#this could be written way better but whatever

[chubbeh-seel]

❤️‍🔥Cyber Sex🩷

SMUT WARNING!!! MINORS GO AWAYYYYY

Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Female!reader

Word count: 660

Summary: Bucky sends you a rather explicit picture while he is in his office and you are waiting for him at home with a cold during your ovulation cycle.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship (engaged), technical voyeurism?, sick reader, smut, phone sex

Authors note: no use of y/n, minor usage of “doll” as well as other nicknames. This is my first actual Bucky x reader so please bear with me as some words may be misspelled or events are out of order, it's been a while since ive written a fic.

Bucky knows that when you have a cold that you dont want him to get sick so you won't kiss him, which has been driving him crazy. He won't say it out loud but he loves to be touchy with you, he only likes PDA if it's between you and him. 

He may not be the best at expressing his love for you, but he definitely shows you that he loves you in various ways, with either having you as his meal, or doing things around the house that he knows you dont like. One Christmas he made a silicone replica of his cock for when he is away on business trips or in a different country for a press conference. You and him both know it’s nothing like the real thing though. 

~~~~~

One day while you were home sick, Bucky was feeling pent up and having indecent thoughts about you while at work. Having the mind that he has, he decided to send you a picture of himself with his dress pants unbuttoned and unzipped with the tip of his hafrdened cock peeking out of his boxers, not to mention the outline of his member easily being seen in the picture. 

Not even 3 minutes later you received an audio message. James Bucky Barnes, the mostly quite and stoic super soldier, had the idea to send you an audio of his groans and moans as he started to play with himself. He knows you like the noises he makes during sex so he took this time to give you one thing that you love. 

The moment you got his message and listened to the audio, you called him. “Bucky, aren’t you at work?” you asked him as he hummed in response, you could tell he was still messing with himself and trying to be quiet about it so no one walking passed his office could hear. “What am I going to do with you?” you said as you smiled and shook your head. Though you are sick, youre feeling significantly better today so you felt up to entertaining him over the phone. 

“Please my love, I know you don’t feel good, but I need you” he says as he groans again, his hand never being enough but it will do for now. You were getting one of the few vibrators you owned and getting onto your bed. “I know, when you get home we can do whatever you want” you say to him as you get undressed.

You could tell that he quickened his hand because he moaned out a shaky “Fuck..” under his breath. At that moment, you immediately turned on your vibrator and pressed it to your awaiting bud, letting out a soft moan. “I miss you” you said as you moan and turn up the speed on your vibrator. “I miss you too, doll” your horny congressman said as he groaned “Oh shit..” he breathlessly moaned, feeling his impending release getting closer with every stroke down his thick length.

“Not yet. Don’t finish yet.” you told him as you moaned. He huffed and slowed his hand down, knowing that the finish line would be better to cross if you did it at the same time as him. The constant vibrations and the sounds of your fiance’s moans over the phone make your release come hurling towards you like a feight train. “Okay now!” you said as you and Bucky both came at the same time, turning off the vibrator after you rode out your high. 

“I love you, baby” Bucky says while panting from the moment you two just shared over the phone. “I love you more” you replied and smiled, relaxing against the bed you share. 

“We can continue this when you get home, Bucky, how does that sound?” you suggest to him as you smile quietly 

“Sounds wonderful, my love” He replies and ends the call, excited for when he gets home to you.

💓💓💓💓

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed my first proper fic, please leave suggestions!

[sloanout]

The bad rap Taash and veilguard as a whole get remains equal parts confusing and frustrating to me. It's one thing to see culture war chuds seething over woke or whatever, but really I expected better from Tumblr of all places. Whether or not you enjoyed DA:tV, it is objectively an incredibly inclusive game that did a lot more for representation across the board than most titles, and trying to debate that fact or tear it down because it didn't do its representation exactly to the letter of how you wanted it is, straightforwardly, poisonous to the fight for diversity in gaming as a whole. Call me dramatic, but every time you act like a spoiled child and pitch a bitch fit over a nonbinary or trans character not being exactly what you wanted, you are actively hurting your own cause. You don't have to like Taash, but if you care about the community it's the least you can do to restrain yourself from posting freezing cold, Steven Universe discourse level takes about how they are actually "harmful" or would have "put you back in the closet".

Here's the tough truth about portraying nonbinary and trans perspectives in media: these identities are not a monolith. Nonbinary, as a whole, is not a secret third gender with its own set of trappings, it's a wide, wide label that means many different things to many different people. That you can look at an nb character written by a nb person and say "they did it wrong" with your whole chest speaks more to your own limited viewpoint and disconnection from the greater queer community than it does to the actual quality of the character.

The impossible challenge that creators face when their writing hits fandom spaces is that people want many different things from art. I've seen people adamant that the correct and most helpful way to do rep is to have a character turn directly to the camera and say "I am transgender" and then have that part of their identity explored for the next 300 pages. I have also seen people, just as adamant and righteous as the first, claim that representation is best and most correctly done when queerness is an incidental background detail in the same vein as hair color or favorite food. The truth is that neither of these perspectives, nor any in-between is inherently more or less correct than the other. Different people will want different things, because at the end of the day different people have different experiences with their queerness and would like to see that reflected in the things they love.

The only real way to be incorrect here is to malign and defame a story for daring to depict something outside of your particular experience - as I see many people do with Taash. I had to read with my own eyes a post about how their romance with Harding is predatory or some shit and that it reflects poorly on the nb community. Quick question: could you please go do your moral crusade about 50 Shades of Grey or some other piece of work so I don't have to see it? You help no one with this hyperbolic bullshit. The only thing you're doing is handing the worst people in this world further unsubstantiated ammo for casting genderqueer people as inherently sexually abusive. Think for a second about who and what you sound like for the love of God. Taash and Harding are both into what happens on screen, your weird moral panic is your own problem. Once again, you don't have to like it, but please do not try to frame something as ontologically evil and harmful to the community because it doesn't suit your tastes.

