#so to potentially take that away...is just such bullshit

[idciminlove]

Take a Slice

Part Three- Catch

f!reader x Tashi Duncan x Art Donaldson x Patrick Zweig

Cinnamonacid on AO3

warnings- age gap, flirting, possessive behavior, implied sexual relations but no sex, etc.

It seems like your dreams have finally come true.

Tashi had already started to walk away, not letting the two men respond. They both chased after her.

“Wait, what? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Art asked.

“Let me go with you.” Patrick insisted. Tashi paused, turning on her heel and facing them.

She looked at Art first, soft and reassuring. “It’ll be fine. It’s just a possible coaching opportunity. Nothing serious.”

Then, her gaze shifted over to Patrick. “No.”

“What? Why not?” He frowned.

“Because you come on too strong and I don’t want you scaring her away.”

“Bullshit.” Tashi gave him a dirty look. “Okay, maybe sometimes I can be a little blunt, but it’s just one of my charms. And you’re one to talk about scaring people away. You’re intimidating as hell. If you look at her like you’re looking at me right now, you’ll send her running.”

She leaned in close to him, tilting her head up so their eyes were level. “I’m the coach here. Not you. You should know that out of anyone, Patrick. Especially after I saved your ass and your career. So don’t try to interfere with one of my potential proteges. She’s mine. Stay away.”

She was right. Patrick knew that. He could fight it all he wanted, but time and time again, she had proved to him that she wasn’t his peer. Not when it came to tennis, at least. She had chosen to forgive him, to train him and help him win not one, but three grand slams in the span of a year. She made his career, bumped his rank up from 271st all the way to the top 5. He owed her everything.

So, he slumped back, letting her walk past. “Fine. Just don’t come running to me when she says no.”

She didn’t even bother to look back at him. “I won’t.”

–

You paced back and forth in the parking lot as you listened to your mother’s voice. You were still high from the win, still feeling the rush. Pride bloomed in your chest as she spoke.

“I’m so proud of you, baby. I knew you could do it! The next thing you know, you’ll be at the olympics!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve still got a long way to go.”

“Well, with how hard you’re working, I’m sure that’ll be very soon.”

“Thanks, Mom.” You smiled to yourself, before you noticed something in the corner of your eye. You looked over, spotting your coach waving at you. You felt your heart jump in your chest as your eyes fell to the woman standing beside him. It was Tashi.

You could hardly process what your mother was saying, her words turning into white noise. You could barely speak. “Mom? I gotta go.”

“Okay, call me later?”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you more than anything, sunshine.”

You hung up and fumbled with your phone as they walked over, unsure what to do with it or your hands. You were completely starstruck.

You must’ve looked like an idiot, standing there and gawking as your coach introduced you, but you couldn’t help yourself. You spent years and years dreaming of this moment, knowing that it was just a fantasy, that the chances of it actually happening were damn near impossible, and yet, here you were with Tashi standing mere feet away from you. She was even more gorgeous in person.

You could hardly even hear what your coach was saying over your racing heart, blood thumping in your ears. “This is Tashi Duncan and she’d like to speak with you.”

You nodded dumbly, watching as your coach walked away, leaving the two of you alone in the empty parking lot. You’re going to lose it.

“Congratulations.” She reached over to shake your hand. You hoped she couldn’t feel how sweaty your palms were.

“Thank-” You cleared your throat. It felt dry and tight, making it even harder for you to speak. “Thank you.”

“I know you don’t have a lot of time right now, so I’ll get straight to the point. I was impressed with what I saw out there today, and I’d like to coach you. Here’s my number, if you want to talk.”

She handed you her business card, it was pale white, her name imprinted on it in gold letters, along with a number. You flipped it over to see another number scribbled in black pen. “The number on the front is for business, for the foundation and such, so the best way you can reach me is through my cell. I hope we can talk soon.”

With that, she left. You watched her go, before staring at the card in your shaking hands.

Holy shit.

–

You sprinted over to Anneliese the moment you got the chance, after all the interviews and pictures and such. She was standing in the parking lot, waiting with the other girls for your bus to arrive and take you back to campus. Thankfully, the ride wouldn’t be too long, since you were only an hour out from Stanford.

You screamed her name, grabbing her hands. “What? What is it?”

“Tashi fucking Duncan talked to me! And she gave me her number!” You squealed, handing her the card.

“Holy shit! This is way better than an autograph!”

“I know, right? I guess she was impressed with how I played today, and she said she wanted to coach me. And look at the back, that’s her number- her personal cell phone number!” Anneliese’s jaw dropped.

“That’s amazing! And her cell phone too? Oh my god, she totally wants you.” You couldn’t help but get flustered, giggling nervously. “Noo, I wish though.”

“I don’t know, giving someone your personal cell phone number? As a professional and a celebrity? That’s bold. She better not steal you away from me.”

You threw your arm around her, pushing her body against yours, rolling your eyes. “You know that no one could ever steal me away.”

You looked around, making sure no one else was listening, before you leaned in closer, pressing your mouth against her ear. “Not from my pretty girl.”

“Stop.” She giggled and pushed you away, her cheeks all cute and rosy. “Make me.”

The bus then pulled up, getting everyone’s attention and ending your little banter session. But with the way she was looking at you, you knew there was much more to come.

–

You should be exhausted from the day. It was mentally and physically draining, in almost every way possible, and yet you still couldn’t sleep. You sat up in bed and made sure to be quiet, to not disturb Anneliese, who was asleep beside you. You stared at Tashi’s card on the table. Then, you grabbed your phone and put her contact in.

A few days later, you managed to work up the courage to text her. You sent her your name and a reminder of who you were, just so she wouldn’t mark it off as spam.

You: I’m ready to talk

She didn’t reply immediately, which wasn’t surprising. She was a busy woman. But that didn’t stop you from checking your phone constantly, opening the chat to see if she sent a read receipt or anything.

An hour or so passed and and just when you were about to give up, you saw the three dots appear, making your heart rate instantly spike.

Tashi: Great

Tashi: What day/time works best for you?

Tashi: I know just the place to meet

[scottguy]

You can't take vaccines something "bad" will happen.

Like...what?

And what could be worse than dying of diptheria, measles, mumps, rubella, smallpox, hepatitis A and B or tetanus?

Those are all potentially deadly! We've just forgotten because we've had vaccines for so long.

Risk assessment:

No vaccines - widespread illness and death.

Vaccines - minimal to no side effects.

Wow.. tough call.

Nearly all Americans have had multiple vaccines at this point and were all fine.

How do you explain that reality away?

Doesn't common sense of that simple observation tell you they're safe?

Oh, I forgot, conspiracy theorists have no common sense! They believe any stupid bullshit they see on the internet and not the proof of their own eyes.

They love feeling like they're smarter than doctors because they can watch YouTube. 🙄

Trump is going to let a guy whose brain has been gnawed by a worm run our healthcare.

May I just remind RFK Jr of the hundreds of thousands of Americans died NEEDLESSLY during the Covid pandemic because they *refused to take the perfectly safe Covid vaccine.*

When many of those people became gravely ill, they were begging for the vaccine on their death beds, but it was too late.

How could anyone forget this?

Meanwhile, all those people who say they are afraid of "putting something dangerous into their bodies" drink alcohol, which is toxic.

ATTN: RFK Jr

Vaccines work

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Just so we clear: if you get mad at MCU for constantly tying everything together and not letting anything be it's own thing anymore but celebrate James Gunn wanting to do the same with DC, your a hypocrite.

