#dexter lost a bet

[nicstylus]

plot twist they went to the same event

[dexter-erotoph]

nobody knows how much it tears me apart that outside of sm3 we will most likely NEVER see how dexter normally is we wont see how he used to normally speak or look or what he liked to do for fun or his talents or his friends any of the stuff he surrounded himself with to make him as content and happy as he looked on his last day living normally before he got forced to regress after likely having to work so so hard to earn a life he was comfortable with. like i need you to understand HOW much you have to go through and how deeply frustrating and tormenting it must be to have this happen LOOK

[callsigns-haze]

Little chaser

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Tyler and Y/n Owens enjoy a cozy movie night, only to be interrupted by their storm-chasing squad, who are shocked to discover Y/n's pregnancy

Warning: Contains themes of pregnancy and unexpected revelations.

Tyler Owens and Y/n had been inseparable since their whirlwind marriage seven years ago. At just eighteen, they had tied the knot, driven by a shared passion for adventure and a love of chasing the formidable storms that danced across the plains. They became well-known in the tornado chasing community, their bond only strengthening as they faced nature's most terrifying phenomena side by side.

Tyler’s squad, consisting of Kate, Javi, Boone, Lilly, Dexter, and Dani, had always adored Y/n. Her keen eye for weather patterns, her fearless attitude, and the calm she exuded even in the most chaotic of chases made her an invaluable member of the team. Yet, for the past two months, Y/n had been conspicuously absent from their adventures. As Tyler joined the crew for another chase, the questions from his teammates became harder to avoid.

"Tyler, where’s Y/n? It’s been weeks since we’ve seen her," Kate, the team's meteorologist, asked with a concerned expression as they gathered around the radar equipment.

"Yeah, she’s usually the first one ready to go," added Javi, the tech expert, adjusting the monitors for the latest storm updates.

"Is everything alright? We miss her energy out there," Boone, the seasoned storm chaser, chimed in, leaning against the van.

Lilly, looked at Tyler with worry. "She’s okay, right? You can tell us if something’s up."

Even Dexter, the quiet yet observant driver and mechanic, nodded in agreement. "We’re just concerned, man. It’s not like her to just vanish."

Dani raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, Ty, it’s not like Y/n to miss out on all the fun. What’s going on?"

Tyler forced a smile, his mind racing for a plausible excuse. "She’s... taking some time off. Needed a break from the constant adrenaline rush, you know?"

The squad exchanged puzzled looks but didn't press further, though their concern was palpable. What Tyler couldn't tell them was the truth he and Y/n had been guarding closely: Y/n was pregnant. The revelation had come as a surprise to both of them, and they had decided to keep it a secret until they were ready to share the news with their friends and family.

Y/n’s absence from the chases was necessary. Tornado chasing, with its inherent dangers and unpredictable conditions, was no place for someone expecting a child. Yet, staying away from the action and the team they considered family had been difficult for both Y/n and Tyler. Their shared passion for storm chasing had always been a cornerstone of their relationship, and this new chapter brought a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

Back at their modest home, Y/n sat on the porch, her hand resting gently on her growing belly. She missed the thrill of the chase, the camaraderie of the team, and most of all, being out there with Tyler. But she knew this was the best decision for their unborn child. Every time she felt a flutter of movement within her, she was reminded of the new adventure awaiting them.

Tyler returned home that evening, exhaustion etched into his features. As soon as he stepped onto the porch, Y/n greeted him with a playful smile. "Took you long enough. Did you get lost without me?"

"Hardly," Tyler replied, grinning as he wrapped his arms around her. "But it wasn't the same. Everyone's missing you."

Y/n laughed softly. "I bet they were all pestering you with questions."

"You have no idea," Tyler said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Kate even threatened to hijack my phone and call you herself."

Y/n giggled, leaning into him. "I miss them too. But I miss you most of all."

"I know, peach," Tyler said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "But we’re doing what’s best for the baby. Soon enough, we’ll tell everyone, and they’ll understand."

Y/n nodded, her eyes reflecting a blend of anticipation and nervousness. "I can't wait to see their faces when they find out."

Tyler knelt down, gently placing his hand on her belly. "Hey there, little one. Your mom and I can't wait to introduce you to the wild world of storm chasing. But for now, we’re keeping you safe and sound."

Y/n smiled, her heart swelling with love. "Our little storm chaser in the making."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the landscape, Tyler and Y/n sat in comfortable silence, holding onto each other and the secret that was growing stronger every day. They knew the coming months would bring challenges, but they were ready to face them together, just as they always had.

"Do you remember the first time we chased a storm together?" Y/n asked, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips.

Tyler chuckled. "How could I forget? You were fearless, diving into the van and shouting directions like you were born to do it."

"And you looked at me like I was crazy," Y/n teased, poking his side.

"I thought you were crazy," Tyler admitted, laughing. "But then I realized I was just as crazy about you."

-

Y/n and Tyler had decided to unwind with a movie night, something they hadn't done in ages. The living room was cozy, filled with soft lighting and the aroma of popcorn. Y/n sat on the couch, her hand resting gently on her growing belly, while Tyler was fiddling with the remote, trying to find their favourite movie.

"Finally, a quiet night just for us," Tyler said with a smile, settling next to Y/n and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Perfect," Y/n agreed, snuggling closer. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with love and mischief. "You know, you could have let me pick the movie for once."

Tyler laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Hey, I’m just making sure we avoid any sappy rom-coms."

"Sappy rom-coms?" Y/n raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "You loved the last one we watched."

Tyler feigned shock, placing a hand over his heart. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"Oh really?" Y/n teased, poking his side. "I seem to recall someone tearing up during the wedding scene."

"That was a momentary lapse in judgment," Tyler replied, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably as a grin broke through. "Besides, I was just... sympathizing with the groom."

"Sure you were," Y/n said, laughing. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "Admit it, you’re a big softie."

"Only for you," Tyler murmured, his voice dropping to a tender whisper. He gently lifted her chin, his eyes locking with hers. "And soon, for this little one too."

Y/n's heart melted at his words, and she leaned in for a sweet kiss. "We’re going to be a great team, the three of us."

"Absolutely," Tyler agreed, his hand moving to rest on her belly, feeling the gentle flutter of their baby. "I can’t wait for all the adventures we’ll have together."

They shared a comfortable silence, basking in the warmth of their love. Tyler adjusted the blanket around them, making sure Y/n was cozy. "You know, I was thinking," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Maybe we should name the baby after me. Tyler Jr. has a nice ring to it."

Y/n chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Tyler Jr., huh? What if it’s a girl?"

"Tylerina?" he suggested, earning a playful swat from Y/n.

"How about we come up with names that don’t make our child sound like a pasta dish?" she teased, her laughter infectious.

"Fine, fine," Tyler conceded, grinning. "But I get veto power over any weird names."

"Deal," Y/n said, her eyes twinkling with affection. She nuzzled closer, her head resting against his chest as the movie finally began to play. "You know, I’m really glad we’re doing this."

"Me too," Tyler whispered, kissing the top of her head. "I love you, Y/n."

"I love you too, Tyler," she replied, feeling a wave of contentment wash over her. Despite the excitement and challenges ahead, she knew they could face anything together.

As they settled into the movie, their playful banter continued, each teasing comment only strengthening their bond. They were perfectly in sync, a team in every sense, ready to take on the world and the storms it might bring.

Just as they were getting lost in the film, the sound of laughter and familiar voices outside grew louder, followed by a series of knocks on the door. Tyler and Y/n exchanged puzzled looks.

"Are we expecting company?" Y/n asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

"Nope, not at all," Tyler replied, standing up to answer the door.

As he opened the door, he was greeted by the entire squad: Kate, Javi, Boone, Lilly, Dexter, and Dani. They were all grinning widely, carrying snacks and drinks.

"Surprise!" they shouted in unison.

"Hey, Ty! We thought we'd crash your movie night!" Boone said, holding up a bag of chips.

"Yeah, it’s been too long since we all hung out together," Dani added, balancing a tray of cookies.

"Hope you don’t mind," Lilly said, already making her way inside.

Tyler forced a smile, glancing back at Y/n, who was now sitting up straight, her eyes wide with surprise. "Of course not! Come on in."

As the team piled into the living room, they suddenly stopped in their tracks, their eyes widening and jaws dropping when they saw Y/n. Her baby bump was unmistakable, clearly visible beneath her snug-fitting shirt.

"Oh my God," Kate gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes darted from Y/n's belly to her face, searching for confirmation. "Y/n, you’re... pregnant?"

"No way," Javi said, his eyes wide with shock. He stepped closer, almost as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. "How far along are you?"

"Is that...?" Boone trailed off, unable to finish his sentence as he stared at Y/n's belly. His usual confident demeanor was replaced with sheer astonishment.

Lilly’s eyes sparkled with excitement. "Y/n, are you really...?" she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Even Dexter, who was usually so composed, looked completely floored. "Wow," he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. "Congratulations!"

Dani was the first to recover, breaking into a wide grin. "You’re pregnant!" Dani exclaimed, clapping their hands together in delight. "That’s amazing news!"

Y/n smiled, her cheeks flushing as she placed a protective hand on her belly. "Surprise."

There was a moment of stunned silence before the room erupted into cheers and excited chatter. The squad rushed forward, enveloping Y/n in a flurry of gentle hugs and congratulations.

"This is incredible!" Kate exclaimed, rushing over to hug Y/n gently. "Congratulations! How far along are you?"

"We had no idea!" Javi said, shaking Tyler’s hand enthusiastically. "You guys kept this under wraps really well."

"Why didn’t you tell us sooner?" Boone asked, grinning from ear to ear as he patted Tyler on the back.

"We wanted to make sure everything was okay before we told everyone," Tyler explained, smiling at his friends. "And we didn’t want to take any risks with Y/n out in the field."

"That makes sense," Lilly said, nodding. She hugged Y/n again, her eyes shining with happiness. "We’re just so happy for you both."

"Thanks, everyone," Y/n said, her eyes glistening with tears of joy. "We’re really excited, and we’re glad to finally share it with you all."

The squad quickly settled back into their usual camaraderie, congratulating Tyler and Y/n and bombarding them with questions about the baby. The room was filled with laughter, hugs, and a sense of overwhelming joy.

"Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?" Dani asked, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Not yet," Y/n replied, smiling. "We’re waiting to be surprised."

As the evening went on, the movie was forgotten, replaced by stories, jokes, and plans for the future. Kate and Javi argued over potential baby names, while Boone and Dexter discussed the best baby gear for future storm chasers. Lilly, ever the caretaker, promised to help with anything they needed.

Tyler and Y/n felt a wave of relief and happiness, knowing that their friends were as thrilled as they were about the new addition to their tornado-chasing family. The sense of community and support was palpable, making the announcement even more special.

"We’ll be there for you every step of the way," Kate said, raising her glass in a toast. "To Tyler, Y/n, and the newest member of our crazy crew!"

"To the Owens family!" the group echoed, raising their glasses high.

Tyler and Y/n exchanged a loving glance, their hearts full. Surrounded by their closest friends, they knew they were ready for whatever storm the future might bring.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

[makeyoumine69]

Hi! I wish you further growth and inspiration!

My choice is pussy eating and sex toys.

Good luck! 💦💦💦

Fever

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

— SUMMARY: You love going out and having dinner with Patrick, but not when his friends come along, they always make you feel so uncomfortable and insecure. Good thing he has his own ways of reassuring you, right?

— CONTAINS: Smut, established relationship, sex toys, oral (both receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), Daddy kink, Praise kink, Degradation kink, pet names, a lot of cum, nipple play, choking, biting, slight dacryphilia, humiliation, dirty talk, Patrick being a manipulative dickhead.

— WORDS: 3.2k

— SONG REC: Babydoll x the Perfect Girl 

— A/N: This day finally came, and I finished my first writing challenge, which I started to celebrate my 200 followers! Thank you so much, guys, for standing by my side. I love you and I hope you like it!🖤

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST] [BWC MASTERLIST] [support]💗

Dorsia, just the mention of the name of that establishment was enough to make Batman frown and clench his jaw in annoyance. Nonetheless, that was the exact place you and him wanted to spend that evening, and when you finally took your seats at the best table in Dorsia, Patrick's face was like a wax statue, it was impossible to read any of his emotions.

Tim, Craig, David and their bimbos couldn’t stop rumbling even for one second and that actually annoyed Bateman, but on the other hand he used it as an opportunity to whisper filthy things right into your ear, taking advantage of the fact that no one else was paying attention due to the ruckus.

“Did my good girl do her homework while I was away?” He nuzzled against your neck, and you fidgeted on your chair uncomfortably, feeling embarrassed. “I can’t wait until we get alone.”

“I bet you do.” You reply shortly, without breaking eye contact with him.

