#because it was so different for what i was used to

[cryptotheism]

lowkey what is the point in delving so deep into old religions. do u do it for fun because i struggle to see how a like idk 400 year old monastic sect relates to modern understanding of religions. this isn't an attack btw i get delving into stuff that interests u but like. is there any more behind it? also you are cool and smart

Little more than 400 years ago, in the 1500s, in what is now Germany there was a guy named Phillipis Aurelius Theophrastus Bombastus Von Honenhiem. But he was a big asshole, so his classmates at university called him "Cacaophrastus" which literally means shit-talker.

He hated how medicine worked. See, even up until 1600, medicine hasn't changed much since the ancient world. The most up-to-date medical textbook, the core of physicians teachings in the 1600s, was a book by Galen. Galen was from ancient greece. People had invented guns, but they hadn't really improved on how Galen thought medicine worked.

Theophrastus, who called himself Paracelsus, was a bit of a rebel. He saw alchemists doing all this fantastic stuff with manufacturing new types of dyes and cosmetics and metal alloys, and he thought, why not use all that stuff for medicine? So he got to using cutting edge knowledge for the purpose of healing the sick. Which he did.

Do you know what the pre-paracelcian prescription for a musket wound was? A poultice made of cow shit and feathers. Paracelsus said to keep the wound clean, and let the body do it's thing. This saved uncounted lives.

He performed experiments, giving the same substance, in the same dose, to different people, and even testing on animals with different phyiologies, and observing how the same amount of the same substance can affect bodies didferently. He wrote "The dose makes the poison" thus inventing the occidental science to toxicology. Every time you go to the doctor, and don't get poisoned, you have this 1500s wizard to thank.

And he was a wizard. Medical knowledge at that time involved the construction of astrological talismans, made of magically imbued metals which counteracted the astral forces thought to cause illnesses. Along with inventing the foundations of modern medicine, he also engaged in the construction of magical amulets and potions, the theories of which all informed his work. Work which formed the foundations of modern medicine.

It's important to know that ideas don't just manifest out of thin air. Everything you do and think is built on vast ziggurats of human ingenuity and failure, and shaped by the history entombed within. I've just decided to learn about my favorite few bricks.

[i-m-snek]

"Why was Steve Irwin praised for free handling venomous animals, yet freehandlers today are condemned?"

(I live in the US, so this post and reference to law makers/the hobby is very US centric. Keep that in mind as you read, please) Let's pull back and take a look at -how- the free handling was approached when it came to Steve. At the beginning of each of his shows, there were several warnings posted, telling viewers how dangerous what he was doing was, not to try it at home, and that he is a trained professional with years of experience and access to anti venom. These warnings were repeated several times through out the the episode, both by Steve himself and the narrator. The animals were treated with respect, he would often avoid the head being to close to him, and he did it to show the lack of maliciousness of these animals. He also had an entire crew with him, so if he were to get bit he could be transported for treatment quickly and efficiently. His entire goal was education, not clout. Free handling keepers nowadays (A majority of the time) do not have any warnings on their free handling photos and videos. They post selfies with these dangerously venomous animals as if it's the most normal thing for regular people to handle them. There's nothing saying that it's dangerous, that it should only be done by professionals, etc. This encourages people who post on the internet for clout to try this, because it gets them attention. These people regularly have the faces of the animals close to their body, and in their hands, again, with no 'do not try this at home' warnings. Just photos as if the animal is not venomous. In a lot of places, training is not required to own venomous animals. You can go online, buy a venomous snake, and often times the person selling the venomous snake won't even ask questions. Dangerous animals are easier than ever to get a hold of, which makes the nonchalance of free handlers even more dangerous. It's not about putting themselves in danger, it's about encouraging others to do the same. Often time these venomous keepers that freehandle do so alone, with no one else around. In the event of a bite, the person may not be able to transport themselves to a hospital for treatment. They often also don't have anti venom on hand. A free handler getting bitten and dying can put the entire reptile keeping hobby in danger because the vast majority of people who write laws, know nothing about the difference in species. They do not care if the snakes are venomous or not, they will see that someone died from a snake bite, see all snakes and go 'this is dangerous' whether it be a corn snake or a cobra.

[sceletaflores]

GIVE IT TO HER LIKE A MAN!

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｡𖦹°‧➵ pair: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ wc: 5.1k

｡𖦹°‧➵ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, joel’s pov, swearing, age gap (52/23), semi-public sex (more of a semi-public ALMOST over the pants handjob?), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, spit kink, degradation, pussy spanking, creampie, fucking in your childhood bedroom RAAAHHH, one (1) single line about joel wanting to slap you, one (1) single use of the word daddy, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ nat’s note: hi babies! i'm back! did you miss me? cause i missed you and oh em gee i'm so excited to be rejoining the party. this actually wasn't what i planned on posting but the angsty joel fic is kicking my ass so hard that i had to take a break from it. i just needed to word vomit some raunchy, freak-nasty porn to cleanse my palate! i don’t normally go for the dbf trope but it's just so joel i couldn't not dip my feet in these waters. it's also more like dad's-close-but-distant-acquaintance-joel because in my head that man has little to no friends honestly. hope you love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel gives the best graduation gifts...

Joel isn’t the type to get invited to these kinds of things.

Graduation parties for Ivy League brats. Champagne in fancy crystal flutes and catered hors d'oeuvres getting passed around on silver trays. Men in loafers and pastel polos calling each other “old buddy” without any irony. It’s a far cry from his usual crowd—his mangy old t-shirt and stained blue jeans stick out in the place like a damn sore thumb.

The invitation came from a distant friend, someone he used to work with before his career took him in an entirely different, much shiner direction. He was here more as a favor than anything else. Tommy’s been worried about him, says he needs to get out more.

“Meet some new people, drink a few beers.” He’d said with his hand clasped on Joel’s shoulder. “It ain’t healthy to spend every weekend fixin’ shit around the house, Joel.”

Joel doesn’t see the problem. He’s fine the way he is. But somehow, he still got roped into going when he could have used any excuse to pull out at the last second. He could have faked sick, faked busy, faked like he had anything else to do besides sit at a fancy oak table on a back porch bigger than the whole first story of his house, decorated in Yale blue balloons and streamers. 

He regretted giving into Tommy the second he pulled up in the driveway—a too-big Craftsman style place in West Lake Hills, all clean laid brick and perfectly manicured lawns. Joel couldn’t for the life of him remember why he said yes in the first place. Maybe it was the guilt of worrying his brother. Maybe for the decent catered food and overpriced beers he knew would be there when he first got the address.

What he hadn’t expected—what hit him in the goddamn chest when the door swung open after he knocked—was you.

And Christ, did you look smug about it.

It had been months ago. The only reason Joel was even in Connecticut was to meet with a client, a big time East Coast entrepreneur who wanted a new add on to his ten car garage and was fine slinging around the money to pay for a round-trip flight and a cushy hotel room.

He hadn’t planned on going to the bar that night, but after hours of back-and-forth about permits and material costs, he needed a drink. Just one, maybe two—enough to take the edge off before heading back to the hotel.

It was a shitty little dive about ten minutes from where he was staying. The beer was cold, the lights were low, and he wasn’t supposed to be making decisions with his little head. But then he saw you across the way, right in the middle of the dancefloor.

You were in a circle with a few other girls, your dress riding up higher and higher each time you’d roll your hips to the heavy bass blaring from the overhead speakers.

Joel watched you like that for a while, leaned up against the bar lazily sipping at his beer. He hadn’t planned on doing anything about it, just sat there and enjoyed the view. But you’d caught him looking, and instead of turning away and pretending not to notice, you’d smirked.

Joel should have known right then that he was in trouble.

It wasn’t long before you left your little group and made your way over, slipping on the stool beside him like you belonged there, like you’d already made your mind up about what was going to happen next. You’d leaned in close, close enough for him to catch the scent of whatever perfume you’d rolled over your throat before heading out—something rich and heady that damn near made his head spin.

“Hey, cowboy.” You’d said with a tilt of your head, the long column of your neck dewy with a light sheen of sweat he wanted to feel under his tongue. “You’ve been watching me?”

There was no accusation in your voice, just a quiet sort of amusement, like you already knew the answer.

Joel had huffed a laugh, he didn’t see the point of denying it. He was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. “Yeah.” He’d admitted, taking a slow sip of his beer before setting it down. “What about it?”

Your eyes dropped down the length of his body, studying him, and he’d let you. Let you take your time looking, even as heat crawled up the back of his neck.

“Buy me a drink?” You’d asked, smiling up at him like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.

That was all it took.

One drink turned into two, which turned into three, and then you were leaning into his space like you were made to be there. Your index finger teasingly tracing along the collar of his shirt as you whispered something filthy in his ear that had all the blood in his brain rushing down south.

Joel really shouldn’t have let it go any further than some goddamn footsie under the bar and a few dirty words whispered over the rims of shiny glasses, he was too old for shit like that. But you were just so damn tempting—confident and sharp and pretty as all hell.

Before Joel knew it he had you pressed up against the side of his truck, giggling into his mouth, fingers tugging at his belt like you couldn't get it off fast enough. You’d tasted like the fruity cocktails he bought you and something sweeter underneath, something distinctly you, and Joel had to have more.

You let him have it too—fisting his shirt and dragging him into the backseat without a care in the world, all eager hands and breathless laughter as you straddled his lap.

It was supposed to be just that. A reckless decision with a pretty young thing as the cherry on top of his trip. A one-night deal he’d let himself have because, fuck, it had been a long time since someone looked at him like that.

Joel tried his damndest to think how he should’ve, tried not to let some one off fuck turn him all sorts of ass backwards. He tried his damndest to boot you out of his mind the next morning when he was boarding the flight back to Austin—but you stuck anyway, like a burr in his goddamn brain. 

The way you’d looked sprawled out under him, eyes glazed over with pleasure, lips parted, or the way you’d moaned his name like it was a prayer you needed him to hear. The way you’d rode him nice and slow, dragging your nails down his chest just to watch him shudder. The way you’d kissed him after, lazy and sweet, before sneaking off into the night like a goddamn thief.

Joel could've sworn he saw God that night, a smudged silhouette in the fogged up windows of his truck.

And now you’re here, standing in the doorway of some polished, high society home, looking like sin wrapped up in tulle and pearls.

Joel wasn’t a man who spooked easy, but seeing you again, surrounded by people who had no goddamn idea what you’d let him do to you in the backseat of his truck all those months ago, knocked him on his ass harder than a sucker punch.

The recognition was damn near instant, your eyes shining just as much as the sparkly sash that read “GRAD!” in big glittery letters. The initial shock gave way to a tiny, secret smile as your gaze slid up and down his body shamelessly, like this was some kind of funny inside joke. 

Joel was seconds away from turning tail, walking back down your ridiculously long driveway and getting in his truck to get the hell out of there, but then your father was walking up behind you with a big grin on his face. He clapped Joel on the shoulder roughly and introduced his “Old buddy Joel Miller from his blue-collar days!”

You were all coy smiles and wide eyes. A sugared, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Thank you for coming…” passing through your glossy lips.

The same lips that left shiny red smudges along the skin of his cock when you slid him down your throat, peering up at him with glassy eyes. The memory alone was enough to get heat stirring deep in his gut, and the way you looked at him now—all demure and polished, like you were some angelic scholar fresh off a podium—only made it worse.

Joel is too damn old for this.

“Very top of her class,” your father boasts, swishing his beer bottle through the air towards you flippantly. “Can you believe it? Just think of what we were doing at her age, brother. She sure as hell didn’t get any brains from me, that’s all her mother.”

Joel tries to chuckle with him, but it sounds strained, forced. He keeps his eyes facing forward, knee bouncing restlessly under the table. You’re looking at him again, hot and persistent against the side of his face. The heavy weight of your gaze practically begging him to look back. He doesn’t.

This dinner is it’s own form of torture, because of course, you just had to sit in the empty seat next to Joel—close enough that he can feel your knee bump up against his every few minutes.

He’s done a good job avoiding you until now, always walking the other direction when you waltz into the same room, not making eye contact when your gaze would sweep over the crowd hoping to catch his, trying for once in his life to be a good man.

A good man that suffers through this damn party without doing something he'll regret, that leaves at the end of the night and never has to see you again.

“Yeah,” he says, nervously starting to pick at the label of his own beer. Some snobby, imported New England brewery, probably sixty bucks a six-pack. “Good times.”

Joel can see you lean forward out of the corner of his eye, the neckline of your dress sliding down an inch as you stare at him, attention rapt. “What were you like back then, Mr. Miller?”

Joel nearly winces, his fingers tightening around the neck of his beer hard enough to turn the skin around his knuckles white.

‘Mr. Miller’ echoes in his ears lewdly, blaring like church bells. Your voice is nothing but a honey-sweet mockery, so syrupy he can nearly feel it trickling down his throat to add to the warmth settling low in his stomach. 

Your father snorts over the lip of his bottle, answering you before Joel could open his mouth. “Joel didn’t go to college, honey. He went into the trades right after graduation,” he takes a long sip, Joel feels your knee bump against his again. “That’s how we met.”

You hum, nodding your head languidly. “You’re an architect too?”

Joel shakes his head, not looking at you as he answers. “Carpenter.”

Your father launches into some story about his old work days with Joel, about how back in the day, they were “real men” with “real jobs,” but Joel can barely process any of it. He nods along absently, lets out some half-hearted chuckles when he needs to.

Joel nearly puts his knee through the table when he feels your barefoot brush up against his ankle, hiking his jeans up ever so slightly. He shoots you a glare as subtly as he can.

It’s a look so sharp, so warning, that it should be enough to make you back the hell off from whatever game you’re playing. You’re not even looking at him anymore, eyes glued to your father as you nod along to whatever story he’s telling now. 

But there’s a knowing little smile on your lips as your hand creeps beneath the table and falls into his lap, the pads of your fingers pressing against the inside of his thigh.

Joel goes still. Rigid as his breath catches on a sharp inhale.

Christ, you’re trying to kill him.

Your father’s voice pulls him out of the silent panic and heavy arousal waging a war inside of him. “How’s business, Joel?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. “You and Tommy still running things at a hundred miles a minute?”

Joel barely registers the question as your hand inches higher and higher. He can hear his own pulse pounding in his throat, in his chest, in his cock, already half-hard in his boxers from some goddamn heavy petting like a wet behind the ears teenager. 

“Yeah, we–” Joel pauses, willing his voice to steady with a quick cough to clear his throat. “We’ve been pretty busy with Summer rollin' around.”

Your father hums in agreement, cracking open another beer. “Of course, my schedule’s been a killer too this season,” he brags shamelessly, tone heavy with understanding like he and Joel are in the same boat. Only your fathers boat is a three million dollar yacht sailing for blue-print meetings with big shot celebrities and architectural digest interviews. “It’s a miracle I even had time to fly in for the party, isn’t that right sweetheart?”

Your hand slides up the length of his cock in one slow stroke, your palm grinding roughly over the tip through the tented denim.

“Yes, daddy.”

Your voice has gone all light and airy around the edges, almost melodic as it buries itself in Joel’s ears. At first, Joel thinks you’re talking to your father, but when his eyes flick over to you, you’re looking at him—your eyes half-lidded and sparkling with something dangerous as your fingers tug at the tab of his zipper.

Joel’s hand flies to your wrist, squeezing tight enough to stop your pawing at his now fully hard cock. “Alright if I use your bathroom?” he asks sharply, his voice a little too loud. He tosses your hand away and stands abruptly from his chair before he’s got an answer.

“Of course,” your father says easily, thankfully not noticing the tension at the table, or the way Joel’s trying to subtly hold his hands over his crotch. He turns his attention towards you, “Would you show Joel where the downstairs bathroom is, honey?”

Your smile only widens as you slip your sandal on and calmly stand from your own chair. “Sure,” you say breezily, but you’re not looking at your father, dark eyes still glued to Joel’s. “Follow me.”

The flowy fabric of your dress swishes behind you as you walk through the yard, Joel hot on your heels. He waits until you're both in the house, stepping through the open sliding glass door and out of view before his hand flies to your arm and squeezes hard.

Joel hears you wince softly, but you don’t try to fight your way out of his grip. He leans down closer, his lips inches away from your ear. His voice is low and rough as he grits out, “Take me to your room, now.”

You lead him through the kitchen and up the stairs silently, but Joel can still see the smug smile on your lips as you turn the corner. The need to slap that bratty shit right off your face wracks through him like thunder, anger burning hotter in his chest with every step.

You push the door to your bedroom open and step inside, barely turning to face him before Joel slams the door shut behind him and stalks past you. His eyes are dark, filled with a mix of rage and want as he stares you down.

“Do you think this is a goddamn game?” His voice is teeming with fury, the calm facade he scarcely maintained at dinner now entirely gone. “That you can do whatever the hell you please because your Daddy’s sittin' across from you?”

You bite your bottom lip, leaning against the door with your arms crossed behind your back coyly. “You didn’t bring me a present.”

It’s a taunt if Joel’s ever heard one, and it finally breaks him.

He crosses the room in three large strides, pinning you against the door. His hands on either side of your head, caging you in. Joel cranes his neck down, his face inches away from yours. He can smell your perfume this close, it’s different than what you wore at the bar—something soft and girly and sweet that has his cock straining in his boxer.

“You’re real fuckin' proud of yourself aren’t you?” he spits roughly, watching the way your pupils dilate, eyes going glossy under his intensity. “Does your old man know how much of a tramp his precious little baby girl is? That she’s got such a greedy fuckin' pussy she can’t help herself from rubbin' his buddy Joel’s cock under the table like a desperate slut.”

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly, all the attitude draining from you at the drop of a hat the second he gets a little mean. Your eyes are stuck on his lips and, after a beat, you start leaning in, like you’ll die if you don’t kiss him.

Joel stops you with a hand fisted in your hair, keeping you still a few centimeters away from his lips. A pitiful whine falls from your slack mouth, wide eyes flicking back up to meet his with a pleading look.

“You want me to kiss you, princess?” he asks, mean and condescending. Your breath puffs over his lips, hot and needy as you nod your head as best you can. Joel laughs, dark and cool as he shakes his head slowly. “Whores like you don’t get kissed baby, they get fucked.”

