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blueparadis · 1 year

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╰┈➤ DOPAMINE ✦ YUTA OKKUTSU.

⟣ ──┈ · · · + synopsis ➢ At midnight, when your long-distance boyfriend decides to surprise you things take a wild turn when Yuta notices that you are on your heat cycle.

⟣ ──┈ · · · + cw ➣ a/b/o au, alpha!yuta,omega!reader, established relationship, mention of heat cycles & rut, lactation k!nk. | blog navigation + koct’23 masterlist. |

Almost an hour ago the doorbell rang and as you opened the door, Yuta was standing at your doorstep. At first, you could not believe your senses because it had been almost a year since he moved to another city for his work. As an independent and responsible girlfriend you let him go, without suspecting anything or letting those suspensions cloud your judgment. He has kept in touch with you, through and through, but somewhere in your mind you could not let all those suspensions go away. Maybe because you have faced grave bumps in your previous relationships. When he greeted you with a small peck on the cheek it was more than you could ask for; he even joked about how he will never forget your surprised face as if you have seen the ghost of him. But his surprise visit was not the reason for your shock.

But now he is here. You sit by the edge of the bed watching Yuta as he stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom, washing his face, and cleaning his mouth. The geyser is on and knowing him he will definitely demand your presence to share the bath. The bathtub is probably half-filled with cold water. The tap water is running and you have not stopped jerking your legs for several minutes.

“So?” Yuta starts. “What’s up? What’s got you so worked up? He finally asks but you are hesitant to speak. You do not know how much he has changed in this one year, both physically and emotionally. He seems like a totally different person now that you see him in person instead of video calls and photos. You know there is no use in hiding it anymore. It will create more problems.

“I’ve been skipping my pills.” You exclaim in one breath with your eyes closed.

“What?” His jaw drops. He leaves the bathroom, closes the tap and sits on the carpet of the floor.

“Yeah. My doctor said it would be better if I don’t take the suppressants while my alpha is away. And, since you were gone— you take a quick look of him through the corner of your eyes before continuing— “and my heat cycles have been manageable.”

Yuta takes the seat beside you. The moment he tries to hold your hand you snatch it away from him. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I’ll leave. Then— you can see your doctor or maybe take the suppressants till I move out.” Yuta understands. There is a theory that he has been recently aware of- that an omega can go under lactation phase if their alpha enters the ruts at the same time they enter heat cycle. Honestly, he would love to fuck you witless in this bed where he made countless memories with you but he doubts you will have any stock for protection. He thought on his way home, he would buy some but excitement got the better of him. It slipped his mind, naturally.

“No… that’s not it.” You tear up, hiding your face in your palms. The thing is an alpha’s rut can get triggered by an omega’s heat cycle and during this time, the said omega is expected to lactate. The doctor has warned you about this since you already had an alpha by your side but you did not think Yuta would come back to you through a loophole. He has been gone for his studies, and somewhere in your heart you thought he would be gone forever but here he is, sitting beside you. He is there for you.

“Ya’know i’ve missed you.” Yuta says getting closer trying to hold your hand. This time you let him. He has been away the same time you have been away from him. A one whole year. He has missed making love to you, fucking you everywhere except bed, sharing his ruts with you, fucking you while you were in your heat cycles.

“I missed you too,” you revert back and he rolls you along the bed hovering on top of you. He jerks his head sideways. Maybe it is the commence of your heat cycle that is affecting him.

“woah that was uncalled for— are you okay babe?” he asks so gently, so softly that it fuzzes up all your senses.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” you say folding one of your legs and kneeing his crotch. He is just wearing a bathrobe, feeling his dick would not be much of a hassle. Yuta’s eyes follow your legs. His face lights up with a smile.

“eager, aren't we?” He whispers before latching his mouth on to the crook of your neck. His knee nudges your entrance as he starts to kiss all over your neck, collar bones and shoulders. There is a warm sensation pooling in between your legs.

“ohhh— yuta,” you moan and his lips find their way to yours. You do not hesitate to push your tongue in his mouth, wet moans filling the room along with his pheromones. You feel his cock nudging you. It makes you edgy. You can not do this right now. You should not, no matter how much you have missed him. You flattened your hands over his chest to push him away but he misunderstands it as an act of advancement on him and ends up making you sit on his lap.

“Don’t worry. I can control myself” he pulls up your top discarding it somewhere on the floor. “But there are certain things that I have been wanting to try— his mouth latches on your nipple right after making you arch. He is not using his teeth just yet, but he is sucking so hard and so strong that you think he might just taste your milk.

Yuta has been like this since the day both of you took the next step for this relationship. He keeps his mouth busy whenever he makes love to you, by sucking your nipples, eating you out, biting your ears or just simply kissing while pumping his cum inside you. But this time, he can not fuck you. He would love to breed you during his rut but he knows, neither of you are ready to be a parent. There is a whole life ahead for that.

“Yuta, please. Not so hard.” you plead because the accumulation of heat in between your legs is getting unbearable. His hands are clamped on your waist as he switches onto your other nipple. You gasp watching a little drop of white milk oozing out of your boob. It turns you on more than ever.

“Yuutaa— you call out his name as his teeth come into play. But he does not pay any heed to it. He continues to suck, his hands moving to your back and he pulls you closer to his body. Now his cock perfectly touches your folds and with one more push he could feel you around his cock. Unable to take his hard sucks anymore you pull his face away and distract him for a while.

Yuta’s mouth tastes different. You have kissed countless times and never before you smelled or tasted something sweet on his lips. You think maybe it will reduce the breast pain you keep having during your heat cycles. One if his hands cups your entrance, running a finger through your folds.

“You are so fucking wet baby.” Yuta rasps pushing his fingers inside you watching you bite your lip, eyes close and eyebrows pinching as he starts to finger you. “Do you know how hard it is for me to hold back?” he whispers in between his rough pants and your irregular breaths.

You start to arch, toes curl as Yuta gently lays you on the bed. His cock stands tall and proud by his stomach. You can feel it, hot and hard against your thighs. One of his hands is underneath your waist and the other picks up the face eliciting squelching noises accompanied by loud moans from you.

Your breasts look so big and so full with milk. He watches white liquid oozing out again and picks up his face. Seeing you close to your orgasm he speeds up the process by starting to suck your breasts again. You throw your arms around his back, nape and kiss him by the crook of his neck, holding his hair at the back. Your mouth hangs open, fangs start to grow and you sink them on his neck the moment he makes you cum by sucking some milk out of your boobs.

Yuta rolls over your side. Both of you regaining your breaths. He asks, “Are you satisfied?” to which you smile and respond,

“you think?” He chuckles at that. Both of you smiled but deep down you knew what kind of pit you were going to fall into.

—

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0lympia · 4 months

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dopamine - denki kaminari

summary: recovery isn’t linear or easy. it isn’t a million things, and it’s about a million other things. you know this, most of hero society knows this and sort of accepts this. doctors and physical therapists and psychiatrists know this, and preach it. you know it too.

warnings: aftermath of war, mention of injuries, therapy, denki is a good friend

wc: 2,459

"Progress isn't linear," your physical therapist reminds you. It takes every last ounce of self control to keep yourself from snapping that you know hands white-knuckling the wood of the parallel bars.

You want to scream at all your therapists and doctors and nurses that you know progress isn't linear. There's no way for you to not know when you've heard it about a hundred times a day in the six months since the war.

It's even harder to deny when you watch your classmates, fellow hero students, struggle through recovery. The depression and anxiety and PTSD had swept through the nation, and had taken down aspiring heroes and pro heroes alike in massive swathes. You'd watched as the interest in becoming a hero dwindled, no longer a fantasy pipe dream for anybody, but instead a hard earned title with terrifying, life threatening responsibilities.

"I know," You huff out, mostly out of pain and exertion, and you try to take yet another excruciating step. You know you're only moving a few inches at a time — a sad shuffle, if you're honest — but it feels like miles.

There are a few of your classmates also in the PT room, all working on one motor skill or another. Midoriya is seated at one of the tables by the window, working with his own therapist to just grip a pencil.

You'd watched the terrifying green-haired aspiring hero go from screaming and shouting through tears to quiet frustrated sniffling and stifled tears when they'd had him working on the fine motor skill of writing. It had broken your heart, knowing that prior to the war he'd spent nearly all his spare time writing in that notebook he kept. Before the war you might have offered him a smile, some gesture of encouragement, but now you could barely even take a step before the titanium pins holding your joints together jostled and pain shot through you.

You're still hunched over, bracing yourself on the wooden bars, and you can feel a tug on your gait belt as your therapist makes sure you aren't going to fall on your face. You take another sad, measly, step forward and pain races through you, from your toes all the way up through your spine and into your skull. There's a quiet shout as you do it, and for moment you think the sound came from you, but your gait belt remains relaxed.

The shout had come from next to you, Kaminari had fallen, his therapist catching him before his knees could even hit the ground.

