#james pearson howes

[pierppasolini]

Paul Mescal photographed by James Pearson-Howes for GQ magazine, 2022

#Paul Mescal #James Pearson-Howes #my edits

[blog-girl-on-film]

Paul Mescal by James Pearson-Howes | GQ. November 2022

#Paul Mescal #James Pearson-Howes #GQ

[m-sukumo]

James Pearson-Howes || Top Deck 16/31

#James Pearson-Howes #trees #nature #flowers #photography #aesthetic

[growingstories]

The artist

Jamie Henderson had always dreamed of becoming a successful artist. Growing up in a poor family, his ambitions were often misunderstood. But Jamie didn't let that discourage him. After graduating from art school, he took a job at a famous art gallery, hoping it would help him in his artistic journey.

However, working in the gallery turned out to be rather dull and uninspiring. Dealing with snobby and unappreciative clients was a daily occurrence. Jamie's talent remained unrecognized and he didn't know how to lift off his career.

One day, as Jamie stood by the window, lost in his thoughts, he noticed a handsome guy walking by. Smiling, Jamie couldn't help but smile back when the guy looked his way. To his surprise, the next morning, the same guy walked by again, holding two big Starbucks cups. He offered one to Jamie, a delicious coffee with caramel and cream. This ritual continued for rest of the the week, and Jamie began to look forward to these encounters.

It turned out that the handsome guy's name was Richard Pearson, a successful partner at an investment bank. They started talking and getting to know each other better. Jamie felt an instant connection with Richard, who was in his mid-30s. His charisma and intelligence intrigued Jamie.

Their daily meetings evolved into dates, and Richard invited Jamie to dinner at a very expensive restaurant. Jamie hesitated, knowing he couldn't afford such a luxury. But Richard insisted, assuring him that this one was on him.

The following week, Richard took Jamie on another extravagant date. This time, Richard suggested that Jamie could make a painting in return. The idea excited Jamie, and he poured his heart into creating a beautiful painting. Richard was in awe of the artwork Jamie presented him and suggested that he use the artist name "James Hampton" when displaying it in his family house in the Hamptons.

Their dating continued, and Richard consistently showered Jamie with gifts and extravagant experiences. He brought him coffee every morning, took him to expensive restaurants almost every night, and their intimacy was truly amazing. Jamie, despite his talent, felt guilty that he couldn't do anything in return for Richard's generosity.

One day, Richard proposed that they visit the Hamptons together so Jamie could create a large art piece. Eager to pursue his art free from distractions, Jamie accepted the offer. Richard let Jamie stay in his beach house for a week, ensuring he had everything he to needed create his masterpiece.

Secluded in the peaceful winter Hamptons, Jamie spent his days immersed in his art. Richard had food delivered daily indul,ging Jamie's every craving. The lack of exercise and constant indulgence took a toll on Jamie's body, and he gained a few extra pounds. He realized he had forgotten his running gear and couldn't find the motivation to work out.

When the weekend arrived, Richard picked Jamie up, and their passion reignited. Jamie nervously showed Richard his completed artwork, and Richard was awe-struck by the beauty Jamie had created. Back in the gallery, the routine continued, with sugary coffee and lavish dinners. Jamie's weight continued to increase and he struggled to fit into his clothes. He showed Richard a tight shirt, embarrassed by his expanding waistline. In return, Richard offered to take him to an expensive tailor for new shirts and trousers.

As months went by, Jamie's talent flourished, and his art pieces gained recognition. Richard saw great potential in his protege and proposed a life-changing opportunity. He suggested that Jamie leave the gallery and become a full-time professional artist, using Richard's Hamptons beach house as a studio. Richard would arrange gallery spaces twice a year for Jamie's pop-up exhibitions, and they would split the sales proceeds, with Richard receiving a kickback. Moreover, Richard would cover Jamie's monthly living expenses and make a financial investment to support his artistic career.

Jamie, overwhelmed by the offer, eagerly agreed. He had always dreamed of dedicating his life to art, and's proposal Richard seemed like a come dream true. The only concern Jamie had was about his weight and fitness. Richard assured him not to worry, suggesting that he should just go for runs and hit the gym on weekends.

With the support of Richard, Jamie created artwork after artwork. Each day, more delicious home-delivered meals arrived, and Jamie indulged in every bite. He asked Richard to cut down on the food deliveries, but Richard assured him that any leftovers could simply be thrown away. Fueled by constant indulgence, Jamie's weight continued to climb, and after three months, he had gained 25 kilograms.

Surprisingly, Richard didn't seem bothered by Jamie's increasing size. He loved being Jamie's mentor and enjoyed their time together, focusing solely on Jamie's artistic development. The summer arrived, and preparations for the gallery began. Despite feeling self-conscious about his weight, Jamie worked diligently on his art. Richard, understanding Jamie's insecurities, took him to the tailor for new clothes, assuring him that his talent and art were what truly mattered.

The summer in the Hamptons was a whirlwind. Parties, lavish dinners, and Jamie's artwork received great acclaim. He had become a well-known and respected artist, even with his growing weight. Richard, proud of his protege's success, couldn't have been happier. His investments had paid off, and Jamie and Richard were a content and loving couple.

The routine of their life continued after the summer. Jamie's talent brought in more and more money, allowing him to relax and focus on his art. His revenue increased, and he raised his prices accordingly. Unfortunately, as the weeks passed, Jamie's weight continued to rise steadily, rendering most of his clothes unwearable., Richard however, loved Jamie unconditionally and cherished their life together.

And so, the story of Jamie and Richard, their love and artistic success, went on. Jamie's body grew heavier, but his artistic abilities continued to shine. Richard treasured him more with each passing day, happy to have found a partner who understood his ambitions and supported his dreams. And so, they lived their lives passionately, showing that love and art could flourish regardless of size or appearance. The end.

#fictionalweightgain #maleweightgain #maleweightgainstories #weightgain #weightgainstories #fictionalstories

[allanarmaa]

Nothing hill Carnival,

James Pearson-Howes. 2006.

[muddyorbsblr]

friday nights & hot dates [kinktober 2023: slow & soft]

See the full Kinktober 2023 Collection here! See my full list of works here!

Summary: A few months after he first showed up at your house to keep you company on your birthday, Conrad finally tells you how he feels. | sequel to 'you deserve better'

Pairing: James Conrad x Reader

Word Count: 6.1k [please prepare drinkies & snacks accordingly]

Warnings: 18+ | smut (minors & pearl clutchers, get on outta here i won't ask twice); unprotected p in v sex; language; insecure reader; the smut scene is 1.3k words long idek if i should say sorry for this… [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: simp Conrad; a touch of aftercare in the end 😳🫠

Dick-tionary (aka smut guide): smut starts at "Once he realized what you were about to do" and ends at "We're nowhere near done"

A loud chime boomed across the Monarch training field, announcing the top of the hour. The setting sun only barely blocked by the visor atop former Captain James Conrad's head and doing a piss poor job of straining his eyes as he watched on the first troop of soldiers assigned to the lab.

He'd been tasked to train the few handfuls of privates to be able to face the challenges that Skull Island would have in store for them throughout subsequent missions. They were decent enough, but to handle both navigating the hostile, monstrous terrain and serving as protective detail for the scientists on their tasks to obtain more samples and document its ecosystem, they would need to be exemplary. At the top of their game.

Especially if they are to be protecting Y/N, he thought to himself. Then again, he probably wouldn't let any of them anywhere near you. He would see to your protection personally. Make sure that there was little to no room for error when it came to your safety.

But they all had a long way to go before he decreed any of them ready for the field. And none of them would be closing the gap on their endurance or their agility within the next few minutes. The chime that rung out through the field not only signaled the top of the hour, but the end of your own work day, and he wanted to at least see you off to your ride home. Perhaps walk with you to the pick-up point.

