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hoseoksluna · 9 months

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BOOKWORMS | knj

pairing: boyfriend!namjoon x reader

genre: smut; fluff

word count: 4.4k

summary: namjoon thinks of you when he reads a smut scene in his book.

warnings: boyfriend namjoon!!!, kimi namijoon reading, mentions of sex (riding), oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, the importance of consent, teasing, raw sex, breeding kink <3, big dick namu!!, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, joonie's chain dangling in ur face, tummy bulge, creampie, bruising, hickeys, aftercare:(

note: it took blood, sweat and tears (hehe) to write this and i'm so happy it's finally here!! i loved writing about namjoon. he's my whole soul and the entirety of my heart and i have to write abt him again soon. please take your time reading this and enjoy urself! let me know what you think in the comments mwah (or tell me anonymously in my inbox) and as i always say please like and if u want to - reblog, but i won't pressure u baby. love love you!!

side note: if you want to jump straight to the smut, it's right under the asterisks <;3

You revel, you truly do, in seeing your boyfriend in such a serene state of mind.

Nose buried in a book, Namjoon pays no mind to the surroundings fleeting by him with each flutter of his eyelashes. It goes unnoticed by him, strangely so, how you tidy up the apartment you share. How you feed the two cats that chose you and him to be their human parents. How you fondle their soft ears. How you bend over the furniture to whisper ‘pspsps’ at them when they need a moment away from you just to see their round eyes look up at you stupidly. Namjoon usually observes these moments; this utmost natural behavior of yours. He draws strength from the homeliness of it all with each and every swell of his lungs. Needs it to survive. That is until he gets a hold of that one papery portal and sits comfortably on the couch, one ankle propped over the knee. Then, he ceases to exist in this world.

You’re happy for him. Over time, you’ve come to find that you have a certain fondness for the way he remains stoic. Because you always know what kind of book he’s reading, a smile blossoms on its own over the line of your lips whenever your eye catches the sculpture-like look on his face. It’s like even if he let himself hold his breath, his consciousness would waver back to the earth and the wretched awareness that he’s here, among mortals and the unfair capitalist system aftermath, would stream in his bloodstream, poisoning his experience. It takes the leisure out of it and makes the bed for misery instead. He doesn’t like it. Hates it, in fact. It’s a necessity that he focuses, as he embarks on the journey, because he does it for you.

Namjoon confides in his feelings and his literature with you almost on a daily basis. On the same couch, with the same cats snoring faintly, their small bodies spilling over the perimeter of your tangled legs. Doesn’t matter if it’s his thigh or the curve of your hip. The animals always find a warm crook to doze in, eavesdropping in, with their curious little ears, on the conversations you’re having. Though you reckon they like the meat of his thigh the best. You do, too. Can’t really blame them. The same serenity that intimately knows the person of Namjoon perceives the person of you when he prompts you to rest your head on his lap while he brushes his book-kissed fingers through the silky waterfall of your hair. Thoroughly explains the intricacies of the plot he’s invested in to you. Describes the characters as if they’re real people he’s become acquainted with. They are real to you as you listen. As you ask additional questions and gaze up at his eyes just to catch that one body of a shooting star fiery hot in the glossiness of his eyes. As you wonder, openly, what will happen to them.

“I’ll tell you when they tell me.” He sunk the promise onto the smooth skin of your forehead with the pucker of his lips.

It’s how you discovered, in all seriousness, that the plaster of his stoicism breaks during these literary moments.

Various colors of emotion tug and twist his features, the bare kind. The unrestrained kind. You know it’s a relief for him when the dam bursts open, soaking you in the beauty of humanness one only finds in literature these days. You can’t help but fall in love with him all over again when his eyebrows furrow. When his orbs nearly burn a hole in the ceiling when he’s trying to think of the right word that will ultimately help him convey the unfolding of the storyline. When he gives up and weaves English into his sentences, relying on his hands to say what his overstimulated brain fails to do.

He reads to pass knowledge to you. The serenity whispered it into the chambers of your heart, a puff of hot breath in winter’s cold. It soothingly rubbed his shoulders when Namjoon told you there used to be a time when he couldn’t stand the sight of his books lining up the walls of his apartment. Wanted to burn it down and watch as the evidence of his melancholy dies in front of him. Because that’s what most of his book collection consisted of back then. The innermost shadowy faces of his pain. Loneliness. Sadness. Despair from life, from it not being enough for him, from it not saving a spot there for him–not once throughout the course of his life. That’s why he reads different kinds of books now. Ones that do not reflect his survival before you.

The reader has to get wiser, ruffled by life in order to gain more, gain what they need from those once deeply loved pages. It’s what the serenity believes. It’s what you believe and hope for Namjoon. That one day, somehow by the healing of the love you give him, he will look back and pick a souvenir from that moonless country of pain. Put it up somewhere between the spines of his new cluttered collection. Look at it from time to time and sense that it’s telling him something. Something that will fill the stitched-up cracks in his heart with sunlight. Something that he will pass over to you. It’s your love language after all. Namjoon reads because you read. It’s his own personal healing thing.

You two are just a pair of two bookworms. Unfit for the world outside. Fit for the land you two created. Whose soil you take care of together.

***

Dinner is almost ready by the time you feel his fingertips gripping your hips. You hum, acknowledging his presence. Glad for the homely heat that radiates off of his body and seeps into your bones as you stir the risotto you decided to make on the stove. Coldness had been embracing you all day while he read so you’re overjoyed that he ripped it away from you.

Namjoon places a kiss on your temple and you sigh in relief. You might be too dependent on him, but so is he. He wouldn’t be nuzzling his face in your hair, squeezing your waist, peppering kisses on your tender skin if he wasn’t. It’s the perfect balance. And it’s not that you’re not able to be away from each other. The principle of looking forward to one another is what makes it so sweet, so endurable for the pair of you. Of the coming back and coming into contact at the end of the day. It’s natural. Simple. Human.

“Missed me?” Namjoon husks into your ear.

You smirk and turn off the stove, turning around to face him. “Terribly.”

His body is clad in a black T-shirt that fits his broad figure well and a pair of baggy sweats of the same color, having discarded the warm crewneck he was wearing earlier somewhere in the universe of his book. A long silver chain twinkles in the middle of his chest in the yellow light. You caress it with your fingers and leave your palm there, on the hardness of his pecs.

“I finished the book,” he says and you blink up at him. You’re not surprised at all. “Couldn’t put it down.”

Sleepy wrinkles have left their mark on his face from the cozy position he laid in for too long on the couch. His short sunlit hair, grown healthily from his military service, is tousled in all directions and you smooth it down for him. How did God bless you with such a beautiful man is something you’ll wonder about for the rest of your life.

“What happened to Theo in the end?” you ask, genuinely curious about whether one of the characters you’ve grown attached to is okay after all the shit the author put him through.

Namjoon was reading a coming-of-age book about a boy named Theo. A panorama of his childhood and adolescent life, you’ve heard all about it. Namjoon cared a lot about this story, cared a lot about the protagonist’s emotions and reactions to the reappearing storms. What made him stick with it, despite the nearly triggering themes, is the fact that Theo never let go of his optimism no matter what. It was incredibly inspiring for Namjoon. Something new. Something that he never thought could be possible. You’re proud of him for daring to read a book so reminiscent of his past.

“You’re not gonna believe it,” Namjoon says, a blush creeping along his cheeks.

You raise one of your eyebrows in question.

“Theo got laid,” Namjoon reveals, laughing softly. “I’m so happy for him.”

You gasp and burst into giggles. “What?”

“He got some!”

Your laughter rises in volume. “He lost his virginity and that’s the end?”

“It was a big moment for him. A triumph of some kind. Like he shed his old skin and left that broken life behind. It was amazing.” Namjoon’s eyes glint with tiny shooting stars and you melt. He always finds poetic meanings in the varieties of the character arcs. You think you just fell in love with him all over again.

“That’s really beautiful,” you admit. It reminds you of something. Of something quite personal. “My first time with you changed my life as well.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows curl in tenderness. Dragon eyes widen and round in fervent emotion. He squeezes his arms around you, enfolding you in a hug. Kisses you warmly. Strokes your hair down your back. Your own eyes pool with little tears with the intimate knowledge that you chose the right person to unfold your raw femininity with. No one, no man other than him could have created such a safe for that to happen.

“Tell you what,” Namjoon says a bit hoarsely. “I saw us in it.”

You hum, encouraging him to continue. Crave for more of his thoughts and confidential findings. Its fire spreading through your body, as each word of his registers in your brain, always makes you feel phenomenally alive. You’re not timid to avow that it’s your addiction. Shame doesn’t know you.

“Elena was on top and he was watching her. In awe of her,” he murmurs, caressing your cheek with the tip of his thumb. “Made me think of our last time. A life changing experience of mine as well.”

You welcome the fire and suspire with sudden desire, eyes lidding. Your heart begins to thump. Namjoon studies your reaction.

“You remember well, don’t you?” He nudges his nose against yours. “I was in awe of you just the same.”

It’s impossible not to remember. The memory consumes your mind every waking hour. Gets you needy in ways you haven’t felt before. Namjoon had you sat on his lap among the fluffiness of your innumerable pillows and plushies. Had you do all the work as he focused on the sleekness of your freshly moisturized calves, its coconut aroma interfused with the scent of sex and the euphony of your bounces, ragged breaths and broken moans making his head all fucked up. He was loud himself, more loud than you ever recalled him being. Reading your body at the mercy of the pleasure his hard length was giving you with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. Not once did he take his eyes off of you, not once did he help you. Just gripped your calves. Your thighs. Your tits all in his face. Only when you came hard, out of your own delightful merit, did his eyes roll back. You left his hips glazed with the evidence of your well-deserved orgasm, a porcelain statue made glossy.

A little later, during your pillow talk, he told you he’d found the idea of you using him while getting yourself off extremely hot. Made him more hard than he’d been in a while. Begged you to be even more selfish next time, adding an indistinct, ‘well, of course, if you want’ to the end of his sentence because he’s Namjoon.

“I do,” you breathe. “Touched myself to it this morning while you were still asleep.”

Namjoon groans. “God.” He kisses the side of your neck. Gets close to your ear. “You wanna do it again, hm? Wanna fuck me?”

You might burst. His closeness, his heat, his need to ask for your consent turns you unstable. You’re choked up on your words, mind too fuzzy to say something. Turned on. Fucked up.

“You wanna show me how you touched yourself?” Namjoon continues, but you shake your head against the side of his face.

You had touched yourself in the shower. Couldn’t say no to the impulse. Sharing that part of you for his eyes to see isn’t something you’re quite ready for. To you, it’s still something that’s yours. Something private. A courage you have yet to pluck up. You’re afraid to give him this last part of your femininity.

“Not today,” you whisper, planting a kiss on his neck. Feel him shiver. “I’m sorry. Do you mind?”

Withdrawing from your neck, Namjoon looks you dead in the eye, brows twisted in stern seriousness. “Don’t ever apologize for something like that again. Hear me when I say that.”

You squeeze his shoulder, the corners of your mouth lowering in a pout. Thankfulness grips your heart and suddenly it’s hard to breathe.

“You know this is why we do this right?” he asks you. “Why I ask you these questions? I need to always know what you’re comfortable with so I don’t make a mistake.”