It does something to you—Joel can see it in the way your lashes flutter, in the way your thighs press together, like you can feel his words between your legs. He watches the rise and fall of your chest quicken, the way your lips part as a little breathless sound escapes them, and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

Desperate. Squirming. Ready to let him ruin you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, low and almost reverent, but the wicked curl of his lips betrays the softness in his tone. “Bet you’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

You nod, your chest rising up to press against his with every breath.

“Words,” he demands, voice sharp as a needle. Your thighs twitch at the sound of it.

“Yes,” you breathe shakily. “I’ve been wet since you got here.”

That has Joel groaning, jaw ticking as his cock twitches heavily in his boxers, pre-come oozing into the cotton.

He doesn’t waste another second. He drops your hair to grab your shoulders, pulling and pushing until you’re tumbling onto your old bed. You let out a sharp gasp as your back hits the mattress, the force of it bouncing you a few times.

Joel looms over you, watching you, finally letting himself get a good look at the picture you make. Splayed across dainty floral sheets, chest heaving, staring up at him with need written all over your pretty face. It practically pumps off of you in waves, he can almost taste it.

Without another word, Joel reaches for his belt, his heavy gaze never leaving yours. The metal of his buckle clinks loudly in the quiet of the room, underscored by the quick pants of your breath. It snaps with how hard he yanks it out of his belt loops, the leather cracking in the air menacingly.

"You wanted this," Joel mutters, popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down with a sharp hiss. "You practically fuckin’ begged for it."

You make a desperate little sound at the sight of his cock finally being freed from the confines of his jeans—thick, heavy, and leaking when it slaps against his stomach. Your legs spread wider like an offering, like you need it in you now.

Joel huffs out a laugh, grabbing your ankle and yanking you down the bed, making you squeak in surprise. He climbs on the mattress, his body completely blanketing yours so you couldn’t move if you wanted to.

His hand drags down your body, over the swell of your breasts, over your ribs, the curve of your hip, until he’s gripping the hem of your dress. Joel slips his hand under the skirt, rough palms gliding up the soft skin of your thighs before gripping the meat of them hard enough to bruise.

The thought of you finding the marks tomorrow, pretty shades of purple and yellow branding your skin as a reminder of this moment, of what Joel did to you—it makes his stomach flip with a sick thrill.

It doesn’t take much for Joel to push the bunched fabric around your hips the rest of the way up, exposing the barely-there scrap of lace covering you.

He makes a sound low in his throat when he sees the little damp spot blooming along the powder blue fabric. “So fuckin’ needy,” he mutters, tracing his middle finger along the wet seam of your pussy, featherlight, teasing. “Can’t even sit through one damn dinner without beggin’ for my attention like a two-bit truck stop whore.”

You nod frantically, lips trembling, pupils blown wide as you blink up at him.

Joel tsks mockingly, raising his palm to give your clothed pussy a sharp slap that has you crying out. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please, Joel.”

Your voice is so soft, so wrecked. And Joel feels himself get impossibly harder, his cock throbbing where it’s pressed against your stomach, blurting pre-come onto the delicate pink tulle of your dress. He can hardly wait any longer.

Joel hooks a finger into the leg of your panties, dragging them down hard enough that he hears a rip. He can’t find it in himself to care, he just pulls them far enough that they pool around your ankles uselessly.

He finally takes himself in his hand so he can drag his cock through the wet mess of your pussy, bumping it up against your hole but not giving you a damn inch. A devastating noise falls from your lips, slow and sweet as molasses, your hips buck up off the mattress, trying to take him in. He presses one heavy hand down on your stomach, keeping you still.

“Ask me for it,” Joel whispers darkly, slapping the head over your glistening clit. “Beg for my cock.”

Your fingers curl into the sheets, frustration and desire burning in the inky black of your pupils. “Please, Joel. It’s all I can think about, can only think about you,” you ramble senseslessly, voice breathless. “About you fucking me. About your cock stretching me open. Please fuck me, please, want it so bad.”

Fuck, he loves hearing you beg.

Joel grips your hips, holding you steady as he presses inside, slow at first, just enough to make you gasp, enough to let you feel how thick he is stretching you open. He curses, head falling forward as he watches himself disappear inside you inch by inch.

Your hands scramble along the length of his back, nails scratching uselessly as you try to adjust to the sudden fullness. Joel knows he’s too big, the stretch too much all at once without prep. He knows it. He just doesn’t give a damn.

“I know, it’s a big stretch ain’t it?” Joel coos, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the skin of your hips. “You can still take it, darlin’. It’s what you wanted, wanted me to lose my goddamn mind and ruin this sweet little pussy.”

You nod desperately, a loud cry bursting from your chest as he pulls you back until his hips are flush with your ass. Your velvety heat feels scalding around him, snug and perfect, like it was made for him—made for his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he stays there for a beat, buried to the hilt—forcing you really feel the full, aching stretch before he starts to move. He drags his cock out to the tip, almost all the way, before slamming forward again, knocking the breath from your lungs. “That’s it—take it all, just like that.”

Joel sets a brutal pace, fucking you so deep he swears he must be in your goddamn guts. His grip is merciless, his fingers digging into your hips as he uses them to pull you back against him, meeting every punishing thrust. The dirty sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixing with the slick squelch of your pussy as it tries to suck him back in each time he pulls out, the pretty soft gasps and moans you’re struggling to keep quiet the cherry on top of it all.

It’s so loud, a symphony of lewd sounds bouncing off the walls enough that Joel would be worried that someone might overhear if your house wasn’t such a maze.

Joel watches you writhe beneath him, your back arching, hands grasping at his shoulders, his arms, his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as he fucks into you with ruthless precision. Every thrust sends a shockwave through your body, makes your breath hitch, your legs trembling where they’re locked tight around his waist.

“Poor thing,” he mutters, voice a low rasp in your ear. “Too dumb to talk now, huh? Just layin’ here, takin’ it like a good little whore.”

Your eyes roll back in your head when he tilts his hips, the new angle forcing his cock to rub up against your sweet spot with every thrust. “Joel–”

Joel leans over you, breath hot against your ear as he mutters, “This what you needed, baby? Needed Daddy’s friend to hike your pretty dress up and fuck you good and hard like this?” He speeds his hips up fast enough to get the bed shaking on its frame. “Actin’ like a spoiled little brat all night just so I’d drag you up here and teach you some fuckin’ manners?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck—” Your words slur together, breathy and high-pitched, your fingers twisting in his hair as he keeps up that relentless pace.

Joel reaches up to snatch your jaw in a tight grip, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. “Open your mouth,” he growls, fingers digging into the meat of your cheeks meanly. When you don’t, too fucked out of your mind to listen, he shakes your head back and forth like a bad dog. “Open it.”

The command breaks through the pleasure filled haze clouding your mind, and your mouth falls open obediently. Your slick lips parting enough for Joel to see the enticing pink of your tongue. A groan claws its way out from deep in his chest, and he leans down close to spit into your mouth.

Your moan is a high, choked whine as your eyes flutter shut, your pussy squeezing around his cock impossibly tighter. 

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ swallow,” he says, fucking into your clenching heat harder. “Hold it right there.”

You open your eyes to stare up at him like he’s some kind of God, your lashes clumped together and glossy with unshed tears—gaze glazed over with a kind of bliss that makes something dark and satisfied wriggle to life in his chest.

“Good girl,” he mutters, barely above a whisper, but the words hit you like a sack of bricks. Your walls squeeze around him, and he groans low in his chest. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you even wider so he can watch the way his cock disappears into your puffy pussy, shining with your slick every time he pulls out. “Look at that. Fuckin’ made to take cock, aren’t you?”

You moan around closed lips, nails digging little crescent moons into his shoulders so hard that he can feel his shirt ripping under the force of it. Joel can tell you’re getting close, your whole body trembling violently as the coil of your orgasm winds tighter and tighter.

“Go ahead and swallow for me, baby girl.” Joel needs to hear you, needs to hear you say his name when you come on his cock. “Wanna hear that pretty voice.”

The sound of you swallowing is music to Joel’s ears, his hips stuttering as he watches your throat work.

“Please,” you gasp, fat crocodile tears rolling down your cheeks. “Need to come, need you to make me—”

“Yes,” he hisses, his thrusts turning sloppy for a beat before he regains his rhythm. “You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my cock nice and good?”

His words push you right over the edge. Your entire body tenses, pleasure rolling through you in a white-hot wave as your climax crashes over you, stealing your breath. You sob Joel’s name, thighs shaking uncontrollably, body shuddering beneath him as you clench down so fucking tight he can barely move.

Joel groans, his jaw going slack as he watches you fall apart, losing himself in the feel of your pussy milking his cock. He grits his teeth, hips snapping erratically as he chases his own release. 

“Fuck—gonna fill you up, baby,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Gonna fuck you full of me, make you mine.”

With one last thrust, Joel spills inside of you. He buries himself as deep as he can go, warmth flooding your core as spurt after spurt of come paints your insides, thick and hot. His body shakes with the force of it, a deep, guttural moan falling from his lips as he rides out his orgasm.

Joel just stays there, panting, his forehead resting against yours.

For a moment, both of you are too overwhelmed to move. You just lay on the mattress tangled together in the aftermath, breaths mingling, bodies slick with sweat. Joel smooths his hands up your sides, grounding himself as you both come down from the highs of ecstasy.

When you finally stop shaking, Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, to take in the wrecked, spent look on your face. He brushes his knuckles over your sweaty cheek, softer than before. “Still think I didn’t bring you a present?”

You let out an amused huff, pushing your hands up under the back of his shirt so you can trace the column of his spine with gentle fingers. “Trust me, it’s the only present I’m getting that’ll be worth a damn. Money can’t buy this, Miller.”

Joel chuckles, low and smooth as warmth blooms in his chest. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You earned it, baby.”

mini nat's note: thank you so much for reading! mwah.

[creatingblackcharacters]

“On Human Dignity.”  Blackness, Gender & Sexuality

Two things:

As usual, there’s historical and social context that I need explain! This lesson is not what sexuality is, or ‘how to write being gay while Black’. That’s… not that different from you. What this lesson is, is context on how Blackness plays a role in our presentation and understanding of gender and sexuality (as well as your perception of it), and how that’s something you should consider in your characterization, writing, and character design.

I DO NOT KNOW EVERYTHING! The reason this took so long was because I read multiple books and wallowed in my remaining lack of understanding. I cannot join The Tumblr Discourse so do not ask. I tried to be as inclusive as I could, but I learn something new on this app every day, so if I miss something- and I’m bound to- I apologize in advance. Please have grace with me.

TW: Sexual assault mention, homophobia, misogynoir, cannibalism, misgendering

“That’s that White People Shit"

I’m putting the hardest part first; walk with me, you’ll be fine!

I will be honest: this section here, while I do think you should know, I don’t really expect nonblack people to incorporate it in depth. Not because it cannot be done, but because it is a sensitive topic that we ourselves are still struggling with. If you have struggled with anything else while writing Black characters up to this point, this one certainly isn’t for you to touch. Just keep in mind!

There’s an idea I’ve heard before on both sides that Black people are more likely to be homophobic, that queerness itself is white. That is a ridiculous belief, but the root of it ends up right back where you think it would: slavery! I’m sure that you saw me post while I was reading The Delectable Negro by gay Black author Vincent Woodard. I shared those increasingly uncomfortable quotes on purpose! If you have a desire to understand Black culture and Black thought, that means being willing to acknowledge Black pain. How can you avoid stereotypes if you avoid learning their source?  

While I will be using quotes from the entire book, the specific chapter of “Eating Nat Turner” is a succinct explanation of why admitting to the presence of homosexuality, gender fluidity, and queer identity within the Black community is so difficult for my people. While I highly, HIGHLY recommend reading this chapter yourself, it essentially comes down to how admitting to such a potential vulnerability in the armor of Blackness, in gender identity and particularly Black masculinity, would allow white supremacy to destroy us as a people, to do validate doing even more cruel things to us when in a position of power over us. It’s a defensive reaction based in trauma that disregards and discards the queer members of our own community as a threat, a liability when it comes to fighting against the ubiquitous presence of white supremacy.

“Intuitively, Black gay men understood the issue of homosexuality during slavery as a complex phenomenon shaped by a number of factors, including the nation’s unresolved relationship to the legacy of slavery, Black liberatory ideology dating back to slavery, and, most importantly, the maintenance of traditional notions of family and community that originated in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The legacy and memory of slavery had a powerful effect that left many Black gay men feeling isolated from and rendered invisible within Black communities.

Joseph Beam said it first and best: “I cannot go home as who I am. . . . When I speak of home, I mean not only the familial constellation from which I grew, but the entire Black community: the Black press, the Black church, Black academicians, the Black literati, and the Black left… I am most often rendered invisible, perceived as a threat to the family, or am tolerated if I am silent and inconspicuous.” … As Philip Brian Harper has noted, the Black homosexual functioned in the twentieth century as an index for Black masculine anxieties. These ranged from the very personal and painful anxieties of lynching, castration, and the denial of civil rights to a larger set of anxieties rooted in historical erasure and cultural genocide.”

“Sex and gender they also conflated with homosexuality, made out to equal effeminacy. Many Blacks linked homosexuality to castration and the recent history of Black men who had been lynched and Black women who had been raped in the Jim Crow South and in the North. Homosexuality, in its metaphoric power, had an exhaustive function: It is equated with the absence of family, hatred of Black people, estrangement from one’s kin and culture, and all of those horrific aspects of Black experience about which Black people would rather not speak.”

An example of why nonblack people should consider the depth of such a topic- and their place to do so- before incorporating it into their story comes in the form of Styron’s Confessions of Nat Turner, and the backlash he faced from the Black community for such a sensationalized story from a white author.

“The ten Black male contributors [who wrote Ten Black Writers Respond] coupled cannibalism (overtly and covertly) with homoeroticism and effeminacy. For these Black men, homoeroticism became a way of circumventing and projecting their experiences and pain onto certain “effeminate” Black men: the consumed Black man these Black men equated with the homosexual man. Homosexuality served as a means of containing certain unwieldy and historically difficult topics pertaining to Black masculinity, such as the need for intimacy, gender variance, sexual and emotional vulnerability, and violation. It was as if, in this very powerful and discursive moment, threads that had been all along winding through history wove together in a manner that illuminated the past as much as they clouded and blocked full access to its complicated meaning.”

“On the surface, at least, I do not disagree with these Black men and women. I think their analysis regarding historicity and the diminishment of Black communal ties was mostly correct. Styron’s novel was historically inaccurate, depicting Turner as raised by whites rather than the Black parents and grandmother Turner spoke about in his original “Confessions.” Styron depicts aspects of Turner’s sexual life that are not validated in any documentation coming from the time period, and Styron’s exhaustive probing into the racial hatred and self-hatred of Turner clearly reflected something in his own psyche and white identity that he felt compelled to project onto Turner. Black men were put on the defensive by both the novel and by the institutions (literary production, the media) and individuals who supported Styron as an authentic interpreter of Black historical experience. Many Black men, like Bennett, felt that Styron was waging a literary war that paralleled the contemporary political and police state war against Black men…”

The problem with this mindset and approach within the community is that, while it attempts to protect our community, it silences both the prosperity and the pain of an entire section of it, as well as shutting down important conversation that needs to be had even by nonqueer members. And it’s doing it all to fight against a force- white supremacy- that is going to commit violence against us regardless! Respectability politics forces many Black people to stay silent, to not speak up on things that may rock the boat- but the boat needs to be rocked! Blaming fellow victims of racism is not going to save us!

“That was the irony of this moment. Black people invoked the cannibal discourse that could have freed up and complicated Black male perspectives on everything from social consumption to homoeroticism only to defend Black masculinity and Black culture. Black men were not interested in, nor capable of dealing with, the complex legacy of cannibalism and homoeroticism that so powerfully shaped their responses to Styron’s novel.”

But that does NOT mean that it’s a nonblack person’s place to make that argument! While I cannot stop you, I do want you to keep in mind that- as always with sensitive topics- you may have to face Black people who may rightfully be offended by your depiction if not done with care. Styron studied James Baldwin himself- who faced backlash on his end for saying that it was time for the Black community to face such a conversation- and even then, he still projected his white pathology and opinions onto the story of such a prolific hero in our history. Tread lightly!

“Well they don’t seem gay to me.”- A Eurocentric Standard of Passing

How many times have you heard this about a Black character? And if you’re Black and LGBTQ, how often have you heard it about people (or maybe even yourself?) How do we ‘not seem gay’? What is gay supposed to be? There’s this denial, almost, of Black LGBTQ folks, based in a complete disconnect of understanding of our own forms of gender expression and sexuality.

It’s extremely bizarre, because so much of pop gay culture as we know it is from Black LGBTQs (please refer to my infamous AAVE lesson), but… when we imagine an LGBTQ person, they're white.

If you’re Black and queer, you have to be this stereotypical, flamboyant RuPaul-esque figure. Can’t be regular degular. If you’re gay, you gotta be Uber Gay™. If you’re trans, you better pass with Complete Gender and Pizzazz. If you’re nonbinary, you’re not ‘androgynous’ enough. If you’re intersex or asexual, you’re practically not real. If you don’t fill this (white, western) mold, you must not be right. When all you have to be in order to be gay… Is be gay.

I shouldn’t have to put on extra performance to qualify as queer in your eyes! Do you know what looks are considered “androgynous” in my community? What behaviors are deemed “masculine” versus “feminine”? Do you know anything about my queer culture, or are you subconsciously comparing it to your own?

I want you to recognize that whatever image of queerness you have in your mind for your favorite or original characters, if Black people of all shapes and sizes aren’t included, there’s a problem! Because what are you seeing in others, that you’re not seeing in us? Is that, perhaps, a you problem? And why are we not worth the added effort of queer layering that others are?

THAT SAID!

“Oh I know what that’s like, I’m gay-”

This one mostly- if not always- comes from white queer folk. I’ve linked The Last Interview with James Baldwin. It’s so short. PLEASE take the time to read it. I’ve always adored how James Baldwin expresses himself, and while I could never stand so close, I have studied how he conveys his thoughts. But there’s almost nothing I could say that he doesn’t say better.

