#I think they work better as a matched set

[corpsedogs]

✿ You and me, love love

jason todd x reader

every year on your anniversary— jason would slip a letter under your pillow as he pretends to fall asleep. this is what he wrote for the fifth year.

Sweetheart,

I’ve written five letters, one each year. Somehow… I don’t know— I still don’t know where to start.

Please do not make fun of how I write so inconsistently but.. you’d think by now I’d be better at this… at putting into words everything I feel when I look at you, when I hear your voice, when your hand brushes mine in the dark.

But, no matter how many pages I write… I always feel like I’m chasing something bigger than what language can hold.. or something adjacent to that.

Still. I try, since you’re worth trying for. Five years ago, I didn’t think I’d get this far or whatever.

I never believed in “after.” I was used to leaving and being left. I was used to closing doors before anyone else could slam them in my face. But then you.. God, you.

You cracked me so fucking in a way that didn’t hurt. You stood there, you held all those mix matched pieces with the kind of hands that didn’t flinch when they bled. You didn’t demand my best, but you still stayed. Without even knowing it, you rewrote the ending I thought I was stuck with…

You gave me five years of after.

Five years of more, who am I without you?

Year one was us testing the water, we kept our touches real small. I remember waking up beside you for the first time and feeling like I’d stolen something sacred. It felt like… I was holding the sun and didn’t know if I deserved the warmth.

You kissed my shoulder that morning and I swear I’ve never felt safer.

Year two was learning the rhythm of us… whatever term you want me to use. I remember way you took your coffee and how I liked the window cracked open even when it was raining. The two of us built a home, usually in late nights and forehead kisses and your laugh in the kitchen when I tried to cook pasta and almost set off the smoke alarm.

You whispered “I love you” against my neck and I nearly dropped the pan. Can you believe that?

Year three was hard… Work pulled us in opposite directions. My patrols were so fucking brutal (I’m still sorry about that). We fought and we got quiet.. or we forgot, sometimes, to hold hands in the hallway. But even in the silence, you chose me. Even when I gave you so many chances to run, you stayed.

I don’t remember the exact words but I remember you looked me in the eye one night and said, “We’re not perfect, Jay.” and I think that saved me, I hope you know that.

Year four was.. fun. We found our rhythm again. You painted my back with lipstick kisses and snuck love notes into your gear bag (Tim read one of them and I will never forgive him). We slow danced barefoot in the rain and got sick for two weeks. You called me dramatic and I called you the reason I kept wanting tomorrow.

You kept calling me that even when you had a fever. I didn’t want to sleep in another bed ever again.

Now… year five, and I’m still in awe.

The way your smile hasn’t faded. How you still reach for me first thing in the morning. Or.. how even right now, you’re lying next to me, thinking I’m asleep while you’re probably about to find this letter and cry silently (yes, I know you do that).

But let me say this: five years with you doesn’t feel like five years, it feels like, you know… blinking.

It feels like turning the page and realizing… you’ve already read an entire chapter because it was just that good. Like I looked up one day and suddenly I was home.

You are my home. I love you so much.

If tomorrow we lost everything, if the world burned down and all we had left was a pair of scuffed boots and this one room… I’d still be okay.

As long as you’re there. As long as I can press a kiss to your temple and whisper your name like a vow. As long as you’re still the one whose hand I reach for in the dark.

I don’t know what year six will hold… would you laugh at me when I’d tell you I’m nervous?

Maybe we’ll adopt a dog that hates me but worships you… or fuck— maybe we’ll travel somewhere warm and you’ll pretend not to be scared of thunder. Maybe we’ll just stay right here, you in my hoodie, me writing love letters under pillows because I’m still too chicken to say this out loud when you’re awake.

But whatever happens, I promise you this:

I will keep choosing you.

Even when I’m tired. Even when you’re mad. Even when we forget how to say it right.

I will keep saying “I love you” the best way I know how:

By staying.. or by holding you through it. By coming home to you. By writing this— year after year— because I still mean every word.

Happy fifth, Sweetheart.

Now stop crying and come kiss me. I’m still pretending to be asleep, but I’ll allow it.

Always yours,

—J

did i make you cry i wanna know, if you want his first letter let me know yayy

[fixyourwritinghabits]

I don't know if you possibly have any advice/encouragement for this but...I feel like I'm only any good at fanfiction/character studies, and absolutely garbage at plot. I'm an extensive outliner and I've read all the how-to books, but it just doesn't come to me. Antagonists, motivation, pinch points, magic systems...I struggle so much with anything that isn't character interactions and dialogue, but I want so badly to make well-structured, plot-heavy original fiction.

Help?

Right, I'm going to break the emergency glass of all writing advice and tell it to you frank:

If you can't figure out how to plot, steal.

Let's say you really like Sherlock Holmes and really want to write a Sherlock Holmes story, but you think no one will want a story where Sherlock Holmes was a modern doctor (House), or a superhero (multiple takes on Batman), or as a sci-fi/fantasy augmented woman reliant on her assistant (Robert Jackson Bennet's The Tainted Cup), etc etc. What I'm saying is that this is not only common, but an acceptable form of writing. It's not about boiling a character down to tropes and going with that - it's about taking what you like from fiction and making it your own.

The second question is how. I'm not telling you to rewrite The Hunger Games and set it in space (partly because arguably that already exists), but what I do recommend is:

Take your favorite media and break down why you like it. If you're writing a novel, I recommend sticking to novels, but there's no harm in taking a look at your favorite movies or comics either. What appeals the most to you about the plot? Which parts of your favorite media hit the hardest? Do you gravitate toward space operas or heists? Can you connect some consistent themes or character moments they share?

Pick your top favorite and break down the plot in an outline. The Save the Cat Beat sheet works really well for this (click here for examples of how to use it!), but if you prefer a different method or have your own, use that. Try to nail down as much of the plot into an outline view that you can. Note the big moments (the Inciting Event, the Middle, the Climax, etc) as much as you can, as well as when they happen.

Boil that specific outline down to a generic outline that could apply to any story. Here I want you to strip out the identifying information until you have an outline that follows the plot of your favorite movie without directly referencing it. Here's an example:

The Hunger Games Inciting Event: Katniss Everdeen volunteers to take her sister's place in a death game. Generic Summary: Main character takes a loved one's place in a nearly unsurvivable situation.

Most importantly, I do want you to do this for the entire piece of media. Not because I want you to write a Hunger Games rip-off, but because I want you to distill down what really appeals to you about this story in a format where you can see how the plot comes together. If you have the time, I recommend doing this to a few different favorite stories, just so you can build your library of plot points and how to connect them.

Second step, and this is the hard part, take those outlined plot points and try to put your characters in them. You don't have to follow one outline - if you have a couple, mix and match to see what fits together. If this still feels too hard to do with your original characters, try fanfiction! Fanfiction can really help you shake off the fear of being too derivative and allows you to experiment.

Now, even if you end up with a draft that reads like "The Hunger Games in 18th century France and Also There's Dragons For Some Reason," do not panic! The first draft is your private little experiment to get a working plot. If you do have a working plot, you now are in a way better position then you were before. Take a break from your book (I mean it, this step is important), and when you come back, look at it from a distance.

What parts of it do you like? Would it flow better if you plucked a subplot from another media you like and tried it out? Maybe you've realized you want a heist instead of a death game, but still want to keep the dragons. The first draft does not have to resemble the second, or even the third. But you will have a plot to build upon and rework, and the next time you take a crack at plotting, you will feel more confident. Even if you don't, feel free to use this format again to rework a concept you really like into something you feel is your own.

[thru-the-veil]

"What Will Be Your Revenge?" Pick A Card Reading

We all have villains in our story. There are many humans who exist that do not have our best interests in mind. But, no evil deed goes unpunished. I'd like to give you a glimpse into the negative consenquences or results of curses/hexes done for justice against those who have hurt you.

This is a general reading, discard what does not resonate or pick a new pile. This is for entertainment purposes and not a replacement for professional help.

₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊

₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊

Pile Number One:

They are losing status and lovers. Who they truly are has been exposed, in the most horrible way you can think of. They have been publicly humiliated and put under scrutiny. Any lovers or new love has left them, horrified by the truth. Any investors, charities, or people who mean well have pulled away from this person. Nobody is willing to "understand their perspective" or make themselves into a victim.

