#whoever decided to film this

[tiredwishes]

mclaren Not just any €5 note... 🔮💶

[panncakes]

"Those who you think are your friends, who are on your side, who love and understand you -- You have to be very careful with them. Do not trust them."

LAWS OF ATTRACTION (2023)

[canirove]

[portmantaur]

because I am a Very Normal person who does Extremely Normal and Understandable Things

I finally watched the Amazing Maurice animated movie and had a little cry near the end. it was so clear that at least a few key people on the art team had an intense love for the source material - a reverence, even. I mean, there’s even a reference to Dibbler’s invented toilet dragon as the fountain in the town square, which is such a throwaway line that I can’t actually remember which discworld book it’s from without looking it up (but I -think- it might be a Watch book). The Morpork owls as a recurring motif. Twurp’s Peerage and the bat-embroidery on the chair in almost all of the scenes from which Malicia is narrating. Obviously the bust of Pratchett in the mayor’s office. There were so many visual references to the whole body of work, not just the exact source material, that I can’t even remember them all. I could feel the love coming from the art/design team.

And then the script itself betrayed so much of the original narrative’s purpose that I ended up crying a little (you can’t judge me, remember we already established I am Incredibly Normal and thusly Not Weirdly Emotional About Inconsequential Things). It did not strike me as a movie that would have survived into being made had Pratchett been alive - which is not surprising, he pretty famously rejected scripts, especially regarding Tiffany Aching. But I also remember the animated versions of Wyrd Sisters and Soul Music, and how utterly tickled Pratchett was in interviews regarding them — I especially remember how twinkly and pleased he was with some of the artistic direction taken with Cliff, particularly his voice direction and the sound effects used for his movement. So while Pratchett did have a reputation for rejecting film adaptations of his work, he clearly wasn’t impossible to please. I just, in my bones, in a totally Normal And Not Weirdly Sentimentally-Driven Way, do not believe he would have approved the final version of -this- script.

Primarily because it was a children’s book on purpose, and the book spends a lot of time respecting its intended young audience by posing a lot of questions without bothering to provide definitive answers. And so when there is one theme/moral that feels very deliberate and intentionally blatant within the novel, that feels incredibly important to me. To wit: This book makes a very clear statement about how evil is a creation, an action; evil is something concocted by people and put into the world. It is not an accident, it is not happenstance, and most uncomfortably, it can thusly usually not be entirely undone. In my opinion, Spider/The Rat King could not be a clearer way to communicate this concept.

Yes, Spider is evil, and yes in typical Pratchett fashion he indicates that evil is a bit of an expansive concept that cannot be contained within the simplified notion of “doing bad things,” and he very poignantly wraps this into the concept of creating/exploiting fear. But as a rat king, Spider’s existence is intentional and unnatural. Rat kings are a real, “historical” concept insofar as they have existed as a myth for a very long time. I remember reading about them in my wee years, when rats and rat-keeping became admittedly a special interest of mine. The concept of them in Pratchett’s book mirrors almost exactly their concept in real life: They are a human invention, and the only “evidence” of them has always just been evidence of the extent of human cruelty, largely in service of making a buck. Pickled rat kings were a common sight in early sideshow exhibitions, and you’ll even still find some modern references to or models of them in similar settings today. But they are simply an impossible concept when considering them as “natural” phenomenons — The Amazing Maurice (the book) explains that petty well via Keith’s knowledge of rats and their habits, but even that leaves out the obvious explanation of the fact that rat tails are bony structures that simply do not have the ability to bend into any conceivable knot-shape without being intentionally broken for that purpose. For a book that doesn’t shy away from the carnage and cruelty humans otherwise enact on rats historically, I have to wonder if that was simply the point at which Pratchett himself shared his much-written sentiment of “not wanting to draw you a picture.” Either way, readers of course find out that Spider in particular was created as a “masterpiece” by one of the resident rat-catchers in order to secure entry into the local rat-catching guild. As a result, Spider is both creation and burden to the rat-catchers.

But this entire discussion of rat kings as evidence of cruelty, this whole allusion to evil being a human-made thing, is mostly thrown away in the film. The film takes away both Keith and Malicia’s knowledge of rat kings (the practicality of them and the mythical reputation of them respectively), instead gives both halves of the knowledge to Maurice, and then claims that the rat catchers did not intentionally create the rat king. Rather, while carelessly storing rats they had caught, the two men simply tossed a few rats temporarily into a pot, and upon later lifting the lid to retrieve them, discovered a rat king had been formed — conceding every possible falsehood about rats, their anatomy, and the history of rat kings that Pratchett spent the bulk of a chapter meticulously refuting.

And I, as the Incredibly Normal And Not At All Weird Person we have already established that I am, had a good cry. I was so sad that whoever was in charge of these changes to the script simply did not respect their child audience the way Pratchett himself did. How can you claim to honor or even love his work if your retooling of it is so fearful, so dishonest? The message of “evil is something you put into the world, not something natural to be observed” is such an important concept for children of all ages to be exposed to, and it’s such a narratively satisfying climax to reach after the buildup of sympathy for this rough and tough rat colony who already navigate the casual and perhaps even somewhat “justifiable” cruelty foisted upon them merely for existing in the shapes they have. And while there are a lot of changes in the script that I found disappointing or un-artfully implemented, this particular change felt utterly cowardly. Of course, if as an executive or screenwriter in charge of what gets finalized in a script, your goal is rooted in creating something to mass-produce and sell, then I understand why arming an audience of children with the idea that evil is an action and not a circumstance would frighten you to your boots. But then I have to wonder: Why take this work to adapt? It's not as if it's incredibly well known outside of a somewhat niche and probably slightly older audience. What was there to be gained by taking such a lovingly crafted, respectful narrative aimed at younger people, only to dismantle and subvert the very clear message it contained? By review standards, this film was kind of a flop. So what was the point?

Mostly, again because of how Deeply Normal I am (such that it obviously doesn’t even bear repeating), I felt a lot of sadness for the art team. At least a handful of people in charge of the artistic direction of the film had a deep connection to the Discworld series, and I have to wonder if any of them felt disrespected or otherwise unhappy with the final product they ended up being party to, especially with the love and dedication to visually crafting this story being so apparent on screen. And while I feel personally that there are valid and constructive criticisms to be made about Pratchett’s work, and perhaps more largely about the specific perspective from which he wrote, something that has always struck me about his novels aimed at young readers is the sheer amount of respect he always had for them. This movie carrying a weirdly clear bias of believing that children would only be -seeing- the movie, engaging with it on a strictly visual level, while adults would be the only ones actually -listening-, felt like such an absolute disregard for the love Pratchett clearly had for young readers that it actually made me angry.

