#i might try to use some of this in the final (assuming i finish) but i doubt much of it would fit

[robinavich]

hey, siri | jack abbot

synopsis: you become privy to some abbot-sponsored healthcare fraud

w.c: 3k

ao3

an: this literally isnt even the fic ive been working on for weeks. I assume this is in the godlight storyline? not sure if I'm gonna do anything with this. is there anything here. might delete it. it's unclear. i'll delete it at a later date. this will never get finished. you are nothing to me

You’re half-slouched over the counter—on-call, because apparently that’s a thing that wasn’t in the job description on Indeed—glasses perched on the tip of your nose.

Pinned to the desk, the EMTALA medical screening exam form struggles under your elbow, lines crinkling with every movement like it’s physically trying to escape from your abuse. The corners curl upward, creased and folding, preparing to leap off the desk and report your treatment directly to the Bar Association.

It’s the kind of betrayal only paperwork is capable of—narc-like, obvious, and absolutely not HIPAA compliant.

Your lips lift in a soundless sneer, glaring down at the paperwork.

…manifesting itself by acute symptoms of sufficient severity such that the absence of immediate medical attention could reasonably blah blah blah…

One little insurance checkbox tells you to go kill yourself.

An Emergency Medical Condition IS present.

Below it, the same answer negated.

An Emergency Medical Condition is NOT present.

At the bottom, Jack Abbot, M.D. is signed, the form ready for submission with one stroke of your pen.

A small mhm escapes you as you clear your throat and shuffle the papers in front of you, fingers busy carding through the snitching form, smoothing out the crumpled pages before tucking it behind the next, restoring them to numerical order like that will make your choice easier. It’s a god-awful hand. Even you can recognize that.

Fingers interlace and fold neatly before you.

Your leg starts to bounce anxiously, eyes cutting to the doctor next to you.

And then back.

One small hand reaches out and clicks your pen, loading a round in the chamber.

It hovers over is NOT present.

You set it back down. It’s finally becoming clear why Robby fucking hates admin. Because truly this is fucking stupid. Why does this stupid piece of paper get to just decide that someone doesn’t have the right to life.

As the seconds creep past, your poor neck muscles rebel against the effort of holding your head up, letting gravity tug it down incrementally from where it’s slumped in your hand.

“It would be so easy to just…materially misrepresent the record right now,” you murmur, mainly to yourself, but your target audience is just anyone who will listen.

Abbot’s neck creaks as the fatigue-burdened bones slowly turn his head in your direction, eyes pleading.

“Sweetheart, it’s three in the morning,” he begs softly. “What the fuck does that mean, honey?”

“Like,” you shrug, not knowing how to will out words not snug in a cocoon of mitigation. “You ever think how easy it would be to just check off the wrong thing?”

Jaw flexing rhythmically while he digests your words, the doctor looks back at where his own charting is holding him hostage. He almost scoffs. “You ever think about how fast they’d disbar you?”

Your hand lolls sideways against your palm as you muster a crooked grin.

“You make enough money for the both of us, it’s fine.”

“What, and bank roll your little,” his hand flicks, as if he could materialize and itemize your bank statement midair, “designer matcha habit?”

Tired eyes squint at him sideways, the form before you momentarily forgotten. “Oh, please. You’ll grunt, and then hand me your little card, and then smuggle me into the building with some half-assed consulting badge you printed in the breakroom.”

His eyes cut to you, glinting.

Considering.

“No,” the words drop to a promise, scraping down your spine. “I’ll make you work for it, kid. Properly.”

From where your hand dangerously keeps you upright, your head slips and nearly hits the table. Catching yourself just in time, palm pressed hard against your forehead, you pray there’s a shadow dark enough in this world to hide how wide your eyes have gone.

But you’ve never heard a better incentive to destroy your career.

You could work for it.

You could be a housewife. Take a Pilates class. Breakfast ready for him every morning. Wake up before he comes home. Look pretty and be ready for him to fuck you. Anything you say, Jack.

That’s obviously so fundamentally who you are as a human being.

Rational brain presents an argument to the court. How long have you been working for this career? What was the outstanding balance on your loan this morning?

Both tremendously great points.

Lizard brain—smelling suspiciously of gasoline—presents a counter argument. It shrugs, tosses a lit match into the courthouse, and coos, yeah, but imagine how hard he’d fuck you in all the shiny jewellery he bought.

You clear your throat.

Actually, fuck this little checkbox.

“Okay, how bad could the fine be? Like three dollars?”

“That’s not my area—that’s supposed to be yours, actually, sweetheart,” soft, like he’s reminding you. Bastard. Rougher, “But I think it’s more than a damn Baja Blast.”

“Good on you for knowing the price of a Baja Blast, old man.”

His eyes slide shut and when they reopen they’re looking at the ceiling as if trying to find some patience God hid in the tiles. The man is really just trying to make it through the night.

Obediently perched on the edge of your chair, you patiently wait for his laugh.

Silence settles softly.

“So, do you, like, hate me or…?”

“No, honey, but you are currently the only thing standing between me and my job.”

As if that’s your fault. You weren’t the one who wrote into incomprehensible law, hey, let’s make sure companies can dictate who is sick enough to receive medicine. yes they stand to make a profit. no I don’t care.

“Okay, I’m sitting, but whatever.” You grab your phone, and flick it open, the confidence of your motions like you have God on speed dial. “Let’s ask the real expert, huh?”

Already knowing you’re not serious, he looks back at his chart.

“Hey Siri,” you ask, pitching your voice all fake-curious, eyebrows up like you’re genuinely about to learn something. “What’s the vibe with falsifying medical data so patients get care they don’t qualify for?”

Jack doesn’t even glance up from the chart he’s pretending to update, head sliding forward to squint at the computer screen. Tired exasperation threads his words.

“We did it a couple months ago and it was fine, so please be my guest.”

Your smile freezes halfway through its mocking curve. The words land between your eyes, gently rocking your head backwards.

Siri quietly reports her findings in your hand.

“You did what?” you ask, because surely that didn't mean what those words meant.

Jack doesn’t even turn to you. He just shrugs, all nonchalant and been there done that, as though what he just confessed wasn’t a felony charge. 

“Our jobs,” he says simply.

Simply.

Like our jobs covers the live ethical grenade he’s just tossed at your feet.

You’re not even sure why you feel surprised.

You look at him, and then back down to your glowing phone where Siri very unhelpfully displays medical malpractice attorneys near you, and then back up to Jack.

In fact, you’re sure you’ve seen Jack Abbot’s handwriting neatly printed in the bottom right hand corner of more flagged-for-legal-review, suspect paperwork on your desk than you’ve seen the scrawl of the actual chief attending on any paperwork that you didn't force him to sign at gunpoint.

All things that slip under the radar if you’re not looking for them. Supplies routed through different departments. Procedures using medical devices that cannot be accounted for in inventory. Repeated requisition forms requests with supplies that never officially get used.

If you wanted to be a villain—if you wanted to ensure that those barriers to care stay reinforced with steel—you could. You could dig in and report every instance where something doesn’t add up. But you sign off and forward to insurance. You haven’t taken a real math class since high school, so whatever.

It’s one thing when you’re not expected to know the numbers and the facts. It’s easy to turn a blind eye. It’s another thing when you do know the facts.

And, unfortunately, you’re fluent in words.

“You lied?” you repeat slowly, peeling the syllables apart in an attempt to reveal the sin wrapped in bureaucratic red tape. You swear you can hear the backfire of your brain short-circuiting.

“Not lied,” Jack corrects, finally looking at you again. Two large hands spread like life leaves no alternative other than mild felony. “We rephrased reality.”

Then, softer, earnest, “We helped someone. It’s fine, sweetheart.”

Your lips move of their own accord, absently mouthing we rephrased reality, the sentence unfamiliar and clunky on your tongue. You know you knew all of those words individually, but put together and presented like this, it’s just not clicking. Is it a new language? Is Jack into ConLang?

Rephrased reality?

Who is this fucking guy?

The vision fires like a bullet through your brain—a brief, crystal-clear image, of a man wearing safety goggles and an I have an idea demeanor.

Ginger guy? From MythBusters?

You’re fucking dating ginger guy from MythBusters? 

You push gently off the floor, the wheels of your rolly-stool shouting their dire need for WD-40 with every pass.

However, physics was also not a prerequisite for law school, so naturally, you miscalculate both force and distance, your not as gentle as you thought push sending you haphazardly knocking into his frame. You ricochet backwards several inches and hands fly up to scramble for hold on his shirt. His palm lands on your thigh, warm and steady, anchoring you exactly where he wants you.

“Careful,” he mutters. “Wouldn’t want to make anyone here do their job.”

And that felt suspiciously like a jab. Bitch.

“Jack, if you’re serious,” your voice—straightforward and devoid of all humor that typically resides there—lowers to a whisper that he shifts closer to hear. “This is malfeasance. You’re talking about fraud.”

Conspiratorially matching your low volume, he huffs out a laugh—half disbelieving, half impressed by your ability to effortlessly move from his light-hearted girl to someone who uses malfeasance in conversation. “Minor infraction. Good fraud.”

“While I don’t doubt it was,” your mouth hangs open as you pause, inhaling a stuttering breath to keep your composure, “good fraud, you’ll notice it still has the word fraud after it.”

“Kid, it’s fine. It’s not that deep.” A corner of his mouth twitches, too amused for your liking.

You scoff, frustration mounting. “With a brain as shallow as yours, nothing is.”

Where did he even learn not that deep?

Your head snaps up to his, brows furrowed. “And why are you talking like that? Who taught you that? Stop that,” you order in rapid succession. “Stop distracting me with your— your,” fingers wiggle in the air, face disgusted, “newfound child lexicon.”

He catches your hand mid-flail and folds it into his own. His other hand stays heavy on your thigh, thumb brushing idle circles that say stay put.

“I’m not doing that.” He was. “I have a weathered man lexicon.” He does not.

Jack’s tongue peaks out and swipes at his bottom lip.

“She was a kid,” he says earnestly. “She was pregnant.”

“Are we talking, like, how you call me kid, or, like, a kid kid?”

“Fourteen.”

It’s your turn to blink—slow, like maybe if you close your eyes long enough, the sight of him lounging there, genuine and morally flexible, will vanish and take his small confession with it.

But it doesn’t. He’s still there when your lashes lift again—calm, infuriatingly calm, watching you unravel with the same patience he probably uses to falsify half the fucking paperwork in this godforsaken department.

Slowly, it escapes you, taut and under your breath, dwindling composure fraying edges of the sound waves, “Oh my God, you’re using the past tense.”

“She didn’t die.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know that?” you snap out between gritted teeth.

He’s just out there running circles around red tape with a perfectly straight face.

Like some sort of superhero.

A superhero who knows that you can only bend the rules where you know they’re weakest.

You breathe in, exhale every ounce of composure you have left, and narrow your eyes—zeroing in on the word that’s still rattling around like a loose screw.

“You said we?”

His shoulders move a fraction and you jab your finger into his chest.

“Shrug again and I’ll bury you under whatever version of reality you want, Abbot,” you warn.

His mouth opens like he’s going to explain, closes, then opens again.

Finally, he just says, “Robby.”

You blink.

Yeah. That checks out, actually.

But, like, in theory, though—you didn’t think he would actually ever do it. Yet, a stubborn, ridiculous part of you swells with pride. That’s your freaking day shift attending.

And now you’re actually kind of pissed at the night shift attending.

“He what?” The words slowly slip out of you, voice soft with incredulity. “You what? Y’all what?”

“You know,” he muses, ignoring your questions altogether. “I’m starting to think you were joking with that Hey, Siri thing.”

“Of course, I was joking,” you hiss out. “Why would I not be joking about that? Do you know what my role is here? What I get paid to do?”

You jab a finger at your own chest for emphasis next—your badge, heavy with Hospital Counsel, rattling the bars in its cage pinned to your ribs. Your entire job was to make sure this doesn’t happen.

Your eyes narrow.

Slightly leaning forward, you pin the doctor with your stare.

“You two keep this shit to yourselves. You take that and you— you bottle that up. You die with it,” you command, your voice low but firm. “Not even God should know, that’s how fucking good you should be at keeping this to yourselves.”

The last word snaps out sharper than you mean it to. It echoes a little in the too-quiet room. Jack doesn’t flinch, just sits there on that stupid rolling stool, eyebrows lifted slightly like he knows you’re not done yet.

You shift your weight, jaw still tight, eyes flicking off to the side—anywhere but his face. There’s a pulse of silence where your mind scrambles to stick to your training: Report. Reprimand. Get the compliance team.

Wash your hands.

But it doesn’t. It stalls.

You shift your weight marginally, eyes darting to the side.

If you don’t report this, you’re technically involved. So, really, now, you're implicated and you don’t even know what for.

Your spine, held stiff by principle and policy, loosens under the thought. Curiosity edges in, dragging your kicking-and-screaming legal training by the ear, shushing it with a sly little hey, girl, at least hear the man out. 

It floods through you, itching under your skin.

You really want to know what that whole story is.

Man, part of you wants to see where it goes so bad, you can practically taste the disciplinary action on your tongue. False binary is a fallacy, sure, but, like, you’re already in it now. Might as well be all in.

And, like, come on—this is Jack. You’re not gonna throw him under the bus. You love Jack. The man came over on his only day off and built you an Ikea bookshelf because you asked him what do I do with that little metal L? Which, for the record, you knew what to do with that metal L. 

And also, he can’t just drop that information on you and not finish that explanation. You’ll fucking kill yourself if you don’t get the rest of it. And you’ll do right when it coincides with his shift, just so he can deal with the trauma and the paperwork.

And also also, like, why do Abbot and Robby get to have a cute little secret? You wanna be in Secret Club. You can keep secrets. You’re so fucking good at keeping secrets.

You deflate a little, resignation further unwinding your spine.

Tongue pressing against your molars, your head dips down and your eyes flick side to side, scanning the corridor for any wandering admin or first-year resident who might overhear and rat you out.

You should report this. You should walk away.

But you don’t.

