#always wondering what people perceive me as

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Mirion Malle’s “So Long Sad Love”

On July 14, I'm giving the closing keynote for the fifteenth HACKERS ON PLANET EARTH, in QUEENS, NY. Happy Bastille Day! On July 20, I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

In Mirion Malle's So Long Sad Love, a graphic novel from Drawn and Quarterly, we get an all-too-real mystery story: when do you trust the whisper network that carries the fragmentary, elliptical word of shitty men?

https://drawnandquarterly.com/books/so-long-sad-love/

Cleo is a French comics creator who's moved to Montreal, in part to be with Charles, a Quebecois creator who helps her find a place in the city's tight-knit artistic scene. The relationship feels like a good one, with the normal ups and downs, but then Cleo travels to a festival, where she meets Farah, a vivacious and talented fellow artist. They're getting along great…until Farah discovers who Cleo's boyfriend is. Though Farah doesn't say anything, she is visibly flustered and makes her excuses before hurriedly departing.

This kicks off Cleo's hunt for the truth about her boyfriend, a hunt that is complicated by the fact that she's so far from home, that her friends are largely his friends, that he flies off the handle every time she raises the matter, and by her love for him.

There's a term for men like Charles: a "missing stair." "Missing stair" is a metaphor for someone in a social circle who presents some kind of persistent risk to the people around them, who is accommodated rather than confronted:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Missing_stair

The metaphor goes like this: you're at a party and every time someone asks where the bathroom is, another partygoer directs them to the upper floor and warns them that one of the stairs is missing, and if they don't avoid that tread, they will fall through and be gravely injured. In this metaphor, a whole community of people have tacitly decided to simply accept the risk that someone who is forgetful or new to the scene will fall through the stair – no one has come forward to just fix that stair.

The origins of this term are in BDSM circles, and the canonical "missing stair" is a sexual predator, but from the outset, it's referred to all kinds of people with failings that present some source of frustration or unhappiness to those around them, from shouters to bigots to just someone who won't help do the dishes after a dinner party:

https://pervocracy.blogspot.com/2012/06/missing-stair.html

We all know a few missing stairs, and anyone who's got even a little self-reflexivity must wonder from time to time if they're not also a missing stair, at least to some people in their lives. After all, friendship always entails some accommodation, and doubly so love – as Dan Savage is fond of saying, "There is no person who is 'The One' for you – the best you can hope for is the '0.6' that you can round up to 'The One,' with a lot of work."

And at least some missing stairs aren't born – they're made. Everyone screws up, everyone's got some bad habits, everyone's got some blind spots about what others expect of them and how others perceive us. When the people around us make bad calls about whether to let us skate on our faults and when to confront us, those faults fester and multiply and calcify. This is compounded in long-tenured relationships that begin in our youth, when we are still figuring out our boundaries – the people who we give a pass to when we're young and naive can become a fixture in our lives despite characteristics that, as adults, we wouldn't tolerate in someone who is new to our social scene.

To make all this even more complicated, there's the role that power plays in all this. Many missing stairs are keenly attuned to power dynamics and present a different face to people who have some authority – whether formal or tacit – to sanction them. This is why so many of the outings of #MeToo predators provoked mystified men to say, "Gosh, they never acted that way around me – I had no idea."

These men aren't necessarily clueless. There's a predator who once traveled in my circles, and when he was outed, it wasn't just men who were shocked. My professional and personal life includes a large cohort of socially and professionally powerful women to whom this "missing stair" presented an impeccable face on every occasion. None of the people this guy looked up to ever witnessed his behavior firsthand, and for complicated reasons, none of the lower status (younger, less experienced, and not exclusively female) people whom he preyed upon came to us.

Which brings me back to Cleo and Charles, and the mystery of what Charles did to Farah in art school, many years before. The people in Charles's circle have an explanation: Farah was Charles's first heavy crush, and he courted her in ways that crossed the line into harassment. But – according to Charles's friends – this was a temporary condition that Charles outgrew, and it was only later, when Charles was in a healthier relationship with someone who reciprocated his affections, that Farah retaliated by attacking him to their small art-school circle.

This is just plausible enough – Charles was young, still figuring stuff out, he made a misstep – that Cleo is able to console herself with it. But as Charles grows more irritable and belittling of her, and as Cleo's friends gently encourage her to dig further rather than burying her lingering doubts, a much uglier truth comes into view.

Malle handles this all so deftly, showing how Cleo and her friends all play archetypal roles in the recurrent missing stair dynamic. It's a beautifully told story, full of charm and character, but it's also a kind of forensic re-enactment of a disaster, told from an intermediate distance that's close enough to the action that we can see the looming crisis, but also understand why the people in its midst are steering straight into it.

This transitions into a third act where Cleo leaves Montreal and finds herself in the midst a very different social dynamic of people who have figured out a far healthier way to manage their interpersonal problems. This short conclusion is powerfully satisfying, showing how it's possible to live without missing stairs and without the immediate expulsion of anyone who has a "problematic" moment.

The missing stair phenomenon would be so much easier to deal with if every missing stair started out as an irredeemable monster. We could fix all those stairs and declare ourselves done. But – as Malle illustrates – there's a reason it's so hard to fix those missing stairs. Every good friendship has some give and take – but every missing stair takes too much. Knowing the difference is a skill you learn through hard experience, not one you're born with. Learning when to call someone out, and when to call them in, is a hard curriculum – and it's even harder to know when to keep trying to help the people in your life be better selves, and when to protect the other people in your life from their worst selves.

Malle's book is packed with subtlety and depth, romance and heartbreak, subtext that carries through the dialog (in marvelous translation from the original French by Aleshia Jensen) and the body language in Malle's striking artwork.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

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/2024/06/25/missing-stair/#the-fog-of-love

[elysiansparadise]

Hello!!

I adore your work, you’ve taught me so much! I was wondering if you could do a post about Uranus in the 10th house? ♡

Hello love, thanks for loving what I do. I'm glad you can learn with my posts. 🤍

Uranus in the 10th house 

They may have a reputation for being eccentric, original or unconventional. There will be something enigmatic about them that will catch people's attention, mysterious, charming but above all, authentic. There is something fascinating about the way they act and behave that can easily captivate and cause curiosity in others. There is an inclination towards revolutionary aspirations and goals, as many of them want to make a significant difference in the world and often seek to change the status quo in their field of work. People with this position may be attracted to technology, science, engineering, or any field related to advancement and innovation. Likewise, there is the possibility of working on the internet or in positions related to it. The social sciences may catch your attention too. Their interests are so diverse that they can either be indecisive about what area to pursue, lead them to work in many different fields or work in something other than what they studied. What is a fact is that they will always seek independence, even if they have to work with others, the possibility of making their own decisions is something necessary for them. They will not be afraid to confront someone who is unfair, especially if it is a tyrannical boss. They perceive the position of boss as someone who doesn’t just boss around, but is part of the team. Someone who makes improvements not only in results but in the environment of those they work with, a mindset that makes them excellent and unique bosses.

These natives aspire to achieve great things through their work, and it is very likely that many of them work in areas that none of their family members have worked in or in jobs that are unconventional in the eyes of other people. These natives do not pay attention to destructive criticism from other people, "tell me when I ask and maybe I will care more" kind of attitude. One of the goals of these natives is to be as authentic as possible, they hate labels and things that reduce them to being just one thing since that limits them in expressing who they are. They are multifaceted, witty and give the impression of being very self-confident. They tend to choose jobs that allow them to be their own boss, and some of them are likely to have difficulty with very demanding and stressful schedules and environments. Many of these people tend to look for jobs that allow them to express their individuality and creativity, they can gain experience from many different jobs, and if Uranus makes a tense aspect with Mars or Saturn, it is very likely that these natives will change jobs more than once throughout their lives. With Uranus in this house, it allows the native to achieve great things in their work, from a feeling of satisfaction in their lives, many economic gains or even power in some way.

Unlike some placements, this one shows a native does not have aspirations to find empowerment in excessive economic gains or control over others, rather they see success as being able to work on something that they are truly passionate about and that means something to them. It should be noted that despite that, they are not delusional or very unrealistic, as they know and recognize the importance of having a work that makes them profit. They are very rational people, but that mix of their carefree and open-minded personality can charm others very easily. These natives can have a lot of influence on other people without intending to, people see them as admirable people for one or more reasons, but above all, they reach others through their natural sympathy. They are very idealistic and future-oriented people from a young age, and although they like to think big, they can often put a lot of expectations on themselves, and in turn, not see their small achievements by focusing on achieving the big ones.

[livwritesstuff]

If you need incentive to write the 04 scene of Steve’s mom meeting Eddie, Moe, and Robbie, this is it. The image of Steve stepping in front of them??????? Astounding and I am all but begging you to share what was said — if, of course, you feel the inspiration and need that extra push to write it :)

truly anything for you

tbh this is basically an extension of the last part of this

“–Also, my mom is here.”

