#highly tempted to make these one day

[bloo-the-dragon]

Bloo! I did a thing at 4am

My takes on your bois in tsum tsum form! They are chumby i dont know why Sun is so thick im sorry-

Im starting to realise that Moon kinda looks like Killcode here but yea

If you would allow me to, I would like to put them next to tsum tsum Bloo

*YELLING* OH THESE ARE SO CUTE ;;O;; THE LIL PAWS....

[britneyshakespeare]

I can't believe the Younger Brother (1689) by Aphra Behn has the only one bed trope

[gghostwriter]

Out of Sunshine

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Having forgotten your dinner date, Spencer comforts his usually sunshine girlfriend Trope:Fluff & Comfort w.c: 1.2k a/n: been very overwhelmed with responsibilities and wants lately that I just needed to write a self-indulgent fic. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Spencer’s knock on your apartment door was met with silence. It was a starry Friday night and he had arranged a dinner reservation with you, his girlfriend for a year and a half, to the newly opened French restaurant along the main street. With a certain spring in his step, he settled with Hotch, and by extension the team, that he couldn’t be disturbed unless an emergency case comes in—something he silently wished not to happen. He had also picked up a bouquet of your favorites from the local florist. An array of whites that reminded him of the dress he first saw you wearing at the park.

He knocked again, ears straining to hear anything behind the dark wooden door. There was nothing. He balanced the bouquet on one hand and reached for the phone inside his satchel. It was quite unlike you to not answer the door.

The number you dialed is either unattended—

“Strange,” he muttered under his breath. During his morning phone call with you, a much needed routine to tide him through the macabre of his job, you sounded so excited about the dinner he’d planned and had even promised to wear the same white dress that had plagued his eidetic memory. He chuckled in reply before asking any plans for the day. There was a slight pause on your end, no doubt thinking of ways to pass time before night winds down, and you answer—

The studio, he remembered. You mentioned passing by your art studio to occupy time. He sighed in relief as he enters his vintage blue car parked on the the sidewalk, bouquet placed securely on the passenger seat. The clock on the dashboard tells him there’s still time to make it to the reservation, granted he wasn’t sure if you were ready to go.

A non-descriptive tune played from the radio as he turned left to enter the designated parking space of your studio building. It was a mixture of soft piano keys that sounded like spring and sunshine, both adjectives he loved to use to describe you.

When he finally found the courage to fumble his way in asking for your number, the smile that flashed on your face was blinding. It was as if he stared directly into the sun with little to no protection for his vision.

Over the course of multiple dates, he found himself waxing prose about you in his head. The pinking of your cheeks reminded him of strawberries ripening, so tempting to touch with his own pair of lips. The twinkle in your eyes, full of adoration and trust, made him feel strong and protective—like he was some kind of crow guarding his loot of sparkling treasure. And the bounce in your step wherever you’d go had him envisioning a sprig of wildflowers growing from each footprint, the nymph of his very own Spring.

He let himself in the studio, grateful you’ve trusted him with a spare key. “Sunshine,” he called out.

The light inside the four cornered room was on, windows all open for the paint fumes to escape, and there you were, hunched over an easel, furiously painting without any care of your surroundings.

He called your name, softer this time, as if to slowly ease you out of the artistic trance. The timber of his voice and his sudden presence led you to squeak in surprise, paintbrush dropping on the wooden streaked floor.

“It’s me, sunshine,” he raised his hands in front of him in surrender. “It’s me.”

Your nose scrunched up in question, a streak of blue dried paint on your cheek, adorable. How adorable you were in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you bent down to grab the brush before resuming your old position.

“It’s 7:50, love.”

You swiveled to face him, eyes wide in distress. Hands promptly reaching to turn over the faced down phone. “No, no—oh my god, I am so sorry!”

“It’s alright,” he tries to placate you but his words of comfort seem to fall on deaf ears. “Really, it’s alright. It happens to everyone.”

Tears were starting to build up in your eyes. Your hands were wrangling with the apron tied around your waist as you mutter a series of apologies again and again. “I’m sorry. So sorry—we can’t make it to our reservation now, can’t we? Spence, I’m so so sorry. I—I forgot,” a sob escaped from your throat. “I don’t know what to do.”

He puts down the flowers on the nearest available space, your stool, and steps into your space. Filling it with his perfume and warmth meant to comfort you. He could see how distressed you were—rocking on your heels, hands unable to stay put, and lower lip sandwiched in between your pearly teeth.

“Breathe. It’s completely fine, love. No harm done. Really, it’s alright.”

The tears come rushing down, staining your flushed cheeks with its tracks. “It’s not—how could I forget?”

“Sunshine, it’s okay. It happens to all of us and I know you’re quite busy, it’s understandable.”

You burrow into his chest some more, afraid of separating from him and the haven he brings.

He continued on. “I also know you’re overwhelmed, the exhibit is just around the corner and I know how important it is to you, I understand.”

Laying your cheek near his beating heart, you mutter a reply. “It’s really not—I don’t want you to think you’re not important to me too.”

His hands cupped your face to stare into your saddened eyes. Spencer couldn’t see the warmth and brightness that was always present in his sunshine. There was a cloud of rain and doubt covering its’ greatness. He understood no one could always be happy all the time but it bothered him to see you breaking down from stress.

“Shouldn’t I be the one worried about that?” he lightly joked. “I’ve cancelled on dates so many times and did those ever make you feel less important to me?”

“No. Never,” you sniffled.

“Then what makes you say I’d think that, sunshine? I would never, I promise.”

The corners of your lips lifted up to a small smile. There it was, the rays of sun peeking behind the clouds, bringing warmth back to the dark crevices of his being.

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” your lower lip jutting out in a pout. The air of anxiety slowly dissipating around you.

Spencer laughed, noting the tear stained marks littered on his purple button down. “That’s alright. Why don’t we order from your favorite Indian place down the block? We can get your favorites and have our dinner date here instead?”

“You’d be okay with that?”

He leaned in to kiss your temples, taking in the twinkle back in your eyes framed by your wet long lashes and the flush on your cheeks from emotion—good and bad.

For Spencer, you had never looked more beautiful. The reason behind of your breakdown was raw, intimate, and it made him see you in a new light. Heat bloomed in his chest, like a series of red roses, filled with love for you.

“Anywhere with you is good for me, sunshine.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[rafecameronssl4t]

Reminder || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: It was just harmless banter between you and another socialite, but rafe reminds again you what the diamond ring meant on your finger.

Warnings: angst, jealous/possesive rafe hehehehe

Word count: 2,160

A/n: guys guys guys it's getting hot in here.

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The gala is in full swing, the grand ballroom echoing with the hum of conversation and the soft clinking of champagne glasses. You stand next to Rafe, dressed to perfection in an elegant gown that draws more than a few eyes in your direction. Rafe's hand rests lightly on your waist, his touch possessive but distant—as it usually is during events like this—as you mingle with other high-society figures.

The night feels long, your polished smile tiring as you listen to half-hearted pleasantries from the guests surrounding you. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Alexander Hawthorne making his way over, his smile wide and confident, his eyes locked on you. He’s known for his silver tongue and effortless charm, especially with married women. Tonight, his gaze feels particularly intent.

"Well, well, if it isn't the most beautiful woman in the room," Alexander says smoothly, his eyes lingering on you just a little too long. "You always manage to outshine everyone, don’t you?" You offer a playful smile, aware of Rafe's tightening grip on your waist. "Oh, you flatter me, Alexander," you reply lightly, not fully dismissing the compliment. "But I’m sure there are plenty of others here more deserving of your attention." Alexander chuckles, clearly pleased that you're playing along.

"I highly doubt that. No one else in this room could possibly compare." His eyes flicker briefly to Rafe, but he seems unfazed by his presence. "I was actually hoping to steal you away for a dance, if I may be so bold." You glance at Rafe from the corner of your eye. His jaw is clenched, his posture rigid, but he says nothing. The tension between you and him has been building over the past few weeks, and part of you enjoys testing his limits.

"A dance?" you echo, your tone teasing. "That sounds tempting." Rafe’s hand tightens even more on your waist, his irritation palpable. "I don’t think that’s a good idea," Rafe’s voice cuts through the playful banter, his tone sharp and controlled, though you can feel the storm brewing beneath the surface. His grip on your waist has gone from possessive to borderline painful, but you don’t flinch.

Instead, you tilt your head and glance up at him, your expression sweet yet defiant. "Oh? Why not, darling?" you ask, your voice dripping with mock innocence. "It’s just a harmless dance." Alexander, sensing the tension but relishing the drama, grins wider. "Come on, Rafe, it’s just a dance. Surely you trust your wife enough to let her have a bit of fun tonight?"

You notice Rafe’s jaw clench even tighter. He glares at Alexander, but the challenge is unspoken, simmering beneath the surface. You can feel Rafe’s jealousy in the way his body stiffens beside you, and for some reason, the idea of provoking him further feels oddly satisfying. "I don’t mind," you continue, turning your gaze back to Alexander.

"After all, it’s not every day a charming man asks me to dance." Rafe’s fingers dig into your side, and you suppress a wince, though your heart flutters at the possessiveness. "You’re not going anywhere," Rafe says, his voice dangerously low. His eyes lock on Alexander, who merely raises his brow in amusement.

"Rafe," you start, keeping your tone light though there’s an edge to it, "you’re being dramatic. It’s just one dance." But you know you’ve pushed him too far. The moment the words leave your lips, you feel Rafe's grip on your waist disappear, replaced by an icy tension that makes your breath catch. In one swift motion, Rafe steps forward, his broad shoulders blocking Alexander from your view entirely.

His stance is commanding, exuding an unmistakable fury, though his face remains composed—a deadly calm that’s somehow more terrifying than if he had exploded. "Back off, Hawthorne," Rafe snaps, his voice a cold, simmering threat. Each word is sharp, delivered with a quiet intensity that sends a chill through the air. "You don’t want to test me right now." If it wasn't Rafe height that loomed over him that intimidated him, it was the icy look in Rafe's eyes that did.

Alexander’s usual bravado falters, and though he holds up his hands in a gesture of nonchalance, the gleam in his eyes fades. If it wasn’t Rafe’s towering height that made him take a step back, it was the icy, penetrating look in Rafe’s eyes. Alexander hesitates, his playful smirk faltering, eyes flickering between you and Rafe.

"Alright, alright. Didn’t mean to step on any toes." He glances at you with a wink before adding, "But you can’t blame a man for trying, right?" Rafe’s gaze doesn’t waver. His silence hangs heavy in the space between them, tension crackling like electricity. It’s clear that Alexander, for all his charm and wit, knows better than to push Rafe any further.

As soon as Alexander retreats, Rafe's shoulders remain stiff, his body radiating with tension. The darkness in his eyes lingers, the anger now fully redirected toward you. Without a word, his hand closes around your wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough to make it clear that this conversation isn’t over. He pulls you with him, weaving through the crowd and out of the grand ballroom, into the quieter, more secluded hallways of the estate.

The moment you’re alone, Rafe spins around to face you, his body towering over yours as he leans down, his breath warm and rapid against your ear. The fury in his gaze makes your stomach twist with both dread and excitement. "What the hell was that?" Rafe growls, his voice barely above a whisper but thick with anger. His grip on your wrist tightens just slightly as he looks down at you, eyes wild with accusation.

"Flirting with him right in front of me?" You lift your chin, meeting his gaze with a calmness you don’t quite feel. "It was just harmless fun, Rafe," you reply, though your voice lacks its usual conviction, "you’re the one who overreacted." "Harmless?" Rafe repeats, his voice growing even lower, his face so close now you can feel the heat of his hander.

"He was crossing the line, and frankly, so were you" Rafe steps closer, his body looming over you, his hand gripping your waist. "You think I didn’t see the way he was looking at you? Or how you were playing along?" You swallow, your heart beating faster at the intensity in his eyes. "Maybe I was," you admit, your voice steady but challenging. "Maybe I wanted to see how far I could push you. Like I said, it was harmless."

Rafe's grip on your waist tightens even further, his fingers pressing firmly into your side, the pressure bordering on painful. You let out a small groan, a sound that escapes involuntarily from the mix of discomfort and the charged intensity of the moment. The pain is sharp, a physical reminder of his anger and possessiveness, and you can’t help but shiver at the heat of his touch.

"I don't care if it was harmless," Rafe growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You're not playing those fucking games with me." Each word is punctuated with a barely restrained fury, his breath hot against your skin. You want to speak, to push back, but the fire in Rafe's eyes freezes you in place. The fierce protectiveness radiating from him mixes with his jealousy, overwhelming and intoxicating.

His hand moves from your waist to your hand, fingers brushing over the large diamond on your wedding ring. "Did you forget what this ring meant?" Rafe's voice is low, almost a growl, as he taps the diamond, each tap a reminder of the vow that binds you both. The possessiveness in his touch sends a shudder through you, your breath catching as his lips graze your ear once more.

You can feel the tension thick in the air between you, the hallway around you fading into insignificance as his words cut deep. "You’re mine," he whispers, his tone raw, dangerous, and resolute. "And I don’t share." Your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of thrill and fear coursing through you at the intensity of his words. You glance down at the ring he’s tapping, a tangible symbol of everything that’s between you—love, control, obligation, desire. It’s suffocating, yet addictive.

You shiver as Rafe’s words linger in the air, thick with possessiveness. His grip on your wrist tightens, but it’s the way he looks at you that keeps you frozen in place—intense, unrelenting, a silent challenge burning in his eyes. You try to keep your composure, to push back against the overwhelming force of his jealousy. "Rafe," you say softly, your voice barely steady. "It was just a dance. It wouldn’t have meant anything."

"That’s not the fucking point," he snaps, his tone sharper now. He steps closer, his body pressing against yours, almost forcing you to look up at him. "You knew exactly what you were doing. I saw the way you looked at him—like you wanted me to react." You swallow hard, but you refuse to break eye contact. "Maybe I did," you admit, your voice low but challenging. "Maybe I wanted to see if you even care."

The words hang between you, and for a moment, Rafe’s expression shifts—his anger momentarily flickering into something else, something raw and vulnerable. But just as quickly, his walls slam back up, his face hardening again. He releases your wrist, but not before pulling you closer, his lips inches from yours, the tension crackling between you.

"Care?" he growls. "You think I don’t care when I’m right here, watching you entertain someone else? You’re mine, and I won’t let anyone forget it." You feel the possessiveness in his words like a pulse between you, and despite the storm raging inside him, there’s something about it that draws you in. His jealousy, his frustration—it’s all because of you, because deep down, beneath the cold exterior, he does care. You can feel it, even if he won’t admit it out loud.

Your voice softens, just enough to break through the tension. "I wasn’t trying to make you angry, Rafe." "You know that’s a lie," he murmurs, his eyes locked onto yours. His voice drops lower, and you can feel the intensity in his words. "But you succeeded. And I don’t like being tested." You glance down for a moment, trying to gather yourself, but when you look back up at him, your heart beats faster.

"Maybe I wanted to see if you still care. Lately… it feels like you’ve been distant." His jaw clenches at your confession, his eyes narrowing slightly. For a brief second, something softer flickers across his features—a trace of regret. But Rafe doesn’t back down, his hand still resting on your lower back, firm and possessive. "I’ve been busy," he mutters, but you know it’s not the full truth. You’re about to push him on it when he pulls you closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

"But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. You should know that by now." You let the silence stretch between you, your body pressed against his as you absorb his words. His anger, his frustration, all boil down to the same thing—he doesn’t want to lose you, not to someone like Alexander or anyone else. "You don’t have to act so cold all the time, you know," you whisper, your voice soft but daring.

Rafe’s lips curl slightly into a smirk, though his eyes remain serious. "You think I’m cold?" "Most of the time." You challenge him, your tone laced with honesty. His hand moves from your back to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Then I’ll remind you," he says, his voice low and dangerous, "how I feel about you."

Before you can respond, Rafe leans in and captures your lips with his, the kiss fierce and possessive, like he’s trying to prove something—to himself, to you. His hand tightens around you, pulling you closer until there’s no space between you, every inch of his body pressing against yours. The kiss is raw, full of unspoken frustration, but also something deeper—something neither of you are ready to name.

When he finally pulls back, his breathing heavy, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours. "Don’t ever doubt that you’re mine," he whispers, his voice ragged but full of conviction. Your breath comes in shallow, your heart racing from the intensity of it all. "And you’re mine," you murmur back, your fingers curling into his jacket, holding him close.

Rafe pulls you back into him, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Let’s get out of here. I’m done with this place." Without waiting for your response, he takes your hand and leads you out of the manor, his grip possessive, his pace quick. You follow silently, your heart racing, knowing that tonight’s encounter has stirred something deeper between you both—something raw and dangerous that neither of you can ignore any longer.

[drowning-rabbit]

spencer reid and artist! reader

- spencer coming home to them covered in paint and a layer of cling film over the furniture (so they don’t make a mess that can’t be cleaned up)

- asking him to sit still so they can draw him while he reads and giggling at him every time he reacts to what he’s reading.

^ also: smacking his arms because he turns the pages so fast it’s distracting

^^re: him kissing reader’s forehead every time they’re concentrated for a little too long

- little sketches on post-it notes saved in spencer’s desk drawers, in corners of the apartment, in shirt pockets. they rarely, if ever, let him leave for work without a meal to eat and a note

- spencer gives reader little gifts of art supplies and stationary that he finds on work trips

- reader turns those supplies into beautiful pieces to gift spencer as a thank you

- trying to hide his relationship from the team but he comes into work with tiny specks of glitter in his sweater vests and is suddenly using really fancy pens they’ve never seen before? morgan questions it one day and spencer launches into a panicked lecture about the writing quality of certain pens based on dry times, ink quality, and shape.

