#but my brain does not want to focus on lists right now

[jedi-bird]

Finished the second coat on the cheap little fences; they'll be set into place tomorrow once they're fully dry. Ran some errands and helped partner acquire some art books on sale; also got myself some manga and a blind box figure. Tidied up a bit in the house, not that it's noticeable.

Random wildflower seeds from a few years ago finally flowered, so the pots on the patio are now colorful as well. Partner wants to put plants in the front yard now, but keeps saying no to all my suggestions; I'll get them to commit to something by next year.

[rememberwren]

Practice

About this: certified drabble gone out of hand. best friend!Kyle Gaz Garrick/fem!reader. PIV, fingering, oral (fem receiving). King of your firsts, you ask your best friend Kyle to take your virginity.

Part 1 here.

-

“Kyle?”

“Hm?” 

“Can I talk to you about something?” 

He sucks in a breath, like you’ve asked for something painful. “No can do, honey pie. I’m just here to sit in silence.”

You roll your eyes, though his joke breaks through the ice of your nerves and melts that anxious, frozen part inside you. Kyle’s good at that—putting you at ease. He does it in such easy, flippant ways that you aren’t even sure if it’s being done intentionally. Just another excuse added to the grocery-list-length of reasons why you’re here now, asking him for this. 

“If I had a favor…a big one. Would you do it?” 

He grins, a flash of pale, straight teeth. “That’s totally dependent on the favor. Does it involve burying a body?” 

“No.”

“—because my answer is yes—“

“Would you have sex with me? For my first time.” The mirthful expression drops from his face, all teasing fading away. He turns to you—literally angles his body toward you—to give you his full attention. You do your best to meet his eyes. See, you can make eye contact too. You’re to be taken seriously.  

He blinks placidly and asks: “Why me?” 

“We’ve practiced stuff before,” you begin to recite, though that grocery list of reasons why Kyle would make the perfect party in your brain has suddenly gone frustratingly fuzzy. “You make me feel safe, and I’m—like, really attracted to you.”

His mouth wobbles, threatening to grin. “Yeah?” he asks, playing at unaffected. He runs a hand over his shorn hair and answers for himself: “Yeah.” 

“Kyle. Focus.”

“Okay, okay, how’s this for focus: all those things you just said? Those are things you’ll probably feel for someone in the future. A partner. Somebody you really want to give yourself to. So why do it now with me? Why not wait for it to be real?” he asks. 

It’s…it’s a good question. With a really good answer. But telling Kyle that this is real for you? That’s not an option. So ignoring the obvious, what’s another good reason you could possibly have for not wanting to wait for Mx. Right?  

Kyle’s waiting, watching, brows raised in an smug expression that says, See. I’ve just talked you down from a dangerous ledge. You’re welcome, when you finally settle on the only excuse you can think of.

“Because,” you say, “I wanna feel good now.” 

-

He can get behind that. He can get underneath it, on top of it. Anywhere it wants him—Kyle can get there. Because you deserve to feel good, and there’s nobody in this godforsaken world who deserves to be making you feel good, but Kyle comes close. You chose him, after all, and he thinks that must stand for something. 

He sinks into the mindset the way other men must slip into well-fitting suits; this is tailor-made for him. He’ll give you the princess treatment: dinner, back to his place for wine, then he’ll sip the taste of it off of your tongue and—

At the first sign of his acquiescence, you whip your shirt off over your head and his brain blue screens. 

“Whoa,” he says. He gives himself a solid moment to eat you up with his eyes: your soft curves, your dimples, the bra you’ve chosen with the lacy edges—god, did you somehow know that he’s a sucker for lace? After the moment ends he contents himself to going hungry, scoops up your shirt and hands it back to you. “I didn’t mean now.” 

You frown, pressing your shirt to your chest to protect your modesty. “When, then?” 

“When I have the chance to treat you right,” says Kyle, laying a hand on your thigh, smoothing his thumb along the curve of your knee. “To take you out first. Dress up. Light some scented candles, I don’t know—“

“That sounds like it will take forever,” you grumble. “Can’t we fast forward? Give me a sec.”

Brushing his hand away, you disappear into your bedroom and then the light to the en suite bathroom clicks on. You leave your shirt behind. Kyle’s fingers are drawn to it, feeling the warmth from where it pressed against your skin. He wonders if it smells like you, but Jesus he’s not going to sniff your fucking shirt. He’s not that desperate—

God, it smells good. 

You reappear just a split second after he tosses your shirt back into its place on the sofa, and you set your boon down on the coffee table. It’s a scented candle, blueberry, half burned off. You flick the sparkwheel of the lighter in your hand and tip the candle dangerously sideways to light it. 

“There!” you say cheerfully. “Candles. All my dreams are suddenly coming true.”

“You are a cheeky little brat. You want in my pants that bad?” he asks, just to watch the way your mouth drops, words turning into stuttered syllables. He laughs and pats his lap. “C’mere.” 

You go, kneeling over him. His hips are slim, but it’s still a stretch for you, his hands finding your waist and helping to keep you steady, thumbs smoothing against the bare skin of your belly. He draws you against him in a hug, tucking your head into the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down the length of your back, soft and slow, drawing shivers from you. 

“What’re you so eager for, hm?” Kyle wonders. On his lap like this, arms looped around his neck, you have a small height advantage. He pulls back to look up at you, eyes tracing over your nose down to your mouth and back up again, memorizing your features in the dim lamplight. “Don’t even know what you’re missing, do you?” 

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” you murmur, playing with the collar of his shirt. It tickles, but he doesn’t laugh. “Virginity is an outdated concept anyway.” 

“You want it?” 

Your brows raise. “Yes?” 

He’s a bastard for saying: “Don’t sound too sure to me.” 

“I want it, Kyle. Come on, don’t tease me.” 

“Hey—if we do this, you’re in charge,” he tells you, finally relenting against his body’s fervent desire to see his cock harden. You shift on his lap and he has to pause speaking, hands flexing against you. “Whatever you say goes. Whenever you want to stop, we stop. Alright?” 

“Sounds like a lot of responsibility.”. 

“Tough,” he says. “Those are the rules, honey pie. Take it or leave it.” 

“Can I make my first rule?” 

“I’m all ears.” 

You clear your throat and mutter into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, “Kyle, I want you to be in charge.” 

Kyle’s breath leaves him in a rush. He’s a bad man. He must be, for getting so drunk off of those words. For wanting so badly to be in charge of you and your pretty body, for finding your overwhelming trust in him absolutely heady.

He leans up and kisses you. It’s not the first time you’ve ever kissed, but it’s easily the best. You take it to a hungry place and he doesn’t even attempt to rein you in, just sighs into your mouth and sucks on your tongue, your kisses turning into a heated give-and-take that reminds him of ocean waves he wants to be swept away in. 

You settle more firmly in his lap, fingers stroking up through his shaved hair. Your nails against his scalp makes him groan. The two of you kiss until your mouths are numb, until you have devolved into little thrusts against him, seeking friction. 

When you seem well and truly desperate, Kyle slips his hands up from your hips to cup your breasts, thumbs tracing your skin above the cups of your bra. 

“Take it off,” you gasp against his mouth. “Please Kyle, take it off—“ 

“Pretty pushy for the girl who isn’t in charge anymore.” 

“Kyle!” 

“Alright, alright,” he says, hands tracing around your ribs to the clasp at the back. He undoes it on the first try and mutters under his breath: “Score.” 

“What?” you pant, slipping your arms from the straps. The bra comes off, and tumbles from the couch to the floor, but neither of you pay it any mind. 

Kyle can’t speak. He’s never seen you here before, miles of new flesh on display. Your nipples pucker in the cool air under his stare, and he reaches out to rub the pad of his thumb over one, watching you shudder. When he cups your breasts in his palms he can’t help but think how well they fit in his hands, how every part of you seems molded for him. He’s not going to be able to let you go after this. It’s like being behind the wheel skidding on black ice. He sees the collision course he is on, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it. 

“Are you sensitive here?” he asks, thumbing at the hard peak of one breast. 

“Isn’t everyone?” you breathe.  

“No,” says Kyle with a warm laugh. He pinches you softly, attuned to the breath you suck in and the way your body trembles. You are a sensitive little thing, untouched by other hands, and fuck, Kyle’s never had a thing for virgins but he’s got a thing for you, and it threatens to destroy him. 

“Gonna ruin you,” he says, leaning in to nuzzle at the hammering pulse in your throat. He opens his mouth and scrapes his teeth over your collarbone just to hear the way you squeak.  

“Do it,” you whisper, hips grinding down against the hard line of his clothed erection. “Come on, Kyle, you’re all talk—“ 

“Me—?”

“—said I wanted to feel good,” you say. “Why am I still waiting?” 

Well. It’s logic he can’t argue with. 

He urges you off of his lap. “Bedroom.” 

“Alright,” you laugh. 

Just after you stand on shaking legs, Kyle adds: “Race ya.” 

-

Kyle launches himself over the back of the couch in a move that would not look nearly so smooth if you tried, socked-feet slipping on the hardwood as he races toward the bedroom. 

“Kyle, you cheater!” you howl, rushing after him.

“Blow out that candle, it’s a fire hazard!” he shouts behind him, sending you whirling back to the coffee table to huff a breath against the flame. 

By the time you make it into the bedroom, he’s reclined on your bed, ankles crossed, hat resting over his face like he is taking a restful nap. You’d believe it if it weren’t for the erection tenting his jeans. 

“If you’re tired, I can leave you to nap,” you snark, feigning for the door. 

Kyle whips his hat off of his head and tosses it like a frisbee with frightening dexterity. The hard brim clatters against your knuckles and makes you gasp, clutching them against your chest as you stare at him in shock. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Kyle says. He sheds his shirt in that slick little maneuver men have mastered, gripping the back collar and tugging it up and over his head. It reveals a length of dark, soft skin stretched taut over muscle that has your mouth watering. You’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times—God, you’ve seen him naked, really, though not all at once—but it never stops having such a heated effect on you. He kneels up and comes to the edge of the bed, sitting on the side, reaching out one hand for you, palm soft and facing up. “C’mere.”

You go to him, taking his hands and lacing your fingers together. He strokes his thumb against yours. 

“You wanna finish undressing me?” he asks. 

“Do you want me to finish undressing you?” 

Kyle stares. Then a slow smile spreads across his face. He gets it; he always does. Standing up, he guides your hand to rest flat against his abs, drawing it downward toward his belt buckle. He says: “Undress me, then.”

