#i know i sound annoying and woke but this is my blog and i can post whatever i want :3

[collaredkittyboy]

Well it's come up multiple times today so I'll make a post about it.

I think the popularization of the word "twink" has ultimately been really bad for people in general.

I know it's hard to track the positive and negative effects of language but I don't think it's hard to see how creating a word for a group of people wherein the most consistent qualifying trait is "being skinny" is healthy for people's self image. Obviously people have lots of ideas about what it means to be a twink- gay, lacking body hair, feminine, beautiful, young, white- but the most consistent descriptor I've seen is "skinny." Hell, it's even a body type on Grindr; the size below "average."

So it kind of functions as a code word in the gay community: anyone can say that they're only interested in twinks and they don't have to look shallow by saying they only like skinny guys. It's such an accepted attitude that no one really bats an eye when they hear it.

I'm not even going to get into how it's become part of the larger issue of people turning "top" and "bottom" into gender roles 2.0, but that is closely related, because people with any internalized homophobia can look at a skinny, feminine man and turn off their fag alarms by viewing him as a woman or not a "real" man, and it makes twinks more acceptable to society at large.

No, ignoring all of that, one of the biggest issues is that gay men are taught by society that they are only attractive while they are skinny. Just having the label "twink" reminds a boy that people are looking at his body and judging it. There were countless times when I was growing up that people would tell me, "You're such a twink," or argue about whether or not I qualified as a twink because I had body hair. People around you, unpromted, judge your body and give you a label based on it, and that label has a large influence on whether or not you're seen as objectively attractive. I know many other gay people who say they wish they were a twink so they could be more attractive to guys.

So think, you have all these kids growing up being told whether or not they qualify as a twink, and then we have the gay community as a whole where it's completely acceptable to say you're only attracted to twinks. I think its because of all of this pressure to be a twink (in other words, to have a below average weight) that many of the gay people that I interact with struggle with a negative body image or eating disorders.

I mean, people talk about "twink death" like it's an actual event that makes a gay man much less attractive, and no one thinks that, maybe, it's harmful to tell a guy that the very day he stops being young and thin and pretty, he will stop being attractive and celebrated?

I'm not qualified to speak on fatphobia in physical queer spaces because I don't have the ability to frequent them where I live, but I can't imagine that these aren't issues at social gatherings as well. I also can't speak on my own experiences with weight discrimination because so far in my life I have had a naturally thin body, but I have experienced a lot of outside pressure to be thin that have caused me to pick up unhealthy eating habits to reduce my weight in fear that I could become fat later on. Thankfully that is something that I've mostly been able to work past. I'm not an expert, but idk, I just wanted to rant on my silly tumblr blog.

Obviously it's impossible for a word to be inherently bad. I'm not trying to imply that saying "twink" is a magic word with evil powers. Obviously the real issues at play here are fatphobia and harmful beauty standards and body shaming. But in my opinion, the popular use of the word twink has made it much easier and acceptable to express fatphobia, etc, in the gay community by turning "skinny person" into a "type of guy that you should try to be so you can be attractive."

#i know i sound annoying and woke but this is my blog and i can post whatever i want :3 #theres so much more to say but this is long enough as it is #no ones gonna read this anyway #gay #queer issues #fatphobia #cw ed mention

[satoruwiki]

Hey! I really loved your somno piece with Sukuna and story about Gojo’s lactation kink. If you take requests, can you do Sukuna having lactation kink 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 please please please, I’m going feral thinking of this 😩

♡ - ̗̀ LET ME HELP YOU...⇢ ৎ୭

minors, ageless and blank blogs dni.

content: nsfw; smut; porn w/o plot; afab!f!reader; noncurse!sukuna; implied relationship; lactation kink; breeding kink (if you use a magnifying glass); fingering; unprotected sex (on purpose lol);

w.c: 1.2k

n/a: sorry for making you wait for so long, i couldn't think of a good scenario to begin this with and tysm for the support! hope this makes worth the wait :(

"Ah! It hurts…" you hissed as you held your breast, wincing in pain at the fullness of it. You desperately needed to pump the milk out, but your child was asleep, so you had to find another way to empty it.

"What happened?" Sukuna's deep voice echoes behind you; you turn slightly and notice his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

You sigh as you take a small artifact from among the cupboards. "Oh, nothing. I just produced more than what he eats," you mumble, adjusting the breast pump to your chest to relieve the pressure in your milk-filled boob.

Sukuna hums in acknowledgment, understanding the reason for your discomfort now, and wraps his beefy arms around your waist, depositing soft kisses under your jaw. "Next time, let me know when it happens," he said, sounding like an order.

"What for?" you sounded confused. In your mind, there was no reason to do so.

"Just do it," he reiterated.

—

You woke up with a familiar sharp pain in your chest, your t-shirt wet around the nipple area. You cursed under your breath; you had fed your baby not too long ago, and it was likely that he was not hungry now.

"Honey..." you nudged your boyfriend, prodding him to wake up. "... 'kuna, wake up."

You heard a soft -and slightly annoyed- groan from him. "What's wrong?" Sukuna grumbles groggily, with his eyes still shut, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"It happened again; it hurts," you whisper back.

"Okay, lie back in bed," he instructs you, which leaves you dumbfounded. Is he being serious?

"Then why did you tell me to tell you when my breasts were full again? Aren't you going to do something about it?" you hissed; the discomfort in your chest and his somewhat apathetic (or at least that's how you interpreted it) response had your irritation simmering within you.

Sukuna sighs heavily, sitting on the bed and gently pushing you back onto the mattress. "I am," he reaffirmed, hovering above you and lifting your shirt over your bust, small blobs of the white liquid running down your mounds. "You don't have to be angry," he kept his voice passive, but his eyes expressed the opposite, carrying a glint of lust in them. 

"What're you-" A gasp cut short your words as his mouth latched onto your swollen breast to suck on the hardened peak, gulping the fluid oozing out of it.

"Sukuna, wait, no- Ah!" you mumbled, breathy moans spilling out of your parted lips as you ran your fingers through his pink locks of hair, pulling on them at each hard suck of his, earning a low groan from him.

Sukuna's tongue lapped over the pebbled flesh and swirled around your areola, revelling in your honey-sweet taste. His skilled tongue confused you; it drifted your mind into a foggy state and sent a heat pooling in your lower back, making it hard for you to think and know what you truly wanted. 

Your back arched off the bed, and you shuddered at his teeth grazing over your delicate nipple, drawing a loud whimper out of you. "Easy there, I'm oversensitive now," you sputtered, your words coming out as a weak plea.

His eyes rested on your gaze, a sly smirk gracing his lips moist in his saliva. "I'm surprised you haven't stopped me yet," he remarked, "Feelin' good, eh?"

His teasing words went up to your cheeks, flushing them red. You weren’t sure if you wanted to stop him or not; the pain of your swollen tits was alleviated and replaced by the pleasure of his lewd ministrations on you. "Stop looking at me like that," you whined, blushing up to your ears.

"Don't tell me what to do, silly. I'm doing you a favour right here," Sukuna sighed with a chuckle, his lips latching onto the neglected nipple, a soft grunt escaping as he gave your sensitive skin a broad stroke. With a scowl on his face, Sukuna delighted with your breast milk, an elixir to his taste buds and a stimulating to his cock, which throbbed and left a wet patch on his boxers. "You taste so damn sweet. Might be my new favourite drink after your squirt, of course." 

You squirmed underneath him, overwhelmed by his mouth and vulgar words. His hand traced a path from your breast to your centre, snakily slipping under your wet panties. His calloused fingers circled your bud and teased your folds, coating them in your essence. "So fucking soaked f'me, dirty girl," he murmured, bruising the skin of your breast.

His name spilled out of your plump lips as he glided two of his thick fingers into your dripping cunt, pumping and scissoring inside your gummy walls, the knot in your stomach snapping and coming undone on his fingers.

"Already? I haven't put my dick in yet," Sukuna teased you, drawing an embarrassed whine from you.

He pulled his fingers out of you, his tongue lapping and licking them clean of your release as your pussy clenched around nothing, begging to be stuffed with something thicker.

Without being able to wait any longer, Sukuna unfastened the cloth that confined his erect cock, with a thick vein protruding from the side and smaller ones running down its length, his urethra leaking precum gliding down to the base.

He aligned himself with your pussy, teasing you by sliding his gland up and down across your folds and kissing your swollen clit with it. Before he could sink inside your wet walls, you halted him, putting your hand on his abdomen. "'kuna, condom," you reminded him.

He ignored your comment and snorted, leaning down to trail kisses from your jawline to your collarbones. "For what? We already have one," he mused biting at the skin on your throat, "I wouldn't mind giving you another one."

His cock sank down slowly into you, the initial burning stretch of your pussy being worked open pulling lewd noises out of you, your legs encircling his waist til he bottomed out. 

"Holy shit, you feel so fucking amazing," he huffed, his girth moulding your clenching walls to his size as he fucked you, his cockhead kissing your spongy spot at each deep thrust, driving you to ecstasy.

You moaned his name like it was a mantra to you, your nails scratching his back muscles, holding onto him for dear life and feeling your second orgasm closer than ever. Enamoured with your cunt, Sukuna babbled sweet nothings to your ear, telling you how good you took him in and marking you as his property. "I fucking this pretty pussy, sucking me in so greedily. She knows who she belongs to, doesn't she?" He panted, licking off the bead of sweat rolling down your neck covered in his markings.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes," you sobbed out, your brain numb from the heaven-sent pleasure his cock made you feel.

"So pretty, already cock drunk," he hissed, his abs clenching and glistening in sweat, close to his climax.

Your orgasm hit you like a trainwreck and was unexpected. Your legs quivered and went limb, your pussy fluttering around his shaft. Sukuna cursed under his breath, the spasms of your walls making his dick pulse and release his seed inside you, his hips stuttering to a stop as he reached his high.

Sukuna pressed his forehead against yours, careful to not crush you with his weight as he steadied his breath. "What do you say?" he puffed exhaustedly. 

"Thank you," you mewled weakly, still dizzy from your high.

"Good girl."

#KY000 ★ #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #jjk x y/n #jjk sukuna #sukuna x y/n #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna x reader #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jujutsu ryomen #jjk ryomen #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #anime smut #jjk smau #smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #tw smut

[hetalimagines]

General headcanons for Alfred as a boyfriend (SFW)

Here's my first actual post on this blog, hehe... I can't find the ask but someone requested some Alfred headcanons, so here are my rambles about what I think he's like as a boyfriend!

He’s honestly not the most traditionally romantic person. Your relationship is more like friends who make out sometimes. But he does have his own little ways of showing you he loves you!

He’ll put together playlists of songs that remind him of you. They’re mostly loose connections, like maybe a song mentions your eye color, or the lyrics remind him of a date you went on together, or it just sounds romantic and makes him wanna kiss you. He likes to sit with you while you listen (to every single song), and he interrupts the songs a bit to explain why he chose them.

“This one had me thinking what if we were dancing in a ballroom together, and out of nowhere, bam! Zombies bust in. The door crashes to the ground! Our dance turns into one of those cool fighting scenes with the—oh, this part reminded me of the time I woke up early and you were about to fall off the bed. You had a cute bedhead.”

(You have no idea what the lyrics are at this point.)

Dates with him are pretty casual, more like “hanging out” than anything fancy. Maybe you stay at home and watch movies/play games, or you go out for dinner at a local diner, or you go do awful karaoke together, or you go and prank a friend together.

He’s happy as long as he’s with you. Bonus if there’s food and/or drink.

He occasionally takes you out to a more traditional restaurant and dresses for the occasion. They’re usually expensive, too. The food isn’t his preference (too complicated for his palate), but if it makes you happy, he’s all for dealing with it for just one night.

His primary love languages are acts of service and quality time. He’s always doing what he can to help you out (and feel proud of himself in the process). Whether he helps you run errands, runs a bath for you ahead of time, or fluffs your pillow before you get in bed, it’s all because he wants to make your life easier!

He gets a little jealous if you ever spend time with your shared friends without him, or if you spend more time with others than him.

He’s so excited if you take interest in any of his hobbies. Movies? He’ll ask if you want to co-write a script with him. (He’s very relaxed about what exactly ends up in the script.) Archaeology? He has so many random facts to dump on you, and he’ll be super impressed by any knowledge you have on it. Conspiracy theories? Time to watch a bunch of documentaries! He enjoys them despite their flaws, but lets you know exactly when something is false and what actually happened.

He tries to take interest in your hobbies, too, even if he doesn’t understand what you’re talking about. It could be the most boring thing and he’d still listen and ask you questions about it. If it makes you happy, he wants to know all about it.

Pet names from him consist of things like babe, dude (💀), honey, occasionally sweetie, (jokingly… mostly) prince or princess. It’s all over the place. He’ll call you honey and dude back-to-back sometimes.

He loves debating if you’re comfortable with it! But be warned, he gets very heated about certain topics. His sense of justice is important to him. Otherwise, he’s usually not serious about these debates and doesn’t care who wins.

He tries to keep things light and doesn’t usually let people see his more serious side. He’ll open up to you more over time, however. It’s really him letting a wall down and allowing himself to get closer to you.

Every now and then, he has days where he’s a lot quieter and calmer than usual. He just wants to relax, stay on the couch with you and watch movies or simply chat. Maybe a movie chattering in the background as he tells you about his childhood. He doesn’t try so hard to keep up this energetic, heroic persona.

He’s right back to normal the next day like nothing happened.

Likes to annoy you for fun. Not in a mean-spirited way. He just thinks your responses are cute and has poor impulse control. Poking your cheeks or ruffling your hair or playing an obnoxious song loudly on the stereo while he dances. But he’ll back off if you’re genuinely upset with him. He means no harm.

He loves if you’re willing to play along with whatever he gets up to. Maybe he’s decided he’s going to try and vacuum the whole house while doing a handstand on the vacuum. You can hold onto his legs to help him stay balanced.

This man is very impulsive and has a tendency to get himself hurt. Random bruises all over his body or a cut along his forearm. He bounces back easily, and doesn’t want to fuss over it, but he lowkey likes if you baby him about it. He’ll always say how it’s not a big deal and he can take it, but his heart does this little flutter when you show concern, and even more if you force him to take better care of himself.

He burns himself in the kitchen and you force him to run it under cold water. He’s swooning inside.

He likes to gossip about others, especially over breakfast. He can’t help it; he’s just nosy, and he always has an idea of what’s going on and how he can help out. Huge bonus if you gossip with him!

He loves to feed you, but the majority of the food he brings for you is burgers or tubs of ice cream. He likes to experiment with the burgers’ toppings and seasonings, but they’re all burgers nonetheless.

Every now and then, he does plan some big romantic endeavor. It’s like a surprise. You never know when it’s coming… You wake up one morning and find out he’s booked a week long cruise, your bedroom is filled with balloons, and there’s enough breakfast food on the table to feed an army.

He does this thing sometimes (often) where he swoops in and has to save you. A puddle on the ground? No need to fear! He picks you up and swiftly carries you over it. The safest place for you is in his arms. He’ll even lay down and let you use him as a bridge if you want.

