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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months

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Your car spies on you and rats you out to insurance companies

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW (Mar 13) in SAN FRANCISCO with ROBIN SLOAN, then Toronto, NYC, Anaheim, and more!

Another characteristically brilliant Kashmir Hill story for The New York Times reveals another characteristically terrible fact about modern life: your car secretly records fine-grained telemetry about your driving and sells it to data-brokers, who sell it to insurers, who use it as a pretext to gouge you on premiums:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/11/technology/carmakers-driver-tracking-insurance.html

Almost every car manufacturer does this: Hyundai, Nissan, Ford, Chrysler, etc etc:

https://www.repairerdrivennews.com/2020/09/09/ford-state-farm-ford-metromile-honda-verisk-among-insurer-oem-telematics-connections/

This is true whether you own or lease the car, and it's separate from the "black box" your insurer might have offered to you in exchange for a discount on your premiums. In other words, even if you say no to the insurer's carrot – a surveillance-based discount – they've got a stick in reserve: buying your nonconsensually harvested data on the open market.

I've always hated that saying, "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product," the reason being that it posits decent treatment as a customer reward program, like the little ramekin warm nuts first class passengers get before takeoff. Companies don't treat you well when you pay them. Companies treat you well when they fear the consequences of treating you badly.

Take Apple. The company offers Ios users a one-tap opt-out from commercial surveillance, and more than 96% of users opted out. Presumably, the other 4% were either confused or on Facebook's payroll. Apple – and its army of cultists – insist that this proves that our world's woes can be traced to cheapskate "consumers" who expected to get something for nothing by using advertising-supported products.

But here's the kicker: right after Apple blocked all its rivals from spying on its customers, it began secretly spying on those customers! Apple has a rival surveillance ad network, and even if you opt out of commercial surveillance on your Iphone, Apple still secretly spies on you and uses the data to target you for ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Even if you're paying for the product, you're still the product – provided the company can get away with treating you as the product. Apple can absolutely get away with treating you as the product, because it lacks the historical constraints that prevented Apple – and other companies – from treating you as the product.

As I described in my McLuhan lecture on enshittification, tech firms can be constrained by four forces:

I. Competition

II. Regulation

III. Self-help

IV. Labor

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/30/go-nuts-meine-kerle/#ich-bin-ein-bratapfel

When companies have real competitors – when a sector is composed of dozens or hundreds of roughly evenly matched firms – they have to worry that a maltreated customer might move to a rival. 40 years of antitrust neglect means that corporations were able to buy their way to dominance with predatory mergers and pricing, producing today's inbred, Habsburg capitalism. Apple and Google are a mobile duopoly, Google is a search monopoly, etc. It's not just tech! Every sector looks like this:

https://www.openmarketsinstitute.org/learn/monopoly-by-the-numbers

Eliminating competition doesn't just deprive customers of alternatives, it also empowers corporations. Liberated from "wasteful competition," companies in concentrated industries can extract massive profits. Think of how both Apple and Google have "competitively" arrived at the same 30% app tax on app sales and transactions, a rate that's more than 1,000% higher than the transaction fees extracted by the (bloated, price-gouging) credit-card sector:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/07/curatorial-vig/#app-tax

But cartels' power goes beyond the size of their warchest. The real source of a cartel's power is the ease with which a small number of companies can arrive at – and stick to – a common lobbying position. That's where "regulatory capture" comes in: the mobile duopoly has an easier time of capturing its regulators because two companies have an easy time agreeing on how to spend their app-tax billions:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/

Apple – and Google, and Facebook, and your car company – can violate your privacy because they aren't constrained regulation, just as Uber can violate its drivers' labor rights and Amazon can violate your consumer rights. The tech cartels have captured their regulators and convinced them that the law doesn't apply if it's being broken via an app:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/18/cursed-are-the-sausagemakers/#how-the-parties-get-to-yes

In other words, Apple can spy on you because it's allowed to spy on you. America's last consumer privacy law was passed in 1988, and it bans video-store clerks from leaking your VHS rental history. Congress has taken no action on consumer privacy since the Reagan years:

https://www.eff.org/tags/video-privacy-protection-act

But tech has some special enshittification-resistant characteristics. The most important of these is interoperability: the fact that computers are universal digital machines that can run any program. HP can design a printer that rejects third-party ink and charge $10,000/gallon for its own colored water, but someone else can write a program that lets you jailbreak your printer so that it accepts any ink cartridge:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Tech companies that contemplated enshittifying their products always had to watch over their shoulders for a rival that might offer a disenshittification tool and use that as a wedge between the company and its customers. If you make your website's ads 20% more obnoxious in anticipation of a 2% increase in gross margins, you have to consider the possibility that 40% of your users will google "how do I block ads?" Because the revenue from a user who blocks ads doesn't stay at 100% of the current levels – it drops to zero, forever (no user ever googles "how do I stop blocking ads?").

The majority of web users are running an ad-blocker:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

Web operators made them an offer ("free website in exchange for unlimited surveillance and unfettered intrusions") and they made a counteroffer ("how about 'nah'?"):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

Here's the thing: reverse-engineering an app – or any other IP-encumbered technology – is a legal minefield. Just decompiling an app exposes you to felony prosecution: a five year sentence and a $500k fine for violating Section 1201 of the DMCA. But it's not just the DMCA – modern products are surrounded with high-tech tripwires that allow companies to invoke IP law to prevent competitors from augmenting, recongifuring or adapting their products. When a business says it has "IP," it means that it has arranged its legal affairs to allow it to invoke the power of the state to control its customers, critics and competitors:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

An "app" is just a web-page skinned in enough IP to make it a crime to add an ad-blocker to it. This is what Jay Freeman calls "felony contempt of business model" and it's everywhere. When companies don't have to worry about users deploying self-help measures to disenshittify their products, they are freed from the constraint that prevents them indulging the impulse to shift value from their customers to themselves.

Apple owes its existence to interoperability – its ability to clone Microsoft Office's file formats for Pages, Numbers and Keynote, which saved the company in the early 2000s – and ever since, it has devoted its existence to making sure no one ever does to Apple what Apple did to Microsoft:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/adversarial-interoperability-reviving-elegant-weapon-more-civilized-age-slay

Regulatory capture cuts both ways: it's not just about powerful corporations being free to flout the law, it's also about their ability to enlist the law to punish competitors that might constrain their plans for exploiting their workers, customers, suppliers or other stakeholders.

The final historical constraint on tech companies was their own workers. Tech has very low union-density, but that's in part because individual tech workers enjoyed so much bargaining power due to their scarcity. This is why their bosses pampered them with whimsical campuses filled with gourmet cafeterias, fancy gyms and free massages: it allowed tech companies to convince tech workers to work like government mules by flattering them that they were partners on a mission to bring the world to its digital future:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/10/the-proletarianization-of-tech-workers/

For tech bosses, this gambit worked well, but failed badly. On the one hand, they were able to get otherwise powerful workers to consent to being "extremely hardcore" by invoking Fobazi Ettarh's spirit of "vocational awe":

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

On the other hand, when you motivate your workers by appealing to their sense of mission, the downside is that they feel a sense of mission. That means that when you demand that a tech worker enshittifies something they missed their mother's funeral to deliver, they will experience a profound sense of moral injury and refuse, and that worker's bargaining power means that they can make it stick.

Or at least, it did. In this era of mass tech layoffs, when Google can fire 12,000 workers after a $80b stock buyback that would have paid their wages for the next 27 years, tech workers are learning that the answer to "I won't do this and you can't make me" is "don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out" (AKA "sharpen your blades boys"):

https://techcrunch.com/2022/09/29/elon-musk-texts-discovery-twitter/

With competition, regulation, self-help and labor cleared away, tech firms – and firms that have wrapped their products around the pluripotently malleable core of digital tech, including automotive makers – are no longer constrained from enshittifying their products.

And that's why your car manufacturer has chosen to spy on you and sell your private information to data-brokers and anyone else who wants it. Not because you didn't pay for the product, so you're the product. It's because they can get away with it.

