#again you can bring something else in addition

[gallifreyriver]

Reblogging again for the above addition (I had forgotten to add it with the first bit it due to still recovering from the realization the bit I did add hadn't been Ai) and also to include the following from the notes:

because both are relevant to what I'm going to say next, which is that we need to have a conversation both about doublespeak and gaslighting.

To just jump right in, Trump did indeed describe Elon Musk's knowledge of voting systems as the reason he won Pennsylvania. (Timestamp) And yes, Elon very much did the hitler salute, not once, but twice, after his speech. (Video) (Also the shooting a person bit- Trump said that too, but I'll bring that back up later.)

I bring those two up first to address how the first set of tags mention that the bit about Trump talking about rigging the election could indeed actually be meant about his delusion that Biden rigged the election in 2020- but it could also be doublespeak.

(Before I start tho, the first set of tags obviously mean well and this is in no way an attack on them. I'm not even saying they're wrong- I'm just saying this opens up a conversation that needs to be had)

To explain what I mean, I need to again mention how that before he says,

"...and we got the World Cup too- and you know it's only because they rigged the election that I'll be your president representing you there. You know I got both of them. I got the Olympics, and I got the World Cup. Then I said, 'You know it's too bad- one was in 2026 and the other was in 2028," and I said, "I won't be there, I won't be your president!" ... but then they rigged the election and now we won so I'm going to be your president for the Olympics, and for the World Cup."

the comment about Musk, the voting computers, and Pennsylvania was already mentioned, where he said:

"...and then he journeyed to Pennsylvania, where he spent like a month and a half campaigning for me in Pennsylvania. He's a popular guy- and he was very effective- and he knows those computers better than anybody- all those computers, those vote counting computers- and we wound up winning Pennsylvania like in a landslide, so it was pretty good. It was pretty good. So thank you to Elon!"

Clearly, due to his massive ego, he wants so badly to brag about what he did, but can't.

His comment about Elon was pretty damning- possibly the closest we'll get to a confession. However, because he never outright says the words, "Elon tampered with the computers," that leaves just enough doubt for it to be said that he's was just complimenting Elon on being "cool" and "smart" and that the "landslide" just so happened because people obviously just loved Elon so much (barf)

And because he's never shut up about claiming the 2020 election was rigged, it's also very easy to come to the conclusion that, "Well, when he says "they" rigged the election, he must really mean Biden in 2020."

And I can agree to a point- he very well might have meant Biden! However, this just as easily could be doublespeak as well- another confession said in just such a way that it's very easy to claim he meant something else.

And it's kind of time, due to everything else he and his supporters have said/done yet gotten away scot free with- like people trying so hard to brand that nazi salute as literally anything else, and how his supporters tried to brand the insurrection as tourists visiting the capitol, and the fact that Trump has shown that he can say and do whatever he pleases with no consequences to the degree that he committed 34 felonies yet still was allowed to not only run but also be elected president- that we kind of need to stop giving him that benefit of the doubt.

Again, I agree that he could have meant Biden- it is possible. But also the exact words he used were "but then they rigged the election and now we won," which is a weird way to say it if he meant Biden in 2020, and combined with the fact that he made no effort to specify 2020, or Biden, anywhere in that whole paragraph it took him to say it- I'm reminded of one reporter, Zachary Wolf, who had been covering Trump back in 2017, who said "What does he mean when he says words?" (You may remember the line from an episode of John Oliver's Last Week Tonight about Trumps copious lies)

I fully understand not wanting to possibly spread misinformation- because that's what "they" do and we don't want to feel like we're as bad as Trump supporters or fall into pulling their tactics-

But I also say it's time we stop giving him the benefit of the doubt- because look where that has gotten us.

Doublespeak and gaslighting are designed to confuse and to make you not want to call out what you hear or see because you're afraid to look stupid or "crazy", and it's also designed so that people who are afraid to make waves will default to either believing the more innocent possible meaning or ignoring the problem altogether, because it's easier than fighting back- especially when you see those around you staying silent, downplaying the harm, or even outright denying that the less-innocent meaning is even a possibility. (eg: "It's just locker-room talk" or "It's not a hitler salute- he's just awkward! He was throwing his heart to the crowd!" or "They were just tourists")

All of which only emboldens those who are engaging in the harm and their supporters because it means there are no consequences for that harm. To the point that even when there are people calling out the behavior, many people, even prominent people, it still doesn't matter- because there's just enough doubt that the supporters will happily give the benefit of said doubt and fight for them, or at very least not oppose them.

And it works so well that there's now a chance we might never have another election again.

Again, maybe he really did mean Biden and 2020. But there's also the chance, given everything we do know and have seen, that he really didn't.

Did Trump just admit to rigging the 2024 U.S. Elections????

LIVE????

ON. NATIONAL. TV??????

@drawing-dinos82

[heartbeatbookclub]

FINALLY

[beliscary]

there's a tower in belisaere called dolorous bastion

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Had an ADHD assessment a few years ago and the fuckwit that assessed me said, as a direct quote, "You're too smart to have ADHD." Like that's not any type of paraphrasing, that stupid fucking statement is burned in my brain forever and has been since I heard it.

I talked to my psychiatrist about getting a referral to a different psychologist for assessment, and she agreed and sent it in.

Today I got a call that said they don't agree that I need reassessment, and I'm welcome to pursue it elsewhere, but they won't provide reassessment. Which is just.

I don't even know where to start with that one. I just needed to get it out. I'm so tired.

[fattributes]

If you haven’t already, please vote! I’m curious to see what kind of potluck we’re having.

For this hypothetical, the drinks, plates, and dinnerware are already taken care of, and again, you're not allowed to turn up empty-handed.

Just like in real life, let's hope we won't choose to bring the same thing.

[bokunoheros]

"katsuki...!"

CHARACTER: KATSUKI BAKUGOU GENRE: SMUT, angst if you squint TAGS/WARNINGS: reader is gender neutral but afab (katsuki calls you princess once and it’s in mocking), swearing (obvi), hate/angry sex, reader and katsuki are childhood friends (to enemies) to fuck buddies, y’all’re in your 3rd yr of highschool, drool/spit, impact/quirk play, pussy spanking, mentions of blood,  WORD COUNT: 3.6k SUMMARY: you never seem to have a problem calling katsuki by his first name — except for in the bedroom, and he’s finally had enough of it. 🦊’s A/N: this is a repost bc i didn’t like the way this performed the first time // if you’ve read this before, no you havent

     one thing katsuki bakugou hated about you was the way you refused to call him by anything other than his first name—hell, you wouldn’t even call him kacchan, a name he had learned to barely tolerate without popping a blood vessel. 

     another thing he hated even more about you was the fact that whenever you two finally got over your horrid, god-awful sexual tension that the entire class was sick of, was the way you suddenly refused to call him katsuki. no, whenever he found himself fucking you in the dorms while everyone else is asleep, it was all you could do to whimper “bakugou—”, which pissed katsuki off to no end. the bedroom was the one place where you should be calling him by his first name and yet… you completely and utterly refused to do so! simply for the sole purpose of pissing him off and riling him up. 

     “ba–baku—ahh!” you cry as he shoves your face down into the mattress while giving your ass a hard smack. “christ!” you whine, voice muffled by the plush bedding. 

     “that’s not—m’fuckin’ name, and i think you know that, sweetheart.” his voice is overflowing with frustration and condescension as his hips smack against your ass repeatedly, heavy balls smacking against your throbbing clit.  

     “it— it’s lit–literally your name,” you correct him, arching your back deeper and wiggling your reddening rear. “fuck’s got you—ah!—all worked up, huh, bakugou?”

     he feels his eye twitch at your words, and he lets out a deep, frustrated growl before he’s smacking your ass again, this time with the addition of his quirk popping off once his large and very calloused hand came into contact with your bare, sweaty skin. 

     “fuck! goddammit!” you whine, hands desperately grabbing at his black sheets. “baku–gou!”

     “just—say my name fucking properly, dammit!” he demands, panting heavily as he continues to thrust his awfully girthy cock in and out of your snug little cunt. “you never seem to have a problem with it any other goddamn time!”

     “i— i dunno wh–what the fuck you’re talkin’ about,” you quip back, turning your head to the side in attempt to look back at katsuki — he doesn’t let you, though, as he shoves your face further into the bed, squishing your cheeks in the process, and you try to fight back against his grasp, but he’s just simply too strong for you to stand any real chance. and that pissed you off like nothing else. 

     katsuki could act the way he did because he had the firepower and skills to actually back his words. this always resulted in him absolutely dominating you in the bedroom, naturally. sometimes, you were able to give him a run for his money, but ultimately, he beat you out everytime, sexually bullying you into submission — physical submission, at least. you always had something nasty to spit out at him, regardless of the position he had you in or how meanly he was fucking into you.

     “sure, bitch,” he pants out, landing another cruel quirk-based impact to the tender flesh of your ass, and it’s all you can do to bite the pillow to keep from crying out. 

     “f-fine then, kacchan,” you smirk to yourself, beyond pleased with your answer. “‘s that bet—aa-ow! fuck! ba–bakugou!” you sob as he brings his right hand down hard against your asscheek, his quirk literally popping off as his calloused palm makes contact with your sensitive skin before he stills himself inside of you entirely.

     “alright—you wanna act like a brat? i’ll treat you like one then,” he says, eerily calm all of sudden. that wasn't like him. not at all. 

     oh, you were in trouble for real this time.

     the realization is slow to dawn on you, but once it does, you find your body moving faster than your brain can process, trying to scramble away from your fuck buddy, just for you to freeze at the feeling of him jerking you back by you hair, pulling you onto your knees and your naked back against his equally bare chest. one strong hand snakes down to between your soaked inner thighs and presses the calloused pad of one finger directly against your achy clit as his dick twitches deep inside you.

     “ba–baku—”

     “nuh-uh, say it properly,” he hisses, suddenly bringing that same hand down against your poor cunt.

     “ah! fuck!!” you cry, thrashing in his grip, hands coming up behind you to tangle into his spikyass hair. “you cunt!” you spit at him, tugging harshly at his roots, hard enough to tilt his head back, and this is where katsuki really begins to lose whatever little patience he had left. snatching your slimmer wrists in one large and rough hand, he pins them behind your back before he goes to bite at the junction of your neck and shoulder.

     “i’m the cunt?” he actually laughs in your ear before bringing his free hand down hard against the mound of your pussy, and you whimper like a bitch, squirming desperately in his grasp. “no, i think you’ve got a couple things backwards, honey,” he chides, voice gruff as a shit-eating smirk spreads across his unfairly handsome face. 

     “fuck, i can’t stand you,” you whine out, still struggling against katsuki’s all-too-tight grip. “l-let go, fuckface!” 

     rather than dignifying you with a verbal answer, bakugou simply strikes his palm against your bare cunt again, thick, calloused fingertips landing onto your puffy clit, causing you to hiss and bite your lower lip harshly to keep from squealing the way you knew he wanted you to. 

     “oh, don’t be like that,” he grunts, licking a hot stripe up your neck before sucking and nipping harshly at the skin there, sloppily laving his tongue over a few particularly sensitive spots before biting down cruelly against them. 

     while katsuki was not a sloppy person by any degree, he was stupidly messy when it came to his behaviors in the bedroom — he didn’t care where his spit or drool got, or even yours for that matter, where he came on you, none of it really mattered so long as he washed his sheets prior to sleeping in them. one thing he couldn’t stand was sleeping in a mess the two of you had made….. which was odd, because that’s often what he found himself doing..! absolutely crashing after fucking you almost to the point of going non-verbal before subconsciously cuddling you closer, just for you to be gone in the morning, like you were never there to begin with. 

     truthfully, he would find his heart aching ever so slightly at your absence before he quickly swallowed down whatever feelings that may have tried to well up to the surface before telling himself to get his fuckin’ shit together and going about his day — usually being the first to wake, yes, even before iida, so he could wash his sheets in private without any nosey extras around to ask stupid questions.

     but back to the topic at hand, getting you to moan his goddamn name!!

     “baku–gou!” you whine, hips squirming as your cunt flutters around his thick cock. “jesus christ!” 

     “huh? somethin’ the matter, princess?” he asks in that ever aggressive tone as the hand that had just spanked your now throbbing cunt comes up to meanly pinch one of your stiffened nipples. 

     “fuck—you!” you spit out, arms straining in his heated grasp.

     “that’s—shit, you’re so fuckin’ tight—exactly what ‘m doin’ right now, and you’re still bitchin’!” he hisses, grip on your wrists tightening substantially — so much so, you were sure there would be bruises in the morning. simultaneously, the feleing of his pelvis smacking against your sore ass as he began to pick up the speed at which he was fucking you had you groaning in pleasure.