Because you know him. You know him the way you know your own heartbeat—constant, wildly inconsistent in what it wants to eat, sometimes too loud in your ears when things get overwhelming. But always there. You know the crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he’s trying not to laugh at you. You know the weight of his silence and the difference between the kind that means leave me alone and the kind that means please sit next to me until it passes. You’re not married, but he’s it.

And he knows you too. He doesn’t flinch when you’re difficult. Doesn’t waver when you’re tired or sharp-edged or messy. He just stays.

And because under all the ethics and the contracts and the squeaky-clean policy talk, you live for this. The forbidden little confessions no one else gets.

The volume of your voice lowers under the hum of the department.

Someone coughs down the hallway.

“But, uh…You know, God gets off at, like, eight-thirty this morning, so, like…if, maybe, you wanted to tell God without, like, potential legal repercussions,” you tap your fingers together, steepled in front of you. “I think she would really like to know what— uh, what you’re talking about.”

Jack’s eyebrows climb on his head. “Would she, now?”

“Yeah,” you say, sucking your teeth. “Yeah, that’s why, um, they do confession.”

“Confession, huh?” The man across from you narrows his eyes, lips twitching. “That’s part of the job, though, right? So wouldn’t she be working?”

You think for a second.

That’s a good point, God would have to be on the clock to hear confessions. He could do pro-bono work, you suppose. There’s a lot of paperwork involved in that, though, and you’re sure he has, like, mass suffering to preside over.

“Yeah, well,” you wave your hand in the air, dismissing your inner-monologue. Maybe Abbot should be the lawyer. You’re obviously fucked. “Overtime.”

“Oh,” he says, tone pleasantly surprised. “God’s clocking overtime on the night shift?”

You nod, a little too quickly to hide your curiosity. “I mean, the union reps keep trying to shut that shit down, but,” you click your tongue, waving your hands vaguely at the divine hassle, “the angels are striking again, so…all hands on deck, there.” 

A short, forced classic angels, am I right? chuckle escapes your otherwise stoic face.

Then you shrug, nodding sharply again, and crossing your arms over your chest.

And then you swivel a little in your chair, your nerves jumping at the potential for drama.

“And, like, imagine, all those centuries of listening to claims— uh, murder confessions with nothing fun to break the monotony,” you say, almost pleading at this point.

Abbot shifts his jaw, the ghost of a grin flickering. “Sure. God probably doesn’t get enough hot goss.”

“Exactly, girl, so spill,” the words fly out of you, desperate. You pause, reining yourself in. “Uh, later. After— after eight-thirty. And also…” jerkily, your index unfurls and points to the ceiling, “to God.”

A flicker of something crosses his eyes—a little tired, partly entertained, and extremely fond at your flailing attempt at a theology lesson. His mouth curves into that rare, careful smile he never wastes on anyone else.

“Amen, honey,” he mutters.

Oh, he’s enjoying this way too much.

His gaze flicks upward, brow furrowing just slightly as if he’s consulting some internal filing cabinet labeled How to Pin You with Felony Charges. The warm hand resting on your thigh raises slightly, his index finger spinning a single, slow loop on the cloth, physically rewinding a VHS tape only he can see.

“Hold.” He says it low, an order. He pauses the invisible tape with a slow, deliberate sweep of his fingers, then lets his hand drift lower, palm curving around your leg. His thumb presses in, eyebrow lifting a fraction at your breath catching. “I want to make sure I’m understanding you correctly.”

“God gets off at eight-thirty, but he’s pulling OT to listen to my sins,” he recounts lowly, “while you, no relation, also get off at eight-thirty. Now, are you billing hospital time or holy time while my soul’s on trial?”

You press your lips together, left hand coming to rest idly on our cheek while you attempt to think—something getting increasingly difficult with every moment his palm sends warmth shooting up your leg.

“Can we do, like— maybe like, uh— like a divine double shift situation?” you ask.

He tilts his head forward slightly and his hand tightens around your leg, but says nothing.

You swallow, feeling the silence stretch between you.

“Yeah, I’ll admit that one got away from me,” you concede.

The silence grows. Does this guy even blink?

You pivot tactics then.

Slowly, you slink your foot around his metal one, and roll yourself closer, slotting one leg between his. Leaning forward, you begin to reclaim your personal space and launch a counter-attack on his. 

His arms brush yours.

“Holy time, obviously,” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes. “I’m God’s strongest soldier. I deal with you every day.”

[clockworksheep2]

need to draw what i look like when im Really not doing well bc i stg my face looks like a sickly victorian ghoul child. it is genuinely kind of fucked up fjfkdl i just felt my heart fuckin jump when i walked past a mirror bc im still not totally used to my longer hair length + my face is getting that bad sunken look bc of the sleep issues and everything else going on

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[madebynarii]

but i can do a lot with 15 minutes! (only gonna take 2 to make you finish)

manifest in 15 minutes or less - nari’s 15 minutes challenge (+ for shifting/void)

yes, i know, 15 minutes is the most random song to pick for a manifestation challenge, BUT HEAR ME OUT!!! you can do a lot with 15 minutes.. maybe 2 if you just decided… (see what i did there)

so, what’s this challenge about? simple! manifest in 15 minutes or less. but DON’T start with that overcomplicating shit, if your mindset isn’t already seeing loa as “you have it or you don’t”, this might take a hot minute for you to process without searching for results and crying about how you don’t have your desire yet (which isn’t persisting btw…)

the point of this challenge is to boost up your self concept and the fact you CAN manifest instantly if you assume so. you’re not trying to manifest it - you just already have it. stop expecting there to be “time lag” and start thinking about how you already have it.

i. so, how does this challenge work?

easy! start telling yourself you manifest within 15 minutes or less.

i always manifest within 15 minutes or less

why do i always manifest within 15 minutes or less??

ughhh i’m ALWAYS manifesting within 15 minutes or less!!

regardless of everything, i always manifest within 15 minutes or less

get the vibe? cool! you’re done then, it’s that easy. keeping up the mindset, the whole “i have it” and that’s it. it’s done. look at how easy that was!!

ii. alright, how do i use this method for the void/shifting?

it’s just as easy! replace “manifest” with “void” or “shifting”

i always shift within 15 minutes or less

why do i always induce the void within 15 minutes or less??

etc, etc. you can use more affirmations! you don’t have to just use these ones, you can vaunt, make it seem more natural! in the end, this is all about thinking in the new story; where you manifest, shift, and induce the void instantly.

finally (more of an optional choice), take some time off tumblr. this helps saturate more and avoid overconsumption + doubting you’re doing something wrong. it really is that easy, you aren’t doing anything wrong. there’s nothing more you need to do.

and that’s it! have fun with this challenge; don’t view it as a chore or “the only thing left because nothing works” because… that’s not how this works. if you assume that, then guess what? it won’t work. this challenge is just for fun, use it as a tool! have fun!! 💋💋

[slutla]

“A” 4 EFFORT ! | MARK GRAYSON X FEM READER

warnings: 18+. nsfw. nerd ! mark grayson, bimbo! bully! reader. mark is a dork n i love him idc. boob job, blow job. marks a virgin. usage of puppy. spit. indecency in a storage room. whimpering. he cries. college au. no powers. pet names, corny nick names but it’s used in a degrading way. degradation. praise. he’s obvi a lil ooc.

summary: mark, smart, awkward, and far too soft-hearted, made the mistake of doing one too many assignments for you. a bully in heels, unhinged and relentless, you’ve taken a liking to him in the worst way possible. wc: 4.0k-ish

an: minors n ageless blogs dni. i scraped n rewrote this idea like 3 times b4 finally finishing it. whoops.

Mark is hiding—yes, literally hiding—curled up like some sad, oversized hermit crab shoved into the mildew-scented dark of the campus storage closet. Knees pulled to his chest, hoodie bunched over his head, the flickering overhead light doing nothing but throwing sad little shadows across his hunched spine. He’s tucked into himself like if he folds small enough, maybe you won’t find him. Maybe you’ll just assume he’s dead and move on.

He did your assignment again. Like always. Like clockwork. Like the stupid little pet you keep on a leash of guilt and half-smiles and flirty threats. But this time? He tanked it. On purpose. Slipped in the wrong citations, fudged the formatting, “forgot” a conclusion. Got you a solid C-minus. Barely scraped the bottom of passable. And now he’s sitting here marinating in dread, picturing your reaction—the dramatic sigh, the tilt of your head, the sharp, sweet twist of your mouth when you’re disappointed. Or worse, unamused.

He’d tried to convince himself it was a smart move. A soft rebellion. Maybe if you bomb once, you’ll stop throwing your workload into his lap like it’s part of his tuition. Maybe you’ll get the message without him having to look you in the eye and say no.

But now he’s here, heart doing that ugly fluttery thing like it’s trying to crawl up his throat, every footstep outside the door sounding like you in your usual stormcloud mood. Sharp clacking shoes. Soft voice. That sugary venom in your tone when you call his name like you own it. His phone buzzes. A small sound, pathetic even, but it might as well have been a gunshot for the way it ricochets through the cramped silence.

Mark jumps, a sharp, startled twitch of limbs against concrete and metal shelving, knocking into a box of dusty paper towels with a soft thud. His heart nearly claws its way out of his ribcage, frantic and feathered, wings beating uselessly against bone. With a hand that barely feels like his, fingers cold and trembling, he drags the phone out of his pocket. Screen cracked, brightness low. It lights up his face like an omen. One message. From you.

“I will find you.” That’s it. No smiley face, no punctuation. Just four words, typed clean and sharp like a promise. His blood turns into static. Because he knows you. Knows the games you play, the way you turn hide-and-seek into warfare. This isn’t a bluff. You will find him. You’ll crawl through every hallway, knock on every door, whisper his name down every corridor until he’s backed into a corner with no exit and no excuse. He swallows hard, breath caught halfway in his throat.

The knob fumbles. A weak, clumsy twist. Mark freezes, every nerve pulled taut like snapped violin strings and watches it turn in slow, gut-wrenching motion. And then you’re there. Grinning like you already won. Framed in the doorway like sin incarnate, all legs and ruined decency.

Your skirt’s a joke, barely there, riding high enough that he catches soft glimpses of plush skin, the smooth curve of your thighs glowing beneath the low hallway light. Your top’s slouched off one shoulder, bra strap peeking out. Lips glossy. Shameless. Entirely too much. Mark feels his soul leave his body. He should’ve picked somewhere with a lock. A church, maybe. A different continent.

“Well, well,” you laugh real pretty, like this is a game and you’ve already decided the ending. He wants to crawl into the mop bucket.

“Why do you look so scared, Marky?” Your voice is syrupy sweet, sticky with fake concern. A pout on your lips, mock-sincere, but your eyes give you away, glinting, bright, sharp like broken glass.

Mark flinches again, visibly, like the nickname itself has claws. He hates that name. You know he does. He’s told you, multiple times, in that tight, awkward voice like he’s trying not to snap. And still, there you go, dragging it out like gum on the sidewalk.

His skin prickles, goosebumps crawling up his arms like your words live beneath them. “I don’t bite,” you add, stepping forward, one slow click of heel against floor after another. But you do. You bite and chew and leave bruises just from talking, and he’s not sure what’s worse, the way your words twist around his spine or the way his traitorous heart jumps every time you say his name like it belongs to you. He doesn’t answer. Can’t. His mouth’s too dry.

He stands up. God knows where he finds the nerve, maybe somewhere between survival instinct and dumb luck but he pushes off the stack of old textbooks and stands on shaky legs, spine straightening like a man preparing for war.

Too late. You’re already on him. The door clicks shut behind you, soft but final, like the last nail in a coffin. You don’t even give him room to breathe, step right into him, cut off his air, your chest pressed flush against his. He feels everything. The soft weight of your tits against his ribs, the heat of your skin soaking through his hoodie, the sweet, toxic scent of your perfume curling into his lungs.

There’s nowhere to look. Nowhere to run. And God, he wishes he wasn’t so aware of the way his heart’s pounding like it’s trying to punch through his sternum.

“L-look…” His voice cracks halfway through, eyes darting to the dusty shelves, the light fixture, anywhere but you. “I’m really sorry… I didn’t do it on purpose.” A lie. Such a bad, obvious, choking lie. It clings to the back of his throat like smoke, bitter and foul. He can feel your smirk before he even sees it

Your face hovers just inches from his, the space between you nothing but shared breath and tension so thick it could choke. Your plum-glossed lips linger just over his, not quite touching like a threat, like a dare. You’re pretty. Pretty in a way that feels curated, intentional. Glossy and shallow like a magazine ad come to life. It makes his ears burn, dusted pink at the tips. He looks like he wants to disappear into the wall. You look like you’d pin him to it for fun.

“Awe, Marky, you’re being so mean to me, you know that, right?” Your voice dips low, not soft, not gentle, but lush and poisoned, the kind of sweetness that sticks in your teeth and leaves a burn going down.

You pout like you’re heartbroken, big eyes all shiny, lips pushed out in that perfect little curve, and jab a single manicured finger into his chest, firm and unforgiving. He doesn’t move. Can’t. It’s like you’ve nailed him to the floor, body locked up, breath hitched.

Your long nail presses into the fabric of his hoodie, right over the solid thrum of his heartbeat. He’s trembling under you, not visibly, not like a coward, but in that subtle way only you notice. The kind of tremble that starts in the hands and climbs up the neck. The kind that comes from being caught.

“I trusted you,” you add, voice dropping just a little more, breathy and laced with mock hurt. “And you went ‘n sabotaged me? After I've been soo nice to you?”

He gulps. Loud and shaky, Adam’s apple bobbing like it’s trying to make a run for it. Poor thing.

“Sweet puppy’s grown a backbone now, has he?” you coo, tilting your head, voice dipped in amusement that’s just short of cruel. You don’t pull away. Of course you don’t, instead, that impossible closeness tightening like a noose.

His shoulders hit the shelf behind him with a soft thud. He can’t back away any further. Your chest presses against his, soft curves molded against hard muscle, and you feel it—feel everything. The way his breath stutters. The way his hands twitch at his sides like he’s trying not to grab you.

And lower, the real betrayal. He’s half-hard, thick and aching, tenting his pants like a loaded secret he can’t tuck away. You smile, slow and lazy, eyes flicking downward, then back to his face.

“Cute,” you murmur, almost fond. He wants the ground to swallow him whole.

