses, reader is on the way) Mature language.

A/N: I really thought these two would get their mess sorted out in nine scenes, but I was far too optimistic. Lucky me, I had one season as backup! Also, thank you so, so much for continuing to read this series and your kind comments!

IT IS FUNNY, how wrong can Cregan be about people. He is no longer afraid to admit it. He had been mistaken about you. 

The utter viciousness you had displayed, bringing up his dead wife, had only been a source of anger for him at first. He had thought you an evil little bitch, unafraid of exploiting weak spots to hurt him. 

Then, he had seen you with Rickon. And his world had just… Shifted. As if every piece of furniture in Winterfell had been moved exactly one inch to the left, and no one had told him, leaving him stumbling around in his own home.

You weren’t evil or jealous. Or, more likely, you were, but not because of some petty reason, it was because you were insecure. The mere idea was laughable, why would a Princess of the Realm be insecure? But it made too much sense for him to ignore. 

Each time Cregan had cracked a joke that compared you to Arra, like commenting on the number of packages and dresses you had brought from the South, you had taken it as a personal criticism. You felt unappreciated, so you lashed out and avoided him at every turn. 

You were kind, smart, and capable. Just not in the way Cregan was used to women being capable. The northern women were considered capable because they were physically strong, able to wield bows, ride hard and long or withstand the terrible weather. 

You, instead, shared Prince Jacaerys’ strength. You were honorable, unable to leave a child in need, and kind, enough that you would comfort them until their parents reached them. But most of all, you had a brain suited for politics. 

Cregan had never noticed before because he had never bothered to truly look at what you were doing, but your charities were to make your mother’s cause more popular with the smallfolk. He had heard your mother was doing a similar thing in the capital, delivering food to the starved population due to a blockade of the own Blacks’ making. Not that the commoners cared about the last part. They only cared about those who put food on their bellies. 

And perhaps the Queen dowager and Princess Helaena were popular in the South because of their involvement in the Septs, but you were exploiting the lack of those here. Without Septs, there were no Septas or Septons tending to the sick and poor. You were. And the North would remember, when it came time to march for your mother’s banners. 

Cregan would bet Ice that you were having tea with the northern ladies not to gain friends. The Old Gods knew you were an introverted creature, painfully awkward at niceties, much like he was. It explained why the two of you were so uncomfortable with each other. You were probably entertaining the northerns to win their loyalties, knowing the combined pressure of Cregan’s oath and their wives would make his lords more eager to drop coin and men for your war. 

Oh, if Cregan got you on his side, the two of you would be a force to be reckoned with. He could already see how much security you could bring to the North, how well fed you could be during winter, if you decided to work with him and not behind him. 

You were a wonderful woman. Kind and tender to his son, smart as a whip, utterly terrifying when crossed. You would make a fine wife to any lord, and Cregan couldn’t believe how stupid he had been not to see it. You just needed to be encouraged, and Cregan, dumb as a rock, had been doing the exact opposite. 

While you hadn’t exactly been trying, Cregan was man enough to admit that part of the blame laid on him. He had been pushing you away without even realizing it, comparing you to Arra at every turn, without considering how that might come across to you. 

That ended today. He would prove himself worthy of your love and loyalty, and win you over. Cregan wasn’t a man of half measures. He would woo you or spend the rest of his life trying. 

Set in his decision, Cregan walked to your chambers. He waved off the guard’s attempt to announce him, casually strolling in. 

You were seated next to the fire, the leather-bound book you usually carried around spread over your lap. It was a heavy tome, bound in brown leather with golden engravings. It was written in High Valyrian, a language for which Cregan had little use, so he had never learned it beyond recognizing the alphabet. 

There was a striking beauty to your expression when you were at ease, the peaceful expression you wore becoming you much more than the usual frown you directed at him. Cregan found himself wondering how beautiful you must look smiling, if you looked this radiant when at peace. 

You had the sort of face to be lit up with happiness, he could already tell. His heart ached to be the one that finally coaxed it out of you.

“Princess,” Cregan calls, softly. You set your book aside, ready to get up and curtsy, but he halts you. “No need for that, wife. My ego is not so fragile I need my woman to bow to me.” 

“Lord Husband.” You reply, for once not frowning. Your face remains carefully neutral, which Cregan considers a victory. He would attribute it to his remark about his ego, but it is more likely due to guilt. He will take it regardless. 

“No need for that either, much less today.” Cregan smiles at you. “You may call me Cregan, if you wish. I am here to thank you for caring for my Rickon while I was away.” 

You look far more confused than you did before. You look like you want to approach him and run at the same time, your wool gown fluttering as you squirm in place, undecided if you are approaching or not. 

“I simply did my duty, my lord.”

Cregan’s smile widens, amused by you. 

“Singing him was part of it? By the Gods, I thought I had a wife and not a minstrel?” And the dry, northern humor doesn’t seem to suit you because you frown slightly. Cregan fights the urge to curse, instead making a mental note. You dislike being mocked, even in jest. He wonders what sharp words you had to endure in the South to be like this, and feels a wave of pity. Dark of hair and no dragon to shield you? Perhaps that was why you were far kinder to Sara than to him. He gives a tasteful cough. Or at least, his attempt at it. 

“I only meant to say you went beyond your duties, and I thank you for it. You didn’t have to, but it meant the world to him.” Cregan tries again, and you blink at him, as if he were unable to understand anything at all. 

“He is a child.” You say, slowly.  “No person would leave a child in need.” 

“You would be surprised.” Cregan thinks of how his own mother had treated Sara when she had arrived at Winterfell, treatment that hadn’t improved when his aunt took on as the Lady of the household. His sister had only known freedom after Cregan had taken over his seat, and she was still judged by the rest of the North, even though in a much subtle manner. 

“Mmm.” Your reply is noncommittal. 

“He has been asking me lately why he doesn't have a lady mother.” Cregan attempts again. He is not above using Rickon to have an excuse to spend time with you. And to his amusement, it does work. You pity his son more than him, it seems because you begin to pay him more attention.  

“What did you tell him?” You tilt your head to the side, curious. It’s a surprisingly cute gesture for the unshakable princess that you are. 

“I do not know. I have not answered him.” Cregan searches for somewhere to sit, but apart from the loveseat in which you are soaking up the warmth of the fireplace, there is none. He grabs the stool by your writing area, and brings it over. 

He sits on the stool across from you, wiggling a bit with how uncomfortable it is. It feels like his knees are on his chest, by the Gods. It’s clearly meant for a shorter person. Your rooms are not made for receiving visitors, he should have thought of that earlier. You need a space to receive people that isn’t the sitting room. What if you wish to have more private conversations?

“Surely he knows she is dead?” You are too caught up in your disbelief to protest that he is rearranging your furniture. Good. 

“He does, but doesn’t quite grasp what dead means.”  Cregan is being honest. Whoever has the heart to explain to a child of two namedays what death is, is a braver man than him. 

“Perhaps you could say she is in the Seven Heavens?” Your frown comes back, but this time it isn’t angry. Instead, it’s puzzled. You are trying to help him, and it makes him fight the urge to smile. He doesn’t want you to think that he is mocking your suggestion. 

“We do not believe that here.” 

“Neither do I.” And this time, there is the barest beginning of a playful smile on your lips. Oh, you minx! Cregan smiles to himself, charmed. It emboldens him to continue. 

“Just, I would like it if you saw him more often. With me. Perhaps… He has asked about you, and I am not asking you to replace her but I… He sometimes needs a more feminine touch.” 

“Of course.” You agree. And he can see in your eyes you think he might be trying to use you as a stand in for Arra, not truly believing his words, but that is alright. Cregan will show you. Or at least, he is going to do his very best attempt. 

YOU MAKE SURE there are enough pastries and hot water available before you stand up.

“I am afraid I must leave you, my ladies. But you are welcome to continue enjoying the hospitality of Winterfell.” The sitting room is filled with northern women. You have begun inviting them for tea twice a moon, trying to ensure your mother will have all the support she needs when she takes King’s Landing. 

It has proven to be quite the difficult task. Northerns are often suspicious of outsiders, and from what you have learned through these gossip sessions, they rarely marry southrons. The only ones who do are the most important Houses, like the Starks or the Boltons. It means that most of your ladies are northern by birth, and not through marriage as you are. 

“This early?” Lady Mormont asks, bluntly. Her bluntness had discomfited you during your first meetings, but you have come to find it refreshing. “Princess?” She tacks on, remembering she is supposed to mind her courtesies with you. 

“This early.” You confirm, with a smile. You have planned the time of this tea with precision for this same motive, knowing it will appeal to their loyalty, but also allow you to escape the socializing. “I have a play date with my Lord Husband and little Rickon.” 

One of the ladies coos. Lady Mormont barks out a laughter. 

“Ah, to be a young woman with that many suitors.” 

“Only the very best.” You smile, and leave them to feast on the pastries. 

You make your way to Cregan’s solar at a leisure pace. The crushed velvet gown you are wearing is in a blue so pale it almost looks like the gray of House Stark. It is one of your old ones, meant to evoke House Velaryon’s colors. It fits you again, having gained a bit of weight during your time in the North. You hope it is a gown suitable for playing with a toddler. 

As you enter, you notice Rickon is arriving as well, tugged along by a maid. He chirps a greeting to you, a mix of your name and title that sounds more like gibberish. Yet, you are helpless to him.

“Rickon!” You kneel by him, as he runs to be picked up. You indulge him, smelling his hair as you lift him. He smells of sweet innocence, and a bit like Cregan. You hate that you cannot hate him or be indifferent any longer. The little boy has stolen your heart. 

Rickon gives you a toothy smile, his hands clumsily going to cup your face. Who can resist him? Not you. 

“I see you found each other.” Cregan leans against the door, smirking. He holds two cups. “Warm milk with honey. For the cold.”

You cannot help but smile a little. 

“Our knight in shining armor!” You tease, more for Rickon’s benefit than him. “Let us in, good Ser. So I can place my little wildling down and he can drink it.” 

Cregan laughs and moves aside to let the two of you pass. As you do so, you cannot help but notice how much space he takes up, tall and wide. Your eyes linger on his shoulders. You have not seen him wield Ice yet, but you have seen the sword. He has to have considerable strength to do so. 

The thought is strangely thrilling. Your stomach does a somersault, but before you have time to analyze it, Rickon begins to squirm in your arms. 

“Down! Down! Doggie!” He pleads. You look to see what has caught his attention and notice that Cregan has moved the rug so it lays by the fireplace, and placed some of Rickon’s toys there, including his more favored one: A soft cotton white wolf. 

You set Rickon down and take one of the cups from Cregan. Both of you sit down on the rug as well, and watch Rickon play with his wolf, ignoring his cup of milk. You have come to learn that playing with an only child is much different than playing with your younger siblings, Rickon mostly plays alone and wants you there to show you things. 

It forces you to keep conversations with your husband, if only because the silence would be too awkward otherwise. 

“I have arranged for us to have tea when Rickon tires.” Cregan informs you, a bit stiff.

“Oh, I already had tea with the…” You start, before Cregan interrupts you. 

“You are far too thin still. Besides, I know your tea spreads are made of mostly northern sweets. I asked the cooks to make one of your favorites, Prince Jacaerys was kind enough to set up correspondence for me with the cooks of Dragonstone.” 

It’s awfully thoughtful of him, and you will examine it later because your mind is still stuck on one tiny detail. One that infuriates you. 

“You are corresponding with Jace?” You ask, trying hard not to sound violent. After all, he has been very kind to you as of late, and guilt has begun to creep in for your careless words about his late wife. Not that you will apologize or anything. You intend to pretend nothing happened and be extra nice to Cregan, indulging Rickon and him on all the tea and play dates in the world. 

“I am. He would be very pleased if you stopped burning his letters.” His tone is chiding, though gentle. You take a deep breath in. Jace, the traitor. Cregan keeps his tone kind. “He still grieves your brother, Princess. Do not make him mourn a sister in life.” 

“Does he think I shall never forgive him?” You ask him, baffled. Rickon begins building a tower with blocks on the rug, insisting that the two of you aid him in building Winterfell, so Cregan’s answer is delayed. As you place some blocks to make the entrance, you have time to think over his words. 

All alone in Dragonstone, Jace must be feeling as lonely as you are. Only more because he has no Cregan and Rickon to stand with him. 

What he had done was a deep betrayal in your eyes, but was it truly? You had known you would have to marry eventually, and it probably wouldn’t be a love match. Jace had done the best he could in the terrible circumstances you were in. Moved by his fear of losing another sibling, he had entrusted you to Cregan because he thought you could be happy here. Safe. 

And you were. There was no fiercest protector for you apart from your husband. After marrying him, no one had dared even to breathe the rumors of your bastardy, and he even worried about what you ate, by the Gods’ sake!

“You can hold a grudge.” Cregan says, cautiously, when Rickon is distracted by his cup of milk and begins to attempt drinking it. Usually, drinking his milk is followed by passing out, so he is careful to support him in his lap. The sight makes your chest feel oddly warm. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

This was bad. 

You were falling in love with Cregan. 

“Perhaps I don’t want to any longer.” You say, looking into his eyes. You are no longer speaking of Jace. 

Cregan seems to catch on your meaning because he reaches forward and takes your hand in his. Fixated on how big and warm his hand feels against yours, you almost miss his soft words. 

“Neither do I.”

SARA’S EYES, GREY and so much like his father’s, are fixed on him. Cregan tries to ignore her, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of appearing uncomfortable. But before the hour passes, he is squirming in his chair, unnerved by her silent stare. 

Sara continues to stare. Cregan refuses to speak to her. After a while, she sets down the book she has taken from his shelves, a dreadfully boring account of the battles fought by the Kings of Winter, and perches her chin in her hands. 

That way, her staring is much more obvious. She is comfortably laid back in one of the armchairs he has in his solar. Cregan likes company when he works, and it’s easier to ask for her opinion if she is right there. Unfortunately, it also means she can stare at him for hours on end if she so wished.

“What?” Cregan asks, when he can’t take it any longer. He pushes away the reports about the safety of Wintertown and how prepared they are for winter, and looks up at her. She still doesn’t speak. “Sara!” 

“Apologies, brother.” By her smile, she is anything but sorry. “I just find it fascinating.” 

Cregan sighs. He doesn’t really want to bite, but if he doesn’t, Sara’s teasing will get worse and worse.

“What is fascinating?” 

“How you have managed to turn into a spineless southron in less than two moons.” Cregan can only gape at her. What is she going on about? “Not only have you turned timid, you are also a moron. And cunt struck. Well, are you? I know you are not getting any, does one need to actually be bedding the woman to be cunt…” She doesn’t even finish her words, cackling with laughter.

His face grows hot, burning with embarrassment. 

“I should have married you to an Umber and be done with it.” He mutters, under his breath, which only makes her cackle further. Both of them know that Sara would never be married off as if she were some cattle. Cregan loves her too much for it, and she is a deeply independent woman. 

“Who would advise you, then?” She asks him, brazenly. “Your sweet little wife? While she is great at wrangling lords and ladies, I doubt she has the stomach for warfare.” 

“There is a certain innocence to these Velaryons, yes.” At his words, Sara glares. She hates to be reminded she had not been as immune as she liked to think she was to Prince Jacaerys’ charms. “But if the worst comes to pass, I actually intend to have her hold Winterfell alongside you and Rickon.” 

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Sara approves. “Shall you march south, Rickon and I will suffice.” 

“I wish to begin teaching her, when she no longer seems willing to murder me.” 

“I think she isn’t willing to murder you any longer.” And it is as good of an endorsement he will get from Sara. 

“She still seems to think I do not love her.” Cregan whines. 

“Because you mention Arra all the time. I have heard it’s in bad taste, but what would I know?” Sara rolls her eyes. “I am just some bastard girl.” 

“Are you simply going to complain or will you help me?” Cregan looks at her and tries giving her his best pleading look. Then, he decides to stroke her pride. “You know I always seek your council, even above other lords.” 

“Even above Lord Cerwyn?” Her mouth purses in a dubious pout. Fuck. His sister or his best friend? In the end, the choice is easy. Sara is here now, after all. 

“Of course.”

Sara positively beams. 

“You should tell him so.” Her rivalry with him had never made any sense to him, they had known each other since childhood, too. The man didn’t even care about who her mother had been and never took insult with her… Well, insults. Plural. Always thrown at him by Sara. Now that he thought of it, his friend always sought excuses to see Sara. Odd. “Loudly. But I am feeling generous and not demand that you do so immediately. I shall gloat in my victory, and it will be even sweeter if he doesn’t know.” 

“Your advice?” Cregan asks, tiredly. The Gods knew that she would talk circles around him if he let her. She was honest, but she also had a gift for courtly speech that Cregan despised. 

“Women like gifts. Or I do. And I am a woman.” Sara shrugs. “She is a Princess, of course she does too. And don’t just gift her anything.” 

“I would never be…” That stupid, Cregan wishes to add, but Sara is still speaking. 

“Gift her something special. Something unique, tailored to her. And especially, something that you wouldn’t gift practical Arra.” 

Cregan stares at Sara. Sara stares back. Then, very pointedly, she picks up her book and continues to read. The message is clear. He will not get any further help. 