[chickenoptyrx]

....I just wanted to draw gators :T at this point these 2 are more 'a representation of my last 2 brain cells' then they are actual characters 😅

[lateseptemberdawn]

The whole point of Mahabharata and the introduction of kaliyuga is that absolute pureness will not suffice. That to be good is to suffer. That if you keep taking what the world gives you, you will die empty-handed, everything you own taken away. That is the whole point of Bhagavat Geeta. To give what you're given, not to keep bending until your back breaks, NOT to keep suffering because that is the good thing, at the hands of someone who has done nothing for you. It is insane that this man who claims to be so clever and smart is so, SO willing to become literally stupid just because it's the Good thing to do. It is unfathomable to me. This is pure stupidity no matter from what way you look at it. There are all sorts of religious shows to tel these idiots that you MUST take back what you're owed. It's literally YOUR right. It is literally what you are SUPPOSED to do. When you keep giving what you have rightfully earned out of the labour of your blood sweat and tears, you are not doing it for the goodness. It's going nowhere. God is laughing at you and is probably angry that you're wasting opportunities and resources and the blessings you were provided with for your benefit. Especially when you're not only responsible for just yourself but for people in your family as well. Especially when you're already so so close to suffering that you need all the extra resources you can to make sure you don't suffer. The whole point of Krishna is to accept the impure within you, to fight for your own self. Rama is become so relevant these days because people here are braindeads. This is not the satyuga, the moralities of that times will have you beaten down bleading on the ground. This is kaliyuga, in order to preserve yourself you need to weaponise cunning to save yourself. That's how it is supposed to be. You sit down and take and you keep on taking from every single person that comes across you. You think this is patience? To be unreasonably lenient to strangers and so hard on your family? Your wife and daughter? You think yourself so smart but you are so obviously stupid I laughed at your face because of it. You are hell bent on wasting away everything you are in the name of a false ideal that will not only leave you nowhere but will also drive you mad and who will take the brunt of it? Your wife. Your daughter. Because man is a coward who is so so scared of another man be it his own son. He will scream and shout and the littlest faults of his wife and daughter but not the son, he gets to be a no-gooder, he gets to be free with it in the name of I-dont-care-let-him-do-what-he-wants-hes-a-no-gooder-anyways. Not your mother or sister because they are women and you must service them because it is good and noble but your wife and daughter are not women who deserve the same treatment, no, you can blame them for the stress you've acquired by your own stupidness and claim to be all high and mighty. This man needs to open his eyes or I swear to god I will lose all respect.

[dbphantom]

Hate having adhd went to go work on my fallout modpack, got distracted while going to disable the steam overlay, ended up in the points shop, went to go edit my profile, decided to change my pfp, found a buried folder I forgot existed, found some old Veneer art I forgot existed, spent 45 minutes looking at all the old photos, STILL HAVE NOT TOGGLED ONE SIMPLE OPTION THAT SHOULD'VE TAKEN 30 SECONDS AT MOST

[emangel2718]

Political rant in tags.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

already was musing on how like, here's an intro that's Establishing Things, and it's like, does it matter that we were given a quants interaction of winston being like "hey you were nice to me there, actually. it reminds me of how" only for rian to pull the nice maneuvers of not wanting to listen to him share anything, being willing to just issue an order to someone about what he gets to do (talk for ten seconds) and doing so, then some underwhelming flair used to insult him surely, i guess that he's so stupid(tm) or whatever. like, wondering does that mean anything really that that was just about rian being an asshole, as has been sprinkled in before, just little moments that deadend with winston just feeling Disheartened b/c rian was shitty for no reason. does it mean anything that she did anything for the quant duo before that in refusing a chance to not sit next to him. theoretically just a [we're still tmc] kind of choice to stick together, and sure didn't move her to even treat him like a person she dislikes, just a nonperson she also dislikes

and relatedly it's going to be just as hilarious as rian, what, implying winston hasn't heard / of the french language, that the theory that rian and dollar bill become some kind of duo based on being Hilarious(tm) but also just terrible to any & everyone and bullying people has only more plausible, And that this episode of billions' introduction / establishment of dollar bill is decidedly centered around "yeah nobody likes this guy or can stand to deal with him. not even the people paid to be there, not even the self-declared Too Nice guy who kept choosing hanging out with dollar bill & his bullying over working & hanging out with his friend taylor" so it sure doesn't seem like that's leaving much room for [oh that was an oversight] if dollar bills going to fuck off into mpc hq on the regular and rian's immediately going to be like of course i can roll with this fuckin asshole

and truly a distillation of "rian's supposedly gets the 'good' treatment of More Material & being taken more seriously by other characters, but this only meant that instead of any sense of character &/or her own actual subplots ever, she's whatever a different more prominent character needs for their plot at any given time; winston's peripheral funny little guy unimportance & insulting treatment is still so much better re: being a character" if winston gets the worst treatment of being shoved out of mpc by episode three and rian is graced with hanging around most or all season only to be judged & condemned to now have that loss of [quant duo] replaced with being insufferable bullying horrible person dollar bill's New Friend and like, right away, with ease. and like i was saying like i would not argue with that, if rian had the consistent principle of treating anyone with basic respect she wouldn't be treating winston as a nonperson, and of course she has a broader capacity for being an asshole to anyone at any point that's just drier and less [outbursts of physical aggression] than dollar bill's style.

no idea what rian's overall arcs could be when yknow, why is she here, why has she stayed here, her most relevance right now gets to be "has the dialogue capacity to talk about getting prince with a sex scandal. also has zero thoughts on how power factors into one rather than that you just need to be polite about it?" which only feels truly character specific when held up against "rian was supposedly bullied but also Above even hating the people who did it. but she is also a bully and not even especially emotionally detached about it, even though how she treats winston is more important than how she feels about it" like basically "also a bully" is her most coherent deal. and it's just Interesting that simply being mean to winston is again basically pointed out, and her future bestie or [put in the same shots duo status] dollar bill is Impending but the episode was like "yeah of course everyone hates this guy, for being awful" and the joke nonjoke the whole time that unfortunately rian might get along just fine with bill as workplace (and probably also life in general, it's not a honed strategy they limit to the office) bullies

so that That's what rian gets for getting to stick around, while winston Might get to be shoved out of the fund hq with any character flair from him and, i do unfortunately have to wonder harder now, maybe any relevance afforded to the way people have treated him, indeed maybe rian especially, his personal bully and abusive friend. and because other people also see rian as better than him & maybe also winston as [not a person], if winston does anything that's indeed deliberately petty, mean, Angry, etc, towards rian, That will be seen as unacceptable vs the yknow checks notes years of cruel interpersonal treatment from rian to winston, but nothing hangs in the balance on that front, people won't suddenly be like "nice. winston's a person to me now, which, why am i even in a position to Decide that" if he's shoved out & goes quietly & politely and creates no problems in return. and, very much like dollar bill, i don't think rian will change, but for winston's own sake it would be Heartening if he voices his experience such that we know he knows it was bullshit, even though of course rian, and probably anyone else, isn't going to choose to listen past 5 seconds, least of all when he's clearly indicating a general state of irritation. rooting for flair and idiosyncrasy for him and indeed that the best sources for that could be with taylor, please, the person he's always been here for, rian, the person for years now bullying him more than she does anyone else or more than anyone else does to winston, and even fun if there's anything with tuk his apparent genuine friend tuk, and by "fun" i mean "such a delight i daren't really think much abt it From Canon"

anyways the tl;dr i suppose is that winston getting apparently thrown away in the first third of the season is insulting treatment but rian getting to stay and be dollar bill's wretched bestie is truly the worse fate and basically that distillation of like. oh winston's bringing it on himself he's so annoying nobody likes him, while in actuality all the ways he's never fit in or done things "right" and how he would never have been hired if taylor hadn't done it are all compliments and endorsements. while rian's been viewed as a capable valuable person by all from the start and treated as Better Than even others who are still also seen people, but her "success" and the shit she gets to continue to do in how she treats people b/c nothing about being at work stops that and some things facilitate & reward it, see: also dollar bill being around the whole time & now also back, definitely include treating a friendly coworker any which way, which she usually chooses to be: badly. and of course shoutout to the thread of taylor being like "if you stay btw you'll probably get all fucked up" but like also rian just Brought the [i'm a bully but it's fine when i do it. it's bad when it happens to Me] stance from the start, but like, obviously always the opportunity to get worse and just be left off with that implication of Never Trying To Learn, just like your new good friend dollar bill

real tl;dr As Fates Go winston being shitted on & fired / driven to quit >>>>>>>> rian sticking around, befriending dollar bill. and like not in the way i'm arguing that the fate is worse like In Conceptual Quality. it's just a hell of a potential condemnation / indirect illustration of like, here's this person it's horrible to be around, here's a reminder rian is cruel to this coworker on a dime anytime, here's rian deciding the horrible person is Alright anyways. maybe they'll be busy with a bullying power struggle the whole time. and maybe winston will get to appear outside the fund actually. just really something to be going like "oh my god lmao rian and dollar bill might actually be specifically getting along well as fellow [be horrible to coworkers] bullies and assholes who feel Above It, it being many other people, this being a kind of requirement there" and to be wondering if billions will make this fact that rian's job is being an asshole more relevant at all, if even to be like yeah leaving off with a lost cause here, including that i really doubt winston can Get Through To her even with his ability & willingness to air his grievances, and like, as though oh actually winston brought it upon himself b/c rian just didn't knowww, that's on him and his visible pain & verbal expressions of that pain & requests that she stop which Weren't Enough, and as though maintaining that onesided dynamic for bullying and demeaning and shutting down and abusing was like an unconscious accidental coincidence every time and not its own Active Process, regardless of what the other person does or doesn't do, and with the agenda of maintaining that [i'm the person who chooses how things go; they're the object that reacts accordingly like it's laws of physics level of demands of reality] one-sided relationship, so they'd only just be looking to react to what that other person does or doesn't do in ways that serve those purposes anyway. sometimes rian's "nicer" but she's still the one deciding how everything goes, winston can only roll with it like a ball at the top of a ramp like, of course, unquestionable. cue space winston, zero gravity

haha another tl;dr. winston being disposed of is a warmer Fate to assign a character than rian's potential "of course she's friends with dollar bill now" like lmfao Ouch. but yeah of course.