You slide a hand down. Deliberate. Slow. Like you’ve got all the time in the world to ruin him. Fingers trail over the thick line in his pants, heat trapped beneath the fabric, swollen and straining—and you wrap your hand around it through the material, squeezing just enough to make him suck in a breath. His hips twitch. His jaw clenches.

He’s trembling now, a little, but it’s there. A ripple under your palm. You look him right in the eyes, eyes wide and glinting with something unholy. Your thumb strokes once. Soft. Cruel.

“Did me callin’ you a puppy make you hard?” Your voice is low, a velvet drawl, wrapped around mockery like it’s a love song.

“You’re, uhh… too close…” He whispers it. Barely. Like maybe if he says it soft enough, the words won’t count. His whole body is stiff, locked up, trying not to think about your hand wrapped firm around his bulge, the heat of your palm, the way your thumb had moved.

But it’s impossible. You’re too close. Too close. You’re all over him, heat and scent and lips a breath away, voice curling into his ear like silk and fire. And his brain? It’s white noise. He swallows hard, again, like maybe that’ll push the shame back down. Like maybe it’ll kill the way his dick pulses helplessly under your grip. But it doesn’t. Nothing helps.

You can feel it too, the way his body betrays him, twitching under your hand like he’s trying so hard to behave, to not give in. It’s adorable, You think.

You half-smile, head tilted, lip gloss catching the light like temptation bottled up. “Let’s make a deal,” you hum, voice flat and casual, like you’re discussing lunch plans, not unhinged propositions. “I’ll suck your dick, and you do my work properly.”

He chokes. Not metaphorically, he literally chokes, breath catching mid-gasp like his lungs betrayed him. His face flushes immediately, that soft, pale pink crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears.

“W-what… what do you—” His voice breaks, small and high and strangled, as if saying it out loud would summon lightning. You roll your eyes so hard it’s almost theatrical, exasperation oozing off you like perfume. “What’re you actin’ dumb for?” you snap, grip tightening just a little around his cock, enough to make his hips twitch again.

“You’re already hard.” Your words hit him square in the gut, shame blooming behind his eyes, his mouth working silently like he wants to say something, protest, maybe—but all he manages is a sound. A low, broken exhale that sounds suspiciously like surrender.

He’s not pulling away. And he’s not saying no. You notice. And he’s cute, you think so now. In a nerdy, helpless, needy kinda way. The flushed ears. The twitchy hands. The stutter in his voice like he’s not used to being handled. It’s charming. Pathetic. A little funny.

So really, it’s a win-win. He gets to feel the touch of a woman—maybe for the first time, if you had to guess, and you get guaranteed grades for life. Straight A’s and a warm mouthful of praise every time you strut past your professors. Everyone’s happy.

You lean in, your nose brushing his, lips brushing the shell of his ear now, soft enough to be dangerous. “You gonna be good for me, Marky?” you whisper, voice sticky and slow.

“I’m a real good fuck, actually,” you say, so breezy, so matter-of-fact it’s almost cruel. Your smile’s all teeth and glittering pride as your knees bend, thighs spreading just a touch as they kiss the cold linoleum floor. He looks down at you, eyes blown wide and lips parted like he’s watching a dream and a nightmare crawl into his lap at the same time. You tilt your head, all smug satisfaction and sweet venom.

“You got lucky,” you hum, palms sliding up the inside of his thighs now, thumbs hooking the waistband of his pants like a promise. And he knows it. Knows he’s in over his head. Knows you’ve got him right where you want him.

You make a show of it. Fingers slow and precise, unbuttoning him like you’re unwrapping a present you already know you’ll like. The zipper drags down with a lazy hum, and his breath stutters. He clenches the fabric of his hoodie like it might anchor him.

You tug his pants down just far enough, and then the boxers. He twitches when the cold air hits him, body jerking like he wasn’t ready, like he should’ve been, but wasn’t. And yeah. He’s big. Your lashes flutter. A slow, lazy grin curls on your lips like sin itself is stretching out to get comfortable. It’s better than you expected—thick, flushed dark, heavy where it hangs, and already leaking like his body’s ahead of his brain. Small pearls of pre ooze from his slit, leaving a slimy trail all the way down to his heavy balls and a light dusting of hair.

You glance up, just to watch his expression twist, poor boy, caught somewhere between pride and terror. His mouth parts like he might say something, but nothing comes. You look back down and press a soft kiss to the tip, soft and sweet. The mess sticks to your gloss, shines faintly when you pull back just an inch.

He whispers something—barely, like even his voice is too embarrassed to say it out loud. But your hand’s already moving, slow and deliberate, working him up with lazy strokes that make his legs twitch. You tilt your head, smile playing soft on your lips like you don’t know he’s on the verge of breaking.

“What’dya want, baby?” You purr it, like honey slipping off your tongue, like he has any real say in the matter. A mercy, letting him speak at all. He stutters, Red all the way down his neck now, lip caught between his teeth as his voice cracks.

“Y-your tits…” A breathless pause. “Wanna… feel them.” His hands hover, fingers twitching mid-air like he’s too scared to ask properly, like he’s afraid you’ll laugh.

You blink once, then laugh anyway—not mocking, more amused, indulgent. You lean forward just enough for your chest to brush against him, soft and warm through the thin fabric of your top.

“You wanna feel these?” Your voice drips slow, the words curling at the edges, soft like something wicked in silk. He nods before you’ve even finished the sentence—frantic, desperate, practically drooling like a mutt starved for affection. It’s pathetic. It’s adorable. It’s everything.

You bat your lashes, long and thick, gaze dipped half-lidded as your fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt. You tug it up slow, just to watch the hunger flicker in his eyes, then reach behind your back, a quick flick, and the bra slips off like it was never really meant to stay on.

They bounce free, soft and full, skin warm and glowing under the harsh closet light, and his breath catches so sharp you swear he might choke on it. You cup them lightly, just enough to make them spill between your fingers, teasing him without saying a word. Then, voice dropping lower, sweeter, with a tenderness that makes it sting:

“You wanna feel ’em with your dick… or your hands, puppy?” You watch his brain short-circuit, like he doesn’t know what’ll kill him faster. He doesn’t answer —can’t. His mouth opens like he wants to speak, but no sound comes out. Just a shaky breath and a helpless look, red-faced and wide-eyed, every ounce of his nerve short-circuiting all at once.

So you make the choice for him. You lean in, slow and deliberate, gaze fixed on his like you’re daring him to look away. One hand slips between your tits, the other trailing down with intention, You press your breasts together again, as his leaky ‘n throbbing cock slides in between them.

His knees nearly buckle. His breath comes in short, desperate little bursts, hands twitching at his sides like he doesn’t know where to touch, if he even can.

You tilt your head. “Feels good, huh?” Voice velvet-soft now, syrupy and slow. “Bet you’ve never had anything close to this.” And he hasn’t, And he knows it. Your slick, glistening breasts slide along his throbbing cock, coated in his warm precum. As you glide them up and down, your tongue flicks deliberately at his sensitive tip, teasing with slow, hungry licks. Mark’s body trembles, his muscles clenching with every shuddering breath. He ruts eagerly against your soft, yielding tits, like a dog in heat lost in the overwhelming pleasure. Nothing he’s ever fucked—his hand, a pillow, a toy—comes close to the wet, enveloping warmth of your breasts and mouth.

Your tongue swirls and laps at his pulsing cock, wet slurps and soft gags echoing through the room, mingling with the rhythmic slap of his balls against your slick, heaving tits. Mark’s groans are deep, guttural, his chest rumbling as you gently squeeze his balls, sending a jolt through his trembling frame. “You’re pretty big,” you coo, voice dripping with praise, “such a shame it’s attached to a dork who doesn’t even know how to use it.”

Mark lets out a desperate whine as you guide his throbbing shaft into the tight, wet warmth of your throat, deepthroating the length not already enveloped by the soft, plush fat of your tits. His cock throbs with every bob of your head, slick and warm in your throat. Mark’s in bliss, thinking if he died now, he’d go out happy, his dick devoured by such a pretty girl. Your soft pants, warm puffs of air teasing his sensitive tip, push him closer to the edge. His balls tighten, hips jerking as he feels the surge building, ready to unleash his pent-up load across your face and dripping tits.

“Hah—‘m gonna cum,” Mark chokes out, voice shattered, breathless, like he’s unraveling at the seams, pleasure swallowing him whole. You hum, low and smug, a wicked edge to it, and double down. Your head bobs faster, throat clenching around his pulsing cock, gurgling slurps and wet gags filling the air—loud, obscene, a filthy symphony just for him. Your tits, slick with spit and precum, squeeze his shaft tight, a perfect, plush vise. His dick��s buried in heaven, warm, wet, yours to ruin.

His legs quake, thighs trembling like they might give out. Head thrown back, it thumps against the wall, his only anchor as he falls apart. You catch the way his fingers claw at nothing, fists white-knuckled, and that pathetic, broken whimper slipping from his lips? It’s fucking music. His balls tighten, hips jerking erratic, desperate. He’s a mess, sweat-slick, eyes glassy, whimpering like he’s never been touched before.

“Poor Marky,” you say with a pop, voice dripping with mockery, using your hand to finish him off. “Thought you could handle me. Big cock, no clue how to use it.” Your pace doesn’t falter, lips slick, hand relentless, tits bouncing with every move. “Gonna blow already? Such a shame.”

And with that little remark, that teasing curl of your lips, that tone too smug to be anything but wicked, he falls apart. All messy ‘n sloppy, big fat load creating a warm and wet mess all over your breasts and dirtying your pretty face. A few stray droplets kiss your cheek, cling to your lashes. You blink slow, licking your lips like it’s nothing. Like this happens all the time.

You blink slow, all lazy-lidded and smug, the corners of your mouth twitching like you’re holding back more laughter—the kind that would make him shrink even further if he had anywhere left to run. But he doesn’t. He’s stuck there, looking absolutely devastated by his own body, like his soul left him mid-spill and hasn’t come back yet.

“Tears?” you croon, voice dipped in honey and mockery. “You cryin’ over this? Oh, baby.”

You reach up and swipe your thumb across the corner of his eye, not gently. It’s teasing, purposeful, like you want to see if the contact will shatter him completely. And it nearly does. His breath hitches and his eyes flutter closed like even that’s too much. His lashes are damp. His cheeks hot. He’s blushing so hard it looks painful. Shame clinging to him like a second skin.

“Don’t tell me that was your first time gettin’ off with someone watchin’,” you murmur, tilting your head, lips twitching again. “God, that’s actually so cute. I could eat you alive.”

And he doesn’t answer—just stands there, stiff and red and broken open in the prettiest way. You lean in close, your voice a whisper now. “Bet you’ll do anything I ask now, won’t you?”

He nods, slow and small like he’s ashamed of it — like even that’s a surrender too humiliating to admit out loud. But it’s there. Clear as day. He’s yours now. All soft eyes and trembling hands and a brain melted to mush. You smile, bright and sweet like you didn’t just break him down into dust.

Your fingers trace lazy circles on his bicep—featherlight, affectionate, like you’re rewarding a pet after a trick well done. And your tone? Cheerful. Too cheerful. Like you’ve moved on already.

“Great!” you chirp, lips popping on the G. “You can resubmit that assignment for me.” He stares, chest still rising and falling like he ran a marathon, lips parted like he wants to protest—like he’s got dignity left in some corner of his soul. But he doesn’t speak. Just swallows hard and looks away.

“Don’t look so gloomy, Marky,” you purr, already turning to adjust your skirt, unfazed. “You came, I smiled, we both got something outta it. Now go on. I want that A.”

You wink over your shoulder. He’s still standing there, stunned, pants around his thighs, wondering how the hell he ended up in this situation when he was trying to get out of it the first time.

[wonderjanga]

"In Clark’s mind, he’s imagining a nine-year-old, itty-bitty Marvel with a baby Freddy massaging Freddy’s little baby leg because he was crying."

Imagine expanding on this from your Teen dad Marvel prompt where the league wonder if Marvel has baby pics of Freddy so he has to hunt down pictures through the foster care system. Imagine captain marvel pulling up at some random family door asking if they have photos from some kid that ran away from them. Or the league ask Marvel how he handled raising Freddy and Mary so young and Billy tweaks thinking they figured out his identity but they just assume he had the kids super young. I hope you write more for teen dad Marvel because it's Def my favorite one of your prompts.

Supes: “Cap, do you have any pictures of Freddy as a baby?”

Marvel: “Uh… n—” *has to pause and slowly look to him* “I’m sorry what did you just call him?”

Supes: “…Freddy?”

Marvel: *still staring at him, scandalized, wondering if you got found out already*

Supes: “…I heard you call him that a while ago! I’m sorry! Do you want me to stick normal names?”

Marvel: “No, it’s fine.” *still staring, now suspicious  before he shrugs* “To answer your question… yes?”

Supes: “You don’t sound so sure of that.”

Marvel: “I am! Just give me a couple days, okay? Then I might be able to show it to you.”

Supes: “You’ll actually show it to me?”

Billy was already out the door before Clark could even finish that sentence. As he walked, with a completely blank face mind you, he was internally screaming because where in the world was he gonna find baby pictures of Freddy?! (J’onn, who floated by him, flinched)

That’s how he ended up going to a bunch of Freddy’s old foster homes. They all turned him away. Thankfully though, a couple of them mentioned that Freddy came with photo album of him in his baby and toddler years.

He. Had. To. Hunt. It. Down.

It took three days of nonstop searching and asking around, but he finally got his hands on it. See, turns out, a homeless guy was using it as pillow. That’s how the 12 year-old Billy wrestled it from the probably forty year-old man. In the end, Billy had to trade it for a thick blanket and an actual pillow. All for a photo album.

He showed it to Supes.

Supes: “He’s adorable, but why’s the photo album so dirty? Did you have to sort through an attic or basement for it?”

Marvel: *ptsd flashbacks of the methhead homeless dude trying to fight him for it* “Yup.”

Soon after that, a bunch of other heroes gathered around to leaf through the album.

Wondy: “How come there aren’t any pictures of Mary?”

