#back to painting middle aged men

[donotaskmeagain]

Got into star trek tos lately so here’s some paintings of the og space gays

#my art #click for hq #digital art #artists on tumblr #leonard mccoy #mcspirk #james t kirk #jim kirk #spock #star trek #tos #star trek tos #mckirk #spones #spirk #star trek the original series #finally got out of art block ngh #back to painting middle aged men #bones mccoy

[dollfacefantasy]

Some Extra Lessons

pairing: professor!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: professor kennedy’s got it bad for one of his students. little does he know, you feel the same way for him.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, thigh riding, fingering, edging, age gap (36/college aged), teacher/student, daddy kink, sir kink, praise/degradation

word count: 7k

a/n: hey everybody. hope everyone had nice holidays if you celebrate them. and happy new year! i'm not sure how i feel about this one but eh. i got things cooking so stay tuned 🫵. as always, thank you for your comments and reblogs. smooches <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus

Mondays and Wednesdays. Those are fast becoming Leon’s two favorite days of the week. For most people, they’re probably the worst days. The first day back to work, and the other right in the middle of the week; when they’ve already had enough but it feels like the weekend is still years away. But not for Leon. Not anymore. Those days are now sacred to him because they are the days he gets to see you.

You’re his favorite student this semester by far, no one else even comes close. He noticed you early on in the beginning weeks, quiet but attentive. You would sit off to the side by yourself, always taking notes or scanning what was on the board.

It made him feel like such a perv when he first noticed his own lingering gazes and heart palpitations when you walked in the room. He tried to justify it. It wasn’t everyday he had someone like you sitting a few rows away from him, hanging on every word he said.

He’s only human, he tried reasoning. He couldn’t help but always notice the cute little outfits you wore to class, teasing just enough of your body to keep him ogling you for more. You did your hair in pretty styles and coated your pouty lips in shimmery gloss. He had to force his eyes to move around the room to other students when he spoke. His natural instinct was to keep them locked on you while his head filled with images of his hands squeezing those cute tits or his cock sliding between your shiny lips.

Despite those fantasies, he left you alone. It was wrong, inappropriate, he told himself. He shouldn’t be lusting after his student, let alone pursuing her. You were just a sweet girl trying to get an education. He couldn’t let his perversions interfere with that.

But as the weeks passed and more classes went by, he got to know you. You seemed pretty shy but not insecure. In class, you’d do your work alone, but if there was ever a lull in his lecture, you’d raise your hand to offer an answer, help him out a little. That was how he had bridged the gap between you two even though he hadn’t meant it as anything more than what it was.

He had just dismissed everyone, making a corny joke about the poor grades he’d given so far on an essay that had been due. A small smile graced your lips. Sure, the joke wasn’t that funny, but you had a fat crush on Mr. Kennedy so everything he said was a little funny.

You were scrawling down a few remaining notes before you would leave for the day when you heard his voice call your name. Immediately, your head tilted up to look at him. He beckoned you over with a wave of his hand. You were still wondering what this could be about as your hands slid your notebook into your backpack and your feet carried you towards him.

“Yes, Mr. Kennedy?” you say softly when you approach his desk. You rest your palms on the edge of the table as you await the reason behind this encounter.

“Hey, I just wanted to thank you for your participation. You know, I appreciate that, and I know it’s not fair to you to have that expected of you when you didn’t sign up for it,” he begins.

“Oh, it’s no problem, sir. I really don’t mind,” you say, smiling at him.

“Sir? So polite,” he jokes with a smile of his own. The remark had come out before he could stop himself with a mental scolding about being normal with you.

Your cheeks burn, and you glance down at your shoes timidly. Your heartbeat was already faster than normal just from having his eyes focused on you alone. With him teasing you, it felt like your chest was going to explode.

This was the closest you’d ever been to him, the most you’d ever spoken to one another. Up close it was even more apparent how handsome he was. He didn’t look like any other professors you had. His blonde hair fell into his face and partially obscured one of his eyes. His shirt was undone a button lower than was probably professional.

“And I wanted to tell you that I got your email about your late assignment,” he says. He could see your embarrassment. He would have felt more guilt about causing it if you didn’t look so precious like that. He pushes those thoughts away though as you look up again, anxiety in your eyes. 

“Oh yeah, I’m really sorry about that. I promise you that it’s a one time thing. I don’t normally have that problem, and I just wanted you to know that. Didn’t want you to get the wrong impression,” you say.

He cuts off your apology with a chuckle and places his hand over yours, covering your manicured nails with the rough skin of his palm. 

“It’s alright, honey,” he says, “I can tell you’re a good girl. I don’t mind giving you a break.”

Good girl. You shift in place upon hearing those two words. It’s like a small match ignites in your belly, inching closer to the larger fuse.

So naive. So well-intentioned. That’s what he saw looking at you in that moment. He could almost see into you, see your mind trying to figure out a response, to discern if he was purposely flirting or clueless like you.

Your eyes cast down, and a shy smile breaks out on your face. After wrapping up the conversation and finishing with a soft murmur of “Thank you Mr. Kennedy,” you practically skip out of the room. A swirl of almost every good emotion you’ve ever felt blooms in your chest because of his attention.

He smirks, watching that sweet ass sway back and forth as you bound up the steps to the door. How you seem to walk with your shoulders back and chest out after the small praise he gave you. God, he was practically drooling. He imagined himself looking like a cartoon character, silhouettes of hearts in his eyes and his tongue rolled out of his mouth.

But no, this was wrong. Point blank, it’s that simple. Or at least it should be.

After that day, he relented a little. He decided that some slight teasing was harmless. But he swore it would be just that, nothing further. That small voice in his head tried to defend it. It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy the attention. You’d blush and fidget in your seat when he shot you an amorous look. Or you’d smile and flit your eyes away as he’d tuck some hair behind your ear when he’d come over to your desk after class to ask if you understood everything.

And as he weakened, your infatuation intensified. These classes became the highlights of your week. You’d fantasize about the pet name he’d call you on Monday or how his eyes would roam over your body on Wednesday. Walking to class, ringing through your head was simply Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Kennedy. While you traveled home, he danced through your mind to your thoughts about him that sounded like a love song.

Even with the huge torch you carried for him, you could never work up the nerve to make the big move. Every time you’d imagine sitting in his lap, your lips moving with his, all you could think about was what if it was all in your head? All those little looks and sweet words just blown out of proportion in your mind. Could you handle baring your soul to him if he reacted with anything other than reciprocation?

These questions bothered you as the semester went on, but nothing really changed. Leon was the same way, of course, all while you were unaware. He could only imagine how freaked out you would be if he made any attempt on you.

Lately, the two of you had been spending more time together. You were staying after class more to get “additional help.” Lingering around his desk, you’d timidly started approaching him, and he was happy to give you the aide.

Today, he dismisses everyone else before waving you over with a smug smile. You grab your things and scamper down to his desk with your own happy expression. You slide into the chair he pulled next to his seat. You open your laptop and start showing him the things you didn’t understand. In reality, you understood just fine, but for the sake of being around him, you’d bite your lip and look up at him through your lashes as if you’d missed entire classes worth of information.

“I just have trouble with memorization. I get confused between the words and their definitions,” you explain.

“Oh alright,” he responds softly, eyes scanning over the screen and then finding your face, “There’s a couple of things I think could help. Acronyms, stuff like that.”

He starts explaining the strategy to you, but like always, you have to fight a mental war to stay focused. You nod along, trying your best to act attentive. It was so hard though because… he’s him. 

You scoot your chair a little closer to his to get a better view of the laptop and notice his breath hitch. Your body freezes, but instead of feeling that familiar fear of rejection come over you, confidence begins simmering inside your chest. The change in his breathing meant something, he was reacting to this too. Maybe you could do this after all.

For now, you try to act natural, moving along the conversation with another question.

“Is there anything else though? Because I struggle to attach the definitions too, not just remember the words,” you say, leaning in a little more.

He turns his head to look at you completely, eyes locked on yours. You felt like you were losing your footing a little staring into them. “Mhm. I can show you how to link the two. Break down the word to get the meanings of the parts and…” he continues on as you zone out.

His voice was huskier now, and that simmer of confidence continues to build within you. You keep nodding with every pause in his speech, your doe eyes looking up at him.

“That makes sense,��� you say when he finishes, still unable to look away. Your heart pounds as you make a decision. You place your hand on his thigh. You try to act natural, as if it’s just a casual gesture of affirmation. But you can see in his eyes that he knows better.

“Yeah? Do you need help with anything else then?” he asks slowly, watching your face for reactions.

“I think so,” you say as your voice grows a little breathier.

“What is it?” he asks. He leans in a little more and you can feel his hot breath fanning over you.

“I have some more questions…” you say.

“About?” he says, eyes dropping to your lips for a moment.

Head tilting down, your foot moves over to lightly brush up against his leg. You bite your lip, looking the most timid he’d ever seen you, which was saying a lot. But you force yourself to keep going while you have this burst of hope.

“Some special tutoring…” you offer.

“Special tutoring?” he repeats with a raise of his eyebrow, looking down at your foot rubbing at his ankle. He hesitates but decides to then take your hand and stand up. “If we’re discussing something like that, we should probably go to my personal office. Wouldn’t want us to get interrupted by the next class in here.”

“Oh yeah,” you immediately agree. You grab your stuff and your fingers link with his as he leads you out of the classroom, down the hall to his office. Passing bulletin boards of flyers and other students heading to their next class, you realize it probably looks a little odd to be holding his hand, letting him guide you around. But it just turned you on more, feeling dependent, controlled.

After a while, you reach the door with the stick-on placard reading “Leon Kennedy.” Your heart pounds as you shuffle through the entrance. The office was a decent size, having a desk, some book shelves, and a small loveseat in the back corner of the room.

He slides past you and walks behind his desk, taking a seat in his chair that was clearly much more comfortable than the generic one in the lecture room. It dawned on you though that that was the only other chair in the room. There was the couch, but that was too far away from the desk for your purposes.

You approach the desk, similar to how you did all those weeks ago when this first started. He looks up at you with hesitant desire in his eyes.

“Why don’t you c’mere?” he asks.

“Ok,” you respond shyly. You drop your stuff near his desk and pad around it to approach him. Standing between his muscular thighs, you almost can’t focus from the volume of your pulse in your ears. His eyes look you up and down, more overtly than they ever had in the past. It now felt like you were hurtling towards a collision without a possibility of stopping.

After a moment of silence, he rips you from your thoughts. “Go ahead and ask your questions,” he says.

“Oh yeah,” you say, perking up a little since you had nearly forgotten about your facade of innocent curiosity. “I was just wondering if I could maybe start getting some… extra help.”

He chuckles and leans back in his chair. The maneuver gives you a better view of his broad chest and sculpturesque arms. You feel even more flustered, and you know it’s about to get worse because he obviously picks up on it.

“I don’t really think you need extra help quite honestly. Your grade is fine, and you seem to understand a lot, even the tedious things you ask questions about,” he says, a subtle arrogance on his face as he drags this out.

“No, I really think I do,” you say softly, shifting back and forth in place.

His eyes look up at you with a knowing glint. He shakes his head with a smirk as his gaze falls down to your legs that couldn’t stand still.

“With what? Like I said, even those things you pretend to not know, you obviously do. You ace every test, and while I’d like to believe it, I don’t think my advice is that helpful.”

As the words left his mouth, Leon knew he was getting into dangerous territory, leading you to a place neither of you could just return from. The rational part of his mind was slamming on his mental brakes to no avail.

You were in a similar place, your mind racing and trying to decide whether to go for it or not. After a quick moment, it was as if a bright neon sign flashes in your mind. The words telling you to try. You decide on moving forward and ignoring the other part of you that’s telling you to turn around and walk out the door right now.

You sit on his lap, straddling him with each of your legs on either side of his thigh. You look down as your fingertips drag along the waistline of his pants. 

“I just think there are other things I could learn from you,” you say, your voice shaking from your nerves.

“Tell me what they are,” he breathes. His own heart slams against his ribcage at your gesture. His natural instincts scream at him to pull you close and take what he wants, making his fantasies reality.

“It’s easier for me to show you,” you say. You felt if you had to speak anymore you might lose your nerve, so you go all in. You lean forward and connect your lips. With feather light kisses, you move your mouth on his.

At first, he doesn’t kiss back, and fear zaps through you. After a moment of shock though, he reciprocates. Your hands slide up his chest while he grabs your hips to pull you closer. The two of you go at it a little longer with soft smooches. Then he feels your tongue swipe against his bottom lip.

He pulls back and looks at you. He couldn’t do this. But God, just look at you. Your chest heaving with your heavier breathing, those plush lips wet with saliva, pretty eyes looking at him like a pleading puppy. He groans and runs a hand over his face and through his hair. His head falls back against his chair.

“Sweetheart… we shouldn’t do this,” he says, not looking at you to try and keep his resolve.

You bite your lip as your eyes widen with anxiety. “Did I do something wrong?” you say, shaky voice returning.

You try to keep it together. He still wasn’t looking at you, but you silently vow to yourself that you wouldn’t cry from the rejection. There would truly be no coming back from that. It would be hard enough seeing him on Monday as it was. If you shed any tears, you’d have to drop the class regardless of how close the end of the semester was.

“No, honey. I did. I just… it’s wrong,” he offers weakly, not convinced of his own excuse, “I shouldn’t have let it get this far. I’m sorry.”

Despite your internal promise, you felt barbs scraping at your throat with each swallow. Hot, stinging tears pricking at your eyes. You try to push it all back down, spare yourself some dignity.

“But- But don’t you-” you start, cutting yourself off to maintain your composure. You take a deep breath before finishing. “Don’t you like me?”

Leon cracks his eyes open and looks down at you. A critical error. He felt like such a dick. There you were, still on his lap, lip quivering, eyes lined with tears and full of uncertainty. He managed to make this into what he wanted to avoid, a complete mess.

“No- I mean yes, I like you a lot. That isn’t the issue here. We- I… we just can’t do this. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it go on this long,” he sighs, hands falling to your hips to move you off his lap.

