#if you're looking for professional writing tips

[thatbitchery]

HOW TO SCHOOL ; A COMPREHENSIVE GUIDE BY A CHAIN SCHOOLER.

Given I've been in school for 21years continuously now I'll say at this point I'm a professional in the art of schooling x studying, at least the ADHD ver. Random tips;

Go to your strengths and align with them. If you're a thinker go to the thinkings the math the Eng Lit or Lit the Calculus the classes that require for your to think. If you're a knower go to the knowings the history the Geography the Religion the Biology etc. If you're a doer go to the doings the Math the Physics the IT the Business. Go where your strengths are why suffer.

Your reputation does, in fact, proceed you. Teachers are just people and like people they are biased. School is for networking 190000× more than it is for education. And teachers are people too that can and should be networked with. If you need me to teach you how to build a reputation in school I will.

All rounders make it farthest. My formula is - one sport that does what I need it to (volleyball for cardio) and do everything in my power to be captain (I've always been). Two, a club that ticks my boxes. This has always been journalism club for me I knewww I wanted to be in journalism and communication early. Being part of the school paper (was chair in high school and editor in Uni). Leadership of student body (House captain for me. In high school. Wanted Library captain so bad but heh. Could be just being in the student council. My tip, high rank low responsibility) and take part in the most mediocre activity around (for me was Christian Council. All we did was nothing). It's the basis of- Who are you? And in life who you are is more important than what you know. Or better - what do people know you as? Keeping in mind it follows you. How people see an ex beauty queen isn't the same way they see an Ex head of student council. Also the busier you are the less time you have for all that. Alll of that. That drama thing you keep getting caught up in. + Your networks are wider so you skip the loneliness tax ie the number of things you do because you're lonely. The scrolling. The getting clingy and attached to random people that give you attention for 6 seconds. The dating people you don't even like. The over eating and over spending and- loneliness tax. We know it. Some of y'all on Tumblr rn paying it.

Always. Always. Alwaysss look your best in the most natural way possible. The world does not take kindly to unkempt women and it also doesn't want to know you pour energy into being kempt. What does this have to do with school? If you're below 25 likely you've spent 3/4 of your life in school. That's a lot of time for people to be taking jabs at your appearance or bullying you or talking hell behind your back or not coming into your space because there's no value attached to it (bc girl to girl, before you hit 25 your only value is your beauty. Again why I don't want you to date). Just make your hair and skin and nails and steam your clothes and don't look homeless it's that easy. And don't wear the eyelash extensions that look fake or the fillers or the red lips or- as natural as possible. It's school. Unless you want slaaat treatment .

Use your syllabus. I can not explain enough how much this is the way to study. Every start of semester your professor is required to release the syllabus. It has topics, subs and objectives. You see the objectives? Use those as study guides. By the end of that topic you should be able to answer the objectives if framed as questions.

Pre- during- post. You study the material pre class, on the day you'll have the class. Just go through it try answer questions. During class you listen and make side notes. After class you make the notes in writing and then go to the questions. If there are YouTube or Video or Audio explanations listen to them after making the notes and make sure you know what they're on about. DO NOT SLEEP if you know for a fact you can not recall it all. Scary hour night ver- get a pen and blank paper, offhead use objectives to write all you remember, go through the notes one more time. Thank me later.

Brown Noise White Noise- this is bs. Do what works for you there's no study noise that's standardized. I need to listen to cars and people talking noises to study some people need to listen to white noise I know someone that listens to Kpop some need no background noise so no one cares. The one rule is- IT CAN NOT BE IN A LANGUAGE YOU UNDERSTAND. The background noise CAN NOT BE IN A LANGUAGE YOU UNDERSTAND.

Niche. The niches are where it's at. Don't know what language to learn? Norwegian. How many people you know have self taught Norwegian. Exactly. If I said I speak french and someone says they speak Norwegian, automatically who sounds more disciplined and interesting? See the class that has 5 kids? Take that one for extra creds. Swimming? Deep sea diving. Stand out. Stand out.

Information retention happens in activity. Study sitting recall walking around or running or cleaning etc. The science is when you're active you need to be 10× more alert because your body id constantly scamming for threats and when you're sitting you signal to your body you're safe sooo why would it be that alert? Do your active recall on your morning jog. not yoga not activities meant for relaxing. (PS biohacking is a whole superpower and I'd teach you but I don't agree with the popular methods {when have I ever} and given my autism they probably only work for me so find your ver. Andrew Huberman is so extensive on this)

Have a signature. Sit same spot daily , have a same scent, have things that make you memorable and are associated with you. Why does it matter in school - for the exact same reason it matters everywhere, coupled by under 25 that's where you spend 3/4 of your life?

Mind the business that pays you. Stay in your lane, do your thing. Never commit to one group of friends and talk to everyone. Don't play social justice warrior matter of fact if you have to play a role move all the way over to Blair Waldorf Alison De Laurentis kind of bitchy but without being queen bee that's. Lmao. What is that. Do your thing and go home. Hang out with as many people as you can. Don't commit don't pick a side mind the business that pays you.

I'm begging you to be financially smart. Unfortunately there's no standard for this so we can work it out one on one I have all the time in the world pre August we can do it.

Boys. Stay. As. Far. Away. From. Those. I don't want you to date girls either I don't want you to date at all idc where you swing but generally I want you to know what ever a man does the women closest to him will pay for it. Even just *friends* yes be acquaintances yes hang out but NEVER let a man be a part of your identity all his problems will be yours but ×10 by associations. You see how Rihanna said 'your wife in the backseat of my car' when it's the man that messed up? that's life. THATS LIFE. Whatever a man does, the women around him will pay for it 1000×, and it's almost impossible to shake out a man's social imprint on you. Even just by vicinity. In the least literal sense of the phrase, fuck all these men.

[the-owl-tree]

Do you have any advice on writing? I have so many storyboards and ideas that I just can't portray correctly. It's all too dry, any ideas on how to fix that? And how do I make a rough draft? Do I just jot down ideas?

I'm so sorry for all the questions, you're just really creative. I'm so sorry to annoy you, have a good day Owl!

okay for starters

THAAANNKK YOUU that's so nice!! but unfortunately i would not consider myself the best person to ask for fictional writing since i don't do it as much as i'd like to. also tend to just do short idea posts rather than any real writing (stares at my google docs yearningly) but for my general creative process when i do write:

-jot down ideas as soon as they come, even if you can't relate them right away. it doesn't matter how silly they may seem, sometimes a silly idea can be the best one

-find the story that speaks to you and just stick with it! this one is something i struggle with (as u can see by many frantic ideas on this blog, there are so many NON wc shit stories i have simmering in my phone notes lmao). don't go for long form stories right away with these, try short ones that you can see an ending to (that isn't in like. four years).

-if it's fanwork, always adopt a "my way or the highway" approach. having fun and staying silly is very important, do what you enjoy (and just by doing it you will improve)

-rough drafts (for me) are giving myself a barebones idea of how the story will go and then proceeding to work through the details: character a needs to go to x -> why does character a do that? does something force them? Do they go on their own? If yes, why do they feel they need to do that? (and this can be hard!! so honestly don't be afraid to just sit back and let it simmer for a bit. i honestly get most of my inspo for when im out on walks and then i have to hurriedly jot down shit on my phone lol)

-don't be afraid to just do some short writing without a plan! just have fun, get an idea in your head and wing it. it gets you back in the swing of how you wanna write and it's a great way to experiment with different perspectives, detailed writing, trying to recapture energy you got from other books, etc.

-if you're struggling with portrayal, trying doing some research! if you're writing xenofiction, the best part is learning more about the animal you wanna write about. i've wasted so many time reading about cat colonies.

-read books of the same genre you want to write. im being hypocritical here cause ive not read nearly enough but trust me it’ll help you in knowing the structures of these genres + general atmosphere to catch

-never base the worth of your creations based on internet engagement. this one is sooo difficult to avoid and i struggle with it but also remember you are target audience number one

there are tons of creative writing blogs on here that pull together writing advice and share short stories as well, i like to look them over when i'm feeling a bit dry on what to write.

that's about it from me, these are things that i find helpful but i hope you find some more stuff that works for you! good luck with your writing, i hope i get to see some of it :D

[homunculus-argument]

Hey, random writing tip: Instead of having something be a ridiculously unlikely coincidence, you can make the thing happen due to who this particular character is as a person. Instead of getting stuck on "there's no logical reason to why that would happen", try to bend it into a case of "something like this would never happen to anybody but this specific fucker." Something that makes your reader chuckle and roll their eyes, going "well of course you would."

Why would the timid shy nerd be at a huge sketchy downtown black market bazaar? Well, she's got this beetle colony she's raising that needs a very specific kind of leaf for nest material, and there only place to get it is this one guy at the bazaar that sells that stuff. Why would the most femininely flamboyant guy ever known just happen to have downright encyclopedic knowledge about professional boxing? Well, there was this one time when he was down bad for this guy who was an aspiring professional boxer...

I know it sounds stupidly obvious when written out like this, but when you're up close to your writing, it's hard to see the forest for the trees. Some time ago I finished reading a book, where the whole plot hinges on character A, who is 100% certain that character B is dead, personally getting up and coming down from the top rooms of a castle, to the gates, at 3 am, to come look at some drunk who claims to be this guy who died 17 years ago. Why would A do that, if he's sure that B is dead?

Because he's a Warrior Guy from a culture of Loyalty And Honour, and hearing that someone's got the audacity to go about claiming to be his long-lost brother in battle, there is no other option than to immediately personally go down there to beat the ever-loving shit out of this guy. Who then turns out to actually be character B, after all.

[hayatheauthor]

10 Flaws to Give Your Perfect Characters to Make Them Human

If you're tired of the usual vices like arrogance or impatience, here are some unique (or at least less basic) character flaws to give your perfect characters: 

Pathological Altruism

A character so obsessed with helping others that they end up doing more harm than good. Their inability to let others grow or face consequences creates tension.

2. Moral Narcissism

A character who sees themselves as morally superior to others, constantly justifying selfish or harmful actions because they believe they have the moral high ground.

3. Chronic Self-Sabotage

A character who intentionally undermines their own success, perhaps due to deep-seated feelings of unworthiness, pushing them into frustrating, cyclical failures.

4. Emotional Numbness

Rather than feeling too much, this character feels too little. Their lack of emotional response to critical moments creates isolation and makes it difficult for them to connect with others.

5. Fixation on Legacy

This character is obsessed with how they’ll be remembered after death, often sacrificing present relationships and happiness for a future that’s uncertain.

6. Fear of Irrelevance

A character-driven by the fear that they no longer matter, constantly seeking validation or pursuing extreme measures to stay important in their social or professional circles.

7. Addiction to Novelty

Someone who needs constant newness in their life, whether it’s experiences, relationships, or goals. They may abandon projects, people, or causes once the excitement fades, leaving destruction in their wake.

8. Compulsive Truth-Telling

A character who refuses to lie, even in situations where a lie or omission would be the kinder or more pragmatic choice. This flaw causes unnecessary conflict and social alienation.

9. Over-Identification with Others' Pain

Instead of empathy, this character feels others' pain too intensely, to the point that they can’t function properly in their own life. They’re paralyzed by the suffering of others and fail to act effectively.

10. Reluctant Power

A character who fears their own strength, talent, or influence and is constantly trying to shrink themselves to avoid the responsibility or consequences of wielding it.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! Instagram Tiktok

PS: This is my first short-form blog post! Lmk if you liked it and want to see more (I already have them scheduled you don't have a choice)

[bears-fics]

Coffee

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: cross-posted on ao3, bit buildup and dialouge heavy oops, no use of y/n, female reader, sub spencer and dom-ish reader (you're a bit sweet on him), spencer whines so much, degradation and praise kink (spencer), explicit consent, oral (fem receiving), coming untouched, multiple orgasms, protected p in v sex, riding, coming prematurely, overstimulation, dacryphilia, aftercare

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: You discover something about Spencer after a sleepless night, and it doesn't leave your head until you can sort it out in a hotel room.

A/N: my first time writing smut so I hope it's okay :P comments/reblogs would be super appreciated but don't feel obligated!

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

It started over coffee. It was a ritual, your favorite of the several you and Spencer shared. You would both come into work, way before anyone got there. Spencer would pour his coffee with its obscene amount of sugar, and you'd slot beside him to pour yours with its obscene amount of creamer. You'd talk, or Spencer would, normally about whatever obscure theory he was fixating on.

Today though, you made a beeline for your desk after filling your cup. It had been a sleepless night, filled with nightmares of the horrors you saw on the regular in this field, and you had a mountain of paperwork to catch up on.

You'd hoped Spencer would leave it, and he would've with anyone else, but he always was too comfortable around you. As you stood, so did he, and as you moved to refill your cup, he grabbed your hand.

"Spencer," you said, trying to keep your voice gentle despite your irritation.

He looked pointedly at your oversized cup. "Caffeine overconsumption can worsen anxiety and insomnia," he started, in that tone that indicated a rant, "as well as inhibiting focus, which you need for this job- well, you need sleep too, but that ship has sailed, from the looks of it-"

"Spencer," you practically growled, "shut up and let me pour the damn coffee."

You hadn't meant to sound quite so mad, and an apology was about to leave your mouth before you noticed the blush painting Spencer's face.

Blush?

It was undeniable. There was splotchy color covering his cheeks and the tip of his ears in a way you'd only seen whenever Morgan teased him about his sex life. He'd hunched in on himself, this 6'1 man somehow making himself small in front of you. He wouldn't look you in the eye, which wasn't new, but it felt different this time, and it didn't take long to figure out why. His pupils were blown wide, overtaking his irises.

And you were gaping at him like an idiot. Your jaw snapped shut as Spencer nodded before speed-walking to his desk, as if he was hoping you wouldn't notice.

Of course you noticed. You noticed everything about Spencer, from the way he twisted his hands to his perpetually mismatched socks. You noticed so many miniscule habits that even Spencer himself probably didn't that you could've started a notebook with them; not that you needed to, since they immediately stored themselves in the front of your mind. Obviously, you noticed the glances when he thought you weren't looking, the way he sat next to you on every flight, and the million other things that he would never do for anyone else.

It was something unspoken between you, a closeness you couldn't or wouldn't act on. It was fragile, sugar-spun glass painted with the shades of brown in his puppy-dog eyes. You were so afraid to break it by acting too soon, too fast. You knew you were harsh, too much. But you also knew it would have to come to a head eventually.

God, you needed more coffee.

-

You had a case that day. Of course you had a case that day.

You're a professional, you reminded yourself as JJ briefed the team.

Fraternization was frowned upon, you thought as Spencer's hand sat dangerously close to yours on the flight.

Bad idea, you reasoned when Spencer looked up at you through his eyelashes as you connected evidence.

Terrible idea, really, you grasped at when Spencer didn't stop looking at you after that.

It was torture, going through the motions of an entire case with the image of a flustered Spencer playing on loop every time he spoke. You were out of it, distracted, and not because of that second cup of coffee.

It boiled over when you asked an officer to repeat himself for the third time. Hotch had asked you to follow him in that "I'm extremely disappointed" tone that he'd perfected.

He led you into an empty room, near-slamming the door shut.

"What is going on with you?" Hotch starts, before taking a breath and cutting himself off.

"Listen, whatever is happening between you two, I need you to sort it out as soon as possible," he says. You open your mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. "We're all profilers," he points out with a raised eyebrow. He sighs.

