#and think she isn’t looking at the consequences

[closetcasefabray]

jesus saves (i spend)

i have been writing parts of an avatrice college au for two gd years now. the ideas & writing are scattered between here (one of the tags below should work), my whatsapp convos with @snowandwolves, on discord, my dinosaur laptop that crashes, & my email. it’s a fucking disaster but whatever so am i & not once in my life have i had my shit together so this is all unsurprising.

SO what i’m saying is, here’s the only part i have ‘formally’ written in fic form bc i posted that other ficlet. doing this made me almost throw my dino laptop & my phone out a window on several occasions—that’s why there isn’t more. but i just wanna share this.

more notes & rambles at the end.

//

You notice her because it's syllabus week of your freshman year, it's an 8 AM class, and you're fairly confident you're still drunk from the party you attended last night, but she raises her hand and correctly answers a question posed by your theology professor without hesitation. Your professor, Father Vincent, was likely hoping for a good guess at best, but there she is, exceeding expectations from the moment she speaks. You pickup on an accent, which you would find incredibly attractive if you weren't so thrown by her perfect and concise response, like a well-prepared speech is always readily accessible in the back of her mind—a girl with all the answers. A young woman, really. 

You, however, are not—you're just a girl. You're just a girl who shows up to her morning classes smelling like the bar or the house party from the night before, like the weed you started smoking almost immediately upon arriving to university during orientation week, like the cigarettes you smoke because it affords you a little more quiet outside and an excuse to borrow a lighter and talk to a cute boy or a pretty girl.

You're just a girl who technically died, existed in nothingness for a whole minute before being ripped back into a reality of blank ceilings and the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. You're just a girl strangers prayed for after they heard about the American child pulled from the wreckage. You're just a girl who didn't get any credit for teaching herself to stand again, to walk again—and if you’re being completely honest, you’re a girl who’s incredibly bitter that a god you never saw in that one minute got all the credit and none of the blame—for taking your mother from you, for taking years from you that had to be spent healing from god’s grace or lack thereof. 

You're just a girl who is tired of being told to look at her life as an expression of holiness, who thinks it is more so the consequence of indifferent stardust. But you still look for the beauty in that, in humanity and its flaws—these meaningless beings in a vast universe, creating and destroying their own little, myopic worlds on this spinning rock. Some will dream of poetry for their lovers, and some will dream of arsenals to level cities. You wonder how many lips were pressed together in a final kiss versus hands clasped together in prayer when fire fell from the sky in the name of God. You wonder what that says about faith.

You'd like to think if your mother could see you, she'd laugh at the irony because once you were baptized, she never took you to church. God finds a way, so you spent five miserable years in a Catholic orphanage before you were sent back to America. People said you were lucky to have two years in a foster family at your age, but it felt like living with strangers who were tasked with the minimum of keeping you alive. Then you were moved into a home for teen girls with a nun at the helm, and that’s where you actually felt fortunate for the first time in years. It was there that Mother Superion helped you with your studies and college applications. So here you are, tipping into a hangover in one of the oldest buildings on campus, learning theology from a priest.

But your mom would understand. (You don’t remember much of her, and you try not to think about that too deeply, or else you have to deal with the resulting ache that comes from reaching inside yourself for something that’s gone.) You have spliced together what you can recall into a short reel—you mom buckling into your car seat while humming a show tune, showing you how to fold a pizza slice and telling about a city famous for their pizza, and holding your hand in a museum in Spain, promising to take you to another big museum closer to home, the home you never saw again. So you promised yourself and the parts of her you carry that you’d make it here.

You would have had to pay almost full tuition if you wished to attend your reach, requiring immense debt, so you ended up at the school that offered you a ticket to the city and a hefty enough scholarship you could get through four years without requiring loans or a full-time job to afford it. (You first refused to use your mother’s death as a sob story in you application letter, but Mother Superion put her hand on yours and said, So rarely do these letters contain truth, but do not be afraid to tell yours. In telling your truth there is a sadness, yes—and I know you detest pity—but of all the things that have been taken from you, do not feel guilty for taking some of it back to live a better life.) You remember getting your acceptance letter, and looking up at the sky and flipping it off, praying whatever god hears you, No thanks to you!

But your bitterness temporarily takes a backseat in your mind as you look at your classmate, beautiful in the refracted light shining through the stained glass window, speaking so graciously of god you'd think Jesus were in the room, about to hand her his latest work. It's poetry, bordering on scripture in a new tongue, and you'd almost be a believer if it didn't sound as if she had repeated these words—practiced—enough times to believe them herself. You wonder what that says about her faith.

If the nuns at the orphanage had spoken the gospel as she does, maybe you'd be here for different reasons. You're fascinated.

Behold, you are beautiful…

//

i promise this fic gets lighter & has some silliness. so some notes/tangents:

this is 100% self-indulgence bc i heard ‘write what you know’ & ran with that shit. when i visited a friend at a state school in a college town i was so so confused bc it was just a diff campus culture entirely. then i was going to make this set in an ambiguous city, but i literally have saved places in google maps that would be great places to kiss someone sooooo you get NY avatrice.

likely setting this before instagram & smartphones bc i’m old/lazy & i can.

the title is from st. vincent who my friend introduced me to in college. “paris is burning” changed my brain chemistry & so i listened to her music on repeat for ages—“jesus saves, i spend” is on the same album.

father vincent will not be a bad man or evil professor. he will be as he was before adriel—a lost man who found himself through god & still a little broken but caring & devout.

also song of songs/song of solomon is like… the only part of the bible i fucked with in theology class so that’s the reference at the end. also another line used in another scene with JC, chanel, & ava written in v rough form. maybe will share that later.

this is meant to be a fic with a post-grad sequel as well. not much written of that but a lot of ideas everywhere.

once i figure out where i’m moving (hahahaha i’m so stressed), i’ll consider a ko-fi or something (i wish emails & names weren’t shown though). but mostly i will likely need a second job to save up for an actually good computer/macbook. once i have that i’ll be able to post on ao3.

anyway thanks for reading & being here :3

[justaz]

merlin places all his friends to rest in avalon. first freya, then lancelot, then arthur, then gwaine. and then the rest of the knights when they pass along with gwen. freya and co spend time together in avalon but freya is the lady of the lake so only she has the power to manifest herself to merlin. she does so when he comes to visit. she tells him that all his friends arrived safely in avalon and are resting peacefully, recovering from their lives. merlin passes her messages that she carries to the rest and they pass her messages which she carried to merlin.

its a few years later when freya manifests and asks about morgana. merlin isn’t a fan of the conversation but freya says that they’ve all made progress with themselves and each other and have kinda sat back and viewed everything that happened from and outside perspective and gwen wants her best friend and arthur wants his sister to have that same chance, they can’t bear the thought that she’s wandering the forest, driven mad and in pain. they ask that merlin puts her to rest. she’s been tormented enough in her life, she deserves a chance at rest and peace.

merlin begrudgingly treks out to the spot where he stabbed morgana and gathers her remains to carry the bones to the lake. he puts her to rest. freya thanks him and keeps him updated on her progress, it’s slow going but arthur, gwen, and leon want their morgana back, the girl who fought for what was right and just, damn the consequences. years layer freya shares how morgana is more akin to the young girl they described from all those years ago. merlin cries and finally mourns his friend.

morgana’s apology is carried by freya and merlin’s apology is carried back. her first request is for mordred to be put to rest in avalon as well. arthur seconds the request. the knights echo the same sentiment for their brother in arms. morgana tells freya where she buried him and merlin follows her directions and finally puts him to rest in avalon. freya tells him that mordred sobbed when he realized emrys put him to rest, he had thought that bridge was forever burned. merlin will never admit it but he definitely shed a few tears for him as well.

all his friends are together now. at rest. in avalon. more and more years pass but merlin’s health never declines. he’s old, too old, past 100 now at this point. yet he lives. he thinks it might be a cruel joke played by the gods but man can’t live forever so it’s only a matter of time. more and more years pass and he still lives. out of morbid curiosity, he closes himself and imagines himself as he was when he first arrived in camelot. at once, all his aches and pains melt away, his skin tightens, his beard and long hair shrivel up and when he peers into a looking glass he barely looks 20.

a cruel joke by the gods indeed. all of his friends are at peace, resting in avalon, and merlin will never join them. he will remain walking the earth until the end of time or when the gods deem his punishment fulfilled. he will never see his friends again. not unless they rise as the dragon said, but merlin has since come to terms with the fact that the scaly bastard is as manipulative as they come. he may have been lying about that too.

as more time passes and magic begins to fade from the minds of men and they turn to science, pillaging the environment of it’s resources and pumping it full of pollution, freya finds it harder and harder to manifest until she all but can’t. merlin sits by the lake for days without moving and she never appears. the world is different now and merlin is all that remains of albion. camelot fell centuries ago and invaders conquered the isles and made it their own. merlin is all that remains. he is completely and utterly alone.

[impossible-rat-babies]

me projecting my character issues on stormblood by giving eyrie issues

[touchlikethesun]

okay so. don’t crucify me. but su she and jin guangyao do actually make some pretty compelling points.