^^ and while he’s sitting there, flushed a deep red at the back of his neck, morgan notices a few marks on his back. spencer refuses to let him see (that’s highly unprofessional)

they are marker doodles because he lets reader draw on his back sometimes when the nightmares get to be too much and the repetitive motion of the marker tip in waves along his skin lulls you both into peaceful sleep. fic about this

spencer is tempted to show his love’s talent off by showing everyone the doodles, but some of them are also nail marks and that is HIGHLY unprofessional and way too revealing before they’ve even met his s/o

[vroomvroomwee]

Crowley is Lucifer

(Ok I know some of you don't believe this theory but I highly suggest you give this a quick read anyway. I tried to make it short and easy and I'll be going chronologically, from s1 all through s2)

- First, let's get this out of the way, Lucifer and Satan aren't neccesarilly the same person. Even in the show the devil that appeared in s1 has only ever been reffered to as Satan, not even once as Lucifer.

- In the bible Lucifer was the one to tempt Eve with the apple, and who do we know that does that in the show. Crowley is literally THE snake from Eden.

- An obvious one perhaps, but the red hair is also a giveaway

- In the bible Jesus was tempted by the devil for 30 days, in the show Crowley says "I showed him all the kingdoms of the world", so that's another role Lucifer has that Crowley had in the show

- It's well known (even mentioned in the Sandman) that Lucifer was the most beautiful of all angels, and our demon is played by no other than David Tennant

Now on to season 2 because there's a LOT to unpack here

- He litterally started the engine of the universe which was one of Lucifers roles

- He's the first to say "let there be light", which is pretty fucking huge since that is Gods line

- "I worked closely with upstairs on it" even in the first scene they're telling us Crowley is an angel of very very high rank

- He fell for asking questions, which is litterally what Lucifer fell for, for questioning God. This in and of itself should be a pretty big indicator. "I only ever asked questions"

- Shax: "a miracle of enourmous power only the mightiest of archangels can perform"

Crowley: "How do you know I didn't do it"

And Shax just... doesn't counter that. She looks even skeptical, as if it COULD be a possibility, unlike Uriel who says to Aziraphale don't excpect us to believe you did it. Shax litterally doesn't shut the option down which confirms Crowley has the power not only of an archangel but of the mightiest kind

- In the bookshop with Gabriel/Jim he says "I don't remember. It [gravity] seemed like a good idea when we were all talking about it"

- "You're welcome to come in, you might even spot an archangel" don't tell me this was Crowley just egging Shax on and not being sneaky

- The fact that he could sense the demons coming. "Somethings wrong""It's coming in waves", when Aziraphale couldn't. It could be a demon thing but we saw Sandalphon, an archangel of lower rank, in the first season mention "something smells evil" so obviously angels can sense demons too, they just have to be powerful enough. And keep in mind Sandalphon was already in the book shop for quite some time, Crowley sensed them even before they had arrived (he also sensed the hell hound who was some fucking miles away)

- The.fucking.folder. "You have to be a throne or dominion above" and this dude opens these clasified documents like it's nothing. If this isn't an indicator of his high position as an angel I don't know what is.

- He's worked with Saraqael, another very high ranking angel

- "I'm the only first order archangel in the room"... and the camera imediately pans to Crowley, and for anyone who's read the book and watched the show you know that rarely anything is coincidental

- When the Metatron says they can't lose another prince of heaven. This... this fucking line. So it's relatively well known that Gabriel and Lucifer are brothers, and if Gabriel is one of the princes of heaven I wonder who the other one could be. "Two princes of heaven". And the Metatrons words were very careful, he doesn't say lost as in heaven can't find him, he says it in the context that they won't be sending Gabriel to hell since they won't lose another prince to downstairs

- In the bookshop when no one can identify the Metatron he turns to Crowley who imediately recognises him. Now you have this dude, who's literally on top of the angel hierarchy and is responsible for running heaven and the connection to God themself, surrounded by archangels and a principality you spoke to face to face with just a few years ago and... none of them can tell who you are, the only one who does is the literal demon. That tells us that Crowley has not only seen him in this form, but has probably worked with the Metaron himself personally. "Always asking damn fool questions", 10 million angels and he remembers what this one particular angel was like 6000 years ago

- Crowley is also very reluctant to reveal his identity as an angel. Now if he were just an ordinary angel of no real significance he wouldn't have a problem revealing his name, but... if his name was one that's the literal representation of all evil in this world, then it is understandable he keeps it a secret, in fear he might scare Aziraphale away

- And I wanted to leave the best for last. So you remember in the book when Crowley has to sign his name to start Armaggedon, and Hastur tells him "no, your real name" after which he reluctantly writes it. Now in the book we never see him write anything, but in the show we see him write a sygil, something that looks very mich like an L. An L... A FUCKING L. And now I wonder how this theory didn't come up sooner.

(Also he can fucking stop time, like dafuq)

Edit:

- "Oh looky here it's Lucifer and the guys" we all thought he was talking about someone else, he's just refferencing things other angels have said about HIM. FUCK

- I keep seing people saying Crowleys memories were wiped because he couldn't remember Saraqael and Furfur. But I think people forget, demons lie. He's lying to make them think he's not that angel they worked with, that he's not Lucifer. (In season 1 we hear him a few times refferencing his life as an angel, so he does remember most of it)

- Also saying if the Raphael theory were true then as showrunners they would have mentioned him somewhere for those not that familiar with the bible (or don't read much fanfiction). The refferences for Crowleys past are so so vague that it would be too sudden and confusing if he were Raphael. But there is one name that everyone is familiar with, no matter who you are how old you are or where you're from, a name that needs no introduction.

Edit 2:

- Back to him being the most beautiful angel, I don't think it was ever quite explained how every single demon when they're in hell looks... awful, but Crowley doesn't. Beelzebub has the spores all over their face, Hastur the maggots and the sh-, Dagon the scales etc. But Crowley doesn't, not even when he's in hell, he's always just so, well, pretty.

- I saw a few people asking about how Lucifer started the rebellion and Crowley wouldn't do that. I think it's the same Crowley who wouldn't get stuck in traffic after creating the M25, or the same Crowley that wanted to call Aziraphale after bringing down the entire London network, "you told them you invented the spanish inquisition, and started the second world war""so the humans beat me to it that's not my fault", "so all this is your demonic work?""no, the humans thought it up themselves nothing to do with me"

- Also I think Satan's in charge of hell not Crowley the same way the Metatron's in charge of heaven and not Gabriel (and who can very easily demote angels if he so wishes)

Edit 3:

- like some of you pointed out Lucifer is also known/means Light-bringer. And Crowley was the first to say "let there be light."

- The file he opens with Muriel is Gabriels file, a class A archangel, so if he knows the password to that it means that either he's on the same level as Gabriel, or above him.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Bluesky and enshittification

NEXT WEEKEND (November 8-10), I'll be in TUCSON, AZ: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

I would like to use Bluesky. They've done a bunch of seriously interesting technical work on moderation and ranking that I truly admire, and I've got lots of friends there who really enjoy it.

But I'm not on Bluesky and I don't have any plans to join it anytime soon. I wrote about this in 2023: I will never again devote my energies to building up an audience on a platform whose management can sever my relationship to that audience at will:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/06/fool-me-twice-we-dont-get-fooled-again/

When a platform can hold the people you care about or rely upon hostage – when it can credibly threaten you with disconnection and exile – that platform can abuse you in lots of ways without losing your business. In other words, they can enshittify their service:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/17/hack-the-planet/#how-about-a-nice-game-of-chess

I appreciate that the CEO of Bluesky, Jay Graber, has evinced her sincere intention never to enshittify Bluesky and I believe she is totally sincere:

https://www.wired.com/story/bluesky-ceo-jay-graber-wont-enshittify-ads/

But here's the thing: all those other platforms, the ones where I unwisely allowed myself to get locked in, where today I find myself trapped by the professional, personal and political costs of leaving them, they were all started by people who swore they'd never sell out. I know those people, the old blogger mafia who started the CMSes, social media services, and publishing platforms where I find myself trapped. I considered they friends (I still consider most of them friends), and I knew them well enough to believe that they really cared about their users.

They did care about their users. They just cared about other stuff, too, and, when push came to shove, they chose the worsening of their services as the lesser of two evils.

Like: when your service is on the brink of being shut down by its investors, who demand that you compromise on privacy, or integrity, or quality, in some relatively small way, are you really going to stand on principle? What about all the users who won't be harmed by the compromise, but will have their communities and online lives shattered if you shut down the company? What about all the workers who trusted you, whose family finances will be critically imperilled if you don't compromise, just a little. What about the "ecosystem" partners who've bet on your service, building plug-ins, add-ons and services that make your product better? What about their employees and their employees' families?

Maybe you tell yourself, "If I do this, I'll live to fight another day. I can only make the service better for its users if the service still exists." Of course you tell yourself that.

I have watched virtually every service I relied on, gave my time and attention to, and trusted, go through this process. It happened with services run by people I knew well and thought highly of.

Enshittification can be thought of as the result of a lack of consequences. Whether you are tempted by greed or pressured by people who have lower ethics than you, the more it costs to compromise, the fewer compromises you'll make.

In other words, to resist enshittification, you have to impose switching costs on yourself.

That's where federation comes in. On Mastodon (and other services based on Activitypub), you can easily leave one server and go to another, and everyone you follow and everyone who follows you will move over to the new server. If the person who runs your server turns out to be imperfect in a way that you can't endure, you can find another server, spend five minutes moving your account over, and you're back up and running on the new server:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/04/pick-all-three/#agonism

Any system where users can leave without pain is a system whose owners have high switching costs and whose users have none. An owner who makes a bad call – like removing the block function say, or opting every user into AI training – will lose a lot of users. Not just those users who price these downgrades highly enough that they outweigh the costs of leaving the service. If leaving the service is free, then tormenting your users in this way will visit in swift and devastating pain upon you.

That not only helps you steer clear of rationalizing your way into a bad compromise: it also stops your investors and other people with leverage over you from pressuring you into taking actions that harm your users. These devils only sit on your shoulder, whispering temptations and threats, because they think that you can make things worse without spoiling their investment. They're not cruel, they're greedy. They will only insist on enshittification that they believe they can profit from. If they understand that forcing you to enshittify the service will send all your users packing and leave them with nothing, they will very likely not force you to wreck your service.

And of course, if they are so greedy that they force your hand anyway, then your users will be able to escape. Your service will be wrecked and you'll be broke, which sucks for you, but you're just one person and your pain is vastly outweighed by the relief for the millions of people who escape your service when it goes sour.

There's a name for this dynamic, from the world of behavioral economics. It's called a "Ulysses Pact." It's named for the ancient hacker Ulysses, who ignored the normal protocol for sailing through the sirens' sea. While normie sailors resisted the sirens' song by filling their ears with wax, Ulysses instead had himself lashed to the mast, so that he could hear the sirens' song, but could not be tempted into leaping into the sea, to be drowned by the sirens.

Whenever you take a measure during a moment of strength that guards against your own future self's weakness, you enter into a Ulysses Pact – think throwing away the Oreos when you start your diet.

There is no such thing as a person who is immune to rationalization or pressure. I'm certainly not. Anyone who believes that they will never be tempted is a danger to themselves and the people who rely on them. A belief you can never be tempted or coerced is like a belief that you can never be conned – it makes you more of a mark, not less.

Bluesky has many federated features that I find technically admirable. I only know the CEO there slightly, but I have nothing but good opinions of her. At least one of the board members there, Mike Masnick, is one of my oldest friends and comrades in the fights for user rights. We don't agree on everything, but I trust him implicitly and would happily give him the keys to my house if he needed a place to stay or even the password for my computer before I had major surgery.

But even the best boards can make bad calls. It was just a couple years ago that we had to picket to stop the board of ISOC – where I had several dear old friends and comrades – from selling control of every .ORG domain to a shadowy hedge-fund run by mustache-twirling evil billionaires:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/12/how-we-saved-org-2020-review

Bluesky lacks the one federated feature that is absolutely necessary for me to trust it: the ability to leave Bluesky and go to another host and continue to talk to the people I've entered into community with there. While there are many independently maintained servers that provide services to Bluesky and its users, there is only one Bluesky server. A federation of multiple servers, each a peer to the other, has been on Bluesky's roadmap for as long as I've been following it, but they haven't (yet) delivered it.

That was worrying when Bluesky was a scrappy, bootstrapped startup with a few million users. Now it has grown to over 13 million users, and it has taken on a large tranche of outside capital:

https://fediversereport.com/on-bluesky-and-enshittification/

Plenty of people have commented that now that a VC is holding Bluesky's purse-strings, enshittification will surely follow (doubly so because the VC is called "Blockchain Capital," which, at this point, might as well be "Grifty Scam Caveat Emptor Capital"). But I don't agree with this at all. It's not outside capital that leads to enshittification, it's leverage that enshittifies a service.

A VC that understands that they can force you to wreck your users' lives is always in danger of doing so. A VC who understands that doing this will make your service into an empty – and thus worthless – server is far less likely to do so (and if they do, at least your users can escape).

My publishing process is a lot of work and adding another service to it represents a huge amount of future labor:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/13/two-decades/#hfbd

But I would leap into Bluesky and gladly taken on all that extra work, every day – if I knew that I couldn't get trapped there.

I don't know why Bluesky hasn't added the federation systems that would enable freedom of exit to its service. Perhaps there are excellent technical reasons to prioritize rolling out the other systems they've created so far. Frankly, it doesn't matter. So long as Bluesky can be a trap, I won't let myself be tempted. My rule – I don't join a service that I can't leave without switching costs – is my Ulysses Pact, and it's keeping me safe from danger I've sailed into too many times before.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/02/ulysses-pacts/#tie-yourself-to-a-federated-mast

[jazzyoranges]

heyy i love how well written your works are, and i was wondering if there could be another tara carpenter x gp reader?? an enemies to lovers kinda thing, smut/fluff but it is totally up to you!! thankss❤️

All Mine

Tara Carpenter x gp!reader

Words: 2.8k

A/n: thank you!! also kind of a combination of this request and a prompt in this request

Warnings: reader has a penis, hate fuck? i think?, bottom!T, top!R, explicit sex, implication of breeding kink, teasing (lots of it), unprotected sex (your pullout game is weak), implication of alcohol consumption, no ghostface au

MINORS DNI!!

Tara hates three things in her life. You, hairless cats, and soggy bread. In that order too

She could handle hating hairless cats and soggy bread, but you? You were in Tara’s friend group. Tara hated you and to make matters worse, she was the only one that did

You were nerdy like Wes and Ethan, quick-witted and funny like Mindy and Amber, athletic like Chad, charismatic like Quinn, protective like Sam, and (allegedly) nice like Anika. You had nearly every one of her friends best traits, but Tara knew why she didn’t like you. You were really fucking annoying

Along with all of your positive traits, you were loud and obnoxiously social. Not that Tara was antisocial or anything, but god you were on a whole other level. It was mildly infuriating how you could go to a party you knew nobody at and somehow come out with more friends than you started with

All those people and you decided Tara was the one you’d annoy. A nudge to her shoulder made Tara look up from where she was putting her head down

“You look like shit” The brunette doesn’t respond and puts her head back down on the table

“Sam tase someone without your permission again?” Tara could practically hear the smirk in your voice

“Please for the love of god shut the fuck up. Your voice is the last thing I need to hear today”

“Woah, someone’s mad” You stick out your tongue in response at the glare Tara sends your way

“Suck my dick, (Y/n).”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Carpenter”

Tara abruptly leaves the lecture room. You think you really fucked up this time, but let out a breath of relief when you see that Tara didn’t grab her things. She was probably going to the bathroom to escape you. Which, who would ever want to escape you?

Apparently not Tara because she’s back in her seat just a few minutes before the lecture starts

“Aspirin?” You grab the bottle from a pocket in your bag, shaking it next to her

“You have Aspirin laying around?”

“Anika told me you were at a party, I figured it’s the least I could do”

“You’re trying to drug me, aren’t you?”

“If I was trying to drug you, I would’ve offered it to you at the end of class”

“Why weren’t you at the party?” Tara asks, taking the bottle from you hands and shaking out two tablets before downing them with some water

“Missed me?”

“Nope, just surprised you weren’t blackout drunk”

“Good to know you think highly of me. I was studying, thank you”

“You? Study?” Tara scoffs

“Don’t act like the idea is so out of this world”

“Right, because last time I remember you passing up a party was because your betta fish died and you forced all of us to have a funeral for him at the park”

“Trout’s death is not one to be made fun of!”

Before Tara can respond, the professor starts talking and the lesson begins. Unfortunately her head is still kind of throbbing with only mildly wanting to throw up. She had to accept she wasn’t going to get anything done until that Aspirin kicked in. Especially when she can feel you staring at her

The class goes as smoothly as it can and you notice Tara hasn’t made an effort to even try to take notes. The lesson eventually ends and when everyone gets up, the brunette begrudgingly does too

You bump your shoulders together and Tara glares at you with enough power you actually manage to feel fear for a split second until you realize it’s Tara. The girl was like two apples tall. Two and a half on a good day

The brunette doesn’t realize you were handing her a paper so you physically have to place it in her hand. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion

“What is this?”

