#also if this is too niche and it flops lets just forget it happened

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

tangointhenight

pairing: harry styles x reader (au)

warnings: idiots in love trope, long-distance fwb (sounds weird but it makes sense just give her a read luv), switch!harry and switch!reader, detailed descriptions of female and male masterbation, maladaptive daydreaming during a fanfic, mentions of exhibitionism, edging, one singular ‘daddy’, cum swapping, breeding kink, praise kink and degradation, rope play, spitting, choking, mutual masterbation, overstimulation, use of toys (vibrator mostly), crying after sex (iconic)

word count: 13.3k

synopsis: harry records erotic audios, and y/n is an avid listener

author’s note: hello nasties, here’s another filth fic for ya! this has been a long time in the making, and i am so sorry i have been mia for so long, but i am back for the time being to give you this fic. i have wanted to do something like this for a while now, but it’s been a struggle (lots of blood, sweat, and tears put into this). i’m kinda proud of her to be honest, and i hope you enjoy :)

tags: @victoria-styles

masterlist

—

Y/N finally sinks into her mattress after yet another tiring day. She can hear her roommate on the other side of the wall, chatting with her girlfriend over the phone, blissfully ignorant to the fact that she currently has a hand teasing the band of her sweatpants while the other scrolls aimlessly through her phone.

Exhaustion burns behind her eyes, but there’s a desperate ache in her belly, one that demands satiety. She opens the internet app to find it unchanged from the night before, still lighting up in the profile named tangointhenight. His profile picture is a tantalizing photo of his hand, splayed across his thigh, which are clad in tight, floral printed pants, doing wonders for the very prominent bulge. Pieces of paint linger on his thumbnail, a pretty pale mint color, and his skin, tanned with faint freckles and etches of dark ink, looks tempting in the golden light. At his wrist is a braided twine bracelet with cheap beads that have letters that she can’t make out, which looks old and wilted.

She scrolls down, only lingering for a moment to appreciate the photo one final time.

There are some cute little posts and polls in addition to his erotic audios. The newest one, posted just that afternoon, warns not to listen to this in public with a series of cute little emoticons following. If there’s one thing she’s learned about Tango, that’s what she and other listeners call him, is that he’s a bit of an exhibitionist; his audios tend to lean toward nearly getting caught or even being caught (oftentimes leading to a “helping out” situation). She honestly wasn’t into that sort of thing until he started talking about it, and now, she finds it incredibly sexy, the thrill of the quick high and the fear of being caught in such a vulnerable moment.

She’ll definitely have to give the new audio a listen on one of her morning commute trips to the university; perhaps, she could give it a listen while she waits for her class to start, his deep voice teasing and coaxing her into an aching mess. She hopes that it’ll leave her trembling and throbbing for the rest of the day. She wonders if she’ll be able to make it until night before she has to finish herself off or if she’ll have to sneak off to the restrooms during one of her seven minute breaks, foot propped up on the toilet paper dispenser while she rubs herself to her bitter end.

She scrolls down a bit, passing over audios that vary from pillow talk to a dirty fuck in back alleys, before tapping on the familiar link, purple from use, the description teasingly saying: we’ve been visiting my mum for a week, and I haven’t been able to taste you... I guess we’ll just have to be quiet.

It’s one of the first audios she listened to when she was just discovering this new world of pleasure, so it has a special place in her heart. It’s one of his firsts from nearly a year ago, of fuzzy listening quality and nervous voice, but she finds his ramblings endearing; although, admittedly, she thinks anything he does is cute.

She tucks in her earbuds and presses the play button. Tossing the phone to the side, her eyes flutter closed, visions of white dotting through the darkness as they adjust. There’s a subtle cracking sound that indicates that it has finally loaded, and a fuzzy droning sound filters through the headphones. There’s a fan going in the background; it squeaks and grumbles nearby. A door creaks open, one of those fake sound effects that you can buy, but she appreciates the effort.

“Hey, lovie, feelin’ better?”

His familiar voice floats through her ears. She settles even more into her sheets. His voice is a nice, hot cup of tea at the end of a hard day, a drug that leaves her head foggy and senses dulled. His voice reminds her of sleep: deep, soothing, persistent, yet ever fleeting. She yearns for it, like being able to listen to that one mazing song for the first time again or the feeling of sunshine after the long winter months. His voice is intoxicating, reaching a baritone timbre that she can’t quite put to words.

At first, she wanted to put a face to the man who hummed sweet nothings in her ears, who coaxed her to oblivion for nights on end. Now, she’s at ease with never knowing. It keeps things interesting, and she doesn’t think about it as much anymore.

“If only mum wasn’t home, maybe we could’ve snuck a quick one in the shower,” he says. She smirks, picturing him tucked into his childhood bed, a cozy twin that would be a struggle for the both of them to fit in, and he has his old quilt tucked up to his neck, leaving his bare feet exposed because of how little it is.

There’s a moment of silence, then a cute little laugh.

“I know. You wouldn’t want to sin in her godly home, but she loves you, probably more than me. I don't think she would think any differently of you.”

Another beat of silence, then his voice catches in his throat. Y/N smiles softly as he stutters pitifully, slowly, struggling to find his words.

“N-no, y’know tha's not how I meant it,” he says. “Like, she loves you more than she loves me. Not that I don’t love you as much as she does.” He moves, the rustling of his sheets crackling in her ears. She can hear his hand run over his stubble, nails scratching over short little hairs. She wonders if he usually grows out his facial hair or if he’s the type to keep clean shaven.

“She couldn’t possibly love you more than I do.” The bed creaks as he shifts again. “C’mon, babe, join me. ‘S all nice and warm.”

She herself burrows further into her blankets, knowing full well that she’s probably going to be kicking them off in a few minutes. She turns to her side, blinking her eyes open, trying to immerse herself into the fantasy.

“‘M glad you got time off of work to come here with me. I know you could've been spending time back home, but you came here with me instead.” His voice is closer than before, however whispered. Every accentuated vowel that passes through his lips is like a breath of fresh air, and she hums quietly at the sound.

“I really appreciate it. ‘M glad we got to spend this time together.”

She imagines that he tucks her into his neck, coddling her while his fingers trace over the curves of her face, from the furrow of her brow, down to the apple of her cheeks, before stopping at her lips, lingering only momentarily before his thumb would push just past them.

He chuckles suddenly.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Jus’ lovin’ on my girl.”

His short pecks turn into slow, passionate kisses, deep sighs of relief falling from his lips, and she swears she can almost feel his breath on her skin, nose pressed tight to the pulsepoint in her neck as he sponges his lips over her collarbone, teeth nibbling lightly. She tugs the tee up from where it’s settled at her hips to where the curves of her breasts begin, the material squeezing them tightly to her chest. The sensitive skin aches under the tight pressure. She teases her nipples through her thin bra, feeling the tenderness coax chills down her spine.

“Please,” he whines. “Wanna taste you. You can be quiet. I believe in you, love.”

She could picture him now, chin resting on her stomach, eyes pleading with her. She would flick his head at the patronizing tone before brushing her fingers through his hair. Would he have short tuffs or long tresses that she could run her fingers through after a long day, breaking apart the knots that accumulate throughout the day? Does he have pin straight, dark locks that are cut close to his scalp or sand coloured curls that fall gracefully on his forehead? Perhaps, he has a bit of gray peaking through his hairline to match his wise and weathered voice. She could almost moan at the thought. She has always had a thing for older men.

Tango says something, but she can’t really hear it, his words muffled by her racing heart. She pries her pants down shaky legs, leaving them dangling around her ankle, and her fingers work quickly in massaging her puffy clit, arousal wetting the tender skin. Not one for having much patience, she doesn’t wait for him to finish worshiping her body with his mouth before she is rubbing herself through her panties, feeling the cold wetness on her fingertips. Eyes closed, her head falls back on her pillows, legs tensing when she stops suddenly.

“Pretty thighs,” he mumbles to himself between kisses, and she could almost feel his tender touches on the backs of her thighs, which tremble with anticipation. A wetly placed kiss followed by an appreciative hum signals his final descent to her cunt. The sound of languid licks are nearly enough to make her finish, walls clenching miserably around nothing. Fingers slowing close to a dead stop, barely more than a faint fluttering on her sensitive skin, she attempts to collect herself, but it’s difficult when he moans once again, muffled by his furiously working lips.

“Love your pussy, baby.” She melts at his words, eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure rack through her body, hips stuttering in time with each flick of her wrist. “So warm and wet and jus’ perfect for me.” His voice, low with need, makes her throb, arousal slipping into her panties.

She’s close already, an unfortunate effect he has on her. Barely five minutes into her alone time, and she can feel the orgasm begin to build, like an unyielding inferno spreading through every nerve. The stress from her day, the exhaustion with the world, everything melts into just one prominent feeling threatening to burst from her pores. She has to force herself to stop before she falls over the edge in order to draw out this experience as much as possible. She nearly cries out when she pulls her hand away altogether, her poor, puffy clit throbbing painfully.

This continues for a while, the undulating waves of a blistering release and the torture of a cut off orgasm, until the air becomes thick, her heaving breaths heating her empty room.

“There’s my good girl,” he says. “Use me, lovie. Want you to choke me with your pretty thighs.”

His voice is more firm this time, and she could only picture his baleful eyes staring up at her, eager to please her and guide her over the edge. It makes her wonder what they look like; she wonders if they’re a soulful, deep chocolate that darken with lust, a pale blue that reminds her of warm afternoons, or a striking hazel that flickers with green hues in the light.

No matter the color, she is sure that they’re undoubtedly pretty.

“Please,” she whispers faintly.

“More? You want more, my greedy girl?” She nods pitifully, feeling the orgasm build quickly in her belly before she stops once again, fingers pressing into her throbbing clit. “You want my fingers?”

Her walls flutter fruitlessly for some sort of release, for some sort of stimulation. He moans out sharply.

“Feel so good, babylove,” he coos. “So warm and wet f’me.”

She wants to slip her fingers inside, to tease and massage that tender spot that she can barely reach until she struggles to breathe. She wants to feel full, but she doesn’t want to take care of the mess, and it surely won’t be comfortable sleeping in wet sheets. The wipes hidden alongside her other secret toys, beneath mounds of socks and crumpled underwear, do little to take care of the arousal that has pooled between her legs.

She fishes around her bedside table, fingers raking through bundles of panties to find her vibrator, a cheap little thing she got in a set when she first moved into her apartment. Unfortunately, she ran through the other ones that were in the set, and this is the only one left.

She nestles the vibrator on her swollen clit and ticks it on to the lowest setting. This stimulation is different than before; a vague rumbling rattles her bones, making her lips tremble, with choked cries teetering on her tongue. Obscene wet sounds fill her ears, and for a moment, she wonders whether they are coming from the audio or from her dripping pussy, and her thighs tighten around her wrist. She could only imagine the sight of his hands splayed over her hips and on her belly, perfectly pastel painted nails pressing into her wet skin. The shifting of her mattress worries her for only a moment, but her shame melts away, and she loses herself in the sound of his heavy, stifled groans, as if he is truly choking on her. The addition of the vibrator only serves to tease her more as she inches toward the end, brutally building in slow, abrupt waves. She struggles to swallow her whimpers.

He spits suddenly, and her hips jut forward at the sound, an erotic display of dominance, but he makes it seem like such a tender act; she could just melt.

“Can you take another?”

A beat of silence and a sharp intake of breath, squelching sounds growing louder.

“No? That’s alright, lovie, just two, then,” he coos. Her toes curl up a little at his words, hips rising from the mattress. On any other night, she would have craved more; she would have wanted him to coax her open with him telling her that she can take just one more and that she’s his good girl. It’s sad to be turned on by a man simply respecting her limits, but her clit throbs pitifully and some arousal slips out into her underwear.

“Gonna come for me, babe?” His words are slurred and wet. “Make me proud.”

Chills rushing down her spine, her body curls into itself, eager for her release. She wants to come so badly; she wants to feel the pleasure for days afterward, to tremble around her hand until she can’t take it anymore, to come until she’s seeing stars. She wants to make him proud, but she knows that she can’t come yet, or else she won’t be able to hear him finish. She doesn’t have another orgasm in her tonight, and she wants to prolong this experience as much as possible, even if that means holding out on her orgasm. The world spins behind her tightly screwed eyes as she slows her ministrations, the vibrator ticking back down to nothing. Her body reacts before she can even consider the loss, her hips bucking against the toy, attempting desperately to find that little bit of stimulation she needs to finally reach euphoria.

His lips smack loudly as he presses simulated kisses to skin, pulling her back from her foggy mind.

“So good f’me, pretty,” he says, words muted by skin. “So good. Hmm, I knew you could be quiet.” His kisses are slow and tired, unlike before when they were rushed and eager. His mattress grumbles as he moves once again, taking his time to, presumably, trail up the length of her trembling body until they’re suffocating in each other's embrace.

He sighs behind closed lips, heavy and wanton, and she can picture him working his hips into the mattress to find some sort of release. She would pull him up until he was right between her aching legs and press her lips to his neck, feeling his pulse jump at the contact. She would cup his cock through his thin pair of pajamas, teasingly massaging him until he just couldn't take it anymore, caution flying out of his mind as he is overcome by thoughts of her name, her skin, simply <i>her. Trying to form a coherent thought, he would barely be able to hold himself up. She moans quietly at the thought.

“Babylove, we can’t—” He moans, his deep voice splintering. “I don’ know if I’ll be able to control myself.”

She has listened to this audio enough to know what to say to fill the silent gaps to fulfill the ultimate fantasy.

“Please,” she whispers into the dead air, barely audible over her roommate's voice in the next room. “Wanna feel you.” She wishes he was there for her to whisper in his ear, her fingers running up the plain of his back, feeling the heated skin tense at her words. He would quirk an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Y’wanna feel my big cock in y’tummy, pretty baby?”

“Yes,” she whimpers quietly, suddenly very aware of how much she truly wanted to be filled, to have him so impossibly close to her.

“Y’know I can’t say no to you.” She can hear the smile in his voice. She wonders what it looks like, if he beams with an eye-searing grin, his face splitting with happiness, or if he has a shy little smirk, just barely toying on his lips. She likes to think that he has a beautiful smile, filled with warmth and love. She melts a little, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her limbs to the tips of her fingers.

“Get on top.”

She does, eyes still closed as she sits and kneels on her mattress, one hand still between her legs, trying desperately to catch her poor, swollen clit at just the right angle that will leave her thighs quaking, her stomach clenching. Her underwear, which are still stuck around her knees, stretch and snap as her thighs slip and spread further on the sheets.

He moans sharply, and she can feel her hips unconsciously move, as if to pull that sound from him once again. The low vibrations from her little handheld leave her aching for more, nothing more than a faint rumble, but if she flicked it up to the next highest setting, it would surely be heard through the thin walls. Besides, she loves the teasing nearly as much as she hates it, just pushing to the brink before the rush subsides and settles into a quiet lull. Speechless, she gasps for air as yet another jilted orgasm subsides.

She works her hips slowly, careful of the squeaking of her mattress; there are only so many noises that can be passed off as her simply shifting around in her sleep. Her wrist aches at such an awkward angle, but she continues, the burning euphoria just beyond the horizon. He moans, and she nearly follows him, a crest of a cry nearly bursting from her chest but it comes out as a small whimper. She pushes her earbud deeper into her ear, as if to pull him closer.

“Sorry, jus’ feel so good,” he says sheepishly, and she can tell that he’s biting his lip by the faint lisp in his words. It would be torture for the both of them, to be so close but unable to move any faster or harder to finally reach the deepest, most pleasurable part, just barely scratching the itch for intimacy. He whimpers pitifully, and she thinks she might fall apart at the sound, but her stupid vibrator leaves her teetering back and forth between over the edge. She wiggles her hips to try to get a better angle, but with just a hint of stimulation, it’s a torturously slow build up.

“There it is, pretty,” he says, breaths faltering. “That’s the spot. Make yourself feel good, lovie. Use me.” Her legs ache at the awkward angle, trembling with overexertion. She wishes that she could let go of it, leaving it on the mattress with her pussy and thighs holding it in place, so she can grind on it, unhindered by her own body’s exhaustion, eagerly chasing her high. It would also free her hands to tease her breasts again, pulling and pinching at her hardened nipples.

“Love the way you feel, babylove,” he whispers. “Fuck, so wet f’me.” He curses again and again, as if no other words can properly describe the feeling of her, so soft, so warm, so fucking good. She could only picture him in abridged visions, his undoubtedly pretty lips parted with his pretty whimpers sneaking through, his features pinched in pleasure. Her eyes roll back as her orgasm quickly approaches.

“‘M gonna come,” he says suddenly. “Are you close, too?” She whimpers, arousal slips down her swollen lips and into her furiously working fingers, eager to finish alongside him. “Yeah? Y’gonna come with me? Y’gonna come on my cock, pretty?”

She is so close, so unbelievably close, and she struggles to relax her muscles to hold off for just a little longer.

“So fuckin’ good, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he says sharply. His mattress squeaks now, unable to hold back the sharp jolts of his hips, and he lets go of all inhibitions, moaning freely. She could imagine his hand tracing up her belly, cupping her swinging breasts, and he would suckle on her nipples until her fervent hips faltered. He would brush his hands up the curve of her back, digging into the muscles of her shoulders until she fell forward. Faces nestled together, interlocking like pieces of a puzzle, they would breathe each other in, savoring such a close moment of intimacy. It would feel like a lifetime as they waited with bated breath, using each other to get the most pleasure possible.

She comes when he does, holding her breath to keep the moans from slipping, which makes it all the more euphoric, the chance of nearly getting caught at her most vulnerable and the faint lightheadedness making her vision foggy. Her orgasm leaves her legs trembling, slipping away from her still buzzing toy, falling forward into her sheets. She breathes in sharply, barely holding back a pained cry; fat tears of pleasure soak into her blanket as euphoria crashes and beats into her muscles. The heart-racing, earth-shattering, limb-thrashing orgasm makes her chest heave. Just like she wanted, she is left spent on her mattress, the powerful rush still lingering in her trembling body.