Taash is fine nonbinary rep. As a nonbinary person, especially one who is afab and spent most of my life feeling a bit out of place and uncomfortable with what the world expected of me, I think it's just right. They managed to represent me. Sorry that it didn't get to be your experience that got put in the game, but it's impossible to tell every single queer story at once. If you really give a shit about the community, celebrate the wins of your fellows, not just your own.

And the sad thing is, I see two big 'critiques' about Taash's questline - either that it's all about their gender identity, or that it doesn't explore their gender identity enough. Sometimes I see these takes in the same post and I can only imagine what sort of doublethink Koolaid the culture war nonsense has gotten you to drink. Taash's gender is front and center, and that's great! But it's a part of a larger story - a story about a difficult family relationship. Taash's story is about the ebb and flow of their relationship with their mother more than anything else, and to be honest? It's one of the best in the series.

Family drama has been a mainstay of Dragon Age - you have Hawke's personal tragedy in DA2, Dorian's alienation over his identity and beliefs in Inquisition, and hell, Morrigan throughout the series tends to be more tied up with family dynamics than anything else. Taash is the continuation of that tradition, and I love what they have. The binary choice at the end is pretty weak and downright misunderstands the experience of being mixed race, but the dynamic between Taash and Shathann is fantastic. It's pained and restrained in such a realistic way, two people struggling with the old and new who dearly care about each other but can never seem to see eye to eye, and end up falling back on their worst vices - anger for Taash, and discipline for Shathann.

Veilguard has a tendency to pull its punches and make everyone a bit too chipper and chill, that's a legitimate criticism given the series' history, but I was deeply struck by how unforgiving Shathann's death was. It was really, unrelentingly realistic - life happened, and Taash never got the chance to sort out their relationship with her. They didn't get to reconcile or ever see eye to eye. Despite spending most of their screen time together bitter and simmering, Taash is so devastated by their mother's death that you have to pull them out of certain death. It was cathartic and brutal for me, a nb person who has had a really really poor relationship with my mother in the past, it made me go plan a lunch with her because I was so grateful that things didn't end like that for us, that I did get the time to work through it.

And sure, you can accuse me of going easy on Taash because their story resonated with me - but isn't that what a story is supposed to do? Reflect the real and sincere, evoke emotion in the audience and crystalize experience and feeling on the stage? Isn't that proof of its value?

At the end of the day, representation has no single golden standard. The only real end goal is to be represented at all - not only by shining heroes and perfectly squeaky clean moralists, but also by characters who are just as human and fallible as the real life people they draw from. Taash succeeds there, and I think they deserve a lot more love and grace than many in the fandom want to show them. If you still want to slander Taash as harmful or bad, why don't you call me that too? Why not call every non binary person who fails to meet your rigid standards evil and degenerate while you're at it? See how much of a community you're left with, and who the ghouls cheering for you actually are.

[acosmicbee]

Little Dancer

(Heads up! This is the fic based on my poll from a bit ago. If you didn't see it, this fic is going to be darker than the other stuff I've written! Please don't read it if you aren't comfortable! TW: References to underage prostitution, underage alcohol consumption NOTHING WILL BE GRAPHIC BUT IT WILL BE THERE)

You'd always admired the pretty dresses and costumes the grown up ballet dancers got to wear. They were sparkly and shiny and eye catching. Of course, now that you were older, you understood the duel purpose. One was to look beautiful on stage, to play their parts as they twirled and leapt and danced. The other was to attract customers.

You'd lived at the opera house for as long as you could remember, just another orphan taken in who had some semblance of movement. They taught you ballet, but not in the way you longed for. Not like the fancy dance schools nobles could afford to send their children to.

One of the ballerinas who had first taught you, as well as a mix of twenty other boys and girls, had told you one very important lesson. When you were old enough to take clients after shows, if they offered to buy your way out of the opera house and send you to a real ballet school, you should take it. No matter the cost of what they wanted in return.

You could still remember the hurt and pain in her voice, as she had to tell a group of children that 'almost anywhere is better than here'. She had been bought out by a noble a few months later, and just as quickly replaced by another ballerina who continued the dance lessons. You never saw her again.

˖ ݁𖥔🩰˖୨୧˖ ݁🦢𖥔 ݁˖

You both counted down the days and dreaded the coming of your fifteenth birthday. That was the cutoff where the opera directors would 'allow' you to take your first clients after shows. Allow was a bit loose considering they practically forced the ballet dancers into it, taking a cut of whatever the nobles paid to get up close and personal with their favorite dancer.

Soon enough you'd be one of those people, forced to entertain men four times your age with a smile. Forced to sit pretty as they treated you like an object, some pretty little thing to just be ignored. Then, when they needed you, their hands would-!

No. No, you couldn't afford to think like that. You had to tune out the thoughts, the same way you tuned out the sniffles and cries of some of the other people in your bunk room. Thinking too hard was dangerous. It was painful and it was forbidden as far as you were concerned.

Instead, you focused on your makeup in one of the cracked dressing room mirrors, touching up any kind of fault. Today was another performance, each one marking a day closer. From now, and for another week and a half, the opera was doing Swan Lake.

You had a small role, but one still coveted by other dancers. After all, you didn't get paid if you couldn't pass the audition and get a part. You were one of the swans, just another faceless person wearing white, dancing in unison.

You didn't mind though, dancing your best and taking your bows at the end. The second it was over, you dashed off through the wings back towards the bunk room. The dressing rooms would soon be overrun with noblemen who had too much money and too little care for who was over 15 or not.

You had almost made it when a hand grasped your arm. Your breath caught in your throat as you turned, your eyes wide. The man holding you was definitely a nobleman, he was wearing a nice suit and crisp white gloves. He scanned your face before finally releasing your arm. "You did well, little dancer."

All you could do was stutter out a weak 'thank you' as you turned, making your way towards your shared bedroom. The area he'd touched felt like it was on fire and you rubbed it as you finally shut the door behind you. The way he'd looked at you... didn't feel normal. But he was probably just looking for whatever dancer he was sponsoring.