You nod. “Yes, Namjoon, I know and I’m so thankful.”

“Good. I’ll never push you to do anything you don’t want. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“That’s my girl.

You grab him by the back of his neck and engulf him in a hug. Luckiest girl in the world? That you are. The fact that you’re his is still something you can’t wrap your head around.

“We can stop. We don’t even have to do anything tonight—”

“No, Namjoon.” You withdraw. “Look.” Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you slip his hand beneath the confines of your panties.

His breath shakes when he reaches your soaked folds. He traces your hole with his middle finger and your hips follow his movement, the pleasure so faint but so good that you flutter your eyes closed.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Yeah, I need you. Need more,” you breathe out. “Can’t leave me like this, can you?”

Namjoon hums. “No, I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of this pussy.”

He kisses you. Massages his tongue against yours. You buck your hips into his hand and Namjoon hears your body language. Takes his fingers up and rubs your swollen clit from side to side, quickening his pace as he swallows your moans down his throat. Gets angry at your tight leggings hindering him in giving you more, so he gets on his knees and swiftly pulls them down along with your underwear.

“Sit on the counter.”

You comply right away. Namjoon takes your feet in his hands and gently removes your slippers, removing your garments fully so they don’t pool around your ankles. He needs your legs spread and he needs them spread wide for what he’s about to do to you.

Torso long enough to reach you, he remains on his knees. Runs his hands up the back of your thighs to guide you into the position he wants you in. “Lock your arms around the back of your knees. Don’t let go.”

You do as he says, biting your lips in nervousness. Intertwine your hands together. Prepare yourself to die.

Namjoon studies your dewy pussy, index and middle finger mimicking the letter V as he slides them up and down your folds, squeezing just right to hear you mewling. Your knees being so close together makes her look a lot more pillowy and you hear Namjoon breathe hard, absolutely hypnotized by the beauty of your flesh.

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping down my hand.” He withdraws his fingers to show you how your slick trickles down the lines on his palm, changing the course of his life once and for all.

Your clit throbs, breath matching his. “Please, Namjoon.”

He curses inaudibly. Brings his fingers back down to your folds, squeezes your lips and your clit together. Hisses at the sweet whimpery sounds spilling out of your mouth. Presses tighter so you whine needily for him. Takes you into his mouth when he accomplished what he wanted, tonguing your clit in slow agonizing circles that has you buckling your hips again. Puts his hands on your thighs to keep you down, flicking fast to absolutely abuse the fuck of you. Dragon eyes zeroing on yours, he gives you the hypnosis that your pussy did to him as he sucks on your bundle of nerves. You can’t even scream. Can’t breathe. The pleasure overwhelms you wholly and straps you down. There’s nothing you can do but take it.

You come hard on his tongue. Namjoon laps it all up gladly. And when he’s finished, he stands up and slips those two digits that ruined you into your hole. Doesn’t move them. Lets you adjust instead.

“One more,” he mutters. “Please.”

You nod.

“Use your words or we’re stopping.”

You groan and close your eyes, your thighs visibly shaking in your iron grip from your orgasm. “Yes, Namjoon, one more. I’ll come for you.”

Namjoon places a wet kiss on your thigh to praise you, and to thank you as well. Begins to move his fingers promptly, but can’t seem to get enough of your skin. Proceeds to make it shiny with his liquid love, sucking it to bruise you. To remember this moment a little more fondly in the morning.

Creating a trail up to the back of your knee, his digits pick up the speed. The pool of slick you left in his palm sloshes with each rapid thrust of his hand. He looks back at you and sees you lost in the pleasure, eyes lidded and unfocused. “Look at me.”

You do, weakly.

“Just a little bit more and I’ll fuck you, all right?”

You’re about to nod, but decide against it. “Mhm, yes, Namjoon, fuck.”

He smiles down at you. Your relief inches closer. “I’m so proud of you for speaking up today. For letting me know.”

You could cry right now. Because of his fingers making you feel so good. Because of his kindness making you feel so safe. It all closes in on you and you whimper.

Abruptly, Namjoon unravels your grip on your knees and kisses you, tongue slipping in. You come all over his hand, without meaning to, and he doesn’t stop. On the contrary, Namjoon fucks you harder. Takes all four of his fingers and strums your clit, prolonging your orgasm, swallowing down all of your moans.

“Come on.”

Namjoon helps you down. If it weren’t for his arms holding you steady, you would’ve collapsed on the floor. Your legs shake, muscles taut and tense.

“I got you.”

Sat on the floor with his joggers and boxers pulled beneath his crotch, he pulls you down on his lap. A wisp of precum adorns his tip and you wrap your hand around it, collecting it with your thumb. Watch him as you swirl your tongue around the digit before sucking on it, letting go with an obscene pop. Namjoon licks his lips, hands clasping your hips hard enough to bruise you. Twitches in your other hand.

“Don’t fucking do that to me, baby.”

You laugh almost inaudibly, drunk on him. “Are you gonna come in me?”

He replaces your hand, holding his length at the base for you to sink down. And you do, gasping softly at his thickness. Your dewiness helps it to be a smooth ride.

“Gonna pump you full. Leave you dripping,” he promises, voice restrained. “Gonna fuck you so good you’ll remember it for the rest of your life.”

One thing about Namjoon, he’s a man of his word.

Seated perfectly on him, he waits for you to adjust. Alleviates the tremble of your thighs with his palms, massaging the muscles. Takes off your shirt and flings it across the kitchen. Gropes your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You start to grind on him, throwing your head back. He latches onto your nipple and flicks the nub with his tongue. You lose your mind, leaking down his balls.

“Ready?” he asks against the fullness of your breast.

“Yeah, fuck me, Joon.”

He thrusts into you once to watch you fall apart. Locks your arms behind your back. Grabs your forearms for his use.

“You forgot something.”

He thrusts again, harder this time.

“What?” you breathe out, meekly.

“What word do you use when you want to ask for something?”

He watches you as you work it out in your brain. Fucks into you three more times, equally hard, to disrupt you.

“Fuck, sorry. Please, Joon, please.”

He grinds, hips rotating in circles.

“Uh-huh, that’s right. Now use it.”

Namjoon envelops your tit in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your areola. Sucking. Keeping up the agonizing pace. Groaning when you clench down on him.

“Please, hmph, fuck me.”

Your breast bounces back when he lets go, biting his lip. “Knew you could do it,” he coos. “Smart fucking girl.”

He begins to fuck you properly. Thrusting up and down as he holds you steady, keeping his eyes locked on yours. As he takes control of your squirming, leaving his fingerprints on your forearms and waist. You’re breathless, whimpering, on the verge of sobbing. So turned on and needy for him that the emotions brim in you, threatening to spill over.

“Aren’t you?” Namjoon continues. “Aren’t you a smart girl?”

You nod, knowing exactly what he wants to hear. “I’m a smart girl.”

He spanks your ass to reward you and you arch your back. Tits all in his face. He’s mesmerized watching them bounce and nearly slap against each other, nubs hard and pointed. He licks them up, flicking them with his tongue. You round your shoulders a little in pleasure, his strong grip not letting you fold like your body wants.

“That’s right. So smart and good for me. So fucking wet. Making me lose my mind.”

Namjoon kisses you. Inhales you. Withdraws only for a mere second before he’s back, tongue in, toying with you the way you like it. You feel your relief calling your name.

“Namjoon, I’m so fucking close. I’m so close. I’m gonna come,” you whine, forehead pressed against his, face twisted in ecstasy.

Namjoon stops out of the blue and slips out of you. You whine loudly, but before you know it, he carries you to the couch and lays you down on it. Takes off all of his clothes until only his silver chain remains, shining bright in the dim light. He spreads your legs, one limb over the backrest, the other around his thigh. Grips his length and tugs at it a few times, the feeling of your wetness making him slippery pulling moan after moan out of him.

He enters you again and resumes his fast pace, holding your calf in his hand. “Smart girls come on the couch, not on the floor like whores. You got that?”

You nod almost too eagerly, fucked out beyond measure. “Yes, Joon, please make me come. Please, come here.”

Namjoon leans towards you, propping his elbows by your head, cradling you. “I’m here. I’m gonna make you come.”

From this angle, he fucks you more deeply than before, his tip reaching your cervix. You roll your eyes back, but bring them right back to his face when his chain taps you on the chin. You find it so hot that you grind your hips against his, meeting his thrusts, encouraging him to fuck you harder. The chain meets you in erratic staccatos and you scratch your nails down his bare back, the sword-like pendant hurting you in a way that you like.

Namjoon notices. Slows down his movements. Pinches the chain from the back of his neck. Prompts you to lift your head and slides it over, letting it rest in the middle of your breasts. Then fucks you back into the couch.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna breed you. Hm. You want that, don’t you?”

The cord tightens in your lower belly. The bulge of where his tip is hitting you nudges him in his stomach and he looks down. Curses.

“Look.”

You follow his eyes and moan. “Namjoon, Namjoon, please come in me. I’m so close. Wanna feel you. Please.”

He grunts, nodding his head. Licks his fingertips and presses them against your clit. Pleasures you in fast and swift jerks until you’re knocking your head back. Only when he grabs your jaw and kisses you does the cord snap, his lips being your ultimate undoing.

Namjoon presses you down with his body, keeps you calm and collected. Kisses you all through it, your jaw, your neck, your cheeks. Then his thrusts turn sloppy and his cock twitches in you. He gives you one final hard thrusts and fills you up, groaning against your mouth.

You’re smoothing down the sting of your scratches on his back when he pulls out of you and his cum drips out of you. You wish you could see what he sees, hand on his mouth, careful to catch his drool. You push out more for him and he curses, fondling your pussy with his thumb before he pumps it back in.

He comes back to you and kisses you. Fixes your hair. Caresses your cheek. Helps you stand on your feet as he leads you into the shower. Washes every inch of your body, heedful of the bruises he left on the back of your thigh. Lathers your hair in your favorite shampoo. Wraps you in a towel. Wanted to moisturize your body, but you told him off, knowing both of you would get horny again. You let him brush your hair, though, placing a comb in his hand. He’s gentle as he undoes the knots, then he blowdries your hair.

And you do the same for him.

Once the pillow touches your cheeks, you’re both out like a light.

BACK to masterlist

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x oc #namjoon x you #btscreatorscorner #bts smut #bts imagine #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon fluff #kpop smut #knj x reader #knj #kim namjoon #namjoon

2K notes · View notes

ugh-yoongi · 7 months

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hang up if u want to | kmg

he's in japan. you're at home, knowing there's no point in staring at your phone, waiting. mingyu might not wanna define what the two of you are, but that certainly doesn't stop him from asking for what he wants.

pairing: idol!mingyu x f. reader genre: situationship au; a lil angst, smut warnings: swearing. sexting — use of gendered terms for genitalia, mentions of oral and penetrative sex, masturbation, images/videos, dirty talk i guess?, squirting. one mention of reader wearing a dress. another mention of reader wearing mingyu’s shirt and it being large on her. (not meant to be an indication of size—that mf is just so large i think most people would drown in his clothes.) mingyu is domineering and kind of brat tamer-y but i wouldn't say this is dom-y at all. he also uses the term "baby" a lot bc i refuse to use y/n. rating: explicit. minors dni. wordcount: 3.6k listen to: namasenda - dare (pm) / khalid, 6lack, ty dolla $ign - otw / keshi - like i need u / edward maya & vika jigulina - stereo love / monsta x - addicted / brockhampton - sugar / shy martin - good together author's note: hello, i barely text men let alone sext them, so if this sucks my bad. i'm also not 100% comfy for writing any groups outside of bts, so i'm also sorry if the characterization is off. the mingyu brainrot was brainrotting tho bc if there's one thing he's gonna do it's look hot holding his phone in a photo, so. here we are. i was gonna wait and post this tomorrow but it's valentine's day so fuck it we ball. thank you: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, & @effortandmore for checking this over and brainstorming with me. namasenda for the lyrics in the title and inspo.