Now, tears were really threatening to fall. You grab his shoulders to stabilize yourself and stop him from lifting you up. Your mind scrambles for an argument that could work.

“Why?” is all you can manage. As if you didn’t know.

“Baby, I’m your teacher. It wouldn’t be right,” he says, forcing himself to remain unaffected by the kicked puppy look you had going on, “I have to stay objective, and that’s hard enough with a cute little thing like yourself.” He smirks at the end of his statement and rubs your cheek, trying to lighten the mood.

It doesn’t work, your eyes are fixated on his belt buckle as a part of the strategy to keep your tears from leaking out. You subconsciously lean into his hand on your face though, a gesture that makes his heart melt. You just nod faintly. Think, think, think, think, you tell yourself. 

“But it won’t be like you’re cheating for me. I get good grades. It’s not like I’m fucking you to pass…” you reason.

“I know that, sweetheart, and you know that. But you have to understand. Think about it. What if people found out? I’d be risking my job, and I can’t imagine it would go well for you either,” he says softly, stroking some of your hair behind your ear.

“No one will find out,” you say. Your head tilts up so you can look into his eyes.

He immediately looks away, afraid he would cave if he stared into those sweet spheres of desire. You catch this, realizing it may be your way ahead.

“You’re a sweet girl, honey. Pretty and smart. The kind any man would be lucky to have. If this was a different situation, I wouldn’t hesitate. Not for a second. But it’s not,” he says, looking pained.

You push your lip out a little more and let one tear fall from each eye before quickly wiping them away,  smearing the warm liquid across your cheek. Leaning forward, you wrap your arms around him and press yourself to his chest. You look up at him, forcing him to make eye contact.

“I don’t want any man though,” you say quietly. You keep your stare locked on him, your eyes big and vulnerable to accentuate your point. “Please, sir.”

His cock jumps at the title leaving your lips. He sucks in a breath and tilts his head back. “Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says with a hushed groan.

You scoot forward a little bit, your hips grinding down on his lap with the motion. Your nose drags against his throat as you nuzzle his neck. You lay a kiss to his pulse point before murmuring, “Just a few more kisses? Then I won’t bring any of it up again. Pretty please.”

“Kisses…” he trails off, pondering the idea. Just a few more kisses. An obvious lie. But one he would at least pretend to believe just so he could have those sweet lips on his again. “Fine, but that’s it. You understand?”

“Mhm,” you respond without thinking. You lean up and kiss him. It’s not soft or gentle like the first time. This go is passionate from the beginning. Lips move together, and again, your tongue works to gain entry to his mouth.

The two of you make out for definitely more than a few kisses. Your hand slides up from his shoulder to the base of his neck, lightly tugging on his hair. He groans and squeezes your waist. You gasp between kisses at the sensation and grind your hips down again in response.

He grunts as he feels it, his cock getting a little stiff at the feeling. You do it again with a whimper. This time his fingers dig into your flesh, holding you with more authority.

“Be good, only a few more kisses, remember?” he grunts against your lips.

Continuing to kiss, you take a break from moving your hips and push your body against his again. Your soft tits push up against his chest. He tries to draw back, feeling cracks in his resolve as the warm globes meld with him. The backing of his chair stops him from getting too far away though. He grunts and his grip gets more firm, trying to keep you in a suitable position.

“Stay still. Think I’m giving you more than you asked for anyway. Don’t make me cut it off here,” he mumbles before going back in.

It was risky, but you felt like you had him. You felt him half hard between your legs and could feel his breath coming out in longer puffs. You do it again, rolling your hips on him, dragging your cunt over his bulge through the layers of clothing that separated you.

He growls and nips at your lip before harshly lifting your hips off his lap. You’re hovering above the growing tent in his jeans. You lightly rock them a few times with a pout, testing to see if you can get any kind of friction.

“What did I say?” he asks.

“It’s not fair, sir,” you whimper, ignoring his question.

“Oh, it’s not?” he says, maintaining his stern demeanor, “What’s so unfair?”

“Leading me on,” you huff.

Mix a bit of truth in with your seductive game, and you have him now. Real guilt and frustration swirls with the lust in the pit of his belly. He was all in now. There was no way you were leaving this office without his cum leaking from you.

“I told you what you were getting. You thought you could get away with being greedy,” he chides. He lifts you even more and puts you on your feet in front of him, between his thighs again. “Take your pants off.”

Your eyes widen. This was going to happen. Your fingers make quick work of your jeans, snapping the button and dropping them to pool around your ankles. You step out of them and nudge them to the side. He smirks up at you, standing there in your tight t-shirt and frilly pink panties. Of course, everything about you was cute.

His hands return to your hips and pull you on top of him. This time you aren’t on his lap though. You land on his thigh. You look down at the limb beneath you and then back at his face.

“Don’t play dumb now. You wanna rub that needy pussy on something, go ahead,” he says.

“But-“ you start before he cuts you off with a sharp smack on the ass.

“I don’t want to hear any complaining. You should count yourself lucky I’m letting you even do this,” he says as his hand rubs and kneads the cheek he just slapped, “Normally, I wouldn’t accept my little girl just doing whatever she wants like that. But because it’s your first time, I’m giving you a break. Gonna help fix this problem you’re having, thinking from between your legs instead of with that pretty little head.”

Your entire face heats up as he lays into you like that. You start rocking your hips, dragging yourself on his clothes thigh. You watch his face for approval as you go, but his eyes are transfixed on your lower body at the moment.

“There you go, baby. That’s right,” he says encouragingly before cracking you on the ass again, “Little faster. Wanna see how bad you’ve been wanting this.”

You do as he says, rolling your hips with more speed and force. The fabric of your panties begins to dampen with your arousal as you press onto it. Whimpers fall from your lips as you grind your swollen pussy on his muscle. He gives you some help, guiding your movements by holding your hips. You softly gasp a few times, biting your lip as you continue to rut against him.

“Look at you,” he coos. Your tits bounce beneath your t-shirt as you ride his thigh. “Been thinking about this a lot, sweetheart? Dream about this while you’re sitting in class, hm? Humping my leg like a dumb little puppy.”

“Yes,” you choke out and toss your head back. A guttural moan leaves you, and he chuckles, giving your hip a tighter squeeze.

“Quiet, babydoll. Don’t want anyone outside this room hearing. I don’t think they’d believe this is just some ‘special tutoring,’” he says.

You keep up your grinding, your pussy sensitive to the rough fabric of his pants even through your panties. He tries to help you quiet down by pulling you closer and cradling your head against his shoulder, muffling your sounds against his shirt. The cloth becomes wet with your spit as your hushed moans spill out.

After going for a little while longer, he can tell you’re getting close. It’s obvious in the way your hips sputter every couple of thrusts, how your voice is getting whinier, how your body contracts every few moments. Your hands curl into fists, clutching the fabric of his shirt.

“Such a good girl,” he whispers, “Getting close, baby? Think you’re gonna cum soon?”

“Yes, sir,” you whimper.

“Aw, so polite,” he teases just like he had those weeks ago, “Well, tell me when you’re right there. Gonna make it extra special.”

You nod obediently and continue working yourself to the high point. Your breaths become sharper and movements get more erratic. You feel the band of pleasure stretching inside you, ready to snap.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum, “ you ramble out.

“Not yet, you aren’t,” he says. 

With a menacing grin, he yanks your hips up and flips you around. Mind spinning from the sudden loss of pleasure, you whine and squirm on his lap. A pointless struggle seeing how your soaked panties were faced out away from any potential source of friction. Your back’s flush against the warmth of his chest. You can feel his heartbeat thudding behind you as his hands curl around the back of your legs and bring them up so that your feet are planted on his thighs. Your head slumps back against his shoulder, turning to look up at him, pleading frustration projecting from your eyes.

One of his arms snakes around your waist while the other comes up to stroke your chin with his thumb. He looks down at you, eyes full of amusement as he toys with you.

“Now that was really unfair, wasn’t it pretty girl?” he taunts.

You arch your back off his chest with another whine before collapsing against his broad form again. You nod, feeling the sparks of ecstasy dwindle within you.

“You’re a tease,” you huff.

“I am?” he mocks. 

He begins trailing his hand down your front, stopping level with your breasts. He squeezes them gently with some firm caresses from his fingers. Then he lowers his hand further and slips it beneath your shirt. Your breath hitches as he begins stroking the soft skin of your belly up to the valley between your breasts. His palm slides beneath the cups of your bra, feeling the bare skin of your chest. He alternates between each. The rough pads of his fingertips drag over the sensitive flesh of your nipples, giving them tender pinches that draw hushed mewls from you.

“So soft, baby,” he whispers with a kiss to your temple.

It felt nice, made your breasts feel heavy and achy, begging to be touched. Had your head hot and airy, unable to control the way you melted against him or the sweet noises that escaped you. But you couldn’t really enjoy that because your pussy was still throbbing, still desperately searching for the orgasm that was stolen from you. You squirm again, pushing your ass back against the bulge you felt growing in his pants.

“Please, sir. Please,” you whimper, “Wanna cum.”

You feel his lips curl into a smile against the side of your head, but his tone remains rough and commanding. “I think the next thing I gotta teach you is patience.”

Retracting his hand from your bra, he smooths it back down your stomach to the hem of your panties. His fingers fidget with one of the strips of lace on the garment while he stares into your eyes.

“You know, baby, I think you’re the tease here,” he breathes. He rubs the skin just above your panties and then moves under the fabric. His digits glide through your slick folds, the touch meandering, just at the border of giving you pleasure. “I mean, I think you know what you’ve been doing.”

“What?” you say, struggling to take in his words when you were fixated on his touches to your center.

“You act like a dumb little doll, sweetheart, but I know you’re not. I know you know how to play. Parading around in those pretty outfits, something always on your lips, always saying ‘yes sir,’” he whispers. His digits circle your clit at a painfully slow pace. He brushes over it slightly, giving you hope before flattening his hand over your cunt. You get ready to whine about the teasing before he pushes two fingers inside you.

“Mr. Kennedy,” you gasp, head pressing back further against his shoulder.

“Oh, and how could I forget my favorite, ‘Mr. Kennedy.’ But I think it’s about time you start calling me Leon, babydoll. No need to be so formal anymore,” he says as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, curling them just right.

You shake your head and whimper. His palm rubs down on your puffy clit with every thrust of his hand.

“Oh no?” he teases, “You like Mr. Kennedy taking care of you, making you feel good?”

Your eyes roll back as you nod. “Mhm. Yes… s-sir,” you say.

You stumble over the word ‘sir.’ Leon catches it immediately, and he’s certain he knows why. He knows what you really wanted to call him.

“Mmm, good girl,” he purrs in your ear, seeing the way the praise pulls extra gasps from you, makes your eyes all glossy, “You’re so sweet, baby. So precious.”

He lays it on thick, trying to get you to crack and say the word on the tip of your tongue. His fingers massage your sensitive spots as they consistently slide into your dripping cunt. You bite your lip, more whimpers coming from you. You look up at him again through your lashes.

“Thank you, sir,” you say, voice all soft and dreamy as you start climbing to that high.

“Of course, babydoll. You deserve it,” he says into your hair, “But you know, I still think ‘sir’ is too professional. Makes me feel like I’m at work. Plus, I get the feeling you have another name in mind too.”

“I- I do?” you ask, looking up at him curiously. He smiles at your naivety and the way you try to get your words out around your whimpers.

“Oh yeah. I can already hear it, sweetheart. You like being taken care of, being doted on. I can see it. All you want is to be a good girl for…”

“Daddy,” you whine, your eyes squeezing shut.

“That’s right,” he chuckles. He speeds up his fingers, delving as deep as possible. A quiet squeal erupts from you, and he hushes you while kissing your cheek a few times. You try to keep your noises down even as your hips buck and your heels dig into the meat of his thighs.

“Daddy I- Daddy, Daddy, I’m gonna cum,” you moan.

“Aw, but I don’t want my baby to cum yet,” he mocks. Just as quick as the release had built in you, it was gone. He pulls his fingers out of your hole, and your eyes widen. You whimper in disbelief, hips squirming as if they could find that sensation again if they were positioned just right.

“Daddy!” you practically cry.

“Thought I told you to be quiet,” he says, taking his fingers, still wet with your slick, and shoving them into your mouth. You hum around them in surprise at first, but in no time, your tongue presses against the skin, tasting yourself on him. He pumps them in and out a little, a smaller version of what he had been doing moments earlier down below.

“There you go, baby. Like I said, no complaints. Just shut that silly mind off and focus on Daddy’s fingers,” he murmurs. He watches with approval as you do exactly that, your eyes fluttering a bit as you clear your thoughts out. “Such a fast learner.”

Your pussy still aches with a need for him, but it’s more tolerable when he’s cooing in your ear while your lips are around his fingers.

“Bet my pretty girl wants to cum so bad right about now,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear.

“Mhm,” you hum as you take his fingers further into your mouth.

“Well, you know why Daddy didn’t let you cum yet? It wasn’t just to be mean to you,” he says.

He hears garbled “I don’t know” come from you. He strokes your hair with his other hand.

“It’s because,” he starts. He removes his fingers from between your lips and scoops you up. Next thing you know, your back is against the hardwood of his desk. You’re looking up at him with hazy eyes, slowly blinking as you take in his words. “I want you to cum all over Daddy’s cock.”

In mere seconds, his belt clanks against the floor, your panties are gone, his fly is undone, and his dick is out, rock hard. It’s flushed and leaking precum as he moves it to your entrance. He pushes the tip in first, teasing you by holding himself there.

You whine at the slight intrusion, wiggling your hips for more. Jutting your lip out a bit, you look up at him with a pout. “Daddy…” you plead weakly.

He shakes his head with an amused smile, but it works. He pushes the rest of his length in, filling you up completely. As he slides in, a long groan leaves him and his head tilts towards the ceiling. He grumbles something along the lines of “so fucking tight.” Your fingers reach downward to grip the edge of his desk. It felt like you were already there again, right on the brink of release.

