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revlyncox · 11 months ago

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Beyond Welcome: Hospitality, Inclusion, and Inherent Worth

This sermon contains a little bit of "insider baseball," discussing some insights and some work specific to The Unitarian Society in East Brunswick. They are a great congregation! And every group of human beings needs a gentle nudge sometimes. This sermon builds on the anthology of essays Beyond Welcome: Building Communities of Love, edited by Linnea Nelson. In particular, the sermon draws from the essay “Built Through Trust,” by Rev. Manish Mishra-Marzetti. In our communities, we work toward an ethic of hospitality and inclusion that truly reflects a deep commitment to the inherent worth and dignity of every person. This sermon was presented on May 19, 2024, by Rev. Lyn Cox.

The first time I attempted to attend a Unitarian Universalist congregation on Sunday morning, I picked the one that was closest to where I was living at the time. This was early in my young adult life, when one partner and I were barely getting by in a two-room apartment while doing odd jobs and office temping. We had a car borrowed from my partner’s parents that often worked, though not for much longer.

I knew about the Unitarian Universalist congregation because some older friends had gotten married there, and I was so impressed with the way the minister had woven earth-honoring traditions into the ceremony, and the way the brochures in the lobby referred to ancient history as “Before the Common Era” rather than “Before Christ.” Little things that members had probably forgotten about made an impression on me as I was hanging around before the service at my friends’ wedding. There were inclusive banners, windows that looked out on beautiful trees, and comfortable chairs instead of pews. I had another friend who had grown up UU. She had told me all about incorporating the Interdependent Web into the faith. But my friend was at school in another city, so I tried to make the Sunday morning visit on my own.

For context, I should say that this was around 1996. The internet existed, sort of. I had used web browsers, and had worked during college at an Internet startup where we helped people get connected to dial-up and sign up for their first email address ever. There were no smartphones. But this was just on the cusp of the era before congregations started building websites, and we certainly didn’t have internet access at home or in our odd jobs. So there was not an easy way to check the details about the congregation. They had their service time listed on a wooden sign in front of the building, but too small to read while driving past and keeping up with traffic. I supposed that 10:00am was a logical time for a Sunday morning service, so that’s what I aimed for.

I pulled into the parking lot, and was finally able to get a good look at the sign. It said there were services at 9:30 and 11:00. So I could come in conspicuously late, or hang around awkwardly in the parking lot, or come back later. My anxiety got the better of me, and I turned the car around and left. Then we were busy with figuring out our lives and getting ready to move, and I didn’t visit that congregation again until years later as a guest preacher.

My second attempt at visiting a UU congregation on a Sunday morning came the following year on an opposite coast. The partner I lived with had started graduate school, and we were staying in grad housing. I had another temp job, but this one was a steady, long term temp with internet access and a computer at my desk. And we were in Silicon Valley, where congregations were seizing the moment with building web pages. By the end of November, we had scraped enough money together to buy a car. So, with more reliable information, more reliable transportation, and a little bit more stability in my life, this time I successfully entered the doors of the building in time for the service.

I had an advantage over some other seekers who visit UU communities, which is that I had grown up in a liberal congregation that wasn’t UU, but had a lot in common culturally. My family had been active at our church growing up, and I had considered ministry in high school, but decided I was too much of a heretic. My congregational upbringing helped me figure out that I should enter on the social hall side of the building, where I came upon friendly folks hanging around before the service, instead of entering directly into the sanctuary, which was very quiet until shortly before the service. I didn’t worry too much about what to wear, because I could rely on my past experience. I was prepared to be the only person in my twenties, and was almost correct. The Director of Religious Education was a similar age to me, and he and I are still friends. I knew that a small congregation would be about making connections and joining activities, not about passively absorbing sermons, as much as I liked the sermons. I came in with the skills I needed to gather up the ingredients of belonging. I joined at the first opportunity, and have always been glad that I did. I figured out pretty quickly that heretics could, in fact, be ministers, but it took me another couple of years to follow that thought, and that’s another story.

Every Unitarian Universalist who attends a congregation makes a choice. Sometimes that’s the choice of a lifelong UU to keep attending during a time of great personal change, or to try a new congregation when they move. Sometimes that’s the choice to tune in online, even if in-person attendance isn’t possible. Sometimes that’s the choice to add Unitarian Universalism to a complex, spiritually pluralistic life. Sometimes the choice to become a Unitarian Universalist means leaving behind a different faith that no longer supports your thriving, even if that’s painful in terms of friendships or family. Sometimes exploring Unitarian Universalism is a choice to try something a little more organized, when life up to that point has been spiritual but not religious, and the customs and skills of being in a faith community are entirely new. We all make choices.

For those of us who have been Unitarian Universalists for more than a minute, we make choices, too. And those choices go beyond simply coming in the door or clicking “join” on the Zoom. Every community that is composed of human beings will break your heart at some point, and then we have a choice about what to do when our relationships and our covenants have been disrupted. For those of us with one or more marginalized identities, our beloveds are not going to be skillful about our tender places 100% of the time and we have a choice whether we’re ready for that risk on any particular day. For those of us who hold aspects of privilege, knowing that perfection is not possible, we have a choice to turn toward repair and connection instead of shame when we make a mistake. Unitarian Universalism is a faith that calls us to make choices every day.

Not only do we make choices for our own participation, we make choices about how to proactively include others. We make choices, intentionally or not, about how to maintain or dismantle barriers like racism, classism, and ableism that can get in the way of our neighbor’s sense of belonging, and certainly get in the way of the congregation living into its mission and values. Each one of us made a choice to put ourselves out there at some point, and it’s easy to overgeneralize about our own experience, but I hope every established friend and member of the congregation can remember that feeling of vulnerability, that question of belonging. Let us remain curious so that we can open our minds and hearts to ever new ways of welcome and inclusion.

This brings me to the text we’re drawing from today, Beyond Welcome: Building Communities of Love, edited by Linnea Nelson. This is an anthology of essays by nineteen different authors published by the Unitarian Universalist Association’s Skinner House Books @skinnerhousebooks designed to help congregations to build compassionate, authentic, and equitable communities. As the editor says in the introduction, the book Beyond Welcome “explores liberation through personal and collective reflections on belonging. These heart-felt essays explore the essence of what it means to each author to be in Unitarian Universalist Community.”

The authors of the essays in Beyond Welcome explore different aspects of inclusion, and they illustrate with personal stories. Each essay begins with a question for individuals to reflect on and journal about, and each essay concludes with a discussion question about applying another facet of welcoming and belonging to the reader’s own community. Some aspects of inclusion covered in the essays, like race, are topics that we have discussed before and will discuss again, because we are always learning. Some, like disability access and Transgender inclusion, are topics we have touched on and could use more focus. Social class is a topic that would be helpful and evocative for us to learn about together. All of the essays are interesting and personal, and worth some group study with your favorite TUS committee or affinity group, especially as we enter the coming year of working on this congregation’s Mission.

There are people in the world who would benefit by having a religious community that is warm, accepting, covenantal, anti-oppressive, non creedal, and spiritually grounded. We want there to be as few obstacles as possible for the people who need this community to find it, and to find a sense of belonging and shared mission once they arrive. We need to be open and curious about that, because, while each of us can sympathize with that feeling of vulnerability, the obstacles that new people face may not be the same as the ones we faced. We cannot assume that the solutions that helped us to arrive and to stay are the solutions that will work for everyone.

When I was a newcomer, I needed help with information. Members of the congregation I visited, not staff, did the work of being on the cutting edge of communication so that the information was available. Part of how I found a sense of belonging was in shared work for a common project, but some new people prefer reflection groups or social groups or one-on-one mentoring to find that sense of belonging. If there had been information on the website to help me figure out public transportation, I might have been able to get there sooner, and it remains an obstacle that so many UU congregations are not accessible without a car. The congregation I joined had done work in advance that helped lower barriers to inclusion, such as reflecting on multigenerational community and going through the certification as a Welcoming Congregation for LGBTQ inclusion. When congregations work on dismantling racism, classism, ableism, and other legacies of oppression, more people are able to find their spiritual home. That’s part of what the book Beyond Welcome is trying to help congregations to do.

In addition to the essays that deeply explore one aspect of identity and belonging, there are essays that weave all of those threads of diversity, equity, and inclusion together in a larger tapestry, a vision of beloved community with some ideas about how we might live into it more fully. The essay that we heard an excerpt from earlier in the service, “Built Through Trust,” by Rev. Manish Mishra-Marzetti, is one of the big-picture articles in the anthology.

Rev. Manish contrasts a dominant culture version of belonging, “a form of social currency that can be owned and bestowed,” with a form of belonging that he has observed in Indigenous cultures, where people understand coexistence as intertwined, and where community is grounded in “mutuality and multiplicity.”

Even in Unitarian Universalist communities faithfully and persistently on the journey toward justice and wholeness, the cultural water we swim in is salty with characteristics of dominance and control, and sometimes this affects the way we talk about belonging and membership in our congregations. Rev. Manish writes:

In our Unitarian Universalist circles, we might encounter, at times, questions related to the financial sustainability of a community. Invariably, at that juncture, outreach strategies and newcomers are invoked … Or, perhaps, the same cadre of congregational leaders is tired from having led the same programs and activities for so long. Here too, invariably, the conversation turns to newer people in the community: how do we get new people to lead the activities and programs that have been beloved, in the same way that familiar leaders have? In both of these scenarios, newer members are framed, explicitly or implicitly, as a commodity — a commodity that has utility for those who already belong. In his conceptualization of the ‘categorical imperative,’ the philosopher Immanuel Kant spoke vociferously against treating other human beings as a means to an end. We are not actually honoring the humanity of others when we do so.

Here at The Unitarian Society, my assessment is that specific new people are honored for their interests and needs and gifts. At the same time, in wishing for a return to a fuller sanctuary, fuller classrooms, fewer leadership vacancies, and the camaraderie and relevance that comes with having members from a diverse range of backgrounds and life stages, I do hear comments about longing for theoretical, not-yet-arrived newcomers who will come and help make things easier without making any major structural changes. I would like to challenge the idea that an advertising strategy will restore the congregation to a previous status quo. Outreach is still important, because there are people out there whose thriving would be enhanced if they could find their way here; it’s about their inherent worth, not about the organization’s needs.

If you are a visitor or a newcomer or a prospective member, it is my sincere belief that the members of this congregation warmly welcome you just as you are, and that they want you to find your calling in the congregation in a way that supports the unfolding of your own soul. Members want you to find connections and activities that help you to make friends and to feel empowered as part of the body of the congregation. I believe that is true, and I also know that sometimes we are less skillful or considerate than we might be when we discuss reaching out to potential visitors and members.

I believe that there are great possibilities ahead that do not depend on theoretical people. The future is interdependent. Focus on being ready to change and grow as we practice reciprocity and care. Get ready to meet the spiritual needs of all who journey together under this congregation’s covenant, equipping yourselves and each other to live out Unitarian Universalist values collectively and effectively. Start with the purpose that burns in your core as a spiritual community, not on outcomes like numbers or programs. This may require creative thinking and major structural change. It may require letting go of some things that feel like touchstones of stability. Focusing on purpose requires courage. Without that courage, maintaining the things we don’t need and can’t let go of becomes our unspoken purpose, at the expense of fully living into our mission and values.

Rev. Manish offers an alternative to the idea of belonging as social currency, and that’s “belonging as an unconditional facet of existence.” He points out that “we Unitarian Universalists are already–today–the most diverse we have ever been.” He invites us to rest in and operate out of truth, with all of the mutuality, reciprocity, curiosity, and multiplicity that infuses our commitment to the interdependent web of existence and to the inherent worth of every person.

To be the people we are meant to be, we must live into the fullness of who we are right now, not waiting for some other people to come and revive us to who we once were, but to care for each other in the here and now. Let us listen to all of the gifts and limits and creativity that are already among us in our multigenerational communities. Let us open the doors and the windows wide so that all who are called can enter and find themselves at home.

So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

#unitarian universalism #uu #skinner house books

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thatgirlonstage · 2 years ago

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I so badly want to know what the thought process behind putting together this guest list was. Like. Who are all these characters that we’ve never met before and who barely get mentioned ever again. Why did Ciel invite them. What was the scheme. As far as I can tell the guest list was:

Siemens (guest of ‘honor’, reason for this whole thing, required)

Charles Grey (Charles)

Lau & Ran-Mao (people who are loosely Ciel’s allies and might be useful but whom he doesn’t mind putting in danger)

Arthur (for flirting and entertainment)

four NPCs that Ciel can use to take the fall for the inevitable shitshow/doesn’t mind seeing get killed as collateral damage

I feel like the Doylist (heh) reason for Lau and Ran-Mao��s inclusion in the party may have just been Yana wanting to have at least a couple familiar faces in the mix—and it’s a good chance to develop them a little bit more—but from a Watsonian perspective I’m really not sure if Ciel invited them bc he would be equally okay with pinning the murder/whatever else happened on them if the opportunity presented itself, or if they were there as allies who know that some shit is likely to go down and Ciel can trust to be chill about being involved in shady business. Possibly/probably both? I mean, I think there’s a lot of reasons he didn’t invite the Midfords or Soma, people he actually wouldn’t want to see accused of murder. But—and I’d need to actually reread the manga to be sure I haven’t forgotten some small exchange that the anime left out or whatever—but it seems like Lau and Ran-Mao are the only ones who actually know Ciel at all prior to the party? So I feel like he had them there partially as a more, hmm, if not friendly at least known quantity.

And for the rest of them — we know Woodley was a piece of shit and that Ciel set him up to take the fall because of that. Then there’s Phelps, whom we know? Almost nothing about? But Sebastian gives negative zero fucks about him dying on the floor, which, fine, it’s Sebastian, if Ciel hasn’t told him to do something it’s Technically Not His Problem and this IS the arc where his and Ciel’s fucking with one another is just dialed up to 11, howEVER I don’t think Sebastian would have left just left the dude to die if he wasn’t confident Ciel would be chill with that outcome, and Ciel clearly isn’t torn up about it, which I feel like implies that Phelps is possibly also a piece of shit who would have been an equally viable candidate to be set up for the murder if he hadn’t died first.

Which then leaves Irene and Grimsby, who get to walk away from all this scot free, but that seriously raises the question of whether Ciel just invited some random schmucks to fill out the numbers or if both of them also suck and they just don’t suck enough for Ciel to kill or get them landed in prison about it. Or maybe, like Arthur, they’re more like witnesses—but while Arthur is allowed to witness the whole truth, they’re just allowed to witness the truth that Ciel would want circulated in society: that the Queen’s Watchdog is working, that he is seeing justice done to criminals, that he is powerful and influential enough to summon all these people to a party, and that he won’t be easily caught.

Idk I just know they would’ve had to think carefully about who is on the murder party guest list and I want to know what the in-universe logic behind the choices was

It’s a rewatching Book of Murder for comfort and fun night

#black butler

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buckybarnesdiaries · 4 years ago

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a piece of cake

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Something happens at Shuri's birthday party that leads to a heated fight.

word count: 3k words. (fuck, it worth every damn word)

warnings/tags: nsfw, +18!!! angry jealous sex, let's start there. unprotected sex, oral sex (face fucking and ridding), fingering, brief daddy!kink, brief praise!kink, language, cursing, handcuffing, mention of bodily fluids, and probably i'm forgetting something else, i just lost my mind. bucky being the cutest and loving man on earth at the end.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

join the tag list here.

You had never been so quiet, but you knew that opening your mouth only could cause a storm inside the car, on your way back home. Believing you could have a pinch of luck, Bucky wouldn't notice that something was raving you mad since the moment you watched him letting another woman give him a spoon of cake. Straight to his mouth. You almost choked on your drink, talking to Shuri about how excited she was to celebrate her birthday in New York, when you witnessed the scene hearing their laughs and watching how they dared to touch his metal arm constantly. Your boyfriend was talking with some of his old friends from Wakanda, not even knowing he made friends there. He never said a word about it. Even so, they didn't have the right to flirt with him. Unless he didn't say anything about you.

But Bucky wasn't stupid. Or at least, not like you thought. Gazing you by the corners of his blue eyes, he was conscious that something was going wrong. He licked his upper lip briefly, slowly. He tasted the waters putting a hand on your thigh, which was your favorite gesture while he was driving, deriving with your fingers laced and him placing kisses on the back of your hand. But you didn't move an inch, still staring through the copilot's window with your elbow nailed there and your chin resting on your knuckles.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing”.

Your passive tone and the lie as a response caused him to frown, pulling over the car to focus on you. He turned on his seat and placed a hand behind the headrest of yours.

“Spit it”.

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow ironically, looking at him for a second. If he had to ask it was because he wasn't really seeing the dilemma there.

“I'm just tired and I wanna go home, James. That's all”.

James. James. You did it unconsciously, but he didn't take it as an innocent manner of calling him. Unexpressive, the soldier joined the highway driving faster than he used to. You had pissed him off, but it wasn't your problem. He had hurt your feelings with something he didn't give any importance to. The only thing you wanted was to take a shower, put on your comfier pajamas and go to sleep, probably you'd see tomorrow that situation differently than today and you could move on from your insecurities and the jealousy running through your veins.

You arrived at your apartment in record time, keeping the car inside the parking under the building. You removed the seat belt to wear your leather jacket and grab your purse on your feet, stepping out when you were ready. But Bucky stayed inside, just turning off the engine. He didn't have any intention of leaving it, maintaining his hands tightly gripped around the wheel. You ignored him as soon as you couldn't pretend you were just tired anymore. It was the first time something like that happened and you were having a strong desire to throw your guts up.

Three minutes later you were under the warm water with your forehead resting against the cold wall and your eyes closed. Maybe you were overreacting and the rational, mature behavior would be to go to talk with him, tell your boyfriend what made you feel upset. Sighing as you nodded two times, determined to put the cards on the table, you shut off the faucet and walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

“Oh, fucking hell!” You growled because of the scare of your life when you found Bucky already in your shared room.

He had his back supported on the wall, a leg flexed, and his hands behind himself. No expression on his face, but expecting an explanation from you. You were hoping for something from him too, maybe I don't know what I've done to make you feel like that, can you give me a clue? He just stared at you in silence, drying the pearls of water decorating your body before wearing a pair of black panties and your forgotten pajamas instead of one of his t-shirts impregnated on his scent.

