#or a dumb muscle guy writers!

[nightwingcouldyounot]

How did you go from a literary snob to “I hope I’m using tenuous right” within the course of this series? 

(Red Hood Outlaw 039)

[hoseoksluna]

LIQUID STARS | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. bam)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.8k

summary: to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your cunt and your virginity.

playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine

warnings: size kink, heavy dd/lg themes, provocation, dry humping, dirty talk, mentions of porn, oral sex (f. + m. receiving), multiple orgasms & countdown, dom/sub dynamics, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), first time, jealousy, inner child healing, plushie used during intercourse, jungkook fucks her numb & dumb, praise kink, cum eating, pet names and the establishment of a title, bondage, raw sex, tummy bulge, desperation, pain felt during intercourse, squirting

note: as difficult as it was to write this, i'm immensely thankful. this changed my life; it healed me and i'll dream about it for a long, long time. i was as exhausted as oc once i finished this, because i truly did give my all. everyone, this is part four to my series 'wine' and therefore the very end. this is the very beginning of jungkook's and oc's relationship. can be read as a standalone as there aren't any quirks from the other parts (except for bunny), though if you wish to read them now, now is the perfect time. now you can see the beautiful gradual development of their relationship. please, enjoy as you read and let me know your favorite parts bc i need to talk about this. heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that can be uncomfortable for some. thank you! and thank you for all the love on this series. i'll never forget it. i love you, guys. ʚɞ

side note: give some round of applause for 3D daddy provider jungkook everyone!! he deserves it!!!

Silky lilac bows adorn the tops of your pigtails that cascade down in loose braids, sprawled on the cotton of his pillow and on the soft belly of a bunny plushie. There are still traces of sunlight left on the bedding, which dissolve, little by little, into nothingness as the large star goes down, saying goodbye. It’s lightweight, the atmosphere—homely almost. And much to your surprise, you feel relatively at ease, despite the fact a man lies on top of you—a man you have a certain liking for. 

It was natural for you to end up here and you, yourself, wished for it, even. Deemed it was only right after the man took you around for a walk while his silly Doberman guarded each and every step both of you had taken in sync, especially so when he persisted in buying you a small plastic ring of the same bunny you’re lying against. He didn’t even forget about his own canine friend waiting outside patiently like the obedient dog he is, and fed him the snackies he got for him as soon as he returned from the shop. You swore Bam was as giddy as you when he received his gift. 

Now the ring glints in the last rays of the sun. His, too. 

While yours is as white as the cloudy morning sky, Jungkook’s is as black as the drowsily dozing night sky. You think it’s the perfect contrast between the pair of you. Not that you should be noting these things, considering you’re just friends. But his skin is satiny soft, painted in impressionist tattoos, while his muscles, that his well-fitted T-shirt graciously allows you to see, are strong. You’re sure he could just lift you and throw you around without much of a strain. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s such a striking image of pure beauty. How could you not notice these intertwinings when they’re this lovely?

You like him—without a shadow of doubt. Can feel the call of an emotional attachment forming the more he studies your skin with the tip of his index finger, embellished with the Miffy ring, and it’s owed to the fact you’ve never been touched this way before. No one has ever come this close, no one has ever been interested in the moles scattered upon your shoulders, in the veins that make the pathway to the column of your neck. No one has ever gazed twice at them—but Jungkook?

He hasn’t stopped looking at them ever since he laid you down in the middle of his bed. 

How could you stop such a call? Such a lull, such a magnetic pull. You know you should, but for the meantime, you simply don’t want to. Can’t lose this moment, can’t lose this once in a lifetime opportunity—

Jungkook presses his lips against the prominent mole in the center of your left shoulder. Those pretty, puffy lips, closing against your skin, the smallest dart of tongue swiping past. It shocks you for a moment before the feeling dissolves beneath, adjusting within the freshness of your system. How could you refuse such dynamic poetry, expressed against your own forlorn body? When it’s so blatant that it’s natural, that your body willingly accepts it without a fight. 

You couldn’t. 

Stretching your fingers between the thick strands of his hair, you close your eyes to savor the feeling of being wanted. The movement of his mouth, going even as far as to the first vein rooted in your arm—following it with those half-closed pillows. Up, up until he finds the line of your collarbone. Jungkook pauses there, simply breathes against you before he interperses little pecks there, nibbles and gentle swipes of tongue. The lining of your top won’t let him go further down, so he changes direction—relies on the pathway of your veins to guide him to your neck. And there… at the first contact, you grip the roots of his hair. 

His kisses and nibbles are much harder here. And what’s worse, he takes the sensitive skin into his mouth and sucks. You fail at containing the whimpers that break out of your mouth and Jungkook reacts to them. Hums ever so deeply, rocks his hips against the mattress. You wish you were a bit bigger so you could feel the collision, but you’re just so small compared to his large form. You imagine he’s writing down the poems collecting inside of him with each cursive roll of his tongue. Wonder if there’s enough paper on your skin for all his words. 

“You sweet little thing,” Jungkook coos onto the crook of your neck, dragging his lips up and down before he stops at your jaw. You feel the warmth of his breath and his body heat seeps into yours, creating unity, blackening the ink. It feels strange, it feels so new. Brisk and springlike, like fresh air in a stuffed room. You want to stay here for a long time, tasting the wholeness of spring captured in him. You want his words to flush you red with the tinge of the entire sunlight that opens the buds of flowers during all seasons in a loop. “Can I kiss you?”

You haven’t gone beyond the innocent touching of hands with him. You brim with a tight feeling of thankfulness that he asked you such a graceful question, although something else steals your attention entirely. 

“Little?” you say, the smile on your lips pulled so taut that it quivers ever so slightly. It makes you crazy that he calls you that, but you play the game. Revel in it. “What do you mean little? I’m bigger than you.”

Jungkook cocks his brow at you, mouth falling into a lopsided grin. He sits back and you feel a whiff of coldness pass by the perimeter of your body, as if someone opened the window and let the winter air in, when it’s just his brief distance that caused it. The forming attachment in you tenses and before you can think about your actions, your hand finds his knee, his thigh and traces slow patterns there. Jungkook suddenly squeezes your waist, surprising you, and the ecstatic fluttering of butterfly wings break havoc all over your body. The solidness of his hands, their weight, their firmness, giving life to your body, meaning. You note how his fingers touch when he has his hands enveloped around you like that. And the inkling that your body matters in his hands like that slips into your mind, spreading through its axis. 

You bite your lower lip. A small ache begins to grow in your intimate parts. It’s so nice to be wanted, to be considered good enough to be touched, to be kissed. 

“You? Bigger than me?” Jungkook squeezes your waist again. Sucks in a breath through his teeth. Smiles softly; in a way that you find unbearably endearing. “No, you’re just little. Just a tiny, little bug. So tiny in my hands.” 

For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it. 

He leaves his hands there when he bends over you, hovering his lips over yours. His weight, his heat. You sigh against him in relief, in a newly blossoming excitement that he’s back again. You spread your legs wider, feet grazing his calves—

“Let me kiss you, please.” 

You’d give in, but the game is just so pleasurable. 

Your laugh is but a breath. “You wanna kiss me?” 

You exhaled, he inhaled. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Since when do friends kiss?” You cock your eyebrow at him just like he did, prodding your tongue on the inside of your cheek. 

He hovers a little bit higher above you, hanging his head in defeat, sighing. Places his hands in fists on either side of you, caging you in. 

“Premium friends do,” he mutters, lifting his head, face all serious. You dig your toe into the toned muscle of his thigh, twirling sweet little circles, gliding up and down. Watch as his eyes lid and he tries to control it. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you.” 

Your body panics, but you will it to relax. 

“Does that come with the premium subscription?” 

Jungkook purses his lips, supports his weight on one hand as the other, the tattooed one, grips your jaw. He squishes your cheeks, bites his lip once—seemingly ponders whether he should play your game or not before he lets go of your pout, but still keeps his hand there. He traces the shape of your lips with this thumb, feeding his desire to kiss you with scraps. 

“Yes,” he utters. “Kisses, orgasms, my dog. It’s all—”

Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms. 

“I get to take Bam?” 

Jungkook tuts at you. “You get to take me,” he corrects you. “Though, can even such a little thing like you take me?” 

Probably not. Definitely not. 

“But what about Bam?” 

He looks at you as if he couldn’t believe the words you’re saying, turning his head slightly to hear you better. Then, he scoffs, running his tongue across his lips swiftly, letting them express the enjoyment of your provocation by stretching into a smirk. He places his hand back on the right side of you, thinking over his words. 

“Bam is mine, but you can pet him. You can kiss him.” You can hear the feigned venom in that word as he spits it and you grin, pleased with yourself. You enjoy doing this to him. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you take him out for his walkies.” 

You gasp slowly, fingers absentmindedly gripping his thigh. Butterflies buzz you with a mere hint of arousal and to convey it, you wet your top lip with the tip of your tongue. The dominance, the principle of proving to him whether you’re deserving of something. Your heartbeat quickens, reaching for him with each swell. 

Oh, you’ll be good. You’ll be good until he’s sick of it. 

It seems he’s as pleased with himself as you were with yourself, reading your body language as he beams down at you, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. You want to stick your fingers there, pinch the skin at the corners of his mouth. Feel them, kiss them—

“Deal.” 

Jungkook blinks at you. He most likely expected you to be difficult. You like the look of surprise on him. A sweet kind of glint perches itself upon his irises. You’re at awe of how he manages to be so adorable and alluring at the same time. You could never understand it. You deem he must be otherworldly. 

“A kiss to seal the deal?” he tries, raising his brows, lowering himself to his elbows. 

He skims his lips across your cheek, descending to your neck. Places one, singular kiss there. Lifts his head to hear your answer, a soft curtain of hair falling across his forehead. 

You make a face as if you’re thinking about it. 

Jungkook groans. 

It’s cold, the way he turns away from you and it startles you—but then he slides his hands under your back and lifts you with ease, sitting you down on his lap. He moves you from the muscles on his thighs to the hardness of his intimate parts and you groan at the feeling of it. You’re wearing an airy short skirt with tights and knee socks underneath, the barrier so thin that you feel the solid, thick shape of him right under your femininity. 

You rock against him once. Jungkook lets out a sound akin to yours, fingers flexing—hands almost reaching for your behind before he decides against it and keeps them planted against your back. 

He desires your consent. And that makes you feel light-headed. Tipsy on the wholeness of him, on the pleasure coursing through your body. 

You rock your hips again—and this time, Jungkook whimpers. 

You take your hands and, slowly, you make a pathway down his chiseled chest. He twitches against you when your fingers pass by his nipples, his body following and squirming along. And once you reach the definition of his abdomen, your hands rise and fall against its quickening movement as his lungs heave. You’re mesmerized by his reaction to your touch. It’s as if it was his first time as well and something about that makes you woozy, savage and absolutely feline. 

And something about the way you’re allowed to do as you please, whereas he’s not, strengthens that state of mind, enriches it, thoroughly worsens it. 

You want him. 

It began with a ring and ended right here. 

And the process of your decision starts at his hips, finalizes at the pebbles of his nipples and finishes completely at the sides of his neck. He gives you the same, if not better, reaction, his manhood moving against you, and it’s settled. 

The giving of virginity to seal the deal, not just a kiss. 

Hovering your lips against his, you slip your hand to the place where you’re connected to feel up the shape of him. You moan onto him, vigorous power seizing you, propelling you to wrap your fingers around him. The breaths Jungkook emits are desperate, tortured, wafting over you, intoxicating you. It fills you with confidence unlike any other that you’re able to coax such a thing of beauty out of him—that you, the artist, have the upper hand momentarily while he doesn’t. 

And he waits, depends on you. You want to cry due to how happy it makes you, due to the way it suffuses an empty part of you, left abandoned by someone who should’ve taken care of it a long, long time ago. 

Because of that—if it’s kisses that he wants, you’ll give him as many as his body desires as a thank you. 

“You’re so hard against me,” you whisper. 

Jungkook grips your waist hard. 

“If you want it, you have to seal the deal,” he mimics your intonation, voice deep, tingling your tummy. 

“I want it.” You clutch both of your hands on his jawline, thumbs finding the invisible dimples. 

“Kiss me, then.” 

You whimper at the longing to do so. Your tummy clenches, butterflies inside swarm around and—

When you close your lips against his top lip, they burst into smithereens. Jungkook sighs in relief, enveloping you in his warmth. 

The kiss is hungry. You expected his first taste of you to be careful, contemplative, but he goes all in. Takes charge of the lip lock, swallowing you whole, moving against you, uttering low sounds that make your head spin and you just comply. Accept that you’re the one who submits to his craving and you find yourself liking it; find yourself wanting to deepen your submission. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, your head tilted as you reciprocate all of those hard kisses. When he comes up for air, he just gazes down at you, out of breath. One hand still on your back, the other cradles your cheek. There’s something puzzling in his eyes, as if he was fighting something within. You’re radiated by that energy, heavied down by it, letting him pet you like a puppy while you wait for the next step. 

“You’re so good that I’m considering letting you take Bam out,” he breathes, curling a wisp of your hair behind your ear. “Sweet little thing.” 

He pecks you once. You grind against his manhood and as he shortly groans onto your mouth, you splutter into giggles. Behind you, as if he heard him, the dog peeks his head out of the door, giving his Daddy a questioning look. Jungkook chuckles. 

“Bam, house.” 

The dog leaves and Jungkook sinks his fingers into your hair, sighing. Kisses you, again without tongue—only does what you’ve allowed him, but you overflow with the desire for more. He’s so considerate, so respectful and while you’re grateful for it, you want to break it. Your trust in him, made whole by all that he’s done for you, settled within you, made a bed in the sensitive parts of you that now shine. He doesn’t need to remain there—you want to go beyond that. 

“Touch me, please.” You look up into his eyes as you say it, willing them to see with all your energy how much you want him. 

He rubs soothing circles on your back. “If I touch you, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.” 

You lift your butt ever so slightly and bounce down on him, your skirt furling. Jungkook moans, pleasing you to the core. It’s bratty of you, but it serves him right for being so stubborn, so firm in his control. You want to break him. 

“Can’t you see how much I want that?” you purr, bunching the cotton of his T-shirt in your fists. 

He merely shakes his head, licking his lower lip, fucking with you. He tugs on one of your braided pigtail, the other hand gliding to your hipbone. “This little girl is horny? I couldn’t tell.” 

A yellow light, sleepy in nature, spills through the blinds, latching onto the side of your neck. His eyes flick to it and his teeth sink into the wetness of his lip. He looks back at you when he says, “what was it that made you horny? The neck kisses?” 

He straps both of his hands to your hipbones now, adjusting you so your sweetest spot rests against his cock, rocking your hips like he wants them to. He swallows down his noises, makes room for yours. You figure he wants to hear them. 

You think about what made you horny. His respectful behavior. An electric spark spasms in your core at the memory and you roll your body against his at the impact—nipples pebbled, grazing below the hardness of his pecks. You moan loudly. He breathes heavily, can’t for the life of him contain that, gripping you with strength that will surely leave bruises. You add it to the list. 

His control—the momentary, delicious lack of it, too. The dominance that follows it. His noises and how unrestrained he is when it comes to them. The allure and the attractive charm of his looks, blended with that insufferable cutesiness. His hard cock. The neck kisses, too, of course. 

You summarize your answer and you tell him, “you.” 

A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.” 

Fuck, indeed. Fuck the steady rhythm—Jungkook speeds up your movement, the pace so fast your pigtails and your ribbons bounce, tits following suit. Your breath falls in step, moans echo within the walls of his room. He kisses you harshly, but that doesn’t silence you. He swallows your noises down, grunting. 

“You wanna know what made me hard for you?” 

You nod your head, lips forming a natural pout at the loss of contact. 

“Those fucking pigtails of yours. The knee socks. How tiny you are in my hands. Seeing you lose your fucking mind when I kissed your neck. Those marks I left behind, hm, fuck yes. Those marks made me crazy,” he mutters, staring you down. “And you know what else?” 