"We're staying at a hotel tonight. Sleep it off or... do whatever you need to." He leaves you alone in the room. You compose yourself before facing the rest of your team.

"Sort it out."

Fuck it.

-

It took hours to work up the courage. Hours of pacing around your room combing over every possibility in your head. Every rule that was being broken. But, Hotch had told you to do what you needed to. And that image of Spencer wouldn't leave your mind.

It must have been around 2 AM when you finally ended up knocking on his door. You expected he would be up, but it still surprised you how quickly the door swung open. He hadn't even changed into pajamas, and you realized that in your haze of worry, neither had you.

"We need to talk," you said, firm. Spencer gulped and moved aside to let you in. You stood near the edge of his bed, one hand on your hip. Spencer sat on the bed, gazing up at you with a look that would've been innocent to anyone else.

"This morning," you start with a sigh, "I didn't mean to be that rude." Spencer looks like he wants to say something, but he's holding his tongue. "But, from the looks of it," you continue, "you didn't mind."

Spencer's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Nothing comes out but a hitch of his breath. He's avoiding your eyes, staring past you to look at the blank wall. You can't have that.

You snap in front of his face, soft but stern, like you're trying to get a dog's attention. His eyes snap to you, pupils blown wide. “Look at me when I'm talking to you,” you say, in a gentle version of the tone you had used that morning.

He whimpers.

He fucking whimpers, maintaining eye contact like you'd asked him to.

You bite your lip slightly, rolling it between your teeth before letting it go. Spencer's face flushes that beautiful red as his hands fly to his crotch, trying in vain to cover a growing erection. You let out a laugh.

“Needy already? From me just talking to you? How pathetic, Spence.” Your voice is low and rough as you gently grab his wrists to move his hands. “Don't. I want to see you.”

The show of control has Spencer whimpering again, starting up at you pathetically as he gets impossibly redder. He's so far gone already, and it's filling your head with things you want to do to him, but you have to make sure he's truly okay with it first.

“Spencer,” you say as you let go of his wrists, earning you a whine, “can you come back to me for a second?” He just whines again, a far-off look on his face, so you let his breathing level out before you tilt his head towards you and pat his face until he looks at you again.

“Spencer,” you say again, still holding his face, “I need to know you want this.” He nods, almost frantic, but you tut at him. “Words,” you scold.

“I do, yes, I need it, please, anything-” Spencer babbles, before you lean down to cut him off with a bruising kiss. He whines immediately, letting you add tongue. You bite at his lower lip, making him moan.

Spencer pulls away to beg. “Please,” he says, “please, I need-” He cuts himself off with a whine, frustration evident.

“Aw, my stupid baby,” you coo, straightening up again. “What is it? Can't you talk, or are you that gone already?”

Spencer whimpers, flushing more at your degradation. “I wanna- I wanna taste you. Please.”

It takes you a second to process that. Spencer Reid, notorious germaphobe, wanted to eat you out. You paused so long that Spencer started to look worried. You unsuccessfully tried to form words a few times and then-

“Knees. Now.”

Your voice sounded commanding, even to you, so it was no surprise that Spencer scrambled to kneel. You stripped slowly, carefully, watching him to make sure he was staying still.

When you were naked, you took Spencer's place on the bed, spreading your legs. He slotted between your thighs, leaning his head on one and mouthing at it. You brought your hands up to his hair, petting it.

“Good boy,” you croon, “so patient for me.” Spencer is purely blissed out below you, all kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks. He looks like he'd be content to stay leaning on your thigh forever, just mouthing and biting, but you're impatient.

You grab his hair, gently pulling him to where you want him. He looks up at you, as if asking for permission. “Go ahead,” you grant. He nods and licks a stripe between your folds before circling his tongue around your clit. Your breathing quickens as your hand tightens in his hair and you let out a low moan.

Spencer whines around your clit, circling one of his lithe fingers around your hole before pushing it in, searching for the bundle of muscles that would make you shake. He finds it when you clench around him, and he adds another finger to keep curling into it as he sucks on your clit in earnest.

You're whimpering praises, “good boy”s and “so good”s, as Spencer keeps whining against you and sending shocks of pleasure through your body.

He switches the place of his fingers and tongue, using his thumb to circle your clit while his tongue fucks into you.

Your hand tightens in his hair, a borderline pull, and the feeling of Spencer whining in you sends you over the edge with a curse. He laps at you until you're squirming under him, so you use your hold in his hair to pull him back.

He looks heavenly, your slick and cum coating his mouth and chin as he pants. He smiles up at you dumbly.

“Fuck,” you moan. A pang of guilt hits you as you realize you've been ignoring Spencer's (probably painful by now) erection. You're opening your mouth to offer something when you notice the wet spot on the crotch of his pants. He avoids your gaze when he realizes you've figured it out.

“Spence,” you start, “did you-” He cuts you off with an apology. “I'm sorry, I- You just…” he trails off. You gape at him for a second, shaking your head.

“Don't apologize,” you say sternly. You pat the spot on the bed next to you, sending Spencer scrambling to get up, still blushing furiously.

You grab his hand once he's sat, trying to be gentle. “Do you want to stop?” you question. “No!” Spencer almost yells as soon as the words leave your mouth. “No,” he says again, quieter but just as desperate.

“What do you want?” you question. You like controlling him, you really do, but you also want to spoil him after he made you feel so good.

“Wanna be inside you,” he mumbles, staring at you with those big, doe eyes. You pause for a second- God, he needs to stop saying things that make you pause- before you crash your lips into his, frantically stripping him out of his clothes.

You get him down to his boxers before pulling him into your lap, licking into his mouth for what feels like an eternity. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it's fucking divine. Unfortunately, you do have a need to breathe.

You pull away, touching your forehead to his as you pant. You break the trail of spit between your lips as you move to his neck to bite and suck a hickey too high up to be covered by his collar.

Spencer squirms and whines underneath you as he hardens again. You grind against him in circles, puffing against the mark you'd left. Finally feeling the outline of his dick reminds you of one glaring, unfortunate fact.

“I don't have protection,” you say, moving back from his neck. Spencer bites his lip, fidgeting with the back of your shirt. “I do,” he practically whispers. You nod to give him permission to go grab it, scooting over to give Spencer space to lay down like you want him to.

“Spence,” you say, grabbing his attention from his place at his go-bag. “You want a safeword?” you question when you have his attention. He hums. “Color system work?” you follow up. He hums again, turning around with a condom and a small lube bottle.

You bite your lips at the implication of getting to feel him inside you. “Come lay down,” you invite, patting the space beside you. He comes willingly, settling rigidly as he sets the items on the nightstand.

You move to sit on his thigh, rubbing his chest to soothe him. “I'm gonna ride you. Is that okay, sweet boy?” you ask. He nods, frantic, flushing down to his chest.

You grab his face. “We've been over this, Spencer. Words.” you reprimand. “Yes, please, please.” Spencer slurs, breathing heavily just from you teasing him.

You move your hand to his hair, stroking gently. “Good boy,” you encourage, your other hand toying with his boxers. You look at your hand, then up at him. “Please,” he whines. You lift yourself off his thigh, tapping his legs so he raises them and taking his boxers off.

His cock springs free, red and leaking and coated with his earlier orgasm. He's-

“So pretty,” you whisper, reverent. Spencer's dick twitches at the praise, making you bite your lip. It matches the rest of him, tall and built but also lean. The thought of taking it has you unconsciously grinding against his thigh.

You don't realize you're staring until Spencer whines and puts his hands on your hips to get your attention. “Sorry, baby,” you apologize. You take his hands off your hips and hold them at the headboard with one hand while grabbing the condom of the nightstand with the other. He goes impossibly redder with the restraint, dick twitching again.

You hold the condom up to his mouth. “Can you hold this for me, Spence?” you prompt. He understands immediately, taking it in his teeth as you rip it open. You take the trash out of his mouth and flick it aside before rolling the condom on in a fluid motion that has Spencer bucking into your hand. You hold his hips down once your hand is free, a scolding expression on your face.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbles. Your face softens. “It's okay, sweet boy,” you croon, “just be good for me for a bit more.” He nods frantically, an almost pout on his face.

You let go of his hip and his hands to grab and pop open the bottle of lube. Spencer whines from the lack of contact. “Shh,” you soothe as you squeeze lube on your hands, throwing the bottle somewhere in the mess of clothes on the floor before stroking it up and down his cock. He shakes with the effort to not buck into your hand this time.

“Good boy,” you praise as you lift your hips up and brace your hands on his stomach. He whines in anticipation.

Slowly, carefully, you sink yourself down inch by inch. Spencer's a mess beneath you, whimpering and shaking with the effort to not thrust up into you. It's a view that you would cross oceans to see, and he's giving it to you willingly.

“Good job, baby, so patient,” you pant as you bottom out and begin to rock your hips to get used to the full feeling. You squeeze your thighs around Spencer's hips, keeping one hand on his stomach and moving the other to pin his hands again.

He whines, impossibly loud, to the point the team can probably hear him since you're all in the same hallway, but you're way too focused on the stretch of Spencer's cock to care.

You take a shaking breath before you begin to move in earnest, going almost all the way up before slamming back down with a moan before setting a normal pace.

Tears prick at the corners of Spencer's eyes before rolling down his flushed cheeks as you move faster and faster, chasing the high coiling in the pit of your stomach, and then-

Spencer gives a long, drawn out whine and you feel the condom fill.

You stop moving, snapping your eyes open to glare at him. He's gone, completely, so you snap in front of his face again to get his attention.

“Spencer, did I say you could do that?” you scold. His eyes snap open, tears still streaming as he shakes his head frantically. “I'm sorry, I'll be good, I swear-”

“No,” you snap, cutting him off as you start rocking your hips again, “that was bad. And you know what bad boys get? Punished.” Spencer starts sobbing in earnest under you, hiccuping around the words he's trying to form. “I can't,” he cries, “I can't, too much, please-”

“Shh,” you soothe as you rock back and forth and feel him hardening inside you, “you know your safeword. You can be good for me, can't you?”

Spencer nods and whines and sobs frantically as you start moving again. With his spent dick twitching inside you and the sight of a man with an IQ of 187 hiccuping beneath you, it doesn't take long for you to cum again. The way you clench around Spencer sends him over the edge too, whining still.

You give Spencer a few minutes, let the tears stop and the fog in his eyes clear before you stand up off of him and tie off the condom. When you go to throw it away, he grabs your wrist. “Don't go,” he slurs sleepily, barely a whisper. “I'm just cleaning us up,” you assure him.

You toss the condom and grab a washcloth from the bathroom, cleaning the slick from Spencer's chin and your thighs as well as the dried cum off of his dick. He's too spent to have much of a reaction to anything, so you have to tap him to get his attention before tossing some of his boxers at him.

“You mind if I borrow something?” you ask as Spencer covers himself up. He nods, too tired for words, and you steal boxers and a sweater before crawling back into bed with him.

You're nearly asleep when he nudges you. “What is it?” you mumble. “Love you.” Spencer says, like it's the most sure he's ever been of anything. You open your eyes and stroke his face, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Love you too.” you whisper, and it's the most sure you've ever been too.

Spencer spoons into your chest as you drift off, and despite it being so late, you wake up the most rested you've ever been.

[astroboots]

Stitches and Claws

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You find yourself in a compromising position on your knees when you help stitch up Miguel's wounds.

Content: Blowjob, riding cock, overstimulation, fangs and claws. Miguel kind of likes his horniness with a little bit of pain? Just a smidge.

Word Count: 3.3k

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"Miguel, can you please just relax?"

"I am relaxed," comes the sharp reply, as he glares down at you. Jaw so tense, you're surprised his molar teeth hasn't cracked under the pressure.

Your hand comes to his knee, as you spread them wider, and you can feel the plane of his thighs tense underneath your palm.

Yeah, the man is anything but relaxed.

Miguel is still in his suit. Skin covered in dark blue and red. The only part of him not covered in the fancy spandex (and if he heard you call it that he'd be livid, cause it's Unstable Molecule fabric, not spandex) is that scowling face of his and a small patch on the inside of his left thigh. An area the size of your hand that's bare, revealing his tanned skin underneath and a nasty looking injury.

You poise the needle in your hand against the gaping wound. You don't even get the chance to make skin contact with the tip before he's hissing at you like some damned feral cat.

"I haven't even touched you yet. This is going to hurt a hell of a lot more if you keep fighting me."

You probably sound more than a little bit irritated, because this position isn't exactly comfortable. The hardwood floor is digging into your knees, and with hindsight you should've taken the cushion he'd offered you before.

God, up close, that wound look really bad. Four inches in length, red and angry. You're not a doctor. You don't know why the hell you agreed to do this. For all you know you're going to get the wound infected or worse.

"Miggy, I don't know about this, don't you think it's better go to a hospital. What if it gets infected? You'll end up with gangrene and then we'll have to amputate it and then what?"

"That's not going to happen. It's a tiny cut."

"Fine, but I'm not a medical professional and I'm probably gonna make it scar to shit."

"So it'll scar. It'll be your permanent mark on me."

"I'm worried I'm going to mess this up".

"No", he says, shaking his head. "I trust you."

Your cheeks warm at the words, barely able to look him in the eyes after he's said it.

Fuck, he'd have to go and pull that card didn't he?

With a big sigh and bigger reluctance, you dip your head down as you pierce the needle through the skin, threading it across. There's a muffled pained noise from above. The leather of your armchair squeaks as he grips it tight.

A sympathetic ache tugs in your chest at his pain and your hand still against his thigh. "Do I need to stop?"

"No, keep going," he bites out through gritted teeth.

From the corner of your eyes, you catch a glimpse of the pointed edges of his corner teeth protruding against his bottom lip. It's hard to keep your hands still when your fingertips tingle at the sight of them.

Jesus, you need to get your head out of the gutter. This is hardly the time. You persevere, dipping back down for a better view, so you can sew up the gaping wound as best as you can, ignoring the warmth of his firm thighs that are caging you in at your sides.

You try to pretend you don't hear the strained noises he's making. (Noises that are much too similar to the ones he makes when he's the one between your thighs). Practically bury your head into his thigh so you can no longer see the way his broad chest heaves or how he bites down hard on his lip when you make another stitch.

"Stop, stop!" he demands.

His hand grips down hard on your shoulder, pressing you backwards, but you ignore it, because the needle is already halfway through his skin, and for a man who is constantly battling supervillains on skyscrapers with jetpacks and regularly crashes into skyscrapers, he can be such a baby sometimes.

"Miguel, stop, I need to--"

"Enough!" He growls, his hand pushes more insistently, determined to pry you off him until your ass lands on the hardwood floor behind you.

"Let me do it myself."

Let him? Let him?! As if you had forced him to make you do this? This asshole. Swear to god! He's the one who came home in this state, plonked his dumptruck ass in your chair and asked you to help him. He's the one who sweet-talked you with his: "I trust you," when you had soundly suggested he go to the hospital.

He's always like this. Running hot then cold. Asking you to help, then pushing you away in the next second. It's a miracle you don't have permanent neck injuries with the metaphorical whiplashes he keeps giving you.

You drag your eyes upwards, the way he's hunched on himself in your chair, covering his thigh. His face is turned to the side away from you.

You don't know why he's being so unhelpful about this.

