#I even cried about this cause I’m such a baby lmao

[kedsandtubesocks]

after taking the smallest mini break away from my phone because talking to my old college friend got me so down with how judgmental she was about me being a reader insert fic writer and reminding myself l don’t need that type of self centered and negative energy in my life & I just wanna enjoy having fun with y’all

[cryptfile]

✶ nuclear seasons, [ soldier boy x reader ]

summary — he was friend’s with your mom. friend is a understatement cause when he appears in the middle of the night looking for revenge in your little apartment in the suburbs, you know he’s far from being nice.

warnings — +18 minors dni, smut, dead dove do not eat, we have a last name (also a mother!), kind of porn without plot? but not really cause it HAS one okay, we call it 50/50, fem!reader using she/her pronouns, p in v, masturbation ( m! receiving but blink and you miss it), dirty talk, age gap, choking, degradation, spitting (i'm sorry), fingering, mentions of injury, cancer (not you tho), tons of tension.

side notes — i’m never experiencing the post ovulation clarity lmao, that being said english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes, also i’m a whore for jensen ackles, and i stand for what i like proudly. // 5k+

Nightshade is a hero.

You're proud of your mother since you were pretty young. The hero that fought against Vought to death during the time Payback was active, America’s Troublemaker that you only knew as Stella Nightshade, a blonde woman that talked with the death during her golden years.

Maybe it’s your mother the one that pushed you to fight crime, to pursue the bad guys and look out for the victims that can’t stand for themselves, so even when you don’t inherit much from Stella’s gifts, you joined the CIA as soon as you can so you can do something that matters.

You’re the best in your class, work your ass off to be taken serious, to be more than the look of disappointment you receive when people ask, once again, if you have any powers like your mother and you have to admit — In pure shame, that you didn’t born as a superhero but a baby who cried loudly when is too hungry.

But as years pass you make a name for yourself, one that even if differs from Stella’s job has the same noble reasons behind. You also realize you were too naive growing up, believing in heroes that don’t deserve to be called that way.

The country has made a mistake on making superhumans so openly, and it’s clear that got out of control now, backfiring as they got so much power it’s almost impossible to take accountant of any of them.

You’ve worked along Grace Mallory from the shadows, and even when Stella would not be so proud of you for helping get his kind out of the streets, the justice is enough to feed you and keep you warm on a cold night.

You like it that way. You know Grace has a team for it, a legal army of supe-haters as you called them, yet, you prefer to stay in the dark, not let your personal life get involved cause one slip and you can lose it all— Even when you don’t have nothing at all. You like to have an outside life from work, it’s the sane thing to have, so when the CIA Deputy Director asks you about joining the infamous Boys, you politely decline assuring the woman you’ve been more helpful from the outside.

What would Stella Nightshade would say? Now that you’ve grown older and you don’t look at her the same way you used to when you encounter her files and read about your mother. You know she has done wrong, yet with the years, you don't imagine Soldier Boy himself was going to seek for revenge first thing he does when he wakes up, his plan including your mother even when she was long time dead before he even appeared in the picture.

That night especially you let your guard down. It's been a rough couple of weeks back in work, so when the night comes you're a victim of the stress, victim of your bosses and the people that surrounded you. You pour a glass of wine for yourself, light a cigarette even when you haven't smoked in years, and turn on the TV to see something else rather than the face of Homelander in every single channel you've been tuning lately.

It's a weapon. When you leave for a warm shower and start filling the bathtub, you're not aware of what that night was really going to be for you. Oblivious as you stand naked in the middle of the bathroom, holding the glass of wine between your fingers before entering the warm current that relaxed your muscles.

It seems tension is your worst enemy, makes your muscles feel like stone as you got in the water, the cigarette that hangs from your dry lips splashing with tiny droplets of perfumed water as the silence filled the air. It's what you needed, at least ten minutes with your brain shutting off completely, the pleasure you haven't experienced in forever by being so compromised with work.

It's a much-needed break. The smoke that leaves the room by the almost-closed window, the taste of wine still lingering in your lips as you sip another taste of the crimson liquor you love. You don't happen to notice when he's breaking in your apartment, silent and deadly as you were protected by a door closed and a white curtain.

You don't happen to hear him too. The music coming our from your phone is loud enough to silence the knocks on your door at first before breaking the wood, you're too deep in the still water that smelled like roses and vanilla, to even pay attention to what was going on outside the warmth of the four walls that surrounded you.

There's vapor coming out of the water and you find comfort in closing your eyes, in letting the blow of the smoke travel through your throat before suspending itself in the air, flowing as you drank.

In your defense, you haven't been like that in ages.

It's been a long time since you last fill the tub and have a relaxing session with yourself, so it makes sense you are enjoying it a little bit too much, too much cause when the invader is making a lot of noise when stepping into your property, you still enjoy the taste of the alcohol on your lips.

The ashes fall to the ceramic floor outside the tub and you should blame the CIA to make you so tense to the point it leads you to more problems than you ever had. In the dark room of your apartment, it's Soldier Boy the one who's going through any drawer he comes across, the ones closed, the ones hidden, any slit he can find, any clue that can trace your mother back to his personal vendetta.

He's oblivious to Stella's death and her daughter, so when the former superhero hears the noise in the bathroom he's fully convinced it's your mother the one who's behind that door, that she's the one who's going to tell him the truth, if she also sold him to the russians as well in the process.

He's decided also on killing her. She must need it after all that time getting older, closer to death more than ever.

Of course it's an unpleasant surprise when you can see the bathroom door opening when you're sure you left the front door closed and lock with at least two bolts to prevent anyone from getting inside, it makes you jump in the spot, quickly covering yourself from the new stranger that enters your bathroom.

"Stella?" he asks, it's the last room that the hero needs to check for himself.

You spot the green fabric of his suit immediately as you pressed your chest against the cold surface of the tub, and when the invader notices you're naked, he doesn't look away as any person with a hint of respect would do, but instead, continue on checking you out as you try to cover yourself in the water tinted in a nonexistent transparent color red.

You can feel his gaze as soon as you recognize him too, as you happen to notice that face from your mother's pictures, the propaganda in the TV when he did almost every commercial back when you were a kid. It's a shock, and dressed in his damn suit, you don't know why an old superhero is there standing beneath the yellowish bulbs of the light your bathroom happens to have.

Your cheeks adopt this pink color as you panic, grabbing the cup of wine to throw the liquid in the floor, breaking it against the marble walls just to shatter the glass in pieces, a weapon of defense as you lifted up against him.

"You're not Stella."

Soldier Boy looks amused: it's funny that you think you'd be able to kill him with shattered glass, yet he lets you keep thinking that way when he's enjoying the view.

Is he to blame? He just got out from this giant cooking oven back with the communists and he hasn't got his way with a lady since what seems are centuries, so when he spots you in the tub he simply cannot contain himself from peaking around. You should be in what? Not more than your 20's? Soft-looking skin that asked to be marked with his hands, by the force of his lips crashing in your flesh.

The thought is compelling, you're looking all feisty with the glass in your hand, threatening him and speaking something Soldier Boy cannot catch at first — Shit, he doesn't even notice the blood in your hand that's dripping all over your small rug in the floor, the power women like yourself seemed to have now and weirdly enough, a huge turn on.

"Get the fuck out!" you scream in an authority voice, the same you use back at work when you're mad, when you're usually holding a gun in defense more than a piece of broken glass "Stella is not fucking here!"

It takes a few more words to actually get him out of there, and as he closes the door behind him you finally stand to grab a towel covering from the currents of wind, trying, really hard, to think about anything else more that the fact that Soldier Boy has entered your house and your bathroom in the worst moment, far from what you were last updated with.

To be honest, it almost gave you a heart attack, leaving the bathroom to find your home torn apart, the drawers open and all the papers you've meticulously kept in place being all over the place as Ben stands awkwardly holding a shield in the middle of your living room.

"Fucking hell" you're cursing under your breath as you gathered some important things you cannot leave on the floor even when you're still wet from the shower, expelling this nice aroma that mixed the roses and the vanilla together with your personal scent — Weirdly enough, a fucking show to the hero that's already rock-hard from the peak he had of you from before.

You don't really notice it at first, too busy being mad as you let the papers you gathered on top of the table. You lose the shame you got left as the wet drops of the shower leave a trace in the floor — And as usual, you clearly don't notice it, but Ben does when the water is running down your back, and you're barking something about calling someone called Grace, holding onto a white tower with your dear life.

"Where is Stella Nightshade, sweetheart?" he speaks out loud cause he don't understand anything you say, really fighting to be nice with you like it would give him an opportunity to get under your skin.

"My mother's dead," you stand there without knowing what to say after. You know he and your mother were close, but you don't imagine he was going to actually go find her teammate when he recently woke up in a different country. "She died years ago dude, i'm sorry."

The information gathers in his head as you take a clean oversized shirt from the laundry basket covering with it as you throw the towel to the floor, Red Hot Chili Peppers it says, but he thinks it's a place in Italy more than a band like he isn't troubled already by the fact you were Stella's daughter, the person who thought was her only friend back in the time now dead.

"Does anyone know you're here?" your mind is drifting back to work again as you wondered if anyone knew he was going to break into your apartment and choose not to send any help — "Ben."

You've read his file. Hell, to be honest you've read every single file in Payback, so it's no surprise you know his name, but to the hero, it seems to be amusing when you call him by his real name, his mind fueled in a different direction as he notices you're not wearing any underwear beneath the shirt you're choosing to wear, one whose fabric's barely covering your tights.

"What do you mean dead?" he asks, furrowing his brows "It's not been so long."

"She got cancer three years ago" you explain with a sad tone, even when you disagree with Stella, it pains you to remember what sickness made out of her, consuming her from the inside at a cruel pace.

"Motherfucker," he states clearly angry, and you cannot help but look at him with a weird face, searching for the phone you left in the sofa to call any-fucking-body in the office that could send a damn army to get you: Didn't the Boys have everything under control? That's what you're told anyway, then why the fuck is the subject of matter cursing in your little messy apartment? — "Bitch just got away with it before I could do anything, isn't it? What a fucking shame."

"Pardon me?" it catches you by surprise at first, but it hits you soon after. Soldier Boy is not there to say hello to your mother or ask for her help, but instead, he's there to get revenge and actually kill Stella by his own matters.

Fuck. Of course is something new, something that makes you feel cold all sudden, your wet hair making you visible shake as you became aware of his plans.

"You know them. You know the people from the lab" it's more of a fact than a question, letting the words feel salty in his own mouth. "The ones that let me get away."

He's quickly to gather the pieces too, not as dumb as you think he is as the puzzle is finally coming up together in his head, and it's all it takes for him to take a step closer to you, cutting that space you've created since you kicked him out of the bathroom — He's angry now.

The red globe on his hand is now holding you by the throat, applying enough pressure to cut the air flow going to your lungs almost completely, his fingertips warm against your bare skin as he holds you in front of his figure, pushing you against the cold wall.

You usually would enjoy such activities, yet in the context you are trapped in right now, you began to choke, your own hands trying to push his grip back even when he’s too strong, not even flinching when you’re squirming, gasping for some air as your face became red, tears gathering in your eyes as he let you breathe for a couple of seconds when he senses you’re too close to black out.

“Talk little Nightshade” he says in a low voice. “Or else i’m breaking your pretty neck.”

“I work for the CIA!” You explain quickly as your breathing became more labored by the seconds. “Not for the people who let you out! I promise!”

He’s going to kill you. You can see the determination in his eyes, that predator look he happens to have.

What you don’t know, somehow, is that he’s going fucking insane. Your smell coming up to his nose to make him shiver, the sight of you in an oversized shirt that barely covers your shape is more than enough to push his buttons, to make him forgot about any killing he was allegedly so concentrated in fulfill, the sight of you almost crying messing with his brain.

Little Nightshade is a fucking tease.

His eyes follow your expression, the hand that gripped your neck and choke you harshly now pressing enough to only suppress the air flow in a more enjoyable way, the tension quickly shifting from dying to pleasure all over again as he kept you in place so easily.

