#I know some things aren’t up to me but I’m determined | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

coryosbaby · 5 months

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we (8 billion people) are begging for dom fem reader and coryo dynamic. Why she always gotta be sub like my dom ass would slap the shit out of him ong

ʙᴇɢɢɪɴ’ ᴏɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴋɴᴇᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ !

Synopsis: Coriolanus will do anything to get to the top, right?

Content warning . power dynamics, loss of virginity, face riding, multiple orgasms, marking, sub!pussydrunk! Coryo, dom! Reader that’s a lil fucked up

notes: me when coryo has hair real . This kinda sucks I’m sorry

When you see Coriolanus Snow, you see a desperate man.

A boy, actually. You see a boy. A desperate, handsome, power hungry boy. You can see it in the way he towers over his peers in a sort of fake dominance, the fauxness behind his sugary sweet words directed to anything or anyone in a higher position— some even directed towards you, when that blush isn’t flushing his cheeks with a feral intensity.

As the daughter of Dr. Gaul, it’s quite easy for you to advance some of your friends in their studies. You are not only her daughter, but in a position of power yourself. You know people— and Coriolanus knows that. You aren’t dumb. You can tell by his eyes, the empty, icy blue orbs not quite telling the truth.

Coriolanus, in a way, is just like you.

Maybe that’s what intrigues you so much about him. Besides that pretty smile, or those golden curls or those muscles that make you drool, you admire his determination. You know about his poorness (not all know, but some do, as Dean Casca Highbottom once quoted to him), and you know one will go far to satiate their own greed.

It’s just a matter of how far.

—

Coriolanus walks into your lab crying, one day.

Not obviously. It’s subtle, as you demand he sit down and take off his shirt so you can stitch up his wounds. Your hands graze it softly, and he winces.

“Does it hurt?” You ask him, even though you already know the answer.

He lets out a shaky breath, his hands clenching at the seat.

“Yes.”

An honest answer. He must trust you.

You hum, beginning to work on his wound with taught precision. Looking at him now, his jaw is clenching tightly and the boy is shaking so much you fear he might break.

“I killed someone.”

He states it in a remorseful tone, the tone of someone weak and pathetic.

“Someone in the games, if I’m correct?”

He turns to look at you in surprise, as if you didn’t have access to your mother’s decision of allowing him to walk in there and save his friend Sejanus. He says nothing, then. He sniffles, and cries silently.

“You know,” you state, beginning to stitch him. “I’ve killed someone too. Someone I needed to kill.” You smile, remembering the one time a student who was threatening to take your place mysteriously fell into the pit of snakes. “It was necessary.”

Coriolanus tries to stay nonchalant, but you can see the way his shoulders tense. He doesn’t say a word, so you continue.

“Was it necessary to kill the person you killed?”

He looks down at his hands. Caked with blood, knuckles drawn taught. You want to bite them.

“No,” Coriolanus answers slowly. “No, it wasn’t.”

Maybe there’s more darkness to the boy than you originally thought.

You speak to him in a much lower tone now.

“Maybe it was. You just don’t know it.” And then, “There are a lot of things certain people can do to get to the top, Coriolanus.”

Your insinuation doesn’t go unnoticed. He moves his head to look at you.

“And what would that be?”

Typical. Someone so power hungry that his head turns at the mere mention of an opportunity. You’ve got him right where you want him.

You finish up his stitches. You move around to his front, your short red skirt all of a sudden incredibly suffocating as he looks up at you with something utterly pathetic in his gaze.

“How far are you willing to go, Coriolanus?”

And that’s when, a few moments later, you get your wish: that skirt, oh so suffocating, is strewn on the floor, Coriolanus’ big hands massaging the skin of your thighs as you straddle him. Your lips press against his in a hot and heavy kiss, your tongue massaging his lips with fervor. He may be doing this for advancement, but the blonde wants you nonetheless. You can see in the way his hips grind up, the way he lets out desperate whines as you lick up his tears with your tongue. Pulling away from him, your cunt clenches when he tries to push your body down onto his crotch.

“No, Coryo,” you demand, though your voice is desperate. “I want you on the floor, okay? You’re going to taste me first.”

He hesitates, his eyes darting to your lacey panties and then to the colorful tiles.

“… the floor?”

He seems nervous, jittery. It’s not as if he’s afraid of getting dirty, or something.

No, this is something else. In the way he nervously twiddles his fingers, the way his bottom lip catches in between his teeth. It’s not as if he wants to stop— it’s more so that he’s inexperienced.

And then it hits you.

Coriolanus snow is a virgin. This big handsome boy, beautiful and delicious, has never done had sex before. He’s never felt the touch of a woman, never eaten pussy or got his dick sucked.

And for some reason, that makes you want him more.

“Oh,” you coo to him, soft. “Coryo, you’ve never done this before, have you?”

His face turns dusty pink, but he tries to deny, deny, deny.

“What? No! Of course I’m not. I’m just..” he looks at the floor, his lie clear on his face. “The tiles are cold. Dirty.”

“You’re caked with blood and sweat, sweet boy. I’m sure the tiles will be fine.”

He looks away from you, his lips drawn up into a pout.

“I’m not a virgin.” He states, merely to himself. You raise a brow, an amused smile playing on your lips as you move farther away from him.

“Then why don’t you come and eat my pussy, baby?”

His cock strains against his zipper, and you swear you can see it twitch from where you’re standing. He gulps, and with a submission you would’ve never expected, the boy drops to his knees on the tile and makes his way towards you. His shirt, unbuttoned, shows the pretty lines of his chest and his rippling back muscles, and when he gets to you, he stops at the front of your still standing knees. Satisfaction wades through you when his hands move up to the waistband of your underwear and yanks them down with shaking hands. Your smell hits his nose, makes his head tilt back as he lets out a throaty sound in the back of his throat. His tongue laves over the skin of your inner thigh, his hands going around the back of one of your knees to pull you close. You spread your legs to allow him access, your pussy lips drenched with arousal as his breath laves over you.

“Go on, Coryo,” you urge. “You want me to put a good word to my colleagues, yeah? So you better do a good job.”

He moans, his tongue finally slipping in between your folds as he tastes you. He’s messy, sloppy, and it’s good but it’s not good enough.

“God. I thought you were experienced? Huh, Coryo? Don’t you wanna make me feel good? Are you even fucking trying?”

He pulls away from you, shame in his eyes as you scold him. He pleads, his lip wobbling, his arms holding onto your legs.

“Please, I’m sorry. ‘M so sorry. Teach me, please…”

He tries to press a kiss to your cunt, but you kick him away with your foot. He falls to the ground, helpless.

“Lay down—I don’t care if it hurts your back. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

He does as he’s told, all sweet and sweaty and bloody. His back hits the tile, injured but he ignores it when he watches you tower over him. You move down, pressing your knees on either side of his head. He grabs your thighs to place his mouth back on you, but you grab his golden curls in your hands and yank him back. He groans in pain, his feet kicking in a sort of pleasured resistance.

“You use your mouth when I tell you to, coryo,” you scold, watching the way his eyes flutter and only focus on your dripping pussy. “You do what I say. If I guide your head, or press myself down at a certain spot, you go along with it. Do you understand me?”

He nods, desperate to get his mouth on you, his cock thrusting into the open air.

“Good. Now, go slower. Stick out your tongue.. wider… therrre you go, baby.” His eyes focus on that one spot, his tongue hovering right over your clit. He must have read up on this a time or two. You press him closer, shoving his face into your heat as his tongue hits the swollen bud. “You see that? That’s my clit. Yeahh, stick your tongue right there…”

He groans, the taste of your sweet slick making his eyes roll back. His palms splay across your ass, digging crescent moons into the skin. You move your hips in a circular motion, giving Coryo the impression to move his tongue that way. He’s a smart boy, so he knows exactly what you’re communicating to him. His tongue moves in slow, languid circles, your slick already dripping down his chin. You can’t help but give into the pleasure he’s giving you for a moment, riding his face like your life depends on it before slowing down and stopping.

“Good, coryo. You’re being such a good boy. But you need to move your tongue down. You don’t want to play with my clit too much, because I’ll cum quick if you do.”

He makes a noise of understanding, moving his tongue down to your hole. It’s much funner this way, he thinks. The tip of his tongue can gather up the awaiting slick that’s spilling out of you, it makes your taste all the more prominent. You give him some room to experiment now, letting him move his tongue in between your clit and your hole. He catches on, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was experienced now— he’s a natural learner. Your hips grind down into him, and when he tongues your hole you use his strong nose to grind lazily against. Coryo can only breathe in your slick, his brain becoming fuzzy from his lack of air. But it’s okay. It’s okay because he’s doing good.

You can feel yourself getting close, the languid strokes of his tongue making your legs shake. You hump against his mouth, your head thrown back.

“Gonna cum,” you say to him. “Gonna cum on this slut mouth.”

He groans, his jaw working even harder now. He focuses on your clit more, save for the few times that he slurps up the slick from your hole. Your orgasm is fast approaching, your body drawing up tight.

And finally, you’re cumming on his mouth, moans spilling from your lips and Coryo’s. He’s desperate to catch all of your cum onto his awaiting tongue, his legs still moving around as he consumes you like a man starved. Your eyes roll back and you grind your hips against him as you come down from your high. Coryo pulls away once he’s satiated, looking up at you with his chin coated in slick.

You sigh, pulling your hips back to give him some air. You move your body off of him, going to your knees to watch his pussy drunk face still follow your cunt as you move. You want to return the favor, now. It’s only fair.

But looking down, you notice a wet spot soaking through Coryo’s pants.

He lifts himself up on his elbows, looking from his crotch to you. He flushes, apologies spewing from his wet lips, shaking his head.

“I tried not to. I really, really did. ‘M so sorry.”

He tries to reach out to touch you, but you just move away and down to his crotch. You unbutton his jeans, and he lets you. You look down at his red briefs, watching the white stain peeking through.

“Oh, baby. You just couldn’t help, it could you?”

You mock him, your hand palming his shaft. He lets out a whimper, his head falling back against the tile. He knows it’s too much, but he isn’t stopping you. You pull his briefs down, and boy is he big. Thick and long, all pretty and red with cum dripping down to his balls. Your mouth waters, but you figure that can wait another day. His seed can be used for other things.

You flutter your lashes at him, your hand wrapping around his shaft, jerking him to hardness again. He’s got this look, contorted and pained and pleasured at the same time. You straddle his meaty thighs, your cunt lips brushing over his cockhead, and he gasps.

“W-Wait—“ he starts, choked. “It’s.. ‘S too much—“

“Then why are you hard again?” You tilt your head at him, your movements paused because he didnt give you full permission. “Don’t you want my warm, tight pussy? Don’t you want to make it to the top?”

And that gets him going, his arousal for you and power and riches. He nods, eyes rolling back as you sink down on him. The cum from his last orgasm coats your walls and makes it easier to fill yourself up, warm white streaks dripping down his cock again.

“Oh.. oh my god,” his mouth drops open, and you’ve never heard a boy so vocal. “Please… I want it, I want it!”

You know what he’s asking for. Your stilled hips are non moving, letting him stretch you and sit heavy inside your cunt. You smile, moving your hips just a bit, letting him feel your gummy walls sucking him in. His mouth is in the shape of an o, his hair messy and disoriented. He tries to grab your tits, your hips, and with a surprising force your palm strikes his cheek haughtily. He cries out, his thighs shaking, his hips thrusting up.

“No touching,” you demand. “You don’t get to do that. Give me your hands.”

He lets you take them, and you push them far over his head as you begin to work your hips harder, faster. His balls make plop plop plop-ing noises as they hit your ass, quivering and begging for you to let them empty inside you. You move down to his neck, leaving purpleish bruises over his skin, marking him as yours. You let go of his hands so you can rest your hands on his torso, and his hands move up. Not necessarily to touch, but to hover over your tits bouncing through your tight fitted shirt. You give him permission, just a moment, to squeeze the soft skin in his hands, give them a teasing, bold little slap. You breathe shakily, his cock filling you up in ways no other has. You watch as Coryo’s head tilts back, and you know he’s close.

“Gonna cum?” You taunt, your nails scraping against his chest. He groans, nodding. “Gonna fill up my tight little pussy? Cmon, give it to me, I know you want to.”

And when he spills into you, rope after rope of warm, hot cum filling you to the brim, you let out a cry. His fingers find your clit— he’s thought this through, hasn’t he? He rubs you until you’re seeing stars and clenching around his overstimulated cock with a loud sob. He moves up to kiss you hot on the mouth.

“Did I do good?” He asks.

You smile, your hand threading your hands through his hair as you both relax against each other.

“You did very good, Coryo. I’m so proud of you.”

He breathes out a chuckle, shoving his face into your neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and he winces. His wound has been withstanding a lot of pressure.

“You probably want to put some ice on that.” You suggest to him. He shrugs.

“The tile was cold enough.”

#coriolanus snow #Coriolanus snow x reader #Coriolanus snow x fem! reader #Coriolanus snow smut #sub! Coriolanus snow #Coriolanus snow fanfic #Tom blyth #tbosas #the ballad of songs and snakes #the ballad of songs and snakes fanfic #thg #thg fanfic #the hunger games #hunger games #hunger games fanfic #Coriolanus snow tbosas

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kitkatscabinet · 6 months

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Don't feed him he'll come back (2)

simon riley x neighbour! reader

summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.

word count: 1.3k

A/N: Simon's POV of events. Find part 1 here. Part 3 here 18+ nsfw themes

Simon’s not entirely sure what to make of his pretty neighbour who fattens him up with their cooking and has a penchant for bad jokes that might outshine even him. From the moment he’d caught you staring with wide eyes he’d expected wariness, or outright fear, those were the typical responses. He hadn’t expected you to force a tray of pasta bake into his hands and then promptly disappear before he could get a word in.

It’s a bit ridiculous, but the random act of kindness set his teeth on edge, enough that he’d even suspected foul play briefly. Hunger and logic eventually won out over his paranoia and Simon devoured the tray embarrassingly fast. He’s not quite sure how to face you so he simply leaves the tray outside your door and assumes that will be that.

Except it’s not. For some reason you’ve taken it upon yourself to feed him, leaving an array of dishes from dinners to snacks. Apart from an initial note inquiring into allergies you adapt his diet on experience, taking note of what he does and doesn’t seem to enjoy.

He doesn’t know how to get you to stop, nor does he really want you to. Not when he’s become entirely too reliant on you feeding him, eagerly awaiting each new dish with the excitement of a hyperactive toddler.

Price says he’s got a crush, which is just absurd, the only thing he knows about you is your name. And that your left cheek has a dimple when you smile, and that you love your cat more than anything and that-

He doesn’t have a crush.

Then the elevator breaks. It breaks with only you and him inside and instead of panicking like he expected, you only seemed mildly annoyed for a few seconds before you turned to him with a conspiratorial grin. “A bear walks into a bar and says give me a whiskey and… cola. Why the big pause? Asks the bartender. The bear shrugged. I’m not sure, I was born with them.”

Simon’s a little floored and it’s probably only his shock that prevents him from laughing because dammit, that was better than some of his. What shocks him even more is that you aren’t deterred from his silence. If anything, you seem to take it as a personal challenge and your eyes glint in determination.

It’s both a mixture of the jokes and you’re adorable determination that finally pulls a chuckle from his lips and Simon will forever remember the way your face absolutely lit up at the noise.

It’s not until he provides a joke of his own before ducking into the safety of his apartment that he briefly thinks Price may have been onto something. He staunchly pushes that thought away but then you start leaving jokes with the food and he has to admit he’s in a little bit of trouble.

You wrangle his number from him (not that he resisted very hard) and then you wrangle him into your apartment and you make him watch as you flit around your kitchen in order to feed him.

His next deployment comes at exactly the right time and Simon is prepared to spend the months away getting over you. Except this doesn’t happen because you send him a joke every day without fail, not even deterred when he rarely responds.

You send a selfie of you and your cat and Simon stares far longer than is appropriate. He’s dreamt of you before, both innocently and not so. For some reason, the distance makes this worse and Simon wakes hard and aching for you more often than not.

(Johnny walks in on him with his hand in his pants staring at a picture of you once and neither of them can look at each other for days. He thinks this is preferable to the shit-eating grins Johnny throws his way now.)

For the first time in his life, Simon’s desperate to get back from deployment to the empty apartment he barely considers his home. The empty white walls and space not seeming as depressing when he knows you’re waiting for him just across the hall. Waiting to fill the dark void in his chest that grows when he loses access to your smile.

For the first time in his life, Simon doesn’t want to leave his apartment. Each time Price calls him away from your presence starts to weigh on his soul more and more. It’s getting harder and harder to stop being Simon, to put on the mask and be the Ghost when all he can think about is you.

It all comes to a head nearly nine months after he'd initially met you. As much as he tries to ignore the way his heart sings in your presence and aches in your absence Simon can’t really deny how he feels about you anymore.

You pull him from his dangerous train of thoughts when you plop down next to him on the couch. Not exactly a new move in of itself but even then he can’t help the way he shivers at the feel of your arm against his skin.

If asked Simon wouldn’t be able to tell you a single plot point of the movie you’d put on, not when his mind was running a mile a minute and he was trying not to smell your hair like a creep.

He tenses a little when you tip against him but doesn’t push you away. Instead, he can’t help but smile softly down at you as he watches you fall deeper and deeper into the clutches of sleep. Awe and adoration in his eyes as one of his hands lightly stroked your cheek, his other arm wrapping around you to pull you closer to his chest.

You’d wormed your way into his heart months ago with all your stupid jokes and your insistence on looking after him. Not once had you ever asked for anything in return, you even seemed offended at the implication.

