#trying to beat my brain back with a stick like a: this is a Long Chapter so people will need time to absorb it

[bookishdiplodocus]

The Neurodivergent Writer’s Guide to Fun and Productivity

(Even when life beats you down)

Look, I’m a mom, I have ADHD, I’m a spoonie. To say that I don’t have heaps of energy to spare and I struggle with consistency is an understatement. For years, I tried to write consistently, but I couldn’t manage to keep up with habits I built and deadlines I set.

So fuck neurodivergent guides on building habits, fuck “eat the frog first”, fuck “it’s all in the grind”, and fuck “you just need time management”—here is how I manage to write often and a lot.

Focus on having fun, not on the outcome

This was the groundwork I had to lay before I could even start my streak. At an online writing conference, someone said: “If you push yourself and meet your goals, and you publish your book, but you haven’t enjoyed the process… What’s the point?” and hoo boy, that question hit me like a truck.

I was so caught up in the narrative of “You’ve got to show up for what’s important” and “Push through if you really want to get it done”. For a few years, I used to read all these productivity books about grinding your way to success, and along the way I started using the same language as they did. And I notice a lot of you do so, too.

But your brain doesn’t like to grind. No-one’s brain does, and especially no neurodivergent brain. If having to write gives you stress or if you put pressure on yourself for not writing (enough), your brain’s going to say: “Huh. Writing gives us stress, we’re going to try to avoid it in the future.”

So before I could even try to write regularly, I needed to teach my brain once again that writing is fun. I switched from countable goals like words or time to non-countable goals like “fun” and “flow”.

Rewire my brain: writing is fun and I’m good at it

I used everything I knew about neuroscience, psychology, and social sciences. These are some of the things I did before and during a writing session. Usually not all at once, and after a while I didn’t need these strategies anymore, although I sometimes go back to them when necessary.

I journalled all the negative thoughts I had around writing and try to reason them away, using arguments I knew in my heart were true. (The last part is the crux.) Imagine being supportive to a writer friend with crippling insecurities, only the friend is you.

Not setting any goals didn’t work for me—I still nurtured unwanted expectations. So I did set goals, but made them non-countable, like “have fun”, “get in the flow”, or “write”. Did I write? Yes. Success! Your brain doesn’t actually care about how high the goal is, it cares about meeting whatever goal you set.

I didn’t even track how many words I wrote. Not relevant.

I set an alarm for a short time (like 10 minutes) and forbade myself to exceed that time. The idea was that if I write until I run out of mojo, my brain learns that writing drains the mojo. If I write for 10 minutes and have fun, my brain learns that writing is fun and wants to do it again.

Reinforce the fact that writing makes you happy by rewarding your brain immediately afterwards. You know what works best for you: a walk, a golden sticker, chocolate, cuddle your dog, whatever makes you happy.

I conditioned myself to associate writing with specific stimuli: that album, that smell, that tea, that place. Any stimulus can work, so pick one you like. I consciously chose several stimuli so I could switch them up, and the conditioning stays active as long as I don’t muddle it with other associations.

Use a ritual to signal to your brain that Writing Time is about to begin to get into the zone easier and faster. I guess this is a kind of conditioning as well? Meditation, music, lighting a candle… Pick your stimulus and stick with it.

Specifically for rewiring my brain, I started a new WIP that had no emotional connotations attached to it, nor any pressure to get finished or, heaven forbid, meet quality norms. I don’t think these techniques above would have worked as well if I had applied them on writing my novel.

It wasn’t until I could confidently say I enjoyed writing again, that I could start building up a consistent habit. No more pushing myself.

I lowered my definition for success

When I say that nowadays I write every day, that’s literally it. I don’t set out to write 1,000 or 500 or 10 words every day (tried it, failed to keep up with it every time)—the only marker for success when it comes to my streak is to write at least one word, even on the days when my brain goes “naaahhh”. On those days, it suffices to send myself a text with a few keywords or a snippet. It’s not “success on a technicality (derogatory)”, because most of those snippets and ideas get used in actual stories later. And if they don’t, they don’t. It’s still writing. No writing is ever wasted.

A side note on high expectations, imposter syndrome, and perfectionism

Obviously, “Setting a ridiculously low goal” isn’t something I invented. I actually got it from those productivity books, only I never got it to work. I used to tell myself: “It’s okay if I don’t write for an hour, because my goal is to write for 20 minutes and if I happen to keep going for, say, an hour, that’s a bonus.” Right? So I set the goal for 20 minutes, wrote for 35 minutes, and instead of feeling like I exceeded my goal, I felt disappointed because apparently I was still hoping for the bonus scenario to happen. I didn’t know how to set a goal so low and believe it.

I think the trick to making it work this time lies more in the groundwork of training my brain to enjoy writing again than in the fact that my daily goal is ridiculously low. I believe I’m a writer, because I prove it to myself every day. Every success I hit reinforces the idea that I’m a writer. It’s an extra ward against imposter syndrome.

Knowing that I can still come up with a few lines of dialogue on the Really Bad Days—days when I struggle to brush my teeth, the day when I had a panic attack in the supermarket, or the day my kid got hit by a car—teaches me that I can write on the mere Bad-ish Days.

The more I do it, the more I do it

The irony is that setting a ridiculously low goal almost immediately led to writing more and more often. The most difficult step is to start a new habit. After just a few weeks, I noticed that I needed less time and energy to get into the zone. I no longer needed all the strategies I listed above.

Another perk I noticed, was an increased writing speed. After just a few months of writing every day, my average speed went from 600 words per hour to 1,500 wph, regularly exceeding 2,000 wph without any loss of quality.

Talking about quality: I could see myself becoming a better writer with every passing month. Writing better dialogue, interiority, chemistry, humour, descriptions, whatever: they all improved noticeably, and I wasn’t a bad writer to begin with.

The increased speed means I get more done with the same amount of energy spent. I used to write around 2,000-5,000 words per month, some months none at all. Nowadays I effortlessly write 30,000 words per month. I didn’t set out to write more, it’s just a nice perk.

Look, I’m not saying you should write every day if it doesn’t work for you. My point is: the more often you write, the easier it will be.

No pressure

Yes, I’m still working on my novel, but I’m not racing through it. I produce two or three chapters per month, and the rest of my time goes to short stories my brain keeps projecting on the inside of my eyelids when I’m trying to sleep. I might as well write them down, right?

These short stories started out as self-indulgence, and even now that I take them more seriously, they are still just for me. I don’t intend to ever publish them, no-one will ever read them, they can suck if they suck. The unintended consequence was that my short stories are some of my best writing, because there’s no pressure, it’s pure fun.

Does it make sense to spend, say, 90% of my output on stories no-one else will ever read? Wouldn’t it be better to spend all that creative energy and time on my novel? Well, yes. If you find the magic trick, let me know, because I haven’t found it yet. The short stories don’t cannibalize on the novel, because they require different mindsets. If I stopped writing the short stories, I wouldn’t produce more chapters. (I tried. Maybe in the future? Fingers crossed.)

Don’t wait for inspiration to hit

There’s a quote by Picasso: “Inspiration hits, but it has to find you working.” I strongly agree. Writing is not some mystical, muse-y gift, it’s a skill and inspiration does exist, but usually it’s brought on by doing the work. So just get started and inspiration will come to you.

Accountability and community

Having social factors in your toolbox is invaluable. I have an offline writing friend I take long walks with, I host a monthly writing club on Discord, and I have another group on Discord that holds me accountable every day. They all motivate me in different ways and it’s such a nice thing to share my successes with people who truly understand how hard it can be.

The productivity books taught me that if you want to make a big change in your life or attitude, surrounding yourself with people who already embody your ideal or your goal huuuugely helps. The fact that I have these productive people around me who also prioritize writing, makes it easier for me to stick to my own priorities.

Your toolbox

The idea is to have several techniques at your disposal to help you stay consistent. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket by focussing on just one technique. Keep all of them close, and if one stops working or doesn’t inspire you today, pivot and pick another one.

After a while, most “tools” run in the background once they are established. Things like surrounding myself with my writing friends, keeping up with my daily streak, and listening to the album I conditioned myself with don’t require any energy, and they still remain hugely beneficial.

Do you have any other techniques? I’d love to hear about them!

I hope this was useful. Happy writing!

[leonsgfpost]

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You take care of your pretty boyfriend after a long day at work!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: Leon!Needy, Doggy Style, Creampie, Overstimulate, RE2!Leon x Fem!Reader and more.

When he came home earlier than usual, you knew something was wrong. Out of place. His breathing was heavy, perhaps too tired for the day he'd had at the police station or his little fight with all those rows of paperwork. He was tired of dealing with motorist infraction work.

So, why not spoil your cute boyfriend a little?

First, you lovingly masturbated him while he massaged your breasts over your (his) shirt. Little low moans escaped his lips as you touched him from tip to base. Then, you rode him to his second orgasm and let his mouth latch onto your nipple.

And now, you were face down on the couch with your ass in the air and his shirt hanging lazily off your shoulders. Listening to his moans fanning against your ear, almost matching the wet sounds of your greedy pussy.

"Damn, wait for this all day-" He stammer senselessly, almost babbling from the way his sensitive cock desperately seeks his third orgasm. His hands stroking your sides in an attempt to cling to something, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts.

"Y-You always make me feel so good, baby..." He murmured, ever so cute. Like a puppy desperately seeking comfort from its owner. Maybe he wasn't so far from reality. And you had to hold back a laugh as you heard his voice shake, as if he was going to cry at any moment.

"It's okay, it feels good Lee..." You moaned softly, giving him those words of comfort he was looking for. You could feel his cock trembling inside your walls just from hearing your sweet voice.

"I know, I know. I-ah I feel like I'm losing my mind-!" He started babbling some more, gripping the armrest of the couch and his other hand grabbing one of your breasts. His hips began to stumble more and more, in a sloppy rhythm. His fingers roamed all over your abdomen in search of your clit, trying to make those quick circles you loved so much. His moans were louder than yours, his mouth open and his brows furrowed almost painfully at the sensitivity of his cock throbbing desperately inside the warmth of your pussy that wept down your thighs.

You stirred underneath him from the stimulation, trying to get away from his greedy hips. Your face was red, and your hair sticking to your skin damp with sweat.

"No, No baby... Please stay..." He said, panicking. Starting to push his chest against your back, trying to mobilize you against the couch. He closed his eyes, panting heavily as his pelvis slammed relentlessly against your ass. His lips ran down your cheeks, leaving open-mouthed kisses all over your hot skin. It was too hot, but the exhaustion of his body was nothing compared to his desire to fill your pussy for the second time. He still had his white t-shirt wrinkled above his abdomen and his light blue uniform shirt open, hopefully he had taken off his pants.

That's how desperate he was.

"Ah, Shit, Shit." He groaned, burying his face in your hair and crushing you against the couch, feeling like he was about to explode again. His heart was beating fast, his lips open and his eyes closed tightly from the intensity bubbling at the tip of his cock.

His fingers increased the rhythm on your swollen clit, trying to make you feel good but his brain was completely fucked up to notice that he was already cumming.

"Oh god, god, holy shit-!" he moaned in a choked groan, thrusting his cock as deep as he could to completely fill your walls with his load.

He shuddered hard, hugging you and letting his balls empty in jagged spurts inside you. The room filled with his heavy breaths and your little moans as he continued to thrust you awkwardly with his hips. Until he lay motionless on top of you.

"Do you...do you want to ride me again? Please-?" He murmured, leaving trembling kisses on whatever expanse of skin he would find and his hand beginning to play with your breast lazily.

Your boy is a needy little thing.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hey! It's me again, I'm addicted to writing about Leon being so needy and wild ahg.