There’s not really a larger point to this essay on something as inconsequential as an animated rat movie, but I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and I can’t help but cling to the idea that I’m not the only Really Very Ordinary And Not At All Strange person who had this sort of emotional reaction to this piece of media. Somewhere out there in the wild world of tumblr, someone else might see this and go “yeah…yeah!!!” To which I want to answer, in total commiseration, “yeah :(”

[hartwinorlose]

i saw spiderman: across the spiderverse and i'd like to get my one raging complaint out of the way

inhale: WHY WOULDN'T THEY PUT "PART ONE" IN THE TITLE??

it seriously pissed me off when i saw "to be continued" at the end of the movie because WHAT? audiences are ready for part one/part two movies. dune, anyone? Infinity War and Endgame?? For what purpose was it NOT MADE CLEAR that this was a two-parter? the only reason i can think of is that they thought parents would not want to take small children to see a movie that technically does not end so they decided to gloss over this to get more money. and this made me upset

i spent the latter third of the movie questioning the pacing because i had no idea this was only supposed to be one half of a story. it threw me off and made my viewing experience worse by not knowing this was a part one

[RANT OVER]

now for the good stuff, which was: all the rest of it. honestly, they really stepped up their game in the art department. i thought the first movie was impressive. this one was even more so. the art in gwen's world was phenomenal

the plot was engaging, to the point where i was really worried part two wasn't going to be greenlit and i'd never get to find out what happened. i need to know!!

characters are great, obviously, both old and the new. the baby isn't an annoying sidekick (yet, anyway). i think the villain was cleverly introduced and well done. i really like miguel and his motivations/storyline

music killed. action scenes killed. humor killed. i love this film. i will be seeing part two

[thisbluespirit]

I keep talking about the truly terrible colourisation of Night Caller (1965; aka. The Night Caller From Outer Space; US The Blood Beast From Outer Space), so I’ve fished out my old screencaps.  THEY DIDN’T COLOUR IN PEOPLE’S HAIR. 0_o

Alfred Burke in actual colour in the mid/late 60s:

(image nicked from somewhere a very long time ago - the Guardian obit, maybe, I have a feeling.)

[nymph1e]

a conversation between me and my brother.

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

i just saw the madrid promotional video for fitur. 6 injured 1 dead.

[alex51324]

So, the NDA signed by producers of The Apprentice just expired, and one of them has published a tell-all article. Most of the article is about how they used standard reality-TV tricks to portray Trump as being wealthy and intelligent, when in reality he was, and is, a deeply indebted buffoon.

The money shot, however, comes when Trump and the producers are preparing for climax of the final episode, when the winner will be decided.

Per the FCC's rules for game shows, producers could not be involved in deciding who would be fired each week, or who would ultimately win: it had to be Trump's decision alone, like contestants and viewers were told it was. The producers could, and did, give him a presentation about the strengths and weaknesses of the contestants each time he had to make a decision. These were recorded, in case questions ever arose about whether the producers had crossed the line.

So, for the final episode, there were two contestants remaining. Both were men, one white, the other Black. They'd both done well in the final challenge of the competition. As the producers were summarizing the points for an against each candidate, this happened:

“Yeah,” he says to no one in particular, “but, I mean, would America buy a n— winning?” Kepcher’s pale skin goes bright red. I turn my gaze toward Trump. He continues to wince. He is serious, and he is adamant about not hiring Jackson.

In the finished program, Trump chose the white contestant as the winner.

(Four years later, Trump would propagate the baseless conspiracy theory that Barack Obama was not a native-born US citizen and therefore had not legitimately won the presidency.)

The article also describes how women working on the production faced discrimination based on whether or not Trump wanted to look at them while they did their jobs:

While leering at a female camera assistant or assessing the physical attributes of a female contestant for whoever is listening, he orders a female camera operator off an elevator on which she is about to film him. “She’s too heavy,” I hear him say. Another female camera operator, who happens to have blond hair and blue eyes, draws from Trump comparisons to his own Ivanka Trump. “There’s a beautiful woman behind that camera,” he says toward a line of 10 different operators set up in the foyer of Trump Tower one day. “That’s all I want to look at.”

And there's a third anecdote where he pressures a woman producer to break the FCC rules, while being casually misogynistic toward a contestant:

Trump corners a female producer and asks her whom he should fire. She demurs, saying something about how one of the contestants blamed another for their team losing. Trump then raises his hands, cupping them to his chest: “You mean the one with the …?” He doesn’t know the contestant’s name. Trump eventually fires her.

This information is pretty unlikely to persuade anyone who wasn't already persuaded by any of the other things Trump has done and said, which would for anyone else be a career-defining scandal. But it is a useful reminder of who we're dealing with.

(Link is to Slate, an x-number-of-free-articles-a-month site, but the incognito window trick works.)

[heavenbarnes]

I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

-

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

-

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

-

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

-

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

-

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

[alnilaem]

you buy a second-hand laptop from a dodgy craigslist user only to make a carnal discovery hidden between the files.

cw for anal sex, face fucking, pet play, choking, masturbation, noncon filmed sex, overall dubcon, reader is fujoing out

ghoap (x reader)

-

You saw it in a flitting advertisement. Used Acer Aspire V5, female buyers only, and didn’t hesitate to contact the poster.

Ghost was his screen name. Macabre, but not something to dwell on because he’s selling the only affordable hand-me-down you can find. He insisted on meeting at a hole-in-the-wall pub, beneath a metal sheet awning. There’s a cigarette pinched between his lips as you approach, an overripe mask rolled over his broken nose.

“You’re our bird?” He asks in a Manchester hint, exhaling a plume of off-white smoke.

You stifle over that operative word—our—but push through it and meekly nod, preening at his feet.

Beneath the predatory glint of his eyes, you realize you’ve gravely miscalculated the calibre of this situation. Meeting a complete stranger in a gritty alleyway and waiting to pick up his scrap-metal laptop, all because it satisfies your budget.

“Yeah…” you mumble. Try to make yourself invisible even though it’s redundant—he already towers over you, his shadow eclipsing your body, his heat drinking you in.

“‘ere it is,” he grunts. “You’ve got our cash?”

You hand him the crumpled wad of paper, squirming as he passes his thumb over his tongue and folds through the money, counting it with a mean curl of his lips.

“That’s– is everything alright?”

He stuffs the money into his jacket and expells a deep prusten sound, like an idle predator. “Fine. Pleasure doin’ business with you, bird.”

Ghost turns on his mud-clogged boot and strays off, letting the shadows swallow him whole. You hold the bulky laptop to your chest and wield it like a weapon on your way home, finally settling into bed, ready to examine your new purchase.

The hinges creak as you pull it open. A grimace splits your cheeks at the dust crusted in the margins, the rings of juice gummed to the mousepad.

A few letters from the keyboard are missing, and a few strips of tape look dog-eared, peeling from the corners, exposing the laptop’s internal wiring. Gossamer-like, spiderweb cracks work across the edges. The screen is a blotchy eyesore, striated with horizontal lines.