“A Black gay person who is a sexual conundrum to society is already, long before the question of sexuality comes into it, menaced and marked because he’s Black or she’s Black. The sexual question comes after the question of color; it’s simply one more aspect of the danger in which all Black people live. I think white gay people feel cheated because they were born, in principle, into a society in which they were supposed to be safe. The anomaly of their sexuality puts them in danger, unexpectedly. Their reaction seems to me in direct proportion to the sense of feeling cheated of the advantages which accrue to white people in a white society.”

The idea that “I know what it’s like to experience this oppression as a Black person because I’m gay” is not true. It’s like saying “oh look at my tan, I’m as Black as you now”. Stop it. Think back to that first section on history we discussed- no, you and I are not the same. We can discuss our existing connections, our intersection and have sympathy and empathy with one another on human dignity. We don’t have to act like we’re the same to do that! So don’t go headstrong into your writing (or life) saying “oh I get that completely, it’s because I’m queer”. There are more tactful ways to express your intent of solidarity.

'Queer' vs 'The N Word'

We’re gonna nip this one in the bud, because we’re leaving that argument in 2024. You know the one- “saying queer is like using the N-word- as a reclamation/slur!” What this argument reveals, used by EITHER SIDE, is how y’all don’t actually have community with Black people.

It implies that either “we don’t like it” or “we do”. Yet another binary that does not exist! There are plenty of Black people that despise that word, regardless of context. That think it brings us down. And then there are those that use it as a reclamation of an identity that was used to demean and dehumanize. Either way, one party is not going to walk up to a stranger and force it on them- that would cause an actual fight! It’s not improving your argument. As a whole, I would say stop using Black politics in general to improve your arguments when you are unaware of the overlap, or maybe the lack thereof, between Blackness and queerness in your argument. It shows. I’m not your tool; I’m not your Negro!

I’m not here to tell anyone whether queer is a slur or not. I don’t use it as one, but I recognize when people are uncomfortable, when it is being used as one, and I will use different language when I am speaking directly to someone who says “I do not like that word, describe me as __”. I am just here to say that we’re leaving that argument behind.

Black =/= Gender

Blackness and the concept of Gender have a fraught, confusing history. Not human enough to have rights, but human just enough to fail to meet Eurocentric standards of gender.

One example of this is the term “stud”. Studs are an example of Black women traversing gender presentation, the origin of which is because Black people are perceived as having “lesser sexual dimorphism”- i.e. you can’t tell who’s a woman or not. It’s an in-community joke that doesn’t make sense spoken outside of its historical context (thus, no, your white butch is NOT a stud within this context).

Another example: Megan Thee Stallion is one of the most stunning, feminine women I have ever seen… And her entire career, people have called her a man. Because she’s brown-skinned, Black, confident, loud, and openly sexual, she’s deemed manly. I can’t stand it. Plus her height- and mind you, Taylor Swift, of the same height and probably a higher number of bodies over the years, has never once been called a man or lost any of her “feminine” charm despite it. Why is that? If one of her men had shot in the foot, trying to kill her, there would be an uproar. Why is that?

There is an internal contradiction that being a Black woman is being inherently “gender nonconforming”. The first reason is that I will never be allowed to truly be a “woman” because to be a woman is to be white while doing it. White Tears, Brown Scars by Ruby Hamad is an excellent book on this dynamic in all women of color, and Black activists like Angela Davis and Kimberle Crenshaw have written and discussed the topic as well.

The second reason is I have to play the role of whatever ‘gender’ is expected to get me through this life. I have to be more ‘masculine’; strong, assertive, and proactive, a hard worker willing to sacrifice it all every day, in order to protect my family and myself in a world where a lack of resilience might kill me. I cannot allow weakness to stop me from taking care of my community, because Black women are supposed to show up and save the day. Find a Black woman! they say. She’ll fix it! And odds are, I do know how to fix it because I’ve probably had to address it before.

But then I’m acting ‘out of a woman’s place’ by being so ‘hard’ and expecting people to listen to my authority. So in order to play a Black woman’s place, I have to balance that with… Somehow not intimidating people by being more ‘feminine’, submissive, vulnerable, sweet and motherly (because if I’m not a good breeder and mother, I am a bad woman). I scare people if I don’t. If I don’t do that, then I’m not a good Black woman. But if I don’t harden myself and be strong and assertive to protect everyone, and tough through everyone’s problems with infinite sacrifice, then I’m not a good Black woman… You see how the cycle gets confusing! (The Delectable Negro and Black on Both Sides also speak on this, and how this is rooted in the creation of the Mammy!)

I spoke about it earlier, but that same inability to be defined as a human, defined as white, haunts many Black men in their goals to be seen as ‘equal’ to white men and receive equal treatment. By seeking to fit a standard of whiteness, they are never going to attain it (and often, that comes back home in not-so-good way)! E.g.: this is the original issue that Louis had in AMCs' IWTV- Louis never actually wanted to be a vampire, Louis wanted to be treated like an equivalent human- and that was unattainable to him not because he wasn’t a human being, but because he wasn’t a white one!

The Racist Counterproductivity of TERFs

Sigh. If you are of this belief, but here to better your writing, I feel like I should say this to you. I want you to listen to me. (TBH, I’m going to delete anything asking me for opinions on this because I don’t want to potentially entertain even a singular troll). Besides, my argument is pretty simple and resolute.

The gender binary is rooted in bioessentialism, and bioessentialism is rooted in white supremacy. You know what else benefits from white supremacy? The white patriarchy.

How are we gonna escape from the patriarchy and white supremacy… if the ideology you believe in… is rooted in white supremacy and patriarchy?

And it’s not just the TERFs- look within yourselves as well! How are we going to make the world safer for trans people, including white ones, if you aren’t willing to confront your own racist biases? If you are unwilling to release the shackles of gender essentialism and the benefits of whiteness, none of us are getting out of here. You are reinforcing the very walls you wish to dismantle!

To offer another side of the conversation, Black On Both Sides by C Riley Snorton has been an interesting read! Essentially, the conversation is on how Blackness and transness intersect, how being Black in and of itself can be and is a transitional, gender fluid experience. It, along with The Mismeasure of Man by Stephen Jay Gould and Medical Apartheid by Harriet A Washington, goes into the history of how the Black body was seen as a different species altogether, and how phrenology, biological essentialism, and examples of sexual dimorphism were treated as an example on how we are an inferior group. Yet, this lack of understanding of our bodies (despite the constant access to it) allowed for us to maneuver within such a system.

An example, of how Blackness has an effect on our perception of gender:

"Cobb suggests that this blackening may have been an anticipatory gesture; when James Norcom (Jacobs’s enslaver) published a description of her in the 1835 issue of the American Beacon, he presumed that she would be “seeking whiteness and dressing as a free woman, not accentuating her Blackness” and finding a “cross-dressing” and ungendered mode for escape. Although the description of sartorial arrangements seems to conform to passing’s logic of movement for protection or privilege, Jacobs’s use of charcoal to darken her complexion tropes—by inverse logic—on more commonly held beliefs (and fears) about racial passing.

As “passing” became a term to describe performing something one is not, it trafficked a way of thinking about identity not only in terms of real versus artificial but also, and perhaps always, as proximal and performative. Like a vertical line with arrows on either end, passing is figuratively represented by moving up or down hierarchized identificatory formations. This articulation of vertical identity also coordinates with forms of binary thinking, typified, for example, by the language of “the opposite” sex. …Brent/Jacobs’s blackened blackness gives expression to her condition as fungible within the logic of U.S. slavery, in which the system of colorism, as Nicole Fleetwood has argued, “produces a performing subject whose function is to enact difference . . . an act that is fundamentally about assigning value.”

As it relates to the scene of Jacobs’s brushing past Sands, her status as “it” also indicates how blackness-as-fungible engenders forms of nonrecognition, as Jacobs’s performance elucidates how blackness and going blacker become an embrace of the conditions that might allow one to pass one’s friends and lovers undetected. In this encounter, fungibility sets the stage for gendered maneuvers on a terrain constituted by modes of viewing blackness, in which Jacobs’s blackness and going blacker color her gender as well as her face."

The Black Trans/Nonbinary/Genderqueer Experience

The Black Intersex Experience

Rather than try to summarize opinions on something I had not lived, I wanted to platform some Black trans, intersex, and genderqueer opinions for you all to consider! I asked three questions, and I’ve typed out the responses and placed them as their own post for the sake of space. I don’t care if it’s long- read them! You want to write these characters; you should hear the perspectives of the people you wish to write about!

Nothing I could say that someone that is actually Black and intersex couldn’t say better!

Here is a page on Tumblr that compiles resources on the intersex community and its history that I found; while it’s not Black-specific, I have seen the page post topics related to.

The Black Aspec Experience

An interesting thing about identifying as asexual or aromantic while Black is that from all angles, people will simply not believe you because Blackness itself has been sexualized. I talked about this in my lessons on stereotypes, but one of the ways that the sexual assault and violation of Black bodies was dismissed, was to emphasize that not only were we incapable of being r*ped, but that we were naturally inclined to being hypersexual beings and that if we weren’t controlled, we would bring it onto ourselves. Black women were jezebels; Black men were mandigos, vicious savages that would assault pure white women if not chained like beasts.

Here is a page for Black people (!!!) with these identities to gather. Again, BLACK PEOPLE with these identities.

The Bit You Actually Showed Up For

So! Given all that historical and social context: really, it’s just about application! You have to ask yourself certain things to catch when you’re about to dip into a bias or stereotype while you’re writing.

Black Queer Joy- A Conclusion

I know I’ve shared a lot of history here, and it’s not been the happiest stuff. THAT BEING SAID!

I must personally say- I am honored to be Black and bisexual. There’s nothing else I’d rather be. I am so happy to be who I am. It’s hard as hell living at the intersection, but the intersection is lit! There’s so much love, history, culture, creation, and so much power here; I’m standing on the shoulders of cultural GIANTS and my chest is full, my chin is high with pride. I love it here!

Being Black and queer itself is not a miserable experience! Your characters should feel joy, because we feel joy! There’s so much that we have to offer the world, it’s practically blossoming from us. I don’t want anyone to walk away from this going “let me go pity the next one I see and tell them how hard their life is”. We don’t need you to feel sorry, we need you to have solidarity! Either show up and do the work, or leave us alone. You can’t join the party at the intersection and then flee when it’s time to fight for it!

Listen to Black queer people in your spaces- dear god, it never fails how conversations of queerness and gender and feminism will leave Blackness completely out, and then be shocked when none of us want to show up. Like I said before- you will never dismantle the walls barring you from your own freedom until you address ours.

Support Black queer creatives, content, perspectives, and people- when you tag on that “support Black trans women” bit at the end of your posts, don’t just speak lightly- understand what that means, and stand on it! Because it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[captainjonnitkessler]

Look, I'm not gonna pretend that I don't get it, when it comes to AI. But it's like this:

In most parts of the US, a residential electrician works only on houses and apartments. They use romex wire, that yellow cable stuff. You run it from the panel to wherever it's going, staple it to the studs, then make up both ends. You need to know basic electrical code but mostly it's pretty simple. A fast learner could be a decent residential electrician inside a month.

I, on the other hand, am a union industrial electrician. I work primarily in hospitals, factories, and research labs. Most of our wire is run in steel conduit that has to be hand bent on the job, which is an art form in and of itself. We work with much higher voltages, much heavier wire, much more complicated equipment, and we need to know much more of the code. Our apprenticeship is 4-5 years and that's only enough to scratch the surface of everything an industrial electrician might do.

And yes - I absolutely get a little defensive when unknowing people compare me to a residential electrician. There's absolutely a knee-jerk impulse to declare that they're not *real* electricians, that they're merely a pale imitation of what I do. But I fight that impulse because it's a *bad impulse*. Resi still takes skill and work, it's just different than mine. We're both electricians. And it's better for us to work together to improve working conditions for all workers than to get into pissing contests about whose job is more "real". And both our jobs are in increasing danger due to the proliferation of low voltage systems that the average homeowner can install and repair without hiring a professional.

So yeah, I do get it. But it has been very, VERY insulting over the last year to hear people repeatedly say "AI was supposed to replace blue collar jobs, not *my* job! My job is ~special~ because it has ~humanity~!"

Your job is not special. It's not more important than my job and it's not more fulfilling to you than my job is to me. And I don't get to insist that everyone start building homes with steel conduit just so less skilled people can't be electricians, and I don't get to yell at people for hiring a handyman to replace an outlet for $50 when my time would be worth $200.

I absolutely understand the instinct that AI art can't be real art because people who use it didn't "earn" it, or that automating art is uniquely damaging in a way automating other jobs isn't because it's "supposed" to be about human expression. But please actually think about what you're implying and who you're throwing under the bus when you say shit like that, and whether it actually holds up to your other values or if it's just a knee-jerk reaction you need to examine.

[marzipanandminutiae]

"But what did a wealthy Victorian woman's maid wear?"

Very similar outfits to their rich counterparts, but with less expensive fabrics and trims, things like long skirt trains removed for practicality, cheap costume jewelry instead of high-karat gold or sterling silver and precious stones, etc. You can find plenty of photos of maids from the mid to late 19th century wearing earrings, brooches, bracelets, chatelaines, etc.

"But they're just posing for pictures! That's not what they REALLY wore!"

Maybe not for days when they were doing a lot of intensive physical labor, no. But the fact that they COULD pose for pictures in those items means that they owned them. So that's… Still something a maid wore at the time. It's also just unreasonable to claim, when we know costume jewelry existed and they were dressmakers catering to women with less money, that every single one of them was wearing something borrowed from an employer

(and they had plenty of tasks that were absolutely doable wearing earrings and a brooch, to boot. Even potentially a bracelet, if it's not large or dangly enough to get in the way)

Additionally, even the photos I've seen of maids in very simple outfits without a lot of accessories can usually be dated by the hairstyle, sleeve shape, skirt silhouette, etc. Just like a photograph of a Duchess could. It's very simple and unobtrusive and inexpensive to change those subtle details in accordance with the fashion

The fact is, these people were people. Just like we are today. But they wanted to wear the nicest things they could, in terms of practicality and budget. many people try to copy what celebrities wear today, who definitely can't afford to buy the same brands that they do, right? Why would it be any different in the past?

[postracehair]

breaking zone

max verstappen x reader | 1.1k

max teaches you how to use his racing simulator.

cw: flirty fun, allusions to sexy fun, a lot of vague statements about the sim cause i don't know a damn thing

a/n: this came from a request! thank you, anon! sorry about the three pics of max up top instead of something aesthetic. i couldn't help it!

EDIT: found this in my drafts, too. wrote it aaaaages ago. have it for the no-race weekend.

--

Max is the one who suggests it.

"I don't want to break it," you protest. "You need that thing."

He rolls his eyes. "You won't," he says. "I just want to show you how it works."

You're on his couch, reading. He's just finished a stream and clearly has some energy from it -- which is why he's suggested, out of the blue, that you try his racing simulator.

There are some drawbacks to going along with his plan. First of all, you're very comfortable where you are. Second of all, you really just want him to lie down with you and watch a movie. He is a potent mix of adorable and devastatingly attractive in his low-slung sweatpants and Puma t-shirt. He's even wearing the glasses that rarely see the light of day.

Damn him.

"Alright," you groan. "Fine."

Max grins with his victory and tugs you off the couch and into his office.

"I'm not going to be good at it. Remember how the Playstation adventure went?"

You'd tried playing F1 2024 on Max's console. It became clear very quickly that you did not quite know how to get the hang of turning around the circuit without hitting other cars.

"Eh, you'd get better if you practiced," Max says. It's a combination of the somewhat undeserved unwavering confidence he has in you because he loves you, and the underestimation of a regular person trying to do his, in fact, very difficult job. But you let him think so.

"Sure, Max."

He turns on the monitors and boots up the sim system. It's maybe the most intimidating setup you've ever seen. Three huge screens curving in a half-circle around the seat, and another smaller one on top of the center screen. The wheel is like an oval dinner plate with so many buttons you almost laugh. You've seen it before, of course, but the idea that you're going to use that thing? Hilarious.

"You're going to sit here," Max says, patting the back of the chair. "Let's start with that."

He beckons you over and you gingerly slide down into the mock-seat. You misjudge how low it is by a few inches and plop down with a yelp.

"Jesus," you say. "This is so much lower then I thought it would be. There go my fantasies of having sex in your car."

"Your what?" Max sputters. His cheeks are red and you wink up at him. "I have other cars," he adds.

"I know," you laugh. "Teach me this, first."

Max sighs like the most put-upon man in the world and crouches down next to the chair so he's more eye level. His voice is right by your ear when he says, "Now, put your feet on the pedals. Do yo see them?"

You look under the screens and see what he's talking about. You stretch your legs and find yourself in a much tighter position than you expected, knees close to your chest and back at an angle.

"This is not comfortable," you grumble. "My abs already hurt."

"All the training isn't just for show, you know," Max teases.

"Yeah, yeah," you say. "You're strong and handsome and a WorldChampion. I know. Now tell me how to work this thing."

You gesture at the nightmare of a steering wheel.

"Okay," Max begins. "So, left to right, you have the radio button --"

Max does what he does best: explain. You already knew he was a good teacher, but to be on the receiving end of his knowledge about the thing he loves most and is brilliant at is kind of thrilling. Worth getting up the couch for, at least. He explains the buttons, the knobs, the clutch paddles. The tyre status, the DRS, the flag indicators.

You retain probably a quarter of it.

"And this is set up differently by each team?" you mutter. "Shit, how do you guys do this?"

He smirks. "Well, not everyone does it very well."

"Max."

"Time and training, liefje," he says. "If you had both of those, you could learn."

"Good thing I like listening to you explain it," you sigh. "It's hot."

Max clears his throat. "Flirting isn't going to get you out of trying it at least once."

"Fire it up, then," you goad him. "We'll see what it might get me after."

His hand darts out to squeeze your thigh, golden hairs on his wrist shining in the sunlit room, and then he stands. He fiddles with the program for a minute and then all three screens light up and you're basically in a Formula 1 car.