“Com'ere”. Bucky whispered, stretching his flesh hand on air when you were about to go to sleep.

“No”.

Well, that wasn't the proper way to talk like grown adults. You crossed both arms on your chest, standing next to your side of the bed.

“What'd you say?” He squinted incredulous, slowly standing from the wall, pretending you hadn't uttered that word.

“I said no, you fucking punk”.

“The hell d'you think you're talking to, darling?”

“To the cretin who let other women flirt and touch him”. You replied with evident annoyance. “Why don't you go to show them your daddy's skills, uh? Sure I can find someone who respects me in the meantime”.

Suddenly, a grimace you hadn't seen before on him appeared like a thunderbolt. You weren't sure if you just made him feel more furious or if you just broke his heart. But before you could figure it out, Bucky shorted the distance between both in two fast strides and his hands gripped your throat and the back of your neck respectively, pinning you to the closest wall and tossing the lamp on your nightstand to the floor. You complained slightly —with his tongue wildly invading your mouth— because of the strength he used to put you against the wall.

You tried to push him away, to not fall into his charmings, but he made your mind blank when his fingers were firmly nailed in your ass and his body was accommodated between your legs. Your fiery provoked a bulge under his pants so painful that in every rock against your core he wasn't sure if it hurt or if it was some kind of pleasure he couldn't handle. Out of breath, Bucky attacked your neck, digging his teeth in your neck with so much passion that you screamed delighted his full name while pulling his hair. That gesture drove him insane, losing the less sanity he had at that point. With just a push, your boyfriend ripped off your shirt to strip you, in anticipation of your panties suffering the same fate.

Bucky threw you to the mattress on your abdomen, perfectly positioned to what was about to happen. He was so eager, so desperate for showing you what he was feeling that he didn't lose time taking off his clothes, just undoing his belt and unzipping his jeans to pull them down to his ankles along his boxers. You heard him spitting in his hand to use it as lube, although you were sufficiently soaked and ready for your Buck that neither of you needed his saliva. He rammed his dolorous erection into your cunt, crashing his pelvis and pressing it against your ass with all his strength, causing you to drown a loud cry in the sheets.

Tangling his fingers with yours and lacing your arms around your neck, putting all his weight onto your back, Bucky pounded you with an insanely quick rhythm, not giving you any chance to mold your throbbing walls around his length. Your pleased vocals echoed inside your room in total sync with the hits to your g-spot. Your body received with every one of them soft cramps mixed with pain and pleasure, making you roll your eyes and tear your throat.

“'S that wh— what you wanted, uh?” Bucky snarled against the back of your neck, totally gone, not giving you a break or showing any mercy.

“Fuck, no…” You replied, challenging him.

He swallowed a rough moan, wrapping his cold fingers around your throat while using the other to pull back your hair and arch your body. “Don' fucking… lie to me, doll… You wan— wanted your daddy to make you… feel desired over tho— those women”.

And yes, he was right. More or less. But you didn't expect him to react like that. Bucky was rabidly fucking you, moving the bed from its position with every angry thrust into your pussy. You knew you weren't going to last for too long if he continued impaling you against the mattress, just like that. But you both had to recognize that it was the best session of sex of your life.

“You were… fucking mad watch— watching 'em touch my arm… your arm, right?”

You whined at the brutality he used to push his hard cock beyond your limits, holding it there as he tilted your head to crash his lips on yours. Bucky devoured them until they were shiny, swollen, slightly ached because of the bit he left on your bottom one.

“If you don't tell me… the truth… I swear I'm not gonna let you come”. The whisper fell into your ear with such a raspy tone of voice, conscious of him being very capable.

“It was… your fucking fault, James. Not… Not mine”. You grunted, feeling him going a little deeper. “I di— didn't let anybody flirt with me… as if you didn't exist”.

That was the truth, but the wrong answer for him. Suddenly, Bucky pulled out his dick covered in your arousal, freeing you from any grip. A pause that only lasted the time he took to grab the handcuffs from your nightstand to place them in your wrists and secure them around the headboard. Now you were under his total control, defying him by strongly closing your legs and frowning at him, panting and sweating.

“Lemme tell you something”. Your boyfriend said, dangerously crawling over the bed till reaching your knees and forcing them to be separated, wide spread for him. “If you think I was flirting, but you didn't see… how uncomfortable I was… This situation is not my fault”.

The tables were turned as he finished his sentence, settling himself between your legs yet kneeling to raise your ass above his lap. “Not so mouthy now, are you, doll?”

You wanted to speak back, to say something after having a second to reconsider the reason why you were so angrier at him when Bucky pushed you down and rammed his dick back to the place it belonged. You forced unconsciously your hands gripped, wanting to put them on him —wherever—. As soon as he handcuffed you, your desire for touching him used to be suffocating. But you were the one who played from the start, instead of telling him how you were feeling about that situation at Shuri's party.

Bucky didn't even let you kiss him, stabilizing you on top with an arm around your waist and his cold hand holding the back of your head. His hips rocked straight to your g-spot once and once, making you lose any kind of control over your body as your boyfriend didn't have any compassion, needing to find relief to his sorrowful erection by cumming inside your clenching walls. You were driving him crazy, maintaining your eye contact at all moments and almost drinking your delighted, obscene crying, aware that only him could cause you to be so dirty.

“Feels good, uh…? You like it?” Your boyfriend brushed your lips with his, depriving you of his kisses or any other touch. “Bec— 'cause you take your daddy... so damn good, baby girl… So tight… so tight you could kill me”.

“Yes, da— daddy”. You whimpered nodding your head. “Only you… can fuck me li— like that… Only you”.

“That's it… that's it, oh, fuck… fuck, doll”.

You saw him roll that pair of beautiful blue eyes to the back of his head, feeling Bucky's thighs tensing under your legs. You didn't want anything else than making him cum, after overthinking about how he felt, and not about what you witnessed. He was right, more or less. He was still being so innocent in those kinds of situations that he used to feel like a scared kid.

You suddenly fell back to reality when the emptiness sensation invaded you. Bucky pulled out his length from you again, causing you to beg in silence for not denying you the orgasm you were about to reach. But he warned you. Bucky asked you to tell him the truth and you chose to challenge him. Letting you sit on the mattress, he flexed a leg to guide his twitching cock to your mouth, not needing to tell you what he wanted you to do. You just parted your lips, receiving him without protesting, curling your fingers when he forced your limits, and positioned both hands on your head. Twirling your tongue around his base as you could, with your cavity completely invaded, Bucky provoked you a strong gag. A gesture that led to his warm seed being spilled down your throat.

“Fuck my life, baby girl!” He couldn't help but howl driven by the pleasure as you coughed and made vibrate his sensitive skin.

Just holding his dick trapped by your lips for a second, he freed your mouth, taking his time to admire you swallowing his cum and showing afterward your tongue. God, you looked so beautiful disheveled, with teary eyes and swollen lips because of the effort.

“Want me to tell you something else?” Bucky asked while cleaning the sweat in his forehead with the back of his arm, taking the small key to liberating you with his free hand.

You didn't reply, not needing to, as he rubbed your wrists to comfort your skin before lying by your side.

“Com'ere”. He whispered, yet trying to recover your breathings. Bucky wrapped you with his flesh arm, rubbing his iron fingers up and down your tense belly, creating a contrast that caused you goosebumps. “'M so sorry for making you feel like that”.

He kissed you. Slowly, passionate, tasting his own juices mixed with your saliva. Caressing your tongue with the tip of his, and no rush. You felt his digits touring down your skin, till finding your throbbing and needed clit. You weren't able to hold back a sweet moan when he circled his fingertip over your sensible pearl, gladly drinking your vocals.

“When I wanted to react… she was putting that damn spoon into my mouth. It felt horrible, doll, I promise”. He murmured, venturing his long cold finger to part your folds and sink it inside you —moaning at the fulfill sensation—. “You always save me from those awkward situations… but you were having fun with Shuri and I didn't want to interrupt you”.

You were feeling like shit, looking at him through your eyelids as he curved a second finger into your cunt and increased the pace of the pounds with his hand made of vibranium. Bucky spread some gentle kisses all around your face, ending with a tender bite to your lips.

“When you told me you wanted to go home, I felt a huge relief… 'Cause that was everything I wanted. Go home with you. Maybe watch a movie… cuddle… fall asleep on the sofa”.

“Oh, God, Bucky”. You wept onto his mouth, as soon as a third finger filled you, nailing his hand in the perfect position to be moved up and down. “I'm so— sorry, Buck… I'm sorry”.

“Fuck, no”. He let out, thrusting you harder, faster, creating a melody of filthy sloppy sounds while your moans were louder and louder. “I should stop 'em, I didn't… I didn't. But I respect you more than anything, doll… I love you with all my heart. I care 'bout you, 'bout your feelings… Can you forgive me? Can you… Can you cum for me?”

You nodded your head running out of words, seeing your boyfriend snaking his body down the bed to between your shaky legs, yet having his fingers knuckles deep inside you. “Keep 'em open for your man”.

The blow to your abused cunt provoked you a lash up to your backbone, landing your hands on his head as Bucky sank his face straight to your center. His digits fucked you savagely, while his tongue took control of your swollen pearl —sucking, licking, kissing, pulling it back—. He wasn't going to deny that pleasure to you, quite the opposite. You pressed unconsciously his face a little closer to your pussy, swinging your hips and riding his mouth when his caresses and his pushes became too much for you.

Bucky made you cum harder than ever, crying his name till you didn't have any strength and you were just a sack of bones under his expert mouth, devouring you and drinking your juices as if it was the elixir of life. And when he was satiated, you glanced at him using the tip of his tongue to trail a path up crossing your abdomen, the gap between your breasts, your throat, until kissing you again getting comfortable on top of you. It was a kiss full of love, and guiltiness, and necessity, and pure devotion for you.

“Did I hurt you with what I said?” You murmured, still enraptured by the fireworks fluttering within your belly.

“This isn't 'bout me”. Bucky clicked his tongue, hiding his face into your sweaty neck. “This is 'bout what I let happen”.

“That doesn't answer my question, Buck… I'm sorry about what I said. I was just… I feel insecure". You confessed stroking his scalp and back with your hands, lacing your legs together. “I didn't mean it. I would never try to… find someone who respects me more than you do. That's impossible. And not talking about how much you love me”.

“I love you with every inch of myself”. He swore, he promised, raising his face to look straight at your eyes. “I can't imagine a life without you”.

“Me either… Your love makes me feel alive”.

Bucky left one last tender kiss on your lips before suddenly standing up and holding you onto his arms to carry you to the bathroom and take a shower together —wash your hair, worship your body again as if it was the last thing he was going to do—.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it.

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jedifarmerr · 3 years ago

Text

50 Shades Of Marcus

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader(she/her pronouns but no name or physical descriptions)

Summary: The 50 Shades of Gray trailer leads to an interesting conversation which sets off an unexpected chain of events.

Word Count: over 10k (seriously this is mostly porn 70% at least)

Rating/Warnings: E for Explicit (18+ seriously). Smut, Dom!reader (Pretty soft dom), sub!Marcus, language, ambiguous age gap, lingerie (while SavagexFenty wasn't around I take most my inspiration from there since it is inclusive), yearning. Again don't wanna give too much away But this is decently tame for a Dom/sub and if you have any questions or want a full list, you can either message me or check this on AO3.

I'm still new to writing this dynamic so please let me know if I got anything wrong.

A/N: Thank you everyone for the support on the first part, seriously never expected it!

Read Part 1 - here

Part 2: A Darker Shade

Marcus stood outside her door, a Redbox movie tucked under his arm and a to-go bag of Thai in hand. Glancing at the golden knob, a rush of butterflies hit him.

Would it feel different?

Was everything going to change?

Safe to say it was new territory for him. Always more of a relationship guy, the closest thing Marcus had to a friend with benefits – or whatever this was called – was in middle school when his neighbor Allie suggested they be the other’s first kiss.

It was like comparing apples to oranges. Or in this case a peck to a mind-blowing…handjob.

Obviously he’d talked to her in the past few days. A few texts here and there, mostly planning for tonight.

But, seeing her? That was a different story. Aside from Saturday – for the half-hour breakfast/run down – he’d seen her once, the other morning on the landing but the smile and wave as a proclaimed art connoisseur barked in his ear which barely counted.

Marcus wasn’t worried, per se, to see her, more anxious for the unknown. A tad nervous about how the new dynamic might bleed into what was already so great.

Well, there was no time like the present to find out.

Marcus took a deep breath then opened the door. At the sound of it, she jumped up from the couch.

“There you are.” She smiled, wide and warm. His mouth opened but nothing came out, his brilliant mind was suddenly replaced by a blank piece of scratch paper. The little voice in his head called through the void, screaming to say something – a simple hi or maybe a how’s it going would do.

But no.

In a dash of panic, the room filling with the pad of her feet as she drew nearer, he slapped a dorky smile on his face and lifted the to-go bag like a proud fisherman showing off his prized catch. The forgotten DVD slid from his armpit, crashing at his feet and all he wanted was to reverse just twenty seconds, a real life Click moment.

Marcus shook his head at himself and slung the sack on the table, before bending down to snatch up the case. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

She dismissed the ordeal with a wave of her hand and a shrug. “No need to apologize, happens to the best of us,” she said nonchalantly and plucked the DVD from his hand. “Let’s see what ya got – the Equalizer, huh? Ya know, I’ve heard good things.”

He let out a small breath of relief after spending ten minutes swiping through the movie selection; if not for the woman and her children waiting patiently, he probably would’ve been there all night.

“Ya know, Eric actually recommended it so I wasn’t too sure, but just thought ya know - why not?” Marcus tugged at the knot on the bag a few times until it finally loosened. She glided past him into the kitchen while he pulled out two entrees and an order of her favorite, spring rolls to share.

“Maybe Eric will be right this time.” He chuckled at her teasing of the co-worker he’d told her so much about. “Want anything to drink?”

She stopped at the fridge, twirling to face him and he swore – for just a moment – her eyes flickered across his shoulders and slim waist, hugged by his tight t-shirt. If so she didn’t have any shame about it, settling back on his face with a waiting tilt of her head.

“Water,” he croaked out, promptly clearing his throat while sinking down in the chair. “Please,” he politely added.

The fridge groaned to life, ice crashing in the glass cup. “Thanks again, by the way,” she said as the water hissed against the cubes. “For picking this up for us. Got a receipt? I think mine’s usually 12 dollars?”

He dismissed her offer like it was a gnat, but knew she had the persistency and stubbornness of a fly. She went to debate, but he beat her to it. “I insist.” Her lips pursed, studying him and he cocked his brow in defense. “Besides, I owe you for the pizza - and don’t forget Rocco’s.”

“Please, that was nothing.” She shook her head, handing him the glass.

“Yeah? Well, neither was this.” His voice and cocky grin left no room for argument.

She huffed, sliding into the chair opposite of him. “Well I got dibs on next time.”

“Hmmmm, I think I can live with that.” He smirked, plucking up a spring roll and taking a bite – a few pieces of cilantro falling from his lips to the container.

She popped open the lid, “Oooof, now this looks amazing.” She stabbed the noodles, twirling them around her fork then blowing off the steam before taking a cautious bite.

“Sorry it took so long. My meeting ran late and I wanted to chan-” His explanation trailed into silence as her finger shot up, swallowing.

“I swear, I’m gonna kick you out if you apologize again.” Her laugh was light, an empty threat.

“Sor - ah, won’t happen again,” he said, raising a hand in surrender. She nodded, giving her best serious face. The sound of chewing surrounded the table for just a few moments, Marcus sipped on his water. “Alright,” he set the glass down. “I gotta ask. How was that yoga class?” An annoyed, almost pissed off look flashed across her face. “That bad?” He asked.

She patted the sides of her mouth with a napkin. “Worse.”

Little did Marcus know he’d opened up a can of worms.

The yoga class she’d gone to with some co-workers for team bonding (not her idea) after breakfast on Saturday ended up being a fast-paced, hot yoga class instead of something calm and tranquil like advertised. By the end of the hour her mat was surrounded by a puddle and the coffee and croissant from earlier were dangerously close to making a reappearance. The only brightside seemed to be the prospect of a new friend.

Once she was done ranting, she spent the rest of the dinner focused on him. Asking him about his caseload, listening intently to his stories and almost falling out of her chair laughing at Eric’s countless shenanigans.

Both full and satisfied, Marcus popped in the movie and plopped on his end of the couch with her following soon after. Watching it with continuous commentary as if nothing had happened.

“So,” she said, turning to him as the ending scene panned out, “Come on. Whaddya think?”

“It was -” he shrugged, “Pretty good, yeah – entertaining, interesting enough.”

“Oh, here we go,” she teased with a playful roll of her eyes. “What was it this time? No wait, let me guess. Was it the fact that it wasn’t made before you were born? No - no, because it wasn’t on the classics list on google? Wait - I got it, it wasn’t black and white?”

He clicked his tongue, “I show you one black and white movie –”

“Nononono – don’t even. Don’t down play it, we both know it’s more than that.” He smashed his lips together and twirled his head from side to side. “Alright, there was – It’s A Wonderful Life -”

“Oh come on. That’s a holiday classic.”

“Pfft. Doesn’t change the fact it’s black and white.” She snorted and a smile broke through his lips. He motioned his hand in a circle for her to continue. “Then there was…Citizen Kane and oh - Casablanca.”

“Now, you liked Casablanca,” he said and she wagged her head back and forth.

“You’re completely missing the point. Look. Just admit it, old movies you give a pass to, but new movies – suddenly you turn into the biggest critic.”

Marcus crossed his arms against his chest. “What can I say? They don’t make ‘em like they used to.” Her laugh was soft, warm on her lips.

Shaking her head, she bounced to her feet and twisted from side to side to pop her back. “You’re impossible,” she said, then sauntered over to the TV.

Marcus cruised over her simple long-sleeve and black leggings. A nothing special outfit, yet it never failed to stop him short.

Honestly, he didn’t know what she looked better in. Marcus found her stunning in everything.

He loved seeing her so casual, bare face and cozy, but damn if he didn’t lose his breath anytime he saw her in those satin blouses tucked into power pants. Then that leather outfit, don’t even get him started – that actually ruined him; all week he wondered what else she had hidden away.

