#that article would be something I thought was fucked up and wrong if it was published on tumblr

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

Do you think the Taylor NYT piece outed her?

This question can only really be answered alongside a consideration of what it means for a major media entity to out a celebrity.

First there's what outting means for the individual. I do think it's important to distinguish between this article and what The Sun does. Taylor is very definitely not out now.

However, on the individual level there are two aspects of that piece that I think are completely unacceptable, a huge violation of boundaries, and the NYT should never have published them:

A detailed list of why the author thought that a living person who was not out was queer (including a detailed theorising that they might have been planning on coming out and then decided not to).

An extended discussion where the author talked with authority and certainty about the sexuality and experience of the sexuality of a living person who was not out (the last section).

To have those conversations in a cultural forum that has has a huge general audience and authority is a violation - and a conversation in that forum has nothing in common with the way those same discussions have been taking place in queer spaces for as long as they've existed.

I think one of the biggest indicators of the indefensibleness of publishing in the New York Times - was the explaining of 'hairpin drop'. The whole point of a hairpin drop (to quote the article itself) is that only some people will understand it. The audience for a hairpin drop is only the people who already understand it. If you're using broadcast media to explain hairpin drops to a wide audience - then that is a cultural violation as well as an individual violation. It actively kills queer culture whose purpose is to allow queer people to communicate with each other without wider straight culture noticing to write an explainer for straight people about it in NYT.

(I also don't think she did a very good job - I think Taylor has had sex with women - and I was like - none of this is convincing)

********

But I think it's a mistake to think about the media outting as just being about individuals. Media outting also has a policing role - the effect of outting in major media (and often explicitly the purpose) - is to single that someone has crossed a line - and to warn other people that there will be consequences if they cross the same line.

So my biggest concern about this article isn't about Taylor (it's never about Taylor). What this article said reasonably explicitly - is that if you engage in any form of queer culture - including culture that has been developed to explicitly talk to queer people in plain sight without being intelligible to a wider culture - then cultural norms about your right to disclose your own sexuality and right not to be outted do not apply to you. But it's not just the fact that the article was making that argument that is the problem. By publishing the article the NYT wasn't just endorsing that argument - it was enacting it.

I think the line that is being policed here is not about queerness directly - but about queer culture. The argument is that closeted people can't and shouldn't engage with any queer culture. That's the message that young queer artists who don't know how they want to discuss their sexuality publicly yet will have gotten loud and clear. It's the message that closeted kids will take - that queer culture is for when you are ready to be public about your sexuality - that it is not yours until you have taken that step - and can't be part of figuring out

That policing is the through line between this NYT pieces and other media outtings. And that is ultimately why I thought that article was destructive and wrong.

[neverendingford]

.

[swordsandholly]

Little Death

Incubus!Soap x fem fat reader | Ao3

NSFW | MDNI | cw: dubcon, noncon, drinking, biting, afab reader, blood, PiV sex, cunnilingus, anal, monsterfucking, size difference, kidnapping, dead dove

Word Count: 4.5k

You sit in your apartment on your worn out couch, sipping a glass of shitty gas station wine at some godforsaken hour in the morning. Just like you do nearly every night these days. Love Island plays loudly on the TV while you try to drown out the overbearing silence that seems to cling to you. It surrounds you at all times, everything just a little too quiet. A little too distant.

You knew getting divorced would be lonely. You didn’t expect it to be this bad.

Your eye connects with a piece of paper that’s been living on your side-of-the-road coffee table for the past… who knows at this point. The friend that gave it to you meant well. She intended it to be a funny, light hearted gesture. Instead, you just feel pathetic. The pitiable fat girl that can’t get a date. Not that she’d be wrong. Out of drunk boredom, or maybe sheer desperation, you grab the stupid cut out article. It’s some plasticky, cheap print with the title ‘How To Summon A Lover’ which is probably the laziest headline in the world for a supposed spell.

Are you lonely? The summary asks, Do you need some special company? Just follow these steps and get exactly what you’re looking for!

It’s stupid. It’s corny. Luckily - or unfortunately - you are just drunk enough to take part in stupid and corny. Your eyes graze over the materials list - paper, a red marker, a metal baking sheet, and a stick candle. Your brow scrunches. You suppose you can sacrifice one of your outdated, unused decor candles that sit on your mantle. You gather the supplies with clumsy, uneven steps.

Fuck your ex. Fuck him for making you this sad and pathetic. Fuck him for piling on the insecurity, for isolating you and taking nearly all your friend group. For all of it. You plop down on your rug, items in hand and thoughts swirling angrily.

Step 1: Place the paper on the baking sheet

Step 2: Draw a pentagram

You roll your eyes. Of fucking course it’s a pentagram. You do it, still.

Step 3: Write “I Light The Flame of Desire” on each side of the page

Step 4: Place the candle in the center of the paper

Step 5: Light the candle and concentrate on your intention until it burns out.

You regret picking up such a big candle.

When you wake your mouth is dry and your back aches. The sunlight offends your eyes when you attempt to crack them open. You must have fallen asleep on the floor at some point. You look down at the mess in front of you. The candle burnt the paper into almost nothing at some point. Thank god the article told you to put it on a baking sheet.

You feel so fucking stupid.

You stumble into the shower, allowing the hot water to help rouse you from your hungover, groggy state. That feeling of stupidity tickles the back of your mind. It’s not like you expected it to work - really, what’s making your heart twist and shame crawl up your back is the disappointment, is that it didn’t. At least you don’t have to work today. You don’t particularly feel like being around people. Not that you do the rest of the time.

As you turn to get out, fear strikes through you at a shadow in your periphery through the fogged shower glass. Just as soon as you see it, it disappears. You shrug it off, heart still thumping wildly as you towel off. Something in your gut churns as you do your best to get ready for the day. An unease that won’t leave as you make yourself at least appear like someone with their life together. A feeling that someone is watching makes your hair stand on end.

You send up a thank you to the universe that you managed to get up early enough to make it to the grocery store during quiet hours. While buckling your seatbelt, that shadow comes back. Right behind you, in the back seat. It’s gone as soon as you check the rearview mirror. You let out a shaky breath. It keeps happening. While you get your shopping cart, while you choose produce. Every time you turn an isle, it’s there. It sends shivers down your spine. Some black, effervescent shape that follows you worse than a shadow. That catches your eye even when you consciously try to ignore it. You really need to lay off the drinking.

As soon as you get home, you toss everything from the night before - including the baking sheet. Some superstitious part of you rears its head, telling you to walk the damn thing all the way to the outside dumpster rather than leave it to fester in your personal trash. You don’t believe in ghosts or spirits. You’re sure you just drank too much, that you slept strangely and it fucked with your head. That not speaking to anyone besides brief interactions with coworkers and customers for weeks on end has left you jumpy and off. Maybe you really should see that therapist your lawyer talked about. She’s expensive though, and not covered by your insurance…

You turn over another bottle of wine in your hand, wrinkling your nose. Not tonight. Not when you turn to put the bottle down and nearly jump into the ceiling at some shape moving to the living room from behind you. Only in your periphery, only vague images, leaving you uneasy. You toss and turn when you finally get into bed. It still feels like you’re being watched. Like there’s a camera just over your shoulder, or in the ceiling fan, staring down at you. For the first time since you were small, you bury yourself under the covers and screw your eyes shut, hoping it will save you from the monsters under your bed and in your head.

You stir at a weight dipping your bed. It’s slight, so slight you almost miss it entirely, until it isn’t. Until whatever it is moves again and you feel something brush over your legs. In a panic, still half asleep, you turn onto your back, fists flying through the air only to be caught by inhumanly large hands. You flail, kicking as a scream catches in your throat.

“Shh, sh, yer a’right.” A distinctly Scottish brogue coos, pinning you to the bed without so much as a grunt. You finally manage to open your eyes properly. He’s big - eyes a bright, unnatural blue with a wild light in them. When he grins at you it exposes long fangs where his normal canines should be. Two horns poke out from his head, the shorn sides of his haircut further exposing them. There’s an unnatural red tint to his skin, darkening to nearly pure crimson at the ends of his exposed limbs. A shiver runs down your spine.

“Wh- who the fuck are you?” You squeak, far less threatening than you might have liked.

The beast’s grin only widens. “Donnae ye know? Ye called me, after all.”

Your eyes widen to saucers as you stare up at him. Did- there’s no way that stupid spell worked! It was a cut out from a damn off-brand Cosmopolitan. It was stupid sleepover bullshit. It was - It’s wasn’t- You couldn’t have summoned a real, actual factual demon into your apartment. No, this has to be a prank or intruder or - or hallucination even.

You try to shove at his chest as soon as he retracts his hands, a weak attempt at escaping. Part of you expects to phase through him - to wake up in your quiet, dark bedroom. Except his hands are very much real and warm as they pin your wrists back against the mattress. The silhouette of massive wings block out the little bit of moonlight that might have otherwise drifted through the slit in your curtains. You can barely make him out, now. Those too-bright eyes glint like a cat’s as he stares down at you.

“Now, why did ye call me, little one?” He leans in, nose brushing against yours before ducking his head down to lick a long stripe up your neck.

Your face heats, mouth struggling to form words. “I… didn’t think it was real…”

“Tha’s not a reason.” Too-sharp teeth nip at the shell of your ear.

“I just… why do you want to know anyway?” You spit defensively, thrashing under him in a sudden burst of confidence - or desperation. You’re not sure. It does fuck-all for you, the beast pinning your thighs under his weight. A deep, warning growl rumbles in his chest. You freeze at the sound - some ancient instinct telling you to stop all action and pray it saves you.

“It’s no’ polite t’dodge my question, bonnie.”

You whimper involuntarily, his sharp teeth grazing the soft skin of your neck with just enough pressure to threaten a bite. The words tumble from your lips near incoherently, “I haven’t- I’ve only been with one person… for a long time. I’m nervous… about a second…”

He hums. Something brushes your shin - a tail, you think. You can’t make it out in the dark. “Whit’s yer name, doll?”

You blurt it, a little horrified at giving that information to some supernatural creature. For some reason you find yourself following it up with, “What’s yours?”

He laughs and mulls it over, jaw clenching briefly, as if he can’t make up his mind about what it is. “Call me Soap, aye?”

You snort despite yourself and he - Soap - quirks a brow. “Weird name for a demon.”

“Incubus.” He corrects.

You have half a mind to complain when he tears your nightgown off before you can react. The cloth rips fast, practically disintegrating in his rough hands. That’s until he climbs down the bed, taking one nipple between his lips and flicking the other. Your back arches, hands fisting the sheets. You let out an indignant ow when he bites down on the fat of your breast, leaving a mark just shy of drawing blood. Soap ignores it, continuing to lavish them with attention as he sees fit. Your thighs press together and you can’t help but squirm, becoming desperate for more in spite of the voice in your head telling you to run. He senses it, you think, moving down your body leaving nips and bites in his path before settling between your thighs. He takes your underwear off in much the same fashion, turning them to shreds in barely a moment. His wings disappear into the shadows - there but not simultaneously. Shifting in and out of your vison.

“Look a’ tha’.” He sighs. “Whit a pretty pussy. Cannae believe yer lettin’ her go unused.”

You whimper and attempt to close your legs, failing when those massive hands hook under your knees and push them up to your chest as far as they can go. His nails - near claws - dig into the flesh of your thighs. A gasp tumbles from your lips as his tongue drags through your folds. Soap places a light kiss your your clit before following with a harsh suck that leaves you twitching and whining. Part of you feels ashamed for enjoying this as much as you are - for lapping up the attention from this stranger like a starved dog - but it feels too unreal for you to really care. Too fictional to apply your real world morals or sensibilities.

You yelp in surprise when his tongue flicks over your back hole, causing him to chuckle and mutter, “Tha’s for later.”

He doesn’t leave you time to think on that promise. You throw your head back as he slips his tongue inside. Fuck, it’s deep. Unnaturally long - built to systematically pull pleasure from you just like the rest of him. You find yourself grinding down onto it despite yourself, pent up body giving into instinct and abandoning rational thought. You grab onto his stupid hair to further press him into you. He doesn’t seem to mind as a low guttural sound rumbles through his chest.

A thick finger circles your entrance, replacing his tongue in one swift motion. He doesn’t wait to add a second - the stretch causing you to hiss. His fingers are big. His proportions just on this side of incompatibly large. You wonder briefly, distantly, why his claw-nails aren’t hurting you. It’s hard to care much when the pad of a thick finger presses roughly against that spot that leaves you gasping. His lips wrap around your clit again, sloppily sucking and licking at the little bud as you careen closer and closer to the edge. Your back arches harshly, almost painfully, as you tumble over with a choked moan.

“So easy.” He chuckles. Your face gets hotter, an indignant pout forming on your lips. Rude. Your eyes drift over his body and, somehow for the first time tonight, you realize he’s already naked. Not a single piece of cloth in sight upon his arrival. You let yourself take in his strong torso, the thick dusting of hair from his chest all the way down to a healthy happy trail, down to-

“That’s not gonna fit!” You squeak, clumsily trying to back away. His cock hangs heavily between his legs; thick and veiny and already leaking. His hand on your sternum stops you in place. You’re sure he can feel the way your heart hammers away in your chest - practically beating against your ribcage. For a moment, you think you see sympathy in his eyes. Rather quickly you realize that warmth is, instead, hunger. An eagerness to swallow you whole dances across his sharp grin.

“We’ll make it fit.”

That’s all the warning you get before he’s bullying his cock inside you, inch by inch despite your shaky pleas to slow down. It burns, just crossing over the threshold into too much. Your teeth grind, a deep whine resonating in your throat. Your fingers claw at the sheets below you and your body jerks with odd shocks of pleasure and pain all tied up into one.

“Fuckin’ tight…” Soap groans.

“S’too much!” You practically sob, hips squirming to get away from the intrusion.

“Y’can take it.” His other hand grabs onto your waist to still you. You can’t stop the moan that forces its way past your lips as his hips meet yours.

You expect it to hurt when he fucks you - he doesn’t allow you time to adjust, each thrust practically punching the air from your lungs. Instead, it sends electricity up your spine. Your brows knit together, eyes screwed shut as warmth pools at the base of your spine. Soap hooks one of your legs around his hip, the other over his shoulder. You watch him through bleary eyes, the strange red of his hands contrasting with your natural, human skin. The way his hand nearly wraps around your thick calf. The way his core flexed with every thrust. The pleasured knot in his brow.

Soap lets your raised leg drop, pressing his weight down onto you and bracketing your head with his forearms. He smells so good - spices and trees. It invades your senses, leaving your mind somehow foggier than it already felt. He pulls you into a kiss. It’s not romantic, not emotional, just a searing exchange made up of messy teeth and tongue. He tastes like cinnamon. His fang catches your lip and copper coats your mouth. A light whine escapes him as he licks it up and sucks at the small wound.

“Please, please, please.” You pant rhythmically, chest heaving.

“Please, please, please.” He mocks, chuckling at your begging as he presses his thumb to your clit.

You practically seize, already overdone and so close to another. You’re babbling, you know that much, but the contents of your words are lost on you.

“Gonnae cum f’me?” Soap presses his nose to your temple. “Gonnae cum on this cock?”

You nod vigorously, nails leaving half-moons his strong shoulders. His thumb swirls your clit as he continues to spill filthy words into your ear. Things you’ve never thought of, otherworldly promises no man could keep, and groaned nonsense to match your own. Your climax slams into you. You practically howl, whole body shaking. Soap’s tongue drags up the side of your face, licking up sweat and tears. He’s not far behind, a growl rumbling through his chest; his hips stutter as he spills inside you.

You think, for a moment, as you desperately try to catch your breath, that it’s over. He’ll disappear off into the ether and you’ll wake up tomorrow from this strange dream. All of it a lonely, mentally unwell delusion that you can tell your therapist. After you book her. You really should if your brain is coming up with shit like this.

Except, he doesn’t stop. The slowed rocking of his hips immediately picks up again. He leans up, hands gripping your waist as you let out a long, keening whine. You try to shove at his hands, to kick your shaking legs. They’re clumsy. Weak and used and uncoordinated. The sweat on your palms leaves you slipping, unable to get a grip around his wrist. Soap just laughs - dark and unnatural. Far too entertained by your panic. A malicious spark lights his eyes as he stares down at you.

“S-soap!” You gasp, mind and body going into overdrive. “P-please! You don’t have to - you can - fuck - just stop!”

He laughs again, only speeding up - using the hold on your soft waist to fuck you back onto him. An anger flares up in you and you reel back, slapping your open palm against his face as hard as you can manage. It doesn’t do anything to deter him, his hips still slam full force into yours without so much as a stutter. His chuckle cuts off into a gravelly groan. “Do tha’ again.”

As much as you don’t want to give in to him, you do. You batter your fists against his chest, his arms, anywhere you can even slightly reach. You dig your nails into his hands. He just speeds up, lewd, wet sounds an loud slaps echoing in the room along with your moans and shouts. Soap pulls out just long enough for his arm to encircle your waist and flip you over as if you weigh nothing to him. You hardly get your bearings before he’s forcing his cock back in your cunt. His hands latch onto your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll bruise, if not be crushed completely.

“Please! Fuck - Soap - please - st-” You choke out, barely able to lift your face out of the sheets to breathe. Your whole body tremors violently. You try to reach behind yourself for him - to get some purchase, but all you’re met with his a hand firmly planted between your shoulder blades to hold you in place.

“Whit? Ye think tha’ was all? Jus’ one round an’ yer done?” The beast condescends, voice rough. “Nae, we’ve go’ forever. Well, until yer body gives out, at least. Gonnae shove my cock down tha’ pretty throat next, I think.”

The hand still on your hip lets go. Gathering slick from between your thighs, Soap pushes his thumb against your back hole. You gasp and attempt to lurch forward, to get away, but it doesn’t work. You can’t move out from under the weight of him. You feel a glob of something land there, quickly realizing he spit on you just to gasp as his thumb pushes inside. Part of you hates that it feels good, hates the words spilling from his lips about your unused ass. The rest of you succumbs to the fullness as his thumb is replaced by a finger, then another, working you open.

You whimper, fear mixing with the ongoing growing pleasure in your gut. It’s all too much. You’re overstimulated, soft body bruised and exhausted. Filled to the brim. Soap drapes himself over you, removing his fingers with almost a pop, and sinking his sharp teeth into the crook of your neck. His arms bracket your head once again, nearly flattening your against the mattress underneath him. You cry out, tears streaming as you feel another climax approaching, your pussy drooling down your thighs.