She flips onto her back, quickly pulling her bottoms back up onto her hips. In her drunken stupor, her earbuds fell out, and she can vaguely hear Tango’s praises. She picks her phone back up, eyes straining under the bright light, and closes out of the audio.

Her head is light, foggy with the residual high. A dazed smile flickers over her lips, exhaustion settling deep in her bones, finally satiated by her orgasm.

She scrolls through his account once again, this time reading through some of his other posts, like links to playlists and cute stories. Suddenly, the little message icon in the corner looks so appealing, teasing and taunting. Perhaps, she’s feeling a little giddy from her high or maybe it’s from the exhaustion, but she can’t seem to find a reason to not do it.

She sends him a message.

Meanwhile, Harry stares at the blinking cursor petulantly. It taunts him amidst a sea of white, a blank canvas in what should have been a completed midterm paper that’s due in a couple of days. His eyes sink closed, and he starts to drift off, only waking when his hand slips from his cheek, knocking his glasses askew. An old sitcom plays in the background, the canned laughter providing a break in the silence every five seconds. He sighs for the billionth time that evening, struggling to find motivation to even think at this point.

His phone dings, and he happily divulges the distraction, his brows furrowing as he reads a direct message from a user called honeyhi. He’s used to getting comments on his post, with the occasional direct message (which he usually deletes instantly because of poor past experiences), and now, he usually doesn’t think much of them. He isn’t doing it to gain anything from anyone. He just wants to put his thoughts out there, and it’s just an added bonus to get validation from beautiful people.

She doesn’t have a profile picture, not uncommon on that corner of the web, especially since his posts aren’t a lot of people’s taste. He wouldn’t usually indulge in them, deleting them usually instantly, but something compels him to open her message.

Not to be too forward, but I had the best orgasm of my life, listening to your audios. I’ve listened to your audios for a long time, and honestly, listening to you has become the highlight of my evenings ;)

Honey, you have no idea what that means to me.

Truly, his heart swells at her sweet words. It’s nice to get complimented on something you put so much effort into. He bares himself for strangers, expressing such an intimate part of himself for their shared pleasure, and it feels reassuring to get compliments.

I mean it. Also, Tango in the Night is arguably one of Fleetwood Mac’s best albums. Definitely top three.

Most people assume it’s a sex thing.

I wonder why.

He laughs a little at the dry comment.

So, what are the other two in your top three albums?

Pre or post Stevie Nicks?

Post, of course. What kind of question is that?

That was a test. You passed. I think we’ll get along just fine, Tango.

I think so, too, Honey.

—

Y/N rushes past the postman, nearly toppling over when her bag shifts slightly on her arm, her thick binders peek out of the top and dig into her arm. Her hand furiously slaps the elevator button, and she stands impatiently, her dangling keys shaking at her hip. The doors tremble as the weight teeters down to the main floor, far too slowly in her opinion. For a moment, she considers just running up the three flights of stairs to her floor, but that feels a little too eager.

She and Tango have their weekly phone call tonight, and her classes ran long today; that coupled with the stand-still traffic made her more anxious than usual to get home. She always calls first, since her schedule is the most complicated, and she’ll feel absolutely awful if she was late for their call. She feels silly getting worked up over such a small thing, but their friendship progressed beyond the occasional messages in the past month, and she honestly looks forward to their weekly talks. Tango is such a beautiful and humble person, and he is such a stable place of comfort. She knows that he will be understanding and have an independent, secondary perspective on any situation.

He is someone she can rely on for just about anything.

The bell dings above her, and the elevator doors finally part. After barreling inside, she sinks against the railing, glancing at the time, which is still just before her usual calling time. She sighs sharply when the doors begin to close, relief tugging on her shoulders.

However, a hand pushes through the lift’s doors before they can shut, and she bites back an irritated groan; she probably could have made it to her apartment by now if she had ran up the stairs. The man slides in and gives her a grateful nod, accompanied by a small smile. Much to her delight, he presses the ‘close door’ button quickly, and they’re met with no interruptions this time. It’s a quiet ride, despite her nervous feet tapping, and he taps away on his phone,

She admires him out of the corner of her eye, forgetting momentarily about her anxiety. Half of his hair is pulled back in a small bun, exposing the darker locks underneath, and a bandana pushes back the frizzy flyaways that would normally frame his face. The thick strands curl slightly at the ends; there’s one tight coil that she wants to tug on. She could easily become enamored with him, with his pretty green eyes and day-old stubble. His bag has H.E.S embroidered on the bottom corner. A coral colored, gem necklace rests beautifully on his tanned chest, which is mostly covered by a near see-through white top, covered with a baggy, gingham jumper.

After living in the building for two years, they have run into one another on several occasions but have never really spoken. He lives on the second floor, and he goes to the university as well.

When he leaves, after offering another nod and quick smile, she calls Tango. He answers after the second ring.

“Hey, sweets,” he grumbles, not as chipper as his usual self. Her heart sinks a little. He had his midterms last week, and she can only assume that the results are not what he had hoped.

“Oh, no,” she says. “What happened?”

“‘S nothin’,” he insists, but she can hear the irritation in his voice. “‘M jus’ getting myself worked up over nothin’. How was your day?”

Clearly not wanting to talk, he changes the subject, which is something Y/N has grown used to over the past few months. He doesn’t like to vent when he’s too upset because he’s afraid of lashing out and taking his aggression out on her. Thankfully, she has also learned how to distract him. Usually, his annoyance melts away within minutes, and he is his usual, bubbly self again.

“Well, let me tell you, I nearly killed the postman today, and someone nearly hit my car today.”

“What?” He asks incredulously. “Please, elaborate.”

And so, she does.

A couple hours later, Y/N’s in her kitchen, making avocado and tomato toast for the fifth time this week. Her roommate is gone for the weekend, thankfully, which means she can get more stuff done without interruptions (and she can talk to Tango for as long as she wants without getting interrogated about it). His mood had improved significantly after she was able to make him laugh at her own expense (he especially liked the story about how she grabbed her iced coffee too quickly this morning and spilled it all over the barista’s hand).

“I have a question,” he says quickly, as if he wouldn’t have the courage to ask if he held onto it for a moment longer.

“Okay,” she says slowly, almost fearful at the sudden change of tone in his voice.

“Would you be able to listen to something I recorded the other day?” He giggles nervously. “I dunno. I just feel a little,” he makes a little noise, “off about it.”

Stunned, she stares at her phone, the seconds ticking by before her very eyes, and despite the fact that the only reason why they know each other is because she listened to his audios, she’s a little taken aback by the question. Before she knows it, too much time has passed for her to brush off as anything but bewilderment. She stutters.

“I—uh—sure?”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

“No, I am.” Stubborn and not willing to back down, she digs herself a deeper hole, despite the odd feeling growing in her stomach. “Yes, I will listen to it for you.”

“Okay, then,” he says breathlessly. “I’ll send it to you.”

Neither know what to say now. Conversation usually came easy to them, so it feels so strange to be stuck in such an uncomfortable silence. Now, she’s gone and ruined everything because of her hesitation. Why did she even hesitate? There’s no reason to be embarrassed. They’re both very open, sexual people, and it’s nothing to get so worked up over. Maybe, it’s the fact that it’s him, and she knows him so well now. Compared to before, when he was just some stranger on the internet, she knows his likes, dislikes; hell, she has even spoken to his cat, and it feels wrong because he is her friend, and that’s not what friends are supposed to do.

“It’s not weird. Is it?” He asks shyly.

“Of course not.” She says it a little too quickly. Admittedly, it feels a <i>little weird, now that she thinks about it. It would be like walking in on your friend having sex. Then again, the only reason why they really know each other is because she listened to his audios (which is basically him jerking off to his dirty thoughts). However, it’s not an aspect they spoke about too often, usually after a couple of drinks. Their friendship, despite how it began, is purely innocent. They were each other’s comfort person; they were there to vent, laugh, and talk with. Neither ever hinted toward anything different, other than the occasional, playful flirting.

“No, I’ll listen to it for you. What are friends for?”

She doesn’t know why her heart is beating so fast.

“Thank you,” he says.

“So,” she says, “do you want me to listen to it now?”

“Eager, are we?” He hums teasingly.

“Shut up,” she scoffs.

“I mean, if you wanted to hear some dirty talk, all you had to do was ask.”

“Please, stop talking.”

“Y’know I’m always down to clown.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

True to her words, she doesn’t wait for him to answer before she ends the call.

Her phone dings a second later with the link along with another cheeky message. The link is to a private web upload platform, and she feels special for a moment. She wonders if she should just listen to it while eating her toast and go about her usual routine, or if she should do what she usually does when listening to his audios. Is that what he would want, though? Would it make him feel uncomfortable? Is it more weird to just listen to him moan in her ear while doing mundane tasks around the house?

Granted, they have had some conversations about sex and the like, but this feels so much more intimate, especially because he knows that she’s going to listen to him jerk off, not to even mention the obscene things that come from his mouth.

What does it mean for their friendship? Perhaps, it’s not even meant to mean anything, just a sincere favor asked between two friends. Maybe, it’s meant to be a step toward something more on his part. Is that even what she wants?

She brushes off that thought quickly, as she has for months, because deep down, she knows it would just end up in disappointment.

Oh, what a mess.

She’s headed on a downward spiral that has no chance of stopping unless it’s hit by a freight train to hell.

She opts to forgetting her toast and slips into her bedroom, falling onto her blankets giddily. She presses play on the audio, her heart racing as it loads, and leaves her phone face down next to her ear, eyes closing to fully immerse herself, trying to ignore her anxiety.

“Hello,” he says slowly, almost shyly, and it feels like one of their late nights again, with him talking through her phone and her cuddled in bed, listening eagerly. “I’ve just gotten home, but I’ve been thinkin’ about this all day. Couldn’t go to sleep before gettin’ it out there, y’know.” He giggles, a pretty little noise she’s heard many times now. He laughs a lot, sometimes at himself, but mostly in response to her. He even laughs at her corny, little puns, which she appreciated.

“And ‘m really hard right now, so that doesn’t help either. I haven’t really been able to come in the past two weeks. Been too busy with… life, I guess. But a friend of mine talked to me about the world of BDSM. She’s a kinky little shit.”

Y/N’s heart lurches, stomach twisting with an unrecognizable feeling, knowing that the certain friend he is talking about is her. She remembers the conversation well, even though she was a little tipsy and very high, mostly because it was also the first time they had actually spoken on the phone, and it began as it normally does, about mundane things that happened that week. Somehow, the conversation shifted to kinks, and she told him that she wouldn’t be opposed to more sinful acts in the bedroom, most of which her previous partners had not indulged.

“I’m pretty vanilla, I guess. I just love to love people. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I’ve never really been into that sort of thing, but now, I can’t stop thinking about it, and I’ve been kinda into some dark, dom stuff lately,” he admits slowly. “Dark for me, at least, which, again, doesn’t say much.” There’s another laugh, radiant and delicate.

“I dunno why, but I’ve been fantasizing about taking you into our room. A little lackluster, I know, but I’m not into the dark, dingy places, like those sex dungeons they have in the movies, where there’s lots of leather, red lights, music, quite the ambience.” He stops suddenly, and she could imagine his lips pursing to cease his ramblings. She wishes he wouldn’t do that so much; she wishes that he wouldn’t doubt himself and his beautiful way with words. If only he could be as confident in himself as she is in him.

“I just want to lay you down on our bed with our fluffy blankets pushed off to the side. Then, if either of us need to take a moment or stop, we can.” Her heart swells a little at his words. Even though he’s trying to talk about, in his words, “dark, dom stuff”, he is still so sweet and considerate, and she can’t help but soften. He trails off.

Faintly, she can hear him yank his belt from the loops, and it’s, honestly, one of the hottest things she has ever heard; the teasing glimpse of what could come far more erotic than anything any of her other partners could do. She could only imagine what it would feel like to have him in front of her, shirtless with his pants low on his hips; maybe he would be wearing the same floral pants he is in his profile picture, the ones that are unbelievably tight. She would be splayed on the bed, just observing this beauty of a man, waiting patiently for him to come and ravish her.

She’s sure that his tattoos cover more than just his arms, but how many more is a question that haunts her. The thought of a big tattoo on his thigh that she can grind on while he moans about how much of a good girl she is has led to many obscene dreams. She imagines black images carved into his chest, perhaps a trail of floating rose petals from his collar bone to his peck or a hellish looking snake wrapped around his waist. More vividly, she envisions a bold tattoo just beneath his belly button, one that she would scratch at while he violently pounded into her, one that she would kiss and lick before she would take him in her mouth.

Oh, what she would do to be able to feel his skin on hers.

She dips her hand beneath the band of her shorts out of habit, toying with the silky material of her panties. She tries not to think too much about her feelings, fearing it would deepen the ache in her heart.

“Anyway, you’d be on the bed,” he says, his usual slow, stifling voice pulling her deeper into the fantasy, “naked, on your knees with your pretty pussy facing me. You’re all tied up, starting at your wrists and ankles, and there would be a pretty knot down your spine that I can grab while I fuck you from behind.”

Her cunt throbs at the sudden turn. She could only imagine: her face pressed into the pillows, choking on the sheets, her muscles tight, aching beneath the restraints, and her voice raw, sobbing from overstimulation. Exhausted and wanton, she would take anything that he would be willing to give her. He would shove her face into the mattress, mounting her, and he would tug on the rope until it felt like it would permanently embedded in her wet skin, telling her how much of a good little slut she is, taking him so well.

She doesn't know why she’s drawn to rope play; perhaps, it’s all a part of the subtle nuances of the sex, the intimacy of tying the complex binds around your partner and the intricacies of sensory manipulation with such overwhelming stimulation. It’s so much more than just being bound while fucking. There is such a deep reliance on the other person to understand your body, your limits, your needs. It’s about trust and vulnerability. She thinks of it in such a melodic and romantic way; it must have resonated with Tango.

“Or I’d tie your arms to your legs, keeping you spread open for me on your back, with knots around your belly, the lead falling between your tits.” Her eyes flutter closed. While rope play is something that she has always wanted to try but never felt comfortable enough with another person to act on it. He would be different though. She cups her pussy, languidly running her fingers through her wet folds, feeling the arousal slip down her skin before settling on her sheets.

She pinches her clit, and her legs immediately jerk around her arm. Feeling far too sensitive for that type of stimulation, she simply strokes through her lips, focusing her ministrations on the delicate inside, close to her sopping entrance, enjoying the slow build.

“Then, I could hold onto your neck while I fuck you, and I like being able to see your face, to see how good I’m making you feel, to see tears of pleasure run down your pretty face. You could suck on my fingers while I fuck you, deep and hard. D’ya wanna choke on my fingers, pretty?”

She wants absolutely nothing more. She would gladly suck on his fingers if it meant that she could see the look of awe in his eyes, lust darkening his features when she bites teasingly on his nail.

“But if you’re on your knees, I could watch you in the mirror and still see your face. From behind, I can see your pretty, tight pussy take my cock.” He whimpers. “I haven’t decided which I would rather have.”

She can’t decide, either.

Then again, they could always have both.

“Of course, I wouldn’t give you my cock that easily. No, you’re going to be crying for me, begging for me to fuck you, and I dunno if I would fuck you right away or make you beg for it. I think for the first bit, after you’re all tied up for me, I’ll tease you, just barely touching you, pulling on the lead, the ropes tightening around your aching body. I think your tits would look so pretty all tied up f’me, babylove.

“When you’ve finally had enough, crying for me to stuff you full of my cock, I’d let you come, but I’d only use my fingers, never giving you what you really want. Maybe I’ll put a little vibrator on your clit and leave you there, having you come again and again until it hurts. I’d have you keep your panties on, of course. Don’t want you making a mess of the sheets, and then, when I finally give you my cock, I’ll put them in your mouth to keep you quiet, and so you can taste yourself.”

His moans are in the forefront in his sensual song, mixed amongst a symphony of bed and friction sounds. She matches his pace, flicking her wrist in time with the sound of him working his wet cock. She massages the entirety of her pussy, messily rubbing her fingers from the tip of her poor, swollen clit to her throbbing opening.

“Fuck, babylove, you’d be so good f’me, taking my cock so deep in your pussy. Would you cry f’me, pretty? Cry for daddy to fuck you into the mattress.” A rumbling groan finally breaks free, and she is so close to falling apart, her high festering into her muscles, burning through her nerves; her skin feels hot to the touch. She struggles to breathe, but she doesn't yearn for air as much as she does her end. Tears in her eyes, she clutches onto her blanket, tugging it in her mouth to keep from crying too loudly. She sobs, feeling a familiar tightness in her body, just beyond her grasp. Her hand still moves over her pussy, arousal seeping through trembling fingers, but she can’t reach her peak with such light, varied stimulation, her hips buckling.

“My pretty rope bunny,” he mutters. He’s desperate, truly just rambling on and on about anything that comes to mind. “My pretty honey,” he whimpers, almost inaudibly, “honey, honey.”

For a second, she thinks of the times that word has passed through his lips in less sinful situations, a slow, lulling honey when he’s trying to get her attention, sweet and innocent. That’s his special name for her, and she wonders if, possibly, he thinks about her in the same way she does, if he wishes to be with her in such an intimate way, just as she does. She thinks, incredulously, that maybe she isn’t overanalyzing the situation.

His bed squeaks faintly in the background, just barely heard over his withering voice. She can only begin to imagine what he looks like in that moment, legs tense, feet digging into the mattress, his hips thrusting to fuck himself into his fist. The head of his cock would peek through the top of his fist as he coerced his release free. She wishes she could see what he looks like when he comes, when he finally reaches his most euphoric moment. It’s such a primal thing to witness, to see someone liberated of all inhibitions, to observe them completely succumbing to their instincts. It’s such a beautiful thing to see someone acquiesce control and thrive so harmoniously with their body.

“I wanna wrap my belt around your throat.” He swallows thickly. She whines along with him. Perhaps, she’s just fooling herself, but she can swear that she could almost hear the sound of a leather belt squeezing in his fist. A pitiful pool of wetness slips between her ass cheeks.