Thinking was dangerous, especially when it came to strange noblemen. Just be happy nothing happened Y/N. Get changed, wash your face and sleep. Nothing happened.

˖ ݁𖥔🩰˖୨୧˖ ݁🦢𖥔 ݁˖

He was there again the next night. Your legs were sore and aching after your bows but you'd still tried your best to be fast as you made your way through the dressing room. He'd caught you yet again, a gloved hand on your wrist as he studied your face.

Whatever he saw had a dark flash of emotion go through his eyes before he finally released you, a dark smile painting his face. "Great work, little dancer."

You could feel how his eyes never left you as you darted off towards your room. Could feel them burning into your back before you ducked around a corner out of view.

It became a pattern. Every night he was there, waiting for you. He easily picked you out from the other white dancers, easily caught your wrist as you tried to make your escape. Every night he'd whisper some kind of praise to you, always calling you 'little dancer'. Every night he'd release you, watching as you ran off before the dressing room filled with more noblemen who would be less willing to let you go.

Eventually Swan Lake came to an end and the next ballet, Giselle, started up. You didn't have a part in it, which was a great misfortune when you started to run out of money rather quickly. You couldn't even afford new ballet slippers, dancing as best as you could in your old ones.

It was sheer luck that when auditions were held for the next ballet after the current one, Cinderella, you managed to get a part. You were cast as one of the fairies the fairy godmother summons, a quick part with only one scene. But, it was your very first solo dance. Your very first performance where you weren't just another face in the crowd.

It would also be your first performance at 15, your first performance where you weren't allowed to hide away from the leering gazes of noblemen. Needless to say the closer you got to opening night, the more and more nauseous you felt.

You spent the daytime during your birthday in rehearsals. The pretty costume you wore as the fairy of spring feeling less and less special by the minute. One of the older dancers, the one playing the prince, offered you a few sips of brandy backstage before the curtain opened.

It dulled your nerves enough that you were able to make it through your solo without puking, twirling around the stage as you counted in your head to the music. Spin then leap then twirl then jump. You focused only on your body and the music, feeling a mix of relieved and terrified once you finished.

You sat in the wings for the rest of the show, nervously rocking back and forth as you waited for bows. The older dancers, ones who'd been taking clients for a long time, shot you pitied looks backstage. They offered you whispered pieces of advice when they had the time.

'They like it when you smile.' 'Stay in your costume, don't wash off your makeup.' 'If they offer you alcohol you drink it. It'll numb the pain.' 'Take any tip they offer you and hide it.' 'If they offer to sponsor you, never turn it down.'

Finally, just as bows finished, the ballerina who had played Cinderella took you aside. She hugged you close for a second before whispering a familiar piece of advice, one you'd never forgotten. "If someone offers to buy your contract with the opera, to take you away from here to a real ballet school or just to be a pretty face in their manor, take it."

You had barely made it into the dressing room, this time unable to escape the crowd of nobles and smog of cigar smoke and the other dancers flirting when a familiar hand caught your wrist. It was the same strange nobleman and he grinned down at you, a hand coming up to cup your face.

"Well done tonight, my little dancer. You were truly a sight to behold." He murmured, stroking your face. His words made your stomach drop. Never before had he referred to you as his, like you were an object to be owned. He gently took your arm, leading you away from the the crowded room of leering gazes to an empty room.

You held your breath, your heart racing. You felt naked in your costume, the pink and green fabric feeling not nearly thick enough to protect you. That was until your eyes widened in shock when instead of trying to undress you or touch you, like the other dancers had warned of, he draped his suit jacket over your trembling shoulders.

"Isn't that better, my little dancer? You're trembling like a dandelion in the wind." He said, settling down onto a plush chair. You just stood there, staring at him as you pulled the jacket closer around yourself. The fabric smelled of fancy cologne, the type you'd heard some of the male dancers lamenting over being nearly three shows worth of pay.

"Come closer, little dancer. It's hard to see your face from so far away when you perform. Every time I've gotten close you dash away like a little bunny." He chuckled. You reluctantly got closer, shivering with how intense his gaze was as it scanned over you. Whatever he saw in your defensive posture and trembling figure he must've liked because his smile widened.

"I have a... proposition for you little dancer. I have already talked to the opera directors about buying your contract." The words made you freeze. He wanted to take you away? You felt sick, even more than before but you had to remember the advice that had been drilled into you. If someone was giving you an out, you were to take it.

"What do you want in return...?" You asked, cursing the way your voice wavered with uncertainty and fear. After all, there was always a price, especially when it came to nobles.

"Smart bunny." He grinned, leaning a little closer to you. "Here's the deal. I'll give you the life you deserve. If you want to continue with dance I'll make sure you have the best lessons, that you can perform at a theatre where no one will ever make you feel unsafe. You'll be a sparkling jewel. In return, you will play the part of my child."

His... child?! That was... unexpected. Most of the deals you'd heard of involved romantic relations, not something like this. You were conflicted between a feeling in your gut telling you it was more complex than that and the lesson that had been drilled into you since you were a child.

In the end, all you could do was nod. This was probably the best deal you were ever going to get, your only escape from a miserable life of entertaining men for money. This was your way out.

It didn't stop your heart from stuttering at the wolfish grin that spread across his face as his eyes gleamed with something darker than happiness. What had you just agreed to...?

˖ ݁𖥔🩰˖୨୧˖ ݁🦢𖥔 ݁˖

You only felt free during your lessons. The man Your father had designed an entire room for you to practice your dancing in. He had costumes custom crafted for you, you outshone all the other dancers when it came to performances.

The second the lessons were over though, you could see the envy in the other dancers's eyes as they watched you enter the carriage he sent to get you. They didn't know what you had to give up for this, what you were still giving up.

He was a strict man, but more than that he was possessive. He liked owning things, owning people. Every maid and butler that worked under him was indebted to him in some way and he held it over their heads like a cruel god. His rules were harsh and his punishments for disobedience were harsher.