"Alright, that's enough for today," he called out to the privates, everyone standing to attention at his word. "We'll resume on Monday morning. Get adequate rest this weekend."

He took off his training jacket and his visor, haphazardly running his hand through his short cropped hair. While he took a quick inventory of his belongings before heading off to your lab, one of the women privates approached him.

"Do you need anything, Pearson?"

She began to shuffle her stance, somewhat incapable of meeting his gaze as she spoke to him. "The other guys and I were going to check out the new Mexican place that opened up a few blocks from here. I was--I mean we were wondering if you'd like to join us?"

Pearson straightened her stance in a particular manner, jutting her chest out in a blatantly clear attempt to draw his attention to it. You're fresh out of luck, my attentions are for one woman and one woman only. And she's in the lab.

"Thank you for the invite, Pearson, but I have what you and your peers might say a…'hot date' tonight." He fought against the smile playing at the corners of his mouth at the thought of being on a proper date with you.

"Oh." She barely tried to hide the disappointment in her voice. "Okay then. Have a good weekend, Sir."

"Don't look now but he's here again," Brooks muttered from across the lab, the sound of him clacking away on his keyboard taking the briefest pause to tell you that once again, the former SAS tracker James Conrad was right outside the door. "You ever gonna share with the class how you two became a thing? 'Cause we have a bet going on in the lab about who made the first move and--"

"There's nothing to share, Brooks, because we aren't a thing," you cut him off, taking on a snippy tone while you ran the genome of the last flora sample from the set you collected in Skull Island against every recorded organism known to man so far. "We're friends, that's all. Give it time and he'll get tired of slumming it out with me and go back to haunting pool bars and nameless hookups."

"I don't know, Y/L/N…I never had a friend look at me like that."

The results from your test finally came up on the screen, confirming that the flora on the island were all, in fact, undocumented. You took a quick screenshot and placed it into your report. "Looks like we're getting funded," you announced, your half-deadpanned tone met with a mixture of excitement and fear. "Don't everyone stand up at once, I know how pumped we all are to get back to the island of death."

You finally stood up from your desk, looking outside the door and seeing Conrad outside giving you a little smile when your eyes met. You tried to ignore how your heart started doing backflips in your chest at the sight of him, keeping your expression fairly neutral as you gave him a small wave in response. Once your computer had finished shutting down, you grabbed your things and bid everyone goodbye, stopping at Brooks's desk last.

"If what you mean is looking at me like a barnacle he can't scrape off his boat, I hope you never have friends that look at you like that, my guy."

Before you stepped through the door, your fellow scientist let out a final remark. "You know, Y/N, for someone so smart, you're a bit of an idiot sometimes."

"Takes one to know one, Brooks," you shot back, stepping across the threshold and almost immediately becoming face-to-chest with the tracker that towered over you effortlessly. "Hey Conrad," you said slowly, trying your best to keep a hold of your composure. "Did you need something from us? I think I have Bryant running CMP for the guys you're training you should have the results tomo--"

"I didn't come here for the blood tests, Y/L/N," he cut you off, giving you another little smile that had your pulse thumping violently at your throat. "I erm…it's Friday." His eyebrows scrunched together in the slightest wince at his words.

"It is…" you echoed lamely, starting to tap away at your phone to get an Uber home, holding back the urge to sigh in relief seeing that your ride was only a few minutes away. "Have a good weekend, then," you tried to wave him off, pointing vaguely at the pick-up area, starting to awkwardly shuffle away from him.

He reached out and wrapped his hand around yours, stopping you before you got away too far. "Actually, I was thinking…perhaps we could go and grab a bite to eat? There's a new place that opened up just a short walk from here. Maybe we could try it out?"

As if on cue, your stomach let out an audible grumble, rudely reminding you that the last time you ate was this morning before you left your house. Before you could dwell on it any further, you canceled your Uber, giving him a tiny smile of your own. "Lead the way."

Dinner was a rather quiet affair, the two of you starting off by sharing a plate of nachos before you ordered your mains. Sometime before your entrees were served, a small group of people you recognized as the privates being trained as the Monarch Defense Team walked through the doors, the women immediately spotting Conrad and tossing a scornful dismissive look your way.

"What's wrong?"

His voice took your attention away from the group, the motion of him reaching across the table to take your hand in his causing a resounding stomp from across the restaurant followed by a barely contained "What the fuck?!"

"It's uhh…it's nothing," you waved off, trying to slowly pull your hand away so as to not elicit a stronger reaction from the group and grab his attention. "Just…thinking about work. I have to put a recommendation for another mission to the island in my report."

"We'll be better prepared this time," he reassured you, his thumb rubbing across the back of your hand in a soothing motion. "We have a better idea of what we're to face when we get there, and what not to do. And with enough time the troop that I'm training might even be field ready, so you and your team would have better protection."

Your neck twitched at the idea of the woman with the derisive eyes being tasked to protect you. Might even just throw you to the gigantic insects voluntarily. "Right…at least the team will be safe."

"And you, Y/N," he insisted, giving your hand a light squeeze. "I'll see to it myself, I promise you."

You nodded at his words, feeling your face strain at the smile you tried to give him before slipping your hand out of his and standing up. "Ladies room, I'll be back in a few."

While you were in line for the restroom, your thoughts wandered to how you could potentially word your recommendation so that maybe you didn't have to go with the rest of the team back to Skull Island. You weren't physically cut out to be in such a high-stress environment, and frankly you would be more of a liability if people had to look out for you on top of trying to survive a hostile environment.

When your turn came up in the queue, you were stopped in your tracks by someone wrapping their hand around your arm in a claw-like grasp, yanking you slightly backwards. "We need to talk, Y/L/N," a woman seethed.

You swore your blood chilled to near freezing point when you saw the woman private from Conrad's troop, her hateful eyes and vicious sneer too close for comfort.

There was something troubling you, Conrad could tell that much as he watched you in line for the restroom. Much as he usually found it adorable when you were muttering to yourself over your research, he had to fight to resist the urge to stand up and do what he could to somehow put you at ease.

He knew that you weren't all too excited that you had to return to the island, but his gut told him that it was more than just that. You seemed almost fearful when he mentioned the troop that he was training, and not in the way that told him it was simply because you doubted their ability to guarantee your safety.

Did you not realize that he would never even think to put your safety in anyone's hands other than his own? Didn't you know how valuable you were to him? Of course he would keep you safe. He'd put you in the same tent if he could just to make sure you'd never leave his sight.

The sight of a woman marching towards you as if on a war path had him leaving his seat within seconds, immediately recognizing it to be Pearson. When she stopped you from moving and he clocked the vice grip she had on you it had him seeing red. He saw the way you flinched back when she started hissing in your face, her words making every muscle in his body tense and burn with the itch to protect you from someone so obviously spiteful.

"Don't tell me you're the hot date that Captain Conrad turned me down for, this has to be the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard in my life," she spat out. Your face contorted with obvious discomfort from her talon-like hand tightening around your arm, nails undoubtedly digging into your skin.

"Listen, Private Pearson, I think there might just be a misunderstanding," you spoke softly, your tone laced with caution. "He's probably gonna go to said 'hot date' after this, I'm just his friend. We're friends…I think…"

Silly sweet girl, he thought to himself. Are you really so unaware of how I see you?

"Do you really think I'm that stupid, Y/L/N? I don't need to have a PhD in God knows what the ever loving fuck to know that you're into him. The only thing I can't figure out to save my life is what the fuck he sees in a mousey jumpy little thing like you, and where you found the goddamn audacity to steal him away the way you did."

"I'm not trying to steal anyone," you insisted, trying to wrestle your arm out of her hold. "We're just friends, Private Pearson. Anyone with a functioning brain can see that he doesn't want me like that. You want him, he's all yours, you won't hear a peep out of me."