“Notes, you need them”

“I’m not buying you Raising Canes if that’s what you want”

“Since I’m such a good friend, I’ll give it to you free of charge. Just make sure to bring it back with minimal damage”

“You’re not gonna make me Paypal you fifty bucks?” Tara doesn’t have any classes for the next few hours so you two made a point to walk to your next class. She didn’t know how it started, but you were okay to talk to when you weren’t being annoying

“In my defense, Trout recently died”

“We buried him in the fucking park, I don’t think that costs money”

“It was condolence money. I made everyone pay and I think it was pretty genius”

“I really do wonder how you still have friends”

//-//

Someone knocks on the door of you and Anika’s apartment. When you realize your roommate is probably listening to music that was too loud to be healthy, you get up from your very comfortable bed

You don’t remember ordering food and you’re pretty sure Anika didn’t invite Mindy over, so the person behind the door was probably just the nice old lady across the hall that made cookies for everyone

For better or for worse, you’re met with a Tara Carpenter that’s caught off guard when you open the door. Tara usually sees you in well put together outfits so you can only imagine her surprise when she sees you wearing boxers that outlined your cock and a hoodie that barely covered it up

“Eyes are up here- What brings you to the Mojo Dojo Casa House?”

“Can’t you just let me in?” Tara’s cheeks burn in embarrassment. Thank god you just glossed over… it

“It’s protocol you identify yourself and state why you’re here” You lean on the doorframe, actively blocking the entrance to your apartment. Tara knew this was a losing battle and hated how you looked hot while winning

“Anika and I have a project we need to work on”

“You didn’t identify yourself” you’re wearing that same dumbass smirk you have after telling a horrible joke

“Tara. Tara fucking Carpenter.”

“Unfortunately I don’t think we know any Tara Fucking Carpenters. Guess you can’t come in” you shrug

“God give me patience.” Tara rubs at her temples like you’re giving her a headache

“Isn’t it god give me strength?”

“If god gave me strength, you would be dead.”

“Point taken, but you still need a password”

“You didn’t say anything about a password!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if you’re the real Tara or not. Say a fact about me only the real Tara would know”

The brunette pretends to think for a moment, even putting her hand on her chin and looking off into the distance for effect. When she notices you’re starting to get suspicious of her antics Tara pushes you though the door, successfully getting in without a password or confirmation

You stumble back almost like a cartoon character and you can hear Tara let out a small laugh. You can see the dimples on her cheeks whe she tries to cover it up with her hand

“Nika, your friend’s here!” You lead Tara to Anika’s room, making sure to knock loudly while Tara’s busy either checking you out or trying to blow you up with her mind. It’s unclear, but you have to lean towards the latter

“Isn’t Tara your friend too?” Your roommate opens the door, headphones around her neck

“No.”

“Yes.” Both of you say in unison. The look you give each other is almost comical with how Tara’s glaring while you’re smiling. Anika stares blankly between you two and it eventually starts to make more sense

“Stop eye fucking each other, we have work to do” Anika pulls Tara into her room. You shrug, heading off to probably yell at ten year olds on Fortnite or something

“We were not eye fucking” the shorter girl huffs, sitting on Anika’s bed

“I literally opened my door and thought you two were about to make out”

“I didn’t expect to get interrogated when I came here!” Tara flops onto her back, covering her eyes and trying (and failing) to stop the red that dusted her cheeks

“Whatever, I’ll get you to crack later”

“Kill yourself.”

//-//

Tara doesn’t understand what she’s feeling when she sees some random girl grind against you

It’s like that one scene in Euphoria when Maddy and Nate stare each other down at the school dance, except you were looking far more more bored. That is, until you see Tara glaring at both of you

Like a switch turned on, you’re suddenly more interested in the girl. You encourage her grinding with a hand kneading her hip, using your other hand to take a sip of your drink. And just like Maddy, she’s tempted to find Chad to do the same to you. She doesn’t.

Tara fucking hated you. But she also needed you now.

Making you jealous would take too long. In theory she had the time, but her hunger to taste you was making her do things she would’ve never thought of before. One of those things being grabbing your hand and leading you away from any girl that tried to even look at you.

The girl who was grinding on you calls her a bitch among other things, but Tara knows it’s worth it when she sees you smile at her like she’s your entire world. Because she was your entire world

She leads you into an empty guest bedroom of the house, locking the door before getting close enough to you she can smell the alcohol in your breath

“What’s all this about, Tar?” You grin. Tara doesn’t know if she wants to kiss or slap that smirk right off of your annoying face

“You know what this is fucking about.”

“Do I? I think you should spell it out for me.”

“You know, I’ve had it with your attitude.” Tara jabs a finger at your chest, the back of your knees hitting the end of the bed. In one motion you sit down and bring Tara down with you. You make her sit on your cock

“Anyone ever tell you you’re fucking hot when you’re mad?” You smile, finding the blush on Tara’s cheeks absolutely adorable

“Only you.”

“Good. How about we keep it that way, baby?”

“You’re so annoying.” The brunette cups your face with both of her hands, your lips fitting together like they were always meant to

“I know I am” You say in between kisses, your hands finding their way up Tara’s shirt, kneading the spot right under her boob. She forces your hand to stimulate her nipple, eliciting a moan from her mouth

“You’re so pretty, Tar. I can’t believe only I get to see you get all hot and bothered” You smile breathlessly

“Fuck. S-Stop talking like that or you’ll make me like you” Biting a hickey on Tara’s neck, you take of her shirt and her bra in a flurry of heat

“I bet you’ll like me even more when you’re bouncing on my cock” You force Tara to grind on the bulge in your pants, earning you a small whimper that makes you smile

“C’mon, all you have to do is admit you like me and I’ll fuck you better than anyone has” It should be considered torture how much you were teasing Tara. You were biting hickeys on her neck, playing with her nipples, all while a few layers of fabric were the only barriers between your dick and her pussy. Fuck you knew how to overstimulate a girl

Laying Tara on on the bed, you could really tease the brunette better in this position. You can feel the Tara’s wetness through her soaked panties, and you’re sure she can feel the pre-cum leak out of your cock. Your hands are on her hips as if you were thrusting, yet you deny her and your pleasure for the sake of being an ass

“Don’t you want me to ruin you for anyone else? I promise I’ll stretch you out so good no other guys’ cock can fill you up like me.”

“Fuck you. I hate you, you’re s-such a fucking asshole, you know that?” Tara reaches for anything she can hold onto, your arms being the nearest thing

“I can think ways you could ‘hate’ me even more” You smile when Tara reaches to take off her panties but you find her hands first. You intertwine your hands together and the action is so soft Tara almost forgets about the situation she’s in. Almost

“Whenever I masturbate I think of you, did you know that? God, sometimes I have these hookups and all I can think about is you cumming around my cock”

Tara thinks it’s embarrassing how she’s about to cum just by your sickeningly sweet voice and the constant friction between you two. Tara also thinks she’d rather die than miss an opportunity of a lifetime.

Sure you were a cocky pain in the ass, but you were her cocky pain in the ass.

“Fuck- I admit it! I think you’re the hottest fucking person in the world. I like you.” Tara looks straight into your eyes, and the smile reserved only for her makes another appearance

“That wasn’t so hard, was it Tar?”

“I still hate you.” You unbuckle your belt and unbutton and unzip your jeans with watchful eyes. You pull down your boxers just enough so that your cock springs out, making Tara’s mouth water. Fuck you were big

Pulling Tara’s panties to the side, she’s dripping wet when you swipe your finger across her slit

“Fuck- (Y-Y/n)” Tara sings when you lick up her juices with your tongue. She buries her hands in your hair, bringing you closer to her dripping cunt. You moan at her taste and the vibrations are almost enough to get Tara to cum. Almost

You rise to your knees, lining up your dripping cock with the shorter girls dripping pussy. You decide to be evil and rub your dick against her slit before easing your tip into her hole. It was infuriating how slow you were going and Tara remembers why she hated you in the first place

Tara’s whining and whimpering under you and you can’t remember a time where you’ve been happier than in this moment

Tara on the other hand, has never hated you more in her life than in this moment

The younger Carpenter decides to be bold when she grabs your shirt and forces you forward. You’re caught off guard and over half of your cock finds itself nestled tightly in her pussy as you catch yourself with your arms

“Y-You’re sneaky, aren’t ‘cha” With your face so close to hers, Tara realizes you’re as much of a victim to your teasing as she is. She can tell it’s taking everything inside of you not to fuck her raw until your dick is limp and Tara’s legs are sore

“You can go fast. I can handle it, baby” Tara cups your face with her hand, stroking your cheek with such softness like you aren’t literally lodged into her cunt like a dog in heat

With that confirmation, you give Tara a peck on the lips and buck your hips in such a way you hit that spongey spot inside of her

The sound of skin slapping is louder than the blasting music downstairs, but your grunting and Tara’s moaning combined are louder than both. Thank god the owner of the house was your friend because you don’t know if you could come out of that room if this is what Tara sounded like

“Fuck- I’m close” You say a little too breathlessly for your liking

“Don’t p-pull out.” The shorter girl uses your shirt as leverage to keep you inside of her. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion

“T-Too messy, don’t feel like cleaning up.” Tara answers between moans like she can read your mind

The familiar heat you’re so used to finally snaps. Wrapping her legs around yours, you cum with almost a guttural whine. Your orgasm is enough for Tara to have hers and you fuck her through it, making sure none of your cum drips out of her hole

You pull out and a few dribbles of your semen flow out of her cunt. You plug her pussy with your fingers and Tara is far too sensitive to handle it

“D-Don’t tell me you’re tired already?” Tara jokes, but all air in her lungs leave when you let out a laugh of your own

“I’ve got all night, love.”

Tara has to remember to make you buy her a morning after pill.

[hypnagogics]

read part two here! series masterlist here!

currently thinking about how modern!ellie would be such a like “hallway crush” type…OKAY WAIT i have an idea, picture this: it's the first day of classes, and you're on your way to your university's astrophysics lecture hall and see her, walking briskly to her destination, with big black headphones (listening to divorced dad rock, of course) seemingly in her own world, not even aware of how cool she is in the moment. she passes you, walking only a little faster than you are, but it gives you time to check her out a bit. she's wearing some dark wash jeans and a flannel with a chunky jacket over top, her beat up bag slung over one shoulder(because shes just too kewl for skewl), and her signature worn black converse. as you follow her into the hall, (not being creepy, you're just on the same path. oh, seems like you're classmates too…oop!), she enters first, then holds the door for you as you file in behind her, looking back, meeting your eyes, and giving you a small nod as a greeting. (one of those that guys do, like when they tilt their chin up for a split-second as a bro greeting, UGH THE ENGLISH EXPLANATIONS ARE ESCAPING ME i do not know the ways of the men but yall have seen that nod thing they do, right?) that would happen in a fraction of a moment and you'd go to smile back at this beautiful stranger, but by the time you collect yourself she's already looking forward again. oh and then the two of you would part ways and sit on opposite sides of the room, however she'd still be on your mind…and whenever you cast glances her way, she'd seem interested in what the professor is talking about, but you'd then realize you're staring and bring your eyes back to your own laptop....

☆: hi, i have SO many ideas for drabbles and stuff but they rarely translate onto paper how I imagine them to go, but I'm sure that comes with time and practice, but for now take this silly idea I jotted down as it crossed my mind...I need her so bad, wish she was real 😔 (half hoping a situation like this happens to me LMAO...but crushes are too much stress....) BUTTTTT this drabble thingy got them creative juices flowing, and now im highly tempted to make a series or more parts to hallway crush ellie ...I say that every time but this idea's bouncing around in my skull and won't leave so who knows...

[p0orbaby]

For a Good Time, Call…

summary: you send a nude to the wrong number, you don’t expect what happens next.

warnings: Leah, yeah that’s a warning, suggestive themes

a/n: one of my favourite of bits of writing ngl

word count: 2.1k

part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | epilogue

-

You’ve never felt dread like it.

“Shit shit shit!” You repeat as you try and stop the message from sending.

The woosh and the delivered sign told you it had already been spat out into the ether. You want to leave the city. The country even. Perhaps fill the next available spot on a space shuttle.

All of the above possibilities rattle through your brain as you pull your t-shirt down from where it was hitched around your neck. Yank your shorts up from where they lay low on your hips.

“I’m dead. I am so dead!”

If your heart wasn’t racing before, it definitely was now.

Panic sets in as you contemplate the impending fallout. Terrible thoughts race through your mind, and you highly consider drafting an apology that somehow erases the embarrassment. The gravity of the situation hangs heavy, and groveling seems like the only viable option.

Could she get you benched? Maybe. Could she stop you from getting another international call up? You really fucking hoped not.

In the midst of your demise, you realise another sorry soul will have to bear the consequences of your actions. Bar Girl. The intended recipient of the half naked photo you signed, sealed and delivered to someone else.

You decide, rightly or not, that she has now become collateral damage. And the decision to ghost her emerges as a seemingly reasonable response.

The potential repercussions from your inadvertent exposure now cast a grim shadow on all aspects of your life, making abandoning Bar Girl a desperate attempt to shield yourself from further embarrassment.

The idea of changing your identity hovers temptingly in your periphery.

Desperation takes hold, and for a moment, you entertain the delusional thought that maybe you had imagined the whole debacle in some lustful daze. However, when a subtle movement on screen catches your attention, reality hands you a more damning blow – the weight of the situation crashes down as ‘read’ replaces the once-hopeful ‘delivered’.

Acknowledgement from Leah has shifted from a delivery confirmation to active viewing.

As if it had just set alight in your hands, you hurl your phone across the room. The reality sets in that there’s no turning back; the message, along with its aftermath, is now etched into the digital realm.

The room echoes with the crash of your phone meeting the wall. As the device lies discarded, its screen cracked, you’re left to face the reality that there’s no undoing the chain of events.

In a desperate release, you roll over and scream into your pillow until the muffled sound becomes an agonizing buzz in your ears.

-

The next day hits hard as you trudge into the changing room. You barely slept. Tossing and turning most of the night in an anxious bubble. And when exhaustion finally took over, your dreams were more like nightmares.

You were tempted to call in sick. But you decided that wallowing in your own despair would probably just make matters worse. So you settled on a compromise.

Avoid Leah at all costs.

Your hood hangs low over your face as you pass by several of your teammates and make a silent beeline for your cubby. But that may have piqued their interests more, as Beth finds herself invading the space you so desperately crave.

“You look rough. Bar Girl give you a run for your money?”

“Something like that” you grumble, hands making quick work of unpacking your bag.

She hums at you and smirks at how disheveled you look when your hoodie comes off. You know where her mind has gone, but you don’t try and dissuade her from writing an excuse for you.

“So, when are you going to make it official then? You’ve been talking for almost a month right?” Beth asks, her eyes flitting around your face and down your neck in search of marks left behind.

You offer a noncommittal shrug. “I’m not sure if I will. I’ve still got the feelers out” you reply, the words sounding awkward and detached even to your own ears.

Beth raises an eyebrow, you gather it’s not the response she expected. Especially from you.

“That doesn’t sound like you”

“No?”

“I thought you were all about the long game?”

You offer a half-smile, choosing your words carefully. “Opinions change, you know?” you reply, slipping your training kit over your head and turning away to fold your discarded clothes, hoping she’d get the point.

Beth studies you for a moment, her eyes searching for something beyond the surface. “Fair enough. Keep us posted though yeah? She seemed nice”

You wince at her words. Jesus, you felt like a bitch, but you nod anyway. It seems to do enough. When you hear her walk away, you release a breath.

“Oh” she voices unexpectedly behind you, and you immediately tense up again. “Leah’s asking for you”

You turn on your heels, spinning so fast you almost topple over. “Did she say what it was about?” You ask. You try not to seem nervous but the sweat above your brow is giving you away.

“No. Just that she wants you to meet her in the gym when you’re ready”

You nod again, and swallow hard. Your throat was dry and you felt like you could pass out. “Sure, yeah. I’ll head there in a second”

Beth eyes you again suspiciously but when she eventually turns and leaves the room, you’re left to grapple with your jitters in solitude

“Shit” you mutter to yourself. And as you stand there trying to regain yourself, it becomes very apparent that you don’t actually have a back up plan.

If you really do lose minutes on the pitch, your career could be on the line.

Conscious that you've already left her waiting too long, you dart out of the room with a newfound sense of urgency.

The corridors blur as you navigate the familiar path, the door to the gym looming larger with each stride. And when you get there you’re out of breath and clammy.

Is it weird to say you're grateful that a door handle is cold against your skin? Perhaps, but you are. It grounds you a little as you stand there panicking.

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you open the door and step into the gym at last. The air feels charged with anticipation as you brace yourself for a meeting that could have repercussions far beyond the boundaries of the training facility.

But Leah is nowhere to be found. The lights are all off and the room looks the same as it was left the day before.

Is Beth having you on? Or is Leah trying to mess you around, torture you until you break down and leave on your own accord.

Don’t be so silly. She wouldn’t do that, would she?

“Hey”

You jump out of your skin as the silence is disrupted. You turn in fright and she’s lucky she’s so far away because you're a fighter, not a flighter, and you’re sure you would’ve punched her straight in the face.

“Why the hell are you hiding in the dark? You idiot!” you blurt out, the initial shock now giving way to frustration. The tables have turned, and you can’t help but question Leah’s peculiar choice of location for this conversation.

Leah lets out a short laugh. “Hiding? I wasn’t hiding. Just needed to grab a few things from the cupboard”. She lifts up her hands to showcase the foam rollers you deduce she was looking for.

“Beth said you wanted to talk”

“That’s right”

“Do I need to ask what it’s about?”