Pleased, Patrick leaned on the chair back, his sly smile speaking for itself. Sneakily, he placed his palm on your knee to play with the hem of your cocktail dress, only to tease you and induce you to try closing your legs. With a muffled gasp, you caught his dexterous hand just at the moment everyone looked at both of you.

"So, Bateman. How was your business trip?" Craig asked with a cheeky grin. "Did you enjoy LA? I hear the chicks there are pretty hot."

The men started laughing together as if they shared the same brain cell, and you used that moment to brush Patrick's palm away, which actually made him a little upset, so he paused and coughed a little.

"McDermott, you can go to LA and see everything with your own eyes!" Patrick scoffed and took a sip of his drink. "I don't want to give any spoilers."

Sighing, you pulled yourself together as you repeated to yourself over and over again that you wouldn't let their childish behavior get under your skin. The girls — models, supposedly — looked at each other in frustration, but neither Bateman nor his colleagues seemed to care.

"God, Bateman! Now I'm intrigued!" McDermott chuckled before lighting his cigarette. 

With a mischievous smirk, Patrick hugged your shoulders when he saw a glimpse of sadness in your beautiful, big eyes, and you couldn't help but smile timidly at David's comment:

"Look at them, just two lovebirds." 

"Oh, shut up," Bateman blurted out jokingly. "Being jealous isn't a good thing." 

Van Patten rolled his eyes at Patrick's remark, but immediately lost interest when the girl next to him leaned down to his neck and whispered something.

"Patrick?" You called his name so softly that it elicited a muffled gasp from his broad chest.

"Yes, dear?" He replied, looking at you lovingly and moving even closer so that you could whisper in his ear.

"When are we going home?"

"Do you want to go?" He 'accidentally' touched your cheek with his perfectly shaped nose, making your heart skip a beat.

"No, I was just asking."

"It's not a problem, honey." Bateman leaned even closer to kiss the area behind your ear. "Besides. I'm starving."

"But we just ate." You almost squealed when he discreetly pinched your thigh under the table, his dark grin sending shivers down your spine as you glanced at him.

“You know what I mean, babydoll.” He crooned in a low voice, not giving a fuck about how attentively his coworkers were looking at both of you.

“I–” You wanted to talk back to him, but he suddenly cut you off, standing up and removing the napkin from his knees.

“Gentlemen, sorry, but we have to go.” 

“So soon? What happened, Bateman?” Craig tried to sound sassy, but when he didn’t get any attention, his face went plain.

“Don’t worry, McDermott. We will get back to our conversation one day.” Patrick winked at him and offered you a hand, expecting you to take it. When you did, he pressed a brief kiss on the back of your hand.

Tim whistled at the sight and you ignored him, but you couldn't stop Patrick from shamelessly grabbing your ass as you two were leaving.

“Have fun, Bateman. But don’t make your neighbors call the cops.” Bryce added, making everyone laugh. Frowning, you looked at Patrick, expecting him to say something that would calm his coworkers down.

“I’ll call them if you don’t return those porn videotapes I gave you last week.” Bateman crooned with a cheeky smile and after that, he led you to the exit, so you could only catch a glimpse of Timothy’s blank face before you eventually left Dorsia.

In the taxi you both remained silent. You couldn't help but feel a little offended by the way his colleagues behaved, and the thing you hated the most was that you knew that if you told Patrick about it, he would just shrug it off and say that there was nothing special about it.

"Honey?" Bateman suddenly interrupted your train of thoughts with his playful voice, as if he could read your mind. Sometimes it was even scary how perfectly he could sense your mood.

"You have terrible friends, you know that?" You replied, disregarding his flirtatious tone.

With a cocky chuckle, he wrapped his hand around your shoulder when he saw you crossing your arms defensively over your chest. 

"Well, I know they're not the greatest people..." He paused, wondering what to say to cheer you up.

"And I don't like it when you treat me like I'm one of those stupid bimbos," you finally turned to him and pushed his hand away harshly. "How many times do I have to explain this to you and—"

His tight grip on your throat made you choke for air, and you nearly shrieked at his unexpected roughness.

"I think you've forgotten who's in charge here, little girl." Patrick growled into your ear, and you thanked God that the partition in the taxi was closed. "How many times have I told you I don't like this kind of attitude?"

Closing your eyes, you whimpered from lack of oxygen and tried to say something, but he didn't even give you the chance to do it as he covered your mouth with his greedy one. Bateman reveled in all your muffled, pitiful sounds, kissing you hard while his other hand slipped under your dress to possessively get a handful of your soaked pussy. Damn it! Instead of being scared, you were so fucking aroused and that only made the whole situation worse, because after Patrick let go of you, he sneered in the most arrogant way and brought his long fingers, coated in your flavor, to his lips to taste it.

"Don't ever compare yourself to those bitches," he reminded you, fixing the hem of your dress and gently stroking your leg; his face softened as he let out a disappointed sigh. "After all, I missed you so much, (y/n). And I thought you missed me, too."

"I missed you, I really did!" You panicked a little. Patrick was such a master of manipulation, a few moments ago you had accused him and his friends of having bad manners, and now you felt guilty about making that scene.

"So why did we have this shitty conversation about my colleagues and their whores instead of talking about us?" Patrick replied in a challenging tone, his big palm was still on your knee, but this time you didn't dare to brush it away.

"Because it makes me sad!" You blurted out and looked at him, now staring at the scenery through the taxi window.

"Fine, I won't take you to dinners like these anymore." His annoyed voice echoed in your ears, and you couldn't help but feel your heart breaking at his comment. You lowered your head down and cried, barely audible, but somehow Bateman immediately noticed.

"Are you crying, (y/n)? Seriously?" 

"Patrick, maybe I should go home? I don't feel well and I don't want to disappoint you with—"

"Enough of this bullshit, okay?" He suddenly pressed you against his chest, letting you hug him around his waist. "I'm not letting you go, not now, not ever."

Where was your good mood and that sparkle that set your body on fire when you were in the restaurant? God, you hated yourself for acting like that, but his friends — those stupid yuppies — always made you sick to the stomach, but this time you really had lost your patience. And even though you calmed down now and hid your face in the crook of Patrick's neck, the tension between the two of you was still in the air, and you didn't really know what to expect when you arrived at his place.

After almost an hour, you were sitting on his big bed, completely naked and still shivering — you could still feel his touch on your most sensitive spots as Bateman had just washed you in the bathtub, rubbing and massaging you everywhere.

When you heard a soft click of the bedroom door, you raised your eyes to see him coming in, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other, his red tie loosened and some of the top buttons undone.

"How do you feel, babydoll?" Patrick asked you teasingly, shaking the glass in his hand and leaning against the door.

You swallowed hard when his super dark eyes glided over your exposed curves, and you had to hold back your rapid breathing, because you were so damn excited. " Much better, thank you."

Bateman let out a low chuckle before placing his drink on the shelf and coming a little closer to you, puffing on his cigar.

"Good," he smiled and blew a few rings of smoke. "Now show Daddy how you learned to use my gift."

His words forced the blood in your veins to curse faster, making your skin burn from the inside out. With a loud gasp, you lay on the bed, leaning on your elbows and spreading your legs wide, so he could see your succulent pussy.

As soon as you did so, Bateman clenched his chiseled jaw and almost bit down on the cigar, but he kept watching your little hand slide between your thighs, and when it reached your soaped slit, he couldn't help but growl — he'd been rock hard all this time, but now it was getting really painful.

"P-Patrick, I'm scared..." you whimpered abruptly, taking the pink silicone dildo — the one that has been laying beside you on the bed — and rubbing it along your taut lower lips to lubricate it. "It's so embarrassing."

"Oh, I know, honey. I know," he purred in his usual seductive voice, and unbuttoned his blue shirt. "But you don't have to be embarrassed. Trust me, baby, Daddy knows what's best for you."

Damn, that was too much.

Gulping and closing your eyes, you threw your head back and tried to let it go, placing the dildo at your dripping entrance, and the next second you cried out from the feeling of fullness as you pushed it deep into your womb.

"Such a good girl."

"D-Daddy!" You let out a high-pitched wail, focusing on his raspy voice as you were too embarrassed to open your eyes.

"Go on," Bateman exhaled sharply, putting the cigar in the ashtray, and then he unzipped his pants, his hot flesh literally pulsating. "You make Daddy so proud."

"Mhhm," his words made you arch your back, and you began to pump yourself with the sex toy, sensing a tight knot forming in your lower abdomen. "Pat-Patrick, please… talk to me!"

He didn't answer at first as he continued to undress, slowly stroking his engorged cock. "Ahhh, this is so fucking sweet," Patrick grunted, smearing his pre-cum around his swollen tip. "Can't do anything without my guidance, am I right, my babydoll?"

"Awww—yes," you gasped, your legs already shaking. "N-need you, Daddy! Need you so much…!"

At that moment, you didn't care about anything in the world, just the buzzing feeling in your core. There was only one person who could give you that vital release you needed so desperately, and you were more than ready to beg him if he asked you to.

"You know what," Bateman murmured as he finally undressed and joined you on the bed, and when you felt his big palm on your hip, you thought you were going to combust, but he gently stroked your cheek, soothing you a little, whispering: "Shh, my little one. Not yet."

You literally writhed on the sheets like a trapped kitten, afraid to breathe, afraid to say anything that would ruin this moment. 

"Patrick..."

"Yes, dear... I'm here," he covered your hand with his bigger one, pushing the dildo even deeper, making you scream. "That's it, that's how you do it!"

"Awww, oh my GOD!" you tried to close your legs as the friction became too intense and Bateman just snickered at your pathetic attempt to stop him, so he just grabbed your throat and yanked it a little against the bed. "D-Daddy, it hurts!"

"Oh yeah?" Patrick couldn't hide his excitement when he saw your eyes watering, but his inner beast craved more. "I really wanted to be nice to you today, but you made me change my mind."

"Ahhh!" You clawed at his hand, which was choking you hard, but this man was too strong. "I'm... I'm s-sorry! I'M SO SORRY!"

The way he shoved the dildo into your bruised cunt was so fucking brutal that for one second you blacked out as the apex of it hit your cervix pretty brutally.

When you opened your eyes and yours met his, all you could see was lust mixed with rage. Huffing, Bateman suddenly moved down to your face to nip at your lips, then suck them and lick your cheekbone as he relished having such control over you. With a devilish grin, he continued to squeeze your neck, forcing you to fuck yourself with the dildo that was now completely covered in your juices.

"Do you hear that sound?" He taunted you, hovering over you and pressing you down with his massive muscles. "You're dripping like a fucking waterfall! So don't try to pretend you're not enjoying it, slut!" 

"I'm going to explode!" Was all you could manage to scream as your whole body tensed like a spring.

"Awww, you're going to cum from fucking yourself with a cheesy sex toy, what a pathetic little whore!" Patrick almost barked these words in your face, but then he suddenly released your neck and went down to your collarbone, leaving wet, red marks here and there. "Keep going and don't you dare stop!"

Your eyes rolled back in your head when his wet tongue began to play with your swollen nipples, not to mention when he took one of them into his mouth and sucked it so eagerly that you cried out in pain. Trembling, you let him use your hand to set the pace, your inner walls aching every time the dildo brushed hard against them. 

When Bateman noticed that your little frame was quivering too much, he quickly slipped down between your legs to suck on your clit and holy shit, he was so good at it, he definitely knew what he was doing.

"I—mhm, I'm gonna cum… Daddy, p-pleaseeee!" You were no longer moaning — at this point you were literally screaming, and your throat was burning, but that only spurred him on to eat you more fiercely.

"Mmmm, I've been thinking about tasting this pussy," he tugged on your sensitive bud before swirling his tongue around it. "For so fucking long."

Another deep thrust, followed by his merciless lapping at your oversensitive cunt, made your orgasm wash over you like a huge ocean wave. Shaking, your half-opened mouth froze in a silent cry as all your insides spasmed too intensely, and this sensation lasted so long that you almost fainted.

"Jesus, what a dirty girl you are," Patrick chuckled after he pulled away from your pussy and removed the dildo, his face covered in your wetness, it was literally running down his chin. "Look at that, you fucking cummed all over my face!" He forced you to look at him, and your dazed glance coaxed a loud chuckle from him. "You think I'm done with you?" 

"I..." You tried desperately to pull yourself together, but the overstimulation hit you so hard that your brain refused to function at all.

"Yes, I'm talking to you!" 

"Aww, w-wait!" You wailed loudly as he grasped your head and forced you closer to the edge of the bed. "Daddy!"

"Don't you 'Daddy' me," his ominous intonation was kinda scary, but you had no choice but to submit. "Don't worry, honey... I'm just going to play with your mouth a little..."

With a quick thrust, he pushed himself into your mouth, since you didn't really have any power to protest. Although it would have been pointless to do it anyway. You expected him to face fuck you really hard, but instead Bateman gently took your chin for support as his hips began to move faster, petting your head each time his red, swollen tip hit your throat.

"Arghh, your mouth feels so good, I missed that."

