#cut out shape from image

[attleboy]

i thought too hard about insect motifs got a little silly and made... a lot lmao these versions of the characters are from @sm-baby's amazing digital carnival au!! full images and rambling about insect choices are gonna get stuck under the cut... it'll be a bit long and i will be putting photos of real bugs down there so be mindful

pomni: "butterfly"

inspirational species are black swallowtails mostly for the shape, and malay red harlequins mostly for the pattern

carnival pomni's actually the one that kickstarted this whole set... i drew her hat in a way that reminded me of butterflies, went "wait...", then i fully leaned into it :)

jax: "centipede"

there was no specific species for jax. without being able to use color, they were too similar to pick any out... i have included a giant centipede just for reference though since it was mainly larger centipedes i used for inspiration

anddd there's a little bonus sketch for how pre-sentience jax might've looked with a centipede outfit... he gets a bug scarf and some goggles!

ragatha: "ladybug"

inspirational species was the twice-stabbed ladybug chosen because the inverted color scheme looked the best out of all the ones i tried, and also because it's a metal name and we know ragatha's good with a knife... stabby stab... i did add more than two spots to the dress though, it just looks cooler lol

gangle: "spider"

inspiration was the spinybacked orb weaver which i was absolutely ecstatic to find because come on that is the perfect spider for gangle like look at it!! it looks like her mask, it's got red, it's got gold on the limbs, literally twinning

zooble: "mantis"

inspiration was the spiny flower mantis which, like with gangle, i feel is pretty much perfect for zooble... they come in many colors (including pink), have abstract patterns, and it gave me the excuse to cover zooble in spikes :D fun

and no kaufmo because i'm lazy and he's dead (sorry kaufmo fans but am i wrong), and the rest don't have bug names that i know of?

i still want to draw the carnival characters in their regular looks sometime, i just got really really inspired by the idea of secret skins and bug-themed outfits and went a liiittle haywire :P

anyways if you read all that you're a real one and you've got too much time on your hands... if you didn't, i understand, i get wordy, sorry :'D okay i think that's all byeee

[toytle]

i started drawing this the second the build-a-bear story hit the stage, but i got carried away so here they are a few days later. this was my first time joining a smosh liveshow so i got a little swept up in the excitement, happens to the best of us !

tip jar

[ID + notes below cut]

for those that haven’t seen the live show:

context 1: shayne mentioned that he’s never “built a bear” before, but if he ever gets the chance, he should make a chosen bear

context 2: shayne pointed out angela and spencer’s leather jacket looks, and they joked that the last guests (tommy and courtney) were the “teddy bears” and that they (angela and spencer) were part of the “after dark line.” they also said they had writers in the back prepping that joke for them LOL

IMAGE DESCRIPTION:

IMAGE 1: Fanart of the Chosen from Smosh holding a Build-a-Bear up to his face. The bear is wearing identical shades and wolf T-shirt, along with a pony bead version of his shark tooth necklace. Sticker-like doodles of the Chosen and Chosen bear are drawn in the corners.

IMAGE 2: Fanart of Smosh cast members from the Reddit Stories Liveshow as Build-a-Bear stuffed animals. Shayne is a tan bear leaning against the Smosh iPad. Courtney is a golden retriever with a paw on their hip sticking their tongue out. Tommy is a blonde dog with a mustache pattern on his muzzle waving his paw. Angela is a brown chihuahua blowing a kiss. Spencer is a brown bear tilting his head and gesturing his arms out. The top text reads: Build-a-Smosh. The text besides Angela and Spencer is a neon sign that reads: After Dark Line.

IMAGE 3: Closeup of the Chosen’s face. Artist’s note reads: 1st time painting since 2023, why is this the prettiest hair i’ve ever rendered…

IMAGE 4: Closeup of Chosen Bear’s face. Artist’s note reads: Pawprint in lenses! Pony bead version of necklace!

IMAGE 5: Closeup of Build-a-Bear Smosh cast. Artist’s note for Shayne reads: Same plush as Chosen Bear. Artist’s note for Courtney reads: Ears shaped like hair. Golden retriever energy. Artist’s note for Tomy reads: Tomey (Dog)Bones. Tommy’s bracelets! Artist’s note for Angela reads: Cheek fluff shaped like hair. Chihuahua (like Spork!). Artist’s note for Spencer reads: Curlier fur pattern.

[tojigasm]

Thinking about older!Logan and how he'd definitely clock the crush you have on him as soon as you meet him.

It's amusing to him, and unfortunately for you, Logan wasn't born yesterday and he absolutely catches your long stares when you think he's not looking or the way you avert your eyes from his whenever speaking to you.

He thinks it's cute and a little stupid on your behalf – a twenty year old something kid crushing on some fifty year old man old enough to be your father.

But it's when the two of your eyes meet from across the room that he knows he's completely fucked because damn if you're not the prettiest thing he's seen in a good fifteen years or so and damn if he doesn't want to treat you the way he knows boys your age aren't

When he finally gets you alone, it escalates faster than either of you could've imagined.

"Shy little thing arent'cha?" He comments from his seat beside you, "Am I really that mean and scary?"

For a moment, you don't realize he's speaking to you until you look up to scan the room before meeting his eyes.

Logan seems to have followed your eyes, scanning each nook and crevice along with you.

"See any ghosts?"

Your eyes narrow slightly in annoyance.

"M'not shy."

Logan hums from his seat, leaning forward to pick up his cigar from the table. Settling back into his chair, he takes a long drag.

"Sure y'rnot." He replies with a smirk, smoke pooling from his lips as he exhales through his words.

You don't break eye contact with him this time, and he's got you right where he wants you.

"M'not." You repeat.

"Oh, I know you're not." Logans voice suddenly shifts to a lighter tone, laced with tease. The switch throws you off for a moment. "Don't think I haven't seen you, do you?"

And there's no need for him to elaborate. You've been caught in your school girl crush that, in reality, you know you won't get in trouble for but it's the fear of disappointing the older man that strikes a chord of anxiety through you.

You don't say anything to that, and the two of you only stare at one another before Logan's placing his cigar back down into the ashtray and motioning for you to come towards him.

You obey without question, partially in response to your training with him and partially wanting to show him how good you can be, how good you are – you have complete trust in him.

Logan seems to sense the slight of your unease, helping to lead you to straddle his lap as you sit down atop him.

His thighs spread out beneath you, helping to keep you balanced.

"That's better, huh?" He asks.

You nod, eyes drifting downwards to where your hands have begun to trace over the detailed lines of his leather suit.

There's quietness to the moment. One that seems as though it could last forever as Logan keeps a gentle hand on your thigh and the other on the arm of the chair, content on letting you distract yourself for the moment.

"Jesus," Logan comments, making you look up to meet his eyes again.

He cups a hand to your jaw, softly turning your head left and right to look you over.

"Can tell you right now," he cuts himself off with a hesitant inhale, the pads of his gloves running along your hips as he slides his hands up and down the shape of your waist to your thigh, "– When I was younger I would've been all over ya'."

Something about the image that draws your mind makes your core ache and your legs weak – imagining a younger version of the older man in the moment, the whitesh grey streaks in his hair bring you back to earth just as fast.

Logan holds your chin with two of his fingers, pad of his gloved thumb stroking your soft skin, and in the same moment, the two of you are kissing.

His lips are soft against your plush ones. His tongue is rough as he takes his time to run the wet muscle up the insides of your cheeks and around your own tongue.

You run your nails through the short of his hair, tangling your fingers in the thick of his tufts.

Logan groans into the kiss, shuffling down the seat to spread his thighs out further beneath you.

His hand comes up to cup your heat, and you gasp into the kiss before grinding your hips into his large palm.

Logan smiles into the kiss.

It only takes him a moment before the pad of his thumb is deftly pressed against your clit through the layers of your suit and you're pulling away from the kiss to moan.

Your brows furrow, and your hands drop from his hair to rest atop his shoulders, letting out soft moans and hums as his finger circles your bud.

"There we go." Logan kisses the curve of your jaw, pulling back to lean against the chair, watching as you relax into his hold.

"That feels good." You manage through a whimper, humming lightly as he shifts his movements to figure eights over your clit.

Logan gives a half chuckle, "I bet it does." His free hand holds you by your hip, keeping you still as you begin to rock into his hand.

"Right there, huh?" He asks, and you nod weakly, rolling your hips into his hand.

"M'close." You breathe.

Logan nods, "Tell Daddy where you want him."

You're quick to obey, dropping your hand from his shoulder to hold his wrist in place, letting out a choked sob when he runs his fingers over your sensitive folds through your suit.

There's not much warning besides a moan that gets caught half way up your throat as you cum.

Logan only continues to run his fingers over your cunt, stroking your folds before your pushing his hand away, swallowing soft gasps for air as you relax against him.

You can feel him kiss the top of your head, his hand stroking up and down the soft of your back while your fingers are tangled with the other.

"Y'okay?" He asks into your hair.

You nod.

[willyoubemycherryy]

Intimacy Cues (C. Kent)

Summary: Who better to teach you how to talk body when you never learned the language?

Contains: smut AND plot so it’s long,depressing past, the college au you all secretly needed, struggles with physical touch, struggles with any form of intimacy, one mild panic attack, Clark is understanding but hot, dumb ideas, hugging, bonding, kissing, making out, it starts off shaky then soft but quickly snowballs into horn-e central, size kink, slight dumbification, strength kink, first kisses, virginity kept but not for long just give me till the second part, Clark is a little infatuated, they’re so nasty about each other my word, grinding, kissing (no forreal), prayer bc we all need it

A/N- my stomach is fine, it wasn’t a tumor but a blockage because of something I ate that never digested, causing my tummy to bloat and swell but they fixed me up so I’m back😈

. .* ੈ✩‧₊•

“Nononono- no, stop!!”

This might be the worst decision of your entire life.

Clark pulls away again, looking down at you with his eyebrows drawn together in concern but also exasperation because-

“Hey! It’s okay- you’re okay. Remember…you were the one who asked for my help.” He didn’t say the obvious “but we’re not getting any farther” part out loud but it echoes through your head all the same and you breathe out a deep sigh; regretting it with the depths of your very being but, yes. You did ask him for his help.

Help with what? The answer would’ve ended your social life if anyone who wasn’t Clark had found out.

You needed his help with…closeness- intimacy.

Growing up you were always awkward. Not in a charming way or even unconventional, you just simply didn’t make the cut based by society’s standards. You were always too gangly, too weird, too timid; so imagine the surprise come middle of highschool to now college where you’ve finally grown into yourself.

You know how you like to dress and which clothes look hottest on you, you know what hairstyle suits best for your face shape, you’re still weird but you’re also sarcastic which somehow equals charm to people and you’ve also managed to come out of your shell a bit. Becoming more confident from people naturally gravitating towards you after your blooming stage and even more after letting your friends convince you to join your college’s cheerleading team. You’d become everything you wanted to always try.

Pretty, popular, and fun. The problem?

Thanks to how much of a late bloomer you were, you never got the chance to get comfortable with others intimately during your formative years. Nobody liked you in that way and you were terrified of embarrassing yourself so there was nothing. No first kiss, no first dance with a boy, hell- even now you still get uneasy when others stare at you too long. Hiding behind your image as a college sweetheart made everything you were still to unsettled to try easier. Don’t misunderstand; it wasn’t that you never wanted those things, it’s that you’re not used to others suddenly picking you for those kinds of things after being invisible and missing out on them for almost all your life to the point where you don’t know how to deal with it when those moments do happen.

Still, you acted like everything was fine.

Playing the role of pretty cheerleader- the flirty tease that was favored by many even though that favor was shallow as a tear on a hot day. You pretended. And it was working, nobody knew…or so you believed.

Cue to one of the football teams parties where you’d been flirting with a guy, coy smile painted on your face as you giggled softly whenever he spoke, batting your pretty eyes at him in your little mini skirt. It had been going well until he suddenly leaned closer, focusing solely on you and when you felt the heat of his skin from how close he was- it felt as if the color had drained from your face, leaving you frozen as you became so uncomfortable it was visible; nerves screaming at you to flee until you listened. Spinning on your heels and bolting, trying to calm your breathing enough to will the cotton out of your ears.

You didn’t realize it then but a certain pair of blue eyes had been watching the whole thing. He’s always seen you. Which is funny because you almost always actively avoid him. In fact, he’s seen you enough to know that this isn’t the first time you’ve had that reaction and one day after a particularly rough week of endless pondering over you; he decides to just ask you after practice is over. Clark waits until his and your friends leave, it being only you and him on the field when he starts to walk over to you. The sound of incoming footsteps make you look up and when you see him, he can hear the very second your heart stops; skipping a beat before it quickly begins to thrum out of rhythm.

Honestly, there genuinely are not enough words to describe how attractive Clark Kent was. He was so incomprehensibly beautiful that you avoided Clark altogether just to avoid getting a headache from staring at him for too long especially since the real suffering started when he’d smile. Seemingly perfect pearly white straight teeth but when his grin broadened, his sharp canines would show, leaving you breathless every time. The type of good looking that was flat out overwhelming. Besides being apart of adjacent stereotypes, you two didn’t go together but there was no animosity.

Clark stops and you have to look up at him because of his hulking size. At almost 6’4 he nearly dwarfed you and his proportions matched. Thick, beefy everything- everywhere and you swallow before forcing a smile on your face. While you preferred to avoid him for the sake of keeping yourself out of the psych ward from how crazy he could drive you; you were still curious as to why he came to talk to you. He takes a moment to just look at you, cerulean eyes almost glowing but he doesn’t realize how intense his stare is until you start to shuffle on your feet- dainty hands twitching nervously at your side and that’s when he speaks.

“Hey…I know we don’t usually talk or anything but are you okay?” Even his voice is dreamy but confusion draws on your face because you felt fine; nervous, like you were around any guy you thought was cute, but fine. Clark elaborates at your expression,

“Y’know because of what happened at the party last-”, that seems to jog your memory enough to snap you out of it, eyebrows shooting up as dread overtakes over your face. You whip your head around, making sure there’s no witnesses when you grab him by his sweaty shirt, dragging him all the way behind the bleachers as you slam him against the metal. Clark is caught so off guard that he just lets it happen; lets the pretty thing half his size drag him as you pleased. Your eyes shift as you glare up at him.

You’re positive he’s talking about your little freak out with close proximity guy, the one that made you leave the party completely; walking so fast you nearly burned a trail in the carpet. Heart pounding, you start to spiral.

He wasn’t supposed to see that. He- like everyone else- was supposed to be too drunk to notice anything.

Your nose scrunches, full lips curling in a snarl. “I swear if you say anything to anyone-!” You’re threatening him so fast, Clark falters, raising his hands in defense, debilitating blue eyes widening as he starts to plead his case.

“No no-! I didn’t! I-“, He stutters at your harsh gaze, the feel of your hands soaking through his shirt, warming his chest. He needs to hurry up and explain himself before you start disliking him. “I was just worried! Whenever I see you and a guy, even if you act interested-“, he rushes out, panting as he talks even faster, “the second they get too close you look like you’ll vomit!” Your hostility melts into shock and even more confusion and you let go of his shirt, stepping back as you study him, his words stuck in your mind.

“How..? Are you- you’ve been paying that close attention to me? When do you even see me?” You’re at such a loss for words that it’s hard to string them together to properly question him.

“…I”, he swallows harshly, “I always see you.” It’s pure adrenaline that motors his mouth- he thought he was over the time when lovely faced girls made him nervous but you were unexpectedly feisty. It lit something tingly in him. Your eyes search his face and he spills. “I see how you flirt but you’re sarcastic too. Everyone is so taken by your pretty that they don’t even notice, they just call it ‘wit”, he manages to catch his breath enough to sound less panicked now that you look like you won’t kill him, “I see how even though you’re a flyer, you hate heights-”

“H-how-?”

“Your right leg shakes when they lift you, no matter how stable your base is.” Your mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out, heart racing when his voice goes soft,

“But what I’m saying is- so what that you’re not really what you give off? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. ‘Jus curious why you think it is…”, he blinks those long lashes at you and you find yourself explaining the tale of your sordid social past.

By the end of it he’s stunned speechless.

You? Just how bad was your awkward phase for nobody to be interested in you? Wait so that also probably meant that-

“You’re a virgin?!”

You slap your hands over his mouth with a speed equal to his own, face flushed as you shush him, hissing in a low whisper.

“Jesus Chri- shut up! Are you trying to tell the entire campus?!!” You let out another heavy sigh.

“…yes, I am��. You let your hands fall to the side, refusing to look at him while he’s trying to process; silence filling the space between you. You’ve accepted that your ego will never recover from the most gorgeous being on the planet knowing about all your…truths. That you looked and acted the part of a vixen just to hide that you secretly weren’t.

“…so you’ve never done anyt-”,

“No.”

Well then.

You can’t take another long drag of awkward silence, turning to face the boy who knew you probably more than anyone else did.

“Look- I would’ve loved to remedy this but I-”

“Can’t stomach whenever a guy gets too close due to previous deep rooted societal wrought insecurities…” Bingo.

“Well for what it’s worth,” he gives you one of his disarming grins and a flush creeps up your neck; warming your ears, “I think you’re doing fine now.” You snap your head down to see that you two are standing fairly close or at least closer than you normally allow and you don’t have that itch to get him as far away from you as possible. That’s when you get the idea that- “Oh my god! You can help me get over my thing! This is perfect!”! You’re practically vibrating with glee, excited to finally have all your firsts without that looming of touch related dread haunting you. Clark however is swarmed with various images of him “helping” you and can’t keep his ears from reddening at all the different scenarios where he’d be required to be close to you and begins to stutter.

“W-well, I wa- not that I-! I don’t think that’s a good idea, I mean w-we-”, you cut him off before he can weasel out of it, eyebrows creasing in frustration. You unconsciously step closer, your sweet smell bathes his senses as he stares you down, trying not to gulp too hard. “Please, Clark?”, you start and he swallows harshly at how his name sounds in that whiny tone from your lips.

“It can’t be anyone else because you’re the only one who knows! We’re not close now but we could be-“, and the double meaning makes him tune out completely as he only watches your plump lips move; not even registering the sound coming from them. He was thankful you didn’t ask him why he watched you so closely because the answer was one he wasn’t ready to even admit to himself.

Your lips stop moving after a while and them paired with your begging doe eyes make him cave, Clark nodding in hopeless defeat. He was supposed to be over the influence of pretty girls.

“S’okay, I’ll help you out. Your secret’s safe with me.” The corner of his mouth tilts up in a lopsided smile that was somehow both attractive but made you feel safe and you smile shyly back. You were nervous but you know Clark is a good guy- reckless as hell with his charms- but a good guy. What could go wrong?

•

•

•

Standing in the middle of your dorm room with your arms wound tight around yourself is when you find out that alot can go wrong.

Clark came over and you two came up with a starting plan that seemed the easiest: talk and slowly close the distance between you two until he was touching and looking at you without you getting uncomfortable or pushing him away. It sounded simple enough at first only…. you severely underestimated how you’d react to Clark. The way his deep mellow voice sounded in your ears, how he always held such steady eye contact as he moved towards you, that heavenly jawline tilting when he’d think too long. Already, Clark was big from afar but up close he was even bigger. Strong arms and broad shoulders; chest so thick it was noticeable through his shirt. You were used to others falling at your feet but Clark stood fine and it affected you in ways you didn’t prepare to deal with, so you tried to do what you always did- ignore it.

Matching Clark’s light conversation as you two eventually get more comfortable, gradually gravitating towards each other with slow short steps. The air shifts when you exhale and the breath tickles his chest. This is when you normally get squeamish but you merely hesitate for a few minutes before taking a deep breath and pushing yourself by letting him keep his distance.

His hand twitch and he shuffles a bit closer, biceps flexing as he reaches out, resting his hands on your shoulders; your conversation quiets as he stares at you with perfectly blue lidded eyes and then you feel the stirrings of restlessness under your skin. That impeding urge to get away. Despite the way you feel, the slow atmosphere helps you tremendously to not pull away but your pulse spikes all the same. His hands felt nice. You take another deep breath as you try to come to terms with what you were feeling.

Clark was a guy.

A guy who was standing in your bubble, touching you- looking at you.