She laughs again and you start to lose your patience a little. She notices and glances at you with a more serious expression when you don’t look impressed, so she gestures for you to join her in a quieter corner of the gym.

“I get it; the suspense isn’t helping,” Leah admits, her tone softening. “But you’re not stupid. I think you know why I’ve called you in here”

As you follow her, Leah’s demeanor takes an unexpected turn. The serious expression gives way to a playful twinkle in her eye. “Didn’t know you were into that kind of thing. Nudes, I mean,” she teases, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. “Nipple piercings too? You’ve been hiding some interesting secrets, haven’t you?”

Leah’s teasing catches you off guard, and your words stumble over each other as you stammer, “I, uh, well, it’s not—I mean, I didn’t…”

“Don’t get all nervous on me now” she says as she perches on the edge of a massage table. “You seemed pretty confident last night”

You attempt to salvage some dignity, but Leah’s mischievous grin suggests she’s thoroughly enjoying your discomfort. “I didn’t mean to send it to you. It was a mistake”

“No?” She pops her bottom lip out in a pout. “That’s a shame”

You feel a knot forming in your stomach, and your attempts to defend yourself only seem to fuel Leah’s amusement. “I-I…” you struggle to form a coherent response. And you silently curse yourself for not being able to hold your ground.

“If not me, then who?” She asks as if it’s any of her business. If you weren’t so stunned by the whole thing you’d have told her to fuck off. But the words don’t quite make it past your lips, and you find yourself at her mercy. “I won’t judge”

There’s a pregnant pause where you decide if you should tell her. Then with a reluctant sigh, you decide to reveal the truth. “Someone… a girl I met last month”

“Bar Girl” she deduces.

You were never really close to Leah. You played for the same teams, sure. But you never frequent the same social circles. Not really. So to find out she knows about what you get up to in your free time is a little jarring.

“Yeah, her,” you admit, feeling exposed in a way that extends beyond the painful fact she’s seen your tits.

“Hm” is all she says before she holds her hand out to you. And you take it without even thinking.

“You know” she starts. Settling you so your front is almost flush against hers as you stand between her legs. “I’ve always wondered what you’ve been hiding under that jersey of yours” she finishes, tucking some stray hairs behind your ear. Her fingers brushing your skin and setting it on fire.

“The same parts as you, I’m guessing”

“Funny”

“I do try”

There’s another lull, and in the silence you swear you can hear your heart beating.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Her question is barely above a whisper.

You shake your head no. Because she isn’t making you uncomfortable. Confusing you, yes. Intriguing you, certainly. But uncomfortable? Not exactly.

Leah leans back slightly, studying your expression. “Good, wouldn’t want to cross any lines.” Her fingers continue to play with your hair, a casual touch that feels anything but.

“Lines can be subjective” you say, your eyes trained on hers as you watch her mouth pull into a smirk.

Where this new found confidence has come from you don’t know.

“Can they?” She questions. Her eyes glint as she tilts her head to the side. Is she mocking you?

“Sometimes”

She likes your answer, you think, despite the still of her hands in your hair. Because her expression shifts and she leans in, her gaze dropping to your mouth.

“Interesting,” she murmurs, untangling your hair from her fingers and brushing her thumb over your bottom lip. You catch a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes as she notices the blush deepening on your cheeks.

Without breaking her eyes from yours, Leah leans in just enough to tease. Close enough that you can feel each breath angst your skin. Far enough away that it’s infuriating. Then she pulls away, leaving you hanging on the edge of anticipation.

Then she’s gone.

You stand frozen while she unfurls herself away from you, sidestepping from the space she occupied between you and the massage table.

You only turn when she clears her throat behind you.

“Message me again sometime?”

The way she asked was softer than you expected. Softer than how she was talking to you for the last five minutes. It catches you off guard and a response gets stuck in your throat again.

You nod because that seems to be your default reaction to all of her questions. A smirk must be hers to you, because she flashes another one in your direction.

With that, she was gone. Leaving you alone in the dark with a skip in your pulse and two discarded foam rollers at your feet.

And a sneaking suspicion your spot for both club and country were going to be okay.

[theladysunami]

I listen to a lot of audiobook murder mysteries, which has me thinking:

Shen Yuan transmigrating into a murder mystery… as the killer!

There are a couple of ways the story could go.

First Option: Shen Yuan lets his System know, in no uncertain terms, he will not be murdering anyone.

Its response: [Alternate Plotline Initiated. New Assignment: Designated Red Herring].

Poor Shen Qingqiu finds himself stuck in a whole murder mystery series, and any time anyone is murdered, he somehow ends up being the number one suspect!

The victim? Probably picked a fight with Shen Qingqiu at some point. (Shen Qingqiu tries to avoid such arguments, but it never seems to work!)

The murder weapon? Yeah, Shen Qingqiu is almost guaranteed to have touched it. (Shen Qingqiu is severely tempted to start wearing gloves 24/7.)

The body? Either Shen Qingqiu finds it himself at some inopportune time, and/or it was stashed somewhere “only” he is supposed to have access to. (At some point it's just: Shen Qingqiu opens a door… sees a body… closes the door. “Time to call the cops, yet again.”)

Shen Qingqiu ends up a tad paranoid about the whole thing, setting up cameras outside his house, in his office, in his car, etc. just to (hopefully) stop people from planting evidence any of those places.

If anyone asks about the truly absurd number of (eventually dropped) murder allegations, Shen Qingqiu insists he's cursed. Even with genre blinders on (making the number of convoluted murders in the area seem normal somehow), it's hard for anyone to argue the point.

For Shen Qingqiu's day job (when he's not busy being charged with murder) he works as a professor at a university with a highly regarded Criminology & Criminal Justice program. I'm thinking the original goods was a literature professor, with a strong distaste for cops, who was known for grading anyone in the criminal justice program exceedingly harshly. Naturally one of his students is the protagonist, Luo Binghe.

After his transmigration, professor Shen Qingqiu suddenly becomes a very kind and doting professor with a real passion for literature. This leaves Luo Binghe quickly smitten and makes him a very motivated amateur detective, since he's determined to prove his beloved's innocence as quickly as possible and as often as needed!

Second Option: Shen Yuan takes over after the original goods already committed the murder.

He wakes up with a splitting headache (the victim attempted to defend themselves presumably), looks at his bloody hands… looks at the victim… looks at the weapon… looks at his bloody hands again. “Damn it, Airplane.”

He decides he doesn't want to try and hide a body actually, just to be caught by the protagonist later and charged with a whole slew of things in addition to murder, so he calls the cops himself. He might as well take advantage of the fact he has a concussion and literally doesn't remember a thing. Maybe he can get the charges reduced somewhat and get a lighter sentence.

Of course the first cop that arrives at the scene is Yue Qingyuan, who as the #1 Xiao-Jiu stan gives Shen Qingqiu way too much benefit of the doubt. The most obvious evidence also keeps being erased or damaged by weird as hell coincidences.

Shen Qingqiu knows he certainly isn't responsible for damaging evidence and wonders if the System is working overtime behind the scenes to ensure there actually is a mystery for Luo Binghe to solve. (After all, it wouldn't be much of a story if Shen Qingqiu was already charged and sentenced before Luo Binghe had a chance to even do anything.)

To his complete bewilderment, after a few days leave to recover from the concussion, Shen Qingqiu is actually allowed to return to his university teaching job. He decides to make the best of it, since who knows how long he'll be a free man.

As in the first scenario, a few months later and Luo Binghe is absolutely smitten, not to mention all the other students and faculty that have come to adore him.

As Shen Qingqiu has successfully endeared himself to pretty much anyone and everyone local that could actually charge him or provide eyewitness testimony, not to mention all the shady shit about murder victim Qiu Jianluo the ongoing investigation keeps digging up, the plot stalls for a bit until the state police (aka Huan Hua Palace) are finally called in by Qiu Haitang.

Unfortunately for the ‘HHP’ folks, the protagonist himself is on Shen Qingqiu's side, and Luo Binghe is perfectly happy to muddy the waters by conveniently “losing” evidence, sending them after every single red herring he comes across, and “accidentally” digging up dirt on all the shady dealings going on in their department.

The System keeps trying to motivate Shen Qingqiu to hide evidence, lie, or do literally anything suspicious to progress the plot further, but all its punishment protocols involve sabotaging Shen Qingqiu's coverup attempts (of which he has none) or revealing information to the protagonist (who is complicit by this point) so it's fresh out of luck.

Eventually the System gives up and Shen Qingqiu is congratulated for “getting away with murder!” despite the fact he didn't actually do anything.

“Seriously? Does it even count as getting away with murder when the original goods was the actual murderer? I didn't kill anyone!”

[...]

[pearlywritings]

To think of lace - to lose one's mind

synopsis: that little game of teasing you started back home promises to keep your husband on his toes throughout the whole day. Will he manage to endure? And is it really a punishment or more like a reward?

pairing and characters: Alhaitham x fem!reader

tw: SMUT, established relationship (marriage), lingerie, petting, fingering, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex

word count: 6.7k+ words

a/n: this the second part of A slip of the tongue and I highly recommend to read it first!

Ever since you bid your goodbyes to Kaveh and left the house, Alhaitham has been glued to your side. With your fingers wrapped around his wrist the two of you had a nice morning walk to the top of the enormous tree, where, upon entering the Akademyia, you immediately had many eyes drawn to you. It is almost funny how some of the students still get that stupefied look on their faces whenever your husband is spotted with you by his side, clearly not looking like simple colleagues.

You, however, ignore them, turning the opposite to the House of Daena direction and making your way to the auditorium of where your defense will take place.

The nuisance still appears in the form of some senior student, who practically jumps in your path and waves a stack of documents in your husband’s face. Oh, looks like someone is brave this morning.

“Scribe Alhaitham, I need your approval for-”

“Declined,” the man doesn’t even stop in his way, momentarily wrapping an arm around your waist and moving your bodies to step around the young scholar.

“What!?”

“Check my working hours next time. Besides today I do not accept anyone in my office or outside of it,” his hand squeezes your hip a little, and you roll your eyes with a smile. Of course, because he is making his priorities right.

Leaving the stunned student behind, you take a turn to the next corridor, which is notably emptier, and you cannot help, but tease him.

“Oh, am I making my dear husband abandon his duties? What a bad wife I am…”

“You are my duty too. So technically I don’t slack off,” his face remains stoic, though you take notice of how his hand still lingers on your hip - usually he is never this handsy in public.

“Sure, sure, if you say so,” chuckling, you lean into his side. The rest of the walk remains silent.

On the inside, however, Alhaitham’s thoughts are all over the place like an annoying buzz. The primary one is understanding that under these few layers of clothing the thin lace is kissing your skin, and his palm is directly there. The second one is of irritation, that you let him take a look, but never appreciate it properly. The third one is cursing at himself for being ruled by the thoughts of how appealing your body is, wrapped in that set of lingerie, looking like a perfect temple to worship. The fourth is rolling his eyes for the last comparison he did - Kaveh’s antics do rub off on him it seems. The current one is realizing that the next time he’ll manage to get a glimpse of the tempting sight is only back home, and until then it’s going to be many excruciatingly long hours.

Today is your test for becoming a Dastur. Right now it is his test for patience and sanity.

He manages to calm his heated mind down when you leave his side to go to the special stage from where you’d be holding your speech. The Scribe joins other attendants and members of the certification committee, but sits as far as he can and alone, to escape unwanted discussions and make his presence forgotten. Because he is here only for you, and he knows that you see him very well from where you are standing.

You smile when your gazes lock, and warmth spreads in his chest, which quickly travels south, when your fingers, as if smoothing your tunic, brush right where he knows the hem of your stocking is. Yes, it is indeed a test for his patience.

The title and introductory part is all good - his mind is cleared once again, and he admires the way you talk and demonstrate the valuable information on the slide behind you. But the longer he watches your lips move and body slightly sway and bounce when you take steps across the stage, the thinner becomes the string of self-restraint for not sliding his eyes all over your figure, imagining your without such unnecessary clothes. Until it snaps and he does. It’s a simple action, really - and no one would’ve noticed it, had they not been Alhaitham, who has been watching you like a hawk - you take a sip of the water. Just a sip, but the tiny droplet that escapes the corner of your mouth and slides down your neck and disappears under the hem of your shirt, makes the clothes before his eyes completely disappear, gleaming orbs following the imaginary path of the cooling bead on your smooth skin.

Has it been long since the last time the two of you were intimate? There is no other explanation for the man’s easily-rising excitement rather than the combination of the sexy look of his beloved wife and the lack of bedroom activities in the past month - you were too busy with preparing for your presentation, and he had a work trip somewhere along the way. He’d come home, eat dinner with you, spend time together, reviewing your work or enjoying reading his book and then go straight to bed. Of course he took notice that your visits to his office during hours at the Akademiya got fewer, but with how hectic your lives are, he didn’t give it much thought. Well, he should have.

And he definitely will tonight.

His strayed attention is back to reality and you manage to catch that moment, when in the clouded eyes appears the sparkle of clarity. Oh, you are enjoying this so much. Whatever your husband may say about Kaveh - the architect is a freaking genius. It was his idea to give Alhaitham some eye candy and then tease by not giving him more. At first you did not believe it would work, to which your blond friend only rolled his eyes dramatically, picking up his mug, and claiming that he was not blind and saw the way the ash-haired man at times devoured you with his eyes alone. Now, you see the artist really has a keen eye.

Yesterday you truly were annoyed with your partner (in the beginning) - even for a moment he didn’t want to stop and think and carefully choose his words and show you that he understands that you want some support from him and not a lecture. So now, even though you no longer hold any grudge against him, the payback feels so great. Besides you weren’t lying - having witnessed how the man was looking at you in the morning with a hardly concealed desire to touch boosts your confidence.

You want the typically reserved man to squirm.

Three hours. It's been three, goddamn, hours, that could have been one, if it hadn't been unnecessarily stretched with the attendees' stupid questions. Alhaitham didn't even care what looks he could attract, when he grabbed your hand and led you to his office, after you were dismissed for the committee to start an equally long discussion about your academic destiny.

The fireflies were bumping all over the walls of your heart when your husband finally dragged you inside the secluded space and slammed the door closed, locking it. It was your initiative, however, to take a hold of his cape's lapels and draw him close, luring him into a kiss. Your plan is far from its end after all.

"Habibti…" his voice is so breathless, hushed words caressing your plump lips, before he dives in again, kissing them, holding you tightly between his toned body and the wall in his office. You are so pliable in his arms, leaning into him, embracing his neck, fingers burying in the short hairs at the back of it. 

On purpose you push your body into his hold eagerly, letting his palms slide over your waist and down to your hips, gliding over the curves in silent appreciation. With the stressful factor (the presentation) out of your way, there is undoubtedly neediness rising in your own system, your own realization of just how hot you would be with all the clothes off, and how enticingly would glint your husband's eyes once landed on your body again.

For a moment it gets hard to follow the plan and not give him a green light to have you right against the wall of his office.

However, you will yourself to keep your act.

Alhaitham groans in dissatisfaction when you break the kiss and draw your face back, putting the tips of your fingers against his lips, not allowing him to chase after yours.

"My love…" you make your voice extra breathy and borderline sad, looking at him with fake droopy eyes and lips drawn in a line. "I am so tired… You think I can use your couch to take a quick nap?"

It's so easy to see the shift in the man's expression. The attention he observes your features with. The hands that return to your waist, but sliding more to the small of your back to support your suddenly weakened body. The shaky sigh he releases and a gentle kiss he presses under your eye, where, conveniently, the evidence of your lack of proper regular sleep is quite apparent.

"Yes, my love, of course,"  watching him holding back once again, this time with your best interest in mind, is heartwarming and you lean close to peck the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, habibi. I promise, we'll have our fun tonight. Can you wait for me?"

Closing his eyes and leading you to the couch he firmly nods. His self-restraint is admirable and there is just a tiny slither of guilt in your chest. But at the same time you know - some denying now will cause a greater experience later.

"Certainly. Give me a moment, I'll bring you more pillows."

"Spoiling me, huh?"

"Not yet, but I will," he holds your hand as you sit down on the plush couch Alhaitham demanded for his office's accommodation years ago. "You were great out there."

"Aw, thank you, dear," a bright smile lightens your 'tired' face, and your husband feels his heart skip a beat. If he had a genie to grant him one wish, he'd ask to see your smile every day till the rest of your lives. "Did you enjoy the way I shot all the Rajkumar's critiques down?"

"More than I probably should've," he quietly chuckles, kissing your temple and straightening to go and grab extra pillows. "I saw your scientific supervisor smirking smugly while you were at it.”

“Oh, yes, sounds like him,” you hum in acknowledgement, and the man hears some shuffling. It’s astonishing how quickly the whole mood has changed and, while you, without any doubt, appreciate it greatly, you can’t just not tease your beloved some more, right?

When he turns around with two pillows in arms though, his breath hitches - the view from before is once again in front of him. Mesmerized, he watches you carefully laying out your robe on the table, which leaves you in a white shirt only and those pretty stockings in sight.

“Love, mind grabbing a duvet for me too? I know you have one somewhere in here,” you don’t even look at him, sitting back down on the sofa, stretching those beautiful legs and letting the hem of the last proper piece of clothing left on you roll up your hips. Silently, Alhaitham walks to you, handing what he’s holding and getting a soft ‘thanks’. A minute later you are also provided with a thin blanket, and your husband receives a kiss on the inside of his wrist.

