#something i wrote when i was feeling to many things at once

[arlertwhore]

pairing: paige bueckers x fem! reader

synopsis: paige shows you how that strap game is and you fall in-love.

warning (s): smut, kinda virginity loss, strap, oral, fingering, nipple sucking, penetration, kinda fluffy and kinda cute, hair pulling.

word count: 3.7k

author note: based off req again, unedited again, wrote very late at night, ty for the support once again!! MINORS DNI

Whenever Paige & you texted, on the rare occasion, it was typically

inquires on scheduling, clothes that were left behind, or silly videos you found funny enough to share with Paige, your only companion with a foolish sense of humor alike you. Your Uni Friends were far too serious to handle your actual humor, and in the groupchat, all

that would be shared amongst you guys were academically humor-ous videos. You enjoyed being able to send Paige anything, even if it had the most crass, offensive, abrasive humor behind it. That's how you saw it when you sent her what you sent her, but Paige couldn't lie, she didn't expect you to be this forward. Readying herself to reply sweetly to your Tiktok or Reel or whatever since it was a rare thing, in the midst of practice, thankfully on a break and away from her team, she had opened your texts to a picture of your Amazon cart, showing you had purchased a big strap-on dildo.

It was either she left you on opened, speechless, or expressed her truest thoughts.

Paige replied: ?

Paige replied: 70$🤨 Is this why you've been working extra-lately?

You chuckled, on your break at work, replying: caught me 😊

You bit your lip: excited p?

Later that night, she called you to follow up on the details. "You got that for me?" She was treating this entire ordeal like a kid before a talent show, nervous and wanting to perform their best. "Paige, I'm hoping you aren't seriously calling me at 3AM on a Monday to ask me why I wanna use a strap with you." you groaned, having just got done with your nightly routine and being nearly asleep when she phoned you. "You're a grinch when you're tired," Paige teased, "I'm just making sure you're not asking me to use this because I can't satisfy you or sum." If only she knew how many sleepless, stressed-from-school-and-work, horny nights you had, trying to conjure her face in your mind, replicate her finger-work to no avail. That was actually how you got the idea for the strap. While browsing on her TikTok, trying to find something hot to help you stick the image in your mind, you had seen a video of her dancing with KK, and she had done a thrust dance motion that was so incredibly smooth it made you feel butterflies. You wanted to experience it for yourself now.

"Paige!" you exclaimed, "You're so annoying, Paige, oh my gosh! Of course it's not like that, I just like fucking you and I wanna try new things. Don't you? We could take turns with it and it could be so fun and-"

"FUCK no!" Paige chortled, a chuckle escaping her lips, "I'll let you and this attitude go back to sleep, but tomorrow you're getting it fucked out of you," she declared. "Yeah, whatever, Peanut Butter," you retorted. "Mhm, and by the time I'm done with you, you'll be jelly." she quipped in a genuine attempt to flirt, and you burst out laughing. She was so cute and unintentionally funny sometimes.

You couldn't have been more grateful for Amazon-Prime Shipping and the power of sleep and your busy schedule, because before you knew it, it was the next day and you had been post-gym, post-shower, and in your towel preparing for Paige's arrival when the door had been knocked. Happy, you rushed from your bedroom out to the front door of your apartment, and you yanked it open. "Isn't this perfect, P!" you rambled as she entered, undoing her laces and kicking her shoes off. "Finished all my schoolwork at work, just got back from the gym, and just finished showering, and now you're here." Paige chuckled lightly. "Don't get too excited. Let me shower first. That game today was tough, yo, St. Jackson didn't let up."

"Yeah, whatever, Paige, just hurry up," you said at her snail-like speed, placing her backpack on the rack and stretching. You hurriedly began to undress her, eager, and her much taller frame gently and playfully pushed you away. "Get outta here," she said, smacking your butt as you teetered away, giggling, obliging.

After she had finished showering, she entered your bedroom, both of you in your towels as you presented her with her gift. "Ta-da!" you chorused, "Need a YouTube tutorial or step-by-step." you quipped, playfully.

Paige's face turned serious. "Y/N," she began, as if she had just come to an epiphany, "isn't this gonna be your first time with something this size?" You nodded, eyebrows furrowed, wondering why she would look so concerned. "So?"

"So, this might hurt... like how it would with a... you know," you guys refrained from saying the g-word. And though you hadn't seen it that way, technically, Paige was about to take your virginity on a random Monday night.

"Oh," you replied, "I mean, I'm not the kind to back down from a challenge." you tried to humorously brush it off, but Paige was still extremely serious. "No, really, are you sure? I don't mind having a chill night or something," she insisted, knowing that in reality, if you guys had a chill night just hanging out, she might fall for you even harder. Heck, to be the first person inside you—the very first—was gonna cost her even more feelings of limerence for you. You pressed your lips into a flat line. Your next words, though meant in a literal way, made Paige's heart flutter. "If not you, then who else?"

Girls, even g-words, loved Paige, and she was very popular. She had a wide variety of people ready to have something with her, and you knew that the only reason she was with you was because everybody else was too invested and demanding. This year, at uni, you had finally found an identity. You had a demanding family, who were tough when it came to your academics and all other aspects, meaning it took you a good amount of time before you felt confident about who you were, who you liked, your style—all those key parts of your identity. You getting drunk and being open about it at a party was you at your rawest, and Paige had accepted this. She had seen you in a way you weren't sure you wanted anybody else to, and weren't sure if anybody else would want to like they did for her. So really, if not her, than who?

Paige had a billion things running through her mind that she wanted to say. "I wish we were dating before doing this," could've been one, "I wish I knew so I could make this more romantic for you," could've been another. But instead, the blonde laid her hand upon your cheek, kissing you before murmuring, "Thank you for trusting me with this," nose-to-nose. You grinned. "Yeah... I-, uh, thank you for never saying no," you replied, dropping your towel.

That was usually how it went —quick. Now, after a dirty kiss, you'd get naked and let Paige take the lead, and it'd be quick, raw, and passionate, but it was just different. The kiss was. And though you tried to match the pacing, that was different too. You watched as Paige fitted it on, her back turned to you. When you got bored, you reached into your nightstand drawer and removed the lube for safety. When Paige turned back around, the strap was on perfectly, making you suspicious about this being her first time. Oddly enough, if Paige were to say she did this with another girl, you might actually cry, so you don't ask her and just open your legs instead. "How do I look?" Paige asked, pulling at her chin repeatedly before flexing her arms. "Hot," you replied truthfully, "So hot."

Her hair was still wet, sorta wavy, and her skin was glass after she'd finished moisturizing. She smelled so good too. Everytime you two were about to do this, she somehow managed to look hotter each time. "You're keeping the rest of your thoughts to yourself," she read your mind, "Praise me some more." she teased, dropping to her knees. "What do you want me to say?" you asked, sitting up on your elbows and looking down at her, the girl positioned between your legs. "All the things I could just see you thinking about me," she breathed, her long finger coming up to circle your clit gently,

"All the things I can literally feel you thinking about me." she cleverly remarked about your immediate response to the sight of her: wetness. "I was thinking..." you begun, retracing your memory, mind always hazy when her fingers were on you. "Mhm," she murmured, suctioning your clit into her mouth gently, her eyes fixed on yours to let you know she was still listening. "Fuck," you breathed out, "Fuck, Paige, don't do this to me," you whimpered desperately. "You stop, I stop," she replied, pulling back slightly. "It's not so hard, is it?" she quirked a brow, pushing a finger inside your hole, eliciting a sharp gasp from your parted lips. "Tell me what was on your mind a second ago," she demanded as she pumped her middle finger in and out of you at a slow pace, too slow for your liking.

"You're so hot, Paige," you moaned, toes curling as she rewarded your disclosure with a long lick. "You always look so good all the time," you sighed, lip quivering as her finger made contact with your g-spot, stroking it in a distinct motion that made your lip quiver. "You have the prettiest eyes. The prettiest hair. You're just so perfect, gosh," Her oral ministrations ceased momentarily as she added another finger into you, her voice teasing, "Tastes and sounds like y/n's got a crush on me." You hated her smart mouth.

And simultaneously, you loved it and it felt too fucking good. "I love how smartly you talk too—so naturally," you confessed, feeling a surge of arousal seep out of you as her fingers maintained their unhurried pace within you. "You do, baby?" she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Yeah," you moaned needily, "and I love it when you call me that." You melted into her touch, reveling in the mix of sensations coursing through your body. It was moments like these that blurred the lines between strictly pleasure and raw desire. You found pleasure in Paige's moments of dominance, relishing the sensation of being degraded. However, when she slipped up and used endearing terms, it shifted the dynamic, offering a glimpse of something beyond mere physical intimacy. In those moments, you could almost forget the boundaries of your arrangement as fuck buddies. It also dawned on you that your submission was a source of satisfaction for her, which in turn heightened your own pleasure. It was a delicate balance of power dynamics that fueled your exchange.

Paige continued her slow and sloppy assault, alternating between gentle licks and rough suckles, driving you to the edge of madness with each passing second. Paige's pace was torturously slow, but every moment felt like an eternity of bliss. She took her time, savoring every taste and sensation, making sure to explore every inch of your tight insides and throbbing clit. You moaned her name, your fingers tangling in her hair as you urged her on, wanting more of her touch, more of her tongue. Just more.

She draws back, a glistening trail of your essence adorning her chin. A connection between her and your cunt, strings of slick guide the way back into your wet pussy. With a gentle sigh, she spits lightly, a delicate touch that heightens the sensation, before tenderly reengaging, her tongue dancing with a graceful finesse amidst the delightful mess and head shaking passionately as she slurps you up. Lost in the moment, a wave of tranquility washes over you, enveloping you in the tender embrace of her touch. As her fingers explore deeper, a third joins the dance, their gentle caresses coaxing forth a symphony of pleasure.

Each movement is a whisper, a soft murmur of affection that sends shivers down your spine. With every stroke of her tongue, every tender exploration of her fingers, you feel yourself drawn closer to the brink of ecstasy. And as you teeter on the edge, your voice rises in a gentle climax, a whispered invocation of her name that echoes through the room, showcasing the intensity of your desire as she expertly continues to tongue-fuck you through your orgasm, each stroke pushing you further into the realms of euphoria. "Paige! I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I'm cumming," you cry out, and she doesn't release you, holding your thighs firmly as she acknowledges your ecstasy with a soft, "Mhm." into your pussy.

When she's satisfied — when your body stops convulsing and you lay flat back onto the bed, heaving — she climbs up your body, her lips trailing wet kisses down your neck and chest. Each kiss sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that refuses to be extinguished. As her lips reach your nipples, she sucks on the right breast, eliciting a tiny moan from you. You hold her head close, the sensation distracting you from the cold lube she squirts onto your cunt. But as the gel is applied, a lingering pain stirs within you granted by her fingers, a sharp reminder of the intrusion to come.

Despite the discomfort, you focus on her, craving the connection between you. With a raw intensity, you pull her into a kiss, the carnal desire between you palpable. "I can't wait for you to fuck me," you murmur against her lips, your voice thick with anticipation. "I know you'll do so good." You fall into another kiss, and this time, Paige takes your legs, raising them up to your sides. With practiced ease, she spreads the lube around your cunt, mixing it with your natural slick and saliva. The sight of the strap-on makes you pause, realizing its size for the first time.

Paige notices your hesitation and speaks to distract you. "You nervous?" she asks, her voice laced with concern. You glance down at the intimidating shaft, contemplating the impending pain. "How bad is that gonna hurt on a scale of 1-10?" you inquire, your voice trembling with uncertainty. Paige doesn't sugarcoat her response. "8," she admits, her hand pumping the shaft. "9," she adds, hunching over your body. "But to you, that's a 10." She knows you well, understanding your body and its limits like no one else.

But you trust her implicitly, knowing she'll guide you through this experience with care and expertise. "Give me this hand," she commands, placing your left hand onto the cock. "While I push, you'll feel it, so you know when to brace for impact, kay?" You nod, a silent agreement passing between you. She raises her right hand like she's making an oath. "I'll use this hand to play with your clit," she promises, her touch grounding you in the moment.

And if you want me to stop at any time... what's the word?" she asks, her gaze locked with yours. "Toasted cornuts," you reply without hesitation. "Toasted cornuts," she repeats, a solemn vow passing between you. With her left arm caging you in, you focus on her muscles, admiring her strength and determination. "You have such a nice body," you remark, unable to resist complimenting her.

Paige lets out a tiny whistle, her confidence bolstered by your words. "Look who's fuckin' talkin'," she quips, her thumb circling your clit with a newfound rhythm that sends waves of pleasure coursing through you. "Tell me when you're ready," she instructs, her voice soft and reassuring. You hesitate, uncertainty clouding your mind. But you trust Paige implicitly, knowing she'll support you through every step of this journey. "I..." you are, definitely, but you hesitate. Paige is like a mind reader. "What do you need. You can't be afraid to tell me what you need." You stare up at her, wondering if it'd break the barrier of casualty. But you really did trust her. And again, if not her, then who? "There's too much space between us, Paige," you confess, your voice tinged with vulnerability. "I need you closer." Her response is immediate, her lips finding yours in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless. Pressing her chest against yours, she buries her head in the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of hickeys in her wake.

She was super nervous herself — she had deliberately kept that distance, fearing the intimacy that would inevitably follow. By closing the gap between you, she was exposing herself to a vulnerability she hadn't anticipated. As she pressed her body against yours, her heart raced with uncertainty. Every touch, every kiss, threatened to break down the walls she had carefully built around herself. But she couldn't deny the pull she felt towards you, the magnetic attraction that drew her closer with each passing moment.

With her lips against yours, she tried to push aside her fears, focusing instead on the raw passion that ignited between you. In this moment, there was no room for doubt or hesitation, only the overwhelming desire to be close to you, to feel your body pressed against hers in a shared embrace of passion and longing.

"I'm ready," you gasp, your voice barely above a whisper. "Are you sure?" Paige asks, her concern evident in her eyes. "Yes, I'm sure," you reply with conviction, ready to face whatever comes next. As she begins to push forward, the intrusion feels foreign at first, but the discomfort quickly gives way to a deep, throbbing pleasure. You moan, the sensation overwhelming yet undeniably arousing.

"Hey, play with your clit," Paige instructs, her voice a soothing melody in the midst of your passion. "Feels better that way." You obey, your hand finding its way to your clit, your movements synchronized with Paige's thrusts. They start slow, almost teasingly, as if she's savoring every moment of your connection. Each movement is deliberate, calculated to elicit the maximum amount of pleasure from both of you. As she pushes forward, you feel the pressure building inside you, a delicious ache that only serves to heighten your desire.

You whimper, suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to be on your stomach. "Paige, turn me over," you plead, your voice a desperate plea for more, and with her immense strength, she effortlessly complies. The sensation floods your senses, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. As she positions you just as you had envisioned, memories of that electrifying encounter in the bathroom flood your mind. It's as if fate has brought you full circle, and now, here you are, experiencing the culmination of that desire.

With one hand firmly planted on your hip, Paige holds you steady as you press yourself against her, the intimacy of the moment washing over you like a wave. Your face contorts in pleasure as a guttural moan escapes your lips, the intensity of the sensation overwhelming and exhilarating all at once. "Oh, fuck, Paige," you gasp, your words a breathless declaration of pleasure. "Fuck, you feel so good." She can hardly find the words to respond, caught up in the raw passion of the moment. Her gaze meets yours, filled with awe and admiration as she marvels at your willingness to surrender to her.