“What?” Eddie yelps, which, yeah, fair enough, all things considered. Steve’s been estranged from his parents for over a decade now, so it’s only natural for Eddie to be completely shocked finding out that his mom is here, in their home. 

“Well…y’know, I invited them,” Steve replies as he shifts the way he’s holding their eight-month-old daughter Robbie. 

It’s true – he had invited his parents to the party that he and Eddie are throwing today to celebrate…they’re celebrating a lot of shit, actually, because they’d had a pretty wild few months, but he’s invited them to all the important things over the years.

Before Eddie can respond, Moe wanders over and tugs on the hem of Eddie’s shirt as she says, “Daddy, look at ‘dis, Auntie Robin put a flower in my hair.”

“I mean yeah, duh, Steve,” Eddie finally says as he absently picks up Moe (being mindful of the daisy tucked behind her ear, of course), “I mean, you always…Steve, she’s here?”

“Yeah, she-uh, I dunno. She showed up. We – I sorta yelled at her, I think…”

Steve trails off as his eye catches on a familiar figure hovering by the front door – his mom, he knows, even with her back to him. She must feel his eyes on her, because she turns in their direction, and by then Eddie had realized that something was pulling Steve’s attention so he’s turning too, and then Steve’s mom and Eddie are standing face to face, and alarm bells are going off inside Steve’s head that he can’t really explain, but before he can dwell on it, he finds himself slipping into an old tendency to just blindly act, to protect the people he loves before all else. 

Steve takes a step forward.

Where before he’d been standing in line with Eddie, Steve steps forward, meets his mother with a steady gaze as he puts himself between her and his family.

His mother isn’t blind to this. Steve can see on her face the way she recognizes that step forward for what it was, because he’s got one foot planted firmly between Eddie’s own, and his shoulder is blocking Moe from view completely, and he’s angling himself in a way directs Robbie away too even if doing so hadn’t been a conscious decision, because it all makes crystal clear the kind of threat that Steve perceives his mom to be.

She blinks at him, lips slightly parted, and for a moment Steve finds himself feeling a little bad for her – but only for a moment, because she made her choices just like Steve’s father did, and now they all have to live with them.

Steve is lives with those choices every day by being the parent he had needed as a child, and right now that means standing between the parents he did have and the family he has now

“Steve, I–” his mom starts, “I need to be going, but…I’d like to be introduced to your…if you’ll let me.”

She’s looking at Robbie (trying to, anyway), and it makes Steve wonder if she’d even be here today if he hadn’t sent his mother a card back in the spring of ‘02 announcing the adoption of Moe, if he hadn’t spent the years since then sending her updates about his kids. She wonders if she would have shown up at all if it was just him and Eddie.

Steve loves his kids with a kind of love he had never experienced before, but the same is true for Eddie. Sure, it’s a different kind of love, but no less big and no less important. There’s no way in hell Steve will be allowing his mother to pick and choose which parts of his life she gets to participate in. If she wants to know the girls, she goes through Eddie first. Non-negotiable.

Before Steve can say as much, Eddie adjusts his hold on Moe (still keeping her behind Steve, he notices) to free up a hand and hold it outstretched.

“Ed,” he says, and he follows it with, “Steve’s husband,” and Steve can hear the shit-eating grin on Eddie’s face without even needing to look, and he knows that he’s smiling too because he always does when Eddie calls himself Steve’s husband. Then he adds, “Can’t believe we’ve gone this long without an introduction.”

Steve’s mother introduces herself and shakes his hand (though she doesn’t seem to have anything to say to his second comment, Steve notes).

Satisfied (because, frankly, Steve couldn’t really have asked for anything more, all things considered), he finally shifts to the side to introduce his daughters.

“This is Moe,” he says, “Wanna say hi, Moe?”

But Moe has suddenly gone uncharacteristically shy (or maybe she senses the tension and is wisely choosing the side that’s kept her snuggled and fed her entire life – she’s smart like that), tucking her face away in the safety of Eddie’s shoulder. 

Steve watches as Eddie murmurs something in her ear, watches Moe nod even as her little arms twine a little tighter around his neck.

She raises her head and gives a cautious, “Hi,” (with maybe a bit more side-eye than necessary, but…whatever. Moe is who she is).

“Hello,” his mom replies, with a kind of smile on her face that Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen before (a real smile, maybe, but he won’t dwell on that). She gives Robbie a little wave, “And who’s this?”

“This is Robbie,” Steve says, running a hand over her curls, “Can you say hi, Beans?”

Robbie only blinks her big blue eyes, one of her little hands clenched around a bit of Steve’s hair at the nape of his neck.

“How ‘bout a wave?” he suggests, mimicking a wave for his youngest daughter, who parrots the motion in his mom’s direction.

“How old is she, again?” she asks as Steve presses a kiss onto Robbie’s chubby cheek. He knows he already told his mother this but, in fairness, it certainly wasn’t the most memorable part of their contentious conversation not too long earlier.

“Eight months last week,” Eddie answers proudly. He looks at Moe again, “And how old are you, bug? Are you…” he pauses, pretending to think. He looks at Steve, “I think she’s only two, right?”

“Oh, definitely,” Steve nods, pretending to be serious, “Definitely two more than anything else.”

“No-o, I’m more three!” she argues, her little brow furrowing (Steve knew it would – with Moe’s third birthday only a few weeks away, they’ve had many a conversation about how Moe thinks she deserves three-year-old privileges because she’s “more three than two”).

“That’s right, you turn three soon,” Eddie nods, “And we’re gonna throw a…what kind of party?”

“A butterfly party,” Moe finishes.

Steve looks back at his mom.

“You’re welcome to come, you know,” he says, and beside him, Eddie shifts a bit closer, his shoe nudging up against Steve’s, “Y’know, if you’re around. I can send you the info.”

He already sent it. He knows he already sent it, but if this is his mom’s way of extending the first olive branch, of taking the first steps in restoring the relationship with her son, he’ll send it again.

“Sure,” she replies, running a manicured hand through her hair, “We’ll…well, you know your father and his schedule – I’d thought he would have considered retiring by now but…” she pauses, then shakes her head, “Yes, I’d like the details.”

Steve nods, makes a mental note to send his mom the information (because, despite his defensiveness, he really does want her to be a part of his life, his kids’ and husband’s lives too).

She takes her leave only a minute or two later, and when she does, Eddie turns to face him.

“Holy shit, Steve,” he says, wide-eyed.

“I know,” he replies, slowly shaking his head.

“Dude, that was crazy, and we’re definitely gonna have to debrief whatever the hell you guys talked about earlier, but can I just say you got so fuckin’ lucky that Robin didn’t realize she was here.”

Before Steve can respond, he hears an ominous voice behind him say, “Robin didn’t realize who was here?"

[i-may-be-an-emu]

dysphoira sucks.

it feels like someone is holding you under the surface of water and you can't breathe but you can see the air just so out of reach and sometimes you catch a breath or two but you are always going to be trying to gasp for air, trying to stay afloat. Trying so desperately to survive that you don't think about anything else.

[irlnikeiyomiuri]

guys did i ever tell u abt my bestie in 8th grade. we were so fucking close genuinely attached at the hip and then we went into ninth grade and covid, and then i saw him again at senior hoco and it was great and then i saw him at senior prom and it was fucking nasty he ain’t even greet me even though we hung out w the same group of people the whole night.

[the-best-bagel]

Being fat sucks

[cheesey-rice]

Ok low key Ive just watched a letsplay of slay the princess and I'm like a little obssessed. I think I need to like hold buying the game and playing it hostage from myself until I do at the very least the first half of my practice test today even though like theoretically I shouldn't play anything new at all until after I've taken my test.

[ilexdiapason]

little joel on youtube got me wondering what the percentage is actually like. please reblog so i can get more responses and thus a more representative data pool for my demographic of "people who use tumblr in 2023"

thank u tumblr for enabling post editing! no more reblogs on this post society has progressed past the need for reblogs on this post

[hiiragi7]

Some notes on intersex invisibility, from an intersex person...

Often people tell me, "I have never met an intersex person before," and they assume that we are simply rare by nature rather than continuously, purposefully, and violently eradicated. Intersex people themselves are not rare, rather the opposite; we are born all the time, everywhere. We are common variation by nature - Our perceived rarity is wholly man-made, caused by the purposeful destruction of our bodies and our identities.

The concept of intersex as rare is used to further our eradication by design; When PGD is used to terminate intersex embryos, when intersex infants and children are operated on to "normalize" them, when intersex people are not told about their own variation, when intersex people are told they have "disorders" they must be treated for but the word "intersex" is never so much as uttered, when we are isolated from each other and prevented from building our own communities, when medical institutions attempt to narrow down what falls under "intersex" to make our statistics appear smaller, when we are forcibly made as invisible if not as non-existent as possible - it is no wonder we would be assumed a rarity.