“My cock hurts just thinking about how you’d sound.” He moans, mimicking the desperate heaves that would undoubtedly slip through her lips as he pulls his belt tightly around her throat. “Then, when you’re bratty, I can just wrap my hand around the belt and make it tighter.

“Please,” he mocks weakly, “please, sir, I’ll be good. But you’re just saying that to get what you want. You’re just a naughty, little slut aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she returns weakly.

“Maybe, I could get you a collar and pull you around with that. Would you like that?” He hums. “Of course, you would. You’re my pretty, little bunny.”

In any other instance, she would feel humiliated to be so aroused at being so weak and submissive to another, but he could convince her to do anything at this point. She’s close, toes curling and muscles tightening, and she waits for his familiar profession that he is also near the edge, but the silence that follows is deafening, a disappointing resolution to an intense narrative. It makes her stop completely, wet hand flipping her phone over to see that, indeed, she had listened to all of the audio. It knocks the air from her lungs when she realizes that that was it. She isn’t going to hear his cute little whimpers as he comes nor his sweet aftercare.

Frustrated from her ruined orgasm, she calls him instantly, and he picks up after the fourth ring this time, as if he <i>knows</i> that she is this needy and frustrated. She doesn’t give him the chance to greet her.

“That couldn’t have been all of it.”

“Well, hello to you, too—”

“I didn’t get to hear you come.”

“Is that what you wanna hear, honey?”

“Well, yeah, I always come with—” She stops before she says something she’ll regret, but by the sound of his laughter, it’s already too late. She wants to hide away in embarrassment.

“It’s only partially finished. I thought I told you that.” She can hear the teasing smirk he surely has plastered on his face, the cheeky bastard. “I just wanted to hear what you thought so far before I finished it. There’s no point in finishing something that I already feel isn’t worth the time.”

“Well, then,” she stutters quickly, “How does it end?”

“How do you think it should end?”

There’s a certainty in his words, as if he has already accepted her as a lover, and she knows that he is giving her the opportunity to initiate the next step. Fear squeezes her chest, and for a second, she worries that she isn’t brave enough to follow through. Every fiber of her being is pleading with her to just take that risk, but another, more rational side of her, is saying it’s better to say a quick I don’t know, and they would move on as normal.

“Where would you come?”

Oh, it feels so filthy to ask that, but it’s so relieving to hear the hum of approval that passes through his lips.

Her heart races, not like before; this is exciting and new and arousing, and it feels wrong. She doesn’t even know what he looks like; hell, she doesn’t even know his real name, and she’s so fucking ready and willing to give herself to him. There’s just so many reasons to not pursue him. She feels ashamed, almost, that she is weak for a man she knows nothing about.

“Hmm, that’s a good question. Where would you like me to come?”

But how can she not get weak when he asks her things like that?

Shivers bloom on her skin in sunflower blossoms. She knows what he wants to hear, and usually, she would tease him, telling him that he didn’t care if he even came or not, but the throbbing between her legs is relentless, and she’s just lust-drunk that she’ll say just about anything to get what she needs. She begins rubbing herself again, focusing solely on her clit this time instead of the entirety of her pussy in the palm of her hand. Breathing out shakily, she answers honestly.

“Everywhere.”

He moans, and she knows that was the right answer.

“Everywhere? Such a greedy girl. You want me to come down your throat? You wanna taste it? Maybe, I’ll have you choke on my cock, fuck y’face until you’re crying.”

After he was done fucking her, she’s sure that he would yank her up either by the rope around her breasts or by the belt around her neck (she can’t decide which yet) and put his cock by her mouth, rubbing himself over her lips and chin, but never quite pushing past the barrier of her lips; no, she would be the one to open her sweet mouth for him, her jaw lax and tongue wet as she takes everything he’d give her.

God, yes, she wants to taste him. She wants him to use her in every possible, degrading way: to use her mouth while she tied up, under his mercy, to fuck her face until she has tears dripping down her cheeks, wetting her heaving chest, to come down her throat until she’s choking on him, but he would pinch her nose and make her taste it until her vision was blurry.

“You’d take it all, babylove. Won’t you?”

He asks so innocently, his deep voice having a soft twinge, but she knows that it’s not optional, not that she would choose otherwise. She would greedily lap at his cum and drink it all, proudly showing off her empty mouth when she’s done. Maybe, he would insist that she keep it in her mouth and pull her into a wet, heated kiss, prying her lips apart so he can taste himself on her tongue.

“I could make a mess on your belly or your tits, and then, I could lick you clean. Or I could mark up your thighs and watch it drip onto the sheets.”

The thought of him marking her with his come is nearly enough for her to reach her peak. A voice in the back of her head chastises her for being so greedy; this is something she has fantasized about since they started talking, and it’s going to be over before it can even begin at this rate. She needs to distract herself, to focus on anything other than the painful throbbing between her legs.

“Or I could come inside you.”

That’s the last thing she needed to hear.

Only because it makes a thick bead of arousal seep into her sheets. It makes her finally give in and sink two fingers inside herself, and <i>fuck, she’s so wet and swollen and pliable. She sobs, truly biting back even louder cries behind gritted teeth. She curses again and again at the feeling coursing through her veins, heat spreading in her belly as her hips frantically move against her ministrations.

“By the sound of that moan, I think that’s definitely preferred. Such a filthy girl. Y’want me to fill your belly? Want me to mark you as mine?”

She just knows that he could fill her to the brim, but he would want to prolong the experience as much as possible, teasing her with his cock and coaxing her to beg for his cum.

She could just imagine the determined look in his eyes, so close to coming, but he would pull out, just barely teasing her trembling entrance with his twitching cock. He wouldn’t move, and when she would beg for him to put it back in and just fuck her until she couldn’t breath, he would say very simply: if y’want my cum so bad, put my cock back inside.

God, his face would be gleaming with this power, satisfied with seeing her so needy for his cum. Shamefully, she would put one of her hands on his hip while the other grasps his cock, pushing on him until he sinks entirely inside her once again, but he still wouldn’t move, simply filling her, the both of them twitching with arousal. He would demand that she make him come if she wants it so bad, as if it's a gift from the heavens.

“Are you touching yourself?” He asks, and only then does she realize that she was drowning in her fantasy; the sudden change makes her stop rubbing herself, her vision hazy. She parts her lips with wet fingers, slipping back down to her entrance, gently prodding inside until that euphoria builds once again.

“Yes,” she admits shamefully. “‘M so fucking wet for you.”

“Dirty little slut,” he says sharply. He has no room to judge, especially since she can hear the all-too-familiar sounds to him jerking his cock, wet sounds of his fist passing over the thick head echoing in her empty room. She is near tears at this point, so needy and high and horny, but she wants to make this last.

“Would you let me come? Please, can I come?”

It’s his turn to moan with approval, and she feels proud. His heavy breathing in time with hers, he seems to be lost in pleasure, voice hitching as he struggles to find words. Her orgasm swells to a near crest once again, but she wants to hear him finish. At this point, she knows what it sounds like, from the frantic ramblings to the guttural moans, and he’s not quite there yet.

“Do you think you deserve to come, honey? You think you’ve been a good girl f’me?”

“Yes, I’m a good girl—fuck—please, please, I need to come.” She stumbles through her words, what little power she held in her withering grasp deflating instantly from his words.

“I dunno, I think you’re a brat who just wants to get off.”

It’s painful how much his words impact her, volatile muscles spasming while she staves of hee end. She whimpers, sinking further in her headspace; she feels a cloud settle in her vision (or perhaps those are tears), overwhelming yet freeing.

“No, I’m your good girl,” she insists.

“I think you’ll have to prove it to me, honey,” he replies slyly. “I don’t think I’ll let you come quickly. I want you to beg for it. Can you do that f’me, babylove? Beg me to come.”

“Fuck, I’m so close,” she says. “Please, please, I need it. Please, let me come.”

“You can do better than that,” he says, voice cracking. Their harmonious sounds of excitement drive both of them closer to their orgasms.

“Oh, god—please, I—fuck—I need it so bad. ‘M so close, please.” She can barely speak coherently. Chills wrack her sore body, waves of throbbing pleasure threatening to break her. She wanted—no, needed—him to finish.

“Come f’me, Honey,” he says. “You’re my good girl, so good f’me. C’mon, babylove, come with me.”

She does. With ears ringing and eyes closing, she comes until her pussy aches. It feels never ending, euphoria consuming every part of her sweat-laden flesh, chilling and fiery, for hours—or perhaps only seconds. She can’t tell.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her vision blurry. Her body trembles with residual aftershocks of her intense orgasm. She lays spread open on her bed, her pussy still too sensitive to close her legs entirely.

“Thank you for letting me come.” In her daze, her limbs fall away limply. All she can do is exist at this moment. She vaguely wonders if he finished with her, the thought of his deep moans fueling another fire. A part of her is disappointed that she wasn't present enough to listen to him, but another part knows that more opportunities will come.

“You’re so welcome, honey,” he says sweetly. “I think we both really needed that today.”

She hums, still recovering from such a powerful end. She slowly regains her breathing.

“I guess I should be thanking you because that’s one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had,” he says. She laughs.

“You flatter me.”

“I’m serious. Nearly gave myself a pearl necklace.”

And just like that, everything continues as normal. Both know that the other is naked and satiated, but neither feels uncomfortable with the fact. If anything, it makes things relieved, open, or comfortable. They’re both giggly in the golden after-glow.

“What does this mean for us, Honey?”

As, yes, the dreaded ‘talk’. Fear immediately spikes in her veins, and she struggles to find her words. Before she can answer, he begins speaking again.

“Look, I really like talking with you, and I don’t want this to make things weird, but I meant what I said earlier. That was probably one of the best orgasms of my life, and I don’t think that I could live without your pretty little moans now that I’ve heard them. Maybe, we can do that again. We don’t have to put a label on it or anything, if you don’t want to.”

Her heart sinks. Is that all that he wants?

“Right, it doesn’t have to be anything serious, just us having some stress relief.” Her words are dry and forced, feeling like bile in her mouth. She grits her teeth. What the hell had she just gotten herself into?

“Hey, uh, it’s late, and I have to wake up early tomorrow. Same time next week?”

She hopes that he doesn’t think that she regrets what they did, and she hopes he doesn’t think too much into her abrupt ending of the call. It’s not a total lie; she does have work early tomorrow morning, but she has had more than a few days where she was running on two hours of sleep and a miracle. She just wants to get off the phone before he hears the contemplation in her voice.

“You think I can wait a week after that? You have too much faith in me.”

“I think you’ll survive, babe,” she says.

“Good night, babylove.”

“Good night.”

She falls asleep quickly after, dreaming of the nameless, faceless man who she bares her soul to.

Later that night, as Harry edits the finally finished audio, he thinks back to Honey and their mutual pleasure, feeling like an absolute idiot for saying that it was nothing serious. He wasn’t expecting her to agree so emphatically, so quickly.

Although, what had he expected? He was the one who suggested it. No matter, he can’t have a relationship right now, especially a long distance one. He would just end up getting hurt, but he likes her too much to stop talking to her completely. He finally took their relationship further even if it won’t lead to anything more.

—

“Are you ready to admit defeat?”

Y/N lets out a breathy laugh, despite her current situation, her hand rubbing leisure circles on her already sensitive clit, which still throbs from her first orgasm of the night. Tango murmurs praise in her humming ears.

She’s not really sure what they are, and she doesn’t want to think about it. It would only complicate things more.

Friends? Definitely.

Well, maybe not definitely, since she doesn’t even know his name, but what other word could she use to define their relationship? What sort of friends would say such filthy things to each other? Why would he call her ‘my honey’ so emphatically if they were ‘just friends’? Too afraid of misinterpreting his intentions and embarrassing herself, she doesn’t mention anything, and he never does either, but it keeps her awake at night, wondering what they could be if she could just put her feelings to words.

This would be the second hour of their phone call, and it only took them ten minutes for the conversation to turn into one of their “stress relieving sessions”. Both of them had a terrible day; she was late for the first day at her new job (they were understanding given the circumstances, but it still left a sour taste in her mouth), and he slept through an exam. She eased him into a submissive headspace quickly, babbling about what a good boy he is and how proud she is of him. Within minutes, he came, and she whispered all the filthy things she wanted to do to him until he was completely spent, his cock milked of all remnants of his seed, twitching and throbbing with empty orgasms.

He easily fell into the dominant headspace after his quick high, and he was adamant that he could make her come more than any of her other partners, even without him truly there. She knows that he can; hell, she has touched herself to his voice more times than she could count, but she likes teasing him, hearing him get all riled up and stubborn.

“Are you gonna come again, honey?”

“Nope,” she breathes, “Not even a little close.”

“You’re obviously lying or not trying,” he says sharply, and a sense of pride swells in her chest at her ability to get a rise out of him without even trying. She smirks.

“What are you gonna do? Punish me?”

“I might have to.”

She’s sure he would, too, but it would be in the most pleasurable way possible, with his mouth and fingers and cock stimulating her until she comes so many times she can’t take anymore. Her fingers trace her most intimate area, nails scraping against her quivering core. She sinks two fingers inside, feeling her sopping pussy swallow them easily, adjusting quickly and craving more. She tries to find that sweet, spongy spot inside her, but she can’t seem to reach it.

“Wish it was your fingers,” she mumbles, her movements certain and even, but it’s never enough for her greedy body.

“Yeah, lovie?” He croons, “they’d be so big in your tight little pussy.” She hums, wishing that he was there to stuff her in every way possible.

“Would you wear your rings?”

“For you? Of course.” Her eyes roll back at the thought; his thick fingers could tear her at the seams, and with the added texture of his rings, she would be coming within seconds. Her clit throbs, blood rushing in time with her racing heart, and she massages it harder, wanton and waiting for yet another release. “C’mon, babylove, Come for me. Make me proud,” he coaxes. His words make her fall over that edge once more, thighs shaking and pussy weeping. She’s sure there’s a creamy stain beneath her, seeping into her wet skin.

“Again,” he demands. She thinks she may break. “Keep going, babylove. Where’s that toy you told me about?”

He knows that she won’t be able to come much longer on her own, with the pain overwhelming the pleasure.

“It’s so far away,” she whines.

“Go grab it, love,”

Her legs tremble as she twists around, reaching blindly into her bedside drawer. She can’t close her legs too much without getting overstimulated; her legs ache and twitch. Once the toy is situated just above her clit, she ticks it on. Her body reacts immediately, limbs jolting about, hips ducking away, and her voice catching. Gasping, she almost wants to take the toy away, the stimulation being far too much.

He thinks differently.

“Turn it up higher, lovie,” he says so sweetly. Her chest feels like it could almost collapse into itself. Still dizzy from her orgasm, she’s not sure if she can take it, her body fighting against her. She wants to beg and plead for something, but she doesn’t even know what for. Is it for yet another orgasm that will surely be more powerful that any other? Or is it for the burning at every nerve ending to stop?

“I dunno—”

“You can take it, such a good little bunny for me.”

The vibrator ticks to the next setting, a sharp, persistent sound echoes in her empty room, followed by an even louder shout. She has not control anymore. Thankfully, she’s home alone or else it would be an awkward morning with her roommate listening to her cries of pleasure well into the night. Her hand shakes, but she presses the head of the toy harder to her clit. She lets out a guttural groan, feeling euphoria seep from every pore.

“There it is,” he moans, breathing growing ragged. He’s surely jerking himself off, basking in the pleasure with her, and it makes her arousal burn deeper. She wants to put on a show for him, to egg him on and make him feel as good as he makes her feel.

“There’s my pretty girl. Let me hear you, baby.”

She can barely squeeze out a few breathless whimpers from her chest, hedonistic—no, animalistic—sobs crash through her. Pain and pleasure fight for control, just as her mind and body do.

“Feel good?”

“Yes,” she says weakly. “Feels so good.”

She comes quickly with a silent cry, her lips parted and face scrunched. Saliva slips from her open mouth, and she is unable to wipe it away, lewdly dripping down her chin to her neck before finding it’s place on her dirtied sjeets. The recovery period is quicker this time; it’s either that or her body is becoming numb to anything but pleasure. It feels like it’s never ending with the vibrator still nestled tightly to her puffy cilt. Her lips are surely swollen now too, tender from too many orgasms, yet still sopping with arousal.

“Don’t take it away,” he says, “You got another one in ya. You can do it, lovie.”

His voice is muffled beneath blankets where her phone lies, lost in her ravenous bouts of pleasure, limbs writhing and tossing. Her body aches when she twists to put it back up by her ear to hear him more clearly, muscles tight from her previous orgasms. Legs closing slightly, she whines when the toy presses harder against her clit, hips ducking away from the strong vibrations, eyes fluttering closed. Her phone falls out of her grasp once more, but the light illuminates the dark room, casting a warm glow.

“Please—”

She’s not really sure what she’s begging for; it just slips out, a weak plea. Perhaps, she just wants him to be there instead of on the other end of a phone call, in some faraway place she doesn’t even know. The room would feel so much warmer with him here, her back pressed to his chest, their sweat mingling. Maybe he would wear those pretty lace stockings he showed her a picture of once, the glittery fabric coarse against her skin as he teases his toes along her leg, keeping them spread. His freckled and inked arms wrapped tightly around her middle, paying special attention to her tummy, he would whisper sweet things in her ear and press on the area right below her belly button, telling her of how he wants to grind his pretty cock against her soft middle until she is sticky with his precum, how he can fuck himself that deep inside her. She would feel him for days after.

“I know it hurts, baby, but just one more, then you can go to bed.”

It sounds so nice, the thought of sinking into her pillows for a good night's rest, but an orgasm sounds even better, one leaving her spent and satiated and sleepy.

“Such a good girl f’me.”

As much as she wants to, the sensitivity becoming nearly unbearable, she can’t stop; she wants to make him proud, to prove to him that she’s his good girl who can take it. Even though he’s not truly there with her to hold her and make sure she comes, she still wants to do as he says. Her legs tremble, threatening to close.

She squeaks when the vibrator hits a particularly sensitive angle on her clit, and she bites into her pillow to keep from crying out. Her hips work desperately, to reach that high for the last time, just one more, like an addict itching for one more hit. It’s her fourth orgasm within ten minutes, and this might just be her breaking point.

