#i... need to ruminate on this one... the sex... would be incredible

[erwinsvow]

Yes. We know that Robby has a more flexible moralsystem, including his romantic/dating live. And while I adore Jack and love him dearly, Robby has an almost boyish charm to him. We see him being incredibly silly at times. I totally see him falling for a daughter of Jack.

That reminds me. What if she's not jacks biological daughter but the daughter of his dead wife. For extra angst.

robby and jack's daughter.... you're cooking with ingredients i have never even heard of before. veryyyyy forbidden fruit. veryyyy 'only person i have left that is a piece of my wife' even better is if she's a huge flirt (like her dad) and pulling robby into temptation because 'i'm an adult, michael' like calling him by his first name proves her point... woo lord

[cosmicdahlias]

I Like Hearing You Talk

Logan Howlett x Reader

MINORS DNI

You’ve pined for Logan since the day he came into your life. He makes you so flustered you can barely speak around him. After Wade interrupts your drunken moment together, you’re left feeling incredibly pent up and in desperate need of release.

tags: caught mid-masturbation, oral, face sitting, multiple orgasms, p in v, big dick hurts, rough sex, choking, creampie

y’all i got nothing to say this time, i’m just down bad for logan 😭

Living with Logan Howlett had proved to be… frustrating. For most this would be due to his incredibly abrasive personality, however for you it was for an entirely different reason.

You found him PAINFULLY attractive. He was rough around the edges, blunt, quick tempered, and would maul anyone with his foot long claws if they dared look at him wrong. All of these things should have scared you off, but it only made him more alluring.

Ever since your other roommate, Wade, had introduced him to you, it had been so hard to not feel that primal need deep within your core. You struggled to even form sentences when he talked to you. He didn’t just give you butterflies, he gave you the whole damn garden. So when he invited you to sit on the couch with him and share a few drinks you felt like you were going to spontaneously combust.

An hour had passed and even though the help of a little liquid courage made it significantly easier to talk to him, you were still very much flustered. You had been telling the story of how you and Wade met back in the days when he was still a merc-for-hire.

“But yeah, essentially I hired him to rough up my abuser, make him finally pay for all the shit he did to me.”

“What’d he do to the fucker?”

“Honestly what DIDN’T he do? He beat him so bad that from what I heard he could barely even crawl. Wade gave me one of his teeth, said it was ‘a souvenir of a job well done’.”

“Well was it? A job well done?”

“I mean he never bothered me again.”

“Good, but if he ever does decide to be enough of a dumbass to come near you just let me know and I’ll take care of it. Can’t guarantee he’ll still be breathing after I’m done with him though.”

“That might be going too easy on him.” You joked.

Logan chuckled and took a sip of his drink.

“You know it’s funny, this is the most I’ve ever heard you speak.” He said.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah, I like hearing you talk.”

“Y- you do?” You stammered, your cheeks turning a dusty pink.

Logan tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I really do.”

You felt your heart thump rapidly in your chest. Everything within you was screaming for you to kiss him, but your whole body felt like concrete, immobile. Logan took your cheek in his hand, coming in so close that his lips almost brushed against yours.

“Do I have to make the first move, babygi-“

Wade burst into the room and the two of you jumped back from each other.

“GUYS! YOU’RE NEVER GONNA BELIEVE WHO JUST GOT FRONT ROW TICKETS TO MADONNA! I MIGHT’VE HAD TO SELL A KIDNEY, BUT THIS HANDSOME MOTHERFUCKER REGENERATES SO I BASICALLY GOT THEM FOR FREE!” He shouted, sitting next to you on the couch.

The rest of the night was spent with Wade completely, and unknowingly, third wheeling you two and killing all possible sexual tension.

The next day your mind ruminated heavily on the night before, you had been so close to finally having his lips on yours. You played out in your head how differently things could’ve gone had Wade not interrupted. Images of Logan taking you, claiming you from every position consumed your thoughts. By the time you came home from work the overwhelming need to touch yourself was too much to ignore.

You quickly said “hi” to Logan and stole yourself to your room, undressing and lying back on the bed. You wasted no time letting your fingers move straight to your clit, your other hand caressing one of your breasts.

You closed your eyes and moaned softly, imagining Logan’s strong hands in place of yours. You allowed your mind to echo his voice uttering words of praise, telling you all the things you desperately wanted to hear from him.

“Mmmnn, Logan.” You whimpered as you felt yourself grow close.

At that very same moment your door swung open.

“Hey, you alright? I thought I heard- oh shit.” Logan said.

You jumped nearly a foot out of your skin and your eyes snapped open to the sight of him in the doorway. You quickly pulled the covers over yourself.

“FUCK! WAIT! I WASN’T- I- hold on, could you hear me?”

“Did you forget how thin the walls are?”

“Motherfucker.” You groaned.

Logan closed the door behind him and walked over to stand at your bedside.

“Now, my turn to ask a question with an obvious answer. Who were you thinking about?” He asked.

You felt your heart do a somersault.

“You really want me to say it?”

He cupped your chin, stroking your lips with his thumb.

“Yeah, I do.” He said softly, pulling down the covers to reveal your body.

His eyes looked you up and down with the intensity and hunger of a wild animal.

“You, Logan.” You said softly.

“Yeah? Then is this little pussy all wet because of me?” He asked, slipping a hand between your legs.

You nodded.

“Thought so.”

He dragged the pads of his fingertips along your wetness.

“Now, why don’t you finish giving me that little show I walked in on?” Logan instructed, leaning down to kiss you passionately.

You turned deep scarlet.

“Logan, I-“

“C’mon babygirl, you were so close.” He coaxed, taking your hand and guiding it down. “Are you gonna be good girl and cum for me?”

You drew circles against your clit and with a shudder felt the pleasure return to you. Logan watched you intently.

“Fuck, I can’t hold myself back, not with you looking like this. I need your mouth around my cock.”

Logan unbuckled his belt, unzipping his jeans and pulling out his intimidatingly massive cock. Your jaw dropped at the sheer size of him.

“Holy shit, Logan.”

“You good?”

“Yeah, my jaw might not be.”

Logan turned your head to face his throbbing cock.

“It’s alright, only take what you can handle.”

You went to take him past your lips when he stopped you.

“Wait, one second.”

He reached over you, turning your stuffed animal on the bed to face the wall.

“Logan Howlett, what a gentleman.” You laughed.

“Hey, I’m just protecting their innocence. Now c’mon, keep touching yourself and open that pretty little mouth for me.” He said.

Logan guided himself into your mouth and you took him down to the base of his shaft.

“Fuuuuck babygirl, no one’s ever gone all the way down before.” He groaned, tangling his fingers in your hair.

He bucked his hips against your face as you stroked your clit.

“How the fuck are you not choking on me? You ever sucked cock this big before?”

You shook your head with him still in your mouth, Logan chuckled.

“No? Guess you just got lucky to not have a gag reflex. God, you’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

You whimpered around him at his words, growing close.

“That’s it, keep going for me babygirl, yeah, yeah like that. Make yourself cum with my cock in your mouth.” He said as he throbbed against your tongue.

Your back arched off of the mattress as you felt yourself tip over the edge. Your moans were muffled by Logan’s cock buried deep in your throat.

“Jesus, you moaning like that feels too goddam good.” He grunted, giving one last thrust into your mouth before pulling out.

He watched as your orgasm subsided, the heaving of your chest slowly steadying. He lowered his hand between your thighs, slipping his fingers inside you and curling them against just the right spot to make you writhe underneath him. He pulled out his fingers, taking them in his mouth and giving a growl.

“I can’t fuckin’ resist, I need you to sit on my face. Just tasting you isn’t enough.”

He moved onto the bed and picked you up, lowering you to straddle his face. His hot breath lingered on you for a second before his mouth made contact with your clit. Having cum already, it wouldn’t take long for him to get you there again. You laced your fingers in his dark hair.

“Oh god, Logan.” You whined as you felt your orgasm build.

“Mmm, fuck.” He growled against your clit.

The deep rumble of his voice vibrated through you, making you gasp as you came again for a second time. Your grip on his hair tightened as every single wave of pleasure rippled through you, rolling your hips involuntarily on his face.

You panted breathlessly, the only words coming out of your mouth being “Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmy-“

Logan took your hand in his.

“Hey, hey, easy babygirl. Breathe.”

He picked you up off of his face, lying you down on the bed. He shrugged off his flannel, pulling his white shirt from over his head and slipping his jeans off his legs. He returned his attention to you, lifting up your lower half by your thighs and slipping a pillow under your ass.

“What’s that for?” You asked.

“Makes me able to go even deeper and hit all the right spots. Trust me, I’ve been around for over two centuries which is more than enough time to figure out what feels good.”

“You know, I’ve always had a thing for older men, but you might be pushing it for me, Logan.”

He cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

“But there isn’t a gray hair on me, is there?”

“Yeah, and it’s honestly a shame you don’t age like the rest of us. You’d be damn good looking with some salt and pepper hair.”

“I think Wade said there’s a variant of me like that.”

“Well shit, I got the inferior model?” You teased.

“Watch it babygirl, or I might just have to fuck you hard enough to shut you up.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Only if you want it to be.” He said with a smirk.

Logan sat on his knees and pulled you by your hips to him, your legs against his chest. He pressed the head of his cock against the entrance of your pussy.

“I’ll start slow so it’ll be easier for you take me. Just tell me to stop if it’s too much. Alright?”

“Okay.” You said softly.

“Attagirl.”

He gingerly slid his way in. Despite his attempts to be gentle you still struggled to accommodate him. You winced and drew a sharp breath.

“Shhh, easy babygirl. You’re doing so well for me, but you need to relax if you want this to feel good.”

It was beyond attractive to see this side of him, so soft and affectionate. You knew only certain people had been privy to this. He buried himself to the hilt, pausing to let you adjust.

“I’m gonna start moving. Think you can handle it?” Logan asked.

“Y- yeah.”

“Good girl.”

Logan began to thrust at a gentle pace.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He groaned.

Even though he was going slow it felt like he was ripping you in half, but it felt good, incredibly good. You wanted more, you needed to see how that raw, aggressive nature played out in the bedroom.

“Harder.” You whined.

Logan’s brow furrowed.

“Babygirl, you’re already struggling to take me as it is.”

“I know, but I want you to tear me apart. Fuck me like an animal, Logan.”

You felt him throb inside you.

“Fuck, why didn’t you let me walk in on you sooner?”

Logan increased his pace dramatically, fucking you with an animalistic intensity. By god did it hurt and you loved every second of it. Noises, a mix of pleasure and pain, escaped from your mouth. He cocked a brow at your yelps and whines.

“You doing alright there?” Logan asked.

“Y- yeah, h- hurts so good.”

“Goddam babygirl, you really do like it rough, huh? You’re gripping me like crazy. Here, I think this’ll help you relax a little.”

His hand moved to stroke your clit, drawing circles against the delicate, sensitive skin. You bucked your hips, taking his cock further inside you.

“Goddam, look at you, fuckin’ yourself back against me. Tell me how much you love this cock splitting you in half.”

He fucked you even faster, purposefully trying to make it harder for you to speak. All you could manage was a whimper.

“C’mon babygirl, you know I like hearing you talk.” He teased, slowing his pace slightly to let you answer.

“Y- you fe-el i- incredible, b- biggest I’ve e- ever h- had.”

“That’s my girl, so good for me.” He said, resuming his brutal rhythm.

You moaned at Logan’s praise and he felt you tighten around him.

“Oh you like that don’t you? You wanna be my good girl?” He smirked, knowing he’d found your weakness.

“P- please.” You murmured.

“Good, because you’re fuckin’ mine now.”

The sound of Logan’s hips meeting yours reverberated throughout the room. He grunted at every thrust, sliding his cock out until only the tip remained inside and then sharply forcing himself back in again, making you take every single inch. His nails on the hand that wasn’t on your clit dug into your calf.

“Choke me.” You begged.

He let out a deep chuckle.

“Damn babygirl, aren’t you just a little masochist? How could I say no when you’ve been such a good girl for me?”

With one hand still on your clit, Logan wrapped his other around your throat, squeezing it tight. You let out a strained moan.

“Yeah, makes things feel even better, doesn’t it?” He purred.

Between the feeling of Logan’s hand gripping your neck, his fingers stroking your clit, and being fucked hard and fast by a cock thicker than a beer bottle, you felt your orgasm begin to build. Logan was right on the edge as well.

“Fuck, I’m so close. You gonna cum too, babygirl?” He asked, releasing your throat.

“Y- yeah, I’m- oh g- god.” You whined.

“Good girl, cum with me.”

His words were all it took. Your breathing becoming shallow and fast as you felt yourself come undone, pulsing around him. Logan groaned, burying himself deep within you, his hot, thick cum coating your insides.

“Jesus fuuuuuckin’ Christ, you feel so perfect.” He panted as he gave his last few thrusts.

You whimpered as Logan slowly pulled out and laid beside you, pulling you to him with your head against his chest. You both lay in silence for a moment, him stroking your back before finally speaking.

“You know, when I offered to have drinks with you last night I thought you’d take the hint. I was really banking on you at least kissing me, before Wade killed the mood and all.”

“I wanted to, I just…” You trailed off.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Just what?”

You fidgeted with the hair on his chest.

“I dunno, I just feel like you’re way out of my league. You’re incredibly handsome and I’m… me.”

He gave a chuckle.

“I’m sorry, but that’s the stupidest goddam thing I’ve ever heard, and that says a lot because we live with Wade. Babygirl, do you not see how fuckin’ gorgeous you are?”

You felt your cheeks turn pink.

“You think so?”

He kissed the top of your head.

“Of course I do, been dreaming of this since I met you. Not gonna lie, wanting you as badly as I did when you were too nervous to even talk to me was kinda torture. There was a few times you almost walked in on me the same way I did with you.”

“O- oh.”

“Yeah, it’s uh… it’s been a while since someone’s made me feel like this. When you live in a world where everyone hates you there isn’t much opportunity for even just casual fucking.”

You looked up at him.

“Sounds lonely.” You said softly.

Logan kissed your forehead.

“Doesn’t matter now that you’re finally talking to me.”

“If you’re referring to what we just did, you’ve got a weird idea of what talking is.”

“Yeah? Then how about we continue our conversation?” He said, turning you over onto your back and kissing his way down your body.

“Very smooth, Logan.”

[evillemons]

hey im just wondering how do you think the members would react to their partner faking an orgasm during the act, or in any similar situation

I haven't forgotten about your request! I've been ruminating on it for a while and have just been a little uninspired to write the past few weeks. Also as a reminder, whenever I write this type of content it's usually in line with their ideal types/fictional girlfriends I gave them (see here).

How BTS would react to their partners faking an orgasm

*mild NSFW content*

RM - There's absolutely no point in trying to fake an orgasm in front of Namjoon. He can read people like a book, especially the ones he cares deeply about. He would know exactly what works for his girlfriend and what doesn't, and have every reaction and noise of hers memorized. So when she tries to fake it, he would immediately raise an eyebrow, possibly even in annoyance or disappointment. Instead of getting offended though, he would try to understand why she did it. Besides, I don't see it being difficult for Namjoon to make a woman cum, so this would be a rare occurrence.

Jin - I see sex with Jin not necessarily resulting in an orgasm every time for his girlfriend, mostly because I picture neither of them having the highest of sex drives. I do think Jin's pride would be quite hurt by her faking her pleasure, though. He would feel self conscious that he's not doing enough for her or think that she doesn't enjoy sex with him, making him retreat and feel distant from her. In addition to a physical disconnection, there would be a shift in trust on Jin's side as well.

j-hope - Hoseok would take it quite hard, and be quite disappointed. While I don't think he would notice that his girlfriend is faking during sex, he would probably have an epiphany about it later or coax her into telling him. For Hobi, faking an orgasm is less about the physical implications and more so the lack of communication. He would be disappointed not so much in himself as he's confident in his abilities, but with her for lying to him. It would definitely turn into a trust issue, and he might resent her or abstain from sex for a little while.

Jungkook - JK is another one I imagine this scenario to be unlikely for because he's quite good at offering pleasure to his partner. Because of his persistency, however, he might insist on eating her out or making her cum when she's not feeling it, resulting in her faking an orgasm to get the act over with. I don't think he would notice or find out unless she tells him (he's not quite that observant when it comes to peoples' nuances). If he does, he would be incredibly hurt. Halfway due to feelings of inadequacy, but also because he felt betrayed by her need to lie to him. He would need some temporary distance from the relationship to recover.

SUGA - Yoongi would be the least bothered by it. Rather than being offended or hurt, it would just baffle him as to why his partner would do such a thing. I imagine Yoongi and his partner as extremely trusting and communicative, so it would be unusual for either one of them to lie about feeling satisfied when not or wanting sex when they don't. He is also quite attentive in bed, so he can probably tell when his partner isn't going to orgasm that day and would be respectful of such. Overall, it wouldn't be a big deal and they would move on quickly.