You have to beat your knuckles on the laptop to keep it from jamming. You navigate the desktop with simmering irritation, invaded by the inkling that you’ve been utterly scammed. Nothing matches the photos advertised on Ghost’s account, and just as your annoyance is about to ripen into white-hot anger, something catches your eye.

It’s nestled into a nook on the desktop. It’s an unnamed folder that stares back at you, unassuming, the icon already half-opened and waiting to be examined.

You double click it, more like triple click, actually, since the mousepad decides to cramp, and squirm as the folder flares over the screen. It’s a collection of videos, their thumbnails all spotty and dark, eclipsed by the thumb of whoever’s holding the camera.

Their titles are as cryptic as their photos.

wet.avi; tail_plug.avi; no_prep.avi; with_price.avi.

You find yourself scrolling lower, your fingers working against the mousepad like a rapidly unfurling spool of thread. You decide to investigate one of the videos, one with a foggy, filmy thumbnail, and carefully heed the title before poising your finger above the open function.

johnny_leash.avi

The video is grainy, as if it was imported from a camcorder rather than a phone. The first few seconds are a blurry with grey-scale strobes running across the screen, radiating an aura of seediness that makes a hint of discomfort sink like sediment in your stomach, adhering to your viscera. A deep, damp squelching sound peals out, tempered with the sticky noise of something being broken in, hollowed out.

The camera ebbs, settles, then focuses all at once. You think you’re going to faint.

It’s someone’s puffy ass getting stretched out on a fat cock. It puckers and tightens with each piston-paced thrust, red.

A large hand belonging to the person recording enters the frame. Their hand tattoos stretch as they split their palm across the hind of their spine, the cameraman’s fingers digging sickle-shaped scratches into their back, clawing them down on their battering ram of a cock.

“Quit whinin’, Johnny,” the voice behind the camera loudly grunts.

The one getting split open, Johnny, snivels into the pillow. His spine is curved into the mattress, his ass pert and sticking in the air, rippling with the force of the cameraman’s hips.

A plume of dust travels over the screen, fleetingly concealing the image. When the soot thins into the air and bares the salacious material of the video, you gasp.

There’s a glint caught on something silver from the feeble lightning. It’s a chrome-plated chain, you see, connecting to Johnny’s throat. A leather collar cutting into his ruddy skin. The leash is wrapped around the cameraman’s hand like a reel, and each time he tugs, pulling his hand back as if winding up for an attack, Johnny gets peeled off the bed, his back arching so deep you’re sure it’s close to snapping.

“Shit, Simon—!” He squeals. “Can ye… slow down?”

The aforementioned Simon grunts. Animalistic, like a rabid predator. The camera whirls, the unromantic colours of the room they’re in bleeding into each other, and when it focuses, you see Simon’s large palm splayed against the back of Johnny’s half-shaven skull, gripping his hair, pushing him into the bed.

The man flails like a fish out of water, struggling under his hand. It prompts an emergency response out of you—the way he’s being fucked into the mattress, no doubt pressing a Johnny-shaped chalk outline like the ones at crime scenes into the bedding. Alarm seizes you, and the thought of submitting this to the authorities trumpets like strobe lights in your mind.

The video is written with inept non-professionalism, reeking with the sentiment of a found-footage horror film that it’s not the authenticity that rattles your bones like a wind chime, but the morality.

You tell yourself to stop the video, but as the thought squeezes itself between your ears, Johnny’s hoisting his neck back and peering into the camera, his striking-blue eyes flaring in all-encompassing horror. His lips pop open and wrap around a soundless scream, warbling.

“Yer recordin’ me?”

“Smile for the camera, Johnny,” Simon pants. “Who knows who might see this, right?”

Simon shoots his hand up and bullies his fingers past Johnny’s lips. He sinks his nails into the round of his mouth, stretching his cheek back into a repugnant curl. It’s paradoxial—how Johnny’s mouth is pulled into a smile, but his eyes are wide and wet, wordlessly begging.

Your body betrays your moral plight.

Your rapt ocular vein, the signals rushing to your mind, your nipples stiffening in your shirt. You feel as though you’re made of livewire, not matter, as you watch Johnny’s ass get spread open on Simon’s cock, his eyes rolling like unruly billiard balls to the back of his head.

His ass is red and patchy, burning up. Simon’s hand swats through the air and makes the sound of a whistle, flaring into a booming crack of thunder whenever he brings it down on Johnny’s ass. It makes you jump. Makes you feel as if your ass is being abused by proxy just by sitting, and watching raptly.

Instead of inching your hand towards the button that exits the video, your hand dips below your waistband and moves to cup your cunt.

The gusset of your panties is already hot, clinging to your dewy core. It sticks to your pussy, baring your puffy lips and swollen clit. You give it a few slaps and rub your fingers languidly, pace quickening.

But the video abruptly ends before the ascent to your pleasure is able to materialize. You yank your hand from your pussy, smearing your arousal on the mousepad as you search for another video.

You don’t heed the title—face_fuck.avi—before clicking it and readily spreading your legs, flushing at the sound of your lips parting.

The video starts, and you swear it feels like you’ve been hit with a brick.

Simon—or Ghost, you now recognize—is a behemoth. Huge would be an understatement for him. The camera is set up this time, somewhere across the room, but Simon still just barely fits within the margins. He’s folded over Johnny who sits on his knees with his back against the wall, his neck hoisted up at him.

Simon’s cock is fat and heavy. He’s hard—this, you’re sure of because of how red his balls are—yet still, his cock droops with weight, the bulbous tip scarcely teasing Johnny’s lips.

“You want your snack, boy?”

Johnny nods. He darts his tongue out and tries kitten licking the slit, but Simon isn’t having that. He grips the base of his dick and swats it against Johnny’s cheek, slapping him, the noise so thick and resounding it sounds like a palm that breaks his skin, not a cock.

“Greedy bitch,” Ghost snarls—you decide that name is more seemly for him—“Can’t wait when it comes to dick, huh?”

Johnny’s lips part, a response poised behind his chattering teeth. However, his reply gets snuffed out and shoved to the back of his throat as Ghost feeds him his cock, slamming into him with one, slick motion.

Johnny’s head hits the wall, his face puckering as pain blooms behind his skull. The action makes his jaw clench, clamping down on Simon’s cock, but Simon is quickly gripping his hair and puppeting his head back, sliding his cock deeper, until the tuft of steel-wool hair on his pelvis brushes Johnny’s nose.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Ghost grunts. “No teeth.”

The only mercy Johnny is afforded is when he sinks his nails into the sinews of Ghost’s thighs, scratching him striated, trying to offset the burn in his jowls. The back of his head thumps dumbly against the wall with each of Ghost’s jackhammering thrusts, his smaller cock springing up and slapping against his navel.