He wasn’t stupid enough to let you in on his feelings, not when every time he left you could end up being his last. Simon had once accidentally caught you crying over your brother, a soldier like him, though not as lucky. Your brother was dead and buried and Simon saw the toll it took on you years later even when you tried to hide it.

You were the sun. You were light and everything that was good in this world, saw the good in him, and Simon refused to be the potential reason that light was snuffed out.

He wouldn’t do that to you. But Simon wasn’t completely selfless, so he held you in his arms as he slept, letting himself imagine a life where you could be together. A life where he got to come home to you and your stupid fat cat, his apartment no longer in use and he’d hold you just like this as you slept.

This wasn’t that life, but Simon still let himself pretend it was, just for a little bit. Because Simon couldn’t deny it any longer, he loved you, was in love with you. And for that, he had to leave before he ruined you.

Tags: @cooliofango @innercollectivecomputer

#x reader #cod mw x reader #simon riley x reader #kat’s writing #ghost x reader #cod simon riley #simon riley #cod ghost

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bonewreath · 3 months

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in which ellie shows you exactly who you belong to.

18+ minors dni!

You and Ellie aren’t together.

You’re not a couple. You’d both agreed to keep things casual. You’re just roommates who mess around sometimes; simple as that.

So why do you feel so guilty for going on a date with someone else?

You’re dressed and ready, adding the final touches to your makeup in the mirror, and you should be feeling excited - your date is a total dreamboat. Perfect on paper and so, so hot. But instead of that giddy, fluttery feeling in your stomach, all you feel is guilt.

You and Ellie aren’t together, you keep reminding yourself. You repeat it like a mantra in your head. There’s nothing wrong with going on a date, right? Because you’re single… Right?

On your way out, you run into Ellie, because of course you do. She’s sprawled out on the couch, head propped on a pillow, playing her Switch with a determined look on her face. Your stomach clenches when you see her. She looks up when she hears you walk to the front door, her eyes following you as you slip into your shoes.

“You look nice,” Ellie says from the couch. You look over and see that she’s paused her game; she’s sitting up and drinking in the sight of you, eyes lingering over your frame. You pretend not to notice.

“Thank you, Ellie.” You grin and look down at your outfit, palms smoothing over the fabric of your skirt. You do look nice.

“Where are you going?”

Your cheeks go hot at the question, and your first instinct is to lie - to tell Ellie that you’re going to see a friend. Just catching up with someone from college over dinner. But it’d be stupid to lie - you’re single. You’re allowed to go out.

“I’m, um, going on a date.”

You don’t look at her when you say it - you know you’d feel guilty, even if the two of you are just friends with benefits. Or… Roommates with benefits?

“Oh,” Ellie says, as you busy yourself picking off nonexistent lint from your shirt. Anything to avoid her gaze. “Okay. Have fun, then.”

There’s no bitterness in her voice, which you had expected. You glance at her face, and she’s back to that determined expression, focused on her Switch again.

You clear your throat. “Thanks. I’ll, um… See you later.”

Naturally, you spend the entire date thinking about Ellie. Her eyes, green and dotted with flecks of brown. Her hair, which falls in her face just right. Her mouth, and the way it feels against the supple flesh of your throat, Ellie’s lips soft and wet as she trails kisses down your neck.

And her hands - her strong hands. You can almost feel them on your hips, on your chest, between your legs.

God, this date was a mistake.

Still, you have the common decency to see it through. You pretend to be interested in your date’s job, their hobbies, their five year plan. They drone on for hours, only asking you a few pointed questions about yourself, and when the dinner’s finally over and they’ve signed the check, you’re itching to leave.

Not long after you’ve made it back home, you’re face-down on Ellie’s bed, moaning into the mattress as her tongue circles your clit.

She’d asked you about your date between heated kisses, her lips flushed and swollen. You hadn’t given her much details aside from it was boring and I just wanted to come home and do this. That seemed to give Ellie some sort of complex, because now, as she pumps her fingers into your cunt with one hand and lands a stinging smack on your ass with the other, she pulls back from mouthing at your clit to rasp, “That’s it, moan for me.”

And she’s always been talkative in bed, all slurred curses and dirty comments, but there’s something different this time. You arch your back deeper, giving her more access to pound her fingers into you, and she groans in approval.

“Good fucking girl,” she breathes, using her free hand to dig her blunt nails into the flesh of your ass. She gives it another spank for good measure. “Wanna tell me whose pussy this is?”

There it is - something she’s never said before. You can feel yourself getting wetter, tightening around her fingers as your hips involuntarily push backwards against her palm. You forget to respond entirely, every thought in your head smooth and shapeless, disappearing as quickly as it came. But Ellie won’t let you off so easily.

“Flip over,” she orders, the rasp in her voice sending a thrill up your spine. You obey wordlessly, and when you’re on your back, you see it: a possessive glint in her gaze, a sharp edge to her expression. You gush impossibly wetter, cunt clenching around nothing - the absence of Ellie’s fingers makes you want to sob.

“Ellie,” you whisper, brows knitting together. Her gaze softens. “Please make me come.”

A smile tugs at her lips and she nods, her palm rubbing over your stomach in soothing circles.

“I will, princess,” she assures you, “but I need you to tell me who you belong to. Think you might’ve forgotten.”

Guilt twists in your gut. “You, Ellie.”

“What about me?”

There’s a challenge in the teasing lilt of her voice. You swallow. “I… Belong to you.”

“Mm, that’s right.” Ellie’s hands travel upward from your abdomen to your chest, closing around each of your tits. You suck in a shaky breath when her thumbs stroke over your pert nipples, making them draw even more taut. “These are mine?”

“Yours,” you gasp, chest rising and falling quickly. Ellie’s bangs fall in her eyes as she leans over to suck a nipple into her mouth, tongue swirling over the bud until you go cross-eyed, hips canting upward. She repeats the same torture with your other breast, leaving both of your nipples swollen and sensitive.

“What about this?” Ellie asks when she pulls back, her hand moving to the heat between your legs. You whine, a desperate, pathetic little sound that makes Ellie want to eat you whole.

“Yours, Ellie, it’s yours,” you say, voice betraying how needy you are. She dips a finger into your wetness, your folds silky with arousal, and you almost miss the way her eyes flicker back into her skull for a moment. She’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

“This is mine?” She drags her fingers up to your clit, drawing torturously wide circles around it - close, but not close enough. You could start crying right there. You nod, frantic.

Ellie clicks her tongue, tuts in disapproval. “No, baby, I need to hear you say it. Whose pussy is this?”

And it’s not so hard to admit - Ellie’s had you under her spell long before you went on that stupid date tonight. You realize it now, cheeks warming at the obscene sounds of Ellie’s fingers playing in your cunt, unable to look her in the eye without squirming.

“My pussy’s yours,” you pant, “s’all yours. Nobody fucks me like you, Els.”

You’re pushing your hips towards her touch, your tits in your own hands now, pulling at your nipples like it’ll relieve the growing need in your belly. Ellie eyes you with half-lidded eyes, lust heavy in her gaze, and it’s like you can see the remnants of her resolve break. She sinks between your legs and finally, finally laps at your desperate cunt, drinking in the taste of you as you whine and writhe above her.

When you come, it’s with Ellie’s name on your lips. And you know it’s true - you’re entirely hers.

#a lil blurb for yall on this fine friday #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfic #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie fic #ellie smut #ellie x reader #ellie x reader smut #my writing #possessive!ellie #kira writes

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worldlxvlys · 2 months

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A CHRIS X READER THAT IS POC I BEG YOU ON MY HANDS AND KNEES BUT YK HOW THEY DID THAT COLLAB WITH SAM AND COLBY, TARA, JAKE, LARRAY AND JOHNNIE

BUT DURING THE COLLAB CHRIS WAS BEING REAL TOUCHY WITH THE READER LIKE WHEN SHE BENDS OVER HED PUT HIS HANDS ON HER CROTCH BUT NB SEES IT AND THEY EVENTUALLY F*CK PLS

last time

chris sturniolo x poc! reader

warnings: smutttt, p in v, cursing, unprotected sex, cream pie, choking, poc! reader, sexual jokes

a/n: writing for this friend group was so funnn

enjoyyy<33

“wait, ok chris! let me get up!” i exclaimed, laughing as chris squeezed his arms around me tighter.

we were currently at the triplet’s house with his brothers, jake, johnnie, tara, larray, sam, and colby.

when the entire group agreed we were hungry, i offered to make us something.

“so, what’s on the menu?” colby asked, eyebrows raised as he clapped his hands together excitedly.

“nothing, if chris doesn’t let me get up to make it” i spoke, causing him to glare up at me and squeeze me even tighter.

upon hearing the words, the entire group yelled at chris to get off of me, the hunger beginning to make them cranky.

“fine” he grumbled as he let go of me, allowing me to stand up.

i began to make my way to the kitchen when tara spoke up, “wait! i’ll help you” she smiled as she walked over to me.

once we got to the kitchen, which happened to be just out of earshot from the couch that the rest of the group resided on, she began to speak.

“so, you and chris aren’t together, right?” she asked.

i raised my eyebrows at her suspiciously at the statement, squinting at her. “why?”

she lightly chuckled at that, “i just noticed you guys are really touchy, but i don’t wanna assume anything” she said, raising her hands in defense.

i laughed at the gesture, “no, you’re ok. i don’t know what we are, honestly. i mean, we’re really close, probably closer than friends should be. but, neither of us are ready for a relationship, you know?”

it was true, chris and i had done some questionable things for just being friends.

it’s not like we had sex often, we just happened to get caught up in the moment once or twice.

…and a few times after that…. and a few more after those times.

but other than that, we had a completely normal friendship.

we were both aware of each other’s feelings, but we were content with where our relationship was at.

why risk messing everything up when we’re both happy ?

“so you guys don’t want to be in a relationship, you just want to act like you’re in one?” she pointed out, “that logic seems a bit flawed to me”

“you do have a point, but honestly? change is scary, and i’m not willing to completely dismantle mine and chris’s relationship because i got greedy” i spoke.

she tilted her head, squinting her eyes, “is that not what you’re doing right now?” she deadpanned. “you’re not worried that fucking around will ruin your relationship first?”

my eyes widened at the statement, “when did i say we were fucking around?” i defended, taken aback at how quickly she was able to figure it out.

“so y’all are? i knew it!” larray joined in, suddenly appearing next to me.

i quickly shushed him, not wanting chris to hear the conversation from his spot on the couch.

“keep your voice down, he’s right there! and where did you even come from?” i asked.

i glanced over to chris to determine whether he had heard the conversation, only to be met with his eyes already on me.

“you think he knows we’re talking about him?” tara whispered to us, catching his gaze on me.

“i don’t know, but girl he’s eye fucking the shit out of you right now” larray told me.

my jaw dropped at his words, a light giggle falling from my lips.

“oh our girl’s getting dicked down tonight” tara joined in.

“y’all have to stop” i spoke, the two collectively laughing at my flustered state.

suddenly, chris got up from his spot, beginning to walk over to the kitchen.

“oh shit, he’s coming over” i whispered to them.

“okay girl, go get your pasta and lobster” larray spoke, beginning to walk away.

“you got this!” tara whispered, walking away with him.

before i knew it, chris stood in front of me, a light smirk growing on his face.

“you guys talkin about me?” he asked, his hands finding their way to my waist.

“no” i denied, despite of us both knowing it wasn’t true.

"mmhm, you tell them how good i make you feel?” he asked as his fingers ran over the skin under my t-shirt.

“chris” i spoke, swallowing harshly.

“how you act all innocent in front of everyone else, but in bed you’re a freak?” he whispered into my ear.

“chris!” i scolded him, lightly slapping his chest. “what’s gotten into you?”

“what do you think? you’re walking around in this skirt, showing off your thighs. all i can think about is shoving my head between them” he spoke, his hands running down my body.

just before they could make their way to my thighs, a voice made us pull away, “you guys are real cute and all, but i’m hungry! chris, please just let her make our food” jake yelled from his spot.

his words caused tara to smack him upside the head, his face contorting into a wince at the feeling.

“what are you making anyway? we have, like, no food in our fridge” matt spoke up.

“oh, i know. i was just gonna make pizza rolls” i answered.

“we don’t have any pizza rolls” nick spoke, brows furrowing in confusion.

“yeah, we do” chris spoke, pulling them out of the freezer, “i bought her some”

i smiled bashfully at the statement, mouthing a “thank you” to chris.

he lightly nudged me with his shoulder in response, a smile of his own growing on his face.

“you two make me sick” colby spoke, “don’t be jealous, it’s not my fault no one buys you pizza rolls” i defended.

his eyes widened at that, taking offense to the words.

“ok, but wait, you said you were cooking something. this entire time i thought you were actually making us a meal” nick said, the group making noises of agreement.

“listen, y’all ! i’m not, nor did i ever claim to be a chef. i don’t know what you thought, but you were wrong” i spoke playfully.

“and nick, you know there’s no food, this is your house. where did you think i was getting ingredients from?” i asked as i placed the pizza rolls on a sheet.

“girl i don’t know, but pizza rolls aren’t gonna fill anyone up, those are like appetizers”

“ok then don’t eat any” i shrugged as i finished emptying the package.

“y’all can order something if you want, i’m really just craving pizza rolls” with that the group began to have a conversation about what they wanted to order.

“i’ll have some of your pizza rolls” chris spoke from beside me.

“good” i smiled up at him, before grabbing the baking sheet to place in the oven.

i bent over, pulling the oven open to place the sheet on the rack.

when my skirt rose up slightly, chris didn’t waist a second in placing his hand on my ass.

he quickly dipped his fingers into my panties, rubbing my heat.

he used his free hand to pull my front half back up, quickly covering my mouth with the palm of his hand.

“hmphhh” i lightly moaned into his hands, as his fingers explored my wetness, collecting my arousal on his fingers.

before i knew it, his fingers left my body, as he turned me around to face him.

he placed his fingers, which were now coated in my juices, into his mouth.

i watched intently as his tongue swirled around each finger, lapping at them like a starved man.

“hm, just needed a taste” he spoke, smirking at my shocked state, “you should probably close that”

“close what?” i asked him as i blinked rapidly, attempting to recover from his actions.

he nodded towards the oven with his head, “i don’t know how well they’ll cook if you leave the door open” he raised his eyebrows at me.

he was having the time of his life right now.

“uh- yeah, yeah you’re right” i spoke as i quickly closed the oven door.

“need some help with that?” chris asked as he stared down at my thighs, which were involuntarily clenching together.

i was doing my best to hold it together, but his actions turned me on far more than i’d like to admit.

“i’m fine” i spoke quickly, hoping he wouldn’t point out the fact that i was obviously lying.

but he, being chris, would never give me the luxury of sparing me from his teasing.

“really? you don’t look fine. you look like you need to be ruined” he whispered into my ear.

“chris, i’m not gonna have sex with you with all of these people in the house”

“really? don’t think that’s stopped you before” he spoke cockily.

“we said that the last time was gonna be it, remember?” i reminded him, placing my hand on his chest.

“yeah, you’re right, we have to stop. so we’re done doing this” he nodded his head at me.

“yup, that’s it. it’s done”

well, it was done. until-

“fuck, chris! yes, yes, yes ! right fucking there, holy shit” i did my best to keep quiet, as chris pounded into me from behind.

“one last time, just one last time” he whispered to himself while he drove himself in and out of me like his life depended on it.

“if this is the last time, i’m gonna make sure you remember that no one else will ever fuck you like i do” he whispered into my ear, chest pressing against my back while my eyes rolled into the back of my head.

“ you got that? can you say it back to me, princess? “

“i- no one, no one will ever fuck me like you do” i heaved out, fisting his sheets as continued to push himself deep inside of me.

“damn right” he rasped, as he gave my ass a slap, eliciting a moan from me.

“god, what did i do to deserve you? you’re so fucking good for me, holy shit” his head fell back as he moaned out.

“you feel so good in me, chris. don’t want anyone else, just you” i spoke back to him.

“yeah? am i making you feel good, baby? that’s all i ever want, just want you to feel good” he whispered, his fingers digging into my waist.

“you always do, baby. always feel so good with you” i moaned back.

my mind grew fuzzy as he went from giving sharp, quick thrusts to slow and deep ones, allowing me to feel every inch of him.

“love fucking you hard, but i gotta show you how much i care bout you” he spoke before burying his nose into my neck.

he placed a sweet kiss to the skin, before pulling it between his lips.

he sucked on the skin until it became darker, making it known that he had been there.

his arms wrapped around my waist, holding me close to his body as his cock stretched out my pussy.

“i don’t- fuck chris, it’s so good” i choked out as he continued to leave kisses against my skin.

“love seeing you like this, all fucked out under me. you’re so fucking beautiful, can’t believe you’re even real” he whispered.

“all yours, chris. you’re the only one who gets to see me like this”

i pushed my hips back into him, grinding on his dick, as he wrapped a hand around my neck to choke me.

“god, oh my-” he whined out his dick twitching inside of me.

“you gonna cum for me, chris?” i asked as i felt myself on the brink of my own orgasm.

“yes, yes, please cum with me” he whispered, head dropping to the crook of my neck as he shot his seed inside of me.

he continued to thrust into me, the coil in my stomach snapping as i coated his cock in my pleasure.

coaxing me through my orgasm, he gave a few more sloppy thrusts, before gently pulling out of me.

“did so good for me” he mumbled, pressing a light kiss to my shoulder.

“was that good ? did i hurt you?” he asked as he went to lay down next to me.

“of course it was good, chris. and i’m okay” i told him, cupping his cheek.

“good, let me clean you up and we can cuddle?” he asked, a grin taking over his features.