[tossawary]

One of my personal nitpicks for historical fantasy is a lack of servants, staff, subordinates, and... idk... subjects? Like, their absence is not... a total dealbreaker for me, depending on the situations the characters are in and whether or not I can just assume that other people are there in the background... but so many of the protagonists in historical fantasy stuff are higher-ranking (very often royalty), and/or have busy jobs, and/or have enormous houses that would necessitate having at least part-time staff.

Like, girl, you should have a maid! WHERE is your chaperone?! WHO is driving this carriage?! Where are your footmen? Are you trying to imply that a WEALTHY DUCHESS is taking a CAB?! You know that you probably have tenants, right? Where is your steward?! Where is your lawyer? Your accountant?! (Like, yeah, you're not going to have your lawyer living in your house, but you HAVE one, right???)

Or, man, you're supposed to be a military commander and you don't even have a single secretary?! Where is your SQUIRE?! (In the spirit of historical fiction, I am jumping wildly across time periods with every sentence here.) Man, I know you aren't looking after your own boots. Where are your GUARDS?! Who set up this tent for you?! Who is looking after your horse?! Who is making and carrying the incredibly valuable maps people are recklessly stabbing daggers into?!

SOMEONE has to be scrubbing these floors and delivering the mail and cooking the meals and doing laundry, and they're probably all DIFFERENT people! My dentist has at least three different receptionists and we can't even get ONE for our court wizard here? A sorcerer's apprentice to take notes? Someone like Sherlock Holmes could get away with just having a housekeeper and taking taxis, sure, but your character is supposed to be a KING?! Why is he answering his own front door? He's going to get assassinated. His SERVANTS should have SERVANTS.

Like, yes, I understand that a lot of servants in certain places at certain times were supposed to make their labor invisible, but there have always been servants who still had to interact directly with the masters of the house?! Yeah, there are potentially really messy ethics here, class divisions are bullshit, but I don't think that completely ignoring the reality that humans have ALWAYS been doing work for other humans is better than just including some well-paid and well-treated servants and employees? Because a complete absence of them, especially where logically for the worldbuilding there MUST be servants (and probably exploited servants, or worse, for some particular worldbuilds to work), often makes me think that your main characters just don't care enough to notice the "lower class" people or know their names.

Also, even Frodo Baggins had a gardener and Samwise Gamgee might be the best damn character in the story?! Sam saved the world?! Servants are PEOPLE. Servants are often the funniest and most interesting characters, tbh, with the most to say about a society and its workings (yes, Discworld is a very good book series, highly recommend), and also the joke of some romantic scene being carefully orchestrated by a stage crew of servants frantically diving into bushes to stay out of sight never gets old to me. Teamwork makes the dream work!

I don't want to gatekeep historical fiction, especially not historical fantasy, because the worlds don't necessarily have to conform to our own and may have magic and characters are often in very unique circumstances, but... sometimes I pick up a story and it's like... "Author, please tell me that you know there is a difference between a butler and a valet?!"

[zyafics]

SHOTGUN WEDDING | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (oneshot) | x Maybank!Female Reader

Summary — You and Rafe are nothing but casual. But when he suddenly has the idea to get married, you agree after some convincing.

Content — 18+, smut, fluff, fingering, blowjob, and banter.

Word Count — 2.2K

"Let's get married."

"What?" You say breathlessly, lifting yourself by the elbows and turning to face Rafe. You don't know if you heard him correctly.

"I said let's get married," Rafe repeats in a lower octave, pushing away the prickling feeling beneath his skin—a consequence of your reaction to his vulnerable declaration.

There it is again. Clear as day. You hadn't misheard him the first time, and the dawning strike of realization causes your heart to skip several beats. But you still don't acknowledge it. Blinking, you're trying to decipher whether this is some cruel trick. "You're not serious."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

Annoyance flickers through his hard features and you purse your lips, not wanting to provoke him further by providing a sharp-witted comment. Your mind is spinning—partially from all the orgasms Rafe pulled from you, but also from the proposition.

Marriage. Does he understand the absoluteness of that proposal?

You suspect he doesn't. "You're delirious," you brush it off with a casual laugh, wanting to admonish any potential embarrassment that may arise in him and to move forward. "Let's just forget about it."

"I don't want to forget about it." Rafe grits through clenched teeth. Your reaction is the complete opposite of what he'd imagined to happen. Sure, you weren't the type to jump for joy, but goddamn, you couldn't give him something? "You still haven't given me an answer."

"You don't want a real answer."

"I'm clearly asking for one."

"It's just the post-sex haze."

"It's called post-nut clarity," he rectifies, "And my mind is perfectly clear."

You're giving him exits, to pretend to forget about it and act as if it never happened, but Rafe takes none of them. He doesn't want to drop it, so, finally, you ask. "Why?"

A heavy beat passes before Rafe shrugs, attempting to appear nonchalant when all he can hear is the thrumming of his own heart. "I like being inside of you," he reasons, before meeting the unimpressed look on your face, and adds. "You make me laugh."

You scoff. "Yeah, so do small children falling over. Get off of me," you shove him off, pulling to the ledge of the bed where your wobbly legs find balance on Rafe's hardwood floor. Not knowing how to process this change in affairs, you go search for your clothes instead.

Rafe watches as you scramble around the room, a reflexive habit of yours whenever you feel uncomfortable. His agitation flares, his jaw locks, and with a narrowed gaze that follows your every move, he pulls to a sitting position and rubs his chin with the back of his hand.

"Goddammit. Stop looking for your shit and look at me," Rafe commands, his voice bleeds with a tinge of desperation, forcing you to halt your recovery search to face him. Exposed. Utterly naked. But instead of Rafe making some sexual innuendo about your body, his eyes remain on your face. "Why don't you believe me?"

"Because we've only been fucking," you list, using your manicured fingers to count out all the reasons why this is a terrible idea. "You call me whenever you want a hookup. We're never not arguing, and I swear, sometimes, you don't even like me."

"I like you just fine," Rafe shrugs a careless shoulder, but the conviction behind his tone wavers. "And all the other reasons are bullshit. So, what? If we get married, we can fuck and fight anytime we want."

"That's faulty logic," you retort and he rolls his eyes. "Plus, it's not the basis for a strong marriage. I'm giving you an out; you're not thinking straight, Cameron."

"I'm thinking just fine."

"You sure?" You take a step closer, about to raise three fingers in the air, and ask him to relay the count, when Rafe inclines forward to grab the underside of your thigh, pulling you in. You let out a little yelp of surprise, slotting between his spread legs.

He lifts his chin to meet your gaze, his thumb running absent patterns across your sensitive skin. With a low voice, Rafe asks solemnly, "Why don't you want to get married?"

"Have you not been listening?"

"Those aren't good reasons," he affirms, causing you to huff.

"Only you would tell a woman their reasons aren't good enough," you muse, drifting your hand to the nape of his neck. You tilt your head to the side. "What classifies as a bad reason?"

A beat passes before he answers. "You don't like me."

After he says that, Rafe holds his breath, his eyes searching your face to see any minuscule change in your features only to discover none. Your hand locates his chin, caressing the hard definition of his jaw. "That's not true."

Rafe exhales. "Then, it's settled."

"No, it's not settled."

He groans, tipping his head back, enough for you to see the grand column of his throat. His Adam's apple bobs over your infuriating buffers. It's amusing, and for a brief moment, you envision a future where you get to do this forever. "Do you not want to get married?"

"I never said that."

"So, you don't want to get married to me?"

"Rafe," you sigh, and he returns his gaze. You're referring to him by his first name, instead of the adorned Cameron, and his skin tightens at whatever you plan to say next. "You're a Kook. I'm a Pogue. We're barely in a relationship, and I doubt your parents would approve of this."

"Fuck what they'd say," he admits, with the relentless urgency behind his voice. He means it. "I want to. Since when do you care about what other people think?"

"Since I'm going to be entering into said family."