You keen. Rub your clit a little faster, tease your forefinger around your winking hole as spit and precome sticks to Johnny’s chin the same way your juices strings your fingers together. Johnny goes lax and the video abruptly ends, and you almost feel yourself going crazy, hastily exiting the video because you miss the phantom sensation around your cunt getting stretched. You click on another video that has your heart jumping to your throat.

It’s dated from just yesterday, two days after you placed the order with Ghost.

breeding_my_boy.avi

Your panties are completely soaked through at this point. The image of Johnny folded like origami under Ghost, eclipsed by his body, makes you gush. His knees are pressed against his ears and his ass is in the air while Ghost tugs his cock, towering over him and pressing his tip against his hole, slowly sinking into him.

Simultaneously, you hook two of your fingers up your cunt. Your arousal seeps out and pools into the divots between your knuckles, hot and wet, making a sucking sound as you draw your fingers out and thrust them back in, pawing your walls.

Ghost pulls his cock to the tip before driving himself back inside. He’s deeply-seated, knocking the air out of Johnny’s lungs with each stroke. Ghost draws his thighs close for leverage and sinks his fists into the bed, on either side of Johnny before snapping his hips, feeding him his whole cock.

You sink your other hand below your pants and blindly sweep at your clit, watching with keen eyes as Johnny gets pounded into the mattress, his legs thrashing dumbly with the force, his hands twisting into the moth-eaten sheets because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands and according to Ghost, he’s “not allowed to touch his cock.”

You can barely see Ghost’s sweat in the coarse-grained, gritty video filter. It comes out as glistening dew, dribbling down his neck and onto Johnny’s cheek, to which he swiftly laps up.

It’s the same thing for Johnny’s tears—sparkling in the soft smoulder of light, smearing like spread as Ghost works his rough tongue against his cheek, licking up his brine.

Johnny’s whimpers and the crack of flesh against flesh emanate out of the janky laptop as tinny, thin. However as Ghost lowers his head, grumbling against the hull of Johnny’s ear, whispering, the thin sound travels out of the speakers and punctures your stomach.

“Wish I could breed you, pup…”

Pleasure gyrates in your belly, frothy. You curl your toes into your mattress and buck into your fingers, feeling your orgasm beginning to crest. You pinch your clit the same way Ghost snakes his hand low, trapping the tip of Johnny’s cock between his fingers to squeeze.

“Smile a’ the camera, dog,” he mutters. Takes him by the jaw and dimples his cheeks as he makes Johnny look into the lens, his eyes glossed over.

“Y’reckon she’s touching herself?” Ghost growls. “Watching you turn a mess?”

Your orgasm is on the edge now. Ghost looks at the camera, his eyes glowing like predators do on trail cams, a swill of molten rushing through you. He looks like he did beneath the awning—animalistic, as he seems to stare directly at you, snapping into Johnny’s ass.

“m gonnae come…” Johnny whimpers.

Ghost chokes his hand around Johnny’s cock, sliding his hand up and down to the pace of his thrusts. And with what happens next, your body girdles, throwing itself into the throes of your panoramic orgasm.

It’s Johnny. Bending his back off the bed and squeezing his thighs. He moans your name—your screen name—the one used to purchase the laptop. He treats it like something to bite on to defer the pain of his orgasm, trembling.

Thick ropes of come shoot from his cock just as an off-white liquid escapes you, splattering over the screen. You’re quivering as Ghost fills Johnny, watching as his balls tighten and breathe like a pulse as he comes inside.

The three of you are miraculously synchronized. Your laboured breaths simmer, thinning into nothing, as the two of them turn to look at the camera.

You undertake the decision to keep the laptop.

And a week later while browsing Craigslist’s homepage, you stumble across a familiar username.

Posted by Ghost 32 minutes ago.

Looking for a flatmate in Manchester. Two roommates. Three bedroom. Females only. Serious inquiries only.

A second doesn’t pass before you’re writing up your application.

[shortkinglogan]

Ive probably said this before but fukit I'll say this again

Logan and Wade definitely got their atoms mixed in the reactor and I wonder if Logan can break the fourth wall a bit too now?

Like after the events of the film, Logan can kinda feel or hear the fourth wall but doesn't know what it is till he sees Wade talk to the wall again, except, he can see the audience for a moment

"what the fuck!?"

"yes?"

"is that what you see when you talk to a wall?"

"GASP! You can see the fourth wall!?"

"the what?"

I like to imagine that Logan can barely perceive the fourth wall unless Wade is actively engaging with it in front of him.

And at first he just feels like he's going crazy or something, eventually he comes to accept it and is just on edge a bit because he's hyper aware that he's being constantly watched even if he can't see them. Eventually he's just used to it and then suddenly connects the dots of what Wade explained before, and realizes that he's had 0 real control over his life because some asshole "gods" in a different universe created him and wrote his backstory.

So naturally he gets up and starts cursing out and ranting at a wall happening whoever decided to torture him half his life gets an ear full.

"peanut you ok? Your talking to a wall?"

"yea that fourth wall shit, I'm telling these assholes how fucked they are"

"Logan, the fourth wall is behind you"

"FUCK!"

[hotvintagepoll]

this is a poll for a movie that doesn't exist.

It is vintage times. The powers that be have decided to again remake the classic vampire novella Dracula for the screen. in an amazing show of inter-studio solidarity, Hollywood’s most elite hotties are up for the starring roles. the producers know whoever they cast will greatly impact the genre, quality, and tone of the finished film, so they are turning to their wisest voices for guidance.

you are the new casting director for this star-studded epic. choose your players wisely.

[mekatrio]

unsurprisingly that editing room NEVER stops bustling

[finelinevogue]

OMG imagine kit and reader begin co stars in something and people making those compilations of them that are like “____ and ____ acting like a couple for 12 minutes and seven seconds straight” 🤭🤭🤭

oh im SOOO on for this🤭✨

the compilation

summary - you and kit are secretly dating but the fans are too perceptive and make a montage of your flirtiest moments

pairing - kit connor x co-star!reader

🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧

The video started with a short video of Kit being filmed for an interview, where he had to describe his co-star.

“What do I think about Y/N in 5 words?” He asked the man behind the camera.

The reporter confirmed the question and waited for Kit to respond.

“I don’t think there’s 5 words that are good enough.” Kit mumbled to himself but the microphone attached to him picked it up.

The rest of the people in the interview room swooned, but Kit was too busy trying to come up with a good enough answer to see.

“Okay…” Kit sat up straight, ready to answer properly.

“Kind. I know it’s a basic one, but it’s just true.”

“Funny. I’ve never known someone who could make me belly laugh before Y/N.”

“Compassionate. No matter how hard Y/N’s day is, you will always be granted a hug.” Kit laughed at that one, hearing how cheesy he sounded.

“Unpredictable. I feel like that needs no explanation.”

“And….” Kit smirked then, the camera zooming in on it, as he tried to think of an appropriate thing to say last, “I’ll go with safe.”

“Safe?” An interviewer questions.

