#the need to be wanted to be desired over all other things

[foulphantomllama]

My Secret Desire | AESPA Winter x Male Reader

AESPA Winter x Male Reader (POV)

2. The Study Date

We talked about her grades, and agreed on a day to meet up and study. We decided on a Friday afternoon, in my little room. I was barely fitting in. But at least she is small. However, I had a feeling that something was off. My bully suddenly becomes a friendly face? No. I was sure that she has a plan to make me look ridiculous or guilty. I was going to find out tho. This was the sole reason I accepted to act in her little play.

On the other hand, It was killing me to think about what ifs. What if all of the bully thing was a cover up because she really liked me? Or this was the way she flirts? What if she expresses her feelings this way? It was hard to stop think about all of those. But after that day, she stopped abusing me verbally. She only smiled and wawed at me until the day of our meeting arrived. Thursday night, something unexpected happened. My routine, I brushed my teeth, get into my pyjamas and lat down to my bed then started scrolled through my Instagram. As I scroll down, Instagram has suggested me a familiar face. It was Minjeong’s account. Although she was hanging out with the richest girls in the school, her account was pretty modest with 17 followers. My finger wanted to push the follow button, my brain resisted. But in the end my heart was the one who stopped the argument by chooising my fingers side. I pushed the follow button. Her account was private. And I really wanted to look at her photos. Five or six minutes later, she followed me back. My hear was racing as I went to her account and started looking at her photos. I realized that I never looked at her as a girl. She was always my bully. Since I came here she always showed me her bully side. But you can feel that getting accepted into her account was a rare privilage.

Before looking at her photos, I wanted to check if she follows and boys. But she wasn’t. 17 girls, and there was me. The only boy she follows. What I was thinking? What I was expecting from her? Be my girlfriend? As I started to look at her photos, I realized that I probably in love with her. But I also despise her. Hate her. But I want her. I desperately need her attention. Her abuse. Out of the blue, I got a boner when I look at her photo. The urge for jerking off to minjeong was all over my head. But once I did that, there was no turning back. I was ashamed, angry and happy. I don’t know how to describe this feeling. Only thing I want was to kiss her. But I hold myself back. I needed to understand her true intention.

With all of that in my mind, I fell asleep. Then, I woke up to the doorbell. I looked at my phone to see the time. It was nine in the morning. It wasn’t be Minjeong. We agreed upon afternoon. But again, I was expecting nobody. So I thought it was just wrong, or my landlord. I ignored it. But then she messaged me on instagram. The message was saying “Are you sleeping? I’m at your door.” I rushed ot from the bed, and opened the door. There she was stading in from of me with her messy figure. No make up, her hair was all over the place. But she was wearing a skirt with no socks or something. Her pale white legs was very intimitading. Her legs were exposed but she was wearing a thick sweatshirt. “Aren’t you cold?” I asked. She laughed and answered. “My lower body never gets cold. Only the top. So I only keep my upper body warm. Because it makes my whole body warm.” I picked up her bag and invited her to my bed. Because it was to only place to sit. “I don’t have anything to eat, we have to order it if you’re hungry.” I said. “No, don’t worry I’m not hungry. But i will be.” She answered. Of course, I nodded. “Which books did you bring with you?” I asked. “I don’t have any books. I have my notebooks.” She answered. She gave me one of her notebooks. I took a brief look at her notebook. It was mostly empty. Some of the pages there were drawings and a couple of words related to the subject. It was totally weird because she was not verbally abusing me or anything. She was just looking at me in a way that could melt my heart . There was an awkward silence for a moment. I decided to break the silence by asking “So, what are we studying?” I sat on my bed while asking her the question. She came closer. And said “Nothing really. I lied to you about all the my father is going to remove me from the school thing.” “ I knew it!” i said loudly. “You knew what?” She answered curiously. “I knew that you’re hiding something from me.” I answered. She took the notebook off from my hands and threw it somewhere in the room. “And what is it that I’m hiding?” she asked me. She was so close and I was feeling so nervous. “I don’t know. You suddenly stop bullying me, and then this happened.” I answered. I was avoiding eye contact. And I knew that she was directly looking at me. I decided to look at her. I turn my head towards her. Then we made eye contact. And I have to admit it. She was looking like a dream. That eye contact made us get closer to each other. Our lips were about to touch. Then it happened. We were kissing. She put her hand on my belly while I hold her neck with my hand. Her hand were navigating through my body. I did the same. I put my other hand to her thighs. Then, with a sudden move, she grabbed my cock. I had a boner. Of course she realized that because I was still in my pyjamas. But we were still kissing. My tongue was inside her mouth, our tongues were dancing with each other. Suddenly she stopped kissing me and put her hand inside my pyjama. She started to jerk me off.  I couldn’t believe it. She was my bully and then, she was jerking me off in my dorm room. What a way to start a toxic relationship.

As she got faster, I couldn’t help but lean back. I was feeling amazing. Her little hands has such a good grip that I had a feeling that she will rip it off at some point. “Tell me when you’re about to cum.” She smiled as she talked. A moment later, I gave her the signal that I’m about to cum. She stopped. And seconds later she started again with a slower pace. I was about to cum, but I couldn’t. Because she was not letting me cum. “What are we even doing?” I asked her. She told me to shut my mouth and wait for her. I did not had any choice. “Are you about to cum?” she asked again. “Yes” I answered. She got faster. And I came. Her hands was covered with my cum. But she got faster and faster. It was painfull but I never had a better orgasm before. She licked some my cum off from her hands and got up to wash her hands. I was not expecting this to happen. “Are we going to talk about this?” I asked her. Because I was so curious about her intention. “It was so obvious that you don’t have a girl to satisfy you.” She sit beside me after saying it. “That obvious” I asked. She nodded with a little smile. “You’re pathetic.” She added. “I only gave you a little of me. Wait until you see a bigger part.” “You don’t have to pity me, Minjeong.” She pushed me back to the bed and sit on top of me. “You really think I pity you? Should I pity you” I said no. I was getting my strength back. So i hold her and get on top of her. “Tell me one reason not to fuck you right here.” I asked. She giggled and answered. “I can’t. But will you? Do you have the balls to fuck me?”  I was so furious. A part of me wanted to fuck her. But my logic got the best of me. I got up from the bed. “I knew you don’t have it.” She said. “Are you tired because I jerked your buddy to hard?” She was tempting me to fuck her. I realized that. “You hungry” I asked to change the subject. “Yes” she answered. “What do you want to eat?” She looked at me with her pretty eyes and answered my question. “Your heart.”

[andshesaidwhat]

Steamy - Sam Monroe Smut

Summary: Sam has been your best friend since you were kids. When he starts avoiding you and acting strange, you decide to take matters into your own hands and things get steamy…

Warnings: afab!reader, she/her pronouns, penetrative sex, shower sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (Sam receiving), handjob (Sam receiving), teasing, voyeurism, masturbation (Sam receiving), inexperienced!Sam, Sam finishes too fast, multiple orgasms (Sam receiving), thigh-fucking, nipple play?, slight dacryphilia, subby!Sam, edging, Sam whimpers a lot, maybe a smidge of degradation, Sam is down-horrendous.

A/N: This is ridiculously long, I got carried away.

Masterlist

Sam rested his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall as he relentlessly fucked his fist. His eyes were squeezed shut, trying to block out the guilt as his mind raced with perverted thoughts.

It wasn’t his fault, really. He hadn’t intended on showering in your bathroom as an excuse to touch himself. You had just decided to wear one of his old t-shirts today and that…that had sent him over the edge.

Sam had been fighting off these feelings for a long time. If he was honest with himself, they’d always been there. When you were kids, it was easier. He didn’t understand the mechanics of all of it. He just knew he liked being around you more than anyone else, so he spent all the time he could with you. You were best friends, after all. That was normal.

Then, puberty happened. You developed tits and he developed an innate need to see them, touch them, taste them, anything.

It was harder now. You were both in college and still spending all of your time with each other. Every waking moment of Sam’s was spent thinking of you, watching you, imagining all of the ways he wanted to be with you.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be your friend — he loved being your friend. You were the only person in the world that ever actually saw him for who he was. It was just that he couldn’t escape these desires that grew stronger and stronger every time you smiled at him or batted your lashes or laughed or…

Yeah, he was fucked.

He knew that he needed to get his feelings for you in check. His biggest fear was doing some dumb shit to lose you. That’s why he’d been trying to create just a little distance lately. He only resorted to that when he felt like he wouldn’t be able to control himself around you. It just so happened that, lately, that was almost all of the time.

When he’d gotten to your place today, he had told himself that he wouldn’t let his attraction get the better of him — that he’d be normal — but, the minute he saw you in his shirt he felt like he could’ve melted into the earth. It was so cute, hugging your frame perfectly and just barely covering those tight ass shorts you had on underneath.

He’d tried to contain himself, he really had. He tried looking anywhere else but at you, tried thinking of every unsexy thing his mind could possibly dream up, but his efforts were all in vain. No matter what he did, his gaze would eventually wander back over to you. His mind would run wild with different scenarios. You in his shirt with nothing underneath. Him bending you over, lifting the material up just enough to take you from behind. Giving you more of his clothes to wear so that everyone knew you were his.

He hadn’t even realized how painfully hard he had gotten or how labored his breathing had become until you asked, “Are you alright, Sammy?”

Fuck, he almost came in his pants from the sweet sound of your voice as you said his nickname that he only allowed you to call him.

He felt his face flame as his eyes widened and he pulled the covers from your bed further over himself to make sure his erection was hidden.

“Y-yeah, fine,” he sputtered, trying to will himself to get a fucking grip.

“Are you sure?” You asked, reaching your hand out to touch his forehead. “You look flushed.”

He had to fight not to moan as your skin came in contact with his, so soft and tender. Your eyebrows were scrunched up in that adorable way they did whenever you were worried about him.

He wanted to see them scrunched up for other reasons, for all the pleasure he knew he could give you if you let him try. He wanted to hear you say his name like a plea of desperation, begging him for more, more, more.

“I think I just need to take a shower,” he muttered, quickly getting up and rushing to the bathroom before you could see any evidence of his arousal.

He paced in the bathroom, fisting at his hair as he tried to calm down. This was getting a bit pathetic. He couldn’t even be in the same fucking room as you without being embarrassingly close to coming untouched.

He stripped down, tossing his clothes to the floor as he stepped into the shower and shut the glass door behind him. He turned the water on to the coldest setting, cringing as he stood beneath it.

C’mon, this needs to work, he thought to himself as he shook from the cold. The icy water caused goosebumps to erupt on his skin, but did nothing to calm the raging hard-on that was still standing proud and aching. He groaned in frustration, hitting his head against the wall as he tried his best to fight off his arousal.

Finally, he gave in and wrapped his fist around his cock. He gave himself a few slow, guilt-ridden strokes as he squeezed his eyes shut. He hissed at the feeling, relief slowly flooding through his abdomen.

He knew that he shouldn’t be doing this. Touching himself to the thought of you was already bad enough, but touching himself to the thought of you while you were in the next room? If only you knew how fucked up he truly was. You’d never look at him again…

He fought the urge to moan at the thought of your hand replacing his, or better yet — your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispered, biting his bottom lip as he thrusted into his hand.

He needed to get this over with. He needed to handle his problem and get back out there before you started to suspect that something was wrong.

He was desperately chasing his release but, despite how badly he wanted it, his own touch wasn’t getting him there this time.

He needed more.

You had worn his shirt on purpose.

You were tired of him avoiding the situation — avoiding you.

It hadn’t taken you long to figure out why he’d been acting so strange lately. You’d noticed the way his eyes would linger on your form, the way his face would flush when you called his name, the way he’d try to discretely adjust himself in his pants when you’d get too close to him.

You’d always wondered why he’d never had a girlfriend. It wasn’t that girls didn’t desire him. He had just always been oblivious to their advances.

In actuality, you’d realized, he was just too focused on you.

You’d always harbored feelings for Sam. Ever since you were kids. He was your first childhood crush. You’d never told him, though, too scared that he’d tease you relentlessly for it. It wasn’t until lately that you realized those feelings had been reciprocated. 

Once you’d made the realization, you’d started trying to push him further and further. You’d hoped that he would snap, finally admitting to you what he’d been feeling.

He never did, though. In fact, he did the opposite. He kept avoiding you, frustrating you to no end.

You huffed out a sigh, looking over at the clock on your bedside table. He’d been in the shower for almost twenty minutes. You gnawed on your lip, contemplating your next move.

Finally, with a newfound determination, you got up from your bed and walked toward your bathroom. You were tired of waiting for him to get the hint. He’d left you no choice. You needed to take matters into your own hands.

You opened the bathroom door, shutting it behind you as you called out, “What’s taking you so long in here, Sammy? I have to shower, too, ya know?”

Sam yelped, startled at your entry. You could only barely make out his figure behind the frosted glass, but it made your heart race nonetheless.

“J-Jesus, don’t you knock?” Sam sputtered, his voice laced with nervous energy.

“It’s my house,” you retorted, crossing your arms as you leaned against the sink.

You heard Sam sigh before he said, “I’ll be out in a minute just…give me a second.”

You began undressing before you could talk yourself out of it. This was a bold move, even for you, but you knew that Sam needed something to be shoved in his face for him to realize what was right in front of him.

“You’ve already been in here for twenty minutes and I have things to do later,” you grumbled, pretending to be inconvenienced. “I’m just coming in.”

“W-what?!” Sam stuttered, his voice nearly jumping up an octave.

You opened the glass door, stepping into the shower as you tried to appear nonchalant. Sam quickly covered himself with his hands, his entire body flushing red as he looked up at the ceiling to avoid looking at your naked frame.