A million emotions fly across your face at record speed and Clark doesn’t move any more for the next couple minutes. No, he waits for you; large rough palms warm on your bare shoulders while his pinky idly messes with the thin strap of your top. Your skin was soft. The heavy rise and fall of your chest has him focusing on you more intensely, trying to get a read on how you felt until you break the silence with a shaky exhale.

“We can keep going- you can keep touching me.” He knows you don’t mean it that way but his ears burn anyways as he nods. Taking a second to think before taking his hands off you to take yours, ignoring your big eyes look as he places your hands around his waist- inevitably moving closer and his voice softens like he’ll frighten you away if he were to speak any louder.

“You can touch me too. Promise I don’t mind…this is for you after all.” You suppress a whine because being so close was already hard with you fighting every instinct yelling at you to get gone and go somewhere where nobody could comprehend you but now with Clark staring at you like that, it was even harder. Your eyes flick about the room as you flatten your palms more against his back, mentally rolling your eyes back at how his muscles feel. You don’t even realize you’re biting your lip but Clark does, instantly alert the second he felt your small hands nervously press against him, his eyes zeroed in on the swollen skin dipping under the pressure of your teeth. He feels bad because while he was supposed to be helping you, he couldn’t stop thinking about how sexy you were being so shy but hardheaded enough to build up the grit to go for what scared you because you wanted it.

Without taking his eyes off your face, he rubs his hands up to your neck, making you squeak before smoothing them back down your shoulders; repeating the motions with a gentle hum.

The room feels hot- you felt hot and jittery but it’s too much. Unable to keep the waves at bay, goosebumps trickle over your skin and your eyes scrunch in panic as your breathing picks up. He was close. Close and touching you. You can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes because you know when you do, you’ll be naked for all to see and you scream.

“Stop!”

Nobody can see you-nobody’s supposed to be seeing you, the girl who was never even chose last as you were overlooked entirely no matter how badly you wanted to reach out. Maybe that’s what started your fear. Maybe you were scared of losing experiences because of rejection.

Clark doesn’t move away but he isn’t touching you anymore and you aren’t touching him as your hands fly to the sides of your head, trying to calm yourself down and guilt pours over him. He wants to hug you; comfort you but he knows that pulling you against him in a hug will only worsen things right now so he waits. Closing his eyes to help you feel at ease, listening closely to the beat of your heart until your breaths quiet and he hears it fluctuate back to normal. He keeps his eyes closed until he feels your small trembling hands slide back around him and instead of putting his hands on your shoulders, he moves his arms around them; resting them against your back but not pulling you in yet. It’s quiet besides the hushed sounds of him cooing at you and your breathing. The air now has an underlying current and you shift in his heavy arms, inhaling deeply as you finally look up at his face. Shyly, you cut the silence; voice soft as how you feel.

“…you can open your eyes now..” Clark feels his own heart speed up before he responds, low tone matching yours and electricity hits you when it clicks. This is intimate.

“Are you okay? We can stop and try again some other time; I don’t wanna upset-,”

“I want you to look at me.”

His eyes pop open at your command, peering down at you in such a way that your breath catches; anxiousness rising up you again but you stay right where you are. Willing yourself to embrace the exposed way he makes you feel.

Under the heat of his stare it’s like he’s seeing everything you’ve ever hid or been but his hold is steady enough to let you know he’s there with you and he’s not going anywhere. You still feel naked but more than that, you feel safe. Comfortable enough to not shy away from his warmth, you take another breath; looking up at him through your lashes- it makes his head fuzzy.

His eyes shift from their usual blue to the shade of the sea after a storm and you’re swept away, logic going with you as you slowly glide your hands up his sides to his where his arms hold you. Feeling every dip and curve of his strong build until you reach his hands, repositioning them around your lower back. You move closer but because you two were already standing so close- your chests touch and Clark stops breathing. The soft swell of your breasts move against his body with your every inhale and he finds his senses filled with you.

Your gaze is torn away when you turn your head, looking down as you drop against his chest. Arms looping around him making his own instinctively curl around you, holding you tight to the firm but soft muscle of his chest. You both pause for a few minutes- waiting for the urgent panic but it never comes. Instead, you melt into him with a relieved sigh, warm breath bleeding into his shirt. You two were officially hugging.

And you were in heaven.

You never knew close contact with the opposite gender could be so delightful. Clark was just so big and warm and smelled so good, you bury your face into the meat of his pec almost deliriously, sighing happily. Fuck, you really had been missing out. His arms are firm and heavy against your back, effectively locking you against him. The endorphin rush hitting you has you practically purring; the sounds of your bliss vibrating Clark’s chest and he smiles, letting you get your fix as he enjoys the way you fit into his arms.

Unsurprisingly, you two stay like that for a while. Fitted against each other in the silence of your cozy bedroom. He sees the top of your head move and he’s suddenly looking into your eyes, pupils blown so wide that your eyes are black. Clark has to bite his lip to keep from smiling at how cute you look. Your eyes flit down to his mouth to see the peek of his fangs that always show, letting out a small breathy ‘oh’ when you do. You’re still reeling in all the best ways as you rest your chin against his chest, unabashedly looking at his handsome face.

Clark raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the phantom hearts in your eyes and the way your small feet are standing on top of his larger ones while you make no attempt to separate your bodies, completely content with his proximity. He likes you so he likes your closeness and he’s even more elated that you seem to like him being so close too. Speaking lowly so he doesn’t disturb you, he checks if you’re still on the planet with him.

“This okay, sweetheart? Y’enjoying yourself?” The petname slips out but you don’t move or rush to correct him as your blood simmers, a numbingly pleasant heat washing over you so strong it’s hard to think. Running your hands in a slow caress up his back, you feel the muscles flex as his arm twitches and a smile grows on your face as you blink dumbly- brain currently taking a break, you mumble sweetly,

“Mmhm, yeah. Never better.”

And it’s true. You’ve never felt this safe, this free with anyone that wasn’t immediate family or your best girl friends. He was touching you and seeing you but you didn’t care because you knew whatever he was seeing and touching, was safe as it would ever be with him.

Clark huffs out a laugh at your belated response, moving one of his hands in a warm caress up your back, feeling you shiver and he bites his lip again. You were so alluring without even having to try and he breathes to reign himself in since he was currently the first and only to have you melting like this from a hug alone. If a hug got you like this he could only imagine how beautifully you’d respond to-

“Um, C-Clark?” Your soft voice brings him back as he hums, flicking his eyes down lazily at you.

“Yeah, baby?” Your sweet little gasp makes him realize that he just called you another nickname but you don’t seem to mind, flustering prettily in his arms. He leans down closer to your face, only to hear you better, eyes patient as he stares at you.

“I know this is supposed to be about me but how do you feel? You’ve been so good with me..I just wanna make sure you’re okay too.” Clark smiles, moved that you’re worrying about him even with all his experience.

“Yeah I feel good but how about you? Want me to let go or we can try something different?” He would’ve asked if you wanted to stop but he was going off your body language and it was telling him distance was the last thing you wanted and he was right as you shook your head before resting your chin back into his chest, looking up at him with those pupil eclipsed doe eyes.

“I feel great but…”, your voice gets smaller as it takes on an almost needy tone before stopping altogether. You snap your face back into his chest and he’s even more curious to get it out of you but you just can’t say it.

“You really don’t need to be embarrassed. Clothed or naked, we all start somewhere”, he whispers against the top of your head, stroking your back soothingly as you try to talk yourself into asking him before you chicken out, “with me you can start wherever you want and you know I’ll never tell. Or make fun of you..”,

His voice is tender with warmness and it turns your reservations to raindrops as you look back into his eyes. Steeling your nerve, you ground yourself with the way you feel in another persons arms for the first time in your life- his arms and decide to go for it.

“You said- we can try something different?” Your heart begins to race again as Clark’s starts to pound. He can’t keep the heat out of eyes as he returns your stare, nodding.

“Yeah. We can do whatever you want.” His breath wafts across your face, forehead resting against yours and the rate at which you find yourself needing him- scares you. You’ve been depraved of this kind of contact to the point of fear since forever but now…

“Then…can we-“, you blink rapidly, not wanting to verbalize it but not wanting to go without even more.

“Can we kiss please?”

Clark has to shut his eyes. You looked so sweet, felt so soft and even though you couldn’t keep the neediness from seeping into your words, you still asked so politely. Blood rushes through his ears as he feels a familiar stirring in his groin, taking a deep breath because it wouldn’t do for him to lose control now, his voice is heady with pure want when he answers,

“F’course. I’d love to kiss, baby.”

Large hands settle around your waist as you get pulled completely flush to him, legs almost intertwining while your pelvises touch; bodies glued together. The languid heat of arousal thrums through you, making your head spin.

Your lips part when Clark presses his forehead more firmly against yours, lighting you from the inside out when he dips his neck to slot his open mouth over yours.

Immediately your chest burns, heart feeling like each pump is gasoline, fueling the fire hes started in you. Clark’s full lips slide against yours, alternating between suckling at your top lip then bottom lip slowly, coaxing you to follow his lead, groaning his approval and the sound turns you up as you press yourself harder against his body. You feel so good you’re thrumming- heat steadily pulsing through you.

Your heads move from how hard you’re kissing, slick sounds coming from your mouths intensifying as you get rougher, delicious shivers all up your spine. Clark presses his lips fully against yours, moving them open wider with his own, hot breaths mingling as he licks hotly against the opening of your mouth. A bolt of pleasure hits you so hard that you gasp, wrenching your mouth off his as you moan- the needy little thing so whiny it makes his cock fatten in his pants as you pant against each others lips. Fuck. He can smell how wet you are. The sweet, heady smell makes his mouth water with him tossing shame clean out the window.

“Can I put my tongue in your mouth? Please, pretty girl?” You move your arms around his neck to get as close as possible, nodding desperately.

“God, yes-” His mouth is back to consuming yours before you can finish. Opening your lips with the force of his swollen ones, he sucks your bottom lip before lapping his tongue into your mouth. You twitch in his hold, even more turned on when he doesn’t have to move to keep your squirming in place, casual show of strength making you lightheaded as he swallows your moans. Wet smacks fill the air, your grip on him tightening when he sucks your tongue into his mouth. You get wetter and he can tell, growling in pleasure as he suddenly lifts you; your legs locking around his waist as he uses his hold on yours to grind you against him. The result is instantaneous. You melt like cotton candy, chest shaking against his from your pleasured moans as your shared spit wets your lips. Still aware of the fact that you need to breathe, Clark pulls away with a suck of your lips- staring at you hungrily with dark eyes.

He can’t even remember when he picked you up but the tiny undulations of your hips let him know it was a welcome decision. You looked so good. Lips puffy n slick, doe eyes teary and blown out, wet as fuck with your hard nipples poking through your top…you could ask him for every one of Saturns rings and he’d get them for you.

Clark takes a deep lungful of your tantalizing scent before he checks on you again.

“How was that, sweetheart? Y’first kiss right?” You nod, cupping his face. You can’t help the way you smooch more pecks onto his pink lips, aching as you answer.

“It was so good”, you drag your nose down his jaw; kissing his ear as you whisper into it, “you feel so good, Clark..”. You have him completely hard at this point, thick and fat as his tip oozes pre when you start to whine. He almost feels bad that you’ve waited so long, being so pent up wasn’t healthy and you deserved to feel good everyday.

“What’s wrong baby?” The low timbre of his voice makes your pulse skyrocket, causing you to absolutely dissolve against him, hips twitching as he helped you rub yourself on him.

“I-I need..-“, you let out a soft cry and he quickly soothes you. Kissing you deeply before pulling away, licking his lips of your taste as he verbalizes exactly what you need.

“Need to cum?”

The heat in your chest blooms up to your face as you nod, suddenly growing shy but still comfortable. You purr as Clark presses a sweet kiss to your cheek, looking at you with pretty lidded eyes.

“Would it be okay if I made you cum princess?”

The utterly wrecked moan that comes out of your mouth has goosebumps scattering up his arms, holding you tighter as you nod vigorously.

“I need words baby”, he whispers. Giving you another kiss to tempt you and it works. He was too irresistible and he knew it.

“Yeah, you can make me cum Clark.” And with that he carries you over to your bed, laying you on the plushness as he takes over your mouth again with a hungry groan, your hands touching everywhere until he pulls away- fangs on display as he smiles making fire sweep through your veins.

Massaging your legs, he rises on his knees- taking off his shirt as your mind checks out from how hot he is, shifting restlessly as the ache in your pussy throbs with the best pain. Whining his name, Clark cooes at you; big hands moving to pull your clothes off. Your nerves are going haywire but you need this- need him to make you feel things, lifting your hips to help him slide your shorts and underwear off, spreading your legs as you let him get a good look at your messy wet hole twitching in need.

Clark swears, hooking his hands under your knees and bending them towards your chest. Exposing you more as he licks his lips, keeping his eyes glued to your cunt.

“Atta girl, jus’ lay there nice n pretty and I’ll give you what you need..”

Part ✌🏽…

[emiliaoleary]

Hooking rugs that look like dogs

Here's how I do it:

The process I use is called rug hooking (not latch hook or punch needle or tufting, though it is the forerunner of the latter two techniques). Rugs are hooked by pulling loops of fabric strips or yarn through the holes of a base fabric with a coarse open weave, like burlap, or linen, or rug warp. The loops are pulled through the fabric with a squat-handled hook whose business end is shaped like a crochet hook.  There are no knots and the loops aren't sewed down in any way.  The whole thing stays put just by the tension of all those loops packed together in the weave of the foundation fabric.

This isn't a true detailed tutorial but a walk-through of my particular process. The same information is on my web page, emilyoleary.com .

I hook with yarn, rather than with cut strips of wool fabric, which is what many rug hookers use.  I can get a looser, more organic distribution of loops with yarn than I could with wool strips, which are hooked in neat lines. 

Mostly I use wool yarn. In terms of yarn weight, I can use DK, worsted, or Aran.  If I'm using thicker yarn, I leave more holes un-hooked; if I'm using finer yarn, I hook more densely or double up lengths of it.  I particularly like using single ply yarns (like Brown Sheep Lamb's Pride or Malabrigo Worsted).  I don't keep count, but I think I usually use around two dozen types and colors of yarn per dog.  

This is my yarn wall in my apartment. Mostly brown and gray yarn!

I start from a small drawing in my sketchbook, then I head to FedEx office to use a copy machine, blowing up the drawing repeatedly and experimenting with how big the dog rug should be. 

After transferring the image onto my linen, I immediately go over it with Sharpie, because the Saral is really difficult to see and really easy to rub off.

The rug is held taut by a PVC quilting frame that I set on my lap.

I push my hook down through the fabric with my right hand and my left hand stays below the fabric and guides the yarn while I pull it up and through with the hook. Not every hole in the fabric is hooked. Hooking every hole would make the rug too dense. I do hook pretty densely, though-- If you pick up one of my rugs you’ll see they have a slight curl to them, which is because they’re hooked pretty tight. I'm using all different weights and types of yarn, so it's a challenge to keep the overall tension even.

I hook my loops at varying heights to create a very low relief. Sometimes I trim the loops to make them fluffier or wispier or to shape a particular part. I look at a reference photo while I work and pull out and redo sections a lot.

My q-snap frame can accommodate the growing dog rug. I have extenders to make it bigger and I can clamp around my hooking.

The back of a rug looks like lines of little stitches. The lines are little worm trails snaking around because lines of hooking are not supposed to cross over each other. It's important to start a new length of yarn rather than cross over a stitch you already made! I read this when I first started and took it to heart. It makes it much easier to undo and redo hooking if you have to (and I redo sections A Lot). It also keeps the back from getting too bulky and resulting in uneven wear on the back of a functional rug that gets floor use.

When I’m done hooking everything I turn the rug over and brush watered-down Sobo glue on the edges of the dog, making sure to get one or two of the outermost lines of hooking. I do a couple coats of this thinned out glue. I'm careful not to use so much that it seeps to the front of the rug. When the glue is dry I cut the rug out, but I don't cut so close that the loops don't have any linen to keep them in.

​ It generally takes me at least several months to finish one dog rug. My hooking frame and yarn bag are very portable (though bulky) so I can hook out and about at coffee shops or the library or a brewery if there's enough space and light.

Hooking in the wild makes me an ambassador for making things in general and rug hooking in particular. I answer people's questions and always emphasize how relatively easy it is to get started hooking. Sometimes I get anxious that other people will hook rugs that look like mine but better, but I think that working in a traditional medium means you should share your knowledge for the good of the craft.

[softaestluv]

Nine Lives

Simon Riley posts an ad for a stray cat he does not want and you answer.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem! Reader

Tags: short n’ sweet, fluff, smut, dirty talk, fingering, Creampie, penis in vagina sex, over use of terms of endearment

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | mlist | ao3

this chapter does contain smut, 18+ content & is the final chapter

A cat.

His stupid cat.

His stupid fawn-colored cat.

Found three days later wedged under a dumpster in an alleyway, she yowled high-pitched and distressed when Simon pulled her out. Fawn-colored fur a little dirty and matted, hungry and scared, but she wasn’t hurt, no scratches or cuts on her after a quick examination.

Churro was okay.

Never better as she snuggled into his arms as soon as she recognized his gruff voice and broad chest. Grumbled harsh grievances to her he didn’t really mean as he carried her home because she was gone for three whole days, making his pretty cat lady entirely too stressed over a feline.

Only cursed more complaints at her when he attempted to bathe her. A bath that only resulted in scratches on his forearms and hands, left him with a cat still filthy and matted— Don’t you trust me, bloody pest?

So, he cleaned her down with a warm moist towel and wiped the bigger clumps of dirt out the best he could after he gave her a bowl of food and water. Even gave her one of the creamy snack pouches she likes before he sent you a picture of her curled on his couch like she never left— Sweet girl is here.

Your response is instant, sending an overwhelming amount of exclamation marks, capital letters, and hearts that make the corners of his lips twitch chest warming. You ask him if he can drop her off at your place since you can’t come pick her up. It’s the first time you’ve invited him over, the first time he’ll see you since he carried your crying frame to his bed and cuddled you to sleep. Since you woke up in his arms, pressing yourself deeper into his chest with a quiet noise of protest when he tried to get up.

The image of you snuggling closer into him played in his mind on repeat, blinking up at him bleary-eyed and swollen from crying the night before, tangled in his sheets. Divine and breathtakingly gorgeous with bed head and groggy smiles. Took all his strength not to pin you under his larger frame and kiss your morning breath away. Melt all your worries about Churro’s safety with his tongue and fingers.

He settled with a kiss to your temple.

When he arrives at your apartment, he tries to ignore the fact that his precious girl has been living in a shitty neighborhood. Apartment is even shittier, no cameras or bolted locks on your door for safety. He’ll fix that, eventually, and well, Churro already thinks his home is her second home, might as well make it her only home.

You open the door before he even has time to finish his knock, peering at him and Churro with wide, excited eyes. You lunge forward with a happy squeal, stealing Churro from his arms and squeezing her tightly in yours.

“Oh, my pretty lady! You’re okay, I’m so glad you’re okay! I was so worried, angel. I thought you were gone forever, don’t do that again, okay?”

Simon follows you in as you talk animatedly to Churro, pressing countless kisses to her head. Churro purrs louder than Simon’s ever heard her before as you snuggle against her face.

Before he knew you, before he knew Churro, he would’ve rolled his eyes and glowered at the display of affection to a four-legged pest, but now, he knows the two of you. Knows how much you care for her, how such an annoying animal can claw its dainty legs under his skin and carve out a Churro-shaped hole in his heart.

Now, he gets it. Now, he can’t help but crinkle his eyes affectionately at the display in front of him because it fills his chest and lungs in such a thick, tacky way he’s never felt before. And he’s just relieved that he’s the one who found her for you, who returned her to your arms, so he can be a part of the sweet interaction.

It’s a moment before you turn towards him, but he doesn’t mind. He watches you without complaint any chance he gets, doesn’t even look away when you catch him and begin to open your mouth, ask him an abundance of questions, but he speaks before you can even begin.

“Found her in an alley a few blocks from my house. Got stuck under a dumpster somehow. She isn’t hurt at all, checked her already, jus’ got lost is all. Gave her water and food too, even one of her little pouches.” He explains, your lips forming a small smile like you were trying to hold back your smug comments. “Tried to give her a bath, but she was not having it. Bloody clawed my arms raw.”

