#it's the only way I don't feel self conscious

[sarahjacobs]

thinking about jack kelly and developing forms of surveillance. there's long been a preoccupation with rendering the criminal into a legible subject, one that has often taken on racist under/overtones, ie depictions of chinatown and its residents as shadowy and mysterious. and this has led to the creation of new technologies and the routinization of procedure following arrest. such as the modern mugshot and the bertillon system of identification, in which people's measurements were taken to better identify repeat offenders.

(it's worth noting how new these procedures were in 1899; they'd only been around for two decades. nypd didn't use fingerprinting on a wide scale until 1905.)

from the new york city department of records and information services

think of how violating all of this is! people are paranoid about going back to jail/prison even after they're lawfully released, i can't imagine being jack post escape and constantly having the threat of being found out hanging over his head... knowing that changing his name isn't enough, that the police have his photograph and his measurements. they know that there's a birthmark on his neck and the length and width of his foot, down to the half inch. they know him in a way that's so intimate but so scientific and cold. it's just procedure.

i wonder how far he went to reinvent himself — he changed his name, of course, but did he change the way he did his hair? his way of dress? the way he walked and carried himself, self conscious of the fact that snyder and the other officers manning the refuge had been in close quarters with him for months? sometimes jack wishes he could be someone else, anyone else. at the very least, he wishes he could just rip his face off and start anew.

additionally, newspapers would publish the full names, address, occupation, circumstances of arrest, and/or the sentencing received — even for petty crimes.

the evening world, january 6 1894

this one's pretty short, but it wasn't uncommon for accounts to be much longer (one, two, three). jack wouldn't have had access to the papers after his arrest, for obvious reasons, but it's hard for him to just. exist sometimes. prickling with a strange kind of humiliation where he knows he wasn't in the wrong, but there are entire systems and swathes of people who think he was. that kind of feeling of being split apart and having your insides shown to an audience, from undergoing the bertillon system to having his story twisted to fit into the narrative of the police, whether it's in the courtroom or in the papers.

and jack knows that there are hundreds of people who read about his arrest story, which was incomplete; it said he stole food, but it didn't say he was so hungry, he couldn't sleep; it said he ran from the officers, but it didn't say that once the officers caught up, they tackled him to the ground and put him in cuffs so tight, they bruised. there are hundreds of people who either skimmed the section like it was detailing the weather forecast or formed a judgement on jack's character, thinking he deserved all that and worse. or maybe they had a more "humanitarian" take on it, believing that his sentence to the refuge was an act of compassion, a necessary intervention to send him on the right path and reform him into a good laborer who understood that stealing is wrong.

sometimes when jack sells, he eyes the people buying for a little too long, wondering — do they know? (of course they don't, they never published his photograph, even after his escape.) but do they know? did they read the papers the next day? do they think he deserved it?

[chippedshake]

Ponyboy's narration pt. 2

Okay so.

I was going to make one post about all of the characters from the Outsiders as narrators but then I started with Ponyboy and saw it was too long a post. Then I started writing Ponyboy in two parts: how he influences the reader and what could've brought him to being an unreliable narrator, but I started with the how and saw it was too long a post.

So this is the second post about Ponyboy’s unreliable narration

This is the post where I talk about how Ponyboy influences the reader (i.e. what tehcniques he / S.E Hinton uses to change the reader's perception), and now this post is about what aspects of his personality brought him to be an unreliable narrator.

Just as a warning: almost everything I'm about to say is subjective (although heavily based on logic) and based on the way I interpret a character.

So without further ado:

What has brought Ponyboy to be such an unreliable narrator?

First of all, we have to consider that Ponyboy's only human. As I mentioned in my first analysis, I wouldn't be able to recite the conversation I had with my friend at the bus stop this morning, much less one from several weeks ago. When Ponyboy writes his English theme, it's been at least a couple weeks since Johnny and Dally died (I saw a detailed timeline somewhere; if I find it I'll link it), so everything has a certain degree of uncertainty.

But that's not the interesting part, because not all first-person narrators are known for being unreliable, while all first-person narrators have this degree of uncertainty that comes with everything being a recollection of facts.

I think that Ponyboy's unreliability can be boiled down to two main points: low self-esteem and struggling with social cues.

Struggling with social cues is a bit simpler to explain, so I'll start with that.