They may move into new places, thinking they can spin a sob story where they are the powerless victims of a symbolic witch hunt. They will be exposed with these new people as well. There is an entity that is following them, ensuring that unless they admit they were the villain and remove themselves from any position of power and influence, they will suffer.

Their biggest fear is that people will be able to see right through them, and that is their downfall. Even people who don't think deeply will be able to understand this person is dangerous. All of this is happening while you're transforming. You're becoming more beautiful, obtaining love offers, and accepting the help they thought they could manipulate their way into.

If you cursed or hexed this person, I am seeing that your spell worked, but not how you were expecting. There was a slight intervention by a divine power. The effects are still coming from your work, just in a much different, sometimes better way than you were expecting. You are very protected, especially by this entity following them. Your curse will not backfire, but do protection spells in case this person is a witch as well.

₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊

Pile Number Two:

They are seeing your glow up, and they are absolutely seething because of it. They used to try to compete with you, allowing jealousy to consume them and end up hurting you. Now, they're not even in the running. Any glamour magic you have done is working even better than expected, because that is their consenquences for hurting you. The effort you're putting in is directly influencing the justice you are recieving.

They are in a standstill, over burdened and overworked trying to keep up a veener of perfection. They may have a heavily edited internet presence, and they are having to use more filters or go into more debt to try to keep their success. They're falling off, and it's especially noticeable when people look at how well you're doing. They can try all they want, even do their own glamour magic, but it's what they get for acting the way they did.

Their biggest fear is being imperfect and judged, scared to take any kind of unconventional path or end up looking "weird". You are embracing yourself, and doing so gracefully. You stand out, while they are being moved into the masses that they so desperately wanted the acceptance of. Your rage is silent, but isn't going unnoticed.

If you cursed or hexed this person the effects of that are coming more from your own glow up. You may have set the intention that their greatest fear would come true, and it is. Some of you may have done an "ugly curse", especially if the person is invested in how they look. The outside is now simply matching the inside. Your energy and works are not only affecting them, but they are working to give you an entire glow up. You are their greatest fear, and you're coming into yourself more and more.

₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊

Pile Number Three:

This person has befallen hard times. They have been blocked, especially academic success, for those in school. They are recieving bad grades, bad performance reviews, bad scores, and bad news. There could be many things pertaining to forwards momentum. They could be having car troubles. They could have been rejected from their dream college. They could have been denied an apartment or a dream job. Their dreams are being halted, so that they can truly sit and think about what they have done.

They acted unwise when it came to you, perhaps to the point of doing magic to block your achievements or bullying you to undo your confidence. I am seeing that this person could have been a past academic rival, or a current academic rival. They used underhanded methods such as cheating or bribery to get ahead. All of this is coming out. I picked up on a possible forgery or plagiarism that's been discovered.

Their biggest fear is being a faliure. Thus, they are failing at many things in their life. If their lover conspired against you, the lover could also be caught up in this revenge. Their life just keeps getting harder and harder the more they refuse to be humble and take the consenquences of their behavior. They earned everything. They made their bed, and now they're lying in it.

If you cursed or hexed this person, it is working exactly as intended, or it will come to fruition. It's possible you're not the only person who's set an intention against them. They could be getting consenquences from multiple people's anger. Whatever you meant to happen, will happen or is happening currently, even if you can't see it.

₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊

Pile Number Four:

I began having technology issues when I wanted to write this section. Whoever it is, they do not want anyone to know they're going through this.

There is an entity that has attached themselves to this person. I channeled a simple message from them: "Don't worry, they're going to get their just desserts." As I channeled them, my head and stomach started hurting. That channeling may be specific to a person, but the collective does have an enemy that is being attacked spiritually by an entity, specifically in the stomach and head area.

This person had a lot of pride, perhaps specifically about their magical practice. They may be a coven leader, a popular witch on social media, or a well learned and more experienced occultist. They should know how to prevent an entity attachment, but this is because of how they treated you.

They are being humbled. They are trying to keep secrets, to not let people know they're recieving consenquences they were sure they could avoid. You've been relaxing while they have been busy trying to detach this entity. They are being absolutely haunted, not only by this spirit, but by the decisions they made.

Their biggest fear is being humbled, and it is so. The effects of this entity attachment won't be seen easily, but it is harsh divine judgement on an astral, inhuman plane.

It's possible you never cursed or hexed anyone. Perhaps you are against such strains of magic. It's possible you're not a witch at all. But you are protected. And if you did curse or hex, the effects are much more severe than you could have ever set an intention for. This is truly their just desserts for years of pride.

₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊₊˚ ୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope this resonated and brought some feeling of closure!

[dogwithbird]

Lyin' Eyes

part two of dirty work ->

Late at night, a big old house gets lonely I guess every form of refuge has its price And it breaks her heart to think her love is only Given to a man with hands as cold as ice

Joel takes care of you while your husband is out of town.

----------------------

no outbreak contractor!Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings/Tags: no outbreak au, infidelity, smut, unprotected piv, oral sex (joel eats it from behind 😇), car sex, semi-public sex, porn with too much plot

(you can def enjoy the smut in this on its own but I highly rec reading part 1 first!)

Read below or on AO3 ->

Your day was not off to a good start.

You began the morning with what was supposed to be a friendly tennis match: instead, you were absolutely demolished by the impossibly peppy and abundantly energetic Mary Frances Whitlow, a woman who somehow managed to juggle twin toddlers, four board appointments, and a standing blowout at nine every Thursday. She chaired committees for the symphony, the hospital foundation, and something she founded called “The Green Ribbon Gala.”

Her ponytail swung with every victorious hit and you were confused by the fact that she didn’t seem to sweat. Between sets, she chirped about sleep training and silent auctions, how she was deciding if she should enroll her twins into the Mandarin or the Spanish immersion program at Pre-K, and how she and her husband Trip were trying for a third.

You had no stories to share with Mary Frances. You guessed that telling her your secret might not solicit a positive reaction.

You imagined it for a moment, though: saying it out loud.

Just leaning across the net after your match, brushing imaginary lint off your skirt before offering,

“I’ve been having a torrid affair with the contractor my husband hired and it’s the happiest I’ve been in years. You should try it!”

You wondered what she’d say. Probably blink a few times, laugh politely, and tell you that you were such a hoot!

You listened to Mary Frances talk about baby names — we love Annabelle for a girl — christenings — Trip just insists on inviting every last cousin he has — and Christmas cards — we can’t decide if we should wear all white or coordinating tartan.

You zoned out and fantasized about Joel’s hands on your hips. His breath in your ear. The way he could make you feel full and seen and wrecked, all at once.

“It’s really just a matter of weight transfer! I used to struggle with it too — you’ll get there!” You were snapped back into reality, your humiliation compounded.

You smiled. Said thanks through your teeth. Got in your car and cranked the A/C and gripped the steering wheel until your knuckles went white.

By the time you got home, sweat stained and red-faced, your husband was already halfway through a work call in your bedroom, barking something about deliverables and bandwidth as he packed his suitcase for another work trip. You hovered in the doorway, hoping for a glance, a nod, any signal that he saw you — but he turned away, already pacing toward the closet.

You abandoned your plans for a shower and instead sauntered back downstairs to make a smoothie. You dropped in a handful of frozen berries, almond milk, half a banana, protein powder. Watched the blades spin. Watched the color change from cream to pink to something purple-gray and vaguely unappetizing.

Your phone buzzed, bouncing off the marble.

It was Joel. Thank God.

Still need help picking those drawer pulls?

He was referring to the ones for the butler’s pantry — a decision you’d been putting off for two weeks, partly because you couldn’t bring yourself to care, but mostly because you liked having a slew of excuses in your arsenal to get Joel to come by.

You stared at the message for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Then you typed:

I need help with a lot of things.

You hit send before you could think better of it.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then reappeared.

You home?

Before you could reply, you heard your husband’s footsteps pounding down the stairs.

“I’ll be back Thursday,” he said, rolling his suitcase behind him. He kissed your cheek, a dry and distracted afterthought, and walked out the door without waiting for an answer.

