#there is “recommended reading” in the back instead

[neverthatsirius-jo]

1982, JAPAN'S QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP.

summary — in which james' biggest safety hazard on the quidditch field is not the bludgers but being in love with you.

content — james potter x fem!reader, fluff

word count — ~800

a/n — me posting five days after i said i would never write again and privated all my works: 🤡. thank you @foodiegoogie for reading this before i post <3 (go read her fics, i recommend). no pun in the title this time folks. terrible.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

“You’re so stupid.”

You drag the piece of cotton lathered in rubbing alcohol across the considerable gash that covered the length of his left cheek almost entirely. He winces and you have to bite your lip to try and not laugh.

“I think you mean romantic.” He grabs your hips, getting you closer to where he is, sitting on the counter of the hotel room’s bathroom you were in. It was the fifth hotel room you had been in the past month, while you were following him around Japan, where the Quidditch world cup was being hosted that year.

“No, I mean stupid.”

He sticks out his tongue in response.

The grand final, Japan vs. England—the team James had worked his arse off to get into for years—and he’d managed to get injured in the last couple of minutes of the game, rendering him useless for the rest of it and part of the celebrations. He’d had no time to sulk about it; they’d won anyways, and his performance across the several other matches had been nothing short of phenomenal. The media unanimously agreed on that end. The whole of England too, save for a few pretentious gits that desperately needed to set themselves apart from the rest.

“People are allowed to have an opinion, love,” he’d said when you’d finished your rant against them, red in the face.

“Well, not that one.”

The incident plays in your mind again, and now that you’re not worried about his safety you can laugh about it. You don’t, though, instead biting your lip to prevent it. Excited and proud of your boyfriend for scoring—for the who-knows-th time, you’d honestly lost count—, you had yelled his name and waved your arms to get his attention. And gotten his attention you had; he let go of his broom to form a heart with his hands, letting you know he had dedicated the play to you.

You tried warning him about the goalpost he was dangerously approaching but it had been too late and the crowds cheering drowned out your voice. Not that you were close enough for him to hear anyway. He crashed, hitting the side of his head, and fell off his broom. Merlin knows it could have been much worse if one of his teammates hadn’t grabbed him before he hit the ground.

You’d run to take care of a very disoriented James, who kept trying to joke with the mediwizards—keyword being trying; you are still pretty sure nothing that came out of his mouth made sense—, in one of the medical tents they had for such cases.

‘The culprits that make you end up here are usually bludgers, not pretty girls’ James told you, laying on a makeshift bed, slurring his words but seemingly in a moment of lucidity. You grabbed his hand that was poking around your face and caressed it with your thumb.

That was precisely why you now found yourself at five a.m. cleaning his wounds and changing the plasters on his face after the bar celebrations.

You felt guilty, no matter how much he assured you there was no reason for you to feel that way. You were glad he didn’t seem to care one bit that he had been totally out of it—product of whatever potion they gave him to keep him going for the time being and dispatch him quickly—the moment England raised the cup, celebrating their victory.

“You didn’t like my heart?” He pouts exaggeratedly, lowering his face to find your gaze, now completely focused on the placement of the plaster.

“I’m more fond of your head staying in one piece.” You get his face back to its previous position, acting annoyed. “And in place, please and thank you.”

Once finished with the plaster, you grab his head with both hands and plant a kiss on top of it.

“It’ll heal faster,” you mutter before placing another peck, this time on his lips.

“Oh, yeah?” He quirks an eyebrow, his smile widens. “You should be a mediwitch.”

You pretend to think about it for a second and nod in agreement. You stand there staring at the other for a few seconds—you mainly checking if you have missed any wounds—before he throws his head back and groans.

“What is it?”

“Sirius will never let me hear the end of it,” he lifts himself off the counter, and kneels to pick up the wrappers and pieces of cotton he’d dragged with him.

“He should try hitting his head every once in a while, maybe then he will break a scoring record like the ‘promising rising star James Potter’,” you quote the article he’d run to show you last week, the day after the first match.

He laughs as you get out of the bathroom, both of your arms around each other’s waist, and you leaning on him. England, fans and journalists alike, could try to claim him for themselves all they wanted but he was, at the end of the day, unequivocally and solely yours.

thank you for reading, reblogs and replies are always appreciated <3

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[urinarythreatinfection]

Mihawk x AFAB Reader? With the • Character reacts to reader's form of affection

Pre-relationship, Reader isn’t being subtle. AT. ALL. About her intentions and constantly flirting and being affectionate with him.. And yet it STILL takes Mihawk a hot minute to realize what she’s doing and go.. “Oh… I see……. well all right then darling.. 😏”

This ended up being more gender neutral, i had to go back and try and atleast hint at AFAB but hey whatever.

Think About It

Mihawk x reader. Female in mind but can be gender neutral. 1165 words. A bit suggestive.

Mihawk isn’t necessarily a dumb, unintelligent, or oblivious man. However, he is an experienced one, unfortunately experience can be as unhelpful as ignorance. Especially when you’ve associated a certain behavior with something else.

“Heyyyy sexy~” You slowly slide your chair over to Mihawk’s side. “What’s a dashing older man like you doing here?”

“Reading.” He states, doing his preferred hobby of passing time.

“An educated man too, how attractive. Bet you’re popular, huh?”

“Hmm.” He’s never thought about it, annoyed by popularity, but he was more popular in his youth. He’s gotten a bit less popular with age though, most likely due to his approachibility getting even worse. “Decently.”

‘Such dry answers… but he’s actually responding instead of brushing me off like with others.’ Your thoughts scramble as you keep flirting. “Well~ I think you’re amazing.” He hums and you tilt your body to rest on his. “Your eyes when you read are really pretty too, I could watch you read for hours.” Usually he’d think nothing of the compliment, even finding it disgusting, but coming from you it’s actually a bit… flattering. His hawk-like eyes move from the book to look at at you, piercing and mezmerising. “Kyaa~ My heart just skipped a beat.” You half-joke with a hand on your chest. A certain behavior to him associated with a Red Haired man. Your true intentions are going over his head, his mind subconsiously filtering jokes like these as only jokes.

“I recommend seeing a doctor.” He brushes it off as he would with that weird redhead, looking back at his book. This isn’t working, mission failed and you sigh, eventually retreating to your room.

Later he finds you in the kitchen with a bottle of wine, “Oh, hey!” swishing it around with a wink when you see him. “Must be fate you came here just as I did, maybe we’re just meant to be.” You hold out the bottle to him and he walks up to you, taking it.

“I suppose so.” He’s actually fairly pleased this has happened, pouring both of you a glass.

“Right? We’re fated to be together, like Romeo and Juliet~” You say with a dreamy sigh, laying your head on his shoulder.

“The two of them die.” He points out, taking a sip from his glass while you flinch.

“Not… that part.” You step back. “Though I wouldn’t mind dying if it were oh so romantically with you~” You strike a pose of longing, hand reaching out to him. He places your wine glass in it.

“I would mind. I prefer you alive.” Mihawk states, not much to say, but for him it is. You end up getting flustered like he just professed his love.

“Thanks.. I prefer you alive too..” Failed again.

__________

Mihawk comes back from a mission looking irritated, immediately going for a bottle of wine when you spot him. “Welcome back, babe, you need a bath? I could even get in with you.” His mind is fresh from fighting, in a bad mood from it being annoying. One of the targets had escaped, making him have to waste time looking for them. Not hard, but out of the way enough to be irritating. Especially when the “battle” itself was hardly anything, being interrupted by the target accidentally causing their own demise. It leaves Mihawk feeling pent up, unfulfilled.

“I don’t need your assistance in bathing, (Y/n).” He shuts you down, quickly looking for a glass when you hand one to him. Wasting no time, he pours the liquid inside and takes a big gulp. It’s a little hot seeing him like this.

“Good view, if it makes you feel better I could always give you one too.” You walk over to him and press your chest against his arm. “If you’d let me~” He gently pushes you away.