Something deep in the back of your brain snap as you cum. You lose yourself to base instinct. The heat in the room and anger in your chest consumes you. The air burns as it enters your lungs, sparking and electrifying your skin. Your head turns, eyes locking on the strong forearm anchored just above you. On impulse you lurch up, sinking your teeth in as far as they’ll go. A dog with prey caught in it’s maw. Soap growls in your ear - deep and animalistic. His blood isn’t quite coppery, not like yours, it’s far too sweet. It only spurs you on, your fingers twisting so tightly in the sheets you hear threads pop. Your other hand reaches back to dig your nails into his upper arm, to scratch at wherever you can reach. The sounds tearing through your throat aren’t right. Aren’t human. His arm muffles them slightly, the grunts and growls becoming borderline screams as you cum again so soon.

Soap flips you again, tearing his arm away from you and planting his feet flat on the bed, using his inhuman strength to help bounce you on his lap. You snarl, nails digging into his pecs to draw more blood. It drips down your lips, onto your chest, it covers the pads of your fingers. It’s animal. You’re just an animal.

“There ye are.” He grins, eyes practically glowing.

You don’t think much of it, you can’t think at all, really. Not in words, or even images. Pure instinct drives every action, your nose flaring at the scent of sex and blood that’s filled the room. Your skin is feverish, limbs shaking. Frenzied. That’s the word. Frenzied and rabid as you reach for strength you don’t have an meet his thrusts.

The two of you keep going that way - for how long, you aren’t sure. At some point you end up on the floor, at another he holds you against the wall by your throat. At another you hear the bed frame crack in two. Claw marks and bruises litter your body - litter his, as well. He pushes his cock into your back hole, not caring about the minimal stretch. You don’t need lube, you’ve drenched the both of you enough. The last thing you’re conscious for is Soap moaning in your ear as your hands wrap around his horns, holding on with all you have as your lips meet.

When you wake, your body feels heavy. Buried under something - blankets, you think. Though, your blankets at home have never had this weight to them. It’s more than quilts - your fingers tentatively running over both the texture of soft cloths and thick furs. It feels luxury, buttery smooth under your touch. Briefly, you shut your eyes again, content to drift back into blackness out of this cozy dream.

When you do peek your eyes open, a shudder runs down your spine. This isn’t your apartment. You shoot up, looking around the odd bedroom. It’s strangely decorated. Modern but with hints of something more scattered about. The smooth, painted walls of a modern home and ornate, lit fireplace of a castle mixed with current and antique furniture alike. A large couch sits in front of the mantle with embroidered, thick blankets hanging over the back. There’s a cracked door that seems to lead into a walk in closet. The area rug covering the far half of the room is a rich emerald green embellished with flowing designs in various golds and darker tones. Drawings and random scrawl are pinned to the far wall. There’s an open sketchbook on top of an old, hardwood desk with similar designs carved into it as the mantle.

Panic begins to surge as you open the massive curtains on the wall opposite the mantle to reveal floor to ceiling windows. They’re heavy like tapestries. You realize quickly that two of the panels are sliding doors onto a balcony, though you hesitate to step out. It would only corner you further. The sky looks like fire - waves of clouds lit in orange and yellow hues. It moves to fast. Streams of flames twist and run across the sky, overtaking one another.

You swing open the only other door that doesn’t appear to be the main exit. All it leads to is a bathroom. Large and expensive but nothing abnormal. Except for your shampoo inside the shower upon further inspection. Memories flood you, the night before comes in flashes. Was it the night before? Time feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. You’re sore, eyes heavy and body weak. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, dressed in some gauzy, black floor-length thing that leaves little to the imagination.

Just as you exit the bathroom to look for somewhere else to hide or run, the main door opens. Soap steps in, adjusting the sleeve of his t-shirt. You freeze, as if he won’t see you as long as you’re still.

It doesn’t work, of course. Those bright eyes lock onto you, thick brows raising. “Bonnie? Yer up!”

He looks… different. Less demonic. Not that anything has visibly changed much besides the fact that he’s wearing actual clothes. He simply fits into the scenery better - the room made to accommodate him. You realize part of the strangeness of it is the furniture size; meant for someone much taller and wider than you. The light helps as well, defining the contours of his face that you couldn’t make out in the dark. You back away from him as he approaches, pressing yourself against the wall as tightly as you can.

“So glad yer up. Are ye hungry? I can-“

“Where am I?” You cut him off meekly, eyes darting around the room.

“Och, my home of course.” Soap grins as if that explains anything.

“Why?” It doesn’t come out like the demand you want it to, more like a plea. Your voice cracks and you can’t meet his eye.

He tilts his head, eyes watching you, raking over you from head to toe. A predator observing it’s prey - deciding how best to catch it. “Ye live here, now.”

“What?” You gasp, trying to back further into the wall as if you could phase through it should you just try hard enough. “No- no, please! You have to let me go home! I need to go home!”

Johnny shrugs far too casually for your liking. “A soft little thing like ye? Nae, think I’ll keep ye fer the time bein’. Never met someone who could keep up like ye can. Go’ a lot of pent up energy in there, hen.”

“I don’t-“

“Yer gonnae feed me fer years tae come.” He continues as if you didn’t say anything at all, “Besides, I’ve go’ some friends tha’ I think would like ye.”

[mountainsandmayhem]

Taste Her, Little Dove (18+)

Joel Miller x f!reader x female

Summary: Joel encourages you to indulge in your curiosities towards women.  CW: girl on girl (Happy International Women’s Day), oral (f!receiving), fingering, dirty talk, pet names (little dove, baby etc.), sub/domme dynamics, sort of voyeurism on Joel's part, male masturbation, lots of orgasms, one night stand AN: practice safe sex!! This is unprotected sex, be better than my writing! STI’s may be less likely in lesbian hookups but please use dental dams or gloves with a partner that you don’t know. Stay safe! Dividers by @saradika-graphics WC 3.6k

More Little Dove Here

You sit at the kitchen table, phone open in one hand reading an article, fresh morning coffee in the other. “What’s it like to go down on a girl?”

Joel almost chokes on his coffee, folding the corner of his newspaper down and looking at you over his reading glasses. 

“Jesus, babe. It’s 8 am!” His hair is tousled with sleep, still wearing just his boxers and a white t-shirt. 

“Didn’t realize 8 am was prude hour,” you joke. Cupping your hot coffee in both hands and inhaling the steam. 

“It’s just not what I thought was going to come out of your mouth.” He says with a laugh, putting the paper down and placing his glasses on top of it. “You never cease to amaze me, my love.”

“Well, I adopted Ellie in my second year of college, the first year I was too busy with classes. I didn’t get those wild college years. You know?” 

The sounds of the morning birds chirping merrily fills the kitchen for a moment while Joel looks at you. 

“Alright. I fucking love it. It’s powerful watching you fall apart as I lick you.” He smirks a little, a dimple forming in his cheek before he sips his coffee. 

“So the same way I feel when I give you a blow job?” You shrug. 

“I guess. I don’t know, the female anatomy is a lot more complex, but finding that right combination of licking and sucking, along with fingers. It’s like…” he trails off, thinking for a moment, “like a game of chess. Every time I go down on you it’s different. Sometimes you like the tip of my tongue to flick roughly, other times you like gentle kitten licks and lots of kisses. I almost have to read you and figure out the best way to win the game.” 

“Huh,” you suddenly feel a little insecure, he’s doing all that work and you - “I just do the same thing every time. Am I doing it wrong?”

“No babes,” he laughs, reaching across and taking your hand in his. His thumb caresses the smooth skin along the top of your hand. “Dicks are pretty easy. Grip them and move up and down. You are amazing at blow jobs.” 

He smiles at you and your gaze falls back to your phone. He picks up his glasses and paper and goes back to reading. After a few minutes, you break the silence. 

“How would you feel about me going down on a woman?” 

His eyes light up as he takes you in, he bites his cheek to stop the shit eating grin he can feel forming. “Go on….”

“I’m curious. I’ve never been with a woman.” 

“Ok,” he folds the paper up again. “Are you doing this for you? Is this something YOU want?” 

“Yes,” you say confidently. 

“Ok. So are you asking for a threesome? Because if I’m being honest, I don’t think I want to be with another woman.” 

“No! Oh god,” you try to stop your voice from sounding horrified, “I don’t want to see you with anyone.”

You’re quiet for a second before adding, “You know what, nevermind. I don’t like this.” 

“What baby?” He asks encouragingly. 

“I feel selfish. I’m going to ask you to let me indulge in my curiosities when there’s nothing in it for you but to watch. I’d want you there.” 

“Hey,” he stands and walks to your side of the table. He stops behind you, wrapping his strong arms around you and rests his chin on your shoulder. “You’re not being selfish. I don’t want to be with anyone else but I sure as fuck would watch you play with another woman.”

Finding a woman was surprisingly easy. After taking Joel’s advice, you put on a little red dress and the two of you headed to a bar near your house. Joel went in first and sat at a booth near the back, ordering himself a whiskey. After touching up your lipstick and fluffing your hair in the rearview mirror you strutted into that bar like you owned the place. Heels clicked on the floor as you walked over to the bar and ordered a martini. You sat there, eyes flicking around at the patrons, trying to make yourself look approachable. 

A gorgeous long-haired brunette woman was sitting across from you with an almost empty drink. This was your chance, you call the bartender over and ask him to send her a drink. As he walked over to her the music in the room seemed louder, and butterflies started to flutter around your stomach. But she took the drink and then came to sit with you. 

She agreed to let Joel sit in the wingback chair in the corner of your room. “I’m not interested though, lover boy. So you can watch but hands off.” 

Joel smirked at her, “Feelings mutual. I’m only interested in my Little Dove.” 

Now that the three of you are in your bedroom, you’re not as confident. She’s completely naked, you just a bra and panties, and Joel sitting in the dark corner, ankle resting on his knee. 

“Give me a colour, Little Dove.” 

“Green,” you say shakily, hands hanging by your sides and eyes dancing around the naked woman in front of you. She steps forward, linking her fingers with yours. You lean into her touch, the tip of your nose tracing down the bridge of hers. 

“Can I take your bra and panties off?” She whispers. You hear Joel stifle a groan, which encourages you to keep going. 

“Yes please,” your hands trail up her arms as she reaches behind you to unclasp your bra. The cool air pebbles your nipples as the garment falls to the floor.  Her soft lips find your neck, kissing towards the dip on your collarbone, her thumbs hooking into the waistband of your lacy panties. 

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, hands sliding into her long hair, guiding her to your aching nipples. Her tongue flicks over one as she gets to her knees, panties slipping down along your thighs as she goes. You use her shoulder to balance you as you step out of your thong. 

“You’re so wet for me,” she hums, kissing up your thighs to your hip bones. You won’t survive if both she and Joel start talking, and that’s further solidified when Joel’s deep voice adds, “Good girl, Little Dove” from the corner of the room. 

Your body shutters as she stands, sucking a peaked nipple into her mouth. She sucks and licks, the other hand teasing your slit. Your head falls back and you gasp at the feeling of her. Being with a woman is so different from being with Joel. She’s soft, her hands are like silk as they move across you. 

“Get on the bed,” you moan. You swear you hear Joel’s breath become heavier as he watches you. When you glance towards him he’s in the same position, chin resting between his thumb and forefinger, elbow perched on the arm of the chair. He shoots you a wink before you climb into bed. She’s on her back, legs open for you and can’t help but lick your lips at the sight of her puffy pink pussy. She’s glistening for you and you swell with pride at how you made her like that. 

Laying on top of her you start kissing her lips and grind your hips into hers. She moans into your mouth, hands grabbing your ass. “I wanna lick your pussy,” she says between kisses, “please.” 

You already know she likes to be in control, it was part of your conversation at the bar and with Joel. The two of you roll in tandem, sheets tugging around you before she throws them off. A groaned ‘holy fuck’ floats across the room. Joel is loving this more than the two of you. 

She settles herself between your thighs, her warm breath hitting your clit, causing it to twitch. She stares up at you as you writhe underneath her, your eyes clamped shut. “Look at me,” she says, voice husky. 

You peel your eyes open, they flick to Joel and then settle on her. The bedside lamp casts warm lighting across her face. She’s truly quite beautiful and you can’t help but notice the similarities between her and Joel. Deep brown hair, and warm amber-coloured eyes, she licks her plush lips before teasing your clit with the tip of her tongue. Pleasure courses through your body and your hips buck forward involuntarily. 

“Sssh,” she hushes you gently, and one of her forearms comes to rest across your pelvis. “Do you like that?” 

“Y-yes,” you coo, “again. Please.” 

“Mmmm,” she hums, teasing you again before adding, “such good manners.” 

Little sparks fizzle across your whole body at her gentle caresses. So different from when Joel devours you. Her arm is slender and soft against your belly, no facial hair to tickle your inner thighs. You moan her name, hands tangling in the sheets as that ache builds. 

“You gonna cum for her, Little Dove?” Joel’s voice is deep and thick with arousal. Your eyes flick back to him, he looks dangerous sitting in the dark like you’re the prey, which is exactly how you like it when it comes to Joel. The tongue between your legs stops and you cry out at the loss, “No, please.” 

She’s quickly up to be inline with you, one hand gripping your face under your chin, squeezing your cheeks slightly. You moan, yes being the prey is exactly how you like it. 

“Don’t look at him. You’re mine,” she kisses you hard before pulling back and adding, “Do you understand?” 

Joel's heavy breathing fills your ears and you can’t help but look at him. “Tsk, tsk,” she taunts and then turns to Joel. 

“I think she needs to be taught a lesson. Is that ok with you?” 

They’re wholly focused on each other, almost as if you aren’t even in the room. “My Little Dove will never learn,” he says, “what do you have in mind?” 

She glances back at you with a mischievous grin, “Come sit behind her and hold her down.” 

Joel stands, adjusting himself in his jeans as he walks over. The bed dips under his weight, he props a few pillows against the headboard before hooking his arms under you and pulling you flush against his chest. His hard cock throbbing against your lower back. 

She laughs at you, “can’t see him now. Can you?” 

You shake your head. “Answer your mistress, Little Dove,” Joel whispers in your ear in quiet demands. 

“N-no mistress,” you whisper. 

“That’s better,” she says, nails tickling your inner thighs. “Open your legs, he’s going to hold you open for me and I’m not stopping until you beg.” 

You swallow hard, Joel’s cock jumps before he reaches for your legs, strong hands wrapping around the back of your thighs, pulling them towards your chest and encouraging you to open more. She dives in with much more hunger this time, lapping at your clit. 

You throw your head back to rest on Joel’s shoulder. “Oh fuuuck, don’t stop.” 

She doesn’t listen, stopping abruptly and laying a quick slap on your inner thigh. Joel hisses in your ear and your eyes widen in shock and arousal. “Watch your mouth,” she says in a dark, commanding tone that you didn’t think a sweet looking woman like her was capable of. 

“Sorry, mistress.” The heat from her slap travels up your thigh to your pussy and it clenches around nothing. “Felt s’good,” you whine. 

“No swearing,” two of her fingers tease your entrance. “Good girls don’t say words like fuck,” her fingers slide into you and you bite your lip hard to stop from swearing and yelling and moaning. 

“Say yes mistress,” she taunts, curling her fingers forward. 

Joel’s strong arms hold you down, you’re completely at her mercy. “Ye - oh god - y-y-yes mistress.” 

“Do you wanna cum, baby?” Joel whispers as she continues teasing you, bringing the tip of her tongue to tickle your clit again. 

“Mmm-hmm,” you moan, turning your head to nuzzle into Joel’s neck. And your body tenses up into his grip. 

“Ask her nicely,” he says. 

“Mistress, fuuu-, can I cum?” It comes out in a high-pitched moan, you’re clenching so hard to not cum, teetering right on the edge. 

“Only if you scream my name while you do it,” she says in her demanding tone, working her fingers inside you faster. 

Joel’s thumbs rub little circles on your legs and after you relax into him you release. Pinned by Joel the orgasm runs through you hard and fast, and it’s over too soon, but she keeps going. That familiar tingle builds quickly again and before you’ve caught your breath you cum again, screaming her name over and over as you cum on her hand and mouth. 

She sucks your clit into her mouth. Stars start to light up in your vision, muscles start to hurt from how badly you’re shaking. As you start to cum again it all starts to feel like too much. “Stop. Stop. Please!” You beg. 

She releases your clit with a pop and slows her fingers. “Look at me sweet girl,” she coos. She smiles at you gently when you make eye contact, it's almost like looking at a completely different person from the woman who slapped your inner thigh just minutes ago, “Do you actually want me to stop.” 

“Yes, sorry. But yes.” You say, gasping for breath. 

She slides her fingers out and Joel releases your legs. They whisper to one another and Joel slides himself out from behind you and heads back to his chair. She pulls you into her arms, head resting on her soft breasts. No wonder Joel likes to cuddle up to you like this, it’s warm and inviting. You can hear her heart beating softly as she plays with your hair with one hand. The other draws little circles up and down the arm you’ve draped across her. 

It’s silent for a while before you start to giggle. 

“What’s so funny, Little Dove?” Joel’s voice is light. He’s used to this part when you come down from the high and have a feeling of comfort and elation. It might be his favourite part, especially now that he’s seeing it happening from the outside. Your cheeks are pink, and your hair is disheveled, but there’s a big happy grin on your face. 

“Fuck. That was….” You trail off, looking up into her brown eyes. “Well, that was amazing.” 

“Good,” she cranes her neck to kiss you lightly. 

“Umm, can I?” You ask, hand trailing down her body and stopping just above the slit of her pussy. You pout out your bottom lip at her, eyes turned soft and pleading. 

“Christ, lover boy.” She says to Joel but doesn’t break eye contact with you, “How do you ever say no to this sweet girl?” 

Joel chuckles from the corner. “I don’t.” 

You take her sly smile as a silent yes and climb on top of her, taking one of her nipples in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it while you use your knee to nudge her legs apart. Kneeling between her parted thighs you kiss across her chest to her other nipple, cupping her breast in your hands and massaging them gently. 

Hearing her little moans leave her lips is intoxicating. When Joel moans it’s usually deep and from his chest, but she’s so pliant to you right now, sweet, little high-pitched whimpers leaving her parted lips. 