Your hands shake as you unfasten his belt. You don’t bother slipping it free of the loops, just let it dangle open while unfastening his jeans. His erection makes that a little more difficult than it might have been otherwise, and every time your knuckles brush against him, he gives little sighs that go straight to your head. 

He’s not wearing any underwear. 

“Gaz you devil.” 

“That’s me,” he says with a warm smile. His fingers find the waistband of your leggings, and it’s his turn to draw them down your legs and let you brace yourself on his broad shoulders while he helps you out of them. With any other man you might have been shy, but there’s no room for it with Gaz. The way he looks at you takes up all that space in your brain for anxiety. He looks at you like he’s seeing artwork, like he wants to pin you to the wall and stare at you for the rest of his life. 

“Bed time,” he says, coaxing you down onto the soft duvet. You shift to scoot back but his hands grip your thighs, fingers denting the soft flesh as he tugs you back toward the edge of the bed in a show of strength that has your heart hammering. He kneels and spreads your thighs. Then he shuts his eyes, muttering under his breath. 

You lean up onto your elbows. “What is it?” 

His eyes flicker open. “In my house we pray before we eat, thank you.” 

“Kyle!”

He’s still laughing when his mouth presses against you. You slip off of your elbows and onto your back, both hands clasped over your eyes as he licks a broad stripe over your folds. Gaz eats pussy with remarkable tenderness, no hint of teeth, all tongue and soft kisses. He lets you hide your face and muffle your noises but draws the line when you try to close your legs with his head still between them. Winding his arms up over your thighs, he pins them open to the bed with his forearms, hands framing your cunt nicely. His thumbs slip in your own arousal when he tries to spread your folds too, and in the end he gives up, burying his face deeper into you to tongue at your entrance. 

He draws back for breath at one point, his pretty jaw smeared with your slick. He sounds winded when he asks: “What do you think, honey? Can you cum like this?” 

You continue covering your eyes with one hand, but the other reaches down to grip at his short hair and guide his mouth back to your clit. He chuckles against you but takes the hint, lapping the flat of his tongue at that aching epicenter of nerves, taking it into his mouth and suckling with sweetness. 

You’re climbing that first peak when he carefully slips his first finger inside you, giving you just enough to whet your appetite. You hadn’t realized how badly you craved something inside you until you had that slender finger to grip, but now you want more. 

“Another, Kyle, please,” you ask. 

He groans, mouth full of you, and shifts on his knees. Pulling back, he guides two fingers into you, easy as anything. “I love your manners. You’re so fucking good, you know that? So good.” 

He stops talking before he can make you uncomfortable—knows the way your chest feels fileted open with any kind of praise or compliment—and gets back to his important work. With his fingers gently working you open and his mouth on your clit, it takes hardly any time for the pleasure to crest, the muscles in your belly tensing as your pleasure draws tight and then snaps clean in two. Your toes curl, groan bitten off as you clamp your mouth shut, pussy spasming around his fingers. He works you through it, dark eyes shut like he’s savoring the taste of you. 

“Can you take more?” he asks, mouth wet, lips swollen. 

Your head bobs in a nod, throat dry from all the sounds you’ve been making. Kyle’s grin is beatific, and he leans down to kiss your closest thigh while he works a third finger into you. This one gives you a pleasant stretch, but there is no pain; you are plenty wet and relaxed. 

“You want me to use a condom?” he asks, smoothing his free hand over your belly to watch the muscles jump and twitch at his soft touch. “You been taking your pill everyday?” 

You roll your eyes. “Jesus, yes, Kyle I’ve been taking my birth control. Do you—?”

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head. “This one’s on you. Condom or no condom.” 

“Could we—without?” 

“We could,” he teases with a smile. He stands, fingers slipping free from inside you. It leaves you feeling empty, aching. 

You hope that he’ll make you cum again. 

Leaning over you, he plants a hand on either side of you and kisses you, still tasting faintly of where his mouth has been. You loop you arms around his neck, pulling him down until he rests his weight against you, chest-to-chest, your legs hooked around his waist. When he pulls back, it’s just to encourage you higher up onto the mattress so he can follow, finding his home once again in the hollow of your thighs. He says: “Let me know if anything hurts, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe, looking up at him. Suddenly it doesn’t feel like there’s enough breath in your lungs. You feel starstruck by him, by the look of concentration on his face as he angles his hips until his tip brushes against your folds. Slowly, he slips inside you, and it’s a fullness you’ve never known from your own fingers or even his. Your eyes fall shut, but your mouth can’t help smiling, beaming practically. 

“Yeah?” Kyle laughs breathlessly. “That good already?” 

You get the giggles. 

“Not the best time to laugh at a man, you might give him a complex,” Kyle says, grinning. 

“All men deserve complexes.” 

“Except for me.” 

“Sure.” 

He sinks in, deeper, deeper until there’s nowhere left for him to go. His forehead brushes against your own, and your eyes open to find his own closed, mouth parted as he pants softly, looking almost as wrecked as you feel. He opens his eyes and catches you looking, but instead of calling you out, he just cocks his head, giving one of his pretty, closed-lip smiles. 

He sets a slow rhythm to start with, and it’s not enough. Your ankles lock around his back, urging him on, fingers scrambling for purchase against the smooth skin of his shoulders. Every thrust drags against the wet, swollen walls of your cunt, and at the apex his pubic bone meets your clit in a touch that’s nearly soft as a kiss. 

“Is it good for you?” you wonder, taking note of his uncharacteristic silence. 

He drops his head to rest in the dark juncture between your neck and shoulder, kissing you there. “Best it’s ever been,” he admits with a little laugh. “Your pussy is perfect. I’m trying not to cum and end things early.” 

You groan. Something about that knowledge makes the heat in your belly rise up to a boil. You clench around him on instinct, and he hisses a breath against your neck, then teases the spot with his teeth. When he’s drawn blood to the surface of your skin, he leans up onto his elbows to admire his work. His mouth is swollen, but he looks unquestionably pleased with himself.  

For a while the two of you continue on like that: his lazy thrusts and mouth leaving bruises on your neck. Bracing himself on one elbow, he takes your hand and kisses your fingertips before guiding it down between you both toward your pussy. 

“Make yourself feel good,” he says. “You probably can’t cum just from this.” 

Your body agrees. He felt good inside you, but it isn’t until you touch your clit that you feel the first tendrils of that addictive heat in your belly. You chase it immediately, eyes falling shut as your fingers work faster. It’s different with him inside you—like there’s no room for the pleasure to fizzle out and die the way it sometimes does at your own touch. Instead he drives you higher, especially as his tight-knit control wavers and his hips drive into you with more force. 

You forget to tell him when you’re close. It creeps up on you, really. All at once your muscles seize, everything focused on that narrow place between your legs and the epicenter of an orgasm that has your back arching until your breasts press flush against his chest. (You hear him suck in a breath like you’ve stabbed him, his voice shaky when he asks: “Are you cumming?” but there’s no breath to answer him with.) There’s no more room for your hand to work but Kyle’s thrusts drag you through the aftershocks. It seems to go on forever, your sounds embarrassing but your brain wiped clean of embarrassment. 

“I’m not pulling out unless you tell me to,” he says once your ears have stopped ringing. He sounds strained, his chest brushing against your nipples with every shallow pant. “So jot that down.” 

“Don’t want you to,” you admit, boneless. “I want to know what it feels like when you cum inside me.” 

Kyle moans quietly. His head drops, forehead resting against your own as his thrusts grow hectic. He mutters the quietest fuck in your ear when he cums, filling you with a rush of wet warmth that turns the sounds of his cock slick and lewd as he works himself through it with your pussy. 

When he pulls out, it’s jarring. You feel so empty. He kneels back on his heels and spreads your thighs to watch his own spend leak from your entrance and says it again, that quiet little fuck that makes you feel invincible. 

Collapsing on the bed beside you, he finds your mouth, cradling your head in one of his hands, turning you to angle your mouth just right for his tongue. 

“You were perfect,” he says when he breaks the kiss. His knuckles skim your cheekbone. “Thank you. For choosing me.” 

You nod, throat suddenly tight. It’s over now, time to return to reality. Except you don’t want it to be over. You don’t want a reality without Kyle by your side or in your bed. How did you think that this would be a good idea? How did you think you could be so intimate with him and just let him go? Stupidly your eyes burn, and he must see something on your face because he rushes to assure you: “Hey, we’re okay. Nothing’s different now, yeah?” 

Yeah, you think dully. That’s the problem. 

[kunaigirl]

Happy Disability Pride and awareness month! Let's talk about Epilepsy!

Hi there! I got tired of seeing my condition (that impacts my literal every day life) being left out or forgotten about during discussions about disabilities, so I made my own post about it! Let's go!

First Off! What the heck is epilepsy? Epilepsy is the fourth most common neurological disorder in the world, and it's a chronic medical condition. Epilepsy is a brain disorder that causes recurring, frequent, triggered, and unprovoked seizures to occur.

The official Epilepsy Foundation describes seizures as follows: "Seizures are sudden surges of abnormal and excessive electrical activity in your brain, and can affect how you appear or act. Where and how the seizure presents itself can have profound effects...Seizures involve sudden, temporary, bursts of electrical activity in the brain that change or disrupt the way messages are sent between brain cells. These electrical bursts can cause involuntary changes in body movement or function, sensation, behavior or awareness." (Source link)

Sounds like a lot of fun right? This is our life. Even with medication, we can be VERY limited to what can be safe for us. Seizure medications are NOT a cure, they only exist (at least as of now) as a tool to help have your seizures less often, or be triggered less intensely. Even on medication, seizures can still happen.

If you have epilepsy as a child like I did, it impacts your entire growing and developing experience. I spent MANY times as a child in and out of hospitals, neurologist and specialist offices, an getting so many EEG tests done. The pain of scrubbing the glue out of your hair for DAYS is horrible.

At a young age my seizures were so frequent and serious, it impacted my brain's ability to retain information. I had to re-learn the names of things at age 8 and 9. I had to re-learn HOW TO READ at age 10. I had to be home schooled because the public school system of my state at the time refused to work with me. I have VERY distinct and vivid memories of crying over my little baby ABC's book that I needed as a 4th and 5th grader. I knew I should've known this by this age. I knew that at one point I already did, and it was TAKEN FROM ME.