You took this time to unabashedly look him over. His cupped hands only left little to the imagination. You bit your bottom lip, drinking in the sight of him. Arousal immediately began pooling between your thighs as you stepped underneath the water.

You yelped at the temperature, jumping back and adjusting the valve.

“Christ, Sammy, why the hell is it so cold in here?” you asked, despite knowing exactly why he’d been taking a cold shower.

“I-I just like it cold, okay?” Sam retorted, attitude biting with his words.

You turned the knob until the water ran hot, letting the steam fill the confines of the shower. You sighed, contentedly, stepping back under the water.

“Much better,” you breathed, practically moaning as the warm water washed away the tension in your muscles.

As the steam filled the air, Sam’s head was spinning. It was suffocating. He was surrounded by your scent. It took everything in him to keep his eyes glued to the ceiling. Even the glimpses he caught of your body from the corner of his eye were nearly enough to make him fall to his knees.

He had a difficult enough time keeping it together around you when you were fully clothed, how could he be expected to keep his composure when you were naked and wet a foot away from him?

He could feel his still-hard cock pulsing beneath his hands as he tried his best to cover himself. He felt like he’d somehow entered one of his wet dreams. Confusion and arousal fogged his mind as he tried to make sense of what was happening. The two of you had never even seen each other naked, much less showered together.

He refused to let himself believe that this could mean that you wanted him the same way he wanted you. He wouldn’t give himself that kind of false hope. He could only pray that he’d be able to get through this without making a complete fool out of himself.

You reached for the shampoo, lathering it into your hair. You smirked when you heard Sam breathe in a little too deeply. Glancing back at him, he still had his head facing toward the ceiling.

“You don’t have to break your neck trying not to look at me,” you laughed, rinsing the shampoo from your hair. “It’s not like you’ve never seen tits before.”

“I’ve never seen yours…” Sam mumbled, quietly, a new blush rising to his cheeks.

“Mine are just like any others,” you shrugged, brushing your conditioner through your hair with your fingers.

Sam had to bite his tongue to keep from responding that nobody could be like you. He was fighting so hard to keep his gaze averted but now you were practically inviting him to look at you. Even on his strongest day, there was no chance he could pass up the opportunity. He’d just look once, he told himself. Just enough of a glance to embed the image into his brain for when he jacked himself off to the thought of you.

He took a deep breath before stealing a quick look over at you. He involuntarily squeezed his dick, trying not to come on the spot. None of his fantasies could’ve prepared him for the way you’d look standing naked in front of him, water dripping from your body.

He forced himself to look up at your face instead of your tits — your goddamned perfect tits — but that didn’t help his situation in the slightest. Not when you were smirking at him like you were privy to some secret that he was not. Or when you were batting your lashes, sending water drops down your cheeks. Then you bit your lip and Jesus fucking Christ he felt every cell in his body burn at the sight.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the way his eyes fought between looking at your face and looking at your chest. You could sense the stress he was putting himself through, and almost felt bad for what you were doing. You weren’t going to stop, though. Not when you finally had him right where you wanted him.

You moved to grab the bottle of soap, intentionally letting it fall from your grasp. Out of instinct, Sam reached out to catch it. You gasped quietly at the sight of his erection springing forward into view.

He was big. Bigger than you’d expected. He was hard and leaking, his tip red and aching. He followed your gaze down, his eyes widening as he realized what you were looking at. He quickly handed you the bottle of soap back, moving to cover himself again.

“You know,” you started, smirking as you poured the soap into your hand, “if you need to take care of that, you can. I don’t mind.”

“W-what?” Sam coughed, his face a deep shade of red. “No! No way.”

“It’s natural, Sammy,” you shrugged. “I do it all the time. Besides, it looks real painful. I won’t watch if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Sam wanted the earth to swallow him whole in that moment. He didn’t think his skin could burn any hotter than it was right then. You were teasing him, torturing him.

He didn’t know which part was worse — the way you said his name, the mental image of you touching yourself, or the attention you had paid to his predicament. His body felt like it was going to erupt into flames at any given moment.

You had to know. You had to. There was no way that all of this was just some random coincidence. The two of you had never breached that line of friendship and now, here you were, telling him to touch himself in front of you.

He couldn’t do that. There would be no coming back from that. There would be no way that he could recover. He’d come the minute he touched his dick if your eyes were on him, and how would he explain that?

However, you had said you wouldn’t watch…and he did really really need the relief…

Sam bit his bottom lip, breathing heavily as he contemplated his options. He knew that he shouldn’t, but the offer was so tempting…

“You promise you won’t watch?”

Your smirk grew as Sam gave in to his desires, just like you knew he would. You crossed your heart with your finger and Sam squeezed his eyes shut as his gaze was unintentionally brought back down to your chest.

Giggling, you turned back around to face the other side of the shower. You didn’t miss the way Sam’s eyes travelled down to your ass as you did. You began lathering the soap into your skin as you heard the wet sounds of his fist stroking his dick over the hum of the shower.

You bit your lip, focusing on the way he let little breaths escape him. You could imagine how hard he was trying to refrain from making any other noises. You wanted to hear him, wanted to know exactly how he was feeling.

Curiosity and the need to push him further getting the better of you, you asked, “Are you always this quiet when you jack off?”

He sucked in a breath and sputtered, “Jesus, fuck, you…you can’t talk to me right now.”

You stifled a giggle, feigning innocence as you said, “Why not, Sammy?”

“Don’t say my name,” he practically pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I thought it would help,” you laughed, done beating around the bush. “Don’t you usually imagine me saying your name when you do this?”

You turned back around to face him, cocking your head to the side. His eyes widened and his hand stopped moving as his mouth opened and closed repeatedly.

Your mouth practically watered at the sight of him, chest flushed and heaving, his fist squeezed tightly around his erection.

“W-what…I don’t…I haven’t…” Sam stuttered, trying to come up with some kind of denial to your statement.

“Oh, come on,” you huffed, rolling your eyes playfully. “I’m not oblivious and you aren’t exactly subtle.”

Sam’s face turned an even deeper shade of red as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Relax, Sammy, it’s okay,” you said, beginning to slowly lather the soap into your skin. “Keep going.”

“What?” He gulped, eyes shooting open as they focused on the way your hands moved across your body in an agonizingly tempting motion.

“Keep going, Sammy,” you repeated, not taking your eyes off of him.

He released a shuddered breath, licking his lips as his eyes locked back on yours. Slowly, he began to move his fist again.

His jaw fell slack as his gaze followed the motion of your hands, teasing him as you trailed suds across your chest. His hand moved faster, his eyelids fluttering as a strained noise sounded from his throat.

“Is this what you think about, Sammy?” You taunted, moving your hands lower down your stomach.

Sam gasped, nodding his head as he muttered, “uh-huh.”

His chest heaved with heavy breaths, his hips thrusting into his fist. His hooded eyes were dark with desire as they traveled over your body. His movements became sloppy, his brows knitting together.

You could tell he was close, soft sounds involuntarily escaping his lips. His muscles were visibly tensing as his breaths started to come out in short spurts.

You’d had enough of being a bystander. Every nerve in your body was alight with desire and you wanted to close the distance between you two. You were done playing this game. If he was going to come, you wanted it to be by your hands.

Sam let out an involuntary whine of protest as you grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away from himself. His eyes widened as you moved him until his back was pressed against the cold shower wall.

“W-what are you…what’s happening…oh, fuck.”

Sam’s questions were silenced the minute you pressed yourself against him. He gasped, clenching his fists by his side, seemingly using all of his restraint to keep from touching you.

He looked down at you, his gaze pleading and questioning as he asked, “What is this?”

“I was tired of waiting for you to make the first move,” you shrugged, grabbing his face.

His brows furrowed, confusion etched into his features. His mouth opened and closed, as if trying to form the words he wanted to say.

“Waiting for…what do you mean?”

“God, you’re so oblivious,” you mumbled, pulling his face down to yours and pressing your lips against his.

He immediately buckled, leaning into the kiss. He couldn’t help but groan into your mouth, a sound that betrayed the intensity of his arousal. The pressure building in his groin grew, his need growing at an unbearable pace. He arched his hips forward, desperate for contact. You pulled back, biting your lip as you peered up at him.

Sam held his breath, the moment teetering on the edge of ecstasy. His heart hammered so loud that it threatened to drown out the sound of the shower. His eyes were dizzy and unfocused as he looked down at you. This was both the most exhilarating and most terrifying moment of his life. The anticipation was agonizing, maddening.

You glanced down at his pouted lips, as if daring him to make a move. His tongue darted out, flicking across them as his gaze moved between your eyes and your mouth.

Finally, after working up the courage, he leaned forward. You grinned as you tilted your head back, keeping your lips just out of reach. He furrowed his eyebrows, releasing a shaky breath before trying again. You let his lips barely brush against yours before you dodged him again, smirking at the teasing game you were playing with him.

He looked at you with pleading eyes, desperation etched into his features, as a needy whine sounded in his throat. He whispered your name, fists tightening as every muscle in his body tensed with longing.

“Please,” he whispered, his jaw clenching with the effort to keep his composure.

With that one word, he completely crumbled your resolve. His eyes were dark and glassy with desire and unshed tears and you were prepared to give him anything he asked for.

You tangled your fingers in his wet hair, pulling him into a heated kiss. His lips immediately parted, devouring your own. He kissed you like he was starved, like you were his only source of oxygen after he’d been suffocating with need.

There was still a hesitancy in his actions, a part of him that was restraining himself. Whether it was out of fear or lack of knowledge, you didn’t hesitate to guide him.

Your fingertips trailed down his arms, causing him to shiver. You grabbed his hands and placed them on your hips. He moaned into your mouth, his touch instantly beginning to wander.

The urgency in his kiss increased, his hands roaming your back, your sides, your legs. Years of built up tension came bubbling to the surface as you both began to drown in each other.

Sam’s voice was low and husky, barely coherent against your lips as he whispered, “Don’t stop.”

The pressure between his legs was a stinging reminder of his desperation. The need within him was leaking with each touch, each kiss. He reveled in the control you wielded over him. Sam’s mind was lost in a sea of lust. This was a moment he’d dreamed about for years. The thought of it was almost too much, the entire situation overwhelming.

You guided his hands up to your chest and Sam wasted no time in palming your tits. He squeezed gently, kissing you with blazing fervor. When his thumbs experimentally swiped across your nipples, you let out a sigh of pleasure against his lips.

Sam’s brain short-circuited the minute he heard your reaction. His hips surged forward, pushing his aching erection between your clenched thighs. He had been so worked up and the pressure provided just the right amount of friction. He gasped, letting out a strangled moan as he clutched onto you. His eyes rolled back as an orgasm ripped through him, instinctively continuing to thrust between the plush skin of your thighs.

Sam panted, slowly opening his eyes again as he came down from the high. His entire body flushed at the revelation of what had just occurred. He took in your amused expression, groaning in embarrassment as he buried his face into your neck.

You stifled a giggle, gently rubbing his back as you whispered, “It’s okay, Sammy. It happens.”

He whimpered against your skin, wrapping his arms around you. He was torn between wishing he could disappear, never having to face you again, and wanting to stay in this moment forever.

“Besides,” you smirked, leaning down to pepper gentle kisses across his shoulder, “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Sam inhaled, sharply, his breath hot against your neck. His body instantly responded, his arousal already stirring again at the prospect alone.

You grabbed his face, lifting his head back up to meet his gaze. His cheeks were still tinged pink, bringing out the bright blue of his dilated eyes.

You traced his swollen lips with your thumb and asked, “Do you think you can do it again for me?”

“Mhm,” he responded, nodding eagerly. “I’ll do anything for you.”

You grinned, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “Promise?”

He pulled you into him, closing the gap between you so that you couldn’t pull away again. He kissed you passionately, groaning as you bit down on his bottom lip.

“Promise,” he mumbled into the kiss, “anything you want.”

You reached up to grab his chin, tilting it to the side as you slowly kissed down his neck. His eyes fluttered shut, his body quivering at the tender attention. He cradled your head with a trembling hand, urging you on as your lips made their way across his skin.

Sam whimpered when you nipped at his pulse point, the hand in your hair tightening as you gently sucked a dark mark into the pale skin. You kissed across his chest, letting your hands run down his sides. He gasped as your teeth grazed over one of his nipples.

Your lips continued their descent down his body as you slowly sank to your knees in front of him. Sam let out a shaky breath, whispering your name as his legs nearly gave out.

You blinked up at him, water drops coating your lashes, as you rubbed your hands up and down his thighs.

“You’ll do anything I want?” You asked, kissing across his hips.

“Uh-huh,” he rasped, licking his lips as he nodded his head. “Anything you want. I swear it.”

Your mouth watered as you sat eye-level with his dick that was steadily twitching back to life. He gasped as you took him into your hand, his fists clenching tightly by his sides. You slowly began to stroke him, watching as he bit his lip to try and hold back the sounds threatening to spill from his lips.

“Then I want to hear how good it feels, Sammy,” you told him, pressing a teasing kiss to the tip.

“Shit,” he cursed, hardening again in your grip.

Your tongue traced a line up his shaft, slowly circling it around the head of his dick before taking him entirely into your mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, panting as he gripped the shower wall for support. “That’s…a-ah…that’s really good.”

The sight of you was overwhelming. He had only ever pictured you this way in his dirtiest dreams. You, on your knees with your lips wrapped around his cock, gazing up at him like the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathed, peering down at you through hooded lids. “Your mouth feels so fucking good.”