Special mention to @ilylovelyz for the comments and the idea, thanks again pookie 🫶🏻 💕

(💌) bye, bye !

[figthoughts]

night time routine with bf!soldier boy ⋆·˚ ༘ *

— smut, est. relationship, oral (m. receiving) 18+

𝜗𝜚˚｡⋆

it’s almost funny how good you are; getting on your knees every night and taking ben’s thick pink cock. he forces his length in as deep as you can take it as you try your best not to gag around him.

he hums in approval with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, his lips covered in the foamy toothpaste with his eyes locked on you. jesus, you’re a sight.

you’re his good girl, looking after him on the floor of the bathroom; helping him wind down while he brushes his teeth— it’s routine at this point, taking his heavy cock that fits so snug in that sweet little mouth of yours.

“such a good little slut for me,” he chuckles with a mouth full of toothpaste as his eyes trace over you.

he pats your head condescendingly, like a dog, and keeps fucking his length deeper at a steady pace. your pretty wide eyes look up at him, trailing up from the tuft of hair right in front of your nose, to his jade green eyes. he smirks down at you, enjoying the way you take him so obediently.

god, you were his good girl. his best fucking girl.

you grumble around his cock at his head pat, earning another laugh from ben as he continues brushing his teeth. the sound of him brushing and the wet squelching noises from your mouth bounce off the tile of the bathroom.

his smug attitude is almost suffocating and his piercing stare makes your heart skip a beat. he loves having you like this, seeing your eyes well with tears as his tip hits the back of your throat with every damn thrust.

christ, you take him so well.

you’re actually a little convinced that he brushes his teeth torturously long on purpose, just wanting to keep his dick down your throat for as long as possible.

he’s a bastard like that, keeping you on your knees until they’re pink and tender while you try not to choke on him. you honestly don’t know how long you spend down there most nights. hell, as soon as he taps his tip against your lips, silently telling you to part them, your brain turns to mush and you take it anyway.

ben fucks your mouth how he knows you like it— like a good little slut for him. his free hand grips your hair into a makeshift ponytail, slamming your face against him. the way your throat tightens around his bulbous pink tip makes his breath catch in his throat. you’re just so fucking good.

when he finally cums, he keeps your face forced against his abdomen, forcing you to take every drop of his seed. he twitches and shoots his load into your throat without a care. the deep husky moans that escape him cause a warm heat to pool in your stomach. he’s just so incredibly sexy and masculine— it always makes you a little woozy.

“fuuuck, doll. such a good girl. my perfect fuckin’ slut,” he blabs on as he cums. his pretty green eyes are squeezed shut as his face contorts in pleasure; his brows pinched and his jaw dropped, taking in deep breaths.

a moan bubbles up your throat, bringing ben back to the moment as he comes down. his eyes drop to you and your pretty lips wrapped around him so perfectly. he enjoys the way you’re so messy with spit drooling out of your mouth.

“jesus, baby. nearly fuckin’ killed this old-timer, huh? you and that fuckin’ mouth,” he grunts out with a chuckle, his eyes tracing over your pathetic little face.

the warm salty flavour of him paired with his words make your pussy flutter in need. the tears finally spill from your eyes as you keep looking up at him; so helpless with his big dick shoved down your throat… just how he likes it.

ben pants and finally pulls his cock out with a grin on his lips, “show me.”

you know exactly what he means, so you look up at him and stick your tongue out, letting him see the filthy combination of his cum and your saliva filling your mouth.

“swallow,” he says firmly, leaving no room for debate. it’s not like you would anyway, you were his cockslut— even if you’d never admit it out loud.

as he watches your throat bob and mouth open again to prove you swallowed, he hums with a nod, “that’s it. good fuckin’ girl.”

ben pats your head… again, before yanking your face back with a fistful of hair. your jaw’s still slack as you pant, trying to catch your breath. you look up at him with your glassy eyes and messy swollen lips.

you look so pitiful and he just can’t resist; his spit lands perfectly in your mouth and he smirks. the minty flavour practically assaults your taste buds after being so used to the tangy taste of him, but nonetheless you swallow again and lick your lips, trying to clean the mess of drool from around your mouth.

“atta girl,” he coos mockingly, watching you swallow and your tongue swipe across your lips, “god, i’ll never get tired of that. you’re a fuckin’ treasure, doll. my stupid little girl.”

A/N: ahhh i’m alive!!! hi!! thank u for 900 followers???? so wild???? i’ve actually been so inactive recently it’s terrible omg so hey if u see this :P

feedback and reblogs are welcome ‘n appreciated! thank uuu!

—

✩ taglist: @chevroletdean @fitxgrld @jasvtsc @bluestrd @1-imbroglio @titsout4nicholas @faithfulsofi @tortureddarkstar @abellmunsonmovie @atenea585 @manicjk @aileenunfiltered @minettacreekk @jackleslvr @winchester-whiskey @artyandink @emeraldcrs @freyabear @a1ecmcdowell @cosmopolitan-thedrink @jwritestuff @suhnisideup @spookyysinsanity @kimxwinchester @bleuatlas @deansbbyx @angelicjackles @cosmicanakin @sl33pylilbunny @k-slla

↑ comment to be added!

[arjwrites]

crawl home to her- dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: heaven or hell, dean will always crawl home to you.

warnings: brief mentions of hell, references to drinking, fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i got a bit carried away with this one and it ended up a little longer than anticipated hehehe i had too many ideas. this song is so sickening and is so dean-coded in the very best way. i hope you enjoy <3

arj's 100 follower event

xxx

Dean awoke in a permeating blackness, blinking his eyes, unable to tell at what point they were open or closed. His first instinct? To draw in a deep, sharp breath. His lungs resisted him, hesitant to stretch and swell as if they had been sitting stagnant for months. They offered him no help in forming words, a call for help. It took him a minute to gather his bearings, but the next thought that came to his mind? You. And from that moment, his body took over. As he kicked his way out of the pine box and clawed his way through the cold and heavy earth, he felt almost animalistic. He didn’t know where he was, he hardly knew who he was, but he knew he had to crawl home to you. Wherever you were. 

As Dean emerged from the ground, he gasped for air- clean, fresh air. It swirled around inside of him, exacerbating the emptiness of the cavern of his chest. He grappled with the earth around him, arms reaching out in a desperate fervor to pull him safely from the grave. There were sensations everywhere, almost screaming at him, so loud and foreign as if he hadn’t experienced them in… he didn’t know how long. The tickling of the damp grass against his arms, the hot sun beating down on his back, the heavy breeze settling behind him. It was you, he thought. It had to be your way of welcoming him back earthside- planting soft green kisses to his skin, wrapping him in healing warmth and light, and lifting him up to carry him home with the wind. He let his body push him to his feet, feeling every flex and release of his muscles individually, excruciatingly. 

 It was agonizing for Dean to will one foot in front of the other, trudging aimlessly in search of civilization. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the hunger, but he could see you right there next to him, clear as day, coaching him through each step of his journey. You floated along next to him like an angel, filling his emptiness and setting direction in his footsteps. 

He thought back to the day your paths had been undoubtedly intertwined forever. You and Dean had known of each other for a while- hunters always did- but never exchanged more than a few cordial hellos in passing. That was until a vampire hunt in a small town drew the attention of more than just himself and Sam. When you showed up on the hunt, he couldn’t help but be enamored by you. The way you made hunting, something so dark and painful, into something so graceful, so elegant, so beautiful. 

When he was able to convince you to stick around and celebrate after finishing the hunt, Dean felt both his heart leap and his stomach sink. As he drove, he kept glancing up into his rearview mirror to catch a glimpse at you, following behind him in your own car. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with conversation topics like he was rubbing together stones trying to create a spark. He was so excited to have you around, yet so nervous- an accusation he defended against when Sam taunted him on the ride over to the bar. 

“I don’t get nervous, Sammy. I- I don’t know, man. There’s just something about her. Can’t put my finger on it.” 

His eyes flickered back up to the rearview mirror as he spoke, catching you singing along to whatever song you were listening to. His heart fluttered- he wanted to know you, to memorize your favorite songs, to hear his inner thoughts spoken in your voice. In the here and now, where he was trekking through the woods, he smiled at the memory and let it instill in him a surge of motivation. He picked up his pace, humming your favorite song as he went, half to keep him grounded in the moment and half to help his mind wander back to you. 

Still thinking back to that first day, he remembered getting to the bar and admittedly, letting his nerves get the best of him. He threw back shots and tipped back beers in the hopes of quelling his anxieties, suppressing the parts of him that weren’t useful and drawing out his confident, personable self. Sam had left early, as usual, leaving the two of you alone, sat at a table in the corner of a crowded bar. The surface was a graveyard littered with empty bottles and glasses, very few of which belonged to you. You had been nursing your drinks, sipping slowly as Dean downed and gulped. So when he got a little out of hand, you were there to carry him home. 

When Dean woke alone the next morning, he was sure you had been a dream- too perfect to be real life, or his real life, anyway. His head pounded as he glanced around the unfamiliar motel room, noticing the single bed and feminine belongings that clued him he wasn’t in the room he had rented with Sam. He sat up, grasping at his head, trying to piece together where exactly he was. There was no way he had gone home with you. He remembered the way he had acted the night before, and how sober you had still been. You must have dumped him with a random girl to take him off your hands. His heart sank to his stomach- if he had messed up his chances with you, he wouldn’t forgive himself. 

Before he could linger in this fear for long, he heard two separate laughs nearing the front door. When it swung open to reveal you and Sam, chatting and clutching coffees and paper bags of breakfast food, Dean let himself flop back down to the bed in relief. Wishing him a good morning, you tossed him pain relievers and a water bottle, setting a coffee and a breakfast sandwich down on his- no, your- bedside table. You briefly recounted the night before for him, noting how you had brought him back here when Sam didn’t answer his phone. You didn’t dwell on his actions, didn’t poke fun, didn’t complain or criticize. Your presence was light as a feather, your body and voice floating around the room as you tidied things up or nibbled at your breakfast. Sam shot him a knowing glance that would later be supplemented with verbal approval. I like her, Dean. Don’t mess this up. 

Back in reality, Dean had finally emerged from the woods, stepping from the dense tree cover onto a dusty road. There wasn’t much to see- no buildings or signs of civilization in any direction. The breeze picked up and whistled through his ears in the form of your voice- keep going, Dean. So on he went. 

As he walked, sometimes his image of you would flicker and fade like a ghost and his thoughts would plunge back down to Hell. There were a few moments along his path where he would pause to hinge at the hips and dry heave in a desperate attempt to purge the memories from his body alongside the dust in his throat. It made him sick, what he did in Hell. At a few points, when he got too caught up in his thoughts, he’d come to a full stop. In those moments, he didn’t care if he lived or died. His heart ached for you, but he didn’t deserve you anymore. You were the only pure goodness in the world that he had ever known, and now, he was tainted beyond repair. But then would come the breeze. This time, it smelled sweet- miraculously, as there was nothing but dirt road and baking heat to scent it. It was beckoning him, calling him home. It was washing him of his sins. You didn’t care, you never would. Always kind, always forgiving. That was his baby. Sweet as can be.  The journey ended in your arms. At times, he thought it never would. He thought he was trapped, imprisoned on a long dirt path, being taunted with the promise of you like a carrot on a stick. But he found a car, found a map, found his way home. You didn’t believe it was him at first- why would you, when a long list of monsters seemed so much more plausible? But if Dean’s first act of repentance had been his passage home, his second act was proving himself to you. That it was him, here and now, real and resting in your fingertips. All Dean knew was Hell. It was real, he had lived it. But when you reached out your arms to embrace him, Hell was just a word that dissipated into space the moment it left his lips. This must be Heaven. You must be heaven.