Stitching up your superhero boyfriend with a $10 Amazon sewing kit isn't your idea of a perfect Saturday night. But now that you've started you need to finish up with the stitches, you can't just leave it as it is.

"I'm sorry that I went too rough. If I hurt you, I can go slower, okay?"

He doesn't answer you, just drags one large hand over his face. It's only then that you notice that his ears and bits of his cheeks are flushed a darker shade of red than the tanned tone of his hand.

"That's not the problem I'm having," he mutters.

"Well then, can you tell me what the problem is?"

No answer.

Leaning forward, you place your hand back on his knee. That finally seems to get his attention and he removes his hand.

"You said you trusted me right? So let me know what's wrong so I can take care of you. Please?"

For all his obstinate stubbornness, Miguel is just as susceptible as you are to that card. He groans dramatically, collapsing back into the chair with a defeated expression on his face.

His legs shift in the chair, spreading outwards. The arm draped across his lap falls away, and the tight fit of his supersuit does absolutely nothing to disguise the shape of his cock, hard and heavy under the clinging fabric.

Oh. oh.

Clearly you’re not the only one being affected by the forced proximity of this situation.

"See the problem?" he says.

You look up and his eyes flicker away sheepishly. If you didn't know better, and if it wasn't for the scowl still plastered on his face, you might've mistaken him for being embarrassed. If you didn't know better, you might've made the mistake of calling him cute.

You ache between your thighs at the sight of him. But even though there's nothing more you'd like than leap into his lap and fill that ache with every inch of him, there's other priorities right now.

Crawling forward, you shoulder your way back between his thighs and settle there.

"Let me finish," you insist. "If you let me finish, then I'll help you with your problem."

It's an uneven bargain to say the last. Because the reward you're offering him, is something you want more than your next breath, and you have to bite back the 'ohthankyousweetjesus' on the tip of your tongue, when he gives you a small nod to seal the deal.

Maybe it's your newfound incentive, but this time as you pinch the needle between your fingers to stitch him up, it's a swift and efficient ordeal. You refuse to allow yourself to get distracted, eyes focused on your goal, even as you hear him groan above or shift underneath you. Not until the last stitch is done.

When you finally let yourself tilt your head back up. His eyes are pinned on your face, and you can see now that the familiar brown shade replaced by a red tinge.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, and you try to keep your eyes fixed on his, holding the contact as you lean forward. Anticipation rides heavy on your spine, as your mouth inches forward, until your lip press against the thin fabric of his crotch, and you nuzzle against the rigid shape of him.

The leather of your chair creaks, and there's a rip. From this angle your view is a bit obscured, but you catch sight of his hands, the firm unforgiving grip he has on your poor armchair. The extended sharp talons piercing through the soft leather in his excitement.

All you hear from above, is a breathy, "Fuck", then the thin fabric separating him from your mouth disintegrates, the dark blue fabric making way for his tanned skin underneath.

Then he's right there. Bare and naked for you to touch. His cock jutting upright between his thighs. He's ruddy and flushed, the fat tip of him glistening with precome that wells from the slit that you can practically already taste on the tip of your tongue.

Your mouth salivates as you part your lips to take him.

To call Miguel thick is an understatement. It's a struggle to fit him in your mouth, your jaw strain with the effort as you slide him further down. As deep as you can, until the blunt tip nudges against the back of your throat and you have to swallow around him in a panicked fit to suppress the reflexive gag pushing back in you.

It's always the hardest the first time. Your mind and throat instinctively fighting you, as you try to swallow down the intimidating girth of him.

"Take it slow nena," Miguel rasps from somewhere above. His voice is a slow and melted hum that drips sweet and honeyed in your veins, and that helps.

You take a deep inhale from your nose, taking in the familiar musky scent of him, and feel your throat relax around him, accommodating to his thickness.

Your thighs ache with arousal. Panties wet and slick as you clench down around nothing. Everything is tightly wound inside you. Your stomach heavy with the dizzying heat as the weight of him rests so fucking perfectly on your tongue.

It's all you can take. You shove your fumbling fingers between your thighs, tugging at the edge of your panties until the obscene wetness greets you and drag it up against your clit.

Relief and pleasure surges through your head, filling your veins with the sensation and you rock into the palm of your hand seeking for more of your own touch.

"Are you touching yourself?"

Your fingers still at the question. You're not exactly embarrassed, it's not like you're doing anything wrong, but you feel sheepish all the same at being caught.

You pull off his cock, letting it slide between your lips and when you finally look back up, he's staring down at you with a dark hunger in those otherworldly crimson eyes like he wants to eat you whole.

"Fuck, come up here," he directs, but you ignore him. Tongue lapping at the tip, savouring the heady taste of him as you run the flatness of your tongue down the length of him.

"Nena," he bites off impatiently. "Up!"

He doesn't wait for your reply this time. So fucking impatient this man.

He's already lunging forward, arms circling your torso as he pulls you up and into his lap with an impressive ease. His arm comes to your thighs, rearranging you to his liking in his lap, one large hand gripping his cock as he positions you above.

"Sit on my cock, nena. Ride me."

Your eyes flit to the poorly stitched up wound on his thigh that looks flimsy to say the least.

"Won't that hurt you?"

His head tilts, brow arching with that sardonic expression of his as if he doesn't see what the problem is. "And?"

This is such a bad idea. But you'd be lying to yourself if you said you wanted to stop now. Instead you settle on a compromise to ensure that you can at least limit the potential damage on him.

"You have to stay still for me, or you'll tear the stitches," you warn.

He nods perfunctorily in agreement and you don't think he's even listening to you. No surprise there, Miguel has never been the best at listening to yours (or anyone's) instructions. He'll do what he wants as he sees fit.

But you can't find it in you to stop. Not when you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and the velvety smoothness of it twitch in your grip. Not when you notch the tip of his cock to your slick entrance and can feel yourself dripping down his length.

The only thing you care about is to have him inside you.

You lower yourself onto him, sliding down, inch by maddening inch, as that thickness stretches you to your limits and white hot pleasure invades every one of your cells until you feel drunk on the sensation.

"That's it," he encourages, with a sharp inhale, hand gripping to the sides of your hips. The honed edge of his talons gripping into your flesh, but never breaking the skin.

Your thighs are shaking as you inch down on him until they are pressed flush to his hips, and his cock is kissing that perfect spot deep inside you that has your vision whiten. Thick and sweet.

As promised, he doesn't move. Even though you can tell from the muscle twitching in his jaw, that there's nothing more he wants than to flip you over and thrust into you hard and deep until you're screaming his name with a force that makes your lungs burn out.

You lift your hips, savoring the sweet drag of his cock against your cunt, slow and unhurried until only the blunt tip of him rests inside you and stay there.

"Nena," Miguel says, and the nickname on his tongue sounds like a warning.

He's not a fan of the slow pace you're giving him apparently.

But you've never been one to heed his warnings. Instead you slide down on him, just as slowly, letting his cock fill you at a leisurely pace and it is fucking heaven.

You still as he bottoms up inside you, before you do it all over again. And again. Then again. To each grumpy groan of his that's mixed with pleasure and impatience. Then you do it again.

It's only a matter of time before his short-spanned patience snap. You can practically see it in the furrowed line of his thick brows, as you raise yourself up on his knees. His sharp canines bites down on his bottom lip, breaking the skin and that is all the warning you get before his arms wraps tight around your ribs, knocking the very breath out of your lungs.

Miguel's arms pushes you down flush on his cock, it's strong and demanding. A stubborn grip until he makes sure you've taken all of him to the root. It's blinding you with the force of it, and all you can do as he buries his face, sharp teeth poised at your shoulders, is whine.

Good, it feels so fucking good. The sweet ache of his cock filling every inch of you. You can't think anymore.

You try to raise yourself again on his cock but you wobble, the muscles in your thighs screaming in protest and gives under, unable to lift yourself back up again.

Fuck, you don't know if you can move anymore.

In a split of a second, Miguel straightens up and pulls you into his chest. "So pretty, nena," he groans into your skin, while he ruts up and into you, fucking his cock deeper.

You should probably scold him. Try to stop him somehow, so that he doesn't rip the tenuous stitches on his wound. But you can't bring yourself to open your mouth. Not when it feels this good. Not when aching pleasure is pulling you down under and robbing you of your breath and every word in your vocabulary.

"You feel so fucking good. Stretched so tight around me. Just so fucking pretty when you take my cock."

The sharp edge of his fangs skirts gently across the soft flesh of your throat, and sets every nerve in you alight. Every part of you tingles. From the tip of your fingers to the curl of your toes. That telltale warmth and heat coiling in your stomach and spreads outwards ratcheting up to a fever pitch.

Your orgasm breaks. It rushes over you, hard and punishing. Your body shakes, thighs tensing and your heart is beating hard and fast into a gallop in your chest. You shake and tremble in his lap as it courses through your veins. Lungs squeezed painfully tight as the sweet bliss of it invades your ribs and you struggle to catch your breath.

You still feel it, rushing and pulsing from your stomach down your thighs, it doesn't even have a moment to properly subside.

Miguel doesn't stop. His hands are already on your waist, lifting you up and almost off his still hard cock and you gasp at the shift in pressure inside you. You're clenching down around the fat tip of him reflexively, and there's no time to adjust, no time to think, next thing you know, he lifts his hips while pushing you down on the length of his cock. All in one swift, and harsh, unforgiving motion.

It's so much, too much. You whimper at the next thrust, the whole of your body wracked in shivers as the sensation overfloods your brain. As good as if it feels, you don't know if you can't take much more.

"Keep going, don't stop. I know it's hard nena. I know you're sensitive." he coos, his hands are gentle on your hips, guiding your movements, but for all his sweet cajoling words, and for all that you're struggling he's not easing up.

"Keep going. Keep squeezing my cock like that and I'll fill you up. I'll fill you up with every drop of me."

He keeps encouraging you, as if you have any other choice but to take his demanding thrusts. As if there is anywhere for you to go with how firmly he's holding you to him.

Fuck you can't, you can't-- oh fuck, you're--

Your arms scramble to grab onto something, anything, fingers digging deep into the firm muscles underneath.

It's chaos.

He thrusts up again. Deep and demanding and your brain shortcircuits.

Sharp electricity surges through your spine and it is blinding. All you can do is hold on to him, to claw on and hold for dear life, or you're pretty sure you're gonna fall off the edge of the earth into oblivion if you lose your grip.

Distantly, you hear him hiss in your ear, feel his hips stutter up against yours, cock pulsing inside of you, but you're too far gone to piece it all together.

All you know is that you're coming again or maybe you never stopped and this is that first orgasm still wreaking havoc on your body. Maybe it'll never stop. The sensation feels like a punch to your gut, consuming and all at once. Your eyes must cross behind your head, because your vision goes dark and blank, wiped clean of thoughts. The room seems to tilt, and crash then disappear. There's no weight to your limbs, and your thighs are so numb, you're not even sure they are there anymore. Your body is not your own.

When you come to, you're still perched on his lap. You feel like wrung out and boneless, body spent and broken. His arms wrapped around your torso the only thing that's keeping you upright.

The arms of your leather chair have been scratched up to hell. Long claw marks brandishing each side.

He looks like an absolute mess. Brown curl a deranged mop on the top of his head, sheen of sweat over his tanned skin. But he looks good, messy. Looks fucking beautiful in a way that has your chest squeeze tight when you gaze at him.

Miraculously, the stitches on his thigh has held up somehow and you feel more than a little ounce of pride of your own sewing skills at the feat.

Your hands slide off of him from where they're still gripping on tight onto him and Miguel's eyes follow the motion to his biceps where your nails have broken through skin. The tiny crescent marks looks red and raw and painful.

"Shit, Miggy I'm sorry."

He blinks up at you, eyes a little bit dazed before he breaks out into a smile. He raises his arm and looks at the mark with a pleased and admiring expression one filled with pride.

"I hope it leaves a scar," he says.

Dedication & Credits:

For @thirstworldproblemss who had to listen to me figure this one out, I'm still trying to find my voice for Miguel so sorry if this is a bit clunky for you.

Also dedicated to @guruan whose artwork literally inspires me to write/think/breathe smut 24-7 like a 7-eleven store. It's always open for slut business here. This artpiece with the spread thighs definitely inspired this oneshot.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[skinny2tb]

Mealspo☕️ (Tw €d)

A few th!nspo low cal meals I like to make/eat when I feel like b¡nging:

(not my pics!!!)

My tips to avoid eating:

• cinnamon to make your stomach feel full

• sprinkle a bit of salt over anything you fear to end up b¡nging

• mix RedBull and coffee to stay awake all day

• try sports like working out, Just Dance, going for walks, jumping ropes

• chew gum (but remember chewing gum contains a small amount of cals as well)

• measure and weight your body(-parts)

• watch TV shows like Insatiable, To the bone, Supersize vs Superskinny..., as a th!nspo

• tidy your room

• start journaling your everyday life and track your eating habits (apps like YAZIO and Lifesum are the best)

• try on old small clothes which used to fit you as a motivation

• draw your ideal body shape on top of your own printed-out body picture

• drink lots of water or unsweetened tea

• think of how different people are gonna treat you when you finally reach your gw

• sit infront of your mirror and only look at the parts you want to change

• pinch yourself in the arm everytime you think about eating

• try to sleep your hunger off

• wear tight clothes when you feel like you're about to b¡nge (nobody wants to see a pig in skinny fits)

• write down things you'd be able to buy for your skinny self

• smell something gross or imagine the taste of your least fav meal it will help

Nevertheless I do NOT promote any forms of €d's in my posts!

If you fear you or anybody you know might suffer from an eating disorder don't hesitate to seek professional help.

Love you guys, stay strong💪

[a-d-nox]

how can you glow up: your 10h - your public persona

here's the next hypothesis of how you can glow up using your venus persona. take a close look at your 10h!

paid reading options: astrology menu & cartomancy menu

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10h aries (1°, 13°, 25°), 10h mars, and/or 10h ruler aspecting mars

define career goals

take initiative: initiate new projects, push forward in your career, and take bold steps toward achieving your professional goals.

action-oriented success: you’ll find that you can make progress quickly in your career when you’re proactive. use this momentum to advance in your field, whether through promotions, new opportunities, or recognition.

ambitious and goal-driven: you're determined to climb the career ladder. set clear goals, take calculated risks, and push yourself toward success.

build a reputation

project confidence: present yourself confidently in professional settings. whether it’s presenting ideas, networking, and/or taking charge in meetings, you’ll naturally draw attention.

leadership: mars gives you the courage to step into roles of authority and make decisions that others will follow. you can be a natural leader and motivate others with your energy.

embrace competition: you thrive in competitive environments and are motivated to prove your abilities. use this to your advantage in your career.

balance ambition

action toward legacy: you have the stamina and passion to work toward building something that lasts.

decisive moves: you’re likely to make bold, yet calculated decisions. trust your instincts and act decisively.