"You better be right," she scoffed, releasing you with a slight shove, causing you to stumble backwards and fight to find your balance for a few seconds before righting yourself on your feet again. "If you know what's good for you, you'll stay the fuck away from him. Preferably before you see what happens when your stupid little face gets me triggered."

Rather than give her a verbal agreement, you simply nodded your head, scurrying off into the restroom, your face looking as if it had been drained of color and your bottom lip quivering with an obvious concern for your own safety.

So this was why you were concerned over your protection detail if you had to return to the island. Of course. Who would ever feel safe if someone assigned to the team that was tasked to protect them behaved the way that Pearson was behaving now? Who was to say that it wasn't beneath her to intentionally endanger you out of sheer spite?

The private let out an arrogant huff, flipping her hair and standing up straight with a smug look on her face before making her way back to her table with the rest of the privates in her troop.

"Pearson," Conrad spoke, letting his irritation over the entire encounter lace his tone. She stopped in her tracks, turning slowly to face him with a touch of fear in her eyes. Good, you should be afraid after the way you just spoke to the woman I love.

"Cap…Captain Conrad, hi!" Her cheeks strained with the smile she tried to keep plastered on her face despite the obvious nervousness that remained in her eyes. "We're so glad you decided to join us after all, we're seated over--"

"You're dismissed. Don't bother coming in on Monday." Her face fell immediately, indignation coloring her expression. "If you cannot treat the people you're expected to defend and protect with professionalism and respect, then you're not fit to stay on this team, let alone be deployed to the island."

"Come on, all this for a shifty little nothing? This is completely unfair!" she scoffed. "You could do so much better than her--"

"Hold your damn tongue, Pearson. I won't have you disrespect her--"

"She can't even hear us!"

"But I can." He began to raise his voice, calling the attention of the other patrons in the restaurant. "That's the woman I love you're talking about. It would be wise for you to choose your next words very carefully."

All the color drained from her face and she stood up straight again, back at full attention. "I apologize, Sir. I'll have my locker cleared before the weekend's over." And then she made her way back to her table, heavy footsteps sounding throughout the whole restaurant.

As Conrad sat back in his seat waiting for you to return, he replayed his own words over and over in his mind. After all this time keeping his emotions bottled in for the sake of preserving what friendship he had with you, the words had finally formed and solidified what had been building ever since the day he met you on the way to that forsaken death island.

He loved you.

By the time you made your way back to your table, you spotted Conrad signing a receipt and placing his credit card back into his wallet.

"You know I keep a tally on how many times you've refused to let me pay, right?" you sighed, taking out your phone and once again trying to book for an Uber home. "I'm perfectly fine with and capable of splitting the bill."

"Next time."

"I also keep a tally on how many times you've said exacty that." You shuffled your feet awkwardly where you stood, avoiding looking at both him and the table that sat his trainees, including the cruel witch that was Private Pearson. "Well uhm…I should get going, it's getting late. Enjoy your weekend, Conrad."

He reached out before you took another step, placing his hand at the curve of your waist. "Walk with me back to the lab and I'll drive you home."

The sound of a fist slamming down on one of the tables made you take a step back from his hold. You didn't have to look to know who it was or what caused the outburst. "I-I really don't wanna be a bother, it's fine. Really. I can take care of myself."

You tried to step forward again, making him stand from his seat, placing a large hand on your shoulder before running down the length of your arm to lace his fingers between yours. "You could never be a bother for me, Y/L/N," he spoke softly, lightly touching your chin with his other hand. "Come on."

For the most part throughout the drive to your place, he was touching you. Whether it be holding your hand between stoplights to make you stop picking at your fingernails, or rubbing circles on your knee to stop you from fidgeting, all the while keeping his other hand steadily on the wheel.

It was hands down one of the most illegally distractingly attractive things you'd ever seen. A sight that you thought was only reserved for leading ladies in those romance books you read, definitely not something you were supposed to experience in your lifetime.

It had you fighting back the urge to pout when you saw your house start to come into view, knowing that in a few short moments it would all be over. He gave your knee a light squeeze once he'd pulled up in front of your hourse, making quick work to make his way around the front of his car to open the door for you and undo your seatbelt.

The combined scent of his woodsy citrusy cologne and something that was just uniquely him seared itself into your brain as his face was mere inches from yours. He made it even worse reaching for your hand to hold you steady while you stepped out of the car.

"Thanks, Conrad," you muttered when you got to your door, your mind spinning from the feel of him running his thumb across your knuckles. "You should uhm…probably get going. Don't wanna keep you from any other plans you might have tonight."

You felt your pulse start beating furiously at your neck when he answered you. "What plans?"

Didn't Pearson have a full blown meltdown over him talking about a hot date and then seeing you with him at dinner? What the fuck was he going on about?

"Come on, Conrad, you don't have to pretend, it's just us here. Pearson practically yanked my spine from my throat earlier at the restaurant harping on about you having plans tonight so really, I'm sure you have better things to do on a Friday night you don't have to feel like you're…I don't know, obligated? To spend time with me. And at least you'll stop looking like you're doing some weird pity charity work, too--"

"Y/N, stop." He took a step toward you, closing the distance and framed your face in his large hands. "The only plans I had for tonight were with you. Do you remember what I told you all those months ago, that first night I came here?" You only stared at him blankly, wordlessly prompting him to answer it himself. "I wanted to let you know that I'm here. For you. And I still am. I always will be."

Before you could respond, he leaned in, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips. Fleeting, but it resumed the near violent fluttering in your stomach from the contact. He gave you no time to react before he pressed his lips to yours again, wrapping his arms around you and cradling your head with his hand before pressing you against the door.

"Look at me, sweetheart," he breathed out when he broke the kiss. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat when you saw how dilated his pupils had become after that kiss. "How is it that you're so observant of everything around you and yet you fail to see what's right in front of you?"

"Conrad what--"

"How could you look at me and not see a man so desperately, so irretrievably in love?"

You swore all the air left your lungs at his words. In love? No. This couldn't be real. This was beyond simply improbable, this was impossible.

There was no way on this Earth that he felt the same.

"I can almost hear the gears in your brilliant mind turning, Y/L/N," he said softly, weaving his fingers into your hair as he proceeded to press tender kisses on your temple and the side of your face. "Invite me inside. Let me take you to your bedroom. Let me show you what you mean to me."

Before you could think about it any longer, you wordlessly slipped your key into his hand, slowly nodding your head. The only response you got from him was him latching his lips onto your neck, groaning into your skin as he lifted you off the ground with one arm, unlocking your door with the other.

He'd carried you all the way upstairs to your bedroom, constantly pressing a kiss wherever his lips could reach. When he started fumbling for the light switch, you tried to hold out your hand to stop him. "No lights," you muttered. If you wanted this to go anywhere even remotely good tonight, that would require him not running for the hills the second he got you naked.

"Without the lights, I can't see you, sweet girl," he said back teasingly, kissing along your jawline until he captured your lips, smiling into the kiss.

"Exactly," you murmured against his lips, causing him to chuckle against your skin.

"Seeing you is the best part of my day," he told you simply, flipping the switch on and bathing your bedroom in a warm white glow. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of the brilliant smile he gave you once he saw your face. "There you are."

He set you down on your feet, touching the top button of your shirt with a question in his eyes, only proceeding to undo the button when you have him a slight nod. Once enough skin was exposed to him, he started to trace a line of kisses across your collarbone, running his hands down your arms to strip the shirt off from you. And then he sent your mind racing as he gave you the same treatment working both your pants and panties down your legs.

"I've dreamed of this since the island," he whispered into your skin, kissing his way back up to your lips as he reached behind you, unclasping your bra. "Lie down on the bed, my love. Let me see you."