Those unaware often even assume our perceived rarity is natural, passive, and neutral, rather than created, gory, and methodical. This, too, I believe is purposeful; our destruction is largely hidden and we are silenced by this assumed-to-be fact of rarity. The details that people may come to learn about our mutilation are also made palatable, even understandable, through the lens of pathology; we are presented not as people who are mutilated and destroyed for who we are, but rather as sick patients with an unfortunate (but always rare) illness undergoing necessary treatment to hopefully lead fulfilling, "normal" lives. In this way, doctors are framed as our saviors rather than our executioners, and those who buy into our rarity and abnormality become complicit in our invisibility.

As intersex people, we carry the consequences of this deep within ourselves; whether it is in the form of literal scars, doubt and insecurities about our own claim to our identities and our bodies, isolation from others like ourselves and a deeply felt loneliness, an inability to access safe medical care or knowledge about our bodies, or a variety of other traumas, our community is suffering. To have that pain made so invisible, so insignificant, so pathologized, only serves to ensure our abuse and destruction is continued.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Father’s Friend! Simon “Ghost” Riley Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, Implied Smut, Age Gap Relationship, Forbidden Relationship, Older Man/Younger Reader, Protective! Simon, Slightly Creepy! Simon, Petnames, Profanity, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

Simon was more gentle with you than he’d ever been with anyone, especially now as he lay on top of you, pushing into you slowly, carefully.

He knew what you were doing was wrong – the looks, the gifts, the sneaking around behind everyone’s backs – but he’d already betrayed too many of his instincts – allowed you to break down too many of his walls – to care now.

Simon had fucked before, but he’d never made love to anyone. You were his first, in that sense.

“That’s it,” he rasped, releasing a guttural moan as he finally managed to slip into you fully. He felt himself twitch. Felt you heaving laboured breaths as he lay heavy inside you. He rested his forehead against yours, skin slick with sweat, pressing a languid kiss to your lips, trailing down, along your jaw, down to the sensitive area just beneath your earlobe. Your pulse point.

“Doin’ so well for me, Love,” he told you. And from the veins bulging beneath his skin, his scars and tattoos underlined by a constellation of capillaries and a cacophony of life, you knew he was telling the truth.

Simon can remember every single point that led to this. At first, it was your meeting. Fated, it seemed. Especially now as the two of you lay with your legs tangled together, fingers interlocked and bodies all but conjoined. 

For a man who’s always struggled with eye contact, this is the only time he’s ever enjoyed it. Peering into you, your eyes.

Simon knows you love him. Though, he doesn’t quite believe it given how he perceives you to be out of his league.

And, despite your assurances, Simon tends to get a bit…jealous.

Self-conscious.

He’s aware of the fact that the age gap between the two of you is wide enough to let some doubts slip in; doubts that, in your young age, you’ve made a horrible decision pursuing a man as grizzled as Simon.

But he never takes his insecurities out on you. Not outside the bedroom, at least.

If you’re going out with someone Simon views as competition, he has a tendency to leave you ‘something to remember him by’ — namely his cum rolling down your thighs and dripping into your underwear.

He loves watching you try to greet people normally, knowing that you were getting raw dogged just ten minutes before, the aftermath seeping into the fabric of your underwear, making you shift in your seat, trying to find a position where you’re not pressed against the sopping-wet fabric.

Simon wonders if, during those times, you think of him. The same way he thinks of you as his mind wanders and his hand slips across the waistband of his jeans, palming himself at the memory of your whimpering, the tears in your eyes as you tell him how good he’s making you feel.

His possessiveness gets the better of him sometimes, hence he sends you into the world with some part of you filled with his semen.

During these moments, his jealousy manifests in his roughness with you — in his need to make you feel things no other man can.

Other times, he’s gentle. Endearingly so. And those are the times you know he needs reassurance the most.

Card your hands through his hair, call him yours, tell him how much you love him. He’ll be the one moaning and whimpering into the crook of your neck, I guarantee it.

Given the nature of your relationship, Simon is not one to take risks.

Unlike Price, he won’t slip his hand up your thigh and tease you in public.

He won’t sit next to you of his own free will when you’re out with your father, and he won’t be nearly as talkative with you as when you’re alone together (which, given he’s Simon Riley, isn’t much to begin with, but there’s a difference only you can tell).

But you’ll feel his eyes on you, see the look of longing, of hesitant love — first love — lie within them.

To others, it’s a death stare. To you, it’s the closest thing to an ‘I love you’ you can get under such surveillance.

If anyone — especially your father — started getting suspicious of the nature of your relationship – your affair – Simon would act as if it’s business as usual. Pretend as if nothing’s wrong.

If the two of you suddenly change your behaviour, it’ll look even more suspicious – that’s what he tells you. But, of course, he doesn’t invite you over to his house as much; doesn’t placate your desire to go shopping by driving you into town. The most he’ll do is offer you his jacket when you’re cold – a bare bones gesture of goodwill and nothing more.

He longs for you in ways you can’t even fathom during your away-time, in ways he could never verbalise. But trust that, when you’re able to again, Simon won’t be letting you leave his house. Or the bedroom, for that matter.

You can expect him to be a lot more open and receptive to physical affection after that – in private, of course. 

Kisses to the crown of your head, longingly staring down at you as you lay against his side, holding your hand at every convenience, etc.

Simon is the BEST gift giver you could ask for. He spoils you silly, buying you anything your heart desires, be it clothes, jewellery, food; the world is yours when you’re with him.

He isn’t unwise with his purchases, however.

He’s observant, has a keen eye. He’ll see things you like before you do, and he’ll buy you things he knows you’ll love before you even have the chance to tell him.

Your bedroom is going to be near-bursting with all the things Simon’s bought you. But telling your father that you bought them all off the internet with your new job money (a job you had to fabricate to account for the many hours a day you’d disappear off with Simon and the sudden influx of cash coming your way).

It took a LONG time for Simon to start liking you. To start loving you.

The close proximity of his house to yours made your paths cross more times than he could count, leading to a daily conversation of some nature. ‘How are you?’ and ‘What are you up to?’ eventually turned into ‘Hey, can I ask you a question?’ — for you often asked Simon’s advice about issues you didn’t want to discuss with your father; a bold show of trust, Simon thought — and ‘Are you doing anything later today?’

The first time you’d interacted with your father’s mysterious friend beyond a superficial capacity had been when you’d helped him paint his fence (which, you noticed, he’d started sprucing up after you’d suggested it to him a few weeks prior). Sure, you thought he was attractive, a nice, albeit very quiet, personality, and decided to lend him a hand on your way back from a walk one morning.

You stayed there the whole day, talking to Simon throughout.

It felt like this was the first time you’d actually met him. The first time you’d managed to get more than three words out of him.

Sure, most of his answers were stunted, but you could tell they were truthful. And yet, you also knew he was hiding something. Many things, in fact. Things you didn’t push for, instead opting to tell Simon about yourself, relinquishing details about your life, your hobbies – anything to make you appear more like a person and less like a nuisance.

He painted, too. Though, he’d often find himself distracted by the sight of you in your shorts, bent in a way that, to a man as pent-up and lonely as Simon, could be seen as provocative.

He felt icky. Like a creepy old man spying on his younger neighbour.

He did try to distance himself after that, uncomfortable with the thoughts that ran through his head for the entirety of your time together.

Unfortunately for him, however, you were persistent. Hadn’t seen the hungry glow in his eyes whenever you wore something slightly revealing.

He felt like lecturing you, telling you to cover up — to not flaunt yourself so readily. Didn’t you know lecherous men (him) lurked around every corner ?

Another part of him felt like enabling you. Wanted to see as much of you as you’d let him. You were the first pretty thing to wander into Simon’s sights in a long time – one that hadn’t fled or disappeared at his behest.

One day, you’d dressed yourself in a flimsy little shirt and shorts and the weather had taken a turn for the worse. You and Simon had rushed back to his house, the shelter closest to you. There, seeing you soaking, your shirt sticking to your body, Simon did the gentlemanly thing and offered you a hoodie of his to keep warm in.

He’d never given someone his hoodie before. Not in this capacity, at least (Johnny didn’t count because Sergeant MacTavish had actually stolen Simon’s hoodie and worn it without asking.)

The sight of you drowning in the fabric made the breath in Simon’s throat catch.

In that second, you weren’t the byproduct of his best friend. You were small, defenceless, and indebted to him.

Simon hadn’t been able to see you the same way since.

No longer did he take pleasure in watching you bend over for one thing or another. Now, he looked for opportunities to care for you.

Subtle shows of his growing fondness for you. His need to take care of you.

And…well, you know the story from here ;-).