Cars are enshittified. The dozens of chips that auto makers have shoveled into their car design are only incidentally related to delivering a better product. The primary use for those chips is autoenshittification – access to legal strictures ("IP") that allows them to block modifications and repairs that would interfere with the unfettered abuse of their own customers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

The fact that it's a felony to reverse-engineer and modify a car's software opens the floodgates to all kinds of shitty scams. Remember when Bay Staters were voting on a ballot measure to impose right-to-repair obligations on automakers in Massachusetts? The only reason they needed to have the law intervene to make right-to-repair viable is that Big Car has figured out that if it encrypts its diagnostic messages, it can felonize third-party diagnosis of a car, because decrypting the messages violates the DMCA:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2013/11/drm-cars-will-drive-consumers-crazy

Big Car figured out that VIN locking – DRM for engine components and subassemblies – can felonize the production and the installation of third-party spare parts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

The fact that you can't legally modify your car means that automakers can go back to their pre-2008 ways, when they transformed themselves into unregulated banks that incidentally manufactured the cars they sold subprime loans for. Subprime auto loans – over $1t worth! – absolutely relies on the fact that borrowers' cars can be remotely controlled by lenders. Miss a payment and your car's stereo turns itself on and blares threatening messages at top volume, which you can't turn off. Break the lease agreement that says you won't drive your car over the county line and it will immobilize itself. Try to change any of this software and you'll commit a felony under Section 1201 of the DMCA:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

Tesla, naturally, has the most advanced anti-features. Long before BMW tried to rent you your seat-heater and Mercedes tried to sell you a monthly subscription to your accelerator pedal, Teslas were demon-haunted nightmare cars. Miss a Tesla payment and the car will immobilize itself and lock you out until the repo man arrives, then it will blare its horn and back itself out of its parking spot. If you "buy" the right to fully charge your car's battery or use the features it came with, you don't own them – they're repossessed when your car changes hands, meaning you get less money on the used market because your car's next owner has to buy these features all over again:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

And all this DRM allows your car maker to install spyware that you're not allowed to remove. They really tipped their hand on this when the R2R ballot measure was steaming towards an 80% victory, with wall-to-wall scare ads that revealed that your car collects so much information about you that allowing third parties to access it could lead to your murder (no, really!):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

That's why your car spies on you. Because it can. Because the company that made it lacks constraint, be it market-based, legal, technological or its own workforce's ethics.

One common critique of my enshittification hypothesis is that this is "kind of sensible and normal" because "there’s something off in the consumer mindset that we’ve come to believe that the internet should provide us with amazing products, which bring us joy and happiness and we spend hours of the day on, and should ask nothing back in return":

https://freakonomics.com/podcast/how-to-have-great-conversations/

What this criticism misses is that this isn't the companies bargaining to shift some value from us to them. Enshittification happens when a company can seize all that value, without having to bargain, exploiting law and technology and market power over buyers and sellers to unilaterally alter the way the products and services we rely on work.

A company that doesn't have to fear competitors, regulators, jailbreaking or workers' refusal to enshittify its products doesn't have to bargain, it can take. It's the first lesson they teach you in the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

Your car spying on you isn't down to your belief that your carmaker "should provide you with amazing products, which brings your joy and happiness you spend hours of the day on, and should ask nothing back in return." It's not because you didn't pay for the product, so now you're the product. It's because they can get away with it.

The consequences of this spying go much further than mere insurance premium hikes, too. Car telemetry sits at the top of the funnel that the unbelievably sleazy data broker industry uses to collect and sell our data. These are the same companies that sell the fact that you visited an abortion clinic to marketers, bounty hunters, advertisers, or vengeful family members pretending to be one of those:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/07/safegraph-spies-and-lies/#theres-no-i-in-uterus

Decades of pro-monopoly policy led to widespread regulatory capture. Corporate cartels use the monopoly profits they extract from us to pay for regulatory inaction, allowing them to extract more profits.

But when it comes to privacy, that period of unchecked corporate power might be coming to an end. The lack of privacy regulation is at the root of so many problems that a pro-privacy movement has an unstoppable constituency working in its favor.

At EFF, we call this "privacy first." Whether you're worried about grifters targeting vulnerable people with conspiracy theories, or teens being targeted with media that harms their mental health, or Americans being spied on by foreign governments, or cops using commercial surveillance data to round up protesters, or your car selling your data to insurance companies, passing that long-overdue privacy legislation would turn off the taps for the data powering all these harms:

https://www.eff.org/wp/privacy-first-better-way-address-online-harms

Traditional economics fails because it thinks about markets without thinking about power. Monopolies lead to more than market power: they produce regulatory capture, power over workers, and state capture, which felonizes competition through IP law. The story that our problems stem from the fact that we just don't spend enough money, or buy the wrong products, only makes sense if you willfully ignore the power that corporations exert over our lives. It's nice to think that you can shop your way out of a monopoly, because that's a lot easier than voting your way out of a monopoly, but no matter how many times you vote with your wallet, the cartels that control the market will always win:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/05/the-map-is-not-the-territory/#apor-locksmith

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/12/market-failure/#car-wars

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

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zephyrchama · 3 months

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Obey Me! brothers and an MC with long hair...

---

It drives Lucifer crazy. He's constantly asking you to clean the shower drain and nagging at you to either pull it back while studying or cut it short. His tune changes at night, when there's a chance to unwind with his favorite record. One hand cups a glass of Demonus while the other idly runs through your hair. He'll brush his fingers through it to the tune of his music. He'll grab a fistful of it and let his imagination run wild. The next morning he's back to complaining about the drain again and dropping a scrunchie on your head.

---

It's such a distraction for Mammon. He'll drape your hair across his shoulders like a scarf or hold it up to his lips like a fake mustache to make you laugh. He'll bury his face in it to escape from the world when his brothers find a new reason to be mad at him. He'll tug on it if he feels you're not paying enough attention to him. Mammon enjoys wrapping your hair around his fingers and rings. He's very possessive over it. He has a habit of sticking stuff in it like a mischievous little boy, but instead of gum he'll plant flowers and leaves in your hair, then kick back and watch as you dig out a mirror to see what he's stuck on your head this time.

---

Leviathan has a hoard of anime-themed hair accessories that don't suit him. He only bought them for collection purposes, but now that you're around he's always looking for an excuse for you to wear one. It's too adorable. He's mesmerized over the way your hair bounces and sways in pigtails, versus how elegant you can look when a high bun exposes your neck. He wants photos of them all. If you sit in front of him, Leviathan will comb his dexterous fingers through your hair and ask to style it. He enjoys the smell of your shampoo lingering on his hand and on the accessories he lends you.

---

Satan idly plays with your hair while he reads or spaces out. Most of the time he doesn't realize he's doing it. It does irk him when he finds a stray hair in the pages of his book, or on his clothes, but he doesn't vocalize it like Lucifer does. He'll take matters into his own hands. You'll find Satan randomly tying up your hair without warning, then look all smug admiring his own handiwork. The elastic hair ties he keeps in his pocket for you double as toys for any playful stray he spots on the street. If you have a hair out of place then Satan will tuck it back for you, slowly smoothing it out while making intense eye contact.

---

You never knew how many hairstyles existed until you met Asmodeus. He frequently asks to try out new ideas and products with your hair. He comes to brush it when he wants to vent. Spa days are his way of bonding, wherein he'll wrap your long hair up in a towel and wrap his arms around you while it dries. Asmodeus is addicted to the feeling of it, freshly combed, falling across his skin. He uses your hair as an excuse to touch you and will match your shampoo scents with his. You have to admit the feel of his nails against your scalp is incredibly relaxing, and his intuition for fashion is never wrong. He loves watching you admire his work in the mirror while singing his praises.

---

It worries Beelzebub. He worries your hair will get stuck on something, as he's had to help you untangle it from a hook more than once. He worries someone will use it to hurt you, as he's seen Mammon pull it to tease you. He worries it will get in the food, since he's choked on a long strand before. Whenever you're in the kitchen, asking Beel to tie your hair back is a good way to distract him until the food is done, as long as you don't use a fruit-scented shampoo. When you do, it's fun to have him guess what fruit you smell like and compare it to the real thing. Beelzebub is always conscious of your safety and won't hesitate to put a protective hand on the back of your head if you're walking past a low tree branch or leaning over a pot of oil. He's trying to learn to braid for you.

---

Belphegor finds it annoying to wake up with a mouthful of your long hair. It's pretty, but he hates getting his hands tangled in it while he naps, or finding strands of it on his sheets. If it didn't smell so good he'd have already cut it for you. His solution is to buy you soft hooded pajamas. He thinks it's cute to button a big plush hood (think of kigurumi) around your head and tuck the hair inside it. Sometimes he gets really ugly ones because they're funny. Then he has no problem using your head as his personal headrest. He likes rubbing your head because of the expressions you make. The only downside to these hoods is that he can't enjoy your messy bedhead, so he makes sure to take them off for you, too.

#i didn't proofread this i hope it doesn't suck. i'm gonna go brush my hair now.#also there's no yellow text now? i had to find an html generator for yellow dashes. where did the yellow text option go.#obey me #obey me!#omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanon #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me x mc #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me scenarios #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me x reader

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kenntolog · 25 days

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Other than CoolBF! sukuna and loser gf! Reader, I can't believe many people aren't talking about loner! Choso 😭😭 it's so cute?? 😭 The MYRIAD of things that can happen to them like reader asking choso to do make up on him because 1. It's cute and 2. She wants to practice her make up skills 😭 both are cute

𝝑𝝔 an: thank u thank u thaaank uu, lovely anon!! hope you enjoy this <33 read more here!!

choso literally teleports to your side as soon as you call out for him from your bedroom. he puts away every task he had in hand and walks into your room, giving you a questioning look before he notices you sitting on your bed with a pile of cosmetic stuff by your side. you beckon him to come sit with you and crawl on his lap, making him hiss from the unexpectedness.