You'd watched him struggle through therapy too. His Quirk leaving his body wracked with uncontrollable shakes and tremors. You could still recall very clearly the absolute frustration and anguish he'd expressed at one of the early class therapy sessions over his autonomy being robbed from him.

You could relate.

"Fuck!" He curses, and you can tell he's biting back tears. You take another step, and it hurts so bad a grunt of pain escapes your gritted teeth, knees buckling so hard that your therapist can't seem to react fast enough, and you barely catch yourself on the bars.

You look over at Kaminari, and he's watching you through the long fringe of his blonde hair, the black streak he dyed into nearly entirely faded out. You know he's taking stock of your injuries, the same way you're assessing him, as you ease yourself to the padded floor with a heavy sigh.

"This never seems to get any easier, does it?" He asks, and he's offering you a smile.

"No," you agree in a rasp, vocal cords scraping roughly, never to sound like they did before the war, "It doesn't."

You quickly wipe away your stray tears of pain, turning your head in hopes that you don't have to watch as his expression morphs into something like pity. Or understanding, maybe. Either way, the looks people give you now make you sick to your stomach.

You'd been beaten nearly to death. Though, who hadn't. And although you hadn't had quite as exciting a resuscitation as Bakugou had, you'd been resuscitated twice during your hospital stay. The surgeries had been intensive, not that you'd know having been practically comatose for the three weeks following the end of the war, and recovery had been painfully slow.

Your throat had been ruined, and the reconstruction hadn't been easy — or pretty. So now your voice was a shallow rasp of what it had once been, and that was an improvement from the disturbing gargle it had been at the first class therapy session.

Kaminari was eyeing the marred skin on your neck, angry raised pink and red skin whorling around your neck and up to the right side of your chin and jawline.

Again, not pretty.

"I ha-haven't—haven't seen you without ban-ba-bandages before," Denki comments quietly, and when you lift your head to offer him a wry grin he's looking away, face twisted into something that looks like shame. Or maybe it's embarrassment. You have a hard enough time picking through your own emotions without the help of your therapist to be trying to decipher anybody else's.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," You mutter despondently, a hand coming to feel at the whorls of scar tissue, "I know it's pretty nasty."

Kaminari's therapist is helping him into a wheelchair now, the same as yours, holding onto you by your gait belt.

"Nah," He says, shaking his head as he leans back into the wheelchair. Then he's wheeled out, and his therapist takes him down a hall you've never been down.

"Progress isn't linear," Denki's therapist tells him.

"I know," Denki says, and he's glad that his voice is his right now. No stuttering, no awkward stumbles, his brain firing only the synapses it needs to, "It's just— I went from having total control to having none in just a little over a day. And the worst part is I did it to myself. People would have died if I didn't, but I would still be me if I hadn't."

Denki knows he's shaking, knows because his therapist is offering him a blanket— still not able to tell when he's got tremors or when he's actually shivering. He just shakes his head at her, not sure that when he opens his mouth next he'll be able to speak.

"People would have died either way," His therapist tells him, "Had you been put in your position again, knowing what it would do to you to stay, would you do it again?"

Denki looks appalled, shocked, maybe even a little angry at the thought, "I'd do it a hundred times over if that meant we had a better chance at winning the war."

For some reason, as his therapist points to him, telling him that he's got answer right there, he thinks of you. Wonders if you'd do it all again, even with the knowledge that you'd end up potentially with the worst of the injuries.

He remembers seeing you get wheeled past him in the hospital when the war had ended. A nurse had been on top of you, doing chest compressions, and he would never forget how air had wheezed past your lips, and the noise your ribs made as they cracked from the compressions. He'd been horrified when you passed by, his classmates who could stand gasping at the state of you as you'd been wheeled by. He remembers the many odd angles your legs had bent, and the vicious burns and cuts in your neck, and how your face had been so bloodied and bruised and swollen you were unrecognizable. The only indication it was you had been your tattered hero costume, hanging off of you in shreds.

"A friend of mine," Denki starts, even though he knows todays session is coming to a close, the visual timer his indicator, "Was in even worse condition than I was after the war. I think the worst condition in our class. They're still attending classes even though they can barely walk most of the time. I know they'd do it all again, too. But I can't imagine why they'd want to suffer through all that they have again."

"Why don't you ask them that?" His therapist suggests.

The next day Denki does just that. He hunts you down on wobbling legs, world tilting as he does, after classes had ended. Despite most everybody in class still suffering mobility issues, regular classes had resumed two months after the war had ended. And despite your incredibly limited mobility, your Quirk helped you get around better than most.

The war had either drawn friends closer in the aftermath, people clinging to the bonds they already had, like Denki had done, his friendships with his classmates who were willing even stronger than they had been prior to the war. Or it did what it had done to you, the remnants of war weighing so heavily that seclusion seemed to be the only option.

Then again, most everybody had become more withdrawn in the aftermath of the war. Conversations between anybody was stilted, even amongst those who had been closer than close.

So when he'd finally hunted you down, exhausted and shaking so bad it was wonder he'd managed to find you at all, it was an odd sort of relief when you'd smiled in greeting.

You'd hidden away on dorm roof, knowing that if anybody wanted to talk to you the stairs made the process all that more difficult for most of your classmates. You waved him over, and he wobbled his way over to you trying his best to walk steady, even as a particularly bad wave of tremors came over him.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" You'd asked in way of greeting when he'd taken a seat next to you near the edge of the roof. You even smiled at him, halfway forced, but mostly genuine, the muscles in your face atrophied from a general lack of use over the past six months.

Denki smiles in return, his mouth twitching wildly as his brain misfires, "I was hoping I could ask you something. If that's okay?"

A spark of panic runs through you, there aren't usually very many scenarios when you're asked a question that doesn't make everybody uncomfortable when you deign to answer. You spare a glance at him, searching for any signs of discomfort in his face. Finding none, you nod slowly.

"If you could go back, would you still have fought in the war, knowing what you know now?"

You stare at him, and you can already see the regret sinking into his face. You rush to find an answer. You'd had a similar conversation with your therapist before, back when the concept of survivor's guilt had been new and foreign. You had told your therapist yes, of course you would, because -

"-It didn't really feel like there was any other choice to make," The words leave your mouth involuntarily.

Your classmates had expressed similar sentiments, that they were there, what else were they supposed to do? You didn't care that you were already there, time and place had nothing to do with it. You could've been out of there in a matter of minutes.

"You could've walked away, though," Denki says, knowing the same as you that getting away wasn't the issue like it had been for most of his classmates, "You had a choice. Why did you stay?"

"I was either going to die that day or live with a lifetime of guilt. Dying seemed easier at the time."

He flinches at the mention of death, having tasted it himself, "But you didn't."

"No," You agree, "I didn't. I wrecked myself, and I'd do it all again, even as I am now if it means I can die knowing I did all that I could."

He hums, maybe with electricity, you don't know. You don't look over to check.

"Nobody would have been mad at you if you'd left."

"I would have."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Your words haunt Kaminari in the days that follow, and he makes an active effort to drag you into his friend groups activities. You let him pull you along for lunch with his friends, and you try your hardest to greet them with the same enthusiasm they did.

His friends are riddled with about the same amount of scar tissue you are, Bakugo perhaps the worst. You'd heard about his meeting with death on the battlefield with All For One. He'd sought you out maybe a month after Kaminari had integrated you into their friend group to talk about the shared experience of dying.

Then, suddenly, you couldn't seem to shake Kaminari, try as you might. He was walking with you to and from class, and the two of you did physical therapy together, even though you'd progressed to a point where you could start more intensive training and he still wobbled every other step.

So, maybe it was a two-person effort that pulled him into your life, an integral player. Or maybe it was an unhealthy trauma bond, you couldn't tell, chest still numb in the aftermath. Though, you couldn't tell if the numbness was from your anti-depressants or the war.

"I'm glad you've found a support group of sorts," Your therapist tells you at your next visit, "It's important to have friends and strong bonds in times like these."

You nod along numbly. Granted, your therapist's right, you've been feeling better since that day on the roof when Kaminari had hunted you down to ask you what nobody else seemed to want to.

"Kaminari's been a really good friend to me," You tell your therapist, "Feels like I haven't been as good of a friend as I maybe should be."

Your therapist only hums, and leaves with the advice that you should maybe do something to let Kaminari know you appreciate his friendship with you.

The next time Kaminari finds you on the roof, you're greeting him with a Pikachu phone charm and a box of his favorite cookies.

"To say thanks," you tell him, even though he doesn't ask and you don't look at him. Kaminari's chest blooms with an electric warmth and this time he's sure it's not from his Quirk.

"You should call me Denki," Is all he says, and he feels giddy at the thought, "We're friends, after all."

You hum, your legs swinging gently over the ledge of the dorm roof. You smile with no restraint when you finally return his gaze, your eyes meeting his shaking golds.

"Only if you call me (f/n), Denki."

It's like you took a shot of dopamine when he smiles in return, and says, "Okay, (f/n)."