As an adult, I'M NOT ALLOWED TO DRIVE A CAR. And I can NEVER go to see a movie in theaters or go to see concerts or live music. There are entire TV shows I don't get to see. I can't go to clubs, arcades, dances, or raves. I miss out on A LOT of fun things. I always do, and I'm WELL AWARE of the fun I'm missing out on. The social, casual, and fun life experiences I'll never get to have. That WE'LL never get to have. And oh yeah! Seizures can KILL SOME OF US. Yep.

And the list goes on, and every person with epilepsy experiences it differently. There are multiple different types of seizures you can have, they're NOT always convulsing on the floor. For example, I have complex-partial-myoclonic-seizures. Meaning my muscles DO twitch when I have seizures, but I'm not always completely unconscious and sometimes I'm even able to stay sitting up. However, I'm still very "off" and can't focus or remember much for a good while after the fact. I can't talk or communicate during one, even with my slight bit of consciousness.

My experiences are not universal, I just wanted to talk about it and bring it up. It helps to talk about it even a little bit. Here's more about different kinds of seizures. Here's more about common seizure triggers. Here's more about CORRECT seizure first aid. And here's more general information/resources.

Please stop leaving us out of disability awareness. Please stop ignoring us or saying we're "not really disabled" or anything else like that. Please. Why does it always feel like the only people who care about epilepsy, are people WITH epilepsy? We're so tired of being ignored by others who don't have our condition.

If you're an epileptic person reading this, I see you. I love you. You're so strong, we all are. I believe in you, I believe in us. We're so much stronger than we get credit for, and it's going to be ok. Your anger and frustration are valid. Your emotions and struggles are real. You're valid, and I see you. Hang in there, we got this.

[cyanidas]

hey this is actually one of the hardest things ive ever tried to do with my time as an artist. how the FUCK do etsy/shopvee/redbubble artists do this for a LIVING????

BIG News: I'm trying to make some really huge changes, and I'll need your help.

Before I grant any details, I gotta preface everything with the reality of our situation; Jay, the sole breadwinner, has been a victim of yet another "new hire surprise fire". He was booted without warning, written or verbal, about two weeks ago.

Evidently this is very common in the production wood/metalworking industry, otherwise this wouldn't have happened so many fucking times, because he's a great person with amazing work ethic and that's not just my bias talking - most of his coworkers have felt the exact same way as me across every company he's worked for.

Of course, THAT DAY we wasted no time in reaching out to contacts and applying for mountains of positions on Indeed, on company websites, and the state hiring portal. Nobody has contacted him back. ONE hiring agency gave him a "maybe". Even I have applied to several places for myself, with not so much as a rejection.

Seeing the trauma this caused him first hand was my final fucking straw.

I'm sick to death of suffering this tragedy. I'm sick to death of hearing the love of my life, my Fiancé, cry because of how he was fired. And I'm sick to death of coming here or crawling to my friends and family for money they don't have because we're legitimately hopeless for it.

I don't have the heart to continually beg for cash. It was never something I've been good at or proud of doing, and it kills me inside to DM people for commissions I don't even have the time nor energy to do. I'm sick of this. All of this. I need it all to stop.

So of course, I want to nip this in the goddamn bud.

I met a very sweet vendor in Iowa who gave me a load of resources on how to get started selling my art on actual things I get to see and hold for myself and hand to people in person, namely conventions. It's a hell of a risk but I need this to work. I'm so exhausted from asking for money so please help me make this be the last time I ever need to come here for help.

More details will come, because I'm also tired of making plans and leaping forward without having anything to show for it. When I actually have these products designed, that's when I'm going to show you guys everything I've made, with as much detail on my thinking and planning as I can get out there (because lord knows the internet has taken advantage of people's generosity before).

When that time comes, please *please* give me your support. It would legitimately be world-changing for us.

I just wanted to get this out here asap so people would know what I'm going through and, hopefully plan along with me. I don't just want this to happen, I *need* this to *succeed*. I don't have any other option. Right now, I'm busting my ass on product designs (literally because this chair hurts!!), and Jay can attest to that.

I plan on having *something* to show for all my hard work by next week, and soon after, a Kickstarter to make it a reality. Keep an eye out!!

[becomingthatgirl111]

journal prompts you can use to improve your life

journaling is a really powerful habit that i love because it has helped me a lot in my transformation and healing process. it also offers us many benefits for our life. when we write down what we feel or what we want to achieve we are focusing and giving it much more clarity. through this magical practice, we can solve any type of situation or problem. It helps us to get rid of fears and anger. my favorite way is to ask myself questions that I can answer, this gives me more clarity and concentration. i recommend doing it on paper in fact i have my own notebook in which every day i carry out this wonderful practice.

✨ some of its benefits are:

helps reduce anxiety and depressive thoughts.

improves cognitive capacity, writing by hand activates many neural networks and, consequently, improves our cognitive capacity. In addition, it also emphasizes that this activity promotes prospective and working memory.

helps cultivate discipline

improves memory

it helps us to create habits moreover, writing on paper those "tasks" or habits that you want to integrate into your life, makes your brain catalog them as "important actions" and it is more likely that you fulfill them in the day. What happens is that your reticular active system (SAR) files them as actions that you must accomplish.

✨ journal prompts ideas

for the morning - have a great day and focus on the positive and what we want to accomplish today.

how do i want to feel today?

what should i focus on?

how do i need to act today to get closer to my best self?

what should i avoid?

what can i do to have a great day?

what would i like my day to be like?

today…(the things you will do, how you will feel)

today no…. (the things you want to avoid and not focus on)

for times of stress or anxiety.

how am i feeling?

what has caused me to feel this way?

have i felt this way on other occasions? is it a pattern i am repeating?

how would i like to feel?

what should i focus on?

what would make me feel good right now?

is there anything i can do right now to fix it?

how would i like to act the next time this situation happens?

how would my best version of me act in this situation?

is there anything I can do to make this better?

to become our best version

what would my best version look like?

what things should i change to get closer to my best version? (like thought patterns, habits…)

what can i do to get closer to becoming my best version?

what do i commit myself to every day to be closer to this version?

what would my desired life look like 6 months from now?

what would my desired life look like 1 year from now?

what are those thought patterns or limiting beliefs that prevent me from living my life the way i want?

what is it that makes me feel fearful or insecure? (make a list and next to it you can replace the negative affirmation with a positive one).

write down 5 positive affirmations of how you want your life to be from now on and commit to repeating them daily.

to focus on new goals or habits

what habits would i like to implement in my life from now on?

what habits do i need to remove from my life?

what would my desired routine look like?

what can i do to achieve this?

what would be my dream lifestyle?

what can i do to achieve it?

what are my goals?

how can i get closer to them?

do i feel capable?

if not, what is stopping me?

what can i do to change that thinking?

against negative thoughts

where does this thought come from?

how does it make me feel?

how would i like to feel about it?

what thoughts would i like to have?

from now on i commit myself to…(list of positive beliefs you will have from now on)

for the evening, to end your day on a high note and prepare for the next day.

3 things i am grateful for today

how did i feel today?

what can i improve tomorrow?

what should i focus on more tomorrow? (e.g. goals)

how would i like to feel today?

these are just a few examples, you can use them if they help you or invent your own, the important thing is that they help you feel better or whatever you want to achieve at that moment.

it is important to write every day, even if you feel good, write how your day was, what you want to improve, what you can do to make it better, anything! but this habit is very powerful and will improve your quality of life a lot.

[dynamic-power]

This wasn't going to be more than a little one-off. But due to popular demand, here's a part two. 😄

Back to the Past part 2

CW: Brief panic attack

Part 1

"I... uh. What?"

Eddie, because Steve is certain now that this is, in fact, Eddie Munson, frowns a little. "Memories," he says, firmly but not unkindly. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Uh." Steve's brain is racing, but not with anything particularly helpful.

He and Robin are going to the high school again to help with relief efforts. There's a strange guy named Argyle staying in Steve's guest room. He's taking Dustin to meet Wayne Munson soon. They have been given permission to recover whatever they can from the Munson trailer. Dustin wants to help because Eddie is-

Eddie is-

Eddie is sitting right in front of him, watching him with those big, dark eyes. He's being so patient, waiting for Steve to finish whatever processing he needs to do, but honestly, the only thing that truly catches Steve off-guard is the fact that Eddie is-

"You're alive."

Eddie's frown deepens for a moment before he seems to understand what Steve is saying. Once he does, though, he grins, wide and happy and contagious, just like Steve remembers.

"Yeah, Stevie, I'm alive."

"You're old."

Eddie collapses back against his pillow and bursts into laughter. Deep, belly-shaking laughter that has Steve biting back a smile.

When he catches his breath again, Eddie looks up at him with shining eyes. "Of course the two things you focus on are our wedding photos and my age."

"You aren't freaking out."

"Neither are you," Eddie counters, and he's right.

Strangely enough, Steve isn't panicking. Actually, in the last few moments with Eddie and the comfort of warm blankets and his warmer laughter, Steve's breathing had evened out again.

"What's going on? You don't seem surprised."

Eddie sighs and lifts his arms, crossing them behind his head. He shifts, putting a little more distance between their bodies. Steve wonders if he's done that on purpose.

Then Eddie's feet wiggle under the covers, trying not to kick the sleeping cat as he shuffles the heavy comforter down his body. Steve's eyes immediately drift down as his torso, and the scars, come into view.

They're horrific; slashes and starbursts and a whole chunk missing from his side just below his ribcage -

And suddenly Steve is there, in the Upside Down. His hands are covered in blood, Eddie's blood, and he can't breathe without tasting the stench of death and decay on the back of his tongue and his heart rate spikes as he darkness starts to tunnel his vision.

But Eddie, alive and smiling and laughing Eddie, is there, gripping his arm firmly and talking to him.

"Stevie, focus on me. Come on, love, I know you can do it. Focus on my voice and breathe with me." A large hand falls onto his chest, warm against his naked skin, and he does what Eddie tells him.

He focuses on Eddie's voice and his toucb and breathes with him until the darkness fades and he finds himself in an unfamiliar bedroom again.

"Good job, Steve. Now, can you count with me?"

Counting. Steve can do that. He knows he can, and he does until his breathing calms again. He's sweaty, and the cool air of the bedroom stings his skin. One of them has tossed away the covers, and the cat has disappeared, and he's sitting half naked in bed with Eddie Munson. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but the lingering panic and adrenaline only let him cry, and so he does, leaning against the familiar stranger beside him.

-----

Part 3

Tag list-

@clumsiluni @l0st-strawberry @aol19 @newtstabber

Lmk if you would like to be added/removed from the tag list 💜

[ohtobeleah]

Day Five: [Breathe For Me]

Summary: The love of Jake’s life is plagued with chronic migraines after an unfortunate work place accident. But when a migraine feels wrong? Does Jakes initial response cost him his most priceless wife?