Still, her advice lingers. In the coming days, Cregan cannot shake the thought, regardless of what he is doing. As he inspects his men, as he reads during his spare time, even as he bathes. All Cregan thinks of is you, and a gift that would please you. 

He even dares ask Rickon. His suggestion of a direwolf isn’t exactly bad. It’s just difficult on its execution, and not something Cregan would choose when thinking of a gift for you. 

He discards many more ideas, from rolls of myrish lace to donations to your charities. You ran far too cold to wear the former, and the latter wouldn’t truly be a gift to you. He wastes nearly a week coming up with a suitable idea, and two more corresponding with the Prince, the Maester at Dragonstone, and securing the goods he needs. 

It’s all worth it, when he takes a look at the finished present and can know that you will love it. 

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 this is awkward..

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, you were fed up with James, deciding to put aside your pettiness you drag him away from the gryffindor party to talk to him.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever), r and james speaking is 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓵𝔂 inspired by gilbert confessing that he wants anne so effing bad bc he 𝓯𝔀 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝔂, lowkey dont hate me for making the “dreams” u want so like…. I just didn't know what to do bc like idk smh i set back women 50 years by that

a/n: tysm for all the love on this series!! y’all are NOT ready for the next chapter, writing it rn and 😭🙏 BUTTT tysm for 300🫶🫶 also I finished the last chapter... do y'all want me to post it today or edge y'all and post it tomorrow

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

It was now nearing the end of the school year—even if there was still a month to go. James could now be in the same room as you without glaring daggers at whoever you were talking to. Though he told himself he was over you, he knew deep down that the feelings never faded.

He told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself he was fine. And yet, every time he caught sight of you, every time your laughter reached his ears from across the room, it was as if someone had set fire to his resolve.

He wanted to talk to you so badly it was almost pathetic. But it was like the universe itself was conspiring against him—or, more specifically, like Finn Laurier had developed some sort of sixth sense for James’s intentions.

Because every single time James gathered enough courage, every time he braced himself to walk over to you, Finn would appear out of nowhere. Whether it was in the Great Hall, the library, or even during Quidditch practice, Finn always seemed to materialize by your side at precisely the wrong moment, stealing away your attention and leaving James feeling like the outsider in his own story.

It was infuriating.

“Mate, you’re grinding your teeth,” Sirius remarked casually one afternoon as they sat under the beech tree by the lake.

James startled, realizing with some embarrassment that Sirius was right. He quickly unclenched his jaw and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Sorry,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m just…”

“Just what?” Sirius prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” James lied, though his voice betrayed him.

Sirius gave him a knowing look. “If this is about her again, just—”

“It’s not about her,” James interrupted quickly, though he winced as the words left his mouth. He knew Sirius wouldn’t believe him, and he wasn’t sure he even believed himself anymore.

Sirius sighed, shaking his head. “Prongs, you’re going to drive yourself mad if you keep this up. Just talk to her already.”

“I’ve tried!” James snapped, louder than he intended. He lowered his voice and added, “I’ve tried, but every bloody time, Finn shows up. It’s like he’s got a bloody tracker on her or something.”

Remus, who had been quietly reading nearby, finally chimed in. “You know, maybe you’re overthinking this,” he said, not looking up from his book.

“How could I possibly be overthinking this?” James demanded, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Maybe Finn’s not doing it on purpose,” Remus suggested calmly. “Maybe it’s just bad timing.”

“Bad timing?” James repeated incredulously. “Bad timing doesn’t happen this often, Moony. This is a pattern.”

Remus gave him a skeptical look but didn’t argue further.

James leaned back against the tree trunk, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath. He hated how much this was bothering him. He hated how much control this entire situation had over him.

But most of all, he hated the thought that you might actually be happy with Finn.

It wasn’t that he thought Finn was a bad guy—quite the opposite, really. Finn was charming, talented, and annoyingly good at everything he did. He was the kind of guy parents adored, the kind of guy professors went out of their way to praise. And worst of all, he was the kind of guy who could make you smile in a way James had only dreamed of.

James opened his eyes, staring up at the branches overhead. “Maybe I should just give up,” he muttered.

Sirius snorted. “Yeah, right. That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve said all day.”

“I’m serious,” James insisted.

“No, I’m Sirius,” Sirius quipped, smirking.

James groaned, throwing a small pebble in his direction. “Not the time for jokes.”

“Fine, fine,” Sirius said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But seriously, you’re not giving up. You’re James Potter, remember? Stubborn, arrogant, never-takes-no-for-an-answer James Potter. You don’t give up on things you care about.”

James hesitated, staring at the rippling water of the Black Lake. He wanted to believe Sirius. He wanted to believe that there was still a chance, that you weren’t as far out of reach as you seemed.

But as he watched you across the courtyard later that day, standing beside Finn and laughing at something he said, James couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, it was too late.

But his doubt soon melted into something far more unsettling when he noticed your gaze shift. For the first time in what felt like forever, your attention wasn’t on Finn Laurier—it was on him.

James felt like he might throw up.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his hands fidgeted with the hem of his robes as he quickly looked away. In fact, he didn’t just look away; he turned his entire body in the opposite direction, hoping to mask the flush rising to his cheeks.

“C’mon, James, you’ve got a Quidditch game to win today! Channel all that anger you’ve got towards Laurier into winning us the Cup!” Sirius said, clapping a hand on James’s shoulder with his trademark grin.

James gave a faint nod, trying to let Sirius’s words sink in. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but he had to admit—focusing on Quidditch might be better than brooding.

As the match began, Sirius’s advice started to help. Flying through the air, the roar of the crowd, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins almost made him forget the mess he was tangled in. Quidditch always had a way of making the weight on his shoulders feel lighter.

Almost.

At first, he wasn’t paying much attention to the game. His mind wandered back to you, back to everything that had gone wrong. He thought about what he would say, how he could even begin to fix things. And, like always, he couldn’t resist scanning the crowd for you.

Even in the middle of a fight, even when he swore to himself that he was done, James always looked for you in the stands.

And he found you—right where he didn’t want to.

You were sitting with Finn Laurier, your hand clasped in his. James’s stomach twisted painfully at the sight, and he forced himself to look away, though the image burned into his mind.

Of course. Finn fucking Laurier.

He sighed, his grip tightening on his broomstick. There was no point in hoping anymore. Whatever chance he’d had—if he’d ever had one—was gone now. Maybe he’d already been downgraded in your life: a friend at best, a stranger at worst. The thought stung, and James shoved it down, refusing to dwell on it any longer.

And then, something golden caught the corner of his eye.

The Snitch.

For the first time all game, James’s focus snapped into place. He leaned forward on his broom, his heart pounding—not from heartbreak this time, but from the sheer rush of competition. If nothing else, he could still win this. He could still bring home the Cup.

James shot after the Snitch with everything he had, the rush of wind against his face only fueling his determination. The crowd roared, but their voices blurred into the background. His world narrowed to one thing: the golden glimmer darting just ahead.

The Hufflepuff Seeker was hot on his trail, but James barely registered them. This was his moment. The Snitch veered sharply to the right, and James followed, his reflexes razor-sharp. He could feel the weight of his emotions—anger, heartbreak, frustration—all pouring into this chase.

The Snitch dipped low, skimming just above the grass, and James dove after it, his fingers outstretched. The Hufflepuff Seeker was closing in fast, but James didn’t care. He pushed his broom harder, faster, his body leaning forward so much it felt like he might fall off.

And then, his fingers closed around the Snitch.

The Gryffindor stands erupted into cheers, deafening and jubilant. The sound echoed across the pitch as James pulled up, the Snitch held high in triumph. For the first time all week, a genuine smile broke across his face.

He’d done it.

Back on the ground, his teammates swarmed him, yelling and celebrating as they lifted him off the ground in a flurry of hugs and pats on the back. Sirius was the loudest, of course, laughing as he shouted, “That’s my best mate! Did you see that dive? Bloody brilliant!”

James grinned, allowing himself to soak in the moment. But as the initial adrenaline rush faded, his thoughts drifted back to you.

Through the crowd, he spotted you walking toward the castle with Laurier. You looked happy—laughing at something Finn said, your hand still in his.

James’s chest tightened, the pain creeping back in.

Sirius slung an arm around his shoulders. “Oi, don’t let that git ruin your moment. You just won us the Cup, Prongs. Focus on that, yeah?”

James forced a nod, plastering a smile on his face. “Yeah. You’re right.”

But deep down, as the team carried him back to the common room, the ache lingered. Winning the match had been a distraction, but it wasn’t enough to erase what he felt for you—or the sting of seeing you with someone else.

Still, James promised himself one thing: he’d get through this. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. And who knew? Maybe, someday, you’d see him the way he saw you.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

The Gryffindor common room was a chaotic blur of red and gold, filled with triumphant cheers and laughter. The moment the team returned from the pitch, the party was already in full swing. Someone had charmed a banner to flash "Gryffindor Wins the Cup!" in shimmering letters, and butterbeer bottles floated around the room, courtesy of a cheeky charm from Sirius.

James stood in the center of it all, grinning as his teammates and housemates patted him on the back and congratulated him. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to bask in the glory of the victory, letting it drown out the knot in his chest. He’d won the game, and Gryffindor had the Cup—he deserved to enjoy it.

“Prongs!” Sirius yelled over the noise, shoving a butterbeer into his hand. “You’re the man of the hour! You better milk this for all it’s worth, because Merlin knows you deserve it.”

James laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t let me hear you say that too often, Padfoot. I might start believing it.”

Sirius gave him a devilish grin. “Oh, you will. Now, c’mon, let’s make some noise!” He climbed onto a table, raising his bottle high. “To Prongs, our Quidditch hero!”

The room erupted in cheers, and James couldn’t help but laugh, taking a sip of his butterbeer as the noise washed over him. For the first time all day, he felt lighter.

As the party went on, James moved through the crowd, chatting and laughing with his housemates. But no matter how loud the celebration got, his eyes kept drifting to the door, half-hoping, half-dreading to see you walk in.

And then, you did.

James froze mid-conversation, his heart doing that familiar stutter-step it always did when he saw you. You looked radiant, wrapped in Gryffindor colors, your cheeks flushed from the cold. But his chest tightened when he noticed Laurier trailing behind you, his hand resting casually on the small of your back.

James quickly turned back to his conversation, forcing a smile and pretending not to notice. He wasn’t going to let Finn Laurier—or his own stupid feelings—ruin the night.

“Oi, Prongs,” Sirius said, appearing at his side again. “Stop moping and do something fun. We just won the bloody Cup, mate! At least pretend you’re having the time of your life.”

James forced another grin. “I am having fun, Padfoot. Loads of fun.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “You’re staring at her again, aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” James lied, taking a long sip of butterbeer.

Sirius groaned, grabbing James by the shoulders. “Look, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to stop torturing yourself, and you’re going to have a bloody fantastic time tonight. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll prank Laurier so hard he won’t know which way is up. Deal?”

James couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head. “Alright, deal.”

Hours later, the party was still going strong. Someone had turned the music up, and the common room had transformed into a dance floor. James found himself dragged into the middle of it by Lily Evans, who gave him a pointed look.

“Stop sulking, Potter,” she said, smirking. “You just won the Cup. Act like it.”

“I’m not sulking,” James said, though his half-hearted smile gave him away.

Lily raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, she tugged him into the rhythm of the music, and for a while, James let himself get lost in the moment.

It wasn’t until he caught sight of you again, laughing at something Laurier said, that the knot in his chest returned. He took a deep breath, plastered on another smile, and decided that, for tonight, he’d keep pretending.

He watched you from across the room as you and Laurier continued talking, laughter bubbling between you two. He could see the way you looked at him now—so different from the way you looked at him before. It was like there was a barrier, a wall that hadn’t been there when he first met you.

“Prongs,” Sirius appeared at his side again, his voice low and concerned. “Look, I know you’ve been through a lot, but this is ridiculous. You’re letting Laurier ruin your night—and you just won us the Cup, for Merlin’s sake. You’re allowed to be happy tonight. So go talk to her. If you don’t, I swear I’ll do it for you.”

James frowned at him, irritated. “I’m not talking to her, Pads. Not now.”

“Then at least get out of here and enjoy yourself,” Sirius pressed. “We’re celebrating, mate. You’ve earned it.”

James looked over at you one more time, and for a second, he almost gave in. But the knot in his chest was still there, tightly wound, and it made everything feel so much harder than it should’ve been.

But maybe... maybe he could find a way to feel better. Maybe he could lose himself in the celebration.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally muttered, glancing at his friends.

Sirius didn’t seem convinced but let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, but I’m not letting you go off and brood in some corner. The whole bloody school’s celebrating with you tonight.”

James smirked faintly, feeling a little lighter. Maybe he could pretend to be okay, at least for tonight. He could let the victory, the laughter, and his friends drown out the ache for just a little while longer.

But as the night continued, and as the music played on, James found himself once again looking toward the doorway, hoping—just hoping—that you’d look his way.

For the first time in forever, the world was finally on his side as he saw you quickly leaving Finn and walking straight to him.

“May I speak to you, please?” James nodded, Dumbfounded. 

You quickly grabbed his hand and went outside the common room and into the corridors. 

You took a deep breath, your fingers twisting nervously. “James… I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now.”

James’s throat went dry, his pulse quickening as he struggled to find his voice. “Yeah?”

You nodded, glancing down at your hands before meeting his gaze. “I—I’m sorry.”

That wasn’t what he had expected. Of all the scenarios he’d played out in his head, an apology hadn’t been one of them.

“For what?” he asked, genuine confusion coloring his voice.

“For everything,” you said in a rush, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. “For avoiding you. I was confused—about what I did that made you ignore me. And I guess I wanted to get back at you for ignoring me, so I decided to do the same to you. And… I’m sorry for whatever happened between us that made things so weird.”

James stared at you, your vulnerability hitting him like a Bludger to the chest. His heart ached at the uncertainty in your voice.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said quickly, shaking his head.

“Yes, I do,” you insisted, your voice firm despite the tears welling in your eyes.

“No, you don’t,” James countered, his tone soft yet resolute. “It’s not fair to put all of this on yourself. You’ve always been there for me, and I—well, I’ve been a terrible friend lately. I was practically acting like you didn’t exist.”

James faltered when he saw the blank expression on your face. Panic flickered in his chest—had he said too much?

But before he could say anything more, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

“Oh, James,” you murmured into his shoulder. “It’s okay. I—I was acting like you didn’t exist too, but only because you were doing it to me.”

He blinked, caught off guard, before slowly relaxing into the hug. He looked down at you, his hand instinctively reaching up to brush away a stray tear trailing down your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You shook your head, a small, watery smile breaking through. “We’re both sorry. Let’s just… not do this anymore, okay?”

James nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Deal.”

“It feels so much better having my best friend around again.” James’ smile faltered again, he never liked the word “best friend” when it came to you, he always wanted more.

“Definitely”

You two let each other talk for what felt like hours even though it was barely fifteen minutes. He enjoyed every second though, until you brought up Finn and future plans they may include him. He couldn't believe it, when had your parents met his? He remembers your dad telling him how much he was rooting you and him to be together, now he's okay with you dating some other dude? And worst of all, your father was okay with that same dude wanting to marry his daughter? James felt like throwing up.

“Then he said that my father laid it out on a silver platter.”

“Laid... what out on a platter?”

“My future! Gave him the blessing to...to propose. I don't know what to do.”

“You told me you don’t mind being married straight after Hogwarts if you truly loved the man. That being a wife and mother... is your dream. Finn is.. nice, and both of your guys’ parents are supportive. I don't understand. What's holding you back?”

“Just… one thing.”

“What am I supposed to do? Everyone else is just... moving on, and now you’re... and I’m still... We never even... And he’s there, and you’re—Merlin, you’re never going to find someone who—” James stopped, his voice cracking. “I know that much, so how... how am I supposed to... I can’t... I— We...”

Before you could speak–a drunk Sirius somehow found you two. “Woah James you're really speaking to her? Atta boy, now, let's get back to the party, cmon, we are going to do something cool, have you heard of ....” Sirius rambled on, tugging on James’ arm to drag him back to the party.

“I’ll be off, then.” You said, voice quivering as if hesitant to leave.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

All James could think about was the previous night—the talk you two had shared. Your words, your voice, the hesitation in your eyes—it all replayed in his mind like a haunting melody. What would’ve happened if Sirius hadn’t barged in, if James had told him to leave, if he’d been brave enough to stay in that moment with you?

“I think…” James began, his voice breaking as he paced the Gryffindor dormitory, “I think she might’ve been asking if I love her. And—and I think I told her to marry someone else.”

Sirius, slouched in the chair by the window, looked stricken. “Mate…” he started, his tone heavy with guilt. “If I’d known—if I knew what was happening—I wouldn’t have gone looking for you. I—I practically ruined your chances. Merlin, I’m so, so sorry.”

James stopped pacing, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t even know if she meant it. She said so much without really saying anything, and now I don’t know if I imagined it all.”

“‘Sure, take option two,’ when option one is all she wants for her future?” James muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

“What is option one?” Peter asked, his curiosity breaking the tension.

James scoffed, bitterness creeping into his tone. “It’s Finn, obviously.” He paused, his anger flaring. “But both their parents support it, and she told me that! Before she spilled all of that on me, we were talking and laughing like nothing was wrong. But now…” He exhaled sharply, his voice softening as he sat down on the edge of his bed. “Now it feels like I’m being asked to explain the rest of my life on a bloody ticking clock. And if I make the wrong decision, I’ve either ruined my life—or hers.”