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callmearcturus · 2 months

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what erik needs is fucking adderall

based on the idea punct and I keep kicking around that bc Peter is clearly ADHD as fuck, Erik is too but he's never been medicated so he's just so fucking high-functioning he's like a neurotic clock that has ground all of his reactions down and has his shit on lockdown. so then what if he finally gets medication?

Peter, in his cast after XMA: Oh yeah can someone run into town to pick up my good good drugs? Cause my leg. Charles: Drugs? Ah, the-- yes, I'll ask Hank. Erik, curious: Drugs? Peter: Hard drugs. Fuckin' speed, my man. Charles: It's not-- it's. Dextroamphetamine besalt, not-- Peter: Amphetamine is in the name! Erik: He's on amphetamine? For his mutation? Peter: Nah, nah, I got the distraction thing. Serotonin and stuff. Charles: Oh for god's-- it's… what is it (reads Erik) ah, Aufmerksamkeits-Defizit-Hyperaktivitäts-Syndrom? Erik: I see you're pronunciation is still dreadful. ADHS, hm?

Charles, looking between Erik and Peter: Hm. Peter, lifting his eyebrows, looking at Erik, then back at Charles: I mean. No, no way. Charles: It does tend to be, ah. patrilineal, is the thing. Erik: What does? Peter: But he's Jewish, isn't that matrilineal? It's a whole thing. Charles: That-- it doesn't mean genetics work differently-- (outraged noises) Erik: What about my mother? You're talking around me. Charles: It'd just be… interesting to see. I'll have Jean go along with Hank and… suggest an extra refill. He has many of the signs for late stage diagnosis. Erik: Glauben Sie, dass ich ADHS habe? Charles: (hums non-committally)

(later) Peter: what if it kills him Erik, laying on medical bed: I'd be very annoyed, personally. I have survived quite a few impressively fatal incidents. Peter: Oh yeah like the nazis. Charles, full Professor Mode: Yes, thank you, Peter. And we have a full stock of dopamine antagonists and nitroglycerin in case he has a bad reaction. It'd be terribly poor form for me to kill your newly-discovered father so soon in your reconciliation. Erik: That lab rat feeling is returning… Perhaps I'll see if Jean needs help with the roof. Charles: No. Swallow this pill. Erik, giving a severe look: If you really decided to finally end our truce, you would do better than poisoning me, correct? Charles: I would never insult you with something so underhanded. Hell, it wouldn't be dramatic enough for me either, I'd be… Peter: … Blue-balled? Charles: Take the bloody meds, Erik.

(TWENTY MINUTES LATER) Charles, to Peter: Is he all right? Peter: Huh, yeah. Yanno sometimes I forget to pick up my refill right so I gotta go some days without it or I ration, so when I take it again, I gotta get over the sleepy. Charles: The 'sleepy'. It's speed. Peter: I know! It's so weird. It chills you out. It's better than weed honestly. I mean uh. Not that I've ever done weed. Charles: Oh please, Peter, I've rolled a few joints in my time. Peter: Huh. Cool. So is there a good dealer around here? Charles, out loud: Erik? Erik, eyes closed, breathing slowly: Yes, Charles? Charles: You don't seem to be having a hypertensive episode. Erik: No. (reaches out a hand, flicks off the lights with his power) You can go back to speaking telepathically. It's quieter.

that's all i got, i gotta sleep

#erik lehnsherr #cherik #charles xavier #peter maximoff #xmau #xmen movies

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thecrazyalchemist · 4 months

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(this post is edited from time to time, some stuff may be outdated) [last edited: Sunday, August 11th, 2024]

---

Stuff to get out of the way:

I am a minor.

I am Israeli. I am tired. If you want Israel wiped away, if you want Jews killed - please get away from my blog and don't come back.

Post relating to my opinion on Zionism and current affairs <- this is a link to the post, please read!

Post relating to fundraisers and charities about the current conflict <- this is a link to the post

I want my blog to be a safe place for me first and foremost, and then a safe space for others. Not the other way around. I just came here to be silly.

This is my bubble. I'll post some stuff about chemistry from time to time (PASSED ORGANIC CHEMISTRY!!!! GOT A 97!!!! SO EXCITED), stuff from fandoms I like, reblog quite a lot maybe definitely too much (as @bettinalevyisdetermined said [I think]: "I abuse the fast-reblog button"), and generally random stuff my dopamine dependant fueled machine likes.

BEWARE: CHRONICALLY ONLINE

You're quite welcome to ask for random hugs! I have plenty - will take ions to run out of stock

Hug gif: (wanted to put it here because it's so good)

Sideblogs:

@randomshowerpoems - poetry sideblog!

@littlegnomewriting - a blog for posting very infrequently stuff I write

@thecrazyalchemist2 - clone if I have been cursed by the post limit

@the-hugger - ✨gimmick blog✨, self explanatory

Not gonna reblog every single post from there to here, don't wanna hit the post limit too often. Wanna know what's in there? Go look!

Also do please express your opinion about what I write! I appreciate it immensely 🥺

Some information bout me:

Current timezone: whatever the time in Greenwich is

Online name: Nick F. but you can call me Nick (you can also call me Crazy Al ;] | or Arsenic/Arsenick if you want - courtesy of @givemeasong-singamelody )

Nickolasnames: Quackamole Ferret (bestowed upon me by the amazing @annotated-catastrophe), alchemy buddy (bestowed upon me by the amazing @alchemicalwerewolf)

Titles: Attraction stealer - beware (bestowed upon me by the amazing @thebookshelflord)

Pronouns: He/Him, although I don't really care

Sexuality: bisexual

Favorite color: blue-green

Favorite molecule: Azidoazide Azide

Taste of my ceiling - chalky

I prefer tea over coffee

Preference order: jackets>hoodies>sweaters

What I think about when I hear the word cozy: sitting on a yellow couch reading a book (preferably next to a crackling fireplace), while thunderstorm, inside a library

If you have anything else you want me to add to here, just ask/comment/message/send in a vision/transport in an ancient bottle/come to me in a dream/however you want, but please be clear about it cause I'm a bit of a dum-dum

My Tag lists: (please choose which one do u want me to add you to!)

Reminder: if you want to be added/removed, just say so! Preferably comment/reblog the tag list you want to be added to/removed from to notify me

Picrews <- this is a link to the list

Quizzes <- this is a link to the list

Tag Games <- this is a link to the list

Making Notes <- this is a link to the list

Other <- this is a link to the list

Anything <- this is a link to the list (this one is mainly for convenience's sake)

Reminder: if you want to be added/removed, just say so! Preferably comment/reblog the tag list you want to be added to/removed from to notify me

---

(this post is edited from time to time, some stuff may be outdated) [last edited: Sunday, August 11th, 2024]

#intro post

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headcaasefiction · 10 months

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Ecstasy: Chapter 2 of 2

Chapter 1 is here.

(Mihawk/Shanks/AFAB!Reader)

Minors Do Not Interact

Rating: Explicit 18+

Summary: Shanks and Mihawk take you out to the bar for your birthday. They slip a little something in your drink as a present and lavish you with attention. Happy Birthday to you!

You open your eyes, half-lidded and heavy with want. Next to Shanks stands Mihawk, slotted against his companion once more, yellow eyes blown wide and clouded with lust. The two of them tower before you on the edge of the bed, drinking in your beauty, fondly pressed to one another.

"Prettiest thing you ever did see, aye Hawk-eyes?"

Warnings: M/M/F Threesome, DubCon, Non-consensual drugging, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fisting, Double Penetration, Light BDSM, Daddy Kink, Sir Kink.

Shanks and Mihawk waste no time rushing you through the town's streets, straight back down to the docks where the Red Force is anchored. Ecstasy thrums through your body, heat burning in your core as you cling to Mihawk's broad shoulders. The gentle glow of the road lanterns dance in your vision as you're quickly ushered along, you close your eyes, overwhelmed by the lingering tracers. The sound of the ocean that gently laps against the hull of the ship washes over you, letting you know you are home.

Before you knew it the three of you had boarded the ship, whisked away to the Captain's quarters, Mihawk lowers you onto the plush king size mattress your trio shares. You grip the soft blankets, relieved that you were back in the safety and privacy of your beloved's room.

Shanks kneels on the bed next to you, knuckles softly caressing your flushed cheek, "How are you doing, love?"

Your eyes flutter at the tender contact, your body humming with approval, "Good...so good..."

Shanks' grin blinds you for a moment, even lights up his dark warm eyes. The look on his face takes your breath away, his gaze wandering your face, to your lips and finally along your body, re-igniting your arousal.

"Kiss me..." You whisper, reaching up to stroke the 3 raised scars on the left side of his face and eye, "Please..."

He props himself up by his one hand, leaning down to collide with your feverish mouth. Teeth clacking against yours he eagerly drinks you in, tongue soothing over your teeth, the tip of your own tongue, further down in your mouth over and over again, until you feel spit-drunk and dopamine dizzy. After what feels like an eternity in heaven he pulls away, leaving you gasping for air, needy for more.

"Prettiest thing you ever did see, aye Hawk-eyes? " Shanks asks, arm curling around the war lord's waist, chin resting on his shoulder.