"choo~" you cup his cheeks with both hands and beam at him brightly. "can i do your make up?"

honestly, you can do anything you want to him as long as you're in his lap and he can run his hands all over your body, just like he's doing now. so he just smiles at you lovingly and nods in agreement, his heart warming when you squeal in happiness and lean down to peck his cheeks repeatedly.

it's also a bonus that he gets to be so close to you and listen to your endless rambles and watch your expressive face, one of his favorite things to do. to be honest, half of the things you say he doesn't understand generally, but he still nods and says 'sure' whenever you look at him for confirmation.

you put a lot of stuff on his face, he has no idea what is a 'primer' or 'conceaaler', but he knows what is a moisturizer since you force him to at least do that every morning and night. you dab about a million products on his face with a spongy thing while you hum along to your favorie songs and tell him to shut up whenever he joins you too.

"choso! you're gonna ruin the lip combo, stop!" "sorry, pup."

when it's time to put on eye makeup, choso has the opportunity to witness the cute face you make whenever you’re extremely focused on something; brows pinched together and the tip of your tongue sticking out of your mouth as one of your hands tilts his face to the right angle while the other glides the eyeliner over his eyelid. it kind of tickles and he has the urge to tickle you back, but he doesn't want to ruin your hard work so he just stays silent until you are finished.

"oh!" you exclaim as you pull away to look at him. your eyes are glimmering with joy and pride so he takes it that he doesn't look like a clown. "cho, you look so pretty!"

you give him a small mirror, "i do?"

one thing that surprises him is that his dark undereyes are almost fully covered while the tattoo on his nose is visible. his lips are also not colourless anymore, now contoured with soft pink and a covered with a lipstick that's a bit darker and a gloss. there's a matching shade of artficial blush covering his cheeks and his brows look more neat. his eyes have curled lashes and drawn ends, looking more graceful than ever.

"do you like it, choso?"

"if you like it, then i love it."

your smile is so wide that choso can't help his own from stretching on his coloured lips. if you're going to smile like this for him every time then he's ready to be your doll forever.

#— miya writes!#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk choso #choso #choso x female reader #choso x you #choso fluff #choso kamo #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #fluff

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murdrdocs · 27 days

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lots of scent talk? fingering; foursome; MDNI 18+ w/ ART DONALDSON & PATRICK ZWEIG & TASHI DUNCAN

the hotel room is victim to a stiff heat unlike anything you've ever felt before. you've been privy to the heat that comes with matches in the south, and you're well aware of what happens when the AC decides to break in the tiny hotel rooms they've put you in.

but this heat is different. it's uncomfortable, yes, but that makes you want it more. it has a stench, strong to the point where it's loud. it blares in your face, almost taking your attention off of them. almost.

you're surrounded by their bodies, the heat of the room radiating off of them. there's a different heat to all of them. unique in ways that will implement itself into your mind to be called on later.

art has a cleanliness to him. he's warm, burning up when you touch his face, ears, and neck. but he's sturdy. he's desperate, pulling your leg over his hip as he grinds his crotch into yours. his boner presses into you almost awkwardly. it's maneuvered by art's hips, and eventually, it lays flat against you through his gingham boxers after some effort. you have your legs spread as far as they can go, welcoming the heat of art's dick against the taunt crotch of your panties. when he's not kissing you, he's breathing into you. this is supposed to be foreplay, but art's getting off to it. his forehead rests against yours and his nose is slotted right up against yours as he breathes onto you. he breathes with you. he breathes into you, releasing air into your awaiting mouth.

every so often, he'll stick his tongue out and probe it into your mouth, maybe swipe it along your bottom lip. eventually, you catch his tongue with your lips, puckering them around the muscle until you have a good enough grip to suck. your head even starts bobbing as if you're sucking him off. and this gets art. he grinds into you with more fervor. he groans low in the back of his throat in the way that he does when you've helped him roll out a particularly tense part of his body.

you have to slow him down from cumming too soon by bringing your bent leg up between you both, nudging your knee cap into his chest. one of his big hands pushes your leg out from between you both, and then he goes in. he doesn't wait, he doesn't hesitate, and it's only through the jesting coming from beside you that he stops. you take your lips from around his tongue and he keeps the muscle there for a second, suspended in air, before he licks his lips and finally closes his mouth.

and then comes the heat from patrick. this heat is similar to the one in the hotel room, likely the largest contributor. stiff, a strong stench. he's musky in the way that says he isn't completely well groomed, but it works for him. his musk is one of money. you can smell it on him—the hints of cologne still not washed off, the smell of fabric softener you likely cannot and will not get in the aisles of a regular grocery store, the waft of hair products that smell just clean enough. it all works to barely mask the musk from his skin, the smell of sweat working against deodorant and everything else included.

patrick kisses at your neck first, burying his nose behind your ear as his hand slides over your collarbones and latches onto the other side of your neck. he pulls you closer to him. he grips the side of your neck, digging his fingertips into the flesh, bringing his thumb around front and clutching. he holds you and you like it. your back arches and you don't have to be told to turn your head, but patrick directs you anyway.

his hand is warm when it slides up to your cheek. he sandwiches your face, pressing four of his fingers into one cheek and his thumb into the other. he pulls you towards him, bringing you to the heat of his mouth. there isn't any hesitance before he has his tongue pressing against yours, your tongues sliding together from the tips to as far back as you can reach.

there comes a moment where patrick, likely driven by his need to be as close to you as possible, nudges his tongue a little too far back. he slides it along the top of your mouth, running it along the ridges, and then he presses into the back of your tongue, almost triggering your gag reflex. you jerk as if he had and try to move back, but patrick holds you still. he eases up a bit, ceasing his almost never ending addition of saliva onto your mouth.

art has stilled a bit between your legs, but he's still fidgety. he has his fingers tapping against your knees and eventually, without much warning at all, they stop. your eyes are closed, lost in bliss of patrick giving you yet another prideful mark, but you open them to the sound of kissing. you see tashi attached to art. she has her hands on his face, pulling him away from you. he leaves the space between your legs empty as he crawls over to tashi, his head tilted up as he rests upon her altar.

you don't know how long they're there. you're too busy sitting in the fever settling over your body while trying your best to reciprocate patrick's lips over yours while his fingers pump in and out of you. but soon there's another pair of fingers gliding down your cunt, running around patrick's two thick fingers down to where you're gushing out arousal. it's tashi, kneeling between your legs. over patrick's head, you see art sitting off to the side, his feet tucked under his butt and his hands rubbing up and down his legs almost as if he's nervously waiting for something.

you can't attempt to decipher his intentions when tashi nudges patrick's wrist to the side, turning his fingers inside of you to a new angle that has you gasping. patrick shushes you quickly, kissing into the center pit of your neck.

tashi's heat is sweet. it's comforting and familiar. she places her fingers onto your clit, rubbing your own arousal around your pert bud. she settles in between your thighs, running her tongue along your inner thigh. you can't smell her until a gust of wind pushes through the open window, and she smells like perfumes and body oils and lotions. they are either all the same, or they just compliment each other well enough. she smells like a kiosk in the mall, but less over powering. she smells gentle, like warm flowers. the heat of her lips against your inner thighs is nice. it's heavy, but less imposing than the heat of curiosity from patrick on your neck. less intense than the heat of primal desire you felt from art.

she's gentle, the reprieve you need from the intense way patrick shoves his fingers into you and the satisfaction you desired from when art had clumsily knocked his hips into yours. she's slower on your clit, helping your orgasm build up as patrick digs and searches for the spot that she can find easily.

"it's to the left," she tells him, and just like that, patrick finds the spot. your hand wraps around patrick's wrist, your nails digging into his skin.

tashi looks up at you, her smile small but very much there. it's visible and familiar, the same smile you saw her wear whenever patrick and art pushed their lips together for the first time without any inhibitions. it's knowing.

she knows that despite the stiff heat circulating through the room, and the individual heat coming from each of you only making it worse, this is part of your dream. your deepest darkest desire that you only admitted to her no more than 48 hours ago whenever you first laid eyes on fire and ice as they'd been dubbed.

she jerks her head to her right just a bit, enough to signal something to you. your eyes turn and you see art, still sitting in the same spot but with his cock pulled out. he's slowly tracing his thumb over the tip, spreading what looks to be a sizable drop of precum over his head. when you find tashi again, she lifts her thick eyebrows once and you know that look. she's asking you if you want a taste.

she leans up, occupying the space previously taken by art. her smile widens when her eyes meet yours. you can feel it hovering over your lips when she brings her head down. instinctively, your head tilts up as you wait for her to knock your lips together. she doesn't do it immediately and you feel pathetic as you wait. you feel like art.

"yeah?" she asks, her lips moving closer and closer to yours.

"yeah," you confirm. and finally, she presses her lips to yours.

#patricksworld!#artsworld!#tashisworld!#art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #celeste writes challengers

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stardustloserdoll · 5 months

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hii can you do friends to lovers with johnnie x youtuber!reader? and the reader is like friends with jake and thats how they met? love your work btw <3

tyyy 🩷

you know i’ll keep you in my locket

“y/n you made it! come, i want you to meet someone!” jake quickly grabbed my hand, dragging me through the crowd pulling me in many directions. until he stopped in his tracks, “ah there he is.” jake spoke turning back giving me a smile. “johnnieee.” jake sang pulling me next to him with a big smile on his face.

