#i finished this maybe a week ago and then the urge to post it has been building up since

[arisaline73]

#wip? maybe? i still wanna change a few kittke things so we'll see #we're gonna say its finished for now #i finished this maybe a week ago and then the urge to post it has been building up since #so im posting it before my head explodes #last life #life series #traffic smp #trafficblr #scott smajor #smajor1995 #smajor fanart #idk what other tags to have #also no caption. only tags. i am whispering to you

[astolfofo]

…I had a thought about the halovians(specifically sunday) and want to know peoples opinions. do u think he has nesting instincts? :3 thank u for listening to my ted talk.

hi (i did say i was gonna answer this 2 weeks ago unfortunately I forgot i'm so sorry.) But anyways, thank you for your ask, and 100% he does.

tw: non-con, forced pregnancy, dark content. truly the unedited sleep deprived trying to write.

Okay i finished writing this i know you didn't ask for acutal writing but i went ahead and did it anyways because why not hope u don't mind

also excuse the fact that thus was posted at 4am and I was half falling asleep already while writing this.

There were three days in your life that you could have called the worst.

The first one was the day when Sunday took your life away from you, and claimed you to be his "wife". The second was when first time he chose to be intimate. The third was when you got pregnant as a result.

Nothing had ever stuck to you like the day after that. You felt like washing the sheets until your hands would bleed. You wanted to submerge yourself in bleach until every fiber of your body burned, shriveled up, and died.

You wanted to forget that it happened. That the events in the previous night ever happened at all.

But the soreness between your legs was a constant reminder. And even though the pain went away after a few days, it was replaced by something much worse. Something you feared.

You saw the signs from the second you got them. Your body felt heavy. You were constantly tired. You had lost interest in eating. It was obvious what was going on.

And for a few days, you tried to hide it. The longer Sunday didn't know, the better it was for you. That way, you could slowly while away your last few moments in peace before everything was taken from you in entirety.

After a few weeks, you couldn't hide it anymore. You remember staring at the double line on the pregnancy test.

You almost instantly broke down into tears. It wasn't anything that you hadn't already know n, but maybe part of you still just believed you were ill, that maybe there was another reason why you had missed your period that month. That the pain you kept experiencing was just from some kind of illness.

The last thing you could keep away from Sunday was taken away from you that day. The sense of freedom you could've had.

To Sunday, you suppose this was the final step he needed to take to bind you to him. Another way to control you. Another way to keep you in his arms, and make sure you wouldn't let go.

And if you didn't want to get murdered by the press, if you didn't want to further sabotage both your own and Sunday's public image, you knew to take it.

You had no choice but to take it. You were no more than an insect trapped under his thumb.

-

out of the two of you, there was only one person that was particularly enthusiastic about having a child.

It certainly wasn't you.

Ever since you had first found out about the pregnancy, you had felt empty. As if someone directly sucked the soul out of your body.

You weren't yourself anymore. You hadn't been for a long time.

Sunday didn't seem too bothered by it though.

You weren't sure if it was just his own parental instincts, or whether he could tell that it was almost time for you go into labour. Maybe it was a combination of both. You didn't care. You couldn't care less.

All you knew was that his presence was suffocating. Overbearing. Invasive, even.

You couldn't do anything by yourself. Sunday felt the need to assist you with everything you did. Even basic tasks such as grabbing an object, he insisted that he would get for you.

But what set you off the most, was his intense urge to keep the house in order. You had never seen him having such intense urges to organize a room even when just the slightest thing was out of order. He couldn't stand seeing the slightest speck of dust, he couldn't stand seeing the furniture just an inch out of place.

It drove you to madness.

If you had even slightly misplaced something Sunday you would notice Sunday getting slightly agitated.

From the moment he came home, to the moment he would fall asleep, he spent every waking second making sure the house was perfectly in order, before obsessing over you. At some point you just wanted to wave him off. Lock yourself in the bathroom and sleep for a long period of time, until you had no concept of reality anymore.

You didn't have it in you to keep going. week after week, month after month, Sunday's final goal had always to perfect you into an obedient wife that would do as they were told. And no matter how you tried to fight it... you were always forced back into obedience.

There's two cold fingers touching your chin, and lifting your face up, until you're forced to meet a pair of eyes.

They're bright. Everytime you see them, you can't help but try to look away. They were as bright as the sun, and just like the sun, you felt as if you were going to be blinded jfyou looked at them for too long. You guess it could've also been a sentiment to the power he held over you too.

"Dear, did you hear a word I just said?"

It's an obvious answer. But, you know better by now just to answer the question. You slightly shake your head, which supposedly satisfied him enough, to let go of the fi gers holding your head up.

He sighs, you're not sure in annoyance or in disappointment.

"If you keep acting like this, I'm going to need to resort to drastic measures..."

You look at him one more time. You remember how when you first saw him, you thought of him to be beautiful. To be almost ethereal.

You regret falling into that hypnosis. You regret looking at him at all.

Look at where it got you.

#yandere sunday x reader #yandere sunday #sunday x reader #sunday smut #yandere hsr #yandere x reader #hsr smut #hsr x reader #sorry if i butchered your ask its like. late rn. 💀

[sitp-recs]

Eager for the Sky by @oknowkiss

Harry/Draco, minor Harry/Ron and Draco/Blaise (2022, Mature, 35k)

It was announced, just as the Triwizard Tournament had been, at the start of term feast. A year-long, international Quidditch varsity match — the inaugural Wizarding Academy Cup. In which Harry is Hogwarts' star Seeker, Draco is on the bench, and they both have a thing or two to learn about playing for the same team.

Draco hated that, the way Potter would sneak up on him, proving he’d been listening. He had always seemed to be caught up in his own head, never paying attention to anything or anyone but himself, but now that Draco was starting to know him, he was beginning to see the truth of Potter.

When I started this blog over two years ago, I’d write (smaller, but still) recs for every fic I liked. At some point I was reccing up to 3 fics a day and started bookmarking them all to keep track of my own recs - maybe that’s why I got more than 600 bookmarks lol - and it was really fun and fulfilling, but it also demanded A LOT of time and energy. As they both became scarce, I changed strategies and decided to only rec fics that touched me in a more personal way. These days I write recs mostly on a whim; it happens less and less because I’m not reading as much, sure, but also because it needs to be a frantic urge, almost like a trance, and it needs to hit me right after I’m finished a fic otherwise it won’t be fresh in my mind.

I’ve wanted to rec something from E for so long and after being left intrigued and impressed by any day now and licence to kill (two solid recs if you haven’t read those yet!) I couldn’t see what was holding me back. Now I ask myself if I had been waiting for Eager for the Sky. And not necessarily because it’s the perfect fit for my tastes - in fact, I barely read or care for 8th year fics nowadays - but because this fic found me at the moment I needed it the most. Coming back from a brief hiatus (that felt longer than life itself) right before Christmas last year, I can say that reading this was a refreshing and lovely experience, but also magical in many ways. And funnily enough, this rec has been sitting in my drafts, half-finished, since January. Once again, something I couldn’t figure out was holding me back until I saw this gorgeous binding post by @a-gay-old-time (go check it right now!!) and I accidentally found out that last week was E’s one year fandomversary! Perfect timing to wrap this up and post it as a humble homage to one of the authors whose talent I’ve enjoyed and admired the most in the past year. What a gift to have you in this fandom, and what a privilege to read this incredible 8th year romance!

Way beyond the delight of watching Draco and Harry fall in love over the course of a (very cool and inventive) Quidditch championship, I was so touched by the amount of tenderness, youth and heart this story coveys. There is something unbearably sweet about an enemies to friends to lovers journey that explores the wonders of being young and free to flirt, experience and discover. I could feel the joy of falling in love all over again through every line here, through every knowing smile and surreptitious touch. The slow burn is masterfully done in a way that never feels empty, boring or dragged. Every little moment brings new discoveries about each other and is important to bring them together as friends, and then as lovers.

It’s worth mentioning that there’s a fair amount of longing, UST and some infuriating delicious cockblocking but somehow the way it’s written and the context it’s given make the experience even sweeter and more rewarding. I was in no rush to see this over and found it very charming that they saw value in wanting, teasing, flirting, chasing. Because I really ready young Drarry I had almost forgotten how fun a pining Draco can be in all his teenage complexity, capable of signaling confidence, vulnerability, inadequacy and tenderness all at once.

His emotions felt so very real I could feel a lump in my throat, and I was especially moved by his genuine response to Harry’s prior involvement with Ron (Be still my Rarry heart!!! For those wondering: this is a minor but significant plot point that made my heart ache and grow twice its size, I’m so soft for this brOTP! By the way - side Rarry & Blaco? A fic after my own heart!). Even more brilliant is the fact that E published Eager for the Sky and July Tree pretty much back to back and these two fantastic 8th year tales complement each other perfectly. They got a very different tone from her usual edgy “mature Drarry” which I also love - and maybe that’s why I was caught off guard by how fast I felt emotionally connected to this softer, more innocent brand of love. Not to mention that superb art by @upthehillart - killing me softly as per usual, with the ultimate teenage Drarry headcanon what a treat!!

This fic was exactly what I needed and it gave me the delicious catharsis I was looking for without really knowing. It pulled me back into the fandom with its light, easy, unpretentious young romance, sprinkled with some excellent dialogue and charming banter that will make you laugh out loud at their sass, plus a sweet and delightful mix of curious, inexperienced but extremely insightful and lovable characters. I’m so happy I found this fic and that I got to write a rec for it! Thank you E for sharing this beauty and so many other fantastic stories with us - I’m delighted to share this space with you and can’t wait to see what comes next 💜

Read on AO3

#drarry fic rec #happy belated fandomversary E! 🎉

[zacharyleigh316]

A Friend to Bee

Suptober Prompt: Day 7 - Black Cat | A Friend to Bee | 2.8K | Teen and Up | Read on Ao3 (or below cut)

Dean befriends a neighborhood cat, and, against all odds, it might just bring luck his way...

“Achoo!”

As if on cue, the second Dean stepped over the threshold to his home, he sneezed, groaning at the way his eyes watered as a result. He quickly hung up his coat on the rack, and tossed his keys in the dish on the stand by the door, before fleeing into the kitchen, only to sneeze again. It was only a matter of time, Dean surmised, before his eyes burned, and he’d need to stubbornly fight the urge to rub them, as was his daily routine as of late—that, and popping allergy pills like candy. Pills of which he was currently out of, and thus doomed to suffer, slowly succumbing to his allergies.

Dean took his phone out and shot his brother a text, before setting out to put some leftover chicken and rice in a bowl. And, summoned by the prospect of food, the source of all of Dean’s current health problems—and well-being—jumped up onto the counter, signaled by another sneeze.

“You’re lucky you’re so friggin cute.” He muttered, putting the bowl down in front of the fur ball that could, quite possibly, be the death of him—if he couldn’t somehow find a way to manage his cat allergy.

It hadn’t been that long since they first encountered each other, Dean and his hairy, four-legged visitor—be it a miraculous act of fate or what have you—but it sure felt like forever, seeing as Dean hadn’t had a moment’s peace since.

Two weeks ago, on Dean’s way back home, he encountered the most unusual pair of blue eyes, that, upon further inspection, belonged to an even more unusually mannered black cat, perched perfectly poised atop the front steps to his home. He recalled how the eyes seemed to glow then, a trick of the lights Dean’s sure, but they drew him in nevertheless. Since then the cat has, beyond any feasible reason Dean could see, stuck around. Enough so that yes, he’s even begun to feed and water the damn thing—despite said allergy.

The little rascal didn’t seem too pressed to leave any time soon, and you could say that he even, perhaps, got used to having it around—not that he’d tell anyone that. He wasn’t sure who exactly owned his new friend, just that it had to be someone in the neighborhood, but sincerely hoped they wouldn’t mind how often he spoiled the guy’s pet.

Dean’s phone buzzed from where he left it on the countertop, and pulled himself from his reverie, reading the reply from his brother. 

<< hey sammy, were you able to pick me up some more of those allergy meds?

>> Yeah, they should be in the bathroom.

And then, a few seconds later, came another.

>> You know, you never told me why you needed them?

<< nunya

>> What?

<< sorry, let me rephrase that

<< nunya business

<< Wow, really mature Dean. I didn’t have to get them for you, but it sounded urgent, so I did.

<< The least you could do is tell me why. Or even how you ran out of the other bottle so quickly.