“yeah, sounds good“ i spoke as i heard my phone vibrate on chris’s nightstand.

when i opened it up, i was met with unopened text messages:

THE ULTIMATE CROSSOVER ❗️(10 MEMBERS)

matty b 💁🏻‍♂️ 9:01 pm

SHUT THE HELL UP ! WE CAN HEAR YOU ALL THE WAY OUT HERE

nick 👑 9:01 pm

oh great you guys pissed off mat

(i agree w him)

johnnie 🧛🏻 9:02 pm

i’m just waiting for my food

jake 🕸️ 9:10 pm

CHRIS STOP FUCKING AND TELL US WHAT U WANT SO WE CAN ORDER OUR FOOD

tara 👅 9:10 pm

YOU SHOULD’VE GOTTEN IT BEFORE THEY DISAPPEARED TOGETHER

TF WERE U EXPECTING DUMBASS

larray 💅🏽 9:15 pm

🍝+ 🦞

if it’s not snowing she ain’t going y’all

sam 👻🌝 9:34 pm

update: we ate your pizza rolls

colby 👻🌚 9:34 pm

we’re still hungry hurry up

y/n ⭐️ 9:41 pm

MY PIZZA ROLLS ???

FUCK EVERY SINGLE ONE OF U HOES

IMMA FIGHT Y’ALL 🤺🤺

chris 🦌 9:41 pm

oops

my bad guys

nick 👑 9:42 pm

chris come do the walk of shame out here so i can beat your ass 🙂

TARA 🧚🏻‍♀️ 9:20 pm

🌀🌀🌀🌀

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @sturnssx @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @sturniolololover @meg-sturniolo @yamamasjumpercables @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @luverboychris

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celestialscatterbrain · 5 months

Text

1. Natal Chart Observations

1. Libra Moon: decision paralysis that comes from feeling two contradicting ways about an issue. “I want my cake but I want to eat it too.” I feel like libra moons are the most sentimental of the air moon signs. Libra moons can constantly weigh out the pros and cons for every emotion you feel. “I want to do this but I don’t want to deal with how messy it’ll make things.” When libra moons are feeling a little lost, they can over-schedule themselves and their commitments to friends to avoid thinking about overly-vulnerable feelings. There is zero tolerance for imbalance in relationships. Poor behavior from a partner will be met with matched behavior to tip the scales back to a balanced one, even if the overall locational of the scale is descending into negativity. “You get what you give” mentality. Libra moons can be keen on the idea of karma. “Come to me with sweetness, or don’t come to me at all.” Daydreaming about romance is a relaxing way to pass time. Before maturity, libra moons might suffer from social anxieties when they find themselves in group settings where there isn’t a cohesive vibe. If someone around a libra moon doesn’t look like they are having a good time, it subconsciously makes it difficult for a libra moon to relax. The libra moon will then play the role of a diplomat or host/hostess to ensure the vibes equalize to restore their peace.

2. Mars in the 10th house: these natives are always making money. They are known for their side hustles too. They are always looking for new ways to make money and I feel like they are good at getting clientele. They will get their hands dirty for their job. For a man, this can point to a “blue collar ‘manly’ job.” I noticed 10H mars can be pretty generous with their money and services, but feel extremely terrible about getting help from others. If these natives aren’t confident where they are in their career or skill set(s), I noticed that they are likely to undersell themselves or undercharge for their services/time. It can also point to people in the workplace as perceiving the 10H mars person to be brash and outspoken. The authority figures in their career can feel a sense of competition with the 10H mars person, or wants to humble them in some way. I feel like it’s really easy for them to get good jobs or climb up the ladder when they do things the right way. They get impatient when they aren’t growing in their careers as fast as they want to. “Why am I not a millionaire yet.” They work hard for what they want and are very ambitious once they find their niche. I feel like these are often people who can find jobs that don’t necessarily need a degree. Their career mistakes feel explosive. They can be seen as “sharks” in their fields because they go in for the attack. They like to be the best and the most competent at what they do, and want their colleagues to see them as competition. “I’m the best and no one will tell me otherwise.” They can be known for being assertive and extremely determined in meeting their goals. They will work themselves to the core and utilize all their energy towards elevating themselves career and reputation wise.

3. Mars in the 1st House: These people might often be noticed for their bodies. They might be seen as someone you shouldn’t mess around with. They look athletic. Maybe they are known for fitness or for being athletic. These natives can be associated with the military, and probably look incredible in their uniforms. This is a man-eater or womanizer placement, for sure. “I get what I want when I want it.” They look like they have a rough exterior, even if they are sweethearts. They can be into martial arts. Commanding presence. They can make wonderful personal trainers. Regardless of gender, they can come off as being comfortable with their masculine energy. Reds look great on them. They might have thick eyebrows and a nice jawline. They look attractive when they are angry. They know how to make someone feel sexy. They have people chasing them or falling for them fast.

4. Pisces and 12th house placements: these people have no problem ghosting you. Pisces placements and 12H placements are always made out to be innocent and naive, but they are attracted to people and situations that have something a little “bad” about them. Savior complex. They can go through feelings where they feel detached from social settings and those they love, where they cannot fully escape the role of observer. They will always be able to fully escape into their internal landscape and get consumed by it— but it seems as though no matter how hard they try, they can’t have that same presence in the material world. This can lead to frustrating feelings of disconnection from the world and people around them. They can be smiling and staring off, but you will never fully know what they are thinking. They can make people really curious about them, because their thoughts always catch you off guard. Having an existential crisis on the daily. Casual things might have a bigger internal meaning to them that others might not always understand. We can find plenty of people attractive, but if the spark isn’t felt in the soul and doesn’t pique a deep curiosity, we will get bored and swim away. Liking people who are a bit “mean and dark” but wanting them to be sweet and soft with you. Using music to paint your daydreams, or to escape. Finding music that relates almost entirely to whatever they have on their mind feels like striking gold. They can like someone just for having the same interests as them. Feeling like a ghost in a flesh suit. Enigmatic. Can embody different vibes and personas depending on who they are around. They are sensitive and can adapt to the situations at hand. Too much self awareness can lock them in their heads. “I only jump into waters with the depth of an abyss.” Laying down for hours just to daydream and process your thoughts. Long baths feel like therapy. Moderation isn’t in our vocabulary. We love what we like, and we want to get lost in what we love. Not being able to properly process your day or interactions until you’re alone and can replay them in isolation.

5. Taurus Placements: I noticed Taurus moon women get spoiled financially by their partners. The type for their partners to say “don’t worry, I’ll work and you can be at home,” or that being their partners goal at a point. I noticed Taurus placements can enjoy the occasional shoplifting. They are not going to compromise their comfort, and if you come after that it will be met with intense stubbornness. They can seem nonchalant about a lot of things, but can be extremely unwavering in their opinions on certain things. In some cases, they can have strange eating habits or relationship to food. Thankfully, the Tauruses I’ve been around don’t project that on those around them. It’s more internal from what I’ve noticed, and they can enjoy feeding those they love and care for. They can have great taste in food. They love sensual vices and sex. They look great with pearls. They master an aesthetic and can stick to it. They are fiercely protective of those they love. They can be lazy at their worst and will not want to do anything that requires too much effort. They can be impressively good at couponing. Making money from home is the ideal setup for them. They will spoil their loved ones too, and can be great gift givers. They don’t cheap out with presents for their loved ones. They get much enjoyment from decorating their spaces and hosting their loved ones. They can be prone to overthinking and some may obsessive behaviors or crippling anxiety as well. They can honestly make the best scammers, as terrible as that sounds. They can sell someone a dream and make it sound beautiful, but can be lying through their teeth. Their jealousies can sometimes come from a place of vanity. Watch out for envying others, and appreciate your own beauty. They can focus so much on the beauty around them they forget about their own. They can be the image of beauty and grace, or strive deeply for that. They have pretty and soothing voices. Taurus placements can easily be the funniest person you know when they are in a joyful mood. I also noticed Taurus placements are wonderful at finding vintage pieces and re-selling them!

-D

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mortalmab · 5 months

Text

Merlin puts up a sheet in the armory where all the knights can see. It’s their names in brackets like a tourney list. They were not aware there was a tourney coming up? What is this?

They notice Merlin observing them and making some notations. Not just during practice but all day. When he sees them around the castle, when they are relaxing at the Rising Sun, everywhere. It’s getting unnerving.

After a few days, some of them have moved up in the lists and some have not. And they have no idea why. Sir Ban seems to have bested Sir Agravaine (though let’s be honest, most of them would say they weren’t surprised). Sir Gareth won against Sir Kay and would now be facing off against Sir Devore who had won against Sir Mellion.

Now the knights are on their best behavior whenever Merlin is around. They still aren’t sure what they are being judged on, but damn if they aren’t going to WIN!

The next time the brackets go up, more knights are knocked out of the running for…whatever the criteria are.

The knights are now doing their absolute best on the practice fields. King Arthur commends each of them for their form - on point like he has never seen. Some kind of fire has been lit under them and he doesn’t know why but he likes it!

The next brackets go up and still they are no closer to figuring out why the winners are winning. You would think they would be insufferable about it - like any tournament - but since they don’t know why they were winning, they can’t be sure they are doing the right thing to win next time.

The knights of Camelot are suddenly the most chivalrous, most well behaved, most dedicated to their craft in all of Albion. The people are amazed at their sudden kindness and generosity. Meanwhile each of them grow more and more paranoid as the brackets keep going up.

Quests! Maybe it was quests? The knights start going out on quests and the word fame of Camelot spreads.

Arthur cannot figure out what has come over them all.

Arthur: Merlin, have the knights seemed…different to you?

Merlin: oh, you mean since I put up the lists?

Arthur:…what lists?

Merlin: the lists where they think they are competing with each other.

Arthur: competing for what?

Merlin: I have no idea what they think they are competing for but they sure are working hard to win it!

Arthur: and how exactly are you determining these “winners?”

Merlin: oh I’m just flipping a coin. They don’t know that though and they are all being extra nice to me😁

Arthur: so this was all…

Merlin: for shits and giggles, yeah

#merlin #could be read as #bbc merlin #but also #Arthuriana

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shooting-love-arrows · 6 months

Note

could you write where darling wakes up and sees 1950s husband in the middle of his morning routine and finds out hes not as neat as they thought?

but instead of taking it badly they love him even more

Dear Anon,

Aww, that's heartwarming!

@shooting-love-arrows

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎'𝐬! 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 and not so perfect morning

PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 x reader (gender not specified/mentioned/implied) Tw. angsty, hurt and comfort. A/N: I decided to take into consideration this question when writing this fic. So it is longer and about our dearest 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Squeeack…

You were awoken by the quiet and familiar sound of the bathroom door being open. It means only one thing: your dear husband was currently in the bathroom. Like every other day during this time around.

“Ugh…” A soundless groan of misery left your mouth. Unluckily you didn't sleep well that night. Your sleep was shallow and you couldn't seem to find a comfortable position. Not to mention you woke up to every sound you could hear. And just when you were slipping into a blissful dreamland, your bathroom doors decided to prevent you from slipping further. For now, you snuggled closer to your fluffy pillow. Your thoughts began to roam freely but at some point focused on something that has been bothering you for a while.

It was confusing.

At the very beginning of your marriage, you found it surprising. Not many people were that determined to wake up early in the morning. After a few months, you reasoned that it was just part of his personality. Perhaps a perfectionist problem? Part of his routine he didn’t want to stray from? You didn’t know and you didn’t want to pray. Your logic was that if he wants to share it with you, he’ll do so. But after months turned into years, with you still being left in the dark, you began to feel…doubt.

“Why does he do that?” You wondered more than once. You had no idea what was the reason why your sweetheart got up before you, shuffled around the bathroom, only to come back to bed right before your alarm clock rang, like nothing ever happened. “What does he do there? Should I ask him? Does he want me to ask him? Maybe I should wait for him to tell me himself?”

So many questions, so little answers…

You sighed heavily. It looks like you won’t be able to catch some zzz’s anymore. You were too awake, especially with your mind running miles an hour.

“What a pity…” You rolled over your back and groggily opened your eyes. You blinked a few times to adjust your eyesight. The familiar white ceiling of your cozy bedroom greeted you like an old friend. Streams of warm sunlight were shyly peaking in the room from behind the gaps of the closed curtains. Everything stood still. It was peaceful. You let yourself sink into the soft bed and strained your ears to hear your husband shuffling in the bathroom. You wanted to say you were content but… “What a pity he isn’t here with me…”

You let your eyes slide over to the other side of the bed. It tugged on your heart that it was cold and empty with a messily thrown blanket and a pillow with a dent the size of your husband's head is what has greeted you. It was a let down. You wished he was there to greet you with his brilliant smile that seemed to light up the room, whisper to you a ‘good morning, my darling’ that always caused your heart to skip a beat and let you kiss his soft lips that perfectly molded with yours. This is what you needed to start a good day.

Involuntarily you did a big and satisfying stretch. Your body felt heavy and begged you to stay in. Just lay down…under those fluffy blankets. Let yourself relax and wait for your dearest husband to climb back beside you. Wake up to him and cherish those kisses you'll share…

“I’m spoiled fella, aren’t I?”

There was no point in dwelling about such matters this early in the morning.

With a heavy sigh, you bravely fought those demons of laziness and decided to get up. You decided to invest this energy in something productive instead. And there’s so much to do around the house!

“Hold on a moment…isn’t my husband in the bathroom?” Your mind went blank before you eagerly jumped out of your bed. You wouldn’t miss a chance to spend more time with the love of your life.

You shuffled towards your bathroom, barely containing your happiness. So high on positive emotions and not expecting anything unusual, you didn’t even hesitate to open the door.

Squeeack!

There was a beat of silence. Both of you froze for entirely different reasons.

You stopped mid stride when entering the small space. Your jaw went slack when your eyes took a closer look at your husband. Your shoulder dropped and you took a deeper breath. His face was…bare. His glistening face seemed to be freshly washed since it was glowing in the warm light. He…he was mesmerizing.

While you were too busy admiring the entirely new side of your husband you didn’t notice how 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 seemed to be feeling the exact opposite of you. His eyes widened till the white was showing around his irises and his stare didn’t dare to stray from you. His breathing quickened and his body began to fold, hoping to make himself smaller.

This couldn’t be happening…it can’t be! How…why are you awake? Why are you here? You…fuck…you found him out!

“Swee — ”

“This can’t be happening…! You…no…how…?” You were cut off by your husband's quiet and wobbly muttering. Your eyebrows threw together and your body grew still. You were quick to note how your husband hid his face from you and was hunched over the sink. You heard just how heavy his breathing has become. Something was clearly wrong.

“Sweetheart…?”

The reality around 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 became more vivid. His senses heightened to the point he was sure he could feel his surroundings. He was sinking so deep into his headspace he began to get lost there. Everything was becoming too much. His head, his thoughts and his feelings were ripping him apart. And the reason behind it was very valid. Whatever he has built around his person, whatever worth he had in your eyes and the control were gone with the swing of those blasted doors!

“Dearest?”

He was falling apart.

You flinched back (but only because you didn’t expect it) when he started laughing hysterically. Your concern for your husband only grew tenfold when you saw his state worsening by every second. You wanted to help him however you didn’t understand what could be the cause of this. Was it…you?

It turns out you didn’t have more time to analyze the situation, because you had to rush over when you saw your husband crumbling to the floor. Before his body could hit the ground at full force, you caught him safely in your arms. He was hyperventilating and you feared that he would pass out from the lack of air. His body was shaking badly and muttering things under his nose like a madman. Just like you did many times before in different scenarios, you tucked his head into the crook of your neck, laid your chin on top of his head, brought him safely into your arms to hold him tightly. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 closed his eyes, brought his knees close to his chest and circled his arms around them. He curled into a tight ball, slowly rocking back and forth in your arms.

Sob…sob…sob…

But your heart broke when you heard the first sobs escaping his lips.

You really wished you would know what to say or do in that situation. You wished you were more educated on that matter so you could be useful. You wished you could fulfill your role as his lifetime partner to him. Unfortunately, for now you had to rely on your instinct with a promise to be better and aid your husband in the time of need.

Starting now.

“Let it out love…let it out…” You whispered against his ear and started caressing his head. Sweet nothings began to pour out of your mouth soon after. Half of his curls were freed from the curlers and you carefully carded your fingers through them in a soothing motion.

“Y…you…u…fo…fou…nd…out…!” He wailed in your neck after a while of intense crying. His voice held nothing but despair, pain and heartbreak. Not to mention he could barely speak with how violent his sobs were. You blinked rapidly, scrambling to understand what he meant by that.

“What have I found out, dearest husband?” You lowered your voice.

“You…you…w…will…leave…leave…me!” He choked out those words like he didn’t hear your question.

Your eyes widened when you heard this statement. How could he think you’ll leave him? What’s the reasoning behind this logic? Are you failing as a partner? Apparently so because otherwise, your husband shouldn’t be saying, nor even thinking, about such dark thoughts.

Some moments passed before you opened your mouth again.

“For better and for worse…for better, for worse…for richer, for poorer…in sickness and in health…until death do us part.” You whispered those sacred vows, engraved in your mind till the end of your time. You squeezed him tighter so your bodies were melting against each other. Your husband's eyes widened when he heard them, especially when laced with so much love and adoration just like during your wedding. His chest was heaving up and down, violent hiccups jolting his body. His face was flushed, fat tears pouring from his eyes and snot steadily coming down his nose.

He was at his worst, ugly and disgusting. And you…you dared to say those words? Why…?

“Be it whether you’re at your best, at your worst, when we’re young and when we’ll grow old, whether you wear your makeup or not. I am here for you.” You swallowed thickly and fought against your own tears. Your husband needs you and you won’t fail him ever again.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 processed your words before he let out another wail that echoed in the bathroom. You felt your husband latching onto your waist and clutching onto it tightly. He was afraid that if he won’t hold tight enough you’ll get up and leave him for good. He buried his face in your neck and continued to cry harder. He was reduced to a crying mess and shadow of the person he usually portrays himself as.