Always one to be respectful, he hated those guys who gawked and ogled women like fresh meat. But he found himself in a moment of weakness, unable to tear himself away as she bent over to hit the eject button. Those black leggings latching onto her thighs and the swell of her ass – not for the first time, he found himself jealous of an inanimate object.

Too distracted with the lower half, he missed that she was peering over her shoulder. “Like what you see?” She teased with a questioning brow.

His guilt-wide eyes shot to her and she giggled at the pink of his cheeks. Marcus scrubbed a hand down his face, “Fuck,” he mumbled, dissapointed in his lapse and feeling a tad creepy. How long had she been watching him, watch her?

“It’s alright.” Her words fell delicate, an innocent sounding whisper wrapped in a sultry coat.

She slinked back to him, and his gaze held to hers. He couldn’t believe this was happening, moments ago it was like nothing had changed but now, she was fitting herself between his thighs; his heart booming in his chest like a speaker blaring at a concert, loud enough he swore she could hear.

“I like when you look.” It dripped from her lips like water through a colander. As if she had no clue that such a simple sentence made his mind spin like a windmill in a tornado. He gulped, surprised and innocent.

Her hand reached into the space between, “Come on,” she said, tilting her head to the front door. Helped to his feet, a step behind as he followed her, the sentence wisping through his mind like a hypnotic spell.

Opening the door, she cradled the side of it as he stepped out into the landing. Inhaling the thin and untainted air in hopes to clear the fog threatening to take over his frontal lobe.

She handed him the DVD, “Make sure you return that.”

He slapped the case against his palm with a firm nod. “Will do,” he teetered back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Well, I had fun.”

“Yeah? Me too.” She smiled and damn it made him never want to leave. “Marcus, I know it’s been a few days but I um - just wanted to check and see if you’re still feeling alright about everything? I would’ve asked earlier, but since it was our first time hanging out I kinda wanted to keep it separate, if that makes sense.”

Marcus couldn’t help but wonder if she’d dealt with a situation like this in the past, but judging by the sound of her voice it seemed like this was relatively new territory and he wasn’t alone in feeling a tad anxious about tonight. However she did a much better job of hiding it or handling it.

“I get it.” Honestly, he did and appreciated her want and effort to maintain the friendship. “And to answer your question - yes. Uh - I still feel good, uh - really good.” His voice was sincere – earnest to a fault.

“Good,” she gave a single nod, then peered up through her lashes. “Then, are you still interested in –”

“Yes,” he blurted, his jaw clamping together immediately as her eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Sorry,” his head dipped to the side. Lucky for him, she appeared to enjoy his eagerness, as the shock faded and her lips upturned on the sides.

“ ‘s okay,” she assured and to his surprise, inched closer. Brushing up against him, every hair on his body stood at attention as his breathing picked up into a steady pant in his ear. The effect she had on him was dizzying, nothing like he’d ever experienced with Teresa or – hell even Angela. “Do you have any plans on Friday?”

His head shook back and forth with a squeaked out ‘no.’ In the moment he couldn’t care less about playing it cool or acting like he needed a second to think, just to make it seem he had a semblance of a personal life.

“Alright, well.” Her finger brushed against his tummy, up his cotton-covered chest. “Would you wanna come over?” At her bare whisper, Marcus turned to putty in her hands – malleable.

“Mh-hmm.” His head moved like a flicked bobblehead.

“Good,” she said in a husky voice, eyes flickering to his lips while licking her own. “It’s getting late, I think it’s time we call it a night.” He whimpered as her finger trailed to his neck, across his bobbing Adam's apple. Making his body scream for more – of what, he wasn’t sure but knew he would’ve taken anything and everything she would’ve given, even the smallest crumb.

When she stepped away and into her apartment, he choked down a whiny gasp of air. “Sweet dreams, Marcus. Oh – and you should probably take care of that.”

His eyes dropped to the tent in his sweats. “Oh - shit - damn it.”

She shot him a self-satisfied grin and winked. “I’ll text you,” and with that, she closed the door.

Marcus stared at the dark wood for a solid minute, then muttered out a curse, palming his cock as he fumbled with his keys.

He was in deep deep trouble.

---

Jovial laughter and easy conversations broke through the glass pane walls of the usually stoic and serious conference room. They were celebrating a major bust in a decades-long case. Marcus was basking in the high spirits of his fellow agents. Everyone had really let their hair down, hanging their blazers over the rolly chairs and bunching up their sleeves.

Leaning against the wooden table, Marcus smiled at the agents coming over to check the empty pizza boxes and refill their cups from an array of two-liters. Turning back to politely nod along, using every bit of cognitive strength to focus on Shannon’s prattling.

Twirling a strand of auburn hair around her finger, Marcus peaked over at the clock above the door – once again. The hand ticking closer and closer to the time she told him to be over. He still needed to shower and change, but every effort to leave the conversation was thwarted by her refusal or inability to catch his subtle and polite hints.

“Hey guys.” Marcus’s eyes lit up at the Baltimore twang; Eric slung his arm around his shoulder. “How’s it goin’ over here?” Eric asked with a dopey wide grin.

“Fine,” Shannon said with a tight smile, the red solo cup popping under her perfectly french manicured vice.

Eric raised his brows, catching her hint. “Well, I won’t keep ya too long. Listen, most of us are gonna hit up Barney’s after this and from there, well. We’ll see where the night takes us. You down?” He pointed at Shannon first.

“I’m in.” Her bright green eyes stared hopefully at Marcus.

“Boss?” Eric raised his brows and the conversation dwindled around them as the other agents listened for his answer.

“Ahh, can’t tonight.” The group groaned in unison. “I swear another time and actually-” he flicked his wrist out, checking his watch. “Oooh, in fact - I need to get goin’ soon. It was great talking to you Shan, hope your cat gets to feelin better.”

A ghost of a smile played on Shannon’s lips as she shuffled over to another group in the corner. Needing to clean up, Marcus stacked the unused red solo cups. “Anyone want a refill?” He pointed to the two-liters.

Eric pounced into his line of sight, “What are you doing tonight?” Marcus glanced around the room and the agents prying eyes scattered to all four corners.

“Nothin really,” he tilted his head with a nonchalant shrug, “Just hanging out with a - friend.” His nose wrinkled at the word like it wreaked of sour milk.

“A friend, huh?” Eric twisted his lips to the side, hand flourishing in the air. “And how’d you meet this friend?”

If Eric was trying to be sly it was a piss poor attempt and Marcus scoffed. “She’s my neighbor.”

“Oooooh.” Marcus immediately realized his mistake. Eric leaned in, his voice low “That’s kinky.” He wiggled his brows and Marcus couldn’t help but chuckle, little did he know. “And is this neighbor, well - does she happen to be…attractive?”

It wasn’t like Marcus was against sharing aspects of his personal life with his colleagues. Hell, his poor secretary had to listen to him pour over his whole life – or at least the trail of failed relationships – at lunch for the first two months. Don’t worry, he bought her something nice for Christmas.

But with her it was…different. For one, he’d never talk about sex and especially not his kinks. Secondly, he didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea or more so…for him to feed into it.

Ignoring the question, Marcus turned to the room. “Last call before it’s going in the fridge.” At the shake of heads, he gathered up as many bottles as he could carry and headed for the break room next door. Eric grabbed the rest and followed right on his heels.

“You’re not very slick, I see what you did there.”

Marcus shook his head, turning the corner. He knew he was a lousy liar and felt it best to not even attempt.

“Ya know,” Eric opened the fridge for him, “Avoidance is a form of admittance,” he said with full, plumped out lips as he packed the bottles in.

“Is that so?” Marcus nodded, then turned his lips down. Offering nothing further before heading back to the conference room.

“Yeah, so you might as well just admit it,” Eric spit near his ear. “Come on. Ya know I’m not gonna give -”

“Fine,” Marcus mumbled, cutting him off before he got a headache. Popping his hip, he smacked his jaw together as Eric beamed like an overexcited child, body jittering and eyes wide – full of hope. “Yes, she’s…attractive.”

Eric let out a gleeful gasp, “Now, was that so hard?” Marcus chuckled at the young agent, the youngest on the team. While some found him exhausting, Marcus found his energy and hopeful attitude refreshing – unless he was the object of his badgering.

“But don’t get too excited,” Marcus said, towering the empty boxes. “We’re just friends.” Marcus dreaded saying the words that acted as a pin, popping Eric’s boastful bubble and deflating him on the spot. Checking the time once more, Marcus went to grab his jacket.

Eric placed his hand on his chest, stopping him. “Now, slow down. Just answer me this, if she’s just a friend. Why don’t you reschedule, huh? I mean, she’s your neighbor - come on, you gotta see her all the time.”

Not nearly enough, Marcus thought but breathed out an easy laugh at Eric’s resilience. He quickly snatched his jacket and coat from the chair.

“And I don’t see you lot enough?” Eric rolled his eyes as Marcus bundled up. “Look, give me a date and I’ll be there. Promise.”

Eric cracked a smile, “Alright, but I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“Trust me, I know.” Marcus slung his briefcase over his shoulder and patted Eric on the back. “Have a good time and don’t get too wild.”

“I can’t make any promises there. Oh - don’t worry about those, we’ll get ‘em. Just go, don’t wanna keep your ‘friend’ waiting.” Marcus dropped the boxes back on the table, then said a quick goodbye to the other agents before rushing out the door.

---

It was a good thing Marcus was such a planner, leaving with enough time to shower and change along with an added extra ten minutes just in case. Of course, like usual all his best laid plans fell apart when two blocks in a fender bender put him at a standstill. Only to be followed up by a detour full of red lights.

By the time he threw his car into park, it was five minutes past and he bolted inside, up the stairs. Coming to an abrupt halt outside her door.

Marcus messed with his hair then cupped a hand over his mouth to check his breath. Pizza and Sprite shot into his nostrils and he cursed, swinging his briefcase around to fumble out a thing of tic-tacs, shaking a few into his hand.

Munching down on them like a beaver, he swallowed. A mint ice coated his throat, making him sputter out a cough as he headed inside.

“I’m here.” His voice was strained, sounding like he just smoked four packs in the car. He cleared his throat, locking the door. “I’m here. Sorry I’m late, there was-” His briefcase thudded to the ground, echoing in the empty room.

“In here,” she called from the bedroom.

“I’m comin’, be right there.” He ripped off his coat and toed off his shoes. “I’m so sorry, it was insane getting here.”

Balmed by the frenzy of traffic, a sudden spike of anticipation hit him along with the scent of vanilla as he walked down the hall. “Did you get all my tex-” The pointless ramblings fizzled on his tongue. “Wow.” He rubbed his hand across his mouth, down his jaw.

There she was, waiting for him on the bed with legs crossed, a languid sway of her foot.

His eyes ping ponged around her. From her thigh high stockings which clipped into a hidden clasp somewhere in the high cut, high neck faux leather leotard; a metal harness wrapped around her neck like a choker, then ran down the center of her slightly puffed out chest to outline her breasts and hide the easy access zippers there; the third zipper wasn’t so hidden, running from just below her navel to somewhere he couldn’t see just yet, but with his deductive reasoning skills had a pretty good idea.

Pursing her glossy stained lips and tilting her head, she pushed up with her hands and the shiny black pumps clicked on the floor. “You were saying?”

“I - uh - I.” The dreamy fog was already starting to creep from the back of his neck to the front of his cortex, he shook his head to try and clear it for just a moment. “Sorry.”

She hummed, “I know you are. It’s a shame though, really.” Her fingers clasped to the zippers at her breasts, a teasing sliver of skin left exposed. “I had these unzipped for you. Just waiting, nothing covering here.” The zippers growled completely shut and he whimpered at the excruciating sound. “But I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

His adrenal gland ignited at the sternness that trickled into her sultry tone. A tingle of suspension creeped across his spine, making his cock harden in his slacks. “Consider this, your first warning.” For some reason he found himself on the verge of willingly falling to his knees.

“I promise,” he rushed out, “It’ll never happen again. I’m so -”

She pressed a finger to his lips, “Oh baby, it’s alright. All is forgiven for now.” She worked at the knot of his red striped tie. “Do you remember the stop light system?” The tie slid from his neck, fast as a whip and the polyester glided around her hands, feeling it in her palms before dropping it on the dresser behind him.

“Yes, I remember.”

“Good.” She craned her neck back to take in his tailor-fit navy suit jacket with matching slacks, paired with a crisp white button up. “Mhmm, I’ve always liked seeing you dressed up like this. Look so handsome.” The compliment burned his cheeks. “So powerful,” she said while untucking his shirt and toying open the buttons. “So assertive. So…Dominant.”

She ripped it wide open and he gasped, only to swallow it back in as her nails grazed his newly exposed chest.

“But, we both know that’s not the case. Don’t we?” The look in her eyes from under her lashes and the power in her stature had his knees nearly buckling, hands shooting to steady himself on the dresser. “Tell me, Marcus. Who’s in charge?”

He gulped down the air in the room, tasting his own desperation on his lips and letting the word, “You,” slip with the breath he took. “You’re in charge.”

She hummed, low and pleasing and he inhaled it, like it was an aphrodisiac, smelling of dark chocolate and red wine. “That’s right. I’m in charge here.” Her knuckles glided along the sparse hairs at his navel and he keened. “But don’t worry, I’m gonna take such good care of you. That’s what you want, right?”

“Please, yes. God, yes,” he said, the neediness of it gleaming in his wide-brown eyes.

“That’s what I thought, now let’s get you out of these clothes.”

Desperation thrummed in her fingers, pushing off his shirt and jacket into a pool at his feet. The idea that she was eager to see him naked, that she desired his body made his cock pulse, begging for attention that she avoided while undoing his belt and tossing it to the side.

Suddenly, out of nowhere she was crouching (refusing to kneel) and his body went taut. She peered up at him, slowly licking her lips then eyeing his cock. Burying her nose at the apex of his clothed thigh, his knuckles burned as his palms dug into the wood, fighting the buck of his hips.

With a taunting hum, she pulled back and flicked open the button, carefully unzipping his slacks. Tugging them down, joined by his black briefs soon after. His cock nearly whacked her in the face as it sprung free.

“Much better.” She popped back up, and looked him up and down. “How ‘bout you get comfortable.”

Marcus’s brows pulled tight when she stepped to the side. He hadn’t realized when coming in – obviously distracted by much more pressing things – but her beed had been transformed into a relatively flat surface, no pillows and only the comforter and fitted sheet remained.

She motioned to the bed and he stepped out of his clothes, leaving them in a heap to sit at the edge. A box on the vanity caught the corner of his eyes – black velvet and no bigger than one for shoes. Following his line of sight, she smirked. “Oh, I see you found your present.”

His smile betrayed him, “You got something for me?”

“Mh-mmm.” A naughty grin quirked her lips as she tipped back the lid and pulled out a red rope that made him squirm. “You liked being tied up last time?” Aside from the small inflection and the waiting look in her eyes, her matter-of-fact tone hardly posed a question.

“Yes,” he squeaked out and she gave a short nod.

“Yeah? You looked so good tied up. Did so good for me. But I think you can handle a little more, don’t you?”

Suspense wracked his body as she gingerly put the red rope to the side and pulled out two separate restraints. Similar to the ones she used last time, a cuff at one end and a belt enclosure on the other, but these were connected by a short silver chain. She glanced down at his feet and he realized they were meant for his ankles.

His eyes shined at the idea, cock twitching for her to see. “I think - I think I can take it. I wanna try.”

“Baby, I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so good using your words.” She beamed and his neck went flush like a teacher’s pet. “Okay, go on lay back for me.” He obeyed her order without conviction. Laying flat on his back and taking each directive as she positioned him exactly where she wanted.

Her footboard looked like a golden halfpipe, a dip in the middle perfect for easy crawling access with a curve that led into a solid pole at each end – perfect for ankle restraints. It fit her needs to a tee and left him wondering just how long it took her to find it.

Propping up on his elbow to watch, she secured his ankles to the bedpost, tugging at her request and assuring her it wasn’t too much. As she snatched up the red rope, Marcus laid back and stared up at the ceiling. The mattress dipped under her weight and the scent of her rich perfume wafted over.

His breath hitched and he looked over, finding himself mere inches from the strip of satin running down the center of her thighs. His tongue darted out, imagining tracing it up the crease and further to her warm wet cunt. The memory of how she tasted tingled his tongue, and he groaned – ravenous for more.

“Clasp your hands together.” Her voice knocked him from his thoughts and he followed her model. “Just like that, now above your head.” The rope was surprisingly soft, made of cotton with an easy slip ring that had his hands bound in seconds.

His biceps flexed as she looped the rope over the headboard. Pulling, his muscles stung and he groaned at the feeling – but shockingly not in pain, but in pleasure. “Too tight?” She asked.

He gnawed on his cheek, confused by how his cock throbbed at the dull discomfort and he shook his head.

“Oh, did you like that?” She asked – a mix of shock and intrigue. A shy smile plumped his flush cheeks and she offered him another small tug – only a mere bit, but still had his head lulling back with a low moan; she rumbled out a sound of approval and slotted the information away for later.

With him securely knotted to the headboard, she stepped back to appraise her work like an artist finally seeing her muse on display. Actually, how she examined him made him feel like he was art, studying all the tiny details: the subtle twitch of his strained muscles, beads of sweat just beginning to drip down his browline, the weight of each heavy draw of his chest.

“So beautiful,” she said, as her eyes lingered particularly long on what being at her complete mercy inflicted upon him, cock red and pulsing for her.

Gaining a wicked gratification from it, a grin teased her lips. “Tug,” she ordered. He complied and a thrill ran down his spine as the restraints had him basically nailed to the mattress. Grabbing a small pillow and a thin, folded up blanket from under the bed, she put one to support his lower back and the other under his neck for both comfort and watching purposes.

He stared up at the ceiling, trying and failing to control his breathing as her heels clicked around the room. He’d expected her to crawl between his thighs but, instead she crawled in next to him. Pulling her legs up tight and stacking her knees, heels teetering off the edge.

“You’re so handsome, Marcus.” The raw honesty in her voice and the vulnerability of the moment left a salty taste in the back of his throat. Which was momentarily forgotten as her focus zeroed in on the parts she previously neglected; fingertips dancing along the pulsing vein of his neck to his Adam’s apple. “Did you take care of your problem once you left the other night?”