The smoothie sat untouched on the counter, threatening to overflow in its glass and stain the marble. You stared at your phone. Typed, deleted, typed again.

I need a drink.

You cringed at your own message.

You drink through that big new bar already?

A grin spread across your face. Joel and Tommy had just finished the new wet bar a few days ago; you and Joel had celebrated by fucking on the counter, of course. Your mind wandered, thinking about that afternoon. The way he’d pushed you down over the counter, positioned himself behind you. The way you could see both of your reflections in the mirror-like shine of the backsplash tile. The way he’d leaned down, kissed the back of your neck, whispered in your ear — such a good girl, getting my cock so fucking wet.

Before you had the chance to reply, he texted you again and snapped you out of your fantasy world:

I’ll pick you up at 7.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Joel’s truck hummed into the drive at 6:58. You watched from the foyer as he shifted to park and pulled down the visor. He carefully opened the encased mirror and ran and hand through his hair; you grinned in anticipation of messing it up.

Before he had the chance to come in, you made your way outside and beelined towards him. Southern gentleman he was, he got out and opened the passenger door for you, hand grasping at your waist to support you as you clambered inside, your dress riding up in the process and earning a wolfish look from Joel.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed out through his teeth. “You tryin’a kill me tonight?” His hand lingered, sliding down to your outer thigh, and you swatted it away, nervous one of your nosy neighbors might see. Someone had probably already logged some damning Ring camera footage.

The cabin of the truck smelled of sawdust and mint and a hint of tobacco, a scent you immediately recognized as being Joel. He’d been trying to quit smoking at his daughter’s urging; he was constantly chewing on minty Nicorette with mixed success. Joel slid back into the driver's seat, his eyes never leaving you even as he reversed the car down the drive.

Your usual bravado had fled, leaving a void in your brain. As you settled into your seat, your mind raced, grappling with the enormity of what you were doing. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to be outside the confines of your house. Until now, everything had been neatly packed away within the walls of your house. Now, you were in uncharted territory. Territory where you couldn’t control the outcome. For a moment, words eluded you.

“Hi,” you said finally, voice landing in a place between shy and desperate. The sound of your own voice startled you in its raw vulnerability. This was not like calling for him from across the marble countertops or moaning his name against cool tile; this was real life pressing in on all sides.

Joel’s gaze lingered on you and threatened to unravel whatever semblance of composure you'd mustered.

“Evenin’, stranger.” His drawl coated each syllable with slow intent; just hearing it made something deep inside your ribcage hum. You’d never seen Joel dressed so … well, you weren’t sure if nicely was the right word, but you had never seen him in a shirt with buttons on it; in jeans without holes, or grime, or both. Joel wore dark wash jeans and a flannel button down that it was too warm outside for. He’d slicked his hair back with some sort of pomade that smelled like pine and citrus; salt-and-peppered strands of hair fighting between the heat and the hair pomade.

Joel took you to a hole in the wall dive-diner hybrid where you were certain you wouldn’t see any members of the Junior League crowd you’d ingratiated yourself into. He snorted when you asked him if he’d made a reservation. You sat at a small table in the back, a corner booth tucked between a jukebox that wheezed out old country songs and a cardboard cut out of a NASCAR racer whose name had long faded away. His knee brushed yours under the table, denim against bare skin. There was something about sitting with Joel in public — in a no name bar, in a booth so thoroughly lacquered with beer and time that the wood shone like amber — that made you feel like you were having some sort of out of body experience. His eyes held yours as he leaned in, his voice a low rumble over the twang of the jukebox.

"What's your poison, darlin’?" he asked, a slight smile playing on his lips.

You racked your brain, figuring they wouldn’t have a good crisp white wine here, and opted for a gin and tonic. You watched him move through the haze of neon Lone Star signs and vinyl booths like he was parting some low-tide sea: his stride was loose and shambling, but with an ease you recognized as confidence.

At the bar, he leaned in and caught the bartender’s attention with a polite wave. You saw him reach back for his wallet with those thick, squared-off fingers, hands fumbling for a bill among crumpled receipts and business cards. You watched him speak to the man next to him while he waited, an older gentleman with a hearing aid whose hand trembled on every sip from his glass. The conversation seemed easy, unhurried; Joel’s smile surfaced as he gestured towards the TV behind the bar where the Texans were continuing their losing streak.

You let your mind linger, just for a second, thinking about how in this situation your husband would be tapping his foot impatiently, American Express card in one hand and phone in the other, undoubtedly ready to complain about the subpar service when he returned to you. You tried to imagine your husband even taking you here in the first place but all you could picture was his reflexive withdrawal from anyone who didn’t know how to pronounce “prix fixe.”

Joel returned with your drink and a longneck for himself, the condensation already sliding down the sides of the bottle. He slid into the booth beside you, thigh brushing yours. He set the drinks down, fingers grazing yours deliberately, then leaned back and slung one arm across the back of the booth.

He shifted the conversation back to you, asking about your day. You hesitated, then admitted to the tennis match, the humiliation still fresh. Joel listened, his thumb tracing small circles on your shoulder as you spoke.

"Sounds like you had a rough one," he said, taking a sip of his beer. "If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn’t’a been able to hit the ball once.”

You laughed, a genuine sound that bubbled up from your chest, releasing a tension you hadn't realized you were holding. "I don't believe that for a second," you said, taking a sip of your gin and tonic. The cool liquid was refreshing, grounding you in the moment. "You’re good with your hands."

“That dirty mind of yours, darlin’. What’re we gonna do about it?” The twinkle in Joel's eyes was unmistakable, a mischievous glint dancing there as his words wrapped around you. His hand moved from your shoulder to your neck, his fingers gently massaging the tense muscles there. He raised an eyebrow at you. You could feel your pulse thrumming at the base of your throat, each beat echoing around his fingers still resting there. The jukebox warbled another country song. Your tongue caught on the cusp of a daring suggestion that hovered just out of reach.

Before you could release that breath and let fly whatever wicked idea had taken root in your mind, the clattering approach of the waitress interrupted you. She appeared at your table with practiced efficiency, setting down your meals with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Here ya go, lovebirds,” she chirped amiably and Joel's hand slipped away from your neck, leaving your skin tingling. He leaned back slightly, allowing the waitress space to set down the plates: a steaming burger and fries for Joel and two enormous slices of pizza for you.

Joel watched you take a bite, a smile playing on his lips. "Good?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. Grease dribbled down your chin and a smile adorned your face. You nodded, your mouth too full of plasticky cheese to speak.

Joel told you more about his daughter, Sarah, away at college on a scholarship. Full ride at Chapel Hill, he said, she sure as hell didn’t get her brains from me, and you rolled your eyes at the notion. You could tell her being away was hard on him and that he tried his hardest to not burden her with the knowledge of that. He never said much about her mother, and you didn’t pry. You noticed how his gaze fell when you asked once. All he was willing to tell you was that she didn’t have any sort of relationship with Sarah.

Eventually, the diner began to empty, the jukebox started to play old drinking and cheating songs. Only the two of you and a small squad of men moping at the bar remained.

“Whattaya think about getting outta here?” Joel asked, his hand finding yours under the table. You nodded, a thrill running through you through you at the prospect of being alone with Joel again. The diner's noise faded into the background as you both stood up, Joel tossing a few bills onto the table.

You had to stop yourself from jumping his bones the second you clambered into the truck. Despite the heat outside, you shivered and your teeth chattered in a nervous way, maybe from anticipation. Your skin prickled with electricity and Joel took notice.

“You cold, darlin’?” Joel rubbed his hand on your arm to warm you up, to calm you. You swallowed hard, your eyes meeting his and shaking your head. His hand lingered on your arm, his calloused thumb sweeping back and forth, creating a soothing friction.

Your breath caught. He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the brush of his lips without contact, and then—

“I told ya,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he breathed before finally kissing you.

It was not gentle; there was nothing restrained about it. It was fervent and fierce. Both of you had been holding back for hours, restrained by time and circumstance, until this very moment when there was no more room for pretense or propriety. His mouth descended upon yours with intent.