He kept your hand in his as you lowered yourself to lie on your back, your heart thundering in your chest and your lip quivering as his eyes hungrily roamed your body. Thoughts began to swim in your head again, of how different, how much less toned nearly all parts of you were compared to him. Compared to the women he'd been with before. You tried to pull your hand away from his, to start to cover yourself.

Once he realized what you were about to do, he moved to hover over you on the bed, placing his hand in the space between your arm and your torso to block your way. "No," he said simply before leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. "Don't hide yourself from me." He kissed his way down your neck to your chest, paying close attention to your breasts, holding you steady as you squirmed under him while he kissed and sucked your nipples into stiff peaks.

"Conrad…" Your voice came out faint, the air too thick to breathe while you drowned in his attentions. His lips moved down your stomach, peppering kisses along your mound before placing his hands on your inner thighs and gently parting your legs, opening yourself more to him.

You clenched around nothing watching him lick his lips before his eyes found yours, desperate whimpers coming out of you when he started kissing along your inner thighs. The ache between your legs started to grow stronger the closer his mouth got to where you craved him.

"Conrad!" Your back arched off the bed when he licked up the length of your slit and pressed a fleeting open-mouthed kiss to your clit.

"Lay back down, sweetheart." Your back immediately met the mattress again at his soft spoken order, your stomach fluttering violently again at the sight of him standing over you and pulling his shirt over his head. "You are the most breathtaking sight," he breathed out. "My love…"

"Could say the same from here," you shot back, still struggling to breathe properly under his gaze. The air was practically stuck in your throat the second his hands went to his pants, taking his time to undo his belt and pants, every muscle on his perfectly sculpted body moving and flexing as if he was trying to seduce you with such a seemingly mundane action.

As if he needed to seduce you.

The sound that came out of you was borderline inhuman the second he pushed his pants down his legs, and you'd gotten a good look at the sheer size of him. There's no way that's gonna fit, you thought nervously. "Conrad, I don't--" You huffed out a deflated sigh. "It's been an embarrassingly long while since I've--"

"It's alright, sweetheart." He quickly made his way back to his position on the bed, pressing a line of kisses along your jaw until he reached your lips, making an almost relieved sound against your lips. "We'll go slow. Please just tell me if I hurt you, that's the last thing I'd ever want."

Your eyes flew open at the feel of his length pressing against your entrance, your walls stretching just shy of the point of discomfort as you accommodated to his size. Any other thoughts and doubts in your mind took a backseat to the sound of Conrad's soft groans as he inched his way into you.

You'd never felt this unbelievably full.

He moaned your name in your ear. "Like you were made for me." He pressed his lips to your temple, the gesture somewhat calming your erratically beating heart. "I'll keep going now."

"Wait Conrad you what--Oh!" You felt a thrill at the back of your head once he pushed even further in, more arousal rushing and slickening your inner walls clenching around him as if pulling him deeper into you. All you could utter over the overwhelming pleasure he was subjecting you to was a faint whimper of his name.

"I love you, Y/N," he sighed in contentment, his warm exhale hitting your already heated skin before he resumed kissing along the side of your face.

"Don't say that," you blurted out. "You don't have to--"

"I want to," he cut you off, moving his head to capture your lips in a heated kiss, his tongue licking at your bottom lip. "I've wanted to tell you for so long please don't tell me to stop. I can't--"

"No one's ever said it. Not to me. I'm not--I've never been--"

Your words stilled him. He rested his forehead on yours, the tip of his nose brushing against your own. "All the more reason for me to tell you." He muffled your moan with a kiss when he inched in even more. "I love you." He kissed up your neck, gently capturing your earlobe between his teeth before kissing the same spot. "I'll say it so often everyone around us will be sick of hearing me say the words."

"Conrad…" you cried out when he finally bottomed out, your hips flush together. "Please--"

"I love you." He started moving his hips in slow grinding circles, repeating the words every time he fully entered you.

The words were lodged stubbornly in the back of your throat; all you could utter was his name while your body trembled trying to raise your hips to meet his thrusts. Meanwhile a vicious voice in the back of your mind questioned if this was even real, refusing to accept any reality where a guy like James Conrad actually genuinely fell in love with you.

You lived by the saying that if something sounded too good to be true, then it probably was. And this…this sounded like a chick lit romance novel where the devastatingly handsome decommissioned soldier fell for the nerdy scientist that most days couldn't even bother to check if her hair looked alright from the back.

This was definitely too good to be true. And all you could do now was allow yourself the fleeting opportunity to lose yourself in the pleasure he was more than capable of and seemed quite willing to give you.

And brace yourself for the moment he pulled away. The moment he finally realized that yes. Yes he could do better, actually.

Before you could dwell on it any further, he pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts when his fingers made contact with the throbbing bundle of nerves above your entrance, rubbing at the spot with the same languid pace of his thrusts.

"You feel divine, my love," he moaned in your ear, pressing his lips to a spot behind it that sent your mind reeling, the tension tightening in your stomach even further. "Come for me, Y/N." He upped his pressure on your clit, still keeping the pace with his slow, deep thrusts.

The coiling tension finally snapped when he started sucking at your skin, your walls convulsing around him while your body shook under him, your hold on his shoulder blade weakening until you finally let go, arm landing on the mattress with a soft thud. He stilled his movement inside you, capturing your lips in a tender kiss while you came down from your high.

"I love you," he kept whispering between kisses. The words had you feeling the traitorous tears prickling in the back of your eyes, every part of you filled with the overpowering urge to say them back. Tell him that you felt the same.

Instead you wanted to slap yourself for the question that slipped from your mouth. "Wait what about you?"

The smirk he gave you in response had thrills shooting throughout your body, feeling the faintest tinge of embarrassment in the back of your mind when you felt your pussy clenching around him at the sight. His mouth stretched into a devilish grin as he thrusted into you in return, his eyes filled with an obvious mix of sexual and romantic intent.

"Don't you worry about me, sweetheart," he rasped, starting to slowly grind his hips again. "We're nowhere near done."

He's not coming back. He left the bedroom and give it time, you're gonna hear him leave the house.

You were being irrational, and most of your mind recognized your thoughts for what they were: absolutely batshit crazy and dead wrong. For one, Conrad left the room without a stick of clothing covering him, telling you he was going to get water. He didn't know how to navigate most of your house so it would reasonably take him a few minutes to actually go get it and come back up.

That didn't stop you from making your way to the head of the bed, and crawling under the covers, drawing your knees to your chest as if you were bracing yourself for emotional impact. You caught a glimpse of your reflection on the full-length mirror, instinctively bringing your hand up to your hair to start working at the knots and tangles that developed over the last few hours.

Conrad came back to the room at that moment, holding a water bottle and two cups, giving you a soft smile as he looked on at all the effects from your lovemaking. "You look like an angel…perched on a cloud." He handed you your cup before pouring one for himself, raising an eyebrow at you when you remained sitting motionless and staring at him blankly. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"I just--I thought you were just gonna get for--"

"Myself?" You nodded at him once he finished for you, making him click his tongue in disappointment, realizing what kind of experiences you'd had before. "You're making it too easy for me to spoil you. I could never be so selfish." He briefly touched his glass to yours, the clinking sound filling the room before you both downed your drinks.

Even while he climbed back onto the bed, situating himself beside you and pulling you into his arms, your irrational thoughts that he'll redress himself in a few minutes time and leave plagued your mind.

"You're looking at me like you expect me to disappear," he murmured, lightly tracing along the lines of your face with his fingertips. "What's wrong, Y/N?"

Come on, you stupid little scaredy cat just tell him. Three words. Three monosyllabic words so simple a kid can say them. Just say it.

"You're still here," you blurted out, immediately wanting to swallow your tongue when his face dropped.

