#it’s true i’m right i take no criticism

[gardenschedule]

Perceptions of Paul as calculating & John's paranoia

“McCartney’s mistake, which he now admits, was to seem invulnerable. […] And yet, he says, the contrast between himself and Lennon, so assiduously cultivated by journalists, was a fabrication. “I wasn’t brilliant at school. I was trouble, just like John. I got caned practically every day, and the only exam I ever passed was Spanish. John and I weren’t black and white, although people took John, for all his aggression, to be the good guy, because he showed his warts. I’ve only just realized, after all this time, that people like to see warts. It makes them sympathetic. I’d always though that, in order to be liked, you had to be unwarty.””

Living with The Beatles’ legacy, the smears that Lennon left behind… and the battle to win my babies back, The Times Newspaper, Monday January 4, 1982.

Paul was the easiest to talk to. He had such energy and such keenness and, unlike John, enjoyed being liked, at least most of the time. I don't see this as a criticism; John himself could be very cruel about Paul's puppy dog eagerness to please. The irony was, and still is, that John's awfulness to people, his rudeness and cruelty, made people like him more, whereas Paul's genuine niceness made many people suspicious, accusing him of being calculating. Paul does look ahead, seeing what might happen, working out the effect of certain actions, but he often ends up tying himself in knots, not necessarily getting what he thought he wanted. I think there is some insecurity in Paul's nature, which makes him try so hard, work so hard. It also means he can be easily hurt by criticism, which was something that just washed over John.

Hunter Davies, Western Mail: The Beatles. (April 9th, 2004)

Even Paul’s immaculate manners could not thaw her. ‘Oh, yes, he was well-mannered–too well-mannered. He was what we call in Liverpool “talking posh” and I thought he was taking the mickey out of me. I thought “He’s a snake-charmer all right,” John’s little friend, Mr Charming. I wasn’t falling for it. After he’d gone, I said to John, “What are you doing with him? He’s younger than you… and he’s from Speke!”’ After that, when Paul appeared, she would always tell John sarcastically that his ‘little friend’ was here. ‘I used to tease John by saying “chalk and cheese”, meaning how different they were,’ she remembered, ‘and John would start hurling himself around the room like a wild dervish shouting “Chalkandcheese! Chalkandcheese!” with this stupid grin on his face.’

Philip Norman, Paul McCartney: The Life. (2016)

“He always suspected me. He accused me of scheming to buy over Northern Songs without telling him. I was thinking of something to invest in, and Peter Brown said what about Northern Songs, invest in yourself, so I bought a few shares, about 1,000 I think. John went mad, suspecting some plot. Then he bought some himself. He was always thinking I was cunning and devious. That’s my reputation, someone who’s charming, but a clever lad. “It happened the other day at Ringo’s wedding. I was saying to Cilia [Black] that I liked Bobby [her husband]. That’s all I said. Bobby’s a nice bloke. Ah, but what do you REALLY think Paul? You don’t mean that, do you, you’re getting at something? I was being absolutely straight. But she couldn’t believe it. No one ever does. They think I’m calculating all the time.

Paul and Hunter Davies, 1981

In the wake of his death you didn’t tour for most of the ‘80s. People suggested that you were scared to go on the road. Was that true? No. People speculate about anything. They always credit me with motives I haven’t even dreamed of. It’s interesting, the way they sort of perceive my life and analyse it for me. In that case, I never thought about touring much. People used to say, “Oh, it’s 10 years since you’ve toured.” I’d go, “Is it? Y’know, I’m not counting.” That’s all that was, really. I don’t know why. Maybe I didn’t fancy it.

The Q Interview, 2007

Astrid in Germany was always a bit suspicious of Paul at first, though his relationship with Stu was also bound up in this. 'It used to frighten me that someone could be so nice all the time. Which is silly. It's ridiculous to feel at home with nasty people, just because you feel that at least you know where you are with them. It's silly to be wary of nice people.'

The Beatles (Updated Edition) (Hunter Davies)

Paul is the easiest to get to know for an outsider, but in the end he is the hardest to get to know. There is a feeling that he is holding things back, that he is one jump ahead, aware of the impression he is giving. He is self-conscious, which the others are not. John doesn't care, either way, what people think. Ringo is too adult to think about such things, and George in many ways isn't conscious. He is above it all.

The Beatles (Updated Edition) (Hunter Davies)

Paul today is still the public Beatle, giving interviews at fairly regular intervals, being open and honest about himself and his past, his worries and his pleasures. Naturally, as ever, there are people who suspect his motives, putting him down for being too charming. Paul may be a bit of an actor, acting the part of Paul McCartney, the charming superstar, still loved by every mum, which can make him sound rather prissy at times, but I believe he does tell the truth about himself.

The Beatles (Updated Edition) (Hunter Davies)

“My problem is to me, I come over as this very together guy, always got his finger on top of everything: the man with no problems. School – a doddle, got all the exams. This is the sort of image of me. Actually, I had murder getting through exams, like I was saying about being on tour during my GCEs. I was like the kid who was getting the cane. Just like John was, but he [Phillip Norman] makes me the very shrewd, always-going-to-succeed guy, and John is the kind of cute, working-class hero. In actual fact though, John was just as shrewd and ambitious as I was. What does me in is he adds to this image I’ve got; I resent that, because I know I’m not that, and I know I’ve never been that.

Paul McCartney’s thoughts from 1983 on Phillip Norman’s ‘Shout!’

The funny thing is, when Apple [started], everything was laid out on the table, it’s like a Monopoly game. We saw who had what. I suddenly had more Northern Song shares than anybody, and it was like, oops, sorry. John was like, “You bastard, you’ve been buying behind my back.” John saw everything like a Harold Robbins movie, you know, which it was. He’s not incorrect. I couldn’t get over the fact that we were really involved in all this. I think to this day, he’ll not understand. I don’t think he would accept right now, my naïveté in it. I think he still suspects me of trying to take over Apple. He still suspects that when I offered the Eastmans as [managers] instead of Allen Klein, he naturally assumed that I would be taken care of better than the others, and that the Eastmans could never be moral enough to be equal in their judgment and do the Beatles’ thing rather than Paul’s thing. I think they still suspect to this day.

The point I was trying to illustrate is that it wasn’t so much John being a bastard as it was his being suspicious towards me, always being suspicious towards me. There was Northern Song shares. And I swear on any holy book you want, I know he won’t believe it, but I know for sure that I didn’t buy them with the view to— If I was really trying to do it, I could have bought an awful lot more. So it does hurt a little bit that there’s someone who still thinks, like, I’m out to get them, or that I always was. That’s one of the nice things about it— It’s a pity [I never said to John, “Fuck off, I’m not trying to do it”—and never was]. But he knows I was kind of— We were behind the scenes, and we did a few little [things] that we had to do, and our ambitions, and it was never a kind of terrifying skeletons in the closet. It was always just normal—but, uh, they …

All You Need Is Love – Peter Brown & Steven Gaines

SG: Were the other Beatles anti-Linda? PMcC: Uh, yeah. I should think so. Like we were anti-Yoko. But you know John and Yoko, you can see it now, the way to get their friendship is to do everything the way they require it. To do anything else is how to not get their friendship. This is still how it is with John and Yoko. I know that if I absolutely lie down on the ground and just do everything like they say and laugh at all their jokes and don’t expect my jokes to ever get laughed at, and don’t expect any of my opinions ever to carry any weight whatsoever, if I’m willing to do all that, then we can be friends. But if I have an opinion that differs from theirs, then I’m a sort of an enemy. And naturally, paint myself a villain with a big mustache on, because to the ends of the earth, that’s how they both see me. They’re very suspicious people [John and Yoko], and one of the things that hurt me out of the whole affair, was that we’d come all that way together, and out of either a fault in my character, or out of lack of understanding in their character, I’d still never managed to impress upon them that I wasn’t trying to screw them. I don’t think that I have to this day.

All You Need Is Love – Peter Brown & Steven Gaines

I was never out to screw him, never. He could be a maneuvering swine, which no one ever realized. Now since the death he’s became Martin Luther Lennon. But that really wasn’t him either. He wasn’t some sort of holy saint. He was still really a debunker. “For ten years together he took my songs apart. He was paranoiac about my songs. We have great screaming sessions about them.

Paul and Hunter Davies, 1981

SALEWICZ: Oh, he was presumably very paranoid. PAUL: I think so. I mean, he warned me off Yoko once. You know, “Look, this is my chick!” ’Cause he knew my reputation. I mean, we knew each other rather well. And um, I felt… I just said, “Yeah, no problem.” But I did sort of feel he ought to have known I wouldn’t, but. You know, he was going through “I’m just a jealous guy”. He was a paranoid guy. And he was into drugs. Heavy.

September, 1986 (MPL Communications, London)

Miles says, “I think Jane was always a bit irritated by John. Because he was so acerbic and difficult to get on with. And paranoid. He didn’t make life easy. I suppose it’s a sort of rapier wit, but it was usually just plain ordinary rudeness. There was nothing special about it.”

Paul McCartney profile for FAME Magazine (March 1990)

“They [Lennon & McCartney] saw each other again in 1977. The Lennons and McCartneys ate dinner together at Le Cirque, Paul’s favourite French restaurant in New York. John regretted going; it was a loathsome night. Paul and Linda blathered on and on about how perfect their lives were, how they had everything they’d ever wanted, and how they were as happy as they’d ever been. Something very paranoid suddenly occurred to John. Maybe Lorraine Boyle was spying on him for the McCartneys! He woke up the next morning still feeling disturbed; he consulted the Oracle. Swan assured him that Paul and Linda were frustrated and unsatisfied. Their marriage was in trouble, he said, predicting it would break up within the year. Lately Swan’s visions had been astonishingly accurate. Relieved, John began composing a song—a little ditty, really, that would never be released—in praise of the Oracle’s powers. But he still couldn’t understand why Paul and Linda had been together for as long as they had. There appeared to be a psychic connection between John and Paul. Every time McCartney was in town, John would hear Paul’s music in his head.”

Robert Rosen, Nowhere Man: The Final Days of John Lennon, (2000)

JOHN: […..] And he’s (Jagger) goin’ on about “he never calls. Do you think he ever calls? He never calls me. And he keeps changing his phone number all the time… And he’s hiding behind the kid.” I was hurt by it! You know… The fact that… A, I never call anybody. It’s not pride, it’s just that I never, ever have. REPORTER: Why? JOHN: I never call the other Beatles, I never call anybody. They always call me. REPORTER: Why? JOHN: Cos I’m self-involved! I’m paranoid, too. I don’t like phones… There’s nobody on this earth ever got a call from me that isn’t related, probably. Or a very old friend…

Sept 1980 – John

“Yoko was an extremist and was even more intense than John taking any idea or comment of his to the limit. If, for example, he complained about any of his fellow Beatles she would hint that that Beatle had always been an enemy implying that John should never deal with that person again. Her extreme positions fascinated John and help him take his mind off himself but when she became self-involved and paranoid herself -her paranoia usually dealt with her career, her fame and the fact that even though she had always been famous everyone conspired to keep her from getting even more famous- he had no place to turn. His insecurity about his solo career, his childhood, his relationships with the other Beatles, the way the public perceived Yoko overwhelmed him and he became more and more involved with drugs.”

May Pang, Loving John (1984)

John was lucky. He got all his hurt out. I’m a different sort of a personality. There’s still a lot inside me that’s trying to work it out. And that’s why it’s good to see that wedding-funeral bit, because I started to think, ‘Wait a minute, this is someone who’s going over the top. This is paranoia manifesting itself.’ And so my feeling is just like it was at the time, which is like, He’s my buddy, I don’t really want to do anything to hurt him, or his memory, or anything. I don’t want to hurt Yoko. But, at the same time, it doesn’t mean that I understand what went down.

Paul McCartney: An Innocent Man? (October, 1986)

Some three year later, during the making of Abbey Road, Lennon installed a twin bed in the studio so that Yoko, recuperating from a car crash, could survey proceedings and pass comment though a mike he had suspended over her. The other Beatles positioned themselves around the room as best they could. Yoko would later tell Paul that if, for any reason, he’d seemed to be standing too close to her, all hell would break loose when John got her home. Lennon, she said, was ‘very paranoid’ like that.

McCartney by Chris Sandford

But we were actually quite supportive. Not supportive enough, you know; it would have been nice to have been really supportive because then we could look back and say, “Weren’t we really terrific?” But looking back on it, I think we were okay. We were never really that mean to them. But I think a lot of the time John suspected meanness where it wasn’t really there.

Paul McCartney, interview w/ Chris Salewicz for Musician: Tug of war – Paul McCartney wants to lay his demons to rest. (October, 1986)

#the beatles #paul mccartney #john lennon #mclennon #i wonder how much of their issues were due to john suspecting paul of things that just weren't true #then again maybe paul is secretly an evil mastermind #can't put it past him

[ct-multifandom]

I don’t usually make posts like this, but I’ve been seeing a lot of anti-intellectual junk lately, and I really think we need to put the word “pretentious” up on a shelf until people learn what it actually means.

It doesn’t describe someone who likes artsy-fartsy deep meaning media. People who are pretentious are fake. They’re posers trying to be sophisticated and unique, not like other girls. They pretend to only like stuff they think will make them sound cool when they talk about it. They want to act like they know something you don’t, and they want attention for it.

By definition, if you genuinely enjoy something, you can’t be pretentious. If it resonates with you, and you analyze it, and you don’t care what people think, that’s the polar opposite, actually. If you love obscure experimental prog music, if you watch underground high concept indie films through English teacher eyes, if you spend hours in a modern art museum reading each piece as a vessel for storytelling, if your backpack’s full of poetry books that inspire you, if you play underrated games that were someone’s passion project, if you have an interest in studying the classics or the masters, you are not pretentious.

Of course, some people just don’t like some stuff, and that’s fine, but that’s not what this is about. Don’t let anti-intellectuals shame you for enjoying things just because your interests are inaccessible to them, because they refuse to be brave and put effort into critical thinking. You’re not stuck up for refusing to overlook the craft of artists.

#anti intellectualism #media #movies #books #music #critical thinking #my friend who primarily listens to one very popular band once said that people who listen to obscure music are annoying and pretentious #which rubbed me the wrong way because 1 she knows that I listen to obscure music and 2 it’s such a cowardly consumerist take. anyone can #make music and hey a lot of the people who do make GOOD music. and this goes for all *obscure* media #this post was mostly inspired by people talking about Barbie and those anti pick me girls like the pick nobody girls who insist thinking is #for boys and having fun with an empty brain is for girls. Greta gerwig is an artist. I haven’t seen the movie yet but I know it has a deeper #message than haha cute pink! I’ve seen the summaries about the true meaning. the pinkness and popularity doesn’t negate the narritive. #though in the notes I saw a lot of tumblristas comunistas shitting on the film for being one big ad that people *fell for* which tbh is #tbh almost as anti-intellectual. don’t get me wrong they milked this film to sell hella shit but I don’t believe kids who play with dolls #are the target audience as these people claim. Barbie is a culturally iconic symbol almost archetypical of societal expectations for women #you say barbie people think unblinking perfect plastic pink girly. reminds me of the poem The Last Mojave Indian Barbie. yeah yeah you all #hate brands but this one carries undeniable significance and makes for a powerful literary device. it’s been used many times before #sorry for writing a tag essay about a film I haven’t even seen but I’m tired of internet people focusing so much on proving others wrong #that they end up oversimplifying everything just as much as the other person. god I saw people doing this to Nimona saying transphobes were #looking too deep into her character and they’re reactionary clowns for making that jump. like for once the transphobes are right. she is #trans. it’s a queer story. and irl the first people who notice queerness are the bigots who can tell you’re different. sick owns telling #them the story’s not that deep is harmful and it’s like they’re ignoring the real message on purpose. okay enough rambling hehe! thanks #barbie #nimona

[autolenaphilia]

The anti-kink moral crusade rests on a lot of transmisogynistic assumptions.