[rosemaze-reveries]

it took me 4hrs just to complete weepy’s 9th deduction but i finally unlocked this mf chart 🏌️ i feel like my souls been gutted out goodbye tumblr im quitting idv

[chiefguideandcentre]

Now I normally try to finish books (kindle) even if they aren’t the best bc who knows maybe the story will pick up later or whatever, but when the god damn main woman character (in this fantasy book) refuses to eliminate a threat (the villain that terrorized her her whole life, caused all kinds of death, destruction, terror, chaos, he’s completely evil and unhinged) even though she is in a position of power to do so and just puts him in jail instead bc “it’s not in my nature, I can’t 😢” even though literally everyone (that knows 10x better than she ever will) tells her that this guy needs to be killed bc otherwise the whole town and surrounding towns will never be safe again. But noooo for some reason she would rather let this a-hole live and allows his minions to continue walking free amongst the ppl with no consequences whatsoever but, fine, fine I will keep reading, surely she will change her mind soon. Que evil villain escaping (something everybody saw coming a mile away) and in his escape with the help of his minions (they were plotting???? What a surprise!!! 😒) he causes even more death, destruction, chaos, terror, at least 45 ppl die during his big escape and so the ppl come to her again and are like “well damn, that was a shit show, now he’s on the loose and needs to be stopped immediately. It’s obvious no one is safe, this guy is a rabid dog that needs to be put down. Girl holding the highest position of power now, surely you see that this can’t go on and as soon as he’s found he needs to be killed! Right?” And her god damn response after everything is basically “but but but… I don’t wanna 🥺” then no I’ve gotta quit the story I mean for fucks sake! How stupid can you be “well I don’t want my time as ruler to go down in history as violent 🥺 there must be another way, I want my ppl safe” like girl none is safe with you as ruler you absolute numbskull! “But but but my morals 🥺” fuck you and your stupid “morals”. Grow up! you don’t care about anyone but yourself. If you actually cared about your ppl you would eliminate the villain that has been terrorizing them for years. How about you give these poor people a little peace of mind instead of whining about your morals. You are more of a threat to them at this point with your inaction. You only care about your feelings and your comfort regarding certain subjects, and yet everybody around is like practically forced to coddle her and be all oh it’s not your fault it’s ok, like no it’s not ok, you are a moron and are not fit to rule! ridiculous, why am I so enraged over some shitty book on kindle? I mean this is a 3 book series, I’m abandoning it about a handful of pages into the second book, I just can’t!

[runninguplenorahills]

I read someone say: “Mike projected his misery over his fight with Will onto the roller skate incident” and it was honestly one of the smartest things anyone has ever said. This might’ve been obvious but seeing it written down really opened my third eye. Unfortunately I can’t remember who said it ://

read the tags for a little but more elaboration and another smart thing I said lmao

[demonicimagery]

i’m not yet fully sure how to annunciate this but satine kyrze in clone wars is written in such a way that the writers misogyny is inextricable from her character for me and it’s very hard to like her or hate her or really cohere what she could have been. like the relationship that damara has to hussie’s racism in homestuck but without the handmaid. maybe it’s my own thing but all portrayal of her positive or negative falls flat to me bc it’s so removed from what her character is or it’s too fucking sexist to stomach

[blackcupidangel]

Things Batmom has said:

“Keep your father out of the kitchen, I’ll be back by morning.”

“We’ll if it isn’t the consequences of your own actions”

“It means you can either drive yourself home or I’ll have Alfred come get you.”

“Look at my handsome boys growing into fine gentlemen.”

“Stay safe, I love you”

“Eyes open, baby birds.”

“Alfred and I made food for the week, it’s in the fridge” *punch* “Your running shoes are on the left side of the closet” *kicks* “Make sure his project is done tonight, it’s due tomorrow.”

“I’m going to let you fix it, because if I fix it I’m going to jail.”

“It’s called,” she raises one fist “fuck around,” then she raises her other fist, “and find out.”

“You don’t even know me, you don’t even know my real name…” she leans in with harden eyes yet calm features, “I’m the fuckin boogie man”

“Do not play with me, I am not the one, two, or the three.”

“Don’t kill him.” //“I’m sorry but who’s the one tied up here?” //“Darling—“// “Because the way I see it, it’ll be in self defense.”

“Just one leg.” “No” “Both legs?” “No!” “You’re right….I’ll go for their kneecap.”

“So…you’ve chosen to disobey me.”

“Alright now…don’t write a check you can’t cash.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say? I couldn’t hear you because of your tone of voice.” She leans in with a hand cupping her ear to encourage a second chance.

“Do I look like booboo the fool?!”

“Brilliant.”

“As mad as I am, I can’t let you shoot him.”// “Just this once?” //“No.” //“I’ll go for the knees. Nothing vital.” //“Hhgh.”

“You really hit the nail on the head with that one Batman.”

“And WHO do you think you’re taking to?”

“Don’t tell your father.”

“Be home by 10, or I start looking windows.”

“I’m so very proud of you!”

“A girl’s gotta be prepared.”

“You know…about the whole guns thing, I’m still not so sure I feel as strongly as you do.”

“Way to go, Bruce.”

“Touch my child, I dare you. Make my day.”

“Ahh…Motherhood.”

—————————————————————————

Heyyyyyyy hotties I’m backkkkkkk. Send me asks and requests as I’m easing my way back into things. It might take me a while to find my flow and writing style so bear with me please. I missed you all so much honestly.

[nottsangel]

— artrick and camgirl!reader ੈ♡˳

moodboard

it began as just a quick way to make some extra money during college and nothing more than that. you were a bit apprehensive at first, aware of the risks and consequences of someone finding you, but eventually, you started to find joy in it, especially because you received a lot of attention— even more than the other girls on the same website. people, who where mostly older men, started to like you, and money began to pour in like never before. but no matter what, you had to keep it a secret from everyone.

yet, patrick who scours the whole internet for porn that matches his specific taste, managed to unexpectedly find you while you were live. he almost couldn’t believe his eyes— his best friend, with her legs spread wide as she touched herself and loud moans escaped her mouth. and god, the way you moaned sounded so angelic, with your pretty, soft lips parted in ecstasy. he simply had no other choice— he had to tell art.

“i swear to god patrick, i don’t wanna see those golden shower porn videos again.” “just, trust me, you’re gonna wanna see this.” patrick insisted as he opened his laptop. he glanced at the time. 10 pm. that was usually when you came online on thursdays, because yes, patrick had already watched you so many days in a row, he memorised your streaming schedule. “who are these girls?” art questioned with a raised brow, puzzled as to why patrick would show him random camgirls, until he noticed he noticed you— fully naked while you held a vibrator against your swollen clit, causing his eyes to widen as he leaned closer to the laptop screen. “holy… fuck.” “yup. i know.”

and that’s how it all began. now, every day right before you would come online, patrick and art would sit impatiently next to each other on the bed, eagerly waiting for you to go live. “you think she’ll use that pink dildo again?” art asked patrick with clammy hands resting on his knees. “god, i hope so. that one’s my favourite.” and when you finally appeared on screen, a smirk spread simultaneously across both boys’ faces as they stared mesmerised at the screen, quickly adjusting their positions as their pants grew uncomfortably tight.

it was somewhat odd— it almost felt like video calling with you, as if you were touching yourself just for them, until they were hit with the harsh reality of the comments and countless men thirsting over you. the wave of comments flooding in during your streams, especially when you would interact with them, evoked a complex mix of emotions in patrick and art. they were consumed by jealousy— they wanted you for themselves, and they hated the fact that others could see what they saw. “jesus, these men are fucking desperate.” art exclaimed while reading the quick-paced comments with an unamused face. patrick shook his head in disapproval as he let out a chuckle. “i bet they’re all jerking off while watching her, fucking creeps.”

and ultimately… they found themselves becoming what they once criticised the most, as they’re now shoulder to shoulder in art’s stanford dorm room, hands tightly wrapped around their throbbing erections as they pumped it quickly. “this, uhm… this isn’t weird, right?” art questioned, his breaths coming in quick pants as your moans echoed through the shitty speakers of his cheap laptop. “no, no… i mean, we’re looking at her, right? nothing weird about that.” patrick reassured art as his eyes stayed fixed on your movements, and art nodded in agreement.

and even now, as they masturbated not only on their own to you but together, while watching you strip and bring yourself to your orgasms over and over again, they still hung out with you as usual. you noticed a change in their behaviour though— you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but they seemed more, nervous around you. you brushed it off quickly though, thinking it was just you. but little did you know they were indeed nervous to be around you now, as their eyes scanned every inch of your body covered in clothing, knowing that they had seen all of it— all of you, naked.

“do you… do you think we should tell her? that we know?” patrick asked art as they were once again, sitting in art’s dorm room, their hands lazily pumping their cocks. soft fucks and oh my gods slipped from your lips and resonated through the room along with the buzzing sound of your rose toy, which was the usual on fridays. “i mean, yeah, we should, eventually. maybe… uhm, next week… or something.” “yeah, yeah. next week.”