You kiss down her body, gently nipping at her hip bone, a small squeak of surprise fills the room. You kiss the sore spot gently and settle yourself between her legs. Now that you’re this close to her pussy you are almost unsure of yourself. You swallow the lump building in your throat. Joel can see you hesitating. 

“Taste her, Little Dove,” he whispers. “Just place a long lick from the bottom to the top. Go slowly.” 

You place your tongue flat near the entrance and slowly slide your tongue up. She tastes amazing. Sweet with a hint of saltiness, she gasps and twitches as you hit certain spots. 

“Did you feel that, baby?” Joel asks. 

You nod your head and repeat the same lick, mapping out the spots that drive her wild. Once you have them figured out Joel speaks up again, “Good girl. Use the tip of your tongue and put more pressure on those spots. Swirl your tongue around them. Figure out what makes her twitch.” 

“Fuck this is so hot,” she whimpers as you follow Joel’s instructions. 

You swirl your tongue around her hardening clit, before lapping up the fresh wave of her arousal, moaning at the taste of her. She’s shifting underneath you, one of her hands tangling in your hair. 

“Tease her with your fingers, Little Dove. Slide one in, just a little while you lick her.” 

“Yesyesyes” she chants, breaths coming in quickly. The way her breasts rise and fall causes a throb in between your legs. You thought you were orgasmed out but she looks incredible. You slide your middle finger in, stopping at the first knuckle, curling it forward. She cries out, you aren’t ready for her to cum yet so you pull your tongue away and place little kisses around her mound, carefully avoiding the sensitive spots as you explore her more with your finger. 

“You’re so tight. Do you want me to use two?” You ask, sliding your finger in all the way. If you were Joel, you’d never want to be anywhere else than in between your legs. He was right, this is a feeling that can’t be described. There’s an almost overwhelming sense of power once you’ve figured out what they like and have relaxed enough to enjoy it. 

“Please. Oh god - yes please.” She’s almost mumbling the words between moans and when you slide your ring finger in with the middle her legs start to shake. 

“You gonna cum?” You ask, kitten licking at her clit. 

“Don’t stop,” she whines. You curl your fingers again hearing the squelching of how wet you’ve made her and then suck her hard little clit into your mouth. She calls your name out to the room, “Yes yes. Just like that. Fuuuuuck.” 

You can feel her cunt tightening around your fingers. “Stay at the pace, Little Dove. You’re doing so well.” Joel’s voice seems thicker and you wonder if he’s touching himself, but you keep your focus on her. She looks like a goddess in the dim lighting of the room, head thrown back and mouth open, calling out your name through her moans. You feel the wetness between your thighs growing. 

“I’m gonna cum,” she cries before you feel her pussy spasm around your fingers. You keep your pace the same, curling your fingers forward and tracing the edges of her pulsing clit. You’ll go until she says to stop, even if your jaw is starting to cramp. You feel drunk watching her, this is so much better than you could have imagined. 

“Ride me,” she says, squirming out of your grasp. She straightens one leg and you crawl up, straddling yourself around her raised leg, hooking her knee in your arm across your body. The wetness between the two of you is magical, sliding your clits against each other. 

You can see Joel now, he shifts in the chair as he removes his jeans, freeing his cock from his boxers. He spits in his palm and starts to stroke himself in time with the two of you. 

“Does that feel good?” She asks, bringing your eyes back to her. 

You nod, biting your bottom lip as the tension behind your belly button starts to build. You grind your hips in slow circles as she moves back and forth, both of you growing wetter. 

“God your pussy feels so good against mine,” you moan between her gasps. “You’re making such a mess.” 

She wraps her hands around your hips and pushes you down onto her hard, grinding into you faster as both of you start to breathe heavier. “Don’t fuck stop,” she whines. 

“So needy. This little pussy,” you say. You’re not entirely sure what’s come over you, Joel’s ragged breaths from his chair fill you with encouragement, he loves hearing you talk dirty to her. “Wanna cum all over your tight cunt.” 

You hear Joel’s breathing jump, glancing over to see him spilling into his hand. The tension in your stomach snaps, and you look back at her as the two of you cum together, grinding sloppily. The sounds of your wet pussy’s rubbing together and your moans and squeals are the only thing you can hear. 

You both ride it out together, you feel like you’ve been cumming for hours by the time it slows. Both of you calming your movements. You kiss her kneecap before falling to the bed beside her, the two of you gasping for breath. Joel sits quietly, smiling over at you. 

“Fuck,” she says after a few minutes of silence. “Are you sure you aren’t a lesbian?” 

You and Joel both laugh. “I think it’s safe to say that my Little Dove is bisexual.” 

You giggle to the ceiling and then look towards her, “I think it’s safe to say that I’m only straight for Joel Miller.” 

Taglist:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut @sullyrocky44 @keylimebeag  @pimosworld @casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot @lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes @baar-ur @jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog @pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde  @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @iloveenya @javierpena-inatacvest @wannab-urs

[rsventhesecondd]

no nut november, ᓫ(°⌑°)ǃ

╰ • → Featuring . Hayato Suo as your boyfriend ! ╯

☁️┆ ⤿ collab with @secretlyzlenza ༺  ╰ ღ WBK :  requests open  ╯🦢

warnings . fluff , nsfw , piv , pet names , slight use of cuss words , not proof read YET , all characters used aged up , slightly cliché ? note ⧽some parts may seem rushed or ooc in other peoples opinion. english isn't our first language, so please bare with oncoming vocabulary or grammatic mistakes. (๑°⌓°๑)

Hayato Suo ˓ would actually last the whole month if he were to take this challenge seriously. And— if you weren't taunting teasing him in the most absurd ways.

"Oh? and what would I get in return by doing this.. challenge?" Suo says with his signature smile.

" Anything you want! " You said, smiling back.

"Really?" He says, tilting his head slightly to the side. — " Yes! As long as it is within my powers. And, the challenge applies to me too, of course. " you added with confidence .

───────── →

act one, aphrodisiac !

You woke up extra early to be able to prepare breakfast this time, only to be greeted by the sight of Suo missing from your bed side. 'what the fuck?'

You stand up from your beside, groggily walking towards the kitchen— and there stands Suo, cooking breakfast like the loving boyfriend that he is. "Breakfast is ready, dove." he says with a smile, placing a plate with your favorite dish on the table in front of you. " Thank you Hayato! " , you said as your grogginess began to disappear. " But what about you? " You questioned, while he sat down watching you eat as he sips a cup of tea.

"Oh, no thanks. I'm—" he says, waving his hand; before you cut him off. " On a diet. Yeah yeah, I know. " You retorted while playfully rolling your eyes as you Continued to eat.

You steal quick glances at him as he reads a book, trying not to be noticed. "Is something wrong? Do you not like the food, my love?" He asked in a worried tone, which of course you quickly responded to. " What? No-no, it taste really good! " You replied in a panicked state , " It's just, I was wondering if you were feeling something different, like maybe lightheaded? "

"Oh? Not really, why would I?" He questioned.

" Nothing, I was just wondering since colds are popular right now, and I saw an article stating that some teas are.. contaminated " in which he nodded in response."Don't worry, I'm not really the type of person to get sick at all, or get affected by such things. Even if something is in my tea. " he assured.

'what the fuck' was what you were thinking at the moment, and for the rest of the day aswell. You literally put 10 doses of aphrodisiacs in his tea kettle the night before incase he woke up before you. Yet, how the hell is he acting like everything's normal the whole day? Maybe he wasn't really lying about the whole spiritual thing in his other eye after all.. Whatever, you'll get him next time!

───────── →

act two, distraction !

" Hayato, what'd you think? Do you think it suits me? " You said, wearing a two piece for the supposed 'pool party' that was coming up. (It was scheduled next January, during NEW YEAR.)

"Why, I think it looks lovely, my love." He said with a smile before excusing himself for his daily meditation. Again, acting like everything was normal.

You groan in frustration as you sat down your beside, running out of ideas. The day was ending, and you tried everything— You sat on his lap while he was reading a book, claiming it was more 'comfortable' , you acted undeniably more touchy than usual, hell— you even woke up early on PURPOSE. You let out a gruff before scrolling through your phone to ease up yourself a little, seeing Suo lay down beside you, doing the usual, reading a book.

After a while, with you giving up, he slowly crept up to you, leaning in for a kiss— 'I knew it, there was no way he would resist me. He just loves me too much' You thought to yourself confidently as your lips tugged slightly to a smile, closing your eyes to prepare for a kiss. Or, so you thought.

he shut the lamp.

He was reaching for the LAMP.

At this point, you wish you'd never introduced him to the challenge in the first place. On the bright side, he probably didn't notice you puckering up your lips in the air, right? Right...

Looking back, you swore you saw a smirk plastered on his lips.

───────── →

act three, forbidden candy !

You tried everything— at this point you're convinced that he's been drinking some tea that cuts off his libido. ( lust )

Well, at the very least; you could atleast ask for a kiss. You've been so touch deprived, and he showed no signs of losing the challenge. You wouldn't want to lose aswell, but a kiss wouldn't hurt, right?

You waited for Suo to come inside your shared bedroom, and after awhile he did. " Hey, Hayato.. "

"Yes, my love?" He said with a smile. " Kiss me. " You responded, swallowing your embarrassment.

"Oh, but wouldn't that be against the rules?" He then asked, his head tilting slightly to the side. " No, it isn't. And it's not like it's gonna turn into a whole make out session. " You reasoned.

" Hm, okay. Come along then. " He says, patting to the spot closer to him. You went along, as you went closer to him, looking him in the eye as your lips touched.

You melt into the kiss, your tongue missing his. But sadly, you could not allow such thing in terms of the conditions you promised that you would meet.

You pulled away ever so slightly, eyes starting to dim. But what could you do? Nothing but resist your temptations within. "Would you mind kissing me again, my love? Perhaps using our tongues wouldn't be against the rules." He says, voice laced with honey. But who are you to disagree? He was asking so nicely.

You nodded, quickly rushing in. His tongue swiftly moving against yours in a smooth rhythm that could heal any person from within. As he kisses you, he reached out to get something, opened, aswell.

He pulls away, leaving you breathless. He then pops something in his mouth as he suddenly kissed you once again, forcefully letting you eat some type of thing. You swallowed it subconsciously, " What the fuck? " You muttered out as your surroundings started to blur.

" Hayato, what the fuck did you feed me. " You said, breathing getting heavier as your body started heating up.

Cute. Suo thought to himself.

If only you knew that what he fed you was actually just plain rock candy.

───────── →

act four, main course ! final

And that's how you ended up in this situation.

You rutted against Suo's cock, " Hayato.. please? "

"Please what, pretty girl?" He questions, a glint in his eyes. He was enjoying this.

" fuck me. Please? " You begged, tears beginning to well up your eyes. You were so.. frustrated. You tried so hard to make him lose the challenge, when it was you begging him to fuck you in the end.

"Oh my, I can't do that. That would mean I'd lose the challenge if I do." He says, his lips twitching; Trying hard not to creep up to a grin.

" Fuck, I lose. I lose, okay? I'll do the work if that's what you want. " You said, unzipping his pants.

"Very well then, go on, pretty." He says, helping you remove his pants. You remove his remaining garments, looking at his cock. It's so pretty, flushed pink and curved up slightly to the side with a huge vein along with it. You traced your finger around the vein, causing him to shiver. Slowly making your way as you placed his tip inside your mouth, tracing the vein that was surround his cock. Causing him to lay his head back. " You're still sensitive here, hm? " You teased before taking him whole, gagging, almost. His hand made it's way to your hair, caressing it lightly. He was never really a type of person to gag you so roughly. You bobbed your head up and down, earning a soft groan from him.

"How embarrassing, I'm the only one naked. I must admit, I— hah.. Missed your touch, my love." He added, precum leaking from his cock as you gave his slit a few kitty licks.

You undress yourself, aligning yourself with his cock. As much as Suo wants seeing you in control, or atleast try to, before you could push the head of his cock into you, he swiftly changed your positions. " W-What are you doing? I was gonna— " You said, cut off by a finger inside of you, earning a small moan. "Now now, don't be so angry. You can't just get anything you want all so sudden, my love." He said, adding a finger, stretching you out. "Not when you've been such a bad girl." He says, pushing his fingers in and out, curling them the right amount. " Fuck– Hayato.. " You moaned out, turning your head back from the stimulation. "Right, I almost lost thought." Hayato said, quickly replacing his fingers with his cock instead— causing you to let out a choked moan. "I'm offended." he continued. "You really thought I wouldn't notice that you put something in my tea back then?" He says, moving his hips onto a different angle. An angle it would hit all the right spots. "Do answer, love" He says with an innocent smile, as if he wasn't just re-arranging your organs. And even if you did try to answer, you just couldn't. All you could say at that moment was endless moans and whimpers following each thrust he was giving at such pace. "You know, I find it really cute how you were so confident that you would win this.. 'challenge' of yours, " he spoke, breathing getting heavier. "Trying all sorts of absurd ways to get my attention. When in the end, it's you begging me to come and soothe your desires" He added, kissing your tears away. "You're still sensitive here, hm?" He teased, fastening the pace.

"Fuck— Haya, 'm gonna cum!" You whimpered out, tears streaming down your cheeks. "Shh, it's okay. Cum for me, my precious." He coed, groaning as you reached your climaxed, following his.

"Now now, don't tell me you're out cold, love?" He teased. "Lets go for another round."

note . the reason he didn't let you ride was because he was worried that it'd hurt you too much not to get prepped since you guys haven't done it for nearly a month. (´·ω·)ﾉ(._.`)

ravens note . hi! Actually, don't believe @secretlyzlenza I literally did all the work guys theyre so fake. 😒 Cancel them!!! Joke. All they said was that it was no nut Nov and I got an idea from it and they demanded me to add creds/hj🙄 anyways, thats all!

— sincerely, raven !

[paigebueckersmommy]

nervous - p.b

paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: smut??? fingering, virgin

requested by anon

you and paige’s relashionship was sneaking up on 6 months, and still hadn’t gotten past a heated makeout shesh. you knew paige wasn’t a virgin, and she knew you were and didn’t have a problem with it. your consent was her biggest priority, and you just hadn’t thought you were ready. with paige, all your problems went away and your own u loved when your lips were on hers, so you felt you were ready with paige.

you had thought long and hard about your decision to do this, so when paige asked to come over, you got excited and tried to prepare yourself for your first time with paige.

when she texted that she was there, you had a huge smile on your face as you buzzed her into your aparentment, you opened the door and pulled her into a hug with your head in the crook of her neck. “hi baby” she pulled away from your face as she said it with a smile looking at your huge grin. “you’re extra happy today what’s up ma?” paige said with a little giggle. you looks her in her beautiful eyes, and took a deep breath. “P i’m ready.” “oh, sweetheart are you sure? like 100%? this is a big thing,” paige said with the sweet voice you loved

“yes P i’m sure i love you so much and i wouldn’t want to do this with anyone but you.” you say lookin up at her. “okay baby” paige says with a smile, leading you to your bedroom. you sit down on the bed and paige lowers herself to your level, “mamas are sure your 100% you want this?” “yes paige i am 11% sure” you say giggling, “okay baby, can you take this off for me?” paige says grazing the fabric on your shirt. you follow her request, and she didn’t ask for it, but you take off your bra too.

“sweetheart i’m gonna finger you, is that okay?” paige said with such genuine eyes. “of course that’s okay baby.” you say, realizing the feelings your having. paige starts to take of your pants, as you suddenly stop her. “paige i’m nervous” you say. it wasn’t that paige made you nervous, it was just the fact that someone other than you would be doing this. “why did i do something wrong im so sorry” paige said with such innocent eyes. “no paige it’s not you , i just, i don’t know. but i defitnelu want to do this.” “okay my love. we can go as slow as you need me to for you to be comfortable.” paige said, with a look of worry. “okay paige i’m ready please do it.” paige looks at you before continuing to take off your pants and stick two of her veiny digits inside of you as you close your eye and breath out, she looks at you. “tell me when you want me to start moving baby no rush.” you start to gain more need.

“move please paige,” she starts to move her finger slowly pumping them “are you okay ma?” paige says. “yes fuck P please go faster,” “your wish is my command,” paige says with a cocky undertone. she starts pumpkin faster as you feel yourself start to clench. “fuck P i’m close i’m gonna cum” you say through breathy moans “cum for me princess” paige says as she watches you release under her with a grin.

after you recover from your orgasm, your still without a article of clothing on when paige is laying to you. “fuck if i knew you were that good i would’ve been ready a while ago.” you say. paige giggles, then breathes out, “baby im so proud of you you did so good for me. i’m glad that you felt safe enough to do with me it means a lot.”

a/n : i hate this so much

[ellieslittlewh0re]

𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐞)

* ೃ⁀➷ part 1 - part 2 - part 3

pairing - farmers daughter! reader x farmhand! ellie

summary - ellie gives in

additional tags - breeding kink, oral (reader receiving), strap on usage (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), use of words cock/dick, pet names (baby, doll, sweet/pretty girl, miss/ma’am), praise/humiliation, dom/munch ellie, sub reader

───── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─────

It had been almost 2 weeks since that last interaction with Ellie. Your dad came home earlier than you expected and almost caught Ellie's lips so close to yours.

Luckily, he didn't and your secret is safe- at least for now.

Ellie, on the other hand, has been avoiding you since. She comes, she works, and won't even step foot inside the house if she could avoid it.

You tried your best to coax her in small ways- wearing the littlest articles of linen you owned, brushing against her body when you went out and offered her a drink, but she wouldn't bite.

You were growing frustrated to say the least, and you tried to relieve the ache every night, but your fingers weren't enough.

You needed her.

Ellie had just came inside the house to grab a hammer that your dad had left on the dinning table, glancing around to make sure the coast was clear. She thought she was safe, but she would be wrong.

"Hi Ellie." You sing your siren song, making your presence known to her from around the corner.

"Shit- I-." She stutters, almost dropping the heavy tool from her hands that were slipping from her fingers because she was so fucking nervous.

You made her nervous.

"Why are you avoidin' me? Did I do something wrong?" Your fingers interlock behind your back as you walk towards her, making Ellie sweat more with each step you took.

"N-no, not avoiding- I just-"

"Just what, Ellie? Hm? You're hurtin' my feelings." You play hurt, batting your eyelashes as you take one last step to close the space between you two, your fingers playing with the buttons on her top.