Patrick stroked your cheek almost lovingly, ignoring the way that you were almost gagging on his thick cock, savoring his cum and keeping eye contact with him. Grunting, he didn't last long as he collapsed into your mouth, rolling his hips and spilling his sticky liquid deep down your throat, and you didn't make any pathetic sounds, no whimpering or sobbing — you just took what he gave you. With your eyes closed, you drank him dry and heard him murmur:

"For now, I forgive you."

Slowly, Bateman pulled out from your abused mouth, leaving a trail of his cum and letting a few drops fall on your breasts.

"Clean them," he pointed at your tits, pumping his still hard cock and watching you catch the drops of his cum with your fingers. "Now get on your knees and spread your legs wide."

Whimpering, you obeyed and Patrick didn't waste any time, positioning himself behind you and wrapping his strong hands around your waist. 

"Ahhh, Patrick..."

"Shush," he cut you off, rubbing his creamy cock between your ass cheeks. "I'm not going to fuck you in the ass, even though you really deserve it."

He rammed into your aching pussy without any mercy, stretching you even more from the inside and making you cry, your hands helplessly creasing the sheets beneath you.

"IT HURTS! AW!" You squealed as he pinned you down, forcing you to lie on your stomach as he trapped you under his massive body, relentlessly drilling your little hole.

"What? My dick is way bigger than that dildo, huh?" Bateman mocked you shamelessly, the slapping sound your bodies made was like music to his ears. "Ohh, what a poor little girl… mmhhm… I promise you… by the end of this night you will be so fucking full of my cum — that it will pour out, but I won’t stop… even if you beg me to!"

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[whereforarthur]

Poker Night Never Felt So Right

Pairing: ArthurTv x Reader x George Clarke x Chrismd

Summary: A game of strip poker with your friends, goes a little further than anyone expected...

Category: Mature (SMUT)

Word Count: 5k

*****

Let’s play strip poker

And they removed all their doubts

And their insecurities,

And finally made out,

They lay all naked with not a single secret left,

They were happy and kissed their fate for they meet. -Tiara

"Alright, lads and lady," Chris announced, glancing at the group and y/n, slapping a fresh deck of cards onto the worn-out kitchen table, "Poker night is in full swing."

The aroma of George's burnt lasagna filled the flat, a constant reminder of his culinary disasters that had become a tradition in their weekly gatherings. Arthur's eyes lit up as he pulled out his favorite chair, the one with the slightly wonky leg that made everyone else wobble but somehow suited him perfectly.

Y/n, the sole female in this sea of testosterone, rolled her eyes at their juvenile antics but couldn't help the smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips. She'd known these three since starting YouTube, and their friendship had endured through the chaos of their YouTube fame.

Chris shuffled the cards with a dexterity that suggested he'd had a bit too much practice, while George attempted to mimic his skill, earning a chuckle from Arthur. Y/n took a sip of her beer, the cool liquid cutting through the tension of the room.

"I've got an idea," George said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Since it's just us tonight, how about we spice things up a bit?"

Chris paused mid-shuffle, raising an eyebrow. "Spice it up how?"

George leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "Strip poker. You know, like they do in the movies."

The room went quiet for a beat before Arthur let out a hearty laugh, slapping his hand on the table. "You're joking, right?"

Y/n took another sip of her beer, eyeing George over the rim. "As if I'd agree to that."

Chris grinned, playing along. "Aw, come on, it'll be fun! Plus, you've got nothing to worry about, you're a pro at poker."

Y/n set her beer down, her expression unreadable. "Fine, but only if we all agree to keep it friendly. No funny business, got it?"

Chris and Arthur exchanged a look, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air. "Friendly, got it," Arthur said with a nod.

The game began, the shuffling of the cards and the clinking of beer bottles punctuating the occasional bursts of laughter. Y/n focused on her hand, trying to ignore the electric current of excitement that buzzed through her. The guys were her closest friends, but the thought of playing strip poker with them sent a thrill down her spine that she couldn't quite shake.

Arthur's luck, however, didn't seem to be in his favor tonight. His hand trembled slightly as he placed his bet, and when the cards were revealed, his face fell. "Bugger," he muttered, glancing at the table as he realized he'd lost the first round.

With a dramatic sigh, he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. "Alright, alright," he said, playing it cool as he pulled his shirt over his head. The room was a mix of cheers and good-natured laughter as he tossed it aside, revealing his bare chest. He sat back down, his cheeks flushing slightly as he tried to cover his modesty with his arms. "Remember, this is all in good fun," he said, his voice a bit shakier than he'd intended.

Y/n couldn't help but blush as she took in Arthur's abs. They were surprisingly defined, a testament to his gym routine, and boxing history. She quickly averted her gaze to her cards, hoping the flush on her cheeks would be attributed to the heat of the kitchen rather than her newfound appreciation for Arthur's physique.

The game continued, the tension ramping up with each new hand. Despite her initial confidence, y/n felt her heart racing as she tried to read the guys' faces for tells. Chris remained stoic, his poker face unwavering, while George's was as transparent as always, his eyes widening with every good card. Arthur, on the other hand, had become a closed book since his shirt came off, his focus solely on the game.

Y/n's luck took a nosedive, and she found herself holding a pathetic hand of cards. She bit her lip, contemplating her next move. The pot grew larger, and the stakes grew higher. She could feel the heat from the oven and the anticipation from her friends. With a deep breath, she called George's bet, hoping for a miracle. The cards flipped over, and George's smug grin told her everything she needed to know. She'd lost this round.

The room grew silent as she slowly stood up, her heart racing. She unzipped her hoodie, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath, she wore a simple black tank top that clung to her curves. She caught Arthur's eyes lingering on her for a moment too long, and she couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. She took a seat, trying to regain her composure.

"Looks like the tides are turning," Chris said with a smirk, his eyes never leaving her.

The boys' laughter filled the room as they joked about her losing streak. Y/n felt her cheeks heat up, but she shrugged it off, playing along with their banter. "Just a bad hand, that's all," she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

The next few rounds were a blur of cards and clinking bottle caps. Y/n managed to win a few hands, but her losses outweighed her victories. Her stack of clothes grew smaller, and she found herself down to her bra and jeans. She gulped, trying to ignore the way Arthur's gaze lingered on her when he thought she wasn't looking.

Chris's hand won again, and George's smug look was wiped clean as he had to remove his trousers, revealing his colorful boxers with cartoon characters on them. The room erupted in laughter, and George shot a playful glare at y/n. "You're enjoying this too much," he teased, but his cheeks were flushed, and she could see the excitement in his eyes.

The other boys were staring too, but not just at George. They couldn't help but sneak glances at y/n, their gazes lingering on her in a way that made her acutely aware of her dwindling clothing. She felt their eyes on her, and the air grew thicker, charged with a tension that was no longer just about the game. It was about the thrill of the reveal, the anticipation of what would come next.

Chris dealt the next hand, his eyes flicking up to meet y/n's. She couldn't read his expression, but she knew he was enjoying the game more than he let on. They all were. The stakes had changed, and the atmosphere in the room had shifted from friendly competition to something else entirely.

Y/n studied her cards, her heart racing. A full house stared back at her, and she couldn't help the smug smile that spread across her face. This was it, her chance to get back in the game. She raised the bet, watching as the boys' expressions grew serious. They had to know she had something good.

The bets went around the table, and the moment of truth arrived. Y/n laid her cards down with a flourish, her heart pounding in her chest. The room was silent as the boys revealed their hands. George had a pair of twos, and Arthur had a straight. But it was Chris who had the nerve to call her bluff. He laid down his cards with a wink, revealing a royal flush. The air whooshed out of her lungs, and she felt the blood drain from her face.

"Looks like it's your turn, love," Chris said, his voice thick with victory.

Y/n felt a bead of sweat trickle down her spine as she reached behind her back, fumbling with the clasp of her bra. She took a deep breath and let it fall away, feeling the cool air of the flat kiss her skin. She kept her eyes on the table, focusing on the cards as the fabric hit the floor. The room was so quiet she could almost hear her own heartbeat echoing off the walls.

The silence was palpable, thick and heavy, as if the very air in the room had turned to jelly. The boys didn't dare to look up, their eyes glued to their own cards or the beer bottles in their hands. They were her friends, her colleagues, but in this moment, they were also men, and she was very aware of it. The game had taken a turn she hadn't anticipated, and she felt vulnerable in a way she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Finally, she looked up, her gaze meeting Chris's. He held her stare for a beat too long, and she saw something in his eyes that made her pulse quicken. It wasn't just the thrill of the game anymore; it was something deeper, something she hadn't expected to find in a casual poker night.

"Good game," Arthur murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the room. His eyes flicked over her exposed skin before darting back to his cards, and she couldn't help but feel a flutter in her stomach.

Y/n cleared her throat, trying to ignore the sudden self-consciousness that had crept over her. "Alright, let's keep playing," she said, her voice a little too high.

George, ever the opportunist, leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming. "Someone's getting a bit flustered, aren't they?"

The room grew tense as George's comment hung in the air, unspoken feelings now laid bare. Y/n felt a blush creep up her neck, her hands clinching into fists at her sides. "It's just a game, George," she said through gritted teeth, trying to keep her cool.

"Fine, fine," he chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Let's keep it friendly, yeah?"

The game resumed, but the dynamics had shifted. The banter was less playful, the glances more intense. Y/n could feel the energy in the room pulsing with every card drawn, every piece of clothing removed. Her hands were trembling slightly as she dealt the next hand, her eyes avoiding the hungry stares of the boys. She focused on the game, trying to ignore the heat of their gazes on her bare skin.

*****

George's luck had run out, and he was just left in his boxers. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red as he realized loosing this hand, meant losing them. He met y/n's eyes, and she could see the nervous excitement in his gaze. She felt a strange sense of power, a thrill that was as intoxicating as it was alarming. She called his bet, her heart racing.

And of course that’s what happened George lost the hand, and lost his boxers. They were ridiculous, covered in cartoon characters that clashed with the seriousness of the moment. But as he stood up, the room's focus shifted from the ridiculousness of the situation to the very real and very attractive man in front of them. Y/n couldn't help but feel a flicker of attraction she'd never noticed before, not like this.

Chris cleared his throat, his eyes lingering on George's newly exposed skin before flicking back to his own cards. The air in the flat was charged, and the smell of George's aftershave filled the room, a scent that was at once familiar and entirely new in this context. Arthur's poker face remained unchanged, but his knuckles were white as he gripped his beer bottle, his eyes darting from George to y/n.

The next few rounds were a battle of wills, each player trying to maintain their composure as the clothes piled up on the floor. Y/n's jeans were the next to go, and she felt a shiver run down her spine as she stepped out of them, leaving her in just her panties. The guys' eyes darted up to meet hers, and she could see the struggle in their expressions as they tried to keep the game friendly.

But the game had taken on a life of its own, and the line between friendship and desire was blurring. The stakes were no longer just about winning; they were about power, attraction, and the thrill of the unknown. The tension grew with every card dealt, every article of clothing removed. It was no longer just a game of poker; it had become a dance of seduction, a silent negotiation of boundaries.

Chris's eyes never left y/n's, his gaze dark and intense. The air between them crackled with an energy that was impossible to ignore. As the rounds went on, the smiles and laughter grew forced, the room thick with the scent of pheromones and anticipation. Y/n felt a strange thrill at the thought of pushing the boundaries, of seeing how far they'd all go.

The next hand was dealt, and the tension grew palpable. Y/n studied her cards, feeling the heat of the guys' gazes on her bare legs. She knew that she had a good hand, but the game had become less about winning and more about the thrill of the risk. She raised the bet, watching as the other two exchanged glances. The silence stretched out, the only sound the crackling of the cards and the occasional clink of bottle caps.

Chris called her bluff, laying down his hand with a smug smile. George fully nude now. Both Chris and Arthur in their underwear, the fabric clinging to their growing arousal. Y/n felt a strange mix of nervousness and excitement, her heart racing as she took in the sight of her friends in such a vulnerable state. The room felt like it was closing in on her, the heat from the oven now a stark contrast to the coolness of her bare skin.

The next round began, and the stakes were higher than ever. Y/n's hand trembled as she placed her bet, watching as Chris and Arthur followed suit. She had nothing to lose now but her pride and the last shred of their friendship's innocence. The cards were flipped over, and she felt a jolt of victory as she revealed a full house. Arthur's face fell, and she knew she had him beat.

"Alright, Arthur," she said, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. "Looks like it's your turn."

Arthur swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He reached down to remove his underwear, and Y/n couldn't help but watch, her eyes widening slightly as he revealed himself. He was more than she'd ever allowed herself to imagine, and she felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks. The room was a cacophony of shuffling papers and shallow breaths, the only sound louder than her pounding heart.

Chris took a sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving hers. He leaned back in his chair, his own arousal evident, and she realized with a start that he was enjoying this game more than he'd ever let on. "Looks like we're all in this together now," he said, his voice low and gruff.