You responded with equal fervor, fingers sliding into the hair at the back of his neck, messing up the carefully combed strands you’d watched him smooth in the mirror earlier. The kiss grew deeper still, becoming something untamed and all-consuming. Your torso twisted almost instinctively toward him, driven by a primal need to obliterate any distance between you. Your hips rocked forward slightly, seeking closeness thwarted only by the stubborn resistance of the center console which stood stalwart between you. It felt like an infuriating chaperone, all vigilance and no mercy. Joel’s mouth was at your throat, open and wet, and then lower, nipping at the neckline of your dress like he could taste you through fabric.

“Back seat,” he growled, voice low and fraying.

You nearly made it over the console — half crawling, half guided by his hands gripping your waist — before he was behind you, one knee on the seat, crowding your body with his.

“Mm, hold on a minute, darlin’.” Halfway between the two rows, Joel held your waist sturdy against the leather console. Joel rubbed his palms over your ass; you could feel the heat and heft of him through his jeans.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he said, voice rough as gravel, as he pressed you gently down onto the console. “All night, sittin’ there lookin’ like that, talkin’a me like that…”

You let out a breathless laugh. "I wasn’t doing anything," you replied slyly.

His eyes darkened with deepening affection as they locked onto yours.

"You exist," he whispered with quiet conviction. He paused just long enough for them to solidify around you like armor before lowering his mouth back to you.

“You exist,” he repeated, “sittin’ there next to me. That’s enough to drive me crazy.” His mouth adhered to your neck, wet and hot and open.

“You already wet for me, hm?” he murmured, sliding down to your ass. He cocked his head sideways, leaving a light bite on your upper thigh that made you squeal and wriggle in his arms. Your underwear was almost completely soaked through, a darkening patch quickly expanding. You didn’t answer him; it seemed redundant. He slid your thong to one side and then off, revealing that you were, in fact, wet for him. Surprise, surprise.

His hand came down firmly on your exposed ass, dress rolled up enough so that Joel had you at eye level. With both hands, he spread you apart so that you felt a cold prick of air between your legs. Joel didn’t waste any more time before his mouth met you from behind, hot and wet and greedy. He groaned into you like he was starved. Like he’d been thinking about this all night and finally, finally, got a taste. Joel spread you open with both hands, thumbs digging into the backs of your thighs as he licked a long stripe through your folds, then zeroed in on your clit with bewildering precision. His tongue circled, sucked, flicked, his stubble scraping the backs of your thighs in the most delicious way. His nose teased your entrance.

“Joel—fuck—” You braced one hand against the dash, the other clutching the edge of the seat as your hips rocked back into his mouth on instinct. “Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

He didn’t. If anything, the sound of you begging made him hungrier. He moaned low in his throat, the vibration shooting straight through your core as he buried his face in you, tongue working you open, deeper, messier.

Your legs started to shake.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your cunt. “that’s it, baby,”

And you fell apart on his tongue, moaning his name loud and wild into the empty cab of the truck as your climax crashed over you. Any passerby would have immediately noticed it, and you didn’t care. You collapsed flat onto the center console, hips twitching, dress bunched around your waist, panties tangled around one ankle. Joel sat back up, breathing hard, his mouth and beard slick with you.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he said, dragging a hand over his face. “Can never get enough of you.”

You tried to will yourself to move — either forward or backward, it didn’t matter — but you couldn’t seem to peel yourself from the sweat slicked center console now, and so you waited for Joel to instruct you. The best you could manage was a weak, undignified flail: fingers scrabbling at vinyl, head lolling toward Joel. He was sitting there in the driver’s seat, leaned against the fogged-up window. His chest heaved heavily and his face glistened in some far-off parking lot light.

When you finally met his gaze through heavy lashes, you found yourself pinned there, unable to look away. He gave you a long, slow grin that said he was proud of having been the one to undo you so completely.

“You alive over there, sweet girl?” he asked, voice raw and a little bit hoarse. You tried to answer, but the words died somewhere in the back of your throat, emerging instead as a contented whimper.

You could only giggle, cheeks pinched and hot. With one hand, Joel tucked the hair nearly covering your eyes behind your ear. The sight of him made you realize that you needed more of him, and you needed it now. You slid the rest of the way into the back seat and beckoned Joel to follow you.

He didn’t need more than the crook of your finger and the look in your eyes before he followed you into the back seat.

You moved instinctively, turning to face the window as you braced your hands on the leather seat, presenting yourself to him without a word. The fog on the glass shimmered under the streetlights, and Joel exhaled like he’d just been punched in the gut.

You felt the rough callus of his palm smooth over your backside, gripping and kneading. Your dress was still bunched at your waist, and he shoved it higher, exposing more of you to the cool air and the greedy heat of his gaze.

Your forehead rested against the cool window, breath fogging up the glass even more as your heartbeat pounded loud in your ears. One of Joel’s hands slid between your thighs, finding you still soaked and pliant. He groaned.

With one hand he guided himself to your entrance, the other firm on your hip. He slipped in so easily through your slick and immediately bottomed out. You gasped, eyes fluttering shut as he repeated the motion. The pressure, the fullness, the grip of his hand—every inch of it wound tight inside you.

“Fuck,” he hissed as he bottomed out a third time, voice low and ragged. “You take me so damn well.”

Joel rocked into you with deep, punishing thrusts, his pace steady and brutal in its precision. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you back to meet him each time he drove in. The sound of your bodies filled the truck — skin against skin, low grunts, your high, broken moans that you couldn’t even begin to muffle.

The sensation of being pressed against the glass, your cheek smudging the fog, made everything feel even filthier. More raw. More real. You could see the smear of your reflection — glassy-eyed and open-mouthed — every thrust jolting your body forward, your hands slipping.

Joel pressed against you, one hand braced on the window beside your face, the other wrapped around your middle, keeping you locked to him. He couldn’t be any closer and still, he wasn’t close enough. His breath ghosted over the back of your neck, and his teeth grazed the edge of your ear.

“You like bein’ out on display like this?” he asked, the words a snarl in your ear, velvet over gravel. “Like gettin’ fucked where anyone could see, baby? You want them to know you’re mine?”

You whimpered, and Joel grunted in response, fucking into you harder.

“Yeah, yeah,” you could hear a wide smile spread across his face, “you love this—”

“Joel—”

“—‘f I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanna get caught, huh?”

And that sent you over the edge — your body clenching around him, shivering with release, a gush escaping down the inside of your leg. He kept moving through it, chasing his own pleasure now, sloppy and desperate and close.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna—” he groaned, hips stuttering. He buried himself deep, cursing as he came, filling you with a guttural moan that vibrated against your spine.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your breathing, the pinging of the cooling engine, and some Top 40 song briefly blaring from a car driving by. You remained on your knees, face to the window. The windows had begun to clear, condensation fading to a hazy gloss of moonlight and smeared fingerprints.

Joel pulled you back by your waist. Your dress was tugged back down, your underwear still tangled around one ankle, but you didn’t bother fixing it. You just sat there, back against his chest, both spent and flushed. He shifted behind you, his jeans half-zipped, shirt hanging open. The hair at his temples was damp with sweat.

His thumb dragged slow circles across your palm. You felt the rise and fall of his chest, breathing now slowing. He started with your pinky. Toyed with it lightly. Then your ring finger.

You felt it immediately — the pause. The way his thumb hesitated over the tan line that circled the base of your finger like a ghost. You hadn’t worn your wedding ring tonight. You’d slipped it off before you got in the shower, let it clatter into the porcelain dish by the sink.

This was the part where you were supposed to feel guilty. You knew that.

This was the part where your stomach should turn, where the shame should bloom like a bruise beneath your ribs. Where you should picture your husband’s face, should hear Mary Frances’s voice talking about baby names and PTA meetings and think: I am ruining my life.

But none of that came. Instead, a vision of your husband doing the same thing as you filled your mind. You felt nothing at the imaginary sight. No guilt. No resentment, or jealousy, or rage, or anger. Just … nothing. And still, you compulsively thought about him. How he wasn’t there.

Instead, there was Joel. Quiet, steady, tracing his thumb along that invisible band as if to erase it.

“You look like you’re somewhere far away sometimes,” he said finally.