A suspicious penny on the sidewalk? LOOK OUT, IT MIGHT BE A BOMB! Let HIM step on it before you get blown up!

He steps on it. Nothing happens. Better safe than sorry!

If you’re the more independent type, that won’t stop him from trying. He just wants to keep you safe and have you appreciate his efforts. Being disinterested or resistant will just make him try harder.

Says cheesy stuff like “happy wife, happy life” unironically. He’s also the type to use terrible pickup lines to flirt with you. Totally unaware of how bad they are until you start laughing.

He also doesn’t care that they’re bad. He’s just having fun.

Loves to give you his clothes to wear. Seriously. You want one of his hoodies? Try six of them.

You complain when one stops smelling like him so he puts it on, works out, then gives it back to you like :D! Fixed the problem!

He takes so many pictures of you guys. Videos, too. His phone storage is eaten up by it. His favorite thing is to take selfies together. Usually with some silly filter. Or an even sillier caption.

“me and the babe out shopping” and it’s a picture of you, holding a piece of fruit with the dog ears filter

He’s not the most physically affectionate, but he always gives you morning kisses and especially kisses before leaving the house. He also loves carrying you around (mostly bridal style) in his arms for no reason other than he can. A hand on your back, another on your thighs, your head pressed against his chest. He loves it.

He loves knowing you find him physically attractive! He worries sometimes about being too overweight, so any reassurance that you like his body helps. If you think he’s hot, and you’re hot yourself, that must mean he definitely is.

Has a tendency to call you hot, but he’ll call you other things if it makes you uncomfortable.

Occasionally brags about you and how lucky he is. Not as often as you might think. Though he gets oddly competitive if anyone acts like their partner is better than you and starts spouting whatever he can so everyone knows you’re the absolute best. No competition.

#alfred isn't one of my fave characters so i hope i did him justice ♡ #hetalia #hetaila headcanons #hetalia imagines #hetalia x reader #aph america #hws america #aph america x reader #hws america x reader #america x reader #reader insert #sugar

[gorejo]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒

≡ miya osamu x f!reader

↳ Taunting him every night in his dreams since the day he's first met you — idly coming into his shop ten minutes before closing every day for the past couple of weeks. Where nothing seems to be the solution of curing his blatant lust as his body simply craves for you — hoping and dreaming of something more from someone not much more than a stranger. So he does what's best in attempt to lessen his sexual desires, only to find out his temporary get away would snowball into something greater.

tw/cw: smut. masturbation. morning wood. explicit language.

✉ : hello!! i hope you enjoy! this was inspired by a shit post that I made on my old blog about osamu that I turned into something longer (( : it was actually my first time that I felt a bit hot while writing this, so... i hope yall can feel the heat with me ! again, it's not edited so i hope you can read through the mistakes. maybe one day i'll get around to editing them... but for now, nahhhhh

Another day, another morning waking up to the sound of his wretched morning alarm, the one that Atsumu got him for a house warming gift years ago, groaning as he pushed his face into his pillow, grumbling as his morning hair sprayed out of his head, “fuck, ‘m so tired.”

Osamu mentally notes to punch Atsumu the next time he sees him for gifting him such an obnoxious clock, mumbling half asleep as he tried to recall what day it actually was, "is it day 19," groaning as he pulled his sweats down a bit, "no... it's gotta be longer than that, fucking shit."

Grunting as he pulled himself off his bed, stretching his sore body as he walked out of his room, scratching his lower stomach, toned with a layer of fat that accessorized his naked torso, as his feet trudged against the wooden floor.

Osamu always had a warm body. Since he was young, he and his brother would always sleep completely bare in the summer, but during the winter, he opted to at least don on a pair of gray sweats that loosely sat on his hips with boxers underneath but no top. 

Mindlessly touching his mildly flexed abdomen, brushing against his finely lined happy trail that traveled down to the dent on his pelvis down to his groin, Osamu felt suffocated. 

So by instinct, and without any thought, his mind still full of sleep, he shimmied his sweats down to create more room for his lower limbs to breathe. 

But to no avail, he still felt suffocated.

And making his way to his bathroom, eyes blurry and hair a frazzled mess, still touching his stomach as he looked at himself in the mirror, his reflection seemed to mock his apparent form.

“Shit,” Osamu groaned upon realization.

There standing in its glory was his morning wood — unsurprising he thought.

For any person with a male anatomy, it wouldn’t be deemed as surprising or even abnormal for their penis to be erect in the morning. It’s natural, a way of life, some would say. 

But for Osamu, it was a little different. 

Osamu usually never woke up annoyed. He would spend his mornings with a quick workout, wash up, gulp down a protein shake before heading out to his shop. And rarely would he wake up with blood gushed in his penis, even if he did, it normally went away after a cold shower without having to act on it.

Mornings were easy.

Mornings were easy up until a couple weeks prior.

"Fuck," cocking his head to one side, hissing in frustration, "it's been twenty one days."

twenty one days of waking up to an erection.

twenty one days of torture.

It wasn’t the erection that was the problem. Hell, if he woke up with morning wood every single day, he wouldn’t mind. He’ll simply shake it off knowing it was simply a spinal reflex that cycles during a person’s REM sleep, causing blood to pool in their penis — normal, that’s fucking normal.

But this, this wasn't.

It was the fact that he knows the exact reason as to why he woke up with a hardened cock, obnoxiously growing bigger within seconds as he slowly palmed himself over his thick sweats, his frustrated breaths hitching as he furrowed his brows,

“Fuckk…” he pushed against his bulge, “‘s not enough.”

And turning the shower head as he stripped himself from his clothes, his sweats pooling at his ankles, Osamu looked at his reflection once more as his thick hands stroked his cock, the head of his penis already pebbled with a glint of precum as he played with his puffy slit with his callously padded finger, stimulating himself of pleasure yet enticed with shame as he watched himself masturbate.

His breaths become hefty as his chests heaved for air in the smoke filled room. The fog slowly covered the mirror in front of him as the water behind him blared hot. And making a tight circle with his fingers, mimicking a certain ring of muscle that he deliciously dreamt about last night… and every fucking night since he’s met you, Osamu fisted himself imagining what it would be like to fuck you, to have you in his arms, to touch you, to kiss you, to have one chance of entering inside and feel your goddamn perfect walls squishing his cock.

Osamu's mind wonders — no, he lets his mind wander for more.

Was he a fucking pervert, to be masturbating to a total stranger?Well, not a complete stranger… more of a loyal customer? He thought. 

At least he knew your name.

“Fuck… YN…” Osamu longingly moaned out, as his canines lightly bit his lips, tasting a hue of his blood on his tongue.

Would you feel the same like how it was in his dreams? Soft, malleable, plushy.

How warm would you be when he’s tucked inside? Would he be able to mesh in perfectly, fit into every crevice of your insides just like how he dreamt of?

Would your cunt be wet the moment he kissed you? Folds dripping of arousal as he licked your clit and played with your tits — god, those tits looked so fucking good. 

Would you still call out his name, moaning, crying out ‘Samu! More more more!’ What would you look like when he first enters? will your toes curl and breaths hitch? would you whisper into his ear as he rutted inside, filling you till the depth, asking for more... telling him he's all you've ever wanted?

Would you cling onto him as much as he clings onto the mere thought of you?

And soon the mirror completely perspired with droplets of water, unable to see his reflection in the mirror, Osamu stepped into the shower.

With one arm placed on the wall as the hot water harshly fell onto his head, the droplets of water fastidiously coating his already heated body, yet his right hand never left his cock. 

Quickly grabbing a bar of soap, coating his hand with the faux lubricant to immediately stroke his cock. Every damned morning since you started to come over to his shop at exactly ten minutes before closing, having him wait all fucking day till he got to see a glimpse of your pretty face, knowing smile, and contagious laughs for ten fucking minutes.

Gritting in between his haggard breaths, Osamu bitterly lets out, "can you stay a little more?" his nostrils blaring as he tried to catch his breath, "a-at least I wouldn't feel so shitty if you gave me more time."

It wasn’t like he was a pubescent boy raging of hormones, nor did he have the right to be putting you in such an objectified position — fuck, he didn’t even know you like that. He’s probably just a restaurant owner that you happened to frequent because you "craved his handmade onigiri's" jokingly laughing as you watched him make your food, "and to see his handsome face.”

Something you probably just said to be nice.

But this… this was just wrong, yet every morning he’s woken up bricked up and horny — twenty one days to be exact since you've been lurking in his wild dreams.

Maybe it was time to see his urologist, or maybe he should see a psychiatrist, but for now… all that ranged through his head as he stroked his cock through his fists were your soft giggles and knowing looks you gave as you waited for you orders, listening to him briefly talk about his day when you invitingly asked him, “Miya-san, how was your day today?”

It was odd, but with you, it felt oddly right. Being able to talk for those ten minutes about anything — freely and willingly, albeit with the threatening feeling of his heart about to burst out of his chest, and his inability to look you in the eyes when he would package your order. But aside from that, he was drawn to you with each passing day — his heart could feel it, and surely his dick could too.

Carding his hand through his wet locks, exposing his forehead and furrowed brows as he slightly opened his mouth to a slight ‘O.’ Osamu chased after his high, using every fiber of his being and mind to recall his dream. A dream of you sucking on his cock, with a trickle of drool stemming from the corner of your lips. A dream where you fondled his balls, and licked up his length. A dream where you took him all, gagging as your soft tongue padded his length whenever he pushed deeper down your throat. And he’ll do you the favor back, as he splits open your thighs, running the tip of his cock against your wet puffy folds, the warmth of your insides making him fall completely blank as he pushed himself inside of you.

A dream where he would rightfully make love with you. A universe where he could freely call you his — have all of you as he called you “mine.”

And everytime the dream would tragically end, just when he was about to cum, just when he was about to lead you to your climax and his thereafter, were the sounds of his annoying alarm, blaring obnoxiously loud, waking him up exactly when you would moan out and whisper his name, “Miya-san, i lov—” 

“Say it, dammit,” he growled through clenched teeth, furiously stroking his cock, causing the tip of his head to sting from the friction, “fucking say it, YN.”

The knot in his stomach was tightening, building up in tension as the fire in his body felt as if entire flames were being thrown over him, the electricity drilling through his veins as he longed to hear your name being called in his dreams.

Pressing through, as he felt his climax shortly coming, thrusting his hips into his tight fist as he watched the tip of fiery head bulge out of his clenched hand, imagining just how far he could hit the deepest part of your caverns, and just how warm and plush it would feel tightly wrapping around his length. 

Imagining your tits — god, your fucking tits bouncing with every thrust he made. 

Imagining your ass ripple whenever he would pistol his cock inside you, his balls clashing into the base of your wet pussy, where the slapping of wet skin fueled his drive.

Imagining the sting on his back when your nails would claw down his spine, gripping onto his clenched ass as he drilled himself inches inside of you.

Hallucinating your moans, hearing you call out his name through it all as his fingers gripped against your skin, pushing his heavy body down to be even closer to you, stripping the oxygen in your lungs . To witness you unravel, become entirely undone within his control, to lather under his reign as he watched your submiss into your high.

He wishes he could witness it all, even if it was a silly dream, he so longed to feel you on his finger tips, to graze his lips against the canvas of your body, to hold you close to feel the warmth of your skin...

To lay naked and tired, limbs entangled under the wet sheets, hearing each other's rapid heartbeats just for a little moment, just before he’ll clean you off and set up the new sheets he’s prepared. 

To crawl into bed, and wake up with you in his arms.

To cook you a proper dinner, maybe fuck you on his kitchen counter as you wore his apron. Maybe even cook you something for late night snack for all the energy he expended out of you.

To dare think of a life of domesticity with an almost stranger — a stranger that haunted his dreams, making him feel entirely insane.

"YN..." he draws out, "m-more give me more!"

And it sets him off the edge, where the pile of his stored erection would shoot out of his swollen slit, his cock pulsing in his hand as he thrusted forward, his precious white seeds — viscous and strong — shooting to cover his shower walls only to be cleansed thereafter — but his sins weren't. Heavily groaning as he harshly inhaled his breaths, chest heaving with stomach flexed with the smaller splurts of his cum coating his hands.

“Fuck… finally,” he let out, washing his slimy hands with the running hot water, “I should really get myself checked out,” Osamu murmured before quickly getting ready for the day. 

….

5:52 pm, the time read. Usually you would trickle in a little earlier, apologizing numerous times that you couldn’t get work off earlier, and he would always respond, “that’s fine, I’m glad you made it over safely.”

Maybe today you didn’t want your usual cravings.

Maybe you already got dinner.

Maybe something happened while you were on your way over? Should he go out and check? No… that’ll be crossing the line. 

Or maybe, you somehow found out about —

Jingle.

With the sound of the bells, the beats of his heart immediately started to thump louder than before, ears perking up as Osamu immediately looked to the door. 

“Ah! I’m sorry I’m late, Miya-San…” huffing your breaths, looking as if you ran over.

‘Cute’ Osamu thought.

“There was a bit of traffic on the way, so I was a little late… sorry if I kept you waiting,” you muttered out, while taking off your coat to expose your sculpted breasts underneath your blouse. 

“Not a problem,” Osamu gulped immediately, looking away, “uhh YN-san, sit for a bit…” thanking the gods for the stand in front of him covering his growing erection, “I’ll get your order ready,” Osamu stated as he quickly donned his apron and washed his hands.

“Thank you,” you calmly responded back, slowly catching your breath as you watched him silently make your meal.

“So how was your day, Miya-San?” you hummed out the usual question, “I was so nervous I wouldn’t be able to see you,” you confessed with a soft giggle.

“It was the same as usual…” 

‘I came thinking of you again this morning, fucking hell I dream about you every damned day, and the lunatic that I am look forward to seeing you every minute.’

… “I wouldve kept the store open, just in case you would come through later,” he confessed, "I got a little worried."

“I see… you’re always too good to me, Miya-san,” giggling in your seat as you looked up at him — his arms were strong, toned with veins bulging from his forearms.

And checking him out, like you would subtly do every night, scanning from his thin waist wrapped around by his black apron, his black shirt tightly fitting his chest and on his arms but a little loose on his stomach. To his shoulders, broad and neck lean, where the short stems of his hair peaked out from the bottom of his cap as he concentrated on your order. His thick fingers sculpting the rice, moving majestically and with precise skill… his every movement with definition and purpose... wondering just how skilled he was his fingers… how he would mound your breasts... your ass.... would you have to teach him? or... would he already know your sweet spots? and what can he do with his mouth? his pretty lips always managed and plump, would he tell you sweet nothings like he usually would —

"YN-san?" Osamu questioned, his eyes worriedly looking at you for a brief moment before falling back down.

“Ah... sorry," softly smiling, "hopefully it wasn’t too busy today?” you asked, shaking any lewd thoughts as you clenched your thighs together, feeling a pool of your warm erection gathering in your panties. 