“what.” the guy johnnie said looking up from his drink to look at jake. “this is y/n! remember i told you all about them?” johnnie nodded his head sending a smile towards me “yeah you yapped a bunch about them.” johnnie replied, making me laugh. “you know me, the yap king. anyways, y/n! this is johnnie.”

i smiled waving at johnnie “hey, nice to meet you. jakes also told me a lot about you. i like your shirt by the way.” johnnies eyes lit up “you like this band?” i nodded my head “i love them! i have all of their cds and posters all over my room.” i laughed putting my hands in my pockets. jake watching us with a big smile on his face.

“oh yeah johnnie! y/n is also a youtuber! i think you guys should do a collab together. it should be fun.” jake said wrapping his arms around our shoulders. “im down.” i smiled looking over to johnnie. “yeah me too.”

ever since that day, johnnie and i have been inseparable. every time i saw him, the bigger my crush on him got. i always got nervous and stuttered around him, probably making it obvious i liked him. i don’t know if i’ll ever tell him how i feel..

"hi everyone, today i have a special guest joining me…johnnie!" i smiled pulling him in frame "hi."

"johnnies going to attempt to do my makeup. i glanced at johnnie sending him a reassuring smile."i know he'll do great."

johnnie started applying the foundation onto my face, patting it down softly. "how about we tell them how we met." i said moving some hair out of my face.

"ooh you're right!" johnnie smiled moving onto the eyeshadow and mascara, "alright so we met at a party, and jake introduced us to each other. jake told me a lot about y/n, but i never got to meet y/n, but i'm glad i finally did."

"aww, johnnie." johnnie smiled tapping my knee signaling he was done. “how’s it looking.” i smiled. "it looks. pretty good actually. i made a mess though." he laughed cleaning where the mascara smudged. "i bet it looks great. now, the hardest part. the eyeliner." i said lifting it up to him. "oh god, if you look like a clown by the end of this im so sorry." johnnie held my face gently as he began applying the eyeliner.

"anyways,” johnnie said resuming “back to the story. it was an instant connection, we liked a lot of the same things, especially our humor. since then, we’ve literally been hang out like..everyday. i'd have to say my favorite person ever is y/n, sorry jake."

"you heard him jake. IM his favorite." i smiled sticking my tongue out. "okay, i think i did pretty good." johnnie said leaning back making sure the wings were sharp. "im really excited to see the finishing product." i said clapping my hands. johnnie set the eyeliner down and told me to open my eyes. "guys look at the matching necklaces johnnie and i got."

"we have pictures of each other in them." johnnie smiled opening the heart locket. "he looks so cute in this picture." i laughed raising it up to the camera. "y/n looks so pretty here." johnnie smiled looking into my eyes, glancing down at my lips.

“why are you looking at me like that.” i laughed pinching his cheek. “what do you mean!” johnnie yelled lifting his arms up. “you’re looking at me like you wanna kiss me.” johnnie turned away, mumbling something under his breath. “what was that johnnie?” he shook his head mumbling a ‘nothing.’ “wait i forgot the lipstick.” johnnie reached over and grabbed the lipstick, carefully applying it.

"okay y/n, are you ready to see your final look." i nodded my head and raised the mirror. “johnnie.” i gasped. “I TOLD YOU IT WAS BAD!” i shook my head. “NO ITS SO GOOD! you have a magic hand.” i smiled setting down the mirror. johnnie smirked at my comment making me hit his shoulder softly.

“okay guys, that’s the end of the video. thank you so much for watching! make sure to like and subscribe, andddd if you want more of johnnie i will have his channel linked down below. say bye johnnie!” i wrapped my arm around his shoulder waving. “baaaiii!”

“i had so much fun johnnie.” i grinned setting my hands on my lap. “me too, i always have fun with you y/n.” johnnie smiled as he played with the necklace. “uh y/n. can i ask you something.” i nodded my head “yeah of course.”

“well,” johnnie hesitated “um i’ve really enjoyed spending time with you lately, and we’ve gotten really close. the more i spend time with you, the more i start to fall even more in love with you.” i blushed placing my hands on top of his. “i feel the same way. ever since i met you i instantly fell for you. i love everything about you johnnie.”

johnnies eyes widened at that, a faint blush spreading on his pale cheeks. “well, what do you say we make it official?” i asked holding his hand. “id love to.”

#johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert fluff

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theambitiouswoman · 10 months

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11 Lessons from the book Atomic Habits 🌟

"Atomic Habits" focuses on incorporating small, consistent habits into our lives to bring about significant change over time. The book introduces a four-step model for building habits, emphasizing cues, cravings, responses, and rewards. It also guides you in overcoming bad habits and self-limiting beliefs, demonstrating how simple habits can lead to substantial progress toward our goals.

Lesson 1: Habits Over Hobbies: You are not inherently bad at your hobbies. Instead, it's the lack of consistent habits that has held you back.

Lesson 2: Identity Matters: Our self-image greatly influences our habits. While it's important, you shouldn't let it hinder your growth.

Lesson 3: Stacking Habits: The concept of habit stacking involves adding a new behavior to an existing habit, which can help you build a more effective morning routine.

Lesson 4: Embrace the System: Rather than solely focusing on goals, it's important to love the process—the journey itself. It's about embracing the system that leads to progress.

Lesson 5: Something is Better Than Nothing: Even small efforts are valuable. The "Two-Minute Rule" encourages starting new habits that take less than two minutes.

Lesson 6: Overcoming Boredom: Staying motivated in habits requires keeping them interesting and within the right level of challenge. "The Goldilocks Rule" emphasizes that tasks on the edge of our abilities are most motivating. Habits won't always be exciting, and that's okay.

Lesson 7: Bouncing Back from Misses: Missing a habit occasionally is normal, but missing it twice can turn into a new habit. The key is to rebound quickly, maintaining the compound gains from previous good days.

Lesson 8: Shaping Your Potential: Our genes affect what we're good at and the chances we get. Instead of feeling stuck by genes, we should use our strengths. Special traits are like superpowers. Questions in the chapter help us find what we care about. Quotes remind us to focus on self-improvement, not comparing. Genes alone don't bring success; effort matters. Genes give hints, but we shape our success by using our strengths.

Lesson 9: Creating a Supportive Environment: Our surroundings are important. If we change our environment to match the habits we want, we're more likely to succeed. By setting up our space to help our habits, we can make good habits easier. People often limit themselves by thinking they can't do better. He also says that just luck doesn't explain success – hard work does. Whether it's moving stuff around or using visual reminders, these changes can really help us succeed in the long run.

Lesson 10: Creating or Breaking Habits: The Four Steps

These four steps are the foundation upon which many of his ideas are built. They are not only applicable to creating positive habits but also to breaking negative ones.

Cue: This is the trigger that initiates a behavior. It can be a specific time, location, emotional state, or preceding action that prompts your brain to start a habit.

Craving: Craving is the motivation or desire behind a habit. It's the feeling that drives you to engage in the behavior triggered by the cue. It's important to understand the underlying craving to effectively change a habit.

Response: Response refers to the actual behavior that you perform as a result of the cue and craving. This is the action that you take in response to the trigger and motivation.

Reward: Rewards are the positive outcomes or feelings that you associate with completing the habit. They reinforce the habit loop by making you more likely to repeat the behavior in the future.

He explains that these four steps form a habit loop, where each step is interconnected. The loop starts with a cue, followed by craving, which leads to a response, and ultimately ends with a reward. If any part of this loop isn't satisfying, the habit is less likely to stick.

Lesson 11: Success is a product of daily habits and overnight success is not overnight:

Success is not a result of overnight transformations but is instead rooted in the daily habits we cultivate. By recognizing the power of consistent, incremental actions, we can build a solid foundation for lasting success. This perspective challenges the allure of instant success and encourages us to focus on the journey of continuous improvement through daily habits.

#atomic habits #james clear #best seller books #bookshelf #booksbooksbooks #personal improvement #personal development #habits #personal growth #self improvement #self help #self awareness #self love

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howtofightwrite · 9 days

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Most traditional boxing instructors will tell you that if the opponent is taller than you, has longer arms than you, or is heavier than you, you're fucked and you need to stay extremely aware and work really hard to compensate for all the advantage he has over you.

In a recent forensic survey, it was determined that most traditional boxing instructors who get into real world altercations die when they're shot in the head.

This is the problem with a lot of these kinds of arguments. No one practices traditional boxing. At least, no one does so publicly. How do I know this? Because traditionally boxers fought in the nude. Yeah, we're not seeing that, are we? Now, maybe they meant bare knuckle boxing, but really no one does that either, these days. Boxing without safety equipment is not a particularly good idea, for fairly obvious reasons.

The only reason the word, “traditional,” is in the ask is to lend their statement unearned credibility. It's an attempt to make their statement sound more authoritative, without offering any evidence to support the statement.

Who said that?

“Traditional people did.”

Okay, but, 'traditionally,' people cleaned shit off their ass with a stick. So, maybe appealing to Hellenic sports isn't the best gauge of how a fight will play out.