You laughed, “Cats don’t like water!”

“I know.” He said, pointing to the cuts on his hands as his evidence, “But she was dirty. Needed to bloody clean her somehow.”

You place Churro on your table, walking over to pull his hands in yours, examining the small scratches decorating his already scarred skin. He thinks you might feel bad, that you’re going to apologize for her behavior, but when you look up at him you’re smiling so big that he can hardly see your irises. It makes the breath catch in his throat that such a warm look is meant for him.

“Thank you,” You murmur, eyes glassy, “For caring for her so much. Always knew the big scary man was soft for us”

Your words, the tears welling in your lashes leave him a little speechless, staring dumbfounded for longer than he probably should. Maybe he should be offended that you’re calling him soft because he’s anything but— just for you two though.

“Of course, baby. I care about the both of you. She’s our cat and you’re my girl.”

Your eyes widen, mouth parting in quiet shock, and you divert your attention back to his arms, gently tracing the cuts in a weak attempt to distract yourself. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that without asking, but it’s true. You are his and he’s sure you know that by now.

He cups your face, fingers curling behind your head, thumbs resting in front of your ears, “My pretty cat lady.”

“I really want to kiss you right now.” You murmur.

He huffs a laugh at your confession, leaning down so that your noses press against each other, “Yeah?”

You nod coyly, wrapping both of your hands around his wrists.

So, he does.

God, it’s so fucking sweet, you’re so fucking sweet and soft that he almost thinks he doesn’t deserve it. Not when he’s quite the antithesis of such words, when callous and ruthlessness seem to describe him better when violence and bitterness seem engraved in his bones. When he hasn’t felt the urge to hold something in his grasp with such care, glass in his palms, fragile and delicate before you and Churro came into his life.

It’s tender, dragging his lips against yours languidly, but it’s deliberate, determined. Doesn’t intend to rush through the kiss, doesn’t want to diminish the moment into animalistic instincts and lust. Instead, he’ll take his time, wants to ingrain the moment, the way you taste, saccharine and sweet, the way you feel, doughy and pliant, the noises you make, melodic and mollifying, into the back of his skull.

The feeling melts over him and his tongue bursts an aromatic taste in his mouth. It’s molten honey and syrup, rich and balmy. Makes him hoist you onto your counter, wedging his way between your thighs, but you make a quiet noise of protest that makes him pull away just enough to let you breathe, lips swollen and pretty covered in his spit.

“Not here,” You pant, gesturing towards Churro perched on the table when he tilts his head in slight confusion, “Not in front of her.”

Simon laughs, you’re cute.

You hop down from the counter, tangling your fingers in his to guide him to your bedroom, closing the door behind you to lock Churro out. You peel your shirt off before climbing onto the bed, resting on your elbows to stare up at him through your lashes, rocking your foot, and biting your lip tauntingly. It makes his mouth water, crawling over your frame to grip your ankle and spread your legs wide to accommodate his size. Shifting your thighs over his hips as he settles his weight on his forearms on either side of your head.

“Thought you didn’t like cat ladies,” You tease, dipping your fingers in the collar of his shirt to pull him closer to your face.

“I don’t, jus’ you.” He stamps his mouth against yours with a bit more fever, playfully nipping against your bottom lip that earns him a muffled gasp, allows him to lick into your mouth, and delve deeper into your taste. “Must really be a witch, you an’ Churro both.”

You choke on a chuckle when he moves to the crook of your neck, littering wet stamps against the delicate flesh of your throat. Sucking the skin between his lips and teeth, kneading the supple flesh of your breasts and hips in his large palms until you begin to writhe impatiently trapped under his frame, wringing his shirt in your fists, chest swelling with shallow lungfuls.

“Must’ve put some spell on me.” He mutters, tugging at the hooks of your bra until your breast spills from the cups. “Maybe you put some potion in my tea when I wasn’ lookin’.”

You laugh again, sound morphing in a quiet whine when he seals his lips around your pebbled nipples, “No, I think Churro might be Cupid.”

He smiles around your nipple because it’s true. He never believed in fate, barely clung to the evaporating idea of love before you. If it wasn’t for that damned cat he definitely wouldn’t have you shirtless under him, hips gradually grinding against the front of his jeans the longer he takes to peel your shorts and panties off. Wouldn’t have an all-consuming desire festering in his chest.

The two of you have been playful, soft, and sweet, basking in each other’s lips and touch, but when he finally slips the lace material off your hips the room seems to shrink, becomes heady and suffocating. Makes his eyelids feel heavy, breaths ragged, turns every touch against your flesh searing and branding, burns an ache straight to your core.

He slides down your frame until his face rests between your thighs, perching one of your legs over his shoulder, and pushing the other one wide, splaying his hand on the inside of your thigh. It leaves your cunt bare and spread for him, and he has to stifle a groan at the sight.

God, are you perfect, pussy glistening and swollen for attention. For his attention, peel the hood back and suckle your clit, give the pulsing bead any stimulation.

So, he does.

Presses a soft peck against the puffy flesh.

“Simon.” You say a little breathless, and fuck does his name sound pretty on your lips.

It’s enough to entice him to lick a thick stripe over your pussy, doubling back over your clit in calculated strokes and firm shapes. Your hands fly to his head, sifting your fingers through his hair, frantically trying to grip onto something, so you don’t immediately melt into the pleasure.

But that just won’t do, will it sweetheart?

He suctions the sensitive bead between his lips and sucks gently as if not to suddenly overwhelm you.

“Simon!” You moan, arching your back slightly in shock.

The noise is hypnotizing, your taste just as addictive, and he finds himself holding your thigh down from clamping constrictively over his head, so he can lap eagerly between your folds. Each movement makes a new mewl slip from your lips, makes your pretty legs tremor and shake, stomach tightening the closer he brings you to the brink.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t imagine this situation in his head each time you sat on his couch. Had tried his best to ignore it, not picture the way you would shed your layers on his tongue, but it was almost impossible when his cock was heavy in his pants with need. And now, it’s even harder for him to stop, the thought doesn’t even cross his mind when you look so pretty laid under him, watching you arch into his touch like it’s the only thing you need.

His cock is throbbing and painfully hard in his pants when he slips a finger into your sopping cunt. He should probably work you up to it, but he can’t resist when you look so desperate, weeping for more by clinging to his digits, so he adds a second soon after. And you take it so fucking well, your gummy walls spreading so heavenly over his thick fingers.

You cry out when he begins to bury them into your welcoming cunt, smothering his tongue against your swollen clit with more fervor, a different determination to make the insistent fire lapping in your womb burst and fill the palm of his hand.

You’re gasping and shaking, gripping onto the sheets before tangling your fingers in his hair, trying to clamp your legs shut before spreading them further apart because it’s too much, body stinging with insatiable pleasure, but it's not enough at the same time, pleading your way to your orgasm.

And Simon is more than willing to give his girl what she wants.

You clench painfully around his fingers, moan punches straight out of your lungs when you finally do, burying your face into your sheets. It’s a sight watching your walls quiver, watching your hips convulse, watching your breasts jiggle with each inhale— Jesus, baby, look at tha’, fuckin’ pretty little thing you are.

He strokes your poor cunt through it, stripping himself of his clothing the best he can with one hand. His cock is already leaking, reddened, and swollen, lined up with your entrance before you’ve completely returned to reality. He doesn’t break through your walls until he’s got your lips around his, whimper deliriously into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck, and cling to him desperately.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, mouth popping open when he starts to sink in. He has to rest his forehead against yours, squeeze his eyes shut at the sensation of your pussy. Warm and gummy, so fucking tight, clenching a suffocating ring around the base of his cock when he bottoms out. It takes a moment for him to muster his strength, will himself not to fucking outright cum against your cervix when you feel so fucking good.

It’s almost painful when you begin to speak and your voice is so dainty, shaky, and whiny, ask him so sweetly to move, fuck into your aching cunt and soothe the fire pulsing under your skin— Simon, oh my, you’re fucking big. Fuck, why didn’t you tell me you were this big?

He tries to laugh, but it just comes out strained, “I know, baby, I know. You can take it though, right? Make you take, don’t worry.”

You just nod at him, a little dazed from being stuffed so full, stretched so thin around his fat cock that you’d just agree to anything he says with knotted brows and pleading eyes.

He can’t wait for the day he’ll fuck you in two, make you sob and drunk off his cock, aggressive and unrelenting, bend you over every surface he can before rucking your oversized clothes up and ravaging your pretty cunt. There’s no rush, he’s waited this long to even get a taste of your lips, and he plans to keep it intimate, tender, show you how you’ve unearthed something in him he thought he wasn’t capable of. But he was, just for you.

So, he fucks you nice and slow, cock dragging against your swollen walls so heavenly, thrusts real deep and languid, kissing your cervix gently with each stroke that makes your legs shake, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Hiccuping for breath each time he pulls out to the very tip of his cock head, just to plunge back in your pulsing walls, so his balls smack lightly against your taint. Makes you take every inch so you can feel it in your fucking throat.

His name is like a prayer on your lips, chanting it between breathy whines, and weak attempts to ground yourself back to reality and not the way his fattened cock keeps grinding against that gooey spot in your pussy. Toe’s covered in your signature fuzzy socks curling against his back, arching so pretty against his pelvis each time he ruts into that gummy spot.

You whimper when he tangles his hand in yours, reciprocate the action by crossing your feet over his back, locking the both of you together. You’re babbling at this point, mewling that you’re so fucking close, please Simon, don’t stop, need it, need you.

He can’t even manage the strength to tease you, mutter playful words to you when he’s been gritting his teeth together in a weak attempt not to paint your walls white. So, his thumb finds your clit and makes your vision blur white instead, practically begging you to orgasm with encouraging praises.

Your body goes rigid, clamping narrowly around his cock as you finish, a thick ring of your arousal collecting around the base of his cock. It’s divine, all of it, your fucked out express, the sheen of sweat on your collar bones, the way you claw down his chest in ecstasy.

He’s steady through it, draws your overwhelming orgasm out as long as he can until your fingers are pressing to his hips for him to stop.

He will, just after he fucks his own cum into you.

You’re close to overstimulation and shedding tears when he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t quite want that, not yet at least, so he presses praises into your skin until you believe them, until you’re eager for him to make you two one.

Easy baby, I got you. I know, ‘ts too much isn’t it?

Jus’ a lil longer, yeah? Did s’well f’me, s’fuckin’ pretty stretched ‘round me.

Gon’ make you all mine, okay? My sweet girl now.

You finally croak back, nodding earnestly at him, “Always were.”

That pushes him right over the edge, burying himself to the hilt, so he can fill your drenched cunt, so warm and tight, with his expense. He has to bury his head in your neck, a beastly groan vibrating from his chest. The ropes are thick, balls tightening and thrumming with each emptying pump so much so that it leaks out of you.

He can barely stop himself from smashing you and going completely limp from the intensity. He kisses you instead, spends entirely too long mapping the shape of your lips that he grows a little chub in your walls when he should be cleaning the both of you up.

When he finally does pull out, you’re docile and tired, he has to carry you to the shower, clean your sweat-drenched and cum stained skin nice and pretty again, help your wobbling legs put on a fresh set of pajamas before he drapes you into your sheets again.

He crawls into the bed with you, but before he can snuggle under the blankets, you shake your head, pointing at your bedroom door.

“You gotta let pretty lady in.”

He chuckles, of course, he has to, he should’ve known without you having to tell him. Churro trots in as soon as he opens the door, following him into bed with you. He pulls you snug against his chest, banding his protective arms around you as Churro curls herself above your head on your pillow.

You smile sweetly at him when he stamps a kiss against your forehead and then against Churro’s.

“Knew you liked her.”

@lighthousebats @cococococ @sai-int @tessakate @starboykel @imrandomstuffsblog @your-internet-tenshi @glossy01 @orangegreensun @uriahs-barn @ye-olde-trash-panda @akkahelenaa @h0lydrag0ns @pukbadger @dawnnightshade666 @lizziesfirstwife @little-b33 @topaz125 @v1x3n @hadassery @afanofbeans @definitely-not-sammie @alexlove-you @dravenskye @hardpostdinosaur

[dollfacefantasy]

SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL ♡

pairing: homelander x fem!reader

summary: homelander has taken an interest in you, vought's new intern. no matter how you look at it, as a good or bad thing, it ends the same way: him getting what he wants.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dubcon, p in v, oral (m receiving), body worship, sir kink, obsessive behavior, manipulation/coercion, age gap (reader in early 20s)

wc: 7.7k (oops lol)

a/n: hehe. never thought i would write for this man but it was pretty fun :) comm for my sweet beloved @gor3-hound love you so very much mwah mwah <33

At the junction of the V-shaped table, Homelander sat. With his back to the skyline and his gloved hands folded in front of him, he held the posture of a statue. Ashley had been rambling on and on and fucking on for the past five minutes about shit he couldn't care less about. Her nasally voice bounced off the tile floors and painted ceiling, ricocheting around him like a rogue bullet. Only his impregnable skin didn't protect him from the discomfort of this situation.

It was moments like these that really made him regret killing Stillwell.

That woman knew how to handle things. As manipulative as she could be, at least she wasn't absolutely insufferable. How could Stan let Ashley replace her? She was a poor excuse of just about everything. Absolutely spineless, unintelligent, reactionary, and opportunistic. He really couldn't picture any person on this Earth genuinely liking her.

However in the midst of his mental complaints, he realized that the annoying sound of her speaking was directed at him. All the other stares in the room were zeroed in on him too. A-Train observed in cautious silence. Noir's goggles reflected Homelander's own image right back at him. Maeve judged with a sideways glance. And Starlight prepared for the worst.

He tore his own bright blue eyes from the door opposite the table and refocused them on Ashley. They scanned over her thinning ginger locks down to her gaudy outfit - a piss poor attempt at imitating power.

"What?" he asked, his voice cutting through the air with a force similar to one of Maeve's swords.

Ashley blinked in return. Fear swirled in her wide eyes. She tried to maintain that empowered appearance she so desperately wished was real, but he could see the innate urge to cower bubbling within her.

"Was that lineup for the funeral ok with you, Homelander? A-Train and Noir open, Starlight sings, and then you close?" she repeated.

Now it was his turn to blink. Like he could actually give a shit about the order of segments for Translucent's funeral. He swallowed hard. While she projected a mirage of power, he had to do the same with level-headedness.

"That's fine, Ashley. Have those two go first, and Starlight can follow up with Amazing Grace or whatever shitty hymns they teach in that hick town she's from, and then I can finish us out," he responded.

He could see how her knuckles were going white around the edge of her clipboard. She gripped it for comfort, as if that could save her from his potential wrath. It only irritated him more. If he wanted her dead, he would turn her to ashes where she stood. How hard she braced herself in advance wouldn't matter in the slightest. But people could be so foolish in moments of terror.

"Well speaking of that," she said before clearing her throat, an attempt at a natural transition, "We were trying to decide what song she would sing. Maybe one of our originals? Or do you think it would be more tasteful to go with something from an outside source?"

Gritting his teeth, he buried the urge to unleash the bright beams of red from his sockets. His hands slid off one another and pressed down onto the cool table.

"Do you really need me to decide what song is going to send Translucent to the grave?" he replied, "I don't care what you play, and no one else attending will either. They'll be focused on working up some tears for the useless dipshit they never had the displeasure of knowing. Instead of trying to gain their approval, we should be working on finding the next member of the Seven who can replace him. There's no use dwelling on the past. We need to be preparing for the future."

He paused to let his words permeate the room, giving everyone a chance to absorb the sentiment and adapt accordingly. With his pupils still trained on Ashley, he planned on continuing his tirade, but his train of thought came to an abrupt halt.

Soft pitter-patters of footsteps clacked down the hall outside this room. They sounded in a delicate rhythm, only audible to him. As they grew louder, he caught the scent of the source too. Airy and light. A stark contrast to the brash perfume Ashley doused herself in.

The doors at the front of the room slid apart to reveal you.

You stood there for a moment. The realization that you'd interrupted something was visible in your eyes. The small spheres cast down as you wobbled in like a fawn that sensed wolves watching from nearby.

Ashley turned to face you, a glower already set on her features. The resentment she held for everyone else in this building awoke from its usual dormant slumber because there was finally someone weaker she could take it out on.

Once you reached her, your hand rose and gave her a thin stack of papers. 

"I'm sorry for interrupting. It's a memo from 82. They made it sound urgent," you explained, everything about your temperament meek and timid.

After a brief pause to let you marinate in the few moments before your inevitable humiliation, she snatched the papers from you. Her eyes roamed over the page with disinterest. Even if the information conveyed by the small black letters was important, he doubted she would give it any reaction. She wanted to lash out, and she was going to, whether it was justified or not.

"They couldn't have emailed me this?" she snapped, as if that was something you could control.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll check next time," you offered.

"You better or you'll run out of next times," she threatened, "Incompetence like this won't fly here. You're in the big leagues now, so act like it. Think before you do something instead of taking commands like a lap dog."

"I'm sorry," you replied, ducking your head again.

"Don't be sorry, just do better," she commanded.

"I will," you agreed.

"Good. Just get out of here now. Go pick up my lunch," she told you.

His lips curled into a scowl as he watched the scene play out. It was pathetic - not you, but Ashley. He hated seeing the fucking smirk on her face as you walked away. She had nothing to be smug about. She was nothing more than a feral coyote going after the scraps the other predators didn't take.

To make matters worse, when she returned her attention to the group at the table, she saw the look on his face. She saw the disdain, but instead of striking regret into her, it only deepened her sense of self-satisfaction.

She thought the look was for you. That he was disgusted with your mistake. Annoyed with your intrusion.

He couldn't have that. Not when that assumption was the farthest thing from the truth. Honestly, he didn't know if he was even capable of feeling such ire towards you. Not his precious little fawn.

Rising from his seat, his glare remained on Ashley. She did show a little fear then.

"You know, I don't have all day, Ashley. I'll open Translucent's funeral, Starlight will follow up with a song, and that will be it. A-Train and Noir can have the day off, because let's be honest, nobody will give shit either way," he mocked.

"But, sir-" she said, clearly confused by his sudden impending departure.

"I have more important things to deal with. If you need anything else, I'm sure one of the others can help you," he dismissed.

With that, he stepped back from the table and began heading to the doors. He hoped if he was fast enough he could still catch you. Even in a building as sleek and modern as this one, the elevators could be quite slow.

Walking out into the hall, his head swiveled in the direction you would have gone. For once, his own portrait didn't catch his eye. He didn't even think about stopping by Stillwell's office to reminisce. Instead, he just headed down towards the elevator. His red boots thudded across smooth tile in rapid succession, covering the path you'd just taken.

Finally, after a few feet, he spotted you. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Eyes glossy with embarrassment. Tip of your polished shoe tapping against the ground. You startled when his voice boomed across the space, calling out your name. So cute.

You looked at him with fear in your eyes, but disgust didn't fester in the pit of his stomach like it did when others gave him that anxious stare. Another feeling bloomed inside him, one he couldn't really place. It was just that the nervous gleam over your pupils didn't make him hate himself and all the circumstances of his life that put him in his position.

Instead, your wide eyes and pouty lips made him feel strong. You made him feel like a hero. A real one, not the artificial caricature that Vought projected to the world. With you nearby, he felt like the kind of guy who deserved the American flag blowing off his back with a pretty girl cradled in his arms and a dead enemy at his feet. When you gazed up at him, he could only imagine that the pride rushing through his chest and confidence pooling between his hips was the feeling his creators intended for him.

"Did you need something from me, sir?" you asked, reminding him that he actually had to provide a reason to talk to you. Just wanting to stare at you like a psychopath would not suffice unfortunately.

"Oh no," he waved off, "The meeting just finished up. I was heading out too. I saw you, and I realized I haven't really taken the time to get to know you yet, which is unfortunate because I usually like to be familiar with the newer people we have working with us."

A complete lie. Before you, he didn't remember ever giving any of the interns a second glance. They were true nuisances. They were Ashleys.

"Oh... well I'm around whenever you wanna talk. Ashley keeps me busy, but I'm sure I could make an exception for you," you replied.