Dean sighed and looked over to the cat, who was now pinning him with its starling azure gaze, apparently finding him more interesting than finishing off the bowl of food.

“I dunno, what do you think? Should I tell Sam?” He asked, not really understanding why he thought the cat would answer, but directing the question toward it anyway.

Predictably, it just sat there and blinked at him.

Dean sighed again, deciding to just bite the bullet and tell his brother.

<< I maybe sorta got a cat?

>> You WHAT?!

>> Dean, you’re allergic to cats

<< uh yeah, Sammy, that’s why I needed the allergy meds duh

Dean let out a groan and pressed his forehead to the cool countertop, as his phone began to ring, Sam’s caller ID posted across the screen. He let it ring a few times before picking up.

“Heya brother-o-mine, shouldn’t you be working?”

“I’m on lunch break right now actually, Dean,” Sam whispered harshly into the receiver, straight to business as always, “what’s this about you getting a cat?”

“Well, it’s not technically mine. It just showed up one day, and won’t leave.”

“And you didn’t think to call authorities?”

“Authorities?” Dean snorted. “What am I going to do, Sam, get it arrested?” 

Dean could hear the eye roll through the phone. “I mean animal control, Dean. Or maybe even a vet?”

“Course I thought about doing that…”

“You can’t just steal a cat, it could belong to somebody. It could have a microchip or something. Maybe its owner is looking for it.” Sam sighed, and now it was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Dude, I’m not stupid, okay? ‘Sides, I didn’t steal it. It just showed up, and never left. I mean, the little guy comes and goes, but it always comes back and ends up staying for a few hours, before disappearing again.” He shrugged, despite his brother being unable to see it.

As if knowing it was being talked about, it padded over to Dean, and head butted the palm of his hand. Dean smiled, and ran his hand down the creature’s back, before letting out another sneeze.

“Ugh.”

“Yeah, sounds like a real healthy arrangement you’ve got there, Dean. Why do you even let it inside?” 

“That’s the strange thing, Sammy. I didn’t. It showed up on my doorstep, but I just let it be, and went inside. Don’t ask me how, but the damn thing is smart or something, and lets itself in. And out.”

“Uh-huh…” Sam trailed off, sounding skeptical.

Dean wouldn’t believe it either if he hadn’t witnessed it time and time again.

“I’m serious. I know it sounds crazy, but the cat is a friggin weirdo. I’ve tried to keep it out, but it always finds a way. Hence why now I just…let it do its thing.”

“Okay, well, even if what you’re saying is true, Dean, this isn’t sustainable. You need to find its owner, and tell them about their cat.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Now I’m serious, Dean. You can’t just keep going through allergy meds just because the cat likes to loiter.”

“Sure thing, whatever you say, mom. Don’t get your panties all in a twist, Samantha. I’ll take care of it.”

“I mean it, Dean.”

“And I promise, I’ll take care of it. Now get back to work, slacker. Don’t spend all of your lunch break talking to your big brother.” 

“Alright. Talk to you later. Love you, jerk.”

“You too. Love you, bitch.”

They hung up, and Dean put his phone back down onto the counter, turning his attention back toward the adorable, furry interloper, who was still staring unblinkingly at him.

“That was my baby brother, Sammy. He’s this big shot lawyer, and, don’t tell him this, but I’m a pretty proud big brother.” 

The cat meowed and tilted its head to the side, earning an amused chuckle from Dean.

“Can’t have his head grow bigger than it already is, y’know? Don’t know what’s in the water these days, but the kid’s huge, and I mean humongous.” He joked, shaking his head fondly.

“Anyway, Sam’s right. Not that I don’t enjoy the company, but you should probably get back to your owner, yeah? Got one of those, don’t you?”

Again the cat meowed, but Dean was, unfortunately, sorely lacking in the knowledge department for ‘how to translate cat language’. He watched as it went back to finish the food he’d set out, and chuckled, albeit a bit bitterly. 

“Yeah, I’d be bored of me too.” 

Letting the cat go about its business Dean pulled away from the kitchen island and sauntered into the bathroom. He figured that, in the meantime—or at least until he located the cat’s owner—it’d be wise to take some meds while it was here. Dean was rather fond of breathing, thank you very much. And the, however temporary, relief of itchiness was an additional perk. 

It was some time later that afternoon, Dean sat on the couch with the fur ball curled in his lap, when his phone buzzed with a text message. He leaned over to put his half finished beer down on the coffee table, and exchanged it for the phone, reading the text from Sam.

>> Have you tried following the cat when it leaves? Maybe you can do that.

Dean hummed thoughtfully, and looked down at the cat. He hadn’t tried that, no, but it wasn’t a bad idea actually. He’d have to try that next, though, if anybody in the neighborhood caught him following some dude’s cat to said dude’s house, he didn’t want to know what they would think of him. He’d rather sooner admit to being an avid fan of chick flicks than deal with the repercussions of being labeled a friggin creepy weirdo.

“What do you say to me taking you home this time?” He asked, raising a brow at the little shit still snoozing in his lap, who had the audacity to peel open one of its eyes, before opening the other and leveling Dean with a look that was oddly reminiscent of one of Sam’s bitch faces. 

Dean opened his mouth, a smart ass remark on the tip of his tongue, when the cat leaped off his lap and quietly padded over to the door, in lieu of responding, or well, as it’s response since it was an animal, and it couldn’t actually talk back—unless you counted the, albeit perfectly timed, meows it gave Dean sometimes.

With a groan, as his thirty-something almost forty-something body protested, he hefted himself off the couch and, against his better judgment, he followed the damn thing out his front door.

Thankfully his four legged guide was waiting for him, and even stopped every so often on the way to wherever the fuck, looking back to check if Dean was still behind, following. He couldn’t believe he was actually doing this, and that it was actually working. It certainly didn’t ease his anxiety, especially since he was completely in the dark as to where he was even being lead—to his death maybe—but of all panned out, maybe he’d bake his brother a pie or some shit. He’d see how he felt about it later.

Though Dean didn’t have to wait long to find out what his imminent death looked like, because after a ten minute or so walk down the street, the cat made its way up some steps to a rather unassuming house, much like his own—and everyone else’s in the neighborhood. This one was painted a pretty blue, nothing like the eyes of his new friend, but a softer, grayer shade.

On the door, as Dean approached, hung a gorgeous, decorative autumn wreath, with the words “Blessed Bee”—no that was not a typo, and to which Dean assumed was a pun referring to the little plastic bees dispersed within. Though, with an additional quick, cursory glance towards the house, the owner’s aesthetic was growing increasingly apparent, if not for the garden beds of flowers attached to each window sill, and the immaculately groomed bushes (hah) lining the front. 

Even the grass was a lively color, a rich, vibrant green, and neatly trimmed to boot. Dean couldn’t help the whispered, “Damn,” that slipped out in awe. This guy had some serious gardening chops, that Dean couldn’t help but be a little envious of. The only plant he could remember growing was a little succulent he nicked from the local supermarket for him and Sam when they were little, and he couldn’t tell you what became of it. 

The cat meowed, once again with the intention of pulling Dean from his reverie, and he, with a final resolve, reached up and knocked on the door. Though, nothing could have ever prepared him for what happened next.

The front door swung open, revealing possibly the hottest guy Dean has ever seen, looking all soft and—albeit artfully—rumpled, in a sweater and jeans, and holy fuck this dude’s eyes. If he thought the cat’s eye were an unusual shade of blue, they were nothing compared to this man’s, and if Dean didn’t say anything and just stood there frozen, gaping like a fish, being spotted and labeled as a creepy weirdo were the least of his worries.

“Uh…” he said, rather intelligently.

The man didn’t seem to mind, however, and just smiled, reaching down to pick up his cat, who was winding between his legs.

“You must be Bee’s new friend.”

Dean blinked, taking a moment to realize that, son of a bitch, the hot dude just spoke to him, and then another to realize that that is what he sounded like. Deep and gravelly, and god friggin’ dammit Dean was fucked. Truly and utterly fucked.

“Um…what?” 

Wow, nice going Dean, he mentally scolded himself.

As far as first impressions went, this was probably as worst as it could get. He’d spoken a total of three words to this strange (sexy) man, and they only seemed to feed the narrative of what a fool he was. He could flirt with women with the ease of driving his baby, no problem. But put a pretty guy, let alone a pretty guy with gorgeous blue eyes, in front of him and he was rendered speechless, dumber than a sack of potatoes, and probably as useful as one too. He was not good at this.

The man chuckled, and gestured to the cat in his arms, before giving who Dean knew now as Bee chin scritches. 

“My cat. She’s been telling me all about you.” 

“Oh, uh, all good things I hope?”

The man smiled again, and Dean felt his knees grow weak, like they could buckle at any moment, and he’d just melt into a puddle on this guy’s front steps.

“Hm, yes, I must thank you for taking good care of her. She likes it there very much.”

“Haha well, I’m glad? But, uh, about that…” Dean swallowed against the lump in his throat, and reached up to rub the back of his neck. 

“I’m actually allergic to cats.” 

“Oh.” 

Dean inwardly cursed as the man frowned, and furrowed his brows in concern. He looked down at Bee then, and gave her a disapproving stare.

“You didn’t tell me that.” He shook his head, and put her down, ushering her into the house. “Go on, shoo. We’ll discuss this later.”

They both watched her disappear around the corner, before the man turned back to Dean, now looking apologetic.

“My apologies, I didn’t realize you were allergic. Had I known, I wouldn’t have encouraged Bee to visit so often.”

“Don’t worry about it man, I just, uh, thought you should know, I guess? But really, ‘s’no big deal. I actually enjoyed the company.”

The guy smiled softly, and hummed. “That’s good then. I’m glad. She enjoyed the company too.”

“I’m Dean, by the way.”

“Castiel.” 

Dean nodded, feeling his cheeks heat the longer they stood there, just staring at one other. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and cursed himself again for his eternal awkwardness. 

“R-right, well…” he trailed off, not wanting to say goodbye just yet.

“Maybe next time you could come over too? If you, um, if you want. Bee knows where it is.”

Castiel beamed, and damn, if that wasn’t easily on Dean’s ever increasing list of favorite things about him.

“I’d like that very much, Dean.”

“Yeah? Awesome.” Dean grinned back, and then even wider when Castiel ducked his head bashfully.

Dean liked him so much already, it was wild. Even more wild that a black cat was beginning to be the luckiest thing that ever happened to him.

“See ya later, Cas?”

“Yes. And I’ll try to whip up something to help those allergies, if you’d like?”

“I have no idea what that means, but sure why not?” He shrugged with an easy smile, and started to back away, his eyes never leaving Cas’.

“Don’t worry, it’s not of import.” Cas dismissed with a wave of his hand. 

“Until we meet again, Dean.”

“Bye Cas.”

They waved their goodbyes, and Dean finally turned around to make his way back, but only after he may—or may not—have stumbled, earning another, rather amused, chuckle from Cas from behind him.

Dean laughed awkwardly, brushing off his totally-not-a-stumble, you know, as a man does, and raised his hand in one more final parting gesture, before hurrying off back home to bake that pie.

#supernatural #destiel #supernatural fic #destiel ficlet #dean winchester #castiel #deancas #sam winchester #ficlet #spn ficlet #alternate universe #spn au #witch castiel #suptober23 #suptober day 7 #black cat #the cat is cas' familiar #meet cute #getting together #first meeting #fluff #dean winchester's cat allergy #my work

[jsprnt]

Healing Hearts PT.2 | Virgil van Dijk

Would a fresh start bring you more than just a new job?

WC: 2.892

Summary: Y/N L/N is a very skilled and praised physiotherapist. A certain event pushing her for a fresh start, as a physiotherapist for Liverpool FC. One question always being in the back of her mind: Will she be able to let go of her past and allow herself to experience new things?

I am awoken by the blaring sound of my alarm. Why do I always have to wake up when my bed gets so comfy? I groan, fighting the urge to snooze my alarm, checking the time while at it. It's six now, two hours to make this face look like it has seen more than four hours of sleep.

I check my messages before washing up. Walking out to the bathroom to put on my outfit. Some 90's style jeans and a body hugging cropped shirt. Nothing too much, I'll have to wear my scrubs anyway. I make my bed and do some breathing exercises to calm my nerves, meeting new people was still a big challenge for me. I finish eating breakfast and turn on the coffee machine for a nice frothy cup of coffee. Admiring the view behind my window as I sip the last bit of my coffee. The city is not entirely up yet, people still enjoying their last minutes of sleep before going to work or school.