You watched his chest heave as you worked him, using your hand to cover what your mouth couldn’t fit. His fist was still tangled in your hair, but he didn’t dare attempt to control your movements.

Sam’s eyes rolled back as he felt himself hit the back of your throat, the sensation causing his hips to stutter. You swallowed around him and his entire body threatened to crumble. Strings of lewd moans and whimpers escaped his lips as his back arched off of the wall.

“Oh, god,” he panted, throwing his head back against the shower wall, “I’m…fuck…I’m gonna…”

You pulled off of him and he let out a whine, thrusting to desperately chase your lips. You grabbed his hips, holding them still as you rose back up to your feet.

“Why’d you stop?” Sam pouted, scrunching his eyebrows together in desperation. “I was so close.”

Your hands roamed his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart beneath it, as you looked up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

“I didn’t think you’d want to stop before getting to be inside of me, but if you’d rather settle for my hands then I can keep going,” you taunted, cocking your head to the side.

“No,” he croaked out, his voice breaking off into a desperate moan at the mere thought of that privilege. “I wanna be inside you. Please, let me be inside of you.”

He clutched at you, pulling you into him as he crashed his mouth against yours. You immediately responded to the kiss, parting your lips and tasting his tongue with your own.

Without breaking the kiss, you pulled him forward and switched your positions so that your back was now pressed against the shower wall.

You reached down, grabbing his dick and stroking it as you lined it up with your entrance. He gasped, breaking apart to rest his forehead against yours. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he looked down between your bodies, watching you tease them finally joining together.

“Please, don’t keep teasing me,” he begged, his voice hoarse with need. “I can’t take it.”

You wrapped a leg around his waist and Sam held his breath, his mouth falling open as you guided his hips to slowly sheath into you. As his length filled you, stretching you out with a delicious burn, you couldn’t help but let out a breathy moan.

Once he was buried to the hilt, his hips flesh against your own, he finally released his breath in a strangled whimper.

“You’re so tight, fuck,” he breathed, unable to take his eyes away from the sight of you wrapped around him.

“Fuck me, Sammy,” you whispered, watching as his gaze snapped up to meet yours.

His breath hitched as he nodded, his body trembling with nervous anticipation. He pulled back, almost completely out of you, before pushing back in with a slow, experimental thrust.

You both gasped at the feeling, moaning into the shared air between your mouths. He repeated the motion again, familiarizing himself with the way your body practically pulled him in.

His thrusts got faster as his lips found yours again in a heated kiss. You clutched onto his shoulders for support, feeling every nerve in your body ignite in flames of pleasure.

“You feel so good,” you mumbled, arching into him. “Such a perfect fit.”

Sam groaned against your lips, his hips picking up the pace. He pulled back to look at you, his eyes dark with desire.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he confessed, the dam of his emotions suddenly breaking as he fucked into you. “I-I dreamed about you, every day. You were all…ah…I ever wanted.”

“I know, Sammy, I know,” you panted, reaching up to kiss him again. “I’ve always felt the same way, you were just too blind to notice.”

He whimpered at the revelation, his thrusts becoming more urgent. He grabbed your waist, using it as leverage as his hips snapped up into yours.

“Fuck,” he whined, breathing out your name. “I-I’m getting close. I’m not gonna be able to last.”

“I need you to hold on just a little longer, Sammy,” you told him, earning a desperate whimper as his eyes grew glassy again.

You grabbed one of his hands, guiding his thumb to your clit. You moved it in slow circles, showing him how to touch you. He picked up the action quickly, moving his fingers on their own accord.

You moaned at the added stimulation, feeling Sam’s hips stutter as you squeezed around him. Ragged breaths wracked through him as he tried desperately to hold on for you.

“Wanna hear you, Sammy,” you prompted.

A single tear drop fell down his cheek from the sheer effort of keeping his climax at bay as he began to mindlessly ramble.

“You feel so good. Squeezin’ around me all tight and warm. Could just stay buried in you forever. Never wanna stop. I’ll do anything to satisfy you. Anything you want. I’ll get on my hands and knees if you ask me to. Just wanna make you happy. Just wanna keep feelin’ you like this.”

He kissed down your neck, needing to occupy his mouth. He buried his face against your chest, gasping and whimpering as his movements chased the high he desperately craved.

“No one else gets to have me like this,” you promised, feeling that familiar knot of pleasure tightening in the pit of your stomach. Each stroke of his thumb against your clit, paired with the tip of his dick repeatedly brushing that spot inside of you, pushed you closer and closer to the edge. “You’re the only one I want, Sammy. The only one who can make me feel this way.”

He let out a strained cry against your skin, his fingers gripping the plush skin of your waist tighter.

“Please, I need to come,” he begged, the desperation making his voice raw. “I need it, baby, please.”

The sweet sounds of his pleading was the final thread that unraveled the knot.

“Come for me, Sammy,” you breathed.

You felt the white hot pleasure course through your veins as you tightened around him, feeling your climax wash over you in a tidal wave.

He came with a cry of your name, clutching onto you as he continued to thrust into you. His vision seemed to black out as he finally let go, giving you everything.

The world around you seemed to fade as you both came down from the mutual high. Sam’s body relaxed into yours, his hands still trembling as you both tried to catch your breath. You settled into a blissful haze, engulfed by the warmth of the shower.

You held him close to you, running your fingers soothingly through his hair as you smiled lazily, “You done avoiding me now?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, grinning sheepishly. He nuzzled into your neck, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “Never gonna avoid you again.”

“Good,” you responded, “it would be a dick move to avoid your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Sam asked, his head snapping up as he looked at you with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Well, yeah,” you grinned, biting your lip. “Unless you’d rather this just be a one time thing.”

“No!” Sam interjected, quickly, shaking his head. “I want this to be an all the time thing. Every day. Multiple times a day, if possible.”

You rolled your eyes, giggling as you playfully shoved him. He laughed, his entire face lighting up with joy and relief as he hugged you to him.

“You know, it was kind of a creeper move to barge in on me in the shower,” he joked, looking down at you with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Hey, you were the one jacking off to me in my own house!” You argued, laughing as you poked his chest.

He grabbed your hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss your knuckles before grabbing your face and sweetly kissing your lips.

He hummed softly and whispered, “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that.”

You beamed up at him, feeling your heart flutter in his embrace. You used up the remaining hot water to actually shower off, tending to each other as you did. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was how it was always meant to be.

Maybe it’s true what they say. Everything happens for a reason.

[leydenkilgore]

about scripting… as someone that has shifted 66 times

Part 1: Half is my opinion about script and the other half is a story time from one of my drs. And yes I’ve shifted four more times since that last post.

Scripting is when you have written description of what you want to experience once you’ve shifted. Some people don’t use scripts at all, and some people nearly write another book of the Bible. Both are valid. If you know what you want subconsciously then just deciding where you want to go is enough. The physical reality is just a reflection of your belief systems and desires. So if you don’t want anything bad to happen it won’t happen. However, if you worry obsessively over something awful happening it might manifest in some way. But I wouldn’t worry too much about that as people have intrusive thoughts in this reality all the time and nothing happens. I really wanted to talk about how scripting your desired reality manifests physically. Because when I was first started shifting I didn’t know how real it would be.

I spent about six months in my waiting room a few months ago scripting nearly every place I had been and every day. I’m literally not joking I scripted every day of my life. Now I like scripting, I like writing things and I like shifting. So I had a ton of fun scripting every day, surfing and exploring nature but I wouldn’t do this again. I wouldn’t do this because it begins to foster a relationship with scripting itself rather than shifting. I got way too caught up in making every little thing perfect that I forgot to shift. But the end result when I shifted was everything was exactly as I scripted and better honestly. I remember I had scripted a white church on the sea of the Crimea. I wasn’t too detailed and only included a picture of what I generated in my waiting room. And when I saw it in person it was exactly as I wanted it to be subconsciously even though I had scripted something good enough. While you can script anything, things that you didn’t account for will happen. As long as you assume nothing that happens will be inherently traumatizing to you or anyone else, you’re fine. Of course there will be moments other than what you scripted because it’s an independently operative reality. But everything will happen exactly as you want it to. And not having a finished script is a terrible excuse to delay shifting. Literally trust that everything will be acceptable to you and as you desire. If you’re really obsessively limiting yourself from shifting because you feel a need to script everything then maybe you should evaluate whether you even want to shift or just like world building. Once you trust your subconscious to shift you to exactly where you want you’ll feel a lot better about shifting. I think all the hardship that comes with shifting is more from people being too attached to it. That’s why a lot of people had more luck shifting early in their journey when they had less cards in the game. But as people continually fail they start to latch onto it more by spending time scripting or consistently reading information. If you can just take a deep breath say you already shifted and nothings special about shifting because you do it regularly. You’ll likely reset your journey in a kind of way.

Now I’m not saying you shouldn’t script at all. I love scripting and still do script in my waiting room. I don’t script in this reality because I like all the tools I have to script in my waiting room. And all of my scripts are finished so I haven’t had to script in a while. And before I shift I just assume that it will be like living inside vintage photos of movie stars off duty or in a Sofia Coppola film. That usually does the trick for everything. Yes you can script people’s words, what they do, what they remember etc. etc. If you can think it you can script it is a general rule. And that applies to everything. You don’t even have to script a physical reality. Once I shifted to just be consciousness for a couple months. All I did was script that I’d never get bored, I’d intuitively know how much time would pass and that I’d entertain myself with my mind. I really liked that experience because it helped me figure out what I wanted out of everything without the distraction of a physical self.

Part 2: This is just a story time from my Medieval Old Russian Royalty Dr that is roughly around 1105 to maybe 1185 to show what I mean by other things happen. It diverges heavily from this modern timeline and is its own interpretation with non period accurate things because i hate shifting to accurate history. So don’t read this if you don’t feel like it.

So I got married at around maybe 20, I think. And I was lucky enough to go far from home just to the nearby Grand Duchy of Kiev. Nearby is a 12 day journey by carriage. After a couple years, I had two sons and lived in the fortress of Kiev with my husband, a small court and my mother in law. (An awful woman). I hate that woman with all my spirit. She’s a miserable hag in every reality. But I was like whatever it’s fine, I’ll deal with it. After my second son, I decided I didn’t want to make a public appearance for quite a while. I was sitting on a window seat in one of the vestibules looking out the window and not doing much. And she passed with her lady in waiting (it’s a different word there) but that’s basically what she is. And she whispered to her that the ‘Princess must exit before the people assume she’s become a locked hog.) Again it’s a different term but hard to romanize because the language is very old. It’s like a mix of Ruthenian and Old Russian but with the importation of a few Chinese characters for some reason. But what makes this so offensive is the context.

So at the time I had two children close together and did not leave the Fortress often except for visits to the orphanages. The surrounding areas of Kiev were known for a very specific type of Hog which they called the Dnipr Hog. I remember seeing them at a farm once on my journey to Kiev. And they stink, make incessant noise and are just rotten little creatures. But they taste really good when they were slathered with honey, and this specific seasoning used in the region. I think it was a ground up grain which is kind of spicy mixed with turmeric. And it would be common to have beets that were caramelized (I scripted in a lot of modern cooking methods), potatoes with rosemary and thyme covered with sweetened butter and really hard salty flat cakes. Anyways I got off track. So calling me a locked hog was a very dirty joke.

I remember I looked at her as she walked away and I couldn’t think of good retort so I let it go. The following days I literally just walked or sat along the wall facing the villages where the people could see me doing my needlework or washing potatoes for soup. I went so far with it I would conduct meetings on top of the wall and no one said anything about it. But they were all kind of stressed out from the tension between me and my mother in law. The wall I had repainted when we moved there because the Fortress in Kiev was a very ugly and decrepit grey stone building with weeds growing everywhere, spiders and an abundance of water crickets coming from the river. I think a lot of the court there hated me because I refused to go inside as it made me sick and I insisted I sleep at the nearby convent instead. Nonetheless me refusing to leave the convent to even see my husband made the whole renovation go by quickly. Quickly in medieval times was like 13 months or a little less.

But afterwards it was such a pretty place that was shiny and white. It’s really was prettier than the Kremlin was where I grew up. But they couldn’t for the life of them get rid of the damp smell that came with heavy rain years. But the stone wall itself is positioned in such a way that you get a good look at the valley and the river. I hated wearing shoes in the summer as they were very stuffy and instead wore a pair of moccasins that my mother made me. They were kind of canvas with a lot of small rocks that she managed to string along into a square shape then attach. The official use of the wall was to defend against intruders with bows and arrows. But I used it more like an open balcony because all the balconies facing the courtyard got no breeze from the river. So I had an assortment of rugs gifted from Constantinople and some of the Caucasus nations my father visited run along the sides so I could walk comfortably. Then I had cushions brought out when I sat on the wall. After walking every day along the wall for maybe two months, she asked me if I had been satisfied with my exhibition. And I didn’t even bother to look at her and just said the equivalent of Quite. A couple years later, she elected to go a convent far away from Kiev. I was very happy. Convents in that reality are so great. I love them. The food is great, they’re all well decorated with big windows, plenty of projects and activities to do and most of the women there are either widowed women or women that just didn’t want to marry. I love it there so much. And I scripted that all convents are like this. More happened but that’s pretty much all that happened with that story. But I could talk about this reality all day. I mean the food, the surroundings, the outfits and entertainment are just the best!

Happy shifting and go shift even if you’re script isn’t done!