After a moment of just taking in the feeling, he begins thrusting. He pulls his hips back and pushes them forward again. His cock slides between your walls with no resistance, the perfect fit. You were already pulsing around him, sucking him in deeper. A deep laugh rumbles from his chest.

“You're gonna cum already, baby. I’m that good?” he mocks. He thumbs your clit, sending a burst of pleasure through you that makes you clamp down on him. He grunts and starts thrusting a little harder.

You’re whining quietly, but you can’t hold back the yelp when he pinches your clit. You cum on the spot, gushing around him. You babble incoherently and buck your hips. The high was higher than any euphoria you’d ever felt. You’re panting when it’s done, but he’s still going.

He’s smirking down at you, rocking his hips all the while. “Did I say you could do that?” he asks with a light spank to your clit.

You gasp and arch your back off the desk. “No!” you whine, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“I’m sure you are.” Another spank. “You’re lucky it’s your first time, and I’m giving you a break today.”

You nod quickly. “Thank you Daddy,” you mumble.

He keeps thrusting, seamlessly going between hard and fast and slow and deep. The motions shake the desk back and forth, sliding inches on the floor each time. You feel like there’s gonna be scrape marks when you’re done.

You also feel like you’re gonna have marks from the way he’s gripping your hips, battering your sensitive pussy. You were so worked up from all the teasing that the overstimulation didn’t even faze you. Your head just droops back, hanging off the edge of the desk. 

It’s harder to keep track of how loud you’re being when you’re this out of it. He smiles at your needy whines and pulls your thighs forward so your head is back on the desk. He leans forward, covering his body with yours and grinding his hips deeper than before. His hand comes up and covers your mouth.

“You better hope no one hears, pretty girl. We didn’t lock the door,” he pants.

You moan against the flesh of his hand and your walls tighten their grip on him. He growls in your ear at the sensation before a low chuckle comes from him.

“Oh, you’d like that? I should’ve known,” he teases, “You’d love for someone to come in and see how good you’re being. What a sweet girl you are, being used by your teacher. Love for them to see all the things Daddy’s teaching you.”

A strained cry bubbles beneath his fingers, and you nod, feeling shameless about your fantasy. He nuzzles the side of your head and keeps thrusting as deep as he can. He knows you’re getting close again, and this time, he’s right there with you.

“Come on, sweet baby. Give Daddy another one. I know my precious girl can do it. You were wanting it for so long,” he grunts.

Your whole body seizes as another orgasm rips through you. Your whines and cries are fortunately muffled by his palm, but he feels your drool leaking against his skin. His own eyes squeeze shut as he gasps and moans. His hips jerk, pounding into you a few more times before he cums. He bites his lip to silence his own noises as he spills into, filling you to the brim.

Both of your chests are heaving in the end as you take in gulps of air. He slowly pulls out and pushes some of his hair out of his face. You're both half dressed, his pants down to his knees, shirt unbuttoned. You, nude from the waist down and bra shifted out of place beneath your shirt. 

The two of you stand up, you on shaky legs, and pull yourselves back into shape. You pull your panties up and follow them with your jeans while he does the same with his pants. He then falls back into his chair and takes you with him.

He just holds you to his chest for a little bit, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head. You don’t say anything either. You curl up into the affection and stroke his forearm gently.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs before squeezing you a little tighter.

You’re both so into it, not caring about anything beyond this office at this moment. That is until you catch a glimpse of the clock on the wall.

“Oh… Mr. Kennedy,” you start as you slowly untangle yourself from him and stand up, “I probably should get going. I have to meet my friend to study soon.”

He’s not happy about losing your body on his, but he smiles at your words.

“Alright, honey, but seriously. It’s Leon from now on,” he says.

“Ok,” you laugh with a nod, “Leon.”

You grab your things and give him one more sweet look before turning to walk to the door. He pats you on the ass and kisses your cheek.

“See you Monday, baby,” he says.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil smut #smut

[jewish-sideblog]

I think people forget that the Nazis never said they were the bad guys. If someone says, hey, I’m evil! You don’t let them take over your country. They presented themselves as scientific, not hateful. By their own account, they were progressives, and the superiority of White Europe over the other races was a proven and immutable fact. They had scientists and archaeologists and historians to prove it. They didn’t tell people they wanted to kill the Jews because they were hateful. They manufactured evidence to frame us for very real tragedies, and they had methodological research to prove that we were genetically predisposed to misconduct. Wouldn’t you believe that?

Hollywood has spent the last 80 years portraying the Nazis as an obvious and intimidating evil. That’s a good thing in some ways, because we want general audiences to recognize that they were evil. But we also want them to be able to recognize how and why they came to power. Not by self-describing themselves as an evil empire, but by convincing people that they were the good guys and the saviors. They hosted the Olympics. Several European countries capitulated and volunteered themselves to the Empire. There were American and British Fascist Parties. They had broad public support. Hollywood never shows that part, so general audiences never learn to recognize the actual signs of antisemitism.

People today think they can’t possibly be antisemitic, because they’re leftist! They abhor bigotry! They could never comprehend Nazi ideology coming from the mouth of a bisexual college student wearing a graphic tee and jeans. How could they? The only depiction of antisemites they’ve ever seen have been gaunt, pale, middle-aged men in black leather trench coats with skulls on their caps.

If the Nazis time-travelled from the 1930s and wanted to take power now, they’d change their original tactics, but not by much. They would target countries suffering from an identity crisis and an economic collapse. They would portray themselves as the pinnacle of what that society considers progressive. Back then, it was race science. These days it’s performative wokeness. Once they’d garnered enough respect and reputation, they’d begin manufacturing propaganda and lies to manipulate people’s anger and fears at a single target— Jews.

If the Nazis made an actual return, they wouldn’t look like neo-Nazis. They wouldn’t be nearly as obvious about their hatred. Their evil wouldn’t give them yellow eyes, and no suspenseful music would play when they walked in the room. They’d be friendly. They’d look like you. They would learn what things your community fears and what things you already hate. They would lie and fabricate evidence to connect the rich elites and the imperialists you revile to a single source of unequivocal Jewish evil. It wouldn’t be hard— they already have two-thousand years of institutional antisemitism they can rely on to paint their picture.

If you’re curious why antisemitism today is coming from grassroots organizations, young, liberal college campuses, suburban neighborhoods with pride flags and All Are Welcome Here signs? That’s why. It’s because, as a global society, we’ve forgotten that the world didn’t used to see the Nazis as bad guys. And what is forgotten about history is doomed to be repeated.

[sukunasteeth]

Insomnia

You had always had trouble sleeping.

As a child, you would wander the house in search of something to do, as a teenager you utilized it for spending countless nights painting the town red with your childhood best friend Yuji, but, as an adult, you find yourself spending more and more nights sitting in front of the window, waiting for the sun to rise in a peaceful quiet. 

The view was always better from your partner Sukuna’s apartment. Tucked into the very top of a complex that scraped against the sky, the city stretched out before his ceiling length windows like an endless mirage of glittering light. Looking out of them, you would never know it was three o’clock in the morning. The city still bustled, people the size of ants crossed the main streets below you in swathes of different walks of life; business men lost to highballs with too much whiskey, friends on their way to the next nightclub, shop workers calling to anyone with a pulse on the sidewalk. It was a perfect people-watching spot and a perfect distraction from the nightmare replaying in your head like a broken record. 

You’re sitting on the cold tile floors of his living room, curled up in a blanket you had taken from the arm of the couch. You’re positive Sukuna had never used it before and that it’s always been a decoration before you had arrived. Now, it was part of your nightly routine when Sukuna had you over to unfold it and curl in, while you spent countless hours drifting off in your own mind waiting for morning. 

It wouldn’t be long before Sukuna was up now, he had a meeting at seven o’clock in the morning that day. The two of you hadn’t gone to sleep until around midnight, naked and content. You wished you could sleep as deeply as he had been when you carefully crawled out of his bed half an hour ago, but you had accepted your insomnia by now. You found ways to live with the burden of it, and you had long since made friends with the silence and peace of nightfall. 

You always did feel guilty when Sukuna was affected by it. Like tonight, when your ears catch the door to his bedroom clicking open and you hear his bare feet against the tile approaching the living room. 

Your heart momentarily skips a beat. You think about hiding- sprinting into the bathroom as an excuse for your late night absence from his bed, but he makes it into the threshold of the living room before you get a chance to decide. 

Despite the guilt washing over you like a bucket of cold water, your heart still warms at the sight of him. He’s slipped into a pair of sweats to come find you and is still in the middle of putting on a tank top when he appears, sleepy and squinting against the light of the city signs glaring in. His hair is still a mess from your fingers pulling on it before bed, which somehow makes him even more heart wrenching to look at. Even when his eyes find you on the floor, and he immediately frowns you’re still starstruck by his sleep drunk appearance. 

“Why are you so good at that?” His voice is thick with sleep, but he talks to you as though you were just in the middle of a conversation. 

You tilt your head at him, peering over your shoulder in confusion. “Good at what?” 

“Leaving without waking me.” He scratches at the back of his head, yawning as he makes his way across the room to come stand beside you. One of his hands sweeps down his face, like he’s trying to wipe away his clear exhaustion. 

“It’s no easy task.” You admit, hoping your innocent smile is enough for him not to push any further. He stares down at you for a moment, searching your eyes reflecting in the neon of the city line. 

He huffs through his nose when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, muttering to himself as he plops down beside you and folds his legs into a cross-legged position. He’s close enough that his side is flush against yours, his knee resting over top of your own, grounding you. “So stubborn.” You hear him say. 

As if it were second nature, you immediately rest your head against his shoulder and his arm comes around your waist in turn, scooting you even closer to him. The two of you fit together perfectly by now. Constantly trading off between who was yin and who was yang, but always in equilibrium when you were side by side.

“I need to get you a bell.” He murmurs against the shadows of his living room.

You chuckle, “Yeah? Gonna collar me?” You’re just poking fun, but when you peek up at him expecting him to be chuckling too, you find his eyes honed in on your neck, like he’s considering it. 

He doesn’t give you an answer to that one, but you can see it in his eyes that your joke has been taken as a suggestion to be logged away for future use. You bury your face into his shoulder, feeling your cheeks burning in embarrassment. 

You don’t take it back.

 The two of you sit like that for a while, allowing Sukuna’s presence to diffuse the unease from your haunting dreams. He doesn’t have to do much to comfort you. When Sukuna was beside you, comfort was a given. He joins you in silent people-watching, his hand protectively curled over your backside as though he can feel the nightmares lingering just out of his sight. 

After a while, he squeezes you to catch your attention, but doesn’t ask you to pull away from your resting place against him. 

He turns his head to press his lips into your temple, and the way he whispers your name then has you convinced you’d tell him any secret you promised you’d take straight to the grave.  “Why are we awake?” He asks.  

“I couldn’t sleep.” You whisper back,  as though you were afraid that the nightmares would hear you and realize they had won. 

Sukuna takes a few seconds breathing in your scent, patiently waiting for you to give him more information. He hums in disappointment when it’s clear that that’s all you were willing to share at the moment. 

“Suppose I didn’t work you hard enough last night.” 

It’s a joke. Such an obvious one that you can’t help but let out a laugh despite your thoughts weighing heavily. 

“Please,” You plead in a groan, “I barely made it to the living room without crawling on my hands and knees.” This was not a joke. Your legs shook like jello the moment you were on your feet and they ache with the memory of overexertion even when you're sitting. 

“I do love you on your hands and knees.” Another suggestion that you can tell he’s logged away for future use. At this point you were doing it to yourself.

 You still don’t take it back, though. 

“Let’s see,” He clears his throat and his voice takes a different cadence now, no longer conscientious of the time of night… or day rather. “The last time you had a nightmare and I caught you out here, you asked me to make you pancakes. I think I still have the mix in the cupboard…” 

You freeze up against him, your head moving mechanically upwards until you’re face to face with him. The man who reads you like a book. When you’ve tried so hard to stay shut up. When you’ve worked your entire life at achieving the perfect poker face. Time and time again he proves to you that it’s useless when he’s got your soul tucked away in his hold, yet, it never stops surprising you. 

Sukuna tilts his head, smiling like you’ve confirmed his suspicions with just one glance. “What? You think I don’t know that much, at the very least? How aloof you are~” 

He takes the opportunity to scoop your hair away from your shoulder and tuck a few strands behind your ears so that he can see your sleep deprived face clearly. At the same moment, his free hand reaches over and finds yours in the blankets.

He's smug with your shock.

“How long are you going to try to hide from me?” 

“I’m not hiding…” You whisper, even your own voice cannot bear to lie to him. He makes a warning noise, leaning closer like he can tell. 

“One day I’ll know it all. Every secret you want to keep from me. Every dream you’re too shy to tell me.” His mere proximity is enough to scramble your mind. The way his lips play just out of your reach, the way his nose brushes yours ever so slightly, the way his thumb presses into your ring finger, all of it has your focus split into too many incapacitating directions. “Your burdens. Your nightmares. All mine to bear.” 

You don’t doubt him. It’s yourself that you find apprehensive to trust. Convinced that your own mind was going to torture you with him there or not. You had spent years battling insomnia alone, and while you hated to deny him, you hated to get your own hopes up too.

“You can’t scare away all my nightmares, my love.” 

"Hmm, is that right?” Sukuna lifts your hand to his face, presses it against his lips, and places a kiss to the very center of your palm. It's almost as sweet as his next words, “Sounds like I'll just have to give you so many good dreams you’ll forget about the bad ones, then.” 

You wonder if you looked as awestruck as you felt in that moment.

He’s won. He knows he’s won. You can tell by that prideful toothy grin you feel him hiding behind your hand, the one you can see in the curve of his eyes. 

The way your heart climbs into your throat, like it’s desperate to be home in the palm of his hands, has you instantly knowing that you were truly a hopeless cause at this point. 

“When did you become so soft and sweet?” 

Sukuna laughs under his breath, “When I found out that’s just how you like it.” He answers easily, like he’s asked himself the same question before.  

“Now, do you want the pancakes or not?” 