     “god–dammit! bakugou!” 

     katsuki could not, for the life of him, understand why it was that you absolutely refused to call him by his first name in bed but in every other aspect of your lives! ever since you two were children, you always called him by his first name — never bakugou, never kacchan, always katsuki, or maybe some other variation of his name like katsu or tsuki if you really wanted to mess with him — so when you two Finally hooked up for the first time at the beginning of your third year of highschool, he definitely noticed when you called him by his surname for the first time since???? he can ever fucking remember. 

     what katsuki didn’t know, however, was that it was just far too intimate for you to call him by his first name as he fucks into you like there’s no tomorrow — for you had maybe have had a small crush on him when you two were in elementary school still, and then you had a massive falling out in middle school due to his, erm, prideful, arrogant, stick-your-nose-up, i’m-so-much-better-than-you attitude and god awful anger issues. 

     and then, once your first year of highschool rolled around, you were horrified to discover that you two would be in the same class together. …if only you could have predicted developing another stupid crush on bakugou, you never would have gone to u.a. — you should have just gone to shiketsu like your gut originally told you to. 

     because now here you were, being absolutely fucking railed during your senior year of highschool by somebody you’ve known most your life who you currently found yourself obsessing over in the worst possible ways. you found that your mind was always wandering to him when it wasn’t preoccupied with something else, and even when it was, it still found someway to link it back to katsuki fucking bakugou! how terrible it is to be in a love-hate relationship with someone you wish could love you back—instead, you were sure katsuki held only hatred and anger towards you, the same way he did with izuku back in their first year and all of middle school. but, ….so much. has happened since then, so surely, maybe, he might feel something for you too? 

     he did, in fact, feel so, so much for you, that he physically could not bear the weight of his emotions—the only way he seemed able to relieve any of them was when he was drilling into you like he fucking hated your guts, and even then, they only intensified and chipped ever so slowly away at his hardened heart that was secretly tender on the very inside because of how you denied him any real intimacy.

     “just say my fucking name, goddammit,” he growls, pulling out of you entirely and releasing your arms for but a moment to flip you around and onto the mattress so that you were laying on your back before grabbing the backs of your knees and simply folding you in half as he looks down between your bodies, lining his thick, throbbing dick up with your drooling slit and bottoming out in one go.

     the sudden change in, well, everything, leaves you disoriented, and just as you go to whine and bitch yet again, katsuki impulsively cuts you off with a kiss, breaking the one rule that he had set up before this whole arrangement began!! 

     “mmmh!” you squeal as the tip of his cock hits your cervix, but your noises are muffled by the way katsuki kisses you — hungrily, like you were a meal he didn’t know he had been craving for years, and he was finally getting to have to it for the first time. 

     in truth…. this was actually bakugou’s first kiss — he could never have been bothered with dating or showing any sort of romantic interest in anyone when that would just get in the way of his goal to become the number one pro hero, and yet…. here he found himself, hopelessly in love with you when he wasn’t even consciously aware of it, kissing you with a startling amount of passion and tongue and teeth. not that he didn’t know how to kiss, per se, he had seen plenty of fuckass movies that featured kissing, and he has to be the best at everything, of course, so it didn’t take him very long to figure out what he was doing. 

     with your legs thrown over his shoulders and spread apart, he was almost laying on you as he fucked into you fluidly, hips snapping back and forth, and it isn’t long before you find your arms wrapping around his neck and reluctantly kissing him back. you had to admit, the feeling of his plump lips felt nice against yours, and you had dreamt about kissing him for so long..! 

     nipping at your lower lip, katsuki’s tongue darts out to lick its way past your slightly parted lips and into your mouth, licking around the insides of your cheeks and over the grooves of your teeth. it’s aggressive and rough and brimming over with passion — everything you had imagined your first kiss with him to be and more. 

     “mmh, katsuki,” you mindlessly hum against his lips, too caught up in the moment, in the feeling of katsuki fucking bakugou initiating a kiss with you!, to realize just how intimate your current predicament was.

     katsuki, however, pauses in all that he was doing as his eyes fly wide open. 

     “what the fuck did you just say?” he asks, voice uncharacteristically quiet, as if he were scared the scene he found himself in would shatter before his very eyes—as if he could break it all, somehow. he was awfully good at breaking things, after all.

     “huh?” you yourself weren’t even aware of what you had said until a few moments later when it actually dawns on you. “oh. my god,” is all you’re able to say as your mind quickly begins reeling with too many overlapping thoughts for any of them to be coherent. 

     without saying anything else, bakugou resumes the way in which he was thrusting into you, kissing you feverishly once more. had he known that a little kiss was all it took for you to call out his name while he fucks you into next tuesday was all it took, then he would’ve kissed you the moment you two began hooking up.

     “b–baku—gou! slow down!” your request is swallowed whole by katsuki’s hot mouth as his tongue slips back into yours, teasingly swirling around your own wet muscle before he begins to suck on it, making you whimper and whine at the combined feeling of his dick pounding into you and this… tongue torture! (it wasn’t, actually—it felt a little too good if you were being honest; so good you were struggling to think.)

     “god–dammit!” he hisses when you call him by his surname again. nipping at the tip of your tongue so hard you swear you can taste blood, he brings one hand down in between your legs to aggressively rub at your pulsing clit. why? why can’t you just say my fucking name! he thinks angrily as he fucks you like there’s no tomorrow. 

     “mmh—aa–aah! mmfhgh—” it’s all you’re able to do to moan as your mind melts away while katsuki applies a little too much pressure to your poor little bundle of nerves. “shit–!” despite the firmness of the circles he was rubbing against the bud, it still felt so good—so good that your back arched deeply off his memory foam mattress and you were unable to contain the string of soft moans that left your throat at the sensation. 

     pulling away from the kiss, breathless and a little drooly, bakugou’s free hand comes up to squish your cheeks harshly, causing your lips to part.

     “stick out your tongue,” he says gruffly, and for once, you actually listen to him, which comes off as a bit of shock to the man currently on top of you, but he easily plays it off, before taking aim and spitting in your fucking mouth — directly on your already slick muscle!

     “fuck—” he rasps out, watching your tongue retract back into your mouth as you wordlessly swallow his saliva while looking up at him with half-lidded, hazy eyes. as a result, he was physically unable to help the way his calloused fingers moved to pinch at your sensitive clit or the way his mouth quickly reattached to your neck to begin biting and sucking at the skin there all over again. 

     “ka–katsuki—!” you whine as he bites a little too hard, and suddenly you feel something warm sliding down the length of your neck. had he drawn blood? no… surely not…… 

     his hips react on their own at your pitiful cry of his name, and he groans against the column of your throat, teeth now poised over your jugular before he bites down again — much gentler in comparison this time, but still hard enough to elicit a squeal from you. 

     your hands fly up to grip at his hair, burying themselves in his roots and giving a firm tug.

     “say it again,” he growls, pulling off your bruised skin with a wet pop! so he could meet your lustful gaze. ….god, his eyes looked so vulnerable right now; so glassy, with burning red irises and a glassy reflection, you can’t help but comply with his demand. you had never seen him like this before, so raw, dripping with (sweat and) passion as he hovers over you, narrowed eyes boring into yours. 

     “ka–katsu–! –ki!” you cry out when he begins rubbing circles into your clit again after giving it another rough pinch. “fuck! katsuki!”

     “that’s right–!” he grunts out, hips snapping against your as his cock throbs inside you. he’s getting closer to an impending orgasm and he needs you to cum first — it just went with his personality of “having to be the best at everything.” so, by extension, this included sex and his partner’s pleasure. mostly because the first time you two fucked, you absolutely did not get off, which you made very apparent to katsuki, who took it Personally (especially since you had called him useless for not being able to make you cum), and made it his mission to give you at least two different orgasms the next time you slept together—something he was rather successful in.

     now, he had half a mind to fuck you until your creamy little pussy was raw and he couldn’t cum anymore, just so you wouldn’t have a chance of forgetting tonight—the first time you called him by his first name in bed (which would ultimately end up being a monumental stepping stone in your future relationship development).

     pulling him in for another kiss, you whine incessantly as you roll your hips up, cunt fluttering around him as an uncomfortable knot begins forming in your tummy, and you can’t help but squirm beneath him. 

     unfortunately for you and your diminishing bratty resolve, it wasn’t much longer before you were cumming with a cry of katsuki’s name, his first name, as your back arches, pressing your chest flush against his, as one large and calloused hands of his comes to press against the small of your back, holding you in place as you cream all around his achy cock, and before he knows it, he’s cumming too, just barely managing to pull out of you as hot, sticky cum lands on your lower stomach and you groan at the nasty feeling. 

     “jesus—i don’t understand why you can’t just wear a condom,” you complain, panting heavily, unwrapping your arms from around his neck.

     katsuki only rolls his eyes at your complaint before telling you “it’s because he doesn’t like the feeling” of it, when in reality, it was so he could be that much closer to you… whether he would even admit it to himself or not. 

     with a heavy sigh and tired legs, you get up and out of his bed and make your way to his bathroom to clean yourself up before picking your clothes off his dorm room floor and getting dressed and leaving without a word, only sparing katsuki a parting glance as he recollects himself on his bed. 

     he doesn’t understand why his heart feels so goddamn heavy as he watches you leave soundlessly, and it feels like it takes him a million and one years to fall asleep, because whenever he opens his eyes, it had gone from 2am to 5am, and he bitches out a groan before getting up to do his fucking laundry before anyone else decided to get up. as he does, though, he can’t help but think about you….. why? what was it about you that caught his attention? why couldn’t he just ignore these feelings? jesus fucking christ, he needs professional help. 

     and so, katsuki spends the time it takes to wash his sheets thinking of you, much to his chagrin, but… he just could not get you out of his mind, for better or for worse. fuck. maybe he would have to call off this whole ordeal. maybe that would fix him? ….fuck, his head hurts. stop thinking so much, idiot, it’s too early to get caught up in your feelings, he mentally berates himself, even though for him, it was always too early to get caught up in his feelings. whatever.

      after pulling his sheets from the dryer, he silently walks back to his room, passing yours in the process, where he stops and stares for a very brief moment, almost, almost contemplating knocking before he quickly carries on back to his dorm where he makes his bed in record time before going the fuck back to sleep. ….where he still thought about you. god save him.

K. BAKUGOU M.LIST

[ofbatsandballads]

please take this. I made myself cry writing it and I have nothing to say except that putting ya’aburnee and darling by halsey on my jason playlist was a brutal choice. also look up flower language if you want additional feelings.

There’s so many things you want for Jason Todd.

You want him to get a good night’s sleep for once. You let him close his pretty seafoam eyes and lay his head in the crook of your neck as you scratch gently at his scalp. It always calms him down, grounds him in the here and now. Your arms around him, your fingers carding through his hair, the rise and fall of your chest that’s synced with his–it all reminds him that he’s safe, that he’s home. You want that feeling to follow him into his dreams, to let him find true rest. So when his body goes tense and his breathing gets labored, you hold him closer and hum gently into his ear until whatever haunts him in his sleep is chased away by the comfort you bring.

You want to make sure he’s protected. You wish you could deflect every hit, blade, and bullet away from his body. You wish he would see his body as something worth protecting. He would stop if you asked, would settle into a normal life as best as he could. You would never ask because to do so would be to deny the part of him you love most: his heart that beats to help others. So you protect him in the ways that you can. You stitch cuts and treat burns, you mend his jackets and help clean his guns. More than anything, you guard his peace of mind like it’s the most valuable thing in the world. You’re never cruel to him, never scream vicious words or toss him out into the cold night. You call Bruce and thank him for the first edition Jane Austen novels that arrived on your doorstep on August 16th when Jason just…can’t. You let him grip your hand brutally tight under the table when you go to the manor for Thanksgiving for the first time. And when it gets really bad? When he feels the burning of green waters that breathed life into him that he didn’t want, when hideous laughter echoes in a place it’s never been? You do something no one has ever done for him. You wait. You stay. You stay by his side until he can breathe again, until dawn breaks and he can see the light again. And always, always you, haloed in it like an angel he doesn’t think he deserves. He does.