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[cthonic-honey]

1. Natal Chart Observations

1. Libra Moon: decision paralysis that comes from feeling two contradicting ways about an issue. “I want my cake but I want to eat it too.” I feel like libra moons are the most sentimental of the air moon signs. Libra moons can constantly weigh out the pros and cons for every emotion you feel. “I want to do this but I don’t want to deal with how messy it’ll make things.” When libra moons are feeling a little lost, they can over-schedule themselves and their commitments to friends to avoid thinking about overly-vulnerable feelings. There is zero tolerance for imbalance in relationships. Poor behavior from a partner will be met with matched behavior to tip the scales back to a balanced one, even if the overall locational of the scale is descending into negativity. “You get what you give” mentality. Libra moons can be keen on the idea of karma. “Come to me with sweetness, or don’t come to me at all.” Daydreaming about romance is a relaxing way to pass time. Before maturity, libra moons might suffer from social anxieties when they find themselves in group settings where there isn’t a cohesive vibe. If someone around a libra moon doesn’t look like they are having a good time, it subconsciously makes it difficult for a libra moon to relax. The libra moon will then play the role of a diplomat or host/hostess to ensure the vibes equalize to restore their peace.

2. Mars in the 10th house: these natives are always making money. They are known for their side hustles too. They are always looking for new ways to make money and I feel like they are good at getting clientele. They will get their hands dirty for their job. For a man, this can point to a “blue collar ‘manly’ job.” I noticed 10H mars can be pretty generous with their money and services, but feel extremely terrible about getting help from others. If these natives aren’t confident where they are in their career or skill set(s), I noticed that they are likely to undersell themselves or undercharge for their services/time. It can also point to people in the workplace as perceiving the 10H mars person to be brash and outspoken. The authority figures in their career can feel a sense of competition with the 10H mars person, or wants to humble them in some way. I feel like it’s really easy for them to get good jobs or climb up the ladder when they do things the right way. They get impatient when they aren’t growing in their careers as fast as they want to. “Why am I not a millionaire yet.” They work hard for what they want and are very ambitious once they find their niche. I feel like these are often people who can find jobs that don’t necessarily need a degree. Their career mistakes feel explosive. They can be seen as “sharks” in their fields because they go in for the attack. They like to be the best and the most competent at what they do, and want their colleagues to see them as competition. “I’m the best and no one will tell me otherwise.” They can be known for being assertive and extremely determined in meeting their goals. They will work themselves to the core and utilize all their energy towards elevating themselves career and reputation wise.

3. Mars in the 1st House: These people might often be noticed for their bodies. They might be seen as someone you shouldn’t mess around with. They look athletic. Maybe they are known for fitness or for being athletic. These natives can be associated with the military, and probably look incredible in their uniforms. This is a man-eater or womanizer placement, for sure. “I get what I want when I want it.” They look like they have a rough exterior, even if they are sweethearts. They can be into martial arts. Commanding presence. They can make wonderful personal trainers. Regardless of gender, they can come off as being comfortable with their masculine energy. Reds look great on them. They might have thick eyebrows and a nice jawline. They look attractive when they are angry. They know how to make someone feel sexy. They have people chasing them or falling for them fast.

4. Pisces and 12th house placements: these people have no problem ghosting you. Pisces placements and 12H placements are always made out to be innocent and naive, but they are attracted to people and situations that have something a little “bad” about them. Savior complex. They can go through feelings where they feel detached from social settings and those they love, where they cannot fully escape the role of observer. They will always be able to fully escape into their internal landscape and get consumed by it— but it seems as though no matter how hard they try, they can’t have that same presence in the material world. This can lead to frustrating feelings of disconnection from the world and people around them. They can be smiling and staring off, but you will never fully know what they are thinking. They can make people really curious about them, because their thoughts always catch you off guard. Having an existential crisis on the daily. Casual things might have a bigger internal meaning to them that others might not always understand. We can find plenty of people attractive, but if the spark isn’t felt in the soul and doesn’t pique a deep curiosity, we will get bored and swim away. Liking people who are a bit “mean and dark” but wanting them to be sweet and soft with you. Using music to paint your daydreams, or to escape. Finding music that relates almost entirely to whatever they have on their mind feels like striking gold. They can like someone just for having the same interests as them. Feeling like a ghost in a flesh suit. Enigmatic. Can embody different vibes and personas depending on who they are around. They are sensitive and can adapt to the situations at hand. Too much self awareness can lock them in their heads. “I only jump into waters with the depth of an abyss.” Laying down for hours just to daydream and process your thoughts. Long baths feel like therapy. Moderation isn’t in our vocabulary. We love what we like, and we want to get lost in what we love. Not being able to properly process your day or interactions until you’re alone and can replay them in isolation.

5. Taurus Placements: I noticed Taurus moon women get spoiled financially by their partners. The type for their partners to say “don’t worry, I’ll work and you can be at home,” or that being their partners goal at a point. I noticed Taurus placements can enjoy the occasional shoplifting. They are not going to compromise their comfort, and if you come after that it will be met with intense stubbornness. They can seem nonchalant about a lot of things, but can be extremely unwavering in their opinions on certain things. In some cases, they can have strange eating habits or relationship to food. Thankfully, the Tauruses I’ve been around don’t project that on those around them. It’s more internal from what I’ve noticed, and they can enjoy feeding those they love and care for. They can have great taste in food. They love sensual vices and sex. They look great with pearls. They master an aesthetic and can stick to it. They are fiercely protective of those they love. They can be lazy at their worst and will not want to do anything that requires too much effort. They can be impressively good at couponing. Making money from home is the ideal setup for them. They will spoil their loved ones too, and can be great gift givers. They don’t cheap out with presents for their loved ones. They get much enjoyment from decorating their spaces and hosting their loved ones. They can be prone to overthinking and some may obsessive behaviors or crippling anxiety as well. They can honestly make the best scammers, as terrible as that sounds. They can sell someone a dream and make it sound beautiful, but can be lying through their teeth. Their jealousies can sometimes come from a place of vanity. Watch out for envying others, and appreciate your own beauty. They can focus so much on the beauty around them they forget about their own. They can be the image of beauty and grace, or strive deeply for that. They have pretty and soothing voices. Taurus placements can easily be the funniest person you know when they are in a joyful mood. I also noticed Taurus placements are wonderful at finding vintage pieces and re-selling them!

-D

[hoseoksluna]

BOOKWORMS | knj

pairing: boyfriend!namjoon x reader

genre: smut; fluff

word count: 4.4k

summary: namjoon thinks of you when he reads a smut scene in his book.

warnings: boyfriend namjoon!!!, kimi namijoon reading, mentions of sex (riding), oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, the importance of consent, teasing, raw sex, breeding kink <3, big dick namu!!, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, joonie's chain dangling in ur face, tummy bulge, creampie, bruising, hickeys, aftercare:(

note: it took blood, sweat and tears (hehe) to write this and i'm so happy it's finally here!! i loved writing about namjoon. he's my whole soul and the entirety of my heart and i have to write abt him again soon. please take your time reading this and enjoy urself! let me know what you think in the comments mwah (or tell me anonymously in my inbox) and as i always say please like and if u want to - reblog, but i won't pressure u baby. love love you!!

side note: if you want to jump straight to the smut, it's right under the asterisks &lt;;3

You revel, you truly do, in seeing your boyfriend in such a serene state of mind. 

Nose buried in a book, Namjoon pays no mind to the surroundings fleeting by him with each flutter of his eyelashes. It goes unnoticed by him, strangely so, how you tidy up the apartment you share. How you feed the two cats that chose you and him to be their human parents. How you fondle their soft ears. How you bend over the furniture to whisper ‘pspsps’ at them when they need a moment away from you just to see their round eyes look up at you stupidly. Namjoon usually observes these moments; this utmost natural behavior of yours. He draws strength from the homeliness of it all with each and every swell of his lungs. Needs it to survive. That is until he gets a hold of that one papery portal and sits comfortably on the couch, one ankle propped over the knee. Then, he ceases to exist in this world. 

You’re happy for him. Over time, you’ve come to find that you have a certain fondness for the way he remains stoic. Because you always know what kind of book he’s reading, a smile blossoms on its own over the line of your lips whenever your eye catches the sculpture-like look on his face. It’s like even if he let himself hold his breath, his consciousness would waver back to the earth and the wretched awareness that he’s here, among mortals and the unfair capitalist system aftermath, would stream in his bloodstream, poisoning his experience. It takes the leisure out of it and makes the bed for misery instead. He doesn’t like it. Hates it, in fact. It’s a necessity that he focuses, as he embarks on the journey, because he does it for you.

Namjoon confides in his feelings and his literature with you almost on a daily basis. On the same couch, with the same cats snoring faintly, their small bodies spilling over the perimeter of your tangled legs. Doesn’t matter if it’s his thigh or the curve of your hip. The animals always find a warm crook to doze in, eavesdropping in, with their curious little ears, on the conversations you’re having. Though you reckon they like the meat of his thigh the best. You do, too. Can’t really blame them. The same serenity that intimately knows the person of Namjoon perceives the person of you when he prompts you to rest your head on his lap while he brushes his book-kissed fingers through the silky waterfall of your hair. Thoroughly explains the intricacies of the plot he’s invested in to you. Describes the characters as if they’re real people he’s become acquainted with. They are real to you as you listen. As you ask additional questions and gaze up at his eyes just to catch that one body of a shooting star fiery hot in the glossiness of his eyes. As you wonder, openly, what will happen to them.