*****

The game had become about more than just poker; it was a silent dare, a push and pull of power and desire that none of them could ignore.

Chris collected the cards, shuffling them with a deliberate slowness that had y/n's stomach flipping. "Alright, lads," he said, his voice a low rumble, "whoever wins the next hand gets to ask y/n to do something for them."

Her heart skipped a beat, and she took a sip of her beer, trying to play it cool. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice betraying the slight tremble in her chest.

Chris leaned in, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Whatever we want, within reason. Just a little extra... entertainment."

Y/n felt a thrill of anticipation mixed with nerves. "As long as it's not too embarrassing," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Chris grinned, his eyes flicking over her body. "Oh, I think we're past the point of embarrassment."

The room was thick with tension as the final hand was dealt. Y/n picked up her cards, trying to focus on the game, but her mind was racing with the possibilities of what could happen next. She had a decent hand, but she knew that Chris was playing to win.

The bets were placed, and the air was electric as the cards were revealed. Y/n felt a surge of victory as she saw she had a full house again, beating Arthur's two pairs.

Y/n felt a mix of excitement and nerves, her eyes flicking to Chris, who was watching her with an intense gaze. She knew he'd won the round, but the real prize was in the daring request he was about to make.

Chris leaned in closer, his eyes dark with desire. "Alright, love," he said, his voice a low rumble, "it's time for your forfeit."

Y/n's heart raced as she took in the sight of Arthur and George, both fully exposed and equally as nervous. She had no idea what Chris had in mind, but she knew it would be something she'd never forget. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for his words.

Chris leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers. "I want you to kiss me," he said, his voice low and commanding.

The room froze, the only sound the erratic beating of her heart. She felt the color drain from her cheeks as she met his gaze, his eyes dark and hungry. For a moment, she couldn't breathe, the weight of his words sinking in. Then, with a slow nod, she leaned in, her heart racing.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if both of them were testing the waters. But as their lips met, something ignited between them, a spark that grew into a flame. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as the kiss deepened. Arthur and George watched, their own tension palpable, their eyes flickering between y/n and Chris, their friendship and their desires colliding in a way none of them had anticipated.

Chris's hands slid up her arms, pulling her closer, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. Y/n's body responded, arching into him as the kiss grew more urgent. The room was a blur of heat and need, the air thick with the scent of arousal and the faint scent of George's burnt lasagna.

When they finally broke apart, they were both panting, their eyes locked. The room was silent, the only sound the crackling of the oven and the thudding of their hearts. Arthur and George watched, their expressions a mix of shock and arousal. Y/n's cheeks were flushed, and she couldn't believe what had just happened.

"Fuck me," George murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "That was..."

"Hot," Arthur finished for him, his eyes glued to the sight of Chris and y/n tangled in a passionate kiss. The atmosphere in the room had shifted so dramatically, it was as if someone had flipped a switch, turning the innocent game of poker into an intense, erotic battleground.

Chris's hand slid down y/n's back, cupping her ass as he deepened the kiss. She gasped into his mouth, the heat of his touch sending a bolt of pleasure through her. The air was thick with the scent of their desire, and she could feel the warmth of Arthur and George's gazes on her exposed skin. The game had evolved into something she'd never expected, but the thrill of it was undeniable.

Breaking away from Chris, she turned to face Arthur, her eyes flicking to his evident arousal. "Looks like you're up," she said, her voice husky with desire. Arthur's cheeks reddened, but he met her gaze, his eyes smoldering.

"What's the forfeit?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n leaned in, her breasts brushing against his bare chest. "You get to kiss me too," she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.

Arthur's eyes widened, and for a moment, she thought he might refuse. But then, with a nod, he leaned in, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was just as fiery as Chris's. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer as their tongues danced together. The room spun around her, the lines between friendship and desire blurring into a haze of passion.

George, not to be left out, approached her from behind, his naked body pressing against her back. She could feel his erection against her, and she shivered with anticipation. "I guess it's only fair," he murmured, his hands sliding around her waist.

The kiss with Arthur grew more urgent, his hands exploring her body as George's lips found the sensitive skin of her neck. She moaned, the sensations overwhelming her. The three of them were entangled in a dance of lust, their friendship forever changed by this night.

As Arthur pulled away, George took his place, his lips brushing against hers. His kiss was gentle at first, but soon grew in intensity, his hands caressing her breasts. She felt a hand slide down her stomach, and she gasped as it reached the apex of her thighs. It was Chris, his fingers teasing her through her damp panties.

The room was a whirlwind of sensations, and y/n was lost in the moment. She couldn't tell where one kiss ended and another began, only knew that she was the center of their attention, the object of their desire. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once.

"Take them off," George murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Y/n's hands trembled as she slid her panties down her legs, stepping out of them. The cold floor sent a shiver through her body, and she felt more exposed than she ever had in her life. But the way the boys were looking at her, with a mix of awe and hunger, made her feel anything but vulnerable.

Chris's hand found her again, his fingers delving into her slick folds. She moaned into George's mouth, the pleasure building within her. Arthur watched, his eyes dark with need. The air was charged with a current of desire that had them all in its grip.

The poker game was forgotten, the kitchen a mess of cards and discarded clothing. The only thing that mattered was the heat between them, the unspoken promises in their eyes. The night had taken a wild turn, and as the three of them moved closer, y/n knew there was no going back. This was a new chapter in their friendship, one filled with passion and the thrill of the unknown.

And she was ready to play her hand.

*****

Chris's fingers worked their magic, sending waves of pleasure through her body. She moaned into George's mouth, her hips bucking against Chris's hand. The sensation was too much, and she felt her orgasm building. Arthur's hand joined the fray, his calloused fingers teasing her nipples, sending jolts of electricity straight to her core.

They were all in this together now, their friendship forever changed by this night of strip poker turned passionate frenzy. Y/n had never felt so desired, so wanted. The kisses grew deeper, more intense, as the three of them explored each other's bodies with an urgency that could no longer be contained.

George's hands roamed her body, his touch setting her skin on fire, while Arthur's kisses grew more demanding. She felt a hand slide down her back, reaching around to cup her ass, and she knew it was Arthur. The thrill of having both of them touch her at once was almost too much to bear.

Chris's touch grew more insistent, and she felt herself climbing towards the edge. She broke away from George's kiss, panting, her eyes meeting Arthur's. "Fuck me," she breathed, the words barely a whisper.

They didn't need any further encouragement. Arthur and George shared a look, and she could see the understanding in their eyes. They knew what she wanted, what they all needed. This was no longer a game; it was a declaration of desire that could no longer be ignored.

With a growl, Arthur picked her up, setting her on the edge of the kitchen table. She spread her legs, her heart racing as she watched him stroke his length. She felt a thrill of desire that made her knees wobble. George stepped aside, his own arousal evident, making room for Arthur to claim her.

Chris stepped back, watching with a hunger that made her insides quiver. "Take her," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Make her scream."

Arthur positioned himself between her thighs, his cock hard and ready. He leaned in, kissing her again, and she felt the tip of him at her entrance. With a gentle push, he slid inside, filling her completely. She gasped, her nails digging into the table as he began to move.

The sensation was exquisite, and she felt the room spin as the pleasure built. George's hands were on her breasts again, his mouth finding her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. The three of them moved together, a symphony of passion that she never wanted to end.

Chris stepped closer, his hand wrapping around his own erection as he watched the scene unfold. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So fucking beautiful."

Their eyes met, and she knew he was next. The thought of all three of them together was too much, and she felt her orgasm crest, her body tightening around Arthur. He groaned, his thrusts growing more urgent, and she knew he was close too.

With a final, deep kiss, Arthur pulled out, his hand guiding George to take his place. She moaned as George filled her, his grip on her hips tight. Arthur stepped back, watching with dark eyes as George began to move, his own hand stroking his shaft.

The room was a blur of sensation, the only sounds their panting breaths and the slap of skin against skin. Y/n felt like she was floating, lost in a sea of pleasure that she never wanted to escape from. This was a night that would change everything, a night that would be etched into their memories forever.

And as George's rhythm grew more frantic, as she felt him getting closer, she knew that she was ready for whatever came next. The world outside their flat had ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the heat between them, the passion that had been unleashed by a simple game of poker.

The climax hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her body and leaving her trembling. She cried out, her nails digging into George's shoulders as she came, her body shaking with the force of it. And as George followed suit, filling her with his release, she couldn't help but feel a sense of power and belonging she'd never experienced before.

Chris stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers as he stroked himself. "Your turn," she managed to gasp, her voice hoarse with need. He grinned, a wicked glint in his eye, and she felt a thrill of excitement as George pulled out, making way for Chris to take his place.

Their kiss was explosive, a culmination of all the tension that had been building through the night. She felt Chris's cock nudge against her, and she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer. He entered her with a groan, his movements more deliberate, more intense than the others. The sensation was almost too much, and she arched her back, her breasts pressing against his chest.

Their bodies moved in sync, the table rocking beneath them with every thrust. Arthur and George watched, their own desires reflected in their eyes as they stroked themselves, their gazes never leaving the erotic sight of their friend taking charge. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated passion, a moment that would forever change the dynamics of their friendship.

Chris's hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of her exposed skin, sending shivers down her spine. She could feel his need, his desire, and it only served to fuel her own. The room was a cacophony of gasps and moans, the air thick with the scent of sex.

And then, with a final, deep kiss, Chris reached his peak, his body tensing as he came inside her. They held each other for a moment, their breathing ragged, their hearts pounding in unison. It was a silent acknowledgment of the shift in their relationship, a moment of pure, unbridled connection.

As they pulled apart, the room was bathed in the soft glow of the kitchen lights, their bodies slick with sweat and desire. The poker night had turned into something none of them could have anticipated, a night that would be remembered for far more than just the game.

They stood there, panting, their eyes locked. The silence was deafening, filled only with the sound of their heavy breaths and the distant hum of London outside. They'd crossed a line, stepped into a new chapter of their friendship.

Y/n looked around the room, her eyes taking in the sight of her friends, naked and aroused, their friendship forever altered by this night of passion. But as she saw the hunger in their eyes, she knew it was a change she didn't regret. In fact, she was eager to see where this newfound intimacy would lead them.

The game had ended, but the night was far from over. They had each other, and as they moved closer, the whispers of desire grew louder, the kisses deeper. They were no longer just friends playing a game; they were lovers, ready to explore the depths of their desires

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23 @xxkatxgracexx @amz824

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

𝑴å𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒕 ____ 𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒅

f!reader for all members NSFW, MDNI 18+, descriptions of sexual acts, degradation, praise

Ethan Torchio : Stroke

Ethan's prowess comes alive in the intimacy of the moment. His strength and determination are palpable as he presses you into the mattress, his deep, rhythmic thrusts intensifying the connection between you. Each stroke is a blend of power and precision, a testament to his stamina honed through relentless drumming. Your moans fill the room, a symphony of desire and ecstasy. His whispers in Italian, whether you understand them or not, add an exotic, intoxicating element to the encounter, making the experience even more electrifying.

Victoria De Angelis : Pussy Eating

Vic’s dedication to your pleasure is unparalleled. She dives between your thighs with a fervor, her tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony. Her fingers curl inside you, finding that sweet spot effortlessly, making you see stars without the need for toys or straps. Her vocal encouragements are a tantalizing mix of praise and degradation. “Look at my little slut, come on,” she breathes as you teeter on the edge, her hands gripping your legs and pushing them to your chest. Her kisses on your thighs are the prelude to the most intense climax, and as you come, she dives back in, her tongue relentless. The overstimulation is deliberate, her sadistic streak shining through as she pushes you to your limits.

Thomas Raggi : Fingering

Thomas’s hands are his greatest asset, both on stage and in bed. His fingers move with the same dexterity and precision that make him a guitar virtuoso. He knows exactly how to make you squirm, his long fingers working you over with a relentless rhythm. His left hand presses down on your stomach, adding a delicious pressure that amplifies every sensation. The moment he finds your G-spot, you're lost, his mechanical movements driving you to the brink. The ribbed sensation of your walls clenching around his fingers sends you over the edge, and he revels in your squirting, a testament to his skill.

Damiano David : Vocalization

Damiano's voice is a weapon of seduction. He’s not afraid to communicate, to vocalize every dirty thought that crosses his mind. His deep, raspy voice sends shivers down your spine as he fingers you, each word a promise of the pleasure to come. “I wonder how good my dick is gonna feel inside this warm pussy,” he growls, his breath hot against your ear. Public encounters are even more thrilling; under the table at dinner, he’s a master of discretion and filth. “You’re so wet, I bet they can hear your pussy clenching and squelching for me,” he whispers, making you squirm in your seat. In the morning light, he’s the picture of raw desire, cigarette in hand as you ride him, his murmured Italian praises mixing with the sunrise, painting a picture of erotic perfection.