Wrong three words, you fucking idiot.

"Do you want me to leave?" His words came out strained, as if it physically hurt him to say them.

"No, I don't. It's just…I expect it. And if I can be honest I'm still kind of…waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

You pursed your lips, a part of you already feeling silly for the words about to come out your mouth. "Post-coital clarity?"

He let out a slow sigh, his hold tightening around you while he cupped your face with his free hand, stroking along your cheekbone with his thumb. "And what in the world is that?"

"It's this--Honestly it's silly, really--"

"It doesn't seem silly to you." He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips, pulling you closer when you melted against him at the gesture. "So it's not silly to me. Tell me what it is."

You took a deep breath, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along the lines on his abdomen while you explained. "It's this phenomena that…once you've slept with someone, the attraction goes away. Your mind's more clear, you're no longer overpowered by this attraction and you realize that the person you just had sex with isn't as appealing as they were before you got together."

It took him a few seconds before he spoke again, maneuvering you so that you were now on top of him, straddling his stomach, his hands skimming up and down your sides.

"Why is it so hard for you to accept that I love you?"

The question seemed so ridiculous to you. "Because nobody ever has. Nobody does--"

"You're wrong," he cut you off, pulling you close until your chests were pressed together. "I know it might not happen often but it's happening now. You're wrong, and I'm living proof of it. Because I'm here. I'm here and I love you. The only clarity that came to me is that I want more than anything for us to become more. For what we shared tonight be more than a one-time thing."

He wrapped his arms tighter around you, pulling you into a tender kiss that had your heart fluttering when he licked into your mouth, his tongue gliding against yours. "I'm no good with words," you said breathlessly when he broke the kiss, his chest heaving against yours. "I've never been able to say how I feel, I can't--"

"Shh it's alright, sweetheart," he breathed, holding you by the back of your neck to rest your forehead against his. "You don't need those fancy words you use in your report. It's just us here. Whatever you wish to tell me, in the plainest words--"

"I love you, too."

A/N: I've finally finished this mega chonker of a piece! And I've given 'you deserve better' Conrad his happy ending with his precious bb 🥹🥹

Next up is the final story in the Kinktober 2023 initial goal: Fingering with President Loki 😳👀 And lemme just tell y'all now…it's gonna be at least 2k words long because I haven't even gotten to the smutting yet 🥴

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog

Kinktober taglist: @azula-karai-27

#james conrad x reader #james conrad x female reader #james conrad smut #james conrad x reader smut #james conrad fanfic #james conrad fanfiction #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #muddyorbs writes

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in February 2024

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Struggling to keep up with all the amazing queer books coming out this month? Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Remember to #readqueerallyear! Happy reading!

❤️ We Ate the Dark by Mallory Pearson 🧡 The Paper Boys by D.P. Clarence 💛 Skater Boy by Anthony Nerada 💚 Your Shadow Half Remains by Sunny Moraine 💙 A Vicious Game by Melissa Blair 💜 Clarion Call by Cayla Fay ❤️ Relit: 16 Latinx Remixes of Classic Stories edited by Sandra Proudman 🧡 The Absinthe Underground by Jamie Pacton 💛 Truthfully, Yours by Caden Armstrong 💙 Outsider by Jade du Preez 💜 Cross My Candy Heart by A.C. Thomas 🌈 The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett

❤️ An Education in Malice by S. T. Gibson 🧡 The Imposition of Unnecessary Obstacles by Malka Ann Older 💛 Never a Bridesmaid by Spencer Greene 💚 The Rewind by Nicole Stiling 💙 Good Christian Girls by Elizabeth Bradshaw 💜 The Fox Maidens by Robin Ha ❤️ The Terrible by Tessa Crowley 🧡 Blood Rage by Ileandra Young 💛 Call of the Sea by Emily B. Rose 💙 Sign Me Up by C.H. Williams 💜 Ways and Means by Daniel Lefferts 🌈 Peaceful in the Dark by A.A. Fairview

❤️ We Are Only Ghosts by Jeffrey L. Richards 🧡 Dead Ringer by Robyn Nyx 💛 Somacultural Liberation by Dr. Roger Kuhn 💚 Stormbringer by Erinn Harper 💙 A Saga of Shields & Shadows by A.J. Shirley 💜 Ghost Town by R.E. Ward ❤️ I Heard Her Call My Name by Lucy Sante 🧡 The Night Alphabet by Joelle Taylor 💛 Remedial Magic by Melissa Marr 💙 Bloom by N.R. Walker 💜 Entwined by Alex Alberto 🌈 Queer Newark edited by Whitney Strub

❤️ Tristan by Jesse Roman 🧡 How to Live Free in a Dangerous World by Shayla Lawson 💛 Daniel, Deconstructed by James Ramos 💚 Of Socialites & Prizefights by Arden Powell 💙 Lost Harbor by Kimberly Cooper Griffin 💜 Hannah Tate, Beyond Repair by Laura Piper Lee ❤️ Bunt! Striking Out on Financial Aid by Ngozi Ukazu & Mad Rupert 🧡 How You Get the Girl by Anita Kelly 💛 Blackmailer’s Delight by David Lawrence 💙 Tile M for Murder by Felicia Carparelli 💜 Impulse Buy by Jae 🌈 Live for You, Die With You by Kalob Dàniel

❤️ Fairest of All by A.D. Ellis 🧡 Goddess of the Sea by Britney Jackson 💛 A Taste of Earth by Nico Silver 💚 The Moorings of Mackerel Sky by M.Z. Emily Zack 💙 How the Boogeyman Became a Poet by Tony Keith 💜 V is for Valentine by Thomas Grant Bruso ❤️ Crushed Ice by Ashlyn Kane & Morgan James 🧡 When Tomorrow Comes by D. Jackson Leigh 💛 Bugsy & Other Stories by Rafael Frumkin 💙 The White and Blue Between Us by Kiyuhiko 💜 Guide Us Home by CF Frizzell & Jesse J. Thoma 🌈 The Friendship Study by Ruby Barrett

❤️ Infinity Alchemist by Kacen Callender 🧡 Heart2Heart edited by Annabeth Albert 💛 No Time Like Now by Naz Kutub 💚 Bless the Blood by Walela Nehanda 💙 Vengeance Planning for Amateurs by Lee Winter 💜 Who We Are in Real Life by Victoria Koops ❤️ Prove It by Stephanie Hoyt 🧡 Mewing by Chloe Spencer 💛 Awakenings by Claudie Arseneault 💙 Born of Scourge by S. Jean 💜 Disciples of Chaos by M.K. Lobb 🌈 To Cage a God by Elizabeth May

❤️ Greta & Valdin by Rebecca K Reilly 🧡 What Feasts At Night by T. Kingfisher 💛 You Had Me at Merlot by Melissa Brayden 💚 Turning Point by Cathy Dunnell 💙 For the Stolen Fates by Gwendolyn Clare 💜 Season of Eclipse by Terry Wolverton ❤️ These Haunted Hills by Jana Denardo 🧡 Samson & Domingo by Gume Laurel III 💛 Lies that Bind by Rae Knowles & April Yates 💙 We Got the Beat by Jenna Miller 💜 The Diablo's Curse by Gabe Cole Novoa 🌈 Blessings by Chukwuebuka Ibeh

❤️ Out There by Iris Eliot 🧡 At Her Service by Amy Spalding 💛 Green Dot by Madeleine Gray

#books #queer #queer book recs #queer books #sapphic books #sapphic romance #lesbian romance #lesbian books #lesbian fiction #gay romance #gay books #lgbt author #lgbt writers #lgbtq books #books to read #book releases #book release #bi books #bisexual pride #bisexual books #batty about books #battyaboutbooks

[possession]

PAUL MESCAL James Pearson-Howes ph. for GQ Magazine UK (November 07, 2022)

#paul mescal #pmescaledit #edits #glamoroussource #gaybuckybarnes #useralessia #userrobin #tusertha #ryancoogler #usermandie #userfrodosam #tusershay #tusermary #dailymalestaredit

[kaliforniabaeby]

Photographed James Pearson Howes for Man About Town

[ericdeggans]

Reckoning with the long shadow of TV dads on Fathers Day

As a longtime TV critic, I have written a lot of pieces about dads and television for Fathers Day. Some of them have felt a bit contrived, like this piece on TVs Dumb Dads, which is an evergreen subject; television loves taking characters who actually have the most agency and power in society and making them look vulnerable for storytelling purposes.