“I’ll tell you when they tell me.” He sunk the promise onto the smooth skin of your forehead with the pucker of his lips.

It’s how you discovered, in all seriousness, that the plaster of his stoicism breaks during these literary moments.

Various colors of emotion tug and twist his features, the bare kind. The unrestrained kind. You know it’s a relief for him when the dam bursts open, soaking you in the beauty of humanness one only finds in literature these days. You can’t help but fall in love with him all over again when his eyebrows furrow. When his orbs nearly burn a hole in the ceiling when he’s trying to think of the right word that will ultimately help him convey the unfolding of the storyline. When he gives up and weaves English into his sentences, relying on his hands to say what his overstimulated brain fails to do. 

He reads to pass knowledge to you. The serenity whispered it into the chambers of your heart, a puff of hot breath in winter’s cold. It soothingly rubbed his shoulders when Namjoon told you there used to be a time when he couldn’t stand the sight of his books lining up the walls of his apartment. Wanted to burn it down and watch as the evidence of his melancholy dies in front of him. Because that’s what most of his book collection consisted of back then. The innermost shadowy faces of his pain. Loneliness. Sadness. Despair from life, from it not being enough for him, from it not saving a spot there for him–not once throughout the course of his life. That’s why he reads different kinds of books now. Ones that do not reflect his survival before you.

The reader has to get wiser, ruffled by life in order to gain more, gain what they need from those once deeply loved pages. It’s what the serenity believes. It’s what you believe and hope for Namjoon. That one day, somehow by the healing of the love you give him, he will look back and pick a souvenir from that moonless country of pain. Put it up somewhere between the spines of his new cluttered collection. Look at it from time to time and sense that it’s telling him something. Something that will fill the stitched-up cracks in his heart with sunlight. Something that he will pass over to you. It’s your love language after all. Namjoon reads because you read. It’s his own personal healing thing. 

You two are just a pair of two bookworms. Unfit for the world outside. Fit for the land you two created. Whose soil you take care of together.

***

Dinner is almost ready by the time you feel his fingertips gripping your hips. You hum, acknowledging his presence. Glad for the homely heat that radiates off of his body and seeps into your bones as you stir the risotto you decided to make on the stove. Coldness had been embracing you all day while he read so you’re overjoyed that he ripped it away from you.

Namjoon places a kiss on your temple and you sigh in relief. You might be too dependent on him, but so is he. He wouldn’t be nuzzling his face in your hair, squeezing your waist, peppering kisses on your tender skin if he wasn’t. It’s the perfect balance. And it’s not that you’re not able to be away from each other. The principle of looking forward to one another is what makes it so sweet, so endurable for the pair of you. Of the coming back and coming into contact at the end of the day. It’s natural. Simple. Human.

“Missed me?” Namjoon husks into your ear. 

You smirk and turn off the stove, turning around to face him. “Terribly.”

His body is clad in a black T-shirt that fits his broad figure well and a pair of baggy sweats of the same color, having discarded the warm crewneck he was wearing earlier somewhere in the universe of his book. A long silver chain twinkles in the middle of his chest in the yellow light. You caress it with your fingers and leave your palm there, on the hardness of his pecs. 

“I finished the book,” he says and you blink up at him. You’re not surprised at all. “Couldn’t put it down.”

Sleepy wrinkles have left their mark on his face from the cozy position he laid in for too long on the couch. His short sunlit hair, grown healthily from his military service, is tousled in all directions and you smooth it down for him. How did God bless you with such a beautiful man is something you’ll wonder about for the rest of your life. 

“What happened to Theo in the end?” you ask, genuinely curious about whether one of the characters you’ve grown attached to is okay after all the shit the author put him through. 

Namjoon was reading a coming-of-age book about a boy named Theo. A panorama of his childhood and adolescent life, you’ve heard all about it. Namjoon cared a lot about this story, cared a lot about the protagonist’s emotions and reactions to the reappearing storms. What made him stick with it, despite the nearly triggering themes, is the fact that Theo never let go of his optimism no matter what. It was incredibly inspiring for Namjoon. Something new. Something that he never thought could be possible. You’re proud of him for daring to read a book so reminiscent of his past.

“You’re not gonna believe it,” Namjoon says, a blush creeping along his cheeks.

You raise one of your eyebrows in question. 

“Theo got laid,” Namjoon reveals, laughing softly. “I’m so happy for him.”

You gasp and burst into giggles. “What?”

“He got some!” 

Your laughter rises in volume. “He lost his virginity and that’s the end?”

“It was a big moment for him. A triumph of some kind. Like he shed his old skin and left that broken life behind. It was amazing.” Namjoon’s eyes glint with tiny shooting stars and you melt. He always finds poetic meanings in the varieties of the character arcs. You think you just fell in love with him all over again. 

“That’s really beautiful,” you admit. It reminds you of something. Of something quite personal. “My first time with you changed my life as well.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows curl in tenderness. Dragon eyes widen and round in fervent emotion. He squeezes his arms around you, enfolding you in a hug. Kisses you warmly. Strokes your hair down your back. Your own eyes pool with little tears with the intimate knowledge that you chose the right person to unfold your raw femininity with. No one, no man other than him could have created such a safe for that to happen.

“Tell you what,” Namjoon says a bit hoarsely. “I saw us in it.”

You hum, encouraging him to continue. Crave for more of his thoughts and confidential findings. Its fire spreading through your body, as each word of his registers in your brain, always makes you feel phenomenally alive. You’re not timid to avow that it’s your addiction. Shame doesn’t know you.

“Elena was on top and he was watching her. In awe of her,” he murmurs, caressing your cheek with the tip of his thumb. “Made me think of our last time. A life changing experience of mine as well.”

You welcome the fire and suspire with sudden desire, eyes lidding. Your heart begins to thump. Namjoon studies your reaction. 

“You remember well, don’t you?” He nudges his nose against yours. “I was in awe of you just the same.” 

It’s impossible not to remember. The memory consumes your mind every waking hour. Gets you needy in ways you haven’t felt before. Namjoon had you sat on his lap among the fluffiness of your innumerable pillows and plushies. Had you do all the work as he focused on the sleekness of your freshly moisturized calves, its coconut aroma interfused with the scent of sex and the euphony of your bounces, ragged breaths and broken moans making his head all fucked up. He was loud himself, more loud than you ever recalled him being. Reading your body at the mercy of the pleasure his hard length was giving you with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. Not once did he take his eyes off of you, not once did he help you. Just gripped your calves. Your thighs. Your tits all in his face. Only when you came hard, out of your own delightful merit, did his eyes roll back. You left his hips glazed with the evidence of your well-deserved orgasm, a porcelain statue made glossy.

A little later, during your pillow talk, he told you he’d found the idea of you using him while getting yourself off extremely hot. Made him more hard than he’d been in a while. Begged you to be even more selfish next time, adding an indistinct, ‘well, of course, if you want’ to the end of his sentence because he’s Namjoon.

“I do,” you breathe. “Touched myself to it this morning while you were still asleep.”

Namjoon groans. “God.” He kisses the side of your neck. Gets close to your ear. “You wanna do it again, hm? Wanna fuck me?” 

You might burst. His closeness, his heat, his need to ask for your consent turns you unstable. You’re choked up on your words, mind too fuzzy to say something. Turned on. Fucked up.

“You wanna show me how you touched yourself?” Namjoon continues, but you shake your head against the side of his face. 

You had touched yourself in the shower. Couldn’t say no to the impulse. Sharing that part of you for his eyes to see isn’t something you’re quite ready for. To you, it’s still something that’s yours. Something private. A courage you have yet to pluck up. You’re afraid to give him this last part of your femininity.

“Not today,” you whisper, planting a kiss on his neck. Feel him shiver. “I’m sorry. Do you mind?”

Withdrawing from your neck, Namjoon looks you dead in the eye, brows twisted in stern seriousness. “Don’t ever apologize for something like that again. Hear me when I say that.”

You squeeze his shoulder, the corners of your mouth lowering in a pout. Thankfulness grips your heart and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. 

“You know this is why we do this right?” he asks you. “Why I ask you these questions? I need to always know what you’re comfortable with so I don’t make a mistake.”

You nod. “Yes, Namjoon, I know and I’m so thankful.”

“Good. I’ll never push you to do anything you don’t want. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t.” 

“That’s my girl. 

You grab him by the back of his neck and engulf him in a hug. Luckiest girl in the world? That you are. The fact that you’re his is still something you can’t wrap your head around.

“We can stop. We don’t even have to do anything tonight—”

“No, Namjoon.” You withdraw. “Look.” Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you slip his hand beneath the confines of your panties. 

His breath shakes when he reaches your soaked folds. He traces your hole with his middle finger and your hips follow his movement, the pleasure so faint but so good that you flutter your eyes closed.

“Fuck, baby.” 

“Yeah, I need you. Need more,” you breathe out. “Can’t leave me like this, can you?”