"You're taking it so well, Y/N," she murmurs, her voice laced with admiration and desire. The sound of your name on her lips sends a thrill of pleasure coursing through you.

"Just for you," you whimper, your voice trembling with desire, "Just for you, P." Paige's thrusts exceed your expectations, her hips moving with a fluidity and precision that leaves you breathless. It's as if she's been trained for this moment, every movement calculated to maximize your pleasure. She wasn't lying when she said she would fuck the attitude out of you.

Using your hair to lift you up and off the bed, Paige forces your back into a proper arch, holding you in that position as she pistons her hips against yours. The sound of skin clapping against skin fills the atmosphere, punctuating each thrust with a primal rhythm that echoes the urgency of your desire.

"I'm gonna make you cum," she growls, her voice husky with need, and you can only moan in response, "Yeah, please," a plea for more, for release.

As she pounds into you relentlessly, you fumble with your clit, seeking that elusive release that hangs just beyond your grasp. And then, as her movements become more frantic and urgent, you feel it—the familiar sense of impending bliss, building and cresting within you.

With a cry of ecstasy, you finally succumb to the overwhelming pleasure, your body convulsing in ecstasy as torrents of pleasure cascade through you. It's as if the entire universe narrows down to this singular moment of pure, unadulterated bliss, enveloping you in a cocoon of rapture and leaving you breathless and utterly spent in its wake. Tears stream down your face, a testament to the intensity of the ecstasy you've just experienced as you come down from the peak, your heart still racing and your senses tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

As the weight of the moment settles over both of you, there's a palpable shift in the air. Paige withdraws from you, her movements mirroring your own sense of vulnerability and realization. For a moment, the silence between you is heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

Then, with a tenderness that belies her usual confidence, Paige turns you over, her gaze soft yet intense as she meets your eyes. In that moment, you can see the depth of her feelings reflected back at you, a mixture of awe, tenderness, and a hint of uncertainty.

Without a word, Paige enfolds you in her arms, pulling you close against her chest. It's a gesture that speaks volumes, conveying more than words ever could. In her embrace, you find solace, reassurance, and a sense of belonging that fills the empty spaces within you.

As you rest against her, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat beneath your ear, you realize that this is just the beginning of your journey together. You guys have started something beyond what this was supposed to be.

love is in the air? leave comments guys tell me what you think about this.. chapter? part? Where do you think the relationship is going and where do you want it to go? Inbox is open!

#18+ only #paige x reader #paige buckets #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fic #paige x fem reader #paige x oc #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers #bueckersxfemreader #smutwccb #smut #smut bueckers #uconn huskies #march madness #uconn vs iowa #iowa wbb #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #wbb #ncaa tournament #ncaa march madness #ncaa #ncaa women’s basketball #ncaa wbb #wlw post #wlw smut #pb #pussyeatinggggg #strappon

[hooked-on-elvis]

Hello!! I was just wondering about something...we don't really have a understanding of Elvis' personality, yeah we have books, videos and articles about the people they were around him but I'm talking about REALLY getting a hold of what personality he had is what's been circling my mind lately.

I don't know why, I've been really interested in personalities recently lol specifically Elvis'😅

Hi, sweetie! Yours is a good question to keep in mind, really. I like to wonder on this topic too. I guess Elvis' personality is very difficult to summarize because of the way his actions contradicted themselves in the messages they give. He was mainly a good person, as we all know, but also incoherent and even scary at times. It's frustrating trying to describe him because nothing seems to fit well-enough to describe how intense he was.

One thing we know for sure is how dual Elvis was - and we all are, no doubt, but Elvis's duality was very prominent, very much like changing one thing into the complete opposite in no time, as if there was no middle ground, just this or that.

The way I see it, EP was like a whole universe with all it's wonders and scary truths put together at once; like white and black, the good and bad, fire and rain, light and dark, a desert weather and a harsh winter in just one little space. He could be a spontaneous, extroverted open person, very sweet, generous, peaceful, attentive, warm, easy-going, friendly, supportive, affectionate, loyal, very wise, meditative, spiritually fervent believer in God, family-oriented, just an ingenuous little boy with a soothing peaceful and loving energy that could calm the most anxious of hearts that approached him, without even meaning to, and yet at the same extent he could also be shy, a loner, mean (here and there, both in words and actions), freezing cold, selfish, a loner, unreasonable, hot-tempered, promiscuous, sly, hopeless and lost, a control freak and a reckless disturbed man with such intense energy people could be afraid of doing something that could unleash the beast in him (that's why very, very little of his friends or family were brave enough to go against any thing Elvis would say/do or with his way of thinking), and then again he would turn into something else... He would look so confident, so strong and self-assured, a very powerful entity, but around the ones he trusted just enough he still let himself be vulnerable, acting just like a baby, begging for someone to take care of him, to show him patience, understanding, to make him feel safe, to hold him and never let go.

With the little knowledge we have about EP, we could use those and many adjectives to describe his personality but we can't summarize Elvis Presley better than to simply say he was human. Elvis was "too much of everything"... overwhelming, in a good and a little bad way too. The way he was such a good person, the way through his friends, family, co-workers and fans' memories Elvis sounds like one of the best people one could ever have the pleasure of meeting in this life, his moments of irrational and hurtful actions (towards people and himself) confuses us when we try to understand what Elvis was really about. I bet it was very confusing to understand him even for his family, lovers and friends, so it wouldn't be easy for us to understand him when we not really met him in person.

The King's personality is so intriguing! That's why there's books with analysis in both scientific medical and social fields, psychologists and psychiatrists wrote after studying Elvis' behavior patterns and what they tells us about him. Much beyond the stories their friends and general acquaintances told and how they portrayed EP in those many books and interviews we read/saw over the years, I think those psychological studies are the best way to go in depth about Elvis' personality. Even so I don't believe one single book can do all the accurate, proper work on it, one of those books I can mention now is "The Inner Elvis - A Psychological Biography Of Elvis Aaron Presley" by Peter O. Whitmer Ph.D. - I haven't read the book myself because I want to finish the friends and family books, the most important ones at least, before going deeper into Elvis' personality analysis but I've read parts of it and it's interesting. I would recommend you, if you haven't yet, to read this book.

Anyhow, I think we'll never have an accurate picture of Elvis Presley as a person, friend. One: Because people in general are difficult to understand. We contradict ourselves all the time, according to the situations we face. And two: Because nobody, for the best they can be at reading people, can really tell us what goes on inside another one's heart and mind. I guess being such a mystery is another wonder of Elvis. Another thing we can be sure of about him is that he was even not close to be a boring person.

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis the king #elvis fans #elvis fandom

[jucyfruit]

Julien Baker Track by Track - An Interview with Apple Music

“Everybody is scared of death or ultimate oblivion, whether you want to admit it or not,” Julien Baker tells Apple Music. “That’s motivated by a fear of uncertainty, of what’s beyond our realm of understanding—whatever it feels like to be dead or before we're born, that liminal space. It's the root of so much escapism.”

On her third full-length, Baker embraces fuller arrangements and a full-band approach, without sacrificing any of the intimacy that galvanised her earlier work. The result is at once a cathartic and unabashedly bleak look at how we distract ourselves from the darkness of voids both large and small, universal and personal.

“It was easier to just write for the means of sifting through personal difficulties,” she says. “There were a lot of paradigm shifts in my understanding of the world in 2019 that were really painful. I think one of the easiest ways to overcome your pain is to assign significance to it. But sometimes, things are awful with no explanation, and to intellectualise them kind of invalidates the realness of the suffering. I just let things be sad.”

Here, the Tennessee singer-songwriter walks us through the album track by track.

Hardline

“It’s more of a confession booth song, which a lot of these are. I feel like whenever I imagine myself in a pulpit, I don't have a lot to say that's honest or useful. And when I imagine myself in a position of disclosing, in order to bring me closer to a person, that's when I have a lot to say.”

Heatwave

“I wrote it about being stuck in traffic and having a full-on panic attack. But what was causing the delay was just this car that had a factory defect and bomb-style exploded. I was like, ‘Man, someone got incinerated. A family maybe.’ The song feels like a fall, but it's born from the second verse where I feel like I'm just walking around with my knees in gravel or whatever the verse in Isaiah happens to be: the willing submission to suffering and then looking around at all these people's suffering, thinking that is a huge obstacle to my faith and my understanding, this insanity and unexplainable hurt that we're trying to heal with ideology instead of action.”

Faith Healer

“I have an addictive personality and I understand it's easy for me to be an escapist with substances because I literally missed being high. That was a real feeling that I felt and a feeling that felt taboo to say outside of conversations with other people in recovery. The more that I looked at the space that was left by substance or compulsion that I've then just filled with something else, the more I realised that this is a recurring problem in my personality. And so many of the things that I thought about myself that were noble or ultimately just my pursuit of knowing God and the nature of God—that craving and obsession is trying to assuage the same pain that alcohol or any prescription medication is.”

Relative Fiction

“The identity that I have worked so hard to cultivate as a good person or a kind person is all basically just my own homespun mythology about myself that I'm trying to use to inspire other people to be kinder to each other. Maybe what's true about me is true about other people, but this song specifically is a ruthless evaluation of myself and what I thought made me principled. It's kind of a fool's errand.”

Crying Wolf

“It's documenting what it feels like to be in a cyclical relationship, particularly with substances. There was a time in my life, for almost a whole year, where it felt like that. I think that is a very real place that a lot of people who struggle with substance use find themselves in, where the resolution of every day is the same and you just can’t seem to make it stick.”

Bloodshot

“The very first line of the song is talking about two intoxicated people—myself being one of them—looking at each other and me having this out-of-body experience, knowing that we are both bringing to our perception of the other what we need the other person to be. That's a really lonely and sad place to be in, the realisation that we're each just kind of sculpting our own mythologies about the world, crafting our narratives.”

Ringside

“I have a few tics that manifest themselves with my anxiety and OCD, and for a long time, I would just straight-up punch myself in the head—and I would do it onstage. It's this extension of physicality from something that's fundamentally compulsive that you can't control. I can't stop myself from doing that, and I feel really embarrassed about it. And for some reason I also can't stop myself from doing other kinds of more complicated self-punishment, like getting into co-dependent relationships and treating each one of those like a lottery ticket. Like, 'Maybe this one will work out.'”

Favor

“I have a friend whose parents live in Jackson, where my parents live. They’re one of my closest friends and they were around for the super dark part of 2019. I'll try to talk to the person who I hurt or I'll try to admit the wrongdoing that I've done. I'll feel so much guilt about it that I'll cry. And then I'll hate that I've cried because now it seems manipulative. I'm self-conscious about looking like I hate myself too much for the wrong things I've done because then I kind of steal the person's right to be angry. I don't want to cry my way out of shit.”

Song in E

“I would rather you shout at me like an equal and allow me to inhabit this imagined persona I have where I'm evil. Because then, if I can confirm that you hate me and that I'm evil and I've failed, then I don't any longer have to deal with the responsibility of trying to be good. I don't any longer have to be saddled with accountability for hurting you as a friend. It’s something not balancing in the arithmetic of my brain, for sin and retribution, for crime and punishment. And it indebts you to a person and ties you to them to be forgiven.”

Repeat

“I tried so hard for so long not to write a tour song, because that's an experience that musicians always write about that's kind of inaccessible to people who don't tour. We were in Germany and I was thinking: Why did I choose this? Why did I choose to rehash the most emotionally loaded parts of my life on a stage in front of people? But that's what rumination is. These are the pains I will continue to experience, on some level, because they're familiar.”

Highlight Reel

“I was in the back of a cab in New York City and I started having a panic attack and I had to get out and walk. The highlight reel that I'm talking about is all of my biggest mistakes, and that part—‘when I die, you can tell me how much is a lie’—is when I retrace things that I have screwed up in my life. I can watch it on an endless loop and I can torture myself that way. Or I can try to extract the lessons, however painful, and just assimilate those into my trying to be better. That sounds kind of corny, but it's really just, what other options do you have except to sit there and stare down all your mistakes every night and every day?”

Ziptie

“I was watching people be restrained with zip ties on the news. It's just such a visceral image of violence to see people put restraints on another human being—on a demonstrator, on a person who is mentally ill, on a person who is just minding their own business, on a person who is being racially profiled. I had a dark, funny thought that's like, what if God could go back and be like, ‘Y'all aren't going to listen.’ Jesus sacrificed himself and everybody in the United States seems to take that as a true fact, and then shoot people in cold blood in the street. I was just like, ‘Why?’ When will you call off the quest to change people that are so horrid to each other?”

(x)

#julien baker #little oblivions #apple music #interview #archival

[abitofboth]

even more owen carvour hcs because I’ve got brain worms or something

he got his ears pierced when he was younger, and even though he rarely wears them now, he’ll put studs in every now and then just so the holes won’t close up.

he’s a bit of an insomniac. sleep doesn’t come easy to him and he can spend hours just tossing and turning. half the time he’ll just give up and find something else to do- read a book, go over mission plans, sit at the window with a cigarette and watch the world go by.

a shakespeare snob through and through. he has a quote ready to go for every single situation possible and he doesn’t care how many eyes roll every time he whips one out.

he’s semi-decent at drawing. not the best, but he does have a sketchbook he uses in his downtime that he’ll draw whatever’s in front of him in.

he learnt how to hot wire cars when he was bumming around as a kid. every time he gets the chance to steal a car on a mission it’s like he’s 13 all over again, filled with the thrill of not getting caught.

he thinks mrs mega is maybe the best woman alive. her and her antics entertain him endlessly and he adores how much she loves curt. he hasn’t met her many times, but every time he gets the pleasure of staying at the safe house he finds himself wishing he had a mum like her.

he has a soft spot for barb. every time curt makes a mean passing remark about her he’ll smack him across the arm.

he’s thought about (more often than he’d like to admit) running away with curt. taking them both far from the danger and secrets and living life quietly as just the two of them. (and a cat. his fantasy definitely involves him being with curt and owning a cat. he has two hands for a reason!!)

he never got to meet tatiana before he was in his cunty villain era, but if curt and owen would have found her before the fall in their prime time I just KNOW that they would have been the ultimate team (I literally drew it hehe). owen and tati would have been bitchy best friends and I don’t even doubt it for a second.

he and curt have had so many “romantic” patching up sessions after missions. before they were officially together, there were so many uncertain gentle touches and lingering caresses where they both wish they could say and do more. the moments when there’s been some serious blood loss and things that would normally remain unsaid start slipping out are the moments when the two start realising that they might just feel the same way about each other. (I also literally wrote this hehe :P)

in a similarly trope-y way, there have been so many ‘Whoops! Only One Bed!’ situations. before they got together owen loved being able to sleep curled up right next to his crush (he hates the term ‘crush’ btw), and then after they got together it just gave him an excuse to spoon him all night long.

curt snores. owen hates it.

he can ride motorbikes and he can do it well. he loves when curt rides behind him and clings onto him with his arms around his waist. he drives extra fast to sate curt’s adrenaline junkie tendencies (and he loves the way curt laughs out of pure joy right next to his ear).

if he finds himself being tortured, as spies do, his go to is pretty much get so cocky and smarmy until it pisses off the torturer so much that owen can find an opportunity to overpower them and fight back. works like a charm.

once, he was captured and had his head forced underwater and was threatened with being drowned to death. the whole experience fucked him up for a good while.

regularly gets curt to light his cigarette for him while he’s holding it in his mouth.

every injury the fall gave him is a painful reminder of curt. even years down the line, every time a scar smarts or his knee plays up he’s filled with too many emotions to name.

he doesn’t actually remember a whole lot of the actual fall happening, it’s all very patchy, but he has vivid memories of curt’s horrified face getting further and further away from him as he got closer to the floor.

he learnt how to play an old family violin when he was a kid, and he’s gotten a little rusty over the years but he can still play a pretty tune on one.

he loves late night walks through cities. he thinks it’s the best way to really get to know a place. plus, it’s like he can hide in the shadows for a few hours and be someone other than owen carvour.

he’s a bit of a lightweight when it comes to booze. it doesn’t take many drinks to get him tipsy, and he’ll be full on drunk before you know it. curt can handle alcohol much better than him and has had to drag him away from bars more times than he can count.

he’ll frequently stop to fix curt’s tie and collar if they’re in disguise. everything needs to be perfectly in place or he thinks curt’ll look sloppy and give them away.

when they’re more into their relationship, owen starts buying in coffee to keep in his flat, and curt starts taking tea bags back to america with him every time he visits the uk.

spicy, be warned

post fall he tried sleeping with someone else but he could literally think of nothing but curt the entire time. he was never eager to try again.

if he’s in a submissive mood, he will go nuts if you call him a ‘good boy’. ‘my good boy’ is even better.

if he’s pent up he’ll just unashamedly jerk off in the shower whether he’s alone in there or not.

if he’s feeling particularly decadent and has the time, he’ll touch himself with a cigarette in his mouth and a bottle of wine in his hand.

shotgunning. he’ll take a drag and kiss it into curt’s mouth. they both think it’s hot as fuck.

if truth serum is something at their disposal, he's definitely used it during sex.