Marvel: “Supes wanted the one for Junior, but uh…” *pulls out magical wallet, unfurls it, and a bunch of photos drop down of Mary as a tiny girl*

Flash: *still looking at the photo album* “Aww! Geez, Cap, how do you handle raising these two little munchkins so young?”

Marvel: “Pardon?” *tight smile instead of normal one*

Flash: “Uh… well, dude, it isn’t really a secret you were a teen dad.” *awkward*

Marvel: “Oh.”

Billy was utterly confused because he was 12? Did that qualify as a teen? Also, “were”? As in past tense?

Flash: “Not that it’s a bad thi—”

Marvel: “I guess I was just resilient?”

Supes: “You really must’ve been to raise them that young.” *nodding, solemn, patting Billy’s back*

[39confetti]

SubSkips NSFW Headcanon

MINORS DNI

Yeah I wrote this for myself during work time, dontcare, I love his beast vers but goshhhh his human version is sooooo yummy... He's so easy to flustered aaaaaaaaa.... Sub emo is my soft point, so I'll put that here...

Skips is a horny nerd, but he won’t assume his dirty thoughts.

He never makes the first move, not clearly. He wants you to take control.

So he plays a (not) subtle game, to make you understand. He gets close, his voice turns into a whisper, he plays with his shirt as if he was trying to tell you his deepest secret… (He wants you to destroy him.)

Saying things like “I really need you my penumbra…” “What could I do without you…” “You know, I can do… A lot. If it means you’ll stay… Please ?”

If you don’t play along, (or simply tease him by staying distant) he’ll get frustrated, and eventually, he’ll speak his mind, whining about how he’s craving your touch, saying how cruel you are to let him in such a miserable state, with his heart pounding out of his chest.

Details

A soft caress on his chest draws a shaky gasp from him. He tries to hide the blush blooming across his cheeks with his hands, yet the way he moans and whimpers under his breath? It betrays him. Completely.

Skips is very sensitive. He’s a shadow after all, he’s not used of feeling anyone’s hand on him. His most sensitive spots are his nipples. When your fingers start playing with them, he always has the reflex to say “No !”, but then, he change his mind, “I mean… Y-You know I’m… I like it too much, penumbra. I-I’m sorry, please…”

Skips talks a lot. Not coherent words tho. He simply wants all of your attention.

When you finally take care of his c*ck, the first touch always leaves him out of breath, like it was too good to be true. He’ll bite his upper lips to not moan only at a simple grab. Once you start moving? It’s over. He’s gone, helpless under your hand, completely lost in the sensation.

If you tease him while doing it, he’ll melt, whispering, approving your words, even asking you to affirm he belongs to you and only you. Somehow it reassure him.

Humiliation ? He’s into it, but nothing too hardcore. Just tease him about how weak he is under your touch, how needy he is, he’ll blush and try to mumble something bratty, but it’s just not who he is. Since he can’t keep up, he’ll simply whine about it like a good boy.

Good boy ? Call him that way and you’ll hear him panting like crazy.

He also loves when you watch him. Tell him to touch himself while you sit back and watch, he’ll obey, eager, embarrassed, painfully turned on. He wants you to see how ruined he can become just for you.

If you give him orders, he’ll execute them, asking you, “Am I good enough for you, penumbra ?” “Do you like when I do it like that ?”

When he finishes, it’s always messy, he’s a sweating mess, shaking on the verge of tears… But will it be over ? No.

He loves overstimulation. Take back that c*ck in your hand, mouth, or somewhere else, and he’ll just make some gibberish noises.

 He tries to talk, but it’s just broken syllables and sobs, swearing he can take more of it if it’s for you.

He’ll apologize for being too much, for his crying, for his moans, for enjoying his destruction, for being such a desperate little pervert

Pegging ? Oh hell yeah. Feeling you inside of him is his deepest pleasure. 

He loves to feel your weight on him, that’s why when he’s the one penetrating you, he wants to be under your body, he needs to feel owned.

He wants to be strong, but sometimes, it can be too much… His safe word is “Oblivion”

Aftercare

First, let him catch his breath. This poor shadow gave all of him to you, and he needs to reconnect with reality… 

Maybe grab some water for him ? His throat hurt after all that panting and begging.

Skips love to be glued to you after doing it, he becomes very clingy after, even more than usual, so he might pull you close with too much strength

He’s terrified by the idea that you’ll leave him right after, “Please stay my penumbra.” “You’re here, right ?” “I don’t want to be alone…” “If only we could be together forever… Like this.”

He always ends up complimenting you, “You’ve been so kind to me…” “ I know I can be… intense. But it’s you. You’re the one who makes me feel this way, Penumbra.”

[orellazalonia]

What He Finally Learns

Summary: As the Avengers prepare for a mission that will bring them closer to your location than ever before, Bucky secretly clings to a video you unknowingly left behind; your quiet heartbreak revealing how unseen and unimportant you always felt.

Word Count: 3.1k+

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

The compound was quiet, dim with the stillness of too many unanswered questions.

The previous mission had been a failure. At least, that’s what the report would say. No sign of the enemy. No confrontation. Just an empty base scrubbed clean, with every hard drive wiped and even the dust disturbed like someone had intentionally unsettled it. The only thing left behind was a quiet sense of absence. Something had once lived there. Not anymore.

Bucky stayed behind after the others finished the debrief. Something didn’t sit right. It wasn’t tactical, it was instinctual. Like walking through a ghost’s memory.

So he went to your old desk, the room he stepped in was small. Office-like. Not messy, but functional. Two mugs were still on the shelf with one having lipstick faded on the rim that you didn’t bother bringing. He also recognized a sweater folded neatly over the chair’s back, the same one he’d seen you wear sometimes with your sleeves always tugged past your knuckles.

He moved slowly and carefully like he didn’t want to disturb whatever fragile pieces remained.

There was a small tablet hidden away in the desk, screen faintly scratched. You probably forgot about it. It was locked, but it didn’t take him long, he had skills for this. Accessing encrypted drives used to be a job. Now it was just muscle memory.

It wasn’t a mission file. It was a video. No timestamp. No label. Just… your name in the corner. And the faint hum of low light.

Bucky hesitated but hit play.

You were seated in frame. Slightly off-center, like you hadn’t meant to record anything formal. Your hair was tied back and your eyes were tired. No makeup, no pretense. Just you. You didn’t speak at first. Just looked somewhere off-camera, blinking slowly, like trying to hold yourself still enough to not feel something.

And then you started to talk.

“I think there’s something broken in me that just wants to be useful. Like… if I’m helpful enough, I’ll matter. Like maybe I’ll take up enough space where someone would finally notice.”

You smiled, but it wasn’t a happy one. Just a tug of the lips, wry and sad..

“I don’t know why I’m doing this. I heard it helps to journal. But I used to think that if I worked hard enough, stayed out of the way, then someone might see me. Not as a teammate or even as a friend. Just… see me. Recognize that I was there.”

Bucky’s hands clenched slowly at his sides.

“But I guess people don’t notice the lights that stay on, only the ones that flicker. And I just so happened to be always steady, always silent. The background to their brilliance.”

There was a pause. You rubbed hands together nervously, looking down.

“Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just stopped showing up. If anyone would ask or if they’d just assume I transferred. Or died, quietly, in the middle of some file update.”

The silence afterward was brutal. He could hear your breathing; shallow, steady, and controlled.

“I don’t blame them. Not really. I just… wish I had been someone worth remembering.”

The video cut out. No goodbye. No signature. Just that last, unbearable sentence echoing like a gunshot.

Bucky sat in the silence it left behind. Not moving. Not breathing. Just staring at the still frame frozen on the screen. Your face. Your words. Your pain.

He hadn’t seen you, not really. Not when you were around. Not when you were quietly doing your job, never needing thanks. Never asking for notice.

But now? Now, your absence was louder than most people’s presence. And he hated that he only realized it after you were gone.

After another failed search for you, the ride back to the compound was filled with static silence.

Bucky didn’t speak. Didn’t hand over the tablet. Didn’t mention the video. But he kept it tucked in the inner lining of his gear, close to him like some part of him thought the words might bleed into his bones if he kept them near long enough.

No one asked what he found before. Maybe they assumed there was nothing. Or maybe they could read the way his shoulders held the weight of something they weren’t ready to carry.

Steve debriefed quietly with Natasha and Sam. There was no victory to celebrate, only confirmation: the enemy was ahead of them. Smarter. Faster. One step further every time.

The woman, Bucky’s someone, floated in and out of the war room with the same serene detachment she always had. She brought them tea. Lightly teased Sam when he scowled at another dead lead. She leaned a hand on Bucky’s shoulder as she passed, offering him a soft, wordless smile.

He didn’t return it. Not this time. He didn’t shrug her off, either, just let her touch pass like water, something that could no longer reach him fully.

Her words echoed faintly in his head, like smoke: “She didn’t really fit in here anyways, did she? Kind of kept to herself. I always assumed she’d move on.”

And then yours, not long after:

“I used to think that if I worked hard enough, someone might see me…”

The contrast burned.

The next mission was set with alarming speed. A new location. Another “hidden” base identified by Bruce, picked up in the tail of an encrypted ping. Something you might’ve caught weeks ago, if you were still with them. If they’d been paying attention.

Steve moved with purpose, but his eyes were more tired than before. Natasha reviewed formations, sharp and professional, but quieter than usual. Sam asked about escape routes twice as if he didn’t trust any of this to go clean.

And Bucky, he checked his weapons. Reviewed the maps. Ran recon. But in the silence between, he replayed the video. Not for pain. Not for guilt.

But because it was real. The only honest thing he had left about you.

They hadn’t found any new footage of you. No confirmed sightings. No sound bites, no intercepted comms. Just dead ends and wiped drives and the echo of your absence in places you used to sit.

You were out there. Alive, changed, and maybe not on their side anymore. But never just a ghost.

He closed the tablet and tucked it back inside his vest.

And when Steve said, “We move at dawn,” Bucky only nodded once.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t tell anyone what he saw. Not yet. Because something in him whispered, worried that if they saw that recording too soon, they’d see you as a weakness.

And for the first time in months, Bucky wasn’t sure what side of the line he stood on. Not when it came to you.

The hours before a mission were always the quietest.

The hangar buzzed low with the whir of prep of gear checks, last-minute uploads, suits being sealed and weapons aligned. Natasha stood by the monitors, her gaze cold and sharp. Sam reviewed the aerial scans Bruce had fine-tuned just an hour before. Steve kept pacing near the Quinjet, arms folded, and eyes flicking to each of them like he could hold them together by willpower alone.

Bucky kept his distance like usual. He strapped his knives into place. Loaded his sidearm with meticulous focus. Checked his earpiece, then checked it again. He hadn't spoken more than a handful of words all morning. No one asked why.

No one noticed how he hadn’t been sleeping. How he double-checked the route three times last night, long after the others went to bed. How his fingers lingered over the inside pocket of his jacket, where the tablet still rested, untouched by anyone but him.

The girl who had once been his comfort entered in mid-morning with her usual warm smile and a thermal mug of coffee for Steve. She handed it off with a soft murmur, her other hand brushing Bucky’s arm in passing.

“You don’t have to carry everything, you know,” She said gently, a faint tease in her voice. “You’ve got people.”

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t answer. And for the first time… she noticed. There was a flicker of pause in her face. The briefest narrowing of her eyes. Then her smile returned, unfazed.

“Well,” She said lightly, glancing over at Steve. “If you all need anything before you go, just let me know. I’ll be around.”

Steve gave her a polite nod. Sam murmured a distracted thanks. She left the hangar as quietly as she came in. But Bucky watched her go, something unreadable in his stare.

He didn’t trust her. Not anymore. He didn’t know if he ever truly had or if she’d simply fit into the gaps where life had left him hollow. She had been sweet. Soothing. Gentle in the way soft lies often were.

But you had never tried to be that. You had simply been honest. Quiet, yes. Awkward, maybe. But never fake. But he had never tried to acknowledge any of that till now. And now the only traces of you he had were clipped recordings buried in a stolen file and the phantom silence of the seat you used to occupy across mission tables. The longer they chased shadows, the more he feared it: that they had lost you to the wrong side and that they had pushed you there themselves.

“Five minutes,” Steve called out, snapping everyone back to focus.

Bucky stood, weapons in place, and jaw tight.

Whatever this mission held, whatever base they were headed for next, he had a feeling it wasn’t just about cutting off a head of the organization anymore. There were pieces still missing. Threads pulled tight around something deeper. And though no one said it aloud…

They all felt it. You were at the center of it. Maybe you weren’t the enemy, but you weren’t one of them anymore either. And Bucky didn’t know which outcome he feared more.

The alarm started low. Just a pulsing tone beneath the hum of overhead lights, like the building had a heartbeat and it had suddenly quickened.

You didn’t look up at first.

You were seated at the edge of a long metal table, eyes scanning one of Maren’s latest handoffs of network logs, patterns, and reconnaissance models that you were quietly, and more skillfully than anyone else here, picking apart. Another screen flickered with footage. Not of the Avengers this time, but of a smaller SHIELD outpost. One the organization had eyes on.

A quiet shift of balance. A new target. The second tone came louder. And this time, red light blinked across the top corners of the room.

You turned in your chair just as Maren came in through the steel door, less casual than usual. There was tension in her shoulders, but she hid it beneath a small smirk.

“Well,” Well said lightly, “Guess we’re having fire drills now.”

You stood slowly. “What is it.”

She waved a hand toward the glass pane. Down the corridor, you could see a few others moving quickly. Some with urgency, but not panic.

“Surveillance sweep caught something weird,” She said. “Signal bounce matched one of your old frequency ranges.”

You blinked. “The Avengers?”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Intel says it’s likely. But it could also be someone pretending to be them. Either way, leadership wants to shift locations again. They don’t want to risk exposure, not now.”

You glanced toward the window again. The air suddenly felt thinner and colder, like the walls were remembering how to hold you again.

Maren stepped closer.

“They’ll want you in the second caravan,” She said. “It’s less attention that way until we’re sure we’re not compromised.”

You didn’t respond at first. Because something sat twisted in your stomach. Not fear, exactly, not even guilt. Just… the awareness that this place you had started to grow into, the first place where your mind had felt seen, was still a fortress.

Still temporary. Still ready to disappear the second anything real drew near.