“You are the best,” burying the side of your face in a pillow, kicking your shoes off in the process of fitting onto the sofa, you let out a quiet yawn. “Wake me up in an hour alright? Bet they are going to be discussing for two.”

“Okay,” it’s hoarse and thick, falling from his dried lips, and you praise your boldness. A big palm slides under your ankles to shift your legs a bit comfortably under the piece of soft fabric, and you hide a smirk at his sneaky attempt to touch your clad in dark green legs. 

Suddenly sleepiness actually overtakes your body, growing heavy and mind foggy - you were going to spy on him, but now an actual nap doesn’t sound so bad.

The last thing you hear is the scraping sound of the chair being drugged closer to the desk.

Alhaitham could barely concentrate on the papers in his hands. Your stunt - he really can’t come up with a better word for it - from before left his mind occupied way better than any volume before could. Sure, you’ve napped in the security of his office before, with a door locked and no visitor allowed in when you are over - but never were you this…enticing.

With an exasperated sigh, the Scribe lowers the documents and pushes them to the side, glancing at your soundlessly sleeping figure, hiding from him under that damned duvet, back turned to him and one of the pillows held close to your chest.

He sure as hell won’t do much in an environment like this - only if driving himself mad and aroused, which won’t do, at least not now.

Grabbing the back of his chair, the man carefully moves it, standing up and just as cautiously pushing it back. He could at least make some use of this hour - it’s been a while since breakfast, and he won’t be surprised if upon waking up you’d feel hungry.

Quickly writing a note and putting it on top of your robe just in case, Alhaitham picks his office keys from the desk and strides to the door, the carpet muffling his steps perfectly.

Four turns of the key later he is walking down the corridor and to the exit. The warm breeze caressing his cheek and running through the ashen locks the moment he steps outside is sobering. Lungs fill with air hungrily, making his broad chest rise and fall quite heavily, heart calming its wild pace. Archons, what his wife manages to do to him… In a process of punishing her husband no less.

The amused quirk of his lips is gone faster than anyone around him can register it, and the Scribe hastily descends down the many stone pathways. The bustling market he steps in is such a stark contrast to the quietness of the Akademiya, and it quickly overtakes his being, making the thoughts of you lose their grip on his mind. Maneuvering between the many people on each and every road, Alhaitham makes his way to the Lambad’s tavern, pace even and fast, his long legs being perfect for the task at hand.

However, halfway to his point of destination, an annoyingly familiar voice calls out for him, and only then the stoic man realizes - he forgot to turn on his earpieces. Truly, only you would make him forget even the most routine things he does.

At first he doesn’t even want to acknowledge Kaveh, pretending he didn’t hear him, but when a hand grabs his wrist, the Scribe is forced to stop.

“What?” The architect isn’t fazed by the irritation hidden behind those cerulean eyes.

“Where’s Y/n? Don’t tell me you actually left her on such an important day.”

“I did not,” it irks Alhitham how quickly his roommate jumps to conclusions, but, then again, you did “complain” to your friend about his idiotic attitude yesterday. “And if you are so concerned, why weren’t you present yourself?” “Because I had an important meeting with a client this morning and Y/n supports that,” he finally lets go of his wrist, putting a hand on his hip instead. “Besides, trust me, I was not going to sit there and watch you drooling all over your wife like a desperate idiot, I have enough of it at home.”

“My home.” “Your and your wife’s home, if we take law into consideration,” the blond huffs. “By the way, about that. You might think your face is all unreadable and stonelike, but I know your stupid ass long enough to recognize the look in your eyes and the thoughts behind them when your wife is simply mentioned. I can pretty much guess the events of this evening, so I’ll stay at Cyno’s tonight. Just wanted to give you a heads up.”

Oh, so your little plan was crafted by two people? He should’ve guessed that Kaveh contributed to it too. However, as much as it annoys your husband, he can’t completely brush off the usefulness of the architect at times. Especially when he intentionally and inadvertently makes your marriage so much better.

“Thank you,” the stunned look on Kaveh’s face is almost amusing, but he doesn't care to elaborate. Turning on his heels, Alhaitham walks away as if this short exchange never happened.

“What for?” He hears from behind and only quickens his pace to mix with the crowd sooner. “Hey, what for!? Alhaith-!”

This time the Scribe doesn't forget to turn his earpieces on.

Teasing and riling up your husband proved to be an amusing and pleasurable experience - one you’d really like to repeat again. His mesmerizing eyes have not once strayed from your figure for the remainder of the day, gazing at you as you slept, as you two shared lunch, as you were named Dastur and congratulated by many, as you smiled brightly, happiness radiating from your very being. His hand was unwilling to let go of yours whenever you had to leave his side, and immediately intertwined fingers with yours once you were back with him. His lips shaped in beautiful words of quiet praise for you, pressing a kiss now and then to the back of your hand, to your temple, the corner of your lips when no one looked.

It was amazing and flattering how his body gravitated towards yours in different forms and by the time you stepped inside your shared home, your mind was set on not torturing him any longer.

And since your husband assured you of Kaveh’s absence…

Alhaitham is almost taken aback, when you grab his hand and drag him to the closest piece of furniture to push him onto - a daybed in the lounge area, not so far from the entrance. The moment his back touches the cushions and he bounces a little, you are already dragging your robe off. When he pushes up on his elbows, you are straddling his hips in an instant, palms firm on his chest and a sweet smile plastered on your lips.

“Oh, my love, you’ve been such a good boy for me today…” your voice is as sugary as the words you grace your husband with. Applying some pressure onto his pecs you force Alhaitham’s arms to give out, putting him on his back again, which he doesn’t complain about. Next you reach to take his earpieces off and immediately gasp, when the man effortlessly lifts his hips with you on top of him, to untie the waist porch with a player inside. With the device out of the way, you are no longer afraid to take action.

Alhaitham grits his teeth and throws his head back, as you forcefully push your clothed pussy against his concealed length, grinding. Fingers curl around the collar of his tight shirt and tug, baring the skin of his neck, which in a moment becomes the victim of your eager mouth. His big palms fly to your hips, burying under the white blouse of yours and cupping the tantalizing curves you’ve been hiding and teasing him with all day. Green lace is pleasant under the fingertips and he has half a mind of tugging it off, which is quickly cut off by your lips sucking a mark right under his jaw. Alhaitham quietly moans.

“Mmm, how I love these sounds of yours,” you murmur against his ear, gently biting onto the lobe, sending a slight shiver down his body. “Much more enjoyable when listening to you lecture me.”

Ah, right. This whole thing was supposed to be his punishment. Even though right now, with the way you drag your cunt against his crotch, it feels more like a reward. Good to know you’re acknowledging his efforts.

Although he can do so much more to earn your forgiveness. Plus, he did promise to spoil you.

You gasp when he uses the strength of his body to roll you two over, pinning you to the daybed and hovering above. The man takes a moment to drink in your disheveled state; legs, clad in pretty stockings, brush against his thighs in an attempt to close and hide the wet patch on the front of your panties. Then there is that blouse, which rode up to your waist, and he doesn’t waste time reaching to undo the buttons, gently swatting your hands away when you try to deny him weakly. Once open it reveals the beautiful almost see through bra, and your husband thickly swallows at the sight of your perky nipples straining against the sheer material.

“The lingerie stays on,” he almost doesn’t recognize his voice - hoarse and thick with arousal, and it seems to be doing things to you, given how you squirm from just a few words.

He sits back onto his heels, busying himself with undoing the clasps of his cape and letting you lift your upper body enough to tug the blouse off. His top is the next piece to end up on the floor and the scholar can’t help but chuckle at how quickly you start palming at the hard muscles of his chest. You mewl when he pinches your left nipple through the bra in retaliation.

For now he leaves his pants on, going back to what you were doing just mere minutes ago - pushing his clothed semi-hard dick to your pussy. He doesn’t care if there is going to be a stain on the dark fabric, all he cares about is your scorching lips finding his and drawing the man in a kiss full of unresolved need. It’s nice to know you’ve been craving him the same way he has been you and your little game affected your body too. He rubs himself between your legs, rocking his hips with vigor matching yours, while his hands cup your soft breasts, squeezing and rolling the erected nubs with his thumbs.

He catches every single moan with his mouth, not letting you go for longer than mere seconds to gasp for some air. The room grows hot, or maybe it’s just your heated bodies, glued to each other and even more so with your legs wrapping around his waist.

Archons he needs to taste more of you, not just the lips.

A surprised, borderline dissatisfied sound leaves your throat when he breaks the kiss, but is quickly transformed into a pleased sigh, as Alhaitham starts laying a path of gentle pecks down your neck and all the way to the valley between your constricted breasts. With an index finger he tugs that little center gore between the cups, enough to bare some of your tender flesh, humming in approval after you reach to roll the straps down your shoulders, letting the nipples pop out of their lacy confines too.

Right as the left nub disappears in his hot mouth and is pressed on by that skilled tongue, your hands fly to the back of his head, fingers burying in the soft ashen locks. Back arches and pussy throbs - fuck he can feel it with his cock through those little barriers you still have on. Your husband sucks and is not disappointed with the breathy moan you release and another throb of your core, which he sure is making that spot on your new panties bigger. Maybe he should help you a little.

“Shit, aaah, fuck- Haitham!” He can feel your nails slightly dig into his scalp and body jolt when his hand disappears under the waistband of your sexy underwear, the pads of his middle and index fingers immediately sliding between your pussy lips.

“Who would've thought that one of the esteemed Haravatat Dasturs got herself so worked up, that the mere touch from her husband can force such a language out of her,” the Scribe can't help, but snicker, lazily toying with the same nipple by the tip of his tongue, before carefully taking it between the teeth and slightly tugging.

It feels like the spark of electricity shoots through your body. Especially as he taps your clit at the same time.

“You are- oooh~ very mean right now,” Alhaitham doesn’t need to lift his head to see your pout, but he does so nevertheless, leaning up to give you a reassuring kiss.

“Just trying to match my wife,” he murmurs against your lips before returning to your chest to take care of the neglected nipple, two fingers entering your fluttering hole. Your mouth hangs open in a myriad of moans as he sucks and kisses the areola, all the while working his quickly soaking digits in and out of your heat. Your typically patient and lazily teasing in bed husband is making quite a quick work on preparing your body, which has you smiling proudly at achieving your goal today. Sure, moving up the scientific ladder was a satisfying thing, but having your lover so eagerly caressing you is an amazing treat.

Alhaitham hums when your hips start rocking, trying to match the thrusting of his fingers. It’s not unwelcome, but tonight he feels like doing all the work. So, he finally leaves your wet and swollen nubs at peace and, traveling another path of kisses down your stomach, pushes your body further up the daybed to come face to face with your pussy. He smiles as your fingers comb through his messy fringe, putting it up and away from his face, and he loves how your breath hitches when he looks up at you with those magnetic eyes of his, right from between your spread legs.

Not breaking eye contact, he hooks the fingers of his free hand onto the front of your panties and tug them aside. He feels how you clench around the two fingers and when he draws them back next time to re-enter more comfortably, pushes the third in as well. You are the one to look away, throwing your head back and whining his name, and he, after sucking a blooming mark right above the hem of your stocking, dives in.

Having Alhaitham put his mouth onto your cunt is a rare treat, given how much he loves teasing you and how he’d rather prefer kissing your lips, swallowing your muffled pretty sounds. And because he knows how damn loud you get when he eats you out.

Just like now, moaning and whining and barely forming any sentences while his tongue and lips are toying with the sensitive clit, fingers curling to press against your g-spot. It’s no surprise that not a minute later your thighs clamp around his head and with a sensual arch of your back and a scream of your beloved’s name you cum.

The man doesn’t care that he is being suffocated, he keeps working his fingers and mouth to help you through this mind-blowing orgasm, and only when you start kicking your feet from overstimulation, does he stop fingering you and wraps both his big hands around your thighs, forcing them open. He loves the whining sounds you make and how you try to push his head away as he licks your swollen labia with the languid strokes of his tongue, flicking the tip every time it reaches the clit.

Finally he decides to have his mercy on you, placing a soft kiss to the hipbone and pushing himself up. As he wipes his lips and chin with the back of his hand, he can’t help but appreciate the disheveled state he put you into. Locks of hair streaming wildly on the mattress, the hooded look in your eyes and the mouth slightly ajar are drawing a beautiful picture. Accompanied by your bra being pushed down and panties aside, you remind him of the ancient sculptures, depicting the true beauty of the lover’s body.

Without a second thought he leans down to kiss you. Your shaking arms are a welcomed wrap around his shoulders and he slides his open palms under your back to embrace you tighter. 

“So,” he begins after a few seconds of slow kissing, putting his forehead against yours, “would you like to continue here, my dear impatient wife, or would you like me to bring you to the bedroom?”

You think for a moment, playing with the damp hairs at the back of his neck - more to collect the shattered pieces of your mind than to anything else.

“Mmm… In all honesty, I don’t feel like moving to the cold sheets of our bed,” you eventually say after a couple of beats of silence. “And here it’s so warm already and comfortable… I want you here. Please.”

Well, if you ask so nicely.

“I am not dealing with Kaveh if he comes screaming at us for leaving stains here,” Alhaitham unwraps the lock of your hands and straightens his posture, before stepping down from the daybed to remove his pants and underwear.

“You’ll just have to be careful and cum inside,” you give your body a stretch in preparation of what is to come, letting out a pleased sound.

“Oh, I am not worried about myself, habibti,” naked at last, your husband joins you once again and, tugging the panties aside more properly, presses the tip of his fully hard cock to your entrance. “I’m more concerned about you dripping all over here.

“You-!” He effortlessly catches your hand and presses it beside your head, leaning forward and pushing the head inside. Oh, how quickly the annoyed look on your face changes to the surprised and then keening one. With every inch of his dick sliding inside, your chest rises and falls more feverishly, and more delicious sounds are drawn from your throat. A pretty unmarked throat.

Now, Alhaitham isn’t necessarily a possessive partner, but even he can’t deny the appeal of having his wife’s neck be littered with his marks. So when the last inch of him is finally settled inside you, he gives you a moment to adjust, instead focusing on sucking and nibbling onto the skin of your shoulder, slowly moving higher up the side of the neck, only to repeat all of this but in reverse for the other side. He can feel your arm wrap around him again, nails slightly digging into the muscles of his back, because you know very well, what a brutal pace your lover is capable of setting. Your breath hitches when your beloved grabs your hip, letting your other hand go, which immediately goes to his back too, and bracing himself on his now free one.

A couple of shallow thrusts are to test the waters, and when he gets a positive response of your gummy walls clenching around him but with no painful resistance, Alhaitham draws his hips back till only the tip stays inside and slams forward properly. 

A whole month without sex shows in the fast pace he quickly sets, the deep strokes that stimulate all your sensitive places, the wet slapping of skin against skin with every thrust he delivers to your pussy. It’s also in the desperate need to be impossibly close to you, chest to chest and lips to lips, tongues meeting and moans shared. The way your legs wrap around his waist once again, attempting to pull him even closer, drives the man insane, because he feels the nylon of your stockings, he is reminded how gorgeous you are at the moment, and the memory of your teasing snaps the very thread of the sanity he’s been trying so hard to maintain throughout the whole day.

You curse as he uses the hand still holding onto your hip to move your pelvis in tandem with his, pushing you down onto the daybed when he pushes out and slamming you up as he thrusts in. The squelching sound is so dirty and there is a thought at the back of your mind that you sure are to ruin the piece of the furniture, but it is quickly forgotten when your husband groans into your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“You’ve done such a great work,” he whispers, kissing over one of the marks, “I’m so glad I came to watch you. My most amazing, smartest, patient and forgiving wife. I love you so. Damn. Much.”

Each thrust accentuating his words cuts off your attempt to tell him he doesn’t need to apologize anymore, that he’s justified enough already with his prior actions, but it seems that Alhaitham wasn’t taking it lightly than he promised to make it up to you.

You scrunch your eyes together, tilting your head back as he keeps his eyes glued to you. Cock drilling in and out of you the man licks his lips, cursing under his breath at the particularly hard squeeze of your cunt. His expression is surely the same as yours - eyebrows pinched in pleasure, jaw slack, breath labored as he is driving you both to your peaks.

“Feels good?” He asks after another deep thrust that jolts your body a little. Clit is throbbing with the need of being touched and you mewl to your husband, begging just for it. He chuckles deeply and lets go of your hip, leaning back and grabbing your legs under the knees instead. In a second you find yourself folded in half with your handsome husband jackhammering into you. As asked, he also reaches for your clit, ribbing tight circles with his thumb, eliciting the loudest moans he hasn’t fucked out of you in a while.

“Better, beautiful?”

”Yes-!”

He groans, watching your body jerk and shake at his ministrations. He can’t take it anymore, his cock throbs at just a mere sight, not to mention the telltale rhythmic clenching of your walls, warning him of your rapidly nearing orgasm.

A wail you let out as you cum sends a wild shudder down your husband’s back, pushing him over the edge just seconds after you with a moan of your name. White shoots inside, painting your walls, filling you up with warmth, greedily milked. 

It takes everything in Alhaitham not to collapse on top of you, but he catches himself right on time, one hand planted onto the mattress next to your shoulder, the other abandoning your swollen clit and sliding up your thigh to the back of the knee, gently rubbing. With deep shaking breaths he caresses the skin hidden under the nylon and then carefully puts your leg down, uncurling your body, to which you groan in relief - he makes a mental note to rub your thighs when he’ll be taking you to the bath.