#spies are forever #saf #owen carvour #tin can bros #tcb #agent curt mega #curtwen #millie talks

[ingravinoveritas]

You've probably got a thousand things to say about the latest "The Kiss" info, but I have been thinking about it all morning, especially about the way there seems to be no need to acknowledge it between the two of them. They just went for it, and then they didn't feel the need to talk about it. Idk about everyone else but to me that just feels like to them, this was just a kiss among perhaps many. They knew the song and dance around it already, so there was no need to mark it as different other than it being in characters rather than out of.

But those are just my thoughts. So excited to hear about yours if you have any :3

Hi there! Oh, yes…yes, I do have so many thoughts about Michael talking about the kiss, and The Assembly in general.

Something I'm not sure I've mentioned on here (at least not in a long time) is that five years ago (in June of 2019), I wrote a thread on Twitter about fanfic and why it was so important to me as an autistic woman, as well as the role it played when I began to discover my sexuality. I received a lovely comment from Neil, and on top of that, Michael reposted it from me, which was entirely unexpected but delightful.

So when I first heard about The Assembly, I was anxious, apprehensive, and uncomfortable--mainly because of how the autistic/ND interviewers would potentially be depicted on screen. By the end of the show, however, I was in tears--and for once, in a good way. Michael did not let me down for one single second (which I did not think he would), and I loved how he and everyone else just held space for each other during the group singalong to "Here Comes the Sun."

(The only thing I haven't liked is seeing some of the response on social media that suggests Michael did an extraordinary thing just by talking to autistic/disabled people like we are human beings. It shouldn't be special when he or anyone else does that, but it's depicted that way because it is unfortunately still so rare...)

In terms of Michael talking about the kiss with David, it was of course so lovely to see his expressions and listen to him talk about what it was like. For me it was the fact that he actually didn't say that much that was so revealing. It was perfectly in line with what was reported about what Michael said a month ago, about it being "everything you dream of." With the Assembly, we could now see and hear him talking about it and that same carefulness with which he gave the previous answer--a carefulness borne not out of wanting to hide something, but wanting to keep something about the kiss private. Just for him and David.

I also feel like some folks might have misunderstood what he meant when he said, "We never talk about it," though. I think the unspoken part after that is, "We never talk about it, not because we don't want to, but because we don't need to"...

And I agree with you that it was exactly that--one kiss out of many, something so tried and true that neither David nor Michael had to give it much thought. It also makes me think of previous discussions about comments from David about how, between the sunglasses and the contact lenses for Crowley, he couldn't see shit, yet he only needed one take to find Michael's lips. It's like needing a GPS when you drive someplace new, but then it quickly becomes familiar, and after a while you don't need anyone to tell you how to get there. Because you already know the way home.

Talking about the kiss like this almost gives a feeling of domesticity, of something deeply intimate, beyond the physical. I'm thinking of it as well in tandem with David's comments from prior to the BAFTAs, about it being "another day at work" and saying that Michael had "brushed his teeth." There are so many examples from movies or TV shows where a couple wakes up in bed together in the morning and when one person goes in for a kiss, the other stops them and says "Not until you've brushed your teeth" (or something to that effect). And it just makes me picture them getting up to film that day and sharing a good morning kiss, after which David gently reminds Michael to brush his teeth before he gets to the set. (And he does, because Michael never forgets anything David tells him.)

The last thing that I wanted to mention that stood out to me was Michael talking about how moved everyone was--both the people who watched the kiss be filmed on set, and the fans who watched it in the show. You could actually hear the way his voice caught in his throat, hear him become emotional just from remembering that. And it made me think back to when GO 2 came out last summer, in the midst of the Writers Strike (and then SAG-AFTRA) and how Michael was probably reading all of the fan reactions online and feeling very much the same way, even though he couldn't say anything about it.

So it becomes even more poignant and compelling that now, when he finally can say anything he wants at all about the kiss, he gives us so little. Or maybe just enough, with a small, knowing smile on his face. Because he's found a boy he likes, and he has his photo.

Those are my thoughts on Michael talking about the kiss on The Assembly. I know it's been a week now, but hopefully everyone has had time to process it too, so I'd love to hear what you all think. Thank you for writing in! x

#kenizz #reply post #michael sheenw #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #the assembly #good omens 2 #also that Michael and David don't have to talk about the kiss when they can just kiss each other anytime they like #and that says everything that needs to be said #i think Michael has been telling us exactly who he is for a long time now #David's love is lifting Michael higher than he's ever been lifted before #with thanks and apologies to Jackie Wilson #kissing #ineffable lovers #discourse #gif by me

[undead-supernova]

This Love is a Shrouded Mystery

Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 (TBC)

Masterlist

plot: welcome to your well-anticipated album release party! you couldn't be happier...right?

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: bro there's so much angst I'm sorry, mention of smoking & alcohol

easter egg count: 20

wc: 5k

note: I made the album cover/tracklist and wrote all of the lyrics mentioned in this chapter and I'm super proud of it! Thank you for reading my hard work hehhehehehee

ALSO DO NOT REPOST THESE LYRICS ANYWHERE ! Thank yew

He hated all the tiny things.

The way you crinkled your nose every time The Beatles came on. How you held your acoustic guitar like it was a delicate creature. The nights he would be up late practicing, only to find you passed out with your mouth slightly ajar and snoring. The mornings he spent listening to you making little sounds in your sleep, as if you were so close to saying something but didn’t know how. Your poetry and your music and your scent and your stupid smile you got whenever you looked at him and how grateful he’d been when he first noticed. 

And he really didn’t hate it at all.

He just missed you.

It was fucking torture, being away from you. He sat up, night after night, wondering what you were doing. How you felt now. If you wanted him back. If he was better off without you. If you could ever speak cordially and what that would cost.

As if he truly cared about the answer or the consequences.

Eddie just missed you.

You stared at yourself in the floor-length mirror, looking over your outfit for tonight. Trying not to suck in your stomach, trying to let yourself be the person that you wanted to be. 

A spaghetti-strapped crop top with Madonna-Whore Complex stitched in white across the breasts. Short shorts just to say Fuck You. Block-heeled boots laced up to your knees. All dolled up with a diamond necklace and thin rings. A velvet choker with a broken heart pendant in the middle.

There you were, a vision in pink. 

There you were, a shell of the person you used to be.

Maybe it would be better to play a role tonight.

But nothing was able to halt the worry, halt the anxiety that coursed through your veins. 

That last night, with your eyes glistening with grief, you’d told him you had to go into hiding. That you needed to get away from the public eye. That he couldn’t come with you. But he’d seen pictures of you since, albeit a bit blurry, running in and out of the recording studio in New York City.

There was an edge to your outfits now, with a touch more lipstick and heavier eye shadow. Changed your hair and painted your nails anything but your usual pink. Your face, the one that once held a permanent smile for the press, now hardened. Blank expressions. No smile, no feigned light in your eyes.

It was like you were wearing some kind of armor.

It was like watching someone trying to adapt to their surroundings.

Flailing, slipping.

Trying to prove to everyone else they can do it without thinking about the consequences of their actions.

Eddie could only hope you wouldn’t let yourself drown in the process.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said for the third time in the last ten minutes.

If anyone had a goddamn braincell, they could see that you weren’t good. But this had been the last few months for you. Doing whatever anyone asked. Staying busy. In and out of the studio so often that it became your second home. You honestly couldn’t count how many times you’d fallen asleep—you got more there than when you were home anyways.

How could you when the only thing you saw behind your eyes were crashing waves, the roar of the boat as it pulled you further and further away from the life you desperately wished you were still living? You wrote and wrote and wrote, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to figure out how to apologize. How to profess your love. How to feel any semblance of desire to say goodbye.

Your label had been shocked when you’d gotten the album done so quickly after months of producing nothing—especially calling around and getting Halsey, Lucy Dacus, and Janelle Monaé to feature. Not to mention Maisie Peters who’d actually reached out to you. It was a match made in heaven, an album stitched and woven together by the bitterest fate. 

The label gladly rolled everything into production, insisting that you do as much promotion as you could. So, you were a little money machine, doing bland Instagram reels and Tiktoks, practicing your smile in between takes. You were fine to be a puppet. You’d done everything they wanted you to, right? What’s a little bit more?

What’s better than tightening the collar on your losing dog?

            “Can you get that done for me, sweetie?”

            “It would be so nice if you could just do this one thing.”

            “You know, the fans would love it if…”

            “We’d be grateful if you just…”

“You look tired.”

You turned to Este, noticing her raised eyebrow and crossed arms. The past few minutes had been spent zoning out, trying to keep yourself from thinking too hard. But it only made things worse because all you could do was remember why you were trying so hard not to think. Your friends knew better, but you hated admitting to it. 

“Just trying to wake up the excitement,” you lied.

“For yourself or for the label?” Becky asked.

You glanced over at the door before back at her. “Yes.”

“You got this, okay?” Mary encouraged, rubbing your back. “You’ll feel better once you get there. You know you will.”

“Yeah, you’re right. At least you guys are here.”

“We’d never miss it.”

A pang of grief washed through you at the reminder of someone who would most definitely miss tonight.

Eddie knew what tonight was—and he could’ve sworn it was going to kill him. Nothing hurt him more than not celebrating your album release with you. He was planning to show up and support you the best he could. Show you off. Make sure you felt as celebrated as you could be because you were so amazing.

But here he was, back in Wayne’s house for the weekend. Laying low, talking to the walls as if Wayne could hear him. Screaming at the ceiling for someone to give him a reason to make sense as to why his wounds were still bleeding. Even after five months.

Bouncing his knees on the edge of the guest bed, growing more and more anxious as the night fell. Going in and out of the back porch, cigarette after cigarette. Hoping and praying that Wayne was a ghost and was able to talk to him through the windchimes hanging by the front door. Feeling sick when they hadn’t moved. Not even once.

Fuck, Eddie should be there with you. He should be by your side.

Instead, he was ashing another cigarette and reaching for the Garfield mug hanging on the wall. Poured the last few sips of Jack Daniels left on the kitchen counter. Trudged back into the guest room.

Tried not to cry.

You were trying not to cry.

The party was spectacular, with all your favorite foods laid out and cake and your favorite music and your friends and, and, and…

It was everything you could ask for from tonight, but nothing you’d actually asked for. Clara had been sneaky, making sure that you assumed the livestream started two hours before it actually did. Brought you to this fancy restaurant, all decked out in themed balloons and pictures of you. A Congratulations banner and a big bottle of champagne for you to pop.

And you were happy, you really were. But there was just something that overwhelmed you about it all, something weighing on you. Something eating at your stomach, making it nearly impossible to eat or even talk correctly.

Scott kept you grounded the most, always giving you a word or two of encouragement. For the last five months, he’d been cautious of you. You knew it even if he never said it. Him and his wife, Rebecca, made sure to offer you a place to stay when New York started to feel like a stranger. And hiding out in Tennessee was never a bad idea, ending up getting a third home near him, just outside of Nashville.  

Tonight was no different. It was in the way he offered you food, asked if you needed some more water. If you looked even remotely uncomfortable, Scott was there to direct you somewhere else. Kept whispering that you were doing great. Kept reassuring you that your album was amazing. That you were amazing. That it was all going to be okay.

And it was a daydream, a surreal experience you were still getting used to after five years slowly rising into the public eye. Now here you were releasing your third album, knowing in your bones that this was your best work yet. 

And everyone was being so nice.

And the party was beautiful.

And you looked beautiful.

And…

And Eddie wasn’t there. 

He wasn’t anywhere these days, actually. It was like he had vanished entirely. There were no paparazzi pictures, no fan sightings. Even People Magazine had him on the front cover literally saying, “Bad Boy Eddie Munson Mysteriously Disappears from Public Eye.” You were uncertain if he’d ever be seen again. And you knew it was your fault. All of it was.

What felt the strangest was how the internet was still speculating whether or not you and Eddie broke up. It had been five months and you hadn’t told your publicist to confirm it. Didn’t even speak of it. 

The most peculiar thing was…neither had Eddie. There was nothing for anyone to do but question why the two of you hadn’t been spotted in public together even once.

Maybe one day you’d feel strong enough to bury this relationship.

Today definitely wasn’t that day.

And tonight definitely wasn’t it either.

But your album was all was about Eddie.

Everyone would know it.

And you just had to hope that one person out there would listen to it for the music and not for your real-life experiences.

But you guessed that was just how things would have to be.

So, you put on a smile and told yourself to get over it.

Smile for the cameras.

Come up with every way to deflect.

Since you’d broken up, it seemed that your label had set up a livestream for the fans to listen to the album with you at the same time. Experience it together. Get to send in questions. Get to connect. Eddie thought that was sweet, knowing how much you enjoyed talking to your fans. 

And he knew he shouldn’t, but he really considered hopping on.

Was it a little weird for him to tune into the listening party? 

Maybe.

But he wanted to hear the album, wanted to hear the songs you’d barely shown him when you were together. You were always so shy with your music you wrote for him—which was fair. He did the same thing, keeping any and all projects about you a secret. Hell, the new record set to drop next month was done in the last five, his fingers unable to do anything other than race up and down the neck. Stuffing his pick between his lips as he wrote and wrote and wrote. Tried to write himself out of whatever this black hole was that was starting to swallow him. 

And now here he was, ready to hear what you had to say.

Sighing, he grabbed his laptop.

But maybe you were better off without him.

Maybe this was all for a reason and everything just had to happen this way. It would be a nice thought, right? A nice explanation for the twisting of your gut as you set up for the livestream. Standing on a pink stage, practicing your smile one last time before the cameras got the shot juuust right. Took a step to the right to show off a poster with the album cover on it.