Jimin - Jimin would be quick to resort to self blame, and probably wouldn't even think that she had faked an orgasm for any other reason than the fact that he wasn't performing well enough or paying enough attention to her needs in that moment. He would be hard on himself for a while, but would also try to communicate with her about why she did it and how he can do better. It wouldn't cause much strain on the relationship as a one time thing, but repeated occurrences would heavily affect his self-esteem.

V - Tae would be extremely unhappy to find out his girl had faked an orgasm because he prides himself highly on knowing her well enough to satisfy her every time. It would be an issue of feeling both upset with himself for not pleasing her properly, and of being a little unsettled by the fact that she would she would even feel the need to do that with him. Instead of becoming distant though, he would actually start to over-perform to try and compensate.

[letsgoletsgetit08]

ink ch.1

summary: Park Seonghwa has been given an ultimatum by his parents: a year to marry a woman of their choosing with the end goal of producing an heir to the family fortune since queer party boy Seonghwa can't be trusted with it. His solution? Get absolutely blasted in tattoos to scare off his possible suitors and their families. But why did his tattoo artist have to be so pretty and kind? It's enough to make him question some things. Possibly, everything.

pairing: park seonghwa x hwang hyunjin

warning: mdni, barebacking, oral sex, public sex

total word count: 30,328 | chapter word count: 3,202

ao3 link: chapter 1

I: every problem has a solution

One year. 

They had given him one final year of freedom. “Agree to marry someone of our choosing or you're cut off, Seonghwa. It's very simple. It's time. We've let you have your fun long enough. Your father and I think it's perfectly reasonable. You’re certainly not fit to carry on the family fortune and you won’t produce an heir unless forced, so force it is. It’s for everyone’s own good, yours, too, dear.” His mom had looked at him with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she delivered this ultimatum.

He flopped on his bed, exhausted from arguing. A tension headache building behind his eyes. He wished he could cry but knew he wouldn't. He could never cry when he felt he needed to. Instead would always come out unexpectedly, seven inches deep in some twink he had met at the club, nose still lightly dusted white. Heaving sobs as he came, letting whomever he had pinned beneath him comfort him for a few minutes before they got up to clean themselves up in the bathroom and he snuck out the front door. 

Or the fire escape. 

He always felt a little guilty. Not enough to stop doing it, but a little guilty nonetheless. Enough to where he would ruminate on it as he nursed his hangover the following day, gagging at the waffles that had sounded so good when he had ordered them, sending texts to Hongjoong, half-heartedly begging him to come over. Come swim. Come get drunk on the golf course with me. Come shoot skeet. 

I'm sorry, Hwa, I can't. There's just not a good stopping point right now. Maybe when this project is wrapped up. You understand, right? 

Of course he understood. His friends had to have real jobs. They had to wake up every day and be architects, lawyers, professors, whatever. 

He didn't. He had a stupid, meaningless title at his dad's company that paid him more than his friends combined would ever make, paid him enough to make him agree to come into the office once a month to side with his dad on whatever stupid meaningless decision that needed his vote to tip the scales. Maybe he wouldn't be so fucking depressed if he had a real job. But unlike the other trust fund kids he had graduated with who got internships and real positions at actual jobs, flashing their last names like badges of honor, his last name was one that no company in their right mind would ever fuck with. Park. Companies were out of their minds terrified of hiring someone with his last name, due to the reputation his dad had created for himself. He was stuck. A perfect GPA from an Ivy League school. 

Useless.

His wallowing was making him horny, some twisted Pavlovian response he had trained into himself, he figured.

He reached down and palmed himself through his slacks. 

Maybe I should run away again. Lisbon was nice. Got me out of my agreement to go to the company banquet that one year.

His dick grew harder. 

Or I could run for office. Maybe that would satiate their thirst for an heir to the family name that was worth a damn. 

He unbuttoned his pants, unzipped them, hand slipping down his designer briefs. 

Make a ridiculous donation to some charity even my parents couldn't be mad about. 

Fisted his now almost fully hard cock in his hand, working it slowly. 

Fuck, none of that would would work. I need a way to be so incredibly un-marriable. 

His hand picked up the pace. He wrenched his underwear down with his other hand, freeing his dick at last.

I'm so goddamn handsome though. And people like me despite my attempts to be horrible. They call me charming. I can't stand the thought of dressing poorly. And I refuse to give up the money. Fuck. 

His hips bucked, he was close to finishing. Then it hit him. 

Tattoos. I'll get blasted. No respectable family will let their daughter - he almost lost his orgasm at the thought of marrying a woman - within a 10ft radius of me if I'm covered in tattoos. God but I'll look so good fuck-

He came all over his stomach, his shirt was filthy. He laid in his mess for a few minutes while he caught his breath. Then he stripped his shirt off, using it to wipe off the residual mess he had made, chucking it towards the laundry basket. He missed. He got up and trudged over to put it in the basket. 

He might be lazy, depressed, an embarrassment to his family, but he hated untidiness. 

Then he grabbed his phone off the nightstand, flopped back down on his bed, and began a search on Instagram for tattoo artists, trying to not get lightheaded at the thought of the needles. 

He had typed and re-typed a message at least ten times to an artist from a shop simply called ink. Creative. He wondered if @inkedbyhj had named the shop himself. 

Probably. 

The artist never posted with his own face in the pictures, but for some reason Seonghwa was picturing a fuck ass beard and waxed mustache with the ends curled, undercut hair with too much pomade on the top portion to help it stay slicked back.

He told himself to be a little nicer as he considered the amount of time he was about to have to spend with this artsy fartsy hipster fuckhead with the one word Instagram captions like breathe and petrichor and eloquence. 

But he knew he was the man for the job. His line work (Seonghwa was learning a lot of tattoo lingo) was crisp, his style was understated but consistent and really beautiful, he had to admit. He had looked at every post on his page and every post he was tagged in at least three times now and knew, compared to every other artist in town, he was the one to trust with the job. 

But how does one say “hey I need to get absolutely blasted so I don't have to marry a woman or else lose my inheritance and lifeline” to a stranger? 

Eventually, after carefully reviewing the guidelines for inquiries, he landed on, “Hi, I really admire your work and am interested in having you design some pieces for me. To start, I want full sleeves, and depending on how quickly we can finish those, I'm interested in thigh, chest, and back pieces as well. Black and grey only. No particular ideas in mind for designs, but I like your pieces with references to Greek mythology, plants, and classic literature/art a lot. I know that's kind of vague but I guess think of me as a blank canvas. Budget is unlimited. Looking forward to hearing back, thank you.”

He was about to lock his phone and toss it on the bed but stopped as he saw the three little dots wiggle at the bottom of the screen, indicating that someone was typing. 

They stopped. 

Pause. 

Started again. 

Stopped. 

Started again. 

Then, a reply came through. 

“Is this a serious inquiry?”

Seonghwa couldn’t help but laugh, a little embarrassed, but replied, “Serious as cancer” and stared at the screen, waiting for another reply. 

Finally, the dots reappeared, then, “Can you come by the shop today? I want to meet my blank canvas.” 

The shop was tucked into a corner of downtown that Seonghwa was familiar with only because he seemed to go home with a lot of baristas and bartenders who worked and lived in that area. He had never noticed the little storefront with a single hot pink neon sign in the front window that said the name of the shop in cursive. Seonghwa had to consciously stop himself from rolling his eyes at the stupid name of the shop as he walked in. 

It was surprisingly warm and welcoming inside, looking more like a stylish, eclectic living room than a tattoo parlor, with the artist's artwork and tattoo designs framed on the walls, the plush leather couch, and wooden furniture, including an antique wooden desk where a young man with wavy black hair and sharp features somewhat resembling a fox sat with his feet propped up, watching videos on his phone. 

He was startled when Seonghwa approached, nearly dropping his phone before stuttering in an endearingly boyish voice, “Oh, um, hi! How can I help you?” 

“Hi, I'm here to meet with the artist, we messaged on Instagram earlier about it. I'm assuming that's you?” 

The man chuckled, his cheeks revealing dimples and eyes crinkling, “Ha! No, absolutely not. Sorry. You wouldn't want me anywhere near you with a needle.” He turned to yell over his shoulder, “HYUNJIN!” 

Another man's voice came from around the corner behind a wall, “Ah! Hang on!”

Seonghwa was wrong. 

So so so wrong. 

The man who walked around the corner was absolutely nothing like how he had pictured him in his head. Maybe an inch or so shorter than himself, toned arms showing in his black, sleeveless turtleneck shirt (sleeveless to show off his gorgeous full tattoo sleeves), which he had paired with wide legged gray wash cargo jeans and black boots. His eyes were round and expressive, a warm chocolate brown, face clean shaven, which was all for the best because he had plush, rosy lips offset by sharp cheekbones, and that sort of beauty deserved not to be distracted from by facial hair. Shaggy black hair tied into a half-up with some stray pieces hanging down in front. Silver ear piercings and painted fingernails adoring long, elegant fingers. 

He was the most attractive man Seonghwa had ever seen, equally as beautiful as himself, which he didn't think was actually possible until now. 

“Yang Jeongin, you have to stop yelling while I'm tattooing, you're going to make me mess up, just come get me, Jesus Christ.” His tone was light, not seriously scolding the other man. 

“You never fuck up though, Jin.”

“You're lucky I'm so good,” he ruffled the other's hair, they were almost brotherly towards each other. It was kinda cute. “Hi,” he turned to Seonghwa, “Hyunjin, nice to meet you. You must be my blank canvas.” He extended a pretty hand and Seonghwa's brain buffered for a second before reaching to shake it, “Oh, um, yeah, hi. Park Seonghwa.” He let his family name slip out on accident, habit. He all but grimaced as he realized he had said it. 

Jeongin’s draw dropped and he gasped audibly, but Hyunjin stayed more composed, “Ahh, unlimited budget. That makes a lot more sense.” He didn't seem phased by this information. His demeanor didn't immediately sour and curdle at the mention of the infamous family name. Seonghwa felt his shoulders relax a little, “Um, yeah. Sorry.” He didn't know why he was apologizing. 

Hyunjin was amused but didn't comment on it, “Seonghwa, if you don't mind hanging out with Ayen for like ten, fifteen minutes, I'm finishing up a client and then we can sit down and talk.”

Seonghwa nodded, “Yeah, sure, no worries.”

“Awesome,” Hyunjin smiled, dimples showing as well. Were they actually brothers? “There’s coffee and soda if you want it,” he turned away, heading back around the corner to his client, “Make yourself at home.” 

He wandered around the studio for a few minutes, admiring the artwork - the ones on canvas were surprising to him, striking color choices and rough, intentionally messy and imperfect lines, a far cry from the precision work he did with ink on skin. He captured emotion and movement very well. He was making it hard for Seonghwa to hold onto any of his preconceived notions he had made up in his head about him and that was making him a little mad despite having absolutely no justification for it. He felt eyes on him and turned to see Jeongin staring at the back of his head, phone still clutched in his hand though obviously not watching whatever video was playing. “Yes?” He asked, trying not to sound too rude, but also a little annoyed. 

Jeongin went red, shocked at getting caught staring, “Oh. Um. Sorry. I just. Well… never thought I’d find myself in the same room as Party Boy Park.” 

Normally Seonghwa would be annoyed but he found it hard to be too irked by the kid, he thought it was kind of funny that he would be so ballsy with a complete stranger. He snorted, “Do you want an autograph?”

He watched a lopsided smile creep up on Jeongin’s face, “Actually, yeah, I bet I could make some good money if I sold that.”

“Make me a coffee and I’ll sign whatever you want.”

“My underwear?”

“Why the fuck not.”

His smile reached his eyes and he tossed his phone on the desk as he stood up to make Seonghwa a coffee while the party boy in question took a seat on the couch, hugging a pillow to his chest and questioning all his life decisions as he listened to muffled voices from behind the wall where Hyunjin was talking to his client. He heard Hyunjin laugh - silly, a little high pitched and percussive - and his heart rate picked up. 

I am not jealous that someone else just made him laugh. I’m just nervous. 

Jeongin approached with his coffee and had barely sat down when Hyunjin and his client - a short, muscular, curly haired guy in glasses and gym clothes, forearm shiny with second skin covering some sort of snake or maybe dragon tattoo - walked out from around the corner. 

“Okay Changbin, remember, unscented lotion this time. I’ll see you Thursday.”

“Thanks, Jinnie! I’m so excited you’re finally doing leg day with me.”

“Yeah, okay, don’t make me regret agreeing.”

A gasp, “I would never!” 

Hyunjin laughed and clapped a hand on the other’s back, “Get out of here, Binnie.”

The man walked past Seonghwa, giving him the customary dude body language head nod of acknowledgement before heading out the front door. 

Hyunjin walked over to the mini fridge, bending over to retrieve a bottle of cold brew coffee out of it, rolling his eyes as Jeongin tsk tsked him from the desk, “Your hands will shake, Hyunjin. They always do.”

Hyunjin groaned, “Ugh, I know, but I’m so sleepy. Besides, that was my last appointment for the day. Actually, In, you can head out a little early if you want,” he sauntered over and plopped himself clumsily onto the other end of the couch, reaching down to unlace his boots and kick them off before getting comfortable on the couch, one knee bent up, hugged to his chest, the other bent on the couch crossing underneath it, “I’m sure you have better things or people to do.”

Jeongin jumped up and grabbed a sharpie from the jar that held writing utensils on the desk and trotted over in front of Seonghwa, expectant. Hyunjin looked between them, confused, as Seonghwa smiled, grabbed the marker, waiting for Jeongin to pull up his underwear far enough above the waistband so it could be signed, and Seonghwa explained, “He wanted an autograph. I traded him for this coffee.”

Hyunjin shook his head, “I need a new receptionist.”

Jeongin made an offended noise and Seonghwa laughed despite himself, capping the marker and handing it back to Jeongin, “Don’t take any less than a grand for those, I’ll be insulted.”

Jeongin walked away, head held high, “My starting price is three!” he called over his shoulder as he exited.  

Seonghwa turned to find Hyunjin staring at him, studying. He didn’t really know what to do or say, and he faltered a few times, before Hyunjin finally spoke, “You’re not really what I imagined.”

“Yeah, you either.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean?”

Hyunjin was still studying him, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, and Seonghwa felt exposed, vulnerable. He could have walked in completely naked and it would have felt less embarrassing than being looked at so carefully like this. He was feeling himself start to hate Hyunjin again for making him feel so off-kilter. Eventually, he spoke up, “You seem almost… shy. And your eyes are sad. But you were sweet with Jeongin. It’s just not how I expected someone with your name to act. It’s a good thing.”

Seonghwa had always hated being associated with his family name, but it was mainly for selfish reasons. Being complimented for it by a gorgeous man made him want to hate it for the right reasons. “Yeah, well. My family is why I’m here.” He had planned to never tell the tattoo artist any of the real reasons he wanted the tattoos. But, although terrifying and uncomfortable, something about Hyunjin’s demeanor and the look in his eyes made him actually want to be a little vulnerable for once. Yeah, he definitely hated him for it. 

He explained the whole arrangement, staring the whole time at the tattoos that adorned Hyunjin’s arms in lieu of making eye contact. When he finished, Hyunjin was still looking at him thoughtfully. He felt like he was under a microscope. 

“You’re less scared of the commitment to my artwork permanently covering your body than you are of an arranged marriage? Isn’t that kind of thing pretty common in your circles?”

“It is. But I am unfortunately extremely gay.” He blushed, eyes finding Hyunjin’s again. 

Hyunjin laughed sympathetically, “I personally don’t think it’s unfortunate, but I can see how that would make providing an heir extremely uncomfortable. And they know you’re gay?”

“I have made it very hard to ignore.”

“Ah well then they really really do suck. I’m sorry they’re putting you in that position. I wish everyone had parents as accepting and supportive as mine.”

“Lucky bastard.”

“I really am.”

“I’m glad someone is,” Seonghwa sighed, “I understand if you don’t want to do it, or think it’s a bad idea or whatever. It’s just the only thing I’ve thought of that would get me out of it.”

Hyunjin dropped his knee and leaned in closer, his hand landing softly on Seonghwa’s forearm, “Hey, as far as I’m concerned, you’re a client like anyone else. I’m lucky that people like my designs enough and I’m no longer an apprentice so I don’t really have to tattoo things on people against my better judgment anymore, but at one point I did. This doesn’t feel like that at all. I think my designs would compliment you very well, Seonghwa. Thank you for being honest with me, though. You’re just full of surprises.” He squeezed his forearm and let go, smiling warmly. 

“Thanks.” Seonghwa said, whispering because he was feeling a little emotional after being so open with someone. How dare this motherfucker make him feel something.

“Do you want to talk designs?” Hyunjiin asked, “I just need to lock up real quick.”

“Oh, I don’t want to keep you -”

Hyunjin shook his head, “I offered.”

Seonghwa felt his cheeks flush, “Okay then, sure.”

“Great.” 

Seonghwa felt that he was at the edge of a steep cliff, about to fall into a whole different type of trouble. 

That terrified him more than anything else.

