#so I’ve been doing little writing exercises with prompts

[harmonizewithechoes]

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#so I’ve been doing little writing exercises with prompts #but I’ve been wanting to get into writing more fanfics and stuff #but it’s just so intimidating you know? #I just checked ao3 for my favorite book series #idk why I’ve never done it before tbh #but!! there’s only one fic there!!! and it’s not even the actual series it’s a crossover fic #with a couple characters from the series thrown into a different universe #which means it’s a blank canvas!! #there’s very little if any established fanon!! #I can do whatever I want #so exciting #literally the best possible news

[goodgirlofglory]

Hiya doll! 👋 Finals month is still in motion, so I’ve been pretty quiet on the asks. But today I was feeling some sort of way, and I wanted to know if you’re open to this request.

“Bucky with a reader who is insecure about her body”

Basically, I see a lot of representation for plus size girlies on tumblr ( and this is no hate to anyone) but I wish there was also more representation for midsize girlies. Also for girls who are on the taller side, I’m talking 5”7 and up. I’m 5”7 myself, and wearing any shoe that gives me extra inches makes me feel like I tower over my friends or others.

Another thing is, if you do write for this ask, I was thinking that even though reader does have a low self-esteem, she puts on a front and seems like she has a majorrrrrr ego or god complex. So maybe, Bucky see through that, gets her down from there, and fucks her in front of a mirror 🫣🥵

And I oop-

Anyways, regardless to everything, have a fantastic day/night and rest of your week! I appreciate you 💜💜💜

Bestie!!!!🦋

I hope your finals went well!🫶🫶🫶

I am soooo sorry this took so long! It needed to sit with me for a while before I felt I could do it justice, and then life happened in the meantime ya'know.

Anyways I so dearly hope you like this🙏🙏 I resonated a lot with your prompt as a midsize girlie myself and channeled some of my own experience into it (though I have sadly never been fucked in front of a mirror by Bucky Barnes)💖

Anyway, hope you're having a good day or night wherever you are, you are a true gem 🫶✨️🫶✨️🫶

(Also can’t wait to hear what you think of this so lmk😘)

Just perfect / One-shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x secretlyinsecure!taller!midsize!reader

Word count: 7,8k

Warnings: explicit sexual content, explicit language, SMUT, bathroom sex, fucking in front of a mirror, dom!Bucky, unprotected p in v (be safe my sweet darlings), a split second of oral (f receiving), reader is insecure and has some harmful thoughts about her own body.

Summary: A rather dreadful Christmas party at S.H.I.E.L.D takes a turn for the better (and frankly therapeutical) when Bucky Barnes shows you that your self-deprecating thoughts about your body might not be as objective as you thought.

“Mid,” you muttered to yourself as you looked over your outfit one more time in the mirror, fighting down the nagging notion of not feeling entirely satisfied with the reflection. The little, black dress fit you perfectly, hugging your upper body like a second skin before flaring out in the shimmering, silk fabric of the skirt that reached just below your knees. Appropriate for a work party, while the hidden slit in the side of the skirt was just a little something extra cheeky for those who’d pay attention. You doubted anyone would. It fit your persona as a ruthless man repeller perfectly too. No flashy colors, no risque shapes, no cutouts and not too short. No fun either, but that wasn’t important here. The cleavage even appeared modest with the average size of your breasts. 

“Fucking mandatory Christmas party,” you muttered as you grabbed your bag and left your apartment to head to the Avengers compound for the second time that day. How is it even allowed to make an after hours social event mandatory, you wondered angrily as you got in the waiting cab. You kept adjusting your dress as the city slowly flashed by outside the cab window, second guessing everything about your outfit from the dress to the shoes to the bag to the red lipstick you’d dared yourself to put on, afraid it was too much and too basic at the same time. 

You knew it was ridiculous to feel so self conscious about yourself and your body. For all intents and purposes, you were perfectly and quite uninterestingly average, neither plus size nor skinny. You knew your plus size girlies had a way harder time being judged and disrespected for their size, and you didn’t want to be too skinny either, like malnourished. You were perfectly midsize, eating healthy and exercising for your body's sake, eating chocolate and pasta and drinking beer for your mental health’s sake. You were perfectly. average. midsize.

It was just that, the lack of appreciation and attention over the years has slowly chipped away at your confidence, and then your self-image, and then your self-esteem, to a point that it was difficult to even rouse any positive thoughts about yourself that didn’t feel half-hearted or mandatory for the girlboss-affirmation of the day. 

The one thing you had going for you, the one thing you felt unequivocally confident about, was your job. Working as one of the high level secretaries for Fury himself, you actually had quite the high seat in the house, with clearance, authority and trust from the big man on top himself. It also meant saying no to quite a lot of things and people on a daily basis, to stop people from charging into the director's office in anger, to be authoritative enough to make people listen and actually do whatever orders you delivered on the director’s behalf (and your own sometimes). The job, which you loved and had worked hard to get, was just a tad challenging to splice with a lack of self-image.

So you’ve built a ruthless, badass, girlboss, gatekeep, gaslight persona for yourself, known for being resistant to all flattery, all bribes, all flirting and all begging. Nothing got past you and everyone seemed just a little afraid of you. It was true, you’d garnered the nickname “the other she-hulk” among your peers. And though you embodied this persona like the most natural thing in the world, it was also a front really, for your honest to God lack of confidence in your everything average.

Oh yeah, except for your height, you realized as you got out of the cab at your destination and was hailed over by the other female colleagues in your department waiting outside the compound - the shoes you wore turned out to give you several inches of height on the other girls, even as they also wore stiletto-like heels. In the height department, you were just above average, which did not make you feel any better necessarily. 

Fuck. You looked like their fucking body guard, looming behind them like a giraffe as you made your way inside, them smiling and laughing, you affecting your haughty mask, the one that protected you the best when you were feeling a bit off-kilter. Better to deem everyone here below your interest before they even had a chance to assess you, right?  

The party was nice. They’d somehow managed to make the compound not feel like a concrete bunker, decorating almost every surface with some fabric or other, flashy reds and silvers and greens and blues, giant trees everywhere overloaded with decorations. Maximalism galore.

“It looks like Santa exploded in here,” you joked to your colleagues, receiving a bout of wild laughter in return. It hadn’t really been that funny, but hey, maybe you could be known as the “other deadpool” in the future if you worked hard enough on your comedy. 

As usual, the lovelier girls of your department got swarmed pretty quickly by guys. Recruits, officers, cadets, other secretaries - they all flocked to your group. You didn’t blame them, your colleagues were beautiful, witty, smiling brightly and exuding a sort of light that could only be rivaled by the sun. They were nice to everyone too, unlike you. 

You stayed and chatted for a bit. No one commented on your dress and certainly not the split at the side, and you tried not to let that get to you. This was a work event, after all, it would be inappropriate if they did come on to you or something. Your self-esteem whimpered quietly even so. 

It didn’t take long for the rest to get tipsy, and someone started blasting music somewhere, effectively switching from corporate mingling-mode to drunken tomfoolery-mode. You easily resisted getting dragged to the dancefloor, effecting a disinterested, above-it-all mask as your work friends pouted and dragged your arm in a petulant, though surprisingly endearing way. 

“I’m not debasing myself tonight, thank you very much,” you said, knowing it was harsh but only gaining a playfully scolding look before the whole gang bounced off to dance without you. 

You made your way over to the bar instead. A half-hour or so more and then you could safely leave without breaking any social codes, you thought with relief as you ordered another glass of champagne. 

Turning from the bar, glass in hand, you suddenly bumped into someone, champagne sloshing around the rim, a few drops spilling over your hand. 

“Hey, watch where-” you started, words dying in your mouth as you looked up…and up a broad chest, a thick neck and then came face to face with Bucky Barnes aka the Winter Soldier himself. 

B-big, your brain supplemented eloquently as you stopped speaking all together. 

How was he so tall? Okay, so you knew he was tall, you’d encountered him regularly over the years and had always felt dwarfed by the tree-trunk size of the man, but you were in four inch heels, god damnit, and you still had to crane your neck to look into his eyes. They glinted as he looked down on you, and for a moment you forgot who you were supposed to be and nearly shrank in on yourself, feeling uncharacteristically small. 

“Sorry,” he simply said, giving you a once-over so quick you weren’t sure it’d happened at all, and then he leaned around you to grab a few napkins from the bar. He made quick work of taking the glass from your hand and wiping the stray drops of champagne from it, set it on the bar and then gently took your hand in his and wiped it as well. 

You could only stare in astonishment at the size of his hands, rough and calloused, but with neatly trimmed nails, engulfing yours and being so exquisitely gentle. He put the glass back in your hand and looked down at you with a pleased smile. 

You quickly amassed your indifferent mask, raising a haughty eyebrow at him, and stepped aside so he could order whatever he wanted. He’d at least apologized and cleaned up the mess he (and you together, admittedly) had caused. You supposed it was the best outcome, both for your pride and confidence. You didn’t step far from the bar, sure you would be back soon enough for another glass, and looked out on the burgeoning dance floor in front of you. 

“Why don’t you join?” a deep voice asked from the side. 

Looking over, Bucky had come up to stand at your side, looking out over the crowd as well, whiskey glass in hand. His strong profile was illuminated by the flashing lights of the dance floor, reflected in those baby blue eyes, and his hair was tucked back into a bun at the back of his head. His suit must have been tailored by sorcery or something, because it hugged him in all the right places, press neat and crisp, making him look both perfectly put together and indecently so.   

Okay, so maybe you had a little something of a crush on the guy. He was fine as hell, and always put this old school New York charm on you whenever you met. He was the only one who still tried to charm and flirt with you whenever he came to Fury’s office, and though you put on your unimpressed and uninterested mask, thoroughly shutting him down each time, you secretly appreciated those moments more than you would ever admit out loud. It felt nice that he at least treated you the same as all the other secretaries - he was the only one who still did. 

You raised your eyebrow, securing a bored look even as you wanted to ask with you?

“Not exactly my crowd,” you said instead, taking a swig at your drink. 

“No? Didn’t think you cared about things like that,” he said, smoothly challenging you. 

“Not exactly my music, then,” you said. Arrogance and low energy usually got people to leave you alone when you felt fragile. You turned to give him a fake, sarcastically apologetic smile. 

“Ah, I see. Too bad, would’ve loved to see how wide that split goes while you twirl,” he said, leaning closer to you, and in your shock the mask you’d held on so tight cracked, and you whipped to look at him. He’d noticed it?

You saw the pleased victory shining in his eyes. Cheeky bastard was trying to break you, trying to make you drop the haughty exterior, like he knew you were only putting up a front. And you’d let your mask slip and showed him he was right. And like you suspected he knew, it was the exact sort of thing you deeply, secretly craved someone to do. 

But it wouldn’t be that easy. Bucky could just be fucking with you, or making easy conversation. But he’d noticed the split in your dress, so he must’ve been looking, right? Just a little harder than everybody else. Still, it was out of the question to just drop every defense and wall you had now, in this room, just because of one comment from him. You quickly affected an unimpressed, almost fatigued mask, raising your glass to your lips. 

“Too bad, Barnes, I’ve already had my high school prom,” you said, delivering the line with just the perfect amount of arrogance and judgment. 

You felt his eyes lingering on your face for long moments as you stared into the crowd, refusing to meet his eyes and potentially let more slip. This shit was exhausting enough when people didn’t clock on to your farce. Still, a small part of you didn’t want him to stop looking, to stop showering you in this undivided attention that sizzled like carbonic bubbles on your skin. 

You immediately shut down your disappointment when he left without another word, telling yourself to be proud you didn’t beg or flirt or plead for his attention like everyone else did. You didn’t need anyone but yourself, you needed to remember that. 

The music shifted from some mainstream pop song to some very old jazz, and the sudden shift only had a second to register before Bucky appeared as from thin air, took your glass from you, downed the rest of your drink in one gulp (eyes shining with mischief as you gawked a little at him), ditched the glass on the nearby table and then promptly took you by the hands and hauled you out on the dance floor. 

“W-wait, I -” your words cut off to a little squeal as the soldier wrapped a strong arm around your waist and twirled you so your feet lifted off the ground, the skirt of your dress flying out. Your arms clung around his neck and shoulders as the world spun in a flurry of bright, flickering lights, and your feet didn’t touch the ground for ten solid seconds as Bucky turned and turned. 

When he eventually put you down, his arms didn’t let up much, keeping you firmly tucked to the hard planes of his stomach and chest with a hand that went around your back and held your waist on the other side. 

You schooled your expression down even as nerves and excitement and a fair share of actual, fucking excitement filled you from the unexpected dancing. You actually did like to dance a lot. You looked up and found Bucky’s eyes on your face, glimmering in the bright lights as he easily led you in some old timey couple’s dance that he apparently knew perfectly.

“This music more to your liking?” he asked, challenging and genuine at the same time, and you couldn’t for the life of you understand his angle. Why was he doing this? 

You knew people were watching, even as the dance floor was still full of other dancers making due with their modern dance moves to the old music. And though you did feel kinda nervous being so exposed, you couldn’t very well cut off this dance and leave - that would only make you look even more insecure than you felt.

So you soldiered through, putting on a mildly entertained, smug look and looking Bucky in the eyes. 

“It’s certainly something else,” you said, and watched as his eyes flared over with a sort of playful frustration, shaking his head a little at you, but smiling despite himself. 

“Drop the act, sweetheart,” he said then, low enough for no one else to hear, but it still made you bristle. 

“What act?” you said, making it sound nonchalant and innocent at the same time. “Just because you remember one dance from 70 years ago, I’m supposed to swoon?” you challenged, knowing the words were harsh but goddamnit, he was getting too close. 

A groan escaped him then, one you felt more than heard from the way your bodies were pressed together, and you flushed, not expecting that kind of response. 

He leaned down and murmured in your ear.

“I like it when you’re mean, but I’d like it more if you were honest,” he said, and your breath caught, the physical sensation of his hot breath on your ear distracting you to the point of stumbling a bit on your heels. His arm around your waist didn’t let you so much as twist an ankle, which made you feel even more heated. 

Before you could come up with a retort, Bucky flung you out in a twirl, making your skirt fly around you. He led you perfectly even as he almost threw you around like a ragdoll, and you had to admit you were amazed by how graceful you were even as every move and twist were orchestrated and led by Bucky. The crowd disappeared as you moved to the music, coming back to Bucky, being swung out again, your back to his front at one point, his breath hot on your neck, swinging out again and stepping past each other in swoops only connected by your hand in his. 

You met his eyes and saw the flash over with an intensity that made your skin prickle, with a hunger you could scarcely believe was meant for you, eyes raking over your body, lingering on the leg peaking out through the split in your skirt, your chest heaving in the low cut neckline of your dress, your face flushed and no doubt looking as amazed as you felt on the inside. 