“I will never cease to love you, the dearest love of my life.”

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

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waskurttrans · 2 years

Text

Kurt Cobain Will Have His Revenge on the Straights

Had a video call with my brother Chuck the other day. Things got heavy:

KATE: Was Kurt Cobain a trans woman?

CHUCK: What?

Kurt Cobain. Rock musician. He was in a band called Nirvana.

I’m familiar with him, yes.

Was he a trans woman?

Um. No?

OK. Why not?

I mean, he wasn’t. It’s like asking why he wasn’t an astronaut.

He wasn’t an astronaut because he never went to space. Why wasn’t he a trans woman?

Because he didn’t transition. I mean, he didn’t ever say he was a woman, didn’t ever say he was trans. So no. Kurt Cobain wasn’t a trans woman.

So someone is trans if they say they’re trans. Self-determination.

That’s what you’ve told me. Is that wrong?

No, that’s right. We know ourselves better than anybody else can know us. If we say we’re trans, nobody can say we aren’t.

And Kurt Cobain never said he was trans.

So was I trans in 1994?

I don’t know, were you?

Yes, but if you’d asked me in 1994, I would have told you “no”.

So if I tell you I’m trans, I’m trans…

Right.

But if I tell you I’m cis, I might still be trans?

If you tell me you’re cis, I believe you.

That’s not the same thing as “I’m cis”.

That’s a really good point. This is sort of what some queer people are getting at when they say “gender is a construct”.

Come again?

Well, you’re cisgender, right?

As far as I know, yes.

Aha.

Hmmm?

You hedged. “As far as I know” isn’t the same thing as “yes”. “As far as I know” opens up the possibility that you could be trans and not know it.

It doesn’t seem terribly likely.

That’s an interesting statement. Early on in transition one of the biggest problems I had was dealing with the sheer unlikelihood of my being trans. I mean, I knew trans people existed. I knew somebody had to be trans. I just couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that it would be me.

Do you think this is why you’re on this whole “Kurt Cobain was a trans woman” kick?

Hey now, I’m just asking questions. You know. Like J.K. Rowling is “just asking questions”.

Kate, you are literally wearing a T-shirt that says “KURT COBAIN WAS A TRANS WOMAN” on it right now.

Am I? Oh, shit. I thought I was wearing my “Skip school, take hormones, kill God” T-shirt. To your question, though - yeah, I do think that’s part of it. Honestly, the hardest thing about growing up trans was believing that nobody in the world had ever experienced what I was experiencing. I didn’t have any role models. I didn’t wonder if I was the only one. I was convinced of it.

So being able to say that this incredibly gifted songwriter, the voice of a generation, was a trans woman like you…

I need someone like that. I need to not be the first of my kind.

Of course you’re not the first trans woman.

No, but before a couple of years ago almost every trans woman would tell you they always knew, unquestionably and innately, that they were women.

So it’s not just about him being trans, but specifically his being a trans woman who didn’t know he was a trans woman.

An egg. Right.

Why Kurt Cobain, anyway? What’s so special about him that you’re trying to induct him into the Egg Hall of Fame?

He knew things. Things cis guys don’t know. Things I didn’t know until after I started transition. He understood women, what we’re like, what we experience. “Pennyroyal Tea”. “Rape Me”. I just have a hard time thinking of a cis man who could write songs like that.

It wouldn’t be the only way in which he was exceptional.

True. Ahhh. I don’t know. I mean, I know, I can give you all the reasons, but there’s something in his eyes.

Something in his eyes.

All the pictures of him. No matter what he’s doing. If he’s grinning, or sad, whatever he’s doing, you can see something trapped there. Trapped and in pain, wanting to get out but not quite knowing how.

Huh. You, uh, know that what you’re doing is pretty much the textbook definition of projection, right?

Maybe. Chuck, do you think I’m happier?

Since you transitioned?

Yeah.

Of course. Absolutely. Night and day.

Everyone says that, and honestly, I see it. Even in pictures, you know? I see it. You’ve seen some of my transition timelines, right?

You do look really different.

It’s not just me. Every single person who transitions looks like that. We look so much happier, so much more alive, so much more us. I don’t understand how anybody can hate us.

I don’t get it either, Kate.

And when I look at any timelines, I look at the before photos… and I see something in their eyes. Transmasc, transfem, doesn’t matter. There’s something trapped wanting to get out. Every picture I’ve ever seen of Kurt Cobain looks like the “before” picture on a transition timeline. It’s just that with him, there aren’t any after pictures.

And it’s not just the eyes, either. The way he dressed, the whole “grunge look”. It’s just literally egg fashion. We dress with total disregard for our appearance or how we look because no matter what we do it’s wrong.

“Egg fashion”, egg this, egg that… isn’t it a little bit anachronistic, judging him by 2022 standards, 2022 values?

Is it? Chuck, I was alive in 1994. I was an 18 year old egg. I know what that feels like. I know what that looks like. I lived that. Why didn’t I come out as trans in 1994? Because I didn’t have the opportunity. Because self-determination needs to be informed, and none of us were. None of us. Look. You know what he said to Melody Maker in 1991? “I knew I was different. I thought that I might be gay or something because I couldn't identify with any of the guys at all.” That’s what he said.

Holy shit. Really?

Really. September 14, 1991.

Hold on, let me look that up. Oh, yeah, I see it. Look, if you look at the full quote he’s just saying he’s not a jock. Like he didn’t fit in with the jocks.

Well, what about the dresses?

What dresses?

Kurt Cobain wore a lot of dresses. Like, a lot, both onstage and off. On MTV in 1991, he said “It’s ‘Headbanger’s Ball’ so I thought I’d wear a gown.” He said in a 1993 interview, “I personally like to wear dresses. I wear them around the house sometimes.” This is not some shameful secret he kept hidden from the world. He was open about this. He was proud about this.

Yeah, but… it’s just clothes.

Except it’s not just clothes. Listen to his songs. Listen to his lyrics. “Should have been a son”. “I’m a lady, can you save me?” “Everyone is gay.” The original lyrics to “All Apologies” from his journals – “Boys write songs for girls. Let me grow some breasts.”

I mean they’re song lyrics. There are all kinds of ways to interpret song lyrics.

Sure. All kinds of ways. You ever read Michael Azerrad’s biography of Cobain, Come As You Are?

Nope.

Azerrad spent weeks talking to Cobain. He was Cobain’s biographer, but also his friend. And he has his own interpretation of the lyrics. For instance, Azerrad talks about all the lyrics about guns, and to me, now, I look at that, and I think of how he died, but Azerrad, when Kurt was alive, he looked at it another way. He thought it’s about dicks. “To paraphrase Dr. Freud,” he says, “sometimes a gun is just a gun. But not this time.” He talks about “Come As You Are”, where Kurt keeps singing “I swear I don’t have a gun.” That’s not my interpretation. That’s never been my interpretation. That’s what this cis man says. More than one cis man. Kurt says Dave Grohl’s dad, he said the same thing. Yeah. There are all kinds of ways to interpret lyrics.

“By this time,” Azerrad wrote, “one begins to wonder how Kurt rationalizes being a man at all. His first response is revealing. ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘Castration.’” I don’t wonder how Kurt rationalizes being a man. I rationalized “being a man” in all kinds of ways. What strikes me is that he needed to rationalize being a man. Had to come up with some kind of excuse. It just strikes me kind of funny.

Kurt’s songs have meanings. The lyrics to “In Bloom”, Kurt was pretty explicit about that. The lyrics he wrote have meanings. “Heart-Shaped Box”. You know what that refers to? When Courtney Love was flirting with Kurt, Michael Azerrad says in Come As You Are, “She gave Dave (Grohl) a package to give to Kurt – little sea shells and miniature teacups and a tiny doll, all packed into a small heart-shaped box.” A tiny doll locked away inside a box shaped like a heart. That was what I felt like before I came out. A tiny phantom doll. Kurt and Courtney first kissed after a show at the Cabaret Metro in Chicago. Rumor was that they fucked against the bar, but they denied it. What actually happened, Azerrad says, is that “Courtney had a bag of lingerie with her for some reason and Kurt ended up modeling the contents.” And then they went to Kurt’s hotel room and they fucked.

You’re making it sound…

Maybe it was. Because you look at that and you think that if it was like that, it was perverted and wrong, because that’s what you were told, that it’s a sick fetish thing, and I look at it and it isn’t. To me, that’s normal. That Kurt Cobain was sexually aroused while wearing Courtney Love’s lingerie, that’s normal.

Kate, he was a punk! He hated jocks, and wearing a dress pissed off jocks, so he wore dresses. He talked about wanting to wear a dress and piss on a redneck A&R man’s desk! You think that was some kind of sex thing?

Sexuality is part of being a woman. Part. Rage – and Kurt Cobain had a lot of rage inside him – that’s another part. Am I interpreting, am I looking at things from my perspective as a trans woman? Yes, certainly, just like you’re interpreting, looking at it from your perspective as a cis man. When cis people interpret things, their conclusion is never “they were trans”. Never.

Ed Wood wasn’t a trans woman. He was just a transvestite. He was a man.

Pete Burns from Dead or Alive wasn’t a trans woman. Sure, he got all sorts of feminizing surgeries, but he never said he was a woman. Man.

Prince Nelson adopted a female persona, feminized his voice, and recorded a song about wanting to be a woman's girlfriend, but he was also a Christian and believed that being queer was wicked and sinful, and that's the identity of his we need to respect. Man.

Richard Wright, who wrote the Phish song “Halley’s Comet”, spent most of the 1980s telling everyone he knew he was a transsexual lesbian named Nancy, but after being consistently treated like shit changed his mind about that, so none of that counts for anything. Man.

Dave Carter was on HRT when he died, but he was just questioning. He didn’t tell anybody for sure that he was a woman. Man.

Quentin Crisp said just before he died that if he was younger, he absolutely would have transitioned, but wanting to transition isn’t the same as actually transitioning. Man.

All men. Always, always men, whatever they do, whatever they say. I know how that works. I was told all these same things about myself for decades, all these same reasons, and now, I don’t know, I guess people will make a personal exception for me, but for everybody else, the same old assumptions, the same old arguments, they still apply. They’re still legitimate.

I thought we were talking about Kurt Cobain.

And the only way to do that is to talk about him in isolation. There’s no larger context to consider, no bigger picture. I can’t really know. I can’t really judge.

I mean, everybody else does. I guess I can’t tell you not to. But all of this circumstantial evidence, all of the dresses and the lyrics that you I guess know the real meaning of – none of that makes him a girl.

Sure. And nothing can make him a girl. Because he’s dead. Because he killed himself.

Oh, here we go. After thirty years and countless speculation, you have at last uncovered the real reason Kurt Cobain killed himself – gender dysphoria. Do you have a book deal yet?

Working on it. And yes, people say a lot of stupid things about Cobain’s death, like it’s this big shock that this guy who hated himself and wanted to die killed himself.

Right. He was pretty well-known for being a heroin addict, which isn’t exactly something that improves one’s quality of life.

Sure, but why did he start heroin?

I don’t know. Why does anybody start heroin?

To help him cope with his eating disorder.

Wait, what? Eating disorder?

You don’t know about that? He had stomach problems, for a long, long time. He could only eat certain kinds of food, certain kinds of food that wouldn’t make his stomach hurt. Doctors looked but they could never find any organic cause for it. Nobody took it seriously. So he self-medicated with heroin. “It was my choice,” he told Azerrad. “I don’t regret it at all because it was such a relief from not having stomach pain every day.” I know, though. Lots of cis guys have eating disorders. Doesn’t mean anything.

Kate there’s a lot of interpreting going on here.

Yeah, I guess there is. Is that necessarily a bad thing, though? Is that necessarily wrong? Like. You’ve seen The Matrix, right?

Only the first one.

Yeah, that’s fine. So you know how important The Matrix is to a lot of trans women, right?

Yes, but I’m not really sure why. Just seems like a retelling of Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave” with extra fight scenes.

It’s pretty trans, though, right?

Clearly. It was directed by two trans women.

And trans women who watch it – eggs or otherwise – find their own lives and experiences reflected in it in ways that cis people, like you, don’t.

I guess, but the fact that it was actually made by two trans women carries a little more weight with me.

OK, but what if the Wachowskis had died in 2000? In, like… a car crash or something? Does that mean The Matrix isn’t a trans film?

Well, no, because it’s still a film made by two trans women.

A film made by two trans women that speaks to the trans experience, and that is recognized by living trans women as speaking specifically to the trans experience. The only difference is that, in this scenario, nobody knows the Wachowski Sisters are trans women. And we can’t prove it. We can’t possibly prove it, and nobody is going to just believe us when we say it’s a trans movie, that the Wachowskis were trans women, because they didn’t say it, they didn’t say the special magic words. Self-determination. You know what self-determination meant to Kurt Cobain? I remember seeing Courtney Love on television reading his note, I remember her interrupting to say that he was an asshole, that what he was saying was bullshit. She didn’t respect his self-determination.

Um…

“Pennyroyal Tea”. Cobain told Azerrad “It's a cleansing theme where I’m trying to get all my bad evil spirits out of me and drinking Pennyroyal tea would cleanse that away.” Pennyroyal is an abortifacient – but, Azerrad notes, only in lethal doses.

Hell, not just that song. The whole album. In Utero. The collage on the back cover, the one Cobain described to Azerrad as “Sex and woman and In Utero and vaginas and birth and death". The occult symbols surrounding it, taken from Barbara G. Walker’s The Woman's Dictionary of Symbols and Sacred Objects1. There was something inside Kurt Cobain, something inside him waiting to be born, but he was told, over and over, that it was a monster, so he killed it, the only way he could. By killing himself.

That could have been me. That could so easily have been me. I was told all the same things he was. We all were. When I was 27? When I was 27, I was addicted to benzos, benzos they prescribed me because I was trying to bury, trying to kill this thing, this thing I had inside of me. I was a zombie. Walking dead. When I quit, I quit cold turkey. Nobody told me about the withdrawal syndrome. Nobody told me it could have killed me. And if it had, everybody would remember me, everybody would think of me, as a cis man. Forever. They would perpetuate the Lie. That’s why I transitioned, why I chose to go through all the shit I went through. The writer and musician Margaret Killjoy, in 2017 she talked about what she went through the day before she came out:

“All I could think was: ‘Oh god, I don’t want to die a boy.’”2

I felt the same way, came out for the same reason. I figured no matter what I did, I was dead. I didn’t do it live, but to at least have an honest death. I genuinely believed transition would kill me.

It didn’t, though! You’re alive and you’re beautiful and I’m so, so glad for that. It didn’t kill you.

It could have. Still could. Transition has helped, has made it easier for me, but it’s not that way with everyone. People have been kind to me, in ways that they aren’t kind to other trans women. Others of us… aren’t so lucky.

Who are we respecting, exactly, by remaining silent about our shared experiences, our shared perspectives, things we see that you fucking don’t, that you can’t see? Of course I can’t prove it. I can’t prove that I’m trans. You can’t prove that you’re cis. Cis people, though, cis people never have to prove anything. Their prejudices are the null hypothesis3. If I was to go out there and say that Kurt Cobain was a cisgender man, would anybody say I was wrong? Would anybody object or complain? Even though my saying that is an anachronism, is meaningless. The word, the concept, it literally didn’t exist when Cobain died. Have you ever heard the word “agnotology”?

No?

It means making a false claim to ignorance. Claiming that we don’t know something that we do. That we can’t know something that we can. We know things now, Chuck. We know what the symptoms of gender dysphoria are. We know what it does to people. How eggs think. How eggs act. How eggs die. But we pretend we don’t. We still pretend. We pretend suicide is an individual act, even when we know it’s not, that the reasons for it are wholly personal. We pretend that when someone dies by suicide, their reasons for doing so die with them. And they don’t, Chuck. We’re still dying, still dying for the same reasons Kurt Cobain did. It’s not just that we aren’t allowed to recognize ourselves. We aren’t allowed to recognize each other. Individual choice or social contagion. Those are the options we’re given. And neither of them are right. Neither of them are who we are.

Kurt Cobain wrote, thought, talked, died like eggs do. I don’t care if he never said the magic fucking words. We know our own. We recognize each other. And if someone is alive? If someone is alive I will go my whole life without ever breathing a word. Because as long as we’re alive, we do choose, and that means we can choose ignorance. What I think, what I want, for someone else, for us, it doesn’t matter. I do that, I follow that code, for the benefit of one person – the egg themselves. Once they die, all bets are off. Omerta no longer applies. Kayfabe no longer applies.

To be queer is to be erased, to experience erasure. I still hear straight men arguing, as if they have any right to argue, as if they know, that Emily Dickinson was not a lesbian. Emily Dickinson! I’m supposed to listen to people who say this shit? I’m supposed to take them seriously when they say well, actually, calling Dickinson a “lesbian” is historically anachronistic, we can’t apply the standards of the present to the past, and Jesus fuck have you read her letters? She liked girls. She really liked girls. Kurt Cobain was a trans woman. Kurt Cobain was every bit as much a trans woman as Emily Dickinson was a lesbian. Refusing to say it isn’t “respect”. It’s perpetuating the crime perpetrated against Cobain, against every other trans woman who ever killed herself because of the lies we were told about ourselves. No more. Kurt Cobain was a trans woman. I can’t, as an individual, say that. I don’t have the right. No trans woman can say that, individually. But collectively? All of us together? The things we see in each other, we see those things in him too. Not all of them, and not all of us. Absolutely not all of us. But enough of us. Enough that we have the right. We have the right, and I will fucking say it, and if you don’t like that, you can go fuck yourself.