Also, I know I just said it, but, who are these authoritative sports guys? Because they're not named. We're simply told, “most,” of them agree. Which starts to sound a lot like “four out of five dentists agree.” Who are these instructors? What do they teach? Why are the currently in prison for indecent exposure? And how much did you pay them to get their uninformed opinion? Salient questions which may need to be answered, if the original question wasn't invalid on its face.

Why do I say it's invalid?

Because boxing isn't fighting.

Boxing is a sport.

Boxing has rules.

Kick your opponent in the groin, or shin, and you're punished.

Step on their foot, push them, and watch them tumble to the ground before you start stomping on them, and you'll be punished.

Throwing your opponent will be punished.

And of course, as mentioned at the top, pulling out a gun and expanding your opponent's mental horizons is extremely frowned upon.

These are all things that can happen in a real fight.

These are all things that do not benefit from increased height or reach.

There is one genuinely accurate statement. In a fight, you do need to be very aware of what's going on around you. Everything else is the product of someone who's been punched in the head repeatedly until the CTEs got them thinking that boxing is analogous to a real fight in any way. (And, statistically, will probably end their career sitting in a jail cell over an aggravated assault charge, because their emotional self-control was completely destroyed by those same head injuries.)

The rules that boxers need to follow are designed to (somewhat) protect the participants. It reduces the dangers of a boxer being killed in the ring. In an observation that I would hope to be self-evident, those rules don't exist in actual combat.

It's also amusing, because the original Asker had to go so far as to single out an ill-defined, “traditional” boxing, because no other martial art they checked gave them the soundbite they wanted.

And, of course, women box. Historically, you could say, “traditionally,” there were even boxing matches between men and women. It wasn't until the 1880s that women were excluded from competitive boxing in the UK. (I'm not sure of the exact date when women were banned from boxing in the US, though that prohibition lasted for less than a century, before the modern return of women to the sport.)

So, either these “traditional instructors” don't know the history of their own sport... which doesn't sound particularly “traditional” to me, or they're full of shit.

My advice to everyone would be, maybe, don't take the advice of a sports coach about how he's secretly an absolute badass in all the delusional fantasies he's cooked up about how he'd like to inflict violence on others because they wouldn't date him.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers

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attapullman · 7 months

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Domesticated | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: On a lazy Sunday morning with Robert Floyd and your twin girls, you're reminded exactly how well he takes care of your family. And you.

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings & Notes: Robert “Bob” Floyd x f!reader, 18+ ONLY as always, smut, unprotected p in v, creampie, daddy!kink, children, reader has given birth, mentions of pregnancy, food mentions, slice of life vibes, unrealistic depiction of toddlers. This is repurposed and heavily edited from another fic of mine, so if you recognize it...glad to see we're enjoying the same fandoms. Daddy!Bob makes me so damn feral...Lewis has been giving dad vibes this fall...so this is sooooo entirely self indulgent. Sorry not sorry.

The early sun seeps through the thin curtains you bought last summer, the ones you assured your husband would keep the bedroom dark. You were wrong, but he’s never corrected you. Soft cotton rustles beneath you as you turn to your side, burrowing your head in Bob’s chest to enjoy these last few moments of quiet. Enjoying the way his fingers trace along your back as your breaths fall in sync. His eyes flit to the clock on the nightstand, disappointed it’s already six.

As if on cue, the patter of tiny feet sound across the hallway toward where your husband holds you.

The bedroom door flies open and in come your twin girls. Alice and Iris bound into the room, giggles following their every step. You and Bob exchange looks before shutting your eyes, focusing on evening your breathing to mimic sleep. If they fall for your trick they’ll go back to their room to play on this sleepy Sunday morning.

No such luck.

Iris launches her body onto your husband, and Bob flies up in surprise, nearly launching the toddler into space. He catches her in midair and the two exchange matching shocked expressions in their blue eyes. Her sister clambers on her father as well, hoping to join this “hop on pop” game he’s unknowingly created.

From your position still pretending to sleep, you admire Bob. Robert Floyd is everything you could want in a life partner. As a husband, he is attentive and sweet, willing to work through the good and the bad. As a father, he is loving and involved, prioritizing his daughters as much as possible while gunning for admiral. In the five years since you said “I do” he has done nothing but improve your life. It was the best decision you’ve ever made.

Aware of your attention, he catches your barely open eyes and smiles. His hair sticks up in the back from the pillow, and a thick chunk of sun-washed blonde falls over his forehead. He raises a hand to push it back, but the strands are stubborn without product. Bleary cobalt eyes are rubbed before he reaches across the nightstand for his glasses. Once Bob can clearly see he holds the toddlers and bounces them lightly on his knees. Fatherhood is second nature to him, taking to the bumps and joys like he was born for them. Your heart soars with love for the three special humans sat before you.

Knowing your sleep facade is over, you fake a big yawn and sit up, scooting closer to your family. Arms outstretched, Alice clambers into your lap, her bedhead tickling your chin. You smooth down her hair, a soft press of your lips to her crown before leaning over to peck another onto Iris’s cheek.

Bob looks at your expectantly, left out from your affection. The tiniest of pouts on his lips. You lean forward over both girls to leave a chaste kiss on your husband’s lips. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, gorgeous.” The smile doesn’t leave your face until well after your children have dragged you out of bed in search of breakfast.

Once in the kitchen, you lean a hip against the butcher block counter, glancing over the oatmeal packet in the midst of deciding if you want to boil water or use the convenience of the microwave. Two hungry mouths make the choice. As you pop two bowls in the small appliance you feel a presence behind you.

“May I have breakfast too?”

He’s giving you his best puppy eyes, those bright blue bespectacled eyes hopeful. Food always tastes better prepared by his wife. Strong hands wrap around you, squeezing your hips. You’re immediately helpless. “If you sit at the table like your daughters I can possibly make you something to eat. Eggs sound good?”

Your smiling husband nods his agreement, already heading to the kitchen nook where the twins are drawing the images inside their minds. He settles into a sturdy wooden chair, his jean clad legs spreading out under the table, the faded Navy recruitment t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders as he grabs a crayon to make his own scribbles. Well, scribbles in the way crayon can depict only so much of a fairly detailed Super Hornet he’s been working on all week.

The microwave beeps as you finish up the eggs, completing the four breakfasts as you bring them over. A fresh cup of coffee in your spot from when he noticed you were low.

“I knew there was a reason I married you.”

His cheeks blush dusty rose as he dips toast into the runny yolk of his egg. Some days he can’t believe you agreed to marry him, that you wear his ring and bore his children and make sure he leaves each morning with a kiss and a reminder of how much you love him. He’s the luckiest man alive.

Breakfast is enjoyed amongst the chatter of your toddlers. Silence is rare in the house. If there isn’t a fictional tale they’ve fashioned about a toy, it’s continuous questions about inanimate objects and things they’ve seen. Once Bob fell asleep watching the music channel and the girls found themselves watching old KISS videos for an hour.

It was a personal hell mixed with a nightmare hearing them describe everything in graphic detail to Bob’s parents during Friday night dinner.

As you finish your eggs, the twins prattle on about the latest nursery school drama. You’ve never met Connie, but she sounds like a right ol’ jerk for a three year old. Bob nods along passionately, giving his full attention over his nearly empty coffee mug. You have no doubt he will be bringing this up at the next school conference.

With breakfast out of the way, there’s only one other responsibility on a lazy Sunday in the Floyd household. Grocery shopping.

Alice makes a big deal of wearing the socks with a red trim, one of which seems to be missing, and the next half hour is dedicated to Bob and you crawling around the second bedroom peering under furniture. Bob pleads with her to wear any other sock to no avail. No socks if she wants. Thankfully you locate the lone article under some books. How did that get there?

Bob pushes a jacket onto your shoulders with a soft kiss to your cheek as the family trudges out, two toddlers in tow and a long grocery list between your fingers. You turn to give him a proper peck, feeling the slight upturn of his lips as you linger a second longer than necessary.

Once in the store, twins strapped in the cart that their father pushes, you compare the list to the surrounding aisles. Concentration broken by tiny hands pointing out anything shiny or brightly coloured, their favourite characters on the packaging. Bob isn’t much better, subtly adding specialty trail mixes into the cart. You remind the group there’s a list - an agreed upon list - but try saying that to three pouty faces with their hearts set on crackers shaped like planes. “Just like Daddy’s!”

How could you say no to that??

As the car pulls into the driveway of your home, the rear mirror reveals two small faces fast asleep. Alice’s thumb is lodged between her lips, a habit she can’t seem to break, while her sister looks angelic with both hands tucked beneath her head with pouty lips. They look so much like Bob when they sleep, not a care in the world upon their smooth brows.

“Looks like we have two down,” you whisper to Bob. He looks back at them and has to stifle a laugh.

“If you put away the groceries, I’ll get them down for a nap.” You open your mouth to protest. It’s a lot to handle both. “You do all of this yourself when I’m deployed. Give me this.”

Robert Floyd continually makes you fall in love with him.