10h gemini (3°, 15°, 27°), 10h mercury, and/or 10h ruler aspecting mercury

define career goals

embrace variety: gemini thrives in roles that allow you to wear multiple hats. consider careers in media, education, marketing, writing, public relations, or technology - fields where communication and adaptability are key.

stay flexible: your career path doesn’t have to be linear. give yourself permission to explore different fields, projects, and/or interests. it's never too late learn new things... that being said...

lifelong learning: invest in expanding your knowledge and skill set. take courses, read, and stay curious about emerging trends in your field.

build a reputation

showcase your intelligence: this energy shines when you’re seen as knowledgeable and quick-witted. share insights, teach others, or present new ideas in your industry.

refine communication skills: whether it’s public speaking, writing, or networking, invest in becoming a proficient communicator.

embrace social media: use platforms to share your thoughts, connect with others, or even build a personal brand. a podcast, blog, or youtube channel could work especially well for you.

balance ambition

prioritize focus: curiosity can sometimes lead to scattered energy. use time management tools like task lists or productivity apps to stay organized.

practice mindfulness: with a mind always racing with ideas, grounding techniques like meditation or journaling can help you avoid burnout.

embrace breaks: allow yourself to step away and recharge when needed - you thrive on change, so even brief shifts in environment can boost your energy.

10h cancer (4°, 16°, 28°), 10h moon, and/or 10h ruler aspecting moon

define career goals

follow your emotional compass: think of roles where you can nurture, protect, and/or support others (ex: caregiving, teaching, counseling, creative fields, or advocacy).

create a safe space: aim for a work environment where you feel emotionally secure and valued.

build a reputation

lead with love: show your nurturing side in your professional relationships. be known for your reliability, emotional intelligence, and willingness to support others.

authenticity matters: lean into your vulnerability and emotional depth as strengths.

be approachable: this energy makes you relatable and warm. cultivate trust by being a good listener and showing understanding.

balance ambition

avoid over-nurturing: don’t let yourself become overly focused on caring for others at the expense of your own goals. set boundaries and prioritize your ambitions.

emotional resilience: this energy can be sensitive to public criticism. build inner confidence by focusing on your strengths and maintaining perspective.

work-life balance: your emotional health directly affects your productivity. create routines that allow for rest, family time, and self-care.

10h aquarius (12°, 24°), 10h uranus, and/or 10h ruler aspecting uranus

define career goals

innovate and rebel: you might find fulfillment in careers that are unconventional or ahead of their your. this could mean embracing technology, alternative industries, or positions that challenge the status quo.

pioneering spirit: you may be drawn to pioneering projects or cutting-edge fields where innovation is key. don’t be afraid to pursue new technologies, digital spaces, or progressive causes in your career.

reinvent yourself professionally: embrace reinvention and the possibility of sudden changes in your professional life.

build a reputation

align with your unique self: your public image and career should reflect your true, individual nature. don’t conform to societal expectations if they don’t align with your true desires.

challenge conventional norms: trust this impulse, as it can lead to innovative achievements and greater personal satisfaction.

create a unique professional identity: you may stand out from the crowd, and that’s a strength. cultivate a professional identity that is distinctly yours, and don’t be afraid to express your individuality through your work or public image.

balance ambition

career shifts: your career path may be marked by sudden changes, disruptions, or unexpected opportunities. while this may feel unsettling at times, these shifts often lead to growth and progress. learn to embrace the unexpected.

flexibility is key: rigidity is not your friend. be open to change, and stay flexible with your professional goals. opportunities might appear suddenly, so adaptability is crucial.

breakthrough moments: you may experience moments of sudden insight or a flash of inspiration that leads to breakthroughs in your career. trust your intuition and be ready to act when these moments arise.

10h nn and/or 10h ruler aspecting nn

define career goals

embrace your public role: build a meaningful career or life purpose that contributes to society. this may feel uncomfortable at first, but growth happens outside your comfort zone.

take responsibility: own your actions and decisions. success with this placement comes from being reliable, consistent, and committed to your goals.

have big ambitions: you’re meant to focus on long-term goals and create a legacy. dream big and work toward achievements that will stand the test of time.

build a reputation

get comfortable being seen: step out of the shadows - start sharing your voice and talents with the world.

develop a professional image: polish your public presence by curating your personal brand, whether that’s through social media, professional profiles, and/or networking.

own your achievements: never downplaying your successes - learn to celebrate them and share them confidently.

balance ambition

master time management: 10h requires discipline and structure to achieve your goals. use tools like planners, calendars, or apps to stay on track.

consistency is key: show up for your goals every day - over time, your efforts will compound into success.

learn from mentors: seek guidance from people who’ve already achieved what you’re aiming for. their insights can help you stay focused.

10h part of fortune and/or 10h ruler aspecting part of fortune

define career goals

find a career that brings joy: your greatest happiness comes from pursuing meaningful career goals or becoming recognized for your work.

define your mission: reflect on what kind of career feels truly aligned with your values and passions. you’re happiest when your work is purposeful and impactful.

be ambitious: the 10h rewards you for aiming high and committing to goals that will leave a lasting impression.

build a reputation

public recognition: your sense of fulfillment comes from being respected and acknowledged for your contributions. cultivate a professional image that reflects your authenticity, dedication, and skill.

leave a legacy: think long-term - how do you want to be remembered? focus on building something meaningful that reflects your talents and effort.

balance ambition

step into leadership: this placement often points to natural leadership abilities. don’t shy away from roles where you take charge, make decisions, or guide others.

be a role model: others may naturally look up to you for inspiration. lead with integrity, and you’ll find success comes easily.

learn from mentors: surround yourself with accomplished individuals who can guide you toward your goals and help you refine your ambitions.

10h ruler in the 5h

define career goals

infuse creativity into your career: with this placement, you thrive in fields that allow for artistic or creative expression, such as art, music, writing, fashion, theater, and/or design. even in non-creative industries, you’ll want to find ways to bring originality and fun into your work.

pursue your passion: you’ll feel most fulfilled in a career that aligns with your personal interests or hobbies. think about what lights you up and explore ways to turn that into a profession.

entertainment and performance: you may have natural talents in areas like acting, performing, and/or public speaking. if these fields interest you, don’t hesitate to put yourself out there.

build a reputation

leadership through fun: you’re well-suited to leadership roles where you can inspire others with your enthusiasm.

encourage creativity in others: you may excel as a mentor, teacher, or leader in fields like education, creative coaching, and/or team-building where you can bring out the best in others.

stand out publicly: your career may involve being in the spotlight or receiving recognition for your individuality and creativity.

balance ambition

work that doesn’t feel like work: you’re driven to create a professional life that feels enjoyable and fulfilling. you’re not someone who thrives in overly rigid or monotonous work environments.

create a balance between fun and productivity: while it’s important to find joy in your career, be mindful not to lose focus on long-term goals. blend fun with discipline for sustained success.

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© a-d-nox 2025 all rights reserved

[pink-amethyst-tarot]

🤍 Why You Should Be Proud Of Yourself 🤍

credit to @crystallilytarot for the idea 💕

P I L E 1 P I L E 2 P I L E 3

Close your eyes, take a deep breath and choose the pile that you think is the one for you ♥

P I L E 1 - You have come so far! Four of Swords, The High Priestess, Two of Pentacles, Eight of Pentacles, Ten of Pentacles, The Fool, The Magician

The first thing I heard before even pulling cards is The Party's Just Begun by the Cheetah Girls and that feels like a sign that you should be having fun, dancing and living your life to the fullest! Your life can be so beautiful if you let it.

You know much more than you think that you do. I feel like you are back and forth between losing faith in yourself and feeling like you are finally breaking through. (I know what that's like, I've been there too much.) You've got to cut yourself some slack. Yeah, it's not perfect now but, you have made so much progress and that is important. You are so much closer to the finish line than you realize. Don't give up now. You've worked too hard and have come too far to give up now.

party cuz you know the future's all yours // dance 'til your feet don't touch the floor // celebrate the day you've waited for // party like you're ready for so much more // do it like you know it's never been done // go a little crazy // have too much fun //today's the day, c'mon everyone // the party's just begun //

Channeled song - The Party's Just Begun by The Cheetah Girls

P I L E 2 - Going With The Flow Two of Pentacles, Nine of Pentacles, Two of Wands (Reversed), Six of Pentacles, Justice, Queen of Pentacles, Eight of Swords

Despite your fear of change, you have overcome, finding your balance in your life and either now or soon, you will be enjoying the fruits of your labor. That could be financial abundance for this pile - it seems pretty likely, considering all the pentacles. You have been a very giving person and now it's time that people start giving to you in whatever way that may fit you.

You should also be proud of yourself for getting yourself to a point where you don't feel sorry for yourself. You've done the work to really see the truth of the situation - where you have been both right and wrong - and you've seen that you aren't as stuck as you once thought.

P I L E 3 - You've opened your heart again! King of Cups, Ten of Swords, Seven of Swords, Seven of Pentacles, Ace of Swords, Eight of Pentacles (Reversed), The Moon, Ten of Cups

You've been through some hard times. I feel like your heart was really bruised and batter but, despite the things you have been through, you have taken your lemons and turned them into make lemonade! I can see some of you turning to writing, journaling, or posting on social media. You have been working on yourselves and you are so happy with the progress you've made. You should be proud of yourself; I know I am! This work you have done on yourself is leading you to a new beginning in your life, a change of pace that you have be dying to have!

Your dreams are coming true and your intuition is spot on! You are about to get everything you wanted and then some so you can relax and know that your life is about to change for the better.

If you are looking for a personal reading, you can look on my shop on Etsy at PinkAmethystTarot, DM me or send me an e-mail at pinkamethysttarot@gmail.com

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Thank you all so much for interacting with me and my readings, it really does mean the world to me!

Page Divider by @cafekitsune

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. THESE READINGS ARE FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. no guarantees are implied. These readings are not a substitute or replacement for any professional help or services. My readings are not a substitute for any form of professional legal, medical/psychiatric, relationship, religious/spiritual or financial/ business advice nor consultations. You should always see a professional legal/trained adviser for help in any matter. I am not responsible for any decisions/ actions you take.

[saveyourblood]

Roll the Dice (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: Buck makes a humming noise, rubbing his lips in thought. “I could do it.” You and Eddie share a look. Eddie is the first to test the waters. “Do what?” “Give someone a lap dance.” The one where you're best friends with Buck and Eddie, the three of you are drunk, and the topic of lap dances comes up.

Word Count: 2.4k Prompt (from @happyhauntt): buddie and reader are hanging out and drinking maybe and maybe they're watching magic mike as a joke or they had a call to a strip club earlier that day and buck asks reader who they think would give a better lapdance, buck or eddie, reader bluescreens and they both give a demonstration. A/N: This was such a fun write! Thanks for letting me steal your idea, Ollie! You can find their work on AO3 too. :^) Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays everyone! Warnings: Spice (not smut), drinking, mentions of vomiting

It started with beer. 

Well, it started with the boys drinking beer. 

You’ve never been a big fan of beer. You’ll occasionally indulge in something on tap at a fancy bar, but other than that, it isn’t your drink. And that cheap shit that Buck buys at the corner store? Absolutely not. 

So, it started with the boys drinking beer and you drinking a canned cocktail. 

See, Buck may have bad taste, but he has a good heart. He always has a 6-pack of cheap beer in his fridge, but since you started coming over, you notice he always has a 12-pack of ready-to-drink canned cocktails. You know he doesn’t drink them; he buys them for you. 

You really don’t drink that much, in terms of both frequency and amount. It takes a singular drink for you to feel a nice buzz, and really, that’s all you need. You’ve never had the desire to get blackout drunk, and more than three drinks gives you a raging headache in the morning. 

You were only going to have one, maybe two drinks, just like you usually do. 

But then Eddie found the fucking tequila. 

“Where’d you even get that?” you giggle. You'd be embarrassed by the sound if you were even a little bit sober. Thankfully, you’re halfway through your second can, and any sense of embarrassment is filled by the warm pool of alcohol in your stomach. 

“Maddie made margaritas the night I moved in,” Buck says, raising his beer bottle to his lips. 

The boys are both on their third beers, but between the lower alcohol content and their stronger tolerances, they aren’t as drunk as you are. Hopefully, the tequila will even the score. 

“Where did she buy it?” Eddie laughs as he inspects the bottle. 

It’s cheap: you can tell that much by looking at it. It’s a 1.75 liter plastic bottle — not exactly top shelf. You expected nothing less from Maddie, since she doesn’t strike you as a girl who sips high-end tequila. No, she’s more like the girl who makes way too strong margaritas and bullies her brother into taking shots in the kitchen. 

Buck shrugs. “Grocery store, probably.”

Eddie starts looking through the cabinets. “You got a blender?”

Buck snorts. “I have shot glasses.”

“I’m not doing shots,” you laugh. “Tequila shots and I have… a bad relationship.” 

Eddie gives you a look. “What type of relationship?” 

“Whatever type ends in me throwing up in someone’s sink.”

Buck tips his head back and cackles. “You did that?! You?!”

“I just graduated from the Academy and went out with some classmates to celebrate,” you explain, cheeks flushing as you smile. “It started with bar hopping and ended with tequila shots at someone’s house.”

“Sounds like it actually ended with you throwing up in someone’s sink,” Eddie points out. 

“And you’re trying to make it happen again!” You accuse as Eddie continues scouring the kitchen. “Shame on you, Diaz!”

“Hey, it would be nice to see the most professional member of the 118 get a little crazy,” Buck says. 

You snort again. “I’m the most professional member of the 118?”

“Professional isn’t the right word,” Eddie says, finally finding a cocktail shaker. 

“Formal?” Buck proposes, looking to the other man. 

Eddie hums in consideration as he fills the shaker with ice, leaving the tequila on the island. “Classy?”

Buck shakes his head. “No, that’s not it either.”

Eddie sets the shaker, now filled with ice, on the island. He then opens the fridge door and comes back with lime juice. “Proper?”

“Proper,” Buck agrees, leaning his hip on the island. His body is turned towards Eddie, watching him as he pours the ingredients into the shaker. 

“Proper,” you echo, your lips wrapping around the word as you say it. “How exactly am I proper?” 

“I don’t know,” Buck says after taking another sip. “Just… the way you carry yourself, I guess.”

“How specific.”

Buck flicks a beer cap, previously sitting on the island, at you. You try to catch it, but it slides off the table before you can catch it. You flip him off. 

“Not so proper anymore,” Eddie remarks. 

The tequila takes you by the hand and leads the three of you into Buck’s living room. You’re on your second margarita on the rocks, courtesy of Edmundo Diaz. The boys decide to take two shots each, back to back, and simply watching them kind of made you sick. 

“You are so full of shit!” you yell. 

You don’t know much at this moment, other than the fact that you’re completely and entirely drunk. Not wasted, not blackout. You’re in that sweet spot where you’re sober enough to know that you’re being obnoxious but too intoxicated to care. As someone who normally presents as ‘proper’ (apparently),  it’s a combination akin to fire and kerosene — absolutely ruthless. 

“I am not!” Buck laughs.

Buck claims he’s never had a lap dance, and you don’t believe him for a second. 

You’re not entirely sure how you got on this topic. It definitely didn’t start like this, that you’re almost entirely most likely probably sure of. It had something to do with the ‘old partners’ discussion. Or maybe the ‘craziest night out’ swapping of stories. It’s hard to tell — you’ve cycled through several topics tonight, and you’ll be lucky to remember half of them. 

“Eddie, do you believe him?”

Eddie chuckles as he raises his hands. “I’m staying out of this one.”

Like you or Buck would let that happen.

“What about you, hotshot?” Buck asks, cocking an eyebrow. “You ever had a lap dance?” 

Eddie’s eyes narrow slightly, almost like he’s sizing up Buck. It makes the alcohol in your belly burn a little warmer. 