He owned a gramophone, something even few nobles could attest to with how new they were. He'd play music and have you dance for him, twirling around your practice room in a private performance.

He could be so harsh, but at the same time he could be so nice. He'd dress you up in the most recent trends, taking you to all the fancy parties he attended. He'd show you off, his precious child, and watch as the other nobles's faces contorted in jealousy when they realized he was the father of such a famous dancer.

You were never allowed to dance with others at these kinds of parties. Never allowed to go to any tea parties you were invited to by other noble children. Never allowed to go anywhere at all without an escort or your father accompanying you.

All you could do was push everything down and smile. After all, thinking was painful, too painful. Thinking about the future hurt just as much as thinking about the past. But sometimes, when you were all alone in your room at night, lying on silk sheets and a soft mattress, you wondered if this place was actually better than the opera house.

[djarins-riduur]

this was so intense and so well written i'm speechless. i normally don't go for dark fics but i love your writing and i am just UGH i love how you wrote him in this. it had my insides twisting and i could feel like reader in a way, but that just made it better.

Forever. Forever. Forever. It doesn’t sound so bad now, when you weigh it in an empty head run on nothing but the scent of him. You would want for nothing. You, and whatever this piece of him would come to be, protected, loved even, by a man you are supposed to despise.

WELL FUCK I AM GONNA BE THINKING ABOUT THIS FOR DAYS. got me losing it in the best way possible.😩

inescapable

clint “freaky tales” x f!reader

Clint always gets what he wants—this time, you’re going to give it to him.

warnings/tags: MDNI. DARK CONTENT. dubious consent, and finely toeing the line of past non-con. stockholm syndrome. implied that reader was given to clint as a debt. clint is a hit man. explicit smut. unprotected piv. breeding/breeding kink. man-handling. choking. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. dacryphilia. pet names (baby, sweetheart, little girl, (2) princess, don’t know what came over me lol). sir kink. lots of praise despite his roughness. not beta’d and hardly proofread. wc: 1.5k

➻ a/n: we obviously know very little about this character thus far, so please, consider all of this au! i genuinely don’t know what this is! i just had the inspiration, and in these trying times, i cannot shy away from it. this is obviously much darker than what i usually write, so if that’s not your forte, no biggie. i’ll see you for the next one. <3

Time is but an allusion to you now. You’re not even quite sure when you lost track of it.

“That’s it. That’s a fucking good girl, fuck.”

Or when your predicament stopped feeling like a punishment and more like freedom. An escape from a life before, one hardly remembered, that brought nothing but pain, and struggle, and loneliness.

God, you were so lonely.

“I know. I know, baby. It’s so much.”

Even when you had it all, you had no one. Surrounded by those you called kin, meant to uphold you, protect you. But when it came down to it, you were just another pawn in the game. An asset. Something to be borrowed and bartered for the right price, or out of sheer, pathetic desperation.

They never cared for you, did they? Not really.

But he does. He wants you. He protects you. And at what cost? Pleasure that, once discovered, you couldn’t give up for the world. You would be lying if you said that, for some time, the obsession didn’t frighten you. Now, it only solidifies that freeing truth: he will never be like them. He will never let you go. You belong to him, and once you accepted it and all the privileges that came with it, you set your soul to rest.

Your brain is numb, nothing but white noise, and you tingle all over. It’s soothing. As is the weight of him—all of him, broad, and sturdy, and smothering—draped over your back and pinning you into the mattress. He’s shoved a pillow under your tummy, the perfect little angle for him to pound the tip of his cock against the deep spot that makes you see stars. His left hand pins one of yours beside your ear, threaded through the knuckles, and the other is wrapped securely around your throat, keeping your chin propped up enough that you don’t suffocate your face into the pillows.

You can’t see anything, anyways. Eyes glazed over, the luxury of air seemingly less important than the impending buildup in your belly.

You aren’t sure how many times you’ve come now—three, four? How many different ways he’s dragged your body across the too-stiff mattress, and folded it whatever way he pleases to see you squirm and leak all over him.

But this one is your favorite, you think. The heat and breadth of him, warm and everywhere all at once, the heavy sack of his balls tapping your swollen clit with every thrust. The one that makes you mindless, the one that makes you remember why this life, this new life, is so special.

“C’mon, little girl,” his gruff voice, a distant echo, finally breaks its way through the surface. It’s accompanied by a firm squeeze to your carotids, sending your eyes rolling back into your skull. “Talk to me. Tell me how you feel.”

You open your lips, but all that comes is a pool of drool and an indiscernible moan. Your thighs are shaking, and you can feel the mixture of slick, sweat, and come burning friction between your bodies.

You try once more. Long lost is the shame of how brittle or broken you sound; Clint accepts it all, and he never judges you for it.

“S-so g—ahh—f-full. M’so, so full, sir.”

His lips press into the back of your neck, and you swear you can feel them spread into a smile.

“Yeah?” he says, and it’s a little condescending. A little mean, but you don’t mind. Despite his nefarious ways and demanding job, Clint has placed you on a pedestal at the center of his universe. The way he plays you is just a reminder that there won’t be, can’t be, anyone else.

“Feel so fuckin’ full of this cock, huh, princess? Can’t even think straight.”

And you’re nodding, because he’s right. All else has lost its importance. All but the shape of him inside of you.

It hits you suddenly, a slight shift of his hips, and you’re gasping, babbling as if your life depends on it: “I’m g-gonna, I’m gonna come again. Please, p-please sir, can I-can I come?”

He places a wet, searing kiss against your jugular and loosens his grip on your neck to bury his hand in your hair. He yanks up, and your back arches off the mattress, adjusts his thighs so they’re cradling your ass and resumes his ceaseless pace.

Your feet kick desperately against the mattress, tears brimming your eyes and fingers digging into the sheets as you try to starve off an orgasm you know you’ll only see through upon his command, his permission.

