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Okay i don’t have many friends in the fandom to yap at so please excuse this random thought: but imagine Titus and wife!reader where he punishes her by telling her that they won’t be touching each other for the next 24-48hrs after she makes a very stupid off handed comment about how a single touch from her could make him come in his pants. Titus scoffs, maybe even gets pissed because he overheard her telling his own fucking sister that (poor Ursula). Right then and there he decides that if his wife is gonna be cocky and make him sound pathetic then she can take matters into her own hand and proposes the idea. A little game that was intended to be punishment for her where he has the upper hand that easily turns into him kicking himself because did he really think he wasn’t going to keep his hands off his own wife? Idiot. That is all💀😂
omg i love talking about him i actually cant shut up about him
and he'd be soooo annoying about it too. he'd bring it up to you during the week you're ovulating and super desperate for him.
and youre used to titus' little outbursts or whatever so you just sigh an are like...alright man if this is the hill you wanna die on i guess i can play along. and at first it's fine. but that night, you're really feeling pent up and your stupid hunky idiot husband is being an asshole, so you mumble something about going to take a shower. he shrugs and looks at you over his readers before continuing to scroll on his ipad.
you let steam fill the bathroom before you step in, sighing at the scorching water as it runs down your body. you allow your finger to slip down with the droplets. usually, you would have smuggled in your vibrator, but you were trying to be discrete about it. if he didn't want to touch you, he didn't deserve to hear you either. you let your head fall against the shower wall and close your eyes, losing yourself in the pleasure tingling up your spine. as you're working yourself up, you apparently aren't as coy about it as you think. because the bathroom door rips open and titus stands there all grumpy and pissed and sporting a semi. he pulls the shower door wide and reaches for you, need splashed clearly across his features. but you slap his hand away.
"no touching, remember?" you mock with a gasp as you cum around your own fingers. titus' nostrils flare and he gives a little needy whine. you force him to watch you come down from your self-induced high. a reminder that you didn't need him if he was going to be such a bitch. you take a deep breath and reach for your soap before mumbling to him "get out. m'trying to shower."
I would force Titus to sit with me by the pool and watch our 6 kids play mermaids and he’d pretend to hate it but he’d be asking them about their lore and their special powers and roll his eyes because “why don’t you chose a stronger one? Honey, you should choose to control the weather.”
you can hate cops and watch southland and not have to mention how much you hate cops in the tags of every single reblog you share of the show.
you enjoying a fictional cop show about fictional cops won't make real life shitty cops any less shitty nor will it change how you feel about real life police brutality.
southland is a show just WATCH it or don't. no one is forcing you.
does this happen with other cop shows? because god knows there are millions of them.
10,500 Follower Celebration: The Quinn Archives: Principessa Part Two: We Own The Night - A Jack Abbot/Red Velvet Original
Picture Source
AN: This is written like a Quinn Original – which means there’s a change in tense. If you haven’t listened to a Quinn Original this may be an adjustment for you as they are written a very specific way to immerse the listener.
Each one of my ‘The Quinn Achieves’ fics will be a naughty audio that Jack has recorded during his tenure under the pseudonym: NotTheDoctor.
They’ll be written as if they are a Quinn audio with summaries and tags that match the standard Quinn format.
Quinn Summary:
Principessa Part Two: We Own The Night – A forbidden romance between a mafia heiress and her bodyguard is threatened when her father insists it’s time for her to marry. [M4F] [Mafia Romance] [Starcrossed Lovers] [Older Man] [Age Gap] [PIV] [Muffled Moans] [We Might Get Caught]
Companion piece to:
Principessa Part One - A forbidden romance between a mafia heiress and her bodyguard is threatened when her father insists it’s time for her to marry. [M4F] [Mafia Romance] [Starcrossed Lovers] [Older Man] [Age Gap] [MDom] [Fingering] [We Might Get Caught] [Possessive]
How Jack got started as a Quinn VA:
A Red Velvet Original - After doing a guest spot on Javadi’s podcast, Jack discovers there may be a niche for a voice like his.
NotTheDoctor - Jack’s receives a surprise gift after his first foray into audio erotica goes viral.
The Stakeout - Determined to discover who Red Velvet is, Jack stakes out a notebook full of Quinn episodes left at the nurse’s station.
The Pussy Cat Club - Jack learns the real identity of Red Velvet after visiting The Pussy Cat Club for the first time.
A Call To His Wild (NSFW) - Jack can’t stop thinking about you after everything he saw at The Pussy Cat Club.
It’s the rustle of silk that wakes me, the snick of the bedroom door, the scent of orange blossoms on the light breeze that filters in through the open window. It’s madness for you to creep into my room while your father sleeps in his own, only mere few feet away on the opposite side of the wall.
“Principessa” I pull myself up against the headboard as I reach for the lamp. “You can’t be here-”
The warm dulcet glow illuminates your bare skin as the silk robe slips from your shoulders. My breath catches as it flutters to the carpet beneath your feet, throat going dry as I drink in the sight of your beauty. Nipples that are already hardening with the nighttime chill, decadent curves I’ve run my rough hands over so many times before that your shape is etched into my memory. You reach up pulling the hair tie from your hair and it falls across your features in a stunning cascade.