[moffcafe]

LoveDoll

Summary: As the CEO of Voxtech and powerful Overlord of Hell, Vox has everything he could ever want. But the only thing missing is someone he can love and treasure. When he gets some overpriced moth doll online, he finds the love he’s ached for right on his doorstep. This Doll in question is a bit...different than most dolls. Much more Violent.

a/n: hi everyone! The first two chapters are officially up on ao3! The first chapter is below! If you’d like to read more, check it out on ao3! Though i might post chapters on here as well? Let me know! Thanks for reading! ^_^

Love was something Vox always wanted.

He never really got that though. The CEO of Voxtech was neck deep in meetings, filming for shows and brainwashing commercials, and business opportunities. He never had time for love. But when he had the chance to ruminate on his love life, he realized he was incredibly alone 95% of the time. Usually, If he was really that lonely, he’d engage in an affair with a random demon he met at a meeting, or a business party. Do some mind control, turn them into a fully devolved toy. Then he’d kick them out days later when he got sick of it. That’s always how it went, and Vox was content with it.

However, After years of this cycle, he was starting to get tired of it. Bored of his nightly flings and one night stands. He wanted something more…permanent. Someone he can control with a snap of his fingers, but still has their own mind. There are only so many demons in Pentagram City that’ll do his bidding.

After an evening of hellish alcohol and cigarettes, Vox was tipsy. More relaxed. More eager to make impulsive decisions. He mindlessly scrolled through The Sin of Greed’s site, Mammozon, for something to waste money on. He’d usually just window shop, however he wanted something big and simple to spend. It’s not like he’ll suffer after buying it. He's the CEO of VoxTech, after all.

Then…Something caught his eye.

It was a listing of some new revolutionary idea from the embodiment of greed. It resembled a moth demon, with lavender skin and piercing crimson eyes, barring any pupils. There was fluffy white neck fur sprouting from it's neck and fluffy antenna on it's head. to Vox, he was already interested in how it looked. Four limbs were connected on it’s tall, slender body. A long, dark red cape that resembled wings curled around the doll’s backside. Vox squinted his optics at the description.

“Introducing your very own Pleasure Doll:™! Available in thousands of bodies and kinky features! into Imps? We got ‘em! Succubus? Got em! Love Hellhounds but hate how aggressive real ones are? Why not get a doll version?! All Pleasure Dolls have plenty of modes for you to explore! It can clean! It can cook! It can help you relieve the stress of life! It can even help you with important business and be a caretaker for your home! IT CAN DO ANYTHING! BUY ONE NOW!”

Vox rolls his eyes at such a cheesy and out there description. A fuckdoll? Seriously? Mammon was really running out of ideas after Fizzarolli quit. So derivative of those Fizz-Bots. Though, maybe it was because he was more tipsy than a college student at a frat party, but he felt…compelled to buy an overpriced sex doll. It was something about the moth doll that made him curious. He wasn’t sure why, he just felt…Connected to the doll. He was almost infatuated by it.

Vox takes a deep breath, attempting to reflect on himself about this investment. Does he really need one? It’s so fuckin’ expensive. Waste of money. What if it breaks on the way to his apartment? Mammon NEVER sends refunds out. It says it can do anything, though. It would also be…Nice to have someone always home to greet him after a long, hard day. He never had that before. It had been so long since someone was there to help him relax after work.

Vox grumbles, tapping his screen with his sharp, electric blue claws…giving into Mammon’s stupid business idea. He uses his other hand to click on the “Buy Now” button. Fuck it, his life is already boring as is. Nothing wrong with a bit of spice in his life, right?

Little did the CEO know, It was definitely going to be more than that.

=======

The next morning, Vox was surprised to have heard a knock on the door. Was it that quick? He sat up on his bed and examined the security camera on his front porch, peering to see who had arrived. The Camera revealed one of his employees, next to a large package. The package was as big as the worker, as he nervously looked at the camera. “Excuse me, Mr Vox? There’s a package here for you. It says it’s from Mammozon.”

Holy shit, it really was there. Vox scrambled out of his large bed, going down the elevator, and opening up the door. He was still in his pajamas, but he could care less about his appearance right now.

The demon yelped at the sudden opening of the door. “Ah- Hello sir, Pardon the interruption! What did you order? it’s… so huge..” The demon exclaimed, tilting his head.

“Ah, It’s a rare souvenir from a far, distant land called Nunya Business. Help me bring it in, will ya?” He retorted, voice cold and serious. The skittish employee nodded, scrambling to help carry the large package into the living room.

Once the pair got the package safe and sound inside, Vox rushed his employee out. The TV demon barked orders and forced him to get back to work. With a slam of the door, Vox turned to admire the large box. He took a step forward, already preparing to unbox his new toy.

He effortlessly cuts the box with his sharp claws, throwing out all the wrapping paper and bubble wrap. The doll was much larger than he thought, measuring at about 10 feet. It did give Vox a power trip thinking about dominating something so large. He continued to throw out wrapping paper to reveal the doll’s physical frame. He had seen photos online obviously, but seeing this doll in front of him…He couldn’t help but stare.

When Vox revealed the doll’s face, his eyes softened at how it looked. The Doll was Blank, relaxed. It almost looked like an actual doll, pale lavender ball joints around his limbs. Vox couldn’t help but feel hard already at the sight. He never expected to be into it, but perhaps it’s because he’d be fully in control. Vox takes the large doll out of the box, as it flops like a ragdoll around the smaller tv demon. Vox shouts in frustration, attempting to stand it up. He gives up and drags it over to the dining room chair. The doll slouches slightly against it, as Vox turns around to read the manual at the bottom of the box.

“Hello! My name is Valentino! Thank you for buying me! I hope I will serve and satisfy you well. Before you turn me on, please read the instructions in this manual.”

Vox scans his eyes through the book. It mostly describes how to clean the doll, what different features it has. Something did catch Vox's eye. At the bottom of the page, in little tiny text, reads:

“WARNING: This version of The Pleasure Doll™ has a common glitch, where it is prone to angry and violent outbursts. If you experience these bugs, please troubleshoot with this manual. The only way to stop this is to change his mode into “Doll” Mode, with the switch on his back. We are not responsible for anyone getting harmed and killed by Valentino. Don’t sue us!”

Vox's face looks deeply puzzled by this. Why sell this doll if he’s prone to violence? That sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen. But, i’m sure Mammon really doesn’t care and would rather make a quick buck than care about his customers. Businessmen are always like that in Hell…Including himself.

Vox continues to read the manual as he steps over to Valentino’s power button. He mumbles the instructions aloud to himself. “To turn on your Valentino doll, press the button on his neck. To turn off, hold the button for 5 seconds…” Vox leans over to examine the doll’s upper body. He plays around with the doll’s arms, as they stiffly move in place as he poses him. “Interesting, so it’s like an actual toy when you're off. I could use this..” He says to himself.

Vox fumbles around the back of The Doll’s neck, A lot of his neck fluff was in the way. But he finally finds the button, switching it to “On”. a few seconds of silence before the moth doll’s eyes lit up.

“Good Morning. Please state your name to start.” the doll says in a flat, monotone voice, which shockingly makes Vox feel the tent in his pants get tighter. He dashes in front of the doll, blinking in astonishment.

“Holy shit, it does work..” Vox stares at the doll, before clearing his throat. “Uh, it’s Vox.”

The moth processes the name, before nodding. “Thank you for buying me, Owner Vox. What mode would you like me to start in?”

Owner? Now that’s something he can get by. He looks at the manual, squinting at all the different modes. “Hrmm…Care to tell me what Modes you have?”

“I have over 20 modes, each unique in their own way.” Valentino replies, his voice flat and lifeless as he explains. “Please say aloud what Mode you’d like. If you want to manually set me to one, press my button on my neck.”

“Riiight…” Vox says slowly, thinking for a moment of what mode he wants. He’d like to play around with it more, but he has a meeting later today and he wants a bit more shuteye. He shrugs, just one mode to play around with before bed would be fine, right? “How about we start with Basic?”

The moth nods. “Processing request…” The doll’s eyes glow brighter for a moment, then his face contorts to a bubbly smile. “Hello, Owner! Thank you for choosing me as your Doll!” The doll bows, although very stiffly. “My name is Valentino, i am very well equipped in helping you with day to day tasks. Do you need any assistance?”

Vox looks overloaded just from how Valentino was. Mindless, compliant, willing to assist him in anything. It made the tent in his pants visible. He gawks in astonishment at the Cheery Doll.

“Are you feeling well, Owner? Or would you rather i call you Master?“ Valentino speaks after a few minutes of Vox glaring at him like a deer in headlights.

Vox practically short circuits from that nickname, but he keeps his cool. “I’m fine, Valentino. Just surprised that you’re so…” he tries to find the right words. “Attentive? Caring? …Cute?”

Valentino stiffly puts his first set of hands on his cheeks. “Oh! Thank you, Owner! That is very kind of you!” He coos in a cheery voice. His movements are mechanical, jerky. This just seems to turn on Vox further.

The TV demon blinks at this, but his screen curls to a mischievous smirk. “Actually, Dollface…I do have a favor to ask of you.” He says, putting on his smooth talk voice like he would to his past flings.

“What would that be? I’m willing to do anything for you, Owner!” Valentino replies, hands on his lap.

Vox strives over to the couch, sitting down with his legs parted. “C’mere on the couch for me? I have something I can teach you as your…First lesson.” Vox’s voice is low and seductive, and The Doll can’t help but follow him with a mindless and willing grin.

While the height difference is very visibly there, it’s obvious which one is in control. Vox slowly starts to slip off his pants. “Now, for your first task…” Vox’s hard and needy dick springs out of his pants, already aching for some relief. “Take my cock, and you’ll get a reward.” Vox usually wouldn’t do this to a real life person, he’d wine and dine them before he’d get into their pants. But this is just a doll, so he can use this opportunity to get some relief.

Valentino looks at the dick with wide eyes, nodding at the request. “Yes, Master!” He replies obediently, leaning his head down to the TV demon’s cock. Val first starts to gently lick the shaft, caressing his owner’s balls. This earns a moan from Vox, which beckons Val to continue to pleasure his master.

Vox leans his head back, relishing in the noises of the doll sucking him off. “Oh, fuuuuck yes, your already doing so well…” he moans, feeling Val take his dick in his mouth already. Vox’s screen glitches from how well Val is taking his cock, and the almost pornographic moans coming from the doll. “How the fuck can a doll suck dick so perfect…i wonder if i can give you a pussy…so i could use you for hours..” Vox mumbles out to the doll, playing with his antenna as Val continues to bob his head down Vox’s length. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, dolly? Would you like to get fucked by my huge cock?" he's babbling dirty talk to the doll at this point.

As Vox rambles on about how much he wants to use Valentino's doll hole, the moth simply continues to pleasure his owner. All he wants is to satisfy his owner.

All the sensations he’s feeling makes Vox want to cum on the spot, but he attempts to edge himself, trying to wait until the best possible moment….

…Unfortunately it isn’t long until Vox cums, as Val’s mouth is too much for his body to handle. The doll’s mouth is practically like a pussy pouch. Just better, more lifelike. More real. Vox lets out a loud “OH FUCK YES!” from this, his cum shooting inside Val’s mouth.

The doll takes all of his cum, swallowing and taking his mouth out with a wet pop. Val then smiles. “Did I satisfy you, Owner?” Val smiles cheerfully.

“You…wow…shit…” Vox pants thoroughly, screen head still thrown back against the couch. He slowly tilts his head back to look at Val. “I…Thanks. You did well.” Vox replies, looking away from embarrassment.

“Thank you, Master! What’s my reward?” Val exclaims, looking excited by the idea of a reward from his owner.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Vox yawns. “For now, I think I'm gonna go back to bed. Thanks again for your service.” Vox reaches over to click the button on Val's neck again.

“Okay! Thank You, Mas-“ before Val could finish his sentence, he slumps over on the couch. The doll’s eyes rolled back.

Vox makes a little chuckle at this, pulling up his pajama pants. He knew he was gonna have a fun time with this doll. He’ll have to see what other accessories he comes with. The CEO turns off the living room lights, before moving upstairs to go back to bed.

What Vox didn’t know was Val’s button light was still blinking in the darkness, as he was still on.

[dailysimoneashley]

COVER INTERVIEW:

Its been a long day for Simone Ashley. By the time we sit down to chat over Zoom, its 7:20 pm in London and Ashley has spent the last sixteen hours inside a dark cavernous studio filming night scenes for one of UK's most cherished TV shows.With her eyes still readjusting to the light and her face showing zero signs of dregs of a hard day's work,she sits at home emanating the exuberance of someone raring to do it all over again.

It wasn't easy to pin down Ashley for our interview. And its understandable really, knowing that she's soon to become one of the most talked about actresses on our screens. Only a few months ago, whispers of Ashley started rumbling across the internet. Her face quickly started appearing on Twitter and Instagram. Articles that told you "everything you need to know about Simone Ashley" became suggested reads for TV lovers.

Why ? Because in a landmark move for the 26 year old actor, the news broke that Ashley would be taking on her next role as Kate Sharma-the fiery headstrong and grounded new female lead of Bridgerton.

As Kate Sharma,Ashley joins as the love interest of Jonathan Bailey's character,Anthony.When the news of the role was released, Netflix tweeted "Kate Sharma is a smart headstrong headstrong young woman who suffers no fools- Anthony Bridgerton very much included" which is no doubt a nod to the juicy tumultuous events to come. Speaking with Ashley about the role and her character its increasingly hard to believe that despite her almost continuous smile,infectiously calm demeanour and astute gathered reflections on her life and career, she says that she is in fact very similar to the fiery character she plays.

"Naturally when we meet someone fiery who maybe has a temper or is incredibly emotional, its really natural for us to feel slightly intimidated by that person and not really understand where it comes from, to feel protective of ourselves if it comes from a place of animosity" Ashley says ruminating upon what makes Kate, Kate. "A lot of time, people who have those traits- quite fiery, raised voice and have a temper- are actually people who have the biggest hearts. There's work to be done on how you express yourself. I don't think its a necessarily bad thing"

And the pressure was certainly on Ashley, to bring the character of Kate Sharma to life as much as she could. Julia Quinn the author of the Bridgerton novel series, tweeted "I couldn't dream of a more perfect Kate" when the news of Ashley's arrival was announced.

So the actress took her time to really understand who Kate was really deep under the surface so that she could slip into her skin and stand tall around the Bridgerton sets,not only with support from a corset but with an arresting poise that speaks true of her character.

For most of us we were first introduced to Ashley during her appearance in the widely revered Netflix hit show- Sex Education. Our first glimpse of the future Bridgerton star was of Ashley portraying a 16 year old high school girl perching on a derelict toilet in an asbestos covered bathroom next to the show's protagonist, Asa Butterfield as she confides in him about her more turbulent sexual experiences. Sex Education set out to break down questions of sex and sexuality that most of us had growing up, exploring different stories and topics that hone in a range of topics and taboos. It soon became a treasure of a show for anyone wanting to find out about things no one is really talking about.

"I'm so grateful to be part of that show" Ashley says reminiscing about how close the cast of Sex Education cast became."It's a cast and crew of such incredibly intelligent wonderful people with really big hearts and all in all as well as being part of the series, that was a massive thing I took away from the job, I made some really amazing friends I think it was just a really fun job to be a part of . It's such a fun story that John Hughes kind of high school world it was just really special."

Prior to the role Ashley worked with Olivia Coleman and David Tennant in Broadchurch as well as more recently appearing in shows like ITV's The Sister. She had a blink-and-you'll-miss-me role in 2015's iconic cinematic story of hip hop group NWA's Straight Outta Compton. Even though Sex Education's seismic success could only mean good things were coming to the cast Ashley is still pinching herself over what seems to have fallen deservedly on to her lap.

It's no shock that Ashley finds herself likely taken aback by the recent developments in her career, the world will be watching as she steps foot ; her back help straight and hands locked together in traditional Regency-era gowns on to our screens. But not only has landing the role been a game change for her career but it's also thrown her into a world of complete unfamiliarity wrapped up in what seems to be the most rigorous work schedule around.

"With Bridgerton it's much more intense than Sex Education in the sense that if I'm not filming I'm horse riding, training or rehearsals. I'm an accent training or I'm in a fitting" Ashley explains "I've never really worn a corset before so that took some getting used to, my body definitely changed a little bit wearing it. And that kind of changed my posture a lot to suit the era. Horse riding, I've never really ridden before, I rode once years ago, but I did some intense training for that and it turns out I'm a natural at it so that's a great thing" she shares.

With unrivalled anticipation of the second season, based on the second instalment of Quinn's novel series The Viscount Who Loved Me- as well as the fan bases that spans across continents and even releasing its own "Nap Dresses" fashion collection, Bridgerton has become an empire stretching all over the globe and Simone Ashley has undoubtedly taken centre stage.