Of course it’s no surprise, since it rests on ideas from the moralizing arguments about bdsm made by radfems in the 70s. The only change is that they are being massively hypocritical and inconsistent about which kinks are bad now, as I pointed out before. Now it’s only certain kinks, like consensual non-consent and fauxcest, that are bad because they “fetishize abuse”, and not bdsm as whole, despite that being inarguably true about bdsm.

And that’s purely to broaden the appeal of such arguments, so that even self-described “leatherfags” can moralize about fauxcest. The morals and principles are frankly just “It’s okay if gay men call their boyfriends “daddy”, because I find that hot, but if a trans lesbian couples pretend to be sisters it’s evil.”

And you can’t really appropriate the radfem arguments about kink without taking their transmisogyny onboard, since they stem from the same transmisogynist bio-determinist root ideology. Janice Raymond in The Transsexual Empire explained trans women through a lens of pathological sadomasochism. Years before Blanchard’s autogynephilia concept, radfems have seen transfemininity and kink as the same thing.

The image of the trans woman painted by radfems then and now, is of privileged males appropriating the pain and suffering of real wombyn, and playacting this suffering for their own perverted sexual amusement. And that is the same image painted of trans women with incest and cnc kinks in modern callout posts. They just remove the explicitly terfy language to make it less obvious. Instead of making a mockery of misogyny in general, we are instead accused of mocking the experiences of the survivors of sexual abuse.

And that boils down to the same thing. Survivors of sexual assault are often as a group assumed to be afab. This ties into a specific transmisogynist discourse. It’s one that argues that afab children are more often sexually assaulted, and that trans women are not targeted by sexual violence pre-transition, and comes to the conclusion that this proves that trans women are male socialized and privileged. This is the fairly nasty transmisogynist undercurrent here.

And it’s proven when in discussions about the transmisogyny of callout culture, a common cliché line in response is that “clearly some people’s worst oppression is being told they are freaks for shipping incest.” This treats transfems as ultra-privileged and transmisogyny as not real at all.

Of course in reality, transfems are disproportionate targets of sexual violence even in childhood and pre-transition. And many survivors of childhood abuse have these problematic abuse-fetishizing kinks, and use it to deal with their trauma, including many of the kinky transfems being called out.

And even if no one involved in the sexual roleplay and fiction being criticized have trauma, the trauma of other non-involved people is not a good argument for its destruction. It’s a reasonable demand to ask for triggering material to be tagged properly so you can avoid it, it’s unreasonable to demand it shouldn’t exist.

Yet transfems are expected to accede to the latter demand. And I think this is because of what May Peterson calls transfeminized debt. It’s how we trans women in feminist circles are expected to be perfect women and perfect feminists to be acknowledged as women at all, instead of as monsters to be destroyed. Of course because nobody is perfect, this leads to every trans woman eventually being thought of as a monster.

We are treated as having to pay off the debt of male socialization/privilege to get basic human rights. And this in practice means conceding every disagreement with TME people, and agreeing to every demand they make of us. Or else we get the hot allostatic load treatment.

And that’s why kinky transfems are expected to fulfil the ridiculous demand from certain puritanical TME people that “I’m not involved in your kink, but I have trauma relating to it, so you can’t do it.” And are treated as evil monsters for not fulfilling it. It’s clearly transfeminized debt and transmisogyny, we are treated as privileged perverted monsters, inherently exempt from sexual violence. And that is used to justify sexual harassment, in the form of callout posts for our sex lives.

#transmisogyny #my writings #callout culture #purity culture

[eowyntheavenger]

Palestine and the US election

I’m done with Twitter soundbite takes that voting blue = supporting genocide. I see a lot of people making an argument that goes like this: "Biden has sent arms to Israel, helping its government commit genocide against Palestine. Therefore, voting for him in the 2024 US election, if he is the Democratic nominee, is supporting genocide, and NOT voting for him helps Palestine." There's a lot wrong with this view, so let's break it down.

It's true that Biden has sent a lot of arms to Israel and bypassed Congress multiple times to do it, and it's indefensible. I'm ashamed that any US politician would help Israel wage its brutal, genocidal war against the Palestinian people. As one of Israel's closest partners, the US could actually be using its leverage right now to put pressure on Israel’s government—I’m thinking about how apartheid in South Africa fell, in part, because of international pressure. That's what should be happening, but instead the US government is literally just helping Israel kill Palestinians.

I wish there were a strong pro-Palestine candidate in the upcoming election. The best bet in that regard would probably be Bernie Sanders, since he's prominent enough, well-liked enough, and has good ideas, not just on this issue but on many things (and yeah, he's way too old, but so are the current frontrunners). But he's already ruled out another run. Unless an amazing candidate materializes and wins the Democratic nomination (please vote in the primaries where you live), it will probably be Biden running against Trump. It’s not guaranteed, but it’s likely.

Here's what people need to understand: the election will not be "genocide Joe" vs. "pro-Palestine candidate." It will most likely be a choice between these two candidates:

On the one hand, Biden, who has armed Israel, but can be pressured to change his policies because he can be pushed left; who is not a wannabe dictator; who will not destroy what's left of the country's democratic norms; who will not encourage coups, political assassinations, or jail his political opponents; who will not utterly stifle dissent.

Or on the other hand, Trump, who is beholden to a fanatical evangelical base that backs Israel no matter what, that actually wants more conflict because they are part of a death cult. Trump, who is not susceptible in any way to pressure from the left, but is susceptible to pressure from the right and the far right. Trump, who has been clear all along about his desire to be a dictator; who will destroy what's left of democratic norms; who has already encouraged a coup to overthrow a democratic election, encouraged the assassination of his own vice president, and is openly planning to jail his political opponents if he returns to the White House.

(This isn't even touching on Trump's positions on trans rights, gay rights, women's rights, the environment, policing, immigration, or his racism against every group he could be racist against, or his liability for sexual assault, or a whole bunch of other issues).

There's a very convincing argument that Netanyahu actually wants Biden to lose the US election and Trump to win. That's because Netanyahu knows that Biden has in the past responded to pressure from his own party and the public. If there are a lot of people criticizing his policies, it gives him pause. Trump doesn't operate like that. If millions of Americans criticize his policies as inhumane he just lashes out at them. In short, Biden views criticism from the left as a liability that he has to act on. Trump views criticism from the left as an incentive to be even worse.

Biden is not the candidate I want. But you need to understand that if Trump wins the election, he won't just arm Israel like Biden is doing now: he will do that and more. Not only will he help Israel escalate its war, your very freedom of speech to support Palestine will be under attack. Trump might even decide that financial support for Palestinians or charities that help Palestine = financially supporting terrorism, and use that as a pretext to arrest and jail people. You think he and his far right goons wouldn't go that far? If Trump wins this election, you shouldn't be surprised if this kind of thing happens, and much worse.

Do you want the US to accept Palestinian refugees? Because it won't accept them under a Trump presidency. A key Republican talking point in this election is "the US shouldn't take Palestinian refugees because they're probably all terrorists." This isn't just a Trump thing, it's something other Republicans are saying, but obviously you can imagine where Trump would fall on this issue given his infamous Muslim ban and conflating refugees with terrorists. These are just a few examples of how Trump would actually be even worse for Palestine than Biden—which is saying something.

In this upcoming election there is no neutral option. There is no morally pure option. There just isn't, I'm sorry. Refusing to vote will not help Palestine. Refusing to vote will only help Trump win, and will give every single person in the United States who is fighting for a better world a significantly harder battle to fight.

It goes without saying that there are things everyone should do to help Palestine besides voting in an election. But I'm writing this post that is about voting because I'm genuinely worried by how many so-called leftists want to give up their right to vote—a right that older generations had to fight tooth and nail for—because they think it won't achieve anything. If voting didn't achieve anything, Republicans wouldn't be trying so hard to suppress your vote.

I'll conclude by saying that nuance is not this site's specialty, but please try to understand what I'm actually saying here before attacking me in the notes. Finally, people being antisemitic or islamophobic on this post will be blocked. People denying that Israel is committing genocide against Palestine will be blocked. Trump supporters, tankies, and people who say that Biden and Trump are the same will be blocked. So will people who say "voting is pointless" or "but Biden did this bad thing—" Biden fucking sucks, I know that very well, so if you're going to try to make that argument to me then stop right now and read the post again.

#US politics #my post

[sugrhigh]

THE BOY IS MINE - ( m.s )

REQUESTED**

summary- after years of friendship, you’ve seen matt date people before, but none of them have been as bad as this new one. you’ve never interfered with any of the girls in the past, but one night she takes it too far and your true feelings come out.

warnings- cursing, unprotected sex (pretend ur on birth control but also wrap it before you tap it), choking, cheating, dom!matt, it’s smut with a plot guys are we surprised (read at ur own fucking discretion PLEASE!)

a/n: thank you @stonermattsgf for the request!! i fucking loved this concept and the song eats down i hope i did u some justice <3 the touch it chris fic will be coming too cuz im fuckin with that song as well (if you weren’t tagged it wouldn’t let me tag you, i’m sorry!!)

@fawnchives @teapartyprincess4two @sturnioloco @mattinside @l9vesick @sturnsblunt @ev3rgreenxtrees @wh0resstuff @matthewsmocktails @cherrypostsposts @bxbynyah7 @seababehh @sturnsfav @mattsluv @sturniolossss @melanch0lybby @sturniolos-blog @lustfulslxt @sturnioloobssesd @ginswife @amypull @vivianalovesmatt @st4niolos @sturnioloobessed @sturnlova @bigbeefybitch @minhyucks @iheart-zegras @vicsguitarr @melonjollyranche @hearts4matty @vickyzloserz @user8000000 @xoxo4chrisss @unfilteredassmf @mattsbiggesthoe @chrisstopherfilmed @st3rniolo @goldengrapejuice @luv2matt @vsangel-starbies @mikaelabutterfield @mattnchrisworld @bluesturniolo333 @wurlibydominicfike @kp07on @hayleyreadsblog

in no universe did you expect to be pining after one of your best friends.

it had always been strictly platonic between you and matt, aside from a little harmless flirting over the years. you loved him and his brothers so much that you never wanted to mess anything up, or complicate things when the dynamic was already perfect.

but as much as you’re close with each of them, you know you’ve always understood matt on a deeper level. you share the same goals, the same fears, even the same taste in music and movies.

he’s always been the first person to check in, the only one who can read your mood like the back of his hand, the guy who cheers you up and lets you cry on his shoulder when things are shitty.

despite these sweet gestures, you’ve both had your fair share of relationships and flings while being best friends. none of them have ever bothered you before, and you’ve always tried to be respectful and kind to whichever girl he picks.

that is, until now.

matt is sitting across from you on the couch in their living room, slight frown etched on his face. his girlfriend, maya, has her legs sprawled across his lap comfortably, arms linked like she’s claiming him.

her eyes are practically locked on you. you don’t blame her; she’s well aware that you’re not her biggest fan.

all she does is complain about all of the things she doesn’t like about matt. last time she hung out with you guys, she was bitching about the fact that he kissed her in public at a party, as if she was worried he was scaring off other guys.

when he buys her flowers, they’re the wrong ones. if he takes her to dinner, she whines about the food. she’ll even criticize his clothes, demanding that they match and he hides the tattoos. to her, he can’t do anything right, even though he’s incredible just the way he is.

so it drives you absolutely insane watching the way she walks all over matt, all over his brothers, even you. it’s been two months of this agony, and you can’t believe it’s even lasted this long.

you spend nearly every day thinking about how much better you could treat him. every time he touches you, no matter how briefly, your skin burns in desire. it’s selfish to want someone who’s taken, and you’re well aware of that.

but you just love matt, you know him. and he deserves better. maybe it’s you, maybe it’s not. but it’s certainly not maya.

“give it to me, fuckhead.” chris’s voice rips you out of your trance, and you snap your head toward the middle of the U-shaped sofa.

he’s currently fighting nick for the remote, who slaps the side of his arm rather hard. chris lets go, only to pull his brother into a headlock seconds later. nick lets out a yelp of surprise, jamming an elbow into his side to get him to stop.

in all the commotion, you decide to grab the remote for yourself, a wide smile settling across your features as you take it into your palm.

they both notice quickly, groaning in protest as you wave it at them tauntingly.

“too slow! now i get to pick, idiots.” you tease.

“c’mon, i just went to war for that thing.” nick complains, kicking your leg half-heartedly, but you just shake your head.

“snooze you lose.”

you scroll through your options, trying to pay no mind to the way maya is whispering to matt for so long she could be reciting the bible. then your eyes land on a title that makes you pause, chuckling a little to yourself.

“oh no way, they have fucking cocaine bear on here?” chris cackles.

nick looks rather amused himself, raising his eyebrows like he’s intrigued. “i mean, i’m game.”

you glance over at matt, who’s already looking at you with a grin on his face. he mentioned the movie to you a little while ago, and how he just had to see how stupid it was eventually.

“why would we waste our time watching this shit? isn’t it supposed to be awful?” maya chimes from beside him, and your gaze narrows in on her.

“it’ll be funny, you know, ‘cause it’s so bad.” you reply, trying to keep your voice light and friendly.

she tilts her head to the side slightly, studying you with disapproving eyes. “yeah, i’m not so sure about trusting your taste. i mean, that god-awful outfit is just one example.”

the air seems to be sucked out of the room as you grip your sweats self-consciously. nobody moves, nobody speaks. you feel the anger flare up in your veins as you look at matt, wondering if he’s going to step in like he should.

but he doesn’t. in fact, he’s avoiding your gaze altogether. so you square your shoulders and turn your focus back to the girl you dislike so much. you’re done with the passive aggressive comments, with all of the bullshit glares and insults.

you’re done letting her bulldoze you. if matt wants to go through that, fine. but he doesn’t have to take everyone down with him by subjecting them to maya’s presence.

“well, you seem to be the only one who has a problem with my taste, so maybe you should just leave.” you say calmly, smiling sarcastically at the end because you can’t help it.

her mouth pops open, and you can hear chris and nick trying to stifle their gasps and chuckles. even the corner of matt’s lips turn up, which makes you wonder.

maya turns to look at her boyfriend, completely astonished. “are you seriously going to let her talk to me like that?”

he seems conflicted as he briefly looks your direction, clearing his throat to buy some time. you tilt an eyebrow, crossing your arms like you’re just waiting for him to pick his side.

she may have asked the question, but now you’re dying to know the answer.

“maya is right. and, uh, i think you should apologize.” matt fumbles with his words, unable to speak to you directly.

you feel the fury work its way up your face, and you force yourself to blink away the burning sensation of frustrated tears. maya looks far too satisfied, and you want to slap the smirk off of her face.

but you know you can’t lay hands on her, so you decide your words will have to be your knives.

“you know what, i am sorry,” you begin, raising your hands in surrender.

they’re both a bit surprised by this change in direction, so after a brief pause, you continue.

“i’m really sorry that you’re dating a stuck up bitch. i’m sorry that she’s constantly taking advantage of your kindness. i’m sorry that she treats you like shit, that she talks down to you like you’re a child, that she’s never satisfied with the things you do. and i’m especially sorry that you continue to let her, because you can do so much better.”

if maya’s eyeballs could pop out of her skull, you would imagine it would be exactly like how she looks right now. matt is also slack jawed beside her, and you can’t be near him any longer.

so you stand up, turning to leave the boy you love so much without another word.

the fresh night air of spring is a relief once you step out the front door, and you try to let it calm you as you hustle toward your car. you can already feel your phone buzzing in your back pocket as you move, presumably nick and chris.

you hope they’re not angry. it’s bad enough knowing that you’ve royally fucked things up with matt, but you couldn’t bare it if all three of them hated you.

you practically toss yourself into the drivers seat, slamming the door closed with a force that shakes the entire vehicle. you’re peeling out of the driveway before you can even reflect on the consequences of your actions, speeding home as if your life depended on it.

your ringtone continues to erupt as you drive along the backroads, but you force yourself to ignore it for the time being.

only once you throw the car into park in your own driveway do you check the messages, scrolling through the numerous notifications. unsurprisingly most of them are from nick and chris like you presumed, wondering if you’re alright and applauding you for finally standing up to the wicked witch of the west.

for a brief moment, their kind words make you feel better.

but then your eyes catch a contact that you actually don’t expect; matt’s. you stare at your device, throat going completely dry. a missed call and two texts.

matt

i’m coming over

don’t bother saying no, im already on my way

that was five minutes ago, which means he’s not too far behind you. you tear out of your car and across the yard, throwing the door open carelessly.

your heart is still slamming against your ribcage, and fear crawls up your throat as you press your back to the wood, kicking your flip flops off in the general direction of the coat rack.

your mind flashes to the idea of him yelling at you, which you suppose would be somewhat warranted. you’ve seen matt angry on a couple of occasions, and you can’t imagine he has anything kind to say to you right now.

you pace the foyer as you wait for his arrival, picking at the beds of your fingernails anxiously.

and then it happens; the loud knock on the front door, followed by another series of harsh slams.

impatient motherfucker.

you straighten up as your palm wraps around the knob, sucking in a breath before pulling it open to reveal a rather disheveled matt.

he’s breathing heavy, hair messy as if he’s been tugging at it for the entire drive. his earrings glint in the porch light as he stares at you like he’s trying to commit every feature to memory, wetting his lips hungrily.