You say it with such dolefulness, that it sounds like you already accepted his proposal. Already imagined a future with him. The corner of Rafe's mouth lifts; he just needs to do one more thing to convince you.

Rafe hoists you onto his lap to straddle him, your ankles on either side of his waist, as your naked core rubs against the side of his cock, the sensation quickly hardening his erection.

Expecting him to lift you onto his tip, Rafe surprises you by swiping his fingers through your wet folds, causing a small whimper to rise from the back of your throat. "Listen to me," Rafe rasps, pressing gentle kisses along your collarbone before lowering to your breasts, while the tip of his fingers toys with your entrance. "You've given me your reasons why it won't work, I'm going to give you my reasons why it will."

"I'm not going to change my mind,"

"You sure?" Rafe grins, teasing your slit. Your walls clench around the nothingness, desperately needing to be filled, and it causes you to bounce up and down, rubbing yourself against Rafe's hardened cock. Your hands land on his shoulders for steadiness, and that's when he begins to pump you.

"I think we look good together," Rafe lists with a grunt, feeling your pussy rub against his length. Desire pools inside of Rafe, his cock throbbing, but he concentrates on the task at hand, adding another digit. "You're the only person that keeps me on my toes—fuck," he groans, and you smirk.

Your slickness covers Rafe's cock, but you don't sink down on it. "Are you sure you're going to win this?" You murmur against the shell of Rafe's ear, planting feather-light kisses along the edge of his jaw. Rafe squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, needing to gather himself before he slides in his ringed finger—the cold singlet grazing your heat, making you gasp and stop your movements.

Rafe holds your hips, while his fingers fully thrust inside of you with such vigor and performance, that a rich moan rips from your lips. He concludes his final reason: "And I get to fuck this every single night."

His darkened eyes lift to meet your hooded ones. His fingers work a steady but increasing rhythm inside of you, the coil of familiar pleasure twisting your gut. "Look at how pretty you are coming undone by me. Don't you want this forever?"

"Shut–shut up, Rafe," you whimper, your hands reaching for his arm between your legs, attempting to slow down the pace as your sensitivity is plowed into overdrive. Rafe snatches your wrists into one hand, dragging them away. "Too much."

Your legs attempt to close around him, but his large frame prevents such a thing. Rafe grins at the look of pleasure blooming on your face, the unsteadiness of your breaths alongside your lashes fluttering against your cheeks, and he fastens his strokes.

Whimpers and moans escape you in rising increments, and Rafe kisses your mouth, swallowing all that noise and desperation and need. "Say yes," he murmurs against your tingly lips.

"N–no," you refuse, still holding an ounce of restraint.

But Rafe simply laughs. His fingers slow its assault, leaving your mind a completely boggled mess. Nothing but the sensation of your orgasm on the near horizon resides, hooked completely on fulfilling your own pleasure, that you can't think of anything else to do but whine.

He looks back at you, sincerity capturing his face. " I like you, Maybank. It'll be fun to make it official."

"I—" You can barely comprehend a single word he's saying, the fizzling of your orgasm dissipating as you desperately try to wield it back in. "I can't think right now," you whimper, lowering yourself to give him a needy kiss, "Make me come first."

He doesn't need another reason before he reenters you, his thumb circling your clit and massaging it as his fingers thrusts in and out. Sounds of wetness echo throughout the quiet room, and when Rafe leans forward to add another mark—biting a sensitive spot on your neck—you unravel with a loud cry, tipping your head onto Rafe's shoulder.

Rafe guides you through your intense orgasm, your walls clenching around him so hard, they barely can move. Slowing his thrusts until it completely fade away, when Rafe pulls out, he presses his slick-covered fingers on the dip of your bottom lip, forcing them apart to lick clean. And when you do, he pulls you back in to seal it with a kiss.

Your chest rises and falls heavily as your eyes close for a moment of respite. Rafe's gaze, however, never strays from your face—patient and waiting.

This is such a bad idea. The whole premise of a Cameron-Maybank marriage could potentially knock the earth off its axis. You're from two different worlds and carry different viewpoints, but there's something fun, exciting, and fulfilling in being with Rafe. It can't be just because he gives you one of the best orgasms of your life.

You know JJ would hate this. He barely tolerates the idea of your hookup with Rafe as it is, and out of everyone, you value most of your brother's opinion. But, for once, you can't seem to find it in yourself to care.

"Fuck," you announce, reopening your eyes and meeting his stare. "Fuck it. Let's do it."

Rafe's lips pull to a genuine smile. "Yeah?"

You nod. "It'll be fun."

He grabs your hand, "Let's go."

"Right now?"

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet already?"

"You think I back down from a challenge?"

"It isn't the first time."

You slap his shoulder and Rafe laughs. He moves his hand to your hips again, lifting you off when you stop him. "Wait," you say, looking between you, at the red and swollen cock that hasn't gotten its release. "I have to do something before we leave."

You sink to the floor on your knees, still between his legs, as your thumb rubs the pearly beads of precum over the tip, causing Rafe to groan. He was so focused on your pleasure and making you agree to his outrageous proposal, that he didn't get a chance to relieve himself. You want to help.

After all, isn't that the first step to marriage?

Taking him into your mouth and tasting your slick rub all over him, you hollow your cheeks as you begin to suck. Rafe moans from the contact your lips made with his length, your hand wrapping around the base to steadily pump him alongside the suction.

It feels like absolute heaven. His hands thread through your hair, pushing you deeper onto his cock, and making you gag on the girth. This made you retreat, just slightly, to glare up at him. "Don't do that."

Wanting desperate release, Rafe's willing to listen to about anything. "Yes, ma'am."

When you return to sucking him off, Rafe makes sure not to push you further on his dick without prior approval, so you can take him appropriately. At least that means he'll listen to you in the marriage. As you steadily increase your pumps, and your jaw aches from the stretch, you feel Rafe's cock twitch.

"Come on, baby, come for me," you command, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. Not even a moment later, he comes inside your mouth, spilling to the back of your throat, and you swallow up every lick of his hot cum.

You wipe the corner of your mouth with the pad of your thumb, and Rafe assists in pulling you back to your feet. Giving him a kiss, you grin. "Good boy. Now, let's go."

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[ddejavvu]

can I request one with Spencer Reid based on the season 4 club scene??? He's there with Morgan and stares at the reader and Morgan shows him how to approach her but the reader doesn't fall for Morgan's approach, then Reid gives it a try and she turns into a giggly blushing mess at how cute he is and his weird facts!! Idk something fluffy??

reader is slightly mean to morgan in this one and i'm so sorry to have dissed the love of my life </333

--

"Don't bother," Morgan catches Spencer's shoulder when the man looks like he's about to give you their 'have you seen this man?' spiel. "I tried to tell her about the unsub, but she's not very impressed by men cornering her in the club. We don't have to worry about her, she won't fall for his bullshit."

"She should know, though." Spencer frowns, watching as you stare lazily at your drink, watching condensation drip down the glass, "I'll tell her."

"Reid, I'm telling you, she's not a potential victim," Morgan squeezes his shoulder, "Listen, if I couldn't get her to talk to me, there's no way the creep we're looking for could win her over. And he's not gonna waste his time on someone who says no to him."

The expression on your face changes from a dark scowl when a man stands a few inches too close to you while ordering a drink, to a soft, disinterested pout when he leaves again and you're able to relax. You don't look resistant, you look hesitant. You don't look like you're refusing to talk to anyone, you look like you're waiting for the right person to talk to you, and Derek Morgan was wrong.

"I'll just be a minute," Spencer slips out from beneath Derek's heavy hand and ignores the agent's groan as he approaches you. He knows Morgan's eyes are heavy on his back while he steps up to your barstool, but he pushes away the pressure of an audience to smile kindly at you.

"Hello," He offers, his voice barely audible over the music. His fingers latch tight around the strap of his messenger bag and the flyer he's holding wrinkles in his firm grip, "I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, I'm here to warn you about a potential threat."

Maybe it's not the strongest way to start off a conversation with a pretty girl at a bar, but it's the information you need to know. Stuttered flirting and watered-down drinks can come later, if they happen at all; Spencer's priority is your safety.

Your brows raise and you look past Spencer's shoulder hesitantly, "Is it him? He tried trapping me earlier."

Spencer's chest relaxes slightly where it had been tensed, and he lets out a mild laugh, "Well, he's not the main threat I'm worried about. Did he- did he do the thing where he called you sugar?"

"Mm-mm," You shake your head, taking a sip of the sad remains of your drink and speaking after you swallow, "Sweet cheeks."

Even Spencer winces. Where Morgan's strategy is charm first, then the ugly stuff, Spencer thinks it's only fair to let you know why he's there before letting himself get distracted.

