#not satisfied with vague tracking

[mrtheinsatiable]

I understand why they don't have a tracker on UPS trucks like they do on an Uber, but also my restless ass would love it if they did

#i want to know exactly where my package is and exactly what time it will arrive #i want to know the exact route the delivery truck will take and where it is on that route #like the bus #obviously they can't do this because of security and theft reasons #but also i want to know #not satisfied with vague tracking #i want minute by minute updates #Greg has loaded your package into the truck on the upper left shelf #Greg is turning left at the light #i will watch you drive around with my package all day until it is on my doorstep

[sarahscribbles]

A drabble where you’re trying to focus on a task but Loki can’t keep his hands off you.

fluffy, smutty, whatever inspires you! 🖤

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟖𝟖𝟑

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞: 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Loki…I can’t…stop,” you chide, albeit extremely half heartedly. 

A deep roll of laughter is your lovers only answer. His warm breath hitting your neck makes you shiver, which only makes him laugh more because he knows your defences are falling down brick by brick.

As they have been for the past few minutes. 

The drone of Tony’s medical technology conference continues on the laptop sitting in front of you, but you lost track of the discussion fifteen minutes ago when Loki decided to wrap himself around you. You should be focusing on the panel discussion on the newest advances coming out of Iran - you need to be focusing because Tony will quiz you - but the only thing you can focus on is the warm wetness of Loki’s tongue running along the column of your throat. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, balling your hands into fists at the same time your nipples harden. He knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“Mmm, you’re too ravishing, my darling. I can’t,” he teases, peppering your throat with gentle little nips. 

Almost instantly, your hips begin to rock against your chair. It’s your Achilles heel and he knows it. You swallow another groan when his hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt, inching over your stomach to knead your breasts through the lace of your bra. It feels so good, so blindingly good, that Tony quizzing you on the newest breakthrough in genetic engineering suddenly feels so very unimportant. 

“How much longer are you being forced to endure this, dove?” Loki murmurs, sinking his teeth into your earlobe. 

“An hour,” you tell him vaguely, letting your head fall back on the chair as he dips his fingers into your bra to toy with your nipples. “God, you’re such a menace.” 

He laughs quietly, but then unfolds himself from around you. You fight the childish urge to whine, but turn to look at him with betrayal etched across your face. “Hey!” 

Loki gives you that winning smile, the one that still makes your heart leap, and pushes a stray lock of hair back behind your ear. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere,” he assures you, and you breathe out a quiet “oh” when he falls to his knees and moves beneath the table. “Why don’t you let me make this a little more satisfying for you, dove?”

His palms fall on your knees and push your thighs apart, and with a casual flick of his wrist, your leggings and underwear are no longer an issue. 

“Yes! Please, Loki!” you plead. You’re thrumming for him, and the searing burn of arousal is already flowing through your blood. You can never get enough of this man. 

His answering smirk is wicked. “As you wish,” he purrs. 

He licks a long, slow stripe along the length of your aching cunt, savouring the taste of you on his tongue. The groan that tumbles from you is close to animalistic and you barely register how your hands are gripping the sides of your chair like a vice. 

Loki’s tongue is as skilled as it is sinful, and in no time he’s lapping at all the right spots that have waves of pleasure begin to roll blissfully over you. It’s as though someone has taken a match to a string, and when you glance down to see Loki’s head bobbing between your thighs and his fingers curled around your knees, that string only burns more swiftly. 

He’s like a man starved and with each roll of your hips, he only pulls you closer to his mouth, ensuring no part of you is neglected or forgotten. All you know - all you ever know with this man - is bliss. 

Never has someone been so attentive to your pleasure, or wanted to drown you in it as often as they can. He’s everything you ever wished for wrapped up in one beautiful man, and God knows you thank the universe for him every single day. 

Though, today, you’re maybe thanking it a little more for his tongue. 

Each swipe of it sends another wave of pleasure rippling through you, and when he decides to solely lavish your clit, your hand shoots to his hair with a string of colorful curses. 

“That! Keep doing that! Please!” you beg him, knowing that you’re seconds away from soaring off the edge.

Loki hums against you and swirls his tongue firmly over your clit. Once…twice…three times is all it takes for your orgasm to explode through you. It’s blinding and so forceful that the entire Milky Way explodes behind your eyes. You howl Loki’s name, you curse and writhe in your chair as pleasure rips through every inch and fibre of your being. 

Loki’s tongue doesn’t let up for even a second, guiding you skillfully through your climax. 

It’s intoxicating, he’s intoxicating, and when you finally come down from your high all fuzzy brained and glassy eyed, he’s gazing back up at you with a proud little smirk on his face. 

“I never tire of seeing you unravel, my darling,” he says, tracing little circles on the insides of your knees with his thumbs. “Though, I do wonder how many times I can make you do it before the hour is up.” 

You don’t object as he buries his face back between your thighs.

#loki #loki smut #loki x reader #loki fanfiction

[dailyadventureprompts]

DM Tip: Creating a Campaign Skeleton

Learning to be a better dungeonmaster was a protracted process. A younger me was often so stressed out by the desire to be a better artist that I'd have legitimately mauled a person if it would've revealed to me the wisdom I sought (with my hands or even an actual maul given the chance).

One of my biggest hurdles was the idea of a universal framework for d&d adventures, a guideline that would tell me if the things I was creating were on the right track. It was sorely needed, I loved the process of being creative but without an understanding of how my creative energy was best used I ended up sinking days, weeks, or even months worth of energy into projects that went nowhere. Worse yet, when I DID get a chance to put my ideas into practice at the table they'd frequently spiral out of control and crash, resulting in even more stress.

Over time I learned from these mistakes, I got better, and then I got good. I moved from conscious incompetence to competence, and I ended up having a run of absolutely stellar campaigns that were everything my younger self could have dreamed of: stable, enjoyable, meaningful, and most importantly an absolute delight to my players. Routinely I'd have people, including folks that'd only played with me a few times, mention that getting together to roll dice and listen to me babel on in silly voices was a highlight of their week.

It was as one of these campaigns began to wind down (three years! a satisfying conclusion on the horizon!) and I started looking for a followup scenario that I decided to study all my really successful campaigns and figure out what connected them. The end result was something I'd been looking for for nearly a decade, a reliable format that I could build campaigns around.

I want to preface this section with the understanding that while this information is laid out in a vaguely chronological fashion there's no guarantee that these ideas will occur to you in any particular order. Inspiration is a funny thing, and each idea flows into the others to make a cohesive whole. Due to foreshadowing and setup reasons you're also going to need a pretty solid idea about all of these when starting a campaign, though exact details will likely change/ can be vague up until the moment they're needed.

The Reason: Who are we and what are we doing?

Gives your players a solid background to build their characters around and give them a reason to travel together, rather than having to ad lib one on the spot. Likewise sets expectations of what the campaign is "about" that you can build on or subvert in time. The reason doesn't need to hold true for the entire game, just long enough to serve as a framing device. EG: The Witcher starts out as a "monster of the week" setup and then uses that framework to pivot into politics and prophecy once we've seen the premise play out.

The Pilot/Crashtest Adventure: What's first?

I’ve already written about these, but the general concept is to give your party a mostly contained first outing that doesn’t have any larger bearing on the plot so they can focus on learning how their characters play/building the party dynamic.  By the time the party's finished this first adventure they'll have already started putting down roots in the world: they'll have in jokes, npcs they've started to care about, an understanding of what's on the horizon, and an idea of where they want to go next.

The Central Gameplay Pillar: How does this all work?

It's important to have an idea what your campaign is going to be about in a mechanical sense in addition to its plot and themes. There is a difference between an adventure that has the party delve a dungeon, and a dungeoncrawling focused campaign. I like to lead with these outright during the campaign pitch so that players can know what they're getting into. Your playgroup will likely have strong opinions about what they like and dislike, even if they don't have the words to describe it, so you might need to explain the ideas for them.

The Hub: Where are we?

I think every good campaign has a hub, some kind of settlement that the party returns to between adventures to offload loot, pick up supplies, and sift through the latest gossip to look for the next questhook. Letting the party return to the same place lets them build up a relationship with it, clarifying the picture in their mind as new details are added and they grow more and more attached. It's possible to have multiple hubs over the course of a campaign, but I'd advise really only having one per arc to best concentrate your efforts. Fill up your hub with distractions and side adventures, shorter stories that the party can get tangled up in while the larger adventure slowly reveals itself. Returning to the same hub also means returning to a familiar and expanding cast of NPCs, which helps your party become more and more invested in the setting

The Main Event: What's going to happen?

Here we get to the meat of the issue, the big story you want to be telling using this campaign. To pull off the sick narrative kickflip you wish to perform, you're going to need to lay a lot of groundwork, seeding in details left and right as well as giving the party a chance to stumble across evidence of your schemes without ever realizing the whole thing. To do this, you're going to work in the building blocks of your big reveal/twist/pending disaster into the setting along with those side adventures from the hub. This will give your party an idea that something is going on, but with more pressing matters to take care of they're going to be distracted up until the moment you decide to pull the trigger.

The Setting: What's over there?

While things like genre and tone are definitely things you should have a handle on from the outset, I personally feel like the details of a setting are best constructed on an ad hoc basis, either in a direct response to something required by part of the narrative (be it side story or main event), or pencilled in at the margins as the party explores the world.. That said, creation of the hub and setting often go hand in hand because it's important to match the settlement to the environment and then shape the environment to the quests inside the settlement. As for what's beyond your hub, I happen to have just written something about building out settings.

Now, this next option is one that I recommend you start thinking about only once your campaign is fully underway, so it doesn't clog up your creative process by focusing on something that you might not even get to

The Change: What the fuck?

A little while after the main event has kicked off and your party is off on the quest that will turn them from mere adventurers into heroes, they start to hear rumours of strange happenings. It's certainly not related to the present scenario, it may even be an unexpected windfall, but it's not something they have time to look into. Time ticks on, the land is saved, and the party is able to enjoy their victory lap as well as some dearly needed time off. Before they can get comfortable however they're slammed by some strange occurrence that they could have never predicted that changes the state of the world. A neighbouring kingdom invades, an important ally is murdered and they're blamed for it, a dragon starts rampaging through the realm. Its important that this event is outside the party's skillset, not necessarily diametrically opposed, but counter to what they were planning

artsource

#dm tip #dm advice #writing #dm tips #writing advice #campaign skeleton

[holybibly]

Hi Mommy, I hope you're feeling good today 🩷 Can I please request something for Sugar Weekend? 🥺 I've been thinking about Mingi a lot, especially about riding his thigh... He's busy, he's working in his studio but I'm a bit naughty and impatient so he's doing his stuff while I hump him like a desperate little Bunny (that in fact I am).

Love you 🩷

Oh, the cute little bunny is feeling needy and desperate to rub against Mingi's thick, muscular thigh? Baby, follow me; I'll make your wish come true.

This is absolutely not enough for your satisfaction. In your aroused mind, you realize that it's not enough—rocking your hips and grinding against Mingi's thick thigh—to make you come. And Mingi knows it too; even in this vague, needy state, you can easily see the self-satisfied, amused gleam in his eyes as he watches you desperately trying to come without him helping. 

The new track he was working on is long forgotten, and all his attention is now focused on you, and you don't know whether you are grateful or not for that.

"Feeling okay, doll?" Mingi coos sweetly, his big hand squeezing your bottom, his lacquered nails digging into your skin, and it's the only touch you'll get from him. He looks completely content with where he's sitting, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs wide, allowing you to do whatever you want. It is clear that you are struggling to get the orgasm that you want, but Mingi is doing absolutely nothing to help you with that.

"Yes, that is so good. Really..." You manage to say this as you feel your clit rubbing pleasantly against the soft, gray fabric of his trousers. You bend your head down to hide your burning cheeks just a little bit. It's really nice, and you're feeling good; it's just... awkward. But there's nothing you can do about it; your body reacts in that way every time Mingi is around, and sometimes you remind yourself of a bunny in heat.

You look so fucked up; your clothes and underwear are a mess on the floor at Mingi's feet, but you're wearing his unbuttoned hoodie, which keeps falling off your shoulders. But you think it's sexy as hell to wear his clothes on your naked body, and damn, Mingi thinks so too.

"Is that all? Are you going to cum without any help from me, my little bunny? Will you cum on my thigh?" He teases, and even with your head down you know Mingi has a big grin on his face, and you can hear it in his deep, husky voice. It makes you feel embarrassed, but at the same time it sends a wave of pleasure down your spine and you squeeze your pussy even harder against Mingi's thick thigh.

You move your hips, shifting your weight slightly on Mingi's thigh, a pitiful whimper escaping your soft lips as your clit clings to the fabric of his trousers. They are darker than they were before; a large wet patch has formed on the under your naked cunt. Does Mingi care about that? He doesn't fucking care; you can get your cum all over his clothes, and he'll thank you for it. But you blush even more—hot and bright—as you see your arousal confirmed on the gray fabric of his trouser leg.

"It's not enough. I can't do it, Mingi." You whine, finally lifting your head to meet his gaze. The sheer desire you see in his eyes makes you want to look away, but for some reason you can't do it.

"You're a bit greedy. Aren't you? But I get it, baby; obviously, that's not enough for your little cunt. Tell me what your needs are."

Mingi's hand moves from your ass to the curve of your thigh, gently guiding your movements, his touch soothing the burning heat that is simmering beneath your skin. You lean forward, and your lips brush against Mingi's collarbone, your hot breath tickling his skin. You twist his t-shirt in your fists, a little out of breath. Holy shit.

"I need you to touch me, Mingi." You say.

You're hoping that'll be enough for the satisfaction of his ego, but that doesn't seem to be the case. You squirm as his hand slides up your body and squeezes your left tit, the pad of his thumb rubbing the swollen pink nipple as he does so.