“matt—”

you barely get his name out before he wraps his ring-clad fingers around your throat, pulling your mouth to his harshly. he molds against you perfectly, his other hand traveling to your hip to hold you flush against his own body.

he just couldn’t help it. he was so desperate on the entire ride over, replaying your outburst on a loop in his mind as he drove further and further away from his girlfriend. there’s been only a few occasions he’s seen you that upset, and your comments had been a necessary slap in the face.

plus, watching you fight for him when he was too much of a bitch to do it himself was a bigger turn-on than he’d like to admit.

all he’s ever wanted is you. and it shouldn’t have taken this long to admit it to himself.

matt guides you backwards, hand still squeezing your neck as he blindly kicks the door shut with one foot. you feel your back bump against the kitchen counter, and you’re trying to register what the hell is going on, but his kiss is so fucking intoxicating that it’s impossible to think clearly.

his tongue slides against yours passionately, and the flavored chapstick you’re wearing is driving him insane. you can feel him growing hard against your thigh as he toys with the elastic waistband of your pants suggestively.

you have no idea if this means it’s officially over with him and maya, but you find that you quite frankly don’t give a shit.

in this moment, he’s yours.

his fingers finally dip into your sweats a few seconds later, traveling down to brush against your clothed heat as he moves his mouth to your jaw sloppily. a breathy moan escapes before you can stop it, involuntarily rutting your hips against his cold rings in search of more friction.

one of your hands goes to grip the hair at the nape of his neck while the other claws at his back, desperately wrapping your knuckle around the cloth of his muscle tee.

“you like that?” matt grumbles against your throat, nipping at the skin as he begins to apply real pressure to your cunt in little circular motions.

your back arches and you tilt your head to the side so you can give him full access, silently hoping he’ll leave a mark behind.

“you’ve been thinking about me touching you like this, haven’t you? wishing i would come fuck you instead of her?” he questions further, moving his head slightly so he’s speaking directly into your ear.

the hand that was choking you slides down so he can grope your chest, his thumb running over one of your hardened nipples through the thin shirt you’re wearing. the combined pleasure has you whining in his grasp, a submissive sound that you wish you weren’t making.

you can feel him grinning as he presses his mouth to that sweet spot below your earlobe, his tongue darting out to wet the area.

“you want me just as much.” you manage to find your voice, though your claim is muttered with no conviction.

matt pauses his movements and brings both hands to your waistband again, which makes you whimper as you clench around nothing. his mouth finds yours briefly to swallow the sound, and he bites down on your bottom lip as he pulls away.

“you’re not wrong. so are you gonna give me what i want, baby?” he asks as he teases your sweats and panties just a little lower on your hips.

“keep going.” you plead.

you let go of your grip on his body so he can tug both items down to your ankles, helping you step out of their grasp before discarding them a couple feet away.

matt doesn’t immediately stand back up; instead he takes his time, kissing the side of your knees as his hands slide up the outside of your thighs. you feel so exposed, so on-display that you clench your legs together before you can help it.

he immediately pries them apart, shaking his head slightly with a little smirk. “don’t be shy now, you had so much to say earlier.”

his words spur you on, so you spread yourself wider, opting to grip the counter as he reattaches his lips to your inner thighs. matt inches closer and closer to where you really need him, taking his time to nip at the supple flesh that comes before.

he pulls away right when you think he’s finally about to put his mouth on you, letting his hot breath fan across your soaked center. it makes you shiver in anticipation, and you’re getting a little too needy now.

“quit fucking teas—oh shit.”

you throw your head back as his two fingers spread you apart, tongue coming in contact with the middle of your cunt as he laps at the wetness that had pooled there.

he slows his pace slightly after a moment, making sure to pay attention to the whole area, working his way up until his nose bumps against your clit. you spit a curse out, letting one hand go so you can grip his soft hair.

matt continues on, his lips closing around the sensitive bud so he can apply more pressure and suction. your gut flips at the sensation and your grip on his roots tightens as his mouth works.

he grumbles, loving the way you’re pulling at him so desperately. the noise sends vibrations through your core, which only makes the experience more enjoyable.

“fuckkk, matt, feels so good.” you praise dumbly, your words slurring.

the vocal admiration makes his pulse quicken, and at this point he’s straining against his jeans. he just can’t believe he’s got you like this, grinding your cunt against his face as if he’s the best you’ve ever had.

he can tell you’re growing closer just based on the little gasps and moans leaving your mouth, and your legs begin to shake ever so slightly. but he won’t let you finish just yet.

“want to be inside this pretty pussy.” he pulls away to say it, pressing one more wet kiss to the delicate area before he gets up.

you’re craving more, so you decide to take initiative, reaching for his belt and fumbling to undo the buckle. you tear it from the loops and toss it away, moving to his zipper as he reaches behind his head to tug his loose tank off.

his pants fall to the floor, leaving him in only his tented boxers. he’s quick to kick his shoes off, followed by his jeans right after.

then his hands go to your waist, fingers digging into the smooth flesh.

“up.” he instructs bluntly, helping lift you onto the end of the marbled countertop so he’s standing between your legs.

he lifts your shirt up next, and you help him out by throwing your arms above your head so he can fully remove it. his eyes train downwards, admiring the way your sheer bra hugs your tits. it hardly leaves anything to the imagination, and matt finds it extremely hot that you’ve been wearing it all night without him knowing.

before he can make a move, you surprise him by reaching back confidently to unhook the garment yourself. you let it slip from your shoulders before throwing it to your side, revealing your bare chest to him wordlessly.

he pulls his lip between his teeth as he exhales, gently guiding you downwards so your back is pressed flat against the cool surface. matt looks intimidating standing over you, his dark eyes drinking in every inch of your body.

“you’re so fucking sexy.” he says in awe, leaning down to give you another real kiss, a salty mix of sweat and arousal on his lips.

then he finds his way down to your collarbone, staying there shortly before traveling between the valley of your breasts. without warning, he presses his tongue flat across one nipple, flicking it back and forth.

you push your chest further into his face with a moan, both hands in his hair this time. he moves to the other perky bud, sucking on it as his teeth graze the tissue ever so slightly.

you’re practically writhing underneath him, and you can feel the pit growing in your stomach again. so even though it feels incredible, you yank his head back off of your chest by his hair.

“need you to fuck me.” you mutter, pushing his hair out of his face with both of your hands.

matt nods once, straightening so he can slide his underwear down. his erection finally springs free, pink tip glistening with precum. you watch as he spreads the wetness around, pumping himself in his hand a few times.

he’s bigger than you expected, and your mouth is watering just thinking about how much you want him to be pounding into you already.

“wrap your legs around me princess.” he commands gruffly, and you do just as you’re told, hooking your ankles behind his back.

his dick presses against your heat, and you buck against it to try and feel more. matt is quick to steady your hips roughly, holding you down against the edge of the counter as he teases himself into your entrance.

you both moan, his low and rumbling, yours high-pitched and greedy. you use your thighs to pull him closer, forcing him to drive into you fully so you can feel that pleasurable stretch.

“mmmn—fuck, you’re so tight.” he sighs, giving you another moment before he begins to drag his cock in and out at a steady pace.

you rock with him as best you can, finding the perfect rhythm so that he’s plowing his full length into you, filling the house with the sound of skin slapping skin.

matt lets one hand wrap around your neck again to choke you, tattoos on display as his muscles flex, and the pressure traps your lewd cries in your throat. his other fingers continue to toy with your nipples, which makes you arch off the counter, head rolled back as your eyes screw shut.

“look at you, taking me like such a good girl. just like i knew you would.” he compliments breathlessly.

he starts snapping his hips harder, enjoying the way your tits bounce as you slide slightly against the slick counter. you look so fucking beautiful, mouth partially open, barely able to squeak out a moan.

never in a million years did matt think he’d get the opportunity to fulfill all of his shamefully dirty fantasies about you, but here you are, completely naked and spread out in your own kitchen.

you’re squeezing around him now with every stroke, and he somehow keeps getting deeper, hitting your g-spot in a way that makes you jerk.

the familiar feeling of your abs tightening occurs as you get closer to your orgasm, and you swear you’re seeing stars at this point. he’s right there with you, a groaning mess as your fingers reach up to dig into his bicep.

“yes, matt, right there! m’gonna—” you fumble over your words, unable to finish the thought as the satisfaction builds.

he uses the last of his strength to drill into you, moving both hands back to your waist quickly so he can slam you down on his cock a few more times.

“come all over this dick baby, don’t hold back.”

you’re practically screaming his name as you hit your high, releasing all over him as his hot cum spills into you at the same time.

he slows his movements as you look up at him with bleary eyes, enjoying the last moments of being inside you before he pulls out. you feel your mixed arousal dripping out onto the counter, and you don’t even care that you’ll have to clean it up later.

that was completely worth the mess.

your chest continues to heave as you relish in the come down, dropping your thighs from his hips so he’s free to move around.

but matt stays between them, leaning down to capture your mouth with his one final time. it’s brief, but it means more than either of you truly understand.

he’s the one to break it first, pressing his forehead against yours before he speaks. “you’re incredible, you know that?”

you smile weakly, pushing against his chest to put some distance between the two of you. reality is creeping back in, reminding you that this was probably a one time thing.

“help me down?” you ask, and he complies.

matt lifts you a bit as you slide off the countertop, setting you back on real ground a second later. you’re not sure what to say as you stand before him, completely fucked out and terrified of whatever is coming next.

“so, um…i should probably get cleaned up.” you try to sound casual, even though you’re feeling anything but relaxed.

he immediately notices the switch in tone, the way you’re wrapping your arms around yourself like you’re trying to shrink away and hide. he’s also pretty sure he knows where this insecurity is coming from.

his fingers go to grip your chin gently, demanding that you look him in the face. your eyes widen as he brushes his thumb along your swollen bottom lip.

“i’m cutting things off with maya. i just…love you. and i’m sorry it took me so long.” matt finally admits.

it takes a second to click in your brain, but when it does a wide grin spreads across your face. butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you kiss the pad of his finger as he moves it along your mouth.

“i love you too, but i think you knew that already.” you tease playfully.

“yeah, maybe. but i like hearing you say it out loud.”

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #Spotify #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #fanfic

[laiiaaa]

trying to go to bed mad at Carmen but he’s just not having it LMFAO i just love him with a grumpy gf :(((

You’d like to blame him for it, just because he was short with you this morning. Stressed about a food critic coming to The Bear this weekend, he’s been on edge, losing sleep, and this morning was just one of those days it was getting to him: dodging your affection, hurrying out of bed, disjointed conversations he doesn’t try too hard to be a part of.

It’s not entirely his fault, and you know this, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less, to be put to the side for even a day to make room for that colder edge to him when he gets zoned in.

So you give yourself the liberty to be a little bit shitty, too, just for the night.

You don’t greet him like you usually do, with a deep kiss hello and your hands squeezing at his sore muscles, offering to massage the knots in his shoulders. Instead you sit on the couch reading your book and offer him a fleeting glance. He pauses at the difference, but carries on.

You wait until long after he’s showered to get up. He even pops back into the living room beforehand, shorts hanging low in his waist, to call for you:

“You comin’ to bed?”

“Soon,” you tell him, which could be true, but not definite.

“Okay,” he sighs, coming behind you with a hand on your shoulder and a kiss to the opposite cheek.

You don’t give in, though, and he heads off to the bedroom.

You do join him eventually—almost an hour later, when you’re so tired that it’ll make you even more of a pain to deal with. He’s in the middle of fighting off sleep, trying to stay awake to make sure you come to bed with him, but as much as that makes your chest yearn for him, you plop down in bed a foot away and turn your back to him.

Behind you now, he shuffles to sit up. “Hey,” he tries, a soothing hand on your shoulder, “You alright, baby?”

No response.

Scooting a little closer to lean over and see your face, he brushes hair out of the way to press a kiss to your temple. “C’mon, talk t’me.”

But you turn away from his touch, and he scoffs.

“What, you mad at me now?” He watches you expectantly. “Not even gonna tell me what I did?”

“You didn’t do anything, Carmen,” you mumble, face muffled into your blanket.

“Wh—baby, don’t be like that right now—”

“Be like what?” you snap, sitting up and turning to look at him. “I’m sorry that my needs don’t align with your work schedule. Just let me know when it’d be best to reach you next time.” And with that, you drop back into bed, moving just a little further away from him.

He nearly laughs, then, real subtle with a hand rubbing his eyes and forehead because he knows you, he knows how you get when you miss him. He turns back onto his side with a groan and reaches his hand upon your waist, smoothing beneath the fabric of your shirt.

“Don’t touch me,” you spit, but you don’t dare move his hand away: it feels so much better this way, getting the touch he didn’t give you this morning.

“You’re bein’ mean today. You all cranky ‘cause you miss me, ‘s that it?”

You don’t answer.

“C’mon,” he urges you, shuffling closer so that his arm wraps fully around your waist and his face can bury into your neck with a kiss to your smooth skin. “‘M sorry for bein’ shitty this morning.” Instinctively, he draws a hand up your tummy, right beneath your breasts. “Missed you all day, y’know that?”

“Just leave me alone, Carm, I’m serious.”

“‘M really sorry about this morning, baby.” Pressing kisses to your neck, he takes a deep breath to sink into you. “After that guy comes, it’ll be over with, and I’ll take a couple days off, alright?”

“I don’t care, do what you want.”

He sighs, deep and gravelly and frustrated with your antics—but more so frustrated with himself. He has been shitty this week, he knows it, and he knows you especially don’t deserve it. “C’mon, hon, you’re killin’ me here, at least—at least gimme a kiss goodnight, huh?”

But you don’t. Because of course you don’t, he’s on you’re fuckin’ nerves with his distance lately—but this, his rough hands against your skin, his pleading, his groveling like he can’t imagine a world without you…it helps.

A little.

Not quite enough to cave or give in, though.

He seems to lose a bit of strength against you, laying into the mattress on his back again with a sigh and an arm resting over his eyes. The room stills, the fan whirrs, yet the tension between you is thick enough yet to slice through it with his chef’s knife.

That is, until his arms wrap around you again, and his hands grip your waist tight, and he lets out a grunt of a Can’t believe you’re makin’ me do this, and he wrangles you on top of him, leaving you chest to chest, with your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck and his hand rubbing soothing patterns up and down your back while the other holds you steady, worried you’ll slither away again.

Like he knew it would, the tension in your body dissolves. And maybe that’s what you wanted anyway, but you’d never tell him that—at least, not until tomorrow morning.

The room stills again. The hand smoothing along your back sneaks beneath your shirt, and you melt that much quicker. It’s hypnotic, his rough palms against your soft skin, scratches an itch you didn’t know was there until he wasn’t. He smells crisply clean and of the body wash he buys because you like the scent, a little musky with aldehydes and vetiver and sandalwood.

“This better, baby?” he murmurs, lending a careful kiss to your head.

But you only bury yourself further into him and answer with “Mm.”

He chuckles a bit, squeezes you tighter to make your heart throb. “Thought you’d say somethin’ like that.” Punctuates it with more kisses where he can reach, because now that he’s got you tethered to him again, he doesn’t think he could let you go.