This is the real you.
Not the mafia princess being bartered away for an alliance.
But the woman who knows exactly what she wants.
And it’s intoxicating.
“Come here.”
My voice is a rasp as you kneel at the bottom of the bed, gracefully clambering onto your hands and knees. My cock throbs, pulsing underneath the sheets as you crawl slowly, your eyes glittering like stars as they remain fixed on mine.
The heat of your skin is like stepping out into the sunshine on a balmy day, chasing away thoughts of violence, bloodshed and murder. Of all the things that would happen if your father found you in the bed of your bodyguard, if your fiancé discovered you were giving yourself to another man.
My knuckles brush over your cheek, your skin soft like the petals of the rose garden we made love in during your father’s last trip to Italy.
I should be turning you away, sending you back to your own room but your mouth turns up into that wicked smile and I’m powerless to resist the chance for one last taste of the forbidden fruit.
My mouth claims yours, a heady rush of need and passion as my fingers tangle in your hair hauling you against the hard planes of my body. Your thighs straddle my hips, that warm, desperate cunt radiating heat against my aching cock through the thin sheet. My tongue traces over the seam of your lips and you open for me with the loveliest sigh as I cradle your face between my calloused hands.
Nothing has ever tasted as sweet as you, like cherries in the first blush of summer, a ripe, tart tang on my lips that I lose myself in with every kiss.
Your hands smooth over my bare chest, fingertips tracing over the scars I’ve earned under the service of your family. Bullet wounds, knife slices, the marks from the cigar your father drove into my chest when he decided to test my loyalty.
Your fingers delve lower, pulling at the sheet that separates us until there’s just the press of my cock against your molten cunt, your wetness dripping onto it as you drag yourself along the length. A moan punches out of my chest, and your hand covers my mouth, muffling the sound the same way I did yours earlier tonight when I fingered you outside of your father’s study.
It remains there as you guide my cock inside you, pressing down against my lips as you take the first inch before rising up and sink down again. My hips arch up to greet you this time, my breath a ragged pant against your palm.
“Good boy.” You whisper, your hair falling over us, shielding us from the outside world.
Those words they’d be patronising from anyone else but from you, they ignite something deep inside me, a kink I never knew until the nights I found myself on my knees worshipping your pussy like the goddess that you are.
We fall into a rhythm, one that has me biting down on the inside of your palm as the ecstasy builds like a wildfire in my chest, scorching my nerve endings. I chase the sound of your whimpers, stifled by your teeth sinking into your lower lip so your father doesn’t hear in the next room. My grunts get louder, more desperate as you clench around my cock, gripping it so hard that I can’t help see stars as I follow you over the edge, spurting my release deep inside your body.
Mine… the man in me bellows as he marks his territory.
But the truth is you’re not mine. You never were and you never will be.
Your hand slips away from my mouth, your lips claiming me instead. Your kisses are messy and fraught as I cradle you close, palms roaming up your back, keeping the two of us pressed together, cocooned in this moment.
“I don’t want to lose this.” Your voice breaks as you whisper against my lips. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t.” I promise, my fingers combing the hair away from your flushed features, pushing it back behind your ear. “I will always be yours. No matter where you go, who you marry…”
It’s true, I’ll never love a woman after you. My commitment will remain to this family, to you until the day I die.
“It’s you…” You murmur and for a moment I don’t understand, not until your fingers are threading through my curls, tilting my head back so I can look into your eyes and see the truth in them. “I want to marry you.”
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Jack Abbot, who was your first post-college relationship. An older man who sang your praises after your college boyfriend absolutely ripped your self confidence to shreds after your breakup. Who saw you looking hesitant at a bar one night and offered to buy you a drink. Who listened while you spilled your heart about getting a job in Pittsburgh, a city where you knew no one. Who promised to show you the city.
And eventually your sight seeing turned into something more. Late night drinks in his kitchen. Dropping off lunch for him at the hospital (because you knew he never cooked for himself). Him spending hours between your thighs. He was never your boyfriend per se. Somewhere between a friend and a lover. Your proclaimed “vessel of self-discovery”. Who taught you how to rebuild yourself while you worked out the rest of your contract at the job. Who held you while you cried, saying that you wanted to go back home. Who bought you a cupcake to celebrate your new position a few states over. Who helped you pack up your apartment and dropped you off at the airport. Who kissed you when you looked up at him with teary eyes and told him you would miss him the most. Who you texted updates about your new life, him smiling at his screen alone in his house, ignoring the tugging at his chest at the coldness of his mattress and the fact your perfume was beginning to fade from his memory.
Who, even after all this time, feels something ugly curl in his chest when he sees you announce your engagement to someone else.
a while ago, one of my mutuals was considering quitting writing. her fics weren’t doing as well, and the algorithm wasn’t favoring her writing like it used to.
so as a collective 10-15 writers, we all reblogged her fic once each. that alone put her writing at the top of the tag.
it makes a difference. way more than you think. it doesn’t matter if people see it because of you, it still gets promoted by the algorithm.
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