You wait for his answer as white flashes blind you, your roaring orgasm beckoning you close. He doesn’t stop rocking you against him, not once. Fills your brain with emptiness with his words coated wet by his dominant energy. You feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of your panties. 

“Your brattiness,” he says. “I want to fuck it out of you and make a good girl out of you that won’t misbehave again with her smart words.” 

A faint part of you, half affected by the pleasure he gives you, arises to stand up for you. “But I was good and you said so.” 

He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly shaking his head. Slows down the pace so you’re able to hear him loud and clear, your orgasm backing away. “You see the thing is with little bratty girls like you, even when they act good for me, there’s still that dark little side of them that hides. Unless I fuck it out of them, they play with me. And trust me, I like the game until I don’t.” 

You frown at him, but a moan betrays you. A fight throngs inside of you, his dominance yet again permeating you, causing you to flourish, but on the other hand, you don’t like being added to the mix. You want to be the only one—and it makes you angry that he had someone like you before you, that he even said it altogether. Though unfortunately, that’s something you can only keep to yourself. 

The forming attachment breaks, splitting into two, with the knowledge that your wish is futile. You understand he said it for the sake of the role-play that you both naturally, wordlessly established through sexual attraction, but you still have a lot of getting used to within the dynamic. He’s experienced, you’re not. Though, when you think about it, he doesn’t know a thing about your purity. You never told him. 

You blame yourself for your own pain. It’s your fault—you should’ve had a conversation with him about it before you let him do anything to you, instead of playing flirty games with him. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if he knew you were a virgin. The thought of what you’ve done stains you, makes you feel filthy, but you will it to kneel inside of you like a wounded animal. You need to be strong if you don’t want to storm out of his room in tears. 

No attachment, no liking. 

Just sex. 

There’s still a frown to your face, despite the fact you set yourself free with your decision. Jungkook chuckles at it, oblivious to your internal storm. 

“You didn’t like that, did you?” You didn’t like being compared to other girls he’d been with; there’s nothing to be said of the like about the role-play aspect. Being called bratty did rouse a moan out of you. “You prove my words right.” 

You roll your eyes. Jungkook grips your ass hard and spanks you. As the sting reverberates, along with it comes the realization you got what you wanted. 

You broke him. 

And now you have to face the repercussions. 

Good thing you’ve sobered up from the stupefaction of your arousal. 

You cradle his face and kiss him deeply in effort to change the narrative. No feeling of affection from earlier hangs upon your heart and you find that it’s easier like this. No strings, no pain. It relieves you—so much that you sense a layer of lightness to your body and tiny, manageable tears well in your eyes. You get to enjoy this after all. 

There’s radiance to your eyes, rooted in hope, and true softness to your words when you say, “I want you to fuck it out of me. I want you to be my first.” 

You want to be different—your pride is uninfluenced by your decision. If he fucks it out of you, the new narrative you’re longing for will fully take place and make living through this bearable. You know you can’t have him the way you’d like, but if fate wrote that you’re to have him this way—you don’t mind altering it to the little desires you’re allowing yourself to have. 

Once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t lose it. 

Jungkook is left astounded by your words, eyes widening, shock evident on his features. Like your words, he softens, unclenching his fingers from your suppleness, the darkness in his irises making a way for gentleness to come through. He rubs the small of your back, hands ascending to your spine, feeling the clip of your bra, until he finds the nape of your neck. He holds you there, tenderly, as if you were a porcelain doll he now was careful not to break. 

The change in his demeanor is stark. It surprises you as well—and like everything that has happened within the hour, it isn’t something you expected from him. The emotion that emerges from the roundness of his eyes touches the hardness of your decision, tries to get through, pokes a gap inside, letting the light in. 

He tucks his darkness back inside. Strokes the back of your head, the silky ends of your ribbons sifting through his slender fingers. You relax against him and your body does it for you. It welcomes his tenderness, glad for the truth to be out. You fight against it—against yourself, willing your decision not to break but remain firm. 

No strings, no pain.

But to no avail. The light spreads. His light. Celestial twinkles of stars, small parts of him that make him who he is. 

“You’ve never had anyone before me?” he husks, regret glossing over his eyes, holding your head firmly as he awaits your answer. More stars spill like liquid. 

You shake your head ‘no’, your chest tightening. 

He kisses you and there’s something different about the way he does it. Now you can sense the carefulness you searched for earlier and you taste the primal core of loving care in the movement of his lips. The kisses are long, deep. As if you’re a different person now, a girl unlike any of the ones he mentioned. Someone who matters, someone who’s solid. You’re back at the beginning. 

A lump forms in your throat. 

“You sure about this?” he asks. 

One part of you, greater and illuminated by his stars, wants it gently like this, with flowers of innocence and purity besprinkled across his features, never leaving you out of his sight, taking care of you. But you fear that if you allow him to be tender, your heart will choose him again and cling to his side. The other, more faint part of you, affected by your decision, thinks it’s better to stick to the role-play, for there’s the aspect of illusoriness that will not bruise anyone’s hearts, especially not yours. It will make you horny, Jungkook will get you off and, glowing, you’ll go home.

You can’t decide. It’s too much of a heavy weight to bear on your shoulders. You can’t do it.

You need him to say the word. You need him to decide what will be the face of the trajectory of your premium friendship. 

Flowery or deceitful? 

A small candlelight in you hopes for gentleness and purity before your fear unfairly puffs it out. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.” 

Jungkook lays you down and, at last, you feel his manhood against you. He bends to pepper apologetic kisses along the column of your neck and you feel the authenticity of his regret, thrumming against you warmly. Your breath hitches in your throat, the principle of the candlelight in you not being a high hope after all—

“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about this better.” A kiss to your cheek; you stifle your sobs. “I should’ve checked in with you, but I jumped straight in. This was a mistake on my part. I’m sorry.”

He blames himself, not you. 

You want to remain stoic, but his authenticity beckons yours to come out and envelop him whole, gives access to your emotions and you can’t stop the miniature teardrop from flowing down the side of your nose. Neither can you stop the words that follow its footsteps. 

“I should’ve told you first,” you whisper, sniffling. Jungkook furrows his brows at the expression of your pain in tender emotion, wiping it away. “But I was bad—reckless.” 

He chuckles softly, caressing your hair. “You’re an angel. Sent to my side for me. You weren’t bad. I didn’t mean what I'd said.” 

His words, his touch, the kiss he adds to your cheek to punctuate his sentence—Jungkook erases everything that has just happened. 

Newness rushes in your chest, the pouring of spring into summer permeates your whole being. You hear the birds sing, the rustle of flimsy flower petals on tree branches as the warm wind grazes it with its touch. Jungkook seals this feeling by pressing a kiss to your sternum. 

He said it, so it must be so. You trust him. 

The firmness of the cage around your decision unlatches. Doesn’t fly away like the birds. Is a little bit afraid of peeking out. The candlelight returns to light up the room around that cage, blossoming into the sun. 

“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” he says, looking up at you from the place where he dragged your top down to kiss your skin. 

The sun rays in you absorb all of the darkness. The firmness extends one wing. 

You run your fingers through his hair. Figure the only thing the summer in you is missing is the heat. You want him, you want sex and you don’t want to think about feelings or consequences. You don’t want to choose between anything anymore. You just want to enjoy yourself. 

“I meant it when I said that I want you to be my first,” you say, fingers curling around his ear. Jungkook leans into your touch and it’s as if he’s massaging the wing to alleviate it from a cramp due to being tucked in for so long. 

“Okay,” he sighs, taking your hands and pinning them on the pillow and bunny above your head. He sits up, examines you and you wonder if he can see how truly fragile you feel. “Do you trust me?” 

He’s had half a year of going out with you, mingling his life with yours, spending money on you and treating you like an absolute treasure to build your overall trust. And what he did just now? How he erased your pain? Your nod is immediate; you don’t need to think twice. 

“Of course I trust you.” 

“Good.” A soft smile. “I’ll make sure your first time will be beautiful for you.” 

Your heart thuds. His words steal all the breath in your lungs, smoothing out the surface of your body for his stars to fill. Tears prick at your waterline. 

“Are you scared?” 

You’re an empty canvas. 

“Not anymore.” 

Jungkook nods, gladness pulsating off of him. “I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you, not even once, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and yanks it down. “How many times do you wanna come?” 

The ridiculousness of the question makes you laugh and you hide your face beneath your palms. “To be honest, I don’t expect to come at all. It is my first time after all.” 

You marvel at the honesty seeping out of you. His work, no doubt. 

Jungkook frowns, ridding you of the skirt, fingers hooking under the hem of your top. At the reveal of your pink, flowery, see-through bra, he stops altogether, stunned. He fondles the material, grazing over your soft nipples, at last reaching the embroidery of the small petals. He gasps in wonder, eyes flicking to your intimate parts to see if you’re wearing a matching set. 

The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy. 

Jungkook smiles at his discovery. Is hasty as he drags the nylon of your tights down your legs, along with your knee socks. 

“I’ll decide how many times you come for me, then.” 

Heat pools in your femininity. There it is, the dominance that you love. Yet this time, it’s laced with his gentleness. Heaven on earth—a meadow full of flowers in the middle of summer. Like the ones on your lingerie. 

Joy grasps your heart. “Do I get to know before you start?” 

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss on your tummy. “What, you wanna count them down for me?” 

You asked just because, but the idea excites you. You nod. 

Your response prolongs the rumble of his laughter and you feel its vibration as he kisses his way up to your clothed breasts. You’d think he’d focus his attention on them, but he straightens—reaches for something behind him and retrieves your white knee socks. He bunches them in his hands and puts them on you as if he were dressing a child. 

Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs. 

Smoothing the material over your thighs, he lies back down against you, lips latching on the spillage of your breasts that your bra gives him. While it feels dizzying, you still want to know the number. You poke him in the bulging muscle of his arm and in the process, you flush his cheeks red. 

Jungkook pushes your tits together and licks over the line in the middle. The sight of the shine of his wet tongue against it drenches your pussy, ruining your pretty underwear, and you want him there, on your sweetest spot. Your nipples stand to attention and Jungkook listens to their call, thumbs brushing across them. 

You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach. 

“Two times when I eat you out; two times around my cock,” he answers finally, awakening your butterflies. “How many times is that, then?” 

Amidst the pleasure, you do the math. “Four.” 

“That’s right. You think you can do that for me?” 

You’re not sure. In fact, you’re not sure of anything—lost in his touch, in his energy. 

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, skimming his face for a sliver of disappointment in his features. 

You find none. Only tenderness—round, soft eyes, brown in the light he radiates, nose and mouth buried in your tits, sucking on the skin, making you feel good. 

“That’s okay. We’ll try together. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t come as many times. Or at all. I promise.” 

Your chest clenches. You grab his face and kiss him, licking over his bottom lip before you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook grunts, rolls his own muscle over yours, tasting you, feeling you. He inhales sharply against you, once again taking charge of the kiss, taking each and every thought and negative feeling you had and crushing it to smithereens. 

He lifts you and switches places with you, sitting you down on his lap with your back supported by his chest. He roams his hands all over you—tits, tummy, hips, sides and thighs while he busies his mouth on your shoulder. As your eyes follow each movement, you notice the marks he embellished your breasts with and your arousal grows—so much that you take his wandering hands and hook them under the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down your thighs. 

There’s a change to his breath when his index and middle finger feels up the fleshiness of your cunt for the first time. Hard, raggedy and absolutely tormented. He glides those digits up and down your dewiness, listening for the squelching sound that makes his cock twitch beneath you. 

He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear.  “How do you touch yourself?” 

A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat. 

Jungkook sees you. 

“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer. 

“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.

“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re not really sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind. 

When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—

“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax. 

“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side. 

He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise. 

And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.

He stills the buck of your hips. 

You widen your eyes at the new feeling of fullness and, panicking and constricting around him, you look at Jungkook, who merely strengthens his hold around you. 

“Trust me,” he says, breathing heavily. He doesn’t move his fingers past his first knuckles; he lets you adjust to the size. Gives you a kiss full of tongue to distract you. “Does it burn?”

You begin to pant against his mouth, the high of your orgasm long gone. You’re uncertain to count it as one when it was so short lived, ruined by the sudden plunge of his digits. But much to your surprise, you don’t detect any burn in your walls that he speaks of, which you realize was his intention.

“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.” 

He kisses you again. You feel your lips go numb, eyes lidding at the pressure you feel as he sinks his fingers a little bit deeper and begins to move them sluggishly, your slick creating another ring for him around his fingers. You try to meet his thrusts as the visceral sensation of being filled by longer, thicker fingers settles within you and takes roots. You discover that movement is the key to parting the uncomfortable feeling and it steps to the side to let the pleasure walk forward.  

Jungkook presses his palm flat against your clit, guides the pleasure to envelop your body when he plunges his fingers deeper, past the second knuckles and fucks you in swift jerks. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan and he fills in the sound, expressing his fiery delight for you at the clench of your walls against him, accommodating for him, for his desire to stretch you out, so when he finally enters you, no pain comes to greet you. 

Deeper and harder—yes, that’s what feels good. You roll your body, becoming waves of the sea as wetness and the build up of pleasure—seafoam—is all your senses wrap around. 

“Feels good, baby?” 

His need to check in with you speeds up the nearing expansion of your orgasm. Pointer and pinky finger digging into the skin of your backside, you watch the in and out motion, the digits coming out wetter and wetter each time.

“Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna come. I’m so close.” 

It’s quicker. Way quicker than your first tiny orgasm. He slips in and out of you so smoothly—you’re obsessed with the sight, ravaged by it entirely. You grind your hips and fuck yourself back, picking up the pace but slowing down instantly when you feel yourself at the peak of your climax.

You want to prolong it. You love the feeling too much to end it too soon.

Jungkook stops your movements fully.

“I want to be the one who makes you come,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one who fucks your brain out. I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. Fuck, I want it so bad.” 

His hand drifts to your neck just to hold you there, the other, the busy one, fingers you harder, your fast approaching orgasm blinding your senses. Your drenched cunt squelches around him, the sound so lewd it causes you to seek comfort—your hand flies to his on your throat, fingers wrapping around his wrist, the tip of your pointer reaching the fat bulb of bunny’s head on his ring. 

Harder and faster. A scalding fire burns you and you just take it. Loll your head back against his shoulder, giving him the space to grip your jawline. Flames grow closer and closer, leaving a layer of sheen on your body in its wake. You feel the sudden need to pee.

“Oh my god, Gguk—” Your muscles tense. Close, so close. “Gguk, Gguk—”

“What, baby? What’s the matter?” he husks, squeezing your neck once. “You’re gonna come for me? Gonna come on my fingers?” 

You nod quickly, too quickly. Flames of the sun, licking you. Flames of the summer heat. Just what you wanted. 

Jungkook opens your jaw, swirling his tongue around yours. “Let go. Come for me. You can do it, I got you—I got you. Come for me, baby, please.”

Obeying his desperate order, you do.

A small stream of your pleasure, a faint fountain, trickles out of you and into his hand. He gasps, in unison with your whimpers, and you’re transmitted elsewhere. The wildly colorful, blooming meadow on a hill, overlooking the languorous sea and he’s there. Reaches behind himself. Offers you his hand. The wind ruffles his black hair, sweeps it back and you’re giddy—as giddy as Bam, as giddy as you were in the moment the slid the white bunny ring on your finger—to take the last two of his slender fingers, the pinky and the ring, and sit with him by the edge of the cliff. 

“Did so well for me.” 

The whisper takes you back and you awake. 

You’re different. Incandescent. Of life, of stars and its light, of growing fondness for the man you sit perched on the lap of, whose fingers still remain sheathed inside of you. He changed you. Perpetually, absolutely. He changed you and made you into something new. Something that is softer, more elegant—smaller but assertive. Alluring and kind. Indisputably good. 

He fucked everything negative out of you with his fingers. Left the vast canvas of stars inside of you.

You’re no longer a plain spread of cotton, but a living, breathing artwork. His artwork.