The two of you stay where you are, then, just soaking in the other’s presence with wordless appreciation exchanged, growing heavier with sleep as heartbeats sync and eyelids slip closed. And by morning, legs will be intertwined, and Carmen will pull you from a groggy daze with a kiss to your lips, and you’ll be a little less bitter when he heads off to work.

(He knows it’ll simmer till he comes home, but if he gets to sleep with your weight and your warmth again, he’s sure it’ll be alright.)

#not the happiest w this but wanted to give y’all a lil somethin bc of my hiatus #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto fluff #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu

[ultravioletrayz]

So my idea for degradation fic involving Miguel would be something like this- (also please keep an open mind this idea is kinda out there)

So lets say Miguel is your mentor and you are so eager to please and do good work. You have always been kinda good at everything so people complementing you and telling you how great you are is nothing new. But Miguel is different, he's hard to please. So when you do something right he's not complementing you and that is odd for you, and when you mess something up well...he's quick to criticize you. this stirs something within you.

So you keep trying to please him and he's not into it he just keeps bringing you down and reader is starting to like it, sometimes wanting messing up. So lets say reader makes a big mistake on a mission and Miguel is ready to yell and degradant them but reader is getting turned on by it and Miguel noted it so he starts to degradant them more and it starts getting into NSFW territory. while he's getting into it he's just saying filth to you. "your so such a needy slut" "look at you getting turned on while I bully you, pathetic" "you want to be a good girl? you want me to praise you? too bad...now open..." *spits in readers mouth*

then if you can end it off where reader in passed out and thats when he's sweet in the aftercare when she dosn't know. he will open up to her one day just not yet.

Not even gonna lie, if Miguel was a meanie towards me i wouldn’t know whether to cry or cum.

Pairing: miguel o’hara x f!spiderperson!reader

Warnings: 18+, degrading kink, rough sex, fingering, orgasm denial/mild edging, getting bent over miguel’s desk, marking, clit slapping (like, once), pull-out method, absolutely terrible and rushed ending, miguel being mean, horny, and ultimately just socially-awkward

Summary: you strive for perfection in all areas… until the opportunity arises where doing the opposite will give you access to the perfection inside your mean boss’s boxers.

A/N: before anyone tries to come for me for making miguel seem like an asshole in this fic, ik that this isn’t entirely true to miguel’s character. however, i’m horny and dgaf. enjoy!!

Word Count: 3K (unedited)

For as long as you could remember, people would refer to you as ‘gifted’. It was as though everything you attempted to achieve was accomplished with ease. In your world, on the days when the Society was a distant memory and you were given the opportunity to act as a true Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Person, you practically lived in a bubble of praise. Surprisingly, the media worshipped you, recognising you as the hero you are. Locals chanted your name, asked for autographs, and even demanded you accept gifts and tokens of appreciation every time you were spotted in your costume on the streets. 

Although you forced yourself to stay humble within the public eye, you would be lying if you tried to convince yourself that the compliments and special treatment didn’t make you feel good, didn’t push you to be a better superhero for the sake of the citizens who practically worship the ground you walk on.

Which is the primary reason why having to tend to work and assignments at the Spider Society caused you so much misery. When you were first recruited, a few other Spider-People had mentioned how short-tempered and cold the boss is, but you had expected to win him over with your natural, over-achieving flare. That goal was quickly crushed when you met Miguel O’Hara for the first time. He had immediately lectured you on certain habits he had observed from footage of you fighting crime at home, giving you strict instructions on how to be better at your job. From then on, you’ve tried your best to view his constant criticism as a positive and value his (poor) attempts at mentoring you. 

It didn’t take long for you to realise that he wasn’t really trying to help you, and he was just a grumpy asshole as everyone had warned and wanted you to follow orders rather than going out and trying to prove yourself constantly. Lately, you’ve been slipping up, making mistakes. You had come to terms with the fact that Miguel wasn’t interested in showing you any appreciation or praise for your hard work, and it had begun to affect your performance on missions, bringing you to this point. 

“What the hell was that?” Miguel snarls at you, his platform lowering as he slams his fist on his desk and glares at you, his sharp red eyes burning holes in your pretty, sad little face. You had almost let an anomaly get away, blinded by your insecurities and Miguel’s lack of interest in your skills, you would have destroyed an entire universe if it weren’t for the backup Miguel had sent you.

“Miguel, let me explain-” You start, being cut off by an angry huff from Miguel.

“I’m sick of the excuses. I don’t care about how you handle shit in your own dimension. When you come here and are trusted to keep the multiverse stable, I expect you to do as you’re told. Unless the small task of containing the minor anomalies I assign you is too much to handle?” Miguel scoffs, shaking his head as he looks you up and down.

The look of disappointment on his tan, chiselled face would usually have you on the verge of tears, but as you’ve grown accustomed to his harsh beratement, it’s begun to have a very different effect on you. You can just imagine him, brushed back curls dishevelled and clinging messily to his face as he pounds into your needy pussy, whispering absolute filth into your ear as he uses you to get off. The thought has you practically soaking through your Spider-Suit, causing you to instinctively squeeze your thighs together as you force yourself to keep your gaze from dropping to Miguel’s broad, muscular physique. As his glare intensifies and he rolls his eyes at your subtle movements, you know he’s got you figured out.

Miguel’s heightened senses pick up on your current state of arousal, the scent of your slick making him dizzy as it clouds his mind. He had always beaten himself up about how harsh he could be towards you, reflecting on his cruelty to such a pretty girl with shame and regret. But finding out that you liked being treated so poorly by him, it has him going fucking crazy.

“Por el amor de Dios,” (for fuck’s sake) Miguel hisses, taking a step towards you, looming over your smaller form with a judgemental scowl plastered on his face. “You’re pathetic. Risking everything we work for here, just so that you can imagine me yelling at you while you finger-fuck yourself at night?”

Your eyes widen, his words reigning true as they hang in the air of the room. Yet, you make a miserable attempt at denying the accusation by shaking your head softly and taking a step back. Miguel only moves closer to you, intimidating you with his mere presence as his scowl curls into a cruel smirk.

“No me mientas, hermosa,” (don’t lie to me, beautiful) He whispers, one of his large, calloused hands grabbing your face and pulling you back towards him, fingers squeezing your cheeks as his breath hits your skin, sending shivers up and down your spine. “You’re usually so eager to please me. Did you think I was stupid enough not to notice when you started messing things up?”

“Miguel-” You whine, voice muffled due to the way he squishes your cheeks together, making your pretty lips jut out in a sad little pout.

“It always annoyed me how bubbly and determined you are,” He admits bluntly, sharp red eyes scanning your face, before trailing down to watch the way your thighs rub together in a pitiful attempt to alleviate the arousal coursing through you due to his relentless disparagement. “But I didn’t think you’d resort to acting like a dirty whore just because I’m not impressed by the ‘Friendly Neighbourhood’ act.”

His free hand trails down your body, fingers gliding between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, and stopping just above the crotch of your Spider-Suit. He chuckles lowly as he watches the way you squirm in his grasp, hips attempting to roll against his hand for any kind of friction. 

If we had to be completely honest, he actually enjoyed watching you work. You really are gifted, always applying yourself to missions. When he heard you would be handling an anomaly for him, he would feel relieved, even proud. But he knew that any compliments he gave you would just be lost in the sea of praise you already received. So, in order to set himself apart, he decided he was going to be a complete dickhead to you. He figured bullying you would motivate you to seek him out in a crowd, make you strive to impress him and show off to him, and ultimately bring the two of you closer. It was shameful, how awful he is at making first impressions, that he’d rather hurt a beautiful young girl’s feelings as opposed to being a reliable boss and potential friend. But now knowing that he hadn’t completely ruined his chances at getting closer to you, he was certainly going to take full advantage of this new development.

“Now look at you, you don’t wanna be a good girl for me anymore, nena?” Miguel teases, grinning as he sees the need and innocence in your eyes as he releases your face with a harsh push. “You wanna be a dumb little slut for your fucking boss, instead?”

You want to say no, want to deny his harsh words and hopefully gain back some of the dignity he was stripping away from you, but your body yearns for Miguel’s touch, his degradation fueling your most carnal desires, and you nod your head frantically. Miguel sighs at your eagerness, tapping your cheek firmly as he wraps a hand around your throat, not applying any pressure but allowing his thumb to lazily stroke the side of your neck.

He leans in to bite your bottom lip hard, causing you to cry out in pain and open your mouth. He takes the opportunity and slams his plump lips against yours, tongue intertwining around yours inside your warm mouth as he groans into the sloppy, demanding kiss. His hand drops from your throat as his bulging arms tuck themselves underneath the fat of your ass and he lifts you up, carrying you over to his platform and dumping you on top of his desk, lips never leaving yours. Miguel’s razor-sharp claws protrude from his fingertips, slicing through the material of your Spider-Suit and prompting a startled yelp from you as he rips your clothes right off your body. 

The matching set you have on underneath has his dick thrumming in his suit, and he almost loses sight of his initial plan in a desperate temptation to worship your gorgeous body and shower you with the praise that he knows you deserve. But he wants to be different, wants to hold a special place in your heart, and this was the only way to do it. 

“You wore these for me, didn’t you?” He hisses flippantly against your lips, throwing the rags of your once cute little Spider-Suit across his office, before tearing your bra open from the middle with just the strength of his grip, claws retracting back into the pads of his fingers. “Puta de mierda.” (fucking whore)

Miguel flips your body over on his desk with ease, your face now pressed against the cold, hard material as Miguel leaves a trail of deep bite marks and hickeys across the exposed skin of your back, making his way down to your clothed pussy at an agonising pace, your ass wiggling enticingly to try and convince Miguel to give you what you want, what you need from him. Miguel peels your soaked panties off of you, tossing them onto his desk chair for later, as his fingers run up and down your already dripping folds, causing him to chuckle to himself.

“I never would’ve pegged you for a girl who gets off on this kind of thing,” Miguel whispers as his fingers explore your wetness, his tone much softer as his sharp, red eyes admire the way your body looks bent over his desk. He snaps himself out of his trance, opting to tap on your clit harshly with his fingers to bring himself back to a place of lust and callousness, and to tease you further.

Miguel dips his two fingers into your cunt, making you moan and cry out, your hands gripping the edge of Miguel’s desk as you push your hips back to fuck yourself on his thick fingers. He pumps his digits in and out of you at a leisurely pace, curling them to hit that sweet, gummy spot inside of you each time they delve deeper into your pussy. Miguel groans at the way you clench around his fingers as he thrusts them into you, his knuckles drenched in your arousal as he watches the way you grind against his hand when his thumb rubs your pulsing clit to stimulate you further. 

You’re completely falling apart at his touch, the way his fingers deliciously stretch your hole making you see stars as you approach your climax. Just as you’re about to cum, Miguel pulls his fingers out of your cunt and gives your clit a harsh slap, making you whine as your entrance twitches at the sudden loss.

“Sluts don’t get to cum ‘til I say so, muñeca.” Miguel taunts, disabling his nano-tech suit, the holographic material dissolving and revealing his tall, tan, muscular, the mere feeling of him towering over you from behind making you moan against his desk. He holds his fat, stiff cock in one hand, dragging it between your folds and gathering the slick trickling down your thighs as he scoffs at the way you tremble and spasm at his touch. “Especially sluts like you.”

Miguel plunges his dick into your pussy aggressively, bottoming out in one harsh slam of his hips against your ass and causing you to scream, his hand coming down to cover your mouth and muffle your echoing moans as he delivers fast, disciplining thrusts into the depths of your core, tip kissing your cervix with each frenzied movement. His cock rams into you mercilessly as he digs one hand into the plush of your waist while the other holds your head up, the two fingers he was using to play with your pussy forcefully entering your mouth. On instinct, you wrap your lips around them and suck the remnants of your essence off of his skin, moaning and choking on his thick digits as Miguel’s length stretches you to the brink of what is possible for your tight little pussy to handle and his balls slap against your puffy clit.

“Pussy was fucking made for me,” He grunts, delivering a smack to your juicy ass, the sting making you whine against his fingers, saliva dribbling down your chin and saturating the desk below your face. “Squeezing me so tight. It’s a shame that this pretty cunt can’t make up for how shit you are at your job. Maybe I won’t bother assigning you missions anymore? I’ll just call you in when I need a hole to fuck.” 

Wow. He really did think of you as useless. You had always considered yourself to be good at what you do. At home, you were a hero. Here, bent over your boss’s desk and being fucked so mercilessly, you felt like nothing but a whore. You cry, tears rolling down your cheeks as you moan and squeal with each thrust of Miguel’s thick cock into your hungry pussy. Despite your underlying feelings of shame for your recent failures as an employee, being fucked like a slut by the very man you’ve been fantasising about since the first time you had the displeasure of meeting was able to snap you out of your sadness and overwhelm you with passion.

Hearing you sob around his fingers fills Miguel with a sharp pang of guilt, but he brushes it off and pounds into you harder to remind himself of his end goal, breaking you down until he can make you his. If you really were as into his cruelty as you seemed, he was going to give you exactly what you so desperately needed.

“Mig-Miguel, I’m- fuck! I’m so close.” You whine, his fingers in your mouth making your voice come out as a spluttering cry. 

Miguel pulls his soaked fingers out of your mouth and holds your waist with both hands, fucking his cock impossibly deeper inside of you as the sound of skin slapping against skin and both of your desperate, breathy sounds of pleasure fill the dark office.

“Beg for it, amor.” He whispers against your ear, his chest pressed flush against your back as he nibbles at the smooth skin of your neck as his dick moves in and out of you at a brutal pace, the veins of his thick length caressing the warm walls of your pussy as he smushes his tip against your sweet spot with each thrust.

“Please, Miguel! I promise I’ll do better. I won’t make another mistake again, I’m gonna be so good, I swear! Better than I’ve ever been!” Your breathless pleas make Miguel feel a conflicting surge of both guilt and power. He watches the way your back arches and your thighs shake as you try so so hard not to cum, to be a good girl for him and follow his orders. At the end of the day, you just wanted him to like you, to see how good of a hero you are, and he knew that. Which is why he’s finding it so fun to toy with you like this.

“Shh, I know. I’ll let you cum, sweetheart.” Miguel coos, tugging on your hair so that he can reach your face and plant a kiss on your tear-stained cheek, his soft, long-awaited act of reassurance contrasting the lewd sounds of squelching as he fucks you with mind-numbing intensity. 

He reflects on his words as he listens to the way his unexpected words make you cry and whimper, and part of him regrets the way he approached your relationship, wishing he had just been honest with you and praised your efforts from the start, rather than being cruel and bending you over his desk to fuck you so harshly. But the way you tighten and pulse around his sensitive dick brings him back to the present, and he gives your waist an encouraging squeeze.

The tiny action of consolation has you spiralling, your vision going spotty as you squirt around Miguel’s fat cock, squeals and moans leaving your glistening lips as your whole body twitches with the all-consuming sensation of your release. Watching as you come undone, Miguel feels himself rapidly approaching his own release. He curses and pulls out of your sopping cunt, watching the way his leaky tip shines with your juices. It sends Miguel over the edge. He lets out a sharp whimper as he cums all over your round ass and your spine, thick globs of his climax staining your sweaty skin and making you exhale shakily. 

The sex and your crying make you pass out on the desk, and Miguel quickly covers you up and carries you to his quarters, laying you down in his bed and tucking you in. He whispers a quick apology to you, letting his cruel persona disappear and showing you how much he actually values you as a colleague and person when he thinks you’re asleep, but you hear everything. 

Maybe you didn’t really need to be praised by Miguel to know that you were good enough. And maybe he didn’t need to be so afraid of showing you that appreciation. For now, though, the angry sex would be a pleasant memory for both of you, in an odd way.

“Get some rest, cariño. You deserve it, for being such a good girl.”

I FINALLY FINISHED IT OMG. Thank you all for being so patient 💜💜

#ultravioletrayz #miguel smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara smut #spiderman 2099 smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader

[yxami]

Yandere dog boy

description: yandere dog boy hybrid x gn reader, mommy kink not introduced yet, sorry it’s kinda short, I’ll write more in an actual scenario rather than in the introduction like I do sometimes.