"But aren't I touching you already, doll?"

You fucking hate it; it's so humiliating that he makes you beg and plead every time you want something from him, but you know that Mingi won't lay a finger on you if you don't do it. Sometimes you really have second thoughts about your choice of boyfriend in life.

"I want you to rub my clit. Please do. I need it so badly, Mingi." You whisper it into his skin.

As his thumb brushes against your throbbing clit, your thighs tremble, and you press harder against Mingi's thigh. This simple, light pressure is much better than all the trying you've done to come without him helping you. Damn it, you've become so dependent on him touching you, it's even funny.

"Like this, baby? Do you want it like that?"

You whimper and nod your head yes as Mingi begins to slowly rub your needy clit in steady circles.

"That's my baby doll. You look so beautiful, Y/N." Mingi praises you and leans down to kiss your neck, and in spite of the fact that your whole throat was already covered in purple and black hickeys, Mingi is busy leaving new marks on the skin. He continues to play with your clit, and your hips find a steady rhythm as you slide your oozing cunt up and over his juicy, meaty thigh. Your hands are tightening on his t-shirt at how good all of this is making you feel.

"More, I need more..." You moan, and all his movements stop. You groan in disappointment at the knowledge of the reason for his actions. "Please, Mingi, I need you so badly."

"This is my good girl." You let out a sigh of relief as his fingers began to rub over your clit again, this time at a more rapid pace.

You loudly moan, and if it weren't for the soundproofing of Mingi's studio, you'd be worrying more. Not without embarrassment, you remember your recent conversation with San. He had been terribly embarrassed when he asked you to "be a bit quieter" when you had spent the night in their dorm. Your hips roll faster and faster against Mingi's thigh in pursuit of the pleasure that is on the edge of your arousal.

"Be a good girl and come on top of my thigh, baby. I want to see how beautiful you look, filling me with cum. Come on, baby doll. Do it." He moans deep into your neck and bites your sensitive skin.

You clap your hand over your mouth and stifle a high-pitched scream. White hot pleasure washes over you in a wave as you cum profusely. Mingi guides you through your orgasm. He gently plays with your clit and the delicate folds of your pussy with his long fingers. It is only when you begin to moan pitifully from the overstimulation that he removes his hand. You shudder as you feel the light touch of his fingers as they glide over your plump, sensitive cunt. Trying to catch your breath from the orgasm you have just experienced, you press your face into the crook of his neck.

"Don't relax, baby; now you're going to make me cum."

#ateez smut #kpop smut #atz smut #ateez hard hours #ateez unholy hours #smut #mingi smut #mingi smau #song mingi smut #mingi x reader

[brightgoat]

Hey hi! I’ve been an avid follower of yours for awhile for your Pucci art but, this green child au has me hooked more and more lately! Your art is stunning by the way, thank you for posting!! The final metamorphosis panel has me excited for the next installment you share ngl.

Anyways, I was wondering if I could ask a few things about it? Specifically, what has happened after O-moon came into the picture, and the buildup to part 13 and 14? Of course if you wish to keep things vague or don’t know, there’s no need to answer! I’m just curious.

When did Jotaro get alerted to the incident and decided to finally come around? Did he encounter Pucci first or Jolyne? After the revelations that O-moon revealed to Jolyne, how did her perceptions of her father and Pucci shift? Did Jolyne ever figure out what Pucci was most likely about to do to FF while they were cornered by him? Have you thought about how Weather Report factors into this AU at all (since he’s probably in prison at this point)?

Sorry for the bombardment, and again no pressure to answer these if you don’t wish to!

- Kimera

Greetings! Thank you very much for the compliment, hope the payoff to that comic was satisfying haha

So, I wanna keep things vague with this AU, telling the main story beats through images and short comics- not only cuz I like it that way but also cuz... I haven't decided a lot of the details hahaha-

Answering this via lore dump, hope you like reading, this can be just one of many ways it could've happened:

I imagined that while Pucci and Jolyne were out getting souls, Jotaro was studying whatever is left of Dio's followers, and eventually tracks down Pucci, and travels to the US. Perhaps he finds out Pucci has been tutoring Jolyne from Jolyne's mum (who knows maybe they reconnected).

Oh and yes, Jolyne's mum knows abt Pucci, but of course not who he really is.

During this, Jolyne has awakened the Green Baby and fused with it. Jotaro may even sense that something is wrong through their family psychic bond thing.

Jotaro, realizing Pucci is a step ahead of him by already taking in his own daughter, tracks Pucci down to the church and confronts him there, sparing no time and going straight to beating answers out of him, where's Jolyne, what happened to her, what's your plan etc.

I had this thought, that once Jolyne fuses with the green baby, she inherits a bit of Dio's knowledge, and it helps her realise she's been getting used by Pucci all along. Not only that, she inherits the will to go to Heaven, and it drives her to complete the plan, she's strung along by fate now.

Now obviously she feels betrayed by Pucci, but still sympathetic to him, and rescues him from Jotaro. She's conflicted, she's angry, the only reason both Pucci and Jotaro reached out was because of some bigger-than-her plot, and not because of herself. She doesn't know how much of what Pucci gave her was genuine or because of her use to him.

(had this idea for a scene that right after Jolyne rescues Pucci, all three of them are still in church and Pucci realises she's transformed, he yells for her to stay still so he can get Whitesnake to take whatever's inside her out, but as soon as Whitesnake reaches out, a hand bursts out, he thinks it's Stone Free and suddenly JUMPSCARE O-Moon jumps out at him and the reversed-gravity throws everyone away from her-)

The only friend she has left is FF, and yes she finds out what Pucci did to them, furthering her anger. So she drags FF along with her, they are eachothers' only allies here, and although FF doesn't fully understand what's happening to Jolyne, they'll stay by her side (cue the uhhhh 'oh jolyne gave me so many memories and memories make up my intellect so i owe her yadda yadda-')

Aaaaand as for Weather, yeah mf's still in prison lmao I haven't thought too much about him. I wanted this to focus on Jolyne and Pucci, though if I did turn this AU into an entire actual story, Weather would probably come up at some point. God knows how though lmao-

#green child au

[awyeahitssam]

Harry giggles. His limbs feel lighter than usual, almost as if bubbles are making them float a bit. He can still control them, but it's a vague, interesting sort of control. Fun.

Harry lets sleep take him. The world whirls around him in sparks of disorienting colours, and Harry watches with a broad smile. It should make him dizzy, but he feels in the middle of something fantastic—a watercolour painting come to life. It's brilliant. Elating.

It stops as suddenly as it starts. Voldemort stares at him from across a desk. "Harry Potter," he sounds almost surprised.

Harry blinks at him. He still feels light, like he is floating, but also distantly sad. "Are you okay?" he asks thoughtlessly.

Confusion masks itself behind anger. Voldemort masks everything behind anger. "Pardon?"

"I’d never felt as good as I did a moment ago," Harry confesses, drawing closer to the Dark Lord. Red eyes track him suspiciously. Harry's chest aches. "But now, looking at you… it makes me so sad."

Thoughtlessly, Harry reaches out, and Voldemort lets him. It’s how Harry knows this can’t be real. That it’s just a silly, drunken dream. Their fingers intertwine, though Voldemort’s hand remains stiff and cold in his gentle grip.

"Aren’t you lonely?" Harry wonders. "Is that yours I feel pressing in, or my own? Even without you," Harry smiles, crooked and small, brushing an irreverent thumb over his scar, "I’m sure it’d be there. People always isolate the freak."

Voldemort’s hand twitches in Harry’s, and he hums, focus dropping from red eyes to trace the long fingers with his own.

"Everybody’s frightened of you. You isolate yourself from friendship, from love, from time itself... don’t you want, Voldemort? I can feel that you do—you’re never satisfied, are you? Will it ever be enough? The world at your feet, no attachments, nobody to challenge you—is that your dream, or your nightmare?"

"You’re speaking nonsense, boy," Voldemort says, but it comes out odd. Stilted. "You presume much."

"Is it presumption when I feel you?" Harry asks genuinely, brows drawing together, hand lifting to press over his heart. Voldemort is dragged with him, pulled a bit over the desk, and Harry blinks in surprise before realizing he still has a grip on the other’s hand. He lets go slowly, and Voldemort pulls back with a scowl.

"You are drunk," the wizard snaps with disgust. "You know nothing of what Lord Voldemort feels."

Harry finds the words… annoying.

"You feel so loudly, though," he returns sharply, moving forward, sliding onto Voldemort’s desk. Ink spills over—Voldemort hisses in annoyance and the stain is gone with a thought—dreams are a magic of their own—Voldemort’s forehead is cold and smooth. Harry bears the man's mark. He presses his scarred head to the smooth. Long, clawed fingers are wrapped around his wrist. His throat.

"Right here, always pressing in," Harry continues, heedless of his position, precarious as it is. "You feel so much it hurts, Voldemort. You hate so much. You’re never just happy. And I was, am, could be. So just take some, won’t you?"

Red eyes are narrow, intent, fascinated as they dart over Harry’s face, trying to gather his meaning. "How do you propose I do that?"

"How does one normally take pleasure?" Harry wonders. Voldemort grimaces, pulling away quickly, and it takes Harry’s bubbling mind a moment to put what he said to context.

"No," he chokes on a laugh, "I’m not asking you to—to snog. To fuck. Just open yourself up. You’re so good at taking, usually, but all you’re doing is giving. Don’t you want to feel like this? Light? Thrilled?"

"You don’t even know what you sound like, do you?" The question is rhetorical. Voldemort’s hand tightens over his throat, until Harry’s breathing grows thinner. "You wish for me to let your happiness pass my Occlumency, as though you have not just slipped through yourself. As if you have no method to make Lord Voldemort feel your pleasure; as if you want to give Lord Voldemort pleasure at all."

Harry touches the hand on his neck, slowly tightening with Voldemort’s rant, and a spark lights his fingers. Voldemort’s hand spasms before it drops. Harry takes a deep breath, glaring balefully. His light-hearted air has faded.

"Perhaps I would give you pleasure so your misery would be all the worse for it," he bites out. The world is fuzzy, but no longer from alcohol. From being choked. Even in his dreams, his life is threatened by this man.

"A pretty plot," says Voldemort. There is something very condescending in his voice; he is clearly looking down on Harry. Doubting him. It’s nothing new, but it makes the sting of anger grow in him. "Very well. If you can conjure happiness as you peer into the face of your death, Harry Potter, then do. Make me feel it, if you can."

Harry’s nails bite into his palm and release. He takes a breath and lets his eyes flutter closed. He focuses.

Happiness. What does it feel like? Like floating, as he was moments ago, or like getting an anticipated hug—not his first, not all the ones he flinched away from, but a hug from Hermione when they’ve almost just died. An arm around Ron’s waist as the boy drapes one around his shoulder. Laughing, hysterical and joyous, by the fireplace. Finding his wand. Finding out he was escaping the Dursleys. Happiness is a brief thing, drenched in the shadows of his life. Happiness is contentment, even if it is a momentary thing. It is the pleasure of a perfectly prepared cuppa; from—nonono, not going there.

Harry wraps the sensations up, one by one, like he’s re-wrapping hard candy, and throws them at Voldemort. Into Voldemort. All but one—his favourite one, his happiest one. That, he grasps, and it’s actual candy in his hand, a sweet that he looks down to, and then unwraps, and he’s moving forward, intent eyes raising, and Voldemort is already gasping, a bit, at the suddenness of it all—of pleasure.

Harry’s lips curl and he pushes the candy into the slightly agape mouth of the Dark Lord a bit cruelly, shoving it deep. He pulls back quickly, before sharp teeth can gnash on his fingers, and watches on as Voldemort experiences pleasure. As Voldemort softens, and sighs, relaxation in every hard line of him, mouth sucking almost greedily around the treasure that Harry has placed within it. Now he’s drunk on it, Harry thinks, horribly pleased to see Voldemort this way.

It’s not real, but still, he hovers on Voldemort’s desk and observes the pink brushing his cheekbones with fascination. He observes the way red eyes roll back a bit, and the way a long, pale throat swallows convulsively down on a slowly dissolving candy until there is nothing left.

Lashless eyes open, dark and suddenly staring. Red barely peeks out from behind the dilation of his pupil, and Harry’s smile is a smug thing.

“There’s your pleasure,” Harry whispers to him, like a secret. “I hope you enjoyed yourself. It can only get worse from here.”

“Worse?” murmurs Voldemort, staring at Harry intently. “You think there is worse you can do, Harry, then give me that and take it back?”

Belonging, thinks Harry, quite suddenly. He’d given Voldemort his favourite thing, the thing that he had been looking for, for a very long time. Longing, and peace, and laughter, and a burgeoning happiness that had very rarely managed to emanate past its conception. He had given Voldemort, too, his desperate hope for things to get better—and then he’d made them get better—and now Voldemort had lost it all.

Suddenly, impossibly, Harry’s eyes are liquid. I’m cruel, thinks Harry, gaze falling from red. There is nothing so cruel as what he has done, and he had done it so carelessly, so happily, so smugly, because he had felt slighted. Had felt wronged by this man who had ceaselessly wronged him.

Slowly, Harry looks back up at Voldemort, who is watching his tears with an expression of keen interest. 

“Has it made you sad to give your enemy your pleasure, Harry Potter?” Voldemort asks, gripping his wrist and drawing him near enough that Harry barely keeps his bottom on the desk rather than Voldemort’s lap.

“It makes me sad to treat you with such cruelty,” Harry corrects, “when I know you will never allow yourself to experience such pleasure again.”

“Would I not?” breathes Voldemort, eyes still dark instead of bright.

“You won’t,” whispers Harry. “It'd require you to trust someone. To have faith in them. And that, I know you’re incapable of, because you are a man but don’t see yourself as one, and gods do not have friends, nor equals.”