All you could think as they counted down from five was, I hope Eddie is watching.

When Eddie saw you, he knew he’d fucked up already.

You were radiant, always a vision in pink. Always a vision, period.

The album cover had the name “Madonna-Whore Complex” with a picture in the center of bunched up silk—pink, of course. The same color you were wearing. The same color Eddie had yearned to wrap in his arms and make breakfast for. 

And when Eddie heard your voice, his stomach flipped.

“So,” you started. “Before we even get to the tracks, I wanted to kinda explain the album title. I know people got a little weird about it, which is fair.”

Eddie could tell that you absolutely did not find that fair.

“But I think that we live in a society that is so obsessed with a woman’s place. If she’s happy with herself and comfortable with her sexuality, she must be seen as a villain or a whore. There’s no room for her to be a good person or even able to truly be in love.”

Something tugged at Eddie’s chest at the sound of you mentioning being in love. If only you’d said that to him five months ago. If only those words had left your lips, he’d have gotten on his hands and knees to make you stay.

But you hadn’t.

“It seems that you cannot be one or the other. Either you’re this harlot who runs through people like it’s nothing or you must be this chaste woman who is only allowed to be idle in the corner. I think that I’ve always been put in this position, and, with the content of this album, I feel like I’m able to both be satirical about those accusations and show the vulnerability of, um.” He watched your eyes dart away nervously before coming back. “The vulnerability of how that has affected my personal life and my personal relationships.”

“Oh, and I really love the back cover,” you said with a wide grin, shifting the subject. “Especially the track list and the font and, oh my god, the people I collaborated with? Incredible artists, right? I just feel really excited for you guys to hear it in a few minutes.”

It was then that he remembered he hadn’t looked at the track list, too anxious at the thought of you referencing anything about him on there. But of course, you did. What else would this album be about? Some other guy? He knew better than to speculate anything like that.

His heart began to race as he found it all laid out for him already, his words being spat back out at him. Something True. Could You Say the Same? Acceptance Speech. Trade You for the World. Could’ve Fooled Me.

Eddie’s stomach twisted, queasy with the exact anxiety that he’d spent the last few months trying to prevent. But he couldn’t run away from this. He was already here, watching you nearly trip over your heels in real time. Reading the titles out, each one feeling like a prison cell built just for him.

Shakily, you stated, “Okay, everyone. Let’s start the album.”

Took a deep breath.

Closed your eyes.

Eddie took a deep breath.

Closed his eyes.

And listened.

         “Okay, my pretty boy…now move!”

Eddie felt like he was losing his ability to breathe. Track after track, jumbled with lyrics all meant for him. All written for him. Words upon words of poetry that told him how much you missed him and how guilty you fucking felt and how you just went ahead and chose the world over him and, dear god, it was all too much for him.

Grief settled in his chest at every line that he called his favorite.

Okay, Now Stop!

          “Okay, now stop!

         We're dancing dirty to The Beatles and the Stones.

         Okay, now stop!

         You're dancing pretty asking me to lead you home."

The Bisexual Slut (featuring Halsey)

         “This one boy whimpers on his knees

         Twenty girls beg to finally taste me 

         If I’m so greedy, so damn needy

         Then why does their love come so easy?”

My Body, Your Choice

         “Should I base my worth off your fickle insecurities?

         Take a scalpel to my skin to justify your animosity? 

         If I’d known my body was stained with impurity

          I would’ve begged my mother to deliver me with modesty

         But I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing

         Fuck you, I’ll never change a thing.”

Something True

         “Tell me a story, one where love always dies

         Say it with finality in your glassy brown eyes

         Thread the needle to weave through our fate

         Knowing the outcome, you still beg me to stay.”

Madonna-Whore Complex

         “My halo slipped, and my limbs are sore

         But his head seems to stay in between my legs

         I’m wrapped around his fingers as they choke my neck

         I’m his sweetheart, his princess, his saccharine whore.”

The Mess (You Once Called Yours)

         “And your fingerprints stain this house

         Baby, I’m haunted by your phantom touch

         Oh, now I’m screaming and pleading, growling and howling,

         ‘Please end this agony, my love, it’s all too much.’”

Your Residential Coward

         “Guess she’ll never really let me live that down

         Throwing daggers at my portrait now that I’m gone 

         And now that I finally see my tilted crown 

         It turns out I was the jester all along.”

Could You Say the Same?

         “Simple questions come with simple answers

         That’s why I sew my mouth shut

         The moment I saw you, wild necromancer

         Devotion gnawed at my gut.”

Synonymous (featuring Lucy Dacus)

         “Sucking in my stomach in attempt to survive

         It’s like I’m fifteen again

         All crooked teeth, low self-esteem, and love-deprived

         Only coping with a wilted pen.”

My Gentleman

         “You’ll never let me look away, that is the cerulean dream

         Could be your future wife if we let our consciousness stream

         And I confess I don’t think that would be too much to hope for

         So keep talking like that, let the wine pour, pour, pour.”

Acceptance Speech (featuring Janelle Monáe)

         “In the modern age, a sacrifice is already made

         The moment that you’ve made a choice

         But, baby, the problem always chooses herself

         And suddenly she has lost her voice.”

Trade You for the World

         “I stood in sepia tones while you bled electric crimson 

         Built the motivation before I built the scene

         Led the poets astray, bathed them in patient indecision

         Now I sit in vignettes of truth, desire what was in between.”

Back to the Beginning

         “City after city, glazed in momentary dignity, 

         I chased the prophecy of my becoming

         And, dear god, if I could tuck my tail between my legs

         I’d run us right back to the beginning.”

Could’ve Fooled Me (featuring Maisie Peters)

         “And we’re dancing around each other tonight

         Elevators built like confessionals

         Desperate to blanket myself in transparency

         I wanna say, ‘Pretty boy, you’re sensational.

         We weren’t the only freaks anyhow

         But how could anyone not love you then?

         And how could they not love you now?’”

Eddie watched you dance and party. Vaguely answer the questions about what certain lyrics meant. Focused on the sound more than the overall meanings. Thanked everyone for giving you this celebration and how you were very grateful for this opportunity.

And, peculiarly, you were handed a new acoustic guitar, soft pink and sparkling. Your name written in calligraphy down the neck.

“Um, so since this is a special night,” you said while trying to move your white capo down to the third fret. “I wanted to play a special song that didn’t make the album. It just didn’t fit the rest of the album’s vibe, so I cut it.” 

You laughed and Eddie knew he was the only one who could notice it was out of nerves. You tested the strings, making sure everything was in tune. 

“But I wanted to play it for you guys if that’s okay?” Laughing again, you shook your head. “I hope everyone said yes, otherwise this would be so embarrassing.”

You leaned into the microphone, glancing up at the camera as if you were making direct eye contact with Eddie and Eddie alone.

“It’s called Questionnaire.”

The chords were simple. 

C, Em, Am.

F, G, C.

It rang out soft, sweet. Albeit a bit sad.

         He noticed the way you chewed on your lip before you started, finding your groove.

         “Do you think about the way we live without sanctuary?

         How the fates wrap their hands around our throats, cutting off our breath?

         Do you think about the way we live without sanctuary?

         How there’s no guarantee when it’s over there’ll be anything left?”

Eddie felt a sickness wash over him as he heard you sing directly to him. You were right. It was different from the rest of the album.

He tried to gauge how you were feeling, knowing damn well the only way he could was through the music itself. How the change in chords matched the change in your emotions. 

G, Am, F.

         “Oh, oh, oh.”

Am, G, F.

         “Oh, oh, oh.”

The camera pulled in closer to your face, as if they knew that Eddie was watching. Waiting. Pathetically desperate to hear what you had to say to him. 

         “Do you wonder if there’s any chance that this was all just a dream?

         But there’s no fucking way you can’t hear me calling your name.

         Do you wonder if there’s any chance we could wipe ourselves clean?

         But there’s no fucking way to explain the way I’ve been claimed.”

You repeated the Ohs, belting out the last set before you changed the sound completely. 

New chord patterns. New set of emotions. Harsh strumming, the sound growing louder and louder as frustration filled your voice.

         “Do you know the clouds darken whenever you’re away?

         Convinced myself that my storm would worsen if I’d stayed.

         God, I need you now to answer my revelation.

         Is there any dignity in self-preservation?”

You repeated the line again, sounding angrier than before.

         “Is there any dignity in self-preservation?”

The buildup faded away, the rough strumming turning light again as the chords of the verses returned. There was a small instrumental as the camera pulled out to show you on your pink throne, surrounded by the pink balloons and holographic streamers.

You were alone.

Eddie could just barely make out the tears trickling down your face as you began to strum each chord once.

         “Do you think about the way we lived without sanctuary?

         How we fought and you fought for me until I gave it all up?

         I think about the way I live without your sanctuary.

         How there’s no guarantee I’ll ever fall in love again.”

You sighed and sniffled softly before repeating it. 

         “How there’s no guarantee I’ll ever fall in love again.”

Despite no one being in the shot, he could hear applause coming from around the room. He could even hear Becky, Este, and Mary individually, all cheering you on.

He watched you stand, laughing off the emotions as you blotted the wetness around your eyes. “Okay, Now Stop!” started playing over the screen as people scrambled to disassemble the makeshift stage. 

It occurred to Eddie then that there…had been no chorus. No hook. It was just a list of questions for him and statements for yourself. A bout of self-loathing and the guilt that he was only now starting to grasp.

And he realized that he too was crying, trying desperately to cease them with the back of his hand. And then his sleeve. And then the tissues he scrambled around the bedroom to find. 

As soon as the livestream ended, Eddie pulled out his phone.

“You’re so brave for doing that,” Becky said, crushing you in a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

A broken smile met your lips. “God, everyone’s going to talk about it.”

“Let them,” Mary said with a scoff. “Who cares?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, knowing full well who you really wanted to talk about it. To hear it. To think about it.

Your phone began to vibrate in your pocket. As you pulled it out, something resembling belief in fate rushed through you.

Eddie.

You couldn’t suppress an audible gasp, taking a step back from the conversation.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” you mumbled before walking away quickly. Pressed that green button. Whispered, “Hello?”

“Oh, hey.”

His voice crawled over you in a rush of relief, an ease that had been missing for so fucking long. “Eddie, hey,” you said nervously, shocked by your own ability to say his name out loud.

“Hey, is this an okay time?”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re good. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he lied, fiddling with blanket. “I just wanted to congratulate you on the album. It’s really incredible. Your best work yet.”

“Oh, thank you, Eddie. Um, you think?”

“Hm?”

“That it’s my best work?”

“Of course it is,” he answered with a breathy chuckle. “Are you kidding me? You took your individual sound and expanded on it and made it into a high-quality concept album. And the lyrics are incredible. It’s beautiful.”

“That’s really kind of you to say. I’m really proud of it.”

“You should be.”

“Are you working on anything new?”

“Yeah, we’re actually finishing up the album now. Should be out next month if everything goes right.”

“I bet, um. I bet it’s incredible.”

Eddie’s chest tightened at your hesitation. “Each song transitions into one another. You’d think it was cool.”

“I’ll have to listen to it. If, um, if you think I should.”

Swallowing a sigh, Eddie closed his eyes and tried to focus on keeping his voice level. Keep from cracking. Keep from begging for you to come back.

“It’s only if you want to,” he replied, trying to stay neutral before moving on. “Are you doing okay? I know you get really anxious after being, like, out in the open for a while.”

“Yeah, sure I am.” He knew you were lying. “It’s just work.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay in case you weren’t,” he admitted.

“You know…” you trailed, pausing.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. “You didn’t have to call if you didn’t want to…”

“Ah, come on,” he said with a chuckle. “I wanted to call you, so I called. Promise.”

Anxiety began to wash over you as you bit the bullet. 

“Is that everything you wanted to say?”

Why hasn’t your publicist confirmed the breakup?

Is this killing you like it’s killing me?

“Well, uh, I don’t know.”

Did you really mean what you said about never falling in love again?

Does that mean there’s a chance?

“What does that mean?” you asked. “I’m confused.”

Is this over?

Are we over?

“I think… I think that’s all I had to say.”

And there was the disappointment.

“Oh, okay.”

“Yeah, I hope you have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“Oh, hey, one last thing.”

You couldn’t help that ugly surge of hope. “Yeah?” 

“Remember to take care of yourself. You matter more than anyone else does.”

“Oh,” you responded, deflating. “Yeah, I’ll try, Eddie. Take care.”

“Bye.”

“Bye,” you whispered before ending the call.

There’s nothing to say once the phone call ends. No one mentioned the breakup. No one mentioned how the album he called incredible was about him. About the love. The crash and burn. How your love still glowed inside you, bright enough for him to touch if he’d just stretch his fingertips a little further.

And yet, neither of you said a thing.

And neither of you admitted to what you knew was coming in his own album.

You found yourself mute as you shuffled into the back of the black SUV and got out of the city. Left your buzzing phone next to you, knowing that Eddie wouldn’t call you again. Knowing that everything must be over now.

If this was closure, it sure didn’t feel like it.

When you walked into your house, still empty and swirling with dust, you let the grating silence whisk you towards the wine cabinet. Got yourself the shiniest glass you had, poured the cheapest bottle you found. Sat on the back porch and looked out at the moon. 

If things were different, Eddie would be here right now instead of a voice in a fucking phone. His voice, a tiny shard of glass that was surely going to rip you open and never mend itself again. 

He’d sit next to you with his own glass. Comment on how nice it was to just drink the cheap stuff. Roll you a celebratory joint with dried rose petals, the way you liked it. Ask if it was okay if you spent the night out here, just looking up at the moon together.

It’d been a full year since you’d met. Five months since you last spoke. And now you were starting to fold, starting to maneuver yourselves into strangers. Even if that was the last thing Eddie wanted. Even if the mere thought of never talking again made nausea pool in his stomach.

Eddie desperately wished you were looking at the moon together.

And maybe you would feel different than you did tonight. Maybe you would’ve had a perfect night with all your accomplishments and the perfect man beside you to experience it all with.

But he wasn’t there. 

And you felt so alone.

So fucking alone.

Tears streamed down your face, a burning in your chest growing with each What If that you conjured. 

You were not better off without him. 

He knew it the moment you told him goodbye on the island. He knew it the moment he returned to California, shutting himself off from the world. He knew it the second he called you and the second he heard you say goodbye one last time.

Eddie was not better off without you.

once again thanks to the lovely @strangergraphics for making beautiful dividers for me. it is an honor!