Mihawk hums, a low sound in his chest, hand reaching out to stroke your ankle while he returns the gesture of the red-haired captain by snaking his arm around Shanks' waist, fingertips gripping his hip.

"Absolutely gorgeous," he responds back, rubbing little circles in the soft spot of your ankle.

Your breath hitches in your throat, the image of these heart-breakingly beautiful men pressed together, faces inches apart, doting on you, it was almost too much to handle.

A desperate whine shudders it's way out of your throat, the sight of them so close together in proximity makes you feel hot and overwhelmed. You sit up suddenly, the desperate need to be bare and felt by them takes over as you begin to strip. First your shirt and bodice, followed by a difficult try with your boots, until the men got the picture and started working on your laces for you. Quickly they toss your shoes, skirt, and stockings out of sight and mind until you were only left in the black cotton thong they helped ruin only a short time ago.

The two pirates stood speechless together, closely regarding the treasure splayed out before them, your blown-out pupils wandering down to the obvious arousal hardening in their pants.

"Fuck..." You moan, as another rush of pleasure showers over you, the promise of their want and need clutching deep inside of you.

"Please..." You mewl helplessly, your fingers caressing and pinching the soft flesh of your tender nipples and breasts, head tossed back against the plush bedding, back arched off the bed, "Please, I want, I want..."

You can't form the words, your brain refuses to string sentences together, every atom of your being feels like a live-wire - raw energy redirecting back into your body, your skin, your mouth, your stomach, your clit, your cunt. You keen out a frustrated sigh, squirming mindlessly in pleasure.

"Oh poor thing," Shanks coos, mocking you with fake sympathy, he parts from Mihawk's side to slide inbetween your legs, expertly pulling off his own shirt in a single motion in the process. He gently opens your thighs until your knees are level with your hips, toes flexing in the air.

Mihawk crawls to the head of the bed, hands smoothing over your shoulders as he begins to strip, placing his hat on the night stand, long leather coat shed away, boots kicked off and forgotten. He takes your head and places it in his lap, your face inches away from his clothed cock. You whimper with longing, your face nuzzling against the prominent bulge in his pants.

"So needy," Shanks continues to tease, mouth leaning down to connect with your navel, fingertips ghosting up and down your leg, each time getting closer to the edge of your panties.

They have your candle burning at both ends, nerves wracked with unadulterated need. Shanks dips his tongue to lave over your clothed clit, connecting with your pleasure center. You buck your hips, desperate for the release that was previously denied to you.

You cry out as Shanks’ tongue licks along the damp fabric, toying with your aching bud, overstimulating you past the brink of sanity. Your hands automatically fly down to grip his bright red hair, your fingernails digging hard into his scalp; he grunts with discomfort.

“Shanks, please!”

Immediately you are punished with two harsh and furious slaps, one after the other on each of your thighs.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, a stinging pain blooming across your sensitive flesh, mixing with the overwhelming pleasure spilling out your every pore.

Your arms are yanked back up by Mihawk, wrists firmly captured in one of his large hands, the other gripped tightly in your hair to force your head forward to look directly into Shanks’ eyes.

His normally warm, gentle brown eyes are stern, almost black, glinting with something just a little dangerous. He curls his hand under your chin, gripping it firmly so your lips pout just a little.

“What was that, baby girl? Sounds like someone forgot their manners.”

You whimper, as you gently squirm between the two men, a single tear sliding down your cheek, “I-I’m sorry, Daddy, I just…I can’t control myself, please I need you, I need both of you, please.”

Mihawk and Shanks share a glance, their tenderness returning. Mihawk lets up on his fingers that are taunt with your scalp, his bruising grip loosening on your wrists.

“Oh princess, this isn’t meant to be a punishment,” he cradles your face in his hand, kissing your flushed and tear-streaked cheeks, “this is a gift, we want to spoil you, but you have to remember to behave like the good girl we know you are, and not a spoiled little brat.”

You sniffle, trembling, “I’ll be good Daddy, p-please spoil me, I’m s-so ready…”

Shanks smiles wide, pressing his lips firmly against yours, probing his tongue into your eager mouth, flicking the tip against the overly sensitive muscle. You melt into the kiss, your body relaxing from the contact as you settle back into Mihawk’s lap, his straining cock pressing into your shoulder.

Shanks breaks the kiss, his hand wandering from your face down to your chest, soothing over the round flesh of your breasts, playfully plucking at your hardened nipples before finally reaching down to crook his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pry them off your legs.

You mewl, another jolt of electricity shooting through your core as you’re finally exposed to the open air. Mihawk and Shanks share another lustful glance toward one another, both their lips upticked with smirks.

Shanks sighs, somewhat breathless, as he runs his fingers through your puffy and slicked up entrance, “Oh fuck baby girl, you’re absolutely soaked.”

Mihawk suddenly tips your head back and captures your lips, swallowing the moan that is ripped from your body as Shanks swipes the pad of his thumb over your stiff and throbbing clit.

He hums into your mouth, sliding his tongue down as far as it could reach before swirling it below the underside of your own, pleased at the needy noises he drinks from you, as Shanks continues to glide his fingers up and down your pussy lips, rewarding you with a single slender finger every moment or so. Mihawk pulls away, leaving you breathless as he grinds his hips and unbearably hard cock into the soft skin of your back.

“How about we put that pretty mouth to good use,” he purrs, releasing your hands as he reaches down to grasp the buckle of his belt, pulling it off and undoing the front of his pants swiftly, his cock standing up firm against his stomach.

“Hmmm, be a good girl and suck Sir’s cock,” Shanks grins, sliding the two middle fingers of his hand into your pulsing cunt, earning him a satisfied gasp from your burning red, kiss-swollen mouth.

Mihawk maneuvers your head out of his lap, sitting up onto his knees he grasps his cock, giving it a few firm strokes before feeding the tip past your plush, wettened lips. You gaze up at Mihawk, his piercing eyes fixed on yours as he inches into your throat.

Shanks watches, captivated as both pairs of your pink soaked lips take a different part of both your lovers, your mouth swallowing Mihawk as your pussy swallows his own fingers. With a breathy groan, Shanks slips a third finger into you.

“Hmph!” You whimper around Mihawk’s thick cock, heat frantically pooling in your stomach, euphoria warming your entire body. Your eyes roll back as Mihawk thrusts further into your mouth, the lewd messy noises of Shanks’ ambitious fingers fucking your drenched hole resound through the Captain’s cabin.

Shanks looks at you adoringly through half-lidded eyes, drunk on the way your body screams and sings for him, like a living musical instrument. Enthralled by Mihawk’s cock bulging in your throat, his fingers easily sucking into your willing body.

“So wet and open…do you think you could take my whole hand, baby?” Shanks asks innocently, a hint of the scoundrel he actually is glinting in his sincere eyes.

Mihawk smirks back at the red haired captain, shallowly thrusting into the heat of your throat, watching hungrily as Shanks sinks a fourth finger into your greedy cunt, twisting slightly to open you up further.

“Oh she can take it, right darling?” Mihawk coos, gently tracing the back of his fingertips over the side of your face, down to lovingly caress the bulge of himself in your throat.

You let out a muffled whine, your eyes squeezed shut, hands grasping the covers beneath you for dear life as you try not to gag on the engorged dick that’s filling your windpipe, dizzying spells of ecstasy crashing over you again and again as you feel Shanks pry you open ever further, his thumb edging against the glossy and sensitive stretched out rim of your entrance.

“Such a good girl,” Shanks praises, white teeth grazing over his bottom lip while he gently twists his hand into you, final finger slotting in place.

You gasp at the sensation, almost choking. Mihawk immediately pulls out of your throat and caresses your face so you could get your bearings.

Mihawk and Shanks’ lips both part, sighing in simultaneous arousal, at the sight of Shanks’ fist buried wrist deep in your pussy. You tip your head up, breath coming out in short, sharp bursts, shiny wide-eyes looking at Shanks as he gazed over you, eyes meeting yours with a deep look of affection, admiration, and praise.

“How…h-how many is that, Daddy?” You ask in a hushed whisper, trembling between the warmth of their bodies.

Shanks gives you a gentle smile, and says quietly, “That’s all of them, little one.”

You feel yourself flush from head to toe, never had you been so open and vulnerable, never stretched so wide. The thought of you completely engulfing his hand makes you want to cum right then and there.

“Fuuuck…,” you whine, immersed in the unrelentless waves of arousal the drug continuously pumps through your system. Your head falls back on the bed, your hands grasping for Mihawk, gripping hard to one of his thighs, “Plllleeeaasseee~”

“Hmmm, want to cum like this? Me fucking you with my fist?” Shanks breathes, tone heavy, laced with awe, his fist slowly starting to pump in and out of you.

A short sound of approval rumbles deep from Mihawk’s chest, watching hungrily as your body takes Shanks’ hand, obscene, wet noises blending in with the increasingly loud moans and noises that spill from your mouth.

“Want to see if I can make her squirt?” Shanks asks, locking eyes with Mihawk, face lit up with a devilish smile.