“Yeah.” Kit responded with no intention to explain himself.

Once you watched the interview you would know exactly what he meant though, because you felt just as safe with Kit as he did with you.

🌊.

The next few clips were a compilation of videos that had been secretly recorded of you two from set or from friends.

The movie you’d been filming together had been a romance, which had only magnified your relationship seeing as you’d actually met through a mutual friend; Joe.

Joe would argue that he was the reason you were together. Kit would argue that it was his charm solely that got you together. You would argue that it was a bit of both, just to keep the peace.

The first clip that played was from a day that you visited the Heartstopper set.

You, Joe and Kit were all laying in “Nick’s” bed, laughing at something that Kit had just said. It must have been ridiculously funny because the next thing that happened was you rolling off the edge of the bed and onto the floor with a thump.

Kit had rolled to try and catch you but the thump on the floor suggested otherwise. The situation only made you laugh harder.

The second clip was something from Joe’s Instagram story, where he was filming a group of you walking down the River Thames. You were hitching a ride on Kit’s back, his arms around your legs that were wrapped around his waist. Your arms dangling around his neck and your cheek pressed against his.

The third clip was on the set of your new movie together.

You were both in Kit’s trailer and practicing some lines.

“You said you didn’t care!” You shouted, playing your character Rosa.

“Well I lied. I do care.” Kit shouted back, looking from his script to your face, playing his character Oscar.

“You’re insufferable.” You groaned.

“I’m sorry that me trying to figure out my feelings for you is insufferable.”

“F-feelings?” You questioned, your voice going quieter.

“I thought I was being obvious.” Kit chuckled, “Did you not think that there might’ve been a reason I cared that you kissed Danny?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I cared because I wished you’d been kissing me instead.”

Then Kit broke character and launched himself on you, pretending to kiss you all over. You were belly laughing as Kit crushed himself over you, pushing you into the leather sofa that you’d been sitting on.

“Kit get off!” You laughed and then the video cut, leaving the viewers to question what happened next and curse whoever had decided to stop recording.

🌊.

The video then cut to an interview you’d done together and it had gone viral mainly for the way Kit had been looking at you throughout the whole thing.

It had been a normal interview and yet Kit had been feeling the extra love towards you that day, so he sat and watched you answer lovingly.

There had even been a point where he got caught, but that hadn’t worried him.

“And Kit? Your answer?” The interviewer asked.

He looked from you to the interviewer, realising he’d been asked something.

“Oh I’m so sorry. Could you repeat the question please?” He laughed it off, as did you and the interviewer.

“I was just wondering what attracted you to the role of Oscar?”

Kit hummed with a smile, forcing himself to not say your name as the answer. You nudged his shoulder to pull him out of his head.

“I think….”

🌊.

Then there was the interview where you’d been really anxious in.

It had been a rubbish day from start to finish, mainly because the anxiety weighing on your chest had been so heavy all day.

It was in an interview close to the end of the day that the small, intimate, moment came from.

“And I think that’s why we resonate–.” The interviewer was talking.

“I’m so sorry, can we stop for one moment please.” You interrupted in the most polite way you could.

“Yeah of course.” The interviewer nodded, sitting patiently.

It was not unknown that you suffered with anxiety, in fact you were pretty open about it. Why hide something that was such a huge part of you, especially when you were in a position where you could help break the stigma surrounding it.

Kit swerved his body so the cameras could no longer see you, just see his back. He knew the cameras would keep rolling and your mics would stay on, but he was trying to do whatever would be most comfortable for you.

“I’m sorry.” You could be heard saying.

Kit’s hands could be seen moving around to meet yours, both of your hands situated in your lap now. You’d often spoken out about how physical touch can ground you in these situations.

“No. Don’t be sorry.” Kit said, waiting for you to give the signal on whether he should or shouldn’t keep talking.

“Just felt a panic attack coming and I wanted to calm it before it actually came.”

Kit nodded.

“You did good. You’re doing good.”

“Thank you.” You whispered.

It was at least another three minutes before you felt okay enough to mentally return to the room. Kit turned back around in his chair, but kept ahold of your hand with his.

You apologised to the interviewer again, but she was completely fine with it and the producers had allowed her to regain her allotted interview time.

“Would you mind keeping that footage? I would quite like to share it to show that even ‘celebrities’ can feel like rubbish sometimes.” You laughed, Kit squeezing your hand in the process.

“Of course.”

“Ready?” Kit asked you once more. You nodded and the interview continued, Kit holding your hand for the rest of it and then for the rest of the day.

🌊.

The video ended the same way it began.

It was a similar interview to Kit’s, where you got asked to describe Kit in 5 words.

You couldn’t help but smile, because you love sharing the love so much - especially when it’s about your boyfriend who you care about a lot.

“Loyal. He’s so loyal to his friends and family.”

“Kind. He has so much love in his heart and he always shows it in the little moments.”

“Artistic. I don’t think he would agree, but he is.”

“Magnetic. Kit just attracts anyone and everyone to him, you can’t help but love him.”

“And one more?” The interviewer asked.

You pondered for a moment.

“Grumpy. You would not believe how much of a grump he is in a morning.” You laughed, not even thinking about the repercussions of admitting that you see Kit in the mornings.

It’s not a surprise that you’re both trending the next day and there’s a million theories about you two. Hence why the compilation video is made.

[mauvecherie-writes]

when in london: j.scipio

• rating: NSFW 18+ mature

• pairing: jacob scipio x black!reader

• w.c: 4.7K

• summary: a spontaneous decision led to a passionate evening.

• warning: corny flirting, meet-cute, dual pov, fluff, sexual content: pwp, protected p in v sex, dirty talk, oral sex [f!receiving], brief handjob, Jacob talking you through it energy.

• tips: kofi | paypal – please if you can 🫶🏾.

[Jacob]

The roaring of laughter and buzzing of accumulated chatter was all around you as you tried to focus your eyes on the foods menu that was in front of you. A small frown was etched on your features as you contorted your glossed lips to the side as if you were concentrating on the words of the menu as if it was a study on the arts of culinary.

If he hadn’t been so enamoured by your beauty as you passed him by, he certainly was now. Feeling his staring tittering on the line of being uncomfortable if you caught him, he adjusted his cap and decided to approach you instead.

Typically, Jacob was a man who was able to admire a beautiful woman from afar and continue on his way. However, there were times such as now, where his body felt compelled to act. All he needed was a smile and he would be content.

[You]

There were so many options to choose from and you had been struggling to narrow it all down to only two options. If you had more time, you would have tried to sample as much you can, especially the perfectly curated chef’s specials.

You were so engrossed in exploring the menu that you did not notice someone approach.

“Forgive me for intruding darling but it seems like you’re having some trouble making a decision.” A low and deep voice came from beside you. Immediately, your body stood alert, ready to dismiss whoever it was. However, all fight left you when your eyes collided with the most gorgeous pair of hooded brown eyes that you had ever encountered. Even with the stone-brown coloured cap on, you could note that his head was covered in rich, dark locks and his full beard was neatly trimmed. But it was the small smile on his fully plump lips that had your guard completely crumbling.