Car doors open and shut before he’s laden down with a child in each arm. The sight sets off something in your stomach, and you focus harder on grabbing the bok choy that rolled out of one of the bags.

You’ve busied yourself putting groceries in their respective places when you feel hands wrap around you for the second time today. “Thank you for putting away the groceries, my beautiful wife.”

His face is buried in your neck, nose tracing the junction of your shoulder as he breathes in your scent. Those strong arms, veiny under a coat of sun-lightened hairs, tighten around you. He’s missed afternoons when it was just you two, galavanting around the house without little ears to hear.

You twist in Bob’s arms, intertwining your own arms around his lithe waist. Any space between you gone - just two hearts beating as one as you gaze into each other’s eyes. One dexterous hand slides up your back before weaving its way into the strands of your hair. The other slides down to settle above your bum. His fingers twitching to stroke along the seat of your jeans. The desire you felt earlier raises its head again as your eyes trace along his smooth, strong jaw and kind eyes.

“You know, the girls are asleep.”

He chuckles. “Yes?”

“They’ll probably be asleep for another 45 minutes. Maybe an hour if we’re lucky.”

“What are you thinking, sweetheart?”

You widen your eyes and pout your lips ever so slightly. Run your finger down the front of that sexy faded shirt he only wears on the weekends. “I need some adult time with you…Daddy.”

As if a switch has been flipped, Bob’s eyes go from a soft blue to indigo, his grip on you tight. Lips descend upon yours. As your bodies collide, already so little space between you, a moan is trapped between, its owner impossible to identify.

Time sensitivity leads to urgency, and he’s backing you out of the kitchen toward the bedroom, his hand refusing to leave your ass. Steady kisses to your lips and jaw leave you in a trance as you wind your way down the hall. The door closes and you pounce, wrapping your legs around his waist as those strong arms show their strength.

Your mouths are hot and wet, tongues battling for dominance as you commit this feeling to memory. His hands around the back of your thighs, thin lips slotted against yours, the breathy moans when you play with the hair at the back of his neck. The pressing need to be as close to him as possible, soaking in his essence in the short time allotted before having to share him again.

“Daddy, I need you.” Your voice is breathless and needy, mouth glossy as he nips along your neck. Hips roll into yours as he groans against your skin.

Bob has always been dominant in your relationship. He spends enough time letting others call the shots, but in the bedroom he makes the rules. But his Daddy kink didn’t rear its head until you showed him the pregnancy test with the two little lines. It was the tension in his shoulders when you whispered he was going to be a daddy. The little moan when you said it again later that night while he kissed along your thighs. Ever since the term of horny endearment got him hot and bothered in seconds.

He gently pushes you onto the bed, standing between your thighs as he hungrily admires the mother of his children, his wife, the hot girl in the bar his squadron watched him moon over before finally making a move. The erection straining behind his jeans twitches as bespectacled eyes trace over the swell of your breasts.

“I love your body.” His voice is almost soft as he runs his fingers over your top. “It’s so sexy.”

You chuckle through your moans, enjoying the delicious feeling of him stroking your nipples through layers of fabric. When he pushes the hem up your stomach, eyes intensely focused on every inch of exposed skin, you sit up and pull the offending fabric from your body. Nimble fingers slip over your back as the hook of your bra is undone, a sigh of relief leaving you as your breasts are freed.

“The best part of you having kids? Your tits got huge.” His hands cover the flesh, expertly kneading his favourite part of you impatiently. “They barely even fit in my hands anymore.”

A gasp forces itself past your lips as he tugs a nipple sharply.

Soft lips wrap around the bud he isn’t teasing, wetting the skin before pulling back to blow air across your hot skin. You whimper at the sensation, thrusting your chest toward his mouth for more. He offers you an unsympathetic smirk before switching his torture to the other side. Your jean-clad hips buck up against his as quiet, strangled cries fill the air as he plays with you at his own whim.

A glance at the clock reminds him that he can’t enjoy you as he’d like. Leaning back on his haunches, he treats you to a little striptease as your chest heaves in a desperate bid for more attention.

His arm reaches behind his head, pinching the fabric of his shirt. Your mouth fills with saliva, desperate to lick along the vein that protrudes along his bicep. He pulls the shirt over his head, revealing milky skin tantalizingly slow, revealing his strong chest and those broad shoulders that you’ve spent many a night thinking about. You gulp as images flood your brain of sitting on those shoulders as he tongues fucks your pussy.

Your underwear is thoroughly soaked by now.

He lowers himself against your body, sponging kisses along every inch of skin he can reach.

“What do you want, baby girl?” His nose bumps you as lips tease your ear. You mumble a response, desperate for anything to soothe the burning beneath your skin. “What’s that?”

You wail as he rubs your covered cunt. It feels so good, but you want more. You need more.

“I-I need you to fuck me.” The words are breathless as they escape your panting mouth. Lips brush your ear again as he whispers Ask nicely against your skin. “Please fuck me, Daddy.”

The groan that escapes Bob’s mouth is so sexy it’s surprising you don’t orgasm on the spot. Especially when you glance between your legs to see he’s pulled down his faded jeans and briefs to reveal his cock hard and ready, his hand stroking along the thick length as precum beads at the shining head.

Desperate hands explore his skin, warm and calloused in all the right spots. The scar along his shoulder from a childhood accident. The freckle on his side right where he’s ticklish. The hair on his forearms you daydream about. From that first night at the bar when he approached you, nervous but friendly, you’ve found it hard to not jump his bones. And now with him between your thighs, on display in the sunlight through the curtained windows, you’re dizzy with attraction.

Lips attach to your chest, smattering spit slicked kisses and soft nips in no particular pattern. Loud moans erupt from you at his attention. Bob smirks against your skin. “Shhh, baby. You need to be quiet. Can you be quiet for me?”

You nod furiously and lust-filled eyes narrow at you. “You sure? Last time you were pretty loud.”

Shit, you had forgotten about last time. Your orgasm out of control as you moaned for him, letting your husband know how well he handled your body. The stars that sparkled before your eyes as ecstatic cries floated to the ceiling. Only to be brought down the next morning when your children worried about scary noises in the night. The desire in your gut outweighs worry as your hands wind around his shoulders.

“I promise I’ll be quiet. I’ll be a good girl, I promise.” The words are but a whisper, pleading for your Daddy to be merciful to you.

Strong calloused fingers explore between your bodies as he twists open the button of your jeans. Rough fingers skimming soft skin as he slides them down your thighs, dragging the flimsy fabric of your underwear down with them. You do the rest of the work, kicking denim from your body, the telltale thump showing they’ve made their way to the floor.

A satisfied hum vibrates through Bob as he dips his fingers through your folds, arousal coating each digit as he thoroughly inspects. “Mmm, my good girl is all wet for Daddy, isn’t she?”

You nod enthusiastically. His fingers feel incredible, but you want nothing more than the slightly curved cock occupying your thoughts. He tucks a hand under your chin and brings your eyes to his. Loving smiles exchanged before he settles into the task at hand and confirms your desires. “You ready for me, baby?”

Agreement barely passes your lips before he tilts his hips, slowly ramming that thick cock into his favourite place in the world. Allowing you time to adjust while still pushing deeper, knowing you enjoy the stretch. Your bodies rock together in a a rhythm only you know, skin flushed with the shine of sweat. His lips dip into the hollow of your throat as he sinks deeper, sucking and licking like your skin holds all the answers to the world.

Your fingers tangle themselves in his hair as you hold him to you, addicted to the way your bodies fit like a puzzle, perfectly seamless. Your husband, your Daddy, your Bob, custom fit for you. He nips the spot below your jaw and you tug at his hair desperately, ripping a growl from his chest.

“Oh, you want to play that game? Let’s see how you like my game then.”

He pushes up to rest on his haunches, using his strength to handle your body as he desires. Guiding your hips up to meet his raised hips, he spares you one devilish grin before slamming back into you. Sharp thrusts that shake your body, malfunctioning your brain with pleasure. One hand snakes its way to your breast, squeezing the flesh as he rolls his hips harder and deeper into you. You’re so close to the edge that one extra touch and you would surely come undone.

"That's a good girl, tell Daddy how much you like it when I fuck you."

A hand flies to your mouth as he plucks your hardened nipple between his fingers, delighted in the obscene sounds you emit as he uses your body for both your pleasures. Your other hand finds your clit, sighing as you careen into the beginnings of an orgasm.

Your legs shake around his hips, his thrusts slowing as he focuses on filling you deep. Making you feel as full as possible. His rough thumb swiping over your nipple as he whispers, “Cum for me, sweetheart.”

Your brain turns into white noise as you cum for your Daddy, spasming around him while your fingernails make half-moon indents along his skin. The pent up pleasure escaping through every pore as you hold your moans behind closed lips. Your body collapsing to the cushions as sense returns to your limbs.

Smiling with half-lidded eyes of lust, Bob leans over you to press a sweet kiss to your lips. His hips still rutting into you as you whisper how good he feels against his lips. Begging him to fill you up. He remembers a day when he could last rounds before giving you his spend. But after a week without your body, your orgasm has triggered his and quickly his thick cum coats every inch inside of you as he whispers his love into your ear.