You blinked. “Just thinking.”

“Hm, what about?”

You hesitated, weighing whether to tell him the truth. Tell him about your horrible compulsion to overthink and compare. The compulsion to repeat to yourself that no, you did not feel guilty.

“I just…”

Joel’s arm wrapped around your chest to pull you closer and it was so quiet that you could hear the ticking of his watch. You tilted your head up, and Joel was already looking at you through his lashes, not blinking, as if you’d disappear if he looked away. You tried to meet his gaze but it was like staring into the sun, unfiltered and bright, so you let your focus drift to the constellation of freckles just above the angle of his jaw.

There was no judgment there. Only the steady, expectant wait of someone willing to believe anything you told him, even if it was a lie. You let yourself float on that for a moment, savoring the absurdity of simultaneously wanting him to see right through you and being terrified that he actually might.

“I just — I think the guest bathroom needs to be renovated next. I’m sick of the wallpaper.”

Joel blinked, and for a moment, you could see the confusion flicker across his face. Then his mouth broke into a slow, lopsided smile, and he let out a small, choked laugh that rumbled through your body where it rested against his.

“Guest bathroom, huh?” he said, amused. “That’ll cost you.”

You rolled over onto your knees, not caring that you still had come running down your thighs and your hair was a tangled mess. Your body relaxed when you realized he was going to play along and not press your further.

“I’m willing to pay top dollar,” you murmured against his mouth. “Long as you do it right.”

He kissed you clumsily, mouth open, teeth knocking together through your smiles. Joel tasted like salt and sweat and mint and it made you dizzy.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he pulled back, his voice low, “for a client like you? I’ll throw in a discount.”

[lucy90712]

Hi!

Saw that you want some requests for tennis players so here is couple ideas. Either for Carlos or Jannik would be nice.

- Maybe reader has played tennis when they were younger. And they were quite good but got injured or just stopped playing. And they want to start playing as a hobby again. So their boyfriend gets really excited for them and wants to play with them.

- They have been together for a long time (like over 5 years) and they start to talk and think about past and things that they have done. Like holidays, family parties or just start if their relationship

- the reader is a small influencer (like under 10000 followers) and does a day in my life (where their boyfriend is seen) or “my boyfriend does my makeup”. And the internet goes nuts

- Reader has ADHD and has hard time on focusing on things. And maybe she and her boyfriend goes out for the night. And she has forgotten thing to home (phone wallet or something). And her boyfriend has taken them with him because he knows she would forgot them.

Hopefully you got some inspiration out of those. And i will brainstorm some more ideas later

A/N: I’m planning to write another one of these ideas for Carlos so keep your eyes peeled for that one The snap. A sound no one else heard but one I'll never forget. I was sixteen at the time on the verge of making my breakthrough into the world of professional tennis. The match was a final to win me my third junior title of the year but I didn't make it past the first game of the second set. I was sliding towards the ball when my foot caught rolling my ankle completely rupturing my Achilles tendon as well as fracturing a few bones in my leg. The pain was like nothing I'd ever felt before or anything I've felt since, instantly I knew it was bad and it really was. Recovery took a year and a half and by that point I didn't want to enter a tennis court ever again. 

When I was finally better I vowed that I'd never go anywhere near the sport of tennis which includes playing and even watching tennis. Before the injury tennis was my life but the very thing I loved so much took everything away from me in one split second and I couldn't do that to myself again. Instead I decided to focus on my education and get myself a good job that was much less risky and that's what I did. I worked hard and graduated top of my class with a degree in marketing which landed me a job at Nike straight out of uni. That's how I met Jannik and everything changed. 

Once my boss found out I used to play tennis he put me in charge of all the campaigns with the Tennis players they sponsor which was a big deal for my career but it was the last thing I wanted to do. The first campaign I worked on was with Jannik who really surprised me as he was so down to earth. In between shoots he sat and talked with me about my tennis career and why I gave it up which I never thought I'd talk about but for some reason around Jannik I couldn't stop myself. When I told him that I haven't stepped foot on a tennis court since that flipped a switch in him. He gave me his number that day and said he wanted me to enjoy tennis again so I should come to one of his training sessions just to watch. 

Before going to one of his training sessions he invited me out for coffee and we talked for hours about everything. After that we went out together a few more times which looking back were dates but at the time we never put a label on them until the day Jannik asked me to be his girlfriend. It was only then that he asked if I'd come to one of his training sessions but he didn't push he never reminded me he just knew that once I was ready I would go and one day I did. From that day I learned to love tennis as a fan rather than as a player which was something I never thought I'd get back. 

In the three years I've been with Jannik I've traveled the world watching him play and watching him win major titles which hurt a little to start with as I thought about what could've been but then I always remember how much I love my life now. Jannik always checks in with me too to make sure that I'm not thinking too much about the what ifs and if I am he always lets me talk through my feelings without even an ounce of judgment. It's thanks to him that I feel so ok being at all these matches with him it's all his encouragement and patience that has helped me stop hearing that sound every time someone strikes a ball. 