"He thinks that's some sort of magic spell," He laments, "Uh- I'm sorry if he made you uncomfortable. Technically, he was just trying to warn you about the same guy I'm warning you about, but we have a very different way of going about business."

"I can tell," You nod, eyes widening slightly for emphasis. Then you glance at the stool beside your own, "Sit down, Doctor. Tell me about this creep. Well- the one on the flyer."

Morgan watches with something ugly rearing in his chest as Spencer takes the seat you've offered him, but he wrestles it down to replace it with pride. Perhaps he'll have to reevaluate his strategy when it comes to disinterested patrons, but as he watches Spencer magically find his business card behind your ear, he's not sure he'll ever have what the young doctor does.

[celestialholz]

Live long and fuck in Hondas (or 'why that Vulcan salute is way more significant than you think it is')

Hey. Hey Holz. Did you know Deadpool and Wolverine fucked in the Odyessy? Did you know that they now live in a one-bed with Blind Al? Did you know that -

Yes, friend. I know all of it. And you're all super fucking valid for pointing it out.

... But maybe all of you aren't seasoned Trekkies like me. Maybe not all of you gorgeous people understand the true significance of this.

Or maybe you just want a definitive way to win the argument of "are these two fucking?"

But either way, I'm here to help, and to tell you why, amongst all the absurdly homoerotic text of this film, this moment? Might be the gayest of them all.

Now, we must start by saying that although you wouldn't know it from the bullshit Abrams films, these two:

Are the fathers of gay fanfiction. Spock and Kirk here are the reason you're living in the fantastic timeline where you can write/read men fucking without any other shred of plot and that this is a legitimate and normalised internet experience - everyone say thank you, iconic papas. These guys were so homoerotically coded that even in the 60s, the era of wondrously overdramatic performances of all kinds and fairly prevalent homophobia, The Girlies still took notice, still started mailing each other fics and making zines and being just hugely excited at the thought of these two getting space-married. They are fandom as we know it today's beginning, and seventy years later they're still an enduringly popular ship on AO3. (You should all go and watch Amok Time, by the way. Contains the Honda Odyessy scene of the 60s, except there's weird biology and wrestling and just go and put it on your screens, thank me later. They fucked on that planet.)

Anyway, these two were as close as early colour TV could ever allow two men to be, deepening their *coughs* friendship almost every single episode or film - Trek's creator Gene Roddenberry even gave them a unique word in Spock's Vulcan language, with the meaning of 'friend, brother, lover.' (And if that isn't ringing any Poolverine bells, I'm not actually sure what you want out of this post. Enjoy it anyway, love you.)

... And then we get to 1982's The Wrath of Khan, and to that moment that every iconic screen couple must face - the ol' classic, it's you or me and I won't let it be you.

Sure, the set-up's a little different here - the chamber Spock's in is filled with radiation, and the scene's quieter, softer. And Kirk isn't a mutant so he can't smash his way in, he can just sit there and inwardly die as his emotional support Vulcan does.

... But you get where I'm coming from here. Ryan Reynolds doesn't take a million other potential love scenes from across the cinematic ages - no, he takes this. What is for many the romantic acknowledgement of a whole generation. The humble and desperately sweet beginning of it everything we fans know and love nowadays. The most ambiguously romantic homosexual relationship in television, directly comparative to what is now arguably the most ambiguously romantic homosexual relationship in cinema. And lest we forget, Wade doesn't believe in a fourth wall - this is a conscious choice, both in canon and in the writer's room.

Oh it's so clever and so beautiful a girl could weep. Ryan just introduced the MCU to the gays, just as Kirk and Spock did all those years ago to the masses of the time.

And then there's what it means.

This is the Vulcan salute, created to mean either 'live long and prosper' or 'peace and long life' - it's used more or less interchangeably.

But part of that's irrelevant when you're as immortal as these two.

So we're left with the sentiments of prosperity and peace, given to a man who up to this point can't imagine ever prospering again, is the furthest thing away from being at peace. Wade gives Logan the opportunity to go on, to find the things he's been lacking for so long now - things he has already helped him find. Spock tells Kirk during The Wrath that 'the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,' and that's exactly what Wade's doing here - sacrificing himself for the greater good of his friends and his newly beloved, however much it will hurt them all.

And that's lovely, and poignant, and character-growing, and I think we all would have been content to leave it at that and have our noble sacrifice, however much we would have wept. Kirk goes on to find the remnants of Spock's soul in the next film in the series, to bring him essentially back from the dead because he felt it was more than his own soul's worth not to have done... which, again, ringing a bell anyone?

Because Logan, in not so many words, tells dear Wade to fuck right off, and we get this.

What we've got here is a direct translation of one of cinema's gayest moments, made somehow infinitely more gay. A true achievement here - I genuinely think I spontaneously acquired tetanus in the cinema for a good minute, my jaw dropped so hard on seeing this. The pillars are the same colour as Kirk and Spock's original uniforms, for fuck's sake. I'm dying out here.

What we've done here is create narrative equality. The whole film's kinda done that leading up to this anyway - they're both mentally fucked up men who can't die, who are constantly dying anyway, who are evenly-matched in battle and both enjoy Honda fucking, who have forged a real love even as they piss each other off at every turn.

But here, they place one another in narrative equality for the first time. It's not about a sacrifice, not now, even though they're assuming it is one - it's about what should be done. It's about righting wrongs, being heroes, being together because every option other than that is unacceptable, because neither understands quite how to lose anyone else. They've both made the same choice, and that's not to let the other die alone.

It's about holding hands and loving and never letting go, even if it kills them.

... It's just about the most romantic and gorgeous thing I've ever fucking seen.

There are no more instances of masks, once they're done in this station. They don't need them any longer; they will never need them again.

And that's only emphasised by the parting shot we get of this... almost directly after Vanessa and Wade share a final sweet look.

I don't know, man. It's almost like the true conclusion is hidden behind the acceptable masquerade. Imagine that in the MCU, folks.

They've taken one of the most intimate and sweet moments in screen history, and made even more glorious.

They did The Wrath of Khan better than The Wrath of Khan did it.

And that's... that's gay. That's just about the gayest thing they could ever have done, and I adore it to the smallest pieces.

So remember, the next time your friends disbelieve you... show 'em this. Show them that they redid the very beginnings of slash fandom, and did it better.

(And then you can add on that they now live in a one-bed with their grandma, daughter and dog, and will do for the rest of their lives. Kirk and Spock didn't even get THAT shit.)

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 1)

Quick Notes:

This is when both reader/you and Alastor are both alive. (... we'll probably end up in hell later on btw...)

Reader is an artist/painter.

*disclaimer: i'm not a great writer, nor am I good at writing characters*

Part 1:

On a cold, dreary night, you take solace in a speakeasy to escape your dreadful home life.

You, the reader, are stuck in what feels like a hopeless, loveless, and potentially abusive marriage that was arranged by you and your husband's parents as more of a political/business move.

So you find yourself sneaking out to the next town over at night whenever your "husband" is away. On nights like those, you left the ring at home. It was only a reminder of your hellish life, you wouldn't let anything reminiscent of your husband come with you to your little escape/happy place.

During your occasional outings, you befriended the speakeasy's owner/proprietress, Mimzy, who becomes your most trusted confidant because you didn't have any "friends" or family you could trust- they were the ones who put you in your living hell after all.

Mimzy also became your biggest fan and patron once she found out you're an artist/painter. Many of your paintings became centerpieces at the bar and your art became synonymous with this prestigious speakeasy of hers.

You pocketed all this money and didn't even have to hide the fact that you were painting. He hated art, so as long as it didn't stay in the house, he didn't care where it went. It was the one good thing you had going for you.

After a particularly prolonged period of time of your husband being home and having to endure so much of his bullshit, you find yourself seated at Mimzy's bar with a drink in hand.

A while into the night, but while the night was still young, you hear Mimzy's voice talking to a voice you've never heard before. You were a regular, so you knew all of the other regulars (you were more of an irregular regular, due to your visits being erratic because it all depended on when your husband was out of town).

But this voice caught your attention immediately. When Mimzy and this unknown man round the corner, your head whipped around, just to lock eyes with this new visitor to the bar.

Upon meeting your gaze, you are met with an unexpectedly warm smile, which makes you gasp and make you debate if the man or the alcohol was the culprit of the blush on your face.

Mimzy walked over with the man and introduced him and you to each other. You extended your hand towards him, and much to your surprise, he laid a gentle kiss upon the top of your hand and told you his name. "Alastor."