“Just the usual,” he smiled. The type of smile that would lightly crinkle the sides of his eyes, and cause his jaws to look sharp and defined, where the light chuckle of his deep voice would loom over your stimulated body, priming you for wanting more.

“I heard you have a lot of fangirls,” you teased, leaning against the edge with your hand on your cheeks, feeling butterflies in your stomach when you caught his slight blush.

“Ah… not really,” he murmured, packaging up your order, making sure there was enough for you to take for lunch the next day and share with your coworkers, “you’re probably my biggest fan.”

“Really?" chiming at the statement, "mission complete then,” you teased, “that’s been my secret mission since the beginning Miya-san,” taking the bagged food, knowingly grazing your fingers past his, teasingly pushing once more, “to infiltrate your mind, you know?”

“Well… looks like you got me,” the man confessed, looking down to cover his face, helping you put on your coat, where the slight hue of your sweet perfume unknowingly pulled him closer in.

'I want to touch her... I want her'

Where the slight touch of your arm that he accidentally managed to graze when he helped you with your coat, and the slight crevice of your breast exposed at the valley rang through his head and sight. And the mocking clicks of your heels making small steps to the door, reminding him once again of the torture he’ll feel when you’re gone.

“Miya-san,” you called out just before stepping out, the door bells chiming, where the cold winter breeze fanned into the warm dimly lit restaurant, “might want to take care of your lips next time, it seems like it would've hurt.”

“Ah… I’ll be mindful, thank you,” Osamu responded, brushing the back of his palm against his lips, feeling a slight sting as he pulled down his hat to cover his heated face as he recalled the morning of, “come again YN, next time I’ll —”

“Maybe next time I can give it a kiss to make it better?” you responded back with a smile, planting a piece of paper at the front register on your way out, “or I can buy you some ointment if you’ll give me a call,” softly chuckling as you closed the door.

Letting out a sigh, feeling honestly barren the moment you left, Osamu unwrapped his apron and took off his cap. Taking a brief moment to lock the front doors before heading over to the counter to see what you left, unwrapping the paper as he muttered out,

"call me, I'll buy you dinner for all the freebies you gave me! This is my number..."

And looking down, coming to terms with his erection bulging out of his pants, rock solid and pulsing in his briefs, feeling suffocated in his own skin as he feels his breaths start to hitch and the knot in his stomach starting to tighten.

Osamu reads your last line before groaning into his fist and unzipping his pants, pulling his shirt up to his teeth to expose his flexed stomach,

“sweet dreams Miya-san.”

© satorins™ — do not copy, plagiarize, repost, modify and/or translate my works.

#ae.writes #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x you #haikyuu scenarios #osamu x reader #osamu smut #osamu x you #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu smut #hq x reader #hq smut #hq x you #darkmode. #𖤘.hqfics

[jikookuntold]

A Word With Jikookers

“The masses have never thirsted after truth. They turn aside evidence that is not to their taste, preferring to deify error, if error seduces them. Whoever can supply them with illusions is easily their master; whoever attempts to destroy their illusions is always their victim.” Gustav Le Bon, The Crowd: A Study of the Popular Mind

You might have known that most of my posts go under categories like analysis and reviews, and I usually don't address hates and haters in this blog except a few times that I had to respond to some anonymous asks, which is now turned off.

I'm aware that no Jikooker likes to be policed by other Jikookers, I hate that too. I hate woke Jikookers so much, and this is not about policing you guys or telling you what to post about. But, as someone who reads tweets on army Twitter on a daily basis and follows almost every drama between shippers, I'm aware that antis sound so bold and brave recently for no specific reason, and this is expectantly triggering most Jikookers to fight back.

Haters get hit tweets by "comparing" moments, shading members, bringing back their old and frequently debunked theories, and fabricating the dumbest stuff to give themselves some sense of winning against the loud and clear truth of Jikook. If there was any competition, they had lost it many times since 2017, but this breed is not going to admit their defeat, and you can never convince them no matter how strong your logic and evidence are. 

I did that a few times, yes. I convinced several hardcore Taekookers that their ship is not real, and if there is one duo in BTS that might be romantically involved, it's Jikook. They admitted that to me after facing the evidence and facts that were hidden from them, but it didn't last long. Just a few days of interacting with their Tkkr fellas was enough to get brainwashed by more appealing theories and call me a liar and manipulator lol. This chain will never break, looking at the community of shippers in 1D made me sure about that.

It's not that they are trying to convince you (us, Jikookers), they are trying to convince themselves, the newcomers who have no clue about what goes on, the Tkkrs with some brain cells left who start to lose faith, and any weak mind out there is their target. It's already a lost battle for them, and they know it well. All they want is fewer losses.

But it's not just that, besides their attempts to keep their community big and in the majority, they are doing their best not to let you feel satisfied or winning (in the competition they made inside their minds). You need to knw that this is a mental war against Jikookers, and it's not just done by Tkkrs, all the breeds of Jikook-antis are on it these days, that's why I'm addressing them as antis and not just Tkkrs. For example, the other day, a JJK akgae tweeted something like 'jikookers are mad because JK likes girls', but in the quotes and replies, she had admitted that she was annoyed by Jikookers celebrating Jikook's new military photos. 

It's clear who is mad here. They deliberately and blatantly lie and project to belittle you, trigger you, and reach some level of satisfaction by affecting you mentally. So, don't let that happen, don't give them what they want. I already said there's no battle or competition, but don't let them win this mental war against you.

Why So Serious?

Joost Meerloo, in his famous book 'The Rape of the Mind,' says: “Logic can be met with logic, while illogic cannot, it confuses those who think straight. The Big Lie and monotonously repeated nonsense have more emotional appeal than logic and reason. While the people are still searching for a reasonable counter-argument to the first lie, the totalitarians can assault  with another.” Although we are not fighting a totalitarian regime lol, this is the exact reason that arguing with antis is pointless. They use 'theories' to debunk the 'moments', and call the real moments 'delusional and fake' while celebrating total lies.

 

Debunking lies is necessary, and everyone should do that as long as they are armed with perfect and mouth-shutting evidence. Otherwise, you should avoid it because nothing is more damaging than doing a bad defense. And these debunkings and defendings don't have to turn into arguments.

Joost Meerloo, in the same book, talks about a solution: “We must learn to treat the demagogue and aspirant dictators in our midst with the weapon of ridicule. The demagogue himself is almost incapable of humor of any sort, and if we treat him with humor, he will begin to collapse.”

Yes, you can debunk, correct, educate, and even argue in an unserious manner. Shipping is not that serious, anyway. Good humor is not insulting, we don't want to drag down or set anyone up. Spreading facts and truth positively and debunking lies with humor and ridicule is all we need to do instead of endless fights and anxious clapbacks.

This post was supposed to be a word, but it turned out as a long and boring essay of information that I'm sure most of you already heard so many times. But it doesn't hurt if we get reminded sometimes to think more deeply and get a better view on what we are dealing with.

[lavendertales]

Love me tender || Frankie Morales x f!reader**

summary: Frankie almost insists on being there for you on a bad day, and your response is more than welcomed.

word count: 2.1k

WARNINGS: period sex (vague descriptions of periods implicitly). 

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

DISCLAIMER: this is in no way a depiction of how all periods feel. people who menstruate feel it differently. this is more or less drawn from my own experience.

Gratitude and relief were a bit further of your list of reasons to be happy today.

And if you were completely honest, the list was incredibly short as it was.

You woke up feeling cramps and you already felt the impending doom waiting to take over your body. Surely enough, half hour later you were rushing to the bathroom with a pad in your hand and what you liked to call “the emergency granny panties”, the familiar yet ever annoying pressure in your belly persisting.

Displeased grunts filled the bathroom, much to Frankie’s surprise. He knocked on the door, barely daring to press his ear on the door, let alone insist on walking in on you.

“Everything okay in there, baby?”

The response came delayed, merely strengthening his concern.

“Fabulous, yeah.”

“Okay, I can sense your sarcastic tone, but I’m starting to get kinda worried out here.”

“I’m fine, babe, don’t worry.”

“You’ve been grunting for the past half hour.”

The door finally opened and your irritated facial expression met Frankie’s puppy-like one. He puckered his lips, quickly getting a grasp of the situation.

“Time of the month?” he checked.

“Unfortunately, you guessed correctly.”

“There are two ways you can get rid of that, and we agreed on at least one of them.”

You snickered, although that did manage to steal a smile from your lips. You crashed into his arms, his warmth working like an immediate sedative.

“Now, unless you’ve changed your mind regarding one of those two ways and you want to not deal with this for the next nine months—“

“Don’t start now, Morales—“

“—what can I do to help?”

You huffed, looking up at him. “I don’t think you can go back in time and prevent periods from ever being created.”

Frowning, Frankie stared incredulously at you, half amused.

“I don’t think any regular guy invented them, so chances are slim.”

“I didn’t expect you to fight God or whatever. I know it was a long shot.”

He kissed your forehead, cupping your cheeks lovingly.

“Can I get you some tea or anything, at least?”

“Some chamomile tea does sound good, actually.”

“On it.”

Frankie had always been incredibly devoted and kind, always made sure you had everything you needed on all fronts. For the rest of the day, though, he took it to a whole new level of care, one that you never would’ve imagined possible.

After he made you the tea, he brought you your heating pad, stocked up your favorite snacks in case your cravings kicked in, and fluffed your pillows. You saw him fugitively for the rest of the day, with him running errands and spending quite a significant amount of time in his office.

“Frankie, baby? You around?”

He peeked through the bedroom door, phone in his hands, looking curiously at you.

“Did you need anything? I made you some soup if you want. You should eat something warm and nutritious—“

“I just wanted to see you. I feel like you’ve been roaming around all day today, I missed you.”

He put the phone away and scooted next to you on the bed, letting you nuzzle in the crook of his neck while his hand caressed your hair.

“I’ve been doing some reading on periods, trying to figure out exactly what’s going on—“

“You what? Go back.”

You and Frankie exchanged a look of confusion.

“What?” he asked innocently.

“You’ve been reading about periods?”

“Yeah. Just thought I should get more information to know how to make things more comfortable for you.”

Jaw quite literally dropped, you still stared at him with utter disbelief. “Let me get this straight. You voluntarily read about periods to make the situation more comfortable for me?”

“Yeah, what—did I not say it right the first time around?”

“No, no, you did. I just…”

You paused, trying to find the right words. In a heartbeat, you were starting to feel something a little more than warmth. It was a fire, treacherously spreading in between your legs, as sensitive as that area felt in that moment, nesting in your belly the more you stared at the man. You could not believe that a man would go through that much trouble just to find a way to make you feel safer and more comfortable.

You might’ve just hit the jackpot with him.

“This is so goddamn attractive,” you muttered.

“It is?”

“Looking up kinda gross information about women just to make sure your partner is okay? Hot!”

Frankie chuckled, his thumb grazing your cheek.

“It’s not that gross,” he tells you in return.

“Please. It’s a woman’s curse for not being pregnant. Totally uncalled for if you ask me.”

“You women go through so much, it feels unfair.”

“It is, thank you!”

You both chuckled. The cramps have eased for a while now, you were all warm and cozy and the feeling from before persisted. It was like a button waiting to be pressed, gently, in order to release the sweetest, most intoxicating physical form of love.

“I didn’t do any of this for recognition of my attractiveness, just so you know,” he informed you.

“I know. Which in turn also makes you even sexier.”

“I’m on fire today, aren’t I?”

“Oh yeah.”

You grinned, eyes roaming his body with adoration and lust alike.

“So what did you find out in your research?” you asked in an attempt to distract yourself.

“That the pain is as bad as having a heart attack, which is insane—“

“Oh hell yeah.”

“And uh… that every month there’s basically chunks of your uterus detaching themselves during the cycle which, again… insane.”

“Damn crazy.”

“Oh, and also that there’s certain things that help with the cramps.”

“Yeah. Pills, chamomile tea—“

“Orgasms can relieve the pain, too.”

Wide-eyed, you stared rather shocked at your partner, too incredulous to even articulate a single word.

You’ve had your fair share of partners, but none took their time to research about such things, let alone taking their time to put you first. You were just so used to the whole “periods are gross” thing that you didn’t think anyone would actually bother.

But Frankie wasn’t just anyone. He was attentive and kind and sweet – except when you didn’t want him to be.

“I’m sorry—what did you just say?” you checked.

Frankie chuckled just as surprised as you, but for an entirely different reason.

“Orgasms can relieve period cramps as well, I’ve been reading about it,” he continued. “For people who menstruate, if they feel up for it, orgasms can be a great source of relieving cramps, pressure—“

“Okay, this is… you gotta stop talking now.”

“Why?”

“Because this is one of the most attractive things I have ever heard and I am not sure how much of this I can handle.”

“This? Really?”

“Uh, are you kidding me? Taking the time to learn about such a topic, wanting to be there for me and make me feel good… very attractive.”

Frankie’s facial expression turned into one of astonishment. This certainly was an unexpected side effect of his research. All of that work had been put towards his own better knowledge and your potential pleasure, having nothing to do with a gratuitous attitude from your side.

He couldn’t say he wasn’t a fan though.

“So… anyway,” he resumed, slightly flustered himself. “If you’re feeling bad, I’m here for you.”

You grabbed the collar of his t-shirt, thus pulling him in, and you pressed your lips onto his, forming a kiss that’s tender yet passionate enough so he knew what your intentions were.

It was so easy to get lost in your scent and your taste, and the way you were kissing him was maddening enough that Frankie was half hard already. You opened your legs, making sufficient space in between for him, and Frankie’s nearly gone when one of your legs wrapped around his waist. He grunted in your mouth as your hands roamed at the hem of the t-shirt, eager to remove it from his body.

“Well this was a fast response,” he muttered, lips nibbling at your jaw.

You smiled in a frenzy as more of Frankie’s skin was exposed before you. You adored every inch of him, every scar, every slope and softness of it. You trembled when he peppered kisses down your neck and onto your cleavage, teeth barely pinching your nipples through the shirt; your hands went to his sweatpants, pleasantly remarking he was so hard already, and you rushed to get him out of them.

Frankie followed your lead and undressed before you, reaching into the nightstand to grab a condom. You watched the scene unfold with incredible lust, desire pooling in your lower belly even more than before. Although it was hard to say if it was arousal or your period – or a mixture of the both – it mattered not. He took one of the pillows on the bed and placed it underneath your back, as well as one of your darker colored towels, to which you shivered.

“Are you okay?” he asked, noticing that.

“Yes. I’m just… I didn’t expect you to be this prepared.”

“These are your favorite sheets, I doubt you’d want them stained in any way if—“

“Oh, shut up and do me.”

You couldn’t handle it anymore; you pulled Frankie back in for a kiss as he gently disposed of the clothes covering your lower region. He carefully placed your underwear and pad away, guiding himself to your entrance with care. You both gasped as that first push of his cock through your sensitive walls weakened your whole body.

“God, you feel… so good,” Frankie whimpered, biceps rippling as he leaned on the mattress for support.

You couldn’t do anything but moan and reach for his lips as Frankie began to roll his hips into yours, pace tender and caring just like the man atop of you.