But TV’s relationship to the subject of fatherhood and parenting is far more complex. I’m much prouder of this piece I did five years ago on how I mostly learned about being a father from watching characters on film, TV and theater.

A sample: “My own father isn't with us anymore, and I loved him a lot. But he and my mother split before I was born, and during my formative years, it was mostly me and Mom against the world. Any sense of what it might feel like to have a father close by came from the first sitcom with a father who felt like he could live in my world: James Evans on Good Times. These days, when TV shows like Black-ish and Queen Sugar offer lots of different takes on black family and fatherhood, it might be tough to imagine how rare and important it was for a young black kid to see Good Times in 1974.”

Hear the NPR story by clicking here.

After raising four kids of my own, I’ve learned that fatherhood is such a big job, it’s tough to find one portrayal on the small screen that does it justice. In the real world, it’s a job defined by trying to provide everything your children require to have the best life possible. It means knowing when to encourage their passions, meet their needs and satisfy their desires and when to save them from their own excesses, inexperience, lack of judgment or impatience.

It means soaring when they succeed and feeling crushed when they fall short. It also means understanding that your own actions always serve as example and model – it’s up to you whether that conduct is something to emulate or avoid like a cautionary tale.

On the subject of fathering and TV, I also like an essay I wrote for IndieWire a few years ago; basically, a slightly different version of the piece I did for NPR. Here’s an abridged version of that essay below.

And have a Happy Fathers’ Day.

“For a long while, I thought most married couples were like Rob and Laura Petrie in “The Dick Van Dyke Show”; sleeping in two twin beds separated by a nightstand. So when I saw John Amos as James Evans Sr. on the legendary sitcom “Good Times,” I felt like I finally saw a dad who was something like the other fathers on my block, and something like the dad I could have had.

Yeah, he was often angry and threatened corporal punishment WAY too often for my tastes, especially back then. But he worked hard, loved and valued his kids, encouraged them to get educated and take advantage of every opportunity and wanted nothing more than for them to do far better than he ever would. It wasn’t just that James Evans was black; it was that he was a black man whose primary goal was taking care of his wife and kids. All these years later, I’ve seen other TV dads who also taught me lessons.

John Goodman’s Dan Conner on “Roseanne” taught me how to make space for a strong wife and mom, but assert yourself when circumstances require.

Bill Bixby’s Tom Corbett on “The Courtship of Eddie’s Father” taught me the power of a parent paying attention.

I like fathers who show that being a dad takes effort and intention, like Michael Rapaport’s Doug Gardner on Netflix’s “Atypical.”

And even though Milo Ventimiglia’s Jack Pearson is modern TV’s best dad on “This Is Us,” I identify a lot more with his adopted son, Sterling K. Brown’s Randall Pearson.

In the same way Randall, as a black man raised in a white family, had to learn what being black meant to him, I had to learn what being a father meant to and for me. In the same way he found and reconciled with his biological father shortly before his death, I reconciled mostly with my dad before he passed. And Randall has a goofy earnestness mixed with a capacity to work a little too hard on stuff that takes him outside the family, which I also – sadly — can relate to.

My four kids are mostly grown now. But seeing a dad on TV who still struggles, despite having had the best example of fatherhood in his life, means a lot. Even now.”

[proxima-writes]

the satanic rites of eddie munson (chapter 2)

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Cheerleader!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Read on AO3

Summary:

Eddie was just trying to have a normal Thursday when some band from out of town decides he’d make an excellent virgin sacrifice for their get-famous-quick plan.

Except he’s not a virgin, and the ritual unleashes something much more sinister that lives in him now, hungry for flesh and possessive of you, the pretty cheerleader he’s always been drawn to.

Which means anyone that touches you? Needs to die.

Inspired by the movie Jennifer's Body.

Additional tags: violence, fighting, allusions to dv, possessive behavior

Eddie’s eyelids flutter open. The first thing that registers is the pain in his head. The second is that his arms are pinned to his sides, held down by rope that’s bound him to a tree.

Something crackles, and when he turns his head he sees three men silhouetted by a fire, their features covered in darkness. One of them holds a large book in his hands and another holds a dagger, the blade catching the light of the fire as he passes it between his hands.

“What the fuck,” Eddie groans.

“Oh, good. You’re awake. It did say that was important.”

The man with the dagger steps forward until he stands in front of Eddie. He crouches, placing the tip of his dagger beneath Eddie’s chin. The sharp point pricks his skin as he swallows.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to make it in the music industry? Some would say…you have to make certain sacrifices to get there.”

________

The next day, Eddie’s eating his second bowl of cereal at the small kitchen table when the news breaks that Gregory Pearson, beloved son of Officer James Pearson, has been found dead of a suspected animal attack.

“--severe lacerations to his face, neck, shoulders, and chest,” the reporter reads. Eddie’s chewing slows as he listens. “Officials believe that this unfortunate attack is the result of a mountain lion.”

Uncle Wayne huffs from the living room. “Ain’t no mountain lions in Hawkins,” he mutters as he sets up his roll-away mattress for his daytime sleep. “Also, Eddie, don’t think I didn’t notice my steak missing, you little shit. You owe me.”

Eddie throws him a two finger salute in acknowledgment as he places his dirty bowl in the sink. He grabs his things from his room and heads out the door to his van. As he turns the old hunk of junk on, the radio blares with a song that sounds oddly familiar.

“And that was Death By Midnight with their new hit single, Lost Without You, ” the show host says as the guitar riffs fade out. Eddie wracks his brain for where he may have heard the song or band before, but nothing comes to mind. With a shrug, he changes the station to another rock channel, only for the same song to be playing.

“Must be popular,” he mumbles as he pulls out of Forest Hills trailer park.

________

The atmosphere at school is somber, a distinct juxtaposition to how good he feels. There are groups of students huddled together, whispering or crying. He fights the urge to roll his eyes as a girl near his locker lets out a horrible sob before collapsing to the ground. He steps around her, knocking her bag out of the way with a booted foot as he makes his way to chemistry class.

You’re there before him, which rarely happens. You’ve told him before how you have a tendency to snooze your alarm one too many times each morning. Despite the slump in your shoulders, you still smile as he takes his seat.

“You’re looking a lot better today,” you tell him. Eddie shrugs.

“Feelin’ a lot better too, sweetheart,” Eddie replies with a wink. He revels in the splotches of pink that appear on your cheeks, trailing down your neck and disappearing into your shirt.

What he wouldn’t give to chase it down your body.

“Kinda crazy what happened to Greg, right?” You ask. “I mean, a mountain lion? Do we even have those here?”

If you asked Eddie, Greg deserved what happened to him. He was a piece of shit, a showboating jock that made people miserable for his own enjoyment.

But he doesn’t say that.

“Yeah, really crazy,” he replies instead. “Maybe you shouldn’t be walking home after school. If…if you want, I can give you a ride?”

Your eyes go all soft and sweet as you look up at him. That look gives him almost as much of a high as ripping into Greg’s throat did.

Almost.

“That’s really sweet, Eddie. Are you sure you don’t mind? I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way or anything.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, princess.”