Kim Mingyu Missed Call (2)

Your eyes glance upwards at the time. It’s nearing one a.m.; Mingyu’s second call came and went only a few minutes ago. The first one will have come not long after he got off stage, because they always do. There’s a script—unspoken and unacknowledged, but a script nonetheless—and Mingyu follows it religiously.

You sigh. Leave your phone on your nightstand as you change into pajamas, back into the bathroom to wash your face. Roll your eyes as you hear the texts roll in, the sound grating and ominous as it vibrates against the wood.

All part of the script.

Kim Mingyu: just got back to the hotel Kim Mingyu: you up

Also part of the script: this is the only way it goes. Maybe Mingyu wants to text you, but adrenaline’s the only reason he ever goes through with it. That post-concert high, nothing else to do with all that energy but invest it into you, and the thing about scripts is that they get old, grow stale. Always the same thing, and you can only have that conversation so many times before you get tired and rip it up.

We all have roles to play. Mingyu is the one who refuses to define what it is the two of you have, put a label on it. He’s the one who calls from countries away and speaks in that low, hushed tone. He’s the tempter, the one who holds all the cards but refuses to lay them down.

A royal flush, every single time.

And you—you’re not helpless. Not some poor creature fighting for its life in a spun-silk web. Mingyu’s capable of devouring you in more ways than one, but it’s not like that. Not really. As laissez-faire as he is, you come and go as you please, too. Perhaps it’s as mutually beneficial as it is destructive, but that’s the nature of the production; the result of the roles you two of you play.

Kim Mingyu: you ignoring me? Kim Mingyu: i saw your ig story Kim Mingyu: knock it off baby

You smile, private and sardonic, because you aren’t helpless. Sometimes it’s your web, and it’s all Mingyu can do to keep his head above water. Another role you’d borrowed from someplace else but still have memorized. Still remember all the lines, the mannerisms.

On your story: a video of you, bare skin glittering beneath the golden-fluorescent light of your bathroom; you, with your dress unzipped, the straps slipping down your arms; your hand pressed to your chest to keep yourself covered. Your back turned to the camera, visible only in the mirror, as the silk dropped to the floor.

In the settings: only two accounts given permission to see, both belonging to the same person.

In your DMs: Mingyu, on his private account with the username that looks more like a keysmash than any legible thing, reacting with the fire emoji.

Related: the image hovering just above Mingyu’s texts. The one he’d repaid you with not long after seeing your story. A mirror selfie of his own: grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, a soaked-through white t-shirt stuck to his stomach, the lines of his abs visible.

That, and everything below it—all left unanswered.

The thing about Mingyu is he’ll give chase. Doesn’t shy away from all the things he wants; isn’t shy about giving voice to them.

But he’ll never, ever beg.

(Not like this, at least. When he’s in your bed it’s always a different story. He’s a kept man, there, and kept men have no qualms about things like that. Begging for your mouth, your pussy. Begging you to let him come.)

Normally you’d let it go. Let him talk to himself in your texts, because he’s got a lot of nerve if nothing else, but you’d gone out earlier. Grabbed a few drinks with your girlfriends, let the alcohol thrum through you like a livewire. Watched as they danced with men whose names they didn’t know and never learned and thought about what it’d be like to be able to do something like that in public.

Got home, felt a little scorned, just on the edge of bitter. Made a show of taking your dress off in the bathroom mirror and posted it someplace you knew he’d look.

You: did you like it?

Rhetorical. Mingyu may not want to put a label on this thing, might not want to be caged-in and suffocated, but you know what you do to him. All the ways you affect him.

i could tell you, comes the immediate reply, and your eyes are halfway rolled when—

Kim Mingyu: or i could show you

It takes a second to come through, but once it does your breath hitches in your throat. Far from the most obscene image he’s ever sent you, but just as effective. An expanse of tanned, soft skin, lean muscle; still in those same grey sweats, bunched up a little on the thigh as he lays in his plush hotel bed with his legs spread.

At the center of it all, the outline of his hard, thick cock, so fucking big as it stretches the fabric taut.

All you can do is stare.

Mingyu is not of this earth. This thought is nothing new: he has always existed outside the realm of possibility, in more ways than one, so this is merely a fact. Grass is green, the sky is blue, sometimes you can love someone in a way that’s so overwhelming and still be no good for them.

Another fact: it’s primal, the way you need him. Always has been.

You: what am i looking at? You: new sweatpants?

On the other end of the line, it’s easy to imagine his reaction. A quick snort of laughter, tongue pressed into the fat of his cheek before he clenches his jaw. If he were here, he’d haul you into his lap, kiss you deep and messy. Trail his fingers along your skin until they settled in the hollow of your throat.

Pull away just for a second. Just long enough to say, “Watch your mouth,” before he’s licking into it.

Kim Mingyu: don’t be like that 🙄

This time your eyes fully roll. Spitefully, you snap a picture of what’s in front of you: your bedroom wall, some drama playing on the TV, a sliver of amber light from the lamp next to you.

You send it.

You: while we’re sending pictures of irrelevant shit

Truth be told, you’re not like this often, but you get a streak of it every now and then. Only ever at times like this, when the two of you haven’t seen one another in a while and the distance between you is still so ambiguous, untitled.

Usually Mingyu will come by your place. Get you stripped down to almost nothing, have you writhing on his fingers. Then, in between satisfied groans, he’ll slap at your thighs, tell you to stop being a brat.

Kim Mingyu: then send me something worthwhile You: you first

Another beat of silence. Long enough to flick through the channels, plug in your phone, let some of that heat dissipate.

Your phone chimes, and when you look down—

Those grey sweats are long gone, replaced with a pair of black briefs barely containing his cock, still hard and curved toward his stomach. You swallow. Let your eyes linger on the corded muscle of his thighs, all that soft skin. Let your mind remind you, just for a second, how it feels beneath your fingertips, your hands, your mouth.

All the sounds he makes.

Kim Mingyu: is that better Kim Mingyu: is that what you wanted

Unbidden, the corners of your mouth lift. hm… close but no, you type out. Let it sit for a few seconds before you delete it. If Mingyu wants to be a tease, you can do the same.

You situate yourself against the pillows. Angle your phone so the length of your body is visible: your bare legs twisted in the sheets, the bruise Mingyu had sucked into the inside of your thigh before he left just barely making it into the frame. What’s fully visible, though: his shirt that’s draped over your frame, how much it engulfs you, the way you’re drowning in it. In him.

You send it.

You: depends... is this what you wanted?

The response is immediate:

Kim Mingyu: absolutely not. take it off baby.

You’ve starred in this production before, knew where it was headed the second you saw the missed calls, so you’d put on his favorite of your underwear. Skimpy red lace, part of a set he’d had sent to your apartment. Used to tell you in desperate whispers how ruined he was seeing you in them; used to have to rein himself in so he didn’t rip them off.

So you snap another photo. Spread your legs a little further, pull the hem of Mingyu’s shirt between your teeth. Know seeing that sliver of your stomach will drive him crazy, too, but it’ll pale in comparison to the underwear.

You consider video calling him. Want to see his face when you send this photo—the pinch of his brows, the slight drop of his jaw. The way he’ll whimper a little, say baby in that tone that floods you with heat: a little desperate, all hushed awe, bordering on a whine.

The same kind of heat that starts to creep back in again. There’s power in desire, in being desired, and even though you’re here and Mingyu’s in a hotel room in Japan, you can still feel it. Subconscious, like some kind of red string shit. Anticipatory.

Kim Mingyu: goddamn Kim Mingyu: you wear those for me? Kim Mingyu: fuck, i wish i was there to take them off of you

You suck in a breath. and if you were? you send back.

Kim Mingyu: you know that pair is my favorite Kim Mingyu: drives me crazy every time you wear that set Kim Mingyu: but i’ve changed my mind. i want you to keep them on Kim Mingyu: want you to keep my shirt on too You: yeah? you want me to wear your shirt while you fuck me? pull my panties to the side? Kim Mingyu: slow down baby, i’m taking my time with you

In your bed, you snort to yourself. Mingyu has never been patient with anything, but especially not with you. Most of the time he’s so keyed up, wound so tight, that it’s all the two of you can do to make it to your bed—and sometimes you don’t. Sometimes Mingyu puts all that body to use, presses your back to the wall and throws your legs over his shoulders as he eats you out. Wraps your legs around him as he fucks you right there, the slide so, so easy with how wet and messy he gets you.

You remind him of as much. Type out, you? taking your time? i’ve got a couple walls in my entryway that would say differently, and laugh when the reply comes through—can’t help myself sometimes—and promptly stop laughing at the next one: never can, with you.

Kim Mingyu: have i ever told you what i love the most? Kim Mingyu: just kissing you. you always taste so good, baby Kim Mingyu: the way you get so worked up and start grabbing at me when i’m doing it. the way you try to get me to touch you. the way you start grinding your pussy on me like you can’t go another second without me inside you

You feel like you’re on fire. Gets worse with every word you read and re-read, try to commit to memory. You know it all too well, what he’s talking about. Know how warm his skin is, how firm he feels under your touch. Know what he tastes like. How soft his lips are. The way he sounds when you start to writhe, the way he groans when he presses tighter against you, presses you into the mattress, hard cock rutting against you, enough to take the edge off but nowhere near what he needs.

You: love that too You: love when you’re inside me even more

Kim Mingyu: me too baby Kim Mingyu: love the way you feel around me Kim Mingyu: always so fucking tight Kim Mingyu: ffuck

Your stomach drops at his last message. are you touching yourself? you type, even though you already know the answer. Another sight you’re blessed to know: Mingyu’s hand wrapped around himself, how the size of his cock makes it look small in comparison. Head tilted back, abs flexing under the weight of the pleasure.

You get a singular character in reply: 응.

show me.

He doesn’t respond right away. The pause is enough to have anticipation thrumming through your veins, make you a little shaky. Your hand trembles as you trace patterns into your warm, soft skin, pretending it’s Mingyu’s touch and not your own. Pretend it’s Mingyu’s hand that grabs at your breast beneath his shirt, thumbs over your nipple; Mingyu’s touch that has soft gasps escaping you. Pretend it’s Mingyu’s hand that dips beneath the hem of your panties.

Kim Mingyu Attachment: 1 Movie

On the screen: Mingyu’s face greets you first, eyes half-lidded and hazy, the corners of his mouth lifted in a smirk. He tilts his head back, lets you see the sweat-slick skin of his neck, the column of his throat; pans the camera down over his collar bones, his bare chest, before he flips the screen. Can barely fit the entirety of his frame in the shot, and it strikes you someplace deep, how big he is. How overwhelming.