You want him to have a good cup of hot chocolate. He told you about it once when he came home after a long winter patrol. Half delirious from exhaustion, he reminisced about how Bruce would make them both a cup of hot chocolate after particularly rough or successful patrols in December. How this specific hot chocolate had no equal—even Alfred couldn’t replicate the richness and warmth. You noticed the fondness in his voice, the longing so intense that it still makes your heart ache for him. So you do some light stalking and hunt down Tim Drake, demand that he give you the information you want or else you’ll disclose how he really lost his spleen to Bruce (why he was dense enough to tell Jason, you’ll never know). And that is how Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist single father and the Batman, receives an email with the subject line “URGENT: Recipe Request” that reads as follows:

To whom it may concern,

I have been made aware that you have a remarkably compelling hot chocolate recipe that is hitherto unparalleled by cafes, franchises, and butlers alike. I am emailing you to inquire about my being sent this recipe post-haste. This is less a request than a demand. I will do my best to ensure that you, at some point in time not specified (it will take great effort on my part), are able to witness the consumption of the hot chocolate by the individual that will be receiving the product of the recipe.

Best regards,

Someone who loves your son.

Bruce sends the recipe the second he receives the email. He has to sneak his phone under the conference table at the Wayne Enterprises board meeting to do it, but he still manages to reply in two minutes and forty-seven seconds. And you make good on your promise. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jason shine as brightly as he does that Christmas, lit up by the lights on the twelve foot tree as he sips his hot chocolate from the same red mug that’s been sitting in the kitchen cabinet since he last drank from it. The matching black mug is clasped in the hands of the hot chocolate connoisseur himself, who smiles softly like the magic of the season has returned to his life for the first time in ages.

You want him to heal. It’s a big ask; you know that. But you’ve never been one for giving up hope, and if anyone can manage to achieve the impossible, it’s Jason. So you tell him it’s a great idea when he jokes about getting a therapist. You wait for him in the car the first time he goes and you let him open up to you in his own time when he comes out of the appointment body tight as a bowstring and eyes bloodshot. You watch quietly and celebrate the little victories you see him win. He can call his father first now; he doesn’t do it often, but he can. He can talk to his younger brother without hating his hands and the blood that’s been spilled on them, without going out on patrol and intentionally letting all the worst hits make contact. He can go out to lunch with his older brother and his youngest, can laugh with them over that ridiculous thing Bruce did at a gala once to make them all laugh. He can bear his birthday a little bit better now, can accept the cake you bake and actually make a wish when he blows out the candles. But you’ll never know about the moment that you start to get what you want. Jason goes to visit his own grave on the anniversary of his death and finds a bouquet of red carnations, baby’s breath, and honeysuckle with a note in your handwriting that reads “Someone told me once that you were magic, that that was the best thing about you. I think it’s far more important that you were loved. I don’t know what you could’ve been. I don’t wonder about it like those that loved you did because all I know is who you became. He’s wonderful. He’s still magic. I think you’d be proud of him. I’ll do my best to take care of him for you.” He sits there for an hour in tears. Then he takes one bud of each flower and the note, goes home and presses them into the pages of his favorite book. He holds you in his arms in bed that night and feels, for the first time in a long time, a sense of peace down to his very bones.

You want—above all else—Jason Todd to feel loved. You want him to feel so cherished and wanted that he cannot possibly look at himself without realizing that he is something precious, something beloved. So you tell him that you love him and you accept his warm embrace as his way of saying it back. You make him chocolate chip cookies and sneak one into the pocket of his tactical pants when he goes on patrol (they’re soft, they don’t get crunched when he’s thrown from a roof). You read his favorite books to understand what he’s saying when he goes off on tangents about class and social hierarchy and how they governed life in the 19th century. You trace his scars and kiss away his tears when he can’t believe that he could be transformed from a being marred by brutality into a man revered with gentleness. You will love him until the day you both die. You will love him in death, until whatever atoms made up you and him come together again. You will love him until everything that ever is or ever was ceases to be in a supernova of light. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll love him in whatever is born after.

[dollfacefantasy]

ADD TO THE COLLECTION ♡

pairing: rick grimes x fem!reader

summary: rick finds an old halloween mask out on a supply run. he brings it back to you, and the two of you put it to good use

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, mask kink, praise/degradation, cnc sorta

a/n: yes i wrote another ghostface mask kink fic. idc idc. you can pry that idea from my cold dead hands. every single man i simp for will have one if it's the last thing i do <3

kinktober slot: day 4 - mask kink

"Ew. You know that thing probably has like a billion diseases, right?" you say, a wide smile spreading across your face as you look at the raggedy Halloween mask in your boyfriend's hand.

The slender, pale face stares back at you with its motionless expression of horror. You hadn't seen one of them in a long time. Certainly not since the world went to shit.

"A billion? I don't know about that. Maybe a million," he teases.

Rick enters the room and approaches where you sit on the bed, wanting to show off his find from the supply run a bit more.

"Don't bring it too close to me. I don't wanna catch something," you say with a hand raised in defense.

"So dramatic," he mocks, "I'm not gonna put it on you."

The wooden floor creaks below his boots as he steps to the edge of the mattress. He sits down, the foamy surface dipping with the addition of his weight.

You can't help leaning forward a little bit out of curiosity. Scooting closer to his side, you look between his face and the mask.

"Were you guys raiding a Spirit Halloween or something?" you ask, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He chuckles. His hands rotate the mask between them. It actually isn't in horrible condition. Maybe a little dusty, but there aren't any huge stains or tears. Visions of him wearing it rise to the front of your mind. You could imagine his head turning, the hollow black eyes following you as he watched your figure move about. The thin fabric fanning out over his shoulders also comes up. Your favorite though is the thought of how it would look above you while he thrusts in and out of you.

Shaking those images out of your head, you refocus when he answers your question.

"No, nothin' like that. I just saw it and thought of you," he tells you, turning his head and pecking your cheek, "I remembered you tellin' me how you used to love those movies."

You almost visibly swoon. "That's so sweet. Slasher movies make you think of me," you coo, "How did I get so lucky?"

Your arms slide up and drape around his neck, bringing you closer so you can nuzzle the side of his face. His skin scratches at you a little bit. The prickle of stubble was rising again.

He returns your affection and pushes the mask aside in favor of pulling you into his lap. The two of you melt into each other and then back onto the bed. One of the perks of living in Alexandria now was not having to wait until everyone fell asleep for the night to go at it.

Rick could be so soft for you. Ever since the two of you met, he seemed so naturally protective. He always lets you hold his hand. Your safety was his top priority along with that of his kids. Before the world went bad, you'd bet he was the kind of guy to hold the door open on dates and call women "miss" or "ma'am."

You're pretty sure that's why you want to see him in that mask so bad.

You knew Rick had another side to him. Something beneath the mask of being the good guy. You'd seen it before a few times. The nights where he ended up soaked in someone else's blood, the sticky crimson liquid coating his facial hair, staining his clothes.

A week after he first found that mask, he comes to your room at night wearing one of the pieces of clothing that's been marred with someone else's insides.

The mask over his face has been cleaned. He clearly washed away the dust and any other sign of mileage on the thing. The ivory plastic front shines without a spot of grime while the black fabric draped atop his hair sits there, dark as the night sky outside.

It's a sharp contrast to the white t-shirt he has on. The cloth pours down his neck and over his shoulder onto the light garment. But the abdomen of this top isn't as pristine as the collar. Blood speckles across the snowy threading, the pattern spatters in a way that makes it look like one of those ink blot tests. If you were the one being questioned, you'd say it looks sort of like a tree.

He stands there against the frame of the doorway in silence, waiting to be noticed. You had been cleaning your boots. When you finally finish, you rise from your spot on the edge of the bed and tuck them in their normal spot against the wall. Sighing, you lean back and prepare to finally have nothing left on your to-do list.

But you feel the other presence in the room. You catch him in your peripheral vision, and a gasp tears through you. Your heart springs from a calm resting beat to erratic thrashing against your ribcage. Thoughts melt from your head while breaths grow spikes in your lungs.

Once you turn your head fully and give your brain a second to register that it's only him, you start to calm down. You let out a deep sigh and put your hand across your chest.

"God, don't do that," you huff, "You scared me."

He doesn't respond.

You continue to catch your breath before looking over at him again. Your eyes scan up and down his figure. He leans against the wall so casually. His arms cross over his chest while his ankles hook one on top of the other below. Even though you can't see his gaze, you can feel the intensity of his pupils on you.

"You're lucky I didn't have my gun on me," you tell him and narrow your eyes.

Again, you get no words out of him. But this time he does push off the edge of the entryway and step forward. He swings the door shut behind him and continues to stare you down.

It's weird. Having him just stand there, digs a pit in the bottom of your belly. For a split second, your mind floats the possibility that this isn't him. The paranoid sector of your head poses questions like what if this was someone else who just found the mask? What if they just looked like Rick?

But then his arms drop from his chest and you see the silver of his watch glimmer in the pale moonlight. 

It doesn't kill the tingling in your nerves any; rather, it transforms the sensation. It's a different kind of strange seeing Rick act like this. It wasn't the version of him that came out for a true threat.  He was never so silent when that was the case. In moments of desperation, he became feral - eyes darting around, limbs taut with the preparedness to strike. But that's when you realize this isn't a moment of desperation. He's the one in control. He's the threat in this situation.

"You're not even gonna try to run, little girl?" he asks, his voice coming out in that familiar drawl but with a little edge to it.

Your spine lights up like a fuse. Excitement seeps into your bones. Everything feels jittery. You don't know what to do or say. In this moment, you just want.

"You're in the way. I don't have anywhere to run," you say. Your voice waivers almost as if you naturally fall into the role of the helpless victim.

It's weird hearing yourself like that. In the world you lived in, you never wanted to sound like that. Showing weakness meant death. And hearing it from someone you loved meant their time was coming to end. Being able to express it now though, it felt different. You weren't sure how to articulate it, but that could be due to the fact that you'd never been so turned on before in your life.

He approaches you further. The wooden floor boards creak beneath his slow steps. You try to back up but your knees hit the mattress.

"No runnin'? You're gonna make this too easy for me," he chuckles, "Put up a little fight."

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip. He leans in closer to you, reaching up to drag his fingers down your cheek. You try to lean back but end up having to sit on the bed and scoot away on the mattress to create some distance.

He just laughs and grabs your ankle, preventing you from getting too far. You try wriggling your leg a little bit, but he tightens his grip and grabs the other one.

"Tsk, tsk. Pathetic," he taunts, "You're just gonna let me take what I want?"

You try kicking a little harder, but it's of no use. Each jerk of your leg goes to waste. Nothing changes. There would be no difference if you didn't move at all and just made what he said true.

"So cute," he mocks, "Just tirin' yourself out for me."

"It's not fair," you whine. You roll yourself onto your belly and try to drag yourself away by grabbing the edge of the bed. He doesn't let you though. Even though Rick was lean, he didn't lack strength. That coupled with his training as a pre-apocalypse police officer meant he knew how to restrain people. You whimper and buck your hips to try and create some momentum to get away, but it's all of no use.

"You cheated. You didn't give me a chance to run," you continue to pout before repeating your prior sentiment, "Not fair."

He laughs and whips you around onto your back again. This time he leans forward and tugs your hips harshly, dragging you over the collection of blankets so that your ass is flush against his semi-hard bulge.

"Who said I have to play fair, princess?" he asks, "Weak little thing like you wouldn't have made it far anyways."

Another whine bubbles from your lips as you squirm. He looms over you, keeping you accessible to him with the weight of his body. As he closes in, your breathing becomes heavier. The white ghostface stops inches away from the tip of your nose. You stare into the expressionless eyes of the match while your cunt throbs against the heat of his pelvis.

"You're lucky I caught you here. Spares you the embarrassment of getting dragged back, kicking and screaming. Or even worse, me pounding you into the grass out there where anyone could see," he breathes.

You shudder at the images his words create in your head.

He can feel the tremble of your limbs, and he pushes the mask up slightly to bare his lips. For a second, you think he's going in for a kiss. And in a way, that's true. But it's not on your mouth. Instead, he ducks down to your throat. He attacks it with fervor much more intense than what you usually felt from him.

These kisses are hot and open-mouthed. The tip of his tongue tickles your pulsing skin. His lips feather against it while his teeth nip and tug. All you can do is melt under it. You try to keep in character and put up a bit of resistance, but it's not a strong performance.

His fingers hook over the top of your little sleep shorts and panties and pull them down to your mid-thigh. That was all the room he needed. His hand not clutching one of your biceps slides down between your thighs. He can feel the slick on his fingers in seconds, and he huffs out a laugh.

"Oh, you're a bad girl, aren't you? The slightest bit of attention, and you're dripping. I didn't even have to do anything," he says.

After those words hit your ears, he pulls back. He tugs your shorts all the way off to free your legs before he shoves his jeans down far enough that his length can spring free. He's almost fully hard. The sight of your slippery cunt makes it easier to take it from almost to solid.