But none of this came easily for the actress. Ashley's dreams of acting have always been firm and unwavering in her mind.With no other option of what her future might look like Ashley took a dangerous leap into a world that chucks people out this despondent and dreamless as quickly as it can make you the next big thing. "I have incredibly supportive parents especially my mum" she says. "I was extremely stubborn in my choices and I left home quite early when I was about 15 years old and I was just very focused. So to be honest even if they were supportive or not I was going to do it anyway"

"I couched surfed quite a lot, and I worked various retail jobs. I did a year of acting on a musical theatre course at a drama school and then it didn't work out, I actually left after my first year then I went to LA where I did my first teenie tiny acting role. Then I came back to London and took it seriously and started knocking on a lot of doors, going to thousands of auditions like any other actor, and just went back to acting class. I was just really curious to see how deep I could get into craft."

Grafting with unchanged determination took Ashley,from job to job, London to LA, and retail job to retail job. But as her self-assurance and awareness of her potential became steadfast in her mind the jobs got bigger and her dreams got closer.

"If I am really honest, I got kicked out of the drama school that I went to" Ashley admits, opening up as our conversation draws to a close. "I failed in dance and I was told that I wasn't ever going to be in performing arts. There wasn't a part of me that ever believe anything there was saying.I always knew that I was really smart and maybe just have some growing up to do, but I always knew that this what I was meant to be doing" she said wrapping her head around being the new star of one of Netflix's biggest shows.And if there is any greater testament to proving that it can happen, that taking risks can one day be undeniably fruitful, its Bridgerton's newest heroine.

[figs-and-cigs]

Dear Ex,

I'm still grieving. After briefly seeing you at events this past week I've found myself ruminating. I'm sad a frustrated.

I thought a lot about closure. Truthfully, I don't need or want closure. I think things ended clearly and obviously, and I'd rather not have to enter another circular conversation about it with you. But I wanted to write this. I won't send it to you. If you asked me for closure though, I would gladly have a conversation with you.

I keep thinking about some of the things you said in your message. They were cruel and unkind. I did not directly defend myself against some of your accusations - because I knew that would be unhealthy. I did state that I was sad you saw me that way. I stated my perspective on how things were handled. That was enough for me. But having sat with that message for a while I do want to type things out - for myself.

I had shared that many of my previous relationships were FWBs. I liked going out to dinner and having sex. The fact that you brought that up in you message and then questioned my intentions with you made me feel absolutely sick! It showed me that 1. You don't approve of my past relationships (I don't give a shit), your message was short of slut shaming (I do give a shit if that's how you think) and 2. That you really did not understand me or how much I valued our relationship.

Like if I just wanted a FWB dynamic with you, I would have said that! I said from the beginning I was hoping for something more emotionally intimate.

You and I only had sex once! How could you possibly think I was only using for sex in all the months we were together!? I cooked dinner for you, I paid for meals when I could (even while I shared I'm on a fixed income for disability). How could you question that I was seeking a meal ticket and sex from you?

I shared time and time again about my agoraphobia and driving anxiety. How HARD those things are for me, and how hard I work on them. Even so, I drove to your house and to meet you places more often than not. I shared a few times that my agoraphobia and fibromyalgia means I struggle to sleep when I'm not home. Even so, I slept over at your house almost every week, I slept over at the hotel for that one event. While those things are difficult for me, I did them happily BECAUSE I valued our relationship!

In your message you then asked, "what do you offer? Is your focus solely on yourself and what you can get?" I'm flabbergasted you would ask me those things! I'm incredibly saddened that, after months of talking every day, seeing each other 2-3 times a week, intimate conversations, you still felt the need to question those things!

In any relationship it's not about what I can get. It's about offering myself to and connecting with someone else. Offering our time, hearts, and selves to each other in whatever capacity feels right. Every request you made, I tried to meet. Every moment we spent together I was fully present and connected. I did and I gave more of myself to you, in a short period of time, than I have with many of relationships over the last several years of my poly journey because dammit I really liked and cared about you.

I will say one of my biggest triggers in relationships is when I feel misunderstood. I shared openly and honestly about my mental and physical health issues. I didn't expect you to understand them. But time and time again situations would come up where it became clear you really did not understand them. My running late for a date because I was having driving anxiety. A day where I didn't call because I was having a chronic fatigue day. Forgetting something you said even though I explained fibro fog. When you asked if I have "black and white thinking" and I offhandedly said it's a symptom of BPD. Your response was always one of disappointment and feeling disconnected from the relationship and rarely one of understanding. I felt pressured to meet your requests even though I was struggling - and I met them more often than not.

And in that nasty message you told me to work on my communication skills, to deal with my disorders. (Meanwhile you blatantly ignored my messages!) You weaponized and misinterpreted intimate details I shared with you!

And then you had asked if you could make requests without me feeling personally attacked!? Instead of discussing my schedule like I had been trying to for weeks, you gave me a lecture about "effective communication" you told me to change my language - even though I was already doing the things you were asking. I offhandedly said that sounds controlling. You took it as you can't make requests!? Despite me constantly trying to meet your requests. I never felt personally attacked until that conversation, until you started asking me questions like a psycho-analysist and until you sent me a message questioning my intentions, calling me uncompassionate, looked down my disorder and still refused to respond directly to anything I had texted. I've taken lots of time to analyze my communication skills since. I've spoken with my therapist, partners, close friends (not always directly about you and the situation). MY communication skills are NOT the problem here.

You want to know the biggest red flag? In your message you said I interrupted you during our conversation. I remember the moment. I said, "this has become a boundary for me. My schedule has changed." And you said you don't like the term boundaries, that you think they're selfish. I jumped in and gave a definition of boundaries. That self care isn't selfish. Sorry, I interrupted you in that moment. But if you don't like boundaries, I don't want a relationship where I can't have them.

So that's that. Now you saying I'm welcome to reach out when I know we're going to the same event. I assume because I didn't respond to the event going on this weekend - even though I said I was going says prior. That's fine, but you can text me too if you want to say anything. I've said what was necessary. What I'm typing now isn't. I'd rather detach than get into justifications and defenses.

Also you showed up at the meet up I go to every week - a meet up you rarely attend, with two brand new partners. In the poly world of course that's fine, often to be expected. But it definitely seemed odd, considering you normally don't go and don't like flaunting your relationships. But whatever, it's none of my business.

I still with you well.

End vent.

[purgatoryandme]

Ignoring the fact that this would 100% end in fire and brimstone, the idea just compels me, y'know? Especially because BingQiu have canonically terrible sex and SQQ is physically incapable of admitting that Binghe is bad at anything or communicating his feelings. At first he thinks it's better with LQG because of the aphrodisiacs. Then he thinks it's better because he's been on top - being on the bottom must hurt, naturally! But LQG seems to really enjoy it... He gets a little braver and more explorational, bottoms, and has his mind blown. Why is it good??? Is it because LQG is more familiar with swords? So he's also good with his "sword"???? He's stuck ruminating about it for days, which hilariously convince LQG that he didn't do a good job as a top and that he needs to improve. So when SQQ decides to test out bottoming again (for science!), he's even more horrified because it's BETTER? Liu juju this is unfair!!!!!!!!!! To his eternal embarrassment, he has no one to turn to but SQH. When he asks him if bottoming for MBJ is good, SQH says it is and goes on a tangent about the pain and the domination and the general demon-vibes of it all. SQQ is like "ah. we are. not into the same things. hm. never accounted for the idea that i may have preferences. this is something i will immediately suppress."

He bottoms for LBH. It hurts and Binghe cries about it. He's into (1) of those things. He may have always been into only (1) of those things. He is, to his horror, making an internal list of stuff he LIKES...sexually. SQQ has such a NEED to be normal (when he is objectively not) that he's like: there is no other option, I must ask the other peak lords what they think about having their chrysanthemum totaled.

MQF is an easy ask. He can totally pose this question in the context of dual cultivation and how demonic energy might effect it. He can be so smooth about it nobody will ever guess that his ass hurts.

He is not smooth. When MQF starts talking about the importance of communication, especially in """scenes"""", he starts sweating so much that he has to leave or be forcibly institutionalized.

YQY is an...interesting ask. He won't deny SQQ anything, but the question clearly physically pains him. Still, mouth twitching between a smile and grimace, he tells SQQ that dual cultivation is best practiced the way the person likes best, and that there is no 'right' and 'wrong' way beyond the Qi sharing. When SQQ, teeth gritted, asks him if most people prefer pain, YQY's eye twitches subtly. He's all: "Most people...do not." in a way that so clearly screams that he DOES that SQQ needs to flee immediately and also never look him in the eye again. The Peak Lords are all trembling Ms???????????? Is this what high cultivation does to you???????????????????????????

He's halfway through asking QQQ before it finally dawns on him that she's a woman. He tried to flee, but Liu Mingyan of all people starts ENTHUSIASTICALLY answering. He replies sound a little non-con and terrifyingly specific. He's scared.

If he had to guess, SQQ is pretty sure the rest of the peak lords have never gotten laid a day in their life. They were serving up "eternal virgin, my cultivation path is based in purity" vibes. Which meant...there was only LQG left to ask.

So he just...puts it off. Until oops, wife-plotted again. And when he's on top, looking at the way the LQG's eyelashes tremble and his body arches, he winds up blurting: "What do you like, when we're like this?"

And listen. LQG is so in love with him and so entrapped by the idea that he'll only ever get to have SQQ's body when it's strictly necessary. He's also severely compromised at the moment. He can't help but be incredibly embarrassing.

He likes when SQQ praises him! He likes when SQQ presses down on him, slow and sweet, and he likes it when they kiss even though the poison doesn't require it! He's destroyed every time SQQ brushes his lips or fingers over his tear mole, through the baby hairs that curl onto his forehead, or over his trembling eyelashes! He likes the way SQQ opens him up, teasing and tender and mean, and he likes it when they do it somewhere safe and comfortable and thoughtful! Being laid out on SQQ's robes is the best, especially when it's because SQQ thinks the bedsheets aren't good enough quality to touch LQG's skin!!

It's the answer SQQ has been looking for, but he isn't prepared to face it head on, let alone when it tips them both over the edge. Especially when he can't help but start round two by kissing that adorable little mole, when it makes LQG's eyes go glassy and his toes curl-

Somehow his backwards and upside down logic comes around to an almost correct answer. Clearly, the reason it's better with LQG is because LQG is so sensual and MEANT for this.

Still surprised at how few LiuShen affair drama fics exist post BingQiu marriage without it being a 3p setup. Firstly, aphrodisiacs are everywhere in PIDW! The solution to 99% of problems in papapa! Second, SQQ has a long established history of being too curious for his own good and LQG has a history of travelling with him, despite LBH's jealousy. Third, SQQ's inner narration about LQG never shuts up about how pretty he is AND you know SQQ is perfectly capable of doing some truly wild mental gymnastics to justify not only starting an affair, but also keeping it a secret. Just imagine five years down the line, SQQ is casually just like "ah yes, me and Liu-shidi have an agreement whenever we are poisoned" because he's lied to himself so hard he not only believes that this is normal but also that everyone knows.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Giving Spencer Head for The First Time [Spencer x Reader]

Warnings: 18+, Graphic Depictions of Oral Sex (M Receiving), Handjob, Inexperienced Spencer, Submissive Spencer, Teasing, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Petnames, No Pronouns used for Reader Except ‘You’.

From between Spencer’s thighs, looking up at him beneath your lashes, you could see his chest heave, his lips parted and his eyes hooded as he looked upon you. On your knees, you placed your hand on his, held him, kept him grounded. And you smiled.

“You can back out if you want to,” you said, voice low and incongruous to the compromising scene unfolding. Spencer’s trousers lay pooled at his ankles, and, squeezing his thigh with a feather-light softness, you watched him swallow thickly, his eyes squeeze shut, then open as he tried to gain some semblance of control over his body. Which, if the rate at which his cock was stiffening was anything to go by, you could see he was failing to do.

“No, no—“ he said with haste, shaking his head, eyes widening. “I want to — I really do. It’s just…” His flickering gaze settled on you, and, with all the patience in the world, you sat back in your calves, looked up at him and waited for an answer. You never broke eye contact once.

“I’m just worried that…” Spencer’s fists clenched, unclenched, his knuckles whitening. He swallowed again. “Just scared I won’t do it correctly,” 

You felt your heart thrum, the quiet tone of Spencer’s voice leaving you with the insatiable need to care for him, to reassure him. Your smile widened, eyes crinkling beneath the weight of your friend’s genuine nature. You swore something akin to doubt flashed in his eyes. You sought to alleviate him of it.

“Spence,” you said, limbo-low. Your hands slid up to the precipice of his thighs. Squeezed. His breath staggered. “You don’t have to do anything.” You shifted as you felt your calves grow numb. “Just let me take care of you,” You pressed your lips to his thigh, chaste even amidst the situation. Spencer gasped. Quiet.

“You ready, Big Boy ?” Your eyes shone as you gazed up at him. And, in that second, Spencer forgot anything and everything that wasn’t you.

He nodded, for he did not trust his voice would not betray him and belie the fried-nerve feeling of ants crawling beneath his skin, of butterflies in his stomach. You wore your smile, never faltering for a moment. And, turning your attention to where Spencer needed you most, with careful, eager hands, you traced your nails up the sides of his thighs, coming to stop only at the waistband of his boxers.

You could see the wet patch forming at the front. Before you could allow Spencer to anticipate what you would do, you ran your tongue across the cotton, tasting salt and warmth. Spencer’s breath shuttered, eyes screwing shut, head thrown back. The space between your legs warmed at the sound of the beginning of Spencer’s unravellment.

This whole situation has been the by-product of a discussion between yourself and Spencer, who, after being grilled as to who his most memorable sexual encounter was, cracked.

“Never had one before,” he told you, staring down into his glass, tracing the rim with a slender finger. Ruminating. He didn’t — couldn’t — look at you, even as you drew close, eyes wide and lips parted. You refused to believe him at first, but the unmistakable flush of pink on his cheeks and the shallow glow in his eyes told you that he was in fact being truthful. You had no clue as to how you’d never come to learn this before, especially since you and Spencer had been best friends for years. But, as you asked him to “Look at me, Spence. Please,” you realised why.

He was embarrassed.

You knew he’d held some shallow insecurity towards never having scored a date with anyone before, despite you telling him many times that: 1.) he could date anyone he wanted because he was an incredible person (and very attractive), and 2.) if he actually went up to someone and asked them out, he’d stand a much higher chance of actually going on a date. But alas, Spencer had never tried. And so, here you were. Until, from somewhere within the back of your mind, perhaps the culmination of fantasies you’d never even think to divulge to your dearest friend, that an idea volunteered itself.

“We’ll,” you said, looking down at Spencer’s drink, trying not to find his gaze. “What if…I helped you ?”

To that, Spencer simply looked up at you, the crease between his brow forming as he considered (and likely tried to discern) what you were suggesting. You bit the inside of your lip, sucked at the gum, and elucidated. “What if I gave you an experience so you…don’t feel as bad about it anymore ?” Your heart hammered in your chest. You liked Spencer, truly, you did, and the idea of not only being rejected by him, but losing your friendship, haunted you. And yet, you had no idea why you suggested such an idea. But, after a second’s silence, then two, then three, Spencer seemed to boot up again, his eyes widening.

“You…you would do that for me ?” He said, voice almost quivering, thin. You smiled, placed a hand atop his and squeezed it.

“What are besties for ?”

And so, here you were; stationed between Spencer’s legs, mouthing the cloth restraining his member. You could feel the force with which Spencer gripped the comforter, his head lying against the backrest of the sofa. Tracing the stiffening shape of him with eager lips, you hooked your fingers over the edges of his underwear, tugging them down. Pulling back, you dragged your nails down the expanse of his thighs, felt goosebumps form along his skin in your wake. His cock was only half-visible to you, bulging beneath the cotton as if trying to escape. You slid his boxers so far before Spencer’s weight prevented you from relinquishing him of his burden. Your voice sang to him, called to him: “Spence, Sweetie, I need you to lift your hips for me,”

He did so, though without full commitment as he could only find enough strength and will to bring his hips an inch or two from the sofa before dropping back down. Meanwhile, you slid his boxers over his knees, heard them drop to his ankles, disturbing the buckle of his belt and causing a minute clink to be heard.

Spencer was long, veiny, his tip already reddening, beading with pre. You watched for a moment, took in all the details and twitches and the most prominent vein. You felt your core tighten.

Evidently, you must have been admiring Spencer for too long as, cracking an eye open, lips parted. He looked down at you. “What is it ?” He asked, that same quiet, thin tone as when you’d confronted him earlier present in his voice. Panic, perhaps. Or the tides of his insecurity lapping at his consciousness again. You placed your hands back on his thighs, rubbed up, down, saw his eye twitch. You smiled.

“Just seeing what a big boy you are,”

You saw Spencer’s chest stutter, his eye twitch and his lips pull further apart, as if trying to mouth around some invisible mass. Felt his breath halt. You leaned in, unravelled your tongue and, in full view of Spencer, flattened your wet muscle to the base of his cock. Spencer gasped, gripping the comforter, his hands gloves with white-hot strain. You drew your tongue up the length of his shaft, slow, deliberate. The sound of Spencer’s whining cut through to your core, sparking electricity within. As well as another idea.