“I most certainly would,” Mihawk replies with a smirk, leaning over your trembling form to swipe his fingertips over the hood of your clit.

You cry out, bliss flooding your body, the combination of Mihawk’s fingers fluttering over your clit and Shanks’ fist twisting and fucking more feverishly into you was almost too much to bear, the threat of your orgasm licking at your insides making you whine in delicious agony.

“Don’t force it down, just let go,” Shanks grunts with the effort of his thrusts, his movements shaking your whole body, your slick juices dripping down his wrist and forearm.

“You don’t need permission to cum anymore, it’s your birthday, darling, you can cum as many times as you want,” Mihawk purrs, expert fingers flying feather-light over your stiff clit.

You whimper, one arm tossed over your face as your entire body quakes, shockwaves of electric heat pulsing through your pussy, an intense wave of pressure hitting a breaking point within you. Shanks’ fist thrusts into you one final time and you go blind, a pleasant blanket of pleasure shrouding over you, tension snapped. A sharp cry leaves your throat, your body convulsing as you gush slick, your orgasm ripped harshly from you, soaking Shanks’ arm and the sheets below.

“Gorgeous,” Mihawk breathes, soothing his hands over your flushed pink face.

“Fucking perfect,” Shanks praises, gently removing his hand from your gaping hole with a lewd wet noise, making you squeak with another jolt of ecstasy as his large hand leaves you.

Shanks crawls onto the bed next to you and Mihawk, propping himself up on some pillows, “C’mere, princess, I’m not quite done with you yet.”

Your body shudders, aftershocks of euphoria showering through your system, dancing in your blood. With as much energy as you could muster you crawl ontop of Shanks, naked form pressed to his bare chest, face nuzzled against his pulse point. He runs his hand up and down your spine, making you shiver, goosebumps erupting along your sensitive flesh.

“You can’t be done just yet, you haven’t cum on my cock,” the red-head captain smirks deviously before claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss, his hips rolling up into you. The front of his straining pants press firm to your clit, dampening the fabric.

Frantically you reach down to his waistband, undoing the laces of his pants as quickly as you could, shoving down the the pesky fabric to free his thick cock. He hums in appreciation, reaching down with his one free hand to glide the tip of his dick through your puffy stretched out lips, still gaping from his fist. Without hesitation he easily slides in, bottoming out with one thrust, hips flush with your own. You bite back a moan, the sound muffled by Shanks' shoulder as you press your heated face to his tan skin.

You hadn’t noticed Mihawk shift behind you until you felt his fingertips running down the base of your spine, causing your back to arch at the tingling sensation.

“My my, that went in easy,” he says condescendingly, his fingertips trailing further down your ass, before brushing over the tight entrance of your asshole, “but it looks like there’s room for much more. So tell me, birthday girl, where do you want me?”

Mihawk swipes over your asshole again, “Here?” He toys with it for a moment, spitting on the puckered flesh before easing in a fingertip, “…or here?” Two fingers glide down the little bit of skin between your openings, and slot themselves inside of your pussy, next to Shanks’ dick.

“There!” You mewl, little whimpers muffled into the side of Shanks’ neck, your hips buck sharply giving the captain a drag of euphoric friction.

“Mmm, yeah, right there,” Shanks groans, breathless as Mihawk slides a third finger inside of you, shallowingly thrusting while also rubbing against the underside of Shanks’ buried cock, “Let’s fuck her together.”

Mihawk wastes no time in removing his fingers and placing himself in between Shanks’ legs, lining himself up at your thoroughly fucked out hole, still dripping wet, filled up with one thick cock but room to spare. He hisses lightly as he rubs the sensitive head of his cock against the outer edge of your cunt, before slowly stuffing himself in along side the captain’s own member.

You thought you had known bliss before this moment, but the burn of the stretch, and the shape of them both, and the feeling of them completely owning your heart, mind, soul and body; was an ecstasy you weren’t sure could exist.

“Sir! Daddy!” You cry out as you surrender completely to them, letting them push and pull into you, both moving in and out at opposite paces, not sure whose lips, fingers, teeth, or cock was servicing you at any given moment. You became a lump of flesh, a toy, a pleasure doll. You gave into it, settled there, your body relaxing into the hot stretch of two men fucking your pussy at once.

You couldn’t tell if it felt so good because of the drug they had slipped you, or the pure exhilaration of how they were able to tame you so fully into submission, guiding you into the dreamy edge of subspace or possibly a combination of both. All you did realize is you had lost track of how many times you came on their cocks as they fucked into you together. All you could do was cling to Shanks’ shoulders and take them full force into your willing body.

Shanks is a wreck, head thrown back, eyes shut and mouth open slack, arm circling your waist tightly as his hips wildly thrust up into you. Mihawk’s yellow eyes are blown wide, almost black, teeth sunken into his bottom lip at the sight of the two of you beneath him.

“F-fuck, close…” Shanks rasps through his pleasure, rhythm faltering in his motions as he and Mihawk bottom out over and over again, your pussy-slick dripping down their shafts onto Shanks' balls.

“Please…please, please, please…” you chant, eyes rolled back, blissfully claimed, owned, used, “Please cum inside me…”

Mihawk’s pace starts to falter as well, his countenance wavering, eyelids fluttering, hands bruised into your hips as your pussy contracts and pulses around their thick lengths. The extra stimulation they feel both sliding against one another inside of you causing their orgasms to arrive sooner than normal.

“Fuck! Good! Girl!” Mihawk growls, sharply enunciating each word with a thrust.The motion drawing a moan from the red-haired captain, causing him to tip over the edge and reach his end, hand threaded tight into your hair as he cums inside of you, biting down on your shoulder with a groan.

Mihawk follows closely behind, his hips frantically stuttering as he drapes himself over your back, a satisfied gasp leaving his throat as his orgasm hits, dick pulsing along side Shanks', their cum mixing together inside of you.

The three of you breathe together, coming down from your collective pleasure, bodies still conjoined. You can feel the dull pulse of the drug leaving your system, the need for sleep settling its way into your brain making your eyes heavy. Gently you brush a hand over the scars on Shanks face, in response he dips his head down to capture your lips in a kiss.

“Careful now Hawk-eyes,” Shanks murmurs, shifting his hips to begin withdrawing his cock from you, “Poor thing is going to be tender.”

Mihawk soothes a hand over your back, slowly removing himself as well, a mixture of their cum leaking out of your aching hole, dripping down your thighs. You whimper a sigh of relief as soon as both men retreat from your fucked out pussy, leaving you wet, satisfied and coated in their juices.

Softly Mihawk gathers you into his arms, removing you from Shanks’ chest. He kisses the top of your head before tucking you into bed, in your rightful spot between the two men.

“Did you have a good birthday, love?” Shanks asks, petting the side of your face as you cozy up in the plush covers and pillows, “What I gave you wasn’t too much right? It felt good?”

Sleepily you nod, a small smile gracing your tired face, eyelids becoming increasingly heavy as you happily gaze up at your lovers handsome faces, “Yes Daddy, thank you. I actually loved it, I think it’s the reason you were both able to…fit inside me.”

Mihawk and Shanks grin from ear to ear at that, pleased at the light blush that heats up your cheeks. Both of them proud they were able to open you up and take you in such a way.

“Good, happy birthday baby, try to get some sleep,” Shanks smiles, tucking you further into the covers, both him and Mihawk kissing you sweetly on the mouth.

“And when you wake up, I’ll let you cum on my tongue,” Mihawk smirks with a wink.

“Hmmm, yes please…” you beam sleepily, closing your eyes and giving into the realm of sleep, their deep voices still on the edge of your consciousness.

“We should definitely slip her that powder more often,” you hear Shanks say, pleased with himself.

“Oh most definitely.”

Thanks for reading, I hope all of you filthy heathens enjoyed 😘

#mihawk/shanks/reader #one piece live action fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #mihawk/reader #shanks/reader #mihawk x reader #shanks x reader #one piece #one piece live action #dracule mihawk #shanks #akagami no shanks #fanfic #fanfiction #headcaase writes #reader insert #one piece reader insert #x reader

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copperbadge · 2 years

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Watching Twitter implode, as an outsider who has hated Twitter for an extremely long time, is absolutely fascinating. I had a twitter account, now deleted, which I checked about once a month and posted to every few years, usually in a vain attempt to acclimate myself to a system I felt was hostile to any method of communication I was capable of. For about a year now even checking my notifications has been pointless, since I was quoted in a tweet by some corporate account that the spambots got hold of; literally all I saw in my notifications for a very long time was ads for various things attached to my name, retweeting that fucking train quote.

I understand the importance of twitter particularly in uplifting marginalized voices and chronicling major historical events in first-person witness accounts; I know people personally whose small businesses are absolutely fucked because they depended on twitter for almost all their PR and a vast portion of their sales, and that truly sucks. It’s easy to glibly say “and nothing of value was lost” but a lot of value is being lost.