"M' not doing it to hurt your feelings, doll-"

Your hand comes up, ghosting her cheek as you tuck a stray hair behind her ear which makes Ellie freeze up- short circuiting her brain.

"I just-" she moves her head away from your touch, grabbing your hand in hers.

"I meant what I said.. I don't want you to regret it."

You couldn't help but chuckle- finding it amusing that Ellie had no idea how you touched yourself every night to thoughts of her.

You shake your head, your pointer finger looping around the hoop of her waistband, pulling her that much closer to you.

"Won't regret it- I need you, Els.. need you bad." You almost whisper, luring her closer with just your words alone.

Ellie's jaw opened slightly, feeling the quickened breath of her aroused state against your lips, and her eyes darkening, looking at your face and then narrowing in on your lips, repeating until she finally gave in.

She tossed the hammer aside, letting hit the table with a loud thud, grabbing your face with her hands as she chased your lips- tasting you like it was her fucking job.

Ellie wanted to be be gentle with you- give it to you how you deserved- soft and sweet, but she wasn't thinking about that right now.

She wanted to fucking ruin you- leave you shaking and crying. She wanted to hear your begs and pleads for her to stop, but she wouldn't.

She wanted to fuck you, over and over again, and punish you for how fucking hard you teased her.

You whimper into her mouth, letting her take control since you were already weak in the knees, feeling her tongue assert dominance against the muscle.

She pulls away, slightly out of breath as she looked at your pathetic state- bracing yourself against the table, lips reddened and puffy- your expression full of need.

"You're fucking killing me, doll." She wipes the corner of her bottom lip with her thumb, her chest heaving with adrenaline, ready to pounce at any second, but she doesn't.

"Stay the night." You asked, but it didn't come off as a question- more of a demand.

"You know I can't do that-"

"I'll come to you then."

Ellie furrows her brows slightly, mentally weighing out the consequences of her actions.

"What about your dad?"

"I'll wait till' he's asleep- take his truck, he won't know I'm gone."

A chuckle echoed in her throat- in a way that felt like she was mocking you- possibly because you were not this sweet angel that you portrayed yourself to be, and she was getting to know the real you. 

Her arm reaches around you on the table, grabbing the hammer with her chest bumping against yours.

"See you tonight, doll."

-

You tried your best to act normal all day, and so did Ellie. Both you minimized the conversations around your dad, not even daring to look each other for too long because of the plans you two made for tonight.

You were nervous, excited, but mostly nervous- even though this was your own damn fault. You were all tough and big when it was you calling the shots, but you had a feeling that was going to change as soon as you are standing outside her doorstep.

The sun was setting, and Ellie was saying her goodbyes as she walked down the driveway to her truck. You pretend to shrug off her departure, but not before slipping the little piece of paper with her address scribbled on it into your pocket that she had left wedged between the slates of the porch swing.

-

"Goodnight, hon." Your father places a kiss to the top of your head before walking down the hall into the master bedroom , shutting the door behind him.

You waited a good hour- making sure your father was in a deep sleep before taking his keys from the glass bowl on the table next to the entrance and slowly opening the front door, suppressing any noise to the best of your abilities as you stepped out into the moonlit night.

The drive there felt short- too short. It didn't feel like it was enough time to realize what you were doing, but it was too late- currently standing outside of Ellie's house- a small, classic cottage style one-story home- modest, but it had its appeal. The landscaping was bare- unkempt at best, but at least the lawn was mowed.

"Okay-" With one hand at your side- the other knocked softly against the wooden door, tapping your knuckle twice. You straighten your posture, pushing out your chest in your best attempt to make it seem you weren't as nervous as you were. It's not like it was your first time sneaking out, but it was your first time sneaking out to see someone like Ellie and to do the things you had planned to do.

The door creaked upon opening, revealing a slightly surprised Ellie, towel drying her damp hair.

"I didn't think you'd come." She smirked, her cheeks already bright pink as soon as she saw you standing there in your short- borderline lingerie nightgown.

"Why wouldn't I?" You asked rhetorically, tone dripping with suggest as you stepped past her and into the home.

You kick off your shoes by the front door, walking around and looking at all the details. You're were genuinely curious about how Ellie lived.

Even though you see her everyday- she was still quite the mystery to you.

The home was simple and cozy- the same way your grandparents' house would feel; worn leather couches and wooden furniture. A vase with withered flowers sat in the middle of the dining table. Ellie had picked them from a field on her way to your house- thinking she would give them to you, but she never mustered up the courage- so instead- here they were; peddles of faded purples and yellows, dried and crunchy by now, but Ellie couldn't get herself to throw them away yet.

"Can I get you anythin', water?" She asked, sounding obviously nervous. You just had to get that Ellie back- the one who's presence demanded to be obeyed.

You direct your attention away from the flowers, your nail grazing against the grain of the oak table as you turn away from it and step towards her.

"No, I'm okay-" you shake your head, declining the offer gently as your hands held one of hers between you two.

"I've never done this before, miss- m'sorry if I'm not any good."

God, you cranked the notch up on your southern accent- making your words definitely sound like it's straight out of a porno, but it was working on her.

Ellie breath hitched, her body freezing up as your fingers played with the hem of her black wifebeater tank top.

"I'll go easy on you- promise." Ellie said with the best intentions in mind, but it's a promise she doesn't know she could keep.

Your stomach tightened, feeling her warmth radiating into you, and her scent filling your senses- not feeling her touch was starting to physically hurt.

You stood on your tippy toes, your lips lining up to her ear, "take me to the bedroom."

You didn't have to ask twice either- Ellie quickly taking your hand in hers, dragging you down the hall to the last door on the left.

Ellie practically pushed you into the room, kicking some clothes under the bed that she had lazily left on the floor all the while shutting the door- just in case someone would interrupt even though she lived alone.

You take a seat at the end of her bed, propping your legs up on your toes as you let your knees drift apart, and it doesn't take Ellie's eyes long to land on your pink cotton panties- hugging the shape of your puffy lips.

"Fuck-" She huffed- almost to herself like she was in complete denial that such a beautiful girl was in her house, or even her room for that matter- wearing such little and with all the intent to get fucked by her... it was a scenario straight out Ellie's wet dreams.

Ellie fell to her knees before you, her hands resting on yours, and her lips tempting the skin of your thighs.

"Are you sure bout' this, doll?" She breathed heavily. Just from her proximity from your pretty pussy alone- she felt like she was losing control, staying further and further away from her promise to go easy on you, but you didn't care.

"Y-yes ma'am, m'sure." You mew, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as your cunt drips, feeling her breath through the thin fabric.

"Lay back fr' me, darlin'." She demands gently, sense of urgency in her tone that she was failing to mask.

You do as your told like the good girl you are- laying back on the bed, propping your legs up, and bending then at the knee.

Ellie almost whimpers as your knees fall to the side- practically salivating just from the thought of your taste.

"M' gonna touch you now, okay?"

"Mm-hm." You nod from your horizontal position, giving her full permission and allowing yourself to be completely at her mercy.

She simply stands, using her thumb to rub over the cotton clothed bud- her eyes paying close attention to how you squirm from so little.

She was teasing you, testing you, wanting to see how badly you needed her.

Soft, high pitched whines slip off your tongue as her thumb rubs tight circles over your clit. It was cruel honestly, how little she was giving you, but if you kept making those fucking noises- it wouldn't take long for Ellie to break.

You pushed your hips up against her touch.

"E-ellie, please.. it's not enough- need more."

Ellie sucks the air through her teeth before biting down on her bottom lip, her thumb lightly grazing the now soaked patch of your panties.

She lowered herself at the end of the bed, her hands wrapping around to the under side of your ass, tugging you closer to the edge.

She kissed the skin between your thighs, suckling at it to the point it stung, but it felt good- almost too good knowing it was Ellie that was doing it.

"I'm gonna take these off now." Her fingers gently tug at the hem of your panties, watching your face closely to ensure you were okay with her actions.

You nodded eagerly, lifting your ass from the mattress to help.

Shivers were sent down your limbs as your wet lips were exposed to the cool air of the room. Ellie huffed guttural curses, her eyes practically rolling into the back of her head like she was on some sort of high. She kissed closer and closer to your heat- hunger taking over at this point, and eager for a taste.

"Fuck- so pretty.. knew it would be pretty." She talked to herself, sounding slightly deranged and out of it before she flat lined her tongue over your folds.

A high pitched squeal echoed through the room, not expecting the sensation nor have you ever felt anything like this. It was warm, slippery and you felt instantly addicted.

She took her time, licking slow before speeding up the pace on your clit. You twisted and contorted under her touch, but Ellie was quick to hold you down- trapping you with her firm grip.

She lapped up your juices, not letting any of it go to waste if she could help it. She alternated between flicking your clit, sucking on swollen bud and letting plop back into place, and just simply tasting you.

Her tongue stiffened- sinking into the depths of your gummy walls before replacing her tongue with a finger.

You cry/breath out a sign of relief as her long finger sank into you, reaching a spot her tongue couldn't- pulling it out and pushing it back in, repeating the motion before adding a second finger.

"You're so tight, baby- need you to relax." She coaxes, trying her best to sound calm, knowing she was everything but calm.

She couldn't wait to pound into you- leave you breathless and fully screaming her name.

Your walls relax around her fingers, your dress bunching around your hips, and the straps falling off your shoulders- you looked like a painting to her- meticulously and carefully designed, perfectly imperfect- every flaw coming together in the most beautiful symphony.

"Thats it- atta girl, you're doing so good for me." She praised although her tone was rough- coarse like dirt as she was slowly falling apart from the sounds of you- soft, breathy moans- sweet and angelic mixed with the wet, sloppy sounds of her fingers picking up pace inside your cunt.

Your fists clutch the sheets beside your head, squeezing the fabric between your fingers to remind yourself that this was real- not a dream or fantasy.

"F-feels- weird... mm-fhm- feels weird, Ellie." You babbled, a tear threatening to spill from the corner of your eye as you pressed a hand on your lower stomach.

She lowers herself over you to be face to face, her fingers never faltering in pace against your cervix. She soothes, "shh- it's okay, pretty girl. I got you." She kissed the saltwater mixture away from your eye before ghosting her lips over yours, pulling away slightly when you tried to connect them.

Her lips upturn into a sinister smirk, watching you get so fucking needy for her touch, not giving in right away to your pleas of "p-please, miss- mmhm, wanna kiss- I wanna kiss you." Just then, she quickened the pace, her wrist slamming against your clit as she pistoned into you- slamming her lips against yours to soften your cries.

She breaks away, heavy panting fanning over your chaffed, swollen lips, "fuck- baby, I can feel you pulling me in- be a good girl and cum on my fingers, yeah?"

That pushed you over the edge- the corners of your vision turning white, your stomach tightening and flexing as you squeeze around her fingers. You come undone, her pace remained steady as she fucked you through your orgasm, with you clasping into her with your nails digging into the exposed skin of her shoulders. You sing her name, over and over, head dizzy and limbs feeling weak as she slowly removes her fingers.

You laid there- weak and still coming down from your high, but this was just a warm up- she was simply prepping you for what's next.

You closed your eyes, forearm thrown over your face, blissfully unaware what Ellie was doing- she was digging through the drawer of her nightstand, taking off her sweat pants and replacing them with a black harness- a silicone cock standing between her thighs.

She sits on the bed, her back resting against at the headboard as she signals for you- tapping her thigh twice, "c'mere, we're not done yet." Her tone has shifted- the once gentle, loving pitch now felt demanding- almost like it was threat and not a suggestion.

You turn over into your stomach, weakly crawling over to her on the bed and straddled her hips, the length of her strap resting against your stomach.

"Ellie, I don't know how-"

"It's alright,- " her hands held you by your hips with her thumbs soothing over the skin, "I'll teach you."

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, a worried furrow in your brow that Ellie picked up on, "jus' sit on it, doll. I'll help with the rest."

You prop yourself up, using her shoulders for balance as you line the tip with your entrance, Ellie mumbled a breathy "that's it- there you go, pretty girl, just like that."

A whimper vibrated your throat as you sunk yourself onto her cock- just the tip at first as she coaxes you to keep going. It burned, and for a second you thought she was tearing you open, but the more she praised- mixed with the feeling of her hands over your breasts and neck- the pain started to lessen, and was replaced with pleasure.

Her hands gripped the fat of your ass, squeezing it between her fingers as you let yourself get accustomed to the pressure.

"Such a good girl, taking it all in- are you sure it's your first time?"

You nod, your eyes shooting open to meet hers- dark and transfixed on your face.

She chucked lowly, her hands slipping under your nightgown- cupping your breasts. You moaned- feeling her calloused fingers playing with your hardened peaks, twirling the bud and pulling it back- making you wince.

"I wanna see you- can I?" She asked, already pulling the dress over your shoulders- leaving you completely bare.

"Fuuck- such a pretty little thing." She leaned forward, sucking the delicate skin around your nipples- kissing and licking, leaving a trail of her spit wherever she went.

She sucked your nipple, letting it plop back from her pretty pink lips.

"El-ellie- please.." you pleaded- desperate for ache to go away that was quickly building inside your tummy.

"So needy- you want to be fucked that badly, huh? Move your hips then, baby." She spoke condescendingly, sitting back against the bed frame like she was as relaxed as ever, but that couldn't be more wrong.

She was losing it quite frankly- she was growing impatient and wanted nothing more to have her way with you, but she was letting you get use to it for your own sake.

Her hands guided you by your hips, gently directing you back and forth, up and down and so on- no rhythm in mind- no, she wanted you to be close, but never getting there.

She wanted to hear you cry out for her help, and it didn't take long.

Your legs were shaking, hips were starting to ache from the compromising position. You were weak on top of her, resting your head on her shoulder and you needed her help- being too fucking dumb to do it yourself- so, you give in.

"Mm-pl-please, ellie.. can't do it."

Her hand wrapped around your head and interlocks your hair between her fingers before yanking your head back, forcing you to look at her.

"Need my help, huh? Can't do it yourself, doll?"

You shake your head, indicating a 'no' to the best of your abilities, but her grip was tight.

"Poor thing-" She spoke coldly, a smirk on her lips and a killer look in her eyes. She was preying on you- waiting 2 painfully long weeks for this exact moment, and it was finally here.

Her hands gripped the underside of your ass as she leaned forward, pushing you on your back and with her on top.

"Been waitin' for this, you know? Always wondered what you'd look like on your back all ready fr' me, fuck- you're unbelievable." Her chest heaved as she spoke, her voice deepening into an almost growl.

"M-me too- been wanting this since I've met you."

"Yeah?"

"Yea-" your voice cuts into a yelp as she thrusted into you, the length of her cock fully disappearing inside your pussy.

She kissed the inside of your knee that was draped over her shoulder like it was the last gentle gesture she would give you for the night.

Tears quickly gathered at the corners of your eyes, trialing down your cheeks and neck as she snapped her hips forward, pounding against your sweet spot every fucking time.

After the first few minutes, you were already gone- head dumb and toes curling, nails digging crescent shapes into her forearms and biceps.

Ellie was becoming more vocal- not as much as you, but she moaned and grunted- the base of the strap hitting against her clit just right. She was chasing her own high- fully getting off to your sounds, and how your slick coated the length of her cock.

Her hand came down, pressing and hand over the bulge in your tummy, "you feel that? - mhm, fuck.. I'm so deep inside you- gonna get you pregnant.. make you my little wife."

❥ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 @tfuuka @mattm1964 @tlouadditc @bugaboodarling @robinismywifee @omgidksblog @bf4iy4z @ellieswifee @endureher @asteroidzzzn @machetegirl109 @thatgiraffefromtlou @locaforellie @bellaramseysgirlfriend @wannabwanted @iconsoft @pick-me-up-im-scared @elliesmainhoe @feelsoseencantdream @okayyesbutno @elsbouquet @lastofvenus @aouiaa @p1llowthoughtss @333stvrlightt @urmomishotyes @333stvrlightt

[vaspider]

So, something happened last night that has been sitting heavily on my heart ever since. I'm not naming names for a reason, so don't ask. This is a clear example of something that's happened with increasing regularity.

When the Amsterdam attacks started happening last night, the first thing I thought of was a pair of my friends who had within the last 48h - I thought - been in Amsterdam to get married. (I got the place they traveled to wrong, bc it was late and I was tired, but that's not the point.) These friends are a Black frum Czech lesbian & her new wife, an in-progress convert who's seriously ill. I shared the CNN link on it & spoke with friends on a very small Discord server about how terrified I was that my friends had (again, I thought) narrowly missed being in the city while Jews were being advised to stay inside and, if they had to go out, to remove any visible symbols of their Jewishness.

Here's where I reach up and underline the word frum in that previous paragraph. Got it? Asking that friend to remove her visible signs of being Jewish is like asking her to go outside naked.

And here's the thing that's gonna stick with me for a long time: someone that I used to consider a longtime friend, who rarely, if ever, spoke on that server, popped up almost 4 hours after I was talking about how much this scared me about the relative safety of my friends to share a tweet containing the phrase Judeo-Nazis in order to contradict the CNN article and bring up what she apparently thought was the important part of the story:

"The Israelis started it," according to her & her "Judeo-Nazis" source.

That was what she thought was important to that story. Not that random fucking Jews are getting attacked on the streets of Amsterdam, not that I was relieved that my friends weren't in danger while still dealing with the fear and the shock of feeling they had been so close to it, but that I had to know, right away, that contrary to what CNN (and every other major news outlet talking about it) was reporting, this random person on Twitter referring to Israelis at a fucking soccer game and random visibly Jewish people of any nationality on the street in Amsterdam as Judeo-Nazis said that the Israelis fucking started it.

And like, no, they fucking didn't, but in context, the context in which I was speaking in a small group about my fear for two friends who weren't at the fucking soccer match but who I thought might be close to the danger, does that fucking matter? What does that have to do with "fuck, I think my friends were just there"?

Nothing. And yet - for some reason - that's the first thing that needed to be addressed in this person's mind.

A lot of Jews find our circles shrinking these days. Antisemitism is on the rise, and if we're not experiencing the direct slap in the face of people we thought were friends prioritizing "you know, the Jews started it" over anything else, we're watching people we thought better of make excuses for it, or tell us that we should gladly accept "our share" of the blame for the actions of a foreign government. (Yes, that has been said to me directly, recently.)