“Not now. Your company is… nice, but I don’t need jokes.” He gulps down the rest of the wine and sighs in relief.

“Who said I’m joking?”

“I’m being quite serious.” Mihawk’s adamant and you sigh, pushing him like this would only make things worse when he’s in this mood.

“Alright. No view then, I get it. Call me if you need me~” You say with a purr, rubbing your cheek against him before leaving. Once you’re gone he grumbles, he didn’t want you to leave he just wanted you to stop messing around. It isn’t fun hearing someone who’s words you could actually take to heart play around with it. He almost finishes the entire bottle before deciding to bathe, wanted to feel clean and relax.

Mihawk sighs, his muscles untensing as he lowers himself into the hot water after cleaning himself properly. Much better. His mind, scrambled from stress, begins to come together as he starts to think of your adcances. He’s always assumed they were like Shanks’s, just jokes, and hadn’t thought really though about it more than that; but now that he’s allowing himself to look further he realizes more. They’re different than his, more bold, more flirtatious, and more often than Red Hair. The captain had usually just sprinkled them in with his other annoying babbling, but you joke flirt so frequently.

…

‘Perhaps these are not jokes?’ Something clicks in the swordsman’s mind and he gets up from the bath, drying off before getting dressed to see you. If this is true and they havent been jests he needs to make sure. He finds you back at the kitchen, about to drink your sorrows away before spotting him.

“Oh, you’re quicker than usual. Miss me too much?” He doesn’t respond, instead just getting closer to you. “Hug?” You hug him gladly, “I’d never miss the chance to be close to you.” You expect him to just pull back or accept it with a sigh as he usually does, but you feel his arms sneak around your body to hug you back. It makes you freeze in shock, not expecting your affection to be returned.

“(Y/n). Continue talking.” He says when you go silent.

“Huh.. yeah?” You’re confused, face hot.

“You enjoy my body, yes? Enjoy it.” He hugs you tighter, letting you feel his muscular build against you. “Take this chance.” You’re getting more flustered, why is he getting so into this so suddenly? He pulls back enough to look at you. “Enjoy the view as well.” This is a lot. Thankfully you’re too shameless to refuse so you take in the sight of him while feeling his warmth close to yours.

“This is the best.” You mumble and unconsciously reach a hand out to touch his cheek, he leans into it, closing his eyes. You’re reacting positively, he was right, and now that he knows he isn’t going to let this pass by.

“(Y/n).” He suddenly speaks and you jolt slightly.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I'll take your offer.” He places his hand over yours, opening his eyes to look into yours. “I would like to see the view.”

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

A heart that hurts is a heart that works - Something Rotten sequel.

first part can be read here

Pairing: Dark!Joel Miller x afab!reader x Dark!Tess Servopoulos

Words count: 3829

Rating: Mature, absolutely NSFW and again, this shit is triggering. Please, read the tags carefully and if you're a minor don’t interact.

Tags/warning: This happens the morning immediately after the events of Something Rotten, pov second person, no use of y/n, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, heavy degradation, angst, smut, DUB CON/NON CON, reader is barely described, she has breasts and vagina, no mention of her skin tone, she doesn’t blush, she has hair but it’s not described, it is mentioned that Joel's clothes are too big for her (pics are just for aesthetic and don’t represent reader), the only thing is that reader's father died of lung cancer (like mine), depressive thoughts, as said in the first part: reader is held prisoner by Joel and Tess, on her leg is carved the word “pet” (Tess did it), use of a knife, groping, a large amount of bites, mention of wounds, mention of bruises, no kindness whatsoever towards reader, Joel and Tess are both EVIL, fingering (Tess receiving), oral (Tess receiving) spitting, nipples sucking and biting (it's not my ff if there is no attention towards nipples OKAY), unprotected p in v (both f receiving, wrap it up IRL), pussy slapping, cum eating, Joel comes on reader’s face, pissing, a little more scissoring, a little bit of chocking, squirting, brief insert of reader's thoughts in italics… I think it’s all 😅 If I notice I've forgotten something important I'll add it right away.

A/N: Title comes from a Placebo song called Bright Lights. It seemed right to continue with them since "Something Rotten" is also one of their songs. Anyway, I leave you the entire playlist that I listened to while I was writing both this and the first part and again thank you very much to those who recommended songs to me ♥️

There is something of my experience and pain in this so please be particularly kind. English is not my first language and I have no beta, I apologize for any mistakes. I hope you enjoy it, thank you so much to anyone who reads it.

[I started a tag list, if you want to be added let me know, I never tag people because I don't want to impose anything on anyone but if you like it I'm happy too ♥️ ]

Your mind is completely clouded. You open your eyes and for a moment you don’t remember where you are, you rub your eyes, feeling your aching body awaken, the pain of every joint coming back to you. You reach out and press a spot on your stiff neck, a stab of pain shooting up your brain like a gunshot and then sliding down your spine, making you grit your teeth to stifle a moan.

You shut your eyes as images of what happened flash before your eyes, a piercing pain taking over your head.

You don’t know how much time has passed but when you manage to sit up, biting the pain between your lips, you see a bright light coming in through the dirty window, a speck of dust stirring in the beam of light that illuminates the messy bed, the crumpled sheets and the two people lying on it. Tess is on her side, her arms folded, her hands resting on the pillow, near her head. There is always a kind of tension in her, you see it even when she is sleeping, in her huddled body that seems ready to attack and unleash its claws on anyone. She is wearing nothing but panties and Joel’s shirt left open, revealing the outline of her breasts. 

She should disgust you, but instead as soon as you see one of her nipples poking out from under her shirt salive pools into your mouth. You put a hand to your forehead, overwhelmed by yourself, by what you feel and by a shame that creeps up inside you and makes your temples throb.

This is so wrong. Yet you would like to lace your lips on that little button and suck it, if only she would let you do it, if only she would let you lie next to her gently, allowing you to be the good pet she expects you to be.

Shifting your gaze to Joel doesn't help soothe your twisted mind. He’s on the other side, lying on his back, in his boxers, your eyes wander on the defined muscles on his chest, the softness of his belly, and a strip of sunlight hitting his abdomen highlighting hair leading to his groin. 

He seems carved out of a block of marble, skimmed by scars, exuding power and sex, the tips of your fingers graze your swollen lips and you still feel his taste, the weight of his cock on your tongue, his relentless thrusts, his hungry eyes on you. 

They must have fallen asleep, which gave you some respite even if you don’t feel rested at all.

You look at your thigh and it's still there, the pulsing sign that you should leave, just run while you can, sneak out of this place quietly and look for somewhere to hide. But you feel like a mouse in a cage, your body not moving an inch. You’re still untied; it would take nothing to reach the door and close it behind you. But what if they woke up? If they felt the bed lighten with your weight? You know they'd have you back in an instant. 

Your brain, you can't decide whether very stupidly or very wisely, thinks that it is better not to make any risky moves to stay alive. 

Helpless and desperate you lie back on the bed staring at the ceiling, the silence broken only by Joel's soft snoring.

Your arms spread across the bed as you sink into your thoughts and your fingers casually graze the knife abandoned on the sheets. The coldness of the blade sends a chill down your spine.

You have to do something for yourself. At least try. You cannot be so spineless. You move one leg off the bed, your eyes fixed on your captors, seeming not to notice anything so you move the other leg as well, letting yourself slide cautiously along the edge of the bed, finally resting both feet on the floor. You pick up the closest garment you can find on the ground, it's a Joel T-shirt, wide and long enough to cover your butt. You just have to get up, you can do it. Leaning your weight on your legs feeling your knees crack in the effort, you wonder what in your body is not sore. You are on your feet. Joel and Tess are motionless in the same position as before. You walk on the floor resting your toe and then your heel, silent and terrified like a prey trying to evade before falling into the lion's jaws, hoping that the wood will not creak under your gait. You reach for the door. You almost make it. Just rest your hand on the handle and lower it. A moment and you're out of here. As soon as your hand touches the cold metal you hear a voice behind you, “Where do you think you're going?” 