Elijah’s your closest friend who likes to consider himself your best-friend. And that may be true but that doesn’t mean he has to follow you everywhere and be your shadow. And you’ve definitely told him this before!

He insists he has to protect you since the crime rates had suddenly exceeded the estimated rates. It was because of him hurting people in his way that wanted to be with you but you didn’t have to know that!

He was basically your tough looking best-friend that would dutifully watch over you as if you were his property that he needed to take care of.

The reality was that he was your property, he was your puppy, he was all yours.

You were the one patching him up after he sunk his canines into another guy who pissed him off. Elijah had heard him talking about you, in way that immediately made him throw the hardest and quickest punch in his god damn life.

No way was he going to let a disgusting pervert speak about you as if you were an item. You were a god compared to that low life, you were a beauty who only deserved the best.

“I just don’t get why you get into so many fights. Seriously, do you not feel any pain right now?” You glared in frustration as you wrapped his bloody knuckles and iced his bruised cheek quickly afterwards.

“Nope! You should’ve seen the guy I fucked up though, heard he’s in critical condition” Elijah’s shit eating grin was bright and big like always.

“Get into another one and I’m not letting you follow me around anymore” You grumbled. His grin was immediately turned into a worried frown.

“H-hey! Don’t say that. You don’t really mean that right?” He whined, ears drooping at even the idea of not being able to stand next to you.

“Well, if you get into another one you’ll see whether I’m being truthful” You got up, collecting the items you used to clean and wrap him up. You walked out the bathroom to go put the things back in their rightful place.

“Listen! I won’t get into another I swear! And if I do then.. umm you can punish me! Just not in any way that would prevent me from protecting you” He stuck close behind you, helping you put the items that back on the higher shelf.

“Deal, I’ll just have to find a different way to punish you instead” You closed the cabinet after stocking the taken items. “Okay!” He happily followed you afterwards.

Elijah didn’t get into anymore fights after that, he did have a few scuffles that almost turned into it but he would always walk off before it did. He had to behave or else you’d stop hanging out with him!

Every-time he relayed how he walked away, he would get head-pats and treats like his favorite snack or opportunities to snuggle with you. That was probably his favorite treat!

But being in between your legs as the two of you watched something on your phone was his absolute favorite. He was a big boy, but he still managed to sneak in between your thighs every time the two of you hung out.

His wagging tail pressed under him would still run for miles at an hour like it always did when you were close to him. His blissful face as he watched the show only revealed more of his happiness to be your best-friend.

And he used to be satisfied with that! But now he wants more than that, and he can only patiently wait for you to realize you like him the same way he loves you.

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #male yandere #pls request #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #gn reader #soft yandere #fluff with yandere #fem reader #afab reader #yandere fluff #fluff with yan #dog boy #yandere dog boy #soft dog boy #dog boy yan #yandere dog hybrid #yan dog hybrid #hybrid x reader #elijahmyoc

[avalypuff]

Answers to the common questions of “Why didn’t Zelda retain dragon features?” and “Why did Link’s arm revert to normal?”

I’ve been dying to do some analysis posts since TotK came out, and after seeing a lot of people complain about the above, I decided my first should be related to the endgame.

So, I’ve seen a lot of posts where people seem to misunderstand what was going on when Zelda changed back into a Hylian, and why Link’s arm returned to normal. Many write this off as simply plot convenience, and while it’s true that Nintendo wouldn’t want to leave the main characters of one of their most popular titles with permanent changes, I’m here to try my best to explain the actual reason these things happened the way they did, because whether you noticed it or not, there is plot relevance to this reversion.

Draconification is permanent.

This is an indisputable fact.

And while I have seen people criticizing the way Zelda changed back, the fact is she swallowed the stone knowing that she never would.

“I’ll be forever changed…”

Her cry for Link to find her was not for her sake. She wasn’t depending on him to find the key to changing her back. Nay, the only reason she desperately prayed for him to find her was so that he could get the Master Sword, which—ignoring game mechanics that would allow you to beat Ganondorf with literally any weapon with the right damage/durability ratio—canonically is the only thing that can hurt him.

When Zelda changed back, it was almost entirely thanks to Sonia. That’s right!

…Let’s take a second to recall this scene in which Rauru decimated the horde of Molduga.

We see Sonia extend her hand and then gesture for Zelda to do the same.

Here they’re extending their own power to amplify Rauru’s counterattack, even beyond the already-massive boost the Secret Stone provides.

In the final scene when Link finds himself hovering over the sleeping Light Dragon amongst a dream-like atmosphere, it’s really quite telling that Sonia is the first to rest her hand over Link’s, then followed by Rauru.

This time Rauru is fulfilling the role of amplifying Sonia’s power over time. Not just that, but adding it on top of the time manipulation that Zelda gave to Link at the beginning of the game.

That’s what’s happening here. This is immensely powerful, triple amplified time magic!

The change from dragon to Hylian wasn’t a transformation in the same sense that it was when Zelda changed from Hylian to dragon. I know that’s a confusing sentence, but consider the basis of Sonia’s time magic is recalling things as they once were.

Zelda didn’t retain dragon features because, through the power of time reversal, she was never a dragon to begin with.

This is the also the reason the Secret Stone reappeared on her necklace.

This is ALSO the reason Link’s arm reverted to its natural state before he was affected by the gloom.

And before y’all come at me with “well, why didn’t Rauru do that in the first place instead of giving his arm to Link?” Simple; Sonia wasn’t there. Even spirits aren’t omnipotent… in Hyrule. (Probably.)

The point is, this was essentially a lucky break for Zelda and Link, because if Sonia (and therefore Zelda, by inheritance) didn’t have time magic, there would have been no way to undo the Draconification. It would have been every bit as permanent as Hyrule legends and history says it is, and Zelda would be gone forever.

In fact, it’s likely it was a shot in the dark even on Sonia and Rauru’s part, considering there was no prior knowledge of reversing time on a dragon, let alone a person. It was a glorious blend of the convenience of Sonia’s time magic, and luck that it worked out the way they (“they” being all characters involved) wanted.

Anyways, to wrap this up, Draconification is indeed permanent, unless you have the number one badass-master-of-time-manipulation Queen Sonia on your side. Then you can probably undo anything. :)

#the legend of Zelda #tears of the kingdom #TotK #totk spoilers #Zelda #Link #Rauru #Sonia #draconification #I haven’t done an analysis post in YEARS #I forgot how much fun it is to write these out #honestly tho if you still wanna hc Zelda with horns and a tail that’s fine #I’m not a fan personally #but that’s just me! #I just wanted to put this explanation out there

[neuvistar]

I just want husband!scara to breed me for god's sake😭💔💔

you r so so real for this anon i want him to breed me too that man is fine as hell god i want him so bad (alsoalso! small thirst waha my baddd :< if u wanted me to write something abt this pls lmk! <33 i’ll try my best) Uhmuhm this is kinda short noy proofread whoopsies, and minors do not interact

tbh like ive always imagined kuni as someone who has a huge thing for breeding n all that. when you whispered that you wanted him to breed you that night, oh my oh my prepare yourself because you’ll be up all night being bred by your sweet sweet husband <33 all those fantasizes about breeding you so good n so well enough to the point you bear his child would probably come true tonight. scara’s breath quick and heavy as he pressed you against the mattress with your legs shaking against him, his hands engulfing the flesh of your tits. he’s soso desperate, and your soft pleas for him to keep going and how u wanted him to breed u all full weren’t helping his desperation, instead it made him even more desperate than he already was

fingers dig deep into your hips, his harsh thrusts bringing out the neediest moans out of u as he came a second time, more of his cum seeking out of your aching cunt as he pulled out, his cock was painted with white just like your insides, but it wasn’t enough for him <33 “more, more please.. a few more, f’me.. want to fill you up even more, please .. ah. i’m addicted to you. wanna breed you till— fuck.. please” god he’s addicted to you, he’s always been. you couldn’t believe that scaramouche.. formerly the balladeer of the fatui harbingers, kunikuzushi, kabukimono, was on top of you, begging to breed and fill you up to the brim until he was sure you’d bear his child. you’re not complaining though <33

in conclusion! im very confident w the thought that kuni has a breeding kink, i mean.. he’s good with kids already, if he’s capable of showing kindness to kids n capable of taking care of them, then he’s capable of taking care of his own younglings, am i right? (he has a breeding kink foreal i will not take any criticism)

#ᖭི༏ᖫྀ maryse answers ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა #ᖭི༏ᖫྀ anons ଘ(੭´꒳`)° #ᖭི༏ᖫྀ thirsts ૮꒰ᐡ ɞ̴̶̷ ̫ ᴗ̤ ᐡ꒱ა #scaramouche ૮꒰ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ꒱ྀིა #scaramouche smut #genshin smut #scaramouche x reader #oh my days scara is so fine #scaramouche <33

[blindmagdalena]

The Cuckoo's Nest

18+ 6.3k siren!homelander x f!reader. dub/noncon, infidelity, mind/emotional manipulation, gaslighting, voice kink, masturbation, penetrative sex, fingering, blood, gore, cannibalism? creampie, stalking, minor character death, praise kink, good girl/pretty girl.

The gentle and pleasing voice of the cuckoo bird has made it a renowned herald of spring, and perhaps one of the most famous of songbirds. One would never guess merely by looking at it that it is a predatory parasite.

What you thought would be a dream job working for Vought as Homelander's very own secretary turns into a surreal waking nightmare as reality and dreams converge in a confusing mess. The only coherent thread that strings it all together is the alluring pull of Homelander's unnatural voice.

written for Monsterlander Mania. fair warning, this fic is fairly dark! thank you so much @anon-nee for this amazing banner art. 🖤

When you were hired as Homelander’s secretary, the gig had been pitched as a cushy desk job. Now that he’s the new face of Vought, and Ashley the company CEO, he needs someone who will keep his day to day affairs in order. Apparently, you’re just the person for that job.

“You probably won’t see much of him,” Ashley tells you distractedly. She rarely ever looks away from her phone for long.

“There are two landlines on your desk. The left one is for general business, and the one on the right, the red one, is exclusively for him. Don’t make calls on it. He has the number memorized, he’s the only one who’ll ever call it, so make sure you always answer it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you say diligently.

Glancing over, Ashley does a double take. “Aren’t you married? Where’s your ring?”

You falter, looking down at your hands. “Oh,” you say, taking said ring out of your pocket. “I put hand cream on earlier, I just forgot to put it back on.”

“Make sure you keep that on,” she says, giving you a critical look before returning her gaze to her phone. “He’s particular.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Nevertheless, you make sure to always keep your wedding ring on while you’re at work.

True to Ashley’s word, you see neither hide nor hair of Homelander during your first three days. You make his appointments, you take calls on his behalf, and you organize his bookings.

In your office, directly across from your desk, hangs a borderline comically oversized portrait of him that stares relentlessly at you as you work. You often find yourself staring back at it, the back of your neck prickling with the irrational feeling of being watched.

You know that it’s just in your head, but you can’t help but be put off by the feeling. Sometimes you consider covering the portrait, but the last thing you want is for the man to appear out of the blue and see a blanket thrown over his likeness.

Your instinct proves correct.

“Hey you,” comes a voice like silk. You startle, looking up from your desk to find a shock of red, white and blue standing in your doorway, his arms folded casually behind his back.

“Homelander,” you say, nearly choking on the name. “Sir, hello. I’m–”

“I know,” he interjects smoothly, cape swaying behind him as he passes the threshold, making his way over to your desk. That voice. He’s not even said five words to you yet, but it lingers in your ears like warm honey, causing a flush of warmth to roll through you. You convince yourself that you’re just embarrassed to have been caught so thoroughly off guard. “My new secretary. Sorry I couldn’t stop by sooner.”

“Oh, there’s no need to apologize, sir. I know better than most how–” you hesitate, watching as he takes a turn and begins walking directly towards you, circling behind your desk. “–busy you are,” you finish, looking up at him as he looms over you. You wonder if you should stand, but he’s so close to you now, you’d just knock right into him.

He smells good. Earthy and slightly sweet, like vetiver.

“That’s pretty,” he remarks, gesturing to your ring finger. “Sapphire, huh? Unusual choice.”

You swallow, trying desperately to reign in the cadence of your breath. Your heart is pattering as wildly as rain drops. “Thank you. My husband chose it, it’s his birthstone.”

To which Homelander giggles. It’s a delighted, slightly off-putting little noise. “P’wow, he gave you a ring with his birthstone, huh? Really staking his claim,” he says, reaching down to take your hand. He looks at you just before he makes contact. His eyes are even bluer than the stone in your ring. “May I?”

Dumbstruck, you nod, lifting your hand and placing it in his upturned palm. He sits on your desk and turns your hand this way and that, watching the way your ring catches the light. Eventually, his gaze slips back to yours. “Happily married?”

“Very,” you say immediately, your throat suddenly dry.

He smiles, and only then do you notice how unusually sharp his canines are.

“Good. Glad to hear it,” he says, giving your hand a gentle pat before he lets it go. You immediately drop your hand into your lap, touching your ring. You feel strangely lightheaded all of a sudden, unable to look away from his piercing gaze. Even when he isn’t speaking, you can still hear the warmth of his tone echoing all around you.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you,��� he says, standing from your desk with preternatural elegance, as if he’d floated more than lifted himself.

“Please, the pleasure was all mine,” you say with a smile, somewhat dazed. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

He looks pleased as punch at that. “I’ll try not to be such a stranger, hmm?” he purrs, reaching out to give your shoulder a friendly squeeze. You feel the rumble of his voice roll all the way down your spine and into the core of you, leaving a light throb nestled between your thighs.

“I’d like that. Thank you, sir,” you say, your voice sounding dreamy and distant in your own ears.

Flashing that same toothy grin, he shoots you a wink before he turns face with a slight flourish of his cape, the fabric billowing in his wake as he takes his leave, disappearing down the hall.

The second he’s gone, it’s like the spell of his presence breaks and you come crashing back to yourself, eyes wide. A hot broil of shame rolls through you when you realize how aroused you are, that throb lingering. You’re equal parts shocked and disgusted with yourself, sickened by the hot prickle lingering on every inch of your skin.

Holy shit. What the fuck was that?

You wind up leaving an hour early, eager to be home. The shame makes you desperate to see your husband, as if touching him will erase the residual traces of the effect that Homelander had on your body.

It doesn’t. In fact, that feeling of being watched follows you all the way home, the feel of it becoming a specter haunting your house. When your husband seeks intimacy from you in your bed later that night, you push his hands away.

“Sorry,” you say softly, shaken. “Not tonight.”

Your body still remembers him too viscerally.

That night, you dream of songbirds.

Two days later, the right landline rings for the first time. You stare blankly at it, your stomach immediately twisting into knots. It rings, once, twice, nearly a third time before you hurriedly snatch it up off the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” comes Homelander’s familiar drawl. His voice falls over you like a wash of sunlight, warm and heavy. “Thought you might be ignoring me for a second there.”

“No, no, never. Sorry, sir,” you say, reaching for your water. You take a quick sip. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing too dire, just a little shuffling. Can you bump tomorrow’s 4pm to Thursday for me?” He asks, voice slipping around your throat like a noose. The press of it makes you slightly breathless.

“Of course,” you say, balancing the phone on your shoulder while you manipulate your tablet. “That’s no problem at all, done.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, the phone turning his voice into an intimate rumble in your ear.

You blink, feeling like your mouth is full of cotton. You can’t seem to form a response.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He asks, and you swear up and down you can hear a smile in his voice. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Was there anything else, sir?” You manage to blurt out, words leaving you in a clumsy spill. You’re breathing shallowly, mouth parched. You snatch up your water and take another quick sip. There’s a long pause on the line, the silence so deafening you think for a moment you must have missed something. “Sir?”

“Touch yourself.”