The dance ended in a perfectly timed dip, Bucky holding you down and cradling your neck and the small of your back in capable arms, face so close you could feel his breath fan across your face, smelling of whiskey and spearmint. 

You smiled, couldn’t help it, you hadn’t had this much fun at a work event in years. Bucky’s eyes flitted about your face as he echoed your smile with a brilliant flash of teeth himself. Your heart thudded in your chest, and your eyes flicked down to his lips, those luscious, plump lips and oh holy fuck did you want to kiss him at that moment. A desperation you couldn’t quell seized you by your fucking guts and you positively throbbed. Your smile faltered, and you saw his fall too. Daring to look up into his eyes, you saw the same hunger reflected there, nearly engulfing you in its heat. 

Then the crowd returned, cheering, the music went back to some pop song from last year and reality dumped back in on your head so fast you almost made the mistake of scrambling out of Bucky’s hold. 

No, no, no, way too exposed, this was not how you planned this night…

You were actually proud of the way you managed to slowly extract yourself from Bucky’s arms, give a slow, bored “thank you,” and then calmly leave the room all together to escape to the ladies room. 

You had to admit, they hadn’t neglected the bathrooms in the compound, you thought as you occupied the space alone. They were kinda nice, big and spacious, marble and polished steel making the space comfortable and with an air of luxury compared to the practical, brutalist vibe of the rest of the building. 

You touched up on your lipstick, hands shaking a little from the excursion of the dancing. Okay, you needed to leave, you thought to yourself as you felt your skin still sizzling faintly wherever Bucky’s hands had touched you. Your nerves seemed newly awakened as if from a deep slumber, and it would not do to develop an even deeper crush on him. 

As if summoned, the door to the bathroom opened and Bucky stepped through, eyes finding yours in the mirror immediately. 

“I think you’re supposed to be in the next room over Barnes,” you drawled even as your heart picked up speed. 

He didn’t answer as he slowly crossed the room. 

You couldn’t help shifting in your skin as your body thrummed with an exhausting amount of nervous excitement. His gaze was level,possessing your attention like an iron grip. It was like he saw right through every mask and facade you tried to put on, right in to the very center, the very truth inside you. It lulled you and provoked you at the same time. 

“You’re in the wrong restroom, Barnes,” you said, even harsher, when he was about halfway across to you. He still didn’t answer. 

You spun to face him, anger welling higher. Who did he think he was, coming in here and stripping away the only scraps of protection you had, looking at you like he could read the thoughts as they appeared in your mind?

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” he answered as you glared at him, coming to stop directly in front of you, only inches between you, and the air there sparked with energy you just couldn’t deny you were affected by. 

You scoffed, fighting against the crumbling of your exterior. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you wanted him. Couldn’t deny it, couldn’t help yourself as your muscles ached to reach for him, to press yourself against him and let him wrap his strong, safe arms around you again. To tuck yourself away into him and shut your mind off and just feel taken care of - in any way - by someone other than yourself.

A desperate thought occurred to you; maybe you could do this without losing face. If you went on the offensive, you could still hold control over the situation while still letting whatever was sizzling between you and Bucky explode, you thought a bit desperately as you held his stare, his eyes darkening as the seconds ticked by. Maybe you didn’t have to bare your soul for him in order to get a taste of what you wanted. You could just make it out to be a hookup at a party, something carnal but detached. Give your body to him while still guarding your mind and soul. 

Not giving yourself a moment more to stall, you surged forward, grabbed his neck and kissed him. He wasn’t as surprised as you’d liked by your sudden call to action. In fact, he seemed to come unleashed the moment your lips met his, a grunt sounding in his throat as he instantly wrapped one arm around your waist, his other going into your hair to keep your head firmly put where he wanted it. 

Yes

The kiss was filthy, hot breaths and open mouths and tongue on tongue almost immediately, like a dam of pent up lust had just erupted at that first touch for the both of you. He pushed you back so the marble counter dug into your ass, and plastered himself against you, groaning as your hands moved to map out his back. 

You fumbled to reach for the lapels on his jacket and he let up his hold just long enough for you to wrench his suit jacket off him before both pair of hands went on frantically groping and gripping and touching, and you couldn’t seem to draw breath into your aching lungs for all the burning desire that flooded your body. 

Bucky broke out of your heady kiss, gasping as he leaned his forehead to yours, hands gripping your hip and the back of your neck so tight it almost pinched you, and you relished the feeling. 

“Fuck,” he groaned between pants, and you liked the sound of that very much. 

You gave him a sultry and cocky “mhm” as you kissed him again, nipping at his bottom lip. When you opened your eyes again, he was still looking at you, his stare so fucking intense. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and that…was stepping into a territory you were not too keen on. You couldn’t have sentimentality at that moment. You couldn’t control your tiny wince either, trying to move on with another kiss, your hands dragging down the hard planes of his chest to entice him to move along. 

Bucky didn’t grant you that mercy. He apparently saw your wince as well as he saw the split in your skirt, and scrutinized you with a piercing stare as he reiterated between kisses. 

“So gorgeous,” he murmured and you tried your damndest to ignore it, kissing him more intently, hands moving a bit desperately to his belt, but an uncomfortable laughter escaped you either way. 

Bucky stopped your hands, grabbing them and putting them on the counter at your side before cradling your face firmly in his hands. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what is he doing, you lamented as you looked everywhere but his eyes. 

“I mean it, you’re a gorgeous woman,” he said and you whined softly, not at all capable of hearing that. Whether out of a misguided sense of pity or because he wanted to get in your panties, you didn’t want him to tell you that shit just to placate you. You were already dying to get fucked, false flattery was of no need. You were practically soaking your panties already just from his kisses and his hands, one warm and one slightly colder, moving over your body like he couldn’t get to all of it quick enough.

“You don’t have to-” you started exasperated, squirming to get away from the intimacy of his proximity, the way he looked at you and the way he was cradling your face. 

“You see, this is what I mean. I think you’re hiding, doll. You don’t realise how fucking amazing you are, and you hide it behind a bitchy face and even bitchier words,” he said.

Words failed you then. The fucking audacity of this man to call you out like that. You were not prepared to be laid out like that, and you didn’t know whether to fight back with teeth and claws or to flee in your humiliation. 

Bucky must have seen your warring thoughts on your face, the simmering rage at being cornered and confronted like this, like an animal frantic with self preservation. 

“You don’t believe me?” he asked, and you could see a fierce competitive glint light on fire in his eyes, pouncing on the challenge.

In a flash, he’d turned you around and you met your own expression in the mirror above the sink. Bucky stepped flush against you again, and nestled the hard bulge in his pants right against your ass. You squirmed and whined a little. You wanted that inside you already. But Bucky held you tightly pinned between himself and the counter, his metal hand coming around to splay on your stomach, shining metal against the black silk fabric, effectively giving you no room to move. His hand was so huge, it covered nearly the whole area between your belly button and the underside of your heaving breasts. He propped his chin on your shoulder and captured your eyes through the reflection in the mirror. 

“You’re exquisite, doll” he whispered, his other hand landing lightly on your waist. This time you saw your own wince of disbelief in the mirror, instantly embarrassed at how revealing you were. Heat bloomed on your cheeks, both from his words and the way his eyes were just eating your body up in the mirror. 

“I’m nothing special,” you heard yourself murmur. 

“Oh, on the contrary, doll, you’re as rare as they come,” Bucky said, flesh hand moving to grab your hips appreciatively. “Swinging these hips all around the compound, your walk so sweet compared to that barking mouth you’ve got on ya,” he said, drawled a bit, his Brooklyn accent coming forth, kneading your hips and pulling you back to grind your ass on his hard bulge. 

Your breath hitched on a gasp, and your heart fluttered in your chest. He’d been watching the way you walked? And he liked it?

His hands came up to cup one of your heaving breasts. 

“Such elegant lines, perfect, round tits,” he murmured into the skin below your ears, and you trembled in his arms as his fingers teased a nipple through the thin fabric of your dress. 

“A neck that’s just begging to be sucked on and marked,” he continued before his lips sealed itself to that sensitive spot right below the hinge of your jaw and you gasped raggedly as sparks flew through your body. 

You were positively high on the novelty of his praise, but you just couldn’t quite believe it. 

“I’ve…a-always just thought I was so average,” you admitted, voice timid, nothing short of a whisper, and you berated yourself for revealing your insecurity so openly, even as Bucky’s lips let go of your skin and he nuzzled the hair behind your ear. 

“God, no,” he sighed, hand coming down to your hip again, guiding you to grind back on his bulge again, and fuck, he was hard, “I don’t get how you could even think that,” he said, and the genuine astonishment in his voice had to be real, or else he was a brilliant fucking actor. 

Your hips had started moving on their own now, steadily grinding between his metal hand on your stomach and the hard cock at your ass, sizzling sparks of heat traveling your body from the friction. You could feel Bucky nodding into the crook of your neck, encouraging and praising at the same time. 

“But I’m…kinda tall…surely y-you’d want someone shorter, m-more petite?” you heard yourself whisper, and you just had to ask him right out, to give voice to those incessant, nagging insecurities. 

He actually laughed then, a breathy chuckle against the exposed skin of your shoulder. 

“Are you kidding? You nearly gave me a heart attack in these heels tonight, baby,” he said easily, calm and honest and straightforward and it was like he wasn't even trying to convince you of anything, he was just speaking honestly. “And when you danced with me? How sexy and smooth and fucking alive you were as you let me spin you? Couldn’t take my fucking eyes of you, fuck, I haven’t been this hard in ages. Plus, you’re just perfect for me to fuck like this. Can’t you feel how perfectly your ass fits against my cock when you grind like that, huh? Can’t have that with a shorter girl, you were made for me, darling,” he said, breath growing puffy and you were almost shaking, both from his words and the blazing fucking heat they stoked.

A needy, whimpering sort of whine escaped you at that. It was perfect, your height to his. Perfect for you to nudge your ass against his pelvis and feel his hot lips and a sliver of tongue on the heated skin of your neck at the same time. 

“Do you believe me, now, sweetheart? Or do you need me to fuck it into you?” he asked then, a teasing lilt to his voice even as it dropped a fucking octave, rumbling over you skin, making you ache. 

You turned your head to graze your lips against his, recognising when he was posing a challenge by now, when his competitive side came out to play. You waited just a few seconds, letting your mingling, ragged breaths fill the silence, before answering, looking him straight in his eyes.

“I don’t believe you,” you whispered against his mouth. 

His reaction was almost instant. His metal hand came up to cradle your throat, pinning you close to him as his flesh hand had the skirt of your dress bunched up around your hips in a split second. His hand was between your legs in the next second, brazen and possessive and you fucking loved it, knees nearly buckling in your stilettos as his warm flesh palm cupped you there. A filthy groan sounded in your ear. 

“Fucking perfect pussy already soaked for me, huh?” he downright growled, fingers moving up and down your clothed slit, feeling just how wet you were through the flimsy fabric of your lace panties. “This pussy aching, huh? Hasn’t been fucked right in ages, I reckon? Some bastard left you feeling like less than just perfect?” he babbled as he began rubbing tight circles on your clit, making you keen at both his words and ministrations, mind floating up to the fucking skies on a cloud of endorphins and arousal. “You give me their names, honey, and I’ll make sure they never bother you again,” he said, dark intentions in an even darker, gruffer voice and you couldn’t stand still for the way you needed him. 

“Fuuuck, please, Bucky,” you whined, grinding your pussy down on his hand, soaking his fingers. 

“That’s right, baby, you take what you deserve, you take what this perfect body deserves,” he encouraged. 

“I need…I need,” you breathed, eyes closing as you rode the sensation of being touched like this, so expertly, too much one second and not enough the next. 

“What do you need, baby? Tell me,” he groaned into the skin of your neck. 

“I need…your…please, your cock,” you whimpered. 

His hands pulled back and gave your pussy a playful little slap, making you jolt and yelp in his arms, and the slight sting felt so fucking good. 

“That’s right,” he said, giving you a few precious seconds to collect your frayed, jumbled, melting mind as he frantically undid his belt and fly, pulling his cock out and pulling your soiled panties to the side to notch his cock at your weeping hole. 

He didn’t give you anymore time to beg before he pushed his hips forward and you both gasped raggedly as his cock slid in, perfectly to the hilt, your pussy sucking him in like it had a mind of its own. His whole frame, massive and rugged as it was, shuddered as he stood there with his cock buried inside you, and you opened your eyes to watch in astonished fascination through the reflection in the mirror as he took a moment to get a hold of himself. One hand flexed its grip around your throat, the other on your hip, grip so tight and you hoped it would leave bruises. 

He didn’t wait long until he started thrusting, pulling out almost completely before thrusting in again, forgoing any buildup and going straight to the main fucking course and you were so ridiculously relieved he wasn’t teasing you anymore. 

His hands let go of you and you fell forward, draping yourself over the counter so you could just feel the way his cock, thick and ridged and so fucking hard, dragged against your walls, yielding nothing as he speared you. 

“Need to see you,” Bucky breathed between pants as he kept fucking you. 

You felt the bodice of your dress loosen and realized he had undone the zipper at the back of your dress, peeling it off your arms and then hauling you the meat of your shoulder to straighten against him again, completely naked from the waist up. 

His hands were on your exposed skin immediately, mapping out your ribcage, squeezing the pouch beneath your belly button and coming up to knead your breasts, pulling on your nipples. He was like a man starved, all the while his cock was steadily pumping into you, pushing you higher and higher, the sounds from where you were joined filtering in through your haze of lust and pleasure like a sinful symphony. 

You opened your eyes to find his in your reflection, pools of incendiary desire following every minute twitch of your face. Your eyes flicked over your own face and saw the crimson flush, the sweat on your brow, hair ruffled, the scrunched up expression and heavy-lidded, drugged eyes. You looked a downright, embarrassing mess, your deepest pleasure so plainly written on your face, exposing you to the point of pain and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to lean back to hide in the crook of his neck. 

Bucky did not let you. 

“Oh no, no, no, don’t hide from me now, sugar,” he said, one hand coming up to pull your face forward, “look at me,” he ordered and you opened your eyes to his again. 

“See how exquisite you are?” he asked, hips slapping against your ass. “See how beautiful you look, taking my cock?” he asked, watching you watch him in the mirror. “Look at yourself,” he ordered, and you whimpered as you met your own gaze in the mirror again. 

There was an almost lascivious tilt to his voice as he kissed your neck sloppily and murmured. 

“Tell her she looks beautiful,” he said. 

You thrashed as much as you could in your pinned position, the counter digging into your hips, high heeled shoes barely touching the floor. 