"You absolutely can make an exception for me," he chuckled, "If Ashley gives you any trouble, just let me know, and I'll make sure she remembers who's really in charge around here."

It wasn't until he heard your heart rate increase that he realized those words probably came off as threatening. Well, they were threatening, but you weren't supposed to see him that way.

"I'm kidding," he forced out with a laugh, "Just joking around like I do... I just don't want you to worry about getting in some kind of trouble for me sniffing around you."

You huffed out an awkward laugh of your own and nodded.  "I'll be sure to make some time for you in the future then and let Ashley know it was at your direction."

"Great," he said with probably too much enthusiasm. 

His jaw clenched into one of his usual tight smiles. He averted his eyes from you and looked towards the numbers on the elevator. Fuck, it was reaching the bottom. He didn't want to let you go, but it wasn't like he could just stroll down the street with you to go get Ashley's lunch. His mind scrambled to come up with a solution.

But like your earlier intrusion into the meeting, your gentle voice cuts through the hurricane forming in his head.

"Are you alright, sir?" you ask, anxious concern written all over your features.

He refocused on you and nodded. His arm extended out behind you, his palm landing against the elevator wall. As he leaned in, he could smell your adrenaline spiking. He could hear the shift of your shoe against the ground. If only he possessed a sixth sense for the mind, so he could know what little thoughts about him were flitting through your head.

"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me," he answered. He smiled down at you, observing the slight nod you gave him in return.

"Of course not. It probably seems silly coming from me," you said.

His brows raised in amusement. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

He saw the flash of regret in your eyes. The one people always gave him when he asked a question in that tone. The one that came from the panic of realizing they may have said something that offended Homelander.

You suppressed it pretty well though and brought out a smile that gave the impression that you hoped he was messing with you instead.

"Well you know... because you're you," you said and tilted your head in an innocent way that made his chest ache.

He chuckled that charming, prepackaged laugh that had been trained into him. "Even I can appreciate someone taking an interest in checking on me," he replied.

It was maddening, how bad he wanted you. He wasn't even sure when this craving had sprouted inside him. He had been so preoccupied with his affinity for Stillwell that his fixation with you struck him like a glass window in front of a flying bird. But no matter the timeframe in which it blossomed, it had taken root by now and wasn't going to go away on its own.

When he looked at you like this - staring up at him with earnest fascination - his mind drifted to darker places all on its own. He couldn't stop it if he wanted to (and really, he didn't want to). It's just how was he not supposed to be aware of the fact that it would be all too easy to take you back to his room? How could he not think about what it would feel like to have your fragile body beneath his own in private? How could he not wonder what you'd sound like crying out in a sinful mix of pleasure and pain?

Hell, how was he supposed to pretend like he couldn't just bend you over and fuck you dumb right here in the middle of this elevator if he wanted to? No one would be able to stop him. There wouldn't be a thing they could do other than watch. They could stare in horror as he used you like he deserved, as he pounded into your warm, soft, dripping hole like he needed...

Unfortunately, painting that picture in his head had his blood rushing South. He felt the subtle simmer of desire in his pelvis, and he knew in no time his length would be filling out. This suit gave him no way of hiding it either. Clearly, whoever made it hadn't anticipated the Homelander popping a boner on the job.

But luckily for him, the elevator chimed with its arrival at the bottom floor. He straightened out as you looked ahead in preparation of your departure. But before you could go, he grabbed your arm. His touch was tender, holding the same force he'd use when cradling a baby at a photo-op.

"Maybe later tonight you'd like to take me up on one of those talks? After you're done for the day, you could stop by my place. The sooner the better, right?" he asked.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but you still nodded. "Um... sure thing. I'll head up once I've finished all my work. It should be around six if that's ok?" you offered.

"Yeah, that works for me. I'll be waiting," he said in an attempt to be playful.

You smiled once more and then headed out of the elevator. His fingertips dragged down your arm to your wrist as you walked away before you finally slipped from his grasp. He could hear your heart pounding faster than your footsteps as you headed towards the exit of the building.

At six o'clock sharp, a knock sounded through his penthouse. And it only took him a few seconds to swing the door open and greet you.

"There she is," he beamed with exaggerated politeness.

You smiled modestly in return, shrugging and smoothing out a crease in your blouse. "I couldn't let the leader of the seven down," you joked.

He scoffed but opened the door wider, beckoning you into his place. You took the invitation and crossed the threshold. Your eyes glanced around the place, taking note of all the things in the apartment that housed the most powerful man on Earth.

The American flag taking up an entire wall almost stopped you in your tracks. It would've been funny if it was someone else, but because it belonged to him, it stood there like a warning. You tried not to show how daunting you found it. Average people could be touchy about that famous piece of cloth. You didn't want to find out if the strongest supe felt the same through means of offending him. 

In place of letting that bother you, you shifted your attention over to all the historical pictures hanging on the walls and the sleek surfaces and drawers filled with things you couldn't begin to imagine. Your eyes casted over the statues accenting the space as well. It was all so very polished. It looked like what you'd expect the Homelander entry in an Ikea catalog to be.

"So what do you think?" he asked. He knew his words came off as stiff. Probably a little stilted sounding. He just couldn't help it. For the first time, he couldn't get a read on how you felt through physical signs alone. And right now, he really really wanted you to like him.

"It's... impressive," you answered.

But he could hear the hesitation in your voice. In each word, there was the same wavering quality to it that you get when Ashley grilled you in front of an audience. It wasn't the precious reverence that he saw in the elevator. The nervous kind of admiration you held for someone above your standing. This was just plain anxiety, and that served no purpose to him. 

Despite your trepidation however, you walked forward to the window at the back of the place. You looked out over the city in awe.

"I would love to live somewhere high up like this," you said.

He came up from behind to stand next to you in front of the glass panes. His eyes landed on your face. You stared out the window, wonder twinkling in your eyes. Your voice sounded almost breathless. It was adorable.

"No fear of heights?" he asked.

"Not when it comes to being inside. Maybe I'd be nervous if we were on a balcony or something," you replied.

"Oh come on. You'd have nothing to worry about if you were with me. I'd never let you fall," he said, dropping his voice a few octaves.

You made that cute little face again when those words hit your ears. Your eyes widened before they fell to look at your shoes. So modest, the way you shied away. He wondered if you were always so timid or if it was only when a god amongst men like himself flirted with you.

He chuckled and reached out, tilting your chin back up to look at him. "You don't need to be nervous," he soothed, "There's no safer place to be than with the Homelander, right?"

You nodded right along. His words left no room for objection.

"Good girl," he smirked and dragged a gloved thumb over your cheek. He pulled his hand back and stepped in the direction of the brown leather sectional that sat in the middle of the room.

"Come over here and sit down. We can talk," he directed.

Following him to the large couch, you took your seat near the corner. You assumed he'd sit at the other end or at least towards the middle of the perpendicular cushions, but no. He sat down in the corner with you. His body was at most a foot away.

He continued to smile at you though he didn't speak. It felt odd, sitting there in silence across from him. He wasn't doing anything overtly threatening, yet you still felt at his mercy.

"So, do you like it here so far? Do you feel like you're fitting into the Vought family?" he asked with a bit of an edge to that second word.

You nodded again. A relieved breath seeped from your lungs as the tense void in conversation came to an end. "Yeah, it's nice here. I feel like I'm learning a lot."

He chuckled and leaned back against the stiff backing of the sofa. His muscular arm draped along the top. Though it wasn't his intention to draw your focus there, he caught the way your eyes dragged over his bicep.

"That's good," he said, "It can be a lot when you're new. I wouldn't want you feeling overwhelmed."

"That's nice of you. I appreciate it, but I'm used to a busy schedule," you replied.

"You're freshly graduated, aren't you?" he checked.

"Yeah," you said, your lips quirking upwards at his guess.

"I thought so. You have that cute, wide-eyed, optimistic thing going for you."

A small laugh leaves your lips. "I know. Ashley said I'll grow out of it by the end of this quarter."

His face dropped, and he almost abandoned the prince charming act he was attempting to pull off for you. The mere mention of Ashley was enough to irk him, but the thought that she was trying to change you? Not only change you but jade you. To strip away the soft and sweet qualities that hooked him on you in the first place. It was criminal. He couldn't hide his disdain.

"You shouldn't listen to her," he said. He wasn't angry, but his cadence held intensity. "Ashley's problem is Ashley. To be honest, I don't even know why they gave her an intern. It's not like she'd be good at teaching anything when she still doesn't understand most things about our business herself."

Your fingers dug into the edge of your seat. It wouldn't have been significant in a normal conversation, but when speaking with a man who could hear a pin drop forty stories down, he noticed.

"You're still nervous," he observed.

In an instant, your hands flew to your lap, like you knew what gave your anxiety away. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt and shrugged.

"A little," you admitted.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked.

You shook your head without even thinking about the question.

"No, it's not that. I swear," you reassured, "It's just that this is a big deal for me. I'm really honored you want to get to know me, and I just want to make a good impression."

"You don't need to worry about that. I wouldn't have invited you here if I didn't have a good impression of you," he said.

You sighed slightly, letting out a bit of tension, but he could still smell that boosted cortisol running through your blood.

"Come here," he ordered, his voice soft but undeniably firm.

"What?" you asked.

A puff of amused air blew from his nostrils. "Come here," he repeated, "Sit closer."

As if you needed the guidance, he patted the space directly beside his hip. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes even after the gesture. The lack of understanding toward his reasoning persisted. Regardless of your skepticism however, you scooted in his direction and ended up where he wanted you.

"That's better," he said.

With careful fingers, he slipped the glove off his right hand. Your eyes locked on it in subtle awe. You'd seen this man on billboards and commercials for years. His face dominated newscasts. His voice broadcast over the radio on a weekly basis. Still, you had never seen such a human part of him. Five fingers and a palm reaching for your own.

They clasped around your hand. His skin was smooth. The gloves preserved them from any marks of experience.

"Did Ashley warn you about me?" he asked, drawing your eyes back to his own.

Your heart thundered, but you couldn't lie. Never had Vought bragged about Homelander being a human lie detector, but in this moment, you felt like that was the case.

"Yes," you responded.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You didn't believe her, did you?" he asked.

You could tell he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it.

"Yes," you whispered again.

"What did she tell you?"

It was hard to remember that conversation you'd had a few weeks ago with Ashley. Feeling like you were two seconds away from having lasers beamed through your skull made minute details fuzzy and distant, but you manage to choke a few out anyways.

"She said that you have a very specific vision for the Seven, and that you'll do anything to make your dreams reality. She was just saying you're ambitious. That you care about the greater good," you summarized.

"I have a feeling you're saying it a lot nicer than she did," he teased. He could feel the fear rolling off of you in waves, and in a moment, he would rectify that. But for right now, he didn't mind letting his precious little fawn tremble in terror for a few moments more.

"Yeah, she can be kind of blunt," you said with a shaky laugh.

"That's one word for it," he said.

"She's not gonna get in trouble because of what I said, is she?" you asked.

He couldn't help laughing at that. The sound came out low and throaty. You were just so fucking pure. Worried about protecting someone who wouldn't hesitate for a second to sell you out if it meant she could climb up another rung on the corporate ladder.

His exposed thumb rubbed back and forth over your knuckles. "No. Of course not. We're just talking," he said.

He leaned in closer to you, positioning his mouth in close proximity to your ear. His free hand came up to cup your jaw.

"I appreciate your honesty though. Ashley probably couldn't tell you this, but I appreciate a loyal girl like you," he murmured.

On both your hand and through his glove in contact with your chin, he could feel your skin heat up.

"Oh... thank you, sir," you said.

He chuckled. His fingers squished into the flesh of your cheeks, making your lips puff out as though they were seeking a kiss.

"So polite, but I like that. We need more people here who understand their place," he said.

At this point, the gravity of your circumstances began to settle on you. Your fear had worn off a bit, and you realized what a compromising position he had you in. With one tight squeeze, he could crush every bone in your face.

Out of instinct, you tried pulling back a little. You didn't make it obvious, only attempting to gain a few inches of space.

That was a few inches too many though. He tightened his grip and kept you where he wanted you.

"Ah ah," he tutted, "How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to be scared? I'm not going to hurt you."

You dropped the resistance right then and there. It wasn't worth pursuing. If he didn't want you getting away, you weren't getting away.

He took a few more seconds to study your face, taking in every minutiae of your expressions. Then, his hands dropped to your waist, and he pulled you into his lap. His thighs were firm against your ass, both rigid in how he carried himself and defined from the pure muscle that made them up.

His hands smoothed up and down your sides, coasting over each crease in your blouse. He massaged your soft tissue with gentle squeezes from the beginning of your bra down to the swell of your hips.

"God, you're beautiful," he muttered, "You fit here like you were made for me."

You vibrated in his grasp. He could feel the way you quivered with the urge to pull away.

"Thank you, s-sir," you stammered, "I really appreciate it but-"

"But nothing," he cut you off.

"But I don't think we should be... doing this," you tried to continue anyway.

"Why not?" he asked. Though his tone made it obvious that no matter what reason you provided, it wouldn't change his mind.

"Because you're like my boss, y'know? And I worked really hard to get my spot here, and I don't want people thinking I slept my way to where I am," you explained, "You're really nice, and I admire you a lot, but it wouldn't be right."

He didn't respond immediately. He paused and let your words hang in the air for a few moments.

"You know," he finally spoke, "I don't think you understand how things work around here. It doesn't matter what anyone else in this building thinks. Only me."

You blinked at him, unsure of how to respond to such an assertion. It didn't matter though. He continued without your input.

"What I do with you, how I feel about you - no one else will know about it unless you tell them. But even if you do and even if they care, there isn't a thing they'll do about it. There's not a thing they can do about it," he continued.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," you maintained.

"Good thing this isn't for you to think about then," he mocked, "You're a fast learner. You'll figure it out soon enough. I am God in this tower. And a god doesn't listen to his subjects. He guides them. He knows best."

One of his hands slid up your tummy and over your chest onto your throat. He cupped your jaw and swiped his thumb back and forth across your bottom lip.

"What did Ashley tell you about me?" he asked.

"That no one gets in your way."

"Good. And she was right. No one gets in my way. Nothing stops me from getting what I want. And I've wanted you for too fucking long not to try you out."

That set of fingers on your chin pulled your face towards his and brought you into a kiss. You froze against his lips. It felt as though all of time stopped. This high up, you couldn't hear the sounds of the city outside the penthouse. No one existed in this moment but you and him.

Unlike you, he melted into the exchange. He sighed against your skin and pulled you flush against his toned body. After a second to let you come to terms with what was happening, he kissed you again. His lips sucked on yours gently, attempting to coax you into returning the affection.

The most he got is you puckering them up ever so slightly.

He pulled away with frustration in his eyes and grabbed your face, jerking you a little to look at him.

"Don't act like you don't want this. I know you do," he said, "You're scared, but you don't need to be. Relax and let yourself enjoy this. It's not everyday that the most powerful man on earth wants to fuck you."

Your eyes blew up like little saucers, but before you could really process the directness of what he'd said, he was kissing you again. This time it wasn't as nerve wracking. You softened up a little and kissed back.

You didn't put much effort into it. Your lips responded like this was a juvenile first date. But he didn't let up. He didn't let you give him anything less than your best. His hands roamed across your body. They groped and fondled your breasts and then migrated South to feel up your ass through your pencil skirt.

Your muscles started to loosen up after a minute or so. You told yourself this wasn't so bad. He was being gentle so far, and for someone with his abilities, you wanted it to stay that way. You brought your hand up to his face and cupped his cheek. With that as leverage, you deepened the kiss.

He groaned as soon as you started to give in. His hands fell to your hips and tugged you so that you were straddling him. He smacked your ass, the sound echoing around his apartment. You could tell he held back. A real spank from Homelander could shatter your hip, but this one barely even stung. Maybe he did like you.

His fingers came up and with a sharp tug, he popped the front of your top loose. The column of buttons sprung free. The strips of cloth fell away to each of your sides, exposing a sliver of your skin. He furthered it by pulling off the garment entirely. His eyes trailed along your bare shoulders to your collar bone before finally landing on your breasts. He gave them a firm squeeze, kneading them through the barrier of your bra.

Meanwhile you rolled your hips down on his lap. Immediately, you felt his bulge that had risen to attention between your thighs. You did it again and then again. Each time you ground yourself against him with more pressure.

He grunted, and his eyes fluttered. His hands returned to your waist and gripped you hard, guiding your movements. He seemed transfixed for a few moments, as if he couldn't decide his next move.

After a few seconds though, he got his momentum back. He yanked you off his lap and flipped over so that you were seated on the couch again.

He rose to his feet before you. There your eyes scanned over his body from his tousled blond hair and his kiss-swollen red lips to his sculpted abdomen and his swelling erection. You reached out to touch him, but he stopped your hand mid-air.

Once your arm was limp on the couch again, he removed his other glove. He dropped it to the floor before bringing his right boot to the spot on the sofa next to you. He unzipped the red shoe and then discarded it like he had with the other item. The other boot followed the same routine.

"I don't let just anyone see me like this," he told you as his fingers began to undo his collar, "You should feel lucky."

Lucky wasn't the word you would use to describe your feelings in this situation. Maybe special. Or distinct. Individual. Either way, you continued to watch. Your eyes glided over his figure as he pulled away the tight blue costume that seemed like a second-skin for how much he wore it.

His defined chest came into view. Your reluctance hadn't vanished all together just yet, but at this point, it was fading fast. Pale hair dusted the muscular expanse and trailed down his stomach to the waistband of the bottoms. The waistband he soon hooked his fingers over and peeled down.

He dropped the scaled navy fabric to the ground before kicking it away, leaving himself in just a small pair of boxers. His hand came down and rubbed the swollen tent at the front while his eyes lingered on you.

"Do you want to touch?" he asked.

You nodded. It wasn't a hard decision. This was still a bad idea. You hadn't changed your mind on that. But at this point, what else was there to do? Defying Homelander wasn't an option for anyone on this planet ever. You were no different.

"Ask," he commanded.

"Please can I touch you?" you said.

"Please what?"

"Please, sir. Can I touch you?"

"Good girl," he praised before nodding, "Go for it."

You reached out, this time successfully. Your palm landed flat on his stomach. You held it there for a moment, just feeling his skin. In a way, it was unreal. To feel that someone propped up on the world's pedestal was flesh and blood like you.

Rubbing up and down, you continued getting a feel for his body. He smirked at your wonder before guiding you up by the elbow.

"Stand up and do it right," he said.

"Sorry."

The word came from your mouth automatically. You brought your other hand up to his chest and felt the muscles in his chest. Everything was so built. You expected that, but it was still odd to feel beneath your fingertips. He felt like a living ken doll. You almost didn't believe if he dropped his boxers there would be a real cock there.

Your hands traced up to his shoulders with precision. They explored down his biceps and forearms. And then finally, you brought your lips into his chest. He sighed and tilted his head back, relishing the feeling.

You kissed all over, swirling your tongue and tracing shapes onto his skin. It was almost entrancing, to be so focused on someone like this. You barely noticed as he turned the two of you and sat himself down on the couch, lowering you to your knees.

You worked your mouth down his abs, licking and kissing the twitching muscles. Your fingernails scraped up his sides and then down onto his thighs. When your lips reached the waistband of his boxers, your eyes glanced up at him.

"Can I take them off, sir?" you asked.

He smirked at the title. Only one word of correction and he'd trained that phrase into you.

"Yes," he answered. It was a simple answer. All that was required for someone so naturally obedient.

You took it in stride, tucking your fingers over the elastic and tearing them down. His hard cock popped up and slapped against his pelvis. You couldn't have been happier about your earlier ken doll theory being proven wrong. The sight of his dick was enough to make you drool. It was better than any work of art out there.

It rested against his body at the perfect length, the perfect girth. The tip flushed beautiful red and pearly white beads of precum smeared at the top. Your fingers wrapped around it and gave it a few strokes, testing the waters.

His hand came down and petted your head. He watched as you studied the appendage, as you experimented with your own touch. It was so fucking cute he thought he might cum right then and there. Fuck, he thought you were sweet every moment he had eyes on you, but right now, you were darling. You were doing as he said. Accepting your place at the feet of a superior being.

"Put it in your mouth," he said from above, "I want you to taste it."

There was no hesitation on your end this time around.