"This is Zandvoort," he says.

"Your track?"

"Mhm," he hums. "Figured you could start somewhere you know."

Know is a bit of an exaggeration -- you've been there with him more than once and even walked the track with him during race weekend.

"If you say so," you mutter. You look behind you and find him standing with his arms crossed, smirk firmly in place.

"Well, start it up, then."

As you predicted, the entire venture goes horribly. If this was a real car, they'd take away your license and ban you from setting foot on a racetrack ever again.

But this is your boyfriend's racing simulator. And he is a world champion as well as in love with you, so it's not as bad as that. He's patient -- more than you expected him to be, honestly -- and gentle with his instructions. He doesn't chastise you for things you don't know, instead coaching you to think about one thing at a time. As the laps go on you manage to achieve a low-level form of cohesion between your feet on the pedals and your steering.

It's fun. It's fun to have Max at your shoulder, his constant stream of commentary mingled with praise for your incredibly mediocre ability to follow his directions. It's fun to understand the thing he does all the time, the thing he is so good at, a little better. Sitting in the chair is a little like being inside his head.

You finish another lap almost in stitches from how hard you're laughing, Max's chuckles making it even worse.

"That certainly does not deserve a podium," you say, gasping. "God, get me out of this thing."

You pull your legs from the pedals, abdominal muscles aching, and Max maneuvers himself so it can grab your forearms and tug you up.

"I think you deserve a reward, anyway," Max says. You face him and find a neutral expression apart from a quirked eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah?" you muse. "What would that be?"

He tugs you a little closer. "I can think of some things."

Your noses brush. "Like what?" you ask, a little breathless. "Do you want to show me a lap?"

"No," he whispers, lips so close they brush yours as he talks. "I want to show you something else."

He grabs your hand and tugs to towards the bedroom. 

[watchmegetobsessed]

RAW, NEXT QUESTION

A/N: saw a vid of all these dirty tiktok comments and just knew i had to write something like this hehe

WORD COUNT: 1k

WARNING: just some dirty talk i guess?

SUMMARY: You decide to get Harry hot and bothered with some of the most unhinged sayings you learned from Tiktok.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry has always joked about how chronically online you are and quite frankly, you can’t argue with him. You definitely enjoy rotting on the couch after a long and tiring day and just scrolling through Tiktok. Your For You Page is usually pretty on the spot and perfectly curated for your taste and humor. It’s like a treat after being an adult for a whole day. 

Harry spends quite some time on different apps as well, but it’s just different for him, he doesn’t really engage with all the trends and micro trends that happen online, while you live for those. You absolutely love the memes, the poorly edited videos, the funny lines that just stick with you and you even catch yourself using them in real life as well. 

And Harry loves teasing you for that. He often jokes about you being a teenager at the ripe age of twenty-eight, to which you just usually roll your eyes. But one instance kind of turns the tables. 

One morning, after you’ve been out with your girlfriends the night before you’re stumbling out of the bedroom quite late, finding your boyfriend in the kitchen, already making you the breakfast you usually crave after drinking a bit too much. But this time he is standing by the stove in a pair of light grey sweatpants and your pink apron, nothing else. His hair is tousled, his tattoos are on display and he just looks incredibly delicious as he cooks for you. 

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he smiles at you when he sees you climb onto a stool by the kitchen island.

“Mmm,” is all you can get out as you can’t take your eyes off of you. He catches you eyeing him, a pleased grin stretching across his face as he flips a piece of bacon in the pan. 

“Like what you see?” he asks teasingly and before you could think of your answer, the words spill out of you.

“Raw, next question.”

Harry chokes on his breath, his ears go red instantly as he gives you a wide-eyed look. 

“Uh what?” he asks with a laugh and you notice him shifting from one leg to the other a bit nervously. 

“What, caught you by surprise?” you grin at him.

“Where did that come from?”

“It’s a Tiktok thing,” you shrug, but the gears are already turning in your head. 

If this comment got him so hot and bothered, you’d love to try out all the other unhinged sayings that circulate on the app. So you got to work.

In your notes app, you collect a rather long list of them that you’d like to drop on him at the right moment and then you wait.

And the moments luckily come. 

A few days later you have a particularly bad day at work and Harry knew, because you texted him all day. So he welcomes you home with a nice, hot bath, candles around the tub and a bottle of wine already waiting for you with two glasses. Standing at the door you look at him with adoring eyes and then you drop a bomb.

“I mean, I’m not a waitress, but I would take your tip.”

You see his pupils grow instantly. 

“Y/N,” he growls as you just smirk at him. A moment later his hands are already peeling your clothes off. You don’t even make it into the tub, because you take more than just his tip on the counter. 

The next time happens when he cooks dinner for you, the pasta he makes so well and is one of your favorites. Sitting at the table you watch him fill your plate with the delicious looking, creamy pasta and you just say with a sigh: “Mm, but why is he filling my plate and not me?”

The spaghetti spoon drops from his hand, back into the pot and he almost drops the plate as well. You can’t hold back your laugh as he puts it down and leans back in his seat, raking through his hair with pink cheeks and a cheeky smirk that also reflects his disbelief that you just said that. 

“Everything alright, baby?” you ask with an innocent look. He shakes his head with a chuckle and goes back to the pasta, but you already know you’ll be his dessert. 

The best one however happens publicly. One of your friends has a grill party when the weather is finally warm enough and you split for a bit, engaging in different circles. Harry looks incredibly good, wearing a colorful shirt with a few buttons undone, so he is flaunting quite a bit of his chest. He is nursing a beer, sunglasses hiding his pretty eyes and he recently shaved, but left his mustache, so he looks… extraordinarily good in your opinion. 

But others notice it too, the girls you’re chatting with mention his new facial hair style and they share your view of it looking amazing. As if Harry could sense that you’re talking about him, he turns to you and then starts walking towards your little circle. 

“Woah, get a load of this guy!” one of the girls jokingly calls out and you reply instantly.

“Oh, I’m trying to!”

Harry stops in his tracks as the girls start cheering and whistling at your comment. Slowly, a smirk tugs on his mouth as he takes the last few steps towards you, curling an arm around your shoulders and tugging you close so only you can hear when he says: “Oh you will get more than just a load when we get home.”

And you can’t hold back the smirk when you turn to look at him, catching him arching an eyebrow at you. It’s certain he thinks he got you speechless, but then you up it one more.

“Hmm, but something is off,” you pretend to think deep and he gets serious as well.

“What–” He doesn’t get to finish before you look him in the eyes and continue.

“Ah, nevermind. It’s just my clothes.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle as he shakes his head. 

“You’re banned from using that app ever again,” he says, kissing into your hair and you just shrug with a triumphant smile. 

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[simpjaes]

color coded ― l. hs

You were just browsing, looking at all of the various kinks and fantasies the great world wide web had to offer. It’s not like you intended to make an account on a specific website to meet someone. Really, you were just curious about what was behind the “only members can view this page” banner. What you definitely weren’t expecting was to be pulled into actually meeting one of the men behind said banner, or enjoying it so much that you’d like for him to hurt you more.  or the one where you join a kink website and a specific dom’s profile catches your attention enough to actually meet him at a hotel and practically ignore your safe words bc man, he’s good. 

minors dni !! | kindly leave feedback.

WORDCOUNT ― 8.7k

PAIRING ― heeseung x afab reader

CONTENT ― dom!heeseung, open minded sub!reader, smut, reader wants to explore her interests in kinks and finds the best person for the job

WARNINGS ― this is mildly cnc in some areas but reader does want it and there are safe words (colors) but she intentionally doesn’t use them. she’s having fun.

NOTE ― if you’ve read this before it’s bc i wrote it on @/ncteez for johnny ages ago! SHOUT OUT TO MY BELOVED PATREON BABES!! They voted that the member I revamp this for be Heeseung, so now everyone gets another Heeseung work from me :D

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― MONSTER COCK HEESEUNG AGENDA, reader is referred to as: “sweetheart”, "baby”, “dirty girl”, “pain slut”, and “plaything”, face fucking, bulge kink but like– via throat, choking, drooling, dirty talk, slapping, restraining, suffocation, degrading, praise, panty sucking, brief oral for the reader, teasing, short lived thigh fucking, cream pie, cock-drunk reader, biting, abuse of breasts, orgasm via nipple stimulation, clit abuse, hair pulling, fingering, overstimulation, Heeseung is kind of a sadist at times, unprotected sex, aftercare

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You joined this website out of curiosity, and you also messaged user SayPlease out of curiosity. You said please to him, you thanked him, you used all of those manners you grew up learning in a way that they were never intended for, and…well, it worked. 

Truly, it was because you were curious and you had no intentions of actually doing it. You wanted to try out some fantasies in the safety of your own room, alone. You wanted to keep it under wraps and just see how your body reacts to the words and images the people on this website offer. You were expecting your body to react at least a little bit, but you weren’t expecting to have one of the best orgasms of your life guided by his words through a muffled speaker. 

Heeseung knew you were new to this, he knew you were just exploring, and most of all, he knew he could control you. After all, you did so well during that first phone call. He’s truly not surprised that you were willing to meet with him in person after a short week or so of communicating. 

All of them eventually want the same thing, you’re no different. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Pulling up to the hotel felt ill-fitting for you considering this isn’t something you’d normally do. No, of course not. Why would you go out and meet some random man you met on a fetish website? Why would you be wearing the prettiest panties you own in hopes to get some praise for them? Why would you have been the one to suggest meeting him in the midst of a sexting session where he sent you the most delicious image of his hand squeezing around his cock, texting that he knew you’d do a great job of choking it? 

Why you, right? No one needs to know that answer. This is a private affair, one where only you and Heeseung know what’s going to happen. You’re nervous, based on how he speaks to you alone. You keep forgetting how new you are to all of this. Some rules you know are in place, but what about other things? Will he explain? Will he sit you down and make you sign a contract like what happened in that one book everyone was raving about? 

The walk from your car to the room with dainty metal numbers screwed into the door felt like it took ages. You didn’t have a key, and you were a bit early for this meeting but the anxiety bubbling in your gut said that if you didn’t do this now, you’d probably have already been pulling out to drive home and pretend this never happened.

He was already behind that door though, and only when he starts opening it do you realize that never once have you seen his face. You’ve heard his voice, you’ve seen his body, but never his face. He, on the other hand, never saw you at all, he only heard you. 

Is this how this type of thing usually goes down? Are appearances not part of the fun? Suddenly, you find yourself worried that he’s only going to be attractive from the neck down, which would ruin it for you, if you’re being honest.

On instinct you back away from the door, ready to run back to your car and delete your profile, block his number, and erase this endeavor from your memory but when he comes into view,, you find yourself freezing on the spot.

Messy dark hair, somewhat soft eyes, taller than you, pretty smile. This man looks exactly like a dom that would talk to you the way he already has. It doesn’t match the face you imagined on him though. Hardened eyes, a grimace on his lips, something along the lines of a person who probably carries themself as some type of cocky prick with a huge ego to match his cock. But no, this is what Heeseung looks like. He looks…soft, and almost compassionate if you’re reading his facial expression right.

He doesn’t say anything to you at first, he just watches your reaction to his face reveal all while he takes in what you look like for the first time. He liked the surprise of it all, not knowing what his next partner actually looks like until he’s about to have them on their knees. He’s had all sorts of partners fulfill his fantasy without the expectation that he would want them too, after all, it’s about the pleasure and not entirely the attraction in his mind. You, however, are incredibly attractive. What a perfect little pair of eyes to match that whining voice of yours that he’s heard so much of. He imagines how much better you’d look while crying..

“There she is.” He says warmly, stepping to the side and letting you into the room. “More beautiful than I could have hoped for.” 

Already you’re blushing as you step into the room, deciding once and for all that, yeah, you’re doing this. His confidence in complimenting you matches the way he talked to you before, except now he’s in front of you and looking at you. It hits you straight in the stomach, even as you still try to comprehend his kind words versus the ones he growled through the speaker at you just days ago.

You’re silent as you take your shoes off and stand awkwardly in front of the made-up, plush, probably half-assed cleaned hotel bed. 

“You’re nervous?” He chuckles out, locking the door behind him and walking over to casually sit on the bed. His legs fall open easily as he looks down at himself, then up at you through the messy fringe falling in front of his eyes. “You can still back out, you know.”

You shake your head, struggling not to make eye contact with him. 

“Are there like–” You’re embarrassed by how nervous you are, unable to string together a sentence or try to keep this calm and casual. 

“Hm? Go on, I’m not going to do anything until you’re sure you want it.” He smiles, cocking his head to the side and trailing his eyes up and down your body. He really can’t stop looking at you, hoping that you’ll let him have his way. The memory of how you sounded on the phone flooding his mind as he puts your face to the moaning voice over and over again. He remembers how wet you sounded, he could hear you fuck yourself so clearly. 

“Rules. Are there any rules?” 

Heeseung darts his eyes to the ceiling in thought. Right, he knows you’re new but– damn is he selfish. 

“If you want rules, we can set them now. A safe word is good,” He pauses, reaching to grab at your hand to pull you next to him. “Sit.”

He says it politely, more like an offer than demand but you can’t see him as anything other than the dominant man you’d spoken to before. Even with a face that looks as soft as his right now. 

Your stomach does flips as you obey, already feeling entirely dominated.

“Usually, a safe word is the only thing I set and it tends to help people learn their limits. I will stop if you say it.” He tries to explain, ultimately to leave limitations up to you during the act. 

After all, since you’re so new, how would you even know what you don’t like anyway? Sure, some people in this community find Heeseung’s way of doing things shady at best, but he does communicate his preferred method first. He isn’t trying to trick you into doing something you don’t want to do, he just wants the freedom to let you explore all of the things that he likes. 

“I’m not sure what rules are even meant to be set.” You explain, finally gaining enough composure to talk clearly now. “Don’t pee in my mouth?”

He nods in agreement with a roll of his eye, looking at you as if he is encouraging you to continue.

“What’s the safe word then?” You ask, unintentionally fiddling your fingers in a nervous way. You catch his eye watching you, and you note the way he does his best to calm you from any anxiety.

“Some people pick random words, but colors are usually a good way to go. Yellow for when you’re not sure, but I can keep going. Red for when I need to stop.” 

“No green?” You ask.

“I mean, technically everything is green until you state otherwise, isn’t it?” 

He’s right.

“Any other things that are a hard no?” He asks again, ruffling his hair through his fingers. “Fair warning, I will hit you, choke you, restrain you, among many other things,” he pauses and looks for your reaction. “unless you tell me now that you don’t want it.”

You look at him and how his soft features have hardened slightly with his tense jaw, your thoughts derailing again as you see the words coming from a mouth so plush and pretty.

“Is kissing allowed?” You ask, completely unrelated to his string of offered abuse.

“If you want to kiss me through all of this, and your mouth is available, sure, I don’t see why not.” 

You nod, taking it all in. Yellow. Red. No piss (this time). You’re going to hurt, and you can kiss him. 

“Okay.” You say in a small voice, looking away from him and down to your lap. “Can you start slow?”

“No.” Heeseung admits. He’s incredibly attracted to your nervousness, and even more attracted to the way your voice is already shaking despite not having touched you yet. God, you’re like a brand new canvas. “You have safe words, use them if it’s too much. I don’t ‘go slow’,” He adds, spreading his legs a bit more. “I do what I want, you do what I want, and maybe you’ll get what you want in return.”

There is no tone of politeness in his voice now, and you assume he switched fully into this persona the moment you muttered the word “okay.” More nervous now, you almost wonder if it’s too late to back out. Do you even want to? Because now you’re turning and you can see the way he’s looking back at you. You’re just exploring, and he’s right, you have safe words.

“Okay.” You say again against the anxiety in your belly, knowing that once it starts, that’s your chance to decide if your exploration was worth it.

Without warning, you hear the zipper of his jeans being pulled at, and before you know it his length is out and on display. He grips it much like he did in the photos he sent to you. Matching his body more to his face now, you stare at it. It’s much bigger in person, and more intimidating to imagine having inside of you. Not only is it long but it’s incredibly thick, part of you wonders if you could even fit it into your mouth at all. 

“You mentioned being on birth control, right? And being tested as clean?” He asks, looking down at himself and then back at you to watch you slowly nod in an answer.

He basks in the way you stare, blinking at the way he’s gripping onto himself for you to see. But, like he said, he’s not going to start slow for you. With the brief discussion and questions out of the way, he’s going in full force.

“On the floor.” He nods his head to the space between his legs. 

Your body takes you to the position between his legs without so much as a second thought. Your fingers instinctually land against the harsh fabric of his jeans as you attempt to prepare yourself, swallowing hard at the image of his cock towering before you. 

“No, hands behind your back.” He guides you with a smile and watches the way you pull your hands back and put them right where he asked you to.

“Already so obedient? I knew you wouldn’t be hard to handle.” 

You can’t tell if it’s a compliment or not, but it feels like it is because it sends a sense of pride through you. Does he like to fight for what he wants, or does he prefer having full control? 

Heeseung releases the grip on his length and places his hand at the back of your head, slowly guiding your mouth to his balls, twitching a bit at the way you instantly have your tongue out to lick and taste wherever he guides you. That alone drives him wild, seeing as how you may be new to this whole submissive thing, but surely you know how to suck a man off, right?

“You barely even know me, look at you lapping away.” He teases as he watches you, a smirk against his lips while he guides your head up to the underside of his cock. “What would your parents think?”

You knew he’d degrade you, but in all fairness, none of what he just said to you is a lie. You don’t even know his last name, you didn’t even know what he fucking looked like until fifteen minutes ago. Your parents would have a heart attack if they knew, and somehow feeling this dirty makes your stomach tumble and panties dampen.

He stops guiding you for a moment, feeling your tongue travel back down to his balls, licking and prodding against them in a way that makes him want to buck his hips up, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t show want or need for his partners, ever. That’s their role to fill, because if he wants to fuck something, he can. 

“Up,” He guides with a slap to your cheek, feeling your tongue travel up the underside of his cock again. “Open up.” He adds as he stares down at you, seeing you open your mouth fully while keeping your tongue flat against him. 