“Once,” Eddie eventually answers. 

You turn your head to the side like a curious dog. “Oh?”

“Do tell,” Buck says, leaning forward. 

“It was at my shitty excuse of a bachelor party,” Eddie explains, taking a sip of his fourth beer. “One of my friends in Texas insisted. We went out to a strip club, he paid for it, and… that’s it.” 

“He paid for it,” you echo. “What a gentleman.” 

Sitting in the armchair, Eddie gently kicks your leg on the coffee table. You giggle, pulling both your legs back onto the couch. Buck, at the other end of the couch, puts his feet in your lap. 

“You’re being awfully quiet,” he observes. “Have you?”

You snort. “Have I ever had a lap dance?”

“Or given one.”

You press into the nailbed on one of Buck’s toes using your thumb. He yelps and pulls his legs back. 

“Half an hour ago, you were calling me ‘proper.’ Now, you’re asking if I’ve given someone a lap dance,” you recall. You turn to Eddie. “Can you believe him?”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie says as he shakes his head. “...Have you, though?”

Buck cackles as you kick Eddie’s leg. 

“I’ve never given anyone a lap dance,” you answer loudly. “I almost got one, though.” 

Both the boys raise their eyebrows.

“Do you remember that call we went on a few months back? To a male strip club?”

“Yeahhh,” Buck says. At some point, he replaced his beer bottle with the tequila bottle, which he’s now cradling like a baby. “What was that place called? Thirsty?”

“Just Thirst, I think,” Eddie remarks. “The one where a dancer rolled his ankle, right?”

You nod. “One of his buddies offered me a dance for being such a great first responder.”

Buck smiles and takes a swig of the tequila, wincing as it goes down. You nudge his knee, then pull your fingers towards yourself, gesturing for the bottle. Buck’s smile looks a little more cocky, but he hands the bottle over anyways. 

“You didn’t accept, huh?”

You sip a  little more of the tequila than you should. You can’t help it — it goes down so easily, leaving nothing but fuzzy warmth in its wake. You’ll regret it tomorrow, but for now, you’re basking in it. “Not really my thing.”

“Not even for the story?” Eddie asks. 

“You don’t get to be the ‘proper’ one by doing something ‘for the story,’” you counter. 

Eddie makes a face of contemplation as he reaches for the bottle. “Fair.” 

“You are really hung up on that word,” Buck notes. 

“It was… surprising, that’s all,” you chuckle. 

Buck makes a humming noise, rubbing his lips in thought. “I could do it.”

You and Eddie share a look. Eddie is the first to test the waters. “Do what?” 

“Give someone a lap dance.” 

You can feel your face get hot. You swallow the lump that suddenly took residence in your throat. 

Meanwhile, Eddie laughs. “You’ve never gotten a lap dance, but you think you can give one?” 

Buck shrugs, leaning one elbow on his knee. “Why not? I’ve seen Magic Mike.” 

“You’ve seen Magic Mike but never gotten a lap dance,” Eddie continues after taking a swig of liquor. “That makes sense.” 

You reach for the bottle, which Eddie grants you. You take a long drink, gulping a few times. Pulling the bottle back, you use your thumb to wipe your bottom lip. “Do your worst, Buckley.”

He turns his head to stare at you. He huffs out a laugh, looking at you the whole time. “What?” 

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” you continue, leaning back in the couch. You prop one arm on the back and the other on the armrest, the tequila bottle hitting the end table in the process. “You’ve never given a lap dance, I’ve never gotten one. We’ll pop each other’s cherries.” 

You’d never say any of this sober. Shit, you’d never say any of this two drinks in. You’re in so much deeper than that now; between the margs and the sips, you’ve had at least 6 shots. You can practically feel the alcohol in your blood. It’s hot, thick, and wanting. 

You're 100% throwing up in Buck's sink tomorrow.

You blink, and Buck is on top of you. His hands press into the back of the couch, holding his weight so he can be face-to-face with you. If the booze in your veins is hot, then his breath on your lips is fucking scalding. 

He lifts his hips and brings them back down in a rippling motion: he’s grinding on you. You giggle, high-pitched and shameless. You move your hands to cover your mouth. You can’t wrap your head around the idea that this is actually happening. 

Buck sits up straighter in your lap. He’s careful to keep his weight on his knees, which are on either side of your legs. He puffs his chest before rolling his shoulders forward and his ass backwards on your thighs in a fluid motion. You can feel the friction of his pants on your bare legs. You thank your past self for choosing to wear shorts. 

He gently takes your wrists, moving your hands from your mouth to his chest. He’s fully clothed, so you’re dragging your hands down his sweater. Still, you can feel the rippling of his muscles under his shirt. You throw your head back in laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of it, but you know the burning in your stomach is no longer entirely thanks to the liquor. 

“Not bad,” Eddie critiques from his seat. 

You laugh harder. 

“What, you can do better?” Buck challenges. 

Eddie narrows his eyes again before smirking. He pushes himself out of the chair, shooing Buck away with his hand. 

Buck raises his hands in surrender, turning on one knee before flopping on the couch beside you. 

“This isn’t happening,” you laugh, shaking your head like you’re trying to wake yourself up from a dream. 

You’ve had a crush on both of them since the first time you saw them. How could you not? They are completely and utterly gorgeous men. When you realized how funny and caring they both are, it just sealed the deal. You never, in your wildest imagination, pictured yourself in a situation like this with either of them, let alone both of them. 

Not that you’re complaining, of course.

Eddie takes Buck’s place, only he’s towering over you since he’s standing instead of sitting. He puts his hands on your sides, trailing down to your thighs. You shudder under his touch, hoping it isn’t noticeable. The way the corner of his mouth turns up tells you that it’s definitely noticeable. 

Eddie’s hands reach your knees, which he loops his fingers under. In a swift motion, he pulls your legs up and presses his body against yours. You yelp in surprise and wrap your legs around his back, somehow pulling him closer. 

His hands move to your back, and he picks you up. You yelp again, astonished by the ease he can lift you. You shouldn’t be so shocked, considering his career. When his grasp moves from your back to your ass, though, he’s no longer Firefighter Diaz; he’s Eddie, the man you have a crush on. And the man who’s currently holding your ass. 

Eddie turns on his heel and carefully lays you on Buck’s coffee table, which makes you cackle again. Your laughter dies in your throat when Eddie places himself over you again. Your chests are touching, as are your noses. 

You look into Eddie’s eyes, and it’s as if you can suddenly read his mind. “Dancers aren’t supposed to kiss the clientele.”

Eddie smiles again. It’s the kind where only one corner of his mouth curls up, and his lips shift to the side. “Good thing I’m not a dancer.”

His lips meet yours, and it’s nothing but heat. He tastes like a mix of cheap beer and tequila, and if you weren’t already, you could get drunk off of it. Your tongues meet and separate like lovers on a dance floor. When you’re out of breath, you wonder if you could suck the air out of his lungs, just to keep you connected to him for a little longer. 

Eddie pulls away first, his chest heaving desperately for air. 

“You lose,” Buck remarks. 

“How did I lose?”

“It was a competition?” you interject. 

“It’s called a lap dance,” Buck points out. “That wasn’t in her lap.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes fondly. They eventually settle on your mouth. “Eh, I think I won.” 

[whatislovevavy]

Sliding Stops & Beating Hearts

Reiner! Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader (Honeybee)

Summary: Tyler Owens has worked almost his entire life for this moment. And he's so glad he gets to share it with you.

Warnings: Tyler being down bad for his wife, afab!reader, fluff, swearing, smut (18+), oral (m+f), facesitting, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

WC: 4.6k (I'm so sorry, but not sorry enough to make it shorter)

AN: Hey girlies :) Apologies for taking so long to post this, I've been very busy and it feels like I have to wait for what feels like some kind of astronomical event for me to be able to write. Tyler Owens is essentially Jake Seresin so yeah I'm writing for him now lol. Reining has always been one of my favorite equestrian sports to watch. Granted, I've never done it nor competed so apologies to any reiners out there if there's inaccuracies with how competitions go lol. Anyways, hope you enjoy :)

None of the pictures featured are mine and were taken off of Pinterest. All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook 

This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation. 

The competition had been fierce and each ounce of caffeine in your veins from your strenuous, early morning drive from Arkansas to Oklahoma had done nothing to quell your nerves. 

You could feel the sweat emulate from your palms as you watched each rider and horse pair complete their routine with near flawlessness, confidence, professionalism, and near perfect scores on maneuvers. 

Tyler would need to give it his all to bring home the NRHA world championship title for this season. 

You watched with bated breath as the pair before Tyler’s exited through the in-gate, applause and cheers ricocheting off the concrete and aluminum walls of the stadium. The announcer’s voice crackling and echoing through the speakers as the pairs score was displayed on the JumboTron that hung ominously above the center of the arena, threatening to crush Tyler's lifelong dream if a perfect score wasn't achieved. You fiddled with the competition program in your hand, waiting for the announcer to give the go ahead for Tyler Owens and Coppertone Boy, or as he was affectionately called at home, Copper, to enter the arena. 

“Come on, honeybee, I think you're more nervous than I am.” The fingers of your hand stop gingerly massaging into the muscle between Copper’s alert ears, eyes meeting Tyler’s unnervingly calm ones. You sighed, bringing your hand down to softly stroke the stallion’s velvet muzzle, looking back out at the arena that would be vacant for only a few moments more. “It's just the anticipation is all.”

He swallowed, dipping his heels down further against his stirrups, his weight settling on the back of the palomino American Quarter Horse. His thumb running along the smooth leather reins in his moderately calloused hands, his posture straightening. Tipping his hat on his head, eyes drifting from your almost perfect facade of calm collection to the no longer virginal arena footing. 

He gingerly scratched at Copper’s strong, gilded withers and neck concealed by the silken, alabaster strands of his freshly detangled mane, easing any anxiety the 10 year old stallion may have had. 

“Copper will take care of me out there, and I'm coming back, Sweets” his lip quirked into a gentle smirk, letting your anxiety ease a bit. 

Copper gently nudged you with his head, trying to get one last scratch in before entering. Or maybe to try to reassure you. “I know, I-,” you took a breath, licking your lips,” just really want this for you, and we're so close. I can taste it.” 

His eyes glazed a bit, a special kind of warmth spreading in his chest. You had helped him hitch the trailer to pick up Copper from the auction a few townships over back in his early twenties. You were the one who was with him every step of the way, through every high and frustrating low of training him and getting him ready for every competition. You were the one to stay up all night with him when Copper coliced during a muggy spring night a few years back. You were the one who encouraged him to try reining after his bull riding rodeo career came to a halt. You were the one to hide out with him on his family's ranch in Arkansas during the summer thunderstorms in the hayloft as kids and lovesick teenagers. And you were the first person he got to kiss out in the back field after the haying season was done, laying under the cover of Cassiopeia and The Big Dipper with homemade strawberry moonshine. It made the wedding band on a chain around his neck all the more meaningful. The microphone crackled as the announcer cleared his throat, announcing for Tyler to enter the arena. 

“Come on, baby, I need my good luck kiss before I go out there.” His urgent, but sweet, tone made you chuckle.  Stepping on your tippy toes, you met his lips that only seemed to get softer the more you kissed him. As your lips left his, you gave the stallion that gleamed like a new penny under the stadium lights a last, quick rub at his withers and a whispered “take care of him for me.” The stallion nudged his pink and gray muzzle into your side, letting out a puff of breath, seeming to listen and affirm your wish. 

You turned back to the man you had loved since you were a sophmore in highschool. “You'll get something a lot more when you come back.” You said softly with a flirtatious tone, trying to lighten the nerves that seemed to electrify your fingertips. Your eyes told an unspoken “whether you win, or lose.” His eyebrows rise before a smirk settles on his lips. “Looking forward to it darlin,” he winks before turning his attention to the packed arena. He gives the stallion a gentle squeeze of his sides with his calves to get him into a working walk, head low, and relaxed as his metal shoe-clad hooves rhythmically ricocheted off the pavement leading up to the arena as applause and whistles from the crowd marked his entrance like a gladiator entering the Colosseum. You watched him leave your side with bated breath. 

You always envied how he was able to feed off of the crowd instead of cowering under it, even when he was getting tossed around as a professional bull rider in the local rodeo circuit. It was a trait that Tyler and Copper had in common that made them a perfect pair.

You watched each calculated movement he whispered to Copper through his hands, legs, and seat. Each movement done in perfect harmony, from flying lead changes to each heart racing spin and rollback. You practically knew the routine like the back of your hand, softly mouthing the required movements right as Tyler and Copper conducted them with  complete poise and confidence. You couldn’t help but let your eyes flit back and forth from the golden stallion enrapturing the attention of the crowd and the judges scribbling down notes that had the potential to cut like a blade. Tyler had a calm, at-ease aura around him; his hands still with just the right amount of contact on the reins, loose hips and strong legs that wrapped around the barrel of the strong, powerful, and graceful horse below him. Copper’s ears kept at ease, each one flitting back to listen to each whispered task Tyler gave him. His mane and tail swayed beautifully with the rest of his muscular, golden dappled frame; steel horseshoes gleaming under the large overhead lights. You felt your anxiety rise as Tyler only had one maneuver left to accomplish- a sliding stop from a full gallop, the most exhilarating maneuver in reining.

Your breath felt like lead in your lungs as you watched each stride Copper took to complete his routine. With an impressive stall of his hind quarters, Copper planted himself against the arena footing to come to a full stop, his hind legs slightly folding under him as Tyler kept his body steady. The arena went quiet for only a second as Copper found his footing, remaining in a halt. As soon as the judges gave Tyler the go ahead to leave the arena, you jumped up in glee, applauding and whistling, just like the entirety of the arena   as Tyler gave Copper a loose rein, giving his strong neck deligent pats of encouragement and rubbing his withers as he made his way out of the arena at a working walk pace. After all, he had earned it. 

But would it be enough to win?

You couldn’t contain the smile on your face as Tyler met your gaze with a heart stopping grin, his handsome dimples on display, timothy grass green eyes shining for you as his chest rose and fell from his exertion, and the sweat evident under his Stetson at his hairline. 

As soon as he cleared the in-gate, he was out of the saddle and embracing you, lips on yours as you giggled against him as he picked you up and spun you around, your fingers splayed over his stubbly cheeks. Copper stood patiently as his reins hit the cement floor. Your fingers resting at the back of his neck, feeling his sweat, natural scent, and the smell of leather and horses caress your senses. 

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” you said, voice thick with tears bubbling beneath your eyes as your hands encased his gently stubbled cheeks, his grin matching your own, voice thick, “Honey, whatever happens, I’m-,” his eyes becoming glassy, “I’m just so glad I’ve been able to do this with you. I love you so goddamn much.” He brought your lips back to his in a sweet, love filled kiss that made your stomach flutter.  The crackle of the microphone breaks you both away from your kiss, his embrace still on your hips. Tyler cranes his neck to look up at the JumboTron. 

Your eyes widening, putting your hands over your mouth and looking up at Tyler’s shock-parted lips as the arena broke into cheers. Tyler swings you around by your hips before bringing you to his lips again. 

A perfect score. 

—

As soon as Tyler rode out on Copper with you by his side during the award ceremony, and your picture was taken with his NRHA Championship trophy and Copper got his red, blue, and yellow tri-colored ribbon, you both were ready to load up Copper and drive all the way back to Arkansas. 