ੈ♡˳

🏷️ tags: @maizweig @swamp-box @oceandriveab @starkeysprincess @unhingedbanks @imawhoreforu @mcugirl @skylerwhitwyo @maybankswifey @hearts-4-kai @takaosin @imbabycowboy @badesire @parkerloves @diorrfairy @jizzlle

[5sospenguinqueen]

Princess Party | Lando Norris x Best Friend! Reader

Summary: Lando enjoys participating in all night life has to offer, particularly with his best friend. When Y/N falls pregnant after one drunken night, he panics. After all, why should he trade a club party for a princess party?

Warnings: Swearing. Angst. Baby fever. Loss of friendship. Pregnancy. Lando is not great in this.

Blonde female reader with various faceclaims. Pics found on Pinterest.

Main Masterlist

next.

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YourUserName just posted

liked by mclaren, lnfour and others

YourUserName a podium for my favourite boy 🍾🧡#AustralianGP tagged: landonorris

5,778 comments

YourUserName and another huge well done to my other papaya pookie @ oscarpiastri for p4 🥳

→ oscarpiastri i thought we agreed you’d stop calling me that

→ YourUserName WE agreed to nothing

→ landonorris um i should be your only papaya pookie

→ oscarpiastri disrespected in my home town

georgerussell63 excuse me, why don’t you make posts like this about me

→ YourUserName when was the last time you were on a podium

→ alex_albon hahaha

→ georgerussell63 @ alex_albon hey, i’m closer than you are

→ YourUserName now, now, children, behave

User1 is this his girlfriend?

→ User2 no, just his childhood friend. she comes to most races to support him as she’s been there since his karting days

→ User3 and she’s really close with the the grid, but particularly the 2019 rookies

danielricciardo well done, mate. well deserved

carlossainz55 always nice to share a podium with you

User4 i'm sorry but i can’t believe her and lando are just friends when she takes the most boyfriend-coded pictures of him

mclaren petition to hire y/n as lando’s full time photographer

→ alex_albon no, because i need her to be mine considering she actually managed to make lando look good

liked by YourUserName

→ landonorris oi!

YourUserName posted a new story

landonorris posted a new story

maxverstappen1 posted a new story

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User5 i KNEW they were more than friends

User6 oh so now she realises her ‘feelings’, now that he’s winning trophies

→ User7 bitch she’s been by his side since baby karting days

User8 you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me (the asylum being tricked into thinking y/n and lando were nothing more than friends)

User9 not max deleting his story after waking up and realising the consequences of his drunken actions

User10 y/nlando shippers rise! we’ve been waiting YEARS for this day to come

User11 what a gross invasion of privacy from that staff member. i hope they find out who it was and fire them

alex_albon @ LandoNorris awfully cryptic of you

danielricciardo @ LandoNorris how are you still alive

→ LandoNorris ‘cause I’m not old like you

User12 @ LandoNorris mr norris, tell us what you did

→ georgerussell63 more like who

(this comment has been deleted)

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A month later

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User1 looks like she removed everyone she didn’t personally know and made her insta private

User2 lando no longer follows her either

User3 what is going on in the house of commons

User4 maybe they truly weren’t dating but sleeping together screwed up their friendship

User5 looks like the rest of the grid still follow her tho?

→ User6 guys guys. GR63 isn’t following lando anymore either?!

→ User7 at least we know which side he picked in the divorce

→ User8 i'm worried this means lando did something wrong because whilst i love him, i can’t look past him screwing up their friendship just because he was thinking with his dick

User9 good, she wasn’t good enough for him anyway

→ User10 relax, he’s not going to shag you

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YourUserName just posted

liked by zbrownceo, flonorris and others

YourUserName me and you against the world. little bean coming soon tagged: yoursister

1,200 comments

YourUserName i think aunty @ yoursister might be more excited to meet you

francisca.cgomes can’t wait to meet little y/l/n

georgerussell63 me and carmen are so excited. She’s buying baby clothes already

lilymhe i call godmother

→ francisca.cgomes nuh uh

→ alex_albon get in line

→ yoursister we all know i win this battle

→ georgerussell63 whoa whoa whoa, back off, you already get aunt

charles_leclerc so excited for you, y/n/n

carlossainz55 congratulations

danielricciardo heck yeah! i can’t wait to meet the bean

maxverstappen1 do i see a red bull onesie in the baby’s future?

→ charles_leclerc try a ferrari one

→ alex_albon we all know it’ll be williams

→ oscarpiastri racing baby!

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Baby Fever Angst Series

Daniel’s Version | Max's Version | Lance’s Version

Charles’ Version | Oscar’s Version

Part 2 will be a redemption

Tag list

@lav3nder-haze @minkyungseokie @callsignwidow @luvrrish @fall-bambi @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery @dark-night-sky-99 @elijahslover @hc-dutch @mxdi0 @buckybarnessweetheart @ironmaiden1313 @dreamercrowd @yourbane @glow-ish @reguluscrystals

[galahadwilder]

I think the brilliance of Ricky September is not just to show that Lindy Pepper-Bean has no empathy. Ricky September’s role in “Dot and Bubble” isn’t just to die, or to show that not everyone in their society is terrible.

Ricky September is the Doctor.

He’s a handsome, flamboyant weirdo who drops out of the sky to save the female lead who is a stranger to him because he’s noticed she’s in trouble.

He’s confident, more confident than makes any sense for his situation; he’s observant, investigating and picking apart the actions of the mantraps the way the Doctor would. He knows history better than anyone around him (though for different reasons than the Doctor would). He’s clever enough to hack a computer that Lindy had just failed to even turn on—sonic screwdriver much?—and then immediately, well. What’s rule #1? The Doctor lies.

The subsequent scene of him trying to open the door? He’s completely undaunted by the unnecessarily complicated code, just fascinated, as he gets down to business. The scene is practically straight out of “42,” the one with the living star and the complicated locks, and he and the Doctor both have the same reaction to the puzzle.

Like the Doctor, Ricky disdains the vapid and self-obsessed society he is part of (though Gallifrey and Finetime are very different), and he grabs the first chance he can to find a companion and run the hell away. He uses a fake name, and his real name is such a terrible secret that its revealing has disastrous consequences.

Hell, watch the mannerisms. He and Gatwa even move their hands the same when they’re in “performance mode.”

In short, Ricky breaks every single standard set by Finetime the exact way the Doctor does, and what does Lindy do? She idolizes him. She treats him like he’s an unparalleled genius, the greatest moment of her life.

If we leave aside the murder for the moment, Ricky’s purpose isn’t just to say, “look how sociopathic Lindy and the rest of Finetime is.” Ricky is there to say, “this is how Finetime would’ve treated the Doctor if he were white.”

[fingertipsmp3]

Facebook needs an anon messages function

[1800titz]

HI. This is the pornstar!AU (Tiger Harry). Enjoy :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: face-fucking, anal play-ish, Sir kink, general manhandling, light dom-sub dynamics

WC: 8.6K

“Are you open to raw anal?” is probably not a statement Y/N had …entirely expected to hear when she’d agreed to discourse over pastries and dirty chai lattes. 

It’s a pretty good one, all things considered, and asked with complete professionalism, according to their careers and the open, apathetically businesslike expression shaping the features of her counterpart. Y/N takes a sip of her latte. It is quite a good latte. He wasn’t wrong there. 

Harry blinks. 

It’s very on brand, despite the way she’s sure one of the baristas has definitely twisted around from the dishpit, side eye discreet …but there. And in the barista’s defense, she couldn’t even blame her for eavesdropping on the sordid contents of their public discourse. Y/N isn’t going to turn around and look. 

In Harry’s, he didn’t exactly shout. 

The man across from her takes a slow sip from his latte. Good latte, very good latte. 

She can’t help but admire his varying assortment of rings as he cradles the cup, irises winding from the blocky, golden S to its chunky counterpart, the H. So many times she’d admired those hands, those ring-clad fingers traipsing over bare skin, just the tips meddling over abdomens and winding circles around navels. Those digits sunk into the hair of his partner, tangled into the roots as he manually bobs her head over his cock. Those fingers twisting over the pink tip of his shaft, lining it up before his hips pump. Those long fingers splaying over cunts, swiping a thumb to ogle in front of the camera. 

There've been so many instances where Y/N had wondered the significance of that H and that S. And it’s been really quite simple all along.

Should I call you Tiger in person, then? she’d tapped out over the LED keyboard, days prior when they’d only been discussing the prospect of a meet up. Days prior, before she’d flown out for an on-camera collaboration, to bask in the sunlight of California, to enjoy overpriced dirty chai lattes and oddly promiscuous dialogue in the corner of a cafe. 

I think I’ll just take Harry when the cameras aren’t rolling x, RideTheTiger had messaged back. 

Anyways, it’d probably be a sleazy, poorly-executed one liner (and consequently, a horrifically red flag) in possibly every other circumstance, but this isn’t a first date and RideTheTiger has, thus far, been the furthest thing from sleazy. Even paid for her dirty chai latte, practically shouldering her out of the slot at the register. Pulled her chair out for her, asked about her traveling fares prior to delving into said anal topic. It’s all been fairly gentlemanly. Very business-partner-coffee-meeting. 