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie x reader #Eddie Munson x female reader #boyfriend!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar!Eddie x reader #rockstar!Eddie x you #modern!Eddie x you #boyfriend!Eddie x reader

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

late Carlo and Moretti (during vinci-moretti war) are like Luca and Clemente to me. Moretti will never raise his hand on Carlo but! will he drive him into guilt in ways that are not direct? insult him in passing? convince Carlo that he's doing everything wrong, when in fact it's the opposite? of course such a painful kick to Carlo's ego, it's unfair, he doesn't deserve it. and it's not a father-son relationship, it's a professional relationship and he can't say anything back & defense himself in any way maybe Moretti's more favorable to Eddie in this period because he's more blindly loyal and Carlo feels he's about to explode

#^ i wrote it before that hounds thing but its about all this anger was once love etc #carlo who is a capo who has done so many terrible things for this place watching how eddie gets bonus points for blind loyalty: 😐 #and it's not even that he's a capo it's that carlo says the right things but moretti dismisses him every time #also ok😬😬😬my truth! is that eddie really was against killing moretti at first #and when he finally decides to support carlo well. is it just a change of master? (yes) #m2 #moretti family #and! #as far as i understand Moretti's murder took place just a few days before his victory? fucked up thing #i mean. it just makes Carlo an even shitty man. he chose himself over the majority #(i can't think about any war theme on a physical level at this point so. i have only abstract thoughts on this) #but objectively: moretti family may have gained control of the vinci family's territory of influence etc #instead they got a young crazy don. and everyone was alright w it (?!makes me think for what reason) #which is why i think there's been something wrong with Moretti in his last yrs. he looks much older thank frank n leo #for now he's just an old man stubbornly clinging to power to me. but not to say that i worked on his character much #i think he became weaker hypochondriacal and paranoid towards the end. “i saw his hands trembling” carlo bout moretti etc #“akela missed his kill!” and the young wolves tore him apart #ewwwwwwwwwww no Carlo who sees Moretti growing weaker and instinctively his teeth are bared more and more ewww #kill the weak and old so the young can survive😬😬 (fucked up thing is that they aren't animals they would survive w moretti in charge) #spoiled hounds parallel makes things so much complicated tbh. but it feels right

[sabraeal]

as a writer how do you stop thinking about like getting kudos/comments? I've just started writing fanfic, and when I start a writing something -- it goes well and then eventually I get to point where I'm like "ahh but what the readers don't like that? or what if I don't get as many kudos or comments" and it makes it difficult to continue because then it becomes stressful -- I guess how do you deal with "wanting to write stuff for yourself" and "wanting validation" thanks!

You're going to hate this answer, because I hated it too, but TIME. When you first start writing and you get kudos and comments and people love what you're doing, it's a huge validation of your effort and talent, and it's natural that you want MORE of it. When I first started putting up fics I already had been writing for 15+ years, knew I was good at it, and still for a good few years found myself really glued to the hit counter, and the kudos, and wondering how I'd be able to get people to comment the same way they did on things like Seven Suitors.

But the thing is that commenting comes and goes in waves, and unless a fandom has a big comment culture, or is large enough that you're guaranteed a good glut of them every time you post...you're going to hit a point where you write exactly what everyone wants and get crickets. And at that point you'll get ANNOYED, because LOOK, I MADE THIS, i made it for YOU GUYS, and now y'all don't have anything to say? It'll get to you. It'll make you doubt that you know what anyone wants at all. It'll happen and it'll suck the whole time.

Lots of advice will say "write for yourself," which is an excellent sentiment. You should always write what YOU want. Put into your fic what you want to see, write the nitpicky poetic metaphors and craft the most screwball twists your heart desires. Pour yourself into the most niche AUs and most tin-hat canon theories. At the end of the day, you want the IDEAS you put down to be for you, because comments and kudos are nice, but if they don't come...you have to be proud of what you put out, even when it feels like an echo chamber.

But also...we don't POST things for ourselves. We post things to share. Fic are a conversation with canon and it is perfectly natural to want to create something that creates conversation among other fans. So you're never going to fully get the need for validation out of your head, you're not. You can hide hit counts and ignore your inbox all you like, but the want to have someone interact with your work, to inspire someone to reach out to you will ALWAYS be there. You just have to create a healthier relationship with it.

Be confident in what you write. Think less about whether people will like it, and more about how you WANT them to react. The reader is the most important character in any novel, but it's the one most authors forget to manage. When you come to a point where you go "oh man, I hope this is good for them!" stop and go, "what do I *want* them to be feeling here?" Focus on where you're putting their attention and whether you WANT it there. There's so much you can do when you visualize your relationship with the reader as PART of the work, and it takes off a lot of the pressure of "is this good? is it disappointing? will this get me validation?" and brings it back into the realm of storytelling. You are taking your reader on a journey, and when you do it well people will think less about "did I like that?" and more about "what comes next?"

#asks #writing advice #writing #please understand nonnie that what you are feeling is completely natural and part of the process #and shades of that will stick with you no matter how good you get #but the thing you want to keep in the center of your mind when it comes to that #is that you can only get kudos once on a fic and you are lucky to get a 1:100 comment vs hits ratio #so the instant validation WILL dry up and you'll have to have something about your story #that makes you push through. because people will come back and comment! #people will blow through 50+ chapter and leave you the most emotionally hungover review promising you their first borns #but sometimes you will have written a good third of them with NO feedback whatsoever #and you just have to trust in yourself that it's good. it's FINE #i used to obsessively check hits and be really put out to see how many people were coming and not commenting #especially when i wrote really emotionally driven stuff and really tore myself up to get those feelings through #but i also would have been miserable only writing fluffy 1 or 2 shots with no plot just to get the flush of comments those fics get #you just gotta do what you gotta do and let your audience find you. recontextualizing the relationship helps a LOT #i already was big on focusing on the meta plot of my works because as i said. 15+ years. had a lot of time to experiment and get good #but i still had to like. give myself the same pep talk 2 years in about how to view that relationship #everyone goes through it and if they say they don't they're a liar and i mean that seriously 🤣

[twpsyn-who]

Soulmates AU in which when your soulmate is in a situation that can result in their death you get to see through their eyes. Like, I don't know how to explain this- it kind of flashes between what you see and what your soulmate sees. You know those edits where there's a scene going on and there's another one faded in the background happening at the same time? Similar to that. The idea is that you get to see what your soulmate sees too, on top of what you're seeing.

Now, this AU but JeanMarco. With Marco asking the others where's Jean, just for him to start seeing a corpse right in front of his eyes not even a second after asking. Seeing through Jean's eyes as he's trying to get hold of that gear and stuff. And once Jean's safe, once it clicks that you know his best friend is his soulmate Marco can't wait for them to graduate so he can you know tell him that.

Then, you know. That happens. And Jean is so fucking confused because he keeps seeing Annie crying, looking down on him. Only when Annie starts getting off the gear, when his soulmate starts moving around trying to get away he starts panicking, starts moving around faster than before. And maybe he's too late. Or maybe he shows up in time and kills the titan. I don't know. That's not where I'm trying to get, but to the second option AKA Marco pulling an UNO reverse on Annie because he's a smart sneaky bastard like that and being like 'Hey you can't kill me, my soulmate will know it was you' which makes her stop trying to take off his gear. Reiner keeps telling her to do it, Bertholdt keeps yelling about that titan coming closer, but Annie... she has seen things, at some point. Flashes of moments that weren't hers, happening right in Trost- right in that moment. And she didn't give them too much thought until that moment, until it got confirmed that it has nothing to do with her titan powers.

'What do you mean by that?' she asks, because she needs to know more. Because she wants to know more. And Marco starts explaining how it works. Tells them that he has found his soulmate, that they will put all the blame on them for his death. Reiner doesn't believe him, keeps insisting that he's playing them around - he, and anyone born and raised on Marley, has never heard of something like that before, it doesn't exist - but Annie tells him to shut up and to let Marco go. Cue to the plot of any fic in which Marco doesn't straight up die after finding up their secret.

Anyway I don't know man, just,,, We need more soulmate aus for JeanMarco. That's an order.

#When I wrote this my mind was to Mina x Annie like straight up I was like 'Yeah Mina's Annie's soulmate and she saw her dying' but my brain #liked to remind me that you know Armin has a nerd death experience too. So it can go either way guys the idea is that Annie's soulmate l #either died in Trost or was close to dying #Some little things I daydreamed about while waiting to get home to finish this post (more like little details for the au than anything #else) : Only Eldians can have a soulmate aka only subjects of Ymir. Marley being the racist motherfucker they are aren't aware of the whole #soulmate thing. That's why Reiner Berthold and Annie has no clue something like that exists they didn't get taught about that. Meanwhile #everyone on Paradis knows about soulmates kind of hard not to when many SC die on a basic lol. Is something normalized for them #Also another little detail would be that a Titan Shifter can't see during their shift. Aka Eren didn't see through Mikasa's eyes during #Trost despite her being near death at some point(s) (I'm thinking about when Titan Eren punched that Titan coming for Mikasa but honestly? #She was in danger when Eren lost control too). So yeah that's all I have for now #I think it also make sense a little for some soulmate thing to occur on top of the titan powers given the whole 'love story' between Ymir #and King Friz (or whatever his name fuck that guy- in a nonsexual way). So yeah we should totally play around with the concept of soulmates #more #This post is a mess but I started it at like 11 pm and finished it at 6 pm let me be man. My sleep deprived mind came out with this one #I make no promises to actually write something with this - I'll have to re-watch the first two season and kind of update as I watch the #other seasons so yk. Low chances. But feel free to use this as you please haha. Go wild guys. It doesn't even need to be JeanMarco yk #Like Annie seeing Mina die with her own eyes??? And her thoughts process for the whole time once she finds out she was her soulmate #Or ykyk Historia Witnessing Ymir's death??? Nicolo losing his shit over seeing that little girl shoot his soulmate??? LEVI SEEING FLASHES #OF BIG ASS STONES THROWN AROUND #Man actually you can play around with Levi so much like we have Petra too and Hange and- #Regardless #aot jean #aot marco #aot #jeanmarco #Aot JeanMarco #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein #marco bodt #marco bott

[rosicheeks]

💌 - Have you ever, or would you ever, give(n) someone a handwritten love letter?

#love letters my beloved #I love writing love letters (or honestly just letters in general) so much #growing up I was known for writing long letters to my friends and family #honestly it depends on what you would classify as a *love letter* #I’ve never wrote a super long letter expressing my love and all my true feelings #but I have written quite a few notes and letters out of love #if we want to go literal when I was dating my ex I would write little letters for him all the time #we lived together so usually when I left I would leave a little note with a packed bowl 💖 #also for a few birthdays and holidays (especially when I was broke) I would make things for him #and that usually ended up having a super long letter on it or with it #aww story time #I still remember writing little post it notes for him and sticking them around the house for him to randomly find 😂 #or like when he was excited to come home from work and do something or watch something (usually baseball related) #I would leave pump up post it’s from the garage to his room 😂😂😂 #or when I was in a sappy lovey dovey mood I would leave little ‘I love you’ or ‘you’re cute’ or random cutesy stuff #and stick them all over his room #some obvious like right by his tv or computer #and some would be random to find like under blankets or in drawers 😌 #honestly once I find the love of my life???? I’m going to be writing them so many love letters 🥺 #or maybe I’ll write a song or two for them 🥺🥺🥺🥺 #ugh I can’t wait #thanks for the question lovely 💖 #ask

[navramanan]

I go through these short periods of time feeling very okay and good even only bc i distract myself from what pains me until it catches up again and the cycle repeats itself

#i think it's verrrrrrrrry close to catching up again after i've had normal 2 weeks lol #so many ifs and buts and would things be better had i made a different decision lived in a different place or time etc #but i'll never now i'll always only have the here and now and the unchangeable past #and the very incertain scary future i'm trying so so so hard to be hopeful about but seeing things as they are right now. i really dont kno #i can only fake it to some point. i cant fake it till i make it. i'll fall apart countless times and then wont make it anyway #i feel like. i feel like all the circumstances i've been in have all always been against me #like i'm the only unlucky one among the people i know #i try so so so hard to remind myself that people who seem to have it so much better have their own problems too #but then also i remember something i wrote down once as a teen. the phrase you typically hear #''i have been battling (?) with this problem but am lucky enough to have a support system / loving friends etc'' #and idk how right i am with thinking this way but no matter what problems you have. #it's the toughest thing to lack deep connections with at least 1 person ideally like 3 i guess bc it's such a fundamental thing #you know having someone you can ALWAYS turn to without feeling bad and you know that they can and do turn to you too #and i do have a few wonderful friends i love so so much but i feel and know that no one needs me like i need them #every friendships feels so fragile to me. no one depends on me turns to me for advice or to vent etc #and when i feel like i need to do any of those things i cant turn to any of them #there's still inevitably a sort of disconnect i feel #and it terrifies me that i'll never find someone i connect with on a deeper level and it's mutual and we both can depend on each other #and there are no boundaries no shame no unspoken words #i dont know how true any of my feelings are but. but yeah #nesi rants

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME #there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing #and the writing is what i need to be doing #writeblr #this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to #edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol #i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!! #my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means #i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her) #hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong #i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet. #i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse #i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!! #i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO #i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness #and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it #im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us #i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer #and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art. #i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work #even if it means being miserable #but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.

[bysaber]

weeping dragon

pairing: neuvillette x fem!reader

summary: neuvillette thinks he isn’t deserving of your love.

content: cliche !!!, reader trapped in his house bc of rain, lil antsy but happy ending

wc: 800

a/n: mm hii!! first fic here! I hope you enjoy it I kind of wrote it in twenty minutes and I’m just publishing it without beta reading bc (we die like men) I’m just too in love with neuv and I want to share it with the world lolol

Neuvillette couldn’t bring himself to even think about making a move.

He kept many secrets, and every time he faced your bright smile he would remember it was not his place to disturb your peace. After all, how could a young woman like you endure the dangerous claws of a dragon?

You had stopped by his house to discuss the latest trial and his emotions got the best of him, causing a rain to start pouring.

A storm was approaching; lighting was seen through the window and low thunders could be heard. Neuvillette plagued himself under his breath, hoping there would be a day where he could better control his feelings.

“Here,” he said as he handed you the cup of tea. You watched the lighting curiously, “I do not think the storm will pass for a few hours. You should stay. For the night, I mean.”

You took the cup of tea and averted your eyes from the window to Neuvillette’s face. You studied him with caution, as if it was the first time you ever saw the man — even though you worked together for many months.

“Are you okay?” you asked, ignoring completely his offer.

The words got stuck in his throat and, for a few seconds, he really thought he wouldn’t answer. The man sipped on his tea, his mind racing while trying to figure out why you would ask that all of the sudden. “May I ask why are you asking me such a question?”

It was a small gesture, but he saw it all the same; the way you flexed your hand. There was something you wanted to grab?

Something you wanted to hold?

“They say… It rains when the Hydro Dragon weeps. Yeah, that's what they say,” you murmured and once again looked out the window. To the storm. “The Hydro Dragon. That would be you, right?”

Neuvillette almost choked on his tea, every part of his body malfunctioning and leaving him with only one thing for sure: in his entire existence, this was the first time he was left completely and utterly speechless.

Your warm and comforting eyes turned to him, and you grabbed his cup of tea to put it alongside yours on the coffee table. “Neuvillette,” you spoke his name as if it was a piece of poetry you were yet to learn — eager to do so, “Talk to me.”

And then— your hands, so small and fragile if compared to his, touched him. Your fingers traced his, and you embraced his hand between yours. He could feel the warmth of your skin contrasting against his cold one, pulling him closer, closer, closer.

“When did you figure it out?” was the first thing he said, scared it may be recent. If so, there still is time for you to run, for you to escape. To turn your back and never see him again. It’s probably the best for you, he knows, but this little selfish part in him can’t stand the thought of seeing you gone.

“A month ago or so, it doesn't matter,” you’re quick to cut the subject. “I didn't mention it because I knew you didn't want me to. I’m just worried, that's all.”

Worried.

She is worried.

The realization clicks in Neuvillette’s mind, for the first time in so long acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, he was too, deserving of someone’s concern and care.