“Is this okay? Are you okay?”

“Yes—yes, just please keep moving—“

You didn’t have to tell him twice: Frankie set a pace that was equally pleasurable as your many other past encounters, arguably needier and filthier. He knew you needed him in a more intimate manner now, in a way that expressed care above all.

The only sound in the room were your huffs and moans and the squelching sounds that betrayed your arousal and your delicate disposition. His hands traveled to your hips, holding you in place as he kept thrusting, watching your reactions closely. He pushed deep and slow, the friction maddening enough. It was more than enough to feel him so closely, so full of him and wrapped up in his warmth and care.

There was buildup in your belly, one that made you more sensible than usual and you tried to warn Frankie by grabbing onto his forearm and drawing him closer. But he felt you, he felt every portion of you and knew when you were close. He learned every inch of your body and its tell signs inside and out.

“I know, baby,” he muttered, forehead on yours. “I know… I got you.”

“Oh God—Frankie – “

“It’s okay, I got you… cum for me? Hm?”

Your chest heaving, you came and let yourself go completely. Frankie’s thrusts didn’t stop; on the contrary, he sped up a little, eager when he felt his own climax building within.

“You get so tight when you cum, shit—“he groaned, face scrunched in pure ecstasy.

With a few more thrusts, Frankie came, cock throbbing and pulsing inside of you, causing you to tremble all over again. You cupped his cheeks as he began to climb down from his high, pecking his nose sweetly.

“I am so thankful you looked all of that stuff up,” you breathed.

Frankie smiled, visibly flustered. “Did that feel good? Are you alright?”

“I got my dose of dopamine, so… I will go ahead and say hell yes.”

Another smile from his side. He kissed you sweetly, still inside of you.

“I love you so much,” you whispered. “Thank you.”

“I love you so much too, baby, but… what are you thanking me for?”

“Taking such good care of me. You’re incredible.”

You pecked his nose sweetly, fingers caressing his hair.

“Eh. I do my best.”

“Mission accomplished, honey.”

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #franscisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales smut #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut

[marialikeswritting-take-two]

Howell wizard x fem! Reader

'Nice to meet you'

Fluff/comedic fic

((Note that I'm the original author I'm just reposting my old oneshots on my new blog and will make part 2 for this oneshot ))

Grammatical corrections done plus rewrite at some points

____________________________________________

Before the two of you had met Cass was the person you've made friends first, you weren't in the boxing club like her,but you had to be since toast was your friend or she just said it often enough you just don't mind at that point

If you where being realistic toast was a blast to be around at times. Ofcourse all the time would get you confused with her, ranting? still though you found toast to be another bestie when need of a more exciting route

But with Cass you two actually hung out together alot more calming but stil fun especially after boxing which ment the two of you found more grounds on the blossoming friendship

She actually taught you a few defens skills and you....

Well you just had so many hobies to share you,and what I mean is you where all over the place

You would model for her in your new knitted cardigans and awesome tailord dresses you made on you're very old sewing machine( it looked to be from the 1960's and still kicking to this day)next you both are having a karaoke battle your decent to say the least

It was a bright afternoon when all of a sudden banging on the front door

"Hey (y/n) come with me!" said Cass in front of the pastel purple door of her bestfriends house

Some rummaging was heard from the inside but soon enough the door was slowly ipend and revealed (y/n) with her hair a total mess

"Ughhh Cass you woke me upppp" Cass gave her a look "you think I care. Come on let's get you dressed" the greenette drag her friend back to her room up the stairs and straight to the closet and ipend it, she turned to (y/n) and roled her eyes "pick an outfit you crazed fashionista" (y/n) huffed

"fine but don't complain to me if i take a minute" Cass nodded her head and leand on the wall one foot on it and from the inside of the closet she heard "don't put your musty shield on my beautiful wall!!" Cass immediately put it down with a bean of sweat on her face

After a good while the two went to the kitchen grabbed an apple for (y/n) and cass got a drink from her fridge then out of the house

"So where are we going Cass" (y/n) looked to her friend as she smoothed her hair "we are going to the cat cafe one of my brothers made you haven't been ther and I just realised that haha" you looked at her shocked "I didn't know you had brothers let alone a cafe?!" Cass looks at her confused "What yes I have multiple times I've told you how annoying they can be dummy!!"

Cass flick her friends forehead,(y/n) winced in the pain " I have a bad memory Cass you know thissssss" the (h/c nette) wines "yeah okay Whatever Sparkles,now come on your gonna love the cute cats we have" Cass persuaded and it seemed to work since her friend and smiled Then out of nowhere

"*sniff* ooo is that vanilla" she question (y/n) on the perfume she laughed a little and then responded "yup spot on once again bestie" Cass celebrated a little as she walked along side her friend "so how many brothers you go Cass" she looked at her friend "I got six and they are a handful but I deal with it I guess plus i can kick their asses anytime" Cass smirked

After walking along the sidewalk for a few minutes the two arrived at the cat cafe "Here we are" Cass extended one arm dramatically making (y/n) rolled her eyes with a smile

"okay now let's get inside dummy" Cass grabbed (y/n) and drag her to the door and got the two inside

Cass inhale "EVERYONE I BROUGHT MY FRIEND GET YOUR BUTT'S OUT HERE!" sounds of plates crashing and shuffling where heard from the kitchen making (y/n) a little concerned

Around the corner a girl came up to them "Hi I'm bee nice to meet ya" a girl with brown hair and a happy smile greeted "oh hello bee I'm (y/n)" she introduced herself to Bee smiled and offer something from the tray she was holding.

"here try this their supper good" "oh uhh-" then out of nowhere someone bust burst through the door from the kitchen and started yelling at bee "bee you better not be eating the food of some customer..again"

Bee seem to panicked "no no I would never I was just uhhhh...oh yeah greeting Cass's friend (y/n)!! look isn't she just gorgeous right!?!" She used the (h/c) girl as a distraction as she fled to the other side of the restaurant

The guy in question turned to face the girl that bee had just referred "good cause i don't want to FIRE you bee-" He was stunned looking at the girl right before him she was absolutely gorgeous the outfit she wore a light pastel green and pink cardigan a pastel yellow skirt whith little hearts

Her face seemed to be confused he probably looked stupid but he couldn't help the next thing to come out of his mouth

"Cute." Did he just said that oh no he did

He slap his mouth shut and went running to the kitchen leaving a confused and pink-dusted cheeks (y/n) she hold her hands and smiled gently flattered "thanks" she mumbled under her breath

"what was that" Cass turned to her friend who quickly dismissed her question "you know what whatever let me introduce you to the guys so you obviously just met Howell who has for some reason called you cute as a first Impression, then there's Wesley say hi" he waved at you "good, now then there's Crispin obsessed whit clown stuff" Crispin looked offended then huffed and turned around to do something "then there's Deckard"...

Time went on and she kept on introducing her brothers but there was only one thing on (y/n)'s mind that guy Howell he seemed like the type of guy she would like to be around even by the short interaction she had to admit he looked supper adorable and kinda hot in her opinion she just must befriend him at once! Was all she thought

"Here try this" Cass offered (y/n) another plate of food made by the lovely Deckard "oh thanks" she dived into the food as it was placed before her

Cass went into the kitchen her happy expression faded as she looked at her brother Howell "are you really gonna stay in here the whole time she is out there or are you gonna be a manchild and mope around because you dont know how to start a conversation whith my friend" he blushed at his own embarrassment from earlier "no way I cant I lost my touch I'm not extravagant as I usually am I cannot face her" he retorts "come on you cant stay in here forever dummy" she looked at him with a waist eyebrow making him sigh "whatever you do you but ima murder you when we go home" he shivered at the tought

He had two options it seemd one get over it and talk to the pretty pastel girl that is beyond the kitchen doors and possibly face more embarrassment on his end

Or two get his ass whipped by his sister who would not hold back even if he'd beg and bribe her with anything he owned

Better go with the first option he couldn't risk bribing Cass with his beautiful workout equipment it looked better on him anyways

Time then seem to fly by as the two talked and she got a few more things to eat,the food was just to good then (y/n)'s phone buzz and she picked it up and saw that she had to go "awe man I got to go" she spoke in a sad tone,Howell looked at her with his own sad smile "oh well do you want the check now?"

She looked at him and smiled and smiled a few hundred Bill's "this will about cover it" she got up and started to walk away "hey wait this it too much and you need your change!" She then wrote some numbers on a piece of napkin (y/n) looked back at the green hair boy and smirked "it's fine pretty boy you can pay me back with a date and her you go" he nearly choked on his own saliva and looked at the paper she gave him confused "wait what!" She was out the door by then and he went after her

"I said what I said see ya!!" He stood there stunned and red tinted cheeks he hadn't noticed his siblings right the with him until cass put a hand on his shoulder the aura became tense "your gonna take her on that date right" it sounded more of a command than a question,he gulped

"why ofcourse what kind of a man would I be to ditched such a fine woman such as her" he defended himself still blushing cuasing the other's to notice "ooo Howells got it bad!!!"

"20 buck they get together" "Ha! 30 if they get married by the end if the month" cass turned around "Hey that my bestfriend your talking about!" She stared to chase them around while they all scream in laughter

Howell was left outside to think about (y/n) she ayre was something truly different he then took out the napkin she gave him and once again was shocked "she-she gave me her NUMBER AAAAHH OH MY GOSH!!!" Bee then came from beside him "wow you scored today nice" she finger gun him and he got annoyed "go back to work bee" she quickly oblige and left immediately leaving Howell alone to stare happily at the napkin

While (y/n) was waking around the sidewalk smiling to herself about the cute pretty boy she had just met "hope he actually texts me" she contemplated looking up a the sky with a small smile "I sure hope he will"

Something was going to happend that would change the path of these two people and it was going to be a beautiful story

___________________________________________

You can find me on wattpad or quotev at marialikeswritting I have my original works already post there I will post this one on my oneshot book eventually anyway check that out If you want

#howell wizard x reader #bee and puppycat x reader #fanfiction #x reader #character x reader

[daddythegrabber]

Omg. Finally I continue this!!. Thank you so much @fierytteokbokki for mentioning my blog! ❤️ I’m so happy.

Pairing: Albert Shaw/The Grabber x Reader

Warning(s): swearing, dirty talk

Summary: A good party bring us people together, so it happens that the Reader and Albert meet up at one of these parties, but not an ordinary one.

The Grabber🔞

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

—————————————————————————

He was so worked up. He cannot even express how so. And Max’s words were only oil on the fire. Cause he heard Albert, as he moaned (y/n)’s name, as he came undone moaning and panting. He was fed up how he reminded him every day about it and tried to make him do the first move. Cause Max knew that Albert’s in love with you. It was one particular morning when Al sat down to the kitchen table and sipped on some coffee and ate half of his breakfast.

“Hey Al. I though that maybe we can go out sometime.” Max said and sat down in front of his brother a coffee mug in hand, that he placed down onto the table. His smiling face was quite annoying.

“And why would we do that Max? Don’t you have a dealer to meet up?” Answered Al smugly and took a bite from the breakfast.

“Oh.. no no no no.! Ido not do drugs anymore. The other hand I had my first paycheque. So I’ll treat you.”

“What do you have in mind?” Al asked non-enthusiastically.

“There’ll be a party at the town hall tonight. And it’s special, cause everybody’ll dress up, you know mask and stuff.”

“Like a Halloween party?”

“Kind of. Whatcha say? I’ll dress up as Frankenstein or Dracula I think. But as I know the Dracula look would look good on you brother.” Al rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Alright… I’ll go with you to that stupid party.” He shrugged his shoulders and took another bite from the breakfast. Max cheered loudly and drank down his coffee and bid goodbye to Al. He left for work, he’ll be home in no time. Today was Al’s day off so he barely did something after breakfast. He did not even had the mood to hunt. You changed him. But it was only the iceberg’s tip.

—————————————————————————

Reader POV:

You woke up from another steamy dream, in which Albert fucked you again and again. You wiped off the sweat from your forehead and felt that you were awfully wet.

“Ughh…” you huffed and started your day. Making breakfast and morning tea. You wanted nothing more but to have a calm and silent day, focusing only on relaxing. But (Bf/n) had another idea. As you sat down to your kitchen table, plated your breakfast and put your mug next to the plate (Bf/n) came in, not really caring that you did not even woke up fully yet and it made you jump a little in surprise.

“Wassup girl! Guess what!” She/he sat down to the table and squealed excitedly. You just looked at her/him wig expressionless face.

“What?”

“We’ll go out tonight!”

“What? Why?”

“Don’t tell me you’re want to be home all alone. Please it’ll be fun.” She/He clasped her/his hands together and look at you with pouty lips.

“Ugh… fine. Where you wanna drag me?”

“There’ll be a party. It’s like a Halloween party basically. C’mon (y/n) you like to dress up and you already has the mask, maybe Al’ll be there as well.” She/He winked and you facepalmed. You groaned and stuffed your face with breakfast.

“Alright. Not because of Al. Just because I wanna spend time with my favourite friend.”

“Atta girl. Maybe you can be a Devil. You know with a tail. Maybe some leather skirt and red corset?”

“Sound good I think. And what you’ll be?”

“I’ll be Wonder Woman I think. But I want to be an Angel as well.”

“Maybe you can be Medusa?”

“Yes girl. I love the idea. Thx. Don’t forget. I’ll get be there at 8.”

“Okay. Take care.”

“Bye girlie.” She/he pressed kisses to your cheeks and left you, to finish your breakfast which became much colder. What have you got yourself into? What if Albert’ll be there? He’ll be so angry that you wear his mask…. Well you’ll say sorry to him later…

—————————————————————————

“C’mon Al. Just get out.”

“No way that I’m wearing that Max.”

“Oh come on. You’ll look great, now open the door.” He encouraged his brother and he heard him sigh and he finally opened the door. He dressed in a suit, a red and black suit. His hair was brushed his fangs were little but still visible to the eye. He….looked goood.

(I can’t with this pic ✨✨✨🤩 I just hdjskosshbskdjdjsks. He look so GOOOOD. Please BITE ME SIR. 😫🧎‍♀️)

“How do I look?”

“You look great. I knew that Dracula mode was made for you.”

“If you say that I look old, well fuck you.”

“Of course not. You’re mysterious and I know that (y/n)‘ll like it. Oh shoot….” He clasped his hand to his mouth and panicked.

“What did you say?” Al asked and approached Max slowly, giving him „the look“.

“N…nothing you should worry about.” He said and quickly changed to another topic. Cause he did not know that he’ll actually meet with his only love. You

“C’mon spit it out Max!”

“Fine okay….. I talked with (y/n)’s friend about hooking up you two again. I’m sorry… so so sorry brother.”

“So you’re telling me that you talked with her friend? About me? And Her?”

“Y…yes.. Al please I hate to see you like this. Ya know sad.

“I’m not sad.”

“You miss (y/n). I see that so please come with me. You won’t regret that.” He looked at his brother with puppy eyes.

“Fine….” Max squealed “but you’ll buy me whatever alcohol I want.”