For a while Jannik has been trying to encourage me to play again even if it's just hit a ball a couple times with him with no pressure. He even got me into therapy so I can talk through my feelings about my injury with a professional. The therapy has really helped me and made me realise that the reason I don't want to step foot on a tennis court is because I'm scared of losing my freedom again. When I got injured I couldn't do anything I loved even just walks on the beach and I never want to experience that again. With Jannik's encouragement and the therapists help I've been feeling a lot better about picking up a racket again but I'm waiting for the moment where it just feels right. 

~~~~~~~~~~

After a bit of a break Jannik is back to training but because it's a Saturday I'm able to go with him. I've watched him practice many times but today I was extra focused watching his movements across the court and the way he struck the ball. He really is mesmerising to watch everything he does he makes it look so effortless which is what people used to say to me when I played and I have to say it's definitely fun to watch. He didn't train too hard for his first session back his coach just had him doing some basic stuff and getting moving again so by the time he was done he was tired but not exhausted like he usually is. 

For some reason as I climbed down from the stands I felt the urge to pick up one of Jannik's rackets he had leaning against the bottom of the stands. It's not an urge I've ever had before so I just did it and then I found a stray ball and started to bounce it with the racket. It wasn't much but it really did make me feel alive again I haven't held a racket since that day and I forgot the feeling I used to get every time I stepped foot onto a court even just for a practice session. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Jannik watching me completely still like if he moved it would scare me and I'd stop. 

"I didn't think it would feel this good just to bounce a ball again" I said making my way towards him 

"Do you want to try some hitting practice with me I won't hit hard or make you run we can just hit it back and forth" Jannik suggested 

"You know what yeah I do" I said surprising myself 

He gave me a better racket and grabbed a few more balls and handed them to me so I could serve. It's been a long time since I served a ball so my first try was all over the place especially with Jannik's racket but on my second try I did it perfectly. True to his word Jannik didn't test me too much he had me moving a bit but he always made sure I had time to get to the ball and he didn't hit too hard. The longer we went on the braver I got so I started really making Jannik work for it which he also seemed to enjoy. As he could see it was getting more comfortable he made things a bit harder for me but I coped with it. 

We spent nearly an hour just having fun. Our rallies were long but they always ended when I wasn't quite brave enough to run for a ball. On our last rally I finally beat Jannik which is why he finally called it so I could end on a high. It was a small gesture but it meant a lot to me that he was willing to just take the loss to make me happy. The smile on his face also made my heart feel full because I could tell he was proud of me and that's always a great feeling. 

"How do you feel?" Jannik asked 

"Like I'm in heaven that was so much fun I didn't realise how much I missed it" I said excitedly 

"I'm so proud of you you know I know it's taken a lot for you to get this far and you did great you really made me work for some of those" he said 

"Can we do this again some time?" I asked 

"Of course we can whenever you want to play tell me and we'll play" he said 

"Maybe after some more practice I can start to play just for fun again" I said 

"And if you do I'll be right there cheering you on always" he smiled 

[hearts4sammonroe]

So, I saw your fic where the reader got jealous but could you pretty please do a fic where Stephen gets jealous? Like how he'd react to maybe the reader getting some attention from guys? Similarly how you mentioned in the fic? Please and thank you!! 💞

“It’s my right to be hellish, I still get jealous”

pairing: stephen glass x f!reader

contains: jealousy, steve’s angsty thoughts, possessive!steve, fluffy actions, use of y/n.

a/n: hope this is what you wanted, anon! I didn’t wanna make it the exact same as the other work I made but I tried to match the vibe lol!! also I’m sorry this was rushed :( divider credits are in my masterlist, pics are from pinterest.

Why are they buying her (y/n, my y/n!), coffee? I’m supposed to do that! I buy her breakfast every morning. Stephen Glass thinks.

You were across the room, chatting with a couple of guys that you and Stephen both worked with. One of them bought you a coffee this morning, and the other one bought you a croissant.

Of course they would do that, she’s a beautiful girl. But she’s my beautiful girl! Stephen frowns at his own thoughts. Now they’re making her laugh?!

It was childish of him to be so jealous, because you love him. Only him. But he can’t help it. He has to do something!

By lunch time, he was rushing downstairs to grab your favorite lunch, favorite drink, and favorite coffee. How you like it, not how those guys failed it. Well… that’s what he thought. He had also doordashed some things to his apartment.

“Aw, thanks, Stephen.” You smile as he sets your lunch down on your desk.

“Yeah, of course. I made your coffee just how you like it.” Stephen nods.

“Oh… I already had some this morning.” You say.

“But this is made how you like.” Stephen insists, a grin on his face.

“How’d you know I didn’t like the one from this morning?” You ask.

“Because of the look on your face when you first drank it.” Stephen shrugs, sitting down beside you. “I also got you much better food than that stale croissant you got this morning.”

“Are you jealous?” You ask bluntly.

“Of what?”

“The guys we work with.”

“No… why would you say that?”

“Because I saw you pouting like a child, and now you’re bringing me all my favorites.” You chuckle.

“Okay… yeah, maybe I’m jealous.” Stephen reluctantly nods.

“Why?” You ask, genuinely curious. Why would he be jealous when he’s the only one for you?

“Because they bought you coffee, and they always wanna talk to you, and they make you laugh. And I know that they all think you’re stunning, because you are, but what if you think they’re handsome?” Stephen rambles.

“Steve.” You cut him off. “There’s no need to be thinking like that. They don’t make my coffee how I like it like you do, they’re boring, and you make me laugh a lot more.”

“You’re just saying that because you feel bad.” Stephen sighs.

“Stephen, don’t piss me off. I’m being so serious.” You huff. You love him to death but he could be ridiculous sometimes. “I only want you. Just you. Stephen, they could never make me laugh until I piss myself, and they can’t love me like you do. Never. So, you shouldn’t be jealous. I only have eyes for you.”

“Promise?” Stephen asks, trying to hide his smile.

“Promise.” You roll your eyes, half-jokingly.

“All right… well, I still have flowers waiting for you at home. And I rented your favorite movie… and I already bought ingredients for your favorite dinner. Oh, and your favorite candle…”

He did way too much sometimes, but some days it was a good thing.

taglist: @anakinstwinklebunny @haydenismyman @anisangeldust @cassielunaaa @madsluvsdilfs @mvst4far @divineani @alealuvshayden @cutestcouch @darthrenswiftie @devotedlypaleluminary @amiratheangel @inlovewithallmusic @ysrjune @livelifegenuinely24 @maelovestowrite

[murdock-slvt]

MDNI 18+ 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐱 𝐡𝐞𝐫

lois lane was a hardworking woman. she worked day and night, from twelve am to twelve pm, from monday to sunday all in the name of good god damn journalism because if any city deserved it more, it would be her town of metropolis.

clark kent always knew lois lane was hardworking. from overhearing their co-workers complain that lois took the last coffee, to jimmy saying that lois stayed in the office longer than he did and when he came in for his shift, her computers were still on and her browser history marked 12 am, way past the daily planet’s opening and closing time. he’d stare at her from across his little half cubical and his gaze can’t help but look at her like she was a goddess amongst them.

she worked hard for a reason, she wanted to prove that journalism still mattered. they were hardworking stories and she would never, ever half ass a story… which came with her body constantly being pushed over the limits.

clark always thought it was ironic and a little funny that him and lois had the same problem, and that was overworking their bodies. clark as superman, pushing to his very limits to protect people from harm, and lois as the daily planet’s best reporter, keeping the citizens of metropolis safe by reporting quick and accurate and reliable news about everything going on, from lex luthor to the mayor candidates to what the hell superman was fighting the previous day.

and clark? hated that lois overworked herself. he hated how she burnt herself out and kept going… so, he came up with just the right way of de-stressing his hot reporter girlfriend…

“ohhhh fuck, c-clark...” lois’ soft voice echoed through her bedroom as clark rolled her gently onto her left side.

her messy black hair was sprawled across the pillow, her mouth agape as her legs were spread by his large hands, her pussy already puffy and red from the previous three rounds he put her through— or in her mind, graciously gave her, and now, it’s time for a fourth.

he clicks his tongue as he lines up with her folds again, groaning as he can so easily slide back into her. “fuck, l-lois… ‘keep on telling you to stop overworking y-yerself.” his farmer accent comes out a little as he leans over, his right hand going into her pillows as his left stays on her hip, his chest pressing into her bicep. “can’t have you doing that, sweetie.”

“it’s m’j-job…” she looks at him with half lidded eyes, moaning incoherently as the tip of his cock pressed her g-spot again, knowing he’s already balls deep again. “need to be the best…”

he nods, furrowing his eyebrows as he keeps his gentle but so deep pace. “well, I don’t think the best overwork themselves until they’re falling asleep at their desk and nearly burning down their kitchen because of lack of sleep…” he simply puts, brushing his right set of fingers through her dampen hair as his balls slap against her core with each thrust.

she closes her eyes, fisting the sheets as she moans softly. no matter how much clark fucks her, it will always feel good. “s-so deep… oh fucking h-hell…”