As I said in my other post, Ponyboy states his opinions as absolute facts. But often his opinions are misguided: he thinks Dally doesn't love anyone, and Darry doesn't care about him, both of which are eventually proven wrong. Those are both conclusions he got from taking interactions at their face value, not realising what the other two were thinking.

Darry yells at me? He must hate me. Dally doesn't show his love? He must not feel it.

Since the narrative corrected him on a couple times he failed to read social subtext, we can't assume he's right the other times he tells us what a character is thinking with absolute certainty. He could perfectly well be wrong, only he hasn't been corrected yet.

This is most evident with Johnny.

I think everyone in the fandom pretty much agrees that Ponyboy mischaracterises Johnny, portraying him as much weaker than he really is.

Some examples of Johnny's characterisation:

He was the gang's pet, everyone's kid brother.

...

"Me and Johnny'll come," I said. I knew Johnny wouldn't open his mouth unless he was forced to.

...

Then for the first time, really, I realized what we were in for. Johnny had killed someone. Quiet, softspoken little Johnny, who wouldn't hurt a living thing on purpose, had taken a human life.

I'm not saying that Ponyboy is 100% completely off when he characterises Johnny because that would be stupid. I have no authority to say he's wrong because Johnny doesn't exist and I don't personally know him.

I do however think that Johnny isn't exactly like Ponyboy says, simply because he was proven wrong with both Darry and Dally, so I have no reason to believe him about Johnny. It probably holds a nugget of truth, or is a reasonable misinterpretation just like Dally and Darry, but isn't the complete truth.

Now this is bridging into full-on speculation territory, but I think that Johnny changed how he was around Ponyboy. As someone who is currently sixteen and has an almost-fourteen-year-old little brother, I am not my real self around him. Of course, the situation is different, but I think that when you interact with someone younger than you, there is a conscious or subconscious filtering process.

Johnny might be quiet, but being quiet doesn't have to mean being the gang's pet or everyone's kid brother. Ponyboy probably misinterprets his silence for a sort of weakness or softness that I personally don't think is there.

Does that classify as a tangent? I think that classifies as a tangent. Idk guys I just love Johnny. I should dedicate a post just to how characters are mischaracterised and how I think they really are.

*adds to drafts*

Anyways...

Where was I?

Right, Ponyboy not understanding social subtext and social cues.

Basically, I think that there's a lot of times where he thinks someone means one thing and he's just drastically misinterpreted what they mean, only he never realises he's wrong. Not all that deep.

Now for the good stuff: Ponyboy's low self-esteem.

Why do I think he has low self-esteem?

Because I have low self-esteem and project onto my favourite characters

For a variety of reason, really. First of all, I have never met a teenager that is genuinely not insecure at all. Everyone’s uncomfortable with how they look and insecure about their abilities, and I think every teenager would be a very unreliable narrator as well as an insecure one.

And, well, Ponyboy is at the very least humble because

I get put into A classes because I'm supposed to be smart

It drives my brother Darry nuts when I do stuff like that, 'cause I'm supposed to be smart; I make good grades and have a high IQ and everything, but I don't use my head.

Ponyboy, at least at the beginning of the book, only ever says he's "supposed to be smart", not that he's actually smart. Cherry says he's smart. Darry says he's smart. Soda says he's smart. But Ponyboy never says he's smart.

Now, there's a lot to be said about how Ponyboy views intelligence (writing one post just brings me to fifteen other ones I want to make), but I think that even assuming he views intelligence as a negative trait, there are lots of ways to say "I'm smart", at least one of which shouldn't remind him of the negative connotations. "I'm good at school", "I'm school smart"; if he wanted to avoid saying "I'm smart", there were other ways.

 There was another column about just Darry and Soda and me: how [...] I made the honor roll at school all the time and might be a future track star. (Oh, yeah, I forgot — I'm on the A-squad track team, the youngest one. I'm a good runner.)

Ponyboy only ever tells us he regularly makes the honor roll and might be a future track star when it's absolutely indispensible. He doesn't like to brag about his accomplishments, much like someone who doesn't think they're important accomplishments.

He tends to devalue his own accomplishments and strong spots while exacerbating others'. (heh did you see that I used exacerbate in a sentence and it sounded natural)

We've all laughed at how much he waxes poetic on Soda's looks, but that is an example of him bringing attention to someone else's positive traits while mainly paying attention to his own flaws. He criticises his own looks in the opening monologue while constantly complimenting Soda's. He says he has a good build but he's still small for fourteen and talks a lot about how much muscle Darry has.