Warnings: Reader Death. Mentions of brain Injury. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Overstimulation. Migraines

Word. Count: 1.1k

Whumptober Prompts Day Five: Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”

Author Note: Please make sure you read the warnings provided. Disclaimer: I do not condone nor endorse the actions that are written about during the month of October. These works of fiction are just that, fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for this year's prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

When we’re hurt, our bodies send signals to form blood clots directly at the injury, to help stop any bleeding. It’s our body’s system of checks and balances. It’s a system that’s supposed to save our lives. Or so we hope.

“Jake–” It started as a headache, the throbbing pressure in your temples was only a warning of what was to come. Next, the little black dots in your vision appeared. Again, another warning of the storm that was right around the corner. No amount of pharmaceuticals or home remedies could help aid you in expelling the all-consuming migraine that was inevitably pending inside your mind.

The full body aches, the sinus pressure, the sensitivity to light. The nausea, head spins, and intense head pain which made it feel like your brain was about to explode from your ears, made you want to die.

“I can’t take this anymore,” You groaned out in pain as Jake pressed a warm damp washcloth to your forehead as you hugged your knees in the bath. He sat just behind you, offering you only the comfort you wanted when you needed it the most. “Somethings wrong.”

“Dr. Snowdon said this would be a complication from the surgery honey,” Jake cooed as he felt you shift in the water. He watched and shifted as you let your back fall against his chest as you sat between his legs. Warm, soapy water lapped at your stomach as you stretched out your legs. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”

There had been an accident at work, one that no one saw coming. That’s the very definition of an accident though, isn’t it? Something you don’t see coming. Something that wasn’t intentional. Something that couldn't have been avoided.

You worked admin in the office department at Miramar, a usually safe office environment that makes your situation all the more accidental. Three people lost their lives, two people were injured. You were one of the two who lived to tell the tale of the office fire from hell. The fire that broke out after the old ass printer blew itself up. The office fire that caused an explosion that sent you flying across the building. The office fire that caused you to crack your skull on the corner of the wall you flew into.

The office fire that nearly took the love of Jake Seresin’s life.

“It’s not your fault Jake–” You nearly sobbed as you tried to focus on his gentle touch, instead of the overbearing, all-consuming pain of your head trying to tear itself apart. “It just sucks this is how my life is now.”

Jake pressed the washcloth a little harder against your forehead, hoping if anything, a little counterpressure would help alongside the warmth of the cloth.

“I know it’s not my fault, honey–” Jake cooed as he worked his magic, helping to soothe your pounding head the best he could. “But it’s so hard seeing you like this.”

Sometimes our body’s signals get messed up. And our failsafe goes haywire. Instead of making clots, our body destroys them. And the thing that’s supposed to help us? Only hurts us more.

Which means we start to bleed. And everything shuts down.

“You’re the love of my life Y/n, I hate seeing you in so much pain.” You didn’t respond, you simply laid there in the warm embrace of your husband’s touch. Your guiding light in life, and in the next.

It stayed like this for a while longer, the comfortable silence filled the bathroom as Jake worked to try and bring you some sort of comfort through your pain. He’d been with you every step of the way, so he wasn’t about to leave you now. But what Jake wasn’t expecting was for you to leave him.

“How are you feeling, honey?” Jake asked softly as he dipped the washcloth back into the warm water. At first when you didn’t respond, Jake assumed that you were just sleeping. He thought perhaps you’d found a moment of solace between the throbbing aches. “Y/n?” But when you didn’t respond when he gently tried to wake you? Jake’s heartbeat began to race with pure, unedited panic. “Hey, baby? Come on now you gotta wake up for me.”

When we’re hurt, our bodies send signals to form blood clots directly at the injury, to help stop any bleeding. It’s our body’s system of checks and balances. It’s a system that’s supposed to save our lives. Or so we hope.

“No, no, no, no, no–don’t you dare do this to me!” the poet Octavio Paz once wrote, ‘The Mexican is familiar with death. Jokes about it. Caresses it. Sleeps with it. Celebrates it.’ Jake Seresin was about to relate to those who had walked alongside death and his many unfortunate souls.

“Y/n, Honey open your eyes!” Jake cried as he dragged your lifeless body from the tub. In Jake’s eyes, death wasn't something to be celebrated. It’s avoided at all costs. You couldn’t die on him like this. You weren’t ever supposed to die before him at all. You promised him that. “Come on baby don’t do this, you’re alright,” Jake pleaded as he tried to bring you back, his compressions were hard enough to break your ribs. “No, no, no–I need you here,” Jake didn’t know it at the moment, but it would haunt him for the rest of his life. You had died in his arms, you had told him something was wrong. It would soon come to light that it had been an aneurysm that took you too soon. A complication from your brain injury.

“Wake up honey, please don’t you dare do this to me,” When death comes, it’s clinical, almost routine. But still with all the practice that doctors and nurses alike have under their scrubs, even surgeons are surprised by death. For Jake, he’d known for many years his career could lead him to an early, untimely grave. But he never expected you to be the first to leave. “I need you,” It was a painful, all-consuming cry that escaped Jake as he realised his efforts were futile. He held you close as he cried and mourned your now soulless state. “Y/n, no–no don’t leave me, please–”

Every religion, every country, every culture, death means something different to all of us. We all have different ideas about how to honour the dead. Different ideas on how to greave. Different ways of moving on. Jake Seresin wasn’t an expert by any means, but now he had the unfortunate experience of losing the person he loved the most.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

[rottingworship]

67 and 74 of the smut prompt for masky pleaseee

AAAHHHH YEESS Thank you!!! I love this! I had fun writing it! Thanks for the request! If anyone is curious, the prompts are from this list if you want to send some in too!! This ended up not being as freaky as I wanted, but I'm still getting used to these characters. I hope you enjoy this! P.S. I'm aware marble hornets is not creepypasta, I'm just enjoying myself right now :)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI!, thigh riding, slight degradation, AFAB!Reader (no pronouns used for reader though!)

Prompt: 67. "did you touch yourself while i was gone" 74. "the only way you're getting off is on my thigh"

You do not expect your boyfriend to come home so early. He was out ‘working’, and you thought you at least had one night alone.

You lay in your bed, curled up, wearing one of Tim’s shirts. And that’s it. Deep in REM sleep, you are completely unaware of the door of your house opening. Oblivious to the stalking up your steps. Deaf to your door creaking open.

You only come to consciousness when you hear your name being spoken. You sit up in bed, letting out a short yell when all you can register is someone in a mask standing at the end of your bed. You rub your eyes and focus. You realize it’s Masky. You aren’t sure if you are relieved or more unsettled.

“What-”

He interrupts you. “Did you touch yourself while I was gone?”

Your eyes widen. You notice your panties in one of his hands. His head slightly cocks to the side as he waits for your answer. “Yes.” It’s all you can muster. Your panties drop from his hand, and he motions for you to get up. You don’t hesitate to move. You throw your legs over the side of the bed and stand up. Masky watches you closely. His eyes don’t move from you. You pull at the hem of your shirt, suddenly very aware of everything. Cold air hits your bare legs, and you shift your weight.

“Are you still needy?” His voice is almost mocking.

“Yes.” You respond quickly. You wait for his next move.

Masky sits on the edge of your bed, his eyes watching you the whole time he does so. He pats his thigh and you give him a confused look. He pats it again. You have a feeling there will not be a third time, so you awkwardly walk towards him, hands still gripping the hem of your shirt. Masky’s hands rest on your hips and you swallow hard. You bite your lip as Masky spreads his legs a little wider. You sit on his lap.

“Do you wanna cum, darlin’?” Masky’s eyes don’t leave yours. You nod at him. “The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh.” He deadpans.

You stare at him, a deer in headlights. “Oh, okay.” This is definitely a good way to wake up. Masky’s hands grip your hips tighter, and you whine. You begin to grind into his clothed thigh. Masky grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls it up. He watches you grind against him. You let out a huff as the friction begins to feel good. You bring yourself onto your tiptoes and grab his shoulders.

“Still so wet…” Masky hums, his hand briefly touching his thigh. You’ve left a stain on his jeans. When you grab his shoulders tighter, bearing down on his thigh, Masky grabs your hips harder. He pushes you down onto his thigh. He begins to bounce his leg ever so gently.

Your grinding does not slow, small whimpers and whines coming from you. “Please,” You whine at him. “I wanna- Wanna feel you!” Your forehead touches his.

“Get off on my thigh and I promise, I’ll fuck your brains out.” You know he’s not lying. Without thinking, one of your hands leaves Masky’s shoulders and one of your finger's ghosts over your clit. But only briefly. Masky is quick to grab your hand and click his tongue at you. “I said, only my thigh.”

You grind harder into him and let out a whine. “Come on!” You huff at him. “At least let me kiss you or something…”

Masky shakes his head. His leg begins to bounce a little more violently and you gasp. You feel a heat beginning to build up in your stomach. You begin to tense, holding his shoulder a little tighter. He’s still holding your other hand. He notices you’re close. His rhythm becomes steady and yours becomes sporadic. You are doing anything and everything to cum.

“Fuck,” You whimper, “I’m close-” You cut yourself off with a moan. Masky steadies you. He releases your hand and grabs your hip again. His eyes are boring into yours. You look up at him and notice his eyes have darkened. You fall back onto the balls of your feet and let out a loud cry. “I’m- shit-” You hiss, coming undone on his thigh. Your entire body is hot and tense, and you can feel your pussy spasming.

“See,” Masky remarks, “that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” You reply with a whimper, your head leaning against his shoulder. “Since you were so good,” he starts, “do you think I should reward you?” His tone causes you to cut your eyes to him. “I’m sure your fingers can’t do what I can.” He says it with confidence, he knows it’s the truth. His fingers are digging into your skin.

“Please,” You begin to beg, “I need you. Only you-”

Your desperation is palpable. Masky laughs. “Such a little slut.” He huffs at you before easily picking you up and putting you on the bed. He is hovering over you. “The night is far from over,” His head cocks to the side, “and I can assure you, I’ll be much better than your fingers.”

[beenbaanbuun]

panic w/ jeong yunho

(this isn’t proof read because i wrote it at like 5am…)

——————————————————————————

yunho’s hand lands on your knee, warm and study and exactly what you need to ground yourself. your eyes focus on it; your body does too. you need this, you tell yourself, you need it to settle your mind and you need it to settle your heart. neither of them are going at the pace at which they should.