Walking back to my room for the best part of my morning, doing my make up! I apply my base carefully. First day means first impressions, I can't go overboard, not yet. I curl my long lashes, coating them with mascara. Lining my lips with brown liner, some lip balm on top for a subtle look. I take out my jewelry box, grabbing my usual gold necklace. It was custom made, adorning my name, a graduation gift from my mom. I look into the mirror, humming a song in satisfaction as I do my hair. I grab my bag, stuffing it with things I might need throughout the day. Finally, putting on my Nike dunks and leaving my house.

I walk downstairs to my car. Thankfully my dad had arranged for it to be imported from Spain a couple weeks ago, when I accepted this job. My dad had a thing for paying for my things, maybe it  was to make up for our strained relationship or something. Either way, I wasn't going to refuse his help, it benefited us both anyways. He'd feel like a present father, and I'd feel like he cared.

I jump into my car, the dashboard lighting up. I run my hands around the steering wheel for some comfort before I hit the road. The leather soft as I trace the Mercedes logo, I loved this baby. My G-class never failed to make me feel like the bad bitch I am. I told you working hard and spending hard had its perks. I turn on the navigation system, hoping it would take me straight to the training grounds without any issues.

I turn on some music, trying to drown out my nerves and thoughts. It was never too early for some Drake. I try to pay special attention to my surroundings, since the more I memorize, the faster I can get used to this route. My navigation system pings as it tells me I've arrived. I scan my surroundings, being greeted by a security post. I drive up to it, turning my music off and rolling my window down.

"Good morning, I'm here for the new physiotherapist job." I flash the security guard a smile, he is an older man, his hair graying slightly. I might as well get friendly since I'll be here almost everyday from today onwards. "Morning to you as well. Could you some show me some sort of identification, please?." I can't help but stare at the man, his scoucer accent making it hard for me to understand right away, I should get used to it quickly. I nod quickly pulling my ID from my wallet. He looks at it, scanning through a list, probably a list of staff? His eyes light up as he, I presume sees my name on the list. "Welcome, Dr. l/n, I'll call up the head coach so he can greet you at the door." He gives me a kind smile, handing me my ID back. "Thank you, I appreciate it." I shove my ID back into my wallet, driving into the training center parking lot as the gates open for me. I park, collecting my bag as I jump out of my car. Though, not before fixing my hair and make up.

I take in my surroundings, so this is what I'll be partially calling home now. I notice some other, what I presume to be staff walk into the training center. I walk in as well, immediately being greeted by the huge Liverpool FC emblem. I hold onto my bag tightly, trying to contain my nerves.

I look to my right, the reception. The woman behind the desk looks up, flashing me a smile as I go up to her, sitting down on the chair in front of her desk.

"Hi, I'm y/n l/n. I'm here for the physiotherapist job." She stares at me for a moment, before typing something on the computer. "Nice to meet you! I'm Clara, welcome to our family. I'll call down our head physio, just a second honey.”

Her response warms my heart as I nod. So far, I think I'll feel quite comfortable here. She picks up the phone, though her expression changes into one of surprise as she looks behind me, over my shoulder. "Oh, he is here already."

My eyes follow hers, being greeted by a man, around his 50's. He walks up to me, extending his hand to me. "Welcome Dr. l/n. I've heard a lot about you, nice to finally see the woman being so highly spoken of by my colleagues." I smile and grab his hand in a firm handshake. "It's an honor to finally meet you, Dr. Woods."

He chuckles, before letting go of my hand. "Let's talk more inside, the boss wants to meet you as well." I turn back towards Clara, mumbling a quick thank you to her, before following Dr. Woods inside the training center. I glance around, it’s is even bigger in real life. I had watched some YouTube video's of the club just to prepare and calm my anxiety, but seeing it in real life was very different. We stop in front of an office, the label reading 'Manager'. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I'd already be meeting THE Klopp. I rub my hands together trying to get rid of that anxious feeling.

Dr. Woods knocks on the door loudly, the door is opened a couple of seconds later, revealing Klopp.

"Hey, I'm here to introduce our new physiotherapist." The doctor informs. Klopp looks at me, giving me one of his famous smiles. "Right of course, come in." He opens the door wider, we both walk in. He ushers us to sit down on his red sofa's. He sticks out his hand, we shake hands as he introduces himself, with that all too well known German accent. "It's always nice to greet new members of our big family. Welcome, I'm Jürgen Klopp." I introduce myself as well, his eyes light up in recognition as I tell him my name. "I've heard very great things about you Dr. l/n. I'm very happy to see you here."

"No it's an honor for me, this club is amazing and I'm happy to contribute to the team." I reply, my worries and nerves had been washed away just like- that. I just know that this was one of the best decisions I've ever made.

We start chatting about how I've adjusted to living here, my education and my experience before they start asking different questions.

"So that means you speak how many languages?"

Dr. Woods asks curiously.

"Well my native tongues would be Dutch since I was born and raised in The Netherlands and Turkish, since I'm half Turkish. I'm also fluent in English as you can hear." We chuckle. "Though I do speak some Spanish and Catalan since I worked at FC Barcelona for two years, as you know."

"Great so you'll have no problem with speaking to the players huh? Especially our very loved Dutch players." We laugh at Klopps comment. I secretly hope that too.

Our conversation comes to an end as Klopp suggests I meet the players. He checks his watch, before looking at me. "Players will come in any moment now. They'll start with warming up." Dr. Woods chimes in. "It will be a recovery day since the team played a match yesterday as you may have followed."

Oh yeah I did. I watched it just so I could take notes on the players, the draw at the end was kind of disappointing. Though, it was better than losing.

"Right, I did watch it. Just to study a little before I do see the team play in real life."

"You're impressive Doctor, doing homework before even starting to work." Klopp says. "Oh it's nothing really, just prepares me for what I might encounter as I start working here." I dismiss.

We stand up after a short while, Dr. Woods taking me to put on my scrubs. I mentally pray they have pink ones, both of my former clubs did have them. He walks up to a machine, telling me exactly how the scrub dispenser worked. I nod, pressing some buttons before choosing my size. The scrubs are a- dark red? Well, at least they are part of the club colors. Dr. Woods leads me to the woman's staff changing room. I walk and change quickly putting my hair up in a claw clip.

I walk out of the room after putting my stuff in my locker, and installing a code on it. "I'm ready."

I tell him, he looks at my scrubs for a second. "Red looks great on you Dr. l/n, part of the family already." We chuckle before he leads me to the gym.

A sudden wave of nervousness hits me. I had known that the players were very friendly, still I couldn't help but feel like an unsure inexperienced intern again. We walk into the gym, it's big with plenty of space for calisthenic training like, push-ups and burpees. I look around seeing some the worlds best star players. I've worked some of the best football players like Lewandowski and Frenkie de Jong, but this still felt super insane.

I notice Klopp walking in as he calls for the players to gather around to introduce me. I glance around, they all give me a kind smile as Klopp tells them I'll be their new physiotherapist starting this new season, and of course he couldn't help but mention I'm Dutch. "Nice to meet everyone, I look forward to working with you all." I give them a smile, my dimples on full display. Suddenly, one of the players walks up to me, I immediately recognize him, who wouldn't? It's the caption of the team, well of his national team too. Virgil towers over me, sticking out his hand, his tall frame couldn't be compared to what you see on TV or the pitch. "Welcome to our team y/n, or should I call you doctor." He flashes me a beautiful smile, making me shake his hand and smile in respons. "Hi, y/n is fine, it's good to be here." Other players come to greet me as well, not to forget Robertson, who has to crack a joke about another Dutch person joining the club. "You'd think it was planned huh." We laugh and chat for a bit before Klopp redirects the attention back to him.

"Alright everyone, it's recovery day so take it easy and tell our doctors if something's up as they assist you."

Dr. Woods turns to me, telling me to follow his lead as I slowly start getting the gist of how everything works here. I nod at him, watching as he talks to the players about any soreness they're experiencing.

The day progress quickly as lunch time hits, we walk into the canteen. Seems like players and staff eat at the same time just like in Barcelona.

I walk through the the buffet as I'm greeted by Gakpo.

"Dus je bent echt Nederlands?" (So you're actually Dutch?) he asks in Dutch, full of curiosity. "Natuurlijk, geboren en getogen. Net als jij." (Of course born and raised. Just like you.)

He gives me a cute smile before we continue speaking in Dutch as we fill up our plates with healthy and delicious food.

He invites me to sit with the team. I glance at him wondering if it is a good idea. Well I did sit with the players at Barca too. "Are you sure?" I ask. "Yeah, look around players sit with staff at every table." I take a glance around, he was right staff and players were sitting together at every table. Chatting and laughing together. "Okay then, I'll sit with you guys."

He leads me to a table, already occupied by Trent, Virgil, Joel, Andrew and new star transfer Dominik Szoboszlai. "Doctor, very nice of you to sit with us." Virgil chimes in. "Well I couldn't refuse when Cody offered, we're practically already family based on the fact that we're Dutch hm." The table erupts in laughter, as we glance at Cody. "Of course the Dutch lad steals the doctor before we get to know her." Trent teases, his Scouse accent thick. "Where did you work before joining us?" Robbo asks, shoving a spoonful food into his mouth. Everyone at the table turns to me for my answer.

I clear my throat before answering. "I first interned at Ajax, I got a three year contact there after graduating. Then I got offered a position at Barcelona, worked there for two years." They nod in acknowledgement. Before Cody mentions something. "Oh you're the famous pretty doctor?!" I stare at him confused. "What do you mean?" "Well the national team players used to always talk about a pretty doctor working at Ajax." I raise a brow at his words, glancing at Virgil to confirm, since he also is apart of the national team. "Can't lie Doctor, they did talk about a pretty Doctor." I give them an impressed look. "I guess that would be me?" I chuckle.

We chat some more as everyone chimes in, though some of their faces turning confused. "Wait how old are you then?" One of them asks. "Oh I'm twenty-five." I reply. "Wow, you're pretty impressive for someone so young." Joel says. I thank him as we all continue eating and chatting in between bites.

Recovery training had gone by fast. I had gotten much more familiar with team and how they operate. Klopp dismisses everyone, as we all walk back into our designated changing rooms. Though, I'm quickly stopped by Dr. Woods. He tells me he'll make sure someone adds me to the staff group chat, as well as the group chat the entire club is in. We then bid each other goodbye as I enter the female staff changing room. I take a minute to sit down and to take it all in, that really just happend huh.

I change quickly putting my outfit back on and discarding my scrubs into the laundry basket. I do a quick make up refresh and hair fix before I grab my bag and take out my car keys. I walk through the hallways slowly, looking around for things I might have not seen yet. I’m totally in my own world before I hear my name being called. I turn around, I'm greeted by both Trent and Dominik, seems like they had been getting along nicely since Dominik had transferred here.

"Are you going out?" The new star asks. "Yeah, you guys aren't?" I lift a brow at them. I can see small smirks on their faces, they look like schoolboys hiding something. "Oh yes, we're leaving just now." We chat a little before we walk outside, saying goodbye to Clara at the reception. I notice other cars had parked right next to mine. "Bye doctor, we'll see ya tomorrow, right?" The Scoucer says. I nod "See you guys!" They wave before they both get into their respective cars.

I unlock my car, climbing in before closing the door. I place my bag onto the passengers seat, leaning back for a second. First day: survived.

Sadly, my peace is interrupted by a loud car horn. I raise my head and lower my window, it's the car next to me? I squint, it's an English car so I can see who it is from my seat. The person lowers down his windows as well. It's Virgil?

"What's wrong?" I half shout, so he can hear me through the loud engine of his car. "Nothing just wanted your attention." I chuckle, man these football players never got tired of teasing people. I roll my eyes playfully, before starting my car. I wave at him, before driving my car out of the parking slot.

I get home rather quickly, my speakers playing my favorite songs loudly. I enter my house, feeling fulfilled. I throw myself on my couch after washing up. I reflect on the day, the players and staff were amazingly kind. Though, that small interaction with Trent and Dominik was weird, why were they so smirky?