You feel your heart falling out of your chest, freezing where you are, your eyes at the door, your breath getting heavy.

“Turn around”

You do it slowly, praying you don't feel a blow immediately afterward. Joel is standing in front of you. “Please” your voice is a barely audible whisper ”please.”

Joel reaches out, grabs you by the wrist “no fucking way” 

He doesn't add anything more, he takes you back to the bed, forcibly lays you down and lies on top of you. His eyes look at you fiercely, he drops down next to your ear “maybe I was wrong about you, you're not the good pet I thought you were. Let me teach you your priorities straight“ he growls, his voice low, sharp. 

His body weighs down on you, completely overpowering you, his legs blocking yours, his hands resting on the sheets on either side of your face. 

"I give you credit for that. You were brave to think you could sneak away. But also incredibly stupid." His voice vibrates close to your ear, it is eerily calm and controlled, sounding as if it came from the darkest part of him, straight from his gut.

A lump rises from the pit of your stomach to your throat, sickening. "I'm sorry," you stammer, Joel's eyes lighting up with that sinister hue you now know like the back of your hand. 

He retrieves the knife from above the bed and places the blade under the fabric of the T-shirt, cutting through the sleeves and tearing it from the neck to the hem, reducing it to a shred of fabric lying beneath you. You tremble when the icy blade touches your skin.

His boxer-covered erection presses against your thigh, against your wound. 

Again you wonder what substance your mind is now made of because feeling him against you, demanding, claiming your body, makes your pleasure slide down your legs. You can feel it on your skin, a shiver, a wetness, a trickle of you leaving you to become his. You mold under him, relaxing your muscles, ceasing to resist, submitting to his stern eyes nailing you to the bed. 

He takes your hands and intertwines them possessively with his own as his legs push between yours, forcefully spreading them apart.

He crawls on you like a rabid dog, inhaling your scent on your neck, down to your sternum, reaching your breast, licking the skin above your ribcage “You were Robert's, weren't you?” 

His teeth close on one of your nipples, biting it, your back arches pushing against his mouth, demanding more. “This? It's mine now.” he whispers in a rough voice ‘This is mine too.’ he adds, twisting the other nipple, he moves one hand to your mound, grabbing it ”What about this wet pussy? She's mine too. I own you now. Make sure you don’t forget that, you little cock slave”

And you feel it again. The desire coursing down your body, clinging to your nerves, flowing into the middle of your thighs. 

It lingers on you deeply. And you’re pleading at that. Before you sense your own voice saying it, like it doesn’t belong to you, coming out of someone’s else body “Please” you babble “please, more” as he run a single finger through your folds.

Everyone you knew died. Every person you loved is gone, ruined by the spreading epidemic. Except your father, who passed away a few years before the pandemic broke out, obliterated by lung cancer. You still remember his jagged, exhausted breathing getting more and more labored, small and thin, until it died out completely. You still remember the smell of the hospital room, the dimness, your gripped heart, your silent tears. It was something you never wanted to see, the moment when death takes someone.  It stays inside, digs deep into you, rattles in the walls of your brain until one day it subsides and remains a creeping awareness you have to live with. A brick in your pocket that will forever weigh of absence, of pain, of lack.

And when you thought maybe you could make it, one day when the brick seemed lighter, pandemic came and your mother turned into a monster. From a fragile woman, still bent by your father's absence, to a ferocious beast with bloodshot eyes that tried to break your neck.

You had had to tear it down yourself, with your own strength, that thing your mother had turned into. And you couldn't explain it for days, or how you had done it, or what had happened. People were running around terrified, not knowing where to take refuge, not knowing if it would ever end. Until they came and loaded you onto trucks, promising to escort you to a safe area. What you were not told was that there was no solution, for some of you there was not even a place in the QZ. The epidemic took away not only the people you cared about but also your dreams, every hope you had for your future, every plan to become a good teacher, to accompany young minds in creating a better world. There is nothing left to create, only destruction.

You could have offered yourself as a teacher in the Qz but you had decided not to bow to a system that spread only government propaganda, instilling in kids that there was nothing else to believe in but FEDRA. 

And even in the face of desperation the cruelty had not stopped, some soldiers had tried to take you at night, traumatized and without strength, you had been saved only by the good heart of one of your neighbors who had defended you. You had jumped out of the truck, along with him and some other people, looking for an alternative that would never come. They had fallen like skittles, one after another. You were tired of seeing it, the cold hand of death reaching out to everyone around you. 

Your heart still aches horribly, but after all, a heart that hurts is a heart that works. And you're still alive. 

He takes the finger away and shoves it in his mouth, enjoying the taste of you and then he’s close to your ear again grazing you with his beard and graveling “I knew you were a little slut,” Joel's heavy breath warms your skin, driving your being back into your body. “When I'm done with you you'll want nothing more than to be my brainless whore”

You’re bucking your hips against him, mindlessly, while he takes your body with his mouth and hands, furiously licking, biting and groping your flesh, moving impatiently over you on the bed and waking Tess up. She takes a few seconds to focus, abruptly recovered from a deep sleep, but then you hear her dry voice, “oh, are you having fun without me?” 

Joel does not tell her that you tried to escape. which in itself is a miracle for you. He turns to her just a moment, leaving your nipple with a loud pop .

“Come” he tells her, and it's almost sweet. Almost. Tess comes crawling up on the bed like a feline and looks down at you, smiling cruelly. 

“Lie on top of her, make sure this bitch doesn't move” Tess nods, he makes room for her, and she crushes you with all her weight, her scarred back against your tits, as if you were a mat, clinging to your arms as Joel watches the scene smugly "Quite a picture" he growls.

He pulls down Tess's panties, tossing them aside. He does the same with his boxers.  “This is exactly what I want. Two pretty cunts all for me” 

He stoops to observe you both, his eyes roaming your sexes, his thumb touching you first, a creamy river in between your folds, and then Tess. She snorts “will you hurry up?”

“mmm you're not wet enough honey, but we can fix that”

“Honey”, you think he is the only person who can call Tess that. Anyone else would be out of balls in a heartbeat. 

He buries his face in her cunt and you feel Tess stiffen on top of you, her whole body reacting to the first touch of Joel's tongue. You seem to catch a glimpse of submerged fragility behind all that violence and resentment she always displays.

She grips your wrists in a vice as her hips rise toward Joel and a low, deep moan escapes from her throat. 

Joel's fingers run hard and calloused over your folds, collecting what drips from you and spreading it over Tess's pussy, mixing your essences, then returning to lick her. And you can feel her, crumbling on top of you, conceding willingly, every muscle in her asking for more.

Each lapping of Joel's tongue on her vibrates over your body like a wave, Tess's butt sliding over your folds, crawling over your clit, giving you reflex stimulation.

“Mmmm just like that, baby, that’s fucking good” 

She whines so sweetly under his ministration, an undertone so vulnerable and tender in her voice you almost think she turned into another person. And you are in the front row watching this, a silent witness to the other Tess, the one who still has a shred of humanity hidden within her.

It’s unique, you think, how sex with the right person, a person we care about, a person we share a path with, makes us. Defenseless, no mask to wear against the world. Even Tess, perhaps the coldest woman you’ve ever met. 

“Nice and drippy” Joel murmurs, nuzzling at Tess’s cunt “fucking gorgeous” 

He dips his nose in there, moving through her folds up to her clits, brushing the tip over it. “You smell so good, babe, such an nice mess for me to feast on” 

“Fuck” Tess gasps “just fuck me” 

“Yeah baby, I’m going to stretch you both so damn right” 

Tess rolls her eyes in twisted need, impatient like the bossy woman she still is and you whine like the shy mess that you are. 

So different and yet ready for the same cock. 

You noticed the way Joel’s voice soften when he speaks to Tess, the intimacy between them is palpable, in this moment you’re just an appendage. 