Once he fucks you with his cock, you wonder what further internal changes are going to occur within you.

You feel a great deal of gratitude for him—and you want to reciprocate all that he’s done for you. You want to work hard at it. Spoil him. Make him whimper. You believe he deserves it.   

“You finger yourself often? How come you took my fingers so well, hm?” 

You’re panting, unable to speak. Absorbing the sharpness of the stars, acclimatizing to the change. 

“I guess you do, huh?” he deduces. “Good little girl, preparing herself for me.” 

For the life of you, you can’t catch your breath.

Jungkook kisses your cheek deeply. Pecks you on the same spot a hundred times, slowly taking out his fingers. Lets you see your slick coating his fingers and, softly, you gasp at the little ripples of wrinkles upon the tips of his fingers, mouth parting.

And then he sinks them into your mouth. 

His hardness twitches behind you and you moan, your daintily bittersweet taste making your head spin. And when you look at him, you’re met with the utmost pink-dusted adoration painted on his face. You kiss it, inhaling it, letting it flow into your system so it suffuses your bloodstream, letting him taste you. You may not feel your lips, but the sentient poetry of the stars begins to sing in you. His stars. You feel like a flushed floweret visited by a bee. Spent, but happy. 

Happy to be wanted.

Good, because he said you were.

As if internally intertwined with him, you feel the identical heat tinge your cheeks. 

He says nothing as he lays you down and spreads your legs back to the way they were. Though when he’s graced with the sight of your bare cunt in all her glory, his face says everything that his mouth isn’t capable of. Hunger and torture—lips agape, corners of the mouth shiny with the rush of drool and Jungkook wipes it away, then lowers his fingers to your clit, to your lips, becoming more acquainted with this intimate part of you that no one had seen before him. He traces your small hole, even going as far as to your other, tinier hole and you yelp, stopping his exploration. 

Jungkook merely chuckles, eyes darting to yours. “You’re so pretty.” You grow so hot that you think you must be on fire. “Especially there.” 

You mewl, shrinking, hands looking for anything to hold and finding his bunny plushie. You take her into your arms, inhaling a scent that could never be hers. You recognize immediately whose it is. 

Musk, vanilla, wood. 

The thought of Jungkook cradling her while he sleeps moves you and you pout. 

“How we feeling?” he asks, still caressing your fleshy cunt, dripping with dew. 

Overjoyed. Overstimulated.

Heavenly.

“Good.” 

A foxy smile. “How many orgasms was that, hm?” 

You don’t know where your shyness comes from and why it chokes all of the words you want to say. You bury your face in bunny for a moment, taking a breath to fight against it, so you can please him because that’s all you yearn to do. 

You open your mouth, but no words come out. 

Jungkook stifles a laugh and it makes you feel terrible. And it’s worse when he leans over to kiss you, turns his head at the last moment and faces bunny.

“Bunny, how many times did she come?” he asks her, offering her his ear to hear her answer. Looks at you. Widens his eyes. Gasps. “Two,” he mouths. Listens some more. Nods. “I know she thought she wouldn’t come at all. Crazy, right?” Then he lets out an endearing sound. “She said she’d believed you could do it the moment you said it. She’s so happy for you. How cute,” he coos. 

You giggle, the bridge in your throat loosening, light flooding you, over and over, until you think you can’t take any more of it. You feel so full, so happy and the sensation threatens to pour out of your tear ducts. 

It heals something within you—that he treats you like this at your most vulnerable state. Your inner child flares, the stars the strength that fixes her stoop, helping her arise, stand straight, stand powerfully. 

He smiles down fondly at you. “So what number are we at?” 

You hide your face behind your hands. “Two.” 

“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.” 

You drop your hands and with as much energy as you can muster, you repeat the number. 

He purrs, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.” As a reward, as if the praise wasn’t enough, he kisses you deeply. “Will you let me taste you?” 

You swallow his desire, but speak up your own, “I want to taste you first, please.” 

Jungkook hums, curses under his breath. He straightens and kneels before your form, fingers pinching the back of his T-shirt and pulling it over his body. You catch the sight of his broad shoulders, of each dip and muscle, and your irises grown in width. Him ridding himself of his clothes dishevels his hair and as he untangles his arms from the material, he smiles down at you, noticing your stare. 

He caresses the back of your thigh before his hand flies to his hard length. He palms himself once, then continues to undress—tugs his sweatpants down to his knees, though he doesn’t bother himself to fully take them off. The shape of him is more prominent through the fabric of his white Calvins, the bulge of his mushroom wet and pellucid, and you sit up, hand itching to touch him, to join his in making him feel good, but he cups your chin—forcing you to look up at him. 

He swipes his thumb over your lips. “You want it?” 

You nod. “So bad.” 

Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough. 

“Touch it,” he orders and both of your hands listen, wrapping around his girth, squeezing beneath the head of his cock. The thickness of him makes you see the light of the stars that you sense fluttering feverishly inside of you. Your mind is too empty, too washed out by your orgasm, by the change that you don’t even think about how you’re going to take him. Jungkook hisses, tilting his head back before he looks down at you intently. “You did this before?” 

You’ve never seen one in real life before, let alone touched one.

“I’ve never let anyone get this close.” 

Jungkook strokes your pigtails. “How come you know what to do then?” 

Instinct or memory from porn you watched—you don’t know, it all blends together within the fuzziness of your mind. And you tell him.

“I watch a lot of porn.” 

Jungkook smiles coyly and it strikes you. You’ve never seen him smile this way before or, even, feel this way before. All you know from him is dominance, dominance and dominance. 

You release him from the confines of his boxers and repress your gasp. His ever glistening tip reaches just below his navel and the thickness of his girth obscures most of his pubic hair. Along with the sound of your surprise, you also have a hard time swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth. 

“I want you so bad,” you whisper, needy eyes looking up at him. Shy, too shy to let your gaze linger at the most intimate part of him. 

He sucks in a breath at your words, hissing. And you need him inside of you all over again. 

Fuck fuzzines in your mind. You’re fuzzy all over. Wrecked with nerves, suddenly. Your hands tremble, hovering in front of his manhood. Jungkook covers them with his, soothing you, and guides you to his shaft. Wraps your fingers around him. Doesn’t let go. 

The feel of him under his supervision is slow. He allows you to take in every ridge of him, every vein—the softness of his skin, the warmth and the weight. Round after round, up and down, until you get familiarized with him. A trickle of his male essence drips down the side of him and your tongue instinctively darts out. Like your hands, Jungkook’s breath shakes and he anticipates your next move, despite the fact he’s in charge. 

He’s been patient all this time, giving you the time you needed. But that hardly applies when you have him in your hands, when you own his neediness. His whimpers while he waits coax your slick out of you, soaking the bedding beneath you and you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither, evidently, can he. 

“Baby, please,” Jungkook croaks out. Tortured, so terribly tortured. Grip tight and clammy around your hands. 

So vulnerable. 

You ache. 

You lick up a stripe of his essence on the side of his cock and Jungkook shudders. Shifting onto your knees, you show him the milkie on the tip of your tongue and Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. Kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Moans, lowly. Then, he holds his girth at the base and pushes your head. 

When you take him, a mewl ripples around the thickness of him. His eyes roll back and his grasp of your hair tightens, burning your scalp, adding to the fire. He lets you feel it out; lets you figure out what to do, testing your knowledge from the porn you’ve watched. And the tensing of his stomach divulges his strained effort not to fuck your mouth. 

You go slow about it. Swirling your tongue around that rosy head of his, along that delicious ridge, licking a flat stripe across that line of his slit. Getting to know him in all those intimate places, relying on your senses—on them to tell you what he likes. Your hand begins to move on its own, gliding back and forth in tandem with your tongue stimulating his sensitivity. You try not to think about how you can barely fit him in your mouth, because if you do—you’ll ruin his bedsheets. 

But then Jungkook hums in approval, sending a gush of wetness out of you and you whimper—you whimper at the worsening ache you feel, at the helplessness that pools in your system by being just so filthily wet and horny. 

He moves your hand faster. Breath jagged, bedroom eyes zeroing down on you. And then—

Jungkook moans your name. Over and over, clenching and unclenching his hand on the back of your head. 

“Don’t have to teach you shit,” he spits. “You just watch porn all day, don’t you? Naughty girl.” 

Losing control for a split second, he rams his cock into your throat—and you don’t panic, you don’t yelp. Instead, you groan. 

He pulls you away from him with a sharp tug. Kisses you harshly. Shoves you down into the pillows with one push on your sternum.

Bending you in half, he drinks your cunt. Lips immediately suck on your needy bundle of nerves and it’s so fast you don’t even know which part of you he’s focusing on because he’s everywhere. Clit, hole, clit, hole—sucking, licking. Alternating, alternating so swiftly and deliciously that you completely lose your mind. 

And then he lifts your hips and holds them in the air, wanting you to see what he’s doing to you. Like you, he darts out his tongue and teases you, hovering the muscle above your clit. Shiny, nimble, capable of doing unspeakable things to you. He watches as your pussy drools for him and he chuckles darkly. Tongue lowering to collect it, but unlike you he never does it. He lets the dew trickle down your skin. 

“Cute little pussy. So wet. Wetter than when I fucked it. You liked playing with me on your knees, didn’t you?” 

With your fucked out brain, you don’t think it’s taunting what he’s doing. You deem it’s just him reveling in what he’s able to do to your body—in the fact that he owns it, that he teaches it new things. The glint in his dusky, lustful eyes proves it. 

Jungkook drags a long stripe on your clit, making your eyes flutter closed and your teeth to sink into your bottom lip to cage in your moans. 

“Talk to me.” 

You can’t. You don’t know how to talk. 

He stares you down. 

No answer from you. Just hard pants. Pussy drooling. 

“I won’t play with you, then.” 

Panic. “No.” 

He cocks a brow at you. “No?” 

Silence. 

He begins to lower you down but you grip his forearm. 

“Jungkook.” 

Bent over above you, head low, he merely flicks his eyes to yours. Duskiness, such blackening duskiness in those orbs. 

“Beg.” 

All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you. 

Lucky for you, that word he wants is the one you haven’t forgotten. 

“Please.” 

“Please what?” 

You groan in frustration. 

“Be nice or—”

“Please, lick me.” 

That dark chuckle. You feel yourself becoming obsessed with it. 

“Where?” 

A challenge. Your throat dries up. 

“There.” 

He shakes his head disapprovingly, making a sound that expresses just how much he didn’t like that. 

“Try again. Last chance, little girl.” 

The loving smile on his face says everything about how that threat is feigned. You hear it tell you—you have as many chances as you need. He’s merely encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone. 

And something about that mellow, hidden kindness gently ushers you to do just that. 

“Lick my clit, please.” 

A hum. A long stripe on that sensitive, thumping spot. A roll of his tongue forward and backward.  

“Like this?” 

You choke out a moan. 

“Yes, please.” 

“Or—” He blows on you, causing you to tremble. “Like this?”

He shakes his head against you briskly, not yet at a full tilt. Just like his, your body shudders in his hands and he tightens his grip on your supple hips. You can’t take it, the pleasure is overwhelming and—

“Look at me,” he orders and you open your eyes, immediately. “Like this?” 

Jungkook adds more pressure and rapidness to the movement, leaving you glazed sweetly in the sheen of his saliva. He moves your hips up and down on the firmness of his tongue and you scream, taking a strong hold of his hair.

“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”

Shocked, Jungkook groans against your pussy, slowing down to ingest what your mouth has just uttered. It’s more than natural to call him by a title like this, instinctual, innate. It fits him so well and it drenches your pussy, your slick amalgamating with his liquid love. You’re certain he feels the rush.

Your Daddy. 

You roll your hips against his tongue. Dark and more dark, those eyes of his. Bottomless pit.

“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.” 

The whimpers you let out are pathetic and Jungkook shudders at them, groaning. You whine the title over and over again, a verdant, dreamlike litany of your feminine sexuality pampered, cared for, supervised. Jungkook accepts the gravity of it all, each declaration propelling him to suck your clit harder, bruises forming on your hips from his deathly grip, black eyes never leaving yours, hypnotizing you. 

And when you come like this, it’s unification what happens. 

You’re bound to him and he’s bound to you. 

Daddy and little girl. 

Throughout your sexual experience today, you had a hard time accepting things but this—this is something that slept inside of you all your life and just now has been awoken to a flickering canvas of bright stars. You feel it blink, adjust to the piercing light, before it smiles dolefully—happy to be conscious, happy to be caressed.

Jungkook kisses you and takes his time. The taste of your femininity, the fresh coldness of your change, the strong wine of his desire. You’re drunk. You’re slurring your mewls. 

And one thing about unification, it’s a mirror. 

You swallow down the same mewls, uttered by his throat. 

“Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he whispers, adjusting between your legs. “Will be gentle. You’re safe with me.” 

He rakes the tip of his length along the entirety of your little sea-kissed seashell. 

“You want it? You want Daddy’s cock inside of you?” 

Jungkook looks into your eyes deeply as he asks you that question, the tip ready at your significantly smaller hole. He peppers kisses along your jawline and chin. 

“I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you murmur, brows furrowed. 

He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth. 

“We’ll chase the pain away,” he promises.

Your frown deepens. 

“But what if it doesn’t fit?” 

You expect him to chuckle, but he does no such thing. He absorbs your worry by kissing you tenderly. Then he glances at your body. Remembers he never took off your bra and fixes his mistake. 

“You may be small, but you were made to take me,” he says and your heart skips a beat; you wonder if he understands the gravity of his words as they take roots within you, rising to bloom into splendid flowers. “Besides, my dick is tiny. You won’t even feel it.” 

It is so far from the truth that you burst into giggles. He laughs along with you—a mirror reflected. 

Stars and flowers. Sea and freshness. You were made to take him. You trust him. 

He kisses your breasts, licking over your nipple—but briefly. Holding his shaft, he asks if you’re ready. You nod, your fingers desperately searching for his and Jungkook notices. Sinking slowly inside of you, he grabs his bunny plushie and tucks her into the crook of your elbow. 

There’s a pinch of pain, blended with the feeling of discomfort as your walls stretch around his head. 

Seeing it painted on your face, Jungkook draws close, enveloping you and bunny in his heat. Pushes a little more in. You wail softly, the pain intensifying. Fear intermingles with your features and Jungkook—the worry in his countenance makes you almost weep.

“Hold onto me,” he says, brows scrunched, so—so serious. “Relax, baby. I got you.”

You hook your arms around his neck, bunny sandwiched between your chest and his. Jungkook saves this time to let you adjust around him. 

“I know it hurts,” he whispers onto your mouth, index finger, the ringed one, stretching to graze your cheek. “Just relax your muscles for me. It’ll feel good soon.” 

You nod, trusting him. 

He pecks you. Smiles. 

“How many orgasms are we at?” 

You roll your eyes, your own smile threatening your lips. “Three.”

Jungkook hums. Pecks you again. You feel your walls loosening, little by little.

A smug smirk. “You didn’t expect that, did you?” 

“You obliterated my expectations.” 

“Just wait until I fuck you properly.” 

You blush, eyes twinkling. 

“Pretty girl.” He kisses you and you feel your attachment forming again, though this time—newly. As light, as free as an entanglement of seaweed upon seashore, you and him. Connected. Bound. No fear, not even a hint of it. “I heard you watch porn.” 

Your flush deepens. Jungkook sinks a little deeper. A faint pain—nothing bad. 

“Who told you?” You laugh, the sound ridding you of your shyness. 

But Jungkook grows solemn.

“Tell me what kind you watch,” he whispers, angling his head to give you a tiny kiss. 

Your cheeks hurt from the smiling, from the onrush of emotions within you, sloshing to and fro. You feel hot all over.

“The one where all the focus is on the girl,” you whisper back. “The guy uses all kinds of toys on her and she just takes it. Comes so many times and there’s a countdown for it.”

Humming, he begins to nibble on the skin beneath your jaw, making your breath shallow. He pushes in another inch—and the pain is worse. You tighten your grip around him.