Before you can remind him that he has a meeting in only a few hours, before you can assure him that you weren’t thinking of food at three o’clock in the morning, your stomach releases a growl that’s begging for Sukuna’s undivided attention. 

He snorts, not even bothering to wait for a verbal answer before he’s maneuvering to his feet, still grasping your hand gently in his own. 

“Come sit pretty on the counter for me.” He tugs you. “It’s cold out here.”

You don't think you've ever felt warmer.

#jjk #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #jjk fluff #sukuna slept like a rock before you came along #now he knows what an empty bed feels like #he makes you coffee every morning #and gets offended when you try to make it yourself

[thehmn]

I’m currently listening to Maren Uthaug’s book 11% about a world where most men have died. I should probably wait until I’ve finished the book but I’m so fascinated by the world building.

As of now it’s still unclear why the men died but when the story takes place there’s a mix of older women who fucking hates men and young women who have only met drugged up men at “breeding centers” and imagine “males” as violent boogeymen but otherwise don’t really care and just want to live in the new seemingly perfect society their grandmothers fought for. The only people who still fight for men’s rights are witches who believe masculine energies are as natural and Of Nature as feminine energies, but even they sound more like animal rights activists, standing outside breeding centers with signs every Friday. Their most provocative sign is a picture of a man with Human written on it.

Christianity has been completely transformed and is now run by priests (they don’t call themselves priestess) who can only hold ceremonies when they have their periods and snakes are their most sacred symbol because they gave knowledge to Eva and God is called The Mother.

Trans men exist but are referred to as Man Women and they all seem to be sex workers who have functional silicone penises, though I’m not far enough into the story to know if they have other jobs. They generally also still have breasts because working as a wet nurse is another source of income for them. Testosterone treatments is not an option because it would make them too masculine and dangerous to be allowed into society but they all have male names and everyone use male pronouns for them.

A really fascinating aspect of the world is how people want to get rid of the old “patriarchal architecture” of straight lines and boxes but refuse to tear it down with machines, instead insisting on letting Mother Nature reclaim it. Only Rat Girls are actively trying to destroy the old buildings by releasing hoards of rats into them and planting bamboo to break up the concrete. New buildings have round shapes and are build in ways that make them blend in with cultivated nature and inside they’re painting in beautiful colors with no hard edges. They sound a lot like colorful hobbit homes. Also, locks are considered uncivilized and of a time when violent men roamed the earth and made life unsafe so nothing, from front doors to bathrooms, have locks. For a while after most men died women would go for Night Walks to relish in the fact that they no longer had to be afraid, though they liked to visit the witches at night because it felt a little spooky, which the witches thought was good fun.

The story is naturally about a middle aged witch who is hiding a young boy illegally and gets milk from one of the trans men in the red district while also sleeping with a Christian priest who struggles with her sacred job because her periods are irregular.

I’ll come back with follow up thoughts once I’ve finished it. Unlike what you might think, Maren Uthau isn’t a scary man hater. I’ve listened to most of her other books and this isn’t a recurring trope so clearly she has something to say specifically with this story and it’s rated pretty highly by both male and female readers. I think I’m in for quite the ride.

#humontalks #books and reading #Maren Uthaug

[thesummerestsolstice]

Beleriand is gone and Tol Himling remains. No one lives there, few dare to venture close. Even years later, the fortress feels like bitter grief and pained endurance.

The remaining Noldor– and there aren't many of them by the Second Age– start sailing there. It's not far from the shore; an easy enough journey, even for someone with little seafaring experience.

One day, someone– no one is sure who– takes one of the broken pieces of Himling's walls, carves Maedhros's name into it, and sets it as a tombstone. After that, more graves appear, slowly at first, then more quickly. Old battle-songs and tributes to the dead are carved and painted into the walls. Soon, the meadow around the old fortress is full of memorials, some made from the ruins, others lovingly crafted and brought from the mainland. For all the Noldor fought amongst themselves in the First Age, now their headstoens stand together. In the cemetery, the House of Finwe is united in death as it never was in life. Graves for Feanor and Fingolfin sit side-by-side in a sorrowful peace neither lived to see.

Himring stood on an icy mountaintop where the snow never melted, but Tol Himling does not. One spring the barren meadow blooms, red poppies and blue forget-me-nots. It flowers every year after, new hues and blossoms appearing annurally until the graves are surrounded by a colorful sea of flowers.

Not many Noldor choose to sail west– most that go back to Valinor go in death– but those that do leave tokens on Himling before they leave, broken weapons and battered armor. Maybe they do it to leave something with the dead who may never return from Mandos. Maybe they do it because like the dead, their fight in Middle-Earth has ended.

Men who sail by the island– always by, never to– are very sure that there are ghosts there. To them, the place seems strange and misted, and every figure there looks like a shade. They speak of a golden-haired warrior who spends hours talking to some of the graves, a king who dutifully cares for the tombstones, wiping away dust and moss, the strange dark-haired figure who comes every year to sow wildflower seeds. But those aren't the spirits of the Noldor dead. Only those who would remember them.

#silmarillion #tol himling #himring #noldor #silm headcanons #maedhros #(implied) #elrond #elrond peredhel #galadriel #gil galad #silm meta #elvish mourning rites #I have a lot of feelings about Himling #It's still there #It's still there after everything #And so are the Noldor

[m0chisenpai]

Let's Play a Little Game

Post! Spiderman Across the Spiderverse

Obsessive!Prowler!Miles Morales x Spidergirl!Reader

Authors note: THIS READER IS 15. A CHILD. THERE IS NO SMUT. NADA, ZIP, NOTHING. I WILL NOT BE SPICY WRITING A SINGLE THING FOR ANYTHING INVOLVING MILES MORALES.

You’d fought villains twice your size. A crazy octopus with metal tentacles, a man double your size, covered in black spots. Petty criminals brandishing jagged knives. But why was this one so different? He was no different was he? 

He was gruff. His body was always rigid, his words were sharp. His eyes were sharp. But the one thing you took notice, how manipulative he was. How he could weasel into the mind, into the minds of men twice his age who did his most dirty work. 

You had to pretend. Pretend his syrupy sweet words were true till your hero came. Your lovebug. 

His eyes cut to yours as the record scratched to silence in the hideout. Your eyes crack open, he now crouched in front of you. His braids fell to the side. You braided them for him last night. It was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him. His head lay back on your legs as you massaged his scalp. And for a moment your mind went dark as you held the thin sharp rat tooth comb.

One drive straight to the throat was all it took, then you could be free. But then he opened his eyes. And you couldn’t. Because even if he wasn’t your lovebug. He was an exact copy of him. You were in his world, if his men found it was you that took their leader out they would hunt you down. 

He stared in your eyes as if daring you, testing your new freedom. And so you carefully parted his hair down the middle. That night you passed the first test. 

And now as your sleepy eyes look into his, you remember it’s time. Time for another song and dance. Of playing the part. Another test. 

“Sleepy mi vida?”

You can’t bring yourself to speak up and offer him a tired nod as you curl more into the nook of the couch, the bright knitted blanket stands out like a sore thumb, as do you in all your brightness. A reminder how far from home you are.

“A little bit.” your voice is scratchy, you must have slept for an hour at best. The sun was diving into the horizon painting the sky a beautiful mix of oranges and yellows. You sit up stretching your arms above your head and scooch your body forward. 

“Nah, take your time amor. Didn’t mean to wake you up” his knuckles stroke down to rest under your chin and his thumb to gently pinch it as he looks up at you with that love sick gaze. He leans forward and you know to meet him halfway and press your lips to his.  

He moves back enough to whisper against your lips, “suit up in five, we got business to handle.”

And as he stands to walk to the old player. A soft beat fills the room, your veins as you force yourself to stand. To fight. Your movements are second hand as you don the suit behind a hung up white sheet. You don’t call it yours, Because it's not. Yours is back home. Here he’s created you a new one. 

You step out from behind the sheet and in his eyes he drinks you in as you adjust your web shooters. 

And in some sick way, maybe you had survived in this universe. Had you been bitten? This would have been your suit. It appealed to a different you, a different version of you buried away somewhere.

It was solid black with black webbings along the thighs and pink in the inner parts of the hood along with your jordans which you go to kneel and tie up but he stops you. He kneels before you and ties them. And just as he gazes up at you, you pull your mask down.

This is what keeps you sane. Because here you're free to sneer down at him as he looks up at you. He wears his own suit now. You hold your hand to him and he wraps his around you and pulls himself up, his hand is quick to reach and snake around you, pulling you flushed against him. 

“Deadly and beautiful. The perfect mix” he whispers leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead as he taps the side of his mask to conceal his face. 

He watches you as you leap from the building and send your webbing to a building swinging your body to kneel on top of a light pole. You  look up and catch his nod as he moves forward. And you follow. Swinging languidly through the cool of night.

You realize now as you swing into the dead of night why he’s unlike the villains, the criminals, the mad scientists. Because as he runs alongside you. As he leads you both into the night. His reflection dancing off the glass of a building. As he looks at you. For a moment you think that’s Miles, your Miles, your lovebug. But it’s not.

Instead, you look into the eyes of Miles, the prowler. Harbored on Earth-42. 

And it scares you, because as much as you fight each day, deep down. Somewhere in the dark parts of your heart. Your heart flutters, feels warm for a moment when he holds your gaze, and flashes you that smile. 

And you beg for Miles, Gwen, Miguel, Hobie, anyone to find you. Because you fear that somewhere along the line, you’re no longer going to be pretending. 

That you failed the ultimate test of love.

#miles morales x reader #miles morales imagine #spiderman across the spiderverse #spidergirl!reader #earth42!miles x reader #prowler!miles x reader

[eilidh]

Éowyn   ‘A sword rang as it was drawn. “Do what you will; but I will hinder it, if I may.”’ I painted this back in November 2017, on the kind request of Will o' Wisps for John Howe’s visit to AthensCon 2017. I had the good fortune to meet him there and give him a print of it. He had very kind words about it, leaving me on cloud nine, because Howe is one of my earliest art heroes. The Lord of the Rings has very few women characters in it, something that has been the point of criticism almost from its publication in the 50s. It might be for this reason that Éowyn stood out for me, but also because I was moved by how much understanding Tolkien showed for her situation. When she wants to go to war, she is dissuaded by Aragorn, and is rightly bitter about it: ‘She answered: "All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death." "What do you fear, lady?" he asked. "A cage," she said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.”’ Tolkien gave Éowyn a voice, and not only that, but also a chance to prove her valour and to change the course of the history of Middle Earth as no one else but her could have. He wrote little of women, it’s true. The little he did write, though, was with deep humanity.

#Éowyn #eowyn #eilidh #eleni tsami #lotr #the lord of the rings #women in armor #women warriors #fantasy #Illustration #digital painting #tolkien

[aphrodisiaxcunt]

My Favourite

Roommates fem!reader x Phillip Graves au

Content: Smut, kitchen sex, mention of age difference, reader 21!+ no younger :), bad accent writing, creampie, p in v

Word count: 1,7k

If people want, I can make a masculine version of this as well :3

You knew he was coming home today. You knew he would be exhausted, and you knew he would definitely be hungry. So here you were, a little over 2 hours into cooking because your roommate would be coming home from his mission. Some of your friends didn't understand why you'd be living with an older man as roommates, but to you, it was pretty clear. You needed a small rent, which he gave to you. You would simply pay for your own food and the room you slept in. He, on the other hand, needed someone to take care of the house when he was away for work. It was that simple. You were nearly done with dinner. You had vegetables and potatoes simmering on low heat in a pot, a casserole in the oven, and a cheesecake chilling in the fridge. You were right in the middle of washing your hands when you heard the familiar rattling of Phillips keys in the lock. A wide grin creeping onto your face as you rub the water off on your cliché 'Kiss The Cook' apron.

If you were honest, which you'd never actually be outside of your own head, you had started getting quite attracted to Phillip. He was gentle, caring, and nothing like the men your age. Phillip actually listened to your troubles and didn't immediately try to fix them. He would just listen and try to understand. Deep in your thoughts and biting your lower lip, you hadn't noticed Phillip walk to the kitchen before his arm was wrapping around your waist and pulling you tight to his side.

"What's cookin' good lookin'?" His voice is coy, and there's a smile painted on his face when he looks at you. You lean over the stove to lift up the lid of the veggie pot, checking in on them so you don't manage to burn them to the bottom. "I'm making a casserole, steamed veggies and then there's a surprise in the fridge~" Hearing your voice is like music to his ears, being home with a familiar face is a nice break for him after spending two months away from this. Away from you. Phillip rests his head atop of yours and takes in a deep breath, smelling your freshly shampooed hair. Blood rushes to your cheeks, covering your face in a pinkish blush.

"Got you somethin' sweetheart.." His words catch your attention. Every now and then, he brings you souvenirs from his work trips, and every time, it's a complete surprise what it could be. You can never guess if it'll be a sweet snack from a small ethnic store, a possible scam clothing from a street vendor, or a wood carving of your favourite animal. All of which you have gotten before from him. He removes his arm from your waist and takes out a small black box from his pocket, handing it to you. Your lips form a smile as you mutter a shy 'thank you' to him before opening the box. You pull a hand up to cover your mouth and let out a shocked gasp. Your eyes switch focus between his smiling face and the beautiful diamond necklace laid gently in the box.

"Are you serious?" Your voice comes out quiet as your eyes finally set on him. Phillip takes the box from your hands and picks the necklace carefully out from the cushion. He moves your hair to the side as his hands go around your throat to put the necklace around your neck. "What? Ya don't like it?" A teasing tone hidden in his voice as he leans down to your eye level. "No- I mean, yes, I love it -" you struggle to get your words out, muttering out scrambled explanations and holding his hands, trying to assure him it's perfect. Only when you realize his smirk and chuckling you shut your mouth in realisation that he knows what you meant and you just look down feeling a little stupid.