Photographers, interviewers, and cameras followed your little group out of the arena. Tyler and Copper both walked with pride in a way that showed a healthy balance of confidence and natural charisma. Copper not once flinched as cameras flashed as Tyler had him periodically stop for interviewers to ask questions, reins loose in his hand. Copper seemed to almost pose for the camera with his ears forward and moving with momentum whenever the cameras flashed; aware that he had done a good job and was being appreciated. You, on the other hand, preferred to be on the other side of Copper’s strong withers, away from the cameras, gently running your hand along his glistening coat; it took you and Tyler countless hours for it to gleam like gold. 

“Who would you say is someone who has always supported you on the road to winning this NRHA world championship title?”

You felt like you were hiding behind the near two ton animal, peeking over his strong neck to watch Tyler with his tipped up Stetson and near alabaster dress shirt. He turned from the interviewer to you with an easy grin on his face, gently reaching behind him to take your hand from underneath Copper’s neck, bringing you around his large head and into Tyler’s chest, placing a kiss to your forehead. You couldn’t help the blush that spread across your cheeks like wildfire as you gave the interviewer a shy toothy smile. 

“I’ve had the undeserved pleasure to have by my side, during this entire journey, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known; my wife.” You felt your throat tighten and tears start to bubble up in your eyes at his gesture, all while trying to subtly hide away into his shoulder as the interviewer seemed to soak up the sweet moment between the new NRHA world champion and his wife. 

“You’ll have to forgive her, my honeybee’s a bit shy.” he chuckled, the interviewer following suit before asking her final questions with you by his side. 

As the last of the interviewers left to talk to the other competitors, you and Tyler led Copper back to the trailer to get him bedded in the trailer for the long way home.

You tried to keep your thoughts pure as you walked through the trucks and trailers with Copper in tow, passing competitors that turned into friends; like Bradley Bradshaw and his oil black quarter horse gelding, Turn and Burn, and Natasha Trace and her sorrel chestnut mare, Rising Phoenix. Both of which had gotten in the top 5 tonight out of 38. 

But Tyler looked too good right now. Too good. And his display of affection in front of the interviewer made your insides warm and jumble inside you. 

His hair peeking out from under his stetson, the color subdued from sweat; his taut jeans around his slim waist; his obnoxiously large belt buckle that glimmered in the overhead lot lights; his flushed, sweat soaked skin; bright, fern green eyes, and the defined line of his jaw to his handsome dimples. 

It didn’t help that you got distracted watching him tend to Copper as you put the tack in the trailer, biting your lip as you watched the thin material of his shirt cling to his back muscles. 

“Honeybee, you alright over there?” You almost needed to shake your head out of your trance, before trying to quickly put the tack away in the closet of the trailer, trying to focus on the task at hand and not on your lewd thoughts. 

As soon as you turned around from putting the tack away, Tyler was at the entryway. Both hands on the edge of the storage space prevented any chance of escape, sluttily leaning his weight on the frame like the scantily-clad men in those romance books Tyler always teased you for reading. He didn’t have anything to complain about though; he reaped the reward of it everytime. 

Your eyes met his mischief filled ones. “You got something on your mind, Honey?” 

You diverted your gaze from his eyes to his Stetson. He noticed, promptly removing it and placing it over his denim-clad pelvis with a teasing smile as he saw your eyes follow his movement. He always loved the dust of pink on your cheeks when he flirted with you. He took a step into the trailer, feeling his intoxicating scent invade your senses. 

You took a step forward, letting your eyes obscenely run over from his sweat-slicked back hair, to the slight crook in his nose, to his plush lips. Leaning into his ear, “I’ll tell you once Copper is in the trailer. Fed and watered.” Tyler almost shivered at the barely decent tone you used. You both were in a public space for Christ’s sake. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You bit your lip, a chuckle vibrating in your chest at his pace towards the patient stallion grazing from his well deserved hay bag as soon the words left your lips.

—

After ensuring all of your belongings were packed away, you went to check on Tyler and Copper. As you turned the corner, Tyler was just finishing up putting the latches on the trailer. “How’s our big guy doing?” You asked, leaning against the side of the trailer. 

He turned to you, “fed, watered, and out like a light. Copper’s going to sleep well on the ride home. Gave him a few extra flakes of hay to keep him occupied.”

“Now,” he took a step closer to you, a smirk painted across his lips, “I wanna hear what was on your mind earlier, pretty girl,” he purred. 

You took a step closer to him with a flirtatious smile blooming on your face, reaching out for his belt loops on his jeans. 

— 

“Honeybee,” he whimpered, heading hitting back against his truck as you sunk to the dusty ground beneath your knees, scrambling to unbuckle his obnoxiously large belt buckle, and unzipping his denim jeans with a harsh tug. He hissed, “careful, sweets, don't want to damage the goods,” you chuckled before bringing his jeans down to his knees. His breath freezing in his throat as you ran your palms against his defined Adonis belt and abs, scratching at the hair of his happy trail as your smooth palm found its home - wrapped around his thick, pulsing cock in his briefs. Tyler's eyes clenched shut, a hiss leaking from his kiss-swollen lips as you began to pump him in a corkscrew motion. God, he looked so good like this. Letting you take care of him and make him crumble beneath the palms of your hands. 

“Jesus, sweetheart.” His hips stuttered as you gave his oh so sensitive, engorged tip delicate kitten licks before taking him into your mouth, sucking softly. Eyes drifting shut as you savored the subtle musk of your husband and the salty taste of the precum leaking out of his cock. You hummed around his dick as his fingers weaved into your hair, keeping his cock encased in your hot mouth. 

Jesus, the glorious sight in your mind- Tyler’s head and Stetson tipped back, lips agape, cheeks flushed pink with sweat and arousal, dress shirt unbuttoned, strong abdominal and pectoral muscles exposed from years of ranch work, hips jutting out as his jeans and briefs tethered his ankles as you worked his fat cock. 

A sound akin to a mewl left his lips as you bobbed your head along his length, working his cock with your saliva soaked hand. 

“Oh fu- baby, that feels so fucking good.” His graveled voice made you clench your thighs, his eyes opening to see you pumping his cock as you playfully sucked on his balls. Saliva dribbling down your lips to the dirt below, leaving your mark on the event grounds. Your sinful acts hidden in the shadows of your truck and trailer. 

This was definitely the best way to celebrate a world championship win, he thought through a hazy conscience as he failed to find a steady tempo of breath. 

You could feel the tightness of his balls and the steady throbbing of the vein running underneath his thick cock. His fingers tightening in your hair. 

“God-Fuck-” His trail of words were cut off with a deep groan he tried to muffle the best he could.

 His hand kept your mouth around his cock as he shot his load down your welcoming throat, letting you swallow every hot drop he had to give. His body slumping against the truck, catching his breath as you rose up off the dirt, tenderly tucking him back into his jeans, bringing your lips to his. 

After a few moments, Tyler deepened the kiss,  reaching for the backseat door. He broke away from your lips, littering your neck and collarbones with messy, open-mouthed kisses. Your lips would get swollen soon from how hard you were biting them to conceal your mewls. His hands palmed and toyed with your cotton-clad breasts, feeling his calloused fingers slide under your t-shirt to fondle at your steadily peaking nipples. “Baby, we might need to do this half-clothed,” you murmured against his lips. He let his lips leave yours, realizing where you guys were: on the outskirts of the arena grounds. 

“Well, Honeybee, we’ll just have to do it with your pants down then, pretty girl.” He smiled sinfully. His gravelly tone always made you clench your thighs in need, and feel excited and jittery inside; like a new-born foal learning to run. 

He stripped off his dress shirt, leaving him with chest and abs exposed in the shadow of the truck. Before you had the chance to admire his half-bare body, he was unzipping your jeans and pulling them down along with your panties in one fell swoop. He guided your legs out of them before placing his beloved Stetson on your head. The sight of you bare below the waist and his white stetson had his cock twitching again. 

He hopped on the seat, laying down on the leather upholstery. “Come on, honey girl, get up here. I want a taste.” He purred, eyes raking from your face down to the little honey stash between your thighs with a Cheshire-like grin. 

You chuckled, excitement thrumming through your belly like a current of electricity. His hands guided your hips over his twitching dick, over his thick pecs, and right above where he wanted you. Your breath catches in your throat as Tyler brings your hips down with his broad hands, clutching at your soft waist as he starts lapping at your drenched core.  

“Fuck, Ty-” you clutched at his tufts of hair that peaked through your fingers, like the daisies in the hayfields. He toyed with your clit, his stubble scratching deliciously against your sensitive inner thighs. He gently sucked on your clit to pull each sweet moan and gasp from your lips. His thick fingers forming troughs along the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, keeping your weeping pussy pinned above his eager mouth. 

“Please.”

He grunted as your hips rocked against him, his grip tightening on your hips, guiding your movements. Your head tipping back as your thoughts failed to construe into something tangible besides broken moans and words. It’s amazing how Tyler’s Stetson has stayed on during your impromptu ride. 

God, the sight he had from below your thighs; black t-shirt riding up to just below your bra, your hands clutching at his hair and your covered breasts, beautiful parted lips, reddened cheeks and his staple atop your head.

You looked divine like this. Hell, you were divine for wanting to marry him in the first place. 

He gave your clit a delicate kiss, just enough to make you whine a little. Littering kisses along your inner thighs, feeling the tender flesh quake above him as you protested him giving attention to places that weren’t where you needed him to be. He licked his lips savoring the sweet taste of you on his tongue, and gently teased two fingers at your entrance making you gasp and whimper at the intrusion.

“Baby, you look so good from down here, so fucking good.”

His graveled voice was marked by a unique breathlessness that times like these brought him. Your hands pushed your t-shirt up and your bra down to toy with your exposed breasts and perky nipples as the Oklahoma evening air pebbled them. Your hazy gaze looking downward at your lover’s tousled hair, flushed cheeks and lust-blown pupils with a characteristic devilish grin on his arousal soaked lips.

“Fuck, baby”

He smiled as he guided his fingers into your welcoming heat, your pretty moans music to his ears. 

His fingers finding the perfect tempo against that little spot inside you that made your toes curl against the upholstery of the car. His free hand holding an iron grip on your hip, keeping you steady.

If you hadn’t felt like you were going to cum before, you were now.  

Tyler could feel your velvet walls constrict around his welcomed digits. A soft yelp leaves your lips as he finds your clit again; toying and sucking at the delicate bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. He sucked harder the more you pulled at his hair.

“Tyler, I’m so close, please make me cum baby-please.”

The wanton, sultry tone your voice got in this state made him ache in his jeans and move his fingers that much more eagerly. 

You felt the familiar build up of pleasure in your tummy and the sparks of pleasure traveling from your toes. Tyler watched as you fell apart over him with a wracked moan of his name as his fingers continued to rub that special spot inside you, and as he continued to toy with your poor, abused clit.

He slowed his movements to a halt, letting his fingers leave to hold your hips steady, bringing his lips to languidly kiss and lathe at your cum soaked folds, drawing out any last sparks of pleasure and the sweet, little noises you always made for him. 

Your thighs shook with the aftermath of your orgasm, your body still ringing with small sparks of pleasure and sensitivity, your whimpers pouring out. 

He lathed his last set of kisses to your pussy before sliding your hips down to rest over his throbbing dick, hidden behind a layer of denim. 

Tyler brought both hands to encase your face, bringing your lips to his in a kiss full of teeth and tongue, your mouth going to the prominent vein on the side of his neck, lathing and marking the flesh as your own, spurred on by the deep groans of the man underneath you. He growled, feeling you bite into the skin there. It would surprise him if you didn’t draw blood. 

“I want to ride your thick cock, baby.” you simpered.

“Fuck, you make me so hard, Honeybee.” He growled, feeling you unzip his jeans, pulling out his aching cock and lining him up at your entrance. Gently teasing the tip, running it along your folds, letting it soak up your arousal. You smirked as you listened to the borderline moans that reverberated from his chest. He felt his eyes almost roll back at the feeling of your walls welcoming him in; back home. You watched with lust hazed eyes as his face was consumed with tension; his eyes clenched shut, brow lines rippling the tanned skin of his forehead, his tense jaw and kiss swollen lips. 

He guided your hips, savoring the feeling of you. His hips bucking up into your awaiting pussy as he got more and more invigorated for his release. 

“Fuck, Honey-fuck!” He growled as he felt your walls squeeze him for all he was worth. 

“God, you’re always so good for me, such a good fucking girl” he said as he held your hips tighter, fucking up into you at a faster pace than before. Gasps and moans falling from your lips as he pummeled that sweet, heavenly spot inside you that had you seeing a kaleidoscope of sensations behind your eyes, and your fingers clawing at his pecs and shoulders for stability. Tyler could feel the coil in his stomach tightening as his release was barreling towards him like a train going into a station. His abs tightening, pace unrelenting as he chased his high. He could feel you were close with this new set pace, your lips parted as sweet sounds echoed from your lips. He held on until he felt your walls snap close on him like a vice, your thighs shaking as your high washed over him with a broken moan and tremor. His hips rose, fucking into you one last time before releasing his hot load into your pretty pussy with a deep growl. 

—

He gingerly pulled up your panties, keeping his cum trapped between your folds. He snapped the button of your jeans closed as he languidly made out with you. He changed into a t-shirt that hugged his biceps just right, keeping his jeans on. You both silently changed into your new set of clothes with content, lovesick smiles on your face. You gave him a kiss as he passed you his sweatshirt to wear during the ride home. 

You both settled into the front seat of the truck. By now, most people had gone home, the bright stars above watching over you. He placed his Stetson on the backseat, smirking as he watched you reach out for the cowboy hat, placing it on your head with a cute smile that made him smirk and shake his head. 

He leaned over, placing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“I love you, Honeybee.”

“I love you too, Ty.”

You give his thick thigh a squeeze, smiling as he groans into the kiss. He pulled black from the kiss, putting the truck into drive. As soon as his hand is free, he takes your hand in his, making your cheeks warm at the gesture, kissing the back of it as he pulls out of the dirt road onto the interstate towards Arkansas.

Let me know what you guys think :) Be sure to leave a comment and reblog :) My inbox is always open to requests and any thoughts you have <3

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[cupidbedsy]

୨୧ slip 'n slide ; tz11

➪ summary: pro tip: if you're going to play slip 'n slide hockey, make sure not to play it with professional hockey players

➪ warnings: fractured shoulder, hospitals

➪ word count: 0.6k

➪ cupid's notes: it has been so long since i posted writing on here so i'm super excited to be back doing it. i remember exactly what sparked the idea for this fic and i couldn't be happier with how it turned out! um let me know if you like the new-ish formatting (the tinier font) or if you would prefer it to be bigger for the writing. also, i am working on that quinn fic and let me know if there are any of your favorites of mine you want me to reupload, they are all on my masterlist if you want to browse.

© cupidbedsy ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen, her sitting in a hospital room with her arm sporting a sling. Sure, maybe the idea was a little stupid, and playing with professional hockey players also didn’t help. But, what was she supposed to do when she was scrolling on Instagram and saw a video with ‘slip-and-slide hockey’? Not tell her brothers and their friends about it? Not a chance. 

After seeing the video, she immediately brought it up to her brothers who agreed and started calling some of their friends to come to the lake house. She had called Trevor, much to Jack’s annoyance at the reminder of their relationship and Quinn’s distaste for him, and he said he would be there as soon as he could. When all the boys arrived, it was officially ‘mission slip-and-slide hockey’ time.