When you circle your lips around the head, you want to take your time. You want to prepare for the fact that Heeseung has a huge cock and it’s going to take some getting used to. Apparently, that wasn’t going to happen though, because now his hand is putting pressure on your head to go down, and your body fights it slightly because your throat has never been prepared for this kind of size?.

“No?” He asks, pulling your head off of him and seeing if you’re already going to give him a red, but you don’t. You don’t even look at him and instead, focus your eyes on the head of his cock trying to be better prepared. 

You almost hear the chuckle he lets out, the silent code word of green shining through in the way you say nothing. With that, he places both hands on your head and holds it there. 

“Deep breath–” He encourages. “Look at me.” 

Your eyes dart up to his as you take in a sharp inhale, and then, he’s not sliding in, he’s plunging past your lips, straight down your throat. The thickness of him forces your jaw to strain open as he angles himself, watching you try to close your eyes to refrain from gagging. 

“Open your eyes, look at me.” He demands this time, pressing further into your mouth and leaving little room for you to fight it. You do your best to look up at him, straining as he watches his cock disappear deeper into your mouth. Then, he holds you there, stiffening his hips just to twitch his cock and stretch your throat out.

For a moment, ignoring the fact that your lips are being spread impossibly wide and you can feel your throat attempting to constrict around the intrusion, you watch the way his face stares down at you. He’s really into this. Concentrated on sliding his full, hardened cock as deep as it can go into your mouth. And when he hits the back of your throat a third time and there’s a tear shedding down your cheek, he fucking chuckles.

“It’s not so bad, right?” He asks, knowing you can’t answer with a mouth full of him. 

That’s when the grip on your head becomes harsher and he starts fucking his hips forward, past your lips. He can feel you struggle, squeezing his length as it fills your throat, dripping precum and fully aware that you can’t even taste it. 

“Deeper.” He decides in a quick grunt, standing to his feet from the edge of the bed, holding your face on his cock and pressing in more, until he can hear the drool bubble from the corners of your mouth.

He stares down at you and the way your neck cranes. He can almost see the bulge of his cock intruding your throat as he presses in tightly if he angles his head right. He coos at you, rubbing a thumb against your cheek. 

“Pretty, tight little throat.” Heeseung compliments, reaching his hand down to rest against your neck so that he can feel his length sliding in and out of your throat. “Do you hate this?” 

You can’t respond, closing your eyes and trying to breathe through your nose. Your jaw is already hurting, your makeup is now ruined, and for some reason, you don’t hate it. You like the feeling of your breath being lost, with his hand pressed against any airway you could have possibly used at this moment. 

Arms still behind your back, you can’t help but pull them forward to brace your hands against your own knees as he continues to fuck into your mouth at a more aggressive pace. When he pulls almost all the way out, you steal little gasps that end up sounding more like wet, desperate, attempts to breathe. When he presses all the way back in, bruising your throat in an immaculate show of how big he is, he doesn’t make a single sound and only concentrates on the way he can feel his cock sliding against the palm of his hand through the expanse of skin along your neck. 

He does this for what feels like ages to you, and briefly you forget the pain of it and remember when he texted you the photo, saying you’d probably rather be choking on it. Experiencing it now, it’s more than you had imagined before, but also, in its own way, a million times better than you could have imagined. 

Heeseung’s hips start to slow as he releases his grip on your neck and moves his hands either side of your head. He holds you there on him as he tenses his muscles, your nose pressing against his abdomen and you can feel his cock twitch in the deepest depths your throat has to offer. You are continuously gagging around him and only now does he let out a moan, one that is deep and breathy. You open your eyes to try and look, but the angle doesn’t allow for it. All you can see is the expanse of skin along his abdomen and chest before his hands release your head.

He’s expecting you to pull back, considering you haven’t gotten a full breath of air since he started doing this, but you don't. He jerks his head down to look at you when he feels your hands grip at his jeans again. Heeseung doesn’t even think to tell you to put them back behind your back now, because you are willingly still choking on him. He can feel your tongue struggle to share the space in your mouth with him, the heaviness of his cock weighing it down.

“Shit–” He groans, staring down at you and the way you close your eyes so tightly in concentration, all in an attempt to please him. “Oh, fuck.” He throws his head back again this time, feeling the way you try to move your mouth on him, essentially deep-throating all on your own.

When he looks back down at you, he’s floored by the wetness against your cheeks. You’ve been crying this whole time, dribbling drool, and taking it so well. He makes a point to pull himself out of you because of it. 

The whimper that leaves your lips is something he doesn’t think he can forget. A raspy whimper. A fucking cry, he’d be lying if it didn’t sound like you were disappointed that he stopped suffocating you.

“Eager to please.” He starts sweetly, pinching your drool-coated chin between his thumb and pointer finger. “You like letting me use that tight little throat?”

You blink through your tears, nodding to him. You surprised yourself with how much you were able to take in that instant, and how willing you were to do it for longer. 

“Like you were made for it,” He hisses out this time, pulling you up by the chin so that you can stand in front of him, “Show me how wet this pussy is.” 

You can’t look away from his eyes, especially with the way he stares directly into yours when he cups his palm between your legs. Even with your clothes on, your body prickles with goosebumps at the sensation of him touching you there. 

“Can feel you through these shorts,” he smiles, dipping his head down to ghost over the shell of your ear before moving his hand to the button of your shorts. “Do you want me to touch you? I bet you do.”

You’ve never begged before, and you never really understood why people begged at all, but at this moment you think you would absolutely fall right back to your knees and plead for him to touch you. You can feel your shorts sticking to you, your panties uncomfortably tucked into your seeping pussy at the very act of him fucking your mouth. 

“Please?” You choke out, voice still raspy as you try to speak.

Heeseung chuckles at your pathetic attempt and pulls you by your shorts to step forward as he takes one step back. He shakes his head at you in pity, sitting himself on the bed as he drags you to stand between his legs. 

“Turn around.” He guides you with his hand before circling your ass with his hands and landing a short slap against the back of your thigh. “Now, sit.”

He still guides you, positioning his cock between both of your plush thighs and holding in a shiver at the way the hem of your shorts drags against his length. 

You know you get nothing out of this, and he’s not going to touch you yet but fuck, you need it at this point. He watched you gag around him, he watched you try your fucking best, and this is what you get in return? The head of his cock peeking from your thighs as you squeeze around them? So be it. 

You keep both feet on the floor, doing your best to keep your legs together as you make an attempt to bounce against his lap but he stops you instantly.

“I didn’t say you could move,” he warns, placing his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist before leaning both of you back and then rolling you over to your side. “Cross your legs and squeeze. Don’t move.”

You do exactly as he asks, crossing your legs at the ankle and lying there still as he slips his cock from between your thighs. You wait like this for a moment before you feel the head of his length nudging between, this time more wet than before, and then his hand is traveling to your belly and under your shirt from behind you. 

“Big tits too, ever gotten off from nipple play?” he whispers, his hand ignoring your bra and pinching straight through the sheer fabric against your nipple. “Would love to see how you’d drench these shorts if you could do that for me.” 

Your mind is racing, feeling his fingers tightening the pinch against your nipple and his cock lazily sliding between your thighs. You shake your head, not knowing if it is even possible to get off that way. Sensitive tits aside, if he can do it, you might just have to find a way to claim Heeseung as your dom, and no one else's.

“You haven’t?” He chuckles from behind you, snaking his other hand under you and up to your other tit. “Let’s see.” 

He uses both hands to move your bra to the outer swell of your breasts and gropes both of them before pausing and focusing on his cock between your legs for a split second. 

“Keep your legs tight for me, babe, I’ll reward you for it.” 

You squeeze your legs tighter as you feel his fingertips gently flick both of your nipples. You try to focus on that sensation alone, feeling a short jolt of pleasure travel down your body and straight to your clit. God, you want him to touch your pussy so badly, because there’s no way you can get off from this alone. 

His focus falls back to you, fucking his hips forward all while he allows his fingers to put more and more pressure into the flicks and pinches. You must not realize the way your body trembles even at this, and it’s driving him fucking insane. You’re so new to this, but you suck cock like you’ve been a submissive plaything for years. You have so much to learn, so much to experience, and it’s hard for him not to want to do it all right here, right fucking now. 

Without warning, he pulls his hips back and leaves his cock untouched. You’re about to turn your body to him in confusion but he does it for you. Rolling you over onto your back before kicking his own pants off. Now, he positions himself between your legs. He looks at you, deep and dark eyes matching the smirk on his face.

“Show me,” he starts, pulling your shirt off of you in one swift motion and staring down at your chest. “Wanna see them before I fucking ruin them.” 

Typically, it’s normal for you to be fairly silent in these situations, so having no response for him isn’t a surprise. What is surprising is the way your throat instantly forces out a small moan when his legs force you to spread yours as he settles between them.

Even the sensation of your pussy opening beneath your shorts at the spread of your legs has you feeling more aroused than before. So, when he shocks you with a quick slap against one of your tits, you’re not even surprised that it feels good.

He watches your face after that slap, your slack jaw rising into a small and cocky smirk at the realization that you’re liking what he’s doing. He’s still in the green, so he slaps again, harder this time before leaning down and licking the spot he just hit. 

He pulls your bra up with one hand, raising it to your collar bone to release both of your tits and leaving them vulnerable to any hit, kiss, bite, or pinch he has to offer. You don’t care, because when you manage to open your eyes and look at him, he’s entirely focused on the way your nipples harden and soften from the sensations. 

When he leans down to lick, your pussy clenches at the wet heat of his tongue flicking your nipple, and when his teeth graze as a warning for a future bite, you only anticipate it. Your body instinctively humping up each time a jolt is sent to your clit. He bites hard, and then pulls back to slap against your other tit even harder. Until you’re left shaking, babbling incoherently with gasps and curses. 

“Does it hurt enough?” He coos, leaning back down to lick the growing swell against your tits. “Do you want more?”

He’s surprised that you nod, chuckling to himself because he was already going just as hard as he normally would when a woman likes breast abuse. You want more? You want him to go harder? He hums in response, using one hand to grip harshly against one tit and dipping down to suck against a particularly swollen and sore area on the other.. 

You feel the pain, the sensation running down your body much like the arousal and pleasure does. It’s almost hard to tell the difference between them, aside from the fact that the pain actually hits harder. The feeling of his mouth abusing you, his hands, all while his cock is hanging heavy and neglected against your thigh? You can take more than this even, you’re sure of it. 

Without really intended to, your hands find their way to his hair. He almost pulls back to demand that you let go, to inform you that he gave no permission to touch him, but the way you pull against his strands has him replacing his harsh sucking and biting against your flesh to flicking his tongue against your nipple again. Surely, you can cum from this, surely, you’re close if you’re stepping out of line, right? 

He’s going to make damn sure you’re soaking your shorts before he rewards you again, after all. 

You moan at the flutters of his tongue gently flicking your nipple, especially in contrast to his other hand bruising your other breast. It’s strange, really, to feel that familiar build up in your stomach but then again, your panties are tucked so tightly between your lips that your clothing is actually offering a bit of pleasure on that front too. Your clit is harshly being restricted and somehow, that offers relief in its own way. 

For the first time in your life, you feel waves washing through your body that feel so hot that you’re sure you have a fever. He continues to stimulate your nipples, replacing his tongue with his other hand as he pulls back and watches you fall apart beneath him. His cock twitches wildly at the image. Your lips parting, tongue darting out to try and collect the saliva threatening to fall from the corners of your mouth, eyes rolled back before you squeeze them tightly and fucking tremble.

Your lower half is humping up, your chest is chasing the abuse of his fingers, and you feel nothing but heat as you orgasm for an embarrassingly long time. All the way until your ears pick up the sound of him cooing at you. 

“Dirty girl, you made a mess.” He smiles, releasing your tits and sliding down the bed before resting his chin on your knee. 

You’ve barely come back to reality when you feel your shorts unsticking from your pathetic cunt. Panties still tucked uncomfortably against you, he tries to coo again, but instead he groans at the image of both your pussy and your shorts.

“Fuck,” he stares. “So goddamn wet.”

He analyzes your shorts briefly before tossing them to the side and bracing both hands on your knees to spread your legs out. There, he hooks his pointer finger beneath the panties sitting between your pussy lips pulls them out. 

“So messy for me.” he comments, realizing that your entire pussy is glistening with arousal. He pulls your panties off of you easily, eyes focused on the way your hole pulses for something, anything.

You weren’t expecting him to do it, but then again, you weren’t expecting to let him do it when he shoves the panties into your face.

“Say ahhh.” He smiles, pressing the panties into your mouth with two fingers when you instantly obey. “Suck.”

You do, wondering how the fuck you ended up in a situation where this actually turns you on. He’s loving it though, watching your pussy pulse even more as you suck your own mess out of the fabric. You almost forgot his promise of a reward, if you’re being honest. So, yet again, you’re surprised when you feel his tongue, without any warning, lick straight against that pulsing hole and up to your clit. 

Your legs shake around him, instinctively closing around his head before both of his strong arms spread them back out again. He chuckles against your pussy, and when you inhale to try and regain control of the sensitive pleasure taking over your body, you can only taste yourself. Each breath replaced with your past orgasm, each moan coming out as a choked and desperate whine. 

The pleasure is short lived though. Heeseung takes note of your whining, licking and tasting you to the point that he’s the one that’s about to fucking lose it. He’s quick to regain his control, licking a languid stripe up your folds before landing against your clit and grazing his teeth against it. 

He holds you down when you jump at it, groaning at the sensitivity and pain. He grazes his teeth against it again, and again, and then finally nibbles against it. Your whining gets louder and he swears he can hear a whisper of a ‘wait, stop–’ as you spit the panties out of your mouth and your legs still try to squeeze around him, but he holds you down more, chuckling.

“You know that’s not going to stop me.” Heeseung reminds you before nibbling again. 

You could end this torture right now. Your clit has been neglected this whole time until now, and it’s not gentle. He’s biting, he’s grazing, and it fucking hurts. All you have to do is say the color, all you have to do is choke it out between his evil ministrations, but you don’t. 

“That’s what I thought.” He laughs, leaning back and sitting up between your legs. He releases his hold on your hips, now pressing one hand flat on your stomach and holding you down that way instead before slapping your clit. 

“Didn’t expect you to be a pain slut.” 

You groan, unable to answer between his quick slaps to your clit. Swallowing hard, you try to speak. He notices your attempt and holds back his next, harsher slap. 

“Baby wants to speak now?” He asks, rubbing your clit gently and encouraging you to try. 

“Yellow,” you finally whimper, and he raises his brow. 

“Oh?” He confirms, waiting for you to nod before holding back entirely from the slaps and instead, pinching your clit much like he did to your nipples.

For some fucking reason, this hurts more than the slaps but the consistent pain is more tolerable than the sudden, anticipated slaps. This, you like.

“Mhm,” You manage to moan out this time, biting at your bottom lip as your eyes roll back in pleasured pain, hips humping up for more. 

He tilts his head, liking the way you whine for it, happy to have found someone so willing to hurt for him. He pinches harder, watching you react, he dips his head down again and offers a bit more pleasure that way too as a means of secret reward. All the way until your legs are shaking, and he knows now that you’re already about to cum again.

Despite your confirmation and willingness to let him continue the abuse of your pussy, he pulls back entirely, collecting the wet seeping out of you and sliding it down his cock with his fist. 

“Eyes on me.” He demands, staring between your legs. You listen, managing to open your eyes in frustration and watch him. “Were you about to cum again?” 

His eyes dart to you, and your pussy pulses yet again when you nod, releasing a frustrated sigh. He ignores it, looking back down at your hole, his thought process switching to his own pleasure.

“Do you know how much I want it to hurt when you do?” He asks again, fisting his cock faster, using his other hand to grab your face and force you to look into his eyes. “I could be so fucking deep inside of you right now, you know that, right?”

You groan, your body threatening to release something that resembles an orgasm on those words alone. 

“Fuck–” You try to moan for him, you try to beg, but he stops you by squeezing your cheeks tighter. 

“Fuck, what?” He asks, feeling his own orgasm welling up inside of him before he grips the base of his cock, denying him of that pleasure. “You?” 

You nod aggressively, your hand reaching to grip his arms and brace yourself. 

“Say it,” he demands, releasing his cock and using his other hand to run his fingers up your pussy. “Scream it, beg me.”

You choke out the words before releasing a raspy shout, begging a man you barely know to stretch you open, to use you as he sees fit, salivating at the very idea of him doing it more than he already has. 

“Yeah, just like that,” he groans at the sound of your desperate voice, standing to his feet. He quickly removes the rest of his clothes, the musky scent of him blowing past you as he throws his shirt over your face. “You’d let me do anything right now, wouldn’t you? ”

Instantly you do, trying to adjust your head to knock his shirt away and off of you, only half of it slides away, allowing you to peek at him with one eye.

“Come on, take it.” He says, glancing down at his cock as he stands at the foot of the bed in front of you. “You think I’m going to fuck you?”

“Fuck yourself.” He smiles in a cocky, almost evil way. “Get on it babe.”

Honestly, it’s like you’re seeing tunnel vision. Nothing in this room exists but you and his cock. Entirely tuned into your pleasure, your pussy aching from sensitivity and lack of being stretched open, you’re instantly leaning forward to get to him, leaving your tits abandoned almost instantly.

He watches the way you pull yourself from the bed, acting like an animal as you fall to your knees and take him into your mouth much like you did before. His jaw tenses at your hunger, and he holds back a moan at the way you appear to have lost yourself entirely for him. He doesn’t fuck his hips forward, he doesn’t touch you, he just stands there. Watching you unravel on your knees, feeling your eager tongue try to force a reaction from him. 

“I said to fuck yourself,” He warns, stepping back and pulling his cock from your mouth. “Didn’t you just beg?”

He smiles when he says it, and in your head, you don’t care if it’s some sort of trick or play of words. You’d gladly spread out on the bed and absolutely pound your pussy on your fingers alone if he so much as hinted for you to do it, but at this point his cock is out, and it’s heavy. 

Heeseung is a bit shocked when you shove him back, eyes still glazed over in a way that shows him that you’re not in your right mind. He steps back, allowing you to press him all the way until he’s leaned against the hotel vanity. Raising his brow, kind of impressed, he allows you to hook one leg around him and instantly holds your leg in place to balance you there.