He was devastatingly handsome and the fact that he had approached you because he noticed you were taking a little longer than usual when reading the menu had you slightly flushed with embarrassment.

“Yeah.” You sheepishly chuckled as you placed the menu down. “The hotel changes their menu with the seasons, but it seems this time around, all of my staples have either been removed of have had their recipe changed.”

“So now you’re being left with choosing something different.”

You nodded your head in agreement. “Normally, I would have taken this opportunity to just sample as much as I could, but I have to be at an event in about three hours, so I don’t want to over do it.”

The stranger’s smile widened, and you could physically feel your heart swooning.

“May I sit?” He asked.

“Please.” You gestured to the bar stool that was beside you and he took the seat. You couldn’t help but let your eyes travel down his body and noted what he was dressed in. An olive green long-sleeved linen shirt over a white vest that was tucked into what looked like blue Levi denim jeans. When you brought your eyes back to his face, his features felt familiar.

“I feel like I know you from somewhere.” You commented.

“Trust me sweetheart, if we had met before this moment – you would remember who I was.” He smirked. You playfully rolled your eyes, dismissive of his words yet inwardly admitting how they wanted to make you giggle.

“Ha. Ha.” You sarcastically said. “No, like a movie or something but I can’t remember what.”

“I’m an actor.” He spoke. “I’ve been in a couple of things over the past few years. I will say it’s early days of my career though.”

Suddenly, you gasped. “You act as that cute guy in the new Bad Boys films.” You said before you could stop yourself.

Your comment caused him to burst out laughing. “I would prefer Jacob, but I don’t mind being called cute too.” He winked at you which caused your cheeks to warm.

“I’ll stick to Jacob.” You replied as you put forth your hand as you gave you gave him your name in return. “I didn’t know that you were British.”

“Islington born and raised,” Jacob’s face held a sense of pride. “And I can tell from your accent that you’re Northern, but I can’t exactly pinpoint where.”

“A lot of people say that.” You smiled. “But I am from Manchester. The years spent at boarding school wouldn’t take away that twang no matter how much my parents tried.”

“Thank god it didn’t.” Jacob mumbled. You bit your tongue to stop the girlish giggle that wanted to spill out of your mouth.

“Anyway, didn’t you approach me because you wanted to help me choose what to eat?”

“Right.” He nodded his head. “Let’s take a look at this then.” You shared a look, smiling at each other before you passed the menu towards him.

[Jacob]

Your smile was breathtaking.

As much as your conversation was full of marvel and increasing interest, he couldn’t help but always be drawn back to your smile and the joyous sound of your laughter. Your mind was like a labyrinth of knowledge, he had come to find out. You were naturally inquisitive by nature, and it was a quality of that he was beginning to be fond of.

Jacob helped you in choosing a starter of sauteed scallops with garlic butter, lemon and with a parsley garnish. Then for your main entre, a lobster thermidor with a side of truffle fries. As an effort to impress you, he ordered a bottle of vintage Veuve Clicquot Rose. A favourite of yours that you had admitted that you only ordered once in a full moon.

On the last pour of the champagne, you had the softest pout on your lips.

“A good bottle like that is meant to softly enjoyed and we finished it all in an hour and a half.” You commented.

“Well sweetheart. How about, when you come back from your event, I’ll be here, waiting to finish this conversation with another bottle. How does that sound?” Jacob boldly asked you. At some point during your dinner, you had detailed that you had come down to London because you had been invited to an album release party of a friend. However, as the night progressed, the more that he was enjoying spending time in your presence, and he could tell that you felt the same.

“Actually, what are you doing with the rest of your evening?” You asked him as you nervously chewed on your bottom lip. Jacob leaned forward and brought his elbows onto the table.

“What do you have in mind darling?” He raised his eyebrow as he watched you also lean closer, and you placed your hands underneath your chin.

“What do you think about joining me for the rest of the night?” Jacob couldn’t help but grin at your question. He didn’t understand why you were so nervous to ask as he had been feeling the same. Jacob had not wanted this night to end just with sharing dinner hence why he had decided to leave things open ended with his invitation. He was staying on the floor above you, and he had conjured up a plan in his mind to use his small, heated pool that was on his balcony to his advantage when you came back from your event.

And now, you had answered his silent prayers.

“For you I’d do anything.” He answered which caused your eyes to slightly widen as a glint of mischief settled in your eyes. It wasn’t there for long, but it lingered long enough for him to catch it.

“Don’t say that to me.” You hid your glee behind biting your lip.

“And why is that?” He cocked his head to the side.

“Because I require a lot and you saying that you’ll do anything for me is just being a tease.” You confessed as you dropped your hands and reached for your champagne flute and brought it to your lips.

“If you tell me to do something, I’ll do it. I can handle you.” He licked his lips before a small smirk pulled on his face. The expression of desire that momentarily passed you was all that he needed.

Your fate had been sealed in that very moment.

[You]

The entire car ride to the event, all you kept thinking about was how incredibly spontaneous and probably stupid your actions were. Had you discussed this with your best friends, they most likely would have talked you out of inviting Jacob. You had just met the man, shared a long conversation over an impromptu dinner and now he was your plus one to a closed event. Yeah, your friends would have been screaming and throwing all types of cautionary flags your way.

And yet, the hopeful romantic within you simply couldn’t ignore how much of a spark was ignited between you and Jacob. The way your conversation just flowed from topic to topic. He didn’t seem put off by your ramblings of your multiple interests, in fact, he would courage you more by asking questions and it left you feeling giddy.

So, you were leaving it to chance. Sharing this night with this perfect stranger and if it turned into something, even better but if it ended with just tonight then so be it. You were going to enjoy the time you spent with each other.

When you arrived at the event, Jacob offered his arm for you to link with and you gladly took it. He leaned down and whispered in your ear.

“I know I’ve said this already, but you look absolutely stunning tonight.” His words and his breath brushing against your ear sent a shiver down the length of your spine.

“Thank you.” You replied cooly as you looked at him. Then you tried to focus on walking on steady feet past the crowds of fans outside of the venue. You waved at some people who shouted your name as they recognised you from your large social media platform. Once you were in the building, you ventured your way through the crowd towards your friend, who was stationed by the DJ booth.

You shared a tight hug and when she pulled away from you, she eyed Jacob, who was behind you talking to someone he seemed familiar with.

“And who is that gentleman with you?” She playfully wiggled her eyebrows which caused you to giggle.

“He’s my date for the evening.” You vaguely explained. She gave you a knowing smirk.

“Okay girl, I see you. He’s cute.” She winked and in turn, you rolled your eyes even though a small smile was on your face. After a few more greetings, you went back to Jacob who was now holding onto two glasses.