You want that desperately, belong to someone, to him, to her, to feel his voice and his whole body going unshielded for you. 

Joel spits into his palm and takes his cock in his fist, pumping it and then tapping the tip on her cunt, once, twice, three times, rubbing it on her folds, lubricating it with her juices, before getting it all the way inside her. Tess's body arches so desperately over yours, merging with Joel's as he begins to thrust inside her.

She thrashes on top of you, clinging to your forearms, pushing you back against the mattress, her hips swaying over yours again giving secondhand attention to your clit, now so swollen and needy that each thrust you emit a moan in sync with her, shyly participating in her pleasure. You bend your neck slightly to one side to look at Joel standing before you, bronze and sculptural, a cruel god who leaves you breathless. His chest glistens in the dim sunlight streaming in through the window, revealing tiny droplets of sweat beading on him, a grin painted on his face, brows furrowed, lost in Tess's wet walls, focused on pounding on her special spot again and again.

“You like that huh? You like this cock splitting you, yeah, I know you do, fuck you’re so drenched I could take a bath in it, all slippery and warm...mmm baby, just like that. Take it.”

He rests a hand on her belly to hold her more firmly, a sense of possession different from that manifested with you, purer and deeper, made up of silent, recurring gestures between them. It's as if you feel it all the way down into your stomach as he sinks into her, the forced closeness making you almost delirious, sensitive and wanting.

Tess is almost at her peak, sliding on you now unceasingly, her back kneading your breasts, up and down, your nipples impossibly hard against her skin, she stammers "there- there- I'm almost there- oh fuck"

"Not yet, baby, hold it back" he challenges her and she growls in disappointment and frustration, as he comes out of her. Joel brushes against you "it's time to put this slut in her place. You want it huh?" he roars as he looks at you "I can see it from here, you're flowing like a fucking river, clenching around nothing like a whore” 

His eyes sparkle with evil. He spits on your cunt, a glob of saliva right on your clit. He spreads it quickly over your entrance and thrusts into you unceremoniously, all the way down, in one breath-breaking stroke. "You're full now huh? Clench around my shaft, bitch” 

You feel your walls strangle his cock, eager to hold him inside, to belong to him, to be broken through. "Yes" you moan, not even sure why you had tried to run away from this anymore. Tess wouldn't even need to hold you with her whole body but you'll never say it, the way she bounces on top of you drives you crazy. You are back on the scene now, eager, drunk with a dark, all-consuming desire burning in your veins.

He grips your hips hard, digging his fingers into your thighs, going out and back in you harder, deeper each time, using your cunt as his personal toy, beating on your cervix as if he were to fill it with bruises. And you don't care, welcoming each thrust as if it were the last thing you will ever receive.

Your mouth proceeds alone, bellowing and wailing each moan like an off-key song you can't stop singing, irrepressible, obscene, feverish.

"You're tight for a whore, pet, but don't worry, I'll take care of it." Joel grunts, Tess echoes you, her harsh voice protesting uselessly to let her finish, her legs wrap around Joel's waist claiming him but he is focused on ruining you now with the cruel and unrelenting force he has not reserved for her.

Her nails sink into the skin of your arms, you feel them barely disconcerted by Joel's stabs but a tiny part of your brain knows they will leave more marks on you. 

There is nothing gentle about it, no attention, no care, just animalistic thrusts that make your body shake like an earthquake. 

You are less, obviously less, but you are still something.

Tess turns on you, looking into your eyes, lowering a hand to your clit, rubbing it furiously and then colliding it with her own, clit against clit, pressed together in sloppy kissing, hips rocking back and forth, sliding up to the point where Joel joins obscenely with you, seeking on her own the finish Joel has not yet given her by using your body.

“Oh fuck, yes,” she screeches, "here we go little slut, give it all to me" biting your skin on the marks Joel left, on your neck, on your tits, sucking your nipples between her lips, unrestrained. She's a wild amazon riding you, untamed, fierce and mean, teeth, tongue and hips demanding no permission and taking from your body what they want. 

And then again her hand descends between you to rub her clit as her knuckles press against yours, squirting letting out a guttural sound, flooding you, Joel's cock and the sheets. 

Joel growls at the vision “oh that’s fucking right, babe, yeah spurt all over me, FUCK, so good”

And you lose yourself, your sanity flying out the window with your attempts to escape, you are caged by Tess's body, hammered by Joel's cock, you feel their eyes on you looking fiercely, them calling you their slut again and again, that's all you can do. 

Tess pulls away from you, Joel holds you firmly by the hips, his face contorts into a grimace, he bites his lower lip as he thrusts himself possessively into you, reaches down and puts a hand around your neck, squeezing your pulse point, smiling cruelly as your air diminishes and your mind becomes rarefied “keep it up slut, milk me” and she scolds him “you can't cum inside her”.

“Fuck” he snorts "you're right". The grip on your neck loosens and you gasp, panting hard, trying to regain oxygen.

Joel slaps your pussy hard with his hand open, ordering: “on your knees, pet.”

You sit complacently on your lap on the bed, uncertain of what he wants to do. Tess is at your side, sneering. 

“Stick out your tongue for me.” He says harshly, Tess's hand bends your back, making you squat, waiting. 

“Good kitten” Joel grunts stroking his cock up and down, the angry red tip aimed at you. You don't realize it in time that long, thick, streaks of cum hit your face, your mouth, slide down your chin. You close your eyes just a moment before you feel his semen hit your eyelashes and run thickly down your cheek.

“Mmm now you look just like a proper slut” Tess giggles wickedly, then pauses "In fact no, we can do better". She grabs you by the arm, drags you naked as a maggot into the bathroom, and gets you on your knees inside the tub. “Hold still” she barks at you. You close your eyes, trembling, not knowing what to expect, until you feel something warm hit your forehead, run down your face, partially wash the cum off. An acrid, pungent smell makes its way into your nostrils. As soon as it reaches your lips you realize. 

You open your eyes, clouded by Tess's piss, her degrading gaze penetrating your bones along with Joel's laughter, standing in the bathroom enjoying the show. 

“Now you're perfect.”

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape , @baronessvonglitter

[queen-isabelle-writes]

Holy shit, this is a monster. I was not expecting that, but I just kept writing and writing... Anyways, here's something to take your mind off the election!

Taglist: @lyrakanefanatic, @ratadediamante, @haniya1234, @cocomowgy, @serenescureforboredom, @onceuponabookseries

Read below!

Lyra Kane had never been one for the beach. She liked the outdoors, but she preferred the trees and bugs to the sand and sea. Perhaps it was strange—her friend Kacey had always said it was—but she couldn’t help it. She much preferred the land of Mile’s End. But even she could admit, as she lounged in a beach chair, reading a book her mother had recommended, that Florida had its perks.

Music played softly from the portable speaker Kacey had brought out with them, some Spotify playlist that she had made specifically for “beach days in Florida.” Lyra glanced over at Kacey, whose face was obscured by sunglasses and mouth slightly ajar.

“Kacey,” Lyra said, reaching out her foot to poke her best friend in the leg. “Kace. Kacey?”

Kacey didn’t respond. Lyra sat up, gathering her long, dark hair in her hands and tying it up into a ponytail. Then, she leaned in close to Kacey, poking her in the cheek. Kacey didn’t stir, but Lyra could hear her even, deep breaths.

There was a laugh on the other side of Kacey, and Lyra looked up to see Jacob, Kacey’s boyfriend, looking at them.

“Kace always falls asleep in the sun,” Jacob said.

Lyra smiled tightly. He and Kacey had been dating for nearly three months, since the start of the second semester, but Lyra hadn’t exactly warmed up to the guy. He was too much like a dudebro, and not in the sweet and simple way. He’d wanted to join a frat but hadn’t been able to, and Lyra couldn’t help but wonder why.

“What’s up?” Jacob asked.

“I’m hungry,” Lyra said, standing up from her chair. “I’m gonna go look for some food.” She was going to ask Kacey to come with her, but with her best friend dead to the world, that seemed unlikely.