[writingfics-passingtime]

Hi lovely! Here’s my ask: Bucky and reader have been pinning for each other nonchalantly for a while but reader says something that causes Bucky to throw them over his shoulder and threatens to tickle the shit out of them (and then does it after seeing how flustered they are). Feelings get confessed, weaknesses are exposed, it’s a whole plate of fluff. 🥰😘

hell. why not? This prompt is so fun - thanks, anon! hope you enjoy x

Predictable

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (no pronouns used)

Word count: ~1500

Content / warnings: swearing, kissing, tickle fic

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a romantic and intimate storyline between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

The hallway was quiet except for the sharp click of your boots and the heavy, measured steps of Bucky Barnes beside you. The mission briefing had ended, the others scattering to their own quarters, leaving you and him walking under the hum of fluorescent lights.

“You’re quieter than usual tonight,” you said, casting a sidelong glance at him. “Bored? Lost in thought? Don’t tell me you’re planning another dramatic brooding session. Maybe in front of a window, rain streaking down the glass?”

Bucky looked at you, one brow quirked, his lips curling faintly at the corner. “You done?”

“I gotta say, you’re really sticking to the dark soldier aesthetic,” you quipped, hands shoved in your pockets. “It’s impressive. Very consistent.”

His lips twitched in the ghost of a smirk. “Consistent, huh? That your way of saying I’m boring?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say boring.” You turned to him, letting your grin curl just sharp enough to bait him. “More… predictable.”

He stopped walking, his head tilting just slightly, and the gleam in his eye made something in your chest tighten.

“Predictable?” he repeated, his tone soft, like he was rolling the word around to test it.

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to suppress the grin threatening to spread. “It’s not a bad thing, Bucky. You’re�� reliable. Steady. I can set my watch by your moods - glare, brood, occasional grunt of disapproval. It’s comforting, really.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long, and you were suddenly hyperaware of the silence and tension stretching between you.

“What?” you asked, try to hold back a smirk. “Did I hit a nerve?”

His gaze sharpened on yours, glinting with something dark and teasing that made the hair on the back of your neck rise. “You really think I’m predictable?”

The air between you crackled with tension, each word a spark igniting the unspoken feelings lurking beneath the surface. You felt a flush creeping up your neck, but you held your ground, refusing to let him see how much his attention affected you.

“I’m just saying-”

Before you could finish, he moved. Quick as a snap, his hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward him. You stumbled, nearly cursing, before he bent low, braced his shoulder into your middle, and straightened, hoisting you up and over.

“Bucky!” Your voice came out an octave higher than usual, your palms pressing against his broad back as you flailed. “Put me down!” you hissed, your fists pounding helplessly at his shoulders as the world spun upside down.

He ignored you, his laughter low and dangerous as it rumbled through his chest. “Still think I’m predictable?”

“Yes! You’re-” Your voice caught, your brain short-circuiting when his palm splayed against the back of your thigh to keep you steady. The touch was firm, effortless, and it did unforgivable things to your ability to form coherent words. “Y-you’re shooting the messenger. This is completely unnecessary!”

“Unnecessary?” he echoed, his tone laced with a sinister amusement. “You sure about that? Because I think this is overdue.”

Your stomach flipped at the shift in his voice - low and teasing, laced with a playful edge you’d never heard before.

He turned a corner abruptly and nudged open a door with his boot, stepping into a small, dimly lit storage room.

“Wait, what- what are you doing?” you demanded, kicking your legs uselessly. “Bucky, I swear- ”

“I’d save your breath if I were you,” he said darkly, the door clicking shut behind him.

Your mind lurched. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

A slow, devilish chuckle rolled through him. “It means, smartass, that I’m about to tickle the shit outta you.”

Your brain flatlined.

You froze. Completely froze. For the first time, your mouth opened - but nothing came out. Heat flared across your entire body, and Bucky’s amused hum was like a spark to gasoline.

“Oh,” he hummed, patting your thigh like some cruel punctuation to your embarrassment, “that got your attention.”

“Shut up!” you finally spluttered, mortified, because now he knew. Now he knew, and you’d just handed him a weapon far more dangerous than any gun or blade.

His laughter was low, dark, and - gods help you - so unfairly attractive that it only made things worse. “What, did I hit a nerve?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Your squirming renewed tenfold, panic spiking through you as you tried to push yourself up off his shoulder. “Don’t you dare, Bucky Barnes! I swear-”

He unceremoniously let you drop back onto your feet, your balance faltering as you collided with his chest, still breathless. You shoved at him instinctively, trying to regain your footing, but he was already advancing, backing you toward the nearest wall.

Your face was on fire now, your usual sharp wit nowhere to be found. You’d never seen him like this - playful, teasing, free - and it was completely throwing you off.

You stammered, breath catching as your back hit the wall. “B-Bucky- no! Don’t-”

“You're really worked up about this,” he interrupted, his voice low and gravelly, a smirk tugging at his lips. The shadows softened the hard lines of his face, but his eyes… his eyes burned with something else.

He leaned in slightly, caging you in with his hands braced against the wall beside your head. “You’re nervous.”

“I am not,” you hissed, even as you felt your face go hotter.

The smirk grew. “I think you’re lying.”

“I’m not-”

"Predict this, sweetheart."

Before you could blink, his hands darted to your hips, fingers digging in with deliberate precision. Your reaction was immediate - a gasp, a choked laugh you couldn’t swallow back in time.

“No!” you shrieked, laughter already bubbling out of you as you squirmed violently. “I take it back, okay?! I take it back!”

“Too late,” Bucky replied, grinning like the devil himself as his hands squeezed your sides again. “Now I’m invested.”

"B-Bucky! Cut it out!"

“Cut it out?” he repeated, his tone mock-innocent as his fingers dugs across your ribs. “I thought you were tougher than this.”

“Shut up!” you managed between gasping laughs, your cheeks burning with humiliation and something dangerously close to exhilaration.

“Is this what you wanted?” he taunted, his voice dark and edged with amusement. “When you called me predictable? Did you want me to prove you wrong?”

Your response was lost in another fit of helpless laughter as his hands found a particularly sensitive spot just under your ribs. You twisted against him, but his grip was unrelenting, his body solid against you.

You let out a strangled laugh, pressing back against the wall as your knees started to give. “You’re- you’re cool! And- and spontaneous and - Bucky - fuck! You’re hot and mysterious and-”

He paused for a second, his grin sharpening as he processed your accidental confession. “Hot, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and entirely too smug.

Your face burned like the sun. “I didn’t mean- fuck, just forget I said-”

“Oh, no,” he said, his hands still firmly on your waist. “I think we’re gonna talk about that later.”

“Buck, I didn't-”

“Nope,” he interrupted, his fingers digging into your sides again, drawing another breathless shriek from you. “We’re not done yet.”

Your laughter filled the room, wild and unguarded, as you tried in vain to squirm away. He zeroed in on your lowest ribs, his fingers hitting angles that sent you reeling. You tried to hold on the desperate peal of laughter, but it echoed through the storage room as your knees weakened further.

“Bucky!” you gasped, your voice breaking as you gripped at his jacket to try and keep yourself upright, another shriek bursting through your lips when his fingers pressed into another susceptible spot. "Please! I can't breathe- BUCKY!"

His grin softened, and for a moment, the teasing melted into something quieter, something genuine. He caught your chin gently with one hand, lifting your gaze to meet his.

“Hot, huh?” he repeated, softer this time, his eyes searching yours.

The word hung in the air, a moment of suspended silence between frantic laughter and tension thick enough to choke on. You froze, still panting, your face burning with horror.

Bucky stilled too, his gaze locking onto yours. Then, slowly, his grin returned - this time sharper, hungrier.

His lips were on yours before you could think, a sudden, fiery kiss that stole the air from your lungs.

You melted immediately, fingers curling into the front of his shirt as he pressed you further into the wall, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck as he tilted your head back, the other gripping your hip. The heat of it was overwhelming, his lips firm and insistent. It was messy, unpracticed, and searingly real.

When he pulled back, you were breathless, still panting, cheeks aflame. His thumb brushed your temple, sending a shiver up your spine, and the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk as his lips grazed yours.

“Did you see that coming, too?”

You couldn’t help it - you grinned against his lips. “Yeah. From a mile away.”

Before he had the chance to retaliate, you kissed him again.

[thefearedashantis]

Use Your Words

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter isn’t listening

Warning: None

'Do you still love me?'

The question clangs painfully against the back of your clenched teeth when Peter mumbles ‘mhmm?’ for the fifth time throughout your story. The sudden urge to question his affections almost unbearable as you stand off to the side of his desk, still sweaty and in your outside shoes having been in a rush to tell him about your day. Heart leaping with joy over the compliment you’d received from a classmate in your poetry workshop.

“And then he bent me over and fucked me on the profs desk while everyone watched”

“Mhmm”

At least Ned and MJ were listening where they lounged about the room, albeit rosy in the cheeks. They encourage you to continue as if any of this could be remotely true.

“In fact, he asked me when we’d be able to make sweet love again.”

“Mhmm”

“Figured I could pencil a date in for next week seeing as I’ll probably be single by then”

“Yeah? That’s great junebug.”

Peter has not once lifted his gaze away from his laptop. The light of the screen reflecting off his glasses, casting a soft blue haze over his features.

Your two friends sensing the oncoming argument scuttle off silently to the kitchen with the excuse of wanting snacks.

“Petey?”

“Yes my love?”

“You know, if you want to break up all you have to do is say so.”

“Mhmm.”

You’re halfway to the door when his brows pinch inward. Shaking his head quickly, Peter struggles to rewind the conversation in between a slew of agonizingly complicated equations. His brain chugging along much slower than he’d like, than he's used to.

“Wait what?”

“I think I'll head home for the day, see you later," you mumble. You had some lectures to catch up with anyway.

He finally breaks away from the device, lowering the lid slightly “Wait bug what did you say?"

“Nothing.”

“No, you said something. Repeat it for me"

“I shouldn’t have to repeat it. You should have heard it the first time.” You spit over your shoulder, reaching for the doorknob.

Peters up, trailing behind you on long legs “Now hold on a minute, that's not fair.”

“And I wouldn’t be so bothered if this was a once in a while thing, but it's becoming an everytime thing! I come back after a good day or even a bad one, and I try telling you about it, and you sit there more focused on the performance of listening than actually listening." And what a performance it was. Leaning in, nodding with the occasional smile or eye contact or frown or gasp or laugh. All without actually having heard a word you said.

You listened to any and everything he had to share with enthusiasm and even questions to follow.

“That’s not true! I was listening.”

You cross your arms over your chest with a sceptical tic in your jaw “Ok, then what did my classmate say about my poetry?”

Peter stops in his tracks “um”

“quickly.”

“He said it was lovely?” You had used the word lovely in your story, but the questioning pitch of his voice has you fleeing all the same. He didn't know for sure if that was what you said.

Your fingers have just wrapped around the cool metal of the knob when all of a sudden your wrist is pinned to the door by a sticky white substance. A beat of silence resonates through the room before you're whirling on your boyfriend with twice as much annoyance as before.

“You did not just web me!” You yell

“Everything's happening too fast!” Peter wails, arm still extended from trapping you, pupils wide.

“Well allow me to excuse myself while the boy genius catches up,” you say, going for your keys. You'd use them to saw your way free, no matter how long it took. But as soon as you wiggle them free from your pocket, another web shoots out and sticks your free arm to the other side of the door. The keys clank uselessly to the ground. “Stop doing that!”

“Stop trying to leave!”

“If I don’t go now ill be late for my date with someone who actually cares about what I have to say!”