He strokes it and watches you. It's obvious how ready you are, but he can't help but want to draw it out a little more.

"Take off your top," he commands.

Your breath hitches, and you swear you feel your heart stutter. Of course, he'd seen you naked before, but it felt new here. This wasn't Rick's cool blue eyes gazing down at you with love. It was the dark, empty patches of painted plastic.

Nevertheless, your hands venture down and peel your shirt from your body. Once it's gone, your tits are left exposed to his view. He doesn't touch them, and you can't see if he stares directly at them, but it feels like he does.

He pumps his cock a little faster. A small groan rumbles from his mouth.

"I don't even have to say it twice. You didn't even need to see my face to listen. I either have you so well-trained, or you're just the most natural slut out there, babydoll. Just waiting for orders to follow like a little puppy," he rasps.

He pushes forward and slides his leaky tip against your folds. A small whine sneaks out of you at the pressure on your clit. The head nudges it before gliding down toward your entrance again where it pops in.

You both hiss at the feel. On his part, you're already so warm and tight. For you, it's the mild stretch combined with the satisfaction of having something inside you. Either way, it's just a taste of what's to come.

He sinks in more, guiding the rest of his shaft into your pussy. Whimpering, you arch your back off the bed the tiniest bit. His hand lands on your tummy and pushes you down again though. He forces you to take it all and then rocks his hips back and slams forward again.

"So sensitive," he teases.

His hands curl around your hips before he starts thrusting. Like the earlier kisses, his pelvis snaps against you with more force than usual. Your eyes roll back from the bouncing rhythm while your fingers clutch the linens beneath you.

"Poor baby. You never had any fight in you to begin with," he teases, "You give in so easily."

"It- it's not my fault," you whimper. More moans seep out of you. It feels like every slap of skin on skin knocks a new noise from you.

"Oh yes it is," he grunts, "You didn't even try because you want this. You just wanna be filled up. Don't even care who's doing it."

As he says that, your hazy eyes look up at the mask. "Do too..." you pout.

Your walls squeeze around him tight at the sight of the haunted face watching you. It bobs a little with his motions as well, shaken by the force of them.

He laughs at you from beneath the mask and speeds up a little. You clench around him in tandem with your toes curling. He leans in and bends you further in half on the mattress.

"Ok sure, sweetheart. That's why you didn't even need to see my face before I slid my dick inside you," he breathes.

Your little clit throbs at the words. As if he can sense it, one of his hands rises to thumb at the nub. Your hips buck in response, eager for more. Deep, whiny sighs flood into the air from you. He can't get enough.

"That's right, keep squeezin' me, darlin'" he says, arousal infecting his tone now too.

You nod like you have a real say. The way he was battering your pleasure spots and swiping at your clit had you tightening up involuntarily. He still moans with the feeling though. His head tilts back. You can hear his panting getting louder below that mask.

A few strokes later, he reaches up and yanks it off, dropping it to the floor next to his boot. His hair hangs damp against his forehead while his cheeks are a little flushed from the heat. None of this stops him from fucking into you though. It's as if he can't stop. The chase for release captures him on a deeper level.

Even without the help of ghostface, his stare is intense. His pupils glare into you as he provides you with more pleasure than you know what to do with.

"You think you're gonna cum for me? Gush all over my cock?" he croons mockingly.

You nod. Your arm weakly flies up so you can grab at his wrist. "Need it, Rick," you whine.

He chuckles, a small smirk teasing his lips. "You can have it then. Let it go for me," he says.

Your hips buck in time with the next handful of whimpers that leave your lips. The climb to the top feels so fucking good. Your core sizzles up until it reaches a fever pitch and you explode into white hot pleasure. A low, satisfied hum reverberates from you as your eyelashes dust your cheeks.

He fucks you through the feeling, one hand on your throat, the other down at your clit, swirling around the small nub a few times to give you the extra boost. It makes you nice and tight around his dick. Your walls squeeze like a vise. He has no choice but to let go.

As desperate as he is to fuck it deep inside of you, he stops himself at the last second and pulls out. He grabs his cock at light speed before that feeling can vanish and pumps it at the same rhythm he'd been thrusting into you.

Warm, milky ropes of cum shoot out onto your belly. The splatter across your skin, glimmering in the cool light of the night. You force your eyes open when you hear his deep moan. You're almost certain you've never seen anything as beautiful as Rick's face when he releases. His brows furrow while his jaw relaxes. He parts his lips in a small o. You watch with droopy eyes, the haze of lust still not totally gone yet.

When he's finished, he stares down at you in a similar fashion. His hand cups the back of your neck so he can bring you up to give you a kiss before he goes and grabs a towel. The bloody shirt he'd been wearing is gone when he returns. He cleans the spend off your belly and then crawls back into bed with you.

You snuggle up to him, ready to close your eyes and conk out. But then you think of something.

"I knew it was you before you took off the mask," you say. The flesh of your cheek smooshes against this chest.

He looks down at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Cause your watch," you say proudly, as if you'd discovered some great clue.

The information registers but then his lips break into a grin. "Hmm, smart girl. I'll have to keep that in mind if I ever put on the mask for something secretive," he teases before yawning and tugging you closer to his side.

"Mhm, cause I'd figure you out right away," you murmur.

"I'm sure," he agrees, pressing a few kisses to your head. "Get some sleep, baby."

[readwritealldayallnight]

Promises

Captain John Price x Reader

wc: 1.2k words

warnings/tags: fluff fluff fluff

“You’ll check the doors? Windows as well, aye?”

“Yes, John. I’ll make sure they’re locked before bed.” You reassure the man, holding the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you do exactly that, tugging on the window latches to ensure they’re shut properly, walking past each door to spy the locks are in fact in place. “No one will be coming in and touching your cigars, I can assure you of that.”

“Hm. Got precious cargo I’m more concerned about these days, than cigars.” He quips back, playing into your attempt to lighten the situation. John hasn’t been gone on deployment for a full 24 hours yet and already he’s finding himself missing you more than he thought possible. He knew being apart from you was going to be difficult, especially considering that this mission was likely to take a few months rather than a few weeks, but he hadn’t anticipated struggling so early on.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone touch your scotch either.” You say and he can just picture you adding a mischievous wink at the end. He finds himself suddenly wondering if he has any photos of you where you’re winking at him, and he feels regret creeping into his stomach at the realization that no, he probably doesn’t. Now he’s got nothing but his memory to rely on when he wants to imagine your playful expression.

It’s not as if John hadn’t made a point of taking more candid shots of you once he’d learned about how long this upcoming mission was to take. He wanted to have something tangible, something real he could wrap his fingers around, lay his weary gaze upon and be gifted with the sight of his beloved smiling back at him. And if a thick stack of Polaroids each adorned with varying expressions of your visage find themselves stuffed into the pocket of his tactical vest right above where his heart beats only for you, well then his men had best mind their business about it.

His last ditch effort to capture your beauty, to bring along with him a small fragment of the joy you bring to his life every day he spends by your side, had melted your heart thoroughly. It was sometimes hard to imagine your soft, loving teddy bear of a man, having to turn on his Captain persona and intimidate enemies on a battlefield. But then you’d hear him shouting at the television, going on about how some wanker was making a mockery of ‘The Price is Right’ (a show the two of you watched too often, if only so that John had more of an excuse to slip ‘well ya know, they do say Price is right, after all’ into arguments), or you’d catch him glaring at anyone he felt was looking at you the wrong way in public, and you couldn’t deny he was to be in a position of command.

“Don’t go answerin’ the door for anyone either, love. And make sure that the-”

“John, I’ll be okay. I promise, I’ll be careful.” You attempt to convince him before he spirals further. A man of action, John had been keeping busy in the time leading up to his departure. Trips to the hardware store to buy additional locks for the front door, jammers for the window panes, researching various brands of security systems, even going as far as speaking a little louder in the hallways outside your flat door, letting anyone who lived near enough know that a man lived here as well, not wanting anyone to know you’d be alone and vulnerable.

“I know, m’sorry to keep pestering you love.” The Captain sighs into the phone, running a hand down his phone before glancing back over his shoulder at the room. He knows he doesn’t have much more time to keep talking with you. Really, he shouldn’t have called at all, but John just couldn’t help himself. This is how he gets when it comes to you. Nothing else matters as much when it comes to you. And so yes, he admits he is being selfish by holding everyone else up in the briefing room as they wait for his return, but he doesn’t know when he’ll get to hear your voice again, and what’s the point of being Captain if you can’t pull strings when they matter? “Just wanna know you’ll be safe.”

“Now why do I feel as though I should be the one asking you that question, hm?” Your question brings a soft smile to his face. God, he misses you so much already. “You made it to- wherever you are- alright?”

“I did.” He confirms, casting another glance across the room. He can see them loading up trucks with supplies as you speak. He hates that he can’t ever tell you where he is. Can’t tell you that this base is just one of countless destinations where he’ll sleep in a bed that feels too empty without you by his side. Can’t tell you that each meal portion he eats tastes blander without you sitting across from him. “Though we’re not stayin’ here long. Flyin’ out early again in the mornin’.”

“Hm.” You hum along in response, knowing he can’t give you details, satisfied with any bit of information he can offer you in its place. “You promise me, you’ll be safe John Price. I don’t like those stories of Gaz falling out of helicopters.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing that’s the only story I’m ever lettin’ him tell you.” John can’t help but to laugh along with you, before falling more serious again, knowing he’ll have to hang up soon and leave you. “Trust me love. You don’t need to be worrying your pretty little head over me. There isn’t anythin’ that could keep me from comin’ home to you. Nothin’.”

His declaration has tears threatening to sting the corners of your eyes, treasuring this moment with him, even an unknown distance apart, knowing it’ll be some time until you can speak again. You can hear the background noise of wherever he is increasing in volume. You overhear someone shout his name, no doubt looking for him. You know your time is up for now, and that you’ll have to be the one to bite the bullet. He’s never the first one to hang up the phone with you, and this time is no different.

“I love you John. So much. I’ll see you soon.” You whisper into the receiver, hoping he can feel the love you speak into each word meant only for him.

“I love you, angel. So much. Be back before you know it.” He says, waiting to hear the ‘click’ on the other side of the line before stuffing his phone back into his slacks.

It’s true, what he said to you. There truly isn’t anything, so long as he can help it, that will keep him from coming back home to you. Not when he’s made a promise to do exactly that. Not when he’s got a small box stuffed into three pairs of socks hiding in his underwear drawer in your flat, hiding a shiny little ring he’s been holding on to since your second date. Not when he intends to make his biggest promise to you yet as soon as he’s home and holding you in his arms again, where you belong.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘!

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Summary: Toji doesn't want another baby, and there's nothing you can do about it, so you come to terms with it.

Warnings: Pure Fluff

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Toji doesn’t get baby fever. Out of the two of you, you’re the only one that squeals around a cute baby. Toji already knows parenthood, and he’s changed way too many diapers and done way too many late night feedings to know that he never wants to do them again.

Babies are cute, but at this point in life, he’d rather just be an uncle. He gets to hold and play with the baby, but gets to give them back when an accident happens. Unclehood is much better than parenthood, dare he say. He gets to do all the fun stuff and none of the bad stuff.

He doesn’t really want to do it all again, and there’s nothing that you can do to change his mind.

“Toji!” You yell from Megumi’s bedroom, and the man walks to the bedroom, annoyed. The man loves you to death, but he hears his name way too many times in this home.

He sighs, leaning against the doorframe as you open up a box. He makes his annoyance clear as he asks, “What?”

“I’m cleaning out Megumi’s closet, and look what I found.” You hold up the cutest onesie, one that fit six month old baby Megumi, something that feels like eons ago. Toji raises his brows, a smile coming to his lips.

“What? Are you thinking of having one?” Toji asks, and he’s surprised when you shake your head. It’s the first time you shake your head to that question. “Then what’s this?”

“Shouldn’t we donate it? Since we’re not having a baby, we don’t need these.” You tell him, and Toji can’t help but agree. There’s no way Megumi is going to fit into one of these onesies, even if he truly tried. 

“Let me help you.” He says, sitting down on the floor with you. You look at him, perking up your brows.

“What came over you? Suddenly being so helpful.” You chuckle, and Toji rolls his eyes as he grabs a onesie from the box. Why does it feel so small? He didn’t recall them being so small. “Who are you and what did you do with my husband?”