“No condom,” Harry tacks on, like it’s clarification for the raw segment of raw anal, as if it actually needed some sort of clarification. 

Y/N takes another sip. Damn good latte. 

“I like it,” the young woman tells him, clearing her throat on this edge that implies she’s mindful of her volume. Somehow, even as a freelance pornstar, she still hasn’t quite managed to get over the awkward degree of shame that a public setting incites. “I like the...” 

That barista is definitely fucking peering over.

“…The mess,” she settles on, because anal creampie doesn’t feel like a term to be said with her whole chest over a guava pastelito. 

For a short moment, Harry just watches her, jade roaming and the corners of his mouth slowing seeping into a simper, like he knows brazenly discussing anal creampies in the middle of a cafe — not quite packed, but still a cafe — has her kind of squirming in her seat. He takes another drink. 

“She’s got airpods in,” the man tells her eventually, forest-y irises jolting to something behind her head — the barista that’s clattering about behind the counter. And if she’s listening in, she’s probably going to go home and find one of them online, or ultimately both, and probably subscribe. 

The tension in her shoulders melts away the longer he grins at her over the lip of his lid, dimples indented in the flesh beside the upturned edges of his mouth. It’s just what they do for a living. It’s just sex. It’s just talking about the sex they’re going to have on camera. 

There’s bells and whistles to it, too, but it beats sitting at home and answering phone calls where angry customers screech all tinny through the headset and don’t comprehend the words, “Sir, if you can’t use your inside voice and talk to me like a civilized human being, I’m not going to be able to resolve your issue.” For Y/N it is. At least she gets a couple of orgasms out of this. 

“Sorry,” she tells him, shoulders slumping, “I think I’m still not— I get …weird talking about it in public settings.”

Tiger gives her this careful look over, eyes amused. 

“S’okay, I understand. If you’d rather get into the details back at mine, I’m okay with that.” 

“No, no,” Y/N protests, motioning out with her free hand, almost like her frigidly humiliated disposition will turn him off from collaboration, “No. It’s just, like. Sex work— it’s— it’s 2024. Nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Harry blinks. He gives her another one of those slow, knowing grins with his strawberry mouth. 

“No, seriously. We can get into the …rough drafting in a more private setting.” And then he takes another casual, horribly nonchalant sip, “I get it.” 

The man splays back against the chair, the hand not clutching at his beverage laid against smooth bamboo varnish, the nails there neatly manicured and painted with a soft shade of green lacquer. Y/N wonders what that particular color would look like with a glimmering top coat after he’s sunk the digits in between her thighs. She casts her gaze back up to his face. 

“I just figured I’d ask because we exchanged tests last week.” 

Clean as a whistle, RideTheTiger, (appropriately renamed in her contacts as Harry Tiger OF collab), had messaged on a Tuesday afternoon. That text was tailed with an HDR attachment of paperwork detailing his clean-as-a-whistle results, for proof. And the polish on his nails, fingertips gripped over the edge of the sheet, had been a pretty sky blue in the picture. 

She’d wondered the same thing, then; what OPI’s Rich Girls & Po-boys would look like glazed with a sheen of her slick arousal. 

He’s just a fuckable man, Y/N thinks, sat back in his chair like discussing sex work scene scripting is a normal mid-day affair, soft dusting of stubble coating his jaw, curls swept up off his forehead. His white tee shrouds the swallows and the inky butterfly she’s seen flexing over his tummy, the laurels that seep into the deep cut of his v-line, but it does very, very little to hide the artistry that litters his arm. 

That same arm she’d seen in videos, wrapped in pumped muscle as his fingers had worked his partner to the brink of bliss at a merciless pace, plush mouth shaping over some sort of filthy croon, dimples indented. Those same hands cradling over his counterpart’s throat with a gentle squeeze, that same thumb swiping messily over his partner’s bottom lip. Those same eyebrows with a crease carved between their furrow, those same curls in sweaty, disheveled disarray from the incessant rake through of his hands as his cock got swallowed up by a pretty, swarthy-skinned brunette, or maybe a blonde. A curl that’d flopped over his forehead in those videos, hardly hiding a rivulet of sweat that’d dripped from his hairline, is neatly tucked back under designer shades, now. 

Designer shades he’s bought with his dirty porn money, because despite his spiffy, clean boy, seemingly innocuous demeanor, RideTheTiger is dirty, dirty, dirty. 

Because under his warm smiles and his twinkling jade, there’s an alter ego that lives on the internet. One she’s all too familiar with. 

It makes her chest sort of flush under her sweater. This is happening. This is going to happen. 

The chair creaks a little when he sits up, clearing his throat, “I didn’t want to assume, but. I mean— I’m sure you’ve seen, like, my tips. Is it …odd to say I’m a fan of your content?” his gaze slowly settles from his drink to her face, smooth baritone almost …bashful as plush pink splits into a beam and his words catch on a laugh, “Is that …weird?”

Y/N knows exactly what he’s referring to. They’d been two mutuals subscribed to one another, chunks of profit migrating from inbox to inbox. It’d been like a volley, electric currency bouncing through the expanse of the internet, racket to racket, account back to account, pinging notifications striking on uploads behind paywalls. Only then, Tiger was just a man behind a screen. Tiger wasn’t sitting at a table in front of her, and they weren’t discussing the crude elements of the video they were going to shoot together. 

“Not at all,” Y/N clears her throat and pairs it with a side-to-side shake of her head. 

She’ll never admit that she’d touched herself to the solo session that’d popped up in her DM’s behind a paywall only last week, an automated promotion sent out to all subscribers. The one where he’d been sat in one of those lush, swivel-y chairs in front of his computer, firm thighs splayed and ringed hand tugging over his leaky cock. The camera angle was broad enough to capture his eye contact with the lens, the way his front teeth would nip at his bottom lip, the way the column of his straining throat would go on show as he’d tipped his head back with a groan. 

She blinks, staring ahead as she remembers the way cum had painted all the way up over the panting butterfly. Harry grins from across the table. She half-expects him to brazenly admit he’s done the same to her content. So far, she’s concluded that he’s quite unashamed. 

“Makes it easier to fuck, right?” Y/N says, beating him to the punchline. 

He makes this face then, tipping his head, eyes widening and blinking playfully, mouth curling like he’s appalled by her brazen admission in said public setting. Before the young woman can get flustered by his teasing, he sits back and lets his features relax into something soft.

“Yeah. It does.” 

Harry doesn’t tell Y/N she should wear a plug on the day that they calendar in for shooting. Not while they’re in the cafe. In fact, he waits three whole hours until the very precise moment where she’s using her apple pay at a drive through for the notification banner to swipe down. 

When Y/N steps into his entryway, there’s a wilting cactus stemming from a ceramic basin next to a bowl of keys and varying knick knacks. There’s a pair of dice in there, too. 

“This is Tim,” Harry introduces, unprompted, motioning to the withering plant in passing. 

Y/N nudges with her chin like a sort of acknowledgement, tailing him through the hallway, where a neat array of three framed, abstractly artistic renditions of Kama Sutra positions line the segue. She’s half convinced that the doggy one follows her movement like one of those oddly unsettling renaissance portraits. 

“Very nice.”

It’s a Thursday, and they’ve determined today to be the day that they collaborate. She’s wearing the plug, and she tries to ignore the anticipation curdling in the pits of her tummy as she tails him to the lounge. 

“I think I overwatered him, honestly,” Harry tells her, aimed over his shoulder, “but I can’t bear to part with him.” 

He’s wearing gray sweats, and he’s definitely opted to go commando, if the imprint of his dick when he pivots to face her is anything to go off of (though, whether he’s ditched underwear for the sake of the shoot or solely for comfort, Y/N isn’t sure). All she’s really, actually sure of is that she urgently needs to unglue her eyes from the outline of his cock. 

“D’you want a drink or anything? I mean, I don’t like to do any alcohol before shoots, but if you want, I have seltzers in my fridge.” 

He’s all soft attire — the sweats and bare feet padding over tile, curls a little mussed and swept back. A white tee coats his torso with a cartoonish bee in the center. The words ENJOY HEALTH, EAT YOUR HONEY circle the little piece of outlined artwork in blue. His nails are still green. 

Y/N clears her throat. “Do you have water?” 

“F’course.” 

The kitchen is beside the lounge, and he tells her, as he makes his way over and opens a cabinet to cull a glass, “You can have a seat if you’d like. Figured we’d get the details down before we start filming.” 

His couch is an onyx leather, its form like one of those fancy ones from a 1970s inspired catalog. Y/N sinks into the cushion. She crosses her legs. Uncrosses them. Behind her, the fridge whirs in the kitchen as the water pours into the glass. She’s admiring his fireplace when he stretches the beverage out to her.

“What are we feeling today?” the man winds around to the bend of the sectional, flopping back against the cushions with a sigh as his cotton-clad thighs splay, “…Slow and romantic? Something a little more rough?” 

“Used and abused,” Y/N responds, surprised she manages to keep her cadence as even and nonchalant as she does. The second the statement escapes her, though, she takes a long sip from her glass and hides her simper behind it. 