“And how many times do you come when you watch it?” Deep, deep is his voice, the calmness to your nerves due to the pricking you feel. 

“I don’t stop coming.” 

Jungkook swears under his breath and clenches his digits into a fist beside your head.

“And you finger yourself?” 

You nod, confidently. Another inch. He smiles at your confirmation of his deduction.

“How many fingers?” 

You scoff. “Just one.” 

“Well done,” he praises, kissing you once, keeping his mouth on you even as he asks, “ready?” 

You nod, again, even though there’s fright to your eyes. He sees it and he brushes his eyelashes against your eyelids while he kisses you, taking it all away. And he doesn’t stop, even as he pulls out and thrusts back into your heat. Gently, so awfully gently. 

He didn’t break his promise. 

Jungkook rocks his hips in slow, sensual, prolonged staccatos, moaning into your parted mouth. You’re so focused on him—on the bulging of his muscles on the either side of your head, the broadness of his shoulders, the slick sweat dripping down his neck, right from the top of his tattoo; on the sheerness of his pleasure as he moves in and out, carefully so as to not frighten you, that the pain quickly subsides. 

And there you feel it. 

The sensation unlike any other. 

He rams into you, seeing the wrinkle between your brows smoothing, the lust clouding your eyes as the delight spreads all over your body, bringing along little dots of goosebumps. The night sea, windless, still hot from the afternoon’s goodbye kiss. You feel it—and you feel it deeply, sinking inside of you with every inch of his manhood. So much that you meet his thrusts. 

“That’s it, baby. Fuck yes,” Jungkook murmurs, enraging the waves within. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked?” 

Stars and its light. He picks up the pace, hooking your leg over his shoulder, entering you deeper and deeper, giving you more than half. The thrill of feeling so full—you curse, you moan, you can’t hold it in, even if you tried. And Jungkook coos at your conveyance of the pleasure he’s giving you, never lifting his eyes off of yours, off of your features, your emotions. Surveying you, controlling you, making sure you’re okay—more than okay.

You sense the pressure coil deep within your core, the sense of your climax approaching and you’re astonished at how quick it is. You halt your own movements, needing—wanting him to be the one to get you there, the one who owns your orgasms. 

“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock.” 

He fucks you harder, making you cry out. Deep, deep staccatos, so different from the slow, languid ones. You can’t catch your breath, the sea within you sloshes violently and then—

Softly, you sprinkle him with your fountain of pleasure. Not enough to drive him out, but sweetly enough to force him to groan against you and pound you harder into the mattress. Continuing as if you hadn’t come. 

You don’t have the time or the space to think about what just happened—he fucks each and every thought of you. 

“My little squirter,” Jungkook mutters, kissing you. “One more, baby. One more for me and I’ll paint you with my cummie. Hm, you want that?” You’re gone, flung out of this world into a tranquil island. The palm trees, the sea and his cock. Your emotions are numb, body limp. All you feel is his cock, ramming and ramming into you. “Or you wanna swallow it for me like a good girl?” 

“Swallow, please,” you croak out and Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Rewards you by giving you the full thing, filling you balls-deep. 

“You feel me?” He kisses you, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth. 

Glorious, glorious delight. You can’t breathe. Too much. 

“I feel you—” You lift your head to look down where you’re connected. “I—I feel you in my stomach.” 

Sitting back, he lifts your hips and palms the bulge just a little bit above your mound. Feels it move under him once he resumes fucking you. He replaces his hand with yours, keeping you distracted as he undoes the ribbon in your hair and ties your wrists with it. Right there above the bulge, where he fucks you. Then he latches onto your hips and jackhammers his cock into you, watching as your tits along with bunny bounce with each slam. 

“You look so pretty like this, tied up for me, taking all that I’m giving you,” he says, thumbing your clit, making you cry out. “Such a good fucking girl for me. I’m bringing you up so well.” 

“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.

“Yes, that’s right. Daddy is fucking you so good.” 

White flashes. Seafoam. The pressure in your tummy deepening and deepening. The roar of the night sea and your body following—you come all over him, painting him iridescent with your dewiness. His joggers, dragged halfway down his thighs, his boxers are all ruined—pelvis, thighs and cock glistening. It’s such a beautiful image to you that it suffuses you with energy and you begin to speak. 

“Please, come for me.” 

Surprised, Jungkook chuckles. “Don’t you have orgasms to count down?” 

The ever persistent need for control. You kiss him, slip your tongue into his mouth to shut him up and you struggle against your ribbon, for the feeling of kissing him without your hands makes you feel iffy.

“Five. I came five times for you just like you wanted,” you whisper. “You fucked me so good. I’ll never forget it.” 

And it’s the truth.

Jungkook pecks you once deeply, humming into the kiss. He pulls out of you and whilst he strokes his cock, his fingers tug down the ribbon around your wrists. You take your place on your knees, gazing with awe and hunger at his shiny length. And as if he needed it, he plunges his fingers into your mouth for more lubrication. Then, grabbing your jawline gently, he pulls you in towards his cock, letting your lips play with his tip the way you like it as he jerks himself off. You flick your tongue under the ridge of his head and his length twitches, stunning you. You do it again, more rapidly, and you don’t stop until Jungkook begins to tremble. Pulling him inside your mouth, then out, flicking faster and faster. Repeat. 

Jungkook grunts. 

“Yes, like that, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna come for you.” 

He announces it, but it still comes as a surprise when the first rope of hot cum spills onto your flushed cheek. You suck him harder for a moment before you stick out your tongue, eyes flick up, as he empties his balls for you, his hand never ceasing the swift tug on his length. 

And he just keeps coming. Rope after rope. Liquid star after star.

And you swallow it all. 

Spent, sweaty and breathless, he helps you swallow it. Dragging his fingers to the places your tongue can’t reach, he feeds you his cum and you suck on his digits. Your heart thuds in your ribcage, especially when he begins to play with your tongue, smiling down at you in that dopey way. 

He pats you on the cheek once you show him you’ve swallowed it all. 

“Good girl. Good little princess.” 

That you are. A changed person for all eternity.

“Is your tummy full?” 

You nod, beaming vehemently up at him, the aftertaste of the bitterness of his liquid stars still wafting through your senses.

The three forbidden words rise in your tongue, even though you don’t believe them—you think it’s just the opulence of new emotions and experience that forces those words on your tongue. But they remain adamant when he bathes you clean, when he brushes your hair and gives you his clothes to wear to bed. They provoke you right there on the tip of your tongue when he gives you his zipper hoodie to wear on his balcony once you tell him you need a smoke and he joins you, giving you his pack of cigarettes. 

And they come off the edge, in a different form, when you tell him of how he changed you while you hold his hand and he caresses your damp strands with a cigarette propped between his index and middle fingers, kissing your cheek. The smoke fixes a makeshift halo around both of your heads. One body, one halo. Bound.

“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”

What you don’t know is that those mere words changed the entire trajectory of his life. Yours, too.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two, part three

[sh1-n0bu]

You ever wonder about scara jerking himself off while you abuse his hole?

Just thinkin' ;)

♡︎ 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙞𝙩 ♡︎

characters: sub!scaramouche x nb!dom!reader

warnings: rough sex, creampie, overstimulation, dacryphillia, brat taming, mirror sex, cock can be interpreted as strap on - anything that’s comfy for u guys

notes: a biiiittt different than your og req but still the same thing, just a different tone. i hope you like the recipe! also it has been a while since i visited the sub genshin tags. hello my little horny goblins! have y’all missed me?/jk jk

what’s this???? nobu finishing up another req after publishing another one last night???? has she finally defeated writer’s block?????

“shlo-OOOUH! shlowerrrh~! [nam-] ca-aahnt!♡︎♡︎” letting out a guttural sob, scaramouche squirted all over his stomach again. he was being a little shit for the entire week - ruining your perfectly made cake, throwing tantrums like a kid, cussing you out when you forgot to give him his usual goodbye kisses before leaving for work. the list goes on and on.

and now when he’s met the consequences of his own actions he’s telling you to be gentle? after ruining the hard work you put in your cake’s icing? in his dreams.

the short man let out another choked scream when your cock hit his oversensitive prostate again, the plush soft muscle getting abused over and over ruthlessly by the tip of your cock repeatedly hitting them, clawing at your back with his blunt nails in a pathetic attempt to at least try and get you to slow down so he can properly breathe.

and it seems like his prayers were answered when you slowed down before stopping, the bruises formed by your hands’ rough grip on his waist making him let out a whine at the feeling, the bleeding bite marks left by your teeth still stinging so deliciously. the brat let out another whine when you pulled out of his hole, your cum flowing out of his loose hole and running down his plushy, hickey covered shaking thighs.

unfortunately the brat’s wishes didn’t last long when you manhandled his tiny body, turning him over with his back to your chest - looking straight at the full body mirror propped against the wall. everything looked so lecherous - from the sticky cum covering the insides of his thighs, the dark and blue hickeys on his neck and chest to the remains of his own fluids covering his tummy.

gosh scaramouche was completely ruined.

“[n-name] plea-ashee… n-no mowree~ sensitiIIGGH!!♡︎“ a shrill sound resembling a squeal left his lips when you slammed yourself all the way until the hilt back into him once more. small hands clenching and flexing, seemingly trying to grab ahold of something to try and get his fucked silly mind together again.

“‘m getting a bit tired kuni. so you gotta do some of the work too” guiding his one hand to his swollen, angry red cock you silently commanded him to stroke himself - which scaramouche understood. sloppily running his hand up and down on his cock, rubbing the slit wet precum filled tip with his thumb your sweet dumb boy just couldn’t help but let out another wail when you hooked your hands under his shaking legs and slammed him down to the rhythm of his strokes.

understanding the situation as much as his mushy brain could comprehend, scaramouche jerked himself off at a faster pace. hands stuttering with his tear stained eyes and flushed face looking directly at the mirror, the puppet could easily see your cock slipping in and out of his pink hole over and over. he was so tired - his tiny cock only managing to spill a small amount of cum as he spasmed through another orgasm yet you still didn’t stop.

after all someone’s gotta teach him how to stop being a brat right?♡︎

[adventuretolkienlover]

Reasons You Should Totally Watch Transformers: Animated!

It has a female POC lead, Sari Sumdac.

It subverts the stereotype of beefy dudes being dumb, by having the team's muscle Bulkhead, (The big green guy pictured above) be both artistic and scientifically intelligent.

The art style and transformations sequences are heavily inspired by Anime. Especially Sailor Moon.

The show centers around family bonds and platonic relationships.

The world building is very detailed and the characters are excellently fleshed out.

The fourth season was CANCELLED by Hasbro before the writers could wrap up storylines, leaving it almost on a cliff hanger. HOWEVER, almost all the notes for the fourth season were released by the creators and are available to read on the internet via fan made book scans or video summaries. Which is super cool!

The host from California Gold voices a decepticon. :) (EDIT: I made a mistake!!! He's voiced by Fred Willard.🤣 I'm so sorry guys. I'm so embarrassed.)

BUT, Weird Al DOES voice an Autobot. :D

Almost the whole series takes place in down town Detroit... I'm not making this up.

Anyways, GO WATCH IT! It's on Tubi for free right now!

[kingdoms-and-empires]

Does anyone else ever just wish you could draw/paint?

Like, draw/paint something specific.

Obviously the most obvious one will be characters for alot of people. Who doesn't want to draw the characters in their heads??

But I mean...

Specific stuff

Like, I'd love to draw animals.

And fashion.

Also landscapes and environments.

I'd love to be able to draw something like this, with blurbs of information for the animals and monsters of KaE:

And fashion!

I just love seeing how fashion evolves throughout history and how the rich are dumb as fuck in trying to out do each other in how clumsy/annoying it is to put on cause "you can afford to spend so much time on such dumb shit"

But it's cool.

I have Infinity Nikki to help cure me of that craving of seeing/experimenting with outfits (it's like, a really chill game)

But normal day to day environment stuff

That's something I can't really fulfill as a craving, beside finding artwork of what i mean.

Found an awesome artist who scratched that itch of mine recently, and its helped me describe some scenes in KaE

Jean-Claude Golvin, French archaeologist and architect!

Look at all the cool stuff he's drawn!

Because of the above, I've taken to drawing myself.

Im no good at it, but it helps me. To anyone else, it'd look horrendous, but I can see beyond what's in the paper. Cause its in my head, i just have to place it on the paper so i can like... lock it in my head, compartmentalize writing/drawing/imagination into separate boxes, and keep the flow state going as an author.

Mehhh, i'm just in one of those moods.

Introspective of myself. Which then got me thinking about something I usually think about.

Sometimes, I think about how many great writers and artists there are with no opportunity to vent that creative urge. To flex their imagination muscles. They must be like horses or birds, born to run in the plains and fly in the sky; yet caged by their economic or living situation.

And by the time they're in a position to actually do what calls to them, they're older. With more responsibilities. A career. A family. A whole set of skills and lessons already gained and experienced.

How difficult is it to overcome that initial "but im so bad right now, it'll take me too long to develop into something good" thought?

Is it not daunting to have to "start over" in a skill?

Then there's younger people than you who are by far more skilled at the "thing" than you. Isn't that crushing?

I think it's alot like exercise. It sucks at first. Sometimes you can't even do more than 30 min a day. You think, "What's the point??"

But even if you do 30 min a day for a week, that's a total of 210 minutes for that week. Three hours and a half. That's far more than the absolute zero you would have if you did nothing.

I think you can write, draw, paint, do whatever calls to you for 30 min a day in the least. Because if you keep that up for a whole year; you'll end up with 10,920 minutes, or 182 hours, worth of experience under your belt.

Oh.

Oh shit.

I went on a rant lmao

Any hopeful creatives out there, I hope you guys take some measure of solace in my words. You're not alone. It's never too late to start. The only person you're racing with is yourself, not that other person you compare yourself to. Take your time. Just don't deny yourself!

[0asisbliss]

HELLURRRRR

I enjoy reading your fics they're so nice,,,,,, and I want to request a fic for gyomei teehee

Scenario is Tengen used to like y/n. And gyomei knows this. How would he react when he is told and how would he react after??? Like seeing him again do u think there will be some confrontation? Idk, it's interesting hehe

It's a bit challenging ik, I'm sorry😭😭😭

But....... THANK U SO SO MUCH IN ADVANCE❤️ u are one talented writer fr.

A/N: HIII Love! Thank you literally! Here’s a 🍧🍡while reading.

Warnings: None. Just fluff!🤍

Life with Gyomei is all you could’ve have wished for honestly. He’s sweet, caring, and brave. Some of the most things anyone would look do in a man, but Gyomei himself was pure perfection in your eyes.

But you can’t seem but to feel guilty in some way. You indeed used to like his “co-worker”. You had the fastest crush on him too. Though he now when you look back he doesn’t even compare to Gyomei.

It was a funny thought y’know maybe telling Gyomei about your silly school girl crush. He wouldn’t be mad. You know that for sure. Honestly it made you feel nice knowing you could tell Gyomei the simplest things without him having any animosity towards the subject. It’s gotten to the point where you cringe even thinking about anything disturbing him.

You made up your mind you were going to tell him after work. You planned on making him dinner.

It was the usual every night. Gyomei would come in from training or either a mission and announce he was home. He would sit down and go over everything that happened that day. It was something Gyomei did every night you always wondered why he did it. He would tell you that “It was to analyze mistakes that were done that day, and to improve tomorrow.”

“It made sense, but it had to be something more.” You always thought to yourself.

You handed Gyomei a fresh bowl of Miso soup it was something quick, but Gyomei loved it regardless.

“Honey?”

Gyomei stopped eating a turned his head your way to indicate he was listening.

“Yes my love?”

“Y’know your co-worker Tengen right? I used to have a dumb little crush on him. Honestly it was so long ago I can barely remember it.”

“Oh is that so? What did you like about him?”

You would expect Gyomei to chuckle at your little confession, but nonetheless you answered his question.