“You are saying it does not matter,” he repeats as if to confirm what he just heard.

I pushed you because I cared about you. I pushed you because you made me feel good and comfortable. I pushed you because I thought my true self would frighten you.

Yet, you’re here. And you’re telling me it doesn’t matter.

“It doesn’t. Never did,” you frown. “I just wanna know, no— I need to know why it is raining, Neuvillette. Why would you weep? I’m here with you, talk to me.”

Without giving it a second thought, Neuvillette’s right hand finds your lower back and in a split second you're pressed against his chest, the tightest hug you have ever been given. He’s much taller than you, and you can feel perfectly as he inhales your scent and hugs you tightly.

“Neuv—”

“I thought I had to restrain myself from you. I thought I was no good,” he finally speaks his mind, distancing himself enough for you to see his face; the weeping Dragon. Oh, the melancholy in his eyes.

The eyes of someone who almost lost something precious.

“Neuvillette,” you whispered. “There’s nothing better for me than you.”

And it was true; so you pulled on his hair just enough to have him connecting your lips, a sigh of relief escaping him as if there was nothing in this world he had anticipated more.

#wbysaber #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #fontaine #neuvillette x you #neuvilette #neuvilette x reader #fanfic #oneshot #drabble #imagine

[fillejondrette]

a lot of men really just seem to want to be able to victimize women without women getting upset about it. they'll say that women who take safety precautions have victim complexes, but then say the same thing about women who don't take those safety precautions. i saw this recently in the context of female travelers.

first, i saw a video of a woman demonstrating safety precautions to take on cruises, doing stuff like hooking things to her door to stop it from being opened, clipping the curtains shut, etc. personally, i don't feel the need to those things, and i feel like it's probably a diminishing returns situation- once you've done the obvious stuff like locking the door, any extra steps probably won't help you that much. but if it makes her sleep better, then there's no harm.

second, i saw a video of a woman talking about how she roadtripped in a foreign country with a couple of male travelers she met online. so the total opposite of the first woman, in the sense that she did something i think very few women would be willing to do.

the male comments on both videos were pretty similar, though. they both focused on women's so-called obsession with being victims. the first woman is paranoid, fixated on the idea of being a victim. one commenter wrote "me watching her do all this shit when i'm already hiding inside her room." the message is that women's precautions are silly and ultimately useless, if men really want to hurt us. comments on the second video contained a lot of assumptions that the second woman must have paid for her trip with sex. but many of the commenters were saying things like, "women will do things like this and cry victim, you wanted to be victimized." so they're acknowledging that being alone with random men is in fact dangerous for women. the second woman is a dumb slut who deserves what's coming to her.

i think men are, by and large, pretty aware of how men treat women. they acknowledge this with the argument that women need men to protect them (from other men). they treat male violence as a fact of nature that shouldn't reflect badly on men as a group, and shouldn't make women distrust men - except when a woman does trust men, no, that's wrong too. there's no correct way to behave that will make you a "good" victim, or a reasonable person, in their eyes, and i think that's the goal. if a woman's hurt, it's her fault. if she's afraid of getting hurt, it's her fault. the man is never the one at fault.

[userlando]

lending a hand — lando norris

lando norris x fem!reader [5.5k] summary: exams are coming up and studying for it turns out to be more tedious than usual. luckily, lando is around & more than eager to lend a helping hand. warnings: 18+ fingering, dirty talk, protected sex (piv), brief oral, doggy, missionary, dom!lando, derogatory name calling, choking, slapping (lando smacks a tit and ass lol), everything is absolutely consensual a/n: HI EVERYONE!! i know it's been agesss since i came on here and i'm still kind of on a hiatus because i just haven't been feeling tumblr lately. i wrote this piece a while back for another cc but they've since then showed themselves to be a bad person and i don't wanna be associated with that. so i rewrote and added some things because i really like this one. so hopefully you do too :') i love u and miss u all so much, i'll hopefully jump back on when i've got my mojo back!! read before interacting: I suck at biology and googled every single medical term and everything it’s got to do with it. i’m so sorry if i wrote something incorrectly, please don’t come for me. thank you x

The air was stifling hot and damp, your fingers were cramping up and the words on your textbooks were starting to blur into one big mess the longer you stared at them. There were so many books laid out in front of you, pictures of cartooned organs and human anatomy that on any other day, would be of massive help. But right now they just made your head hurt even more.

When your fingers cramped up for the fourth time, you let go of your pencil and watched it land softly on the sheets in front of you. You were in serious need of a massage, tension rippling in your body that would only perish once your final exams were over and done with. It wasn’t long until you took them, two weeks to be exact but the stress was weighing heavier on you than you’d like to admit.

The only thing pushing you forward was the fact that you’d be one step closer to graduating and the promised deep massage in Monaco’s finest spa.

Your boyfriend had been the true pillar in your life. Lando been so patient and tried to help in any way he could when you’d seek comfort in his arms and awkwardly stumbled words. Poor thing didn’t know how to make your stress go away when you were at your worst, but he certainly tried his best and that was all that mattered. Lando felt helpless at those times, but he found himself relaxing when he held you and could feel the tension in your shoulders lessen.

You’d been neglecting him for over a week now, but he was nothing if not understanding and he took advantage of that time to spend more in front of his computer with his friends or even the racing sim, while you holed up in your shared bedroom.

It had made you feel a little guilty at first, seeing as it was his season break and he’d intended to spend his free time with you but your schedules didn’t align enough. There were only so many hours you could spend procrastinating before the stress got to be too much.

You’d first opted to sit next to him while he played and streamed but you’d found him too big of a distraction so it hadn’t been long before you migrated to your bedroom. Hearing him from down the hall was comfort enough.

It was as if your thoughts had summoned him, the creak of the door pulling your attention to it and you blinked away the blur in your eyes to watch his upper body and head peak through the space. The curls on his head were wild, unrulier than usual and you’d have taken a step back to admire them if you had the strength to.

“You alright?” He asked tentatively, and you nodded with a wave of your hand; Gesturing for him to come in because suddenly you were in need of his comforting hug.

He’d gone quiet in his office a while ago and you figured he’d gone offline, not hearing a peep from him. Or maybe you’d had, and just didn’t notice.

“You need a break.” Lando murmured as he stepped inside, coming to stand by the bed.

You blinked up at him and realised the blur in your eyes were from unshed tears of exhaustion. It seemed as if Lando realised it at the same time you did, letting out a surprised soft laugh as he pouted his bottom lip in sympathy.

“Darling.” He reached out both of his hands to cradle your face, thumbs reaching out to swipe beneath your eyes. “This isn’t healthy.”

“I’m not crying, I swear.” You placed your hands over his, letting out a watery laugh at the worry in his eyes. “I’m just tired. These words aren’t making sense anymore.”

Lando made a sound in his throat, turning to plop down on the bed. You tried to keep the scowl from showing on your face when he moved around the meticulously arranged papers on the sheets, but he saw it and grimaced in something you guessed were apologetic.

“How about we go out and get something to eat?” Your boyfriend suggested, laying down on his side and propping his head up with the help of his hand.

“I’m not hungry.” That was a lie.

You’d been cooped up in your room for over - you glanced at the clock and winced - three hours, and the last time you’d ate was a bowl of yogurt and granola. It wasn’t healthy, and you always made a point of eating before your insides started twisting with hunger, but it was easy to get carried away while revising.

“Don’t pull that shit on me.” Lando’s eyes rolled, reaching a hand out to nudge you in the side to garner a reaction out of you. You jumped with a startled giggle, swatting at his hand. “Just an hour and then we’ll be back, I promise.”

You shook your head, no matter how tempting that offer was. You knew yourself well enough to know that you’d go out to eat, come back and then push studying aside to cuddle in bed with him. And seeing as the both of you hadn’t gone further than kissing for the past week, Lando would definitely not protest if you procrastinated in order to spend some quality time with him.

“Lan, I love you but I really cannot abandon this until I’m done.” You gestured to the mountain of stress in front of you.

Lando followed the gesture with his eyes, stretching a hand out to pluck a notebook with your scribble on it. You watched him scan it, a furrow making its way between his bushy eyebrows and it made you smile involuntarily. He looked absolutely adorable and so very confused.

“Medical terminology…” He read before trailing off with a sound of aversion. “So… What? You need to memorise these words?”

It would be a lie if you said that you hadn’t been a little distracted while he skimmed over the pages as if he understood what the words such as Popliteal and Supraclavicular meant. You were too busy looking at the arch of his nose and the tempting pout of his lips, admiring the slight redness covering the apples of his cheeks.

His eyes flicked up and you blinked back to reality, ignoring the teasing smile playing on his lips as you answered his previous question with a forlorn nod. You watched him light up slightly as an idea struck him.

“What?”

“What if I help you out?” He asked, sitting up slightly.

You almost laughed. Help? You’d be a delicious distraction.

“How would you help me?” You asked instead, smiling as he sat up fully and waved the notebook in his hand between you two. As if that would answer your question.

“May I?” He asked and you looked at his hand hovering over the textbooks.

It took you a second to realise what he was asking and you almost shook your head no, but Lando looked too excited and you weren’t about to rain on his parade so you nodded.

He didn’t waste any time with packing everything up and placing them in a surprisingly organised pile on the floor by the bed, keeping the notebook he’d been holding close by as he scooted up the bed and laid down with his head on the pillow. You gazed at him questioningly, feeling lost.

“Wow… You sure cleared my confusion up.” You said slowly after a beat of silence.

You watched your boyfriend roll his eyes, so sassy and so Lando it made your chest hurt with adoration.

“Alright smartass. Come here.” His hand circled your wrist and the tug almost sent you flying over him. You squealed in surprise, thankfully steadying yourself before you toppled over and looked down on Lando between the curtain of hair that had fallen over your face. “Sorry.”

You slapped his chest lightly and rearranged yourself so you were straddling his thighs gently as he’d probably intended to have you do from the start. The position made unexpected arousal flare up in your abdomen and it wasn’t disappearing any time soon with the way Lando was looking up at you from his position.

“Alright, can you please tell me what’s going on?” You asked nicely and placed your hands over his where they’d snuck up and found a home on your thighs.

He freed one hand and grabbed yours, fingers slotting nicely between yours and you resisted the sudden urge to grind down on him. Something about this man made you shamelessly feral.

“Okay so, you have to memorise all this gibberish and what better way than to practice on me?” He finished his sentence by tugging softly on your hand and you bent down when you understood his silent request, slotting your lips against his.

His lips felt soft and you couldn’t help but open up to his tongue, your body automatically melting into his as his free hand found its place on the small of your back to pull you in closer.

You allowed yourself a few seconds before sitting back up in his lap, feeling slightly disoriented.

“Is this your way of getting me into bed?” You narrowed your eyes jokingly in suspicion, earning a laugh from him.

“No, I genuinely want to help. But I wouldn’t mind you in bed with me, either.” He replied, pushing his hips up to readjust his position and jostling you in the process. “Go ahead, where do you wanna start?”

You pursed your lips in thought, deciding that starting at his face and working yourself down was the best way to do it. You were, after all, already sat on his legs and had made yourself quite comfortable. With your decision made, you placed one hand on the left side of Lando’s head and got close to him.

Lando sucked his lips into his mouth, big eyes watching you in silence but his facial expression said it all. It truly had been too long since you’d had sex, but maybe there was a way of incorporating intimacy into studying. Who birds, one stone and all that.

“So, this is the frontal.” You murmured, the other hand coming up to swipe a gentle finger across his forehead before moving down to his cheekbone. “The zygomatic bone.”

Lando blinked slowly, but he stayed silent as your fingers trailed down over the slope of his nose. A giggle left your lips as he scrunched his nose, the skin moving beneath the tips of your fingers.

“The nasal,” You muttered, trailing your fingers up to gently touch his eyelids as he closed his eyes. You couldn’t help but place soft kisses over each of them, watching him flutter them open to look at you. His eyelashes were ridiculously long and seductive. You hated it. “Oculus.”

Lando shifted beneath you, tongue coming out to wet his lips and you were immediately drawn to the sheen of them. You let out a small desperate breath, closing the small distance between the two of you for a kiss. Your boyfriend made a sound in his throat and you pulled back barely an inch to whisper.

“Oral cavity.” Before diving back in for a second kiss that he was more than happy to reciprocate.

It was easy to lose yourself in his touch and the warmth of his body against yours, your hand coming up to grab his thick hair in your grip while his circled around your body to pull you flush against him.

“Lando…” You let out a small whine when he pulled back to bite on your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth in a way that had your toes curling. “Fuck me.”

Any other day and you’d probably flush at the way you sounded so whiny, but you didn’t have time to overthink it before your boyfriend gathered up what remained of his self restraint to pull back. You chased his lips and only got a nip back, making you pout down at him.

“Keep going.” He ordered and you scooted up so your nether regions were flush against each other. He hissed your name in warning, “Don’t be a brat, finish what you started.”

You huffed and opened your mouth to protest but caught yourself when you saw the expression on his face. Shit, he really wasn’t playing around.

“Fine.” You bit out, wiggling a little in place to feel the smooth hardness of Lando between your legs.

The man in question tutted and reached out to grip your throat in a hold, gentle but it was strong enough to catch you off guard and still yourself in his lap.

“What is this part called?” He asked, awfully casual for someone who was half hard with their hand wrapped around your throat.

He flexed his fingers lightly and you searched your muddled brain for the answer, fighting the urge to moan when he squeezed. It wasn’t fair, he knew what he was doing to you.

“The esophagus.” You whispered, not daring to look away from his intense gaze as he carefully unwrapped his fingers from said body part, two of his fingers tapping your chin before resting on your bottom lip.

“Open.” He commanded softly and you did, without question.

You held his eyes as he slid two fingers inside, tasting the saltiness of his skin as he stroked over your tongue. The urge to gag hit you when he slid too far down, eyes watering when he wiggled his fingers inside teasingly.

“What’s this called?” He asked, and you could see the teasing pull of the corners of his mouth when you glared down at him.

How am I supposed to respond with your fingers down my throat? Your eyes screamed, but Lando merely raised his eyebrows and pressed his fingers forward in retaliation.

You gagged, a sound of despair escaping your drooling mouth.

You tried to reply with “Pharynx” but the words came out as a jumbled mess and you drooled down his fingers. But it was apparently good enough for Lando because he pulled back slightly to let you breathe more properly, stroking the width of your tongue in a silent command. You sucked on his fingers, cleaning them off of any saliva before he retrieved them entirely.

“Good girl.” The rasp in his voice made your stomach swoop as he smiled at you, placing his hands on either side of your hips. “Go on.”

You stared at him, not entirely sure what to do but he gave you the answer when he tugged on your t-shirt; A silent urge to take it off. You didn’t waste any time, grabbing it by the hem and lifting it off your torso; Almost falling over in the process. Lando chuckled at your eagerness and your face burned, but you refused to let that affect you. The two of you looked at one another for a beat before he dropped his gaze to your heaving, exposed chest. Never had you been happier to have foregone a bra, especially when he stroked both hands up your sides. He felt your skin beneath his palms, a shiver escaping you.

“Please,” You whispered, grinding down on the hardness beneath you. Your eyes fluttered.

“Please what?” His voice sounded teasing, bright eyes trained on you.