That isn't to say he doesn't criticise other people, he does, but he's constantly comparing himself to others and using their virtues to point out his own flaws in the most teenager form of self-hate I've seen.

I think the most interesting and possibly compelling argument for Ponyboy's insecurity lies with how it ties into the narration.

Ponyboy tells us that Steve, Dally, and Darry hate him at the beginning of the book. He thinks that three out of six people in the gang hate him.

That's nice.

Now, Dally and Darry are proved to actually care about him, but with Steve we're just left with the original assumption.

Let's take a look at the evidence, shall we?

I liked Steve only because he was Soda's best friend. He didn't like me — he thought I was a tagalong and a kid; Soda always took me with them when they went places if they weren't taking girls, and that bugged Steve.

...

Steve shook his head. "Me and Soda are pickin' up Evie and Sandy for the game." He didn't need to look at me the way he did right then. I wasn't going to ask if I could come. I'd never tell Soda, because he really likes Steve a lot, but sometimes I can't stand Steve Randle. I mean it. Sometimes I hate him.

...

Steve flicked his ashes at me. "What were you doin', walkin' by your lonesome?" Leave it to good old Steve to bring up something like that. 

That's it. That is all the evidence we have that Steve dislikes Ponyboy.

Ponyboy's opinion when he's introducing him, a supposed "look" (might I remind you that we've established that Ponyboy cannot read social cues), and Steve being... worried about him? In a way Ponyboy doesn't like?

Where have we seen that before?

(In case you haven't figured it out: that's exactly what happened with Darry)

And every other time Steve appears, there is absolutely no reason to think he dislikes Ponyboy. They seem friendly even.

Am I saying Steve is never annoyed at Pony? Absolutely not. If my best friend's little brother tagged along to all of our hang-outs, I'd be pissed off too. But there's a big difference between not wanting someone three years younger than you to tag along when you hang out with your best friend and genuinely hating them.

But if you have low self-esteem, you look at any signs of someone being lightly annoyed at you and take that to mean that they hate you (speaking from experience).

What this means for the storyline is that Ponyboy will undermine his own abilities and give the impression that his relationship with other people is worse.

So, in conclusion, Ponyboy is an unreliable narrator because

He's only human and can't be expected to remember everything perfectly

He is very, very bad at reading social cues and understanding subtext, so these are often mis-explained

He has low self esteem and therefore undervalues his own virtues and assumes other people have lower opinions of him

[meat-loving-meat]

I LOVE MULTIMEDIA-ING FANFICTIONS

[fitzselfships]

Zooble likes how easy it is to make me laugh. Also they love the way my laugh sounds and have no idea why anyone would ever make me feel bad for it :3

[a-rand0m-bl0g]

Reminder to ALL my followers and ESPECIALLY my mutuals.

I have severe anxiety and I tend to overthink what people say and I am also extremely self conscious.

@foxgirl87

[textualviolence]

okokokok you know what. the lesbian label fits me best specifically because i hate romance & falling in love i think all that shit's stupid. The only thing thats worth it in life is having a tension filled two-little-girls-on-the-playground-pretending-to-be-horses level intensity friendship where basically no words or outside concepts exist beside the deep fascination and kinship you have with another human being & its a friendship to the outside world but on the inside its an unspeakable understanding of self & other with no limits or boundaries as to the aspects that are concealed and revealed and the kind of intimacy that is possible & the only rule is having fun and keeping up the synchronicity thats vibrating between your two spirits. Sorry if that makes me sound like a cringe hippe but genuinely people who are like i wanna fall in looooove im like your desires are lame & small and i pity you. Romance-love is inferior to playground bff friendship-love in every way but we live in a society that does everything to hide this fact from people....why.....

[lonestardust]

ok I liked that scene. it's pure sitcom shenanigans. ronen's delivery is everything. those reactions and iris calling him short sjjsjs. I love her throwing down the gauntlet to TK and rubbing him the wrong way with how nonchalant she is. she's indeed blunt in a way that her tone felt like she's coming in hot to give TK a shovel talk but she's ultimately not mean and rather funny. how the whole talk was basically a blunt teasing and then TK listing his NDEs (and a god forsaken unknown third coma that no one ever heard of sjjsksk *lone star being consistent with both not fact checking and throwing logic away* "it's a bit more than average" yes it is sjksj).