“I do care about what you have to say!" The wet rasp of his confession immediately extinguishs your anger. With a predatory focus, you hone in on the abrupt glossy sheen of his eyes, the rosy tint creeping up his neck. The way he starts to shift his weight from foot to foot, rubbing his plams against the abrasive material of his jeans. His lips tremble, pale with the force of his trying to keep them still. "I-" He chokes. Stops. Gaze snapping up to the ceiling before running to you. Working his jaw back and forth as if the words are fighting him, refusing to be spoken, "I've just been really fumbling with the whole juggling school and spidermanning lately.”

The sentence seems to zap what little energy he has. He stumbles in what you assume to be relief, to sit down on his bed. Removing his glasses, he tosses them without care, pressing his knuckles into his eyes and scrubbing at them cruely “…’m tired”

You watch in silence as Peter closes in on himself. He uses his hands to muffle his sniffles, but in doing so, allows a few salty drops to escape and slip along the slope of his nose. Falling from the tip, a row of tiny dark splots begins to form on his shirt. His tears only drip faster as the minutes tick by. His chest stuttering erratically with the task of inhaling and exhaling.

It makes you feel shitty but you don't try to comfort him.

You remain still and quiet as to not disturb the moment in fear that if Peter remembers you're there, he'll attempt to compose himself when all he really needs is to let it out.

When he's cried himself dry, you probe lightly “are you eyes hurting you again?”

He doesn't raise his head. You're faced with knots and tangles of brown “mhmm.”

“words please parker.”

“So much” he gasps, seemingly renewed with sorrow.

This is the boy, you realize, the one Aunt May has told you about amongst the shadows and hush of night. When you sleep over on weekends and wake up longing for a cold glass of water, slipping from bed a little while before dawn only to find her already up, never having actually gone to bed.

The boy who tries to shield his gentle soul behind humour and smarts. Who often takes on much more than he can handle to satisfy others, and is content to crush himself beneath the weight of responsibility if only to let one more person rest easy that day. The one who yearns to please above all else.

Peter often suffers from aches and pains, comes with the territory, but his facial discomfort has been a persistent problem of late. A deep soreness in his cheekbones, temples, behind his eyes, that no pain killer seemed to relieve.

“temple massage?”

“Please?”

With a final sniffle, Peters back on his feet. Swaying over, he makes quick work of freeing you. Pressing shy kisses of apology to your wrists.

No longer having it in you to be upset, you swat him back towards the bed, getting comfortable in your usual postions. Your back propped up on the pillows, Peter sprawled across your lap, face plastered against your tummy. His arms loop around your thighs, fingers playing with the stiching on your pants.

Retrieving the oil and comb from his sidetable, you set to work untangling his hair before you get to the real job of massaging his scalp and temples. A repetitive activity that allows you both time to think about what you've been truly wanting to say.

“You make me feel so invisible sometimes." You start. Peters' hair is soft despite being so uncared for. You comb back his bangs, cupping his face gently and shifting it to look up at you "like it doesn’t matter if I’m here or not. I know you're a busy person, and i accept and love that part of you. But all i ask is five minutes where we act like I'm not some annoyance.”

Insecurity was something you'd fought tooth and nail to rid yourself of over the course of your relationship. Not only a genius but a superhero , being interested in a mere arts major certainly took a toll on the psyche. Sometimes, you caught yourself slipping back into not so nice thoughts and behaviours.

A flash of hurt strikes across Peters face. When he speaks, warmth puffs under the hem of your shirt “I’m sorry. I'm not doing it on purpose. I love having you around and hearing about your day. It's the most relaxing part of my own."

“That’s why you need to tell me when you’re feeling overwhelmed so I can support you in the way you need. I never want you to feel like that.” Like there's nobody in his corner paying attention to his needs.

You accept the apology and continue with your work of destressing your boyfriend. His eyes fall shut after a time and you think he's fallen asleep, familiar with post cry exhaustion when,

“He said you write with patience, giving every word the chance to be what it wants to be” Peter whispers.

“Now, was that before or after he stuck his tongue down my throat?”

“Bug” he groans, springing up. He playfully shoves you back with an exaggerated scowl. You roll to your side, giggling at your own antics. Peter closes in. Slotting a thigh between your legs to lay his body against yours, smothering you with his elevated temperature.

“Trick question! It wasn’t his tongue he stuck down my throat.”

Another howl of disgust rips free from Peter “I hate you!”

“liar!”

Divider: @sister-lucifer

[sun-kissy]

chocolate-coated hearts | r.l. (part 3)

୨ৎ series masterlist

barista!remus x shy!reader

You smoothen the ruffles on your dress, twirling this way and that. One last glance at the mirror was spent convincing yourself you looked fine before you finally stepped out of your apartment.

The wind blew your hair back as you walked, the click-clack of your boots on the pavement mirroring the thumping of your heart. It was loud and fast, so much so that you wouldn’t be surprised if there was a bomb waiting to explode in you.

The barista, Remus — possibly the loveliest human being on earth, had invited you to a poetry reading at Beanie’s. He scribbled down his number onto your coffee cup too, which had to have meant something.

The nerves were starting to get the better of you, your heart climbing its way up your throat as you neared the café. 

This was the first time you so desperately wished that you hadn’t majored in literature, that you didn’t feel the impact of words as deeply as you did. A poetry reading would definitely trigger the part of you which didn’t shut up once uncorked, and you were praying you didn’t mess this whole thing up with your tendency to ramble.

Beanie’s was always crowded, but as you pushed the door open, the largeness of the mob was startlingly obvious. You couldn’t help but think it looked more like a fish market than a café, feeling skin against skin as you pushed past people.

There was a small stage set up at the corner, fairy lights strung above it. At the moment, there was a teenage girl timidly reciting something from a scrunched up piece of paper. You paid her no heed, craning your neck to find Remus.

Just then, an arm wrapped around your waist and you yelp, head swivelling to come face to face with Madison. “Hi, gorgeous.”

You sigh, feeling the tension leave your shoulders as she gives you a peck on the cheek. Of course, she came. Your best friend wouldn’t shut up for hours after you told her Remus had given you his number. “Hey.”

“Where is he?” she asks immediately, trying to follow your line of vision.

You shrug, eyes darting around till you spot someone’s gaze trained on you from across the café. It’s not Remus, by any means. But he’s undeniably attractive, long black curls and tattoos all over. Once you finally meet his eyes, he grins and wriggles his eyebrows. Who the fuck —

Just then, Remus sticks his head out from behind the stranger and beams at you, giving you a wave. You immediately shift your gaze to him, your heart feeling like it can’t decide whether it wants to be in your throat or chest.

A small smile makes its way onto your face as you wave back, trying to shove your way over to him with Madison on your heels. 

“And now, we’ve got Remus Lupin, with The Bell Jar by Sylvia… um… Plait? Plaque! Sylvia Plaque!” a waiter suddenly squeaks into the microphone before scurrying off stage. You pause in your movements, Remus giving you an almost apologetic smile before he climbs up.

“Hello,” he tests the microphone, his lips curving upwards as some members in the crowd cheer. You notice that the black-haired man from earlier seemed particularly enthusiastic, yelling “Go, Moony!” and sticking his fingers in his mouth to whistle.

You train your vision back on Remus as he starts to speak. “So, this isn’t exactly a poem,” he starts. “It’s an excerpt from one of my favourite books. And it really resonated with me, so I’d like to share it with you.”

You listen silently, anticipating whatever he was going to say next. It was alarming how much this mattered to you, that he had good choices in stories and poems and words. Because how were you to fall in love with a man who didn’t feel lingo as deafeningly as he felt the beat of his heart? He wouldn’t be able to understand you; you were sure, if he couldn’t listen to the silent pleas of scribbles on pages. You conversed like a book, like you were begging to be understood and silently guarded in the heart of one’s brain – and you only hoped that there was someone out there willing to peruse scripture after scripture till he memorised the language of your lips. Right now, you were really wishing that someone was the gorgeous man in front of you.

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story…”

Your eyes flutter shut as you lose yourself in his soliloquy. You don’t just hear his speech, but you listen. You listen to the ache that seeps into his voice, the silent rasp of air leaving his lips as he stresses on words he deems important, the sheer longing etched in every word. And you couldn’t see it, but you could feel his gaze on you, you could feel the string connecting his heart straight to yours.

“...they plopped to the ground beneath my feet,” he finishes. A slow, somewhat hesitant round of applause sounds in the café.

You open your eyes, unsurprised to find them misty. You bring your fingers to your cheeks and swipe the tears away. Madison was gripping one of your hands, squeezing it. The both of you were used to this, your onslaught of tears whenever you felt a little too hard. 

You watch as Remus steps off the stage, disappearing into the sea of people. Someone else climbs up, and you zone out, getting lost in your thoughts once more.

“Hey.” You blink, looking up to see Remus in front of you now, his pretty face scrunched up a bit in worry. “Hey, Y/n. You okay? Saw you getting a little emotional just now.”

Madison makes a small squeal of excitement, and Remus flashes her a small smile before turning back to you, patiently waiting for you to respond.

A teary chuckle bubbles out of you, “Sorry, yeah, I’m all good. It’s just – that was really something. It hurt in the best way. You have great taste, you know.”

He softens at your confession, a smile playing on the edges of his lips. “Thank you. And I get it, I couldn’t stop crying for almost an hour when I first read it.”

You let out a real laugh at the thought of that, and his smile breaks into a grin. He reaches forward, and you barely have a moment to comprehend it before he’s wiping away the tears on your cheeks. You really hope he can’t feel the heat emanating from your skin, or hear the giggles from beside you.

You make it a point to shoot Madison a dirty look as he pulls his hand away. “On another note,” he starts, and you can hear his slight cockiness at having you all flustered, “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Of course –” you meant to say that you’d cleared your schedule to be able to make it, but the words die on your tongue as he whips a rose stalk out from behind his back and holds it out for you.

You stare up at him blankly, feeling your heartbeat growing more erratic by the second. “A small thank you for attending.”

“You give it to all the customers, then?”

“No. Just the prettiest one.”

You press a hand to your mouth to stop yourself from gasping, and shakily reach out to take the flower from him. Twisting it in your fingers, you feel your heart start to turn to mush – he had cut off all the thorns on the stalk.

“Thank you.”

He grins, and it’s more endearing than the rose between your fingers. A sideway glance at your best friend tells you she’s at the edge of combusting into giggles and swoons.

“Hello, lovely ladies.”

Your gaze shifts to the right of Remus to see that man, the good-looking one who had been staring at you from afar. You arch an eyebrow, but Madison matches his energy. “Hey, handsome.”

His eyes linger on you. “You’re Y/n, I assume. Moony – Remus has told me all about you.” Your heart does a backflip and you glance at Remus, only to find him already smiling at you.

“But you,” he turns to your best friend, his thoughtful expression morphing into a grin. “Who might you be?”

“Madison.”

“Madison,” he drawls. “Sirius.”

You watch as Sirius compliments her dress, and she turns a red so deep it could rival how you had been minutes ago. And you smile, because you knew she’d been belittling herself over her appearance with the baby bump.

Remus silently tugs on your hand, steering you away from them. He glances over at the two of them again, grinning. “Sorry about Sirius. The asshole can be such a flirt.”

You huff out a laugh. “No, it’s quite alright. Madison’s quite the lovergirl herself, and god knows she needs this after her previous relationship.”

He nods understandingly, and a silence settles over the two of you. “I’m glad you came. You know, studying literature and stuff, I thought you’d like it.”

“I’m glad I came too. But I’m sorry you had to see me like –” you chuckle nervously, doing a jazz hands in front of your face, “like this, tears and all.”

His curls bounce as he laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. You couldn’t help but think that all the creative evocations you’ve ever read fell short in comparison to the depth of his eyes. “That’s nothing to apologise for, sweet girl. You look just as lovely even when you’re crying.”

You pull your lip between your teeth to stop the smile from spreading across your face, feeling your heart do a somersault in your chest.