Instead of answering him verbally, you grabbed his hands in yours and placed them over the swell of your breasts. Lando inhaled at the feel of them in his palms, letting you squeeze his hands in yours. A moan escaped your mouth as his thumbs swiped over your nipples until they pebbled, back arching into his hold.

“So needy for me.”

His rough voice had you opening your eyes and he must’ve seen something in them because he took pity on you. The yelp that left your lips was anything but attractive when he embraced you and flipped you both over. Lando laughed when you bounced on the mattress, and you couldn’t help but giggle as the tension broke.

“Please, Lando.” You pleaded after the both of you had calmed down from your little fit, hands coming up to feel the taut of his stomach over his t-shirt.

You sounded needy in your own ears but you didn’t really care. And judging by your boyfriends teeth sinking into his bottom lip, he loved hearing you like this.

“Please what, darling?” His eyebrows drew together in fake sympathy, his gaze dropping to your chest when you arched your back.

You opened your mouth to answer him but the words died on your lips the second Lando leaned down and sucked a nipple into his mouth. You should’ve seen it coming, because he could never keep away from your tits for too long but the suction made you gasp all the same, hands coming up to grab at the back of his head.

“Just fuck me already.” You said.

Lando grabbed the both of your hands in his before pinning them to the side, suckling harsher on your teat before kissing his way over to the other side. You didn’t know what to focus on, the cool air on your wet nipple, his unforgiving mouth on the other one or the way his hands were digging into the skin of your wrists. The thought of him bruising you made you buck your hips up, craving it more than ever.

“You’re impatient tonight.” He drew back, blowing cool air on your saliva soaked skin and making you squirm. “I can’t decide whether I should punish you for being a needy little slut or fuck the brattiness out of you.”

You knew you shouldn’t talk back, but the words were out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“Anything would be better than this.” It came out as an indignant mutter but Lando’s eyes flared in challenge.

It was quick and you didn’t have time to react to his hand sailing down and slapping the meat of your breast. You yelled out in shock, feeling your pussy clench around nothing as you tried to sit up as an automatic response. Lando tutted, quickly grabbing you by the throat and pushing you down with a strength that had you gasping for breath.

“This is what happens when I don’t fuck you for a week,” He hissed, eyebrows drawn in anger but you could see the desire in his eyes as he bent down to your eye level. “One week without my cock and you start acting like a bitch.”

Holy fuck, the filth coming from his mouth made your nerves light up in anticipation. It had been too long, so fucking long since he talked and behaved like this. You hadn’t realised how much you missed it until now.

His hand let go of your throat and instead cupped your chin, his fingers squeezing your mouth together until your eyes fluttered shut in need with a moan. Lando grinned down at you, tightening his grip just to watch your eyes roll before pressing a filthy kiss to your mouth that you barely had time to reciprocate before he pulled back.

It felt like you were in a daze, feeling him pull your sweatpants off along with your panties. He made an offhand comment about the wetness that you didn’t register, choosing to grit your teeth and ball your fists to keep from touching yourself instead.

Lando undressed himself without getting off the bed, albeit a little clumsily but he recovered quick and grabbed your thighs to spread them apart. The look on his face made you flush hot all over, almost like you were a meal he couldn’t wait to devour.

“Look at that, so wet already.” He hummed in appreciation and coated one finger in your slick before sinking it inside of you, revelling in your gasps. “All this for me, baby?”

“Mmm,” You swallowed, throat drying up and eyes closing at the sensation. “Just for you, Lando.”

“That’s what I thought.” He said smugly.

He sank a second finger inside and scissored them until he deemed you stretched enough, his free hand stopping your thighs from closing when you started to feel him pull out. It had been too long since you’d been touched like this, and Lando was always so talented with his fingers. He could truly play you like a fiddle.

“Don’t.” He growled, the tone of his voice making you squirm and separate your legs obediently again. “Good girl.”

You watched him in silence as he pulled his fingers out, slipping them into his mouth to clean them off with a hum that you felt in your core. Sweat was beading on your forehead and you were sure that you looked a mess. Lando didn’t seem to mind it though, his eyes roaming appreciatively over your body before settling on your face. His eyes softened at whatever he saw in your eyes and something warm bloomed in your chest.

“Kiss me, please?” You begged, suddenly needing him near you.

Lando didn’t hesitate as he bent over to press his mouth to yours, the kiss uncharacteristically gentle consider how crudely his cock was pressing against your mound, one hand sinking into your hair to tilt your head to his liking. He broke the kiss for a moment to reach to the side, opening up the drawer with a groan and rifling through the contents. You watched in mild amusement, taking in the pinch of his eyebrows and the concentration on his face. You took the opportunity to press kisses to his shoulder and up his throat, your tongue tasting the saltiness of his sweaty skin. Lando’s unstable position faltered and you sucked a small lovebite into the delicate skin of his neck for good measure.

“Fuck.” He swore with a breathless laugh, steadying himself and sitting upright.

You smiled up at him, planting your feet on the bed and bending your legs so Lando could get even closer to where you needed him the most. His bright eyes found yours, eyebrows rising. He bit into the tinfoil, tearing it open and fishing the condom out to slip it on.

The rubber wasn’t needed, not really. But Lando knew you well enough to know when you had enough energy after the deed to clean yourself up, and today wasn’t one of those days. He would often do it himself, ignoring your embarrassing protests as he wiped you down with a cloth and eventually giving up when he swatted your hands away.

Anticipation rose in you when he positioned himself but he seemed to change his mind at the last second, a devilish smile widening on his lips when he patted the side of your hip twice. You knew what that meant and you bit your lip in uncertainty. The dreaded position you loved and hated at the same time.

“Turn around and don’t make me ask twice.” Lando said after reading the look on your face and you made a noise that sounded a lot like dislike.

But you definitely didn’t want to stall it any longer, so you turned your body around and pressed your cheek against the mattress with your eyes closed. This position hit absolutely every nerve inside of you, but it also left you completely exposed and that’s mainly why you hated it.

Lando grabbed your hips and lifted you upwards so your knees were beneath you, exhaling as he slid his hands from your ass and down your back. The feel of his palm against the skin of your back made you arch despite your initial hesitation and something about that made the man behind you feel all the more needier.

“So fucking gorgeous,” You heard him whisper and you believed it. “Can’t wait to sink into this pretty little cunt.”

Unexpected heat shot down your back and you moaned, pressing back against Lando in hopes that he’d finally get the hint and fuck you. Your hands gripped the sheets on either side of your bed in anticipation at the thought.

“Fuck me, please.” It came out as a whispered plea.

“I will, don’t worry, love.”

And with that promise, he nudged himself inside. You arched in response, eyes shutting as he started pushing inside little by little. The stretch was incredible, making your toes curl and mouth open in a silent moan. Lando let out a sound of his own as he bottomed out, one hand grabbing your hips while the other settled over the small of your back to push down gently. You arched, and he seemed to like that because he immediately drew back before thrusting back in.

He found a rhythm you assumed he liked and you matched it by pushing back when he pushed in. A wave of heat overtakes you and your eyes roll in your sockets the harder he thrusts; Like a man on a mission, eager to bury himself inside you as far as he can go.

It hadn’t occured to you just how badly you’d been neglecting Lando lately, but it was evident in how his hands grabbed anywhere he could find purchase, your name leaving his mouth in a chant as he fucked you harder. You needed this as much as he did.

“Fuck, oh my God.” You tried to pull your hand back to touch yourself but you were jostled too harshly and you ended up being thrown off balance.

A high pitched whine left your mouth as Lando slipped out and just as you were about to turn your head to look at him, he’d grasped your hips and turned you around on your back. He reached for the pillow next to your head, stuffing it under your hips and kissing just beneath your navel in the process as a silent praise for raising your hips without him having to ask.

You watched with bated breath as he pressed kisses down your stomach, over your mound before latching his mouth onto your clit. The unexpected touch of his sinful mouth had you throwing your head back, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Oh my God, Lando...” You moaned, attempting to tilt your head down so you could watch him but he was quick to flick his tongue against your clit and it only made you arch into his mouth.

Lando was holding the base of his cock, squeezing and willing himself not to blow too soon. He’d been waiting to get inside you long enough and he wasn’t about to end it before he’d had his fill of you. When he deemed it safe enough, he pulled away and positioned himself between your legs before sliding in. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip at your reaction, loving the flutter of your eyelids and the pretty way your mouth opened in a pathetic moan.

He couldn’t help but lower himself down onto you, mindful as to not suffocate you but just enough for you to feel the press of his chest against yours as he started fucking into your wet heat.

You took it like a champion, arms circling his upper body and legs falling open as he fucked you into the mattress with reckless abandon. The stress you’d been feeling the past week was slowly seeping out of you, and you welcomed the feeling of it as you brought Lando to your mouth, kissing him until you lost your breath.

“You’re so pretty,” Lando murmured against your lips breathlessly. “My pretty baby.”

He slid one hand between the two of you, long fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in a way that had you crying out against his mouth. Lando refused to blink, didn’t want to miss the look on your face as he brought you closer to euphoria.

“You know what this is, baby?” He asked, hand cupping your pussy and trying not to falter when he felt where the two of you were connected.

Fuck, you were soaking and Lando was really about to blow.

“This is mine.” He hissed, watching the way your eyes rolled before shutting. “Only I get to fuck it, you hear me?”

You opened your mouth to respond that yes, of course it fucking is - but the loud cry that left you instead surprised the both of you as your body tensed up, pussy clenching around his cock as you sobbed through your orgasm. Liquid heat trickled down your back and you momentarily blacked out at the sheer force of you tensing up in your climax.

“Oh fuck.” Lando hissed, dropping his head against the crook of your neck and fucking into your clenching pussy.

If your sounds and the look on your face wasn’t enough to bring him to his end, then the feel of your legs circling around him and locking him into place was enough to do his head in. You moaned weakly as he tensed up in your arms, shooting into the condom and grinding into your sensitive cunt, like he wanted to bury himself as deep as possible.

He probably didn’t realise that in his high, he’d dropped his entire weight on you but you absolutely didn’t mind it; Finding comfort in his heaving body and the feel of his damp hair as you buried your fingers into it.

“God, you’re gonna fucking kill me.” He garbled against your skin as he pulled himself out of you, lifting his head weakly to take a look at you.

You couldn’t help but grin at his flushed face and blown wide pupils, feeling thrilled that this gorgeous man loved you. And you loved him, so much.

“I could really go for a sandwich from the deli down the street right now.” You whispered dreamily, closing your eyes shut as he brought a shaking hand up to swipe a few damp strands from your forehead.

Lando pulled a face.

“If you think we’re not gonna order in, you’re sorely mistaken.”

He shook his head at the thought of leaving the bed - leaving you naked in his bed - to buy sandwiches. No matter how absolutely amazing they were. You blinked up at him with big eyes, pouting your lip and Lando knew right then that he’d lost any willpower he’d had left.

“Oh, you’re good.” He narrowed his eyes, sneaking his hands down to tickle your sides.

You squealed, squirming underneath him and yelling at him to stop, your body too weak to fight back. Lando kept going for a few seconds before he let you push him to the side so you were half laying on top of him instead.

“You’re evil.” You glared at him, but he could see the twitch of your raw lips and the love in your eyes so he didn’t take it too hard.

Lando gripped your chin gently and brought you in a for a kiss before pulling back to look at you. You blinked back and he smiled.

“Alright I’ll go down to the shop in one condition.” He said, trying to sound serious despite the massive grin on his face. “You hop in the shower, and then I want all these books gone from this room by the time I get back. We’re taking the rest of the night off.”

You suppressed a smile at the “we”, nodding your head reluctantly instead because for once you weren’t overwhelmed with stress and you weren’t about to bring it all back when Lando had worked so hard to relieve you of it. Hopefully he’d relieve you of it a couple more times later tonight.

“It’s a deal.” You agreed verbally, bringing your pinky to hook into his own.

“Alright, let’s get to it.” He brought an arm around and slapped your ass.

You jumped with a gasp, glaring at your boyfriend who cackled and jumped out of bed before you could kick him in retaliation. He looked amused as he walked around the bed to find tissues and get rid of the condom, cleaning himself up the best he could. He found the clothes he’d thrown on the floor, pulling them on all the while watching you stretch on the bed like a cat. It was so tempting to crawl back into bed and have his way with you but he gritted his teeth and turned to locate his wallet and phone.

“Text me your order, I’ll see you in a bit.” He said and leaned down to press two kisses to your lips, making a noise in his throat when you wound your hands in his hair and pulled him closer for a few more kisses. “I love you.”

You grinned against his mouth, teeth knocking together but you were too happy to care as he nipped your lower lip and pulled himself up to stand straight.

“Love you too. Be safe.”

You watched him walk out, smiling to yourself at how incredibly lucky you were.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 fic #f1 smut #lando norris smut #lando norris fanfic

[kpopnstarwars]

Atonement: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: fic i wrote with @triluvial 's lovely idea

tw: 18+, smut but pretty soft, oral (f recieving), so so so so much angst, fluff after tho dw, swearing, hints of sa and pedophilia from the baron, baron is also creepy to reader but not explicitly, u gotta bear with my yapping in the beginning but it gets good i promise, inkpie

wc: 3.9k

When you married Feyd-Rautha, you were warned of many things. His cruelty, both in and out of the bedroom, his bloodlust, his uncontrollable rage, his violence, his complete and utter lack of mercy. They told you he was psychotic, he was a cold blooded murderer, he was insatiable and that you’d be lucky to last a year with him, and yet, they never cautioned you of his sheer, unerring indifference.

Before your marriage, you fancied that he’d be like fire; raging, searing to touch. You went as far as to wish to tame his inferno. Late at night, when you could not sleep and doubt wreathed your thoughts, you also considered that he’d be like ice, like the colour of his piercing eyes, glacial and cold, devoid of anything soft or sweet.

As a child, you saw him fight in the arena. There he blazed with passion, his victor’s smile a cruel curve upon his face, his knife blade stained dark with fresh blood: he was mesmerising. At that time you were beginning to understand that your future had been sold to this violent man, and you resented your parents for it - now you realise that it went deeper than that, that it was rooted in generations of religion, of whisperings of the Bene Gesserit. Still, even then, you found the way he burned intriguing, and you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

But you were wrong. He turned out to be neither fire nor ice, just stingingly, dismissively apathetic. His eyes slide right over you when he happens to pass you in the corridors, as if you’re lower than a servant, lower than the rare rats that survive Giedi Prime’s conditions. You suspected your marriage would be painful, wedded to a man such as he was, but you didn’t think it would be this damn lonely.

You wished he hated you.

That way, at least you’d mean something to your husband. At least then vehement, savage emotion would rise within his gaze whenever he looked at you, not that horrible, polarising blankness. You wish you disgusted him, because then he’d at least he’d speak his mind - you had learnt that he spoke with brutal honesty, uncaring of the consequences.

Maybe to him, that’s all you are. A consequence of being high born, of being the na-Baron. You mean nothing to him, and he treats you as such; to him, you are less than the speck of dust on the floor, less than a grain of sand in his beloved arena.

It’s not that you wish for him to dote on you, nor love you or devote himself to you. You just wish he would look you in the eye and feel something; you’d rather him stare at you in revulsion and call you names that you can’t even think up yourself than the dead, lifeless detachment that clouds his face when he sees you in your shared chambers.