[kuromi-hoemie]

omfg i remember being self conscious about being trans for like five minutes but literally my whole experience has been full of incomprehensively beautiful people telling me I'm hot or getting gassed up like every week or other week and it's done WONDERS for my self esteem.

i didn't even get a chance to second guess myself and at this point there's nothing anyone could say to make me doubt myself. like babe if u don't get it that's okay, ur not my target audience so don't worry about it lol.

[dogearedheart]

when you want to reblog a post but you can't :(

[controlled-haterade]

i want to have a meltdown about being overwhelmed and im tired of seeing socially awkward people blame their every action on "autism" when none of them have ever interacted with an actually autistic person who has physical outbursts and limited vocabulary and watering down what the meaning of autism is and im tired of people talking about gay sex because nobody except them is talking about gay sex when we could be talking about anything else and i can't handle physical touch anymore and my stomach has been hurting for 2 days and im TIRED

[bladeofthestars]

.

[mr-ribbit]

not to keep harping on this but if you HATE shaving your body or any other part of your "beauty routine": stop doing it. just stop doing it, at least for a little while (maybe when you don't have a lot going on if that helps) and HONESTLY gauge how it makes you feel. is this feeling better or worse than the amount of time, stress, and money the routine takes? do YOU actually prefer how you looked before, or are you only worried about what others think? if you stopped doing the routine forever, could you find other ways to feel better about yourself with that energy?

when I was like 19 and the idea of not shaving my legs anymore first occurred to me (bc I had a Cool Progressive Boyfriend that Didn't Care) i just stopped and it was immediately like... a quantifiably large chunk of unnecessary anxiety just sloughed off my life forever. instantaneously I got rid a bunch of effort and stress I had been accepting as normal, and replaced it with more time to do what actually made me feel 'ready' in the morning, like hygiene, coffee, preparing for my activities etc.

and i DONT feel self conscious about body hair personally but even if I did, no amount of shame over hair could outweigh how much easier my life is. not just bc 'shaving annoying' or 'long showers' or whatever, but like. yeah I don't waste as much time getting ready anymore, and I also don't have to realize last minute before some leg-showing event that im unfit for display and have a whole self-esteem plummeting anxiety attack about whether I should rush it unsafely and risk being late, cut up, and stressed out before the event, or go With Hair and feel judged the whole time. i don't have to go through any of those emotions and when anyone does comment on my hair rudely, im in a much healthier place to deal with it and tell them to fuck off rather than validate THEIR fucked up standards by feeling bad.

once I realized I didn't give a shit and neither did anyone I cared about, it also gave me the freedom to cut out a bunch of other shit I was only doing (or Thinking I Should) bc it was what girls Have To Do to be presentable. fuck shaving fuck waxing fuck eyebrow shaping fuck concealer fuck multi step skincare fuck shapewear fuck lip fillers fuck contouring fuck teeth whitening fuck all of it, you do not need to change ANYTHING about how you look Every Single Day.

for those of you about to say "but I like being shaven/wearing makeup/literally pulling hair out of my face painfully every day etc etc etc":

have fun and mod your avatar all you want but for gods sake if you hate it and complain about how long it takes and all the stuff you "have" to buy or do just to "get ready" - you do not have to. you're not just having fun. you are not getting Ready, you are making your mood and experience worse for yourself, which is going to make you feel unready and unprepared for actually being yourself comfortably.

[neverendingford]

.

[rosyadventurer]

Thinking about how nice to be loved and how it has changed me but for the better. I am yearning and I am yearned for

[gojoshooter]

HER HO!NY HUSBAND : GOJO SATORU

tw. suggestive, gojo flashes his goodies

Husband!Gojo coming out of the shower with a wet muscular body and a piece of towel hanging along his waist—only to see his wife laying on the bed right in front of him.

Pregnant Wife!Yn who had been insecure of her growing belly and weight since a couple months due to her pregnancy, watches Gojo check her from head to toe, an unexplainable look on his handsome pale face.

Sitting upright, she fixes her loose garments. Maybe he’s finally come to the realisation of not being such a big fan of my mom body.

Husband!Gojo sensing her dejected mood, snaps out of his internal thoughts as he decides to reach out and sit next to her instead.

“Baby? Something’s bothering?” he asks softly, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear.