If I weren't so fucking stubborn, I would fold into myself & just keep company with the few and the trusted, a circle that gets smaller and smaller every day. But... I'm stubborn as hell. Maybe that'll fuck me over someday worse than it already has, I dunno.

I don't have a pithy closing for this. I'm just sad. It hurts to watch people that I used to trust vomit up shit like that tweet. It hurts that it's getting worse.

[katsukiizmoon]

bodyguard or bestfriend! katsuki who practically lives in your personal space, he's only "looking out for you" and "making sure you're okay" he definitely isn't dependent on feeling your warmth against him, he definitely doesn't get antsy when you're not near him, not at all

Second time writing this, tumblr ate it the first time 🥴 but no because I bet he leaves his shit there and then forgets.i have so many thoughts on this

Katsuki has practically raided every square inch of his apartment. He’s checked every basket, drawer, nook and cranny of the place— and he’s found four pair of boxers. Total.

There’s no way.

A frustrated groan leaves his lips when he notices missing sweatpants. His face twists into a scowl while he shoves the last of his dirty laundry into the washing machine. He snatches the detergent and tosses it in, pressing the button and turning on his heel.

He storms out of his apartment and shoves his keys into the door, locking it. And you know something’s off the moment he arrives. He huffs and puffs like he’s going to blow your house down. All the while, you sit perched on the couch with a basket of laundry and a no-brain-needed show on.

“I’m goin’ fucking insane.” Katsuki grits, carmine eyes peering into your ceiling.

You hum and toss a pair of panties into a nearby basket. A sigh leaves him as his chest sinks beneath the black tank top.

“You always are— but why now?” You raise a brow at his glare, resisting a snicker.

Your fingers lay purchase on a pair of his sweats. Effortlessly, you begin to fold and separate the rest of the laundry. Another pair of his sweats are in your hands as you pause to look at him.

“Searched the damn place top to bottom,” a sigh “- can’t find my shit. Got four pair of boxers. I’m losing it.” He grunts with an exasperated groan.

Katsuki peels his gaze from the ceiling to meet your own. You begin to chortle and snort.

The pair of sweatpants in your hands meet his face with a dull thud. Without thinking, katsuki yanks the offending fabric away and growls.

“Oí, asswipe-“ The second pair meets his face before he can finish and it takes all of three seconds for it to register.

“.. why d’you got my shit?” He takes a deep breath, just like his therapist told him to, trying not to jump to conclusions.

“You always leave your shit here— I’ve got an entire drawer. You’ve even got a toothbrush and face razor in my bathroom.” You challenge, holding up a pair of boxers you’ve just found in the basket.

Katsuki blinks. He has been over a lot. But it’s only because you can’t take care of yourself— you’d die! The blonde runs through memories of cup ramen and expired snacks in your fridge and pantry. His eyes roll.

“Well, I need my shit, brat.” He chooses to say instead.

You glance at the TV to see two of the girls arguing over what food to have at a party. Typical, there’s always that one bitch who wants fruit at a candy land themed party.

“Go for it, it’ll end up back here anyways-“ you chortle and toss a pair of clean boxers his way “-you’re over five days a week.”

Ruby orbs narrow, brows furrowing as he takes playful offense to your statement. A grin plasters across his face and he leans in.

“Wouldn’t have to if a certain shithead could take care of herself, now would i?” Katsuki taunts and assumes victory. He looks proud of himself.

Your brows shoot to your hairline and you laugh wildly. The task at hand half forgotten, fingers reaching into the basket to grab a random article of clothing and throw it at his head.

“Oh please, you come here for back rubs and head scratches.” The teasing tone of your voice has his eyes rolling. Hard.

Katsuki looks down at the fallen fabric and snorts. Big hands put the pink, scallop trim panties in the basket to your right while he formulates a good answer.

You’re not completely wrong.. but you can’t know that.

“Nah I c’mere cause’ you’ll get a scurvy if I don’t.” He lies, grabbing a towel to fold.

Banter continues on and off through the night. He talks shit on the show you’re watching but gets invested anyways. Like always. A plate of steaming curry is served for dinner and afterwards you show him to the stash of his items stored away in your bedroom.

He grumbles and flushes a peachy tone, throwing most of the items in his bag. He leaves two or three pairs, though.

You get lectured again on groceries even though he’s the one that cooks. And, now? There’s a grocery list on your fridge that says “k: bringing order on Monday” in not too-pretty handwriting.

Katsuki finds himself basking in the warmth of your hands later. Pretty fingers rub his taut muscles and tug at the roots of his hair. Nails drag up and down, up and down his shoulder and back casually. He’s out like a light in minutes.

He wakes up and chooses to ignore that he’s already left another set of clothing in your laundry basket.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Daddy Dom!Simon "Ghost"Riley x Bratty!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: As a new recruit, you should not have the gall to talk back to your superior officer like you do. He's tried it all, trying to work the insubordination out of you, but to no avail. Your antics have really gotten under his skin lately, but is it really because you won't listen and follow orders...or is there something more to it that he can't admit? The way his cock throbs might indicate the latter and what he thinks about as he touches himself might just speak to that as well.

Author's Note: As we wait for the next part of Lieutenant's Whore, have this as a treat! Something I just whipped up quick as I couldn't get the thought out of my mind 😏😘

Word Count: 3.3 k

Warnings:

Part 2:

Fucking hell, what was wrong with him? Something had crawled its way under Ghost’s skin today, sticking with him through to the evening now, and no matter how he tried to push the thoughts into the back of his mind they only seemed to lodge themselves more permanently in the foreground. No distraction or mundane daily task that took even most of his focus could ease the impact of influence on his mood as the thoughts constantly assaulted his mind. Even now as he stood in the bathroom of his private quarters, his anger at would not cease.

The screech of the shower handle turning sounded just beneath the heated phrases being whispered under his breath, the pipes coming to life with the distinct hiss of water as it pelted the floor of the shower. An earlier altercation had Ghost in a goddamn tizzy, his pulse elevated and his heartbeat in his ears as he undressed; perhaps being doused under the steady flow of the water would wash it all away.

“Fucking bloody slag,” he snapped as he pulled each article of clothing off one by one and dropped them onto the cool titled floor around his feet. Even his customary face covering he removed, wrenching it off and up over his head without a care as he was too absorbed in his rage which made everything feel far too binding. “Thinking that she can just speak to me like that. Goddammit, she knows exactly how to push each and every one of my fucking buttons.”

This wasn’t the first time he had encountered this very same problem, though this was the first time he had such a raw, visceral reaction to it. Usually he would let the disrespect go once he was away from the source, but today it just seemed to linger in an unhealthy amount until the Lieutenant could not see straight; his vision was only red.

He had not realized how much his skin was burning until he stepped under the stream of cool water, his chest getting hit first and making him grown at the sudden change in temperature. The soothing liquid rolled down the front of him, snaking its way through the shallow cracks left in his skin by the scars scattered across his pectorals and down his torso, but it did little to calm the fire still raging steadily inside.

The day you showed up on base with the newest set of recruits he knew by the way you unashamedly held his gaze when the others had immediately flinched and did not cower whenever he barked his orders would mean trouble and he hated to be right. Try as he might, there was no getting through your snarky, self-assured cocky attitude and most of his days were spent metaphorically pulling out his hair as no matter how many drills he had you run or sets of pull-ups or push-ups he had you complete, you could not be disciplined into obedience. A bitch like you was not easily broken and why you had not been discharged yet was a mystery; you must be more than worth the trouble.

A bawled fist slammed into the side of the shower, the percussive sound echoing and vibrating off the tight walls. “What the fuck is wrong with her?” he questioned aloud to no one. “Why can’t she just fucking listen, the little cunt? Why does she always have to pull that fucking shit?”

The wetness splashed over to his back as he took a step forward under the shower head, the engorged beads of water slithering their way down the curves of the muscles lining his shoulders and following the path to his ass and on towards his thighs and calves. Both of those bulky hands palmed the wall before him, allowing him to lean his torso forward and get the full length of his back under the water as his head hung limp. Heavy breaths, each one just as laboured as the last, continued even as he counted the water droplets falling down off his back and into the bottom of the shower as a way to ground himself, watching them slowly gather and swirl down the drain.

“I’ve tried it all,” he reassured himself, though even as the words left his lips, he knew that wasn’t entirely true. There was a whisper of a thought that reappeared just now that perhaps illustrated his true feelings about this problem. “Well, not exactly all.”

There was a spark of an idea that had appeared some weeks ago, one that he had not completely allowed himself to delve further into, one that had slunk its shrewd way at the edge of his thoughts. It had caught the cool and collected officer off guard at how his mind had conjured such a filthy concept… or that he did not outright despise that his imagination had led him there.

That exact day it happened he remembered well. The blazing sun and humid atmosphere had led to everyone being on edge, their bad attitudes matching the rising temperatures, and that meant the crude, underhanded remarks and balking that was a part of your usual repartee became even more grating on the Lieutenant’s nerves. With jaw sore from clenching so hard, the anger had finally reached its peak when you had told him to "make you" and with enough fury to make his presence suffocating to anyone within range, he stepped up aggressively into your face for the insubordination. There, standing with mere inches between you, your eyes ablaze with a fury for everything from the weather to the man barking orders before you, it happened.

It very well could have been the proximity of your bodies, the intense, dizzying heat, or the way the sweat around your neck slipped in glistening trails down your chest and caught his bird’s eye view as it nestled between the tops of your breasts. Maybe he had simply lost his goddamn mind due to the weather or the long hours he had been working lately or a random intrusive thought that caught him by surprise; whatever it was he could feel a stirring within the crotch of his pants in a sensation he had never felt towards you. His entire form froze in that moment and he was unable to do anything except stare straight ahead, even though the voice in his head was yelling at him to get it together, he paused long enough that by the smug expression on your face you felt you had gotten the last word and that was dangerous for him. The near two hundred push-ups forced upon you after that went by more easily than he would have liked; it was clear that that euphoric feeling you had from seemingly winning in that battle of wills against him was enough to see you through the strain on your arms and the pounding in your chest from the exertion of your punishment.

It was after that day that Ghost noticed a few strange happenings that only added fuel to the fire that had sparked to life inside him. Had your shirts always been so fucking tight or was it just the way they had always fit across your torso, pulling and straining at your chest as if it could barely contain it? Had your lips always been that juicy looking or were you just staying extra hydrated and he only caught you just after taking a drink so that your mouth mimicked another pair of lips that lay much, much lower down your body? You did not let up on your usual behavior of driving him up the goddamn wall, but did you always stand this close to him, brushing up against him randomly and somehow constantly bumping your plump ass on him whenever you bent over? It was believable as only an accident the first time it happened, but after he had to wonder.

And it only infuriated him more that the longer this went on the more he could not get you out of his head.

“Fucking slag, she probably does that shit on purpose just to screw with my head,” he growled angrily. His spine lengthened as he moved to stand up straighter, wiping the stray beads of water that had fallen into his eyes. The idea that had been born that day crept back into that devious mind of his once again and he chuckled maliciously as he indulged it a little. “If I had it my way, I know exactly how I’d like to make a little princess like her come to heel. She would regret ever trying to get my attention, especially when I fucking give it to her.”

Whenever he thought of you before this, it was with his teeth gritted and his fists balled so tight that his short nails cut into the skin of his palms, so what had changed? What right had his mind to pull this bullshit? Sure, the streamlined curves of your hips visible even through your bulky fatigues and the fullness of your perky tits were enough to draw even a lingering eye from time to time, but that was a far as he had allowed it to go until now. Now his thoughts were constantly on traveling back to those soft lips of yours and how he would kill to see how pretty they’d look wrapped around his cock or how he'd like to take you over his knee and spank that taut bare ass of yours until his handprintnwas fully visible, red and angry against your supple skin. Even the thought of your pussy entered his mind as it would probably be so tight it could barely be able to take all that he had to give. Bitchy girls always had the best equipment.

“I’d stuff that little cunt so good, she’d never fucking disobey me again; make that mouth useful for something else other than swearin at me,” he smirked with a flash of his teeth as he could not stop the progress of his thoughts. “I’d keep her dicked down nice and proper until she’s followin me around like a lost pup beggin for a treat.”

Moving his head back so that his thick neck and pecks were now exposed to the water, he could not stop the onslaught of his imagination from drawing out this thought further. Pandora’s box was now open and there was no shutting that shit down. Ghost closed his eyes as he conjured images of the way he’d drag you to his room and rip you out of your fucking shirt, taking those beautiful, soft breasts into his mouth to bite, lick, and suck at the bright pink nipples that would be stiff as his mouth claimed them. Shite, how velvety they would feel between his lips, how pliable they would give in his teeth. He’d make you undress quickly the rest of the way for him under threat of punishment if you didn't follow orders and drag you to the shower to pull you in with him, your naked body slamming up harshly up against the wall of the shower as he overpowered you with his much larger one. He pictured your bare chest, the water flowing over the crest of your breasts as he picked you up just enough that your legs could wrap themselves around his thick torso to secure you to him before he thrust harshly and buried himself within you. What sounds would you make as he plowed through your petals and into your entrance? Would you whimper piteously as you folded like a good little girl; would you cry and swear out loudly as his girth stretch your core to capacity so that anyone within earshot could hear you taking him?

There was so question that he’d fuck you so good, making your back constantly slip and slide around all the damp surfaces as his overwhelming thrusts pounded into your cunt over and over again with a vigor that would not let up until that burning desire that has been building for weeks could finally be satisfied. A shiver ran up his spine as he imagined your finger nails clawing at his back, leaving read, angry marks as you held on for dear life. How they’d sting as the water washed over them; oh, it would hurt so, so good. The brief fantasy left his hand trembling and had his phallus springing to life with a sudden tightness that made him breathless.

This is how it had been since that day, though he had done everything in his power to not touch himself; if he did he knew that would mean his ruin. But that deep ache throbbing down below just between his legs was more than he could handle anymore and now that he had allowed himself to fantasize about what he could have, there was no getting rid of it expect by taking action.

His large hand moved down past the sparse light brown hair that covered his abdominals as it trailed down his body, the skin was already nice and lubricated from the water running its way down the length of him. Taking his lower lip between his teeth he bit down with a whimper as his long, calloused fingers brushed against the tip of his tender, engorged cock before he was able to take it fully into his grasp.

Goddamn what he would have given in that moment to make that fantasy a reality; he would have sold his soul to Satan himself for the feeling of you clenching down around him right now as his own hand paled in comparison to the fabricated assumptions in his mind.

"Fucking bitch, you’ve put me under your spell," Ghost growled in a raspy whisper, as if insulting you would somehow make his desperate need of you any less pathetic to himself.

Putting pressure in his grip he began to rub his length from base to tip in steady, even strokes. Deep, guttural grunts began to fill the bathroom as that beefy forearm worked itself forward and back over and over again. Goddammit he was so hard and tender it almost hurt to touch.

His mind's eye wandered back to visions of you perched on top of him now in his bed, riding him desperately into the scant bit of plushness he called a mattress, as his greedy hands clasped around your hips to force you to bob up and down on his dick as hard and as fast as he wished. Faster and faster he’d make your body work for him, shoving you as far down onto him as he could until your hips were grinding into one another; his perfect fuck toy. You’d be so out of your mind with evstasy, would you be able to form words? No, you’d only be able to muster a few simple mewls as he hit that perfect little button of pleasure inside you time and time again.

“Got you quiet now, yeah,” he groaned desperately at the vision as he licked his hungry lips. “You like that, princess? So fucking full on my cock you can hardly think straight? Come on now, use your words sweetheart. Tell me how much you like it; you’ve never had a problem speaking up before."

The imagined music of your moans emanating from your open mouth from his cock being buried deep within you made his skin tingle like an electrical current. The drawn out strokes from his hand began to become more sloppy as the images continued to flood their way into his thoughts. Again they wandered to conjure even more depraved things as he pictured himself taking control in the moment, grabbing you around the throat and flipping you on your back as he pinned your arms up above your head. He’d hold secure those slender wrists together with just one of his large hands so that he could have free reign to do whatever he wished without your interference. There would not be a single piece of flesh that did not know how he felt.

Ghost’s pace again quicken. “A-ah, fuck….!” he hissed. He was certain you had probably had guys before him, it was obvious a woman like you knew what she wanted, but there would absolutely be no one after; he’d make sure of that by leaving his mark anywhere he thought someone who try to touch.

His breathing faltered along with his strokes as he imagined hurriedly switching positions so that he would not have to pull out for long, propping your legs up on those broad shoulders so that he could push deeper into you down to the very end of his shaft until there was nothing left to give. Oh, the way he knew you would whine and buck against him as he bottomed out inside of you, but there would be no backing out now. That cunt now belonged to him and only him as if it had 'Property of Simon' tattooed across it.

Ghost had to swallow the saliva in his mouth that had gathered from that delicious bit of imagery. “Take it, take it all, sweetheart,” he panted. “Every last goddamn inch like the filthy fucking slag you are. That's it.”

You’d be whimpering, begging him to stop as the tears gathered in the corner of your eyes from the over-stimulation being almost to much to bear. So full, you’d be far too full with him and yet to really stop would be catastrophic as that delicious pressure setting you on a one way course directly towards your immediate release would end and that would be a far worse crime. He knew you wouldn’t want him to do anything except keep the rhythm steady and that is exactly what he intended to do, though he would wipe away a few of those stray droplet’s with his thumb as he continued to plow you; he was a gentlemen at his core after all.

“Look beautiful like this, luv,” he groaned under his breath. “On your back getting absolutely wrecked by me. Cry all you like, you know you can't get enough.”

Again he pounded his free fist into the side of the shower wall, this time from being so close to blowing that he could taste it in the back of his throat. More aggressively he yanked at his cock, the wet, sloppy sounds from skin working over moistened skin were loud and distinct over the sound of the running water from the shower head. That familiar fire was right there in the pit of his stomach as he envisioned the way you’d bear down on him as you came, fluttering around his cock as your orgasm overtook you in a violent burst that threatened to rip you apart.

“That’s it baby, that’s…it,” he stumbled over his words. It was there, right there; just a bit more and he’d be painting the walls.