You suck in a breath as your eyes focus—as you take in the way he’s stroking himself. His cock glistens with whatever lube he’d indulged in, but you can’t help but pretend it’s from you and your mouth. Wish you could see the way he’d touch himself as you sucked him nearly to orgasm and told him to finish himself off. The way he’d whine, beg a little, get a little shitty with you.

“Fuck,” you say out loud. You can feel your pupils blow at the thought.

“Jagiya,” comes Mingyu’s voice, intertwined with the sounds of the tv, a city so far away from you, “fuck, I’m so fu-fucking hard.”

If you’d thought you were on fire before, it’s nothing compared to now. Hearing the need in his voice, watching the way he’s touching himself. The way his hips stutter as his body seeks out more, more, more, always more, and the way he squeezes the base of his cock so he doesn’t come too soon.

“Wish it was you. Wish it was you touching me like this. I—fuck, need you so bad.”

You watch as Mingyu strokes over the head of his cock, as each subsequent pass gets more tacky and wet. Lick your lips at the sight of it. Want, more than anything, to get your mouth on him and taste the salt of his skin, the precome he’s jerking himself off with.

Before he even needs to ask, you start recording a video of your own. Leave your panties on because you know he’d want you to. Record the first pass of your fingers through your slick, let out a disbelieving little laugh at how wet you are, how you can hear it. Moan as you dip a finger into your cunt, just to the first knuckle. Say, “I’m so wet, Gyu, oh my god,” all breathy.

Not all that different from how you sound when he’s here. When he’s flesh and blood and right beside you, on top of you.

You use the wetness you’ve gathered and move your hand to your clit. It’s throbbing beneath your touch, your body already wound too tight, and you nearly hiss in oversensitivity and relief when you finally touch yourself the way you’ve wanted to. “Fuck.”

You force yourself to take your time. Slow, small circles, when everything in your body is screaming to be selfish, begging for release the same way Mingyu’s had.

“Should I finger myself?” you ask. A sharp inhale as your next pass has your toes curling. “Wo-won’t feel as good as you, but I need—need more.”

Before you cut the video, you zoom in a little. Make sure Mingyu will be able to see the way you’re touching yourself, be able to hear the sound of your arousal, the same sounds that have warmth blooming in your cheeks.

Kim Mingyu: jesusf fuck Kim Mingyu: god baby youre so hto Kim Mingyu: wanna see you finger yourself Kim Mingyu: please

It’s a little embarrassing, how incapable you are of denying him anything. You trust him implicitly, love him even more, so it’s second nature to give in, to adjust your phone so you don’t have to hold it. Second nature to press record, pull your panties to the side just like you’d proposed earlier; second nature to make a show of sticking two fingers in your mouth, sucking on them, before bringing them to your entrance and easing them inside.

Nothing compared to the stretch of Mingyu, both his fingers and his cock, but it’s still good. Enough to have you sighing softly, barely audible over the sound of everything else: the rustling of your sheets, the low thrum of your own television, you in general.

A rhythmic song and dance. Practiced. You grow wetter with each push and pull; know Mingyu will be able to see it, the way you work yourself open. That, too, has you a little dizzy. Breathless. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. Not only like this, but all the time. Does he see an expiration date? Something good while it lasted? Is there just this—something carnal and superficial?

Or does he just see you?

It drives you crazy. Inspires something within you: not just the desire to please him, make it worth his while, but to be something else, something more than this. Has your fingers moving a little faster, has you grinding your clit against the palm of your hand. Has you a whining, writhing mess; has sounds spilling out that you aren’t sure you’ve ever heard come out of you.

You send it before you can overthink it. Whatever Mingyu sees in you, at least these are the images that’ll play in his mind whenever he thinks of you. At least you’ve sunk your claws into him.

Seconds pass in a blur. You’re still on the brink of a mind-numbing orgasm, stuck in this liminal space simply because Mingyu isn’t here, and you know, too, how this goes. Know you aren’t supposed to come without his say-so in the same way he edges himself until he gets yours.

Kim Mingyu: shit shit shit Kim Mingyu: i wish that was me. wanna take you apart like that. wanna finger you while i eat you out, make you squirt all over me again Kim Mingyu: fuck i thin k about that all the time Kim Mingyu: im gonna cum

I think about that all the time.

So do you. You, on your hands and knees, Mingyu eating you out from behind. Bracing yourself against the headboard with one arm, the other one reaching behind you to pull at his hair. You remember how relentless he’d been that night. A man possessed. Disregarded all your breathless pleas, every Mingyu, Gyu, fuck, fuck, Mingyu, baby— that left your mouth. His tongue left your pussy only long enough to say, you can take it, baby before he was right back at it. Before he worked in two fingers alongside his mouth. Before his free hand came down hard on your ass, the sting startling you, making you jerk, forcing you closer to his mouth.

You remember coming with a scream. You remember coming to with Mingyu’s lips to your neck, the sweet way he was speaking to you. You remember the knee-jerk embarrassment you felt when you saw the giant wet spot you’d left on the bed and how quickly it dissipated when Mingyu pressed a kiss to your temple, called you his good girl.

You: you can come, but you know the rule

You move your fingers back to your clit, feel all that pleasure flood back, start in your toes. It’s not long before you’re pulling a blistering orgasm from your body—one that feels like it belongs to Mingyu, wasn’t yours for the taking.

thank you, he replies, right beneath a photo of his abs streaked with cum.

The comedown is jarring. You feel both too big for your body and completely out of sorts now that you’ve fulfilled your role. Now that there’s nothing to do but sit in the stillness of your bedroom, that same drama playing on television, some girl getting her heart broken.

You wonder if Mingyu’s thinking the same. If his body also sags with relief, if the absence of all that tension feels crushing. If the first thought he has in this newfound clarity is also I love you and if he also swallows it down every single time. You wonder if he thinks about his role, if it’s becoming stale and tired.

Because you know what comes next:

Kim Mingyu: i’ll be home soon Kim Mingyu: can i see you

And you also know what you’ll say. After all, you’ve played this role before.

if you've made it this far thank you so much for reading! this is prob not my best work since it's a lil rushed but i needed something to get me out of my slump.

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

#mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #mingyu x you #mingyu x y/n #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen smut #jewel writes

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literaryavenger · 4 months

Text

You Were My Sunshine

Summary: Once a year you disappear for a whole day. Nobody knows where you go or what you do, but the team has learned to let you have your privacy. This year though, Bucky's curiosity gets the better of him and he follows you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death. Grief. Some angst. Fluff. No mentions of Y/N.

Word Count: 3K

A/N: I realize this is a little heavy and you absolutely don't need to read it. This one's mostly for me, but I thought why not post it and let Bucky comfort other people, if you need it. As always, my inbox is always open if you want to even just chat. I hope someone likes this. Also, I promise the requests are coming, a little slowly but they're coming. I'm on vacation for two weeks so I'll spend the time writing, probably.

Masterlist

“Have a good day.” Steve calls after you as you pass the kitchen.

You stop in front of the door to smile at Steve and wave at the team as they all have breakfast together before you keep making your way to the elevator that will take you to the parking garage.

“So, we’re really just accepting this?” Bucky asks the team when the elevators close behind you and he’s sure you can’t hear him.

“Yes, Buck.” Steve says firmly.

“But-” Bucky’s protests are cut off by Tony.

“She’s entitled to her privacy.” He says firmly. “Just let it go, Frosty.”

Bucky ignores the nickname and looks around the team, searching for anyone that might have his back, but nobody else seems to be too invested in your day. Bucky gets up with a huff and makes his way to the training room, resigned that he has to let you be.

You’ve always been an open person, you’re always there for everybody that needs you and you’re not afraid to talk about anything with anybody.

Your life is an open book.

Which is precisely why it drives Bucky crazy that, once a year, you disappear for an entire day and nobody knows where you go or what you do.

You disable all your communication devices, the tracking in your car and you don’t use credit cards anywhere.

It’s like you cease to exist for a day, leaving no trace that you were anywhere.

At least that’s how the team sees it.

They’ve all tried to figure out where you go, but that’s the only subject that you never talk about and, every time anyone asks you about it, your answer is always the same:

Don’t worry about it.

After so many years, the whole team has decided to listen to you and stopped worrying about it.

Everyone except Bucky.

It’s not like you’re that close with him, but he considers you his friend and he trusts you, so it irks him that you have this huge secret that nobody knows anything about.

Needless to say, he worries about it a lot.

That’s why right now he finds himself tip toeing down to the garage. He sees you get into your car and drive away and, without even thinking about it, he jumps on his bike and follows you.

He knows this is wrong, he knows he shouldn’t follow you, that you’re allowed to have your secrets. But he can’t help himself when it comes to you. You make him lose control, you make him go insane.

He just needs you. to know.

So he follows you, as discreetly as only a trained assassin knows how. He follows you into the city and stops a few cars away when you park in front of a secondhand bookstore. Bucky knows that shop all too well, it’s one of his favorite places to visit when he’s in the city.

He waits until you disappear behind a shelf before going in, watching you as you browse the books. It looks to Bucky like you’re looking for a particular book, when you find it, he can see your face lighting up.

You turn the book to look at the back cover and Bucky can read the title very clearly. ‘Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince’, one of your favorite books. Bucky knows that because he’s talked about it with you for hours, along with all the other books of the series and the Lord of the Rings books, Bucky’s favorites.

You chat amicably with the older guy that owns the shop while you pay for your book and then leave, getting back into your car with Bucky still on your tail.

Next you go to a small bakery and buy a coffee and a cupcake. Thankfully for Bucky you’re too distracted by talking with the nice, old lady that owns the place to notice him buying his own coffee.

He follows you again as you cross the street to the park in front of the bakery and walk until you find a secluded spot. You sit down against a tree and continue peacefully reading your book under the summer sun while sipping your iced coffee.

Bucky sits on a bench nearby where he has a visual on you, but you can’t really see him unless you were really looking for him. But you’re so engrossed in reading that Bucky’s sure he could sit next to you and you wouldn’t even realize it.

He knows you get like that when you’re reading something that captures your attention, and the Harry Potter books always do, no matter how many times you’ve read them already.

Bucky always thought you looked so cute while reading. You make no attempt to hide your reactions and it amuses him. So he spends the next few hours just watching you read, watching your beautiful face shining in the sunlight as you frown and snort and laugh and pout as your eyes dart around the pages.

It’s actually relaxing, he thinks to himself. Is this what you do every year? Take a whole day just to read without the chaos of the Compound and nobody to bother you?

But why would you be so secretive about this? Reading for hours with a cup of coffee is something you’d done countless times in your room, on the roof, in the backyard of the Compound or even in the common room, never really bothered by the noise the team makes when you’re so into the words you’re reading.

So why do it in secret?

After a few hours, around lunch time, you finally come out of the book’s trance and gather your things before getting up.

Bucky frowns when you don’t get back into your car and follows you as you walk to a small family owned Italian restaurant that Bucky’s never been to but always wanted to try. He discreetly follows you in and takes a table in the back where you can’t see him.

He watches you interact with the owner, the waiter and even the cook comes out to talk to you. It’s clear that they all know you and it seems to Bucky like you’re pretty close to them even though he’s never even heard you mention this place before. When you’re done eating, Bucky sees you playfully fight with the owner that doesn’t want to let you pay so you leave a generous tip that amounts to more than your check is and the owner chuckles to himself when you wink as you walk out.