You stopped just short of the tip, thin, viscous streaks of pre tingling on your tongue. Your breath hit against the sensitive skin of Spencer’s shaft; sent a shiver up his spine. And, when you didn’t move, remaining steadfast, Spencer’s eye cracked open, pupils gleaming and dark. “(Y/N)—“ he breathed. “Why…why’d you stop ?”

You felt yourself growing more and more feral by the minute; especially as that worried look crossed his disposition. You restrained yourself, resisted the urge to pounce on him and fuck him silly right now. You retracted. Spencer’s body twitched, he leaned up by a fraction, as if to reach out to pull you back. You knew you had him eating out of your palm, and if you were to be his first, you would be memorable. You’d make sure of it.

“Beg for it.”

Such a simple command, and yet Spencer only looked at you, dumbfounded, as if you spoke a language that did not yet exist. One beyond his fathom.

“I said—“ you brought a hand to the base of his shaft, took the girth between your fingers. You squeezed. Spencer yelled, his back arched and eyes screwed shut. A crease formed between his brows, the veins along his forehead starting to bulge.

“Beg for it.”

Spencer breathed heavily, his chest heaving, his hold on the blanket pulsating, the ebbing forming in his stomach tightening. Quietude. Then, he swallowed. Licked his lips. “Please (Y/N),” he said breathless, voice malnourished and skeletal. You could hear the cracks forming and you hadn’t even given him head yet.

“I need you — please, please touch me—“

You gave his shaft another squeeze, harder this time. He gasped, threw his head back over the lip of the backrest, his mouth hanging open. “Please,” he whispered.

You felt a sharp, cruel smile cross your features. And you made no effort to hide it.

“I’m barely touching you and you’re already whimpering. I have half a mind to just leave you like this and watch you struggle to get yourself off,” You let go of him, brought your hand to your mouth to spit into it. But that second of removed contact was too much as Spencer’s eyes snapped open, widened, doe and helpless, and searched for you.

“No!” He whined, softly enough to let you know that you possessed his submission, held all the cards, but packing enough volume that you could hear just how desperately he needed you. His fingers unfurled from the comforter; he looked to sit up. You got up onto your feet, your hand shooting out and flattening against his chest. You served him a sharp look, pushed him – persuaded him – to lie back down. His heart pounded beneath your touch.

“I call the shots here, Spence. Don’t make me angry or I’ll leave you all alone.”

He blinked at you, lips parted and gobsmacked. His gaze dropped to the floor, his lips threading together in resignation  — submission. He obeyed, lay back. You smiled. 

“Good boy.”

Now, hand lubricated, you got onto your knees, attached your fingers to the base of Spencer’s cock and felt him pulse. His tip was even more red than before, leaking profusely. 

“Hmm, I’m impressed. I’ve never seen anyone get this worked up so quickly.” You told him. You worked your hand towards the tip, falling just short before descending to the base again. Spencer’s chest fluttered, his breath shuttering, a light moan laced between his feathered panting. The closest thing to a cohesive response.

“I always thought you’d be big, but never this big,” you continued. As pre wept from his tip, you gathered it beneath your hand, used it to slip your hand up and down the expanse off his shaft with artificial ease. Faster. Your core clenched; you bit your lip. “Always wondered how you’d feel inside me,”

You gave Spencer another squeeze, grip tightening around his cock. He moaned — yelped — high-pitched and restless as your words reached him, stirred electricity in his centre. That, and the hold you had on him, enacting what he’d only ever been able to dream about.

Already, you could tell he was getting close. Even after only a few minutes, you could feel him twitching in ways he hadn’t earlier, seen the way he bit his lip, trying to keep from permeating the air with his moans. Telltale signs you’d witnessed in him before. Only once, when you’d heard him pleasuring himself, and when you’d peaked in, he was on the precipice. Making the same face as he did now. He never lasted long. Even by his own hand, he’d fall victim to an orgasm sooner rather than later. And you knew he wouldn’t last long now, especially with someone else pumping him, bringing him to the edge.

“You close, Baby?” Your voice was soft and concerned. The song of deception. Spencer, with his eyes squeezed shut and his faculties long since scattered to the four winds, nodded, the gesture a chore with his head bent over the back of the sofa. But not lost on you. “Use your words, Spence.” 

“Ye-yes,” he fumbled, voice weak, barely capable of standing on its own. Cracking.

“Look at me,” you said, firming your voice. Your wrist was starting to ache, but you persevered, feeling an expanding wetness between your legs become apparent as the sound of squelching and breathy, virgin moans filled the space.

Spencer, perhaps out of fear of you leaving him high and dry, or a simple carnal need to finish, could only open his eyes. His body had little strength or will to make him sit up, to give you anything more than a glistening, pleading, half-lidded stare; a symphony of euphoria the soundtrack to your front-seat viewing of his destruction.

“Am I the first person who’s ever touched you like this?” You knew the answer. You just wanted to hear him say it. Wanted him to admit to how you were unravelling him, inch by inch, strand by strand. His lips fell apart, but no answer prevailed. Particularly when you brushed over a sensitive spot just shy of the tip — one you’d intentionally missed before. He moaned, loudly, his back arching into your touch, eyes clenching shut.

“Oh no, you will answer me,” you said. Your grip on his dick began to loosen, soften. The sound of panic - hyperventilation - fell from Spencer’s lips.

“Yes!” He exclaimed, voice cut and scathed with ecstasy. “Yes– god, yes! you are–”

You bit the inside of your lip, the urge to relieve yourself of the heaviness forming in your core, the electric euphoria growing there, becoming too all-encompassing to ignore.

“Did you imagine that your first would be me?” This was a genuine question. Not that you’d stop now if the answer was anything other than what you wanted to hear. But still, the ego trip would be worth the risk.

Spencer quietened. A second’s deliberation to cross an already destroyed boundary from which neither of you could ever return. Long enough for your heart to slip and drop.

“Yes,” Spencer breathed, quieter than before “Only you.” 

And bounce back.

Fireworks fizzled in your chest, the urge to smile burned your cheeks. Your newfound vigour showed as you moved faster, hungry still, across Spencer’s shaft. He cried out.

“Mmm, good boy,” you said, voice glazed with a sweetness. “Being so honest.”

He was on the verge now. One step from falling into the throws of an orgasm.

“(Y/N),” he whimpered. He almost sounded scared, afraid of the static euphoria threatening to overtake him, to send him spiralling into a bursting, rippling, all-consuming ecstasy. His hands gripped at the sofa beneath him — whatever was within his grasp — leaving marks where his nails clawed at the fabric. “I’m so close—“

“I know, Baby,” you said. You smiled, thin and pensive. “I know.”

Without warning, you released him. Sat back on your calves and watched the scene unfold.

You thought he hadn’t noticed at first with how his breathing remained hasted, stumbling and staggering with breathy moans, whines and gasps. But, as the seconds rolled by, you saw the crease in Spencer’s brow deepen. Then his eyes slipped open. He saw you, sat back, doing nothing but gaze at him, doing nothing to alleviate the heavy, sopping, red, ravenous monster between his thighs. The one you had created. He groaned, hard. Whined.

“Why…why’d you stop?” He asked, his voice gaining volume the longer he was left unattended. The pleasure in his stomach was beginning to ebb away, fleeing him, shedding. He wrapped a hand about his base, and, biting his lip, tried to finish what you’d started. 

Not that you’d let that happen.

You came out of nowhere, grabbing Spencer’s wrist, bent it ‘til he winced, mouth widened in a silent cry, and his fingers slipped from his cock. Your face, narrowed and harsh, scowled.

“Oh no,” you said, almost tutted. “You don’t get to finish until I say so.”

“W-what?” His voice was high with incredulity, breathless with betrayal. “Why?” You couldn’t ignore the sound of betrayal, of injustice, in Spencer’s voice. It made something between your legs tighten. You leaned closer, and, as if to mirror you, so did Spencer.

“Because I wanna see you screaming and crying and begging by the time I’m through with you.”

You scarcely gave Spencer time to unpack your statement before you took his softening member between your lips and slid your tongue across the tip. Spencer cried out, hips rutting up in reflex, his body acting if it’s own accord. He gasped, breath knocked out of him.

You could taste salt as your lips engulfed the tip, allowing Spencer the small mercy of accustoming himself to this new feeling before overloading him. It was potent, viscous and sticky, having dried some before you book him into your mouth. You sucked, gently, and watched Spencer’s face scrunch up, his teeth bared as the foreign feeling of being touched by someone other than himself settled in his core. You hummed, the vibration causing Spencer to groan, his vein to twitch.

Your tongue lay flat against the side of his member as you mother the tip, descending an inch and taking more of him into your waiting cavern. You know Spencer would be long, but after what you’d seen — felt — you knew he would be a challenge. And you weren’t one to back down.

“(Y-Y/N)”, Spencer whispered. “Please, please— suck me,”

He didn’t have to ask you twice.

You filled your lungs with as much air as they could carry and took another inch. Spencer jumped, a shock of euphoria, and clenched his fists. Gasped. You sucked. Hard. Spencer cried out, moaned, his back arching and forcing another inch into you. You suppressed a gag as he grew closer to the back of your throat, focussing instead on tracing his most prominent vein with your tongue.

“Right there—“ he gasped, “Please, don’t stop,”

His pleading was difficult to ignore. Dismiss. You sucked, pulled yourself up to his tip before plunging back down on him again. A ceaseless, remorseless rhythm. And Spencer could only let it happen. Your name fell from between his lips just as you’d always pictured it would; pleading and desperate. Anguished at the prospect of denial. He writhed beneath your touch, held down only by your hands gripping his thighs, inching closer and closer to his with every passing second, leaving crescent grooves in the sensitive skin just shy of his groin.

Your cheeks, hollowed, showcased an enthusiasm — and competition — you’d never exhibited before. Your steadfast need to be Spencer’s first and last; to be all that he could ever dream and more. To show him he’ll never have it as good as you can give him.

On a withdrawal, you took a deep breath and, preparing yourself for what was about to come next, took more of him, swallowed an inch or two more. The tip of your nose was tickled by dark, curled hairs. You persevered, the warmth of Spencer’s body drawing you in. You could smell the soap he’d used to wash himself with earlier that day.

At the sudden engulfment, Spencer gasped, his hips lifting as his stomach tightened, spasmed. He only seemed able to return to form when you squeezed his thighs, a silent command. You could feel him twitching. He’d be close soon. Very soon. And you had no intention of stopping him this time.

With a sly hand, your fingers slid closer to Spencer’s groin until you were just a centimetre from your goal. You looked up at him from beneath your lashes, saw the effect you were having on him: panting, moaning, forehead beading with sweat and his eyes welded shut as he tried to acclimatise to this gifted euphoria — to the many shades of ecstasy you draped him in. Your name was a spell written on his tongue, your touch the key that fit into his soul. His missing link. Everything he’s ever needed.

With slow, creeping fingers, you slid your palm beneath Spencer’s member, felt for what you were searching for. Found them.

You wrapped your fingers around his balls, and, at the unforeseen contact, Spencer let out a shrill gasp, jumping as you handled the sensitive skin. Your heart almost leapt into your throat as Spencer’s movement disrupted your rhythm, and you stopped. His eyes shot open and he stiffened. You glared back up at him, all that you needed to say written in your stare. Sit back down. Now.

And, as you ran your thumb over the skin, gently, Spencer’s breathing evened out. The ebbing of his phantom orgasm reminded him of all he needed to do. He sat back against the sofa for what you would make sure would be the last time. With a firm band, you let Spencer know exactly how little authority he had here. You gave his balls a squeeze. His half-lidded eyes glued shut once again as any neglect he may have been feeling faded away, replaced instead by a spasming between his legs, a twitching in his cock. You felt it, too. You almost grinned.

You resumed your pace before Spencer’s orgasm could elude him for a second time, sucking his cock, slipping your tongue in the groove of his tip, tasting the salty residue as it collected in your throat, just thin enough to cling to the inside. A reminder. And your handling of his testicles left Spencer almost welding himself to the sofa, pushing himself further and further into the fabric; anything to prolong this feeling — to not lose his sanity as you brought him hurtling towards salvation.

He was leaking profusely, practically draining himself of his fluids as his body clenched and perspired and quivered beneath your touch. Spencer wasn’t even forming words anymore, your name lost amidst the newly-formed tears bundling and streaking his cheeks; the half-thoughts and breathless moans that permeated the room, reminded you that this was in fact real. And, in the last moments before Spencer’s crashing end, you looked up at him.

Breathtaking may have been an understatement;  with his brunette tendrils sprawled behind him, his hairline and forehead dampened with sweat, tears slipping from between his eyes, he could have been the attribute — the image — of Humanity’s greatest Vices: Lust.

You knew you were in the last stretch. You just had to bring it home.

Gorging yourself on Spencer’s aching, sobbing member, you massages his balls in your hand, your fingers pulsing around them, squeezing them, moulding them. The ache in your throat and your jaw scarcely reached your mind as you dedicated yourself to breaking Spencer. Once and for all. And, as he practically wept, chest heaving and stuttering as he cried, panted, moaned, you swallowed, tightly, around his cock, making sure the tightest part of your throat engulfed his swollen tip.

Time stopped. Spencer’s jaw unhinged, his back arched, his heels dug into the floor. A second passed. Then, a strangled, wanton, anguished moan tore from the depths of his very being, a banshee scream as something within him snapped. Then, ecstasy. Sheer, unencumbered euphoria — the likes of which his infinitely ingenious mind couldn’t even begin to conjure.

“(Y-Y/N)!“ he cried, his voice tangling about your name like vines, tethering his very soul to you, your angel touch. Thick ropes of semen flowed from his tip, stray beads filling your mouth, coating your tongue, while the rest slid down your throat. You swallowed, both to prolong the waves of Spencer’s orgasm — the sculpture of Desire his face has become — and to glean the viscosity, the rawness, of Spencer’s load. Every time you swallowed, he moaned, helpless, his voice losing power with every excursion. Wilting. Leaving him capable now only of whining when your throat constricted him, milked him for all he was worth.

A minute passed. Spencer remained pinned to the sofa, weighted by his own fatigue. His eyes were no longer bolted shut but rather seemed to rest, the harsh lines protruding from the corners as he clenched them tightly receding, leaving him with an expression of the most serene. His cock still twitched every once in a while, but you could feel him softening by the second. He was spent, that much you knew. You withdrew, slowly, making sure that the both of you heard the obscene friction between your cum-coated tongue and his saliva-sodden member, ensuring you left a parting flick of your tongue across his slit, sending a jolt through him.

You sat back on your calves, panted. The haze which had overcome you, driven you to the extreme of taking Spencer to the edge of insanity and back, was beginning to settle, solidifying and sealing away your  possessive streak until it would be called into enlistment again. The taste of Spencer lingered in your mouth, beneath the crevices of your aching tongue, between your teeth. Your cheeks, tinted warm with exertion, we’re hot to the touch, your forehead moist with beads of sweat. Evidence of your doings.

Eventually, his breathing evening out, Spencer cracked his eyes open, chocolate pupils glistening, as if lit by the illumination of a third, newly opened eye. Realisation. He swallowed, Adam’s apple dipping and rising, and licked his lips.

“Did—“ his voice rasped. He flinched. “Did you finish?”

You suppressed a laugh and opted instead for a smile. For a super genius, Spencer really didn’t know much. You brushed the gap between his thighs, rested your arms atop them like planks of wood, and perched your chin atop them.

“That’s not how it works, Spence,” you said. The heat between your legs was receding, though a wetness remained, threaded into the fabric of your underwear. You shifted, tried to move so you couldn’t feel it. “But thank you for your consideration.”

Spencer looked down at you beneath hooded eyes. Light no longer danced in them with lust, an internal partner. Instead, something else dwelled.

A fractional whimsy, perhaps. Or…

Eagerness.

“Why don’t you teach me how it works, then?”

Your gaze, softening as fatigue overtook you, sharpened. Your brow furrowed, lips parted. Pupils dilated.

You were surprised.

When you didn’t say anything, Spencer leaned forward, finally able to muster the strength to do so, and met you. The top of his nose, button, tapped yours. He smiled. A watery, uncertain, yet enthused smile.

Regardless of how scarcely you believed it — how confident your dear, sweet, inexperienced Spencer had become — you refused to let the chance pass you by. And you smiled, wide and unabashed, and, one hand coming to grip his tie, you pressed your nose to his, peered into his eyes.

“I’d like nothing more, Doctor Reid,” you said, pulling him in by his tie and pressing your lips to his. And there, you could feel his smile broaden.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[reactivebangtan]

Can I ask for 46, and 37, but like.....fluffy??? (With Namjoon and his flight attendant girlfriend?......what do you mean "self serving" and "weirdly specific"?) (Btw I've followed this blog for such a long time and I'm so happy you're coming back! Tbh I've missed you 🤷‍♀️💛💛💛)

send me a number and a member and i’ll write a drabble or one-shot based off of it.