“His muscles, and he was unique from others, but now that I look back at it you have what he had but even better Himejima.”

Gyomei smiled at your response he was lucky to have such a honest, gracious, and good natured woman. He took your hand and held it in his while eating his soup. You smiled at his as he took your hand in his.

When Gyomei finished his bowl of soup you looked back at the pot on top of the stove and noticed there were leftovers.

“Would you like more Himejima?”

“No thank you my love. I’m going to rest now.”

Gyomei kissed you goodnight, and walked to your shared bedroom. You planned to join him after cleaning the kitchen.

The next day Gyomei went for training and saw Tengen. He smiled when he saw him know that he must be a pretty great looking guy for you to crush on him. No he there wasn’t any emotion of envy or enmity towards him. He was just there, and he was thankful.

[octosan]

Working on one of the videos for my drinking game series and I got mad and wrote a whole rant that I realized was a little too much for a drinking game post.

I just hate this script so much you guys. I hate SO MUCH how much they simplified the dialogue, the worldbuilding, the puzzle solving in this game.

I've seen a lot of complaints about fans being illiterate towards the story and to that I say of course they are! The game doesn't ask them to think! Rather than throwing up your hands saying "maybe they had a good reason to dumb down the dialogue and spoonfeed you this stuff"

consider that critical thinking is a muscle

and players do not exercise it when the game is afraid you will forget the core premises of the game, or individual missions, and so repeat them constantly.

When your companions all get along and share the same basic principles beyond bland culture differences, and their principles are all ones deemed acceptable to "modern" audiences, so you never have to think about what life experiences might have led them to feel that way.

When you have your companions constantly patting you and the other companions on the back and saying "nice job!!" in combat as if we wouldn't understand that they are friends otherwise.

When you constantly have characters make juvenile comments like "this is evil, even for the venatori!" or "they did that just for power?/greed?" or "man this makes me hate the venatori even more!" (even more?? these are fantasy nazis!!! you didn't hate them already??) and then don't give the evil factions any nuance because they're afraid you won't get that these factions are eeeeeevil. (The Venatori were never very nuanced outside Calpernia but at least there was lip service that they were a symptom of broader issues, not the convenient cause.)

When you're constantly explaining to the player how many blight pustules they still need to pop, how many crystals you have left, and oh!! the gate's open now! go through the gate! or look! there are darkspawn there where your camera is already pointed! Even late in the game they were doing this! Even at the end of Bellara's questline she was explaining that laser mechanic to me!

When they present you with lore reveals that have been highly anticipated for decades, as well as multiple memories which are meant to add to our interpretation of a core character, and they literally just tell you what to think about them and how to interpret them, at length, in that godawful regret questline. (And tbh even Solas' memories in the Crossroads did not tell me anything I did not already know)

And then Mythal saying "hey those murals are not 100% reliable memories" in a single missable dialogue option that we don't address any further, rendering even that agonizing bit of handholding pointless. Like okay what does it MATTER that they are not 100% reliable? because the redemption ending relies on your interpretations of it being 100% correct!! what purpose does that line serve except to give the writers deniability?

When you don't even bother to GIVE new worldbuilding details when they could absolutely be relevant at the time, except when it makes the writers' job easier like "turlum" or Bellara's clan's funeral practices being indistinguishable from ancient elven ones even though that's literally not what we were told about Dalish practices in the past, guess the Emerald Graves don't exist anymore-. Like just as one example that has stuck in my head, Elgy and Ghilly use terms like The Blight, Archdemons, Darkspawn, the Crossroads, etc. despite being from time periods that predate those terms and presumably having their own words for those same concepts. You can't tell me that Ghilly honestly thinks of her beloved hell children as "darkspawn", or that she would tolerate other people calling them that. You can't tell me that Elgy would agree to call his instrument of reshaping the world, which he is trying to convince people is a good thing, the Blight.

When the game actively punishes people who are familiar with the prior materials with their worldbuilding, punishes people who are reading the codex entries and looking for minor throwaway lines that acknowledge previous shit like the fact that Crows are literally tortured as part of their training and killed if they fail contracts, by having it not be remotely relevant to the story and make it much harder to have the appropriate reaction to what's happening in it (like Rook has no choice but to be happy Jacobus is taking in more orphan crows??) This is low-hanging fruit but it's so illustrative of what I mean.

What other outcome is this all going to have but players who do not look further than the surface? Who miss and ignore little details they have been trained to think do not matter and largely do not inform the broader story and characters? Players who are easily stumped on puzzles because they were not allowed to figure anything else out by themselves?

Are you going to claim that the Orzammar questline in Origins didn't teach anybody a lesson about paying close attention to the social structures and culture of a society when you pick the person who's going to rule it, as opposed to picking the guy who the narrative frames as wise and kind and the other guy framed as a power hungry third child? Are you going to claim that the Archon choice teaches anything remotely as useful?

Like!!!!

GOD

Inquisition had plenty of this stupid handholding too btw. You can argue all of the games had it by degrees. but it wasn't even remotely this bad.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

legit begging you to expand on sillysicklys subpiling post bc i luv luv luv it and i wanna reaad more but im a shit writer :((((((

related to this

@sillysickly get over here, you'll enjoy this, lol 😏

Aw, baby, I'm sure you're not a shit writer! You can do it!

I will happily dive back into the concept of subpiling with an excuse such as this, though 👀

In the previous installments (that are linked in the related post, seen above), I made up an AU where Steve and Bucky are both subs in a sleazy, rundown sort of small-town, but what's the fun of writing if not just randomly making new shit up constantly, so... this isn't exactly in that same 'verse, I could probably do some writerly bullshit magic to connect it, but, let's be honest, this is mostly just subpiling for the sake of subpiling.

Our boys--both of them sweet, silly subs--become aware of each other at no other place than the gym. Ironically, the reason each of them is drawn to the other is the same. Steve and Bucky both steal heated glances, quick elevator eyes up and down, using the mirrors everywhere to their advantage, maybe even delaying or speeding up their workouts to end up in the locker room at the same time, maybe even the showers, and end up assessing the situation of tight workout gear, bulging muscles, bared, flushed skin, and glistening sweat to come to the conclusion of--shit, that guy has to be a top, if not an outright dom, and I fucking need him.

And all that is not to even mention the sounds! Steve and Bucky both lift extensively and with all that weight, grunts and groans are bound to slip out from between gritted teeth, jaws are bound to get set into an unfairly sharp square, clenched, that makes it impossible not to imagine the same tension-filled, almost pained expression and the same fucking guttural sound of struggle while he's on top of him. So overwhelmed by his tightness and fucking plowing into him, putting all that gym-honed strength to good use, making his brain drip out of his ears, forgetting everything but the way it feels, teeth-rattling, orgasm-chasing, ah, ah, ah. Surrounded by the sex-thick scent of it all, musky and sweaty, purely fucking manly. They both want it bad.

Each of them--Bucky and Steve--want to get pounded through the mattress by the other. Pitty, if only these sweet, dumb muffins knew the truth...

It doesn't take them too long to find out, though. Just a few short weeks of watching, waiting, occasionally locking eyes, bumping into each other too many times for it to be pure coincidence, and, oops, somehow they end up in the sauna together, post-workout, the last of the late-night stragglers.

The reason it's even taken a few weeks for them to finally end up totally alone together is because each of them is expecting the other to take charge and make a move. But, that's not happened. Even in the sauna together, alone, sure to not be interrupted, nothing happens right away. The steam billows around them, clouding them--crowding them, and still they're so shy. Steve's blushing worse now than he does on his PR, limit-pushing days, and that pretty color drips down his body from his face all the way to his toned stomach. He's painted like an obscene sunset. And the only reason Bucky can't tell if his flush goes farther is because of the towel cinched tight at his hips. Bucky keeps squirming in his own seat, just an inappropriately short way away, spreading his legs, then drawing them back together, effectively alternating between obscenely squeezing his thighs together to put pressure on his antsy dick and spreading it to expose the way his dick is pushing against his own towel.

They can't fucking get it together.

Each of them is practically vibrating out of their skin with untapped energy, heavily charged and so ready to go, until Steve fucking snaps in response to Bucky's pushy little scoots, getting closer and closer and closer until their sweaty, slick thighs are pressed together. Their towels barely cover half of their upper legs, so they both gasp, skin to skin for the first time. It's then that Steve breaks the standstill by snaking one big hand up between them and curling his surprisingly deft fingers around Bucky's chin, turning his head toward him, and...

Leaning in.

Their lips crash together urgently and uncoordinatedly. Steve has to tilt his head to the side to stop their noses from hitting. Bucky's open-mouthed gasp makes his teeth dig into Steve's fat lower lip. Still, God, it's good. It's hot. Immediately, they're both hotter than they can take--shivering with the fever lapping at them, boiling them alive in the sauna.

Steve kisses hard. Bucky kisses back just as viciously. And the sounds of their lips moving together make it hard for them both to breathe. When Steve can't bear just kissing, lips on lips, as desperate as it is, he lets his jaw go slack and licks explicitly into Bucky's mouth, teasing his tongue against his lips until he gets with the program and eagerly, needily lets him in. Yielding like butter to a hot knife.

Jesus Christ.

Steve fucks his mouth with his tongue, so fucking hot for it that it's practically unbearable, even catching Bucky's lip with his teeth, nipping, teasing, but all that well-practiced-skill is destroyed the moment Bucky reciprocates with just the barest hint of force. Steve is weak for it. Bucky sucking on his tongue leaves him raggedly moaning, then whining when Bucky places a heavy hand on his thigh. He's sweating so badly that it's a pure, sensationally erotic glide when Bucky lets his hand explore higher.

Up, up, up he pushes and Steve melts accordingly. Bucky can fucking touch him anywhere, just so much as he keeps fucking touching him. Oh, God. He rucks up his towel but gets tangled somewhere along the way, so he isn't touching him directly anymore. Noo, Steve whines, his mouth going slack and wet, hardly kissing anymore, just letting himself be kissed, open and needy, as Bucky palms his dick through his towel.

Bucky keeps kissing him, his mouth sizzling and dirtily sliding across his face, more kissing the side of his mouth than locking on. It makes it all worse. Better. Steve feels smeared and he can't help but slouch against the sauna bench, letting the wood take his full weight--muscles and all.

As it turns out, though, just from cupping his dick, Bucky's just as weakened. So, his mouth gets sloppy, too. Hardly putting any effort into crashing together, just letting his lips gape, weakened as he hazily feels him up. Mouth to mouth, breathing each other in, panting, huge chests heaving together.

He's so big.

Bucky can't help but whine into Steve's sweaty, burning cheek, nuzzling against his body. His mouth is watering. He wants that in him. It feels so big and it's so thick in his hand, and, guh--immediately, Bucky's fighting to blink his eyes open and stare, unashamed, down at what Steve's packing between his muscular thighs.

Bucky just fucking paws at him, clumsy, until his towel is out of the way.

He's fucking stunned.

It looks heavy.

It'd fill him up so good.

Bucky whines, aching for Steve's dick, he wants to be fucked hard. But his sound hits Steve's ears like a punch to the gut, going straight to his dick, and so he's whining, too. Messy and high-pitched, a true fuck-me whine.

They're debilitated by arousal together, fucked up, staring at each other. Somehow both of them are already cock drunk, eyelids drooping, mouths red, swollen, and hanging open, their coordination shot to shit. They're just turning into a puddle, all the heat going straight to their muscles and bones, melting them down. Melting them into each other.

Somehow, Steve manages to clamber back to his senses enough to realize that someone has to be on top (someone has to do something!) and, he, he's fucking seen the size of Bucky, his chest and arms and thighs and--he's suddenly frantically scrambling to pull Bucky into his lap, he wants him on top of him, pressing him down, grinding into him, fucking him. But, Bucky's skin is slick with sweat from the workout, from the sauna, from the sexual tension snapping between them, and Steve just can't get a grip. It doesn't help that Bucky's out of his mind, squirming, and he just doesn't make it into his lap. Not really. The closest he gets--his towel, too, gets tangled up and falling away--is half in, half out. He's precariously balanced, his face smashed into his chest with his back arched as his humid pants paint condensation across Steve's skin. Smushed and tangled up like that, somehow, his legs are split, straddling one of Steve's thighs, and his dick is right there.

Oh, shit.

He's hard. He's so hard. It makes Steve crave having it shoved inside him, big and thick and he's not as long as some of the men Steve's taken but he's thicker. Steve can fucking feel the throbbing girth of it, pressed insistently against his thigh. Bucky feels it too because instantly he's squirming worse. Arching his back, spreading his thighs like a slut, and making his dick slide smoothly against his sweat-slick thigh.

Half in his lap, half falling out of it, Bucky starts humping his thigh.

It feels so good, his skin is smooth, Jesus, somewhere in the back of Bucky's mind, he's wondering if Steve gets waxed or some shit because he's so smooth and soft and the friction is friction--it's heated, desperate drag, skin on skin--but it's so effortless, too. Smooth. Slick. Silky and almost oiled. He can hardly stand it. It's so good, but, fuck, when things are good, Bucky greedily wants more and things are fucking great when he's filled one way or another. Something in his ass. Something in his mouth. It doesn't matter. He just wants something inside him. It's what he was made for. Filling.

He wants to get filled so much that as he's riding his thigh, sweat-slippery, barely holding on, his mouth opens wider on instinct, and then Bucky's mouthing and lapping at the swell of Steve's chest. Face-first in his tits, licking his skin, salty and hot like heaven on his tongue. Bucky can't think to slide down further and start laving attention to Steve's hard, pink nipples. He's just thinking about how good it feels. How good Steve feels underneath him. How good it is to rut and hump mindlessly.

Used and defiled so thoroughly--Bucky's dick hot pushed up against his thigh and his face smashed into his built chest--Steve throws his head back wantonly. He can barely hang onto the squirming desperate thing in his lap as squirming and desperate as he himself is.

Steve's hands are shaking where they rest on Bucky's feverish skin. Steve's body has gone limp despite his aching dick. His dick keeps twitching and he can feel Bucky's saliva drooling onto his skin--he knows he's staring down at it where it's pointed straight up at him,, dripping against his clenched stomach, so hard and ready to be used while Bucky struggles and whines for it. Steve knows Bucky wants to be fucked. Bucky knows Steve wants to be fucked. They both know there's not a goddamn thing to be done about it. They can't stop. They don't know how. They just don't know what the fuck to dooo! It's incredible; it's agony.

Bucky can't stop looking, he can't stop forgetting himself and shutting his eyes tight, riding the pleasure as it crashes through him. Devastating. He wants Steve's cock in his mouth, he's so thirsty, craving Steve's big hands in his hair, pushing and forcing him down to level with it, knees hitting the floor hard. But Steve isn't controlling or forcing or steering in any way. He can't manage it! Normally when he hooks up, he's the one being forced--not forcing.

They're on the same side and it doesn't work. Yet, it's beyond good. It's humiliating--how hot this is. Stuck. Trapped by their shared instinct to sit back and be used like dolls. Limp and boneless, both of them so fucked and yet so not fucked, they stay lost in pleasure exactly where they are.

Steve doesn't know what to do! He has this gorgeous boy on top of him, all hot and loose, uncoordinated and hurried and his mouth is so near his nipples and Steve wants him to touch his tits but he can't stutter the words out, so he just writhes, painstakingly indulged and denied by in the not-enough, too-tantalizing sensation of a cock thick and hot against his thigh. He wants a cock in him! He wants a mouth on his nipples, sucking and biting and telling him exactly when to cum. He wants to be controlled, demanded of, and used. He is being used but not like normal and--

Ohhh, God.

It feels so good.

He doesn't fucking care.

His head spins he doesn't know what to do but slouch, boneless, and take it. His mind is completely empty, only left with steam, about as smart as a sauna himself. He could cum like this. He, he could--

He's gonna cum like this.

Now? Now? Is he allowed?

Oh, fuck--

Now.