“Used and abused,” Harry parrots, sitting up a tad as his hands seek new homage from their priorly relaxed splay over the back of the couch. His palms smooth down the fronts of his thighs, instead, and he gives her this little grin; something mischievous that lets his dimples wink alive. “I think I can work with that.”

Yes. She’s certain he can, based on his track record of deviously, deliciously rough content. Three weeks ago she watched a video where his partner was laid out on a table, duck-taped limb to limb, and Y/N had watched his hand — rings removed — roam her body with such delicacy as he drove forward into her. It was all up until the point where the same hand had snaked up around her throat, and then he’d brought it back and smacked her right across the side of her unsuspecting face. It’d sent his partner’s head snapping to the side, and a wave of heat riding through Y/N, coursing through her blood as she’d flipped the vibrator between her thighs to a higher setting. 

Yeah. He can work with that. 

“Since we’re going with that route,” Y/N blinks out from the fog of memoirs circling back to Tiger’s hands exploring and pinching and delivering blows. 

Tiger is much more subdued in this setting. 

“Let’s talk things you’re into, things you’re not so into.” 

The young woman gnaws into her cheek to bridle her grin. “Um. Anal’s a go. Obviously.”

Harry nods, mouth friendly, “Okay.” 

Y/N deliberates. She takes another sip. Harry waits patiently. His green bores into her, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, pupils climbing up to the ceiling as she contemplates. She cocks her head.  

“…Face-fucking. That’s nice. I like dirty talk. I like getting my hair pulled. I like a little bit of pain. You know, like. Spanking. Face slapping, but not, like,” the edges of her mouth cave up, “MMA level—“

The joke culls a huff of soft laughter from him. He nods. 

“Just. General manhandling is good with me,” Y/N tells him. 

Harry nods, his fingers interlocked over his spread knees, and then he sits up a tad. 

“Alright. If we’re going with face fucking, I’m a fan of the trusty tap-tap-tap,” he tells her, motioning with his left palm and patting over his thigh in a series of three as he speaks, “If it ever gets to be too much and you can’t say it, just tap three times, yeah? Just like this.”

Y/N nods. She takes another sip. For a moment, Tiger still has his forearms braced over his lap, but then he sits up a little more. 

“And then when you can say, if anything’s uncomfortable, if you want me to do anything different, just let me know. Doesn’t matter if the camera’s on.” 

Y/N crosses her ankles. She uncrosses them.

“S’all about authenticity. Y’know,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over the plush of his bottom lip, “I don’t wanna be throwing you against the wall or choking you if it doesn’t feel good, even if it looks good on camera. If you’re a clit girl, we’ll play with your clit—“

Her thighs press together.

“If you’re a g-spot girl, we’ll focus on the g-spot.”

She swallows. 

“The throwing against the wall and the choking,” Y/N doesn’t bother hiding her simper as it grows, “Those are good with me, too. And— clit stuff. Yeah.” 

Tiger is hot. Fire hot, like lava coursing and bubbling over rigid stone, even in his soft attire with his soft curls and his soft smiles. He’s got these eyes that feel like they bore through her clothes, but it’s not in an uncomfortably hungry way. 

“What do you… what should I call you during the shoot?” 

His strawberry mouth curls a little. 

“I hear Tiger a lot. M’fine with whatever besides Harry on camera. …If you wanna get a little more into roles we can do Sir. But s’all up to you.” 

It feels like he’s just got this effect — this intense gaze that makes her tummy swirl. It’s not innately an odd shift, going from this entirely professional discourse to soft touches roaming up her sides once they’re in the bedroom. 

It’s the setting for their shoot, and she finds that he’s already got a camera set up on his dresser. One of those that opens up and has a little screen piece that swivels to show what’s currently recording. Harry trails over to it, toggles with the little screen, and, she assumes, begins recording. 

There’s a shag rug by the bed in cream. Y/N eyes it as Harry tugs his shirt over his head, as he makes his way over. Tiger is fire hot, but his touch skims her arm like testing the waters at first. His palms cups her face, the pads of his fingers grazing the sides of her neck, close to her nape, and then his cushiony mouth finds her own. That’s testing at first, too. It’s not a chaste, innocent first kiss by any means, but his mouth is gentle, at first. His hands aren’t hard, and his mouth slots against her own with a kind of tenderness. When her fingers tease up at his waistband, fingering at a warm line of skin between his sweats and his t-shirt, his mouth morphs hungrier. 

“Just—“ Y/N manages between searing kisses as his fingers work the seams of her shirt apart through button-work, “—-jumping right into it, huh?” It’s probably not the sexiest thing to say from the get go of the camera rolling, but she’s honestly still got bits of nerves coiling up in her. This is RideTheTiger. This is happening. She’s going to fuck RideTheTiger. 

Another short kiss, this one she can feel the cushiony pink of his mouth curving up into. 

“Sorry,” Harry amends against her mouth, lips ghosting wetly against her cupid's bow, and the word sounds sort of amused.

And then he’s manually spinning her and marching her over to the dresser, where the camera is set up, her stumbling, rushed gait steadied by the firm press of his thighs from behind as he walks her, colossal hands cupped over her arms. 

“This—” he starts, an introduction blatantly made for the lens, and her pulse stutters when his palm slides up and across and cups over her throat warmly — not quite squeezing, but just there. His other hand explores the expanse of her silhouette from the waist down, pads of his fingers roaming over her tummy, “—is the infamously naughty Birdie.” 

Her veins thrum with something, something hot when the ringed digits traipse to the button of her jeans, just looming over. 

“Can I take these off?” Harry murmurs against the shell of her ear. The tips of his curls tickle at her temple, and she knows he asks it low enough that it’s meant for her. She knows the camera will pick up on it anyways, too. 

“Yeah,” the agreement falls out meshed with an exhale, and her head tips back against his shoulder as his fingers do deft, impressively one-handed work at quick discarding. 

The other hand fondles at one of her tits, only covered with fabric for so long before he takes advantage of the opening he’d made along the line of buttons, pulling at one side for the pink polka-dotted cup of her bra to come out on display. This is all very pro-level disrobing. Y/N decides that when Harry multi-tasks, popping the button of her denim through, pinching at the zipper and tugging down, all still with his other hand caressing over padded flesh at her chest. Ultimately, though, both hands make their way to her hips, and his digits wriggle under either side of her waist band to strip her jeans off, until they rest at about an immobilizing mid-thigh, with an unceremonious yank. 

“I’m Tiger,” Harry talks again, finally, after what’d been a silent moment of apparent concentration, his chin ducked into the nook where her shoulder and her neck meet. 

The man’s fingers toy up under the hem of Y/N’s shirt, wandering over a bare sliver of skin between the top and the line of her panties before they climb the buttoned suture and make work there. 

A chill rolls down her spinal cord, stemming all the way from the nape of her neck, the back and underside of her skull, when Harry declares, almost like she’s not even there, his voice a low and heady baritone, “But, she’s going to call me Sir, and we’re gonna play a little rough with her today, because that’s what she asked for.” 

He’s mid her panting ribcage when the tone in his dialogue switches. It melts from sultry and low to something mirthy when the man sighs and huffs against her neck, like the rounded latches are a long-time nemesis, “Buttons, buttons, so many buttons.” 

Y/N can’t curb the surprised laugh that bubbles from her in response. Her hands rise from her sides (where they’d prior been pretty glued, mostly out of awe and the raw sort of submission manhandling incites), and her forearms brush against his own warm skin as the pads of her fingers shakily work over the stitch he’s on. Harry makes an amused sound into her skin as the corners of her mouth curl up. 

This is real. These are the real moments, the ones that she’s ogled so many times from the other side of the screen, caught on camera mid an otherwise entrancing, perfectly choreographed session of picture-perfect fucking. Like the one where he’d spit and it hadn’t landed where he’d wanted it to, or the one where his partner had spent so long in an angle with her hair over her face and his palm cupped over her mouth, that by the time he’d let up she was spitting out stray hair that’d sunk in past her lips, like a cat with a hairball. Soft laughter had bloomed from the both of them when recognition had dawned, and he’d fingered over her tongue to help her as they’d switched positions. It makes sense why Harry never seems to edit those moments out. 

Authenticity. 

Y/N hopes he doesn’t cut this fragment of the video out. 

“Sorry,” the young woman tells him, her voice garbled with giggles. 

His hands snake up from under her own and they’re the one to pop the final button through. A chilly ring brushes the inside of her wrist. The top separates. 

“There we go,” Harry says, tone colored with enthusiasm, and the way his fingers grip up under the cups of her bra, four for each, and tug abruptly, letting them rest under her freshly-bared tits, kind of, sort of gives her whiplash. 

“Teamwork,” his thumbs slip under either side of her underwear and slink those down until just enough is showing for the eye of the lens. 

Her gaze flits to the viewfinder, and the little icon of her denuded silhouette, pressed up against his chest, one swarthy, inked arm tucked over her ribcage and the sight of his other, ringed digits skimming lower, down her tummy, has her squirming in his grasp. Harry sponges kisses to the side of her neck, and then those ring-clad fingers slide between her legs. Every melty muscle in his arms grows wide awake and tensed like fucking stone. It’s only for a second, before he draws his index and his middle digit, splayed into a blissful V, across either side of her clit. That’s when she liquefies like putty in his hands again, humming softly. 