The realization of how utterly exposed he was stabbed at him like a splinter, a tinge of embarrassment crawling into his skin. He fought through his years of conditioning, of holding back. “Uh-huh,” his eyes rolled skyward. “I had to.” She frowned at the ounce of residual shame that wrapped itself around his hoarse voice like a cobra.

She caressed his jaw, “Did it feel good?”

“Yes,” he licked his dry lips. “Of course.”

“Then there’s no shame about it.” He let out a single breathy laugh at how her easy response seemed to ease the worry between his brows. He knew she wasn’t being flippant, but instead trying to show him there was no shame or judgment here, in her room. “Now tell me, did you think of me?”

“Always,” he choked out, “I always think of you.”

“Good,” she said, her hand went back and forth over his collarbone. “I want you to only think of me when you touch yourself.” The slight possessiveness in her comment made his cock twitch. “You wanna know a secret, Marcus?”

“Yeah” he whimpered.

She leaned in, a breath – then another against the shell of his ear. “I fucked myself thinking of you.”

A jolt of arousal shot down his spine at the thought of her in this very bed with her fingers deep inside her and his name on her lips. A helpless whine escaped him as his hips tried to surge upwards.

“I imagined you just like this,” her hand grazed up and down the center of his chest and the desire in the pit of his belly ignited in a blazing fire. “All tied up for me. With your cock buried inside of me as I barely rocked my hips, just keeping you right there. So hard and pulsing. God, it got me so wet, just thinking of you on edge, those sweet little sounds you make as you beg for release.”

The erotic words played like a porno in his mind and his eyes shut for just a moment to watch the fantasy. But suddenly her fingertips brushed his nipple and everything – the rustle of the comforter, the faint traffic floating in and his pathetic mewl – turned to radio static in his ears.

“Oh, you like that?” She repeated the motion on the other side and it shocked him how he keened, so sensitive. “Has no one ever touched you there?”

She continued her teasing ministrations, every word that reached his slumped open mouth turned into a soft gasp. “No,” he finally got the word out, shaking his head. “More - please. More.” The plea seemed to tumble out, unexpecting and unsure of exactly what he even meant.

Of course she did. With her fingers in a V-shape she teased around the colored flesh, every so often closing the gap to lightly pinch the skin – an uninhibited moan and a shameless bead of precum converging with each one.

He gulped for air, catching his breath as she maneuvered around him for a better angle. Strong thighs caging in one of his, clothed mound hovering just above his bare skin. She made a show of plunging her fingers into her mouth, sucking them down like it was a popsicle on a hot day. With a lewd pop, a dribble of saliva clinging to the edge of her lips. Spit-soaked digits coming to circle the area, his head slammed against the pillow as she leaned in, blowing on it to bump the skin.

“I bet that feels so good. Doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” he gasped.

“What about this?” She experimentally flicked her tongue across the flesh and his back arched for more.

“Fu- yes. Yes.”

She hummed into his heated skin, stroking it with her tongue over and over again. Switching sides, letting his broken off noises guide her. Her teeth grazed over the plumped flesh then sucked it into her mouth.

His body felt like it was vibrating, pleasure coursing through his veins. Gurgled noises clawed themselves from the depths of his chest, hips desperately bucking in a useless search for her barely out of reach thigh.

As she lavished his tender skin with her tongue, her hand came to work on the other – pinching and teasing the puffing flesh. The nip of pain and simultaneous pleasure had his body zinging with sharp, raw desire.

Desperately panting, gasping her name she kissed the purpled skin. Moving her tongue up into the divot of his neck. Licking the lines of sweat and across his collarbone until he was just a puddle – all dewy skin and sticky belly.

A need for her lips elsewhere bloomed in his chest like a weed. “Please,” he gasped. “Kiss me.”

Blown-wide pupils, doused in lust, met him. Her hand brushed across his cheek, diving into his hair. “Since you asked so nicely,” she hushed a breath apart. Her spit-swollen lips met his, perfectly slotting together in a deep and slow kiss that made the ache in his cock momentarily subside. Only to climb to new heights as it turned more heated – passionate.

Pliant under her, she tugged on his hair. A moan echoed around her mouth and her eager tongue swooped inside. Docile, his lips barely managed to move – hardly kissing her back as she ruined him for anyone else.

The hand in his hair wandered to his taut and stretched biceps, caressing the pulled muscles before dipping down to his cheek, throat and further to the top of his abdomen. The hidden muscles there flexed. “Please,” he groaned into her mouth and she flicked her tongue against his. “Oh God! It feels – so much. Please.”

“Always so polite,” she said, then nipped at his jaw and curled back into his side. The bedposts trembled as her fingernails scratched down his tummy. “Doing so well, baby,” she praised, hand stopping short of his cock to swirl her fingertips around the pearly mess.

“Fuck, look at you.” She showed him her glistening fingers, and his cheeks went scarlet as she spread them, the light shining on the drips slipping through the dips and down to her knuckles. “I love how messy you get for me, it’s so fucking hot.”

Honestly he had no idea his body was capable of making so much cum it actually bordered on concering. Where was it coming from? It was as if the years of repression had stored it all away in a bank, waiting until the day she finally came around.

“I’ve - I’ve never,” his sentence faltered into a high-pitched whine as her slicked up fingertips curled the fat head of his cock. A cry, nearing a shout of her name echoed around the room as she toyed with his slit, dragging her thumb across it – spreading it open.

“What were you saying?” She continued to tease the angry tip, somehow pulling more and more precum from him. “Come on baby. Tell me.”

His glazed brown eyes blinked up at her. “It’s - it’s all for you.” A satisfyingly wicked grin broke through her lips and she rewarded him.

Steady and slick, unhurried. Her fingertips dusted across his balls and skimmed the weeping tip with each long, drawn out stroke of her warm hand. “So pretty like this,” she said in a husky voice. Glancing at his pulsing cock in her loose fist and the wrecked expression on his face – lips broken apart, quivering and the lines of his forehead curled from his weighted brow.

Marcus wanted to memorize this moment, savor it forever. Greed hazed eyes drinking in the inky black outfit, painted to every dip and curve of her skin; her chest heaved, tight puffs of air showing him she wasn’t unaffected by it all.

The need to cum thrummed through him, balls drawing tighter and tighter as it threatened to swallow him whole. But the second he looked down at her tensing thighs and remembered her promise, a new desire roared to life.

“Fuck - please. Let me - taste you.” She bit down on her lip to trap a small moan. “Please. Wanna make you - feel good. Oh - shit, like you make me - Mhm - so good.”

Her hand slowed to a halt, “Is that what you want?” She asked, the piercing and primal look in her eyes sending a shiver down his spine. The loss of friction making him whine. Her hand traveling upwards. “You want me to sit right here?” She tapped his lips.

His tongue darted out, tasting and licking her skin like a reflex. “Fuck - baby, look at you. So needy for it,” she said and he muttered a soft, please, into the pad of her fingers. He whimpered as she ripped her hand away, eying for a moment to check and make sure to which he eagerly nodded.

“You did ask so nicely, baby,” her heels tumbled, one by one to the ground and his heart pounded in his chest like an animal trying to break free of its cage. Finally - so many nights spent fantasizing about this moment and here it was.

“You’ve been so very good so if that’s what you want, then that’s what you’ll get.”

She propped up on her knees, “So patient,” she cooed while unzipping the track from her lower belly all the way to the top of her ass cheeks. “And so sweet.” She spread it open, tucking the track inward.

Grabbing the headboard, she looped one leg around him so her pussy was inches away from his watering mouth. Just out of reach, but close enough to catch a whiff of her intoxicating musky scent.

“Fuck,” He growled, “Smell so good.” Ready to devour her, he wet his lips.

The groan he let out as her nails ran along his scalp, tugging to angle him right where she wanted, was sinfully deep, like it was siphoned through gravel.

He was fully surrounded by her, thighs pressing into his stretched out triceps, glossy and swollen slit just waiting for his tongue – he could spend his life between her legs and be perfectly content.

“Beautiful.” The rasp of breath hit her cunt and she shivered. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

Her lips twitched at his praise, “You gonna make me feel good?”

“Mh-hmm, I promise. I will.”

“Okay, hold on, be patient,” she said and he whined. He’d been patient, as patient as he could be – he was growing restless, throbbing and desperate for it. “If you need to stop, blink really really fast five times.”

“Got it,” he rushed out. She held herself there for a moment, then with a single nod carefully descended.

The moment her hot cunt dragged against his lips was indescribable. Tongue graced by her tangy arousal, he moaned, eyes fluttering shut for a moment to let it consume his senses.

She braced her hands on the headboard and started to slowly rock her hips against his tongue. Delirious from it, like a drug that shot liquid lust into his veins, the world around him blurred until a soft gasp of his name brought him back to reality.

Her heated gaze penetrated the mist in his eyes, he looked drunk – dopey eyed and tongue sticking out. There was a want to wrap his arms around her thighs, smash his face into her cunt until he was absolutely drowning in it. He’d fantasized about that very scenario, but being powerless – pinned down by her weight and the restraints was the most blissful torture he’d ever experienced and he basked in the small sounds she took for herself, lapping up the wetness of her already soaked cunt.

“You like me using you?” The sharp intake of breath between her words made his chest swell with pride and cock stir, a fresh bead of precum dripping from the tip. He grunted with a helpless bob of his head – his nose bumping her clit.

Her head dropped back with a moan and the sight of her in the throws of please was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. When she snapped back there was a glint of untamed want in her eyes. The pace started to pick up, extending the slide of her hips so her clit bumped the tip of his nose again and again.

“Fuck - you take it so well. Mhmm - feels - oh. So good. Fuckin’ amazing. Marcus.”

If he was supposed to close his eyes, he didn’t care. There was no way he was tearing himself away from her. Transfixed on how she moved like she was dancing through water; babbling praise and pretty moans dripping from her smeared gloss lips.

“More,” he groaned into her pussy. Her hooded eyes bore into him, waiting and watching for his signal as she took more and more – the bed squeaking as she fucked his face.

The feeling of her wet pussy took over and his brain melted away; he could barely register his own name, let alone the growing ache in his balls nor the small rock of his hips as his cock seeked out a single touch.

“Marcus, fuck. Fuck me with your tongue - yes! Just like that.”

Not needing to be told twice, his tongue dove in and out with surprising dexterity and stamina. Clit grinding against his nose, the musky scent of her arousal enveloped him. A sheen of sweat coated her skin, tinging the taste of her on his tongue.

Wetness dripped down his chin, shimmering just like his petal-pink lips. She was soaked, spit and slick and he knew he’d found heaven on earth and it was between her thighs with his wide, wet tongue sliding in and out of her pulsing walls.

The sounds of pleasure he pulled from her strained his flushed and angry cock, but he remained painfully oblivious.

Grunting and groaning, feral noises vibrated against her folds and made her thighs tense and muscles constrict.

“That’s it baby. Make me cum, come on.” Her words fell out frantic and messy and he whined into her pussy then shook his head back and forth to stimulate her clit further. As she edged closer and closer, the knot in his only belly pulled tighter and tighter.

Her cunt clenched around his tongue. “Marcus!”

A gush of slick hit his tongue and he gasped – the wind knocked from his lungs as his own climax smacked into him. His body curling along with hers.

Piercing and sharp, like nothing he’d ever felt before. Jolts of pleasure were coursing through his body. Cock weeping for friction, desperate and searching as his hips undulate in the air. His eardrums rumbled from tightly clutching his eyes shut, blocking out her face as his cum shot onto his belly and her leather clad back.

Once the waves of pleasure subsided and reality set in, his body burned in utter humiliation. A feeling of shame prickling the edges of his screwed shut eyes.

“Marcus, baby. Marcus.” Her voice sounded like he was underwater. His head insistently shook, unconscious of the movement as she called for him again and again – a soft whisper wrapped with worry as she undid the knot.

Still, he remained frozen, shocked and unmoving, hopeful it would all somehow go away.

“Baby.” Her light caress of his cheek burned like a hot coal.

Why? Why? Why?

Why did that happen? How? He’d never cum untouched. It would’ve been one thing at 15, but at his age? He’d never felt so embarrassed.

“Marcus, please look at me. Baby, look at me.”

After a few seconds and the initial shocked waned, he peeked out. Peeling one eye open to check if the coast was clear before slowly opening the other. Her shoulders relaxed a hair, a soft smile coming to her lips with a gaze full of concern and a dash of regret? – no remorse.

“I - I,” he couldn’t breathe. “I never - I didn’t mean to-”

“No - hey. Marcus.”

“I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes with a deep sigh, wondering why it had to be him?

“Marcus, look at me. Baby.” She gently coaxed his eyes away from the ceiling and to her. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” How could she say that when he could practically hear his cum dripping down her back? “Marcus, it’s okay. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

He shot her a look that said, you can’t be serious.

She looped her leg back around to settle at his side like before. His elbows slackened, but his arms remained above his head, the rope loose around his wrists. Refusing to look down and see it, he instead looked at her and found some solace. “You might think it’s embarrassing.” He snorted, she could say that again. “But I think it’s sexy.”

His brows shot to a cinch. “Really?”

She bit her lip and nodded, “Marcus, I love how reactive you are to my touch. That you get so turned on by me – by bringing me pleasure.” Her eyes and fingers glided down his heaving chest, to the evidence of his untouched climax.

“You have no idea what it does to me, hearing the noises you make. How you shiver at just the smallest touch. You’re so good for me and I haven’t had an orgasm like that in - fuck. I don’t even know.” His breathing came hard and fast and he whimpered as she wiped her finger though his cum then sucked it off with the most lewd moan. “Mh-mmm, taste so good.”

“You do too,” he shyly admitted and she giggled, short and sweet.

“Marcus.” This time, she said his name with a serious tone. “I’m sorry for pushing you too far.” He opened his mouth to protest but she stopped him by placing a finger to his lips. “I may’ve not meant to, but I did. And I never want you to feel embarrassed or anything like that. I just wanna make you feel good -”

“You do,” he rushed out, then blushed. “Obviously.”

“But - I also want you to feel comfortable - safe.” She nuzzled into his neck and he let out a dreamy sigh. “I’m still learning and for this to work, we gotta communicate. Just like we are now.”

“Usually, I’m pretty good at that,” he said. Communication had always been a strong suit of Marcus’s – just not when it came to sex, but surely that would come in time. “I just - shit. I didn’t even realize. That’s never happened to me before.” She smiled against his neck then pulled back to look at him.

“Well, did it feel good?”

He let out an airy laugh and she couldn’t help but smile at the noise. “Yeah. Different, but good. Real good.”

“Good.” She looked down at his soft cock and he could tell she was contemplating by the way her lips shifted from side to side. “Ya know, I had planned on you finishing in my mouth.” His breath caught at how relaxed she sounded, and she peered up at him with a sparkle of mischief. “If you’re interested. I think you could get hard again, what do you think?”

“I am - but I don’t - I don’t know, I’ve never…” he trailed off and she looked shocked, and honestly a little offended.

“Don’t tell me no one has ever made you cum twice in one night.” He nibbled on his bottom lip and shook his head. “One day?” He shook his head again, and she tsked. “Oh Marcus, we gotta change that, do you think you can get it up again? Do you want to? It’s okay if not, it’s entirely up to you.”

“I’d like to try.” He nodded and her fingers swept across his chest, brushing his nipples and his mind and stomach swirled.

“That’s all I ask, baby. And I’m gonna give you the choice if you wanna be tied up or not. However, if I undo you, you gotta be good and not touch without permission.”

“I can’t promise that,” he said light-heartedly, clasping his hands together.

She shuffled off the bed, “I promise, you’ll learn,” she said, closing the easy slip ring around his wrists and tying the rope into a loose knot over the headboard. Honestly, Marcus didn’t really care if he ever learned – he loved being tied up and at her mercy.

After changing out the pillow for one with a little more cushion, making it easier for him to watch, she sauntered to the end of the bed and crawled between his thighs. His cock twitched, and his nose wrinkled from oversensitivity.

“So good, baby,” she whispered and leaned in to clean the mess on his belly. His gasp turned into a moan as she licked across his heated skin. Mumbling praises into his tummy with each swipe of her tongue until all that was left was a glisten of her spit.

She peered up through her lashes and licked her lips, then flicked her tongue over the tip of his cock. It was so precise – intense – an addicting edge that made him keen, unsure if he wanted more or for it to stop entirely.

“More.” His mouth answered for him, and she swiped her tongue against his tip a few more times, each one met by an intense shudder of his body.

Giving his cock a little more time to recover, she turned her attention to his thighs. “So pretty,” she cooed, kissing and brushing her lips along his sticky skin. Teeth grazing over the meaty flesh, sinking her teeth in and sucking a mark high on his thigh.

She repeated the action to the other, and a warmth bloomed in his chest at the secret marks of which only she and him would know of.

By the time she was crawling her way up, lavishing his chest and neck in sweet kisses, his cock was almost fully hard again. “You’re so handsome,” she kissed his cheek, “So amazing,” she kissed the other, “so perfect.” She kissed the edge of his mouth, then lingered her lips above his. “I want you to remember that.”

He shut his eyes – overloaded by emotions – and her lips met his in a tender kiss. Sinking into the feeling, he moaned at the flick of her tongue over the seam, parting to let her map his mouth in slow strokes.

After what felt like a lifetime, but still too short she tugged his bottom lip between her teeth. He growled at the tinge of pain and she released it with a grin. Quick to soothe it with a light suck while reaching down to palm his cock.

“See,” she said, “I knew you could do it.” He smiled through her chaste kiss. She moved downward with soft pecks, ravishing him in the attention he desired and adored.

“Such a gorgeous cock,” she flashed him a lippy smile, “Do you want me to put my mouth on it?”

He bobbed his head, “Please, need your mouth. Need to feel it.” Not wanting to make him beg too much, she licked from the base to tip, swirling her tongue then flattening it over the slit.

“Fuck,” he muttered from his clenched jaw as she traced the thick vein all the way down. “Shitshitshit.” Eyes locked on his, she went lower and his eyes nearly popped out of his head as she took one of his balls into her mouth and sucked.

The feeling was a foreign euphoria and his legs quivered at it. When she released it with a loud pop, he immediately missed it but luckily not for long as she took the other in her warm mouth.

Most women Marcus dated weren’t into giving oral, and he wasn’t the kinda guy to ask for it or pressure it – he liked his partners willing and eager. So it wasn’t shocking that no one had ever sucked on his balls. Actually, he wasn’t sure anyone but himself had ever really touched them without it being a slip of their fingers.