“Sounds good,” Jacob said. “I’ll keep an eye on our girl.”

Lyra said nothing, just put on her flip flops, grabbed her tote bag, and turned to the boardwalk several hundred feet down the beach. As she walked, Lyra couldn’t help but wish that she hadn’t come on this spring break trip. Her mother had convinced her, as had Kacey. They’d both said that a vacation from school would do her good, and Lyra had agreed. But Lyra hadn’t realized that it wouldn’t just be Kacey and her; instead, it was Kacey and her and Jacob and Tyler and Anne and Jinny and Harry and a couple others that Lyra had lost track of, all shoved together in one big beach house. And the only thing keeping her from going insane was the pile of books she’d brought with her.

Lyra schlepped through the sand, her feet sinking in slightly with every step. She could feel the grains slipping and sliding between her foot and her shoe. She hiked her bag higher on her shoulder, the strap digging in. Her hair clung to the back of her neck, and she could feel sweat gathering underneath her arms and boobs. Florida was miserable.

Finally, she made it to the boardwalk and began looking around for something to eat. Her stomach grumbled, but she didn’t know what she wanted. A hot dog sounded disgusting for some reason, but nachos felt too hot for the heat. She didn’t want a salad and doubted she’d be able to find one anyway. Tacos didn’t sound bad, but she had a feeling they would be messy.

Eventually, she wound up at a taco stand. The line was long, which gave her plenty of time to look over the menu. She was debating between a burrito or the three taco meal when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to find two guys about her age standing behind her. They were both tall and built similarly, but that was where the similarities ended. One was white with brown hair and green eyes while the other had brown skin, dark curly hair, and dark eyes. Still, there was something familiar about them, and the familiarity they had with each other suggested they were close.

“Can I help you?” Lyra asked.

“Yes, actually, you can,” said the one with green eyes. “I’m Jameson. This is my brother, Xander.”

He paused, then, looking at her expectantly.

“Lyra,” she said finally, slowly. She didn’t really want to introduce herself, but what was the harm in giving her first name? And still, these two guys seemed really familiar, as if she’d seen them somewhere before.

“Nice to meet you, Lyra,” Jameson said, smiling easily. “Now, not to freak you out or anything, but we have a problem.”

Lyra arched a brow. It was joined by another one as Jameson stepped to her side and put an arm around her shoulders, turning her slightly.

“You see that lame looking guy over there?” He pointed over to the picnic table section, zeroing in on one table in particular. Lyra looked. There was yet another guy, this one blond with broad shoulders, sitting up straight on the bench. He had on swimming shorts and a button-up shirt like Jameson and Xander, but he wore it differently, in a way Lyra couldn’t quite describe. He was too far away for her to really make out his face, and his head was turned away from them anyway, but nonetheless, Lyra felt her stomach swoop uncomfortably at the way his hair fell into his face.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Lyra said, very confused.

“That’s our brother, Grayson,” Jameson told her. Grayson, Jameson, and Xander. Why did those names sound so familiar?

“Grayson’s not having very much fun on our trip,” Xander chimed in.

“He’s got a stick up his ass,” Jameson added.

“He thinks Florida is boring,” Xander said.

“Can’t say I blame him,” Lyra said, thinking back to Kacey and Jacob and all of the other people in that beach house too small for ten people. They’d been in Florida for three days, and so far had only hung out at the beach. Lyra loved to read, but she could have stayed home and read for Spring Break; she didn’t need to go to Florida to do it.

“I told you she was perfect,” Jameson said in a loud whisper to Xander. Lyra shrugged his arm off of her shoulders and folded her own across her chest.

“Can I help you?” Lyra asked again, irritation seeping into her voice. They were getting closer to the front of the line now, and Lyra still hadn’t made up her mind about whether to get a burrito or a taco. It didn’t matter how similar they were; there was still a difference.

“We just want you to have dinner with us,” Jameson said, raising his hands in a soothing manner. Lyra gave him a look, not entirely believing him.

“We’ll buy your dinner,” Xander jumped in. At that, Lyra paused. Free food was free food. And the guys didn’t seem to be creeps—perhaps a little annoying, but not creepy.

“Okay,” Lyra said. With one last glance over in Grayson’s direction—he had a camera now and was turned towards the beach—Lyra turned back to the front of the line. Behind her, she heard Jameson and Xander exchange a hushed yes! and what sounded like a fist bump. She rolled her eyes.

The trio made it to the front of the line and ordered, Lyra deciding on a burrito. They stood off the side while they waited and exchanged small talk, discussing school and jobs and who went where and did what. Lyra found out that Xander was a year older than her and attending MIT. Jameson was two years older and had decided against college so far.

“I might go later,” he told her, “but for now, I’m figuring things out.”

Then, the topic changed to Grayson. He was twenty-two and attending Harvard.

“Oh, I’m in my first year there,” Lyra blurted out before she could think it through. She clamped her mouth shut, but the damage was done. Once more, Lyra watched as Jameson and Xander exchanged somewhat evil, knowing glances.

“You’ll definitely have things to talk about,” Xander said, grinning.

“How old are you again?” Jameson asked.

“Nineteen,” Lyra answered.

Before anyone could say anything else, their order number was called. Their food was placed on two trays, which Jameson picked up and handed one to Xander before Lyra could offer to help.

“Let’s go!” Xander said, already beginning to weave his way through the crowd towards the picnic table section. Jameson motioned with his head for Lyra to go first, so she did her best to follow the younger brother without bumping into him. As they got closer to where Grayson was sitting, Lyra couldn’t help but begin to doubt her decision. She didn’t want to intrude on their family time, and what if Grayson was pissed that his brothers had picked up some random girl? She should just leave and go hunt down a hotdog or something. It’s not like she’d paid for her food.

Before she could make a break for it, though, Grayson turned around as Xander reached the table. He smiled slightly at his brother then looked up and locked eyes with Lyra. She froze, just for a moment, not enough for anyone but her to notice. His eyes were steely gray, a color unlike anything she’d ever seen. He had sharp features, except for his mouth, which was a soft cupid’s bow. He was probably the most beautiful man Lyra had ever seen, and she wanted to hit herself for agreeing to have dinner with him—and his brothers, but still.

“We made a friend in line,” Xander said as she and Jameson approached. Jameson set his tray down on the table and then threw an arm around Lyra once more.

“This is Lyra,” Jameson introduced. “Lyra, this is our brother, Grayson.”

Grayson surveyed her, his steely eyes giving nothing away. Then, he held out his hand.

“Grayson Hawthorne,” he said.

Lyra shook his hand, feeling a little ridiculous. “Lyra Kane.”

Jameson maneuvered her, so she was sitting down across from Grayson, then took his own seat beside her across from Xander.

“Well, now that we’re all acquainted, let’s eat,” Jameson said. Both he and Xander dug into the food, Jameson pausing to hand Lyra her burrito. Carefully, Lyra peeled back the aluminum foil it was wrapped in.

“So, Lyra,” Grayson began, not touching his own food. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” Lyra said, feeling her cheeks heat. She prayed they hadn’t turned as red as they felt.

Xander stopped eating for a moment to say, “She goes to Harvard, too, Gray!” before zealously tearing off a bite of taco with his teeth.

“Really? What are you studying?” Grayson asked.

Lyra felt herself relax minutely. If there was one thing she could talk about, it was her major. And talk she did, for what was probably too long of a time. Eventually, she began to slowly eat her burrito, asking Grayson her own questions about his major which he readily answered. Quickly, the conversation turned to Harvard itself and their other hobbies. Lyra told him she danced; he did photography. When she nodded towards the camera by his elbow and said, “I figured,” Grayson’s ears turned pink, and she did her best to quell the explosion of butterflies in her chest the sight caused.

They talked for what must have been an hour, maybe even two, before Lyra’s phone rang, jolting her out of the conversation. She looked down to see Kacey calling.