“you okay?” he murmurs under his breath, not looking at you or seemingly paying that much attention to you at all. you’re grateful in a way; attention is the last thing you need right now, especially from yunho. one worried look from him might be the breaking point, setting you off on a downward spiral that would certainly take a lot more than a hand rested gently upon a knee to fix.

you can’t help but shuffle closer to him, the hot metal of the park bench burning your thighs through your jeans. that too helps ground you, but not in the gentle way yunho does. it brings you back down the earth rather too sharply, making you suck in a wince. suddenly you’re no longer unpleasantly floating up in space, but instead you’re here, present and absolutely, indisputably not good.

“no,” you admit as your heart rate picks up once more, the panic of everything setting in. the burning in your thighs came to a stop almost immediately, but that doesn’t mean that everything still isn’t bad. it is. it’s so very bad. “yunho, i—” you cut yourself off with a heaving sob, one that you hadn’t anticipated for even a second. you hadn’t been crying mere seconds ago, but right now you can feel the fiery tears that run down your face like magma, carving a path against your skin.

it’s bad. everything is bad.

well, maybe not everything. yunho’s hand is still on your thigh, unmoving as your emotions take over your body like waves in an angry tempest. it’s like the eye of the storm, providing you with a quick break from the overwhelming barrage of emotions that threaten to make your flood defences fall. all you have to do is focus on that sturdy warmth and that’s it; everything is quiet for just a second.

“what do you need?” he said, eyes still focused on the duck pond before you. “tell me, honey; i want to help you.”

and you want him to help! you want it so bad that it hurts your chest to even think about that hand slipping away from your thigh. the only issue is you don’t know how he can help. you barely have a moment to piece together a single coherent thought, let alone figure something like that out. what do you need, you ask yourself. other than yunho’s hand, what exactly is it that you need…

you think about the hand and what it gives you—warmth, stability, comfort—and you think about the way it makes you feel. you want that feeling in swathes, that safety and peace that fills your mind for a fleeting second every time you bring your attention back to that hand. you want it everywhere. the warmth that feels like summer rays breaking through the clouds of the storm, the stability of the harbour walls tethering the boats to safety, the comfort of knowing that the end of the storm is near.

it twigs in your brain.

“you,” is the only word you can muster before a new wave of tears washes over you. they fall like raindrops onto your hands curled up on your lap, the slow dripping only adding the the already long list of everything that is pushing you closer and closer to the edge of that spiral. you can only hope yunho can somehow understand your cryptics as you let out sob after sob.

“me?” he whispers to himself, questioning your words, “you want me? baby, you have me, what do you—” he looks down at his hand, the single anchor tethering you to port. without it you’d be adrift, and he knows you well enough to know that. oh, he can’t help but smile, you want him. “you want to come into my lap? because it’s open for you, baby. it’s always open for you,” and perhaps you already know that, but perhaps in your frenzied state you just need the reminder.

you’re barely able to nod before yunho’s other hand is on you, finding your waist almost immediately. the hand from your knee slides up your thigh so as not to take away that contact you’d grown so used to. you can’t help but be grateful at how thoughtful he is, kind to the very centre of his soul. that hand also comes to a stop at your waist.

you don’t even blink an eye as he tugs at your shaking body, manoeuvring you until you’re on his lap, thighs against thighs, spine pressing against chest. the hands snake themselves around your waist, coming to a halt once his arms are firmly locking you in place. he gives you a squeeze, reassuring you that he’s there. you give him a soft hum in response, not quite words, but still not silence. he takes it graciously, tucking his head into your shoulder and placing a kiss upon your sweaty skin.

“you have me, baby,” he murmurs as you finally set your sights on the end of this. your heart settles itself on that single piece of blue sky in the distance, and you let yourself relax into yunho’s body knowing that this will all be a thing of the past soon enough.

[antiquarianfics]

Taken pt. 10

If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.

a/n: sorry for the hiatus. here’s this. it’s not proofed. yay!

warnings: swearing, blackmail, mention of murder, themes of conspiracy, canon typical violence.

note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters. Any and all characters are a work of fiction and any likeness to real persons is wholly unintentional.

You do not have permission to copy, translate, or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

previous part | series masterlist | next part

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

“Well, my targets are gone,” you sigh, glancing down the hallway you had seen Steve run. You click your tongue and return your focus to Bucky, shaking your head slightly.

“Sorry, honey,” you say, knocking him out.

—

Bucky comes to with a groan, sitting up from his position on the floor, a hand holding his head. He blinks a couple of times, scanning the room for any sign of you. You’re nowhere to be found. Shaking his head, he pulls himself off the ground, and starts heading to the meetup spot he and Steve had agreed on months ago in case Becca had to be taken somewhere safe.

As Bucky travels, he replays the conversation he’d had with you. Why the hell would you bring up a Greek myth? He struggles to make any sense of it, but then his brain picks out a particular part of your story:

“Orpheus didn’t get a second chance to save Eurydice. Zeus killed Orpheus because he was afraid Orpheus would tell the humans all the secrets of the Underworld. Some versions say that the Muses kept his head, though, to sing songs forever. They managed to hear his voice even after he died.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Don’t turn around, James.”

Your warning—“Don’t turn around, James”— was certainly a code. After all, if you had struck a deal with Frost, and if you were working with HYDRA, then you were probably being watched, listened to. You couldn’t speak freely. But why Orpheus and Eurydice? Why that story?

“Don’t turn around, James.”

Orpheus turned around… Why is that important?

“Don’t turn around, James.”

“This has to be a metaphor for us,” Bucky thinks. “Does she mean I’m Orpheus, then? Eurydice was trapped in the Underworld… Y/N is trapped by HYDRA… Does she mean to stop looking for her? Or does she mean to trust she has a plan? That she knows what she’s doing?”

Zeus killed Orpheus because he was afraid he would tell all the secrets of the Underworld.

Then, it clicked. Bucky isn’t sure exactly what it is that changed how he interpreted your story, but, suddenly, everything made sense:

1. Chance one to save Y/N: Russia. I didn’t save her. I only saved Becca. She is saying I don’t get another chance to try for her.

2. Y/N is picking off people Frost is afraid will come between him and HYDRA. Right now, I’m not apart of that list. Proof: She let me go. If I attempt a second rescue, she will have no choice; they will tell her to take me out. Besides that, they will certainly threaten Becca, and we agreed when she was born that Becca always comes first.

3. The muses kept his head? They won’t kill me. She doesn’t want me to come after her because they will just capture me. She won’t give me up, but she’s more likely to slip up if it comes to me. A slip up is more likely to lead to… They’ll wipe me. She doesn’t want me to come after her because they’ll wipe me if they capture me.

Bucky sighs as he arrives at the rendezvous he and Steve had agreed on. He feels a little better now that he understands more of what you were saying, but he still feels like there is a piece of the puzzle missing.

—

The team goes into hiding. You had revealed a lot about the dangers of HYRDA’s plans, but they still know so little. The team knew you had targets—important targets—that you were being forced to eliminate. They discerned the targets were people HYDRA feel are threats against their mission, but they still don’t have a definite list.

“We’re sitting ducks!” Tony shouts angrily into the room.

“Stark,” Fury says gravely, “watch it.”

“I’m sorry, but we are. We have no new intel. HYDRA is AWOL. The world is looking at us to do something, and we’ve got nothing.”

“Buck,” Steve says, “did Y/N say anything else that might give us a clue as to who she’s after?”

Bucky sighs, thinking back over the whole interaction from the moment you got there to the moment you knocked him out. It was as he replayed your conversation on the roof that it clicked: the missing puzzle piece. Bucky meets Steve’s eyes.

“She told me who she’s after.”

“Well?” Tony questions impatiently. “Who?”

“When I met her on the roof,” Bucky says, “Y/N told me she was marking 3 names off her list. That means her next three targets were in the Compound.”

“FRIDAY,” Tony says, “get me a list of every person who was in the Compound at the time of the break in.” FRIDAY responds in the affirmative.

“Then,” Bucky continues, “she asked me…” Bucky trails off as he tries to remember how exactly you worded the question. “She asked me: ‘You’re not all that close to Captain America, are you?’

“I thought it was weird how she worded that. I’ve known Steve longer than anyone, and it was weird she called him ‘Captain America.’ But that was her clue. HYDRA has no problem with Steve Rogers—”

“But Captain America has been ruining their plans since the ‘40s,” Steve says, arms crossed as he puts together what Bucky is saying. Bucky nods.

“So the other two targets have to have been in the Compound at the time of the attack, and they have to be people that have significantly messed with HYDRA somehow,” Sam thinks aloud.

Bucky thought. Who else could HYDRA consider a threat to their cause? Who else has been foiling HYDRA’s plans time after time? Bucky scanned the room, eyes carefully considering each person. It could be any of the Avengers, he thought, but then you would likely have more than 3 targets. His eyes settle on Fury. Bingo.

“Fury’s a target.”

All eyes are on Bucky.

“How you figure?” Someone asks. Bucky doesn’t clock who, his mind still attempting to fit puzzle pieces together.

“Captain America is an obvious choice. It can’t be another Avenger because you’ve done equal damage to their cause. It’s not me because they don’t want me dead—I’m valuable to them. But Fury? Fury created the Avengers. Fury is the leader. He’s also the director of SHIELD: HYDRA’s number 1 obstacle. It makes sense.”

Fury hums in agreement. “Rogers and I make the most sense. We still have a third target to identify, though.”

Bucky nods in acknowledgment, but his eyes settle on Coulson beside Fury.

“Coulson.”

Coulson’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, as if he never would have expected he could be so important to Bucky. He swallows and composes himself, and when he speaks, he is calm, confident.

“I do make sense. My team and I have given HYDRA a real headache, and, like Fury, I’m the leader.”

—

With a list of targets that the team was agreed upon and confident in, it was time for a plan. They’d been idle too long. The plan is simply to get you back first, stop HYDRA second, but the way Bucky see is it, you are crucial to Frost’s plan. If they get you, Frost will be scrambling.

“Okay, team,” Steve says into a huddle. “Stick to the plan. The tip we sent out says I’ll be on a solo recon mission, so they’ll be waiting. Y/N will be waiting.

The goal is to get Y/N and bring her home.”

“And we’re sure she’s not just going to kill you?” Sam asks, facetiously. Bucky scowls.

“We have to hope that she really is just playing HYDRA’s game to stay alive,” Steve says solemnly.