Kate, are you ok?

I’m fine.

Do you want a hug?

Fuck you, Chuck.

OK, well. I’m, uh. Gonna go to the other room. You should, uh. Drink some water. Stay hydrated. Love you, Kate.

Love you too, Chuck. Sorry.

Shhh. It’s OK, Kate. It’s OK.

1 Diane Purkiss criticizes the occult nature of Walker’s encyclopedia in "Women's Rewriting of Myth", in Carolyne Larrington (ed), The Feminist Companion to Mythology, London, 1992, p. 444: “In Donna Haraway's influential terms, these women may wish to be goddesses, but they are cyborgs all the same”. The work she’s referencing is Haraway’s “A Cyborg Manifesto”. Haraway was, it happens, an academic advisor to the trans woman Sandy Stone, and her “Cyborg Manifesto” was a pivotal influence on Stone’s “The Empire Strikes Back: A Post-Transsexual Manifesto”, one of the foundational works of transgender theory.

2 Margaret Killjoy, https://birdsbeforethestorm.net/2017/06/im-not-even-going-to-try-to-pass/

3 Natalie Reed, https://freethoughtblogs.com/nataliereed/2012/04/17/the-null-hypothecis/

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totheblood · 8 months

Text

all-american bitch!

pairing: ellie williams x reader

warnings: mostly fluff, cursing, suggestive themes maybe.

a/n:i wrote this for my monthly challenge in our writing server, so if you see GUTS themed ellie and abby fics... that's why.... so i chose the song, all american bitch because i thought it would be a difficult write and wanted to challenge myself. so this one is a little shorter and i hope you enjoy! AI AUDIO in the fic also reblogs, asks, and replies are so appreciated and encouraged! thank u kisses

wc: 1k

"with perfect all-american lips."

ellie wanted to hate you.

with every fiber in her being, she wanted to hate you. but as she sat in the student center, laptop open and earbuds in, she couldn’t help but stare. from her place at the table she could see you wide-eyed and grinning, talking to a group of people she didn’t know. when you laughed you touched the shoulder of the guy to your right, but when you smiled you leaned into the girl to your left. she noticed how you looked at people when they spoke, hanging onto every word they were saying. every time the group would laugh at a joke or statement you made, she watched as you nervously fiddled with the necklace loosely hung around your neck with your initial on it.

she wanted to hate you but she didn’t. instead, she hated everything she thought you represented. the mean girls in the movies or the girl next door. you were somehow all of it wrapped up in one. she didn’t know you at all but somehow you were the perfect all-american -

“bitch!” a girl sitting across from you screamed, throwing her full cup of coke onto your face, causing everyone to stand up and gasp. ellie stood up with them, removing her headphones and ignoring the pull of dina’s hand, asking her what she was doing.

you wiped the sticky liquid from your eyes, and tried to get as much of it off your face so you could walk back to your dorm. when you began picking up your things and noticed no one was going to follow you, ask if you were okay, or defend you, a tear formed in your eye. you, however, was determined to not cry in front of most of the people that attended this school. instead, you scurried off as quickly as you could.

ellie didn’t even notice she was following you till the brisk fall air hit her face. your feet were moving faster than her mind was going, but she was determined to catch up.

“hey,” she called out. you didn’t turn around though, you just kept walking. from where she was she could hear your sniffles, “hey! are you okay?”

that got your attention. you stopped, not turning around, and waited for ellie to circle around you and say something.

“are you okay?” she asked again, watching your stunned face. she ignored the bubbling in her stomach at being this close to you. she could see every detail of your face, every crease, every freckle, and every pore. you were prettier up close, “i saw what happened back there… it looked brutal.”

“i’m,” a tear slipped from your face and onto your already damp clothes, ellie was sooooo not looking at your tits right now, “i’m fine.”

“are you sure?” she asked again, eyes searching your face for an answer, “none of your friends came to check on you?”

“i guess they aren’t really friends, huh,” you laughed dryly, wiping at your eye again.

“just shitty ones,” she joked back, “look, do you want me to help you get cleaned up? maybe you can vent to me about whatever the fuck that just was.

your eyes scanned her face this time, “why would you do that? you don’t know me?”

“i think you may be in need of some new friends,” she smiled, making you crack a small one.

“very true.”

------

ellie helped wipe the coke off your face and neck. since it had been sitting on your skin for a while it had gone sticky, and you were getting choked up trying to wipe everything off. plus, ellie was so nice and tender, gently rubbing at your skin and making sure she wasn’t rubbing to hard. she held your face in her hand, turning it and using your roomates expensive facewash to get it clean. when it came to your chest she backed up, saying a, “i shouldn’t.”

“why?” you asked, “we’re both girls.”

“i think i’m supposed to ask you out on a date before doing that.” she chuckled, stepping back a little further, expecting rejection, a slap in the face, anything.

“oh,” you said, eyeing her up and down, head-turning and lips pursed when you saw her tattoos, “could have figured from the tattoo alone.”

“hey! are you saying my tattoo makes me look gay?” she laughed, a big bright smile on her face. this time when you smiled you showed your teeth. ellie’s face turned a bright red, as she looked down. she made you smile, she was proud of that.

“it’s a dead giveaway that you’re gay,” you giggled again. ellie looked up at you, squinting her eyes.

“if you knew that i was gay then, why did you let me come in and?” ellie’s voice got quiet, she didn’t want you to think she was a creep. it’s not like she came in here to flirt with you, or did she. the way you were looking at her was making all her thoughts mesh together into slush.

“i don’t know,” your voice was teasing, you were fucking teasing her, “maybe i wanted a cute girl to come in here and clean me up.”

“cute?” ellie laughed.

“yeah, cute,” you repeated, pulling your bottom lip in between your teeth, “like how you’re blushing right now. that’s cute.”

ellie’s face got even redder somehow, causing her to hang her head and pinch the bridge of her nose, “fuck.”

“were you going for hot?” you asked, reaching for her from your place on the bathroom counter, pulling at the sleeves of her oversized t-shirt so she would move closer to you.

“what about my t-shirt doesn’t scream hot?” she looked up now, and fuck was she close to you.

“cute and funny,” you smiled, eyes bright, “who would’ve thought?”

ellie looked away again, flustered still, but still in your grasp, “you forgot respectable.”

you laughed and ellie was close enough to feel your breath on her neck. she shivered, but her eyes met yours again.

“when are you going to ask?” you whispered, voice low.

“what?”

“the date?” you clarified, making her smile grow again.

“oh, yeah,” she rubbed the back of her neck nervously, “do you want to go on a date with me?”

“yes.”

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams oneshot #modern!ellie williams #college!ellie williams #ellie williams one shot

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tragedybunny · 8 months

Text

Sated - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion has gone too long without blood and you're determined to make sure he's fed.

Astarion tries, but not everyday is a good day, and some days he’s still snappish and lashes out. The rest of your group has learned not to take it personally, in fact now that Karlach can touch people, she’s developed a nice trick of just suddenly hugging him when he’s a pain. Usually either indignant silence or grumbling compliance follows. “Behave yourself Fangs, or I’ll do it again,” the Tiefling grins at him during whatever fussing he spouts after. He’s grown fond of her, you can tell, even if he can’t yet. In a way he’s fond of them all, but Karlach’s open, kind nature has given them a bit of a sibling-like bond. Watching them interact always brings a smile to you, he needs more of that in his life, people who care for him genuinely.

Today was not the best, but you shrug it off as concern overrides all else. He’s a little paler than usual and a little slower. There wasn't much out there among the shadow curse for him to feed off. Before you never had to question how much blood he needed to survive or where it would come from. But as you leave the formerly cursed land behind, you can tell he’s struggling. And yet, he hasn’t asked you about it. The one he’s supposed to trust more than anyone else. You’ve fed him plenty of times before, you would think he’d have come to you by now. Mentally, you scold yourself as you feel creeping insecurity. There has to be a reason for it, and now isn’t the time for selfish suspicion.

That night, as everyone settles themselves around a fire, contemplating what the road to Baldur's Gate holds, you find him seated at the edge of the flickering light, as far away as he can get without being in the shadows. Could he be worried he might find himself tempted if he’s too close to everyone? This can’t continue, you tell yourself, not only for the sake of his suffering, but you can’t be sure he wouldn’t be tempted either.

Grabbing a blanket from your shared tent, you take a seat beside him, wrapping it around both of you. “You feeling alright Starry Sky?” Gently, you wrap an arm around him, and feel the icy chill of his skin beneath his shirt. Not that his skin is ever all that warm, but this another level.

“Just tired,” he smiles weakly at you.

“And freezing,” your other hand reaches up to stroke his cheek lightly.

Eyes closed, he leans into your touch. “You know, I don’t even really feel it. I’m not sure if I need to be warm at all.”

“Hmm, even if you can’t feel it, you know why you’re freezing.” Leaning over you whisper to him, some things aren’t meant to include the others. “You’re hungry.”

“Perhaps a little, but I’m fine. I don't need you to start fussing over me constantly. There's an owlbear cub if you feel overtly maternal." The sharp words don't change the dark circles under his eyes, or how gaunt his cheeks look.

"You're ridiculously obstinate, you know that right," a gentle kiss on his temple follows your words, so he knows you're not actually being cross with him. You’ve come to realize he can’t stand it when he thinks you’re mad at him. In the past, anger meant reprisal, punishment, and in the context of the two of you, punishment could only mean withdrawing your affection. At least that’s where his thoughts lead.

"It is one of my better qualities," he leans over, head resting against your chest.

Shifting, you position yourself so he's seated between your legs, easier to let him rest his weight on you. "I don't know why you don't just ask me. My blood not good enough for your refined palate anymore?" Laughing, you try to mask the actual hurt that's creeping in. The truth is letting him feed from you has always felt like an important part of your relationship, the time when you’re closest to him.

It's been a long journey and a few of your group are already wandering to bed, although you think you hear Shadowheart muttering about saving it for the tent, whatever she said, Gale laughs it off. “Not at all,” he’s uncharacteristically serious, “I just…” he sighs, for once at a loss for words, “it seemed like a lot to ask from you, after everything else.”

“Everything else?” Lips leave light kisses on the top of his head as you brush your fingers through his hair.

“You know, lying to you, manipulating you, wanting you to still love me after all that. If I asked to feed from you, it would seem like I was trying to use you again.” Catching one of your hands, he kisses it and doesn’t let go.

For a moment you don’t know how to respond, you’re still not entirely used to seeing the softer, sincere side of him. “I see why you would think that, but I don’t want you to suffer. Let me take care of you, any way I can. That’s what I’m here for. Well, that and teaching you to be less of a stubborn arse it would seem.”

“Stop, you’re being entirely too sweet to me. It’s going to ruin my reputation around camp.” You let him have his moment of deflection and wait until he makes a frustrated noise. “But I can’t say I don’t want to.”

“Take what you need love,” you reach up to undo your collar and pull the blanket more securely around the two of you for privacy. A part of you considers moving to the tent, but you’re worried he’d use the opportunity to try to put it off more.

With a soft sigh, his lips press to your neck in a delicate kiss, teeth piercing your skin moments later. Pain and ecstasy course through you as you hold back a sigh. The two of you become one in that instant, bound through blood to the singular beating heart you now share, intimacy unparalleled. While he drinks, you fight to stay lucid enough to whisper to him of love and comfort, reassuring him that needing this from you is no sin. You feel your own warmth traveling into his skin, and you watch it take on a blush of life.

Before your world turns hazy, he pulls away, licking you clean, and returning his head to your chest, content to be held tightly. "I didn't take too much, did I?"

"No, you were perfectly careful dearest." The words bring a small smile to his lips, praise so new an experience for him, he hardly knows how to handle it. But you know he craves it, especially from you, and it makes you want to lavish it on him.

The others have vanished, a small part of you worries they noticed and were uncomfortable, but you hope they would understand as your friends. You two should join them soon, Baldur's Gate awaits, with a journey there still ahead. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“A few more minutes love,” somehow he manages to snuggle tighter against you, “I did miss this.”

“Me too, don’t wait so long next time. I’m always here for you.”

“There you go, being too nice to me again, silly girl.” Sitting up a bit he kisses you, fiercely, lips crashing together bruisingly, hands reaching to tangle in your hair, like a first and a last kiss all bound up in one and it leaves you gasping when he’s done. It’s as though he’s trying to express everything he feels in that one kiss. “I might get used to it if you’re not careful.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x f!reader #my fanfiction #my writing

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inmaki2 · 9 months

Text

luxiem’s reaction to you falling asleep on stream

req . luxiem x gn!reader .

fluff . 1k est wc .

(f/n - fandom name) ty for the cute req ^^ not proofread + lmk if there’s warnings i missedd

“lemme just read a few more supas before i end, chat..”

despite your determined words, even the viewers notice your model’s eyes drooping ever so sleepily while you talk. many express their concern and wishes for you to continue tomorrow, while others spam ‘tskr’ and remarks on how endearing the situation was.

“‘go sleep’? nah, you don’t—“ you’re cut off by a yawn, speech turning slower involuntarily, “you don’t have to worry, i’m.. i’m okay guys.”

coincidentally, right as you try to read the next donation, you close your eyes, attempting to give yourself just a second of rest, only to slip right into dreamland. of course, your chat explodes simultaneously; a majority being exclaims of what would happen next while others debate on if something else might’ve occurred. luckily for you, your boyfriend — who just so happens to be experienced in your field of work — is on the bed a few feet over, ready to help out.

mysta rias

mysta is much more observant than some may think (especially when it comes to you) and easily caught onto your state long before chat did

he shook his head from the bed, knowing exactly how you were feeling whilst you pushed yourself to continue thanking donations

it hurt him watching you in such a state, especially knowing he couldn’t do much

but now that you’ve drifted off, he’s quick to tiptoe over and take control of your model

he doesn’t even say hi, only muttering a ‘give me a minute, guys’ before grabbing your underarms and carrying you off to bed

once you’re neatly tucked in, he plants a quick kiss to your forehead before rushing back to finish up the stream

“sorry about that, yes it’s mysta! hope you guys dont mind me taking over for a bit.. wait, why’s everyone saying clip this?!”

mysta isn’t big about sharing much when it comes to your relationship, but he’ll be sure to let your fanbase what’s going on if you (clearly) can’t admit it yourself

“yep.. they say don’t worry, but then shit like this happens. fuckin’ stubborn, aren’t they?” he huffs, glancing over at your sleeping figure with fond but frustrated eyes

“good thing i was here. don’t worry, f/n.. i know you’re jealous and all, but they’re in good hands. if y’know what i mean,” the male cackles before remembering how close you are, sighing when he ensures you’re still asleep

mysta being mysta, he ends up talking to chat for a bit longer than necessary, mostly rambling about you of course

and before he ends stream, the idiot probably comments some suggestive shit that only makes the amount of clips from your stream double (sigh)

however, while he fools around for the viewers, don’t expect to be off the hook without a serious talk in the morning, along with a staff meeting that mysta will personally organize that same night

also,, be prepared for him to never live this down </3

ike eveland

the amount of times he had to stop himself from rushing over and just pulling you to bed throughout the stream..

he even tried (spamming) texting you, yet you’d simply send a stern shake of your head from the desk

so of course, once you closed your eyes for good, ike was already planning out the speech he was going to give you later on

your boyfriend can’t help but mumble about how ‘he knew this would happen’ as he paces closer, muting your mic before carrying you bridal style to bed

as romantic as it sounds, this boy was deadpanning stubbornly the whole time

“well, hello there f/n, ike here! like i’m sure most of you figured out, y/n fell asleep. the remainder of supas will continue next stream, but i hope you guys take this as a lesson that having designated time for rest is just as important—“

yes, even your chat gets an ike lecture

soon after, he’s shutting your pc down while glancing at you with an unreadable gaze

poor boy isn’t sure if he wants to scold you or hug you first

in the end he complies with hugging you all night

even after he wakes up he’ll bring his laptop in bed just so he can be near you while still working

“ah, look who’s awake,” brushing some hair from your face, he chuckles as you stretch cutely. “did you sleep well?”