“One second,” Lyra told Grayson. “It’s my best friend.” Jameson and Xander, who had been having their own conversation up until that point, also paused.

“Hey, Kace,” Lyra said.

“Lyra, girl, where are you?” Kacey asked. Lyra could hear the sound of waves in the background, and she wondered if Kacey had just woken up from her nap or if she’d been awake for awhile and only now noticed her best friend was MIA.

“I’m at the boardwalk,” Lyra said. “I told Jacob.”

“Well, he didn’t tell me!” In the background, there was the sound of someone being smacked repeatedly, and Jacob’s muffled, “What the hell, babe?”

“Kacey, Kacey!” Lyra tried to get her friend’s attention. “Kacey! I��m fine, just…” Lyra trailed off, her eyes locking with Grayson’s. He appeared to be fiddling with his camera, attempting not to listen, but clearly hearing everything. It was ridiculously endearing. “Just hanging out. At the boardwalk.”

Kacey went silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her tone was hushed: “Are you with a boy?”

Lyra almost choked on nothing. “What? No!” Technically, she wasn’t lying. She wasn’t with a boy; she was with three.

“Mmhmm, okay,” Kacey said, clearly not believing her. Lyra couldn’t blame Kacey, as she was currently lying through her teeth. “Just be safe, hon. Use condoms!”

“Okay, bye!” Lyra said quickly, ending the phone call and praying that no one had been able to hear the other side of the conversation she’d just had.

Xander leaned in. “Who was that?”

“My best friend, Kacey,” Lyra said. “She’s the one who convinced me to come, but we haven’t really gotten to hang out much.”

“Why?” Grayson asked, having set his camera aside. Lyra couldn’t quite meet his eyes: Use condoms! Ugh, she could have strangled Kacey for putting the image in her head.

“Um, her boyfriend came with… and his friends… and their partners. There’s like ten of us in this beach house, which is fine. We all got our own rooms, so that worked out, but still. It’s kind of awkward being the eleventh wheel,” Lyra said, following the grain of the picnic table with her pinky finger.

“Is that why Florida sucks?” Jameson asked conspiratorially.

Lyra rolled her eyes. “I never said it sucked. I just… it’s kind of boring, just being on the beach all of the time. I can only read so many books.” She motioned to the tote bag beside her, which currently held three of the eight she’d brought with her.

“Well, you can hang out with us!” Xander offered. “We have lots planned this week!”

“We do?” Grayson asked, sounding a little worried and a little wearied.

“Nothing bad, Gray,” Jameson said. “Lots of fun stuff.” He winked at Lyra, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“What does ‘fun stuff’ entail?” Lyra asked.

Jameson leaned towards Xander, whispering something that sounded a lot like, “Dear God, there’s two of them!”

“Well, we’re going to swim with manatees, and we’re going to Disney for a couple of days, and I think we should kayak with dolphins, too!” Xander said.

Lyra pursed her lips. She’d never been to Disney World and had hoped to go on this trip, but no one else had seemed interested. Xander leaned diagonally across the table and poked her.

“C’mon,” he said. “It sounds fun, and you know it.”

Lyra tossed a handful of hair over her shoulder and scoffed. “I’m not going to crash your guys' vacation.”

“It’s not crashing if we invite you,” Jameson said.

Lyra shook her head, standing from the table. “Look, thanks for buying my dinner, but I can’t just tag along on your trip. We barely know each other.”

“Isn’t the way to get to know each other by doing stuff together?” Grayson chimed in. She looked at him, eyes a little wide. She’d never expected him to go along with this plan, but he seemed serious as he surveyed her with his gray eyes.

“Xander and Jameson clearly want you to come, and I’ll admit that I wouldn’t mind having someone with more than two brain cells helping me keep these morons under control,” Grayson continued.

“Rude,” Jameson said cheerfully. He turned back to Lyra. “Come on! At least exchange numbers with us. We can text you in the morning, and you can decide then.”

Lyra weighed the pros and cons in her mind, but eventually got out her phone and gave her number. She sighed, putting her phone back in her tote bag and stepped over the bench she was sitting on.

“Where are you going?” Xander asked.

“Back to the beach house,” Lyra said. “It’s getting late, and I’ve been out in the sun all day, and I’m tired.” It was getting late. The sun was setting, painting the sky red and orange and pink. 

“Where’s your beach house at?” Jameson asked.

Lyra hummed. “About a mile that way,” she said, pointing in the opposite direction of the boardwalk. Jameson and Xander exchanged a look.

“That seems far,” Jameson said. Was it Lyra’s imagination, or was his tone playful?

“Yeah, are you gonna walk that all by yourself?” Xander added.

“In the dark?” Jameson continued.

“Yes,” Lyra said, deadpan.

“That just won’t do,” Jameson tutted. “Gray, you need to walk her home.”

Grayson, who had started messing with his camera once more, looked up at his brother. “What?”

Xander grabbed Grayson by the arm and hauled him up and around to where Lyra was standing. “You need to walk Lyra back to the house she’s staying at. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

Lyra was sure her face was beet red by this point. How Grayson had no idea that his brothers were trying to set them up, Lyra didn’t know, but she couldn’t help but be grateful for his obliviousness.

“I can walk by myself,” Lyra said. “There’s tons of people on the beach.”

“Exactly,” Xander said, nodding solemnly.

“Tons of people who could attack you!” Jameson held a hand to his chest dramatically. Lyra rolled her eyes.

“I can walk with you,” Grayson said finally. “I want to get some pictures of the sunset anyway.”

Lyra bit her lip, glancing at Xander and Jameson who were both looking far too smug for her liking. She sighed. “Okay, if you’re sure.” She hiked her tote bag higher on her shoulder and waited for someone to make a move. She didn’t have to wait long. With quick goodbyes, Xander and Jameson were off down the boardwalk, claiming to want to play the arcade games before they closed.

Grayson huffed a laugh through his nose. “Those two.” He shook his head fondly, then looked at Lyra. “Shall we?”

Lyra nodded, and they began walking down the boardwalk to the beach.

“I hope you don’t mind stopping a few times,” Grayson said, somewhat sheepishly. “I’d like to get pictures of the beach.”

“Oh, uh, no, I don’t mind,” Lyra said. They continued walking in silence for some time, long enough for the cement to turn to sand, before she worked up the courage to ask her question. “You like photography?”

She could have slapped herself.

“Yes,” Grayson said, kind enough to not acknowledge how stupid her question was. “I picked it up some time ago, and I’m pretty good at it, not to brag.”

Lyra smiled. “Oh, yeah?”

At that, Grayson’s cheeks pinked. “I said not to brag.”

“Can I see some of your pictures?” Lyra asked, nodding towards the camera.

“I’ll need to take some first,” Grayson said and stopped. He held the camera up to his eye, did something with it, and then Lyra heard a click! After a few more, Grayson paused and pulled back from the camera. “Here.”

Lyra took the camera and looked at the little screen. It was a beautiful photo of the sunset, a wave crashing over the beach. You could see the foam sparkling in the pink light.

“That’s incredible,” Lyra said, handing the camera back to Grayson. “How did you just… do that?”

Grayson laughed. “Lots of practice. Come on.” He started walking once more and Lyra was quick to follow. She asked him more questions about photography, and he answered them all patiently, stopping every once in a while to take more pictures, which he’d always show Lyra. After a bit, he managed to switch the conversation to Lyra and got her to admit that she was a dancer.

“Do you dance at Harvard?” Grayson asked.

“A little,” Lyra said.

“I’d love to watch you sometime,” he replied, and Lyra’s heart nearly beat out of her chest. Eventually, they made it to the beach house. The sky was dark overhead, littered with stars. Down the beach, there were several fires, and Lyra figured her group was one of them, as they’d been doing every night since they’d gotten to Florida.

Lyra turned to Grayson. “Well, this is me. Thanks for walking back with me.”

“It was my pleasure,” Grayson said. His voice was stiff, and she couldn’t help but notice the tick in his jaw, like he was holding himself back from saying something.