After lunch, which Bucky has to admit was pretty good, he follows you to a flower shop a couple of doors down and he’s surprised to see the owner greeting you like old friends. It looks like she was already anticipating your arrival, a bouquet of blue roses already on the counter and ready to go when you arrive. You chat with the older woman for a few minutes before paying and leaving the flower shop to go to your car.

It’s clear to Bucky by now that you obviously have a routine on your secret day, and everyone you see on this day knows it.

So why don’t the Avengers?

You looked so comfortable with all the people you’ve met today, Bucky can’t help but think that maybe you don’t feel like you belong on the team.

You drive until you arrive at your destination and Bucky is both surprised and confused when you park in the parking lot of a cemetery, get out of your car and enter it.

He subtly follows you in, watching you walk past a few graves and it looks to him like you know your way around by how effortlessly you walk without needing to check the names, stopping at one almost at the end of the row you were in while Bucky keeps his distance, always making sure to stay out of sight.

He sees you take a deep breath before kneeling in front of the grave and putting down the bouquet of flowers in front of it.

“Hi, mom…” You wipe the dirt off the tombstone and tidy the flowers in front of it with what Bucky’s sure it’s a forced smile. “Happy birthday.”

You take out the cupcake you bought that Bucky now realizes you hadn’t eaten yet and he sees you put a small red birthday candle on it and light it, then you just look at it for a few seconds before you sigh and blow it out.

“So…” You say quietly, looking back at the tombstone and Bucky can see a tear falling down your cheek.

A piece of Bucky's heart breaks seeing you so vulnerable and hurting like this, but he stays put no matter how much he wants to be at your side right now.

Bucky stands there in complete silence, hearing everything you say, hanging on to every word. He hears you talk about everything that happened in the past year, he listens to you talk about missions and parties and holidays. He hears you talk about the whole team and his heart flutters a little when you mention his name too.

You talk for a while and, after he assumes you run out of new things to say, he sees you taking out the book you just bought today.

“So, this year we finally got to the half-blood prince.” You say with a small smile. “It’s our favorite, hadn’t read it in a while.”

Bucky sees you open it and go to the page you left the bookmark in.

“It took me longer than I thought to find your favorite quote, I have to admit.” You say with a small chuckle. “It’s like 400 pages in, don’t judge me.”

Bucky chuckles quietly at your playfulness, even in this situation. He can’t help but find you adorable.

“It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.” You read the quote before closing the book and looking back at the grave. “That’s what you told me when I was scared of the dark…” You say quietly with a smile.

“And that’s what you told me before you…” You trail off, not being able to finish your sentence as tears start streaming down your cheeks but Bucky has a pretty good idea where you were going.

That's what she told you before she died, so you wouldn't be scared.

He’s more than surprised that he didn’t know your mother died, and he’s pretty sure the rest of the team doesn’t know either.

Admittedly, families are a very touchy subject for the Avengers.

But Bucky’s even more surprised to see you breaking down, something you’ve never done before. You’re cheery, you’re bubbly, you’re everyone’s little ray of sunshine.

And it breaks Bucky’s heart to know you’ve been falling apart when you’re by yourself all these years.

“I’m sorry I only come here once a year, I just…” You start, so quietly that Bucky’s glad he has enhanced hearing otherwise he's sure he wouldn't be able to hear you. “I miss you so much and I can’t… I can’t bear this.”

He sees you running your fingers gently over the tombstone as you take a deep, shaky breath, but you can’t stop crying.

“I’m trying to be the person you loved…” You say after a moment of silence. “Your little ray of sunshine.” You chuckle softly through the tears.

It makes sense to Bucky now why you always try to be there for everyone else. It’s how you’ve always been, apparently. Always making sure no one feels alone because deep down you feel the most alone, and you don’t want anyone else to feel that way.

You are my sunshine

Bucky’s thoughts get interrupted when he hears you quietly starting to sing.

My only sunshine

Bucky knows this song. It’s a lullaby that he’s heard you sing once before.

Clint’s family visited him at the Compound and you offered to watch his kids so he and his wife could have a date night.

You probably didn’t realize he heard you, you probably thought you were alone and it’s not like he was spying on you. He just happened to pass by when you were in Clint’s room, trying to get the three kids to sleep by singing to them.

You make me happy, when skies are gray

You take a breath before continuing but your voice wavers a little.

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

Bucky can see you’re having trouble getting the words out, your voice almost breaking.

Please don’t take… My sunshine… Away

Before you can even get the last word out, you break down completely, burying your face in your hands while sobbing.

Bucky feels his heart break as he takes in your pain. He wishes there was some clear and simple solution to making this all better for you, but there's always been so much he doesn't understand about complex emotions like these.

Right now, as he's watching how broken you are, though, he knows that he doesn't even care about understanding. He just wants to comfort you, to try and make it better...

Bucky comes to rest beside you, he kneels down to your level and places his hand gently on your shoulder. “Hey…” He says quietly.

His presence startles you and you go into defense mode, taking his hand on your shoulder and bending it, then using your grip on his arm to push him face down on the ground.

Bucky didn’t expect you to react so quickly and aggressively which makes it easier for you to catch him off-guard and pin him down.

“Goddammit, Bucky!” You say after you finally recognize him and let him go, getting up and scrambling back to put some distance between you and him while breathing heavily.

For a moment, Bucky is a little stunned. It's rare that anyone is able to get the jump on him like that. But then he snaps back to reality. He lets you make your distance while getting back to his feet and stands a few feet away from you.

“Did you fucking follow me?!” Your sadness is quickly forgotten and replaced with anger.

“I…” Bucky doesn’t know what to say. He knows he’s in the wrong here and he has no defense for himself when he knowingly violated your privacy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“You didn’t what?!” You snap at him. “You didn’t understand what the meaning of privacy is?!”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, he’s never seen you this angry at anyone that’s not an enemy and surely never at him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He says quickly. “I’m sorry, I was just curious, I didn’t think this would be it, I thought…”

“You thought what?” You say when he trails off, clearly pissed as you cross your arms in front of your chest.

“I thought maybe you were a supervillain…” He jokes weakly, trying to make you laugh. “Or a stripper.”

His last word gets a surprised laugh out of you as you, fortunately, understand he’s just joking before you actually punch him in the face.

Bucky lets out a sigh of relief as he sees you laugh and then takes a tentative step towards you.

“I really am sorry…” He says quietly, reaching out to put his hand on your shoulder. “I know it was wrong of me to follow you, and I didn’t plan on bothering you at all, which doesn’t make what I did better,” He quickly adds when he sees you’re about to say something.

“But when I saw you crying, I just… I couldn’t help myself.” He trails his hand down your arm to your hand and takes it in his. “You’re always there for everybody, I don’t think it’s fair that you don’t let anybody be there for you.”

You look at him for a long moment, processing his words. Of course you know he’s right, you don’t let anybody be there for you, but you also never really believed anyone cared enough to.

But looking at Bucky right now, it feels like he really does want to be there for you...

So you let him.

You look back down at the grave, your hand still in his as you intertwine your fingers together.

“She died when I was 14.” You say quietly. “I only had her, so I was on my own after that…”

Bucky listens quietly, his eyes on your face as he sees the tears starting to gather in your eyeline again.

“A few years later, Natasha and Clint found me during a mission. They saw me knock out a dude that cornered me in an alley and they were impressed…” You have a faint smile at the memory although it’s clear you’re about to cry again. “They offered me a place in the SHIELD Academy and, after that, I don’t know… I wasn’t alone anymore.”

You look back at Bucky to find him looking at you intently, his gaze intent and unwavering.

“Doll…” He says quietly while cupping your face with his free hand as he sees you holding back tears. “It’s okay to be vulnerable in front of the people you care about. You taught me that.”

His gentle words, the way he softly strokes your cheek and the way he’s looking at you so lovingly, it’s all too much for you and can’t hold back your tears anymore.

With a broken sob, you bury your face in Bucky’s chest and hug him tightly, clinging to him while he wraps his arms around you and hugs you just as tight, kissing the top of your head before nuzzling his face against your hair.

In this moment, while holding you in his arms, Bucky realizes it’s not like you don’t feel like you belong with the Avengers.

This is just something you feel like you have to go through on your own because you’ve always had to.

And he’ll be damned if he lets you go through it alone ever again.

Drabble

#bucky barnes #avengers x reader #bucky barnes x you #steve rogers #tony stark #avengers x platonic!reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel fanfiction #clint barton

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solarmorrigan · 3 months

Text

Written for Day 3 of @steddie-week

Prompt: Mutual Pining | Rated: E | Additional Tags: Modern AU, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Hypothetical Top!Eddie/Bottom!Steve

Need more trope reversal with gay!Steve and still-thinks-he's-straight!Eddie obliviously pining after each other

Like, Eddie isn't into guys, but it's fine that Steve is. It's cool! Eddie is super supportive! He even helps vet Steve's dates. And whatever anyone (coughRobincough) says, he is not overly invested in Steve's love life. Sure, he might judge potential partners a little harshly, but it's for one of his best friends! Steve is great, and he deserves the best; it's not Eddie's fault so many guys fail to live up to standards.

Meanwhile, Steve is quietly dying, because he's been into Eddie since forever, but Eddie is straight, and he has to sit there and listen to Eddie extol his virtues and talk about how he deserves someone great while not being romantically interested in him whatsoever. But Steve also never claimed he isn't pathetic, so he'll take what he can get; maybe dating a guy who Eddie deems worthy will be almost as good as getting to be with Eddie himself?

Anyway, that train wreck is happening, and it all sort of comes to a head one night when Steve comes home to their shared apartment from yet another date, visibly frustrated and a bit disappointed, and Eddie isn't one to say I Told You So (much), but he had told Steve so. He'd said he hadn't liked the look of the guy's profile picture; Eddie has a sense about these things.

But still, he asks, "Bad date?"

Steve shrugs. "It wasn't- terrible."

"Oh, high praise."

"Well, it wasn't!" Steve gives a little laugh. "I mean, he was... nice."

"He bored you, didn't he?" Eddie can't help himself. "I told you he would be boring, who uses a picture of themselves in a suit for their profile on a dating app?"

"He wasn't boring, he was just- nice," Steve hedges. "A little too nice."

Eddie raises his brows. "Like... suspiciously nice?"

"No, not- we just weren't compatible," Steve says, still frustratingly vague.

Eddie is silent, staring at Steve, willing him to go on.

"In bed," Steve finally elaborates with a sigh. "The sex sucked, man."

"Ah." Eddie nods sagely. And then, because - okay, not because he's overly invested in Steve's love life, thank you very much, but because he's a good friend, right? And a good ally. And - yes, fine, he's also a little curious, sue him, but because of all of that, he asks, "You don't like 'em nice?"

Steve snorts. "I'm not saying I like people to be mean, it's just - I mean, it's kinda hot, you know? Having a guy who can push me around a little - take over so I don't have to think. Like, people just kind of assume I want to be in charge, that I'm gonna take over and-" Steve shakes his head, "I dunno, that's just not really what I'm into."

Eddie nods; this is definitely important information that he needs to have, obviously, if he's going to help Steve find The Perfect Guy. And he can't imagine why anyone wouldn't want to give Steve exactly what he wants - he would be so pretty, pressed into the mattress, clutching at the sheets, scrambling for purchase, for a way to channel the pleasure as he gets fucked. Who wouldn't want that?