“…And we’re gonna play with her arse,” Harry tacks on for the camera, almost like it’s an offhand afterthought and not the entire basis of the scene they’ve etched out. 

Y/N laughs, but it melts off into something soft and whimpery when the V lingers and drags. 

“Would you like that?” Harry murmurs, nose tucked into her hair — another comment where the volume implies that it’s obviously meant to be shared between just the two of them — his mouth ghosting over her earlobe and his hand climbing up the ridges of her ribcage like a ladder, “Hm? You want me to play with you there?” 

When his palm expands to rest over the gap between the caging of bone, the space extends out on a breath and she rocks in his touch, hips rolling back subtly. “Mhm.” 

It’s not something he fails to pick up on. The pads of his fingertips expertly toggle at the clasp of her bra — honestly, she’s ludicrously impressed, not only by his keen recognition of the frontal clasp, but this seemingly innate, deft ability to discard clothing pieces with one hand. The straps relax and slip down her shoulders the second the cups fall free and apart. 

“Mhm?” Harry mimics; a low, teasing hum. Y/N thinks then, that this little, patronizing repetition thing he’s got going on could be categorized as a kink in and of itself. 

The palm that’d settled over her diaphragm slinks up to grope at one of her tits. 

It’s kind of game over from there. 

There’s something hard and solid digging into the small of her back, and the longer he spends fondling between her thighs, the longer he spends swiping his thumb over her nipple, the more heat teems to her core, like a glowing warmth that seeps and pulses. The more sure Y/N becomes that his fingertips are definitely culling that top coat she’d pictured all along, enhancing the color there with glinting excitement. 

“There’s a good girl,” Harry purrs when her legs spread a smidge more in response, despite the way they’re nearly glued together with the immobilizing squeeze of her waistband resting mid-thigh. 

The tip of his nose burrows into her hair and grazes at the skin on the side of her neck when his head ducks, fingers sneaking further until the pads press to explore where she’s gushing. His index and his thumb work in tandem to pinch at a nipple and tug. 

And then his tongue licks a practically searing stripe right beside her jugular, and his words send air over wet skin to soothe the flame, “…Getting my fingers all wet, aren’t you?” 

Gameovergameovergameovergameover.

Shelosesshelosesshelosessheloses.

Another burst of air over the wet skin, the soft creak of a chuckle — that’s what reminds her that she’s definitely not breathing. 

Fuck. Y/N sucks in air with a chest tensed like metal armor. His teeth nip over her earlobe. 

And then RideTheTiger slides his slick fingers out from between her legs, coaxing (when she sags in his grip like a marionette that’s had its strings snipped), “Why don’t you give them a little spin and show them the pretty plug you’ve been wearing for me, pet.”

Touch, touch, touch. When Y/N pivots for him, turning her backside to the camera, his mouth brushes the crest of her cheekbone. His warm pecs go flush with her own chest, his palms settle on her love handles and the insides of his rings stipple chills to combat the heat of flesh on flesh. He sponges a kiss to her throat when the young woman throws a glance back to the little screen and shakily presses her palms to the globes of her backside, pulling the flesh there apart to show off the pretty end, silicone petals cradling the shape of a rose. 

That’s when he kneels, cheek pressed to the side of her thigh, when he casts his gaze to the plug with that telltale furrow to his brow bone that she’s seen caught on camera so many times. That’s when his teeth burrow into the pillow of his bottom lip, when he brushes a nearly tentative touch over the plug with the tips of his fingers. That’s when Harry nudges at it and jade bounces from the pallid pink plastic to the shape of her jawline tensing above in response, mouth growing mirthy. 

Nothing prepares her for the way he praises, almost like he’s in awe (and nearly too low for the camera to catch), “So pretty.”

A crease works in between her own eyebrows when his index and his thumb pinch over the plug and twist. And then he lays his thumb over the base and pushes, lightly, as if it can go any further. He draws the pad of his index over the hilt of the plug almost thoughtfully, and then tap-taps in a pair of two that makes her roll her lips into her mouth

“Don’t move,” Harry instructs, after a moment, sneaky, devious fingertips withdrawing altogether. She’s holding her breath again. Y/N readjusts her grip. 

“Just like that,” comes his croon from below, undeniably heady and entirely responsible for the warmth churning between her thighs, “…Just like that, little bird. Show it off, baby.” 

Little bird hits her like a fucking freight train. 

It’s just a play on words, a moniker he’s melded from her stage name, her online personality. It’s been all of, maybe, six minutes — a generous consideration for the timeframe — and he’s already managed to morph her porno pseudonym into a pet name with his soft murmur. 

She’s so focused on the ironic way that such a delicate thing off his tongue makes something so violently carnal stir within her that the young woman doesn’t even notice that he’s been sat near her thighs for a solid second, unspeaking and untouching, besides the paste of his warm cheek beside the press of her hands. 

It’s a suspiciously mischievous sort of silence, but Tiger is no secret-keeper, not when he pats over the back of her leg, a one-tap gesture, and rises to announce, one third amused and two-thirds smug, “Thumbnail.”

The admission is so crude and unexpected that it draws a peal of sputtering laughter from her, feigned indignation meshing with mirth as he rises from the floor, all cocky with an unfairly alluring curl that’s strayed from the rest and flopped to lay over his forehead. 

“You want to use my ass as your thumbnail?” 

Muted raspberry breaks its relaxed line to curve up, obviously self-satisfied and obviously unashamed. Y/N doesn’t think she’ll ever quite keep up with the casual nature of Harry’s mannerisms, not when he hums and his grin splits further, twisting around her to daub her jaw with a kiss.

“…And not my pretty face?” Y/N blinks.

“Last I checked—'' Harry tells her, fingers raking through her roots and palm cradling at her scalp in a way that coaxes chills to bud and roam down the nape of her neck. The digits twist her hair into a bun until his palm is squeezing at her hair all bunched like a flower blooming in reverse, “—You were here to be used and abused, per your request. Not to ask questions.” 

Despite the way he cranes her neck back with the motion, the way it has her jaw unlatching and a surprised exhale full of want escaping, despite the way he drags his teeth down her neck in a line, nipping, Y/N manages to keep her voice impressively even. 

“You don’t want my pretty face painted with your cum as the thumbnail?” she baits, throat bobbing on a swallow. 

He bites. 

At first, his lashline narrows a smidge in obvious inkling that the brazen words have affected him, but then he tips his head and his smug beam morphs more sluggish, more pleased than amused. 

“You want my cum painting your pretty face?” 

“Mm,” Y/N hums in agreement when he turns her head to paste a kiss to the corner of her mouth. 

“Yeah? That’s what you want?” 

His tone is suggestive as he manhandles her over onto the fuzzy rug she’d admired before things got all murky with arousal and …cinematic. Y/N twists in his grasp until he’s nudging her onto her knees with his hands. 

And his voice is low, easy like a sigh, each note interlaced with nonchalance and seemingly effortless power, “Let’s see how good you suck cock.”

Before Harry shoves his waistband down, though, he stuffs a hand into his pocket and culls his phone. He gives her this look down from behind it, thumb tucked behind gray elastic.  It’s this wordless, expressionless sort of seeking; all good? Y/N nudges with her chin, lashes fluttering. Tiger toggles over the screen one-handed, and her eyes flit to the uneven pull at his sweats — if only for a second — that showcases bare skin and the cut of a V-line on one side. As he nudges the sweats off to rest under his balls, the phone pings. It’s the sound of a notification — he’s recording. 

His dick is pretty. Pretty in pink with a prominent vein on the underside and a soft dusting of neatly trimmed, dark pubic hair over his pelvic bone that his happy trail had foreshadowed, and his tip is a ruddy shade that matches the tint of his mouth. She’s seen his cock before, obviously, but ogling it in person rather than as a conglomeration of pixels is a different sort of experience. He’s always looked big on screen, the sheer size of him with a fist over his shaft always implying it. But he’s big. Big enough for two of her hands to cradle over his cock comfortably with the head peeking out from her grip, digits never quite meeting in the middle. Y/N spits into a palm before wrapping it over his shaft, eyes flickering up front under her lashes to meet the lens of the camera. 

“You’re so big,” the young woman admits after a moment, irises bouncing from her grip to the phone looming over, and she drags her tongue over her other palm to cup over him with two like it’s proof. 

And Harry strokes over the side of her scalp, almost like he’s wordlessly scratching a dog’s ears in praise, a soft, pleased huff escaping through his nostrils and his lips shaping over a smug sort of beam that never really unseals. 

Almost tentatively, with her eyes still bouncing from the lens to his cock and back, Y/N leans forward and drags his tip over her tongue. Harry sighs in response, fingertips still hovering at her roots. She purses her lips and lets saliva dribble from her mouth onto his head messily, swiping over the wetness with her thumb, and then she strokes down his shaft with two hands as she wraps her lips over him and draws a circle with her tongue. The subtle, although sharp, inhale she earns in response to the motion has her batting her lashes up at the camera.  