“Hold on now, baby. Hold it,” he demands sternly, reaching his other hand around to palm at your tits, a squeal of ecstasy coming off your lips when he pinches one of the hardened nipples. “Just a little longer for me.”

You dig your teeth into your bottom lip until you taste iron, trying to focus on anything other than the tightly wound wire in your gut and the beast of a man behind you. You can’t help it, the way your slick walls start to flutter around him, dripping down to the base of his cock, and you hear him growl behind you until you’re being smothered again. He knocks the wind out of you, the entire weight of him pinning you down until the legs of the bed frame start to squeak and the headboard hits the wall.

He doesn’t hold you up, this time. Now, your noises are muffled into the pillows, and he drapes one of his calloused paws across the crown of your head, and presses his lips to your ear.

“So good, baby. Shit, you’re so fuckin’ tight. Perfect fuckin’ pussy,” he grumbles, his words slurred and heavy. “Gonna fill you up again, yeah? As many times as it takes, right?”

It’s the same spiel every time, only now, instead of panic, the prospect of it makes your heart thrum in your chest. Your belly stir with butterflies. Something like hope, delight.

And you’re nodding again, garbling yes, sir, yes sir, into the pillows, repeating the mantra to yourself—as many times as it takes.

Until your belly swells, and you’re full of him, a piece of him.

“That’s right, that’s it, sweetheart,” he’ll tell you. “Gonna keep you nice and full of me till it takes. Keep you both forever.”

Forever. Forever. Forever. It doesn’t sound so bad now, when you weigh it in an empty head run on nothing but the scent of him. You would want for nothing. You, and whatever this piece of him would come to be, protected, loved even, by a man you are supposed to despise.

“Now,” you suddenly hear him command, and your body does the rest of the work for you. Releasing the flood of euphoria and drenching your trembling limbs in it.

He’s grunting in your ear, cock swelling, and spilling inside of you with a roar. Even when he’s finished, he’s still thrusting into you—slower now, carefully fucking every last drop of his seed inside of you.

Every last drop is precious, he’d tell you those first few times, back when you would scream and thrash in a feeble attempt to get him out of you. As if you could ever conquer a man like him, an unmovable force, austere in his pursuit of anything and everything. He always gets what he wants, and what he wants now—

“Easy. Easy, there, sweetheart.” He’s petting the side of your head, turning it for you so that your cheek is pressed into the pillow and you can gulp down mouthfuls of air. “That’s right, deep breaths. Just gonna stay like this for a little while,” he coos, and you hardly notice the stretch of him, plugged all the way up inside of you, until he wiggles his hips a bit and a residual spurt of come leaks into you. You both groan in unison.

Your eyelids grow heavy as your breaths even out; even with the overwhelming sensation of him still all around you, inside of you, you feel an odd sense of peace. Every muscle in your body was pulled taut, now utterly relaxed, satiated. He must feel you settled, because he begins to trail open-mouth kisses across your shoulder, your neck, the base of your sweaty scalp.

“Have a good feeling about this one,” he whispers, and you shudder when one of his hands squeezes between your body and the mattress, and splays firmly over your belly. “Be all swollen before you know it, princess.”

He nibbles at your earlobe, and you whimper. He chuckles rather darkly in response.

“Yeah, you like picturin’ it, don’t you?”

Maybe it’s conditioned, or self-preservation.

“Yes…. yes, sir,” you sigh.

But you can almost hear it yourself. That semblance of truth come to the surface.

You trail a shaky hand under you, finding his, and laying it atop. If you try hard enough, you can feel the phantom outline of a different body, bigger, accommodating new life.

A new life is all you’ve ever wanted.

You feel yourself slip past the threshold of slumber before you can dwell on it any longer, but for a fleeting moment, you acknowledge that truth once more.

It feels strange.

It feels like home.

[hotchsprncess]

the road to recovery ⊹ spencer reid

.ᐟ MDNI .ᐟ

ᝰ summary : since getting shot on the job 2 weeks ago, anything physical was difficult for spencer and was strongly discouraged by his doctor. you were tending to his every need like the wonderful girlfriend you are, but there were some new things he needed now that he was recovering.

ᝰ warnings : mentions of injuries, domestic vibes, l-bombs, fem reader, sorta sub!spencer (he's just needy af), softdom!reader, oral f receiving, handjob, munch!spencer (nobody can tell me he doesn't wanna be suffocated by thighs okay), dirty talk, praise, multiple orgasms

munch!spencer is a necessity and i will never shut up about it. i didn't have a specific season reid in mind for this (though i did take inspiration from him getting shot in s5 & s9). maybe pre-prison reid though? i feel like he'd become less subby post-prison arc BUT imagine whatever season reid your heart desires! hope you all enjoy my first reid fic & feel free to send me any requests ⋆.˚

it was hard watching your boyfriend struggle and be basically bed/couch ridden since he was shot on a case a couple weeks ago. spencer was shot in the leg, a bullet grazed his neck, and a couple rounds got stopped by his vest which left his torso severely bruised. to say you were panicked when you first got the news was an understatement, but luckily spencer was okay and just had to take it easy at home during his recovery. you took this time off work to stay by his side and get him whatever he needed since his doctor strongly discouraged him from doing any strenuous movement, or moving too much at all for that matter. now that it had been a couple weeks, spencer was starting to feel better and he was recovering well, his torso slowly becoming less sore and the stiffness of his neck subsiding.

you press a kiss to spencer's forehead as you grab the empty coffee mug from the nightstand, him reading a book on quantum physics at lightning speed as he sat upright in bed. "oh- thanks honey, i could've brought that back to the kitchen you know?" he pulls his gaze away from the text on the page, locking eyes with you and getting lost in them. "oh stop, just because you have crutches and the doctor said you could move around a bit more doesn't mean you have to do all the little things" you smile softly at him, watching as he licks his lips gently. "what's on that genius mind of yours?" you ask, reading into him from the distracted look in his eyes. he may be the profiler but spencer was a very easy person to read, and the saying 'eyes are the window to the soul' was basically written about him. he reaches out for you, grabbing your smaller hands in his large ones as he sighs, "there's something else i need, if you don't mind" his hands squeezing yours.