"Yes sir," you responded before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around his cock.

He groaned and let his chest hollow out with a harsh exhale. Your mouth was so warm and wet, nice and snug around his length. He rocked his hips up, pushing it further into your throat. He expected a small gag or sputter, but instead you moaned. You shut your eyes and flattened your tongue against his shaft before beginning to bob your head.

"Fuck," he hissed. His legs tensed up, and he pressed down on your head. That did get a tiny gag out of you. You gripped his hips to stabilize yourself though and stayed in place. Your nose nestled against the darker curls of hair that sat at the base of his cock.

Spit leaked from your mouth and dribbled onto his skin below. He took a few moments to just enjoy the feeling of his dick down your throat. The sight of his sweet, innocent girl choking on his cock. Then he let you pull off and catch your breath. 

You took a few deep puffs, letting the spots clear from your vision before you dove back in for more. Your hand stroked the lower part of him your mouth didn't cover in its shallow sucks while your other set of fingers caressed his balls tenderly.

He'd never experienced devotion. As much as it pained him to ever acknowledge, his sexual experiences had been lackluster up until now. There were the times with Maeve, but they always left something to be desired for him. Then there was the time with Stillwell that ended before it really started. In either case, no one had ever put all of themselves into pleasuring him like you were doing right now. It drove him wild. He could feel his sac tightening up, and he knew he had to get you off.

Planting one hand on each side of your head, he tugged you back. You looked up at him with glossy, cock-drunk eyes and saliva-coated lips. He swiped some of the mess away before addressing you.

"You're doing so good for me, but I think you're ready for more, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," you agreed.

"My perfect pet," he crooned and pulled you up onto the couch.

He laid you flat on your back and ripped your skirt and panties off in one go. His eyes drank in the sight of your nude lower half, but he didn't spend much time savoring it. He spread you out, slotting himself against your center.

With a few rocks of his hips, he dragged his length through your wetness. He let the sticky fluid coat his shaft, and then he sunk in. His tip bullied its way into your entrance and the rest of him followed. You whined at the stretch. Your walls clamped around him, eager to accept the intrusion.

"Atta girl," he grunted as he worked himself all the way in.

His hips connected with your ass, but he still bucked them, trying to get more. You yelped at the force. He was already buried inside you. Anymore and his tip would be nudging the entrance to your womb.

Fortunately for you, he pulled his hips back, giving you a short break from feeling so full. It was short lived though. Seconds later he snapped back in. That began the quick rhythm he set into. It was desperate and needy, emotions he'd tried to hide until this point.

You whimpered as your body bobbed with the momentum. His thrusts bounced you back and forth. The sounds of his body smacking against yours filled the room. His fingers dug into your waist hard enough to bruise. You didn't complain about the minor pain though because you could tell he was holding back in every other regard. If a few marks on your side kept you from being pulverized by a super cock, then that was a burden you were willing to carry.

Above you, he starts to pant. His breaths leave him raggedly huffing, sucking down what oxygen he can get in the midst of rutting into you. He tilts his head down at you and gazes at your blissed out face with lidded eyes.

"I could have anyone. Any person on this Earth would be mine if I wanted them to be. But the only one I want is you. Doesn't that feel good?" he breathed.

"Yes!" you cried out. Your back arched up off the couch. "Feels so fucking good, sir."

He leaned into you more, squishing your body into the surface below. Your thighs pressed against your tummy as he bent you.

"Yeah, it does," he grunted, "It's all there is. It's all you need to think about. How you're all mine."

"Mhm," you whined with a lazy nod. You were getting closer to cumming and responding to his words was taking a lower priority in your mind.

"And to think you tried to deny yourself of it," he mocked. He clenched his jaw and slammed into you harder.

You shrieked and clutched his shoulders. In the back of your mind, you hoped his penthouse was sound proofed or at least enough distance from the nearest one. Otherwise you wouldn't have to tell anyone about this incident for it to spread throughout the tower.

"I knew better, didn't I? I knew this is what you needed," he said.

Again, you nodded. You felt the heat in your belly reaching the boiling point.

"Say it," he huffed.

You tried to force it out, but your own hiccuped sob of pleasure cut you off. He didn't give you a break though. He stared down at you with expectation, so you continued.

"You know best- uh, fuck- you know best, sir," you whined.

"Good fucking girl," he growled on top of you.

He was already close from the blowjob you'd given him. Only a few strokes more, and he was ready to explode. He swiveled his hips, angling them upwards to pound into that special spot that would make you see stars and stripes.

You mewled when you came. Your body trembled harder than it did when you were scared. Arousal gushed out of you and coated his skin. He huffed and buried his face in your neck before letting go.

Everything faded into the background as you laid underneath him in the haze that came after the absolute high of pleasure. Now you could feel his heartbeat too. The organ thundered against his chest over and over as he came down.

Minutes later he pulled back. His knuckles caressed down your jawline before he climbed off of you entirely. He sat back on the couch and let out a deep breath. You weren't sure whether you were supposed to pick up your stuff and leave or follow along with him and stay close to his side. There was no real indication of what he wanted in this moment, but he turned to smile at you and huffed out a laugh.

"I think I'll keep you with me more often now. Really show you the ropes of fitting in around here."

You sat up and nodded awkwardly. He leaned toward you, cupping your cheek.

"I'll be a much better teacher than Ashley ever was," he said. His arm snaked around you and pulled you to his chest again. "No more errands or coffee runs. I'll show you things you need. Things that you'll enjoy."

He ran his fingers over your face and kissed your temple. The touches were tender against your skin. They would have been romantic if your mind wasn't racing with what this all meant in terms of your job and the grand scheme of your future.

Looking at him though, he wasn't worried at all. He smiled down at you before whispering once more.

"My sweet little pet. All mine now."

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][exbf!Rex][semi-public][handjob][cum eating][attempted murder][choking for non-sexual purposes][pining][semi-blowjob][facesitting][oral (f! receiving)][missionary][condom][mating press][cowgirl][nipple sucking][i am probably missing quite a few in my taglist but it's 4am and i lost the note that had all my rex people on so :3 my bad][spitting]

"She's his emergency contact."

"Mark, you can't just call a stranger. How— how'd you even know his password?"

"It's just 8-0-0-8-5. It's not that complicated."

"What even is that?"

"It's 'boobs'."

The whispers hush down into a silence as you step into the GDA hospital room, your shoes are soft thuds on the tiled floors. The hospital smells sterile. A mixture of Life Buoy soap and hand sanitizer that makes your throat and lungs tingle and you stuff your hands into the pocket of your hoodie.

Brows scrunched into a frown as you stand beside Rex's bedside.

Your expression is the image of solemnity.

Eyes soft, lashes drooping and pouty lips tugged down into a little frown, your fingers clutching and picking at the loose threads in your pocket.

And a voice is quiet.

"I'm... Uh.. I know this isn't the time but what lipgloss is that?"

Rae's voice is quiet, bespectacled eyes focused on you and that stupidly magnificent gloss on your lips.

"It's... Uhm... 'Coochie Juice'." You internally cringe. "And I took a lipliner that's just a bit darker than my lipline."

"And how did you—"

"Overline just the Cupid's bow, and the curve of your bottom lip. Blur it out just a little, but don't fill in the corners. And then put on the lipgloss."

"Okay, thank you so much."

You go back to staring down at Rex. You never thought you'd see him like this.

Eyes fluttered shut, his head wrapped with blood soaked bandages and an IV drip feeding him fluids. His heartbeat is steady, vitals linked up to the screen beside him and you feel your expression crumple, your hands moving to cover your face.

Choked sobs slip from you and you hear the quiet 'we'll leave you two alone', before the others slip out of the hospital room.

And you swallow, inhaling sharply.

And by natural instinct, your gaze drifts towards where the plug of the ventilator remained stuffed into a wall socket and your glossy lips purse. And you reach for the head of the plug, fingers grasping snugly and you contemplate.

Is it worth it?

He's a hero.

He cheated on you with Eve.

He's a person.

He cheated on you with Eve.

This counts as murder.

He cheated on you with Eve.

Is this what you really want?

That last question stumps you and your hand slips from the plug, and you instead, plant yourself in the seat at his bedside, your eyes teary and your lashes becoming wet with each blink.

"I wanna kill you so bad." Your voice is tiny, cracking as you bring your hands up to rest on him, fisting at the hospital blankets and your vision becomes even blearier.

"You fucking asshole." You sob. "I hope you die. I hope you see the fucking light at the end of the tunnel, before you're dragged to Hell. Kratos style."

Your heart's clenching and you're resting your head on his belly, feeling the way each breath he takes makes those washboard abs constrict and flex. And somewhere, shame's lost on you and you're lifting his hospital gown.

Staring at his abs and the way his muscular hips form that delicious V shape and you let out a low, unattractive sob.

"Why didn't you get ugly?"

You think you're convincing yourself when you see the way the corners of his lips quirk weakly, dimples making a faint appearance in his chiselled cheeks and Rex takes a breath.

"Because..... I could never be ugh—" Rex is cut off, a sharp gasp ringing from him when your hands wrap around his neck.

That tinge of sadness leaves you, and the sound of his voice irks you in a way that's downright demonic, and Rex gasps. His vitals are spiking, and your eyes are narrowing.

"Die, you cheating bast— oh, ewwww."

You grimace at the tent beneath the blankets, lips tugged into a disgusted frown as you glare at him, and emerald eyes peer at you from beneath long lashes. Long, brag-worthy eyelashes that flutter and curl perfectly.

And Rex grins. Cocky and so fucking full of himself.

"Good to know it still works."

And he grasps at your hand, calloused fingers brushing over the soft flesh of your palm, tracing the lines before he looks at you. And God, you lose all respect for yourself at the way your heart stutters, breath caught in your lungs and he sighs.

Soft and sweet.

"Baby..." He murmurs softly. "What happened?"

"You got shot, I think. I wasn't really paying attention after they said you're hospitalized. I blew up a balloon and it made it difficult to listen. But..." You swallow. "In your head. Like, the back."

Rex lets a little laugh bubble from his cracked lips, before he glances at you.

"Why're so you mad at me? What... What year is it?"

His voice is soft, and your lungs constrict.

Before you remember who it is.

"Don't bullshit me." You huff, tugging your hand out of his grasp. "I know you don't have amnesia."

"Ah... Shit." Rex grunts before shifting, resting against the cushiony pillows. "Almost had you though, huh?"

The grin is charming, glinting even and he raises one of those perfect brows as he waits for your answer. But all that leaves you, is a low, annoyed groan. Before you push yourself up from your seat.

"I'm gonna go tell your friends you're—"

"Wait." Rex reaches for your arm and if you wanted to delude yourself, you'd say that you could see desperation flickering behind those emerald pools.

"I— uh..." He swallows hard, and your gaze moves towards where the monitor is showcasing his racing heart. "When I'm out, can we talk?"

You really wanna say no. But...

"...no."

Rex stares at you, a dead stare on his face like he wasn't expecting that.

"I'll just come over anyway."

Your glossy lips part for an argument but Rex looks pathetic enough right now. Tubed up, bruised and beaten.

"Fine." You grumble. "You dick."

And he grins. Dimples showcased in chiselled cheeks and his tongue runs across his bottom lip in an attempt to soothe the cracks and dryness.

"Speaking of dick..." His gaze flits towards the tent in the sheets.

"No."

"Please." Rex begs. "My team can't see me like this."

"Most of your team has seen you like this."

There's a dead quiet in the room, because you're right. Most of the team has seen Rex's dick, if not taken a ride on it.

"Please." Rex breathes out. "Help me out. It's been a week."

You drop back into your seat, rolling up your sleeve dramatically and you let out an annoyed huff.

"You're giving me a handjob, not cleaning a horse's dick." Rex grunts.

"Basically the same thing." You grunt, your hand slipping underneath the covers as you scooch your chair closer.

"So... What I'm hearing is—"

"You're hearing wrong."

"—that you think I've got a horse cock."

You let out a low, annoyed groan, your hand tucking itself beneath Rex's hospital gown, and your hand wraps around the thick base of him. Your eyes shut tightly, and you begin to tug.

Not even sexy stroking, just tugging.

"Ow— open your eyes— ow, shit. What are you doing?" Rex shifts uncomfortably, brows scrunching with each pinch of pain and he glares at you. Your eyes are still squeezed tightly shut, brows furrowed and glossy lips pressed into a thin line.

"Pretending you're Marlon Brando in A Streetcar named Desire." You grumble out and Rex huffs, swatting away your hand.

"Well, he'd never want you if that's how you give a handjob." Rex grunts, shifting uncomfortably and he palms himself through the scratchy blankets of the GDA hospital, his lips tugged into a frown.

"He's dead." You remind.

"Yeah," he scoffs, "and it's cause you can't give a decent handjob."

You purse your lips because you don't wanna laugh at one of Rex's jokes. You need to internally remind yourself that you don't think he's funny and that you hate him, as you cross your arms over your chest, giving Rex a lazy glance.

Watching as he, very dramatically, gathers his bearings.

"So, can you get off your high horse, and give me a proper tug job?" Rex scoffs and you suck on your teeth.

"I don't owe you anything, Rex."

Your brows furrow into a frown and you watch the way Rex stares at you, bringing a fisted hand up to his mouth and he coughs. He coughs like a toddler forcing a cough.

"But I'm sick." He whines softly and you let out a peeved groan.

"You're not sick, you've been shot."

You're griping, complaining but you're shifting, spitting into your palm and sliding your hand back beneath the sheets and Rex's brows furrow, body going slack against the piled up pillows and he shifts.

"Fuck, just like that." He breathes out, hands moving to shift at the covers, his head tipping back when he feels the way your manicured and soft fingertips trail over that leaky divot, his cock pulsing in your hand. And Rex groans softly.

"Missed your tiny racoon hands." He murmurs, and you snort, pressing your face into the nearest pillow, as your shoulders shake with laughter.

And God, Rex would be lying if he said hearing the sound of your laughter wasn't something so refreshingly familiar.

The cadence of your snorts, wheezes that manage to slip from glossy lips and he watches as you straighten up again, swallowing away all evidence of giggling and Rex raises a hand. Moving it to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing along the apple of your cheek.

Your heart begins to pound, the only sound in the room being the ever increasing beeping of his heart monitor, and your eyes flick towards the screen. The beats increase steadily. And you swallow hard.

"Shit, I really wanna kiss you." Rex breathes out. "Can I?"

"No, you're not putting your community lips on me." You scoff, with a snort of laughter and he groans, head tipping back.

"Fuck, why're you so mean?" He rasps out a laugh, his hips bucking into your fist and his eyes squeeze shut.

"Because you cheated." "Ow. Ow. Ow. Loosen the hand, Juggernaut." Rex breathes out, his hand curling around your wrist and his movements stutter when he presses calloused fingers against the warm flesh of your wrist.

Feeling your pulse thrum just beneath his digits, feeling the heat of your skin against his and his dick twitches in your grasp.

Hazy green eyes watch you, heavy lashes fluttering and you take in the bruising on his face. A swollen eye, a cut on his lips, a broken nose. He looks fucked up.

"You know," you lick your bottom lip, "I always thought that seeing you look like shit would bring me closure. But... Looking at you now..." Your eyes soft, your thumb brushing against his sensitive tip and Rex moans quietly.

"Mhm?" He sighs, chest heaving.

"I realise I need to watch you die."

Your voice is eerily steady but it's not enough to make Rex's cock soften, in fact. Calloused fingers dig into your wrist and he looks at you, full lips parted to let out pants.

You know he's just so... Pliable now that he's under a crazy amount of painkillers, but still enough for him to be coherent.

And he's so pretty too. With his pretty emerald eyes, and gingery strands that poke out from where his head's wrapped in gauze.

"Just suck the tip, please." He whimpers.

"No!" You hiss. "I'm not fucking blowing you."

And he whines, letting out an obnoxiously loud cough.

"But I'm sick."

You grit your teeth, eyes flickering towards the door of his room and you let out a huff, standing up abruptly. Your sneakers make thuds across the tiled floor, and your movements are aggressive as you yank the curtains shut.

"I really fucking hate you, Rex." You grit out, plopping back in your seat and the legs of the chairs scrape against the linoleum as you scooch closer, lifting his hospital blankets and you stare at his cock.

Beads of precum rolling down the length, prominent veins protruding from behind the tanned skin and he twitches under your scrutinizing gaze.

"I know baby, and I'm sorry." He pants, shifting with excitement when he sees the way you lean forward, and your glossy lips wrap around his flushed tip.

"Fuck, m'so sorry for cheating." Rex's hands fist the sheets, his head falling back against his propped up pillows and he feels the way your tongue swirls, tracing the veins and your eyes flick towards him.

And that has him coming undone like a fucking ball of yarn.

The way your lashes flutter, the way your lipgloss leaves the prettiest ring around his cock and the way your eyes soften just a bit when his hand comes to rest on the crown of your head.

All of that, has Rex spilling into your mouth. Sweet cum painting your tongue in velvety ribbons and he groans. Low and breathy, and he frowns when you pull away with a pop, your cheeks puffed and filled.

He watches, his breaths bated as you swallow, licking the corner of your mouth before you lift yourself from your seat, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your hoodie.

"I'm gonna go tell your friends you're awake."

⋆⭒˚.⋆🌿🌿⋆⭒˚.⋆

"What are you doing here, Rex?" You fold your arms across your chest, resting your forearms on the windowsill as you stare down at Rex, booted feet planted firmly on your grass.

"And how the fuck do you even know where I live?"

"I used the GDA resources." He calls back, before reaching into his car window, turning up the volume and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Instead, leaning out of the window, eyes glued on Rex.

He healed up pretty nicely in just a week. The only evidence being a scar that bisects his otherwise perfect eyebrows. Voluminous gingerish strands remain pulled back into a bun, his undercut fresh and his trusty face framing pieces remain doing their job.

"I'll stand here every night for the rest of my fuckin' life to prove that I want you back." Rex calls to you, emerald gaze fixed on your form. On the way your pendant dangles, on the way your lips purse. Before he speaks up again.

"Well... Maybe not every night. I got shit to do. But every night this week?" He scoffs. "I'll do that shit."

You try not to snort at the sound of Seal, biting down on your plump bottom lip, as Rex stands with his arms outstretched. Powder blue Henley snug against his physique.

"BABY! I COMPARE YOU TO A KISS FROM A ROSE ON THE GREY!"

He begins to fumble the words, and you can see the frustration on his features, brows furrowing and you snort.

"You don't know the words." You snort, resting your chin in the palm of your hand and Rex huffs.

"Okay, fine." He folds his arms across his broad chest and it's kind of hard to take him seriously with Seal as his soundtrack.

"Of course I fuckin' don't. I'm not a sixty and my dick still works. But you know the words." Rex licks his bottom lip.

"I'm— okay, I know I'm a piece of shit but I'm a reformed piece of shit. I don't wanna die a cheating dick." And he shifts on his feet. "I'm new and improved."

And you huff.

"Yeah, this time you won't get caught."

And Rex glares at you.

"I won't go to prison if I knock the shit out of you." He seethes.

And he lets out a huff.

"Okay, I'm not entirely changed. But I'll make it up to you. I swear on my life, your life—"

"Bitch, leave my life alone."

"Well, I don't want it to be only on my life. You know that's shit's pretty worthless."

And there's a silence between you.

"I swear on Mark and Eve's collective lives."

And you snicker.

Before chewing on the inside of your cheek, watching as Rex shifts around on your lawn and you let out a breath. Heavy and your cheeks puff out when you do.

"Please." His voice is quiet, gaze lowered. "I know I'm," he huffs, "like.... A dick, or manipulative or a serial cheater and like, self-serving, judgemental and I—"

"You're ruining the moment, Rex."

And he sighs.

"I just," he swallows hard, "I don't wanna fuck up again. Not with you."

There's the softest silence between you, and you watch him. He looks so pathetic. Maybe your closure was needing him to beg, needing him to play Silk Shirt R&B loud enough for your neighbours' porch lights to flicker to life.

"Park your car in my driveway." You speak softly, before shutting the window and you don't need to look to know that shit-eating grin's plastered on his face. Dimples in sunkissed cheeks and you hear the slam of his car door.