It’s impossible to move, to do anything more than be pressed against a cold wall. Your mother has once again lied to you and you notice the relationship she painted with Soldier Boy was more of a movie in her head than reality itself. Makes you gulp in response when you stare at his expression, the face of a trained killer as you knew, fucking knew, a bit more of force in your neck and it would snap without any difficulty.

“I don’t work with them” you assure once again, maybe it’s your survivor skills hitting when you repeat it in a low voice, catching on your breath when he lets go allowing you to fill your lungs with air just enough before pressing that very spot again, the one that actually turns you on. “Fuck’s sake.”

Is that how you end? On your lame apartment?

The next is a weird thing, cause in the blink of an eye he’s close to your face planting his own body next to yours and you’re shivering at the feeling, his armor pressed against your chest as he left the shield he was holding on the floor.

The metal is pressed against your skin covered by the thin cotton of Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt, and he is so close, so close you froze there, no longer fighting his tight grip but mesmerized by his damn face, the same you watched on TV when you were a kid, the handsome man you happen to severely crush on in secret, just because you don’t want Stella to know or she will give you a long talk about how he is her age.

But he is, handsome as fuck, and now being so close to his face you can say it with all confidence. His beard is shaved perfectly and he smells incredibly good even for someone who has spent time locked away without any kind of hygiene, his green suit protecting him from the cold air that was getting through the opened window.

“Who are you?” he asks, scanning your face with a curious look as he wanted to know what expression you would have when you know why he's there in the first place — “What do you know about Stella Nightshade, your mother, selling me out?”

Fuck. So that's why he's there. You know she did it. And it's impossible for you to lie when he's making you so nervous, away from any weapon, any form of defense as you left the glass in the bathroom sink when you notice large gash on your hand, and your silence makes nothing more than leave him fuming. If he was angry before, he now reaches a higher level as his grip turns more violent now that he knows you know what he meant, why he's there claiming to talk with your death mother out of nothing.

"Call her then. Use your powers" he demands dryly, and you're shaking at this point cause it's more shame added to the long pile, the bathroom already being a humiliation by itself. "Fucking call her."

You squirm beneath his grabbing, when he's pushing you harder against the concrete wall and you can just feel him from under the suit, hard cock pressing against your belly, green in your vision as he towers over you. He knows what he's doing, and even when you try to be disgusted by it, you find yourself enjoying his closeness, how he's pinning you with no effort at all, hands on your throat while he demanded an answer.

"I can't call her" you admit in a low voice, cheeks now red as the embarrassment crept upon your face — "I don't have my mother's power."

Soldier Boy seems to not believe you for a mere second, after that you can feel the blade of the knife pressing against your skin, a threat that now becomes more real as you can feel the cold metal stomach. One swift movement and you'd be stabbed without a second thought.

It's sick how much you enjoy it when you are squirming against him, goosebumps in the zone he threats to destroy.

A force pull his lips upwards in a smile, unable to pay attention to nothing else but the sound you made without even realizing it. "You like that, huh little Nightshade?"

It seems to be a joke for him, bitting your inner cheek to prevent you from saying something stupid, from letting out a moan in response to all the sudden desire.

Despite all conditions you stay silent, holding his gaze like it's a game you're not going to lose. He didn't respond either, trapped in a second that seemed longer than the usual when time stopped around you, eyes looking like he can surpass the old fabric of the white shirt you choose to wear.

It's the tension what makes you mad. You're so into getting people like him, that your ego is bruised now that you notice you are actually attracted to all of that, to the way he's pressing you against the concrete, how all falls into place when he's pushing himself against you, invading any private space you could require.

He's kissing you soon after. Ben crumbles against the tension as the hand on your throat demands a kiss now, pulling you closer to his face without any warning nor concern as he crash his lips against yours in a rough kiss. You try to push him away in response even when you don't want to; see, it's hard to even admit you have interest in Soldier Boy in any other way more than the professional, but when he's bitting your lower lip you're letting your defense down: When is the last time you've been kissed like that?

You remind yourself you're tired from work, that the CIA has done nothing for you more than fuck your over and over even to this point, losing sight of one of the most important heroes of the word, and it's making you encourage to let go just for a mere hour.

"Lookin' so good takin' a bath" he says, and the sound of his deep voice is enough to send an electric wave through your spine, like he’s talking to himself as the hand on your hip is now tracing the curves of your body, taunting you from over the shirt he now learns to love. His beard is now scraping against your skin and you can feel his lips going down, tracing an invisible path to the crook of your neck as his hand is no longer choking you.

Jesus. Was that even happening or was that your imagination? Did you feel asleep on the bathtub? Maybe it’s a reflection as you are close to drowning, your brain doing that happy thoughts shit. You’re tilting your head to the side just to give him more space to work with and you’re just letting it be, enjoying how he’s sucking and nibling on your skin to leave a red mark behind, all teeth and no fucking control as he uses a good amount of force to make you moan in the process, the pain enough to remember who’s really on charge.

Ben forgets about asking any more questions, he’s too busy when his hand are taking decisions by themselves as they slide under your shirt, body still cold from the bath you just took, water still drying in your flesh when he’s like he usually is — An invader.

His hands are big and they’re capable of holding your whole tummy as he caress the soft skin that seems to expel a warm sensation, how it leaves goosebumps in any place he touches. You remember you’re basically at his mercy now that his hands roam with all liberty under your shirt, the look he gave you in the bathroom mistaken you for Stella, his eyes looking at any exposed skin he could look at.

“What the fuck,” you try to say under your breath, to keep on this facade you have of a composed person, one that won’t give in to be manhandled “What the fuck do you think you are you doing?”

“Well, i’m not seeing any complains” The blade cuts through the cotton leaving a large hole you know you won’t be able to sew after yet he’s right: There are no complains, nothing but eager that makes him go further as the seconds passed “In fact, can see that you’re pretty much enjoying it, Doll.”

You hate the nickname, that old man way of speaking when he’s squeezing one of your breasts with more force you can even handle, cursing at how easy it seems to be for him, how he wants to see you simply destroyed.

“You’re loving this isn’t?” he ask all sudden, studying you with his hazel eyes — “You love being a good whore f’me? My little Nightshade.”

He’s hard under the suit, covered in a green material you don’t know how to call as your hand searches for him, crave for him, convincing that it's what you must do as you trace the invisible lines his muscles made.

Soldier Boy’s messy, much like an animal when he’s groaning beneath your touch, his own body seeking for yours as your fingers grew bolder, demanding for a deeper contact — “Careful there sweetheart, i’m still fresh out of the oven. May be a little rusty."

You laugh at his words cause you know what he means, yet your hands work by themselves as you barely even touch him from over the suit, the hard feeling of his cock against your palm, hips buckling against your hand seconds after seeking for you, eyes shut for a couple of seconds.

“M’being careful” you say, catching yourself stealing a look at his reaction, taking your time on pleasuring him , gulping as he experiences the torture of your touch “Taking it slow for an old man.”

“Old man, huh? Now you're talking” He teases, and the sound of his laugh just fucks you up. Maybe it has to be with the fact he’s placing two fingers in front of your lips while looking at you, swollen pink lips he’s so fixated for a second, or it’s because he is, indeed, way older than you are — “Spit.”

It’s not a command, but it sounds like one as you’re unable to disobey, quickly spitting in his hand as you can visibly see the traces of saliva leaving a wet residue in your chin, one Ben looks at it for a good amount of time: How is something like saliva is so damn erotic? He doesn’t know it, but it’s enough to send him into a spiral.

He’s strong you think, cause he’s a superhero. He’s Soldier Boy by any meaning, so it’s not a big effort to hold you in his arms and lift you in the air as you let out a gasp of surprise, spanking your ass as one of his hands separates your legs for him, holding one up as you stand in the other.

“Relax, 'got you, doll” he says, your back against the wall as he kept a bruising grip in your hip, holding you in place so you don’t have to keep your balance — “Fuck you smell so damn good.”

The roses and vanilla aroma lingers on your skin as you finally understand what he's doing now, his hand close to your cunt as he taunts you, torturing you like you did so eagerly before, his personal pet as his digits get lost in your entrance now, your folds spilled with juice he can physically feel in his fingertips, your arousal's so nice against the palm of his hand he cannot help but kiss you, a feverish desire taking over his actions, the lewd sound his fingers made when he finally pushes his digits inside of you, velvety walls welcoming him as they seemed to squeeze him already — He has made such a good job on turning you on, it’s impossible to not react when he’s finally touching you, pumping into you in a constant pace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, the look on your face is enough to make his cock twitch in his pants in response, imagination running wild as he thinks about that very same feeling in a much deeper way, how you’d look now stretched out, crying just like you did when he choked you asking for information — “Such a nice cunt, so wet f’me.”

He's looking at you, holding the image in his mind forever: Pink pussy displayed for him, white t-shirt rising over your chest, lifting your leg over his arm as his muscles flexed by the force he's using to fuck you deliberately, your lips parted as you ask for more in between erratic moans as his fingers curved inside you so he can hit that nice place he can reach with no effort at all, that one spot thats makes you moan louder.

"Ah-fuck" you let out. Ben's all about touching you for what it seems an eternity, thumb grazing against your clit when he's plainly torturing you, testing how much patience you have left now that he has full control of you.

"Don't cum," he demands, your heartbeats are louder by the seconds as he lifts you slightly, lips attacking your neck before the words escape from his mouth "Need you to come undone in my cock first."

He's leaving marks, marks you don't remember how to hide but don't bother you at all, touching you as he pleases you, taking all the time in the world cause it seems like the night belongs to him — Getting started as you shake your head in an improvised yes.

Yes. The thought is pure electricity, the sudden need to please him as you shake your head once again.

“Please Ben,” you don’t recognize what you’ve become now. “Please let me cum in your cock.”

"Go on doll, put on a show f'me" the supe says with a grin you cannot resist. "Bend and show me that lovely ass."

It’s all it takes. His fingers are now away from you, but you’re now facing the wall as you obey, bending until your cheek is pressed against the concrete and you can hear how he’s now unzipping his pants, the green fabric of his suit now to the side.

You look at him from over your shoulder, bitting the your lower lip as you check him out, his slightly curved dick pointing upwards, precum already leaking out.

“Like what you’re seeing or what?”

“Yeah, but there’s no fucking way.”

You’re feeding on his ego now, but you can’t help it when his size is far from what you consider it’s common — “Common’ doll. You can hadle it.”

You gulp in response cause you know you’re more than eager to try, just the sight of his own hand holding his lenght as he strokes himself making you drool in response. Fuck. It transforms in a need now. When he positions himself beneath you and he’s spitting down to that very place where he’s pushing against your hole, saliva coating his cock before just letting the tip inside.

Lubricated, he pushes a bit more and it feels just damn right. Even when it begans to hurt as he’s thick enough to force himself inside you.

Benjamin knows you’re in pain so he waits a second before shoving his cock inside one more time. You need some time as he stretches you out, clenching your teeth while he works.

"You're doing it s'good" he praises, hand massaging your back as he prevents himself from fucking you at his liking, “Takin' me like a champ."

"God" you let out a sharp moan moments after, crying when you felt the pain more than anything else — "Can't-"

"No doll" he hums as he pulls slightly more. “You can do this” he forces himself in until he's finally balls deep inside your cunt, letting you adjust to his size as he can feel fucking everything. Your blood flow, your velvety walls that squeeze him unused to someone as big as he was, your face distorted in what seems an intense mix of pain and pure, devastating pleasure — "Atta girl."

Strikes like lighting.

Soldier Boy's bitting your shoulder-blade as he waits, waits for it to switch into pleasure, to become intoxicating to the point you cannot longer remember your own name.