But I also just hated everything about trying to use twitter. I can understand its importance and still hate it. I also don’t like the Mountain Goats even though they are vitally important to the emotional stability of like, half the people I know.

The upshot of this is that I eventually had only a dim understanding of the way twitter culture evolved, since I wouldn’t go near it with protective gear on. So I was absolutely dumbfounded to read articles about the Verification badge being put up for sale and to see people saying, “Well, if Twitter’s no longer trustworthy, why be there?”

It blew my mind to realize that in introducing verification in the first place, Twitter had given its entire userbase explicit permission to abandon critical thought when they saw that alluring blue bird. Because twitter verified people, it seems a huge number of users thought they didn’t need to question anything on the site and, because of the way most social media works, the site also quickly became a series of personal filter bubbles.

It makes the last few years make sense, in a weird way -- it’s not just that a massive chunk of culture abandoned critical thought, it’s that they were told that was okay to do, every day, every time their eyes hit the site. And Twitter is structured to offer diminishing returns on a hard dopamine hit, so a lot of people were on it a lot. I’m not throwing stones -- I’m physiologically constantly a quart low on dopamine, so I’m on Tumblr for much the same reason. And I’m not saying that anyone who is Chronically On Twitter has no critical thinking skills. But I am saying that it appears the vast majority of people who let their online critical thinking skills go slack did so because Twitter said it was okay. Twitter said, we’ll do the questioning for you.

(Watching Twitter implode as someone familiar with the psychology of D/s relationships is....also fascinating.)

The coverage of the Lilly tweet in particular is interesting in relation to this because it doesn’t seem like anyone is asking who made the tweet. Perhaps there’s no way to find out, but I don’t even see threats or attempts. Eli Lilly is suing Twitter and doesn’t seem even inclined to ask about the human who did it; nobody at Twitter, to my knowledge, has vowed to find and punish the perpetrator, which is hilarious given what Musk clearly wants to do to the people mocking him personally. No major media outlets seem interested in reporting on people discussing the question, let alone asking the question themselves, which indicates to me that nobody’s gone looking. If people are asking, they are not asking loudly or visibly.

And don’t get me wrong, I don’t want us to find the person who tanked Eli Lilly stocks en route to reopening the discussion about price-gouging in the healthcare field. I wish there was a way to buy them a beer and/or a vial of insulin. But the fact that nobody seems to even be asking the question is weird -- until you remember it’s twitter, and nobody asks questions when it comes to twitter. Why would you? Twitter does the asking.

And absolutely vitally -- where the fuck is Donald Trump?

(Questions you never think you’ll ask.)

Elon Musk promised to reinstate him; even if you claim staffing issues, he’s managed to kill all advertising on the site and switch off two-factor authentication, but he couldn’t flip the switch on Trump’s twitter account? Or personally offer him a new one under the aegis of the freest of speeches? Less than a day ago Trump was still trying to get the courts to give him his bluebird back. I don’t want him back on twitter, lord knows, but I’m perplexed that he’s not, because that was part of the package deal Musk was pitching.

It’s almost like Musk knows what the bridge too far is. And nobody is asking about that either.

I hope people who come here from twitter find joy here. I hope the ship of twitter is righted so that my friends who love it can go back to it, so that the artists and writers I know can get back a vital tool for their creative self-support and the activists I know can regain a great tool for effective organizing. Twitter is a huge part of the cultural landscape and I hope it ends up okay, and I hope the staff still there can get some rest.

But I also hope that this sharp cultural shock has been a reminder that letting someone else ask the questions means letting someone else control what answers you get.

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writingjourney · 5 months

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I’m in need of some advice and kind words. As a fellow writer I’m really struggling to believe people will and want to read my stuff. There’s no real engagement anymore and I’m worried that if I post my long-form fic that no one will give it a chance. It’s really bringing me down because I love it so much but it feels like no matter what I try to do my stuff just doesn’t get seen or liked? I’ve even thought about changing my entire way of how I do things since I don’t think the way I write is working for the masses. How do you keep up the motivation as a popular writer and do you have an advice?

Hello anon!! I feel like this is something many of us currently deal with. And first of all I seriously hope that you do share your story!! ♡

To be completely honest with you the lack of engagement in the fandom has for sure impacted my own motivation which is why I haven't been putting as much time into longer fics (nor the Friday Nights series or IKNBS, I do write but I refuse to force myself). I don't feel any urgency because uploading fics hasn't made me as happy as it used to. It feels like only other active writers are reading fic atm and it creates a lot of pressure on creatives to stay super active.

I'm aware that I'm insanely privileged to have the engagement that I do have, that the type of stories I want to write are also the type of stories that generally seem to appeal. However, engagement tells you NOTHING about the quality of your work, only how many people are active in a fandom or like a specific pairing/character/trope. Your own unique voice matters more than numbers.

I also notice that a lot of people who used to read my works have disappeared which I completely understand. The fixation can ebb away during times of inactivity or when a certain hype dies down. People just don't get that dopamine hit anymore and move on. It's also entirely possible they get tired of a certain style of writing and prefer other writers at times, what do I know. I definitely don't blame anyone for that. First and foremost people should read for their own enjoyment and engage with fandom in a way that makes them happy. It makes no sense to pressure people into engaging. A huge issue right now is people overthinking these things which makes support transactional instead of genuine.

I don't care much about notes but I REALLY miss the feeling of sharing a fic with people who are excited for it, that sense of an active community. BUT the activity will come back – the movie will come out, new music and videos, heck even a whole new Papa!!! That's the natural flow of things. We can't be excited and super active all the time, we need phases of calmness as well (which is an act of rebellion in the capitalist hellscape of overproduction and churned out content. I am honestly glad Ghost is taking it easy).

Now, I recommend you write your story exactly how you want to!!! do NOT change it for the sake of popularity because it will lose its very soul and you will struggle to be happy with it by the end. You know how you want to tell your story and nothing else matters. It will find its readers or you can wait and share it at a later point. I recommend that you approach other writers and readers and intensify that contact, make friends and talk to them about your stories, hype each other up, share snippets. It's even more meaningful to know people you like enjoy what you do. I am currently working on super niche fics for non-Ghost characters and I'm honestly having a great time chasing that dopamine by just writing what I'm really into and sharing it with friends. Fandom is community, fandom is fun and we can work to make it better for everyone.

A few general tips when it comes to making stories accessible: Format them to be readable (paragraphs!!), add a "read more" break, add proper content information and a nice summary to draw people in, add some visual appeal like a banners or stock image edits (like i do for IKNBS) and then tag the fics with relevant tags (and only those). Also make sure to tag the OG post, tags on reblogs do nothing for reach. Engage with the community when you feel like it and it's likely that the community will engage back. Being supportive is worth it, being kind is always worth it even if it amounts to nothing.

#your fear is valid and wanting engagement is valid!!!#but don’t let it stop you from writing :)#asks #anon

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breannasfluff · 1 year

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Quick question, how do you write so much? I fight the words for an hour and have maybe 2 paragraphs of garbage but you pump out really nice work almost every day??? I have so many ideas but I can’t write them for love nor money

I write almost every day, or I take a break and switch it out for drawing. I generally can write a chapter in one go, so usually stock up some backlog to cover days I’m busy. Having multiple stories now means I don’t have that backlog of some, so updates are a bit slower.

As for writing tips:

1. Remove distractions. Shut discord, exit out of tumblr, mute your phone. When you are stuck, don’t go scroll social media. When writing, the only thing I touch the internet for is if I need to check a story item, like a character name, item history, etc. I cannot overstate how important this is. If you are talking to your friends, you won’t have a writing flow.

2. Do not edit as you write. Writing and editing are two different tasks. You switch between creative and critical thinking and it breaks flow. This is a scientific process and you can read more about it here.

Research electroencephalogram (EEG) suggests both heightened electrical brain wave activity and elevated dopamine levels during flow. In other words, your brain experiences both electrical and chemical changes when you’re “in the zone.”

But once you switch to self-editing mode, you move to the critical thinking side of your brain. You halt all of freewriting’s creative electrical impulses and pleasure-sensing dopamine levels. Your mind flips off one switch and turns on another.

3. Set a time, then be done. Give yourself 20 minutes and write as much as you can. Doesn’t matter if it’s garbage. You can edit garbage into something useful or you can chuck it in a bin. Just try to write, then take a break. Staring at a blank document for two hours isn’t going to make words appear and it just stressed out your brain.

4. Have an outline. Sometimes a magical idea just flows when you sit down to write, but generally not. Have an outline of what you want to have happen in your story or chapter. It doesn’t need to be in depth; for most of my oneshots I literally have a sentence or two at the top of the page. The story needs to have a goal. For example: Wild tries to teach Hyrule cooking. It doesn’t go well. Bouncing ideas off friends can be a big help! It’s why you’ve probably seen me post about prompts and suggestions, and sometimes stories are gifted to people. Talking through plot ideas can help you get a better outline or idea of action.

Misc notes:

Hate to say, but some of it is just practice. I’ve been actively writing for a little over a year with some breaks on and off. Making it a habit is a big thing for making it easy. It’s harder to restart after a break.