"anything, what is it?" you watch as he shifts a little, now noticing the slight bulge in his sweatpants. now you get it. "i haven't tasted you in so long and now that i'm doing better i can hardly cope, i need- please just sit on my face" he practically begs, a smirk creeping onto your face. "fuck spence, who am i to deny that?" you whisper and press your lips to his, feeling the desperation in his kiss. his hands have moved and are basically pulling you onto the bed by your waist, hardly being able to wait now that you've agreed to satiate his needs. you break the kiss, giggling softly as you start to remove your leggings and thong that lies beneath it. "fuck..." he breathes out, shifting to lie flat on the bed. "come here, please baby" he begs as he feels your weight on the mattress, making your way towards his head. you straddle his head, pussy hovering over his mouth and nearly making him drool. "you'll tell me if you start to feel pain, right? the last thing i wanna do is hurt you- oh!" your sentence turns into a gasp as spencer tugs you down, his tongue coming in contact with your slit, collecting your juices on his tongue.

"f-fuck" you gasp again, his tongue devouring you as though you were his last meal. his mouth finds your clit, sucking it into his mouth and causing your hips to buck. your hands grip the headboard as he indulges, stabilizing you on his face. "spence, spence.. so fucking good, jesus-" you whine as he moans into your pussy, ministrations never faltering. as much as he was desperate, you were in the same boat, not having had sexual contact with your boyfriend in weeks. his hands have a vice grip on your waist as he releases your clit, taking a second to speak "grind on my tongue, please" he sticks his tongue out, pulling you back down. you moan at the contact, your hips rolling and grinding your pussy on his tongue. "you're so good, so good at this, i- i'm close" this omission makes spencer start to flick his tongue across your clit frantically, bringing you to the edge. "shit, shit- spencer, i'm cumming" you moan, legs shaking around his head as your orgasms crashes down, his tongue collecting everything it can. your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, yet his tongue continues to work at your hole. "baby-"

"more, give me one more, please" he whines, muffled slightly by his face being buried in your pussy. "god yes" you moan, throwing your head back at the blissful overstimulation you were feeling. "you taste perfect" he groans against you, lapping at your clit again and rapidly bringing you to the edge again. "don't stop, don't stop-" you gasp loudly, second orgasm making it's way out of you. "yes! yes!" you squeal, thighs squeezing his head as you cum again, his tongue hectically collecting it all once more. you take a moment to regulate your breath, lifting off of his mouth and lying beside him on the bed. a smile is plastered across his face, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. "thank you, needed that so bad" he breathes, wiping his chin with his hand. "thank you, baby" you smile as your hand lingers on his waistband, his bulge now a full erection. "it's time for me to repay you" you whisper in his ear as you push down his sweatpants and boxers just enough to release his cock, the precum actively leaking down his shaft.

"o-oh god" his words are shaky as your hand wraps around him, the sensation overwhelming after weeks of no contact. "just enjoy it, baby... you've waited so patiently" you whisper, starting to stroke him, his precum being the perfect lube. "yeah, yeah, mhmmm" he whines loudly, your pace gradually picking up. "feels good?" you ask, his hips thrusting up into your grasp. "so good, so good i- i can't-" his breath is rapid as you jerk him off, moans constantly leaving his mouth. "that's it, you're doing so good, just enjoy it, don't think about anything else.." you press a kiss to his cheek as he grips the sheets, his orgasm building up. "gonna- gonna cum- can't hold it" he moans loudly as his cum starts to shoot out, landing on his stomach. your hand slows as he comes down, his breath coming back to it's normal pace.

"you okay, love?" you run a hand through his hair as he chuckles. "more than okay, you're unreal" he cups your cheek and runs his thumb across it gently. "should get you cleaned up, one sec" you slip off the bed, heading to the bathroom and dampening a washcloth. when you reach the bed once again, you wince as you see the purple that litters his torso, "tell me if i start to hurt you, okay? just wanna clean you up" you gently wipe up everything, careful to be as gentle as possible. "you're amazing, thank you" he smiles lovingly at you, grabbing your hand. you smile back, "of course. i love you, doctor reid",

"i love you too, sweetheart"

[lysaisland]

can we bridge the gap between feeling and fact?

He prided himself in being a great detective but, even then, he was still confused. No matter what train of thought he took, all lines led back to you. He was never any good at directions, but this was unbelievable.

Ranpo longed to unravel your entire being, thread by thread, knot after knot. He wanted to know how you ticked, to read you as easily as he would a case.

Surely he could conjure a better plan for his dilemma, instead of staring at the back of your head, the sides of your face, and whatever else his avid eyes could reel in.

The open window allowed the sunlight to stream in, catching your frowning eyes every so often. You were to the right of him, hunched slightly over your desk.

Despite your steady focus on work of all things, Ranpo thought that you had a sort of glow around you. He didn’t know any better way to describe it. It wasn’t all encompassing, or flashy, and it might even have just been the light, but something was utterly magnetising about you. It was subtle, and constant, as natural as breathing. He just needed to figure out exactly what it was.

Mmh, maybe he should go and close the blinds. You would like that, surely. The sun was at its brightest after all, noon, almost lunch, the best time of the day.

He wasn’t used to this. He was being a coward — a disgustingly passive one at that. Everytime his brilliant mind landed on the possible idea of getting up from his desk of doodled paperwork to do something, his, again, brilliant mind shut that idea down faster than he could properly process it. He couldn’t help it.

A small sigh, barely audible, slipped from his lips. If he couldn’t think straight, then it was only logical for him to take a step back and reevaluate his situation.

Ranpo pressed another piece of candy to his mouth, the sweet catching on his teeth. They were not as sickly as he thought they would be, but Ranpo was satisfied with the flavour.

He wondered if he should share them with you. It would be easy, just a call of your name and a small wave, candy in hand. You would come with a comfortable smile on your face if he beckoned.