The envisioned sound of your voice crying out his name in the throws of ecstasy was all he needed to finally finish with a bang. He grunted as the cheeks of his toned ass clenched while he milked every last fucking bit of cum that he could from himself. Knees began wobbling as they nearly buckled out from under him as the intensity of his release took all his strength and he had to brace his forearm against the wall to stop from slipping as the stroking of his hand slowed until it came to a stop. That arm propped up the exhausted mess of a hulking man as he breathed through his orgasm, wanting to ride out every last second he could.

The fruit of his endeavors were rinsed down into the bottom of the shower and were quickly whisked away, removing any evidence of the filthy thoughts that had plagued him minutes before, though their ghost still lingered in the back of his mind as if he had just awoken from a very good dream. There was a part of him that wished that all his desires for you had been sucked down the drain along with his cum, as this was certain to become am issue in a short amount of time, but he knew he would not be that lucky.

He craved you in a most unholy way and that meant at some point this little problem was going to come to a head. There was no telling what would happen to him when he saw you next now that he had entertained the full extent of his fantasies, but one thing he did know was that if there was a way to have you just as he wanted, he would find it...and God fucking help you when he did.

[suni-writings]

Running out of time. | part 3

jude bellingham x fem!reader

When two people who didn’t know how to love met at the perfect timing to ruin each other.

part 1 | part 2

wc: 2.9k

(content warning: angst, troubled relationships, situationship, slight mention of suggestive content, [sort of] unrequited feelings, hurt/comfort)

hope you enjoy this last part as much as i enjoyed writing this little story. don't forget that requests are open!

‘hey :)’

‘gonna keep leaving me on read?’

‘guess I’ll keep your coat with me’

She sighed when she read the texts. Jude was trying to reach out to her every day. Of course, his scene at the bar was more than enough to keep the man she was seeing far away from her. On one hand, it was Jude’s fault. Who would want to be Jude Bellingham’s competition? On the other hand, it was her fault. Her fault because she not only listened to his words, but also obeyed him. One thing Jude got right — it seemed like they weren’t done. Not yet at least.

She thought she was over him; she really did. She had put her life back on tracks — everything she had left on hold because of whatever happened between her and Jude, she went back. To her numerous projects, to her podcast, to writing articles about sports. To her friends, that she seemed to have disappeared a little bit of their lives. To focusing on her upcoming university semester, which, despite the good grades the previous semester, they could be better.

She had liked Jude wholeheartedly, she believed. She could have ended up loving him, if things had kept flowing the way they did when they were alone. She had allowed him to come over to his place, to know her routine, to know her. Told about her life, about her previous relationships, about everything that hurt her. She allowed him into his life with open arms, with him saying he would always be honest with her. Not that he wouldn’t hurt her, but he would be honest.

Hurt was something that came with liking someone; it was inevitable, especially when it came to her. Anxiety always took over her whenever it was about romantic matters, as if searching for any excuse to jump off; to just not be there, to not be vulnerable, to not allow anyone in. To be alone, something she had mastered.

She had trusted Jude, and he broke her trust. It was as simple as that. And now, he was trying to right his wrongs.

And she was confused; she didn’t know exactly how she felt about him. She had spent over a month assuming things about him, ruining the previous image she had of him being someone she could rely on, someone nice, someone that cared about her. It was replaced with thoughts of him being a selfish, almost sadistic person, as if he wanted to see her feeling bad — although she never gave him the delight of knowing how much harm he had caused.

Now, it was hard to identify the person he was being, to the person he was, to the person she assumed he was. The lines seemed blurred, and she didn’t have any evidence to support any feelings besides his ridiculous attempts of making conversation. It truly surprised her that he didn’t attempt to come over, respecting her privacy and her desire to be far away from him.

Perhaps, that said something about him.

Her phone buzzed again, and she rolled her eyes as another text popped up on her screen.

‘texting you before the match’

‘need my lucky charm’

‘can you reply at least once?’

‘can you fuck off?’

‘well, better than nothing’

‘hi, princess’

‘when are you giving me my coat back?’

‘does that mean you want to see me?’

‘no’

‘I’ll return it when you want to see me’

‘I might hate you, you know’

‘nah, you don’t’

The way he could easily get reactions out of her was annoying. She was so used to being logical, to keeping her composure, to being someone who would hardly react to anything at all. And yet, ever since they broke thing off, he could get her snapping in a matter of seconds. She knew Jude liked it — perhaps, it was his way of knowing she still felt something, despite not even her knowing what she felt.

She didn’t want to let him in once again, since she didn’t have the assurance that she wouldn’t be wrecked again. And being his friend was out of the picture – she couldn’t even think about the hypothesis. Jude knew her body with the back of his hand and the tip of his tongue. Not to mention how hurtful it would be if he ended up treating her better than he did when they were together.

She couldn’t afford to be hurt again.

So, she just decided to postpone whatever conversation they could have and slowly digest her feelings about what happened, about what was happening and about how they were. Associating the past to the present before deciding.

It was a quiet night; she didn’t like nights like those because it gave too much room for her thoughts. She tried distracting herself by reading, trying to watch something and even cooking — only to watch her fail every single one of her attempts. Jude was constantly on her mind, especially now that he had stopped texting her for a week.

Maybe he had given up.

Maybe he had found someone else.

Maybe he realized how famous he is and how he doesn’t need you at all.

Every single thought of hers, when it came to him, seemed too hurtful. She didn’t even know why she was so pressed that he wasn’t texting anymore when she had only been leaving him on read. Did she care? Was it bruised ego, or did she actually have some hope? She didn’t have an answer for any of her questions.

When she heard a knock on her door, she didn’t realize how late it was or how, in no way, it could be one of her friends deciding to bother her because she hadn’t been replying. That happened whenever she was too contemplative, and they were used to that. She just automatically opened the door and her eyebrows raised at the sight.

Jude was standing there, with a grey sweater and matching sweatpants, and a black beanie on. She was taken aback, suddenly remembering how comfortable he used to dress whenever he would come over, because he felt comfortable with her.

“You’re drunk.” It wasn’t a question, but more of a statement. She was sure she could tell if Jude was drunk or not from a mile away — he would always have a huge grin on his face, his eyes would become smaller, and he would always tilt his head whenever someone would speak to him. And, of course, the fact that he wouldn’t be standing there if it wasn’t for the alcohol.

“I scored the last match, the one I texted you before,” he said, his voice slightly dragged. He was drunk, but not that much. Good to know. “Did you watch it?”

She furrowed her eyebrows, leaning her head on her doorframe.

“I didn’t,” she confessed. Why did she feel bad about that?

“You didn’t,” he echoed and licked his lips. “I scored.”

“I know,” she replied. Every time he scored ended up all over the internet. There was way she wouldn’t know.

“For you, I mean. I blew a kiss to the camera, but I know you wouldn’t see it. Not when you didn’t even want to reply to me.”

Guilt washed all over her, even if she knew Jude didn’t blame her at all. He knew he was just dealing with the consequences of his actions, but that didn’t stop him from trying. Then again, what would ever stop Bellingham from trying anything? He was used to falling and getting up. To losing and keeping his head up.

Maybe that’s what he meant when he said he’d show me what’s in store if I wanted war, she thought. He knew he had lost the battle, but not the war.

The cold breeze blowing on her face brought her back to reality, and she realized she couldn’t leave him on her doorstep. She could, actually, but it wouldn’t be right of her. Not when he was drunk, vulnerable and something could happen. She’d rather have him inside her house than to let him wander the streets in that state, given who he was.

“Jesus, Jude,” she sighed, shaking her head and signaling him to come in, which he happily obliged. He stumbled until he managed to find his way to her couch. “Are you cold?”

“Not at all,” he shook his head and she nodded. “But could you just— sit next to me? Please.”

Truth be told, she never had to deny him much stuff. But she had learned that, even the little things she had to deny seemed hard to say no. And she found herself once again, in the same situation. She knew she could get hurt.

And yet.

Maybe there was a reason why she couldn’t deny him that. A reason why her feet were making their way to him, despite her heart pounding in anxiety and fear. Maybe, just maybe, there was a reason why she was choosing to walk to him instead of succumbing to her fears and shutting him off.

As she sat next to him, she noticed the way he looked at her; even drunk, it seemed like he was analyzing and memorizing every detail, every freckle, every single portion of her face. As if he didn’t know when it would happen again.

How wrecking must it be to adore someone and not being able to see them; to yearn in silence. To accept the fate and not try to change it. To accept any crumble that could come to you, because it would be better than nothing. Because even hurt would be better than indifference.

Amongst many things she had learned about Jude, she knew he didn’t accept fate. He didn’t believe in it. He believed he had control over his choices and everything that happened after that were nothing but consequences, which he could also change the course of. It hurt seeing someone who was always so self-assured suddenly show such an insecurity.

However, that was something she would’ve never noticed if she didn’t know him that much.

“I like you,” Jude said, still looking at her. For once, it didn’t seem blurted out — no, it seemed like something he had been thinking about for a long time. Nothing like the other times she heard that, no spontaneity in his voice. “So much. Hence why I tried so hard to at least get you to talk to me. It’s not about not being able to live without you, it’s about knowing my life could be so much better with you in it. Although, I must admit, I don’t do a pretty good job living without you.”

She stood quiet, suddenly catching herself also analyzing his features. He was still as beautiful as she remembered, unfortunately.

“I hurt you, I get it. I do. I broke your trust and, apparently, I can’t win it back. I’m in a losing battle every time I even think of texting you,” Jude let out a sad chuckle, his hand caressing her cheek softly, as if she could disappear at any moment. “I like that about you. Your judgment of knowing what serves you and what doesn’t. You said you weren’t the love of my life, but God, you could be. I’ve felt like I was too young to say that out loud, but it’s hard to not have thee thoughts when I’m miserable without you around.”

There was so much she wanted to say; like everything he said could just be a result of his wounded ego, or that she only served to caress his ego. Like it didn’t make any sense to her him even considering her the love of his life after how things had played out between them. But above all, she wanted to say how much her judgment was broken, because, at that moment, she didn’t know if she was doing what served her or not.

But, instead, she just leaned her cheek against his hand and gently shook her head.

“You’re drunk, Jude,” she whispered. “You have no idea of what you’re saying.”

“I’m not that drunk. Just enough to gather courage to come up to your house and overstepping a boundary. I know I overstepped on a lot of your boundaries that day at the nightclub, but I was also aware of how much it hurt you. I wouldn’t even think of not leaving you alone if I didn’t drink, and I really need to pour out my heart to you. If this must be my last attempt, then so it be. But just listen to me, please.” He begged her. It broke her heart to see that, in the end, he was just as wounded as she was.

They had met each other at the perfect timing to ruin each other; when neither of them wanted anything serious, when neither of them could commit to one another. When both of them were so bruised by past relationships that it’d blind the present and destroy what they were building. At least, that was how she saw it. She knew she had barely let herself enjoy it, always waiting to be hurt, always wanting to predict so she could leave before.

What a pathetic, yearning mess they had become.

“Okay,” she nodded slowly as his thumb ran through her cheek. “I’ll listen.”

He took a deep breath and stared into her eyes, admiring their shade and getting lost for a moment.

“My mum always told me that what was meant to be mine, would be mine. Close to the ‘what’s bound to happen, will happen’ kind of discourse, but not quite. The same way she always told me that what goes around always finds its way back around,” he tilted his head and sighed. “I know I’m paying for what I did; I don’t blame you for acting the way you have been or for trying to get over me because I’d do the same. I’d get over you if I could. But my mind just assumes that you’re meant to be mine. That, if I work hard enough, if I show my efforts, if I keep falling and getting up, at some point you’ll see that too. But it’s not football, you’re not a prize and I’m not really taking what you feel into consideration when I think that way.”

His hand traveled from her cheek to her hair, gently caressing it.

“The truth is, I can’t get over you. And I’ve been trying to right my wrongs, but at the end of the day, it’s all up to you. Despite of what I do and what I don’t, it’s your call. I’ve been at your mercy for so long and I don’t even think you’ve realized that,” he spoke, his voice shaking. She had never seen him so vulnerable. “I’d do anything to have you with me once again. I never took you for granted, though I know it seemed that way. I knew what I had; I knew I wouldn’t find better. You had warned me. I adored you then, but I let everything get in the way, my job, my past, my insecurities and I ended up wounding you. I made some decisions I regret, I acted selfish, but I swear to God, I still adore you. Even more than I did back then. It’s so much more than liking and I’m tired of pretending like it isn’t. Of acting nonchalant about it. If you’d ask me to commit here and now, I would. I would promise I’d never break your trust again if you’d let me in.”

He looked into her eyes once again.

“I’m at your fucking mercy,” he whispered. “And, looking back, I don’t think there ever was a moment I wasn’t.”

Jude’s words flooded her senses. As she tried to digest, she realized she knew the answer to this all along. She knew the answer when she suggested a break to be considerate about his feelings; she knew the answer when he had walked up to her while she was with someone else, and she didn’t ignore him. She knew the answer when she obeyed his only request. But especially, she knew the answer from the moment she had chosen to sit next to him instead of making him leave; the moment she chose a maybe instead of a certainty and let him stay.

In a loss for words, she suddenly held him tight. Dumbfounded, it took a while for him to wrap his arms around her; however, when he did, his head fell to the crook of her neck, and he inhaled her scent he had missed so much as she kissed the top of his head. The yearning and the waiting were so much that she didn’t even realize what she was missing until he held him again, a single tear falling down her face.

“Jude?” She asked quietly.

“Yeah?” Jude replied, leaning away just enough to look at her face and wipe the tear with a concerned glance.

“Do you think you can repeat all of that to me tomorrow, when you’re sober?” She asked and his face lit up.

“Tomorrow. The next day. The day after. Whenever you want me to say it.” He replied with a huge, genuine smile as his arms were still wrapped around her waist. She knew she would be fine. She knew they would be fine.

For once, she chose her peace instead of battling wars inside her head. For once, she chose her emotions against her logic. For once, she was willing to not run away.

“I’m not letting you go again.”

[captainlexapro]

hang on. I just need to talk about quinn's autograph for a minute because i have so much appreciation for the effort and intention he puts into it. (also i love linguistics/language/writing and how people sign their name is actually very interesting to me)

Been thinking about this (x) article from 2021 (and also very much demko saying "thoughtful" for his one word to describe huggy at the nhl awards this year. demmer u don't understand the implications of what you just said).

teammates chirping quinn for being a slow at signing because it's not a scribble or an unintelligible flourish...but he straight up doesn't give a fuck what they think because HE wants HIS signature to be easily distinguishable for FANS. like the awareness of how special that stuff can be for people. 💙 antoine agreeing that "you should always be able to tell the name without the number." YES!!! YOU GET IT!! (don't get me wrong, there can be iconic autographs that aren't legible whatsoever but idk. to me it's something about how it's a name and i'd like to be able to read it. it's so personal and a scribble doesn't feel personal).

i wanted to see how his signature has changed/progressed over the years, so i dug around a bit to see where he's landed at this point. let's back up to the beginning!

2018 (screenshot from this vid) -

huggy's first official nhl signature!!

his draft day signature shows he's still fully spelling out his first name. it also looks just very. teenage boy who can't do cursive.

BUT the elements are already there - heavy on the Qu, the Hu, (new nickname Q-hoo? like yoohoo? no? fine.) and the s. starting to stylize the gh.

*side notes: Qu is such a rough first letters pairing rip... it's a distinct shape. printing Q doesn't flow easily into the u while cursive Q is ugly (in my opinion) and idk if a lot of people actually know what a true cursive Q looks like (hint: it looks like a 2). also, "quinn" is hard just because it's SEVEN vertical elements back to back. i honestly think doing it in cursive requires more focus than printing. hughes is fun because it has the high and low elements right next to each other, which he emphasizes.*

2019 (nhl debut) -

oh boy. sill very choppy. still have those main elements of emphasis happening.

i feel like he probably hadn't started worrying about his signature yet (this was his first game, to be fair).

not a lot of connectivity (especially in Hughes)

the n has hints of what it will become later, though, which is cool to see!

2021 (from article)-

only writing Quinn now (only one dot for an i). maybe to speed it up, maybe just bc that's the nickname he goes by, maybe both.

seeing the connecting line/stroke between the g and h more prominently

s is looking more stylized as well

i think he's picking up the pen a fair amount still (maybe up to 8 or 9 strokes in this one?). so yeah, i'm sure it took a while compared to others...

2022 (from this silly vid)-

this is kind of not a 'true' signature to me bc 1) given the nature of the video i kind of doubt he would have put 100% effort into it (complete lack of stylized s) and 2) you can tell the surface/pen combo isn't great - see the jaggedness on the gh?

this is the most ~scribbly~ version i saw. like i said, idk if i really count this one but i don't want to dig around forever to find a confirmed 2022 signature

regardless, he seems to have sped it up and is better at the cursiveness aspect. Most of it is connected - i'd guess 5 total strokes for that version.

2023 (from wallpapers on the canucks' insta)-

definitely more committed to a "look"

Qu is kind of aggressive lol and the gh stroke isn't super smooth either. HOWEVER it is 100% a stylistic element he focuses on. also it's fast to connect them, so it probably feels pretty natural. just needed more practice on keeping that stroke aligned.

officially no dotting of the i anymore - just swooping up high (again, probably helps with speed)

we have the fully stylized s! i'm actually very fond of that part because lots of people will let the last letters fall to the wayside and basically just draw a line. he's kinda doing that a smidge with the n. but there's intention on the s and it looks very nice!

2023/2024 (from canucks' wallpapers & inhousemade insta)-

here we have our latest iteration

I reallyyy like the finishing on the n - it matches well with how he does the s, which is so pretty. such a fun letter to write lol

i think the gh line has been fully mastered at this point. and it's a good way to keep his signature legible but still give it a unique flair. not everyone's signature/name has that type of line so ppl can pick his name out rather easy i would guess.

i think huggy's probably settled on autograph style/look at this point. but i will still keep an eye out to see if he decides to try a new element!

thanks for reading and hopefully you found this mildly interesting ☺️

[uzurimisery]

chapter 4: the bluff. / coriolanus snow / nsfw

Rating: Explicit

WC: 6746

Warnings: MDNI, rough sex, he's still insane and possessive, PIV, unprotected sex (this guy is never wearing a condom ever), angry sex, he's not a good guy but he's hot, not beta read

AO3 version | Series master

You slammed the dressing room door shut. “What the hell was that , Coriolanus?” pacing the length of the room, anger seeping out of you. “Did you forget what we were supposed to do? We were supposed to play it off, say we were too young. That was not playing it off! That was proposing!”