“Is everything okay?” she asked. Had she done something to piss him off? She’d actually been considering taking Xander and Jameson up on their offer, but if their brother had suddenly decided he hated her, she was never speaking to any of them again.

“I just had a thought… and an—odd request,” Grayson grated out. Lyra said nothing; she waited. Grayson held his camera tightly and looked down at it, then back up at her. “Could I photograph you?”

Lyra flushed. “What?”

“I just… you just….” Grayson cleared his throat. “I think you’d be a beautiful muse.”

Before she could think better of it, Lyra found herself nodding. “Where?” she asked.

“It’s too dark outside,” Grayson said.

“We could go inside,” Lyra said, and turned for the stairs that led up to the beach house before he could say no. They made their way up the stairs and into the dark house. No one was home yet, which Lyra had assumed.

“The kitchen?” Grayson offered as they stood there. “Wherever you’re most comfortable.”

“I’d feel awkward posing in the kitchen,” Lyra said. Then, wordlessly, she led him upstairs to the room she’d been assigned. She turned the light on and set her bag down by her bed. She faced Grayson, suddenly feeling a little stupid having led him to her bedroom, but his eyes were dark as he scanned her face, then the room.

“Where?” Lyra’s voice was a whisper.

“You can, uh, sit on your bed,” Grayson offered, “if you want.”

Lyra did as she was told, kicking off her flip flops so she could sit cross-legged on the bed. She ran her fingers through her hair to make it look somewhat presentable, and that’s when she heard a click! She looked at Grayson, a little shocked.

“I didn’t say I was ready,” she pouted.

Grayson gave her a smile meant to ruin. “Sorry. You just looked beautiful like that.”

Lyra’s heart stopped as she swallowed hard. She let Grayson take pictures, let him order her around, her breaths shaky. Finally, he was done, and he sat down on the bed to let her look at the pictures.

She’d never felt more beautiful than being seen through Grayson Hawthorne’s eyes. The pictures were almost soft, safe, sensual. Even in her t-shirt and shorts, feet bare and hair salty from the sea breeze, Lyra looked… ethereal.

“You’re really good,” Lyra said, looking up at Grayson. His eyes were liquid silver, shifting in the fluorescents of her bedroom light.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lyra didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly, she was kissing Grayson Hawthorne, and she was loving it. She still held the camera in her hands and broke away to carefully set it on her bedside table before turning back to him. He was on her before she could say anything, laying her back against her pillows and cradling her cheek with one hand. The other held him up over her, and Lyra pressed her legs together at the sensation of him being so close yet so far.

He leaned down to kiss her again, and Lyra couldn’t help the sigh that escaped as his lips met hers. He kissed her slowly, like he had all the time in the world. It was almost hesitant in a way, but Lyra didn’t want hesitant. Her hands wound themselves into his hair, pulling him closer to her so that his chest was pressed against hers. She licked at the seam of his lips and delighted when he opened his mouth for her, deepening the kiss.

They stayed like that for so long that Lyra got dizzy, kissing and pressing and pulling. Eventually, Grayson pulled back slightly, not far, but enough that Lyra tugged him back so his lips were ghosting over hers.

“I should go,” he said.

“You should stay,” Lyra countered.

“If I stay…” he began.

“Please,” Lyra begged. Carefully, she sat up underneath him and pulled her shirt off, revealing her bikini top. Grayson inhaled sharply, flexing his hands by his sides. Slowly, so as not to scare him off, Lyra took one of his hands and placed it simply on her shoulder, where the strings of her bikini tied together. He plucked at them, eyeing her silently. Then, he leaned forward and kissed her again. Lyra fell into him, this time clutching at his shoulders—strong and broad and God, was he hot.

Suddenly, Lyra felt cool air on her breast, her nipple pebbling as the silky fabric of her bikini top fell away from her left side. Grayson’s lips left hers as his hand cupped her breast, mouthing down the side of her neck. Lyra melted.

“Have you done this before?” Grayson asked, sucking at the junction of her shoulder and neck.

“Y-yes,” Lyra shuddered. “You?”

Lyra felt his wicked smirk against her skin as he pinched her nipple, eliciting a squeak.

“Let me show you,” he said before his mouth enveloped her nipple. Lyra was burning as he worked at her breast, his large hands strong on her waist. She untied the back of her top and shrugged it off, so she was completely bare from the waist up. Grayson’s hand came up to tug at her other nipple, and she moaned.

Suddenly irritated at her state of undress and his lack of, Lyra set to work on unbuttoning his shirt. Her fingers made quick work of the buttons and soon he was shrugging it off, his mouth never leaving her breast. Her hands came up to his chest, tracing the contours of his pecs, and she sighed as he worked at her, sucking and tugging with his mouth and hand.

“Grayson,” Lyra said breathlessly. She was almost unbearably wet, and she would have shuddered to think of the state of her bikini bottoms if she wasn’t so turned on. “Gray.”

At that, he finally stopped, pulling back and looking at her. She wanted to take a picture of him, to memorize his dark gaze and tousled hair—tousled by her—and the pink scratches at the top of her chest. Had she put those there? She must have because she distinctly remembered his chest being pure marble just moments ago.

“Say that again,” Grayson ordered.

“What?” Lyra said, dazed.

“My name,” Grayson clarified. “Call me Gray again.”

Lyra smirked. “C’mere, Gray.”

He pounced on her, and Lyra couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped before it turned into a moan as he ground into her center.

“Touch me,” she pleaded, and Grayson was quick to obey. He pulled her shorts and bikini bottoms off in one go and threw them across the room. Lyra squeaked at the cold air of the room, as she realized the implications of being completely naked with a man like Grayson Hawthorne kneeling between her legs. She was embarrassed that the thought only made her wetter.

Grayson’s hands were warm as they landed on her waist once more, though his right hand didn’t stay still very long. Instead, it traversed down her hip and in-between her legs. Lyra moaned as he rubbed her, rutting into his hand.

“Don’t tease, Gray,” Lyra said, surprised at how whiny she sounded. Grayson only grinned, his mouth returning to her neck to suck a bruise into the delicate skin there.

“Whatever you say, Sweetheart,” he said, and inserted a finger into her. Lyra clutched his shoulders, moaning as he began to pump in and out of her. She felt his teeth graze her neck, and Lyra saw stars, her eyes closing. It was all too much. She was going to come, and quickly.

“Think you can take another one, Sweetheart?” Grayson asked, and didn’t wait before he was tucking another finger inside of her, scissoring his fingers. His thumb worked her clit in tight, little circles. Lyra choked on a groan, a gasp of his name, and then she was coming. He worked her through it, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of her.

When she came to, Grayson was pulling his fingers out of her, staring at them curiously. She blushed furiously when he put them in his mouth, sucking her essence off of him. She put a hand on his cheek and turned his face to hers, bringing him down for a languid kiss.

“Do you want to keep going?” Grayson asked, and Lyra knew that if she said no, he’d back off immediately, despite the hard-on he was sporting she could feel against her leg.

“Yes,” Lyra said, her voice lower than she’d ever heard it. “I have condoms, one second.” She leaned over to the bedside table, and nearly laughed when she saw the camera sitting innocently on top of it, and opened the drawer. Kacey had put a pack of condoms in there their first night there, joking that since Lyra was the only single one, she had the duty of being crazy and having a bunch of one-night stands.

As Lyra fought with the box, trying to figure out how to open it, she could feel Grayson laying kisses on her shoulder blades. Finally, she got the box open and pulled out a condom, tossing the box to the floor. She turned back around to find Grayson had pulled off his shorts.

She pouted. “I wanted to do that.”

“Next time, Sweetheart,” Grayson promised, bringing her in for a kiss. Lyra was distracted momentarily by the promise of next time, and then she was being pushed down on the bed, sinking into her pillows once more. As Grayson opened the condom, Lyra took the opportunity to openly stare at his cock, and God did she want it inside of her. He was big, thick, with veins she wanted to run her tongue along. She’d never wanted to blow a guy more than Grayson Hawthorne, but she doubted he’d let her right now as he rolled the condom on.