“I dunno if I can.” Her words slur, and she can feel spit dripping down her puckered lips. She suddenly wishes he was there to wipe it away, thumb soft and subtle against her skin, lingering on her puffy lips.

“One more, babylove,” he insists. “Just one more. You’re doing so well.” She bites back a mangled cry, eyes squeezing shut, her thoughts lost in a dark chaos. His voice is the only anchor amidst a dizzying high, coaxing her through her stupor with sweet words.

“My pretty girl, my good fucking girl, taking it so well.” His gravelly voice pulls her from drowning, his words gritty from his clenched jaw. “You’re not hurting too much, are ya?”

His deep voice is soft, lilting with a tender care she needs. She could simply melt, blanketed in the warmth of his rich voice.

“A little,” she admits, a dull ache in her belly when she clenches too tightly. “But it feels so good.”

The vibrations pulse through her body, leaving her voice shaky, and she shifts slightly, hips digging into the mattress. It settles on the underside of her clit, and it’s so close to that one spot, until finally—there, there, there—right there. She groans, low and guttural, drawn out from the depths of her chest, animalistic almost. Her body burns and trembles for a second before yet another strong, unrelenting wave drowns her. Every muscle in her body tenses as the head of the vibrator finds the one tender spot on her clit, catching at just the right angle that leaves her eyes teary, world dizzy. She knows it’ll be painful if she doesn’t pull away, a harsh orgasm building, but she can’t stop, not with him listening to her, waiting for her final bitter end.

She’s doing so good for him, such a good bunny. She trembles in the wake of such a violent euphoria, weak moans slipping in time with her belated breathing. It passes through in waves, the pain, a bittersweet burning welling deep inside her, but a different ache persists, one that leaves her yearning for more, one that makes her dig her feet into the mattress and press herself harder on the toy. Her toes curl, and her back arches, free hand twisting the sheets.

He hums appreciatively.

“My bunny likes it when it hurts. Doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” she sobs, “I want it to hurt.” Hips shuttering away from the relentless vibrator, Y/N feels her final orgasm build, pain lingering around the edges as her muscles twitch.

“Such a dirty little slut.” Her back arches at his filthy words, arousal pooling beneath her. She could feel it wetting her thighs. “Just f’me, right, honey? Just my pretty slut.”

She comes quickly, eyes rolling back as it overwhelms all of her senses. She feels tense yet relaxed. A broken cry breaks from her swollen lips as she shatters, falling apart for the final time. Her muscles quiver, tiny shocks lingering in the aftermath of so many orgasms in such quick succession. Her limbs ache. Her heart races. Her pussy throbs. She knows that this will be all she can take, her body completely spent. She can’t find the energy to keep her eyes open, and they roll back.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” she says, still struggling to find her breath and collect her thoughts, but when she does, a smile breaks her face. She feels everything and nothing all at once, so perfectly numb. She finds herself laughing incredulously because that cocky little bastard was right: he made her come more times than anyone has before. She laughs until tears slip down her warm cheeks.

This is the part where the emotions start to become just as overwhelming as her release. So much sinks in all at once, and she realizes just how alone she is, and she wishes he was here to pull her back down to earth, to hold and to love. She feels deflated. The sexual release is such a rush, but it brings devastating lows. With tears in her eyes, she struggles not to cave into herself.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies, a sob curling in her lungs, forcing its way out in a blubbering mess. Once the first one escapes, the rest follow easily. She can’t seem to stop, heaving cries wracking her already sore body as she clutches onto her pillow. She fists her phone to her ear in an attempt to be closer to him, but that makes the feeling grow worse, settling to a black hole in her stomach, sucking all euphoria from her. Tears soak into her skin and sink into her ear, muffling his comforting words.

“Let it out, babylove,” he says softly. “I know, I know. I know. Sometimes it can just get really overwhelming.” His words are gentle, just as he is, and maybe that’s what makes this even worse. He is everything she wants. He is just so perfect for her in every way, but he is ao far from her reach. Maybe it would be better if he wasn’t such a good person. Maybe that would make the yearning go away. She’s quiet, slowly breathing through stuttering sniffles.

“Hey,” he says softly, “Go pee and clean yourself up, babe. Know you don’t like feeling all wet down there. It makes your peach all sticky.”

She nods, knowing full well that he can’t see her, but doesn’t move. She honestly doesn’t think she can.

“Go on,” he murmurs when he doesn’t hear the familiar rustling of her sheets. “‘M right here, honey.”

A few more tears squeeze out of her eyes at his words. It makes her whole demeanor crumble once again; she’s upset because he’s not really there, he’s not there to hold her and kiss her and love her, and that’s not fair. She just wants to have him here to tell her that everything will be alright; she wants him to be there to laugh with, to just be with. He is such a good part of her life, but she just wishes that he could physically be there in the way she dreams.

She cleans up quickly, tossing her spent underwear into her dirty laundry. Just as she had suspected, the remnants of her orgasms stained her thighs.

What’s that ache in her chest?

“Good girl, feel better, lovie?”

She nods and whimpers, unable to calm her trembling lips.

“Good, ‘m right here, babylove. Y’did so good, so proud of you.”

She crawls back to bed moments later, shuddering breaths and swollen eyes being the only remnants of her breakdown. She sniffles and wipes her wet eyes with the back of her hand, which smells vaguely of her feminine wipes.

“Sorry, if it was too much,” he says.

“No, no need to apologize,” she says quickly to get rid of any lingering guilt he has. It felt amazing, to be tested just beyond her limits, to be pushed to a shattering breaking point, to trust him to know what she can take. “It was nice. I just sorta—” Her voice breaks. “I dunno. Everything just got a little overwhelming. I think I’m better now.”

“What do you need from me, honey?”

She nearly starts crying again at how sweet he is. She almost could imagine that only a few minutes ago he was calling her his dirty little slut and demanding her to come until she could handle it.

“Just talk to me,” she says.

“So, I saw a couple dogs today,” he begins awkwardly. “Well, I was attacked by two little frenchie’s when I was walking to class, and it completely made my day ten-times better. They were so cute with their chubby little legs.”

He rambles on about his week, and it feels nice and familiar.

She’s nearly asleep when he begins talking about his mother. Apparently, she was visiting him last week, which was nice for about a day; then, he began realizing why he moved away in the first place: she is so smothering.

“And my mum is always nagging me to go out and socialize. She was like,” he breathes in, adjusting his tone to a falsetto. “Harry, you’re never gonna be able to find anyone if you don’t…”

He continues as normal, chattering away in his low, sleepy voice. She doesn’t think he even realizes his slip up, words spluttering out of his mouth so quickly that even he probably couldn’t hear it. She smiles as sleep finally overwhelms her.

Harry.

His name is Harry.

—

[charissekenion]

What systemic racism in the British beauty industry looks like

Remember when Black Lives Matter content filled up the feeds of your preferred social platform? While the message still burdens many within the black community — as well as some allies — on a daily basis, for many it is business as usual; even one of my regular online beauty go-to’s has that in their homepage banner. I’m sure it’s more about things being back to ‘some kind’ of normal post-Covid, but who knows? To me, it seems like everyone is tired and weary of the triggering message of BLM and I believe that’s a sign that, if systems are not changed, things are likely to return to what they used to be, the word diversitybecoming one of those words people say out loud while using air quotes. I’ve already written about my own personal experience as a mixed/black woman in the beauty world, but I wanted to try and tackle the systems within the beauty industry. If I’ve missed anything, let me know!

Brands/Agencies Throughout the early days of BLM, brands and agencies around the globe paid close attention to where their ads were appearing. It wasn’t a moral stance however; brands had learned that ads placed near George Floyd or protest-related content, monetized at 57%* lower than other news content. The investment simply wasn’t worth it and words/phrases such as Black Lives Matter, George Floyd, Minneapolis and Black people were put on industry blocklists. While blocklists surely began as a way for the industry to ensure it wasn’t placing insensitive ads, in 2020 brands are using them purely because of the bottom line; revenue.

For me, the brands that have stood out during BLM are the ones that are more thoughtful in how they can help, long-term. Praise was given to Emily Weiss of Glossier for starting a grant for black-owned beauty businesses. Another stand-out show of support came from Caroline Hirons, a brand in her own right.

Hirons is known as the queen of skincare amongst the UK press — and she knows that is a very white press. She took a few days to get her ‘ducks in a row’, early on when BLM was being heavily supported, ensuring her donations were able to have Gift Aid applied (more of the cash actually going to the organisation), before announcing that she would be giving 100 percent of the 2020 proceeds from her best-selling Double Cleanse with Pixi to Black Lives Matter. Pixi duly matched her donation.

But for every positive there were several embarrassing examples of how notto do it. I don’t have the time or energy to give a comprehensive list of just how many brands got it so wrong during the days that followed #blackouttuesday for instance.

I’m not about forcing anyone to do anything, because if you don’t care, why would I want your help? For me the blame lays with brands who have the means to send out the right messages on the daily via social and in the media. It wasn’t just about calling out RMS Beauty on their Instagram for hiring such an insensitive social media manager. It was more about checking out the feeds of Maybelline, Chanel Beauty, etc, etc, and seeing if they had ever shown diversity in their campaigns. The results were lacklustre to say the least, but, if there was one truly classic example of what not to do, the medal would go to Marcia Kilgore (founder of Beauty Pie, Fit Flop, Bliss). I’ve been a diehard fan of Kilgore and her work ethic for years and I’ve lost count of how many interviews I’ve listened to of Kilgore sharing her business journey.

But throughout BLM I’ve seen some shockers coming from (seemingly) Kilgore’s own hand. I’ve been sent screenshots of comments on Instagram (later deleted) including one that shows Kilgore using the shrugs emoji. One of Beauty Pie’s diehard (white) fans just didn’t get why Beauty Pie was receiving negative feedback after not standing up soon enough or strongly enough for BLM. Kilgore replied to her fan with the shrug — she might as well have said: ‘gee, we just can’t seem to please these people.’

The Influencer Whether you love influencer culture or not, it’s clear that, for now, it’s here to stay. Mostly dominated by (white) women, with some being worth over £4million here in the UK, whatever their chosen area of specialisation, there seems to be a very cookie-cutter approach as to what and who’s adored and accepted. Look at wellness, look at fashion, and of course, beauty, and you’ll find that the popular accounts are usually owned by very blonde, very slim women. Life is just one long Instagram Story compiled of working out in Lululemon, wearing makeup from an expensive brand that’s never looked past 10 shades, sipping an iced green tea and getting your wedding paid for by your clever agency rep who’s reached out to countless companies that are guaranteed to find you so palatable and on-brand.

Now, I am not coming for these women; these women can exist alongside the women that I choose to follow — the women that can and do in fact influence me and how I purchase, whether they get paid or not. And there’s the rub. Brands have been making tons of excess profits from women of colour who just love that brand — essentially unpaid micro influencers.

As a self-confessed beauty addict, I know the allure of the ‘next big thing’. I know how it is when you feel, or felt, that that brand actually understood you. When that new shiny purchase arrives from the likes of Glossier, you’re like, ‘hey friend’, and off you go, sharing your unboxing for your fellow beauty enthusiasts to swoon over in the comments.

Like I said, many true beauty influencers are micro influencers, doing their thing purely for the love, and not a pay check, but that’s in sharp contrast to those who are actually paid to do so. These paid influencers put in the work, styling their stories to appeal to their audience and also the audience of the brand that’s paying them.

One such influencer, someone I’ve been following a while as I enjoyed her fresh aesthetic, is also a PR. To be fair to her, I’d become so used to seeing her bounce across fields of tulips and daisies, that I wasn’t expecting anything from her when it came to ‘real life’. However, I did happen to see her Instagram Stories late one night, where she ‘appeared’ to be crying about BLM. I say appeared because honestly, I’ve seen better performances at my nephew’s nativity play. I even recorded the crying just to check I wasn’t being too dismissive.

The next day I saw that she’d finally posted an image she’d found elsewhere (i.e. not spent time creating) and given information on how to donate and research. It all seemed very rushed and frankly, I imagine that zero attention was given to the words. I wondered if she’d been pressured to post, and apparently she had been, after being tagged in a post that prompted people to call out influencers and brands who weren’t stepping up.

She dutifully posted a black square when it was ‘expected’ of her on #blackouttuesday — which she has since deleted.

On top of that, behind the scenes she was contacting various bloggers — I can’t confirm race ratios. She sent DMs that did not address the individual, did not ask the person how they were doing at this truly tiring and stressful time. Instead she asked if they were supporting black-owned brands (she asked this of a mixed-race woman who identified as black and had been posting tons of information on her Stories…) Clueless, lazy — or worse?

She mentions in the DM that one of her clients is a black-owned business and asks if the blogger might be interested in talking about it. The following day I kept wondering, ‘okay, if you’re so supportive, why not post about this black-owned brand on your own feed?’ Or, how about you offer your services to black-owned businesses at a reduced rate? Not because you should, but because, after all, you are performing as if you care.

**Dominique, a black, London-based PR shared her thoughts on how her frequent social media support of a beauty brand (self-created and not paid for, purely because she wanted to), soon started to feel as if she was being treated as a token when she was shown as the only black face in the company’s newsletter. She also tells me of a black influencer in the UK who had been promised payment for several pieces of promo work and yet had gone unpaid and ignored. It wasn’t until her loyal followers bombarded the brand’s social media platforms that the brand paid her, in full, with no argument, or apology.

“It’s so intrinsic, and so embedded,” says Dominique. “Whether it’s content creation or Instagram — which is the first port of call for every business — it’s also the tech, it’s the algorithms used. It’s the influencers, it’s the appropriation, it’s the fact that black influencers aren’t on PR lists, and aren’t being paid the same rates.”

Dominique also talks of the pressure of ‘black guilt’ that black influencers and creators can feel: “You kind of hope and root for the brands that you spend your money on, that you will see a change. And then also, you kind of assimilate in your feed to try and see if that’s gonna help you build a following. I’ve done it. Black people have learned to compartmentalise to survive and it comes down to assimilating and trying not to broadcast your blackness.”

The PR I think, in some ways, the power of the beauty industry PRs often goes unnoticed. These are people who are in the business of carving out a niche for a brand, making it the ‘next big thing’; they advise clients on everything, from tone of voice to the right faces to use in an ad campaign to which influencers to send product to, and which influencers to offer lucrative ambassadorships to.

As most UK PR firms are owned by white men and women, it’s easy to see why inclusivity might not even enter their heads. Why would it? Let’s not forget, for decades the ideal beauty has been that of a very Eurocentric look. PR firms, alongside the rest of the industry, play their part in affirming this beauty standard — it isn’t their job to actually change it. But with more and more voices calling for change, and in the era of cancel culture, PRs are likely to be forced into taking a more active role.

For example, the labeling of BLM being a political rather than human issue by the head of CrossFit was clearly a PR nightmare of huge proportions, and no-one in the multi-billion dollar beauty industry wants that to happen to them. As a recent article on the Business of Fashion stated; too often public relations execs go along with what their client wants, and if ever they do try to steer the client in another direction they are often left unsupported or removed from the account completely.

The Magazines As someone who’s been a hair and beauty editor and writer for 15 years, I’ve seen a lot of trends come and go. But one trend that remains the same is that of the ‘spot the black journo in the room’. While things may be slightly more progressive in the US, here in the UK I can say that I have never seen more than three black or non-white journalists at a press event at the same time. And don’t get me started on the staff within the publications themselves.

I remember when former British Vogue editor-in-chief Alexandra Shulman shared an image of her team in celebration of her last issue in 2017 — with not one black or brown face. I had long stopped my subscription to British Vogue, but when her replacement, Edward Enninful arrived, the man who had inspired me for years during his time at i-D magazine, I bought each issue with renewed excitement; oh how things would change!

But Enninful is one black man. And when Enninful himself is racially profiled while entering the doors of Conde Nast, you know that the problem goes way deeper. Add to that the fact that Vogue is still going to have to bow to its advertisers — the brands that keep it in print. It’s not us with our £2 ‘special price’ purchases that are keeping Vogue and others like it alive.

Elsewhere on Instagram, former Glamour editor Jo Elvin was bemoaning the fact that it wasn’t always the editor’s fault that there were no black models on the cover. Elvin said that black models often declined being on the cover (am guessing maybe it was because it was a pretty crap magazine back then?) because they ‘thought it would hurt their chances of getting covers with the high-end mags’.

And what is wrong with that? It’s far tougher for a black woman to get a Vogue cover, so if that’s that model’s goal, what’s it to Elvin and her crew? Perhaps they could seek out an unknown, rather than relying on the top three black faces over and over? Thankfully, Elvin was prompted to elaborate on her flippant comments, by none other than the aforementioned Caroline Hirons. Hirons ended by telling Elvin that the numbers don’t add up, and that bias is ‘systemic in Conde.’

I remember once going for a meeting with an online brand I avidly read. Naturally I was excited and flattered to be told: ‘you look so [insert brand name here]!’ as if I had just earned a special badge. Aside from the flattery, it really meant a lot to me and I was genuinely excited at the opportunity to write and shoot for them. I left the building buzzing, but over the coming weeks, my numerous pitches seemed to fall on deaf ears. ‘Hmm, she’s probably really, really, busy,’ I told myself.

Weeks later I noticed a new name on their writer roster and wondered if the fact that she was also mixed race was something to do with it; perhaps two was one too many? I think this is something we see and fear in many industries, but especially within fashion and beauty. While a non-black editor might enjoy being seen as the progressive one, he or she might also be nervous of ‘opening the gates’ and only employing non-white people! I’ve heard this from several black and brown people in the industry also. Once you get that role, you want to keep it both for career and financial reasons.

It’s clear that, across the board, work needs to be done, and we also need the work that is supposedly being done, to continue. It makes me nervous to see brands jumping on the Diversity Officer job role, while only offering six-month contracts. Does this mean that they hope BLM will just go away and people will just stop expecting their voices to be heard and their rights acknowledged? Are we all just so nostalgic over what normal used to be that we’d rather enter another year with blinders on?