Namjoon hums. “No, I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of this pussy.” 

He kisses you. Massages his tongue against yours. You buck your hips into his hand and Namjoon hears your body language. Takes his fingers up and rubs your swollen clit from side to side, quickening his pace as he swallows your moans down his throat. Gets angry at your tight leggings hindering him in giving you more, so he gets on his knees and swiftly pulls them down along with your underwear. 

“Sit on the counter.”

You comply right away. Namjoon takes your feet in his hands and gently removes your slippers, removing your garments fully so they don’t pool around your ankles. He needs your legs spread and he needs them spread wide for what he’s about to do to you. 

Torso long enough to reach you, he remains on his knees. Runs his hands up the back of your thighs to guide you into the position he wants you in. “Lock your arms around the back of your knees. Don’t let go.”

You do as he says, biting your lips in nervousness. Intertwine your hands together. Prepare yourself to die. 

Namjoon studies your dewy pussy, index and middle finger mimicking the letter V as he slides them up and down your folds, squeezing just right to hear you mewling. Your knees being so close together makes her look a lot more pillowy and you hear Namjoon breathe hard, absolutely hypnotized by the beauty of your flesh. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping down my hand.” He withdraws his fingers to show you how your slick trickles down the lines on his palm, changing the course of his life once and for all. 

Your clit throbs, breath matching his. “Please, Namjoon.”

He curses inaudibly. Brings his fingers back down to your folds, squeezes your lips and your clit together. Hisses at the sweet whimpery sounds spilling out of your mouth. Presses tighter so you whine needily for him. Takes you into his mouth when he accomplished what he wanted, tonguing your clit in slow agonizing circles that has you buckling your hips again. Puts his hands on your thighs to keep you down, flicking fast to absolutely abuse the fuck of you. Dragon eyes zeroing on yours, he gives you the hypnosis that your pussy did to him as he sucks on your bundle of nerves. You can’t even scream. Can’t breathe. The pleasure overwhelms you wholly and straps you down. There’s nothing you can do but take it. 

You come hard on his tongue. Namjoon laps it all up gladly. And when he’s finished, he stands up and slips those two digits that ruined you into your hole. Doesn’t move them. Lets you adjust instead.

“One more,” he mutters. “Please.”

You nod.

“Use your words or we’re stopping.”

You groan and close your eyes, your thighs visibly shaking in your iron grip from your orgasm. “Yes, Namjoon, one more. I’ll come for you.”

Namjoon places a wet kiss on your thigh to praise you, and to thank you as well. Begins to move his fingers promptly, but can’t seem to get enough of your skin. Proceeds to make it shiny with his liquid love, sucking it to bruise you. To remember this moment a little more fondly in the morning. 

Creating a trail up to the back of your knee, his digits pick up the speed. The pool of slick you left in his palm sloshes with each rapid thrust of his hand. He looks back at you and sees you lost in the pleasure, eyes lidded and unfocused. “Look at me.” 

You do, weakly.

“Just a little bit more and I’ll fuck you, all right?”

You’re about to nod, but decide against it. “Mhm, yes, Namjoon, fuck.” 

He smiles down at you. Your relief inches closer. “I’m so proud of you for speaking up today. For letting me know.” 

You could cry right now. Because of his fingers making you feel so good. Because of his kindness making you feel so safe. It all closes in on you and you whimper. 

Abruptly, Namjoon unravels your grip on your knees and kisses you, tongue slipping in. You come all over his hand, without meaning to, and he doesn’t stop. On the contrary, Namjoon fucks you harder. Takes all four of his fingers and strums your clit, prolonging your orgasm, swallowing down all of your moans. 

“Come on.”

Namjoon helps you down. If it weren’t for his arms holding you steady, you would’ve collapsed on the floor. Your legs shake, muscles taut and tense. 

“I got you.”

Sat on the floor with his joggers and boxers pulled beneath his crotch, he pulls you down on his lap. A wisp of precum adorns his tip and you wrap your hand around it, collecting it with your thumb. Watch him as you swirl your tongue around the digit before sucking on it, letting go with an obscene pop. Namjoon licks his lips, hands clasping your hips hard enough to bruise you. Twitches in your other hand.

“Don’t fucking do that to me, baby.” 

You laugh almost inaudibly, drunk on him. “Are you gonna come in me?” 

He replaces your hand, holding his length at the base for you to sink down. And you do, gasping softly at his thickness. Your dewiness helps it to be a smooth ride.

“Gonna pump you full. Leave you dripping,” he promises, voice restrained. “Gonna fuck you so good you’ll remember it for the rest of your life.” 

One thing about Namjoon, he’s a man of his word. 

Seated perfectly on him, he waits for you to adjust. Alleviates the tremble of your thighs with his palms, massaging the muscles. Takes off your shirt and flings it across the kitchen. Gropes your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You start to grind on him, throwing your head back. He latches onto your nipple and flicks the nub with his tongue. You lose your mind, leaking down his balls. 

“Ready?” he asks against the fullness of your breast. 

“Yeah, fuck me, Joon.” 

He thrusts into you once to watch you fall apart. Locks your arms behind your back. Grabs your forearms for his use.

“You forgot something.”

He thrusts again, harder this time.

“What?” you breathe out, meekly. 

“What word do you use when you want to ask for something?”

He watches you as you work it out in your brain. Fucks into you three more times, equally hard, to disrupt you. 

“Fuck, sorry. Please, Joon, please.”

He grinds, hips rotating in circles. 

“Uh-huh, that’s right. Now use it.” 

Namjoon envelops your tit in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your areola. Sucking. Keeping up the agonizing pace. Groaning when you clench down on him. 

“Please, hmph, fuck me.”

Your breast bounces back when he lets go, biting his lip. “Knew you could do it,” he coos. “Smart fucking girl.” 

He begins to fuck you properly. Thrusting up and down as he holds you steady, keeping his eyes locked on yours. As he takes control of your squirming, leaving his fingerprints on your forearms and waist. You’re breathless, whimpering, on the verge of sobbing. So turned on and needy for him that the emotions brim in you, threatening to spill over. 

“Aren’t you?” Namjoon continues. “Aren’t you a smart girl?” 

You nod, knowing exactly what he wants to hear. “I’m a smart girl.” 

He spanks your ass to reward you and you arch your back. Tits all in his face. He’s mesmerized watching them bounce and nearly slap against each other, nubs hard and pointed. He licks them up, flicking them with his tongue. You round your shoulders a little in pleasure, his strong grip not letting you fold like your body wants. 

“That’s right. So smart and good for me. So fucking wet. Making me lose my mind.”

Namjoon kisses you. Inhales you. Withdraws only for a mere second before he’s back, tongue in, toying with you the way you like it. You feel your relief calling your name.

“Namjoon, I’m so fucking close. I’m so close. I’m gonna come,” you whine, forehead pressed against his, face twisted in ecstasy.

Namjoon stops out of the blue and slips out of you. You whine loudly, but before you know it, he carries you to the couch and lays you down on it. Takes off all of his clothes until only his silver chain remains, shining bright in the dim light. He spreads your legs, one limb over the backrest, the other around his thigh. Grips his length and tugs at it a few times, the feeling of your wetness making him slippery pulling moan after moan out of him. 

He enters you again and resumes his fast pace, holding your calf in his hand. “Smart girls come on the couch, not on the floor like whores. You got that?” 

You nod almost too eagerly, fucked out beyond measure. “Yes, Joon, please make me come. Please, come here.” 

Namjoon leans towards you, propping his elbows by your head, cradling you. “I’m here. I’m gonna make you come.” 

From this angle, he fucks you more deeply than before, his tip reaching your cervix. You roll your eyes back, but bring them right back to his face when his chain taps you on the chin. You find it so hot that you grind your hips against his, meeting his thrusts, encouraging him to fuck you harder. The chain meets you in erratic staccatos and you scratch your nails down his bare back, the sword-like pendant hurting you in a way that you like. 

Namjoon notices. Slows down his movements. Pinches the chain from the back of his neck. Prompts you to lift your head and slides it over, letting it rest in the middle of your breasts. Then fucks you back into the couch.  

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna breed you. Hm. You want that, don’t you?”

The cord tightens in your lower belly. The bulge of where his tip is hitting you nudges him in his stomach and he looks down. Curses. 

“Look.” 

You follow his eyes and moan. “Namjoon, Namjoon, please come in me. I’m so close. Wanna feel you. Please.” 

He grunts, nodding his head. Licks his fingertips and presses them against your clit. Pleasures you in fast and swift jerks until you’re knocking your head back. Only when he grabs your jaw and kisses you does the cord snap, his lips being your ultimate undoing. 

Namjoon presses you down with his body, keeps you calm and collected. Kisses you all through it, your jaw, your neck, your cheeks. Then his thrusts turn sloppy and his cock twitches in you. He gives you one final hard thrusts and fills you up, groaning against your mouth.