Her lips curled up at the side as she wiggled her tongue along his sack. A pearly blob of precum dribbled onto his belly as she mouthed her way back up, his hips grounding into the mattress as she licked it up, like it was precious and couldn’t be wasted.

“So perfect and all mine,” she praised and he responded with a whimper. “Does it feel good?” She curled her lips inward and took him into her mouth.

He moaned, a low rumble at the hot and wet feeling. Her eyes were magnetic, pooling with lust and his mind began to drift back into that place of blissful oblivion. “Feel - feels - oh so good. Fuh- fuck.”

She sunk lower and lower, but didn’t suck. Going as far down as she could until her throat constricted, then pulled away to take a deep breath before slowly working her way back down.

He’d never seen anything like it, she was working her throat open for him, repeating the action over and over again – each time going deeper than the last. By the time her nose brushed the coarse hairs at the base of his cock, he was a babbling mess. Singing her praise an octave higher, telling her how good it felt and how good she looked.

He had no idea what he did to deserve this, but he wasn’t going to question it.

As she took him fully in her mouth, his body trembled, using every bit of strength not to fuck up into it – not that he’d get very far but it was the principle of it. She sucked and his fingers and toes curled. “You’re amazing,” he groaned. “So - damn - talented.” Each word sounded as if it was punched from his gut.

She choked on a laugh at the compliment. Pulling off his cock, a string of drool connecting her glossy lips to the fat head. “Oh baby, you haven’t seen nothing yet.”

“God. I don’t know if I can handle it.” His smile was lopsided, dizzy with desire which turned to full on vertigo at her smug smirk.

“I know you can baby,” she cooed, kissing the junction of his thigh. “I’ll show you.”

He squeaked, “okay.”

She wrapped her hands around his cock, a firm grip at his base while the other moved the velvety skin across her lips and cheeks, smearing his precum before bringing him into her eager and waiting mouth. Taking him to the hilt in one swoop.

The air was punched from his lungs.

Her free hand came to rest on his hip, rubbing soothing circles as the other kept him from cumming. She swayed her head back and forth and his cock bounced around the back walls of her throat. Judging by the way her moans vibrated against him, she seemed to enjoy the heavy weight of him on her tongue, the salty taste steadily leaking from his purpling tip.

As she bobbed up and down, slow to drag her tongue along his taut length, swirling at the tip before sinking down till her chin hit her hand. His skin was glazed, sweat dripping down his back and collecting in his mussed up hair.

“Fuck, that - oh - feels so good,” he panted. The delicious pressure once again starting to build in his lower belly.

She took him in hand, slowly stroking as she took a few deep breaths. “Baby, I want you to try not to cum. Okay? Just hold out as long as you can, can you do that?”

“Mh-mmm,” he nodded. Both hands on his hips, she pressed to hold in place then wrapped her swollen slips around his cock.

His body and mind disconnected as she began to fuck his cock with her mouth, switching between shallow and deep thrusts. Expertely taking him apart with the most lewd sucking and slurping noises, it was like a porno in real life.

When she needed a breather, she slapped his cock against her tongue. He quivered, holding back. The bed shaking as he cried her name – like he was calling out for his savior which only spurred her on.

Tears pricked his eyes, falling onto his cheeks. He’d just cum, what was it an hour ago? Thirty minutes? Even less? He had no idea, time was relative in her room. The climax seemed to build from the other and coupled with the delayed gratification, the knot in his belly was twisting, unbearably tight.

“I’m - I’m close - I don’t think I can -”

She responded with a moan, glassy eyes telling him it was alright as she continued her brutally divine pace.

It was everything. Every cell and nerve in his body roused – electrified by the tight clasp of her warm mouth. White blobs spotted the blurry outline of her bobbing head, the hitch of her ass in the air. And finally, the tight wire in his belly snapped and utter ecstasy washed him as his vision went black.

The feeling of his cock pulsing, rope after rope of his salty cum surging into the back of her mouth made him gasp. Whimpering her name as she drank it down, sucking every last drop from him until his body twitched, plopping into a satisfied heap. A delirious and lazy smile curled on his lips.

“Oh baby, you did so good. So perfect, amazing.” She continued to praise him, quickly unfastening his ankles and releasing his hands. He couldn’t open his eyes and reached out for her and just like he hoped, she fell into his arms and on the bed. He immediately nuzzled into her chest, dragging his lips over her neck.

“See, I knew you could handle it. You did so good, Marcus.” He hummed at her praise. “Always so good for me – so perfect.” She kissed his forehead and the top of his sweat soaked hair as her nails massaged into it, down to the back of his neck.

The longer he laid there, listening to her praise, the heavier the blanket of sleep became. “You sleepy?” She finally asked and he hummed in response.

“Can I sleep here?” He mumbled into her embrace. She slightly leaned back and lifted his chin to bring his mouth a breath away from hers.

“You don’t ever have to ask.”

She cupped his cheek then tilted her head, going in for a quick kiss – similar to the one he shared at 13, experimental, just testing the waters. Her eyes flickered to his then back to his lips and she kissed him again.

It felt different, so unlike the previous kisses which were always shared in the heat of the moment. Even when those started soft, they always became desperate and filled his chest with something molten and needy.

But this was somehow better. Her lips just lingering on his and the action felt intimate –

No. Stop.

He couldn’t go down that road, don’t read into it, he told himself, just enjoy. He pushed away the flutter in his stomach, ignoring the warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest and melted into her touch.

The kiss was over much too soon and he fought the urge to touch his lips, feel where he missed her most since he’d been in this bed last.

She kissed the tip of his nose and brought him back to burrow into her chest.

He never wanted to leave.

#pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x f! reader #the mentalist

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adorethedistance · 4 years ago

Text

Party Hard - Owen Joyner x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: drinking, partying, intoxication, non sexual stripping, swearing probably,

Words: 6343 (which, if you know me, is a FUCK ton)

Summary: Going from tipsy to full on drunk is a terrible idea, but especially when you’ve got a secret to hide that could mean the difference between preserving and ruining your relationship with your best friend.

A/N: A couple items before we get started: I think I’m back on my bullshit? I mean I wrote this fic and it’s three times the length of my normal fics. Also I wrote this headassery as a literal self insert me(ace) x someone and so there are a couple flaws here and there that make this something I’m not 100% proud of. Owen picks the reader up a few times and I’m aware this kind of thing can really effect someone’s experience with this fic so I do apologize for the lack of inclusivity in regards to body type/ableism. I’m falling really behind on school work because I just can’t find the motivation which either means y’all will be seeing a lot more of me soon or absolutely nothing at all. Not sure which yet.

“You’ve got it so bad.” Charlie rests his left arm on his best friend’s shoulder, tipping back the half-full angry orchard bottle he’d been nursing for the better half of an hour. Owen’s stare is immediately broken and he crosses his arms defensively.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Turning to meet his friend’s smug stare, Owen shoots Charlie a glare of annoyance before returning his attention to the girl on the dance floor. Surrounded by a gaggle of her closest friends, Y/n is dancing and singing her heart out to Fergalicious with Chelsea, Leila, Savannah, and Carolynn. The bunch of them share in sporadic laughs as they exchange ridiculous dance moves just to add to the fleeting moment’s laughter. An assortment of screeches and squawks blend together as they all prepare to sing the rap section of the song. Observing the level of excitement the girls have over the verse, Owen can’t help but laugh at the spectacle.

“Why don’t you just ask her out already?” Charlie inquires between sips of his cold drink.

“What?”

“Y/n. Why have you not asked her out.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Yeah. Because you haven’t asked her out.” Owen rolls his eyes before turning 90 degrees to fully face the smug guitarist. He turns about-face to prove a point, but another symphony of squeals at the next song choice drags his attention back to his other best friend on the dance floor. “You’re so whipped.”

“Am not.”

“Are too! Look, if you don’t ask her out tonight, I will.”

“You’re not even into her,” Owen protests unceremoniously. Setting the molasses colored bottle on the counter next to Owen, Charlie steps back and copies his position of crossed arms and a relaxed stance.

“You’re right, I’m not. But you are, and if that’s what it takes to light the fire under your ass then I’ll do it.”

“She wouldn’t say yes.”

“Are you sure? I mean, the only way to know for sure is to ask.” And with that, Charlie is off, speeding toward Y/n at a pace that launches Owen into an impulsive chase. To prevent his friend from doing something stupid, Owen shoves him in the opposite direction from the group of girls on the dance floor. What he hadn’t anticipated was Charlie moving so far so fast. Owen has longer legs, he’s supposed to be the faster one, not Charlie. That’s why he hadn’t anticipated turning away from his musical friend to come face to face with a very flushed Y/n. Her lip-gloss coated lips are parted as she catches her breath from all the dancing. They look so soft and inviting that Owen can’t help but stare, and doesn’t realize the several looks of confusion among the girls around him.

“Everything okay, Owen?” Snapping out of his hyper focused stare, Owen blinks a few times, trying to generate a reason for coming over.

“You’ve been dancing for a while.”

“...Yeah?”

“Let me fix you a drink?” His statement comes out as more of a question but the breathless girl agrees nonetheless. Owen extends his hand to her which she gladly accepts but not without a quick word to her friends.

“I’ll be right back, I’m getting a drink.”

Her friends aren’t stupid, quite the opposite actually. And they see right through Owen’s facade of fixing her a drink because she’d been ‘dancing a while’. Please. As if they didn’t know a desperate attempt at flirting when they saw it.

The pounding music from the backyard begins to fade and muffle once the pair step into the Shada’s beautiful kitchen space. Owen leads her to the kitchen island where he has her take a seat on one of the barstools in front of the high countertop. Stepping around the fixture, Owen busies himself with whipping up a drink for Y/n at the makeshift bar on the island. He doesn’t even have to ask what it is she wants. Ice, pink whitney, club soda, and a splash of lime juice mixed together in a red solo cup Owen had considerately written her name on before going all mixologist-mode.

“Your usual.”

“Thank you, sir. You know, I’ve only had a handful of barbecue chips since I got here, and I’m already tipsy, so this actually might get me completely drunk.” Taking a sip, Y/n hums out of pleasure, “Why do you make my favorite drink better than I make my favorite drink?”

“So you have a reason to keep me around.” At the sound of Y/n’s laugh, Owen cracks a smile in time with his favorite sound in the world. The blonde haired man leans forward to rest his weight on his left forearm. He stares at her with adoration seeping from his gaze, before lifting his own cup to drink with her.

“What is that?” she asks, sitting up taller to try and see into Owen’s cup over the island.

“Jack Daniels.”

“I want some.”

“No,” Owen answers swiftly albeit softly. Y/n, however, is not feeling as conciliatory.

“No?”

“Have you ever tried whiskey before?”

“Well, no-”

“You’re drinking a fruit flavored cocktail that’s like 30% nonalcoholic. A sip of this would knock you off your little ass.” Y/n frowns at his words and employs a fake pout of anger to guilt her now laughing friend. Despite her smile, she whines,

“You suck.” Owen merely shrugs unapologetically before sipping and wincing at his drink of choice. “So… how did your date go- with Amy?” And there it is. The question that’s been at the forefront of Y/n’s mind for the last 24 hours.

Owen met this girl Amy at a more professional house party type of event and they hit it off right away. They spent the night invested in conversation, sharing in a cacophony of laughter. Y/n had no right to be upset, but she was. Amy was drop dead gorgeous in that Mini length red, velvet dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Her figure was snatched to the gods, and she was about 5’3”; a seemingly irrelevant thing to notice, but Y/n knew that was the height Owen loved in a partner. At least, based on all his previous flings. And not to mention, her beautiful golden blonde hair that extended all the way down her toned back. Amy was perfect to all standards including that of any straight man with eyes and undoubtedly Owen’s. They spent the entire night together, Y/n long forgotten despite having been Owen’s plus one.

Y/n on the other hand didn’t exactly view herself as the drop-dead gorgeous supermodel type. Seeing how Owen took an interest in her at that event, it was no wonder Y/n was jealous. In fact, she had been so jealous that she allowed their flirting to ruin her entire evening.

She had been invited platonically as Owen’s guest, but Owen didn’t feel guilty about leaving her alone once he saw Charlie was by her side the whole night. Little did he know Charlie was only there for her because Owen wasn’t. It was pity company. Pity company that she was grateful to have as she cried into a few gin and tonics. Y/n avoided telling Charlie about her feelings for the adorable drummer, but with the way events transpired, he had figured out what it was that had upset her.

Charlie so badly wanted to give Owen the guilt trip of a lifetime. And he did once he and Owen were alone, heading home in Charlie’s orange hatchback car. He did so by telling Owen about how his best friend had spent the entire evening crying into gin and tonics. ‘Y/n doesn’t even like gin and tonic’ was all Owen could come up with.

When he inquired about why his best friend was crying, Charlie said he didn’t know, but it may have had something to do with the fact that the person who invited her spent the whole night ignoring her; he left it at that, leaving Owen to connect the dots, sort of. Owen had come to the realization that Y/n must have been crying over him, but why? Unable to comprehend a reason, he pushed the situation to the back of his mind. So far back that when Amy texted him that same night, he immediately responded and eventually set up a date for them to get dinner alone Friday evening.

The date was fine. Objectively there was nothing wrong with it. But every time Amy took a sip of the gin and tonic she had ordered, he couldn’t help being reminded of Y/n that night. It took Owen a solid thirty minutes to finally conclude that maybe Y/n was... jealous? Of what? Of Amy? Quickly reviewing a long list of qualities, identical to the one that Y/n had thoroughly checked through when she first saw the blonde, Owen realized she was indeed jealous of Amy. But why? What did Amy have that Y/n didn’t?

Oh.

His initial conclusion in the car with Charlie had to be right. Y/n was crying over him, and seemingly jealous of Amy, all because Amy had his attention. Why was that a problem?

Oh… no. No, Y/n does not have feelings for him. Y/n is... well, Y/n. His best friend, his partner in crime, his confidant, there’s no way she’s in love with him. There’s a different reason as to why she’d been crying into drinks she didn’t like. And that different reason is why her text replies have been short and cold when he had asked for date night conversation pointers. And that different reason is why her smile kept faltering on FaceTime when he was asking for fashion advice for his date.

Y/n is not in love with her best friend.

Owen had spent the past year pushing down his feelings for the girl that threatened to bubble over the top. If Y/n was truly into him, he would’ve acted on them. But she isn’t, so he didn’t. At least, that’s what Owen told himself…

“It was alright,” he offers lamely as a reply to her inquiry. Y/n simply nods and takes another swig of her drink to dull the ache in the center of her chest.

“Just alright?”

“Okay, it was better than alright. She was great.” There’s a hole burning in the center of her heart, and against her better judgment, she expands the deficit by asking for more information.

“What does that mean- that she was ‘great’?”

“You know…” Owen trails off in search of the right words, some words, any words, but nothing comes to him. To sell her nonchalant demeanor, the hopelessly devoted girl is staring down into her cup as if it’s the most interesting thing in the room. She didn’t expect Owen’s eyes to be boring into hers when she looked back up, so she quickly musters a polite smile. Maybe the average onlooker couldn’t tell it was fake, but Owen knows something is off. He just knows. Because he knows her.

“How did those conversation pointers pan out?” She’s deflecting, he thinks.

“One of them worked.” I’m just feeding into it, he thinks.

“Only one of them?” He’s holding back something, she thinks.

“Well, yeah. We didn’t really do much talking if you get what I mean.” I don’t think I can handle this, she thinks.

“I see…” The pair stands together in a silence so tense they felt like strangers. It’s awful. Y/n and Owen hate every second of it, but what could they do? In a moment blinded by upset, Y/n reaches across the island to grab the newly opened bottle of grey goose and pours what must’ve been no less than three shots of liquid into her cup. No club soda or lemonade this time, she chugs down the rest of her drink in a flash; Owen stares at her in disbelief and shock.

Y/n hates being drunk, she likes being the designated driver, she’s never had straight up liquor in her life, and she’s a lightweight, that’s for damn sure. Owen knows all of these things and is even more surprised to see her reaching for an almost empty bottle of gin.

“Hey. Maybe you should take it easy, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a lightweight and you know it. Put the cup down.” When Y/n shakes her head no, something in Owen snaps and his desire to be gentle is long forgotten. “Y/n. Put the drink down.”

“Why do you care, Owen?” In taking time to respond, Owen sees the opportunity and goes for it, taking the cup from her loose grasp and splashing it down the drain of the vegetable sink. “What the fuck?!”

“I think you’ve had enough to drink. Come on.” It’s only a matter of time until Y/n becomes an incoherent human being that’s impossible to wrangle, so Owen is very aware he’s on the clock. Snagging two Arrowhead water bottles in one hand, he takes Y/n’s hand in the other and brings her into the Shada’s den. There are only a few other people in the room, one is a couple and the other a pair of pining idiots, to which Owen becomes slightly wary. Not that the dynamic would change much. He and Y/n are practically a couple according to everyone around them.

Chelsea and Charlie are sitting fairly close together for just friends, on the chocolate brown loveseat facing the couch that Owen has plopped his increasingly intoxicated friend onto; Leila is sitting in a single armchair that a very tipsy Taylor is hanging over the back of to hug her shoulders. Upon seeing Y/n’s pouting expression Chelsea seeks more information,

“You good, fam?”

“He threw it down the sink!” She’s fading faster than Owen had hoped.

“I did. I poured what would’ve been her fifth and sixth shots down the sink.”

“Jesus, Y/n, are you trying to kill yourself?”

“What are you, a cop?” Even tipsy she’s still sharp as a tack. If Owen wasn’t frustrated with her at the moment, he would’ve probably laughed. But he is, so he didn’t. Slipping back into caretaker mode, he hands her one of the water bottles he snagged from the cooler on the way out. In her typical stubborn and petulant fashion, Y/n weakly throws the unopened bottle onto the couch cushion next to her. All their friends laugh but Owen isn’t having it.

“Y/n.” And it only takes a firm call of her name for the slumped over lightweight to glare at him but oblige. She retrieves the bottle and sticks her arm out straight toward Owen’s still standing figure.

“I can’t open it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this fucked up,” Leila comments.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you fucked up period,” Chelsea adds on. Charlie laughs lightly before resuming whatever conversation the four of them had going pre-Owen and Y/n’s entrance.