REQUESTS OPEN <3

[theemporium]

The mission was supposed to be a simple lookout and scope.

The Order had received some intel about dodgy meet-ups and gatherings that seem linked to Voldemort, or at least some of his most loyal followers. But with little information on the place and the fine details, the Order had decided the safest option would be to send a few members out to sweep the area before they sent out a full team. 

The team sent out were you, Remus and Sirius—a strong team that should have been able to hold themselves pretty well if something went wrong. And to be fair, you were a strong team until you realised the whole thing was a massive trap.

However with all three of you trained in combat by some of the greatest wizards in the Wizarding World, the countless battles and duels were a breeze. The issue came from the smoke bomb thrown at the three of you as you fled to find a safe place to hide until backup came. 

The effects didn’t kick in until you had lost them, finding safety in a small abandoned building near the edge of the town you were visiting. The place was damp, creaky and cold, but it was far better than battling off an unknown amount of deatheaters without extra help. You didn’t even notice yourself until Sirius kept shuffling beside you, squirming as he pulled at the collar of his shirt.

“Would you stop?” You hissed, your eyes peeking through a slit between boards of wood as you waited to see if you had been followed,

“I can’t,” Sirius huffed, letting out a noise of distress as he tugged on his clothes. “‘m fuckin’ boiling.”

You rolled your shoulders back, trying to ignore the sudden acknowledgement of how hot it was in an abandoned tavern that should have had the three of you shivering for warmth without any heating spells. 

“Fuck,” Remus groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his back against the wall. “It must’ve been that fuckin’ bomb they threw at us.”

“What was it?” Sirius groaned. 

“Not sure,” Remus bit back.

And for a while, it stayed like that. It stayed unbearably warm as the three of you squirmed and fanned yourselves and hoped that the others were coming soon—maybe even with a cure to whatever it was that was affecting you.

Your eyes wandered over the two boys, taking in their appearances. 

Remus was leaning back against the wall, the sweater of his long gone and leaving him in a tight t-shirt that moulded around his arms. His neck was exposed as he leaned his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed deeply and let out a shuddering sigh. Your eyes wandered down his body, noticing the faint outline of his abs through the shirt before you paused on the tent in his trousers. 

Your cheeks burned, your gaze quickly snapping over to Sirius. 

His chest was completely bare, the remainder of his clothes sitting in a pile beside him. His hair was tied into a low bun on the back of his head, his jaw softly clenching as he hummed and drummed his fingers against his thighs. Your eyes focused on his hands, on the way his rings glinted in the low light and the way they moved with such speed and dexterity. 

“You’re staring.” 

Your eyes snapped up, finding Remus watching you with hooded eyes. 

“What?”

“Don’t act all innocent,” he mused, his lips twitching upwards. “You were staring. At both of us. It’s making your lil’ head spin, isn’t it, love?”

“Remus,” you breathed out, but no further words came out.

“Shhh, don’t need to be shy about it,” Remus murmured as his eyes wandered over to Sirius. “I don’t blame you.”

“I—” You started, but you didn’t know what to say. You found them both attractive, you would have been fucking blind to think otherwise. But they were your friends. Your friends you had known for years. Your friends who you had never thought about in such a way—at least, not in broad daylight when you were around people.

“Bet you’re fuckin’ soaking for us,” Remus continued as he pushed himself off the wall. However, just when you thought he would be close enough for you to touch, he made his way towards Sirius and you couldn’t help but whimper in response.

Sirius let out a groan when Remus pulled the bun, unravelling his hair and making it easier to pull the boy’s head back. Remus glanced down at him, at the neediness in his eyes and the flush of his cheeks and he couldn’t help himself as he leaned down to kiss Sirius.

You squirmed in your spot as you watched them. As you watched Remus’ tongue slide into Sirius’ mouth. As Sirius’ hands gripped Remus’ waist before sliding over the bulge in his trousers. As both boys moaned and panted and kissed until their lungs were burning for air.

Remus’ hooded eyes found yours when he pulled away, his lips swollen and wet as Sirius desperately palmed himself. You didn’t even hesitate as you crawled over, settling yourself on Sirius’ lap even if your eyes stayed locked on the other wizard.

“Stinging nettle.”

You frowned. “What?” 

“A plant used for multiple potions, most harmful,” Remus stated as he gripped your face in his hand, his thumb brushing over your lips. “If brewed right, it can kill someone slowly and painfully.”

Your lips parted, wrapping around his thumb wordlessly as he pushed it deeper into your mouth.

“Brewed wrong and it can have many varying effects,” he continued as his eyes darkened. “Itchiness…overheating…dehydration…increased libido.”

“Some smoke made us fuckin’ horny?” Sirius scoffed, only to let out a low groan when your hips bucked against him, grinding down on his painfully hard cock. “Shit, sweetheart.”

“And there’s only one way to fix it,” Remus replied as he watched your eyes roll to the back of your head, your body seeming to move on its own accord against Sirius as you eagerly sucked his thumb. “Feelin’ needy, honey?”

You whined, nodding.

“You want us to fill you up? Make you feel better?”

You nodded again. You needed them. You needed them in a way you had never needed anyone before. You needed them both inside you. You needed them fucking you. You needed to feel them both fuck you, keeping your holes stretched and accessible to them. You needed to be pressed between them as they groped and squeezed and touched every single inch of you.

You needed them so bad, you could have sworn you would die if they didn’t fuck you soon.

“Then be a good girl and listen,” Remus said. “Gonna need to make sure we deal with this properly, okay? Now be a darling and get on your knees, I wanna see Sirius’ cock bulging in that pretty throat of yours.”

.

[middlingmay]

“come on just . . . talk to me.” for clegan could be so good!

This has been sitting in my inbox for moonths. I'm sorry it's taken me so long, but I hope you like it anon :)

Continues from my wee ficlet where Gale suspects there's something happening between John and one of his buddies, and he's both wrong and correct about it.

"Come on just…talk to me!"

John trailed after Gale in a hurried two-step. Although John had the advantage in height, that felt all for nothing now as Gale's stride swallowed up ground.

John had barely managed to stutter out an explanation of what had happened with Harry before any promises Gale had made him about keeping his head had been fast forgotten and he had near upended John fishing the car keys from his pockets.

Normally such a thorough going over would have John reclining back with his hands behind his head, but this time he clawed at Gale's arms, fruitlessly trying to keep Gale with him.

Gale had kicked the door open and was gunning for the car. He got as far as the key in the lock before John bulldozed into his side and brought him down hard onto the ground.

In a far more violent echo of their fight earlier that day, before Harry lost his absolute mind, Gale and John rolled around on the hard ground in the barely-lit evening. Gale bucked and thrashed and kicked, and John was going to be sporting some cracking bruises tomorrow. He held on by the strength of his legs alone, and when Gale managed to get his legs under him and tried to stand, John clamped tighter and dragged Gale right back down. He reached for the keys clutched fiercely in Gale's hands, but Gale saw him coming. He shoved the keys down his shirt and started to use those long and dexterous fingers to poke at all of John's soft and sensitive and vulnerable bits to try and loosen his grip.

But John rode it out and finally managed to wrap Gale's arms up tight against his own chest, pinned by John's arms locked around his torso.

"Get off me, John," Gale warned, low and spitting.

"Nuh-uh. Not a chance."

Gale made a frustrated, impotent noise.

"What're you gonna do, huh?"

Gale thrashed and twisted, and managed to roll them so John was on his bag, groaning and his breath was squeezed out of him under Gale's weight.

"I'm going to sink my boot into that skinny bastard's ass, that's what I'm gonna do! Thinks he can just kiss you and get away with it? Whilst I'm breathing?!"

"You—fuck." John had to brace and hold on with all his might as Gale managed to leverage himself onto his knees. But hold on he did. Like a damn spider monkey. "You promised!"

Gale was panting, sucking down air like John did carcinogens. Whether due to wrestling with John's weight on his back, or the anger that still had him trembling underneath all the points where John touched him, he wasn't sure. But he wasn't about to make the shittiest bet of his life that Gale was through working his way up to manslaughter.

John used his extra weight to his advantage and rocked forward hard and fast, sending Gale back down to the ground under him again.

Gale hissed and foamy spittle splattered on to the ground, and John worked one hand through Gale's hair, shushing and soothing.

"What did I say, hm? Before I left what did I say? Where am I lookin'?"

Gale tried to jerk his head out of from underneath John's pressing and prodding and scraping fingers but got nowhere. "It's not about you lookin' elsewhere, Bucky," he warned. "He's got no right to put hands or…any other part of him on you like that!"

"I know. I know. And I set him straight. I told you, I set him straight. You believe me? You trust me?"

The fight started to seep out of Gale. Because he did. He trusted Bucky with his life, with his whole entire future. And wasn't that terrifying, putting all of that on one man and expecting him to bear the load? But Bucky did, without a single missed step. Even when Buck missed a whole bunch of them himself and went spiralling down the stairs.

He'd warned Bucky he was a mess at relationships. Didn't matter what kind, he'd been a mess at them his whole life. Not a one of them had lasted. Not till Bucky.

And the thought of someone else showing Bucky what it could be like with someone else? Without so much shit to carry? That wasn't going to fly with him at all.

But Bucky was a grown man. He could handle his own business. Gale had to let him handle his own business. Take responsibility for yourselves, the head doc had said. Try to ease off the co-dependency.

Well, if this was what independence looked like, Gale was not a fan.

But still. They'd promised to do right by each other and try.

"Alright." It was quiet and begrudging but he said it. "Alright. You're right, I…I don't know what I was thinkin'."

John huffed and Gale felt him knock his head against the back of Gale's. Felt the muscles of his arms and legs ease off. His hands spasmed like they wanted the snatch all John's limbs back up and keep them there. See how long they could hold on.

"You were thinking you're a jealous bastard with a mean streak no one sees coming. That's what you were thinking. Like I don't know you, Buck, Christ."

John released him finally and rolled onto his back in a wide-armed, open-legged sprawl. it was a tempting, inviting space built perfectly for Gale's wide shoulders.

John propped himself up on his elbows. It stuck his chest out and Gale watched as John still tried to catch his breath. His curls were unruly and springing their way to freedom, apart from the wisps at his hairline that got caught up in his sweat. It made his face glow with the light it caught.

"Can't say I blame you, though. If some guy came on to you, I'd—"

Gale threw himself on top of John, claiming his mouth. Maybe his blood was hot. Maybe he couldn't stand the thought of anymore someone's trying to come between him and John. Maybe the sight of John laid out and breathless because of him was too much to bear, but Gale had one hand around the back of John's neck and was tipping his head up to lave his tongue over the dexterous stretch of John's own. They still couldn't breathe. Each kiss was punctuated by gasping inhales, cut off by dip of a tongue or the nip of their teeth.

Gale hauled them upright and, wrenching the hem of his shirt out from his pants, and caught the key that came tumbling out.

"What—?"

"Car," Gale kissed the sound into John's mouth. "Now."

John dropped his hands to Gale's belt and shifted just enough so Gale could reach the lock on the car door. Gale's hands shook as the clink of his belt opening split the air and John thumbed the buttons of his pants open. His large, calloused hand, warmed by a body that always ran hot, slipped inside and covered Gale with a hard press that had him nearly biting through his lip.

John's kisses whispered up the nape of his neck. "Get in the car, Gale."

He finally popped open the door and grabbed the collar of John's shirt. Gale flipped them around and, hands under John's thighs, nearly threw him inside. He watched as John crawled backwards on the bench seat, straining at the front of his pants. One look from Gale was he crawled in after him, and John was frantically flailing trying to remove whatever layers he could to expedite Gale getting on him.

"Fuck, baby," he said with an awe he reserved for B-17s and Gale. "How could anyone else even come close? Not never."

Never. There might be others out there who could show John how to build a healthier relationship. There might be others out there who would know how to de-escalate things and solve disagreements without pushing each other around a little until they got hot from it.

But all those jag offs would have to go through Gale and his cold, dead body before they got to John.

He saw him first and he wasn't giving him up. Fuck what the head headshrinker said.

As he looked down at John, who just looked pleased as punch to be there, Gale thought. Yeah. No one else. Not never.

-

Harry worked the counter at the tailor's Fridays through Sundays.

The owner was getting on in years, and wanted to spend his weekends with his wife and their grandchildren. So, the weekends were reserved for measurements and drop offs only, which Harry could take, and he'd make appointments for them to follow up with with Mr Flaherty later in the week.

The shop was never quieter than that last half hour to closing on a Sunday. By 5.30pm, most people were at home with their families enjoying the last of their quality time together before work and school, or they were out enjoying the final vestiges of freedom provided by the weekend.

So, when the bell over the door went at 5.50pm, ten minutes before closing, Harry didn't think nothing of calling out over his shoulder without looking, "Sorry, we're closing. Come back at nine tomorrow."

He expected to hear shuffling, maybe a mumbling sorry, and certainly the ding of the bell as the door was opened and closed again, But he heard none of that.