[nonranghaes]

heads up: feelings of abandonment + reader crying. food mentions. fic can be interpreted as purely platonic, if desired!

when did your apartment start to feel so cold? you weren't sure. but you pull out a hoodie from your dryer and pull it on, just to try and chase away the chill that won't leave you. today's been a shit day, and all you want to do is curl up in bed and sleep until it's over. but it's far too early for that, so you opt to try to take care of yourself instead.

which really just turns into you pulling a blanket over you on the couch and watching whatever seems interesting enough to hold your attention for a while. it takes barely five minutes into the first movie before you start to sniffle again, and you stop fighting it. hot tears run down your cheeks, and you just pull the blanket tighter around you.

is it so much to ask that someone chase you for once? to have someone check on you and make sure you're actually okay? instead, you get radio silence when you pull away from people. it makes you feel sick to your stomach. there's a swirling storm inside you of the knowledge that people can't help you if you don't say something, and the wish that people would realize you not saying anything was a cry in its own right. they've known you this long, haven't they? they know you hate reaching out, that you despise having to say 'hi, i'm struggling' and instead it feels like they've just stopped bothering with you. why bother with someone who won't pull themself out of their struggles enough to say something?

it feels like you're drowning in these feelings. every hiccup and attempt to catch your breath just sends you spiraling further, the weight of the world crushing you more and more. is it so wrong to want someone to reach out and say "i know things aren't okay. can we talk?" or even a "i'm here for you, i'm sorry life is hard now, just say the word and i'll be there, okay?" in some shape or form. it doesn't even have to be so elaborate. it just needs to be something--

someone knocks on your door. you swear under your breath, wiping at your face and hoping that whoever is on the other side won't question it too much. your neighbor's cat probably got out again. you stop on your way to the door, looking in a mirror to see what damage has been done by this sobbing fit. and when you feel a little more composed, you open the door.

"hey." seungcheol has one hand tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie, the other holding a bag of takeout. "have you eaten yet?" he's dressed down, sweatpants and beanie and all. "i was in the neighborhood, and..."

he's lying. you know he is. you can see the label on the bag and this place is nowhere near where you live. but it's your favorite.

his gaze softens when he fully takes in the sight of you. "are you okay--"

he barely finishes the word before you dive forward, wrapping your arms around him as you bury your face in his hoodie. it makes you feel desperate in the worst way, but you're crying already and hiding your face from him makes you feel even a little better. but the feeling of seungcheol's arms wrapping around you feels even better, and he holds you protectively.

"i've got you," he says, and it feels like a promise.

maybe life isn't so bad after all.

[poppy-metal]

i wanna have a messy ass break up with college patrick, like be so off and on and off and on, and one day after your latest break up that got particularly loud and messy you get so sick of him you just want to hurt him. so you track down art in the cafeteria. you pull him away from his friends and say into his ear “me and patrick are over, for real this time. let’s go to your dorm and you can fuck me right now.” whether you’re really over or not, art couldn’t care less. he nods gormlessly and you drag him by his wrist up to his the dorm he shares with patrick and you fuck the everloving shit out of art all over their room. you’re so aggressive with everything but he fucking eats it up, matches your energy and doubles it until it looks more like cannibalism than intercourse. you kiss with teeth, you throat his dick so far you make yourself splutter and choke and then you go back in for more, he eats your pussy so nasty that he has to use all his upper body strength to keep you from twitching away from from him. you tell him “hurt me,” words you never said to patrick. you take a secret pleasure in giving art privileges in one day that patrick never got over the months you were together. you give them to art so freely because he would never ask, would never think to hurt you, which makes you want it all the more. but maybe the pleasure isn’t so secret, because art knows everything about your sex life with patrick. everything. he knows you were never so wild with patrick. so he takes secret pleasure in defiling you in ways patrick could only wank about. you fuck until the room stinks and the duvet cover has come off and the sheets pinged off the corner of the bed and your hair is a birds nest and you leave with a limp because he fucked you so good. he wanted it for so long and the second you gave it to him he didn’t know how to act, didn’t know what the word restraint even meant. patrick’s gonna be pissed. who gives a fuck

oh shit.

i imagine you only dig the knife this deep because patrick said some truly unforgivable shit - provoked by your own nasty remarks but still, he knew about your insecurities, knew it and still said "you think you have anything i cant get from some other tight pussied freshman?" he'd said it to wound and it had. cut so deep, deeper than anything he'd ever said before, the need to lash out, to hurt the way he'd hurt you was too strong.

its not like his dynamic with art isn't easy to prey on either. you've seen the way art looks at you. you've talked about it with patrick, even giggled about it, used it in foreplay with him - because unlike you, the thrill of a little competition got him hard as a fucking rock. but he would never be okay with you actually doing it, of art one upping him without his say so or input. and art was practically dying for an excuse to betray patrick. to stab him in the back and knock him down a peg. his resentment towards patrick was obvious to you - as prominent as his desire for you was.

so yeah, its easy to seduce him. and the thing is, art knows hes being used. he knows you know how he feels about you - and he knows you're doing this for revenge. he knows somehow, in a fucked up way, hes still not your first chocie, patrick is. so he fucks you like he hates you - and he lavishes in how that makes your pussy strangle his cock. he takes what he can get and he makes the most of it, hes going to imprint himself into your memory. going to dig his nails into your skin and leave marks, bite so hard the imprint of his teeth lingers, reshape your cunt to the mold of his dick - his name spilling from your lips. his cum dripping from your well used cunt. "tell me you love this. tell me you want me to cum inside you - tell me."

you tell him all sorts of things. its easy to get you babbling with a cock inside you, is the thing. you tell him you've always wanted him, you tell him you'll be with him after this, that you want him, more than patrick, and maybe you mean some of it, maybe you dont. its hard to tell. you leave him when he falls asleep.

you dont stay around to watch the fallout happen. you leave with the satisfaction of a good fuck, a life altering one, and the bitter sting of knowing you cant come back from this. that the hatred you've sewn from this act will be too deep, that art and patrick will never be the same, and neither will you.

you dont know if you want patrick to confront you. you dont know if you want him to hate you and get in your face for this or if you wanted this to sever any and all ties with him, finally. and you dont know if you feel bad for lying to art, feeding him lies so he'd fuck you harder, painting a pretty picture for him - maybe you wanted to hurt him too, as an extension of patrick. maybe you just got a little too drunk on power. on the notion you were important enough to ruin a lifelong friendship.

patrick could fuck whoever he wanted, but he'd never find a girl who'd fuck up his life like you had. and that made you smile.

[geekforhorror]

hiiii love ur writing sm !! i don’t have many specifics but i know i’d like to see corruption kink nd dacryphilia w/ jamie:)) thank u sm:) !!

thank you for the kind words anon! when i first saw this ask i actually moaned 😫

cherry pie

pairing: dbf!james kelly x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT (DNI IF YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH IT!), dom!james, sub!reader, unprotected p in v sex, degradation, dacryphilia, corruption kink, rough sex, possessiveness, jealousy, pet names, fluff, etc.

“You think you can just walk around outside flaunting what has always been mine, sweetheart?” James rasps into the shell of your ear as he fucks you raw. “You thought wrong.”

You had just flown home from college and decided to stop by your dad’s house. To your surprise, he had thrown you a welcome home party and invited your closest friends, some family, and most importantly: his best friend James.

Coincidentally, you just so happened to be wearing the skimpiest clothing imaginable. In front of James. As soon as the party officially started, you made your way around the house thanking everyone who had managed to show up. Everything was going well until you started conversing with your good family friend, Andrew. Unbeknownst to you, James had become furious once he saw the two of you exchanging harmless words to one another. He hated it and the rage in his eyes only confirmed it even more. You were his, even if the two of you weren’t a thing.

He decided to take matters into his own hands and stormed outside, intending to walk over to the two of you and stop anything else from happening between you and Andrew. Once he finally made his way over to you, he cleared his throat, which startled you.

“Hi James! It’s so nice to see you,” you said with an illuminating smile plastered on your face.

“Who’s this?” James asks with no hesitation, a look of disgust as he looks directly into Andrew’s eyes.

“James, this is Andrew. Andrew, this is James.” you say with an inviting voice.

“Nice to meet you man,” Andrew says to the man.

“Wish I could say the same. I need to talk to your friend alone, kid. Now beat it,” he says, not even trying to hide the harsh nature of his words.

“Whatever dude,” Andrew says before walking away to get a drink.

“What was that Jamie?! Andrew’s nice!” you ask in a scolding voice.

“He was getting a little too close to you for my liking,” James says coldly.

“You don’t get to decide who I can and can’t talk to! You don’t own me!” you say in a fit of anger.

“You can deny it all you want, but you know deep down that I do own you.”

And boy was he right. I mean how else would you have ended up being fucked on your bed?

“Such a fucking little brat, huh? Had to throw a damn temper tantrum at your own party, didn’t you? Whose idea do you think it was to have this party?” he grunts while plowing himself deeper into your aching hole.

“Fuck Jamie…” you cry out as you feel his fat cock stretch you out ever so deliciously.

“Poor baby…already so drunk on her daddy’s best friends cock,” he tuts in fake disapproval.

He had managed to make a girl like you lose composure with only a few thrusts. You would be lying if you said you never dreamed of this. Him doing this to you. He wanted to ruin you, so that no other man could have you.

“No boy can fulfill your deepest desires like I can. That’s why you need a man like me,” he says full of lust. “You belong to me.”

“Please…need more…” you plead, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“Greedy girl, aren’t ya, darling?” he asks, already knowing the answer you would give him.

“Only for you,” you reply in a choked sob, tears finally streaming down your cheeks from how he was splitting you open. It was enough to have your toes curling and see stars.

“Lemme see those pretty tears, baby,” he says before bringing his tattooed hand to your face to wipe them even further down your cheeks. You feel his tight balls slap against the curve of your ass, which provides some much needed friction.

“James ‘m so close! Please let me cum…” you beg of him, too far gone to even paint a picture in your mind of how desperate you are in this moment.

“Promise me that you’re mine,” he demands of you.

“I’m fucking yours Jamie…all fucking yours!” you let out with raggedy moans as he stuffs you with even more of his dick.

“That’s what I like to hear. Now let go for me, m’kay sweetie? Prove that I made the right decision to let you cum,” he says in between his erratic movements, his words only spurring the two of you on. He finally hits that spot deep inside of you, enough for you to teeter over the edge and finally milk his cock with your sweet release.

James throws his head back at the feeling while still pile driving himself at an agonizing pace into your spent pussy. Before he knows it, his sticky ropes of seed spill into your walls, where it would stay for the rest of the night if it were up to him.

He finally pulls out and then positions himself so he’s laying directly next to your achy body. As the two of you catch your breath from your guys’ respective orgasms, he caresses your tresses.

“I love you,” he says, breaking the silence once and for all, causing you to look at him in shock.

“You love me?” you ask, wondering if you had heard him right.

“How could I not, baby?” he responds.

“I was just wondering because…I love you too Jamie.” you admit.

The look he gave you was one of awe and admiration. You felt so lucky to have a man who cared for you deeper than you could’ve ever imagined. Needless to say, he felt the same way.

“So where do we go from here?” he asks nervously with a chuckle.

“I may have an idea,” you say before pressing a gentle kiss to his soft lips.

tag list: @zapernz @mortalheartache @midnight-raine @camiemorgan8 @myheartwillgoon2022 @demieyesore

[princessmaybank]

🍒 - 2 & 10 w/ jj plsss 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Awe I hope you like it!!! This was so cute and I loved writing it! Enjoy!

Only One Time

Pairings: Sweet!JJ x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of sexual intercourse. More fluff.

Summary: Prompts 2 & 10 from this list.

Authors Note: I rarely write fluff so you guys better like this one!

JJ's POV:

It was just supposed to be a one time thing. That's what we told each other 3 months ago. We've had sex at least once a week since then. It wouldn't have been a problem if I would've just kept feelings out of it. I tried, I fought like hell, but every time I hear her moan my name, it sends me through a tunnel of love.

That is the same for this time as well. I am currently balls deep inside this amazing girl and she can't stop moaning my name and clawing my back. I like to think of her scratching as her way of claiming me.

Recently I've been trying to keep her in positions where I didn't see her face, but it never helped. This time, she insisted on missionary, so basically I was fucked. Haha literally. "Jay- I'm gonna cum- don't stop!" She moaned. Fuck, she said my name again. I can't stand it. "Me too, me too.." I hissed out. Y/N clenched around my dick and came all over it. It was just enough to tip me over the edge. I slipped out and spilled my cum on her stomach just in time. We both stared at each other with bright smiles on our faces. We both looked exhausted but she still looked perfect.

"What is it Jay?" She asked, catching her breath between words. "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are? " My cheeks heated up and I mentally slapped myself, I don't know why I just fucking said that.

"Uhm no actually.." She blushed and looked down at her fingers. I definitely couldn't take back what I said. Not that I wanted to, I just wanted to fucking hide for the rest of my life. "Well I think you should be told every day. You really are absolutely gorgeous Y/N. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." I smiled and gave her a small hug. She seemed to blush harder now. "Thank you Jay, that means a lot to me." Y/N answered.

We laid there cuddling for a while, nearly falling asleep a few times. I'd like to say this was the first time we cuddled after sex, but it's actually become a normal thing since our 3rd or 4th time together. So yeah, pretty much every fucking time.

"Hey Jay?" She asked. We were spooning, one arm under her head, the other is laid over her hip, and my dick was pressed against her ass. "Yes Y/N?" I asked. "Did you mean what you said earlier? About me being pretty?" She questioned. "Of course I did. Why wouldn't I mean it?" I was slightly confused. "No one's ever called me beautiful before and our situation isn't exactly easy, so I guess I just thought you said it in the heat of the moment." She sounded upset. "I'm sorry." I don't know why she apologized. "You have no reason to be sorry." I turned her so she was on her back and I was hovering over her.