When I first started writing I tried to pick one aspect to improve for each story. Filter words, pacing, varying sentence starters, story arcs, etc. Fixing multiple things at once was too much work, but one item at a time was doable.

Filter words make such a huge difference in writing; I encourage you to look them up. It’s a PAIN to remove them in post, but it also taught me to cut them out. Now it’s unconscious and while some still show up, I tend to write them out automatically.

You can learn to write quickly, but if you don’t also work on quality you’ll just…write a lot. That said, it’s fanfic. Sometimes it’s just for fun and quality doesn’t matter. I’ve got plenty of stories that will never be posted because they are just for fun.

Some of it could be writing speed, too? I use a bot a lot of times for timing and tracking and generally average 30-35 words/min. Harder story topics are slower to write, like angst and emotional scenes.

I’m actually writing less this year than last, but I don’t put as much time into it. It also keeps it sustainable as a hobby, although I definitely hit periods of frustration. It can get overwhelming.

If you search my blog for the tag #writing advice or #writing tips, you should fine some other things as well.

This was rather frank, but hopefully helpful! Feel free to drop further questions and I’ll do my best to answer 💜

#asks #writing advice #writing tips #writing #creative writing #fanfic writing

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crappymixtape · 1 year

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i hate you ( not )

REQUEST → anonymous, 500 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION ❝ love a good enemies to lovers smutty fic – anything works, just lots of sarcasm and name calling to build up the tension • 18+ | ( 3.6k – a nice lil mountain of angst that rolls down into a big ol’ valley of smut, steve x reader )

I H A T E Y O U ( N O T ) 🎶 dopamine, julius black

“Are you seriously following me right now?” you didn’t even bother looking over your shoulder as you shouted over the crunch of Steve’s shoes in the gravel behind you trying to catch up.

He was fucking impossible. Always finding a way to get under your skin. Telling you the way you stocked the shelves at Family Video was wrong. Making fun of your beater of a car. Chewing his chips so loudly in the break room you thought it’d make you go certifiably insane. Always obnoxious, but easily dealt with til now. When he’d gone too far.

A party down at the quarry. Too much beer and smoke and haze and the crack of the bonfire against the inky black sky. You were trying to talk to a boy you’d run into at the store, a cute boy. One that didn’t smack his lips or slurp his soda. One that didn’t look at you like you were the bane of his existence and it had been going so well for once.

Had been.

Until Steve.

“Yeah, they’re so fucking good live. Maybe I can take you next time they’re in town?”

“I’d love that,” your stomach flipped over, grin pulling at the corners of your lips as Liam looked down at you through his dark curls. Smiled at you warm and soft. Eyes deep and green, like the trees along the fence line at night and god, it was just nice to be treated like this for once.

“You don’t even like them,” Steve’s voice cut in as he stepped up next to you beer in hand, and your cheeks burned. Bright red, embarrassed and angry.

Liam looked over at Steve, confusion pinching between his brows and then glanced down at you.

“Oh, I thought you said–”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” you insisted, turning your back to Steve and trying your best to smile up at Liam, but the warmth on his face had faded.

“Okay,” Liam said, drawing out the vowel. Drinking the rest of his beer he tossed the can into the fire and jammed his hands into his pockets, “Well. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Wait! A-are you leaving? You just got here,” you protested, trying not to sound desperate. Liam was so sweet and all you wanted for once was just to have a nice time, but he was already turning to walk back up the hill.

“Yeah, sorry. I gotta be up early for work. I’ll call you,” he said, but you knew he wouldn’t as he forced a smile. Gave you a small half wave before heading across the gravel of the quarry and up to his truck.

“But–don’t you want to–” you stopped yourself short knowing it was useless. Steve chuckled behind you and you felt heat rise in your chest again.

Eyes squeezing shut and hands balled into fists, your nails pressed half moons into your palms as you spun back around to Steve. The glare you gave him wiped the grin right off his face and his lips twisted into a scowl.

“What?” he asked stupidly and you huffed a sound of disbelief.

“What d’you mean, what?” you shot back, taking a few steps toward him, “You just fucked that up for me. On purpose!”

“I did you a favor, that guy’s an idiot,” Steve grumbled and you laughed then. A hollow, humorless one that pushed itself from your lungs.

“You’re a real dick, Harrington,” you said, stepping up to him in defiance and he crowded down over you. Looked at you like a challenge. Eyes lit up bright in the firelight. Melted caramel. Amber. Whiskey and honey and you didn’t shy away from it.

“Oh, yeah? Well you’re no ray of sunshine, princess,” he was close enough now you could feel his breath warm over your cheek and the air grew thick, too hot, and it had nothing to do with the summer heat or the fire.

“Asshole,” you half whispered, using what little resolve you had left to tear away from him and stalk up the same hill Liam had toward your car, leaving Steve behind in a lurch.

You could hear gravel crunching behind you, the slip and slide of rock on rock punctuated by Steve’s sharp breaths.

“Are you seriously following me right now?”

“Yeah, if you just–Jesus Christ–slow down!” Steve’s feet skidded as he nearly tripped, but you kept going, digging in your purse for your keys.

You didn’t want to stay, didn’t want to hear whatever bullshit excuse he had loaded. You couldn’t. Not without ripping into him. Fumbling your key in your hand you jammed it into the lock just as Steve caught up, hands on his hips as he sucked in gasps of air.

“C’mon. Can you just–can you just gimme a minute?” he asked, out of breath and tone edging on pleading, but you resisted turning around.

“Why the hell would I do that?” you asked against your car door.

“Shit, princess. D’you really hate me that much?” his tone was even softer this time and you shook your head.

“Only as much as you hate me,” you snapped.

Finally getting the lock undone, you tried to wrench the door open, but Steve’s hand stopped you. Pressed into yours and kept it shut.

“God, what’s your problem?” you turned to hurl daggers at him, but the words died in your throat when you realized just how close he was.

Toes bumping into yours, hair falling all messy across his forehead, chest still heaving with the effort of jogging up the hill and everything blurred. Dizzy and spinning and even though you hadn’t been the one running, you couldn’t catch your breath.

“I don’t have one,” he said voice low and you felt your lips fall open at the way it made your stomach twist.

The anger that had settled in your chest shifting into something else. Something that felt dangerous. Swallowing thick you tried to shake your head, shake him, and you pulled your hand away from his.

“Sure seems like it,” you mumbled, mouth firmed in a line, trying so hard to stand your ground.

His brows pinched together. A mixture of frustration, uncertainty. Struggling to put words to the feelings that were squeezing in his chest, just as conflicted as you were. He looked at you through the long sweep of his lashes, eyes searching yours and bit at the inside of his cheek.

He thought he’d been in love with you the minute you walked into Family Video. Wearing your cut off jeans and an old baggy Hawkins High basketball jersey. Hair pulled up away from your face so that he could see the soft curve of your shoulders, the baby hairs that curled at the nape of your neck. You looked grumpy, frustrated, and the frown twisting across your lips drove him crazy. So did the heat in your tone as you talked to Keith, telling him you wanted was ‘a stupid job’ to pay for your ‘stupid bills’ and god if he didn’t feel stupid for staring.

There was no way you didn’t have a boyfriend. You were too hot. Too funny and sharp and cool. Hell, even if you didn’t have a boyfriend he figured there was no way he’d have a chance, so he did what he always did. Acted like he didn’t care. Needled you, pestered you, got under your skin. Got a little mean with it, but he hadn’t expected it to backfire. Hadn’t expected you play back and fuck if it didn’t make it worse.

Took to calling you Princess because he loved the way you glared at him.

Ate half your lunch just so he had an excuse to walk you across the street for a bag of chips.

Said you did things wrong just so you’d shove at him, tell him ‘if he was so good at it why didn’t he show you?’

And when he finally figured out you were single he felt like he’d fucked up. Like he’d taken it too far and there was no way he could be what he really wanted to be for you. No way to tell you how badly he wanted to take you out. How badly he wanted to treat you right. Hold your hand and call you baby.

Hey, baby.

How much he wished he could press his lips into yours and see if you tasted all sweet and tart at the same time. Sour on the outside, sugar on the inside. How he wanted to run his hands up your legs, feel you under him, tell you things that’d pull sweet sounds from your lips, but now you were here at this stupid party. Now there was Liam and he couldn’t help it.

Anything to keep him away from you and now he felt like he was answering for everything.

“See?” you insisted at his hesitation, huffing a sigh and turning back into your car, but Steve grabbed at your hand and spun you around again.

“S’not you!” he said a little too loud, cheeks burning with his admission and he bit his lips between his teeth, “It’s everybody else.”

Your face shifted skeptical, a little cynical, but he was so damn close. Too close and you tried to pull in a breath. Tried to hold onto your anger, but it slipped through your fingers like water. Scattered like wishes on a breeze as the scent of his cologne made you go all hazy. The look in his eyes pouring into you like kerosene on a fire. Made you want to grab fistfuls of his shirt in your hands and feel the full weight of him on you and–

“I don’t see what that’s gotta do with me,” you sniped, trying to keep your tone short, but it came out softer and he took the opportunity and ran with it.