Satisfied with the small sips she’s taking of her water, Owen relaxes and takes a seat next to her on the couch. The temporary break in her temper tantrum allows Owen to save his breath; he opens his own water bottle, taking a few drinks which ended up being half the bottle. He’s given her a good bit of room on the couch but it isn’t good enough for Y/n. It takes her a few failed attempts to screw on the cap of her water but once it’s properly sealed, she moves closer to her best friend. The water has acted like some magical temperament cure as Y/n’s previously permanent pout has disappeared.

Owen knows he and Y/n are close enough to where cuddling wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. But the way she’s burrowed into his side, picking up his seemingly ‘heavy’ arm to place it around her own inebriated frame, laying her head high up on his chest, and unintentionally resting her hand on his lower abdomen, something feels off. Her hand isn’t dangerously low, but low enough that the side of her limp palm has met the waistband of his jeans. Owen can’t help but feel his skin tingle and burn under her touch. Why is he so affected by her touch all of a sudden?

Owen is pulled from his snowballing thoughts by the sound of Y/n’s muffled voice against his chest. He leans down as far as he can which places his head on top of hers gently.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you don’t need to be sorry,” he whispers just loud enough for her to hear. A tiny drop of warmth on his shirt under her head triggers Owen’s memory: Y/n’s an emotional drunk. She doesn’t get drunk often but when she does, she goes all in and becomes somewhat manic as a result. That accounts for her previous anger. Now it’s sadness, so in about ten minutes, she’ll be easily excitable and bouncing off the walls.

Y/n had carpooled with Leila and Chelsea to the party, and though Owen was upset about her not picking him up like they’d briefly talked about at first, he’s suddenly thankful for the arrangement.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?”

“Unhhh.” The lack of a coherent response is enough for Owen, and after finishing the rest of his water, he sits up on the couch.

“Where’s your house key? Hm?” The prospect of losing her key is absolutely devastating to Y/n as she begins to weep. Her imminent distress in response to Owen’s question has all their friends laughing once more; Leila speaks up,

“Check the left chest pocket of her jacket.”

Owen nods, noting the directions, and gently rolls his friend over on her back. Deciding against using her strength, Y/n flops over onto her other side which still allows Owen access to her pocket. His long fingers dwarf the button fastener on her jacket that she often struggles to open, and sure enough her sky blue house key is in her pocket just as Leila said.

“Thanks,” he acknowledges Leila before taking Y/n’s cold hands in his own larger ones to help her stand. It’s a bit of a struggle to stand and as a result, the fading girl leans a bit of her weight into Owen’s side. “You gonna say bye to our friends?”

Y/n nods a goodbye to each person in the room, moving from left to right naming Leila, Taylor, Chelsea, and then Charlie. Upon saying bye to Charlie the small girl starts to cry again, harder this time, much to everyone’s confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

“Charlie looked a-at me like he didn’t l-like me.” The entire room bursts out laughing, Owen included this time, but she’s still crying. “It’s no-not funny.”

“I know. You’re right, it’s not funny.” Owen’s exaggerated sympathy goes undetected by the very emotional Y/n as she presses her face into his grey long sleeve shirt. She reaches up to hug her arms around Owen’s neck for stability as she adds more tears to the tiny spot from before. “Can you walk?” He asks genuinely as more of her weight leans into him. The only response Owen gets is a few soft sobs, and in reaction to her messy state, lets out a subtle eye roll. He shakes his head before bending down to place one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulder blades, sweeping her off the ground before she can protest.

“Would you guys tell Jer thanks and that I had to take her home?” A symphony of affirmations and goodbyes usher him out of the house, and once outside Y/n’s crying diminuendos into short sniffles and the occasional sigh.

“Here, be careful,” Owen panics as his friend nearly bangs the front of her head against the roof of his car. Once he cautiously places all her limbs in the passenger side, Owen shuts the door and hurries over to the driver’s side as if Y/n could hurt herself in the next five seconds. He places the key in the ignition but before he even touches the gear shift, he turns and looks quizzically at his best friend. The sniffling and sighs coming from her puffy face have lulled her into an almost unconscious state; Owen puffs out a frustrated sigh as he reaches across the entire car to grab Y/n’s seatbelt for her.

Another thing about drunk Y/n is that her emotional state makes her more likely to give in to physical impulses. So after she registers Owen leaning across her lap for the seatbelt, she grabs his shoulder so he doesn’t move away. The action surprises Owen and he turns his face to look into her half-lidded eyes. He’s trying to make sense of the action but his trailing thoughts are interrupted when the girl in the passenger’s seat leans forward slightly to put her face against Owen’s neck.

“I like your smell.” Owen tries so hard not to laugh in fear of upsetting her again, but he can’t conceal the smile growing on his face. He then gently pulls away from her grasp in order to actually start driving,

“Okay. Thank you.”

The car ride is composed of mostly comfortable silence with the occasional inebriated comment or nonsensical sound from the girl in the passenger seat; Owen had been so captivated by Y/n’s uncharacteristically relaxed state, he’d been driving on autopilot and instead of turning left to get on the highway that runs south to where her apartment is, he’d gone north to go to his own place. No big deal, Owen didn’t plan on leaving her intoxicated and alone, and she’s stayed the night plenty of times before now. What’s one more night? It isn’t until he puts the car in park and helps her out of the vehicle that Y/n clocks her surroundings.

“I don’t live here.”

“You don’t, no, but I do,” Owen replies simply before he slides out of the car. Y/n stays in the car as if Owen told her not to move, and looks up at him confusedly when he opens her door. In her tipsy state, she is able to recognize what Owen is doing and smugly places her hand over the buckle of her seatbelt. With her tiny palm over the red button, she begins giggling maniacally.

“What are you doing?” Owen asks with a frustrated sigh although he can’t help the small smile overtaking his features at the sound of her growing laughter. He doesn’t get a response, just more giggling which lets him know he’s going to have to do things the hard way now that she’s in a lifted mood. “Kid, you have to get out of the car.”

“You can’t make me.”

Owen takes a step back from the open door to reevaluate. Y/n always tells him to work smarter, not harder. Another one of her many bouts of wisdom is that you can keep the attention of children and adults alike with a vastly dynamic change in volume. The question is will she notice Owen using this tactic on her in her drunken state?

“Hey, Y/n/n,” his speech drops to a low whisper. “I’m sad, can you hold my hand?” The change in volume works exactly as described; completely convinced by the sincerity of his whispering, Y/n gives him her right hand. “Can I have the other one?”

When she nods a small ‘yes’ and gives him both of her hands, Owen finds himself fighting the urge to laugh at how easy that was. He takes both of her cool hands in his larger left one to reach across her body and release her seatbelt with a swift CLICK.

Luckily Y/n didn’t tangle herself up in the seatbelt, but she had other ideas for causing trouble. Owen helped her out of the car but once she was standing on her own two feet, she began running away from him. With a slam of the car door and a string of breathy curses later, he chases after his best friend before she can hurt herself on literally anything in the parking garage. The sound of Y/n’s laughter carries through the vacant space, and despite all her best efforts, Owen quickly catches up to her. Her giddy intoxication allowed for the suspension of disbelief that she could outrun the much taller Owen Joyner, but she’s sorely mistaken when his strong arms wrap around her waist and lift her feet off the ground. Y/n’s bouts of laughter are contagious; Owen finds himself laughing alongside his best friend. Setting her feet back on the ground he asks,

“Are you going to run away again if I let go of you?”

“Yeah,” she chokes out through the tail end of her laughing fit. The candidness of her reply prompts Owen to throw his head back, shaking it as if in disagreement with the universe itself,

“I appreciate your honesty.” And with that, Y/n screeches in glee as her best friend maneuvers her body in his grip to lift her over his right shoulder.

“Owen!”

“You did this to yourself, kid.”

The silent elevator ride up to his flat is comfortable relative to the current position they’re in. Y/n’s no longer fighting being carried but instead entertains herself by tapping out an intricate beat on the surface of Owen’s back.

“Guess what song this is.”

The beat she’s playing is close to incoherent and Owen tries to stifle his full laugh in fear of making her cry again. He’s been successful so far, but now having Y/n over his shoulder, she can feel the movement of his abdomen that was unintelligible by sight alone.

“Your favorite song,” he guesses insincerely.

“No, my favorite song doesn’t sound like that. It was sicko mode.”

“That was not sicko mode.”

“Owen, how come you don’t wear a badge?”

“What?”

“Because you’re the song police?” Owen can’t help but snort out a laugh even though the comment was made at his expense. Still sharp as a tack.

Once the pair reach the front door of Owen’s ‘bachelorette pad’ as Y/n liked to call it, he sets her back on the ground albeit reluctantly as he recalls why he was carrying her in the first place. Thinking quickly on his feet, Owen forms a plan that’s more likely than not foolproof.

“Hey, Y/n/n?”

“Yeah?” Her voice is still right behind him thankfully.

“Can I have a hug?” After a few seconds of silence in the hall, Owen begins to doubt his plan until he feels the weight of his best friend leaning on his toned back. With her cheek pressed against the middle of his spine, Y/n brings her arms around his waist, clasping her hands tightly together. Her semi-public display of affection allows Owen some time to unlock his front door. Once he props the door open, Owen realizes that Y/n probably isn’t going to let go any time soon and opts to waddle through the threshold with her still attached to him. He’s able to turn around and lock them back in for the night which makes the girl begin to laugh.

“Was this your plan all along? To get me drunk so you could lock me in your apartment and hold me prisoner for the rest of my life?”

“And I would’ve gotten away with it, too...”

“If it weren’t for those meddling kids and their dog.”

True to his imagination that Y/n wasn’t letting go any time soon, Owen swivels her around his torso so that he could hold her to his side rather than support her with his back. He now has his right arm over both of her shoulders as she continues to hug her best friend. The way she leans her head onto his chest makes Owen’s heartbeat the tiniest bit faster. ‘She’s drunk, she doesn’t know what this does to you’ is the mantra blaring through Owen’s subconscious. Shaking any and all sort of romantic thoughts out of his head, he begins to lead her back to his bedroom.

Flicking the lights on proves to be a mistake once Y/n starts groaning miserably, and Owen decides the floor lamp is a better option than the overheads. Much to Owen’s surprise and relief, Y/n moves to sit on the edge of his bed on her own volition. She’s not upright for long as she collapses into the sheets of his unmade bed that contemplated neatening before leaving the house; hindsight is 20/20.

“Hmm. I like your smell,” Y/n parrots despite already bringing up the topic on the ride home.

“This is the same cologne I always use.”

“No. I like your natural smell.”

“What?”

“I was reading up about pheromones the other day. And there was this thing that said when couples like each others’ scent, it’s like a primal way of seeing if you’re immuno-compatible with someone so your offspring have the best chance for survival. It’s an evolutionary thing for the survival of our species. Ants have pheromones, too.”

Sometimes she has trouble remembering to feed herself, but leave it to Y/n to remember extensive information about pheromones whilst intoxicated. The concept is intriguing to Owen, so he proceeds to ask questions, ignoring the tug on his heart he felt after hearing her say the word ‘couples’.

“So, if I like your scent, we’re immuno-?”

“Compatible, yeah. But it’s mostly me because you can sniff out my period.”

“I can what?”

“I read that men can tell when a woman is at her most fertile because that’s when they like her smell the best. They did a study where a bunch of men were introduced to a few different scents, and without fail, the one they liked the most or would describe as ‘sexy’ or ‘attractive’ was the scent they took from the woman who was ovulating.”

Y/n continues talking about what she learned about pheromones as Owen picks up a bit of the mess around his room. She returns to the topic of ant pheromones as he digs through his surprisingly large closet for something for his friend to sleep in. His temporarily bubbly best friend also notes that he should ‘sniff her now because she’s ovulating and he would like that’ which makes him laugh into the drawers of his waist-height dresser. Returning to find her still slumped over on the bed, he pats her leg and beckons her to sit up. After Y/n’s upright again, Owen hands her his classic black ‘BEANS’ t-shirt and a pair of briefs that won’t properly fit her but will fit better than a pair of his actual pants.

“Can you put these on for me?”

“Yeah.” Owen’s conflicted with both wanting to respect Y/n’s privacy by leaving the room, and prioritizing her safety, and not leaving her unattended at any moment. He comes to a compromise which is staying by her side but turning a full 180 to face the wall of his bedroom. A couple of moments pass until Y/n begins whining frustratedly.

“Owen.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t ubns-” her words become incomprehensible as she begins to cry again and Owen turns around to find her struggling with the buttons on her shirt, her jacket long discarded on the bedroom floor. This shirt: her white, cap-sleeve crop top with a peter pan collar that she wore for anything mildly significant, this was her favorite. Owen remembers her fussing about how she ruined it only to find that she just forgot to steam it one day. So with a little heat and water, Owen had fixed the shirt like nothing ever happened, and he’d do it a million times over again if it meant he got to relive seeing the smile that graced her face for the first time again.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do the buttons.” She runs the back of her right hand against her tired eyes to wipe away her tears and Owen internally curses himself for the way the small action makes his heart flutter.

“Do you need help?”

“Yeah.”

“Listen to me, you are okay,” he sinks to kneel in front of Y/n as she sits tiredly on the edge of the bed. Owen doesn’t miss the slight tremble of his hands as he reaches up to unbutton her shirt, but he prays that she will. Through tiny sniffles and teary eyes, she watches his hands effortlessly work down the length of her shirt, each button modestly dancing between his fingertips. Once the short top is fully unbuttoned, Owen returns to his normal standing height and Y/n attempts to shrug the fabric off her body. She struggles lightly and knowing her frustration is imminent, Owen reaches down to gingerly push the sleeves off her shoulders. The light graze of his rough, calloused skin against her own skin sends electric-like shocks through the both of them; yet neither of them believed the other felt it too.

Owen hastily withdraws his hands and, without warning, Y/n quickly removes the bralette she was wearing. Owen’s eyes widen slightly at her lack of inhibition. He does his best to be a gentleman and swiftly redirects his gaze to the white ceiling fan that has all of a sudden become the most intriguing object in the universe. His lower peripheral vision indicates that she’s finally slipped the black tee over her head, but she begins sniffling more fiercely as she struggles with taking off her jeans. Owen sighs and drops to his knees once more in spite of himself, and aids his best friend in slipping the material over the length of her calves and off the tips of her toes. Hoping to speed up the process, he grabs the briefs he had brought her and unfolds them in preparation for helping her into them. His efforts are all for naught as Y/n forgoes the need for any more clothing and slides under the covers of his unmade bed. Owen then turns to leave the bedroom, opting to set up on the couch for the night before Y/n’s small voice is cutting through the comfortable silence.

“Where are you going?” He sighs,

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll get you some water and Advil for when you wake up tomorrow.” Y/n then nods acceptingly and allows her eyes to flutter closed as he leaves the room. Despite how tired she feels, Y/n won’t quite yet let herself sleep--not ‘til Owen is beside her. When he returns he sets the ibuprofen bottle on the nightstand before uncapping the Kirkland brand water bottle he had in the fridge. He coaxes her into sitting up just one more time so she can drink some of the water before falling asleep. She sits and rubs her tired eyes as she drinks and Owen has to physically force himself to look away from the adorable sight. He just wants to take care of her forever but things have always been strictly platonic between them.

The risk of making their friendship weird or awkward was just too great.

“Goodnight kid, I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Owen leaves without awaiting a response and lets out an annoyed sigh before setting himself up on the couch in his living room. He was so focused on getting Y/n to bed safely that he forgot to grab clothes for himself. Not a big deal. He simply strips down to just his underwear and climbs underneath the thick Pottery Barn throw blanket Y/n had gifted him as a housewarming gift. That and a fire extinguisher because ‘you don’t notice its absence until you need it’ she claimed. The memory makes Owen smile and he allows his eyes to close after a long day.

A long day that was about to get longer. Owen finds himself sinking further and further into sleep until he hears the padding of footsteps that are now in his living room. He’s too tired to open his eyes, and it’s not like he doesn’t already know who it is. What does surprise him, however, is the feeling of the familiar weight squeezing between the couch and his turned back.

“What are you doing?” He half mumbles into the night.

“You’re warm.”

“That was not the question, Y/n/n.” After not receiving a reply, Owen turns as best as he can to look at his friend who’s nestling her way into his sleeping arrangement for the night. “Kid-”

“I just wanna be with you.”

“Alright,” Owen sighs out of irritation, exhaustion, and a sliver of adoration before sitting up on the couch, “Come on.”

He stands up, fully expecting to have to drag her back to the bedroom, but finds relief in seeing her struggle her way off the couch. Slipping her tired hand into his unexpecting, larger one, Y/n allows her friend to lead her into the bedroom for the second time that night.

Owen considerately lifts the covers for her to climb back into before getting into the other side of the bed.

“Owen.”

“Hm?”

“Guess what.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, kid.”

“No,” Y/n speaks in a casual tone as if she’s not divulging into her biggest emotional trepidation to date. “I love you, Owen.”

Owen can’t help the way his heart seemingly stops. The way the butterflies in his stomach are going wild. The way he wants to smile like he’s the biggest lovestruck idiot on planet Earth.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She won’t remember this tomorrow.

“I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

She won’t remember that tomorrow.

***

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @kaitlyn2907 @itz-jas@crybabyddl@kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @calamitykaty @n0wornever @dream-a-little-bigger-x @curlybrownhairedboys @amazinggracy @kaitieskidmore1 @asdfghjkl-fanfics @ghostlygreenbean @merceret @jemimah-b99 @ifilwtmfc @thesweetestsinner @imsydneywalker @lovesanimals @thebloodthirstyvampress @bumbleberry-pie @losers-club6 @tefilovesreading @dmcfarland1 @kexrtiz @talk-on-the-street @phantompogues @konciousdreamer@sunsetcurvej @warmnesss0ul @lilyjoyner @joynerxmercer @juliefromaustralia @vicesvsvirturesfanfic @mrstodorooki @morganayennefertyrell

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edienotsedgwick · 3 years ago

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Saw some cringe comments on a post on the indie sleaze Instagram account that pissed me off and I didn’t wanna start an argument so I thought I might as well ramble about it here. The music considered to be under this umbrella was some of the first music I remember forming core memories to as a child, so I feel as though I have a right to speak.