You looked at Maren.

Her smile softened, more careful this time. “You’ll be alright. We’ve got you.”

But as you followed her out of the room, walking past people who now nodded when you passed, who sought your opinion, who used your analyses like gospel, you had that strange feeling again.

You didn’t want to run. Not this time. Because if it was them. If they were coming now, after all this time, after leaving you behind, after forgetting you; you wanted to see who they were now. If they were just as hollow as they made you feel.

And if they had finally come… to save you. Or just to stop you.

The hallway continued to pulse with red light and clipped orders.

Boots on concrete. Quiet urgency. Controlled withdrawal. People packed crates with precision, hands practiced in the rhythm of disappearing. You walked among them unnoticed but not out of disregard, but because you weren’t expected to panic. You were useful and trusted. The kind of asset who got escorted second not because they didn’t care, but because they assumed you’d already figured a backup plan if things went sideways.

And you always did.

You reached the loading bay just as the first caravan started to move. There were trucks. Two armored vans. A trail vehicle. All headed for an off-grid location you’d helped locate last month, buried beneath so many encryption layers it would take even Stark months to trace it.

Maren was by the gate, tablet in hand, and brows furrowed in concentration.

She glanced up when she saw you. “Van two in the back left. There’s a seat with your name on it.”

You moved to step past her then paused.

“Are you coming?”

She gave a small smile. “Not yet. Last-minute patchwork. They want eyes on the rear systems until we’re sure it’s not just a scare.”

You hesitated enough for her to notice.

“We’ll see each other again,” She reassured softly. “Don’t look like that.”

You didn’t say anything. Just nodded once, then stepped into the van’s shadows and sank into the corner seat. The door shut behind you. You kept your eyes on the window, watching the lights flicker and twist as the base began to purge data in real time. Mainframes going dark, terminals blacking out one by one. The signal was clear:

Whoever was coming was already too close.

Outside, not far beyond the mountain pass, the Quinjet cut low through clouds.

Steve’s voice was steady over comms. “Final sweep, no obvious heat signatures. We keep it tight. If they’re there, they know we’re coming.”

“They’re there,” Natasha said. Her tone wasn’t a guess, it was certainty.

“Or they were,” Sam muttered, eyes flicking over the monitors.

From the back, Bucky checked his gear one last time. He hadn’t spoken much since departure. Just silent and focused, eyes darker than usual. He hadn’t said your name, but it sat heavy behind every breath.

Natasha glanced over from the bench across. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Bucky muttered. Then, more quietly: “I just want answers.”

The Quinjet slowed.

“Approaching target zone,” FRIDAY announced. “There are signs of recent movement. Base is no longer cold.”

Steve stood and signaled them. “We move on foot and we go fast. Don’t break formation.”

They touched down five minutes later.

The moment Bucky’s boots hit the ground, he felt it.

Not heat. Not threat. But… presence.

Like you were still here. Like this place remembered you.

Steve gave the order. They breached the perimeter fast through reinforced side access. The air inside was stale, but not undisturbed. Computers still hummed. Floors were clean. Not a drop of dust. Not like last time.

“They left in a hurry,” Natasha observed, crouching beside a freshly yanked power cable.

“Then they knew we were coming,” Sam replied grimly.

Bucky’s eyes tracked along the corridor. Doors left half-open. Screens still flickering out final traces of wiped data. A mug. A file left behind. He stepped toward it then stopped.

On the desk was a clipboard. Just one. The name at the top? Yours.

He exhaled slowly.

“You were here,” He whispered.

Not just involved. Present. Maybe only minutes ago. Too close. Too late.

Steve pressed his fingers to his comm. “Everyone sweep east, this wasn’t abandoned. They’re still moving.”

“They’re not just moving,” Sam called from the upper ledge. “They’re evacuating. I’ve got heat signatures heading into the lower exit tunnels, northbound. At least two armored vehicles pulling out now.”

Bucky was already moving. “Can we cut them off?”

“Negative,” FRIDAY replied sharply in his earpiece. “They’re on an off-road route and cloaked. They’ll be buried by terrain in sixty seconds unless you launch a drone now.”

“I’ve got it,” Natasha said, already deploying the small drone. It zipped through the air like a hornet. On the screen, the visuals sharpened as it locked onto the second vehicle.

That was when they saw you, barely a frame.

Just the curve of your shoulder, the side of your face half-obscured by the angle of the armored window. You weren’t panicked. You weren’t restrained. You were seated. Eyes down, calm, and still so unmistakably you.

Bucky leaned closer to the screen, throat tightening. “That’s her.”

Steve cursed under his breath. “They moved faster than expected.”

“Which means they’ve done this before,” Natasha muttered.

“They’re organized. Too organized,” Sam added. “And she… she didn’t look like a hostage.”

Bucky didn’t answer. Because that still frame was seared into him. Not just because it was you. But because of how different you looked from the girl he remembered in the compound.

Not hurt. Not scared. Just… far away.

Meanwhile, you felt it before you saw it. A hum in your bones, sharp like pressure. Something familiar. Familiar in a way that made your pulse catch without rising.

You didn’t look out the window, but you knew. They were close.

You kept your hands folded in your lap, steady, while the others in the van double-checked the rear systems and confirmed their routes.

Maren’s voice came over the comm, calm and professional. “Exit route confirmed. Units dispersed. No direct pursuit.”

You could hear the faint smile in her voice.

“They missed us.”

You didn’t reply. Not because you were relieved. But because the truth hit you harder than you expected: They came and You were right. But it didn’t change anything.

You were still in a moving van, heading deeper into the folds of a world they didn’t understand. And they were behind you, too late, standing in the echo of where you used to be.

Part of you wondered if any of them had seen you. If they recognized the back of your head through bulletproof glass. If Bucky did.

You didn’t look back to check. You just sat with the heavy truth nestled in your chest like something warm and rotten at the same time:

They came, but it didn’t matter anymore.

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[creative-crybaby]

Trifle

PAIRING: Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

GENRE: crack? crack. | smut (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: fingering, oral (m receiving), praise kink, dacryphilia (?), cum eating, squirting

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

SUMMARY: Two things can be true at the same time. Does Gojo make you want to hit him upside the head with a frying pan, should his Infinity allow it? Yes. Does he also know how to make your ovaries explode with his fingers alone? Also yes.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Heeeeyyyy~ yes it's been several months without a fic and this comes out under 2k words buuuuuutttt~ u get bitchass!Gojo (we love him)

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

You’re going to kill him. 

He’s a walking, talking headache. Questioning your teaching methods for your students, eating your sweets even though you’ve labelled them (it’s right there!), swooping into your missions like he’s saving the day. Those are just a few of the many examples, but he does it all on purpose, you’re sure of it. 

So to be sitting between his long legs with his slender fingers knuckle-deep into your sopping cunt feels like a blow to your integrity and pride. 

Especially since he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“So,” Gojo drawls, pausing his ministrations between your trembling thighs, “how many orgasms was that?”

Your face is boiling. From rage or embarrassment, you can’t decide. “Fuck you.”

The sorcerer hums at your crude remark before slipping his digits out of your pussy, holding his hand a foot away from your face to catch your essence blanketing his skin. 

“Patience, patience.” His easy-going tone makes you want to jab your elbow into his stomach. “Jeez, someone’s eager. You finally warming up to me, Princess?”

And that damn nickname. Either Gojo genuinely doesn’t know how much you hate it, or he’s just trying to push your buttons some more. With the clueless grins he’d offer as he’d call you that, you’d assume the former. But with his explanation for calling you that being that you always stick your nose up at him, you don’t think he deserves any benefit of the doubt. 

You hate that nickname, yet you find yourself clenching around nothing just from hearing those familiar syllables. 

His first question came out like he was asking for the time, yet with the number of times he’s made you see galaxies, you ought to be grateful that his tone holds no cockiness. No, actually, you might prefer that instead—how dare he handle this victory with grace and nonchalance?

“This doesn’t even make us friends,” you manage to stammer through gritted teeth. Your glare remains on his hand, still drenched before you, though your frustration lies more down south than anywhere else. 

You can hear the taunting frown in the sorcerer’s voice. “Guess you won’t care for this anymore, then.”

His arm, responsible for putting you in your puddle-like state, slowly retracts, and you can feel the sorcerer take his time raising from his seated position. 

Now he’s finally giving you the space you always wanted from him, yet you surprise yourself by grabbing him by the wrist. You let go as soon as you recognize your action, but the deed has already been done. 

An overly enthusiastic gasp. “You do like me!”

“Oh, my God—If I say yes, will you just finish the job already?” you groan. 

Gojo plops back to his seating position behind you, nestling his chin onto your shoulder as he teases his hand to return between your thighs. His warm breath fans your cheek while his lips graze your earlobe. Miniscule actions that have your body heating up. Intentional on his part, most likely, though you refuse to give him any more ammo against you. 

A heavy sigh. The feigned disappointment in his tone has your brows furrowing so intensely that you worry you might pop a vein. 

“No gratitude for the hand that feeds you, huh?” The special-grade sorcerer nuzzles into your neck, his woe-is-me attitude soon replaced with a blinding grin and boyish giggle. “Oh, but you know I can’t be mad at you for long!”

Long and slender fingers bury themselves in your weeping cunt before you process his mood swings. A trembling moan slips from your mouth as his skilled ministrations resume, your sweet spot welcoming the familiar touch. His speed and rhythm return as if he never paused, further turning your brain to mush as your thighs tremble. Gojo chuckles childishly once more, the charming melody syncing with the embarrassingly loud squelching of your soaking pussy. 

Multiple orgasms later, and you ask for more. The heat from the situation must be melting your sense of reason because you can’t tell if you’re greedy or just plain stupid. 

“You crying?” Gojo’s voice carries its usual teasing lilt, the one he has specifically for you. You don’t even realize how the fresh tears glaze your vision—as if he didn’t already have enough fuel for the fire.

But you bite your tongue. You bite your tongue because there’s no convincing anyone that he’s crazy and seeing things and the last thing you need is for him to stall some more when you’re already sososo close to the edge.

A slight change in angle. It does the trick, his fingers still bullying that one spot while his palm brushes against your throbbing clit with just as much vigour. Your body tenses, a choked sob escaping your glossy lips as your orgasm hits you like a tsunami. Warm liquid follows soon after, the blue-eyed sorcerer’s movements refusing to halt and making lewd splashing sounds in the process. 

Even once everything simmers down, the impact decides to remain a bit longer. With a heaving chest and stuttering hips, the room stops spinning, slowly but surely.

A low whistle. “If you had to pee, you could have just said so.”

“Why are you like this?”

Gojo hums before slipping his fingers out of your pussy, earning him a slightly pained whimper from you. He stands back up as you wipe away the evidence of your crying, peering up at him when his shadow blankets you. His towering frame never fails to catch you off-guard, but what currently has your attention is the Special Grade sorcerer sucking his digits clean of your juices, a satisfied mewl coming straight from his throat.

“Welp,” he stretches his arms above his head, “we still have a bit of time left before we have that meeting with good ol’ Principal Yaga, so,” the sound of a zipper reaches your ears, and it's only a few seconds later that he pulls out his cock—long, stiff and painfully ready, “why not return the favour?” 

You’re too fucked out to argue against him. That’s the reasoning you’d think of using should he confront you about your willingness to comply. You can’t help it if you’re losing the staring contest against his cock, saliva pooling on your tongue as he taps his vermillion tip against your cheek.

Your lips part as your eyes flutter closed, unable to bear to look at the Special Grade sorcerer as you take him down your throat, inch by inch. The gagging sound that erupts from your throat halfway through makes your brows furrow, and you can only hope the man above you doesn’t comment. With clenched fists sitting on your lap, you further shield your sight with screwed-shut lids as you push yourself to take more, using your tongue for good measure.

A shuddered sigh leaves Gojo’s soft lips when you tease one of his veins. “That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

You moan in response, feeling bold enough to create a steady pace to bob your head. Whatever you couldn’t reach, your hand took care of, a part of your brain urging you to squeeze him just a bit harder. His responses only grow louder, his groaning and panting setting your face on fire.

“You’re so good at this,” he rasps, his large hand finding the top of your head. Despite his gentle touch, you furrow your brows at the contact. “Too good…” You don’t expect him to slip himself out of your mouth, holding his base away from your mouth and making you finally look up at him. Gojo tilts his head to the side. “You’ve done this before?”

You'd have thought he was teasing if it weren’t for the pout on his lips. You look at him for a moment with an incredulous expression.

“What are you talking about?” You swat his hand out of your hair. “You seriously think being with anyone outside our line of work would be easy?” The male sorcerer’s gaze carries hope at your words, a noticeable shine in those cerulean blues that make your heart stutter. Unsure of what to do next, you continue the lost momentum by pumping his pulsing cock in your hand. “I’m stuck with you, Gojo.”

You figure his shuddered gasp is from your returning touch, especially with the combination of pinched brows, quivering lips and heavy blush on his cheeks and ears. But his large hand on top of yours–the one doing all the work–tells another story.

“You really do like me, Princess!” The sorcerer exclaims, his voice wavering halfway. 

At this point, you don’t care to dissect whether or not he’s pushing your buttons. Even at a time like this….

“I meant I’m settling for you,” you grumble, ignoring how his hand practically devours yours. You manage to retract your hold from his. “Don’t make me bite you.”

Gojo giggles at your threat, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth when you plop his dick back in your mouth. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Without warning, you graze his shaft with your teeth the more you take him in your mouth. Not enough to hurt, but enough to send a message, if your irritated expression wasn’t already doing the job. 

Although, you suppose it is your fault for not taking him seriously either. Your actions earn you a whimper from the Special Grade sorcerer. Not a second later, he has his head thrown back as he pours his load down your throat. Your eyes widen at the overpowering taste, doing what you can to swallow every drop without choking. Even through his orgasm, you find yourself thinking about how he ought to cut down on the sweets. 

You’re quick to pull back for air once Gojo comes down from his high, sputtering in your hand as he sighs happily. 

“Told ya,” he muses, tucking himself back in. You wipe your mouth, glaring at him from your spot on the floor. 