So, uh, subpiling, am I right? 🥴🥴

[cynassa]

I’ve been a long time follower and really enjoy seeing your thoughts and reblogs on Jason Todd and you’re one of the very few people I feel like I can talk to about this (sorry if not)

But it is so frustrating seeing all of these comics where Jason isn’t used correctly in terms of combat. Character and personality-wise he’s a shit show, but all of these latest comics make Jason seem like such a wimp. It’s like it’s forgotten that he’s trained with the League, All Caste, and Batman, and he has been beat up too many times without putting up much a fight.

It’s so annoying to see such a well trained and intellectual character be typecasted as the muscle man who goes down after two punches. Every time I see Jason ranked lowly on combat abilities it makes me want to tear my hair out because he has so much training, it’s just never mentioned.

Sorry for the rant and the incoherent comments, please ignore this if this is too out of line

Hello hello, welcome to my twisted mind blog! I have been so completely out of it (health+academic hell) I just saw this! Feel free to just DM me next time.

You're super sweet and I am unfortunately ALWAYS up for talking about Jason Todd. I agree with you that Jason is insanely nerfed. Like, yes, he's trained with the League, just like Batman, and with a ton of other people when Talia was desperately trying to keep him for becoming (the wrong type of) terrorist. AND more importantly, he's a sneaky little Jerry (re: Tom&Jerry) fucker. It is absolutely weird to see how he's constantly typecast as the dumb muscle and kinda classist, when it goes along with the 'angry robin' and 'would have always gone wrong' sort of vibes DC brings to him these days.

Jason has absolutely no compunction on running away from a fight he can't win until he's back on his own turf with all of the toys he can think of. If you think locking his arms behind his back will stop him and give you a breather, his gauntlet immediately releases some weird nettles that spray you with chloroform or something. He doesn't have to be a better fighter (he often won't be) he just has to have time to plan.

Even more than making him a bad fighter, what pisses me off is the DC insisting that he's a dumb-fuck who will dive into every fight without a second thought. Like, no, he's a stone cold asshole who has mapped every single contingency out of this. He might still lose, but it should take some EFFORT to out-think him. The best way I have to explain this is if anyone's seen Leverage - the bad guys often face a certain point where all their plans seem to fall apart and then you realise that nope, they planned for this. Him losing a fight could still be a great way to show how much better his opponent is, because they can out-think him, but the writers will not make the effort to actually set that up.

Unfortunately, DC comics (more than other comics tbh) has writers who cannot come up with better methods to show how their faves are good than by nerfing the other characters, and I genuinely think a lot of the writers have no idea of the characterisations of the characters including whoever they claim is their fave.

If it makes you feel any better, imagine how bad it was to be a Cassandra fan all these years, with some of the absolutely insane choices DC writers made with her and her fights. (Cassandra Cain should be able to beat Dick in a straightforward fight, fight Batman to a standstill, and there is absolutely no contest with anyone else in Gotham, unless you're counting Dinah Lance maybe, and that's my final comment on that.)

[actuallyastingray]

Hello Supablr. Sorry this took forever, but I've been working on a follow up project once I'm done with these. More on that later, so for now just enjoy the takes

Skarra: Feral, cackling gremlin trying to pretend he's not empty inside. Needs a hug, possibly several hugs, but is too afraid of cooties to ask. He's either going to have a Prince Zuko level redemption or go full Anakin Skywalker

Dingaan: Dammit Dingaan! You can't be both the lovable, clueless himbo and dumb, jock bully at the same time. Pick one!

Automatic: So, if we ever get a Rookie Season 2, are we gonna see him become the third wheel in Skarra and Shakes' rivalry? Cause no joke, this guy lost his job to Shakes and has way more reason to hate him than Skarra does

Max Power: I'm not a shipper, but why are there no pairings between him and Shakes? I mean, technically there's two of him, but still

Dooma: Oh Dooma, Dooma, Dooma. The writers made such a big deal about bringing you back, and then they promptly forgot about you. Guess upstaging Skarra really isn't all that easy.

Uber: Somehow, a 6.5, 300+ lb. German muscle man is giving me more babygirl vibes then a Sailor Moon character. Also, it's hilarious when you realize he outranks his coach.

Ja Nein: The rarely seen lovechild between adorkableness and pure evil. The "first day at the unit" meme was invented for this guy specifically.

Thor: If he grows a beard, we can call him Odin

Von Eye: Why did it take me four seasons to realize his name is a pun? What is wrong with me?

Chuck: Seriously, I want to see this guy succeed. I want him train up his team, pull off a win, and feel good about it just so he can tell Toni to screw off

John Johnson: The most loveable himbo in a team that consists of equally loveable himbos

Miko Chen: The only thing not completely wholesome about him is how little screen time he gets. That's about as shameful as Ura-Giri's strategies.

De los Santos: He really needs his own Boss theme, but does that make him the bad guy? Cause lets face it, he's not the bad guy

Don Aldo: That's not how hair physics works

Ninja: The second most absent arch-rival in my history of watching cartoons. At least they both brought him back and gave him an identity as El Matador's rival. Still wish we got to see more of the tigers

Liquido: Ten years ago, if I told myself I would one day describe someone as a "sociopathic surfer-dude" I would start to question my own sanity

Andre Meda: His name is an astronomy pun, his team uses constellations as a secret formation code, and his coach has them train in outer space. This guy is a huge closet nerd, and you can't change my mind.

Vladmir Savich: They made a few half-baked attempts to make him a villain and the fanbase is having none of it. Good for him.

Riano: WHY IS THERE NOT MORE CONTENT OF HIM AND SHAKES BEING FRIENDS? They were such good friends, and we have like zero content to prove it. Do the writers not realize how much of a foil he could have been to Skarra? Riano and Shakes being best friends, and Skarra is feeling like he's been replaced, thus hating Shakes even more. Sorry for the long rant but c'mon Moonbug, this guy had so much potential

[megamindsecretlair]

It Started With a Whisper - Chapter 3

Chapter 2 Chapter 4

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. Some sentences are intentional AAVE. Cursing, mentions of sex and private parts. This is some time after Steve jogs next to Sam. Soft Sam, fluff. Non-inclusive language, mentions of emotionally abusive family, caregiver, burdens, ill family members. Lots of fluff, dash of angst.

Summary: You are the front desk clerk who started a few months ago and you have a major crush on Sam Wilson, the handsome and sweet trauma counselor. Sam made you eat your words as Steve does swing by the VA and you have to hold up your end of the bet.

Word Count: 5,256k

Masterlist

A/N: Yeah...this ended up on the long side. Rare of me, but I hope it flows and that you melt like I did reading it. Writing about him has...made me love him even more? I've never been to DC, so don't shoot me. Don't forget to take breaks and hydrate! Ik the gif isn't from the movie, but this is a really silly Sam. Likes are always awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

Taglist: @multiversefanfics @wanniiieeee @hidden-treasures21 @targaryenvampireslayer @chaos-4baby

“Excuse me, do you know where I can find Sam Wilson?” 

You looked up from this week’s schedule with a polite smile on your lips. Your eyes shuttered as you took in the man before you. Your smile dropped.

“You’re…”

“Steve Rogers,” the man said. He held out his hand to you. You continued to stare at the man. The videos didn’t do him justice. He was handsome in the classic American kind of way. His hair was short, he had a boyish grin, and clear blue eyes. He wore a dark jacket and white shirt. 

And holy hell…the muscles. “Well, fancy seeing Captain America here.” Ariel rolled her chair closer to the front and took Captain America’s hand. She held on a second too long and a faint blush crossed his cheeks.

“Please, just Steve.” He swung his hand to you and Ariel nudged you with her elbow. 

“Right. Hi, Mr. Rogers.” You shook his hand and mentally kicked yourself from here to Egypt. You were going to smack Sam when you saw him. He set yo ass up. And you fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Steve, please. Please,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Sam’s in the middle of a meeting. If you’d like, I can tell him you’re here,” you said.

“No, thank you. I’d actually like to catch some of it, if that’s okay?” Steve asked.

You nodded and giggled. Like a teenager. Get a grip. You told him the room that Sam works out of and Steve thanked you. Ariel eyed him up and down and waved to him.

“Thank you. For everything you did for New York,” you managed to eke out. You had no idea what his life was like but from all the dozens of documentaries floating out there, it wasn’t every day that you actually got to meet a real life superhero. 

People were still on the fence about superheroes. Some thought they were a government conspiracy. Some thought they were unnecessary. And there was only so much arguing with online trolls you could do. If it weren’t for these superheroes, the world would be bowing to that Loki guy and those freakish aliens.

You thought of your mom and her growing paranoia. It was so bad, she stopped leaving the house. You couldn’t fathom her having to see them every day or being under their control. 

“Team effort, wasn’t all me. But thank you,” Steve said. He smiled with that boyish grin and took off down the hall towards Sam’s meeting room.

“Hm, I just want that white boy to pick me up and throw me across the room. I’d say thank you,” Ariel sighed. You laughed and smacked her arm. “Shut up.”

Ariel leveled you with a shit-eating grin. She slid along the desk until she was in your personal space. “Soo, what are you wearing to your date with Sam?”

You groaned and plopped your head on the desk. “I’m so dumb. Why did I agree to that bet?” You kicked your feet under the desk.

“Because you like that man. And you wanted to go. I don’t know why you keep actin’ like you don’t.” 

Now it was your turn to level a glare at Ariel. “I would love to go out with Sam. But my family…”

“Your family nothing. What, you’re gonna wait on them hand and foot? At some point, they have to let you grow up.” 

You pursed your lips. Ariel had heard every complaint and incident involving your family. So she knew the whole sordid affair just like you knew her feelings on the matter. She thought that you should just move out and to hell with all of them. 

But you weren’t built like that. Behind all the gaslighting, the toxicity, and narcissism, there was a kernel of love there. You couldn’t tell your Dad that you couldn’t take him to his appointments. You couldn’t tell your mom that you refused to run errands for her since she can’t go outside anymore. Your siblings were in school. If you didn’t take them, who would? 

It was unfair that the burden was all on you. There were times when you went to bed crying your eyes out. Every morning, you got up and squared your back and handled business. For right now, there was no alternative so it was pointless arguing with Ariel when she would only tell you the same thing.

She was your best friend, but she reacted so strongly to anything involving your family. After a while, it was easier to stop bringing them up.

Both of you returned to your work. You idly gossiped about how Sam knew Steve. If he said they went jogging, then he wasn’t such a liar after all. You’d pay good money to see Sam jog near Steve, a whole super soldier. 

Hell, you just wanted to see Sam jog, let’s be a little honest. You daydreamed for the next hour or so until the sound of Ariel’s chair rolling caught your attention. You swiveled to face her.

She half stood and half squatted as she looked down the hallway. “What are you doing?” You asked.

“They’re done with the meeting. Sam’s talking to Steve right now,” she whispered, even though Sam’s room was a ways down the hall. 

Not one to be left out, you mirrored Ariel’s pose and caught a glimpse of Sam and Steve talking in the hallway. Sam wore a blue and gray plaid shirt, open at the collar, and a white tee underneath. He also wore khaki pants. You had teased him relentlessly about his old man way of dressing. He merely struck a pose and said he knew he looked good.

Your lips curved into a smile at the thought. That boy was goofy as hell. You often caught yourself smiling over something he said or did while you talked during your coffee runs. 

As you watched, their conversation seemed more on the serious side. Captain America was right there, but your eyes kept drifting over Sam and the way he filled out the outfit. Damn him. He did look good.

Sam shook Steve’s hand before Steve left with a final wave down the hall. You and Ariel sat down with soft giggles at being caught. Whistling drew your attention back over the counter as Sam floated into view with an annoying grin on his face.

“Well, well, well,” he said. 

You lasted two seconds before breaking out into a laugh. You stood up and leaned over the counter. 

“That was a set up and you led me right to it,” you said.

He shrugged with a sugary sweet smile. “I merely used all of my hard earned battle training to my advantage. Never enter a bet you aren’t sure of winning,” he said.

“Then you’ve clearly never had a wild night in Vegas,” Ariel piped in. 

“I’ve had a couple,” Sam said.

“Naw. The stories I could tell about me and–” You glared at Ariel and silently dared her to say another word.

“Oh, wait, wait. You get down like that?” Sam matched your pose and brought his face closer to you. It was the closest you two had ever been and your eyes flicked to his lips before you remembered yourself.

“Not telling. And neither is Ariel,” you said. 

Sam groaned and tilted his head. “Just one story?” He gave you an adorable pout and you laughed. 

“No! What happens in Vegas…”

He sighed dramatically. “You’re no fun. So what time should I pick you up tonight?” He asked.

“Tonight? That’s not enough notice!” Mild panic rushed through you. You had to pick up your siblings, make sure everyone had dinner, and make sure your mom actually took her meds. Then, you had to find an outfit and get dolled up and…

“Hey, hey, I was kidding,” Sam said. He reached out and patted your hand. You turned your head away and took a few deep breaths. He squeezed your hand in short bursts until you looked at him.

“I’m sorry. It was a dumb joke. When can I take you out?” 

“You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one that’s sorry. I…I do better when I have advanced notice for things,” you admitted. 

Sam nodded. “I can work with that. Is Friday okay? Or do you need to check your schedule and rearrange your other dates?” 

You laughed and tapped his arm. “Shut up. Friday is fine, Sam.” You smiled at him, hoping he’d forget all about your mini freak out. He eyed you as if he didn’t but smiled and nodded.

“Friday it is. Wear something comfortable,” he said. 

You squinted at him. “Where are you taking me?” You asked.

“And spoil the surprise? Not a chance. I’m gonna get this right, don’t you worry,” he said with a smirk. 

You wanted to challenge him on it. However, a bet was a bet and you always kept your word. Sam hadn’t let you down so far and there was no reason to keep giving him the third degree. 

“I’m really looking forward to it,” you said.

Sam raised his eyebrows and glanced at Ariel. “You didn’t tell her to say that to put me out of my misery, did you?” 

Ariel threw up her hands. She wasn’t even trying to pretend that she hadn’t been paying attention this entire time. You supposed it was better than having to rehash it all. 

“That’s all her. I’m sure Captain America finally convinced her to give you a shot,” she said.

“He did not!” You laughed. Sam laughed with you. 

“I mean…have you seen him?” Sam joked, making Ariel and you laugh. 

You slapped his arm again. “You have serious issues. I hope you know that,” you told him.

“Nope, I just got a date with the most gorgeous woman in all of DC. Nothin’ can bring me down right now,” he said. He rapped his knuckles against the counter and walked backwards. He smirked and bowed his head before turning around and heading back to his meeting room. 

You stood there, frozen, your mouth slightly agape. That…

“Girl, you need to get under that man and lock it down,” Ariel said. 

Her voice saved you from having to think about what he just said. You knew you were gorgeous. But to hear him say it with his deep voice just turned you into a puddle. 

You sat down in your seat. His words replayed over and over in your head. You had a date with Sam Wilson. Who had that on their bingo card, show of hands?

***

Friday night arrived and you were a ball of nerves. You wore a navy babydoll tee, leggings, and sandals. It was appropriate for a date and still sexy. The babydoll tee had a low neckline, giving a little peek at your boobs. You didn’t know if you’d sleep with Sam tonight, but the night was young.

You paced in the living room and wrung your hands. Your siblings were squared away, eating their dinner to rising protests about how they weren’t babies. Your dad was left snoozing in front of the TV and his legs up on the recliner. And your mom…paced with you and asked you a million questions about Sam.

“Are you sure he isn’t an alien?” She asked.

“As much as I can be. I’m not a doctor,” you said. 

“Where did you meet him?” 

“At work, mom.” You tried to keep the annoyance out of your voice. She had a serious condition that everyone was doing their damndest to accommodate. At the same time, you wished someone would accommodate you for once. You hadn’t been out on a date in…you didn’t want to think about how long.

On the off chance that you recognized someone was trying to ask you out, you made excuse after excuse. You didn’t want the extra drama. You didn’t want to…well, be in this exact situation with your mom breathing down your neck and making your own anxiety worse. 