Pregnant Wife!Yn ever a self-conscious overthinker, mumbles while looking up at her husband, “I saw you gazing at me few a many times now...” she fixes her garment again, in embarrassment “like... weirdly. You start looking stiff all of a sudden, as if you want to confess something. About my bad shape maybe.”

At her confession, Satoru pauses, lips parted open slightly and not sure which part to explain first. He brings a wet but comforting hand on her swollen belly.

“Silly girl. Are you worrying about your plump little adorable tummy again? I told you I like it.”

Pregnant Wife!Yn frowns, not really sure of his words. “Really? Then how would you explain everytime you stopped to stare at me? Your face doesn't seem as if you love it—or even like it, Toru.”

Husband!Gojo who shakes his head, body turning more towards her distressed wife. “I don't like it? I love you and every part of you babe, you know me.”

Yn sighs softly, looking down with an upset face. “I do... but maybe i shouldn't have asked for a baby. I just... I feel like you'd have appreciated my old body more, Toru.”

Satoru snaps his head towards her, eyebrows raised in disbelief. This was his last straw. She has to know what his pregnant, innocent wife does to him.

As he stands up slowly from the edge of the bed, he makes sure she's all eyes and ears. “Oh really now. Then I must give you a real reason to never regret your baby with me...”

Undoing the towel hooked on his dripping wet waist, the white haired man reveals his lower half of the riches. As her eyes set down, there comes in view an almost fully hard wet length of Gojo Satoru.

Pregnant Wife!Yn being taken aback, is unable to react for a good few first seconds, mouth agape. Light hue of red crawls up the neck to settle on her cheeks, when her husband hums in question.

“Mm? You see this? This is what you do to me, silly girl.”

Everything seemed suddenly more reasonable—Gojo stealing those frequent long gazes, his odd body language while he checks his pregnant wife out. Gojo gets aroused.

Pregnant Wife!Yn tears her gaze away from his manhood, cold sweat making her feel more or less like her currently out of shower dripping wet husband. Oh the thoughts that might be running in his perverted brain, all the ways he could take you in and you wouldn't be moving away with all the weight you bear of his baby, but comply, and relish, and whine.

“Oh-oh...” she mumbles shyly, the revelation lessening her insecurity effectively more than all sweet words combined could have ever had.

an. husband gojo >>> also this is my 1k readers special! ty for giving my writings your time, love y'all. likes & rbs are appreciated <33

tags: @anubisisthebomb @dianagracesworld @stellagrangerreads12 @momochina-sama @xxkay15xx @ruins-posts

[sanguineterrain]

smut 18+ only, fucking jason on the kitchen floor, feral horny afab reader who wants to maul jason, unprotected sex, breeding kink, submissive jaytodd!!! rock on!!!

The first time you go absolutely batshit feral over Jason, he's cleaning the apartment.

He's done nothing to provoke your ferality (he never does), and usually, you keep it to yourself. Thoughts like if I were a vampire I'd suck his blood and I need my boyfriend to hold me down until I orgasm or pass out, whichever comes first, are inside thoughts, and you do a great job at keeping them as such.

So you're not quite sure what compels you to act the way that you do.

First, Jason's in clothes that don't help your insanity. The shirt is Dick's (Jason insists that he did NOT have an emo phase, thank you), so the cropped quality of the My Immortal t-shirt isn't by design. Jason's just big.

Yes, yep, your boyfriend sure is a big boy. That's all you can think about as you watch him over the top of your open book while he attacks the kitchen floor with his Swiffer Jet. He's humming a song you don't recognize.

You love him so much. The thought hits you square in the chest. You love Jason Todd. A lot. A lot a lot a lot.

The next thought that hits you is how soft and squishy your boyfriend is. Jason's sweatpants are baggy, the baggiest he could find, and they still can't hide how humongous his thighs are. His thighs are pure muscle, but when not in the middle of a fight, they are soft. Bitable. Very bitable.

Your gazes moves to the strip of belly that flexes and flutters with every movement. Jason's stomach isn't perfectly flat, a fact that you know sometimes bothers him. You take care to treat it delicately, not wanting him to be self-conscious even though every part of him makes you rabid.

You want to kiss Jason's stomach. Feel it twitch under your hand as you do, uh... other stuff besides kissing. You love watching Jason in action, love watching him wield his powerful body. But you also love him like this: using his body to take care of himself, his space, and you.