“Bucky,” you whined petulantly. There was no way. 

“Say it, darling,” he warned before his hips slowed down to an almost complete stop, and that only made you thrash harder. “Oh, you want to come baby? Then look at yourself in the mirror and say ‘I’m beautiful,” he said, and you gawked at him in disbelief, humiliation and mortification burning hot on your cheeks. 

The hand not holding your face towards the mirror kept exploring your flesh as he waited, pinching and grabbing everywhere like he just couldn’t stop. You looked at yourself in the mirror, took in the simmering fire in your eyes, your lips with its bright red lipstick smeared all over. 

“Come on, darling, don’t you want to come? Won’t you let me make you come?” Bucky asked, spreading kisses down your neck as his eyes burned into your face through the mirror. 

You fought it for as long as you could, didn’t want to play these games, didn’t want to see your own vulnerability on your face as you said something you should believe but didn’t quite. 

Bucky grinded his hips all the way inside you and then stilled completely and your need won. 

“I’m beautiful,” you whispered, breath hitching as you saw the disbelief, the resistance in your own eyes, hating yourself both for saying it and not believing it. 

Bucky groaned in a resolutely pleased manner and started moving his hips again, languidly stroking in and out of your sopping cunt. 

“Again,” came his growled order from behind. 

Your resilience was weaker this time, with the tip of his cock reaching so deep, adding rhythmic pressure to that elusive spot in the deepest nook of your body that had your knees going wobbly. 

“I’m beautiful,” you said again, this time giving a low, timid voice to the words. 

Bucky groaned behind you, hands gripping you tighter as his hips picked up speed. 

“That’s right. Say ‘I’m gorgeous’.”

“I-I’m gorgeous.”

“Say ‘I deserve this’”

“I d-d - oh fuck - I deserve this - ah -”

“Say ‘I’m making Bucky Barnes crazy on a daily basis and I don’t even care enough to acknowledge it,” Bucky husked behind you. 

That made you actually giggle, though it came out more like a stuttering whine.

“I-I didn’t know,” you moaned, breaking your own eye contact in the mirror to look at his face. You honestly didn’t. Sure, you’d established a playful banter over the years, frequently sparking conversation whenever he was at your desk for something concerning Fury or you met in the halls or right after department meetings. But you’d honestly never considered you, just being you, could be driving a man like him crazy. 

Eyes dark as the ocean burned into yours from where his face was propped on your shoulder, mouth nibbling on the side of your neck and your earlobe as his hips kept up a punishing pace. It was becoming hard to string together coherent thoughts, your mind going hazy from the steady punch of his cock. 

He smiled against your skin, nipping it so hard you squealed a little, head swimming from the mix of pain and pleasure. 

“You’re killing me here, doll,” Bucky murmured playfully against your skin, hands moving again, skimming over your skin and kneading your flesh in such an appreciative way it had you blushing, even as you were steadily pounded by his cock, halfnaked in the bathroom at your workplace during a fucking Christmas party. 

It was all a haze, the way you were hurtling towards the precipice of your orgasm, his cock in your pussy, his hot breath on your neck, his hands roaming your body like a starved beast. The smell of his rich, musky cedar cologne and the hint of fresh, male sweat. And his eyes, devouring everything his hands didn’t touch. 

“I-I’m gonna…fuck, Bucky -” you stammered. You were so close. 

“I got you,” Bucky answered breathlessly, his flesh hand moving down between your legs to stroke your clit in fast, tight circles. 

You keened, vision blurring as your muscles seized, teetering on the edge. You faintly registered your own expression in the mirror in front of you, mouth falling open, eyebrows scrunching and a crimson flush high on your cheeks. 

You heard Bucky groaning behind you and trembled at the sound. 

“Fuck, there you go, baby, fuck you’re squeezing me so fucking - tight, god damn -”

And then Bucky was wrenching your face to the side and kissing you. And maybe it was the way his hips stuttered as you moaned into his mouth, or maybe it was the possessiveness with which he pushed his tongue into yours. Maybe it was the way his metal hand gripped you tighter as you started shaking, or maybe it was the sheer desperation in his kiss as he herded you over the edge that truly made you feel beautiful in that moment. Beautiful and blissed out as you spasmed on his cock, hearing his choked grunt as you pulled his orgasm right out of him.

You felt him throb in turn with you, his cum pooling hot deep inside you, the both of you nearly falling off your damn feet as you came together, the kiss disintegrating to a mere sloppy tangle of breaths and tongues.  

As you slowly came down from your high, your mind started whirring. Halfway preparing for Bucky to pull out and leave swiftly. To maybe give you a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, to push the skirt of your dress down over your ass and then make his exit from this very public bathroom. It wasn’t that you thought Bucky was some kind of sleaze, but it would be okay if he left it at that. You were a big girl, you knew people got carried away during a rowdy fuck, and if he left it at this, you would be fine. You told yourself as much, at least…

But Bucky didn’t leave. He didn’t pull out right away, either. Once you could both catch your breath, he reiterated his kiss, slow and thorough and breathtaking all anew. His metal hand firmly secured your face to meet his and his flesh hand gave your clit a few more gentle swirls, and you could feel his smile, fascinated and playful against your mouth as you jolted at the sensation. Whimpering a little at the overstimulation but keeping yourself completely still for it anyway, you were astonished by how sensitive you were and how fucking good it felt to have Bucky teasingly play with you as you basked in the afterglow. 

You squeezed around his cock still lodged inside you, and he gave a little grunt in response. 

“Careful, sugar, or I might get hard again,” he murmured against our lips, rolling his hips gently into your ass. 

“Is…is that supposed to deter me?” you asked, your snarky tone just a little undermined by the way you gasped. 

He groaned at that, low and pleased. 

“I suppose it should…at least until I can get you out of this fucking bathroom and into a bed,” he murmured, and a surge of adrenaline went through you. He wanted to do this again?

A small thought in the back of your mind wondered how it was possible that no one had come in and interrupted you by now, but it was quickly pushed away as Bucky gently pulled himself out of you. You tried to conceal the shiver of arousal that went through you as you felt his cum leak out of you and down the inside of your thighs. 

“Stay like that,” he whispered, removing himself and the fucking furnace of warmth that had been plastered to your back. The cold air hitting your back made you realize just how naked and exposed you were, your dress a scrunched up tangle low on your waist. 

You didn’t have time to become self-conscious though, before Bucky was back, kneeling behind you. Peaking over your shoulder, you were just in time to see him wipe a damp hand towel up your thigh and gently across the puffy, sensitive mess between your legs. You flushed for an entirely new reason now. It was just so…intimate, and sweet and generous and you struggled to handle the care and tenderness with which Bucky thoroughly cleaned both his mess and yours. 

You watched him quietly as he cleaned you up, and then as he seemingly couldn’t help himself from bending forward and kissing your pussy, tongue darting out to swipe a small lick to your still sensitive clit. You yelped, hips bucking away. 

He shushed you gently and kissed your ass cheek soothingly, fitting the admittedly soggy fabric of your panties back over your pussy before getting on his feet again. With gentle hands, he turned you around, and your eyes went wide as you looked down to see his cock still hanging out of his fly, already back to full hardness. 

Bucky followed your shocked expression down and chuckled. 

“Yeah, I know,” he said, hands still cradling your shoulders, moving up to knead the muscle between your shoulders and neck, and you hummed in pleasure, eyes falling close. 

“Does that always happen?” you asked, feeling the soreness in the muscles ease up under Bucky’s dexterous fingers. 

“No,” he answered simply, and you could tell by his tone that it meant something. That it lent itself to everything he’d said about you and the supposed attractiveness you held to him. You kept your eyes closed and bit your lips to keep from smiling too broadly at that. 

Feeling emboldened, you reached for him, hands finding his clothed chest and stroking down until you reached his cock, wrapping a tentative fist around its stiff heat. 

You heard Bucky suck in a breath, and then his hand wrapped around yours, holding it tight as he thrust his hips lightly a few times, pumping his cock gently through your fist. You were ready to go again by the time he gently pried your hand away and groaned like he was being gently tortured. 

You couldn’t help your pout, opening your eyes to find him gazing at your face. 

“I want to take care of you, too,” you complained, and the gentle whine of your tone sounded so small and decidedly submissive, certainly not fitting the badass work persona you’d built. It just suddenly felt so safe to be a bit whiny with him. 

Bucky only stepped closer and cradled your face in his hands. 

“I’ll let you take care of me later, sweet thing, to your heart’s content. For now, tuck me back in and we can get outta here,” he drawled, Brooklyn accent soothing his tone and lulling you to comply, pacified by his promise to let you take care of him soon. 

You did as he said, tucking his hard cock back into his pants and doing up his fly and belt as he watched your face intently, no doubt seeing the way your eyes grew hazy, your breath labored and your face flushing all anew at the way he held you while you handled him. You let your hands linger over his bulge when you were done, dying to take him out again and just do whatever he wanted to make him feel good. 

Soon, you told yourself, soon. 

“Now, I would like to swing you one last time on that dance floor out there, let everyone see that gorgeous leg through that deadly split in your skirt. And then I want everyone to see you leave on my arm, before I take you back to mine and take care of you properly,” Bucky said, voice even and sure and smile so dashing, you couldn’t help but smile back and nod in enthusiastic agreement. 

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky smut #bucky x female reader #dom!bucky barnes #dom!bucky barnes x reader

[yukidragon]

May we have a story about Jack's clingy side and uses his puppy dog eyes to make MC to cuddle with him longer? (He uses the puppy dog eyes whenever he wants something and it works 100% of the time) Jack kind of reminds me of a giant puppy.

I love this idea! Jack definitely knows how to channel puppy energy to his advantage, and my MC Alice definitely falls for it every time.

In fact, I love this idea so much that it inspired me to turn it into a quick writing prompt. I also remembered that I owe everyone a nice little Jack x reader fic from the poll I made last year, so I wrote this writing exercise in 1st person gender neutral perspective.

So here it is, just a short but sweet first draft story about clingy Jack giving his sunshine some puppy dog eyes and pleading to get a bit more cuddle time. I don't think any real warnings apply, though it does get a little suggestive. Also, I think this might count as GrovelCore?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my writing, and consider leaving a comment please!💕

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

...

It was nice to have moments like this, just the two of us on the couch cuddled up together. The way Jack wrapped me up in his big, strong arms made me feel so safe, so content. Even though I was tucked comfortably in his lap, he practically surrounded me with his warmth. It was the perfect way to spend a day off from work.

The show on TV was entertaining, but it wasn’t enough to draw my attention away from Jack for long. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to it at all. Every time I looked up at him, I never failed to see those beautiful dark brown eyes of his gazing back at me. His mouth was shaped in a gentle curve of a smile, his expression almost dreamy as he admired me with so much love and adoration in his eyes that it sent my heart racing. I had to look away when the butterflies in my chest fluttered so hard they were ready to burst out of me.

Fuck, I was so down bad for this man, I was down atrocious.

A gloved finger brushed against my cheek, slowly tracing the contours of my face until reaching my chin. The sensation sent a delicious shiver down my spine, and my eyes returned to Jack as he gently guided my face back towards him.

“Looks like the show’s over,” Jack said. I blinked, caught off-guard, before my eyes darted to the screen to see the credits scrolling by. His honeyed voice drew me back before I could get distracted from his loving gaze for long. “What do you want to do now, sunshine?”

The first thought that popped into my head made my cheeks burn and brought back those damn butterflies. The second thought reminded me to check the time.

Ah damn it. Curse must-watch binge-worthy television. Why must I always fall for your siren song of “just one more episode”?

“Not run errands, that’s for sure, but it’s getting late,” I said with a heavy sigh, banishing the butterflies and steamy thoughts to whence they came. “Groceries aren’t going to buy themselves, and I’ve got a bunch of other stuff I should get out of the way while I’m out too.” I sighed again, shoulders slumping.

Being a responsible adult dealing with all the responsible adult bullshit sucked sometimes. A lot of the time. Actually probably most of the time considering how many hours in a day got eaten up by a cringy job and entitled customers.

I twisted away from Jack and tried to stand, but his large muscular arms kept me locked up tighter than iron bars. I turned back to him with a questioning look, only to see him pouting at me.

“I know it’s important to be responsible, sunshine, but don’t you think you’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately?” he asked. “We have plenty of food to last a few more days, and you’ve been working overtime for the past five nights in a row. You come home too exhausted to do anything but sleep, then you go right back to work. It’s not good for you.”

“I know,” I said with a helpless shrug. “But what can I do about it? Bills aren’t going to pay themselves either.”

Jack adjusted his hold on me, not enough that I could slip free, but I could feel his hands glide slowly along my back, sending a shiver up my spine. “I know, but it’s just been so long since we’ve had any cuddle time,” he said, his pout making its way into his voice now.

I couldn’t help but chuckle a little at the way his lower lip jutted out just a little further. “You see me every day,” I teased, trying to lighten up the mood. “Besides, we woke up cuddling this morning, didn’t we? You sleep with me every night.”

“You’ve been too tired to cuddle lately,” Jack said, whining a little. “Even this morning, you didn’t really wake up until halfway through breakfast. This is the first chance in days that I’ve had to really have you all to myself.” He dipped his head down, closer to mine, and I couldn’t help but notice the way the TV’s gentle glow made his dark eyes shine. “I missed you, sunshine.”

His big soulful eyes tugged at my heartstrings, and his gentle caress along my back made me want to melt into him. “I missed you too,” I admitted after a moment. We couldn’t exactly talk when other people were around, and work had been too busy for us to even sneak a kiss without the risk of getting caught in the act.

 I was pretty sure Jack wouldn’t mind even if someone else could see him making out with me. In fact, I had a sneaking suspicion that he might even enjoy getting caught. Sometimes this man acted like he had no idea what it meant to feel shame.

Then again, Jack was always painted up like a clown 24/7. If he wasn’t embarrassed by the bright face paint or his silly jokes, then he probably didn’t know the meaning of the word.

Sometimes I wished that I could say the same. The idea of being seen making weird faces while holding onto the air left me feeling a level of cringe that not even the greeting at my job could match. It probably would be a kiss with tongue too knowing Jack.

The thought left me burning, both with mortification and the memory of the way his kisses made me feel.

Maybe it would be worth the embarrassment considering how good of a kisser Jack was.

As if reading my mind, Jack brushed his lips against mine, just a peck, but it was enough to snap my attention entirely to my boyfriend. “Then stay with me,” he said with a hint of desperation to his breathy voice. “Please?” He planted another kiss on my lips, just a little longer but still only a tantalizing taste of what he could offer me. “I need you.”

Jack finished off the last of my resistance by saying my name in that same pleading tone while looking at me with so much love and need in his beautiful dark brown eyes. His desperate voice and puppy dog eyes made me melt like cotton candy in water.