“Babe –” Madison comes over, out of breath. “Can we leave? I still haven’t gotten the groceries for tonight. And you’re helping me with dinner.”

You glance over her shoulder to see Sirius watching her with hearts in his eyes, and you let out a soft snicker when you see tints of Madison’s maroon lipstick on his cheek. “Okay.”

Madison starts pulling you towards the exit. You cast a glance at Remus, smiling and waving.

“Y/n!” Remus calls out, and you tug on Madison’s fingers to get her to stop.

“Yeah?”

“How else would you like me to see you?”

You blink. “Huh?”

He chuckles. “You said you didn’t want me to see you like this, in tears. How else – where else can I see you, sweetness?”

Your heart jolts at his obvious attempts at flirting, and how easily it was working.

“Tammy’s Bookstore,” you almost mumble, shyness flooding into your voice. “8pm to 12am shift.”

Remus seems to have gotten the answer he wanted. “Cool. I’ll see you there sometime.”

You turn around before he can see how pink you’ve turned, urging Madison out the shop.

“And sweetheart? Use the phone number.”

a/n: okay so i had a lot of fun with this part!! but i'd love to hear feedback, if you think maybe i'm sidetracking or you have any ideas for the next part <3 also the excerpt mentioned is about how we can't take every opportunity we wish we could in our short life, and it's from the bell jar by Sylvia Plath. agonisingly beautiful, hits you right in the feels!! here it is if you're interested :)

[zomyoo]

⠀ ⠀ ₍ᵔ๑・ᴥ・ᵔ₎ ̥ ⌇━━ HE KISSED MY SCARS 。

you and your boyfriend have never been intimate due to your insecurities, and though he was patient enough to give you space, he actually wanted to know why you refused to do certain things with him.

𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚: smut included! mentions of scars, insecurities, abuse and self-harm. teasing, kissing, fingering, comfort sex. please read with caution!

⠀⟢ boyfriend!joshua x girlfriend!reader ⠀⠀—⠀⠀𝗪𝗖: 1,603

“baby, please talk to me.” the man pleaded, following you around the house like a dog asking for his treat. he had just came home from the gym and the sweat dripping down from his pretty face would be enough to arouse anyone.

you had been at home all day, occupying yourself with anything that fell in between your hands. from playing video games to creating ear raping tunes on joshua’s guitar, you did spend a good time by yourself. though, the conversation you had with him in the morning sticked to your brain like glue. each time you were done with an activity, it would ring in your mind, consuming your thoughts.

you had promised to communicate. to tell him the reason why you refused to have sex with him. it’s been a little over a year now and the poor guy deserved to know why you kept on rejecting his countless advances.

at the present moment, you were trying to run away from your boyfriend’s questions. you were still, understandably, scared. what if he were to leave you if he knew? what if everything you’ve went through and the plans you have all went to dust the moment you reveal everything to him? the ugliest thoughts crossed your mind, tears forming in the corner of your eyes as you stopped in your tracks.

the brunette spinned you around, immediately throwing you in an embrace. “y/n.. how am i meant to help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong?” he questioned, the vibration of his voice against his chest comforted you in a way. you wrapped your arms around his waist, seeking as much solace as you possibly could.

you hated crying in front of him, but it was out of your control. your mouth was sealed and the words you wanted to utter remained stuck at the back of your throat. he remained quiet, slowly patting you as the sound of your sobs took over the living room.

sat on the couch, you watched as your boyfriend walked out of the bedroom with a fresh change of clothes, slowly making his way to the kitchen to brew your favorite tea. it was going to be a long night.

you unbuttoned your chemise and removed your jeans, tossing them aside as you stood in front of him, the sudden fresh air causing you to cover yourself with your arms. you weren’t fully naked, you still had your underwear on but you felt like you were underneath his gaze.

his eyes softened as you walked into the light, the scars on your body coming into view. when you told him you grew up in an abusive family, he never knew, nor thought, they were that abusive. afterall, he’s met your mother before and she seemed like the sweetest woman on earth.

“oh... my love. what the fuck have they done to you?” his voice cracked, on the verge of tears. you were going to ask him if the view was repulsive, if he found you less attractive and wanted to end things with you but he beat you to it and completely erased your negative thoughts.

“you look beautiful regardless.” he uttered, wiping the built up moisture in the corner of his eyes. joshua stood up and walked over to you, “may i?” he asked, reaching out for your scars. a nod was all you gave and he gently touched them, the sudden contact sending chills down your spine.

his touch began on your arms, caressing the build up of scars you had created yourself. it wasn’t due to abuse, it was just your escape for a long period of your life. he then trailed over to your waist, gently touching the blue coloured bruise that refused to leave your skin. as he continued, you could feel your body tense up.

every morning, you would avoid looking at your naked body in the mirror, you felt disgusted at the thought of having those scars on your skin, you felt ugly, unworthy and unwanted. you had this self-hatred that secretly grew, causing you to lock yourself up, away from everyone else.

some of your scars were not fully healed yet and caused you nothing but suffering. “why did you keep this away from me?” he questioned, not a single hint of anger displayed on his face. joshua had always been a calm guy, which was one of the many reasons you loved him dearly. it changed from the environment you grew up in and you were grateful to him for all he’s ever done for and to you.

“i was scared...i was scared you would reject me.” you mumbled, your voice shaky. he noticed you were avoiding eye contact, which caused him to lift your chin and stare into your lustrous eyes, getting lost in their beautiful shade.

“baby, i would never. i’m utterly obsessed with all of you, from the parts you love to the ones you hate. i’ll never reject nor be ashamed of you.” he confidently said, a little disappointed you would think so lowly of him after he had done so much to be considered your boyfriend, a title he held with so much honor.

“plus, you can always rely on me for anything, i’m the last person to judge you. i can’t even daydream about the day i would dare to.” he added, his words of affirmation hitting deep. he’s always comforted you with words and through his actions, something you heavily lacked. you felt understood, listened and provided for, which took you a while to get used to.

you crashed your lips against his, your sudden action taking him aback for a short moment before he gave into the kiss, devouring your lips like it was the last time he would get to do so.

his hand made its way to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. he wanted more and he definitely wasn’t going to hold back this time. he had been craving you for months, and you allowing him to go this far was an opportunity he wasn’t going to let slide.

his hands trailed down your back, settling on your ass as he gently squeezed them. the first one caused you to slightly open your mouth, his tongue immediately sliding down your throat. you let out a soft moan, wrapping your arms around his neck.

as he lifted you up, your legs immediately rested around his waist. he walked over to the couch and sat down, putting you on his thighs before he began placing kisses around your body. from your exposed neck to your bruised skin, planting kisses on each and every one of your scar, making sure they all received as much love as he could possibly give them.

as he did so, you began removing his shirt, pulling it away from his body as you stared at his bare chest, wishing you paid attention sooner. he was ripped, and you had never noticed it before. you knew he would have a certain body type, given he often goes to the gym, but seeing it with your own eyes was different.

you bit your lip as his lips slowly made their way to your breasts. he licked and squeezed them through your lace bra before he unclipped it, watching as the thin fabric rolled down your arms. his mouth once again reached towards your chest. he began sucking them with his eyes closed and all you wanted was for him to fuck you.

you softly moaned his name, grinding against his hardened cock. “fuck, y/n...” he mumbled, grabbing your hips to follow your movements, which lasted for a while before he stopped you from going further. pushing your underwear aside, he inserted two fingers in your cunt, moving them in slowly but deeply, a loud moan escaping your lips at each thrust.

you placed your hand on his jeans, rubbing his clothed dick. “plea...please...” you pleaded, biting your lips as you unzipped his pants, allowing him to completely remove it alongside his boxers, his length bouncing out of his clothes and twitching beneath you.

as you sat back down on him, he placed his dick on your entrance, rubbing your clit with it and watching as his precum rolled down his penis. after teasing you for what seemed like a very long time, he finally put it in, the thickness of his cock was something you’d have to get used to, but you definitely enjoyed it.

he began slowly, making sure you were stretched enough before he fastened his pace. your moans became louder, your grip on his shoulders became tighter and your mind was completely blank. you savoured every moment of his dick inside of you, wishing you had done it sooner.

you moaned out his name, not once, or twice, but multiple times, which only caused him to be more aroused. he loved the way your breasts jiggled as he thrusted in you, he loved looking at your scars, feeling closer to you and grateful you trusted him, he loved the view of your back arched and your eyes rolled back. he loved all of you and would absolutely never wish to change that.

the both of you came at the same time, panting as you embraced eachother. “i love you so fucking much y/n, thank you for trusting me.”

“i love you more joshua, thank you for everything.” you said, your eyes heavy and voice low. before you knew it, you had fallen asleep in the arms of your lover with a smile on your face.

dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/saradika-graphics moodboard by @/jicito

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ copyright © 2024 zomyoo, all rights reserved

[wolfsbanesparks]

Fanfic idea!

So I wanted to share an idea i had for a story that just sorta appeared in my brain fully formed. It will be a while before I have time to write it out, but I wanted to share it with y'all now while it's fresh in my mind.

This was inspired by @puppetwoman17 's story "Batson Family Soap Opera" and conversations I've had with @cerealboxlore as well as some other posts I've seen floating around tumblr but can't find right now.

Title: Signed in Blood

Premise: Ebenezer Batson makes a deal with Lady Blaze to bring his son Sinclair back to life, but there's a catch: after a year and a day either Sinclair must return to the land of the dead or a blood relative must take his place.

When the time comes for Blaze to collect on her contract, the Justice League is recruited to protect the Batsons from the hellhounds and demons she sends after them.

Full details under the cut because this will get long. Like the entire fic is there in bullet point form

Okay bullet points for all the plot beats i know (basically an outline of the story)

We open on Lady Blaze tracking down Ebenezer and offering to grant his greatest wish: bringing his son back to life

Ebenezer jumps at the chance and signs the contract with his blood, even knowing the caveat that someone must die in one year. A further stipulation in the contract is that the soul of whoever dies to fulfill the contract will belong to her

Ebenezer loves his son and won't let him die again, but he's still a selfish bastard, so he doesn't plan on dying either

He justifies it to himself with the thought that Sinclair is smarter, more charismatic, and had a bright future whereas Billy is a troubled runaway who will probably become a petty crook etc.

There is only one other blood relative he knows is still alive: Billy

(Billy is of course trans in this but I'll stick to the name and pronouns we know he uses rather than Ebenezer's misgendering and deadnaming)

Sinclair does not know he's dead: Blaze wiped his memory of the accident and used magic to provide false memories to account for the time he was dead

Ebenezer tracks down Billy to take back custody of him so he'll be able to hand him over to Blaze (he knows that if billy dies and he tells people Billy ran away they'll believe it because of his history thus getting away scott free)

Billy is conflicted about being in Ebenezer's custody again, especially with a cousin he doesn't remember (he died before Billy's parents did) who seems a bit off (because he was resurrected with demonic magic)

Sinclair jumps straight into making a name for himself by running for political office (he has ambitions and plans for his future and zero idea what his father did)

While campaigning for office, exactly a year and a day since he was resurrected, Sinclair attends a major political conference

The conference is attacked by hellhounds sent by blaze to remind Ebenezer of their contract. But it causes a huge scene and the Justice League, including Captain Marvel, gets involved to help protect the political leaders of the conference

But they soon realize the main target is Sinclair so they take him and Ebenezer back to their home and offer their protection while they figure out what's going on

Ebenezer is sweating because he has no idea where Billy is so he can't offer him up like he planned (because Billy is CM at the moment) but he figures the JL can keep him and Sinclair alive

Cap is unusually rude and abrasive. He's distant and avoids certain sections of the house. The JL is worried because he never acts like this and they don't know what happened or why he doesn't seem to like the batsons

As they try to figure out why the Batsons are being targeted, a second attack happens at a charity event where the Bromfields had been in attendance (the demons targeting Mary)

The JL brings the Bromfields and the Batsons together to try to find a link. And after Batman runs a DNA test he finds out that Mary is related to them.