For now he focuses on showering your cheeks and nose with fleeting kisses to make you squint, to hear you giggle. Your arms embrace his frame for Archon knows what time this night, and you lean up to leave multiple tender pecks on his face too and, as he quickly realizes, to try and catch his lips with yours.

Before he indulges you in your desire, Alhaitham swiftly puts his hand under your back to find the clasp of your bra, worried that the tender flesh of your chest has been squished uncomfortably by the bunched material. The relieved sigh you let out when the hooks are undone is chased after and successfully captured by your husband’s mouth.

With the bra thrown to the side, the man slowly slides his softened length out and immediately tugs your panties back in place, to prevent his cum from leaking out and onto the expensive looking cover of the daybed’s mattress. You whine at the loss, but he kisses you again, murmuring a promise of the second round, should you desire one after you finally move from the lounge area. Which you eventually do in a couple of minutes - not without the help of your beloved, your legs feel like that wobbly Padisarah pudding after all. 

As much as you didn’t want to continue your evening escapades in the bed previously, the cool sheets are a nice contrast to your heated skin now, after Alhaitham put you down to prepare the bath. With a quiet groan you roll onto your back and lift one leg, pulling the knee to your chest to remove the stocking.

Just as you throw the sheer piece to the floor and lift the other leg, your still naked husband emerges from the bathroom.

“What do you think you are doing?” You note the strange undertones in his voice even before you turn your head to look at him and notice a small scowl on his face.

“Undressing? Weren’t we going to take a bath?” Confusion paints your features, thumbs already hooked under the hem of the second stocking. The man just sighs, shaking his head and walking to where you are lying.

“With all that teasing I’ve endured today, I assumed that unwrapping your body is the least compensation I could’ve had.”

“Oh, is that so?” A smile tugs at the corner of your lips and you straighten your leg, extending it towards him and touching the chiseled abs with your toes. “I suppose you are right. You’ve done a very good job today, being an amazing supporting husband that you are.”

Alhaitham catches your foot, holding it up and placing a lingering kiss to your calf, sending blood to your cheeks. Then he slides his open palm along the length of your leg, caressing it in appreciation, inching towards the slightly darker hem. Hooking his index finger he puts on a show of slowly tugging the nylon off, making the action so vulgar and hot with the bottom lip caught between his teeth and lids half-closed, that you feel the blood running south this time.

It’s almost sobering how earnest his next words are.

“You’ve brought it to my consideration that I tend to switch off my mind when I’m around you, spewing nonsense as a result. So, from now on I promise to pay closer attention to what I say to you.”

“Habibi,” you rise onto your bent elbows, foot still firmly held in his hands, “as much as I appreciate the notion, I want you to know I am not mad. And you’ve shown today that I do matter to you more than the discomfort of staying for long around other people and your distaste for big Akademiya gatherings”.

“Oh, believe me, I know you are not mad. If you were, you would’ve put all the books lying around the house into the bookcases and put the locks on them and then made me sleep on that very daybed yesterday,” a small smile graces his face and he gives you a knowing look, right before finally tugging the stocking completely off and lowering your leg. “But I still mean what I said. I know I am not a perfect man, but for my wife I am willing to work on my shortcomings.”

“I know you do, love, it was in your wedding vows after all,” you mirror his smile, pushing yourself up, not without a small wince at the feeling of his cum leaking out and wetting already ruined panties. “And trust me, I knew what I was signing for when I decided to get serious with you.”

“Hopefully you are not disappointed,” is a quiet murmur, as he gently holds your waist and helps onto your feet.

“Of course not. It would’ve been so boring if you were always agreeing with me,” he gives you a look, but you only laugh, raising your hand to cup his cheek. “Thank you for sharing this moment with me today, Alhaitham. It truly means a lot to me.”

“Yes,” he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch with serenity etched into his features, “I am glad I was there too.”

taglist: @meimeimeirin, @rjasmin2021, @callinz, @monamourbladie-mb

[theresattrpgforthat]

hi! have you seen the TTRPGS for Palestine bundle yet? and do you have any recommendations from it

https://tiltify.com/@jesthehuman/ttrpgs-for-palestine

THEME: TTRPGS for Palestine

The TTRPGs for Palestine Bundle is going from April 12 to May 7, so there's not much time left to get it, but here's some recommendations of some really awesome games that you can find in it.

Gubat Banwa, by makapatag.

GUBAT BANWA is a Martial Arts Tactics and War Drama Tabletop RPG where you play as martial artists poised to change the world: Kadungganan: the cavalry, the wandering swordsmen, the tide turners, the knights-errant, the ones to call in darkest night in a world inspired and centering Southeast Asian folklore.

Witness, grand warriors, honorable gallants that trudge and toil under kings and haloes. Witness, KADUNGGANAN, that refulgent name. That blasted name: WITNESS NOW. The end of days is upon us: and the new world MUST BE BORN. Bear your blades, incant your magicks. Cut open your tomorrow from the womb of violence. Inscribe your name upon the very akasha of this world. 

Gubat Banwa is designed for fans of 4th edition D&D, with in-depth character abilities that make you feel both unique and powerful, in a colourful and flavourful world full of vibrant cultures and clashing conflicts. The game uses an action economy with different action options carrying different weights, which also reminds me quite a bit of Lancer. If you want a game that pushes you to strategize with your friends and weigh your advancement options carefully, you want Gubat Banwa.

Gun & Slinger, by Nevyn Holmes.

GUN&SLINGER is an RPG geared for short, episodic sessions about a weapon and a wanderer. A Maestro and two players (Gun and Slinger) set out into a dead planet mutated by a god's forgotten child and hunt strange bounties, investigate the world and unlock hidden powers. During play, they seek to learn the nature of what’s hunting the Slinger, figure out why the Gun is sentient and discover how the world died.

This game is specifically for three players, using the rules of Go Fish as a resolution system. Gun & Slinger is all about using your resources to the best of their ability, and your resources might exist on your character sheet, but they also exist as cards in your hand.

What really intrigues me is the lore that’s baked into your character sheets. One of you is a wanderer in a twisted world, tempted by strange powers that guarantee to change you into a monster. One of you is a sentient magical gun, borne by that wanderer and designed to deliver death and pain.

Gun & Slinger has expansions included, allowing you to instead play as a wanderer possessed by a demon, a mech and a pilot fused as one, or someone who bears a cursed sword. I think the fact that it requires a small table and the fact that the characters’ lives are tied together makes this a high-stakes, terribly intimate game.

Apocalypse Frame, by Binary Star Games.

In a ruined and terraformed world where most of humanity is under the yoke of a brutal regime, the former workers of a once-remote factory - now known as The Collective - have risen up to create a future of freedom from oppression. You are an Ace - a highly skilled pilot referred from a Division in The Collective and assigned a humanoid combat vehicle known as a Frame. You and your Strike Team of fellow Aces must take on The Collective’s greatest threats, ensure its survival, and carve a path for its continued success.

Apocalypse Frame takes mechs and fits them into the LUMEN system, which centres competency as well as fast but effective rounds of combat. The game includes a variety of different threats, allowing you to tailor your campaign to your group’s tastes, and the tailoring doesn’t stop there. You choose both a division that your character belongs to, and then one of three mechs within that division, allowing players to share similar fighting styles but differ in weapons. You can also modify your basic frame, adding general modular systems alongside systems and armaments that can come with your mech, making character creation and progression exciting for folks who love tweaking and tailoring to their heart’s content.

If you’re a fan of Armored Core or Battletech, you’ll want to check out Apocalypse Frame.

Here, There Be Monsters!, by wendi yu.

No matter what they tell you, there’s still weirdness and wonder everywhere. You just have to know where to look. At the edges and cracks of ‘normal’ life we exist, we persist, and we resist: the monsters, the magicians, the anomalies, the freaks, and the outcasts. We gather in the shadows, trying our best to live our lives in a world that, when it doesn’t exactly fear or hate us, doesn't even believe in our existence.

here, there, be monsters! is a rules-lite response to monster-hunting media from the monsters' point of view. It's both a love letter and a middle finger to stuff like Hellboy (and the BPRD), the SCP Foundation, the Men in Black, the World of Darkness games and the Urban Fantasy genre in general. It is an explicitly queer, antifascist and anti-capitalist game about the monstrous and the weird, in any flavor you want, not as something to be feared, but to be cherished and protected.

Here, There, Be Monsters is a love-letter to anyone who has been made to feel monstrous, as well as an homage to media such as Hellboy, the SCP Foundation, and Men in Black. It’s urban fantasy meets organized power structures, and as the monsters, you’re here to burn those structures down.

This game uses descriptive tags to slap onto your characters to represent what they can do. You can choose from a number of different monster character backgrounds to give you guidance towards, and there’s plenty of monsters both in the base game and in the game jam wendi ran back in 2022. If you want a game of power, anti-capitalism, and punching up, this is the game for you.

Pale Dot, by Devin Nelson.

Pale Dot is a collaborative storytelling game for 2-5 players about a crew of non-human cosmonauts leaving their planet to explore a strange solar system, finding threads to unravel the unknown along the way. It is fantastical, surreal, and perhaps very unlike humanity’s own ventures in space exploration. Though one thing is universal: leaving home is terrifying, dangerous, humbling, and a catalyst for changing one’s perspective. 

Pale Dot is a GM-less game where players work together to create an alien setting and subsequently envelop it in cosmic mystery, embodying cosmonauts called Dustlings, as well as one of 5 different settings. During their journey they will be able to travel to 24 different locations within their solar system, each with several prompts for improvisational scenes. Each player will also have to manage the integrity of their cosmonaut and their shared ship while avoiding space's many perils.

The cover for Pale Dot gripped me the first time I saw it; a tiny creature in an astronaut suit, looking up in fear at something in the sky, as vegetation blooms inside their helmet. You play as the Dustlings, non-human but sentient species exploring the Cosmos, a strange, horrifying and wonderful universe that changes those who venture into it.

Mechanically, Pale Dot uses a GM-less structure similar to Dream Askew, but there feels to be a much bigger emphasis on the setting your cosmonauts explore, rather than the cosmonauts themselves. Your characters are assembled traits, drives and equipment, almost all of which can be expended to cause or solve problems. Each player is also responsible for at least one setting element, such as The Cosmic Wilderness, The Wondrous Endeavour, or The Omnipresent Danger. As you visit locations, different elements will be prompted to influence the scene, while your cosmonauts try to navigate the scene and try to finish the mission. If you want a game that is collaborative and evocative, I definitely recommend Pale Dot.

Fractal Romance, by Ostrichmonkey Games.

A never ending abstract landscape of rhythm and soft glamour. Wander the halls, rooms, and chambers. Encounter strange Denizens and get to know them better; befriend them, fall in love, just chill. Try and fill out your own blurred edges. Fractal Romance is a tabletop role playing hangout. You will pick up a character to play and explore the Fractal Palace, generating its infinite sprawl and the Denizens that inhabit it, as you play.

Fractal Romance is all about searching; for something you need, something you want, or even for who you are. It feels rather surreal, perhaps like a dream dimension that you are moving through. The game uses a deck of cards to generate rooms, as well as the denizens of this gigantic, dream-like palace. This game uses rather simplistic playbooks, each asking you to choose three descriptive words, and then uses cards to fuel your character’s actions: you have things you can always do, things that cost a card to do, and things that you must do in order to draw another card.

If what you want out of a game is a chill time with friends, moving from one vibe to another, and generating emotional stories for your characters, you might want to check out Fractal Romance.

Himbos of Myth and Mettle, by huge boar.

You are big. Big arms, big tits, big thighs, big brai- you're big where it matters. In addition to a heaving, throbbing body, glistening lightly with a thin sheen of pleasantly fragrant perspirant, you have one singular unifying trait  - come hell or high water, you are going to help.

Himbos of Myth & Mettle is a high fantasy, high camp role playing game of epic proportions (of body), for 2-5 players, one of whom will act as Game Guide.  The rules center around a simple roll under mechanic and prioritize narrative flair and cinematic descriptions. Himbos is inspired by many classic fantasy properties (and could be considered OSR adjacent) , but leans towards a more garish, salacious and queer (gay or odd, pick your fighter) style of play. It is designed with comedy and flamboyance in mind, but is not without it deeper and darker touches. It's definitely not grimdark, but there will probably be blood. Think classic fantasy pulp in style, but contemporary sensibilities, modern rules-lite mechanics, and a player philosophy centred in helping, kindness and being fucking hot.

I’ve heard rave reviews for Himbos, and I think the idea of leading an entire group of well-meaning but possibly over-ambitious adventurers is a great set-up for a game full of laughs. Himbos is very much designed for a light-hearted evening of fun, flirting, and fucking up (but in the best way).

Other Games from the Bundle I've Recommended:

Space Taxi, and Creation Myths, by GothHoblin.

Caltrop Core, by Titanomachy.

Souvenirs, by Rémi Töötätä.

Thunder in Our Hearts, by Marn. S.

Eldritch Courts of Some Repute, by AlanofAllTrades.

[fraugwinska]

Could you do a backstory to Hard Day? Like, how Al decided to give up control, and the first time it happened 🥺🙏

Ummm... well, I may have gotten myself a bit lost in this one :D Idk, It's gotten quite out of hand, 2,5 k words... but...um yeah :D Praying you like it :> Attention - we cook with Chili, not salt today! (MDNI)

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

The hardest Day

„That's so unrealistic! I mean, in what world would a lion eat bugs instead of the fucking fat juicy PIG?!“

„It's a kids movie, asshole, shut up!“

The gang was sprawled out in front of the TV, blankets and popcorn everywhere. Charlie got her hands on a rare copy of 'The Lion King', and invited everyone to a 'nice, unproblematic, quiet' movie night. She didn't account for Angel's constant commentary, Husk's annoyed retorts to him or Niffty's gleeful giggling at the most unfitting scenes. Vaggie, frustrated by them, started adding to the chaos, sending scolding remarks in intervals at either of them, while Charlie tried to mediate in between songs – which she always sang along with.

You, however, were highly entertained – even though you didn't catch anything from the movie, just watching them was amusing enough. The only one missing was Alastor, who had 'business to attend' and was gone since breakfast ended.

He would've hated it anyway, you knew he had no interest in movies, let alone modern ones, and group activities like these were often straining on his patience. Although getting in the hotel last, you were the one who grew the closest to him. Why? You couldn't say definitively. Maybe it was because you never took his veiled jabs by heart. Maybe because you didn't treat him the way the others wanted you to – with care, with ignorance, with suspicion; but instead with respect, an open mind and without judgment. Maybe it was because you could challenge him – discussions about books you both read could last hours, with points given to either side equally – no winner, no loser, both richer.

You liked Alastor. Really liked him. You also had a silly, little crush on him, for a while now, but you kept that to yourself, nothing going further than a few flirtatious moments 'in good fun', calling each other 'doe' and 'buck' with a laugh. A joke between friends. Friendship, you decided, was enough for you, if it was for him.

The entrance doors slammed suddenly, making you all jump in your seats. Alastor stood at the door, looking... different. Stressed? You cocked a brow when you saw his eye twitch, while he sauntered over to the group.

„Al, do you want to join us? We're watching a movie!“, Charlie said absent-mindedly, her eyes glued to the scene of 'Can you feel the love tonight'.

Alastor gave the TV set a judgmental smile and waved his hand. „Tempting, but it has been a rather hard day, I'll just take a drink and retreat to my room, dear.“ He left the group and went to the bar, your pair of eyes the only one following him. Something was NOT right. His smile was tight, his eyes wider than usual, his movements almost jagged instead of fluid. Niffty had jumped to the bar too, insisting on helping Alastor by retrieving a glass for his whiskey from one the higher shelves. In her eagerness to climb and get it, she didn't watch her steps careful enough, resulting in a few delicate wine glasses sliding from the shelfves and breaking into a hundred tiny pieces. Alastor's reaction was as unexpected as it was worrying – he always had a soft spot for Niffty, laughing over her antics and chaotic energy, often encouraging her even to produce more mayhem. This time, however, he started to scold the maid, who blinked at him with a big, guilty eye and trembling lips.

„Such indignation, really Niffty. Clean the shards at once, and try not to remain to be such a clumsy clot.“, he almost hissed, grabbing the bottle and a simple crystal glass before striding away hastily. Your eyes followed his figure until he turned the corner to the staircase, then you got up and comforted the little demon, helping her sweeping up the glass pieces while she sniffeled tears away.

You let your gaze swipe over the group, completely ignorant about what happened with Niffty, and Alastor. Ignorant of the blatantly obvious bad mood of the deer demon.

Turning to Charlie, you whispered to her that you had a headache and would be going to bed, to which she just nodded. No one acknowledged your leave, all eyes on the screen and still bickering noisily. A bunch of friends, you are, you thought annoyed with a shaking head.

Three flights of stairs later, you reached Alastor's room. You pressed your ear to the door, and heard dull bangs, like something was thrown, and a muffled voice. You knocked, and the room instantly stilled.

„Alastor, it's me.“, you said loudly, brows furrowed. „Are you okay?“

A few seconds of silence. „I'm just fine and dandy my dear.“

You put one hand on the door. He normally would open it, to speak with you directly, face uncomfortably close to face, just the way he liked it. But it stayed close.

„You didn't look fine.“, you stated. You were ever so stubborn.

„Well, I am fine. Now shoo, darling, good night.“

You stood in front of the wooden divider, contemplating. You could just go. Leave him be, wait until tomorrow. See if he would talk to you then. But then, there was your gut. And it told you Alastor wasn't well. And that just didn't sit right with you.

„Alastor. Please, let me in.“

No response, just hint of the prickling feeling of static electricity on your skin.