The bell rings, tearing your attention away from him, but Eddie notices the way your hand grips your pencil just a little bit tighter, how you shift on the stool in a way that rubs your thighs together.

Mine.

________

You’re in the cafeteria trying to pay attention to something Carol is telling you about her plans for the weekend, but all you can think about is Eddie Munson.

Which isn’t new, by any means. You’ve always been kind of smitten over the school outcast. He’s sweet and hilarious, not to mention cute with his wild curly hair and big brown eyes. You look forward to your classes with him and love the way he lets his guard down around you despite the high school crowd you belong to.

Your mind drifts back to first period and the way your whole body seemed to light on fire at him calling you sweetheart and princess . Even now, just thinking about it, you have to fight the urge to squirm in your seat.

He’s never called you names like that before.

You want him to do it again.

________

Eddie stares across the cafeteria at where you sit with your cheerleader friends. His plate of lukewarm mac and cheese sits untouched in front of him. Ever since his… altercation …with Greg, he hasn’t felt hungry.

At least, not for food.

“You gonna eat that?” Dustin asks, fingers already inching towards the paper tray.

“Go for it,” Eddie replies, eyes still trained on you.

You look up, eyes meeting his, and Eddie feels like something snaps into place, like a tether goes taut between the two of you with just one look. Your eyebrows draw together and your head tilts slightly, a cute little expression of confusion.

The bell rings for the end of lunch, making you jump in surprise and breaking that connection. Eddie clenches his jaw against the loss, already itching to feel it again.

Soon.

________

It’s the end of the day and you’re grabbing the books that you need from your locker. When you shut the door, you let out a shriek of surprise. Eddie leans against the locker beside yours, lips spread in a mischievous grin. You smack him on the shoulder.

“Don’t scare me like that, Eddie!” You hiss.

“Sorry, princess. You ready to go?” He asks once he’s able to get his laughter under control.

“Yeah, I just gotta grab something from the locker room. I’ll be quick.”

He follows your lead to the gym, stopping outside the locker room doors to wait for you. There’s no sports scheduled today, not since news broke about Greg, so the locker room should be empty.

Instead, someone’s sitting on one of the benches, hunched over with his back to the door. He lifts his head when he hears your footsteps. You recognize the perfectly groomed blonde hair.

“Jason? What are you doing in the girl’s locker room?” You ask.

He sighs, turning his head to look at you with bloodshot eyes. “Chrissy…Chrissy broke up with me.”

“Oh. I’m…uh…I’m sorry?” You shuffle over to your locker, holding back a shiver at the feel of his eyes following your motions.

“Yeah. She said she just can’t handle a relationship right now, with everything,” he continues, standing. You spin the lock with fumbling fingers, your heart rate picking up speed. “Says she just wants to focus on herself.”

“That…that makes sense, I guess,” you mumble, finally getting the lock to click and pulling the door open. You reach inside to grab your cheer bag, looping it over your shoulder.

“Does it, though? You know, I’d always heard she had a thing for Greg,” he says, voice closer. “You know anything about that?”

“No. Are you listening to yourself right now? Chrissy wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Maybe. But maybe you’re just covering for her.” He reaches an arm past you, shutting the locker door with a bang that makes you jump. “Maybe you know more than you’re telling me.”

You spin on your heel, surprised to find Jason so close, looming over you with a look in his eye that makes you feel like a rabbit sighted by a wolf. “Maybe you just need to accept that Chrissy finally came to her senses about your controlling behavior, Jason, ” you say. “Because maybe I do know a little more, but not about Chrissy and Greg. About you.”

His hand wraps around your throat, shoving you back against the lockers. His lips curl in a snarl, fingers tightening their grip as you struggle against him.

“The fuck is going on here?” Eddie shouts. Jason immediately releases your neck, turning to face his interruption.

“Nothing. We were just having a little chat, weren’t we?” Jason replies, directing the question to you. Eddie calls your name.

“How about you head out to the parking lot, I’ll meet you there,” he says, eyes never leaving Jason. “Now,” he snaps when you don’t move.

You scramble away from Jason, rushing past Eddie and out the door. As you follow his instructions to meet him in the parking lot, you can’t help the worry blooming in your gut. The look in Eddie’s eye as he stared down Jason was almost…inhuman.

And you think that maybe…maybe Jason isn’t the bigger predator in that room.

________

Eddie wraps a fist in Jason’s t-shirt, slamming him back against the lockers with a strength he didn’t even know he possessed. The blonde’s head bounces off the metal with a satisfying sound.

“Don’t you ever touch her again, you hear me, pretty boy?” He snaps.

Jason’s eyes are wide with a fear so potent, it makes Eddie’s head spin and his teeth ache. “Let go of me you fucking freak!”

“Have it your way.” Eddie releases him and he crumbles to the floor in a heap. He gives him one swift kick in the ribs for good measure. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, Jason,” he warns, before turning to leave.

Eddie’s got a good idea of what his next meal will look like.

________

You’re leaning against Eddie’s van, rubbing a hand absently across your neck when you spot him exiting the gym. Alone.

With quick strides he approaches you, hands gripping you by the shoulders and eyes searching you over for signs of injury. “Are you okay?” He asks, voice tinged with worry as his eyes zero in on the red mark left behind by Jason’s hand.

“I’m fine, Eddie, really. Are you okay?” He doesn’t respond. Instead, a gentle hand cups against your neck, a calloused thumb rubbing across your throat. His jaw clenches. “Eddie?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he finally says.

The nickname, combined with the feel of his hands on you makes you shiver, eyes fluttering shut. When you open them, Eddie’s gaze is locked on your lips.

You stand perfectly still. The hand on your throat slides up, framing your jaw. His thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same as it had across your throat.

All too soon, he’s releasing you from his grasp, stepping back and putting space between your bodies that you wish wasn’t there.

“Come on. Let's get you home,” he says, voice rough. He reaches around you, pulling open the passenger door of the van. “Wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“Right, yeah.” You try to hide the disappointment you feel. “Thanks again for the ride.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

#eddie munson #no use of y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #demon eddie munson #inspired by jennifer’s body #possessive eddie munson

[pierppasolini]

Paul Mescal photographed by James Pearson-Howes for GQ, 2022

#Paul Mescal #James Pearson-Howes #my edits

[gqandw]

How can I love this spring

when it’s pulling me

through my life faster

than any time before it?

When five separate dooms

are promised this decade

and here I am, just trying

to watch a bumblebee cling

to its first purple flower.

I cannot save this world.

But look how it’s trying,

once again, to save me.

– This Spring by James A. Pearson

#gqandw #quotes #spring #peoms #James A Pearson

[justforbooks]

Nicholas Shakespeare’s elegant biography of the James Bond author Ian Fleming takes its subtitle from a journalist’s observation, quoted halfway through, that its subject was “for a moment of time, a complete man” while working for British naval intelligence in the second world war. Yet you can’t help read it as a promise to give the reader what was left out of previous biographies such as John Pearson’s crisp, more portable authorised life from 1966. And is there a claim, too, for the alpha male credentials of the man called “Flemingway” by his friend Noël Coward? Journalist, stockbroker, thriller writer and – like his famous creation – a playboy and 70-a-day smoker, who died of a heart attack in 1964 at the age of 56 after a plagiarism row over the origins of Thunderball, the ninth Bond novel.

After a dutiful account of how Fleming’s Scottish financier grandfather became a millionaire – later cutting Fleming and his brothers out of his will – Shakespeare gets going with his subject’s troubled boyhood in the shadow of his father’s death in the first world war. Family friends in Switzerland take his education in hand after hasty exits from Eton (hanky-panky with a woman) and Sandhurst (gonorrhoea). His exams aren’t good enough for the Foreign Office; an engagement to a Swiss lover ends amid maternal threats to cut off his allowance. He falls on his feet at Reuters – it was that kind of life – further honing his knack for a scoop at the Sunday Times, a handy source of contacts for his war work.