Your heart falls into your stomach, but that feeling is nothing compared to the unbidden liquid heat that those words erupt throughout your body.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says patiently. Amused, even. “Touch yourself. Take your hand–no, no, the left one,” he says in response to your right hand drifting down. You weren’t even aware you’d started moving. You swap the phone from your left hand to your right, and grab hold of your thigh with your left hand.

“I don’t understand,” you say, the words feeling as thick as molasses on your tongue. “Why are you–”

“That’s good. Now, move those pretty fingers in. Just like that,” he directs, and to your own distant horror, your hand moves, sliding between your legs and lifting up your skirt, your sparkling ring disappearing beneath it. You press your middle finger directly to your beating clit and let go a shuddering breath, massaging it through your panties.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show me how you like it, mm? Bet your husband still doesn’t know the first fuckin’ thing about how to make you feel good. He ever watch you do this to yourself, ever bother to learn how you like to be touched?”

Disoriented, you shake your head. Your hips reflexively lift to meet the smooth figure-eights you rub yourself with. You’re sure you’d agree to anything he said so long as he keeps talking.

“Didn’t think so. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, sweetheart. I know exactly what you need.”

The heat of his voice envelops you, makes your whole body feel aflame. You’ve never been so sensitive in your life, already shuddering and squirming in your seat from the intensity of sensation building beneath your fingers.

“Slow down. There’s no rush. You’re as good as mine now.”

His voice is like velvet but his words sting, needling something inside you that squirms. You screw your eyes shut and shake your head more fervently. “No, no, m’not… I don’t…”

“Shhhhh,” he hushes, the hiss of it like a serpent in your ear. “Give it up for me, sweetheart.”

A whimper escapes your throat, the noise all but choked out of you. You can’t move, save for the increasingly frantic stroke of your fingers. His voice is a physical caress that slips down the line of your throat, between your breasts, slinking in serpentine patterns until it spills over your fingers and–

You gasp awake, staring wide-eyed at your blurry ceiling as wave after wave of pure euphoria crashes over you, stealing your capacity for breath. You ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm in a state of delirium, the shadows on your ceiling dancing like a voyeuristic crowd. You’re not sure if it takes seconds, minutes or hours to end, your perception of time distorted by the sheer intensity of sensation.

Looking to your side, panting, you see your husband sleeping soundly beside you. His snores are faint and peaceful. The curtains of your balcony door billow softly with the night’s breeze.

Your day comes back to you in a slow blur. The phone call was real, you’re sure of it… Aren’t you? Reaching for your phone, you hurriedly log into your Vought calendar and check the schedule. Sure enough, in your history, you can see that you bumped his next day R&D meeting to Thursday. That was real.

You wrack your brain for the details of your day, trying to piece together how you got from there to here, and whether or not any of Homelander’s voice cooing lewd commands in your ear was real. 

It couldn’t have been. 

The more the dream fades from your mind, the more you remember the rest of your day. You remember hanging up the phone, finishing your work day as per usual, and going home to your husband. Though it’s all something of a strange blur, the memories are there.

Even so, the dream somehow feels more real than any of it.

It’s 5am and you doubt you’ll be sleeping again. You get up early, shower, and make breakfast all before your husband even makes it to the kitchen. Your dreams and the haze of yesterday fade with the rising sun, as all dreams and memories often do.

You’re in the process of putting your dishes away when he walks in, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You got an early start today?” He asks, biting back a yawn.

It’s cute. He’s cute. You feel an irrational spike of guilt.

It was just a dream.

“Didn’t sleep well,” you admit, kissing him on the cheek. You wrinkle your nose. “Oof, morning breath,” you say playfully, but there’s an edge of truth to it. You can’t explain it, but there’s something off about the way your husband smells this morning.

Your mind drifts wistfully to the pleasant memory of sweet vetiver.

By the time you make it to work, your morning is nothing but a distant recollection at the peripheral of your consciousness. 

Nonetheless, the sight of that bright red landline still makes you blush. 

You don’t see Homelander again for another three days. At least, not at work. In reality, you’re more aware of him than you’ve ever been in your life. His face is everywhere, be it TV or billboards. You see him in the grocery store, the post office, and even the goddamn DMV. You never really noticed until now how inescapable Homelander truly is.

It’s no wonder he continues to appear in your dreams, too. You can’t seem to remember any of them very well, but you know without a doubt each time you wake that you were haunted by sapphire blue eyes and a voice as decadent as sin.

Sometimes you recall a gorgeous view of the city hundreds of feet in the air. Other times you recall a blue bed, but the thing you remember most is mirrors. You see yourself clearly in them. You see him with you.

All the while a budding friction between you and your husband continues to grow. You find yourself telling him more often to brush his teeth, shower, anything to combat this bizarre stink he’s taken on. Some days it’s so bad, you swear you smell rotting meat before you realize it’s him. Even the sound of his voice grates on you, both rough and shrill in a way that agitates you further and further into isolation in the house you once happily shared.

On that third day at work, you’re penciling in a meeting regarding a potential collaboration with Superplastic when a rhythmic knock at the door jostles you from focus. You look up to call them in, but Homelander is already striding inside, stealing the words right off the tip of your tongue. 

“Goooood afternoon,” he drawls, the door falling shut behind him. For as much as you’ve continued to see and hear of him, you had forgotten how different he sounds in person, the force of his presence instantly a weight upon your body.

Your brain completely malfunctions. Night after night of erotic whispers suddenly crashes down upon you in visceral detail, how multiple times you woke to the throes of an orgasm with his voice still echoing in your ears. Humiliation and arousal flood you in equal measure, turning your skin hot.

Homelander smiles at you from the other side of your desk all the while. 

“Cat got your tongue?” He asks slyly. The question hurdles you backwards in time to the moment you were seated in this exact spot with him whispering downright pornographic filth into your ear, coaxing you into touching yourself into a frenzy.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was a dream.

“Good afternoon, sir,” you finally manage to say, wincing internally at the sound of your own voice.

“Don’t be so formal,” he says, giving a dismissive little wave. “C’mon, call me Homelander,” he says, once again circling around behind your desk. Your eyes widen slightly, mouth bone dry when you try to swallow. He sweeps his cape out of the way before taking a leisurely seat on your desk. He lifts his brows, pinning you with an expectant stare. “Go on, try again.”

“Uh, good afternoon, Homelander,” you correct yourself. His proximity to you is making it hard to focus–there it is again, the scent of vetiver. He smells like summer grass warmed by the hot sun, and he has a gravitational pull to him that has you leaning subconsciously towards him.

His smile widens. “Much better.” His eyes narrow a touch, flickering down briefly before snapping back up to meet your gaze. 

“So! How’s the office, everything nice and cozy?” He asks, one hand braced next to him on your desk, the other gesturing vaguely about. Before you can even answer, he points to your lap. 

“Chair good? I know how important lumbar support is when you’re sitting all day.”

Discussing your lumbar support needs with Homelander certainly had not been on your bingo sheet.

“Uhm, yes, it’s–” Again, before you can get a real answer in, he’s sitting up and making sweeping motions with his hand.

“Let’s see, up, up, lemme take this bad boy for a spin,” he says, making your heart leap up into your throat when he catches you by your waist and effortlessly lifts you up out of your office chair, turning to set you on your feet. With a flourish of his cape, he drops down into your chair, legs spread wide.

You gawk momentarily, watching him spin side to side.

“Oop, there’s that lumbar,” he says, leaning back into it. He’s grinning at you all the while, the moment entirely surreal. You huff an incredulous little laugh, crossing your arms. He’s a little ridiculous, you realize, but personable. 

Have you been the problem this whole time, turning him into something he’s not? You’re starting to lose yourself in your thoughts as you watch him.  

“How about we test the suspension? C’mere,” he says, giving his thigh a pat. “Sit.”

You snap back to attention, your smile falling away. “Pardon?”

“Sit,” he says again, his smile a predatory curve of his lips. He pats his thigh again “Right here.”

You look down at his lap and then back up, your ears buzzing with the timbre of his voice. Logically, you know that what he’s just demanded is wildly inappropriate, yet the silken tone he said it in leaves you utterly agreeable. Slowly, you lower yourself into his lap, uncertain of why you wouldn’t abide by such a request.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he coos, bracketing your waist with his arms.

 ”That’s better, isn’t it?” He asks, his hands moving up and down your thighs. You shiver, a chill running down your spine despite the fervid heat of his body pressed along the back of yours.

A distant voice in the back of your mind whispers it wasn’t a dream, though you can barely hear it over the pounding of your own blood in your ears.

“Relax,” he murmurs, the word a warm huff on your neck. 

Like a marionette whose strings have been cut, your body goes slack against him. Your heart continues to race even as a wave of calm sweeps through you, the two sensations frantically battling one another. Eventually, however, your pulse succumbs to the warmth seeping from him, and you begin to calm, soothed by the slow sweeps of his palms and the way he’s muttering sweet nothings into your ear. 

“Good girl,” he breathes, the smile audible in his voice. “That’s it. Feels good, hmm?” His hands move more firmly on your thighs, closer to a massage.

You make a thin noise of pleasure, tipping your head back to rest on his shoulder.

“When I tell you… that I have been looking forward to this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck. 

“But I had to be sure you were the one. Most people start to go insane after the first night, maybe the second, but not you.” His teeth, sharp as razors, delicately graze your throat. “You’ve been… perfect.”

“What’re you talking about?” You ask, feeling slightly slow and disoriented.

Homelander chuckles, the rumble of it moving from his chest through your back. 

“My voice. It tears apart people's minds… But not yours. Why is that?” His lips are warm on your skin, trailing lower. He lifts a hand to pull your collar askew and kiss at the exposed crook of your neck.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, eyes flickering shut. His mouth feels incredible, the slight dampness that his lips leave behind making you especially sensitive to the air as he exposes you to it. It’s difficult to focus on anything other than the drag of his mouth. 

You don’t even realize he’s unbuttoned your shirt and slipped it off of your shoulders until he’s kissing that newly revealed skin, nipping playfully at your bra strap.

“Here I was thinking you were just a pretty, tasty little thing… Turns out you’re so much more,” he purrs between kisses. A jolt of pain makes you gasp and then whimper, the sting of it soothed by the way his tongue drags over the spot afterwards.

It takes you a beat to comprehend that he’s just bitten the junction between your neck and shoulder, sunk his sharp teeth in so deep you smell the faint tang of blood.

“Turns out you were meant for me all along,” he says between slow drags of his tongue, lapping at your soft skin. He moans for the taste of it. “Watching you writhe in your bed, wanting me, touching yourself while your useless husband slept. I thought I was the one going fucking insane.”

Comprehension is a slow, creeping thing to your addled mind.  “You were watching me. The dreams, you–”

“Whispered them into your ear while you slept,” he interjects, kissing at the shell of your ear. “You took to ‘em like gasoline takes to a spark,” he says, that voice of his wrapping around your body and limbs like a dozen slithery tendrils. 

The touch of his voice is just as tangible as his hands sliding up your thighs, your stomach, cupping your breasts through your bra. You let out a shuddering moan.

“Every night, I was so sure you’d break. But you didn’t. You won’t.”

His confession brings back images in a flood, untangling dreams from memories. You remember a silhouette standing over you, you remember piercing red eyes glowing in the dark, and you remember the filth he spoke over you that made your body twist and sweat and come harder than you ever have.

All of it intertwines with this very moment, with his hands on you, his body against yours. It has you moaning, writhing back against him the same way you did in your bed beneath his gaze.

“Call your husband,” he tells you, hand slipping between your legs, hooking under your skirt.

“What?” You rasp, clutching at his wrists. You shiver at the hot slide of his tongue just behind your ear.

“Call your husband,” he repeats, thick gloved finger rubbing sparks between your thighs. “Tell him you’re coming home early. Tell him to wait for you in the bedroom.” 

Leaning forward, Homelander snatches the left landline off the desk and pulls it into your lap, resting it atop his hand while he fingers you in slow, precise circles.

You pick up the receiver and dial unsteadily. It doesn’t sound like something you shouldn’t do. Even as it rings, you feel no dread or apprehension. Just the drive to obey the voice cradling your mind and body so very sweetly.

“Hi,” you exhale when he answers the phone, screwing your eyes shut. It takes everything in you just to focus on speaking. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m coming–” your breath catches as Homelander pushes your panties aside and breaches you with a single finger, sliding into your soaked pussy in one slow, continuous slide. 

“I’m coming home early today,” you say, holding both the receiver and Homelander’s wrist in a white-knuckle grip. “Can you wait in the bedroom for me?”

He’s thoroughly confused, but all that does is frustrate you. His voice comes through ugly and nasally over the phone, grating through your nerves instantly. You feel the urge to yell at him, but the breath is stolen from your lungs by the sweet press of Homelander’s thick gloved finger crooking inside you, stroking exactly the right spot to make you see stars.

“Just–just do it, please? Wait in the bedroom, I’ll be–I’ll be home soon.”

You slam down the phone just in time, letting out a cry, lurching forward. The phone tumbles from your lap with a clatter and Homelander catches you with an arm across your chest, pinning you back against his chest.

“Good girl, that’s it. Give it up for me. Lemme feel that pretty pussy come,” he moans, grinding up against you, the sound of his finger pumping into you obscenely loud and wet. 

“C’mon, sweetheart. Whet my appetite. Gimme something before it’s time to fucking eat.”

You come loudly, clenching your legs tightly around his hand. He stops just to feel you tighten and convulse through his glove, his lips and teeth and tongue all wreaking havoc at your throat.

“Fuck,” he sighs, followed by the low rumble of a chuckle. Your thighs shake as he pulls his hand away. You can smell the heady smell of your own slick when he brings his finger to his mouth and sucks the taste of you from it, the sound lewd in your ear.

“You even taste pretty,” he hums, voice frayed like a growl. There’s an inhuman split to his voice, like there’s three of them layered over top of each other.

The whole world feels like it’s spinning. You have no center of gravity, just the sensation of movement as Homelander effortlessly maneuvers you up into his arms. Your head lolls against his chest, vision swimming.

Warm lips press sweetly to your forehead. “Rest up, pretty girl,” he murmurs. The words instantly make you drowsy. “I’ll wake you up when I’m done.”

The world slips into darkness. The last thing you’re aware of is the feeling of flying.

When you come back to consciousness, the darkness remains. You recognize your bedroom ceiling above you, familiar shadows dancing across it, beckoning you awake. 

A dream…?

Your limbs are leaden, weighed down to the bed. You try desperately to untangle the fantastical from what is real, walking backwards through what you remember. Touch, smell, sound, and pleasure unlike anything you’ve ever known. You remember Homelander’s hands on you, in you, his body and voice all around you, the sound of–

Sound. What is that sound? It’s close to you, but you can’t move your head to see. It’s a series of wet, soft squelching noises akin to someone manipulating piles of drenched laundry. Then you hear a crunch like a tree branch snapping, and you start to recognize another sound; panting breaths followed by an erotic moan of pure indulgence.

You open your mouth to speak, but your throat is too tight, and nothing escapes it. As you come back to yourself more and more, you realize the bed beneath you is warm and wet.

You manage to force a noise from the back of your throat, a strained sound born of the effort to move. Next to you, something shifts. 

“There’s my pretty girl,” coos Homelander’s familiar voice. Your heart crashes against your ribcage, the only part of you that can freely move expressing the shock of hearing his voice here in your bed.

“Shhhshhhh, no need for that,” he murmurs, moving into your line of sight, hovering over you. His face is spattered in something dark, but when he smiles his sharp teeth are white and bright, even in the dim moonlight of your bedroom. His voice soothes your frayed nerves almost instantly.

“Take a deep breath,” he says. You do so easily, as if you were never paralyzed. “Good. Perfect timing,” he tells you, his tongue sliding along his teeth, his lips, threads of saliva stretched between his teeth snapping. “I’m still plenty hungry for you.”

He kisses you, swinging his leg over to envelop your body with his. All at once you can move again, your bones no longer weighed down. You relax beneath the press of his lips and the weight of him, exhaling a breath through your nose. 

“Kiss me,” he mumbles fervently. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him with everything you have, your lips sliding slickly against one another. He licks the taste of copper into your mouth.