„I know something is bothering you, and I'm worried.“

No response. You breathe in and out.

„I'm not going anywhere until you open the...“

The door flew open, a hand wrapped around your arm and pulled you into the room, violently. You stumbled and fell against a bookshelf, catching the fall with your hands to keep you upright. You heard a slam and a click – door closed, door locked. The static was everywhere now, flushing in waves over your body. You turned around -

Alastor was pacing like a wounded animal, he seemed fluffed up, as if every hair on his body had decided to stand up. His scleras were dark pits, blackest black, and in it his irises burned angrily in crimson flames, now focusing solely on you. The prey.

„So you came to test my patience too, dear?“, he snarled, his voice so distorted it ached in your ears. „It's not enough that that waste of cables destroyed two of my radio towers. Not enough that dozens of my most profitable souls have been rendered useless by an angelic bomb. Not enough that I not only had to put the disgraceful flat screened wretch back in his place, but also his vulgar boy toy and their brazen, attention-seeking brat.“

He grew in size as he ranted, you watched him reaching the ceiling, antlers scraping along the walls. „I manage my weakening territories, manage these imbeciles who think they can play overlords, I manage this sad excuse of a hotel, I manage the princess's unattainable ideas, and now, I also need to manage you, too, of all people? What a disappointm...“

„Stop.“

You held up a hand. Alastor growled, fluffing up even more, limbs cracking and static popping. „How dare y...“

„Stop.“, you said again. Your tone was calm, void of anger, or fear, neutral and steady. He stared at you, and you held his gaze. „Breathe, Alastor.“

You saw him fighting with himself. He fought against his instinct to oppose, to command, to put you into your place, to rip you apart. His elongated claws scraped over the floor, ripping deep ridges in the wood.

„Breathe.“, you repeated, firmer this time.

Slowly, gradually, Alastor shrunk. Breathed. Crumbled. Until he was back to his usual size and form, only with an exhausted expression.

You studied him – you've never seen him like that. He never allowed anyone to see him as something other than 'the radio demon': Powerful, unshakeable, quick on his feet and always one step ahead. How exhausting it must be. To always have the control also meant to always carry responsibility, to always fear impending failure.

Your heart whispered to you, and you followed it's advice. It could be the most stupid thing you could do, but you decided to do it anyway.

„Come here, Alastor.“

He looked at you, unsure, suspicious. You sounded commanding, but not harsh. Inviting. Like a hand, reached out to someone trapped. For a moment, you almost thought you ruined everything – his eyes left yours, they fell to the ground as he shifted on his feet.

But then – steps. Coming closer. Stopping right in front of you. And suddenly..

His head on your shoulder. His breath on your neck. His voice in your ear.

„Sometimes I'm so sick of it all. Sick of maneuvering, sick of ruling, governing, planning...“

You touched his neck, he let you, caressing the soft skin, heated from his outburst, trembling slightly at the contact. It was intimate, baring this vulnerable part to you. You heart broke for him.

He pulled himself away from you, searching for your eyes. Finding them again, he took your hand, bringing it up to his face, guiding your fingers over his lips. He just said one word.

„Please.“

So much was said with this please. You heard every message. Giving up control, just for a bit, just with something he didn't care enough about to insist on ruling, could be a small bit of freedom. Letting himself be guided instead of leading.

“Kneel down, Alastor.”

His ears pressed flat against his head, but he did as he was told. He couldn't look you in the eyes. For once, you were the one towering over him. You took his face in your hands, pulling it so he looked up to you, seeing your warm smile before your lips met his.

His breath hitched, stuck somewhere in his throat.

You slid one hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, the other caressing his cheek as you tilted your head and deepened the kiss. Slowly, the rigidity melted away, he started to shift, lips no longer stiff but soft and molding against your own.

He tried to stand up, but you pushed him down, gently, definitively.

“Trust me to guide you, buck.”

He breathed, one, two, three times, eyes closed, grin tight.

“Yes, doe.”

Your own excitement took a back seat. You were filled with pure energy at the thought of crossing the line with him, having Alastor in a way you only dreamed about, convinced your relationship would never come this far. But. But this was not about you, for now. Maybe, another time. If another time ever came.

You lowered yourself on him, straddling him, so you were still 'taller', and rejoined your lips. You took his hands and set them on your hips, let them rest there while you buried yours in his hair, tugging lightly to bend his head back. His initial resistance lessened, and he gave in, exposing his throat, gray skin peeking out of his high collar. You let your mouth travel to his jawline, down to the small patch of delicate, thin skin, right next to his jugular. You felt him tense, felt his rising urge to protect himself from your potential strike. You let out a soft hum as you started to lick it, sucking gently, just a bit, just to make him shiver at the sensation. And how he did.

A moan, low and sweet like the strumming of a cello, escaped him, his hands crushing your hips by the force of his grip. It hurt, but you decided to ignore it. Little steps.

“Can you take more, good boy?”

His eyes snapped open, burning furiously. You met them with calmness, with a soft matter-of-fact-ness. Not smug, not mocking. A question. Proceed or Stop?

Alastor swallowed hot saliva. You could see he was getting overwhelmed, overstimulated, and yet, he had such a longing in his eyes, such desperation.

“Yes.”

One simple word. One spark, setting your body on fire. You tried to force your trembling fingers to steady, lifting yourself slightly off him to open his trousers. With every button, his breaths grew heavier, his grip on your legs grew tighter, claws already digging in your skin and drawing blood.

“Careful, buck. I'll need these in a moment.”, you said, placing both hands on his chest, pushing him flat on his back on the ground. He let you go, arms falling useless next to him.

You leaned forward, thanking any deity that would listen you decided to wear a skirt today, and placed a hand on his growing bulge. He hissed at the touch, cracking the floor as his fingers clawed into the wood of the floor instead your fleshy legs.

Freed from it's cage, Alastor's dick was already dripping with beads of precum, a sight to behold. You wrapped your fingers around it, feeling the warmth and bloodflow, it twitched in your hand. You stroke him, eliciting the most sinful noises from the demon under you.

You took a deep breath. One more, one question more, to make sure that he wanted it.

“Look at me, Alastor.”

He sat up on his elbows, looking more helpless than you've ever imagined he could. Even his smile wavered, threatening to break. You were looking for any signs of hesitation, disgust, resistance, regret. You only found desire. A want, a need, almost pleading eyes.

Your free hand pushed your panty away, enough to expose your lips, and you lowered yourself onto him, his length slowly entering you. He was big, you were tight. A bittersweet combination. Sparks flew before your eyes as he stretched you, but you were hypnotized by his eyes.

They were blown wide, returned to black, but the irises now flickering into dials, turning, left to right as he groaned. You moved, guiding your hips up and down, feeling yourself molding to his shape in the most delectable way, and getting drunk off the look on his face.

You increased the pace on which you pushed yourself on him, adding a little tilt of your hips to take him even deeper. His voice was reduced to a static-y mess, hums and groans and moans bleeding into each other. You placed both of your hands on his chest for more support, inevitably pinning him down. His hands flew to yours, threatening to push them off him, but instead, he entwined his fingers with yours, panting heavily.

It didn't take long for him to feel the pressure, unbearable and urgent, his release approaching at godspeed.

“Doe, I can't...”

Panic in his tone. He tried to put his hands on your waist to pull you off. You understood immediately – an upbringing in conservative times, decades of living by the rules of a gentleman, he was resisting against the thought of cumming inside you. You pushed his hands away.

“Yes, you can.”, you stated, smiling at him, a hint of wickedness in your eyes. “And you will.”

Your skilled movements and dedicated demeanor sent him over the edge immediately. Protests were futile as he came in you forcefully, you felt his cock pumping his seed deep into you, hot and thick as you rocked him through his orgasm. Your own high wasn't worth chasing, too far away to matter. You didn't even think about it – nothing could feel better than this.

Alastor ran his hands over his forehead, sweeping away beads of sweat as his breath calmed down.

His hand shot out to grab you, and, still impaled by him, he pulled you into his chest, invading your mouth with his tongue to kiss you possessively. As if to transfer the command, the control he had given up, back to him. Taking it from you.

For a moment you were scared. The positions had reset to their default. Would that mean he'd push you off? Say goodnight and never talk about this night again? Returning to the Status Quo. Friends, the end.

Alastor pulled your chin up to look at you. His thumb ran over your cheek, tenderly and full of care. His eyes answered every question in your mind. You weren't scared anymore.

[sageandravens]

Patience

Pairing: Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader

Warnings: none! Fluff?

A/N:: This is my very first fic ever, please be nice. I’m fighting off anxiety and insomnia. So this is my attempt to make my brain tired. I also have work in 4 hours. 😭

Word count: 1784

Summary: Bucky notices that something is wrong with his sunshine. He makes it better.

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You groaned as your alarm went off, you were tempted to slam your hand on the snooze button to give yourself just ten more minutes of blissful slumber, or even to call out of work saying that you were unwell. You groaned once again, reminding yourself that you were never one to call out sick or not. Unease began to fill your mind as you stared at your ceiling. The thought of walking into work today with your usual sunshine personality and bright smile seemed like it was going to be a chore today. You sighed, heaving yourself out of bed and straight to your bathroom where you prepared yourself for the day.

“Please be a good day…” you whispered to yourself as you walked through your bedroom door.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed as they followed you through the compound’s kitchen. Taking in every movement of your body as you moved around gathering everything you needed for your morning coffee that Bucky liked to refer to as your ‘cup of diabetes.’

Your good morning to him as you entered seemed off to him, your tone was bright but didn’t really carry that enthusiasm it usually did. Your personality was something that took Bucky a while to get used to, something that was completely opposite of his own. He was cold, rough around the edges, and quiet with a seemingly permanent frown etched onto his face. To him, you were a walking ball of sunshine, all warmth and softness with the ability to out-talk Stark. You were an enigma to him, a highly trained agent with a personality that depicted sunshine and rainbows. Bucky continued to watch as you continued to make your overly sweet coffee concoction, wincing at the sound of whipped cream being dispensed.

At the compound you and Bucky have become quite the unlikely pair. You two always found yourselves next to each other whether it was just being in each other's company while you read and he watched a TV series or movie that Sam had recommended to him. Or, both of you were in the kitchen making dinner while you held a one sided conversation with him, answering his grunts and nods with full blown sentences with enough enthusiasm for the both of them. He knew your body language better than you knew your own, so when he spied your slightly hunched shoulders and head tilted just slightly he knew that something was wrong.

And he was going to find out.

He was going to bring his sunshine back to her full brightness.

Bucky straightened in his seat as he placed his own mug of black coffee on the counter and leveled his stare on your face. You could feel the heat of his stare on you as you continued to add caramel syrup to your iced coffee. You tried to ignore his stare, just wanting to continue on with your day, but you knew he would just stare until you talked to him.

“Is there something you need, Buck?” You gave him a smile that was hopefully convincing.

“Something’s wrong with you.” He stated.

“There’s nothing wrong with the amount of sugar in my coffee.” You deflected. You took a healthy sip of your iced coffee, humming at the satisfying sweetness.

“I’m not talking about your diabetes in a cup, sweets.” He rolled his eyes at you.

“There’s nothing wrong, Bucky. I gotta go, have to catch up on some reports from our last mission.” Before Bucky could argue back, you turned on your heel and marched out of the kitchen entrance.

You sighed, you didn’t want to burden Bucky with something so trivial, something that shouldn’t even bother you as it was just petty drama.

A couple days ago, you had overheard a couple of lower ranking agents gossiping in one of the break rooms. You always considered yourself to be at the very bottom of the list of people to gossip about, seeing as you're always polite and happily greeting all of your coworkers, even the ones you didn’t know that well. Always willing to help where it was needed when not in the field. So hearing your name come out of one of their mouths was a shock to you.

“Annoyingly happy.” And “doesn’t shut up.” Were the nicer comments that the two gossiping agents whispered to each other.

You had made it to your office in time to avoid the gossiping queens before the could start their whispering once again. Sitting at your desk you brushed your hand through your hair as you let out a heavy sigh and then chuckled to yourself. You couldn't believe you were letting what two gossipers were saying get to you.

“I work directly with the Avengers for God sakes! Toughen up girl.” You squared your shoulders, open your laptop and begin to work on finishing your reports in the peace of your quiet office.

Bucky waited a couple of hours after you had left the kitchen to make his way down to the compounds entrance, giving you a break from his slight interrogation that morning. Bucky knew something was bothering you and he didn’t like it. It surprised him how much he didn’t like not seeing the genuine happiness exude from your body. He didn’t like that your smile didn’t fully reach your eyes making your laugh lines appear. Determination spread across his face as he exited the facility with a goal in mind.

An hour later Bucky had come back to the compound his hands full with take out from your favorite restaurant and your favorite drink from the cafe you go to every Sunday. He got closer to your office door ignoring the agents all around the hallway as he knocked and waited for your invitation.

The knock on your office door startled you out of your intense concentration of your work. Looking up you see Bucky’s familiar mop of brown hair through the blinds and quickly called him in.

“I figured I would bring you lunch since you seemed off today.” He said as he placed the take out bag and coffees on your desk. You looked through the take out and spied your favorite drink and grinned, looking up at Bucky you noticed the corner of his lips turned upwards. It wasn’t a full blown smile but it was enough for your grin turn bigger. Bucky smiling however small was one of your favorite things, his smile never failed to make you grin like an idiot.

“Thank you! I see you remembered my favorites!” You happily took a sip of your coffee groaning in pleasure at the taste.

“Have lunch with me?” Bucky nodded as he sat across from you and pulled out his own meal.

This was the best lunch you ever had in your opinion, Bucky had remembered your favorites and he even engaged in more conversation with you than normal. Your sour mood from this morning was dissipating by the minute as Bucky had told you some stories of he and Steve in the forties.

Bucky had mentally patted himself on the back, your body language was relaxed and your laugh lines appeared back on your face. Bucky was pleased to see that your natural happy glow was returning.

He was in the middle of telling a particular funny about Steve from their school days when he heard a scoff outside your office door.

“How can he stand her for that long? I can’t even handle being in her presence for more than five minutes.” He overheard.

“He must have the patience of a saint, especially when they go on missions together. He’s a quiet guy, wouldn’t be surprised if she talks for him.” Another voice had said.

“God, I’d jump out of the quinjet mid flight if I was on a mission with her. All that incessant talking all the time, and that happy go lucky attitude. I’d request a transfer.”

Bucky watched as the glow he just put back into you begin to recede again. Your head down your eyes refusing to meet his as you pushed your food around with your fork. Your shoulders were slumped again and it made Bucky seethe with anger. Bucky growled as he stood up from his chair and stormed out of your office.

At the sound of Bucky standing, your head shot up, watching with wide eyes as he made a bee-line towards the two gossiping agents. The sight of an angry Bucky on your behalf had you quickly following him out of your office.

“Bucky, don’-“ you start but Bucky’s voice cuts you off.

“You know, I do have a lot of patience. I have enough patience to wait for a target for hours or even days on end. I even have the patience to put up with Sam in a quinjet for hours on end while he calls me cyborg or Tin-man.” Bucky said as he approached the two agents. His glare paralyzing them as their eyes widen in shock from being overheard. You watched on from your office door as the women cowered from his dominating presence, his ire radiating from his stare.

“But, what I don’t have patience for,” he continued purposefully intimidating the agents before him. “Is when my girl is upset because, two low ranking agents are jealous of all the accomplishments she has achieved in her work. Jealous of how amazing, how pure and kind her heart is, and her ability to make anyone smile, even someone like me.”

Your mouth opened in shock at all that Bucky has said defending you. You never knew that was what he thought of you. You knew that he had thought of you as his friend and partner in missions but, he was never one to compliment people. It just wasn’t part of his grumpy personality, to hear him say all that including calling you his girl had warmth spreading through your chest.

“So I suggest, you find some other topics to talk about from now on before I really lose my patience.” Bucky gave one more intimidating stare at the two women before he turned around to go back to your office, he paused at the look of wonder on your face.

“What?” He huffed crossing his arms.

“Thank you,” you said placing your hand on his arm as you looked at him gratefully.

“It’s no problem,” Bucky replied as he walked back into your office. You followed behind him with a giddy smile on your face. Moving around him to continue on with your lunch you looked in his blue eyes with a smirk.

“So….I’m your girl?”

Bucky groaned as a flush came to his cheeks.

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A/N:: I hope you enjoyed this! I hope to continue to write more for you all.

[daisynik7]

[F4M] You Leave a Naughty Voicemail for Your Husband While He Works Overtime [Established Relationship][Mutual Masturbation][Car Sex][Sub to Soft Dom][Breeding Kink][Mating Press][No Thoughts][Brain Empty][Just Fucking]

Read Part 1 here!

Pairing: husband!Nanami x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~3.6k

cw: established relationship, p*rn without plot, smut –  PIV sex (cowgirl, missionary, mating press, doggy), mutual masturbation, mentions of sex toys, edging, blowjob, car sex, clitoral stimulation, spanking, some spit play, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, pet names (sweetie, sweetheart, honey, princess, baby, good girl/boy), slight degradation kink

Summary: You record a naughty voicemail for your husband while he works overtime, leaving him yearning for more. Author’s Note: Hiya friends! Breaking my tumblr hiatus temporarily to post this. Consider this a sequel/part 2 to my other fic inspired by more NSFW audio. Someone gave me the idea to do a fic with the roles reversed, so here it is! Had a blast writing this, so I hope you enjoy! Bonus: here are some NSFW audios that inspired it (of course, they’re AugustInTheWinter): Link 1, Link 2 (reddit links, 18+). Likes, comments, and/or reblogs are always appreciated, thanks so much for reading! Header image from the manga On Doorstep (it's BL and the MC looks like Nanami, I highly recommend). MDNI banner created by @/mikeykuns.