I gave in to him. I couldn’t help it. I was weak to him when he begged me like this, and I needed Jack just as badly as he needed me.

“Jack,” I sighed as I looped my arms around his neck and drew Jack in for another kiss. I could feel him smile against my lips, and he murmured my name again before his tongue slid into my mouth to get a taste of me.

Soon I was pinned against the couch, breathless and panting, with Jack looming above me. His arms were a cage that secured me there and ensured that I wasn’t leaving anytime soon. Not that I wanted to with the way his mouth moved along my neck, hot and wet. I couldn’t help but moan his name as he sucked on my skin, arching up into him.

Even before Jack started tugging at my shirt, I had a feeling that I wasn’t getting any errands done today, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Every touch, every kiss, and every murmur of my name along with sweet praise made the world around us fade away, until nothing else existed but the two of us and our love.

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #sdj #swwsdj #My Writing #Sunny Day Jack x Reader #Yandere x reader #X Reader #Reader Insert

[nanowrimo]

5 Tips for Building a Sustainable Writing Practice

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. First Draft Pro, a 2023 Camp NaNoWriMo sponsor, is a great writing app—whether you’re writing solo or with a co-author. Here are a few tips for building a sustainable writing practice, brought to you by author Ariana Brown and First Draft Pro.

We’ve all heard the advice to “write every day,” as if it were that easy! Translation: suck it up, no one cares if you’re tired. But what if there was another way to get writing done, without being unkind to yourself? 

Hi, I’m Ariana Brown, and I teach writers how to create a writing practice that is sustainable, flexible, and fulfilling. Most of my students are chronically ill, disabled, neurodivergent, or simply exhausted from the daily stresses of life. I know writing isn’t your only responsibility—capitalism makes sure of that! But I strongly believe that writing should be an enjoyable activity you look forward to.

Below I’ve compiled my top tips for exhausted writers who want to be kinder to themselves—and still get the work done.

1. Add pleasure to your writing routine.

Sensory pleasures are neither frivolous nor are they only for children. They’re a crucial part of being alive! They give us something to look forward to when times are tough and we need motivation. Candles, soft blankets, cold beverages, mood lighting, dance breaks, yummy treats—whatever you choose, make sure it’s something you love. Paint your nails a fun color so you have something beautiful to look at while you’re typing away. Make a playlist of your favorite songs and after you finish a chapter, blast one song so loudly you have to get up and dance. Then, get back to writing. Remember, even for the most focused among us, pleasure is a better motivator than shame.

2. Be clear about your intentions.

What brought you to writing in the first place? For some, it was the ability to escape into our imaginations. For others, it was the chance to finally express what we’d been holding inside. Identify your reason for writing, then ask yourself: Am I still enjoying this? Do I still feel connected to my reason for writing? If not, explore how you can strengthen your connection to your inner child’s reason for writing. 

3. Work with your brain, not against it.

If we know that everyone’s brain works differently, why do we force strict discipline and linear processes on ourselves? My advice: find or create a writing process that works for you. Maybe you love outlines; maybe you prefer to see where the words take you. Either way, make space for wandering, play, and discovery as you write. Take brain breaks. Doodle, map, dance, and draw when you get distracted. Body double with other writers, try new exercises and prompts to make the writing sing, and take plenty of breaks to stretch your body and talk to friends. We come to writing with our whole selves. Listen to your body, don’t shut it off.

4. Find a writing community.

You don’t have to wait for a community to come to you! I offer co-writing sessions on Zoom four times a month for my Patreon supporters, but do what works for you. Attend local open mics as an audience member and cheer on your peers. Invite your best friends to your living room once a month for a two hour writing/crafting session. Or check your local library and bookstores for free workshops and author events. You don’t have to do this work alone.

5. Develop a gratitude practice.

Finishing your draft is a huge accomplishment, but it’s not the only milestone to be celebrated. Consider creating opportunities to thank yourself throughout your writing practice. You’re doing an amazing and difficult thing. The fact that you keep showing up is worthy of celebration. Whether you decide to journal, rest, pray, meditate, or reward yourself, a little gratitude goes a long way.

Ariana Brown is a queer writer from San Antonio, TX, based in Houston. She is the author of We Are Owed (Grieveland, 2021) and Sana Sana (Game Over Books, 2020), and a national collegiate poetry slam champion. Ariana holds an MFA in Poetry, MS in Library and Information Science, and a BA in African Diaspora Studies and Mexican American Studies. She has been writing, teaching, and performing for over a decade. Follow her online @ArianaThePoet and www.arianabrown.com. 

#nanowrimo #writing advice #executive dysfunction #neurodivergent writers #disabled writers #by nano sponsor #first draft pro #ariana brown

[writingquestionsanswered]

how to be more creative?

Three Steps to Being More Creative

Step One: Filling Your Creative Well

You can't create something out of nothing. You need not just the right tools and medium, but also knowledge, ideas, and skills to help you know what to do with those tools and that medium.

Ideas come from the data that's already stored in our brains. That data comes from a variety of places: your day-to-day life, your life experiences, what you hear about others' day-to-day lives and experiences, your experiences with the people and places around you, etc. Any little thing your brain absorbs can become an idea.

So, the number one thing you need to do if you want to be more creative is to fill your head with ideas. I like to call this "filling your creative well," because it's all about filling up your brain with a variety of experiences, stories, and experiences so that you have someplace to draw from when you need ideas.

Guide: Filling Your Creative Well will walk you through how to do that.

Step Two: Learn to Take Creative Risks

Another important part of being more creative is learning to take creative risks. By trying a variety of creative endeavors, even if they're not something you think you'll be good at, and by trying new things in current creative endeavors, you can exercise and expand your creativity. For example, grab a friend or family member and head to one of those "paint and sip" places where they guide you through doing a painting. Alternatively, a lot of craft stores offer free and inexpensive classes that teach you how to do different crafts. You could also go on YouTube and learn how to do something you've never tried before, like origami, crocheting, or calligraphy. Even doing things like building and decorating homes in The Sims, decorating homes or your island in Animal Crossing, or any game where you get to exercise creative choice is a good way to try new things and take creative risks. For writing, try doing some writing prompts or participating in a writing challenge, like a six-word story contest or challenge yourself to turn a favorite song into an actual story (just for fun and personal use.) If you've never written fan-fiction before, try that! Or try writing a story in a genre you've always wanted to write but never have before. Even reading a book, watching a TV show or movie, or playing a game in a new genre can help expand your creative horizons.

Step Three: Let Go of a Need for Perfection

One of the biggest enemies of creativity is a feeling that everything you create needs to be perfect, and this is such an unfortunate thing because most things that require creativity are not things you're ever going to do perfect the first time. So if you can't get past this need to be perfect, you'll never be able to exercise and grow your creativity. So, don't be afraid to paint a bad painting, crochet an uneven scarf, fold a lopsided paper crane, or write a bad story. The point isn't to be perfect or even good. The point is to do it, because even bad art is good practice.

And... if you just wanted to know how to be more creative within a story you're writing, all of the above advice still stands. Fill your creative well, take creative risks, and let go of a need for perfection. ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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#writing #writing tips #writing help #writing advice #wqaadvice

[ficsandgiggles]

How to Win A Tickle Fight (Scarlett Johannson x Florence Pugh x Reader)

Authors Note: this was so fun to write, thank you so much @marinasmarvel for the adorable prompt, I hope you enjoy it 💞

Word count: 1181

Warnings: Cute as fuck

“Hey everyone, welcome back to my channel! Now as you know I am a huge fan of Marvel, and I’ve wanted to try and get some of their incredibly talented cast members on here. Well, today is the day, I am unbelievably honoured to introduce the amazing Natasha Romanoff and Yelena Belova!”

Scarlett and Florence both slid into view, sandwiching you in between them. You still couldn’t believe this was happening. Your humble self didn’t think that your channel was anywhere big enough to ever get to this point. Yes, you had a few million subscribers, but so did hundreds, if not thousands of other people.

When Florence reached out to you, saying she loved your content and your creative theories, she was eager to be a guest on your channel, so the two of you arranged a date and time for her to come to your place. It was only a couple of days before when she casually said that Scarlett would be joining as the two of them had been hanging out. She wanted to keep it a surprise but blurted it out as she was too excited to hide it from you.

The three of you hung out for a little bit before you started filming, you explained how this could take a bit of time as you had received an overwhelming amount of questions and you’d have to cut out some of the answers, but it was best to cover bases.

Throughout this time, Scarlett and Flo were physically close, occasionally poking sensitive spots if one of them got distracted, you couldn’t help but blush. You purposely chose a question where they asked the two actresses to expand on what specific trust exercises the two did and, more specifically how to win a tickle fight, as it was obvious the two of them got into a lot of them on set.

Even before you started filming, the two were bickering and poking each other, you just rolled your eyes, but there was a small part of you that was jealous, you had watched too many times to count the interviews where Flo would talk about their playful fights and attacks whilst they were filming.

They didn’t know about your upcoming question though, and you were so excited to ask it.

The questions started flowing, they ranged from their favourite on-set snack to their favourite Outset product (of course, Scarlett put a lot of playful pressure on Florence)

Eventually, you decided to drop the question on them.

“So the two of you got up to a lot of mischief during your time filming Black Widow, and a very interesting question was asked someone. What is the best way to win a tickle fight?” You asked with a grin, looking in between the pair. Scarlett looked at you with raised eyebrows, she was a little suspicious that you seemed more than excited to ask that question but didn’t push it for how.

“A surprise attack!” Florence announced and launched behind you to dig into Scarlett’s armpits, making her squeal and slam her arms down against her sides, cackling with giggles.

“FLOHOHO!” She laughed and pushed her away whilst leaning away herself, making the younger actress laugh fondly and move back to where she was sitting.

“Well first of all, you need to get an overly sensitive person.” She said and stared at Florence, who gasped and put her hand on her heart, pretending to be offended.

“I am not that sensitive!” She said, shaking her head. “You just have to find a sensitive spot, like everywhere on Scarlett.”

The two of them bickered for a little bit, you’d jump in with the occasional comment but all in all felt a little bit left out, you enjoyed the gossip of what happened behind the scenes but sometimes you felt like you weren’t in the room with them.

“Or if you’re two against one, you can just do this!” Scarlett suddenly announced and pounced on you to dig into your ribs, causing you to yelp and fall back towards Florence, who pinned your arms above your head with a cheeky smile as she looked down at you. “Hello.” She said casually.

“Nonono, help!” You squealed out, pulling at your hands as you already began giggling nervously, Scarlett looked at the camera briefly before looking back at you.

“I don’t think a camera can help you.” She grinned and already began skittering her fingers all over your sides and belly, as Florence wiggled a single finger under one of your arms as she held them up.

“Guys!” You squealed out, immediately breaking into giggles as you kicked and squirmed about, you couldn’t quite process what was going on just yet but I wasn’t complaining too much, this was a dream come true.

“Hey, you should do what I do to break you,” Scarlett suggested to Florence with a cheeky smile, but Florence simply returned the cheeky smile and stopped your armpit torture, making the other actress roll her eyes and reach over to squeeze rapidly into her side, making her cackle and then drill her thumb into your armpit.

“So I guess you have to experiment with every spot until you find the one that makes them crack,” Florence said casually as Scarlett moved to shake your ribs, making you cackle and arch your back. “That’s a good example.” Florence teased with a fond giggle as you whined in response.

“I'm right here!” You squealed between fits of giggles, shaking my head as you tried to kick out.

“Hm, another thing we used to do is raspberries, like all the time,” Florence added with a smirk as Scarlett grinned, watching as Flo leaned down towards your neck. “Oh, that’s cruel.” She told Florence before the young actress blew a huge raspberry on your neck.

“FUHUHUHUCK!” You screeched with laughter, kicking and shaking your head as Scarlett shook into your belly. “No swearing, Y/N! You may get demonetised!” Florence giggled along with you but noticed your laughter go silent and let you go.

Scarlett pulled you into a hug and turned to face the camera. “And that, lovely audience, is how you win a tickle fight.” She announced proudly as Florence joined in with the hug, sandwiching you into a cuddle between them.

“Thank you for watching everyone and we hope you have taken in some valuable lessons from this to wreck others if you need to. Say goodbye, Y/N before we wreck you again off-camera!” Florence grinned enthusiastically and squeezed your side to prompt you.

You blushed madly, looking into the lens of your camera. “Enjoy making edits and memes of this, I’ll see you in the next video…” you murmured, all flustered and shy.

Scarlett reached and turned the camera off, smiling fondly at you. “I think it’s time for a real tickle fight now.” She grinned, as she and Florence dragged you to your bed, you took in their lessons and you had a fun and fair tickle fight, and it was one of the best moments of your life.

#avengers tickle #avengers tickle fic #marvel tickle #marvel tickle fic #ticklish!reader #mcu tickle #mcu tickle fic #ler!scarlett #ler!florence

[wildflower-playground]

❤️‍🩹🧸ways to cope when age regression isn’t an option🧸❤️‍🩹

regression can be a great coping method and can be very healing to your inner child, but sometimes it just isn’t working. whether that’s because you physically can’t regress for a while, you don’t have the time or space for it, it’s activating a particular trigger, or any other reason — it’s important to remember that you always have other options!

it can be easy to feel lost if agere is your main coping skill and it’s suddenly not available or not helpful anymore, so under the cut i’ve compiled some simple de-stressing strategies to try out instead! :]

have a meal or snack and drink some water! physical needs are important :]

speaking of, use the bathroom and take a shower or bath if you need one. sometimes we don’t even notice it’s been awhile!

move your body, however you’re able to! some examples are going for a walk, dancing around to music, stretching or yoga, getting the mail from the mailbox

have a chat with a friend or family member. human interaction is good for us, even if it’s only for a few minutes!

if you’re okay with touch, go hug someone you love (human or animal hehe)

help someone else in a simple way; maybe do a chore for them, send them a little card or gift, or listen to them talk about their day for a bit. sometimes it can be a good distraction while also feeling nice to help!

do something creative! crochet, paint (even finger painting counts!), play an instrument, build something, redecorate your room, put on colorful makeup, etc

do some deep breathing exercises, and/or try a few grounding techniques

clean up a bit! i know it can be overwhelming, but even picking up just a few items or cleaning just one area can help you feel lots better.

journaling can be a good way to sort out what you’re feeling! you can just write whatever you feel like talking about, or you can look up prompts online to get you started

weighted blankets or heavier stuffed animals (or even pets!) can help with anxiety and sensory issues

pay attention to any negative sensory input and do what you can to fix it: is the room too bright or too loud? is your clothing itchy? do you need some time alone?

find some pleasant sensory input: use a scented lotion or candle you like, wrap yourself in a soft blanket, listen to your favorite music album, turn down the lights in your room, watch a sensory video you enjoy

do something to stretch your brain! work on a puzzle, read a book, or start learning a new skill you’re interested in

try something new! getting out of our comfort zone can help us to feel more alive and excited about life. bring along a loved one or a comfort item to give you courage!

do you like to pray or meditate? if you do, make some time for it and try to let yourself really relax into it!

make plans; it’s important to have things to look forward to, even if it’s just a trip to a cafe you like or a video chat with a friend

surround yourself with comforting objects (for instance, your favorite blanket and stuffed animal, a photo book of fun memories, etc!)

age dreaming can often be a fun coping method even if regression isn’t an option. try doing some of the things you’d normally want to do while small, without pressuring yourself to actually regress!

finally, ask for help! it’s always okay to reach out for help. you are not alone, and you don’t have to figure everything out by yourself!

okay, that’s all for now! please keep in mind that i’m not a mental health expert and this is by no means a complete list, but sometimes i need reminders of what else to try when regression isn’t working and so i hope it’s helpful to others in that way too! it’s totally okay if some of these things don’t work for you — take whatever’s useful and leave the rest.

don’t forget that you can always send me an ask or message if you need someone to talk to, little ones. sending you all hugs! 🫂❤️

#i’ve gotten several messages abt this topic so i thought i’d make a post abt it! let me know what u think! :] #sfw agere #sfw age regression #sfw agedre #sfw caregiver #bee.posts #advice

[grapenehifics]

Prisoner 224

I really loved writing Out of Sync for @fulcrum843's @topwan-obikin fest prompt, but fully intended it to be a one-shot until @somethingsteff started feeding me ideas and, well, I'm limited on free time right now so this is still only a ficlet but I couldn't help myself.