“Whatever,” you grunt, putting your clothes back on before attempting to stand. If he notices your legs still wobbling, he thankfully doesn’t comment. “Let’s just hurry and get to that meeting before Yaga gets mad.”

Gojo hums with a tilt of his head as he watches you dusting off your pants.

“Oh, yeah!” He drops his fist into his palm. You throw a wary look his way when he grins. “We’ve been late this whole time, actually.”

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

[revelboo]

Hi Boo! Today’s my birthday! I turn 25, my frontal lobe is finally developed! I was wondering if we can get some more of you Tarn lost light story?

Happy birthday!

L.G. FUAD Pt 19

Tarn x Reader

• You’re quiet as he reenters the slip and Helix glances at the airlock as it seals behind him. ‘Should we destroy Swindle’s ship?’ The other mech asks a bit too eagerly and he shakes his head. “Not this time.” Not while the conniving, little thief might be useful still. And Helix hesitates to make him realize he answered in your language. Smiling grimly behind his mask, he repeats himself in Cybertronian and carries you to his habsuite, aware of your eyes on him. Bending he lets you slide out of his hand onto his berth and he lays down the bin, tipping it over so you can get into it. “Say what you want to say,” he growls. Because you’re clearly unhappy with him.

• “You understand I’m not a pet, right?” You ask and his optics narrow like you just offended him. Like you questioned his intelligence. Making you want to crawl into the bin of snacks, pillows, and clothes and just burrow inside and hide. “I can’t stay here. I have a job. Family.” Even if your job has definitely fired you by now. Wonder what your family thinks. If they put up missing person flyers or if they’ve already assumed the worst and buried you. “I have a life,” you add weakly. It wasn’t much, wasn’t glamorous or exciting, but it was yours.

• Why are you being like this? Had thought you’d be pleased to be able to talk to him. To have intelligent conversations. Almost prefers your unintelligible chirping. “You have a life here.” With him. It makes no sense, goes against all of Megatron’s teachings, but he needs you. Needs the comfort of you even though he doesn’t want it. You were supposed to be Nickel’s pet. Expect, he’d known she didn’t actually care for organics, that she was repulsed by them. So why ask to keep you only to abandon you, pushing you toward him. Like you were meant for him all along. Frozen by that thought, he vents tiredly. Needs to talk to Nickel about it, but knows she’ll never admit it if that was her goal, to gift him a pet. “I can’t abandon my duties to return you to your primitive home.”

• “After? When you’re done?” Have no idea what it is he does, but if he’s working, he has to have breaks at some point. Has to finish his job eventually. He’s just staring from behind that mask and you think of your stupid attempt to remove it. Because you’d needed to see his face. Needed to know who he was. Does he even care about you beyond as an exotic pet? Does he actually see you? “Please?” Why Is he bothering to hear you now? You’re powerless here and aware of it.

• There’s no after. The list a living thing, names being constantly added, but if it makes you smile for him, he can let you have hope. “After,” he agrees, reaching out to touch the tip of a servo to your soft cheek and when you smile tremulously and lay a warm hand on him, it’s wholly different. Everything shifting with being able to understand you. It’s not like he hadn’t realized you were sentient when you’d started trying to talk to each other, but he’d still seen only a clever pet. Now he’s not sure what you are. Only that he’s not letting you go. You’re his and he’s desperate to keep anything that’s his when sometimes he feels like a stranger in his own body. When the face in the mirror surprises him and a feeling of wrongness he can’t pin down lifts through him.

Previous

[eggyrocks]

SICK: KUROO T.

tags/warnings: kuroo x f!reader, coworkers to lovers, new year’s party, throwing up, drinking/alcohol, reader is throwing up from being too drunk that’s basically the plot, it's a little gross

word count: 1.1k

Through the thin walls of the bar’s bathroom, she can vaguely hear the cheers of the crowd, and she can only assume that the clock has hit midnight. It’s the new year, and she’s face down in a toilet, spitting up green tea shots. 

The noise of the crowd fades, and the music gets turned up. But it’s harder to hear now, because she’s heaving and coughing, body desperately trying to expel all the poison she filled her body with, up until about twenty minutes ago. 

There’s a large hand holding up her hair. Because the physical pain of puking in a sticky bar bathroom isn’t enough, she has to endure the humiliation of doing it in front of Kuroo Tetsurou. 

When Kuroo had asked her if she wanted to accompany him to this New Year’s party that his friend was hosting, she didn’t hear him, because she was too focused on the way his hand tugged at the knot of his tie, yanking it away from his neck. When he asked her again, her face got hot and the blood whipped around in her body so fast she thought she might pass out. Naively, she had assumed that after months of festering a fat, blistering crush on her coworker, she would finally have an opportunity to look desirable in front of him. 

She didn’t account for the fact that, out of nervousness, she would compulsively order shots and drink them like water, leaving her with blurry vision and a swayed step before Kuroo even finished his first beer.

When the bile first started working it’s way up her throat, she had tried to excuse herself quietly, without much commotion. But because Kuroo is fucking perfect, and has to be a gentlemen, he followed her to the single-stall bathroom, water bottle in hand. 

A hiccup pops out of her, and she slumps. Her stomach feels almost empty now. And the worst part of it is, the puking killed her buzz, and now she has to face Kuroo that much more sober. With her face still pointed down, and a bit of spit dripping from her chin, she says, “Please don’t get me fired over this.” 

Kuroo laughs, and his hand releases her hair, and travels down her back, spreading out between her shoulder blades. His thumb draws circles over her shirt. “I blew chunks at the office Christmas party, so, y’know, mutually assured destruction.” 

She chuckles, and then regrets it when she thinks she’s going to throw up again. She holds her breath, but nothing comes up. It’s a false alarm. 

“C’mon,” Kuroo urges, and uses his thumb to tap on her back. “You should sit up, have some water.” 

She doesn’t want to. She’s not sure she can look Kuroo in the eye, but she can’t live in the toilet bowl forever, so she lifts her head, and whips off the corner of her chin with the back of her sleeve. His hand slips off of her and settles back into his lap. Her eyes dodge his, and instead they linger on the floor between them. 

His long legs are folded as he sits on the floor, and his knees brush against hers. Kuroo grabs a plastic water bottle, and holds it in her direction. “You should drink.” 

Without any protest, she grabs the bottle and it crinkles under her grip. She uncaps it and swishes water around in her mouth, spitting it out back into the bowl before she takes a good, proper gulp. Once she’s done, she caps it again. “Thanks.” 

“No problem,” Kuroo replies easily. Neither one of them makes a move to leave. 

“I’m really sorry,” she says. “I know you didn’t want to spend New Year’s with your puking coworker on the bathroom floor.” 

Kuroo smirks. “See, that’s what you would think. But I’ve actually been hoping for this outcome. This is actually really lucky for me.”

Her body is exhausted from the drinking and the puking, but it still somehow finds enough energy to get nervous over this. Her spine straightens out. “Why, you have some weird fetish or something?” 

And Kuroo laughs, but she groans, immediately regretting the words as soon as they leave her mouth. She’s still operating off the whiskey in her body. “Ugh,” she bemoans, “don’t get me fired for that either.” 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not a fetish,” Kuroo tells her. “I’m just happy to be alone with you. I can deal with the puking if it means getting away from the crowd.” 

Her face gets hot again. Her whole body gets hot, and her ears start to buzz. “Well, maybe next time you want to be alone, you can be the one throwing up, and I’ll be the cool one with the water bottle.” 

Kuroo nods, and she can almost swear that there’s a tinge of red to his cheeks. “Okay, next time I’ll drink all the green tea shots. Then we’ll be even.” 

She smiles. Her stomach has stopped rolling, but it’s oddly comfortable on the bathroom floor, sitting cross-legged across from Kuroo. And even though her throat is burning and her head is throbbing, she’s content, sitting there with him. She doesn’t want to get up, and she wants him to feel the same. “Do you want to go back out there?” she asks softly, voice hoarse. 

“Nah,” Kuroo replies. “The party kind of sucks.” 

“Maybe you’re not drunk enough,” she rebuttals. “Seemed great to me.” 

Kuroo shrugs. “To be honest with you, I didn’t really wanna come out tonight. The only reason I did was because you said you’d come with me.” 

She swallows thickly, and now she feels dizzy again. “Really?” 

“Yeah. If you had said no, I wouldn’t have come. But you said yes, and I thought that maybe you’d let me kiss you at midnight.” 

She throws up again. 

It comes quickly, and she coughs it up as fast as she can, not sure if it’s from still from the alcohol or now it’s the nerves or it’s some awful combination of both. When her stomach’s emptied again, she sits up so quickly there’s black spots in her vision. “What?” she pants. 

Kuroo looks at her with wide, amazed eyes. “Y’know, that’s the first time someone’s thrown up at the idea of kissing me.” 

“I’d kiss you,” she rushes out. “If I wasn’t puking, I’d kiss you.”

For a moment, Kuroo studies her. His eyes trail over her face and down to her chest that rises and falls with each breath. “Are you sure you’re not just drunk?” 

She nods, almost too eagerly, but she can attribute that to being too drunk. “I’ve wanted to for so long.” 

Kuroo leans forward, and his hand raises to gently cup her cheek. His skin is pleasantly cool, and she leans into his touch, enjoying the way it cools her hot, clammy skin. “Well, let’s get you home, then,” Kuroo whispers, “so you can brush your teeth.”

an: this was stupid lmafo

[wheneverfeasible]

Girlie, I'm gonna need some abo recs. Steddie and otherwise. You've got me intrigued

(lowkey browsing your blog for more writing)

Oh! Yes! Hello!

First off, I do want to point out that when using the initials, it’s best to use slashes in-between (a/b/o) as the term without those is actually a slur against the Australian indigenous community. Just something to think about, no hate or anything! ♥️

As for recs, I’ll just stick with Steddie for now as that’s my brainrot ship…

Honestly, anything by @lexirosewrites is fantastic. My personal favorites tho are:

Bad Bet wherein Steve is a secret omega and bet by Tommy to take alpha and freak Eddie Munson to prom as a prank, only to fall for the strange alpha.

Online, Offline (Out of My Mind) where famous actor and secret omega Steve finds his scentmate through an online dating service thanks to Robin.

Bandaids for the Heart where Steve is a pediatric nurse and Eddie is a single dad whose kiddo might be trying to play matchmaker.

And the Sun Will Rise which has Steve as a packless omega suffering through isolation sickness during the zombie apocalypse, until a certain alpha and his pack take him in.

Baby Mine wherein Eddie discovers he’s pregnant and because of past trauma assumes Steve will expect him to get rid of it, so it’s definitely angsty but with sweet comfort and a happy ending.

But really all of their stuff is fantastic.

As for other fics, I heartily recommend Look For the Boy With the Broken Smile, Ask Him if He Wants to Stay Awhile by Eenselwig_98 ( @sunlight-and-moonshine) and honestly it might be time for another reread of this fic for myself too. But Steve is an omega who’s been hurt so many times that he thinks he’s only good enough to fuck and not mate, except Eddie is head over heels for him.

And can’t forget Whatever you want it to be by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation where omega Eddie is slipped a heat triggering drug by Jason who plans to assault him but he’s saved by Steve who offers his assistance with the after effects of the drug.

Build a Life With You by StarsHideYourFires ( @starshideurfics ) which is a historical omegaverse where omega Steve has a secret that leads him to abandoning the socialite life to become a mail order bride to an alpha he never met in a small rural town. (The author has a lot of fics I enjoy, actually, but I’m only sharing finished fics here, but do please check out the other stuff too!)

the potential of us by emchant3d has both enemies-to-lovers and former hookups fake dating as omega Steve and alpha Eddie try to get their besties off their backs about dating each other. Side ship Buckingham.

feel forever its soft fall and swell by hejustlikemefr which is another historical omegaverse that is an Organ Trail kind of au, young omega Steve and older alpha Eddie have a marriage of convenience to help protect Steve.

The Unbearable Horniness of Steve by @fkinkindagauche has that delicious angst of the classic friends-to-lovers and some classic misunderstanding. (The author also has a Harringrove fic called Goldilocks for all you Billy lovers out there.)

It’ll be fine. Probably. by @stevieschrodinger which is a modern au with an omega Eddie who finds out he’s pregnant and returns to Hawkins where he runs into high school crush and current librarian, alpha Steve Harrington. I love this version of Eddie so much.

Good Omega by Batty4Steddie and @spicycinnabun is another excellent omega Eddie fic where alpha Steve is in the band with him and flirt on stage and Steve is ready to finally claim Eddie as his while Eddie…assumes Steve is straight.

And then we have my lovely @katyawriteswhump with so many wonderful offerings that I can’t even attempt to list them, each one full of angst, fluff, humor, and feels.

Honestly there’s so many I loved and enjoyed but I would say these fics and authors are a great place to start. Many of them inspired my own writing so every single one of them is worth checking out. Each have their own style and it makes for such a lovely exploration of a beloved trope.

And I know that there’s more out there, but this is getting a bit long already, so maybe I’ll do another rec list one of these days lol.

Now off to work I must go! I hope you find joy in these favorites of mine just like I did, my dear anon!

Love to all these fantastic and marvelously talented creators! I’m definitely rereading some these rn 🤭

[rantaroamamifuturegf]

Crushing headcanons!!