Instead, when he spun round, he was greeted with the sight of the always impeccably dressed Major Gale Cleven sitting cross-legged in one of the waiting chairs, staring at him.

Whilst Harry thought John was easy to read—or had though until his gross miscalculation—he'd never been able to get any kind of grasp on his more enigmatic friend.

Well, not his friend, clearly. God, he'd been blind not to see it before. Several of the townsfolk had mentioned how close they were, but Harry hadn't thought anything of it, too laser-focused on the way John smiled at him and the way he smelled and how he touched so easy…

"Harry." Even his voice gave nothing away. A low rumble with barely any inflection.

Had John told him? Harry stared, trying to see through even the slightest crack in Cleven's veneer.

"Do you know why I'm here?"

He was starting to suspect. Harry glanced towards the door.

Gale followed his gaze, and slowly reach out and flicked the snib above the lock.

Fuck. John definitely told him. "Uh…"

"I think you and I need to have a talk."

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Dark Things are to be Loved - Part 1

A/N: This fic is dedicated to my dear friend @clonethirstingisreal. Happy birthday, Carol! A gigantic thank you for hyping me up and letting me scream about Savage in your DMs while I was writing this fic; I couldn’t have written it without you.

Pairing: Bodyguard!Savage Opress x Reader (Fem; has hair and wears a dress)

Fic Rating: M (mature content intended for readers 18+; minors DNI) Note: there’s no smut in this chapter, but it is absolutely intended for an adult audience, as it deals with heavy themes. 

Wordcount: 2.5k

Fic Warnings and Tags: angst; language; toxic, controlling, and possessive behavior; discussions of violence and violent ideation; Reader is in a deeply unhealthy relationship with Maul; allusions to abuse; infidelity but it’s complicated; Savage is down bad, but he’s still a Sith and acts like one.

Chapter Warnings and Tags: jealousy; pining; violent ideation; allusions to drug use; collaring; misogynistic language from an antagonist; negative self-image.

Summary: After months of serving as your bodyguard, Savage is at his breaking point.

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: Jasmin Rouge by Tom Ford (heady, rich floral jasmine)

Next chapter | Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

-Pablo Neruda, “Love Sonnet XVII”

A Shadow Collective party could be described in a great many ways, but understated and restrained were not among them. Hundreds of guests had assembled in a commandeered villa overlooking the sea on some planet whose name Savage didn't have time to commit to memory. It didn't matter. They would move on soon enough, and nothing would be left in their wake but chaos and ruination.

The ballroom was packed, hazy with smoke, and unbearably hot. High above the crowd, a troupe of Pantoran aerial dancers writhed and undulated, their naked bodies glistening with sweat and glitter as they dangled from long swathes of shimmersilk in a display that was as impressively athletic as it was erotic. 

Nor were they the night's only entertainment. A Devaronian fire dancer was set up near the throne, spinning torches with dexterity and skill. If Savage hadn't been otherwise occupied, he would have started a betting pool on how long it would take some drunken fool to stray too close and get their ass lit on fire. As it was, he had no interest in the fire dancer, nor in the various other performers who were set up on small stages with poles throughout the ballroom, dancing in varying states of undress.

His attention was focused on someone far more fascinating.

His eyes tracked you closely as you wove through the throngs of guests. He stayed far enough away to not be driven out of his mind by your scent, but close enough to tear the arms off anyone who dared to touch you. He doubted anyone would be so suicidal, even under the influence of the spice that hung densely in the air. 

Pykes. Black Sun. Hutts. Death Watch. They were all present, and every one of them knew you belonged to Maul.

Even if they hadn’t recognized you as mistress to the lord of the Shadow Collective, they could not miss the sheer black and red shimmersilk gown he’d dressed you in—its plunging neckline deliberately chosen to frame the heavy, ornate gold necklace around your throat, just as the high slits in the skirt were chosen to display tantalizing glimpses of your legs. 

“Look,” the dress screamed, even as the necklace whispered, “but do not touch.”

Maul’s colors. 

Maul’s collar. 

Savage hated it.

He’d seen the marks it left on your skin: indentations deep enough to remind you of its weight even when you took it off. The first time he’d seen them, he’d nearly lost control and touched you. His fingers ached to brush across your neck; to soothe your angry, irritated skin; to feel your softness and warmth. Your neck was made to be kissed, not collared like a fucking pet.

But you belonged to his brother, and Savage had no right to touch you. In the months since Maul had ordered him to guard you, Savage had watched, always from afar, always careful to maintain his distance, never trusting himself enough to get too close. 

It should have been easy. It would have been easy, if only you’d been just another pretty face, another fawning sycophant jockeying to ingratiate yourself with Maul. Force knew there was no shortage of such beings simpering their way through the Shadow Collective. Any of them would have happily jumped into bed with Savage for the opportunity to get close to his brother.

He knew, because he’d taken full advantage of their ambitions.

But not you.

In truth, Savage wasn’t entirely certain what you saw in Maul that had made you agree to be his mistress in the first place. But he knew exactly what Maul saw in you. The perfect hostess; the perfect trophy. Brilliant, captivating, and beautiful. A prize to be displayed. 

A possession. 

Even now, as Maul surveyed the crowd from his throne on the dais, you circulated through the stifling, oppressive room, charming the powerful crime lords who’d assembled for the night’s revelry. They looked at you and saw Maul’s show pony. None of them noticed that there was something fragile—almost brittle—about your beauty that night. But Savage noticed. His keen eyes spotted the subtle evidence of stress and fatigue: the tension in the graceful line of your shoulders; the hint of darkness beneath your eyes that makeup couldn’t quite conceal; the slightly strained quality of your smile.

“She’s wasted on that freak.” The words bore the sibilant tones of a Pyke. “I’d like to get my hands on her and show her what a real man can do.”

“Don’t let the beast hear you say that,” their companion tittered. “Do you see the way it watches her?”

“Fifty credits says it does more than just guard her body.”

“I’m not high enough to take a bet I know I’ll lose,” the second Pyke retorted. “Toss your credits to the brute, and maybe it’ll let you have a round with her.”

Savage didn’t need to tear his gaze from you to know the identity of the speakers. He could sense them in the Force. The thought of removing their heads on the spot was remarkably tempting, but he restrained himself with some difficulty. He would deal with them after the party, when everyone was flying too high on spice to hear their screams. There wasn’t a single guest room in the villa that he couldn’t access, and they all had balconies overlooking the ocean. Very convenient for disposing of corpses.

The Pyke was wrong. Maul hadn’t let his lack of certain anatomy stand in his way when it came to you, based on the sounds of pleasure that made Savage’s stomach twist and churn as he stood guard outside your bedchamber every time his brother visited you. No one could accuse him of lacking imagination. 

When Maul would emerge, hours later, his smirk revealed that he knew exactly what Savage had heard, and that he wanted it that way. Savage was content to let his brother think he merely craved your body. It was safer than letting him discover the truth.

Because the truth was that Savage awoke early each morning to ensure the servants made your caf exactly the way you liked. The truth was that every day since he’d discovered your favorite flowers, a fresh bouquet had been delivered to your bedroom. The truth was that he knew your scent well enough to identify it in a room filled with hundreds of people. The truth was that he dreamed of the color of your eyes and woke up rigid and aching with need. The truth was that if he ever touched you, he might lose his mind and do something insane, like telling you that he saw your face when he closed his eyes; that when he prayed, it was you he named as his goddess; that he would bathe the galaxy in fire and destruction only for the chance to kneel at your feet.

The truth was that he hated that fucking necklace.

Even now, he saw the way it dug into your soft, delicate skin, the weight of it pressing down on your neck. It was too tight, and he wondered how you could even breathe. Had Maul had it altered to fit so tightly? It wouldn’t surprise him. The gaudy, flashy gold was to remind everyone else in the room who you belonged to, but the weight, the discomfort—those were just for you.

 Savage was not so lost in thought that he didn’t notice you working your way strategically toward the wide doors that led to the terrace overlooking the villa’s expansive gardens. As you neared the exit, he drifted toward you, navigating the crowd with surprising ease, considering the number of guests who were already so wasted that they barely knew their own names.

He glanced toward the throne where Maul sprawled with a look of boredom on his face. Kriff. Maul was never deadlier than when he was bored. He needed a distraction, or his attention would soon fall on you, and the results would be grim. Savage unobtrusively keyed a command into his vambrace, instructing the guards to send in a few more dancers to entertain their lord. 

He was fully aware that he was likely throwing the dancers to the wolf, and he didn’t particularly care. Their safety was none of his concern. Yours was.  He waited patiently, keeping one eye on you, until he saw that Maul was thoroughly distracted by a pair of Twi’leks wearing costumes that were somehow more provocative than if they’d been fully nude. Once he was certain that you were unlikely to be summoned before his brother, he faded into the crowd and followed you out into the night.

He stepped out onto the deserted terrace and immediately felt some of the tension dissipate from his body. The night air was crisp and cool, and it smelled of sea salt and the dense, lush scent of night-blooming flowers. It was a welcome respite from the suffocating heat of the ballroom. 

He spotted you at once. You were alone in the darkness, your form silhouetted by the moons’ light against the vast gardens below. He pressed a button on his vambrace to activate the ray shield across the exit, ensuring that no other guests would wander out and disturb your solitude, then he leaned against a pillar, cloaked in shadow as he kept a silent, distant watch over you.

You gazed out over the gardens, your back turned to him. He didn’t need to see your face to sense the turmoil within you as you leaned against the balustrade. Your hand drifted slowly to your throat and rested against the necklace for a moment. Abruptly, you ripped it off your neck and hurled it into the darkness.

“No!” you gasped, your regret at your impetuous act immediate and obvious.

Savage shoved himself off the pillar and crossed the terrace in three strides, catching you by the elbow with his cybernetic hand just as you turned to hurry down the stairs into the garden.

“Where did it land?” he growled.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” you whispered hoarsely, staring up at him with wide, panicked eyes.

“Focus,” he said curtly. “Which direction did you throw it?”

You turned back toward the garden, looking back and forth frantically.

“There, I think,” you replied, pointing into the shadows.

He scanned the area you indicated, but even his predator’s eyes could not make out any sign of the jewelry among the luxuriant vegetation. He stretched out his hand, concentrating with all of his mind.

There.

The necklace clinked faintly as he pulled it to himself with the Force. You watched him silently, your lips parting slightly as the hideous thing landed safely in his hand. He turned to you, knowing that he was about to make a mistake, and no longer caring. He lifted the necklace and placed it around your throat, his knuckles grazing over your soft, warm skin.

His mouth went dry as his heart began to pound. Up close, he was surrounded by that damned rich, intoxicating perfume that made his head swim—made him want to do dangerous things, like lean closer to you, bury his face in your hair, slide his hands down your body, hold you against him. His hand trembled, and he fumbled with the necklace. Stifling a curse and forcing himself to pay attention, he peered closely at the choker, and his stomach plummeted.

“The clasp is broken,” he said quietly.

“Oh, gods,” you rasped, horrified. “If he finds out—”

“He won’t,” Savage interrupted. “You were walking in the gardens.”

Your breath began to spiral out of control, your chest rising and falling quickly as your fear took hold. Savage rested his hand on the side of your neck, raising your jaw with his thumb as he tilted your head back to meet his eyes.

“Look at me. You were walking in the gardens,” he repeated. “You tripped over a root. The clasp failed when you stumbled. I’ll have it sent to the jeweler for repairs in the morning.”

He dropped the necklace into his pocket without ever breaking eye contact. Your eyes looked enormous in your face as you stared up at him, panting slightly. He wasn’t sure you understood him until you replied in a ragged whisper.

“I was fortunate you were there to catch me. Otherwise, I might have been seriously injured.”

He felt a muscle in his jaw spasm, and for an instant, he felt nothing but pure, unadulterated rage at his brother. Lurking beneath that rage was a sick, twisting sense of guilt at his own complicity. But you were still gazing up at him, and his hand was still cradling your jaw, and in that moment, nothing existed in the universe except your face. He brushed his thumb across your cheek, and your eyes drifted closed.

“It’s a collar,” you whispered so quietly he almost couldn’t hear you even though he was standing closer to you than he ever had allowed himself to do before.

“I know,” he replied.

“He doesn’t like people touching his things,” you said.

Savage drew in a short, sharp breath through his nose. 

“Things?” His voice was dangerous.

Is that how he thinks of you? Is that how you think of yourself?

“You are not a thing,” he rumbled. “You are…”

He trailed off, and when he did not continue, you whispered, “What am I?”

“You are,” he began again, then hesitated. “... Perfect. And you deserve better.”

Your breath caught, and he felt your pulse begin to race beneath his fingertips as they rested against your throat.

“I had a plan, you know,” you said quietly. “To leave.”