If you don't know the fic, the Council finds out about Obi-Wan and Anakin's relationship and they quit the Order. Anakin punches Palpatine when he insults Obi-Wan and gets sent to jail, and Obi-Wan hurries to hit the Chancellor as well so they can stay together. This also fulfills @ficwip's Hey Sweetheart challenge!

Text under the cut:

“Where are we going?” Anakin demanded. His hands were bound at the wrists in front of him, which didn’t make him look very threatening, but he gave his best glare to the backs of the heads of the troopers escorting him down the hall anyway.

Neither the troopers ahead of him nor the two at his back answered him. Their little group just kept marching along.

“I demand to know where you’re taking me,” Anakin tried, not pausing in his forward march but flexing his fingertips in preparation. He didn’t want to use the Force against them – besides the fact that they were probably just acting on orders from someone higher up the prison management chain of command, he was also pretty sure even something mild like knocking four guards out for a few hours would get his sentence extended and that was the opposite of what he wanted considering Obi-Wan was already slated to get out weeks before he did – but he also was not planning on taking a move to another cell block without putting up some sort of a fight.

He and Obi-Wan were kept apart for most of the day – Anakin in his cell and Obi-Wan in his – but because they were part of the same cell block, they were allowed to take both their exercise hour and their meal break together, Anakin holding Obi-Wan’s hand clasped in his as they jogged around the exercise track in their prison-issued tracksuits and rubbing elbows as they sat side-by-side with their dinner trays (and this only because they’d been told off for trying to sit on each other’s laps instead). But it was still a far sight better than not getting to see him at all, and Anakin hadn’t even done anything wrong (lately) and so really didn’t deserve to be punished like this.

“I want to go back to my cell,” he said.

“One of my batchmates is serving under Commander Cody in the 212th,” the trooper behind Anakin on his right said through his helmet vocoder. “CT-3812.”

“Sure. Punch, right?” Anakin said easily. “Yeah, I know him. But what has that got to do with anything?”

“That’s him,” the trooper agreed. None of the prison guards had ever told Anakin their names, just their badge numbers, although not for lack of asking. This one was one of the supervisors. Some of the younger guys were so green they had five-digit designations. “He’s met General Kenobi a few times.”

“Cool. So have I,” Anakin nearly growled. “That’s who I’m trying to get back to. So if you could just put me back in my cell, that’d be great. Or at least tell me what I’ve done.”

“Punch tells me he’s a real stand-up guy,” the trooper continued, as if Anakin hadn’t spoken. “Always makes sure his men have enough to eat. Doesn’t take unnecessary risks. That sort of thing.”

They rounded a corner. Anakin was starting to get desperate. “Just tell me where we’re going,” he practically begged. “I can call in a couple of favors and get myself reassigned back to Obi-Wan’s floor”-

“Punch also said,” the trooper on Anakin’s right said, so loudly he was almost shouting in Anakin’s ear, “that one time you and your troops joined up with their battalion, you threw yourself in front of a blazer bomb. Saved the lives of fifteen men.”

Anakin had done that enough times that that didn’t really narrow it down for him. “Which campaign?” he asked, but the trooper ignored him yet again, which seemed rude, considering he’d started the conversation in the first place.

A commlink chirped – Anakin instinctively looked to his own belt before remembering he didn’t wear one anymore – and one of the troopers at the front of their procession answered it.

“We’re ready for you, Sergeant,” the voice on the other end said.

“Copy,” the man said, replacing the device on his belt.

“Well, I’m not ready,” Anakin said, and he stopped walking. The troopers at his back nearly ran into him. “I’m not going any further without an explanation. If you can’t give me that, then you can just put me back in my cell, because” –

“We do regular maintenance, on all the cells,” one of the troopers injected, talking over the tail end of Anakin’s sentence. “Routine cleaning, things like that. Check that the water pipes are functioning properly, do a little light dusting…”

“I don’t care if my cell is clean or not,” Anakin hissed. “You can skip mine for the next five months if you want. Or let me do it myself. Is that the problem? Just give me the tools and leave me alone. If you’re worried I’m going to break out, I promise I won’t. As long as you’ve got Obi-Wan here I’m, like, the opposite of a flight risk.”

“It might take, say, three hours to finish the whole floor, wouldn’t you say?” the trooper on Anakin’s left asked the trooper on Anakin’s right.

“Maybe as many as four,” he responded.

“And we do these sorts of rounds every other week,” the first one continued.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Anakin demanded.

“If you’d just wait right in here, Prisoner 224,” the trooper who was friends with Punch said, and nudged Anakin in the back with the butt of his rifle.

“I told you; I’m not going. And you’re bluffing. You won’t shoot me.”

“That’s true,” the trooper admitted. “I’m not. What I am going to do is count to thirty, and by the time I get to the end, you’re going to decide to go, all on your own.”

“Ha,” Anakin said. “Like hell I am. What on earth do you think would make me” –

“Here we are, sir,” another of the troopers said, and he punched the button to release the door guard in front of one of the cells. He was wearing a bucket, but he somehow seemed to be able to stare straight into Anakin’s eyes anyway. “Four hours, every other week,” he repeated slowly, enunciating very clearly.

“I don’t care how clean it is,” Anakin insisted, just as he was very unceremoniously shoved forward into the new cell he absolutely did not want to be in –

“Oh. Hello, sweetheart,” Obi-Wan said, sitting up from where he’d been lying on his back across his bunk, his arms crossed behind his head. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“What” – Anakin stammered as the door guard slammed down behind him, locking him in. Locking him into Obi-Wan’s cell. With Obi-Wan.

Anakin opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. The binders around his wrists unlocked and fell to the floor with a clatter. “Send Punch my regards,” he said, without turning his head. He and Obi-Wan hadn’t stopped staring into one another’s eyes from the moment they’d faced one another. Obi-Wan grinned. Anakin grinned back.

“Will do, sir,” his friend said jovially, but Anakin missed hearing him as he launched himself at Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan, laughing, caught him and lowered him down onto his bunk.

“Did I just hear you say something about four hours?” Obi-Wan asked mischievously, one eyebrow raising into a verbal question mark.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan did.

#hey sweetheart #out of sync #obikin

[fuwushiguro]

They Tell Me That It's Good For Me

Zeke Yeager x f!reader Genre: Smut Notes: It’s hip to be square… Warnings: 18+, dubcon, cheating, violence, murder, mental health issues, vaginal sex. Lmk if I missed any. Words: 4k

Zeke resented his brother, Eren. The brunette being ten years his junior made him wonder who he thinks he is to be telling him what to do. He’s a doctor, and yet Eren seems to think it’s a good idea that he go to therapy? Family therapy, at that. It’s just the two of them sitting in the office on account of their parents being dead. The therapist immediately senses hostility in Zeke. A reluctance to be a part of this ridiculous practice. Eren disagrees, though. His temper around their penthouse recently has been less than pleasurable.

“What does a regular day in the life of Zeke Yeager look like?” the therapist asks. Zeke’s eyes roll so violently, they flutter manically. He adjusts his seating position, pulling up his trousers slightly as he crosses one leg over the other and sinks back into the armchair. He’s a picture of perfect coolness as he rakes his fingers through his hair and thinks about his answer.

A day in the life of Zeke Yeager.

He lives in one of the most expensive properties in the city. The name Zeke Yeager is one of renown and respect. An excellent doctor who studied under his father, Grisha, a title and career he achieved and solidified all before turning twenty-nine. Self-care is very important to Zeke. He likes women, you see, and being in his line of work can be incredibly stressful and taxing on your appearance. He knows every trick and technique to prolong his youth and prevent wrinkles for as long as possible. His morning regime can be gruesome, as if the poor man isn’t tired enough. But it’s all worth it to look how he does.

Not many people see his body under his work uniform, but it’s often a surprise to many when they realise how perfectly sculpted and chiselled he is. Taking care of himself can’t just stop at using specific creams and scrubs on his soft skin to prolong his youth. A balanced diet and exercise play a crucial role in it all, too. The exercise is probably the most irritating part of his morning routine to Eren. For some reason his elder brother insists on playing porno tapes on the TV at full volume while he works out. The sounds of women’s moans incentivise him, apparently. It doesn’t stop it from being irritating, though.

Zeke Yeager is successful in every way that an individual can be. He’s wealthy, he has a good job, good looks that attract enough women to placate his salacious desires. And even a brother who, whilst they annoy each other to the brink of self-detonation, they care for each other.

But it’s not enough for Zeke Yeager. He’s a shell of a man. No matter how much money he has, there’s always someone with more money. Despite him being magnificent at his job, there will always be someone somewhat superior to him. Regardless of which woman he takes to bed, there’s always a man with a sexier woman and a hotter cunt than what he’s going to devour and enjoy.

Zeke Yeager exists, but only barely.

“This was a stupid idea, Eren. I don’t need a shrink, I myself am a doctor, you know.” he talks to his brother in the chair beside his own. Zeke doesn’t get a response, but he notices the therapist begin to scribble down notes in their little book.

“I’d rather you not talk to Eren, Zeke. Focus on me. I’d like you to tell me why you’re here. What has been going on in the last few months?” the therapist speaks. Zeke runs his tongue along his top row of teeth as he contemplates the question. He’d have to ask Eren why they’re here, but now it turns out they aren’t even allowed to speak with each other.

“My life isn’t as interesting as you might think. I work. I go for the occasional drink with colleagues or my brother. I go home and enjoy video tapes and then return them when I’m finished with them.” he explains, prompting the therapist to write down more notes.

“Video tapes. I must say, from what I’ve seen and heard you watch quite a substantial amount of pornography films. Do you think you have a porn addiction?”

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s what I said.”

The therapist takes her time writing his response. It’s quite difficult to make Zeke feel uneasy, but the radio silence for five minutes straight filled with only the sound of a ballpoint scratching on paper fills him with unease. He feels like he’s on trial. Part of him wants to clear his throat, but he doesn’t wish to give the therapist the satisfaction of thinking she’s rattled him. Or worse, she’s won.

“I’d like to know about your sexual history. At what age did you lose your virginity and how frequently do you engage in sexual intercourse?” she asks him. This makes Zeke scoff. It’s not something he cares to divulge with a stranger. He sees Eren scowling at him and shakes his head unimpressed.

“I was seventeen. And I couldn’t say how often, truthfully. I like women, I’d say I have sex more than most.”

“Do you ever pay for it?”

“Is that relevant? I don’t see how that matters.” Zeke answers her question defensively, earning another series of notes appearing on the paper in front of her. “Sometimes I do, yes.” he adds, and she writes it down.

“Outside of sex, what else do you do for fun?”

“I can’t think, right now. I’ve told you a few things, I think we should move on.” he suggests. She smiles, crossing one leg over the other and nodding in agreement. He isn’t sure about therapy; he never has been. The idea of someone getting inside of his mind and trying to unearth secrets and fantasies that he may not even know about himself is terrifying.

“Do you get along with Eren’s fiancé?” she asks. Now Zeke does clear his throat. He unfolds his legs and leans forward in his seat pressing his fingertips against one another as he thinks of how he should answer.

“I don’t think we should discuss this.”

“You have a fiancé, don’t you?” she pushes. Zeke grimaces and nods. This must be why Eren brought him here. He looks over his shoulder in Eren’s direction, and he can barely look at him. He’s been a terrible older brother. So selfish and insufferable. But Zeke has never claimed to be selfless. What Zeke wants, Zeke gets.

“I stole Eren’s fiancé, yes, if we must talk about it then sure. It wasn’t a particularly nice thing to do, but I—” she stops him from saying another word by raising her hand as she writes again. He waits patiently for her to finish so that she can ask another question or wait for him to continue.

“Do you recognise this woman?” she asks as she places a polaroid on the coffee table in front of them. Zeke leans forwards to pick the image up and pushes his glasses further up his nose so he can get a proper look. He shakes his head, placing it back down and pushing it towards her.

“What about this woman? Or this woman? Maybe this one?” she fires off as she places another three images down on the table. He looks at them all intently, once again shaking his head as he pushes them back at her.

“I don’t recognise any of them. What about you, Eren?” he asks his brother, he’s still scowling at them. He thought they were on better terms since he stole you away from him. Apparently not. The therapist clicks her fingers and reminds him not to talk to Eren.

“That’s a shame. I had hoped you could help me, they’re all deceased, you see. Quite grisly murders, actually.” she tells him, not even looking at him as she focuses on her note taking. It scares Zeke to hear. Four women murdered. It’s a scary world to live in. It’s enough to encourage him to light up a cigarette and get comfier in his seat as he digests the information.

“That’s horrible. All the same killer, you think? Or—”

“What do you like to do for fun, Zeke?” the therapist asks him again. His eyes scrunch as he wonders if he heard her right. Haven’t they been over this already? Why does she keep asking?

“I… I enjoy eating. There is a restaurant in the city that is difficult to get on the guest list for, but they usually make an exception for my colleagues and I. That could be considered fun.” he tells her. She doesn’t bother writing it down, which makes him feel like he’s said something boring. Or something wrong entirely.