The room fell silent. Sirius and Peter exchanged uneasy glances, while Remus seemed lost in thought, unsure of how to respond.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Meanwhile, you had confided in your mother about your plans the night before: to finally tell the man you truly loved how you felt. You hadn’t wanted to bring it up while you and James were laughing and enjoying each other’s company, but you knew if you didn’t seize the moment, you’d never say it at all.

What you hadn’t expected was for him to turn you down. To tell you—calmly, almost dismissively—that you should marry Finn.

Your mother was waiting for your response. You knew she expected good news, a letter confirming that you and James were finally together. Instead, you sat at your desk, penning words that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Dear Mother,

I did what you told me to do, but I fear I shouldn’t have. We were talking just fine, and then I told him everything. I told him how I felt. And he told me to marry Finn.

Finn is lovely, yes—but he’s not James. I asked James if there was any chance for us, and he said no. At least now I have clarity on where I stand with him. And I know it sounds awful to compare Finn to James, but... maybe knowing what I know now, I can learn to be happy with Finn. Father and Finn’s family are all thrilled, after all. I don’t even want to think about what I would’ve done if James had said he felt the same.

You sighed, folding the parchment carefully and sealing it in an envelope. The weight of your words sat heavily on your chest, but you couldn’t dwell on them any longer. You needed to send this letter immediately.

Pulling on your cloak, you found yourself heading for one of the secret passages to Hogsmeade—the ones you and James had used so often. The memories stung, but you pushed them aside. This time, you’d be using the passage alone.

The quickest way to deliver your letter was through the owlery. You knew exactly which owl was the fastest.

As you walked, you let your mind wander to James one last time, allowing yourself the quiet ache of what could’ve been. You would never speak to him again, not like before. That part of your life was over.

Finn was your future now. And while it hurt to admit, deep down, you knew it was for the best.

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[artsninspo]

Richmond Inc.

♠ summary: Terry Richmond is your boss, and the illustrious CEO of the worlds best and most elusive private security firm. Only he didn't get to where he is now by being nice. As attractive as your boss is, you find it difficult to swoon for the green eyes giant when he is perpetually unpleasant and demanding.

♠ pairing: Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre - Rebel Ridge) X Black Reader

♠ word-count: ~1.1 K

You look away from the light eyed adonis not wanting to get glamoured by his green eyes. Your coworkers swoon and you wonder how it’s possible for them to forget his chronic dissatisfaction and scathing temper. Running a tight ship is the understatement of the century. The former military man sure acts like he’s still on assignment. If it was up to you the last place you’d be is under his smug gaze as he details what's gone both wrong and right about the last assignment. He has no business being as mean as he is. His size alone is grounds for him to be more cautious and gentle with his employees. with. Anyone who’s as tall as he is with a body built for combat should always be careful to be considerate.

“Y/N” his baritone voice calls drawing you from your thoughts.. Looking up your eyes meet his for the briefest of moments. You consider quitting in an instant bracing for him to rip you apart for some infraction.

“Sir?” You respond.

“Great work, the logistics were perfect” he says and it’s high praise coming from someone who rarely acknowledges great work with praise”. Eyes dart away from him to you and you force a casual smile.

“Just doing my job” you nod hoping he moves on. The debrief continues and you recognize the clamouring to impress him and for his attention. It’s not in you to placate anyone least of all a man that’s so stern all the time. Looking at the clock your body settles knowing relief is soon. For all the boss’ faults punctuality and timeliness isn’t one of them. His phone alarm sounds signalling the end of the meeting and you stand first. Your male colleagues stand too but a couple of your female colleagues take their time. 

“Y/N I’d like to see you in my office in five” he says.

“Ok” you respond heading to the bathroom first. When you’ve relieved yourself of your nerves you look in the mirror and practice a detached but engaged expression. When you fail to convince yourself of the contrived demeanour you sigh silencing your phone and making a mental note to find a new job. Grabbing your tablet for work you enter his state of the art office with seconds to spare. His eyes shift rom the clock to you and he holds out his arm signalling for you to take a seat. You oblige.

“How are you?” He asks.

“Fine and you?” You ask not missing a beat.

He nods, smiling slightly. “Good” Impatience flares in your expression and his smile deepens as he looks down at the paper on his desk. It’s an odd sight to see him smile for anyone other than clients.

“Your reviews are stellar. Both your team and directors have glowing reviews for you. Your end of year compensation will reflect that” he says and your excitement flares.

“I do my best” you respond in acknowledgement.

“There will be a vacancy in the director slot and everyone tells me you’re good with people. Are you interested in being on the ground?” He asks.

“No” you don’t even have to think about it. It’s most of your colleagues' dreams. To rub elbows with the who’s who of the world in need of private security. A few of your former female director colleagues are now kept women to filthy rich businessmen.

“No?” He seems surprised.

“No thank you.” You correct, not wanting to draw his ire. His thick brows furrow as he looks at you confused. You only manage it seconds before looking away. He sits back in his chair and you look anywhere but his eyes.

“Would you prefer another position?” He asks but all directors work closely with him. Even from your office you’ve heard him ripping into them on several occasions for mistakes. Director means his personal pawn. It means two am pick up times and calls at all hours of the day and night. Family strain and inconsistency for everyone who isn’t the job. It means he has full control over you, your decisions, company, medical history, romantic partners and every other significantly private thing.

“I’m quite content where I am now” you respond honestly.

“Is it the compensation? If it’s unsatisfactory there is room for negotiations” He explains but  you don’t think there could ever be a number to justify what that position would do to your nerves.

“I can do my job well enough now. My confidence in my abilities isn’t the same for a director position. I can’t commit to more hours or the sporadic demands. Nor am I interested in the travel aspect. My hours now with occasional overtime is what I can manage. I don’t ever want to underdeliver and I know I would as a director” you lie and his skepticism is proof he’s not buying it, at least not fully. 

“I can think of few things more compelling for a young woman than international travel with every luxury” he says.

“You’re the furthest thing from a young woman” you mutter, speaking out of turn. Thankfully his eyes light and he seems more amused than annoyed. He reaches for his glasses taking a file from the folder organizer on his desk. He swipes his clearance fob over it and light flashes into his eye before the file opens. The way his muscles contract for the simplest gestures is sinful. He studies the papers flipping through them and then looks back up at you.

“Is it the dog?” He asks, revealing he’s looking into your file.

“Pardon me?”

“Your dog, is that why you don’t want to travel or take on the promotion?” He asks. You’re the reason. You think to yourself, but it's hardly an appropriate response. “Or has something changed in your personal life?” He pries acting like it’s within his authority. 

“I have nothing I want to flag or discuss” you respond succinctly. Mr. Richmond nods and removes his glasses before putting the paper back into its folder, locking it and setting it back into the organizer. His notifications sound and he checks his luxury watch. He’s so fucking fine. You swallow knowing he’s probably the worst with women.

“You’re free to go” he says dismissively, back to his asshole ways. 

“Good day” you respond but it seems to make him flinch slightly.

“Good day” he responds and you leave.

Author's note: i'm trying to be better about hoarding drafts. So here's a little Aaron fic for the girls 🖤 how do we feel about mean terry? don't forget to ❣ Like, ❝ Comment, ↺ Reblog ☑vote on the polls

tags: @meadows5 @wnbweasley @becauseimher @ariiaeltheedonn @woahthatshitfat @miniaturehideoutmentality @kokobells @ffenthusiastt @sowhatariyana @1xtral1983 @theegoddessofmelanin @fictionalreads @roxytheimmortal @fairytale07 @rampsen @rosey1981 @lauraaan182 @lynaye1993

[kumkaniudaku]

Group Project

Summary: When Asia's in need of a few lessons regarding matters of the bedroom, her colleague and friend, Kelvin, offers his expertise.

Pairing: Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Black!OC

Warnings: Mature Content (18+)

Word Count: 5.9k

MASTERLIST

"Okay. I think…I think I'm ready." 

For seven straight days, Asia moved through life, reliving her response to Kelvin and feeling like she'd just written a check her ass couldn't cash. The real thing. What the fuck had she agreed to?

As she sat next to Sabrina with her feet submerged in tepid, bubbling water, the reality of sex unspooling from a far away abstract thought into a tangible possibility with only hours separating her from facing her wildest fantasies smacked her so hard in the face she almost choked on the flat champagne sliding around her plastic cup. 

"Are you all right over there?" Sabrina asked without looking away from the laminated list of pedicure options. 

Asia attempted to take a steadying breath between coughs. "I think I'm dying," she sputtered. Another sip of the offending beverage helped force down residual mucus until she was able to speak without her throat burning. "Honestly, that might not be such a bad idea." 

"Oh, girl. You're losing your virginity, not going off to fight on the frontlines. Tighten up!" 

"Sabrina," Asia whisper-yelled before shooting a nervous grimace meant as a smile to a few older women thumping about in the massage chairs across from them. "You wanna tell everybody my business over the PA system or tap folks individually?" 

Rolling her eyes, Sabrina passed the laminated menu of pedicures to Asia before taking a sip of red wine. "I'm just sayin', friend. I came out today to help you loosen up, but you're stressin' me out. If you're having second thoughts, I'm sure your man will let you reschedule. I heard y'all on the phone earlier. He seems nice enough."

"I don't want to reschedule. I wanna do it tonight. I'm just…I don't know. I'm nervous about the before stuff. If that goes wrong, the whole night is ruined." 

Asia had spent the better part of a week trying to negotiate with the truth, only to realize that reality drove a hard bargain. She couldn't escape the rising tide of nascent romance threatening to wash away all her preconceived notions about her place in love land. He had to know their no-strings-attached suddenly developed enough strings to power a symphony.

For years, she'd convinced herself that time had passed her by. There were no more opportunities for first dates or first kisses. Men worth their snuff in the world wouldn't waste their time with a woman so demonstrably unsexy that she made Mother Teresa look like a lingerie model. Long-term relationships were for your early 20s. And if those days were lost to being dismissed by any potential love interest within the county line, one was essentially doomed to a life of pet-fostering and spending Valentine's Day indoors to avoid spilling your patheticness on people who'd figured out the game. 

Then came Kelvin, who, by all accounts, seemed to neatly pack each of her insecurities and hang-ups into a tiny box before chucking them into the wind. Asia couldn't understand why he hadn't dropped the entire experiment to canoodle, with women undoubtedly vying for his attention. She knew falling for your first, no matter what stage of life the experience found you, was a rookie mistake. But, the wrongs felt so right with him. How could she not at least try?

Sabrina paused her perusal of neon gel nail lacquer and smiled at her friend. "That boy likes you, Asia." Her matter-of-fact delivery came with a light chuckle as she pushed Asia's shoulder for emphasis. "He's not taking you on a date and sending flowers to the house because y'all are best pals. You can spend today worryin' yourself crazy, but I'm tellin' you it's for no reason. Get out of your head. Take it from somebody who is just now realizing her man never really liked her."

"Damn. I'm guessing you and Eric are back off?"

"Girl, yes. For good. But whatever, it's fine." Sabrina scoffed, waving Asia off as if her split second of vulnerability was nothing more than an observation about the weather, and smiled. "Today's about you! We gon' get these nails done, grab you something sexy for the art hoe, and teach you how to use lube. Condoms are being used, right?"

Asia's eyes darted around the room to catch horrified reactions from anyone who might've heard her business being openly discussed. "Bitch!" She lowered her voice before responding. "Yes, we are using condoms. I went and got them myself."

"That's what the fuck I'm talking about. I got this silicone-based lube that I know you'll love. Makes it feel like nothing's separating y'all. My girl is rubbing fronts tonight! Yesss!" 

"Oh God," Asia groaned as she slouched further into her chair, wishing she could poof into a thin layer of pixie dust if it meant she could escape embarrassment. "I'm gonna die."

Throat clearing and the grating squeak of leather under shifting weight stopped Sabrina's ongoing teasing mid-sentence to bring their attention to a greying black woman with curiosity etched in her barely wrinkled face. "Now, I know y'all weren't talking to me, but I need the name of that lube. Do I need to order it off the Amazon? I just got Prime from my son for Christmas." 

"Oop. I got you, Auntie. Let me see your phone." 

While Sabrina drew in a small crowd of elders looking to get back in the saddle with some slippery assistance, Asia found solace in another scroll of her favorite text thread. 

Can't wait to see you later Missed your face this week

Kelvin's last message included an air kiss gif that Asia would consider corny if not for the sender. Pitch decks, client meetings, and last-minute PTO set them on paths winding in different directions, stealing away all chances at a face-to-face meeting before they were body-to-body. 

If not for an impromptu call before the sun could fully take its rightful place in the sky, all communication would belong to iMessages full of jokes with no context and memes they considered fully fleshed-out thoughts. 

Asia read each message repeatedly just to feel the flutter of butterflies in every corner of her belly. He liked her. He had to. The sweet messages, the peach tulips bound in a pretty brown bow, and the early morning wake-up call couldn't all be kind gestures from a friend. Right? 

An internal battle between logic and wishful thinking played out in Asia's mental colosseum. She volleyed a million possible outcomes back and forth until stilted buzzing and a quiet trill against her wrist drew her attention to an incoming FaceTime call from the man of the hour. 

She slid in an earbud and then answered, instantly smiling as she watched his chain bob back and forth with every step while he kept the camera positioned below his face. Grown-out facial hair created the right amount of scruffiness to turn the heads of young and old women alike. His baseball cap cast a shadow across his cheeks. A cerulean sky boasting specks of fluffy white clouds and bright rays of flattering light highlighted the gleam in his earrings. It fanned outward, turning him into a walking, talking work of art. 

When he finally realized the call had connected and he had the rapt attention of his lone audience member, he looked down and grinned. "What's all that about?" 

"All what?" 

"That little smile," he chuckled. "You showin' teeth and everything, girl. Must be happy to see me." 

Caught. Asia tried to return to a neutral expression but found her face ignoring mental orders to accommodate more and more cheek burning as her smile grew wider. "Whatever! This is your second time calling. You need something, or you just like to hear me talk?" 

"Both," he answered, splitting his attention between an incoming crosswalk and the screen. The usual playfulness in his tone abruptly dissipated, leaving behind a seriousness Asia hadn't experienced. He looked down at her and licked his lips before speaking again. "I just, um…I wanted you to know that I'm cool with not staying the night. That was one of your rules, so don't think you have to change it on account of me. I'll leave in the middle of the night if that means you're comfortable." 

"I want you to stay, Kel. But only if you want to." 

"I already got my bag packed with extra pajamas and my laptop just in case this turns into a whole weekend. C'mon, now. This me you talking to!" 

Asia lifted a brow, shocked by his eagerness to spend days on end in her cramped apartment. "My bad! Didn't know you'd be so excited for a sleepover with little 'ol me." 

"I'm always excited to be with you," he answered. Dual smiles radiating from opposite ends of the city held steady over the phone until Kelvin pulled open a door and ushered in a harsh mix of sounds. "I gotta go. My boy's already on my ass for being late. He about to lose his tip, to be honest."

Asia's laughter drew attention, forcing her to shoo Sabrina away before she could interrupt. "Go ahead and get your haircut. Let me see when you're – girl, go away!"  

"Tell your girl I said 'hey,'" Kelvin chuckled as he eased his way into an empty barber chair. His eyes lingered on her face for a moment longer, trying to commit her scrunched nose and knitted brows to memory in case their time together was winding down. "I gotta go. I'll see you later, pretty." 

Her farewell was lost to petty arguments with her best friend on her end and a groundswell of hooping and hollering behind an offending opinion amongst a shop full of men on his side. A huff of air pushed past his lips in a short laugh as he slid his phone into the front pocket of his jeans. 

His barber and friend, Brandon, shook his head and tapped his foot on the pedal to lift Kelvin to the right height. "That's shorty from the bar that night? China?" 

"Asia," Kelvin corrected, a miffed frown deepening the lines at the corners of his mouth. "And, yeah. That's her." 

"My fault. You be way too secretive though, bro. How did y'all meet? Do you like her? Y'all just kickin' it? Tell me something, or I'm fuckin' up the fade."

Black nylon cascading in front of his face gave Kelvin a split second to decide how much information he could share with his notoriously talkative right-hand man without opening the door to prying questions and needless revelations. 

He scratched at the itching hair on his jawline, trying to appear nonchalant. "We met at work. She was new, I showed her around, and now we cool. Simple." An instant smile betrayed his forced tough-guy act. 

"Nah, you cheesin'! Tell the real story!"

The poker face he'd tried to maintain continued to slip into a full display of all thirty-plus teeth. 

"Alright, alright," Kelvin conceded. For months, he kept the truth relegated to his personal journal and mental interviews with Jimmy Kimmel while he practiced for superstardom in the shower. At least one other person should hear how he willingly tangled himself in Asia Scott's web. "I actually saw her when she interviewed. Bad, bro. I'm talkin' make you stop in your tracks just to watch her walk by type fine. Had me stuck at the coffee bar looking stupid." 

Brandon hummed as he pushed Kelvin's head down to start his cut. "Mhmm. That's how it starts, for real. She said something to you first, or what?" 