It’s okay to admit that you’re completely unprepared for this fight. If you’ve never had to care about this fight, I get that. But whether you chose to use #blackouttuesday to gain some new fans, or you actually wanted to begin making lasting change, it’s clear, it’s going to take a lot more than a black square followed by vague epithets. Show the work; talk to your audience. Literally no-one can claim to be perfect right now, but if you want to build an anti-racist brand, take the steps, because we are all watching.

*Statistic taken from this NPR article: https://www.npr.org/2020/06/27/884213471/why-advertisers-wont-run-ads-on-black-lives-matter-content?t=1597134345822

** Name has been changed

Image: Photo by Hazel Olayres on Unsplash

This article also appears on Medium

[chocoluckchipz]

Dance with Me, Chaton - 17

Read it on A03, WattPad, FF.net

Written for @ladynoirjuly2019

< Previous

17. Oblivio.

His whole body hurt, dull pain pulsating through Adrien’s very core. Eyes closed, the light still burned. Water. He’d drink an ocean given a chance. Adrien shifted on his bed and groaned. Head-splitting headache. Stiff. Why was his bed so hard? And where was his mountain of pillows?

Someone grumbled nearby. Adrien slowly opened one eye.

It was definitely his apartment. His living room with his couches and his TV set and his multiple gaming consoles. Albeit messy beyond imagination but definitely his living room. Why did he sleep on a coach then, instead of his comfy bed? And why in the world did Nino occupy the neighbouring one?

“Nino?” Adrien whispered.

“Shhh, man,” Nino moaned. “Dying.”

“Water,” Adrien whined.

“Aha.”

“Can you?”

“Dude, shut up.”

Someone whistled behind them. Adrien’s whole body resonated with pain.

“I see, you boys are looking great this morning,” Alya cackled, coming into the room. “Where is your medicine cabinet, Adrien?”

“Kitchen. Above the fridge.” He pointed out the direction without moving. “Can I… water. Please?”

“Me too.”

“Coming right up.”

It didn’t take long for Alya to come back with two glasses of water and some pills. It took her an eternity and a copious amount of persuasion to sit the two men up and make them take the pills.

“What happened?” Adrien groaned.

“You partied like it was the last day of your life,” she chuckled.

“I what?” he moaned. “Sorry, I… I don’t remember much.”

Alya quirked an eyebrow and sat by Nino. “What do you remember?”

“Club. Charades. I think I lost. There was a vodka plank? And… Marinette?”

“Well, I’m glad you remember at least her,” Alya snickered. “Though, I’d be really surprised if you’d forget. The way you two made out—”  

Adrien’s eyes blew wide. “What? What did we do?”

“Made out,” Alya snickered. “Passionately kissed.”

“Dude, even I remember that,” Nino said, his hand on his forehead. “We caught you in a corner practically devouring the girl.”

Adrien stared at the pair in shock for a few moments. “I… I must have been really drunk.”

Alya laughed. “Why so shocked? She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she? You just needed to find a more private place.”

“She isn’t my girlfriend,” Adrien murmured. “We’re coworkers.”

Alya quirked an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You kept proposing to her yesterday.”

Adrien yelped. “I did what?”

“At least five times,” Alya couldn’t hide her amusement.

“Did—did she agree?” Adrien was mentally kicking himself for asking, but he had to know what to expect when he’d see Marinette next. As if he didn’t have enough embarrassing situations with her. He had to go and add one more. Perfect. She’d avoid him like a deadly tsunami from now on.

Alya’s lips trembled. “Every time. And she proposed to you at least thrice. Before you ask, you also agreed. Way too eagerly.”

Adrien flopped back on the couch.

“Bro, you’d better make me your best man. I already have a mind-blowing story to toast you to.”

“Shut up, Nino,” Adrien barked.

Alya laughed. “Not ready to get hitched?”

“Not this way, and—” He looked at Nino and back to Alya, “I’ve kind of had my eye on someone else, so this is awkward.”

Nino frowned in surprise. “Man, why am I only hearing about it now? I thought I was your best bro?”

“You are,” Adrien sighed. “I’m just not sure she feels the same way about me, so I didn’t want to mention anything until I knew.”

“Dude—”

Alya laughed. “Don’t worry. I doubt she remembers anything, and we’ll keep quiet. Right, Nino?

The man nodded.

“But just in case, we’ll go home in a few,” Alya added, “To give you two a chance to talk.”

Adrien groaned. “I have until Monday, so—”

Alya snickered. “I guess you also don’t remember that she’s here? Sleeping in your bed. I helped her to shower, and since her clothes are pretty much ruined, we borrowed one of your t-shirts. I hope that’s okay?”

Adrien sat up, the blood in his veins running cold. In his bed? Why? What happened? Did they? No. They couldn’t. Not with those two around, no matter how drunk they were. Not if Alya was helping her shower. Can someone please explain to him what happened?

Alya frowned. “You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

He shook his head. “Nothing after we started to drink.”

She glanced at Nino. “Should we enlighten him?”

“Babe, all I remember is that I wanted to take you home, but I promised this dingle head to drive him and his girlfriend home, so we went searching for them because someone wasn’t at the bar anymore despite his promises. The next scene I wish I wouldn’t remember, but the level of indecency with which they made out in that niche is kind of hard to forget even in my plastered condition. I think I told him to find a room and that we were leaving.”

Alya snickered. “Not quite. You told him if he was going to play games with his girlfriend, he should find a room.”

“So? Same thing.”

“Not quite,” Alya chuckled. “Adrien thought playing video games was an amazing idea and invited us all to his apartment for Mega Strike tournament.”

Adrien groaned, dropping his head into his lap. “I shouldn’t be allowed to drink. I’m an idiot.” He glanced at the video games scattered across the floor. “I guess we did play.”

“We did,” Alya said, “Until you insisted Marinette tried your newest Beat Saber VR game, and she threw up five minutes into her round. Poor girl, she had it so bad, kept crying and apologizing and vowing to bear you three children as an apology.”

Nino was struggling to contain a laugh.

Adrien’s jaw slacked, as he stared at Alya wide-eyed. “Marinette shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near alcohol as well.”

Alya laughed. “You two are a match made in heaven.”

“We are just friends,” Adrien protested.

“Sure,” Alya snickered. “Anyway, I cleaned your carpet the best way I could, but you’ll need to dry-clean the carpet.”

“Thank you,” Adrien said, “Please tell me this was the end, and we didn’t do anything else?”

“Well…” Alya playfully swooned. “As a true gentleman, you offered her to sleep it off here, in your bed. Us, you offered your guest room, but Nino said he won’t allow his bro to sleep alone on a couch so he joined you here.”

“I’m amazed you remember this all, babe,” Nino said.

“I knew what I was getting myself into, Nino,” Alya shrugged. “Neither of you holds your alcohol well, so someone had to stay sober.”

“You didn’t drink?”

“Nothing alcoholic which by the way, you all owe me big for. And believe me, I’m not letting any of you off the hook easily because cleaning up puke from your carpet and showering a girl I’ve never met before isn't my idea of a fun evening I was promised.”

Something chimed. Alya took her purse from the floor and pulled her cell phone out. “We should go soon, babe,” she said, reading whatever was on the screen.

“Sure,” Nino nodded, pulling her onto his lap. “But first, how about a good morning kiss?”

Alya scrunched her nose. “Do you even realize how nasty you smell right now?”

“You still love me, don’t you?”

She smiled, running her fingers through his hair. “I do… but that doesn’t mean I’m going to kiss you right now.” Looking at Adrien, Alya said, “Take your co-worker some water and two pills from the bottle I left on the counter when you go.” With that she turned to Nino, cradling his face in her hands. “How about we go home, clean you up, let you sleep it off and then talk about those kisses?”

“Not even one?” Nino’s pulled his best puppy eyes on Alya.

She only ruffled his hair and shook her head. “Not a chance, but I might be getting ideas of how you can make it up to me for the yesterday.”

Adrien got up, downed the remaining water in his glass, and walked away. Better to face Marinette than witness those two. He grabbed the pills, filled a new glass with water, and sneaked into his bedroom as quietly as he could.

Splattered in his mountain of pillows, tacked under his snow-white comforter, Marinette was still asleep. Adrien couldn’t take his eyes off her, a small smile weaving its way onto his lips. She looked lovely. The dramatic difference between his white bedding and her dark and messy hair was gorgeous. Her flawless skin glowed despite slight puffiness from the events of yesterday. Eyebrows relaxed above her closed eyes. A gorgeous curve. Blush lightly dusted on her cheeks, soft breaths escaping her slightly parted lips…

Adrien swallowed. According to Alya, he kissed them yesterday.

His sight fell lower, eyes widening. Hickeys. Fresh hickeys on her neck. Did… Did he give her those? There was one a little lower, closer to her chest. It couldn’t be another hickey, could it? He couldn’t go that low, could he? He leaned closer. It was hard to see with his t-shirt covering half of it… His t-shirt on Marinette in his bed with hickeys he’d placed there. Could he please die right now? Before he had to face Marinette and explain himself?

A loud snore split the silence of the room. Adrien jerked back.

Marinette frowned, scrunching her nose.

Adrien snickered. Such a petite girl, snoring up like a grown man. Cute!

Marinette tossed to the side, licking her lips and slowly opening her eyes. “Adrien…” she whispered, her eyes half-lidded, voice quiet and sweet.

He nervously smiled.

“Adrien,” she said a little more cautiously, her eyebrows knitting in a frown.

He waved.

“Adrien?!” Her eyes blew wide as she squeaked and covered herself with his comforter. A pitiful Ouch sounded from under it a moment later. A moan followed. Then she carefully peeked from under the comforter. “Where am I?”

“My place.”

Panic in her eyes, Marinette jerked the comforter up and looked under it at herself in his t-shirt. Her eyes closed, hands clutching his comforter. “We… did we…”

“Oh, no,” Adrien rushed to say. “I slept on the couch, and two of my friends were with us all evening. We didn't—didn't do anything like that. Apparently, we just played video games.”

She peeked from behind the comforter, her eyes wide and innocent. “Video games?”

He chuckled. “Crazy, right?”

“Then where’s my clothes?”

“Alya said you were sick at one point and kind of ruined it. She put them in the laundry and gave you one of my t-shirts to wear. I hope that’s okay.”

Marinette blinked, remaining silent for a few moments before asking, “Who is Alya?”

“You don’t remember anything either?”

She shook her head and moaned again. “I suppose it’s fair to say I drank.”

“Yeah,” Adrien sighed. “We both did, and it looks like we really overdid it. Here.” Adrien offered her a glass of water and pills. “This should help.”

Hesitantly, she reached for the glass and gulped down the pills in one go. Lying back onto his bed and covering herself with his comforter, Marinette moaned. “There is a reason I don’t drink.”

“I don’t drink either,” Adrien sighed. “We were lucky my friends were there to get us home.”

“So this Alya is one of your friends?”

“Yes. She’s my best friend Nino’s girlfriend. She basically babysat all three of us yesterday.”

“She needs a medal,” Marinette said. “Or a saint rank. Possibly martyrdom.”

Adrien chuckled. “She does. We’ll think of something.”

Marinette turned to her side, watching him for a few moments, when her whole body went rigid. “Oh my gosh,” she whined, hiding back under the comforter. “I kicked you out of your own bed. I’m a horrible human being.”

“That’s fine,” Adrien smiled. Suddenly remembering his marks on Marinette’s neck, he swallowed. She’d notice them eventually. He’d better come clean himself while he could. So, turning to a side, he mumbled, “Count it as an apology for leaving hickeys on your neck.”

Marinette jerked up, sitting straight. “Leaving what?”

“Those.” He motioned to his neck’s general direction. “On your neck. Hickeys.”

She frowned, then her eyes blew wide, and forgetting that she was wearing a t-shirt and underwear only, Marinette scurried to the bathroom to inspect her neck. “Oh, my gosh! Adrien! What did we do?”

“I don’t remember,” he moaned pitifully. “Alya says we kissed. Just a little. Like once or twice?”

Marinette blinked at him in confusion. “There are at least seven hickeys. How could we have kissed once or twice?”

She looked at Adrien for an answer, but he only shrugged, bowing his head low. “I’m sorry?”

Marinette whimpered. “I don’t know how to cover them, and I can’t afford to have hickeys today. Adrien, why?”

He perked up. A chance to redeem himself! “I can teach you how to cover them.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, so we’re experienced?”

“No, but at my photoshoots, I often see make-up artists cover them up for other models.”

“Yeah,” Marinette pursed her lips. “Very plausible explanation. I might need some time to decide if I believe it.”

“Your right,” he said. “If you don’t trust me, I can always not teach you.”

She watched him for a moment, then looked back at her neck in the mirror, running fingers over the bruises. “Alright,” Marinette relented a moment later. “Pass on the wisdom. You owe me at least that.”

Adrien grinned. “You won’t regret your decision. What’s today, by the way?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you can’t afford to have hickeys today.”

“Oh. A dinner with my parents,” Marinette replied, turning back to look at the mirror. “I just don’t want to listen to their speculation about my non-existent love life, and if they see those, they’ll be sure to interrogate me until I confess to everything I don’t remember.”  

“Then we must act quickly. I… I don’t have makeup here. We’ll have to go shopping unless you want us to go to your place and use your makeup.”

“We could go to my place, but some of my makeup are at its end, so I’d say we go shopping.” Glancing down at herself, she pursued her lips. “My clothes are ruined, you say?”

“Alya said they were. I haven't checked myself.”

“I believe Alya.” Marinette said and, going back into his bedroom, crawled under the comforter. She swaddled herself in and murmured. “It’s warm and comfy. I’ll wait for you here.”

Adrien chuckled, amused. “Accept my apologies, but I can’t buy you makeup without you there. We need to match your skin tone.”

“I have nothing to wear," Marinette murmured, burying her face into his pillow. "I can't go."

“We’ll find you something from my closet.”

“You’re a few sizes bigger than I am.”

“And you are a designer,” Adrien pointed. “And a fantastic one. Surely, you can adapt something.”

Marinette looked at him, pouting. When he laughed, she sighed. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I’m sorry?”

“This bed is way too comfortable for me to leave it willingly.”

Adrien chuckled. “I do owe you quite a lot by now. Would you like me to pay you back with the same bed?”

Adorable pout on her lips, Marinette silently watched him for a moment before relenting. “You’re buying me breakfast. I’m starving.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Adrien saluted. “Would you rather rummage my closet on your own, or would you like me to help you out?”

“Lead the way,” Marinette said, crawling from under the comforter. “I’d rather you keep me from finding the things I shouldn’t find.”

“I don’t have anything like that.”

“Sure,” Marinette replied. “None of us do. Now, stop talking and get walking. We have a day of fixing up this mess ahead of us, and my stomach would start rambling soon.”

“As you wish,” Adrien bowed and headed to his closet with Marinette in his tow. He liked her. He really did. Even in the complicated situation they’d landed themselves into, Marinette was so fun and easy to talk to. Just having her here felt wonderful, and calming, and just amazing. She didn’t judge him for his mistakes. Her punishment sounded like a reward. Adrien needed people like her in his life. More friends like Marinette.

If only for a split second, though, but watching Marinette go thought his clothes, Adrien wondered: could it be that his drunk yesterday self knew exactly what he was doing? Could it be…

Nah! He shoved the thought away. He was in love with another, and no matter how much Marinette enticed, he was a loyal cat and couldn’t betray his one and only. His Ladybug.

_______________________________________________________________________

Next >

[personalcoachingcenter]

Successful Personal Development: The One Person You Can Always Trust

New Post has been published on https://personalcoachingcenter.com/successful-personal-development-the-one-person-you-can-always-trust/

Successful Personal Development: The One Person You Can Always Trust

For people who are interested in bettering themselves, there are many options. This post will examined some of the top personal development tips for all types of people; however, there is still a whole world out there for people who are interested in this topic. 

  We all know how easy it is to say your going to change something about yourself and it never happens. It is important that you find some niche that will let you surpass the phase of just saying you want to change. Their has to be something that can convince you, something that will click in your mind, that will let you help yourself!

  Don't just base your ideas on what you are capable of financially handling. You need to realize that there is going to be a risk to take with your decision, no matter how much money you have. It is okay to take a hit on something uncertain as long as it does not completely put you out on the street.

  The Most Neglected & Powerful Act of Self-Care

zenhabits.net

"By Leo Babauta Many of us are (rightfully) focused on taking care of our health, eating nourishing whole foods and trying to be active … while meditating and flossing and taking some time of disconnection, away from devices. These are wonderful acts of self-care, and they are necessary and important. But there’s one act of […]" https://zenhabits.net/self-love/

Set goals and stick to them. Your goals are only as tangible as the planning you put into them. Staying organized and keeping on top of your progress will help you avoid distractions and obstacles that pop up along the way. Engaging your distractions and conquering them is a positive reinforcement for habits that will bring you to your future goals!

  There is no time for excuses in personal development. Stop excuses at the door, and nip any laziness in the bud. One bad move can lead to a long-term bad habit, so preventing laziness before it starts is really just saving you future work. Personal development is about being your best at all times, so practice what you want to achieve.

  Try your best to avoid stimulants. The word stimulants includes things like coffee, energy drinks, and even nicotine. All of these things directly effect your metabolism. While this might not be a bad thing all of the time, you should be wary that it can be. If you find yourself in a negative mood monitor your use of stimulates more closely.

  Try to learn how to breathe right. You need to be able to concentrate on your breathing, especially if you are stressed or in pain. When things get intense, try to avoid taking quick breaths that make you dizzy and want to pass out. Instead try to breathe more slowly and deeply. You can feel much more in control of your anxiety and pain to prevent making things worse.