Jason's arms. You could write prose poetry on such magnificent creations. More than once you've had the urge to wrap one of Jason's arms around your neck and let him squeeze until you lose consciousness. Another inside thought! Jason would staunchly refuse and probably get you checked for head trauma if you requested such a thing, but you can dream.

Once or twice, Jason's flexed for you, silly and smiley. You've managed to hide just how fucking hot you found it. It's been well over a year and you still want to jump your boyfriend. You try to keep it to a manageable level, not wanting to startle or overwhelm him. You know Jason's complicated relationship with his body. You respect his boundaries.

But still, the thoughts linger...

Your feet carry you to the kitchen before you can think about it. Jason's done with the mop and has moved to wiping the counters. You seize the opportunity to get behind him.

"Hey, baby," Jason says before you reach him. He keeps wiping. And that's another thing: Jason is highly competent. His training makes him hear you before you've reached him. If you were an evil goon, you'd be on the floor before you could inhale. You also find that concerningly hot.

You stick yourself to his back and wrap your arms around his stomach. You grab handfuls of the layer of fat that covers his muscles, brushing your thumbs over where his hair thickens below his bellybutton.

"What's up, hm?" Jason asks, patting your hand.

"You're really hot," you say.

He snorts, glances behind at you. "I'm what now?"

"Hot. Juicy. I wanna maul you."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," you say peacefully, groping his waist. "Soon as possible."

"I'm free for a mauling in ten minutes. That work for you?"

"I don't know if I can wait that long." You slip your hands up his shirt. "Mind if I feel you up while I wait?"

Jason laughs but it comes out a little airy. "You're a menace."

"I'm crazy about you."

"Mm, I've noticed. Feeling's mutual."

"No, no." You move your head so that your mouth is on his exposed bicep. You feel the hot flesh in your mouth, lave your tongue over it for some time. As soon as it flexes, you bite the hard muscle.

Jason drops his dishcloth. You soothe your teeth marks with your tongue.

"You don't understand," you say, shifting so you're pressing Jason against the counter edge. He lets you keep him there. "I'm crazy about you. I wanna eat you, Jay. Let me eat you."

"Jesus, what's gotten into ya?" he asks, turning his head to look at you.

"Hopefully you," you say, unrepentant.

Jason's eyes widen. You adore how squirmy he gets whenever you're bold about wanting him. Despite how long you've known each other, Jason never fails to get flustered. Perhaps that's half the fun.

"C'mon, Jay, let me fuck you. I wanna fuck you on the kitchen floor," you say, past coyness.

He full-body shudders. "I jus' cleaned."

You grin against his arm, pawing at his hip. "I'll help you mop again, honey pie. Deal?" You're eyeing his stomach next, ready to suck his skin there.

Jason can't deny you for long. You both know that.

"You're persuasive," he says, eyelids fluttering.

You hum. "Didn't take much, though, did it? Is your dick hard already?" You squeeze him through his sweats. Jason whines, bracing himself against the counter. "Never takes long, huh? You're always ready for me in no time, stud. Ready to fill me up, right?"

"Oh m'God," he says, looking at you like you're divine. That look swells your ego every time.

"Is that a yes?" You cup his balls like you're choosing a bull for breeding. Jason buckles under your brazenness. "Yes, you want me to let you fuck my pussy? Yes, you want me to fuck you on the floor?"

"Yeah, yeah, please."

So Jason lets you push him down onto the tiles. You yank his sweats down first, then his underwear. He's already leaking onto his stomach.

"Fuck," you say, grabbing and holding Jason's wrists on either side of his head. "You gonna give me what I want, sweetie? Love of my life, handsomest guy I've ever seen?"

Jason nods vigorously. "Yeah, yes, an-anything y'want. Oh my God, I'm s-so hard. I love you. Y'so nice to me."

You smile gently.

"I'm nice for taking you on the kitchen floor, huh?" you ask, bending your knees and lining up his cock to your cunt. "What if I make you wait until I come first?"

Jason nods again, already breathing hard. "I want to, I wanna wait. You should come first. I want you to come first. I don't have ta come at all."

You raise an eyebrow. That's new. New, but not unwelcome.

"So even when I..." You sink down on his cock, just the tip. Jason whimpers in the back of his throat. "Do that? You don't need to come?"