Shaky, shallow breaths and hushed I love yous are the only sounds as Bob rolls off you, sinking into the pillows as he wraps an arm around you to bring you to his chest. His fingers tap against your shoulder as he steadies his heartbeat. A glance at his watch shows there’s still fifteen minutes alone before little feet interrupt.

“Honey?”

You hum in acknowledgement and roll your neck to gaze at your handsome husband. He looks every bit post-fuck with his hair at every angle and his glasses still slightly fogged on the edges, his chest glistening with a light sheen of sweat. You can’t resist dragging your fingers through the light trail of blonde hairs between his pecs. He is so handsome.

He takes the hand resting on your shoulder and shifts you both, facing each other with half-lidded, happy eyes. Legs tangle together and his arm loops around your head to support your neck as he gazes into your eyes. He always has and always will give the best cuddles.

A soft flush reddens his cheeks as he goes through with his question. “Do you think…d’you think we just made another baby?”

Your eyes widen as you take in his question. Quite possibly. You weren’t on the pill, and sex was so infrequent with two toddlers in the house the practice of finding a condom wasn’t commonplace anymore. It hadn’t even crossed your mind to ask him to pull out.

“We might have.”

He nods slowly and strokes a hand over your hair, deep in thought.

“Is it bad that I’m kind of hoping we did?” He’s embarrassed to say it out loud.

You smile and press a kiss to the closest skin available. “Not at all. I’m kind of hoping so too…Daddy.”

#robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd fic #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fan fiction #robert bob floyd fan fiction #bob floyd smut #robert bob floyd smut #top gun maverick smut #robert bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x reader

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marypsue · 1 year

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There’ve been a few responses to/reblogs with tags on my post about DIY clothing embellishments that basically boil down to ‘I’d love to do this but I’m scared it’ll turn out bad/I’m not a good enough artist’. And I get it, I really do! I also want my art things to turn out nicely. But also...making it badly is sort of the point of punk DIY.

Listen. We live in a world that would dearly love to charge you a subscription fee for breathing. The bastards are doing everything they possibly can to figure out how to turn art - stories, visual art, music, textile/fibre art, sculpture, crafts and creations of every kind - into a neat, discrete, packageable commodity, a product they can chop up into little pieces and stick behind a paywall so they can charge you for every drop of it you want to have in your life.

The whole sneering idea that ‘everybody wants to be some kind of creator now’ and anything less than absolute mastery right out the gate is somehow shameful and embarrassing is a tool those bastards are using. It’s a way to reinforce the idea that only a set group of people can create and control art, and everybody else has to buy it.

But art isn’t a product. Art is a fundamental human impulse. Nobody is entitled to a specific piece of art (which is where this message gets skewed into pitting people who love art against the artists who make it, while the bastards screw us all and run away with the money). But making art belongs to everybody. We make up songs and dances and stories, and paint things, and make clothes, and embellish them, and carve flowers into our furniture and our lintels and our doorframes, and make windows out of tiny pieces of coloured glass, and decorate our homes and our bodies and our lives with things we make and make up, simply for the love of beauty and of the act of creation. Grave goods from tens of thousands of years ago show that ancient hominids gave their dead wreaths of ceramic flowers, tattooed their bodies, beaded their shoes. Making things for the sake of beauty and enjoyment is one of the most ancient and human things we can do.

The idea that we can’t, that we have to buy shit instead, because art is a product and you have to have the bestest prettiest most perfect product, is the enemy of joy. It’s the death of culture. And it means that, instead of whatever it is that you cherish and enjoy and value, you get whatever inoffensive (and to whom is it inoffensive?) bland meaningless samey-samey crap that the bastards want you to be allowed to have. What are you missing and what are you missing out on, if you don’t make or modify or decorate anything for yourself, if you don’t think you can because the product at the end won’t be polished or perfect or marketable enough? What do you lose? What do we lose?

It is a desperately vital and necessary thing for you to make shit. For you to know that you can make shit, that you don’t have to just lie back and take whatever pablum the bastards want to force-feed you (and charge you through the nose for). That the bastards need you more than you need them.

Become ungovernable. Be your own weirdly-endearing punk little freak. Paint on a t-shirt. Sing off-key in the shower or at karaoke night or at open mic night. Make up a story where you get to meet your favourite fictional character and you guys hug or fuck or punch each other in the face. Make art. Do it badly. Do it frequently. Do it enthusiastically. Do it for love and joy and creativity and fun and the spiteful joy of thumbing your nose at some smug motherfucker with a Swiss bank account who wants to track your heartbeat and location for the rest of your life in order to automatically pump AI-generated beats matched to your mood into your earbuds for a small monthly subscription fee of $24.99/month. It is literally the only way we are ever going to have even a chance to save art and our own lives from the bastards.

So. Paint that t-shirt.

(Also support artists where you can, and buy your music from Bandcamp.)

#this post brought to you by: me being so so sad about zoomers having crafts and Making Thing With Your Hands Badly stolen from them #also by me listening to a radio show on How The Sony Walkman Changed Music And Where It's Going Next #ready for the san andreas fault to open up and swallow silicon valley whole forever folks #anyway. followers i am getting down off the cafeteria table now.

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strawberrystepmom · 7 months

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gojo and f!reader are in a semi established relationship aka idiots in love. they are around 25 and 24 here respectively. reader is described as having hair that can be tied back from her face with a ribbon, no use of nicknames. wc 1.8k

divider thanks to @/cafekitsune as always!!!!

There’s a velvet ribbon on Gojo Satoru’s bedroom floor.

There’s very little light in the room but the moon catches the sheen of the fabric just right and he bends at the waist to pick it up, smoothing his thumb over the soft beneath it just like he’s tempted to do to your cheek, eyes instantly drifting to the bed as he rises, ribbon wrapped around his palm. It’s as blue as the sky or, as the admittedly full of himself man assumes, his eyes and he flexes his hand to hold the fabric taut.

It must have been tossed off during the events of the past evening, it was tied around your neck at one point as a makeshift accessory, and the blurry memories make him blush slightly to recall, cheeks heating if he thinks too long about the bounce of your body against his. He chooses to focus instead on the here and now, what’s in front of him, than recall memories and he steps closer to the edge of your side of the bed.

You slumber mere inches from where he’s standing, your body tangled in soft sheets. One of your feet sticks out, one of your arms is tossed over your eyes despite the black mask covering them (his, of course), and your hair sticks up over the edge of the duvet that otherwise obscures the rest of your face. He supposes he’ll leave you alone for now, choosing instead to rub his thumb over the ribbon again. It’s a close enough match for your cheek that it’ll simply have to sate his endless hunger to feel you until the sun rises.

Plucking his phone from his pocket to glance at the time with his unoccupied hand, he groans and blue eyes narrow looking over the little numbers on the screen. 4:15 am. Too early for you to be awake. Probably too early for him as well but there’s nothing that can be done about that besides toss and turns until he disturbs you so he pads quietly across the floor, headed toward the kitchen, ribbon tangled between his fingers until he shoves it into his pocket to get the day really started.

This is all routine for him. Waking up, wandering around, finding you all over his apartment - your purse on the floor by the door, the blanket you’ve had since you were a child on top of a basket in the living room, a tube of lip balm across the kitchen counter from him.

Pulling the coffee beans from the jar on the counter, dumping them into the grinder, one two three pulses for the perfect consistency to allow the water to best soak the bean fragments. He reaches into a cupboard and slips his mug out, buried behind a sea of your own that have gradually taken up every corner of the shelf, but he doesn’t mind having all of these little reminders of you around.

For far too long you resisted leaving any trace of yourself behind and now his bathroom counter is gradually getting more crowded with each overnight product you “forget” to take with you when you leave. The dresser he bought specifically for you, the jumbled way you leave your shoes at the front door. His space is no longer just his, it’s yours too and he ponders what that means to himself while idly sticking his hand in his pocket and waiting for water to heat, rubbing the ribbon.

The sleek electric kettle he turned on 8 minutes ago clicks to let him know the water is hot enough to pour and he drops four sugar cubes into a mug, setting up the rest of his pour over system with a small yawn. The kitchen bursts with the fresh scent of coffee and he hears rustling from the other side of the apartment that tells him it’s time to start making yours, pulling another cup from the cupboard and placing it next to his, dropping two cubes to his four inside.

It’s just how things should be, he thinks. No more going between two places and scurrying back to your apartment, he wants you here. It’s selfish to demand you give him the space you’ve shown him you desire to maintain but isn’t it equally selfish and punishing for you to deny him? It isn’t often anyone does that and you’re the only person who seems to get away with it.

Speaking of, he hears your shuffling footsteps across the floor and pours water over the top of your mug and the sugar cubes nestled in the bottom of it, fresh coffee trickling down into the ceramic below.

“Oh there she is,” he sings and you groan, wrapped in the duvet you pulled off of the bed with you. Again, this is something only you’d be able to get away with and he grins at your partially opened eyes and the way your head pops out of the fabric. Your hair’s a mess, you’re hardly coherent, but you smell coffee and a small smile slips across your face.