“mm.. wait, what happened to my stream?”

at this, ike deadpans once again, pushing his laptop away — and that’s when you know you’re in trouble <\3

shu yamino

he knows how headstrong you can be, so he rarely tries to get you to change your mind on things like this, even when watching you doze off on live eats away at his heart

the only time he’d given his opinion was a few hours before stream, where you showed visible signs of over working

“babe?” he swallowed in discontent, inspecting your messy state from the kitchen. “i think you should cancel stream today, we can start a new anime n’ head to bed early tonight instead.”

it was a tempting offer, but the looming thought of potentially letting fans down made you swiftly decline, earning a defeated sound from the male

now here he was, rushing over to mute your mic and gently pat you awake

“y/n— y/n, you fell asleep on stream.”

that has your eyes shooting open, and the redness in them has guilt building further in shu’s chest

he feels like a bad boyfriend, like he should’ve been more assertive in taking care of you, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened

but those thoughts were for another day; right now you needed him more than ever

in an attempt to calm you down as you blabbered in confusion, he squeezes your hand in his

“shh, baby,” shu rarely used such petnames, but it immediately has you settling down. “you’re okay. it’s okay, f/n are still here waiting for you, see?”

he continues to kneel by your setup, rubbing your knuckles comfortingly as you build up the strength to unmute and explain the situation

“i don’t even know what happened, i hope everyone who donated doesn’t mind if i finish reading them next stream?” as you speak, shu nods supportively

if for some reason anybody were to get upset about this, he’d gladly argue with them himself

as soon as you hit ‘end stream’, he rises from the floor, holding your hand while walking to bed and murming affirmations softly

he smiles as you fall back to asleep almost instantly, messaging your manager himself to clear your schedule <3

vox akuma

honestly, he’d never let it come to this in the first place

“love, you’ve been slugging around all day. there’s no way you have the energy for a stream.”

in the end, you make a compromise to stream for much less time than you originally planned.. yet still fell asleep

vox hadn’t even realized at first; so busy completing work of his own until the silence finally registered

he would be mad and scold you like ike.. but you just look so cute napping away at your desk!!!

without bothering to mute, mans just admires you for a second with a tiny smirk

even in this state you were stunning to him,, not his fault

eventually lifts you like a sack over his shoulder (if you weren’t so tired he’d slap your ass by now. sigh) before settling you in bed

at that point he was desperate to just cuddle up with you, but of course the live was still ongoing

“why hello, f/n, there’s been a bit of.. em, a turn of events as you can see.. my idiot partner refuses to give themself a break so now you get me!”

vox chuckles lowly while reading the chaos and confusion in chat, sparking a new onset of comments. “guys, i can guarantee your oshi is not dead, c’mon, have some faith in me.”

like mysta, he doesn’t want to let the viewers in on too much, but he definitely hovers around the topic of overworking and breaks

“—after all, they’ve given up hours upon hours to plan more streams and events for you to enjoy, so now, i’d like everyone to be equally supportive and let them have a week or so off, hm? we don’t want this happening again, right?”

it’s a bit passive-aggressive, protective boyfriend tone honestly,, he can’t help it okay!

the minute it’s over vox is rushing back into bed, taking on the role of big spoon instinctively at your exhausted state

in the morning, he’s eager as ever to help you send a break request to the company <3

luca kaneshiro

now this one can be a bit,,

oblivious

he could tell you were tired, yes — but had no inkling it was to such a degree where you’d fall asleep in front of thousands of viewers

it definitely makes him think back to how your energy had been much lower than usual for a while now

he feels guilt bubbling in his stomach, but pushes it away as he swiftly moves in front of your mic

“chat! psst, it’s— it’s luca! y/n fell asleep, should i scare them!?” he whispers, barely holding in a mischievous giggle, “kidding, kidding. they deserve to sleep, like, really. i’ll keep you guys company for now alright?“

being the entertainer he is, luca easily finished up stream with his ‘impromptu asmr’, all while keeping one hand on your knee affectionately

“alright f/n, i think it’s time i uh, get y/n to bed, but thank you to those who stuck around! i’ll make sure they get lots of rest, pinky promise!”

it was going smoothly until he clumsily tried to lift you from the chair, awkwardly placing one hand on your behind and the other around your torso

“luca? the fuck are you doing?” you blink, only registering your boyfriend’s interesting hand placement as you wake up

his eyes widen, quickly letting you down with flushed cheeks. “what— i— i was just bringing you to bed! you fell asleep!”

“oh.. wait, on stream?!”

the boy quickly assures you (through lots of laughter) that he had it under control, and luckily for him you were too tired to fight back, only humming as he slides into bed as well

“i pinky promise’d your chat, babe. i promised that i’d make sure you rest, so no streaming for the next couple days, ‘kay?”

he gets snoring in response, which in his mind is good enough!

you wake up to a message from your manager wishing you a nice week off.. and the culprit only smiles adorably <3

if u want me to write more make sure to reblog/send asks and tell me if u enjoyed !!!!!

nkox 2023 - do not copy, translate, crosspost, etc.

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springtyme · 2 months

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Hey luv, hope all is well. So, I just previously read your spencer x girly!reader and I absolutely loved them. While reading the chess part, an idea sparked.

So if possible could you do something similar where Spencie boy and girly!reader are playing chess and she is obviously frustrated or something because she doesn’t understand. So being the amazing boy wonder he is, Spencer secretly acts like he had no good moves and the reader just starts pointing out the moves he could make not knowing he can clearly see those moves and he lets the reader win making her super excited and happy and immediately sets the board back and starts another game.

I just think it would be so cute to see how Spencer would just gaze at and admire the reader as she is focused and asks questions. If this is too confusing or too similar to the original chess part no worries. It’s simply a mere thought I had. Do with it what you please!!!

Love your works and your blog 🥰🤗

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲 ♡

Thank you so much, hun ♡ I't makes me so happy to hear that you liked the other ones, I've had so much fun with them. And thank you so much for this request, it's such a cute scenario!

Spencer Reid x girly!reader|| Masterlist || Spencer playlist

summary: Spencer truly can’t believe how lucky he is to have you in his life. With you, everything just feels so natural, despite him being in completely foreign waters. You keep being patient with him, every step of the way. With you, everything just falls into place, like the missing piece of a puzzle finally fitting snugly into its spot. All he ever want to do is make you smile, even when it means that he has to lose in chess on purpose. Part one & part two 💕

word count: 2.0k

a/n: I was actually in a chess club in school, but we did not play chess, so sorry if the chess parts aren’t very accurate, I tried my best, lol.

Spencer watches you intently, his heart swelling with adoration at the sight of you trying your best. He can see the determination in your eyes, the way you furrow your brow in concentration, and it only deepens the love he feels for you. Your stained lips pouting sweetly as you contemplate your next move

You let out an exasperated sigh, leaning back in your chair with a frustrated expression. “I just don’t understand this game, Spence. I feel like I’m making all the wrong moves,” you sigh, moving your knight in a random direction. “At this point I‘m just making moves for the sake of it.”

Spencer can’t help but smile at your frustration, finding it endearing how you get so worked up over a game of chess. Moving your knight wasn’t the best move you could have made, but he doesn’t want to tell you that, and it wasn’t the worst move either. He reaches out to gently place his hand on top of yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze, but he lets his fingers linger for a little while. It always manages to surprise him how soft your skin is, and how it feels so warm and comforting beneath his touch.

You look up at him, your pretty eyes meeting his gaze and Spencer feels how his heart skips a beat at the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks.

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. Some people use their entire life to master this game, and you’ve only been playing for a few weeks,” he reminds you. “You’re doing great, and trust me, you’re not as lost as you think you are.”

You smile softly at his reassurance. “So, what I’m hearing you say is that if I keep going, there’s still a chance that I can be a big old chess nerd like you?” you tease, nudging him playfully.

Spencer chuckles at your teasing, loving the way you always manage to make him laugh, something he hasn’t always had an easy time with. “Hey, being a nerd isn’t that bad, okay?”

“No, it’s not,” you agree, leaning in closer to him. “In fact, I think it’s kind of cute.” Spencer’s heart flutters at your words, feeling a warmth spread through him at the way you look at him with such affection.

Spencer knows many things, arguably too many things, but he will never be able to understand what you see in him, you’re so beautiful and confident and always so kind to everyone, there is no doubt in his mind that you are way, way out of his league, but he is grateful every day that you, for whatever reason, chose him.

“I’m glad you think so,” he mumbles, a slight blush dusting his cheeks at your words.

“I actually think you’re very cute, you know,” you say playfully, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair out of his face with a gentle touch. Spencer can feel his heart racing in his chest as he looks into your eyes, seeing nothing but love and admiration reflected back at him.

He leans in closer to you, unable to resist the magnetic pull that always seems to bring you both together. Your lips meet in a soft, tender kiss, filled with all the love and affection that Spencer feels for you. In that moment, nothing else matters except for the two of you and the way your hearts beat as one.

As you pull away, a smile tugs at the corners of Spencer’s lips, a smile that only you can bring out in him. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice filled with sincerity and warmth.

“I love you too, Spence,” you respond, your eyes shining with your own smile, bright and full of happiness.

Spencer will never be able to wrap his head around why you love him, but damn he is glad and forever grateful that you do. If he could travel back in time and tell his younger self that he would find someone as amazing and wonderful as you - that someone as beautiful and kind hearted as you would ever love him, he wouldn’t have believed it, he would probably think that it was some kind of cruel joke. But here you are.

It’s overwhelming, really, the love and adoration he feels for you in every fiber of his being. He never knew he could feel this way about someone, never knew that someone could make him feel so alive and complete. The fact that he feels so at home and normal with another person in his life is beyond anything he could have ever imagined.

But with you, everything just feels so natural, despite him being in completely foreign waters, you keep being patient with him every step of the way and with you by his side, it doesn’t seem so daunting anymore. With you, everything just falls into place, like the missing piece of a puzzle finally fitting snugly into its spot.

“Oh, you got something…” you whisper, almost more to yourself than him. He is confused for a short second, until he feels your thumb brush against the corner of his mouth, wiping away the trace of lipstick that had transferred from your lips to his. Spencer chuckles at the realization, feeling a warm rush of affection for you. “There…” you say with a soft smile.

Spencer can’t help but chuckle at the tender gesture, feeling a surge of warmth behind his chest.

“You can’t keep distracting me like this,” you tease, leaning in closer to him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “I’m actually trying to beat you at this game, you know.”

Spencer’s smile widens at your playful tone, a twinkle in his eye as he looks at you. “Who says I’m going to make it easy for you?” he responds, his voice laced with amusement.

“You did! You literally said that you would go easy on me,” you pout, crossing your arms in mock annoyance.

Spencer laughs, a sound that fills the room with joy. “Okay, okay, I may have said that,” he concedes, “but, I don’t think you really need me to, you know. You’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up beating me at my own game someday.”

“I doubt that,” you mumble, looking back at the board with furrowed brows.

Spencer leans back in his chair, watching you with admiration as you study the board, he can see the gears turning in your head. He knows what move he should be doing, the move that could make him win the game, but he isn’t really interested in that.

“Well, it looks like I’m running out of options,” he say, feigning defeat as he moves his bishop into a vulnerable position.

You glance up at him. “You could have moved your rook to that square and set up a potential checkmate in a few moves,”you point out, sounding both surprised and proud that you saw the possible move.

Spencer had, of course, seen that it would have been the right move to make, but he wanted to give you a chance to shine, and to prolong the game. Seeing the pride and satisfaction in your eyes is worth more than winning any game ever could.

“Oh, you’re right,” he says, trying to sound surprised, like he hadn’t seen that move multiple rounds in advance. But he must not be a very convincing actor, and he can’t help but smile as he watches the look of realization dawn on your face.

You roll your eyes playfully, seeing right through his act. “You’re such a goof, Spence,” you giggle, shaking your head in amusement. “But thank you for giving me a chance to show off a little.”

“I guess I just wanted to give you a fighting chance,” he says, leaning in closer to you.

You playfully swat at his arm, a laugh escaping your lips. “Dork,” you tease, but there’s a fondness in your tone that makes his heart swell with even more love for you, and he leans in to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, before leaning back again to look at you, his heart overflowing with adoration for you.

You playfully roll your eyes, but there’s a hint of gratitude in your expression. “Well, thanks for the favor,” you say with a smile, moving your queen in a strategic position that surprises Spencer.

He raises an eyebrow in surprise at your move, impressed by your strategic thinking. “Oh, someone’s feeling confident now, huh?” he teases, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You shrug nonchalantly, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Well, you did say you weren’t going to go easy on me,” you quip, moving your pieces with a newfound determination.

Spencer watches you closely, his heart filled with pride at the way you’re starting to grasp the game more and more and making better and better strategic moves. He can’t help but admire your intelligence and quick thinking, feeling a sense of awe at the way you surprise him at every turn.

And yes, he might go a little easy on you from time to time, but he can see that you’re starting to understand the game on a deeper level. And that, to him, is worth more than winning a game of chess ever could.

As the game progresses, Spencer can see the determination in your eyes, the way you carefully plan out your moves and anticipate his next move

“You’re really giving me a run for my money, aren’t you?” Spencer remarks, a smile playing on his lips as he watches you strategize your next move. You give him a sly grin, clearly enjoying the challenge. “I told you not to underestimate me, Spence,” you say confidently, moving your knight into a position that puts him on the defensive.

Spencer chuckles, impressed by your bold move. “I should know better by now,” he admits, moving his rook to protect his vulnerable bishop. The game continues, each move calculated and strategic, and Spencer can’t help but admire the way you’ve grown since your first game together.

“Checkmate,” you say triumphantly, a grin stretching across your face as you realize you’ve won. Spencer can’t help but smile back, feeling a rush of excitement and happiness at your victory. “Well done, darling,” he says, leaning in to give you a congratulatory kiss.

“I still feel like you went easy on me, but thank you,” you tease, a playful glint in your eye. Spencer can’t help but laugh, feeling grateful for the opportunity to see the excited smile that is lighting up your face, making your already beautiful features shine even brighter with a sense of pride.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn't,” he teases back, a twinkle in his eye. “But regardless, you did really well, I can’t believe how far you’ve come in such a short amount of time.”

You grin at his words. “Well, I’ve had a really great teacher,” you remark. “And he is, like, sooo handsome too. It’s actually wild that I could even concentrate on the game,” you add with a wink before you’re leaning in to plant a sweet kiss on his lips.

Spencer’s heart flutters at your words, feeling a surge of love and adoration for you that he can’t quite put into words, they are too big and too overwhelming to express, so instead he tries to pour every bit of that love and adoration into the kiss that he returns to you.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to him as he deepens the kiss, savoring the feeling of being so close to you, of sharing this moment. He might have lost the game, but because of you, he has never felt like less of a loser.

As you both pull away, a smile lingers on both of your faces, and Spencer can’t help but feel like the luckiest man alive. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice filled with sincerity and adoration.

“I love you too, Spence,” you respond, your eyes filled with nothing but love and affection for him “Now help me set this board up again, I want to beat you fair and square this time,” you say with a playful glint in your eye. Spencer chuckles at your competitive spirit, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him as he helps you set up the board once more.

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 months

Text

Bad Faith Part One

Masterlist | Part Two

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader

Rating: Mature (Part 2 will likely be explicit)

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever. Welcome to part one of two!

There will ONLY be two parts! If you ask me at the end of part two where part three is, I'm going to point you back to this notes section!

If you asked me where part three is and you've been linked here, hi!

Length: 8k

Warnings: Angst. Angst angst angst angst; reader is going through a divorce; Reader's married surname is Hayward; unhealthy coping mechanisms; lovers to enemies to allies to lovers....did I mention angst by any chance? Cause—

Summary: There were so many resources about Steven Hayward from the last decade—interviews, profiles, filings. In all of them, Steven came off as a self-assured, cocky, pompous asshat, but a decent strategist. Those same profiles had described Mrs. Hayward as the trophy wife, the little woman behind the man, tending to the arrangements for their multi-million, 3,000 square foot penthouse overlooking Central Park. For as much as Harvey had forced himself to forget about her, he couldn’t forget her spirit, her determination, her desire to build a life, not to be handed one. None of the credit was given to her. None of the glory, none of the acknowledgement of what Harvey was certain were her blood, sweat and tears in that man’s holdings.

The tears that she had seemed set to shed in his office were all the indication that Harvey needed.

It was a long, harrowing moment of silence as Jessica processed all that you’d told her. You fought not to sniffle into the quiet, but your eyes had steadily been leaking tears for the last twenty minutes. Jessica finally stood from her armchair, patting you on the knee and murmuring, “You need a drink.”

You spluttered a weak laugh, watching her stride over to her luxe kitchen.

“Gin and tonic?”

“I would drink the gin straight at that point," You failed to tease.

“Things aren’t all that desperate yet.”

Yet. How reassuring.

You looked down at the damp, crumpled tissues in your hand before you raised one, dabbing at the few remaining tears. It was another few moments before you heard the click of Jessica’s heels crossing back to you.

“...Thanks for holding back.”

She frowned as you looked up at her, taking hold of the glass that she proffered.

“Holding back?”

“The I told you so.”

Jessica’s lips pursed, her head tipping with what you could only assume was a blend of indignance and pity.

“I did, for the record.”

“I know.”

“I told you nothing good could come from tangling your entire life up with that man.”

“You know, I think those were the exact words that you closed your toast out with at the wedding.” You took a swig, wincing at the overwhelming tang of gin. “Christ, that’s strong.”

“Too much?”

“No. It’s perfect, actually.”

Jessica smiled, lowering herself to sit beside you.

“Do you have lawyers in mind?”

“For the divorce? No.”

“I’ll give you recommendations.”

“I appreciate that, but that’s not why I’m here.” You glanced doggedly toward Jessica. “I need your help…Untangling a few holdings. Things that I can live off of, or break apart and sell for scraps. I can’t even afford a divorce lawyer right now—let alone whoever you’d suggest.”

“What?”

“Steven locked all of my credit cards and froze our joint bank account. I tried reaching out to him, but he won't answer me, and the bank won’t unfreeze it. He seems to think that I’m going to drain the entire thing.”

“Why does he think that?”

“Probably because that’s what he would do.” You sniffled, looking down into your glass. “I have some money in savings, but not a lot. Not enough for me to live off of beyond a few months.”

“Holy hell,” Jessica sighed. You grunted, head hanging as you felt the weight of her judgement. “Do you have any idea which entities you want to go after?”

“Yeah.” You set your drink down, reaching out to where you’d set your bag down and drawing out a bland beige file. You’d spent the morning working up your courage to come over and tell Jessica the awful truth, and had also spent that time putting together the data to do it. You flipped the file open and passed it over.

“This is every single property and holding company that I have my name on. I circled the apartment buildings that I want to sell, and the companies that I think would be best suited to my purposes.”

“Is Steven on all of these?”

“Only the ones that I put an asterisk beside, but I wouldn't be surprised if he came after the others.”

Jessica hummed, nodding. “You knew exactly what I’d ask for.”

“Well, I know you.”

She smiled, closing your file and setting it on her lap.

“Then I’m sure you know what I’m going to say next.”

The implication made your stomach churn with discomfort. You took the glass up again, taking a deep pull from it.