“I got you a Paloma. I hope that’s okay.” He said as he handed you the beverage.

“That’s perfect, thank you.” You took a sip and savoured the taste, humming softly as the flavours burst on your tongue. You hadn’t realised your eyes had closed until you opened them and met Jacob’s gaze. It was intense and it left you flustered. You wanted to avert your attention to somewhere else but like a compulsion, it held you captive.

“So, I saw you talking to some people.” You sparked conversation.

“Yeah, I’ve bumped into some people I’ve met within the industry.”

“I forget how much music and film intertwine.”

Jacob nodded his head in agreement. “Especially if it’s people who are behind the scenes. We just pick what job you can get and do so you meet a lot of people. I tend to make it a point to learn people’s names and get along with them. In the industry, your reputation gets you a lot further than people think.”

“It’s the same with content creation. I try to do the same even if I never meet some of the same people again but it’s that word of mouth that can open doors for you.”

“Exactly.” Just as he was about to continue further, the DJ started playing Alibi by Sevdaliza.

“Oh, this is my song!” You exclaimed. “Come dance with me.” You did not give him a chance to answer as you grabbed his empty hand dragged him towards the dance floor with him chuckling behind you.

[Jacob]

He was trying to be a gentleman.

He really was.

He stood by your side the entire event, bought all your drinks and danced with you – keeping his hands in the appropriate places.

However, as your friend’s sultry music blasted through the speakers, the more your inhibitions faltered. You were pressed against him – back to his chest with your head on his shoulder with one arm thrown over his head. At this point, his cap was backward so that he could get closer to you. His hands were still by his side as he swayed along with you to the melodious music.

“You can touch me you know.” You mumbled into his ear. His light chuckle vibrated against your skin which made you shiver, and he felt it.

“I was trying to be respectful.” He replied.

“There you go again with your teasing language.” He saw the corners of your mouth lift and your body shake with light laughter. “Tell me what you really wanted to say.”

Jacob took in a deep breath and let one hand come to your waist. “I didn’t want to touch you because I knew once I felt your skin beneath my fingertips, I wouldn’t be able to stop touching you.”

“Hmmm, you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Because it is, sweetheart. I’m a hard man to get rid of.” His hand trailed up your stomach and settled just beneath your breast, the other came to the exposed part of your skirt and he heard your gasp. The sound made his chest swell with pride. “Turn around.”

Your body immediately shifted in his arms. You pressed your forehead against his and he rested his hands on the lower part of your back and pulled you closer into his body.

“Permission to speak freely.” He mumbled lowly but you heard him clearly and his statement made you giggle.

“Permission granted.”

“I’ll admit that as soon as you entered the lobby, I noticed you and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from you. Everything about your aura just captivated me and there was this pull, and I couldn’t ignore it. Then I saw you with your cute little pout as you read the menu, I just knew I had to talk to you.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Then you softly continued to dance, your bodies close as the music consumed you, but your scent engulfed him. Everything about you was hard to ignore and the more he felt your body, the harder it was to suppress his desires. Then you moved your leg so that it was in between his and he couldn’t stop you in time to feel the physical manifestation of his yearning.

You lifted your eyes to meet his. The carnal pools of ardour, so strong that sank deep into his veins, he held you by the neck to stop himself from devouring you right then and there.

“Take me back to the hotel.” You whispered against his lips.

[You]

By the time you arrived back at the hotel, your body was charged. You felt like you were on fire and the only person that could out it out was walking beside you with his arm around your waist. Then you slowly came to a halt in front of the hotel room door.

“You got the key?” He mumbled the question into your ear. You bit your lip, nodding your head as you brought the card out. Jacob shifted so that he was standing behind you. A shiver ran down your back and settled in your abdomen as his hands rubbed on the sides of your waist.

“Do you need me to open the door baby?” He softly spoke into your ear.

“No.” You cleared your throat as you swiped the card and the door unlocked. As you entered further into the room, the only lights that were on were the dimly lit lamps and whilst you could tell that that it was a beautiful suite, you were focused on the man that was behind you.

Jacob left you standing in the open space as he made sure that the door was locked and then he made his way back to you.

“Want me to put some music on?” He muttered. You shook your head from side to side in response. “What do you want?”

“I want you to kiss me.” You whispered. He closed the space that was in between you and cradled your face in the palms of his hands. You giggled as he stared down at you with a darkened gaze that held so much promise. You leaned up and grazed his bottom lip which caused the corner of his mouth to quirk upwards and you were not ashamed to feel the hunger that was bubbling to the surface. Without waiting for another moment, Jacob leaned down and pressed his lips against yours.

The feel of his mouth against yours was so much better than you imagined. His lips were so soft but his motion was forceful as he took control, kissing you as if your breath was his last. You moaned into the kiss as his hands travelled down your back to your ass. The softest whimper left your lips as he cupped and kneaded the rounded flesh.

“I like the sound of that.” Jacob whispered as he took off his cap and threw it on the ground before he moved to discarding his linen shirt. Just as your cropped t-shirt was off your body, he pulled you back into his body and captured your lips once more. “Jump.” He mumbled against your lips and you followed his instruction.

When you got to the bed, Jacob softly laid you down, never parting from the burning kiss that was melting you from the inside out. Passion controlled your moment as you stripped each other bare until you were left in just your underwear. You barely had any time to marvel at his physique before his body was covering yours again, landing his lips on yours once more before he turned his attention to your neck as he covered your chest with his large hands. Jacob flicked your nipples with his thumbs causing you to moan and arch into his palms.

“That feels so good.” You moaned and your eyes flattered open just enough to catch his smirk. Without words, he answered you by trailing lips further down onto your chest until one of your nipples was in his mouth and he suckled on it. He soothed the acute pain from the sucking with a flattened tongue and then he moved his mouth to your other nipple. The stimulation caused something fierce to pool in between your thighs. You squirmed beneath him as he paid beautiful attention to your chest. One nipple in your mouth and the other was kept trapped in between his fingers.

As your desire began to dampen your thighs, your need for friction was increasing. So you pushed him away and you softly kissed him as you ran your fingers down the contours of his torso until you wrapped your hand around the base of his girth. Jacob groaned as you tugged at him. He felt so hard, warm and thick in your palm and your mouth was salivating for a taste.

Just as you were about to shift downward, Jacob took your hand away from his dick and pushed you back until your back was on the sheets. He was on his knees in between your parted legs and you were finally able to look over his wonderful stature. His smooth, golden tanned skin. His chiselled, muscular build. He was perfectly sculpted and he was all yours.

Fuck, you were getting wetter just looking at him.

Your walls clenched around nothing as he placed chaste kisses on your stomach. “Tell me what you need Sweetheart.” He breathed against your skin.