"Nah, I approached her. Not even trying to cross that line, really. I was supposed to just say what's up and keep it professional, but I couldn't stop talking after that. Next thing I know, we eating lunch, and I'm askin' this girl about her goals and shit." Kelvin laughed to himself while internally watching the memory unfold like a rom-com for his heart and mind only.  "She ain't ask nothin' about me, and I ain't even care. I just wanted to be around her."

"Sound like you got it bad, my boy."

Kelvin released an air he didn't know he was holding through his nose. "Yeah, man. I like her. A lot, actually. I'm thinkin' about saying something when we go out tonight, but…I don't know. It might not be the right time considering what I got goin' on."

"They must be talkin' 'bout some money in Chicago." 

"And then some," Kelvin added. "Crazy perks, revenue share, development plans. My whole life might change."

A loose connection from portfolio school and an expensive cold brew on a rainy weekday afternoon turned Kelvin's professional world upside down in less than two weeks. Initially, he wasn't interested in a move, even if the current work was no longer challenging and forward motion had stalled. His job was easy, flexible, and enough to pay the bills with a little extra on the side. But, a half-hour chemistry meeting with two creative leads over Zoom ran fifteen minutes too long from vibes alone. Then, solid chemistry turned into a first-round interview with a few department heads ogling over his professional and personal work for almost an hour before promising to keep in touch. Radio silence on their end for over a week convinced Kelvin that the circus was over, and he was free to go back to his life of easy money for even easier work. Hell, he didn't want to live in cold-ass Chicago anyway. 

Then the phone rang. And the inbox blew up. Flights got booked. Hotel arrangements were made. Hasty, last-minute PTO requests were granted in good faith. Tired eyes shielded by blue light lenses watched clouds part over a glittering city from thousands of feet in the air. A non-traditional second-round interview over piping hot pizza turned him into the center of attention. Corporate banter while he sipped freezing cold beer in lower-level seats at a Bulls game ended with a handshake and Kelvin sensing that he'd have a decision on his hands in the coming weeks. 

Asia. She popped into his mind more than a few times while too-cool advertising types wined and dined him in hopes his talent would fill out their roster. All of the progress, all of the accidentally tender moments and slip-ups he knew in his heart were more than happy accidents flooded him with ceaseless anxiety. Sure, he could see them planning weekend trips back and forth to keep the flame alive in a budding relationship. Long-distance courtship wasn't ideal, but he'd manage for her. However, his feelings about the matter were inconsequential. One false move, and he'd be out of a friend and potential lover. The thought alone threatened to upend a night he'd carefully planned since they agreed to their unconventional arrangement. 

The soft buzz of clippers near his right ear rescued Kelvin from spiraling as chunks of dead hair fell around him. 

"Aye, man, I ain't no love expert or nothing, but," Brandon started, his attention far off while he focused on his money-making blend. "You like her. I could tell when you brought her over to us that night, but I ain't wanna blow up your spot. Might as well say something. Why you wanna go to Chicago with regrets? You already 'bout to be up there with a slaw ass haircut because I ain't givin' up no contacts. Lose my number after this, nigga." 

Kelvin kissed his teeth and waved Brandon off. "I deleted your contact this morning if we being honest. Been tired of your ass." 

Shared laughter between two men who'd seen each other, from the naivety of boyhood to the hurdles and joys on the journey to becoming a man, added levity to a bitter inner storm. Kelvin tried to savor the moment and advice without dwelling on impending decisions but found the task harrowing once he popped the bubble they'd created to re-enter the real world. 

Regrets. Kelvin had a lot of them. Skipping out on senior prom, not answering his sister's FaceTime call for free Kendrick Lamar tickets, choosing that sketchy roommate to make ends meet in his first year out of school – the list went on and on. Asia couldn't be one of them. Not knowing if there could've been more would gnaw at him til kingdom come, and he didn't have room to harbor more what-ifs.

Standing shoulder to shoulder with Asia, half listening to instructions with sweaty palms and a heart nearly cracking ribs in his chest, Kelvin resolved to use his last bits of nerve to step out on a limb. 

Sax heavy jazz selections wrapped a rented test kitchen and the couples within its walls in a sensual embrace under dim yellow light. Kelvin had TikTok and a favor to thank for snagging the final spot in Shawn and Terricka's coveted Couples Night In cooking course. In one night, he and Asia would take a culinary trip to Italy, complete with expert wine pairings and handmade pasta to bring them together as two parts of a whole. Kelvin couldn't say he was much of a fettuccine, linguini, bow tie, rigatoni guy. Still, he'd never forget how Asia's face lit up when she showed him videos of young women making noodles from scratch. He went to the ends of the Earth and his wallet to orchestrate an experience she wouldn't forget on a night when every detail down to the minute required perfection.

"Are you listening?" Asia asked with a teasing smile as she adjusted the complementary apron, shielding her from what was sure to be a mess if she had anything to do with it. 

He puffed his chest and straightened before clapping his hands and looking around their station at the ingredients in front of them. "Y-yeah. I heard everything she said. Eggs, flour, this thing…" He paused to satisfy his curiosity with a single crank of the pasta roller's handle before continuing. "It's, uh…all here." 

Asia watched him search the depths of his mind for any crumb of retained information, enjoying the way his lips shifted back and forth in pensive silence. 

Overhead light bathed Kelvin in a flattering glow, making the small stud in his ear and the watch on his wrist shine each time he moved his head. A soft black cashmere cardigan cradled strong arms, while his signature crisp white T-shirt displayed his broadening chest. His fresh haircut and trimmed facial hair sent tingles to all the right places, reminding Asia of the first time she noticed he was fine. 

"You're cute when you pretend you know what you're doing." 

Kelvin gave her a half smile without tearing his eyes away from the short list of step-by-step instructions in his hand. "Oh yeah? Only then?" 

"Well, all the time. But especially when you're thinking. Like how you're trying to remember Terricka's instructions when she hasn't even given us any yet. She was introducing the class and telling us we'd be sharing a little about ourselves in a bit.”

A sheepish grin preceded a gentle bump against Asia's forearm before Kelvin's shoulders bounced in quiet laughter. "Why you doin' me like that? If you didn't look so damn good in this dress, we'd have a problem." 

"Oh, so it's the dress?" Asia quipped as Kelvin leaned back for a better look. 

He nodded and reached out to pull her closer by the waist. His lips quickly found a home on her ear to keep their conversation private in a room full of chattering adults. "It's more than the dress. You're gorgeous, baby." 

Sweet compliments mumbled against soft, brown skin drowned out couple after couple sharing their names, length of relationship, and fun facts until a loud hand clap snapped Asia and Kelvin's attention to the center of the room. 

"And you two," Shawn questioned with all eyes directed toward the youngest two in attendance. "Tell us about your love." 

Kelvin gripped Asia tighter and cleared his throat. "Uh, I'm Kelvin, and this is Asia."

"Hey, y'all," Asia chimed with a quick wave. 

"And we're…" Kelvin looked at Asia, smiling at her while she smiled back at him, to find an explanation for what they'd been doing for a month. "We're enjoying our time together." His gaze remained steadfast on Asia's bashful grin. "Maybe we'll finish tonight on a different note, though." 

Red wine, teamwork, and a stack of questions printed on thick white note cards would ensure that the pair at least ended their first date with a greater understanding of each other. Asia learned Kelvin was an artist in every sense of the word. He preferred freestyling the tedious pasta recipe when directions called for specificity in every regard. Asia kept them on task, but not without redirecting her excitable companion along the way. 

Kelvin quickly discovered that all of Asia's know-how completely disappeared when faced with kitchen matters. She didn't know a ¼ cup from a half and didn't have any intentions of learning. Her forte was delegating tasks, not sullying her painted fingernails and oiled cuticles with egg yolks and wet dough. 

Separately, they were a clusterfuck of missing parts trying to navigate an arduous task. Together, though, they crafted the best mafaldine their instructors for the night had ever seen from amateurs. 

Tucked in a corner at the far end of the space's makeshift eating area, Kelvin and Asia plucked cards one after the other in a back-and-forth Q&A over flavorful mafaldine pasta bolognese. 

"Mm, this is a good one," Asia said after a sip of cabernet. "What is your favorite thing about your partner? What's one thing you would change?" 

Kelvin twirled pasta around his fork and thought for a moment. "You don't take a lot of shit. I like that you're very direct and in charge of what you want." 

"And something you would change?" 

"That's easy," he answered through a chew. "You're too hard on yourself. I wish you could see yourself how everyone else sees you. I know you think we're all just being nice, but you really are incredible. I love watching you blossom." Kelvin watched Asia digest his words over her glass, the wheels churning in her active mind. He reached across the table to grab another card. "What's one thing you want me to know about our relationship?" 

That I'm falling for you, and I don't want this to end. One hundred answers flooded in at once, but Asia settled on one. "I want you to know how appreciative I am for…all this. You've been kind when you could've called me a loser and left me in that bar to be with your friends." 

"I wouldn't have done that, Asia. Not to you." 

"I know," Asia assured as she dragged the last vowel. "But, you could've. So, thank you for being so kind and patient. By tomorrow, that'll all be done, and we'll go back to our lives, so I didn't wanna miss the chance to let you know how I feel." 

Confusion made Kelvin tilt his head to one side, studying her face under the haze of full-bodied wine and growing affection. "Go back to my life? Where's that coming from?"

"I just mean, it seems like we're coming to the natural end of this thing we're doing. We'll still be friends, but you'll be free to fly. Maybe sweep somebody off their feet. You're good at that," Asia clarified, her smile lingering as the familiar bloom of feelings coursing through her veins made her stomach flutter.

Kelvin placed his fork against his plate before pulling the napkin from his lap and depositing it on the table. No regrets. Now or never. A short laugh brought with it a charming grin aimed at his favorite girl. 

"Asia, I guess haven't been super clear with you from the start,"  He started while motioning for her hand in the center of the table. Asia answered his wordless call and placed her fingers in the center of his warm palm. He leaned closer, hoping she could detect his eyes' sincerity when he finally breathed out, "I like you, Asia. Shit, even 'like' is too small," He laughed. "I…I adore you. I crave you. I look forward to seeing you. I think about you constantly. I feel connected to you. I want to be with you. Does any of that make sense?" 

Asia sat stone still and unblinking for a moment, mulling over words she had only dreamt of hearing from another. An explicit declaration of intent – feeling foreign in her ears but familiar to a heart that longed for reciprocation. 

Her thumb caressed the back of Kelvin's hand as a smile spread her cheeks to their limit and deepened dimples she almost forgot existed. "Guess I'm a better kisser than I thought, huh?"

"Actually, I don't know. Let me check real quick." Metal dragging across stained concrete brought Kelvin's chair closer to Asia until their knees touched, transferring heat between their bodies. His fingers grazed her jawline, never averting his attention from her equally unwavering gaze. "Come here." 

Asia's favorite command, delivered in a sultry mumble, made hair all over her body stand straight up as they moved to meet each other in the middle. 

One tentative peck introduced a slow progression of deep, passionate kisses, translating latent feelings into a language only bodies could speak. A barely audible moan slipped out of Asia's mouth when Kelvin nipped at her lip, reminding them an audience wasn't far away. They pulled away slowly with equally glazed-over eyes and goofy grins.

Kelvin smiled and swiped at Asia's bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "Way better." He listened to her sweet giggle, grinning back until the sound reminded him of the question left unanswered. "Look, four weeks didn't spark how I feel about you. They helped, don't get me wrong, but I knew I wanted you as more than a friend the second you strolled into that office. If we're not on the same page, I understand. But if there's any chance we are, any chance –" 

"We're on the same page, same sentence, same word. But we can talk about what all that means tomorrow, okay?" Carnal desire propelled Asia forward for another slow kiss and feather-soft caress that threatened to bring Kelvin to his knees. She inched away to keep her lips on his as she spoke. "Right now, take me home. I don't wanna wait anymore."

------

Hopefully, Alister liked SZA. 

As barely intelligible love songs oozed from her Bluetooth speaker, Asia attempted to stifle sounds of pleasure with her forearm pressed against her mouth and one leg draped lazily over her lover's shoulder. Languid, thorough oral affection kept her lower back levitated off the mattress. Soft moaning melding with subtle slurping and smacking treated her ears to a beautiful symphony catered to her. 

Kelvin's fingers pressed into Asia's flesh to keep her steady while he lapped at the beginning of what he hoped was only her first orgasm for the night. Nervousness had him self-conscious. Skills he'd practiced and mastered long before she stepped into his life felt foreign. Was he doing it right? Did she like it? Was she happy? He suppressed the urge to question her satisfaction, instead leaning on every wanton sigh and muffled moan as proof he was on the right path. 

"Oh my God," Asia whispered to the ceiling. "Don't stop!" 

Immeasurable euphoria washed over her naked body as her hips bucked to accommodate electric shocks from head to toe. Hey, eyes crossed behind closed lids. Her toes curled while all ten fingers gripped the sheets. 

"One down," Kelvin thought to himself as he smiled against thighs pressed tight to his face. 

If not for her hand prying his face away after she'd exhausted herself from cumming, he'd start from scratch and bring her to the mountaintop until his jaws locked. But, he relented under her breathless pleas for a break. 

Slowly, Kelvin kissed his way up Asia's belly, making pit stops at both breasts and his favorite spot beneath her right ear before connecting their lips. They groaned at her taste intermingling with remnants of alcohol while their tongues reacquainted in a waltz too perfect to be a sin. He could feel his rational thoughts running south to stiffen his neglected member against briefs, growing more and more uncomfortable as the minutes passed.

Kelvin shifted his attention back to Asia's neck so he could speak against the spot. "You feel ready or need more?" His tongue sliding across the pulsing stretch of hot skin made Asia shiver under his body weight. He smiled and pulled back to get a better look at Asia's face. "You feel ready. Talk to me, pretty." 

"Okay," she answered as her arms encircled his neck. "Promise you'll go slow?" 

He nodded before dipping his head to peck her lips. "As slow as you need. I'll take care of you."

Years of waiting for someone to cherish her enough to take the plunge had culminated in undergarments discarded across the room and a single sleeve of thin latex covered in expensive lube separating her from the only man to see her in her most vulnerable form. 

This was it. This was the moment. She'd dreamed about it plenty of times, imagining the most minute details, from the weather to how she'd sound at the height of her climax. Mirages filled with rose petals on the floor and a soft breeze coming through the window made up a scenario better suited for a romance novel than the reality of finally releasing pent-up sexual tension.

Asia expected pain for the first time. She'd heard the horror stories and done enough research to know what was waiting on the other side of first-time penetration. Breathing recommendations and practiced facial expressions to mask her true feelings came flooding back to the front of her mind as Kelvin ran his palms up and down her hips to soothe her while he positioned himself at her entrance. She held her breath. Waiting, anticipating limb-splitting fire to consume her body.

But, as Kelvin slowly sank into her and twin groans of pure, unadulterated ecstasy eclipsed the opening notes of Love Galore, all of her assumptions became background fodder. 

Asia gripped Kelvin's tensed bicep while he stilled deep in her heat, watching her face for any signs of discomfort. "You okay," He questioned through shallow pants.

"Mhmm," she hummed before reaching to bring his face closer. "You feel so good already." Kelvin closed his eyes to will away premature release while she pulsed around him. Asia stroked his cheek and arched into his chest to beg him to move inside her. "Please. I trust you, Kel. It's okay." 

As promised, Kelvin started slow, rolling his hips into her for shallow strokes that made Asia's voice hoarse and her head spin. He reveled in the feel of ridged walls greeting his arrival as they tugged and released him according to pace. He lowered himself into the crook of her neck and felt instant relief when she cradled him close. The bed creaked in time to every measured back and forth, adding another layer to the duet their individual moaning created. 

Hot, slick skin on crumpled cold sheets wouldn't allow Asia to drift too far into La La Land. She feasted on Kelvin digging deeper and gripping her tighter while her body did the work to accommodate inch after glorious inch. 

Kelvin tried to remain quiet, tempering each grunt and unidentifiable sound as his hips loosened to find a rhythm perfect enough to elicit high-pitched mewls from the apple of his eye while she dug her fingernails into his back. 

"Look at you," Kelvin cooed as he pushed back up onto his forearms to get the full experience of Asia's face twisting in pleasure. "You're so fucking pretty. Open your eyes." 

"Kel…" 

He moved to bring one leg up to his waist for a new angle. "I'm right here, baby. Open those pretty eyes for me. Your first time only happens once. Don't look away." He waited patiently for Asia to force her sagging lids open enough to reveal the punchdrunk haze of a methodical fucking. He smiled down at her. "There she is. How you feelin'?" 

"So…oh my God…so good." 

"That's what I like to hear. I feel you getting close. You feel that?" 

A long, choppy moan came out before Asia's slurred response. "Mhmm. I think I'm…. mmm, I think I'm… I'm close." 

"Yeah, you are. Relax for me. Breathe deep." Asia tried to keep track of instructions but lost the plot and her sense of hearing the moment Kelvin slipped his hand between them to rub her clit with his thumb. 

The barely familiar coil of release tightened in her lower abdomen as Kelvin rocked into her while whispering sweet everything onto the corner of her mouth. Asia wrapped her arms around his shoulders for stability, anticipating the first wave of heat trying to prepare her body for something more intense. 