“Deal. Now come, let’s go. The party starts soon.”

—————————————————————————

Reader POV:

“You look hot mama. I still don’t know how you got that mask… but it makes you even hotter. I’d totally fuck you.” She/he said and you just rolled your eyes and eyed yourself in the mirror.

You wore knee length high heels, a ruby red corset of course wearing no bra underneath and a black skirt hugged your thighs, it goes down to your knees. And the mask was just made it perfect. You wore a black lacy thong nothing more underneath and it made you a little bit hot.

“C’mon I’m not that hot. And you don’t look so bad yourself. It was a good idea to dress up as an angel, like you’re my opposite.” You smiled genuinely

“Girl…. You’ll get all the attention you deserves. Cause you’re such a treasure. Anyway if you were my type I’d take a bite.

“Stop it.” You playfully slapped her/his shoulder and giggled.

“Let’s go now. It’s almost party time and I wanna get something to drink.” She /he said and you two left the house closing the door behind you too and took the house key into your pocket, thank god for pockets. As you approached the town hall the music already blasted out of the walls and some of the village people were on front the building waiting to enter it. You got in line and slowly and painfully (finally) got into the party. Some friends were commented, how good you looked. (Bf/n) grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the bar.

“Heya. What can I started for you beautiful ladies?”

“We want two shots and some whiskey.”

“Alright be right up.” Said the bartender and prepared the alcoholic beverages. You sat down on the bar chair alongside with (bf/n) and two shots were placed in front of the two of you. You both grabbed it and clicked the glasses together.

“To a really good time.”

“To a good time.” You agreed and immediately swallowed all of the shot, it burned its way down your throat, it made you shiver a little bit. Not so later your whiskey was in your hand and (bf/n) dragged you to the dance floor. The shot did it’s job and you started relax and sway your hips to the music. (It could be whatever you want darlings ❤️) it was blasting through the speaker sending vibes into your body. You liked to dance but always thought that your dancing was awkward. You did not know why but it was always on your mind when you did so. When you looked at the bar area, you though you were crazy. You stared so long that even (bf/n) recognised it and waved her/his hand in front of your eyes.

“Earth to (y/n).” She/he shouted louder than the music

“Sorry I though I saw someone.” She/He just giggled and you knew immediately that something was going on.

“Tell me.”

“What?”

“You’re hiding something.” You said to her/his ear and she/he just giggled.

“Of course not. Why would I?”

“I don’t know, cause I know you damn well.”

“Ugg…. Relax (y/n). I have nothing to hide I swear. Enjoy the party.” She/he reassured you and you got along with it. You felt sexy, and the mask gave you some confidence, maybe you’ll keep His mask after all. You did not even realised that your kidnapper were also there……. Looking straight at you. Moving your body to the beat of the music.

“Ahhh…. There she is Al.”

“That’s ridiculous. I don’t even know what I’m doing here.” Said Albert and took a sip from his beer. Max told him that he should wear a cape to be more Dracul-ish. So it hanged on his shoulders, hugging his frame perfectly.

“I know and deep in your thoughts you know too. C’mon man approach her. Maybe she’ll be happy too.”

“Ch… fine.” Al said and left his beer on the bar stool, and slowly approached you. He was afraid what you’d do. Cause you two did not separate the best way.

“For fucks sake Al, she’s wearing your mask.” He cursed under his nose and slowly and painfully approached your dancing form. Snaking his hands around your waist dancing with you. Al looked up and (bf/n) smiled at him and left the two of you alone. It was the perfect time to speak something to you, but what? She just swayed her hips, not caring who’s hugging her from behind. He buried his head into your neck and she hugged Al by his heck.

“You look ravishing Bunny.” He said into your ears and realisation hit you.

“Al?” She asked and quickly turned around to be facet of face with her love.

“In the flesh Sweetheart.” He answered and grabbed her by her waist and pressed her body to his. She boldly snaked her arms around his neck and looked up.

“I’m sorry for wearing your mask.”

“Don’t be….. especially after you sent me those naughty pictures. Do you know how may times I came just looking at those? How hard I came for you?” He was so close to your lips and you bit down on it.

“Ohh…. Really?”

“Yes… and do you know how fucking sexy you look with my mask on? When I first saw you on the dance floor I nearly came in my pants.”

“Ahh…..” You moaned as he rubbed his half hard cock to your stomach.

“Yes. Let me hear those filthy moans. I missed them so much. Missed you choking on my cock, your lips kissing me. Don’t worry Bunny. I’ll never let you go again.” He said and kissed you. Your eyes widened in shock, finally you can kiss him. (Y/n) grabbed him by his cheeks and deepened the kiss. His tongue slipped past his lips and battled with yours. It was all teeth and tongue, like you cannot live without each other. And you knew that this night will be unforgettable. For the both of you.

Hi Bunnies! I finally finished another part. I’m so happy and also sad that these two did not fuck yet. But stay tuned, cause I don’t wanna be a cockblocker. Nest part will be smut. I think 😂🤷‍♀️

Until then

Laters Gators 🐊

XOXO

#ethan hawke #the black phone #the grabber #albert shaw #the grabber x reader #ethan hawke x reader #albert shaw x reader #slashers #the grabber x y/n #the black phone 2022 #Spotify

[femalefrontedbandsconfessions]

30402

Confession: Hello guys, I was the one who submission about some abusive confessions sent over the years. I was mostly angry at all the hate "confessions" 5sos stans sent about an underage Rena. On twitter years ago grown adults would bully her, threaten physical violence against and even tell her to kill herself etc all in the name of "activism". It had gotten so bad she made her layout dark at one point and I was very worried. As a black person, her hair has never bothered me. Most of the people abusing her when white people pretending to act like "allies" towards us and tell us what is and isn't racist. That hairstyle was inspired by industrial/cyber goth culture which was very popular back in the 2000s in goth scene and I bet those horrible people don't even know about because they came from a world of pop music. Also I takes three seconds for them to google industrial goth fashion. I have some white industrial goth friends who wear similar hairstyles and none of them are racist. They're all very kindhearted sweet people with an epic taste in music, fashion and culture. That goth subculture has been popular since the late 90s and 2000s. By the way I've always loved that side of goth culture because industrial/cyber goth fashion looks so beautiful, badass and the music is awesome. I'm glad a couple of people who ran hate blogs about Cherri Bomb/Hey Violet apologized and I forgive them because they sounded very remorseful and sincere. Unfortunately one more person still runs a hate page. I confronted the person, especially about how badly Rena was treated and of course the person who runs that blog is crakkker and of course they placed the blame on an innocent child instead of placing the blame on the adults who bullied and threatened a child's life just so they can look like "political heroes" while they're a bunch of evil mean spirited political villains. I was very mad when they blame her like she was just a kid?? I also told them they sounded like a nazi, told them how performative they and that they're no "activist". Also told them to google industrial/cyber goth fashion, told them they're a pop music stan (although I love pop music but from the 80s and 2000s). Lastly I told them that 5sos sucks. Those 20 something year old white Australian men did absolutely nothing to defend her or her band. I've researched they did far worse things while in their early 20s too and barely was held accountable for it. Like always, males always get a slap on the wrist and are babied while women and young girls, especially in the industry suffer. I hate she had to apologize for having a hairstyle that's very common within the industrial goth world. Even another long time fan who's also black told her that she loved her threads and didn't need to apologize. When Rena said she was getting told to go kill herself it brought tears to my eyes. Imagine wanting to be a "political left wing activist" so bad you end up sounding just as vile, horrible and evil just like the nazis who identify as right wingers? I hope none of those people have kids of their own. Wanting to be appear like a so called "woke activist" give you no excuse to abuse kids, famous or not. Treating kids any kind of way breaks my heart so much, it's just as bad as animal abuse. I guess that's why we barely have child stars nowadays because throughout history, child stars like Shirley Temple and Judy Garland have been abused so kind of way by nasty abusive adults. I really wish Cherri Bomb/Hey Violet never met that garbage boy band because as much as some rock and metal fans can be annoying at times, pop stans can be very very awful people, especially when it comes to boy bands. Just wanted to add that Julia Pierce is now a goth dj. They all moved on from their teen years and other people should move on too. Also I'm very happy that the other hate pages got deleted while two sincerely apologized. Long confession but this is just something I wanted to speak out about. 🖤

#submission #since this is long i'm just going to post it as is #rena lovelis #female fronted bands confessions

[liaromancewriter]

Roll With It

Premise: Cassie is determined to pretend she and Ethan are nothing more than Attending and Intern after his confession in the lab. Fate has other plans.

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angsty Fluff. Words: 2.2K Trope: Pining

A/N: This is set during Book 1, shortly after the lab scene in Ch 11. Submission for @choices-september-challenge-blog Day 19 prompt: "You make a sound and it's game over."

After a restless night, Cassie Valentine had finally fallen asleep before her alarm woke her up. Groggy and not in the mood for it, she’d hit the snooze button. And kept hitting it until Sienna shook her awake, slightly annoyed at the loud interruptions every nine minutes.

Cassie had dragged her feet getting ready for work, operating on autopilot. Instead of joining the others on the T, she opted to walk, hoping the cold air and double-shot of espresso she grabbed on the way would clear the cobwebs.

It worked. Barely.

When she gathered with the other interns in the resident’s lounge, waiting for Ines and Zaid to assign patients, she wished for anything to make the next fourteen hours fly by. Maybe Fate would be kind and recognize that she needed a gimme day.

"Valentine, 504," Zaid called out with his typical dourness, handing her a thick patient file.

It took one glance at the attending physician's name—Dr. Ethan Ramsey—for Cassie to know that Fate was a bitch.

Ever since their kiss in Miami a couple of weeks ago, and his admission in the lab that it wasn’t all in her head, they had managed to avoid each other. Except for brief moments in Naveen's presence, of course.

He had reverted to Dr. Ramsey, and she was Valentine the Intern, competing for a junior fellowship spot on his team. Cassie was determined to roll with the circumstances. As long as it meant she didn't have to see him.

As luck would have it, she would have to confer with him on this patient. And pretend the last patient of his she'd treated—the PITA—hadn't resulted in an epic blow-up in his office. Some people just ignited fireworks in each other’s presence. Clearly, they were two of them.

Cassie waited until Ines and Zaid dismissed them before approaching Sienna, who was chatting with Jackie, Landry and Elijah.

"Hey, Si, can you do me a favor?"

"If I can," Sienna smiled. "What’s up?”

“Switch patients with me?” Cassie asked, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice.

Before Cassie could react, Jackie snatched the file out of her hands and held it up to read the attending’s name.

“Huh,” she said, giving Cassie a beady-eye look. “I would’ve thought you’d use this opportunity to suck up to Ramsey.”

“It’s a patient of Dr. Ramsey?!?” Landry perked up as Jackie spoke, gazing in avarice at the file in her hand.

Cassie found the lingering hero worship in his eyes after all these months a bit unsettling, especially since he never did anything about it. Maybe she should have told Ethan to take Landry to Miami instead. That might have cured her friend of his inclinations for good.

“I’m sorry, Cassie,” Sienna was saying, her expression crestfallen. “Ines moved up my ICU rotation. She just told me. One of the CCU interns left the program and they changed my training schedule.”

Cassie tried to hide her disappointment, but she knew Sienna was struggling and could use the change in scenery. “It’s okay, Si. I found ICU fascinating, and you might too.”

“I can switch,” Landry said eagerly, reaching for the file only for Jackie to move it away and hand it back to Cassie.

“Are you sure it’s worth the drop in ranking?” she taunted. “Patients are assigned for a reason. If Ramsey found out, he might penalize you.”

“Good point,” Landry said, dropping his hand to the side.

“You’re up, Valentine,” Jackie teased, her grin slightly evil in anticipation. “Your reign at the top is about to end.”

Cassie rolled her eyes and waved goodbye to her friends as she headed for the stairwell. If she had to deal with Dr. Ramsey, she needed all the prep time she could get.

Ten minutes later, she was leaning against the wall outside room 504, scanning the latest test results in the patient chart and making observations on her scratch sheet.

Based on the patient’s history, Mr. Petersen had been under Dr. Ramsey’s care for several years. He came in for a stay when his chronic condition worsened but was otherwise managed through outpatient visits.

Cassie’s brows furrowed as she tried to figure out precisely what she was supposed to do with a patient with an incurable condition. Symptom management was pretty standard.

Why was she assigned this case? What was she missing? It had to be something so obvious that she’d surely get a dressing down for not seeing it on the first pass at this stage of her training.

Frustrated, she quickly straightened from the wall to talk to the patient, only to bump into a hard body. She felt something hot splash across her hand, causing her to cry out in pain and automatically cradle her hand against her chest.

A litany of curses bounced off the wall in a deep, masculine voice. Cassie silently groaned when she recognized the body and the voice that accompanied it.

Fate really was not her friend today.

“I’m so sorry, Dr. Ramsey,” she said when he glared at her and then down at his clothes, the now empty coffee cup rolling around on the floor in a puddle of brown liquid.

His white coat had taken the brunt of the spilled coffee, with splotches on his gray dress shirt and yellow tie.

“Didn’t your parents teach you to look both ways, Rookie?” He gave her a sour look, shaking the edges of his coat before shrugging it off his shoulders.

“This is a hospital, Dr. Ramsey, not a street.” She grinned, trying to hold back her laughter at her usually tidy boss disheveled as he ran one frustrated hand through his hair. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first three buttons, holding the top with one hand to air the shirt.

He must have noticed she was on the verge of laughter because he threw her a nasty look, brows knitted in annoyance. "You make a sound, and it's game over."

Cassie swallowed her laughter, but not before it started a coughing spree, the movement setting off the stinging in her hand. He caught her wince, but she quickly hid her hand behind her back, not wanting to see any emotion from him that even hinted at feelings.

Not that he would do that, but after the last time in the lab, she wasn’t taking any chances. 

She remembered his eyes filled with longing and pain.

“Please, Cassie, this is hard enough already.”

The way he’d stiffened when she told him her feelings were true, that they were worth fighting for. Inevitable.

How he had gently stroked her cheek, his eyes, those blue eyes that saw right through her, asking for understanding.

“We’re doctors, Cassie. Fighting the inevitable is in our job description.”

Well, he was wrong. One didn’t fight the inevitable if one wanted to have a life. One embraced it, even if it was going to be messy as hell. Why couldn’t he understand that?

She shook off her reverie when she realized he’d been speaking to her and she hadn’t heard a word he said.

“I’m sorry. I was miles away,” she admitted, abashed at how he was the only one who could break her.

He exhaled a long-suffering sound that conveyed his frustration with interns more than any words could.

“I said, we should get in there and get this over with. Because of your….” He glanced at his stained clothes and the corners of his lips twisted down into a frown. “…clumsiness, I’ll have to detour to change my clothes and don’t have any more time to waste this morning.”

Cassie nodded and made for the open doorway at the same time he did, crashing into each other’s side. Again.

He huffed and stepped back, waving his hand to indicate that she should precede him. Cassie watched warily as she slid past him, trying not to chuckle when he pinched the bridge of his nose. He followed slowly, the scowl disappearing as the patient came into sight.