Savage momentarily forgot how to breathe, and he had a brief, unworthy thought. Leave? But then you’d be gone. It was selfish, and he knew it. He didn’t want you to leave. He wanted you to stay. With him. But he knew it would never happen—could never happen. Maul would hardly permit Savage to steal his mistress out from under his nose and flaunt you in front of the entire Shadow Collective. And what reason did you have to stay? It wasn’t as though you returned his feelings.

“What was your plan?” he asked.

You took a deep breath. “It was risky.” 

You began to shiver, and you swayed almost imperceptibly closer to him, tilting your head slightly to lean into his hand. He nearly kissed you then, but he held himself back with supreme effort as you continued to speak, your voice barely a murmur, soft and low.

“I was going to lure you away from the crowd, fabricate an excuse to get close enough to steal your lightsaber, then put it through your heart and escape through the garden.”

Savage blinked. In a flash, his hand left your face and flew to his hip, only to find nothing. His eyes snapped downward, and he saw his lightsaber hilt, clutched in your hand. Slowly, he raised his eyes to yours. 

Fool, snarled the voice in his head bitterly. You fell for it like the pathetic weakling you have always been.

Anger and self-loathing flooded him, but worst of all, beneath the nauseating swirl of humiliation and disillusionment, he felt the cold stab of betrayal.

Next chapter

[wolfeyedwitch]

Hand stomp for Icarus?

With Bloody Outstretched Hands, Part 12: Hand Stomp

Thank you for your patience! Have Luke having a bad day.

CW: hand whump, prejudice against fictional group (superpowers), prejudice-motivated violence

Masterlist

---

Luke was halfway through his PT exercises when Zera came into the gym like a stormcloud. He watched as they all but stomped their way over to the wall of gear while they roughly tugged off their mask. Zera ran one hand through their bright blue hair before donning a pair of boxing gloves, stalking to one of the punching bags, and beginning to attack it like it had insulted their entire family.

Luke finished his set of exercises in a state of bewildered concern. This was far from the younger hero’s normal behavior. Usually Zera was almost disgustingly peppy while in the gym. A normal day would see them bopping their head along to whatever catchy tune they had blaring in their earbuds, enthusiastically running through one of the simulations the gym had to test their teleportation skills. A bad day would have them going through weapon forms at half-speed to ensure they got everything right. Luke wasn’t sure what it would take to get his coworker in this state, and he was almost afraid to ask.

Well. He didn’t become a hero out of an abundance of self-preservation instinct. 

“What’s got you all riled up?” he asked when Zera finally stripped off one glove to grab a water bottle. “Toss me one, too?”

They took a second bottle from the fridge and lobbed it underhand across the gym. Luke caught it in both hands. Nice; the PT was really paying off. A few months back he wouldn’t have had the dexterity or coordination to make that catch.

Zera gave a smile at whatever triumphant face Luke couldn’t help but make. Then they shook their head with a grimace. “It’s Bailey,” they said, setting down their water bottle and pushing their now-sweaty hair out of their face.

It was Luke’s turn to grimace. He understood why they were keeping the villain at their med bay, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “Are they giving you trouble?”

Zera shook their head. “No, they’re eager to tell us everything they can. Maeve is probably going to have to call the interview, because I’d bet dollars to donuts that they’d push themself way too hard trying to give us info.”

“And end up paying for it sooner rather than later,” Luke said with a nod. Concussions were a bitch, even with a healer’s help. “So they aren’t being stubborn. What’s the problem?”

Zera frowned even harder. “The problem is that this whole thing is incredibly fucked up, Luke. I knew we had PR issues, after Marcus and his apprentice, but apparently the way the villains tell it is even worse. Slipknot was apparently using the threat of us as the stick to keep Bailey in line.”

“What was the carrot, then?” he asked, coming to stand next to the younger hero.

They shrugged. “A place to belong, someone helping them out after their parents died, a chance at making a difference in the world. Take your pick.”

It was Luke’s turn to frown. 

Zera noticed. “What?”

He hesitated. Zera was a good hero, but they were still pretty young, with the naivete that came with it. 

“What? You’ve got that face again. Come on, out with it, boomer,” Zera teased.

Luke shook his head with a huff of laughter. They were right to tease; he wasn’t that much older than they were, though he felt plenty ancient on days his injuries acted up. That didn’t change the difference in experience, though. Zera still had an optimism he’d lost somewhere between his first year as a hero and his extended stay in the ICU after his attack. 

“Just…” he started, trying to get his thoughts in order. “I dunno. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re missing something. This all feels…” He broke off, unable to properly articulate it. 

Zera was already shaking their head. “Hell if I know. But they seem genuine enough. They aren’t trying to downplay anything they’ve done. If anything, they seem like they’re taking on too much accountability.”

He hummed noncommittally in response, but Zera’s words stuck with him as he headed out, leaving them to their workout. That was exactly what it was that had been bothering him. Bailey seemed guilty. They seemed like their conscience was weighing them down like Atlas.

On the one hand, that could have been any number of things. It was looking more and more like whatever relationship Bailey had with Slipknot had been abusive, and guilt was a common response in abuse victims. It could have just been the fact that Bailey had a conscience.

On the other hand… 

He was probably overthinking it. He should talk with his therapist, honestly. This was the exact kind of thing that Heroes League had therapists on staff to deal with. 

On the other hand, why would a supposedly small-time villain be so guilty? Because maybe they weren’t nearly as small-time as they seemed. Some small, unkind part of Luke couldn’t help but think that Bailey had to have done something to be feeling this guilty about. Just because they didn’t know what it was, didn’t mean it didn’t happen. 

The thoughts kept racing through his head like hamsters on a wheel, squeaky and annoying and going absolutely nowhere. They pestered him the rest of the day, no matter how he tried to ignore them. They were still there when he finally managed to get his insomniac ass in bed for the night.

Luke was no stranger to nightmares. He’d been an insomniac long before his injuries, but after? It seemed like any time he managed to steal a few minutes of sleep, some fucked-up nonsense was playing on the movie screen on the back of his eyelids. 

This dream seemed to follow the same recipe as most of them: take one soda of bad memories, add one mentos of dream logic, and shake vigorously. He was a kid, running over rooftops to escape from bullies. The next moment, he was flying over the city looking for a suspect for the Heroes League. He caught them; they caught him. 

The suspect held him over the edge of the roof—no, that was the kids. They caught him; he hadn’t run fast enough. 

Awww, are you scared, you little freak? You should be. Don’t you know we don’t want mutts like you around here?

(I thought you guys had rules about dangling people off buildings?)

He squirmed against the grip of the older boys, the ones who were always first with an insult or cruel “prank” against the kid who didn’t have enough control of his powers to keep from outing himself.

Why don’t you just float away? Get lost! 

Hands shoved him forward and pulled him back. He was falling—backwards? No, forwards, towards the edge of the roof. His hands barely came up in time to break his fall. 

You freaks are ruining the world for normal people! You can’t just run around flaunting what kind of mutant you are and expect us to sit back and let it happen!

(You can’t just ruin people’s lives and expect no repercussions!)

Someone, or maybe multiple, was kicking him. His weight shifted awkwardly on the edge of the roof. No, no, nonono, he was going to fall!

Cheering sounded in his ears, cruel and expectant. 

His legs went over the edge, torso slamming painfully into the side of the building. Now he was just holding on, and his hands were already starting to hurt. 

His fingers went from dull ache to sharp, hot agony in an instant. He opened his mouth to scream— (he… tried to? Was there something over his mouth?) but in true dream fashion, nothing happened. 

He looked up to see one of the bullies with a boot on his hand. The older boy gave an ugly grin and started to grind his heel into Luke’s fingers.

The cheering got even louder. 

Get him! Make him scream!

He looked down at the boot again. But wait, that wasn’t a kid’s shoe. 

That was a combat boot. Charcoal gray, and… familiar.

Luke looked up. 

It wasn’t his childhood bullies standing over him. This figure wore a red and gray outfit, menacing and eye-catching. 

Poppet scowled down at him and shoved their boot forward. Luke’s hand tore on the rough cement of the rooftop, before encountering nothing but air. 

He woke up before he hit the ground.

---

Dun dun dun! He's starting to remember!

Small text in parentheses is from Sadistic Choice.

Taglist:

@heathenville @nonbinary-disaster @kim-poce @whump-world @dolls-circus

@pickleking8 @ghostfacepepper @cupcakes-and-pain @badluck990 @mylifeisonthebookshelf

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @extemporary-whump @whumpwillow @multiple-characters1-acct

@sunflower1000 @fleur-alise @equestrianwritingsstuff @scp-1296 @livingforthewhump

@thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @suspicious-whumping-egg @kaiwewi @lelly-belly

@neuro-whump @newbornwhumperfly @whumpthisway @whumpcreations @wicked-whump

@heart4brains @myhusbandsasemni @how-to-be-a-hero @kixngiggles @kurochan

@whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @pattonvirglsanders @neverthelass @we-write-as-one

@elrysdoesstuff @whumperflies-and-roses @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @ramadiiiisme

@towerlesskey @emmanemanemm @pigeonwhumps @whumpycries

[incorrect-gravescest]

Your honest opinion with this + Andrew and Ashley (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

💚: I can't believe I lost the bet and have to wear this. How the hell did you get so good at thumb wrestling, anyway?

🩷: Andy, do you think I just laid back and tolerated it all those years I pined for you? Before we even kissed? Silly boy! I have very dexterous fingers.

💚: I look like an idiot in this.

🩷: You look like the handsomest dinosaur in all the park - a Brothersaurus Fux!

[pink-eye-liner]

Hello, so I was just at Tumblr and someone was saying that there are not enough Dizzie fanifcs and I couldn't agree more. So I wrote one (will be more then one in the future) So let's all read this and act like Kitty's diary does not exist :)

The sun was going down meaning that it was time for Daring to go back to his room. For some reason he was feeling all soft and fuzzy inside. Was it because he had won the bet he made with Sparrow?

Yeah, probably, what other reason could it be?

Truth be told, he actually forgot about the bet while he was up on Legend's back with Lizzie.

Daring had to really think about what would make Lizzie swoon, he had never needed to work so hard for other girls, all he had to do was smile at them and they would fall to his feet. Lizzie wasn't like that, she was much more harsh and harder to impress, to the point where he felt the genuine need to 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 impress her, and it was worth it when he did. Because for the first time he heard her laugh, and the sound of it would put any melody the Pied Piper has ever produced to shame.

He carried this feeling as he practically skipped to his dorm room with a massive smile on his face. Daring stopped on his tracks when he heard the sound of an obnoxiously loud electric guitar paired with an equally obnoxiously loud voice that could only belong to one person.

Sparrow saw him in the distance and immediately ran towards him with Hopper following behind.

"SO?! HOW. IS . IT. GOING?!" Sparrow asked (sung)

Hopper noticed the happy go lucky vibe Daring was emitting and wrapped an arm around his shoulder "You seem happy, did you actually do it?"

Hopper and Sparrow looked at him with anticipation, Sparrow looking a bit more nervous as he noticed that Daring did in fact look very happy.

The smile on Daring's face slowly started to fade as he was reminded of their bet, and that if he lost, he would have to wash Sparrow's grimnastics uniform after swamp swimming. Just that though alone made him shiver. At the same time he was reminded that Lizzie wanted to keep what they had a secret.

Daring's silence made Sparrow think that Daring did not in fact succeed and yelled (sung) in his face "OH! I BET SHE TOTALLY REJECTED YOU!"

Daring brought his hand to his face and placed it on the spot that Lizzie kissed, then her smile flashed in his mind along with the reminder his promise to her that he wouldn't tell anyone.

So, swallowing his pride, Daring looked at Sparrow and Hopper and said "Yes, you're right. She did in fact reject me. I lost"

Sparrow shredded his guitar with happiness and jumped up in the air screaming "ALRIGHT!" surprising Daring for a second.

"You know what this means, Daring" Hopper said.

"Yeah yeah..."

The next day, after swamp swimming, Daring sat in front of their school with a large container full of soap and water, washing away at Sparrow's grimnastics uniform (including his socks, gross) as other students looked and laughed at him.

It was both humiliating and degrading to say the least. Sparrow sing-yelling jokes and taunts at him only added salt to the injury.

Then out of he corner of his eyes he saw Lizzie walking to school, she spotted him then gave him a wink before she continued to walk inside the school.

Daring sighed dreamily as the soft and fuzzy feeling returned to him for a bit as he remembered their 'date' yesterday.

With a small smile now on his face, he wonders if he could talk to her after this public show of humiliation. Hopefully she considered his invitation to go on another date with him cuz he knew 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 where to take her.

Some hours later, Daring was in his and Dexter's dorm room standing in front of one of his many full body mirrors now wearing his normal clothes again, checking every inch of himself to make sure that he was perfect before he went out to look for Lizzie.