(Billy recognized her the moment he saw her locket and is desperately trying to hold himself back from pulling her into a hug and whisking her away from their uncle)

Ebenezer is gobsmacked that his niece is alive, Mary is ecstatic to learn more about her birth family, and the Bromfields are worried about what this all means.

The story of CC and Marilyn comes out and Sinclair tells the JL about Billy and how he's missing and they need to find him before the demons do

Demons attack the house, gunning for Cap as well which leads to some investigation and the theory that Cap is CC with memory loss which he adamantly denies

(Both Billy and Ebenezer are shaken by just how many "dead" Batsons are in the room)

Blaze appears and tells them all that due to her contract they cannot deny her: she is owed the life and soul of one of the Batsons by midnight. A life for a life.

Everyone is freaking out because what contract? And who is she?

But Billy knows who she is and it takes him no time at all to put the pieces together. He confronts Ebenezer and when he denies it, he convinces wonder woman to use the lasso of truth on him

Ebenezer is forced to tell them he made a deal and why: he wanted his son back.

But Sinclair still has no idea he died so he doesn't understand: he would have come home if his dad needed him so bad.

But Billy remembers an incident from when he was a kid living with Ebenezer: playing in the backyard, digging a hole as little kids do and finding a ring engraved with the name Sinclair Batson (a high school class ring that Sinclair always wears, one that he's wearing right now)

His uncle had been furious and punished Billy for it, but later while drunk he sobbed about how his perfect son was gone, how he'd never see him again.

Billy had (rightly) assumed he was dead but didn't ask any questions about him until he was in Ebenezer's custody again, then he assumed he was just young and misunderstood the situation (after all he'd lost so many people at that age. Lots of people were just gone without explanation)

But now he realizes the truth: Sinclair was brought back from the dead and the strange offputting aura was blazes magic

Ebenezer is forced to tell them what happened: how Sinclair died.

It was an accident. The two of them had been arguing about Sinclair going away for college among other things and things got heated. Sinclair tried to sneak out after the argument, climbing out of his window. Ebenezer caught him and shouted for him to get back inside. The shout startled Sinclair and he fell off the roof and broke his neck

Ebenezer couldn't bring himself to call the police, he was terrified they'd arrest him because the neighbors heard them arguing and Sinclair had bruises on his arm from where Ebenezer had grabbed him

So he buried his son in that backyard, telling everyone who asked that Sinclair was away for college and building up the lie so no one suspected the truth. (Billy found Sinclair's ring because he was playing on top of his unmarked grave)

Billy pushes and Ebenezer admits that he'd been planning on giving Billy up in exchange for Sinclair (airing out his justifications)

Everyone is horrified, especially Sinclair. (Not Billy though, this aligned perfectly with the Ebenezer he knew)

There's a lot of argument about what to do: most are in favor of handing Ebenezer over to Blaze but Sinclair is admant that he was supposed to be dead so it should be him she took.

But Billy knows something no one else knows about this deal, not even Ebenezer: Blaze had always intended to reap Billy's soul as payment

She knew there was no love between Billy and Ebenezer but she also knew that Billy would never let anyone (even someone he hates as much as his uncle) become her slave via owning their soul

But if Billy's soul belonged to her, so would his powers and his connection to Shazam and the Rock of Eternity. The contract would back him into a corner and his pure heart would give her the opening she needed.

So Billy pulls Sinclair and Mary aside. Mary's clinging to Sinclair because even though she just found him she doesn't want to lose him.

The three of them hatch a plan

When Blaze arrives and demands her payment Cap steps forward and offers himself (which makes everyone confused since he's been denying being CC all night)

Blaze is ecstatic because she can taste victory

Sinclair steps up and demands to know how they can trust her not to come after them again once she has cap's soul.

After a bit of back and forth, she agrees to add an addendum to the contract Ebenezer signed ensuring that she would never harm any of the Batsons after collecting what she is owed.

All batsons sign the contract in blood

Last is Billy who she tells to power down so she can collect his soul without divine interference

Billy transforms and literally everyone except Blaze is blindsided by the fact that Cap is Billy who has been missing since before this mess began

Blaze shoves her hand into Billy’s chest to rip out his soul and claim her birthright

But before he dies he gives Mary, who is shell shocked and horrified and quickly realizing that's her twin, a nod

As he falls to the ground she remembers the plan: she shouts out "Shazam" and becomes Mary Marvel

You see the night before Billy officially chose her to become his successor as Champion (Sinclair is too closely tied to blazes magic so it would've been too risky to give him. Plus Mary was always destined for the powers of Shazam but had been hidden from him by black Adam's magic)

Just as Blaze was denied her father's power and the Rock of Eternity because he chose Billy as his champion, so she was denied when Billy transferred his powers to mary

She is furious and attacks mary

But upon landing the first hit, Billy is brought back because she hurt a batson rendering the contract null and void

Together Billy and Mary send her back to hell

The epilogue features the Batsons several months later. Ebenezer is in prison for attempted murder (of both Billy and Sinclair) among other crimes. Sinclair still visits him because despite everything he loves his dad and owes him his second chance at life (it's definitely complicated) Sinclair is billys legal guardian and theyd sold the house where both Billy and Sinclair were abused moving into the same neighborhood as the Bromfields so the twins can be together again. Captain Marvel and Mary are beloved heroes and they've officially endorsed Sinclair's campaign which meant he won in a landslide.

And they lived happily ever after

So thoughts?

I told you the idea was fully formed but I'd love to hear what y'all think!

[theemporium]

Hello my dear!!! So - I know your requests are closed for now, but I just had to tell you I am OBSESSED with your Danny Ric x Sunshine series, and I had a thought for once they’re open again… I know that Sunshine isn’t famous or anything, but what if she dated someone who was/is before she started dating Danny (ex. Joe Jonas)? Like maybe they were childhood sweethearts or something, and her ex shows up at the Miami GP as a musical guest or something and Danny goes FERAL and protective of Sunshine? I just think it would be so cute and fluffy 😍🥰

you are a cutie🥹thank you for requesting!!! i changed it a wee bit but i hope you enjoy! and sorry for making you wait so long🫶🏽

.

It wasn’t unusual for there to be famous faces dotted around the garage during the race weekend. 

Daniel was used to it and, if he was being completely honest, he enjoyed it. He enjoyed seeing familiar faces around the paddock, talking and chatting with them and meeting new and old fans alike. He was a social butterfly and he thrived in these situations, even if some drivers found it a little distracting or stressful when they were trying to get on with their jobs. Usually, Daniel loved it.

Except when these celebrities couldn’t seem to catch the hint.

You were gorgeous. Hell, in the eyes of Daniel, you were the prettiest human to ever walk the goddamn Earth. He was obsessed with you. He worshipped the ground you walked on. You were his sun and his life revolved around you and your love. He pinched himself every day that you chose to be with him, to love him, to be his forever partner. 

However, it seemed one of Red Bull’s recent garage guests didn’t seem to catch the hint that you were not single nor were you ready to mingle.

If he was being honest, he didn’t know who the guy was. He had heard from a few team members that he was some big, upcoming actor that most of the world was going crazy for but Daniel didn’t care. He didn’t care if the man was the biggest name in the world. He was going after Daniel’s girl and he didn’t like that one bit. 

Most guests tended to stick to their guided tours or near the back so they were out of the team’s way, yet this actor seemed to have gravitated towards you. He had been blatant in his attempts with flirting and chatting with you, going as far as leaning on the table you were currently working on until it became near impossible to continue with your job. He could see the discomfort in your face, could see the way you were getting progressively more annoyed and, despite knowing you could handle yourself, the last thing he wanted was you to be on the frog page after punching the douche in the face (even if it would've been well-deserved in his eyes).

“Got a problem here, mate?” 

The man—his name was on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t bring himself to care to remember—turned away from you to look at the approaching driver. “Hey, Daniel, right? Huge fan. You’ve got a great team here.”

“Yeah, the best of the best,” Daniel said as he slided in behind you, his hand resting on your shoulder as your body relaxed under his touch. “Sunshine here has the best brain you could ask for in Formula One.”

The man’s gaze slid back down to you, his lips twitching upwards in what you assumed was meant to be a charming smile. “So, your name is Sunshine?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Daniel beat you to it.

“Ha no, I can call her Sunshine,” he said with a massive smile on your face, one that would leave the people around you and out of ear shot to believe this was a happy conversation. “You can mind your own fucking business.”

The man’s face immediately soured. “Excuse me?”

“You’re a guest, courtesy of Red Bull, and that is the only reason I’m not dragging your sorry ass out of the paddock,” Daniel continued, stepping a little closer so you were leaning back against him. “Now, you can leave now or you can sit in the back of the garage like a good dog and leave my girl alone to do her work. What’s it gonna be?”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” he insisted with a scoff. “Do you know who I am?”

“No, but I don’t really care. You’re on my turf right now, and what I say goes. If I don’t want you here, you’ll be gone with a snap of my fingers.” Daniel stated so casually, like his whole body wasn’t humming with the desire to just punch the guy in the face. “Piss off now.”

You had barely waited until he was gone before you spun around in your seat, looking up at him with an amused smile. “Are you taking lessons from Max or something? That felt very Mad Max-coded.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “I was teaching him a lesson.” 

“No, you were jealous and it was hot,” you corrected with a grin as you reached towards him, your arms winding around his torso. “But thank you. I was two seconds away from throwing my laptop at his head.”

He laughed as he leaned down, hands gently holding your hair back as he kissed you. “Always here to be your knight in shining armour, Sunshine.”

.

[lausaivrse]

WRITING IN THE SAND! ft. gen narumi

pairings. gen narumi x gn! reader.

premise. on the beach with your boyfriend, gen and you made the moment more enjoyable by writing your name and gen’s in the sand ‹𝟹.

cw. bad writing, vulgar language. lovesick! narumi he's icky ( affectionately )

notes. hello, it's been awhile since I’ve ever posted anything school has been tiring for me but I hope you guys enjoy this ‹𝟹.

Going outside was never been in your boyfriend’s - GEN bucket list nor was it in his forte but for you, he made an exception. It wasn't a surprise that GEN knows a lot about you and that includes you being in love or more like obsessed with the beach because you said and he quote “it’s very calming and just feeling the water hitting your bare feet is to die for.”

it was something that drawn him to you, always so carefree without a care in the world as if like the world was perfect and nothing like kaiju bullshit is occurring in Japan, no it was like the world was anything but bad.

GEN never thought that exploring the outside world ( except when he’s fighting kaijus ) was calming, it helps with the stress of being a Captain of his Division, just spending time in the beach feeling the soft and chilling breeze of the wind hitting him just the two of you was everything that he could ever asked for. It was enough to ease his worries and stress away.

The feeling of the ocean water hitting his barefoot was something he enjoyed but nothing can compare to the enjoyment he felt when he sees you enjoying your favorite activity - it was breathtaking especially how you look under the fading sun, under the pinkish and yellowish skies that made your appearance look more ethereal.

He was stuck in his daydreams that he didn’t heard you call his name, eyes boring into your figure but his mind seems to be in a different universe - that’s until he managed to snap out of his daydreams when you called his name loudly, too loud.

A sigh left GEN’s lips at how high pitched your voice was whenever he wasn’t paying attention to you, nonetheless he finally look right straight into your eyes. never breaking the eye contact he held with you, he felt his heart race when a warm smile appeared on your lips the same smile he adored.

“Gen, my love, c’mere! I wanna show you something.”