⋆⭒˚.⋆🌿⋆⭒˚.⋆

"Yeah, m'sorry." Rex groans, his arms hooked around your thighs, your knees dimpling the pillow beneath his head and your hands clutch at the headboard like your life depends on it.

Rex's tongue drags along your slippery cunt, a mixture of spit and slick making it glossy as his nose bumps against your clit. The friction just enough to make your hips move, wriggling and writhing on his face, your forehead braced on the hand holding the headboard while your other sinks into his hair.

And he groans, lashes fluttering, cock straining against his jeans and he feels the fabric strain even tighter than it usually is.

You're coating his face in your mess, whining when he sucks your folds into his mouth, your hand fisting at his hair.

"Shit, keep doing tha—" Your hips lift just a bit and Rex groans under his breath, forcing you closer and his words are slurred as he speaks.

"Fucking sit." He breathes out. "Lemme show you how sorry I am."

He pushes his tongue past your puffy lips, the intrusion makes you buck, toes curling in your socks and you shiver. It's a sensation that makes your body buzz, electricity crackling just behind your skin and Rex is content.

So, so very content.

The warmth of your plush thighs on either side of his head, you're sitting on his face and riding his nose like it'll earn you a prize. His hands grip your fleshy thighs, and he's trying to touch everything, palming the fatty mounds of your ass when he circles your clit.

The messy and whiny mewls leave your glossy lips, your head lolling and your brows bunching into the cutest little face he's ever seen. Especially with the way your pretty lips part and your thighs shake.

"Fuck, Rex, I'm—"

"Shhh, just give it to me." He tuts you.

And your body convulses, nails scraping along his scalp while your other hand grips for dear life, a whimper slipping from your lips and you nearly shriek when he keeps sucking on your clit, teasing the sensitive bud before lapping at your cunt. Savouring the taste of you before dragging his tongue up, all the way up to your swollen clit.

Rex has you on your back quicker than you can blink, your thighs spread and his calloused thumbs part your plush and glossy lips, watching the way your cunt flutters and he stares at you.

Watching you eagerly.

One hand reaches over his shoulder, grabbing the fabric of his shirt and he pulls it over his head, tossing it aside and he's even more glorious.

Sculpted pecs, razor sharp abs and golden skin. Dog tags hang just below his clavicle, catching the low light of your bedroom.

And his tongue drags over his teeth, his, canine poking into the wet muscle and you watch through half-lidded eyes as his hand unbuckles his belt while the other reaches into his back pocket.

Pulling out a condom and he bites down onto the ribbed foil edge while he discards his jeans and briefs.

"Do you just keep— like, carrying condoms with you?" You question, your chest heaving as you watch him, and your heart clenches at the way his grin widens, as he rips the condom with his teeth.

"Nah." He hums. "Only when I think I'll get lucky."

You watch the way he slides the condom onto his length, pinching the latex at the tip before his hands move to your thighs, calloused thumbs pressing circles into the flesh.

"And you thought you were gonna get lucky?" You cock a brow.

"I knew I was gonna get lucky." He abruptly tugs you closer to him, your thighs strewn lazily across his and he leans forward, veiny hand wrapping around his thick base. Watching the way your belly dips inward when he taps his latex-coated tip against your sloppy folds and he nudges himself at your entrance.

Pressing a kiss against the curve of your jaw as he pushes into you.

"Real fucking lucky."

You feel the way your breath leaves your lungs, your saliva pooling in the back of your throat, gummy walls fluttering around him. Your belly caves, it feels like your stomach touches your spine and he sighs when he feels the way your fingers rake through his hair.

Nails scraping against his scalp before he lifts himself up, hands moving to cradle your hips, palming the fat there with an adoring expression.

Before he swallows.

"Spread that pretty pussy." He coos sweetly, and the huskiness of his voice does something to your self respect.

It makes it disappear.

And your fingers are spreading your pussy, sensitive and glossy tissue exposed to the slight chill in your room and Rex spits onto your clit, his eyes on yours and he makes a sound in the back of his throat when he sees the way your brows twitch. Your cunt clenching just a bit more.

"How many inches are you taking, baby?" He breathes out, hand moving to rest on your waist instead, savouring the softness of your skin beneath his palms.

And you shudder. "Five..."

Rex's expression falls. And his eyes narrow, emerald gaze hardening and you watch the way his tongue pokes at his cheek, the slight bump visible.

"You think you're real fucking funny, huh?" He huffs, grabbing two of your pillows and he wedges them beneath your ass, manhandling you like it's his job.

"Yeah, I'm funn— holy f-f-fuck...—!" The wind's knocked out of you when Rex begins to pummel into that gooey spot that he found with damn near godly ease.

Your hands are pushing at his lower belly, nails leaving streaks down the tawny skin, pulled taut over sculpted abs and you're whining. Writing and trying to get him to slow down.

Because it's just too deep.

Too much.

And your brain fizzles with an idea to at least score yourself a few seconds to gather your pearls.

And you poke him in the belly button.

And Rex pulls out, brows knitted into a glare as he stares at you. Bewildered, hands moving to protect his navel and he just stares.

His brain short-circuiting and you let out a breath.

"What the actual fuck was that?" He can't even laugh as he stares at you.

"It was too much." You breathe out, winded and you lift yourself, resting back on your elbows as you stare at Rex, eyes narrowed and your body far too overheated for just a few thrusts.

And Rex's brows raise.

"Oh... Shit, you haven't been fucking?" And he blows out a breath, resting his palm on your mound and you feel the way your airways constrict when his thumb nestles between your folds. Sweet circles pressing onto your clit and you swallow.

"No, I've been busy." You hiss back, lashes fluttering and your head tips back, lips parting. And Rex coos.

"It's okay, baby." He sighs, carding his free hand through his hair, before gently pushing your thighs further apart.

"You just couldn't find someone to replicate my stroke game."

And you huff when you feel him slowly push his cock into you, guiding your leg onto his shoulder and he kisses the arch of your foot. Sweet and so, so reverent in his actions.

"Mhm." You hum. "I couldn't find someone to disappoint me the way you did."

"Don't make me choke you with this condom." Rex scowls, before pushing into you, brows knitting at the way your cunt squeezes at him, the lewd squelch makes his heart pound, and the annoyance at your biting remarks melts into nothingness when your hand rests on the nape of his neck.

And he swallows, guiding your other leg to his shoulder and Rex has you folded in half.

One veiny hand grasping the headboard, the other keeping your hips anchored to the bed as he slowly pulls out. Inch by inch leaving you until only his tip remains in your spasming cunt, and Rex sighs, pushing back into you.

"S'it good?" He questions you quietly. "No pain?"

"No pain." You nod.

And then he begins fucking you into the mattress.

The backs of your knees remain caught in the crooks of his elbows, warm hands gripping your hips and pressing you into the soft, puffy sheets, his hips smacking against yours in a way that's brutally unforgiving.

You watch through hazy eyes, nails digging into his bulging biceps, gaze flickering between his ecstasy-ridden face and where he's splitting you in half.

"Yeah," Rex groans softly, "keep watching."

He pants out a moan, head lolling and you watch the way his Adam's apple bobs.

"Watch me bust this pretty pussy open."

And he spits down your clit, the warm saliva making your belly clench as the glob trickles down your sloppy folds.

And Rex grins, his jaw clenching and he bites down on his bottom lip, watching with lovey-dovey eyes as your hand finds its way between your thighs, fingers sloppily teasing your clit. And he breathes out a laugh, chest heaving and dog tags bouncing off his toned chest.

"DJ Bean-Flick's in the booth, huh?" He snorts, the sound of his laughter echoes in the quiet of your room, turning into a whine when he feels the rhythmic spasms of your cunt. Milking him while your legs shake, your orgasm ripping through you like some kind of tidal wave.

Pussy gushing around him, glistening in the dim light and he groans, pulling out of you and he manhandles you.

Aggressively, roughly forcing you to sit up and he rests back against your headboard, lounging, and he pulls you onto him, guiding you to straddle him. And he watches the way you sink down onto him, inches disappearing into you and he moans at the sight.

Your hands move to rest on his broad chest, your hips lifting slowly, before you slam back down, and Rex tuts you.

"Lean back, baby." He huffs. "And on your feet."

And you groan, following his instructions with petulance.

"You sound like an expert." You breathe out. "You have a —hah— confession, Rex?"

And he snorts, hands move to grasp the headboard, you watch the way his biceps flex and he snickers.

"Why would you wanna hurt your feelings like that?"

Your face falls and your eyes narrow, arms moving to cross over your chest, lips pressing into a thin line.

"This is your audition back into my life, by the way." You frown at him. "Just in case you didn't know."

And Rex grins, a laugh slipping past his perfect lips and he rocks his hips up into you, the action so abrupt that your hands immediately move to his chest to support yourself.

"That's what you get when you try to start shit with me." Rex brags. "You mess with the bull, you get the horns. You taught me that."

You scoff. "Well, I taught you wrong. It's, 'you mess with the bull, you get covered in bullshit'."

There's a silence between you and Rex stares up at you.

"Please don't shit on me. I know I've got a strong stomach but—"

"I won't shit on you." Your laughter bubbles so easily from you, lips curling and your cheeks flushing deeper. Your dainty hands splay on his chest, your hips rolling against his, face hovering just above his and you let out a wistful sigh.

"I can't do it on command anyway." You add and Rex laughs. Loudly.

Dimples deep in his honeyed cheeks, hands gripping the headboard tighter because your hips keep rolling against him in that was that has him pressing against the plug of your womb, and you have the nerve to make him laugh too.

"There's something fucking wrong with you." He breathes out, before his arms move to wrap around your waist, bringing you closer to his torso and Rex's feet find purchase on your bed, his lips pressing against your pulse.

Before trailing lower and lower, until he finds the neckline of your shirt and he huffs.

"Take this shit off."

There's something so lovely about watching the way the muscles in your arms move as you pull your shirt overhead, and his eyes catch on a pretty pendant.

Not the one you've been wearing so boldly, no, one you've kept hidden so neatly underneath your clothing.

A pretty, cursive 'R' that dangles lower than your other necklace, and Rex's gaze flicks up to yours, his throat tightening and his belly blazing with warmth and a feeling that might make him come faster if he acknowledges it for too long.

"You still wear this?" Rex hums softly, bringing up a hand to brush his thumb over the letter.

And you purse your lips, "Fuck you."

"I didn't even do shit." He snorts before pressing a kiss over your collarbone, nipping at the skin before he hums.

"Grab the headboard."

Rex doesn't wait for you to have a steady grip before he's fucking up into you, bruising your cervix and grinding your swollen clit against his gingery happy trail.

Lips wrapping around one of your pert nipples, hot and wet muscle dragging against the nub and your brain turns to mush.

Coherence and any thought of self-respect leaking out of your mouth in broken moans and a cacophony of mewls as you're kept in place. Unable to do anything but take everything Rex gives you, taking every thrust, every suck and every 'fuck' that's breathed against your skin in a steamy puff.

And Rex swallows hard.

Teeth tugging on your other nipple, and he just loves the way you look.

Fucked out, your tongue lolling and your eyes finding permanent residence staring at your brain with the way they're rolling back and Rex feels his orgasm approaching faster than ever.

The burn just below his navel, the tightening of heavy balls and he whines.

"Fuck, m'gonna nut—"

He pants, like a dog, burying his face in your neck once he's deemed your nipples swollen enough and his teeth sinks into your shoulder. You feel so good.

He can feel every ridge of your gummy walls, he can feel the way your slick cunt milks and spasms around him like it's got a personal vendetta against him.

And Rex ruts into you.

Chasing that elusive dragon of an orgasm, the warmth of your body seems so much more intense than it did at first and Rex's heart pounds.

And when he feels that dam burst, his hands are bracketing your hips and he's lifting you off him, pearly cum spraying across your cunt, a shredded condom around his shaft and you're whining at the warmth.

Hips twitching and your face pressed into the curve of Rex's neck, inhaling that smoky musk, your brain a puddle.

"D—did the condom break...?" You sigh, and he nods, swallowing audibly.

"At least now I know I can't use two year old condoms." Rex sighs, lowering you back down onto his body, his still-hard cock resting in the crease of your ass and it takes you a while to register his words.

Your head raises and your eyes narrow.

"Was that condom expired?"

"Pfft. No." Rex huffs. "It expires next month."

⊹🌷♡taglist♡🌷⊹

@lucky-beheaded ; @jasontoddswhitestreak ; @queen-of-gotham ; @tamaranblaze ; @enchantedstarfish ; @sophsthebest ; @supersecretxreadersideblog ; @feral010 ; @keeeenbeeaan ; @strawbiemilk420 ; @l1zard-l3ague ; @coldvirginbitch ; @allycat4458 ; @couldeatthatgirlforlunch ; @heavenequals ; @blckbarbiedoll ; @custardpuddingprincess

[truthscrapper]

Devlog #1 📚 The Very First Devlog

We announced Truth Scrapper with a beautiful trailer this month!!! The response has been absolutely incredible, thank you so much for following me on another funky memory adventure. Throughout the development of ISAT, I have written monthly devlogs on Steam, talking about the making of the game. People liked them a bunch, so…

That’s right. It’s time. For the Very First Truth Scrapper devlog!

In case you just stumbled upon this, I am Adrienne, also known as insertdisc5! I am the creator of timeloop RPG In Stars and Time, and now am working on my next game, memory visual novel Truth Scrapper. It’s gonna be a good one.

Alright! Development talk time. Where’s the game at?!?!

So, right now, I have just finished writing the script for Day 4, so I "only" have the art, code, and implementation to do for that day. Truth Scrapper is divided in 7 days, with three different routes you can go through from Day 6 onwards. So really, I need to write and code 11 days. Which puts me at almost ⅓ through development! WOAHRGH!?? At this point, I know where the story is going, I know what each route will consist of, etc. I just don’t know the Details. The portraits are all done, backgrounds are done sequentially for every day, gameplay is all figured out… TLDR: It’s In Good Shape!!!

“That was a good short paragraph, but can I have the detailed timeline of the game. Please.” ok fine you asked for it.

The Big Timeline (and some images!) under the cut

📚 this image was made so early in development, it didn't even have Betz's shibari-like pink harness

TRUTH SCRAPPER TIMELINE

DEC 2022: I finish ISAT around NOV 2022. I get an idea. I write it down. It was going to be an RPG but nobody got time for that. Main themes and ending are here. I work on pre-production very slowly over the next couple months (because I am recovering from finishing ISAT and still gotta keep working on post-production stuff for ISAT)

JULY 2023: Ok fine let's make a renpy file and figure out if the most important gameplay thing can be done. AKA: can I make a book menu where the game remembers the choices you make, and how complicated is that gonna be for me to add to it down the line. It works and I am happy

📚 this image was made so early in development, it just looks very bad

AUGUST 2023: Character design. They look Not Great and character design takes me like nine months. Plot is getting somewhere though!

NOV 2023: In Stars and Time comes out. People like it I think.

MARCH 2024: I decide I need to work on something, and decide to work on that and apply for the Ontario Creates grant. This game is actually starting for realsies!!!!!!!

MAY 2024: I actually lock down character designs.

JUNE 2024: I hire Dora, who was the producer of In Stars and Time and who rules.

📚 dora and i signing our lives to one another on discord. the bond between a creator and their producer can never be broken

SEPT 2024: I work on da gaem

MAY 2025: Day 3 is implemented. We announce the game. Now we’re here!!!!

Alright, that’s it for today! This first devlog is more about telling you where the game is at, and every month you will have a whole new devlog where I can tell you about all the great things I did that month for the game. You can even comment with questions and I might answer them one day. Ok. Thank you. And as always, DON'T FORGET TO WISHLIST THE GAME ALSO IT REALLY HELPS BECAUSE STEAM’S ALGORITHM IS MORE LIKELY TO SHOW OFF GAMES WITH A HIGH AMOUNT OF WISHLISTS THATS THE REASON WHY GAME DEVS ALWAYS ASK TO WISHLIST!!! OKAY BYE!!!!

Links! 📚 Official Website 📚 Join the Discord 📚 Sign up for my mailing list 📚 Follow Truth Scrapper on Bluesky 📚 Follow ME on Bluesky

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Actinopterygii - Acipenseriformes

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Order: Acipenseriformes

Common Name: “sturgeons” and “paddlefish”

Families: 2 - Acipenseridae (“sturgeons”) and Polyodontidae (“paddlefish”)

Anatomy: weakly ossified skeletons with the majority of bone being replaced by cartilage, larvae have teeth while adults are toothless or nearly toothless, retain the ability to sense electric fields using ampullae, barbels around mouth for tactile sensing, paddlefish is smooth-skinned with a paddle-shaped rostrum, sturgeons protected by rows of scutes

Diet: mollusks, crustaceans, and small fish (sturgeons), zooplankton (paddlefish)

Habitat/Range: subtropical to subarctic waters in North America and Eurasia

Evolved in: Early Jurassic

Propaganda under the cut:

Several species of sturgeon are harvested for their roe (eggs), which is processed into the luxury food caviar. This has led to serious overexploitation, which combined with other conservation threats, has brought most of the sturgeon species to critically endangered status, at the edge of extinction.

Many sturgeons leap completely out of the water, usually making a loud splash which can be heard half a mile away on the surface and probably farther under water. Why they do this is not known, but suggested functions include group communication to maintain group cohesion, catching airborne prey, courtship display, to help shed eggs during spawning, escape from predators, shed parasites, or to gulp or expel air. Another explanation is that it "simply feels good".

The critically endangered Beluga Sturgeon (Huso huso) (image 1) is the largest Acipenseriform, the largest freshwater fish, and the 3rd largest species of Actinopterygiian. The largest accepted record is of a female taken in 1827, at 1,571 kg (3,463 lb) and 7.2 m (23 ft 7 in) long. Claims of greater length (up to 12 m [39 ft 4 in]); and weight (up to 3,000 kg [6,600 lb]) are disputed and unconfirmed, but not impossible. Beluga of such great sizes are very old and have become increasingly rare in recent decades because of heavy fishing of the species. Today, mature Belugas that are caught are generally 142–328 cm (4 ft 8 in – 10 ft 9 in) long and weigh 19–264 kg (42–582 lb).

The Chinese Paddlefish (Psephurus gladius) was last seen alive in 2003, and is considered to have quietly gone extinct between 2005 and 2010. At over 3 metres (10 feet), possibly up to 7 m (23 ft) in length, it was one of the largest species of freshwater fish. The Chinese Paddlefish spent part of its adult life at sea, migrating up the Yangtze River to spawn. The construction of the Gezhouba and Three Gorges Dams blocked this migration route, and this, combined with overfishing, caused the Chinese Paddlefish to go extinct. The American Paddlefish (Polyodon spathula) (image 2), native to the Mississippi River basin, is now the last living remnant of this 300-million-year-old family.

A study published in 2020 reported a successful hybridization between a Russian Sturgeon (Acipenser gueldenstaedtii) (image 4) and an American Paddlefish (Polyodon spathula), indicating that the two species could breed with one another despite their lineages having been separated for hundreds of millions of years. This has marked the first successful hybridization between members of Acipenseridae and Polyodontidae, and along with some Passeriform hybridizations, is one of the only known instances of animals from two separate families breeding successfully. Accidentally created by Hungarian scientists, the hybrids were dubbed "sturddlefish."

[mxurelle]

synopsis: gojo catches you masturbating to his image.

cw: dubcon, voyeurism, slight degradation (he calls u a perv). -18+ dni.

wc: 1,533.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“for fucks sake.”

you clicked your tongue, wrist and forearm completely strained from working your swollen nub as you laid sprawled out on your comforter, exhaling a heavy sigh of defeat. you looked down at yourself, blinking in rapid succession, bewildered by your stupidity. touching yourself to the image of your best friend took enough convincing within itself, weighing the pros and cons of partaking in such an explicit activity; something completely new to you. but now, your orgasm couldn’t feel farther out of reach.

“karma. must be.” you thought, leaned back against your headboard as you stared up at the ceiling, cellphone still in hand. the pad of your index finger dipped in between sleek folds, shivers shooting up your spine with a quiet sob, teasing your dripping entrance. you were aroused, more so than you’ve been in awhile, which only brought about more question marks.

your gaze lifted to scan your phone screen, nipping at your bottom lip as you shamelessly ogled. cute face, cheeky smile, pretty eyes, nice lips. simply claiming he was your type seemed unjust. after the two of you met, you’ve struggled to successfully get yourself off ever since.

a loud wham pulled you out of your mind fog, fumbling with your phone as you instantly perked up, eyes widened with a look of sheer terror. the figure of a young man now replaced with what used to be your closed door, unable to properly make out his features amidst your downward spiral into full on panic mode.