He still says nothing, he doesn’t move past holding your leg in place around him, and his eyes remain on yours as you reach between the two of you and position his cock straight to your hungry cunt. There, he chuckles when your face turns from something that seemed determined, into relief at the stretch of his head entering past your lips. 

Still, he stands, chuckling at how desperate you are to fuck him this way, rather than just turning around and bending over. Surely the position would be easier for you, but then it all makes sense when he feels your lips slacked against his, panting against him as you make attempts to find some sort of rhythm.

You did ask if kissing was allowed, and god, you’re like a fucking animal. He breathes into it, pressing his tongue past your slack lips and tasting the remnants of your panties.

“You’re already so gone,” he whispers into your mouth, feeling your shallow humps on his cock. “I’m hardly even inside of you, I said I could go deep.” 

You don’t really hear those words. Honestly, your body is moving on its own and doing what it can do at this moment. The angle isn’t easy, but you wanted to kiss him so fucking badly.

He pulls out of you though, leaving little reaction for you to do anything other than feel embarrassed by your attempt to fuck yourself on him just for a kiss. He doesn’t expect you to keep going though, apparently, because he’s instantly swirling you around and shoving you to the bed. Bending you over and placing a hand at the back of your head before pressing your face into the blankets. His other hand holding both of your hands behind your back with ease. 

“Better?” He asks, easily positioning his cock and shoving into you with one quick thrust, bottoming out entirely. “Hm?” He adds, pulling out and shoving in again. 

Your mouth is open in a silent moan at the intense stretch, tasting nothing but the fabric of the blanket your face is currently shoved into. 

“Can’t hear you,” He grunts, picking up the pace and pistoning his cock in and out of you so fast that you can barely catch your breath regardless of the blankets already making it difficult. “You like it so fucking deep, don’t you?”

You can’t answer. You can only groan at the feeling of his cock stretching you open repeatedly, at his hand shoving your face further against the mattress until all you can do is tense your body. 

He feels it, your pussy clenching around him so tightly that even he gets the breath knocked out of him. Gripping your hair, he pulls your head up and listens to your gasps for air. His hips slam harder, harder, harder, until he feels the pleasure threaten to hit him. That’s when he stops, burying himself into you entirely before releasing your head and falling forward against you. 

“Don’t fucking move.” He warns, twitching inside of you as he feels you heave for air beneath him. 

You try not to move, but your sensitive body reacts to even the sound of his breath behind your ear. Everything is more sensitive than you could ever imagine your body being. Your bruised and swollen tits are throbbing against the mattress, your clit is pulsing at the fullness of his cock inside of you, and your pussy is struggling still to adjust to his size. It feels fucking immaculate. You want him to move, you want to move. You want to be fucked, obliterated, destroyed. 

“Wait–” You manage to muffle out, knowing full well that it’ll get him to do the exact opposite. 

“I’m not even fucking you,” he laughs, pressing his hips forward a bit more, causing you to whimper in response. 

“Stop, just, give me a second.” You cry out.

“Not how this works.” He laughs, pulling his hips back and pointedly thrusting into you again. “So dumb you forgot how to use your words properly?” 

You nod, smirking against the blankets.

“Liar.” He groans, amused by your little attempts to control how hard he goes. “If you want it harder, all you have to do is beg.”

His hips speed up, this time thrusting into you so hard that the bed itself scoots further forward and bangs against the wall. You yelp in pleasure, rolling your eyes back and wanting so badly to see his face as he fucks you.

“Hee– please.” You groan and he pulls back, wondering if you actually are so lost that you’ve forgotten the colors. 

“Colors, sweetheart. Red for stop.” He goes harder, harder, harder, “Or is this exactly what you want?” 

You shake your head almost aggressively at that, bracing your hands on the bed and pushing your ass back against him. 

It floors him, really, that you’ll ask him to stop and then blatantly ignore your own words by fucking yourself back on him. You’re insane, honestly.

“Please what, then?” He asks out of breath, smiling as he watches you fuck back against him. 

“Let me see you do it.” You whine out, desperate to feel intimate, to feel close. 

He obliges, tilting his head at the request but allowing it nonetheless. You can feel him slip out of you before his fingers replace his cock. He doesn’t want to lose the feeling of your clenched pussy even for a moment as he guides you to roll over and shoves you back on the bed, your legs hanging off the end of it. He braces himself at the end of the mattress, resting his cock against your you as he scissors his fingers inside of you with a smile. 

“Wanna see me fucking ruin you?” He smirks at you, pulling at your legs and guiding you to wrap them around him. “Then watch.”

You do, eyes zoned in on him as he grips tightly at your legs and pulls his fingers out of you. You can’t even catch your breath, which is no longer a shock to you, when he slides back into you. Studying his face as he does it, you can’t tell if he feels good or if this is just a service he does on the regular. You wonder what you’d have to do to break that stone-cold look in his eyes, what it takes to get him to moan without restraint, to show you that you’re also making him feel good.

He fucks you so well, so deep, and god, it becomes so difficult to keep your eyes on him with each painful thrust. The bed continues to knock against the wall, your cries become louder and louder, and finally, fucking finally, you hear him release his breath in a low and guttural moan. 

That’s it. That’s what you want to hear from him, time and time again. 

“Harder,” you urge him, feeling his hands tighten around your legs before he’s releasing them and dropping his hand to your throat. “Harder.” You continue now with a strained voice. 

He does, putting all of his strength behind his thrusts, losing himself momentarily in the moment and squeezing your throat tighter as he grunts out at you with a defeated chuckle.

“Of course, you’d be the one to pull this out of me.” He admits, his smile never falling from his lips as he closes his eyes and listens to the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of you. “Of course, you’d be the one to grip my cock like this.”

You’re gone, not even realizing that you’ve been on the edge for a while now in the way his thick cock continuously massages your g-spot. You tighten your legs around him, forcing him to bury himself deep inside of you as you clench and grip around him in a release. 

He allows it, surprising himself for being so lenient, then slides his hand up your throat before releasing it and using two of his fingers to hook your mouth open. There, he watches you drench him, he feels your arousal gushing out of your stuffed pussy and onto the bed, and now, now it’s his turn. 

“That’s it, all over me, baby–” he coos, pulling his hips back and slamming back into you despite your tightened legs around him. “Feel it.” he adds, accenting his words with another particularly deep thrust. 

You’re entirely silent, and he’s loving it as he slides his fingers deeper into your mouth, holding your tongue down and imagining which way he’d like to fill you up. He could watch his seed run down your thighs, he could pull out and fuck your throat until climax, he could pull out and deny himself a bit more, just to see you fall apart more. 

It hits him a bit too fast though, when he’s looking down your throat and watching your eyes slowly open to look at him. There’s the tears, your sensitive pussy probably begging for him to pull out, to give you some relief, to be gentle. He offers one last thing to you, pulling his fingers from your mouth and dragging them down.

There, he rubs against your swollen clit until you’re writhing under him to get away. Still no safe words have been used, and you’re fully capable of stopping him at this moment. But you don’t. So, he doesn’t stop. The sensation of your body writhing, fighting the pain, chasing the smallest hint of pleasure throws him into his release. He presses into you so hard that the bed remains in a slightly tilted position, fitting snugly against the wall as he paints your inner walls with thick, hot cum. 

You whimper at the feeling, legs falling open from around him as your body tries to wiggle away with your post-orgasm shocks. He moans each time, falling forward half way through his orgasm.. 

“You feel that?” He growls against your ear as he fucks his the entire mess into you. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

You listen to him speak, the words matching the pain in your body to such an extent that you’d probably let him keep going if he wanted to. You’d let him break you of all sanity, you’d let him tie you up, use you, abuse you. 

And when he goes silent, his sweat dampened skin raises and he slips out of you with care and a deep sigh of relief. You simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling and wondering how long you’ve been here, why it took you so long to explore this side of your sexuality, and why you’re not ready for it to be over, despite your aching body. 

You feel his presence leave you for a brief moment and return with a warm and wet towel, and you jolt when it touches between your legs. Your body jolts in aversion at the feeling of the rough material against your clit, but still you try to relax.

“You must be sensitive,” Heeseung says gently with a voice you’ve never heard from him, “They always are after their first time.”

Nodding, you try to pull yourself up and close your legs, but your body feels stiff again. 

“Relax, you’ll probably faint if you try to stand up too fast.” He tries to explain, folding the towel over to clean you with a different side of it. “It’s not like a normal hook up, you know? If you’re gonna let me hurt you, you’ve gotta let me take care of you after.”

Your throat is dry as you lay there, the sensation of even his gentle touches feeling like too much to handle. You feel like you can’t move, so you trust his words and try to relax.

“That’s it, yeah,” He encourages, going to try and help you shuffle your body up to the head of the bead so that you at least have a pillow. “Take your time. You have my number if you ever wanna meet up again.”

With that, Heeseung steps himself into the bathroom and cleans himself up. When he comes back out, he’s already dressed and fixing his hair in the mirror before heading toward the door.

“Wait,” You panic, lifting up quickly and feeling a bit light headed at the sudden movement, “You’re leaving?” 

He smiles at you, nodding. Everything else you do as a newcomer may be fairly expected, but it’s rare when Heeseung ends up with someone who doesn’t want him to leave after. 

“I do have a day job, you know,” He tries to play it off as a joke, but he really didn’t think you expected him to stay after general aftercare. “Stay here and rest up. Check out is tomorrow at eleven so feel free to enjoy the room. Not sure if you noticed, but it’s one of the nicest hotels in the city.”

Oh. Right, you didn’t notice. After all, when you got to the door the room practically didn’t exist to you outside of the floor in front of the bed, the bed, and the ceiling. 

“Red.” You say, unsure if it’ll work.

“You can’t do that.” He finds it sweet, but dangerous nevertheless. He doesn’t sleep over with his  website meetups. He’s here to bring you pleasure and pain sexually, not emotionally. “Like I said, you’ve got my number.”

You’re silent, watching him turn the knob on the door. 

“Oh and,” He pauses, turning to look at you. “Don’t go off with other randoms from the site. Some of them don’t offer the kindness I offered to you today. Ease into it, I’ll be around to help if you need me.”

Wondering if he’s implying that you should only see him when it comes to this sexual dynamic, you nod to him, trying to ignore the fact that he claimed “kindness” was being offered to you. If this was him being kind, you can’t help but wonder what he’s like when he’s…you know, not.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・ Reminder to pls pls reblog works from writiers you enjoy ; u ; feedback would also be appreciated! You can also tip through my patreon for early access and other fun stuff!

[thewitchblue]

"There's nothing wrong with you, Jay."

You murmured to him. He had a panic attack after a nightmare and panted softly in your arms. Everything was overwhelming, but your calming voice was guiding him back to reality.

The nightmare was bad enough to wake him up on his own instead of staying trapped until you wake him. He couldn't get enough air in his lungs. What's wrong with him? Why are you still putting up with him? You wake up every time he has nightmares, yet you comfort him the entire time.

"There's so much wrong with me, pipsqueak."

He says the nickname with so much love it melted your heart. You showered him in kisses while saying,

"You do what you have to do to survive."

He shuddered. He's a bad man in his mind. He has too much blood on his hands. Even if they were criminals, he still thinks he's a bad man. He felt tainted. He whispered,

"How can you love me when you know what I've done?"

He needed to know how you could even stand looking at him. You were so sweet and kind. You warmly said,

"I can love you because I know you."

He looked at you in confusion. Of course you know him. You wouldn't be sleeping in his bed with him if you were a stranger. You softly explain,

"I know you break into bakeries at night to get me my favourite pastry, but leave money on the counter so you don't feel like a complete jerk. I know you love my cheesy romance books despite pretending you don't. I know you love cooking for me so I can eat the leftovers and remember you."

Jason grumbled. He's always been a man who thinks actions speak infinitely louder than words. Anything is worth it for you. You continued with a smile,

"I know you love my lame jokes. You love to cuddle, and you replay romance scenes with me when you read a story you particularly enjoyed."

Jason hid his face in your hair. The big bad Red Hood was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush, and you loved him for it.

You kissed the top of his head. He was nestled in your side comfortably with his large frame curled to make it easier to cuddle. He placed his head on top of your chest and his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. He needed to be reassured that you were here and alive.

You let him listen to your heartbeat while you played with his hair the way he liked it. You smiled as you said,

"I love your smile, and I don't care one bit about the blood on your hands. You are protecting the ones you love in the only way you think will work. I know you pretend to dislike your family, and you'll fake gag around their significant others, but your romantic heart soars when you see couples being in love."

The gentle hand rubbing his scalp and your soothing heartbeat was luring him back to sleep. So what if he is a bit of a romantic. He can't help the way he feels.

"I know you read the books I recently read just so we can have a conversation about it."

Jason blushed. He thought he'd been sneakier about stealing books. He's read every book in your house during the two years he's been dating you.

He's a book thief, but he always returns the book and even organised the bookcase for you when you complained that you needed to organise it. You were looking for a book to give him, and it took a good fifteen minutes to find the book. You continued,

"I know you love when I lay on top of you because I feel like a weighted blanket, and you love when I hug you from behind to feel the height difference between us."

Jason yawned. You love this man with your whole heart. You don't care about Red Hood. You care about Jason Peter Todd, the love of your life. His large arms tightened around you before relaxing. He rolled you on top of him and kissed your forehead.

"I love you, pipsqueak."

You smiled at him and gave him a long kiss before softly replying,

"I love you too, hoodlum."

[jxwl4k]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Holding hands .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

⤿ yn has a habit of holding her friends hands except for bakugou.

⋆˚✿˖° j speaking . . .

- this has been in my drafts since November and I’m only posting it now🥲

-this is inspired by a wonwoo oneshot it’s from tiktok and the author’s name is serenedust_ you can check it out in tiktok, happy reading, my loves! <3

YN had this little habit—one her friends were well aware of. Crowds made her uneasy, and whenever she found herself surrounded by too many people, she’d instinctively reach out, intertwining her fingers with whoever was closest. It was a small, grounding gesture that helped her keep calm.

Her friends had grown used to it over time.

“Ah, the famous YN hand-holding ritual,” Mina teased one day, giving YN’s hand a squeeze. “It’s cute, you know. Like you’re our little comfort buddy.”

YN laughed, a little embarrassed. “I just… feel calmer when I’m holding someone’s hand. I’m weird, huh?”

“Nah, we love it,” Kirishima reassured her with his usual bright grin. “In fact, you’re welcome to cling to me any time, YN. A pro hero should be able to help out with stuff like that, right?”

Mina nodded enthusiastically. “Totally! Besides, it’s not weird if it’s helping you feel better.”

YN was grateful for their support. She knew they didn’t mind her habit, and that only made her more comfortable reaching for their hands whenever she needed it. But there was one person she’d never tried holding hands with—Bakugou.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. If she was honest with herself, she sometimes thought about it, imagining how it might feel to intertwine her fingers with his. But Bakugou was… well, Bakugou. He wasn’t exactly the “gentle touch” type, and she figured he’d probably find it annoying or weird if she reached for him in that way. So she always avoided touching him, keeping her hands to herself when he was around.

One day, as they sat together for lunch, Mina brought it up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, YN, have you noticed that you never reach for Bakugou’s hand?”

YN nearly choked on her drink. “W-What? I—uh…”

Kirishima chuckled, leaning in. “She’s got a point, you know. You hold our hands all the time, but not Bakugou’s. Are you scared of him?”

“Scared?!” YN stammered, her cheeks heating up. “I’m not scared of him! I just… I don’t think he’d like it, that’s all.”

Mina gave her a knowing look. “Oh, really? Because Bakugou here doesn’t seem like the type to get flustered over something as small as holding hands.”

“Shut up, Pinky,” Bakugou growled, though he didn’t deny it. His gaze shifted, and he avoided looking directly at YN.

YN could feel her face burning, but she quickly changed the subject, laughing it off. “Anyway! It’s not a big deal. I’m fine with holding your hands. It’s just… different.”

But her friends’ teasing lingered in her mind, making her hyper-aware of Bakugou’s presence. She had no idea that Bakugou, on the other hand, had been noticing her habit all along. He’d seen her reach for Mina’s hand, loop her arm with Kirishima’s, and each time, he felt an uncomfortable pang of jealousy. Why wouldn’t she reach out to him? Did she think he wasn’t as dependable as the others?

As much as he tried to brush it off, it bothered him more than he’d admit.

During UA’s annual festival, the crowded grounds buzzed with excitement. Class 1-A had been helping with setting up booths, and the noise and energy around them were overwhelming. YN could feel her nerves kicking in as they made their way through the busy festival.

“Whoa, it’s packed,” Kirishima said, glancing around.

“Tell me about it,” YN mumbled, trying to keep her breathing steady.

Sensing her discomfort, Mina grabbed YN’s hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Hey, remember we’re all here if you need us.”

YN nodded, grateful. They continued walking, and as the crowd around them grew denser, she instinctively reached out to grab another hand. Her fingers slipped through someone else’s, feeling warm and steady—until she looked up and realized whose hand she was holding.

Bakugou.

Her heart jumped, and she immediately tried to pull her hand back, stammering, “I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

But Bakugou’s grip tightened, refusing to let go. His expression was calm, almost unreadable, but his gaze was intense as he looked down at her.

“Quit squirming,” he muttered. “If it helps you feel safe, just… keep holding it.”

YN stared up at him, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red. “B-But I didn’t think you’d want to…”

“What, you think I didn’t notice?” he interrupted, voice a little rougher, though he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You’re always holding their hands, but never mine. You think I’d mind?”

Behind them, Mina and Kirishima exchanged wide-eyed glances, grinning like they’d just witnessed the world’s biggest revelation. Mina’s voice echoed in a teasing whisper, “Ohhh, looks like someone’s finally holding Bakugou’s hand…”

YN was mortified, but Bakugou simply glared at their friends. “Mind your own business.”

They continued through the festival, YN’s hand still tightly wrapped in Bakugou’s. The warmth of his grip was both unfamiliar and comforting, and she could feel her anxiety melting away. For once, the noise of the crowd didn’t seem so overwhelming.