Her breathing grew rigid. The world slipped away pixel by pixel. Thoughts turned into mush. Kelvin's instructions returned as fleeting anecdotes. Asia tried to breathe through it but found the task playing second fiddle to the natural tense and release of her thighs around his waist. 

In through your nose, Asia. The reminder pinged around the empty corners of her mind until they found a way to burrow into the only functioning part of her brain. 

Kelvin watched her cycle through a range of all too familiar feelings from overhead, pride, and a competitive spirit he thought he left in high school, convincing him to go above and beyond. He drove his hips a little harder to hear the headboard thumb against paper-thin drywall. Added pressure on her sensitive button was the magic key to turning a small pond into one of the great lakes. 

Asia's jaw dropped to force out a throaty, "Fuck, baby…yes!" before he eased up to allow her to experience all the joy of post-coital bliss without the overstimulation. He'd save that for another time if the universe allowed. 

Sabrina was so wrong about what to expect. All Asia's hang-ups about ending the night unsatisfied or unimpressed were washed away as sensation returned to her fingers and toes. 

"Kiss me." It's all she wanted – Kelvin's lips on hers until her oxygen became his. 

They lay there, hot, sweaty, and still connected at the waist while Kelvin pressed tender kisses on Asia's lips. He nuzzled his nose against hers. "You called me 'baby.'" 

"I know," she answered as she brought her hand up to rub a spot at the base of his neck. "I meant to. Don't make me regret it." 

Guilt smacked into Kelvin like an 18-wheeler, but he maintained his composure to maintain the hopeful smile on Asia's face. "I won't." 

"Good. Don't hold back on me this time. I want all of you." 

"This time" turned into another, a short break and a few more for good measure while SZA sang them into the wee hours of the morning. Kelvin poured himself into making every minute worth Asia's while as a reward for trusting him with her body. 

Chicago and its host of budding issues belonged to another day. He wasn't leaving the room, her apartment, or the city with any regrets. Not while he still had so many more lessons to teach.

-------

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[frnkandthechemicalromances]

Pete Hagseth just got confirmed to be the Secretary of Defense....

If you don't know who he is, he is most known for being a fox news anchor and was formerly a rank 04 (aka major)in the military. For reference the highest a person can rank is an O10.

At his confirmation hearing couldn't answer question about international affairs and when asked if he would defy illegal orders from trump he refused to answer properly. Has written books stating he wants to bring back waterboarding, how he doesn't think we should follow the geneva convention and that america is above internstional law. Stated on fox news that women shouldn't serve in the military and should be mothers. Also told stories of when he was in the military and made his men ignore commands for superiors (which could get the dishonorably discharged). Wanted to pardon war criminals who were turned in by fellow soldiers. Had multiple failed companies, multiple claims of being drunk at work (disqualifying factor for the job), accused of rape but paid off victim and made her sign an nda(disqualified factor if it had gone to court). And claimed every bad thing against him was "anonymous smears" even though they had records of and names of these accounts (including his mother).

I'm so disgusted that the government would even allow for this repulsive human being to be the secretary of defense.He has no sense of right and wrong and will do anything trump asks of him. Legal or not. Constitutional or not.

[echo-riot]

✞⛧ A Slip of the Tongue (Sevika x Reader) ✞⛧

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Brief mentions of intoxication and embarrassment, Slightly suggestive dialogue, Fluff with a hint of teasing…mommy kink-

You’re slumped at the corner of the bar in the Leaky Drop, nursing a drink that tastes far too bitter and burns far too much, but you’re already too deep into the bottle to care. Ricky, the guy you vaguely know from around, sits next to you, rambling about how life’s unfair and women are complicated. His words blur together in your head because the only thing you can focus on is the sheer mortification washing over you in waves.

You had called Sevika earlier. Big mistake. Huge.

You’d just wanted to check in—or maybe hear her voice—because drowning your feelings in alcohol wasn’t working. But in your drunken haze, the words that slipped from your lips were, “Miss you, mommy,” before you had the good sense to realize what you’d just said.

The line went silent.

You panicked and hung up, heart pounding, cheeks on fire, fully aware that you have never called her that before. Not even as a joke.

Now you’re spiraling, avoiding looking at your phone while Ricky drones on, and the alcohol starts dragging you under. You’re about to crash out right here at the bar because there’s no way in hell you can go home and face the consequences.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there, slouched in the corner of the Leaky Drop like a statue of poor decisions. Ricky’s still talking—something about his ex and how she ran off with his neighbor—but you’re too far gone to care. Your focus flickers between the chipped edge of your glass and the phone sitting face down on the bar like it’s about to bite you.

You haven’t touched it since the call. Since you said that and hung up before Sevika could react.

A low groan escapes your lips as you drop your head onto your crossed arms. Why the hell did you think drinking would help? Better yet, why did you think calling her would help? She’s probably sitting in her apartment right now, replaying your drunken slip-up and wondering what the hell is wrong with you.

Or worse, she’s pissed.

The thought of Sevika being mad makes your stomach churn harder than the booze already has. You want to crawl into a hole and stay there until the memory evaporates—or until you die, whichever comes first.

Ricky nudges your shoulder. “You good? You look like someone just killed your dog.”

“Feel like someone did,” you mutter, voice muffled against your arms.

“Want me to call someone for you?”

You sit up abruptly, the movement making the room tilt. “Nope. Bad idea. No calls.”

Ricky shrugs and goes back to nursing his drink, leaving you alone with your spiraling thoughts. Just as you’re about to sink back into your personal hell, the sound of heavy boots hitting the wooden floor drags your attention toward the entrance.

Your heart stops.

It’s Sevika.

She looks as intimidating as ever, her trench coat swaying slightly as she strides toward the bar with purpose. Her sharp eyes lock onto yours instantly, and you know—you know—she’s here because of you.

Ricky whistles low. “Damn, she’s scary. You know her?”

“Unfortunately,” you mumble, sinking deeper into your seat.

She stops a few feet away, towering over you with an unreadable expression. Her eyes flick to the nearly empty bottle beside you, then to Ricky, who wisely decides it’s time to find another place to sit.

“Out,” she says, jerking her head toward the door.

You blink. “What?”

“Out. Now.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

Your legs feel like jelly as you slide off the stool, trying not to trip over your own feet as you follow her out into the cold Zaun air. The door shuts behind you with a sharp thud, and the silence is deafening.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. You’re too busy bracing yourself for the scolding of a lifetime, staring down at the cracked pavement. But then Sevika steps closer, tilting her head slightly as if trying to get a better look at your face.

“You drunk?” she asks, her voice softer than you expected.

“Maybe,” you admit, rubbing the back of your neck. “I wasn’t—uh—I didn’t mean to call you. I mean, I did, but not like that. And the ‘mommy’ thing? Total accident. Just…slipped out.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, and when you finally gather the courage to look at her, you’re met with an amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“‘Mommy,’ huh?”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

She chuckles—chuckles—and the sound sends a confusing mix of relief and embarrassment through you.

“Relax,” she says, stepping closer until she’s right in front of you. “It was…unexpected. But cute.”

Your hands drop, and you gape at her. “Cute?”

She shrugs, her smirk widening. “Yeah. Not something I thought I’d ever hear you say, but… I could get used to it.”

Your brain short-circuits. “Wait. Are you—are you serious right now?”

Her hand reaches out, tilting your chin up so you’re forced to meet her gaze. Her expression softens, the playful edge giving way to something more genuine.

“You’re drunk, and you’ve had a rough night,” she says. “But if you wanna call me ‘mommy’ again when you’re sober…” She leans in, her voice dropping to a low murmur. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Your breath catches, and all you can do is nod, your cheeks burning hotter than ever.

“Good.” She steps back, her usual confidence sliding back into place. “Now, let’s get you home before you pass out on the street.”

You follow her silently, your mind reeling as you replay her words over and over again. Maybe this night wasn’t a total disaster after all.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 33 (Human!Alastor x Married!Reader)

CW: Fingering, nudity, consent is sexy

Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi Show your support by leaving a tip, buy Kit a coffee

“I want to make you feel good,” you whispered, eyes wide and tearful, daring from where he held your wrists, then to his crotch, hardly looking different from it had before and then up to his eyes. 

“No,” he said again, “I don’t- You don’t need to do-” 

You pulled your wrists from his hands, his grip slack enough to let you do so easily, though he could have kept you in place. Leaning back, you wrapped your arms around yourself, hiding your chest as you curled into yourself. 

You had been being a silly girl again. 

He didn’t want you like that.

“I’m sorry, I- I thought-” You shook your head, tears spilling from your eyes as you looked everywhere but at him. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Your knees shook as you stood, looking for anything you could use to cover yourself instead of standing before him naked. Tears dripped down your face, leaving burning trails of shame on your cheeks. Angerly, you batted them away, not noticing Alastor standing until his hands rested on your forearms and then on either side of your face. 

Thumbs caressed your cheeks as he looked into eyes that refused to meet his. “What’s wrong?” he said, “Talk to me. Why are you crying?” 

“It’s-” you forced yourself to smile, a bitter laugh you had intended to sound sunny bubbled from your chest. “It’s nothing. I’m just being a silly-” 

“Talk to me,” Alastor reiterated, smile nearly wiped from his lips. “I cannot fix it if you do not talk to me.” 

“I- It’s silly, I’m just being-”

“I’ll be the judge of that, but if it has you in tears, I doubt it’s truly silly so, stop saying that.” 

You braved looking at him, peeking at the warm brown eyes that held nothing but worry. His eyes begged you to trust him, to open up to him, to give him just a little more. “Why don’t you want me?” 

The words were so soft that Alastor nearly didn’t hear them. For a moment, he stood there simply looking at you as the impact of what he had done, what it had made you believe, washed over him. 

“I do, ma cherie,” Alastor said simply. 

“You don’t.” You were nearly weeping again as you shook your head in his hands.

 The buzz of the electricity in the lights and the ticking of the wall clock seemed deafeningly loud. The sound seemed to drown out the roar of your pulse in your ears. You hugged your arms around you tighter, trying to shrink away. It was silly to think he would want you in the way a man wants a woman. 

“I do,” Alastor insisted, leaning down to be more on your level. “I wouldn’t touch you in these ways if I didn’t.” 

It was a lie, he knew that, but it was a lie he felt alright telling. He’d touched many women he couldn’t care less about, simply to see to it he had the right kind of reputation as a man or to manipulate them, to get something from them. 

The difference was he didn’t dread touching you. He wanted to touch you. He wanted to hear the sounds you made. It wasn’t the right time for him to examine why touching you wasn’t a chore, why he wanted to. 

“Why don’t you want me to-” You didn’t know how to say it without sounding like a harlot. “You’ve felt every part of me and I- I haven’t felt you. You haven’t tried to- to take me.” 

“That has nothing to do with-” Alastor’s thumb smoothed over the damp skin under your eye as he tried to calm you. 

At some point, he made a mistake, and you were hurting for it. He hoped to protect you, to comfort you, yet you were in tears because he failed to read your needs well enough. He had been selfish, taking his entertainment in pleasing you without considering what he could have been saying with his actions… or lack of action. 

“If you don’t want me, that’s fine.” You spoke over him, wet eyes darting to the floor. 

“I do,” Alastor pulled your chin up, forcing you to look at him as he spoke. “But Cher, what I do isn’t about me. I’m after your pleasure. I want to see you pleased. I want to bring you pleasure you never thought possible.”

“What about you?” You pressed, “If you do, why don’t you what to be pleased? Why don’t I ever feel-”

“I don’t need to be,” Alastor pulled you into his arms, holding your naked body to his bare chest as he backed you both back to the couch. When he backed up against it, he let his legs fold, pulling you down with him. He sat with you in his lap, keeping your body close to his. You were mildly aware of the slick smeared around your pubic area and thighs, surely smearing into his trousers as he shifted you in his lap. 

“What does that mean?” You wiped the tears away, “Can you not?” 

“I can,” Alastor was quick to assure you before falling silent. Seconds that felt like hours ticked off, marked by the deafening sound of the clock. 

“Then why?” You whispered, too scared to ask if you were not pleasing enough to his eyes. Perhaps there was something wrong with you. There had to be, though he was too kind to say it.. 

“I don’t…” Alastor paused, head falling back against the couch as he sighed, taking his glasses off and letting the wall across from the couch become fuzzy. 

He wanted her; he knew that. He wanted her not as a friend. He wanted her as a wife. He wanted her as a partner. He wanted her as his everything, and so she deserved to know what she was getting by picking him. 

“I’m not consumed with the need to seek pleasure,” Alastor settled for saying, eyes straight ahead. “I can. I’m perfectly capable of functioning but I just… don’t. The drive isn’t consuming. I don’t need it.”

“I don’t understand?” you whisper, scared that if you spoke anything closer to normal volume you would shatter this moment of vulnerability. 

“I don’t need it. What I need is for you to feel good. Your pleasure consumes me. Seeing to your needs drives me. I am satisfied with that.” 

“And that’s why I dont… don’t feel you?” 

Alastor shrugged, “I avoid that, when I don’t…” He hesitated, looking for the right word, “need it. It’s distracting.” 

Silence ticked on as both of you seemed to wait for the other shoe to drop. “You need my pleasure?” You asked finally. 

“Like air to breathe,” Alastor said simply. “It consumes me. Burns through my thoughts. It’s shameful how it haunts me.” 

“What if… What if I needed your pleasure?” you braved resting your hand on the center of his torso, feeling his warmth and the muscles bunched under. 

“You’ve been doing just fine,” Alastor rested his hand on yours, running both up his chest as he wrapped his fingers around yours. 

“Just because I- I am doing that, that thing you make me do, doesn’t mean I’m not wanting more. It feels unbalanced.”

“I don’t need anything,” Alastor kissed the palm of your hand, “All I need to balance it is know you’re pleased and satisfied, that I am giving you something he cannot.” 

“What if I’m not?” You tried to will the tears from your eyes, but they still flowed down your cheeks anew. “What if I want more? What if part of me isn’t satisfied?” 

“You don’t need to do anything for me.” 

“But what if I do?” You turned, facing him better and resting both hands against his chest to brace yourself. “What if I need to please you so I can feel like- like I’m more than I am in this?” 

“You wish to?” Alastor asked carefully. “Truly? Not because you feel you have to? Not because you think I’ll leave without it? Not because you’ve been made to believe your worth is based on it?” 

“I want to,” you pressed. “I want to know what it’s like to- to do those things with a man who loves me, who cares… with a man I love.” 

Alastor was quiet for a moment before pulling you to his chest, nestling you against him. Hot skin burned against you while you waited for what he would say, to see if he would reject you again. He took a slow, deep breath and let it out with a sigh. You waited with your eyes locked on the mark you had left on his neck, scared to push harder and yet terrified of what he would say.

“I want to,” you whispered, slowly running a hand down his chest. “If you’ll let me, if I can?” 

Alastor hooked a finger under your chin, pulling you to look at him as he spoke. “The moment you do not want to anymore, you stop. I don’t care if I’ve not… reached completion. It’s for you. For your enjoyment. Do you understand me?” 

You nodded but Alastor sat frozen still until you squeaked out a soft word of agreement. As soon as you did, Alastor leaned forward and captured yours in a sweet kiss. His hand ran down your back and you gasped into the kiss. He wasted no time slipping his tongue between your parted lips. 

Timid fingers ran along the buckle of his belt as he leaned back, pulling you with him. His hands were so strong as they lifted you, pulling you softly until you were straddling his lap. The smooth fabric of his trowsers under your naked legs, core hovering over him as he tasted you, drinking up the small sighs you let out while his hands roamed your back, holding you. 

Bright brown eyes looked back at your still wet eyes as you pulled back, feeling his hand slide down and cup the swell of your ass. Leaning forward, you tried to remember all the ways Alastor had turned you into a gasping mess as you kissed his jaw and down his neck. 

Hot, open-mouthed kisses you hoped were not just a pale imitation of what he did. You gasped as his back arched a little, his eyes closed as his head fell back as your lips moved over the surely sore place you had bitten him. 

There it was. You felt it. Just a twitch, but it was there as your teeth ghosted over his skin. 

Alastor pulled you tighter against him as his hand reached down from behind, running between your legs. Fingers caressed your folds as you kissed his neck, tentatively running teeth over flesh. Growing bolder by the moment, you worked the belt buckle free as you softly bit his neck, just above where you had sunk your teeth in before.

“You don’t have to do that,” Alastor whispered above you.

“Do you not like that?” You whispered back, grasping midway through as his fingers plunged into you from behind, three wide and spreading your opening easily. You rocked back into his hand before you understood what you were doing, sinking his fingers deeper into you.

“I-” Alastor started before changing direction, “It’s not needed,” 

“That’s not what I asked,” you whispered, grazing him with your teeth again as you felt the twitch of him. 

“I just need a few moments to feel you enjoying yourself,” Alastor said as he worked his fingers in and out, long arms giving him the reach to do so while you were working your mouth on his neck. 

Whatever his feelings on you biting him, you knew it got a reaction even if he wouldn’t talk about it. That’s alright, you decided as you moaned in his ear, his other hand caressing your clit from the front. In time, you would learn every way that Alastor liked to be touched. 

“You’re so wet,” Alastor whispered, head leaned back and Adam’s apple bobbing. You couldn’t help but kiss it. “You’re dipping.” 