You lifted your upper body onto your elbows and looked down at him. Those dark, hooded eyes were staring back up at you as he grabbed your ankle and lifted your leg onto his shoulder and pushed the other wider apart, taking in your glistening pussy. He unconsciously licked his lips as his fingers began to explore, parting your lips, letting the cool air in the room brush against you. You gasped as his thumb pressed on your swollen nub and you nearly buckled but you kept steady.

“You haven’t told me yet.” He taunted with a devilish smirk on his face as his fingers didn’t stop their exploration.

“I want you to eat my pussy Jacob.” You breathlessly let out as your wetness coated his fingers.

“Good girl.” He murmured with a wink before he dropped his head and pt his lips on exactly where you needed him the most.

You were not prepared for the way his tongue felt against your clit. Just as he did to your nipples, he did to your sensitive bud, adding the flick of his tongue.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned as your eyes closed and you fell back onto the pillow. Your hand shot down and ran through his black curls, pulling him closer to your hot core.

He paid attention to what was making you moan, what was making you sigh and what was causing your back to arch. He paid attention to your pleasure and that turned you on even more.

“You taste so good, baby.” Jacob groaned into you. As the vibration travelled through you, he pushed two fingers into your pussy and a sob broke out of you. Your hips rocked into his mouth as he curled his digits just enough to brush against your perfect spot. Your hands moved away from his body and gripped on the sheets as you panted. Your skin was beginning to dampen with your sweat as your orgasm quickly rose within you.

“Baby I’m gonna –.” You gasped a your hips moved faster with the pace of his fingers. The burn of his beard against your cunt added onto the sensation. “Right fucking there!”

Jacob didn’t move from the position that he was in.

You didn’t know if it was the way he was sucking and flicking his tongue on your clit or the accumulation of it all but your eyes scrunched shut as you finally climaxed. The intensity of it was so overwhelming, for a moment, all you could hear was white nose and the sound of your racing heart.

In your haze, you hadn’t felt the bed shift until Jacob came back. You felt his fingers against your cheek and then you opened your eyes.

“You okay?” He softly asked as if he had not just given you one of the best orgasms of your life.

“I’m more than okay.” You mumbled with a grin. Slowly, you opened your eyes to the picture of lust staring down at you. Hovering above you, Jacob leaned down and kissed you, pushing his tongue into your mouth. The reminisce of your essence, lingering on his lips. So dirty and had your pussy pulsating.

You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth which caused him to groan. As the kiss deepened with more frenzy, he climbed back on top of you. With your focus on his mouth, you heard the rustling of a packet. You pulled your mouth away long enough to watch Jacob rip the condom packet open and put it on.

Once he was done, he brought your legs to his waist.

“You ready for me, baby?” He asked.

“Mhm.” With a soft peck to your lips, he guided himself into you.

You both shared a moan.

“Oh my god.” Jacob was stretching every inch of you, the deeper he sank in. You were trying to keep your eyes open, to savour his reaction but he just felt so good.

“Baby.” You whimpered. He took your knee and put your leg back onto his shoulder which sunk him even deeper.

“So fucking tight.” He moaned. You watched his face for his reactions. The slight furrow of his eyebrows, the droplets of sweat beginning to slide down his forehead, the slight parting of his lips as he focused on his strokes.

“Please.” You whispered as you clenched around him.

“I knew you’d be perfect.” He mumbled against your lips. Jacob slowly pulled out and gave you one hard thrust. Your eyes widened with a loud gasp escaping you as he repeated the action.

A scream left you as he slowly set the pace of his strokes.

As the waves of pleasure rippled through your body, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoed through the room.

“Uuuhhh.” You choked on your whines as he pounded harder into you. You couldn’t shake the feeling of him burying himself inside so deep of you, over and over. The arousal overshadowed the pain of the stretch of his girth – the bittersweet feeling leaving you in a dizzy spell.

“Look at me.” Jacob growled as he put your other leg onto his shoulder and dug deeper. Through blurry vision, you looked at the man above you.

You had expected Jacob to be an expert lover but you never thought that he would be so dominating.

He hit one of your spots which caused your eyes to cross.

“There you go.” He licked his lips, chuckling. “Tell me how it feels.”

“So big…” You moaned

“Mhm.”

“So fucking deeep.”

“You’re so fucking wet baby, I gotta make sure I don’t slip out.”

“Oh shhiitt.” You whined, a loud moan quickly following after as he increased the pace. In your delirious state, you managed to catch him grinning down at you.

“Baby!” You hisses as you wrapped your hands on his wrists that were on either side of your head.

“You should have picked up on it now sweetheart, you gotta tell me what you want.”

His hips were moving faster, the slapping of his thighs against yours added more stimulation to your clit.

“I need to come.” You whimpered.

“You need to or you’re going to?”

“I’m going to come!”

“That’s it.” He leaned down, folding you even more so that he could kiss you. Jacob moved your legs from his shoulders and held them apart spread-eagle, giving you slower and longer strokes with an added roll to his hips. His tip was smoothly rubbing against your sweet spot.

The tightness in your stomach quickly took hold and your legs began to tremble. You wee left breathless at the overwhelming intensity of the ecstasy building inside of you.

“I can feel it coming, baby. You’re squeezing me so nice and tight.” Jacob groaned as his eyes rolled softly. “You gonna come for me?’ He asked. But you were too far gone to give a verbal answer so you just frantically nodded her head.

The tight coil quickly snapped and your body seized.

“That’s a good girl. So fucking good.” Jacob groaned. “Come all over my dick, soak that shit.” He spoke through your orgasm and all you could do was grip onto the sheets tighter as wave after wave swarmed your body. He didn’t stop moving his hips and with your quaking, it forced his peak to rise to the surface before his climax overcame him. With a loud moan, Jacob collapsed onto your chest as he filled the condom.

You hugged his body and ran your fingers through his damp hair. You could still feel the tremors of your orgasm as you laid beneath him. The both of you completely satiated and spent.

Finally, Jacob rolled off you and laid by your side. In silence, all you could hear was your heavy breathing.

“Fucking hell Mr Scipio.” You spoke up. “Can I have my soul back?” Your question caused Jacob to burst out laughing, eventually you joined him in the laughter.

“We have three more condoms left sweetheart.” He licked his lips before he turned his head to look at you. “So I won’t be giving you back your soul just yet.”

reading list: @fineanddandy @marzzrambles @murrylove @mineymak @lovedlover @planetblaque @deja-r @kiraonthegooo @apimp-named-slickback @playgurlxoxo @gojosbabyma @heytaewrites @leilaxaliel @dyttomori @tasteofmyrainboe @livvy-lovess @violetmuses @jeanellepatrice @kaisage45 @planetnique @adriennegabriella @deborahspalace @jadawada1z @delusionalbutterfly @msdmc1 @probablyintensemuses @stucklikeglue6 @reci1996 @muglermami @hereiheal @aisharmi @jasvishaawrites @lewisroscoelove @klaussstilinski @avoidthings @g1oba1-s1ore