In hindsight, maybe she should’ve worn pads or just not played at all knowing how rough her brothers get with not only her but with their friends as well. Jack was being Jack, of course. He had gone to go around Trevor when he slipped and knocked into his sister, who then fell and weirdly landed on her shoulder. She didn’t scream, growing up with three rowdy brothers gave her more pride than she probably would’ve liked sometimes. 

She just laid there, staring at the sky with her right arm across her chest and her left one lying by her side. It took everyone a little bit to realize, and it was only when they saw Quinn kneeling next to her that they did. 

Quinn looked down at her, placing a hand on her shoulder, “You okay?”

She nodded, looking a little dazed as her eyes glassed over in pain, “Mhm.”

“Y/n/n come on, move your arm for me.”

She lifted her left arm and then dropped it, “See, I’m fine.”

He gave her a look, “Your other arm.”

And she was prepared to do it, except when she tried, she couldn’t and teared up more. Quinn sighed before waving Trevor over, “Come on, let’s go to the hospital.”

“I’m fine.”

Trevor’s head came into her sight, his hair flopping and framing his face, “Let’s go, princess.”

She smiled up at him, “You're pretty.”

He laughed before helping her stand up, having her lean on him for support. Jack came up and spewed apologies from his mouth as they walked to the car, “It’s okay, Jack. I’m fine.”

He shook his head and sat on one side while Trevor sat on the other and Luke got into the passenger seat as Quinn drove them to the hospital. And that’s how they ended up here, y/n sitting on a hospital bed with her arm in a sling due to her fractured shoulder. Trevor sat on the bed next to her while Quinn called their mom and Luke and Jack sat on the chairs in front of them. 

She leaned her head against her boyfriend’s shoulder, “Ugh how am I supposed to work now?”

“You don’t have to work, y/n/n. You’re boyfriends rich.”

Y/n sent her younger brother a glare before closing her eyes again, “Do you think they could give me drugs for my head?”

Jack shook his head at her choice of words before standing up, “I’ll go find a doctor. Maybe you got a concussion too, though they didn’t say anything.”

He kissed her head before leaving to find a doctor, or a nurse at the very least. Luke followed after him, protesting being stuck in a room with the two of them. Trevor pushed a piece of her hair out of her face before kissing her temple, “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Besides the headache now?”

She nodded a little, wrapping her left arm around his right one, “Yeah.”

He gave her a small smile, “You know Luke wasn’t totally wrong. You don’t have to work.”

She went to hit him but he laughed and held up a hand, “I know, I know. You love your job, I wouldn’t take that away from you, lovely.”

“Good.”

The two sat in silence for a little while and then she spoke once more, “Cuddles when we get back?”

“Of course, my baby fractured her shoulder. Got to give her all the princess treatment in the world.”

“Dork.”

TZ11 MASTERLIST ; NHL MASTERLIST

TAGLIST ; NAVIGATION

[ohworm-writes]

「✰」 ━━ NIKOLAI HEADCANONS

RATING R - Restricted [ Content Warnings : 18+ mdni, gn!m!f!reader, strong language, alcohol mention and consumption, fluff, possible mistranslation, spider mention, smut, dom!Nikolai, sub!reader, exhibitionism, cunnilingus, praise, degradation, masturbation, riding, hair pulling ]

SYNOPSIS Both general and romantic, safe for work and not safe for work, headcanons for, arguably, one of the most underrated Call of Duty: Modern Warfare characters to date - Nikolai. (This is my first time writing smut so any tips and feedback is greatly appreciated!)

WORD COUNT 1.2k

SAFE FOR WORK

His hands, and just his body overall, run naturally warm. Not to the point where he can be considered a "walking heater" or burning to the touch, but just exudes a constant warmness overall.

Dad-bod, no questions asked. He's not completely cut, not all hard surfaces and muscles - he's got a plush softness to him body that's equally as firm. He works out and keeps himself in shape, of course, because, granted, it's a given that comes with his profession, but he indulges himself equally as much.

He doesn't drink heavily, per se, setting a hard cut-off point for himself that he abides by like it's law, but he won't deny a drink if he's offered it. After all, drinking culture is big in Russia - he can hold his own just fine. That being said, vodka isn't his favorite, but he doesn't hate it by any means, either.

Acts of service and quality time are his love languages. He loves spending time with you whenever he can, especially considering how his profession can take him away for months and more at a time. If it's possible, you're always by his side or he's by yours. Will do anything you ask of him, too - be it chores, tasks, or anything else.

That being said, it can also be argued that giving gifts is one of his primary love languages, too. Any time he's out on a mission, he always tries to get you something from wherever he's been to - there are many perks to being a pilot, now aren't there?

He snores when he sleeps, and he sleeps heavy. Not to the point where you'd have to dump a bucket of ice water over him to wake him up, but to the point where you have to shake him vigorously to get him to slowly rouse. Sounds like a lawnmower when he snores.

His kisses are soft and slow, one hand on your waist or back, pulling you in, while the other holds your chin with such tenderness, guiding your lips to meet his, breathing out a heavy sigh as he relaxes into you.

Opts for Russian terms of endearment over English ones. It feels more personal to him, calling you something in his native tongue rather than something he hears everyone around him call their partners - it's more special to him.

Лапушка/Лапочка - Lapochka/Lapushka (sweetheart)

Любимая/Любимый - Lyubimaya/Lyubimyy (darling)

Surprisingly or not, he's actually a really good cook! He's traveled to so many places and tried so many different kinds of food so, naturally, he's learned to make them for himself. He downplays his abilities, but he looks like an absolute professional when he's in the kitchen.

When he's not away for work, he's actually quite domestic. He has a house of his own far away from everyone else in a remote little town, at least an hour or two outside of any major city. A cabin of sorts, with a place for his own little garden that he tends to (or, more accurately, which you tend to).

He even has his own little stall at the town's farmers market where he sells what he grows whenever it's ready. Everyone has so many theories about him because, honestly - why wouldn't they? A Russian man who lives at the edge of town in a big ol' house, disappearing for weeks or months at a time. It's a cause for concern.

He's so polite and he has the best manners, no question about it.

Though, to combat it, he can be quite a loose-canon. He's reckless and unethical in his methods, especially with work, but some aspects carry over to his personal and domestic life. (If there's a spider, he's pulling out his pistol first, not grabbing a book or a shoe).

He has this sarcastic, almost morbid sense of humor, smug as all hell (worse than Graves, more often than not) but he's genuinely just playful. He's a friend to everyone he meets and can easily match vibes with anyone.

NOT SAFE FOR WORK

Dominant in every sense of the word. He might let you act like you're in control from time to time, but he's quick to show you your place and has no shame in doing it.

His hands are always on you, no matter the occasion. He has to have some sort of physical contact when it comes to you. Be it a hand on the small of your back to guide you, on your shoulder to assure his presence, his leg touching yours when you sit down, a palm on your thigh as he drives.

One-hundred percent an ass man. Squeezing, slapping, spanking, groping - doesn't matter. If he can, his hand is there, no discussion.

He's an exhibitionist, easily. The risk of getting caught, whether if he's by himself or if he's with you, turns him on beyond belief - it gets his head spinning.

Helicopter sex! He's absolutely obsessed with getting you to ride him while he sits in the cockpit, holding onto your hips, fingers bruising into the skin, his legs spread wide with his jumper zipped down as far as it can go, fucking up into you as you bounce on his cock.

Jerks himself off in his helicopter too, biting down onto his fist as he fucks into his hand with purpose.

He's noisy! All grunts and growls, whispering to you how good you feel, practically narrating what he's doing sometimes.

It's a balance of praise and degradation that he gives. Sometimes it fifty-fifty, saying how you're taking him so well, like a good whore should. Sometimes it switches from one to the other (be it extremes or not) - it just depends.

Gives oral like it’s his job. Steady grip on your thighs, pushing them back and wide and buries himself between them for as long as you'll allow him to. He's so sloppy with it too, drooling and spitting all over you as he sucks you off/eats you out. (If you look close enough, you can tell it's started to bleach his beard, too).

Takes his time fucking you. He doesn't like quickies at all - if he isn't able to fuck you at the pace he wants, he isn't doing it. Now, this doesn't necessarily mean that he isn't up for hard and fast sex, but it's more so that he doesn't like time constraints.

More often than not, though, he goes slow (at least, at first), teasing you until you're begging before slowly pushing into you, dragging his cock in and out of you at an excruciating pace.

Speaking of, too, he's such a tease and he knows it.

Loves loves loves pulling and grabbing your hair, forcing you to arch your back as he pounds into you from behind relentlessly, watching the way your ass ripples with every snap of his hips.

Dumbification, too. Loves getting you all cock-drunk and fucked out to the point where you can't think for yourself, teasing you and borderline-mocking you as he slides a hand down your stomach, bringing his thumb down to your clit and making slow circles around it/grabbing the base of your cock and slowly stroking up and down it as he coos at you.

This goes hand in hand with overstimulation - loves making you cum over and over and over again until you can't think and it's too much, only to coax another orgasm out of you.

[kwanisms]

[1:58], Yeonjun & Soobin, requested by anon

╰┈➤ M1 "what? Does that feel good?" & M30 "I promise I'll be gentle"

wc: 1.2k

warnings: smut, 18+ (minors dni), adult language sexual content: threesome, unprotected sex

a/n: I have no excuse lmao pls enjoy this Yeonbin content cause I loved writing it

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

You had only meant to check on Yeonjun; to make sure he didn't need a touch up on his makeup. What you didn't expect to happen was for him to make a move.

Ever since you'd become their makeup artist for international events, Yeonjun couldn't deny his attraction to you. He flirted with you often but each time you brushed it off, trying to remain professional. The other artists no doubt had told you that he was just being himself. But he wasn't. He wasn't just playing around. Not with you.

He'd finally managed to catch you alone backstage at Inkigayo in the dressing room as you finished cleaning up. He'd finally made a move, pushing you against the makeup table, his lips crashing against yours. Initially, you'd given in before coming to your senses and pushing him off, reminding him that nothing could ever happen between the two of you.

You tried so hard to ignore his attempts to get you alone after that but he somehow managed to corner you and each time it got harder and harder to resist him. Which is how you found yourself in your current… predicament.

Your skirt was hiked up, panties discarded on the floor of the hotel room, Yeonjun sat on the edge of the bed under you, his black pants undone and pushed halfway down his thighs along with his underwear. Your hands rested on his shoulders, breath shaky as you slowly raised and lowered your hips, his cock sliding in and out of you. Your eyed fluttered shut, a soft moan leaving your lips as you continued.

You felt his hands slide down your back, gripping your ass firmly. "Goddamn," he murmured, lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck. "You don't know what you do to me." His hot breath fanned over your skin as he guided your movements with his hold on your ass. "You're gonna get me in trouble," you whispered, voice shaking as the tip of his cock brushed against the one spot that had your eyes rolling back.

Opening your eyes, you looked down at him, his black hair falling in his eyes as he looked up at you through heavy lids. You moved one hand to brush the hair out of his vision. "God, you're so beautiful," he moaned. Your walls clenched around him, drawing another deep moan from the back of his throat.

"Jjun," you whined, head falling and your forehead resting against his. You felt his hand make contact with your ass, forcing a hiss out of your lips as your walls clenched around him. You heard him chuckled lightly.

“What? Does that feel good?”

A sudden knock at the door caused your head to snap up. You froze, unable to move or react before the door opened and shut quickly. Light footsteps moved through the suit until Soobin came into view. His eyes widened and jaw dropped. The three of you said nothing, only staring at one another until a smile cracked across Soobin's face.

"I fucking knew it," he said, a dark chuckle escaping from his lips. You looked down at Yeonjun who glanced up at you. Your gaze turned back to Soobin who ran his fingers through his hair.

"I mean, I sort of suspected something was going on but obviously this confirms it," he continued, rambling.

You looked back at him, watching as he shook his head, his blond locks falling into his eyes. Eyes scanning him, you noticed that what he'd walked in on was affecting him, even if he wouldn't admit it. That's when an idea popped in your head.

Turning back to Yeonjun you leaned in to whisper in his ear.

Yeonjun's eyes widened at what you were suggesting. He pulled back to look at you questioningly. You nodded at his silent question and a devilish smirk crossed his features. He turned his head to look at the younger man. "Hey, Soob," he said softly, drawing the blond's attention.

Yeonjun nodded towards the door. "Lock the door," he said, the smirk still present on his face. Soobin looked from his hyung to you. A small smirk was present on your face, too.

Was Yeonjun suggesting what he thought he was? He turned quickly and crossed to the door leading to the hallway, turning the deadbolt and moving the chain before returning to where you and Yeonjun sat.

Yeonjun was the first to speak. He looked at Soobin. "Take out your phone," he ordered. Soobin's eyebrow raised as he slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Text Gyu. Tell him you aren't feeling well. Lie, I don't care," he explained. Soobin unlocked the device and quickly typed out a message to Beomgyu.

Yeonjun turned to look at you.

"Hey princess," he whispered, moving one hand to caress your cheek. "Keep going," he said, giving your ass a light smack. You gasped, lifting your hips and sinking back down on him, a groan leaving his lips.

Soobin felt his cheeks burn, unable to take his eyes off the scene in front of him. You glanced over your shoulder, a light laugh escaping you.

"You just gonna stand there and watch?" You asked, drawing his attention. Clearly, he was confused and looked to Yeonjun for clarification.

"W-what?" Soobin stammered.

Yeonjun chuckled and looked over at the younger man. He nodded towards Soobin. "Take off your belt and come over here. I have an idea," he said.

Soobin moved quickly, reaching to undo his belt and followed Yeonjun's instructions, walking over to the bed as you continued to ride Yeonjun. Soobin waited for more instructions.

"Take your belt and bind her hands," Yeonjun said, nodding at the belt in the blond's hands. Soobin hesitated but at Yeonjun's insistence, took your hands behind your back and carefully used his belt to bind your wrists together.

"Done," Soobin said shakily.

Wrapping an arm around your waist, Yeonjun scooted further back onto the bed, pulling you with him, making space for Soobin. "Get on the bed and do what I tell you," Yeonjun ordered as Soobin slowly climbed onto the bed. The older man gently took your chin in his hand and turned your head to look at him.

"Eyes on me, baby," he whispered as you felt Soobin's hands carefully ghost over your body, sliding down your sides and grabbing your hips much harder than you expected him to. You let out a moan as Yeonjun thrust up into you. "Just keep your eyes on me," he whispered as you felt Soobin's lips brush against your shoulder.

The sensation of having two sets of hands on your body was heavenly. You let out a whimper, feeling Soobin's teeth sink into your skin, your walls tightening around Yeonjun's cock and pulling a deep guttural groan from him. "Go easy on her, Soob," Yeonjun said, attempting to regain his composure.

“I promise I’ll be gentle,” you heard Soobin murmur, his lips still against your skin as he fumbled with the button and zipper of his pants with one hand while the other held onto your hip.

Yeonjun looked up, reaching up to cup your cheek. The pad of his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, watching as your lips parted. His smile returned as he slowly pushed his thumb into your mouth, almost moaning when your tongue swirled around it. "Oh," he said breathlessly.

"You're in for a long night, sugar."