Looking down your body and between your legs, you saw he was right. Shame burned through you for a moment, only to be quickly replaced by something else burning as you watched the long, clear glob of slick swaying from your opening. Alastor’s fingers continued working in and out of you as you watched the glob reach his pants. 

You hadn’t realized the orgasm was sneaking up on you until it hit. Your arms gave out, and you had little chance but to ride it out, laying on his chest as your legs trembled and twitched, The weight of your body and the force of his hand working in and out of you was all that kept you on your knees though they spread wider, lowering you closer to him. 

Your pubic mound grazed him as you twitched, rocking with his hand as waves of pleasure coursed through you. You gripped his trousers as if they would somehow ground you as you cried out against his neck.

There was another twitch, stronger, and something remained as you ground against him. It was happening. He was responding to you. That realization caused you to clench around his fingers, still working in and out of you with lewd squelching sounds as a second orgasm chased the first. 

It was too much and god; you craved more. You felt like every part of you was breaking apart with the force of it as you felt him again, becoming firmer under you while you cried out his name. His focus on what he was doing was razor sharp, head to the side to give you room as you writhed in his lap. 

Part of you wondered if he was trying to work you to the point of insanity so that you’d not have the energy to please him. Perhaps he was, but you could feel him now and that kept the fire inside you burning. You needed to have him, though you did not know what you were doing in practice. 

It terrified you how much you wanted something that you knew caused pain. For him, with him, the pain would be worth it. You wanted to suffer through the pain if it made him feel even a fraction of how good he made you feel. It would be worth the pain. 

And what if it didn’t have to hurt? What if being with a man as a woman didn’t have to be painful? What if the pain was something unique to your husband? What if he brought the pain knowingly? 

Tears gathered in your eyes as you reached out for something to keep you from floating away. His hands working on your sensitive skin wouldn’t be able to keep you grounded. All you could think of was gripping him with your teeth as he worked you through the high, since your hand wrapped around his arm and the waistband of his pants wasn’t doing enough.

Your mouth opened as you gasped, head pulled back as he continued working his fingers into you. Your body ran from the sensations as you partially laid against his shoulder. The smell of him surrounded you, the soft skin of his neck brushed against your lips as you tried to catch your breath. And then, you acted without a thought, sinking your teeth into his neck, near where you had bitten earlier. 

Alastor groaned at the feeling, hips bucking up into you before he caught himself. His hand gripped your hip to hold you steady as the twitch under you became something more solid, something that held promise, though you didn’t understand what of. 

“There you go, dear.” Alastor whispered, his voice full of gravel as you let go of him with your teeth. “Are you pleased to have me awake for you? What are you going to do now?” 

In truth, you didn’t know what to do next. You wanted him, but being with him was something you didn’t know how to do. He kept letting you lead. You were walking an uncharted path, and it terrified you not to be following his lead, to not have him telling you what to do. 

“You’re in control,” Alastor said, grabbing your hand from the waistband of his pants. He guided your hand down between your bodies to where he was straining against his pants. Your slick was warm under your fingers as you wrapped them over his covered shaft. “There it is.” 

“I’ve never,” you whispered, looking up at him. “I want to, but-” 

“Do you want me to guide you?” He offered, throwing you a life raft.

“Please?” You whimpered, wanting to be so much more for him. 

“Alright,” Alastor slipped his fingers from your still fluttering hole and leaned you back. “Unbutton my pants, then unzip them.” 

You did as he asked, moving slowly and looking to him for reassurance as you pulled the opening wider. The trail of hair reaching to his naval was rooted far below his waistband, short and neat. With timid touches, you shifted his pants until he sprang free. 

For all of your marriage, you had done your best to avoid looking at your husband’s manhood. It had caused and promised pain. It wasn’t something you had touched, but it had touched you plenty of times. The general shape and form of what men carried wasn’t something surprising to you. 

Anxiety rolled in your stomach as you came face to face with Alastor, standing tall between your bodies. This would bring you pain. It would hurt you. You would endure the pain if it would please him, if you could return just a fraction of what he did for you. 

Alastor was a tall man, though lean. You hadn’t known what to expect since he had been sizable while flaccid. Now that he was harder, he was larger there, too. His tool would have looked cartoonish on a smaller man, but right on him. It twitched under your gaze, as if responding to the way you examined it. 

“Did you just wish to see it?” Alastor asked as he watched you. 

“No, I-” Your face was so hot it felt like it could light a match. 

“Let’s start together then, shall we?” 

When you timidly nodded, he took your hand in his. You trusted him. Alastor would not hurt you any more than he must for you to give him the pleasure you wanted. He could guide you. You would suffer through whatever pain that would come, you would weather.

Alastor wrapped your hand around his manhood. Your hand was so small in his that he nearly covered it with his own. It wasn’t the hard steel that you had known to be rammed into you, but you didn’t brave asking why his skin felt so soft under your fingers. You had already pushed him for so much. If you asked anything more of him, it would surely be too much. It was better to not ask questions. 

His hand guided yours in caressing the length of his shaft as he spoke. You could feel each vein as he ran your hand over his soft skin, toward the slight mushroom shaped tip. A drop of wetness smeared under your fingers as he guided them over the slit at his tip before he brought your hand back down his shaft. His grip tightened over your hand as he guided your hand on a slow journey up his length again. 

“I’m sensitive here, but it’s not likely you’ll hurt me, at least not without trying.” 

Each pass of your hand along his length had him twitching and becoming firmer in your hands. He watched, eyes trained on your face as he took his hand away. Reaching up, he caressed your face, urging you to loop up from your task. 

He pulled you toward him as your hand worked timidly, but independently, along his length. There was a flush on his cheeks, ever so slight as his lips met yours. To kiss him more soundly, you had to raise up on knees planted on either side of his legs.

Each time your hand worked down his shaft, quickly turning to velvet covered steel in your hand, his tip brushed the inside of your thigh. The head of his cock and part of his shaft smeared in your spilled slick, leaving traces of the moisture gathering at his tip in the process. 

It would be so easy to seat him inside you, you realized. You loved Alastor and because of that love, things like this felt good. That was what he had taught you, shown you. It had felt good to have his fingers inside you, to have his tongue inside you. It would surely feel good to have him inside you, too. 

You hadn’t realized how close you had come to spearing yourself on him until his lips pulled from yours and his hands gripped your hips tightly, halting your slow sinking before the head of him could do anything more than brush against your lips. 

“No,” Alastor’s voice was thick, naked of accent and full of gravel. “No.” 

That one word caused you to flinch back from him, shock and fear crossing your face. You had misread. You hadn’t understood. You had thought-

“I’m sorry, I-” 

Alastor shushed you with a kiss, leaning up but not letting his grip on your hips weaken. “It isn’t that I do not- that it isn’t something I want with you, if you wanted it. And you clearly do. You’re dripping on me even now.” Your face flushed as you realized he was right. You could feel your slick dripping onto his cock and your hand around it. 

“I’m so-” 

Alastor cut off your reflexive apology. “It’s not a bad thing. It means you want me. But Cher- I can’t. We can’t. We can do anything and everything but that.”

“Why not?” You struggled to not whine and to hide the hurt from your voice as it felt like a vice was gripping your heart in your chest, threatening to crush it. 

“I’ll not have intercourse with you while you’re still married to him. I can’t- I won’t risk my seed taking root and him acting as father to my child.” 

“Then we’ll never-” 

“Not while you’re married,” Alastor leaned up, kissing you hard as he guided you to sit on his thighs. His cock stood tall and imposing between you, still held in your hand. “What else would you like to do? How else would you like to give me pleasure?” 

You were not sure what to say or do. “What do you like?” 

“I like whatever you’ll enjoy doing. I am yours to explore, to learn what you like to do with.” 

“You had- you used your mouth on.. on me, before.” You whispered, too timid to meet his eyes. “Is there something like that for me to do to you?” 

Alastor was silent for a moment before speaking, “If you’d like. Not all find the act enjoyable to perform. Men and women both can use their hands to bring themselves and eachother to completion. And their mouths on eachother to do the same.” 

“I want to,” you decided, not sparing a second to think of the logistics of what you were asking to do. All you were focused on was the fact that Alastor had used his mouth on you, bringing you to the height of pleasure that you were only just beginning to learn existed. If he could do that for you, knowing surely what bodily functions happened in that region, surely you could do the same for him. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[concretejunglefm]

I'm not ready to let you forget me (part 2).

*edit credit goes to the lovely @defuckingthrone-dot-com

You told your friends you want me dead And said that I did everythin' wrong And you're not wrong

An anon request for lovers to enemies ->part 1.

Summary: It’s been two years since Noah cheated on you, abruptly ending your relationship. However, the universe seems to have a peculiar sense of humor in its plan to reunite you.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader.

CW: none really. Mentions of cheating, Noah can be an overall asshole and a tad bit of angst.

WC: 3.2k

Dividers: Silent-stories.

It's a Friday night, in Vegas no less, and instead of being out on the strip, Sloan has dragged you to the hotel bar.

"Is there a reason for why we're in here and not out on the strip right now?"

"Because, the night is young and there are plenty of hot people here for you to mingle with." She says, nudging your hip. You look out at the sea of people and make a face, using your glass to hide it from Sloan's view while taking a sip of your drink, as you make your way through them from the bar to a booth. 

You hadn't come here seeking a hookup, instead, you wanted a chance to clear your head. However, that had become impossible since the reason for your mental turmoil was now occupying the room next door.

You fall into the booth with a huff, moving over for Sloan to scoot in beside you as she leans in closer to speak to you over the music.

"You know what they say, to get over someone you need to—"

"Don't you dare say get under somebody else."

"Guy or girl, either will do." Sloan shrugs.

Sadly your experiences with women ended just as tragically as they did with men.

"Have you ever noticed how hot Jolly is?"

Sloan's unsolicited comment about Noah's bandmate and friend draws your attention as you follow her gaze and witness five familiar faces entering the bar. It doesn't surprise you and yet now you wish that you were anywhere but here.

"No, I can't say that I have." You're hopeful she catches the disinterest in your tone.

"Oh come on, look at him. Those tattoos, that long hair, the accent! God he's dreamy." She says, bringing her straw to her lips, taking a sip of her drink. "I bet he's a charmer too, a real gentleman."

"Are you really gushing over him right now?"

"A girl can look, can't she?" She briefly glances at you before returning her gaze to Jolly, who stands at the bar with his friends. "Besides, there's something about his age that really ignites my daddy issues."

"Okay, I think you've had enough of this." You reach for her glass, pulling the mixed cocktail away from her.

"I wonder if he likes to be called daddy."

"Please don't." You grimace at the thought.

Your mind had been plagued by what ifs when it came to Noah and his ex. The last thing you needed was to imagine any scenario involving his bandmate and his preferences in the bedroom.

"I'm going to ask him." She declares, shuffling herself to the edge of the booth.

"Sloan!"

"What? I told you, you need to go find someone to help you get over Noah and I need someone to just get my leg over." She laughs and you roll your eyes.

She's like a cat in heat when she finds someone she's interested in. You just wish it weren't someone so closely connected to Noah, and that she wouldn't abandon you right now to pursue them.

You watch her approach Jolly from across the bar, following her usual routine of leaning against him, brushing herself closer, and whispering something in his ear. Almost like clockwork, he finishes his glass of brown liquor and slips off with her.

She's too predictable.

For a fleeting moment, your eyes meet Noah's as you scan the bar. He notices your gaze and raises his glass in a toast. You decide to ignore it, downing your drink and the remaining contents of Sloan's before slipping out of the booth to head to your room for the night, maybe you'll even order room service.

Hopefully tomorrow will have a better start to it.

"He has got to be fucking kidding me." You grumble under your breath, huffing as you roll over and pull your pillow over your head to muffle out the sound currently coming through the wall you share with Noah.

Between the rhythmic banging against the wall and the high-pitched moans you keep hearing, it's safe to assume he isn't alone in there. If his intention had been to annoy you, unfortunately, it was working. You assume it's just another one of his many tactics to get under your skin.

So far, this weekend has been anything but peaceful, and you're starting to regret coming.

Even the tv does little to drown out the noise that is coming through the wall your bed is against.

Eventually, the noise all becomes too much and you find yourself throwing the covers off, drag yourself out of bed with a hefty sigh, deciding to confront the matter at hand and potentially tell him to shut the fuck up.

Rapidly knocking on Noah's hotel room door, you huff and the moment he opens it, you're met with him shirtless, wearing only his boxers. His chest glistens with what could easily be sweat or maybe water. From the sounds you'd heard coming through the wall from his room, you guess it to be the first, especially when you hear the heaviness in his breath.

"Oh hey, we're not being too loud are we?"

Your eyes narrow on him. You hadn't even spoken a word for why you were here, but he had already apparently figured out your reasoning.

"If you're entertaining guests, do you mind keeping it down?" You attempt to peer behind him and into the room, Noah purposely moving his larger frame to block you.

"Sorry. Had no idea we were being that loud." There's a smug grin on his face and what you wouldn't give to slap it off him.

It's two in the morning and perhaps for Vegas that is still early, but for you it's the middle of the night.

"Of course not. So, what unfortunate girl did you manage to convince to come home with you this time, huh?" Crossing your arms over your chest, you raise an eyebrow.

You have no genuine reason or explanation for asking him this, as if you genuinely care to know. Besides, the room has now fallen silent, compared to the incessant noise you were hearing through the wall just moments ago.

"Well…" Rubbing his hand against the back of his neck, a sheepish expression crosses his face, which causes your own brow to furrow.

Then his words are cut off by the sound of a familiar giggle, your eyes widening as you hear the stretched out sound of his name from a voice which turns your blood cold. "Noooowah."

"No, wait! I can explain!" Noah reaches for you as you quickly turn back in the direction of your room, almost catching his fingers in the door when it slams shut behind you.

You spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, the sound of Noah's ex's voice playing on repeat in your head after hearing it come from his room. You more so hate the fact that you're allowing it to bother you at all, but the look on his face had almost screamed guilt to you.

What you hate even more is indulging in a Google search, which inevitably leads you down a rabbit hole, revealing that his ex-girlfriend will indeed be present at the festival they're scheduled to perform at on Sunday.

By morning, you're grumpy and sleep-deprived, but the thought of staying in the room next to them for any longer becomes increasingly irritating. With a heavy sigh, you drag yourself out of bed, quickly showering and changing. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, you decide to explore the hotel and send Sloan a text, informing her of your plans.

"Excuse me?" You look up, only to find yourself once again face to face with the same asshole front man you've been trying to avoid.

It's been an hour of peace this morning and somehow, even in a busy hotel, he still manages to cross paths with you.

"What?" You say through gritted teeth, before you realize that the voice hasn't come from him.

It had been feminine and soft, coming from a young girl who stood nearby, with two of her friends.

"I'm sorry. I was wondering if you would mind taking a photo for us? We're such huge fans of him and..."

You don't need to hear the same old drivel. 

Huge fans, their first time meeting him, would love a group photo, yada yada yada. It wasn't your first time standing on the sidelines and becoming an unofficial photographer for him and the fans who spotted him while he was out.

Catching sight of Noah's face, you see him raising his brows as if to express his silent shame regarding your rudeness directed at the young girl.

"Of course she wouldn't mind." He quickly interjects before you have a moment to register and refuse, forcing a smile as you take her phone from her.

"I'd be delighted." It was a lie, but you could hardly say no now. You'd already been an asshole once.

Lifting the phone, you glance at them through the screen before calling out. "Say cheese." They all comply in unison, the girls striking poses and huddling close to their idol, while Noah raises his signature peace sign.

As soon as you return the phone, Noah has already slipped away and headed back towards his group bandmates, who are eagerly waiting for him.

"Asshole." you mutter to yourself, only to overhear the girls as they begin examining their photo and giggling among themselves.

"Do you think he's single?" One asks.

"I hope so. I might try and shoot my shot with him if he is." Another responds, and you roll your eyes before casting a quick glance behind them, back in Noah's direction as you speak, making sure your voice is loud enough for him to potentially hear.

"I heard he ghosts girls once he gets bored of them." You look back towards the group of girls after catching Noah's head turning slightly in your direction.

"Then I'd just have to make sure he didn't get bored of me." The first girl responds.

"Good luck with that." You throw out a fake smile, catching Noah and his group of friends walking back in your direction. "Just make sure to get yourself tested if you're stupid enough to become one of his groupies." 

As Noah passes by, you turn your full attention to him, speaking more to him than to the girls you're warning. "You never know where he's been."

"There you are!" You hear Sloan before she slips her arm around yours, dragging you away. Leaning in closer, she briefly glances back to the group of girls you had been standing near before asking. "Who are they?"

"Some of Noah's groupies." You make no effort to hide the annoyance in your tone, Sloan catching on and nodding.

"Right. Well, forget about them and Noah."

That had been the plan, you think, but you bite your tongue instead of letting the retort slip, following her lead through the hotel until you reach one of the restaurants serving breakfast.

"I've heard this place is great." She declares, slipping into a booth as you shuffle in on the same side next to her.

"Well after last night I could really do with a sugar rush right now." You reach for the menu, looking over the pancake options.

You pay no mind to the sudden influx of noise behind you, until you hear Sloan's voice. "Hi Jolly."

You whip your head around, almost giving yourself whiplash in the process, and see the table behind you is now occupied with the familiar sight of the Omens, Noah sitting himself on the booth which backs right onto your own.