“You’re not shy at all, are you? Not in front of the camera,” Harry says after a moment. 

He’s so obviously bridling a hiss when she drags her tongue up under his leaky tip, his front teeth lodging into the pillow of his bottom lip and brows furrowing. Despite the phone cradled over her face, the young woman still has enough room to observe his. Y/N bats her lashes coyly, pupils flitting back to the camera as her mouth opens to showcase the view of her hands working in gentle twists while she drags his cockhead over her tastebuds. 

“…No, you’re not that shy, little girl that you were in the cafe at all.”

She seals her lips over his tip, hollows her cheeks, and hums. 

“…All prim and proper,” the fingertips that’d scraped over the side of her scalp trail to the back of her head, “…Didn’t even wanna say you liked cum dripping out of you. Didn’t wanna let everyone know that you’re a little anal whore.” 

The words coax her to clench over the plug. 

“…S’okay, baby,” Harry tells her after a moment, “I like that you’re a whore on camera for me,”and then the hand that’d cradled over the back of her skull encourages her own palm to slowly unwrap and fall away as he curls it over his shaft to guide it’s aim. 

Y/N pulls off, and Tiger smears the tip over her spit-slicked, swollen mouth. It parts, and Harry traces over the open seam of her lips like he’s applying lip gloss. 

“Please,” the young woman says, mouthing over his tip, almost inaudible. 

“Hm?” 

“Please,” Y/N repeats, and the drag of his tip slides over her bottom lip on the s. 

Harry inhales from above. He doesn’t immediately give her what she wants, instead opting to draw over her cupid’s bow as he tips his head, voice quiet and still somehow full of a dominant edge. “So polite. You wanna taste more of my cock?” 

The young woman nods, eyes tipped up, and he smears his cockhead over her mouth again. Harry’s teeth nudge into the plush of his bottom lip before he directs, “Stick your tongue out for me. I’ll give you a little taste.” 

And he does. He grazes her tongue with it the moment it’s on show, basking in her soft breaths puffing out against him and the sweet sight of her gaze, unwavering. 

“S’that good?” Harry asks, mouth curling at the (currently) brazenly lewd young woman at his feet, “What you wanted?” 

And she just nods up at him. Despite the way she wants more, the way she wants to close her lips around him and keep twisting her grasp to watch his seams split in ecstacy, Y/N motions lightly with her head. A little sound escapes the back of her throat when he drags the tip of his cock back over her top lip and sighs. 

“You really are such a little whore, aren’t you?” Harry says, tracing along the open seam of her lips with the tip and dragging it over her tongue again, “Give me a pretty smile. Show me just how much you like it.“ 

His words melt off into a rumbly hum when, as he draws over the border of her bottom lip and takes his cock off her tongue, her pretty teeth slowly seep shut and the corners of her mouth form something absolutely overjoyed. Her head cocks, and she grins up at him. All innocuous too, if it weren’t for the head of a cock smearing over the edges of her smile. His thumb slinks out from the hold he’s got over his dick to graze with the pad at the shiny white of her top teeth. 

“Good girl.”

Somewhere around there is when her teeth part and his thumb mingles onto her tongue. Then, the young woman wraps her lips over the digit and sucks. The tension of her cheeks hollowing over his finger in the silence is cut short with a ping — Harry turns the camera off and flings the phone somewhere in the direction of the bed. There’s no definitive thump behind her, so Y/N assumes the man makes it. She hums and pulls off of the digit with a pop and a giggle. 

Dimples pluck alive beside his smile. “Something funny?” 

“No,” the young woman clears her throat, the apples of her cheeks still emphasized and round with her apparent amusement, “Nothing. It’s just.” She blinks up at him, “…Surreal, sort of. Your dick’s just as pretty in person as it is on camera.”

Tiger cocks his head and swipes over her bottom lip with the tip of said dick. She’s quite good at stroking his ego. 

“Thanks. That’s sweet, darling.”  

A furrow works between his brows as her tongue peeks out to daub at the lingering head. “You watch a lot of my videos?” 

And the admission comes almost hungry, with no remorse, “Mm. Touch myself to them.” 

That’s when his brows crease more, when heat swells down through the trench of his tummy and teems up the underside of his balls, where they drive taut at the words. 

“Christ.”

Blown jade bouncing from her lips to the contact of her own eyes and back. Eventually, he swallows and directs, “Tongue out.” 

When she displays it for him, jaw wide, those shambles splinters of composure seemingly fuse. The Harry that emerges nearly gives her whiplash. 

“You touch yourself to my videos?” Harry coos, and the words are coated with so much condescension that Y/N is sure she’d be humiliated in any other circumstance. 

Her tongue twitches under his cockhead. The man looming over swipes that same, leaky tip over her taste buds, and his grin broadens into something like a borderline sadistic Cheshire cat. And then he’s leaning over a smidge, cock still angled over her outstretched tongue, opposite hand fondling under that, at her jaw, and squeezing at her cheeks. 

“That is so—“ emphasizing the words with the slap of his tip against her tongue, Harry grits out, “—fucking—“ another tap that has her uselessly lolled tongue jolting and a garbled little sound wresting from the back of her throat, “—cute.”

Y/N blinks up at him, one hand uncurling slowly and falling away as he nudges the back of her head to swallow more of him in past her lips. 

“Why don’t you use that hand and play with your little clit for me? The way you do when you’re watching me.” 

She makes a muffled noise around him as he sinks in further, and her hand traipses between her poorly, poorly splayed thighs. 

“That’s it,” Harry murmurs, though whether the praise is directed at the way the tips of her fingers pry between her legs or the way she blinks wetly over his cock as she takes more of him into her mouth, Y/N is unsure. “There’s a good girl. Look at me— yeah. Fuck.” 

He holds onto either side of her head, long fingers splaying over her skull, and the young woman splutters when his tip prods at the back of her throat and teases at her gag reflex. The tip of her nose grazes his happy trail, so all in all, it’s a solid effort in one go. Harry holds her there for a moment, relishing in the squeeze of her throat over him as she fights sputtering more, and a throaty groan rips from his vocal chords before his fingers tangle into her hair. That’s when he yanks her off. 

Her chest is already rolling in pants, and the way his palm collides with the fleshy area of her cheek nearly launches her lightheaded headspace into overload. The blow isn’t loud, and it doesn’t really hurt, but he does it a second time, palm grazing over the same fragment of skin. It’s the hand that doesn’t have any rings, and Y/N’s mouth curls up in borderline delirious bliss, teeth unsealed and lips swollen and saliva-daubed. Tiger coaxes a moan when he goes for it a third time. But this time, his hand snakes to palm over the column of her throat and squeeze.

“Fuck, you’re filthy,” Harry tells her, thumb cruising over an inch of skin, “Such a slut for it.”

Her pulse thunders under his grasp. It’s almost like his touch pries the nearly animalistic giggle off her lips. She’s still beaming open-mouthed, and her voice is raw when she beckons, “Yeah—“

And then there’s a ragged gasp and subdued sort of gag, coated with surprise, when Tiger nudges her face forward and unceremoniously shoves his dick back down her throat, his brows pinched.  

“Get that mouth back on my cock.” 

Her hands find his thighs, just wavering over them, curling and unflexing as her eyes squeeze shut. 

“Don’t close your eyes. Look up at me. Look up at me— there you go,” Harry cooes when, despite every instinct that coaxes every muscle in her face to clench and tense, Y/N follows his directions and blinks up at him through a watery sheen. “Shit.”

And then he’s hauling her off and she’s gasping for breath, only for a short moment before he slides back past her jaw until her chin is flush with his sac and he’s pulsing in the warm confines of her mouth. Her lashes flutter. A devious kind of laugh bubbles from him, breathy, and low, and short when the heels of her palms press into the sturdy muscle beneath his laurels. Except this time he doesn’t yank her all the way off for a third time. He holds her there for a second, swearing softly at the view, and then tugs her off until his tip’s on her tongue and pumps back in. It’s a subtle motion — testing, like he’s observing her reaction, really assessing her comfort levels with this. He does it a few more times, as gentle of a motion as it really can be until she squints her eyes shut and muzzles a cough, blinking up at him rapidly through the blur. 

Harry swipes a thumb under her eye, where a rivulet leaks, praising almost in a whisper as she practically vibrates at his feet, “That’s it.” 

Another second to gasp in air, and then he’s fucking her mouth, brushing her gag reflex with every drive forward and every pump out. Y/N sort of loses herself in it — in the fingertips burrowing into her roots, in the huffs and groans that escape him, in the warm muscle beneath her touch, in the way his dick slides down her throat. It’s quite nice. RideTheTiger is fucking her mouth, and it’s nice.

“Look at you,” Harry hums after a while, the hold on the back of her head firm, and she blinks at him all teary-eyed, gagging around him as her chin presses flush with his balls. “So sloppy. Made my nice joggers all wet.” 