Like, objectively. Objectively, Steve is an attractive guy, anyone can see that, so objectively he'd probably look hot while getting railed within an inch of his life. That's just science. Surely any guy who also likes guys would be into that.

Eddie realizes he's maybe been silent for too long. "So you're a pillow princess, huh?" he teases, trying to will away the image he's got in his head of Steve begging for some guy's cock, faster, harder-

"Fuck off." Steve gives Eddie a shove, but he's laughing a little. "I am not. I'm definitely not opposed to doing some work to get what I want."

The Steve in Eddie's head that for some reason won't go away shifts from arching his back while on his hands and knees to sitting in some probably undeserving guy's lap, riding him like a fucking pro, head thrown back in ecstasy, and Eddie very much needs to go now, needs to go address the completely unavoidable boner that's come up because they're talking about sex. That's just what happens sometimes. Unavoidably. Totally normal.

"Well, I'll keep that in mind. While we're hunting for your dream guy, I mean," Eddie says quickly, levering himself up off the couch and making for his bedroom as quickly as he can without being suspicious. "Sorry the date was a dud. We'll find your man, though, Stevie, despair not!"

He barely catches a glimpse of the odd look Steve is shooting him before he shuts his bedroom door. He can't think too much on it, because his brain is busy with other things - things like initiating the most confusing jerk-off session of Eddie's life.

But they were just talking about Steve and his preferences in bed, alright? It doesn't have to mean anything that Eddie's suddenly imagining it's his lap that Steve could be bouncing in, whining and crying out as Eddie thrusts up into him, hitting him just right. It doesn't have to mean anything that he imagines putting Steve on his back, imagines Steve's legs wrapped around his waist, imagines holding Steve's hips so hard he leaves finger-shaped bruises, imagines fucking Steve until he's sobbing and still begging for more, because Eddie understands what Steve needs, Eddie can give him what he wants--

It doesn't have to mean anything that Eddie comes harder into the slick clutch of his fist, imagining it's Steve's tight ass, than he has in ages.

It doesn't have to mean anything, but Eddie gets the feeling that maybe it does.

And shit, he may have to do some self reflection.

(Meanwhile, if Steve retires to his own room to have some private time with his favorite toy, fucking himself like he wishes Eddie would, shoving his own fingers in his mouth to keep from calling out his name, that's his business. And if he didn't admit to Eddie that the biggest reason the date had sucked had simply been because the date wasn't him, well - that's Steve's business, too.)

#steddie #steddieweek2024 #eddie munson #steve harrington #this is very silly I'm sorry #also part of my gay Steve agenda #something something he escapes the clutches of comphet and Eddie congratulates him on his personal growth #while not examining his own feelings on the matter in the slightest #don't worry they get there #stranger things #solar wrote

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dollypopup · 4 months

Text

Today I'm thinking about how so much of Colin's narrative speaks to the neurodivergent experience of having to pretend to be someone else as a survival mechanism. Of the pressure in masking because your real, authentic self is rejected or ignored: too weird, too quiet, too loud, too gullible, too soft-heart, too. . .everything. Too anything. And at the same time, not enough.

Colin gets excited about his travels, about his hyperfixations, talks and talks and talks about them, and no one cares. So, Colin shuts up. Colin writes letter after letter, and gets no reply. So, Colin writes in a journal just for himself. Colin tries and tries to make his family proud, tries to marry, tries courting properly, and it blows up in his face. So, Colin chooses not to date, to become a spectator. Colin is yelled at for trying to invest, so he no longer asks or talks about money, doesn't try to rock the boat in his city. Who Colin is, what he wants, ceases to matter, the fabric of him folded smaller and smaller- instead he focuses on the shell. Builds it in image of his older brothers, of the men around him. Mirrors them.

Anthony says he should have taken Colin to brothels, that he's a fool for trying to marry and his engagement blows up- Colin thus goes to brothels. Colin hops from city to city, trying on new personas like outfits, fine tuning each one. Is this it? Will this be what finally makes them accept me? Colin's appeal to the women of the ton is that he does not talk about himself- but about them. That they're wearing beautiful dresses, that surely they'll find husbands. Separating himself from them- cannot tell them of his travels, that he's not the brave one, it was everyone working together to help with the balloon.

Deflect. Never centered. Colin exists on the outskirts as Pen does, he's just hypervisible for his exterior, and invisible otherwise. His charm is that he pleases those around him. His wounds are that the truest version of him cannot accomplish that. Thus, he becomes hyperaware of what his impact is, first to apologize and last to be forgiven. Living for the approval of others is a trap. He knows. He's fallen into it, a bear claw around his ankles.

He feels like the only way he's worthwhile is if he's providing something for someone. An apology, or comfort, or ease, compliments or winks, a laugh or a distraction, good looks or a fantasy. Providing a happy life for Pen by stepping out of the way, his own needs secondary. It's being there for his mum for an escort or a soft heart to heart. It's taking Anthony's disappointment in him and being indulgent to Eloise's insults. It's giving Benedict his special tea and saying hardly anything about why he bought it in the first place. Bringing gifts to family members who did not write back to him as he wandered the world, alone. It's sticking his neck out for Penelope with Jack, it's providing a dance or a rescue or a good time, checking on Marina to make sure she's alive and okay, listening to Phillip. Colin isn't at all comfortable being himself, the himself that is messy, so he covers it in the himself that is useful.

But what he does, what he provides other people, is not his actual worth. He thinks he's being altruistic by stepping aside and languishing in his feelings for Pen, believing she'll be happier in the future with Debling, waiting and waiting and waiting, until that candle burns out and he's at the 11th hour- and when he snaps and goes after her, when he cuts into her dance, when he runs for her in that carriage, he makes a choice for himself that he thinks, in some way, is selfish.

But it isn't. It's what she wants, too. And there's something beautiful in the fact that with Penelope, his being real, what he thinks is so difficult and unwanted, is actually giving her what she has desired all along. They both find fulfillment and contentment in his unmasking. Penelope never wanted the shell. She saw what was beneath it. She loves what's beneath it.

And I think there's something. . .healing, in that narrative. That us ND peeps who mask as a means of fitting in- that will never bring us happiness. Not really. That it didn't bring Colin happiness.

His arc is realizing that he should be his true, authentic self, and that love will bloom from it. And it does.

I don't know. I think I can learn something from that. I think I'm going to carry that with me for a while.

#polin #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #bridgerton #i just have a lot of feelings about him #and Colin as an ND character means a lot to be as an ND person and I know it meant a lot to Luke Newton as ND actor #like i see the choices he made with colin and that makes his performance so impactful for me #fandom: *shakes magic8 ball* “will dolly ever shut up?”#response: 'seems unlikely'

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0-lcb-sinner · 20 days

Text

personal headcanons on the sinners' taste in music (with some wild projection)

yi sang: neoclassical instrumentals, maybe a bit of spoken word

faust: when asked about music, says "Faust knows everything about music theory". if you prompt her to talk about her favorite genre she completely blanks on that

don quixote: vgm and anime openings. I just know it

ryoshu: she's going to listen to harsh noise on full volume, say it's art, and kill people for asking her to turn it down

meursault: hard to say (owing to him not showing much personality), but considering his penchant for wordplay in 3.5 I'm going to start extrapolating and say he enjoys rap for lyrical complexity

hong lu: he's a hyperpop girlie. look at him and tell me otherwise

heathcliff: rock/metal and edgy amv shit. I mean have you heard his theme. hello

ishmael: knows every shanty because after a while at sea lake you start running out of ways to keep your sanity and songs keep morale up

rodion: говнарь with some hints of chanson on the side. gets a little too invested into singing along to songs about how life sucks. do not introduce her to post-punk or she'll become even more depressed

dante: doesn't remember what they like so decides to give everything a chance (for now)

sinclair: awkwardly says whatever popular thing pops into his mind. is actually into some extremely unlistenable shit. ryoshu naturally encourages this

outis: whatever the manager says. when the manager says they aren't sure what they like, claims to listen to everything. goes back on that after ryoshu overhears her

gregor: the mythical guy who listens to whatever comes up on radio and is happy with it. he's relentlessly bullied for that

#limbus company #sinnerpost #you might notice that this is lacking mentions of a certain subgenre. that's on purpose. i can't afford to let it here

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ryker-writes · 1 year

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if you want, can you do a thing where the reader has a habit of scratching skin till it bleeds. It's a habit I have and do when anxious, yes it hurts but pain makes it easier to ignore thoughts about what ever is causing me anxiety. Also god forbid they have have acne of any bump in their skin cause that can and will be scratch off. This scratching dose leave scaring and they do it constantly cause this world is unfamiliar and magical so lord knows what could happen to you. You can use any characters you like tho I would like Vil for obvious reasons. If you do make this then thank you and have a fulfilling life.

of course dear anon! I can relate to this one a little bit because I have a lot of anxiety myself and used to do something similar. I don't do it much anymore so there's no need to worry, but I do encourage you to find a different way of ignoring the anxiety and/or seeking help fir anxiety. Anxiety is a very tough thing to deal with and if you need to talk to somebody about it, I will gladly listen <3

I decided to add some of my favorite TWST boys to this so apart from Vil, there's also Malleus, Silver, and Leona

Request rules and Masterlists

Vil:

Vil is very familiar with anxiety and some signs of anxiety

many people get anxiety before big performances after all

so when he sees you scratching your skin so much, he's able to recognize that it's probably anxiety

and he can see the small scarring on your skin too

Vil isn't going to stand for this

whenever he sees you start to scratch, he will give you something, anything, for you to hold in your hands

and he asks you to hold onto it for him for a little bit and take care of it

his goal is to get your hands doing something else even if it's holding the object or fidgeting with it or whatever

as long as your hands aren't damaging your beautiful skin

and I do mean he will give you anything

he's handed you his textbooks, his eyeliner, and even his Pomefiore crown once

being in a new and unfamiliar world is sure to cause a lot of anxiety

but he tries to be there for you as much as he can, and slowly help you adjust to the world around you

he's also roping you into his skincare routines now

Leona:

he's actually a very observant guy

so you bet he sees you scratching your skin, but he might not comment on it much unless he sees you scratching hard enough to break skin

at that point he's going to drag you to a place that's calmer like botanical garden and try to get you talking about it

he'll ask you about your world while keeping your hands away from your skin

basically anytime you start to scratch, he just moves your hands away

you may think he'll lose his patience doing this, but he actually doesn't

he just listens to you while laying down and keeps moving your hands away

and he listens very well

Leona has actually taken mental notes about your world

so when you start feeling anxious about being in a strange dangerous world again, he brings you to somewhere calmer again, but this time he tries to show you something you're more familiar with

he'll even have Ruggie bother Sam to make something if they don't have it in their world

Leona isn't the type to hover around you, but he usually tries to check in on you from time to time to make sure you aren't scratching too much

Malleus:

I'm gonna be honest, he probably doesn't know how bad anxiety can get in people

so originally when he sees you scratching, he doesn't think much of it

that is, until you start bleeding

then he is very invested in why you're scratching

you probably have to explain it to him

once you explain that it's anxiety and being in a new magical world causes a lot of anxiety, he is very concerned

he's noticed the small scars on your skin, but he didn't comment on it in fear of upsetting you

but now that he knows those are because of the anxiety...he's very determined to help you stop