Satoru opens his arms and beams, watching you shuffle slowly across the kitchen floor. Each step makes you feel more alive until you find yourself face first in his chest, burying your nose in the fabric of his sleep shirt. He dips his head to kiss the top of yours and you giggle, still heavy with sleep.

“Good mornin’,” your voice is obscured thanks to where you’re pressed against him but he doesn’t struggle to make out what you’re saying, smoothing a big hand over your blanket covered back.

“Good morning sunshine,” he sings in return, awfully musical this morning, but you grin and unbury your head from the blanket, pulling it away as one would a cloak. He gasps when he sees your face and you roll your eyes in response, puckering and craning your head for a kiss, uncaring about silly things like morning breath or drool around your mouth because you know he’ll kiss you regardless.

Satoru does, of course, with a dramatic flourish and a smack and a hum. The drip, drip, drip of your coffee tapers off and you smile as he leans away from you, reaching behind himself to grab two cups of coffee. You wrap your arms around his waist and he looks around, lost, knowing he can’t walk you to the living room and hold the coffees so he kisses your forehead and hands you yours, one of your hands surfacing from a gap in the duvet that covers you.

“Come on, sleepyhead. Walk with me.”

He instructs and you follow, waddling behind him with both of your hands pressed to the sides of your mug. The duvet drags and he plops down on the living room sofa, holding his coffee high above his head so that you can slide into your normal place - your chest pressed against his and you straddling his thighs and hips. He holds you against your chest and you let the duvet hang off of your body, finally awake enough to emerge from your proverbial cocoon.

Pulling his coffee back down and sipping from it, he lets you further settle against his chest and kisses your forehead, pushing your messy hair off of your face. You look up at him with a sleepy smile and sip from your own mug, blinking slowly to further rise for the day. Looking down at you he wants to keep you just like this, every morning, forever, and he can’t pretend he doesn’t want it anymore, his brows raised.

“Move in with me.”

You giggle, shaking your head to brush your hair off of your face without use of your hands.

“So good last night you don’t want me to leave?”

He chuckles, putting his coffee down on the table to the left of him and digging in his pocket, producing the ribbon. It catches your eye and you smile, reaching out to touch it and giggling when he wraps it around your hair and ties it messily, successfully getting all but a few strands off of your pretty face.

“Can’t ever let you leave after that, what kind of man would I be?”

You giggle but Satoru wonders for a moment if it would be so bad to tell you the truth - that he doesn’t want a single corner of his life unoccupied by you, the warm light you emit just by naturally being you makes his apartment feel like a home. It’s terrifying, though, to consider being bare and truthful and he’s been trying to do it more lately. To give you a glimpse inside of himself the way he so easily sees inside you.

The truth will come out eventually, he decides. It always does. A lopsided grin comes across his face and he looks down at you, long lashed eyes fluttering and making you smile. He yanks on the makeshift ponytail your hair is tied into and you frown playfully at him, jutting your lower lip out.

“That’s not a very nice way to treat your live-in girlfriend.”

His eyes widen and you don’t miss the little light within them when he glances at you. He may intentionally hide how he’s feeling but they never do and you press your face back into his chest and he plucks your coffee from your hand, wrapping his own around the warmth.

“You mean it?”

He holds the mug to your lips and tips it enough that you can sip and you nod, swallowing with a smile.

“I’m here all the time anyway, even when you’re gone. I can’t remember the last time I went to my apartment, this is home.”

Home. The word sits heavily between the two of you but neither one moves to say anything further, Gojo tipping your mug toward your lips again to let you take a sip while you cling to his chest. There has always been a makeshift home for the other in each of you, arms and hearts and less wholesome places where the two of you have made the other belong, but a tangible place for the two of you to share feels different.

It feels good.

He leans forward and kisses the top of your head, pulling you across his lap and closer to his chest. There’s no space between the two of you, just as he likes it, and he feels indescribable fondness imagining doing this every single day from now on, not just after a wild night that left you too sleepy to return home.

“Welcome home then, I guess.”

You giggle and nod, keeping your head pressed against his chest.

“Now you’ll never get rid of me.”

A lovesick half smile you can’t see dances across his face and he rocks you gently in his arms, making you whine and try to push him off. It’s no use. It’s not like you’re really trying anyway and he dips down to kiss your cheek, keeping his lips pressed against the soft, velvety skin even as he speaks.

“That’s the plan.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #kendall writes #satoken

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ahockeywrites · 6 days

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surprise pt 1- nh13

pairing: nico hischier x girlfriend!reader word count: 1k warnings: no explicit smut but thoughts of it, swearing bc I’ve written it authors note: this isn’t smut! are you proud of me? part two coming next week lovelies :) part 2

“In what world did my sister think that it would be a good idea for me to go to this event with Dawson,” you groaned into Nico’s chest.

“In her defence,” Nico nuzzled his head into your shoulder. “We haven’t told anyone we’re dating.”

“But that doesn’t mean I want to go to an event with her boyfriend’s friend.” Sighing, you got up from your boyfriend’s lap and walked over to check the calendar that was on your refrigerator. You knew that the charity casino event was coming up and you had told Nico to go it alone. Your sister was going with Luke, naturally, and you were more than happy to have a night in just watching a movie.

But no, she thought that you hadn’t had a good lay in over a year and that you should hang out with Dawson. Little did anyone know that you were perfectly happy dating Dawson and Luke’s captain.

You sipped on the cool water and tried to think of ways of not going to the event with Dawson. He was lovely but if you were going to be going to a Devils event, it would be on the arm of your boyfriend.

“How about,” you thought out loud, “I say that I’ve got a work thing that night that u can’t get out of?”

“Nah,” Nico stole the glass of water from you and downed the rest of it. “You’d have told her about that already if you knew.”

“What if I told Alex I was coming down with food poisoning?”

“Babe, all you eat is chicken tenders and pizza,” Nico raised an eyebrow at you. “You cannot get food poisoning from sticking something in the oven at 180 degrees for 20 minutes.”

You rolled your eyes at him, even though you knew he was right.

“How about I just say no?” You sighed as all the thinking had started to hurt your head.

Nico ran his hands through his hair as he thought about the situation that your sister had put you in.

“Right,” Nico started. “You tell Alex that you can’t go, I say I’m bringing a plus one. We just announce the relationship by us walking into the event together?”

You and Nico had thought about telling your friends and family about your relationship but you hadn’t found the right time. Maybe this was the right time.

“Okay, I like that plan,” you agreed with your boyfriend. “Now what do I need to wear?”

You flattened down the skirt of your dress before reapplying a touch of lipstick. Nico had let you take free rein of his en-suite bathroom and you had done exactly that. All your skincare and makeup products covered the wash basin and overflowed to the cupboard above the sink. It was a struggle to constrain yourself with all the products you needed and how were you to know exactly what shade of red lipstick was going to work with your dress without trying every single one on.

“Nico!” You shouted from the bathroom as you struggled to put your 13 necklace, a birthday present to you from your boyfriend, on. You had to contort yourself into a position to get the matching bracelet on and the trying it again for the necklace just wasn’t going to happen.

The door to the bathroom opened and Nico stood in the doorway with his mouth hanging open. You looked beautiful in the dark blue dress that hugged all your curves and made Nico want to rip the dress off you and take you right then and there. But no, you had an event to go to first.

“Nico,” you groaned. He shook himself back out of his trance and walked over to stand behind you, hands resting on your hips.

“Fucking beautiful baby,” Nico whispered as his hands wandered further up your body to gently cup your breasts. Your head leant back to rest on his chest which exposed more of the skin of your neck. Nico’s lips started pressing kisses along your neck before you had to shake him off, even if you didn’t want to.

A pout formed on Nico’s face as you looked back at him via the mirror in front of you and instructed him to put the necklace on you. The number 13 sat on your upper chest and Nico’s cock hardened as he looked at it. It was a claim. A claim that you were his. Not Dawson’s, not anyone else’s. You were his. Nico knew that his eyes wouldn’t be on anyone else, how could they be when you looked like that.

“Let’s head out,” Nico commanded and it sent a shiver down your spine. It made you wonder if he would be like that when you got back. “Your red bottoms are by the door ready to go.” His lips pressed to yours and as you turned around, his palm gently swatted against your ass which looked perfect in the dress.

The pair of you were quiet in the drive to the venue. A combination of nerves and awkwardness sat uncomfortably in the bottom of your stomach. Ideas of how Alex would react to you walking in on the arm her boyfriend’s captain, how she would know that you had been lying for the past nine months. It was torturing you and Nico could notice.

“Schatzi,” he spoke softly, picking up one of your hands and rubbing circles on the back of it. “Alex will understand. It might not be right now, but she will. I promise you.”

“I really hope so,” you sniffled out a response but couldn’t let yourself cry. You never kept anything from your sister, she knew everything about your life. Except Nico. She knew nothing about how you fell for the captain of the New Jersey Devils.

#ahockeywrites #nh13 #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey writing #hockey fic #hockey story #nhl writing #nhl fanfiction #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier x reader

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