  Psychedelics — Microdosing, Mind-Enhancing Methods, and More (#377)

tim.blog

"This episode features a panel that I moderated in front of a standing-room-only crowd at the Milken Institute’s Global Conference 2019. It includes a great overview of psychedelic science, investing opportunities, anecdotal personal benefits, legal challenges, and much more. I think it’s one of the more comprehensive panels ever done on the subject. Here are the […]" https://tim.blog/2019/07/15/psychedelics-microdosing-mind-enhancing-methods/

Make sure you know how to balance the various goals in your life. You should never be too harsh with yourself. You might find your confidence takes a hit from a loud inner critic. At the same time, you should also be flexible. Failing to reach certain goals can be a tough blow to recover from, but learning to forgive yourself makes a big difference in keeping yourself motivated.

  Your personal gauge should always be set to "optimize." In other words, imagine your whole self — body, soul and mind as a singular, efficient machine. You'll be more likely to hit your target on the mark if you know the direction you're taking to get there is efficient and streamlines.

  Being able to effectively manage your time will play a huge role in the level of success of bettering yourself and your life. Staying organized is important because the stronger your plan, the less leeway you have to get off track and the less excuses you will be able to make.

  3 Stepping Stones to Better Habits

www.jackcanfield.com

"How many things do you do every day without even really thinking about it? It’s so easy to walk up to the counter at the coffee shop and order a pastry to go with that highly sweetened coffee. Or, to flop onto the couch when you get home instead of taking a detour toward the Read More The post 3 Stepping Stones to Better Habits appeared first on America's Leading Authority On Creating Success And Personal Fulfillment – Jack Canfield." https://www.jackcanfield.com/blog/better-habits/

Get to know your internal moral compass. When people look beyond all the frustrations of life, they can find guidance from their true self. Most people discover they really are brave, honest, believe in justice and the benefits of self-sacrifice. Anger, stress and other emotions tend to pile on top of our true nature, reducing us to less than we could be. Reconnect with yourself by relaxing and letting go of the frustrated emotional layers.

  If you are looking for self-help tips to help out with your depression, consider taking a long walk with a friend or family member. It is great to share your thoughts and feelings with someone, and studies have shown that exercise is a great way to help fight depression.

  Remove stress by getting a hobby. When you find an activity that you are interested in and like to do, you will have something to concentrate on besides whatever is giving you stress. You can find social hobbies that allow you to interact with other people, but solitary hobbies also go a long way in relieving stress.

  Take responsibility. Don't make excuses – take responsibility if something goes wrong. That way, you put yourself in the position to correct or change things. Taking responsibility has great benefits: you can assess a situation and take the steps to alter things that aren't contributing to your personal success. Also, don't forget to take credit for the good things that happen in your life!

  This topic is one that is hard for some people to understand. This is natural because it can be very difficult for humans to analyze themselves appropriately. After reading this post you should feel more prepared to understand yourself and your thoughts. Let us know if you find the post useful!

[gillianfoster]

lesbian cal lightman post 3x13 lie to me fix it fic, also the most niche thing i’ve ever written

This isn’t the first time she’s done this, showing up at Gillian’s in the middle of the night. She still remembers the last time, after that woman at the bar had asked her who her ideal woman was, and then there she was at Gillian’s door. It’s a vulnerable feeling, like a bruise fresh on her cheek or skin scratched raw just at the surface. She doesn’t know what to do or how to react when she stands at Gill’s door like this, admitting she needs something. She knows how to deflect and how to make herself unreadable. How to hide.

When Em had asked her what she was waiting for, she’d lied. She knew exactly what the problem was. Lying to her daughter, it made her heart rise up in her throat. She hated it. But Emily still had so much good in her - living in DC, being raised by two mums. She didn’t think about things the way Cal still did. Gillian married a man. Dated men. It wasn’t that Cal didn’t think she couldn’t also be interested in women, it was just that she’d never seen Gillian with a woman. She thought, sometimes, that there was a chance. She’d heard a joke about college experimentation once. This was different, though, and she knew it was different, and she couldn’t trust herself around Gill, not enough to be absolutely certain she wasn’t projecting something.

By the time she’s knocked and she can hear Gillian’s footsteps, she’s realizing she’s made a mistake. Gill is mourning. Now’s not the time. Em brought up a good point, but Cal should be waiting. She shouldn’t be here now.

Then Gillian opens the door, and she’s standing there with the light behind her, and it’s making the little frizzy hairs sticking out of her bun sort of glow, and she’s in a cardigan and her pajama bottoms and she looks beautiful. Just drop dead gorgeous. And her eyes aren’t still red.

Cal forgets to speak.

“Cal?” Gillian prompts. It’s the tone of voice that means ‘what the fuck are you doing here, it’s the middle of the bloody night,’ only in Gillian speak. Cal swallows.

“Right. Hello. Sorry, love. I, ah… I just wanted to check up on you. You alright?”

Gillian blinks at her, and tilts her head. “I think you probably know that I’m not. No matter how much trouble you might say you have reading me. But I’m not… You didn’t have to come all the way out here, Cal. Not while Emily’s home.”

“Well. She’s, ah. She’s gone to bed. So I just through I’d come and say hello again. I know I didn’t run off this time, I know we had a talk and everything, but I just…” Cal bites her lip. Gillian’s right here, in front of her. That shouldn’t feel so strange when it happens every day, but she knows that both of them can at least feel that this is a vulnerable moment if nothing else. She steps inside the door, just inside, closer to Gillian. Almost close enough to feel the heat she seems to generate. “I just can’t get it out of my head. Seeing you in that hallway. Covered in blood. I was… Jesus, love. I was terrified. You called me in a panic and I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure yet that you weren’t hurt.” This is more vulnerable than she was prepared to be, but things are spilling out now before she can stop them. “You’re… you’re one thing I’m not prepared to lose, darling. You and Em. I can’t… that can’t happen.”

Cal realizes she hasn’t been making eye contact. Her hands are clenched into fists at her sides, and she shakes them out a bit and looks up at Gillian’s face. It’s soft. Touched. There’s a sudden ache somewhere to the left of Cal’s heart, and for just a second she thinks she might be having a heart attack, but no. No. That’s just what Gill does to her.

“Thank you. For telling me that. That… means a lot.”

This is the problem with both of them. Cal can’t say a damn thing to her, because she’s so terrified of giving herself away, so when she does say anything, Gillian goes into shrink mode to be sensitive with her to encourage her emotional vulnerability. She’s fucked up in plenty of ways, but the way she is around Gillian isn’t just abuse and trauma and the things she’s seen. It’s also just fear. Fear of all the ways she’ll fuck it up, like she always bloody does, fear of all the ways Gillian could gently let her down.

“Yeah, I…” Cal wants to say more, but it’s not right. Not now. Still not now. She chokes it back down and swallows again. She steps back, down off the doorstep. “I shouldn’t have come all the way out here tonight. Sorry. You were right. I’m not… This isn’t… You need your rest, love, yeah? Especially right now.” Cal runs a hand through her hair, pushing it back off her forehead where it’s flopped down a bit, and she starts to turn away.

Gillian stops her just with her voice. “I wasn’t really planning to sleep. Not tonight. At least not on purpose. In this one case it’s… too personal. I’ve seen a lot of things but this was…  I don’t want to fall asleep.”

Cal turns back to look at her, and sees the vulnerability in her expression, too, and walks back over and steps inside. She pulls Gillian into her arms, and that part’s easy. This is something they both still know how to do, how to hold each other, be the one thing keeping the other one together.

When she pulls back, Gillian’s looking up at her, and it feels dangerous. Wallowski went on a date. They’re not together anymore. Cal still feels suddenly like she should tie up all the loose ends. Do something else. She pushes Gillian’s hair behind her ear, where some’s come loose. Then, she steps past her just a bit and turns. “Should I come inside for a bit then? We can watch something on the telly. Just pass the time. I’ll text Em in case she wakes up. I can keep you company.”

Gill nods at her, and Cal goes in and straight towards the kitchen. “I’ll make you some tea, shall I?”

“Cal that’s at least the fourth warm drink you’ve made me today.”

“Still take an ungodly amount of sugar?”

She can practically hear the fond smile in Foster’s sigh as she walks away, so she goes about pulling down the mugs, getting the kettle started. Once everything’s set up, she pulls her phone out of her pocket. She does text Emily, hoping it won’t wake her up, and then she sends a text to Wallowski. “Was your date good enough that if things between us are over you won’t hold it against me?”

The kettle’s not boiled, but she knows she’s probably only got about five minutes between that and the time for the tea to steep, and she’d really like to get a response before she goes into the sitting room. She waits and taps her fingers against the counter. It’s cold, and her finger bounces back a little with each tap. Just as she knows the tea is starting to get a bit strong, her phone vibrates, and she jumps. Thank Christ Gillian wasn’t there to see that.

The text is from Wallowski. “Go get her, idiot.”

Concise. Comforting. Cal knew there was a reason she liked her. Never as much as Gillian. Nowhere close. But there had been something about her.

Cal takes out the tea bags before the tea’s completely ruined, and leaves her own black and puts far too much sugar and milk in Gill’s. She carries both mugs to the sofa and gives a light pink mug to Gil with a slight flourish and a bow. “Your awful tea.”

Gill smiles at her, and Cal sits down and puts an arm around her. Her mug is in her free hand. This still feels natural, too. Not dangerous yet. The danger is still, though, in the fact that she came here at all. That she said what she did to Emily. Said it out loud. That she’s officially broken it off with Wallowski. She’s here for a dangerous reason, and it’s nagging at the back of her skull every time she thinks she can forget it. Gillian trusts her, trusts her enough to let her close and be affectionate with her and use her for comfort. The reason she’s here feels like an abuse of that trust. Cal takes her arm back and puts it by her own side, then switches the hand her mug is in so she won’t be tempted.

To her surprise, Gill turns to look at her. Cal gives her an apologetic smile. “Just getting a bit warm. Sorry, love.”

Though the look she gets is skeptical, Gill still nods. Then she smiles. “You could always borrow something from me. Change out of that sweater you’re always wearing.”

“I’ll just push up the sleeves, I’ll be fine.” Cal puts the mug down on the table in front of them and does just that, then puts her arm back around Gillian. “See?” Gill scoffs, and Cal moves her arm again, turning to look at her face on. “What?”

“I have pajamas. Especially if you’re gonna spend the night, you don’t have to sit around in all that.”

“Me? In your pajamas? Gillian, please, I’d look like a tit.”

Gillian laughs, and Cal can’t help but smile back at her.

“You could just borrow a t-shirt at least. Not everything I own is that feminine, Cal.”

“You put me in a nightgown and I’m leaving.”

As Gill stands up, Cal follows her, and they go right back to her bedroom. She watches Gill shift through closet and drawers, but mostly just gets overwhelmed by how much everything looks soft and smells like Gillian. Then there’s a blue t-shirt being shoved at her.

It’s a little bit light blue for her tastes, but she still smirks a bit. “Alright, fine. But what am I meant to wear for bottoms?”

“I don’t have anything you won’t object to, you’ll just have to stick with your boxers.”

“Who told you I wear boxers?”

“You did, Cal.”

She shrugs, and grins. “Right, well. They’re comfortable. Fine, then. I’ll go and change.” Cal starts towards the bathroom, then sticks her head back out around the doorframe. “Can’t believe you’re telling me I ought to sleep in your house in my underwear. That’s scandalous, that is. Could start a rumor at the office like that.”

Gill just sighs at her, but she can’t hide the smile around the corners of her mouth - she couldn’t even hide it from someone else, right now. “I’ll see you back in the living room, Cal.”

Cal changes there in the bathroom. Down to just her boxers, bra, and a t-shirt, she truly does feel vulnerable. Comparatively comfortable though her sports bra may be, she’d normally take it off to sleep or relax, but she doesn’t trust herself enough. Not right now. Still, she folds up the rest of her clothes and puts her belt on top and walks back out to the sitting room, putting the pile of clothes down next to the couch. She sits down, and she puts her arm back around Gill.

“There. All better.”

It’s not better. It’s much worse. Gillian’s taken the time while Cal was in the bathroom to take off her sweater, and her socked feet and her legs are curled up beside her on the couch, and her short sleeved sleep shirt means that Cal’s fingertips are just brushing the skin right below her sleeve. It’s probably what hell is like, but frankly it’s a hell Cal would sign up for a thousand more times.

She watches Gillian finish her tea, and there’s something on the telly but she’s not looking at it. She can’t, just yet. She can’t take her eyes off of Gill. Maybe there’s something to what she actually said when she showed up. Well. Of course there was. It was true. But maybe she needed just this more than she realized. She’d gotten so caught up in fighting for Foster, fighting that two-bit prick, that she’d forgotten herself. Another one of her many bad habits. Seeing Gill in a hallway, totally vulnerable, in shock, covered in blood. It shook her. The idea of something happening to her before Cal ever said anything, before she ever even tried. It was awful.

Cal shakes herself from her thoughts, pushes Gill’s hair back behind her ear again, turns to the telly. She sees her tea on the coffee table, and she knows it’s gone cold by now, but she doesn’t care.

After a moment, after she’s at least managed to pretend to focus on whatever late night channel Gillian has on, she can feel eyes on the side of her face. She doesn’t look over.

“Cal.”

“Mm?”

“Why did you really come here tonight?”

Cal swallows, and shakes her head. She’s still looking at the screen. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, love.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want the answer.”

She finally turns her head, and Gillian’s face is far too close. This isn’t jokey flirting in her office with Loker right there watching. This isn’t a momentary tease. This is for just the two of them. Cal shifts back a bit, and looks her in the eyes. The arm that was around Gill comes up next to her, and she uses her fist and elbow to prop her head up against to the back of the couch.

“I really don’t think it’s the time for this.”

Every statement gives her away. Everything is incriminating. But she won’t outright lie when they’re both feeling so unsteady, and she can’t be honest.

“When is the time, Cal?”

She shakes her head. “Not right now, Gill. I came over because I… I had a talk with Emily, and I decided to come over. But it’s not the night, yeah? You’re still… We’re both still in a mess. It’s not a time for a serious talk.”

“Is it ever the time for a serious talk with you?”

Cal grits her teeth, just for a moment. “You don’t get to say that. Not right now, not when I said what I did when I showed up here.”

Foster sighs, but for once Cal knows she’s right. “Yes, fine, that’s… You’re right, Cal. That isn’t fair. But I just… I feel like you’re never being completely honest with me.”

They’re dancing around the edge of something, but Cal still isn’t sure that Gillian knows just what that something is. “I am honest with you. Almost more than anyone. You know that, Gill.”

They make eye contact again, and this time it lasts for a long moment. Gillian nods. “Right. I know that. But I still like to know you’re not hiding something. At least not something important.”

Cal licks her lips and glances at the back of the couch, right next to her. “Yeah. Well. There are things we don’t say, aren’t there? There are lines.”

“Cal, for god’s sake. We got rid of the damn line a long time ago.”

She knows that Gillian’s right. The lines are gone. “You mean I did.”

Gill laughs half-heartedly. “With the things I said about Wallowski? I have, too.” Cal watches her shake her head. “And I should… apologize for that. I’m not happy that you called her for this, but it’s… It’s good that you’re happy. At least she’s not toying with you. And you deserve something steady.”

Cal starts shaking her head while Gill’s still talking. “Don’t… That’s all over and done with. You don’t have to apologize for any of that.”

“Since when?”

“Well she went on a date, didn’t she?” The line doesn’t even feel genuine in her mouth. She sighs, and drops her head forward. “Fine, alright. Since… I broke it off. Didn’t want to do it anymore. There’s nothing between me and Wallowski, nothing between me and anybody. There’s just… me.”

Gill’s staring now. “And when did this happen? During the case?”

“You want the truth on this one, too?” Gill nods, and Cal winces. “When I was making tea in the kitchen, just now.”

Gill frowns, and her brow furrows. “You broke up with Wallowski in my kitchen?”

“Just… checking it was over. There’s no hard feelings. It was already done.”

“Why?”

“We’re getting back to that thing you don’t want to hear, love.”

Gillian shakes her head again. “I don’t have any idea what it is, Cal. I don’t know why you seem to think I do.”

“You really don’t know?”

Another shake of her head.

Cal sighs, and pushes her own hair back again, but the little bits at the front just flop back over her forehead, and she feels like a mess. “I’m… I came here tonight, because… Em asked me, after I got home tonight, after everything else I’d been through… She asked me. About you. But specifically how I… felt. About you. And this… I know this is something we’ve joked about for years, Gill, but it’s not… It’s not a joke for me. I’m not certain it was ever a joke for me.”

“What’s not a joke for you?”

Cal still doesn’t look at her. “I love you, Gill. I’m… I’m in love… with you. And now’s not the time, and it’s a shit night for both of us, but Emily asked me tonight why I’d never done anything and I was at your door before I’d had time to think about it.”

There’s a long pause, and Cal finally looks up, and she can’t read anything but confusion on Gillian’s face. “Cal. What? I… I’m nothing like the women you date.”

She laughs, and she knows Gill can hear there’s no humor in it. “Well that’s the bloody point, isn’t it? They’re nothing like you because you’re you. They’d date me. They’re attracted to me. Of course they’re nothing like you. You don’t date women, let alone women who… who drink too much and gamble and wear fucking boxers. And that’s the mildest list of reasons I’ve got, love.”

“I didn’t know it wasn’t a joke to you.” That stings her, more than Cal would care to admit. She has to look away again. “It’s fun, it’s always been fun, but with the way you’ve dated and gone around over the years, and the way you flirted… I didn’t know it was serious. I wasn’t sure you could be serious, about… Anyone but Zoe.”

Cal can feel the bile churning in her stomach. She shakes her head and goes to stand up. “I think I’d like to go ahead and go to bed, love.”

“Cal.”

She’s stopped in her tracks, and she realizes it’s Gill’s hand around her wrist that’s done it.

“Don’t walk away. Not right now.”

Following direction, although she doesn’t know why, she practically falls back onto the couch, and she looks at Gill with what she knows is full brunt of the ache she’s feeling.

Gillian’s touch is warm on her face, and she closes her eyes.

“I’m not you, Cal. I can’t read you the way you can read me.”

She turns her face into Gill’s hand, glad for the sign she hasn’t ruined it all. “I’ve told you, I can’t read you either. You can read just as well as I can for anyone else, you know that. But for you, I’m… I always thought I was putting too much on you. Reading things that weren’t there. That night you got drunk on my scotch and told me to say thank you, I…”

“I… wanted you to kiss me.”