“Equals?” Voldemort’s breath brushes Harry’s brow, his stinging scar. “But what if Lord Voldemort were to draw you from the depths, Harry? Raise you from the pale mortality until you, too, are exalted? Then you may give Lord Voldemort what he so deserves; give me pleasure, Harry Potter,” Voldemort enunciates awfully. “Give me it all.”

I wrote this one of the first times I ever drank, and just expanded upon it a bit. I'm honestly really fond of finding these little things I've forgotten.

#drunk Harry #Harry/Voldemort #dream antics #dream mechanics #physical concepts #silly boys #drunken moodswings #this is kinda... #odd

[seokka0o]

홍승한 - Hong Seunghan //Contain: afab!reader // Smut - Unprotected sex; enemies to something like lovers; college au

You could have a lot of questions under the hood. Looks exchanged in the college hallway could be considered a mere decoration and this childish intrigue, Seunghan was no fool, much less you, all this accumulated hatred and this lack of tact in dealing with each other had a not very secret meaning behind it. .

It was too luxurious a party to be sponsored by the college alone, many students there were supported by their millionaire parents, the fraternities were the biggest providers of that whole exhibition, mainly from you and from Seunghan, both as leaders of the fraternity house and two entities with greater power in that place, complete opposites, there were no treaties, when one wins, it means the other is losing and this encourages disproportionate fights between the two blocs.

Everyone in the room and already drunk until they lose track of space, loud music , this kind of thing. You in the dorm, Seunghan between your legs and you moaning greedily as he fucks you with all his being.

“You're a joke” he mocked without no shame in the face, both completely left out and your morals on the floor along with the clothes he took off without any effort, in known waters. Seunghan grabbed your leg tightly, pushing it up eyes to watch your pussy receive his dick so easily.

“S-Shut up” you whined and bit your lower lip, wanting to punish him for even being so full of himself at times like this, but getting lost in Seunghan's low talk and the more precise thrust he gave, hitting you deep with his cock, crazy in the feeling of your insides compressing him and pulling away so easily.

You guys serve up too good of a facade, he smiled with his thin lips and released him to lean towards you, slowing down the speed in question to thrust into you slowly, eager to hear you moan softly, with your eyes fixed on his. Seunghan was close, cute smile plastered on his lips, his face sweaty with his hair pulled back, you have a vague mention of the black earring in his ear and it makes you roll your eyes. It was impossible not to give in to him, anyway.

“Easy as the little thing you are” Seunghan said, starting to kiss your jaw, big hands going up to your chest to touch your nipple and make fun.

“D-Don’t you dare” you moved your hips, looking for more aggressive contact, but seunghan just remained as usual, giving you nothing but despair. Seunghan ignored your order and bit your neck, ran the tip of his tongue and sucked the skin, confidently, your moan was shrill, the slap on the other's back was out of purpose, as a return of his grace.

“Damn, your slap hurts” he commented after letting go of your skin with a snap, the smile returned to his lips.

“F-Fuck, are you stupid?” You complained and he caressed your face.

"I? Who is losing their mind?” You didn't understand the sentence, before saying anything else he went back to fucking you like he should have been doing before, straight and right, the party was going wild and you felt Seunghan crush your insides, the words stopped in your throat, your nails started to score his back, making Seunghan moan into the curve of your neck, where he was at that moment, marks that you would leave for him to brag about when he looked in the mirror later.

“Fuck me… h-harder....please-” you whimpered to his aid, the moans mixing, the frames slamming, Seunghan didn’t need to go too far, he was included in it. You came first, Seunghan had this gift that any man would have had perhaps one day, That's why you hated him so much. Soon after, he jumped out of you, taking his hand to his hard member to masturbate and throw it all out, onto your belly, like a desperate man, moaning at the top of his lungs, panting and satisfied with the sight of you all filled with his cum.

#riize hard hours #riize smut #seunghan hard hours #seunghan smut #seunghan x reader #riize x reader

[glorified-red]

Locks & Cake Pops (Damian Wayne x Reader x Jon Kent)

summary: Gotham was a scary place when the sun went down. One terrifying encounter with a stranger left you completely worn thin. Thankfully, your boys were more than prepared to come find you.

word count: 4,800~

warnings: panic attack, paranoia, vague & very short description of encountering a scary stranger (none explicit to what happened, by whom, or by any gender. Only specification is that it's a conversation and Reader is hesitant around touch), paranoia to violence or potential violence, constant paranoia of not being safe

Y'all called me a main character and I think the people writing my story took that as a CHALLENGE. The amount of plot I went through today??? I swear, fics really do write themselves, huh?

Shout out to @quillsareswords for planting the Poly Fic seed in my head with her fics until I couldn't NOT write one. And shout out to @unmotivatedwrit3r for being my Jon today and @uni-magi-nation for being my Damian because guess what lads, this fic is based on a true story!! As are most of my fics anyway, so please, enjoy the events that happened less than 12 hours ago ;P

You could pinpoint the exact moment your day had derailed. 

It wasn’t until the sun had just barely started to slip beneath the horizon. Nearly ten hours of joy all crashed in one single moment. It was one decision. A single foot placement was the difference between coming home safe and the disaster that befell you currently. 

One foot placement was all it took and your entire world crumbled from above you. 

You almost wondered if your foot pivoted slightly to the east, if you took the path to your right instead of your left, would you still be in this position? Would you be here, clinging to your next breath as if it was your last? 

But alas, you traveled west to your car. The path you took was slightly dimmer than the other in the middle of dusk. Less people, less crowds . . . less witnesses. 

That one decision landed you in an inescapable exchange of words. Whether you made it home was a decision you no longer had control of, it was now placed in the hands of a stranger—a person who thrived on the rush of feeling a life beat in the palm of their hands. 

Your feet were placed on a track alongside them, desperately trying to find a way out. But each pivot was either too late or too suspicious, all you could do was play along like some kind of puppet. Eventually the rush simmered and the paths diverged, they split off into two distinct directions, and you were free. 

You didn’t bother to care when your feet pounded against the ground one after another. They did their job, they took you to where your brain had decided you needed to go despite you not truly being a part of that conversation. You let your instincts take over, the adrenaline high of blazing through empty sidewalks and burning passed streetlamps flickering on for the first time that night. 

Your breath faded into the air with each step, a resounding huff of forced exhales as your legs ached from the pace. Before you knew it, your world tilted on its axis as your brain and body fully disconnected. Tunnel vision took over your view, the only thing in sight was the faraway gleam of steel and vinyl. 

You slammed the car door behind you, fully encasing you in a carbon cage. It felt like a cage in all senses of the word. You were suffocated inside the doors of your own safety, hating how your only semblance of security was in a man-made product that could fail within a moment—that could be broken into with just the thought of doing so. 

You heard the satisfying click of the doors locking, never realizing your fingers jumped to the button the second they could. That sound meant safety, that sound meant you would be okay. 

Electrons slipped past connections and you couldn't properly process anything aside from the steering wheel in front of you and the sharp polyester strap cutting across your chest. Your next exhale was steady and long, a pitiful attempt at self-soothing. Even with the length of the breath, the shakiness behind it was so easy to hear in the silence of the cage. 

You gripped the steering wheel with both hands, twisting your grip along the rim until you could feel the bite in your palms. You brought yourself back one cell at a time. It started with the pads of your fingers tapping against the polyurethane, then your palms rubbing against the grooves and curves of the wheel, then your hands were gripping at your arms until feeling returned to them slowly. You thawed out your own body seconds at a time. 

You breathed again. 

Then the car had started and you drove away. 

You could remember the exact moment you realized this was much deeper than mere disassociation. Your eyes were filled with red lights and your ears buzzed with the sound of passing cars. It started in your chest, a small hum of warning deep in the confines of your ribcage. 

The death rattle had started inside you and only got louder the longer your hands stayed connected to the prison bars. The hum turned into a storm of pyrocumulonimbus as your foot pressed into the gas, each breath of oxygen only fueled the fire burning at the edges of your lungs. 

You fought so hard against the impending doom of it all. You just wanted to go home. You wanted to come home and beeline straight for—not safety—comfort; you wanted to remind yourself that touch wasn’t something to be scared of; you wanted to remind yourself that you were safe—that everything was going to be okay. 

But instead your breath quickened into a terrifying speed and you had no choice but to pull over into the nearest complex with well-lit parking spaces and bustling activity at its front doors. Your car clicked off and your fingers immediately reached for the lock icon at your side. 

You pressed it once to hear the simultaneous click of four doors locking in tandem. 

Leaning against the plush seat, you tried to breathe properly. Your hands gripped at the seatbelt across your chest, both hating and adoring the pressure it forced against your body. 

You pressed it twice to remind yourself the doors were locked. 

Gripping the strap, you didn’t mind the way the edges dug into your palms as you bent it in on itself. It was tight against you, just enough to keep you present. The hands of sharply woven polyester forced you to stay conscious in reality, they didn’t dare let you slip between the cracks and fall into dissociation. 

You pressed it a third time, the same click resounding in your ears. 

Suddenly you felt too suffocated. You could feel the bottom of the wheel on your knees and the lanyard of your keys against your thigh. 

The clicks reversed as you tumbled out of the car. 

Fresh air hit your entire body and the fire raging in your chest worsened tenfold. You were exposed—you were vulnerable. You slammed yourself back into the car. A blink and you were in the backseat this time. 

The carved metal of a key dug into your fingers while you clutched it like a lifeline. Your hand reached for your phone before you could process anything else. Your other clicked the lock icon once more and the entire car fell into darkness. 

⋘⋙

Damian didn’t remember falling asleep but when a human sized heater was laying across his chest, it never took long for his exhaustion to get tired of being ignored. 

He was slightly annoyed, arguably moreso, when the heater in question jerked upright. Damian’s eyes snapped open. “Watch it,” he groaned, sleep still affecting the timbre in his voice. Hands dug uncomfortably into his stomach and he pushed them away. 

“Sorry, sorry,” the kryptonian apologized from above him. “I just . . .” he trailed off. 

That got his attention. 

His eyes focused on the alert expression on his lover’s face. Jon shifted upright completely, still straddling Damian’s thighs. His eyes were distant, looking off into the window at the other side of the room. 

“What’s wrong?” Damian asked, finding himself slightly propped up onto his elbows. 

“Y/n,” Jon replied, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. The way he said your voice was just as distant as his gaze, almost like his voice was nothing but an exhale. He blinked, looking down and glaring so hard at Damian’s upper body that Damian almost took offense. 

“Their heartbeat,” he said, confusion lacing his voice as he tried to focus on the thum of your beat, “it’s . . . different.” 

“Different,” Damian echoed. He would’ve been annoyed at the vague answer if he wasn’t aware both him and Jon were currently barely awake and therefore, barely functioning (Damian more so than Jon, of course). “What do you mean different?” 

Kryptonian powers were always so finicky. He always thought so, but meeting Jon? This man was evidence in itself that powers were annoying at best. Damian watched as Jon developed each new power slowly at the most inconvenient times, mind you. And now, years after being the Man Of Steel, Jon’s powers still went berserk. 

Damian couldn’t even count on his fingers how many sensory overloads he’s guided Jon through—and he’d do it all over again if he had to. 

Jon shook his head. “It’s just different.” He shrugged. 

“You woke me up because it’s just different?” Damian deadpanned. 

Jon glared down at him. “This isn’t exactly an exact science, you know.” 

Damian sighed and slid back down until his upper back hit the mattress once more. “Is it going faster? Skipping a beat?” he prompted, trying his best to shake the grogginess from his body without letting paranoia fester in its place. 

Heartbeats always worried Damian. He ended up assuming the worst. But with a Kryptonian tracing them so often, he realized that different didn’t necessarily mean bad. You could have raised your hand in class, forgot your keys, or missed a step down the stairs and your heart lurched. That was enough to perk Jon’s ears. You could have been stressed so your heart rate was elevated. Maybe even tired which made it drag. 

Despite his own fears, Damian kept reminding himself that there's more of a chance that you were fine than not, especially when he was currently talking to a sleep deprived kryptonian who announced heartbeat changes all the time. The idea of getting away with any kind of anxiety while around that golden retriever was stupid and incredibly naive—Damian gave up after a year of Jon’s super-hearing kicking in. 

“You’re anxious.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You should probably—” 

“I said shut up.” 

Jon spoke up: “It definitely jumped and it’s been slightly faster than normal ever since.” His head tilted slightly to the side to listen better—Damian couldn't help but picture a tiny puppy doing the same and its ear flopping over. “It’s getting steadily faster. I think . . . I think they’re driving?” 

Damian’s eyes furrowed. He reached for his phone as Jon continued. “Definitely driving,” he settled on. “I can hear their car.” 

“Maybe they almost got into an accident,” Damian mumbled in thought, setting a personal reminder in his brain to berate you for speeding later. His phone clicked on and his eyes saw his blurry home screen. He blinked the image into focus. When his eyes could properly trace over the smiles on you and Jon’s faces, he looked at the time. 

It was earlier than he thought. 

Jon’s hands fiddled with the hem of Damian’s sleep shirt, the compression material stretching slightly to accommodate the movement. “Maybe,” Jon gnawed at his bottom lip. “I didn’t hear anything like that though, just normal traffic.” 

Damian hummed. “They were at the library today. I didn’t expect them to head home so soon.” His fingers opened your contact. “Did they text you that they were heading home?” 

 Jon leaned across the bed to reach for his phone on the nightstand. Damian resisted a snark at how uncomfortable the shift was with the unnecessary knee to the side. 

Jon fiddled with his phone for a moment. “Nope, nothing.” 

Damian opened his mouth to supply another sentence of rationale when two things happened simultaneously: In an instant, Jon’s phone slipped from his hands and ricocheted right off of his stomach. (“Ow!”) Then Damian’s ringtone sounded throughout the entire bedroom, bouncing off the walls and reverberating into their tired brains. 