“Hi, Mr. Petersen. I’m Dr. Valentine,” she chirped, smiling at the burly man with a wrinkled face and snow-white hair.

“Hmph,” Mr. Petersen said, looking over her shoulder and then back at her. His brows were drawn in a severe expression, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. “Are you sure you’re old enough?”

“Sadly, no,” Cassie replied, hanging her head in mock shame. “But I figured why not fake it till you make it, you know?”

His booming laugh reminded Cassie of a jolly Santa. She thought it was unfortunate that hospital gowns leeched a person’s color away.

“I like you,” he said with a wink. He nodded at Ethan, standing on the opposite side of the bed from her. “Better than this one. Always insisting I come in every few months for a visit. Like I don’t know there’s nothing he can do for me but hook me up to needles.”

“He does have that effect on people,” Cassie nodded sagely, ignoring Ethan’s outraged “Oh, for Christ’s sake!” before continuing. “Lucky for you, I’ll be working with Dr. Ramsey on your care at this fine establishment.”

Cassie raised her injured hand to tuck a loose lock of hair away, jumping at the suddenness with which Ethan quickly came around the bed and grabbed her wrist.

“What the hell happened to your hand?” He tightened his hold only to hastily let go when he saw the wave of pain cross her face.

“I’m not a doctor,” Mr. Petersen mused gently at Cassie. “But that redness looks like a burn and a painful one too. You should run cold water over it, maybe apply some toothpaste to take the sting out.”

“Come on,” Ethan barked, dragging her into the attached bath where he ran cold water in the sink and shoved her hand under the faucet. Cassie yelped as ice-cold water hit her skin.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked a few seconds later, clarifying when she looked askance. “About my coffee burning your hand. It’s the only explanation.”

Cassie shrugged, determined to ignore the electric sparks from where his skin touched hers. After the last time, she would not embarrass herself and admit how he affected her. He did not deserve it, and she had too much pride to throw herself at any man.

Oh, how he tempted her, though. Especially now when Ethan was staring at her, his gaze tender as he stroked the back of her wrist absently.

“I think that should do it,” she said, breaking the silence. He handed her paper napkins, and she patted her skin dry.

“The nurses’ stations carry first aid kits,” he said impassively. “It should have an analgesic.”

She nodded to show him she’d heard, unsure what else he expected. “We should get back to Mr. Petersen, Dr. Ramsey. I know you don’t have all day to waste on an intern.”

The last came out more bitter than she’d wanted.

“Cassie…” he sighed, eyes closing briefly. “I…”

She held up one hand to stop him. “We’re keeping this professional, Dr. Ramsey. Just like you wanted. So, before we go back in there, I have a question about the patient.”

Ethan looked like he wanted to argue but thought better of it. He crossed his arms across his chest, looking down at her. “Ask your question, Valentine.”

“What am I missing with Mr. Petersen? I reviewed his history twice, and I just can’t figure out the mystery. His treatment plan is what’s expected for his condition. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”

Cassie knew she sounded frustrated, but it matched how she felt. She was mentally prepared for the Great Ethan Ramsey to tell her how wrong she was and unworthy of her ranking. And then he surprised her again.

“At the beginning of the year, I told you sometimes the real problem isn’t always obvious. Remember that?” He waited for her nod before continuing. “Well, sometimes, there’s no great mystery to solve. Medicine isn’t just about treating the body. It’s about the heart and mind too.”

Her confusion must have seemed sincere because he didn’t berate her for being obtuse.

“Mr. Petersen has a chronic condition with no cure. He might appear jolly, but that doesn’t mean he can completely ignore the toll it takes on him,” Ethan explained. “Our job as doctors is to make sure his illness doesn’t become his only story. To help him recognize and accept but not give in to the limitations. Keep his heart alive and mind engaged in the possibilities.”

Cassie thought about what he said and realized he was right. Wasn’t that why she had given hope to Mrs. Martinez the other week, telling her to hold on to her dreams of travel and adventure even if she never left the hospital?

Her thoughts were jumbled as they walked back into the room for the consultation. 

After she and Ethan parted ways a short while later, her mind was already jumping ahead. Something about Ethan’s words sparked an idea about how she could help Mrs. M.

She needed to research it still, and maybe it wouldn’t work, but wasn’t fighting the inevitable worth it in the end?

All Fics & Edits: @potionsprefect @trappedinfanfiction @bex-la-get @mysticalgalaxysstuff @genevievemd @choicesaddict5 @jerzwriter @schnitzelbutterfingers @vi-writes-stuff @coffeeheartaddict2 @quixoticdreamer16 @dorisz @zahrachoices @lucy-268 @a-crepusculo @jamespotterthefirst @headoverheelsforramsey @takemyopenheart @gryffindordaughterofathena @queencarb @crazy-loca-blog @natureblooms24 @peonierose @cariantha @annfg8 @openheartforeverinmyheart @bluebelle08

Ethan & Cassie only: @custaroonie @lady-calypso

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics​

#ethan ramsey #open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfics #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart fanfiction #playchoices fanfics #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x cassie valentine #romance #romantic fiction #short story

[niuniente]

Hello niu! Hope you're well.

I have a question I guess. Wasn't sure where to go with this and you seem to know your way around spiritual stuff.

Last night I experienced some sort of weird sleep paralysis, except I don't know if that's the right term for it. I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't go back to sleep. After a while I started hearing these sighs, as if coming from right behind me (aka a wall). There was no one else in the room with me, and the noise was too clear to be from anywhere but behind me.

After that I began to hear whispers, but I'm not sure if that was just my subconscious playing tricks or not. The entire thing felt very malicious and frightening, like I was being watched.

I was wondering if you've got any input on this or anything I can do to prevent it from happening again. Got very spooked lol.

Thank you in advance, hope you have a good day :)

While sleep paralysis does exist, I'm always upset when all encounters during night (and in bed) are explained that "Oh, just a sleep paralysis". So, let's assume this wasn't one as it doesn't sound like one (as in sleep paralysis, you can't move - just like you can't move if a malicious entity decides to attack you in your sleep and you wake up to it. This is a typical paranormal encounter in pretty much all cultures in the world).

Now, if I were you, I would add salt into your room and if you can get your hands on some white sage, burn that. If not, you can use salt and maybe salt spray (mix water and salt). Both rebel unwanted spirits. Sometimes the activity increases after the first cleaning if the spirit is especially stubborn but just repeat energy cleaning as often as needed. You have to be more stubborn than the spirit ;3

You can find cleaning and spiritual protection from my blog. Here's an ask from anon who wanted same kind of help and it has all the links you need.

Final word; from my decades long experience, 95% of the spirits are harmless. Yes, they can appear spooky and creepy, whisper and talk, move items and toss them around etc. but it's not dangerous. People just get spooked super easily (can't blame them!) There are only a few genuinely dangerous spirits, others are annoying nuisances or just jerks at their worst.

#ask niu #spiritual

[pagesoflauren]

The Riveter Ch. 13

Steve Rogers x mechanic!reader

Summary: After escaping Hydra, you assist Dr. Erskine in helping Steve Rogers become Captain America. When Erskine is assassinated, you think your WWII career is over. Unfortunately, the SSR and Hydra are not done with you yet.

Warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of death, canon-typical violence (use of guns as a means of killing, blood loss, serious injury, physical altercations), mentions of trauma, slow burn, dialogue-heavy chapters, comic book science, torture, forced experimentation

A/N: Hope whoever reads this enjoys it. The dividers aren’t mine, they were created by@firefly-graphics and the Marvel blog formerly known as @writeyourmindaway. And a HUGE thank you to @eightcevanscentral for beta-ing

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

You never thought you’d enjoy the smell of smoke. 

The memories you recall of it tell your brain that it should be unappealing and acrid, something that should make you want to get away from it as quickly as possible. 

But here, with Steve, in the spring air of rural New York, it smells good. 

He stands near the grill as he minds the steaks that he’s cooking for the two of you, covered with premade seasoning from a bottle that Steve grabbed on a second trip to a grocery store.

You slept for twenty-four hours, he had told you when you woke up. Before that, your last memory was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich–with Steve’s perfected peanut butter-to-jelly ratio–and going to bed. 

On the second day at the cabin, you woke up to the smell of something sweet and the sound of sizzling from the kitchen. Steve kissed you breathless, relieved to see you. 

“Bruce had told me you’d wake up eventually, but…” he shrugged, “I got worried. He said your body was probably just recovering from everything that happened in the past week.”

“Bruce?” you inquired. You knew somewhere in your mind you should know that name, but it didn’t ring any bells in the haze of sleep that still lingered. 

“Dr. Banner,” he elaborated, pouring coffee into a mug, “You met him in Tony’s lab.”

His face came to mind then; graying hair and small stature, a white lab coat, and wireframe glasses. 

“Oh, right,” you nodded in recognition. “I wish my body had found a different way to recover,” you muttered, taking the mug of coffee he hands you. “I think I’ve done enough sleeping.” 

You took a sip and he smiled at you, a strange fond look in his eye. 

You loved it when he looked at you that way, but you also find it so damn sappy.

“What?” you asked, half annoyed and half endeared. 

“Nothing, I just…” Steve shrugged again, “I said something similar when someone asked me about sleep.” 

He turned back to the stove and you sat at the table, smiling secretly to yourself as you continued to drink your coffee. 

In the days that you’ve been at the cabin, Steve has used it as an opportunity to show you some of the new things this era had to offer. Shortly after waking up, Steve had you sit on the couch while he closed the curtains. 

“What are you doing?” you laughed as he scrambled around, setting down different snacks and placing a large bowl of popcorn in your lap. 

“I’m giving you the whole movie theater experience,” he explained.

He had told you about movie theaters before; large, dark rooms with screens as big as walls showing a film as the sound surrounds you. 

“This is better, though. We can pause and talk as much as we want.” 

With the volume turned all the way up, you watched as blue text showed across the screen, then a loud crescendo of music startled you. The bowl shook in your lap, sending some pieces of popcorn onto the floor by your feet. 

You read the opening crawl, understanding the underlying theme of war and a battle between good and evil occurring. Then, you saw a large vessel glide across the screen, shooting lasers while a smaller ship tried to escape. 

Enthralled in the film, you mindlessly started grabbing pieces of popcorn to eat as you watched the story unfold. There was the occasional need to pause to get more food, go to the bathroom, or stretch, but whenever Steve asked if you wanted to stop, you refused. 

“I have to know what happens!”

He smiled at you and scooted closer, draping an arm over your shoulder. 

During the second film, he took the bowl off your lap, much to your protest.

“Shh, just watch,” he told you. 

You huffed, annoyed that he would tempt you with food then take it away. 

Not even a minute later, you understood as you jumped up and gasped, your hands covering your face as you tried to hide your shock. 

“Pause it!” 

Steve complied.

“Are you kidding me?”

He laughed and shook his head. “It’s true, sweetheart.”

“This whole time?! This whole time Darth Vader–oh my god, I’m such an idiot! Vater, that’s literally father in German!” 

Steve laughed and laughed, a hand on his chest as his eyes shut from how much he was enjoying your reaction. 

As you were still reeling from the reveal, shifting your weight from one foot to another, he reached for you, pulling you into his lap. 

“I love you,” he said gently, pressing his face close to yours and kissing your cheek. 

Your skin went aflame and you turned your head to peck his lips once. When he tried to lean in for more, you turned your attention back to the screen.

“Play the movie.” 

He showed the world of sports the following day, having you tune in to your first baseball game. You witnessed the sports fan side of Steve come out as he whined about bad calls and cheered loudly when his team–the Yankees–won in the 10th inning. 

“I used to be a Dodger fan,” he explained to you, “But I woke up and they told me the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles. I was pissed.”

“Why are they called the Dodgers?” you wondered, “Shouldn’t they, you know, not dodge the ball?”

Steve laughed and kissed you, a smug look on his face.

You huffed. “Don’t look at me like that.”

He looked taken aback at your accusing tone, the idiot. “Like what?”

“Like I said something funny. I wasn’t joking, I’m actually serious, why are they Dodgers if you’re supposed to catch the ball?”

He laughed even harder, clearing his throat when he saw your unamused look. 

“I know you’re not joking, sweetheart,” he soothed, taking your hands in his. “It was just a cute question,” he explained, then answered your question properly, “They used to be called the Trolley Dodgers, then it was shortened to Dodgers.” 

You hummed. “Okay. So why did they leave Brooklyn?”

“I don’t know,” he rolled his eyes. “Some bullshit move by the guy who runs the team. And I hate the Yankees.” 

You snickered. 

His head whips around to look at you, eyebrows furrowed. “What?” 

“It’s just baseball,” you shrugged. “But…it’s cute. You know, seeing you like this.” 

Ever patient, Steve answered all the questions you had about baseball. You understood why it was engaging; it was a slow-moving game that required precision and tactic. That game in particular ended at around two in the morning, though it was easy to stay awake. 

Having super-soldier metabolism meant you got hungry more often and needed food beyond the typical three meals a day. During the war, it was easy to forget your hunger–especially when you were always working and food was strictly rationed. 

Now, with so much food at your disposal, you and Steve needed to have a constant rotation of snacks between bigger meals. Every day, the two of you have woken up in the middle of the night to quell your grumbling stomachs. Sometimes you opted for eating out of an ice cream tub, other times you ate instant foods like ramen and macaroni and cheese. 

One night, at 4 AM, when your eyes were beginning to drop shut after finishing some leftover pizza, Steve rattled your brain awake. 

“This is nice.”

A simple sentence, but somewhat strange. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, rubbing your eyes to try and keep yourself alert to hear what he had to say. 

“It’s nice that you’re here,” he clarified. “I’ve been doing this alone for the past two years.” 

You imagined him at his apartment in D.C., conjuring up a scene in your mind since you never actually got to see what it looked like: Steve alone with only the light above the kitchen table on as he ate a meal surrounded by empty chairs, in a silent room. 

Did he play music while he ate to make himself feel less alone? Or maybe he turned on the TV? 

“Hey,” he said, cupping your cheek and wiping away a tear there with his thumb. 

You didn’t even realize you were crying. 

“Better late than never, right?” he offered in a cheerful tone, but his eyes gave away his own sadness. 

For the most part, it was nice to catch up with him. You grew accustomed to his habits and preferences as a New Yorker while teaching him about your home. The two of you learned about your upbringings and who he was before you encountered his file during Project Rebirth. 

In a way, he became more tangible to you. The images of his childhood changed from medical records and a candidate report to moving images conjured up in your mind.

Being in the cabin also allowed you some space to catch up with the modern age at your own pace. Tony had plenty of books on different topics of science and state-of-the-art technology all over the property, which you loved tinkering with. You got up in the guts of the car he gave you and Steve for the week and reveled in the way things have evolved in the automobile industry.

You found yourself looking forward to going back to Stark Tower to talk more tech with Tony, but you weren’t eager to leave quite yet.

“Sweetheart, can you get me a plate?” Steve asks, pressing his tongs into the steaks. “I think these are about ready.” 