Feyd-Rautha has never laid a hand on you in violence; in fact he rarely touches you at all. The last, and only time he kissed was during the wedding day, and he makes no moves to be in bodily contact with you any more than he has to be. You are obliged to produce an heir from him, yet even in these infrequent encounters it seems as if it is a chore for him - he takes no pleasure in your body nor does he try to pleasure you, and he makes no sound when he takes you, staying as long as it takes for his seed to fill your womb before leaving without a word. On those nights, your thighs tremble as you stumble to the bathroom, only allowing your tears to fall once the shower water is searing on your skin.

During the first month of your marriage, you did everything in your power to please him. You thought maybe you weren’t pretty enough for him, maybe you were not desirable as a wife, so you always smiled at him, made an effort to fill the silence that pervaded the air around him, bringing up topics you knew he would enjoy, like the arena, like his love for knives and duels. To even that he would not reply, rebutting your questions with monosyllables or simply ignoring you. You stopped once he began to leave the room while you were mid sentence.

It is now your fourth month locked in this marriage with an uncaring man, and all you feel is bleak, crushing resignation. Somehow, Feyd-Rautha seems to take more interest in conversing with his brother than you.

You wonder if he has forgotten your name. He addresses you simply as ‘wife’ - that, and nothing more, the title leaving his lips like an accusatory curse, reminding you that if you did not serve a purpose to him, and if decorum did not restrain him, he’d have disposed of you by now, either by slitting your throat or simply abandoning you outside the palace grounds, not even bothering to end you himself.

The palace in question is lonely, but you feel the loneliest when you lay awake at night, shivering on your side of the bed as Feyd-Rautha slumbers to your right. Tears always prick your eyes during those moments, but you stifle them, afraid that you’ll rouse him with your crying; you do not know what you’ve done to garner his mistrust, but many times you’ve glimpsed the knife he keeps beneath his pillow, the cold blade glinting in the moonlight.

Often you wonder if he has a secret lover, and that is why he does not bother with you. You wake up sometimes and he is gone, but soon you realised that he would visit his concubines, especially after he had bred you. You would finish your shower, unable to wash off the feel that you were dirty, you were just an animal, a mindless thing to produce an heir for him, and he would be lounging in the antechambers of your quarters, ignoring your presence with the three harpies wrapped around him, whispering in his ears and caressing his moonlight skin. They accompanied him everywhere he wished, even in public, and to begin with, you felt humiliated that he would so explicitly show that you were not to his satisfaction.

Now, it just makes the solitude even worse.

You find solace in no one. More than once, you have walked in on the servants laughing behind your back, and as it became evident your husband was uninterested in you, they did not hide their mocking. The Baron’s other nephew you hardly saw, and the Baron himself terrified you: there was something in the way that he stared at you, his beady eyes glittering from where they were set deep within his putrid flesh, that made you feel more soiled than even after Feyd-Rautha took you.

So you remain isolated, speaking only when spoken to, drifting through the palace’s wide, dark hallways like a ghoul, a mourning spectre. You can barely remember your life before, just wisps and fleeting flashes of colour that ridicule rather than comfort you.

To Feyd, it is obvious who you are. A spy, commanded by his uncle to report every single one of his doings to you; he cannot slip up once around you, cannot reveal his weaknesses, that he is desperate to be loved, to be seen as someone whose only use is not war. He sees the way his uncle looks at you, hungry for information you do not have because he does not impart it, the way the Baron comments on you and the way you flinch at his words, pretending that you do not report to him.

Feyd is determined in his resolve to give nothing away. His uncle has held power over him since he was young, he refuses to give him even an inch over him now. He still has nightmares of it, which he wakes up from with his pale skin sheened in clammy sweat, clammy like the hands of his uncle.

Sometimes, he sees the tears in your eyes after he fucks you. The first time, he almost stopped, almost asked you where it hurt, but you turned away before he could, acting, always acting; acting when you smile graciously at him, acting when you ask him what his favourite type of blade is, what his favourite form of swordsmanship is. You are good at pretending, but of course you are - his uncle is the Baron, a man who bathes in power. No doubt he would get only the best of spies.

Tonight, you are not where you normally are. At this hour, you are usually asleep, or feigning it in the very least, curled up small on your side of the mattress, yet the bed is still made, the sheets unrumpled and smoothed down as they were this morning. Feyd thinks that maybe he might catch you reporting to his uncle, so he strides out of your shared chambers, pausing in the doorway to listen carefully; as a boy, he hunted in forests that have now been chopped down and industrialised, but he has maintained his keen ears long after the last wild plant on Giedi Prime’s surface choked on the fumes of pollution.

There’s a soft noise, barely perceptible, that echoes down the corridor to his right. Silently, he tracks it down the labyrinthine passages of the palace, servants scurrying out of his warpath, bowing their heads to him - he wonders if they too report to his uncle, if they travel now to his quarters to inform him of his beloved nephew’s whereabouts.

Feyd wishes he and Rabban were brothers first before rivals. Then he could have someone to rely on, someone who he trusted in this palace built on lies.

Pausing, Feyd cocks his head. You huddle in a crumpled heap at the end of the corridor, your knees hugged tightly to your chest, head low as if under a crushing weight. It occurs to him that maybe the Baron was displeased with your efforts to gain information and made it known to you - a pang of pity tugs at him, for he knows what his uncle’s wrath is like. At least you have been spared from the sole thing worse than that - the Baron’s thirst.

‘What are you doing, wife?’

Your head snaps up, Feyd-Rautha’s unfeeling voice kindling a rare burst of temper from you. Is it not evident to him what you are doing? Or is he just too blind to see the tears streaking down your cheeks? Your words are injected with venom when you speak, and you hope that it stings him for leaving you alone in this cold, dark place.

‘So now I am of concern to you?’

Feyd is taken aback by the indignant arch of your brows, the resentment displayed in your eyes. It takes him a moment to register the harshness lacing your voice - you have never addressed him in this way - and another to digest your words. There’s a bleakness in your wet, tear stained face as you stare up at him, and shock too, as if you did not expect yourself to speak against him this way.

Something clicks into place.

Feyd recognises that look in your eyes. He recognises it, because he’s seen it in the mirror a hundred times before; haunted, harrowed, lonely. He remembers nights when he trembled beneath the cold sheets of his bed, when he was small enough that he felt like he was drowning in the black satin, his eyes wide as the fabric seemed to wend around his limbs, tying him there as he lay fearful of everyone, fearful that his uncle would summon him. Even young, he was so terribly aware of not knowing who he could trust and who would turn to the Baron, bearing information like knives to split open his childish skin and spill his guts on the freezing stone floor.

It broke him. He is barely a shell of a sentient being, repressed emotions wreathing like ghosts around his frame, his eyes hollow, his heart decaying. In his fear, he was blinded, and he pushed you to the place where he had been all those years ago, so terribly, terribly alone - you are stronger than him, for lasting this long.

Sharp, plunging, dread sinks in his stomach, weighs down his soul; he has done unspeakable things to you, treated you like a dog, like a whore - worse. How can you look at him without hatred in your eyes, spite?

Bile rises in his throat, his heart seized by a dark, burning anger. He has done this to you, he has slashed your skin and left you bleeding, and yet all you did was try to please him. In an effort to save himself, he trampled you under foot; in order to keep you out, he left you surrounded by shadows. Feyd has never hated himself so much, has never despised who he has become with this much furor.

Slowly, he crouches before you. Eyes wide, you shrink away, misreading the direction of his rage, flinching when he reaches out a hand. Pressing your back against the wall behind you, you turn your head away from him, fear causing tears to spill down your cheeks: he sees the way you will the stone to swallow you up, knows the feeling.

‘Please don’t hurt me,’ you choke out, hands trembling uncontrollably.

Something deep within Feyd’s soul withers and dies at your words. Forcing his jaw to unclench, his hands to release the fists they held, he shoves down his anger. The fury is for later, for when he has made things right - for now it is you that is his priority. Too late, a voice whispers in his ears, too late, too late, too late -

Gods, he deserves to burn at the fucking stake for this. He deserves eternal hell for this, he deserves worse. He is a fool: a blind, blundering fool, stuffed to the brim with paranoia and cynicism.

He sucks in a breath. ‘I will not hurt you. You have my word, whatever it is worth to you. I - I have made an irredeemable mistake, I - ’

After his first sentence, you have not heard him. Tears of relief soak your face, and you whisper needless apologies for them; it is an arrow through his heart that you fear him so - yet the pain is where it is due, justifiable for the way he has shamed you, belittled you.

‘May I - may I touch you, my wife?’

You do not know why you nod in reply of your husband’s strange request, but the moment you do, strong arms pull you into a solid chest, and a sob leaves you - he is so warm, warm enough to banish the seeping cold embedded in your bones, warm enough to let your sorrow flow anew, soaking his shirt as your hands bunch in its fabric, so that if he is cruel enough to leave you here, at least he will have to fight to do so. You have not been held in a long time.

Each of your shuddering sobs is a knife blade twisting in Feyd’s spirit. He lets the pain wash over him, clings to the way you burrow into his arms, a kind creature in the embrace of a monster. At one point, in the throes of your crying, you beat at his chest, telling him that you hate him, and he takes it with a bowed head, stroking your hair and holding you tighter once you exhaust yourself; this is only a fraction of his atonement.

You fall asleep in his arms. He carries you back to your quarters, and only once the door is closed behind him does he let his tears mingle with yours. Keeping you cradled to his chest like a child, he pours a glass of water for you to drink in the morning, knowing you will be dehydrated; he sets it on your bedside table before laying you down on the mattress.

You don’t let go of him, even in your sleep. His heart clenches, tight in his chest, and he drops a kiss in your hair before lying down beside you.

He believes he will love you, if you will let him.

Consciousness leaks slowly into your mind, and you blink, squinting through the beam of light that filters in through the curtains. From your months spent here, you’ve realised that Giedi Prime’s atmosphere is normally churned up with violent storms and choked with pollution, so this ray of sun that falls against your pillow, warming your face is far from unwanted - nor is the pale forearm tucked around your waist, firmly so, but not trapping you either.

Your husband’s chest fits snugly against your back, his breath warm and steady against your skin; his fingers splay out across your stomach, gentle, communicating so many things that were left unsaid. Vaguely, you remember falling asleep, nestled against his chest, tears drying on your cheeks.

When you roll over, you’re unsurprised that he’s already awake. With blue eyes softened by the sunlight, he regards you, fingers settled at the small of your waist. Something clouds his gaze, and he shifts, propping himself up on his elbows.

‘I owe you an explanation.’

You wait silently, unperturbed by the way he clenches his jaw. He vowed to you last night that he would not hurt you, and you trust that. Wordlessly, his lips open, then close, and you patiently watch him, far too well acquainted with how this man struggles to let down his guard - even now, you cannot read the twisting of his features, the way his eyes squint as he looks at you.

‘I - I thought you were a spy sent by my uncle,’ he finally confesses. ‘My uncle… when I was younger, he,’

Reaching out, you cup his jaw in your hand, running your thumb along his cheekbone until he relaxes. You see the battle in his eyes, to let go, to tell you the knowledge that he thinks you deserve, but you see with it the years of hurt, of solitude. Something hopeful, something beautiful blossoms within you - the realisation that this wounded beast before you is someone that you could grow to love; you want him to bare his scars to you, those that are long healed and those that still seep with blood.

‘All in good time, Feyd,’ you assure him quietly.

He sighs, touches his lips against your palm. ‘I am sorry, my wife.’

Slipping your hand down to grip his shoulder, you lean closer towards him so you can kiss him. An anguished sound leaves him, and you see clearly how he realises that he has wronged you, how it pains him, and yet how the taste of you awakens something tender within him - you marvel at it, that it has survived, buried within him for so long. Perhaps he will let you love him.

Feyd is neither forward nor insatiable in the way he kisses you. In fact, he pulls away first, moving to get up from the bed despite the way your hands grip his shoulders, and you almost doubt that he wants you before you glimpse the longing in his eyes that lingers before he pushes it down. You wonder if this man knows how to make love or if he just knows how to fuck, you wonder if he feels the same molten feeling in his stomach that you feel and that is why his movements are tinged with nerves as he gently escapes your grasp. It is clear to you: he does not want to scare you.

‘Must you go?’ You ask, tugging at his fingers.

He tilts his head. ‘I don’t know if you want me here, after what I have inflicted upon you.’

A streak of bravery takes ahold of you. ‘Please, Feyd, I want you.’

You delight at the fire that ignites in his eyes upon your words. He wastes no time in returning to your side, dropping a sweet tasting kiss to your lips before taking your chin in his hand, eyes searching yours as he sits between your thighs.

‘Tell me if you want to stop,’ he says. ‘Yes?’

‘Yes,’ you echo, blood heating your cheeks.

Feyd kisses you again, giving you time to rescind your reply if you want, but you just tug at the hem of his shirt, drinking in his sculpted chest when he pulls the black cloth over his head. Delicately, he trails his lips down your skin as he undresses you, his broad hands warm where they encircle your waist, holding you flush to him as his calloused palms explore your body, skimming over your spine and caressing your breasts before settling on your thighs and pulling them open.

You’re terribly aware of how wet you are when his eyes settle on your pussy. Instinctively, your knees tip inwards, your face growing hot at the hunger in his gaze, but his broad shoulders block your legs from closing, followed closely by his hands which gently push them back open. He smiles at the blush high on your cheeks, rubbing his thumb over your ankle in order to put you at ease.

The sound you make when he pushes his fingers into your cunt and curls them almost makes Feyd moan. You tremble for him, bashful, and he can feel himself rock hard against the mattress, aching for the tight clamp of your velvet walls. He wants to bury himself between your thighs, and so he does, your sweet slick exquisite on his tongue - he presses kisses like butterflies to your thighs, your hips, worshipping you as his fingers pump in and out of you to the same pace as your heaving chest.

You look beautiful, gilded by the sunlight, lower lip trapped between your teeth, but he doesn’t miss the way you grip the sheets with one hand, the other clapped over your mouth, panting as he pleases you. Stroking your thigh, he pauses, licking your slick off his lips.

‘Let me hear you,’ he bids.

You blush again but obey him, tremors wracking your body as he sucks on your clit, laving his tongue over it until you throw your head back, eyes rolling as you come, your honeyed moans and hot release exquisite upon his senses. He wants more, needs more of the taste of you, but you tug at his shoulders, whining for his cock, and he’d rather die than deny you.

The way you say his name when he buries himself inside you sets his soul on fire. You look beautiful beneath him, shaking and whimpering from the hot pulse of his length, clawing at his shoulders until he wears red marks that he’s proud to bear, moaning into his mouth when he kisses you. It seems you cannot get enough of him, and Feyd is more than fine with that because he finds himself addicted to the feel of you under his hands, begging him for more.

Feyd remains entranced long after he comes inside you, with you, your cunt spasming around him. You draw close to him, intertwining your legs with his as he kisses your face, your neck, your chest, making sure he has not hurt you, making sure you are sated. Curling your fingers under his jaw, stopping him, you look him in the eye and smile before kissing him, and he finds himself mesmerised again by you.

He is certain you will let him love you. He is yours.

#bald freak supremacy #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #austin butler #austin butler smut #dune #dune two #dune part two #dune 2 #dune part 2 #dune ii #dune part ii #feyd smut #feyd rautha fic #feyd rautha fanfiction #feyd-rautha #dune fanfiction #dune smut #atreides #house harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x you #dune x you #feyd oneshot #feyd x y/n #dune x y/n #feyd angst