"I would never lie about something as serious as that. Especially to you. I could never lie to you Y/N." I brushed some hair out of her face and she nuzzled into my hand. We couldn't stop our glossy eyes from staring at each other.

I'm not sure how but it felt like our lips were magnetic. They pulled us closer and closer to each other until they crashed together. We had tried kissing before in bed but that was so different. Before it was hot and steamy, with no emotion. This one was full of passion and desire, but not in a sexual way.

After our long, beautifully emotional kiss, I pulled back and we looked at each other with shock and what seemed to be the most intense feeling a human could experience.

"I love you. "

I said barely above a whisper. I wasn't afraid to say that anymore. I needed her to know, even if the feeling wasn't mutual. But her eyes softened. "I love you too Jay." She pulled my lips back into hers.

When we pulled apart I felt so much better knowing that she felt this way too.

"Will you go out with me?" My heart beat out of my chest as I waited for her answer but I had a feeling the odds were in my favor.

"Of course Jay!" I was right.

[drdemonprince]

woof. your recent posts really resonate with me especially now that im making more gay and trans friends, im meeting so many cool nonmonogamous trans people that seem to have casual sex with basically all their nonmonogamous trans friends and like. its almost giving me a complex where if i think someone is cool and want to be friends with them, even if im not attracted to them, i have a perception that the only way to befriend them is to pursue them sexually. or that if they dont wanna fuck me when they fuck all their other trans friends that means there's something wrong with me (again even if i don't particularly want to fuck them!)... i love being trans and poly, and i love having more trans and poly people in my life, but sometimes i think about this one reddit comment where a dude said he noticed his gay friend had way more fun at straight bars than gay bars bc at straight bars he wasn't worrying about his appearance/body image/validation/sexual prospects

yeah honestly i get this so much and it's a very dismaying swirl of emotions to have. i don't like fucking friends. at all. it actively makes me feel unsafe and like i'm only useful to someone insofar as i'm satisfying a desire for them. it makes me feel more disposable. plus im insanely jealous if i have an actual emotional connection with someone i'm fucking so i wouldn't do well in a whole poly queer mish mosh of dear devoted friends who also sometimes bang. i would be plotting the downfall of the people i was most primed to view as a threat and sowing discord between people and shit. not good.

i also think it is a little fucking concerning when people only date/have sex as their sole way to make friends, and are only friends with people they want to fuck. this tends to create a very homogenous friend group that is heavily restricted based on desirability politics. it's also just really objectifying and unsustainable.

now i must say!! this is very much in the minority of poly people -- poly people are generally fucking AMAZING at being friends because even as just their buddy they treat hanging out with the same degree of intention and care as they would going on a date. they can hang! they want to go out and do things! they're more practiced in building a new intimacy of *any* kind than most monogamous people are.

it's just that there are some weird culty up their own ass bad boundaried polycules out there, in the same way there are abusive, codependent, jealous, miserable fucking monog couples.

but even tho most queer and poly people are more ascended than that, yeah, there is a weird unsettling constant self-evaluation that can happen in spaces where fucking almost anybody is theoretically on the table. some of that is a problem in how people treat one another, and some of that is just insecurity in between your own ears.

i get it fully. im hyper conscious of myself and how i imagine im being perceived and how people are seeing me when im out in queer spaces. and most of it is me being fully insane and making myself miserable based on nothing. because literally who cares who is attracted to me in that space and who isn't??? what matters is what i want in that moment, and my behavior, which i have control over. i should be able to just float around smiling at people and dancing and chit chatting and if someone is feeling my energy and we can talk, great, if they try to make it sexual when i dont want it to, i can just walk away. like it fully does not need to be that deep.

but it's a hard internal hurdle to overcome and every time someone hits on you, ignores you, misreads your identity, etc it can be used by your mind as fodder for The Narratives and The Insecurities and make things worse and it really has to be an intentional practice to not do that to yourself.

if you can bounce along carelessly in the straight club because you're not worrying about how people see you, you can bounce along carelessly in the queer club and not worry about how people see you. literally treat queer people the same way you'd treat straight people who seem perfectly fine but are not your problem and not a focus for you. you can stop trying to mind read the intentions of every queer person and stop sizing yourself up in their eyes and not worrying about who is fucking who and who is in love with who and who is secretly jealous but pretending not to be. and just. hang out. and feel things out. and exist in your own body and pay attention to what interests you and what you are experiencing rather than how they are experiencing you.

i say this as a reminder to myself!!

[marypaol]

Poisoned Thoughts

Draco x fem!reader

Summary: Reader is drowning in the river of insecurities, and Draco is only the hand that’s pushing her further down.

Warnings: Insecurities, obviously, mention of suffocation, choking, strangling, etc. Bullying about weight, eating habits, mention of drowning, drowning someone, ANGST, crying, mention of blood, all that good stuff. :)

Note: This is very personal to me, and I was happy to write a story that kind of puts awareness out there about insecure people. Everyone has their own dislikes about themselves, and I don’t think it’s at all funny to make fun of someone that thinks bad about themselves. So please know to spread kindness and respect others, because you never know what they think of themselves. I’m here if anyone needs to talk, and remember that you are absolutely beautiful just the way you are!!! 🫶🏻

For the wonderful @maaaapara I hope you enjoy!

This is my first time writing full on angst, so it might be bad.

The feeling of hunger was over her, the long hours of studying finally catching up. She didn’t plan on doing the whole Charms essay, just a few paragraphs and she’d be done for the night. But her quill kept moving nonetheless, swirling the cursive letters against the parchment with soft grace. The soft scratching noises arising from the action were peaceful to her ears, and the cackling of the flames in the fireplace was another sign of calm.

Once she finished it, she rolled it up neatly, tying a thin piece of string around it that was worn out from continuous usage. She always seemed to use that certain one out of the millions she had in her bag, since not only was it old, but she liked the material’s feel against her fingertips.

She liked to think of the soft feeling as an award for finishing the work, letting herself know that she can feel the calming sensation if she completed what was asked of her.

The sun was sinking into the sky with such ease she couldn’t see it moving. The soft warmth was warmer than the daylight, glowing innocently into the green room, letting the world know it’s almost time for slumber.

Of course, the urge to eat after a long day was much higher than the desire to sleep, mostly because she felt like everyone, not just her, had an issue falling asleep if they were hungry. As so did she, but she knew she missed the feast far too long ago, too busy frying her brain out of her head to make the action to consume food.

So she sighed, trying to ignore the yelling of her stomach as it demanded something, anything. She had to set aside the want, knowing she had to go to bed and if a prefect caught her sneaking for food they’d think she was a freak, desperate for something to eat but in reality she was too busy doing school work.

The last thing she wanted was a person coming off that way so her tired legs carried her to her dormitory, all the way up trying to fight the want to eat.

She set her bag down on the ground as she got there, her roommates ignoring her presence as per usual, the feeling settling in her chest a long time ago.

Thinking about it now, her brain took her as she went into bed after changing into pajamas, the soft sheets relaxing on her skin, she’d never fit in as easily as the other girls did.

She’d always be the one who was too shy to talk, too shy to interact with people, instead taking place in a corner where she’d watch act unfold. The corners seemed to be the only place that accepted her, the curve of the wall as they both merged together taking home on her back as she sought for warmth that wasn’t there.

The line going from the floor to ceiling basically fit her quite well. She liked to think of it this way. Everyone was the walls, either side of her nice and flat as they lived life. They were smooth, beautiful, and simply flawless as you walked into the room, admiring the wall pattern in the space. But, she, however, was different. She was the corner, where all the webs built up and all the dust formed that wasn’t wanted; the corner wasn’t wanted. The person who lived in the room doesn’t attention to the corners, too busy admiring the wallpaper full of beauty and elegance to care. They don’t bother cleaning the corner while polishing the room for guests, knowing they’re blocked by furniture so the people won’t notice. No one noticed her, it seemed. Why exist, she thought, head turned to the left, staring right at the floor corner of the room, the darkness making it barely visible but she knew that was just her trying to look into her chest.

When she woke up, the room was empty and there was a cold absence in the room, floating in the air. The beds of her roommates were made, the neatness seeming to mock her, the sight of the smooth blankets making her twist in her bed sheets.

The sight was unsettling for an unknown reason, feeling something off. She looked out the window, rubbing her eyes and seeing the sun quite high within the clouds, shining upon world with such grace.

She yawned, grabbing her watch of the table beside her bed and snapping it on her wrist, looking down at the time lazily.

She gasped, lips parting and chest squeezing. It was almost time for her first to class to start, and she was still in bed, yawning like it was nothing that she forgot to set an alarm the night before. Too busy thinking about food, the thoughts in her head grumbled to herself, feeling hot anger flush in her blood. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She scrambled out of the bed sheets, feeling more suffocated every second.

She wondered why her roommates didn’t wake her, but the thought only lasted for a second. They didn’t care, was the truth.

While she was putting on her robes, the sleeves being extra irritating that morning, she felt an unexpected sensation of anger brewing in her emotions. She felt angry with herself, disappointed. She wanted to feel normal, not having these never ending thoughts swarming in her mind.

She scoffed the clothes on, standing in front of the mirror, looking at her pathetic tired self standing there, wanting nothing more than the day to end. Right then and there, she wanted it all to end. She wanted her brain to shut off, like a light switch, flipping from emotions felt to nothing at all. She pulled at her hair strands, feeling deep annoyance and irritation building in her heart and stomach. Her hair wasn’t corroborating in the way she wanted it to, and her robes seemed itcher than usual. The fabric seemed to be choking her and the more she tugged at the collar the more it seemed to be strangling her neck.

She felt tears prickle her eyes, nose burning at the want to sob.

She went close to the mirror, not wanting to ruin the makeup she put on her eyelashes, carefully wiping the forming unwanted tears. She still looked horrible despite her attempts to make her look more awake, but it was good enough compared to what she saw when she first got out of bed.

She quickly made her way down the stairs to the Great Hall, hoping to at least grab a piece of toast before class.

She raced to the Slytherin table. The students had that sense coming off them, the feeling that they’ve been content and full, ready for the weekend as it quickly approached. Her stomach wasn’t happy, so she grabbed a piece of toast cut diagonally and spread butter with jam, trying not to combine the two condiments.

She bit into it kinda quickly, already seeing a group of Ravenclaws leave the Hall. She knew it was just because they had a habit of being prepared and responsible, but she did have a couple traits from that House, and being persistently on time was one of them.

“What’s the matter with you? Trying to gain weight, I see.” She heard a snicker, boys around her chuckling and girls giggling. She looked up, confused on who the person who spoke was talking to.

She looked up and saw Draco Malfoy, silver eyes staring right at her with lips turned up into a smirk.

“W-what?” She pathetically squeaked, pausing mid-chew. The toast’s texture felt weird on her tongue, the urge to just chew it was getting greater as it got wetter with her spit. She suddenly felt like throwing up.

“Are you deaf? And how are you eating another one?” He snarled, looking disgusted. “We just ate.”

Th laughter seemed to get louder in her ears, echoing in her head. The toast didn’t seem so appealing anymore, her stomach feeling sickening. She felt like throwing up.

She cleared her incoming dry throat. “I-I was-”

“Was what? Gaining a million pounds in one meal?” Draco interrupted her attempt of explaining where she was the previous night. He snickered, smirk widening at the rising laughter at the table. She couldn’t help but notice some yellow robes joining them within the green, a few Hufflepuffs finding interest in the occurrence.

Her cheeks warmed, heated, even, and she stood on wobbly legs, eyes burning with liquid that she desperately wanted to go away. She picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder with great effort. She couldn’t seem to carry things like she usually was able to, the tears decreasing her ability to use her muscles.

She didn’t want to scan the people there, just in case she spotted one of them in future classes and have to experience awkward eye contact, but she did anyway; specifically Malfoy.

His sliver eyes met hers and the differences were clear. Hers was full of see-through gloss, folded with innocence and gentleness. His, however, full of hardness and hatred, looking at her as a way to challenge her to see what she would do.

And she did something. The gasps that were heard from the girls, the chuckles and soft curses from the boys were ignored, she just did it.

She had grabbed the spoon from the jam she used earlier, scooping an abnormally large amount of the spread and aggressively flung the scoop right in the middle of Draco’s chest. The jam splattered on his spotless ironed robes, green and black replaced with stained strawberry jam. His pale face finally was given color, chunks of strawberry on his cheeks.

Draco practically growled. “You little-”

She huffed, breaking through her nose as she broke her eyes away from his face after glaring.

She stormed out of the Hall, tears in her eyes that she harshly rubbed away.

“My father will hear about this!” She heard him holler after her. Her anxiety rose, not wanting to get in trouble with Mr. Malfoy, but the burning in her eyes distracted her. She doubted he would actually do something to her, his father, but the lingering thought of being expelled was in the back of her mind.

I’m in so much trouble, she thought, rubbing her cheeks that now had thick streaks running down them.

“Hey!” She heard, the voice the one that she heard yelling at her just moments before.

She walked faster, not wanting to encounter him once again.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.” He said, suddenly grabbing her shoulders and forcibly turning her around so she faced him. A gasp escaped her lips, not having enough time to wipe her puffy eyes so he saw it all. Her face was red, cheeks flushed from the embarrassment he caused her and from rubbing the continuous tears. The once was whiteness around her eyes were no more, they were now red and almost bloodshot looking. Her eyelashes were wet and her body shook as she looked at him. He still had the jam on his robes, the red for sure going to stain. His face was clean though, like he wiped it off before he went to make fun of her more.