Cal opens her eyes. There’s another hand, on the side of her neck now, and she shivers. “Yeah?”

“Just because I thought you were joking didn’t mean that I wasn’t… falling for the joke. Every time I’ve ever pulled away when I shouldn’t have… I thought I was protecting myself.”

“From me?”

Gill shrugs, and Cal places her hands at Gill’s waist.

“I don’t want to hurt you, love. That’s the last thing I ever want to do.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be able to help it.”

Cal opens her mouth to say something, then shakes her head and starts again. “I suppose we’re both a bit bad about that. Between who we are, and the job we do… maybe it isn’t always possible to avoid. But I can try and get better. We can make new rules, and try our best not to break them, and be honest when we do.” It’s the kind of promise she’d only make for Gillian. “I don’t want to fuck this up, love.”

Instead of responding, Gillian leans close, and there’s a press of lips against her forehead. Cal grins, and pulls back enough to look up at her.

“You could at least give me a proper kiss, darling.”

“I could, could I?”

Gillian smiles at her, and it’s dazzling. Then their lips are pressed together, and they’re kissing. It’s not one of those god awful quick little platonic pecks, either, that they’ve peppered across their friendship. This kiss is proper. Lingering. Their lips shift against each other, damp, and Gillian breathes out into the kiss and Cal takes the opportunity to bite gently at her lower lip. When they both pull back, Gill is blushing a bit, and Cal can feel warmth at the tips of her ears.

“You still gonna make me sleep in the guest bedroom?” Cal asks teasingly.

Gill gives her a look even as she gently brushes a hand over Cal’s hair. “Before you even take me out for dinner?”

“Oh come on, no funny business. I’m gonna make an honest woman out of you. You deserve to be wined and dined.”

“Hmm.” She watches as Gillian glances at the telly and then turns back to her. “We’ll see.”

Cal puts her arm back around Gill, and this time Gill leans into her properly, head against her chest, and maybe they’ll fall asleep that way, and maybe they’ll move to a bedroom, and maybe Gill will shoo her off to the guest room after all. Whatever happens now, it’s alright.

[coachingreviewsite]

Successful Personal Development: The One Person You Can Always Trust

New Post has been published on http://personalcoachingcenter.com/successful-personal-development-the-one-person-you-can-always-trust/

Successful Personal Development: The One Person You Can Always Trust

For people who are interested in bettering themselves, there are many options. This post will examined some of the top personal development tips for all types of people; however, there is still a whole world out there for people who are interested in this topic. 

  We all know how easy it is to say your going to change something about yourself and it never happens. It is important that you find some niche that will let you surpass the phase of just saying you want to change. Their has to be something that can convince you, something that will click in your mind, that will let you help yourself!

  Don't just base your ideas on what you are capable of financially handling. You need to realize that there is going to be a risk to take with your decision, no matter how much money you have. It is okay to take a hit on something uncertain as long as it does not completely put you out on the street.

  The Most Neglected & Powerful Act of Self-Care

zenhabits.net

"By Leo Babauta Many of us are (rightfully) focused on taking care of our health, eating nourishing whole foods and trying to be active … while meditating and flossing and taking some time of disconnection, away from devices. These are wonderful acts of self-care, and they are necessary and important. But there’s one act of […]" https://zenhabits.net/self-love/

Set goals and stick to them. Your goals are only as tangible as the planning you put into them. Staying organized and keeping on top of your progress will help you avoid distractions and obstacles that pop up along the way. Engaging your distractions and conquering them is a positive reinforcement for habits that will bring you to your future goals!

  There is no time for excuses in personal development. Stop excuses at the door, and nip any laziness in the bud. One bad move can lead to a long-term bad habit, so preventing laziness before it starts is really just saving you future work. Personal development is about being your best at all times, so practice what you want to achieve.

  Try your best to avoid stimulants. The word stimulants includes things like coffee, energy drinks, and even nicotine. All of these things directly effect your metabolism. While this might not be a bad thing all of the time, you should be wary that it can be. If you find yourself in a negative mood monitor your use of stimulates more closely.

  Try to learn how to breathe right. You need to be able to concentrate on your breathing, especially if you are stressed or in pain. When things get intense, try to avoid taking quick breaths that make you dizzy and want to pass out. Instead try to breathe more slowly and deeply. You can feel much more in control of your anxiety and pain to prevent making things worse.

  Psychedelics — Microdosing, Mind-Enhancing Methods, and More (#377)

tim.blog

"This episode features a panel that I moderated in front of a standing-room-only crowd at the Milken Institute’s Global Conference 2019. It includes a great overview of psychedelic science, investing opportunities, anecdotal personal benefits, legal challenges, and much more. I think it’s one of the more comprehensive panels ever done on the subject. Here are the […]" https://tim.blog/2019/07/15/psychedelics-microdosing-mind-enhancing-methods/

Make sure you know how to balance the various goals in your life. You should never be too harsh with yourself. You might find your confidence takes a hit from a loud inner critic. At the same time, you should also be flexible. Failing to reach certain goals can be a tough blow to recover from, but learning to forgive yourself makes a big difference in keeping yourself motivated.

  Your personal gauge should always be set to "optimize." In other words, imagine your whole self — body, soul and mind as a singular, efficient machine. You'll be more likely to hit your target on the mark if you know the direction you're taking to get there is efficient and streamlines.

  Being able to effectively manage your time will play a huge role in the level of success of bettering yourself and your life. Staying organized is important because the stronger your plan, the less leeway you have to get off track and the less excuses you will be able to make.

  3 Stepping Stones to Better Habits

www.jackcanfield.com

"How many things do you do every day without even really thinking about it? It’s so easy to walk up to the counter at the coffee shop and order a pastry to go with that highly sweetened coffee. Or, to flop onto the couch when you get home instead of taking a detour toward the Read More The post 3 Stepping Stones to Better Habits appeared first on America's Leading Authority On Creating Success And Personal Fulfillment – Jack Canfield." https://www.jackcanfield.com/blog/better-habits/

Get to know your internal moral compass. When people look beyond all the frustrations of life, they can find guidance from their true self. Most people discover they really are brave, honest, believe in justice and the benefits of self-sacrifice. Anger, stress and other emotions tend to pile on top of our true nature, reducing us to less than we could be. Reconnect with yourself by relaxing and letting go of the frustrated emotional layers.

  If you are looking for self-help tips to help out with your depression, consider taking a long walk with a friend or family member. It is great to share your thoughts and feelings with someone, and studies have shown that exercise is a great way to help fight depression.

  Remove stress by getting a hobby. When you find an activity that you are interested in and like to do, you will have something to concentrate on besides whatever is giving you stress. You can find social hobbies that allow you to interact with other people, but solitary hobbies also go a long way in relieving stress.

  Take responsibility. Don't make excuses – take responsibility if something goes wrong. That way, you put yourself in the position to correct or change things. Taking responsibility has great benefits: you can assess a situation and take the steps to alter things that aren't contributing to your personal success. Also, don't forget to take credit for the good things that happen in your life!

  This topic is one that is hard for some people to understand. This is natural because it can be very difficult for humans to analyze themselves appropriately. After reading this post you should feel more prepared to understand yourself and your thoughts. Let us know if you find the post useful!

[xb-squaredx]

Gaming in 2018: The Good and Bad

2017 is largely considered an awesome year for video games as a whole. Plenty of fantastic titles and the impressive debut of the Nintendo Switch certainly meant that 2018 had a LOT to live up to. This past year has certainly been interesting in a great many ways; some of it’s good, some of it’s bad and a lot of it is just…business as usual. As the year is winding down, let’s take a look at some of the notable releases and happenings in the video game scene. Take it away!

The year starts off fairly strong, the first few months having a fair amount of quality titles, some even potential “Game of the Year” candidates. Both Monster Hunter: World and Dragon Ball FighterZ released not only to high acclaim and sales, but on the same day no less! A wide variety of games from several different franchises and genres dot the calendar. Co-op adventure games like A Way Out in March, the return of God of War in April competing with Nintendo’s odd Labo line of potentially over-priced cardboard and the controversial Detroit: Become Human in May. The summer saw a slew of releases, from a new entry in the Mario Tennis series with Aces, Octopath Traveler in July, and Spider-Man on the PS4 in September. The last three months see a sudden explosion of hotly-anticipated titles from some mega-franchises. Everything from Assassin’s Creed to Call of Duty to Pokemon and Super Smash Bros. sees a release, not to mention Red Dead Redemption 2 right at the end of October. Just looking at things generally, there’s a good spread, but let’s look at things more in-depth.

Fighting games had quite a few releases this year, though sadly I’d say most of them were considered underwhelming for one reason or another. Another entry in the Dissidia series was absolutely crushed by FighterZ and Monster Hunter to kick the year off, while niche fighting games like Blade Strangers, Fighting EX Layer, SNK Heroines and BlazBlue Cross Tag Battle were met with mixed reception overall. The anime crowd also got a 3D Brawler based on the My Hero Academia license…that launched the same day in the West as Red Dead Redemption 2 so…ouch. The year does see a bit of a rebound with titles like SoulCalibur VI and Super Smash Bros. Ultimate being fairly well-received. It’s nice to see the fighting game genre continue onward, and at the very least I’m glad to see attempts at innovating or just new ideas being thrown out, but they can’t all be winners.

Unfortunately, I’d say there were also a fair few stinkers released this year, or games that just failed to capture much of an audience. February saw a double-whammy of Dynasty Warriors 9 and Metal Gear Survive, two games that are largely viewed as massive step backs from their previous entries. Shadow of the Tomb Raider, Sushi Striker and Just Cause 4 released and were quickly forgotten by the general public. You have some games that received at least SOME coverage and potential success, like Ubisoft’s toys-to-life Starlink game likely being the closest thing we’ll get to a new Star Fox game for quite a while (on the Switch version at least), and a fair number of indies came out this year too, or in some cases, came to consoles and boosted visibility. Hollow Knight came out last year on Steam, but is now out on everything and that thing sold like crazy on Switch at the very least. Then you have things like Dead Cells or The Messenger, Celeste and Guacamelee 2 that also received rave reviews. While last year we had Crash Bandicoot’s remakes and Sonic Mania appealing to nostalgia, this year we saw Spyro get his turn at a remake trilogy, as well as Mega Man 11 and an 8-bit, classic-Castlevania styled throwback in the form of Bloodstained: Curse of the Moon. All that said, let’s talk the big dogs.

Nintendo didn’t have nearly as many heavy-hitters in comparison to last year, though honestly I think it’d be hard to top that line-up anyway. The Switch’s library has ballooned since last year, a lot of that coming from ports, with that trend likely continuing into next year as well. The third party support is certainly welcome and fills out the Switch’s catalogue, though there’s an awful lot of first-party Wii U ports too. Donkey Kong Country Tropical Freeze, the Captain Toad game, as well as the first two Bayonetta games and Hyrule Warriors graced the system. Even the 3DS seems like it’s getting the shaft in terms of huge titles. Outside of a “greatest hits” of microgames with WarioWare Gold, there was a Luigi’s Mansion remake/port and…I guess Yo-Kai Watch still exists, so there’s that? The 3DS is clearly slowly being phased out, so as long as it still prints money, we’ll be seeing these strange remakes and ports…like…Kirby’s Epic Yarn coming next year…for some reason. As far as NEW titles, entries like Kirby: Star Allies and Mario Tennis Aces can be considered somewhat lacking, but it’s balanced out by a return to form for the Mario Party series, a great third-party exclusive in Octopath Traveler, a well-received DLC expansion/pseudo-sequel to Xenoblade Chronicles 2 and, of course, Super Smash Bros. Ultimate. Actually, I’d say that tips them back over into pretty darn good overall.

Sony did pretty well this year, though honestly they only saw TWO major exclusive releases. However, both God of War and Spider-Man, despite having uncreative names, are clear “Game of the Year” contenders, and it surely reaps the benefits of the various third-party hits on the platform…and Detroit: Become Human, I guess. Shame about Xbox though; as far as exclusives went there was Rare’s Sea of Thieves, seen by many as too devoid of actual content to play for very long. Its E3 show was good at least! Good at showing off a bunch of games that will also be on other consoles!

Industry-wide, the year was a bit of a downer though, with some notable layoffs and studio closures, some very close to one another. Cliff Blesinski of Gears of War fame, closed down his studio, Boss Key Productions, following two back-to-back flops with Lawbreakers in 2017 and Radical Heights in 2018. As the year winded down, Capcom Vancouver closed its doors in September, with Telltale Games following soon after, generating a fair amount of media buzz over the volatile nature of employment in game development and the concept of “crunch” time in games as well. Right as Red Dead Redemption 2 came out, Rockstar also received flak for their workplace conditions when news of employees working “100 hour” work weeks was brought up as if it was some sort of positive thing.

The game industry isn’t all sunshine and rainbows; for every success story, you have a studio closing, for every hit, you have a game that crashes and burns on release. It can be hard to tell what to expect in a given year with video games, what big franchises will do and what new tent poles might pop up in the meantime. Fortnite is suddenly among the most popular games right now, and after Nintendo’s last console flopped, the Switch is on the warpath to reclaim that status Nintendo has always been known for. In this year alone, we saw several sequels to iconic, major franchises. It can be easy to forget them all, but it’s important to soak all that variety in. New Far Cry and Assassin’s Creed games, Mario Party and God of War, for starters. There are toys-to-life games and cardboard creativity, alongside your annual Madden and Call of Duty and Battlefield games, and TONS of fighting games. Capcom in general seems to be on a hot streak of hits, which considering the reception of Street Fighter V and Marvel vs. Capcom Infinite last year, is saying something. I haven’t lost my love for gaming, though I do somewhat worry how certain modern monetization trends will affect things going forward. But there are also tons of things to be on the lookout for. PS4 and Xbone are going to be on their way out someday soon (relatively speaking anyway), Nintendo always seems to have surprises under their sleeves (like announcing and releasing a SMASH BROS. game all in the same year, for one) and there exist plenty of talented developers both large and small that continue to innovate, making fun, new ideas. Here’s to 2019 hopefully continuing the trend of being mostly good!

Happy Gaming, and until next time.

-B

[littlemarketingproject]

How to Build a Sports Blog: 4 Essential Tips

The most important step in starting to write a sports blog is actually starting to do it! And there are some other aspects we want to tell you about.

So You Want to Write a Sports Blog… 4 Essential Tips!

It`s a brilliant idea, my friend, and you deserve to be praised for such a decision. It`s, in fact, a very brave step.

You might think that many people choose the path of a blogger because it seems so appealing, profitable, and interesting. But what you often fail to take into consideration is the percentage of really successful bloggers.

What does it even mean? A number of subscribers, advertisement offers (if you`re anti-commercial, it`s going to be very tough), overall interest towards your personality and your work.

WordPress experts claim that around 99% of blogs flop because of multiple reasons.

According to blogging statistics, every year writing one single blog post is becoming more and more time-consuming. For example, in 2014 it took a blogger 2 hours and 24 minutes to write a post. In 2017 this time skyrocketed to 3 hours, and 20 minutes. The audience is becoming more demanding, and you need to check sources of information more carefully. So how can you make your sports blog really successful?

But don`t you dare think that we`re here to discourage you. Our team just wants to warn you about the possible dangers of blogging in general and sports blogging in particular. Our essay writing service has been swimming in that cyber ocean for quite some time and we`ve written on multiple topics, so we`ve figured out typical problems that you as a starting sports blogger may face.

Universal Soldier You watch Wimbledon, taking notes. Then you write a blog post. The next day you go to watch a basketball match and decide to write a review. The day after that you share a personal story about how you learned how to play golf.

Stop it right now! Every good blogger has a specific niche when it comes to a genre and topic. It`s impossible to be a total pro at each and every kind of sport. There are way too many details, personalities, rules, and events. You won`t give an impression of a person with a relevant and trust-worthy opinion if you jump from a topic to a topic all the time.

There are dozens of factors that you need to take into consideration when choosing your niche. The most important one is your competence.

If it`s a sport that you`ve been practicing, it will be a perfect variant. Nevertheless, you can go a different way. Just look at professional sports journalists.

Honestly, besides being well-informed, you also need to love that certain topic because your audience will definitely spot your insincerity.

I Think… No, You Don`t

The following dilemma is very common among bloggers who write not only about sports but about politics as well.

Should you include your personal preferences and opinions while writing a post? On the one hand, bloggers aren`t journalists, and technically, they aren`t supposed to follow all those rules of objectivity and unbiasedness.

On the other hand, high-quality content does include these characteristics, and bloggers have to remember it if they want to become opinion leaders. Championships and competitions are very passionate events, so bloggers will naturally root for their own country.

In most cases, bloggers have separate web-pages for their professional posts and for more personal stuff. That’s why your Facebook account can`t serve for both posting well-thought-out views on the Liverpool goalkeeper’s serious mistakes during the Champions League Final and for your drunk bathroom selfies.

By the way, Facebook is considered a bad platform for blogging in general.

Content and Audience! Audience and Content!

There is supposed to be that famous Bill Gates` quote about content. But hopefully, you just happen to know that it`s important.

Where there may be a blank space though is its cruciality.

Picture your reader. Who is he/she? What do they do for a living? What lifestyle do they have? What do they expect from your blog and what can you give those people? As we`ve already mentioned, the audience is very demanding nowadays. There are many sources of information, and there are even more aspiring bloggers.

So a content plan is an absolute must. And it has to be diverse. You can write game reviews, analyze professional skills of athletes, react to sports news, or even publish your own interviews with sportsmen and their managers.

Post regularly and try to divide your publications into segments. For example, you may post game reviews on Mondays and add athletes` biographies analyses on Thursdays. Your audience should know when they can expect new content from you.

Commercial Break It`s a tricky issue, and there is no way to find an absolutely universal solution here. So let`s try to be logical here.

Are you planning to turn blogging into your full-time job?