Drool pools down her chin, and strings of it dangle from his balls and sully the fabric further. She bats her lashes up at him, and tears slink off from her waterline. Her fingers flex and relax over his thigh, never quite loosening the tension there fully. The man swipes the thumb on his free hand under her eye, where inky black has smudged off from her lashes, and the lewd, left corner of his mouth tips up lopsidedly. 

“You’re such a pretty girl when you’re making a mess,” and then, to nail the demeaning compliment home with the most heady, joyfully smug tone, “Yes you are, little bird.”

His sluggish grin morphs into a borderline pornographic lip-bite then, and he cranes his neck back with a throaty hum, fingers tensing and relaxing, before his digits ultimately tighten in her hair and coax the young woman off. She coughs like she hasn’t breathed in ages, 

Y/N doesn’t know how she gets up to her feet. It’s a lightheaded clamber, coaxed by Harry’s fingers tugging at her hair, his hand on her arm, his definitive, “Get up.” Somehow, though, she manages, despite the fact that her jeans are still half-on, and Harry steadies her and makes her dizzy all at once when his mouth presses hungrily to hers. One hand cradles the side of her neck and the other braces her at the hip. It’s a heated kiss, like Tiger doesn’t mind that her chin is coated with spit, or that the same spit smears over his own jaw as their mouths connect. Y/N nearly trips over her own feet as he walks her, backwards, into the general direction of the bed. The mattress meets the backs of her knees and his hand (which has, since settling on her hip, mingled up her side and cupped over one of her tits) sends her toppling back against the sheets. Harry nearly snickers at her look of indignation. Instead though, he tucks his fingers up under her half-down denim and tugs until her pants are off and she finally, finally has the ability to spread her legs. He tosses those onto the rug, and Y/N watches Harry finish disrobing, kicking the gray sweats into a rumpled pile beside her jeans. 

The camera is still rolling on the dresser, and it’ll keep rolling. It’ll keep rolling when he sinks his face between her thighs, it’ll keep rolling when he pulls the plug out and nudges his fingers in, when he slips his cock into her cunt and then, eventually, switches to her other hole. Or maybe it’ll go in an all different order. Tiger cradles her by the hips and repositions her roughly. The lens doesn’t catch the way she’s all shimmery between her legs with want from its angle, but Harry does, eyes glued there as his fingertips trail featherlight up her thigh and back down. 

A crease works in between his brows like he’s contemplating something, and then he pats the same fragment of flesh he’d been caressing and instructs, “Flip over.” 

Y/N tips over to her side and then rolls onto her tummy, but when she clambers onto her hands and knees Harry beckons, “Where are you going, little bird?” He sighs, warm palm grasping over her ankle and yanking her back towards the edge of the bed, just until Y/N is splayed and forced to shimmy her way back into a pretty arch. “Hm?” 

His hand is still gripped over the joint when the other climbs up the back of her naked thigh, skin on skin petting softly there. “Where are you going, little girl?”  

She’s going to implode. She nearly does when his colossal palms cup either cheek of her backside and spread. He hums like he’s pleased. 

“Which hole should I fuck first…” Harry ponders aloud from behind, but it all feels sort of rhetorical when he nudges over her tightest, little hole, pressing like he’s teasing a breach with the tip of his digit. 

She thinks he must be using his other hand, too, because the pad of his thumb drives a circle over her puffy, spit-slicked clit. The ring of muscle flutters. 

“…Hm?”

[gingersxng]

Sex Addiction

Pairing: f!reader x San

Summary: your boyfriend can’t keep his hands to himself and isn’t sorry about the consequences which follows

Genre: Smut 18+

Notes: sub!reader, rough dom!San, San has a sex addiction, San is really horny, public touching, nipple sucking, pussy eating, fingering, spanking, bruising, unprotected sex (always keep safe), cum eating, cream pie, many rounds, overstimulation

Words: 814

you were invited to a family dinner with your parents at a fancy restaurant earlier this evening but halfway through your boyfriend decided it would be appropriate to start playing with you under the table. caressing his hand on your squishy thighs and then further up your short skirt while holding a conversation with your mom. you felt your heart race and your body froze cause you were so scared someone would notice. you squeezed your thighs together locking his hand in between them to give him a warning. a deep chuckle escaped his lips. he pinched your thigh making you jolt up with a “ouch”. you threw a deadly glare at him and he honestly couldn’t care less cause all you got in return was a dirty smirk. “everything alright honey” your mom asked with a worried look on her face. “she’s been having bad cramps lately, I think I should take her home so she can get some rest” San replied squeezing your thigh.

and that’s how you ended up on your bed with your boyfriend sucking on your nipples and a hand inside your panties. “y-you really can’t restrain yourself c-can you” you moaned out trying to sound angry. San let go of your nipple and gave you a smirk sliding in two fingers inside your hole. “oh how well you know me..” he chuckled pumping his fingers faster. his actions made your back arch and eyes shut tight. this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened when you and San were out together, his sex drive was almost too much but you wouldn’t have it any other way seriously.

he pulled down your panties and rubbed your clit a few times before he dove right in. tongue gliding up and down your folds tasting your arousal. you put your hand in his hair pushing him down a bit, he groaned against your clit sending electric waves to your stomach. your moans were like angels singing in Sans ears and he could feel his cock twitch in his pants. your orgasm hit you like a train and you came all over his tongue, your body felt so heavy. San didn’t waste any time, he licked you clean and hurried to undo his pants letting his leaking aching friend out. “you don’t know how hard it is to keep my cock inside my pants when we’re out darling” his voice were deep and serious making your whole body shiver. he took his cock guiding it to your aching hole, being too excited like he used to get he didn’t give you a chance to adjust to him and you let out a whimper from the burn. he rutted into you like his life depended on it, your hands grabbing around him scratching his back. his eyes were pitch black and his bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead, San wasn’t that vocal instead he was growling and it always made your pussy clench around his cock sucking him all in. “fuck, I’m gonna cum if you keep clenching like that” “then cu- cum mmh inside me” you moaned out. he almost came just hearing you say that. he pulled out grabbing you by the waist flipping you over on your stomach. “on all fours now” he growled. with shaky legs you obeyed him.

he hit your ass cheeks very hard a few times which would leave handprints before taking hold on your hips squeezing hard while he pushed himself inside again. you felt tears rolling down your cheeks from the mixed feeling of pleasure and pain, San always used to go very rough on you when you had sex which meant you almost never had romantic and slow sex. “my beautiful sexy girl gonna get filled up good with my cum” he groaned throwing his head back. you felt your stomach twist and your mouth fell open when he put one hand on your clit and the other squeezing your ass hard while thrusting in and out. “pls S-Saaaannn!” you screamed, your legs almost gave out under you. “cum for me baby” he spanked you one more time with force and you came while letting out a loud broken moan. San pressed his hips into you and you could feel his cock twitch inside you, a big load of cum spurting into you. San pulled out watching as the cum was dripping out from your stretched hole all over your thighs, just the sight made him hard again. before you had time to rest you felt him pushing his cock in again.

“San you’re kidding…” you threw your head back to look at him. he gave you a sly smile letting out a little laugh. “when you have an addiction it’s damn hard to stop” he said bending over kissing your neck and grabbing your boobs as he started to thrust into you again.

[visenyaism]

They butchered Alicent so bad

oh i LOVED her this episode. some of the execution was a little clunky in places but moving the blood and cheese “pick which of your kids are dying” moment to be a conversation between rhaenyra and alicent was sooo fucking choice in a way i really found compelling.

like aegon this episode, alicent has been realizing she doesn’t know what the fucking point of all of this has been. again like aegon because they were raised in a deeply ableist society she cannot conceive of aegon where he isn’t the king she cannot wrap her head around what he’s supposed to be now all of the suffering she bore to get him to this point was for nothing. aemond is acting scary and out of control to the extent that he is an active threat to her and her other children she does not know him anymore.

she gets out loud explicitly asked by rhaenyra to resolve the dilemma that has been her entire character: she either has to choose her children or her relationship with rhaenyra. otto has been drilling this into alicent’s head since she was a child, alicent has been drilling it into her children’s heads since THEY were children. rhaenyra was the only one who pretended that wouldn’t be a choice forced on alicent! so then rhaenyra is the one to demand this of her it’s CRAZY. and alicent, who has been trapped for almost her whole life who has done everything expected of her and has been left with what? so much blood on her hands, everyone hates her, no one listens to her,and the children that she had to bear the conception and raising of against her will are unrecognizable to her. this war is transactional and will not stop until everyone is dead.

and alicent does something fundamentally selfish and cut them loose in the name of all of this just being over. she wants to be a person again. she can’t tell the difference between being her own and being rhaenyra’s those are the same to her. and then she steps out to look at the wide open sky, out of her cage for the first time ever while rhaenyra settles deeper into hers. that’s so interesting. 

the consequence being that she never had control of the narrative! but she’s still punished for this in how this story is told. she’s largely written into the background of the historical record and when she’s there she’s a caricature of a cold ambitious stepmother-queen. they’re trying really hard to reckon with the historical record as history is happening.

overall, I think I can understand why people are upset about this, but I loved it. I thought it was really compelling and there could’ve been a bit more buildup to that moment for her but I don’t think it’s that far out from her previous characterization at all.