#virgil van dijk fanfiction #Virgil van Dijk #Virgilvandijk #Liverpoolfc #Van dijk #Virgilvandijkimagines #Football #Football fanfic #Football imagines #Liverpool fanfic #Liverpoolimagines #Virgil x reader #Virgil van dijk x reader

[zanazirafanfic]

25DCC Chapter 13 "Getting Anxious for Christmas" (Preview)

Hello, all! I promise this fic isn't abandoned, and I am *finally* getting somewhere with this chapter after almost an entire month of the worst writer's block I've had in years! Work has been crazy the last few nights, so I didn't have as much time to finish up as I'd hoped, but I'm planning to have it up tomorrow, 3/19, at the latest!

In the meantime, as an apology, here's a little preview. Enjoy!

*~RDR~*

Lone Wolf Stead, Great Plains, WE - December 13, 1910

"And this man's name was what?" 

"Cú Chulainn of Muirthemne. He was an Irish warrior," Jack answered. He was only half paying attention to the conversation, thoroughly engrossed in his book while he lay stretched out on his stomach in the back of the wagon. "In this chapter he's defending the kingdom of Ulster from Queen Medb of Connacht's army. She's trying to invade and steal King Conchobar mac Nessa's prized bull, Donn Cúailnge, after she put all his other soldiers under a curse so they can't fight."

John blinked, just taking all of that in for a moment. "You... How did you even get all those names outta your mouth in one go?"

Jack shrugged, turning to the next page with a tiny grin. "I dunno. Just... comes easy to me, I guess."

The elder Marston blew out a slow breath and shook his head. "Well you're a helluva lot smarter than me, that's for sure. Maybe you oughta drive the wagon while I read that book of yours for a while - I clearly need to 'broaden my horizons' some more."

"He's smarter than both of us," Abigail said proudly, turning around to look at him.

Jack hunched deeper into his book, his face flushing pink in embarrassment. "That's... I'm not..." He never knew quite how to respond when his parents said things like that, and it usually just got him flustered instead. He suspected that was half of why they did it, actually.

John and Abigail exchanged a fond smile with one another, and John huffed a quiet laugh as he snapped the reins to urge the wagon horses into a faster trot.

The three of them were on their way over to Lone Wolf Stead, planning to pay an impromptu visit to the Morgan-Smiths. John had been out to Blackwater that morning, leaving in the wagon before sunrise with their surplus milk, eggs, and wool loaded in the back to sell. When he arrived back home a couple of hours later, it was with a grin on his face and a pale cream-colored envelope clutched in his hands. There was no return address except to the post office in Annesburg, but the name "Tacitus Kilgore" was written in the upper-left corner in a messy, looping scrawl.

There was only one person - or, rather, one couple - who would still be writing letters to John under that alias after all these years, and as soon as he'd seen his father pull up to the front porch and noticed the name on the letter, Jack was scrambling into the back of the wagon, all but dragging his mother along behind him.

Aforementioned letter now was tucked securely between the back pages of his book, still unopened for the time being (no matter how tempted he was to take a quick peek). Pa and Uncle Arthur had promised each other weeks ago that whoever received word from Dutch and Hosea first would be sure to notify the other immediately, and John said he didn't feel right opening it before his brother got a chance to see it too. Jack didn't mind, though, since it gave them an excuse to visit his uncles again...

@photo1030

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead fanfiction #prompt fic #zanazirawrites #christmas fic #jack marston #john marston #abigail roberts marston #arthur morgan #charles smith #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #john x abigail #johnigail #arthur x charles #charthur #dutch x hosea #vandermatthews #fic preview

[veersnz]

Hey everyone, This is a little random but something has been bothering me a little bit eversince the whole drama with Aller-geez started. I wouldn't have talked about it on my blog if I didn't have a personal reason to but since it turns out I do, I feel like I need to talk about it.

Now I'll preface this by urging you guys not to send any hate towards her, this post is just to kinda vent on my own experience and maybe as a warning for other people but I, in no way, intend for this to be a hate message or a clue for people to go on a witch hunt against her. I wholeheartedly believe in taking accountability and responsibility for your own actions, but attacking people doesn't lead anywhere.

So about two weeks ago, Aller-geez and I agreed on an art trade together, where I would draw one of her characters and she would draw one of mine (I did not post anything about it mainly because those characters of mine are strictly confined to another platform for now and I don't wish for any fetish art to be done with them as of today). Everything went well and the next day she sent me her finished share of the trade (which is insanely fast I thought) and I was so happy and grateful with the result. Some days later I sent her my share (which took more time since I work traditionally and suffer from some personal issues on the side that make drawing tricky sometimes) and that was it. But with the recent events unfolding, I'm now left with so many doubts. Between the insane speed at which she drew or the few inconsistencies I noticed, the prospect of having received art that was stolen and traced is disheartening. Even more since I really worked hard on my own drawing, spending days on it. I want to believe her words when she says it was a one time occurence but I recognized other artworks of hers that were traced. This is making it even harder for me to believe and rest easy. It's hard for me to trust people sometimes and this is definitely not helping. I'll end this by saying that even though Aller-geez and Leopard are defending themselves by saying that this didn't affect or hurt anyone, in the end it isn't completely true.

#not snz #again please don't send any hate her way #this is just to vent #cause yes I'm a little upset #cause I'll probably never know what the truth is

[petboymart]

BOYFRIEND EVENT

boyfriend!akaashi + puppy!bokuto

where you and your boyfriend adopt a bubbly puppy from the shelter, and he jumps into your bed at the worst time

tw/cw: gender neutral reader (i’m almost 100% positive but there may be a slip up), pet names, praise, unprotected sex, threesome, hybrid

a/n: this is the first post of the boyfriend event! i hope you enjoy! -eden<3

“pretty,” akaashi called softly, “could you please pass me the spatula?”

“of course love,” you reply.

upon receiving the spatula akaashi flips the pancakes sizzling on the pan onto their uncooked side.

“can you put chocolate chips in mine?” bokutos voice calls from his seat at the table.

you smile softly at the giddy puppy before replying, “i’m sorry honey, but puppies can’t have chocolate. if will make you very sick.”

bokutos tail stops wagging, and he drops in his seat, “oh”

ever the quick one, akashi’s quickly says, “but you can have some blueberries in them. would that be okay instead?”

at the promise of his favorite fruit in his pancakes, bokuto immediately perks up, “mmhm! that’s okay!”

you and your boyfriend akaashi felt as though your home was a little too quiet, so just under three weeks ago you adopted the sweetest dog from the shelter.

bokuto was an like a glowing ray of sunshine, he never failed to lift your mood, and you’re sure akaashi felt the same way.

“breakfast for dinner was a wonderful idea love,” you speak to akaashi as you set the table while he finishes the food.

“well it has been a long week, and i know you two have quite the craving for breakfast foods.” akaashi responds as he sets down the plates of food.

“thank you love!” bokuto yips. he was to busy digging into his food to notice the dusting of pink on akaashis cheeks. bokuto had picked up the pet names that you and akaashi called each other, and neither of you felt the need to tell him not to. that didn’t mean that hearing them didn’t have an affect on you though.

the three of you had a pleasant meal together, talking about your week and asking questions about each other’s. after you finished akaashi did the dishes while you helped bokuto get ready for bed. once akaashi was done in the kitchen he joined you in bokutos room to give him a kiss goodnight and wish him sweet dreams before you shut the door and headed to your own room to turn in for the night. once you had washed up and slid into bed akaashi wrapped his arm around your waist and began to place soft kisses and small bites along your neck and shoulders, all while his other hand began to slide down into the space between your legs.

<3

“kei-ji!” you whined as your boyfriend damn near knocked the air out of you with his perfectly positioned thrusts. “ah-ah! keiji keiji keiji!”

“does it feel good pretty? tell me how good it feels my love.” akaashi pants from above you, infatuated from the sight of you with your legs pressed to your chest.

“so good keiji, so good! ’m so close, so cl-ose!” a particularly hard thrust broke up your word. you mewled while arching your back from the pleasure.

maybe if you were in a clearer state of mind, you would have heard the creak of bokutos bedroom door. maybe you would have heard his footsteps down the hall and the jingle of his collar. maybe you would have heard the sound of your own bedroom door being opened. and maybe you would have noticed bokuto entering the room before he announced his presence by grabbing akaashis hips and pinning him to the bed with a snarl.

“bokuto?! what are you doing?!” you asked with a slight slur in your voice.

“he was hurting you!” he replied.

the man in question was still in a state of shock from his position under the beefy puppy, cock still hard and throbbing. he had the fight the urge to grind his hips into the man pinning him down to relieve some of the friction, though he couldn’t stop the slight rocking his hips did on their own.

“oh honey he wasn’t hurting me, he was making me feel good.” you said

bokuto gave you a look of confusion, but upon seeing the sincerity on your face, his eyes widened and he quickly moved off of akaashi. “ i-um i’m sorry! i thought he was…”

“it’s okay kotaro, i’m grateful that you would come and protect me if i needed it,” you gave him a kiss on the forehead before moving to check on akaashi, who was thankfully fine.

“i’m sorry keiji.” bokuto said, still deflated.

“it’s okay kotaro. i know you had good intentions.” keiji spoke once he gathered his bearings, then gave bokuto a forehead kiss of his own.

bokuto fidgets in his place kneeling on the bed. his ears were pinned to his head and his tail was tucked between his thighs. just as you were about to ask if he was alright, bokuto spoke up, “can i uh.. is it okay if i.. help?”

“help with what honey?” keiji asked, moving to stroke bokutos ears.

his reply came just above a whisper “help make them feel good…”

you and akaashi shared a look of exitement, but also worry. you didn’t want bokuto to feel coerced into this, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourselves. “of course you can honey,” you began, “but are you sure you really want to? you don’t have it if you’re not 100% sure ko.”

his eyes immediately shot up to you, his ears perked once again, and his tail began to wag the fastest you’ve ever seen, “i’m sure i’m sure!”

you smiled at his enthusiasm until you were gently pushed back into a laying position by akaashi, who also gently guided bokuto to sit between between your legs.

“i’m gonna have you do what i was doing to pretty earlier okay ko?” akaashi spoke from his spot behind bokuto as he places his hands on his hips and rested his chin on his shoulder.

“mmhm!” bokuto replied with an enthusiastic nod.

you were the next to speak, “if you want to stop say red okay baby?”

“okay!”

“what are you supposed to say if you want to stop?” you asked to check

“red!”

“such a good boy kotaro” akaashi cooed, “isn’t he such a good boy pretty?”

you grinned at the blush on bokutos face, “yes his is darling, he’s a very good boy”

bokutos tail was moving as fast as it could for being pressed between himself and akaashi, who groaned every time it brushed against his still hard, and very sensitive cock. he nudged bokuto as close to you as he could while still leaving enough room to line his cock up with your entrance. from that position, akaashi pressed bokutos hips, and by extension his cock, deeper into you until his hips were flush with yours.

“that’s a good boy koutaro, very good boy,” akaashi cooed in his ear. the praise made bokutos hips jump and cock throb, hitting that one spot inside of you and forcing an unholy but extremely erotic sound from your throat.

bokutos eyes were rolled back into his head, tongue lolled out, and his drool was dripping down his own neck because his head had rolled onto akaashis shoulder. the later man was stroking your thigh with one hand while he was dragging his nails down bokutos abs with the other.

“such a good boy,” akaashi placed a soft kiss on his adam’s apple, “now once she adjusts to your size you can start moving your hips alright baby?”

“uh-uhhuh” bokuto tried to reply though the twitch of his hips and quick rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was eager to get going.

akaashi turned his attention to you, the hand that was on your thigh moving to rub your sensitive areas as he spoke to you, “are you ready darling? can our puppy move now?”

you nodded your head and whined, “please”

bokuto immediately started moving his hips without instruction from akaashi, “aren’t you a fast learner. i’ll let it slide this time but,” akaashi gently but bokutos earlobe, “if you do something like this again without asking me first or waiting for my orders, i’ll make you sit and watch me make pretty feel good, then send you off to bed without any relief. do you understand?”

“mmhm! yes keiji, ‘m sorry!” bokuto whined out.

“i know baby,” akaashis eyes moved over to your body, biting his lip and groaning at how you bounced from the force of bokutos thrusts. akaashi remived his hand from your core to stroke his own cock then spoke to you, “touch yourself for me darling”

“yes keiji,” you replied, moving your hand down to your crotch.

your high was quickly approaching since you were already so worked up from your previous escapade with akaashi, and akaashi could tell that bokuto was close too. matching the pace of bokutos thrusts with his own hand, akaashi watched as bokuto hunched over your body and began leaving wet, drool filled licks all over your chest accompanied by a small bite here and there.