Blood, a distant part of you realizes. Whatever horror you should feel is replaced by building excitement, his touch reigniting heat throughout your body. Like gasoline takes to a spark.

His lips move to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, trailing bloodied kisses down your throat. He has less patience for your clothes now than he did in your office, tearing your shirt and bra from your body with a feral noise. His hands are upon you instantly, spreading the blood on his hands down your chest, massaging your breasts until he works a needy moan out of you.

“Can’t believe I almost ate you, too,” he says with a smile.  Before you can respond, he leans down to suck your nipple into his mouth, hands sliding lower. You gasp and push your hands into his hair, slicking it back with what sprayed into it. His mouth is inferno hot on your skin, goosebumps erupting over every inch of you. His tongue is a devilish thing, working your nipple in circles, but it’s the light pinch of his teeth that make your whole body lurch.

He makes quick work of your clothing from the waist down, too, stripping you until there’s nothing left between you and the blood soaked fabric of his suit. His hand disappears from you, and you hear a metallic click followed by the hiss of a zipper. He nudges your legs apart to settle properly between them, pulling off of your breast with a satisfied pop. He licks his lips of the blood he had spread to your breast, eyes wild and glowing faintly red.

“Let’s get rid of this while we’re at it,” he says, lifting your hand. He kisses the tip of your ring finger before taking it into his mouth, gaze flickering up to meet yours as he takes it all the way down past your knuckle, your ring disappearing past his lips. He catches the metal band with his teeth and drags it slowly off, sucking your finger clean of it. A chill runs down your spine at the crunch the metal gives as he effortlessly chews and swallows it.

You stare in numb, abject shock, but even that rapidly fades to the fires rolling through you. 

Hands on your thighs, he easily pulls your ass into his lap. You look down to see his cock freed from his suit pants, thick and nicely curved. He bends over you, hitching your legs up over his shoulder, and you feel the flat curve of the bottom of his cock press against your cunt. He grins down at you, rocking his hips to grind through the slick mess he’s made of you.

“Let’s see if you feel as good as you taste,” he says, claiming your lips once more. He pulls his hips back, and you feel the head of his cock drooling precome as it slides over your clit, down to your soaked cunt. The dull stretch of it splitting you open burns, has you keening against his lips. He kisses you again and again and again.

“That’s it, baby. Open up for me. Lemme feel that perfect pussy,” he grits out, voice frayed at the edges like he’s finally beginning to lose that cocky composure of his. Even still, his voice retains that otherworldly aspect to it. He bottoms out with a low moan, hips flush to your body.

“Oh fffffuck,” he groans, cock throbbing against the velvety walls of your cunt. You can feel the pulse of him, even more so when you squeeze. It gives you an unexpected and intoxicating shot of power when doing that makes him gasp. “Perfect. My perfect fuckin’ match, fuck. I knew you would be, I knew you were made for me,” he babbles, bordering on incoherence as he starts to thrust, gripping your ass with one hand while the other goes to the headboard, slamming it against the wall with each snap of his hips.

“H-Homelander,” you moan, tangling both hands in his hair, dragging your nails harshly down his scalp, the back of his neck, throwing your head back against your pillow. 

He gives your ass a sharp slap just to feel the way your cunt clenches with it, a growl rolling from his throat.

“Come with me,” he demands, instantly sending the pressure building in you into a soar. He moves faster, deeper, each slam punching out pitchy noises from you. Every drag of his cock feels like a spark inside you, like the strike of a match igniting stars in your peripheral vision. You come with a near scream, nails biting fruitlessly into Homelander’s skin. 

He rides your orgasm fiercely, fucking you into the bloody mess of your bed until he, too, succumbs to the clench of your cunt. He lets out a guttural cry, the wood of your headboard snapping in his grasp as his release floods you, so hot that it nearly burns.

You’re both panting into each other's mouths, lips occasionally brushing. There’s a possessive growl to the edge of Homelander’s breaths, as if warning anything that might hear of the danger of approaching.

“You’re mine now, you understand?” He says lowly, his velveteen voice hoarse, almost animalistic. “My match, my mate, mine.”

Deliriously, you nod, mind still lost to the aftershocks of your climax, your pussy quivering around the girth of his cock. It’s not enough for Homelander, who gives another sharp thrust, knocking an overstimulated moan out of you. “Do you understand?”

“I understand,” you gasp, meeting his gaze. His harsh expression softens at that, the crimson glow fading from his eyes, leaving only that familiar ocean blue in its wake. He kisses you leisurely, but with no less hunger. He lets your legs slip carefully from his shoulders, but remains buried deep inside you, staking his claim as thoroughly as possible. He kisses your neck, makes you wince when he sucks at the mark he bit into your skin.

“You got no idea how long I’ve been looking for you,” he mumbles, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You stroke your fingers through his hair, soaking in the feeling of his superhuman body thrumming against yours. You tighten your grip in his hair and lift his head, bringing his gaze up to meet yours. He looks curiously at you until that curiosity flips to surprise as you kiss him, earning a pleased little hum from him. 

When you part, his surprise has melted away into something dazed and soft. Something like love, or maybe satiation. The two look so very similar.

Homelander kisses you a while longer before he nestles down against you.

Your head lolls to the side for the first time, and only then do you see the full scope of the horror resting next to you; bones jut out from the mess of viscera and meat, shredded clothing thick with blood and innards. It looks like the work of a rabid animal, something vicious and hungry.

You know instantly that the mess is all that remains of your former husband. 

It occurs to you that you should feel a dozen different awful things about the pile of gore splayed out on your bed, but ultimately, the only thought that lingers is how he finally suits that rotten meat smell.

Looking back to the ceiling, you continue to comb your fingers through Homelander’s hair. His weight is a comfortable thing upon you, and beneath the smell of gore, you’re soothed by the gentle, warm scent of vetiver. Your eyelids grow heavy, and within minutes, you drift to sleep.

When you wake, there is no tang of blood heavy in the air. You sit up in a bed that is both alien and familiar. It isn’t until you see the mirrors around you that you realize that this is the bed from your dreams.

You feel warm, despite the early morning chill beyond the blankets. You feel a tug, and as you look down, Homelander pulls you back down into his arms.

“Mornin’, pretty girl.”

“Morning,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him. He hums pleasantly as you touch him, your hands roaming the naked scape of his body, testing that he’s real. You draw back, brows furrowed.

“Everything alright?” He asks, his voice as rich and creamy as ever.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, a touch uncertain. “Weird dreams.”

He smiles, bringing your hand up to kiss. “Well, you’re awake now.”

Somehow, you’re not so certain. 

Regardless, you huff a little laugh and snuggle back into his arms. 

“Love you,” you say, losing yourself to the familiar comfort of a partner in your arms, in your bed, in your heart. The longer you’re there, the more the dreams fade away, replaced with the reality of your waking world and the sweet smell of vetiver.

Homelander squeezes you to his chest, stroking idly up and down your back with his knuckles. You can hear the smile in his voice as he returns, “I love you, too.”

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #terato #monster x human #monster romance #monsterlander mania #my writing #Y'ALL THIS KNOCKED ME ON MY ASS LOL #dark fic

[thesiltverses]

Hello! I found the silt verses about three weeks ago and have listened to it several times since. I have a few things to say.

I absolutely adore that episode about the national grid workers. I think it’s my favorite episode of any podcast I’ve ever listened to. My favorite part of that first episode Paige is in is how she justifies not standing up for Vaughn, that cognitive dissonance that you wrote so well. This episode gives me what I wanted from that episode, the workers all banding together to stop the wasteful sacrifice of one of them. The actor who played the foreman did an incredible job as well. I think that having him discuss which of his workers he would sacrifice was such a significant moment, despite how brief it is. It cuts right to the big question that I took away from the podcast which is, “How much is someone willing to sacrifice in order to maintain their comfort?” And the utter disrespect of Glodditch (apologies for the spelling) refusing to cancel even the radio but asking grid workers to kill themselves for 200kw/h! Top tier episode.

I grew up in the south and went to college in Appalachia. I saw the disparity in technology and “advancement” if that makes sense that poverty brings, and the way you set up the world invokes that feeling in me again. You are an amazing world builder and storyteller.

I really enjoyed the cameos - I’m a big fan of malevolent/devisor, Old gods of Appalachia, and all of Jonny sims work, so hearing familiar voices was an absolute delight. Harlan Guthrie as an acolyte of the snuff gods might have been a bit too on the nose with some of the things that man writes, though… /pos

I’m transmasculine, and something that I really appreciate is how you manage to make a trans man do some objectively awful things, but still manage to make him a complex, full character that I was rooting for very frequently. Brother Faulkner is so, so important to me as a character. Paula Vogel has a play called “Indecent,” which is about the true story of a troupe of I believe German Jewish actors between the years of 1910ish and 1940s putting on a show called “God of Vengeance” by Sholem Asch, also a Jewish man. “God of Vengeance” has queer themes and received a lot of criticism from the Jewish community for showing Jewish folks in a “bad” light at a time when there was already so much hatred for Jewish people. Brother Faulkner being as complex and, in my opinion, malicious and cutthroat as he is at a time when trans people face so much bigotry, especially legislatively in the United States, brings this conversation about “God of Vengeance” up again for me. I also love how normalized non-binary people are in this world, without question. “Sibling this or that,” the hunter, adjudicator Shrew - big thanks from me for all of this.

All of this to say, I love this podcast. Can you talk more about the rhetorical gods? Is Babble one? What makes them one if they are, or why aren’t they? I’m fascinated by them. Can you talk more about the propaganda gods too?

Thank you so much for the thoughtful and kind words!

I'll check out Indecent, it sounds really interesting and I'm very glad to hear Faulkner works for you as a character. I think the topic of how to include and write queer characters who are capable of terrible things and thoughts (because, after all, these characters are human beings and not tutelary exemplars), within the context of both a rising movement of transphobia right now and centuries-old scapegoating / pathologising portrayals more generally, is a really knotty but a really important one, and I always want to make sure I'm approaching it with care and due responsibility as well as a sense of humility around the limitations of what, as a cis writer, I can actually achieve.

To that end, I don't want to ever take the audience response for granted, but I'm always really grateful to hear that the portrayal is working for a listener!

Propaganda gods: gods whose prayer-marks or ritual verses are fed directly to the enemy, enforcing destructive or sabotaging changes to reality (so rather than sending a destructive saint or angel to rampage over the foe, you might drop pamphlets or send radio messages to the enemy to 'convert' them).

Rhetorical gods: gods whose followers possess reality-warping powers of language itself (which is why 'rhetorical god' is a polite way of saying 'liar's god'). In other words, the paranoia around them comes partly down to the fact that a disciple like Val may appear to be a limitless shaper of new forms, rather than shaped into a limited form of their own, as a result of their worship.

#carmen maria machado has a fun mini-essay about queer villainous portrayals which I do recommend

[ohno-the-sun]

Spoiler heavy fnaf ruin dlc rant up ahead

I am so fucking proud of steal wool they really took every criticism from the original game and fixed it and even added more

Like Cassie actually acts like a human being?? And like her knowledge of the original characters and cute little comments on every item are so endearing there is so much detail going into this.

The fact that they expanded on one of the fan faves Roxanne and giving her a great arc I’m in love I’m so happy

They honestly gave more depth to all the animatronics too like we finally see Bonnie’s design and get and get a taste as to what happened, also that poster Freddy gifted him I’m crying they are so cute and gay I love them

😭😭😭

Also the whole dark ride section with Monty is so fascinating like is that narrative kind of true or is it just fabricated by fazbear inc to cover up the decommissioning of Bonnie

Why replace Bonnie with Monty?? Why not make a new Bonnie model?? With the prototype label on Freddy it may be confirmed that they make multiple models (well we already kinda knew that with Freddies comments but oh well)

Also Freddy?? Like is that our Freddy or a different one?? They very clearly highlighted the prototype label so they want to emphasize it, but then the head is still missing like in the princess quest ending so what is the truth??

Feel bad for chica fans tho she really was sidelined hard

Aaaaa and my baby boys!!! There’s 3 now aaahaga

I was really not expecting eclipse to be the way they were, very… normal? Is that the right word?? Like obviously a little delusional on when the daycare is gonna open again, but in the right mindset of like this child needs to leave this place is not safe. It is interesting to me that both he and Roxy thought that it was Cassie’s birthday, maybe that was the last day before she left the plex? Or maybe that was the day the plex caught fire? Or maybe most depressingly we are playing on Cassie’s birthday so the animatronics have it in their systems what her birthday is and wish her a happy one (if they are in the right state of mind lol)

Some peeps are upset moon is a little too villainous

I think you can still say it was mainly the virus but I would argue even if it’s not the virus I feel like moon is kinda justified here. Like sun has been shutting him away for a long time before this (if the books are to be believed but also in general) so when he finally gets a chance to roam free of course he’s gonna take it. And idk about u but if my alternate personality was constantly trying to shut me out and I finally got control, I probably too would try and keep my control for as long as possible. Also from what I have seen so far, not even moon is all that aggressive? Like he grabs you at the beginning, but I think that’s just his very ineffective way to get kids to sleep and other than that he just kinda stays away

Poor sunny baby is stuck in the ar world 🥺🥺 I didn’t notice at first but yeah everytime you talk to him it’s only in the ar world. And the end part where you switch them out for eclipse if you do that in the ar world, he says not for me it’s for moon.

I will say though I noticed the voice acting for them changed a little this game, like both have a higher pitch and are more goofy sounding? Like more gremlin energy than evil villainy. I wonder if that was on purpose? Both of them sounded more like the other so maybe that was the reason? Interest interest

Also their mouth moves?? Sort of?? That’s so silly to me they have a whole working mouth system and their face mask doesn’t work with at all 😭

Does give me lore intrigue tho cause like why do their mouths move but not anymore?? Did something happen?? Are they just not maintained enough?? They also move outward instead of up and down (at least from what I saw) so is the mechanism different?

Also the way that sun and moon talk about eachother is so interesting. Like moon says the light hurts “us” and sun says “no the other me” like they seem to almost consider eachother more connected than we first thought, like they’re not just coworkers or strangers they are almost like two sides of the same person. It’s very interesting and I wonder where people will take this.

Overall great job I’m so excited to comb through the game and find every little secret (especially regarding the dca) aaaa

Ok ok update moon does have a jump scare but it’s ridiculously hard to get and I’d still argue he’s not as vicious as he was base game. I mention in another post but eclipse being as kind as he is and being (presumably) a combination of both AIs, gives even more evidence moon is supposed to be kind and caring like his posters suggest but something went wrong. Also Cassie’s comments on their plushes show that there were kids who truly liked the daycare.

#fnaf ruin dlc spoilers #ruin dlc #ruin dlc spoilers #spoilers #fnaf spoilers #ruin spoilers #fnaf dlc spoilers #fnaf ruin #fnaf dlc #sundrop #moondrop #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf #also please please pleas if someone wants to discuss #or just have me rant to them one sidedly #please I’m bursting at the seems aaaa #thoughts

[prismatic-bell]

So I want to start this post with the understanding that it is based ONLY on my personal experiences as a 35-year-old American and what I saw as a teenager. It should not be taken as a prognostication of doom—it’s a call to keep your eyes open.

So right now, one of the biggest (and very justified) criticisms of what’s happening in Gaza is that the head of Hamas isn’t even in Gaza. He is in Qatar. This is a known and established fact. If the goal is to take out Hamas, then they’re shooting in the wrong place.

Now I want to take you back to 2003.

George W. Bush has just announced that Iraq has 48 hours to turn over Osama bin Laden, or the United States will invade. They did not turn him over. We invaded.

If you’re too young to remember this, then the anti-Iraq/Afghanistan-war number you’ve most likely heard is “over a million dead civilians.” That number is true, but as someone who lived through it, I want to add some stuff you may not know or have heard of.