All day, your stomach had been in painful knots. You’d talked yourself out of going a million times. But yesterday, on your coffee run with Sam, he asked for your number. You gave it and he had been just as sweet over text as he was in person. You worried that you’d run out of things to talk about. That was impossible with Sam. He made sitting in bumper to bumper traffic sound interesting.

Blessedly, the doorbell rang. Your mom squealed and headed for the dining room with your siblings. They knew the drill. They started to engage her in conversation until she stopped focusing on you and answered their questions. They were little shits, but they were yours.

You went to the front door and took a deep breath. You opened it to find Sam standing there wearing a dark gray Henley, a mocha leather jacket, dark jeans, and sneakers. He looked scrumptious. With a fresh haircut and his goatee trimmed. 

He looked you up and down with equal scrutiny and he smiled. “You look amazing,” he said. 

“Not so bad yourself. I see you trying to step it up,” you said. 

Per his usual, he struck a pose and chuckled. “Had to show out a little bit. As much as I definitely want you to stay perfect, you’re gonna need a jacket. A real one. Nothin’ like a sweater or those half-sweaters ya’ll be wearing,” he said.

You laughed and shook your head. On the wall by the door, there was a hook with jackets and sweaters that you wore all the time. You grabbed a heavy black hoodie that still went with your outfit.

“Is that going to work for this mystery date?” You asked. 

He reached out and felt it. “It’ll do. Ready?” He asked. 

You nodded and locked up behind you. Before long, you were in his car and heading…somewhere. He refused to tell you where. You grew up here so you tried to guess with each stop and turn that he made.

“Is it a rooftop bar?” You asked, thinking of the various hotels that had attractions inside. 

He chuckled. “No, stop guessing,” he said. You watched him as he drove. It was so…sexy. One of those things that shouldn’t be. Most adults drove. You drove. There was something incredibly hot about watching a man drive one-handed, his other hand on his thigh, and his eyes trained on the idiots in traffic. 

Sam made it look powerful and engaging. “I got something on my face?” He asked.

You laughed to cover up your embarrassment at being caught staring. “Yeah, it’s sort of around your mouth,” you said.

Sam patted his face and looked in the rearview mirror. He came to a stop at a red light and checked again. “I don’t see anything,” he said. He looked to you for help and you rolled your lips inwards to keep from laughing. 

“Oh…sorry. It’s just your mustache,” you said.

Sam’s face dropped for a split second and then he laughed. “Oh, I see we got jokes,” he said.

On green, he continued forward and you laughed. “You kinda walked into it,” you said.

Sam nodded and poked your leg. “We’ll see who’s laughing more later on tonight,” he said. You poked him in the arm. It was like poking a bag full of quarters. He was deceptively buff. 

You joked more as Sam pulled into a parking garage in Georgetown. “The Waterfront?” You asked with an excited squeal. He chuckled at your enthusiasm. “Surprise!” 

You laughed as he pulled in and found a parking spot. You both got out and he offered his arm. You shook your head as you placed your hand around it. He guided you to a restaurant you’d never been to before.

“I didn’t know this was here,” you said. 

He shrugged. “I know some things. Better stick with me,” he said. He smiled at you and there it was again. That sense of familiarity. As if you could imagine this over and over and never get sick of it. You pulled your gaze away from his. This was something breezy and casual. Unfortunately, that was all you could offer.

The thought of your family dimmed your smile. As wonderful as Sam was, there was no way in hell you were asking him to deal with them. They were your cross to bear. He’d find someone else, someone with less baggage to love on him and hold him. 

Acid boiled in your gut at the thought of Sam taking someone else out to dinner. At the thought of their hands on him. It stole your breath, robbed you of any clear thought.

“Hey, where’d you go? You okay?” Sam asked. He nudged you and moved to get out of line. You stopped him. He planned a beautiful evening and you wanted to see it. You wanted to see it with him.

“I’m fine. Promise. Where’d you hear about this place?” You smiled at him but he only frowned. 

“If you’re not feeling well, I can take you home. There’s no pressure here,” he said.

You sighed. Damn the man. “Sam, if you don’t buy me dinner, I’ll tell Ariel you were very rude on our date,” you said.

The fake betrayal on his face made you laugh. “You would sic Ariel on me?” 

You nodded. “Sure would. In a heartbeat,” you said. 

Sam gave you a fake hurt look and approached the host. He had called ahead and made a reservation. The host was a short, spunky dude with greased hair and a practiced fake smile. He waved for a waiter to come by and show you to your seat. 

The restaurant was tasteful and warm. It had intimate lighting but it wasn’t so low that you couldn’t see the other person right next to you. The atmosphere was inviting. The waiter led the both of you out onto the patio area with a perfect view of the sunset over the harbor. 

“Sam, this is gorgeous!” You furiously whispered to him as he held your seat out. Once you sat down, he took his own seat. The waiter handed you both menus and asked if you wanted anything to drink. Sam took a light beer, his only one as a promise, and you got a glass of wine.

“I wanted tonight to be special. Don’t expect this all the time. This is just to sucker you in,” he said.

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Shut up. This is really wild. Did you really plan this?” 

“Okay, maybe a little help from my sister. I can’t take all the credit. Can’t let me have one, can you?” He teased.

“Not a one,” you said and laughed. 

You talked all throughout the night. Conversation with Sam was so easy. You asked him about growing up in Louisiana and what’s the biggest critter he’d ever seen. You asked him about his parents running the fishing business together and why he joined the military. 

He asked you about your family and you told him most of the good stuff. You told him about the shenanigans they got into and what your dad did for a living. As for your mom, well, she primarily worked from home. It was a tiny, white lie that you felt horrible about. Sam was always so honest. But it was too much to dump on someone.

The sun lazily dipped below the horizon beside you. You knew now why he insisted on a jacket. The breeze from the harbor was bitter but enjoyable. He stopped after one beer like he promised. You stopped after two glasses. You didn’t want to get sloppy wine-drunk. 

That’d be embarrassing. If he was going to see you wasted, it might as well be on Tequila when you’d really let loose. You wondered what he’d be like drunk. If he ever got drunk. 

“I’ve been drunk, I’m not a saint,” he said with a chuckle, as your dinner drew to a close. The food was criminally delicious. Sam told you about an ice cream shop that stayed open late if you were open to dessert later.

You didn’t want the night to end either. So while you waited for the check, Sam sipped on water. “Trust me, we got pretty wild overseas on deployment. There’s nothing to do but fight and try to forget,” he said.

“You saw his mouth turn down at the corners. Sore subject. So you pivoted. “Wild, huh? Like stealing humvees and doing takeovers?” 

He laughed so loud that the people around you gave you disapproving looks. Sam apologized and waved to everyone. “You’re gonna get us in trouble!” 

“Me!” You waved him off. “I’m not the one who tried to make me snort while I was drinking,” you said.

He raised his hands in surrender and smirked. “I can’t help it if I’m hilarious,” he said.

“As long as your ego is well in hand,” you said.

He shrugged. Damn the man. “To your earlier point, no, we didn’t do takeovers. But we got into stuff. Pranks, teasing, we would play ball with the local kids. It was fun sometimes,” he said. 

“Anything to pass the time over there. I know nothing about it, so I can’t speak on it,” you said. 

“It’s alright. It was like a fucked up version of summer camp. Except summer never ends so it’s always hot as hell and you’re just trying to survive the day,” he said. “But enough about that. I have to hear about these wild and unchaperoned Vegas trips you took with Ariel.”

You covered your mouth to keep from laughing too loud. The waiter came by, saving you from having to talk. Your shoulders shook with quiet laughter and Sam took the check. He tilted it towards you.

“Not gonna try and reach for the bill?” He asked with a smirk.

“Okay, smartass,” you said. He chuckled and took his card out of his wallet. He signed it and handed it to the waiter. “So…Vegas?” 

“You couldn’t pay me to get that information,” you said.

“It must’ve been something freaky,” he said.

You tossed your napkin at him and he caught it with a laugh. The waiter came back and wished you a good night. Sam led you out of the restaurant. “You’re gonna have to roll me out of the car,” you said. You rubbed your belly and Sam laughed.

“I’m stuffed too. Let’s walk it off,” he said. He held his hand out for yours. You took it with a grimace. “You’re not gonna make me into a jogging partner or anything right? I hate running,” you said.

“I promise to keep my jogging to myself,” he said and chuckled. Together, you walked up and down the boardwalk next to the harbor. Lights from the Waterfront stretched out over the water and people milled around you. Conversation flowed well. You learned so much about his childhood and his sister. He lamented the fact that he didn’t get home as often as he wanted to. Counseling wasn’t completely demanding but he also didn’t want to pass it off to someone else.

“I formed a good group of people. I want them to know I’m there,” he said.

“People love you, Sam. They love attending your meetings. But you know that it’s okay to take breaks and vacations right?” 

“I know. I left Louisiana and just haven’t looked back. I love it there, but there’s so much world to see, you know? Food to try. Pretty girls to flirt with,” he said.

You rolled your eyes to keep from grinning so hard. “And you’re not even shameless about it,” you said.

“How can I be?” He gave you a pointed look. He winked and opened the door to the ice cream shop. You both got different flavors and took a tiny piece from each other’s cup. You walked back outside. The boardwalk was starting to wind down.

You walked and ate. You were proud that you hadn’t spilled anything on you. Sam was still a ball of energy, talking and telling you more stories. He was full of them. It was like he collected them from every person he met.

As you walked to the car and finished up your ice cream, you gave him a side eye. “So I have to know…Captain America? Really?” 

Sam chuckled. “Hey, all I did was jog. He chose a new spot that day and passed me like a million times. No, he's a solid dude. Just…regular,” he said. “Well, regular and he can whup alien ass,” he said and laughed.

“I don’t think it’s easy for him to be in our time. When he went into the ice, we were at war with the Nazis. When he came out of it, suddenly there’s internet and TV shows, and everyone’s got a car. It’s a lot,” Sam said.

You nodded. “I’m glad he has you. Everyone needs a Sam in their life, it’s kind of the requirement if that’s your name,” you said. 

“How you figure?” He asked.

“Lord of the Rings, Supernatural, Game of Thrones…” you listed off. Sam stopped walking and stared at you.

“Don’t tell me you’re a nerd,” he said. He made ‘nerd’ sound so dirty. You opened your mouth to argue from here until kingdom come about how awesome being a nerd was before you saw him fighting a smile. 

“You get on my nerves!” You said. He laughed and you threw away your ice cream cups. Even after eating that and being out in the harbor, Sam’s hand was warm as he grabbed yours. You smiled and put your head on his shoulder.

“This was amazing, Sam,” you said as you walked to the car. 

“I’m very glad,” he said. He put his head next to yours before letting you go and opening the car door for you.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” you said. He shrugged. “I like doing it,” he said.

You slid into the car. Your nerves were shot. You know he didn’t expect anything from you, but you also promised your mom that you wouldn’t be too late. You knew that no amount of coaxing from your siblings would get her to settle down. She would stay up until every member of her flock was at home.

She wasn’t that bad, most nights. But it had been too long since you went on a date. Sam slipped into the car and backed out. “Back to your place, right?” 

You smiled. Damn the man. He seemed to pick up on your thoughts as if he could read them. You squinted at him. You can’t actually read my mind, can you? 

“If you say my goatee is on my face again, we’re gonna have a problem,” he said and chuckled.

Okay, couldn’t read your mind. You laughed. “My place is good, thank you.” 

You talked more on the way back to your place. The itis was starting to hit you and you yawned. Sam chuckled. “Almost there,” he said.

He pulled onto your street. All the carefree fun you had soured in your gut. You didn’t want to return to the hellhole. Some wispy part of you wished Sam would keep driving and kidnap you, take you far, far away.

Fairytales didn’t happen in real life. Even lives filled with gods and aliens. And not for Black girls who had to grow up too fast.

Sam pulled up to the curb. The porch light was on. You were sure your mom was somewhere in the house, listening and waiting for you to open the door. You stared out of the window and mentally rallied your patience. 

“Hey, I want you to know that you can always talk to me. It’s not that I demand to know everything up front, but I can tell when you’re holding something back. I’d rather you tell me that you don’t want to share something than feel like you have to hide it or lie to me,” he said.

You smiled at him. “My home life is really insane. I don’t want to get into something deeper if it’ll end up being too much for you. My family will always require more of my focus,” you said.

Sam nodded. “I’m not asking you to choose between me and your family. I’m asking for a chance to decide that for myself. I can’t do that without all of the facts.” 

He was right. You knew he was right. It wasn’t fair to keep all of the cards and blame him for not being able to play. “It’s a lot. Can I swear to tell you in chunks?” 

“I can work with that. So, that means I get a second date?” He asked and waggled his eyebrows.

“Boy, bye,” you said and chuckled. “But yes. Safe to say I want to go on a second date with you,” you said.

He nodded and got out of the car. He came around and opened the door for you. It was pointless fighting him on it at this point. He was just going to find a sneakier, faster way to do it. While it would be hilarious to see him scurry around the car to open the door for you, it was much easier to let him be a gentleman. And it was lowkey really nice. 

You got out and Sam took your hand. He walked you to the door like a proper gentleman. At the door, Sam faced you. “I had a really good time with you. And I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. That’s all I want,” he said.

You stepped closer. “Just shut up and kiss me already,” you said.

Sam chuckled before getting closer and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It was practically chaste. But then he smiled against your lips and kissed you like he meant it. He pressed his lips more firmly against yours.

He licked your bottom lip and you gasped. He slipped his tongue inside and cupped the back of your head. You melted against him and he held you up, taking the kiss from you. You followed his lead as he explored your mouth with his. The kiss felt magical. So magical that your panties grew damp.

You didn’t know how much time passed by before you broke apart, needing air. “Damn,” you said on a sigh.

Sam chuckled. He placed his forehead against yours as he caught his breath. He smelled faintly like the ice cream he had. “I’m gonna be counting the days until I can do that again,” he said.

“Don’t wait too long,” you said. 

He chuckled and kissed you again. “You better get in the house before I embarrass myself,” he said. 

You chuckled and kissed him one more time for the road. You unlocked the door and went inside with a tiny wave. He nodded. You closed the door and locked it and knocked on the door. He knocked back.

You heard the car door slam shut and then the driver’s side open and shut. The car turned over. You rested your back against the door, grinning like an idiot. You were glad that the house was dark so no one would catch the little dance you did. 

As far as first dates went, he knocked it out of the park and you couldn’t wait for the second one.

Masterlist | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

[racefortheironthrone]

How would you characterize Ziggy from the Wire? After several rewatches he's probably the character I've changed my mind the most about. The man is a goof, but he's not exactly dumb. Reckless, misguided and desperate for approval in a class clown way, but he was pretty smart when come to down business with the cameras and how to steal the cars.

Fucking Ziggy, man. Often dismissed, frequent target of ire from the fandom, and yet...I absolutely understand what the writers were doing with this character and I think that in his own way, Ziggy is one of the most poignant tragedies in Season 2.

Because the thing about Ziggy is how close he is to escaping the downward gyre and yet his ultimate fate is completely unavoidable, given his circumstances. As you say, Ziggy isn't dumb - unlike most of the dockers, he knows how to use computers and other tech, he's been to community college, he's wired into current events. If he was less of a self-destructive fuckup, and if he wasn't a Sobatka, you could imagine him eventually getting a white collar office job and being able to afford an apartment out in the county, settle down and start a family, and live a very comfortable white middle class suburban existence.

But unfortunately, Ziggy is a self-destructive fuckup and he is a Sobatka, and those things are very much related.

See, the problem is that Ziggy adores the social world of the longshoremen, the premorning drink at the local's bar, the nicknames and the stories, the historical memories - hence his whole conversation with his dad about "back in the day" - and he wants nothing more to be one of the guys. And at moments in the bar, you can even see that he's got a kind of charisma that the other dockers can respond to, he can be the fun guy at the party.