"Please move," you ask sooner than he thinks, and when he moves, you can feel it in your belly, melting your fucking brain as he repeated the process again, burying his cock as deep as he could go without any previous warning — "Ah, just like that, please-"

"Do you like how my cock is stretching you out now?" Ben's voice is way deeper than what usually is as he laughs, grunting behind you as one of his hands reach a fistful of your hair, grabbing it with force to pull your head backwards "Good girl, keep huggin' my cock."

You're drunk on the feeling, on the vibrations his voice sends every time he's saying something dirty for you, when he laughs victim of the pleasure.

"Gonna' keep you as my personal slut," he thinks out loud, pushing you against the wall every time he fucks you, using his other hand to spread one of your ass cheeks to the side so he can hit it harder. "Use you as my fucking pet so I can cum on your pretty face whenever I want."

He's moaning, your body’s sweaty as he pulls your hair without caring, not concentrated on the pain it produces as his hips continue on collide against you.

"Would you like that, little Nightshade?" he asks then in a low voice, his thumb pressing against your asshole as he fucks you harder now that you're used to his size. "Could get used to this pretty cunt. Promise to keep my cock whore nice and full."

It doesn't take long. Soldier Boy's moans are now filling the room as his pace becomes faster, slurred words between his erratic breathing when the hand on your hair comes up to finally grab you by the neck, like he can read your mind cause it's exactly what you need to get there, to experience by first hand a set of crashing waves that were getting more and more intense on your stomach.

You're close to the edge. He can smell it in the air when the sound of your skin slapping against his is loud enough to be all you can hear, mixing with the lovely moans you produce when he’s pounding into you with no mercy, fingers pressing the side of your neck with enough force you’re running out of breathe.

It’s messy, violent and you love it, love how he’s ruining you all sudden, fucking you up from the inside, making your vision turning dizzy in response. You’re immersed in the haze he’s driven you into before admiting:

“God i’m so fucking close.”

“Cum on my cock,” it sounds like he’s begging you to do it, fingers finding their way to your swollen clit to move against the sensitive flesh “Come on doll, leave me full of you.”

He’s making you move now, hands now controlling your hips as you take him as his liking, mere seconds until you’re finally crumbling, violently shaking as you finally reach your peak. He keeps on fucking you through your high, long enough so he’s pulling out all of sudden, stroking his lenght over you as his cum finally lands on your back leaving you convered with his load.

Fucking hell.

When you’re coming down from your orgasm shame seems to hit you hard, however for Ben is not enough when he’s kneeling on the floor, eyes on the mess his cock made out of you.

“Wanna go again, little Nightshade?” he asks curiously, and the question makes you laugh in response, forgetting about formalities and the trouble it meant you were intimate with Soldier Boy out of all the supes in the world.

“Hm,” you seem to think about it for a second, his breathing close to your wet pussy as he’s still wearing his clothes in contrast of you being so exposed — “But you’re keeping the suit on.”

He don’t have any complains when he’s the one pressing his face against your wet folds.

Funny thing is now when you’re forced to join the Boys days after that very encounter — A bad joke when you’re now babysitting Soldier Boy himself.

“Been missing you s’much little Nightshade” he admits after a couple of minutes alone in the filthy motel “Thinking about how cute you are, how you felt taking my cock so nicely in your living room.”

“Fuck off, Ben.”

“We’ll be quick” he promises “That stupid assholes back there wont even notice.”

You seem to think about it for a second before lifting your middle finger in response — “I said fuck off, Ben.”

For now, it’s enough for him that you’re thinking about it.

my masterlist

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

beautiful mess | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick knows exactly how to comfort you in a moment of insecurity.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, menstruation, fluff, boyfriend!finnick being a cutie patootie, angst, mild hurt/comfort, insecurity, a little overdramatic but it’s cute idc

notes: about to get my period so this is kind of self-indulgent lmao. the number of times I rewrote this is insane. i hope i didn’t disappoint <3

“You know, I think I could pull off one of those long wizard beards,” Finnick said, admiring himself in the bathroom mirror as he shaved down the slight stubble on his jaw. “Those ones that go down to your chest? I could decorate it with little seashells and twine. It’d look hot, don’t you think?”

His playful words didn’t register in your mind.

Frustrated tears threatened to spill as the hairbrush in your hand tugged harshly at the roots of your hair. Nausea was bubbling in your stomach as you stared at your reflection, feeling as though not a single human being in history had ever looked as ugly as you did right now.

“Sweetheart?”

Here you were standing next to a Greek god, meanwhile, your skin was all hot and blotchy, your hair was a tangled mess, and your stomach was aching something awful. Christ, you hated being on your period.

A hard lump was lodged in your throat; you tried to swallow it, but there was no use. Warm tears had already begun to stream down your cheeks. Unable to bear the sight of yourself any longer, you turned away from the mirror. As you reached for the bathroom door handle, a sharp unexpected cramp pierced at your insides, causing your legs to buckle and collapse to the cold tiled floor.

That was the last straw. You just couldn’t hold it in anymore. A disharmony of cries burst from your lips, reverberating around the small room as your shuddering body folded over itself. Curse the Fates for having you been born a girl.

Finnick, now switched to panic mode, quickly dropped to his knees before you, eyes wide and alert.

“Hey, hey!” he said soothingly as his hand moved to rub your back in support, though he wasn’t even sure what he was supporting.

A thousand-and-one distressing thoughts flew through his mind. Had someone died? Were you injured? Were you dying? Obviously, these ideas were a little irrational considering you were just standing next to him a second ago. But seeing the love of his life in pain and not knowing why made him fear the absolute worst.

“Baby, what happened? What’s wrong?”

All you could do was sob in response. You felt pathetic. Stupid, ugly, and pathetic. “How can you—” Another sob left your lips— “stand to look at me?!”

You could feel his hand stop moving which, illogically, made you even more upset.

“What?” he asked quietly. “What do you mean ‘stand to look at you’? Please, sweetheart. Talk to me.”

Finally, you forced yourself to sit up, revealing the tears that streaked your distraught expression. Finnick’s brows scrunched together, almost like he was in pain watching you in such a state of disarray. He tried to think of anything he might’ve done to make you feel this way because, of course, the first thing Finnick Odair would do was blame himself. But nothing came to mind.

Your heavy heart sank—he looked so worried. A part of your brain knew you were overreacting. Justa little bit. It made you feel even more terrible, knowing he was panicked simply because you didn’t like how you looked. Nevertheless….

“I look so ugly!” you cried. “My hair is all knotted, my face is all red and gross, my stomach is cramping, and—and… I’m just a mess!” You buried your face in your hands. “Why are you even with me?”

Shock was an understatement compared to what Finnick felt when those words left your mouth. Never in a million years would he believe someone like you—someone who looked like you—could ever possibly be insecure about their appearance, and now, of all times.

He gently reached out and removed the hands that shielded your face. You attempted to turn away to conceal yourself in shame, in fear that if he got too close, he would discover your flaws and see you the way you saw yourself. But he caught your chin with a single finger and compelled you to meet his gaze.

Yes, your skin was a little red and your eyes were a little bloodshot, but that didn’t mean you looked ugly. In fact, your rosy cheeks glowed with such radiance that the teardrops falling from your crystalline eyes looked like shimmering diamonds. Your lips, which were slightly quivering, were reddened and plump—an alluring contrast to the hue of your skin.

Not that he would say it given the insensitivity and selfishness of admitting such a thought, but he believed you cried quite beautifully.

“Because I don’t think you’re a mess,” Finnick said softly, ironically tucking multiple disordered strands of hair behind your ear. “You’re human, and you don’t need to look or feel perfect all the time. That’s why you’ve got me—I’ll always think the most of you. And when you’re feeling this way, I’ll always remind you so too.”

You tried to allow his compassionate words to seep into your brain, tried to turn his beliefs into your own. However, the storm of emotions inside your mind was refusing to dissipate. The insecurities just wouldn’t subside and Finnick could see it in your glossy eyes.

“Listen to me,” he said, his thumb brushing away a tear that fell across your skin. “Waking up and seeing your gorgeous face next to mine? That’s what gives me the strength to get up every morning. Those imperfections you’re so adamant about? They only make me love you so much more.

I love every part of you. Every so-called flaw, every tangled strand of hair on that pretty little head of yours.” He grinned as he consolingly ran his fingers through your hair which, in his opinion, was perfectly soft and smooth. “You’re my girl and nothing will ever make me want it any other way.”

Hearing his declaration had your heart aching in your chest. Your hand curled around his arm, needing some physical anchor to the reassuring words he spoke. There was nothing but sincerity in his voice, a sure-fire sign that he was telling the truth.

You realised you never had to worry about Finnick finding you unattractive. Though you were a little worried he was partially blind which, unfortunately, represented your own seemingly unshakeable insecurities.

“I wish I could see myself the way you do,” you whispered, voice hoarse from crying.

“I know,” he sighed. “I know, but just give it time. One day you’ll look back and wonder what the hell you were thinking. I mean, you? Ugly? Sweetheart, we might need to get you some glasses.”

You sniffled, lips stretching into a wobbly smile. “You’re an idiot.”

He lifted your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “Only for you,” he quipped in response, wearing a light-hearted smirk on his lips. “Come here.”

He opened his arms, beckoning you to seek solace in his embrace. You scooted closer, sinking into his broad chest as his arms enveloped you. Your legs were folded awkwardly beneath your body and Finnick’s back ached from the lack of support behind him, but neither of you seemed to mind.

What is love without a little suffering?

His hand stroked the length of your hair, curling random strands between his fingers in admiration. Your fingertips danced across his tanned skin, amorously tracing the words ‘I love you’ over and over. You weren’t sure if he even noticed; it didn’t really matter. The sentiment remained true.

You listened to his heart beating centimetres from your ear. Thump. Thump. Thump. And you were grateful it beat for you. You were so, so grateful for Finnick. For his strong arms that soothed you in their embrace. For his lips that released a swarm of butterflies in your stomach with just a quirk of their corners. For his voice that could lift you from the deepest, darkest pit at any given moment.

So, when you whispered, “Thank you,” it was much more than a show of appreciation for his words of reassurance. It was gratitude for his existence. His entire being. For his love which echoed your own.

“Always,” he whispered in return.

Time began to pass but you remained in the same position—holding each other closely, dearly. And then as more minutes passed, rationality began to set in. You were thinking about apologising for your dramatics, but Finnick had other ideas.

“Wait, did you say your stomach’s cramping?” he asked suddenly. You simply nodded. “Are you on your period?”

Your head turned to bury your face against his chest in embarrassment. “Yes,” your voice muffled into his shirt.

Finnick grinned to himself. He didn’t want to play the stereotype card but knowing that detail helped him understand your actions a little better now.

“Well,” he began, gently coaxing you away from his chest so he could look into your eyes. “How about you come sit with me in the kitchen, hm?” He caressed the line of your cheekbone as he spoke. “I’ll cook you some pancakes and then we can both melt into the couch all day. Does that sound good?”

You pretended to think about it for a moment, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “Chocolate chip pancakes?”

He made some noise between a chuckle and a scoff. “Of course. Anything else would be a culinary tragedy.”

“Oh, Finnick Odair,” you proclaimed theatrically, winding your arms around his neck as you pulled yourself further against him. “How I love you so.”

In response, his face lit up with a stupidly lovesick grin. This man will be the absolute death of me, you silently swore. You couldn’t help but lean in and press a soft endearing kiss to each dimple that hollowed his cheeks; doing so only made his smile stretch impossibly wider.

The touch of his deft fingertips settled on the sides of your cheeks, holding your face in his hands like it was his most prized possession—technically, you were. His smile never disappeared as he leaned forward, kissing you with such ardent affection that you were afraid your heart might give out from the consuming potency of his adoration.

It tasted like salt, your tears having now dried on your lips. More importantly, it tasted like love. Warm, sweet, syrupy love.

You pulled away, murmuring against his lips, “You would look hot with a wizard beard, by the way."

He chuckled lightly, sustaining the five-second break before returning to your lips to whisper the words, “I knew it.”

[gilverrwrites]

Something cute and smutty with either Tim Drake or Roy ?