Snapping out of your dreamy, reflective state, you stand and go into the kitchen to rummage through the cupboard with the flatware. 

After you step out to hand him the plate, you begin to take out some of the leftovers from lunch: mashed potatoes and a spring salad made from the vegetables you picked from the farmer’s market. Steve comes in and sets the steaks on the dining table and washes his hands before helping you set up, grabbing the pitcher of water and some bottles of beer. 

There’s a comfortable silence as the two of you eat, the simple pleasure of each other’s company not requiring either of you to talk. 

To Steve, this is paradise. 

It’s what he’s wanted for as long as he could remember–though in his 1940s imagination, things weren’t nearly as high-tech, and this would’ve all happened in an apartment in Brooklyn. 

And Bucky would have been there, too. 

He remembers while in the hospital after Sam told him about your detainment, he asked about Bucky’s whereabouts. 

“He disappeared, there’s no trace of him.”

Closing his eyes, Steve sighs. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“They’re the two most important people in my life,” he answers right away. 

Sam is quiet, then he speaks, “You know…you don’t always come home with the whole squad. You lose a man, you lose two, there’s always a part of you that feels empty or incomplete. But sometimes that makes your bond with your other squad members all the more meaningful.” 

Steve opens his eyes and looks at his friend, understanding. 

You were here. That matters just as much as losing Bucky. 

He wouldn’t lose you. Not again.

He cherishes every single moment with you and dotes on you to no end. He has a hand on you at every possible moment or remains as close as your comfort will allow. 

You were a lifeline to him, the source of his peace and baseline for sanity. He was in mourning from the moment he woke up to the moment he saw you again. 

If something were to take you away from him now, he would go berserk. 

Nights prior to you were spent restlessly, staring at his ceilings as car lights passed by his window and the projection of moonlight slowly moved before the sun rose. He supposes he would get three hours of sleep at most. 

In bed, he holds you tightly, akin to a child clinging to a teddy bear. It’s the only way he can feel secure now, the only way to keep the nightmares at bay. 

They haven’t occurred since the two of you arrived at the cabin. He had to do a double-take when he checked the time—he had slept for twelve hours. When his shock subsided, he looked down at you and smiled, pressing a kiss into your temple and squeezing you once before making breakfast. 

You’re wrapped up in his arms again now, trailing your fingers over his hand and up and down his arm as he kisses your shoulder, eyes dropping closed and body settling against the mattress. Comfortable. 

Secure. 

Happy. 

Then…cold. 

He blindly searches for you, rousing when he reaches as far as he can and his fingers wrap around the edge of the mattress instead of your body. His heart jumps and he blinks urgently to try and get his bearings. 

Where are you?

His whole body electrifies as he sits up, looking at the bedroom door and finding it closed. 

The wind blows and the hinge of the balcony door squeaks as it’s nudged open. Steve feels a chill then looks toward the noise and source of the cold. 

Throwing the blankets off his legs, he gets up and pads his way to the door, opening it further and finding you sitting on the little bench there, looking over the lake and at the clear, starry sky. 

Stepping around the side of the bench, he sits next to you, lip quirking up at one corner to smile when you look at him. 

“Are you okay?” he checks. 

“Mhmm,” you nod. 

He doesn’t want to pry, but he wants you to know he’s here to listen. If there’s anyone who could understand exactly what you’re going through, it’s him.

Reaching over to take your hand, he squeezes it. “You’re not alone.” 

You look down and squeeze back. “Not anymore.” 

When your eyes meet his again, they water suddenly, and tears spill over your eyelids. He’s quick to cup your face, wiping away every tear as fast as he can.

He doesn’t want you to cry. 

“That woman,” you say in between sobs. “The Black Widow.” 

“Nat?” he wonders. “What about her?”

“I know her.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I know her,” you say again, breathing in slowly to try and even out your voice. “Not well, but…I know her. I worked with her in the past, in the Red Room, where she was trained.” 

Steve doesn’t know much about Natasha’s past, only what is in her SHIELD file. “Red Room” rings a bell; an extremely intensive, regimented facility where she and hundreds of other women train to become the world’s most deadly assassins, just like their namesake. 

You were there?

“I saw her face, I couldn’t quite place it. Then she gave me the suit and I knew. And the Widows, they’re so intelligent, only the best of them all. She had to have known me.”

He had a feeling once he saw that you were connected to Bucky; Natasha had known of the Winter Soldier the minute she heard Steve’s description of him. There must have been some connection between the three of you, but he never would have thought that you trained her. 

“I’m sure I terrified her as a little girl,” you continue, sobbing again. “And she helped me…she’s helping me now, Tony gave me her clothes.”

Steve realizes you’re speaking out of guilt. It becomes more apparent when you add on to what you had just said.

“And Bucky…I’m sorry.” You place your hands on his wrists before sliding them up and grasping his palms. “I’m so sorry, I know I’m responsible for what happened to him. I just don’t know what I did.” 

You’re pleading with him; begging for forgiveness that you don’t need to ask for. 

“I should’ve known, I should’ve stopped it and helped him, I–”

Heart breaking, Steve shushes you and pulls you into his chest. 

“Stop,” he says, voice catching as he begins to cry himself. “It’s not your fault. I know you wouldn’t have if you had known–”

“It’s my fault, I know it is.”

“No, shh,” he tries to soothe you with a hand cupping the back of your head. “Sweetheart, it’s…”

It’s not okay. But he can’t put the blame on you. 

He settles on telling you that he understands. “I know you would’ve stopped it if you had known.” 

Pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, he closes his eyes, silent tears falling as his chest constricts. He supposes it was foolish of him to think things would automatically go back to how they were before, only the trauma of the war plaguing the two of you as you try to piece your lives together. 

As he holds you now, it dawns on him that there are demons living in your mind that disappear in your consciousness; they sneak up on you and attack, they break you and hurt you and leave you crying, riddled with guilt and fright. 

He wants to get rid of them. Of course, he does. What kind of person is okay with the love of their life struggling on their own with the pain of the past? 

How could he even begin to help when neither of you have all the pieces of the puzzle? 

Could Tony do something? Could he call in a favor? 

Maybe. 

The next question chills Steve to the bone: Could he handle the truth of it all? If someone could unlock those corners of your memory and they all came flooding out, could he reconcile his love for you with the reality of what you may have done against your will?

Yes.

- - - - -

“Do you want to go for a swim?” Steve asks. 

Peering over the top of your book, you see he’s looking straight ahead from where you sit on the porch bench. Your legs were draped across his lap, facing toward him as you read as the morning air warmed into the afternoon. 

You turn your head, blinded by the sunlight as it reflects against the surface of the lake. It’s a beautiful day, warm but not uncomfortable or sticky. 

“I can see if Tony packed a swimsuit in that luggage he gave me.”

Steve gives you a crooked smile and moves your legs so your feet land flat on the wooden deck. He stands, stripping off his shirt and providing you with a generous view of his physique. 

It occurs to you then that beyond kissing and holding, the two of you hadn’t reconnected in other ways. 

“I’ll meet you in the water,” he tells you, throwing a wink your way. 

You can’t help but roll your eyes, only to bite your lip as you watch him walk across the lawn to the end of the small dock and dive into the water. 

Ignoring the heat in your face, you get up and scurry upstairs to rifle through your luggage. When you stumble upon an article of clothing with a unique texture, you think you’ve found it–or…what appears to be left of it.

Growing up, you never saw a swimsuit; nobody in your town had one. But you had seen more modest ones in a British magazine that Peggy showed you during the war. It was something she had kept tucked away most of the time, but she took it out when she wanted to reminisce on simpler times. 

You still remember the image: three beautiful girls with their hair perfectly curled and styled; one with a ponytail, one with pigtails, and the third with her hair kept back with a headband. The photo was taken as they were laughing, mouths open and hands pressed to chests or raised delicately in joy. They lounged on towels with an umbrella propped behind them to give shade. The suits flattered their figures and covered nearly everything, only exposing their arms and legs.

While those suits were pretty skimpy for the 1940s, this one makes your eyes go wide. It’s practically a pair of undergarments–and those too have gotten skimpier in their own regard.

Undressing yourself, you struggle with the top and heave a sigh of relief when you finally get it tied properly. You shimmy into the bottoms, which you scowl at in the mirror. They barely cover your bottom, though there is a high waistline. 

As you look at your reflection, you trace your fingers over the dark, jagged scars that litter your body. You’re self-conscious for a moment; you don’t remember how you got most of them. There are a few exceptions: ones on your arm from repairs that went poorly and distinct circular ones from when the serum was injected into you. 

You take a deep breath, shaking whatever apprehension you feel out of your head and going down the stairs to the back door and onto the porch. 

From here, you can see Steve floating on his back, looking up at the sky. Eager to join him, you jog over the grass, feeling the blades tickle the soles of your feet. The wooden planks of the deck squeak gently underneath the weight of your steps and you sit at the edge when you reach the end. 

“Enjoying yourself?” 

Your question jars him and you giggle as he flails for a moment before beginning to tread the water as he turns to look at you. 

He smiles for a moment, then his eyes glide down over your body. His face falls as he stares, no doubt at the blemishes littering your skin. 

Your chest squeezes, heat rising underneath your skin that makes your muscles tighten as you curl into yourself to hide. You feel your lungs inflate with a strange combination of embarrassment and pride–you feel humiliated that he’s staring but refuse to sit there and subject yourself to it. 

Getting up with a huff, you march back up the dock, ignoring Steve calling after you. As you walk over the lake, you hear him splashing and becoming a little more breathless as he keeps urging you not to leave. 

The screen door slams behind you and your feet slap against the stairs as you retreat into the bedroom. The hot air of your emotions escapes through your nostrils with every breath, especially when you struggle to untie the top of the bikini. In your rage, you throw it across the room and the bottoms follow after. 

You find yourself walking to the shower, your brain directing your feet before you can really think about your movements. Shutting the glass door, you turn on the hot water and stand under the spray as it strikes your skin. 

The heat makes your scalp tingle, giving you something to think about to banish the thoughts of the way Steve looked at you. Your head feels heavy, bowing as your eyes close. A breath echoes against the tiles–your breath, you realize–coming in short gasps and sobs while your hands wrap around yourself to make your body as small as possible. 

A short time later, your eyes open when you hear the door click and then shut again. You wait for Steve to say something, but his voice never comes. Cold air invades the shower cubicle as he opens the glass door and then shuts it. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I…I didn’t mean to…” 

He lapses into silence and you close your eyes. You can feel his body, close to you but not crammed in the rather spacious area. 

“Can I touch you?”

Your spine straightens a little. You don’t refuse him, but you don’t nod either. 

You feel his skin on yours; a fingertip, tracing a line down your shoulder. Your muscles stiffen for a moment, then relax. 

His touch trails down until both hands hold your waist on either side. When his lips press into your shoulder, your legs nearly buckle, your body melting into his hold. 

He doesn’t stop, holding you up as he traces down your back, mouth ghosting over the scars he sees there. Steve takes his time, not only savoring the taste of your skin and the smell of your body but also reacquainting himself with you. Making up for lost time. 

There’s a swelling in his chest, a fierce fire that blazes and spreads throughout his body; he knows it well. He first felt it in 1944 in the backseat of a Jeep, in a garage in London. You, illuminated by dim lights coming in through the windows while the canopy of the Jeep kept the two of you concealed. 

Your coveralls and his dress greens on the floor, taken off in a flurry of desperation and desire. 

He wanted you then; he’d be damned if he made you believe he didn’t want you now. 

He commits the image of your back to memory, a new map of who you are, even if neither of you may ever find out how you got them. On his knees, as water runs down your skin, he doesn’t care about the lack of knowledge. He doesn’t think he ever will. 

His hands move to your hips. “Turn.” 

It’s almost a command, but his voice moves up as he says it, making it sound like a question. 

You tremble as you move, facing him. His heart sinks when he sees your face, eyes red and slightly swollen.

“What is it?” He rises to his feet, cupping your face but not before tracing up your figure as much as he can. His thumbs swipe your cheeks, attempting to remove tears he can’t see because of the water falling over both of you. 

You gasp, a broken sob coming from your throat as you reach for him, hands framing his face as you look at him almost in disbelief. 

“I missed you.” Your words are choppy as you cry. “Steve, I–”

He cuts you off, covering your mouth with his as he presses you into the tiled wall. He feels warm and dizzy and knotted in the stomach, butterflies erupting in every cell of his body. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer. 

Your lips part, giving his tongue space to dart into your mouth and brush against yours. His hand cups your thigh and brings it up to wrap around his hip, opening you up for him. 

Reaching between your bodies, his fingers blindly graze over the wet, needy flesh between your legs. Your hips roll forward and you bite his lower lip, making him groan against you. 

Rubbing your pussy with more pressure, Steve enjoys the sounds that spill from you, the impulsive touches and scratches you lay on his skin as he builds an orgasm for you and keeps himself at bay. He adjusts his hand, seeking out your clit. 

Unable to prevent it, he chuckles to himself. 

“Why the hell are you laughing?” He doesn’t need to see your face, he knows how you’re looking at him from the tone of your voice. 

Opening his eyes, he smiles, giddy like a schoolboy. “Remember the first time you showed me how to do this?” He laughs again, “You said I was looking at your pussy like it was a novelty.” 

Your eyes are distant for a moment and then they light up. You smile too, seeming unable to stop it as you look at him. “And you said it was.” 

“And then you laughed at me.” 

“Shut up, Rogers, I told you back then that I was laughing because it was cute.” 

Rolling his eyes, he kisses you once, soft like the breeze lifting a flower petal. “You were my first.”

You run your fingers through his hair, pushing back the pieces that fall forward. His fingers begin to move against your nub, making your eyes close and your head roll back in bliss. “I like being your first.”

He presses his forehead to yours, “I’m glad I found you.” 

He stops his movements, hand pulling back to wrap around his length and giving himself a few tugs. When he’s ready, everything goes still in anticipation of the feeling of being connected to you again; loving you, pleasing you, being yours. 

You sigh and say his name as he pushes in, pulling back and looking into his face while he slowly fills you up. He knows it’s familiar, that he’s been here with you before plenty of times, but there’s something new about this now. Something that makes him relish this moment with you, fills him with hope for everything that lies ahead for both of you. 

He loves you, and he tells you and shows you as he fills you up and mingles his breath with yours and kisses you in desperation. There are no words to express what he feels; he’s on Cloud 9 and he never wants to come down. 

He wants to stay with you, anywhere you go, and never part from you. He wants the promise that he will never lose you again, no matter how irrational and unattainable it is. 

Your moans come more frequently, your nails clawing at his skin, wounds stinging under the hot water. He curses, thrusting into you faster and harder to bring you over the edge. 

His name echoes in your voice against the tiles, reaching his ears and bringing on his own orgasm. Knees nearly buckling, he summons all his strength to keep both of you upright through the paralyzing pleasure.

Fuck, he loves you.

He doesn’t know how long he remains within you, nosing at your neck while you graze your fingertips over his shoulder and through his hair. 