There were more than enough left in the packet. As well as this, he had noticed that you were partial to this specific brand. Though, only an idiot wouldn’t be able to notice your clear preference for these sweets, especially when the same wrappers practically lived at your desk.

More than once, he had caught you absent-mindedly slipping the candy into your mouth, two at a time, whenever there was a big case that needed to be written up. He supposed that they were a kind of soother, an anchor, for you would always linger around the confectionery aisle, and reach for yet another packet with a soft look on your face. A look of nostalgia, brimming with subtle longing.

What if you looked at him like that?

He froze for a fraction of a second.

You, again. This again. It was simply maddening. Ranpo was accustomed to the gears in his head permanently turning, fine-tuning every minute, conceivable detail, because after all, he was​ The World's Greatest Detective. Hypotheticals were important for scheming, and speculation, for ordinary people. But, it had no real substance. Deductions were far studier.

However, despite this, Ranpo couldn’t bring himself to consider questions like those distractions. He liked to think about you; it was fun.

He was reminded of the time the two of you went to the near-by bakery. It had opened a few weeks ago, and you had asked him if he was interested in trying it out.

You didn’t ask Kyoka or Atsushi, who both had strong preferences for desserts. (Kyoka had to be restricted to one crêpe a week, rather than one per day.)

You didn’t even ask Yosano who was one of your closest confidants, and never passed up the opportunity to eat like a queen. (In fact, she was the one treating Kyoka to strawberry crêpes, everytime the food cart came near.)

The feeling of smug pride that grew in his chest was astonishing. You had asked him!

Suddenly, your voice ran out. Ranpo almost tumbled from his already precarious spot on his chair. He turned and looked up to see you standing over his desk. His name oozed out of your mouth again like warm honey.

Not a figment of his imagination. Very real. His mind slowed, no, halted in its tracks. You were so beautiful, the curve of your cheek looked so soft. The glow he was so focused on before seemed to intensify around your clear eyes. All he could muster up in that moment was how much he wanted to be closer to you.

What if he just slung his arms around you, losing himself in the smell of fresh cotton? Would you hug him back, what if you kissed him?

Ranpo forgot you also had this effect on him. Along with frequenting his mind so often that it could be deemed as a cause of concern, you had the uncanny ability to freeze him in his tracks. It became all too clear that this was not regular co-worker behaviour. It was obvious in more ways than one.

He liked you — a lot so it seemed.

“Would you like to go out with me again? The bakery is having a two for one deal.” Though the question was casual, your voice remarkably steady, Ranpo could see that you were nervous, as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt.

The phrasing was almost exactly the same as the last time you invited him out. Why he found that adorable, he'll never know. Maybe you liked him too, as undoubtedly as he did? His face twisted into a small smile at the thought. Why else would you be nervous?

The agency was freakishly silent, void of everyone, but the two of you. They must have headed out for lunch break a tad early.

Ranpo didn’t trust his voice to not crack — throat a little too dry after eating candy, and a little sticky. He decided to nod enthusiastically before you realised he was taking too long to answer your invite. He got up from the place, where he did absolutely nothing but daydream, and followed you faithfully out the door.

The two of you began to talk. Every word that fell from your lips endeared him, and he couldn’t help but indulge himself. Ranpo hoped that maybe his terrible directional skills would rub off on you. Maybe that way he would be able to stay this way with you for longer. Sometimes, he didn’t know why what he said was so funny, even so, he found himself honestly laughing along to your own giggles.

He could figure you out another time, for now, he would settle for the comfortable peace you gave him.

[justageekk]

Hi, could you write a Bellingham x femreader oneshot or headcanon (whatever its better for u) about when he cames back from a trip or maybe about how they met? Please

❛❛ BACK HOME ❜❜

ft. jude bellingham x fem!reader

summary: Jude returns home after being on a long trip with his club

warnings: none!

word count: 501

a/n: I don't speak English, any error is in the translation.

(And thank you for the request 💙)

The sound of keys turning in the lock was the first thing you heard when the clock struck 9 PM.

You were on the couch, the television on just as background noise, wrapped in a blanket while scrolling through your phone. Your gaze shifted toward the door at the exact moment it opened, and there he was.

Jude.

You had been waiting for this moment for weeks. It had been a long trip, too long, full of matches in different cities, interviews, training sessions. Late-night messages, stolen video calls between packed schedules… but none of that could compare to having him right in front of you.

“Hey, love”, he said in a low voice.

Seeing him standing there left you stunned, as if your mind refused to process what your eyes were seeing. You were sure he wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow morning, that you still had a few more hours of waiting, of missing him, of anxiously counting the minutes until his return. But there he was, his suitcase still in hand, exhaustion written all over his face.

You got up from the couch without a second thought and ran toward him.

Jude barely had time to drop his suitcase before you threw yourself into his arms. His low chuckle, a mix of surprise and relief, was muffled as he buried his chin into your hair when you hugged him with all the strength you had. His arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you even tighter.

“I missed you”, he murmured against your skin, his voice sounding even more tired than you had expected.

“I missed you more”, you whispered, clutching onto his sweatshirt with no intention of letting go.

His hands slowly ran down your back, searching for the familiar warmth he always found in you.

“Don’t leave for that long again”, you mumbled against his chest, feeling his quiet laugh vibrate against your cheek.

“Believe me, I don’t want to”, he replied, his voice low and right against your ear.

His hands, warm and strong, moved slowly over your body, as if trying to memorize every curve, every inch of skin.

He leaned in slightly, his lips grazing yours with gentle hesitation. It was a slow kiss, unhurried, as if he truly had all the time in the world to make up for the lost days, to compensate for every second he had spent away from you.

At first, it was just a soft brush, but then his lips pressed more firmly against yours, with that perfect mix of restrained need and pure affection. His hand traveled up to your cheek, his thumb tracing slow, delicate circles over your skin as he tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss with a patience that contrasted with the urgency in the way he held you.