AND: What about a one bed trope for Tim pls??

Dream a little dream of me

Tim Drake/Reader, ≈1.8K AN: I don't know if theres such a phrases as 'porn first, questions later' but thats what this is lmao. I'm glad theres an audience for Tim, cause as much as I love the other Robins (wink wink Dick), as a bisexual 90s kid, Tim really is my Robin, ya know? CWs: Somnophilia (but not really), dry humping, intercrural sex/thigh job, hand job, Petnames: Baby, sweetheart Tropes: One bed, friends to lovers, porn with feelings. GN!Reader

Sleeping beside you is neither new nor unusual for Tim. You’d been close friends for years, he’d crashed in your bed after many a patrol, you’d had film or study nights at the manor which always ended with you hogging his bed sheets, and in more recent years you’d huddled together on the cramped mattress he called a bed in the lower deck of his boat on multiple occasions. It had always been so natural and innocent, so why was this hotel bed any different? Well, because his budding, inappropriate crush on you had grown in the time since you’d last shared a comforter; Tim had been having not-so-innocent dreams about you.

Dreams where he got to touch, tease, and taste every inch of your exposed skin until you’re a babbling, pleading mess. Dreams where he silenced your breathy cries and begs by telling you to “be good baby”, spreading your legs, and running the tip of his cock along your entrance. Where you look at him with those big, dreamy eyes of yours right up until it’s too much, until he’s bottomed out inside of you and you can’t help but throw your head back, calling out his name as you dig your nails into his back.

“That feels... so… good.” The sound of your voice calls out to him, but your dream self is in no position to be speaking so coherently.

Wait, dream?

His mind is fuzzy as he wakes, still heavy with sleep, part of his brain tries desperately to clutch onto the fleeting imagery in his head until he realises two very important things;  

1. Your body is pressed against his. You’re turned away from him, but he can still feel your warmth, the pressure of your back to his chest, your ass to his… crotch. 2. His ‘crotch’ is rock hard.

Despite all instinct telling him to immediately pull away, he waits. Concerned his sudden movement might cause you to stir, he slows himself. Forcing his body to hold back so he can remove himself in increments. Just a little bit, and then a bit more, and more? He swears he’s doing it, swears he’s at least half a foot away from where he’d been upon waking, but you’re still pushing against him, still rolling your hips.

“Tim~”

It’s at this moment Tim has a third, pivotal realisation.

3. You’re grinding on him.

The sound of Tim’s low voice whispering your name against the shell of your ear slowly coaxs you awake. Every warm breath against your skin sends a rush of heat to your already aching sex. You’d been having such a peaceful, steamy dream in which your best friend, and secret crush; Tim had been tenderly rocking his cock into you from behind. As you take in the hotel room and the hotness of Tim’s body spooning into you, you can’t tell if you’re awake or still dreaming.

“Can you feel that?” His hushed voice pierces the quietness of the room and you’re not sure what he’s talking about until he surges forward, further pressing the hardness of his clothes cock into the curve of your ass.

“Yes.” You murmur, only intending to answer his question but your sleeply lust-ridden psyche keeps talking. “Don’t stop, I like it.”

“Yeah?” He’s so grateful you’re not looking at him in that moment, otherwise, you’d see the undeniable redness currently rushing to his cheeks. Even in the dark of the night, he’s sure it’s glowing through. “I think we’ve been humping each other in our sleep.”

“I’m sorry.” The fear of his rejection is immediately thrown out when you feel his lips on your pulse point, but you have to ask anyway. “Do you want to stop?”

“No, no, god no.” He trails soft kisses along the side of your neck, each one growing sloppier until he finds and fixates on your jaw for far too short a time. “You have no idea how many times I’ve fantasised about this. About you. I want you so bad.”

“I want you too, Tim.” A million and one thoughts run through his head in that moment. How much time had the two of you wasted skirting around the subject? What does this mean for your future and your friendship? The only thing he doesn’t think of as he absent-mindedly ruts against you is the one you ask. “Do you have any protection?”

“I have my Red Robin suit in my case.” It’s a dumb joke he can’t help but make, you laugh anyway and he thinks he might love you for it.

“No, but that’s okay. We can make this work.” You hear the snap of your waistband hitting your hip before you feel it. Tim had playfully pulled it taught before letting go to pull down his boxers. Getting the point, you take his cue, shimmying out of your own underwear just in time for Tim to reattach himself to your back and press his open mouth to your shoulder. “Spread your legs baby.”

As you do, Tim slides his cock between them. You wish you’d turned the light on so you could get a better look, but no force on earth could pry you away from him now. Understanding his plan, you don’t wait to be told to close your legs again, engulfing his length with the soft skin of your inner thighs and slowly beginning to rock your hips.

Tim reached over your body, grazing his deft fingers around your waist and across your stomach. A whine escapes your lips as he dips lower to rub along the length of your arousal, his cock twitches between your legs. Knowing it's so close makes you feel empty, makes you ache to feel him deep inside you, makes the tension in your core coil even more.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re dripping.” He can hear the wonderment in his own voice as he glides his thumb around you. In response you clench your thighs even harder around his cock, making him groan into your neck.

It isn’t long before your grinding hard and fast around his dick, gripping his arm as you get lost in the moment. The combined sensations feels so good, and you can’t get enough.

Neither can Tim. He could never have dreamed that the reality would feel so good. He’s in awe of the way your body moves, of the pornographic noises you’re making for him. He can barely focus. He wants to hold on longer, wants to bask in your warmth and scent for as long as possible but your merciless rhythm and the feel of your thighs around his throbbing cock has him chasing his climax way too soon.

“Are you close?” He sputters. You answer with a string of incomprehensible whimpers and a weak nod. He isn’t even in you, and you’re already drunk on your best friend. You’d be ashamed if you had the capacity to care in that moment. “Come with me?”

It’s a question, not a command. This is a partnership, he wants you to feel connected, not controlled and that has your toes curling.

Simultaneously your thrusting becomes strained, and more erratic as his pumping grows faster, and sloppier, both of you getting lost in your highs but still determined to ride out the other, filling the room with deep, ragged breaths until you’re shuddering in his arms, savouring every last remnants of pleasure. The way his strong hands cup your body has you feeling safe in your post-orgasm euphoria.

It isn’t until you feel the moisture of your combined cum seeping into the fabric below you that you remember there’s a world outside of you and him. You sit up simultaneously, Tim reaches for the bedside lamp and is stunned by the sight of your sweat-sheened skin and heavy eyes when he turns back. Completely unaware that you’re thinking the same thing about his flushed cheeks and fluffy bedhead.

You gesture to the puddle you’re currently half-sat in and joke; “The hotel cleaners are going to hate us.”

Before you can exit the bed, Tim is on his feet and rushing to the ensuite. He returns a moment later with a roll of tissues and a damp cloth. You’ve rolled over, face down on his side of the bed in an attempt not to spread the fluids even more and he gets to work wiping the cum from your leg in slow, circular motions. It shouldn’t take this long, you both know it, he’s just enjoying the moment.

“That was really…” You’d wanted to fill the silence, but now you’re not sure how to finish, you don’t want to scare him away with your excitement, but you want him to know how good he made you feel. “Really wow.”

“Really wow.” He repeats with a teasing snicker, dodging when you reach out to playfully smack his shoulder. “What? What? It was wow.”

He’s teasing. With a 147 IQ, he knows a better word than wow, but he’s choosing to repeat yours, tone and all. It’s not like he hasn’t messed with you before, and you’ve always been able to dish it back, but now feels different. Now is different.

“So, I take it we’re not just friends anymore?” You ask as he climbs over you to work on the wet patch. Eventually, he finds a position kneeling at the bottom of the bed, and you roll over once more, now seated and positioned to watch him.

“Um, no.” He coughs, not to clear his throat but to prolong his time to think of an answer. Your gaze is making him nervous. He doesn’t know what you want him to say, doesn’t want to come on too strong and ruin your friendship, but he also doesn’t want to seem too lax, to make you think he’s just using you or that he’s not interested in something more than friendship. “Friends definitely don’t do that.”

“So, what are we?” You push, not missing the way his adams-apple bobs as he swallows back his nerves.

“I don’t know.” His chest immediately grows tight at the hurt look that spreads across your face. Fuck it, now or never. “But whatever we are, I’m yours.”

Your expression doesn’t immediately change, and he worries he’s misread your reaction. Assumed that you want him the way he wants you.

“If you want me that is.” He continues, trying to save face.

“Of course, I want you, Tim.” He hadn’t realised how tense the conversation was making him until he heard those magic words. In seconds you’re face to face with him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him close to offer your body as comfort. You’ve always been able to read and react to him so well, like you were programmed for him. “You can be mine, if I can be yours.”

Then he feels your lips pucker against his hairline, and despite having climaxed between your legs only minutes earlier, he’s suddenly more nervous than he’s ever been. Gently, you drag your lips down his face, leaving kisses along his brow line, his cheekbones, and his jowls until you're inches from his own lips.

Your eyes dart back and forth between his own eyes and his mouth, he licks his lips in preparation for yours and then you’re on him, lips locked, tangled in each other’s arms.

There’s a drying stain waiting to be cleaned, and a long day ahead of you both tomorrow, but right now none of that matters.

[only-luce-the-goose]

Heeeey pookie!!

i loved your Arthur fic too much, the man deserves to receive more love here🥹🫶🫶 I have two ideas for you, which in my head make more sense. I will try to explain myself as best as I can but in reality this is not my strong point LMAO

If you want and can write something about loving every little thing the reader does, such as the habit of brushing his hair behind his ears or, for example, when he reads a book that she cries, smiles or curses as if he LOVES that about her. 😮‍💨💗

Or maybe something about him being a little jealous and possessive not in a grotesque sense like I had to defend her from someone in a bar or something, like her being too nice by not wanting to walk away so as not to hurt the other person even if it's bothering her (that happens to me often haha😅)

Maybee some of the care for her when she's sick 🥹🥹

Of course, only if you feel comfortable with these ideas, which were more than two, I apologize for that, I'm a little excited.🧍🏻‍♀️🫶🫶

(I hope I have made myself understood, also English is not my first language, I am sorry if this is complicated when read or understood, also sorry this was so long :(, anyway much love to you 💗💗💗💗)

Little things

A/N: I am going to write all of them, they're so cute. Arthur absolutely deserves more love, he's underrated. Don't worry btw, your English is fantastic. I'm actually Australian so my spelling of certain words are different to everyone else's 😅. Keep an eye on my page for the next few days, I'll release them soon (I just need to finish my uni assignment first, whoops 🤷‍♀️). I hope I did what you were thinking 🫶🫶

Arthur Leclerc x reader

Warnings: Fluffy/Simp Arthur

Synopsis: "If you want and can write something about loving every little thing the reader does, such as the habit of brushing his hair behind his ears or, for example, when he reads a book that she cries, smiles or curses as if he LOVES that about her. 😮‍💨💗" - This part of the request.

You and Arthur were lying on the couch watching a movie after a long day. You propped up my pillows with Arthur on top of you, head resting on your chest. Your fingers started to scratch the back of his scalp, slowly worth their way up. He sighed as he pressed himself deeper into you, nuzzling his face into your skin. He lifted his head up and pecked your lips. You look down at him and giggled, “what was that for, baby?”. He looked up at you with a peaceful smile, his eyes brimming with love as he replied “just appreciating the small things” before resting his head back on your chest as you kept scratching his head.

The next time it happened, you guys were cuddled up in bed and you were reading a book. It might be one of the saddest books you had ever read in your life (for this I’m gonna use “Bridge to Terabithia” cuz I feel like everyone read it for school). You got the the chapter where the girl fell into the creek and drowned. The pure amount of detail broke your heart and sent you into a sobbing mess. Your sniffles caught Arthur’s attention, he looked down the see his shirt beginning to get wet. He pulled you up to face him as we wiped your tears. “Hey hey hey what happened mi amor?” He rushed. You explained what happened, causing Arthur to give you that look again. A peaceful smile, eyes brimming with love, he pecked your lips, “how about we read a happier book?” He suggested. “No” you said as you made eye contact again “I just wanna cuddle”. He grinned and settled down, pulling you into him “that is something I can definitely do”. You smiled as you tucked yourself into his side.