The post in question was asking the followers what artists of the present day give off the indie sleaze vibe and sure I don’t think musically or aesthetic wise a lot of the suggestions were quite there, (I think it’s a bit early before we see electroclash, bloghouse and the 2000s garage rock sound coming back - but I think it’s just around the corner tbh) there was this one reactionary asshole just replying to everyone with innocent suggestions of new artists saying they’re not indie sleaze because they’re “woke and PC and demonising heterosexuality and have blue hair pronouns and trauma”. Especially if the artists being suggested were LITERALLY just existing as LGBT+/queer. Like… even if there was nothing about politics in the music, and they were just existing as themselves.

And it got me thinking about how this person was so wrong… and that they’re literally rewriting history to try and suit their own narrative, and tbh it was bordering on saying “this artist is not indie sleaze because they’re openly a minority and are sometimes making music about it.”

When it comes to the “anti identity politics” bullshit this person stated in their revisionist history, it seems they must’ve forgotten that while the indie sleaze subculture wasn’t as a WHOLE inherently preaching social justice, it was still in fact a very friendly space for LGBT+ people and feminist artists who were very open about both those things. Probably more so than other subcultures in the 2000s. This was especially prominent in the electroclash subgenre which had a lot of their artists intersecting with the riot grrrl and queercore scenes. Like… did this person just forget that Lesbians On Ecstacy, Gravy Train, Chicks On Speed, CSS, Gossip and fucking PEACHES existed???? (This entire list of artists btw is a big fraction of my yassification playlist???) (Also DON’T GET ME STARTED on how many bloghouse artists either ended up making hyperpop music later in their career or ended up working with hyperpop artists… and we all know how gay AND trans positive that genre inherently is)

This era also def made some progress when it came to artists of colour too. Indie scenes in the past definitely lacked POC, especially in popular bands - but while indie sleaze was still mainly white dominated some POC artists definitely managed to get some spotlight which hadn’t really been seen in indie music before. You had Karen O (Yeah Yeah Yeahs), Natasha Khan (Bats For Lashes), Kele Okereke (Bloc Party) (AND HE’S GAY TOO), Santigold, M.I.A, Tahita Bulmer (New Young Pony Club), 3/4 of the members of TV On The Radio were black men. I feel like there would probably be less POC making any kind of indie bops now if it weren’t for these talented people laying the foundation.

So yeah, basically to end my pointless infodump - indie sleaze - while I can criticise elements of it as I can with most 2000s subcultures, (the 2000s and it’s idea of everything being apolitical, egalitarian, and post identity politics to an extent did rub off on all the media and as such I can acknowledge that general attitude ageing weirdly now in the wake of a lot of us realising our core social issues never went away) is actually a lot more progressive than people remembered it to be. Especially in terms of its inclusivity of minorities which this person seems to think just didn’t exist openly and proudly in its past. If there’s a comeback and more minorities make music in any style under the indie sleaze umbrella (electroclash, bloghouse, 00s style garage rock), it’ll won’t be all too different from how it was because it’s the same music, same messy grimy aesthetic with smudged eyeliner and American Apparel disco pants - just more diversity and the newest iPhones instead of iPod nanos (I will forever be mad that iPod nanos aren’t still a thing though!)

#edie TxT #over + under #indie sleaze #lmao this was a mini essay I was not expecting to get so passionate

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drunkenlemur · 3 years ago

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MultiVersus Wish List

Gonna start with the ones that have already leaked, move on to the ones likely to show up, then pie in the sky dream picks. This is far from a definitive list, but just the ones that I can immediately think of or have thought about including. Feel free to add your own picks.

Marvin the Martian: He was already part of the leak list and is a natural pick for the Looney Tunes cast. I can see him having a blaster, maybe summon those alien bird monsters. So kind of like a combination of Fox and Olimar.

Samurai Jack: This is a no-brainer pick. I don't even know what else to say other than his inclusion opens up the possibility for the Scotsman, Aku, and Ashi to be included.

Duck Dodgers: Dodgers was recently leaked as being a potential character, and it would be interesting to have him instead of Daffy, even if they are technically the same person...duck? Plus you can have his costume from the old cartoon and his solo series which STILL ISN'T ON HBOMAX!

Amethyst and Pearl: I honestly can't imagine them only including two members of The Crystal Gems, so just round out the original team with these two. Give Amethyst a grapple move where she turns into the Purple Puma, have Pearl crying hysterically for her lose screen.

Scooby-Doo: Come on, you think they aren't going to include him? Just gonna have Shaggy and Velma?

Princess Bubblegum and Marceline: Again, it's hard to imagine them only having Finn and Jake, or one and not the other of these two.

Spike the Bulldog: I'd find it weird if Tom and Jerry are the ONLY reps for their franchise, but it also isn't like there's a ton of other characters that could fill a slot. Spike really is the only other prominent recurring character that I could see being included.

Wile E. Coyote: He's got too many gadgets to not include. Have him be a bit like Luigi and Diddy Kong, where you can overcharge so attacks, or if you whiff others it leaves you open.

Daphne Blake: Voiced by Sarah Michelle Gellar! Yes, specifically the Daphne from the Live Action movies. Or at least one styled after her.

Stevonnie: I always thought it was a shame that we never got to see Stevonnie in more than one real fight, but I understand that wasn't what the show was really about. Still, it would be nice to have them included.

TOM (Toonami Operations Module): Yeah, I bet you didn't know his name was an acronym. Neither did I until a second ago. But yeah, since I don't know how true those rumors of getting Naruto in are, this would still be the closest we could get to them including someone from the Toonami block. And its not like he hasn't had his own adventures before.

Yellow Diamond: If the rumors of Giant characters like Iron Giant, Kong, and Godzilla are true, then it would be nice to see one of the titanic tyrannical rulers of the Gem Empire be included, and she seems like the one most likely to throw hands.

KO Kincaid: This one I'm actually making a little headway with. I've gotten both Ian Jones-Quartey and Tony Huynh aware of the demand for KO to be included on the roster, so really we just have to cross our fingers and politely let them know we want him.

Prohyas and Vambre Warrior: Now we're getting into my "Not in a Million Years" picks. Probably even more obscure than O.K K.O., but I love Might Magiswords even more and I WILL make that everyone else's problem.

Sam Sheepdog: Co-worker/Antagonist to Ralph Wolf. Assuming Wile E. gets a Ralph skin, Sam would be a natural complement to it.

Birdman: With an optional Harvey Birdman skin. Maybe have Birdgirl with her two different costumes too. This is sort of a blanket request for all the forgotten Hanna-Barbera super heroes. Blue Falcon, Space Ghost, the Impossibles, the Herculoids. Frankenstein Jr. Does anyone even remember him? I do.

And now for my wildest wish, almost certain to never come to pass

Ben Mankiewicz: I know what you're saying? Who? Why? How? Listen, I noticed that Turner Classic Movies is a division of Warner Brothers, and Ben is the closest thing the channel has to a mascot. And if the rumors of Lebron James being included along with other Live Action characters, who's to say that a film historian can't throw down with the likes of Superman and Bugs Bunny?

The True Ultimate Forbidden Request

Goku: Do it. Fucking Do It. Do it, you Cowards. Put Goku in. Do what Super Smash Brothers and Nintendo don't have the Guts to pull off. Put Goku in your Smash Clone, and you win. A Million Downloads guaranteed. I know I said I don't know how true the Naruto rumors are, I don't care. Make it happen.

#warner brothers #MultiVersus #Toonami #Steven Universe #Adventure Time #Scooby Doo #Adult Swim #Looney Tunes #Hanna Barbera

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commandtower · 4 years ago

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More decklist updates

Hey again folks, I’m back with another round of decklist updates for you to check out. This time, I’ve updated my lists for Yeva, Nature’s Herald, Erebos, God of the Dead, and Experiment Kraj. Each of them is now up to date with the current physical version, including changes up to Adventures in the Forgotten Realms.

If you’d like more details about the changes, you can read about them below.

The main name of the game with this round of updates was improving the speed and consistency of these lists. These three decks are among my longest-lived Commander decks and are often the most difficult for me to effectively change just because they’ve become so tightly packed with powerful cards over their lifetimes, but I really wanted to improve some of the card selection in them.

Yeva’s deck received a pretty sweeping overhaul, obtaining a number of new tools for its arsenal. Not the least among them was an Allosaurus Shepherd, replacing Gaea’s Herald as my cheap counter option due to its improved utility, reduced cost and the removal of the symmetrical aspect. It’s kind of a shame, because the Herald has one of my all time favorite pieces of art in the game, but the Shepherd is just an all-around better card. Other changes include the addition of a Kogla, the Titan Ape, a powerful piece of removal that plays very well with Yeva’s addition of flash, and a Vivien, Monsters’ Advocate, which I’ve talked about previously as one of the best cards for Green decks to come out of this past year. The suite of ramp spells was also tweaked in this list, swapping Cultivate and Kodama’s Reach for Three Visits and Nature’s Lore. Since Yeva costs four mana to play, swapping the three mana ramp spells for two cost alternatives allows for smoother play into a Commander drop without a loss of tempo. I also swapped out the Snow-Covered Forests for regular options as the deck no longer makes use of snow mana after this recent change up, and I don’t really feel like getting blown out by a Break the Ice. Lastly, I recently came into possession of a few copies of The Great Henge thanks to lucky pulls from promo packs at my local store, so I added one to this list. It’s just an all-around great card for any deck that runs Green, and this list definitely loves to draw cards as it casts creatures.

Kraj has always had a bit of trouble with turn consistency, and so the biggest thing I wanted to improve with the changes to this list was the turn-by-turn progression, smoothing out ramp options and card draw a little nicer. A previous upgrade removed the spell-based ramp in the list in favor of more mana dorks for Kraj to copy, but I’ve opted to re-add a Cultivate to the list just for a bit of assistance in case of emergency. Kinnan, Bonder Prodigy was an easy include here and adds a lot of options for the list, offering a boost to mana production as well as the ability to dig for options. Branching Evolution and Vorinclex, Monstrous Raider join the list as additional static counter buffers, allowing for faster and more explosive buildup, and The Ozolith helps to reduce some of the blowback that comes from losing creatures to removal. Kraj’s spellbook was enhanced a bit by a visit to Strixhaven, picking up some excellent modal pieces in Decisive Denial and Quandrix Command that improve the list’s available options in various situations. This list also gets a Great Henge, and it’s honestly probably even better here than it is in my mono-Green list as Kraj directly benefits from the Henge’s counter distribution. I think the cards I've added here will help a lot with the deck’s overall progression, and the games I’ve played with this version have already felt much smoother and more involved.

Erebos has mostly been upgraded to allow for increased speed. He’s seen the inclusion of a number of new, slimmer-cost options compared to his previous cards that help to get him into the game faster, and a fair amount of new mana ramp options through additions of cards like Forsworn Paladin for some improved early-to-mid game progression. Feed the Swarm came in thanks to its unique capacity as a targeted enchantment removal in mono-Black, and Baleful Mastery replaced another piece of targeted removal thanks to its cost reduction option. Dauthi Voidwalker and Opposition Agent were added as lean-costed cards that can severely hamper other decks’ gameplans, which is true to what this deck was always trying to do. Rankle, Master of Pranks was introduced to the deck due to the versatile suite of options available to him, offering a customizable selection of abilities that can change to fit a number of situations. I’ve also chosen to add Boseiju, Who Shelters All to protect some of my win conditions like Torment of Hailfire or Exsanguinate. I decided to leave the snow lands in this list as it still makes use of them through cards like Extraplanar Lens and Dead of Winter, although that may change if I start seeing more copies of Break the Ice in my local meta.

Overall, I think these changes will help to keep these decklists viable as Commander continues to evolve as a format. Even though these are some of my longest-maintained decks, they’re also some of my favorites, so I’m happy to see new options that help to keep them updated.

If you’d like to take a look at all of the lists I’ve posted to the blog, past and present, you can check out the archive of my deck posts by using the Decklists tab in my blog’s sidebar. If you missed the previous list of updates I made to some of my other active decks, it’s available here. I have a number of new lists I’ve been working on over the past while that I’m prepping to share as well, so if these lists were to your liking, please stay tuned for more content like this to come. Thanks!

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hetalia-has-a-secretary · 4 years ago

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Any tips on making a Hetalia scenario blog? Rlly need some good advice for writing, handling asks, etc.

This is a very good question! From what I've seen from other blogs, and such I can give you a nice list of the basics! I'd also LOVE to see your Blog so feel free to send me your username! Biggest rule SAVE EARLY. SAVE OFTEN! the amount of times I lost a whole hours worth of work! ALSO DON'T CLICK ON OTHER TUMBLR NOTIFS BECAUSE IT CAN KICK YOU OFF FROM YOUR DRAFT AND THAT SUCKS!

Know your Boundaries- While it's nice to want to anwser everything that comes through, it's helpful to pin a Do/Won't Do rules list. Both you and your future followers need to know Boundaries. It makes things easier on both sides! Make sure to stay with those Boundaries to avoid problems in the future.

Hetalia Fandom- as with all fandoms we have the good, bad and the ugly. Keep in mind you don't have to, and shouldn't, interact with anything negative. Only respond to 'hate mail' and trolls if you can handle it. Once they see you take their bait they most certainly will send more, and it can easily spiral your blog into a negative space! (It's also way more fun not answering them, and just KNOWING they're probably frustrated you're not giving them attention) A good rule to follow is to step away from that ask before deciding to respond. It might not be worth getting worked up over it.

Be inclusive- It can be fun to do research on ethnicities and other things like Genders. But if you ever feel like you can't answer an ask dealing with Trauma, Mental illnesses, or Races don't feel obligated to anwser then. Especially if you don't have the knowledge. Feel free to leave a brief message such as "I don't know enough about this, so I'm afraid I can't answer." Or "I'm unsure if I can represent 'X' properly so I can't do the ask."

Don't over do it- I find I get burned out if I answer more than 3 (I have no life) asks in a row. Get a tiny notepad and scribble ideas down when the urge or idea occurs! It can make it easy. But also, don't let it distract you from daily life! Tumblr users are relatively understanding of this rule.

Those are rules for what I personally feel that helps me keep motivated, and mentally well, all while keeping a rather clean and safe blog. This next set is more or so actually running a scenerio blog.

Have a pinned rule lost- Go take a peek at my rules list. Yeah. See that glorious mess I made- Don't expect everyone to have the ability to read a lengthy rule list. Keep it simple. We have people with ADHD (etc), reading disabilities, and people who don't speak full english roaming about in our lovely fish tank know as the Hetalia Fandom! So keep that in mind if someone asks something that goes against your rules, and be kind when telling them!

Have a back up- If there's any specific scenerios or asks you don't want to keep, Make a Google doc to copy and paste the scenerios from. I've noticed that Tumblr posts (mobile) don't let you copy anything more than what's between breaks and bullet points. So I'd recommend typing things out in Google docs (which can help with grammar and spelling as well) and paste it into a Draft.

Drafts- I personally like having several drafts to work on throughout the week. So I don't always do them in order, but I also let my blog followers know when I start hopping around.

Know your limit- I have over 50 asks (I'm also slightly out of my mind) and I will admit it can be overwhelming, so set a small limit of what you can get out at a comfortable pace, and close your ask box when you go over that limit if you plan on using it. Example: I can do 6-10 asks in a week (pain), So I should be closing my box when I see it get to 15-20, excluding the stuff like friendly compliments I can give a quick thanks to!

Writing- It's important to keep things organized. If you look at my past asks you can see I keep characters separate, and I make the names Bold of I'm not using bullet point. It's to help people reading my blog skim through and keep track of what's what. I see a lot of word counts, and Trigger warnings. For trigger warnings, act like you're rating a movie! Is it M for mature due to Violence, or mentions of nudity? It's nice to have a NSFW tag to help people filter your blog. Mine is #handsypandsy because Tumblr doesn't like the tag NSFW.

You can do a readmore- : readmore :

But without the space. Very helpful for NSFW, sensitive content, and long content. If the thing you made takes more than half a scroll, you should use it.

Prioritize your tags- this is a rule I don't follow, but I'm trying to remember it. It's probably smartest to go in the order of: NSFW tag (if any), Main Characters, Series Names, Funny tags or commentary. It makes it easier for both you and your readers to find what you're looking for! Also, organize any other AUs like human AU.

Last but not least- don't be afraid to make mistakes. I've forgotten characters, and some nice anons point it out. It can be a pain to find them, but like I've stated previously tags can be your best friend. It's also fun to use a text to speech and listen back to your writing (definitely want to Google doc so you don't struggle trying to copy everything).

With that being said remember to have fun! I know it seems like a lot, but it comes down to what feels best for you, and what goes on with your life. Feel free to DM me as well, I keep a very strict "What happens in DMs, Stays in DMs" rule! Remember internet safety, and if you have any specific questions feel free to send them in! And if anyone has anything to add, feel free to comment below!

#Secretary Anwsers #hetalia #aph #hws

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weirdcrocodilelady · 4 years ago

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it’s 3:10 am and I have no life so I decided to mathematically document the shittiness of Death Note’s female representation

Disclaimer: Death Note is still my second favorite anime of all time and my third favorite TV show of all time (1 and 2 are Soul Eater and Friends, in case you were wondering). I appreciate most of its male leads and adore some of them. I don’t dislike any of the female characters in this show, even Misa. (Should I make a full post about why I like Misa? No. No, I shouldn’t. I’ll probably do it anyway.) Also, Naomi. Just...❤️Naomi.❤️

In preparation for this post, I binged the anime* for the [CLASSIFIED]th time and made a list of all its male and female characters in separate lists. A character’s inclusion on the list depends on whether they meet the following criteria:

1. They have a name that is spoken out loud at some point (alibis count; if they are only given a first name or a last name alone, that also counts);

2. They speak at least one line.

This allowed me to weed out most unimportant background characters as well as all the names written down in the various Death Notes. However, as you will see, some very minor characters still made the list.

*I’m just doing the anime this time, not the manga. I have and love the manga but didn’t feel like going through the whole thing for this. My doglike devotion to completely pointless research only goes so far, people.