“Whatever happened to you wanting a baby? Who are you and what did you do with my wife?” Toji responds, wondering why now of all time you aren’t blabbering about how a baby would be a perfect addition to the house. These clothes are just so small and so adorable…

“I mean, we agreed to not have kids when we got married since you were done with that. It’s just unfair of me to ask for a baby when I know you don’t want more… So I accepted it.” You smile at him, feeling proud of yourself for this newfound maturity. Toji’s glad you’ve come to terms with it, because he was sure getting sick of it. 

He reaches into the box again, pulling out a pair of socks. He purses his lips together before looking at you. He didn’t remember babies having such small feet. “I’m glad that you–”

“I mean what’s even cool about babies? They’re cute, and nothing else. Then you have to…” You continue talking about the cons of babies, while Toji pulls out more and more clothes from the box. It seems to be getting smaller and smaller. His heart gets weaker with each item and he fights back the wicked thoughts. He can’t possibly be having… baby fever.

“Babies aren’t that great. Never have I looked at Megumi and thought ‘Oh I wish you were a stinky baby again.’ ” Toji says, but he pauses when he realizes that he’s had that thought before, way too many times. You chuckle before you quietly continue your task. Toji chews on the inside of his cheek, when he realizes something that he wishes he could push out of his mind.

He doesn’t want to be the one to bring it up, but you said you were done with asking. The umpteenth time is the charm or whatever they say. Toji hopes that by saying, “Oh, Megumi was just the chubbiest and sleepiest baby.” You’ll come to your senses. You have to go back to your duty of being the wife that annoys her husband for a baby, and this time around he’ll finally agree.

“Yeah, they’re sleepy until it’s three in the morning, then they’ll wake up.” You argue, not noticing what Toji is trying to do.

“He had the cutest sneezes.” Toji brings up.

“Yeah, means they’re sick because they put their hands on everything and then shove them in their mouths.”

“He was so cute when he laughed…”

“Have you heard how they cry? That easily outweighs that.” You don’t even notice how he’s putting the clothes back into the box. You keep taking out the same clothes, wondering why he had so many of the same set.

“For fuck’s sake! I want a baby.” Toji finally confesses, ashamed that he’s the one that has to bring it up. Your eyes widen, a smile coming to your lips before you practically jump on him to kiss him.

You kiss him over and over again, and Toji doesn’t want to fight you on it right now, but he has to put his hand over your lips when he senses the kiss leading to something else. He tells you, “Not in Megumi’s bedroom.”

“Right.” You laugh out of embarrassment, getting up from the floor and giving him a hand to do the same. 

He’s never seen you use so much force before as you drag him out of the bedroom. But it’s nice to see that you hadn’t really changed your mind, after all, that makes his job easier.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

What the fuck is a PBM?

TOMORROW (Sept 24), I'll be speaking IN PERSON at the BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY!

Terminal-stage capitalism owes its long senescence to its many defensive mechanisms, and it's only by defeating these that we can put it out of its misery. "The Shield of Boringness" is one of the necrocapitalist's most effective defenses, so it behooves us to attack it head-on.

The Shield of Boringness is Dana Claire's extremely useful term for anything so dull that you simply can't hold any conception of it in your mind for any length of time. In the finance sector, they call this "MEGO," which stands for "My Eyes Glaze Over," a term of art for financial arrangements made so performatively complex that only the most exquisitely melted brain-geniuses can hope to unravel their spaghetti logic. The rest of us are meant to simply heft those thick, dense prospectuses in two hands, shrug, and assume, "a pile of shit this big must have a pony under it."

MEGO and its Shield of Boringness are key to all of terminal-stage capitalism's stupidest scams. Cloaking obvious swindles in a lot of complex language and Byzantine payment schemes can make them seem respectable just long enough for the scammers to relieve you of all your inconvenient cash and assets, though, eventually, you're bound to notice that something is missing.

If you spent the years leading up to the Great Financial Crisis baffled by "CDOs," "synthetic CDOs," "ARMs" and other swindler nonsense, you experienced the Shield of Boringness. If you bet your house and/or your retirement savings on these things, you experienced MEGO. If, after the bubble popped, you finally came to understand that these "exotic financial instruments" were just scams, you experienced Stein's Law ("anything that can't go forever eventually stops"). If today you no longer remember what a CDO is, you are once again experiencing the Shield of Boringness.

As bad as 2008 was, it wasn't even close to the end of terminal stage capitalism. The market has soldiered on, with complex swindles like carbon offset trading, metaverse, cryptocurrency, financialized solar installation, and (of course) AI. In addition to these new swindles, we're still playing the hits, finding new ways to make the worst scams of the 2000s even worse.

That brings me to the American health industry, and the absurdly complex, ridiculously corrupt Pharmacy Benefit Managers (PBMs), a pathology that has only metastasized since 2008.

On at least 20 separate occasions, I have taken it upon myself to figure out how the PBM swindle works, and nevertheless, every time they come up, I have to go back and figure it out again, because PBMs have the most powerful Shield of Boringness out of the whole Monster Manual of terminal-stage capitalism's trash mobs.

PBMs are back in the news because the FTC is now suing the largest of these for their role in ripping off diabetics with sky-high insulin prices. This has kicked off a fresh round of "what the fuck is a PBM, anyway?" explainers of extremely variable quality. Unsurprisingly, the best of these comes from Matt Stoller:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/monopoly-round-up-lina-khan-pharma

Stoller starts by pointing out that Americans have a proud tradition of getting phucked by pharma companies. As far back as the 1950s, Tennessee Senator Estes Kefauver was holding hearings on the scams that pharma companies were using to ensure that Americans paid more for their pills than virtually anyone else in the world.

But since the 2010s, Americans have found themselves paying eye-popping, sky-high, ridiculous drug prices. Eli Lilly's Humolog insulin sold for $21 in 1999; by 2017, the price was $274 – a 1,200% increase! This isn't your grampa's price gouging!

Where do these absurd prices come from? The story starts in the 2000s, when the GW Bush administration encouraged health insurers to create "high deductible" plans, where patients were expected to pay out of pocket for receiving care, until they hit a multi-thousand-dollar threshold, and then their insurance would kick in. Along with "co-pays" and other junk fees, these deductibles were called "cost sharing," and they were sold as a way to prevent the "abuse" of the health care system.

The economists who crafted terminal-stage capitalism's intellectual rationalizations claimed the reason Americans paid so much more for health care than their socialized-medicine using cousins in the rest of the world had nothing to do with the fact that America treats health as a source of profits, while the rest of the world treats health as a human right.

No, the actual root of America's health industry's problems was the moral defects of Americans. Because insured Americans could just go see the doctor whenever they felt like it, they had no incentive to minimize their use of the system. Any time one of these unhinged hypochondriacs got a little sniffle, they could treat themselves to a doctor's visit, enjoying those waiting-room magazines and the pleasure of arranging a sick day with HR, without bearing any of the true costs:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/27/the-doctrine-of-moral-hazard/

"Cost sharing" was supposed to create "skin in the game" for every insured American, creating a little pain-point that stung you every time you thought about treating yourself to a luxurious doctor's visit. Now, these payments bit hardest on the poorest workers, because if you're making minimum wage, at $10 co-pay hurts a lot more than it does if you're making six figures. What's more, VPs and the C-suite were offered "gold-plated" plans with low/no deductibles or co-pays, because executives understand the value of a dollar in the way that mere working slobs can't ever hope to comprehend. They can be trusted to only use the doctor when it's truly warranted.

So now you have these high-deductible plans creeping into every workplace. Then along comes Obama and the Affordable Care Act, a compromise that maintains health care as a for-profit enterprise (still not a human right!) but seeks to create universal coverage by requiring every American to buy a plan, requiring insurers to offer plans to every American, and uses public money to subsidize the for-profit health industry to glue it together.

Predictably, the cheapest insurance offered on the Obamacare exchanges – and ultimately, by employers – had sky-high deductibles and co-pays. That way, insurers could pocket a fat public subsidy, offer an "insurance" plan that was cheap enough for even the most marginally employed people to afford, but still offer no coverage until their customers had spent thousands of dollars out-of-pocket in a given year.

That's the background: GWB created high-deductible plans, Obama supercharged them. Keep that in your mind as we go through the MEGO procedures of the PBM sector.

Your insurer has a list of drugs they'll cover, called the "formulary." The formulary also specifies how much the insurance company is willing to pay your pharmacist for these drugs. Creating the formulary and paying pharmacies for dispensing drugs is a lot of tedious work, and insurance outsources this to third parties, called – wait for it – Pharmacy Benefits Managers.

The prices in the formulary the PBM prepares for your insurance company are called the "list prices." These are meant to represent the "sticker price" of the drug, what a pharmacist would charge you if you wandered in off the street with no insurance, but somehow in possession of a valid prescription.

But, as Stoller writes, these "list prices" aren't actually ever charged to anyone. The list price is like the "full price" on the pricetags at a discount furniture place where everything is always "on sale" at 50% off – and whose semi-disposable sofas and balsa-wood dining room chairs are never actually sold at full price.

One theoretical advantage of a PBM is that it can get lower prices because it bargains for all the people in a given insurer's plan. If you're the pharma giant Sanofi and you want your Lantus insulin to be available to any of the people who must use OptumRX's formulary, you have to convince OptumRX to include you in that formulary.

OptumRX – like all PBMs – demands "rebates" from pharma companies if they want to be included in the formulary. On its face, this is similar to the practices of, say, NICE – the UK agency that bargains for medicine on behalf of the NHS, which also bargains with pharma companies for access to everyone in the UK and gets very good deals as a result.

But OptumRX doesn't bargain for a lower list price. They bargain for a bigger rebate. That means that the "price" is still very high, but OptumRX ends up paying a tiny fraction of it, thanks to that rebate. In the OptumRX formulary, Lantus insulin lists for $403. But Sanofi, who make Lantus, rebate $339 of that to OptumRX, leaving just $64 for Lantus.

Here's where the scam hits. Your insurer charges you a deductible based on the list price – $404 – not on the $64 that OptumRX actually pays for your insulin. If you're in a high-deductible plan and you haven't met your cap yet, you're going to pay $404 for your insulin, even though the actual price for it is $64.

Now, you'd think that your insurer would put a stop to this. They chose the PBM, the PBM is ripping off their customers, so it's their job to smack the PBM around and make it cut this shit out. So why would the insurers tolerate this nonsense?

Here's why: the PBMs are divisions of the big health insurance companies. Unitedhealth owns OptumRx; Aetna owns Caremark, and Cigna owns Expressscripts. So it's not the PBM that's ripping you off, it's your own insurance company. They're not just making you pay for drugs that you're supposedly covered for – they're pocketing the deductible you pay for those drugs.

Now, there's one more entity with power over the PBM that you'd hope would step in on your behalf: your boss. After all, your employer is the entity that actually chooses the insurer and negotiates with them on your behalf. Your boss is in the driver's seat; you're just along for the ride.

It would be pretty funny if the answer to this was that the health insurance company bought your employer, too, and so your boss, the PBM and the insurer were all the same guy, busily swapping hats, paying for a call center full of tormented drones who each have three phones on their desks: one labeled "insurer"; the second, "PBM" and the final one "HR."

But no, the insurers haven't bought out the company you work for (yet). Rather, they've bought off your boss – they're sharing kickbacks with your employer for all the deductibles and co-pays you're being suckered into paying. There's so much money (your money) sloshing around in the PBM scamoverse that anytime someone might get in the way of you being ripped off, they just get cut in for a share of the loot.

That is how the PBM scam works: they're fronts for health insurers who exploit the existence of high-deductible plans in order to get huge kickbacks from pharma makers, and massive fees from you. They split the loot with your boss, whose payout goes up when you get screwed harder.

But wait, there's more! After all, Big Pharma isn't some kind of easily pushed-around weakling. They're big. Why don't they push back against these massive rebates? Because they can afford to pay bribes and smaller companies making cheaper drugs can't. Whether it's a little biotech upstart with a cheaper molecule, or a generics maker who's producing drugs at a fraction of the list price, they just don't have the giant cash reserves it takes to buy their way into the PBMs' formularies. Doubtless, the Big Pharma companies would prefer to pay smaller kickbacks, but from Big Pharma's perspective, the optimum amount of bribes extracted by a PBM isn't zero – far from it. For Big Pharma, the optimal number is one cent higher than "the maximum amount of bribes that a smaller company can afford."

The purpose of a system is what it does. The PBM system makes sure that Americans only have access to the most expensive drugs, and that they pay the highest possible prices for them, and this enriches both insurance companies and employers, while protecting the Big Pharma cartel from upstarts.