You feel him flex under your hands but he's good and stays put. He doesn't break your hold even though he could. You grin.

"Oh-oh. Sweet boy. My best guy. Look at you, big and hard. You could take me if you wanted, but you don't want that, do you? You want me to take what I want from you. All that muscle and strength, but what d'you need, Jaybee? Hm? Tell me."

"Need you," he says, voice strained. "Need you to do whatever y'want."

You kiss under his jaw and dig your nails into his wrists. Then you sink further onto Jason's cock. His hips twitch but he doesn't thrust like he usually does.

"Will you kiss me?" he asks when he bottoms out, body strung tight like a bow.

"I did kiss you," you say, smiling into his neck.

"On th'lips," Jason says, fingers shaking. "Please? Please."

You thread your fingers with his to steady them. Then you lean in to kiss his mouth. Jason moans, greedily kissing you back. You begin to move. Jason's shoulders tense.

"You're so perfect," you say against his lips. "You'd be so perfect at knocking me up. Any time I wanted, you'd be hard and ready to come in me, right?"

"Ah-ah," Jason says, voice wrecked. "Y-yeah, yeah. As much as y'want. Do anything y'want. I'd do anything."

"Yeah, I know," you say, grunting as you slide back onto him. "I know, sweetheart. Pretty boy. Y'dunno what you got with this fat cock. Can barely speak when your dick's wet."

You do a particularly hard grind and growl against Jason's sweaty throat. You lick the salt from his Adam's apple, feel it bob against your tongue. Then you bite.

"Oh, oh," he whines, and your gut tightens further at his sounds.

"Don't come," you snarl, pussy like a vice. "I come first."

Jason shakes his head, lips parted. His pulse throbs against your mouth. "No, no, won't. I won't. I'm good. I'll be good. 'M I good?"

You pet his hair, voice softening. "You're good, Jason. So good, baby. So good that I gotta take you right here on the floor. You understand, right? I was aching over there, watching you. I had to fuck you. Had to use your big dick for something."

"Uh-huh," he says, voice wet and sticky with pleasure. "Y'had to. I can do it. I wanna be good for you."

He looks up at you, and you're struck again by your difference in size, and how easy Jason gets when he's inside of you. You feel that familiar tightness, the edge of your impending orgasm.

"Rub my clit," you say, letting go of his right hand, and Jason obeys instantly, locating and deftly rubbing your clit.

"Harder," you tell him, and he rubs harder. Your mouth falls open as the pleasure swells. "Yeah. This is what you're made for. Pleasing me."

One of these days, you'll broach the subject of Jason putting those muscles to good use and fucking you doggy-style, whining in your ear as he shoots load after load into you.

"I'm gonna come," you say, cunt tightening. "Are you gonna come?"

Jason shakes his head desperately. "No. No, no, y'said not to. Not gonna come!"

"A-are you sure?" you ask, grinning as Jason makes uh-uh's in the back of his throat.

"Won't come, I promise, won't come," he says, near tears.

You come, tightening hard around Jason's cock. He nearly howls, the corners of his eyes wet, tendons pulled taut in his neck.

But he doesn't come, true to his word.

Sloppily, you kiss him. Jason kisses you back, but it's frenzied. You know his brain must be soup with the effort it's taking to not come.

"Look at you," you say, gaze hungrily roving over Jason's swollen nipples, his red face, his drawn eyebrows. "You listened so well. Y'wanna touch me? Wanna hold me?"

Jason nods frantically. "Yeah, yeah, please, baby, please, can I?"

"Go ahead, sweetheart. Hold me how you want and make yourself come. Don't be gentle."

Jason hesitates at the last direction. "Don't be gentle? Are y'sure?"

You pinch his nipple lightly. Jason bucks his hips. Your eyes narrow.

"I'm sure. Gimme everything you got, big guy."

You bite your lip as Jason's body comes alive, strength kicking in as he draws your thighs up over his hips, plants his feet, and drives into you. He punches the air out of you with each thrust, sobbing as he does. You hold on to his arms as he moves.

It only takes him a few thrusts before hot cum fills your pussy. Your eyes roll back at the feeling, nails scratching Jason's biceps.

"I want more," you say, grinding shallowly against his cock. Jason cries out, and more cum fills you.

"Was that good?" Jason asks, holding you closer.

You grin. "We're definitely doing that again."

Except, maybe not right after Jason's cleaned. You're not that mean.