Another instance was when you and Arthur were walking through the paddock. The crowd was pushing and shoving, sweeping you away with them. Arthur quickly realised you had gotten caught up, jogging back to guide you again. You think your right hand to his left, your left hand coming up to hold his strong bicep on the same arm, basically wrapping yourself around his arm. You have his hand a little squeeze, leaning your head on his shoulder when he squeezed back. You made it to the Ferrari garage and you knew you would need to let go but you didn’t want to, do you didn’t. Arthur planted a kiss on your forehead and gave you that dopey, in love look he gives you in moments like these. “What?” You laughed. Arthur pecked your lips “nothing my love” he mumbled against them, “just admiring” he winked. Just like a school girl, you giggled and then cuddled into him, are grip still tight on his arm.

What really stood out is when you were cleaning your shared apartment. You were going through your shared closet when you found a brown leather book. The title on the inside of the book, in Arthur’s unmistakeable handwriting, was “those moments”. You flicked through the book and saw dates and times, which matched to all the moments when Arthur gave you the look. Scratching his head on the couch, crying at a book, being clingy at the paddock, it was all there. What you didn’t know, was that Arthur was leaning on the door frame, watching you read his little things journal. “Find something good, amor?” You jumped at his question. “I’m so so sorry. I shouldn’t be snooping but I’ve never seen it before, and I had no idea what it was for. I’m sorry, I should’ve given you your privacy an-” Arthur cut you off with a kiss. “Im glad you found it. Everytime you ask about this “look” I give you, you now know what I was feeling and thinking. Is that ok amor?” He has a glimmer of home in his eyes as he asks you. You put the book back where you got it from, wrapped your hands around his neck and kissed him deep “of it is, I love you Arthur” “I love you mi amor”

[sceletaflores]

phone sex with first son patrick after you leave for yale...i'm creaming just imagining all the nasty things he'd say LMAO

RAAHHH AND YOU KNOW HE WOULD :((((((

calling you when you're studying for your advanced civil rights advocacy exam because he's "really missing you, professor."

you're smiling despite the scoff you let out into the phone, "i'm busy patrick, we can't all ride the president's coattails."

patrick snorts, you can hear the sound of footsteps on his end followed by a door closing. "yeah i'm a huge disappointment and you're off being superwoman blah blah blah i know, what are you wearing?"

you roll your eyes, looking down at your yale blue sweatshirt and matching bottoms you got from the spirit shop, "sweats."

patrick whistles, low and long. you hear even more shuffling, the sound of a zipper being dragged down. "that's hot so baby, keep going."

he sounds weird, like he's somewhere super echoy. your brows furrow, sitting up straighter in your desk chair as you strain your ears. "where are you?"

"lincoln bedroom," he says easily, his voice gone breathy around the edges.

your brows shoot up in surprise. "patrick, are you seriously—"

"yes, ma'am," he cuts in, voice dropping to a low whisper, "take the sweats off."

you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up, a mix of disbelief and amusement. "you’re supposed to be working, not—"

"trust me, i’m working on something very important," he murmurs, and you can practically see the smirk on his face. “i was in this boring ass meeting with my dad, started thinking about the last time you were here. fuck, you remember? i do, god i remember. never gonna forget how that pussy cried over my fucking dick…”

he trails off into a moan, shaky and broken through your phones speaker.

your cheeks heat up, ears burning with it. you do remember.

you bite your lip, it's tempting, so tempting— but you like giving patrick a hard time, making him work for it a little. "pat i'm not failing this test cause i stopped studying to listen to you jerk off in the lincoln bedroom."

"you're not gonna fail, you should take a break anyway. come on, humor me for a second. please professor?"

you can feel the familiar warmth starting to simmer just beneath your skin, swirling in the pit of your stomach, and you try so hard to ignore it. patrick always gets what he wants, you refuse to give in so easily.

but it's so hard. he makes it so hard.

especially when moves the phone close to where he's fucking his fist over the length of his dick. voice low and breathy as he rambles on, "can you hear that shit? got so fuckin' wet thinking about you, so hard i had to leave the goddamn meeting..."

you close your eyes with the shuddery inhale, you can practically see the way his thick cock leaks messily all over his hand. the way his heavy balls bounce with every tug.

the image of him, sprawled out on some historical piece of 1800th century furniture with his dick pulled out of his nine-hundred dollar suit pants just because he thought of you, is enough to have you slide your hand down the waistband of your sweats. you let out a tiny gasp when your fingers brush against your clit, biting your tongue when your start rubbing small circles over yourself to the wet sound of patrick's dick.

"you're awfully quiet," patrick teases, voice closer to the phone again. "wanna share with the class?"

"fuck you, patrick,"

there's a pause, and you picture him biting his lip, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure. "god, just thinking about you, the way you looked the last time...how tight you were around me...it's fucking torture."

you swallow hard, trying to maintain control, but fuck you miss him too. you miss seeing him in tight suits, you miss his hand on the small of your back when your parent's aren't looking, you miss him dragging you out of galas and fundraisers so he can fuck you in the bathroom, you miss the thick stretch of his dick bullying into your pussy over and over and over.

you can feel the tension building, the tight coil in your belly winding tighter with every filthy word.

"pat..." you begin, but your voice falters when he lets out a low, drawn-out groan that has your knees weakening, even from a distance. your hand falters, slipping lower to push two fingers into your aching hole, eager to chase the release that's sneaking up on you.

"i know you’re touching yourself," he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. "fuck i wish i could see you, baby. see how good you look with your fingers buried in that tight fuckin' pussy."

a high whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, and patrick’s laugh is dark and knowing. "yeah, that’s what I thought," he purrs. "don’t stop now. want you to come for me, professor. right here, right now, while i’m fucking my hand thinking about you."

you close your eyes, giving in to the warmth flooding through your veins. each thrust of your fingers becomes more frantic, more desperate as his words push you closer to the edge.

"that’s it," patrick breathes out, his voice growing ragged. "you’re so close, i can hear it. shit, i wish i was there to feel you come around me. you’re so fucking tight when you come—"

you’re trembling now, the tension in your body wound so tightly you feel like you could snap any second. his moans are erratic, matching the pace of your fingers as you chase the high he's pulling you towards.

“say my name,” he demands, a groan slipping past his lips as he nears his own climax. “say it when you come, i want to hear it.”

"patrick," you whisper, your voice shaky, barely able to get the words out as your breathing quickens, "i'm so close—"

"yeah? me too, baby," he pants, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. "come for me, i want to hear you."

that’s all it takes. with one last stroke, the tension unravels, and you’re tumbling over the edge, your body shuddering with the force of your release. his name spills from your lips, a breathless chant as waves of pleasure crash over you.

patrick follows right after, his moan deep and guttural, the sound vibrating through the phone and settling low in your belly. there’s a beat of silence, just the two of you breathing heavily, coming down from the high.

finally, you manage to catch your breath, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. "you’re going to get us both in trouble one of these days," you murmur, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm.

patrick laughs softly, the sound content and sated. "it'll be worth it," he replies, his voice filled with satisfaction. "totally worth it."

[babiebom]

Hi :3 Can I request???? Sabation (sdv) x pregnant fem wife reader headcanons

A/N: this is actually really cute and especially because I posted the how many kids I think they’ll have thing I can kinda go into detail for each kid. AHHHHHH one thing about me is that I’m a family oriented sim(person) and I LOVE kids. I know it’s a thing right now to hate kids but I don’t and a lot of my fics involve this and I’m ranting so I’ll end this note here lmao.

Tw:pregnancy, mentions of sex, mentions of pregnancy complications, cursing, lmk if I should tag anything else!!

Bc:probably at least 10

Stardew Valley Masterlist

So in my other post I said that he would have either one or how many his partner wants

So I’m gonna say three because I think that’s like the average amount of kids people have

The very first pregnancy Sebastian is absolutely out of his mine

“Don’t touch my wife” “be careful she’s pregnant” “she can’t have that it’s not good for her or the baby”

To be honest I think you being pregnant would cause him to be more outspoken

Like usually he doesn’t say anything unless he has to speak up because he’s sorta antisocial(I don’t think he’s shy, he’s quiet because he wants to be)

But now he’s always saying something to someone.

He is literally just out of his mind with worry and he has to keep you and the baby safe

STAY AWAY FROM MY WIFE❗️❗️❗️🗣️🗣️

If it’s a particularly hard pregnancy he’s even more protective

Like if your doctor says bedrest Sebastian is taking that SERIOUSLY

You are not getting out of that bed unless you have to piss or shit nothing else.

He is so lucky to have a stay at home job, and even if you take time off because of the pregnancy he can take care of the animals.

At the birth he probably passes out while seeing your child being born

But it’s not out of disgust, it’s because his emotions are out of control.

Cries at the hospital, probably more than you do are you have to be like….Seb please calm down I get you love the baby but you’re crying all over them…….

Second child he’s more calm but is still VERY strict with you

Also since you already have a kid, the dynamic has changed.

He completely takes over anything that you were in charge of parenting wise.

Won’t let you cook for anyone

And the only thing you would be allowed to do is stuff you can do in bed

The second birth goes more smoothly, and he actually stays awake through it and is able to watch your child be born

Third pregnancy he would probably be ramped up in worry especially if you have had complications before and this being your last child

Since this would be your third time going through this I think he would be sick with worry but confident that you could take care of yourself.

During the third birth he actually has the confidence to cut the umbilical cord and would probably be excited to do so

Would probably be hesitant to have sex while you’re pregnant

Like all three pregnancies he would be like ummmmmm I don’t know about that what if I hurt you?

Will have sex if you reassure him bc I do think he might have a bit of a breeding kink and would want to.

I think first and second labors were progressed by y’all fucking

Third you both didn’t need to because your body was like yup let’s get it over with

Overall a very helpful and anxious daddy

Actually tries to make sure your kids get along

And tries to make sure that his relationship with them is good.

[webslingingslasher]

Hi Mm this is socks lmao, but could I request something with reader having a horrible day where everything goes wrong, nothing feels right, and she's tired of like carrying the world and everyone one else on her back and Peter is just the sweetest guy ever babying her and hold her while she cries? Yep that's me, but with no Peter

sowwy it took so long, i had a few requests for this and put them all in one giant pot. i also hope everyone here is feeling better ❤️

Totally broken, you just needed someone to hold you. 

It had been an awful day of an awful week of an awful month. Punch after punch, you couldn’t take anymore. Holding yourself the entire walk to the frat house, only allowing yourself to sniffle and keep a steady flow of tears, nothing too hysterical to pass in public. 

Almost tripping over a curb you choke back a sob, all you could do was manually breathe and think of the path to the house. You weren’t even sure why you wanted to go there anyways, you’d never gone to Peter before all upset and choked up. 

And knowing him, he’d hate it and send you away informing you that taking care of your crying mess wasn’t in his job description. 

Focusing on breathing, you knocked at the solid door and prayed Peter would answer, save for any of his brothers mid breakdown. But, like most of today and this week, things did not go in your favor. 

“Trouble?”

He wasn’t your boy. 

“Is Peter here?” shoddy breaths, you’re about to collapse in a sob, you shouldn’t be here. “Actually, nevermind, I’m,” you inhale sharply, tears skip down your cheeks, “I’m, um, gonna go home.” 

Spinning on your heel a warm hand closed around your wrist tugging you inside, “no, you’re not. Parker would fucking kill me if I let you leave like this.” Wiping your cheeks and trying to pull away, “he wouldn’t want to deal with me, I should…” shaking his arm off and trying to make a dash before he caught you by the hood of your jacket. 

Gagging you pull at the neckline, “what the fuck, Ethan?” 