A/N: Been playing Dr2 again and Fuyuhiko<3, Fuyuhiko’s one is a bit longer than the others so bc I got too into it and yes spelling do exist in this

Plot: Fuyuhiko & Rantaro & Shuichi crushing on GN!Reader

Characters being used: Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu, Rantaro Amami, Shuichi Saihara

Fuyuhiko

He noticed immediately and started to purposely avoid you for his sake of not making a fool of himself in front of you and If he wasn’t able to avoid you he’ll just act like he doesn’t give a shit about you and would purposely be rude to you

Peko would notice this right away but at the first she just assumed that he didn’t like you in general but once she noticed that he would ignore you and avoid you, she knew something was up

She would question him about it and bro would completely shut her down about the thought and tell her you were just so annoying he wanted to not be near you and he thought she brought the excuse

She didn’t buy it for shit

He finally given up and told her about you and his feelings, she would just tell him to confess but he would tell her it more easier when you say it than do it

He obviously shuts her down about the idea of confessing to you and just says he’ll continue to treat you the same way he usually does until the feelings goes away

It never did, if anything the feelings grew more and more

Peko finally convinced him to at least try talking to you normally and he did but he couldn’t help be still be rude to even if he was just trying to start a simple conversation and you replied with a dry answer or was thinking of what to say did too long

It’s just that feels like he’s making a fool of himself seeing you act so calmly while he’s the one freaking out the inside

It did kind of annoy him how calm you were being like why did it had to be him flipping out on the inside and not you

He complained to Peko about it and she told him to practice talking to you like look in the mirror and pretend talking to you or see her as you and try talking to you

He did try it but got to embarrassed and just straight up stopped but right after that he somehow was able to have a normal conversation with you without getting mad or being rude to you

Peko told him to confess to you since he was now finally able to talk to you but he had to remind her he just befriended you and it would be too fast

plus he didn’t know how to but we ain’t gonna talk abt that

He didn’t really bring you gifts or anything that much of the matter but if you both had different classes, he would def sometimes wait for the bell to ring and pick you up from your class and walk you to your next one

If Kaz said anything about the way how he treated you he’ll quickly shut him up before he can even finish his sentence

Might tell you how he’s unsure if he really wanted to take the yakuza life or not since he trusts you and wants your opinion on his thoughts

Doesn’t try to be too vulnerable around you but also doesn’t try to be too vauge with you either

DEFINITELY FOR SURE keeps Teruteru away from you, last thing he want to hear is bro making the unexpected unnecessary perverted theory about you and doesn’t want to see him flirting with you anyways so if you ever question him about it he’ll just say Teruteru is being more perverted today than he usually is

Once he feels ready and once Peko gives him some confidence and says she believes you feel the same way. he’ll confess to you.

Rantaro

Bro didn’t even noticed that he had feeling for you, like he just thought the feeling were just a feeling of being near someone you really care about as a friend but no it more

He wasn’t really used to feeling that way about someone since he usually treated everyone like their his little siblings or just friends or close friends but when he first started feeling this way about you it just didn’t feel like a friendship or family kind of love

Was really confused about it and didn’t want to immediately just to conclusions and believe he has feelings for you so he just kept believing he saw you as just a closer friend than he does to others

That act went on for a bit til you started being physically affectionate in a platonic way, such as placing a hand on his shoulder and sitting a bit more closer to him than usual he kept his cool on the outside but the inside of him was a mess

After mentally shutting out the thought with all his might, he finally came to the conclusion that he had feelings for you and didn’t know exactly what to do with it

He didn’t want to confess right away and just gave the thought some time so instead he’ll start being you small gifts from his travels

Would definitely ask you if you would like to come along and travel with him, and say he’ll bring you to amazing places across the world or just bring to where you pacifically want to go

He would get awkwardly embarrassed if someone called him or said he looked like a womanizer in front of you since he didn’t want to look bad in front of you

Definitely tells you about his sisters and asks if you would like to help him look for them, he would be really happy if you did say yes to it

He would do lightly teasing and say how his sisters would love you and how his family would love you but in the end would call it light jokes or just teasing

He doesn’t know when or how to confess to you so for right now he’ll just hope you’ll eventually feel the same way and once he’s 100% sure you feel the same he’ll confess to you.

Shuichi

He didn’t notice it right away

Like he just assumed you being so nice and caring towards him just made him feel embarrassed and what not so he just ignored the feelings

But they kept coming back and every time when he’s near you and when you complimented him, he can’t but feel a heart warning feeling in his chest and feel flustered around you

Not for long he came to the conclusion that he liked you in a romantic way but he felt really bad for it, he was insecure about himself and how others viewed him while you were someone that everyone enjoys being around and he felt like him having feelings for you would ruin your friendship

So he kept it to himself as pry that nobody will ever catch on

Kaede and Kaito catch on real fast

Kaede was so excited when she founded out he had feelings for you and would telling him to confess right away and would say that both of you look cute together

He was flustered by the idea of him and you being together but the idea of you two being a cute couple just made him feel even more happy of them though

Unlike Kaede, Kaito didn’t tell him to confess right away but instead would try to give Shuichi some confidence about asking you out and would tell him he shouldn’t feel bad for a having crush on you and would tell him to ask you

Obviously he appreciated both of them trying to help him but he told them he wasn’t mentally ready to ask you out yet

If you and him aren’t that close of friends he’ll definitely admire you from afar, will absolutely hate it if Miu or Kokichi caught him and called him out on it

He would sometimes write little love poems about you but would never give them to you and kept it in a small notebook, Kaede would definitely tell him to give it to you or let her give to you. He obviously shut down the idea

If he gets too into a poem and seems really long, he’ll end up reading it later and cringe at his own love notes for you

Kaito would help him out by trying to get you two to become closer friends and would invite you to workouts with him and Maki and Shuichi

Would convince Maki and then purposely leave you and him alone together, bro was not ready to be alone with you and he felt nervous and excited about it at the same time

After Kaito done that over a couple of times more, both you and him got closer and he was actually starting to feel a bit more comfortable and confident when talking and asking you to hang out

He would die happily if you just started physically touching him in a platonic way, just simple gestures like putting a hand over his or sitting closer would lowkey just make his day lol

He wouldn’t confess to you even if he feels mentally right and has the right confidence and feels that you feel the same way because he’ll still have his doubts and think you deserve better so in the end it’s either you confess or he’ll have it wait til some of his friends actually make him do it

[solsticehymns]

if you want me to, i will: drabble

james potter x f!reader / fluff / muggle au

summary: james is the first person you call when anything goes wrong. why should you know how to change a flat tire when he's right there, waiting to save the day (and criticize your driving)? if you want him to, he will.

a/n: drafted this after a rly bad day when my car broke down and i rly desperately needed a prince charming to swoop in and save my day (sadly bf was in class and could not leave) so this is what happened in my imagination. ALSO SORRY I KNOW WOMAN = BAD DRIVER STEREOTYPE IS BAD BUT.... sometimes it's true. hope this brings you some joy if you can relate hehehe xoxo - sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 573

the moment you hear that awful clunking sound, you know it's bad. pulling off to the shoulder as quickly as you could, the car lurching and rolling strangely, you're already speed dialing james.

"yeah, love?" ready to spring into action. like he waits around all day by the phone, just waiting for you to call, saying jamie, i need you. and that's exactly what you say, along with some other blubbering that he can't quite make out. he gets car and broke and stopped and assumes the rest.

"be right there— don't move." batman rises from the night.

no matter how far you are, he somehow halves the expected time maps gives. and no matter what he was doing when you called, he shows up with a smile on his face, ready to be your savior.

you tell him exactly that as he's changing the tire for you, sleeves rolled up, hair hanging in his eyes, chest just a little puffed. you're my savior, jamie. what would i do without you?

"eh, your car would probably be in a bit worse condition, without me driving you around everywhere..."

"james potter!"

"what?! i'm helping you, here!"

"you do not get to insinuate that i'm a bad driver while you're helping me."

"..."

"what's that look for?!"

"you just take corners a little fast, that's all! hardly even noticeable."

"you think i hit that pothole on purpose?"

"maybe you would've seen it if you were going slower, that's all i'm saying... do you still want me to fix this, or not? 'cause i can go back home and watch my show and not think about this anymore."

he's only teasing. he would change a hundred tires a day for you if you asked.

he always wants you to call him, even if it's just a little inconvenience. your coffee order tasted funny today? well he is about to call and leave the poor baristas a strongly worded anonymous voicemail scolding them for displeasing his girlfriend.

the cute new clothes you ordered online didn't fit like you wanted when they arrived? how dare they not use you, the very standard of beauty, as their model for the fittings. he'll obliterate them.

he finishes changing the tire, with love, and tells you to follow him back on the way home (but not too closely). you grumble but tell him thank you anyways, reaching up on your tiptoes to press a tiny kiss to his cheek.

"you always show up for me when i need you."

"and i always will," he replies, love so evident it's blinding, leaning in with puckered lips for another kiss.

you roll your eyes but indulge him, pressing your lips to his in a quick peck. but when you try to step back, his arms loop around you, keeping you exactly where you are.

"not so fast, sweetheart." he murmurs. "that was a ‘thanks for grabbing me a snack’ kiss. i just changed a whole tire. i think i deserve something with a little more emotion."

you raise a brow. "so needy."

"damn right. now get back here and make it count."

you laugh, but you kiss him again anyway, lingering just a little longer. when you pull away, his lips chase yours. "hmm. still might need a third one, just to be sure."

you roll your eyes. "get in the car, potter."

he smirks, finally letting you go. "whatever you say, dear."

-☀️🌻

[twice-inamillion]

Yoo Sisters

Smut (Sister bonding, blow job, deep penetration, threesome, creampie)

Chapter 234

Words: 2900

(After Seungyeon walks in on Jeongyeon's ride on OC, she decides to tease her. With her tsundere person, it results in some real fun.)

The next day you wake up and see Jeongyeon on top of you with your cock in her hand and aligned it to her entrance. To your surprise, she seems different from usual, even happy, you might suggest. 

Obviously, you wouldn’t say no to some morning sex and just let Jeongyeon do her thing. She slowly inserts the tip and waits a few seconds before dropping her whole weight onto your cock. 

“Fuck, so good,” and she begins to ride you in a hard but steady manner. She places her head on your shoulder, letting you hear her heavy breathing. 

You close your eyes and whisper in Jeongyeon’s ear all the things you did last night. The more you say, the tighter her walls clench on your cock, and the more sure she gets into a good rhythm. 

Unbeknownst to you, someone was making their way back home after being away for a few days. She unlocks the door and can’t think of anything but take a nice shower and take a nap after a busy week. She notices that her house is off but can’t find what it is. She then looks down and sees a pair of shoes she’s never seen before and her younger sister’s shoes next to it. 

Seungyeon walks around to see a blanket and some clothes on the couch. She has a vague idea of what occurred and smiles. Seungyeon slowly makes her way to her room and hears moaning coming out from the other side of the door. She takes out her phone and quietly turns the handle, and sees her sister in the nude on top of some. 

“Click. Click” 

Suddenly, Jeongyeon turns around and sees her sister standing at the entrance with her phone and flash on. 

“Unnie!” 

“Surprise!”

Jeongyeon rapidly tries to cover herself and gets off of you, “It’s not what it looks like Unnie!”

”I think it does. You’re leaking from your thighs.” Jeongyeon turns around and sees the mess she made on her sister’s bed. Embarrassed, she tries to cover herself with the pillows before Seungyeon teases her and says, “I’ll let the two of you finish, haha.”

The three of you eat silently at the kitchen table, avoiding any type of conversation on what just happened an hour ago. You try to break the silence by asking Jeongyeon to pass the salt, but instead she ignores you. Seungyeon looks up and smiles, “Here you go. Don't be mean to him, Jeongyeon. You need to take care of your man.”

Jeongyeon lifts her head up and shouts, “He's not my man!”

“Well, I wouldn't know what to call, maybe fuck buddies?”

Not wanting to hear her sister's teasing she finishes up her plate and heads to the sink, “I'm done eating. I'll clean everything up.”

“I'm done too.”

“Just drop it in the sink, I'll take care of everything.”

“Okay. Oh, by the way, Seungyeon, can I use your shower?”

“Yeah, go for it.”

“Thanks.”

Seungyeon sits on the couch, watching some television while Jeongyeon washes the dishes and cleans the kitchen. She is surprised that her sister finally lost her virginity. The only thing is that she isn't reacting the way she expected too, like being embarrassed or shy. She knows about her tsundere personality but assumed that she would show some actual emotions. She then hears the water from the shower turn on and gets an idea to tease her.

Seungyeon gets up and quietly makes her way to her room. She sees the bathroom door slightly open. “Should I do it? I haven't seen a cock in a while.” She only thinks about it briefly before making her mind, “Sisters are meant to share their toys, right?”

She quietly tosses her clothes into the hamper and sees your silhouette on the other side. Slowly, she slides the frosted glass door and notices your length. With a slight smirk, she bites her lip and places her foot inside. 

Your eyes are closed as you wash your hair, and you feel a sudden breeze, but you make nothing of it. Out of nowhere, you feel a pair of hands stroking your cock and say, “Fuck, that feels nice. Acting all tough in front of your sister, huh? I knew you couldn't resist for another round, haha.”

There was no reply, but you didn't need any as those pairs of hands continued to stroke your cock. Now, hard, you feel the pair of lips kissing your tip. 

Knowing what's about to happen you unconsciously search for her head and place your hand behind it. Slowly but surely, you move her head closer to your pelvis, making her take your cock in her mouth. 

“Fuck, your mouth feels so warm. Take me in a bit more; I want to feel the back of your throat.”

You feel her mouth take more of your length as you scrape the inside of her palate. Surprised by how willing she is compared to before, you just enjoy it. 

Jeongyeon is done with washing the dishes and turns around and sees the couch empty. She finds it weird since just a few minutes ago, her sister was watching television, and now she is nowhere to be found. 

“Where is she?” as she looks at the other room and the patio. It isn't when she comes back and sees a faint amount of steam come out from the door is when she gets a bad feeling. 

Jeongyeon walks to the room and sees the bathroom door slightly open, but steam is coming out. She walks closer and hears slurping sounds, which immediately triggers her.

Jeongyeon rushes and opens the door wide open just to see her older sister on her knees going down on you. “Unnie!”

Seungyeon hears her name and turns, giving a slight smirk as she releases your cock.

You hear a loud pop and feel the release of your cock. Not yet satisfied, you open your eyes and see Seungyeon down on her knees, turning her head to the side. You turn your head and see a full-blown, angry Jeongyeon standing by the door. 

Your mind is all over the place as you try to understand the situation. You assumed it was Jeongyeon who was sucking you off instead of her sister and try to explain the situation, but then see Jeongyeon begin to undress. 

“Unnie! Get away, I'm using him.”

“I couldn't help myself. I wanted to see what he had since you kept talking about him and how you liked him.”

Jeongyeon turns red, “Eww! I don't like him!”

With a smile on her face, she replies, “Then you wouldn't mind me getting a taste,” as she grabs hold of your cock again. 