In your rage, you stumbled in your heels. He watched you curse under your breath, undoing the strap on them and throwing them across the room. Coriolanus didn’t move, cemented in his spot just past the door.

“Listen to me Y/N,” his tone was stern, like a parent scolding a child. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course you did!” you interrupted your voice tinged with sarcasm. “You always do whatever you want, don’t you? Here, the gala, the dinner. Always regardless of the consequences!”

Your words were sharp, digging in the fact that whatever was going on between you two there was meant to be a unified front, a single storyline. You were meant to be partners in the power play, both of you using each other to further your positions. All the work that went into constructing the next five years of the act was undone in an instant.

“I thought we were on the same page, Coriolanus. There was a plan for what we were going to do, but you just fucked it up!” He was always hypercritical of himself, internal monologue pointing out his every mistake, but you doing the same set him off.

“Can you shut up for five seconds! Or are you so self-obsessed that you can't let anyone else get a word in.”

“How dare you try and talk to me about being self-obsessed you narcissistic, unthoughtful-”

“There you go! Proving my point. You can’t even get off your high horse for a minute so I can explain why I did that.”

“You want to explain? Fine then, explain.” you spat.

Coriolanus’ jaw clenched. You were so hot and cold with him. He could never gauge what you really wanted in all of this, and you would never just tell him either.

“I saw an opportunity.”

“For what?”

“To play the part, to make the story so much better. Picture it, Coriolanus Snow, a man who has always been so organised and timely there are articles on how to put your life together like him, rushing into something. He’s so in love with his mentor’s daughter that he proposes to her on stage in front of all of Panem, and he doesn’t even have a ring on him because at that moment he realises that he can’t live without her.”

Your eyebrows were drawn, scanning over his face like you were looking for a fault in what he said, as you dissected it. There was nothing wrong with it though. The show was exactly how he described it. It painted him as a kind and caring man, beyond his known abilities at game making.

“You should have told me ahead of time.”

“I didn’t have a chance. I thought of it while getting ready.” he was lying, and you could tell. Seeing through lies was your speciality. He hadn’t thought about it while getting ready.

You called him on his bluff. “Bullshit. You didn’t have any plan, that was all impulse.” you were digging your finger into his chest to make your point. “You could have ruined everything we’ve been working on, made the past year pointless. What if I hadn’t followed along? What if I lost my composure for your little outburst? It’s not just your future on the line here Coriolanus. I’m leaving.”

Your shoulder bumped into his as you moved to walk out of the room, but his arm wrapped around your waist pulling you back and lifting you off the ground.

“Y/N,” he started.

“Let me go!”

“You don’t get to walk away from me. You need to listen to me.”

“I’m done listening to you, put me down!”

“Well, I’m not done talking!” Coriolanus pushed your back against the wall, pinning you in place.

Why couldn’t you just listen to him like you normally did? Why were you so upset with him? What he did was off-script but it still looked good, and it still achieved your shared goals. You didn’t get to walk away from him when he was right.

You slapped him, still able to move your arms. “I told you to let me go.” He tasted blood in his mouth. When he smiled at you, you felt your blood run cold.

“Are you done?” His teeth had traces of blood on them.

You weren’t about to be intimidated by him. You didn’t cower or beg anyone, and that included Coriolanus Snow. “Let. Me. Go.” your demands fell on deaf ears.

His smile only widened, eyes glistening with a sinister light. You thought he’d be furious with you, and hated that you were out of control, but it seemed more like he enjoyed it. That he liked it when you fought back.

“I told you Y/N, I’m not done talking.”

You moved to slap him again but were met with your wrists being grabbed and pinned above your head, utterly defenceless for whatever happened next. The expectation for him to strike you back weighing in the air. But he didn’t. Instead, his lips met yours, forcing your mouth open and letting his tongue in. You tried to fight back but he bit down on your lip and stopped you. His tongue only became more insistent. Copper on both your tongues.

You didn’t hate it. You were still mad at him, obviously, but the sexual tension that always between the two of you beckoned, its tendrils wrapping around you. Who said some angry sex wasn’t the solution to your being mad at him?

Your teeth clacked against each other as you jumped up, wrapping your legs around his midsection. Coriolanus’ free hand moved to support you. Standing like this he was able to grind his hips against yours, the friction delicious. The kiss was messy, both of you trying to prove something to the other with it.

When you pulled apart for air you spoke. “Let me go.” His breath was laboured, just as yours was, the rough makeout session leaving the both of you breathless.

“Not a chance, sweet girl.”

His grip on your wrists loosened, letting you slip free to pull at his hair, connecting your mouths once again. Your moans mixed with his own, body rolling to press your clothed pussy over his erection. Even though he had picked you up a multitude of times, it was always surprising how strong he actually was. His slim build did not give away how strong he actually was.

Everything between you was primal, driven by lust and anger.

Coriolanus brought you over to the couch, dropping you on your back. He liked you best like this, on your back and needy. Your high horse forgotten, and the only thing you rode him. The both of you took care to remove your clothes carefully, neither wanting to deal with a lecture from Tigris as well as knowing you had a dinner to attend in them after this. But that was where the caution ended.

The moment you were naked he had his fingers stretching you open with his thumb toying at your clit. His mouth was all over your skin, biting your breasts, adding to the marks already covering you. He was so rough with you and made you feel so small. But god did he know exactly what to do to you.

Your moans were sharp as he brought you to an orgasm. Everything you did drove him up a wall. Every time he thought he could move past it, ignoring the feeling, your pussy sucked him back in. It was your fault he made a mistake, that he lost his composure, that he went off script. He wanted access to your warmth whenever he wanted.

No matter how much he consumed you, he was still hungry, the type of hunger he hadn’t felt since the war. The one with claws that tore at his insides, teeth grinding into his bones. A bottomless pit that could never be filled. It clouded his mind with thoughts of you, your breasts and hips, the pout of your lips. He could almost always feel the sensation of you against him, biting into your soft flesh. It made him emotionally volatile, willing to risk everything for just a crumb. But every time he got a bite it filled him with dread.

Your perfume, boozy and peachy, a reminder that the only thing that would ever fill this hole was you. That when he was on the brink of death, starving and empty, it was you who would nourish him. Your being the very source of all his problems and all his solutions at the same time. A double-edged sword driving into his heart with every step he took towards you.

“See? Look how good you have it when you just behave.” you weren’t out of it yet, still able to spite back in vitriol.

“Fuck you.”

“Already have.” Coriolanus flipped you on your front, positioning you on your knees with your chest pressed against the couch.

Like this, he got to spread you open, look at what your body could offer him. Why did you have to be you? Why did you have to rival his mind and have such a perfect body? It ruined everything.

His fingers pressed back into you. He could watch you drip down them for hours, whiny and whimpering from his actions. Begging him to fuck you. No matter how you tried to act like you weren’t. You were just like him. Hungry and waiting.

Coriolanus lined up his cock with your entrance. Instead of easing into you, he thrust in fully, jolting your body forward. He wanted it to hurt, to make you feel sorry for blowing up at him. To show you that no matter how you acted out he could fuck you back into place.

He fucked you hard and fast, pulling your head back by your hair. It forced you up and to put your hands on the back of the couch. Your back arched, your shoulders almost against his chest. His other hand pinched at your nipples and tugged at them. It hurt, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

Moving his hand out of your hair, his fingers hooked into the side of your mouth. “Your mouth can be used for better things than being disrespectful.” your drool pooled around them, dribbling out the side of your mouth as you spoke.

“I’m gonna cum.” your speech altered from his fingers.

“I don’t care.” he did care, but he couldn’t let you know that, not right now. The biggest ego death to him would be if he was unable to make you cum. It fed his ego every time you clenched down around him, pussy fluttering from your orgasm. He didn’t slow down or let up, fully intent on taking his frustration out on you.

The air between you was hot and heavy, thick with the smell of sex. With his hands free, your waist became his new hold stone. Coriolanus didn’t even have to pull your hips to meet his, you were doing that for him, bucking backwards in time. Each trust had you panting little praises for him.

He wanted to see your face. You felt him pull out of you and then sit down on the couch next to you. “Ride me.”

You shifted, placing your knees on either side of him as you sunk down on his length. When you got to the base, you took a moment to recollect yourself, head tucked into the crook of his neck. Coriolanus’ lips found the crown of your head before he even recognised what he was doing. It was odd. This intimate act in the midst of all of this. He wanted to show you that he cared, that he wasn’t mad at you anymore. Why wasn’t he mad at you anymore? He was the type to let his anger fester, angry with infection. He waited until the moment was right and then he spread his sickness, cutting down whoever upset him. You were more useful than being cut down; however, he felt strongly towards you. The one thing he wouldn’t do is name those feelings.

The drag of your hips cut off his line of thought. He watched as you rode him, your thighs shaky but not letting it stop you. When you pulled your head out to kiss him he met you, enjoying the feeling of your lips against his. Hair and makeup would have a hay day with the two of you but the way you went all the way up, his tip the only thing inside you, to then your ass flush with his thighs made their annoyance worth it. Wanting to feel you cum around him again, his thumb began circling your clit, working you up to another orgasm.

“I’m close.”

“I know.”

Your hips slowed as you came, exhausted from riding him. But Coriolanus wasn’t done. His hand wrapped around your waist, moving you to an elevated position with his dick still inside you, and he began thrusting up into you. “Hold yourself just like that sweet girl.” You did as he told you, your head lulling to the front pressing your forehead against his. With a few final thrusts, he came inside you. You were winded, your eyes closed as he guided your bodies apart and grabbed a disposal west wipe to clean the both of you up. Finally, with that done, he could lay down and settle you on top of him, both of you naked and sweaty.

Neither of you spoke for a while, just listening to each other breathe, your head on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” apologises always felt like he was trying to speak a foreign language, his tongue struggling to make the sounds. “I shouldn’t have acted impulsively.”

“I'm sorry too. I shouldn’t have blown up on you.” his fingers traced your hairline as you lay on top of him, still reeling from the sex. “I just don’t like when things don’t go to plan, and they’ve not been going to plan between us.”

He couldn’t argue against that. Everything was so fuzzy between you. He didn’t know what you were feeling, but his feelings were you weren’t something he could ignore. When he said that he couldn’t picture his life without you it was true. He thought that speaking it out to the world would alleviate the pressure, and make it something he could keep inside himself, but he didn’t. He needed you to know that it meant it.

“Would it be so bad, marrying me?”

You picked your head up. “No,” you sighed. “It wouldn’t be.” He watched you find your original position, ear over his heart.

“We could be allies.” his heart pounded as you traced patterns on his skin. “You’re the first person I’ve met I’d consider that with. I could make you the First Lady of Panem.”

Being the First Lady was an appealing idea. You’d be able to do so much more in that position. It was a core belief of yours that the games were only the first step in binding the loyalty of the country, to furthering the control over the populace. Aid programs needed to be doled out in the Districts. People who were content were less likely to look behind the curtain and see what was really happening.

“What happens when you fall in love with someone? Would we divorce and I’d lose everything, both the games and my position?” there was uncertainty in your voice.

There could never be someone after you. You were it for him. Sure he could find a docile wife and marry her, leave her be and just have kids with her. But she could never truly know him. But you could, and you were learning the true him. And you wouldn’t make him separate his work and home life, you’d dive into it with him, lethal and cunning.

“That won’t happen,” he was blunt with his statement. “You’re the only one I could do this with.”

It felt like the weight was finally lifting off him some. The pressure that had been building and threatening to blow, to whistle like a kettle. As much as he had intended for your relationship to be a temporary political alliance, he wanted it to be permanent. He didn’t trust people, but he was growing to trust you, knowing that your goals were ultimately the same.

“But what if it does?” He had never seen you so worried about his feelings, genuine concern. “Or what if I fall in love with someone else?”

“Y/N,” his thumb brushed your lips, making you face him again. “I promise you that is never going to happen. Okay?”

“Okay.”

With a final look of determination, kissed you, his lips bruising against your own. He was hoping that it conveyed that he meant it with all his heart. He was never going to fall in love with someone else, the home you made in his heart was always going to be yours. The decor exactly how you left it if you ever walked away, waiting for you to come back. You’d never get the chance to walk away but that was the sentiment, that he could forgive you for leaving him if he took you back and you stayed with him. A dove with a broken wing was still a dove. It might not be able to soar in the slides, free from the gravity of the world, but it was still a dove. Even if he broke you and locked you up, you’d still be you.

He could never love another, not when he loved you. Coriolanus loved you. The realisation shook him, a tempestuous collision of the man he was and the man he wanted to be. The crack formed by Lucy Gray was broken open once again by you. He had convinced himself that love was a weakness, that it was something to be exploited. Over the past year of getting to know you, getting to be with you, you had challenged his core beliefs, forcing him to confront the fact that he loved you.

It was hard admitting it to himself. Just hours earlier he had told Tigris off for even suggesting the idea of it, vehemently denying it. He didn’t want to love you then, terrified at the idea of you finding out and leaving. But you had said it wouldn’t be so bad to be married to him, that you’d be willing to be allies for the rest of your life. The truth was there though, written into every interaction he had with you. The glaring reality that he could no longer ignore, lingered in his eyes like a burned-in image.

It was terrifying, the exact opposite of the control he wanted to have over those around him, to have you control his heart. The practised emotional detachment he had led his life with failed in his darkest hour. The fear that you’d be just like Lucy Gray and run. It didn’t matter that you both worked on the games, that he had seen you develop new ways to punish the Capitol’s enemies, that you had just as much darkness within you as he did. That you were as ruthless as he was. The betrayal he had once experienced at the hands of a District dog had him petrified of it happening again.

Could he erase your existence like he did hers if something happened? The thought was both horrifying and tempting. He didn’t want it to come to that, to erase you, to discard you like a broken toy. You were better than Lucy Gray, you wouldn’t betray him. He wouldn’t let you. But he couldn’t come to you with this, not yet. Coriolanus Snow needed you to break down and beg him to tell him that he loved you. When he could see you, lost in your feelings for him, then he could tell you. Not before, not after. But at the moment when you are in desperate need of him, he could tell you. Only then could he believe that you loved him too.

______________________________________

Things have been busy since then and luckily you have been able to avoid conversation with your mother too. Coriolanus and you had no time to talk about your game plan and what would've happened next as the games started. Every day you were at the Citadel, ensuring things ran smoothly. He was there too, doing his own work, but the amount you had to do kept you from each other. It wasn’t until after the games ended that the two of you got a moment alone. Of course, you had been to several events together but you couldn't talk about things there. So when the last person left the production room, you were finally alone with him.

“Did you mean what you said that night on the balcony, that it was hard pretending that you loved me?”

The two of you were in his private lab. You were sitting on the edge of his desk instead of a chair, something he noticed you liked to do. After the cameras had been turned off you had taken your hair down from the pinned updo made of a braid, letting the braid hang loose.  The heels you were wearing off your feet and lost in the room. Coriolianus’ head was in your lap as your fingers brushed through his hair. The slight stubble he’d grown over the last two days catching on your tights.

His voice was muffled by your thigh. “No.”

“No you didn't mean it or no it isn’t hard pretending that you love me?” Your fingers were putting him to sleep. It had been so long since he had been touched like this. He only had one strong memory of his mother. They had been sitting before the fire, her belly full with his younger sister, her finger running through his, much like your own, singing a song he couldn’t remember now, the melody lost with time.

“No,” he finally replied, groggy. “It’s not hard pretending that I love you”

There was a flicker of hope within you when he first confessed to you that night on the balcony. You had convinced yourself that he was being vulnerable with you then, letting you in. Was this him adding kindling to that fire or dousing it?

“Is it easy then?” Each word was laced with intrigue and tinged with trepidation. The question wormed itself into the conversation, hanging in the air like the hum of the machinery. He tensed under you like he had been unprepared for this conversation, a betrayal of how he normally was.

Coriolanus’ response was slow, deliberate and weighted, with every individual syllable chosen carefully. “No, it’s not easy either.” The threading of your fingers felt so good against his scalp, it was criminal. “It’s neither easy nor hard, it’s necessary.” He shrugged with that statement, drowsy from the long day and your actions.

It was strange seeing him like this, his head in your lap as he was half asleep. The Coriolanus you knew was a man of fronts, never betraying his persona of unwavering composure and unyielding strength. He was smart and capable, bringing the Snow family back from the brink of destruction. But now there was no front present. He was relaxed and open, the tension in his shoulders finally released as he rested on your thighs. You could see every pore of skin, every hair out of place. There was a faint scar above his lip, so blended with his skin that you had never seen it before. It had access to the same medical and cosmetic treatments as you did meaning that he had left this one there on purpose. A reminder of something that had happened to him.

You chewed on his words as you watched him. It was neither easy nor hard pretending that he loved you, it was necessary. It was a non-answer, a refusal to tell you his feelings on the matter, that itself a revealing statement. He was used to his words working on others, his honied lips spinning the sweetest lies. But you had watched him, seen him change over the years. Coriolanus was a man burdened with his own demons that sat at the table with him. There was an understanding in that. You had your own demons that sat in the corner of your room every night, watching you sleep and whispering dangerous things. Neither of you were innocent good-hearted people, both of you violent and deadly.

But his cracks were showing, and that night under the stars with too much to drink, he had let you see just how much they were cracking. You were willing to pick up the pieces and help him put them back together. Your own feelings were the same as his, you were just better at hiding it.

“My father wants us to have an engagement party.”

“When?”

“In two weeks at my family estate,” knowing your father, it was going to be a spectacle. He doted on you. “But he wants to have a private dinner before that, just your family and mine.” His only family was Grandma’am and Tigris. If you wanted to, you could count the Plinths as family, even though he hated the thought of having any relationship with them.

“That’s fine. I’m sure Grandma’am will be excited, she’s been pestering me about marrying you while she’s still alive to see it.”

“She wants you to marry me?”

He murmured some form of agreement, still out of it. “She says you make me smile like I haven’t since I was a boy. It’s annoying actually, she keeps demanding that I bring you around for lunch.” This was news. Your interactions with Grandma’am had always been under the pretence of public events, you never thought much of them, but apparently she had. More than that, she thought more of your effect on her grandson.

“You should be kinder to her, you don’t know how long she’s got left.”

Coriolanus’ head lifted from your lap, rubbing his eyes as he propped his head up on a hand. “I know,” it wasn’t nice to have to think about the fact his Grandma’am was up there in age, that she maybe had another 15 years left. If that. “I’ll tell her we’ll do lunch then.”