His hand gently caresses your neck over to your jaw and lifts it slightly up, making you look back at him. His eyes trail down your face to your lips before moving back to your eyes. Alright fuck it, you only live once. You pull him closer by his shirt and press your lips against his in a passionate kiss. It doesen't take him long to give back the same energy and pull you into a deeper kiss, hands traveling down your body and settling on your ass, giving it a squeeze and pressing himself up against you. Your arms quickly find their way around his neck and his hands find their way to the waistband of your shorts, shoving his hands down between the fabric and your skin. You let out a moan against his lips and stop the kiss to messily pull his shirt over his head, his toned and muscular body shouldn't be a surprise to you but it still makes you take a double look over his torso.

Suddenly, you feel his hands slip out from your shorts, planting onto your ass and picking you up to his waist. Your legs wrap around his body, and you lock your fingers together behind his neck. He starts attacking your jawline with kisses, and as he trailing them down your neck and towards your chest, it pulls a moan from your lips. Feeling secure again once Phillip sets you on the kitchen counter, he pulls you to the edge, and you feel his hands run up your thighs. "This alright hun?" He asks, his fingers tugging slightly at the edges of your shorts. You give him a quick nod and awkwardly shimmy your shorts off for him. His arms snake around your waist to untie the apron as the fabric of your shorts falls down your legs to the floor.

Phillip takes a step closer to the counter, taking his hard cock out of his slacks. You allow your arms to fall from his shoulders, and instead, you hold onto the edge of the counter for support. "Yer so good for me, aren't ya sugar.." His words make you spread your legs a bit more. He places a hand to your knee, making his way gently to your inner thighs. He runs his thumb over your slit through your panties and presses it against your sensitive clit, it makes your legs twitch and instinctively try to close up. His body between your legs is quick to put a stop to that motion. "Yes, sir.." Your voice is shaky. He leans closer to you and plants a comforting kiss against your lips before pulling back. Phillip takes a hold of your panties, pulling them to the side and dragging the hot tip of his cock through your wet folds. A groan escapes his throat, and he chuckles. One hand still holding onto your thigh. "Yer so wet, and I haven't even started.."

You grip the counter with everything you can muster, shaky breaths falling from your lips before his cock entering you pushes a gasp out of you. Putting your head back and closing your eyes as your pussy adjusts around his dick. You feel his position shift as he leans to kiss and nip the sensitive skin under your jaw before starting to slowly thrust up into you. Your head snaps back down, and your eyes shoot open to look at him. He grips your thighs, and his thrusts get faster while he looks at your face for your pretty reactions to his cock. You moan his name out desperately, making him fuck into you harder. "Ya want more, huh? 'S that so, baby?" You whine out a sickly sweet 'yes', and he pulls out of you. You cry out a whine, and you're about to start raining complaints on him, but before you're able to, he picks you up. Setting you back on the ground and turning you around before bending you over the countertop. You let out an embarrassing sound when he thrusts back into you, now his cock rubbing against your insides from a completely different angle. His hands move to grasp your hip dips, and his movements go up to an unfamiliar roughness. Fucking into your cunt like an animal in heat.

You plant your hands against the counter for support and let your head hang loose between your arms. You feel Phillip lean over your body and kiss your neck, whispering praises in your ear that your brain can't even comprehend right now. Your head feels heavy, and uncontrolled moans and whines make their way out of your mouth. Phillips breath on your nape feels hot, and your body starts slowly aching from tensing up due to his harsh thrusts. You buck your hips back against his thrusting, and your eyes go blurry. The pleasure is too much to take. Your legs try to close up at the knees as much as physically possible, and your pussy clenches around Phillips cock.

"Please- fuCk- Phillip, I'm close -.." Your voice comes out pathetic and desperate as you try to fuck yourself back on his cock. He kisses your cheek and hums out an affirmative 'mhm', dragging his hand down between your legs and starting to rub your clit. Thrusting into you harder, cock prodding at all your good spots like a cock molded just for you. Just for your pussy. Of course it doesn't long take for your orgasm to take over you, white seering pleasure covering your entire body like a blanket. Moaning out and tearing up as you tremble against the counter, trying to handle all of the pleasure. Phillip thrusts a few more times into you, hips stuttering as he cums as well, groaning quietly into your ear as he cums inside of you. He stops and buries himself as deep in your warm cunt as possible, kissing your neck and cheek with a smile on his face.

"Such a good fuckin' girl ain'tcha?" The praise makes you melt and you nearly fall to the ground when he pulls out. Holding onto the counter while he puts his dick back to his pants. You're about to turn to face him, but he picks you up bridal style, taking you to the bedroom. "Wait- I gotta finish making dinner.." You whine. "It's fine hun, let me finish it for ya.." He lies you down and brushes your damp hair off your face. "What's the surprise in the fridge, love?" He asks you, pulling the apron off of your body

"It's a cheesecake.." You say, looking up at him with loving eyes.

"Mm, my favourite~.."

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AHAHAA fuck finally, sorry I took so long I dyed my hair in the middle of writing this??? I've lately been obsessed with Graves he's so baby girl so ofc I had to write ab him :3 Hope yall love this as much as I love him. BYEEE AND xoxo♡♡

#cod #call of duty #call of duty x reader #female writers #call of duty x you #cod smut #call of duty smut #smut #call of duty fanfic #phillip graves #graves x reader #graves x you #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves x you #cod graves #fem reader #cod x female reader #phillip graves x female reader #graves cod

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 11 all chapters

-You fly into Rome on a beautiful June day with an ache in your heart you can’t quite shake. You throw yourself into the sights, visiting museums, soaking up the beautiful art and the Mediterranean sunshine. You see things in person that you’d only seen in art history books before, and as an artist you know you are forever changed. You meet plenty of interesting travelers in your hostel, but no one who quite holds your attention, or your imagination, the way the memory of Mr. Wick does.

Italy is beautiful, but the men are exhausting. Not all the men. Just the continual stream of the ones who find you on the street, see a young lady traveling alone and take it as license to bother you. Constantly. More than once, when you turn down their offers of whatever, as politely as you can in your broken Italian, they get nasty.

It’s a relief in a way when you pair up with a kind young man from Argentina to go see the Vatican. No one bothers you, and you have fun, but it’s not exactly what you want.

You actually like being alone, and in others casual company you find that you itch to steal away to a quiet corner to read or sketch or write in your journal. You revel in this special kind of solitude, being a solo traveler in a strange land, not needing to cater to the wants and whims of anyone else for once.

When Javier tries to kiss you on the Ponte Sant’Angelo, you cannot help but feel as though you are being watched. He’s a good-looking young man, funny and sweet and you enjoy his company. At any other time in your life you would have happily lost yourself in a fling. But you know you wish you were looking into a very different pair of dark eyes, and you turn your head at the last minute, receiving soft lips on the cheek.

“Javi…” you sigh with regret, holding distance between you with a hand on his chest.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, clearly crestfallen.

“It’s ok.”

You’re not mad. You’re just…sad—and you’re not sure why you can’t kick this melancholy longing and enjoy yourself in this beautiful place. You feel like you’re walking around with a hole in your heart, and it’s all Mr. Wick’s fault, the big idiot.   

After a week you move on to Florence, and the museums there fill your days. You see so many wonderful things, from the statue of David in the Galleria dell’Accademia, the wonderful paintings in the Uffizi gallery, the splendor of the Duemo... You fall in love all over again with Botticelli, Bellini, Lippi and Uccello and Tiziano and so many others.

You also see a sun-bronzed old man masturbating unabashedly on a blanket in the park, but that’s Italy for you, apparently.

You still feel as though you are being watched, but you never find the source of this weird feeling between your shoulder blades. You try to shrug it off, going for long walks along the Arno between snacks and visits to this galleria or that.

Before you leave the city you go to a book binder’s shop Mr. Wick told you about that has been in business for literal centuries. They have such wonderful things, books with leather covers and gilded arabesques, ornate handmade papers and parchment. You pick up a blank journal for Mr. Wick. It’s small, but its all you can afford. It’s beautifully made, and you hope he’ll like it.

Venice is beautiful, but so very infuriating.

You manage in a blunder on the very first day to drop your phone, cracking the screen into a thousand spiderwebs. It renders the maps you downloaded utterly useless, and you try to go the paper route, but you are lost for the umpteenth time in the maze of small side streets and canals when a seemingly helpful middle-aged construction worker takes pity on you and offers to lead you back to a main road.

At least you think that’s what he says, but after five minutes you realize you read the situation so very wrong, when you find yourself in a dead-ended alley and the older man is puckering his lips at you. It would have been comical on screen, perhaps, but in real life you are not amused. He’s big, but not fast. You’re glad for your flat sandals as you duck under his outstretched arms and dash away down the street, thinking you can’t possibly get yourself any more lost than you already are.

You look over your shoulder to check if he’s pursuing you, and run into something immoveable. You hit so hard you bounce, and you might have ended up in the canal, had strong arms not wrapped around you.

Oh no.

 Fearing you may have landed yourself out of the frying pan and into the fire, you try to squirm away.

“Y/n?”

Recognizing that voice, you freeze for a moment, before actually bothering to look up at who has you in hand.

It’s none other than Mr. John Wick.

A nearly unbearable flood of surprise and excitement fills you from your hair follicles to the tips of your toes.    

“What are you doing here?” you demand, and maybe it sounds more like an accusation than it should.

“Tying up some loose ends,” he answers vaguely. “Is he bothering you?”

You look over your shoulder to see the construction worker has emerged from the alley, and is stumping your way.

“Yes.”

The worker airs some dramatic-sounding complaint with John, waving his hands animatedly. John’s answer is much less musical, but perfectly pronounced, and you’re pretty sure he told the guy to get the fuck out of here.  

Grumbling, your suitor goes in the opposite direction, talking to himself as he does and gesturing with his arms to no one but the audience in his own mind.

So melodramatic.

You cannot help but notice Mr. Wick still has his arms around you, glaring at the man until he disappears around a corner. You are still breathing heavily from your little mad dash, steadying yourself with hands on the flat plane of his chest. John finally looks back down to you, his eyes fixating on your lips before valiantly rising back to meet your gaze, his fingertips digging slightly into your sides. 

You rack your brains for something to say, when all you really want to do is grab the lapels of his beautiful suit jacket, stand on tiptoe and press your lips to his. 

“I…thought you were retired?”

It seems he only reluctantly lets you go after that, the tips of his fingers sliding from your ribcage. Immediately you feel the loss of his strong hands.

“I try to be,” he quips, almost evasively. “Why aren’t you in Rome?” He asks this as if you are the one who is in a place you’re not supposed to be.

“I…saw everything I wanted to see?”

Only then does he finally offer you a smile. It’s almost boyish, and it pulls at your heartstrings with a vengeance. You look him over. It might be the first time you’ve seen him wearing anything but all black, in a light grey summer weight suit with an airy white button down open at the throat.

He looks, if you may be frank, utterly edible.

“It's good to see you,” he says almost shyly, as though he's afraid you might not feel the same.

If only you could tell him that you've thought about him every day since you've been gone. 

“I’m very glad to see you,” you dare to admit. “It's a small world, I guess.”

You decide not to think about what a strange coincidence it is, running into this man in a back alley in Venice. At the moment, you simply don’t care. It’s as though for once the Universe was paying attention to your heart’s yearnings and delivered on it in the flesh.

“Yeah. So...where are you headed?”

You sigh, and very sorely wish you could hang your head on the solid plane that is his chest again. Your desire to be held by this man is an ache in your very bones.

“I don't even know. I'm so lost.”

Usually you have a decent sense of direction, but this fucking city has you walking in circles. Usually that's fine too, but you've never felt so hunted in your life. 

“Would you... like to come to lunch with me? I'm on my way to meet an old friend. He would love to meet you.” 

For a moment you are dumbfounded to receive such an invitation. But then, you look down at yourself in your colorfully cute but obviously cheap sundress, then look at him in his smart suit that probably cost more than your car.

“That's so sweet, John, but I'm sure I'm not dressed to go wherever you're going.” 

“What do you mean? You look beautiful.” 

You look back up to him, open mouthed. He's never really said anything outright like that to you. It feels ridiculously good to hear it. Warmth floods you from head to toe. You know you are blushing, maybe even glowing, but it’s hard to feel too embarrassed when he looks at you like that.

“Thanks.”

He reaches up very slowly, just barely brushing your chin with his knuckle. “Come with me.” His voice is low, soft even, yet somehow adamant. It induces a flutter in your heart—and an ache in your loins. You like to think you are not easily led, but you wouldn't have dreamed of arguing with him now. 

“Alright.”

His pleased smile is a balm to your earlier frustration. For the first time since you got off the train and promptly got lost trying to find your hostel, you feel like you can relax in this maze of a city. You didn’t realize it before, but you haven’t felt safe for weeks.

He offers you his arm.

The gesture is sweet, and gallant, and maybe you lean against him a little more than you need to. His arm is dizzyingly solid beneath your fingers, and you can’t help but feel a little giddy as you stroll together towards your destination.

#heeeeeeeeere we go! #maniacal laughter #john wick #john wick fic #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #john wick x reader #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #bittersweet john wick imagine

[oftenwantedafton]

New Year’s Eve - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Reader

Rating - Explicit

Warnings for sexual content, prostitution, daddy kink, sexual roleplay, spanking

Also on AO3

Summary - You may be young, but you’re already wise to the way the world works. You’re good at what you do; a sex worker with intuition and an uncanny understanding of each client’s deepest desires.

When the middle aged career counselor pulls up to your street corner the night before New Year’s Eve, you think it will be an easy job for a decent amount of cash.

You’re about to discover this customer is unlike anyone you’ve ever met.

You hear it before you see it: the luxury sedan a vintage model from the late seventies, its engine throaty. Modern cars don’t sound like that; you know the difference because one of your first boyfriends had been into cars.

The dark vehicle pulls neatly along the curb and halts and you shift from the street lamp post you’d been leaning against, grateful that some perverted asshole has taken notice and was going to get you out of the cold.