The fear written on Jon’s face was enough for Damian to pick up on the first ring. 

“Y/n?” he asked. Jon’s fingers clutched at his shirt. 

“Hey,” you responded. There was a crackle over the line but Damian couldn’t tell if it was your voice or the shitty internet. 

“Are you okay?” Damian was blunt, cutting straight through any attempt at small talk. How could he not when Jon was currently mouthing “panic attack” at him and poking his ribcage. 

You hesitated enough for Damian to shoo Jon off of him. Both boys tumbled out of the massive bed in varying degrees of grace. 

“What are you doing right now?” 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re dodging the question,” Damian slid on a pair of pants and made his way down the stairs. “What’s wrong? And don’t say it’s nothing because I have a human sized Holter monitor that would beg to disagree.”

Jon tumbled behind, no doubt using some kind of kryptonian flare to gather all the necessary items to drive to you. 

“Can you both meet me here, I—” you cut off, if Damian strained, he could hear your rampant breathing. “I need you.” You choked, “No—No capes.” 

Damian breathed in slowly and exhaled through his mouth. The keys and wallets were already floating into his pockets as he opened the front door. 

No capes. 

It was a valid request. It was a request both Jon and Damian had come to appreciate overtime. No need for heroics, no need for perfection, no need for theatrics—you just needed your partners, as they were. 

That was a level of normalcy that was so rare in this lifestyle. As much as it would be miles quicker with Jon’s flight or even his grapple gun, he respected the thought process behind the decision. You just wanted your boys, that was all. 

Car doors slammed shut and Damian was already behind the wheel making his way to you. “We’re on our way.” He felt a poke to his bicep. Jon motioned towards the phone, opening and closing his hand in request. “I’m going to pass the phone to Jon. He’s going to stay on the line until we reach you, okay?” 

Damian barely waited for your small “ok” before handing the phone off. He didn’t bother to fill Jon in on the conversation, it was obvious he was already listening intently. 

“Hey, sunshine.” Jon pointed directions out and Damian followed. No need for maps when you have a super-hearing alien who knows exactly where you are just by the sounds of traffic and the volume of your heartbeat. “We’re coming as fast as we can. Just give us ten minutes and we’ll be there with you.” 

Damian focused on driving, the one thing he could do at this moment. He was tactical, he was useful. Jon was the comforting one; Jon was the one who could navigate emotionally tense situations with ease. So he gripped the steering wheel tighter and made sure he got to you safely. 

Strengths. All three of you had them just as you all had weaknesses. But the beauty of your triad came from how perfectly your strengths filled each others’ weaknesses. You lifted each other up, and when you couldn’t, it was easy to lean on one another. 

So Jon handled the comfort, Damian handled the logistics. 

Words of affirmations flew out of Jon’s mouth in a way that Damian used to envy. Now, he found it endearing. He has his own strengths and that’s okay. 

“Just ten minutes, baby. Ten minutes and everything will be okay, I promise.” 

Red lights glared down at Damian. 

“Breath with me. In and out, just like that. Keep doing that.” 

Stop signs seemed taller than usual, more demeaning. 

“You’re gonna be alright. I know it doesn’t feel that way right now but you’ll be okay soon, you just gotta hang in there for us.” 

Brakes screeched against the pavement. 

“I'm so proud of you, you’re so brave right now. No, don’t be like that. You’re so strong, you’ll get through this, I swear.” 

His fingers tapped against the gear shift impatiently. 

“Are the doors locked? Yea? That’s good. You did good—so good.” 

He heard you sob into the receiver and his heart twisted painfully. 

“You’re safe. No one can get to you right now without your consent. Just keep telling yourself that: no one can get in, no one can reach you, you’re safe.” 

His foot finally hit the gas. 

“You’re alright, sweetheart. You're okay. You did everything right—yes you did. Yes, Y/n. You got to safety, you pulled over, you locked the doors, and you called us. You did everything right.” 

He made a right and then a left. 

“Five more minutes, bub. Just five more minutes. Keep breathing. Just a few more minutes and we’ll be right there with you.” 

He was trapped behind a slow Jeep—he switched lanes. 

“Yea? Grab the jacket and hold it tight. I’d rather you hold that. Just a few more minutes and that jacket will be replaced with us, alright?” 

Yellow lights always annoyed him the most. 

“We’re coming, I promise. We’re coming.” 

He swerved into the complex, not caring if he cut someone off in the process. 

“We’re pulling in right beside you. That car is us so don’t be scared. It’s just us, baby.” 

Damian clicked off the car and tumbled out with Jon quick to follow suit. He always forgot how much Jon used pet names as he rambled through words of reassurance. He was sure it was some kind of nervous tick Jon had, a way for him to soothe both himself and the other person. It could also just be a habit of his mouth speaking far faster than his brain, but the nicknames flowed out of him so fast either way.

“You gotta let us in, love. We can’t help from out here.” Jon’s hand gently rested on the glass window to the backseat. Damian motioned towards the building in front of the car, Jon nodded in response, already knowing his thought process far before Damian’s feet started moving backwards. 

Focus on his strengths. Focus on what he can do. Focus on that. 

The car doors unlocked and the boys split up. 

⋘⋙

You were huddled in the backseat for what felt like hours and milliseconds all at once. Every time your breaths evened, your brain fizzled out with it until you couldn’t feel anything aside from the car key scraping against your palm and the plastic door digging into your spine. 

Legs pulled into your chest, phone to your ear, and arms wrapped around a hoodie long since stolen for your backseat, you waited. You tried to bury your nose in the scent of pine and peppermint, a tanglement of your home—your boys—but it never fully sunk into your comprehension. 

Your empty hand grasped at the plush cotton in a sour attempt at bringing yourself back up. Unfortunately, the second you were brought back to awareness, your breathing spiked. Every distant voice, every shifting shadow, even the cars passing by in the nearby road—it all screamed danger into your head until you struggled to breathe. 

Even in this locked prison, you still felt too exposed. You were miles from home and miles from safety, how could you not? 

The doors are locked. 

You’re safe. 

No one can come in without your permission. 

They’re coming. 

When a car pulled beside yours, a familiar tint of windows and gleam of dark steel, you fought all of your instincts to run, to hide, to scream. 

The doors are locked. 

You’re safe. 

No one can come in without your permission. 

They’re here. 

It took every ounce of your willpower to allow your finger to press the open lock icon after pressing the locked one over and over again for what felt like an eternity.  

“Y/n,” Jon sighed out in relief. The call ended and what once was a distant voice was now a full fledged being.

“Please close the door,” you sobbed out, feeling nothing but claws of terror scratch up your chest the longer the door stayed open. Jon instantly complied, shutting the door as gently as he could without slamming it. 

The doors instantly locked again. 

“Can I touch you?” he started with. He didn’t bother asking if you were okay or asking what you needed, it would be pointless. You weren’t okay and asking what you needed when you were so clearly in peril would just put unnecessary weight onto your shoulders when he should be taking it off. 

Your hands fisted into the fabric, fingers swimming amongst the mountain of cotton. “I-I,” you choked on an inhale, “I don’t know.” 

And how could you? Sometimes touch was a blessing, a craving nothing else could satiate. Sometimes touch was the only way to bring you back all the way: it was grounded as was it weighted, it was nice. 

But sometimes touch was terrifying, a pressure of what if tangled in previous experiences. Sometimes touch was the only thing that terrified you the most: after such a night, how could you possibly feel safe with an ounce of contact? 

“Okay,” Jon said quickly, not wanting to make you feel worse about your own indecision. “What if we try? I’ll pull away the second you tell me to, pinky swear.” 

He even raised his pinky to solidify the statement. If you weren’t miles deep into a panic attack and hundreds of tears worn, you probably would have laughed. Instead, you nodded, a jerky movement that shifted the fabric around your face. 

“I’m gonna place my hand on top of your knee, real slow. You tell me if you don’t want it there anymore.” He looked into your eyes with his vibrant blue bells. His face was so sure, so confident, but the edges of his face were hardened with worry. He really couldn’t hide his emotions around you.

You nodded once more. You saw your own quickened breaths more than you felt them, the shadows off to your right reflecting the rise and fall of your chest. 

Jon’s hand was raised slightly above your knee and he hesitated just enough for you to track his movements. Then it was nothing but a light touch of fingertips, then fingers, then a palm, and then an entire hand. 

Despite his slow, deliberate movements, you still flinched. It was a whole-body jerk that started with pulling your legs closer to you and ended with your shoulders hitching upwards. Jon bit the inside of his cheek at the reaction, ignoring the way it dug into his heart a little too deep for his own sanity.

He kept his hand there even when your body’s instinctual reaction screamed for him to pull back. Jon waited for your words, but more importantly, he waited for you to settle into the touch or comprehend that you didn’t want it anymore—whichever ended up happening. 

Luckily, it was the former. Your shoulders pressed back into the door behind you and your head leaned against the car seat. Your feet unhooked at the ankles and relaxed. 

“Do you want more touch or is this enough for now?” 

You felt the heat radiate from his palm, it fought against the storm of fire boiling in every fiber of your being. It also fought against the sheet of ice that threatened to separate you from the rest of the world. It was enough. 

“ ‘s good for now,” you breathed in shakily. Trying to match the rise and fall of the chest in front of you. 

Jon looked off to the side and squinted into the darkness. “Damian’s on his way back.” His thumb absent-mindedly rubbed against your knee slowly and in a small movement. It was so small you barely would’ve realized it if your knee wasn’t at eye level. “You’ll have to let him in soon.” 

Your eyes flickered over to just beyond your car and into the entrance to the building—the cafe—where Damian had started walking out of. You had a moment or two to emotionally prepare yourself to unlock those doors. 

You struggled on your next breath and Jon heard it. He returned his gaze to you. “Breathe, baby. It’s just Dami. You can lock the doors immediately afterwards.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded, hating the way your breathing sped up slightly as you clicked the open lock. Gears shifted and the reversal of the click was impossibly loud against your muddled brain. 

The door in front of you swung open and Jon pulled Damian inside before closing the door as soon as possible. You found your thumb pressing the lock button the second you heard the car door close. You never once felt the hand on your knee leave and you silently thanked Jon’s perceptiveness. 

Opening your eyes, you were met with Damian’s emerald eyes looking at you with as much concern as those eyes could ever truly show. Jon had somehow found his way squished in between the seats and middle console, half debating if he should just sit on the floor or on the console. Damian sat across from you with his hands full of drinks and food. 

He offered you the blend of sugar and ice to which you took without much hesitation. Your head was pounding. You could hear your heartbeat in your ear and you could feel it in your temples. It was unbearably hot with pain. 

“I got your usual,” Damian said, “just the way you like it.” 

You sniffled, already feeling the fire inside swirl into dissipation. “No inclusions?” you asked in a small voice. 

“No inclusions,” he reassured you. 

“The base?” 

“Lemonade, not water.” 

You opened your mouth to ask another question but Damian was quick to read your mind. He lifted up a straw still wrapped in its plastic casing. “Yes, I got you a straw.” 

For the first time that night, you smiled. It was small, twitchy, and faded just as quick as it came, but it was still better than the choked off sobs from earlier over the phone. 

Damian opened the top of the straw for you and you held out your drink for him to place it inside. Your hands were so shaky it was difficult to even hold the large drink (because of course he got you the biggest size), let alone have enough dexterity to open a straw. 

“I also bought cake pops,” he lifted up the three brown bags of parchment that held your sugary treat. He knew you so well you swore he was a mind reader. Your hands were shaking from panic but also from how low your energy levels were from using every ounce of it to breathe. 

Damian lifted the first bag after peering inside. “Birthday cake.”

You snatched the bag. 

“Chocolate.” 

Jon did the same for his. 

“And mine.” Damian set his bag in his lap and handed Jon his drink full of sugar. 

Jon propped open the cup holders attached to the center console and set his drink inside, Damian was quick to set his water beside it. 

You clutched your drink with both hands, enjoying the feeling of the cold condensation against your aching fingers. “Thank you.”

Damian hummed in response. It didn’t take long for his hand to find its way onto your other knee and this time, you didn’t end up flinching. You swore the presence of your two lovers was more than enough to calm any attack that found its way up to you. Tonight was proof of that. 

“Your breathing is still too fast for my liking,” Damian spoke up. “Do you want to go through some breathing exercises?” 

Both of the boys looked at you expectantly. You shrunk back slightly at the pressure before you shook your head. “Can . . .” you breathed in to reassure yourself—your request was okay, you’re voicing your needs, you’re valid—“Can you guys just distract me?” 

They shared a look between each other and Jon ended up speaking up first: “Go ahead, Dami. Distract them.” 

“Why do I have to?” Damian demanded, “You’re obviously better at running your mouth than I am.”

“Because I said so?” 

“Because you said so,” Damian mocked, “Really? Do you honestly believe that holds any true merit in this household?” 

Jon scoffed. “It does when you say it so why doesn’t it when I say it?”

“Because I’m better than you, obviously.” 

“Am not.” 

“Am too.” 

“Boys,” you giggled through the word. Your grip on your drink was loose and your legs uncurled slowly until they pressed into Damian’s shin. “While this is adorable, I just want to listen to you two talk, not bicker.” 

One of them huffed from their nose and you genuinely couldn’t tell who—you’re half convinced they both did. 

“Fine.” Damian’s free hand fell around the top of your shoe, his pinky brushing against your ankle. “Go ahead, genius. Tell our beloved what you did to the kitchen while making dinner tonight.” 

Jon’s eyes widened slowly. “We agreed not to tell them,” he whisper-shouted. 

Damian shrugged. 

You turned to Jon with a fire behind your eyes. 

“What did you do to my freshly cleaned kitchen?”