“are you close baby? huh? you gonna fill our pretty baby up ko?” akaashi spoke.

“uhhuh uhhuh, gonna fill up our baby gonna fill gonna fill-“ bokutos thrusts picked up their pace as he reached his end, your own orgasm coming shortly after, and akaashi painting his release on bokutos back.

akaashi placed soft kisses on the back of bokutos neck, then a few on your face. “you did very good ko, you made our pretty baby feel so good.” he turned his attention to you, “and you did incredible as well my love, i’m very proud of you.” then placed a kiss on your forehead. he left the bed and returned with a washcloth to clean up, which he began after coaxing bokuto to pull out of you.

it took bokuto a few minutes to gather his bearings, but once he did he shot into a sitting position facing you and akaashi his fluffy tail already back to wagging, “can i help next time too?”

“of course you can,” you spoke while shooting him and akaashi a smile.

#eden !! #boyfriend event !! #puppyboy bokuto !! #boyfriend akaashi !! #petboy mart !! #haikyuu petboys #haikyuu petboys !! #puppyboy aisle !!

[broodybuck]

The Magic Touch | Series Part 3

Series Summary: The soldier is finally free but he has one big problem, he can't finish. Until he meets a man called Steve who apparently has the magic touch.

Series Tags: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes | Rated E | Tags: 18+ explicit smut, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Post-Hydra, Bucky Barnes Recovering, no refractory period

[Masterpost]

[PART 1] [PART 2]

It was obvious he was going to call Steve again.

What wasn't obvious was how good the soldier could feel lying on his stomach with Steve's cock slipping in and out of him for hours. This must be their fifth round by now.

It's unreal. Actually, it's unfair how long he's had to endure every other side effect of the serum forced into his body except this one. This is the only good thing about the serum. How many times he can come and how immediately he can be ready to go again.

This time, Steve's enjoying himself too. He's come as many times as the soldier has. And this round, he has both hands pressed into his shoulder blades.

The soldier is secretly happy to get a break from Steve's constant eye contact. To just bury his face in the pillow and let the pleasure sear through him. He lets himself moan a little now. Since the pillow muffles some of the sound, it feels safer.

He's pretty sure Steve can still hear him because the man leans down and kisses the soldier's temple every time he makes a noise. It's like he's proud of him.

It's disorienting for the soldier, to be praised for the expression of his pleasure. To be given any pleasure at all is baffling but this much, he keeps wondering if he's hallucinating. But every time another orgasm hits it's too real to be fake. It rockets through him, down to every bone, until he's too tired to move.

Steve does all the moving for him. The soldier doesn't mind that. He's decided that when the hands are nice, he's okay with being moved, flipped, and pressed into the mattress by them. He's okay with being carried, undressed, and washed. Steve's hands are gentle when he wants and devious when he needs them to be.

The soldier has decided he likes Steve's hands the best. Maybe because they can get an orgasm out of him with merely a couple of fingers or maybe because they keep him grounded, they help him.

It's all very new and if the soldier wasn't so high on his fifth orgasm pouring out of him, he might have taken the time to think about this more.

He wakes up in Steve's arms. He's not sure how much later it is but he can tell Steve has cleaned him. He's happy not to have dried come on the inside or outside of him. He looks up at the blond man and for the first time in forever, he has the urge to smile. He doesn't though — that was never received well in the past. Never, never smile.

Steve smiles though, he does that a lot. He must not have many fears. He's a very lucky man, the soldier thinks.

"You hungry?" Steve asks.

The soldier hears his stomach growl the second after the question is asked. He nods. Steve carefully slips out from under him and moves to the kitchen leaving the soldier on the mattress to lie and do nothing. Steve doesn't mind doing many things for him, he realizes... why?

The soldier gets up, slipping on clothes before he stands behind Steve who is taking eggs out of the fridge. The soldier had bought those weeks ago and threw them up instantly when he first tried to eat them. He hasn't tried since.

"I can't eat that."

Steve pauses and looks back at him.

"Okay, how about crackers and an apple with your shake."

The soldier shrugs, he can try. Crackers have been sitting okay if he doesn't eat too many, he hasn't tried fruit in a while.

Steve runs the apple under some water and then tosses it to the soldier. He takes a bite. Steve watches him chew.

"You stare a lot," the soldier says before his next bite.

"So do you."

The soldier turns away, he's still not very keen on the abundance of direct eye contact Steve seems to love so much.

He hears Steve shuffling with more things from the fridge. Steve makes himself eggs and eats the crackers with Bucky. They both drink a protein shake.

"I should get going," Steve says when they're done.

The soldier almost wants to frown but he pushes the impulse away. It's funny how in the past, his favorite thing would be the people around him leaving. The feeling of wanting someone to stay is very strange.

He doesn't argue, he's not about to look any more weak than he already does every time Steve fucks all the sense out of him.

Steve stands from the table, bringing his plate to the sink to quickly wash. He picks up a garbage bag full of empty shake bottles that the soldier hasn't bothered to throw away. He once again wonders why Steve would do that for him. It doesn't make much sense but he still doesn't argue.

Steve carries the bag in one hand and stops briefly to plant a kiss on the soldier's lips. Then he smiles and walks out the door.

~~~

Steve comes over every day now. Sometimes, he doesn't even wait for the soldier to call, just shows up. That makes something funny swirl in the soldier's belly like maybe excitement or something.

He ignores it mostly and strips out of his clothes the second Steve walks through the door.

Today, he wants to ride the blond man. He knows it's what his body is itching for but he hesitates during their first two rounds of sex. He's not used to taking charge, dominance has very much been beaten out of him. But the thought of sitting on Steve's cock and taking what he wants is too tempting.

After his second orgasm, Steve's moving him, pulling his thighs up to hug his waist. The soldier's still on his back, letting himself be rearranged, when he attempts to say something.

"Wait... can I..." the soldier gets out. Steve waits for him to finish his question but the words feel like sandpaper on his tongue. He can't say it.

The soldier sits up and tries to maneuver them, flipping them around while getting on Steve's lap and pushing him down. Steve gets the message and flops onto his back with a wide grin.

"Yeah, yeah, honey. You can."

The pet names never fail to throw the soldier off. He's had mixed experiences with them. More often than not, they were used as mockery, never meant genuinely. He knows Steve means them... at least he thinks he does, but he still can't shake the discomfort from it.

He straddles Steve and that dare of excitement seeps back into his veins. He grabs the base of Steve's cock and then sits down to the root. He lets out a sigh of relief. He wanted this so much and it feels oddly rewarding to simply get something he wanted so easily.

He begins to rock his hips. Steve's hands lightly grip his waist, not directing his movement just going along for the ride. The soldier feels the pleasure already building.

"Yeah. Use me, baby. Use me however you want," Steve tells him.

That makes something singe inside the soldier. He rides Steve faster, harder, until the vision of the blond man starts to blur. He bounces up and down on Steve's cock, letting the full length plunge into him with every slam of his hips. Fuck, it's perfect, more perfect than he imagined.

Steve grabs the soldier's cock, pumping him in his fist until he comes all over Steve's chest. The soldier falls forward, panting heavily over Steve's throat.

He's smiling, he realizes belated. He hasn't smiled in what feels like a century but can't help it. He feels too good not to smile and Steve can't see it so he lets it live on his face a while longer.

Then they hear a phone ring. It must be Steve's. The blond man moves the soldier carefully, pulling out of him and placing him onto the mattress so he can get up. The soldier immediately neutralizes his expression as he watches Steve hurry over to the cell phone and answer it.

"Yes, hey... no I'm... when? What's the damage... I'll be right there."

He hangs up and looks at the soldier with a frown. He walks back over and kneels on the edge of the mattress. He runs a hand through the soldier's hair. The soldier likes how that feels, he leans into it.

"Sorry Buck, I have to go. You think you can get cleaned up without me today?"

The soldier doesn't answer which seems to worry Steve, his expression pinches.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, okay? Just run yourself a shower and make sure to eat. Two shakes if you need. Try to eat more crackers and fruit too."

He leans down to kiss the soldier's forehead then he stands to grab his clothes. He gets dressed, grabs his coat, and runs out the door.

~~~

Steve doesn't return for three days.

Three long days where the soldier tries all he can to come by himself but he still can't. By the end of the third day, the soldier considers accepting defeat and going back to the clubs where men will fuck him, no questions asked.

But that's never worked in the past. It only worked with Steve. And lately, he misses the way Steve does it. Misses the way Steve holds him after, washes him after, makes sure he eats after.

Chugging protein shakes, alone and horny, doesn't feel the same anymore. For the first time since he can remember, he feels... lonely.

Why does Steve do those things for him, the soldier questions again. Why does he talk to him like he cares so much? It's unsettling.

The soldier goes for a long walk and on his way, he finds a museum. He goes inside to get his mind off Steve.

It's an unfortunate surprise when he finds Steve's face on an illuminated display inside. The museum is calling him Captain America. He's wearing stars and stripes on a tight uniform the soldier has never seen him wear before.

Then there's an old picture of him with another young man. The soldier's breath goes shallow as he reads the name. Bucky Barnes.

Buck, that's the name Steve keeps calling him. That can't mean... how is that possible... that's him?

#stucky #stucky fic #stucky series #series part 3 #stucky smut

[titan-fodder]

Hey, y’all. Just have a blog announcement.

I’ll start it off by saying I’m not leaving tumblr or this blog. That’s the bottom line, no room for confusion. I wanted to get that out of the way.

And, now I’ll elaborate.

I’m feeling a little burnt out. I’ve been trying and failing to write pieces for months while helping manage a big collab, and I’m just kinda tired. Stuff that used to be fun to write isn’t very enjoyable anymore (I guess that’s what happens when you write explicit smut for two years). I’ve always been of the mind that if you try to force something, it’s not gonna be great quality, and I only wanna put out good quality content.

But, there’s also more.

I’ve been back in therapy for various reasons and recently started seeing a psychiatrist. First visit I was put on Prozac which is cool. I mentioned some other stuff and he made it clear that he also wanted to look into ADHD management—something that flew under the radar and remained undiagnosed for pretty much my entire life.

A couple weeks ago I started on Ritalin, and like… I can’t even explain how much easier life has gotten in such a short amount of time. I don’t live off of energy drinks, I stay focused, I’ve stopped biting my nails (which I’ve done forever), my inner monologue is coherent for the first time ever. It’s incredible. Like, I didn’t even realize how much difficulty I was truly having until I saw what it’s like to have a functioning fucking brain. I’ve had problems with anxiety and depression for most of my life, but already, I feel so much lighter.

Anyway, all of that’s to say that I’m just… in love with the outside world right now. I’m talking with old friends, I am obsessed with my wonderful husband. And, I’m enjoying it. I don’t have the urge to write when everything else is so good.

I still have projects I’d like to keep working on. My Big Bang fic, A Force of Nature, will still be posted mid to late August, but it’s incomplete so far. I adore it, so I have high hopes that I’ll finish it. I still have plans for Find a Way even if it has been sitting in my drafts for months. I want to keep writing them. I just don’t know when the inspiration could strike.

And who knows? I could post this and then come back with a “just kidding lol” in, like, two days. But, I think this mood is here to stay for a while, and I’m okay with it.

I’ll probably post some blurbs here and there, maybe fluffy one shots. Really whatever tickles my fancy. But the updates will be slower than ever before (and that’s really saying something considering how unreliable I already am).

I’m still gonna be around to read and reblog and talk with everyone. This app is almost constantly open on my phone, so this is the same blog it’s always been minus regular-ish content.

Anyway, love y’all! Don’t be afraid to reach out to chat via asks or DMs ‘cause I’d love it 💕

#just a lil psa #wil speaking

[illneverrecover]

It’s ‘Static Voice’ fan anon again! What I’d maybe like to see:

Taehyung growing his wings back??

Official moving in moment - someone actually asking “will you/can I move in?”

More overly affectionate cosy Tae

Some doofus wanting reader’s healing powers for something stupid like a hangover and our angel & demon duo kicking him out?

(Because I’ve reread it several times I’ve spent some time daydreaming about this story 😅) sending love! ❤️

So, maybe this ask sparked several ideas, which somehow became an outline, which from there became a series. And perhaps I just finished writing and editing the second installment of that series today, with the goal of posting it tomorrow.