“Steve,” you mumble against his shoulder. 

He hums.

“I want to lie down with you.” 

- - - - -

Bundled in blankets and one of his long sleeves, you cuddle into Steve as you watch an animated film on TV, lying on your side with his body right behind you. 

It takes place in China and follows the story of a girl who joins the army in place of her father. She’s determined to succeed, crafty in her execution to establish her place among male soldiers. 

“I like this one,” you tell him, watching a training montage as the captain of the unit sings a song about his expectations for his soldiers. 

“It’s a good one,” Steve agrees, hand trailing up your side before wrapping his arm around your middle. 

You entwine your fingers with his, bringing his hand up to your lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

As the song ends and the scene changes, Steve squeezes you closer to him. Pressing a kiss into your temple, he smiles when you giggle, then kisses you again and again. 

“When we get back to New York, I’m gonna marry you,” he swears, echoing his sentiments from his private quarters in the London SSR headquarters when he first asked you to come back with him. 

You hum a laugh. “Sounds like a plan, Rogers.” 

Your neck cranes to look at him and receive a kiss on your lips. When you turn back, he buries his face in your hair. 

For a moment, he lets it sink in that you’re here, you’re real, he has you back. The two of you can finally be together. 

Now, he just has to find Bucky. 

Permatag: @caffiend-queen @fckdeusername @lou-la-lou @bangtan-serendipity @lovemarvelousfics @rainbowkisses31 @richonne4life @damnndeanndamnn @meetmeatyourworst @tinyplanet-explorer @vivien-1211 @unknownmystery22 @nerdygirl8203 @xoxabs88xox @mariaenchanted @gotnofucks @denisemarieangelina @myoxisbroken @kelbabyblue @pspice639 @maynay43 @just-another-wretched-egg @jennmurawski13 @avantgardium-leviosa @random-butterfly @rachelderivia @kenzieam @bluemusickid @asiaaisa77 @angrybirdcr @inactivewhore @velvetcardiganbucky  @madbaddic7ed @mysweetlittledesire @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @buckymydarlingangel @mayasreadingnook 

Chris tag: @onetwo3000 @patzammit @astheworlddturns @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @maeleeme @tvckerlance @thiskindahotkindamusic @fizzahocleirigh @marantha @justile

Steve tag: @twittytelly

The Riveter Taglist: @redhairedfeistynerd @dbnightingale24 @jamielea81 @chalametet @bluemusickid @nicholsanddhimes @rockyrogers  @iwantutobehapppier @ladynightshade30 @chase-your-dreams-away @searchforanotherway @brooklyn-1918 @awesomerextyphoon @fanngirl19 @pandawalnut @angiexyoung

#Steve Rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers fanfic #Steve Rogers fic #Steve Rogers smut #Steve Rogers #Chris Evans fanfiction #Avengers AU #Avengers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #The Riveter #ficsofpagesoflauren

[jayarrarr]

Jen’s Dating Chronicles: Installment the Seventh

I'm breaking a number of rules with this post. Broken rule the first is that I told myself when I started this series that I would only write installments about people once the "relationship" was over or had run its course, and that is most certainly not the case here. Broken rule the second is that I told myself with installment the sixth that I was done and I wasn't going to write any more of these, yet here we are. Broken rule the third is that I never give identifying details about any of the people I talk about in these posts, but said strict anonymity seems a bit past the point here, and especially given broken rule the first, and more especially given that the person I'm about to tell y'all about was once a member of the Tumblr Writing Community, such as it was way back in the day, and that makes anonymity seem silly and pointless, even more especially given that I have posted pics of myself with this person on this very blog. Three. That's three broken rules. Three is a number. So yeah. Sometimes there are people just sort of hanging out in the background of your life. That's not to say that you never talk to them, or that you don't consider them to be friends of a fashion, or that you've never shared any deep or thought-provoking or emotional content with each other—we read each other's writing, for fuck's sake. But things don't click until they do. We didn't meet on an app, at least not a dating app, and not unless you consider Tumblr a dating app (some of us do, tho, it seems—I've had more actual relationships through Tumblr than through Tinder or Bumble or any of the others that purport to shove people's faces in your face so you can find someone to play mate with). And we weren't strangers, not really, even though we'd never met in person. We started chatting about writing one day and that conversation became a conversation about something else that became a conversation about something else again and so on and that conversation has never really stopped since June 21 when it started. So maybe that explains why, on the first of July, we were on the phone and I jokingly intimated when we were six hours into what would become an all-night phone conversation, that rarest of breeds, that if I'd gotten in the car when we first started talking I'd be halfway to him by then. And we kinda laughed about it and it was kinda funny but also kinda not funny because it planted a seed in my mind and that seed grew immediately and had to be harvested pretty damn quick and that's when I said, "I'm driving to Houston tomorrow." And then I passed out on the phone. This is the sort of thing that happens when you're on the phone all night. And then I woke up at 11 a.m. and my first thought was, "Did I really just say I was driving to Houston tomorrow?" And after I'd determined that wasn't some sort of fever dream, I commenced to trying to talk myself out of driving 12 hours and I just couldn't come up with enough reasons not to. I really couldn't come up with any reasons not to, apart from the "driving 12 hours" part, because I don't know about you but that doesn't exactly sound like the best time. Although, if I'm honest, I was less concerned with the driving down and more concerned with the driving back. If things went well, the driving back would be bittersweet. If things didn't go well, the driving back would be annoying. Neither bittersweet nor annoying are pleasant. So basically there's no way that the driving back would be a good time, even if the driving there wasn't the best. And yet. So off I went on Sunday, and you know what? The drive wasn't all that bad. At some moments, it was even really fucking cool. Was it the best? Eh. And then I got here and ever since I got here everything has been amazing. Sometimes there are people just sort of hanging out in the background of your life. And then, one day, they move into the foreground and everything clicks and the world comes into focus like things are just a little brighter and a little sharper than you ever noticed them being before. But before I left I assured everyone I talked to about this venture that there was no way in hell my fucking ass was moving to fucking Houston. I'm allowed to be wrong. So that's where I'm at right now. Falling in love and moving to Houston. One thing I didn't see happening any time soon, the other thing I didn't see happening ever. But ain't that the beauty of it? Take a fucking risk sometimes just to see what happens. It might suck, but it might also be something grand.

And just in case you’re wondering what happened to the guy from Installment the Sixth—he lied to me. Don’t lie to me.

© 2023 by Jennifer R.R. Mueller

#JRRM #bloggy blog #dating chronicles #prose

[weeinterpreter]

Butler gets sick. Wee shows up to take care care of him for ✨ Hot drink cure ✨

What’s a Trope Bingo?

Bonus (Not part of the Evil Association Arc)

Butler had pulled the duvet up to his chin and turned the heating to the max. Regardless, he was shivering. The Blue Diamond didn’t get sick. So it had come as a surprise when he collapsed, trying to get up that morning.

Juliet had taken one look at him and made him swallow all kinds of pills. He had been too weak to protest or check what she was giving him.

He woke up several hours later... Or days, he couldn't tell. Taking a deep breath, a violent cough shook him.

"That sounds pretty bad. Have you tried tea with a lot of honey?"

"Yes," Butler rasped before opening his eyes wide at the familiar voice. He focussed on the annoying journalist with the sparkling stud in her nose, sitting not five feet away from his bed. Groaning, Butler closed his eyes again.

"What are you doing here?"

"Juliet let me in," the woman said, shifting in her seat and crossing her legs.

"Did you kill my sister?" he asked flatly.

"Don't be daft."

The journalist chuckled. "She has actually subscribed to my blog. Said she enjoyed my investigative piece on you in New York two months ago. I called it 'Solomon's Gift'. Clever, isn't it?"

"No comment," Butler growled, pulling the duvet over his head.

The woman tsked. "Please, Butler. We both want the same thing. You want to get better. I can make you better."

For a moment, Butler was quiet. Then he peeked at her from under his blanket.

"You?"

"Of course. My family is world renowned for the best home remedies for colds, sickness, the plague, oh, and the evil eye. My great-great-great-grandfather travelled the world to free folks from evil ghosts."

Butler wasn't convinced.

"Like an exorcist."

The journalist shook her head, her nose stud blinding him when it caught the light.

"It's just a fantastic chicken broth, but that doesn't sell as well as 'magical healing water'. He was a zagovor and also the best cook from Wrocław to Leningrad."

Butler's head was ringing. It felt as if invisible weights had been attached to his eyelids. He wanted to sleep, but he didn't want that woman, Wee, to sit in his room, possibly taking pictures of him while he was unconscious. He needed to have a word with Juliet about letting strangers and journalists into the house.

"What do you want in return?"

"Me? Can't a friend help a friend?"

"We aren't friends."

Wee wiped away an imaginary tear. "If you're too proud or secretive to share a few stories from your bodyguard training times...."

"I want you to get out of my bedroom, no offence," he said through gritted teeth.

"None taken. You aren't the first one to tell me that."

Butler furrowed his brows, unsure if she was joking. She grinned and held out a steaming mug he hadn't noticed before.

He accepted the beverage, smelling it.

"It's not poisoned," she said. "Remember, zagovor family. Drink up."

Butler took a sip, making a face. "There's garlic in there."

Wee beamed. "Oh, so you can taste it. Splendid. Then, it's not Covid."

"It's garlic," he said once more, almost whining. Except that Butler didn't whine.

"Indeed," Wee said, "an excellent cure for... anything. Vampires, rabies, colds. Do you want me to say a few magical spells? It really makes a difference. Presentation-wise."

Butler shot her a dark look before downing the brew in one go. He handed the mug back.

"Ask your question."

The journalist's smile became foxish. "Give me Sofia's phone number."

Butler almost choked. "Out of the question."

"You gave me your word, dear old Butler."

The bodyguard ground his teeth. "That's when I thought you'd ask me about my training."

"Yes, I made you believe that, didn't I?" she said with a satisfied smile.

"You're the devil."

"And you know that how?" she asked, pulling out her notebook.

Butler groaned once more. He would need to give Sofia a heads-up.

"You cannot call her for the next 24 hours."

"That can be arranged," Wee said and nodded, her pen flying over the page as Butler recited the well-known number.

"You must be tired. I'll let you get some sleep."

"Thank you," Butler murmured, sinking back into his pillows.

He had almost nodded off when he heard the distinctive sound of a camera shutter. Butler considered shooting at her, but a second later he was fast asleep, dreaming about sunny Italian vineyards.

#thanks for sending it... months ago #thought it fitted with my current situation #so i pushed this one to the front #a bit of a self-indulgent little piece #butler is sick and i think he would feel a bit whiny #he is a man after all #slavic folklore #i wish i was a #zagovor #x #fowldom #artemis fowl #domovoi butler #trope bingo #humour #af fanfic #wee's writing workshop #writeblr #artemis fowl ii

[oops-all-knuxadow]

🌹 please?

Yeah, I can do one more! This is a really old one, from right around the time I made this blog.

--

Knuckles stirred to the sound of his communicator going off. It was the only piece of technology he owned, so its familiar chime woke him immediately.

He poked his head out of his burrow and noted it was barely dawn. An annoying time to be awake.

"This better be an emergency," he grumbled, pawing over the Answer button. "Hello -"

"Knuckles!"

The echidna sat bolt upright, eyes wide in a panic.

"Shadow?" He said. "What's wrong? A-are you hurt!?"

"No, not me," Shadow said. He sounded out of breath. "There's - I need - can you come to me? I don't know what to do."

The communicator lit up with a map. Shadow's location appeared as a red dot, about thirty minutes' travel if the echidna hurried.

"I'm on my way," he promised, sprinting across his island. The master emerald would be fine for a short time unattended, he knew. If anybody were stupid enough to try and take it in his absence, Angel Island was equipped with it's own self-preservative measures. Even in his own admittedly-paranoid mind, everything was going to be okay.

Nearing the edge, Knuckles kicked off and began to glide towards his boyfriend's location.

#🌹 asks #knuxadow #shadow the hedgehog #knuckles the echidna #shadknux #abandoned prompt

[maiz-of-light]

Rant about ableism and censorship beneath the cut, also slight TotK spoilers, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Seriously, if you look beneath the cut and proceed to get offended, you did that to yourself. This is my blog and I will share my thoughts if and how I want.

Hi! In case it isn’t already obvious, I’m annoyed, and I’m about to go into why. Recently, with the release of the Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom, a post has been circulating accusing the game of being “riddled with ableism” for its depiction of “body horror” and “medical trauma” - that is, at the very beginning, Link is attacked in such a manner that his arm becomes infected and he loses consciousness. When he wakes, he has a sci-fi, kind of steampunk-y, fantasy arm in its place that was grafted to him while in his coma because, as is explained, the infection was spreading and his life was at risk. Or, in summary, a dead arm was grafted to him without his consent.

When you put it that way, it sounds pretty dark - and fuck, I’m not arguing that, at all. What salts my onions, lads, is that the game is being described as “ableist” for not containing specific trigger warnings.

Guys. What the fuck.

For starters, have you not seen the trailers? The demonic mummy with the glowing red eyes? The animation of Link’s sword arm wreathed in what we now call “gloom,” followed by footage of him examining that same arm and it is clearly not the same? Goddesses help me these were the earliest fucking trailers, too. If you’re not smart enough to put two and two together then chances are you were never smart enough to enjoy a game created to challenge your problem solving and puzzle solving skills in the first place.

If, on the other hand, you hadn’t watched the trailers beforehand, and got triggered by some unmentioned content afterwards, that’s your problem. You are responsible for your own triggers - for knowing what they are and for scanning content prior to engaging. You don’t click on a fic with mention of alcoholism, skip over the CW in the notes, then harass the author when you stumble upon the line/scene/paragraph containing said alcoholism-centric content. Creators are not obligated to tiptoe around you. In other words, if you have bad triggers, consider not playing a brand new video game before you have any idea what it’s about.

Before you call me “ableist” or “insensitive,” let me tell you a story. I won’t mention any details, as trauma dumping is not something I do, but I will state that I have an official, professional diagnosis of PTSD. I have triggers, specific ones, that send me spiraling into severe panic attacks if I don’t catch them in time and deal accordingly. And do you know who’s responsible for that? Me. I don’t get to police content creators, what they share and how they share it. I am responsible for curating my own media experience, and if someone isn’t comfortable accommodating my specific triggers, preferences, etc., I can choose not to engage. Nothing, nothing bothers me more than when people appropriate my disability, either to get their way somehow or to score brownie points and make themselves look “considerate.”

As for Link’s little fantasy medical procedure - yeah, he lost a limb. It happens. It sucks, and for some it can definitely be triggering - but like I said, all the signs are there. Complaining that all the trailers, leaked footage, advertisement, etc. somehow wasn’t enough is whiny and annoying, and entitled, and as I’ve mentioned feels like it’s mostly coming from non-disabled individuals shooting for a “woker” image. Get therapy and let the rest of us enjoy this awesome new game and affiliated content without having to hear a bunch of pointless, wannabe-woke carping.

#totk spoilers #ableism #anti censorship