You’re smoothing down the sting of your scratches on his back when he pulls out of you and his cum drips out of you. You wish you could see what he sees, hand on his mouth, careful to catch his drool. You push out more for him and he curses, fondling your pussy with his thumb before he pumps it back in. 

He comes back to you and kisses you. Fixes your hair. Caresses your cheek. Helps you stand on your feet as he leads you into the shower. Washes every inch of your body, heedful of the bruises he left on the back of your thigh. Lathers your hair in your favorite shampoo. Wraps you in a towel. Wanted to moisturize your body, but you told him off, knowing both of you would get horny again. You let him brush your hair, though, placing a comb in his hand. He’s gentle as he undoes the knots, then he blowdries your hair. 

And you do the same for him.

Once the pillow touches your cheeks, you’re both out like a light. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[bettymylove]

Hiii, just started following you, your work if amazing 👏 love it. I love smut but I love fluff as well. Was wondering if you could do a fluff for me.

Reader × Theodore nott

Reader is shy, sensitive and can't say no to anyone. Reader and Theo are already dating and he is super overprotective. One day when she's in class, a boy asks her to tutor him so she starts tutoring him, but during their lesson he starts touching her is inappropriately, she ends up leaving in tears(he didn't do much, he just touched her thighs then shouted at her when she complained). Theodore finds her crying and finds out why and beats the guy up till he has to visit a hospital. I know its long 😭 I just love jealous men

protect

pairing: theo nott x reader

content: read the ask, warnings: fighting, use of the word slut and whore, crying, inappropriate touching

a/n: I love jealous men too😭

Theo had not one idea as to why you were with him. You were a complete sunshine, never said no to anyone and were by far the kindest human theo had ever met.

Though people try to take advantage of your kindness, Theo's always there to protect you. He hates seeing his girl unable to say no even when she wants to and so, he helps her when he can.

However on that particular Saturday morning, your boyfriend hadn't accompanied you to breakfast, running late as usual and you had been approached by a boy in your class.

He had taken the opportunity of the empty seat beside you, which you saved for Theo, and decided to sit on it. Mattheo looked at him with an amused expression, eager to see Theo's reaction.

Theo came stumbling into the great hall, no robe, tie askew, and eyes searching for his beloved. His eyes land upon you, along with your uncomfortable expression.

He sits beside Mattheo, "You've not said anything to this boy?" Theo looks at you while you nod your head at said boy once more and he gets up while having a mischievous smile on his face.

"You really think, if I had said something he would still be there?" Theo chuckled at the statement, getting up to finally sit beside his girlfriend.

"Morning darling, what was that about?" he had a toast in his mouth, hanging off. He was trying to find the butter and you were sure you've never seen a much cuter sight.

Your hands instinctively find his tie, adjusting it as you speak. "He wants me to tutor him this afternoon." You pat his tie one last time before returning to your breakfast.

Theo rolls his eyes at your naiveness and how you don't see that boy was flirting with you, but decided to not say anything.

Later that afternoon, you wished you were still with Theo when you were sitting in the library with the boy whose name you had forgotten by now was sitting way too close.

You had decided if he moved any closer you would say something, anything. His hand moved around your shoulders, awkardly pulling you in, while his other hand met your thighs and you pulled away.

Your pulling away didn't help because the hand around your shoulder only pulled you closer. "Please move away from me." You had finally let out.

"Why, cause you're a little slut, whoring yourself out for your little boyfriend?" His words hit you, is this how people perceived you?

You had finally broken free of his hold, pushing yourself up along with your bag and running towards your dorms.

You shut the door, threw your bag on the floor, and got in your bed. You hugged your knees to your chest and started bawling your eyes out.

It was evening now and Theo hadn't seen you, deciding to check up on you, he went to your dorm. Knocking slightly, he entered and immediately thoughts of worry filled him.

You had cried, that much was clear from your face, but he wanted to know why. He sat beside you and you immediately hugged him, starting to cry again.

"What happened darling?" He asked in the most gentle voice he could muster up. He was ready to kill whoever had done this to his girl, but first he needed her to calm down.

"That boy, from this morning he-" you choked up, remembering his words and his touch and feeling disgusted by it.

"What did that fucker do, did he touch you?" Theo was seething, his jaw was tensed, few of his veins were visible.

You nodded and continued, "He touched me here," You brought his hands to your thighs. "He called me a slut, who was whoring herself out for you" Your voice was heavy and you looked ready to cry again.

Theo pulled up the sleeves of his shirt, wiping your tears with it, and pulled you up on your feet. Getting your shoes, from beside your bed, he knelt and helped you put them on.

"Where are we going, Theo?" you asked while he held your hand and pulled you towards with him to his dorm, you had never seen him this angry.

"To show that idiot, whose girl he was messing with" Slamming the door to his dorm open, he went into his bathroom while Mattheo, Enzo, and Draco looked around in confusion.

Theo came out with a baseball bat, handing one to Mattheo who only grinned and yelled, "Hell yeah" at the sight.

Theo held your hand again, pulling you along with him once more but this time three more boys were accompanying you.

The boy was sitting at the table in the great hall, surrounded by his friends, Theo left your hand and kissed your forehead before pulling the guy backwards using his shirt.

He was on the ground, while all four of them were surrounding him, the boy's friends had ran after seeing exactly who had pulled him down.

"Do you really think, you will mess with my girl and I'll stay silent?" He asked, laughing slightly, swinging the bat over his shoulder and the guy had just started to utter some words before Theo's bat hit his leg.

He groaned out in pain, and you winced at the sight. All three boys had now begun hitting the boy with all their might.

Finally after a while, professor Snape had arrived to break off the fight, giving them all a week's worth of detention while carrying the boy to the hospital wing.

Theo's hand came up to clean his face while he walked towards you, putting your face in his hands he whispered, "I'll always protect you, no matter what" and all you did was smile.

[ivesambrose]

PAC: 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟

1. 2. 3.

For those who are sleeping on their potential or are unaware of it.

To book a personal reading with me DM or email me at ivesambrose@gmail.com with your query.

Masterpost

Services Offered

Thanks for the tip!

PICTURE 1

Blessed with the gift of restoring or beautifying things beyond repair. This could be an object, a garment or you, yourself. There's not a single ending or grief that you've faced that you haven't bloomed out of. Perhaps some of you have found inspiration in it as well. You can find beauty in the mundane and the macabre. You'll always find or have access to some hidden resources. Be it esoteric knowledge, classified sources, intuition or people not really in the public eye.

You're sleeping on your gifts of acquiring wealth. Some of you may have limiting beliefs when it comes to money. You have the ability of being extremely influential with your words but you shy away or underestimate yourself. You'd do amazing in selling/promoting/teaching something but you might think you're not glamourous or confident enough. Both of them are a state of your mind. Some of you can be incredible cooks too, make something simple look appealing and taste exquisite regardless of whether you want to profit out of it or not. Some of you are excellent designers, can stitch fabrics together or put something together like a puzzle piece and make it fit even if they aren't supposed to. With enough awe and wonder you can make yourself happy, something you've been avoiding in the pursuit of keeping up with ever yone else and constant comparison or choosing things to pursue that you aren't supposed to but you end up doing so to prove a point that never gets assured.

PICTURE 2

Such caring and tranquil souls who don't realise that they create their opportunities as they go. You don't have to go looking for them, the more you do they'll elude you. Think of it as looking for your glasses while you were wearing them the whole time. Blessed with the capability of changing lives and circumstances through their thought, ideas and words alone. But you think of it as a power so simple and you seek out more complicated things then wonder why you feel stuck and devoid of curiousity and fun. You're sleeping on your potential to go and see what the world has to offer you and what you have to offer to the world. You might think it's too little but that's far from the truth. You've gathered your perceived mistakes and failures so much that they have piled up in your subconscious somehow. The moment you switch them to what you have gratitude towards, they too will add up and will keep multiplying. You'll either way be guided towards your destiny no matter what.

You have helped others release their burdens but it seems as though you still keep carrying yours with the addition of other's as well. Why? You think you can't execute an idea, you think too much time has or will pass you think you have no relevance. You think too much, so why can't you think in your favour more than once? You're stubborn, so why can't you be stubborn with allowing yourself too walk on your path?

There's an opportunity in everything. The moment you make everything ever in your favour as crazy as it sounds, is when you are prosper.

PICTURE 3

There is power in the unspeakable emotions that you feel but prefer not to. You have the ability to evoke the same emotions in others too. You're perhaps searching for examples or validation from others in regards to what you want to do, where you want to go and what you want to become. But the truth is that you're supposed to be your own validation.

You're meant to be your own example, be as eccentric and revolutionary and chaotic as you wish to be. Some of you are a cult classic in the making and don't even realize it yet. You're like a lightning strike, the poet and the muse. You have the gift to visualise/picture things into existence. You are someone's real life comfort character despite it all You're capable of becoming a healer, taking all the pain and turning into power, inspiring the same in others, you're capable of becoming a leader and an extremely influential person. Use your power well. You're meant to be expressive, you're meant to inspire, to create, to perform, to travel and likely be as many characters as you wish and live many lives, each that caters to your inner child. You can't really go step by step with this, there's hardly any method to it except bursts of energy and inspiration that leads you to where you seek to be. Deep down, you're aware that the only way to live up to this is being a bit strict with yourself, completely accepting your power and contradicting yourself less.