“Everything, actually,” his lips tugged up into a small sheepish smile, but dropped again as he realized there was more to say. “I know I’m a dick–”

“You think?” you cut in and he leveled you with a look.

“Thanks,” he muttered and it pulled a little grin from you, but the next thing he said wiped it off your face, “M’sorry,” and your stomach flipped over at the way he was looking at you. “I just…I wish it were me,” he said, lifting a hand to your cheek and tucking a few stray locks of hair behind your ear.

Wish it were me. Your heart was racing.

“Wish what was you?” you whispered. Afraid to hear the answer. Holding your breath as he leaned in. Nose nearly brushing over your cheek. Close enough to kiss you if he wanted and god did you want him to.

“The one askin’ you out,” he whispered back and it struck you silent.

How was that possible? He was awful. Annoying and irritating and obnoxious and now he was telling you he wanted to ask you out?

“So ask me, Harrington,” you murmured and watched as his brows lifted in surprise, lips parted into a little ‘o’ as his brain raced to catch up.

“Wai–what?” he stumbled over his words and you pressed a hand to his chest.

“Ask me,” you said again and he huffed a laugh, tongue jammed into his cheek as he looked back down at you.

“Okay,” he managed, licking over his lips as he gathered himself back up, “C-Can I take you out?”

“Mmhm,” you murmured, nerves giving way to confidence and you pulled him down into you a little closer. Pressed your lips against his ear and whispered, “Kiss me.” And it nearly knocked him over.

Pulling away you looked up at him, whispered his name like a question and it blew his pupils wide. Dark at the center and fringed in gold and it was enough to make him lean back down. Soft and tentative at first, but bolder and braver when you sighed into him.

An exhale. A release. A realization of what you’d wanted this whole time and it made you grab his shirt in your hands, tilting your head to deepen the kiss and the sounds you pulled from each other were greedy.

More more more.

Hands splaying out over his chest you slid them up his shoulders and into his hair, pulling it lightly as his tongue licked into you and the moan he loosed made you press your thighs together.

“Shit,” he hissed, fingers pressing into the plush of your hips, mouth dragging hot down your neck and across your collarbone. Kisses messy and slipping on your skin and god you needed him. “Christ, princess, you drive me crazy,” he admitted and you grinned, all smug and holding the upper hand, but then he slotted a leg between your thighs and you lost it.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Felt like he was the only thing keeping you from falling away and it made you hold onto him tighter. You could still hear the laughter and the music down at the bonfire, but it sounded so far away. Both of you hidden in the thick, indigo shadows that fell out under the stand of trees, dark enough to not care what you were about to ask.

“Steve,” you pulled away just enough to speak and he stopped, both of you panting short breaths into the space between you.

“Sorry, can slow down if you want–”

“No–shit–” you squeezed your eyes shut to focus, “Don’t stop.” Swallowing thick you opened your eyes again and looked right up at him, “Just get in.”

Hands slipping against your car you fumbled to open the door to the backseat and half shoved him in before piling in after. When you closed it behind you the small space was suddenly filled with the sounds of your breaths. Quick and nervous and anticipating.

Steve sat on the bench, just as anxious as you were, and watched with heavy lidded eyes as you climbed over him. Straddled him with a leg on either side. Your dress hitching up and bunching at your hips and all he could do was grab onto your thighs for dear life. Pressing a hand into the seat behind his head you bit your lip between your teeth and pulled in a steadying breath.

“Here,” you whispered, taking one of his hands and sliding it between your legs. Making him feel the heat that had pooled there, showing him what he was doing to you and he groaned. A filthy sound that fell from his lips as he pressed his fingers against your soaked panties.

“Fuck,” he rasped, already wrecked from feeling how wet you were. “Okayokayokay. So fuckin’ hot, babe. Shit,” nonsense fell from his lips and you had half a mind to laugh at him, but his fingers were pulling your panties aside and touching you not your panties and it pulled a gasp from you.

At the sound his eyes darted up to look at you, make sure you were okay and you put your hand back over his. Moving his fingers in slow circles as they slipped against your slick.

“Like that?” he asked eyes still on you, keeping up the motion as your hand fell away.

You tried to say yes, but it melted into another moan and he leaned in to press a kiss to your neck. Mouth open and messy. Licking against the softness of your skin and sucking a bruise on it.

“Tell me,” he said into the hollow behind your ear, trailing kisses as he went, your hips rocking against his fingers as his circles grew tighter and faster.

“Like that–ye–yeah–yes. God, don’t stop,” you stuttered over your words hands moving to grip onto his shoulders as he slipped first one then two fingers inside of you.

He filled you up better than you could at home, your cheek pressed into your pillow, tears welling up in your eyes in frustration as you struggled to reach the spot you wanted. The hot drag of him sliding in and out in and out made you see white, made your tighten your hold on him and as you loosed another moan he bucked up into you.

You could feel how hard he was through his jeans against the bare skin of your thigh and it only made you want him more. “Steve,” you leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his, “Please tell me you have a condom.”

His fingers stopped moving and he loosed a heavy sigh, swallowing down the nerves that had pushed themselves into his throat. “Yeah, course, lemme just–” lifting his hips, and you, from the seat he yanked his wallet out of his back pocket.

He had stopped carrying them around after high school. Felt like it was fucking juvenile, but one time after Steve had watched you leave work, put his returns in the wrong spot and upside down, Robin had thrown one across the store at him. “Here, dingus,” she’d grumbled, “Don’t be an idiot.” And he’d been so embarrassed, afraid to tell her he didn’t think he’d ever need it, but he silently thanked her now. Always saving his ass.

Gently nudging you back into the headrests on the front seats he put his wallet down and fumbled his fingers against the button on his jeans. He was hard as a rock and when he undid his zipper it sprang out without any encouragement.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him as he ripped the foil of the condom wrapper between his teeth and thumb. Of course he drove you crazy at work, but you couldn’t deny you’d thought about him when you were alone in your room. Touching yourself beneath the sheets. Fantasizing about what it would be like and now that you were seeing it for real your heart hammered in your chest, legs slipping together as you grew wetter by the second.

He wrapped a hand around his length pumping once, twice, three times before rolling the condom down from tip to root and looking back up at you.

“Y’okay?” he asked, hands moving to hold onto your hips and you realized how ridiculous you must’ve looked.

“Mmhm,” you murmured and let him pull you slowly back into his lap.

“Gotta tell me if you aren’t,” he whispered and you nodded as he gave you a little smile, brushed your hair out of your face and looked just a little longer. “So pretty,” he said softly, words lighting a fire in your chest, and you pressed a kiss to him again. Sucking on his bottom lip and letting it go with a dirty pop and he thought he was going to come right there on the spot. “Sh–shit, okayokay,” he breathed, pressing his tip against your entrance, hesitating just a little and you helped him the rest of the way, pushing down slowly.

You watched as he filled you up, stretched you out until he was buried deep inside you, the tight fit making you squirm over him.

“Ohhh god, so tight, feel so good babe, Christ,” he rambled and you chuckled a little until he hit the soft, squishy spot at the back of you and you moaned loudly. Fell forward onto his chest and rolled your hips forward, silently begging him to move as if he could do anything else. “I got you,” he promised.

Hands gripping your hips again he slowly turned and lowered you down, your back against the seat bench, his arms on either side of you to hold himself up. Murmured soft, dirty things under his breath as he crowded over you, started rocking his hips into you, the wet sounds of you filling up the car.

“Wish you’d asked me sooner,” you whined, wrapping your legs around his waist and he gave you a smug little smile.

“Yeah? Worth the wait?” he asked, breath hitching in his throat as he picked up the pace, fronts of his thighs slapping against the backs of yours.

“Shut up,” you gasped as he bottomed out inside of you. Tangling your fingers into his hair you pulled and it dragged a groan from him as he started to fuck you faster. Slipping a hand between your legs you drew tight, messy circles over your clit, pushing yourself closer and closer to the edge. “Ste–shit. Steve, harder,” you practically begged and the pleading tone in your voice sent him.

“Harder,” he said back, it was all he could muster, wrecked and chest heaving with each breath he sucked in, fucking into you with heavy thrusts, “M’so close.”

Opening your mouth a so close almost fell from your lips too, but the coil in your stomach had been so tightly wound that the combination of your fingers over your clit and Steve finally made it snap.

You clenched tight around him as you both rode out your climax. Head pressed against the seat and eyes rolling back to look out the window at the stars. The moon as it hung lazy in the sky. Steve spilling sweet words of praise into your ears and bringing you back down to earth. Wrapping you up soft and warm in his voice.

He rested his forehead against yours, both of your brows dewy with sweat, and let out a contented sigh as he softened inside you.

“Wish I’d asked you sooner too,” he murmured, poking fun at himself with your words from earlier and you leaned up to press a kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Worth the wait,” you finally agreed and he grinned.

God damn, was it worth the wait.

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