“what is it now?" He muttered underneath his breath trying to mask out the nervousness in his voice as he walked towards you, his hair gently getting caressed by the wind makes him beautiful in your eyes before you just gave him another smile in return.

“Look," you retorted back at him, taking a nearby stick that were lying around the sand and began writing your name along with a heart “♡” before you write down his name creating a “[name] ♡ gen” written on the sand.

GEN’s eyes widened at the sight if his heart was beating fast before then his heart is beating in an inhuman speed upon seeing what you had wrote in the sand, he felt butterflies erupting in his stomach at the sight. He felt like a teenager on a first date with his crush, it would have been what he will call it if it weren’t for the fact that the two of you were married.

“shit, that’s so cute.” he cursed underneath his breath he was blushing as hell, he looked like a tomato but it didn’t take long for him to compose himself once again and approached the masterpiece you had created only for it to get washed up by the water.

He blinked once, twice then thrice before his brain finally comprehend what just happened before a scowl appeared on GEN’s face, he was so close to adding a nice design on what you had made but that stupid ocean water just ruined it! The sight of his pouting face was an entertainment to say the least, you loved everything about this moment.

even if it was destroyed by the sea water and your husband definitely feels the same.

© XIAOLIA, 2024 — plagiarism, reposting &&. translating my works are strictly prohibited.

[katsukikitten]

"M-More." You plead as Bakugou fucks into you with harsh slow ruts.

He roughly covers your mouth with his hot palm, stilling his hips as he comes closer to your face. Glaring at you, taking in your fucked out expression, the sweat making your hair stick to your skin and the pearly tears clinging to long lashes. It's insane how he doesn't even look fazed, as if your tight cunt squeezing and pulling him back in with each rut feels no better than his fist. It makes your eyes flutter with embarrassment and shame.

"Cock sleeves don't talk." He growls and when you don't respond he lets his fingers harshly tap against your cheek, "Oi, nod if you understand."

You give a frantic nod, his hand still covering your mouth before he moves his hips. Letting his swollen cock head hit against the pulsing spongy spot in your dripping pussy.

Silently arching your back as you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from moaning.

But it's like a game to him and he ruts over it slower and harsher until you're hot to the touch, your eyes rolled back from how good he edges you and tears you. Waiting to capture the smallest moan with his hand before he speeds up his pace.

Pounding into you until the humidity of your panting collects on his palm, still echoing around the room before he moves his burning palm to your throat.

"Can't make a sound if ya can't fuckin breathe, yea?" He gives a cruel barking laugh before he squeezes just enough that your once loud moans can only be rasped breaths.

Secretly he loves the sounds you make but that's the problem. It's hard enough for him to fuck you were he can see your pretty face contorting in pleasure that his cock brings out but the sounds. God the sounds is what makes his heart beat faster, what makes his composure slip each time you try to keep your eyes on his while you cum, begging him for more like he wasn't already fucking you brain dead.

He watches himself disappear into you, watches the creamy ring at the base of his cock grow thicker and his sac wetter from your arousal. The resounding slap echoing in your apartment competing with the snap of the head board as he comes closer to you as your back arches and a silent scream rips up your throat. Convulsing around his thick length as he fucks you through yet another orgasm.

"That's it, cream my cock, let's see this slutty pussy try to milk me." He says as pulls out only for your cunt to suction him back in, leaking around him and down to your ass. He wants to pound into you untill all you can do is take it before pulling out and fisting his cock so he blows his fat load all over your pretty stomach and tits. If he's lucky he'll cum hard enough it'll hit your chin and lips again.

But tonight is different as he applies more pressure to your throat, watching you fade in and out as your claws bite into his forearms, shaking for him as if he brought you so much pleasure your body simply couldn't process it. He has to see more, needs to see more despite the coil in his stomach tightening in time with his sac.

He should pull out but when he glances up at your face, hoping to see your tongue lulling out of your mouth with a string of drool he watches your lips form something instead while your eyes roll into your head.

I love you.

And Bakugou Katsuki cums, hard. Grunting and growling as his cock spills his hot seed into your pretty pussy. Still rocking his hips as he lets up on your throat to hear your hoarse sounds, obvious now that you don't even know what you were saying when you can barely form his name as he overstimulates himself. Groaning as his sensitive tip slides through your velvet warmth until he can't take it anymore.

Collapsing on top of you like he's never done before. You two were just fuck buddies, you remind yourself that when he presses his face into your throat, gently kissing at your pulse point.

"Was I a good cock sleeve?" Barely a whisper as you struggle to catch your breath. He bites in answer, scraping his teeth along your throat as he sucks, pulling the skin from your body until he lets it go. Grabbing your chin so roughly forcing you to look at him as if you could look anyway but the man right above you, his necklace swinging in your face.

"The best."

[apomaro-mellow]

Wrong Number 5

Eddie had been having a greatest time eating in his apartment that anyone could have. Because he wasn't alone. He was with Steve. And then he got to share one of his childhood favorite movies with him. Even though it was a first date, Eddie got the feel that casual was okay. So he'd started the video call with a red t-shirt and black jeans. He knew the odds of Steve seeing his bottom half but he wanted to look nice all the way anyway.

When Steve answered the call and Eddie saw him fill the screen with a very respectable "first date" shirt, he imagined the bottoms were probably a good pair of jeans or maybe even khakis. Steve looked like a khaki guy. What Eddie did not expect was to be flashed when Steve got up in the middle of the movie to get a drink.

But he got up, giving Eddie an eyeful of a bulge in navy blue lace. And then Steve turned and Eddie got to see it from the back. He had to have been hallucinating. There was no way he had actually seen that. It had to be an illusi-and he was coming back and those were definitely panties that Steve was wearing.

"....Eddie?" Steve looked at his wide eyes. The man hadn't spoken for a full minute.

"Baby...are you wearing something naughty?"

Steve bit his lip. "I wasn't trying to be naughty. Robin just thought that I could...well, use the confidence?"

"Don't tell me a pretty thing like you is insecure, I won't believe it", Eddie smiled.

"Well those were Robin's thoughts, not mine." Steve turned the movie down a bit and it was clear Eddie and lowered the volume on his end too. "Do you like them?"

"My brain went to moon. I think you're trying to kill me."

Steve's already high confidence jumped to the ceiling. It was nice to be appreciated.

"Can I see them again?", Eddie asked.

"I thought they were fatal?", Steve smirked.

"You know, I've decided I've lived long enough. And if I have my choice of how I go, I choose death by Steve."

"Okay, but if I have a choice, I'm keeping you alive. But if you insiiiist." Steve had returned to his seat on the floor when he got back from the kitchen, and now he rose up to sit on the couch. His legs were crossed, blocking Eddie's view.

The man on his phone whined. "Don't make me beg."

"Hmm, but what if I like begging?"

"Please, please baby, pretty please, lemme see you?" Eddie's hands were pressed together in prayer.

The way he was positioned (in the phone, on the coffee table) it was like he was kneeling before Steve. Slowly, he uncrossed his legs and even spread them a little, smiling when he heard Eddie's intake of breath.

"Shit...Were you planning on showing me this tonight?"

"If you were good...maybe", Steve teased. "What do you think? Have you been a good boy?"

Eddie nodded frantically, hair flopping, jaw dropped as Steve shifted and he got to watch the bulge between his legs move. He would do anything. Beg, kneel, bark, whatever Steve wanted him to do. Fuck, if he was really there, his head would already be in between his legs.

"I bet you could crack my skull with those legs, Jesus."

From his vantage point, Eddie could only make out up to the bottom of his mouth and while he liked his current view, that just wouldn't do at all.

"I've got an idea...What do you say to moving this to the bedroom?"

Steve grabbed his phone and started walking. Eddie straight up sprinted and collapsed onto his bed.

"You're not going to have anyone burst in with a 'code red', are they?", Steve asked as he got onto his own bed, laying down and holding his phone to his face.

"I have blocked out the entire night for you, Stevie. My crew knows that all Code Reds are to be handled by my second in command."

Okay, that made him feel a little special. Steve bit his lip. "I've never really done anything like this before..."

"What? Taking a date to your bedroom? Once again, I won't believe it. You're probably beating them back with a stick." Eddie was literally looking at him. There was no way he didn't have a line of admirers going down the street.

"I meant on like...video. So how do you want me?"

"Well I typically get a burger with my shakes", Eddie waggled his brows.

"Eddie", Steve laughed.

"Wait, I can do better! Can I get a split-top bun, since you've got a whole bakery in the back?" Eddie beamed as the screen shook while Steve was laughing. "Just get comfortable, baby."

Steve did just that, lying on his back, holding his phone above his head. Eddie was in a similar position in his own bed.

"Okay, I think I've done the whole 'teacher is secretly a model' bit before but Christ alive, it's like you've got no bad angles."

"Eddie, I think you're stalling", Steve grinned. At first, he had been nervous about doing this over video, but now it seemed like Eddie was the one who was anxious.

"If I stall by complimenting you, is it really stalling?"

"If you were here...what would you do to me?", Steve asked.

"I would kiss you so hard, you'd pass out", Eddie admitted. "Full on Pepe LePew treatment. I'd start on your hand and make my way up and then I'm not letting those lips go until they're raw."

Steve brushed his fingers against his mouth. It had been a while since he'd been kissed like that, but Eddie wasn't done.

"And don't think I haven't noticed how those moles go all the way down. I think if I get started kissing them now, I can be to your thighs by Christmas."

Steve didn't miss the strong implication of Eddie's physical presence. They hadn't really talked about meeting in real life yet, both of them aware of how risky it could be to meet someone like that. But as time went on, the dangers seemed to melt away.

Steve's hand trailed down his body. He made sure to angle his phone so that Eddie could see just that. "God, I've thought about your hands so much..." His hand came back up to touch his lips.

"I can tell you want to, baby. Go ahead and suck on them. Pretend they're mine."

Permission granted, Steve stuck two in his mouth. Enraptured, Eddie started to paw at himself through his jeans. Steve's mouth was so pretty and it was already so wet. It didn't hurt that he was already moaning. God, he needed to find out where Steve lived and buy himself a plane ticket. He needed to get his hands on him yesterday.

"Mmm, and you know, once my fingers are nice and wet, I like to put them elsewhere. Where do you want me to touch?"

Slowly, Steve pulled them out of his mouth. "Everywhere", he said, lightly panting.

Eddie's canines showed as he smiled. He unzipped his pants, purposely making it as loud as he could so that Steve would know. "I'd like that too. But let's narrow it down, beautiful."

"How's about I show you?"

Eddie's eyes got wide as Steve changed positions and even moved some pillows around and now he had a front row seat to the most prime ass he'd ever seen. Steve was on his knees and bent over slowly. He pulled his panties to the side with one hand and pushed one of his glistening fingers inside.

"Aaahh, Eddie", he moaned, bringing the other man back into it.

"Fucking hell, look at you." Eddie used one hand to pushed the band of his boxers down and bring out his cock.

Steve pushed another into him, pressing his forehead against the bed. He didn't know what he'd been so anxious about. He wanted nothing more than to have Eddie looking at him. Eddie getting hard and jerking off while looking at him.

"Eddie...I need, I need you..."

Eddie spit in his hand and kept stroking. "Tell me, angel. What do you need me to do?"

Steve whined and Eddie watched as his ass shook, fingers sinking in deep before pulling them out and pushing in again. He bet anything if Steve turned around, he'd see a wet spot on those panties.

"Don't worry, Stevie, I'm gonna tell you what to do. Is that okay?"

He saw Steve's head shake in what could've been a nod, but he was glad when he got the vocal confirmation. Eddie directed Steve and soon he had turned (Eddie had been right about the wet spot) so now he was facing the camera. The ass shot was hot but Eddie wanted to see his face when he came. He now also had a pillow under his hips to help with the angle.