clark grins to himself, going a little harder but not faster as he holds her. he leans in, kissing her cheek as he licks the sweat beads that are falling from the side of her head. the wet plaps of her pussy and his cock are fucking delicious, and the fact that his super-hearing is picking up on everything from her heartbeat to her whimpers to the sounds of their private parts mashing together… it’s 10 times better in his head.

she turns her head and places a sloppy kiss on his lips, taking her own fingers into his hair. “close… s-so close, clark… fuck.”

he smiles, kissing her back. “already?” he laughs. it’s not a degrading ‘already’, it’s his own cockiness, his own care for her that nobody else can match. he knows his endurance and his enhanced stamina, so he knows just how quickly he can get her back on that pleasured edge. his eyes looks down, seeing how her pussy is clenching around his dick from the base. he nods as he looks at her. “do it f’me baby, be a good girl, lois, cum for me.”

and lois? doesn’t need to be told twice! her eyes roll back as her knees strain, her back arches and her legs extend as she falls over the edge of pleasure. she can’t scream anymore so she only moans out clark’s name as she, for the fourth time, spills her cum all over clark’s cock, pussy fluttering as it strains her body.

“there you go… good girl, relax f’me, lois…” clark says as he nods, almost approvingly as he fast approaches his own orgasm, fucking her through her overstimulation. “where do you want m-me to cum, b-baby?” he asks, his voice breaking and becoming the whimpering mess it usually is during sex.

lois, who’s face is in the pillow and who’s overstimulated out of her mind, moves her right hand off the sheets and onto her abdomen, feeling his cock move in and out. her index finger points to her cum covered folds, and clark can read it immediately.

“i-inside you?”

lois’ head can only nod a little.

he understands her just from her head tilt and his hips thrusts one more time before he puts in all of his thick inches. his balls against her core as his cock is all the way in down to his base. he groans in her ear, kissing her cheek as his cum spurts in her walls, painting her womb with white.

her moans fill the room again as she feels the heat and the sheer pressure that kryptonion semen produces as she looks up at clark, a loopy, big dick-caused smile on her face. “so that’s how you r-relax a lady, mister k-kent?”

he smiles back, pressing down on his cock to spurt out any remaining ropes, his lips kissing her lips. “absolutely... only for my favorite reporter, miss lane.”

mommy, more smutty clois! bro, 2025 Superman was so hot with them, I could feel the sexual tension. this is so self indulgent mostly becuase lois would definitely overwork herself and clark? not having any of it! can’t wait to write about 2025 fantastic four reed x sue because we got two of the hottest cbm couples in one month 🤤

✦ comments and reblogs are always appreciated! ✦

@murdock-slvt 2025!

[the-himawari]

A3! Usui Masumi - Translation [SSR] Magician of Love (1/3)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

---

Izumi: Wow, that card trick just now was incredible!

Sakuya: Yes! It looked so cool!

Masumi: … Chikage, what technique did they just use?

Chikage: They did a ribbon spread on their arm, didn’t they?

Sakuya: A ribbon spread?

Magician: “That just now is called an arm spread. You perform it like so…” “Just do the ribbon spread that you do on a table, but on your arm.”

Chikage: Indeed. Just as I thought.

Sakuya: Ah, I’ve seen that trick before!

Masumi: I’ve done that on a table before too. It was pretty easy.

Izumi: That magician makes the arm spread look super simple to pull off—. But I’m sure it’s way harder to do on your arm than a table.

Chikage: The difficulty level certainly should be high. Come to think of it, we had some cards in a drawer… ah, there they are.

Sakuya: Oh, are you going to do the trick we just saw?

Chikage: Attempt it, yes. Well, it's probably easier said than done though. Here goes… did it go like this?

*flips cards*

Masumi: !

Sakuya: Wow, in one try…!

Izumi: Amazing! You totally nailed it!

Masumi: … I’ll do it too. Pass me the cards.

Chikage: Knock yourself out.

Izumi: Good luck, Masumi-kun.

Masumi: Thanks. I’ll do my best for you. (Place the cards on this part of my arm, and…)

*cards fall*

Masumi: …Ah.

Sakuya: Ah, you were so close…!

Masumi: …Chikage, teach me the trick.

Chikage: Even if you ask about the trick… All I did was adjust the angle of my arm to match the magician’s and tried to imitate what I saw.

Masumi: The angle of your arm, huh…

Chikage: This technique is difficult. But you already know how to do a regular ribbon spread. That means all you need to do now is practise many times over until you’re able to do it on your arm.

Masumi: I got it. I’ll practise.

-pause-

Masumi: …Failed again.

Taichi: Huh, Masumi-kun? You were practising here today?

Masumi: Yeah, Tsuzuru’s writing scripts in our room.

Taichi: I see! Have you nailed the arm spread yet?

Masumi: Not yet. I’m practising until I get it perfect.

Taichi: Mhm. And you don’t wanna show Director-sensei until then?

Masumi: Of course not. I want her to show me the expression she had when she saw the trick on TV. So I won’t show her yet.

Taichi: That sounds like you, alright! By the way, how much can you do now?

Masumi: I’m getting a better hang of it than before. But I haven’t succeeded yet.

Taichi: I see… Can I watch you practise the arm spread, Masumi-kun?

Masumi: Sure. I don’t mind.

Taichi: Woohoo!

Masumi: Alright, here goes. (My arm angle should be about here…) It’s easy at first since you just place the cards on your arm.

Taichi: Got it, okay…!

*flips cards*

Masumi: …!

Taichi: Ah, huh!? That just now…!

Masumi: I did it…

Taichi: That was a success, right!? Hell yeah. I’m glad I got to witness that great moment!

Masumi: I’m glad it worked…

Taichi: Yeah, that’s awesome! Director-sensei told me she was heading to her room earlier, so I bet she’s still there!

Masumi: No, I’m not going to show her yet.

Taichi: Huh? How come?

Masumi: I only did it perfectly one time. I’ll show her once I’ve completely mastered it.

Citron: Ah! So you were here, Masumi!

Kamekichi: We were lookin’ for ya!

Masumi: ?

---

| next

[centrally-unplanned]

In addition to watching some of the older animes, I have also been trying to recommit to the new entries as well - I watched a pretty good spread of first few episodes for different anime from this season. It seems like a very promising one, an auspicious time for trying such a thing - below are just some short thoughts on the Summer 2025 Lineup:

---New Shows:

City The Animation: Definitely the "artistic highlight" of the season, this show is just an endless sequence of zany irrelevancies, setting itself the challenge of making those fun and interesting via its smooth, unified-cel-and-bold-outlines artstyle. While the jokes haven't always landed for me the art absolutely does; highly recommended if this genre works for you.

Silent Witch: This anime has what I will call the "Bocchi test" - it is a comedy-drama where the main character is just an unkempt ball of social anxiety, forever tumbling downhill from crisis to crisis. That is either charming & amusing to you, or very, very annoying. I like Bocchi, I like fucked up goofballs, and Silent Witch so far has been very talented at making a fantasy world that "matches" the zaniness of its protagonist. And I just inherently like fantasy-academy settings (cute uniforms too!), this is a plenty-of-smiles show so far.

Ruri No Houseki: This is a cute-girls-doing-cute-things show where the "thing" is mineralogy, and the mineralogy is great! A little sad that the "girls" side includes some insanely fanservicey designs that imo distract from how otherwise straightly-played this thing is. Each episode includes break cards on different minerals, characters explain lava flows and plate tectonics, it is good shit! And the main character is a pretty adorkable little gremlin to lighten the mood. If the Boob Quota doesn't bother you, check it out.

These guys get screenshots since people dont really know their vibe yet - vibe matters most!

---Next Seasons:

Dandadan S2: As I mentioned in previous posts, this show should have been an OVA. There isn't enough meat to these characters to stretch out their romance arc, and the flashy animation style works better in smaller doses. But I certainly don't hate it stretched; I am happy to watch more high-octane occult street-punk drama, for now at least.

Call of the Night S2: Still one of the best new anime romances around - it has ideas, fun vampire worldbuilding, diverse "archetypes" for the relationships, some actual progression, and a great aesthetic. Like Dandandan and all shonen magazine adaptations, this should be shorter? But it has more to play with, at least, so it is showing that seam less than normal.

Dress-up Darling S2: The other good romance of this season, here the "primary" appeal of the show also pairs that romance with a very authentic case study of the modern world of cosplay. This delivers repeatedly great moments of things like anime parodies, the craft of costuming, and more to make this real slice of life. Combined with how cute Marin's totally-justified crush on Goto is, each episode always has more to throw at you. Plus, you can tell that a lot of more out-there creatives are working on this show this year; there are some great stylistic sequences that so far are beating out the original season. If only its sexual comedy jokes (which are great tbc) didn't overstay their welcome by about 50%, it would be ideal.

I should also mention New Panty & Stocking w/ Garterbelt, which I started watching thinking, surely, having seen just 2-3 episodes of the original would be fine as prep - no way this show has a plot, right? But, while that is generally true, it has juuuust enough of one that I felt like I wasn't having the intended experience here. So I may watch the original first.

---The Dropped:

Watari-kun no XX: I wanna say "why did I even watch this" but the actual question is "why did I even read this", because I read the source manga when it came out! I knew it sucked back then too, to be clear - I think there was something about the art style and the female leads that worked for me in a "hot smut trash" kind of way. I was shocked to learn it got an anime adaptation, not being particularly successful. It has the budget of a recycled bag of potatoes to show for that, which sucks away any appeal it could have.

---

There might be 1-2 more shows worth checking out, but honestly I have a bunch of older stuff and non-anime things to keep on top of, so this might be at my limit. It has been fun so far! I think Call of the Night S2 is my fav right now, but City The Animation has the potential to beat it.