#37: ‘ stop being so attractive. ’#46: ‘ help me find my shirt. ’‘ you know, as much as i want to… i don’t want to. ’

comments: i hope you know i watched several videos on being a flight attendant just so i know at least slightly what it’s like just for you and this one-shot

coming home after a long string of flights always felt euphoric – you would put it up there with the high of just getting off a terrifying roller coaster, seeing a live concert of your favorite band and probably sex. needless to say, finally sleeping in your own bed and seeing your boyfriend were among the best feelings you could think of. so, one might understand that leaving all of that was always incredibly, incredibly difficult.

and, namjoon never tried to make it any easier.

the few times you got a sudden and unexpected call in to a flight were always the worst, but the morning before you knew you had to leave were almost as bad. with those, he had time to ruminate on his way to try and make you stay. of course, you could never blame him… you both barely had time to see one another with both of your careers taking you to such different places, all the time. what you were grateful for was namjoon’s unending patience with the both of you – sure, he tried to make you stay, but he always understood when you couldn’t. he always told you he’d be waiting for you to return, always sending you off with an ‘ i’ll miss you ’… but, that still didn’t stop him from trying.this morning was no different… you could feel his hand tracing up the curve of your spine, his eyes probably still half-closed and the softest, gentlest smile on his face. somehow, someway, he made the mornings feel easy… before he didn’t.“your alarm is about to go off.”of course he can tell you’re awake, because he always seems to know everything – or maybe he just observed you so much that he knew all your tells. it could’ve been the way your breathing changed or a shift in your body, but he always knew.“i think my body knows you’re gonna give me a hard time about getting out of bed. we need the extra few minutes,” you say, teasingly.“or maybe it’s an extra few minutes for us to savor each other…” and he says it with that smirk that makes you weak in the knees and you almost feel your will to get up and pack leaving you without even seeing it yet.finally, you turn over to graze over his face with your eyes, reaching up to cup his cheek and gaze at him in that way that makes him weak in the knees. that smirk you so love turns into that smile you so love, dimpling his cheeks as his hand covers yours and you’re reminded once again how warm he is, inside and out.he almost shivers at the way you trace his full lips with your index finger and you feel the way his smile widens underneath your touch and the way he inhales slowly as you inch towards him. he’s expecting your lips laid against his, savoring the taste of each other in just the way he suggested – taking these few precious moments and spending them in the best way. his eyes even flutter shut at your newfound proximity, you feel the way he leans in towards you, the way he gives himself to you so easily.and, just like that… you pull away when he’s vulnerable and isn’t fast enough to drag you back in.“nope!” popping the ‘p’ as you slide out of bed just fast enough that his reach misses you completely once he catches up with what you’ve just done.the deep vibrato of his chuckle mixes with your lilted giggle and he nearly trips over himself to chase after you, the clumsy ‘stomp, stomp, stomp’ of his feet and the gentle patter of yours making their way to your bathroom in quick succession. a gasp slips past past your lips when you feel his strong arm wrap around your middle and tug you back into his body, but you don’t bother struggling or fighting his embrace -- as much as you need to get ready, you both know that you don’t want to.still, you vocalize that you must: “joon! i need to get ready. you know i have to be at the airport early. let go and help me find my shirt!”“you know...” he drawls it out, right into your ear. “as much as i want to... i don’t want to.”and, he always has a way with words -- the way to your heart, to your stomach, to your thighs -- but something about that simple statement had you tumbling back into bed with him for another hour.another hour that you didn’t have, but an hour you made up by rushing faster than you ever thought you could in your life. you get mascara on your eyelid and your shirt is tucked in a little crooked under your blazer, but you make it work, like you always do.and, he makes up for that by sending you a love letter in the form of a voice note over text:“i hope you land safely, wherever you’re going. and, i was going to apologize for this morning, because i know you hate rushing... but i decided i wasn’t going to. not because i don’t feel bad, but because i don’t want to apologize for wanting to spend as much time with you as i can. i miss you. i know you miss me, too... the time apart never makes me regret it, though. the waiting, the yearning... it never gets old and i’ll never get tired of it, because it’s with you -- it’s for you. so, i’m not going to apologize... i’m not gonna say sorry, because i’m gonna tug you back into bed and say as many sweet things into your ear as i can until i feel you give in to me. i’ll do it next time and the time after that and every time after that, too. anything to get that extra five minutes between you being there and you being gone...i love you. fly high, baby... i’ll see you when you come home, to me.”

[palimpsessed]

I have a question for you because you are SO GOOD at analyzing awtwb. Can you explain the “is this what people do?” Thinking that Simon is going through? Most of the things he goes through I see reflected in myself or people I know, but I haven’t seen that before. I would love to know all your thoughts on that?

Hi, Anon! Thanks for sending this ask and for your kind words about my analysis. ❤️

I would love to talk about "is this what people do"!

I'm going to give you my take, and then I'm going to include some thoughts from a friend who isn't on tumblr. Let’s dive in!

Simon asks "is this what people do" because he truly doesn't know what people do. He knows how to be a Chosen One, but he doesn't know how to be a person. He's spent the bulk of his life up until this point as a weapon. He understands how to fight, how to protect those around him, how to sacrifice himself, but he doesn't really understand living for the sake of living. In my answer to another ask, I talked about how Simon doesn't know how to be at peace. I think that's applicable here, too.

Part of what Simon struggles with so much in the time between the end of CO and the beginning of WS is how to live without having a defined purpose, a "mission". He's lost a lot of things that he allowed to define his sense of self, and now he has to sort out who he is without all of that. We see him start to make progress with living for the sake of living in WS: going on a roadtrip to a place he's always wanted to see; being silly and flirting at the Renaissance Faire and walking around with his wings out; flying over Utah, getting to feel the wind in his face and under his wings. But most of the time, he's still struggling with being at peace—living without a mission. Living for himself.

The WS epilogue tells us: "This is what happens if you try to hang on after the end…the pages go blank...Simon Snow's [story] is over." There's no established arc for a hero post-final battle—there's no set narrative or expectations for this point in Simon's life and he's struggling in the uncertainty of it all. He's also struggling with the lingering trauma from years of neglect, exploitation, and violence.

There's a reason the gang literally goes off the map in WS—there is no guide for this part of their journey, and, at least for Simon, doing the "normal" expected thing at this time (getting a flat, going to university, making new friends) isn't working for him. He doesn't have any idea what to do with his life now—this part was never planned out for him. As a child in care and then a boy soldier, Simon never had agency over himself. He was responsible for the fate of the World of Mages and saving all of magic, but he wasn't ever allowed to be responsible for himself. I don't mean that Simon doesn't know how to take care of himself—I'd argue he's the most self-sufficient and practically-minded of the gang because of all the time he was left to fend for himself. But Simon is going out into the world as an adult and there isn't someone else to tell him what to do anymore. (This is something we all face at some point growing up, but it's definitely more extreme in his case!) Don't get me wrong. Being in control of his own life is a really good thing for Simon, but it also leaves him without any idea of how to navigate through life. Someone else has always been there to give him orders or to give him a plan, but we see all of the plans in WS fall apart.

In AWTWB, Simon tries move forward with a new plan—one he thinks is best for everyone—fracturing his relationships with the two most important people in his life while also attempting to make a clean break from magic. It's the wrong thing to do, even if it's something that needs to happen. From the end of CO to the start of AWTWB, Simon chooses to do nothing, because he's afraid. Then he does the wrong thing, also out of fear.

Instead of fighting, which is what he's always done before, Simon allows fear to keep him from acting, allows fear to drive him away from what's important. Simon didn't fear dying as a child in the course of his heroic deeds, but he does fear a future spent with the people he loves (it's "frightening"). He fears it because it’s “uncertain” and he doesn't think he can hold onto it (“I never believed I’d get to keep you”). He doesn't think he has a right to try.

"Is this what people do" is Simon trying. It's him trying with Baz, specifically. Simon is scared because he and Baz are in unknown territory, and he cares so much about making things work between them. He knows how much there is to lose. He just doesn’t know what he needs to do to hold on to Baz. He doesn’t really have any idea what a healthy relationship looks like. I know I’ve seen discussions about how Simon never had proper relationship modeling. (@mostlymaudlin has addressed this and other aspects of Simon’s previous relationship experience with Agatha in this post that is highly relevant and I also just recommend it.) Yes, Simon has prior experience with Agatha, but he didn’t know what he was doing in that relationship either and he tells Baz that his experience with her doesn’t come anywhere close to his feelings for Baz. With Agatha, Simon saw a nebulous “happy ending” without knowing what that happy ending was going to look like, nor how he was going to get there. He has no idea of the reality of a healthy relationship or how to do the hard work to maintain it. This is what both Simon and Baz are learning in AWTWB.

When the refrain comes up, it's always in response to a milestone that Simon and Baz have crossed in their relationship, from (practically) moving in together to being intimate.

Simon is mentally taking a step back and looking at his relationship with Baz. He's looking at the things they're doing, as a couple. Things they've not managed to do before, or things they have done that he hasn't given himself the space to process—something he admits he never did with Agatha. Simon asking the question "is this what people do" encapsulates so much: Is this what life and love looks like for other people? For us? Is this what I'm supposed to be doing? What we're supposed to be doing? How do I feel about what’s happening now? What do I want to happen? Is this how two people love each other?

The ways in which the refrain shifts over the course of the book show us how Simon's thinking shifts as his relationship with Baz progresses. And at the end, the refrain has changed from a question into a statement. Seeing the first and last occurrences next to each other tells so much of the story of Simon's growth.

Chapter 38:

Is this what people do when they're in love? Do they just keep touching and talking? And then what? Like what is it all leading to? I don't mean sex, I mean…

If I knew what I meant, it wouldn't be so frightening.

I'm living second by second.

Chapter 82:

This is what people do.

They get close and try to stay there.

They stay.

They keep trying to hold on to each other...this is what they do. They keep trying.

…This is what people do. This is what we'll do. Baz and me.

…"Stay with me."

"I will."

This shift in confidence is subtle, but it is such a big deal! Simon has gone from not being able to think about the future at all to promising Baz that he will stay with him and keep trying in their relationship. He's answered the question for himself!!! He’s figured out how to try for Baz. The thing is, in the end, it really doesn’t matter what “people” do. It matters what Simon and Baz do, because they’re the ones who are doing this together, for each other. They have plenty of time to figure out how “what people do” is going to look for them.

Now I want to add some thoughts shared by RooBadley in the conversations we've had about "is this what people do". I always appreciate getting Roo's take on things, and I completely agree with them on this. (Do yourself a favor and check out Roo's AO3 if you haven't already.)

"the subtlety of [is this what people do is] a reflection of [Simon’s] queerness/a touchstone universal queer youth experience (is this what it's supposed to be like? I dunno, I've never seen A Person Like Me get to have a happy/healthy/normal relationship). Is this what (queer) people do? Am I doing it right?"

and...

"I've ruminated more on that statement as reference to the queer experience and I feel like there's more evidence to support that reading. we know he's had sex with Agatha (and he's woke/attentive enough to know about peeing to prevent UTI's, so clearly he knows what straight, penetrative sex is) and there's that lovely line at the start about Dr Wellbelove giving him the birds & bees talk, but leaving some things out (I love that bit) And he's so confident when he's talking with Baz about having had sex with Agatha, like, he knows what they did. It's just with Baz that he's suddenly in self-doubt "is this..." Land"

Reading this take from Roo about a universal queer youth experience definitely hit home for me. I think Rainbow did a superb job of speaking to multiple experiences with Simon’s journey and in treating that journey with so much care. I think it’s amazing that we get to see this part of the story, this aftermath and healing, because it really isn’t part of the established story arc we’re used to and it really should be. Like you said in your ask, Anon, we’ve all had lived experiences that help us see ourselves in these characters, and to watch them struggle and persevere and succeed is incredibly important.

If anyone has anything they’d like to add on, or another question to ask, as always, please feel free to do so! I will never get enough of talking about this book! ❤️

[minor-solemnity]

Curiosity pt.6

“Are you implying that I’m not good enough to blackmail?” Which well, that maybe isn’t what you should be annoyed by.

A month passes. You don’t talk in class, just keep your head bowed low, eyes fixed firmly on the ground. You ignore Tom in the hallways and in the lessons you share. You suppose that you should probably revert to calling him Riddle, but referring to a man you’ve had sex with by their last name, even in the comfort of your own head, makes you feel dirty.  

He tries to talk to you twice. He doesn’t try a third time.

You don’t tell Marie or Stephanie what’s transpired between you and Tom and eventually, they stop asking. You’re content to let them believe that whatever courtship or relationship they thought had been budding between the two of you had died. It’s easier to pretend that you’re just sad that you’ve missed your chance with Hogwarts’ most sought after bachelor. The truth is so much more complicated. 

The last of the bitter Scottish winter gives way into Spring and with it comes blue skies, crisp winds, and luscious greenery. Stephanie’s attention is fixed firmly on the final quidditch matches of the school year and Marie begins her yearly fretting over exams. You’re left in blessed peace to ruminate on and stew in your own misery. 

It’s far too early on a Saturday for you to be up, but the Great Hall is always empty until at least nine on the weekends and you’ve taken to avoiding large crowds lest you accidentally run into him. As expected, you’re alone save for the ghosts this morning. You’re stirring honey into your tea when a shadow falls over you. You don’t look up. The shadow coughs politely. You glower at your tea. The shadow sighs and there are footsteps and the sound of someone taking a seat opposite you. When you finally look up, Tom is watching you intently. Merlin, it’s so frustratingly easy to get distracted looking at him. The first thing you notice (and you hate that you do) is that he looks somewhat tense. His expression is a mask of polite indifference and his hands rest casually on the table in front of him but there is a tautness to his posture, as though he’s steeling himself for a fight. 

You think that that should please you. At one point, it definitely would have done, but right now you’re still too raw from the events of a month ago to feel anything other than resigned fatigue at his appearance. “You’ve been ignoring me.” He says, and though his tone is placid you can detect a hint of something hard lacing his consonants. 

“What good observational skills you have. Though that’s hardly a surprise, seeing as I’ve been on the receiving end of your interest for months at this point.” The anger at your own stupidity and his manipulation rears its head once more and you’re somewhat taken aback by how much venom has crept into your voice.

“Perhaps, if you’d let me explain-” 

“No.” You cut him off, gathering your things and shoving them into your bag with more force than is strictly necessary. “No, I will not let you explain. I think you made yourself perfectly clear the last time. You have what you want, your curiosity is sated. You have your own blackmail material on me, should you ever feel the need to use it, and all it took was-” You can’t finish the sentence. All it took was a little flattery and his clever tongue touching and playing with you until you’d… Really, it had taken nothing at all. “I don’t know what else you could possibly need to explain to me. I understand what I am to you and what this entire thing was about. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you just leave me alone.” You don’t hang around to see understanding dawn on Tom’s face, nor do you hang around to see resolve settle firmly on his shoulders.

Fifteen minutes later you’re sat with your arms wrapped tightly around your knees underneath a yew tree by the lake, your bag thrown haphazardly a few feet away. You stare at the lake and determinedly blink back the tears that are threatening to spill down your cheeks. A horrible mix of embarrassment and anger is bubbling in your stomach and your hands shake as you reach down and tug blindly at strands of grass as if they are what your ire is directed at. Merlin, you’ve been stupid. Incredibly, horrendously stupid. You’d known that Riddle was bad news. You hadn’t trusted him from the moment he’d smiled down at you that evening in the dining hall. Almost every meeting between the both of you since had been a constant push and pull, neither of you willing to back down or give way… And now…

Now he has the information that he wanted and the game is up. You’ve lost. And all because somewhere along the line you had forgotten exactly why it was that he’d been interested in you in the first place. You’d let your imagination get the best of you and for a moment you’d let yourself believe that it wasn’t about Mr Larkins anymore. That he was there because of you. Just you and not the secrets that you had tried so hard to keep.

Merlin, what was he going to do with you now that he knew. Blackmailing a teacher (and you have to admit to yourself now that that was exactly what you had been doing) was a serious offence. Enough to get you expelled for sure. Muggles went to prison for blackmail, didn’t they? Would you be sent the Wizengamot? Or would Tom just hold it over your head for eternity? Surely not. He had no use for you now, after all; you can’t keep kidding yourself that he liked or wanted you. You can’t keep kidding yourself that that was part of why this was so painful. 

Beyond the fear you feel for your future, rejection is a bitter pill lodged in the back of your throat. 

“You might appreciate it if I left you alone, but I’d appreciate it if you stopped running away from me.” Tom’s voice is conversational, cheerful almost. You let out a strangled scream of annoyance. He hums a soft little laugh in response. He settles himself down beside you, long legs stretching out in from him, crossed over at the ankle. You notice he’s holding the folder. “You honestly think I’d blackmail you?” He asks, still in that conversational toned and you feel your hackles rise.

“Are you implying that I’m not good enough to blackmail?” Which well, that maybe isn’t what you should be annoyed by.