She glanced up at him, offering a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Bakugou.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, though his cheeks had the faintest hint of a blush. “Just don’t let go all of a sudden.”

Mina nudged Kirishima and whispered, “Think they’ll let go after this?”

Kirishima laughed quietly, giving her a playful nudge back. “Not a chance. I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of this.”

As YN walked with Bakugou, hand in hand, she realized she didn’t mind the teasing. In fact, she didn’t want to let go at all. And judging by the way Bakugou’s grip stayed firm and steady, he felt the same way.

Years into their careers as pro heroes, YN and Bakugou had seen more than their fair share of action and chaos. Tonight, however, was one of those rare, peaceful evenings, where the two of them could finally unwind together. They’d just finished a mission, and now they sat sprawled on Bakugou’s couch, swapping war stories over takeout.

As they relaxed, a comfortable silence settled between them until YN, lost in thought, let out a small laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Bakugou grumbled, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing,” YN said, shaking her head with a smirk. “Just… I was thinking about that festival back at UA.”

Bakugou squinted suspiciously. “Which one?”

“The one where I, uh… accidentally grabbed your hand.”

Bakugou’s face turned pink, but he quickly masked it with an annoyed scowl. “Accidentally, huh? Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

“Oh, come on, it was!” YN protested, laughing as she nudged his shoulder. “I thought you were Kirishima! But then I looked up and realized it was you, and I was mortified. I was ready to disappear right there.”

Bakugou snorted. “Yeah, I noticed. Thought you’d drop dead from embarrassment.”

“Hey! You didn’t help by tightening your grip, you know!” YN shot back, giving him a playful glare. “You practically crushed my hand! What was that about?”

Bakugou shrugged, feigning indifference. “Thought you needed the support, or whatever. You looked like you were about to pass out.”

YN giggled, shaking her head. “Sure, sure, big tough hero just wanted to help.”

Bakugou cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… I was waitin’ for you to do it all damn year, you know. You’d grab everyone else’s hand like it was nothing, and when it was me, suddenly you couldn’t even look at me.”

YN blinked, surprised. “Wait, you… actually wanted me to hold your hand?”

“Tch,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Why do you think I always stood next to you in crowded places? Wasn’t a coincidence, idiot.”

Her laughter softened into a warm smile. “So all this time… you were jealous?”

Bakugou shot her a glare, cheeks bright red. “I wouldn’t call it jealousy.”

“What would you call it, then?” YN asked, smirking mischievously.

“A strategic maneuver,” he said, nose in the air. “If you got anxious, it was only logical that I’d be the one to handle it.”

YN snickered. “Right, because nothing says ‘tough guy’ like hoping someone will hold your hand.”

“Oi!” Bakugou growled, though his expression softened into an uncharacteristic smile. “You’re lucky I let you grab it at all.”

“Lucky, huh?” YN teased, leaning into his shoulder. “Well, in that case, I guess I’m lucky you’re still holding it.”

Bakugou’s fingers intertwined with hers, his grip firm but gentle. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t go getting sappy on me now.”

YN rolled her eyes but didn’t let go, letting the warmth of his hand remind her of that day at the festival—the beginning of something she hadn’t realized they both wanted.

And for the rest of the evening, every time she tried to pull her hand away, Bakugou would grumble, tightening his grip and muttering, “Strategic maneuver, remember?”

YN only laughed, realizing that some things really never change.

[littelovelunette]

Sevika or Vi X a shy reader who’s actually a freak in the sheets? In public, they’re shy, soft-spoken, easily flustered by PDA, it’s a surprise they’ve lasted this long in Zaun. At home though? Complete 180, energetic, yapper, and they cannot keep their hands to themselves. They always have to wrap their arms around Vi or their hand on Sevika and they are insatiable in bed. It’s enough to rival Sevika’s sex drive. It’s just romance that throws them off and pushes them back into being flustered.

PDA

contains suggestive themes, strap use

Sevika never took you for the freaky type. All it took was for her to wrap an arm around you and you were already all blushy for her. You were both still only starting out the dating phase so you were giddy around her. She gave you the butterflies after all. Sevika pulled you in a kiss every now and then, causing you to blush deeply and shyly ask her for more. “You want more, hmmm?”

Sevika was soft around you. Always. Maybe it was the shyness that made her feel so different for you. All Sevika wanted to do was cradle you and protect you. “Come on, bunny, you won't die if you just come to my place with me.” Sevika teased gently, pulling you onto her lap at the Last Drop.

You whined, trying to push out of her lap, “Sevika, there are people!” You whisper-shouted. Sevika shook her head with an eye roll.

“It's fine, bunny.” She smirked and kissed the corner of your lips, her lips lingering just a moment longer on your skin before pulling away. “You're so cute, my little bunny.”

You shyly swung your legs, butt pressing plushly on her lap before you finally said in a timid voice, “Okay, let's go to your place.”

Sevika got up, picking you up bridal style with ease. You flushed redder and stared at how her muscles bulged with her movements. Sevika opened the door, kicking it shut behind herself and taking you to the bedroom.

“Sev…” you mumbled.

“Mhm?” Sevika hummed, putting you on the bed gently. You immediately shifted under the covers to hide yourself from her.

“You're so mean, you know I get shy with PDA.” You huffed.

Sevika chuckled, shaking her head. She got under the covers with you, pulling you close to herself. “Mmm, you're so warm.” Sevika said, hand around your smaller frame. You cuddled up to her but then your gaze lingered a moment longer on how Sevika's nipples were clear as daylight because she wasn't wearing a bra underneath her tank top.

You tried to ignore it but it was hard. “I like this.” You whispered, leaning your head against her shoulder. “You do, huh? Well, I guess you like being touchy in private?” Sevika pulled you on her lap, resting her back against the headboard of the bed.

With a little giggle, you clambered on top of her lap, straddling her thighs, “Give me kisses.” You demanded, grabbing the neck of her top and bringing her close.

“Oooh, so demanding.” Sevika smirked and pressed her lips against yours. She was shocked when you took control and pushed your tongue inside, invading her mouth.

This had never happened to Sevika before. Sevika almost gasped when your tongue pushed deeper in her mouth, swiping against her sharp teeth and tracing her tooth gap. The kiss deepened, your saliva dripping down Sevika's chin.

You almost moaned in the kiss, rubbing your crotch against Sevika's thigh. Sevika's eyes opened which had closed due to the intensity of the kiss. Her grey eyes held wide and she stared at you as if you'd grown two heads.

“What happened to my shy, timid bunny?” Sevika breathed when you finally pulled away from the kiss.

Oh, Sevika was gonna know what happened to her shy bunny soon. She had you folded in a mating press, your legs flailing from time to time when she thrusted too hard with her strap. “Fuck, pretty fuckin’ pussy, so greedy for daddy's cock.” Sevika panted out, sweat making her muscles look so shiny.

You moaned loudly, bordering on pornographic as you clutched your legs, holding them in place. “Daddy! Daddy! More!” You cried out, clenching on her strap and gasped when you felt her thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit. She was such a menace.

“Yeah, you want daddy to knock you up?” Sevika punctuated each of her words with a deep stroke. Your eyes were watery from the pleasure, yet you craved more. You needed more.

“Oh, fuck, daddy, yes!” You replied, drooling from the pleasure as your hands let go of your legs, clutching the sheets instead. Sevika pulled your legs apart, resting them on her shoulders, her hand squeezing your breast almost painfully.

With a last thrust, she made you come all over the silicone cock, the purple surface of it slick.

“Seems like I underestimated you.” Sevika said as she rubbed your thighs, pulling them down so you could lay properly and get a breather.

“What'd you take me for? I'm not a pushover.” Yot paused. “At least not indoors.”

[lazysoulwriter]

paws and love. - charles leclerc.

---

Charles had always been a dog person. Always. And anyone who knew him knew that Leo, his beloved dog, was his pride and joy. They were inseparable—morning runs, boat rides, even lazy afternoons on the couch. Leo had been with him through everything.

And then you came along, a self-proclaimed cat person, completely different from him in that aspect. It became a running joke between you two—dogs vs. cats. He'd tease you about how cold and indifferent cats were, and you'd argue back that they were just selective with their love.

Still, he never really got it—not until he found you curled up on the couch one evening, eyes red, sniffling.

"Mon amour…" He knelt beside you, his brows furrowed in concern. "What’s wrong?"

"I just… I miss them so much." Your voice was barely above a whisper. "My cats. I know it’s stupid, but they’re my family too."

Charles' heart squeezed. He couldn't imagine being away from Leo for that long. If he had to, he'd probably be a mess. And suddenly, he understood.

The next morning, he disappeared for a few hours without much explanation. When he returned, he carried a small pet carrier, looking almost… nervous. You stared at him in shock.

"Charles… what did you do?"

He placed the carrier on the floor, and inside, a tiny gray and white kitten blinked up at you sleepily.

"I know Leo is the king of the house," Charles started, scratching the back of his neck, "but maybe he won’t mind sharing his kingdom a little…"

You covered your mouth with your hands, tears welling up again. But this time, they were happy ones.

"You got a cat?" Your voice cracked.

"For you. And for Leo, too," he grinned. "I figured he could use a little sibling."

At that moment, Leo trotted over, sniffing the small creature through the carrier with curiosity. Charles watched them carefully, still unsure how his beloved dog would react to the newest addition.

"He’s going to love them," you assured him, wiping your eyes.

Charles sighed, shaking his head playfully.

"I really hope so. Because if Leo picks a favorite, I’m not sure it’s going to be me anymore."

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him. Maybe Charles would always be a dog person at heart—but for you? He was willing to learn how to love a cat too.

----

I've had this written for so long, I forgot to post it. ugh.

[keferon]

Wait….wait. Death loop blurr. Is he also waking up in a new frame for every new universe? He probably would be, wouldn’t he?

So not just doomed to be a repeating plot point. Doomed to die. Doomed to nobody else remembering — knowing who he is or being able to see what’s happening to him (at least as far as he would know at the beginning). But also, doomed to always waking up in a different body. Having to get familiar again and again with the mechanics of movement each time.

(And would he forget? Would there be times where he would think he could do something because a previous body could? Are there times when he’d feel those old limbs still even though they are no longer there?)

Blurr initially getting comfortable in each frame — considering it his own. Only to realize that even that small familiarity always gets ripped away, gets lost with everything else.

Only the narrative — the role he’s expected to play — remains constant.

YES YES YES The body would almost always be different! Imagine going from blocky squary frame of G1 to being built like a freaking twig in Animated?

Luckly he is fast when it comes to learning and processing stuff but that still means he gets the “WHAT THE FUCK??” moment every time he wakes up in a new universe

Blurr: looking at himself in Animated universe

Blurr: ah well bots in that universe look weird and could very much use some armour. At least I look cute

(Goes outside and realises half of the other bots are two times bigger than him and basically all the Decepticons are FOUR times bigger than him

Blurr: THE FUCK???

Bonus points if he makes new friends and perhaps finds lovers in those different universes. And then he has no choice but forget them because there’s no way to ever see them again.

Yes I know he doesn’t die in Armada canon. I just wanted to include Armada. It’s an AU and I have an authorised permission to kill armada!Blurr I checked with the local authorities

[juleswritesstuff]

The Pillow Contract

James Potter seems to have found the best pillow on earth. You.

james potter x fem!reader

warnings: none

James liked to consider himself a man of simple pleasures. 

A good meal ? Heaven. A lazy Sunday spent wrapped in a blanket burrito ? Perfection. A well-timed, sarcastic remark ? Chef’s kiss.

But above all else, there was one thing James had come to love more than anything in the world.

Your chest.

Well, you as a whole, of course. Body and soul alike. He was not a bloody prick, thank you very much. 

He loved you for you, not just for the flawless vessel that carried your golden heart and your beautiful mind.

But he couldn't help the way he was especially drawn to the perfection that peeked from your neckline when your shirt hung a little lower than usual.

And he also could not, in good conscience, ignore the life-altering comfort that was that perfection.

Now, to be clear, James wasn’t just some guy obsessed with his girlfriend’s body –okay, maybe he was a little addicted. 

But, come on, who could blame him when you were said girlfriend ? 

He was supposed to be a bit obsessed with you, right ? That’s what every person in their sane, right and helplessly in love mind would be about their partner, no ? 

Was that just him ? 

Ok, fine, maybe he was a bit of a simp (read, you had him at your feet). So what ? 

He liked it exactly like that. Sue him.

But this ? This was different. 

This wasn’t just about attraction or some primal male instinct. No, this was about something sacred.

This was about comfort.

The kind that he’d accidentally stumbled upon one evening when you had curled up next to him on the couch, and his head had somehow –miraculously– ended up resting right on your chest.

That’s when he had discovered it.

The Holy Grail of pillows. The pinnacle of all headrests.

Your chest was perfect. 

Warm. Soft. Inviting.

It had been life-changing. Existence-altering. World-stopping.

And in that moment, with his head resting against the softest, most heavenly cushion known to mankind, and your heart beating under his ear like a lullaby, James had made a decision.

He was never going back to regular pillows again.

Ever.

The problem was, he didn’t exactly know how to turn this into a permanent arrangement without looking like an absolute fool.

Which, really, was ironic, because James didn’t mind acting like the biggest dumbass in the world when it came to you. Not even a tiny bit.

The man had zero shame, and zero chill when you were involved.

If he had to beg ? Done.

If he had to bribe you with kisses ? Oh no, how awful.

If he had to declare his undying devotion in front of his friends and suffer their relentless teasing ? Call Sirius and Remus over, he was ready to suffer.

If he had to wear one of those, frankly quite obnoxious --yes, even for him-- ‘I ❤️ My Girlfriend’ shirts in public just because you wanted him to suffer a bit for forgetting the chores ? Consider it his new favorite outfit.

He’d do anything and everything –yes, even sacrificing his dignity in front of Pads and Moony– if it meant putting a smile on your face (and making you agree to be used as a headrest for the rest of your life. But let’s just say that was a teeny, tiny, wonderful bonus if the case ever came to be).

Tonight was his chance, he told himself.

You were already curled up on the couch, wearing one of his hoodies, your legs tucked beneath you as you scrolled through your phone. The dim lighting of the room cast a soft glow over you, and James took a moment to appreciate the scene. 

Because, honestly ? You looked really good.

Too good.

Like, unfairly good.

The hoodie –his hoodie, the one he had technically claimed as his favorite, but which spent more time on your body than his closet– was slightly oversized on you, slipping off one shoulder in a way that made his brain short-circuit for a second.

This was his moment.

You were comfortable. The couch was comfortable. 

And your chest ? Well, that was a level of bliss he had yet to find anywhere else in the world.

Time to execute: Operation Smothered by Heaven.

Ok, the name was a little ridiculous. But, to his defence, he had been a little distracted while thinking about it –the dress you were wearing mysteriously met the floor not even five minutes after he had taken a glimpse of you– and his brain had refused to work at his full potential.

Something that he absolutely couldn’t let happen now. 

Not when the fate of his comfort and sanity was at such a high risk.

That’s why he casually –so casually– stretched like a giant cat just waking up from a nap, letting out an exaggerated yawn before –still ever so nonchalantly, of course– leaning closer.

And would you look at that ? His head, as if drawn by an invisible magnetic force he absolutely had no control on –God forbid– found its way to your chest.

It was seamless. 

Flawless execution.

Absolutely fucking nailed that.

He gave himself a mental high five.

Operation Smothered by Heaven: officially successful.

“Wow. Smooth” you blinked down at him, amused.

James grinned but didn’t move. Not even an inch. Nope. 

He had claimed his rightful place, and there was no going back now.

“What can I say ? Gravity is a powerful thing” he purred, his voice smug, his eyes half-lidded like a cat who had just found the warmest sunspot in the house.

“Ah, I see. So this is all gravity’s fault, then ?”

“Absolutely” he confirmed, burrowing his face in just a little more “I have no control over it. Pure science”

You snorted, shaking your head, but you didn’t push him away. 

Of course you didn’t.

If anything, you shifted slightly, letting your arm drape around his back, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along his spine. He hummed in approval, his whole body melting against yours like ice under the warm sunlight of a summer’s day.

Because the thing James didn’t know –or, at the very least, seemed to forget– was that he wore his heart on his sleeve. Always.

James Potter and secret scheming ? Not a good match. 

Not a match at all, actually. But you still liked watching him try.

And with the way he had been ogling you for the past week, it really wasn’t hard to figure out what had been brewing in that ridiculously pretty head of his.

His thoughtful frown, the way his brows scrunched together, his deep-in-thought lip-biting. James had looked like he was trying to crack some highly classified government code.

Except the code in question was you.

Or, more specifically, that area right below your neck that seemed to steal his attention more times then it should've been considered healthy.

Subtle, he was not.

He had been studying you. Analyzing the way your sweaters dipped lower when you leaned forward, the way the fabric of your shirts clung to your curves, the way–

God.

James had the audacity to look like he was pondering the meaning of life when, really, all he was trying to find was an excuse.

Funny how he could’ve just asked.

It wasn’t like you would have refused him.

Hell, you didn’t even think you possessed the ability to refuse him. To refuse him anything, really.

But your smitten and extremely down-bad behavior when it came to your boyfriend was a topic for another time.

James let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

“You know” he murmured, voice slightly muffled as he nuzzled closer “I think I’ve discovered something important”

“Oh ?”

“Mhm” he tilted his head up, his expression dead serious. Like a man delivering a life-changing revelation “Your chest ? Best pillow I’ve ever used”

You raised an eyebrow, a quiet grin making its way onto your mouth. “I should be flattered, I think”

“You should be honored” he corrected, his lips quirking into a lazy smirk “I mean, it’s a very competitive market. But yours ? Easily top-tier”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Is that right ?”

James nodded solemnly. 

“Hell yeah, baby. I’d even write a five-star Yelp review if that were a thing”

You let out a soft laugh and slid your fingers into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp.

James immediately melted.

He let out a low, contented hum, eyes slipping shut, the tension in his body dissolving completely. You thought if he was a cat, he would’ve started purring.

“Mmh. Keep doing that, and I might never get up” he mumbled, voice already laced with drowsiness.

“Wouldn’t mind that” you teased.