If yes, you won`t be able to survive without help of marketers of different sports brands, like companies that produce gym clothes, equipment, or sports nutrition. Many bloggers include adverts in their content, and it`s not a big deal. Your audience won`t run away from you unless you start selling products of very low-quality. In such case you`ll lose trust and respect. Always test products and ask yourself whether you`d buy it yourself.

If blogging is more like a hobby or if you want to gain more professional reputation (if you`re already a sports journalist or an athlete), then you can avoid adverts at all.

There is another marketing aspect though, and many aspiring bloggers forget about it. You need to promote your blog on different platforms.

Some people think that producing high-quality content is enough. A blogger will just get thankful readers who will tell their friends about the blog, and that’s how he/she will become a popular opinion maker.

It can happen like that, but the chances are incredibly law. So be prepared for spending some money on marketing.

If you call it an investment, it will sound fancier and less intimidating.

And you thought that having a sports blog would be easy. Yeah, right!

Original post: How to Build a Sports Blog: 4 Essential Tips

How to Build a Sports Blog: 4 Essential Tips syndicated from http://www.dailyblogtips.com

[fuzz1912]

An iPod. A phone.

Ten years ago, I had the random luck of landing in New York at 6pm on June 29. Something else was happening at that time, and I wasn’t about to let the opportunity to be a part of it pass me by.

Other than being an Apple fanboy for years, I was (and still am) a tragic early adopter with a firm belief in the potential for technology to simplify and enhance our lives. Back in that PC-centric world, this translated to faith in what Steve Jobs described as the ‘digital hub’ - having a (likely desktop) computer be the central repository for your communications (email), documents, photos, music and movies, connected to other satellite devices such as a phone, laptop, camera, music player (ahem, iPod) and video camera feeding them content. It was a remarkably clear and tidy vision allowing a true digital library of your life at your fingertips (provided you were seated in front of your computer), however it relied on one being able to have any or all of those devices available to you when you wanted to acquire that content.

That’s a lot of devices to carry around, and pockets / bags have limited space within. I recall my daily morning routine of putting my phone, keys, wallet and iPod carefully in my pockets to minimise bulge, packing my laptop and sometimes camera (and, very rarely when travelling, video camera) in my bag, and feeling like I had everything I needed at my disposal (while hoping that nothing fell out or was stolen). And of course, the devices in your bag (and the ones left behind) were never easily accessible or useful, being large and unwieldy to carry on their own or together.

Email was simply inaccessible without a laptop and WiFi. Blackberries were a novelty at the time and the preserve of high-powered executives and consultants - even as someone then working in a corporate environment, only the most senior members of my firm carried them. Some particularly adventurous individuals had digital personal organisers called PalmPilots to store their contacts and calendars, but these were of little use beyond that. I’d been working at a conference a few years earlier when I observed many of the participants carrying around small PalmPilot-like devices called iPAQs that hooked up to WiFi gave them access to their conference schedules as well as their emails. I thought this was the bees knees, and couldn’t wait to see this technology filter down to the consumer market. 

The hottest things in mobile phone technology back then were polyphonic ringtones, stamp sized photos sent through MMS, and the devices getting smaller. Despite being around for some time in Australia, apparently texting through SMS was only just becoming widespread in the US - but of course was stunted by its 160 character limit (hmm, why does that seem familiar?). You’d type a text through the muscle memory of knowing how many times to press a number on the pad to toggle a particular character - and wait a few seconds if consecutive characters were assigned to the same number. The manual process of entering contacts was laborious and repetitive, especially when changing devices or SIM cards, as there was no easy way to transfer them.

Eventually, HP and other vendors started offering devices (‘Pocket PCs’) like the ones I’d seen at the conference to consumers, at fairly astronomical prices. Some had WiFi included thanks to horrendously large antennae, while others required the purchase of a separate SD card for connectivity. Most shipped with the ironically-named Windows Mobile and required a stylus and an abstract Palm-esque character system for handwriting recognition (or an absolutely tiny software keyboard that needed to be prodded by said stylus). Due to the limits of this character recognition and the resistive screens of these devices, this experience was fraught with errors and inaccuracies. Other devices had large Blackberry-style physical keyboards requiring a similar symphony of thumb presses, this time somewhat resembling the experience of using a regular keyboard but with greater potential for RSI. Palm had such a product called the Treo, as did Motorola (then-known for its extremely popular slim flip-phone, the RAZR, and less so for its clunky iTunes Phone, the ROKR) with the Q.

In 2005, once Pocket PCs finally started to incorporate a mobile phone as well, I saved up and splurged on what I thought to be one of the most elegant - the i-mate JAM. About the size of the original iPod, it was compact but with a then-decent sized screen. Its ability to recognise one abstractly-scribbled word at a time felt like a revelation, and turned the one-character-at-a-time experience of texting and writing emails into something slightly more fluid. Of course, emailing and web-browsing were limited by the need for WiFi (and I did buy one of those silly SD cards for occasional use) and the awful and very rare mobile-optimised websites (the ‘baby web’ as Steve Jobs would go on to call it). I could get useful information such as weather forecasts, but only occasionally when hooked up to WiFi through that card - forget about getting anything useful through 2G GPRS data - or download a bunch of information at a time when syncing to my computer (clunky though it was, given it ran Windows and I used a Mac). But the fact that it did sync to my computer at all, and provided all (well, most) of my contacts when I needed them felt incredibly useful - instead of having to repeatedly press a button to scroll through my contacts to make a call, I’d simply find it using my stylus. I’d occasionally even get by scribbling characters messily with my thumb or forefinger, but for most intents and purposes the stylus was the most effective method for input. 

Several years earlier, the iPod had stormed the market for portable music players and effectively killed portable CD players - despite lukewarm efforts by other manufacturers to build MP3 players or alternative technologies like MiniDisc. Ostensibly, the iPod triumphed over its competitors due to its straightforward ability to sync a library through iTunes, its non-removable hard drive for storage, as well as its simple user interface and click wheel - which, despite the steady addition of photos, videos and games, few people felt could be adapted for other purposes like a phone. At the same time, despite the ROKR flop, phones were starting to include the ability to store and play music - which posed a long-term existential threat to the iPod. Much as the hard-drive based iPod Mini was killed and replaced by the superior flash-based iPod Nano, so too would the iPod itself need to be replaced by a convergent product. Similarly, ‘3G’ phones were providing limited online walled-gardens where carriers would provide certain services or information, thereby also posing a threat to the nascent Pocket PC market as well.

I say all this because I was one of those people searching for the mythical ‘one device’ that would replace all of these others and surpass their various limitations. There had already been considerable talk and rumour-mongering of an ‘iPod Phone’ which I hoped would come to pass eventually, but had no idea how soon that would be. In January 2007, I was utterly amazed to see Steve Jobs unveil just that: not just a better widescreen iPod with touch controls, not just a better mobile phone, and not just a more effective way to get information from the internet - but all three of those in one. Gone were both stylus and click wheel, replaced by a smooth capacitive touch interface that allowed you to use your always-available fingers to do everything you needed - and with barely any physical buttons, the entire screen was the phone, and the UI adapted to the needs of the specific app you were using. There was no physical keyboard simply because there was no need for one. This device was not just an iPod, a phone, or an internet communicator - it really was a computer in your pocket. 

It was the third part of the ‘device’ that spoke to me the most and I was surprised at how lukewarm its reception was at the time - being able to view whole web pages at a time and tap to zoom in on the content you were interested was absolutely mind-blowing (and now that it’s dead, we can forget the minor inconvenience of not being able to view battery-hogging Adobe Flash content). And add to that the fact that it also had maps and a limited type of GPS as well, so it could potentially also replace a Melway (our local street directory), printed directions or even those expensive in-car GPS systems. Unlike the Blackberry or even Pocket PCs before it, this was a smart phone that any consumer signing up to a telco contract could access - and to top it off, on a technological level it left those predecessors firmly in the dust. 

With that kind of tremendous change came a predictably hostile response from the incumbents and pundits, all of whom couldn’t grasp how such a device could have anything but niche appeal when it was so different to what success currently looked like and what they believed people then wanted out of their phones (see Steve Jobs’ later co-option of Wayne Gretzky’s line about skating to where the puck will be, not where it’s been). I, on the other hand, was a true believer, and wouldn’t be brought down by such negativity - even if it was reasonable or proved to be valid (happily for me, it wads neither). I was well and truly sold and, being unable to bear the anticipation of getting my hands on this game-changing device, skinned my JAM to resemble the iPhone interface and patiently waited to hear when we might be lucky enough to get an Australian release for the device - likely months or years down the track.

So you can imagine my excitement when by chance I was asked to chaperone my nephew on a vacation to New York that just happened to land on the day the iPhone was released (Modern Family’s Phil Dunphy had a similar description for how fate aligned the stars to make his birthday coincide with the release of the iPad several years later). We landed just as the doors would have opened at Fifth Avenue and the first lucky customers who had lined up days earlier would walk out with their shiny new toys. Despite the 20-odd hour journey, I pleaded with the relatives we were staying with to take me to the nearest Apple Store as soon as we unpacked. The last thing I wanted to do was go that far and find the product had sold out. Luckily, this was a mall store in Long Island, and I was completely shocked to find no queue, not that many people around, and plenty of stock sitting at the counter. It seemed not quite everyone was sold on the future just as yet. I did not hesitate, and walked out of there USD 600-odd lighter.

Of course many people then posed the obvious question to me: as an Australian, what good was a phone locked to a US carrier that couldn’t even be activated without signing up to a contract? I may have been blinded by my enthusiasm, but I wasn’t stupid about it - and luckily again, the particular circumstances surrounding the original iPhone conspired to make things work for me. Despite the lack of the ‘outright’ device purchasing model at that time in the US, the original iPhone had the carrier subsidy built into the contract, not the device itself - so while you did have to sign up to a two-year contract to use the phone, you did that after purchasing the phone at an ‘outright’ (not subsidised) price. So the sting in the tail was a USD 300 cancellation fee if you left prior to the end of the two years. Factoring this as a cost of purchasing a ‘widescreen iPod with touch controls’ and ‘breakthrough internet communicator’ I persuaded my relatives to take up then AT&T contract so that I could activate the device, and would reimburse them for the cancellation fee. But again luck struck - as the phone was effectively purchased at an unsubsidised price, the contract termination fee didn’t kick in until 30 days after purchase - so I got my device (without the phone) at its sticker price (and even better, would later be refunded USD 100 when Steve Jobs finally realised he’d ripped off all of us early adopters a little too much). When I finally made the pilgrimage to the Fifth Avenue store a few days later, I picked up another one for my (now) wife.

Using this ‘touch iPod’ (soon to be made redundant by an actual iPod Touch) during those early days was a total thrill, and completely surpassed the experience of using my not-very-old-but-ancient-feeling Pocket PC. The skeuomorphic ability to touch the device with your fingers and have it appear to respond in a physically consistent way was tremendous. Certainly it also had appeal as a novelty - its absence from the Australian market did result in quite a bit of interest from friends and onlookers after my return. I was somewhat surprised by the quality of the photographs it took, though not sufficiently to use it to regularly replace my point and shoot or DSLR. And it definitely became my full-time iPod, as the cover flow visuals and multitouch interface made up for its relatively modest 8GB storage. But, as if that weren’t enough, within a few months enterprising hackers had found the Death Star's weakness, and exploited it to allow people to jailbreak the iPhone and unlock it from its Apple and AT&T shackles. While it was by no means the easiest or risk-free process and required a bit of technical know-how, thanks to some pretty detailed instructions published by said legends I was able to carefully work my way through them and fully unlock the phone - making it almost fully functional at home and allowing me to finally ditch my other mobile phone. Of course, our mobile telco plans were then still stuck in past as far as data, and I had to switch carriers to find a 'reasonable' plan that gave me a 'generous' allowance of 50MB/month (thanks Virgin Mobile!). But for the limited purposes of browsing and checking email in that data-lite era, this was still enough for the experience to be a revelation.

It's true that it wasn't until the iPhone 3G launched (and was finally made available in Australia as well) that the iPhone started to feel more like a mature product - and the local availability of the 3G obviated the need for the various workarounds and hacks I had to employ to make use of the original. Many of the features weren't really refined or perfected until the iPhone 4 or 5. A feature film was shot entirely on an iPhone 5S, and the capabilities of today's iPhone 7 (as well as the iPad, the iPhone's spiritual sibling, on which I’m typing this post) are drastically beyond what most people can fully utilise as they can store your entire (much larger) media library locally or access it through the cloud. Our phones now no longer look like they used to then - all modern phones and tablets still have the same basic form factor and layout as the 10 year old original iPhone, which truly felt like the opening of the technological floodgates and the start of an incredible paradigm shift. Of course, that shift has had many positive as well as negative consequences since - most notably, as a function of its widespread adoption, how we communicate with others, interact socially, and work outside the office - but that is always the way with (and cost of) progress. 

Today, a 'phone' truly can be the only thing you need to carry with you - as well as those original applications (phone, media, web), it's now commonly the only camera and video camera you'll use, the only (or most common) computer you'll use (with apps that can do almost anything you would have needed a desktop or laptop for), your car navigation, your wallet, even your keys. And all of that effectively started with Apple’s 'one device', ten years ago today.

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Successful Personal Development: The One Person You Can Always Trust

New Post has been published on http://personalcoachingcenter.com/successful-personal-development-the-one-person-you-can-always-trust/

Successful Personal Development: The One Person You Can Always Trust

For people who are interested in bettering themselves, there are many options. This post will examined some of the top personal development tips for all types of people; however, there is still a whole world out there for people who are interested in this topic. 

  We all know how easy it is to say your going to change something about yourself and it never happens. It is important that you find some niche that will let you surpass the phase of just saying you want to change. Their has to be something that can convince you, something that will click in your mind, that will let you help yourself!

  Don't just base your ideas on what you are capable of financially handling. You need to realize that there is going to be a risk to take with your decision, no matter how much money you have. It is okay to take a hit on something uncertain as long as it does not completely put you out on the street.

  The Most Neglected & Powerful Act of Self-Care

zenhabits.net

"By Leo Babauta Many of us are (rightfully) focused on taking care of our health, eating nourishing whole foods and trying to be active … while meditating and flossing and taking some time of disconnection, away from devices. These are wonderful acts of self-care, and they are necessary and important. But there’s one act of […]" https://zenhabits.net/self-love/

Set goals and stick to them. Your goals are only as tangible as the planning you put into them. Staying organized and keeping on top of your progress will help you avoid distractions and obstacles that pop up along the way. Engaging your distractions and conquering them is a positive reinforcement for habits that will bring you to your future goals!

  There is no time for excuses in personal development. Stop excuses at the door, and nip any laziness in the bud. One bad move can lead to a long-term bad habit, so preventing laziness before it starts is really just saving you future work. Personal development is about being your best at all times, so practice what you want to achieve.

  Try your best to avoid stimulants. The word stimulants includes things like coffee, energy drinks, and even nicotine. All of these things directly effect your metabolism. While this might not be a bad thing all of the time, you should be wary that it can be. If you find yourself in a negative mood monitor your use of stimulates more closely.

  Try to learn how to breathe right. You need to be able to concentrate on your breathing, especially if you are stressed or in pain. When things get intense, try to avoid taking quick breaths that make you dizzy and want to pass out. Instead try to breathe more slowly and deeply. You can feel much more in control of your anxiety and pain to prevent making things worse.

  Psychedelics — Microdosing, Mind-Enhancing Methods, and More (#377)

tim.blog

"This episode features a panel that I moderated in front of a standing-room-only crowd at the Milken Institute’s Global Conference 2019. It includes a great overview of psychedelic science, investing opportunities, anecdotal personal benefits, legal challenges, and much more. I think it’s one of the more comprehensive panels ever done on the subject. Here are the […]" https://tim.blog/2019/07/15/psychedelics-microdosing-mind-enhancing-methods/

Make sure you know how to balance the various goals in your life. You should never be too harsh with yourself. You might find your confidence takes a hit from a loud inner critic. At the same time, you should also be flexible. Failing to reach certain goals can be a tough blow to recover from, but learning to forgive yourself makes a big difference in keeping yourself motivated.

  Your personal gauge should always be set to "optimize." In other words, imagine your whole self — body, soul and mind as a singular, efficient machine. You'll be more likely to hit your target on the mark if you know the direction you're taking to get there is efficient and streamlines.

  Being able to effectively manage your time will play a huge role in the level of success of bettering yourself and your life. Staying organized is important because the stronger your plan, the less leeway you have to get off track and the less excuses you will be able to make.

  3 Stepping Stones to Better Habits

www.jackcanfield.com

"How many things do you do every day without even really thinking about it? It’s so easy to walk up to the counter at the coffee shop and order a pastry to go with that highly sweetened coffee. Or, to flop onto the couch when you get home instead of taking a detour toward the Read More The post 3 Stepping Stones to Better Habits appeared first on America's Leading Authority On Creating Success And Personal Fulfillment – Jack Canfield." https://www.jackcanfield.com/blog/better-habits/

Get to know your internal moral compass. When people look beyond all the frustrations of life, they can find guidance from their true self. Most people discover they really are brave, honest, believe in justice and the benefits of self-sacrifice. Anger, stress and other emotions tend to pile on top of our true nature, reducing us to less than we could be. Reconnect with yourself by relaxing and letting go of the frustrated emotional layers.

  If you are looking for self-help tips to help out with your depression, consider taking a long walk with a friend or family member. It is great to share your thoughts and feelings with someone, and studies have shown that exercise is a great way to help fight depression.

  Remove stress by getting a hobby. When you find an activity that you are interested in and like to do, you will have something to concentrate on besides whatever is giving you stress. You can find social hobbies that allow you to interact with other people, but solitary hobbies also go a long way in relieving stress.

  Take responsibility. Don't make excuses – take responsibility if something goes wrong. That way, you put yourself in the position to correct or change things. Taking responsibility has great benefits: you can assess a situation and take the steps to alter things that aren't contributing to your personal success. Also, don't forget to take credit for the good things that happen in your life!

  This topic is one that is hard for some people to understand. This is natural because it can be very difficult for humans to analyze themselves appropriately. After reading this post you should feel more prepared to understand yourself and your thoughts. Let us know if you find the post useful!