After witnessing this exchange, Mimzy giggles and runs along and goes to chat with the other patrons, leaving you and Alastor to chat on your own.

Oh and chat you do, yes indeed. You lose track of time and before you knew it, it was time to head home.

Not once in your life had you lost track of time talking to someone before. Never had you felt the butterflies in your stomach like that. The kindness and genuine interest this man showed you, being attentive to your every word, you felt alive. You don't know the last time you felt like this, if you ever have.

-> Part 2

[rebelfell]

steve harrington x fem!reader

So periods are bullshit. That’s it, that’s the gist of why this exists. It’s also bullshit I haven’t been issued a Steve Harrington for this exact purpose.

cw: painful period, use of a vibrator, “unprotected” piv sex

18+, MDNI┃2.4k

Steve’s eyes blinked open slowly, reluctantly being drawn from sleep at the sound of muffled grunts and groans coming from behind him. The clock on his nightstand showed an abhorrent hour in glowing red numbers as he rolled over in bed and reached out to feel the warmth of your body beside his. The streetlight coming through the slats in your blinds illuminated your edges, showing the shape of you facing away, curled in on yourself and clutching your abdomen.

He pressed himself flush against your back, knees finding a home in the curve of your own, slotting against you perfectly and gently rubbing his hand up and down your arm.

“Bad?” he murmured, the sound of his voice still deep and rumbling with sleep. 

All you could do was grunt.

Shit.

He’d known it was coming since that afternoon at the grocery store when your mild expression had begun to sink into a sullen frown, wincing and pinching your eyes shut every few minutes. The cramps had barely started then, but seemed to have reached their maximum potential.

He reached down and pressed his hand against your lower belly, in the same spot you always laid your heating pad. Warm and broad and strong, the pressure of his touch provided enough relief for you to exhale a stilted breath. Enough for you to push out an answer.

“M��sorry I woke you,” you whispered, voice close to breaking.

“You didn’t, honey,” he assured with words as warm and solid as his body. “I wish you had. How can I help? Do you need anything?”

“Think you can do a quick hysterectomy?” you joked as best you could in your fragile state.

A soft puff of air danced across your cheek as Steve chuckled and gave your neck a kiss.

“Damn, I left my scalpel in my other PJs.”

“Rats,” you chuckled back weakly.

He nestled in closer, pressing his hand down a little firmer as he moved it in a soothing circle. You rolled onto your back, your nose and lips skimming his temple, his stray hairs tickling.

“Anything else?” he murmured. “Do you, um…do you want help?”

He tries not to sound too eager when he asks. 

It’s not the first time he’s offered assistance of this sort, and he never wants you to think he’s just using your pain as an excuse to fool around. But ever since you told him how orgasms helped with the cramps, he’d been more than willing to offer a helping hand.

Among other appendages.

“Yeah,” you replied after a long pause. “But I…I don’t think I can take anything in me.”

You looked down when you said it, unable to hold his gaze even in the dark. Normally, having Steve inside of you—literally any part of him—was a level of bliss you could hardly describe.

But something about this phase in particular sometimes made it too difficult.

After the lawlessness of ovulation when you were practically trying to mount him every hour on the hour, your body became much more discerning. The cramps made you achy, made it harder for you to enjoy anything besides purely external stimulation. And even that was tricky—your clit becoming stubborn and reluctant, only able to be coaxed out with the utmost delicacy.

You never felt sexy when you got like this. How could you when one of your organs was literally turning against you? Making you absolutely miserable just for not getting knocked up?

Getting off was more a means to an end, seeking pain relief rather than actual pleasure.

“That’s fine,” Steve whispered, nose brushing softly along the apple of your cheek. “I just want you to feel better. Whatever you like, yeah?”

“I like that,” you told him with a soft moan, tipping your head back as he rubbed his hand back and forth across your lower stomach.

“Yeah?” he hummed in your ear. “That helping?”

“Mmhmm…��

“I can get rid of these for at least nine months, you know,” he teased lowly, “Just say the word.”

You tried to groan at him, but it dissolved into a breathy sigh as his hand dipped lower, pressing down on your mound and massaging. You felt his nose nudging at your chin, bumping it to get your attention until you opened your eyes to meet his.

They were still hooded, half-lidded with sleep. It gave him a sultry kind of gaze, one that made your heartbeat quicken and a gasp rattle in your chest. His lips met yours in a languid kiss, slow yet eager, deep yet soft, his fingers now tracing over your quivering belly like he was trying to confuse your nerve endings. The kiss grew deeper, messier, needier, and his fingertips continued their journey upwards, barely skimming your skin until you shivered.

You whined into his mouth, arching your back into him, asking for just a little more, but his touch remained feather light and delicate. The pads of his fingers flicked over your nipples, guessing correctly that your chest would be too tender for anything more intense.

They pebbled under his touch, stiffening behind the sheer nylon mesh of your bralette. 

Steve groaned. His lips broke from yours, kissing down your neck, murmuring sweet whispers to your jugular you couldn’t quite make out. He kissed tentatively but persistently along the curves of your breast until his mouth found the hardened nub of your nipple. He laved his hot tongue over it, letting his warm spit coat it until he pulled away to do the same to the other one.

The shock of the cool air being pushed down from the ceiling fan overhead hitting your wet, stiff peaks has you gasping, the feeling oddly soothing as Steve slid down your underwear.

He dipped a finger into your center, swiping it through your slick folds, still not putting an ounce of pressure on your sex, just letting his digits glide at a leisurely pace. He could already see the effects of his attentions, the pinch between your brows disappearing, the corners of your mouth no longer turned downward. You let your eyes flutter closed, let your head sink fully into the pillow as you breathed steadily…in…and out…in…and out…

They stayed shut even as his gentle stroking ceased and he curled his hand around your own, lifting it to his lips. Your eyes opened just in time to see him kissing the soft pads of your fingers, slowly taking them into his mouth and swirling his tongue to coat them in spit. You then watched, practically hypnotized as he guided your hand down between your legs.

“Hold my place for me, honey. I’ll be right back.”

He slid open the top drawer of your nightstand so smoothly, you barely registered what he was doing until after he had produced your bullet and a bottle of lube from inside. Your own fingers continued his lazy slide through your folds, finding a pace and rhythm you liked while Steve absconded to the bathroom to clean your toy.

It takes him only a minute or so before he’s sliding back up next to you, the heat coming off his body preceding his return as he fondled the toy.

He clicks it on and touches it to the back of your neck, the vibrations rippling along your hairline. The pace of your own fingers holds steady as he draws it further down your body, running it over a few select hotspots he’s done more than enough research to know the exact locations of.

You worry your bottom lip with your teeth as he traces the outer curve of your breast, down to your rib—still light, but hard enough not to tickle. It’s almost like he’s sketching you with a piece of charcoal, following the graceful lines of your waist to your stomach. His breathing gets harder the closer he draws to your core until you withdraw your fingers and he replaces them.

“How’s that?” he husked, his lips at your ear now, his warm breath cascading down your neck. “S’good? Not too much?”

“N-no,” you gasped, all shuddery and nervous all of a sudden. Steve always had that effect, but especially when he was studying you so intently, so zeroed in on your experience. 

“Relax, honey. Just focus on me, yeah? You’re so pretty. My pretty girl making the prettiest sounds. I don’t know what I did to deserve you…”

“Steve—”

“S’true, baby, I think about it all the time. Y’know how many things had to go right? How lucky I had to get for you to end up being mine?”

He’s too good at this, all the lovey dovey shit that makes your head spin as you go back and forth between wanting to believe him wholeheartedly and your innate distrust. Not of him, but just of anything that chipped at your walls, that chinked in your armor—that made you want it like air.

But you let yourself feel it, let yourself get swept up in his sweet words that drown out the quiet buzz of the toy between your legs. He kept it on the lowest setting, knowing that anything higher would be too much, and he let it glide slowly through your folds, spreading out the lube and letting the vibrations tickle your lips before he even thought about bringing it to your clit.

“You’re so perfect,” he moaned, almost whining like he’s the one who needed more as your hips started to subtly thrust. “Do you know how crazy you make me?”

You can’t answer him, too overwhelmed by the pressure steadily mounting in your core, the hot flames of your arousal being stoked and fanned by his words.

“...just want you to feel good…”

His voice drifts in and out, your ears catching bits and pieces as your pulse thunders in them, rapidly approaching the precipice you can see you’re so close to it now.

“Will you come for me, honey?” he begged. “Come for me, I know you can—”

Your hand wraps around his wrist to hold him still, the nub of the toy pressing perfectly to your clit and the pressure tipping you soundly over the edge. A shuddering moan leaves your lips, your chest heaving with it, tears stinging in your eyes and leaking out the sides.