“hey! long time no—ohh.”

a wild gojo satoru stood in your doorway, clearly lost, stuck in shock with his jaw dropped. you blinked up at the intruder, also stuck; processing. maybe it was the sexual frustration, maybe the intensity of it all had finally gotten to your head, resulting in hallucinations.

you fumbled with your messy sheets, scrambling to cover up. “fuck, man?!” you exclaimed, more so a very loud whisper, tightly closing your legs. embarrassment churned at your stomach, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest, the possibility of passing out didn’t seem too unreasonable at that point. “ever heard of knocking? what the fuck is your problem?”

the two of you fell silent, gojo’s lack of a timely response sending your anxiety through the roof. he looked from side to side sporting a guilty yet not so guilty look; similar to that of a child who had wrongfully stolen a cookie. “sure, but the door was .. unlocked?” he faked a cough, taking a step forward and closing the door behind him.

“i—get out.” you raised your pointer finger, directing him towards the door with a stern look; the best you could pull off given your awkward position.

gojo pursed his lips, peering down at you beneath the rounded frames of his glasses, inching closer till his legs bumped with the edge of your bed. “i would, if that wasn’t a picture of me on your phone.” he examined, and your heart dropped. “that is me, right?”

speechless, you steadily shook your head, glancing off to peek at your phone screen; his photo displayed in full view. his head tilted to the side, your comforter dipping a bit as he welcomed himself into your space. “nah, no use in denying it. maybe if you weren’t basically naked, i would’ve bought it.” he teased, but you didn’t cower as he drew in closer, nudging himself in between your opened legs.

you licked your lips and swallowed, moving to clamp your thighs together instinctively in hopes of hiding your desire from his watchful gaze. your efforts were of no use though, not with him in your way. “well,” he started up again, eyeing you. “why’d you stop? keep going, i wanna watch.”

“you wanna wh—“

gojo raised his index finger to press against your lips, successfully cutting you off mid sentence. “ah! none of that.” he insisted, tracing the shape of your lips with the tip of his finger. you resisted the urge to open your mouth for him, leaving your curiosity to fester. “you’re masturbating to my image without my consent. it’s only fair, don’t you think?”

with your arousal at an all time high, it didn’t take much convincing for you to start back up again, swirling your clit in slow circular motions. his palms crept beneath your thighs before lifting them, earning a quiet yelp from you. “sorry, just wanna see all of you.” he explained, flat toned and casual in his words, eyes locked on your exposed cunt. he looked focused, jaw clenched as his fingers dug into your thighs, savoring each little noise you’d make.

your fingers teased your entrance, thighs trembling within his hold as you quivered, earning a satisfied hum of approval from the man above you. “do you often touch yourself with me in mind, hm?” leaning down, his breath hovered your left ear as he spoke. “must be frustrating.”

your eyes fell to a close, savoring the intoxicating sound of his voice, jolting as teeth made contact with your ear. your head fell back against the headboard as you worked your throbbing clit in slow, steady motions, picking up the pace in unison with gojo’s wandering lips. he placed open mouthed kisses beneath your jawline, his lips wrapped around the patch of skin, sucking and biting a visible mark on you.

“you must like me a lottt,” he mumbled within the crook of your neck, promptly pulling away to adjust himself to comfortably focus on your lower body. his teeth sunk into the meat of your inner thigh and you sobbed, pain briskly sparking pleasure. “your entire body is trembling, and shit, you’re so wet. i can tell this is really your thing, perv.”

“yet you’re sitting here watching me.” you bit back, lifting your head as your eyes shot open, that familiar feeling of an approaching orgasm swelling at your stomach. adding another finger you placed both digits flat on your clit, applying pressure as you moved from side to side, slurs of profanity spilling from your lips.

your muscles contracted as your hips twitched upwards, rocking into your hands in a desperate effort to cum. your gaze dropped for a moment in search for his, only to find bright blue eyes beaming with excitement, lips parted in awe as he sat entranced, completely engrossed in you. your eyes wandered further, trailing along the frame of his shoulders and upper body, the flat of his stomach and plump of his thighs.

you lingered in between his legs, suppressing a moan as his hardened cock stood out through the fabric of his pants. it looked suffocating. you wanted to help, to touch him, to really feel him. “fuck—i’m gonna cum.” you sobbed, shivering as gojo tightened his hold around you.

pleasure coursed through your veins in intense waves, invoking a fluttering sensation in your abdomen as your climax washed over you, quiet sobs filling the thick atmosphere. gojo watched in silence as you rode through the motions, his palms sliding upwards to massage the flesh of your hips. he didn’t want to say too much, or too little, neither was he really interested in redirecting his focus to speak. instead, he took the moment to behold the view of you unfolding in front of him.

you retracted your hands, letting your arms sprawl out with a sigh. gojo mirrored your actions as he removed his hands, and only then did you come back to self, realization of what just happened settling. “damn, that..was fucking hot. you good?” he asked, and to which you nodded.

“i’m cool, but..” your gaze flickered down to his erection beneath his sweats, then back up at him. “you seem to have a bit of a problem yourself.”

gojo followed your gaze, neutrality plastered across his distinctive features, chin tilted slightly upward. “you gonna solve it, or just stare?” he challenged, leaving an invitation up in the air too good to pass up. the two of you stared at one another, contemplation behind your eyes, as his clouded with lust.

you sat up to lean in, but before you could your phone rang beside you. your head snapped into the direction of the blaring sound, squinting as you read out the name of the caller; sis. “shit, that’s my older sister. you gotta go.” your hands moved to nudge gojo off of your bed, pushing with full force as he wouldn’t move fast enough, sliding off the bed to follow behind him.

“your sister?”

“yes!” you gathered a blanket within your hands, quickly wrapping it around your body as you stood up, directing gojo towards your opened window. he looked back at you, and you could’ve sworn you saw metaphorical question marks popping up around his head. “quick! damn, you’re slow.” delivering a few harsh pats to his shoulder blades, he bent down, maneuvering his body through your window the best he could.

as he squeezed through, relief weighed on your shoulders. you turned away for a moment to hurriedly close your door and return back to the window, poking your head out as you looked around, confirming gojo had successfully scurried off.

[youngpoetpoe]

Birthday Descent

Hanni x Male Reader ft. Haerin

Buy me a ko-fi.

You’re buried deep inside Hanni, her legs locked tight around your waist, pulling you closer with every desperate thrust. The bed groans under the force of your hips slamming against hers, the air thick with the musky scent of sweat and raw desire. Her short, dark hair sticks to her damp forehead, framing her flushed face, her almond-shaped eyes half-closed as she gasps. The crop top she had on is rucked up past her navel, exposing her toned abs that flex with each movement. Her Australian accent, husky and raw, cuts through the haze. “Fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” she cries, her voice trembling with need.

Her walls grip you like a vice, pulsing as her orgasm rips through her, her body shaking beneath you. The heat, the tightness, the sight of her losing it—it’s too much. With a guttural groan, you spill inside her, your vision blurring as pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave. Her nails rake your back, anchoring you to her as you both ride the high, your breaths ragged.

Exhausted, you collapse beside her, chest heaving. Hanni curls into you, her breath hot against your skin, and within seconds, sleep drags you both under, the world fading to black.

---

Morning light filters through the curtains, bathing your apartment in a soft, warm glow. The air still carries a faint trace of last night’s intensity. Hanni’s pressed against you, her arm draped over your chest, her short hair tickling your shoulder. She’s still in that wrinkled crop top and a pair of your boxers she must’ve slipped into while you were out cold. Her face is serene—delicate features softened in sleep, lips slightly parted, eyelashes resting against her cheeks. You brush a stray lock from her forehead, and she stirs, blinking up at you with drowsy eyes.

“Happy birthday, babe,” she murmurs, her accent weaving the words into something melodic, a sleepy smile curving her lips.

You grin, kissing her forehead. “Thanks, Hanni. Last night was… unreal.”

She giggles, a mischievous glint sparking in her gaze. “Yeah, no kidding.” But then her expression shifts—playful to serious in a heartbeat. “I need to talk to you about something, though.”

Your stomach knots. “What’s that?”

She sits up, pulling the sheet around her waist, her movements deliberate. “I borrowed your phone a couple days ago—needed to check some practice schedules. And… I saw your search history.”

Heat floods your face, a mix of shame and panic. You know exactly what she’s talking about—those late-night dives into Haerin’s 18th birthday photoshoot, the provocative shots that lit up your X feed two months ago. Haerin, with her long, dark hair and piercing cat-like eyes, had posed in ways that left little to the imagination, and you’d been weak. “Hanni, I—”

She raises a hand, cutting you off. “I’m not mad. I just want to know what’s going on with you.”

You swallow hard, opting for honesty. “I got curious. Those pictures were everywhere—popping up in my notifications, trending posts. I didn’t mean for it to be a thing.”

Hanni nods, her lips twitching into a small smile. “Yeah, she went hard with that shoot. I get why it caught your eye.” She pauses, then leans closer, her voice dropping. “Be real with me. You think she’s hot?”

There’s no dodging it. Lying would be worse. “Yeah,” you admit, voice low. “She’s… attractive. The photos were intense.”

To your surprise, Hanni doesn’t flinch. Instead, she reaches for her phone on the nightstand. “Good. Because it’s your birthday, and I’ve got a little present for you.” She unlocks the screen, navigates to a private folder, and hands you the phone. “Haerin sent me these—exclusive shots from that day. Take a look.”

Your jaw hits the floor as the first image loads. Haerin, completely bare, lounges on a velvet couch, her long hair spilling over her shoulders, barely covering her small, perky breasts. Her cat-like eyes smolder, locked on the camera, her legs crossed just enough to tease the slickness between her thighs. The sight sends a jolt straight to your groin, and Hanni notices, her hand slipping under the sheet to find your hardening cock.

“You like that?” she whispers, her accent a shiver down your spine as she grips you, stroking slow and deliberate.

“Fuck, yeah,” you breathe, unable to tear your eyes from the screen.

She leans in, lips grazing your ear. “Keep looking. Pretend it’s her hand on you.”

Hanni’s fingers curl tighter around your shaft, her grip slick with a thick glob of spit she lets drip from her lips onto your tip. The wet heat glistens as it slides down, coating you, and she pumps you with a slow, teasing rhythm, each stroke deliberate, drawing out your need. Her phone is propped in her other hand, the screen blazing with Haerin’s nude photos, each one filthier than the last. The first shot lingers in your mind—Haerin’s slender frame, her pink nipples stiff, her pussy glistening—but Hanni swipes, and the next image hits harder.

Haerin’s on her knees now, ass high, her back arched like she’s begging to be fucked. Her hands grip her tits, fingers pinching her nipples so hard her lips part in a silent, whorish moan. Sweat beads on her skin, catching the light, and you swear you can see the tremble in her thighs, like she’s seconds from shattering. Hanni’s hand speeds up, her fist gliding through the mess of spit and precum, the wet squelch loud and obscene. “Look at her,” she growls, her voice rough with lust and dominance. “She’s dripping for it—wants you to pin her down and ruin her.”

Your cock twitches, and Hanni’s thumb swirls over the head, smearing the slickness as she swipes again, her finger dragging across the screen with torturous precision. Haerin’s bent over a table now, hands spreading her cheeks wide, her tight, glistening holes on full display—pussy soaked, asshole puckered and inviting. The sight’s raw, degrading, and Hanni leans closer, her breath hot against your neck. “Say her name,” she commands, her tone sharp. “Moan it like you’re fucking her.”

“Haerin,” you groan, the name spilling out as Hanni’s strokes turn relentless, her hand a blur of wet, sloppy motion. She shifts, sliding to your side, her body moving out of your line of sight, leaving nothing but the phone and Haerin’s shameless body to consume you. “Don’t look at me,” she snaps, her voice cutting like a whip. “Eyes on her. On that slut’s perfect little face.”

You obey, your gaze locked on Haerin’s photo as Hanni’s hand works you over, one fist pumping your shaft, the other cupping your balls, rolling them with just enough pressure to make you squirm. She swipes again, and there’s Haerin on her back, legs yanked up to her chest, three fingers knuckle-deep in her pussy, her juices pooling on the sheets below. “Louder,” Hanni orders, her nails grazing your sack. “Let me hear you worship her.”

“Haerin,” you moan, voice breaking as the pleasure coils tight, your hips bucking into her hand. “Fuck, Haerin.” Hanni’s lips curl into a cruel smile you can’t see, but you feel her spit hit your cock again—a warm, thick stream she smears down your length, making every stroke sloppier, nastier.

“Tell me you want to fuck her,” she hisses, her hand slowing to a torturous crawl, edging you closer to the brink without letting you tip over. “Say it.”

“I want to fuck Haerin,” you choke out, the words raw and desperate, your eyes glued to the screen as Hanni swipes to another shot—Haerin against a mirror, her tongue lolling out, licking her reflection like a brain-dead whore, her eyes crossed in a haze of lust. The image burns into you, and Hanni’s voice slices through again, sharper now.

“You think she’s prettier than me, don’t you?” she taunts, her grip tightening until it’s almost painful, her thumb pressing hard against your slit. “Admit it. She’s fucking gorgeous compared to me.”

The humiliation stabs deep, but it only fuels you. “She’s prettier,” you mutter, the confession spilling out as your cock pulses in her hand, the shame twisting into something hotter, dirtier.

Hanni’s laugh is low and mocking. “Yeah, thought so. That perfect face, that tight little body—bet you’d sell your soul to shove your cock in her.” She swipes one last time, and Haerin’s sprawled across a bed, thighs wide, fingers plunging into her dripping cunt, her expression pure, shameless bliss. “Keep moaning her name,” Hanni growls, dropping the phone onto the sheets and sliding down, her face hovering over your cock.

Her almond eyes lock onto yours for a split second, gleaming with wicked intent, before she takes you into her mouth. Her lips wrap tight around your tip, her tongue flicking fast, then she sinks deep, her throat constricting as she swallows you whole. The heat’s overwhelming—her mouth’s a wet, sloppy furnace, her gags loud and messy as she bobs her head, spit dribbling down your shaft and pooling on your balls. “Haerin,” you moan, your hand finding her hair, gripping it as you thrust up, fucking her mouth like it’s her you’re ruining.

Then Hanni’s hands clamp onto your hips, her nails digging in as she yanks you forward, forcing your cock into her mouth. Her lips seal tight around you, and she takes you deep, her throat constricting as she gags, spit flooding your shaft. You grab her hair, hard, your fingers twisting in her short strands as you shove her down, fucking her face with brutal thrusts. “Haerin!” you scream, your voice hoarse, raw. “I want to fuck you like a fucking whore!”

“Haerin, fuck!” you shout again, your grip tightening, yanking Hanni’s head harder as you force her deeper, her nose pressed to your base, her throat pulsing around you. She’s a wreck—her crop top soaked with sweat, her abs trembling as she fights for air—but she keeps sucking, her hands clawing at your thighs, desperate to please.

Hanni chokes, her gags loud and wet, but she doesn’t pull back—she takes it, her eyes watering, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth and dripping onto your lap. Her throat spasms around you, the sloppy, obscene sounds filling the room as you pound into her, your hips slamming forward, her face a mess of tears and drool. Haerin’s photo stays in your peripheral—her fingers buried in her cunt, her body arched in shameless ecstasy

She pulls back just enough to spit—a thick, warm glob that hits your cock and drips down, her hand smearing it as she strokes you fast. “Say it again,” she demands, her voice muffled, hoarse with effort. “Pretend I’m her.”

“Haerin, fuck,” you chant, your eyes snapping to the phone where Haerin’s fingers are still buried in her pussy, her body arched in ecstasy. Hanni’s mouth dives back down, deeper this time, her throat spasming around you, her nose pressed to your base as she chokes herself on your cock. The room fills with the filthy sounds of her sucking—wet slurps, gurgled gags, her spit coating everything.

She senses you’re close—your balls tightening, your shaft throbbing—and pulls back, her hand a blur of slick strokes. “Cum for her,” she snarls, her voice raw and dirty. “Stare at her cunt and cum in my mouth. Shout her name.”

Your gaze locks on Haerin’s photo—her legs splayed, her pussy dripping, her face twisted in pleasure. Hanni’s mouth clamps around you again, her tongue swirling, her throat pulsing, and the pressure snaps. “Haerin!” you roar as you stare at Haerin's cat eyes on the phone, your voice cracking as your cock erupts, thick, hot ropes of cum flooding Hanni's mouth. Hanni takes it all, her lips sealed tight, swallowing greedily as your hips buck, your cum spilling down her throat in waves. Her tongue keeps working, dragging out every shuddering pulse, her eyes watering but never breaking from yours until you’re drained, trembling.

You collapse back, panting, your body spent as Hanni pulls off with a wet, filthy pop. Her lips are swollen, glistening with your cum and her spit, and she wipes her chin with a smug, playful grin as she licks her fingers clean. “Well, damn,” she says, her accent light and teasing now, her tone shifting to something almost gleeful. “You just came so fucking hard—harder than ever—and it was for another woman, not your girlfriend. What do you have to say for yourself? Happy fucking birthday,” she purrs, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

You’re still panting, head spinning, as she climbs into your lap, her body warm and soft against you. “You’re insane,” you manage, pulling her close, kissing her hard. Her lips taste of you, salty and raw, and she moans into the kiss, her hands already wandering again.

Hanni’s tucked against your chest, her breath warm, her short hair brushing your skin. Her fingers trace slow circles, teasing, her crop top slipping to reveal her toned abs, tight from dance practice. She looks up, a sly grin spreading across her face, eyes glinting with mischief. “Love you,” she murmurs, voice soft. Then her grin sharpens. “Been thinking… what if we got Haerin over here? You know, a threesome. Could be a wild time.”

Your pulse jumps, heat sparking—Haerin’s sleek body, her cat-like eyes, tangled up with you and Hanni. “You serious?” you ask, voice low, studying her playful gaze.

She nods, climbing onto your lap, her boxers hugging her thighs as she settles in, hands on your chest. “Oh, yeah,” she says, grin widening. “Picture it—you fucking her hard, her moaning like crazy, me just watching, maybe messing around myself.” She leans in, lips grazing your ear, breath hot. “It’d be so hot, seeing you go nuts for her, knowing I’m the one who set it up.”

Your cock stirs, and she feels it, smirking as she shifts her hips. “You’re into it,” she teases, fingers brushing your abs. “Haerin’s got that vibe—long hair, tight body, eyes that beg for it. Bet she’d look fucking unreal taking you.”

You grip her hips, feeling her heat. “You’d be cool with that?”

She laughs, tossing her head back. “Hell yeah. I’d love it—watching you wreck her, knowing I’m still your main fix.” Her hand slips lower, stroking you through the sheets, slow and deliberate. “It’s a rush, her getting a piece of you, but me being the one you can’t get enough of.”

“You’re trouble,” you mutter, smirking, and she grins wider, nipping your jaw.

“Best kind,” she says, sitting up, her crop top slipping to bare more skin. “One rule, though,” she adds, pointing a finger, voice firm but cheeky. “Do not impregnate her. Fuck her senseless, cum wherever—her face, her tits, anywhere—but don’t put a baby in her. That’s my dealbreaker.”

You pull her close, kissing her hard, her moan buzzing against your lips. “Deal,” you say, locking eyes as she smirks, satisfied.

“Good,” she murmurs, curling back into you, hand lingering on your cock. “Sleep now, perv. We’ll sort Haerin out later.”

---

support me on ko-fi so i can write more :)

[creature-wizard]

Some ways to recognize AI generated images (other than counting the fingers!)

Hey folks! Since a lot of people out there are still getting taken in by AI images, I thought I'd do a post to help you spot some common tells in AI generated imagery. (All of these images come from Pixabay.) Since this turned out to be a really long post, I've put the rest of it under the cut.