Which is why the FTC is suing the PBMs for price-fixing. As Stoller points out, they're using their powers under Section 5 of the FTC Act here, which allows them to shut down "unfair methods of competition":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

The case will be adjudicated by an administrative law judge, in a process that's much faster than a federal court case. Once the FTC proves that the PBM scam is illegal when applied to insulin, they'll have a much easier time attacking the scam when it comes to every other drug (the insulin scam has just about run its course, with federally mandated $35 insulin coming online, just as a generation of post-insulin diabetes treatments hit the market).

Obviously the PBMs aren't taking this lying down. Cigna/Expressscripts has actually sued the FTC for libel over the market study it conducted, in which the agency described in pitiless, factual detail how Cigna was ripping us all off. The case is being fought by a low-level Reagan-era monster named Rick Rule, whom Stoller characterizes as a guy who "hangs around in bars and picks up lonely multi-national corporations" (!!).

The libel claim is a nonstarter, but it's still wild. It's like one of those movies where they want to show you how bad the cockroaches are, so there's a bit where the exterminator shows up and the roaches form a chorus line and do a kind of Busby Berkeley number:

https://www.46brooklyn.com/news/2024-09-20-the-carlton-report

So here we are: the FTC has set out to euthanize some rentiers, ridding the world of a layer of useless economic middlemen whose sole reason for existing is to make pharmaceuticals as expensive as possible, by colluding with the pharma cartel, the insurance cartel and your boss. This conspiracy exists in plain sight, hidden by the Shield of Boringness. If I've done my job, you now understand how this MEGO scam works – and if you forget all that ten minutes later (as is likely, given the nature of MEGO), that's OK: just remember that this thing is a giant fucking scam, and if you ever need to refresh yourself on the details, you can always re-read this post.

The paperback edition of The Lost Cause, my nationally bestselling, hopeful solarpunk novel is out this month!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/23/shield-of-boringness/#some-men-rob-you-with-a-fountain-pen

Image: Flying Logos (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Over_$1,000,000_dollars_in_USD_$100_bill_stacks.png

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[pomefioredove]

If the flirtatious lines event is still happening, I do have a little request, and this is absolutely not forced!

Could you do “You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?” With Leona x reader? Here’s a little twist, though; The reader is the one saying that to Leona! I absolutely adore the idea of Leona being super shy when in love, seeing normally tough characters be out-of-character when they have a crush is ADORABLE to me! Plus, I don’t see enough of reader being the teasing one in Leona x reader fics.

Thank you for listening, have a lovely day/night!

ooh this makes SO much sense though, I see your vision!!

summary: "you’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?" type of post: short fic characters: leona additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, probably really ooc idk

It's not the first time you've run into him, and it won't be the last.

It was annoying at first; your clumsiness, and that perpetual look of confusion and awe in your eyes...

You didn't belong here.

That was the first thing Leona thought about you.

Your good nature, the way you stupidly stumbled into trouble time and time again, even that look on your face; you'd make an easy meal for any predator.

And, as luck would have it, that would be him.

Though he certainly doesn't feel like the top of the food chain now.

"Talk to them," Ruggie pesters, hovering around his boss like a fly. Leona is tempted to swat him away.

"No,"

He puts a hand on his hip. "I don't see what the big deal is. You deal with being a prince your whole life, but you get choked up at the Prefect?"

Annoying. Leona is tempted to make a rude gesture, but his social etiquette gets the best of him.

"I am not choked up, but you're going to be unless you get lost," he says in a tone far too quiet.

He's lucky that Leona is in a merciful mood today.

"Suit yourself," Ruggie shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets and heading towards the exit.

Good. Leona didn't come here to talk about the Prefect, anyway.

Of all the stupid things...

He lies back in his original position, trying to drown out the sound of your voice and get some sleep. You're here with a group, doing some potionology thing, he figures. Great.

One of your friends makes you laugh, and he feels a strange sense of jealousy.

"I'll get the poppy," you sound rather pleased with yourself.

Though, as hard as he tries, he can't seem to dislike you.

A rustle, and then another beam of sunlight hits the secluded little spot, illuminating the both of you.

"Oh!" you say, eyes wide. "Sorry, Leona. Didn't mean to disturb you."

Always so polite. He wonders if that's just for show, or if you're being genuine.

"Mhm," he hums. He can't find it within himself to tell you off. It's like he's forgotten how to speak.

And he can't look at you.

"It's not over here..." you say under your breath. You're not even doing anything and he finds you endearing. "Well... sorry again."

Ruggie's words are still fresh in his mind- the pest- and he sighs.

"Wait," Leona says, standing. "You're looking for poppy? I know where it is."

You seem to hesitate. Not a good sign. "...I don't want to trouble you..."

"It would be more rude to turn down such a generous offer," he rebuffs. That's more like it.

And, so, you follow him. It feels nice, stringing you along for once.

Leona says nothing. With anyone else, he would've made at least one comment by now- no, with anyone else, he wouldn't have offered his help in the first place.

He brings you to another part of the botanical gardens, and shows you a row of potted poppies. Crewel had the second years move them yesterday.

"Ah, here they are. Thank you!" you smile. It's almost... cute. Ugh.

He says nothing.

You collect your material, and begin the walk back with him. He can feel your eyes on him, and he can tell there's something you want to ask.

"...You don't say much,"

Great. Leona huffs. Why does he feel so hot, all of a sudden? "I just have nothing to say,"

Even he sounds unsure of what he's claiming. You raise an eyebrow, a small smile gracing your lips.

"You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?"

And you're driving me mad, he thinks, but all he can do is grunt in response.

He feels nervous. Always so nervous around you.

Leona would never admit what those words did to him, but he didn't need to. He could feel the embarrassment on his face.

You stop at the mouth of the gardens. Your friends are waiting outside.

"Thanks again," you smile. It's genuine. He can't keep eye contact with you.

"...Sure,"

"Just, ah..." you say, looking between him and your puny first year friends as they call you over. "Let me know what I can do to repay the favor, okay?"

So naive. You're practically serving yourself on a silver platter. Like he originally thought, an easy meal for any predator.

...But, for once, that predator isn't him.

And he's actually going to have to work for this.

[controld3vil]

chaotic duo

pairing(s): dune cast x actor!reader (platonic), oscar isaac x actor!reader

synopsis: requested by this ask!

⤷ alt: even your on-screen son can't deny how delightful his on-screen parents were.

notes: absolutely no shade to rebecca ferguson i adore her too much. reader is considered to have fem pronouns. ALSO ive been feeling iffy about trying to write for dune characters?? personally, although i love writing these actor!reader stories, writing for the actual characters i feel would be more challenging. dune's still pretty new to me but i kinda wanna give it a shot if i can make a good storyline T-T

It all started with the Dune Cast Q&A brought together by Nerdist. Timothee Chalamet and Denis Villeneuve had just finished chatting with the host, Stephen Colbert about their perspectives on Paul's character. Much emphasis had gone on the young actor's performance. And Denis's decision to cast such a well-experienced one.

After finishing up their last question together, Stephen decides to introduce two additional members. "Timothee let's bring out the man and the woman who play your parents, Duke Leto Atreides and Lady Jessica." A transition between screens to display your camera view and Oscar's. He introduces both your names.

"Hi!" You grin at the camera, comfortably leaning against one of the arms of your chair. Similar to everyone else's backdrop, yours was pitch gray, covering all but your silhouette and chair.

"Hey Stephen," Oscar greets at ease, as you proceed to wave to each of the people seen onscreen.

It cuts immediately to the host gesturing in continuation for a question. "Tell me and the audience about Duke Leto Atreides. What do we need to know?"

"He's the father and human. I think that's the biggest thing and uh under incredible pressure to save his family. Save his house but to adapt to this new existential threat situation which is moving to this strange planet," Your fellow costar puts into short. Short and concise was what was expected.

Content with his answer, Stephen moves the attention to you. He calls out your name, eagerly. "Rereading the books uh- right now, I am struck by how much of the story- uh the backstory and the action story is driven by the decisions Lady Jessica makes." A smile grows on your face, knowing how much fun was a character to play for you.

Along his last few words, you find yourself nodding in agreement. "I'm impressed with that you, Stephen actually read the books again!" An instant grin comes from the said man. "But it's all applause to Denny- he highlighted this from the book. In the film, her decisions basically create, fractures and disrupts everything."

"Best parents ever," In a low whisper, Timothee murmurs and the five of you burst into short chuckles and snickers.

"The best you could ever have!" You clapped your hands together, shaking them above your head in victory. And when the screen expands to show everyone's reactions, the audience can noticeably pinpoint Oscar's playful eye-rolling.

Another fun interview you had the pleasure of sharing was with Grazia UK. It was in a more comfortable setting. With you and Oscar in a lounge room, with the Zoom camera on. While the female interviewer complimenting a kind smile.

"Can I ask you something," Not within a second of the conversation, you rose up with a peculiar question. "Do you remember his beard?" Your costar beside you, looks away in disappointment. Even raising his hand to emphasize his discouraged state.

"A bit yes..."

"Yeah,"

"Yes!"

"Why? It was an impressive beard," Sort of clueless really, the interviewer says, of why you wanted to the topic up.

"Yeah, it was impressive!" Oscar looks back and forth between you and the camera, directing towards the woman on the other side. While you shriveled in embarrassment, leaning your head behind his shoulder, with a few snorts of laughter. "She doesn't even remember if I had a beard or not in the movie! She just saw it."

"Quite a prominent beard!"

"Yes yes, well I can remember so much," You chaste, leaning closer, locking eyes with your costar. Threatening really in a playful way.

"We shot together for a few months! How could you not remember?!" He exclaims, raising both his hands in the air in exasperation. You puff, adorning a pouty-like look.

"I work with what's in front of me," you turn to address the interviewer, pointing at Oscar accusingly. Because much contrast to what he looked months ago, he no longer had that impressive beard. He was clean-shaven, much to your display.

Next to you, Oscar scoffs. "Apparently not!" Bumping shoulders with you as you fought back, poking him many times obnoxiously.

You both later discussed a provoking quote referenced multiple times from Dune posters. Fear is the mind killer. Truly a simple yet intriguing phrase that fitted well with the film. And in generally, you and Oscar compared each others quotes from personal experience.

"I guess you could combine them together," Taking a sip out of your glass, you eyed at Oscar. He hums back and smooths his hands comfortably down his hips.

"It will pass and love prevails!" He cheerfully expresses. Even from afar, the interviewer can notice how much fun you two were having with the question.

"Right and, it plays perfectly with the film," You add onto your little spiel, nodding as you go, "Besides the fact that- you know, fear is the mind killer."

The male actor lets out a long sigh. "Makes you forget how violent the movie is."

On the other side of the screen, the blonde interviewer shrugs her shoulders. "Well- it's only included in small parts in the movie."

It was your turn to hum, dragging out the M sound. "I think maybe the film focusses too much on romance."

A caught off cough comes from Oscar as he tries to his best to dismiss his your sarcastic comment. "I feel like there should've been more of it."

"Really?!" The shot pans to your exaggerated shocked gaze. You then turn to look at the interviewer. "He has no idea how to write a movie." Instantaneously the male actor bursts out laughing, shaking his head back and forth in little denial. Even you couldn't hold it together and giggled a little.

"You play Timothee's parents so spent a lot of time with him. What is the most interesting thing we do not about Timothee Chalamet?" The interviewer prompts, having their arms supported on top the their desk with pure keenness.

Pursing your lips together in concentration, your attention turns towards your partner. "Well coming from me- I mean I don't know if people know this about him or not- but he's very open hearted." Oscar continues, "And me, having to play his father- hence the beard!"

"Ah!" Giving more emphasis, you raised your brow in recollection.

He goes on comparing the analogy of having to play Duke Leto as a powerful leader of a House. Without his people and court, he wouldn't resemble much of an prestige leader. However Oscar later mentions that Timothee's performance was the catalyst to their relationship look authentic. He is young yet incredibly sympathetic towards what's to be done for the film. His time with both of you really sold your relationship as a family, you'd think.

"So that's a very generous thing to do for a young actor. And I was impressed and admired that," In the background, you can be heard mumbling in agreement. Your partner shifts his posture, facing and expecting you to go next.

Licking your lips, you took one last glance at him before focusing strictly at the Zoom camera. "I think for me, to have a young actor like him- he's very driven about it all. When he's on and off screen, Timothee's just focused- he's very serious and concentrates heavily on what Denny says- and I can say I respect that." You punctuate your point, tapping lightly on your knee. "And I play his mother you know, and I try to accommodate with that. I play along and we work until we find a good rhythm with each other." The older woman on the screen seemed enamored by your compliments regarding your costar. Yet her eyes quickly makes it's way to Oscar, sitting quietly and listening to you ramble.