“What’s this?” He sneered, chuckling at the sight of her tears. “Crying about the truth, are we?”

She shoved him off her, his hands coming off her shoulders leaving a not so satisfying sting behind. “Shove off, Malfoy.”

He laughed. “What’s the matter? Not my fault you’re fat.”

Her breathing stopped, the breath in her lungs pausing mid-way as she looked at him, a moment of silent bracing between them.

“I’ll have you know,” she started, voice wet as the tears seemed to flood her throat not just her eyes. “That I was studying last night and missed dinner.”

Draco was smirking at her reactions, eyes twinkling with excitement. “Missed dinner? Studying?” He scoffed out a laugh, not believing her so called alibi. “That’s your excuse for stuffing your face?”

The girl stared helplessly as he laughed at her, eyes showing nothing but satisfaction as he watched her fall apart in front of him. She was drowning, and he was above the surface waiting for the bubbles to stop.

“Go to hell, Malfoy.” She spat through a clogged throat, turning away and starting to walk away towards the bathroom; her first class was the last thing on her mind.

“Oo so threatened!” He called after her, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. “Don’t forget to miss lunch too!”

His laughter and calls faded out as she stormed into a girls bathroom, the cold space abandoned as everyone was probably just about now getting to their lessons.

It felt like her tears were a river, and her eyes were the dam, the bricks breaking as soon as she entered the bathroom. The water came flooding out, killing whatever there was in its path.

She sank to the floor, green robes and sniffles, her hand held high, fingertips grazing the surface of the water’s depths, waiting desperately for a hand to reach for hers and pull her out.

The bubbles of screams and pleads rang within the water, no air inside for it to be heard.

Her brain took over, wanting nothing more than to escape and be free again.

She sat there for a while, bottom getting numb as her eyes felt like they would fall out after all that hard labor.

She got up, legs wobbly as she had a horrible flashback of when she stood up from the table of the Great Hall.

Leaving her bag disfavored, she arrived in front of the mirror and gazed reluctantly.

What she saw displeased her very much so. Her hair was a representation of the word ‘mess’ if it was alive and breathing, as well as her eyes being redder than before.

She scanned her reflection. She’s always hated her face. Her nose was too big for her liking, her lips were too plump, and her eyes were small. She liked the color but wished they were bigger so they could be seen better. Her hair didn’t have volume despite the constant Charms she casted to make it look more full.

She looked gross.

She turned away, brain already taking a mental image of her appearance, labeling each flaw of her face until she couldn’t see the image anymore. She dug her hands into the hair she hated, tugging at the strands and yelling inside her brain to shut the hell up.

But as usual it didn’t, it just smirked at her as it re-read the list of things wrong with her. She would die before it was finished, the never ending enumeration lasting centuries.

Fat

Stupid

Worthless

Stupid

Dumb

Weird

Stupid

The tears flowed senselessly, her cheeks so raw she couldn’t feel them falling anymore.

“You again? You do know this is the boys bathroom, right? Or are you just dumb. Honestly, all that food going to your head?”

A dark chuckle followed the remark, making her hold her breath at the cold voice behind her. She looked around, noticing it was the boys bathroom, and she didn’t realize before since she was too busy trying to breathe.

She turned around, puffy red teary eyes meeting his.

The smirk seemed to wipe off his face. He took a small step forward, his robes coming into the soft light that was on, causing her to once again see the jam stains. He tried to chuckle nervously to break the tension but he failed miserably.

“Woah, you oka-”

“Go to hell, Malfoy.” She spat, wet lips feeling like she didn’t just lick them, but like water was flowing out of her mouth. Like her lungs were full of water, gurgling her voice as she tried to breathe. Her feet were touching the sandy bottom now, the coldness of the water that never saw daylight chilling her skin in the most intense way. Her toes tried to hopelessly kick off the rocky bottom but she just sank back down, limbs pathetically moving in the liquid around her.

She picked up her bag in her hands, it feeling like a weight in the river that was flooding her body at the moment. She exited the bathroom with quick yet shaky legs, lungs still swollen with pain and the strong desire and need to take a breath.

The Slytherin that was left behind, the boy above the surface and constantly seeing the sun, stood utter less. His feet felt cold on the tile beneath him and his lungs took normal full breaths.

He wanted to walk and rush after the girl, he wanted to bend over the river and touch its surface, hand wanting to feel she desperate fingertips. But she was already at the bottom, so sticking his arm in wouldn’t be of any use.

He wanted to jump in and swim to the bottom, limbs moving as the water got colder against his pale skin, turning it even whiter, but he wouldn’t be able to make it that far down without coming up for a breath.

But he was the reason for her being in the river in the first place, or at least going from being foot deep to being at the bottom, feet grazing the sand.

And yet his feet were glued to the ground, silver eyes dulled over with a light grey, fading his eyesight.

His lips parted for a gentle breath, one he knew she couldn’t take, and picked a spot on the tile to stare at until his brain started up again.

The thorns were piercing his hands, blood already flowing down his wrist, the red looking bright as ever in his pale skin.

His black dress shoes took him through the huffing grass, the air kinda breezy but the colors of plants were nice for his grey eyes. The cement was evermore, row after row in the grassy ground. He knew which one he was looking for, yet not quite the place.

The name in stone was bright and noticeable, for he could recognize something like that from centuries away.

He bent down, knees crackling and elbows resting on the end of his thighs. He first set down the jar in his hand, turning it so he saw the picture of the strawberry to represent what flavor jam it was. He then set down the roses, deep red in color that set free the pain in his hand that he was doing a good job at ignoring.

He huffed before taking a nice long full breath for her, giving her a taste of crisp air that she wasn’t able to experience.

“They’re beautiful,” he whispered, gesturing to the flowers that he set down, the black ribbon around the stems mocking him. “Just like you, loves.”

-Like, reblog, and comment to make me happy!🫶🏻

[blacst4r]

heyyy, so um saw u was doing reqs and i've got one! would you please do a head cannon for yk the bloodline, obviously? but like how they are in a relationship/how they are when ...(you can make up the situation).

no smut involved please, unless ur talkin abt the relationship thing x

please and thank u, btw i ur writing is so mwah, gorgeous. ☆☆

𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐡𝐜

🔖-Tysm girlie! 💋

𝐉𝐞𝐲

➴ Sentimental and mushy, especially when he's working on the road and away from you. It gets lonely not having the one he loves alongside him as he's traveling. So expect sappy love texts and calls, with him expressing just how much he misses you. When he's making those long drives, he'll call just to hear your voice accompany him.

➴ Easy-going for the most part, with a little bit of a temper that only you're able to calm. He constantly reiterates that you're his peace, about to ease his mind and relax his mood whenever he's bothered. He looks to you for comfort.

➴ So in love with you he proposed after barely a year, as he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

➴ Introduced you to your first traditional samoan tattoo that was done by Mike, as both you and Jey got each others names tatted on each other along with some designs. During the tatting session he was emotional as he shared a big part of himself with his wife. He got a third palm tree with your name on it, as you got one too with his name.

𝐉𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐲

➴ Extremely goofy and light-hearted, it's like dating a sitcom character the way he jokes and plays all day. There's never a dull moment with him, he always keeps you smiling and laughing. It brings him immense joy to see you in good spirits because of his silly actions. It makes for all the better when you're just as playful and goofy, as yall practically have the same personality.

➴ The man is stuck to you like glue, always hugged up on you whether at home or out in public. He swears he just needs that constant physical contact, feeling your body up against his, "baby I need yo warmth."

➴ Aggravates you till no end about having a baby, as he desires one more child. "C'monnn, lemme have you round here barefoot and pregnant."

➴ Matches your freak 1000% 2 freaky frogs who aren't afraid to get it in with even a tinge of privacy. He's turned on by the very sight of you and can't get enough, his sex drive is off the charts. If he's not complimenting your body, he's whispering naughty things in your ear about the various positions he can have you in. If theres an opportunity to get a quickie, yall are taking it.

𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨

➴ Very attentive, taking in the little details you didn't even think he'd notice about you. He's surprised you with gifts, based on your small interests and hobbies. You have an impressive lego collection thanks to him. He's great observer who knows your likes & dislikes without even having to tell him.

➴ a good listener, but he has to be because you're a certified yapper sometimes, going on and on, still his attention never waivers. He may not add on to the conversation, but he'll ad-lib with a- "mhm, uh-huh, word? damn thats crazy" to let you know he hasn't lost interest. He loves to see you so passionate about whatever topic you're rambling on about, it's cute to him.

➴ Loves to pamper his baby, specifically in foot rubs as you relax with your feet in his lap. His sultry voice serenades you as his firm hands knead in motions, applying pressure to points that'll have you holding back moans.

"You like that baby? How that feel?"

𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧

➴ Super chill and laid back, just a simple man who lovingly puts up with your energetic ways. Often joking about how hyper you are.

➴ Keeps you well grounded and level-headed, doesn't allow you to stress over anything when your emotions start to get the best of you. He doesn't do arguments, attitudes, or silent treatments. Wanting proper communication of any issues either of you have, but he can get you in check if need be.

➴ a romantic who knows how to set the mood, with dates that see an entire restaurant rented out for the two of you as he likes his privacy.

➴ Dominant figure in and out the bedroom, providing for you in every way, making you feel comfortable in submitting to him. He takes charge and takes the lead as the man of the house, with no complaints from you. And in the bedroom? This man bends and twists your body every which way for hours, leaving nothing to be desired.

🏷️: @trc-punzel @shes2real @cyberdejos2 @whatdoeseverybodywant @venusesworld @thatone-girly @yeaiamme2 @slut4slashersluv @von2dutch @theninthwonder @strqirhrts @romanreignsbae @sayyestoheav3nn

[lxmelle]

The currency of love

I sometimes read things on social media about how some fans are upset that Gojo didn’t mention his students in the afterlife. To the point where there comes theory after theory over why he will come back to life.

I get it. I do. It’s understandable. Not only for those who think the strongest should win, but also those who wish to see their beloved Gojo sensei show love to his students. Amongst other reasons of course.

I somehow also see how this desire for his resurrection comes at the expense of Gojo who clearly didn’t seem to want to be back to life in 236. Is it really loving Gojo to want him back to life to have that burden all over again? And idk, why is there really a doubt that he cared? Does he need to be revived in order for this to be demonstrated? I guess there is a wish for it to be confirmed more, like they need it mentioned aloud / shown more.

I mean, I do get the desire for it to be validated, just as I also love the feeling of seeing Satosugu moments.

However, I do want to bring to attention the factor of how there are many ways in which love is expressed. Just as much as there are many different types of love.

I’ll be brief.

For Geto, his whole CT is about self-sacrifice Currency of love. For Gojo, he was born to be Strong and this was a Currency of love for him. (There are obviously different currencies, but I won’t elaborate further for the purposes of being as succinct as possible)

Geto - self sacrifice. I’ll work hard for a purpose, swallow cursed balls, commit sins, create a new world meticulously, sacrifice my love and myself.

Gojo - strength. Get strong, find strength, be selfish. Protect, save. And literally, his body was given up for others to inherit. Like a businessman gifting his empire to his kin. If that’s not a form of love then what is? How can he come back to life if that isn’t even an option once you’re dead? Going North is NOT COMING BACK TO LIFE.

The fact that Gojo worked with others like his students to create a plan of action speaks volumes. He pushed himself hard in the battle : to look cool and be a good example for them, mentioning them, including them openly in his words to Sukuna - as if to say, “look closely! This is how you do it. This is how you be strong. Fight with all that you’ve got. Be victorious.”

Obv it’s different to the love between him and Geto - because love for others like children and students will never replace that or your life partner / soulmate. It’s just different. It cannot be expected to be the same. His question to who he was (strong or himself) had been answered: he is both, but he wanted to be human, lived mostly like a human, and being human in the afterlife meant being who he was (so he chose South).

I don’t know why Gege didn’t write Gojo talking about the students. But, I think it’s pretty obvious that Gojo cared and gave the battle his all... and gave his students his all too.

Geto’s family inherited his will. His currency of love.

Gojo’s family inherited his weapon. His currency of love.

[copiouscouples]

Just an Off-Tangent Ramble

I really enjoyed season 2 especially in the first half. In my opinion, it’s better than season 1. What kept it from being a top-tier season for me was the absolute momentum killer of watching Edwina decide to crap or get off the pot. We didn’t need that. 

Then, there was also the lack of sexy times pay off. For some less thirsty than I, the garden scene hit the spot and to those people I say, congratulations for not being a thirsty hoe. But I needed all that passion and longing and pent-up frustration to culminate in a beautiful, passionate, romantic steamy scene. And it just didn’t happen.

My Theories as to Why Season 2 Had Sexy Times Slim Pickins:

The Powers That Be were trying to go a different direction and see if the audience would be ok with less sexy times. (We were not OK.)

The actors weren’t comfortable doing those type of scenes. That’s a valid reason. Just because you’re an actor doesn’t mean you should have to do something that makes you uncomfortable.

When it came to editing, the scenes didn’t look good and so were cut. I had heard that they’d filmed a lot of sexy time scenes that never made it into the show - if that’s true - not sure why. Nicola was talking about how they did the kissing scenes and what felt good didn’t always look the prettiest so maybe some of the Kanthony scenes didn’t meet the aesthetic.

When it comes to Jonathan Bailey, he is very boisterous and great at showing passion and humor. I was impressed with his physical humor in the falling in the water scene. That’s not an easy scene to do. He is the perfect pick for Anthony.

That said, he can only do roles like Anthony. I don’t think he could do a believable soft boy Colin like I don’t feel like Luke N could do an Anthony. They just bring different things to the table acting wise. And I’m glad for that diversity.