Malleus starts hovering around you a lot more after finding out

he just worries about you

whenever he sees you scratching, he will do almost anything he can to help

like he goes through different strategies each time

his magic helps a lot with this

usually he tries to use his magic to make your surroundings look more familiar or he'll create something for you to focus on

and if he isn't able to help in time and you start bleeding, he's immediately there with his healing magic

Silver:

Silver knows a bit about anxiety, and he's seen you scratch at your skin a lot

but he doesn't want to assume it's anxiety

he will ask about it though after he notices your scars

and he's a very good listener and is very understanding

he can perfectly understand how being in an unfamiliar world causes anxiety

Silver does want to help you tho so you don't hurt yourself anymore

unlike some of the others, his method of helping isn't changing your scenery

whenever he notices you getting anxious and starting to scratch at your skin, he just grabs your hands and holds them in his own

there doesn't even have to be any communication, he'll just do it

and he has no problem holding on until you start feeling better

when facing something that causes a lot of anxiety, he'll stand next to you holding onto your hand

it's very nice and good reassurance that you're not alone while keeping you from scratching

even if he falls asleep while holding onto your hand, you're not getting it back until he wakes up

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blueskittlesart · 1 year

Note

What advice would you give beginner artists?

it's fine to want to do more stylized art, but nothing will help you improve quickly like studying from life. even if you want to draw very stylized figures, life drawing is still going to help you understand how the human body works and then you can build your stylization off of that understanding. I also recommend studying specifically things you're looking to improve--if you feel like your poses aren't dynamic, ask your model to do some quick (1-2 min) dynamic poses and work on getting the gesture down. if you're looking for anatomy, ask for longer, more static poses and really study the contours of the body. this also applies for portraiture and character art--my expressions and facial structure improved like CRAZY when i started doing portrait studies from life! (note: i know live model sessions aren't accessible for everyone. i'm a huge advocate for nude models, if you can find a studio nearby that's affordable to you that offers sessions, that's the best you're gonna get. however, there are sites that will give you photos of nude models to draw from, too, or you can even just ask friends or family to pose for you when they aren't busy, that's what i did before i started getting model sessions from my school!)

materials are not everything but sometimes a good material can make a difference. it's important to know what's worth it and what isn't for your skill level. invest in some decent-quality supplies or a good art program, but understand that you're still going to need to work to understand your materials and use them to their fullest potential. (if you're a digital artist buy csp. trust me on this. get it on sale. it will change your life. also do not fucking use photoshop)

tracing is ok. listen to me. TRACING. IS. OK. tracing is how you learn. don't trace other people's art and pass it off as your own, obviously, but there is literally no problem with tracing real-life reference photos. I routinely trace references for backgrounds and the like. there is no reason for you to kill yourself trying to make complex perspective and shit up from your head when you can very easily just overlay a photo and get what you need.

in that same vein, USE REFERENCE PHOTOS. find pics online or take pics of yourself and USE THEM to see how your poses work. it makes it SO SO SO much easier. the understanding that you need to create a pose out of nowhere will come with time but you're not going to get that skill unless you have a foundation of understanding how the real human body works, and the easiest way to get that understanding is by copying photos of real people.

last but not least, there's generally a sort of 'rulebook' that new artists are expected to go by, especially online, when it comes to digital art. when i was first learning, it was all about lineart and cell shading, two things that I didn't really like. Nowadays it seems to be all about rendering. the single most important thing i can tell you is if it sucks you don't have to do it. if you hate lineart just color your sketches. if you hate shading don't shade, or find a different way to shade that you enjoy more. if rendering is annoying or difficult for you DON'T BOTHER!! art is supposed to be fun. if part of your process is annoying or upsetting to you, cut it the fuck out. don't torture yourself just to do art the "right" way. i guarantee your art will look better when you're having fun making it anyway!

#asks #ALSO don't go in expecting to monetize your social media presence/go viral as an artist. make art for YOU and make what you want to make.#if your art has passion behind it then attention will come naturally!

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toxicanonymity · 7 months

Note

Hey, this person has directly credited you as their ideas for their character bots

https://poe.com/pedroxo

[ Background: an account made AI bots of my fics and others to various extents. I had an anxiety attack quietly watching Tumblr melt down over this topic. When the dust settled, this post was the first and last I said about it to address continued inquiries. ]

unauthorized AI Bots of fics

Thank you everyone who kindly let me know about the >25 unauthorized bots using content from my fics.

Listen, I strongly relate to the desire to talk to these characters - I've said it before. I appreciate how invested someone must be to go to all this effort, and I appreciate the credit. But it's not right and I'm not comfortable with it. You may not realize what it feels like to the writer. It feels like a violation.

Unfortunately, this wasn't the first incident for me. Someone once made a bot of my fic 4 days after I publicly said not to in response to an ask. I didn't find out until it had almost 1k "chats" and you'll see I use that term very loosely under the cut.

I've said don't do this, and it's in my masterlist. I've even shared my anxiety about being so slow to update that people take matters into their own hands. I'm not really sure what else to say. I'm tired.

Please don't do this. And when you see chatbots built on fics, please alert the writers.

IMPORTANT The bots are down. I don't want the person to be harassed - i think that's obvious based on my tone from the start.

Beyond these, there were more bots from night walks, slasher, and stepdad, ones from Raider and Speakeasy and even a few from hypotheticals I published like when stepdad goes to jail for indecent exposure or when you aren't getting wet for raider joel.

Night Walks: Original, Soaked

Left in Lincoln pt. 1; jalbird

Slasher: Midnight Tow, Stop Playing

Stepdad: Clock, Ring Doorbell

Sorry I was too overwhelmed to do the IMG text on each of these but it's basically just snippets from the works listed.

After being contacted, the person copied and pasted a message to multiple writers saying they were sorry, didn't know what they were doing, were deactivating their acct. They asked to spread their message, and said have an amazing day/night.

------

Past Incident

IMGs: 1) I answered an ask August 16 saying no. The asker had "offered" to credit me. 2) August 20, someone made a bot without credit. This is worse imo and suggests trying to hide their actions.

I told a lot of people about this, but it was an isolated bot unlike the profile discovered 2/23.

IMG: comparison of left in lincoln text to the bot.IMG: A seven paragraph narrative bot output. Obviously failed my test if you've read the fic.

-----

ANYWAY

If you're not already on ao3, I recommend signing up. This isn't a threat to leave, but I may not put everything on Tumblr forever. My AO3 profile.

Edit: I like tumblr because I like answering lore and questions and getting thots, plus my blog is very multimedia with many awesome contributions from different people. Please help keep it that way, because your interaction is why I'm here. I value everyone's engagement here.

For many reasons, I'm less and less comfortable with Tumblr being the primary home for all my writing. I'm aware people can still take things from AO3, but not as easily. I'm trying to be nice by preemptively suggesting people sign up on AO3 if they want to read everything. If it's not worth the trouble to you, just don't do it.

----

Ty very much to those who have been supportive and checked on me. It means a lot. I will admit this made me put on a hat and cry in public lol.

feel free to rb this because idk if everyone realizes the extent of this or how jarring it can look.

#cw discourse #anti ai #taps mic

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drdemonprince · 5 months

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ok, listening & learning here. i've been pretty invested in electoral politics my whole life—my dad's a state congressman now, much to everyone's misfortune. so i've definitely been the person who's said stuff like "well, you can do more radical stuff AND vote," but i think you're spot on—i haven't gotten involved in community organizing, but i have gone to democrat meetings. i guess i'm scared because it's unfamiliar territory. i don't really even know how to find the people doing meaningful action and reach out to them. there's a lot of broken websites and out of date fb pages, and i don't have a script for getting involved the way i do with politics. do you have any advice or encouragement? thank you in advance if you do answer, your writing has actively made my life better since i found it

Thanks for your question! This stuff is difficult to locate on purpose -- both because of state repression, and because when you are working outside of the existing legal and political system, there are risks to being out in the open about it.

Adjusting to more extra-political (as in, outside of democratic politics) activities is a gradual on-ramp. You will understand the landscape and see greater options the further you go, but it will take some time. A good place to start out is local mutual aid networks. Look up a local Food Not Bombs chapter, for instance. See if there is an anarchist library or leftist publisher near you and attend some events. Check out your local libraries and on-campus groups to see if there are any engaging in actions that you can contribute to. Interface with the local punk scene and see if there are any people there who are really about anarchist action.

Go to a communist reading group. Start one with your friends! Working outside of the mainstream political system means building the kind of world you want to live in and the communities you want rather than being plugged into a pre-existing structure like a cog in the machine.

Talk to your neighbors. Give money and food to homeless people and chat them up. Drop off supplies at protests and encampments. Ask people what they need. As you prove yourself and come to understand your local landscape, you will get invited into more actions or will form the friendships and political education needed to start ones of your own. Break the law for the sake of helping other people when you can. Find rules you can bend or ignore in all things. Avoid the Party for Socialism and Liberation and the Revolutionary Communist Party like the fucking plague. they are cults.

You will find your way. I get more and more radical every year, and figure out a ton of shit I didn't previously understand. It's been at least a decade in the making for me. So don't be too hard on yourself if at first you don't feel like you understand what you are doing or that you are not doing "enough." Electoral politics runs on a constant manufactured sense of urgency and exhaustion. But we are building a world that is better, more loving, slower, and more responsive to the rhythms of the earth and our bodies.

You will be where you need to be. <3

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anticmiscellaney · 6 months

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I absolutely adore your work! What's your process been like for writing NewOldRare and developing Neil and Louis? Your art and character writing feel so genuine and realistic to me, so I'm really curious how you go about it!

Thank you! I've always been obsessed with character-driven stories and interaction, so I guess this is the result of years of practice and observation, and dismantling stories that do and don't work to see why.

Unfortunately, there isn't a clear way to explain it. It's one of those "you know when you get it right" things, requiring an eye developed over a long time. I will redraw things if I don't feel like I've captured the nuance I wanted to, and a few months later I'll look at it and see where I could have done better. Same with writing. I'm obsessed with pacing and page design, I had a moment of "that's how I think about it too" when Will Eisner described comic panels like music.

The technical approach is I make notes about stories I want to write, then I expand that into outlines, then scripts, then thumbnails, then I draw the comics and colour them and finalise the dialogue. At every stage I'm asking myself if it feels right, if I'm getting across what I want to. That's not to say there aren't surprises and things don't develop organically, but every stage is an attempt to solve as many problems as I can before the next stage. My thumbnails are quite detailed because it makes pencils easier, and I spend a while on them.

I have total aphantasia so I am operating off feeling rather than any mental images. I have no idea how it works and no idea why I pursue this when I'm missing what many visual artists describe as a crucial component. I just do it and I have better things to do (art) than wonder about something I can't change. I don't think it's made me a better or worse artist, though I think it has given me different ways of approaching/developing things. But also, literally everything about you makes your work different to everyone else's work.

You need to care. If your character is into music, listen to that music. If they have an old car that keeps breaking down, read up on common problems for that model. If they work as a film projectionist, watch a training film about using the machine. The characters care about things, have things in their lives that matter, have skills and interests and challenges. If I don't care enough to understand them, why should anyone reading it care, and also why am I writing it if I don't care?