The driver’s side window eases down—crank, you think, this was before power controls, luxury or not—and you have your first sight of the man. Middle aged, a few lines here and there, salt and pepper hair, neatly trimmed beard. Aviators seated in front of wide set pale blue eyes. He’s wearing a long sleeved dress shirt and tie, you note; it’s a good sign, maybe you’ll be making some decent cash tonight and get a bonus because it’s the night before New Year’s Eve and gratitude stretches on the holidays.

You grin, a cherry red stretch of painted lips, toying coquettishly with the hem of your black skirt, worrying at a rip in the matching fishnet stockings. “Hey there. You looking to have some fun?”

The man’s face is expressionless, and for a moment you wonder if he’s not undercover. Fuck, you really didn’t need this kind of trouble.

“Get in,” he says, his voice a rough scrape of sound.

“Sure, as soon as we talk prices, just so we’re both on the same page. It’s—”

You never get to finish, your eyes widening when he holds out several large bills pinched between two long, slender fingers.

“Consider it an advance.”

You reach for the money and fold it tightly

into your palm. “Okay.” You loop around the front of the car, seeing him leaning over to pull the tab up to unlock the door for you and you slide inside onto the vinyl seat, dumping your oversized purse on the floor between your feet.

The car’s interior is blessedly warm and you resist the urge to hold your hands in front of the vents. The stranger still isn’t speaking and the awkward silence drags on. You’re clearly going to have to direct things here. Maybe it’s his first time with a sex worker. “So, what are you into? I’m pretty good at roleplay if that’s your thing. You know, like a police officer and a criminal or a father and daughter or a school teacher and a student or—”

“—Wait. The second one.”

Of course he’d pick that. So many men did.

“But not looking like that.” He frowns, his eyes roving over the leather jacket and halter top disapprovingly, then down to the skirt and fishnet stockings before snapping back to your face. “And not wearing all that makeup. Clean faced. Hair natural. You understand?”

You blink, then nod. Okay, he was particular. Not everyone wanted a quickie. You didn’t really mind either way as long as you got paid, and this guy was already paying you well.

He digs in his pants pocket, extracting a small plated case with business cards in it. He selects the topmost one and tucks another pair of bills beneath it, handing it to you. “For your time tonight. Be at this address tomorrow at nine.” He pauses, eyes flicking down to your legs again. “Maybe a schoolgirl uniform. Regular stockings.”

“Yeah, I get you.”

He turns his attention back to the road and you feel like you’re being dismissed. You grab your bag and shove the door open, stepping up onto the curb and back out into the cold December air.

You watch the sedan’s narrow rectangular tail lights fade as the man drives away, the money and business card curled tightly in your palm.

Easiest money you’ve ever made.

***

The office building’s parking lot is nearly vacant, save for the car you recognize from the night before.

You direct the taxi driver towards what looks like the main entrance, wondering if it will even be unlocked, but as the cab pulls closer you realize there’s a tall figure standing just inside the doors, and you know it’s your customer.

You hand money to the driver and walk towards the glass doors. One folds inward and you step inside the opening.

“Hi.”

He doesn’t respond, turning and walking towards an elevator. You trail after, following him inside. He punches the button for the fourth floor and you stand across from him. He hasn’t looked at you since you’d first entered the building and you’re unsure of what to think. You’d been careful to follow his instructions from the previous evening, wearing a plain white blouse and navy cardigan over a gray plaid skirt that ends a few inches above your knees, thigh high white tights tucked into platform Mary Jane’s, everything demurely covered, your face clear of makeup and your hair free of product, the picture of innocence.

The elevator halts and the doors chime before sliding apart. You’re guided through a series of corridors before you reach an unmarked wooden door, the nameplate mounted on the wall beside it matching the one on the business card he’d handed you the night before: Steven Raglan, Career Counselor.

You enter the room and hear the door close behind you with a soft click. The office is illuminated by a solitary desk lamp casting a soft yellow glow over the space. There’s one solitary window, the gray blinds covering it drawn tightly closed. A map and a photograph of some nature scene decorate two of the walls, the rest covered with framed accolades — degrees, awards—this guy is good at his job, apparently. Everything is neatly organized, from the books and binders slotted on the shelving unit behind the desk to the items on the desk itself, the desk blotter covered by a calendar clear of paperwork, the cursive writing on several squares neat and precise, the stack of blank paper next to the electronic typewriter pristine in the box it lays in.

Steve settles into the swivel leather office chair behind the desk, pulling open one of the drawers of the nearest filing cabinet and withdrawing a folder. He spreads it open over the calendar, reaching for the pen resting beside it, still seemingly ignoring you.

You’ve dealt with a variety of personality types in your brief time working the streets, but this blatant disregard is something completely new, throwing you off your game. You sit in one of the chairs across from him, pondering what it was the man expected, watching one of the more prominent veins in his pale hands shift as he begins writing.

“What are you working on?”

“Something important. Don’t interrupt me.”

You shift a little in your seat. What the fuck was with this guy?

A few more minutes pass and you find yourself growing more impatient. You were going to have to make him pay attention. You stand, fingers wrapping around the arm rest of the chair before dragging it around the desk so it’s beside the seated man. He pauses mid pen stroke, the only acknowledgment of what you’ve just done before he resumes writing.

You cross your legs, working on the buckle of one of your shoes, repeating the process for the opposite foot. You see the hesitation last longer this time and you smile inwardly. Yeah, he’s noticing. This was the game he wanted to play.

You subtly inch the chair closer, then casually let one stockinged foot slide up the leg of his pants. You’re rewarded with a little hitch of breath. You reach his knee before he halts your progress, his hand closing warmly over your foot.

“I told you not to interrupt me.”

You smirk, slouching down further and raising your other leg, skimming along shin and stroking against calf before your foot shoots across his thigh and rests against his crotch.

He drops the pen. “What did I just…”

Your foot teases along the fly of his pants and the rest of the reprimand dies and he releases his hold on you. You feel the hard outline of his cock, massaging, toes curling and stretching, sole and arch and heel stroking and grinding.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I can’t help it.” You bite your bottom lip, continuing to rub against his clothed erection.

That does it.

His eyes snap to your face, pupils dilating with desire. You can hear every coarse, desperate drag of air he pulls into his lungs.

“Come here.”

You draw your legs back and sit up, stockings sinking into Berber carpet.

He pushes back to make room for you on his lap. “Bend over.”

You obey, your breasts mashing into his thighs as you rest your body weight over his legs. You feel the hem of your skirt lifting, inverted and dropped onto your lower back, exposing the plain white panties you’re wearing. The older man massages one cheek, then the other, kneading each globe with equal attentiveness. You squirm and he halts, reaching for the waistband and tugging the undergarment down, just enough to reveal what he wants access to, your underwear now bunched mid thigh. He traces the lace pattern of your stockings, dragging a thumb against the inside of one thigh but stopping well short of where you want him. You feel your arousal leaking out of you, a slow trail of clear fluid dripping down.

This detail clearly hasn’t escaped his attention.

He lets his fingers glide through it briefly, then his hand disappears and you whimper in disappointment.

That’s when his hand returns, this time a hard slap against one cheek.

Fuck.

He follows through with several more strikes that are firm enough to sting and you imagine your ass is quite red already. His fingers dip between your narrowly spread, trembling legs and a pair of them punch easily through your dripping entrance, curling and stroking you inside.

“Daddy…it feels so good.”

“You like that, baby girl?” It’s the first time he’s spoken in awhile and his voice is even dryer and rougher than you’re accustomed to. He sounds almost raw, like the words are being torn from somewhere deep inside of him.

“Mmm-hmm.”

He continues fucking you with his fingers but abruptly withdraws them when he feels the muscles inside tightening, preparing for release.

“Not yet. I want you to cum in my mouth.”

Your pussy throbs and you stand just long enough to be repositioned, this time laid on your back over the desk. You can smell ink and paper and the fragrance of your own arousal.

He pulls your panties off the rest of the way and spreads your legs apart and his tongue thrusts inside without preamble. It’s long, the muscle stretching and curling inside your canal as his nose presses against your clit so he can get in deep.

“Daddy,” you gasp helplessly, reaching for whatever you can get ahold of, fingers curling into the soft waves of his hair. He replaces his tongue with his fingers again, sucking at the bundle of nerves below your mound. “Please make me cum, Daddy.”

He moans against you, the fingers inside of you working fervently, his tongue a blur of motion against your clit and you feel yourself shatter, coming apart warm and liquid against him, your thighs shaking violently, struggling to snap closed when the sensation becomes too much but he’s relentless, savoring the quivering of your flesh for a few more moments before he finally pulls away, easing back against the padded chair.

You struggle to recover, the pleasant tingling spasms still snapping through your body as you push yourself up on your elbows and then use the palms of your hands to lurch upright. You can feel whatever papers he’d been working on plastered beneath your bare, damp skin.

The client looks absolutely wrecked. His beard is wet with your juices, glasses askew, the tidy part of his hair mussed, sending a dark tendril across his forehead. You slide off the desk and kneel down, removing his glasses and setting them gently on the desk behind you, then reaching for the belt at his waist. He watches your movements with dark, hungry eyes. The leather strap releases from its metal entrapment and the button and zipper of his fly surrender next. The purple boxer briefs are the final obstacle, the waistband smacking with an elastic snap somewhere at the base of his cock after you wrench them down. You let your fingers drag through the trail of precum ozzing down the shaft, teasing him, watching his reaction.

“Open your mouth, baby.” His large hand is heavy against your cheek, thumb pressing on your bottom lip, encouraging you to cooperate. You open for him, watch the languidly draped form straighten, bringing his hips forward, his fat prick stretching your lips. He’s one of the larger men you’ve been with; probably even the largest. The kind of dick that porn stars are blessed with, and fuck if he isn’t testing your ability right now, pushing himself in further along your tongue, the head hitting the back of your throat. “Good girl. You can take all of it, baby. You’re doing so well.”

He knots a hand in your hair and tugs your head back, easing the rest of the way inside that moist cavity, then holding himself there, studying the flare of your nostrils and the tears leaking from the corners of your eyes before he finally relaxes, withdrawing, and you cough, gagging, his member now slick with a thick layer of your saliva.

You grab a few quick lungfuls of air, preparing yourself for the next push. “I love your fat cock, Daddy.” You stroke over the shaft, the wet sounds lewd.

“”I know you do, baby. Suck it again.”

You let him fill your mouth again and again, allow him to direct how quickly your head moves back and forth as he fucks into your mouth, the lazy pace picking up speed as the pleasure mounts and his urgency grows. “You’re such a good girl,” he praises. “You’re going to make me cum.” His eyes are so, so black, so far above you because he’s so tall, watching you raptly, a hawk studying its prey. A tremor wracks the thigh you’re clutching and he groans as he spills directly onto your tongue.

You swallow the bitter liquid down as his grip in your hair relaxes, surprised when he offers a hand to pull you to your feet. His thumb is back at your bottom lip again, his eyes focused on your mouth. The first lesson you’d ever been taught was never to kiss the customer. It was too personal, too intimate; when you’re willing to sell every piece of your self, it’s the one thing you get to cling to that’s untarnished and untouched.

You are so tempted to break that rule right now; wish he’d just do it for you. Instead his hand drops and he begins straightening his clothing. You hike your panties back into place, smoothing down your skirt while he tucks his shirt tails back into his pants and draws up the zipper. You sit in the chair you’d dragged over earlier in your session, reaching for your shoes, the man surprising you again when he kneels down, helping you slide each foot in and fastening the buckles, the touches oddly tender.

You murmur your gratitude and stand, allowing him to guide you to the restroom across the hall. He’s standing by the door when you exit, more cash waiting for you crushed in his fist.

The money is warm, like he’s been holding it for awhile. You follow him back to the elevators, the ride back down to the first floor silent and swift. You eye the phone on the receptionist’s desk, thinking you’ll use it to call for another cab when his voice interrupts you.

“I can give you a ride home.”

Rule number two: don’t invite the client back to your place, or go to theirs; keep the meetup somewhere public. Followed by the next: once you’ve completed the transaction, go your separate ways. Don’t linger. Time was money. It was strictly about business.

You hesitate.

“Or wherever you want to go,” he adds, as if sensing your reluctance to accept the original offer. “We could get some champagne. Toast in the New Year.” His eyes are still dark, the hunger not nearly sated, his fingers twitching as if he wants to touch you again.

You know right then you’re going to break the commandments you’ve been given.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x you #steve raglan x reader #fnaf fanfic #fnaf movie #william afton #steve raglan #dividers credit @ saradika

[suddenlybambi]

no touching ♥ stan marsh

pairing : stan marsh x reader

nsfw (smut) - minors DNI!!! - aged up characters (18+)

tags : p in v sex, afab reader, edging, orgasm denial, oral (m receiving), slight praise kink, slight degradation, mild sub/dom dynamics, sub!stan, dom!reader

word count : 2.1k

summary : after painting your boyfriend's nails, you instruct him he's not allowed to touch anything until they dry

masterlist

a/n - i will eventually write something other than subby men... maybe... probably... *hides the 3 more dom!reader x sub!character fic i'm working on*

“Not even just a little bit?” You pleaded, holding up the case with your colourful array of nail polish. Stan had agreed to let you paint his nails, but only with black. You had climbed on top of him as soon as he agreed so that he couldn’t escape halfway through. “Imagine if you just had red on your middle finger! Flipping people the bird would have twice the power.”

“Maybe next time,” He sighed, giving in a little. You could tell that, despite complaining and his initial refusal, he loved it. He had refused it in the past because he didn’t want to get ripped on by C̶a̶r̶t̶m̶a̶n̶ the others, but when Kenny had his done, and no one said anything, he realised he was worrying over nothing again. Plus, the look of joy on your face when he finally agreed was something he would walk over hot coals for. Even if he got the piss taken out of him, he would let you paint his nails whenever you requested.

“So you want there to be a next time?” You smirked, closing the bottle once you had finished the final touches. Next time, you could probably sneak a glittery topcoat on there without him noticing. 

“Of course,” His eyes narrowed a little in a suggestive manner. “I’d let you paint them every day if it means you straddle me like this.” His hand gravitated towards your hip to keep you on his lap, but you grabbed his wrist and pulled it away at the speed of lightning.