It’s past eleven when Nanami steps out of the conference room with the rest of his colleagues, having just finished the last team meeting of the day. He was asked to work overtime to help fix any remaining issues before the end of the fiscal year, which is in a few days. Normally, he’d never agree to this, but with your wedding anniversary approaching in a month, he wants the extra income to buy you that gold chain bracelet you’ve had an eye on. 

With all his tasks complete for the day, he can finally leave. He gathers his belongings, checking his phone to see the missed call and voicemail you left him about an hour ago. She must be asleep already, he thinks, not bothering to call you back. When he gets in his car, he props his phone to the mount, ready to listen to your voicemail on Bluetooth while he drives home. He presses play as soon as he pulls out from his parking spot.

“Kento.” Your voice is hushed and breathy. “I miss you.”

Nanami clenches his jaw, already aroused by your sultry tone. He grips the steering wheel tighter, glancing at the phone screen to check the length of the voicemail: three minutes. That’s the limit before it cuts you off. And while the ride home is a mere ten, he has a feeling it will be excruciatingly long by the way this message is already playing. 

You sigh. “I miss you so much, Kento.” There’s rustling in the background; Nanami imagines that you’re turning over in bed, under the covers. What are you wearing right now? The cute flannel pajamas he bought you two years ago for Valentine’s Day? Or the lingerie set you purchased yourself to surprise him for your most recent anniversary? At this rate, for his own sanity, he’s not sure which one he prefers. 

“I can’t wait till you get home, honey. I’m so…” Your voice is heavy with lust; he can see the provocative face you’re making as you squeeze the phone to your ear, reaching between your legs to that throbbing pussy. “I’m so horny right now. I wish you were here.” If he listens closely, he can hear the squelch of fingers flicking your clit rapidly. “But since you’re not, is it okay if I touch myself?”

He’s tempted to slam on the gas and fly through the city to get to you in record time. Break all driving violations and his own personal morals to watch you play with yourself. It’s torture, sitting behind this red light, following the rules, listening to you moan into the phone, so needy and desperate for his cock. What’s worse is that you’re ovulating this week; he knows how pent up you must be from his absence tonight. Fertile and in heat, that wet sloppy cunt begging to be filled with his seed. He promised he’d make it up to you tomorrow morning, but why waste this perfectly good opportunity? Especially when you’re practically begging for it. 

“Remember how good you fucked me last night? How you pinned me down by the wrists? How tightly I squeezed my legs around you as you pumped me full of cum?” It’s all Nanami thought about when he wasn’t focused on work today. Enough to force him into the men’s room to jerk himself off, fantasizing about it. Replaying your wanton moans ringing in his ears, the way your body convulsed around him, that adorably dumb expression on your face while you were getting fucked into oblivion. Normally, he’d be ashamed of himself at how lewd he was being in a work setting, but the memory of you was too irresistible, even for him. 

He’s not usually perverse like this, but something about you drives him crazy. His hands are typically at 10-and-2, the correct position to steer the wheel. But just this once, he deems it necessary to lose his prim and proper attitude. He drops one into his lap to unbuckle his belt, unzip his pants, and reach down to palm his cock through his briefs. It’s enough to gain a bit of relief from this torment, at least until he’s safely home. Nanami wipes the sweat beading on his brow, accelerating too hard when the light finally switches to green, keeping his grip steady as he strokes his cock, listening intently to your voice surrounding him in the car. 

“Are you hard right now, Kento?” There’s more movement in the background, as if you’re opening and shutting a drawer. Blood rushes into his cheeks, predicting exactly what you’re about to do. “Do you like listening to me touch myself?” There’s a familiar hum now, and he visualizes the pink vibrator buzzing in your hand, the fluttering tip teasing your swollen clit. He’d do anything to teleport directly into the bedroom and have his way with you.  

“I’m so lonely in this bed without you. I’m fucking myself, thinking about you. Wishing it’s you instead of this stupid toy. Can you hear it, sweetie?”

“Yes,” he answers to no one, shoving his underwear down to release his erection, stroking himself faster with his right fist. He’s forced to stop again; how many fucking streetlights does this goddamn city need anyways?! It’s excruciating. 

“My pussy is aching for your big cock.” The buzzing intensifies; you’ve increased the setting one level, on the verge of an orgasm. Typical behavior of his obedient slut of a wife. He loves sliding his fingers inside while you press the vibrator deeper into your clit. He’s obsessed with the way you gush around him, clenching him tighter, addicted to how it tastes on his tongue when he slides those cum-coated digits into his mouth. 

“Hurry home, honey. I’m waiting for you. This pussy is already so wet for you. I’m going to use you as my sex toy tonight.”

“Fuck, I want that. I really want that,” Nanami moans in response, releasing his cock from his grasp, thighs fidgeting from arousal. 

“You love it when I use you, huh? Love it when I fuck you silly until you’re milked dry.”

He groans, bucking his hips into nothing in the seat, briefly losing control of the wheel, causing the car to swerve. “Fuck, I love it, sweetie. I love it. Please.” He’s not sure what he’s begging for. All he knows is that if he doesn’t get home soon, he’ll combust, taking the car down with him. 

“Fuck, Kento. I’m thinking about how deep you hit it from behind. Slapping my ass, treating me like a bad girl, pounding your hips into me like a fucking animal. I get so fucking cock drunk off you. Makes me want to come just talking about it.”

“Then come for me, baby,” he blurts out, fully aware he’s talking to a recording. He’s completely lost it now. 

“Ah, I’m close. I – ” you interrupt yourself with your own whimpers. Nanami listens as he cruises past the speed limit now, wiping the bead of precum at the tip of his cock with his thumb,  edging himself. It’d be a shame for him to waste his load onto his lap. He’s going to give you every fucking drop he has. Build it up so that your pussy is flooding with his hot, sticky mess. 

You whine loudly, “I’m coming, Kento. Ah, I’m coming for you.” You moan into the phone, and Nanami has to release himself to prevent from orgasming too, Then, there’s silence on your end, except for your staggered breaths and occasionally rustling of the sheets beneath you. Eventually, the voicemail ends without another word, and he assumes that you’ve fallen asleep. He smiles to himself, imagining you, his gorgeous wife, with your legs splayed out, vibrator loosely gripped, completely knocked out on the bed. 

He replays the voicemail, continuing to edge himself until he finally pulls into their driveway, opening the garage. He parks, shutting off the ignition, then searches the backseat for the box of tissues, wanting to clean up whatever mess he’s made. Before he gets the chance to, the door leading inside swings open, and it’s you, standing in the door frame in a sheer lingerie nightgown. The same one he expected you’d be wearing tonight. 

He swallows hard, cock still out, stiffer than ever, watching you step towards the driver’s side, bright face peering through the window. You glance to his lap, noticing the lewd sight. 

You tap on the glass, feigning innocence. “Kento?”

He opens the door slowly, face flushed, eyes half-lidded in a daze. “Sweetheart, please.” 

His slacks have been shoved off haphazardly down his legs, engorged cock sprung against his abdomen, precum leaking out the tip. His cheeks are pink, hair tousled, forehead dewy with sweat. You smirk at him, pleased to see that he’s listened to your voicemail. “Oh, honey. Look at you. Have you been a bad boy?” You surround him with your fingers, jerking him slowly. He twitches at your touch, sensitive and aching in your fist. 

He shakes his head, shutting his eyes closed as you stroke him. “No,” he stutters, “I’ve been very good.”

You inspect the car, realizing what he’s trying to convey to you; he hasn’t come yet. “Oh, baby,” you coo, squeezing his cock in your fist. “You’ve been very, very good. My good boy.”

He nods this time, leaning forward for a kiss. “Yes, I’m a good boy for you. I’m your good boy,” he huffs through gritted teeth. Nanami isn’t normally like this, so submissive and needy. But tonight, he has zero hesitation; he’s begging to be dominated, to be used and toyed with. 

You lick into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip. “Do you want your reward now? Or should we go inside first?”

He won’t last much longer, so he spits out, “Now. Please.”

You smirk, kissing him messily, tongues swirling, swapping spit while his dick pulsates in your palm. “Fuck,” he groans, rocking his hips into you. “I’m going to come if you keep – ” he chokes on his saliva, unable to finish his sentence. 

You giggle, nibbling at his ear lobe. “If I do what, baby?” You want to tease him a bit more, so you bend over his lap, kneeling on the bottom frame of the car, sinking down on him with your mouth. He throws his head back against the headrest, swearing loudly. You blow him until his cock is lubricated with your spit and he’s squirming above you, ready to burst. 

He pulls you off him abruptly, tugging you towards him. “I can’t,” he urges, completely red now, all frenzied and flustered. “Please, I can’t take it anymore.”

Giggling, you swing your leg over him, straddling his lap and smooching his forehead. “Alright, honey. I tormented you enough.” You’re not wearing any panties beneath your nightgown, so when you start to rub yourself on his shaft, his eyes widen in surprise, staring at you, sputtering a mix of curses and nonsense.

You grin, kissing him softly, rocking yourself along his length. “I told you, didn’t I? This pussy is so wet for you. I’ve been prepping myself all night, thinking about you.”

“Fuck, I’m going to come. Put it in, sweetheart. Hurry.”

You guide him in you easily until he bottoms out, sitting on him without moving, licking into his mouth. His hands slide around your hips, holding you tenderly, staying still, melting into your kiss. Before you can start bouncing on him, he squeezes you, huffing, “I’m coming.” 

His dick pulsates, spurting his hot seed deep inside you. You continue to kiss him, smiling against his lips, pleased and satisfied. When he’s finished, you graze his ear. “Good boy.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, brows knit together, eyes shut tight. He opens one to peek at you, embarrassed. “This is your fault.” The blush on his face cascades along his neck. “You knew this would happen when you left me that voicemail.”

Laughing, you give him a smooch on his cheek. “You’re right. I was being bad tonight. Are you going to punish me for it?” You tug at his tie, loosening it on his collar, trailing his chest to unbutton his dress shirt. 

He relaxes, smirking as he slaps your ass with his palm, cupping the flesh immediately after. You whine his name at the contact, nuzzling into his neck. “Ah, Kento.”

“Bad girls deserve to be punished,” he growls, low and wicked, delivering a fresh smack to the other side. His cock is erect again inside you, stuffing you full once more. “You’re going to take this cock until I can’t get hard anymore. Understand?” He rocks you back and forth on him, thumb pressed at your clit, rubbing small circles. “Until this slutty little cunt is so full of my cum.”

You nod silently, clinging to his shoulders, body trembling with arousal. The switch in demeanor, from him begging you for sweet release to now being domineering and cocky, has you titillating for more. He chuckles, wrapping you in snug embrace, kissing the top of your head. “Look at you, darling. You’re shaking. Let’s go to the bedroom, okay princess?” And his ability to turn on this sweet charm has you softening in his arms, pliant and ready to be played with. 

Soon, you’re inside your bedroom, legs spread wide, some residual cum trickling down the inside of your thighs. He strips his remaining clothes off, cock unbelievable rigid in his fist, jerking himself off to the sight of you in your transparent lingerie, his load leaking from your slit. 

“You’re a fucking slut for getting me worked up like this,” he grunts, hovering over you, tapping the tip of his dick on your swollen clit. “I edged myself the entire drive, saving all this cum for you.”

You bite your lip, holding back the guttural, animalistic moan escaping from within your throat. His confession has you quaking, eager to be filled even more to the brim with his seed, eager to be bred. You can blame it on the fact that you’re currently in heat, or that you’re just this much in love with your husband that you can’t think of anything else you want more in this moment than to be connected with him. You grip the sheets below you, fanning your thighs impatiently, waiting for his cock. “Breed me, honey. Fuck all your cum inside me. I want all of it, every single drop. Hurry.”

Oh how quickly do the roles reverse. 

He slides his cock inside you, his own cum coating it as he pulls out slightly, observing the lewd scene. “Look at how full you are, and it’s still not enough. Such a greedy cum slut.” He spits a frothy wad of his saliva onto your clit, smearing it with his thumb. “You’re going to come on this cock before I give you anything. Got it?”

You nod, closing your eyes, turning your head to the side, losing yourself to the pleasure rippling through your body as he pounds into your pussy, the sensation so intense it resonates all the way down to your toes. He’s so mean, so unlike his usual doting self when he’s in this mood, and you can’t help but succumb to it. He tips your chin back towards him. “Look at it,” he demands. You open your eyes, his expression wild, fucking you faster, his thumb working your clit ruthlessly. “Watch me fuck this messy cunt.” He grips you behind the legs, hoisting you so that your knees are towards your chest, holding you into a mating press. Unable to contain it any longer, you moan loudly, grabbing at your own ankles to keep yourself spread wide for him as he thrusts in and out of you relentlessly. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it sweetheart? To be fucked and pounded by me instead of that silly toy. To use me and milk me dry of every last drop. You asked for this. This is what you get for being so fucking naughty.” He rests one of your legs onto his shoulder, turning to smooch the side of your knee, sucking on your skin. 

You continue to moan his name until it’s reduced into a blubber of incoherent cries as you’re pushed over the edge, reaching your climax. “That’s it, come on my cock, princess. That’s a good girl.” Still, he doesn’t ease up; in fact, he fucks you harder, spurred by your orgasm, intent on chasing another. “Just keep taking it, okay beautiful? I know you can do it.” He pounds you into the mattress, the bed creaking noisily beneath you with each solid thrust, perspiration dripping from his body onto yours. You’re no longer thinking clearly; everything is in a haze, blissful and euphoric, only your husband on your brain. He’s fucked all other thoughts out of you. Has you obsessed with his cock, hungry for his cum, keen on him to breed your fertile womb.

“Fuck, Kento, right there! Right there!” you cry out, grasping his hair between your fingers, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. 

“Right there, huh?” he teases, slowing his pace to thrust deep into your G-spot, nails digging into the flesh of your hips. “Always taking me so fucking deep.” He grabs your wrist, placing your hand at your clit. “Touch yourself while I fuck you. Squirt on my cock like a good little slut.”

You obey him, flicking your sensitive bud with your middle finger while he watches intently, another orgasm fast approaching. You twitch around him, pleasure overtaking your entire body, sending a rush of ecstasy that has you seeing stars. 

Of course, it still isn’t enough for him. Not after what you put him through earlier. “Turn over,” he mutters, pulling out, cum spilling onto the sheets. “You know what to do.”

He’s right; it’s second nature to you now, to throw your ass back and fuck yourself with his cock. All he has to do is kneel behind you with his hard dick out while you swallow him whole, pumping it in and out of your pussy. It doesn’t matter how pliant you feel, or how fucked out you are, tongue lolling out of your mouth, drool leaking from the sides of your lips. You know exactly what to do to get what you want out of him. 

You can feign innocence all you want, pretend to be shocked when he manhandles you like a fucking rag doll, slamming his hips into you, wet slaps bouncing off the walls of your bedroom. Shrieking when he presses his rough fingers to your swollen clit. Burying your face into the pillow, muffling your shameless moans and shrieks of, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” This is what you intended when you spread your legs earlier, phone in your hand, ready to leave that filthy voicemail for him, knowing he’d listen on his way home. Knowing he’d save all his cum for you because you’re ovulating, and he wants more than anything to get you pregnant. Knowing he’d want to fuck you into a frenzy regardless, always desperate to empty his load inside you. It’s what you want because you know he wants it too. That’s what makes it even better, knowing your husband is as feral for you as you are for him. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” he whispers, voice wavering.

Craning your neck to face him, you murmur, “Want to see you.”

He smiles, pulling out, your pussy fluttering around the emptiness, already eager to be filled again. “I want to see you too, my love.” He flips you over, pushing your knees towards your ears into a deeper mating press, kissing you sweetly on the lips. You wrap your arms around him, whining his name into his ear as he fucks you rough, the bed frame precariously shifting with each plunge of his cock. 

“Fuck, I’m coming,” he groans, cock twitching and spurting every hot pulse inside you. “Take all of my cum, sweetheart. All of it,” he mutters, forehead pressed to yours. “I love you. I love you so much.”

When he finishes, he lowers your legs slowly, rolling beside you to cradle you in his arms. You nestle into his chest, listening to his steadying heartbeat. “Are you okay, sweetie?” he asks, massaging small circles into your back.

You nod against him, remaining silent, too drained to even respond with words. He lets you rest like this for a moment before hopping off the bed, stepping into the bathroom, rummaging through the cupboards. Shortly after, he returns to you with a container of baby wipes in hand and a glass of water in the other. 

You’re a mess down there, sleek, wet, and gushing with slick. He kneels beside you, wiping your forehead first from sweat. You peer up at him, smiling, cupping his cheek. “Thank you,” you mouth to him. With another, he cleans your hands, then your legs, always glancing at you to make sure you’re still doing fine. You’re truly grateful for having a spouse as attentive and as caring as your husband, who, despite his typically stoic disposition, always dotes on you so sweetly. 

Done cleaning you up, he traces the outline of your lips with his thumb, saying, “Drink water, honey.”

You grumble at him, pretending to be asleep. He chuckles, leaning in closer for a kiss. “And go pee.”

You peek at him with one eye open, nuzzling your nose to his. “Okay, fine. But after you hold me for one more minute.”

He smiles, sliding his arms around you. “Anything you want, sweetheart. Anything you want.”