“I assume you and your fiancé have a considerable amount of sex? How much, would you say?” she queries. Zeke scratches his beard as he thinks about it. He pushes his glasses a little way up his nose, again, before answering.

“Not as much recently. Three times a week, possibly? Work is exhausting. I’d never be off her if I had the choice.” he confesses. That is something she deems necessary to write down. She even pouts as she does, like she’s really concentrating on getting every single word perfect.

“Do you cheat on her? You sometimes pay for prostitutes, have you done that since you became engaged?” she asks him. He looks down, awkwardly, and concentrates on the sounds of his bones cracking as he crushes his knuckles. He sighs, though, preparing to answer yet again.

“Unfortunately I do. I’m not proud of it, it doesn’t mean I love her any less.” he explains, trying his very best to justify himself and his abhorrent behaviour. She’s writing yet again. He notices the way her eyes harshen when she’s writing something particularly juicy, otherwise her brows remain relaxed and her eyes almost appear lifeless.

“What do you do for fun, Zeke?”

“Why do you—? Music, I like listening to music at home. Dancing and a few drinks with the right music on is fun, for me.”

“Those four women were prostitutes.” she announces casually, scribbling some more and not making any form of eye contact as she speaks. Zeke’s jaw hangs low as he comes to realise what might be happening here.

“I feel like you’re accusing me of something.” he tells her. She doesn’t confirm nor deny. She simply keeps her eyes fixated on him as he begins to awkwardly laugh under her intimidating glare.

“Could you tell me about the first time you had sexual intercourse with your fiancé?”

Oh boy, could he. But should he? Would you approve of him diving into the intimate intricacies of your relationship and what you get up to between the sheets? It’ll be fine, he thinks, patient doctor confidentiality is a requirement. He knows that just as well as she does.

Eren had brought you home for the first time to introduce you to his brother. Zeke couldn’t believe how beautiful you were. From head to toe you were a total knockout. How a shit bag like Eren bagged a girl like you, he’ll never know. You spent the evening getting to know more about each other. About their family and their relationship with one another. It was sweet, you thought.

Zeke couldn’t keep his eyes off you, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Eren was the same, you were the only one who realised how intensely the brothers were staring at you. But of course, you didn’t comment on it. Instead, the three of you drank more and more. You drank the least, but it was still enough to feel tipsy.

Eren drank the most and he blacked out completely. Zeke had to carry him from the dining room chair to his bedroom. He landed on the soft mattress and bounced a little when Zeke let him fall from his arms.

“I think you like me, Zeke.” you said. He smirked immediately and you noticed his face go a little red. You stepped a little closer towards him, unable to keep away from his magnetic charm. “Am I… right? To think that.” you questioned. He shook his head, you were perfectly correct.

“I like the idea of bending you over and seeing what you look like stuffed full of me. If that means I like you, sure, I like you. But you’re with my little brother. I’m wondering why you’d ask a question like that when you’re engaged to him. Do you like me, too?”

You stood closer to him, wanting that to answer his question. It does. His hands moved around your neck and then one held the back of your head as he landed his lips on yours. It became heated quite quickly. Both of your hearts racing with adrenaline as you knew Eren could have woken up at any moment. He picked you up and made you wrap your legs around his waist so that he could carry you to his own bedroom.

You were set down and he pushed your body against his floor to ceiling mirror in his room. He dropped to the balls of his feet and then onto his knees, pulling your panties from underneath your skirt and tossing them over his shoulder. He nuzzled his face between your thighs and began to lick at your delicate, petalled flesh. Your little pearl was at his mercy, your hips bucking and stuttering with each suckle and slurp. He looked up at you, face and beard sparkling with pussy juice.

“Turn around, look at yourself.” he demanded. You did, and watched your own body as he began to undress you. He whispered under his breath. Mostly about how beautiful you were. He loved the way your face contorted when he spanked your ass. So, he did it again, and again, and again. “You look gorgeous when you hurt.”

That’s when he decided to soak his cock with your juices. He slid it up and down between your folds to make sure he was wet enough for you to take. He smoothed your hair back so you could both look at your face when he began to tear you apart with his thick cock.

“That’s it. Good girl, how’s the stretch feeling?”

“It— It hurts so good.” you moaned for him. It made him smile cockily. Of course it does. It was just what he wanted to hear.

He loved the way your jaw hung low and eyes were almost fully white as he ploughed into your little cunt. He adored that you didn’t care how fucking loud you were moaning on him, it didn’t bother you that Eren was in the next room. It was euphoric when you began to tighten on him like the little whore you are. You angled your body slightly so that you could face him. Kiss him. He was hitting your sweet spot so perfectly, you scratched down his defined back and earned a cat-like hiss from your soon to be brother in law.

“Fucking bitch, are you gonna cum?” he asked. You nodded like a fool. So damn close. He watched your pretty O face as you hit your peak. It was an inspired idea that he had decided to fuck you in front of the mirror. He doesn’t think he would have been able to examine your reactions and responses as perfectly as he did if he was facing you directly.

He didn’t let you relax as you came down from your high, though. He held your head in place and insisted you look at him as he fills your cunt up with himself. He’s giving you everything he has, the least you can do is admire him as he does so.

“You came in her?” the therapist asks, Zeke nods a little too proudly in front of his sibling. “Interesting.”

“Is it?”

“Did you cum in these four women that you fucked?” she asks him as she spreads the photographs out on the coffee table for a second time. He leans forward and looks at them again. He only shrugs his shoulders, though.

“Maybe. It’s likely. I don’t usually like to pull out or wear protection.” he tells her. She writes that down. Zeke isn’t afraid anymore, he’s starting to get agitated. “How much longer is this session?”

“What do you do for fun, Zeke?”

“Are you aware of how many times you’ve asked me this question?” he answers her question with his own. He pushes his hair back again as he slinks back into his seat. She isn’t done with him, though, he can tell that much by her demeanour.

“That’s not how things ended with your fiancé though, is it? How did it end?”

“Eren here caught us, unsurprisingly.”

“That isn’t what I was referring to. He wouldn’t have caught you if your fiancé wasn’t screaming.”

“Screaming?”

“Screaming, Zeke. Don’t you remember?” he shakes his head at her question. He remembers nothing of the sort. She didn’t scream. He would remember that. Wouldn’t he? He’d remember if she was screaming. “I think you’re confused. Are you confused, Zeke?”

“Very. I wouldn’t make her scream, only in a good way. Why would she be screaming?” he questions. She flips through her notebook and leans her body forward so that Zeke knows she’s reading directly to him.

“She claims the sex was indeed consensual. She instigated it and she enjoyed it until the screaming started. Can’t you remember? Can’t you try and remember why she was screaming?” she talks at him, he shakes his head again. His mind is blank. Is he going insane? “You’ve been referring to her as your fiancé. She’s nothing of the sort. You don’t have sex three times a week, you had sex that one time.”

“No,”

“Yes, Zeke,” she insists as she flips through her notes again. Instead of reading, she had another polaroid image to show him. “Might this jog your memory?” she asks, placing it above the other images.

It’s you. All bloody and cut to ribbons. He can’t believe what he’s seeing. You’re so beautiful but so broken. Who could do this to you?

“Jesus, what happened to her? Can I see her?”

“What do you do for fun, Zeke?”

“Stop asking me that! I want to know what happened to my fiancé! I need to see her!” he raises his voice, momentarily standing from his seat before the therapists scalding glare forces him back into his seat.

“You happened to her. Shall I read her statement to you?” she queries, flipping through her papers until she finds your handwriting. She clears her throat as she prepares to speak. Zeke looks terrified. He doesn’t know you or himself. “We were flirting discretely over dinner. When Eren went to bed it got more intense and I knew I wanted to have sex with him, so we did. We were against the mirror in his bedroom and he performed oral sex on me. He made me look at myself as we had sex and it was pleasant. Until he snapped. I think the change happened when I scratched his back. He started calling me names and he became rougher with me. As he began to climax, he pushed my head against the mirror and told me that I need to see how a whore takes his cum. He didn’t stop pushing and that’s when I started screaming. He pushed so hard that the glass broke, shards entering and slicing the skin on my face. That’s when Eren came in.”

She finishes speaking and looks at Zeke incredulously. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t believe you would tell such a vicious lie. Are you trying to ruin him to save your reputation? You’re his fiancé now, why would you do such a thing?

“I wouldn’t— I would not do that.”

“What do you like to do for fun?”

“Are you listening to me? I did not fucking hurt that girl, I love her. We’re happy.” Zeke expressed pathetically. It was obvious to him that she wasn’t buying it, though. But who was she going to believe? Women stick together in times like these.

“What happened between you and Eren when he found the two of you?”

“We argued but, everything is fine now, right Eren?” Zeke asks his brother. He simply shakes his head, remaining completely silent as he does. “I don’t— I don’t understand what is happening.”

“Are you sure you don’t remember what you did to her? Or if you slept with these prostitutes?” she goads him, but he shakes his head in utter refusal. When will this end? “You aren’t yourself right now, Zeke.”

“Fuck you.” he spits at her. She only smiles.

“Do you remember hurting your brother?”

“Aren’t therapists supposed to help people? Are you trying to make me lose my mind?”

“He came in to see what all of the ruckus was about when his fiancé was screaming. You picked up a huge shard of mirror glass and pinned him to the armchair and stabbed him again and again. You don’t remember killing your brother?” she explains. He scoffs at that.

“Eren isn’t dead, he’s right here. Are you stupid?”

“Zeke, tell me what you like doing for fun.”

“No! What the fuck is the matter with you? You’re making up lies about my fiancé and my brother.”

“This girl here was stabbed. This one was chased and murdered with a chainsaw. This one was shot. This one was strangled. And you were the last person to see them all alive, after paying them for sex.”

“I don’t care about them. I care about why the fuck you just told me my brother is dead.” he barks. She shakes her head and stares at him.

“You tried to kill Eren’s fiancé. She managed to get away and call the police. But it was too late for Eren, he’s dead.” she tells him yet again. He almost growls at her answer, unable to believe she’s still speaking so cruelly to him and his brother.

“Are you blind? He’s here. He’s literally right fucking h—” Zeke has to pause as he turns to face his brother one final time. He isn’t sitting beside him pulling sarcastic faces and refusing to speak. He isn’t disgusted with him after the therapist had dredged up their past and betrayals.

No.

Eren is dead. He is right next to Zeke, but he is dead. His head drooping backwards over the back of the arm chair with dozens of stab wounds in his neck and even more on his shoulders and down to his stomach. The large mirror shard is still lodged in his younger siblings’ neck. His head moves rigidly so he can face the therapist. He looks down at the coffee one final time. He remembers you. You only met one time and he fucked you stupid. He remembers smashing your head into the mirror. He remembers how badly he needed you and how tight you were around his cock. He’s even starting to remember the prostitutes. At this point, he’s crying. Not because he’s sad, he’s laughing maniacally. It’s all coming back.

Fuck.

Every single thing is coming back to him, now.

“What do you like to do for fun, Zeke?” she asks, one final time. He manages to still his laughter as he wipes away his tears. He has an answer for her now. He finally has an answer he thinks she’s going to like.

“I like killing people,” he laughs softly, smoking a cigarette he lights up. A cigarette he feels may be his final one for a long time. “I like killing people, for fun.”

© 2022 fuwushiguro

#zeke jaeger x reader #zeke yeager #zeke yeager x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #aot x reader #snk x reader #aot smut #attack on titan smut #zeke x you #zeke x reader #tw cheating #tw violence #tw dubcon #tw murder

[oflights]

Hi Allie! Love your fics and your prompt fills are great so far! If you still have room for more prompts, do you want to write something about time travel? Your time travel story in hockey RPF is one of my favorite fanfics ever and I would love to see your Drarry take. No pressure, though!

ahh hi, hello!! i have to tell you that this ask kind of broke my brain a little and gave me a new idea (not a Time Traveler's Wife AU, god, never again, bless u though) that i think is probably, sort of, maybe possibly going to turn into a real fic at some point? maybe?

here's 1.6k words of it for now hahaha. this is: professional time traveler draco who goes on an assignment back to the late 80s in surrey and maybe, sort of, possibly, accidentally kidnaps 7-year-old harry potter back to his time. yeah. enjoy? more to come someday???

Draco waits in an anxious crouch at the hearth, thighs straining, cursing himself for not just giving in to his aching back and getting on all fours. Not that that’s great for his knees—and Draco loves doing this mental exercise in his 30s, he really does, it’s—

“What do you want?” Blaise asks when he activates his Floo. He’s sitting with his legs slung over the arm of a chair, a book in his hands—upside down, because he’d definitely just picked it up and posed like that to answer the Floo. Draco rolls his eyes, face turned downward.

“Can you, erm, come over? Right now?”

“Right now?” Blaise echoes lazily. “I thought you were on assignment.”

“Right, I was, but I’m back now, and—”

“I hardly even noticed.”

Now Draco really rolls his eyes, and does not hide it; he doesn’t have the patience for this routine. “You are aware that when I’m on assignment, no time passes for you because I return directly to the moment in time where I first traveled from, right? So of course you wouldn’t have noticed, you never notice, and you just—look. Never mind. I need you to come over, right now.”

Now Blaise pinches the bridge of his nose with a frown. “Ugh. All that talk gives me a headache, you know that, Draco. Not the best way to get me to agree to your demands.”

“What if you agree to my demands because if you don’t, I will go over there and drag you through the Floo by your ear—”

“I’ve a full stone on you; unless you can time magic your way into some upper body strength—”

“I will get Greg and make him do it. Blaise.” Blaise finally looks up, the frown lingering. “I’m not joking. Please come here.”

For a moment, Blaise frowns deeply enough that it seems as if he is going to agree. He even puts down the book he’s not reading.

And then he gives Draco a slow, honeyed grin. “What’s in it for me?”

It takes the promise of a few good bottles of wine, a vow to join Blaise and his mother for tea with the latest stepfather, and all the money Draco has in his pocket—over 100 Galleons, unfortunately—to coax Blaise through the Floo. By then, Draco’s back is aching and it cracks ominously when he stands up, but the drops his hands from it as soon as Blaise steps through.

“All right,” Blaise says with a heavy sigh. “What’s so urgent?”

“It’s—I just—see, the thing is—” Draco paces, wringing his hands together, wincing at how sweaty they are. “It’s just that—oh, bollocks. I just need to show you.” Draco grabs Blaise by the wrist, ignoring his look of appalled offense, and marches him down the hall to the drawing room, where he casts a Notice-Me-Not and inches open the door. “Look,” he whispers, and Blaise pokes his head through and sucks in a breath.