“No, no, no!” You gasped, holding his hands out and away from him. “You can’t touch anything until your nails are dry!” You instructed, shaking your head in disapproval at his prominent pout. At that moment, an idea formed in your mind. It was a devious one, but you couldn’t help yourself. You let go of his hands and bent down to give him a kiss on the forehead before you set your plan into action.

You started off with a painfully slow roll of your hips against Stan’s. His head was thrown back, and his eyes fluttered closed as an involuntary groan slipped from his lips. Instinctively, his hand tried to return to your waist as it usually did whenever you were on top, but you grabbed his wrist again as he tried. This time, you held them above his head, noting how pretty he looked like that. If this went well, you would have to invest in some handcuffs for next time.

“No touching,” You tried and failed to hide the devilish smirk on your face as realisation dawned on him. “If you try, I’ll stop.”

“But-” He was about to protest, but one look into your eyes stopped him in his tracks. You were 100% serious. “Yes, ma’am.” The authoritative title sent butterflies right through you. You rewarded him with another roll of the hips, his growing erection making itself known through his trousers.

“Do you think you’re strong enough to do this?” You teased, feeling his body shake a little underneath you as he struggled to restrain himself from taking any action. “We can always stop?”

“No!” He gasped, tensing up and shaking his head. “Please continue.”

“Please continue…?” You echoed, trailing off at the end.

“Ma’am,” He finished. His pupils were so blown out you could barely make out the colour of his irises anymore. You smiled, grinding down against him once again, repeating the process until you were in a steady rhythm. He was struggling to contain his moans, and his hands were visibly shaking as he struggled to refrain from touching you. “More, please?”

“Do you think you deserve it?” You asked, tilting your head as you looked down at him. He nodded desperately, but you shook your head. “Use your words, my love.”

“I’ll be so good- please? I promise!” He begged, lip instinctively protruding in a pout as he spoke. “I won’t touch you at all!”

“If that nail polish smudges in the slightest….”You took his hand, carefully kissing his knuckles so as not to touch his nails. “You’ll have to watch me touch myself, and you won’t be able to do anything about it.” His hips involuntarily spasmed at the thought, but he managed to maintain as much composure as he could by lifting his hands up and to the sides so he wouldn’t use them.

“So pretty,” You leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to his lips. “So pathetic,” He tried to chase the kiss as you pulled away, but you distracted him by tracing your lips along his jawline, swiftly finding his pulse point. You knew exactly where to go as the love bite you had left there days prior remained as a small faded mark. You decided to renew it, relishing in the soft moans that slipped through his lips as you did so.

Meanwhile, your hands busied themselves by trailing down his torso until they reached his belt, undoing it at what you knew was a painfully slow pace for him, purposefully allowing your knuckles to brush against the bulge. Just as you got the belt undone, you pulled away to inspect his neck. Satisfied with your work and the dark purple mark left behind, you kissed his lips again, which he happily melted into. As you deepened the kiss, you slid your hand down his waistband, taking a soft but firm grip on his member. The kiss barely managed to swallow the loud moan that escaped him.

You pulled away from the kiss, and he tried again to chase your lips, but you shuffled down his body to sit on his lower legs so he could no longer reach you. Bending down, your face was now in line with his crotch as you pulled his trousers and boxers down enough to release his hardened member. It sprung up as soon as you did, hitting his stomach. Wasting no time, you looked up, making direct eye contact as you swirled your tongue around the tip.

He let out a loud, involuntary whimper at the new form of contact, and you could see his hands struggle to remain still at his sides. You knew he liked nothing more than to run his hands through your hair whenever you had your pretty lips wrapped around his dick, and you had to admit that you quite liked it when he would lose himself in the moment and pull your hair, but you were in complete control this time. Hair pulling could wait until next time.

Slowly, you sunk your mouth down further onto his dick, hollowing out your cheeks as you took in as much of him as you could. His breathing laboured by the second, and you had to hold his hips down to stop him from thrusting up into your mouth. You quickly picked up the pace, bobbing your head up and down and running your tongue along the shaft. You could feel his member twitching as a sign that he was close.

“Please?” He begged, voice shakey as he spoke through his grunting and moans. “Please, can I cum?” You pulled your mouth off of him completely and smirked at him.

“No,” You whispered, shaking your head in case he hadn’t heard you. His eyes widened, and his hips struggled against the grip you had on them.

“Please?” He begged again. “Please, I need-”

“I said no,” You watched the panic on his face as he realised how serious you were, and it only increased when your lips wrapped around his throbbing dick again to continue at a torturously slow place. He was whimpering more than ever, eyes squeezed shut and head pressed against the pillow. You kept this up, pulling away as soon as you felt the telltale signs that he was close. His eyes brimmed with tears as he looked down at you after the fourth time in a row that you stopped him when he was so close.

“Please, can I cum now?” He pleaded once more, chest heaving with how heavy his breath had become. “I’ve been so good! I’ve not smudged the nail polish at all! Please?” He managed to use whatever strength he had remaining to hold his hands up for you to inspect them. Sure enough, they were in pristine condition.

Smiling down at him, you crawled back up his body, capturing him in a slow and passionate kiss, knowing he could taste his own desperation on your tongue as it easily overpowered his. 

You pulled away to whisper softly in his ear. “Where do you want to cum? Me or my mouth?” His reaction was attuned to if you had just told him that he had won the lottery. His energy was renewed in an instant.

“In you!” He answered without hesitation, adding on at the last second. “Please, ma’am?”

“How can I say no when you look so pretty, and you beg so nicely?” You cooed with a smile on your face. Unfortunately for Stan, you couldn’t help but torture him just a little more as you slowly climbed off of him, stripping each item of clothing off and carefully placing them on his desk chair, making sure he saw the large damp spot on your panties that had quickly formed over the course of the teasing. You loved letting him know just how turned on you got when he was completely and utterly submissive to you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” His voice was almost whimsical in nature, the words coming out as though he had meant for them to stay in his head. It made you melt. It was so sweet and sincere; you almost felt bad for edging and denying him for so long… almost.

“You’ve been so good,” You praised, grabbing a condom from the bedside cabinet. You climbed back on top of him with it once you were completely undressed. You had stripped his trousers and underwear off somewhere between the third and fourth time you edged him, but he wouldn’t let you take his shirt off for fear that it would smudge his nails. Carefully, you rolled the condom onto him as his legs shook from anticipation. “Are you ready?” You asked, lining him up with you. You hadn’t given yourself any time to prepare or adjust to him, but the teasing you had put him through had left your hole clenching around nothing, and you knew you were more than ready. 

Stan eagerly nodded in confirmation, and you sunk down onto him, throwing your head back as you groaned at the feeling. You could already feel Stan’s throbbing dick twitch inside you, and you knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on for long.

“I want-” He struggled to get his words out in between his moans and whimpers as you picked up the speed, rolling your hips to make sure he hit the right spots. “I want you to- to finish first.” You almost froze your actions in shock; after all that, he was still prioritising your pleasure? You snapped out of it when he thrust up into you. You would usually punish him for that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to when you saw the sincerity behind his eyes.

You bent down, pressing your bare chest against him as you captured his lips in another passionate kiss, threading one hand through his hair and reaching the other down to circle your clit since Stan was still unable to use his hands. When you had to break the kiss to breathe, you pressed your forehead against his, eyes closed while his soft whimpers and moans surrounded you, and you felt your core tighten.

“I’m so close,” You panted out. The energy that Stan still had amazed you. The words spurred him on, and he thrust up into you harder than before. With that, you snapped, and your orgasm rushed over you in a wave. Your walls clenched around his dick, and you felt Stan’s own orgasm as his hips stuttered. You managed to ride out your orgasm but soon collapsed against his chest, trying to catch your breath again. “You did so well.” You praised, smiling up at Stan while you nuzzled your face against his chest.

“I didn’t smudge my nails,” He proudly held them up for you to see. You tapped them slightly and smiled.

“They’re all dry now,” You confirmed, pressing a soft kiss to his fingertips. “I’ll get a washcloth to clean you up.” You were about to get up, but you were startled as Stan wrapped his arms around you and flipped you over so he was on top. Your eyes widened as he looked down at you with a smug smirk.

“Oh, no,” He shook his head, hand coming up to lightly pin you to the cushion by the neck. Your heart raced as you saw the look in his eyes, knowing the tables had been turned. “I think it’s my turn now.”

#stan marsh x reader #stan marsh smut #south park smut #south park stan #south park fanfiction #south park fic #sp stan #sp stan smut

[bruciemilf]

Bruce's relationship with his male Rogues vs his female Rogues is. So interesting to me.

Because you have his Rogues like the Joker, who he has actual conflicts with—Bane, Scarecrow, Penguin, Two-Face, Black Mask. All the men have honest beef with him. Death traps, elaborate evil schemes, bombs (oh my God the BOMBS), murder attempts.

But the women? They're friends with him. All his female Rogues see him as an awkward annoyance at worst (Ivy), and boyfriend material at best (Selina). Harley's square in the middle as "weird little brother." They toe the line of chaotic and lean so dangerously close to vigilante so often that Bruce just. Lets them be. Gives perfunctory attempts to catch them, but most times it ends with them just talking.

I'm 95% sure they know he's Bruce Wayne but don't say anything out of courtesy.

Batman strikes fear in the hearts of men and only men, and I think that's honestly iconic of him

GOD YESSSSSS LIKE - It'd be redundant to add something to this; Like painting over Mona Lisa but I'll do my best because this is actually one of my favourite topics.

I feel like I could word this a lot better, but I just feel like men dehumanise eachother to a concerning amount. Not Bruce, - if anything, he's on some saint shit by trying to rehabilitate these guys. But it's more of a " I can fix him" dynamic that you just won't see with the sirens

It's like - I don't have evidence of this, it's more of a " call it like I see it" headcanon, but Bruce? Most definetly was bullied by guys before.

I can't really go into details, but Bruce has " guy who could hang with the girls and girls only in high school" energy.

It's kinda telling that he has a relatively positive relationship with women and inspires a sense of safety with them that I've seen no other male hero achieve, but he ALWAYS has beef with men. Truly an awkward women's ally icon

More so? I can honestly see Bruce and the sirens as that non-toxic middle aged friend group that went through hell and back together and their paths always merge into eachother

Like? Give me Bruce trying to stop them from a heist. He's tired and Selina can see it, eyes sharp, designed to see detail. " Wait. Have you been crying?"

Harley drops her hammer with a gasp. " Oh my God, have you?"

Bruce's arms drop limp at his side and he takes a very deep breath. " I fought with Harvey last night and he brought up my parents. "

" No."

" He didn't."

" Are you kidding me? Oh, he's SUCH an asshole," Pamela somehow always has a wine bottle ready and Selina's in charge to bring the glasses, because at least one of them will need to rant about male rogues. " Tell us everything, hon."

" It's just, - GOD, is it too much to ask? One thing, - one goddam thing I ask of him in two decades, don't bring up my dead parents when I punch you in the face! But no. "

" Let's key his car."

" I'm going to his parent's grave to steal their jewlery and I'll wear them next time we fight. "

" Oh my God, could you imagine what face he'd make?"

" Which one?"

#bruce wayne #batman #dc #dc comics #harley quinn #poison ivy #pamela isley #selina kyle #catwoman #gotham sirens #text #bruce for the guy who protects drunk girls at college parties and walks his female co workers/employees home and gives them cool weapons

[coochiequeens]

This is why we still need Women’s History Month.

By Martha Gill

What was life like for women in medieval times? “Awful” is the vague if definite answer that tends to spring to mind – but this is an assumption, and authors have been tackling it with new vigour.

The Once and Future Sex: Going Medieval on Women’s Roles in Society by Eleanor Janega, and The Wife of Bath: A Biography by Marion Turner both contend that women were not only bawdier but busier than we thought: they were brewers, blacksmiths, court poets, teachers, merchants, and master craftsmen, and they owned land too. A woman’s dowry, Janega writes, was often accompanied with firm instructions that property stay with her, regardless of what her husband wanted.

This feels like a new discovery. It isn’t, of course. Chaucer depicted many such cheerfully domineering women. The vellum letter-books of the City of London, in which the doings of the capital from 1275 to 1509 were scribbled, detail female barbers, apothecaries, armourers, shipwrights and tailors as a matter of course. While it is true that aristocratic women were considered drastically inferior to their male equivalents – traded as property and kept as ornaments – women of the lower orders lived, relatively, in a sort of rough and ready empowerment.

It was the Renaissance that vastly rolled back the rights of women. As economic power shifted, the emerging middle classes began aping their betters. They confined their women to the home, putting them at the financial mercy of men. Female religious power also dwindled. In the 13th century seeing visions and hearing voices might get a woman sainted; a hundred years later she’d more likely be burned at the stake.

“When it comes to the history of gender relations, storytellers portray women as more oppressed than they actually were”

Why does this feel like new information? Much of what we think we know about medieval times was invented by the Victorians, who had an artistic obsession with the period, and through poetry and endless retellings of the myth of King Arthur managed somehow to permanently infuse their own sexual politics into it. (Victorian women were in many respects more socially repressed than their 12th-century forebears.)

But modern storytellers are also guilty of sexist revisionism. We endlessly retread the lives of oppressed noblewomen, and ignore their secretly empowered lower-order sisters. Where poorer women are mentioned, glancingly, they are pitied as prostitutes or rape victims. Even writers who seem desperate for a “feminist take” on the period tend to ignore the angle staring them right in the face. In her 2022 cinematic romp, Catherine called Birdy, for example, Lena Dunham puts Sylvia Pankhurst-esque speeches into the mouth of her 13th-century protagonist, while portraying her impending marriage – at 14 – as normal for the period. (In fact the average 13th-century woman got married somewhere between the ages of 22 and 25.)