“Parker!” He calls up the stairs, adrenaline killing your tears, trying to pull away but useless in his grip. Jerking the fabric, trying to release it from his hold, “let go, Ethan!” 

“Parker!” Wincing at the shriek in your ear, “see? He doesn’t care, I sho-” 

Your shoes squeak on the floor, holding your jacket as far as you could from your neck when Ethan dragged you across the landing of the house, fumbling into his chest to stop the tension. He was being anything but gentle, raising his fist to pound at the wall. 

“Parker! Get the fuck down here!” 

While trying your last attempt to break free, Ethan twists the hood in his hold, causing you to pause in an awkward position, if you moved you’d be choked. “Ethan, I swear to fucking god I’ll-” 

“Park-” 

Stomps on the stairs.

“Say my fucking name one more time, Keznek, I fucking dare you.” 

Like a deer in headlights, you freeze. The second Peter hits the landing his frustration was washed into concern, not even caring his brother and best friend was watching, pouting all soft. You weren't crying anymore but the evidence showed, written all over your face was a cry session.

“My baby,” feathersoft, his words scooped you up and held you. Ethan’s hand dropped the second Peter took a second step, abandoning post and taking the stairs two steps at a time. Standing in front of you, his thumbs run under your eyes, “why’s my girl so sad, hm?” 

Suddenly, that lump in your throat you’ve been swallowing won’t stay down. Blinking fast trying to stop tears, which fails useless as your bottom lip trembles and he’s being so soft and he’s never been this comforting before. A sob escapes, the dam breaks. 

Peter’s never seen you cry before, you’ve called him once before while upset and he thought that hurt him. Watching you cry and desperate for air makes him break, he’s never had a girl come to him so broken. He doesn’t even know what to do or say, “give me a cuddle, c’mon, I know how happy that makes you!” 

Instantly you’re wound around him, exhaling shaky breaths in his chest while he scratches slowly at your back. Tears bleed through his shirt but he doesn’t say a word, he thinks he might be making it worse because you’re getting worse. 

Racking breaths made him push you away, he was genuinely scared you’d pass out. 

“Okay, c’mon. Take a breath and follow me, okay?” Choking as you gasp, his hand holds yours tight until you reach a room off the kitchen, Peter sits on the edge of a couch and holds your hands. “Deep breath, baby.” You try to do it but fail, whimpering an apology. “I’m not asking you to stop crying, I just need you to breathe.” 

It’s weak but he takes it, “one more for me,” it’s smoother this time, rubbing at an eye to clear your vision. Gulping, you force yourself to take another deep breath, this one ceasing the tears for the moment. 

Peter pushes himself backwards to sit on the couch, patting the small spot next to him you follow the command. Your butt in the small space, legs thrown over his lap. “You almost knocked yourself out, trouble.” 

He’s trying to lighten the mood but you just feel vulnerable and sad, resting your cheek on his shoulder you sniff. Voice breaking at the words, “I’m really sad, petey.” And fuck, he hates that nickname, but the way you uttered it, like a child with a terrible confession, made him want to hold you and never let you leave. 

Hands tickle up and down your legs, “wanna tell me why?” 

Blowing a shaky breath you shug, a tear falls when you blink. 

“I mean, everything?” To Peter, it sounds like you’re holding back and he won’t stand for it, not until he knows what made his girl cry like that. 

“I’m here for you to unload, I’m trying to take that,” he gestures to your body, “and put it here,” crumpling the tension into a ball and forcing it into his heart. 

“I failed my math test, I was fired from the campus store, Zoe and Lana are fighting and they want me to pick a side but I know they’ll get over it and then I’ll always be the asshole that chose a side, and to top it all off my sister called me and I felt like it was my job to give relationship advice cause,” you give a dry laugh, “obviously, I’m in the right position to tell people about their shit boyfriend.” 

A shit sandwich, you were right. Everything was wrong. 

“What can I do for you?” 

Because he feels helpless, but he’s done more than enough already. 

“Just… hold me.” 

“I can do that.” 

And he does, even a little longer after you said you were finally okay. 

[padawansuggest]

AU where Jango lives and somehow Jango and Dooku manage to get a hold of Obi-Wan at the same time and for once Jango is torn on who to go for first, arguably, Obi-Wan is the better target, seeing as Obi is less likely to hurt his son if he manages to win their fight and will likely drop Boba off with a more pandering adult to take care of him, but Dooku is Right There and he would very much like to murder him, but who knows if Obi-Wan’s family instincts will kick in and protect his ba’buir. But then. Dooku. Is just standing there. Vibrating at a frequency so high he’s almost able to perceive Qui-Gon in the force through that alone, 17 caffs into a binge on day 5 away with an annoying ghost son in his ear threatening that if he hurts Obi-Wan in any way whatsoever the first thing Qui-Gon is doing when he dies is punching him in the face and no he can’t hurt the baby clone either might as well just take a step back from this situation as a whole cause it’s not gonna go good, so, being the smart man Dooku is, Dooku just sorta shrugs (in the force, he’s so tense rn he couldn’t shrug if he tried) and proceeds to kidnap all three of them (confused preteen Boba is confused but relatively okay lmao) and that’s how Obi-Wan and Jango wake up locked inside a lovely set of ‘guest quarters’ in the Count’s palace with Boba and now they have to cohabitate with Dooku occasionally coming in to cry about how perfectly stupid Qui-Gon was as a small child and how he’d bitten So Many People and Qui-Gon says Obi-Wan bit even more as a kid than he did and Jango is just sitting here listening to a (tired??? Drunk???? Unsober. We’re calling that Unsober) Dooku cry about how perfectly feral his kids were and how most of their family is DEAD and it’s always falling to the dark side that does them in and Komari was ferally adorable as a wee one and Xanatos had been the bubbliest lil boy before Qui-Gon spoiled him too much and now Obi-Wan is somehow the most sunshine of their lineage while Obi-Wan looks on in horror at his childhood being spilled like this before mentioning that maybe Grandmaster should take a nap only to be picked up by said grandmaster and cried on because ‘he called me grandmaster! Fett did you hear that the sunshine baby called me Grandmaster!’ And Jango is like ‘god I wish I had a camera this could be so much blackmail’ and then finally Jango and Obi manage to escape with a still confused Boba (it’s his natural state) and make their way back to a very annoyed 212th where Jango is all ‘listen. I’ve thought about it. And I’ve decided I’m marrying Kenobi.’ And Obi is like ‘you are???? Why???’ ‘According to your ba’buir you’re the only good one’ and now Cody and Waxer and Boil are staging a ‘YOURE NOT MY DAD’ protesting fit and Obi-Wan is so confused at this turn of situation. Wtf.

[naturesapphic]

hey can u do a alcina x reader fic where she neglects the reader bc she’s too busy working but with a happy ending?

Ignored

Alcina dimitrescu x fem!reader

Warnings: angst with happy ending, neglectful alcina, cussing, hurt/comfort fic

Alcina has been in her study all this week and hasn’t been paying me any attention. The only kind of attention that I get is when it’s bedtime and we get into our bed together and she kisses me goodnight. That is all she does. I’m getting touch and attention starved over here and it seems like she doesn’t shove two shits.

I know this week she’s been working a lot on her wine business and has been getting stressed about it but I wish she would just take a break and I could help or take care of her. I hate seeing her so worried and stressed and I can’t do anything to help.

I went into our shared room/her office and noticed her still working. I sighed and walked over to her to see if she’s almost done so we can go to bed together. You lightly tapped her on her arm and she huffed in annoyance as she looked down at you. “What do you want?” She harshly said to you. “Cant you see that I am working?” She added. You sighed again which caused her to Scoff. “I just wanted to see if you can go to bed with me alci. I miss you and we haven’t been in the same bed in a while. Even if you do go, you never cuddle me or kiss me goodnight anymore.” You said sadly.

Alci groaned and slammed her hands on her table. “You are so pathetic! Always clinging to me and asking for attention when I’m trying to fucking work! Leave me alone you attention seeking whore!” She yelled at you which made your heart break in two. You didn’t hear the rest as you fled out the door and to the quest room a floor down.

Alci didn’t process what happened until a few minutes later and she felt awful. She put her head in her hands and cried softly, knowing she broke you, knowing this, she’s broken too.

She didn’t want to wait to come after you but she knew that both of y’all needed to wait until morning to give each other some space.

~ the next morning ~

You cried yourself to sleep that night and didn’t get much of it either. Your head was replaying what alci said to you over and over. Maybe she was right. Maybe you are too clingy and a attention seeking whore. You whimpered again as the memories keep flooding back in. You heard the door creak open and it revealed your lover looking awful. Which was very unlike alci since she always makes sure that she looks her very best at all times.

She came over to you and bent down to your level and started sobbing and spilling out apology after apology. You looked at her sadly even though she hurt your tremendously, you still hated to see her so upset. “I-I’m so s-sorry d-draga. I-I was so s-stressed and t-tired that I took I-it o-out on y-you and that wasn’t r-right of m-me a-and I-I’m so so sorry darling!” She sobbed into the sheets of the bed.

You gently petted the top of her head and leant down to kiss it. “I understand that you were stressed and tired but that’s not an excuse for what you did to me…that really really hurt me alci…”. You said sadly. She looked up at you with her makeup smeared and ruined. “No no it’s not an excuse at all and I’ll do anything to make it up to you baby. I promise.” She said gently as she took your small hands into her big ones.

You knew she never meant what she had said and never will. She just needs to work on how she reacts to when she’s sad and angry because it always ends up with someone getting hurt and that not fair. She understood this and agreed to getting help, not just for her but for this relationship that she has with you as well because you are her draga and she will always love you.

A/n: two posts in one day?! A miracle lmao but I hope y’all enjoyed! Remember to stay hydrated and rest! I love you all.

[alohajun]

♡ BROTHER’S BEST FRIEND — KIM MINGYU

brother's best friend!mingyu x fem!reader (ft. brother!wonwoo) | wc : 0.5k words | content : possible grammar and spelling mistakes, lowercase intended, fluff, angst if you squint, gyu being a flirt and it backfiring on him lmao | loki's lines : it's 1am who cares but ayo @ethereal-engene ash here's 1 outta the 2738924 ideas i suddenly have for this man 😭 he's not even my bias (and i don't even write for svt) but ykw dk doesn't have to know

“hey, hey, hey! look, it’s my favorite best friend’s sister!”

it was almost two weeks of kim mingyu visiting you whenever he could to brighten up your day and fill in for your brother.

ever since wonwoo left abroad to study, you were a mess. and mingyu knew that — which was why he volunteered to check on you every so often before his best friend could even ask the favour.

mingyu could never admit it to wonwoo, but the truth was he had a crush on you — and just couldn’t bear to see you so sad. but little by little with his visits, he brought a smile on your face.

and little by little, you started falling for your brother’s best friend.

you never really meant to, but with mingyu being so caring, there was no way you could stop yourself from liking him. sure, he was your brother’s best friend, and if your brother found out, he’d probably end you both, but that problem would never arise.

because you were so damn sure nothing would ever happen between you two.

“your brother said you cried during your video-call with him earlier.” mingyu sat next to you, his voice soft. “you know, we can talk about it. it’ll just be between us, i promise.”

this was exactly why you kept falling for your brother’s best friend; he was an absolute gem.

“when we were together, wonwoo would nag me every day, but now it’s not as often,” you muttered. “weirdly enough, i miss it.”

“well, i mean, i can always nag you. you know, just consider me your big brother. i’m your brother’s best friend, anyway, right?” mingyu bit his lip, regretting his choice of words as soon as they left his lips.

“there’s no need for that.” you scoffed, shaking your head. “i have no intention of considering you as my brother.”

the male raised his brows, surprised by your response. “oh? then what do you want to consider me as? your boyfriend?” he playfully responded, leaning closer to your face as he grinned.