I feel like Luke has shown that you don’t have to yell to show passion and desire. You can communicate it in soft boy ways like looking longingly and following the girl you love around like a puppy dog and having a one-sided beef with another man.

And when Colin does yell, people pay attention. Eloise was so completely taken aback by his anger that she apologized like at two different points afterwards. I think that’s what is gonna make that one scene so 🔥 because he’s driven beyond his breaking point that he has to raise his voice.

Like we’re never going to get soft, earnest, endearing moments from Anthony. But we are for sure getting them from Colin. We got the “I want to tear your clothes off” (except they didn’t, BOO!) passion from Anthony and Kate. Now, we get the whole let’s be so besotted with each other that we go too far and then giggle afterwards. 

Kate and Anthony had angry, frustrated passion. Colin and Penelope have joyful passion.

The Colin and Penelope of it all just feels more real and authentic to how a lot of relationships are. I also kind of love the awkwardness of their new beginning.

And those steamy scenes! Season 3 has won hands down with just that carriage scene alone. It was so much better than anything we got in Season 2. I think a huge part of it is the willingness of the actors to be vulnerable and commit 100%. Nicola in particular especially.  Kissing and pretend humping is one thing, but boob touches/kisses. If I had a say, I would probably not let a fellow actor do those things. I’m glad she was OK with it because it made that scene HOT. 

And this is subjective, but they’re just pretty kissers. Their faces look good smooshed up next to each other. I really can’t explain why. (Please someone feel free to break down in a point by point explanation as to why their kisses look so good).

Season 2, realistically, could’ve been my favorite. I do love a brooding, angry caveman but something about the sweetness and earnestness of Polin. It’s winning me over as best season so far.

[pinkiemachine]

GOTHAM FILES: SEASON 8

The entire planet of Tamaran is getting ready to welcome the newest member of the royal family as Starfire draws closer and closer to her due date. Consequently, this means that Dick and Star are off-world currently, and the entire BatFam is planning to travel there in about a month for the celebration. In the meantime, however, Bruce has noticed how awfully lonely Damian has been recently. Dick’s been gone for a few months at this point, he’s not exactly the closest of close buddies with the rest of the BatFam, and he doesn’t have any friends at school. (And, up until now he’s been prevented from joining the Teen Titans because he’s not quite 14 yet, and because he has “being in a team” issues.) But then, just his luck, Superman calls saying that there’s been a development with his son, Jonathan. He’s suddenly showing signs of Kryptonian abilities and Clark has had to reveal his secret identity to him. Right now, they need to look him over to check out his physiology and see what’s going on with him. Bruce says to meet at the Watchtower… and he brings Damian with him. Thus, Damian Wayne is introduced to Jonathan Kent. (I should note, Damian is 13 and Jon is 11, though Jon is taller than him and Damian hates it, especially since it leads to people thinking that Jon’s older all the stinkin time, lol.)

After they check up on Jon, discussion turns toward what they’re gonna do next. Jon’s going to need training, not just in how to use his powers, but also in other aspects like combat and stealth. (Jon’s adamant that he really wants to become a superhero just like his dad.) But Clark wants to ease Jon into all of this—he’s still only eleven—and that’s when Bruce says, “What if Jon… potentially… came over from time to time and hung out with Damian? He could show him a few things.”

Clark is surprised. Damian is confused and alarmed. Jon is all for it (right now, anyway).

Damian protests. He says that he has no time to “hang out” right now, he’s very busy! Fighting crime (which he’s very good at and there’s been no major stuff going on lately), studying (this is a lie, he’s practically college-level already), and training to prove that he’s ready to join the Teen Titans when he turns 14. Bruce sighs and pinches the brim of his nose. All that training won’t mean a thing if he can’t learn how to get along with other supers his age. This will be a good opportunity for him. It’s happening whether he likes it or not.

…So their first hangout ends in total disaster. Yeah, Damian doesn’t really know how to have “friends” especially when they’re completely normal and like, oh, I don’t know, playing video games or baseball or riding bikes or rollerblading or playing scrabble. Damian’s idea of a “fun time” is sneaking out in the Batmobile and punching the snot out of Condiment King. So… how would you explain to your dad why you’re covered in ketchup and glass shards when you get home?

There is now a growing resentment. We all know Damian’s personality. It’s very easy to dislike him. For a multitude of reasons. And after the initial starstruck-ness of meeting Robin wears off, Jon’s getting kinda sick of his reckless, arrogant, danger-loving demeanour. And Damian, he gets real sick real quick of Damian’s meeker, kinder, pushovery-er personality. Jon gets mad at Damian for getting them into trouble, but Damian says that it wouldn’t have happened at all if Jon hadn’t gotten in the way! Bruce and Clark break them up before the fighting gets worse, but they still think it would be a good idea for them to learn from each other, and Damian’s not going to be allowed to join the Titans until he can learn to get along with Jon. (Which Damian finds totally unfair.) Cue the Super Sons storyline!

Damian doesn’t have the patience or the desire to do things the way Bruce wants him to, so he devises a plan. If he and Jon can manage to complete a high-level mission and take down a dangerous criminal together, Bruce and Clark would be sure to let up on this nonsense and the two of them would never have to hang out ever again. 🤝 Deal.

So, they go on the dangerous mission, naturally things go haywire, Bruce and Clark have to show up and save them, and they’re not happy.

It takes the boys a few more tries, a few more training courses that their dads came up with, and a whole lot of patience, but eventually they do start to get along, and they do end up completing a real mission together. Finally, Bruce says that Damian, after his 14th birthday, (which is coming up soon), can join the Titans. Right now, though, it’s time to go see Dick and Star.

Princess Markori (Nightstar) Grayson is born! (Mar’i for short.) It’s a happy episode.

We do our standard check up on everyone, and everything’s going pretty well. (Well, things ended up not working out with Bab’s boyfriend, so that’s sad, but other than that, there’s been nothing super horrible lately.) Tim’s feeling a little overwhelmed as he slowly but surely becomes the new, up and coming face of Wayne Enterprises, Jason and Artemis are officially a couple, Cass and Steph have their own apartment in Gotham and team up a lot to fight crime, and BRUCE… he and Selina continue to get closer and closer… she’s been brought around the cave and she’s met most of the BatFam members by now… and Bruce just might have a ring picked out. All the more reason for Damian to be hanging out with Jon instead of being all alone at home, stewing about the situation.

So, Damian’s 14 birthday happens, and he’s officially inaugurated into the Titans… and then, when he notices Jon being kinda left out, Damian proposes that maybe they could bring Jon on as a part-time trainee. Thus bringing Jon along with him as the Ultimate Teen Titans head out on their first mission.

Back in Gotham, it’s time for the next big story arc. Get excited for the Robin Wars! Bruce is gone again on another big Justice League mission, Nightwing’s still on Tamaran, Jason’s doing his own thing, Tim was never the best fighter in the group (he’s more of a detective), and Damian’s away with the Teen Titans. Security in Gotham is at an all-time low right now, and it’s because of this over confidence that the heroes have in this quiet and peace that a new threat has started to emerge. A faceless, nameless evil. It’s taking over Gotham, little by little, egging on gangs like the Jokerz, undoing so much of the work that Bruce and the others have done and causing chaos. We, the audience, don’t find out until the very end, but… it’s the Court of Owls.

Now, we see yet again just how much of an effect Batman has really had the people of Gotham, because not long after all of this starts to happen, there’s pushback. A teenager named Duke Thomas (who happens to be a low-level meta human with light-based powers) just lost his parents to an attack by the Jokerz. They got laughing gassed and are now hospitalised. So he’s getting real fed up with these criminals, and without Batman around, he decides to take matters into his own hands. He doesn’t have much to fight with… so he sends out a rally cry. He creates an app that people can download, giving directions to all willing participants on how to organise and fight back. He calls it, “We Are Robin.” Hundreds of young people join the movement, keeping Gotham safe until Batman gets back, with Duke at the helm, leading them. This gets the attention of one Alfred Pennyworth who pitches in as well, making the whole thing feel a little more official.

But, there’s only so long they can hold out against a professional criminal organization. Sooner or later, Batman and the real Robin need to come back and push this new threat back to the shadows, especially before Duke loses control of the mob he’s incited. But Bruce was impressed. He managed to do a lot on his own. But it was also very dangerous. Duke’s lucky things didn’t go much worse.

Now that that’s over… Duke’s parents are still in the hospital… and there’s currently no known cure for Joker’s laughing gas. So, Bruce agrees to take Duke in until they can find a cure.

Gotham is back in steady hands… though Bruce is eager to figure out who that mysterious group was, manipulating everything.

At the current moment, however… he’s more concerned with proposing to Selina. Which he does. Which shocks the entire BatFam. And the entire Justice League. And Everyone.

Part 9 👇

Part 7 👇

[macbethsymphony]

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 12

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 2.5k

Chapter rating: SFW-ish

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, Eventual smut

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11]

Masterlist

Slowly crossposting from AO3 Feel like binging the rest of it? it's all there!

Chapter 12: Shiawase

Roronoa Zoro was struggling. He hated to admit it, but he was coming to his wit’s end on how to handle the sword the witch had presented to him. He'd been at it for almost three days now, and there had been no progress. The damn thing was as stubborn and temperamental as the one who forged it.

He paced back and forth on the sun-drenched deck of the ship, slowly circling the sheathed Shiawase as he pondered how to approach it next. His mind was a battleground of contemplation, frustration, and a tinge of admiration for the weapon’s defiance. With a frustrated sigh, he picked up the blade, fingers wrapping around the handle in a now familiar battle of wills.

He unsheathed it, the scabbard sliding smoothly against the blade. The steel gleamed under the harsh sunlight, its surface adorned with an intricate Damascus pattern that danced in hues of amethyst and obsidian. Despite his vexation, he couldn’t help but admire the blade’s craftmanship, the perfect balance as he twirled it, the deadly sharpness of its edge.

And then it started again. The push and pull the blade demanded of his haki. A dizzying rhythm that left him breathless and sweat drenched. He groaned as he extended his haki towards the blade, trying to overwhelm the sword’s will with his own determination. His brow furrowed as the blade suddenly pulled at his haki, devouring it insatiably. He tried to pull back, beads of sweat travelling down across the muscles of his bare back, the scorching sun drying them out almost instantly.

His hand twitched.

The blade dropped.

An annoyed ‘fuck’ passed his lips.

A sly smile played on your lips as you observed Zoro's fruitless attempts to subdue the rebellious Shiawase. It was a spectacle of futility, a dance of frustration that seemed to distance him further from mastering the obstinate blade. Each move was a misstep, a testament to the intricate challenge that lay before him, and you found a unmistakable enjoyment in witnessing his struggles.

While a part of you yearned to approach him, to reveal the secrets of the blade with effortless finesse, another part reveled in the idea of prolonging his torment. The allure of letting him grapple with the realization of his own limitations appealed to you far more than you liked to admit.

Leaning casually against the ship's railing, you crossed your arms, the glint in your eyes betraying your amusement. The unfolding drama below held your attention like a captivating performance, a blend of determination and stubbornness that both entertained and intrigued.

As the scorching sun reflected brightly off the blade, highlighting Zoro's increasing frustration, you couldn't resist a playful taunt. "Need some help, swordsman?" you called out with a teasing tone. "I can show you how it’s done if you beg.”

His response was a nonchalant flip of the finger, a gesture that spoke volumes, even without a direct glance in your direction. You laughed in the face of his irritation.

Nami strolled over, her eyes flickering between you and the swordsman with an arched eyebrow. “Not in your forge?” She inquired. “I thought you were itching to get back to work.”

Your gaze flickered to her momentarily before going back to the entertaining display before you. “I am” you admitted. “It’s just too hot. I’ll have a stroke if I light those fires.”

A noncommittal sound passed her lips in acknowledgement as she leaned against the railing with you. “Looks like Zoro’s having a rough time” she remarked, glancing down.

You nodded, a smirk playing on your lips. “He’s going at it all wrong. Shiawase’s not a sword you can overpower. You have to play along with it, entertain its demands, let it gauge your intentions before you can take control.” You explained. “He’s trying to brute force his way in.”

Nami raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your assessment. “You talk like swords are people.” She observed.

You smiled. “Because they are. Each and every sword has a personality. Mine are just a little more difficult.” you clarified with a chuckle.

Nami eyed you curiously. “Well, he’s not one to back down from a challenge. It is amusing to see him struggle for once though.” She said.

As if on cue, Zoro let out a frustrated grunt, his movements growing more erratic as he attempted to force the sword into submission. It was clear that he was only digging himself deeper into his frustration.

“You can do it, Zoro!” Chopper and Usopp cheered from the sidelines in sync.

You snorted at the evident anger in the swordsman’s features.

“Think he’ll ever figure it out?” Robin asked, tone laced with amusement as she joined you and Nami.

“He will” You don’t skip a beat, your answer confident.

A mischievous gleam sparkled in Nami’s eyes as she leaned in closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “Should we make a wager on it?” She suggested, a playful grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Why not? It’ll make things more interesting” Robin agreed, playful sparkle in her eyes matching Nami’s

“I bet it’ll take him three more days to figure it out” Nami smirked, crossing her arms.

You considered the proposition, a devious grin forming on your face. "I'll take that bet. But I say he'll get it by tomorrow evening."

Robin chuckled. “I didn’t know you were so confident in Zoro’s abilities” she remarked. “I bet he’ll cave and ask you for advice in two days.” She said after much consideration.

You snorted at the thought. “I doubt so, but I’ll put 1000 berries on that wager.”