“Is that—” Blaise says, and Draco shushes him quickly and shoves him back as the child looks up, frowning. He’s been frowning since Draco first saw him, hadn’t even stopped when Draco brought him here and scrounged up every abandoned toy Pansy’s girls or Teddy had ever left behind and presented them to him. He’d frowned when Draco asked him if he wanted something to eat, frowned harder when Draco had practically run to the kitchen to throw a jam sandwich together with shaking hands because he knew that, despite what the child said, he was surely hungry, he had to be, he—

“Sorry,” Draco says hastily as 7-year-old Harry Potter turns his frown in the direction of the cracked open door, ending the Notice-Me-Not. “Just, ah, checking on you. Everything all right?”

Harry just keeps frowning. He’s got a small soft toy in the form of a dragon in his hands, but he drops it on the tea table as Draco’s eyes sweep over it, placing his hands quickly in his lap. The plate from the sandwich is utterly empty, devoid even of crumbs, and the glass of milk is similarly drained, and Harry’s eyes flash to them with a guilt that shouldn’t be there, sending another fissure of heartbreak through Draco.

“Another sandwich?” he asks, knowing the answer he’s going to get and knowing the answer that’s true.

Harry shakes his head, the barest hint of movement; his tiny, too-thin shoulders are hunched. Draco takes a steadying breath, gives a firm, determined nod, and says, “I’ll be right back.”

He pushes back, where Blaise is stood to the side now, gaping. “Come on,” Draco whispers. “I’ll explain while I make him another sandwich.”

“Draco,” Blaise says urgently as he follows Draco on another dash to the kitchen. “Tell me that’s not Harry Potter.”

“It’s not Harry Potter,” Draco says in an utterly flat, emotionless voice. Blaise groans out loud.

“It’s finally happened. You’ve lost your mind completely; that job of yours has smoothed out every remaining wrinkle in your brain. Pansy was right, we should’ve staged an intervention years ago, it’s our fault, really—”

“It is, I’m in complete agreement,” Draco says, nodding vigorously as he slams into the swinging kitchen door. Everything to make the jam sandwich is still laid out on the bench, so he slices bread with shaking hands and then turns the knife on Blaise, a glob of jam trembling at the end of it. “I’ll have that intervention now, if it’s on offer.”

“It’s a bit bloody late for it, isn’t it?” Blaise says, rubbing his hands over his face. “Is he—that’s not adult Potter on potions, is it? Is this not as bad as I think it is?”

“No, and no, it’s definitely much worse than you think it is,” Draco says as he scrapes butter up on his knife and then scrapes it over the bread rather desperately. “It’s—look.” The knife drops with a clatter, and Draco whips out his pocket watch, shoving it under Blaise’s nose.

Blaise squints down at it. “I—Draco, you know I haven’t the foggiest what any of these mad instruments say. What am I looking at?”

“Do you see that ticking hand there? The green one?” Draco asks, jabbing his finger at it. “That’s our timeline. And the rest—all the different colored hands—those are other timelines. Sometimes I go to them to fix—things, aberrations, events falling too far out of control. Sometimes I go and—and destroy them, and the hands disappear. And sometimes I just go back in my timeline, the green timeline, and go on assignment, and I get bored because my assignment is in a horrible place called Little Whinging, Surrey, and I have time to kill—don’t laugh—and I decide to peek in on my old school rival and see if I can find any fun childhood embarrassments to make fun of for the next time he forgets who I am and tries to drunkenly hit on me at the pub—”

“Oh, good god, Draco.”

“—you know, when he calls me Dresden and asks where I went to school because he would’ve remembered—”

“It’s pathetic and absurd that you’re still completely fucking hung up on that, Draco, it was months ago—”

“Vengeance takes time!”

“Kidnapping someone from the past is a little far for vengeance! You are insane!”

“No, it’s not—” Draco takes a shuddering breath and turns back to the sandwich, struggling to unscrew the jam jar while still holding the pocket watch. “This isn’t vengeance. You didn’t see—I didn’t know—”

“Know what? What the fuck were you thinking?”

“It was—they treated him horribly, Blaise, I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—”

Draco hears Blaise suck in a harsh, shocked breath. “So this is—bloody hell. You’re not planning on sending him back?”

“I can’t. Even if I wanted to—look.” He whirls around with the watch again and points at a different hand. “See that—that tiny hand, the little red one? That’s a new timeline. It appeared when I brought him back here.”

Blaise stares at him in utter shock, more genuine emotion on his face that Draco’s ever seen. “So you created a new timeline, all on your own? Have you ever done that before?”

“Of course not. It’s utterly forbidden, it’s disastrous, I may have broken the universe. It’s—it’s the end of my time-traveling career.” Draco’s voice breaks on the last few words, and he turns back to the bench, wrenching the jam jar open, piling jam on top of the butter and then pulling out a new plate to serve it on. A flick of his wand and there’s a new glass, milk pouring into it, splashing out a little where Draco can’t keep a steady hand. His breathing is coming fast and a little wheezy.

“What are you going to do?” Blaise asks in a hushed, pitying voice.

Draco thinks about it for a second, trembling in his kitchen. A thousand different scenarios are flaring out in his mind, all the possibilities—he’s always thinking in multiple timelines in his line of work, always considering every possible outcome and calculation and consequence. It brings up an unpleasant buzzing in his head, rushing in his ears, and he has to take a deep, deep breath.

Then he sets the sandwich plate and the glass of milk to Levitate by the door, puts the pocket watch on the bench, picks up the knife, and brings the hilt of it down onto the face of the watch, smashing it to pieces that scatter all around them, dozens of colorful hands and gears and shattered pieces of glass, time strewn all about.

“Right now, I’m going to give that child a jam sandwich,” Draco says.

#drarry #drarry fic #oflights #asks #anonymous #fic prompts #deaging sort of?? #a lot is unsaid here because i am almost certainly going to make this a Thing lol #but i needed to get this out rn #am i going to break my own heart writing this eventually? yes probably #ain't that just the way #my fic

[cuddlepilefics]

Anxious stomach

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Jisung

Caregivers: Chan & Hyunjin

Prompt: @sicktember

No one’s POV.:

Jisung was schedule to appear in a game show, which in and of itself wasn’t that much out of the ordinary. However, he hadn’t really done that without any of the other members present. This show would be a pretty big deal too with high viewing figures and a live audience present. Although Jisung was a little excited to make an appearance there, he was at least as nervous if not more because he wouldn’t be there alongside his members. The shoot was scheduled for the following day but Jisung already couldn’t focus on anything. He sat in Chan’s studio supposed to write songs but he just couldn’t come up with anything. His thoughts circling around the upcoming schedule only, making his stomach flutter just thinking about it. Chan and Changbin had caught on a while ago but didn’t mention it though the sound of Jisung tapping his foot was truly irritating the longer it went on. 

“Ji”, Changbin called, “Breathe.” He had called his dongsaeng’s name a couple of times, wanting to discuss a verse he had written but got no reaction. When he turned, he found the younger staring at a spot on the wall, face blank. Snapping out of his stupor, Jisung drew a shaky breath and looked up at his hyungs. Chan gently took his hand, noting how clammy it was, and hummed: “Do you need to take a breather?” The younger shook his head. “S-Sorry, I just can’t stop thinking about this show”, Jisung stammered, his leg bouncing faster now. “Yeah, we can tell”, Changbin said softly, “And that’s alright but if you need to step out, take a little break or something, we can do that.” Since it didn’t seem like their dongsaeng was going to make a decision anytime soon, Chan figured the best they could do was to distract him from his worries, so they kept talking to him a lot more, actively asking him for ideas, so he’d be forced to think about the song they were working on.

Not wanting his dongsaeng to have to attend such an important schedule while sleep-deprived, Chan made sure they went back to the dorm a bit earlier than usual. It was no guaranty that Jisung would get enough sleep, as he would most likely lie awake stressing about everything that could go wrong or ways he could embarrass himself in front of the camera but that a different problem. While Changbin went to the bathroom to wash up and get ready for bed, Chan sat down on the couch, patting the seat next to him. Plopping down next to the leader, Jisung pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. “Do you want to talk about it?”, the older offered but Jisung shook his head. Picking at his nails, the rapper mumbled: “I’m just- I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve never- I’ve never done that with any of you guys there with me and I can’t stop- I can’t stop thinking about it and now- now my tummy feels funny too and-“ – “Sung, hey. Take a breath in between, yeah?”, Chan reminded softly. Nodding, Jisung drew a breath and shuddered: “Gosh, I feel like I need to be sick.” – “Right now?”, the older asked worriedly. Sure, the rapper looked pale but it had been a while since he had last worked himself up to the point of being physically sick. Shaking his head, Jisung buried his face in his hands and attempted his breathing exercises. “Not right now but my stomach isn’t happy at all”, he muttered, trying to slow his racing heart.

Once Changbin was done in the bathroom, Chan sent Jisung off to get ready for bed before the Aussie himself headed to the kitchen to make some tea. He hoped a warm cup of chamomile tea would ease his dongsaeng’s nerves enough for him to fall asleep. Chan had just dropped a teabag into the other’s favorite cup and filled it up with boiling water when he heard the boy cough. Wincing in sympathy, the leader sighed to himself. Jisung had probably started to hyperventilate again, choking on air. Chan quietly made his way to the bathroom as the younger’s cough sounded more strained. Finding his dongsaeng curled around the toilet bowl, he felt his hart break and crouched next to him. The leader gently ran his hand up and down Jisung’s smile and whispered: “You’re okay, Sung. Can you take a deep breath for me?” With trembling fingers the younger reached for his hand and clutched it tightly as he hiccupped, pitching forward with a retch. He just couldn’t seem to get a full breath in before his stomach would seize up.

“That’s it, get it all out if that’s what it takes for your stomach to calm down”, Chan hummed, patting Jisung’s back as the rapper choked up his dinner. The back of his shirt was already completely sweat-through, clinging to his skin. Slipping his hand under his shirt, Jisung could feel his stomach twist and turn under his palm. The repeated gags made his throat ached and there was a pulsing behind his temples from the strain. He was glad that Chan was with him. His vision had already started to get fuzzy around the edges and he was pretty sure he was about to pass out but his hyung was there, a steady rock in a stormy sea. Chan stayed with him as his throat contracted with useless gags, reminding: “Deep breaths, hm? It looks like your empty, so let’s try to breathe together, yeah?” The Aussie demonstrated one of the breathing exercises he knew his dongsaeng used to calm himself down. Jisung tried to mirror him and they breathed together for almost ten minutes, during which Chan flushed the toilet and pulled the boy into his arms. When he finally trusted the younger not to pass out, the leader helped him to his feet and handed him some mouthwash. “S-sorry”, Jisung mumbled, wiping his lips. Shaking his head, Chan denied: “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I made some tea, so if you feel ready to go to bed now, I’ll get it for you.” – “Thank you, hyung”, the rapper breathed, “For the tea and for being there.”

The tea had helped some and Jisung had been able to get at least a few hours of sleep before his alarm went off. Dread washed over him when he realized what his schedule for the day would be like. He was in a daze as he dressed and got himself ready to head out. Spending the car ride in a daze, Jisung let himself be whisked away to get his hair and makeup done. He felt shaky and faint as he leant into his seat, trying to breathe steadily. Not wanting to get scolded for picking at his nails, the rapper dug them into the armrests of his chair. His stomach cramped, making him wince. Jisung snuck his hand under his shirts and lightly ran his palm over his sore middle.

Jisung paced the dressing room, waiting to be called to go on stage. It had already taken longer than he had anticipated, which gave him all the more time to overthink. Delays weren’t really common when there were live audiences present, so he wasn’t really sure what was happening and why he had to wait. His pacing was eventually interrupted when a staff member came to inform him about a technical issue, which would need to be fixed before they could start. Jisung’s chest grew tight. The audience would surely be far more critical if they were left waiting beforehand. With shaky hands, the rapper unlocked his phone and texted their group chat. He just needed to talk to one of the members for a while, so he wouldn’t go insane while waiting.

What Jisung hadn’t expected was for a security guard to poke his head into the dressing room asking a manager if someone could come in. The rapper didn’t understand the hushed conversation, his eyes widening in surprise when the door opened further. “Hey”, Hyunjin smiled as he pulled his dongsaeng into a hug, “I have a photoshoot only a few buildings down the street and they need to make some adjustments to the set, so I asked if I could visit you while I have to wait.” Jisung nodded, taking everything in as tears welled up in his eyes. He wasn’t alone anymore. “Aigoo, don’t cry”, the dancer shushed, “Your makeup looks too pretty for that. Are you feeling okay? You didn’t throw up again, did you?” – “I- How’d you-“, the younger stammered, clinging to Hyunjin’s shoulders. Guiding the boy to sit down on a couch, the older whispered: “Heard you last night but I knew Chan was with you, so I figured I better give you some space.” Jisung hummed in acknowledgement, sniffling: “Didn’t throw up again but my tummy really hurts.” – “It’s okay”, Hyunjin smiled as he took a seat on the couch. He pulled his dongsaeng to lie across his lap and offered: “Do you want me to rub your tummy till either of us has to get back to work?”

The dancer’s tummy rubs helped a great deal, distracting him from his nerves. Jisung was lucky enough to be the first one being called up to work, so he wouldn’t have to wait on his own again. He hadn’t expected for the show to go over so smoothly after their initial difficulties but by the end of it, he had actually enjoyed himself despite his stomach still feeling weird. The shoot had almost taken the entire day, so when Jisung made it back to his dorm, he was winded. As he opened the door, all the members were there, cheering for him because they knew how anxious he had been before. “See, you got it over with and I bet you did just fine”, Chan praised as he pulled the younger into a hug, “I’m really proud of you, Sungie. You know that, right?” Rendered speechless by the surprise, Jisung could only nod against his hyung’s shoulder before the other members took turns hugging and congratulating him.

“How do you feel now?”, Hyunjin asked softly as he ruffled his friend’s hair. Smiling, Jisung shrugged: “Relieved, surprised that I actually enjoyed it, I don’t know. My tummy’s still weird but different.” – “I bet you haven’t eaten all day”, Changbin chuckled, “Come on, Minho-hyung made dinner and I bet after a hearty meal your stomach feel much better. We can also watch a movie afterwards.” It was a lighthearted evening after that and Changbin was right, the remaining weird feeling in Jisung’s stomach had been hunger, which was soon quelled when Minho served them dinner.

#fanfic #fluff #comfort #stray kids #skz #fanfiction #sickfic #sick #sicktember2023 #sicktember 2023 #emeto #hyunsung #chansung

[vodika-vibes]

A request if you have time from Another Kiss Prompt with Darman(Dar) of course.