But we cling tight to these ideas. It is often those who push back against them who get accused of “historical revisionism”. This applies particularly to the fantasy genre, which aside from the odd preternaturally “feisty” female character, tends to portray the period as, well, a misogynistic fantasy. The Game of Thrones author George RR Martin once defended the TV series’ burlesque maltreatment of women on the grounds of realism. “I wanted my books to be strongly grounded in history and to show what medieval society was like.” Oddly enough, this didn’t apply to female body hair (or the dragons).

This is interesting. Most of our historical biases tend to run in the other direction: we assume the past was like the present. But when it comes to the history of gender relations, the opposite is true: storytellers insist on portraying women as more oppressed than they actually were.

“The history of gender relations might be more accurately painted as a tug of war between the sexes”

The casual reader of history is left with the dim impression that between the Palaeolithic era and the 19th century women suffered a sort of dark age of oppression. This is assumed to have ended some time around the invention of the lightbulb, when the idea of “gender equality” sprang into our heads and right-thinking societies set about “discovering” female competencies: women – astonishingly – could do 

things men could do!

In fact the history of gender relations might be more accurately painted as a tug of war between the sexes, with women sometimes gaining and sometimes losing power – and the stronger sex opportunistically seizing control whenever it had the means.

In Minoan Crete, for example, women had similar rights and freedoms to men, taking equal part in hunting, competitions, and celebrations.

But that era ushered in one of the most patriarchal societies the planet has ever known – classical Greece, where women had no political rights and were considered “minors”.

Or take hunter-gatherer societies, the source of endless cod-evolutionary theories about female inferiority. The discovery of female skeletons with hunting paraphernalia has disproved the idea that men only hunted and women only gathered – and more recently anthropologists have challenged the idea that men had higher status too: women, studies contend, had equal sway over group decisions.

This general bias has had two unfortunate consequences. One is to impress upon us the idea that inequality is “natural”. The other is to give us a certain complacency about our own age: that feminist progress is an inevitable consequence of passing time. “She was ahead of her time,” we say, when a woman seems unusually empowered. Not necessarily.

Two years ago, remember, sprang up one of the most vicious patriarchies in history – women were removed from their schools and places of work and battoned into homes and hijabs. And last year in the US many women lost one of their fundamental rights: abortion. (Turns out it was pro-lifers, not feminists, who were ahead of their time there.)

Both these events were greeted with shock from liberal quarters: how could women’s rights be going backwards? But that only shows we should brush up on our history. Another look at medieval women is as good a place to start as any.

 Martha Gill is a political journalist and former lobby correspondent

#Women’s History #books for women #The Once and Future Sex: Going Medieval on Women’s Roles in Society #Eleanor Janega #The Wife of Bath: A Biography #Marion Turner

[nebbyy]

How would Baldwin act if reader was on her period cause I know in the medieval period they handled menstrual cycles differently?

King Baldwin x reader - period

A/N: Aww that is so sweet! Yes you're right, it was handled quite differently and if you look it up you'd be impressed of how badass women are to have been handling so much stuff for so long with no recognition until recent times!!

Little info as always, painting is "The Deceitfulness of Riches" by Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale.

Warning: mentions of blood and period-related pain, plus some historical negligence on women's health and that's it

Okay so, in the Middle Ages period was something every woman knew of, but no one ever really said anything about

Up until very late in the time period, women were considered dirty, impure creatures, guilty of committing the original sin and to relentlessly tempt men with their mere existence

Period had become during these centuries a symbol of women's impurity and less than human nature, so they were taught from a very early age to hide it as best as they could

But do I have to tell you that Baldwin could not believe less to it?

Similar things had been said to him and his leprosy, how it was a curse that had been sent upon him by God himself for his own vanity and greed, that he was an impure man just because of something he couldn't actually control

He wouldn't see the negative conceptions of period, he'd only see your pain and discomfort, and that would be enough to tear his soul in half

He'd come up to you, gently wrapping an arm around your lower waist, unknowingly bringing you a little comfort from his mere body heat, and he'd gently whisper in your ear

"My angel, I know you're fatigued right now. Go back to our chambers and tell me what you need, I'll provide for it all in a second"

You'd try to reject the offer and change subject out of modesty and embarrassment. There's no need for his help, really, you're used to this like any other woman, the last thing he needs to worry about is your own discomfort

He, of course, wouldn't listen and just escort you to your silky bed where he'd almost force you to lay onto

He would ask you if you're too cold, too hot, if you're hungry, what you'd like to eat then, if you're thirsty, if you need company and loving touches or if you'd rather be left alone

Anything you ask for, you'll get in no time

It would probably end up with him lying next to you, gently putting a warm hand on your pelvis while he held a book on the other one, reading out loud so that you could relax and distract from your pain and discomfort

And once you fall asleep and his servants would loudly announce that dinner is ready and waiting, he'd quickly put a finger to his lips, urging them to be quiet as the love of his life is resting

This would go on for as long as you need, whether it's as long as your period lasts or just the first days. Whatever, really

Because, yes, period was considered a punishment for the sins and impurity of all women, but with Baldwin that definition could never resonate, for you're the purest, most perfect creature living in his life, and he sees this monthly occurrence as a divine test to your soul and spirit, a test he'd gladly help you through anytime

#king baldwin x reader #kingdom of heaven #headcanons #period mention #king baldwin iv #king baldwin x you #requests open #anon request #anonymous

[poppadom0912]

Together (II)

Warnings: Mentions of violence, kidnappings, blood, shootings, injuries and scary men

Summary: As it all starts to unfold, the Murray's don't make it any easier.

A/N: I was supposed to post this next week friday but I couldn't wait. I'm way too excited to here you go. Enjoy!!!!

Previous Chapter / Series Masterlist / Next Chapter

Coming back to wasn't pleasant.

The effects of whatever drug he'd been injected with were still present but were slowly wearing off. With heavy eyes, Jay surveyed the room he didn't recognise but could identify as a basement.

"You're finally awake." Will sighed in relief at the sight of his now conscious brother. He looked as bad as he felt but the blood painting his hand, that wasn't there beforehand.

"Whose blood is that?" Jay asked, clearing his throat as he did so. Water would be the biggest luxury right about now but torture was the route the Murray brothers were taking today.

"Jacksons." Will plainly said, not really bothered by the blood on his hands. "His wound needed stitches and I was available I guess you could say."

"We're not at the cabin anymore." Jay stated but his tone came across unsure because he never actually thought if the cabin had a basement.

"Yup. We're in the middle of nowhere." Will nodded, confirming both their fears. Not only did they have absolutely no idea where they were but no one in the outside world knew of their location if someone were to notice their disappearance.

"Where the hell is Y/N?" Jay asked, only now realising that you weren't in the basement with them. Now that the drugs were fully disappearing, he was slowly starting to think straight.

"I haven't seen her." Will said solemnly. "She's probably with those bastards."

Jay couldn't believe this. Not only had they been kidnapped but you were nowhere to be seen. There was no way of knowing what they were doing to you or if you were even still alive right now and he hated how helpless he was.

Both brothers remained in zip ties but Will more restrained since Jay's ankles were free. Will had been awake much more longer than Jay and while reluctantly stitching Jackson back up, he accumulated a plan that would only be successful if they moved fast.

"Jay, listen to me very carefully." Will caught his younger brothers attention, stopping him from fiddling with the zip ties. "What I'm about to say is going to sound crazy but you have to trust me on this."

"Always." Jay nodded with no hesitation. They were brothers for goodness sakes, he'd trust Will and you with his life any day.

"You have to dislocate your arm."

"What?!" Jay looked at Will incredulously despite what was said five seconds prior.

Will looked at Jay pointedly before carrying on. "You can pop it right back into place. Anyways, you dislocate it and you're out the zip ties. There's a window right above me so if I give you a boost, all you have to do is kick it open and you're out."

Jay sat in silence, digesting the decent plan Will thought through during the time Jay was unconscious. It actually sounded like it could work.

With no other options, Jay agreed and carefully listened to Will's instructions on how to pop his shoulder out its socket.

Jay groaned through his gritted teeth, his shoulder screaming in pain after he very aggressively bashed it against the concrete wall but it was just like Will said, with a quick tug he was able to slip out the zip ties.

Quickly exhaling, Jay got to his feet and went over to Will where the window was located. Even if he wanted to, Will pushed him away when he tried to get his restraints off of him. It would take ages and there was no point in slowing Jay down.

Bickering like children, Will smacked Jay's hands away from his own, glaring at him when his jaw ticked in frustration. Jay was one hundred percent on his own from here.

With a boost from Will, mumbling several apologies under his breath, Jay repeatedly elbowed the window till the glass shattered into millions of pieces, falling onto both of them.

With several few more apologies towards Will, Jay squeezed himself out the window and was finally met with fresh air.

Both brothers chuckled in disbelief that it'd actually worked and with Jay being free, their rescue was soon to be guaranteed.

"I swear, I'll be back in an hour." Jay promised Will, poking his head back inside the damp basement.

"Good luck." Will said earnestly, craning his neck to watch Jay fully disappear from his view. All he could do now was sit and wait.

Landing on his feet, Jay groaned at the pain his shoulder brought him but he could handle it, he'd have to for yours and Will's sake.

He couldn't recognise the area but the snow was still ploughing down meaning they were still in Wisconsin. Even while squinting, it was difficult to see so he was basically walking blind.

He'd probably have hypothermia once he got back home but that was a problem for future Jay. Present Jay's biggest priority was getting out, finding a person or phone to contact Voight so he could free you and Will.

Ignoring the cold seeping into his bones, squinting through the fog, Jay searched down the road for anything that could help him. Luck was on his side for just a minute because apparently, phone booths still existed.

With heavy breaths, Jay punched in the three letters known universally to be the one number that would always help anyone during an emergency. Realistically, they were the actual first responders.

"911, What's your emergency?"

"Detective Jay Halstead, badge number 51163, reporting the kidnapping of a Chicago firefighter, cop and-"

Jay was cut off by a sudden kick to his ribs to his back. The sudden force knocking him off his balance. The plastic phone fell out of his hand and the operators voice faded away as several men attempted to drag him away.

Apparently, Jay didn't get too far because he'd been caught or he was followed the second he escaped.

Obviously, moving to a new location was a very strategic move. The Murray brothers were smart and had found the time to recruit trustworthy men who had the skill set to be their 'guards' of sorts.

As harshly as he could, Jay pushed the man off him. Brushing off the burning in his torso, Jay fought off as many of the men dressed in black as he could; elbowing one in the gut, tripping up one, half strangling another and giving one of the best right hooks he'd ever done to what he assumed was the last man.

But the detective miscalculated. Several gunshots were fired but one lucky bullet managed to lodge itself in Jay's thigh causing him to stumble. Completely caught off guard and already struggling in the cold, Jay fell to his knees, his blood coating the snow.

Groaning, Jay refused to looked back and tried getting onto his feet, even trying to crawl as far away as he could before the Murray henchmen could take him back.

No matter how hard Jay tried defending himself; using his one good leg to kick the men away, jabbing one in his private and shoving the others head into the snow, his attempts were fruitless because he was soon outnumbered and on the receiving end of several blows to the head.

*****

Jay hadn't been gone for long but as soon as Will heard the latch on the door unlock, he knew things were about to go to shit.

Ezra casually strolled into the basement, with one of the biggest smiles on his face but when he noticed that only one Halstead was present, his smile dropped.

It didn't take him too long to figure it out. The abandoned zip ties on the ground, the broken window, shards of glass on and around Will; it was quite easy to determine Jay had escaped.

In a bout of fury, the younger Murray brother scoffed, shaking his head in much disappointment that he could only torture one person now. He was looking forward to having his fun with two men since his brother was being selfish with you but things had taken a turn.

"What a shame." Ezra tutted, taking slow steps towards Will. "I was looking forward to playing with your baby brother."

And before Will could register what was happening, as fast as lightning, Ezra brandished a knife that was immediately plunged into Will's gut.

Will almost shouted out from the pain but opted for gritting his teeth instead. He found it better to bite into his lip where he may bleed but at least Ezra wouldn't get off on his excruciating pain.

"Anyways, I didn't even need to do that." Ezra had the audacity to laugh, looking at the blood coating his blade that he extracted from Will in pure fascination. "We've got a job for you."

Hazy from the pain and the blood gushing out his abdomen, Will poorly shrugged Ezra's hands off his shoulder and was pushed forward so he would start walking.

His whiskey coloured eyes scanned the dimly lit corridors. All the doors looked the same, all made of the same colour wood unlike the basement door which was metal.

Inhaling sharply, Will felt additional physical pain from seeing the state you were in.

A lone tear fell down your now pale cheek from the utter pain inflicted upon you. It was a wonder no one heard your cries and screams you let out in anguish. The pain had become blinding and at some point, you'd begun begging for death because being killed was one hundred times better than what you were experiencing.

Your older brother was breathless, even as he was pushed into the room and a bunch of medical supplies were shoved into his arms, his eyes remained glued to you.

Within seconds, he forced himself back to reality and sat down on his knees, ignoring his own body screaming out for help. As long as he could mask his own pain from you seeing it, all would be well.

"Hey Y/N, it's Will." He whispered, pushing back your blood soaked hair from sticking to your forehead. Even from his gentle and loving touch, you flinched because of who you thought it was but relaxed when you actually heard his words.

You knew that voice, you'd grown up with it. Through the mist building up around your eye, you could see his red curls and that smile, even if it was forced at the moment, it brought you comfort.

"Will?" You whispered, the corner of your chapped lips tugging upwards that you finally weren't alone.

"Yeah kiddo, it's me." He whispered back, letting his eyes inspect your body but he didn't know what to address first.

"Where's Jay? Are you okay?" In typical Y/N nature, you ignored your own wellbeing and put others before you, even in your dire condition. Your brothers were your world and it would end if anything were to happen to them.

"Don't worry about us, just focus on you're breathing."

Will watched you with bated breath as you complied and tried your best to breathe normally but with that stabbing pain in your chest, you continuously winced.

"Hey, these zip ties have to come off." Will practically ordered, his stare not faltering under the brothers blazing glares. If they wouldn't do it, then he'd do it himself because nothing was stopping him from helping you. 

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