Your smile was irresistible. “Good. The least you can do for her is let her think that you’ve found someone you genuinely love, and who loves you just as much. She’ll never know that it's just an act either. It’ll let her rest easy knowing you’re taken care of.”

His heart sank, and his stomach dropped out and onto the ground.

“Yeah, it’s a good act too.”

______________________________________

Coriolanus paced in the foyer, stopping every so often his fingers fidgeting with the knot of his tie, loosening and tightening it. His outfit was simple and smart today. His father's button-up with a red tie, a grey pinstripe waistcoat and matching trousers. The black leather of his oxfords had been polished earlier in the morning. He felt antsy, just wanting to get this luncheon over with. He shouldn’t have told you that Grandma’am wanted this, he must have been out of his mind when he did.

“Coriolanus my boy,” Grandma’am had snuck up behind him, making him jump as she put her hands on his shoulders. “You look as handsome as always, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

His smile was weak in the mirror, not reaching his eyes. “Thank you Grandma’am.” She fiddled with the shoulder of his shirt, lining it up properly as it had been moved from his walking around.

“You must really love her if it’s got you like this.”

“I do.” The words were heavy. This was the first time he had acknowledged his feelings for you to another person. The vulnerability threatened to consume him.

“I’m glad,” her eyes became teary as she spoke. “Your mother loved your father so much. I remember their wedding day. She was so nervous, running around like a rabbit. You remind me of her sometimes.” she threw her hands up like the statement was outlandish. “But of course, you’re more like your father than anything else. Strong Coriolanus Snow.”

They rarely talked about his parents, or Tigris’ parents, like this. It was easier for them all to let the dead stay dead. A bittersweet ache spread through him.

“I’m glad.” He reached out and took Grandma's hand, offering her some comfort. Talking about her dead children always set her off. They stood in silence for a beat, hand in hand, each processing their own feelings before he shattered the quiet.

“It’s easier to let the dead stay dead.”

Grandma’am nodded, her handkerchief to her eye to clean up the tears she had spilt. “Sometimes,” she acknowledges, “the past is too painful to revisit. But it’s important to remember Coriolanus. To remember the love, the laughter, the life that was lived. To honour those who came before you.”

But he didn’t want to remember the past. The past made everything worse.

The ring of the elevator cut the conversation short. You were here, and he was nervous. This was no different than a public event, you both knew the parts to play, but it was so different at the same time. You were in his family home, eating with him and his Grandma’am, and doing it purely because you thought she deserved to think someone loved him. Doing it because you cared for her. It was here that his history echoed, ghosts of the past hanging on every wall. Remnants of the boy he once was tucked away in boxes, now dusty with age.

As the elevator doors opened, revealing you standing there, those boxes came out of storage and were placed on the table for you to sort through.

“Oh! Miss Gaul! Please come in.” Grandma’am rushed towards you, excited to have you over.

“Grandma’am,” you chided, pulling her into a hug. She had shrunk in her old age and your heels didn’t help the equation, making you bend down to do so. “I’ve told you a thousand times to call me Y/N. Plus soon enough I’ll Mrs. Snow.”

“I know, I know, I just forget sometimes. Perhaps I should just call you Mrs. Snow!”

“Now I think that’s a wonderful idea!” You took a second to greet Coriolanus with a kiss and then went back to chatting with Grandma’am taking her hands in your own.

You were so delicate with her, it pained him to watch you be so kind to her. You nodded along diligently to whatever she said and were actively engaging in the conversation. He could tell that you weren’t pretending to care and that you actually wanted to speak with his grandmother. She was so animated with you like years had been removed from her. He had spent so long trying to protect her from all that had happened, and all that he had done. His actions had severed parts of their relationship, and with Tigris not living in the apartment anymore, she must have grown lonely. But you brought her back, the vibrant woman who could connect with the world.

Coriolanus sidled up to you, arm wrapping around your waist. “I hate to interrupt your conversation ladies, but I do believe Y/N came here for lunch.” It felt so right to have you like this.

“Yes, yes, Coriolanus,” Grandma’am started, “I’ll go make sure the cook has prepared everything. Why don't you show Y/N into the dining room.”

“Of course, Grandma’am.”

Alone, he nipped at your ear, his breath making your heart skip a beat. His hands were warm, one placed on your stomach the the other on your arm. You could smell the mint on his breath when he uttered a whisper in your ear, his voice low and husky. “You look stunning today.”

You were wearing all black today, something that went against the average Capitol woman. It was a high neck mini dress, stopping a few inches above your knee. The sleeves were long, longer than your hands and instead of normal holes, the fabric was spliced up to your elbow. Your heels were lower than they normally were from press events, no doubt more comfortable. The splash of colour came from your earrings. They were red, with a velvety coating on them, and shaped like rose petals separated and hung on a chain. You had remembered Grandma’am’s love of roses.

“It’s not for you, you know.” you took every opportunity to tease him. “But thank you.”

You had no idea what you did to him. “If it were for me it’d be on the floor by now.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing this is for Grandma’am and not you.” You patted his cheek. “Now are you going to show me to the dining room Coriolanus?” When you said his name you mirrored the way his Grandma’am said it.

A crooked grin rose on his face with a small laugh. “With pleasure, my dear,” he replied biting your ear again before leading you through the grand hallways of the apartment. His hand never left your back until you were sat down. You were on Coriolanus’ right, with his chair being at the head of the table.

The table was smaller than the average dining room table in the Capitol, unsurprising given the number of Snow family members there were left. It looked to seat about 10 people maximum. It was a dark-stained wood, a style that was popular in the prewar days. The walls were a pale blue, covered in a patterned wallpaper. The signature tile flooring of the apartment was carried into the dining room, laid in a geometric style with the table in the centre. It was all a testament to the family’s long history and enduring presence in the Capitol, a microcosm of the Capitol itself.

“Have you told her about the dinner?”

“No I haven’t had a chance yet-”

“What dinner?” Grandma’am sauntered into the room, waiting for Coriolanus to pull out her seat so she could sit. “The cook prepared quite a  lunch today,” she listed out the menu after she sat down, Coriolanus returning to his own seat, arms resting on the table.

“That all sounds wonderful Grandma’am. Corio’s told me how wonderful your chef is.”

“Yes, I do agree. It took me ages to find one that I liked, so many of them are lacklustre these days.”

“Well I hope my family’s chef won't disappoint you then.” you grabbed his hand on the table. “My father wanted me to invite you to a family dinner on Friday evening. It’s just a small get-together to introduce everyone to each other properly. After all, we’ll be one family soon.

“Oh, that is a wonderful idea! I’ve always had such admiration for your father’s interior design work.” Grandma’am's voice faded out for Coriolanus as she spoke. Rambling about how your father had ‘brought back the elegance of the Capitol’ through his job. Coriolanus was focused on one thing.

You were wearing the ring. He had gone in between rings for what felt like a millennium till settling on a custom made. It was reminiscent of the one he remembered his mother wearing, covered in diamonds and made of gold. Your was made of platinum, far more durable than gold and less like the be damaged by your time in the labs and only plated in gold. The centre stone was large, 1.5 carats, an emerald cut diamond. The style of the ring was similar to an ornate mirror. There were 22 stones in total, each one glittering from the chandelier's light. He hadn't stopped with just the one ring either, he needed to decorate you in the finest jewels he could buy with the Plinth family fortune. That's why your index finger had a stack of thinner, geometric, stack complimenting the engagement ring.

It thrilled him. Wedding rings were no more than a shackle connecting you to him. A show of his authority over you. Marrying you wasn’t about companionship, it was to own you. To change your last name to his own and let everyone know that he would never leave you alone. Maybe he’d let you hyphenate your last name, and you’d like that, it went against the norm.

His thumb rubbed against his own engagement ring. His was simpler, he didn’t enjoy the over-the-top couture and showmanship of the Capitol, a think gold plated platinum band with a matching kite cut diamond flush set into it. The kite shape echoed by etchings around the placement. You had picked the ring out for him after seeing your own, saying that you wanted it to match with yours. It was ironic that you chose a kite shape. They flew high in the sky, a symbol of freedom and soaring ambition.

The luncheon was nice, you had to admit. You didn’t have a living grandmother and it was nice to talk with Grandma’am as you ate. She kept telling stories of Coriolanus’ youth, much to his chagrin. The stories, and how he treated her, were different than what you had expected. He was cold towards Tigris, but he had so much warmth towards Grandma’am. What had happened between the two that caused a rift? Grandma’am spoke as if the two had been thick as thieves growing up.

When the plates were cleared, you joined Grandma’am in the kitchen as she made coffee for the two of you, Coriolanus somewhere in the apartment answering a message on his communicuff. You had offered to do it but she insisted on doing it herself, telling you that the machine was too complicated for a guest to use. But you know exactly how to use it, but that was a secret.

When she sat across from you, both your mugs steaming, her eyes were sombre. “Can you be honest with a foolish old woman?”

“I don’t see any old women here, but I can be honest.” her chuckle was wethered and dry, telling of someone who had lived through too much.

“I know my Coriolanus is a difficult man,” she always insisted on using his full name. “He’s much like his father in that regard, and I would know having raised them both. But you’re good for him. When I see him with you it's like all the horrible things he had to live through are forgotten, and that he’s that smiling boy  running around the apartment with his mother chasing after him again.” Grandma’am’s voice broke as the spoke, teetering on the edge of crying.

You grabbed her hand and squeezed it. She loved him so much.

“I love him Grandma’am, I really do.” candour in every word you spoke. “With him, I feel like I can do anything, be anything. Sometimes I think it’s all too good to be true and that one day I’ll wake up and this was all a dream that I had. Every day I pinch myself to make sure it's still real.”

“Will you always?” 

“There’s no future in which I don’t love him. He’s my now and always. And even if one day we weren’t together anymore, I’d still love him and I’d still support him. Just like he’d do the same for me.”

As you spoke Grandma’am’s tears flowed freely, but they weren’t tears of sadness, they were tears of gratitude. She saw in you that she didn’t have to worry anymore, that someone other than her would love him unconditionally. Be a sanctuary to his troubled heart.

“Thank you.” as the older woman bawled you got up to hug her, rubbing her back as she sobbed.

Coriolanus had heard the whole thing but he couldn’t tell if you had said it for her or it was a confession of your true feelings. You were always perfect at playing your part.

taglist: @serrendiipty @namelesslosers @glitteryblizzardsalad

[copperbadge]

In the ongoing discussion of aphantasia (see "an aphantasia fantasia" tag for more) an article popped up recently which has some details to share, including a history of how aphantasia was discovered in the scientific sense. I don't have "spatial thoughts" the way the author does, but it's also a pretty good discussion of how people who don't form mental images (or can't access sound, smell, etc in their minds) still interact normally with the world.

Here's some fucked up shit I didn't expect, however:

In a 2015 paper, a group of researchers [...] identified a new syndrome they called “Severely Deficient Autobiographical Memory,” or SDAM for short. People with SDAM lack the ability to relive past experiences in their minds. While this condition is rare among the general population, a preliminary survey hints at a link with aphantasia, with as many as 51 percent of a sample of 2,000 SDAM individuals also having aphantasia. My own experience is similar. Past episodes of my life—when I can recall them at all—feel distant and non-sensory. [...] I would describe my recollections as summaries of key facts rather than first-person “mind movies.” When asked, out of the blue, about an experience I’ve surely had—say, any childhood birthday party—my mind first responds by drawing a blank. It feels as if my episodic memories were filed into a “mental cabinet” without an index. Many memories are in there, somewhere, but retrieving them is a daunting task unless I’m provided with very specific prompts. With some groping work of deduction (where did I live at the time? Who did I hang out with?) I can gather enough hints to bring out some locations and non-visual facts: I had a big party in our countryside garden when I was 11 or 12; there was cake; a lot of kids running around and … that’s about it.

This is one hundred percent how I access memory and how I assumed everyone did -- I am well aware I don't remember chunks of my past (or only remember them if prompted by something) but I do the same thing he does. I ask myself where I was living, or what other things were happening at the time, or I snag on a rare memory of a piece of clothing or a feeling, and I extrapolate from there. I don't relive memories in the way that the article implies regular people do, and while I will recognize say, the smell of a specific library, a deeply ingrained scent for me, I don't remember the smell if I'm not standing there smelling it. And this explains my dedication to making an annual photobook documenting the past year, each December -- the photobooks are powerful memory triggers and have more than once reminded me where I was or what year it was when I did XYZ thing.

Also, turns out that one of the key methods for emotional regulation in most people is calling up a happy memory to counteract sad ones, which is why depression is so pervasive, because depressed people have literal biological impairments to remembering or reliving positive memories.

And SDAM, associated with aphantasia, is an impairment to reliving any memory at all, so...

Big ol' neurological yikes, guys.

[flowerfreya]

Weaponized Incompetence

Birthday - Part 3

Weaponized Incompetence Masterlist

John is trying to be better and he's trying and it's kinda working but you are not going to help him.

John doesn’t know where he went wrong. He’s trying goddammit and it seems like you don’t care about that at all. He’s cleaned and then cleaned and cleaned some more but he never seems to get it right. 

Sitting down with his head in hands, he’s struggling to understand what to do right. He thinks that the only way to get his wife to stay with him is to figure out how to get the job done without her knowing. Pulling out his phone and opening google he tries again to search up what he wants. 

>>How to clean up the house the right way? 

>>How do I get my wife to not be angry with me? 

>>Good gifts to give my wife?

John knows that for the past few years , he’s gotten shitty gifts for you in the past, according to google. A vacuum is not a good choice nor is a really nice mop. He thought that the best thing to do was get gifts that he thought were good for her. But now he knows that getting house gifts is honestly the worst thing that he could do. He never noticed that she would cut her eyes when she opened the gift and small smile she would give that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He thought that he did a good job and it never seemed like an issue but with the articles mentioning that getting household items that both he and his wife used. 

Waking up early , John made you a fancy coffee that he had been practicing since last week. He knows that you love language. 

“Lovie”, John whispers to you. John places the coffee and small breakfast on the side table. He shakes you awake. With your bleary eyes and morning voice letting out a what. 

“Happy Birthday , baby”, John whispers to you. Placing a soft kiss on your lips. Giving him a small smile , you whisper a soft thank you. 

“Once you're ready, I got you something”, John says, He sees your smile drop and he realizes that you think that he got you a shitty gift….again. 

“Let’s get this over with”, you mutter under your breath. Getting up and going downstairs. And you’re shocked. There’s balloons with your age on it. Streamers hanging from the ceiling fans. And a medium size bag with a “happy birthday” on it. John see’s you turn towards him with your mouth opening and closing , mouthing an oh my god. 

“John, i don’t know what to say”, you say to him. John just smiles at you and motions towards the gift, “open it”. 

Pulling out a forest green Coach purse , you run over to John and give him a big hug and a huge kiss. 

“I love this color”, you say to him. 

“I know”, he says, “There’s something else in there for you”. 

“Oh”, you said, and then dig in the bag and that’s when you see the jewelry box, opening it , tears are in your eyes, “it’s gold” , you look at him ,”you got me gold jewelry”. 

John has never gotten you jewelry since you never have asked him for it. That’s how he knows he fucked up, just because you never asked for it doesn’t mean you should never get it. The article said that you should know if your wife wears gold or silver and if you don’t know then you don’t know your wife. 

John had to go through all of your jewelry and saw that most of it was gold, so that’s what he brought. 

“I love you baby, and I know that I haven’t been the best husband but ‘M tryn’, John pleads with you. You look at him resigned to the fact that you know you are going to give him another chance but that’s it.

[stovetoast]

pillow tpot headcanons (long ramble expanding on the ocd part under the cut)

ok so first warning: i am not a psychiatrist. this isnt a super educated essay on ocd, just me projecting my lived experience onto an object show character. this is just an observation. if i get something wrong feel free to correct me, ill add it here. (its also worth noting i am self diagnosed. not "quick google search" self dx though, ive gone over it with a therapist and everything)

and that leads into the second warning: this ramble will get a tad bit personal sorryyyy

and finally the third warning: i put she/it on the ref but im just using she/her for simplicity (+ i forgot LOL(

anyway so yeah i think that pillow has ocd and is basically the embodiment of "letting intrusive thoughts win" except like. actually. this headcanon didnt stem from the killing or the strange impulses though, i think she has it because of her fixation on good and bad luck in tpot 10.

for me it manifests in a few different ways. my main one is counting—i have good luck numbers and bad luck numbers. i need to take a specific number of snacks every time i have a bowl of them. i have to shake medicine bottles a certain amount of times before taking them. i am always counting the "syllables" of whatever im doing, and it always has to land on a multiple/factor of my lucky number. and if i break any of this, i (generally, if i cant convince myself its fine or if i dont notice) have to count to my lucky number otherwise something bad will happen. hell, i added more flags to this ref because the number of them was my unlucky number.

i have a few other things that affect it that are completely unrelated to counting, though. like a particularly bad one is that i straight up cant wear certain articles or clothing anymore because theyre bad luck. or my ungodly long night routine (which is probably more of an autism thing tbh. but certain parts of it are absolutely influenced by the ocd, like having to say goodnight to my dog).

that ^^ is what i saw in pillow. she was distraught that her team lost in 9, because not only did she think she was doing the challenge right, but killing people (bringing death) was good luck for her.

i think her killing people was a compulsion, and her whole thing in 10 was her scrambling to find a new one after that stopped working.

and before anyone tries to be all like "oh thats fucked up why would they portray ocd like that," one: i dont think this was on purpose this was just an observation, two: i mean..... fuck dude if i lived in a world where revival was incredibly accessible and one of my compulsions were to kill people, id do the same thing. death is fairly normal in bfdi, to the point everyone literally has a kill count on the fandom wiki (hers is 13 as of tpot 11 btw, a commonly unlucky number ironically enough. if she gets eliminated in 12 with an unlucky kill count thatd be so funny). once they get past the pain, its. really just an inconvenience to them.

when it comes to ocd, you. HAVE to do these things. its not a choice until you can get some outside help with it, and oftentimes its an inconvenience to those around you. i dont think its right for her to be going around killing her team, but when i get past the fact that is literally what made her my favorite, i get where shes coming from. shes trying to help in a way she "knows" will work.

or maybe shes just silly idk