“w-what? no, i–”

“your husband?!” mingyu enjoyed the way the heat rushed to your cheeks, feeling his heart flutter when you pouted at him. “wah, i didn’t think you’d have such long-term plans with me.”

you chuckled, wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine. “of course, i planned for the long-term, gyu.” you leant closer, smile never fading. “i also came up with baby names. wanna hear?” you quipped.

the seriousness in your voice paired with the proximity of your faces was too much for mingyu, causing him to choke on air as you laughed, satisfied with the outcome. you had played an uno reverse on your brother’s best friend, and he seemed to believe every word.

“w-wait, are you for real?” he couldn’t help but ask, not having noted the sarcasm behind your voice. “like, baby names and all?”

you stood from your place, walking towards the door before looking back. mingyu followed your steps, the clueless look on his face giving you butterflies with how adorable he looked.

“take me out on a date first and we can find out if the baby names are real.”

[kaladinstormblessed09]

Okay, now that I’m more composed I wanna give my actual thoughts on Oathbringer. This is my favourite stormlight book so far, and I’m 700 pages into RoW so please no spoilers for that. Spoilers for Oathbringer down below obviously

Oathbringer focuses a lot more on Dalinar, but I'll get back to him. Bridge 4 gets their own pov chapters. Teft struggling with his addiction, Rock with his family, Skar not being able to take in stormlight, Rlain being alone amongst people who mean well but can never truly understand what he’s going through. I love this crew so much! The side characters shine in this book. Elhokar! I ended up liking him so much in it just for him to be brutally murdered right in front of his son. Moash even kicked the child. I was sobbing, I was so upset. He had so much potential. He was becoming a better king, a knight's Radiant. All for it to be just gone. And kaladin took that failure so personally. My baby. You can't always save everyone, but this is something Kal always struggle with. Moash even had the audacity to salute Kaladin, after murdering Elhokar!

Shallan just gets better and better in every book. I love how much she's improved in lightweaving. She was making her own little movie in Urithiru. I freaking love Veil. She's going around stabbing herself and getting arrows stuck in her head saying it's just a flesh wound. And everyone is rightfully baffled at her. I love her. I really loved her scenes with Wit/Hoid. It seems to me wit has a soft spot for Shallan. I love that Shallan and Adolin are married now! I love love love Adolin. Kaladin is right. You can't not like Adolin. He's got such sunshine golden retriever energy. Also, I love that Kaladin gave Shallan boots as a wedding present. LMAO.

Jasnah is the real mvp! Her just breezing through the final battle soulcasting her enemies was so fucking cool! She’s obviously the one who has the most control over their powers. When she decides not to kill Renarin oh man I cried! In fact I cried through the entire last 150 pages!

When szeth swoops down to save Lift and uses Nightblood to kill that thunderclast? When Lift tries to save szeth from Nightblood?! So many epic fucking scenes!

Dalinar really gets his avenger endgame moment with all the radiants! So so so cool!

And now speaking of Dalinar. So, Dalinar. How do I talk about him. He's probably the best written character I've ever read. He's your classic reformed character. His flashbacks when he was in his prime, being the blackthorn was difficult to read. But it shows you why the other country leaders are scared of him. And it's a legitimate worry. Now that the whole world is at the brink of an apocalypse, and he can save people no one trusts him because of his reputation because he used to be a war monger and a tyrant. and he knows that he can just do it again. He can be the balckthorn again and unite the world forcefully so they'll listen to him. It'll be so easy for him. But he doesn't want to do that. He's not that war monger anymore. And no one believes him. It's such good story telling. But after I read what he did to the rift, and to Evi, I didn't know how to root for him anymore. How do you root for a character who has burned a whole city down killing thousands of innocent people, including his wife. how do you root for someone who killed his own wife?? That's why it was so cathartic when we got to that moment between Dalinar and Odium. Odium telling Dalinar to just give in. Give him all his pain, and that he's the one who influenced him into doing bad things. telling him not to take responsibility. I thought Dalinar was gonna give in. He was gonna become Odium's champion and Kaladin would have to fight him. but for once Kal doesn't save the day. Dalinar doesn't give in. This is the best scene in this book, which is hard to choose cause this book is filled with epic scenes. "The most important step a man can take is not the first one. it's the next one. always the next step. You cannot have my pain. If I pretend I didn't do these things it means I can't have grown to become someone else. I'll take responsibility for what I have done. If I must fall I will rise each time a better man." It's about him taking accountability, acknowledging the wrongs of his past. it's about trying to be a better man. It's about forgiveness and doing better. People complain about the lengths of these books but we needed these pages to get that character development to get to this moment where Dalinar defies Odium. I love this book. this 1200 page behemoth and even than I wanted more. I’ve gone back to this sequence multiple times in the last few days. Even as I read RoW now I go back to reading that sequence. And I cry every single time.

In conclusion, Oathbringer was amazing. I can’t wait to finish RoW. Then I’ll only have the secret projects and TLM left until I’m fully caught up with Cosmere! I can’t wait!

[imaginespazzi]

Nivi, bestie – first of all, an update exactly a week later? I’m so proud and we’re so spoiled! It was the best thing to wake up to this morning (my morning 😅) so thank you for that!

Starting off strong with Stephie throwing Colleen under the bus when she didn’t even do anything wrong but be boring LMAO, I love this kid so much.

Azzi realising that her kid is also not immune to the Paige Bueckers charm, like mother like daughter.

I know Thalia’s so done with Paige lol, like she out there just doing her job and doing it well, and yet she’s stuck with her dumbass client (affectionate) whose personal life is perhaps just a little too complicated.

That one-year contract boutta create a fountain of angst huh?

Not Stephie hitting the gym and lifting them weights! A fictional 5-yr old is putting me to shame, you hate to see it 😩

But oh my god, it’s crazy how much she loves P already and vice versa. Although, at this point, I’m just as attached to Stephie as Paige is, blondie’s not special 😒

“I missed you,” Stephie confesses, “did you miss me?” – Like this??? I can’t handle their cuteness omg.

And our first Pazzi + Stephie scenes – PERFECTION.

What would we do without kids and their lack of filter? Stephie is gonna bring these two idiots back together, brick by brick, revelation by revelation, and one innocent, inquisitive question at a time.

I cackled at Paige being insecure of what Stephie might think about her ice cream order lmao, like girl stand up! And then finding out they both have the same favourite flavour? Yep, that’s it, Paige you ARE the other parent!

“So do you wanna be a boring old tree or do you wanna be a big, strong Husky who bleeds blue?” – Um, this is leading the witness, your honour! But like a very valid point was made cause who does wanna be a boring old tree?

OK well if y’all still think that the other is the prettiest, most beautiful of them all, well then now KISS.

A Tim and Paige interaction – we CHEERED (and cried a lil)! And baby Stephie and P! Not Tim just handing Stephie over and leaving them, he’s prolly like “well shit, this really should be your baby too anyway” 😭

Now this last bit, Nivi, imma just live in denial for a little while longer okay? Cause it was a diamond ring! I didn’t hear or read anything about a wedding band. And no, I will choose to ignore this person being called “wife”. Cause I’m not ready to accept the fact that P might have been married to anyone else other than Azzi! 😤

But then the revelation of Azzi saying no to marrying P? That was the real dagger 💔

What’s next?

Imma sound like a broken record and I’ll keep saying it but scenes with Stephie are just too precious. I LIVE for them and will continue to do so.

I can’t wait for when she finally gets to cheer for her two favourite players courtside. OH and imagine during a post-game presser with Azzi and Paige, and Azzi brings Stephie along and she immediately goes to sit on P’s lap instead of Azzi’s and they’re both just in their own little world while Azzi tries to actually answer the questions, and everyone in the media plus the public is absolutely eating. it. up.

Speaking of Stephie and P though, “And Paige would never willingly hurt Stephie…but that doesn’t mean that she wouldn’t break her heart any way.” Is this foreshadowing that I see here, Nivi? You’re already gonna make me suffer through potential Drew and Azzi angst and now we might have to go through Stephie and Paige angst too at some point??

On top of that, I just know the flashback to Azzi turning down marriage with P or however that played out is gonna be heartbreaking AF. It’s all just gonna be too much for my fragile little heart to handle (but I’m secretly gonna love all of it cause you know how much I love my angst).

The happy ending will make it all ok though. Side note: I’m getting too much ‘the 1’ undertones, and that makes me stress a lil, but I know you wouldn’t do that to us 😌

Oh and I guess we’re gonna find out more about the “wife” eventually… (Nivi: It’s- Us: For the plot 😭)

MOST IMPORTANTLY, I just thought about the moment Paige has to spell something in front of Stephie, pray for her 🙏

And lastly, these lyric/song choices, Nivi! You’re really taking us back huh. My favourite nostalgic writer for a reason.

Favourite line/quote:

Azzi has always been the brightest star, at least in Paige’s galaxy, and she can’t help but let the next words slip through her lips, “she still is.”

As always, thank you for sharing your talents, we don’t deserve you 🥹💗 Enjoy the rest of your week, bestie, catch you soon!

-🙋‍♀️

BESTIEEEE! Can you believe I actually did that lmao? But yeah I would not get used to daily Monday updates because we all know me and procrastination.

#FreeColleen cause not only does this poor woman have to deal with Paige and Azzi's bullshit for the second time, she's also being unfair antagonized by a five-year old

Thalia and Colleen are gonna needa go out for drinks at some point with the way their clients are behaving

I love how everyone caught the foreshadowing with the one-year contract tee hee <3

Paige and Stephie are the definition of it's not blood that makes a bond and I adore writing the two of them together

LMAO sorry for the shade Stanford but unfortunately this is a #BleedBlue household for life and it just felt very true to Paige

AH I'm glad you liked the Tim and Paige interaction cause I know that was one of your ideas and it felt right to add it in. He looked at Paige was like "wait a minute why am I taking care of *your* child" and just dipped fr

TRUST ME! It will all make sense eventually!

There will definitely be more Stephie like I doubt we'll ever have a completely Stephie-less chapter

THAT'S SO CUTE OH MY GOD. We have a little bit of a while before we get into the season but I'm totally stealing that cause I love watching press conferences with kids.

Well if she hurts Stephie's Mama...

I'm so excited to write that flashback, y'all don't even know like I actually do have a little bit of that planned out and mayhaps there's more to it than just marriage...guess you'll find out!

LMAO I've got y'all scared with all my "the 1" references. I was gonna use it as lyrics but I figure y'all might actually lose it before you read it if I did that.

AHAHAHA poor Paige is gonna learn to spell just for Stephie

Lowkey been listen to my Nostalgia playlist while writing because honestly the single parent x ex trope feels very rooted in that era so a lot of the lyrics probably will me from around that time.

As always thank you for making me smile by paying my inbox a vist. It's always a good day when I check and you're here <3

[punkpandapatrixk]

🔻Tier 3 Patron-exclusive PAC at the end🔻

☆°・. Hustlin’ a la Goddess .・°☆ | Punk Girl Culture

A while back on Pinterest I saw a really cool quote like this: ‘I hustle like a man because I was raised not to depend on one.’ I understood what it’s trying to say and where it’s coming from; and above all, it really is an empowering idea considering how many women in this world are totally loser-like because their willpower is weak HA But the thing about that quote is…

It got me reminiscing about how I used to be a terrible, terrible workaholic caused by a toxic childhood that had been the complete opposite of that. In my past reality, I hustled like a man exactly because I had been groomed to depend on one. KABOOM!

In a toxic household was a psychopath that worked devilishly hard at having little girls believe that a woman is inherently—by nature—dependent on men. That our survival is at the mercy of men’s charity. Thus a woman must seek to marry a rich man if she wishes to live a happy life. Mind you, this wasn’t a simple case of a shallow Boomer who had grown up in a different era; this really was a psychopath who delighted in creating false realities for little girls to grow up and become absolute losers, in the hope that they never would surpass—never would become better than her.

I was only seven when I began to give that narrative a fuckton of thought. I loathed the idea that a woman is this kind of a helpless creature only because she was born with a vagina; that a woman would never survive without a man’s protection or provision; that a woman’s highest priority in life is to be attractive enough (whatever that means) to seduce a rich man so he wants to marry her. I LOATHED IT. I fucking despised it. What an insult to Love!