"Oh, didn't see you there."

"Funny that." You force a grin and turn your attention back onto the menu before hearing him chime up once more.

"What are you thinking of getting? I heard the pancakes are great."

You know the question is directed to you. You can sense his presence, the heat of his gaze hovering just inches away from your shoulder as he scans the menu in your hands. In a sudden burst of energy, you slam it down onto the table, turning your head just enough to be face-to-face with him.

"Do you really have to sit here? A whole restaurant and you choose here."

"It's got the best view." A smug grin breaks out across his face.

"What?" Your voice inches a couple of octaves higher as though ready to scream at him before he draws your attention to a nearby window.

"Of the strip."

As quickly as your blood pressure has risen, it lowers again and you almost feel dizzy from it. 

"I think I'm going to be sick." You mumble, turning yourself back around and leaning forward against the table, holding your head in your hands.

"Late night or something?"

He just doesn't know when to stop. Even worse is his friends don't even make an attempt to stop him or advise him to shut the fuck up.

"Not as late as you." You throw back, lifting your head and briefly glancing over your shoulder. "Besides, it's kind of hard to sleep when your neighbor is making a ruckus all night. What time did your guest slip out last night, hm? You didn't want to invite her for breakfast?"

"Guest?" Folio asks. "We didn't have anyone in our—ow!" He cuts off as you catch Noah jabbing him in the side, furrowing your brow at them.

"What can I say? She's not as high maintenance as most girls."

"By that you mean she's easy."

"Easy to please, easy to leave."

Right at that moment, a server approaches your table, completely disregarding yours and Sloan's, as she attends to the group of guys at the table next to you. 

This makes you what you think is irrationally angry, until you hear Sloan mutter under her breath. "Bitch." 

You have to press your lips together to prevent your laughter from escaping, and then, from behind you, you hear Noah's voice.

"They're with us too." A glance behind reveals him pointing a thumb in your direction.

Once the server has taken your orders, you hear Nicholas speak up, looking over into your booth as he asks. "We were planning on going to a laser tag place this afternoon if you want to come?" 

"No."

"Yes!"

You and Sloan respond in unison, turning to look at one another as you respond with the same answers again.

Forcing a smile, you lean in as you speak under your breath to her so as not to allow any of the guys, particularly Noah who is sitting in the booth which backs against your own, to hear. "I thought this was a girls weekend."

"Are you really going to pass up an opportunity to shoot the man who broke your heart in the chest? Even if it is fake?" She argues and you contemplate it.

You can't deny the idea isn't promising, perhaps even therapeutic.

"Good point." You nod and pull back, turning your head to look over at Nicholas. "Okay, we're in."

Though you don't look, you swear from the corner of your eye, you catch a grin forming on Noah's face.

"I can't believe that you've convinced me to do this." Looking over to Sloan, you shake your head, pulling on the vest for your laser tag session before stepping up to her for help tightening it where needed. 

"Would you rather be back at the hotel in the spa?" She gives you a look and you quickly cave, mumbling a 'no' under your breath.

Unlike Sloan, a spa day was hardly something you found enjoyable. You were more of an active person, and a game of laser tag, where you could potentially shoot your ex multiple times without feeling guilty or causing any harm, provided you with a much-needed form of therapy. 

"Then it's settled. You're all ready." She declares and gives herself a spin for you to admire her new combat laser tag look. "How do I look? Do you think Jolly would like it?"

"I think you could wear a black bag and still pull it off." You laugh, slipping out from the changing area and back into the waiting area. "Did you really hook up with Jolly last night?"

"A girl doesn't kiss and tell." Sloan raises a hand to flip her hair back over her shoulder.

"Please, you've told me, in excruciating detail, might I add, the things that have happened pre first date between you and someone else."

"I don't know what you mean. Some of us are a little more classy than those who will give their ex-boyfriends a quick jerk off in the tour bus bunk."

You scoff, your mouth dropping open. "Jolly told you about that?!"

Stepping up to the counter, you both receive your laser guns and hold yours up in aid of your threat that follows. "He'll be the first on my hit list."

The upside to running around in the dark with only LED lights lighting the way is you have yet to actually run into your ex. The room is big enough to spread out and hide, as well as avoid crossing his path. You almost start to wonder if he's here at all until you literally run into him.

The first thing you do is raise your laser gun to him and shoot before he bursts into laughter. "We're on the same team, you goof."

You look at the target lights on his vest and then the ones on your own, seeing they're in fact both red. "Fuck you." You grumble and attempt to shoot him again, though it causes no damage.

"You really want to shoot me that badly, huh?"

'Oh, you have no idea." Even in the dark your eyes lock dead onto his, feeling nothing but pure anger towards him.

Between his smug attitude this morning and the events you witnessed last night after banging on his door, you were more than prepared to take him down if necessary.

"Listen, about last night." 

You're both standing in the open, exposed to anyone who might still be in the game. Instead of suggesting that you move, you give him the chance to explain himself, especially since you notice movement behind him when you glance over his shoulder. 

"It's not what you think."

"Like I haven't heard that one before, Noah." You scoff, your gaze shifting back to him.

"I'm serious."

"I'm sure you are but unfortunately for you, I don't care." You take a step closer to him, your gun pointed at his chest once more.

"Have you not learnt that you can't do anything with that, yet?" He chortles and you gaze up at him,  a wicked grin crossing your lips. 

"I can't, but he can." You gesture behind his shoulder with a nod, and just as you do, Folio sneaks up behind him, firing his laser and causing him to be ejected from the game.

"How does it feel to be stabbed in the back by someone you thought you could trust?"

You're aware that he understands the metaphor here, that Folio's actions represent his own, and leaving him with a final smug grin, you dash to one of the dimly lit corners of the spacious room to complete the remainder of the round with the few of you who remain.

Although your team technically loses, it feels like a victory for you because it means Noah has lost. Considering his reputation as a sore loser, you find amusement in watching him sulk as you finally exit the laser tag arena.

Tagged: @fadingangelwisp @blade-dressed-in-red @deathblacksmoke @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @geminigirlfromfinland  @fuck1ng-queen @ichoosetenderomens @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @Chey-h @halfalgorithmhafdeity @annthepenguin @samanthasgone

[genderqueerdykes]

genuinely why do you believe in this transandrophobia bs. it’s MRA for trans people. We are affected by transphobia but misandry and "androphobia" aren’t real. We are not oppressed as a result of being men. plus most transandrobros always speak over transfems. - a tired transmasc

because it's real and i've faced it. friend, you do not need to hate yourself that bad. you do not have to self flagellate and pretend you do not experience a specific type of transphobia. you have been persuaded by rad fem pilled people to hate yourself and deny that you suffer a specific form of oppression. transandrophobia does exist, and pretending it doesn't for the approval of rad fems won't make you any safer or enjoy your trans manhood.

you're hurting other trans mascs & men by saying the oppression they face isn't real. reducing it to "just transphobia" is denying that those people are specifically being targeted because they are TRANS MEN and nothing else. you are hurting your trans brothers and siblings when you say this. you're hurting YOURSELF to say this. please be kinder to yourself. please stop telling yourself that what you're going through isn't real. you're not helping anyone except conservatives to deny that trans men & mascs face specific forms of oppression

i know you're tired, but sucking up to rad fems will not make your life as a transmasc easier. denying that you face a specific type of oppression is not only hurting you, but every other trans man and transmasc around you. if you care about other transmascs and trans men, stop denying their pain and suffering and telling them how to phrase it. you are legitimately hurting other people when you say this, why do you not care?

you do not care anywhere near as much about yourself and other trans men as you think you do, especially if you say "transandrobros". if you view other transmascs standing up for themselves as being "transandrobros", you really do not respect yourself or transmasculinity at all. and no, "most" trans men are not horrible to trans women. "most" trans men do not talk over trans women. trans men talking about their issues is not "talking over" trans women. please upgrade your opinion on other transmascs. you have a TON of internalized transandrophobia to get past. being a transmasc does not mean that you do not harbor internalized transandrophobia. because you clearly do as of right now.

hating transmascs and denying what we go through doesn't make transfems and trans women like you more, just so you're painfully aware of this. this kissing up to transfems and trans women by throwing transmascs and trans men under the bus is so old and tired. you're not getting transfem brownie points by being transandrophobic. all you're doing is hurting other people.

you don't have to self flagellate and pretend you don't have a specific struggle for the approval of people who are not transmascs or trans men. you're holding yourself and all of your siblings back. i'm a proud trans men's rights activist. we're something that's needed. we are not magically cis men who face no oppression after coming out as trans men. be kinder to yourself. this behavior is hurting trans men and sucking up to rad fems at the same time. why do you WANT to throw other transmascs under the bus? why do you WANT to shit talk other transmascs? it doesn't make transfems like you more.

i'm sorry you've been brainwashed into thinking that ALL mascs and men are inherently dangerous predators that can never be oppressed, but it's just not true. do better for yourself. do better for your siblings. do better for your family. kissing up to trans rad fems will not make them like you more. they're just using you as a tool to spread their propaganda. this is conservative behavior, and you're just plain wrong if you pretend that transandrophobia doesn't exist. being smug doesn't make you right.

[divab0dy]

after party

patrick zweig x gn afab reader

contains: smut MDNI, awkward! pat, lowkey sub!pat, switch!reader, piv, unprotected sex, fingering, friends to fuckers, porn with very very little plot, 3kish words

authors note: this is my first upload to tumblr ever so i hope it all goes well and please give me advice of i actually suck or something

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you were at some dinner for some tennis thing. you had no idea honestly. just tipsy enough to not be paying attention to anything else around you. pat had invited you the night before, not having the capacity to remember even the important stuff.

someone had gotten some award for something at some tennis match, and you weren't sure that pat and art would be able to fill in the details for you either after that pregame. but it didn't matter, you were just happy to be there.

right now the party was winding down, the three of you celebrating with some marlboro reds out front of the venue.

"you ready do go?" pat asks, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out.

you reach up to take his hand as he pulls you up off the front stoop.

"will you guys walk me back? it's late." you ask.

"fffffuck no" art shivers. "sorry but i am running back to our dorm" he taps pat on the shoulder.

"i'll walk you" pat reassures. "i'll see you back at the dorm then" he turns to art as you guys walk.

"see ya" art says before turning and jogging across the street towards their dorm.

"he's so drunk maybe you should've walked him home" you smile.

"he'll make it back just fine, it's you i'm worried about."

"and why's that?" you look up at him, still walking.

"you just couldn't listen to me when i told you to bring a jacket could you?"

"please im fine, it's southern california."

"it's night and it's winter. and you're shivering."

"stop worrying about me, worry about yourself big shot. maybe next award show, you'll be getting the award." you smile up at him.

"yeah i don't think so" he slides his jacket off of his shoulders.

"no pat" you push it back towards him as he holds it out for you.

"okay good because it's really fucking cold." he slides it back on.

"i knew you weren't a gentleman."

"not to you" he laughs.

"oh pat i'm sure you take all of your women out before you fuck them." you sigh. "or men."

"i am not fucking art" he laughs. "i don't know how many times we have to have this conversation."

"yeah sure you're not patrick 'i'll see you at the dorm' zweig."

"i will! i will see him back at the dorm, what's wrong with saying that."

"i'll see you back at the dorm, ya know when my dick is inside you. pat we both know what you meant by that."

"stop before i decide to let you walk home on your own." he says playfully.

"sorry sorry no more talking about your boyfriend." you laugh. "isn't it kind of stupid to drink the night before a match?" you switch conversations.

"it's an afternoon match, and i didn't drink that much, not as much as art."

"oh and here his name comes up again." you jab.

he laughs as you approach your dorm building.

"you wanna come in? i redid the place." you beam.

"yeah sure" you both enter the building and make your way up to your dorm.

"sooo this is the place... see i moved the bed. more feng shui or some bullshit."

"i like it." he seats himself on your bed.

"you gonna stay a while?" you wonder.

"yeah" he breathes, laying back on your tiny twin. "if that's okay" he adds, straining his neck to look at you.

"well you've already made yourself at home."

he laughs and sits up on his elbows. you take a seat on the bed next to him, sitting up higher, back against the wall. he turns to his side, still propped up on his elbow to look at you.

"you looked good tonight, i don't know if i said that already." as he speaks, he looks away.

"i don't think you've ever said that."

"i mean it you look good. not just tonight either."

you blush and look away. "you're drunk pat."

"no i'm not, i barely had anything to drink."

"don't... don't compliment me weirdo." you push his shoulder.

"sorry for trying to be nice." he sighs, turning away from you to look at the ceiling.

"you have literally not once complimented me."

"bullshit i compliment your backhand all the time. wish i fucking had it."

"i meant my looks, and your backhands good too to be fair."

"well you do look good, maybe i don't say it enough." he drops his head back on the bed.

"what's with the sudden rush of affection, hm?"

"i don't know, maybe i'm feeling extra nice."

"you look good too" you blurt, feeling the embarrassment immediately preceding your words.

now it's his turn to blush and look away, turning his head to the other side.

"what's a matter patty? can't take a compliment." your hand comes to cup his jaw and turn his head.

"don't..." he looks into your eyes.

suddenly you can't help the question that surges out of your chest. "why did you invite me patrick?"

he knows he can't lie to you. not when you're looking at him with those soft eyes. "i wanted people to think you were coming as my date." he breathes, eyes still laser focused on yours.

"was i?" you smile down at him.

"we're you?"

you ignore his question and lean in to kiss him, craning your neck.

you take his top lip in between yours, your noses smushing together. he sucks on your bottom lip before trying to pry your mouth open with his own. you get the point and let him in, his tongue immediately licking into your mouth.

as he sits up you take the hint and climb into his lap, pulling back.

"are we taking things too fast?" you lace your fingers into his hair.

"no, please no." his begging lips look so appealing.

a smile grows on your face. "good because i want you so fucking bad right now." he smiles in response. your hands tug at his shirt.

the top button of his polo is undone in an instant and he pulls it over his head. fuck he looks good.

your needy hands find their way to his chest trailing over toned muscles. its not that you haven't seen it before, its just that this is so, so different.

he takes the initiative, flipping you over onto your back, now onto top of you and you can't help but wrap your legs around him.

"how long have you wanted this?" you whisper, looking him in the eye.

"so long, please just let me..." and you can feel him pressing against your inner thigh as he trails off.

"you can do anything you want" you smile up at him.

"don't... don't tell me that." he takes your hand from his chest and squeezes it.

you smile up at him and sit up, sliding your shirt off.

"oh fuck" he sighs, leaning back down to kiss you.

the kiss is passionate, more rushed than before. tongues shoving into each others mouths as he shamelessly begins to rut against you. he pulls back, panting into your mouth.

"you need more pat?" you whisper.

"please" he groans, still grinding into you.

"why don't you take these off hm?" your fingers hook on his waistband.

"yeah" he breathes, shifting to tug them off. you sit up as he does. the room suddenly feels like its on fire and you're burning up watching him. it's nothing new, seeing him like this, he is a slut to be fair. walking out of the shower, or lounging around the dorm in the hot summer. but the way he's looking at you, soft, almost nervous eyes, and the way his chest is rising and falling so quickly is unfamiliar.

"can i..." he looks up at you suddenly, almost forgetting you were there.

"what?" he says softly, cheeks rosy.

"can you take these off?" you ask, grabbing at his boxers.

he lets out a low sigh and nods as he lifts his hips to tug them off. as gently as you can, you place a hand on his shoulder, afraid that if you move to quickly, he'll decide he doesn't want this after all.

deciding that if he won't ask, you'll just do, you start to unbutton your pants. he inhales sharply, watching you with careful eyes.

"you're so pretty," his helping hands come to assist you with the zipper, pulling your jeans and underwear down your legs.

"you too" shaky hands lace into his hair as you lay back down, pulling him on top of you.

"stop talking like that" he lets out a breathy laugh.

"talking like what?" you smile, hearing his laugh.

"like you like me" he says playfully.

"i do like you."

"well stop talking about it, it's making me nervous."

"you can touch me ya know... or is that going to make you more nervous?" you laugh softly.

"no" his hand finds your waist, stabilizing himself on his forearm next to your head.

"i didn't mean like that." you laugh and shake your head, taking his hand from where it is, moving it up to your mouth. as you push his middle and ring finger into your mouth you can feel him shiver. looking up at him with soft eyes, he fucking moans, watching you take his fingers in your mouth.

"oh fuck don't look at me like that."

popping his fingers out of your mouth, you giggle. "you don't want me to do anything."

"everything you do makes me nervous." he sighs as you guide his hand down.

"all the time or just now."

"all the time, it's just worse now because you can see my dick."

"that's making you nervous?"

"obviously."

"why? i like it."

"see that's what i mean... don't... don't say that." he sighs.

"i can't say i like you're dick when you're literally on top of me naked? patrick do you know that we're about to fuck?"

"stop talking you're making me nervous." he sighs, letting you continue to guide his hand.

"okay patty." you guide his fingers to press up against your clit gently, shuddering as he applies pressure. he moves his fingers down, prodding at your entrance. "fuck pat be gentle with me."

his eyes squeeze shut and he takes a deep breath. "yeah, okay." starting gently with his already wet fingers, he slides his middle finger inside of you, curling it.

as he hears you let out a breathy moan, he gains confidence, adding his ring finger. "is that... is that okay?"