When he finally pulled back just a little, his forehead rested against yours, his uneven breath brushing against your still-parted lips.

“I never get used to being without you”, he murmured, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips.

[the-haven-keepers-collective]

Unreasonably long post about plural shit

So I'm gonna be honest and uncharacteristically vulnerable for a second because I think people might relate or have internalized similar things. My name is Pyre; at least that's what I'll be going by on Tumblr. I'm a fictive, some of you might've already seen me sign off on comments or something using my source name but I don't really care. Also I'm not Techno, he's open about his source. Thought I'd get that out of the way for those of you who know us. Pyre is a very Techno name though and I just stole it faster.

Anyway, to the point: We've seen posts shouting out systems/collectives who are "too similar," particularly median systems and such who experience a lot of internal fakeclaiming and imposter syndrome because of that. This is for the non-median systems who are "too similar," though. This is part a post to point out their validity, and part a post talking about my own experience so far with that.

In my source, I'm kind of a badass. I was admittedly an asshole, and very misguided, but at least within my canon (within the shows canon is questionable, we never did finish it rip) I was fighting for what I believed was right. Fighting for those who fall through the cracks for no good reason, for those that get hurt for things they can't control. If I were brought here, in this world, in my own body, I wouldn't afraid of shit. I'd gladly punt a transphobe. I wouldn't shy away from conflict; sometimes conflict is how progress happens.

In reality, I don't have my own body. And one of the things about our body is, well, its nervous system is wired to treat any small amount of conflict as a threat. We're incredibly risk averse, and this isn't a personality trait, it's built in. No one in our collective is likely to ever take an opportunity, no matter how well laid out, to call out someone being an asshole or have some witty comeback to a transphobe or whatever. We won't even think of one. That's wired into our nervous system, it's just how our body reacts to danger. We stumble over ourselves if we try to do anything other than freeze.

This isn't a fault. This wouldn't be overwritten by sheer personality and willpower in a "real system." Some systems, maybe, but not all. So for those of you who feel like you "should" be a certain way and just can't because it's built into the body you're in to act differently; you're not any lesser for it. Whether you're a fictive, sourced in some way, have a certain role that "should" be different, your personality is just like that, or some other reason I can't think of- don't be too hard on yourself for things you can't control. The body you're in just wants to protect you.

Even if sometimes, you (and I) strongly disagree with it on what exactly that means.

-Pyre

[avasts-nightmare]

//did you know dark is canonically pussy with an inflated ego

((yes and I adore him))

[ratcandy]

Should I reread Camouflage of Great Renown,,? 👁️👁️

Wrong person to ask . CoGR has entered Old Writing territory in my brain and thus I am physically incapable of looking back on it without writhing and hissing and spitting as though I'm being burned

[right-there-ride-on]

Gyjo in the fandom

cw: light discussion of ableism

Gyjo… what am I thinking about gyjo…

I like them. I like them a lot, actually. They have paralleled narrative arcs, they complement each other nicely, the romantic subtext is incredibly obvious to the point that even the most homophobic fan you know will admit they understand why people ship it… so why do I also have a problem with it?

There’s a lot of good fanart. Hell, I’ve reblogged plenty. Maybe it’s just something that’s more pronounced in fic.

I’m trying to word this correctly. My issue with gyjo has nothing to do with the text itself. I think my problem is just how people portray it in the fandom.

Maybe it’s because it’s so popular, or maybe it’s the sheer prominence of applying ‘Character A’ and ‘Character B’ dynamics without considerable regard for the characters involved, but I feel gyjo is very prone to flanderization. I believe the intersection with how ableist people are toward Johnny (intentionally or not, subtly or not) and the old tropes these two get shoved into makes it so I have trouble enjoying fics in the fandom.

I’m not saying it’s bad to enjoy certain tropes. I’m not saying headcanons are bad either. What I am saying is that writing is hard, but if you’re going to write fanfiction please have consideration for the characters you’re writing. The arcs of these two are complex and multilayered, which is why I think they have such staying power, but I also think they also provide a good opportunity for us as writers and artists to examine our biases when it comes to the portrayal of certain groups, personality types, mental illnesses, queerness, disability, etc. and maybe come out better people for it.

[mantisgodsdomain]

Now that we are being followed by people, we need to make some thoughts and opinions clear so that people are not later Shocked And Disgusted or whatever by thoughts we have held for many years. We think it's weird and also bad to treat queer people like they're a different species from cishet people, and we think that treating things like Having A Sexuality makes a character better than if they have a different sexuality is bad no matter what way you put it.

We also think that, if in your setting queer folks are widely accepted and straight isn't a "default", it may be worth noting that, say, a straight woman might need just as much self-discovery to work out she's straight that a lesbian does nowadays. In the same manner that, in Ace Attorney, Larry Butz needs to tell Phoenix that no matter how many photos of handsome men he shows him, he's tried, he's just not attracted to men,

[starlight-bread-blog]

Alright now let's go back to blaming Viv for this shitty writing in the latest episodes.

[skid-the-mighty-poet]

[duskgryphon]

fun? update on my neocities i've been figuring out how to implement modals the way i want them which means a little pop-up post type thing ^ both for information about each individual piece that isn't utilising alt text (not what it's for) and also to separate the thumbnail image and modal's image to reduce loading time issues.

which means i've finally learnt css! initially i implemented the pop-ups solely using html but that doesn't work very well in the end ^^". significantly faster this way and different images simply use different class tags (? what is this called) to set them in correctly.

this whole thing has so much of me butting my head against little issues in the code and digging around for solutions (nightmare!) but it's a lot of fun. the modal itself needed adjusting the same way as the pop-up for it to sit in the centre of the viewport but that i sorted out first thankfully.

i still have to figure out how to get the images in the pop-up itself to sit centred and have them take into account the fact that none of the images are exactly the same which is... hopefully possible. it's also incredibly broken with any screen on portrait mode (or at least phones....) but there's not much i can do about that (for now?)