And damn if he wasn't an absolute vision, rutting against the pillow, lips parted in a perpetual moan. Eddie had gotten some lube for his hand, but he knew his fist paled in comparison to Steve Harrington.

"Shit, I needa have you Steve. Wanna feel you, make you mine."

"I'm already yours", Steve said, making Eddie whimper. "I'm all yours, Eds, no one else's."

Apparently he was in a really possessive mood because that just put him right over the edge. This beautiful man was pleasuring himself and he only had eyes for Eddie. He made sure his cumshot was in the frame and watched as Steve's eyes glazed over. His licked his lips and bucked into his pillow, Eddie's name leaving his mouth on a sigh.

Eddie swallowed, his throat a little dry. "Can I see?"

Steve didn't need to ask what he meant. He picked up his phone and rose up on his knees, showing Eddie the tip of his cock peeking out of his panties, cum cooling on his stomach as his shirt had ridden up.

"Mmm, fuck. What's that rule in your classroom? About not wasting good food?"

"If you were here, I'd let you lick it all up", Steve said.

"Yeah, about that...can we...?"

"Talk? How do you feel about morning afters?", Steve asked.

"Usually they're pretty awkward", Eddie admitted with a shrug. "But considering I don't need to worry about you kicking me out..."

"Are you free for breakfast?"

"You mean brunch?"

Steve smiled. "It's a date then. Good night, Eddie."

"Good night, my darling."

Part 7

Tag Team (CLOSED)

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @estrellami-1 @newtstabber @omletlove @ifyoudonlysurrender @rehfan @morganski-19 @corvidcantina @dragonmama76 @just-ladyme @tinyplanet95 @goodolefashionedloverboi @idoquitelikebread @kittydeadbones @manda-panda-monium @rhapsodyinalto @paintsplatteredandimperfect @keylime-green @ihavekidneys @samsoble @honorarybrit81 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @aizawa-emma @deleataecount @thesuninyaface @fromapayphone @justmeinadaze @hbyrde36 @queenie-ofthe-void @resident-gay-bitch @bestwifehaver @dangdirtydemons @ellietheasexylibrarian @perseus-notjackson @pyrohonk @holysteddie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @mrsjellymunson @geekymagicalpotato @notaqueenakhaleesi

[whoisshel]

With the Band

Lewis Pullman x fem!reader

I can see the sweat dripping down Lewis’ face as he rapidly slams his drumstick down to the fast-paced tempo of the song. His once-white shirt is now almost transparent as it clings to the sweat perspiring from his body. Most of his hair is hidden by his navy hat, but I can still see the locks that are overgrown linger on his neck. I can tell from his scrunched-up nose and frown that he’s regretting wearing his new pair of blue jeans that are still stiff.

From where I stand, I can smell the saltiness as it blends in with the alcohol that clings to every inch of the small dive bar. My feet try to follow along to the beat, but continuously misstep as they stick to the ground from the unwashed floor. I can barely hear my voice over the instrumental as I sing-a-long to my favorite song. 

I keep my eyes attached to every movement Lewis makes, when he reaches over to his symbol or when he nods his head up and down to keep his rhythm. My eyes follow his as they search the crowd. When his blue eyes meet mine it’s like two oceans combining together and creating something more special than just a body of water. I suddenly no longer feel claustrophobic from all the surrounding patrons. When he smiles at me, my heart expands to every inch of my body. Crickets awaken in my stomach their song vibrates my brain to one hazy thought of comfort in knowing that I never have to fear loneliness again.

When he turns back to prepare for the next song, everything is finite once again. I never have to fear the end. I will have a lifetime of the feeling of my fingers dancing through soft sandy hair. Every Thursday, I will forever be reminded of the tangy flavors squeezing onto every taste bud when I have a bite of an orange from his parent’s backyard. Every time I smell mint leaves and vanilla Madagascar, I immediately think of Lewis.

As soon as the next song starts, the room becomes muggy again as everyone begins to dance. I continue to stand in one place bobbing my head and tapping my foot as I watch Lewis move his drumstick from one spot to another. I take a sip from the foggy glass in my hand welcoming the fuzzy feeling.

After three more songs, the band finishes up thanking the crowd before leaving the stage. Lewis set his sight on me, pushing as fast as he could over, securing his arms around my waist. Matching his embrace, I wrap my arms around his neck inhaling mint and vanilla. Murmuring our affections into each other’s ears over the loud stereo filling the space.

[sk3tch404]

Late Night Hanma Blurb

A/n: Thought abt this during an itty-bitty road trip today. Smoker Hanma does smth to the chemicals in my brain. Forgive me for any lengthy bad writing. I've had a long day and I just wanna yip yap about one of my fav crazies 🙇

CW: Hanma can give two shits about your lung health but chooses not to when he feels like it, intimidation, threats of forced drug usage, sometimes forced participation in violent activities, thoughts of lovers suicide/murder(?), and whatever other yappin I put in here.

Hanma who smokes a fuck ton and doesn't mind giving you the good ol' second-hand effects of it, but absolutely detests you doing it on your own.

He snatches the stick from your mouth and holds it up and away from you with a small grit in his teeth. Hanma glares down in some curiosity but clearly squints in irritation.

"The hell is this? Don't tell me I'm being a bad influence on you now. If I catch you with one of these again, I won't let you off the hook so easily. You got it, Y/n?"

When you retort, telling him it's no different from when he does it and it is your own choice whether he likes it or not, he merely scoffs with a tilt of his narrow head. Throwing down the cigarette, the sound of his sneaker stomping and scraping it out against the pavement echos through the air with an annoying presence. Shuji demands the rest of your stash with a looming stare that can only put you into a state of sinking discimfort.

"Come on, don't be stubborn. Ya know, if you wanna do it so bad, why don't you try the whole pack? Mine too since it's a shitload better than that cheap stuff."

Reluctant on suffocation and early lung cancer, you begrudgingly hand over your smokes to him. Hanma smacks down on the box with an evidently loud shot of noise and slides it out of your palm--- pocketing it. He stretches out narrow smile as he leans down towards you.

"See, now it ain't so hard to listen."

He's still ticked off by the fact you think you can do whatever to your body without his permission, but since Shuji is so generous, he'll let you learn from your mistakes. See, he can be nice.

Don't test him though. Next time you're caught defying his selfish wishes, he's beating you down with degrading language and probably also beating whoever was involved. The convenience store employee that sold you the cigs, vape, or maybe even chewing tobacco? Yeah he's taking out his held back frustration on them. Bro is jumping over the counter and tearing their shit up.

Avoiding him because of his brutal and honest-to-God psychopathic personality? Now that's just cruel. Shuji is dragging your ass by the back of your shirt and pushes you to his motorcycle. The leopard print on the back of the bike makes you wanna barf every time you see it, but you got to keep it down if you wanna have enough energy to deal with him. He'll take you out no matter where you are at in that point of time and make you remember who he is; who you think you're messing with.

"Y/n, how many times do I have to tell you? Aim for the nose. That's easy for amateurs like you. Actually, lemme show you how to really deliver a jaw breaker-"

Yeah, he'll show you just how bad it can get with some random thugs on the street. You should be grateful with how gentle he's treating you. Instead of ending up with facial fractures, you have nice dates and thoughtful gifts. He's even teaching you a few tricks. How lucky can you get?

"I'm all done. Shit, I'm starved. Let's go grab a bite to eat, kay?"

Hanma thinks the only way you'll ever keep paying attention to him is if he keeps you and your actions in line. If you go off doing your own thing, his usually unmoving heart can't just stand there and watch you slowly leave him. Despite the negativity be brings into your life, he actually gets really fuckin anxious when he doesn't know or understand what you're doing. It's so troublesome how you make him feel. Yeah, being bored as shit is bad, but seeing you, the only thing that could ever bring him down to his knees unwillingly, slip away with nothing but disdain for him? Fuck no. He won't accept it. Shuji would rather kill you and then himself than have to bear the strange feeling of pain, or what other people call heartbreak, by his lonesome self.

Should he ever say he loves you, that would be the point of no return for the both of you. His hands have you tight in his clutches. No way out, no way back in for anyone else.

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

hand in hand

bucky barnes x reader, fluff

Bucky stared from his seat at the bar, the way that man grabbed at your waist. Anger fueled the veins pumping in his body and he tried for a whole thirty seconds to keep his cool. He tried. Until his boots were moving him across the room, too fast for his brain to catch up. Too fast for it to comprehend his hand reaching for the man’s hand, snapping it back a little too hard but not enough to break anything. The man cried out in pain and you shouted for him to stop, and Bucky did, instantly. You told the man to leave if he wanted to keep his wits. He would have won a gold medal for how fast he left the bar.

“I have no words for you.”

“Those sound like plenty,” Bucky replied, adjusting his shoulder as you motioned for him to calm down. “He was grabbing all over you, that isn’t right.”

The two of you moved toward the bar, the crowd staying away Bucky. You ordered two beers and asked Bucky if his shoulder was okay.

“You look a little worn out.”

“Sam’s running me into the ground. I’m out of the country more than I’m in it.”

Pushing the beer closer to him, you asked Bucky if he had been sleeping. He took a long drink before giving you a shrug. “I get by.”

“You mean you get off beating up guys who are hitting on me.”

Bucky grinned. “Don’t flatter yourself so much, sweetheart.”

“You’re a real jackass sometimes,” you smacked him and pretended to get up, but he quickly changed his demeanor and gently held onto your wrist. He whispered for you to stay and you did, because you always did.

“How long are we going to do this?”

“Until it sticks.”

Ping-pong. That’s how you would describe your relationship with Bucky Barnes. He was right, he hardly was in the country but when he was – it was like lightning striking the same place over and over. It was electric and frightening. He was damaged, trying his best, and you were willingly to wait but the ball had always been in his court.

“I don’t mind you going off for work, but you come back and don’t tell me. But you always seem to arrive just in time to save me from some creep.”

Bucky chuckled but apologized. “When I’m away for weeks, I think to myself, let her be happy. Let her go out with some nice guy, who’s going to be around and then I see you from across this bar…with some grabby little jerk. I hate it.”

“Then tell me you want to be with me, that I’m it for you and there will be no grabby little jerks. Do you think I actually want to be around these guys? The only reason why I even entertain a date with these idiots is because I need a distract from thinking about you and wondering if you are thinking about me.”

He watched as your hand came over his and he stared for a moment – the warmth of your touch sent him reeling and he realized it was okay. It was okay to feel this way, because you were in front of him saying you felt the same. He didn’t have to be afraid that you weren’t going to be here when he came home because you had always been here. Patiently waiting for him to see things as they were.

“I’m an idiot.”

“Glad we can agree on something.”

Bucky laughed and tugged you off the bar stool to him, wrapping his arms around his waist as your fingers ran through his hair. The bar noise grew louder as Bucky kissed you softly on the lips, people brushing against the two of you trying to get by as you held his face in your hands. His mouth on yours, music swirling in your ears as he pressed his forehead against yours – the two of you smiling fools.

“Just so you know, I have to leave overseas in two weeks…. Sam needs me to go. I want to go.”

Your hands moved to his shoulders, rubbing them gently. “Well, I’ll be waiting for you to come home but for now, let’s enjoy these two weeks. What do you say we get out of here and go back to my apartment?”

A devious smirk pulled from the corners of Bucky’s mouth as he stood up, dropping cash onto the bar for the beers. He took your hand in his and leaned in for another kiss, this time with a little more punch than before. Breathless, you motioned for him to lead the way, and he did. The two of you finally leaving the bar hand in hand, no more stolen glances or bruised egos from men who never had a chance with you because your heart had belonged to a man no other could compare with, Bucky Barnes.