His laidback posture showed how greatly he took your words in. You grab your glass and take a quick sip before hearing him say, "We raised him well." Taking your hand in both of his as a sign of pride.

A delightful chuckle comes from both you and the interviewer while your partner gives a satisfied grin. "We really did!"

The media did not need proof to know of your enjoyed time during the production of Dune. In fact, multiple vlogs and documentaries about the film had fans and viewers alike become fond of your positive and laid back attitude about it all. Despite playing a calculating character such as Lady Jessica, you were nothing of serious when on screen with your costars.

"Welcome to Arrakis!" You popped into frame, wearing an exquisite dress, costumed by one of the designers. It was golden yellow with chains running down from the bottom half of your face to your chest. A faint veil covered your head but for right now, you had it placed on your hair. You spread your arms with anticipation for the cameraman to pan around your surroundings. "It's sunny today so I think we'd be out here for some time." You moved extremely close to the camera, before moving out of the frame to the side.

Abu Dhabi was bliss. The production and crew worked diligently day and night working in the deserts. And on this particular day, most of the cast had been present as well for the introduction of House Atriedes on Arrakis.

A few shots slowly pans from the crew's tents and Denny far into the sandy mountains as he speaks with Timothee. Another shot slyly captures you showing Josh Brolin an unknown video, sideways. Which somehow made him cackle very enthusiastically, holding his stomach to air as you quickly pat his back multiple of times. In all, everyone of the cast members were having a blast in the dry outskirts of the unknown.

"Hello," Brolin pops in another clip where he stands, wearing the Atreides armor. Under a massive shade area, a few people can be spotted in the background, moving equipment and conversing with others. From afar, the people filming the documentary can be heard presenting a few questions for him to touch upon. "Ah what do I think about Lady Jessica being played by," He says your name sincerely.

The video cuts to you having a conversation with your on and screen husband. A hand covering above your face to shield yourself from the sun, while Oscar tries to move where the light is hitting you as the best he could.

"I mean a phenomenal actor like her playing in that kind of role is guaranteed to have an amazing performance. She's- We've known each for a long time since Sicario and with Denny," The male actor softly grins, staring at where you were. "But Oscar on the other hand, eh- not so much." His tone becoming monotonous, as if the shift in topic was distasteful to the touch.

"Whatcha say, Gurney?!" A scream echoes and it's Oscar, cupping both his hands into an O.

The older actor couldn't keep it together before breaking into frivolous giggles. "Nothing, my lord!" He takes one last glance back before seeing you give him two big thumbs up with a silly smirk. "No in all seriousness, those two are just the best! You can never have a bad day with them."

Another prominent section in the video fans adored was with the actors that played Duncan Idaho and Dr. Liet Kynes. This time they are situated in what looked like the structure of Arrakeen. Where all ornithopters were supposedly stationed and the introduction of Dr. Kynes.

"They're so mom and dad," Jason Momoa shaking his head playfully with his hands clamped together. Both him and Sharon Duncan-Brewster wore still suits unlike many other extras who wore Atreides armor. "I mean- they're playing Paul's parents- but in real life it's just so different."

"Definitely more chaotic," Brewster jumps in, earning a hum from her costar. "They act nothing like them."

A cool shot from different location displays you in a dark with Timothee. It was the scene after Paul is put to test to by the Reverent Mother. It was a chilling scene yes, but in post production, many realize how unprofessional you sometimes were even in the most serious times.

The cameras were not live however the film crew were about to pan to you gesturing back and forth with your on-screen son. It was a interactive and intriguing conversation you both were having. You looking in purely engaged with what the French actor was saying. After a few sentences being spoken, it looked as though you chided a teasing joke which gave the reaction of Timothee slightly snickering, backing away slowly.

"I mean do they look like my parents? No," The young actor states shortly. It looked as though the clip was shot right after capturing your cute moment togehter. "But I'd say- yeah Oscar Isaac's a great actor and- to be able to play my dad is pretty cool. Even though we look nothing alike." Nervous laughter spouts as he clears his throat.

"I feel like I get the resemblances from my mom though," Affectionately stating your name, "You can tell where I got my powers, good looks from." Momentarily readjusting his collar as he takes a quick look from behind, knowing your footsteps.

"See? I'm the favorite parent!" In hushed squeal, you wrapped your hands around Timothee's shoulders, earning a lovable grin back.

[yesimwriting]

Heyy ya!! Hwo you doing? I wanted to ask maybe you can write Coriolanus x reader when he gets to district after just finishing training for pacekeepers, or maybe where his tribute just arrived to the capitol and the reader maybe says the “what does my mentor do besides bring me roses?” Line? ❤️

A/n the turn around for this was so fast for me 😭 i got excited

hi!! i love these prompts and am so glad for the excuse to write something for him 😭,, also i didn't blatantly make the reader the district 12 tribute bc i didn't want to necessarily cute lucy gray out all together, but it's clear that she's from a poorer district and that being assigned to mentor her is an insult to the Snow name,, also reader pulls a katniss and volunteers for a younger family member bc the irony of that scratches an inch in my brain

Summary: After the very public slight of being assigned to mentor a female tribute from a lower district, all Snow can think about is the uphill battle that winning the Plinth prize will now be. Until, he realizes, that he's been given the first ever district volunteer who seems to have a quality that makes people care about her.

Warnings: my first time writing for a specific character, Coriolanus's internal thoughts are a little softer than they should be at some points but i love the accidental and deeply impractical crush trope so

---

Of Angels

The desperation masquerading as fierceness behind her eyes is undeniable. Coriolanus feels the way your panic, your shock as the weight of your own words dawn on you in his chest. He swallows, forcing down the feeling.

Take me--take me instead! The phrase is repeated again and again, shaky and pleading.

Something about the display, about the 12-year-old girl that desperately tries to cling to you as peace keepers push you forward, makes it hard to watch. Even worse, it makes it impossible to look away.

The first ever district volunteer. A suicide mission or a--a desperate call for attention? A decision made out of hysteria that you're already starting to regret?

He can't decide as the footage of you being ushered onto stage is played. Surely, Dr. Gaul and other Capitol officials won't find this acceptable. The concept of volunteering has always been reserved for the careers, the districts that produce well fed children that train for this. It's a way to allow them to pick their best, their strongest. It is not a way for someone to lay down their life for someone else.

"Are you saying you volunteer?"

You blink, eyes wild and bright as you openly survey the crowd. Coriolanus briefly thinks that you might attempt to take what he doubts is an actual out. You seem to be considering something before finally nodding once. The motion so stiff it makes you look smaller, like the girl whose name was originally called.

"Yes," you mumble. The softness of it is a personal accost. Your choice was made in panic, but that isn't who you are. You're not much of a performer or a fighter or even bold...you're not much of a chance at the Plinth Prize. "I-I volunteer."

----

In the end, he had come because of Tigris. She had insisted that there was a way to see his tribute as more than just another face from the districts, as more human than animal.

She loves that little girl enough to die in her place. If I was her, I'd want someone to tell me that my choice meant something. I'd want someone to show that they care about me.

The words had felt dismissible at first, but the more he thought about them, the more it made sense. Panem had seen the entire thing, had seen the way that his tribute continued to comfort the younger girl even after sentencing herself to death. There's a story worthy of a show in that.

If he can convince you to go on camera, to speak of the girl, of the choice...maybe he'd have a chance at his future. And if the public support manages to help you in some way or another, that'd only be an additional benefit. You love that girl enough to die for her, maybe that means you love her enough to fight tooth and nail to live for her as well.

The train that stops at each district pulls to a stop. The doors open, releasing the sound of tributes that are learning the consequences of attempting to cause issues for the peacekeepers.

A boy he vaguely recognizes steps out, and then a younger girl. Are you one of the tributes already risking their lives in an attempt to aggravate peacekeepers? Or maybe you're cowering at the back of the train, clinging onto the safety of a familiar space.

You prove to be neither. You emerge from the train, perfectly in tact and stable.

Coriolanus parts his lips, yet no words manage to come out. You're different in person, the white you're dressed in is objectively dirtier than it was when you were reaped and yet somehow, here in the dim, gray station it feels brighter. A stray beam of sunlight breaking through a cluster of clouds. A promise that the storm will end soon and that the angels have yet to abandon the earth.

Your dress is a simple thing, loose enough to be a hand-me-down or maybe even borrowed, the lace of the skirt falling farther down your knees than it should. That paired with the ribbon scraps tied to each side of your head make you look younger and cruelly innocent.

"Hello." The blandness of his own beginning forces a burning sort of regret to take over his chest. You attentively turn, expression kind and expecting. It only makes the embarrassment he doesn't fully understand scorch him from the inside out with more violence. He's once again struck with the desire to look away and finding himself incapable of doing so. "My name is Coriolanus Snow, and I'm your mentor."

You nod, features hardening. You've pieced it all together--his appearance, what he's saying, and where you are. He's revealed himself as part of the Capitol and now you can no longer watch him with kind, accepting eyes. The look you're giving him is almost enough to make him wish he could have presented this differently.

Coriolanus extends an arm, the carefully chosen pure white rose an olive branch. You blink, eyebrows drawing together before you slowly reach out and take the flower by its stem. Your fingertips brush against his own, the warmth of your skin is so shocking he has to remind himself not to flinch.

"A mentor?" You repeat the word like your only reason for doing so is to try out the foreign word on your tongue. "Does everyone get one or am I just lucky?" You look down at the rose you're now holding. "Or has the rumor that I'm a rebellion trick spread to the Capitol?"

The last question genuinely surprises him. It shouldn't, there had been some talk about why anyone from a poor district would ever choose to go into the games. The way you and the girl you saved reacted to each other could have been staged...but Coriolanus didn't think it was enough to warrant genuine rumors. Anyone that had looked at your eyes and seen the fear in them would have known that it was sacrifice. Is sacrifice. That girl means the world to you.

"No," he starts slowly, "No, everyone gets one and no one here has any preconceptions about you."

You raise your eyebrows, making it clear that you don't believe him. No preconceptions had been a strong way to phrase things, but the urge to assure you had taken over with no warning. You then look away, glancing around to take in your surroundings.

"Then why isn't there..." You trail off, your gaze landing firmly on him. "You're not supposed to be here."

He blinks. For the first time, it feels like you're truly looking at him. His own susceptibility to your wide eyes turns his stomach. You're the one that should feel like something up for display under his stare. "No, I'm not."

The admission forces the edge of your lips to pull upwards. "Alright," you hum, "So what does my mentor do for me besides bring me roses?"

"I do my best to take care of you."

For a second, all you do is stare. He's surprised you. The realization brings him more relief than it should. "The girl who you volunteered for..."

You tilt your head downwards, hiding your expression as your fingers carefully toy with the exterior of the soft petals. "My cousin," the explanation is low, cautious, "But we uh--we're more like sisters."

An in that he doesn't even have to work for. "I understand that." You look up, not bothering to hide your confusion. Maybe you weren't expecting something so human to come out. Maybe human works for you. "During the war, we took care of each other...and then after our parents passed, we were left in the care of our grandmother."

The silence that follows is tight, straining against the sympathies you're not willing to extend to someone like him. Your lips part, and Coriolanus is disgusted by the part of him that's curious about what's going to come next.

You're pushed back with no warning. His attention snaps towards the peacekeeper who is shoving against your shoulder with more force than necessary.

"Excuse--" No reaction, no response as another peacekeeper grabs your arm. "Excuse me, I'm her--" You're being dragged away in order to be packed into another vehicle of transportation with the rest of them.

Coriolanus stays near, doing his best to never lose sight of you in the chaos. A tribute breaks free from the hold of the peacekeepers and launches his body forward. An ill thought out escape attempt. The distraction is all Coriolanus needs. This is his chance to go after you, to cement a connection that will guarantee cooperation.

It's not the distraction that gets him to move or even thoughts of the Plinth prize, it's the final flash of angel white fabric as its forced back into darkness. He rushes forward before he can overthink, entering the vehicle just as the doors shut.

----

i think i might make a part 2!!

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Dragonride (Daemon Targaryen x Servant!Reader)

synopsis: It was his wedding night, yet instead of consumating the marriage with his new bride, Daemon chooses to celebrate with someone else.

warnings: power imbalance, smut, p in v, fucking in the bathtub, semi public sex, afab reader

word count: 0.8

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by @saradika

The whole day the castle had been running around. Preparing for the royal wedding that is supposed to bring benefit and safety to runestone. The rogue prince as a lord husband was the perfect promise of that. If only everything would have gone as planned.