—

“Any sign of her?” Natasha asks into the coms.

“No,” Clint says.

“Redwing and I got nothing,” Sam says.

The coms go silent as the team waits. Steve carefully walks through the hallways of the abandoned HYDRA facility. He’s careful—he half expects you to step out of nowhere and shoot at him.

He turns the corner into what appears to be the facility’s security room. Computer monitors line the walls, each showing different hallways or facility entrances. The room is bland and dark except for the monitors and the light emitting from them.

Steve’s eyes take in the security footage, the room, and the woman sitting in a large desk chair in front of the monitors, legs propped up on the desk the security equipment rests on.

“Y/N?” Steve asks.

“You found her?” Bucky asks quickly, heartbeat picking up. He had been ordered to stay behind in the quinnjet, but if Steve found you, he’s leaving.

“Hi, Cap,” you say pleasantly. “Been a while.”

“You tried to kill me a week ago.”

You frown. “You still mad about that?”

Steve scoffs. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

“What’s going on, Captain America,” a third voice chimes in, “is the fall of the Avengers, of SHIELD, and the rise of HYDRA.”

“Frost,” Steve says, presuming he’s meeting the “mastermind” behind the whole endeavor.

“Captain Rogers,” Frost says with an over animated grin. “A pleasure!”

Steve turns back to you, ignoring Frost’s greeting. “You missed.”

“I won’t miss this time,” you say, the corner of your mouth twitching.

“I don’t doubt it,” Steve replies. “I’ve never known you to miss. Best sniper on the team.”

“Steven,” you say, an edge to your voice that confuses Steve. He opens his mouth to answer, but the sound of a gun cocking beats him to it.

Behind Steve, and then behind Frost, stands Bucky; he has a gun to Frost’s head. It’s clear that Bucky had snuck up on him.

“Well! Isn’t it nice of you to join us, Sergeant Barnes,” Frost says. “I just love a little family reunion. Tell me, how is the Mini Asset? Hmm?”

Still holding the gun to Frost’s head with his right hand, Bucky’s left hand goes around Frost’s throat.

“Watch it.”

“Buck, we need him alive,” Steve warns. Bucky releases Frost’s neck. However, in the small amount of time that this interaction took place, Frost had, unbeknownst to the three of you, snuck something out of his pocket.

“Well, this has been fun. I’m sure we will meet again soon,” Frost’s tone is sardonic. “Just know, Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, that you may have gotten your little bitch back today, but this is far from over. HYDRA will rise again. SHIELD will fall.”

Then, Frost throws what he had pulled from his pocket to the ground and smoke quickly billows up into the room, filling your lungs and making you cough. You hear footsteps—Frost running. He must have taken Bucky by surprise, too.

When the smoke clears, you face your husband and run into his arms for the first time since being kidnapped.

—

After being rescued from Frost, Bucky and the team take you back to the Avengers’ makeshift headquarters. They (with profuse apologies) blindfold you on the way so that you’re not able to leak any information if you have actually turned against them, or accidentally give something away if HYDRA is watching somehow.

“I’m sorry, Doll. Y’know I trust you with my life, but we gotta be sure,” Bucky says. You rest your hand on his and squeeze.

“It’s fine. I understand.”

Upon your arrival to the HQ, you’re taken to an interrogation room where Fury and Coulson ask you about the kidnap, the torture, the deal you struck, HYDRA’s plans, and everything else up to your rescue. They hook you up to a lie detector machine, even, and ask you if you are working with HYDRA, if you had gone dirty.

“I promise I only did what I had to survive and to keep my daughter alive. I had to do what HYDRA asked. They’re everywhere. They’re within SHIELD, even. I didn’t know who could hurt her,” you swore.

When Fury and Coulson are finally finished interrogating you, they tell you they think you have a chance of being acquitted. You were a prisoner of war, and, surely, the U.S. government would see that. However, until then, you were in SHIELD’s custody and to be locked up. You agree without protest.

As you’re walking out of the interrogation room, hands cuffed in front of you, you see Bucky holding a sleeping Becca in his arms waiting for you. Your eyes widen.

“What is she doing here?” You panic.

Bucky frowns. “I thought you might want to see her. She misses you.”

“Bucky, if she sees me right now, what will she think? I’m handcuffed. The last time she…” You trail off. “I don’t want to see her. Just… put her to bed. Give her a kiss for me. Tell her I love her. Don’t bring her by my cell.”

Bucky says nothing as a couple SHIELD agents lead you away.

—

It takes 2 months for you to be acquitted. You stay locked up in a SHIELD cell, refusing to see your daughter, barely speaking to anyone for 2 months. When you are finally acquitted, it is because a private grand jury hears your testimony, Becca’s testimony, and the testimony of the Avengers’, security and personnel from the White House there the night you assassinated the president, and the families of the deceased. The ordeal is heart wrenching. You are sentenced to a year of probation (including not going on missions as an Avenger) and weekly court mandated therapy, but you are free.

When the judge tells you, “Mrs. Y/N L/N-Barnes, you’re a free woman,” you let out a sob and feel yourself yanked into a firm chest that you’d recognize anywhere: Bucky.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re coming home.”

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

@just-henny @jasminocano @browneyedgirl22-blog @barnesboo1967 @matchat3a @unkasworld @qwertyb2577 @raajali3 @yoruse @iilsenewman @alysianc @fairytalegirlofurdreams @marvelxlevram @casa-boiardi @buckybraneslover111 @hhiggs @smolracoon25 @questionableratatouille00 @heytheredemonsitsyourgirl @thearieunhinged @sebastianstansource @middaystarlight @talesofadragon @killerwendigo @ozwriterchick @kandis-mom

[kayewrite]

How to Love?

genre:; fluff, angst (not really). word counting: 1754

Seungmin x reader (ft. mingyu of seventeen). college Seungmin!. Medicine student Seungmin! (will write lots of university fics because im delulu college student *sobs)

wherein:  You are just curious, and you asked for tips from your friend, who willingly helped you.

i reccommend you to listen "how to love" by Day6

You've never been in a relationship before.

Your focus has always been on studying. Study. And more study.

Aiming for the top has always been your priority, which is why the idea of having a boyfriend (or girlfriend) never even crossed your mind.

Besides, no one’s ever asked you out, so why bother thinking about relationships when the opportunity hasn’t even presented itself? (By the way, you’re not some stereotypical nerd. You love makeup and dressing up for yourself.)

But now that you’re in college, things are different. Your goals are getting harder to achieve. It’s not just that the course is challenging; it’s also because it’s not what you wanted to study in the first place. You’re here because of family pressure, and that’s made it even harder to keep up with your lessons.

In college, you start to realize something important:

Studying too much can really drain you.

As you look around, you notice how others are balancing their lives. Your deskmate parties every weekend, yet somehow she has the same grades as you. The notorious bad boy sitting in front, who’s always playing with girls' hearts and puts his studies at the bottom of his priority list, scored higher than you in Differential Equations.

And then there’s your dorm mate, who blushes while talking to someone on the phone. She has a boyfriend, yet she manages to balance her studies without letting it distract her. (By the way, why is she blushing?)

"I'm tired, physically and mentally," you say, resting your head on the cafeteria table while Seungmin, your friend, munches on his sandwich.

"That's what you get after not sleeping for several days and then pressuring yourself too much," he replies, continuing to eat his sandwich—wait, that’s yours!

You lift your head, tired but still sane.

"Then what should I do? What do college students do? Isn’t it our responsibility to learn?"

Seungmin rolls his eyes at your statement. "What are we, robots?" He puts down your sandwich and wipes his mouth with a napkin, realizing that it’s yours and that he should stop eating. (Only 1/8 of the sandwich is left.)

"Listen, you need to get a life. You’re wasting your college years with your nose buried in books. You should enjoy college because after this, adult life limits your happiness. So, as long as you can, enjoy and live your life."

On a normal day, you’d tease him, calling him dumb and saying he’s talking nonsense, but maybe because you’re so tired, or something else, for the first time what he’s saying makes sense.

"Wow, you’re making sense." Your face lights up, and Seungmin can’t help but laugh. "Is that what studying medicine does to you?"

"I'm always a genius, you dumbass. Eat my medals."

What Seungmin said rings in your brain. For the first time, you don’t stress about the upcoming exam.

"Seungmin," you call out after a long, comfortable silence.

"What?"

"I should date."

"Date what?"

"Date someone."

Suddenly, Seungmin clasps his hands together in an overly dramatic way and closes his eyes.

"Finally, my prayers have been heard."

But how do you start?

You weren’t pressured by your surroundings, right? You just want to experience it.

Experience.

But how?

"How?" you ask Seungmin when you sit under the mango tree, studying (again).

"How what? Don’t ask me math questions."

"I mean… how did you meet Shin?" you ask, closing your book.

Seungmin has a lot of experience in love. He’s had many girlfriends (and why not? He’s handsome). So asking him questions about love is never difficult.

Seungmin looks at you intently, his face showing a hint of curiosity.

"She came to me."

"And then what?" Curiosity is evident on your face. Why haven’t you asked him questions like this before?

"And then we dated."

"That fast?"

"It’s because she loved me too much, and I was just doing her a favor." You slap him hard.

"You’re a playboy."

"I’m not. I’m kind."

"So if anyone likes you, you just date them?"

"Well… no."

"I think I’m an idiot for asking you for advice." You lean back and open your book again.

Seungmin laughs at you. He realizes you must be serious about your decision, so why not help? (As a good friend should.)

"Okay, now listen to me. You won’t regret this decision, right?"

"Why are you getting scary?" you comment as he speaks with an unusually serious face.

"I mean, as your friend—a handsome friend, mind you—I’m going to tell you…" He pauses for dramatic effect. "How to love."

You pause, then hit his arm.

"Why are you making that serious face? You’re so funny." You both laugh, and when you’re tired from laughing, Seungmin continues.

"First, fall in love."

"Well, step one is kinda hard."

"Just use your charm, and then you’ll find love. And never let go of the people who want to take care of you. Have you seen yourself? You’re pushing people away."

"I am?" You think back to times in your life when you’ve pushed people away.

"Yes. So never do that. And if you find love, contact me for step two." He laughs, then stands up and runs off.

"What is this, a YouTube tutorial?" you sigh and open your book again, but your attention isn’t there.

"How can I find it?"

You sat alone at your usual spot in the cafeteria, a tray of untouched food in front of you. The sounds of chatter and laughter surrounded you, but your mind was elsewhere, replaying Seungmin's words about finding love. You let out a small sigh, thinking about how you’d even begin.