“Deal” Nami sealed the bet, anticipation hanging in the air as the three of you looked back at the spectacle before you.

The day had dragged on, the relentless sun casting long shadows across the ship's deck as Zoro stubbornly persisted in his futile attempts to tame the unruly Shiawase. From your vantage point, you continued to watch with a mixture of fascination and amusement.

With each passing moment, you observed the subtle shifts in Zoro's technique, his movements growing increasingly erratic as frustration threatened to engulf him. The once calculated swordsman now seemed consumed by wrath, his determination bordering on obsession.

As evening descended and the crew gathered for dinner, Zoro remained absent. Bets from the rest of the Straw Hats were made as they all animatedly shared their own hypothesis of the outcome between the swordsman and the sword. As night settled in the sky, Zoro stormed in a whirlwind of unchecked fury, interrupting the lively conversations, and left just as fast with two bottles in hand. The door slammed hard behind him, the reverberation a punctuation mark on his turbulent mood.

“Why don’t you point him in the right direction?” Luffy’s curious inquiry cut through the lingering silence, his innocent curiosity revealing the unspoken question that lingered in the minds of many aboard the ship.

You glanced over at Luffy, his expression one of genuine curiosity, and then turned your gaze back to where Zoro had stormed off. A wry smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you considered your captain's question.

"He's a bit too proud for that," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Besides, some lessons are best learned through experience."

Luffy nodded thoughtfully, seeming to accept your explanation without further inquiry. Around you, the rest of the crew had resumed their conversations, though the tension that had accompanied Zoro's departure still hung in the air like a heavy fog.

With a sigh you got up, leaving the galley in search of the angry swordsman. He was sitting down, back resting on the mast of the ship as he downed alcohol with abandon.

You approached him, the night air offering a refreshing reprieve from the day's scorching heat. "Like I said earlier, I can help if you beg," you teased, a playful glint in your eyes contrasting with the seriousness in his. “There’s really no need to get so angry over a sword, it’s not like it’ll disappear tomorrow.” You added softly.

"I’m not in the mood to talk to you, witch," he snapped, the bitterness in his voice evident as he took a long gulp of amber liquid, his gaze fixed on the unsheathed Shiawase before him.

Ignoring his sharp retort, you settled beside him, breaking the heavy silence with a question. "Which one of your swords are you going to let me study first?" you inquired, attempting to lighten the tense atmosphere.

Zoro shot you a skeptical glance, his gruff response cutting through the night. "Don't get ahead of yourself," he warned, his tone laced with impatience.

Your laughter rang out, undeterred by his bluntness. "Oh? Planning to throw in the towel already? I didn’t peg you as one to give up so easily," you remarked teasingly, a hint of scorn in your voice.

“I’m not fucking giving up,” he shot back, his resolve evident despite his frustration.

Mocking his stubbornness, you continued, "Ah, of course, because the great Roronoa Zoro, pirate hunter, knows all about swords, doesn’t he?" you taunted. "Perhaps you'd make some progress if you weren't so pathetically stubborn."

Zoro's grip on the glass tightened, his anger palpable. "I’ll figure it out," he grumbled, his voice tinged with cold determination.

Scoffing at the memories of his futile attempts, you reached for the bottle in his hand, draining the last drops in exasperation. "Oh, please. You couldn’t handle Shiawase if it came with an instruction manual. You’re only pushing yourself further from the solution," you remarked, the irritation in your tone matching his as his anger mingled with your mood.

His temper flared, his words cutting through the air like a sharpened blade. "Listen, witch. I don’t need your condescending advice," he growled, the venom in his voice stinging.

Seething at the derogatory inflections as he uttered the nickname, you stood up, your resolve unyielding. "At least I’m not too proud to admit when I need help," you retorted, looking down at him with a mix of defiance and pity.

His jaw clenched in response, the tension between you palpable.

With a mischievous smirk playing on your lips, you gracefully bent down to retrieve the sword. “Watch closely, swordsman. Consider it a gift from me to you,” you quipped, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

As your fingers wrapped around the silk of the handle, you felt Zoro's intense gaze fixed upon the blade. Your haki danced with the steel in a mesmerizing display of power, the complex waltz between your mind and the sword unfolding effortlessly.

Deciding to showcase your skill, you allowed red lightning filaments to saunter along the Damascus patterns in intricate swirls, a spectacle that demanded attention.

After a brief demonstration, you sheathed the blade, denying Zoro any further observation. “Understood?” you inquired, your voice laced with self-satisfaction as you leaned back casually against the mast.

A flicker of anger flashed in Zoro's eyes as he twisted open a new bottle, consuming its contents with reckless abandon. “I'll handle Shiawase my own way. I don’t need your tricks and mind games,” he spat through gritted teeth, as he stumbled up.

He drunkenly took a step forward, his hand dangerously close to your head as he pinned you with a look of unbridled contempt.

Refusing to back down, you met his gaze with unwavering defiance, a sneer curling your lips. “Tricks and mind games? You overestimate yourself, swordsman,” you retorted, matching his venomous tone with your own.

As your eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, you prepared to unleash another scathing remark, but a shift in Zoro's demeanor gave you pause. Your mouth opened and closed in doubt. The moment of uncertainty seemed to go on forever, a standstill in eternity as the unstoppable force met the immovable object.

Releasing the bottle with a loud thud against the wooden deck, his gaze bore into yours, searching for something elusive. Unable to resist, he roughly brushed his thumb against your lips, a crude gesture that demanded compliance.

“So you can shut up, witch,” he declared haughtily, The rough pad applying soft pressure against your teeth in a call for submission.

A surge of conflicting emotions swept through you, leaving you momentarily disoriented. You wished you could attribute it to the alcohol's influence, but you knew deep down it wasn't the case. Despite your inner resistance, you yielded slightly to his unspoken demand, a defiant glint shimmering in your eyes.

A smug smirk danced upon his lips, fuelled by the haze of alcohol as his index and middle finger ventured into the soft recesses of your mouth.

The tension in your grip on Shiawase intensified, the wooden scabbard creaking under the strain of your tightening fingers.

“I don’t like you,” he declared, his voice dripping with disdain as he peered down at you from his intoxicated perch.

Your knuckles whitened as your nails threatened to etch crescent marks into the lacquered walnut surface.

“Fuck you,” you retorted for lack of cleverer arguments, your words muffled by the intrusive weight of his fingers within your mouth.

An arch of his eyebrows betrayed a blend of amusement and irritation at your defiance. The charged atmosphere crackled between you, an intricate dance of egos teetering on the brink of conflict. Despite your verbal insolence, he maintained his condescending gaze, seemingly unaffected by your resistance.

The pressure of his fingers on your tongue shifted, edging perilously close to the back of your throat, coercing your jaw to widen further. He paused, savoring the control he appeared to have over the situation.

With a flicker of irritation, you shifted uncomfortably under his penetrating stare, a rebellious scowl etching across your features before you firmly bit down on his fingers. It wasn't a bite meant to inflict pain, but rather a not-so-subtle gesture to convey your displeasure.

The look in his eyes hardened momentarily, amusement flickering in and out as he contemplated his next move. However, before he could act, you took the initiative. Your hand, clutching Shiawase, interposed itself between you and the swordsman as you attempted to nudge him away, but his stance stayed resolute.

His smirk widened at your defiance. He withdrew his hand from your mouth, the bitter taste of skin remaining on your tongue, a stark reminder of what just happened. With a nonchalant shrug, he took a step back, his gaze lingering on you with a blend of satisfaction and an enigmatic something that eluded your understanding.

“You’re drunk, swordsman,” you remarked, pushing the sword towards his chest.

“I suppose I am,” he conceded, his hand overlapping yours as he grasped the sword. The cool touch of his spit-covered fingers against yours sent an unfamiliar chill coursing down your spine.

With a dismissive huff, he turned away, sword in hand. “Thanks for the tip, witch,” he called out over his shoulder. “I think I’ve figured it out.”

And indeed, he had.

Just as you had explained all those nights ago in the crow's nest, you and your swords were one and the same. If he could silence your defiance, he could conquer Shiawase. He simply needed to approach the sword with a different mindset, teasing out its secrets with a more playful and taunting demeanor, echoing the rhythm of your now familiar banter.

It took Roronoa Zoro two more days before he presented the sword back to you, a triumphant grin on his lips.

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Masterlist

[midnightshaze13]

I must say something because since I attended the Eras shows I feel this and I need to say it.

I've been a fan since crazier came out and she appeared on the cover of a disney magazine that my mom got me because I liked the song and wanted to know more about her, around 2010. Since then I've respected her and her work and came more and more in love with her writing and music.

Lately, I've seen on social media and at the shows of the eras that many people who attended recognized to have had hated on her in the past, but they now "adore her". Something about this feels wrong to me.

Literally, "the old taylor is dead" was made to win over the general public. She had to metaphorically kill all her previous versions that people didn't trust or tolerated; these versions of herself with which she managed to make her name in the music industry AND those are the same ones they all rejected and now they sing with their mouth full.

She was FORCED to get the approval of people like these who pointed and criticized every little nonsense*¹ about her in order to be able to do what she does now: succeed, fill stadiums with thousands of people and create a legacy which will be in the music History books.

What I want to get at is that Taylor Swift, in order to continue growing in the industry, has had to overcome and prove wrong all of you who were at hater position 2, 3, 10 years ago.

In order to be valued and respected for her job which is creating music and for her is specially writing her own songs, she was forced to learn how to dance better to beat the "she doesn't know how to dance" allegations; she had to change her dressing style and many other things like that to be what people wanted her to be so she can have the recognition she deserved previously and all.

To this day I think many don't like Taylor Swift for what she is and has been. Many people attending the Eras are people loving the results of her growing into something different to earn that respect and admiration. And most of those love the performance of a (now considered) cool girl on stage that she puts on every night on the Eras more than her for what she is and more than the music.

But to all those I must say, she's on the bleachers. That's how it was and that’s the narrative most of them rejected her for. It's not okay to me that they love her now that she's cheer captain.

If these people would have known taylor swift at that age when she wrote those and wasn't "cool" they may would've bullied her for the same things they claim to love her for now.

These are the same people who have bullied me and my other Swift's fans friends for decades just for us liking taylor's music. I had to battle and fight for tickets & a seat at The Eras Tour against people who used to bully me at school for liking her music.

In her own words: maybe you've reframed it and in your mind you never beat my spirit black and blue. But I don't think you've changed much.

I welcome those who discover her recently with open arms. But to the "haters to fans" that "now I can see how good she is" no thanks.

I've been here through a lot watching from a distance (tumblr, youtube) and I always dreamed about going to a Taylor Swift's show. I watched the videos of the speak now world tour when my parents wouldn't let me go because I was 13 years old. I watched the Red Tour while experiencing my first romantic heartbreak and the 1989 world tour when I was 16 and decided to not have boyfriends for a long period of my life. When I started uni and had the clean speech tied to my folder binder to see it every day, these people looked at me like if I was GREEN. And then at the Uni I watched the reputation stadium tour every late night before falling asleep wondering what it must felt like to be a part of it and I grew more into the desire of traveling to a show but couldn't afford it back then. The Eras Show was amazing, it absolutely blew all of my expectations, it truly is my once in a lifetime experience that I'm so grateful for. To have been able to experience all the past eras that I dreamed of in my past.

It feels wrong to see every person who once bullied me for dreaming about it out loud back in the day standing there making their own of the lyrics that for so many time were mine to scape real life and dream.

*¹nonsense: there was this time when every day we had a battle on twitter and other social media of people attacking taylor for the absurd fact that she was blonde, rich and famous and also thin. It was like that back then, they didn't had anything else to attack her for.

[drdemonprince]

do you have any tips on distinguishing between wanting to bang/wanting to be wanted by/wanting non-sexual intimacy with someone? or is it just a case of seeing how you feel when you're actually with them and getting good at communicating about it

im probably not the best person to ask, because it took me uhh decades of fucking random people before i let myself acknowledge that sex is nearly always extremely boring to me and the only thing i'm thinking about during sex or in the lead up to sex is what i imagine the other person might be feeling about me.

every now and then a raw animal chemical attraction happens where i just feel like i NEED the person in me, i love how they smell and taste and i will risk it all to get them to bust inside me and i want them around me afterward.

but the rest of the time its this completely intellectual fantasy. instead of getting all wrapped up in the sex, or the person, all i care about is what i can convince myself it means. thoughts like this:

"oh this person is hot, it's very validating of my desirability that someone this hot wants me"

"oh that guy came very fast, how flattering that he was so turned on"

"i cant see his face in this position but i imagine that he's staring at me hungrily, that's flattering"

"wow i got someone from grindr to come over within ten minutes, im so good at sealing the deal"

"wow i cant believe i fucked eight people at this convention, how cool so many people want me"

"i've never tried this sex act before, i guess i might as well. maybe itll be useful for my writing. maybe ill like it."

thats the kind of shit that is normally playing around in my mind. when im actually attracted to someone i dont have to come up with some weird intellectual justification for why fucking is interesting or rewarding or reflective of me in a positive way. i just NEED it.

the self help guru mark manson (who is a little corny, but not bad) has this age old advice that "either something is a FUCK YES! or it's a no." and i think for some people, especially people who tend to try and persuade/guilt themselves into wanting things they dont actually want, that is a worthwhile reorientation. if i actually want someone its pretty damn unambiguous. if i have to even ask myself or sort out the true nature of my feelings, im bullshitting myself.

granted this advice wont be best for demisexuals, or for lots of other people. sometimes experimenting and trying new things sexually is great! its just. ive been doing that for a long time. i have been a very open minded, open to experience individual. and now im interested in being picky for a while