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #robin #damian wayne #robin x reader #robin x you #robin x y/n #Jon kent x reader #jon kent x you #jon kent x y/n #superboy #superboy x reader #superboy x you #superboy x y/n #jon kent #damian wayne x reader x jon kent #robin x reader x superboy #damijon #poly fic #polyamarous #poly #dc #dc comics #batfam #batman

[drabblesandsnippets]

Snippet #3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Background: Edited scene of something I wrote for a friend

Summary: All Bucky wants is to make his girlfriend’s day better.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Sexual content. Romance/fluff. Praise.

---------------------------

From the second she walks in the door, Bucky can tell things had only gotten worse in the couple of hours since they talked. He knows better than to bombard her with questions, giving her space after they share a brief hello, letting her come to him after she changes into her normal oversized shirt and sweatpants. 

He gives her a warm smile when she reappears, the sight of her never ceasing to make his heart race, even with the messy bun atop her head and the t-shirt that’s seen better days. He loves every single part of her, and his favorite moments are when he gets to see the parts of her that she only shares with him. The vulnerable moments, the small pieces of her that she hides from others, scared of their judgements. She gets to let go of all the masks with him, and it’s one of the most beautiful things he gets to witness.

Bucky can tell all she needs right now is for him to listen, without the need to offer any sort of advice, and he's more than happy to be her sounding board. He actively listens to all the silly frustrations that managed to get under her skin today, the stupid things that made her ready to pull her hair out.

By the time she’s released all the pent up feelings, she’s finally beginning to relax, but Bucky’s still not satisfied. He ignores the old-fashioned part of him that wants her to quit her job, leave all the frustration behind, and be a house wife. He blinks away the brief image of coming home to her wearing nothing but an apron, his cock twitching at the thought, and instead talks her into a massage.

It doesn’t take much convincing. Within moments, she’s laying on their bed, Bucky straddling her legs as he rubs the tension out of her back and shoulders. She loses track of time, allowing him take care of her, happily letting all other thoughts leave her, only vaguely aware of the almost pornographic noises coming out of her.

Bucky’s far from wanting to complain though. He’s getting to touch her, make her feel better, and listen to her moan - three of his favorite things. He ignores his growing erection for now and keeps his focus on the massage, paying attention to all her sore spots while easing up on the sensitive areas of her back. He smiles at the soft sounds leaving her with each movement of his hands, suddenly feeling grateful to have her trust. 

He slowly works his hands back up to her shoulders, leaning forward slightly as he rubs the tension there, telling her, “Thank you for letting me take care of you.” There’s no need for her to speak, her little noises of appreciation more than enough to satisfy him, his hands never stopping their magical touch. She can barely remember her name at this point, let alone anything else that’s happened today, and that’s exactly how Bucky wants it.

“You’re always taking care of everyone else,” he continues, the palms of his hands moving down the center of her back, letting up on the pressure just a bit. “But, I know it’s hard to let people take care of you, so thank you.” She turns her head slightly to hear him better, but keeps her eyes closed as a slight blush colors her cheeks.

She loves being praised by him, almost as much as Bucky loves praising her, but it still makes her flustered, especially if they’re not in the middle of sex. Sometimes even then too. She can’t see it, but Bucky’s smile grows at her reaction and he changes tactics, his fingertips starting to lightly trace up her back, sending a shiver down her spine. 

“How about you let me keep taking care of you?” he asks, the tenderness of his voice matching his touch, making her heart flutter. Coherent words left her a long time ago, but she still manages to voice her consent. And the moment she does, he leans forward again, his hand sliding up to rub against the back of her neck. “I’m gonna take my time,” he tells her, his breath warm against her ear, “give you everything you need tonight.”

She’s not even sure she responds, other than with a loud moan of need as her hips lift to reach him, his words making her body pulse with pleasure. Bucky’s body reacts to her desire, his own hips grinding against her, letting her feel how hard she makes him. As much as his cock wants him to just push her pants down and take her like this - she’d be more than willing - he’s a man of his word.

With the same measured pace, his hand slips underneath her shirt, the soft touch of his fingers along her waist causing goosebumps to spread across her skin. He undresses her slowly, his lips touching every inch of skin he exposes, whispering words of praise, leaving her panting for more. When he finally turns her over onto her back, he repeats the process, taking his time to pull her sweatpants down her legs, kissing a trail to her ankles.

“I’m so proud to call you mine,” he tells her once he settles back between her legs, his eyes roaming over her flushed body. She watches as his hand reaches down, almost subconsciously, to grab his cock through his jeans, clearly trying to relieve some of the pressure. She wants to tell him he’s too overdressed, that she wants to feel more of him, but all she can do is look up at him, silently pleading for more.

There’s time for teasing, but not tonight. With a quick pull, Bucky removes his shirt and tosses it off the bed, barely giving her a chance to appreciate his body before he’s on her again, meeting her in a passionate kiss. They lose themselves in the intimate connection, their need for each other growing until they finally part and Bucky rests his forehead gently against hers, breathing heavily. “You’re so incredible,” he tells her. “You’re so strong.”

He starts peppering kisses along her skin again, across her jaw before dipping down to her throat. “Intelligent.” His kisses move to her collarbone. “Kind.” With each word, her mind starts to fully relax again, accepting the praise, her body trembling with need. And just before his mouth closes over her nipple, he reminds her, “And the hottest fucking woman I’ve ever seen.”

---------------------------

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader

[formosusiniquis]

when you're fifteen

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise.

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington & Mike Wheeler WC: 4044 | Rated T | Tags/Themes: Good Babysitter Steve, Period Atypical Depictions of DnD, HoH!Steve, Disabled!Eddie Ao3

Eddie prided himself on his ability to manage a table. A forever DM, four years into a lifetime sentence, he can keep a story on track and, more importantly, keep tempers in check for hours at a time. 

He kept track of a thousand little details across notebooks, binders, and just trapped in his own brain. He knew everything about his NPCs, the world, his player’s characters, and the things that drove his players nuts. He had plans, backup plans, and vague ideas of shit he could do if things went completely and totally off the rails despite all of those plans. That was one of the things he held fast on his tongue the first time he failed senior year. Of course he didn’t pass. He’d taken on the mantle of Dungeon Master. He had to put together a story that took into account: Jeff’s high stakes backstory with the missing mother and bounty on his head, Gareth’s need to flirt with anything age appropriate that had a pulse, and Joey’s tactical mind when it comes to battle. Wasn’t it enough that he was going to class, he had to do shit at home about it too?

He didn’t like saying it. He liked to bitch about it a lot, actually. Eddie wasn’t really sure what he’d do with himself if he wasn’t The DM. It was like a core part of his identity.

It made the current situation he was in more world rocking than he really wanted to deal with.

He liked to think, if he couldn’t feel the remaining muscles in his side screaming in agony because he was sitting wrong -- or for too long or both -- and if his lower back wasn’t seizing and spasming for the same or maybe a brand new reason it had decided to come up with today, that he’d be able to manage this table just as well as he always had. Eight really wasn’t that different from three.

Except that combat is impossible to manage, each round took forever and that’s when everyone was paying attention. Except that there hasn’t been a satisfying story moment for Jeffrey the Jovial or Dustin’s Sir Rathington in the last four sessions. Except that Erica has been scribbling something in her notebook that probably wasn’t campaign notes since she hadn’t called him on the plot hole he caught session planning a month ago and hasn’t been able to fix -- and is more likely to have something to do with the way he noticed her looking at Uhura and Chapel when she was watching Star Trek reruns with Steve.

Except that Mike has been screaming at Dustin and Lucas for the better part of five minutes and Eddie really isn’t sure how to fix it.

“The plan is stupid. Did you even spend more than ten seconds thinking about it or did you decide that Will could just roll another character and we could save the resources.”

“Will could roll another character. It's not the first time he's rolled another character.” Lucas points out for what might be the third time, Eddie’s lost count.

“This whole thing is about resources, Mike.” Dustin snaps, “We’ll all be rolling new characters if we go into this stupid fucking fight while Gareth has no spell slots, Lucas is down to three arrows, Joey’s already used his second wind, and half the party is below half health.”

“It doesn’t matter, if we don’t go into the fight now Will is going to turn into some bloodsucking vampire spawn.”

Eddie knows this is the point that he should grab the reins again. He should prompt one of them to make a decision, or better yet, take the decision away from them entirely. But there’s a numbness in his thigh that has somehow spread to his mouth; it’s different from the pain the rest of his body is in, not really better or worse, and just as distracting. 

The rest of the table is quiet, boredom and annoyance plain on their faces. But they’ve also stopped looking to him to fix the problem. That’s the worst thing the Upside Down took from him, he thinks, even as his body is radiating pain from places he used to be able to forget he had.

“Or maybe it’s a trap,” Lucas points out. And it should be, but Lucas is a far better tactician than Eddie who already knows he won’t want to deal with the work it would take to do that well. “Y’know since you made all your weak spots pretty clear to Lord Ellias.”

“Or,” Dustin drawls out with a Harrington’s level of bitch and ire, “we could trust Eddie to turn this into a fucking story moment.”

“You guys are both so full of shit, just-” Mike has his nose curled and lip snarled, Eddie can feel the breeze of the blade swinging down to deliver the death blow to this campaign and adventuring party.

“Alright time to take a break.” Steve claps his hands, an angel come from on high to save Eddie. “Get up, get a snack, move your feet. Give my dining room some time to air out before it smells like nerd forever.”

Mike turns the full weight of his aggression on to Steve, who hopefully has a damage immunity or advantage on saves at the very least otherwise this is looking like a short talk, “We can't just take a break. Do you not get what the stakes are here? We've got to save-”

“Save someone who will still be in danger in twenty minutes.” Steve steamrolls over Mike’s argument with an unaffected ease. Eddie can feel the mood of the table lift just a bit, now that they’re about to be rescued.

“You just don't get it.”

“I get that it's pretend.” In a pre-Vencapocalypse world that would have been enough to get Eddie fighting on Little Wheeler’s side, but much as DnD is still his life. Fuck, it is all just pretend. “Go take a lap.”

“Ugh why do we even come over here. We could do this at my house without washed up jocks interrupting us.” Mike says but he gets up. Storming off to god knows where in the monstrosity of Steve’s house. Will, quiet as he always seems to get when he’s the center of one of these drag outs, trails off after Mike with an eye roll at the other two sophomores and an apologetic shrug for Steve.

And Eddie has his table again. Quiet and still, waiting for him to say something. Like there’s even anything to say when his very own Deus Ex Machina is leaving the room without so much as a backward glance at the poor schmucks he’s saved. “Well,” he says with a clap of his hands, “My blood sugar is dropping, so I’m going to shove as many of those cookies I smelled earlier into my mouth as I can in twenty minutes.” Because as much as they weren’t looking to him before, they need the DM to break the spell of the table. That’s how the whole thing goes.

And they scatter once it breaks. Eddie’s original Hellfire boys stay at the table, their ease at the Harrington house has been hardwon and the argument has rekindled something nerdy and skittish in them. Erica has headed off to the corner of the house Steve has let her claim as her own, nose still buried in her notebook. He doesn’t know where Lucas and Dustin are, but wherever they’ve gone they aren’t around to watch him struggle to pull himself out of his throne with his cane. He should just give in and let Steve raise the seat, half the problem is that it sits too low -- but knowing that and being willing to admit it at any point other than when he’s in PT levels of misery from pulling himself up are very different things.

Steve has his back to the door again, by the time Eddie makes his way to the kitchen. He has a bizarre semi-awareness of his surroundings that can be hard to predict. Sometimes it’s freaky how Steve can call out Dustin or Erica from a different room with an almost parental ‘eyes in the back of his head’ sixth sense. Other times his own soulmate can get the drop on him, managing to get her arms wrapped around his middle before he even realizes they’re in the same room.

It’s better to slam his cane against the floor a couple times. To let Steve feel the vibrations through the floorboards with his sock feet, that way nobody has to get hurt or feel guilty for doing the hurting.

Getting to see Steve’s grin bloom across his face as he flips that famous hair and catches sight of Eddie isn’t so bad either.

Next to Steve, it’s safe to prop his cane against the counter. He can rest his hips against the sure, solid surface and relax in the presence of his boyfriend while the blood returns to his limbs and a new kind of discomfort settles in. A hand, warm and sudsy finds the back of his neck. A strong thumb digging into a knot that had been there since at least last week with an erotic precision.

“You’ve got to stop letting them keep you in that chair for so long.”

"If we take breaks we'll just be here longer."

He shrugs, pulling his other hand from the dish water to pull Eddie into a gentle hold. "So be here longer."

"You'd get sick of the fighting. I'd get sick of the fighting." Actually it was probably better not to remind Steve of that. "You know I really did want one of those famous Stevie Henderson cookies."

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise. "I know the yelling is a lot, Sweetheart, I'm sorry. You don't have a migraine, do you? I can talk to him and make him chill out a bit." That last part is absolutely a lie; he doesn't think he could get Mike under control right now if he had a stun gun and half a pound of Argyle’s primo Cali weed.

Not that it matters Steve has on his scrunchy faced 'you're wrong about something,' look, Eddie just needs to give him the minute it'll take to get his thoughts together. "You know I love you right?"

“In this dimension and any others,” Eddie supplies.

Steve smiles, feather soft, and runs a soothing hand through Eddie's hair the way he always does right before he says something atrociously bitchy. "I turn my hearing aids off the second you all start playing. If I had to listen to your game three different times, three different ways I'd drive my car into a portal."

He keeps going the way he does when he's afraid he's been too mean and wants to try to soften his edges for general consumption, like Eddie hadn't fallen in love with him the first time he called Dusin a butthead. "This way you and Dust can still use me as a sounding board for your plots and theories and I don't have to listen to my favorite nerds try to remember if 5+7 is 11 or 12."

“So what’s?”