Dexter was minding his own business doing his thronework (homework) but he couldn't help but notice that Daring was acting weird. Yeah he was starring at himself in the mirror which was completely normal, but- the way he was checking himself as if he's restless was what made Dexter worry a bit "Is something wrong, Daring?" He said "You seem... Stressed"

"Oh don't be ridiculous little bro" Daring said before letting out a nervous laugh "What would I, Daring Charming, have anything to worry about?" Daring then proceeded to aggressively brush his hair.

Dexter raised an eyebrow at his brother, who in return gave him a smile way too wide for it to be normal, before fixing himself in the mirror again.

Dexter just shrugged and returned to his thronework, giving himself a mental note to ask Daring's friends if anything had happened recently.

Turns out, Daring didn't need to look for Lizzie since they shared the next class together more specifically- kingdom Management.

He couldn't bring himself to focus on what their teacher- The white Queen- was talking about. I mean how could he when there was a gorgeous red and black haired ferocious wonderlandian princess sitting in his far far right four rows in front if him?

Daring ended up just starring at her from afar. He's never realy bothered to look at anyone besides himself before, but looking at Lizzie Hearts now, Daring found himself wanting too look at her instead of himself.

While Daring was starring at Lizzie, she suddenly looked over her shoulder and took a short glace at him, their eyes met for a mere second before they both turned their heads the other way in a panick, their blood rushing up their faces turning their cheeks red.

Lizzie caught Daring starring at her and Daring caught Lizzie stealing a glance at him.

Daring put his hand above his chest and tried to calm down his beating heart. He glanced at Lizzie Hearts again and saw her head burried in her notebook while writing profusely.

He realized that she was flustered too, that made him smile.

Then the realization that he had been flustered dawned on him. This was particularly strange for Daring. He was used to making damsels all shy and flustered, not the other way around. Although technically Lizzie was no damsel.

When Class was over Daring went to up Lizzie and tried to act casual about it.

"So... Lizzie... Hi" Daring said while pointing finger guns at her, he mentally slapped himself because what the actual hex was that?! If he had been Hopper then he would have turned into a frog just now

"Oh, hi Daring" Lizzie giggled before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear "Umm, what were you doing washing Sparrow's grimnastics uniform in front of the school today?" She asked.

Daring scratched the back of his neck while letting out an awkward laugh which made Lizzie raise a brow "Oh nothing just- guy stuff"

Lizzie put her hand in front of her mouth as she let out a laugh "Did you loose a bet or something?" She joked.

Daring stopped himself from physically recoiling that that, did she know? If she did then he can't imagine a world where she wouldn't get angry and never speaking to him again. That though alone was worse then living in a world without mirrors. But Lizzie wasn't currently angry meaning that she doesn't know. "Haha... Yeah, yeah I guess you could say I did"

Lizzie cleared her throat and stepped a bit closer to Daring which earned a blush from him "So... About that second date... I might take you up on that"

Daring burst with excitement and hastily grabbed her hands which made Lizzie's face equally as red as the heart on her left eye "Great! Meet me that the book ball field after school"

Lizzie heard him but was too starstruck and flustered looking at their intertwined hands to reply.

Daring noticed and immediately let go, putting his hands behind his back and looking away "Okay- alright so-... I'll see you later" Daring scurried away to prepare for their next date.

Meanwhile Lizzie had to stop herself from jumping up and down in happiness as she put her hands over her mouth and let out a squeal.

[cupcak2]

rating ever after high couples 🫶🏻 ☆

apple & daring — 0/10

like r you kidding. were this two ever considered a couple anyway? they were only together because of destiny, and we now know that's not daring's destiny lol. big no no

cerise & daring — 2/10

yeah it was cute... in 2014. now it's just kinda weird to me (mostly because now i headcanon her as a lesbian) cause there was like only one scene of them together ?? anyway not good i liked them tho

lizzie & daring — -10/10

EW. literally ew. there was no chemistry ok NO CHEMISTRY it was a BET and she was reluctant most of the webisode r you kidding i hate them

rosabella & daring — 37287429/10

now THATS what were talking abt. this right here. idc that most of the fandom thinks they're were random and forced and shit i literally dont care they are perfect. rosa made him a better person, she helped him when he needed and was the only one to not judge him by his looks when he became the beast. plus theyre destined for each other 💋

darling & apple — 5/10

idk they're lowkey cute but this one feels weird. i think i would like them more if in the series they talked more about the "kiss" and their relationship after that. minus points because darling told daring to "turn the page" when he was freaking out when he literally just lost his fucking destiny ? not cool darling. im a daring defender first and human second !

dexter & raven — 9/10

THEYRE SO CUTE ARE U KIDDING have yall ever read dexters diary, the way he talks about raven is so sweet i really like them. theyre kinda awkward most of the show but that makes it very cute

hunter & ashlynn — 8/10

i love them. i kinda ignore some things about it tho— like the fact that hunter only noticed ash because cupid helped her . anyway think about how sad she must have felt while signing the storybook of legends <\3

darling & chase — -2/10

LITERALLY the most 2015 ship ever who even came up with that. ngl i kinda liked it but not now could be cuter if he only showed up more in the series but shes canonically a lesbian so

dexter & cupid — 2/10

do i even have to say anything. i dont like them but im only giving it two points because i really like cupid and i feel sad about her situation— being friends with the guy you like and helping him to get together with the girl he likes. its sad. or it was sad, but now she turned the page and moved on ! we stan

briar & faybelle — 10/10

THEYRE THE CUTEST i love their relationship. like they're friends kinda but they still tease each other they are very dear to me

[rebornologist]

May I make a request for something potentially NSFW? Depends on how you'd want to write it. Let's say Squalo and his SO make a bet and Squalo loses. Now he's obligated to follow SO's whims.

(Best of luck applying to/ getting ready for grad school!)

Omg thank you so much for the well wishes! I’m in the “just graduated, working for experience, dreaming of grad school” phase of my life and it’s ruff so fanfic is my solace. I love this cute lil req! I went for something more sfw initially but.. there's an alternate nsf/w scene utc!

♡ Squalo Loses a Bet ✧

contents: Superbi Squalo/gnSO, established relationship, f-bombs, Idk why I give Squalo a potty mouth time after time, alt. scenario is just straight up smut now oops 250 words.

“Aaand, I win!”

“What?!”

“You lost the bet, Squalo. Look,” they gesture to prove their point before crossing their arms in front of them again. They were right, there was no way that he could fight them on this without looking like a fool. Did he want to try gaslighting the love of his life for the sake of his pride? Probably not. His breath gets caught in his throat, and he finally scoffs, shoulders slumping and eyes rolling in annoyance.

“Fine, okay, whatever.” Squalo avoids their gaze, not wanting to face them and their shit-eating grin.

“What do you want? Dinner? Flowers? A massage? Mone-”

“That’s a good idea!”

“What is?”

“Flowers,” their eyes shift quickly up and down, tracing over his long hair. “flowers… in your hair!”

“No! No.”

“Too bad, Squ. A deal’s a deal.”

୨୧ ⁺˳₊ ...

Dexterous fingers pull the hair tie tight at the end of the thick silver braid. “Aah, my lovely Raperonzolo,” they coo, adjusting the flowers as they arrange them in his hair until they deemed it perfect.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, eyes scanning over the documents in front of him. He signs at the bottom and places it into the neat pile on his desk. Squalo’s long legs extend in front of him as he pushes himself back in the rolling chair, looking over his shoulder at his partner. “You fuckin' done yet?”

They nod happily, before holding a mirror up to show him his beautifully arranged hair.

His scream of horror echoed down the halls that afternoon.

contents: orgasm denial, oops. implied soon-to-be fellatio. every whim? subby Squ?? in my haunted house? it's 2024, yes. 278 words.

“What do you want? Dinner? Flowers? A massage? Mone-”

“Nope.”

“Then what- ..voi-?!” He was interrupted by his significant other placing a hand firmly on his sternum and pushing his back to the wall. His eyebrow raises, a corner of his mouth lifting as his grey eyes search their features, reading their expression, trying to gauge the mood and determine how to react.

“You promised, every.. whim,” the look in their eyes shows him that he’s in for a long rest of the night.

୨୧ ⁺˳₊ ...

"H-hey.." his chest heaves, his snowy locks falling over his shoulders and sticking to his sweat-covered skin. "You.. gonna let me.. cum, now?" his question catches in his throat, feeling a little hoarse from the course of the night.

Dexterous fingers trace along his jaw, his partner's bottom lip pronounced in a small, mocking pout. "Mmm.. poor pup," they muse, wrapping their fingers firmly around him and squeezing as they brush their thumb over the tip, wet with their mixed fluids. He tenses, letting out an uncomfortable groan and pulling against the restraints.

"The fuck did you call m-shit.. hah.."

Any other day, they wouldn't dare say that to his face, but something about every whim really empowered them this time, and he cannot deny the way his dick twitched at their touch. It's not like he doesn't notice how they're practically drooling as they eyed him like this.

"I want to hear you whine, again.." they get down on their knees for the first time that night, opening their mouth and sticking their tongue out, millimetres from where he wishes they would use it.

"then yes, I'll let you- no, make.. you.. cum."

[reasoningdaily]

Black Skinhead: Reflections on Blackness and Our Political Future

We had been told that everything was fine, that America was working for everyone and that the American Dream was attainable for all. But for those who had been paying attention, there had been warning signs that the Obamas’ version of the American Dream wasn’t working for everyone. That it hadn’t been working for many white Americans was immediately and loudly discussed, but the truth―and what I set out to write this book about―was that it hadn’t been working for many Black Americans either. For many, Obama’s vision had been more illusion than reality all along. When someone tells you everything is fine, but around you, you see evidence that it’s not, where will the quest to find answers lead you? As I went on the journey of writing this book, I found a very different tale about Black politics and Black America, one that countered white America’s long-held assumption that Black voters will always vote Democrat―and even that the Democratic party is the best bet for Black Americans. My ultimate question was this: how are Black people being led away―not towards―each other, and what do we lose when we lose each other? What do we lose when, to quote Kanye West, we feel lost in the world.

**A New York Times Editors' Choice Pick** **One of Kirkus Reviews' Best Nonfiction Books of 2022** "Political activist Collins-Dexter’s essay collection is timely as well as pointed. In it, she argues that Democrats have taken Black voters for granted, and that the consequences of this mistake have already begun ― and will accelerate." ―The New York Times,"15 Works of Nonfiction to Read This Fall" For fans of Bad Feminist and The Sum of Us, Black Skinhead sparks a radical conversation about Black America and political identity. In Black Skinhead, Brandi Collins-Dexter, former Senior Campaign Director for Color Of Change, explores the fragile alliance between Black voters and the Democratic party. Through sharp, timely essays that span the political, cultural, and personal, Collins-Dexter reveals decades of simmering disaffection in Black America, told as much through voter statistics as it is through music, film, sports, and the baffling mind of Kanye West. While Black Skinhead is an outward look at Black votership and electoral politics, it is also a funny, deeply personal, and introspective look at Black culture and identity, ultimately revealing a Black America that has become deeply disillusioned with the failed promises of its country.

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD FOR FREE - FROM THE BLACK TRUEBRARY HERE ON TUMBLR

[37q]

i was a left handed baby -- my moms a lefty too -- until i was 2 years old when i climbed too high, fell, and broke my shoulder. i always like to say gravity knocked the left handedness out of me lol. i wish i could still be left handed, that would be a fun divergence in the timeline of chance. but alas!

i sometimes wonder if my mom saw some of herself in me because of that one familiar instance of habitus. sometimes i wonder of my dad still saw me as a lefty, a reformed one at that, or if i officially joined his and my brothers cohort of righties.

i sometimes wonder how my dexterity affected my perception of the world and my self. that preadolescent adjustment period from one side of spatial-motor cognition to the other must have been formative for me, if only i could remember.

what does the fortitude of the brain and body mean to the rocks at the bottom of a cliff? what do you do when you're dealt a hand but its taken back before you can even bet? is growth and success really just a matter of adapting and conforming to life altering events?

so often we try to understand the difference between desire and capacity. as if were resisting, or walking away from our natal projections, like what we've made of ourselves is a shallow subversion of our nature as we succumb to temporary pain. i "can" be a lefty, supported by data, and the only thing supposedly holding me back is motivation and desire.

i liken this to transition. the formation of group identity, the lost instinct of training-from-birth, even the philosophical inquiries evoke such metamorphosis of the ego.

ive just never relearned how to write with that hand, simple as that. i used to! but thats then and this is now. that baby lefty couldn't even fathom my current conditions, and i have no reason to re-acclimate myself to something seemingly innate but evidently obsolete in my life. sure i could scratch something out in a pinch, but that hardly "passes" for "legible".

that baby lefty was barely even writing, what is there to relearn? why bother, when i've reached heights unforeseen by my inner child? hell, i wouldnt even be reviving or rebuilding something that's still there, deep down; id be working from the ground up, just to have a go at the adolescent satisfaction of being what everyone thought i'd be. who does that serve? certainly not me!

and it wouldn't even be fun!