Because, really, who in their right mind would complain about this ?

No one, that's who.

And surely not you.

James hummed in response, his arms tightening around your waist burying himself further into you. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. 

His lips brushed absentmindedly against your collarbone –a barely-there press of warmth that sent a quiet shiver down your spine.

This. This was perfection.

Then, because James Potter simply could not help himself, he tilted his head up again.

“So, uh... just out of curiosity. How often do you think I can get away with this ?”

You smirked. “That depends”

“On ?”

“How well you behave”

James’ eyes darkened slightly, though amusement still played at the edges. 

“Define behave” his voice dropped, all smooth and teasing, like he could coax an answer out of you if he said it just right.

You arched a brow, pretending to think. 

“Well, let’s see. No stealing the blankets at night. No pretending you don’t hear me when I ask you to grab something from the kitchen. And definitely no distracting me when I’m trying to get work done”

James gasped, offended.

“That last one is unreasonable and you know it”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, is it ?”

“Yes. It is literally part of my rights as your boyfriend to distract you”

You hummed, pretending to ponder your decision.

“Well, if we can do nothing about that…” your hand cupped his cheek, slender fingers applying a gentle pressure to lift his face up from that cocoon of warmth he had nestled himself into.

He blinked. “I-wait. What ?”

Before he could fully register what was happening, you leaned down and captured his lips in a slow, lazy kiss.

James melted.

Like, gone. Out of commission. Absolute goner.

The smug confidence he had a second ago ? Obliterated.

His hands, which had been lazily resting at your waist, tightened, pulling you closer like he never wanted to let go. One of them trailed up your spine, fingers tangling into your hair, holding you there like this was oxygen and he needed it to breathe.

You sighed against his lips, feeling the way James shuddered, the way his grip on you tightened, like he was physically trying to keep himself from falling apart.

Like you had just ruined him.

And maybe you had.

Because when you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, James just blinked at you, dazed and utterly wrecked, lips still parted like he hadn’t quite caught up with reality yet.

You bit back a smirk.

Unbelievable.

How had this man made a full-time career out of turning you into putty, and yet one well-placed kiss had him looking like he’d just been personally blessed by the universe ?

You dragged your fingers lazily through his curls, watching the way his lashes fluttered at the sensation, the slow, dopey grin tugging at his lips.

Completely gone.

You tilted your head, murmuring teasingly against his mouth “Was that up to your standards, Mr. Five-Star Review ?”

James, still grinning –and still absolutely useless– just nodded.

"Five stars ? That was worth the entire Milky Way, baby"

You let out a laugh, and James practically glowed at the sound, his fingers flexing against your waist like he wanted to bottle it.

Then, before you could say anything else, he tilted his head, brushing his nose against yours in that infuriatingly sweet way of his.

"You know-" he murmured, voice all warm and syrupy "-if this is part of my reward system, I promise to be so good"

You smirked, fingers tracing idle patterns into the back of his neck. “Do you now ?”

James nodded solemnly, though the grin he was fighting gave him away.

“The best. Model citizen. Proper gentleman. Will hold doors, carry bags, call you milady unironically if I have to”

You snorted. Loudly.

"Now that, I need to see"

James hummed, tilting his head up like he was about to deliver the most profound statement of his life.

“Mmh. Maybe after another kiss”

Your eyes narrowed playfully. “That so ?”

He nodded again, already leaning in, his lips curling mischievously.

You let your fingers drag slowly down the back of his neck, feeling the way James shivered under your touch.

The moment stretched, thick with something warm and electric, the air between you charged in that intoxicating way it always was whenever you teased him like this.

You leaned in deliberately, lips hovering just over his, close enough that you could feel the ghost of his breath, the heat radiating off his skin.

James, for all his usual smugness, stilled, his lazy smirk faltering into something softer, deeper. His lips parting slightly, his pupils dark and expectant.

Waiting.

Wanting.

You let your gaze drop to his lips, watching as his tongue darted out just once, a quick, unconscious flick, like he was already tasting the kiss before it happened.

And, God, he was beautiful like this.

All that usual bravado stripped down to this, his sharp edges melted, his hands twitching slightly where they rested on your hips, fighting the urge to pull you closer.

His restraint was admirable.

His patience ?

Well. That was something you just had to test.

You leaned in that final inch –only for your lips to land on his cheek instead.

Soft. Chaste. Infuriating.

James let out a dramatic, suffering groan, his head thunking back against the cushions.

“Tease” he mumbled, voice hoarse, his hands finally losing their battle as they gripped your waist, fingers pressing into your sides like he was physically holding back the urge to grab your face and kiss you properly.

You pulled back just enough to grin down at him, impossibly pleased with yourself.

“What ?” you asked innocently, tilting your head “You asked for a kiss. You didn’t specify where, love”

James cracked one eye open, glowering.

“Oh, that’s dirty” he grumbled, before huffing dramatically and rolling onto his back, taking you with him.

You yelped as you landed against his chest, sprawled across him, your laughter cut off when his arms wrapped around you, pinning you against him with the strength of a human vice grip.

“James-”

“Nope” he said, shoving his face into your neck like a petulant child, muffling his words “You’re stuck here now. Actions have consequences”

You laughed, wiggling in his hold, but he just tightened his grip.

“James”

“Mmm. Nope”

“I-”

“Shh. Thinking about my suffering”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself, your fingers naturally finding their way into his curls again, scratching lightly at his scalp.

He made a sound, deep and content, his body practically melting beneath you.

“See ?” you teased, voice softening “That wasn’t so bad”

James exhaled heavily, but his hands had already started skimming over your back again, lazy and unbothered, like he’d completely forgotten why he was fake-pouting in the first place.

“Mmh” he hummed “Don't know. Still feel like you owe me”

You smirked, arching a brow. “Oh ?”

“Yeah” James sighed dramatically, finally tilting his head up again. Looking at you.

That expression.

Soft. Mischievous. A little challenging.

Maybe even a little hopeful.

Like he was just waiting for you to put him out of his misery.

You let the moment stretch for a beat longer, lips quirking.

Then, with a small, amused sigh, you finally gave in.

And kissed him properly.

For a few moments, the two of you just stayed like that, tangled together, basking in the warmth of each other’s touch.

You felt him smile against your lips before he pulled back just enough to murmur “So… hear me out”

“Oh boy” you sighed, already knowing. 

James just grinned, completely unbothered by your lack in faith in him.

“What if we made this a permanent arrangement ?”

You let out a soft laugh, tilting your head at him. “A permanent arrangement ?”

“Yeah. Like, an official thing. A contract, even” he lifted his head slightly, hie expression the picture of seriousness “Something binding. A legally recognized agreement that states you will be my official human pillow for the foreseeable future”

You stared at him, an eyebrow quirked in amusement, lips twitiching. 

“You want to draft a pillow contract ?”

James nodded, almost professionally. 

“For accountability purposes”

You rolled your eyes, a disbelieved chuckle leaving your lips before you could stop it. 

“You’re ridiculous”

“But lovable” he pointed out.

You exhaled, shaking your head, your heart betraying you with the sheer amount of fondness you felt for this man.

“Fine” you relented, rolling your eyes as if you weren’t already completely gone for him “You win. You can rest on me whenever you want”

James grinned like he’d just won the lottery, wasting no time in smacking a quick, eager kiss right on your lips.

“But” you added, poking him in the ribs “I reserve the right to move if you start drooling”

“Excuse me ?” James gasped, offended “I do not drool”

You smirked. “That’s not what the couch cushions say”

James gasped again, dramatically this time, like you had personally insulted his honor “That was one time-”

“Oh, it so wasn’t”

James pouted, pulling you even closer and pressing his forehead against yours with a grumble.

“You wound me” he muttered, a mock distraught lilt to his voice.

You grinned, the warmth of him, the smell of him, completely surrounding you as you pressed a kiss to his jaw, lingering just enough to feel the way his breath hitched.

“I think you’ll survive just fine”

James hummed, tilting his head slightly, inviting you to keep going.

So you did.

You let your lips trail along his jawline, slow and lazy, your fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck, scratching lightly in a way that made him melt.

“Well” James sighed, voice lower, heavier, the tiniest shiver running through him “If this is how you comfort me, I guess I’ll forgive you”

You laughed against his skin.

“How generous”

James smirked, but there was something else in his eyes now, something wicked, something that sparked just before–

Before the menace shimmied down.

Yes. Shimmied. Like a man with a mission.

“James-”

Your protest was cut off by laughter, because he was determined, wriggling lower and lower with expert precision, slipping out of your hold like a human-sized golden retriever trying to find the perfect spot on the couch.

And then, with a triumphant sigh, his head landed where he had been aiming all along–

Right on your chest.

James let out a deep, satisfied hum, snuggling in, his nose nuzzling into the soft fabric of your shirt like this was some long-lost paradise he had just returned to.

“Now we’re talking” he exhaled in sheer satisfaction, like the heaviest of weights had been lifted from his shoulders, snuggling even deeper, and muttering an appreciative “Mmh. Yep. Definitely five stars”

You blinked down at him, helpless to fight the way your heart swelled, a smile threatening to bloom against your better judgment.

“Should I start charging you for this service ?” you teased.

James hummed, content, his lips brushing absently against the skin just below your collarbone.

“I’d go broke, baby”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, your fingers finding their way back into his hair, your nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

James groaned, pressing his face deeper into your chest, mumbling something incoherent that you were pretty sure translated to never stop doing that.

Before you could fully process how utterly whipped this man was, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss there –just because he could.

You pulled back slightly, blinking down at the mop of messy chocolate strands currently buried between your collarbones. 

“Do you make a habit of kissing all your pillows ?” you asked, voice mildly amused despite the unreasonable warmth now flooding your chest.

James, completely unashamed, grinned against you. 

“Pillows don’t usually deserve appreciation, but this one ?” his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns against your waist, his voice dropping to a reverent murmur “This one gets special treatment”

A full-body shiver rolled through you.

And James, that absolute menace, felt it.

His smirk was obnoxiously satisfied as he nuzzled in even deeper, practically purring as he molded himself further against you.

You rolled your eyes, trying –truly trying– to ignore the overwhelming affection clawing at your ribcage. And utterly failing.

“Jamie, you’re gonna choke like this” you warned playfully, fighting against yourself not to let out the endeared laugh threatening to spill.

James made a noncommittal noise, fully unbothered.

“Best way to go, honestly”

And that was it.

Not one beat missed. Not a single ounce of shame registered in his voice.

You stared wide-eyed at the mop of untamable chocolate curls right below your chin, completely bewildered by the words that had just come out of your boyfriend’s mouth.

Did this man, the actual lover of your life, just casually declare that he would willingly –no, gladly– perish via boob-related asphyxiation ?

Because that was what it sounded like.

Was that a normal thing for a person to say ?

No. No, it wasn’t.

And yet—here you were.

"James"

“Mmm ?”

"James, get up"

"No"

You sighed, trying to nudge him off, but it was useless.

Because this man –this grown, six-foot, sport-trained, annoyingly fit man– was currently clinging to you like a koala experiencing its first-ever existential crisis.

And you knew –you knew– that there was no reasoning with a man who had just fully committed to making your chest his final resting place.

"James-"

"No"

"You cannot suffocate yourself on my–"

"I can and I will"

"You will not"

James lifted his head just enough to look at you with actual betrayal.

"How dare you harm a man in his final moments ?"

A stunned laugh escaped before you could stop it.

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous”

James smirked triumphantly.

“And yet-” he murmured smugly “-you don’t seem to mind it”

He barely gave you a second to respond before he nuzzled right back in, burrowing into your chest like you were some long-lost paradise he had finally returned to.

You stared at the ceiling, dead inside.

How was this your life ?

You used to have dignity.

You used to be a strong, independent person.

And yet, somehow –somehow– you had become a glorified human mattress for your very large and very needy boyfriend.

And the worst part ?

You didn’t even mind.

You sighed deeply, fingers slipping into his hair against your better judgment. James melted immediately, exhaling in a way that was obscenely pleased. Like if he were any more relaxed, he'd have dissolved into a puddle of mushy, lovesick goo.

Then, with the solemnity of a man about to deliver a groundbreaking presidential address, he cleared his throat.

You barely had time to register the shift before he–

“Ladies” James began, his voice smooth, reverent “It’s always a pleasure”

Your mouth fell open.

Did he just–

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“I just wanted to take a moment to express my deepest gratitude” he continued talking to your breasts, completely ignoring the look of utter disbelief and sheer horror plastered on your face and sighing dramatically “For your service. For your warmth. For providing me with the best naps of my life”

Your soul, quite frankly, left your body, just straight-up abandoned you.

“James–”

He shushed you.

Shushed you.

“I’m having a moment with my girls, baby” he whispered, like he was delivering a speech at fucking Buckingham Palace.

You gaped at him. “You are not-”

“I am” he placed a hand over his heart “They deserve it”

You had never contemplated murder so seriously in your life.

James, completely unbothered, pressed on. 

“I promise to treat you with the respect and admiration you deserve. To appreciate your softness in all its glory. To-” he paused, tilting his head “Actually, I feel like I should name you”

“For the love of God, James. Don’t you dare-”

James gasped. 

Gasped. 

“That’s a brilliant idea. Baby, why haven’t we named them ?”

You smacked his arm, your eyes so wide they threatened to fall out of your skull. “Because they are literally attached to my body ?!”

But he wasn’t listening. No, the absolute menace was thinking, brows furrowed in deep concentration.

“They deserve names that reflect their greatness. Something regal. Something powerful”

He snapped his fingers. “Got it. Thelma and Louise”

You groaned. “Absolutely fucking not”

James ignored you. 

“Or maybe Hall and Oates ?”

“I- What- Aren’t they both men ?”

“Gender’s nothing but a social construct, darling”

“Ok-”

A sudden gasp interrupted you, as if he had just discovered the meaning of life itself.

"Baby- Baby, I’ve got it"

You sighed, already regretting everything. "James, no"

"Yes" he insisted, eyes alight with the thrill of an idiot about to say something profoundly stupid "Bonnie and Clyde"

You blinked. Once. Twice. 

"You want to name ‘your girls’ after two actual criminals ?"

James nodded solemnly, as if he were making the most reasonable suggestion in the world. "Iconic criminals. Star-crossed lovers. Thrill-seekers. Just like us, babe"

"Just like us ?" you repeated, incredulous "James, they literally died in a hail of bullets"

"Tragic, right ?" he sighed dramatically, resting his cheek against your chest. "Just two outlaws against the world. Inseparable. Madly in love. Probably great at robbing banks"

You stared at him, completely dead inside. "Are you about to compare my chest to a highly coordinated armed robbery ?"

James lifted his head just enough to grin at you. 

"Well” he mused, eyes twinkling “they did steal my heart"

You were done. So done, in fact, that you just gave up entirely.

"I cannot believe this is my life" you muttered, shoving your hands over your face.

James, the absolute menace, took this as encouragement and nuzzled back in, pressing obnoxiously reverent kisses between his newly christened 'Bonnie and Clyde'.

"Rest easy, my loves" he murmured dramatically "Your legacy shall live on"

"James-"

"Shhh" he hushed, patting your side "They're outlaws, baby. They don’t play by the rules"

At that point, you seriously considered pushing him off the couch. Or out the window. 

Maybe both.

You shook your head, defeated, completely annihilated by your boyfriend’s questionable choices.

James grinned, entirely too pleased with himself. 

“Oh, come on. I’m just having a bit of fun” he chuckled lightheartedly, turning his attention back to your chest with the solemnity of a man who had just finished writing a best-selling novel “Well, ladies, whatever your names may be, just know –you have my eternal devotion”

And then, as if he hadn’t just committed the most embarrassing crime against you, he nestled back in with a satisfied hum.

You stared down at him, deadpan. 

“You’re an actual menace”

“And yet, despite that, you love me” he mumbled, already half-asleep.

You sighed, your fingers automatically sliding into his hair once again. It took him less than two seconds to turn into a puddle, his entire body going limp as he exhaled in the most ridiculously pleased way possible, like he had just been given an award for the best nap ever.

“Unfortunately” you muttered, your heart melting just a little bit too, because, yes, he was a ridiculous man, but he was your ridiculous man.

And, as much as you complained, you couldn’t deny it --having James like this, warm and completely wrapped around you, was its own kind of perfect.

The Pillow Contract (Unofficially Signed & Approved) 

Clause 1: James gets unlimited chest pillow privileges.

Clause 2: Y/n reserves the right to kick James off if he drools in his sleep.

Clause 3: Cuddles are mandatory.

Clause 4: James won't ever refer to Y/n's chest as ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ again. Penalty: annulment of Clause 1.

Hello beautiful people 💗

I have no idea of where this thing spouted from. It popped in my head, and I had to bring it to the world 😂.

This is my first attempt at a more humorous type of fic. I had so much fun writing it, and I really hope it didn't downright suck, and you had a good time reading it, too.

Let me know what you think!

Thank you for reading, and I'll catch you in the next one <3

[tielt]

I was chatting with the super nice person I'm in a inlaw cabin of who was trimming the hedge around my cabin while I did my last trip to the states and said that Izzy and I are totally about it because it's the first place I've been in nature that was my own place and I've never really had that from living in the city so long.

i messaged later because I realized what I'd done, "I quite like people around and the noise of typical activity brings me comfort, I just was mentioning that the space is incredibly different from what I'm used to."

AND, "Noticed the flowers in the vase were from the tree in front of my windows and I really appreciate that token, if I need privacy I'll close my curtains please maintain as you see fit"

if I ever was more poetic than, "the flowers that exist because of you are sitting a vase in my room," it was shite comparatively.

The flowers you persist sit in a vase in my space, don't forget it.

Accidental poesis is such a staple to that we don't even realize as it's spilling out of our mouths.

I won't share the response just cause privacy but positive. Was one of the moments I realized lately that I do indeed like myself and it is really about consideration.

[grabs your shirt] listen. listen to me. the practical is holy. the everyday is sacred. the simple act of surviving is divine. do you get it? sanctity begins at home, in the hands that build and the lives we live and the deaths we die and the worms that eat our bodies. if making something by hand is not worthy of veneration then nothing is.