“I’m worried about him!” Steve insists. Eddie might pride himself on his ability to handle a table, but he knows Steve is proud of his way with the kids. His relationship with each of them is rich and distinct, the way he handles each of them unique.

But it’s Mike.

Something must cross his face. He can only call it something, because he’s honestly not sure what emotion he’s feeling other than headache and how many cookies can I eat before they start tasting like nausea. But something else must have been there that causes Steve to cross his arms and glare.

“Yeah, of course, you’re worried about him. We are worried about him. Why are we worried about him, other than worried about what an asshole he’s been lately?”

That was not the right thing to say either, Eddie’s really rolling straight ones today. Steve’s glare shutters even further closed, and seriously it’s Mike. The same kid who called Steve a washed up jock not ten minutes ago. Who takes every single offered opportunity, and even some that he makes himself, to bitch and glare at Hawkins own #1 babysitter and monster hunter. 

“He’s a teenager with more trauma than a ‘Nam vet. But even if he weren’t he’s not an asshole for being barely fifteen and not knowing when to shut the hell up. Do you remember the kind of shit you were saying back then?”

Big brother Steve has successfully landed a critical hit. Eddie does remember the kind of shit he used to say. Just like he knows Steve remembers the kind of shit he used to say. And they both remember the shit that they used to say to one another. How Eddie called Steve a braindead future Reganite who wouldn’t know good taste if it spit in his mouth. How Steve had called Eddie a tryhard that was so desperate to be different because that was the only way he could hide having nothing to offer.

“So we’re worried?”

“I just don’t want him to say something he can’t walk back because he forgot the thing he’s getting upset over is pretend.” He runs a finger down Eddie’s splayed hands. A tickling sensation he can feel down the path it traces from the back of his palm and down his middle finger and, in a phantom mirror, down his spine. “I know you get into your characters, or whatever, I’m sure this is bringing up a lot of memories but he’s going to regret lashing out if it means he pushes away Dustin or Lucas or one of the other guys.”

“I notice you left out Will.”

“Yeah well, Will is more likely to get hurt by something he says when lashing out while they aren’t playing exposure therapy the game. I mean seriously, you had to kidnap him? That’s where your, ‘Stevie, baby, what should I do with them this week? They decided to do something stupid,’ bitching and moaning landed you?”

Eddie doesn’t even really have time to let himself feel the fluttery, squishy feeling he wants to feel -- cause Steve does actually listen when they’ve got their feet tangled on the sofa together, each working on their own things -- before it’s getting smacked by down by the paladin of his heart. “No, no, that isn’t where I landed. I had a perfectly acceptable diplomacy mission prepared, with a back up fight that they were supposed to run away from. What do you want me to do, Sunshine? I gotta give the game some stakes. It’s not exactly fun for Will if he knows he’s indestructible.”

Maybe, he thinks, he should just stop talking today. Just cancel the rest of the session entirely. Will gets carried off by the vampire spawn, half dead and unsaveable, the party on its last legs, unable to agree on a course of action; and actually that’s where we’re gonna end things come back next week and hope Steve even lets us in the house after the screaming we’ve all done. Why? Because he can feel every joint in his body and every one of them is in pain. Because there’s been the dull throb of a low grade headache beating an even pulse in his temples since he woke up this morning. But mostly because every time he opens his stupid fucking mouth to talk Steve stops touching him, and that sucks absolute balls.

“I maybe had an idea,” Steve says. His voice dips and slides while he keeps his hands small, quiet, and close to his chest. Something Robin told him, and he’s now noticing, means Steve has thought about this idea a lot, long enough that he’s convinced himself it’s bad. Eddie’s noticed that even when these ideas aren’t phrased well, they’re never bad.

“I know it’s like rule number one: don’t split the party,” Steve can’t help but roll his eyes when he says it, an instinctive bit of brotherly mockery of Dustin, he would guess. “But what if you split the group a bit. Mike can go after Will, I’m sure Erica would be down to kill some vampires. She loves a chance to test drive her new feats and shit. Then Jeff and Dustin and whoever else can finish up that thing? With the missing girlfriend or whatever? And once that’s done they reunite to do whatever’s next on the list, save the kingdom.”

Eddie sits with that for a bit.

Impulsive is still his middle name, but sometime between being eaten alive by other dimensional hell creatures and getting a thousand and six tiny, itchy stitches removed he’s started giving things second and even third thoughts. Though in this case the second thoughts are less ‘is this a good idea’ and more ‘will Steve bend me over that solid oak dining table and critique my DM notes while he rails me.’

As his stomach swoops, his lower body twinges in a much less enjoyable way. Letting him know that now he’d been standing too long, or leaning against the counter the wrong way, or maybe something else entirely that made his legs tired of doing one of the few things they were made to do. 

Figures he finally lands a hot boyfriend and he's got chronic pain keeping him from getting his dick wet.

“If you’ve already got another idea-”

“No,” he rushes to assure Steve, who needs to stay confident in his own ideas for all kinds of reasons but right now mostly so he’ll be willing to play into this new fantasy of Eddie’s once his body is willing to cooperate with the standing and the bending it’s going to require. “No, it’s a fantastic idea. I’m plotting as we speak.” 

And that isn’t a total lie. Forever DM, he can think about all the fun ways the love of his life and reason he’s still living could degrade his current campaign -- An oath of vengeance paladin questing to save a lost love, isn’t that a little played out. Oh wow, rat swarms in a dungeon, they’re never gonna see that coming -- and figure out how to trick the group into thinking splitting the party was their own idea.

“How long,” he asks his resident child expert, “do you think it would take Will to roll up a new character?”

The smile that tips the corners of Steve’s face is the best part of his day. “Will always has an extra character rolled up with the rest of his stuff in his folder."

Things are slotting together in his head now, and as Steve's hands come around to do something magical in a spot on his back that probably has a name but mostly makes his legs feel like they should really belong to a baby deer.

“So Will…”

“Can convince Mike, and get a chance to try out the new thingy he built. He’s been waiting to talk to you about it.”

Eddie’s getting excited now, hands shaking in the good way. He doesn’t even care that his knee locks as he tries to bounce on his toes, just lets his hands get out the excited energy. “And the band can go do the story side plot shit I’ve been putting off…” 

“With Dustin,” Steve reminds, “cause he’ll want to go wherever there’s the best chance to stir up shit. You already know Erica is going to go where there’s a chance to prove she’s the best at fighting, Lucas too. Not the fighting thing. He’ll go to round out the group, and so his mom doesn’t have to worry about keeping track of one more thing on the family calendar.”

“You’re a genius, Sweetheart.” He snags Steve by the collar, ignoring his bitching that the two fingered pinch he’s got it in is going to stretch it out, and pulls him close. Pressing a kiss on the corner of his perfect boyfriend’s pleased little smile. “I gotta go talk to Will about this character.”

“Send Mike down when you do?”

He’s surprised when he gets no argument, barely gets acknowledgement, when he finds Will and Mike in the guest bathroom and separates them. Mike slips from the room with nothing but a backward glance at Will, who smiles supportively. Once he clears the room, it takes next to zero prompting to get Will to talk about his backup character. The ‘thingy’ he'd been working on a tricked out ranger build that's going to annihilate. 

There's something fresh, brightening, about Will's enthusiasm for the character that infects Eddie too. It gets him excited, for the first time since everyone arrived, to sit down around their over crowded table and play the hour of set up it's going to take to get the party ready to be split. 

And Will doesn't duck his head anymore when Eddie pushes at him and his DnD expertise, he just pushes back. Together they work out a couple tweaks that will make the build fit better in the party, flesh out a backstory that they can integrate even if it doesn't end up going anywhere, and it doesn't really feel like time passes at all. Until Sinclair is sticking his head through the door, surprise artfully hidden at who he finds, as he asks if they're ready to go.

Mike is conspicuously absent from the table when Eddie makes his way to it, and that won't do at all. He's not an asshole, he's just 15. Something like shame crawls up the back of his throat as Steve's reminder sounds in his head. He remembers 15 and the things he said but more than that, as he looks around the table, he remembers being the last to arrive at a hangout of people you're already worried hate you only to find them having a good time without you. 

Eddie has always prided himself on his ability to run a good session. "Stevie, gimme back our paladin, do I need to bring in a hostage negotiator."

A cookie held in one hand while the other smooths down the ruffled fringe of his bangs, Mike re-enters the dining room. The back of his Hellfire shirt is bunched and, if that weren't sign enough he'd been on the receiving end of a perfect Harrington hug, he looks settled. A smile tugging at his face that Eddie hadn't realized how much he missed, he looks boyish and happy and if Eddie didn't before he understands Steve's mission to keep these kids kids by whatever means necessary.

"Alright, now where were we?” He says once Mike is back in his seat beside Will, “Ah yes, you all watch in horror as the vampire spawn, hastened, dash away from you all with the unconscious, but still alive, body of Sir William the Wizened." Before anyone can restart the shouting, and he knows there will be shouting now that they’ve all had a chance to look over their notes and their character sheets, he barrels on. “From the hill behind you comes a shot. An arrow flies, thwip thwip. It slices between you all, before sinking into the back of one of the spawn at the back of the pack. He stumbles to the ground and the rest of the pack leave him to die.”

“We can interrogate him!” 

“Worry about who’s behind us, dude.”

He doesn’t let Mike or Dustin derail him, Eddie continues, “As you turn the hill behind you is nothing but mist. You all know the range of an elven bow, but whoever fired it is nowhere to be seen. You wait, breath held, as a figure all in black slowly approaches. You get the feeling you see him now only because he wants to be seen.

“Will, describe your new character for us!”

#steddie #steve and mike #mike wheeler #good babysitter steve harrington #hard of hearing steve harrington #disabled eddie munson #its the mikes not an asshole he's just a traumatized teenager fic #yknow the one no one was waiting for #for my tag readers will homebrewed a prototype gloomstalker #and the author borrowed the hardwon vampire arc from naddpod #my fic

[physalian]

The Pronoun Game

*This is not about preferred pronouns, this is writing advice.

I don’t actually know if this is the official term but it’s what we’re going with, otherwise known as contrived vagueness on a character’s identity to keep the secret from the audience.

“You know… ~him~.” “Who?” “HIM.” “One more time.” “HIIIIIIIM!” “…”

Stop doing this. No one talks like this. Or at least come up with a better in-universe code name even if it’s just “the client” or “the target.” Anything is better than this glaring contrivance.

It’s not so much the secret name, it’s how clunky the dialogue becomes without it (ignoring when this is done for humor and supposed to be a little ridiculous).

This is a partner post to how to introduce new characters’ names and the point I’ll be making there applies here: exposition, including new character names, should tell us more about your story than just the information within the text.

But first: just stop doing this. Just name the character. Do it. Audiences will be as confused as if you use a vague “he/him they/them she/her,” but at least they have a name to keep track of, even if it’s faceless at the time they hear it.

It doesn’t even work as a mystery. Characters only play when they’re obfuscating the villain. It’s almost never a red herring. Sure you didn’t say the name, but by deliberately hiding it, you’ve shown your hand.

Real people don’t play the pronoun game unless it’s motivated. So? Make it motivated.

Best example in history: He-who-shall-not-be-named

Why? It’s not just a pronoun, it’s got lore and myths and mystery baked into it. There’s a plot-based reason to be vague. Everyone who says this moniker admits they’re at worst terrified of and at best spiteful of its owner.

I have my own "he who shan't be named" and, can confirm, it's born from glorious spite and satisfying to use every time it comes up.

You can’t copy the epithet, but you can learn from it. Give your characters a reason to be vague beyond preserving the secret for the audience.

Names have power, speaking theirs draws too much attention or bad vibes

Character f*cking hates them, and pronouns them out of spite

Character is being vague to mess with the narrator on purpose

Character fears eavesdroppers and is being careful

Character is testing whether they can trust another by being vague and checking if they’re in on the secret

Character is drunk/high/exhausted and cannot remember the name or care about it to save their life

Optional substitutes here can get quite creative, my personal favorite is “what’s-his-nuts” because I like the cadence but you get the idea

All of these reflect back on the story and the world you’ve built, to give an in-universe reason for the obfuscation.

Now stop playing the pronoun game.

—

Thoughts on the shorter format? I can’t tell if #longpost is supposed to be an insult or not. I have a few of these coming.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #exposition #character names

[runnning-outof-time]

Hi K, I saw your list of new prompts and thought I'd send you this one (looking at your crush or lover only to find them already looking at you and when you make eye contact, they smile at you) for Arthur. I can envision the lovesick smile on his face as he watches you doing something you enjoy and you catch him. If you feel inspired, I'd love to read a blurb about this!

Thanks for sending this in, Lee! 🥰 I’m sorry it took me so long to answer — I thought of this fluffy idea in between figuring out my latest Tommy request. I hope you enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

When I Grow Up…

Arthur Shelby

Warnings: none

A creative writing prompt and some needed grading sparks a warm-hearted conversation between Arthur and (Y/N)…but not after his smile and answer to a question just about make her forget where she is.

(Y/N) giggled yet again as she read through another one of her students’ writings. She placed the paper down on the coffee table that she’d set up her grading station at and began to write her thoughts on the child’s work. Satisfied with her comments, she placed the paper on the ‘graded’ pile before grabbing another. This one was just as adorable as the last and she couldn’t help but giggle again.

Arthur was sitting in the armchair positioned directly across from where (Y/N) was set up at the coffee table. He was - supposed to be - working on a report that detailed the earnings of the Eden Club (as requested by Tommy), but he couldn’t quite concentrate with the sounds that were filling the room. (Y/N)’s giggles were like music to his ears, so it didn’t surprise him when he found himself watching her, waiting for her to laugh again. The corners of his lips tugged upwards when he heard her, her laughter leaving a permanent smile etched into his features.