Jeongyeon watches as her sister rubs her cunt and takes your cock back into her mouth. She doesn't want to reveal her feelings, but watching her sister and you together make her do something unexpected.

You see Jeongyeon walk into the shower and get on her knees, pushing Seungyeon to the side. She grabs your cock and takes it aggressively into her mouth.

You groan from the rough and sloppy head you're getting from Jeongyeon. “Fuck, slow down. You're scraping my shaft against your teeth.”

She then looks up at you and slows down, relaxing her mouth. Her sister doesn't just stay there; she positions herself better to lick your balls. 

As time passes, the two of them get in sync, allowing you to enjoy the sight of watching both sisters going down on you. 

You decide to be a bit daring and grab Jeongyeon’s hand, signaling her to stand up. You turn her over and place both hands against the shower wall. To your surprise, she's very responsive and doesn't complain about your commands. From behind, you glide your hand against her pucker hole, then her cunt, getting it ready for what's to come. 

Jeongyeon gets a bit anxious and closes her eyes as she feels your body against hers. 

You quickly align your member against her cunt and press your tip inside, causing Jeongyeon to moan. Out of nowhere, Jeongyeon groans loudly as she feels her whole body getting stretched by your massive cock.

“Fuck! Slow down.”

You grab her hair and say, “Why? I want your sister to hear you moan,” and increase the pace of your thrusting.

Seungyeon watches as her sister gets railed in the shower and lowers her right hand to rub her clit. The image of watching the two of you having sex in front of her turns her on.

“How do you like having your sister watch as I fuck you?”

“No, unnie, turn around.”

Instead, she turns to see Seungyeon playing with herself, rubbing her clit rapidly.

“See, your sister likes what she sees.”

You continue to pound her for what feels like forever. “Fuck, I feel like cuming.”

“Don't, don't you dare.”

“Seungyeon, where do you think I should come? Outside or inside of Jeongyeon?”

Seungyeon bites her lips and teases her sister one last time, “If she doesn't want it, then maybe I'll have a taste.”

You decide to play along and pull out your cock from Jeongyeon. Seungyeon grabs your hand, leading you out of the shower and into her bedroom. 

She lays on the bed and spreads her legs wide open, “You like what you see? I haven't had a taste in a while; I'd love to see what you can do,” as she pulls you in closer to her.

You stare at her leaking cunt as you grab your own cock, teasing her by aligning it to her entrance. 

Suddenly, Jeongyeon yells, “Fine! You can come inside of me; just leave my sister out of it.” She makes her way towards the bed and lays down on it, exposing her cunt just like her sister. 

“Damn, both Yoo Sisters. Both of you have nice-looking cunts.” 

Seungyeon replies, “Thanks, I like your cock too.”

“Unnie! Don't say that!”

“Why? I'm just telling the truth; he's big, much bigger than the ones I've had.” She turns to Jeongyeon and says, “You wouldn't mind sharing him a bit, would you?”

“No!”

“Don't be mean, Jeongyeon. Remember that ?”

”No, unnie, he’s mi…”

Jeongyeon is not able to finish her sentence as Seungyeon grabs your waist and pulls you, penetrating herself with your cock. Seungyeon groans out loudly, feeling your length stretch out her cunt, “Oh fuck! You’re huge!”

You’re surprised by her sudden action and can’t believe you’re inside Jeongyeon’s sister, but you can’t complain. You want to tease Jegoneyon a bit more, and if it means getting down and dirty with Seungyeon, then you’re up for it. 

“Come on, pretty boy. Show me what you got. I want to see what the fuss is about.”

Jeongyeon mumbles something, but nothing comes out her mouth as she sees you begin to thrust.

“Fuck, so deep. Don't be scared; you can go a bit rougher.”

You increase the intensity of your thrusting and insert your cock into her depths. It doesn't take long for her Seungyeon to adjust to your length. Her walls clench onto your cock as it moves inside of her, like an internal massage. You can tell that she has experience in these types of things, “Your pussy is tight.”

“Of course, I enjoy milking my fair share of cock” and winks at you.

Minutes pass, and you can't help but enjoy Seungyeon's pussy; you turn around and see a shocked Jeonggeon, frozen at the sight of you having sex with her sister.

“Fuck, I'm going to cum soon.”

Seungyeon lifts her head and says, “You're more than welcome to cum inside me.” 

“You sure?”

“I'd be a waste to do it anywhere else.”

Seungyeon turns and grins at Jeongyeon, teasing her.

“Wait!” 

You turn around and say, “What?” Jeongyeon grabs your arm and says, “Please, not my sister.” You can see the struggle in her face as she tries to say something but musters up the energy and says, “Come inside instead.” 

“Stop, you're not serious.” 

Jeongyeon gets on all fours and uses both hands to spread her cheeks. You see her leaking cunt, understanding how serious she actually is. 

With her face towards the bed, Seungyeon looks up at you and pushes you away, signaling to take her sister instead.

You place your hand on her back and align your cock towards her entrance. In one go, you shove your whole length inside Jeongyeon, making her scream out loud.

“Ohh fuck!”

With your hands around her thighs, you pick up Jeongyeon and place her into a reverse stand-and-carry position. 

“Wait, what are you doing? Put me down.” 

“I think she to see your expression as you get fucked. Isn't that right, Seungyeon?”

“Yeah, I want to see Jeongyeon turn into a dirty mess.”

You lift Jeongyeon’s body and begin to thrust rapidly, churning her sloppy insides. Jeongyeon covers her face, trying to avoid her sister looking at her. 

Seungyeon, on the other hand, masturbates to the scene of a large and thick cock, messing up her younger sister.

“Don't cover your face; let your sister get a good view. Show her how much of a slut you are for this cock.”

“No! Unnie, don't look!”

There's no response; only the sound of flesh beating against each other is heard from the room. 

You walk towards the large mirror on the other side of the room and stand in front of it. “Look at the mirror, see yourself getting fucked.” 

Jeongyeon turns her head and looks in the mirror; what she sees makes her body tighten. “See, you do like it. So much for that strong personality, only to turn a mess when you get some cock.”

You move your hand towards her cunt and rub her clit in between your fingers. Jeongyeon moans loudly, “Ahh, I'm about to cum!”

“What's that? I didn't catch what you said,” inserting your fingers in her already tight cunt and swollen clit. 

“Ima, c-cum.” 

“You know where it's going in, right?”

Jeongyeon bites her lip, not wanting the words to slip out of her mouth. 

You tease her once more, rubbing her clit rapidly until the last second. 

“Ahh, I'm c-cuming…” and release your fingers as well as pull out your cock, denying Jeongyeon of her orgasm.

She then whines, “N.no, I was about to cum.”

Suddenly your cock aligns with her entrance, and you drop her body, penetrating her in one go. “I'm the one that’s going to cum first,” as you burst inside of her in one go. Jeongyeon screams and tightens her body, making her spasm.

“Fuck! I can't hold it!

Seungyeon watches her younger sister pee herself as she gets pumped full of cum. Jeongyeon spasms uncontrollably while being held in your arms. You try to pull out your cock, but her cunt clenches onto your thick rob, not wanting to let go.

“Fuck, you got real tight. Your pussy is so addicted to my cock that it doesn't want to let go, haha.” 

There's no response; you only see a passed-out Jeongyeon through the mirror.  

A loud pop is heard as you pull out your cock, causing a large amount of cum to ooze out of her gaping hole.

“Haha, Jeongyeon is such a mess. You really did a number on her. She's always putting up a serious front, but in reality, she's like everyone else.”

Jeongyeon wakes up and turns to see Seungyeon riding on your cock. She can't see to remember what happened but feels a sense of hotness coming from her lower body. She grazes her hand and sees a large amount of cum running from her thighs. 

“Fuck, I'm jealous of Jihyo. She has a really good husband.”

“I can say the same thing; Jeongyeon has a really good sister.”

“This sister wants you to cum on her face. How about it?”

“I'd love to.”

With Jeongyeon still lying down, she sees Seungyeon on her knees. She watches as you grab your cock and stroke it in front of her sister's face. 

Seungyeon knows that Jeongyeon is awake and decides to tease her once more, “I know you want to feel his cum on your face. Let's show him how close we are as sisters.”

Seungyeon stands up and grabs Jeongyeon’s hand, leading her towards the carpet. They both get on their knees and watch as you stroke your cock in front of them. 

You can’t help but grin at the sight of both sisters right next to each other, waiting for you to cum on their faces. “Fuck, I’m going to cum!”

Jeongyeon watches as her sister sticks out her tongue, looks directly into your eyes, and does the same.

”Take my cum” as you paint their faces completely white.

You see as they swallow the large amount cum pooled on their tongue and ask, “Open wide; I want to make sure you swallowed every ounce.”

”Ahhh,” sticking their tongues out and their faces dripping your thick load. 

[rekino2114]

How the chainsaw man girls handle jealousy

A/n:I usually don't write for the csm 2 girls but let me know if you want me to and I'll add them to the masterlist (mainly cause I really like fami)

Makima

Thanks to you, makima, now could finally feel true emotions. You made her feel the happiness of being truly loved, the sadness of being without you, anger when a devil had the gall to hurt you, and the worry of when you came injured from a mission and so on..

She felt another one of those emotions when she saw you talking to another girl at the public safety headquarters, a particularly flirty one who apparently didn't know you were dating her boss.

Ah this must be jealousy.

She wasn't that bothered by it. She knows she can trust that you'll never leave her. However, the moment she starts touching you even after you clearly rejected her and is making you feel uncomfortable, that girl is dead.

She might have better morals after meeting you but she's not above killing who she deems as human scum.

But if things don't reach that stage, the girl might just be assigned a particularly difficult mission as her next

"Sorry, but I have a girlfriend,"

"Who cares? It's not like she's gonna know anyway"

"Sorry to interrupt, but I'd like to talk to y/n"

"Ah! M-miss makima!"

"Oh sure babe"

"B-babe? You mean she's your girlfriend"

"Exactly, and now that you know I suggest not looking forward to your next mission"

Power

The moment she sees you talking to another girl, she gets mad, she assumes you're cheating on her cause she doesn't have that much of an understanding of relationships.

In her eyes, you don't need anyone else when she's clearly the best option.

She's also really angry towards the girl. How dare she try to steal what's hers? Even though she wasn't flirting with you

"Hey! Y/n! What are you doing talking to this human"

"Oh power, don't worry she was just asking me directions"

"Like I believe that! You better go away this very moment I'll kill you!"

"Power be nice"

"Only if you stop talking to this bitch"

"*sigh* I'm so sorry"

Himeno

How she reacts depends on how drunk she is.

She gets really clingy when she is drunk, so she'll hug you from behind and lazily try to pull you away from the girl you were talking to while mumbling some incoherent words and that's usually your sign to take her home.

She's really not that jealous when sober, even when a girl flirts, she doesn't get mad, she understands her,after all if she didn't flirt with you she wouldn't have gotten with her amazing partner.

"Hey, you having fun without me over here?

"Oh sorry hime,I was just about to tell her I have a girlfriend"

"Oh you do? Sorry I had no idea"

"It's fine. I get it they're so stunning anyone would try to get with them"

"Did you just use the fact that a girl was flirting with me as a way to flirt with me?

"Guess so, I guess complimenting you is just second nature to me"

Kobeni higashiyama

This poor nervous wreck of a girl.

Whenever she sees you talking to another girl, she kinda gets anxious and starts comparing herself to that girl. Imagine how it is when a girl actually flirts with you

She starts overthinking and sweating,thoughts that you're gonna leave her for the other girl and how she's a bad girlfriend her fill her head.

She'd rather self combust than try to confront the girl with you around so she'll just continue wallowing in self-pity until you finish.

She needs a lot of hugs and reassurances later to calm down

"Hey, are you OK, kobeni? You were sweating and shaking"

"O-oh n-o i'm ok, what about t-that girl you were talking to?"

"I told her I had a girlfriend and she left, don't worry,more importantly, let's continue out date"

"R-really?"

"Of course you're my girlfriend right? I'd much rather hang out with you than some random girl"

"Uhm t-thank you"

Asa mitaka

She is also kind of anxious and worried just way less than kobeni.

She feels kind of like a bad and boring girlfriend often, and that feeling skyrockets when a girl flits with you.

She trusts you, but seeing you so close to that girl while she blatantly flirts with you just makes her feel kinda angry at her, and yoru definitely tries to take advantage of that.

"Come on don't you wanna get rid of her anyway"

"Not in that way yoru!"

"Just turn her into a weapon, that way I get a new one to fight chainsaw man, and you get to take care of that bitch"

"I'm not gonna do that"

"Geez you really are a bad girlfriend then"

"I'M NOT A BAD GIRLFRIEND"

"........"

"D-did I say that out loud?"

"Yeah but don't worry at least it was the truth"

Yoru

You and yoru begged asa to let her take control of her body for just an entire date. After a lot of hesitancy, she accepted but made yoru promise not to kill anyone........ You should probably think twice before trusting the war devil

The moment she saw another girl even look at you with a flirty gaze, immediately she turned her into a weapon without any hesitation.

You weren't that shocked, dating yoru does come with a very high chance of her trying to murder people she even thinks are trying to steal you, you were kinda mad at her for what she promised asa though.

"*sighs* why did you do that?"

"You're mine she was trying to take you from me. I could feel it"

"And how are you gonna explain it to asa?"

"Well it's not my problem"

"What?"

Then she feel unconscious the scars from her face disappeared and asa woke up looked at the weapon in her hand and then at you

"I'm so sorry asa I swear I can explain"

Fami

She was just coming back to your table with your fast food orders (she got way too much food for herself). When she saw you talking to a girl, she didn't recognize

She didn't think much about it maybe you were just talking to a friend. So she ignored the kinda weird feeling in her chest by doing her favorite thing (tied with spending time with you) eating.

The girl, meanwhile, was very freaked out that a random girl was staring at her with a cold glare and ringed eyes so she left allowing you to go back to your girlfriend.

"Hey fami, sorry if It took me long"

"It's fine, who was that girl you were with?

"I don't know she just came up to me and started flirting"

"I see"

"Why? Are you jealous"

"No I am not"

"Alright whatever you say, you did eat faster than usual though and that's saying something"

"*sighs* Humans are truly weird creatures"