There was constant fear of the draft, and enlisted soldiers were often “back door drafted,” meaning when their contract was over it was reupped without their consent and they had no recourse. This led to a lot of families being torn apart and living in a constant state of uncertainty and fear. THIS, in turn, led to radicalization of soldiers who came home with no more support network and no assistance to readjust to civilian life. You want to know where all the Millennial MAGA came from? I’d be willing to bet a nickel almost all of them either were soldiers in Iraq/Afghanistan, or knew somebody who was. I knew someone who’d enlisted because his family had been enlisted men all the way back to the Civil War and he genuinely believed he was doing a good thing, and after what he saw on his first tour he re-enlisted twice, as fast as they’d take him, actively trying to get himself killed due to guilt and severe trauma. I guarantee he wasn’t the only one.

We had Blackwater. We had “enhanced interrogation.” (Translation: waterboarding and sleep deprivation, among other forms of torture.) There were photos and videos released of soldiers gone absolutely crazy with power doing stuff like peeing on prisoners and mocking them. One image that will haunt me forever is a copy of the Quran smeared with pork. There’s no need for that. It saves no lives, it produces nothing but pain, it occurred only to be cruel.

Iraq and Afghanistan caused over a million civilian deaths. It also caused the mass insanity of a country.

…..oh.

Did I mention Osama bin Laden was in Pakistan the whole time?

Yeah.

We invaded two countries, murdered over a million civilians, tortured thousands of people….and all of it was for nothing. Yeah, we got rid of Saddam Hussein and that’s a good thing, but it opened up a whole different can of worms in the region, and also led to the US being the first democracy in the world to invade another nation without being attacked first. You can imagine that looked just GREAT for our position on the world stage.

So, uh.

Israel’s bombing the shit out of Gaza. The heads of Hamas aren’t in Gaza. They’re in Qatar.

Do you see where I’m going with this?

So two things of importance here. One, keep an eye on Qatar, and if you hear a PEEP about any potential “military operations” there, remember Iraq and Afghanistan. And two….you’re not going to like this. But it has to be said.

Iraq and Afghanistan occurred under a Republican president and Trump is currently the Republican front runner. To remind you, Trump said multiple times he wanted to start a nuclear war, and his party is full of Christian dominionists who want Israel to take all of Palestine because they believe this will trigger the Second Coming. In other words what Biden is doing is extremely bad but he can be pressured to do what’s right (we’re seeing it happen right now, with his officials admitting he’s feeling the pressure for a ceasefire). Trump WANTS TO DESTROY THE ENTIRE PLANET ON PURPOSE, and has backing from his party. You have to vote against him. You have to. I do not condone what Biden is doing but I also enjoy living, and I’m pretty sure you also would prefer to be here rather than not.

Keep an eye on Qatar. Vote against Trump and keep the pressure on Biden. You really want to help and don’t mind playing dirty? Find some left-wing Israeli organizations you can donate to. The party responsible for what’s happening, Likud, is far-right (Netanyahu is buddies with Trump and that should tell you a lot), and there have been sustained protests against them for almost a year. The fastest way to Palestinian peace is to get the wannabe-dictator and his coalition out of power, topple Hamas (not the Palestinian people, explicitly HAMAS), and restart peace talks. We’ve been EXTREMELY CLOSE to peaceful solutions before, and by peaceful I do not mean “because one side is dead,” I mean “because the two sides were ready to work together.”

(No, I am not saying you shouldn’t donate to Palestinian charities—you can in fact do more than one thing at a time. Although I will tell you to do some double-checking on any Palestinian charities you donate to because apparently right now money is having a really hard time getting through. Make sure you’re working with a legitimate organization and not getting scammed by some asshole in Canada looking to capitalize on a tragedy.)

Peace can happen, and in our lifetimes. I would love to see a world where al-Aqsa and the Third Temple stand proudly side by side on the Mount as a reminder of what peace can do. But we have to keep an eye on all fronts. And that means learning from history.

[holysainz]

mended bonds - lewis hamilton

pairing: lewis hamilton x rosberg!reader

warnings: brief mention of minor accident

summary: in which brocedes are (secretely) future brother-in-laws

“Ready for the race?”

You look at Lewis Hamilton, your boyfriend, who’s dressed in his fireproofs, a gleaming helmet under his arm. His smile warms your heart but there’s a tension in his eyes, a wariness that’s been growing these past few months.

“Always ready to cheer for you,” you respond, your heart thrumming in your chest.

And it’s true. You, being Nico Rosberg’s sister, have always had a passion for racing. The roaring of the engines, the blistering speeds, the smell of hot rubber, all have been ingrained in you from childhood. But more than anything else, it’s the man standing in front of you that brings you to the paddock now.

“We can’t keep hiding this, you know,” Lewis speaks up suddenly, his warm brown eyes meeting yours.

A shiver courses through you. You have been together secretly for nearly four years now, carefully navigating the tension that exists between Lewis and Nico after their explosive fallout. You knew revealing your relationship would make things even more complex. Still, you sense the truth in Lewis’ words.

“Let’s get through today first,” you propose. This race is critical for him. He doesn’t need more pressure.

His lips press into a thin line but he nods, squeezing your hand gently before he leaves.

—

At the circuit, your heart races with each passing lap. Lewis is performing exceptionally. But then, it happens. Lewis and another car collide, spinning him off the track. Your heart plummets, the world becomes a blur. The spectators gasp, but it’s your brother’s face that you see first. It’s white with fear.

“Is he alright?” Nico asks, gripping your arm. His rivalry with Lewis is known but in this moment, you see their shared history, the times when they were friends and brothers rather than rivals.

“I … I don’t know,” you stutter. A pang of guilt strikes you. You need to tell him.

—

Later, in the hospital, when you finally see Lewis bruised but alive, relief washes over you. You grasp his hand tightly. He manages a weak smile. “Guess I’m out of commission for a while.”

His nonchalance doesn’t fool you. You lean over, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead. “I’m just glad you’re still here with me.”

And you know it’s time. No more secrets. You ask Nico to come to the hospital.

—

Nico looks confused when he enters but when he sees Lewis’ hand in yours, his eyes widen in shock.

“Nico … Lewis and I … we’re together. For a while now,” you blurt out.

Nico’s surprise fades into something you can’t decipher. He steps back, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because we didn’t want to complicate things further,” you reply, hoping he would understand.

“It’s already complicated!” Nico snaps. “Do you know what people will say? It’ll be a media circus!”

“We don’t care,” Lewis intervenes. “We’re not living our lives for the media or anyone else. It’s our decision.”

Nico glares at him but his anger melts into resignation. He sighs heavily, “You’re right … it’s not my place. I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me sooner, though.”

“I was scared, Nico. I — we — didn’t want to lose you,” you admit.

He gives you a sad smile, “You won’t lose me, sis. And you,” he turns to Lewis, “You better take care of her.”

—

In the following days, you and Lewis brace yourselves for the media storm. It’s intense, just as Nico predicted, but together you weather it.

You and Lewis continue to support each other. And slowly, Nico and Lewis start rebuilding their strained friendship, understanding that the rivalry on the tracks should not destroy the bond off it.

Love, you learn, does not have to be a secret to be precious. It’s in the shared smiles, the quiet moments together, the support when times are tough. And now that it’s out in the open, you realize that your relationship with Lewis, far from being a point of contention, has become a bridge between two estranged friends.

And in that, you find your happiness. Not just in love but in the reconciliation it has brought and the bonds of brotherhood it has mended. Because at the end of the day, it’s not just the thrill of the race that matters but the people who ride alongside us in life and in love.

—

taglist: @musingsbyshreya

#f1 imagine #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x you #lewis hamilton x you #f1 #lewis hamilton #lh44 #f1 fic #lewis hamilton fic #f1 fanfic #lewis hamilton fanfic #f1 fluff #lewis hamilton fluff #f1 blurb #lewis hamilton blurb #f1 one shot #f1 fanfiction #f1 drabble #formula 1 #f1blr #f1 fandom #mercedes amg f1

[pitchsidestories]

New Year's Eve Party (4) II Leïla Ouahabi x Reader

New Year's Eve Party Masterlist (all previous parts can be found here) I Word count: 1640

“Leila, you look great. Come on, we got to go, we’re already late to the party.”, Ona was impatiently standing in her bathroom door who was done with her close friend looking at herself critical in the mirror for at least fifteen minutes.

Nervously Leila ran a hand through her long dark hair:” Yes, but she’ll be there too.” “And she’ll be happy seeing you either way. So come on.”, the younger Spanish woman reminded her. With a sigh the Manchester City player turned her back to the mirror: “Alright, I’m ready, we can leave.” “Perfect.”, happily Ona led her friend out of her appartement.

The party already arrived when the two defenders arrived. Stunned Leila stopped at the entrance of Fridolina’s home, taking a moment to take in the atmosphere of the celebrations:” Wow.” “Wow as in look at her she’s still as beautiful as I remember her or wow as in Patri is the worst DJ ever.”, the Barcelona player joked light-heartedly. Her question made the Manchester City defender laugh out loud:” Both actually.”  

A wide grin appeared on Patri’s face who heard everything her friends had said: “You know when you two think you’re whispering you’re basically shouting?” “Maybe it would help if you’d turn the music down!”, Ona shouted back giggling. Smiling Leila added: “Yes, because some of us need to catch up with each other!” “But we’re not here to catch up. We’re here to party.”, the midfielder and hobby DJ pointed out.

With a sigh the Manchester City player looked around, in hope to see your familiar face in the sea of former teammates and lifelong friends: “So according to you, we should be dancing instead of talking?” “That’s exactly what I meant.”, Patri replied content.  

That was the moment Ona realized that her friend needed a little help, so she pushed her into your direction:” Come on no more foreplay Leila. Go and dance with her!”

The defender almost stumbled into you when you turned around, the surprise was shown all over your face: “Leila? I almost thought you wouldn’t come.” “No, I.. I said I would come.”, she licked nervously her lips. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized that she was finally here, next to you in flesh and bone: “I’m glad you did.” “I’m a glad you came too.”, Leila replied truthfully.

Innocently you asked her: “Nothing beats a New Year’s Eve Party in Barcelona with the girls, right?”  “No, that’s true. And I can’t miss out on the chance to see all my friends again.”, she admitted fondly. You echoed more surprised than you should; “Friends. Yes, of course.“

You were trying to let the fact that Leila considered you a friend not hurt too much when she quickly added; “And you.“ You looked up in shock, meeting Leilas intense brown eyes for a moment. You gathered all your courage to explain to her; “Leila, I need to tell you something…“

But before you could finish or get a reaction from Leila, you were pulled away by one of your teammates towards a different group of people. “Wait, what?“, Leila was calling after you, but Alexia was holding on to you tight, a suspiciously big smile on her face that made you wonder if she had too much champagne already.

“Ale, I was just talking to Leila…“, you protested. Your team mate nonchalantly waved you off; “You can talk to her later.“ “So, what’s the matter?“, you now asked while Alexia pressed a glass of champagne into your hand. “We have to celebrate.“, she stated happily. You frowned in confusion; “Celebrate what?“

“Hey.“, Leilas voice said close to your ear. Immediately, you turned around facing the defender; “Yes?“ “You wanted to say something…“, Leila prompted you to continue your conversation. You hesitated for a moment, then shook your head. Looking at Alexia with her wife and the other girls celebrating together, your heart filled with adoration for your team mates; “Yeah, I love them all so much.“

“You do?“, Leila asked. Sipping from your champagne, you nodded; “Yes.“ The defenders face scrunched in mistrust as she eyed your glass; “I think you had enough for that.“ “Leila, this is my first glass.“, you assured her but she still took it out of your hand. She raised her eyebrow slightly; “Are you sure? That didn’t sound like it was.“

With a deep breath, you revealed what you have been trying to tell her the whole time; “It’s my way to say goodbye to them.“ “Why would you say goodbye to them? You’ll still see them next year.“, Leila retorted quickly. “Yes, but it will be differently.“, you sighed. The defender shook her head; “I don’t think I understand.“ Another deep breath before you finally laid everything bare; “I’m leaving Barcelona.“

Throwback

There was nothing but shock. You didn’t remember ever feeling so numb before. You both were standing in your apartment in Barcelona when Leila broke the news to you. “You’re leaving?“ That voice didn’t sound like you at all. Leila took a step towards you, you took one step back; “You could come with me…“ It sounded stickily sweet. “How? I still have a contract here.“, you replied. “But I thought…“, she started.

Her shoulders slumped; “Oh, forget it.“ You’d love to forget her right now. “I can’t come with you.“ There was emphasis on every word, in hopes that Leila would finally understand the situation. She frowned at you; “So you don’t love me.“

There was bitter laugh stuck in your throat when you answered; “You’re being unfair. Of course I do.“ “Then why wouldn’t you come with me?“ “I told you, it’s because of my contract.“, you repeated impatiently. Leila shook her head with an incredulous look; “Sure.“ For a split second, you wished she would just leave and never come back.

End of the Throwback

“Where would you go? Barcelona is the best club in Europe.”, Leila pressed on, her voice full of disbelief. A frustrated sigh escaped your lips:“I know.”  “Then why do you want to leave?”, the defender asked you puzzled. You took a deep breath before replying to her question:” Because of you. But also, the WSL title race seems very exciting.” “Wait, what?”, she interrupted you shocked.

It took all your courage to continue:” What I’m trying to tell you all evening is that I’m coming to-“ “Guys the firework is about to start, we’ll all go to the balcony to see it!”, Patri cut through your attempt of an explanation. The Manchester City player glanced annoyed at the midfielder: “Patri!”  “Don’t worry, I can tell you on there.”, you promised her as you followed your teammates on to the balcony awaiting the soon upcoming fireworks.

When you reached your destination, you finally let the defender know what you were trying to say all evening:” I’m joining Manchester City.” “You’re?”, surprise was written all over Leila’s face. Nervously you nodded: “I do, yes.”  “But.. why?”, the Manchester City player sounded confused.  A sudden confidence got into you as you took her hand in yours:” Isn’t it obvious.”

In that moment the firework begun, illuminating the dark midnight sky. “I can’t believe you would do that without telling me.”, the news got under Leilas skin as she was trying to translate her emotions into adequate sentences.  Quietly you confessed to her:“I wanted to tell you this in person.”

“You’re coming to Manchester.”, the joy in her voice was undeniable as she just realized what you said. Suddenly a bit of hesitation made you stammer:”Sorry, that it took so long. If you found someone in Manchester I’d understand.”  “I didn’t. There was no one.”, Leila replied serious. “Same for me.”  

Excited the Manchester City player wanted to know: “When are you signing?” “At the start of January.”, you replied swiftly. “Do you have a place to stay yet?” “Actually, I don’t.”, you blushed as you felt her gaze on you.  A shy smile crept on Leilas lips as she offered: “If you want, you could stay with me.”

“I’d like that.” It was Mapis hurt voice which made you both shriek:”You’ll leave us?” The disappointed look in your friend’s eye made you reach out to her, trying to console the injured player: “Mapi.” “Really?”, she shook her head.

You nodded shyly; “Yes, I’ll join Manchester City in January.“ Alexia appeared on Mapis side with a proud smile; “About time.“ Aitana and her sister joined the conversation, holding each other by their hand. “Agreed“, the younger Bonmati sister beamed.

Aitana gave you an empathetic look; “We’ll miss you. But you and Leila need to be together again.“ Even Patri has left her position as the DJ and appeared next to you; “Yes, your happiness matters more. Plus, you two can always come back to visit us.“ “Yes.“

A gentle squeeze on your arm made you look up, Ona flashed you an encouraging smile. All those kind words from your team-mates have made your eyes well up with tears.

You carefully dabbed at your watering eyes while Mapi announced; “I think that calls for a group hug right at the start of the new year!“ “Oh yes. And Manchester will be happy to have you both.“, Lucy added with a wink.

Before you could say anything, you found yourself in a tight huddle with your teammates and friends. Alexias voice came from somewhere to your right; “Careful with my wife!“ “Ale, she’s fine!“, Mapi replied. You could basically hear her role her eyes at the midfielder.

“The girls will never change, huh?“, Leila asked, her lips close to your ear. You laughed happily; “Never!“ “Good that you’re coming to Manchester then.“, she replied amused. With all your friends around you, you turned to Leila and kissed her passionately. The new year couldn’t start fast enough.

Happy New Year! We hope you've/ had a great NYE. As always comments and likes are appreciated. ❤️

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