"i didn't mean that gentle pat, i've fingered myself before."

"yeah... sorry." he continues, adding his thumb to rub your clit slowly.

"it's okay" your hands move to tug at his hair and he whines. "still nervous?"

"less" he sighs, his fingers picking up a rhythm.

"feels good pat..." you moan, your ees fluttering shut. he groans in response, speeding up the pressure on your clit but keeping his fingers at the same place.

"why didn't you say anything?" he asks, quietly.

"what?" you goan.

"why didn't you ever say that you liked me?"

"fuck- pat, i thought... i thought you didn't like me..." you manage.

"of course i like you."

"keep- stop... stop talking i'm close."

he nods, fingers speeding up.

"keep doing that please im gonna- fuck." you finish, shaking on his fingers as you let your orgasm wash over you, clenching down on him.

"fuck you're so pretty" he sighs, taking his fingers out. bringing his hands up to his mouth, he sucks on his fingers, letting his eyes fall shut.

"pat if you don't fuck me right now i'm actually going to strangle you." and how could he say no to that? how could he say no to anything when you look like that.

he nods. "i can do that... yeah."

wrapping your legs around him, you squeeze his waist with your thighs. as he guides himself to press against you, you both moan.

he starts pressing it inside, very slowly as you open up around him.

"fuck pat you're so big" you hiss as he nudges inside of you.

he pauses to squeeze his eyes shut at your words, needing a moment. he continues, slowly, his eyes flicking from your face to where your greedy pussy is taking him inch by inch, so, so fucking good.

he's searching your face for an ounce of discomfort and doesn't find any when he bottoms out.

"just... just stay like that for a minute please?" your face screws up, getting used to the stretch.

"yeah it's okay, as much time as you need." he sighs, so very grateful that you're asking him to stay put so he doesn't have to tell you that he won't last if he moves.

you take a moment as he breathes into your neck, panting softly.

"okay i'm ready" you breathe. he pulls out, as gently as he can, trying not to hurt you. he groans as you clench down on him, already overstimulated from your last orgasm.

"fuck you're so tight" he sighs into your neck.

you tug on his hair. "want to look at you" you whine. both of your eyes meet and he looks like he could cry as he ever so gently pushes back into you. "i can't believe it took us this long to do this."

"you should have told me you wanted this earlier." as he reaches for your hand, he keeps eye contact, grabbing your hand and squeezing it hard.

"you should have told me," your heals dig into the backs of his thighs, pushing him as deep as possible and he groans loudly. covering his mouth with your hand you whisper. "you've gotta be quiet pat, people are still awake," his pleading eyes meet yours.

"fuck i'm not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that" he keeps up with the same speed.

"then don't."

he groans, picking up the pace at your words. his hips meat yours over and over again. the only sounds in the room are your heavy panting, his breathy moans and the soft sound of skin clapping. breath fans over your face as he gains even an ounce of composure, something he so desperately needs. you can smell the natty light, the cigarettes, the gum. you can feel the callouses on his hands, the sweat, the neediness of his grabs. you can hear the moans erupting from his chest, somewhere deeper than anything you've heard of him playing tennis. it's all so real. you can feel it all at once and it's almost too much.

"fuck you feel so good, i can't believe you're letting me do this" his eyes never leaving yours.

"i can't believe you're fucking me like this... shit- i should have told you sooner, i'm sorry patty."

"fuck stop... stop squeezing me like that i'm not... fuck" he groans, his hips slowing down.

"what-"

"i don't wanna cum yet, i wanna get you there first."

"fuck you're doing so good."

he changes the angle as your legs pull him in. now he's hitting in all of the right places, the pleasure near doubling as he fucks you like he needs you. like if he doesn't you'll both die. like if he stops, you'll fade at his finger tips. he hits a particular spot that makes you squeeze his hand and gasp out a choked moan. he begins abusing it, like it's his to use, which it is. you'd let him do anything to you if he keeps looking at you with those soft blue eyes.

"fuck i'm so close" you gasp.

"please cum, i need to- need to feel it... fuck-" his hips are stuttering.

you reach your hand down to start rubbing over your clit at a rough pace, already so, so fucking close.

"i'm cumming pat fuck i'm-" your moans are pornographic as you shake and clench down on him, gasping for air as your body rocks with ecstasy.

"i can't- i can't pull out, fuck- it's too good, i'm gonna- fuck, thank you, thank you." his words are barely comprehensible as you can feel him cumming inside of you, chanting your name with his hips rocking into you as far as they can.

you sigh toying with his hair as he rides it out, hips lazily grinding into your body.

he practically collapses on top of you.

"was that okay? i'm sorry i can buy you-"

"it's okay i'm on birth control."

"thank you" he's pulling out and getting off of you, rolling to the side and suddenly you feel so fucking empty.

"for what?" you laugh.

"for letting me..." he trails off, becoming shy to his own words.

you laugh, not exactly knowing how to respond. "so how long have you wanted to fuck me?" you ask as you stand up.

"like two years... wait you don't think that's all i want right?"

you look back at him, cocking an eyebrow.

"i mean i like you, actually as a friend... wait no not... like i have romantic feelings for you, i want you, more than to... hook up with."

"aww," you throw on some old shorts, climbing back onto your bed next to him. "i like you too pat."

"okay good." he lets out a sigh of relief.

"i told you... like twice."

"i know but i just didn't want it to be something that you said in the heat of the moment, and didn't actually mean it." you slide under your covers, pulling them on top of both of you. the bed is so small that you're practically atop him, not unlike you were just 15 minutes ago.

"no never," you shift to your side, , letting him wrap an arm around you as you're now eye to eye with him. "you're spending the night right?"

"yeah of course."

"wow you're finally a gentleman, maybe next time i can even get the jacket." you flick your lamp off and shut your eyes.

"only if you let me take you out."

"mhm, anytime."

"goodnight."

"goodnight patty cakes."

[oddlylivingbeauty]

Hot take, and I truly mean this in the kindest way possible, but some Pagans very much need to examine their own religious trauma before speaking on what is right/wrong to say in Pagan spaces.

I understand that Paganism is an incredibly freeing religion for many people (most notably for those coming from Christianity), and that’s wonderful, but Paganism isn’t lawless, and it never has been.

I understand that you don’t like religious dogma, that’s fair. But that doesn’t mean this religion is a free for all. The Gods are authority figures, they are rulers, and they do ask things of us. For some Pagans I fear that they have based their entire religion on being an opposition to Christianity and that’s just… not ideal.

You cannot build a healthy relationship to the Gods if you are constantly comparing them to Christianity. You cannot follow the Gods if you refuse to do anything they ask of you that feels too similar to another religion that has hurt you in some way.

I’ve seen people say that Pagans shouldn’t veil because modesty is only a Christian invention designed to oppress women. I’ve seen people say that blasphemy doesn’t exist and that the idea that Gods (any God(s)) can get offended is a Christian fear tactic. I’ve seen people say that humans are on the same hierarchical level as the Gods and that the idea that humans are servants to God is a Christian tool for denying human power.

Not only are these things blatantly untrue, but it also negates the power of the Gods, and pushes doubt upon the personal convictions of fellow Pagans.

Paganism exists independently from Christianity. I truly don’t know how anyone can build a healthy practice when the only way they connect with the Gods is in a reactionary “screw Christianity!!” sort of way. Despite what society may say; Paganism is not an enemy to Christianity. It exists independently, and it has for thousands and thousands of years.

I really hope everyone who struggles with religious trauma can find the healing they need, but I implore you to not allow that to be the defining factor of your religion, and I beg that to not distract you from the undoubtable authority of the Gods.

May the Gods bless everyone, hail the great Lords and Ladies above 🩷

[hadesoftheladies]

Chat, Will Men Save Us From Patriarchy?

time to respond to ghost bloggers who respond to my posts and block me.

@ ray-moo

Patriarchy is not an entity in itself. It is a name that describes male people, culture and behaviour. Men ARE patriarchy. Even when we say that patriarchy grooms men and boys, what we are really describing (albeit somewhat inefficiently) is other men and boys socializing men and boys to be misogynistic. Patriarchy is the name of a social dynamic. Men create patriarchy. Men are the patriarchs that in turn create more patriarchs.

It is not mere "complicity" and this kind of talk is what inspired me to make my post in the first place. There is no government mandate for men to beat up their wives or exploit their mothers. Rape is a deliberate, personal choice. There is no law that forces men's hands against women and girls. Men do that all on their own or are encouraged to do that by male peers, peers that mostly exist on the same economic level as they do. All wealthy men do is exploit pre-existing sentiments among already existing misogynists. The men in government don't need to encourage men to be violent. They only need make sure the violence is manageable for them.

Men are not middle management of patriarchy. They are the beginning, the fuel and the endpoint.

"Most revolutions" is the key phrase here. One one hand, feminism is not "most revolutions" because patriarchy isn't "most oppressions." Women under patriarchy are in a unique position because their oppression is primarily domestic/intimate/interpersonal. Not only that, but unlike say, a worker's strike in India, women make up HALF THE GLOBAL POPULATION. Women across the globe have pretty much IDENTICAL experiences. That is, in a twisted sort of way, an advantage many other marginalized groups do not have. Feminism is heavily policed because female backlash on a large scale can become very inconvenient for all facets of economy.

On the other hand, it's not that I think you're wrong about how revolutions work, I just think you're mistaken about your assessment of patriarchy: mainly, you think that it is working class men and women against bourgeoise men who perpetuate brutal patriarchy for their own economic gain. Which is false.

Yes, we do need class solidarity, but not as lower-middle class men and women, but as WOMEN. Women are the oppressed class in patriarchy, and men are the oppressor class in patriarchy. The interests and needs of both classes transcend economic class and culture, which is why killing all the rich white men may do great service to everybody everywhere, but misogynists will continue to misogynist post-funerary rites.

I'm personally not convinced that male allyship is what's going to turn the tide, here. It will be useful, yes, and in some cases, it's been deeply necessary, but 1. I don't see why men cannot receive feminist/non-patriarchal community with other men and 2. I don't think a lack of male allyship is what's holding feminism back.

What's holding women back is a lack of female solidarity. What keeps men in power is an overwhelming presence of male class solidarity. It's not merely money. It's not merely judicial power. It's class consciousness.

Women have the numbers to change the world, but our solidarity lies with everyone and everything else but ourselves. For feminism to get to a point where women can kill men in self-defense or use violence in any meaningful way, and still be protected will take female solidarity, not male mercy. For women's liberation to become a serious force, women must hold to each other fiercely, despite any odds men stack against us.

I get this sentiment chiefly from history. In history, the most successful advocates (not merely the loudest or most passionate) for women's rights were women. Sure, you had a positive male figurehead here and there, and a smattering of allies, but it was MAJORITY women marching, women protesting, women organizing and strategizing.

No one knows the oppressor better than the oppressed, after all.

So I'm NOT saying that feminism would do better to ignore young men. What I am saying is that we'll make faster progress if we can, as women, band together to disrupt male hegemony in places of influence. Female solidarity is the priority, while rehabilitating men is an often expensive and wasteful endeavour that just serves to distract and even disempower female solidarity for the most part.

Just like the working class can only depend on themselves and not the rich for their freedom, so women can only depend on themselves and not men for freedom. It's that simple.

Okay, but have you considered that men don't respect us regardless of our actions? Many women adhere to your definition of respectability. Many? I'd say countless! But that hasn't made a difference. You're really proving my point for me.

Also, this is still "being nice=feminist praxis." If a man truly disagreed with male supremacist ideology, he wouldn't need any woman to justify that for him because allies have spines and actual moral fibre. People don't stop being Nazis because a black/Jewish person was nice to them. The alternative to patriarchy for men is not fucking participating in it. The alternative to observing Nazism is not observing Nazism. Men are the only ones that can "create" that alternative for themselves by choosing it.

Additionally, what radfem solutions are bone-headed and overzealous? Not wearing make-up and contributing to the predatory and exploitative beauty industry (which is also anti-capitalist action)? Refusing to fuel the estate of a man at the expense of ourselves (as in 4B)? Focusing on organizations and grassroots efforts that empower impoverished girls and women to educate and sustain themselves independent of abusive men? Marching and petitioning? Advocating for laws that uphold our rights? What? Come on, tell me. Is it refusing to participate in the exploitative institution of marriage or refusing to birth another member of the male class (of which the last two are not even the most defining forms of activism in radical feminism)? Because pretty much every other successful activist group does at least HALF these things, but when activist strategies are made to be particular to women, suddenly it's not doing much of anything? Interesting.

If these are overzealous, I wonder what you think of the lengths the status quo has gone to enforce the subjugation of women and girls.

You guys can't even criticize radical feminism well because you STILL don't understand it. You don't engage with it's history or theory outside of reactionaries online but then have the self-importance to lecture us on what "you think" we're doing wrong and what "you think" is really holding women back. You don't even understand women's conditions outside of androcentrism, even in your political analyses. It's trolling at worst and bad criticism at best.

Most critics still can't criticize actual radical feminism because they refuse to familiarize themselves with anything regarding it.

hey @odiabonecessario , you don't know a single thing about radical feminism and you should probably fix that before purporting to "agree" with it. this may come as a shock to you, but women's rage and anger is DEEPLY integral to women's class consciousness, as it is wherever consciousness-raising is needed for class action. just because men don't benefit from women's rage doesn't mean it's purposeless. providing space to be angry provides women space to acknowledge their suffering and inspires them, believe it or not, to take action in their own lives. this is significant, because, remember, patriarchy is interpersonal. by allowing herself to hate her oppressors, she is free of deifying them. she is free to invest in herself. "misandry" is an important sub-set of radical feminist culture, but it is still only a sub-set. recognizing that men are the root (where radical feminism gets its name) of the systemic suffering, psychological alienation and societal violence is part of consciousness-raising. one must recognize their oppression and who is doing the oppressing to successfully organize for liberation. y'all just continuously refuse to apply any basic political framework to the plight of women because at the heart of all this throat-clearing about radfems, you still refuse to acknowledge systemic male violence and the reality of female oppression.

god, i miss when critics did their damn homework

[sickofthis666]

Another thing that my mom told me today that I've found pretty depressing (and that is feminism-related): (2)

— When comparing her experience with her current lover vs my dad (25 years of marriage):

"I'm not used to not fighting all the time. It must have been two or three years since I've been in a fight."

With my father, there would always be a fight sooner or later. On average, it was every two or three days. At the best of times, we would get maybe a week of peace. In the worse cases, there would be a fight every day.

I hear you say: "it takes two to tango."

Well, you don't know my dad. He always found reasons to fight. You could be minding your business one minute, and the next he would barge in and makes a list of everything that was wrong with you. No matter what you did. Criticism after criticism after criticism. Even if you started to do the contrary to avoid unpleasant remarks, he'd criticize you for doing to opposite of what he criticized before! On the morning of my 13th birthday, he spent an hour lecturing me on how they couldn’t afford to buy me a mobile phone. (I was a reasonable kid, I gave up on the phone very quickly). Then the same day, the afternoon, he took me to a store to buy said phone.

"Just leave" is what you'd do to avoid conflict, right? You can’t avoid the criticism, you can’t win the argument (I tried so many times, it only make things worse, to the point where you just sit there in silence and take it because at least it's not as bad as it could be). Makes sense, right? Oh, but no. No, you can’t leave. He'll follow you. In the next room, on the other floor, even outside. If you ask to be left alone, he won't listen. (That doesn't apply to him though. He decides when the argument is over.) I once locked myself into the bathroom because it was the only room with a lock (he threatened to remove my bedroom door despite me being a teenage girl at the time), the only way to breathe, and he went to pick up tools and started to unbolt it.

I wanted to cry when my mom told me that. It was so surreal. Of course I knew about her fights with my dad, better than anyone (most of the time the fights would happen in the evenings, in front of my bedroom door because it was the "crossroad" between the kitchen, living room (the two rooms where my dad spent most his time) and my parents bedroom (where my mom was)).

But to hear that she was so used to it, that not fighting felt abnormal to her? It makes me want to cry, to break things, to beat up my dad, to turn back time and make it so they never meet, even if it means I'd never be born.

My mom was a smart, wise, and careful young woman. Every single one of her pregnancies was wanted and planned. She meticulously made the decisions to first finish her studies, then get a stable job, then get married, then have kids. The studies for a stable, well paying job. The job to be independant and not rely on a man. The marriage to have kids in a stable relationship. Everything should have gone smoothly.

But there was one thing she couldn’t have planned— no one could have, and it was that 10 years down the road, my father would become abusive.

First she couldn’t leave because her children were too young. Plus, that's the things with abusers, they're not always awful. They alternate. So you think it was a one time fluke. You think the man calling you crazy and stupid on a daily basis will turn back into the man you fell in love with. You think the man who routinely terrorizes your kids will turn back into the loving father he once was. It's a human thing, to hope. After all, if he changed for the worse, why couldn’t he change for the better?

By the time she realized he was only getting worse, it was too late. He accumulated so much shared debts and loans that she couldn’t leave.

There's a french book about domestic violence, and how the judicial system finishes off battered women rather than save them, whose title I can't forget.

Madame, il fallait partir.

Ma'am, you needed to leave. Or, Ma'am, you should have left.