(Y/N) continued to read the story that this child had written, giggling at parts and smiling like an idiot throughout its entirety. At one point, she heard Arthur let out a chuckle, which made her look up to see that he was already looking at her. She couldn’t help but feel bashful under his gaze, and she wondered how long he’d been watching her for. Arthur just smiled at her, knowing exactly what was going through her mind at the moment. Her bashfulness made her even more adorable to him.

“How long have you been watching me?” she decided to ask him, her brows furrowing together as she spoke.

“For some time now,” his answer was vague, and if he was being honest, he’d lost track of time. “What is it that you’re reading?” he asked a question of his own.

“The kids’ papers…from school,” she began to explain, glancing down at the stack again, “they had a writing assignment to complete; to tell me what they wanted to be when they grow up.”

“Ahh…” Arthur nodded in understanding, “I take it there’ve been some interesting answers?” he quirked an eyebrow then.

“Most certainly,” (Y/N) answered, laughing slightly as she thought back to some of the answers she’d just finished reading, “a whole bunch of cupcake tasters and princesses and coppers,” she then rattled off some of the responses.

“Sounds like they’ve got some adventurous ideas,” he commented on the career choices with a fond smile, thinking back to when he was younger; wondering how he would have responded to such a question. He’d always loved art and, when he was in school, the projects they’d be tasked to create were his favorite part. Maybe he would have been a painter had things turned out differently.

“What do you want to be when you grow up, Arthur?” (Y/N) asked all of a sudden, pulling him from his thoughts so that he could focus on her again. She was smiling at him as she waited intently for his answer.

“When I grow up…” he paused, looking off to the side as he tapped his chin, showing that he was thinking of his response, “when I grow up, I want to be your husband,” he looked back to her as he responded, the widest grin forming on his face as a look of surprise filled her features.

(Y/N) didn’t know what to say. They’d only been seeing each other for a handful of months now, and marriage had never been talked about. She always assumed that it was the last thing on his mind; espeically with everything else he had to deal with on a daily basis…obviously she was wrong. The butterflies moved in the second the shock wore off, and she couldn’t stop the wide smile from forming on her face, one that was wider than the smiles produced by the children’s writings.

“You’re serious?” she questioned him as she slowly stood up from the floor, taking the few steps over to the chair he was sitting in.

“Bout as serious as I can be,” he responded with a grin, dropping his pen and sitting back in the chair as she stopped in front of him. “What would my grade be?” he teasingly questioned her then, allowing her to sit on his lap.

She tucked her face into his neck as she giggled at his question, hoping that he’d let her hide for a few moments as she tried to collect herself. He squeezed her kneecap after a few moments had passed, making her lift her head again.

“Was it really that bad of a response?” he questioned while feigning shock.

“No, it wasn’t bad…” she finally answered once she was composed enough to do so, “you just…you need to add a little bit more detail into your response,” she gave a critique to his initial response.

“Well in that case…” he trailed off, clearing his throat before he grinned at her, “when I grow up, I want to be your husband because I feel that I possess the right qualities to do so. I’ll keep you safe, I’ll make you laugh, I’ll never miss a date. Nothing makes me as happy as when I spend time with you, and no one makes me feel as good as you do, especially when you do that thing when you…”

“Ok stop! That’s just too many details now, and you’ve reached the word limit,” she giggled, stopping him before he could continue with the more suggestive part of his response.

“How’s my grade looking now?” he questioned, his one eyebrow raised as a grin teetered on his lips.

“Good…it’s looking good,” she responded with a smile, “and you may just be able to be that when you grow up…if you play your cards right.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m a gambling man then, isn’t it?” he cracked a grin, making (Y/N) laugh before she leaned down and pressed her lips to his.

Both smiled against each others’ lips as they continued the kiss, and Arthur knew then and there that he wouldn’t have to wonder what it was going to be when he grew up…he was pretty sure that the kiss had sealed his fate: he most certainly got the job.

———

Tagged: @the-anxious-youth @mystcldydrms @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @shelbydelrey @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @stevie75 @dark-academia-slut @zablife @cillmequick @letal-y-poetica @depxiety @shelundeadxxxx @areyenotfondofmelobster @padfootdaredmetoo @crabat-the-queen @sebastianstangirl01 @just-a-blackhole @anotherblinder @christinasyellowflowers @insanitybyanothername @daisyblinder @wotcherpeak @call-sign-shark

MASTERLIST

#arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby x y/n #arthur shelby blurb #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby fanfic #arthur shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders blurb #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

[mr-and-mr-diaz]

My thoughts on 7x06:

KEVIN AND CHIMNEY YOU HAVE MY WHOLE HEART

This was basically Chimney's version of a coma episode

The episode wasn't as confused and muddled as I was expecting, which was great! Was super coherent, unlike the acid trip of 7x05

However, the episode still had a rushed feeling to it, and not in a "satisfying fast clip" kinda way, more the "OMG so much to cover so little time ahhhhh" kinda way.

Kenneth Choi and Jennifer Love Hewitt are GREAT actors!! Really brought all the feels

LOVE how stripped back and simple Madney's wedding was in the end. Somehow that was SO THEM. And Bobby officiating was chef's kiss.

Buck outing himself with a soot beard was VERY HIM. My guy you don't got 2 brain cells to rub together (affectionate)

Buddie partying it up in the beginning is even more hilarious now that we know that they didn't lose track of Chimney, lol he was never there

No one else was there, really. Everyone ditched except Eddie. And so the two bisexually dressed men enjoyed someone else's bachelor party wrapped up in each other (I HAVE THOUGHTSSSS)

I still don't care for Tommy beyond a vague "he's nice." Happy for Buck's journey though, but praying bucktommy isn't endgame, at the end of the day it's just one more rushed, underdeveloped relationship for Buck, the fact that it's with a man, while cool, doesn't change that underlying emptiness of an underdeveloped relationship with someone who isn't the person I've been rooting for and they've been building for actual YEARS.

Hot take: Tommy has better chemistry with Eddie than he does with Buck. Not that I ship Eddie and Tommy, this is more a roundabout way of saying I genuinely don't see much chemistry between bucktommy tbh. Like the writers mashing 2 Ken dolls together. And this isn't me talking smack, I'm just observing what I see. Like the kiss was well timed and well executed, but it didn't make me sHivEr the way it does with two actors who SPARK, you know what I mean? (examples of kisses that SPARKED: RWRB first kiss, timlucy from The Rookie is a great example (when that happened I held my freaking breath), Oliver and Felicity from Flash was INSANE. Like you know when the magic is there, and for these two... they're cute? But they're not IT.)

As long as I'm dropping hot takes: Hen saying "It's about time" felt very fanfiction-y to me. Like it's likely that she's observed a thing or two (she's sharp and has eyes and gets to watch buddie hanging out FREQUENTLY) but narratively and on-screen there were no breadcrumbs leading us to that moment. There was never a moment we saw onscreen where she was wondering "huh, I think Buck is bi," even by dint of facial expression, which means that moment wasn't paying off anything, and because of that it felt so... fanservice-y.

#911 spoilers #madney #buddie #bathena #henren #madney wedding #7x06

[yeowangies]

Flowers and Bubbles

❧

PAIRING: Goku/Reader RATING: Explicit CONTENTS: Explicit sexual content, little plot, a little fluff. WARNINGS: None. WORDCOUNT: 3387

Summary: “What are you doing?” Goku asked, nearing the tub. “It smells like Bulma’s garden in here.” “I wanted to relax so I prepared a bath.”

Notes: I FINALLY finished this fic. I'm not exactly That happy with the end result but I'm satisfied enough to post it. Enjoy!

It was the first time in a long time that you had time for yourself. You’d think Goku being away training for months would give you more time to relax, but you used the time he was away to focus on work. It’d be fun to use the day off you had, with Goku leaving early in the morning to go train with Vegeta this time. 

After using one of the bomb baths you had and mixing some oils with dried flowers, you were more than ready to immerse in the warm water. 

It only took you a couple of minutes, drinking a full cup of tea, and reading one page of a book, to realize that you were actually bored. You weren’t going to let the nice bath go to waste, but you weren’t sure if it was relaxing. In any case it was making you sleepy. 

At least my skin will be as smooth as a baby’s.

Keeping up with Goku’s hectic lifestyle must have rubbed off on you if a flower bath did not suit your taste anymore. You leaned your head against the bathtub, closing your eyes. You were feeling sleepy, that must have been relaxing enough anyway, so that’s that.

After a couple of minutes, you heard Goku’s voice calling for you from somewhere inside the house. How odd, he was home a lot earlier than you expected. 

“I’m in the bathroom!” You yelled, loud enough for him to hear you. A knock at the bathroom door followed after a beat. “You can come in, I’m not doing anything.” 

The door opened slightly, and Goku’s curious face popped in, scanning the room before walking in. You snorted; Goku was anything but refined, and you recalled the times he had tried to walk in while you were in the toilet, and how you had yelled at him for not knocking first. At last, he had learnt.

“Hi, honey!” He greeted you, beaming. 

“Hi,” You cooed at him. “You are home early.”

“Yeah, Bulma kinda got mad at us for ruining her lawn.” He eyed the bathtub curiously and sniffed around, scrunching his nose. 

“What…? Why weren’t you using the gravity room?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“We, uh… kinda broke it again…”

You scoffed, shaking your head. You should have figured that one out.

“What are you doing?” Goku asked, nearing the tub. “It smells like Bulma’s garden in here.”

“I wanted to relax so I prepared a bath.”

He seemed interested in all the products you had poured into it, leaning in to poke a few of the flowers floating around. 

“Everything is supposed to hydrate my skin and stuff.” You explained vaguely, running a hand over your unkempt bun to let your hair down. “But it’s making me more sleepy than anything else. It’s kinda boring, to be honest.”

With his eyes still analyzing the bath, Goku tilted his head. 

“I know baths are relaxing, but what are the flowers for? And why is the water pink?”

You smiled softly at him. 

“They just make it special.”

He really seemed to be trying to understand, and you felt your heart flutter, but you quickly noticed that even for yourself, the bath had lost all meaning.

“Do you wanna take a bath? I’ll be done quickly so you can clean yourself up.”

“Okay.”

Goku turned to leave, and you stretched your legs over the tub, getting ready to get up and dry yourself off. He had stopped on his tracks right by the door, and you frowned, staring at him, confused. He stood there for a minute, and you were about to ask him if something was wrong when he turned his head to look at you. A mischievous smile was adorning his face, and you instinctively flinched. 

“What?”

That gleam in his eyes; it was there when he was up to no good. Last time you saw it was the night before, right before he started tickling you, prior to going down on you. You felt your stomach somersault instantly at the memory. 

Goku turned all the way around and strolled to the tub, stopping right by it. You kept your eyes on his face, his grin still there, wide and playful. He undid his sash in a second, dropping down his pants and underwear in a flash, getting rid of his shoes along the way. 

“What are you doing?!” You yelled, eyes widening. 

Your gaze automatically wanted to go to his groin, but you tried to keep it on his face. It was crazy that he still had such an effect on you, you saw him naked more times than you can count, and yet seeing him like that so suddenly made you blush like a high school girl. Goku’s smile quickly turned into a smirk at the sight of your flushed cheeks. 

The next thing you knew, he had stepped into the tub hastily, sloshing water out onto the floor.

“Y-you are gonna flood the bathroom!” You scolded him, in a tone that was meant to be angry, but instead it gave away your amusement.

His reply was a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows and his smirk growing wider, and he took off both of his shirts, discarding them on the floor randomly before fully leaning over your body. You couldn’t contain your laughter anymore once he practically sat down in the tub, splashing water everywhere, submerging half his body. 

“You are gonna have a lot of cleaning to do afterwards.” You told him, watching water swamp the bathroom floor. 

Goku’s response was chortling as he slowly approached you, crawling until he was only a few inches away from your face. The bathtub wasn’t as big to fit the both of you comfortably; even your body, which was several inches shorter than Goku, had to bend your knees to fit. Now with him there with you, you had to spread your legs to let him accommodate well when he crawled over you. 

“I’ll worry about that later.” He said, nuzzling your neck.

His hands rested on your hips as he pressed his body to yours, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders.

When you felt his hands slide upwards, his thumbs caressing the underside of your breasts, you shivered. 

Ah, so that was on his mind. 

As if the fact that he had stripped naked wasn’t already an indicator. 

You sighed when you felt his lips trace down your neck, and you tilted your head back to give him more space for him to kiss. A moan slipped from your lips when he brushed his thumbs over your nipples, at the same time he nipped the skin where your neck and shoulder met. 

The bath had turned relaxing in the end. More than relaxing by the sudden tingly warmth that had started pooling in your lower abdomen. 

It was ridiculous he always managed to rile you up, no matter how many times you’ve been intimate. Your body reacted naturally when he was around, even more so when he was pressed up to you, like he was at that moment, with his hands fondling your breasts and his lips pressing light kisses on your shoulder. 

You tightened your grip on his shoulders, running your nails along his back as a moan escaped your lips again, signaling that you wanted him to hurry up. You felt his grin against your neck before you heard him chuckle, and you pulled away, squinting your eyes at him.

“Are you teasing me?”

“Maybe.”

By the smug look on his face, he certainly and purposely was teasing you.

You pouted, quickly grabbing one of the few flowers that miraculously remained on the tub and stuck it on his cheek. 

“Well don’t. You started this, you finish it.”

“Never said I wasn’t gonna.” He said, the flower slipping down his cheek and onto the bath again.

His lips were on yours then, tongue slipping inside your mouth, leisurely stroking yours. You hummed, reciprocating the gentle eagerness in his kiss. Goosebumps formed on your skin, and you weren’t sure if it was the air making contact with your wet skin, or Goku’s touch and kiss that were making you weak. You tightened your hold on his shoulders, pulling him as close as you could, and he shifted, his body pressing almost flush to yours.