At any rate, by age seven, I had come to notice the bullshit that was often spewed by that psychopath. I refused to accept that degrading idea so I began to think and behave differently. I thought to myself one afternoon in the shower:

‘So a marriage is only necessary because of the money, right? But that’s an old people thing. This is a different era—I will make my own money when I grow up. So then, that means I don’t need to get married. I won’t allow myself to become dependent on a man. I don’t want it.’

And so it was that I grew up to become a hustler more resilient than most men because I wanted to rebel against the grooming of the psychopath. It was like a weird coping mechanism or overcompensation or something—not sure which term is more correct LMAO I grew up wanting to be seen as tough and not needing a man’s gentlemanly assistance. I hated being helped by men like, what, you think I can’t help myself? I was always able to help myself.

The problem is… I became way too tough. Waaay too tough for one short girl. I had come to hold myself to impossible standards. I thought that if a man could manage to do this or that, I should be able to do and achieve just the same. My brain is very capable! What’s stopping me?!

The reality of the limits of my physiology (tiny!🤪) as well as my psychology as an autistic girl had not become clear to me at this point. But as the wheel of fortune would have it, at some point in Life my eyes were opened to the very idea of my girlhood and I woke up to the realisation that a woman shouldn’t have to work so hard in Life. DIVINE FEMININE, BEBEH!

One cold and rainy October evening I was lying on my bed, broke as fuck, single as a stick, hungrier and lonelier than a stray cat, feeling all defeated in Life I thought about all of this and repeated to myself quite amusingly miserably:

‘I’m a girl. I’m just a girl. And a really tiny one at that. I shouldn’t have to work so hard. I don’t wanna have to work so hard. I shouldn’t be made to work SO hard. I wanna be someone’s baby girl!’

And I cried and I cried about the fact that I had been so unkind to myself as a girl. That I had allowed society to convince me that it was okay to be so impatient with myself in the name of professionalism! And I cried and I cried because now I was realising I’m really such a soft lovely polite girl who had been forced to fight for I didn’t even know what for the longest time trying to just meet the expectations of a batshit crazy world full of terribly gaslighty psychopaths…

I cried for three days straight, no cap. My youth… My entire Life… For what… And where did that lead me? It’s given me nothing. NOTHING.

By the end of the third day, I made a resolve to treat myself more kindly, more gently because girls are meant to be held with tender care and Love♥︎For the first time in my Life I was able to wholeheartedly accept that I was a girl LMAO That sounds funny but I wasn’t struggling with gender dysphoria—no, I don’t think that ever was the case but… umm… though I always liked the fact that I was a girl, somehow, there was also a part of me that used to view myself as just-a-14-year-old-boy-who-likes-to-play-video-games. I couldn’t even comprehend why I had an appearance that would be considered attractive by men💩

At any rate, so it was that I had held myself captive to impossibly stupid standards of conducts because I wasn’t aware enough of my biology, physiology, as well as psychology as a Goddess! Thinking about it now, it’s so bizarre I lived like that and even managed to survive pushing myself so hard even on those motherfucking days of murderous cramps *wink wink* One time I shed tears feeling so sorry to my younger self because I wasn’t gentle or patient enough with her.

I think the feminine force is supposed to be the embodiment of love and comfort. I think being a girl means I am deserving of an effortless existence. Say what you want if you’re a feminazi, but I want to live enveloped in lightness and ease. I think a girl deserves to be taken care of unconditionally because she’s so complexly fragile and delicate. No, it’s not a weakness. A flower’s delicateness is not a failure. Nor is a butterfly’s fragility useless.

We, are creatures of beauty. And when I was awakened to that reality, I learnt that the first thing I needed to do was stop being an enemy to my fragile beauty. I resolved to hold my femininity in highest regard and not continue to hurt myself with unrealistic expectations based on the male standards of conduct. It had to start with myself because the brainwashed world outside of me was never going to give this to me.

‘I simply do not want to hustle like a man anymore. I don’t think it suits me at all. More important, I don’t think the way men hustle is the standard of a good character! I don’t think they know what they’re doing.’

I, am a feminine force, baby—I don’t chase; I attract. When I hustle, I’m gonna hustle a la Goddess because that’s what I AM. The feminine, the yin, the abstract, holds the magick of the creation of the Universe. Literally I can manifest all I need effortlessly by just breathing calmly and being pretty—in harmony with the melodies of the Cosmic Vibrations💗

Gosh, why didn’t I figure this out earlier?!

I think I’ve now made peace with the homme and femme within though. I think, I’ve pretty much stopped being angry about the ways I used to hustle like a man—posing numerous dangers to myself both physically and spiritually. Ecologically, bish, that wouldn’t have been sustainable in the grander scheme of things!

I still have alternating days I feel more like an homme and a femme every so often but I’ve got to say I like me best on the days I feel most indulgently girly👗On such days, I feel the world is so fine because I’m a woman👒I feel everything is just gonna fall into place eventually because my Goddess Magick is taking care of my Reality. All is well in Divine Timing, my baby girl🎀

And god forbid—I don’t need no man to give that to me either!😉

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PGC Masterlist] [Patreon] [Paid Readings]

🍃🪨🍄🧚🏻‍♂️

🔻Tier 3 Patron-exclusive PAC🔻

[Breaking Conventions with Determined Softness]

your glamorous talent

empowering the soft girl

hustlin' a la Goddess

🍃🪨🍄🧚🏻‍♂️

[geonwooz]

♡ BROTHER’S BEST FRIEND — HONG WOOJIN

brother's best friend!woojin x fem!reader (ft. brother!gunwoo) | wc : 0.5k words | content : possible grammar and spelling mistakes, lowercase intended, fluff, angst if you squint, woojin being a flirt and it backfiring on him lmao

“hey, hey, hey! look, it’s my favorite best friend’s sister!”

it was almost two weeks of hong woojin visiting you whenever he could to brighten up your day and fill in for your brother.

ever since your brother, kim gunwoo, left for his tournaments, you were a mess. and woojin knew that — which was why he volunteered to check on you every so often before his best friend could even ask the favor.

woojin could never admit it to gunwoo, but the truth was, he had a crush on you — and just couldn’t bear to see you so sad. but little by little, with his visits, he brought a smile to your face.

and little by little, you started falling for your brother’s best friend.

you never really meant to, but with woojin being so caring, there was no way you could stop yourself from liking him. sure, he was your brother’s best friend, and if your brother found out, he’d probably not like it, but that problem would never arise.

because you were so damn sure nothing would ever happen between you two.

“gunwoo said you cried during your video call with him earlier.” woojin sat next to you, his voice soft. “you know, we can talk about it. it’ll just be between us, i promise.”

this was exactly why you kept falling for your brother’s best friend; he was an absolute gem.

“when we were together, gunwoo would nag me every day, but now it’s not as often,” you muttered. “weirdly enough, i miss it.”

“well, i mean, i can always nag you. you know, just consider me your big brother. i’m your brother’s best friend anyway, right?” woojin bit his lip, regretting his choice of words as soon as they left his lips.

“there’s no need for that, woojin.” you scoffed, shaking your head. “i have no intention of considering you as my brother.”

the male raised his brows, surprised by your response. “oh? then what do you want to consider me as? your boyfriend?” he playfully responded, leaning closer to your face as he grinned.

“w-what? no, i–”

“your husband?!” woojin enjoyed the way the heat rushed to your cheeks, feeling his heart flutter when you pouted at him. “woah, i didn’t think you’d have such long-term plans with me.”

you chuckled, wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine. “of course, i planned for the long term, hong woojin.” you leant closer, your smile never fading. “i also came up with baby names. wanna hear?” you quipped.

the seriousness in your voice paired with the proximity of your faces was too much for woojin, causing him to choke on air as you laughed, satisfied with the outcome.

you had played an uno reverse on your brother’s best friend, and he seemed to believe every word.

“w-wait, are you for real?” he couldn’t help but ask, not having noted the sarcasm behind your voice. “like, baby names and all?”

you stood from your place, walking towards the door before looking back. woojin followed your steps, the clueless look on his face giving you butterflies with how adorable he looked.

“take me out on a date first, and we can find out if the baby names are real.”

TAGLIST :: @missscarlettangel (TO BE ADDED, PLEASE COMMENT, SEND AN ASK OR DM!)

[themandaloriansdiaries]

Evergreen

Warnings: angst but I think that's about it.

Pairings: Anakin Skywalker x f reader

A/N: This is mainly about what the reader is going through. TMI I was on my period when I drafted this.. which is why it's pretty depressing. I was just up late at night listening to Evergreen and the idea just kinda popped up in my head. It's not great but I thought it was decent, so pls don't come over here with anything negative to say, otherwise we can fight lmao. Also, I know the lyrics aren't exactly in order but I just put lyrics I thought fit best with each part. omg I know I'm talking too much, I'll stop now. BYE.

Word Count: 690

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He don't love,

Me no more.

He don't love, He don't love,

Me no more.

“What’s gotten into you Anakin?” Your lip quivers, you try to hold back the tears that are ready to spill from your eyes.

“Why does it matter y/n! I’m sick of you hovering over me.” Anakin spits back.

“I’m only trying to help, Ani you’ve been so distant it’s starting to worry me”your response is quiet, your voice cracking.

Your hand reaches out to him, in attempts to rest on his shoulder, but he’s quick to shrug it off

“I never asked for your help!” He doesn’t bother to turn to face you. “Have you ever thought that maybe I just don’t feel the need to have you around anymore?” His tone was different, he didn’t sound like himself.

You jump at the sudden change in his tone. You were taken back by his words.

you did not want to believe what you were hearing

"You don't mean that Anakin, I love you." you cry out

He's now turned, looking down at you, with no emotion in his face.

"I don't love you anymore."

In that moment you felt your heart break, you felt like you couldn't breathe.

The Anakin once knew, would never think to speak to you in such a way, let alone treat you this way.

All you could do is cry, sobs escaping your lips as you quickly leave the room.

Anakin didn’t seem to care, he didn’t come after you.

He changed… He changed for the worse.

The man you once fell in love with.. was no longer there. He was long gone, as well as the love he had for you.

You felt helpless, you missed him.

I've cried, I've cried so much

For you, baby.

you sat in front of your vanity, staring at yourself in the mirror, tears streaming down your cheeks. You looked pathetic, but it didn't matter.. you were hurting.

Things had taken a rough turn in yours and Anakin's relationship.. All you could think about is the drastic change between the two of you.

Memories from the night the argument occurred, play in your head. All you could think about is how he spoke to you, the way he looked at you like you were nothing.

Truthfully, you had no idea what went wrong. Things were perfect, you and Anakin were inseparable, doing almost everything together, spending as much time with one another. Then suddenly everything changed. It had gotten to the point where he stopped asking of you, he wouldn't even look in your direction anymore.

All you could do is sit there in silence, and think what could have possibly gone wrong.

Was there something wrong with my body?

Am I not what you wanted, babe?

You think of all the possibilities, was it your appearance, did he grow tired of you? were you simply not enough for him anymore?

the idea of you not being enough for him causes you to break down even more, your attempts to bite down on your lip to keep from letting these noises escape you, failed. Quiet sobs escape your lips.

"What went wrong?" asking yourself, as if you would receive a response.

Evergreen, he tears me to pieces

You don't understand why he treats you the way he does.. and you don't understand why you can't just let go..

Somehow you still managed to stay here, you stayed even if it slowly destroyed you.

Anakin was tearing you into pieces.

No matter what, you still found yourself in love with him, you still found yourself caring so deeply about him.. even though he treated you terribly, he wasn’t always like this. Something changed, you just don’t know what it is.

But sometimes I pray that you fall in love.

You hope one day he'll open his eyes and see how much he has hurt you, you hope one day your Anakin will come back.

You hope that one day, he can love you the way he did before.

You hope that one day you both can be happy together, again.

One last time.