He slams his lips to yours, the most force he’s shown all night, swallowing the sound of your orgasm like it sustains him. Like it’s his favorite dessert. His lips vibrate back with a moan of his own until you relax your iron grip on his wrist. He pulls away just long enough to click off the toy and then swiftly returns to your kiss. It makes you keen into him, back arching off the bed.

”God, Steve…please,” you whimpered, pawing at the waistband of his pajama pants.

“What, honey? You want another? Anything you want, it’s yours—”

He brought the bullet back to your clit, but you batted it away. “No, no—need you.”

Your hand curled around his length, cupping him through plaid flannel to feel just how hard he had gotten pressed up against your hip. A low groan burst out and you thought for a second he might have come just from that. But he still twitched in your hand in response, gasping as he pushed his face close to yours, cradling your jaw as your sweaty foreheads touched.

“Honey, are…are you sure? I thought you said—”

“I can take it, I swear,” you whispered. “I need it, I have to feel you.”

It’s like night and day, the difference in the way your body reacts to him, and there’s no doubt in your mind what you want now. You can almost feel how things inside of you have shifted, how your organs have rearranged to take him in like it’s the only thing they were meant to do.

Steve let the bullet drop to the floor and he rolled on top of you, his bottoms and boxers shoved to the middle of his thighs. The short, thick hair on them rubs your own as your legs spread wide to accommodate his body, legs kicking up to hitch over his hips and ankles locking behind him.

There’s no pain, not so much as a pinch as he slides inside you and buries himself to the hilt. The slippery mess between your legs envelops him completely, walls fluttering and squeezing him so tight it makes Steve’s breath come out in halting gasps—grunting as he presses his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Panting like he’s never felt anything so good.

His musk fills your nose—that smell that’s more than just his gourmand cologne or his woodsy body wash or the light, fresh florals of his styling products. It’s the smell of his skin and his hair and his sweat all coming together at once.

Something that’s pure…Steve.

“God, you…feel so…fucking…good,” he groans into the pillow, his words coming out stilted as he starts to thrust at a slow and even pace. You can feel his muscles quivering under your hands with all the effort it’s taking him to hold himself back.

“Faster, Steve,” you plead, clutching at the planes of his back, “I know you want to, please—”

“Fuck—nothing feels like you, honey. Nothing, nothing, nothing…s’the best thing in the world, I swear to god—”

He’s still holding back, still reluctant to fully thrust and pound in you the way you know—the way you can feel—he wants to. Your hands slide up to his neck, tangling in his tousled locks.

“Fuck me, Steve,” you whine, gripping tight to the hair at the back of his head, pulling it. “I want you to fuck me until you cum, fuck me full of you.”

“Jesus Christ, baby, you can’t just say that—”

He’s letting go now, his hesitation crumbling as his hips start to snap at a brutal pace. His gasps and moans mix with your high-pitched cries and the lewd slapping of skin, the soft creak of the mattress springs, the bedframe thump, thump, thumping against the wall.

You love the way he takes you like you’re the one thing in the world that matters; love the feeling of making him feel good, of taking care of him the way only you can—the way only you get to. 

It’s the same way he feels about you.

Ty for reading. Love you, mean it 🥝

[prettyboykatsuki]

on deaths door | s. gojo

✮ tags ; dark content ahead, afab + gender neutral reader, dark comedy / black comedy, attempts of suicide, the use of the word rapist in text, mentions of self-harm scars, penetration, intense but not rough, gojo is doting, no curses au, ceo!gojo 18+

note: this fic is mostly intended to be a dark comedy and have an unserious nature. it is very absurdist and it makes light of both suicide and assault. please proceed carefully if you find this might be triggering to you.

PLEASE READ THE TAGS BEFORE YOU PROCEED.

✮ wc ; 2.6k

✮ a/n ; i actually really really enjoyed writing this and would love to expand on it potentially. KJSDFJSKD.

reader has been through a lot so they are super nonchalant about everything just as a precaution

"Uwah," A voice startles you from your place on the roof. You gasp, amidst tears and sobs from shock. "Are you about to kill yourself?"

You whip your head around to see who could be beside you at this hour. It's a deliberately obscure location, too so it's extra weird. You were hoping to die in peace in a place where it'd be hard to find you, after all.

But there's a strange man interrupting your plans. Very strange. He's speaking Japanese rather clearly but his hair is a shock of white and his eyes are blues as saphhires. Despite the situation, his voice is light and cheerful - almost amused.

You can't tell if he's just a figment of your imagination. He's so unusual it stuns you out of your tears. You can't find your voice to respond for a moment.

"Yes," You reply, unsure of what else to say. He smiles at you.

"Hm." He looks contemplative. "Well... if you don't want it, can I have it?"

You stare on, confused.

He grins. "Your life, I mean. Can I buy it off you?"

Starting to wonder if you've already died, you stretch your hands up to wipe the tears off of your face just to see if any of it is real. The touch makes it gasp. You're definitely still alive. So, that means this strange man is also real and asking to buy your life.

"What?"

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not a cheapskate or anything, the price will be fair." He walks closer to you from where you've been standing all this time. He grabs you by the collar of your shirt, picking you up and setting you down further away from the ledge with a harsh yank.

Like a kitten whose mother is dragging it by the nape, you fumble onto the rooftop concrete. As soon as you're moved, you drop down to your knees - unable to find anymore strength.

"Are you... trying to traffick me?" Your voice is coarse in your reply as you stare up. It's a genuine question. You aren't sure what else to call this. The strange, unusual man just laughs in your face.

"Mm, well - not really. Though, if you say yes I'll make good use of you in all ways." The last part makes your skin crawl a little. "You were weeping so pitifully when I came up here... super pathetic. I just thought it'd be a waste if you died since I got to see something interesting."

There's something really wrong with this guy, you think. But this is such a common thing in your life, you aren't sure how shocked you should be.

There's also something equally wrong with you, because you're so fucked up - you're considering it. If he paid you enough to cover all of your debts, you could cut ties with all the bullshit your fathers debt has put you through. You could run away. Not there's anywhere for you, even after that. But at least you'd be unshackled from what makes you most miserable.

You don't want your life, but if this guy wants it so bad then...

"...How much will you pay me?"

His eyes light up when you ask this and it unsettles you further. "As much as you want. And you'd have to live with me at my beck and call."

"Like a pet." You reply easily.

Instead of denying it, he snaps his fingers and grins. "Exactly! Or maybe more like a plush toy that I take every where?"

Either way, you're not any kind of human. You're barely human now though with how much you work, so you aren't sure it makes a difference. You stare at him. And he looks back at you with a smile - all pearly white pristine teeth.

Who cares anymore, anyway? Even if he were to mistreat you, you're not sure you'd even feel it. It's all numb. He can have your life if it means you can escape what you're running from.

He looks rich, so maybe.

"Don't worry," He hums, and he reaches over to pat your head while your face is covered in tears. You don't flinch for some reason. "I don't like breaking things I've bought unnecessarily."

Something is wrong with you. Your self preservation is in total fucking tatters. But still, you want to say so you do. Maybe it's the absurdity, or the fact you truly don't have anything to lose. Nothing could make your misfortune any worse.

You sniffle and shake your head. He's dangerous and weird, but at least you could pay off your debts.

"Okay," You say weakly.

His smile gets impossibly wide.

You're wonder if you'll regret your decision.

__

He's filthy rich.

You should've expected that. You did, kinda. Because only rich people would think to do or ask something so absurd like ask to buy another persons life. Still, he had a driver waiting for him downstairs and his car is definitely a sports care. A McLaren, you think. One of the places you catered for ages ago was full of rich people with flashy cars and you remembered some of them.

He sits with you uncomfortably close in the back seat but doesn't speak to you at all during the ride. Not until you arrive at the destination, which is a giant building where the strange man certainly lives.

The driver (named Ichiji) calls the strange man Gojo-sama, which makes you feel extremely on edge. They whisper about something when you're out of ear shot, and Ichiji gives you a sorrowful look that you can't place.

The name Gojo is familiar to you, but you aren't sure where you've heard it.

After taking a long elevator ride to one of the upper floors, you end up in the strange mans condo. When you get there, he tells you take off your shoes and gives you nice slippers.

"Welcome to my humble abode," He says, still frivolous and speaking to you in what feels like a foreign tongue. "And also yours. I'll set you up in the guest room later, but you'll be keeping my bed warm mostly so keep that in mind."

The size of the place is absurd and so is the decor. What have you gotten yourself into? You must've gone insane. You're too afraid to touch anything.