But the problem is that Ziggy just isn't cut out for that world and the longshoremen can sense it. He doesn't have the work ethic for it, he doesn't pay attention and gets bored too easily and would rather run some get-rich-quick-scheme than take an extra shift. He doesn't have either the physicality to pull off the macho shit that's always been a big part of longshoremen culture, or the interior sense of self-worth that would allow him to laugh off jokes at his expense, which is absolutely vital for a work culture where a big part of everyone breaking each other's balls all the time is the social contract that you have to take as well as you can give.

But because he feels this pressure to live up to the standards of his father and the Sobatkas before him, he won't leave. Instead, he develops some really unhealthy social tendencies. The first of which is that he's a relentless showoff, trying to make up for his personal deficiencies by driving a classic muscle car that's supposed to make you a Real Man like in the movies, or a fancy leather coat when everyone else is wearing hard-wearing work clothes - and this prompts his hapless feud with Maui, who has no patience for this kind of display. And because Ziggy's ego is both incredibly large and extremely brittle, he reacts to every putdown and social setback like it's the end of the fucking world.

The second one is that he becomes a class clown. He starts out as the fun guy at the party, but he's a complete addict to positive attention, so he doesn't know when to stop. He keeps the joke going long after it's stopped being funny, he keeps drinking after he's reached the fun drunk phase until he gets completely sloppy and starts taking his dick out - because the fact that he's got a big dick is one of the few areas in which he measures up to conventional masculinity, so why not show it off?

And all this would add up to a life of quiet desperation, if it weren't for the fact that Ziggy gets involved in crime. The allure is quite tempting; it absolutely fits into his get-rich-quick, self-worth-through-possession mentality, and it's this entirely different cultural world of machismo that he can try to flourish in. But the same problems that he faced within the Local reassert themselves out on the streets.

The corner boys, black and white, sense that Ziggy is weak - that he can't handle himself in confrontations - and when he comes to them to sell the drugs he's bought on credit, they rip him off with the barest pretense. And pretty soon he's in debt to people who aren't going to put up with his bullshit and they start putting the loanshark's squeeze on him. Even when Nick solves his problems, this only makes matters worse because it only highlights that Nick can manage himself on the corners in a way that Ziggy can't.

And thus Ziggy starts getting more and more self-destructive - he starts ripping off bigger and bigger-ticket items off the ships, the kind of expensive merchandise that will bring heat down on the port and the Local, because the suits notice a whole bunch of cars or high-end digital cameras going missing in a way that they won't a few cases of booze. He takes that stolen merchandise to the Greek's people, but because he's a class clown who doesn't engender respect, they decide to short-change him. And Ziggy has decided to prop up his ego by buying a gun, and the rest is history.

[queencherryberry]

After a week of writers block here’s chapter 8.

Warnings: soft!randy, reader is pregnant, supportive!cody, light hearted sibling conversations, fluff

Chapter 8 of Brothers Best Friend

The next day you slept in while Cody got up and went to the gym. You woke up around noon just in time for lunch. You wandered to the kitchen to find Cody cooking. You walked up behind him and hugged him from behind. He still smelled like the gym but his muscles looked amazing. You kissed the back of his shoulder and sat down. You scrolled through your phone till you got a text from Brandi. ‘Hey chica! How’s the first day of no school treating you? I have a question; can you come back at like 3:30 to help me out with my nursing class? We’re doing ultrasounds of organs and we need live volunteers.’ You smiled and replied yes to her question. Cody served you your plate and you guys ate in silence.

At three Cody dropped you off at the school. “Text me when you’re done babe. Tell Brandi I say hi.” He smiled and leaned over to give you a kiss. You smiled and kissed him back. You got out of the car and walked into the building. You found your way to Brandi’s classroom. Fifteen minutes into the class and they were doing the ultrasounds. Brandi was looking over your organs till she came across your uterus. She gasped loud enough that the whole class looked over and gasped. Being dumb you pointed at the screen thinking it was a joke and asked what that was. When you saw Brandi wasn’t joking you looked back at the screen. “Oh fuck me…” you said in shock. “I think someone already did. Who’s the baby daddy? Is it jey? Did you guys have angry breakup sex?” Brandi kept firing off questions but you didn’t listen. You just stared at the screen in shock. You got up and bolted out of the room starting to cry. You went and hid in the girls bathroom.

After dry heaving and sobbing you called the only person who could truely calm you down. You called Randy. The phone call was a mess. He had barely understood anything you said through sobs and more dry heaving. You walked out to his car still crying. You immediately hugged him before he asked what was wrong. “Don’t be mad…I’m pregnant…” your emerald green eyes meeting his baby blue ones. You felt like you were a kid again getting in trouble. You waited for him to yell at you and say that you were stupid for letting this happen. You covered your face with your hands and prepared for the worst. “Relax…I’m not going to hit you like mom and dad used to. Just take a deep breath and when you calm down, explain everything.” He said calmly. You did as instructed and the both of you sat in silence till you felt comfortable.

“When I tell you, please, please, don’t leave Cody a bloody pulp?” You looked at him as he let out an exasperated sigh. “Depending on how this conversation goes…depends on how far deep in the ground I’m going to put his ass.” Randy said as he pulled into your favorite restaurant. “Hungry?” He asked. You nodded and got out of the car.

Later that night Randy dropped you off at home. Cody met you at the door. He pulled you inside and gave you a hug. “Are you okay? I was so worried, sweetheart. Why did you have Randy pick you up instead of me?” He asked, concerned. He held your hands and looked into your eyes with his big puppy dog ones. “You might want to sit down for this, hun. So, you know how I went to help Brandi in her class today? Well, they were doing ultrasounds on the organs and she passed by my uterus…” you started sitting him down and sitting next to him. “And she found something. A shocking something. Something…that’s gonna make us parents….” You continued. Cody’s face lit up and he hugged you. “How far along are you?” He asked innocently. “3 months. Brandis' teacher said it’s the same size as an orange. So still very tiny.” You explained. You weren’t expecting Cody to be so excited. All your panic washed away when he hugged you. You both cried happily for a bit. Afterwards he took you out to dinner.

Tags: @alyyaanna @alyanamrossi @mylittlepartofthegalaxy @crossrhodez @freegardenbanananeck

[theaawalker]

Character tropes are a writer's bread and butter, for better or worse. Because of this, it can be easy for your characters to be mistaken, copied, and boxed in with others. Especially in this industry, it's important to stand out. What’s the difference between a flat character and a well-rounded character? How do writers bring a character to life on the page? When it comes to character development, these are central questions—especially when it comes to using character tropes...

[ ~ a world that's waiting up for me ~ ]

What Are Character Tropes?

The word “trope” refers to a common motif or pattern in a work of art. In the context of fiction, character tropes refer to common attributes or even entire stock characters. The word trope comes from the Greek word 'tropos' meaning “to turn.” Originally it referred to rhetorical devices that a writer uses to develop an argument. Character tropes can be useful in fiction, but when overused, they can detract from a story.

Common Character Tropes

Every genre of storytelling has its own stable of common character types, and as a storyteller it’s worth being aware of them. Here are nine of the most common:

1. The chosen one:

The chosen one is a common fantasy trope. Their identity typically revolves around a task that’s been set aside for them, which they typically pursue without much hesitation or complication. Like Frodo Baggins, Luke Skywalker, and Harry Potter, the chosen one is often, conveniently, an orphan.

2. The damsel in distress:

One of the most common and pernicious types of female character tropes, the damsel in distress, whatever form she takes, is a passive figure who exists mostly as an object for the hero to save. Even versions of the character who turn out to be a little more plucky than expected (think Princess Fiona from Shrek or Princess Leia from Star Wars) have become their own subset of this creaky old trope.

3. The femme fatale:

A mysterious and seductive woman who uses her sex appeal to seduce and entrap her enemies, the femme fatale is a popular character trope in hardboiled mysteries. In many ways, the femme fatale is an updated version of supernatural witches or sorceresses. It’s no spoiler to say that she nearly always leads men to destruction. Sharon Stone, Uma Thurman, and Eartha Kitt are the queens of this trope. <3

4. The girl next door:

The small-town girl with a heart of gold is, in many ways the opposite of the femme fatale. A common film and TV trope, the girl next door is innocent, kind, and wholesome. In other words, she’s the embodiment of domestic femininity and typically a candidate for the male protagonist’s love interest. Take Mary Jane Watson for instance.

5. The mad scientist:

Going back to Dr. Frankenstein (or any number of sorcerer antecedents), the mad scientist is usually a villain, driven by an eccentric, antisocial personality and unrestrained hubris or a desire to play god. The mad scientist’s benign counterpart is the nerdy “absent-minded professor” who’s so engrossed by their work that they struggle to relate to “normal people.”

6. The trusty sidekick:

Like the damsel in distress, the trusty sidekick typically has no life outside their relationship to the main character and their quest. Whether the sidekick is a loyal companion, like Samwise in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, a faithful butler, or a chatty best friend—as in any number of romance novels—their main quality is that they have no story of their own.

7. The wise old man:

Sometimes an actual wizard, sometimes just an old guy who’s seen his share, the wise old man is a long-enduring stock figure who usually imparts some special wisdom to the protagonist. Dumbledore, Master Oogway, Gandalf, and Master Miyagi.

8. The dumb muscle:

Based on the idea that it’s impossible to be smart and fit at the same time, the dumb muscle is an exceedingly common minor character, especially in action and adventure stories. As a bad guy the dumb muscle is easily outsmarted or otherwise bested by the main character. X-Men's Juggernaut is a prime example.

9. The antihero:

Antiheroes are typically cynical loners with major personality flaws, often darkly appealing bad boys. Like normal heroes, the antihero still drives the story, but often to a more amoral place. Tony Soprano, Red Arrow, Emma Frost, and the grittier versions of Batman are all prime examples of modern antiheroes. These days, antiheroes are almost as common as idealized heroes.

5 Tips for Avoiding Character Tropes

Character tropes aren’t good or bad in and of themselves. In some types of fiction, especially epics, satires, and more plot-driven forms of fiction, the use of stock characters can be expected and even desirable. The problem is when writers lean so heavily on these tropes that they’re no longer telling an original story. This is the point where archetypal characters can bleed into stereotypes. In order to avoid (or at least complicate) character tropes, you’ll need to develop a richer sense of your characters. Here are a few tips:

1. Figure out what your characters really want.

One reason writers lean on stereotypes is because they don’t know their characters well enough. Instead of playing to type, spend some time figuring out what really motivates your characters. Are they driven by a need to belong? By a thirst for knowledge? By a desire to be recognized? These super-objectives may lead your characters to buck their outward roles in interesting ways.

2. Look for opportunities to subvert tropes.

If you find yourself drawn to certain tropes, look for ways to undermine them. While this sort of self-conscious style may not be right for every story, it can be especially compelling in the context of genres that traditionally rely on tropes: think fantasy novels, horror movies, love stories, westerns, and other popular genres.

3. Get to know your characters outside the story.

A common writing exercise is to develop backstories for your major characters. Imagine them in real life. Ask yourself questions about your characters, like: What was this person like in high school? What objects are on their nightstand? How do they get along with their families? While seemingly inconsequential, these questions can help you get a sense of the individuality of your characters, rather than just thinking of them as adhering to a common type.

4. Allow your characters’ personalities to change.

Again, there are types of stories where characters may remain static, but in general, it’s important for readers to feel like your character changes (or at least has the potential to change) over the course of the story. Remember, the change need not always be positive, but there should be some sense that the experience they’ve had has marked them in some way.

5. Avoid clichéd situations.

Sometimes the issue isn’t with the characters you’ve developed but the scenario in which you’ve placed them. If you’ve created a pair of star-crossed lovers who are meant to fall for one another at first sight, it’ll be hard not to make the situation feel hackneyed—no matter how well-drawn your lovers are. If you’re only thinking in terms of common plot tropes, it may be hard to get your characters out of them. If you’re working in a science fiction or fantasy setting, this is where worldbuilding might help you find more interesting angles to explore.

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[deaddee-anime-brownfanlady]

made a post a couple days ago bringing up that half of the adults in the usa have a reading level lower than 6th grade and 77M people voted for Trump (basically declaring themselves rape apologists).... and somebody had to message me that "not being able to read has nothing to do with media literacy."

and i just... wow... it just went completely over their heads that media literacy is a higher form of literacy. that being able to understand what you are being told, and being able to internalize the messages in meaningful ways, are things that people reading under a Young Adult Level would have a hard time grasping fully.

someone thinking themselves a writer or an artist aren't automatically media literate. A 13yo can read and write rather well. It is the lack of growth after that point, or even a regression once out of school when they don't actively challenge their brains anymore. It's not using those critical thinking muscles in the brain and eating only mush media.

so, TL;DR: half the people you'll ever encounter will barely understand shit. they will strip away all the things they don't understand or find unpalatable. they don't want to be challenged and are happy with their brand of ignorance.

Honestly, I remember reading a news article once about how you have a percentage of some adults who can't even read their child a simple story anymore. Or about the 44% percentage of adults who don't read a book once a year,

Or how the literacy rates of half of adults in America have dropped over the years and is seemingly getting worse.

Also with fucking Trump becoming president yet again and winning over an actual intelligent and competent experienced woman FUCKING again!

*Sigh* So Yeah... I'm not surprised anymore by the extreme level of stupidity and full-on pure ignorance of some people out here.

Or the fact that you have people out here who are OK with being so willingly ignorant on certain topics and important issues or even on the most basic of common sense things and refuse to even try to learn anything on their own or even try to do their own research on a topic that they can easily look-up with either a click or voice command.

I swear shit like this seriously reminds me of that early 2000s comedy movie called Idiocracy where in the very far future most of humanity's intelligence has seriously taken a severe nosedive to the point where an average guy of normal intelligence from the past is considered the smartest man in the future. Because everybody else in the future is so damned dumb. 😒

[leffee]

All this talk of Vinnie's mistreatment through the series reminded me of one scene in Littlest Pet Street part 2 that genuinely upset me. Towards the end, Vinnie walks off in a bad mood, and then the other pets (including the quokka, Peachie, who's not even the part of the main group) walk across the red carpet and have their pictures taken without him. One final "haha, screw you, Vinnie" from the writers. The poor guy.

Yuuup. This is something I don't think I ever mentioned here but trust me, it is something I think about often, you get me anon. Like, this genuinely makes me so upset, not as upset as when Vinnie went missing and no one cared but still upset.

Like?? It's the end of the end, you can't just have one of your main cast walk off when everyone else is together like thatttttt. Bitch. Especially when even characters who are not from the main cast are there.

I swear they don't like him, I have plenty of examples but the most prominent one is that they made him delibatery dumb. I have such sympathy for characters who followe this trope cause I know it's not their fault, it's the writers'.

I honestly have doubts his friends even like him. Like, I mean, what did they tell Vinnie after he returned from that dumpster? Cause we don't know but either they lied, which bad cause lying about that they cared, or told him the truth which I imagine Vinnie would not be very happy about, you know? But it's not like he has anywhere else to go.

That's also part of the reason why I hate when people humanize him and give him muscles and sometimes additionaly make him tall. Cause I feel like they're trying to rencompensate him that since he doesn't have the brains he should have the brawl. Again, just my preference, at the end of the day I very much stand that you should write/draw characters however you want and however it makes you feel best.

Do I believe there's reasonable explanation for some of those mistreatments? Yes. But do I think he was mistreated in general? Oh absolutely.

You know, maybe that's why I love giving him so much angst, cause he already has canon reasons to be pretty damn sad. He should be depressed, honestly.

My poor babygirl. All of this makes me so sad, truly. You know what else? There was, probably still is, this video from Hasbro like "Meet the pets" for each of the main cast in which they talk about the pet and their va is there. Anyway, I remember this one comment I saw somewhere, I don't remember where in which someone told that even in this video his va seems to not like him. This has reshaped me cause I never watched this video afterward cause I was afraid I would see it and get sad. And yes, I had watched it before I saw this comment, but my English was ass back then and I understood nothing. That's what solidified my theory that they genuinely don't like him.

That's why he's perfect angst candidate, cause he already has so many canon reasons to be sad.