Next time, indeed.

And then he was over her and pushing inside of her, and Lyra sighed at the feeling of being full, so deliciously full that she never wanted it to end. He pushed into the hilt and paused for a moment, leaning his forehead against hers and panting, sounds that she’d remember in her dreams for years to come.

“Okay, Sweetheart?” he asked.

“Yes,” Lyra said languidly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist, keeping him in place. He laughed a little, dropping a kiss to the corner of her mouth, before he pulled back out and thrust in again. Lyra enjoyed the feeling as he pumped in and out of her, wondering if she’d be able to get off just with penetration because he felt so good, too good, better than anything she’d ever experienced before.

Above her, Grayson’s grunts and groans went straight to her head. At a particularly hard thrust, Lyra’s nails dug into the skin of his shoulders, and he hissed. She would have apologized, but she was too far gone in him, in his cock inside of her, in the way he called her sweetheart. Her breathing picked up, and she let out another long moan.

Suddenly, one of his hands was between them, and he was circling her clit once more, sending electric sparks up her spine.

“Think you can come again for me, Sweetheart?” he asked. “Can you be a good girl and come on my cock?”

Lyra moaned loudly. She’d never been one for dirty talk, but Grayson’s words in her ear had her coming as he continued to work her clit, as he continued to drive his cock into her. Grayson was quick to follow, pumping once, twice more before spilling inside of her. Lyra let the aftershocks course through her, wrapping her arms and legs tighter around Grayson. She didn’t want him to go just yet. He let her keep him that way for a bit. But eventually, he pulled out of her and untangled himself from her hold. She whined at the loss of contact, but he just chuckled.

“I’m just throwing away the condom,” he said. She watched as he disappeared into the ensuite bathroom—and holy shit, his back muscles—and came back out with a washcloth. She sat up, and he cleaned her up wordlessly, then set the washcloth on the bedside table. A feeling of dread started to settle over Lyra until he settled back against the sheets and pulled her onto his chest.

“I should probably go soon,” he said, “but will you come tomorrow?”

“You want me to?” Lyra asked.

He gave her a look, one that promised trouble. “I said next time, didn’t I?”

A slow smile spread across her face. She leaned up and kissed him deeply, placing her hand over his heart. “I’m looking forward to it.”

[the-yuri-librarian]

I've done some more thinking about this, and I thought it might be helpful to explain what else I will be doing in the mean time.

Step one is securing myself and my family. Ordering passports, making sure birth certificates are correct and ready, making a go bag, going as far back into the closet as I can stand in public, etc etc

Step two is taking action. I so scared, and I want so badly to shelter away and hide from the world, but that is not an option. Not a practical one. Instead, I am going to get involved. Attend city council meetings, push them to take steps to codify our rights into law, to take steps to protect my local community from what is coming as much as they can, and you should too. local politics are more powerful than we often think, and all successful movements have to start at the grassroots level.

I am also going to volunteer for as many community support and mutual aid organizations I have time for. They key to safety in your community is to build relationships with those around you, and mutual aid is an excellent way to do this. Maintaining a community takes work, and we all have to do that work if we get anything done.

I know things are grim. I know that climate change will not wait for us to get our shit together. But that's why we have to be there for each other

I highly highly highly recommend everyone read this article by writer and activist Margaret Killjoy. She is an expert in mutual aid politics, having been involved in it for many years, and her take on where we are at gave me the courage to start taking these steps:

I don't know what's going to become of this blog

Depending on how quickly and how much of Project 2025 goes through, there is a good chance that this blog will become in active. I don't particularly expect the new president's administration to be in the know enough to look for internet activity about yuri in their quest to erase queers from the internet, but it is possible

I think what will likely happen is this blog will go dark the closer to January we get, then, depending on how things are looking, maybe I'll come back. And, in the mean time, I don't plan on stopping activity on Tumblr entirely. I will still be active on my man blog, linked in my bio, and will add things to this blog's queue for the day I can be active again.

This plan may change depending on what the final total for the House is. If the Dems take the House of Representatives back, then I will feel slightly more comfortable with continuing, thought the FTCC has a bit of free reign to regulate the internet however without congressional approval

So, all in all, we'll see

[e-louise-bates]

I will admit that it never occurred to me that I would need to check the history book that claimed to be scholarly to see if it used references and footnotes, because how could a book be a scholarly work on history without such things, BUT NOW I KNOW BETTER.

[aalghul]

I don’t think it makes sense to assume that Jason was mocking Mia’s past. At all. The thing that got jason painted as violent back in the 80s was his anger against rapists…how does that turn into mocking a victim? and that entire story was written by winick. Do we honestly think winick intended to communicate that? The same writer who made Jason’s first kill a man who was trafficking children? Who had Jason pause in his mission of madness to make sure those kids were found by the right people so they wouldn’t be in further danger?

[toscrollperchancetomeme]

I must not fear the bad take.

Fearing the bad take is the mind-killer.

Fearing the bad take is the little death that brings total obliteration.

I will face the bad take.

I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

Where the bad take has gone there will be nothing. Only my media literacy will remain.

[queer-reader-07]

i love seeing normal people recommend books/movies/shows because they're just like "i enjoyed this! i think you'd enjoy it."

meanwhile when i recommend books/movies/shows i'm like "here is a fragment of my soul. here is one of the many threads that weaves me together. here is something i will love with every fiber of my being until those fibers come undone at the end of my life. hope you like it too!"

[sarcasticgaypotato]

This cat has a PhD

---

Fanart for Panthera by @idrewacow

I cannot recommend this fic enough, it is an absolute delight so far. It's a classic, traditionally lighthearted fanfiction trope being handled dead serious and it's everything I didn't know I needed. It doesn't hesitate to dig its claws (haha) into visceral discomfort for our lead, but it still has moments that made me laugh out loud. Can't wait to see what happens next!

[frereamour]

it just confuses me because people are plenty able to understand that people are full of shit in every work field on earth. for a myriad of reasons. but when it comes to medicine somehow everything the people working in that field say must be the truth. why? i know they go about their oaths all the time, but lawyers and journalists take oaths too and no one thinks they're particularly trustworthy people. learn to tell your doctors 'wow that sounds like a load of bullshit, it sounds like you made that up to make me do what you want'.

[gillianthecat]

Thought my physics lab was two days late and I had only three hours left to get it in at all, but it turns out that there was no lab this week at all.

Hallelujah 🙌

I fucked up absolutely everything else last week but at least I accidentally didn't fuck that up.

[treeshrine]

gonna be real bud if your fic relies so heavily on intense triggering themes and shock value that you're averse to putting warnings on it to "maintain surprise" and "avoid spoilers", then you act like you did nothing wrong when people are upset that you didn't make any effort to turn them away and allow them to protect themselves, while also telling them it's their fault that they read something that upset them when they could have never known it contained specific things that will upset them, i think you are a tar pit

[momobani]

Nct sampling/incorporating a sonata from their Beethoven sunbaenim, we love to see it 😍😍😍

Classical music x kpop, what a ship lmao 😂

If anyone is wondering what piece it is that golden age was sampled from, it's Beethoven's piano sonata - no. 8 in C minor op. 13 'Pathétique' II (basically, the second movement of the sonata)

All 3 movements are so good, give it a listen, especially the first movement is wild 😵‍💫

I want to hear people call this noise music like always since it has elements of that but like it's hilarous since it's also literally fucking Beethoven

[andthemoonwalks]

AOUGH the the dynamic between everything I've ever let go of has claw marks in it and the person I am is just pieces of the people I have known

[areyoudoingthis]

my mother texted me while i was with a friend and i called her on purpose while my friend was nearby so he could offer emotional support and she had the cheek to get rude and dictate that she would call me later because i was busy even tho I said i was free to talk then jesus fucking christ who does she think she is