If that were the case, would you be interested in a snippet?

“Does this need a hanger, or am I supposed to fold this?” 

Taehyung holds the garment pinched between his fingers, eyes peering up to meet yours. It’s a black silky dress, mostly held together with string and a prayer, and you know for a fact it was something you hadn’t worn recently - let alone put in the wash. 

Heat creeps up your neck, and you fight the embarrassing urge to rip the fabric out of his hands and throw it out the window. The demon blinks at you with wide blue eyes, and you wonder not for the first time if he’s fucking with you. 

The other thing about Taehyung is that he’s impossible to read. His ability to go from the aloof affectionate demon who cuddles with your cat to the flirty winky man who drops innuendos in your kitchen leaves your head spinning. Worst of all - at least, to you - is that nothing has happened since that night at your place four weeks ago. Other than a few lingering glances that leave you questioning, Taehyung has made no more comments about his desires, which you try not to think about. Even if it’s driving you crazy. 

“That needs a hanger - though I have no idea how that ended up with the laundry, I haven’t worn it in ages.”

It was something you had purchased on a spontaneous whim, back when you had first become Fallen. It had made you feel sexy, powerful; and you had nowhere to wear it, so it had lived its life mostly stuffed in the back of your closet. 

“Oh, I put it there,” Taehyung says, nonchalantly, as if he’s discussing the weather. “I was going through your closet to see if there were some things you could donate to that shifter that you healed two nights ago and found it crumpled on the floor. It was too beautiful to leave in that condition.”

Fighting the urge to sigh, you instead fix him with a glare. 

“Oh? So you were aware it needed a hanger,” you grumble, though there’s no heat in your tone. “And what am I supposed to do with it now? It’s not very practical to wear for healing,” scoffing, you nod towards the dress. 

“I disagree,” Taehyung sniffs, placing the garment on the hanger before laying it down on the bed delicately, smoothing it over with a palm. “I think the sight of you in that dress could be healing in more ways than you could imagine.” 

Suddenly, the air in the room was stifling and you forget how words work, instead just blankly staring at the demon on your bed. He looks up at you, the slightest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips, and before you can formulate a response, a loud sound interrupts from the other room. 

The full thing will be posted sometime this weekend when I have more brain cells, most likely tomorrow. Shout out again to Static Voice Anon - I can't wait for you to read the whole thing and to see what you think! 😘

#static voice anon #demon taehyung #overly affectionate demon #static voice part two #asks #my writing #jackie.txt #kim taehyung

[devotedbear]

i have the urge to write a story so take this bitches

(Based off The post I did with Rockwell's Somebody's Watching Me) (I have no knowledge of how therapy works, so please correct any of my mistakes in this post, please!! )

----------

He walks into the office, per usual. Nobody's there, which strikes him as odd. Usually, 'Grandma' is in the kitchen, but today she's not. He assumes that she's taken a sick day or something. He gets to work, cleaning up all the trash and random splatters on the chairs and walls. It takes him a few hours, he lost track a while ago. He doesn't remember much these days, but he knows this is his job, so he does it. He grabs a bottle of water on his way out of work, and takes a drink, walking to his car.

-----

He arrives at his therapist's office, and takes a seat, drawing on his hand. He doesn't know why he does it, but he still does it anyways, it feels familiar. He eventually walks into the room, and takes a seat. Before the therapist can start to speak, he blurts out; " I'm just an average man, with an average life, right? "

The therapist is confused. She knows he has some issues, but she eggs him on, motioning with her hand as she writes some stuff down. He then continues.

" I work from",He pauses for a second, recalling how long he worked that day. "9-5, and I pay the price. All I want is to be left alone, in my average home. But why do I always feel, like I'm in the twilight zone?"

He takes a breath, and looks around, then speaks softly, " I always feel like someone is watching me. I don't think I have privacy."

The session ends a few hours later, the therapist finishing up some questions here and there. He gets up and leaves, and heads out of the building, straight to his car.

-------

He walks inside his house, and he hears his T.V on. He could've sworn he turned it off last night. He shrugs it off, and takes off his jacket and shoes, locking the door behind him twice.

-----

The phone rings an hour later. He walks over to it, and has this feeling of he shouldn't answer it. He doesn't. He walks away from the phone, heading into his bathroom.

He takes a shower, and refuses to wash his hair. He's running low on shampoo and conditioner, is what he tells himself. Not that he has a feeling of dread.

----

He wakes up the next morning, two hours of sleep did nothing to help him. Maybe he shouldn't of made that recipe for dinner. It took to long. He gets dressed, and heads to work, repeating the same cycle he did the day before.

-----

'Grandma' is in the kitchen today, along with everyone else. He works on the weekends, and gets payed on Mondays. Nobody minds the arrangement. They all seem glad to have him around. He walks twords one of the guys behind the counter, and they hand him his payment. He walks out, and heads to his car.

----

A few hours go by, and he's done all of his chores for the week. He's bought groceries, cleaned his house, did the laundry, and cleaned his bedroom. He has money left over this week, so he decides to go out for a bit. He calls some of his friends, inviting them to come over and hang out with him. None of them pick up the phone. On the last call, he forgets to hang up, and he walks away from the phone, leaving the friends phone to pick up everything when they call him back.

He says he feels someone's watching him, and he thinks there's a camera in his house somewhere. He eventually notices the phone, and hangs up.

-----

He wanders around his house, looking everywhere. He fails to notice a few strategically placed cameras, hidden in plain sight.

The cameras are placed in his house when he's away at work. They don't want him snitching about the business to anyone.

They realize they have nothing to worry about, because he never talks about his job, that they know of. They think he is a private person. Which is good. They can use him until he becomes too paranoid. That water they're giving him won't last longer, is what 'Grandma' claimed on Sunday.

--------

He starts taking walks around his neighborhood. He convinces himself it's because he wants the exercise, but he truly knows it's because of whats been happening in his home. The cabinets open on their own when he's out, he comes home to the T.V on, he's even seen his phone off the wall, dangling from the cord.

He knows it's someone or something, but he rationalizes with himself that he does those things.

People in his neighborhood stop to chat with him every few days. Occasionally they get told the story of how he thinks someones watching him. They laugh it off, but all of them are equally disturbed. They've witnessed this transformation in this man, from a outgoing, happy man, to this paranoid, timid, man. They think, No, they know somethings up. They've never heard of the place he works.

-----

It's been a week since anyone's last seen him. They all knock on his door, and wait for him to answer. He never does. His friends try to call him, but he never answers.

-----

It's been a month since anyone's seen him last. They're starting to get worried. There's a horrid stench when you approach his house, like rotting food. They still try to contact him, yet he never answers.

----

It's been two months, and they've now contacted the police. They came back outside looking disgusted, one of them even threw up. They block off his house, and make the unfortunate announcement that he's dead.

----

Someone in the paper wrote him an obituary. It's the least they could do. They all loved the guy, it was a shock he had died- who would do that to him? They wanted to know.

-------

The police get a letter someday, four weeks after they've discovered his body.

The letter says something about his final moments, and one sentence sticks out to them the moment the read it.

" It's calm, like an old friend. It's warm and sweet, like cookies your Grandma baked. That's how death feels, friends. It's like a nice breeze on a sunny day. Friendly."

----

Nobody knows why the last work sticks out to them. Nor do they know why Grandma has ' ' around it. It's faded, you can barely see it around the word.

----

One of his neighbors remember. He told them the name of the place he worked.

It was named Friendly.

The police knew what had to be done.

---------

That's all for now, folks!!

( @someone-you-do-not-know , I think I'll do that story!)

#Bear writes #writeblr #writers on tumblr

[beej-juicy]

Tumblr is eating my tags so I figured I'd post on ao3

Beetlejuice x you

Snippet:

“If you aren’t topless in thirty seconds, I’m breaking shit.”

The Deetz family asked you to housesit for them. Adam and Barbara would be there to reign in Beetlejuice, but Charles knew he liked you best.

Of course, they hadn’t figured out why yet.

It had nothing to do with the fact that two weeks ago you rode his cock for the first time.

Nope, nothing to do with that.

Last time he’d made demands, you weren’t tipping the pizza delivery guy fast enough so he broke one of Delia’s favorite wine glasses and then fucked you on the kitchen counter.

Considering this, you were frantic to follow orders now. Trying to glue that thin glass back together had not been easy. Thankfully, Beetlejuice offered to use his powers to fix it…for a price. Your knees were bruised from how long he kept you on them.

Slipping the shirt off, Beetlejuice watches with a hungry expression. His jaw tightens when he notices you’re not wearing a bra. Calmly leaning against the dining room wall, he licks his lower lip, pretends he isn’t gawking.

“The pants. Unbutton them.” At his words, you gape at him. “Now would be ideal, toots.”

You’d worn a red lace thong…maybe in hopes he’d see it…but now your nerves got the better of you and you hope he just gets distracted and rips the clothes off instead of making you a spectacle.

No such luck.

He hums, two steps forward, inspecting. Index finger hooking under the elastic band on your right hip.

“Now, what’ve we got here?” A hand grips your hip, yanking the jeans down slightly to reveal the bright red fabric. “Well fuck me…you came prepared. Oooh, look at you.” The glee on his face is gone moments later. “Strip.”

You want to protest, but you’re kind of turned on by the proximity. His gaze is alluring.

“Slow down,” he urges when you grab at the jeans and start removing them. “Let me take you in.”

As you undress, he walks around you like a predator. There’s a low rumble in this throat and you swear he’s growling.

Naked except the thong, you peer over your shoulder to see him ogling at your ass.

Two swift movements and he’s got you bent at the hips, pinned against the dining room table where Delia hosts all her dinner parties. You feel filthy. You love it.

Beetlejuice is hard and he makes sure to let you know by grinding himself against your ass.

Seconds feel like minutes from the time he unzips to when you feel him rubbing the head of his cock against your cunt.

“God, please…” you huff out.

“No Gods here, darlin’.” His gruff voice is against your ear as he shifts the thong to the side, shoves himself inside with no prep.

The stretch is painful yet glorious, the way he says your name burned into your memory. You can feel his facial hair against your back as he lolls his head forward, grumbling about how wet you are, how he’s not going to last, how you should’ve never agreed to this weeks ago.

“You better get off before I fill you up, princess. Else you’re not cumming all night.”

It’s a threat you know he’ll follow through with. He has before.

A race to the finish always gives you a bit of a jolt. Being caught does also, but not by the Maitlands.

The slam above startles you, but Beetlejuice grips your neck, forces you back against him, groans when his hand cups your ass cheek.

“Those deadbeats are doing another aerobics thing or some shit. I dunno,” he mutters against your neck. “Hey! Don’t. Stop.”

“You know this position isn’t my favorite,” you dare to groan out.

“Well you better figure it out quick, sweetness, because my balls are tightening and I’m not holding back.”

You practically weep.

He snakes his hand around you, offers a harsh finger against your clit. His rubbing is sporadic and slightly distracting.

Slapping his hand away is probably not the best idea but you’re acting on impulse, eager to cum with him stretching you so good.

He bites you - hard - draws blood. As you’re about to yelp out, his hand covers your mouth, breaths coming out as gasps around his fingers.

“I’m not fibbing, honey,” the growl is ever present in his voice. “You don’t cum - now - you’re not all night.”

He knows - he knows - the urgency always gets you. His thrusts sloppy now, hand still over your mouth, you buck back against him to catapult yourself over that proverbial ledge.

“Oooooh, fuck, babe. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck.” His thrusts are smooth now, hand pulling away from your mouth so he can grip both of your hips and slow his pace.

Your slick sounds are loud with every movement but the pace feels good, him hitting you deep and slow.

Clawing at the table runner, your breaths come out as gasps, quiet screams, praising him as your orgasm peaks.

Recovering and overstimulated, you’re shocked Beetlejuice hasn’t cum yet and with every thrust, he grips you tighter.

“Hey. Hey, no, toots. Stay there - just like that,” you hear him through the ringing in your ears.

Throwing yourself back against him again, you almost feel the edge of the last orgasm prickling still and when he pulls out to just tease his tip, you’re manic for a moment; enthralled by the sensation.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck, slam back on me, babes. Slam back on me!” He cries, forcing you backwards.

The pace he’s thrusting into you has you breathless again and in mere seconds you feel him filling you up.