As you poked at your sandwich, someone slid into the seat across from you. You looked up, surprised. It was Mingyu, the handsome senior from your department. You’d seen him around before, but never this close. He had a confident, easygoing smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Hey,” he said casually, setting his coffee down. “Mind if I sit here?”

You blinked, momentarily lost for words, then nodded. “Sure.”

He grinned. “I’ve seen you around. You’re always so focused, it’s impressive.”

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks. “Thanks, I guess. I just… try to stay on top of things.”

“You don’t have to explain,” he chuckled. “I get it. College is a lot. But you know, it’s also important to have fun.”

You looked at him, curiosity piqued. “And what do you do for fun?”

Mingyu leaned back, taking a sip of his coffee before answering. “I hang out with friends, play some basketball, and sometimes… I just like to talk to interesting people.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile. The conversation flowed naturally from there—jokes, stories, shared frustrations about classes. Time seemed to fly by, and before you knew it, the bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period.

Mingyu stood up, grabbing his things. “Hey, this was fun. Can I get your number? Maybe we can do this again sometime.”

Your heart raced as you fumbled to take out your phone. “Yeah, sure.”

After exchanging numbers, Mingyu flashed you one last smile before heading off to his next class. You sat there for a moment, still processing what had just happened. Then, without thinking, you grabbed your phone and dialed Seungmin.

“I think I found it,” you said as soon as he picked up.

Seungmin's voice on the other end was a mix of surprise and amusement. “Already? Wow, that was fast.”

Later that day, you met Seungmin again, and he couldn’t believe how quickly things had progressed. “So, what’s step two?” you asked, eager to hear more of his so-called wisdom.

Seungmin smirked. “Step two is to develop trust. It’s not easy, especially when you don’t know someone that well, but it’s crucial.”

You nodded, feeling a bit anxious. Trust wasn’t something you gave easily, but you were determined to see this through.

As days turned into weeks, you and Mingyu kept in touch, though not always frequently. He was busy with his senior projects, and you were swamped with your own studies, but whenever you did talk, there was a comfort and ease that made you feel safe. You found yourself trusting him, even when he wasn’t around.

One day, he invited you to a coffee shop off-campus. You said yes without hesitation. The atmosphere was cozy, with soft music playing in the background. As you sat across from Mingyu, sipping your drinks and chatting about anything and everything, you felt a warmth spread through you.

“I really enjoy spending time with you,” Mingyu said, his eyes twinkling as he looked at you. “Will you go out with me?”

You didn’t answer right away, but the smile on your face said it all.

The next time you saw Seungmin, he could tell something had changed. You were happier, lighter, and it was all thanks to Mingyu. “Alright, you’re ready for step three,” Seungmin said with a grin.

“What’s that?” you asked, still smiling from your last date.

“Build commitment. That’s the final step,” he said, though there was a hint of something else in his voice—something you couldn’t quite place. But you were too caught up in your happiness to notice.

As the days passed, you and Mingyu grew closer. You spent more time together, studying, laughing, sharing your dreams and fears. You felt safe with him, and that trust grew into something deeper. But every now and then, when you were with Seungmin, you’d catch him looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

One afternoon, you were in the library with Mingyu, your heads bent over your books. Seungmin walked by, and you looked up, catching his eye. He smiled, a soft, bittersweet smile that made your heart ache just a little. He was happy for you, that much was clear, but there was something more—something he wasn’t saying.

You watched him walk away, a thought nagging at the back of your mind. But before you could dwell on it, Mingyu nudged you, making you laugh with another one of his jokes. The moment passed, and you pushed the thought aside.

But deep down, you knew. You knew there was more to Seungmin’s advice than just friendly concern. And as you watched him disappear into the stacks of books, you realized that maybe, just maybe, the steps to love he’d shared with you were ones he’d already taken… with you.

[mikichko]

141 x latina reader recs? 👉🏼👈🏼

Hi cariñoooo!!!

First of all, very excited to see another (hopefully?) latine in the cod fandom! It makes me so happy to see y'all here :) It's like finding shiny pokemon

Second, I must apologize in advance because my god is the 141 x latina tag BARE !!! There's such a huge gap and hopefully, we'll see it close in the future.

Regardless! Here are some of the few recs I adore:

🍃 Everything that comes out Xavi's (@buttdumplin) magical fingers! He has such an amazing way of capturing the latine cultural experience in his works! It genuinely makes me feel like I'm there with the boys because of how he writes scenes and locations that are familiar to all of us. Some of my faves however are:

In Dub In Dub is Xavi's first piece and I all but squealed and giggled my way through this fic. Full of the boys talking Spanish, the amazing poly dynamic, and just generally good vibes. I reread this piece constantly.

Sharing Cultural Food - Kyle Focus This one is one of his most recent pieces and it just makes me feel soo many things!!! When I tell you that I've been in this exact same scenario and literally saw myself in this piece? Yeah, it was marvelous.

Meeting the Family - John Price This is not a poly piece BUT I do in fact adore it. Again, I have lived through similar scenarios of introducing friends or coworkers to family and I just, Xavi does a phenomenal job capturing it.

Now, cariño, I know you said you wanted poly recs but let me just throw you a few other pieces that I feel are tailored towards latine/hispanic readers.

🍃 Retirement Party by @sentientcave (Price x Reader)

OKAY! I know this is a controversial take, Charlie might even disagree, but to me Charlie's Dalisay reads very latina/hispanic! It might just be me projecting honestly but the touch of her Nona speaking spanish and highlighting how John spoke accented spanish too??? Yeah idk that scratched my brain just right Dark fic so mind the tags

🍃 All Works by @pricesugarwife (All in Spanish) (Multiple x Reader)

Griss's writing style is amazing! Even me, someone who probably has an eight grade reading level in Spanish, can read her work and appreciate how well written and paced it is. Naturally because it's all in Spanish and Griss is Latina herself, all of her work reads as latina reader to me! Definitely check out her work! Some of my faves are: Fearless - Johnny x Reader Derritiendo los glaciares de su corazón - Simon Riley x Reader

🍃 Gunslinger by @the-californicationist (Price x Reader)

Recommended by @/madstronaut this is a lengthy and completed piece!! I haven't completed this yet but I can tell you based on the first chapter that this is another amazing work provided to us by Cali's amazing mind. I will be putting aside all my Sunday plans to read through this whole thing.

Hope you enjoy these pieces mi amor! If I spot anything else I'll update this list!

[fuck-i-like-too-much-stuff]

Small addition to the Professor Peem and Professor Q tag because I seriously need to focus on my studies but We Are knaws at my brain.

"You may know that since Professor Q has taken a sabbatical for the rest of semester and since his half of the syllabus is complete, your doubts can be taken up by me. Please feel free to approach me anytime, I'll be in my office." Peem ended the lecture and dismissed the class. Yet no one moved. He looked up with confusion to the lack of commotion, to see eyes of concern.

"What's wrong?" He asks, no answer.

"Guys, I said you were dismissed. Don't you have more classes today?"

"Professor Peem, are you okay?"

Peem doesn't know what his students are talking about. He looks to his feet, trying to observe what is wrong with his appearance. Yeah, his shirt is a little untucked and his tie isn't as proper as it should've been. Yeah, maybe he could've done a better job with his hair today morning. But that shouldn't be enough to warant concern from his students, to let them know that he is, in fact, very much not okay.

It was a month ago that Phum had to leave for Singapore for two months. It was a month ago that he had started to tell himself that this was not that big of a deal. It was a month ago that he was sure these two months would go by in a blink of an eye and his Phum would be back in his arms even before he could complete the blink. It wasn't until two days back, when Q and Toey left for their Europe trip did he realise that this blink felt more like an endless and painful coma.

Yet, what he doesnt realise that this syncing of his breakdown has, once again, fed the rumors of his and Q's apparent relationship.

When his students refuse to leave the hall, despite Peem's reassurances, he does so himself. The moment he does, the murmurs begin.

"Did they break up? Is that why Professor Q took a sabbatical?"

"He takes one every year, that can't be it."

"Didn't someone say that he was going on a Europe trip? Who goes on such a romantic trip without their boyfriend?"

"Maybe Professor Peem was supposed to go but they broke up so he didn't."

"That seems a little too cruel, even for Professor Q."

"Guys, you might want to look at this-"

Toey's instagram handle open on the mobile screen, it shows a photo of him and Q looking over the sunset at the Saimes River.

"A water body. Wow, maybe Professor Q is that cruel."

The next day rolls around and now that Peem has understood that his breakdowns have to be very strictly reserved for his house and Phum's daily videocalls only, he looks just as he did always. But what doesn't change still is the sympathetic looks he catches in class.

Is he still looking pathetic?

In the staff room, he catches a hold of Fai who tells him he certainly doesn't look like he spent the last night crying. Helpful.

His phone automatically calls Fang when it comes to advice regarding puffy eyes and dark circles, not because Fang cries a lot but because between the architecture firm and being in love with Tan, he does not sleep a lot.

"I told you, you need a break. Your routine is not healthy right now, and I'm sure the college will allow you a few days off."

"I have a lot of classes, Fang. And I've to take up any doubts regarding Q's half too. This is not the time for me to take a break. Now will you tell me what to do about my eyes, or should I tell Tan that you ate the donuts I brought for him?"

Ice packs after crying, eye cream and if need be so, a little bit of concealer. Concealer that he will have to buy since Fang is not sharing his, or even Tan's. "Infections, much? Plus you're not my shade nor Tan's."

He is at the department store that is supposed to have everything. Which includes his needs for today, ice cream, rose scent candles, eye cream, and his shade of concealer, and the cologne that Phum wears because he misses his boyfriend and at least the house can smell a little like him. It also includes everything one of his students had on their list as well, because he finds her trying to sneakily click a photo of Peem trying to find the cologne.

"Guys, he's buying the cologne Q wears. He misses him so much. I also saw him buy eye cream."

Actually Q does wear the same brand of cologne as Phum, mostly because Phum is the one who introduced it to him, but its not the same cologne itself. That's not a detail the fine arts student care about as much as the wrinkle count of Peem's forehead as he tries to figure out the reason behind his student's behavior before walking over to where she is.

"Can I help you Reem?"

He then watches as his student fumbles her phone to the ground, apologise repeatedly, pick up her phone which he is sure has a broken screen now, and run away.

He reiterates the whole tale to Phum when he reaches home, a long ten minute podcast of an audio. Exactly eleven minutes after, he recieves a call from the same person, the person he needs the most.