“You seem intent on misunderstanding everything I have to say, I see.” He says and, at last, something approaching annoyance enters his voice. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s frowning slightly. As in the Great Hall, his posture suggests he’s at ease, he’s taken his tie off and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. But something is lurking beneath his relaxed exterior that suggests he’s nervous. “I have no intention of blackmailing you. At first, perhaps, but not any longer. And…” You drop the pretence of not looking at him entirely and turn full to face him. He doesn’t look at you and you get the impression that whatever he’s trying to say does not come easily. “I apologise if that’s the impression I gave you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise at the apology, which whilst stilted, appears genuine. Then, almost immediately after narrow in suspicion and indignation. “What other impression could you possibly have given me? Apart from, maybe, toying with me for your own amusement.” You ask acidly.

His jaw clenches and you notice dimly that he’s making hardly any effort to hide his emotions. He’s almost an open book. Which is… strange. You’re reminded of all the times that Tom’s treatment of you has left you feeling confused. Confused because he doesn’t act the same way around you as he does with the rest of your peers. He’ll put on a facade of politeness, sometimes, but it usually unravels within minutes. You’ve watched him charm and flatter the worst of your professors, that small careful smile never faltering until they’re putty in his hands.

He’s tried to intimidate, taunt, and seduce you but he’s never tried to charm you. The realisation hits you harder than you’d like. But so what that Tom doesn’t seem to think you’re worth the effort? Does it matter that he drops his perfect little persona around you? Yes, the quiet, treacherously hopeful voice in your mind whispers, yes it matters. Of course, it matters.

“That we were having fun, perhaps?” He says at last and he looks pained just saying it. As though telling you that some part of him had enjoyed your company and had assumed that you enjoyed his is physically uncomfortable to admit. Maybe it is. “That I believed you and I had some level of understanding regarding our relationship?” 

You ask incredulously, “Has this been your way of flirting with me, Tom?” At the sound of his name on your lips, he turns to face you and you can practically see him come undone. His throat constricts around a swallow and you can’t stop yourself from tracing the column of his neck to where his collarbones, surprisingly delicate and sharp protrude from the collar of his open shirt with your eyes. He follows your gaze intently. “You never tried to charm me.” You murmur, finally bring your gaze to meet his.

“I’ve only ever been honest with you,” He replies, his voice equally soft. An admission that his persona is mostly a lie, used to trick and manipulate everyone else. Maybe that should put you off, make you turn away from him for good. It doesn’t. “You can’t blame me for wanting to know you when the few things I did know were so interesting. You can’t blame me for liking you more when I found out the rest.” It’s strange, knowing that the parts of you that usually stop people from liking or trusting you are what draws him to you. Then again, maybe it isn’t strange at all. You’re remarkably similar in so many ways, after all. “I thought, perhaps, that you regretted it.” Regretted me, is what he means. Is what he won’t say. Is what you hear nonetheless. 

You’ll need to talk more later; you need to know what he intends to do with the knowledge of your blackmailing schemes but later. Right now… You lick your lower lip and you don’t miss the way he tracks the movement. “I don’t. Regret it.” He nods once, a short decisive shake of his head. You’ve made up your mind. “You should kiss me now.” And he does. He shifts and suddenly you’re being dragged to his side, one large hand curving around your waist and another cupping your jaw, his fingers tangling in your hair. 

You feel like maybe, you’ve just won the best kind of game there is.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

[honeyhan-123]

What You Can’t See

Summary: Bucky doesn’t understand how you could think were were just a one night stand. 

Warnings: Non-con/Dubcon, dark yandere Bucky, stalking. 

Word Count: 3.3k

AN: So a few months ago the lovely and incredibly talented @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ gave me the title prompt ‘What You Can’t See’ and I’ve only just gotten around to writing it. This was also a request from my lovely purple and black love heart nonny who has disappeared recently, but I hope you enjoy. The prompt will be in bold. 

My Masterlist

Your thighs ache in the best possible way as you gingerly slip from the bed, careful not to disturb the man still between the sheets. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep but he had been insatiable last night and you had been more than willing to let him use you until you lost consciousness. But now with the sun streaming in through the blinds, your mind was of a different volition. Now it was time to go. 

You spared him one last glance as you crept towards his bedroom door and the desire to take a photo almost overpowered you. He looked so serene as he slept, his long brown hair tousled over the pillow and his body lacking any trace of the ruminating thoughts you knew he had carried around all night. A small part of you wanted to climb back into bed with him but you knew that’s not what this was, and it would be better for everyone if you saved yourself from the morning-after embarrassment. So you made your way out of his small apartment and out onto the bustling streets of Brooklyn, vowing to yourself that you wouldn’t become one of those girls obsessed with some guy they slept with once.

+

Bucky awoke slowly. It had been by far the best night’s sleep he had had in over seventy years. A smile was on his face as he reached consciousness and remembered the feel of your body underneath his. It had been better than he had ever expected even if it hadn’t happened quite the way he had been planning. Bumping into you at the bar Sam had dragged him to had been a complete coincidence but he wasn’t going to complain. He felt a stir between his thighs as he remembered the way you had felt wrapped around his cock as he had you in the bathroom of the dingy bar and then again and again back at his place. 

His hands trailed along the bed as he searched for your body, desperate to hear your moans of pleasure once more before he had to head into the tower. Mentally he was cursing Maria for calling a mission briefing on the weekend but he knew if he didn’t go they would expect the worst. Bucky’s smile soon fell off his face as his hands continued to search, only to find cold sheets. His eyes flew open and to his dismay, you had gone. 

Immediately he threw back the sheets and got out of bed, not even bothering to pull on some clothes as he searched his apartment. He was desperately wishing that you had just gotten out of bed to go to the bathroom, or better yet he would find you in the kitchen wearing nothing but his shirt as you whipped up some breakfast. He stupidly hoped that you would be making those pancakes he had seen you make a week ago when a friend had come over. He knew that if given the opportunity he would be very creative with the whipped cream you had coated your pancakes with. 

Even though a small part of him had known as soon as he woke up that you were gone, his heart still ached as he entered the empty kitchen. Why had you left? He knew it definitely wasn't because you hadn’t had a good time last night. He had lost count of how many times you had cum before he dared focus on himself. So why the fuck had you left? 

And what was he meant to do with his raging hard on now? Going back to using his hand after last night seemed like the worst trade off in the world. 

He let out a sigh of annoyance before heading to the shower, waiting the briefing to be over already. The scalding hot water dripped down his body as he fisted his cock, dreaming up images of what he’d do when he rocked up at your apartment that night.

+

The sky was darkening, the golden streaks of sunset slowly disappearing and turning into a twinkling twilight when Bucky finally made it to your apartment. The briefing had lasted hours and then he hadn’t been able to come up with a good enough excuse to get out of training with Sam afterwards. Even though over the months the Birdman had started to grow on him, his constant teasing throughout the day about where Bucky had disappeared off to the night before was getting on his nerves. He didn’t want Sam making such lewd assumptions about you.  Not that they weren’t entirely correct. 

He was glad that he had briefly stolen your keys to make his own copy a month ago. It made getting into your building much easier. The large pastry filled box was slightly awkward to carry as he climbed the numerous flights of stairs towards you since the elevator was out of order, just like it had been for the last few months. He cursed your landlord for not giving a shit about the people living in his building but he reconciled it with the fact that soon he would take you far away from here. Soon everything would be different. 

His fist rapped on your door and he tried to wait as patiently as he could for you to open it. He had no qualms about using his own set of keys to get into your apartment but he figured he should at least try and do this normally. 

When the door finally cracked open Bucky could hear your gasp as you recognised him beyond the chain. ‘B-Bucky? What… What are you doing here?’ You seemed lost and confused and Bucky wanted to take those feelings away immediately. He knew that he would be able to help you. 

‘Well I had planned on taking you out to breakfast this morning but you kind of ran out on me before I got this chance, so I figured I would bring breakfast to you.’ He held up the mint green cardboard box from BreadClub so you could see the pastries inside. 

If you seemed shocked before, now you were doubly so. ‘But… how did you know where I live?’

Bucky forced himself to laugh when in reality all he wanted to do was break down your door so he could hold you. ‘Doll, I’m an Avenger. It’s not that hard to do a background check.’ 

‘Oh… right yeah I forgot about that. But still… what are you doing here?’

‘I just told you. I wanted to bring you some breakfast.’ His patience was starting to wean as you continued to keep the door between you. 

‘Yeah, I got that. But what are you doing here? Don't you have somewhere else to be? Some Earth-ending event to stop?’ Your brows were furrowed as you spoke and Bucky could hear the fear starting to lace your words.

‘Nope. I’m exactly where I need to be.’

‘But why? I mean… we just had sex. We both got super drunk and hooked up. I don’t understand why you’re here. It was just a one-night stand.’ 

At this Bucky snapped and banged his fist against the door, forcing it open. The chain that had been in place snapped as easily as twigs underfoot. ‘Just a one-night stand? Oh Dollface you have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you seriously think that I would take just anybody back to my place for a quick fuck? I knew the moment I first laid eyes on you in that coffee shop you were meant to be mine. You’re more than just a one-night stand to me; you’re mine.’ 

Bucky felt as though he could almost hear the memory echoing around in your head and recognition flashed across your eyes. It hurt slightly that you hadn’t thought of that moment nearly as much as he had, but Bucky didn’t mind. From that moment on, his life had been changed. It was a change as irrecoverable as falling from that snow covered train all those years ago. 

He snapped the door shut behind him as he stalked inside your apartment, inwardly hurting as you retreated back a few paces. But that would change. You would come to love him just as he had you. ‘I brought us some pastries from the bakery around the corner, BreadClub. I know it’s your favourite. I figured they would keep our energy up tonight.’ 

‘Our energy? Bucky, I don’t know what you’re doing here but I would like you to leave. You’re starting to scare me.’ 

Bucky let out a humourless laugh, amazed at how you still didn’t seem to understand. ‘Dollface, I’m not going anywhere, not now, not ever. So why don’t you be a good little girl and lead me to your bedroom. After having you last night, I just can’t seem to get enough.’ 

When you had made no effort to move, too stunned by his presence, a flash of annoyance crept over Bucky’s face. He had been waiting for this all day, hell, he’d been waiting for this for months. He wasn’t about to let you ruin his plans. He would show you just how good together you were; how you were made for him. 

‘C’mon Dollface. Just take me to your bedroom and then we can both enjoy ourselves. I know you had a good time last night and that was while you were drunk. It’ll be so much better when you're drunk off of me.’ Heat flushed your cheeks as his words reminded you of the dingy bathroom stall where he had first taken you and then of his kitchen counter where he had eaten you out for hours before finally taking you back to his bedroom. You tried to ignore the tell tale tingy between your thighs as you relived the memories. That was not happening again. This man was clearly delusional. 

You watched as he inhaled deeply through his nose, a smirk gracing his sinful pink lips.’Oh Sweetheart, you want it, you want it bad.’ You blanched at the idea of him being able to smell you and quickly tried to deny it.

‘No I don’t Bucky. What I want is for you to leave. I’ll… I’ll call the cops.’ You tried to make yourself seem braver than you felt but any bravado you had mustered up quickly vanished when Bucky let out a bark of laughter.

‘You’ll call the cops and what? Tell them an Avenger is fucking your brains out? They wouldn’t believe you, and even if they did, by the time they sent a patrol car around I’ll have you begging for more. So why don’t you quit wasting everyone’s time and just be a good girl.’ 

You hadn’t noticed the tears starting to pool in your eyes as he spoke but you blamed them for blocking your vision as you made a mad dash around him. You barely got two feet to the door before his strong arms wrapped around your waist and he hoisted you up onto his broad shoulder. 

If he felt any of the kicks or punches you tried to land on him, he didn’t show it as he walked purposely through your tiny apartment towards your bedroom. No matter how loud you screamed, you doubted any of your neighbours would come and check on you, you didn’t exactly live in the best part of the city. 

You felt the air rush beneath your body as he threw you down onto the mattress. You bounced for a moment before trying to scramble away from him, only to be trapped by his legs coming to straddle your body beneath his. 

‘C’mon Dollface. You know I really didn’t want it to be like this but if you’re not going to be reasonable, I’m just going to have to show you I mean business.’ You didn’t bother responding to him. Instead you just sucked a deep breath in and screamed as loudly as you could, desperate to get anyone’s attention. 

Your scream didn’t get far however as his hand quickly clamped down on your throat, the cool metal pressing against your jugular, cutting off your air. ‘I am only going to say this once, so listen up. You. Are. Mine. And I am not going to leave until you realise that, okay Sweetheart?’ 

Panic seeped through your veins as he pulled out a long flick knife from his bomber jacket. He wasted no time in pressing the cool metal to the skin of your navel and you barely dared to breath and he slid it up and under your top before yanking it up fiercely, tearing through the thin material.

‘Oh, now that’s what I’m talking about. That right there. That’s why I can’t leave you alone, you’re too fuckin’ gorgeous.’ You recalled him saying similar things the night before, peppering your senses with little compliments continuously as he was inside you. It had made you feel incredibly sexy last night, but now it had an entirely different effect. ‘Well actually…’ his hand reached up to cup your jaw gently. ‘It’s only part of the reason.’ 

You felt your cheeks flush with heat as you registered his words and you cursed his silver tongue. How could he be saying such sweet things to you while this was happening? How dare he try and be the prince charming you had longed for in all your previous relationships when in reality he was the devil in disguise. 

His knife made quick work of your sleep shorts and your panties too. You felt the warmth of his hand against your most intimate parts as he groaned. ‘I knew you wanted me Doll. You’re so fucken wet for me. Just for me. Such a good girl, responding to me like this.’ You tried to swallow the bile in your throat caused by his words and your body’s betrayal. ‘I told you we belong together.’

His fingers played with your slick, swiping it along your folds and up to your clit where he swirled his fingers. You bucked your hips, whether to get away from his hand or closer to it you weren’t sure. The pleasure he was giving you was just undeniable and no matter how much you hated him in this moment, you could feel the familiar tension building slowly in your abdomen. 

‘You’re close aren’t you Doll? See how good I can make you feel. It could be like this all the time. Just let go and give in, give in to me Baby.’ You tried to shake your head, tried with your last remaining strength to throw him off but you couldn’t. You couldn't do anything but exactly what he said which was give in. 

You gasped for breath as you came, your walls fluttering around nothing as he continued to toy with your clit, unrelenting even as pleasure flowed through your veins. ‘That’s it. That’s a good girl. You’re so good to me Dollface.’ His praise only egged your pleasure on further, a dopey smile taking over your features before you could stop it. 

As blissed out as you were, you somehow hadn’t noticed him undressing with hasty and jerky movements until he was lying back on top of you. ‘All day I’ve been hard just thinking about having you again and now I’m here, I’m basically ready to burst. How embarrassing is that? But don’t worry Dollface, as I proved last night, I’m not just a one and done.’ He smirked down at you as he guided himself to your entrance, finding a very warm and wet welcome. 

‘Oh… Fuck Doll.’ He moaned into your ear, holding himself still once he was fully inside you. ‘You’re so fuckin’ tight, just milking my cock.’ You tried to block out the sinful words spoken as smooth as velvet but you couldn’t hide your body’s reaction. Not from him and not while he was inside you, filling you to the brim. 

Your nails dug into his back as he started moving, slowly pulling out inch by inch before sliding back in again. His pelvis grazed your clit which each move of his hips and you shuddered in his grasp. While the memories of last night were hazy from the copious amount of alcohol you had drunk, you remembered enjoying it and now with him rutting into you, the same feeling of ecstasy started to build. 

As he continued moving, his pace slowly building, the desire to push him off grew less and less. You knew your efforts would be futile as he was far too strong and with the way he was grinding into you, a small part of you didn’t want him to stop.

‘That’s it baby, you’re doing so good.’ His breath brushed against the shell of your ear and you couldn’t hold back the responding moan. ‘You like that huh? Me whispering dirty little things in your ear? It’s just like those audios you use to get yourself off isn’t it?’ 

You had no idea how he knew about those but he was right. His voice was so much more powerful and rich than those unknown ones stored on your phone. ‘You’re never gonna need those other men ever again. You’re mine, and I take care of what’s mine.’ His voice was starting to grow breathless, coming out in sharp bursts. It mingled with the obscene sounds coming from your cunt as he thrusted into you again and again, his balls slapping against your ass as he moved. 

‘I’m so fuckin’ close Doll, need you to cum first though…’ His voice was truly breathless now as he pushed up onto his haunches and wrapped your legs around his waist, never once missing a beat. 

You gasped in shock as you felt his metal hand dip down, in between your legs. His deft fingers played with your arousal, getting coated in it before coming up to your clit and circling it quickly. You fisted the sheets as your toes curled. Your release was so close, you just needed a little bit more. 

‘Play with your tits baby, play with them for me.’ You wanted to tell him to go fuck himself but your body was no longer obeying your brain as your hands came up to cup your chest. ‘Yeah baby, just like that. Such a good girl.’ 