It was then you felt his erection poking your thigh, and before you could sneak a hand in between your bodies to stroke him, one of his own was already cupping your core. You moaned loudly against his lips when he pressed his palm firmly against your clit, making you shiver when he moved it ever so slightly. 

“You do things to me, honey,” He purred into the kiss, still caressing you gently.

“The feeling is mutual,” You breathed, slowly moving your hips against his hand.

Goku pressed his lips to yours a couple of times before moving downwards once more, kissing and nipping down your neck until he reached your chest. He sat back and pulled you up with him so you were basically sitting on his thighs, his mouth buried in between your breasts. You moaned loudly when he took a nipple into his mouth at the same time he eased a finger inside of you. You squeezed your legs around him, closing your eyes, reveling in the feeling of having the hottest, most amazing man taking his sweet time to pleasure you like he was. 

Threading your fingers through his hair, you held his head close to your chest, trying to somehow keep him there just in case he tried to stop. You knew he wouldn’t; sometimes he would tease you like that, but that didn’t seem to be his mood at the moment. Not by the way he was keenly sucking on your nipple and moving his finger inside you. He hummed blissfully before pulling away to lick at your other nipple, gently grazing his teeth before taking it into his mouth.

You whimpered when he slid another finger inside. You were turning impatient quickly, and you moved your hips against his hand purposely hard to let him know you were ready for him to be inside you. You felt him grin against your nipple, and you frowned, tugging at his hair.

“You said you wouldn’t tease me.”

“I never said that.” 

You were going to protest more but his lips were on yours before you could speak. Goku licked your lips, and you gasped when you felt his fingers pressed inside you just right, his thumb stroking your clit at the same time. 

“Turn around,” He husked, pulling his fingers away from your entrance.

Playful mischief was on his eyes when you met them for a hot second, along with something dark twinkling there. You complied, sliding off his lap and carefully turning over with the help of his hands, holding your arms onto the side of the tub as he lifted your butt from beneath the water, positioning you how he wanted. Water sloshed on the tub as you moved, and with the amount that had spilled earlier onto the floor, only your legs were submerged.

You turned your head over your shoulder to look at Goku, just as he leaned over you to pepper kisses along your back. His hands caressed your sides, gently squeezing your waist and hips as his lips slid lower. He grabbed a handful of your butt, kneading it tenderly, and you moaned obscenely loud.

While you appreciated it that he was taking his time appreciating your body, you were ready for more. The only reason your arousal was not more evident was because you were already wet from the bath. But he must have known; he could always smell you and most of the time he would explicitly say it to rile you up. And that moment was no different if the wide grin on his face was any indicator.

Goku chuckled darkly when his lips reached your butt, kissing and licking your right cheek. You whined, frustrated. The man knew damn well what he was doing to you. When he switched to your other cheek, you turned your upper body around as much as you could before yelling at him.

“Goku, if you don’t fuck me right now, I swear to God-”

You were cut off when he suddenly aligned himself behind you and sheathed his hard cock inside you. You gasped, turning back around to hold yourself from collapsing against the edge of the tub. Having him inside you still left you breathless after all the time you’ve been together, but even more so when he suddenly penetrated you like that, making words escape your brain completely. 

He groaned, giving you a second to adjust to the intrusion, before slowly pulling almost all the way out and sliding back in again. His fingers dug into the skin of your hips, firmly holding you as he moved at a steady pace. You could his dick perfectly inside you, and you moaned and panted every time he hit inside you just right, the warm knot in your abdomen growing with every move of his hips. 

His rhythm was slow, but Goku soon started thrusting back in with deliberate force. You braced one of your hands against the wall; you wanted to reciprocate every snap of his hips, but being in the bathtub was proving the task to be difficult. His hands squeezed your flesh, like he understood what you were trying to do, and that he would not let you go no matter what. Breathy moans escaped your lips; his reassurance, his grip on your body and his cock deliciously sliding in and out of you was more than enough. 

But it soon wasn’t, and you knew he felt the same. A slow start was always welcomed, but you knew both of you needed it hard and fast after a certain point. He picked up the pace slightly before you could plead him to do so, and your moans got louder when his hips snapped against yours.

“Harder,” You demanded, trying to move your butt to meet his thrusts.

You cried out when Goku slammed his cock inside you.

“Like that?” He asked, voice hoarse. You couldn’t see his face, but he was still teasing you.

Goku rammed into you with strong measure, his pelvis slapping loudly against yours. 

“Yes! Don’t stop!” You practically yelled, arching your back for him.

The wind was knocked out of you. His cock stroked your sensitive spot with each thrust, it left your mind in a haze. You were whimpering and pleading, eyes rolling back with every move of his hips. Water sloshed about in the tub after Goku sped up his moves, and the tub was starting to groan angrily. 

You yelped, surprised when he suddenly pulled you back against his chest, making you sit on his lap. Your hands instinctively grabbed onto each side of the tub for support, as Goku continued his pounding. His grip on your hips was strong, but the force in his moves made you think you could be knocked off balance in the blink of an eye.

“You feel so good, babe,” He growled against your ear, his hands kneading your hips. 

You moaned loudly at his words. Goku didn’t talk as much during sex and technically he wasn’t into dirty talking either; but whenever he said something remotely suggestive or even explicit, it made you shiver because you knew he meant it. 

One of his hands sneaked in between your legs, and you cried out when he started stroking your clit. The stimulation made you clench around him, and you heard him let out a guttural groan against your neck. Goku kept slamming into you, roughly hitting that sensitive spot inside you, and your legs soon started shaking from the intensity of it all. He kissed and licked your neck, but when his rhythm faltered, he resorted to simply pressing lips against your skin.

He was so rough, pumping into you wildly and filling you up perfectly, like his cock was made for you. Lost was the pace he initially set, he was seeking his own release along with your own, and it made his thrusts uneven, yet still strong enough for his dick to hit where you needed him. 

You were close to letting go, that warmth in your belly almost bursting. And by the sounds coming out of his mouth, he was close too. You wanted to warn him, but your brain was going blank with the onslaught of pleasure you were getting. 

“Come for me,” Goku whispered hoarsely, kissing the back of your neck. “I wanna feel you come.”

You didn’t need more after that, and with a stuttered moan you came. Your entire body shuddered, toes curling, and you saw stars behind your lids. 

Goku cursed under his breath when your orgasm made you clench around him, his breathing becoming more ragged as he chased his own climax. He kept hammering into you, holding hard onto your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. It made your body quiver with aftershocks, and whimpers slipped from your lips.

With a hard thrust and a growl, Goku came, burying his cock deep inside you, filling you up with cum. You moaned when he pushed his hips against yours a couple of times as he rode out his orgasm, feeling his dick twitch against your walls. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing you flush against his chest as tried to catch his breath. You let go of the tub, breathing heavily and with your arms shaking from holding onto it so tightly and withstanding Goku’s pounding, and you stroked his arms with your hands. 

You stayed like that for a minute, with his cock still buried inside you and his arms holding you tight. Goku moved backwards slowly, slipping out from inside you, both of you hissing at the emptiness. He laid down against the tub, not letting go of you and bringing you down on top of his body. You sighed loudly, resting your head against his shoulder, basking in the afterglow.

“Was that relaxing enough for ya?” He whispered, nuzzling your neck. You couldn’t see him, but you could hear the smile on his lips.

“I say,” You chuckled. “I guess I never needed a relaxing bath to begin with.”

He chortled, tightening his arms around your torso. 

“You have to clean the bathroom now,” You said, after a while.

Goku groaned, and when you tried to get up, he held onto you tighter.

You would cuddle with him all day if you could, but you were starting to feel like a raisin from being submerged for so long. And you really did want him to clean the bathroom (you would even help him because you knew he wasn’t as detailed when it came to cleaning, but you didn’t want to say that just yet).

“Come on, Goku. I’ll cook dinner by the time you’re done.” You persuaded him, pushing his hands away from your body as you sat up.

“Okay,” He didn’t sound as enthusiastic as you expected, but at least he agreed. 

He sat up right behind you, and pressed you closer to him once more, kissing your neck. 

That was going to be harder than you expected, you were still human after all. 

You turned your head to the side and kissed him on the lips. Goku hummed happily, returning the kiss just as eagerly. When you felt his hands sliding downwards towards your hips, you pulled away. As tempting as it was to have him touch you again, you knew you had to stop.

“We can keep doing stuff later,” You told him when he huffed. You reached for one of the very few flowers still floating about, and put it on his hair. “Let’s go, flower boy.”

You stood up carefully as he ruffled his hair, the flower flying towards the door, making you laugh. After wrapping a towel around your body and handing one to Goku, you stepped out of the bathroom. 

“Goku, you flooded the hall too!”

You heard him laugh from inside the bathroom before he yelled.

“I love ya!”

#dbz fics #dbz imagine #dbz fanfiction #goku x reader #goku #dbz #dragon ball z #my writing

[oneangstymotherfucker]

Tw for vague csa/abuse mention

Sometimes, yeah, I "get off to" the fics I write. And I definately like hearing that other people enjoy them, because I think everyone deserves things they enjoy and it truly makes me happy to provide a little of that for others.

But the reason I write what I write is so my brain has a place to spin out scenarios to try to make it okay. And by that I don't mean the things that happened to me. By that I mean the fact that I exist as someone who those things happened to. The fact that I live every day with the rammifications of one man's evil decision, wrapping themselves up and weaving themselves into every aspect of my life. And when I write I come at it from all angles- including sexual because I was a prematurely-sexually-awakened kid and that can make a person's relationship with sex a little confusing to say the least- to try to figure out how to live with it.

Fic writers don't write to normalize abuse. We write to normalize suvival. And survival isn't always pure and pretty and fluffy. I was not healed by a wholesome loving relationship, I was not healed by friendship or forgiveness or by trying to banish all darkness from my life and mind. I am healing myself by looking it in the eye. By getting elbows-deep in the darkness, letting it coat my skin again now that I am grown and safe. By forgiving myself for the tracks it left in my mind and body, accepting that it is part of my story and trusting myself to keep me safe.

That's what I'm trying to normalize. That it's good you survived, and it's okay to be "messed up by it". You are normal, and your existence isn't bad or tainted or dirty or wrong. You are good and innocent. You deserve to be here and you deserve a full, satisfying life with all the things you enjoy in it.

#proship #pro fiction #abuse cw #tw csa mention #ship and let ship #dark fic #sexuality #healing #dark ships #art exists for a purpose #it is not supposed to be sterile #if it is sterile it is not art #art is supposed to ask the questions voices fail at #say the things words fall short of #write what you need to #draw what you need to #create without boundaries and do not be afraid #shipping discourse

[freisende]

White-No-Face and Nameless Spirit

#TGCF

Heaven Official's Blessing Vol. 6 ⚠️ Spoiler

"Body in the abyss, heart in paradise."

Xie Lian had never thought before how abyss is such a vague, blank place, where there is no place for his heart to reside.

No matter how much he suffered, there should be hope somewhere—

At least that was his thought.

White is still white, a pristine color out there which symbolized pureness.

However, this fact totally changed after Xianle kingdom was doomed to be swapped away from earth.

"I want to save the common people!"

Who was he to say such foolish things? Because he was the crown prince? Or because he ascended to heaven at such a young age?

In the end, he was useless; Everything was futile.

Who was him to say that Xianle should have stood above Yong An and not the opposite?

— if it's revenge you seek, nothing should be easier than killing those people who outrighted your kingdom, right?

White-no-face was like a devil peeking out the door waiting for Xie Lian to come to his side.

A half-crying, half-smiling expression on his face—

Perhaps this was the representation of his heart's current condition.

Xie Lian was mournful because he could not do anything when his kingdom was destroyed; but the slight arouse of revenge which fulfilled his heart's void made a horrorific, smiling expression on his face.

He ran, ran, and rushed towards his goal of exterminating that kingdom—

So what if he steeped to such valley? No one would save him anyway. Even though he rescued so many people, didn't they only pay him with betrayals?

Even so, Xie Lian was still holding one speck of sanity in his heart. His morale— in the end he would still like to test if anyone still had kindness in their heart.

If anyone still intended to reach their hand out to him— let's just stop this.

He was exhausted. His will to live was long gone since the time he had died for hundreds of times. His parents were not there smiling to him anymore; his aides and servants were long gone.

Revenge and no revenge still didn't satisfy him and make his heart go to paradise. So why bother?

***

Yet, it only took a spark realization of wish to set him back on track.

That day a "common person" extended their bamboo hat to him and a reason to live again was the trigger.

He tried his best to prevent the calamity he himself was bringing.

Xianle or Yong An, I still want to save the common people!

Yet he was late— the little spirit, Wuming; was the one to become sacrifice.

He could not bear his god to be tainted to such extent; if someone should be tainted, it should rather be his believer, not the god himself.

White should still remain untainted!

With that last thought, Wuming dispersed that day, leaving only Xie Lian to stare— this was the most unbearable moment in Xie Lian's life.

Voidness.

It was another blank point in his life where he once again could not do anything.

However, it was not the same.

Hope is there— it truly exists now.

Just like how Xie Lian's believer never thought that his god was wrong, faith never betrays— hope is always there.

There might be a devil called White-no-face from his behind, but something called aspiration and prospect was there in front of him.

If he should sacrifice his body in the abyss to put his heart on paradise, it would worth it.

After all, Xie Lian finally realized he was not alone.

If he were to fight, his believer is right there beside him. Hong'er, Wuming, Sanlang, Hua Cheng— just like how he would always protect his believer, his believer would protect his god.

No matter what calamity were to pass, even if his body were in the abyss, his heart along with his believer's— are in paradise.

"Your highness, I am forever your most devoted believer."

#TGCF #audio drama #chinese novel #impression #heaven official's blessing #xie lian #wu ming #hua cheng #hualian #xianle #yong an #spoiler #mo xiang tong xiu #tian guan ci fu #english