All throughout the ceremony servants passed whispers to the farthest back of the castle about the cold distance between the royalty to be wed. How far they were sitting from each other, as if the other were made of poison, as well as the enemies prince Daemon apparently intended to make early on as it seemed.

It is of little surprise when you get tasked with preparing an additional room for the Targaryen to spend the night in.

And just in time. Right as you finish preparing a hot bath for the prince, his heavy boots carry his tall frame into the room.

“Your highness.” You greet him with a bowed head.

Upon the sign of a finger, you rush to help undress him. Steady fingers removing layer after layer of clothes until there is nothing hiding the pale skin from the dim light of the candles. Daemon is silent until the task is done. Yet he gives you a knowing smirk as your eyes accidentally roam over the length between his legs.

“You can go now.” He commands afterwards, already half turned towards the bathtub.

You bow again, however as your hand touches the cold, smooth doorknob, his voice sounds through the room once more.

“Wait a moment.” His voice is disinterested as always and he doesn't look at you as you turn to him anew.

“Yes, your highness? Do you require something else?” You inquire quietly.

“Indeed, I do.” Daemon pauses for you to inquire further or understand what he means without further explanation. 

When you don’t, he speaks up again. One single word. “You.”

Your breath stocks for a moment in your lungs, unable to think clearly as usual at the request. Not a request, more a command. One that leaves no room for arguments.

Who are you to refuse a Targaryen prince anyway. “As you wish, your highness.”

With slightly trembling hands, but deliberate moves, you shed the layers of clothing that hide your body from the blond's sight.

“Have you ever ridden a dragon?” Daemon asks with a mischievous half grin as you approach him. Every step carefully thought through as if he would bite off your head any second.

“I haven't, your highness.” You negate the answer to his question.

“Well, I think it is high time for your first flight.” One large, rough hand comes up to guide you into the borderline scalding water and on top of his lap. “And for the love of the gods, stop ending all of your sentences with your highness.”

“Yes, y-... Yes, of course.” You quickly catch the trip up and correct the mistake.

Still, it earns you a sternly raised brow, which in all honesty only furthered his attractiveness. Lost in thought, it is one of Daemon's hands wandering up your breasts and lays itself snug around your neck, that pulls you back to reality.

“Good. Now show me how good of a dragon rider you can be.” with one swift move Daemon impales you on his cock.

Immediately he sets for a punishing pace. No doubt needing to get rid of some energies that must have collected inside of and burned through him the entire day. The strength with which the prince’s hips meet yours send ripples of pleasure mixed with pain up your spine and all throughout your body. The scalding hot water that surrounds the two of you makes you sensitive to every little change in his touch. Especially now that Daemon grips your waist to hold you still as he fucks up into you so tight, it might as well have left bruises already. The sound of your nails scraping against the bathtub fills the room, only overshadowed by the drawn-out grunts and heavy, shuddered breaths that mingled between you, chasing away the steam of the water below.

It isn´t long until you can´t hold back your own strained moans. Your strength waning with every new assault to your core. And even shorter until you are only held up by Daemon´s hands, your body leaning forward limply. Chest to chest and face nestled in the crook of his neck. On a particularly harsh thrust your teeth graze his ear, being shaken by the body clashing into yours.

Underneath you Daemon growls, the sound is animalistic and sends a whole new wave of heat through your nervous system. The sweat that covers both of your bodies, begins to run down in droplets, mixing with the water, driven by the exertion put on you.

The Targaryen’s thrusts grow erratic from the all but possessive display, bringing the tidal wave of your pleasure down to crash over you.

He released a final few thrusts into your convulsing cunt before pulling out of you completely, leaving behind a trail of sticky seed as evidence of his conquest. The mixed fluids spilling out of you and into the water below.

[buckets-and-trees]

You're such a wicked menace, Eva!

Title: Insatiable Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader Word Count: 1845 Summary: Your new boyfriend comes along when you pick up the keys for your new apartment and conduct the move-in inspection.

Content Warnings: explicit smut (oral - female receiving, vaginal fingering, nipple play, vaginal penetration, hint at overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, cream pie)

Logistical Notes: Fulfilling my February box for @buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky Bingo event (forehead kiss, fingering). Follows our Desperate to Devoted couple but can be read as a stand alone piece.

Additional Notes: Honestly I didn't have any plans to return to our rivals-to-lovers couple from Desperate and Uncertain and Sure again so soon, but this gif hit a certain inspiration and may pull from some literal "reader insert" vibes as I'm moving into a new apartment right now... Also thoroughly inspired by this post coming across my dash today thanks to @ghotifishreads.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You couldn’t help the permanent smile on your face.

Yes, moving was going to be a hassle, and you didn’t have a clue how everything was going to fit into this tiny one-bedroom apartment, but being back in the place again, keys officially in your hands, the place really yours, standing in front of the bright living room windows that made your heart sing when you first saw the place, that feeling that this was your place warmed your whole chest again.

It was hard to break away from the light streaming in through the windows, but you turned your head to look at Bucky. “So? What do you think of the place?”

He was new to your life, too.

The kidnapping and rescue in Paris had been only a month ago. Over that month, you and Bucky had been figuring out what the revelation of your feelings for each other meant outside of a life and death situation. Parts of that were easy, other parts were trickier, but nothing that made you want to abandon ship.

“I think it’ll suit you well,” he answered. His smile was soft. You loved seeing this side of him, especially after so many years of angst and rivalry between you.

“You’re practically glowing with excitement,” he added.

Your smile grew to a grin, and you shrugged one shoulder. “It’s smaller than the place I’ve been, but I couldn’t resist all this sunlight.”

You turned around and looked at the empty living room that bled into the kitchen area. “I want to try and measure things and figure out where everything will go before the movers bring the furniture in tomorrow. I’m still worried about whether all my shelves will fit or not.”

You set your bag down on the kitchen counter and began to pull out a measuring tape, the blue painters tape you planned on using to map out the furniture shapes on the floor and rummaged for the hastily scribbled together list you’d made of your furniture dimensions.

Bucky had remained silent – he was often so silent you could forget he was present when you got immersed into something – and you spun back around to see him still in the same position across the room by the windows, studying you.

“What?”

“You know what we have to do before anything else,” he said seriously.

“What’s that?”

He licked his lips.

Oh.

Your stomach flipped.

“Bucky, we can’t–”

He chuckled. “You have the keys, it’s officially your place,” he said, stalking toward you. “We absolutely can.”

Before you could utter another word, he reached for your elbow and tugged you into his arms, planting a sound kiss right on your mouth, swallowing all protest. He coaxed your lips open, and his tongue licked into your mouth, drawing an eager moan from you.

Damn, he was too good at this, you thought as your hands came up to clutch at his back.

He pressed your bodies together, and you were not surprised to feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against you. One thing you had learned about Bucky over the last month was that he could be ready to have you on the turn of a dime, and he could be insatiable. That your body responded so quickly to him as well was both blessing and curse. Less than a minute and you were melting completely against him, eager for more, and you could feel the slickness already growing at your slit.

Your hands dropped down his back, but only to reach the hem of his sweater before dipping under so your fingers could eagerly climb up against his naked skin. He grinned into the kiss.

With his sweater quickly halfway up his torso, Bucky broke off the kiss momentarily to pull it up and off the rest of the way. Then he coaxed you down to the floor, spreading his sweater down on the hardwood floor and laying you gently on top of it. His body covered yours, and he began kissing you in earnest again, his vibranium arm planted next to your head while his other hand began deftly working at the buttons on the front of your blouse.

It was only another moment or two before he’d pushed your shirt open to bare your torso to him, and Bucky wasted no time in trailing his hot lips down your throat to blaze down your chest, paving a heated path between your breasts, over the band of your bra, and down your stomach. He gave your belly button a playful lick that had you gasping and a giggle bubbling up your throat.

“Bucky!”

He chuckled, and reached down to pull your shoes off as he pressed more kisses over your stomach. Then, with both shoes discarded, he knelt above you to unbutton and unzip your jeans, before pulling them down and off your legs. As your legs came back down on either side of him, his hands skimmed slowly along your inner thighs, and when they reached your core, he pressed one thumb at the base of your clothed slit and brushed it up over the damp cloth of your panties, the other thumb following just after and teasing you again there. You canted your hips up, wordlessly asking for more.

Bucky smirked, but he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and quickly pulled them off, tossing them to the side as well.

“Please,” you begged.

“Happily,” he whispered, then lowered himself down to wedge his shoulders between your thighs, pressing them wide to accommodate his broad frame. He licked a stripe up your dripping slit, moaning at the taste of you.

Your stomach swam with butterflies and your cheeks heated slightly. You had never been with anyone so unabashedly open with their desire for you as Bucky. He held nothing back when expressing his pleasure, his desire. It was a heady thing to be on the receiving end of, and you it still had you between feeling slightly flustered and drowning further in the depths of how intoxicating it was to know the effect you had on him.

He applied a second, slower lick over your folds, and then he began to kiss your lower lips the way he did your mouth, and your entire body coiled up for him, back arching, hands grabbing for his short hair, legs contracting.

“Bucky, god, yes,” the words tumbled out as you quickly began to lose more and more of your coherence.

But he was slow and torturous in his ministrations. You squirmed for more, but he held your pelvis down with one firm hand, while the other gently caressed your hip. Your fingers found his vibranium ones, and he entwined them with yours and started to fuck your cunt with his tongue.

When he heard a little whine escape from you, he began to suck your clit diligently. The orgasm that he’d been building you toward escaped from you briefly, but the switch picked right up on building that tension again, and he flicked his tongue a few times across your swollen nub as he sucked, and then you cried out as you finally tumbled over the edge of ecstasy.

He pressed a kiss to your cunt, then shifted up, quickly maneuvering his hands beneath your back to unclasp your bra and pull off your last piece of clothing. It was the only moment of reprieve he gave you, because then his mouth dipped to suck at one of your tits, and one of his hands worked into your folds, slowly stroking in and out of your tight channel. Two fingers curled into your pussy, and he quickly found one of his favorite places – that spongy spot on the front of your walls, knowing he found exactly the spot he needed as you gave a debauched moan. He slipped in a third finger, and as he sucked the hardened nub of your nipple and lapped at it, he worked to rip your second orgasm from your soul more quickly. It was clear nothing was going to deter him from his plans to ruin you in the empty apartment, and you could only be glad you were up on a floor high enough you didn’t risk any neighbors seeing in your open blinds to see the way he was taking you apart right there on the floor.

The second orgasm burst through your body unexpectedly, and it stole the breath from your lungs.

It had ripped through you so powerfully that you didn’t register the clinking sound of his belt buckle coming undone and hitting the floor as he unzipped and pushed down his jeans and boxer briefs.

But you noticed he wasn’t finished with you as he slipped one hand under your thigh and angled your hips to slot the head of his cock between your puffy folds.

You whimpered, fighting to open your eyes and plead your case as you looked into in the depths of his heated blues. Whether you were pleading for him to stop or for more, you really didn’t know or care at this point.

He hitched your leg up around his hip and slowly slid his fat cock fully into your cunt. “So damn good.”

You moaned openly, completely debauched on pleasure at this point, but clearly your pussy wouldn’t refuse him plying you with even more of it.

Deep, slow strokes.

You felt every aching inch of him as he thrust slowly in and out of your tight channel. He still made you stretch around him, and it was exquisite for both of you.

Full, so full.

In and out.

So deep inside of you now, and you could do nothing but make incoherent noises beneath him, gasping for air. “I know, sugar, I know," he murmured into the crook of your neck. "Gonna give us what we both need.”

And he fucking does, as he does every time, using your body as if he’s had you for years. He rewarded you both with an orgasm that truly leaves you boneless and breathless once he finally pushed you over the edge and then sped up his thrusts to chase his own release as your vagina squeezed around his throbbing cock. He groaned as he spilled hot ropes of cum inside of you, thrusting until he’d emptied himself in you completely. Finally, he collapsed on top of you, and pressed kisses into the crook of your neck, then along your jaw, allowing you to try and catch your breath before finally kissing your lips again.

You whined against his lips, and he rolled over, taking you with him, and letting you lay half on his chest, half against his side. He continued to kiss you lazily.

You didn’t know how long he continued to make out with you, but the sun’s rays had shifted significantly once he pressed a kiss to your forehead and you rested your head on his bare shoulder.

“It’s a good floor,” he said, almost mundanely.

You laughed softly.

“We’ll need to check the counters a little later,” he added.  

READ THE NEXT PIECE FOR THIS COUPLE: BIG CONVERSATION

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