"Am I like... a sex slave?" You ask curiously.

He frowns at you. "You make me sound like some kind of rapist. I guess now that I own you....it might make me one... but you agreed to come here so don't be like that!!" He huffs, childishly.

His response is somewhat incomprehensible to you. He's stranger by the minute and completely tactless - but for some reason, it's hard to distrust him. He doesn't raise any immediate red flags aside from being unusual.

You almost want to say it wouldn't matter if he was, as long as he pays you but decide not too.

"Okay. Do you want me to take my clothes off?" You reply, nonchalant. He stares at you.

"...I know your heads pretty fucked up, but don't you think you're being too blase about all this?"

Your brow furrows. A weird response for a guy who willingly understands this is a less than ethical situation "Would... you prefer I struggle and refuse you? Is that your fetish?"

"No! Well..." You look at him flatly as he thinks on it, almost blushing at the thought. You make a face of disgust "Not in this case, alright! It's just too pitiful and I'm not that type really.... Be more cautious."

"But you were planning to fuck me from the start, right? Or something."

He nods. "Well, yes. As a way to earn your living and for me get my urges out whenever. Finding people to have sex with is a hassle."

You shrug.

"Right. I can cook and clean too. I've done pretty much every job you can think of it,"

He waves a hand at you. "We can discuss it later." He puts a hand in his necktie and pulls on with a small smile. "Right now, I want to test out my new toy so..."

You should feel more disgusted by how he refers to you, but you don't have it in yourself.

"Can I shower first?"

He looks surprised but nods. "Uh-huh. Just wear one of my shirts when you come out. Everything else is in the bathroom. It's upstairs, first door on your left."

You stand to your feet, nodding.

__

It takes you ten minutes to figure out how the shower works.

His shower is nice. The whole place is nice. Nicer than any shithole you've ever lived in. He has a lot of nice bath products, though you aren't sure how you feel about smelling like him since you're borrowing his.

You examine your body a bit in the shower, looking at old scars as you wash and rub yourself clean. Thankfully, you gave yourself a trim downstairs not long ago.

It's embarrassing in retrospect but you've not had much of a choice in the first place. You're sensitive, unsure of the last time you've touched yourself given how much you work. You think of your job and feel guilty for how you're going to miss it. But you recall that you were preparing to die not even two hours ago and feel less bad.

You whimper a little as you finger yourself open under the water - getting wet easier than you thought. You have to lean against the wall, but with enough coaxing you get three fingers in. You're still horny when you shut the water off and step out.

You dry yourself and put on lotion - staring in the mirror. As told you borrow one of his shirts, but it's too big on you and you can see your nipples too clearly which makes you embarrassed.

You reason you're about to go fuck a stranger anyway, and decide to step out right after.

__

You decide against wearing underwear since his shirt fits on you like a dress, but regret when you come back down stairs feeling aware of the breeze on your went cunt.

He's sitting on the couch with his legs spread, dress shirt unbuttoned but still in his clothes. He hears you before he sees you, eyes widening. You suddenly get self-conscious under the weight of his stare.

"Better than I thought," Is his only assessment. Your skin grows hot.

He beckons you over to him and you go, unsure of what to do until he pulls you into his lap. Forcing you to straddle him, he wastes no time in feeling you up. His hands at your waist and chest. His face lights up in pure amusement when he sees you bare underneath.

He stares at your pussy for a long time.

"It's good," He hums, his hands brushing against it. Your nipples pebble in response to the arousal, a pathetic moan leaving your lips that makes him laugh. "Pretty."

You don't have anything to say to that so you keep quiet. Gojo slides his fingers along the seam of your cunt to asses your wetness, surprised surely by how wet it is. Without warning, he plunges a finger in. He looks up at your face, your hand covering your mouth so you don't moan.

"So wet," His voice can't contain his amusement. "What's this?"

"I was," You shiver half-way through as he plunges in another finger and it goes in smoothly. "I p-prepared in the shower and masturbated. I thought you'd just want to stick it in and I didn't want it to hurt.

"Haah," His voice is sharp, suddenly breathy. Something hard and big presses up against your leg. "You're talented in seducing me. I'm not so ungentlemanly, but I'll let it go this time, alright?"

You nod. He uses a sticky hand to unbutton his slacks and push his boxers away. You gasp at the size of his cock. You're not a virgin exactly, but you haven't had sex with anyone this big ever. He chuckles a little, pressing the head of his cock against your stomach and cunt as if measuring it up to you.

More wetness pulses, shame filling you - because you're almost excited to be fucking this strange man you've only met today. Weirdly, you don't feel unsafe around him. Your eyes glass over from lust.

He sticks his fingers in your mouth and you suck automatically, instinctively. His smile is predatory all of a sudden, teeth glimmering.

"So obedient," He says, sharply. "Ah, I have a good eye. It really would've been such a waste."

You're content to throw yourself at him, chasing the pleasure. His fingers taste of salt and skin, making you want something else entirely. It's not long before he pulls away though, wrapping his hand around his shaft and making it shiny. You blink down at where he fists his cock - your spine tingling at the sight.

"Look at you," He mutters, amused. "Do you always get this excited? Is it normal for you to fuck strange men or am I special?"

You shake your head. "It's only been two people."

"Then I am special," He replies. Your breath hitches at the feeling of his cock pressing against your hole - fluttering. "We have good compatibility."

Before you can say a word, you feel his length push inside of you in one swift motion and gasp. It's so big, so impossibly big - and even with how much you stretched, there's a touch of resistance that's making your entire lower half feel like it's jelly. Almost numb from the sensation. Buzzing from adrenaline and want.

You feel full. In your stomach, in your chest - your whole body feel complete. When you manage to open your eyes, you look at Gojo and find yourself taken aback. His hair is pushed back from his hand and he looks... different. He's handsome now that you realize. His face looks...pleased.

You talk before you can think about it.

"Do I feel good?"

He laughs sweetly, before pressing a kiss to your temple that feels to affectionate for people who barely know each other.

"Uh-huh," He says. His hands are strong, tight on your ass as he bucks up into you - causing you to collapse forward. The pleasure makes you shake, sensitivity through the roof. "Feel so good. Hahaha, how lucky."

You cling onto Gojo's shoulder and bury your face into his neck. He doesn't stop you. A large hand comes around the back of your head - the other one at your hips as he thrusts up into you with alarming force and precision. He feels so good it's a little scary, and you can't keep the noises from slipping out. You moan and whine each time the tip rubs against you inside, soft walls barely able to accommodate the size.

Your body feels hot everywhere he touches. It's been so long and Gojo is so careful but so intense. His expensive dress shirt rubs up against your nipples each time he moves. It's so good, so good - makes you want to cry.

"You're so sensitive." He laughs against your shoulder. "Gripping so tight every time I move. Do you want to cum so bad?"

"Yes," The words are a sob. Just a little more.

"Uh-huh. Tell me where to touch you. How should I make you cum."

You're too shamelessly pent up to feel shy anymore. "Touch my c-clit, please, please."

"Got it, got it - don't cry."

Gojo listens to you well. Thick fingers and an angled hand find your clit with ease as he bounces you on his cock with no regard. Your eyes roll back instantly, immediately - as an orgasm washes over your entire body. Back arching, you cum hard around the base of his cock - but Gojo just keeps fucking you through it. He doesn't stop even when you come down, only moves you both so you're laying on the couch on your back.

He kisses you then, and you meet his mouth with sloppy tears running down your face from the pleasure.

"Let's see what your stamina is like, yeah? See if you can keep up with me."

__

He fucks you unconscious.

Essentially. Though you take with enthusiasm even during your exhaustion because the sex is phenomenal - you have no idea when you stop.

You wake up in a bed, and you wake up completely clean. You don't know whose bed, but there's a large figure besides you. Half-asleep and fully exhausted, you feel shy thinking about the fact he probably bathed and dressed you while you were out.

What a strange man, you think - to do that.

He's talking to someone on the phone. You don't really make out much of the words, though you do hear your name in bits and pieces.

"...A college student.......- young then -...... open a bank account for.... - debt...- pay it all off before it becomes annoying.... look into -."

You shift under your blankets half asleep. A hand comes up on top of your head on the pillow, pushing hair from your face.

"Did I wake you?" His expression is hard to read in the dark with your eyes barely open. "Sorry. Almost done. Go back to sleep."

So you do, because you can't find strength to do much else.

The bed is warm, but your sure the heat you feel is from the strong, gentle head petting your head as you rest.

[d-dormant]

you are right and you should say it!

"maleficent: mistress of evil" as the onion