"Hey. Long day, huh?" The soft voice speaks and if Peem hadn't kept his ice cream in the fridge, it would've also melted with him.

After an hour, Phum agrees with Fang about Peem needing a break but he also knows better than to suggest it because he knows Peem couldn't bring himself to abandon his class a month before their exams. So he says, "I'll be back very, very soon. And then your students will see just how happy you can be. Okay?"

And Peem hangs on to that okay for the next month, hangs on as if for dear life. And in this month, unbeknownst to Toey himself because he really does not care for Instagram notifications when he has his P'Q in the most romantic setting of the century, Toey's instagram account gains about fifty new followers who all have the same goal- plot revenge on Q.

[jeonqkooks]

jungkook #33 from the fluff list 💗 (even better if its like fboy badboy jungkook getting flustered and shy around oc hehe)

daft pretty boys | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

prompt: "i can't think around you."

rating: G

word count: 0.8k

genre/warnings: classmates to .. lovers?, college au, basketball captain!jk, he's neither a fuck boy nor a bad boy he's just a cute boy <3, fluff, swearing as per uzh, i plagiarized MYSELF bc the shit mentioned here was actually taken from my final paper for a film class two years ago lmaooooooo

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

If there's one thing that Jungkook absolutely despises, it's when people think jocks are dumb. It's a common misconception and it's downright hurtful sometimes; just because Jungkook is the basketball captain, doesn't mean that anybody has the right to assume he's got hay for brains.

However, if someone were to come up to him right now and say it to his face, he probably wouldn't disagree.

"So yeah, if they lose the memories of these relationships, I think they'd also be losing parts of themselves that make them whole, because an individual's identity is an accumulation of multiple smaller identities they have with every single intimate relationship that ultimately forms one collective identity, y'know?" you finish, and it's not until then that Jungkook comes back down to earth, realizing that he's just been staring at you this whole time. "Anyway, what do you think?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah! Same, uhm," Jungkook stammers. "I also thought about their collective relationsh- I mean, collective identity and multiple identities and-"

You purse your lips as you take in his whole demeanor, like a nervous child fumbling with his words. "Did you not watch the movie?"

He did watch the movie. In fact, Jungkook watched it three times over the weekend because that's how much he liked it. When he registered for this class - History of Popular Cinema - at the end of last semester, he was hoping that it'd be an easy elective so he could focus more on basketball and his core courses. And for the most part, this film class is easy. All he has to do is watch movies and hand in a few short essays every now and then. Piece of cake.

Then the final paper rolls around and the professor assigns everybody a partner to work with. In theory, it should still be a piece of cake, because there still isn't that much to do anyway.

So why is it so fucking hard all of a sudden?

Jungkook had never really noticed you before you became his designated collaborator for the month. Never saw you on campus, never saw you attending the games. Hell, he didn't even know your name until this final assignment.

"I watched it," he defends himself lamely.

"Okay. And?"

"It was good."

You frown, and all Jungkook can think about is how adorable that crease between your eyebrows is. How he just wants to reach across the table and smooth it over, or better yet, kiss it away.

He's fully aware of how stupid he must look, with his sweaty palms and his words falling over each other like goddamn Jenga pieces, in front of a girl that he's been obsessed with for weeks now. Jungkook doesn't normally do crushes, but the more time he spends with you to work on this lame ass paper, the more he finds his mind drifting to you even when you're not in his vicinity.

He thinks you're so pretty when you absentmindedly bite your lip whenever you're concentrating. He thinks you always smell like jasmine, and he's delighted by how your scent lingers on his own clothes after every time you meet, like he's carrying home a reminder of you. He thinks you're ten leagues smarter than him when you text him whole paragraphs detailing how postmodern filmmakers flirt with the concept of identity fragmentation through different types of cinematic manifestation as a reflection of the realistic postmodern person, because what the fuck does that even mean?

"You're not doing a very good job at convincing me you watched the movie," you say.

Jungkook groans internally - and a little externally too - as he runs a hand down his face. "I watched it, I promise," he tells you. "I watched it, and I really liked it. It made me think about a lot of deep shit that I don't normally think about."

"Uh huh," you say slowly. Your frown is still there, but now it's embedded in confusion as you try to understand his dilemma. "Then tell me about that. What was the deep shit?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

How is he supposed to explain that every single thought he had suddenly grew legs and yeeted itself out the window the second he saw you arrive today, wearing a stunning smile and a t-shirt that says Caution: Full of Shenanigans? Not once in his entire life had Jungkook felt so no thoughts, head empty.

"Because I can't think around you," he settles on being honest. "Because I keep thinking about you when you're not here, yet when you are, I can't even think at all."

It takes a minute for his words to sink into your brain, and Jungkook watches nervously as a blush spreads across your cheeks, so rosy that he just wants to grab your face and pepper kisses all over. For the first time since he has known you, you don't know how what to say.

The sight of you, rendered speechless by him being rendered an idiot, has Jungkook blushing too. Despite the patch of bashful silence that ensues, somewhere outside the metaphorical windows of his and your minds, both your thoughts are riding off into the sunset together, holding hands.

all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 27.05.2023]

[worldlxvlys]

this isn’t based on any texts with dwb!chris but i was wondering if u could write a fic abt dwb!chris teaching the reader how to juggle cause she doesn’t know how. maybe make it rly fluffy nd shit, like maybe she cries cause she’s frustrated she can’t do it (i would sob i literally can’t juggle) and chris comforts her and maybe cuddles at the end?

obv it’s ok if not <3 xx

never change

dwb! chris x reader

warnings: none. enjoy <333

dwb! chris masterlist

•••• ••••••••••••••• ••••

i watched as Chris skillfully passed the oranges from one hand to the other, while one was thrown in the air and he caught it without effort. he does it so seamlessly, as though it’s a skill that everyone is born knowing how to do.

“can you show me how?” i asked, a sweet smile forming on my face.

“i can try, i’ve never really had to teach anyone”

he stopped juggling and stood behind me, putting his arms around mine. this man is going to be the death of me.

“relax baby” he whispered into my ear, running his hands along my shoulders.

he helped me position my arms properly, pushing my elbows in.

“let’s just start with two oranges” he said as placed the third one down.

“just focus on passing them back and forth” following his instructions, i threw the round objects back and forth between my two hands.

right, left, catch, catch.

i continued to go through the motions a few more times, waiting for the next step.

“good, keep your elbows tucked in” i moved my elbows in.

“ok, now we can try adding the other in”

“now do the same thing, but before the second orange comes down you add in an extra throw “ i watched as he demonstrated again.

right, left, right, catch.

i watched him do it, but my brain couldn’t process it.

“wait, what? ” i asked, now confused.

he then demonstrated again, but i was still lost.

“here, just try it” he said as handed me the oranges.

i attempted to do exactly as he said, but could never get it right.

“this is so fucking stupid, why is this so complicated” i said, starting to get annoyed.

“hey it’s alright ma, no one gets it on their first try, just give it some time” he said as he rubbed my shoulders.

i tried, and tried but i couldn’t get the rhythm down.

“fuck! this shouldn’t be so god damn hard!” i exclaimed, feeling tears prick at the corner of my eyes.

“baby, it’s ok. we can try again another time” chris said, picking up on how upset i was getting.

“i feel so fucking stupid, this should be simple” i said as i looked up at him, tears starting to fall from my eyes.

“and i don’t know why i’m crying! i’m not upset, i’m pissed!” i said, getting frustrated.

he took the oranges from me and wrapped his arms around me, resting his head on top of mine.

“it’s ok baby, i got you. you’re not stupid, there are plenty of people who can’t even do the first step of juggling and you aced it”

“that’s a damn lie chris, anyone could toss oranges back and forth” i looked up at him, laughing through the tears.

“hmm maybe, but it cheered you up!” he said with a growing smile, wiping my tears away.

“i guess”

“listen, if you never want to juggle again you don’t have to. i doubt anyone will hold you at gunpoint and tell you to juggle for your life” this sent us both into fits of giggles, making us both laugh even harder at the sound of the other’s laughter.

“you probably just jinxed me”

“i don’t think so ma”

we both stopped laughing, staring at each other with wide grins. i gave him a quick peck, making his smile even wider.

“ok forget the juggling, can we just cuddle? ”

“always ma” he said as he led me to the couch. we both flopped down onto it, and he wrapped his arms around me sticking his nose into the crook of my neck.

“you’re perfect, baby. never change.”

•••• •••••••••••••• ••••

hope y’all like <333

i never realized how hard it is to describe juggling, especially when you don’t know how lmaooo

masterlist

tag list: @lovingsturniolo @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @chrissturnioloswifey @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @chrisdevora @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @vib3swithanuk @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn

[writingquestionsanswered]

I'm so scared I lost my touch when it comes to writing. My work schedule got busier, so I went months without writing anything at all. Now I'm trying to get back into it, but I can't seem to find a rhythm like I used to. I'm so upset because writing is my only hobby and if I lose it...I don't know what the point of anything is.

Out of Practice with Writing/Feeling "Lost Touch"

Here's a little secret about writing: the writing experience and skill you have never goes away, even if you haven't written in DECADES. It isn't like a container of water that evaporates when it's not being refilled so that one day it's gone. Your skill might get a little stale when you're out of practice, but you never lose your ability to do it.

So, why does it feel like our writing gets worse the longer we go without using it?

Here's another little secret about writing: every minute you spend on this planet makes you a better writer. Even when you're not actively writing, you are constantly absorbing the stories of the world around you. Your brain's ability to tell better stories keeps growing even if you're not practicing your writing skills, so that when you finally get back to writing again, you can tell what you're trying to write isn't as good as you want it to be... and that can feel like your writing skills have atrophied or vanished even when that's not the case.

Getting Back Into a Writing Routine - Right now, it might help to focus on getting back into a writing routine rather than worrying about what you're writing. In other words, put more focus on showing up when you have available time than on what exactly you're writing. Things like journaling about your day/a unique experience, writing book/movie/game reviews, flash fiction writing prompts, short poetry, fan-fiction drabbles, free writing, and writing exercises are great "low impact" things you can work on when you "show up" for your writing time. Have a look at my brand new post Slowly Easing Back Into Writing (With a Busy Schedule) as it has a bunch of other ideas and links that may be helpful! i hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

LEARN MORE about WQA

SEE MY ask policies

VISIT MY Master List of Top Posts

COFFEE & FEEDBACK COMMISSIONS ko-fi.com/wqa