Testimony woven from diaries, papers and interviews gives the book a flavour of oral history. Shakespeare goes to great lengths – not least tracking down a 94-year-old veteran, the last surviving member of a covert commando unit that Fleming organised – to dispel the idea that Fleming’s service, occluded by state-sanctioned secrecy, was just “in-trays, out-trays and ashtrays”. The book’s first half puts the future author at the heart of military and journalistic history – a search for German weapons of mass destruction; the race to get an inside scoop on the Cambridge spies – as well as the bedroom shenanigans of the English well-to-do. (Shakespeare, who encourages us at one point to smile at the mention of a “germanely” named Nazi admiral, Assmann, shows his assumptions of his audience when he writes confidently of “that small, turn-of-the-century intellectual clique, the Souls”.)

Fleming may be “the man behind James Bond”, in the subtitle of Andrew Lycett’s 1995 biography, but Shakespeare’s project, you sense, is partly to say there’s more to him. Eager to prove Fleming’s interest beyond the reasons that will draw most of his readers to the book, he is almost comically insistent on the degree to which his subject was ahead of the curve. Not only might he have sparked the idea of creating the CIA – in a memo written when the US-UK special relationship was being forged – but he also came up with the idea of putting a Christmas tree from Oslo in Trafalgar Square.

As for the dozen Bond novels that poured out of Fleming after 1953’s Casino Royale – written in a month in his winter bolthole in Jamaica a year earlier – they were, in Shakespeare’s telling, essentially the literary expression of a midlife crisis accelerated by the encroachments of fatherhood and a faithless union as the third husband of Ann Charteris. They had got together with an affair that caused a high-society scandal during her previous marriage to the Daily Mail heir Esmond Harmsworth; she later cheated on Fleming with the Labour leader Hugh Gaitskell, who told him that the “sex, violence, alcohol” formula of the Bond novels was “to one who leads such a circumscribed life as I do, irresistible”.

Fleming, injecting the American dirt of Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer novels into the English thriller, launched 007 on what Shakespeare calls the “spam-munching gloom of Attlee’s Britain”, writing (Fleming told his publisher) in order to make “as much money... as possible” and to have “as much fun as I personally can”. Respectable sales rocketed when JFK took a shine to From Russia, with Love – and the movies were yet to come. While Fleming was self-deprecating – telling Raymond Chandler the Bond novels were “straight pillow fantasies of the bang-bang, kiss-kiss variety” – he was proud enough to greet the director of the first Bond movie, Dr No, by telling him: “So they’ve decided on you to fuck up my work.”

“Luck had to be accepted with a shrug or taken advantage of up to the hilt,” Bond thinks in Casino Royale; he sees luck “as a woman, to be softly wooed or brutally ravaged, never pandered to or pursued”. Squint enough and Fleming took some care to cast his main character in ironic light. Early in that novel, the reader gets a fly-on-the-wall thrill of watching fieldwork in action, with the scene of theatrical care Bond takes to ensure his hotel room isn’t being searched; but soon enough his French sidekick turns up to let Bond know his upstairs neighbours have been listening in to his every move.

In Shakespeare’s biography, the novels are mostly a source of supporting quotation – he doesn’t get bogged down in questions of what it means to read Bond now, confining himself to a remark on how his “cavalier treatment of women... carried the sexual climate of the Blitz into the austerity of the cold war, and was less modern perhaps than it was later cracked up to be”. And perhaps there’s no need for his defenders to overstate the case for Fleming’s novelistic subtlety. Bond has always been shaped by a collective amnesia that allows us to make him what we wish him to be at any given moment; when he parachuted into the Olympic opening ceremony with the queen, it was as the best of British, not as a connoisseur of (Fleming’s words) “the sweet tang of rape”.

The novels, in a way, are irrelevant to 007, but the course of history would surely have run otherwise had Fleming not had the foresight to change his protagonist’s name from the original “James Secretan” – Fleming’s typescript revision perhaps his most significant literary act.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Ian Fleming: The Complete Man #Nicholas Shakespeare #book review

[this-boys]

Paul Mescal photographed by James Pearson-Howes for GQ Hype.

#actor #boy crush #photoshoot #paul mescal #normal people #connell waldron #aftersun #the lost daughter #😍😍😍😍😍 #reblog #mensource

[bringbacktim]

Reposting this on here because I just re watched season 11 of taskmaster and I love Greg Davies so enjoy I guess (feel free to request any greg Davies fics)

Dressing room- Greg Davies

Warnings: use of degrading words(slut, whore , cockslut etc) , dom and subs, use of the word pussy )

Not edited or proofread

Wc: 706 words

It was a well known fact that Greg Davies and Y/n Y/l/n were dating , so when it was announced she was going to be a contestant on taskmaster everyone knew it was bound to be invasive and hilarious

The contestants alongside her this season were : James Acaster, Mike Wozniak, Sarah Millican , and Joe Thomas. ( my absolute favourite contestants + a few)

Y/n was excited to see her boyfriend pretend to be mean on TV ( it turned her on let's be honest)

She had been a little bratty towards Greg these last few days and it was definitely going to show in this episode

They barely spoke backstage before going onstage which was unusual, and she knew she was going to pay for it later

After all the introductions and weird/funny monologue that Alex does it was time for the prize task , this episode it was 'sneakiest thing' and she thought it'd be funny to bring in something of his from their house just to see his reaction

James brought a dog mask with his new book 'James Acaster's guide to quitting social media' hidden behind it for publicity. This earned him 4 points

Mike Wozniak brought in a pen which he got Greg to sign a piece of paper saying "Well done for your five points", telling Greg that it was for Tseikna Engsith doing well on a test. It was then revealed that the pen Greg used was a spy pen and recorded Greg reading the sentence out loud. It was then revealed that Tseikna Engsith is an anagram of "Sneakiest thing". He received 5 points

Sarah brought in a knock knock joke with parts of the answer hidden in people's pockets: Sarah in Greg's pocket, Pinhead in Mike's pocket and Millican in Joe's pocket. She also got Alex's wife to mail her two of Alex's socks which she was wearing. She also received 4 points.

Joe brought in a fake Oxford Dictionary containing a Pearson's Mini Dictionary. He received 2 points.

Finally , Y/n brought it in a pair of trousers from his dressing room , which backfired because he knew they were missing. Earning her a single point for the idea

"This is so unfair, how could you of possibly known" she sulked

"I'm the boss , people tell me things" he said with a serious face

"Just be glad I didn't bring what I was originally planning to" she said with a devious smirk

"I already know what you're talking about and I'm so glad you didn't"

The first few tasks were shown on screen and the couple shared a few little arguments and banter between them , as Greg said his farewell to part one he went back to his dressing room hoping for her to be there as well

He was in luck as he pushed the door open and there she stood

"You think you're so funny , don't you?" He said clearly angry

"Probably because I am" she said back like a school kid

"Don't think you'll find it funny when you can't walk after the break because I've fucked you silly over this vanity" he said taking a stride over to her

"Is that a promise?" That was the last straw before he grabbed her hips in his hands and roughly bent her over the vanity and stared at her through the mirror as he stripped them both of their trousers

"God I forgot what a whore you are for my cock " he said feeling how wet she was as she hummed in response knowing if she opened her mouth a moan would come out

"Your pussy is so greedy , always wanting my cock pounding you , don't you?" He questioned already knowing the answer

"Yeah that's what I thought, now you're going to stay quiet like the cockslut you are while I punish you"  he said hoping this would be over quickly so they wouldn't get caught

#taskmaster #greg davies #alex horne #sarah millican #james acaster imagines #mike wozniak #joe thomas