[annievrse]

apron makeover

sanji x fem!reader —ᡣ𐭩 fic summary: sanji's apron looked a little plain... w/c: 0.9k c/w: a little bit suggestive (it's literally sanji), reader referred to as 'my lady'.

"Is it to your liking, my love?"

Humming, you nod. "It's perfect. Thank you, baby."

Sanji's cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson as he turns back to the sink, scrubbing at a pan. The galley is empty, with the rest of the crew on the deck celebrating another successful fight. The Sunny breaks through waves slower than usual, and the constant threat from the world is a distant thought for the night.

The only sounds are the ding of the spoon in your hand on the ceramic plate, the slosh of the water in the sink, and the faraway laughter of your friends.

The delicate sweetness of the dessert your boyfriend prepared you fills your body with a warmness only he can elicit. You're content, and with that comes the overwhelming appreciation you have for your cook.

"I love you," You say, the words tumbling from your lips as you stare at his back. Sanji glances over his shoulder, his cheeks pink and mouth pulled into a wide grin.

"I love you more, my darling."

Your cheeks warm, and you smile shyly at him. Sanji chuckles lightly and places the clean pan on the side of the sink. He turns to face you and leans against the counter.

As you lick your spoon clean, an idea pops into your head. The apron he wears looks a little plain with its all-white material, and although Sanji thinks it exudes professionalism, you think differently.

Giggling, you slide from the bar stool and rush to the storage cupboard. Sanji calls your name as you rummage through the stuff, but when you find what you're looking for, you slam the door shut and lunge for the plain apron the cook wears.

"What are you doing?" Sanji mutters, his voice light and airy at how close you are. Your gaze is wide with excitement, and Sanji would be lying if he said it didn't excite him, too (not that he ever lied about such things when it comes to you).

With a pot of black paint and a small paintbrush from Usopp's stash, you decide against taking the apron directly from his body, and sit on a dining chair. "Come here."

Sanji raises an eyebrow but complies, standing between your thighs.

He'd let you do anything to him.

Dipping the paintbrush into the paint, you lean up slightly to start the lettering at the top of the apron. And when the first line of paint contacts the material, Sanji throws all previous opinions on professionalism out of his mind.

Paint whatever you want, he thinks, I'm your canvas.

"Hold still," You mumble, splaying your free hand on his stomach to flatten the fabric of his apron. The cook freezes, his body tingling everywhere you touch him over his clothes.

"I-I don't think we should do this in the galley—"

"Sanji," You giggle, pausing your painting to look up at him. The lovesick expression on his face makes your heart melt. "I'm just writing something, okay? It is of utmost importance that this be done right here and now."

Your boyfriend nods, fists balling at his sides. He's trying his best not to distract you from your very important work, but how your eyebrows furrow and the tip of your tongue pokes out the corner of your mouth has his chest hurting with restraint.

The paintbrush moves from the top of the garment to the middle and then lower. Your hand moves across his torso and down to his hip bone, the words taking up more space than you anticipated.

Sanji is so very clearly struggling with his sharp inhales and jerking abdomen, and you decide you've tortured him enough.

"Baby—"

"Done!" You say, leaning back to admire your work. "You look so hot."

Sanji splutters, his eyes turning into literal hearts at your words. "I would never disagree with a lady, my love, but I'd say that you—"

"Sanji," You smile, standing from the chair. Your hands find his clammy ones, and you tug him to the window. His reflection stares back at him, and a laugh tumbles from his lips, his ears turning a concerning shade of red.

Mr. Good Lookin' is Cookin'

You brush his hair from his eyes and kiss his cheek. "It's perfect, don't you think?"

Sanji opens his mouth to answer when the door slams into the wall.

"Oh, please," Comes Zoro's voice from the doorway. He has a disgusted, pained expression on his face that makes you giggle. "What curse has he put on you?"

You laugh, and Sanji sighs, turning toward the swordsman. "Just admit you're jealous and walk away, mosshead."

Rolling his eyes, Zoro stalks into the kitchen and pokes through the cupboard for a beer. He shrugs at its warm temperature and cracks it open. "Would love a cold one."

Sanji's eyes narrow. "And I would love it if you pissed off."

Before he leaves, Zoro looks the cook up and down and shakes his head disapprovingly.

Smiling, you grab your boyfriend's hand as he lunges. "Goodnight, Zoro."

The swordsman throws his hand up as he exits, the door swinging closed behind him.

Sanji scoffs and turns back to you, his gaze immediately melting at the sight of you. His hands grip your waist firmly. "What do you say we head to the back of the ship? I've heard it's pretty empty this time of night."

Tilting your head, you circle your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair. "I'd say that's a perfect idea, Mr. Good Lookin'."

[solxamber]

Hello! I saw that you said it was fine to request still, so if it's alright I'll give you my thoughts/promt if it's fine by you.

Also wanted to say i love you're fanfics! Super entertaining and well written so i was wondering if you could write one that's Vil x mermaid! Reader (romantic) the prompt is-

Vil has been slowly falling in love with the reader; not just by her beauty but her personality the two have these little meet ups where she sings/the two talk endlessly and just enjoy eachothers company, but what I'm getting with this,is that Vil would take time to process his feelings but eventually he gets there and confesses. Maybe it could be a friends x lovers?

whatever you want to do with this idea is cool beans, I just really want to see what you come up with!! Alright,that's all much love ♡♡

Vil Schoenheit x Mermaid! Reader

the idea is so big brained!!! I hope you like it <3

Vil has always appreciated beauty. He lives and breathes it—the art of refinement, the craft of elegance. But lately, beauty has taken on a new form for him, and it looks suspiciously like you. He can’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but he knows it’s tied to those secret meetups you two share by the shoreline.

You’re a mermaid, and you make a point to remind him of that every time he mentions something about the "unbearable" human world. You always roll your eyes dramatically, your tail shimmering in the moonlight as you laugh at his over-the-top complaints about fashion disasters, inferior skincare routines, or the latest scandal in the entertainment industry.

"You humans are so fragile," you often tease, resting your chin on your hand as you float lazily in the water. "Honestly, Vil, it’s a wonder you haven’t all crumbled under the weight of your own drama."

He gives you a sharp look every time, but there’s always a trace of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "And yet, here you are, meeting up with one of these fragile humans every week."

"I didn’t say you weren’t entertaining," you retort with a sly grin. "It’s like watching a soap opera, except with more skincare tips."

Vil chuckles, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, which somehow manages to stay flawless even in the salty sea breeze. "You’d be lost without my advice. I’ve seen your seaweed face masks."

You pretend to gasp, putting a hand to your chest. "Seaweed is a perfectly valid skincare ingredient! In fact, it’s far superior to that toxic concoction you call moisturizer."

"Seaweed smells like the bottom of the ocean."

"And you don’t?"

That’s how it always goes—banter, teasing, comfortable silences filled with the soft crashing of waves, and eventually, music. You sing sometimes, when the mood strikes you. It’s never anything planned; it just happens. Vil always listens, captivated, because your voice is something he can't quite describe. It's raw, but pure, untouched by the expectations of the stage or the pressures of fame.

Sometimes he sings back, though he pretends he’s only doing it because you insist. "Come on, Vil. Just a few bars. You know you want to."

"I am a professional," he says, crossing his arms. "I don’t perform on a whim."

But you know how to coax him, and soon enough, he’s harmonizing with your lilting melody, his smooth, controlled voice intertwining with yours in a way that makes the night feel magical.

It’s been months of these little meetings, and Vil has never been quite sure what to make of you. You’re beautiful, of course—stunning, really—but that’s not what has him coming back to the shore every week.

It’s the way you make him feel completely at ease, the way you challenge him without being mean-spirited, the way you listen to him vent about things you couldn’t care less about yet still offer thoughtful responses.

And then there’s that laugh of yours—sharp, like the crack of a wave against the rocks, but warm enough to make him feel lighter every time he hears it.

He’s always valued control—over his image, his career, his emotions—but with you, he’s found himself slipping. He realizes, with some discomfort, that he’s been looking forward to these meetings a little too much. It’s not just the singing or the banter anymore. It’s... you.

That thought bothers him, because Vil Schoenheit does not get "distracted." He doesn’t fall for anyone. At least, not like this.

But here he is, walking down to the beach again, heart beating faster than usual as he anticipates seeing you. Tonight, though, something feels different. Maybe it’s the way the moon is hanging lower than usual, casting everything in a silvery glow, or maybe it’s the fact that Vil can’t deny his feelings anymore.

You’re already waiting for him when he arrives, sitting on a rock with your tail swishing lazily in the water. "Late again, Mr. Superstar?" you call out teasingly.

"I’m fashionably late, thank you," Vil replies, though there’s a softness in his voice. He takes a seat on the sand, smoothing out his coat with practiced precision before looking at you.

"You’re slipping," you say, eyeing him critically. "Usually, you’d have a comeback ready. What’s the matter? One of your beauty products finally backfired?"

Vil snorts softly, shaking his head. "No, though if it did, you’d be the first to hear about it." He looks out at the horizon, his expression thoughtful. "I’ve just been... thinking."

"Uh-oh," you say, folding your arms over your chest. "That sounds dangerous. What about?"

He hesitates for a moment, unsure of how to approach this. Vil has always been calculated, measured in everything he does. Confessing his feelings, though? That’s not something he’s prepared for. He glances at you, and suddenly, the words start spilling out before he can stop them.

"You know, for someone who claims not to care about humans, you certainly seem to enjoy spending time with me."

You raise an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the shift in tone. "Are you fishing for compliments, Vil? Because I don’t need to stroke your ego any more than it already is."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "No, it’s just... You’re always teasing me about humans, about my world, but you keep coming back. Why?"

You tilt your head, considering his question for a moment before replying. "Because you’re interesting, Vil. You’re not like the others I’ve met. Most humans get caught up in themselves, but you... you’ve got a spark. You’re genuine, even when you’re being all high-and-mighty. And, well, it’s not like I’ve got a lot of options for good conversation under the sea."

Vil’s heart skips a beat at your words, and he finds himself smiling despite the nerves building up inside him. "I see. So I’m just your entertainment, then?"

"Oh, definitely," you say, grinning. "But you’re also... more than that."

Vil blinks, his breath catching slightly. "More?"

You nod, your expression softening. "You’re someone I look forward to seeing. I like being around you, Vil. You make me feel... seen. And I’m not just talking about my looks. It’s like you actually care about me as a person, not just a pretty face."

He swallows, his chest tightening as he listens to your words. This is it. He can’t hold it in any longer. "I do care," he says quietly, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "More than you know."

You look at him, your teasing expression fading as you sense the weight behind his words. "Vil...?"

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "I think... I think I’m falling for you."

There. He said it. And now his heart is racing, his palms are sweating, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Vil Schoenheit is unsure of himself. He braces for your reaction, half expecting you to laugh it off or tease him like you always do.

But you don’t. Instead, you blink at him, your mouth opening and closing as you process his confession. "You... what?"

Vil clears his throat, forcing himself to meet your gaze. "I’m in love with you," he repeats, more confidently this time. "I’ve been falling for you for a while now, and I didn’t want to admit it, but... I can’t keep it to myself anymore."

There’s a moment of stunned silence before you break into a wide smile. "Vil, you absolute idiot."

He recoils slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "I’ve been waiting for you to say something for months now! I thought I was going to have to spell it out for you."

Vil blinks, taken aback. "You... you knew?"

"I didn’t know know," you admit, "but I had a feeling. You’re not exactly subtle, Vil."

He stares at you, a mixture of relief and embarrassment flooding his system. "Why didn’t you say anything, then?"

"Because I wanted to see how long it would take for you to figure it out yourself," you say with a smirk, leaning forward slightly. "I didn’t think it’d take this long, though."

Vil narrows his eyes, though there’s no malice in his expression. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet, you love me," you tease, reaching out to cup his cheek gently. "What does that say about you?"

He huffs, though his heart is fluttering in his chest at your touch. "That I have terrible taste."

You laugh again, the sound bright and infectious, and before Vil can say anything else, you pull him in for a kiss. It’s soft, gentle, and Vil feels like his entire world is melting away in that moment. The taste of saltwater lingers on your lips, and for the first time in a long time, Vil isn’t worried about appearances or perfection. He’s just... happy.

When you finally pull away, both of you are smiling like fools. "So," you say, your voice teasing, "does this mean we’re a thing now?"

Vil rolls his eyes, though he can’t stop the grin spreading across his face. "I suppose it does."

"Good," you say, leaning in to kiss him again. "Because I’m not letting you back out of this one, Mr. Superstar."

Vil chuckles against your lips, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to pull you even closer. "Oh, trust me," he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, "I have no intention of backing out. But I do expect you to stop wearing those dreadful seaweed masks."

You gasp dramatically, pulling back just far enough to look him in the eye. "Excuse you! Seaweed is nature’s skincare miracle, Vil. Just because it’s not wrapped in fancy packaging doesn’t mean it’s ineffective."

He raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, his lips curling into a playful smirk. "Perhaps, but you’ll have to let me introduce you to something a little more refined. If we’re going to be a couple, I simply can’t allow my significant other to use subpar beauty products."

"Oh, is that so?" you ask, amusement twinkling in your eyes. "I didn’t realize I was dating a beauty tyrant."

"It’s for your own good," he says with mock seriousness, though there’s a warmth behind his gaze that betrays his affection. "Think of it as part of your glow-up. You’ll thank me later."

You can’t help but laugh, your heart swelling with affection for the man in front of you. It’s strange, really—how quickly this has all come together, yet how natural it feels. You never would’ve guessed that your casual banter and late-night talks would lead to this, but now that it’s happening, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Vil reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle but purposeful. "You know," he says softly, his usual sharp tone melting into something softer, "I’ve never met anyone quite like you."

You smile at him, feeling the warmth of his words settle into your chest. "I could say the same about you, Vil. You’re not as scary as people think, you know."

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. "That’s a well-maintained persona, I’ll have you know. Can’t let people think I’m soft."

"Oh, but you are," you tease, poking him lightly in the chest. "At least with me."

He scoffs lightly, though there’s no real bite behind it. "I’ll deny it if you tell anyone."

You laugh, resting your forehead against his as you savor the closeness between you. For the first time in what feels like forever, you feel completely at peace, as if everything has fallen into place. Vil, with all his elegance, wit, and sharpness, has somehow become the person you’ve come to care about more than you ever thought possible. And now, as he holds you close, you know that you wouldn’t trade this for the world.

"I’m glad it’s you," you whisper, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. "I never thought I’d fall for a perfectionist with an ego the size of the sun, but here we are."

He lets out a soft, genuine laugh, his arms wrapping around you more securely. "I never thought I’d fall for someone who argues with me over skincare, but I suppose life has a sense of humor."

"Looks like we’re both in for a wild ride, then," you say with a grin.

Vil hums in agreement, his hand gently stroking your hair. "As long as it’s with you, I think I can handle it."

You smile, feeling your heart soar at his words. There’s a certain magic to this moment—a kind of fairy tale that feels like it’s been written just for the two of you. And as you sit there, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something truly beautiful.

"Well then," you say, pulling back slightly to look him in the eye, "looks like you’re stuck with me, Schoenheit."

"Forever, I hope," he says softly, before pulling you in for another kiss—this one longer, deeper, filled with the promise of something lasting.

And in that moment, with the moon shining overhead and the waves lapping gently against the shore, you know that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together..

Masterlist