The sensation is overwhelming. Another orgasm rips through you. He holds you upright so you don’t careen over the table, his strong hands another sensation on your sensitive flesh.

Breathless, you glance back at him.

“Not a fan of this position, huh.” He chuckles, choking you momentarily before lazily pulling out of you.

“Guess I’ve just never been fucked proper in certain positions.” It’s a total bait.

A wide grin, “we can fix that.”

As you’re dressing, you notice the vase centerpiece is tipped over, a chunk missing from the lip.

Mouth agape, you realize you must’ve knocked it down.

“Get on your knees for me. I’ll make it worth your time.”

The devilish smirk on his face is hard to say no to.

#beetlejuice fic #beetlejuice x you #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice reader insert #beetlejuice

[lightning-writes]

good heart (faulty machine of a man) - 10/30

fic summary: bucky meets someone at therapy

chapter summary: rue is the topic of conversation

word count: 1279

tags: post endgame, pre tfatws, hurt/comfort, slow burn, canon divergent, canon compliant, au

warnings: none

a/n: rue is back and... a little clueless, a little cute too. I'm sure bucky will find it in his heart to forgive her lol

AO3 MASTERLIST X

November 4

“Hey!”

Rue’s face brightens when Bucky walks into the therapy suite. Instead of startling, he stops and watches her. She’s in the middle of the waiting room, adjusting chairs in neat rows. 

“Miss me?” she teases.

“I heard you were out of town,” he evades. “Have a good trip?”

(He knows his questions are coming out stilted and cold. He wants to change that, but there’s something like resentment settled in him.)

“Yeah, actually my brother surprised me by buying me a ticket to visit.” She sidles next to him, pulling up pictures on her phone. “It was my nephew’s birthday, and then I stayed for Halloween. This is them.”

She shows him a couple and a toddler, dressed as zombies. Even with the face paint, Bucky can see the resemblance between Rue and her brother. The toddler looks more like his mother, both pale and red-haired.

“That’s cute.”

She doesn’t notice his flat tone - or maybe, she doesn’t acknowledge it. She continues, swiping through a few pictures of her nephew, and the last picture is of her, dressed like a butterfly with rainbow wings.

“The last time my brother was a zombie, he was five and I was eight, so I wore the same costume to recreate the moment.” She produces another picture of their younger selves, Rue wearing too much blue eyeshadow and blue wings and her brother looking pretty much the same as his costume now.

(He nods, his hands still in his pockets. He feels like this is a breach of privacy or professionalism or something. On one hand, he can admit he likes that her defenses are more lax around him now, but on the other hand, her conserved attitude would have been convenient right now. He feels himself closing off to her, and he tries not to ask himself why.)

“James.”

Bucky and Rue turn to Dr. Raynor. Rue quickly returns to tidying the waiting room, adjusting chairs and re-stacking magazines. Raynor eyes the two interestedly.

“Good luck,” Rue stage whispers as Bucky walks away.

////

In the therapy room, once they’ve settled in their seats, Raynor studies Bucky for a moment before asking what he knows she’s already going to ask.

“Are you and Ruby…?” He waits to see if she’ll finish that sentence. She switches directions. “You two seem… close.”

“We’re not.”

Raynor gives him a suspicious look. His face remains neutral despite the urge to frown.

“I hear you guys talking in the waiting room often.”

He didn’t know she could hear them, but her office is the closest to the waiting room. “Yeah, we talk sometimes. People talk.”

Her eyebrows raise.

“People do talk,” she jots something down, and Bucky wants to break her pen, “and she’s not the worst person to talk to.”

(He wants to lash out, say something inflammatory or defensive, but he knows Raynor wants to study his reaction - so he gives her none.)

“You know, when Greta mentioned a lot of people were disturbed to see her instead of Ruby, I didn’t think–”

“I wasn’t disturbed,” he defends immediately. She waits and watches. He purses his lips. “I just… didn’t expect her not to be here.”

“Right, right.” Raynor makes more notes. The sound of bending metal gives Bucky away as his fists tighten. Her eyes lift to his hands briefly before finishing her thought and putting her pen down. “A few weeks ago, we talked about trust.”

“Two weeks ago.”

“Yes, thank you.” She has a habit of long pauses. “And I believe I said something like trusting others can help you trust yourself.” She watches him for a reaction she’s not going to get. “For example, when you trust someone not to abandon you, you’re putting a little faith in them, but you’re also putting a little faith in yourself to get through the uncomfortable feelings of their absence because you have faith they’ll return.”

“Okay?” He knows he’s being difficult in a way he hasn’t presented to her before. Hostile. She, however, seems to thrive in this situation.

“So, maybe we can continue that exercise by putting ourselves out there.” She holds her hands up to Bucky’s protest. “I don’t mean something monumental like dating or joining a spin class or whatever. I mean, maybe, making conversations with a service worker or someone on the train…” She hits him with a cryptic look. “I mean, you’re already doing that with the receptionist.”

(He wants to tell her that he’s not just ‘making conversation with her’, that it feels like forming a friendship of sorts, but that would contradict everything else he’d said about Rue.)

He defends himself again, “Sam recommended this boxing gym, so I joined it.”

“Really?” Interest lights her face and her voice. Her pen flies across the page. “And how’s that going for you? How are you getting along with the other members?”

“Well, I have to go after hours, because of this,” he lifts his prosthetic. She starts to write again, so he rushes, “but I talk to George.”

She doesn’t even ask who George is. “That’s great, James - this is a really positive development.” She sounds like a grade school teacher commending a kid for not eating the glue. “Did you reach out to Sam to thank him or are you still ignoring his texts?”

Low blow. Bucky remains silent, fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket.

“You know what - baby steps. I think you’re doing an excellent job so far. I want us to build on this, at your own pace, tying ‘trust’ and ‘putting yourself out there’ - and I’m going to nudge you to meet more people, do more things. Make connections.”

(He can’t help what his face does, splitting into a sly grin.)

“Okay, explain that,” she waves a hand to indicate his face. When he schools his features, she says, “Okay, so either your fist connected with another person, or your Johnson did, so let’s get into it.”

////

Before he leaves the building, Rue catches up with him with the noisy clomping of her shoes.

“Hey, Bucky, wait up!”

(He doesn’t want to stop. Despite Raynor’s validation and reassurances, confessing to his sexual endeavors from the other night felt daming. She tells him it’s a good thing for him to answer his body’s messages, but because he hadn’t told her about the nightmares, she doesn’t know he’s not using sex to answer messages, he’s using it to ignore them.)

He slows and catches Rue by the shoulder before she can barrel into him. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes wide and searching.

“Are we… good?”

(Whatever negative feelings he had been holding toward her dissolve at the way her voice becomes fragile.)

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Her smile is less tense. “Let me give you my number.”

(He knows her implications - so you don’t have to worry about me - so he doesn’t ask why. He also would not mind adding her to the other four people on his contacts list.)

After she recites her number, and he types it in, she says, “Text me, so I know it’s you.”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“What do I say?”

“I know you’re old, but people usually start a conversation with ‘hi’.” Her eyes twinkle at his flattened look.

Bucky: Hi

Her phone chimes, and she smiles.

Rue: Who is this?

She looks at Bucky expectantly and laughs at his confusion.

Rue: Jk, this is Rue

“What does that mean?”

“We have a lot of texting etiquette to cover if you don’t know what ‘jk’ means,” she laughs. “I’ll text you your first lesson when I get home.”

Bucky nods and sends her a text.

Bucky: I’m looking forward to it.

#bucky barnes #the winter soldier #female reader #female oc #bucky x oc #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x woc!reader #bucky barnes x woc!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky angst #bucky fic #bucky barnes au #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #marvel #mcu #hurt/comfort #whump #slow burn #friends to lovers #good heart (faulty machine of a man) #fmoam new chapter post

[niobe-loreley]

Heaven Is In A Shortcake {v}

sorry for the long wait, enjoy the appetizer!

(see author's notes far below)

disclaimer: The Gray Man and the characters are NOT MINE, even the reader. I only own the plot and the reader's character lol. pictures are NOT MINE, only the edited version of it for the fic (msg me if you're the owner), credits to the rightful owners and to weheartit + canva. additionally, i am not a subic/zambales native so my apologies for any wrong, locations, or languages.

Six x F!Reader / Courtland Gentry x Fem!Reader

warnings: moderate swear words. slow burn. fluff. comedy (maybe). trust issues. culture shock. check word count.

CHAPTER SELECTION is in the ✨Masterlist✨

Chapter 4 - previous chapter, check masterlist link

Chapter 5 - this is it

[next chapter link will be posted below for suspense & convenience hehe]

words: 2.9k to 3.2k (maybe)

(N/N) = nickname

*Kiara = Claire

*Kurt = Court

*cover names | reader doesn't know (except you do know #wreckthe4thwall

⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜

You look up and catch sunbeams glinting off buildings. They’re blinding, but only for a moment. For some reason, that’s how two months feel like— a moment. A very exhilarating and periodically relaxing moment. It’s as though when you stop your gait, turn your gaze down, and blink away the lingering sunlight— it’s already the next day.

You hate the irony of how time ticks faster whenever you're having fun. Quite unfair. Time should be pausing, or at least slowing down, and letting you enjoy those genuine, serotonin-inducing moments without consequences. The urge to curse profoundly at time quivers in your tongue, but you'd rather not anger it and shorten your time in this world.

Before the fear dissipates your anger, you remind yourself why you're so angry at time.

Drum roll—

Because this has been one of the most interesting summers of your life, and it's coming to an end.

Badum-tss!

You won't say it aloud, but you mentally answer Muro when he asks: why do you keep glaring at the clock?— Because it's going too fast, I don't want summer to end.

One reason is because of the incoming rainy season. Businesses slow down sometimes, but at least the cafe's hot drinks and soups are the top products. Though, people of this country still drink hot coffee on a sweltering (normal) day. And you'd be lying if you say you're not one of them.

Other reasons— yes, plural —are the father-daughter duo, who are (probably Americans) Friday night regulars at the cafe. You haven't inquired about their ethnicity, but you haven't heard any accent from them. Moving on from that, this father-daughter duo has made your summer vastly enjoyable. And if you're being more honest, they're the main reason why this summer is in your Top 5 Best Summers list.

You've only been meeting them once a week, sometimes twice or thrice when you run into them at the malls, even so, every encounter with them is delightful. Even though Court is as guarded as ever. But over the past eight weeks, he's slowly been building a window for you to occasionally look through his reinforced concrete walls. The window is heavily curtained all the time, yet you'll find a gap.

Six weeks ago, as you’re serving them their meals, Claire fixes up the board games she brought and returns them to the shelf. Court is disposing of the gum from his mouth to its wrapper.

“You can put that on the tray. I can slip it in the trash,” you quickly say when he attempts to pocket the tissue in his jacket.

“Oh.. uh,” he pauses, looking from his hand to you as you outstretch the tray to him. “It’s fine.”

“Please, sir, it’s my pleasure— wait, no. That doesn’t sound right.”

Court snorts before he can stop himself. Your genuine grimace is somewhat fascinating, probably because it instantly burns his assumptions to the ground. Isn’t it normal to think that someone wants to check on your DNA by acquiring the gum you finished chewing?

However, it appears you’re not one of those people.

“Here,” Court puts the rolled up wrapper on the tray.

“Is it the same flavor?” you ask, “Bubblicious Watermelon gum, right?”

“That’s right,” he nods, astonished at your recollection.

You chuckle. “It’s not that popular here, though I’ve seen it around S&R. I remembered it ‘cuz I like the name— Bubblicious.”

“Would you like some?”

You’re surprised, but Court is shocked. He doesn’t realize what he's asking until he finds himself fishing out the packet of gum and extending it to you. Before he can take it back, you’re already reaching for the gum.

“Thanks.. gum would be perfection.” you wink, slipping out a piece.

“Great— another FRIENDS and bubblegum addict.” Claire groans and furtively smirks at Court.

You laugh. “I didn’t peg him as someone who watched FRIENDS.”

Court opens his mouth, ready to defend himself, but Claire interjects, ready to expose him. “Watched? He’s still watching the series,” she says. “And now, when I started watching FRIENDS, he’s watching it with me.”

"Oh, wow, he is an addict." you remark theatrically.

Court sighs. "Why are you two always ganging up on me?"

"Simple, teasing you is fun." Claire states with a nod.