“I do,” You admitted, nose wrinkling again from the sharp juniper taste, “And I know that you’re going to say that it’s the best course of action—”

“The only course of action.”

“That’s patently untrue. You have more than one lawyer at your firm.”

“Not one that could handle a case of this magnitude.”

“Not even Louis?”

“Louis is like a french bulldog. Harvey is a pitbull.”

“You know, that’s actually a really harmful stereotype.”

Jessica’s brows lowered in chastisement, and you looked back down into your drink for safety.

“Wouldn’t it be a conflict of interest?” You added.

“How could it be? You’ve barely spoken to or looked at the man in eleven years.”

Eleven years. Had it really been that long?

“I know that you and Harvey parted on bad terms,” Jessica offered softly, and continued over your disbelieving scoff, “But you need to come out of this with the funds and the strength for a good divorce lawyer. Harvey can give you that.”

“What if he doesn’t take the case?”

“He will.”

“But if he doesn’t?”

“He will.”

“Jessica.”

“He won't have a choice.”

“Oh, he’ll love that. There’s nothing Harvey likes more than being backed in a corner."

“That’s when he comes out swinging the hardest.” She plucked the emptied glass out of your hand, heading toward the kitchen again. “Would you like another one?”

You sighed, slouching heavily against the couch and scrubbing your tired eyes.

“I’d really just like that bottle of gin—and a straw.”

“Would you stop fussing? You look fine.”

“I don’t care how I look,” You grumbled, though that didn’t stop you from reaching down and adjusting the skirt of your dress. You didn’t want to admit that Jessica was right, though you both knew that she was. She always had you nailed dead to rights, and that morning was no different.

You had a slight headache from the drinks you’d had at her apartment the night before, but it was hardly the worst hangover that you’d ever had. You were already two coffees in and you were itching for a third, but you already felt like shit. A third one would just make your heart pound harder, your hands more sweaty, and probably send your anxiety through the roof. You were certain the conversation you were about to have would do all of that for you, so no additional coffee was needed.

You drew in a deep breath, standing and tugging your dress down again as you walked over to look through out over the city. You could hear the ringing of phones behind you, the clicking of heels, the chatter of conversation. You were just waiting for his voice, waiting for his bravado to enter before he did, to suck the air out of the room.

“...What’d he say when you told him?” You asked.

“I haven't yet. I thought it would be more effective if we told him together.”

“So not only is he being forced to take my case, but it’s an ambush.” You cast Jessica an unimpressed sidelong glance, brows quirked in disbelief. She simply gave a small shrug.

“I know my associates.”

“Mm, I bet.”

“I understand I was summoned? Have I been so terribly missed? Whaddaya say we play hooky, go to the batting cages?”

There he was—each question was just punch after punch after punch. Your mouth and throat went dry as your body seemed to divert all available liquid assets to the sweat beginning to wet your palms.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know we had company,” He added.

“It’s alright. Harvey, you know Mrs. Steven Hayward.”

Hayward. You had always hated the name. Hell, you couldn’t even believe you’d taken it, but you’d been so damn afraid of putting a foot wrong, wary of having someone change their mind again about marrying you.

You turned to face Harvey, leaning back against the window and folding your arms across your chest, pressing your slick palms to your sides. It shouldn't have been so vindicating to see Harvey looking so gobsmacked, to watch the color drain from his face as his eyes caught up with his mind—as he came to realize, yes, that Mrs. Steven Hayward.

“Mr. Specter,” You greeted flatly.

“I—What’s going on?”

It’s nice to see you, too. You bit the inside of your cheek to silence your snide remark.

“Mrs. Hayward needs to dissolve and sell a few of her holdings, and I told her that I had just the lawyer for the job,” Jessica announced.

“...Is that lawyer in the room with us?” Harvey shook his head a little.

“You are that lawyer. You’ll be taking the case pro-bono.”

“Pro—Jessica, those cases are reserved for people that actually need help, not for multi-millionaires.”

That stung in a way that it shouldn’t have—but he was right. There were surely cases that were more worthy of his attention. Still, you couldn't deny the fact that you needed his help, and that your pockets weren't nearly as deep as they used to be.

“My husband is the multi-millionaire, not me,” You argued.

“Bullshit.”

“You wanna see my bank statements? I have a little over three hundred in checking, a few thousand in savings.”

“Mrs. Hayward needs this resolved as quickly as possible, and without any of your usual pomp and circumstance,” Jessica cut in.

“Why don’t you do this through a divorce attorney?” Harvey pressed.

“Because right now, I can’t afford one.”

Harvey pursed his lips, looking between you and Jessica. You watched his jaw tick, saw the thick bob of his adam’s apple shift his collar a little.

“You have a list of holdings?” He asked, glancing toward you.

“Twenty,” You nodded.

“To be chopped up and sold for scraps?”

“Yes.”

“Seems a little ruthless for you.”

“It’s what needs to be done.”

“And you expect me to do it?”

“I expect you to do your job. If you can’t get over the fact that it’s for me, then you’re in the wrong business.”

Harvey’s gaze narrowed, his eyes darkening irritation. Oh, you knew that look—like it or not, you had a flash of it like it was yesterday.

“...Where’s the file.”

Jackpot.

“On the desk.”

You weren’t about to hand it to him. Hell—you weren’t about to hand anything to Harvey Specter on a silver fucking platter. He walked slowly to Jessica’s desk, eyes dropping to the file that had been thickened with information on each of the holdings. He opened it, gaze scanning your original sheet before flipping a couple of pages.

“I’ll need time to look this over,” He argued.

“Obviously.”

“I’ll call you.”

“Great.”

“Number still the same?”

Bastard.

“My new number is on the inside of the folder.”

“Great. Is there anything else that I should know?”

“Just that Steven and his cadre of sharks will likely stick their noses in the second they smell blood in the water.”

“We’ll be ready.”

“Good.”

Harvey gave you one last look, one long, sweeping, analyzing look before he turned away, striding out of Jessica’s office. You slowly released a long breath, shoulders untensing as he got further and further away. You lowered your hands, shaking them out and blowing cool air across your shaking, sweating palms.

“Are you sweating?” Jessica asked.

“Are you not? It’s boiling in here." You yanked your collar away from your neck, fanning over your heating skin.

“You can relax. He took the case.”

“Because he had to, not because he wanted to.”

“He’ll get over it, and he’ll do his job.”

“He’s such a grumpy asshole,” You sighed, walking over to the chair that you’d left your jacket and bag on. “But if you say you’re gonna keep him on the straight and narrow—”

“I will—”

“—Then I believe you. I’ve gotta go.”

“Where to?”

“I have to go look at an apartment.”

“Work never ends.”

“This is personal. I need to find a new place. I've been in a hotel for the last few nights, and I can't afford to keep that up."

“Don’t you own your place?”

You shook your head, averting your gaze as you pulled on your coat.

“The penthouse is in Steven’s name.”

You’d had a few hours to forget the weight of Jessica’s judgement, but you felt it again in full force as she shook her head.

“...I thought you were smarter than this,” She said after a moment.

You looked toward Jessica, giving her a small, weak smile. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Do you want me to call you a car? On the firm, of course.”

“No! No, but thanks. I should reacquaint myself with the subway. I’m going to be using it more often.”

You managed to hold it together until the real estate agent gave you a moment to ‘get a better sense of the space’. She clearly had no idea who you were, which was a boon, and hardly looked away from her phone as she waved with one hand and typed with the other thumb. You turned to look around, heard the snick of the door closing, and just…Lost it.

Your tears poured out like someone had reached into your head and turned on a faucet. You buried your face into your hands, uncaring of the fact that your makeup was going to run together. You’d given eleven years of your life to a man that was throwing you to the wolves, as if you’d never meant a thing to him at all—as if you hadn’t put your blood, sweat, and tears into building his empire—into what you had once thought was your empire, too.

And what the hell did you have to show for it? You stood in a $3,200 392 square foot studio apartment of a six-floor walk-up in the West Village, wearing a $4,900 dress, standing in $600 shoes, a your $1,200 purse shifting on your arm as your shoulders shook with sobs.

You sniffled roughly, chest hiccuping tightly as you finally began to calm. You reached into your purse, drawing out a compact and flipping it open. You swiped at your run makeup, taking up the pressed powder puff and dabbing beneath your eyes, and over the tear tracks in your foundation. God, just pull it together for the snot-nosed realtor outside. Tell her that you wanted to take it, get the keys, and start figuring out how you could get your things from Steven. You would need to make money in the meantime.

You looked down, shifting rocking back on your heels to get a better look at your shoes.

You never did love this outfit, and you couldn’t have worn it more than twice. Resale couldn’t be too far below purchase, could it? Come to think of it, you had closets full of hardly worn designer outfits at the penthouse. You looked around the studio. You could spring for a few wheeled clothing racks, find a few reputable resellers. You could get good money for your dresses, your shoes, probably even more for the jewelry that you almost certainly wouldn’t be keeping. Steven always had brought you home a trinket from the trips that he frequently took without you—beautiful gems that you knew now were trinkets for guilt, or something like it. You were almost certain Steven didn’t really feel guilt, but he could play-act at it well enough.

But you didn’t have to worry about that at that moment. And as soon as Steven did rear his ugly head, he would have Harvey to deal with. Considering your history, that shouldn't have been a very comfortable thought—but you had Harvey and Jessica in your corner.

You closed your eyes and drew in a deep breath, deeper than you were able to draw before. You held it for one...two...three...And pushed it out slowly as your heated face began to cool.

Deal with the realtor first. Sign the lease, get the keys, and start getting your life back together.

“This isn’t going to be an easy one," Harvey warned.

“Of course it isn’t. If it was, you wouldn’t have agreed to take the case.”

“I didn’t take it, it was given to me.”

“You poor thing.”

It left you without any sympathy, your gaze stone-heavy as you watched him. He narrowed his eyes, a smile set in place as he rocked back and forth in his chair. He tapped his pen on his lips for a moment before he rocked fully forward. You watched his gaze skate across the file in front of him.

“The way I see it, there are four easy wins here,” He turned the file toward you, and you scooted forward in your seat to get a better look at them. “The two apartment buildings on the upper East Side, the one in the Village, and the brownstone in Park Slope. We can hack away at the other sixteen down the road, but we should move on these.”

“Okay.”

“The easiest win is going to be in the Slope. The assessed value is…” His brows furrowed, and he leaned over the file and squinted, as if he wasn’t quite seeing the number correctly.

“Seven million?” You filled in. Harvey’s gaze darted to yours, brows raised.

“Nice chunk of change.”

“I want it listed for ten.”

“That may be a little unrealistic.”

“I’m looking for 8.5 in cash, if possible, so I’m expecting some haggling. I already told the broker as much.”

“Alright. Which of these buildings are you staying in?”

“I’m not staying in any of them.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not staying in any of them.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m pairing down, staying somewhere else.”

“You could stay in any of these rent-free.”

“The HOA and utilities are more than I can afford right now.”

“We could bake the HOA into the contract.”

“If Steven found out I was staying in any of them, he’d find a way to tank the deal from the outside.”

Harvey’s expression tightened a little before he nodded: “Fine. I’ll need your new address for the paperwork.”

“May I use your pen, please?”

Harvey pushed the file closer, passing the pen with it. You could feel him watching you as you jotted down your address, name, and number. Harvey draws the file back to himself, sweeping over the information.

“Keeping your married name?”

“I’ve put in the paperwork to change it, but that could take at least a couple of months.”

“I have a friend that clerks for the Supreme Court of New York, I could put in a word.”

“That’s a kind offer but don’t worry about it. Is there anything else that we need to discuss today?”

“No, that about covers it. I’ll call you if our real estate department or my associate comes across anything that could be beneficial to your situation.”

“I may have just uncovered something.”

You turned at the sound of a new voice, catching sight of a young man standing in the doorway.

“This is Mike Ross, my associate,” Harvey introduced, standing and holding a hand out toward Mike. “Mike Ross, this is Mrs. Steven Hayward.”

Your name left him with a vinegary annoyance that you’d been hoping would be absent from this meeting. You stood, holding out your hand and offering Mike your first name.

“Would you prefer to be, uh..." Mike’s gaze darted between you and Harvey.

“I’d prefer you not to use my married name, if possible.”

“Got it. So,” Mike stepped between you and Harvey, opening the file that he was holding. “I’ve found an additional six properties where your name is the only one on the lease.”

You frowned, brow furrowing as you stepped closer to get a look at the file. “That can’t be right.”

“If Mike found it, it’s right.” There was an irritated thread of steel in Harvey’s tone, and you shot him a scathing glance.

“The comment was one of surprise, not distrust.”

“Maybe next time you can keep your surprise to yourself and let my associate speak.”

“Just like you’re letting him speak right now?”

Harvey’s jaw went tight, and you raised your brows as a knowing smirk curled your lips before you turned back to Mike and nodded:

“You were saying?”

Mike’s expression was riddled with confusion, but he snapped back into action.

“Right—There are, uh…Three complexes in downtown Brooklyn,” He shifted through the stack of papers and drew out photos. “They were gutted for renovation, but work was stopped before any further changes could be made. They cited funding concerns.”

That really couldn’t be right. Steven was rolling in cash like a pig in shit. You took hold of the photos, frown deepening as you got a better look at them.

“What is it?” Harvey pressed.

“I don’t recognize any of these.” You flipped to the next one, then the next. The walls in all of them had been stripped; the floors were torn up; the wiring of the ceiling was exposed.

“What about the other three?” You pressed.

“Uh—One house in the Hamptons, one in Cape Cod, and one in Gstaad.”

“You’re kidding,” You said flatly, looking at MIke.

“I am not. I take it you don’t know about any of those, either?”

“Not a one.”

“Would you want any of them?”

“Maybe Cape Cod.”

“Not Gstaad?” Harvey asked.

“Mm, not worth it. I don’t know how to ski.”

“Still?”

You rolled your eyes pointedly before you nodded back to Mike’s file. “Do you have the paperwork for the properties?” “Yeah, it’s, uh…” He set the file down, sifting through for the paper clipped documents and lining them up on Harvey's desk. “These are…All of them…Separated out by property.”

You went down the line, flipping through each of the pages and growing more and more frantic as you did.

“None of these are my signature.”

“He would’ve closed through a title company, I can hunt that down,” Mike commented to Harvey.

“We can throw these on the list of what needs to be sold, or put them in a living trust,” Harvey offered.

“...I don't know,” You leaned away, shaking your head. You felt so unsettled; after the rapid upheaval of your life over the last week you weren’t sure how much more of this you could take. After this, you had to worry about the divorce, the tabloids, whatever the fuck else you were going to do with your life—You felt your throat going tight with tears, and you cleared your throat harshly, trying to dispel some of the feeling. “If they were good investments, Steven would’ve used his name on them.”

“All the more reason for you to ditch them.”

“I want them inspected first. I’m not throwing these on the market until I know what the hell I’m dealing with.”

“We can take care of that,” Mike promised. You nodded, glancing toward him and offering a tight, grateful smile.

“Not that you’re paying us to.”

Harvey’s snide reminder was like having a bucket of cold water poured over you. Your hands curled into fists where they rested on your hips. You were just on the edge of slapping the guy—

“You can deal with me directly,” You offered Mike. “My number’s in the file. Thank you, for—” You waved your hand toward the file. “Uncovering this. I appreciate it.” You took up your purse and threw your coat over your arm, trying to hold back your rapidly rising tears as your face flooded with heat.

“You’re just going to go?” Harvey asked.

“It’s always worked for you pretty well,” You snapped. “Figured I’d give it a try.” You stormed out without another word, keeping your gaze staunchly set on the floor that you desperately wanted to sink through.

“I have…So many questions right now,” Mike shook his head as he watched Mrs. Hayward stride toward the elevators.

“You know where to start. Get the inspections lined up, and then start prepping the filings for forgery—”

“Harvey,” Mike raised his hands, chuckling with shock. “What—Was that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please. The whole ‘if Mike found it it’s right’?”

“Well, that’s true.”

“That thing about her still not being able to ski? How do you know her?”

“We’ve met, that’s all.”

“It’s obviously more than that.” Mike searched Harvey’s gaze for a few moments. “C’mon, what’s your deal?”

Harvey considered for a moment, his jaw working before he nodded to the right. “Close the door.”

He lowered himself into his seat as Mike did as he asked, then turned back to him.

“Mrs. Hayward and I…” Harvey’s expression tightened as he struggled with it. “We were…Involved for a while.”

“While she was married?”

“Before.”

“How involved?”

“We were engaged.”

Mike’s eyes widened drastically, his brows making a jump toward his hairline. “En—What?” He laughed breathlessly. “The great Harvey Specter was almost nailed by that ice queen?”

“Watch it,” Harvey warned; he was stunned as he felt a flair of protectiveness bloom in his chest. “She wasn’t always like that.” He glanced toward the property statements at the front of his desk, and he thought of the dismayed twist of her features. When she’d met his gaze, her eyes had been bright with tears. Maybe that was his fault, at least a little. He should’ve watched his tone a little more. He had surely made her cry enough, years ago.

“What happened?” Mike pressed.

“I wasn’t ready.”

“You broke it off?”

“...Something like that.”

Harvey’s gaze flitted nervously toward Mike, and he could practically hear the wheels turning overtime in his head. It only took a moment before Mike’s eyes managed to widen further, his jaw dropping open in shock.

“Oh my—There is no way.”

“I’m not proud of it,” Harvey raised a hand to stop Mike’s incredulous questioning.

“Let me just make sure I’m on the same page here,” Mike shook his head. “You left her at the altar, she married this guy, and now you’re…Making jokes about the fact that she can’t ski or afford a lawyer?”

Harvey’s heart sank into his stomach as he cut an irritated gaze across the desk.