So I do, and in caring I understand them better. This helps me develop characters/story but it also gives me so much more to write/draw. Understanding how things work and how they are done from a physical standpoint makes writing/drawing them easier too. The more you put into your head, the more you can get out later. I'll do way less for a 12 page short than for a 300 page graphic novel, obviously. Pick your battles, a little can go a long way.

They tell artists to collect visual references - solid advice - but you should collect substance too. If you pay attention, you will hear and see things you could never in a million years make up.

I find online socialising difficult, so I go out regularly and talk to people, or just hang around and observe. Chatting with strangers mostly involves listening to them. No one in gay spaces is interested in flirting with me (I'm rather homely and queer men assume I'm straight) but I think an audience is just as appealing sometimes, and maybe even harder to find. You'd be amazed what people will tell you if you're genuinely interested and listening. I once spent forty minutes at a sci-fi con talking to a guy who'd recently gotten into fisting. While I have zero personal desire to partake in that activity (and he had no interest in being fisted by me), I'm engaged, I'm invested, I'm asking questions, spare no detail.

I collect behavior and movement and the ways people interact too. Reading stories on reddit or whatever is one thing, but the words might not be as interesting as the way they're standing, the way their hands move, the way they respond. A guy in a bar once literally humped my leg like a dog because he felt I wasn't paying enough attention to him. I would never think of that as a response to that situation, but he did, and he followed through. Fortunately my friend had just tried to drunkenly sit down and missed the chair, otherwise I would never hear the end of it.

I see the leghumper around sometimes, he's got a boyfriend and avoids making eye contact with me, thank god.

#newoldrare #replied

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aftersamu · 2 years

Text

THE EXIT PAIRING: r.suna x gn!reader GENRE: angst + exposure of the bet trope (enemies to lovers to enemies)

it gets personal at the end, and this has such a different energy to anything i've written before. like there's harsh words, fucked up tropes, and it's definitely more 2010 teen drama. proceed with caution <3

a party.

people crowding the living room and backyard of the house, 20+ bottles of alcohol, red cups lining every table and surface, casual hookups, and girls rushing to the bathroom to throw up, and others blacked out on the grass.

you lost suna throughout the night, got invested in a conversation with a girl you've never spoken to before. and once you realised he was gone, you searched for him.

asking around for his whereabouts, getting closer and closer to finding a distinct location. osamu told you where to go, and you went. ducking underneath the velvet rope blocking off steps, and heading up.

turning every corner, trying to open every door, with a ear pressed to each closed surface. and down the hall, at the corner, a small ray of light illuminates the hallway.

you walk forward, starting to hear the hushed conversation and walking on your toes, holding your breath in your chest as you approach the slightly opened door.

back pressing against the wall, hiding in the shadows you listen. maybe it's nothing serious and you're being nosey, feeding off drama that might not even involve you.

until you hear your name.

"so, how are things going between the two of you?" atsumu, his voice is easily identifiable. "it's been a couple months since they've stopped hating you, i take it's a good sign."

"look, i don't think this is a good idea anymore." suna sighs, "it was fun for a while, but it's getting pretty serious now."

"you going soft rintarō?" atsumu teases, "i thought you hated that bitch, now you're sympathetic? what happened?"

"i don't know man, my fucking morals kicked in, i guess." suna quips, he's frustrated. you can see his shadow pacing around. "look this was fun, the games, but i don't know if i can do it anymore."

"so... you fucked?" atsumu bluntly remarks, "come on mate, i'm not stupid. you wouldn't be backing out unless you two fucked."

"yeah, well, it happened and now i'm screwed because you're a dickhead and i'm an idiot." suna scoffs, "it ends now, i'll give you the money, i don't want to do this stupid bet anymore."

bet. of fucking course, how cliche of them. how naive of you to think of giving suna a chance, he's a dickhead, you knew that. but, there's no way he spent six months trying to get in good with you for a bet.

no amount of money could have him commit for this long. or at least you think, it was a moment of boredom and a way to make easy money. two rich kids who have nothing better to do other than drop a grand on a bet.

a gambling scheme.

with twist and turns, challenges and money rewards. to keep them both interested in the little plan, one that has been pulled straight from a reality tv show.

"you're backing out now? it's been half a year, i think it's too late to feel remorse now." atsumu states, "do you need a recap of how much money we've bet? do you know how much money has been exchanged during this entire ordeal?"

"no, i don't, and don't be a dick." suna snaps, "you are just as much a part of this as i am."

"yeah, but i wasn't the one who brought it up." atsumu retorts, "i wasn't the one who stood up, and bet that i could get in good with them. that i could manipulate them with my killer charm."

"yes, but you proposed those sick side bets. bring them to the party, kiss them on this day, get them to make the first move within a week." suna mocks, "you're no better than me."

"so what? you going to go down there and tell them that you've been manipulating them for a little extra cash? that you've been fucking around with others the same time you've been buying them flowers, and making them eggs in the morning?"

your heart is beating hard against your chest, is it the anger, sadness, or alcohol that's giving you vertigo? is it the betrayal that causes all feeling to escape from your body, or is it how you feel like a complete idiot that sends you barging into the room.

you kick the door wide open, face red, and eyes already watering. the look of shock on suna's face and fear that paints it, and atsumu's smugness ever so present.

"don't even try." you say, holding up a finger to stop the brunette from saying anything. it's so funny, you can't seem to stop the manic smile from growing on your lips.

"let me explain–"

"oh, yeah sure. i don’t hate you babe, i never hated you, i love you, you’re everything i need. you’re the only one who understands me, and sees me. i can’t hate you." you mock, bringing up the words he spoke to you. "shut the fuck up suna."

it's as if those months have vanished, and all you feel is pure hate and rage towards those eyes that you thought you loved.

"you definitely outdid yourself with this one, this whole fucking twisted six month plan of yours.” you dryly laugh, bringing your hands up, "oh, but love, i don't feel that way, i tried to back out." you mimic. "go fuck yourself."

god, you seem so delusional.

"it's not like that!"

"yeah, and i like totally care." you say, rolling your eyes, "you don't mean shit. so pay miya what you owe and move on, because you lost! that's what you get for being a fucking cunt."

"love, you're drunk." suna sighs, taking a step towards you.

"don't come near me," you deadpan. "you manipulative, sick fuck. you will never be good enough for anybody, no one will ever love you, your sister doesn't even want to see you. i see you, and you're an insecure, needy, fucking freak."

you want to strike a nerve, and you know you have. you want to cause pain, regain some dignity that you've lost. you may have seen the worst of him, but he has not seen the worst of you.

"i'm done with you, i fucking hate you... and you're friends are hotter."

#haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq drabbles #hq fanfic #hq #hq x reader #hq imagines #suna rintaro drabbles #suna rintaro #suna angst #suna x reader #haikyuu suna #suna rintarou #suna x y/n #hq suna #hq x you

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an-au-blog · 10 months

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Yo your Shuggy King/ Jester AU is such a good take and I swear to everything holy i'd do unspeakable things to get more of it! Like like like --- like, what if Buggy's not even a jester and was really some third rate theif there to steel some expense trinket or another at some feast and he gets caught beacuse hes a pretty shit third rate thief and just somehow got lucky that the right door was unlocked somewhere but now these folks are ushering him in to entertain the king and his aristocratic asshole friends and he doesnt know what to do!!!! He should have just stuck to picking pockets at taverns and now he's in front of the king and -- wow, OK, so the king is kind of hot? -- nothepoint!!! -- they're all looking at him and he just... the feast turns into a roast and it's so unhinged and also a commentary on all the shit buggy really feels about these rich stuck up assholes and the king is dying from laughing so hard so he just... keeps going? And then he is asked to stay on full time and, sure, why not? Beats the streets any day and plus hes closer to treasure and can just buy his time and strike it rich but then he gets legit invested because don't these assholes know what the people need? What they want? 1 guess and the first one is already wrong because apparently everyone has their heads so far up their asses that they can't see the real issues in the kingdom so he accidentally speaks out of turn and totally out of place but the king, like, listens? He's listening to him. He's taking Buggy's advice and... oh shit... he might be in love now....

Ohhhh you did not just spike my interest back into an au that flopped like a month ago

This is sooo... I'm speechless because yes??? yes please!?!?

Also hi, sorry it took me a little to answer, i try to answer asks in order of who sent one first ':)

Buggy never stops taking small things. Trinkets no one in the castle would miss. But such trinkets outside the castle go for quite some berry. Unfortunately for him, some of the guards caught wind of what he was doing so they start following him around. He meets up with his friends and heist buddies on the outside, selling and buying and they see it all.

He still had connections that only multiplied once he got to in the palace.

One day they practically throw Buggy in King Shanks's feet and started listing all the accusations he was very rightfully blamed about and he thinks that was it. He was going to die because liked the weight of money in his pockets.

And the King is furious. He's shouting and spitting venom. No one had seen him this angry in a while, or maybe even ever. But the most shocking thing was that he was angry at the guards who caught Buggy. He claimed that Buggy was sent by him personally into the city to scout out the common folk. After all how could he know what the people need and lack if he can't leave the castle. He tels them he doesn't need such incompetent and naive people in his guard but he'll send them off with just a warning.

He was talking so convincingly that even Buggy started believing him.

When the doors close and it's just them, Shanks falls to his knees to inspect Buggy for any injuries.

The king is in his royal garments, the ones that probably cost ten times more than what he stole through the whole week. And he's just sitting there, worrying because Buggy's elbow got scratched when he was tossed in the marble floors.

After a good amount of time, Buggy still getting away with way too much, decides to test the limits. A lot had changed since the first time they met. But Buggy was still convinced that there was no way an attractive, powerful and charismatic king like Shanks was genuinely interested in a jester who only tells him what to do and steals from him. And for what? What was Buggy giving in return? Criticized the court and sneak around. Sure they messed around sometimes but the king could have a dozen way more beautiful women at his feet in a second if he wished so. So why?

One night, he feels ballsy and takes a knife into their bed. He hides it under his pillow and waits for the right time to come. He thinks that him and the king had gotten their lines so blurred that Shanks didn't notice the knife, but it wasn't true. Because when it happens nothing changes.

Buggy was fast. The king was already curled up in him, so it took only one motion for the jester to straddle him and put the knife up to his throat.

Shanks was smiling. His hands still running up and down his thighs. And the jester is so confused. If he pushed a bit harder he was sure he would have drawn blood. So why? "Why aren't you scared of me?Why do you keep me around?"

To which the answer sounded so simple it almost didn't register in Buggy's mind. "Because I relish in your presence. And you have my favor." He put his hand on the one holding the knife. "I know you won't kill me..." it wasn't arrogance. It wounded more like comfort.

Because of course he wouldn't. If he did, what would he do? He'd have nowhere to go. And the people would get some snot-nosed brat who would ruin the country. Where would he run? Who would he reside in? Who would love him like this?

Buggy didn't know how but he ended up crying in his king's arms that night. Worst part was - it was the most comforting place the jester had ever been to.

Idk something like that, I probably missed something I wanted to add but oh well

#i kinda tried to keep the fancy talking of a period drama but idk if i succeed haha ':)#shuggy #shanks x buggy #royalty au #op #answers #shuggy au #buggy x shanks

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