You can easily transmute energy, think of yourself as an alchemist, surround yourself with people and friends who share this vision as well, likey you already are. Stop holding yourself back.

[homunculus-argument]

Probably dumb question from a trans guy who's struggling with actually physically and socially transitioning. I am a short, skinny, and relatively quiet human, and while I undoubtedly feel myself to be male internally and want my body to reflect that, I feel like nobody would ever take me seriously or find me attractive if I transitioned, or that I don't have what it takes to pass as a man in general due to people relentlessly perceiving me as feminine and female even when I do everything in my power to present otherwise.

I guess I'm just wondering if transitioning is even worth it for me? I'm almost 30, so I've lived as I am a long time, and as much as it makes me miserable and cuts me off from a lot of joy and vitality in life, it's all I know. I *think* I would feel better, have more confidence etc. if people perceived me as who I really feel myself to be, but the thought that there's a lot of people out there who would never accept that, and would rub it in my face that they still see me as something I loathe being seen as, makes me feel pretty hopeless about the whole situation.

No need to answer this if it's too personal a topic or anything, just wanted to run it past you since I admire you quite a bit, and you seem to have a lot of stuff figured out that I'm still working towards.

🐉

You sound pretty confident about it being something you can't be happy without, and honestly, testosterone is a hell of a drug, so even if you won't be astonishingly hot as a guy, you'll still read 100% as male in a couple of years. Look at the before-after pictures and progress timelines of trans men, especially HRT timelines, even the ones who don't end up looking like Kratos from God of War just turn out into completely normal-looking regular guys. There are plenty of short, skinny, and quiet cis men too, and they aren't so rare that normal people meeting you for the first time would start suspecting you to be one of those 1% minority people they've heard about.

I've also had friends who know I'm trans genuinely just forget about it. This one time a friend whom I have known since we were 15 - ten years before I started testosterone - get confused when I mentioned that my gym teacher at the time always wore electric blue mascara. She asked me which teacher was that, and only when I clarified that I was talking about the female gym teacher at my school, did she remember that I was in girls' gym classes. The thought that my school had the most flamboyant drag queen makeup wearing boys' gym teacher felt like a more plausible option than remembering that I was legally classified as a girl in school back when we met.

[ma1dita]

feed the fire

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 1.2k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where his focus is not on spilled food, but on you. The fight never ends, but food service does, and well, you’re pretty when you’re mad. Lucky for you, your dad doesn’t really need offerings. Lucky for Luke, you’re in a sharing mood.  Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: Chiron isn’t gonna bet his kids against each other he on the side of love wym -.- (unbeta'd and purely made by caffeine)

(posted 1/22/24)

—

“If that was your definition of fun Castellan, you are most possibly the worst person alive,” you grumble, bumping past Luke in the dinner line. The weight of his plate is as heavy as his stare, eyes following you as you turn to look at him and he knows you’re pissed after his team won capture the flag. 

Again. 

After years at Camp Half-Blood and years of arguing with you, everything gets a bit repetitive. But he can’t help but bite back a grin at this routine you two have created—it’s never boring when you’re around. You get as close as you can to his large frame, nose turned up for another face-off and he shouldn’t find your anger…so attractive. He shouldn’t be so interested in someone who looks like they’re about to wring his neck. However, Luke eats up the attention from you like he’s starving and wanting seconds, so he eggs you on just to see how this turns out.

“But a damn good demigod right? You’re just a sore loser, trouble. Gonna have to do better than that to impress me,” Luke jabs at you, holding his tray in one hand. His grin gets impossibly bigger once his half-siblings rumble with laughter behind him, and the frown on your face deepens.

Where you two are involved, there’s always a spectacle. Rumors of campers placing bets and keeping score to the point of updating Mr. D with the count of who comes up on top each time you two argue. He’s past the point of assigning you two extra chores and taking away leisure time since you’re much older now (and essentially run the camp for him), so the god has resigned himself to placing bets with the kids (without Chiron knowing). But every week after capture the flag, Luke unknowingly bumps up several points just by existing. It’s damaging Mr. D’s stakes so much that he might have to bet against you, his own child, next time. Plus, there’s something about Luke that always riles you up.

“Who said I was impressing you?” You scoff, blocking him from walking to his table and he looks down at you (both figuratively and literally) with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know, with the way you won’t let it go, some people might think you’re obsessed with me, sweetheart. Can’t blame you, though.” Luke’s words slip through his lips like water, and this time he’s unable to place what the expression on your face means as you stare back at him blankly with your fists clenched.

The only thing he’s able to perceive as a warning is the twitch of your eye before you’re on him, climbing him like a tree as you slam into him, knocking him to the ground and screaming, “YOU’RE SO FULL OF IT, CASTELLAN!”

Luke braces for impact as your hands are flying at him though there’s no intent to cause injury—he’s felt your right hook before and it took the air out of his lungs. This, was just you being petty, hands slapping him across the head and chest before you pulled him in by the front of his shirt, and then…it was over before it even started.

“DAUGHTER! What do you think you’re doing?” Mr. D’s voice rings across the dining pavilion and your eyes meet Luke’s as you both remember where you are.

On his lap, with everyone watching. 

Air escapes him again as he feels the weight of your hips against his hands and he doesn’t quite remember when he moved them there, or when in all of these arguments he’s stopped fighting back. 

But was it ever really a fight, Luke wonders looking up at you, not even hearing anything coming out of Mr. D’s mouth right now. Your hair is framing your face and the harsh overhead lighting in the dining pavilion surrounds you like a halo. You look like you’ve been blessed by Aphrodite herself, ethereal and strong… and a new funny feeling in his chest makes him suddenly unsure of everything you two have ever done together. This isn’t part of the routine.

Shit. 

He’s in trouble.

The fist in his shirt loosens and he falls hard, head bumping against the hardwood floor. Luke can see his tray facedown on the ground, the grapes and his dinner roll bouncing away underneath the tables.

“He did it,” you blurt out like a kid caught with their hands in the cookie jar. You can feel Luke’s chest rumble with laughter under your fingertips and you push up off of him, extending a hand to help him up. Your dad is gesturing at you to clean the mess, but by the time you finish your angry gestures and eye rolls to turn towards the utility closet, Luke’s already back and sweeping up the fallen food without any complaints. 

“You know, for the strongest swordsman in 300 years, I took you down pretty easy, huh, Luke?” You say cheesily, bumping his shoulder as he chuckles.

“You just caught me off guard—throwing yourself at me like a deranged satyr.”

“Oh because you’re a dainty nymph in distress,” you bite back, walking away to get dinner.

By the time he’s done cleaning up the mess, food service is over. He scratches the back of his neck and goes to sit next to Chris, who’s wolfed down most of his meal already, but to his surprise, you’re sitting in his usual seat with a plate piled high enough for two and some extra prayers.

“You here to rub it in? Gonna have to eat air for dinner because of you.” He falls onto the bench, leaning on his hand as he gazes at you with a slow smile, and then watches you brandish two forks in the air.

“I’ll gouge your eye with a fork if you don’t start eating.”

Your knees are touching under the table and his hand slightly shakes as he pulls the utensil from your fingers. 

“Sometimes I think I like it better when you’re mean to me,” he jokes but takes a hefty bite of pasta anyway.

“You love it.”

He can’t help but agree.

—

Clarisse walks over to Mr. D who’s watching you two from across the dining pavilion with an emotion akin to confusion and possibly disgust. You’re both laughing at something indiscernible to everyone else around you, together, not at each other…and it’s unsettling. The daughter of Ares stands in front of the Olympian with her palm extended.

“Pay up. Luke clearly won again.”

Mr. D’s eye twitches as he holds onto his drachmas. He was supposed to be entertained by this, not be the entertainment.

“Did he though? They both look like they’ve tamed down. This is starting to get boring.”

A hand comes out of nowhere, snatching the drachmas out of the god’s hand, and Clarisse’s eyes widen at Chiron, who’s been behind them all along.

“I’ll take that. Don’t think either of them are gonna win this in the end.”

The three of them watch Luke say something to you with a mischievous grin and you gape at him as you shove a bread roll into his mouth angrily.

Mr. D tuts and it catches your attention, your middle finger directed at him as you push the rest of your plate towards Luke.

“What, no offerings for your dear father?” He calls out disgruntled by your audacity. 

“You clearly eat enough, D!”

Luke elbows you as he laughs behind his bread roll, and Chiron smiles, knowing what’s forming between you two, even if you both don’t see it quite yet.

—

“There’s something between us; a sort of pull. Something you always do to me, and I to you.” F. Scott Fitzgerald

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