It was his voice that did it, the way it flooded your senses and finally released the knot building in your gut. You couldn’t help the scream that came from your mouth as your walls pulsated around him, trying to milk him dry. ‘Fuck Doll. Fuck, fuck.’ His thrusts grew erratic and you knew he was on the edge. ‘I know your pussy is just begging for my cream but I can’t… God, I can’t fucking wait to fill you up though.’ He groaned out before suddenly pulling free from you. 

His flesh hand fisted his cock with strong and rapid strokes. Once, twice, three times, before his cum spurted out, landing in stips across your tits. The sound that came from his mouth as he worked himself through his orgasm was absolutely sinful and had you rubbing your thighs together subconsciously. The movement was not missed by him as a devious smirk came over his lips as he watched. 

‘Just can’t wait for more can you?’ You hastily shook your head, trying to find your voice as he collapsed beside you, his arms wrapping around your body like a vice. You felt him start to harden once more against your thigh. 

‘Don’t worry Doll, there’ll be plenty more where that came from now that you’re finally mine.’ 

+

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My Masterlist

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: As a beginner in Classics I love your Classicist themed posts. I find your caption perfect posts a lot to think upon. I suppose it’s been more than a few years since you read Classics at Cambridge but my question is do you still bother to read any Classic texts and if so what are you currently reading?

I don’t know whether to be flattered or get depressed by your (sincere) remarks. Thank you so much for reminding me how old I must come across as my youngish Millennial bones are already starting to creak from all my sins of past sport injuries and physical exertions. I’m reminded of what J.R.R Tolkien wrote, “I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.” I know the feeling (sigh).

But pay heed, dear follower, to what Menander said of old age, Τίμα το γήρας, ου γαρ έρχεται μόνον (respect old age, for it does not come alone). Presumably he means we all carry baggage. One hopes that will be wisdom which is often in the form of experience, suffering, and regret. So I’m not ready to trade in my high heels and hiking boots for a walking stick and granny glasses just yet.

To answer your question, yes, I still to read Classical literature and poetry in their original text alongside trustworthy translations. Every day in fact. 

I learned Latin when I was around 8 or 9 years old and Greek came later - my father and grandfather are Classicists - and so it would be hard to shake it off even if I tried.

So why ‘bother’ to read Classics? There are several reasons. First, the Classics are the Swiss Army knife to unpick my understanding other European languages that I grew up with learning. Second, it increases my cultural literacy out of which you can form informed aesthetic judgements about any art form from art, music, and literature. Third, Classical history is our shared history which is so important to fathom one’s roots and traditions. Fourth, spending time with the Classics - poetry, myth, literature, history - inspires moral insight and virtue. Fifth, grappling with classical literature informs the mind by developing intellectual discipline, reason, and logic.

And finally, and perhaps one I find especially important, is that engaging with Classical literature, poetry, or history, is incredibly humbling; for the classical world first codified the great virtues of prudence, temperance, justice, loyalty, sacrifice, and courage. These are qualities that we all painfully fall short of in our every day lives and yet we still aspire to such heights.

I’m quite eclectic in my reading. I don’t really have a method other than what my mood happens to be. I have my trusty battered note book and pen and I sit my arse down to translate passages wherever I can carve out a place to think. It’s my answer to staving off premature dementia when I really get old because quite frankly I’m useless at Soduku. We spend so much time staring at screens and passively texting that we don’t allow ourselves to slow down and think that physically writing gives you that luxury of slow motion time and space. In writing things out you are taking the time to reflect on thoughts behind the written word.

I do make a point of reading Homer’s The Odyssey every year because it’s just one of my favourite stories of all time. Herodotus and Thucydides were authors I used to read almost every day when I was in the military and especially when I went out to war in Afghanistan. Not so much these days. Of the Greek poets, I still read Euripides for weighty stuff and Aristophanes for toilet humour. Aeschylus, Archilochus and Alcman, Sappho, Hesiod, and Mimnermus, Anacreon, Simonides, and others I read sporadically.

I read more Latin than Greek if I am honest. From Seneca, Caesar, Cicero, Sallust, Tacitus, Livy, Apuleius, Virgil, Ovid, the younger Pliny to Augustine (yes, that Saint Augustine of Hippo). Again, there is no method. I pull out a copy from my book shelves and put it in my tote bag when I know I’m going on a plane trip for work reasons.

At the moment I am spending time with Horace. More precisely, his famous odes.

Of all the Greek and Latin poets, I feel spiritually comfortable with Horace. He praises a simple life of moderation in a much gentler tone than other Roman writers. Although Horace’s odes were written in imitation of Greek writers like Sappho, I like his take on friendship, love, alcohol, Roman politics and poetry itself. With the arguable exception of Virgil, there is no more celebrated Roman poet than Horace. His Odes set a fashion among English speakers that come to bear on poets to this day. His Ars Poetica, a rumination on the art of poetry in the form of a letter, is one of the seminal works of literary criticism. Ben Jonson, Pope, Auden, and Frost are but a few of the major poets of the English language who owe a debt to the Roman.

We owe to Horace the phrases, “carpe diem” or “seize the day” and the “golden mean” for his beloved moderation. Victorian poet Alfred Lord Tennyson, of Ancient Mariner fame, praised the odes in verse and Wilfred Owen’s great World War I poem, Dulce et Decorum est, is a response to Horace’s oft-quoted belief that it is “sweet and fitting” to die for one’s country.

Unlike many poets, Horace lived a full life. And not always a happy one. Horace was born in Venusia, a small town in southern Italy, to a formerly enslaved mother. He was fortunate to have been the recipient of intense parental direction. His father spent a comparable fortune on his education, sending him to Rome to study. He later studied in Athens amidst the Stoics and Epicurean philosophers, immersing himself in Greek poetry. While led a life of scholarly idyll in Athens, a revolution came to Rome. Julius Caesar was murdered, and Horace fatefully lined up behind Brutus in the conflicts that would ensue. His learning enabled him to become a commander during the Battle of Philippi, but Horace saw his forces routed by those of Octavian and Mark Antony, another stop on the former’s road to becoming Emperor Augustus.

When he returned to Italy, Horace found that his family’s estate had been expropriated by Rome, and Horace was, according to his writings, left destitute. In 39 B.C., after Augustus granted amnesty, Horace became a secretary in the Roman treasury by buying the position of questor's scribe. In 38, Horace met and became the client of the artists' patron Maecenas, a close lieutenant to Augustus, who provided Horace with a villa in the Sabine Hills. From there he began to write his satires. Horace became the major lyric Latin poet of the era of the Augustus age. He is famed for his Odes as well as his caustic satires, and his book on writing, the Ars Poetica. His life and career were owed to Augustus, who was close to his patron, Maecenas. From this lofty, if tenuous, position, Horace became the voice of the new Roman Empire. When Horace died at age 59, he left his estate to Augustus and was buried near the tomb of his patron Maecenas.

Horace’s simple diction and exquisite arrangement give the odes an inevitable quality; the expression makes familiar thoughts new. While the language of the odes may be simple, their structure is complex. The odes can be seen as rhetorical arguments with a kind of logic that leads the reader to sometimes unexpected places. His odes speak of a love of the countryside that dedicates a farmer to his ancestral lands; exposes the ambition that drives one man to Olympic glory, another to political acclaim, and a third to wealth; the greed that compels the merchant to brave dangerous seas again and again rather than live modestly but safely; and even the tensions between the sexes that are at the root of the odes about relationships with women.

What I like then about Horace is his sense of moderation and he shows the gap between what we think we want and what we actually need. Horace has a preference for the small and simple over the grandiose. He’s all for independence and self-reliance.

If there is one thing I would nit pick Horace upon is his flippancy to the value of the religious and spiritual. The gods are often on his lips, but, in defiance of much contemporary feeling, he absolutely denied an afterlife - which as a Christian I would disagree with. So inevitably “gather ye rosebuds while ye may” is an ever recurrent theme, though Horace insists on a Golden Mean of moderation - deploring excess and always refusing, deprecating, dissuading.

All in all he champions the quiet life, a prayer I think many men and women pray to the gods to grant them when they are caught in the open Aegean, and a dark cloud has blotted out the moon, and the sailors no longer have the bright stars to guide them. A quiet life is the prayer of Thrace when madness leads to war. A quiet life is the prayer of the Medes when fighting with painted quivers: a commodity, Grosphus, that cannot be bought by jewels or purple or gold? For no riches, no consul’s lictor, can move on the disorders of an unhappy mind and the anxieties that flutter around coffered ceilings.

Caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt (they change their sky, not their soul, who rush across the sea.)

Part of Horace’s persona - lack of political ambition, satisfaction with his life, gratitude for his land, and pride in his craft and the recognition it wins him - is an expression of an intricate web of awareness of place. Reading Horace will centre you and get you to focus on what is most important in life. In Horace’s discussion of what people in his society value, and where they place their energy and time, we can find something familiar. Horace brings his reader to the question - what do we value?  

Much like many of our own societies, Rome was bustling with trade and commerce, ambition, and an area of vast, diverse civilisation. People there faced similar decisions as we do today, in what we pursue and why. As many of us debate our place and purpose in our world, our poet reassures us all. We have been coursing through Mondays for thousands of years. Horace beckons us: take a brief moment from the day’s busy hours. Stretch a little, close your eyes while facing the warm sun, and hear the birds and the quiet stream. The mind that is happy for the present should refuse to worry about what is further ahead; it should dilute bitter things with a mild smile.

I would encourage anyone to read these treasures in translations. For you though, as a budding Classicist, read the texts in Latin and Greek if you can. Wrestle with the word. The struggle is its own reward. Whether one reads from the original or from a worthy translation, the moral virtue (one hopes) is wisdom and enlightenment.

Pulvis et umbra sumus

(We are but dust and shadow.)

Thanks for your question.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

12 Days of Shipmas

CM Bingo 2021

Spencer x Reader Blurbs

Spencer x Reader One Shots

Spencer x Read Series

* = authors faves / F = fluff / A = Angst / S = smut

Maxcer

Maxcer Headcanons - domestic/sex life. Requested by Anon. Part of the 12 Days of Shipmas. F / S NSFW 18+

Life is a Highway - after leaving prison, Spencer needs to get away. He never dreamed he would meet a woman who would change everything along the way. Requested by @dreatine F

Wildest Dreams* - Spencer and Max spend one wild night together. But will it leave them wanting more? Requested by Anon. F / S NSFW 18+

Friends - an asshole and a knight in shining armour. Requests by Anon. A / F

10,000 Hours - Spencer just wants to learn everything there is to know about Max. Requested by Anon. F

Prompt #16 - “What’s that sound?” “The sound of my heart breaking.” “Don’t be so dramatic.” Requested by Anon. F

Heart Like Yours - Spencer never thought he would have some like Max love him. But what he never gets to tell her feels the same way? Requested by Anon. A / F

34+35 - Spencer and Max’s first time. Requested by @layaili S / F

Hotchniss

London Doesn't Hold a Candle - with Emily back from London, how will Hotch show her he missed her? Part of the 12 Days of Shipmas and Office Drinks Square for CM Bingo. S

Nobody - meeting Emily's parents doesn't go to plan when all Emily is wants to do is misbehave. Requested by Anon. F / S NSFW 18+

Peace* - a series of chance meetings over the years. Will Emily ever give Aaron some peace? Requested by @ssa-m-187 F

Strawberries and Cigarettes - after Emily has to fake her own death, the only thing that keeps her memory alive for Aaron is the taste of strawberries and cigarettes. Requested by Anon. A / F

South of the Border - a vacation fling is just what Aaron needs to forget about the stresses of his life. Requested by Anon. F / S NSFW 18+

Because of You - Emily Prentiss is a drug to Aaron. And he doesn’t ever want to quit her. Requested by Anon. F / S NSFW 18+

Reidaway

Reidaway Headcanons - prison and post prison. Requested by @dreatine Part of the 12 Days of Shipmas. F

Black Velvet - a chance encounter with a beautiful bartender during a case ignites a flame in Spencer he didn't know existed. Requested by @dreatine F

Other Pairings

All In - Garvez - Garcia likes to know where she stands. Is Luke all in? Requested by Anon. Part of the 12 Days of Shipmas. F

Jemily Headcanons - Part of the 12 Days of Shipmas. F

Blow Me Away - Moreid - all Morgan wants in the world is to have Reid's incredible lips on him. Requested by Anon. Part of the 12 Days of Shipmas. S NSFW 18+

Sugar Daddy - Hotchreid - Spencer and Jack make Aaron's heart melt with halloween candy. Requested by @emmyraebird. Part of the 12 Days of Shipmas. F

Perfect Sense - Temily - Garcia and JJ find out about Tara and Emily's secret relationship thanks to a drunken girls night. Part of the 12 Days of Shipmas. F

Teasing to Please - Penemily - Garcia thinks it will be funny to tease Emily at work. Emily does not agree and has to punish her. Requested by Anon. Part of the 12 Days of Shipmas. S NSFW 18+

The 1 - Jeid - how I think Spencer should have reacted after JJ's confession. Requested by Anon (not romantic). A

Champagne Problems - Emily Prentiss x gn! Reader - you were the love of Emily's life. So why did you turn down her proposal? Requested by Anon. A

Dangerous Woman - Spencer Reid x Emily Prentiss - it's wrong and it's against the rules. But rules are made to be broken, right? Requested by Anon. A / F

Prompt #20 - Spencer Reid x Emily Prentiss - “You’re not my knight in a shining armour.” “Well you're not exactly my ideal damsel in distress.” Requested by Anon. F

Prompt #7 - JJ x Will - “Maybe one day you’ll get to know me, not just from letters you’ve read.” Requested by Anon. F

Wildest Dreams - Reidams - Right before Cat Adams is executed she can’t help but ruminate on the things she didn’t do… @tobias-hankel Pre-Whumptober Challenge A / S

[shifuaang]

hi! i don’t mean to bother u, this has just been at the back of my mind since i saw a meta ab it & ur 1 of the biggest kataang shippers ik, so i figured i’d ask. what do u think about the claim that “aang never cared ab katara’s feelings regarding their relationship”? like he never asked her if she liked him, he just kinda assumed that because of things like the dance & the invasion kiss. do u think that feeds into male entitlement? (i don’t think i agree, i’d just like to hear your thoughts)

Hi! No worries! I’m honestly really flattered that people come to me for opinions about Kataang. This was an interesting topic to ruminate on, and I hope my response is helpful.

I think that, in order to address this issue, we need to tackle the concept of male entitlement and why it exists. In patriarchal societies, men are socialized from birth to believe that they have an inherent right to power, women’s bodies, sex, etc because of their maleness. In order for this entitlement to be present in a society, the society first has to establish that men are superior to women and assign gender roles based on this hierarchy. 

So, with this in mind, we need to consider how Aang was raised and what societal structures were in place as he grew up.  

From what we know about the air nomads, they have no gender hierarchy; men and women are considered equal in all aspects. The nuns have duties that are just as important as the monks, tasked with the extremely crucial undertaking of breeding and raising sky bison for lifelong companionship. Both men and women are allowed to become masters and receive their tattoos, and differing airbending techniques are not relegated (like we saw with fighting vs. healing in the Northern Water Tribe). Gender roles among nomads are completely contrary to those in traditional Western societies. The men bake and decorate fruit pies. The children are raised by a community in which everyone is expected to chip in instead of a nuclear family model.

This is further exemplified by Aang’s confidence in his masculinity. People outside of the air nomads consistently poke fun at his lack of ‘manliness’, call him Twinkletoes, and insult his beliefs in a way that insulates he is weak. But instead of conforming to societal expectations, he takes no offense and continues to dance, make jewelry, and uphold his peoples’ traditions and culture.

Quite frankly, male entitlement doesn’t exist in Aang’s world. The reasons why he might have expectations placed on his relationship with Katara are purely circumstantial. It’s not unreasonable to believe that a twelve-year-old would come to the logical conclusion of ‘I thought this person and I were going to be together because we’ve been flirting, we have kissed more than once, and we have expressed love for one another in both verbal and non-verbal ways’. This is especially true when we take into consideration that this is Aang’s first romantic relationship and that he has never navigated these murky waters before, nor does he have anyone to mentor him in this particular area.

The last piece of the puzzle here is how Aang responds to rejection. Entitled men shift the blame to women whenever they are challenged. Women who dare to say ‘no’ are either teases, too puritanical, don’t appreciate ‘good guys’, or need to reevaluate their role in society in order to become submissive and eager to please. Entitled men are never at fault. 

When Aang messes up in Ember Island Players, his immediate response is to berate himself and completely back off. He knows he is in the wrong for kissing Katara, and he is extremely remorseful. 

Aang’s assumptions about his relationship with Katara can simply be chalked up to the confusion of trying to navigate feelings in the middle of a war. There’s no reason to believe that he has sinister motives or even subconscious thoughts about being owed some kind of reward. He’s just a kid who is trying his best to express his love without any tools or guidance. And, honestly, despite his mistakes, he does a pretty incredible job considering the circumstances.