“I’m not proud of that, either.”

“Didn’t stop you, though, did it.”

“Are you finished with your lecture? Because you have a lot of work to do.”

“On it,” Mike nodded, hopping out of his seat and restacking the paperwork into the file.

“While you’re at it, keep your ear to the ground on that Park Slope property. The sooner the wheels are turning on that, the better. Use that number,” He tapped the file, “To call her, and send any documents to that address.”

“Understood.”

Harvey listened to Mike’s retreating footsteps as he twisted back and forth in his seat, restless in his discomfort. He pushed himself out of his seat in annoyance, unable to stand sitting anymore. Why had he shot his mouth off at her like that? He knew that she was going through it. He just figured when he’d first seen her in Jessica’s office that this situation wouldn’t be quite so hellish.

Steven Hayward was a billionaire, a former Forbes 30 Under 30 recipient. Harvey had done his digging when the engagement had first been announced—just a few months after Harvey had made the decision not to marry her. He’d assumed then that if she’d moved on so quickly, she couldn’t have loved him much in the first place, and the idea had solidified his decision not to go through with their wedding.

Harvey had done his best to put her out of his mind, and he’d succeeded for the most part. But when Jessica had thrown this case at him, he’d gone back, done some more digging. There were so many resources about Steven Hayward from the last decade—interviews, profiles, filings. In all of them, Steven came off as a self-assured, cocky, pompous asshat, but a decent strategist. Those same profiles had described Mrs. Hayward as the trophy wife, the little woman behind the man, tending to the arrangements for their multi-million, 3,000 square foot penthouse overlooking Central Park. For as much as Harvey had forced himself to forget about her, he couldn’t forget her spirit, her determination, her desire to build a life, not to be handed one. None of the credit was given to her. None of the glory, none of the acknowledgement of what Harvey was certain were her blood, sweat and tears in that man’s holdings.

The tears that she had seemed set to shed in his office were all the indication that Harvey needed. He scrubbed his hand across his face, trying to compose himself as he pushed the wounded memory of her away.

Even footing. He needed to get the two of them on some kind of even footing. Every conversation couldn’t be a fight—it would just slow the both of them down. The sooner they sorted this out, the sooner they’d be out of one another’s hair.

“Donna!” He called out, turning toward the door. Donna popped her head in a moment later, brows raised expectantly. “I need you to look an address up for me.”

“It’s in the West Village.”

Harvey’s mouth worked wordlessly for a couple of seconds before he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing, “Mike?”

“You shouldn’t have hired a super genius if you didn’t want him using that big brain.”

“I was hoping he would use it for good, not evil.”

“Oh, trust me, he is. Anything else?”

“Lunch?”

“It’s on the way.”

Of course it was.

“This is everything?”

“Yes. I checked and double-checked the list that you gave me before I left.”

You nodded, planting your hands on your hips and looking over six industrial-sized trash bags that contained what you hoped were your tide-over funds.

“The jewelry’s in there, too?”

“Hey,” Aaron stepped closer to you, resting his hand on your shoulder. “When I say I got everything, I mean I got everything. I was this close to snagging a couple of light fixtures.”

You laughed a little, nodding and leaning into the touch a little. You’d worked with Aaron Delaney for over five years at Hayward Realty. You’d hoped that he wouldn’t be in Steven’s camp in the divorce, and when you’d reached out to find out when Steven would definitely be at the office, Aaron had quickly jumped on your bandwagon. It had taken nearly three weeks, but he had come through. Not only had he told you when Steven would be out, but he’d offered to go into the apartment and get things for you. You hadn’t heard a thing from Mike in a couple of weeks, so you could only hope that everything was going smoothly on his end, but these bags would go a long way to bolstering your bitten budget.

“You want my help cataloging it?” He offered. You shook your head a little.

“No, god, you've done enough—and helped me lug this up six flights. Besides, Steven will be suspicious if you’re out of the office for too long—you’re too good an employee to be out of pocket for more than a few minutes. But if you’d like to be enlisted in mole duty going forward, I’m gonna need you to have your ear to the ground over there.”

“You’ve got it.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Text me if you need anything.”

“Will do, yeah. And thanks again, Aaron. Seriously.”

“Keep your chin up, hon.”

“Yeah,” You mumbled, turning back to the trash bags as Aaron headed for the door. God, you didn’t even know what was where. It was probably best to just go bag by bag, and hope all of the suits were together. You could hang the outfits up, take a picture, post it on the app that you were using to resell your luxury clothing. You could—and probably would—keep at least a couple of things for yourself, but you couldn’t go crazy. You’d need suits for your divorce settlement, and possibly for court…And for whatever the hell you wound up doing once this was all over.

Because it would be over, eventually. There was a life for you on the other side of all of this, and you had to keep reminding yourself of that. Things would get easier, but right now, it all just…Fucking sucked. You had moved the few things that you had into the studio apartment, including your dresser, a bookshelf, a few books, and your favorite Eames lounge chair and reading lamp. You’d had to get a new bed—a full was all that you could use without overwhelming the space; you got a metal frame on Amazon that would get the job done, and you’d bought and built three racks for your clothing. You still hadn’t found an affordable couch, but you had found a nice oak grain bedside table on the sidewalk, with a handwritten looseleaf sign taped to it that read, FREE!!

You hadn’t had the chance to paint or put any personalizing touches on the space besides your furniture—no art, or knick knacks. The space was nearing functional, but you were certain that unpacking all of your clothing was going to make that a hell of a lot more difficult.

You crouched down in front of the first bag, untying it and opening it. You could see some Scanlan Theodore, some Tuckernuck, some Bergdorf Goodman. This bag was already pretty promising. You sighed, taking the first dress out and wafting the fabric out. It didn’t need to be ironed or steamed, which was a blessing. You were already dreading how long this was going to take, but hell, at least it would give you something to do that wasn’t staring down the barrel of your dead-end future—

Okay. Okay, so not helpful, so not the time. You reached into your pocket, pulling your phone out of your pocket to find a podcast to listen to. There had to be something that you could listen to that would distract you from the monotony of filing and sorting your clothing out. You settled on one of your favorites before you began sorting through the first bag. You were right—a couple of Scanlans, two Tuckernucks, three Bergdorf Goodman’s–

Your sorting was interrupted by a knock on your door. You frowned, pushing yourself up. What else could be left? It had to be good if Aaron had lugged something else up six floors. You pushed yourself off of the floor, brushing the dust off of your sweatpants.

“Alright, Delaney, what’d you forget?” You asked as you approached the door and tugged it open.

The sight of Harvey Specter standing on your doorstep made your stomach want to violently unseat your lunch. His gaze swept over you critically, taking sight of you in your comfy clothes. Between the ratty old shirt, the sweats, and your fluffy socks, you were a far, far cry from the way that he’d become accustomed to seeing you in his office.

“Can I, uh…” He peered over your shoulder, nodding inside. “Can I come in?”

“I thought I was going to be hearing from Mr. Ross.”

“Mike is busy, and we need to talk.”

You couldn’t imagine what the hell you and Harvey needed to talk about. You didn’t want to let him in; you knew that what Harvey was about to see wasn’t what he was surely expecting. Your grip tightened on the handle before you drew in a deep breath nodding, “Sure.”

It was worse than you imagined. Harvey hardly got two steps inside before he stopped fully. Well, to be fair, there wasn’t a ton of space for him to wander around and explore; between the bed, the armchair, and the trash bags, there wasn’t much room for him to move around. You shut the door and pointedly cleared your throat, trying to jog him from his shock. As he faced you again, you could see him trying to mask his surprise, his brows drawing down over his eyes as he turned to a file in his hand.

“You have an offer on the Park Slope house.”

“Why didn’t I get a call from my broker?”

“I asked to deliver the news myself.”

You frowned a little, taking hold of the file and flipping it open. Your eyes widened at the sight of a check paperclipped to the top of the files—for frighteningly beneath asking price.

“I said I wanted it in cash.”

“...I know that,” Harvey spoke slowly, as if he was dealing with a particularly difficult and over-caffeinated child. “That is a good faith deposit from the buyer.”

“They’ve signed?” Your hands tighten around the file as your stomach flipped with excitement. “I didn’t ask my broker for a good faith deposit.”

“No, I had it baked into the contract.”

Your gaze flitted to Harvey, annoyance and admiration growing in equal measure.

“I…Appreciate that,” You finally managed. “But in the future, please run any changes like that by me before you speak to my broker.”

Harvey nodded, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Understood.”

“Thanks.” You closed to file, certain that if you didn’t, you’d just spend your time staring at the check—at your first lifeline in this whole mess. “Anything else?”

“We need to get on a more even footing.”

“...I don’t know what you mean.”

Harvey gave you a chastising frown, one that would’ve made you wilt long ago—but now, you simply shook your head and shrugged.

“I don’t,” You insisted. “Unless you mean that you’ll stop out your thinly veiled barbs about what you think you know about me.”

“I remember more than you think.”

“I’m not the woman that you left at the altar, Harvey.” Your admission and reminder left a bitter taste in your mouth. You had to force yourself to hold his gaze, even as his expression flooded with discomfort. You could see him desperately trying to push it away as his retort bubbled up:

“And I’m not the man that left you there!”

“No?” You laughed openly. “Because this all looks pretty fucking familiar. You’re a shark, Harvey, and you’re a dick. Lucky for the both of us, that’s exactly what I need you to be right now.”

Harvey’s jaw tightened, and you could see his hands curling into fists before he shoved them into his pockets.

“Let’s get one thing perfectly clear,” He seethed, taking a small step closer, “What I do for you over the course of this case is purely because of my reputation in this city. I’m going to do my damndest to get you the best out of all of these properties, but do not think for a moment that the job I do comes from any interest, any compassion, anything worth a damn.”

“What compassion? Anyone with compassion would’ve at least had the grace to do better than a goddamn post-it note in my bridal suite that just said ‘sorry’. It didn't even look like your handwriting!” You loosed a hysterical laugh that had been building in your throat as he spoke. “Or did you not even want that in there? Maybe one of my bridesmaids scrawled it to keep me from just throwing myself off the fucking roof!”

Harvey’s expression flickered again, and you saw some of the color drain from his annoyance-flushed cheeks. You turned away, stomach roiling with embarrassment and irritation.

“Thanks for the file,” You managed, forcing a steadiness into your tone. “Going forward, I really do think it’s for the best that you communicate with me through Mr. Ross.”

“Gladly. Have a nice day, Mrs. Hayward.”

Three long strides, the creak of the door opening, and then slamming shut. You flinched at the sound, fingers tightening around the file, trying to focus on the check.

One hundred thousand dollars was an amazing start. One hundred thousand dollars could go toward your rent, your expenses, buy you some time. Maybe you could get a nice bottle of gin—or a couple of the cheap bottles the size of your head, the stuff that tasted like paint thinner and knocked you flat on your ass until morning.

Maybe you could sell your clothing during the day and quietly slip into oblivion in the evening. You had nothing better to do with your nights. Almost none of your so-called friends had reached out after the news had broken—likely making the choice to side with Steven. He was the one that still had the money, of course, the position in society. His name was on the door, not yours.

Your name was on a 12 month lease, and on a check for one hundred thousand dollars.

sorry

Lowercase, hurriedly scrawled, ink smudged. You could still see the slightly crumpled post-it that had been sitting on your honeymoon suite vanity when you’d returned after waiting at the back of the venue for almost an hour.

Harvey hadn’t copped to writing it. Maybe he didn’t want to—or maybe he really didn’t write it. Maybe he wasn’t sorry. Maybe he saw the shitshow that your life had become and was glad that he’d gotten out early.

You glanced around the apartment, eyeing the row of trash bags, the rickety furniture. At this moment, you couldn’t blame him.

You tossed the file onto your bedside table before walking back to the trash bags. Bag by bag, then steam what needed to be steam, then sort by brand. Plan of attack. You could get that man out of your head.

That man—which one was worse to think about just now—Steven or Harvey?

You shook your head, forcing yourself to dismiss both of them for the morning. You didn’t have any more time for what could’ve been’s. You had here, you had now.

And you had shit to do.

“Okay, two things,” Mike announced as he rounded into Harvey’s office. “One, the purchase agreement for the brownstone is signed and the payment is on the way to her bank account. There’s also an offer for the apartment building in the upper East Side. Two—“

“What do you mean, two?” Harvey frowned. “That’s already two things.”

“Fine, three—“

“Super genius and he can’t even count—“

“I got six emails from Steven Hayward’s representation this morning, disputing ownership of all of the twenty original flagged properties.”

“Damnit,” Harvey hissed. “Even the houses she didn’t know about?”

“No, so far, they’ve been conspicuously left off of the list.”

“Where are we with those inspections?”

“In progress, should hear back by the end of the week.”

“Good.”

Mike nodded, and Harvey returned his attention to his laptop. At least, he did until he realized that Mike hadn’t left the room.

“Something else that you need to say?” Harvey prodded.

“Aren’t you going to ask how she is?”

“Why would I need to know that?”

“Come on, Harvey.”

“She’s a client, Mike.”

“A client that you were going to marry!”

“And I didn’t marry her. What do you think that says about my wealth of feeling for her?”

Mike sighed heavily through his nose, muttering, “Alright.” He began to turn away, heading for the door. “Well, if you had asked, I would’ve told you that she’s putting on a brave face, but she’s getting to the end of her rope.”

“Well I didn’t ask, but thank you for that poetic and poignant diagnosis.”

“You have to go.”

“Of all of my priorities right now, the gala is not one of them,” You insisted. “I’ve got about a hundred more urgent matters right now.”

“Make this one,” Jessica insisted, leaning back against her desk, her arms folding across her chest. “You know how badly you’ll be lampooned if you don't turn up.”

“And I’ll be lampooned if I do show up. Besides, I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Wear something you’ve worn before.”

“I don’t have most of those pieces anymore.”

“Then rent something.”

“You do remember that Steven is being honored this year?”

“All the more reason for you to show your face.”

“Jessica—“

“What’s your plan.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your plan—when this is all over? Are you going to go back into real estate?”

“…It’s crossed my mind.”

“You know that they will never let you back in if you slink out the back door and try to come in through the front again. They’ve rescinded your keys, honey. May as well stay in the house as long as you can.”

“This metaphor is beginning to exhaust me.”

Jessica grinned. “I better see your name on the RSVP list by the end of the day.”

“Since when do you have access to that information?”

“I have my sources.”

You heard two knocks, followed by the increasingly comforting sound of Mike’s voice: “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Not at all,” Jessica waved him inside. “I’m hoping for a fruitful update.”

“Well,” Mike gave a small, nervous smile as he joined the two of you. “The good news is that purchase for the brownstone is moving through the channels, and there are interested buyers for the upper East Side apartment building. Unfortunately —“ The word made your gut swoop. “—Your ex-husband has come out of the woodwork. He’s trying to stake a claim on the properties, and on a hold co. We’re monitoring the situation,” Mike added before either you or Jessica could speak, “But I wanted to make you aware of what you could be facing sometime soon.”

You nodded, wringing your hands where they were folded in your lap.

“I appreciate the update.”

“Of course.”

“Why isn’t Harvey relaying this to me himself?” Jessica frowned. You raised your brows, glancing toward Mike, and fighting back a wave of amusement at his blatant deer-in-headlines expression.

“He had a—meeting,” He flubbed before jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “I should, uh–”

Jessica’s brows raise skeptically, but she nods, and you bite back a laugh as Mike leaves the room with a measured hurry.

“...Why do I have the feeling that the two of you are keeping something from me?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” You shrugged, pushing yourself out of your seat. “Now if you excuse me, I have some clothes to package—”

“And a gala outfit to find. I understand.”

You turned from Jessica’s smug grin, rolling your eyes as she tacked on,

“And don’t forget to get your nails done!”

You rounded out of the office, pulling up short as you slammed into someone.

“Oh! Fuck, sorry!” You breathed as their hands landed on your hips to steady you.

“...Don’t worry about it.” Harvey’s flat tone turned your stomach. You cleared your throat, stepping back and out of his hands.

“I’ll watch where I’m going.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You gave a firm nod as you skirted around him, face flooding with embarrassed heat as you strode toward the elevators.

The gala. You’d completely forgotten about the gala until Jessica had brought it up. Six months ago, planning the evening had been the center of your world. You’d put a deposit down for a custom dress, had it fitted. Steven had asked you to coordinate a cocktail party for the two hours beforehand—an intimate gathering for 150 of your closest friends and associates. You sighed, leaning back against the hard subway seat and gazing at your appearance in the window opposite you.

You could just see it now—the who’s who of New York’s real estate scene all swanning up to the penthouse, lounging fashionably, eating the hors d'oeuvres that you’d chosen and drinking the champagne that you’d ordered by the case…

…The champagne that you had ordered…

Come to think of it, those contracts all had your name on them, your contact information. Steven hadn’t been involved with a damn thing, save for the use of his credit card to put down deposits. He never did—he expected you to handle all of the coordination on the day as well; he would swan in an hour after the party started and do his scant duties as the host.

A devilish grin curled your lips. You were sure you still had all of the confirmations in your email. You could cancel all of it—the ice sculpture, the caterer, the champagne…Well, maybe you could divert one case to your new apartment, and cancel the rest.

Oh, you could really see it now—Steven seething as he frantically checked his emails for any hint of vendors, any phone number or email that he could call to find out what the hell happened to the party that was to-be. You were certain that the tailor still had your dress—and you had a check for a hundred thousand dollars that you could dip into for a manicure.

You stood as the train pulled into your station. You were suddenly looking forward to the gala.

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#Harvey Specter x Reader #Harvey Specter x You #Harvey Specter/Reader #Harvey Specter/You #Harvey Specter fic #Harvey Specter imagine #Bad Faith

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