You pop the gum in your mouth and give a thumbs-up. "I concur."

"That's the last gum I'll ever offer you."

"Sure, sugar daddy. It's not like I can't buy my own."

You sashay away to put the trays in the tray station, next to the refill area, but not after you ram the tray through the mini-swinging door of the trashbin and slide the wrapped up gum in. You remain calm until you siddle through the kitchen doors—

"What the fuck?!" you whisper to yourself, covering your mouth, you abruptly crouch down. "What the fuck did I just call him?— Wait, no. No, no, no, no! Don't remind yourself! Fuck!"

You hop in your squatted form. You wanted to stomp your feet, but you didn't want to make any noise. But you need an outlet, or a neuralizer, so that you can forget what you said. Talk about cringe!

You'd really take a neuralizer right now.

"Ano ginagawa mo d'yan?" Mindy is looking at you like you're an animated garden gnome.

“Binubuksan ko yung lupa para lamunin na ako.” Opening the ground so it could swallow me.

Court still gives you gum in the following weeks. Though, he preferred it if he hands it to you without Claire in earshot, because she would pull teasing faces at both of you.

And as for Claire, she has been exchanging books with you all summer. Or more like, you’ve been reading the same books while she managed to read three. It took her 4 weeks to finish both TFIOS and Paper Towns after you gave them to her. She told you that she had to pause after every chapter to calm her heart down, and this temporary discontinuation typically goes as long as 2-5 hours. 

“Damn, finally!” you exclaim with a laugh, “Now that you’ve finished the books, when are you gonna watch the movies?”

Claire hands you the paper bag holding the books. “I think I need some time off from the heartache,” she sighs, softly patting her chest, where her device-assisted heart is beneath.

“That’s right, you better rest— oh?” you glimpse at something else in the paper bag, “Kiara—”

“I bought a bunch of bookmarks, but I had too much!” Claire hastily cuts you off, laughing, she gives your arm a squeeze.

Your brows leap in astonishment and you glance over to Court, who’s across the booth from her. He's sitting like usual, as though waiting for a meeting: hands clasped on the table, back straight, knees bent 90°, and soles planted firmly. He meets your eyes briefly before staring at the teenager, wondering what she's hiding.

But you decide not to disclose it.

"Well, gosh! I planned to buy bookmarks 'cuz I've been putting almost anything between pages when I don't have a real bookmark," you laugh as you shortly retract the bundle of bookmarks from the bag. You then instinctively pat the teenager's crown, "Thank you, Claire. Even though it's too early for Christmas, I'll consider it as your gift. I shall give you an extravagant one after payday!"

Claire is stunned, not just from your words, but from how you pat her on the head. It's somewhat comforting, just like Court's, except it's much more gentle and natural. She finds it silly how she feels as though the two of you were born to interact in this moment. And if she's being more silly yet honest, you remind her of her mother.

"Or you can give it to me on Christmas. And I can give something back," she blurts out, glancing at Court with glistening eyes. "It's not like we're going anywhere— during Christmas, I mean."

It's discreet, but you heard it— the crack in Claire's voice. You try not to look as though a herd of elephants is stomping around your chest. And when she looks at you wistfully as she says those words, it's harder not to look pained, so instead you think about how she resembles Court. 

"No, we're.. we're here indefinitely… I hope."

You want to ask, very badly, why they have the need to leave. The way they say it makes it seem as though they have no choice. That at one point or another, sooner or later, they're gone. No looking back, no good-byes. And no amount of promises between strangers will make them stay.

You know it. They know it. And it's not hard to understand.

But still, you say— "I'll hold you to it, Kiara."

Claire is astonished, which she immediately relinquishes for merriment. "We have each other's word, then!" she replies, beaming.

Despite the cap obscuring half his face, you spot his frown as Court casts his gaze down. ‘Yeah, I’m disappointed in myself, too.’ you mentally sigh, ‘Making brittle promises to a girl with a feeble heart is a dick move.’

For the rest of their dinner, Court is extremely passive. He only looked at you once as they're leaving. 

That's why when you arrive back at your apartment, you're having second thoughts on whether or not to use the two-way radio. Claire didn't just return your books and gifted you with a bundle of bookmarks, she also gave you a walkie-talkie with a set of instructions.

READ ME

The General Guideline To Our Secret Comms

You glance at the wall clock, it's already 23:12. You don't know why Claire gave you a walkie-talkie, but you're more curious as to why she doesn't want Court to know she gave you one.

Is Court on channel 14? Should you tell him about this? Or will his daughter answer your questions if you figure out how to work this thing?

Five minutes before the designated time, you're already on channel 17 and entered the privacy code. You keep the transceiver on your desk while you crouch behind the other side of your bed. 

Who knows, it might suddenly explode. Better safe than sorry. Yet your subconscious is looking at you as though you've been probed by aliens.

At exactly 23:30, the device gives a crackle. You flinch and duck down, waiting for an explosion.

Fortunately, nothing happens except—

"Part Seven. Leave a fish for the lovely Mr. Worthington." Kiara's voice resounds out of the radio.

By the time she finishes the initial greeting, you're already clambering over the bed. You snatch the transceiver off the desk, pressing the talk button. "I suspect he won't be home yet." you reply and release the button.

"I hope the cops find him barefoot, frenzied, and naked in some roadside ditch a week from now."

"Remind me never to cross Margo Roth Spiegelman."

There's a beat before her voice crackles through with a laugh. "It's good to hear you, (N/N)."

"Well, it has been nearly two hours since we last saw each other. Quite a long time."

"I'm glad you figured how to get it to work. The lines are a bit.. dangerous, no?"

"It's not too out of context if you're a cultured being."

Claire laughs. "True. How about we update the lines every week? And let's take turns in coming up with the codes."

You grin. "Sounds fun! I'll buy some of the books you have, then?"

"And I'll buy yours! But the books should be the same edition."

"Copy that," you pause. "Shouldn't we be saying over or something? Or else we might be overtalking each other?— Over."

She's giggling. "I agree. Over."

"Call me childish, but I feel like a soldier or a spy. Over."

"You do sound like that. Over."

"I'm surprised the static is minimal. Over."

"That means we're less than or nearly a mile apart. Over"

"Oooh!" you exclaim and suddenly pause when curiosity bites your tongue again. You decide to free it. "Say, Kiara.. what's with the secrecy? Over."

No response.

"I'm not guilt-tripping you or anything, but it just feels wrong of me not to tell your Dad about this." you scratch behind your ear, "Don't you have SMS or Viber where we can chat freely?— Over."

"My dad's… He's a bit of a private person. Over."

"If by a bit, you mean excessively, then I agree. Over.

You can hear the smile in her voice.

"I can't help but agree."

You can imagine how the smile slowly dissipates from her lips.

"I hope you believe me when I say I want to tell you, (N/N). Because I do, and I.. I trust you somehow."

You feel a sting in your lungs. "As flattered as I am at your trust, I don't want you to confide in me if you're not ready." you pause to snort, "Or if I'm not trustworthy enough. Over."

"But you are, (N/N)!"

"Girl, you've only known me for a month. And say over when you're done speaking. Over."

"Right, sorry. But a month is a lot of time to get to know a person. Over."

You stay silent, because for the first time in forever, you don't know what to say next. This child is evidently trying to get close to you, or atleast, trying to find another person to trust other than her stoic father. But you're not the right person that she should be looking to. 

All your life, your parents have called you out for "running away from your responsibilities"— to which you reply, "I'm charting my own path for my responsibilities, thank you."

Even now, that's still your hardcore belief. Except it's currently wavering with the disapproving voices of your parents. You're not running away from deeply befriending Claire; Court obviously doesn't want you. They're just your customers/acquaintances, none of you owe each other anything.

So, why the hell do you have this urge to take care of the girl?

"(N/N)? Are you there?— Over."

You sigh. "Kiara.. you shouldn't easily trust anyone just because they're kind."

There's a moment of silence from the other end.

"Pft— sorry, but.. that was unoriginal. And no offense, (N/N), you sound like my dad."

"I'll take great offense in that because I am not as snooty as him!"

For the rest of your limited conversation with Claire, the two of you decided on what book to cipher— all the while throwing several remarks/trash-talking about Court. You could imagine all the mucus he accumulated from sneezing too frequently.

⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜

A/N: how have y'all been? Great! Oh? How about me? Well, my Tumblr's been buggy, I think, cuz I can't seem to comment on any posts. Anyone know what to do? I messaged the Support team already, it's been 15 hours and they haven't replied dklfjsd

✨TAGLIST✨

Portal to Chapter 6 <-click that when it's opens later (maybe)

@kat-thepoet

@queenofhellhasrisen

#the gray man #sierra six #courtland gentry #six #court gentry #reader insert #claire fitzroy #the gray man fanfiction #the gray man x reader #sierra six x reader #court gentry x reader #slow burn #fluff #comedy if you look closely #teenage girl needs a mama figure #the gray man has trust issues #father-figure trying hard #ryan gosling #chris evans #ana de armas #netflix #russo brothers

[tofufactorynightschool]

滔滔不绝; Chatterbox

好久不见！It's been a while; my bad! Things have been so busy here I can barely find the time to finish my homework, text my friends/family/etc back, check emails, and get a good night's rest. Several times, I meant to write an update, but I guess I never found the time til now--over a month! Oops. So here goes!

The update I wanted to write almost a month ago was:

It's been a crazy first week in Taipei! During the first weekend, I (along with five of my other housemates) got locked out by another housemate. (She deadbolted the door by accident.) Call after call did nothing to awaken her, but the program director got us hotel rooms for the night. Then the next day I almost got heat stroke, I was so dehydrated and overheated and sleep-deprived. I met my language partner (the first and so far the only time I've met her, which will hopefully change soon), and we walked around Taida's campus, darting into AC-bubble after AC-bubble. It was graduation season, and we saw swarms of black-cloaked grads with their colorful hoods on campus, drifting between the palm trees and the stone buildings. The heat and the light makes the memory feel hazy, light-dappled.

Then I had my first Chinese classes, which were a huge wake-up call, because I could barely keep up (or more simply/accurately, was not keeping up). I almost changed out of the class after the first test, but I decided to hang in there. We're now about 4 or 5 tests in, still not sure if I made the right decision! We're almost at the 期中考 midterm point (worth 20% of the final grade), so I guess we'll see soon. (Though I'm writing this post instead of studying for the midterm ...) My 老师 is a funny, charming Japanese woman, who seems to be a little harder on us than my housemates' 老师 are on them ... but I guess maybe that's for the best for my learning style.

I've had some embarrassing language learning mishaps: saying 准备奶茶 instead of 珍珠奶茶 in class, accidentally ordering two milk teas, 什么的。。。In my day to day life, I can get by okay; but to be fair, I mostly talk with my housemates, all of whom are either American or speak English very well. (Not sure how much good that's doing for my language learning, but I think it has made it a less lonely experience--not being fluent, you really feel the gap between what you want to, or need to, express and what you are able to express. It is a fundamentally lonely feeling.) But sometimes I think I've been too busy to feel lonely...there's a few things I miss, sure, a few people I miss intensely, but I feel like I am surprised by how little I feel the urge to go home. Rather, I am nervous for the day that time comes.

There's so much to love here. Almost every morning, I bike to class with a YouBike, which is a convenient bike rental system. The campus is gorgeous; it's like a tropical forest is embracing the school. The birds, turtles, butterflies ... The food ... I feel like anything I say might come across as understatement. It's so delicious. It's also very affordable. I've had so many different things here: qingrenguo, danbing, sooo much milk tea, etc. etc. I can count on one hand the number of times I've even glanced at the stove since arriving. Taipei is so exciting and, somehow, peaceful at the same time -- I don't know if that makes sense. People have been so friendly, things are so beautiful, even the metro has all these cute little cartoons (Taiwan is big on cute culture, and I can't lie, I do love it). Convenience is the order of the day: the transit system, the 7/24 (to use the local notation) convenience stores, the air conditioning, etc. I overall feel incredibly safe here, even at night. There's a lot I wish we had in the states like this There's a lot to do, too. (I'm going to write a list of my activities in another post, otherwise it might get too long.)

To be honest, my days are so full I can barely introspect (my most common pastime back home) and I've also hardly thought about research at all; I'm a little nervous. I can hardly believe that we're halfway through...

滔滔不绝 (tāo tāo bù jué) - unceasing torrent, a torrent (of words)

#travel