[atamascolily]

Prior to meeting Shang, the Vapewiz had carved out a pretty good equilibrium for himself, indulging his sadism in ways that still allowed him to feel like a good (or at least, not actively harmful) person. But gradually, he's had to start confronting the fact that even this measure of indulgence has undesirable consequences. Sha Wu Sheng – a man who at one point attempted to redeem himself – was emotionally broken and then killed. Lin's old master died in the process. Mie Tian Hai very nearly destroyed the world, and who knows what else could happen if Lin keeps chasing bigger fish. We're reaching a point where, if things keep up as they've been going, the Vape Wizard will become undeniably villainous. And I'm not sure he's comfortable with that. Or I might just be projecting. There are two ways to interpret the Enigmatic Gale, and while they both have their charms, they're also both mutually exclusive to one another. On the one hand, if there's a gooey moral center hiding within that sharp and glittery exterior of his, it means that we're up for some interesting pathos in the future. However, this also comes at an unbearable cost in that it likely require that Lin stop being the Enigmatic Gale someday. And we can't have that! The Enigmatic Gale is the heart of adventure, an endless fount of easy yuks at the expense of megalomaniacs with sword fetishes. But on the other hand, if the show keeps operating at its current level of sharpness – and I wouldn't want it to not be this smart – it can't keep letting Lin off the hook forever. He's an incorrigibly selfish asshole, but he's just such a fun asshole, so I love him even though I know that he would never love someone else as he is now. Lin Xue Ya is likely the embodiment of Gen Urobuchi's dark side, his power to sympathize with sadists and the pleasure that he gains from digging into the depths of the human heart. Unfortunately for this side of himself, it coexists with a strong moral center (represented by Shang Bu Huan) and equally strong sympathy for those victimized by history. The conflict between these two tendencies manifests throughout all of the Butcher's work. Despite their alliance of convenience – and my desire for a more permanent one – either Shang's or Lin's side will be forced to give way in their battle on the terrain of this show's soul. Oh well, I'll just try to enjoy the action while it lasts. I anticipate that it'll at least throw me through a few good loops before the journey is over. --Gabriella Ekens reviewing Thunderbolt Fantasy S2x6-7 for Anime News Network.

[piierogis]

Les Mis deck of cards concept <3

It's criminal that there are no playing cards with Les Mis character illustrations. So, here's my concept on assigning characters to each card!

Originally it was only supposed to be the figure cards but it got out of control. Bless the amount of side characters in that book.

The two jokers would be Valjean and Cosette, with classic mirrored illustrations, where one side would be their younger self:

Here's the concept of the suits:

Please share your thoughts on who to move and where!!

There are still a few characters that could replace some of the ones there! Off the top of my head: Bouletruelle, Chapmathieu and the three convicts from his trial, Conventionnel G-, Marguerite, Sister Perpetue, Musichetta, Floreal, Musain girls, the lady from Gorbeau House, minor Patron Minette members

Some additional ideas under the cut.

Version with actual government figures as kings:

[louwhose]

Zelink Week 2024 | Day 6 | Ocarina of Time| Sealed Fate

They're so tragic but is there any other way their story could have gone? But the differences between the one who holds hope that brings about the doom it intended to stop and the one who has lived through that fallen world but has only one final hope to fix it.

@zelinkcommunity

[archivedsorrow]

( @sleeplesswork )

silver hair, teal eyes; that was all that was on ivan's mind lately. he couldn't explain it. everywhere he went in the garden, he was looking for him, consciously or not, he was always drawn to wherever till was. he wanted to know everything about him. he wanted to understand him. he knew the sort of enviroment till came from; it wasn't too different from his own. so... how? how did he keep that spark in him, how come he didn't succumb to the system yet when... it obviously carried consequences? not once had he witnessed till be taken away to solitary, not once had he witnessed extra restraints having to be used on him in specific. sometimes it was ivan's fault, sometimes it wasn't. it more often than not was ivan's fault.

and yet. none of the provocations really yielded any answers. till still remained as much as an enigma as the first time he saw him. ivan finally concluded... he needed something bigger. but how were he, a lone boy, to come to such means that weren't simple bickering and scuffles, to try and pull something extraordinary out of another?

the answer came to him later that night, when he went towards a corner of the anakt garden that he hadn't been to much yet. he's found flaws in the system before and exploited them in different places, but he wondered if this one had something, too... a twisted smile curled his lips upwards once he found himself staring at the glitchy wall. ivan felt over the cracks in the otherwise pristine display of what was the garden itself, a perfect, splitting image of earth... like a paradise. but the boy had long since learned that it was anything but.

he paused then, glancing over his shoulder. all the flowers that were nearby had been meticulously crushed and stomped over, torn at the stems as ivan had been practically obsessed with destroying them. it was one final glance to reassure himself that he wasn't followed or watched by anyone, before he pulled at what seemed to be a tear in the very fabric of reality. it made an uncomfortable, screeching sound, one that had him flinching slightly, but before he knew it, he was staring into a gaping maw of what appeared to be a cave. where did this lead?

as he fearlessly stepped forth, the cold of the ground beneath his feet was a jarring contrast to the warm grass of anakt garden. ivan stepped over dirt and stone alike, sliding his palm along the wall as he walked in a whimsical manner. the darkness was oddly comforting, as compared to the bright, too bright lights of the garden. he only paused once he heard growling. did something live here? his steps grew lighter, more careful, as he followed after the strange sounds. it was then, that he saw it. that creature, of a shape that reminded him of those his father's men owned. two headed and drooling, baring sharp fangs. he never quite knew what they were, other than they were used to rip apart those that didn't pay their debts to father promptly enough.

it noticed him, he knew. of course it did. “ ... ” they were staring into each other's eyes, and ivan was surprised to see the beast not attack him immediatelly... but then he saw— the collars around both of its necks... just like till. he recalled his father's bodyguards throwing hunks of meat at these creatures and they always gulped them down happily. he wondered if this one was hungry, too; it was drooling, almost shaking as it stared ivan down. he couldn't fathom what purpose this one served, why it was hidden away behind the walls of the garden that was supposed to be a peaceful, safe paradise. he turned his back to it, heading back towards the garden, and subsequently, his room. he'd have to find it some snack.

he'd found some scraps from his dinner, gathered them up and quickly went back to where he came from, always mindful of not being seen. he was quite pleased to see that none of their caretakers that were up at night seemed to notice anything, so ivan's path remained clear. he made a quick trip back towards that hellish creature he saw earlier, hands outstretched with the offerings he brought. it quickly perked up and began panting... was it... excited? ivan quirked one of his brows upwards, committing this behavior to memory. it was no longer growling at him, ivan no longer felt like he wasn't allowed to approach it any further. with some caution, he threw the first bit of food towards it. it happily gobbled it up... and so he repeated that a few more times, until he had nothing left on his hands.

that wegyein then trotted over to the raven-haired boy on its own, causing him to tense up for one fleeting moment. “ mm... ” he hummed idly, carefully pressing his palm to one of its snouts. was it thankful? he remembered always being told to say thank you! to the cooks when they were handing out food to the children. with no further regard to his own well-being, ivan slipped his fingertips over the creature's teeth, even slipping them between some of the bigger gaps. he wondered... how till would react to this thing?

he left the animal with that thought, etched deeply into his mind. other than giving it a silent promise that he'd come visit it every so often, it was all he could think about, head buzzing with countless possibly scenarios of what-ifs where he imagined till standing up to an alien creature that appeared so feral. so of course. the next day, that was exactly the sort of scenario he had to set up.

during their mandatory playtime, he noticed till trying to weave a flower crown. that seemed to be the new hit thing amidst the children, everyone was doing it lately. he wasn't even that bad if ivan were to be honest— but something still bothered him about the other children's ignorance towards what those flowers actually were ( so why did you never tell them? ).

“ hey! ” he exclaimed, rushing over towards the fair-haired boy and snatching the flower crown he'd been working on this whole time. “ hahaha, you want it back? you're gonna have to catch me! ” and with that taunt, he immediatelly bolted towards his newfound secret place from last night.

[kateis-cakeis]

rewatching bbc merlin really has me like buzzing in my mind with so many thoughts. Like I'm kinda watching it backwards atm going from S5 to S4, I think I will jump around 3, 2, and 1 but just,,,, there is so much especially in S5 that makes me !!!!!!!

Honestly, I feel like this fandom has to give the writers more credit. Like they did a damn good job, and to me, it's such a good tragedy. Especially how S5 plays out, it takes everything and just tears you down, and down, and down. It's perfect, perfect with flaws! But still perfect

[cinnamon-bunni]

new layout made by @strawberrysnipes!!! please go go check his stuff out its amazing!!!!

[rolandkaros]

trying to work out scenarios where both czechia and poland can go through...........