Here are the male characters we encounter across all 37 episodes (in order of appearance, but not necessarily official introduction by name):

Light. Ryuk. Sudo. Ryo. Takuo Shibuimaru. Soichiro. Matsuda. Watari. L. Lind. L. Tailor. Mogi. Raye. Kiichiro Osoreda. Aizawa. Ide. Ukita. Kitamura. Demegawa. Koki Tanekabara. Gelus. Ooi. Takahashi. Kida. Higuchi. Hatori. Namikawa. Mido. Shimura. Aiber. Roger. Mello. Near. Mason. Larry Connors. Commander Rester. Eddie. Gevanni. Sidoh. Armonia Justin. Kal Snyder. Pedro Kollet. Dwhite Godon. Jose. Mikami. Matt.

Same criteria, female characters:

Sachiko. Sayu. Yuri. Naomi. Misa. Rem. Takada. Weddy. Yumi. Eriko. Nori. Lidner.

That’s 45 male characters and 13 female characters. If I did my sixth grade math correctly, that means 77.6 percent of the cast is male, compared to only 22.4 percent female. The women whose names are in bold are those whose involvement in the story hinges on her having a personal connection to a male character, either as a family member or a significant other/love interest. Yes, I did the math for that too. SIXTY-NINE POINT TWO PERCENT of the women in Death Note are heavily defined by their relationship to at least one man.

(Yeah, I know, 69. Shut up.)

Now, just for kicks, let’s narrow it down to only characters who appear and speak in more than one episode.

Men: Light. Ryuk. Soichiro. Matsuda. Watari. L. Mogi. Raye. Aizawa. Ide. Ukita. Kitamura. Demegawa. Ooi. Takahashi. Kida. Higuchi. Hatori. Namikawa. Mido. Shimura. Aiber. Roger. Mello. Near. Rester. Eddie. Gevanni. Sidoh. Pedro. Kollet. Godon. Jose. Mikami.

Women: Sachiko. Sayu. Naomi. Misa. Rem. Takada. Weddy. Yumi. Lidner.

That gives us 34 men and 9 women. 79.1% men, 20.9% women. 66.7% of those women are defined by their connection to a male character.

I haven’t even touched on all the other smaller, but still significant crumbs of sexism in Death Note, such as how the entirety of the ICPO meeting in Episode 2 is male. The Japanese NPA is intimately intertwined with the plot, yet we never once see a single female police officer.

Naomi Misora, apparently one of the FBI’s top agents, left her job to get married and (plan to) have kids.

Kiyomi Takada is said to be one of the most intelligent and powerful women in Japan, having graduated from a very prestigious university, yet the only time we see her in school is when she disrupts a lecture to have a relationship check-in with her man meat.

Adult!Sayu gets hit on, gets kidnapped, gets traumatized, then is forgotten for the rest of the series.

Rem throws her life away for love.

Takada agrees to throw away her core values and career for love.

Weddy’s cleavage.

Lidner’s cleavage.

Cosmé Misa.

It genuinely breaks my heart that a series I love so dearly, and that has played a significant role in shaping my morals and beliefs for almost half my life, is so cold, flippant, and downright disrespectful to my entire gender.

#death note #eecmidford #not kuro

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luminescentlyricist · 4 years ago

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⚙️ Whirlwinds ༄

( Meat timeline w/ Candy elements )

( CW: Depression )

John was feeling lonely. Ever since the the session had begun, he had steadily become quieter and quieter. It was nothing out of the ordinary, really, but he wasn't talking to any of his friends as much, and found himself taking comfort in any silence he could. Not even Casey was cheering him up, regardless of how many bright blue bubbles she blew or adorable noises she teased him with. So, strangely, he sought comfort in Dave.

His keyboard had begun gathering dust, as he'd returned to his old house with the intent to actually talk to people face-to-face and maybe invite them over. But now, after what felt like years of isolation, he blew off the grey motes. Coughing, John placed his fingers on the keys as it began to boot up. This bought a soft sort of half-smile to his face. Pesterchum seemed like ancient technology, but they - all of his friends from both sessions, as well as the trolls with Trollian - insisted on keeping the chat clients alive.

There were a few moments of inescapable lag as his desktop exploded with notifications. His friends loved him that much. Scrolling through his contact list, he noted that 'CarcinoGeneticist' had been the source of a lot of the notifications. Karkat and Dave shared one thing in common: they never shut up, and that was exactly what John liked about them.

Well, he normally did.

Due to their mostly well-meaning spam of messages, the two collectively succeeded in causing his screen to freeze for a solid ten minutes, during which time John lamented not having the grist at hand to alchemise a new one. Regardless, he sat in front of it, mostly unmoving apart from the habitual tapping of his feet against the floor. The wind moved against him so tightly it felt as if it were trying to crush him into an anxious mess.

Everything became a few shades brighter when the screen finally decided to work, and the Heir himself seemed to brighten, if only for a moment. He sat up a little straighter, fixing his glasses that had been knocked askew. The wind also began to disperse, leaving a gentle breeze that helped to melt the ever-mounting tension in his shoulders. Dave had messaged him a moment earlier.

The message - of a picture - was also attached to a link, an audio clip. John missed Dave and his voice. He hadn't left the house in a long time, not since he came back to it. His friends used to try and visit, but they stopped trying three months ago when he didn't respond. Perplexed, John fumbled for his earbuds and plugged them into his laptop. The cool kid's warm tone graced his ears, bringing with it a sense of comfort.

"Hey, John. I know you probably won't hear this, but I just wanted to let you know that you're the coolest kid I've ever met. We're talking smuppet levels of cool."

John paused the video. Was that supposed to be a compliment? He couldn't tell.

"You're so cool you put arctic freezes to shame. Anyway, I know you're all down in the dumps right now, and that's a completely valid response. We've been through some mad shit lately. But you can come and talk to me whenever you need me, okay? Point is, I want you to come and hang when you're finished being a hermit. Come outta your shell, dude. Find a new home, 'cause this one's all up in the clouds."

When the clip ended, John's smile fell and the giddy warmth faded from his body. It was suddenly very cold in the house. As much as he liked Dave, his energy had begun to wane. Soon, though, another ping sounded from his laptop. There was the photo that he'd forgotten. Clicking on that file, he realised it was akin to a new face reveal. He'd not seen Dave in so long. Too long. He could barely remember the faces of his friends.

Even though Rose was a Seer of Light, dealing with knowledge and such, John couldn't help but feel that she wasn't the one to help him with his terrible memory. There were some problems that even God Tier couldn't fix, which was one of the things he realised when he returned home after so long. Sometimes, John didn't even get out of bed in the morning.

Usually, Casey would meet him at his bedside at nine in the morning - though she often got the simplistic schedule confused, and John had to get her instead - so that they could go check on the Salamander Village in the Consort Kingdom together. But, that morning, she went alone. John enjoyed the little task that he did with his daughter above all else, and it had simply become *draining*. He never wanted it to be.

His eyelids drooped as he stared at the screen in front of him, the display having dimmed in preparation to go to sleep. John dragged his finger across the trackpad, squinting against the bright lights. There he was: Dave, in all his coolness. The teen was lying on his back, faking sleep, and his crocodile consorts had laid a blanket over him, photo-bombing the picture he had attempted to take due to the unusually endearing scene.

It was a soft moment, perfectly captured in time.

Things like those were exactly what John missed about hanging out with his friends. Shutting the lid to his laptop with a small sigh, the heir wondered if he'd ever go out to see them all. He hadn't even responded to any of Karkat's messages.

"Gee, John. You're really slipping today."

He murmured this to the empty house, voice seeming too quiet compared to the otherwise vast space that was his. John was so tired. He had no energy whatsoever, but the sun remained high in the sky. The day was certainly dragging on regardless of the fact that he'd only been awake for a few hours. Taking off the iconic blue-rimmed glasses that he wore and setting them on the desk, John waited for something - anything - to rouse him.

Around him, the naturally warm breezes that he seemed to generate had stilled, causing a gentle shudder to ripple down his spine. John stood, picking up his glasses and perching them on the end of his nose. It wasn't that he needed the lenses to see; he was fairly sure going God Tier had given him 20-20 vision, but they were as important to him as Dave's shades were to the other.

Glancing towards a dusty photograph on the mantle, he directed a swift breeze to wipe the dust away. It was an old picture of he and his dad, with John himself only about five. Walking to pick it up, he studied it in a silence that had since become comfortable. Sure, he missed his dad, but memories were more than enough, even though his vision blurred with tears. Unlike a Strider, he had never been good at masking his emotions.

As a droplet ran down the glass, the boy traced around his face in the picture. As far back as he could remember, he'd always had the same style of glasses. The first time his dad let him pick the rims he wanted, he'd simply chosen the same ones as his dad had picked for him. Dark blue and obnoxiously rectangular, just as he'd worn before and since.

They helped him remember how much he was loved, in a way, so he didn't want to forget them. That was why it had hurt so much the time they were sucked mercilessly into the void. Just as soon as the first had transpired, another shudder ran through him. Bad memories were threatening to resurface, memories of what had happened before. He groaned aloud, trying to block them out with the noise.

He had been tempted to talk to Rose for another reason: despite the fact that there weren't exactly any functioning universities in Earth C to give her the appropriate qualifications, everyone considered her a good therapist. She'd seen and experienced her fair share of horrors since her stint in Grimdarkness. Maybe she would understand how... depressed he felt. John felt awful for always burdening Dave with the information, even though the group's resident coolkid always seemed so open to it all, even in the times he was sure no one would listen.

After so long in the house, alone, John had acquired a lot of time to think. Some of it was a negative thing, but he'd recently come to terms with a big part of himself that he'd buried around everyone. Since Kanaya and Rose had established that they were together, he'd been ruminating about his own sexuality. It felt a little safer.

There was a more inclusive crowd in Earth C than he and his friends had ever anticipated, so that nobody felt left out. Alienated. There were so many different choices he was able to make, and no legislations in place would exclude him. Being a god had its perks, though that hardly mattered. He had a truth to consider.

He was a homosexual, and he'd caught feelings for his best friend.

Even though it was a lot to process, he was working through it slowly. Dave had once felt like someone so above him, to put on a pedestal and almost glorify. But through the session, and their chilling times on Earth C together, that had dissolved. They had a lot more in common than he had previously thought, but that did nothing to calm the jitters enveloping his entire body at the mere prospect of meeting with the other boy after so long.

At that moment, the doorbell rang out with a discordant attempt at a tune. John mentally reminded himself to fix that later. He was jolted away from his thoughts, and called out to his visitor tiredly.

"Hold on a minute..."

Dragging his feet, the boy headed to his old room. He'd since relocated some of his dad's ties to the cupboard there, unwilling to part with that aspect of himself and move into the other, bigger space. He discovered that his fingers were shaking despite his prior lethargy, which meant he couldn't tie the knot on the one he'd picked out properly. He was still only 23, but wearing them made him feel a little more mature.

Draping it over one of his shoulders like a dish-towel, the boy headed out to open the door. He was relieved to see that his daughter hadn't completely abandoned him, but the small yellow salamander had someone else in tow, dragging them inside the house while bubbling excitedly.

"Sup?"

Dave's greeting was relaxed, almost to the point of nonchalance, but the other knew him well enough that he wasn't offended by it. The cooler of the two's lips twitched up into a smile upon seeing his friend's shocked expression, and he laughed quietly.

"What's up, Egbert? Have you been rendered speechless by the Strider Charm emanating from my every pore?"

The man noted, clearly recognising that he needed to stay something familiar to relax John.

Still silent, John nodded sheepishly before posing his own greeting.

"Hi, Dave! I haven't seen you in ages. Whatcha been up to?"

He asked only when he'd cleared his head, but it didn't do much to prevent his voice from squeaking. He wasn't sure how to answer his buddy's question, so he'd swung it back to Dave, whose brows crinkled thoughtfully beneath his shades.

"Not much, really. Chillin', helpin' my bro with his projects. He told me he wanted to dismantle Sawtooth and Squarewave to do something new."

John's face brightened slightly to match the Strider's smile, but it was all he could do to ignore the lethargy that had crept back into his body.

"Woah... That must be hard work. I'm glad you're getting along with him, though!"

Instead of rising in tandem with his excited statement, the young man's voice fell flat. It wasn't that he meant to sound unenthusiastic, he'd just completely zoned out. Standing in dazed silence for a moment, he was only snapped back to reality by Dave's worried questioning.

"Hey, bro, you alright?"

John had no idea how to reply, instead shrugging dumbly. Sure, he wasn't going to die because he hadn't slept for the past few nights, but his limbs felt weighed down by lead. He stared blankly towards the wall behind his friend, whole body beginning to lightly tremble.

"I think I'm fine, yeah... Don't worry about me, 'kay?"

The man's words slurred, and he laughed shakily. He braced himself against the near doorframe, exhaling as the world spun and lurched around his head. Thanks to the ever-increasing list of God Tier benefits, there was no need for him to sleep. Evidently, he should have. He'd not let himself have any relief from his steadily darkening thoughts for weeks.

Dave's hand lightly brushed John's shoulder, causing him to flinch and nearly fall over. He'd retrieved the tie, and was going to ask about whether or not John wanted help tying it, but did something else entirely when he felt the young man sway beneath his touch. While Casey freaked out a little, scampering away from the two to hide, Dave wrapped his arms securely around John's torso to steady him.

"I hate to tell you this, John, but what you're feeling right now is the exact opposite of fine. C'mon, dude. I can take care of you for a bit. Think of it as bro-to-bro bonding."

Dave held his position there, not speaking, until he felt the other's shaking slow down. He kept a hand on John's shoulder to steady him after the awkward embrace, slowly walking with the trembling man beside him until they reached a little further into the house. Gently, Dave guided his friend to sit down, and then called for Casey.

"C'mere, Case. Your dad needs some serious salamander love."

He never called the yellow salamander 'Casey', preferring 'Case'. She still responded to it, so he didn't see the point in changing his ways. John's adopted daughter peeked her head out from where she was hidden, blowing a bright blue bubble towards the coolkid. She made her way towards him, although she was obviously more concerned about reaching her dad.

Dave lifted Casey up into his arms and carried her to where John was on the couch. Before placing her down, he whistled and made an explosion noise upon 'impact'. She immediately hugged John's chest, walking across his legs and torso to get to that part of him. He smiled tiredly down at her.

John's eyes were drooping again, and that caused Dave - who was watching over the scene carefully - to frown.

"I can take Casey out of the room if you need some privacy, dude. You seem pretty tired."

His voice was softer than usual, but still held that certain suave that the other regarded as oddly calming. Casey bubbled in protest - or so Dave thought, since salamanders were pretty dim most of the time - and made an indignant noise.

"I think I just... I need to sleep, 'cause I've been awake for a while. But it's nice having you two here."

The man wearily smiled a little more, as if to reassure the two that nothing was wrong. It never reached his eyes.

Nodding, Dave walked to the kitchen. He retrieved a glass of water for his best friend, making sure it was cold to the touch but not icy enough to cause a headache. He returned to the living room to find John softly humming a familiar tune to Casey. It was 'Pipeorgankind', the same dramatic melody that he had once used to clear the skies of his land. A grin split Dave's features moments after.

"Aw, man... Didn't you invite me to the party? Cold."

As always, the Strider's voice held a lilt, nuanced enough that those who knew him well enough could tell whether or not he was joking around. He set the water down, clearing his throat.

"If you need a DJ, I can assure you that my beats are fresher than a cake straight outta the oven."

John stopped humming for a minute, looking towards Dave, who had fallen otherwise silent. He wasn't sure how to respond, but Dave never really expected a response in the first place.

He sat on the couch next to the other, hoisting Casey into his lap with a lop-sided grin. The salamander bubbled again, and he reached out a tentative finger. Ever since he started visiting LOWAS, Dave had never been sure whether or not the large blue objects in the salamander's mouths were their tongues. To his surprise, Casey stayed there. As soon as Dave's finger made contact, however, the salamander licked him, bright blue liquid coating his entire hand.

This pulled a soft laugh from the boy next to him, due to the fact that the Strider's otherwise perfect hair was sticking up at the front, and he never seemed to notice. Reaching out with his powers, John directed his natural drafts - weaker than usual - to dry and swiftly redirect his hairdo.

Even though he was still incredibly tired, the blue boy was glad for the company. It didn't matter as much that Dave was obnoxious sometimes; he'd always had a keen sense of how others were feeling regardless of his own emotional confusion. As such, the Strider kept his arm around John, the small gesture providing a modicum of comfort more than his natural presence could.

The simple action was enough for the first tear to spill down John's cheek. He had adjusted himself to the feeling of crying alone, and there was a degree of embarrassment associated with anyone seeing him. But the Knight had always made him feel safer, and made it known that he'd always have a shoulder to cry on if he needed one.

Casey had situated herself on the other cushion, having moved from Dave's lap. She was keeping herself as close to her dad as possible.

Sometimes, John felt.... numb. In a way, he was jealous of the Striders' unique ability to lock away emotions, to not feel at all. He was shaken away from this mindset when Dave began gently wiping his tears away with a tissue. This particular Strider was one of the most empathetic people he knew.

Although doubts were racing through the man's mind, he was doing his best to make John feel safer.

"Let it out, man. It's... It's good for you to cry. You've bottled up so much shit I'm glad you're finding release. Just keep fighting, 'kay? I'm proud of you, John. You're one of the strongest people I know, but..."

Dave broke off as his normally suave, constrained tone wobbled, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"It's okay to break sometimes."

Dave's voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was all he could do not to start crying himself. Feeling John's panicked, shaking gasps slowing down gradually - With the other man pressed firmly against his chest in an awkward embrace - was a relief. It allowed him to let out the breath he had no idea he was holding.

He knew that his friend was sleeping, the soft breezes he emanated having tightened to curl almost protectively around his body. Gently, he eased his way out of John's lax arms. He stood, walking to the man's old bedroom and retrieving a blanket. He frowned when he saw how thin it was, though.

Taking off his thick hoodie, he draped it over John's body and scrawled something onto a sticky note: "Keep it. ~D." After attaching the note to the jacket, he bent over and pressed a soft - clearly hesitant - kiss on the other's forehead. Taking off his shades to look at John properly, his expression lifted into a smile.

Even though he knew John wouldn't hear him, Dave spoke as he left.

"I love you, dude. Good luck."

#john egbert #john homestuck #dave strider #dave homestuck #johndave #homestuck epilogue #okay I lied this is truly as soft as it gets #homestuck meat #homestuck candy #luminescent lyricist writes #🏠 stuck at home 🏠

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