Unnatural shininess and smoothness

AI generated images frequently have an unnatural smoothness to them. Here's a really obvious example:

These are supposed to be blueberries, but they're way too shiny. They look more like glass than actual fruit!

Here's an example that's a little less obvious:

At first glance, it's easy to miss that this is a procedurally generated image. But if you take a moment and look close, you can see an unnatural smoothness to this image. Compare with this real photograph below:

The real photo has a slight graininess to it, plus the berries themselves display more texture.

Here are more images displaying unnatural smoothness:

Exaggerated facial and body proportions

If a person or animal in an image that appears to be a photograph has cartoonish or caricaturish proportions, that's a sign the image is AI generated.

First, we'll start with a really obvious example. While I don't think the person who had this generated meant for it to be taken as photorealistic, it's still a good example of exaggerated proportions.

Now here's the less obvious example:

If you just glanced at this image, you might think this was a real child. But if you look for a moment longer, you'll notice that her head is slightly too big for her body proportions, and her eyes are slightly too big and round. (And of course, her toes are messed up.)

For comparison, here's a real child:

The real child's head is smaller, and the eyes don't have that cartoony look.

Here's an image of a baby that could pass as real at first glance... until you realize the eyes are too big and round, and it's making Dreamworks face! (Also, the brows and lashes are unnaturally smooth and the skin looks plasticky!)

For comparison, here's a real baby:

Melty-looking detailwork

AI images that are supposed to depict fantasy, divine, and historical figures often feature an extreme level of detailing. But if you look close, you'll see that this detailwork is usually a mess.

Here's a very obvious example:

If you look at her tiara, you can see that the center gem is actually floating above the rest, which is a dead giveaway that this is procedurally generated. Also, her tiara lacks symmetry and evenness where it should have it.

Here's another example:

Again, this is clearly a piece that should have symmetry in the metalwork, but has that uneven melty look so common in AI imagery.

And a less obvious example:

This one isn't as extreme as the others, but if you're familiar with the way AI "melts" details, you can recognize its work. (Also, her right earring is lower than it should be, and where her face is clearly meant to imitate an oil painting, her dress looks like a watercolor painting!)

Meanwhile, here's a real photograph of a tiara:

I'd also like to emphasize here that asymmetry on its own doesn't indicate AI! Many people create asymmetrical designs on purpose. The thing to really watch out for is melty-looking shapes and unevenness in things that shouldn't look melty or uneven.

Unnatural crispness and detail

AI image generators often lean toward high-contrast tones, which frequently makes images look unnaturally crisp. Here's a really obvious example:

Let's compare with a real photo of the Sphinx!

Quite a bit of difference, huh?

This faux Greek statue might be a bit harder:

This appears to depict a Greek-styled statue, but - look at the face! The crispness in the light and shadows gives this away as AI generated. (There's also no staining on the face, even though we see it on the next.)

For comparison, a real statue:

This has turned into a huge post, so I'm gonna call this good for now. Not each and every AI generated image will have these tells, but you'll be able to recognize a lot more AI generated images if you keep them in mind. If you'd like to get even better at recognizing AI generated images, you might go to the website I got them from - Pixabay - and search for "AI generated." Load the pictures at higher resolutions, pay attention to the details, and compare them with human-mage images. While you'll find that many AI generated images are very hard to distinguish from human-made ones, you'll start picking up on more of AI's idiosyncracies.

[tmbgareok]

I have a very esoteric question for JF - I remember hearing you did the artwork or photography for the Miscellaneous T album cover. Were the letters cut out of foam? Using a heated wire cutter? The blocky flintstone-ey letters in an interesting hallway is still very cool. Thank you in advance for answering if you answer and thanks for always being great.

The cover of Miscellaneous T

First I designed the typeface on graph paper (which was actually a bigger project than the cover). This was the very end of the pre-computer era, and the word "font" went from being a shibboleth of design people to being common parlance. While computers were shaking up the world of graphic design the limitations were immediate. While the general public marveled at the 25 typefaces available, designers were sorely missing the other 2000.

(At this time I imported my very crude work into a computer-based font design program, and that file named Conant was even uploaded on to a free font site. I have no notion of how long it played out there or if it was ever used elsewhere, but I like to think there is a restaurant menu somewhere using Conant.)

The idea of my design was drawn from the hand lettering of artist Ben Shahn (although I did not have a lot of direct source material!) The big features of this kind of design is the squared-off letter shapes and the modulating upper and lower case forms. His letter changes from poster to poster but in general it looks like this...

I was also thinking about the woodcut letter shapes on the cover of Edward Albees famous paperback books (a book that was everywhere) I suspect the design was also Ben Shahn-influenced.

So regarding the cover of Misc. T-

The letters on the cover were made with an X-Acto knife, 1/4" foam-core, tape, Elmers glue, paper and acrylic paint. They are not solid at all. I made them very quickly, and in a fashion that I had done many other projects.

I "blew up" the typeface just by eyeballing the points on the graph paper to the much larger grid I drew on the foam core. I cut out the letters, then cut the pieces that created the depth, and taped them into place on the inside of the letter form. (This next part I am have no memory of but I am pretty sure this is how I did it) Once the letters were complete I took very light paper (like a rice paper or old fashioned Xerox paper) dipped in slightly diluted Elmers glue and draped it over the edges of all the letters to hide the seams. I suspect I then lightly painted them with white paint just to even it all out.

Then I placed them in the hallway of my apartment. To trick the eye for a moment, I actually shot it from above so you see the letter shapes before you place the forms in my dilapidated hallway. Below is un-flipped image.

And here's me and John holding the letters...

[moscatosin]

🖤 lists. mattheo riddle 🖤 oral. studying. fem!reader self insert. tongue in cheek. thank you to @nottscherry for reading this & confirming my idea was sane and @voidofsunlight for her bot that inspired the idea. mdni. raspberry vodka recommended (2.1k)

It was painstakingly obvious that Mattheo's curiosity had clearly gotten the best of him. Slipping down into a seat beside you in the back of the library, he smirked; honey tinted eyes washing over you with a trail of unspoken questions he’d stop at nothing to get answers for. Reaching out, with careful fingers, Mattheo tucked some loose hair which had fallen down in front of your face behind your ear, using the gesture as an excuse to let his fingertips linger beneath your chin and turn your head to face him.

“You know, you really should be more discreet with what you keep in your dorm..”

For a few moments, an array of impulsive thoughts and taunting images raced through your mind. When he had asked earlier in the day about borrowing a textbook you had on ancient runes for a class he wasn't all that committed to, you hadn't thought much about lending it to him. He just wanted to pass - you were nice enough to extend the offer to a friend - end of story. Right? Nope.

That little shit had taken it upon himself to snoop around your dorm as if he owned the place rather than just walking in and walking out the way you'd expected, like a thief in the middle of the night. You'd told him exactly where the book he was after was - top shelf in the bookcase beside your bed in between a stack of parchments you vaguely could refer to as homework and the novelty coffee mug of a dog he'd brought you years ago in Hogsmeade after you mentioned you thought it was cute.

Mind racing; you wondered what he'd stumbled on. Ever so surely, you began to flicker through the mental catalogue of everything you kept in your dorm. Perhaps the lucky red lace bra you always wore on first dates? The novelty candy G-string Pansy bought for your birthday last month? The handcuffs your ex had far too many ideas for? The bullet vibrator you kept in your bedside top drawer shaped like a golden snitch? No, let's be real - all these things were far too safe for someone with the last name Riddle; far too vanilla. Yet whilst you tried so desperately hard to think, your mind just couldn't quite pinpoint what he was hinting at.

“I’m sorry”, you murmured out with a raised brow, half tilting your head to the side to act partially naive and yet to also shift away from his touch. “You'll have to be more specific, Mattheo. I don't quite have the gift of legilimency like you do..”

“The list, sweetheart.”

For a moment you froze as time seemed to stop still. A single blink is what it took for your brain to kick-start back into motion after going offline oh so temporarily at his simple statement. The list. The god forsaken list. A stupid piece of parchment you'd hidden well, you initially thought, between ties and mismatched socks in your trunk which he'd had to have gone digging through to find. What a little shit –

“So you've been snooping?”, you sigh, hands raking through your hair roughly as the breath that escapes you burns raw against your lips. “Mattheo, we're friends - I trusted you to walk into my dorm, get what you needed and get out. Something that really, should not have been that difficult of a task for a wizard like yourself..”

He cuts you off by placing a finger firmly against your lips and scoots the seat he's on a few inches closer towards yours; wooden legs of the chair scraping harshly like nails on a chalkboard against the floor. With his free hand, he plucks the folded parchment out from his robe pocket and sets it out in front of you; his eyes dancing towards it, daring you to open it. You do - with shy, trembling hands; trying so, so hard to keep yourself afloat in this sudden drowning chaos you're finding yourself trapped within. It's okay, the waters only ankle deep - you can still get yourself out of this without needing to swim.

At the top of the list in handwriting which is clearly your own - that perfect cursive that has witches jealous of your quill skills, is Mattheo's name. Beneath it; listed in no particular order, a few dozen reasons girls think he'd be a decent fuck along with their signatures beside the comment. You swallow; the feeling rather uncomfortable and intense which hurts your throat as you listen to him begin to read it.

“Would definitely let me call him Daddy - A. Greengrass. Has 99 problems but that cock sure ain't one - L. Brown. Hands that could choke me into place with ease - H. Abbott. Are you girls bloody mental? Who writes shit like this?”

Would you answer him? Eh… The whole idea of lists had started out as a joke a few weeks ago at a party. Sober thoughts meeting drunken confidence when you'd suggested a list be written about all the boys you knew. Not necessarily sexual in nature but at least suggestive to some degree Somehow, rather unexpectedly; someone brought up Mattheo's name in conversation after commenting on how damn good he looked wearing all black, sipping on firewhiskey like it was nobodies business and bang - the ‘I would fuck him’ list was born.

“Riddle, it was just a little harmless fun. Like you can honestly tell me that you and your mates don't talk about or rank girls you'd like to hook up with or date or –.”

“Your name’s not on it.”

The sound of the library fell into a deep and unexpected silence you could hear a feather drop within. Your posture straightened upright; both brows rising as the faintest shade of rosy peach colouring skimmed across your cheeks. Coughing to clear your throat, you let out a semi-soulless chuckle.

“Yeah, because we're friends and I don't exactly see you in that way Mattheo.”

“But what would you write?”

“Nothing”, you confirmed with a confused stare at him, “We're friends.”

“But if you had to..”

Oh, he was getting desperate for an answer. How interesting. Had the names and comments already listed not been enough to stroke his rather expansive ego. You glance at the list before looking back at him; licking your tongue over your bottom lip to buy a little time to further think.

“You're not being serious?”

“Dead right I am.”

“Matt - almost three quarters of the bloody castle have signed a parchment that declares they'd willingly want to fuck you, and you're caught up on the fact that I, one of your best friends, hasn't signed it?”

The puppy dog look he shot you without warning made it feel like you'd just kicked him. You were well aware that there'd be only one way to suffice him, so picking up your quill you scribbled the first thing that came to mind and signed the bottom of the list. Mattheo had shifted to be staring over your shoulder intently as you scribbled away neatly; the gasp that from deep within his chest sounding like he may or may not have just experienced a minor heart attack.

“Might know how to use that tongue? Might? What the fuck? You think I'd suck at eating a girl out? Are you insane? I'm the best—.”

“Mattheo, seriously - shut up! We're in a library and I'm trying to study and yeah, as a matter of fact, you seem like a guy who wouldn't want to get messy and doesn't have the patience to go down on a girl long enough to please her, so yes. Might - know - how to use that tongue. Take it or leave it.”

Your heart is racing at this point. It was a joke. This whole thing. The list, your comment, the fact the two of you were even having this conversation. He slaps a hand down hard against the desk causing your ink bottle to shake and lets out a gruff sounding growl making your thighs tremble and quake. No. No. No…

“You're a wicked little witch.”

The sentence comes out with a hiss and a little sprinkle of threat and before you know it, Mattheo has slid his chair back, not caring to glance around and see if the two of you have company before dropping to the floor and crawling beneath the desk. Your brain short circuits again, this time; involuntarily as you feel his hands spread your knees apart; lips pressing hot, slow kisses that burn up the inside of your thighs deliciously. God it had been so fucking long since you'd been touched.

“W-what are you doing?”

*Proving that statement of yours fucking wrong.”

His curls tickling against your skin, your hands grasped at the edge of the desk you sat at, knuckles whitening as his teeth sank in to nip sultry at your skin. Your body tensed for a split second before sinking into the seat, his lips continuing to pepper kisses up your thighs before planting a final teasing kiss over your panties against your core that had you seeing stars.

“Hell.. Mattheo - we need to sto-...”

Like he was about to listen. Honestly. Tugging your panties to one side, you felt him chuckle against your clit before pressing the softest of kisses against it; your nerves endings bursting into an electric craze. Tip of his tongue sliding neatly in between your folds, you bit a knuckle painfully between your teeth to stifle a moan and felt your body grow warm.

“Oh my god..”

The words are nothing more than an uttered whisper of submission as Mattheo's tongue flickered teasingly over your entrance, slipping in shallow to torment you as his hands wrap around your thighs in an attempt at keeping you still. Your head tilts back; eyes clamped shut, your own hands tearing your skirt up to find his curls and knot through them, keeping Mattheo's head and mouth exactly where you need it.

“Mhmm.. you taste so fucking good.”

Compliments? Ugh. Your toes curl as his tongue continues to slide between your wet folds, sucking at your clit before diving back into you again. Your hips rock to help fuck yourself against his tongue to which he doesn't object to; devouring you like a feral animal who hasn't had a feed in weeks. You can feel your thighs becoming wet; your arousal evident as it paints his chin, the seat, your legs slick. You try to control it; the coil of heat burning in the pit of your stomach but when he shakes his head, tongue flickering over every inch of you on offer, your mind loses it.

Clamping your thighs tightly around him, Mattheo continues to let his tongue work magic; sucking at your folds before one final hit at your clit that has you not only seeing stars but almost seeing the whites and sparkle of what you can only guess are the pearly gates of heaven. Breathing heavily, you feel your legs lose tension as you unknown your fingers from his curls; face flushed and body quivering as you struggle to regain your breath.

“Holy fuck that was -..”

“Amazing?”, Mattheo asks, picking himself up off the floor to take the seat beside you again.

You blush a little harder; struggling to pick up your quill, yet you manage to, crossing out on the list what you wrote to reconfirm what you'd doubted. Mattheo's gaze turns from hungry to soft as you correct your admittance.

A tongue that belongs to me.

He can't help but gloat; chest puffed out, chin still glistening as he smirks your way. Leaning across, Mattheo presses a kiss to your temple, slinking an arm around your shoulders almost possessively.

“I'll admit baby girl, I'm kind of impressed I was able to change your mind so quickly. Tell me though - are there other lists or am I the only boy oh so fortunate?”

“Oh”, you chuckle, shifting your tie around your neck to adjust it for some breathing room, “There's another list.”

“Another?”, Mattheo spits out immediately. The way you've suggested it and he's said it, making it clear that apart from his laying on the desk in front of you, there's only one other in existence.

“Mhmm”, you mumble in confirmation.

“So who's the guy?”

Oh this is fun - he got to tease you, and now the tables have turned in your favour for you to tease him. Twirling your quill between your fingertips, you reach out to dip the tip into your ink pot and smirk.

“Theodore”, you explain with nothing more than his best friend's name.

“...and is his ‘list’ as extensive as mine?”

“Oh it's longer..”, you giggle, trying to focus back on your studies, “..and before you ask, yeah - I've signed it.”

[bi4bisamjess]

Travis Martinez: Masculinity and Control in Yellowjackets

sorry for the pretentious title. i need to talk about travis for a second. i have a consistent mythos in my head about who he is as a character that i forget people don't have. yes i am embarrassed. incredibly long meta under the cut.

First and foremost, I think it is so important to remember that this guy is a LOSER. He's never been to a school dance. He got made fun of and given a cruel nickname in the 7th grade that has stuck with him all throughout high school. He hates his dad, or at least has complex feelings about him. He's never had sex. He is so insecure that it is laughable.

We can only assume that Travis's dad shaped some of his perceptions of what it means to be a man. In the pilot, we have Coach Martinez honestly, if not cruelly, tell Jackie her worth is in her influence and that she is not particularly skilled at soccer. Coach Martinez's office has several pictures of his family, yet seems distant from his wife and Travis when they leave for nationals. We can see Travis's complex relationship with masculinity (misogyny with Nat's perceived sexual history, stoicism, and aggression to mask emotional distress), and can only assume that a stoic, critical, and distant father is one of the reasons for this. But we could also discuss 90s masculinity and cultural influence as well.

Travis was not (obviously written to be) athletically skilled as a kid, and is not mentioned to be on a sports team. He had a spinal fusion at 13, presumably due to some chronic health issue like scoliosis. His father invests time into the Yellowjackets team, and we see Ben describe them in flashbacks as monsters, so clearly there is some sort of reverence Coach Martinez has for ruthlessness and success. In the original script of episode 4 (I think), we see Travis described as a "sensitive kid trying hard not to be" (or something along those lines), and I can certainly see resentment building between Travis and the Yellowjackets as they represent everything his dad wanted him to be-- athletically skilled, successful, and cut throat. He is resistant to receiving help, outright lashes out in order to maintain this fragile identity as masculine and independent.

He has an interesting sibling relationship with Javi where he is simultaneously trying to force his own thoughts of their father onto him ("Dad was a dick") and protect him from the reality/brutality of their situation (does not tell Javi he dug up the body for the ring). Coach Martinez gives Javi gum for the flight, a gesture of care, and seemingly does not extend the same to Travis. We see Javi as innocent, naive, and artistic. He is presumably unaware of the marital problems in their family, while Travis is. Where Travis resents the Yellowjackets for the attention they receive from his father, he resents Javi because he is supported emotionally and allowed to be soft.

He values honesty, and the audience can see this in seasons one and two– Nat obscuring her relationship with Bobby Farleigh is the initial reason why they break up in 1x7, Nat planting Javi’s shorts is similarly a big point of contention. He is quick to project his own insecurities onto other people, namely Nat-- any skill or sexual experience she has is an attack on his worth as a man. He consistently sabotages his relationship with her by lashing out, not because Nat is doing anything wrong, but because he is afraid of being perceived as not good enough.

Travis’s arc throughout the show is interesting, especially because the audience sees Travis in season one obsessed with control of his own image, honesty, and power. By season two, he is willing to give in to spirituality-- in winter, he opens up to Lottie's "Wiccan bullshit", seeing ritual and belief as rejecting his own ego in a productive way. I have seen a good amount of people talk about how Travis's passivity in the second and third season is his way of protecting himself from the rest of the team, especially following his assault and almost murder in 1x9, but I think there is a little more nuance than just this. There is still an element of Travis seeking control within the routine of Lottie's spirituality. He cannot find Javi following the events of doomcoming, cannot find food in the winter months, cannot protect Shauna from the risk of childbirth, so he submits himself to drinking the tea Lottie prepares, praying, and ritual self harm.

Following Javi's death, we see Travis completely submit. He consumes his brother’s body not only to survive, but also to spiritually keep Javi with him. He eats Javi’s heart as a display of devotion, reverence, and attachment. His acceptance of Nat’s leadership comes from similar motivations, and this marks his almost complete relinquishment of autonomy within the group.

By season three, he is no longer hunting. He is completely detached from the team, past Lottie, Akilah, and the wilderness itself. He spends his time tripping on shrooms to “listen” when Lottie no longer can. It makes a lot of sense why fan opinion has gotten more positive– Travis this season is so passive that he becomes pathetic, both to the audience and the characters. Van, Tai, and Lottie each try to protect him, Akilah provides him with comfort. The rest of the group does not punish Travis for his lack of contribution as they did Jackie– they largely ignore him. And once his two main acts of autonomy (escaping with Kodiak, killing Lottie) fail, there is nothing left. He does not participate in the final hunt of Mari, and the group allows him to get drunk or high with no consequence. It is only when Travis is in Shauna's way that she cares about his lack of participation. The writers have officially connected the proud, aggressive season one Travis to what we know of him in the adult timeline– an isolated addict. He dies doing exactly what he did in the woods: trying to submit himself to meaning, to something bigger than himself, and dying for it.