Prompt is “a kiss stemmed from jealousy”. Darman doing the kissing because after months of flirting with him and getting no response I’ve made peace with the fact that he’s just not interested. I can’t wait for him any longer. I’ve met a cute guy at the caf shop around the corner and he asked me out.

Fluff or smut. You decide. I love everything you write.

Thank you. 😊

Jealousy

Pairing: Darman Skirata x Reader

Word Count: 995

Warnings: None

A/N: I don't know if this is jealous, so much as panic and desperate, but I'll take it. Turns out I can't write jealous. Good to know.

Divider by saradika

You have a problem.

And that problem stands at 6 feet tall and goes by the name Darman Skirata. 

You love him. 

You have loved him forever, or so it seems.

And you’ve been flirting with him for months now. What started off as light little flirtations (which he ignored) had morphed into full on suggestive flirtations…which he has also ignored.

So you take a step back. You reevaluate the situation. And you come to the conclusion that he’s just…not into you.

Fine. That’s fine.

It…hurts, sure. Because you love him. But your emotions are your problem, not his.

So you step back even more. You’re still friendly and kind, you genuinely like Darman as a person, after all, but you stop flirting with him. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable, after all.

Instead, you put yourself out there. 

You start going out in the evenings with your friends, and you start going to the cafe not far from where you live. Partly because the caf is really good, and partly because it’s popular with people around your age.

While there you met someone. A guy. He’s cute, around your age, with a nice smile and a great sense of humor. And so, when he asked you out on a date…you said yes.

It was what you wanted, after all. It was the whole reason you put yourself out there in the first place. You have the right to be happy, after all. Even if your happiness isn’t exactly how you pictured it originally.

Okay, so maybe, just maybe, you’re trying to convince yourself that this is what you want. But Darman isn’t interested, and waiting for him to become interested is an exercise in futility.

So here you are, balancing on one foot and pulling on your new heels, while you prepare to head out for your date. You’ve gone all out. A new dress, a manicure, and a new hairstyle, and you’ve even splurged for some new earrings-

You look like a million credits, which was the whole point, admittedly. 

“You own a dress?” You finish sliding your heels on, and you turn to Darman, who was eyeing the dress like it personally murdered his kitten. “I didn’t know you did dresses.” He has a white knuckled grip on his datapad.

“I own several dresses,” You correct as you fold your arms over your chest, “This is just my newest.” It’s both low cut and has a short skirt, not so short as to be indecent, but short enough to be teasing.

Darman eyes the hemline of the dress, a scowl on his face, “You should return it, there seems to be several inches of dress missing.” 

“No. I bought it like this. Intentionally.”

He falls silent for a moment, “You’re going out with your friends, dressed like that? What, are you trying to score a hook up at the club?”

You glare at him, offended, “First of all, if I want to go have a hook up with a man at the club, I’m well within my rights to do so.” You grab your purse off the bench, “And second of all, I’m not going dancing with my friends. I have a date, if you must know.”

There’s a clatter, and your gaze is drawn to the datapad which is now laying at the floor, and then your gaze snaps to Darman’s face. His jaw is clenched, and tension wracks his body, “You have a date.” he repeats, his voice tight.

“Yes. I do.” You turn to head out of the building, but a strong hand around your wrist stops you. “Dar-”

You yelp when he pulls and you stumble backwards into his arms. And, before you’re really sure what’s happening, your back is pressed against the cool metal of the walls, and he’s crashing his lips against yours. 

His hand slides up into your hair, which he pulls down from its updo without a question, and he tangles his fingers in your newly loosened hair, tilting your head back slightly for better access to your mouth.

You curl your fingers into his shirt and let out a low moan as he nips your lower lip. It slipped from you without your permission, and as soon as the noise escapes you, Darman pulls back. 

You’re flushed and breathless, and he has you half pinned to the wall against him, and his pupils are blown wide, “You don’t have a date,” Darman orders breathlessly, sounding a little desperate.

It takes you a moment to catch your breath, “Darman-”

His lips crash against yours again, silencing you before you can start your sentence. Darman finally releases your wrist in favor of dragging his hand down your side, before settling it heavily on your hip and squeezing tightly. 

You’re sure you’ll have bruises from him with how tightly he’s holding you, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care about anything other than the way his lips press against yours and the way he’s clinging to you.

This time, when he breaks the kiss, you’re leaning heavily against him. “Stay.” He gasps against your lips, “Stay here. Stay with me. He won’t treat you like I will.” His voice is tinged with a desperate sort of jealousy, “He’s not half as good as me.”

“...are you jealous?”

“That fucker doesn’t deserve to even look at you,” Darman breathes out, “Come with me. Stay with me. And I’ll make you believe me.”

“...okay.” How could you possibly say no to the offer?

His lips crash against yours again, and then time he walks you away from the door, and deeper into the base, towards his quarters. 

Which is where you remain until the following morning.

************

And as for your date? Well, he got a very nice (it wasn’t nice) comm from Darman telling him to back the fuck off before he, Darman, introduced him, the date, to his favorite blaster.

#star wars #tcw #Darman skirata x reader #darman x reader #x reader fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

[joelsgreys]

For the ASH requests, would you ever consider writing more from Ellie's POV? I know she's intimidating to write for (at least i think so) but I absolutely ADORE the relationship you've created between Ellie and Peach, and I think you capture Ellie's spirit perfectly!

Like, if you have ANY scene from past chapters where you wanted to elaborate more on Ellie, I would absolutely eat that shit up!

And if you can't think of a scene, I'll definitely go back and re-read (oh no, now i have to re-read, yet again, one of my fave Joel series, shucks) and pull out a specific scene!

this is back from when i requested prompts so i could do little writing exercises, i had this one in my drafts and decided to quickly edit and post. thank you Kaitlin for having sent this one in. 🤍

Warnings/Tags: Terrible puns, Ellie/Dina interaction, Ellie semi comes out to reader. ASH universe, takes place before chapter seven.

Word Count: 807

“So what if I don’t know what apocalypse means.”

Grinning, Ellie paused for dramatic effect.

She was currently laying on a bed of hay in Stella’s stall with her head resting in Dina’s lap.

“It’s not the end of the world!” She finished off the terrible joke with a loud cackle.

Dina wrinkled her nose. “That’s in poor taste, El.”

Her smile faltered. “Aw come on, that was a good one!”

“It’s too soon.”

“Uh it’s been twenty-one years since the world did in fact fucking end, you know that, right?”

“Still too soon.”

She bit into her apple, then offered it to Ellie.

Ellie took a bite, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her red shirt. “Alright, alright,” she said through a mouth of fruit as she flipped through the pages of the joke book Dina had gifted her earlier on that summer—No Pun Intended: Volume Tree. “To the guy who invented zero—”

Smirking, Dina cut her off. “Thanks for nothing.”

Ellie lightly smacked the side of her face with the book. “Stop beating me to the punchline!”

“Well then get to it faster, El.”

Dina’s sweet little giggle caused Ellie’s stomach to flip.

Closing the book, Ellie tossed it aside.

“So, tell me why you’re stuck working in the library today instead of here at the stables with me?”

Dina sighed. “Because my sister needed the afternoon off,” she said. “She needs me to man the desk.” She glanced at her watch. “And speaking of the library, that’s where I should have been twenty minutes ago. Shit! Talia is going to kill me.”

She started to get up, but Ellie stopped her. 

“Wait.”

“El, I’ve got to go—”

“Just come here for a second. There’s something I want to tell you, but it’s a secret.”

Dina laughed. “Ellie, it’s just me, you, and the horse in here.”

“Come here.” She made a come hither motion with her index finger.

Rolling her eyes, Dina obliged and lowered her head. “What is it, El?”

“Closer.”

“Ellie, stop messing around—”

Ellie grabbed fistfuls of her shirt and pulled her down, pressing her mouth to hers. She pulled away slightly. “That’s all I wanted to tell you,” she murmured against her lips.

Dina grinned. “Tell me more.”

“I thought you were late.”

“What’s another minute or two?”

“Ellie? Hello? Anyone home?”

Elle glanced over at you. “Huh?”

It was the end of the day and you’d offered to walk home together.

“Have you heard a single word I’ve said in the last five minutes?”

“I—sorry, I was distracted.”

“Yeah, you’ve been distracted all afternoon,” You remarked with a knowing smirk. “Not to mention, smiling from ear to ear. Is there something I should know about? Or someone, perhaps?”

Ellie’s grip on the straps of her backpack tightened, her face beet red.

“No,” she mumbled. “Of course not.”

“Okay.”

Taken aback, Ellie raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“What?”

“Okay?” she repeated. “You’re not gonna give me shit?”

“That’s your specialty, not mine.” Winking at her, you nudged her lightly in her side. “But you know, if there’s ever anything that you need to talk about—or if you have any questions about anything, you know you can come to me, don’t you?”

Ellie peered at you. “About anything?”

“Yeah. You know, life stuff. Girl stuff. Things you don’t want to talk to Joel about. For example, you can talk to me about boys.” You paused. “Or girls.”

Ellie halted in her tracks, her throat going dry. “W-What are you talking about?”

Did you know?

How did you know?

If you knew something, did that mean Joel knew something too?

Ellie tried to mask the panic on her face.

“I’m just saying.” You shrugged, gripping the strap of your bag over your shoulder. “You have a safe space with me, Ellie.”

She stared at you.

Well, that much she knew.

After all, besides Joel and Tommy, you were the only other soul who knew about her immunity. She trusted you.

“That’d be weird though, right?”

“What would be weird?”

“Talking about girls. You know, since I’m a girl.”

“Why would that be weird, Ellie?”

“Because. Girls aren’t supposed to like girls.”

“Says who?”

Ellie’s mouth fell open slightly.

You offered her a gentle smile. “Ellie, the heart wants what it wants. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

Ellie shuffled from foot to foot. “You mean, it’s okay if I—?”

“Absolutely.”

“I—Joel doesn’t know. At least I don’t think he does.”

“And that’s perfectly fine, Ellie. He doesn’t have to know until you’re ready to tell him.” You put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Okay?”

Ellie nodded. “Okay.”

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Wait.”

Before you could ask, she threw her arms around your waist.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being the coolest fucking person I’ve ever met.”

#fic: a safe haven

[benwvatt]

my spirit always drifts back to yours

Or: The Kyoshi warrior Katara AU.

@kataang-week hello! I’m writing a multichap AU for this year’s Kataang week 2023. I’m excited as it’s my first KW! Sorry this fic will be finished slowly - life has been hectic.

Enjoy an excerpt! Written for the prompts: Wind and Rain, Injured, and Spirits

Ao3 link

“Do you think he’ll like me?” Katara whispers.

“I hope so. I can’t know.” Suki turns gently to face her. “I’ve no clue if he’s the man he claims to be, or the man others claim he is.”

Tales of the Avatar have changed hands so many times before reaching the island.

“They say he’s kind,” Katara offers, arms still pressed to the floorboards. “He blesses even the children who pull at his robes’ edges.”

“I’ve heard something like that.” Suki smirks. “Why, have you been listening particularly intently to the stories?”

“I-” Katara presses one palm to the ground, easing her weight before regaining the plank position. It’s meant to build strength from within. “Perhaps. A little.”

Merely thinking of Avatar Aang is a… well, a comforting thought. An inspiration. He walks through cities as crowded as seas and manages to keep his head above water. If he can approach life with serenity, surely she can follow his lead.

Suki laughs. “Only a little. Only every word they share, all the details about the saffron of his coat and the spring in his step.”

Katara shrugs. “When I get a spare moment to eavesdrop, as you do.”

“Do we have ourselves a celebrity crush?”

“Well, he is a celebrity, but it’s certainly not a crush.”

“More like a passing attraction?”

“Yeah.” Katara drops to the ground, her lungs tight and burning for air. She lies back and watches Suki continue her exercises. “He’s cute. A good public speaker. Uh, he has nice cheekbones. And it certainly doesn’t hurt that he’s a waterbender too.”

“Oh?” Suki teases.

#kataangtag #kataang #kataang week #katara #aang #atla #kataang fanfic #kataang week 2023 bingo challenge #kataang week 2023

[writingquestionsanswered]

I'm so scared I lost my touch when it comes to writing. My work schedule got busier, so I went months without writing anything at all. Now I'm trying to get back into it, but I can't seem to find a rhythm like I used to. I'm so upset because writing is my only hobby and if I lose it...I don't know what the point of anything is.

Out of Practice with Writing/Feeling "Lost Touch"

Here's a little secret about writing: the writing experience and skill you have never goes away, even if you haven't written in DECADES. It isn't like a container of water that evaporates when it's not being refilled so that one day it's gone. Your skill might get a little stale when you're out of practice, but you never lose your ability to do it.

So, why does it feel like our writing gets worse the longer we go without using it?

Here's another little secret about writing: every minute you spend on this planet makes you a better writer. Even when you're not actively writing, you are constantly absorbing the stories of the world around you. Your brain's ability to tell better stories keeps growing even if you're not practicing your writing skills, so that when you finally get back to writing again, you can tell what you're trying to write isn't as good as you want it to be... and that can feel like your writing skills have atrophied or vanished even when that's not the case.

Getting Back Into a Writing Routine - Right now, it might help to focus on getting back into a writing routine rather than worrying about what you're writing. In other words, put more focus on showing up when you have available time than on what exactly you're writing. Things like journaling about your day/a unique experience, writing book/movie/game reviews, flash fiction writing prompts, short poetry, fan-fiction drabbles, free writing, and writing exercises are great "low impact" things you can work on when you "show up" for your writing time. Have a look at my brand new post Slowly Easing Back Into Writing (With a Busy Schedule) as it has a bunch of other ideas and links that may be helpful! i hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[miracles-and-butterflies]

Most of the Madrigals still have their Canon personalities in your writing, but Camilo appears villainous and has a vicious and unlikeable personality. Why is that?

Short answer: that’s just how he is to Mirabel.

Long answer: …

Not everyone gets along. And in this case it’s Camilo and Mirabel. It’s never been relevant to bring up as the prompts tend to focus on Mirabel (and some other issue), so I’ve never had the chance to fully explore their relationship and what went so wrong for them. In addition, it’s usually told in Mirabel’s perspective, so everyone tends to be harsher towards her. And Camilo makes himself easy for paranoia and self-hatred to warp, in contrast to the likes of Luisa.

The incident with Diego, Juanito and Samuel (Never, Ever Different) makes it sound he was heavily involved. In truth, he had very little part in it. He knew the kids needed an easy target and that his cousin could use a simple confidence building exercise, such as playing with some kids, it seemed a win-win for everyone. He didn’t know what they were going to do and if he did he would’ve advised them against it.

Their “confrontation” is told through Mirabel, so you don’t see his side or train of thought. When the children told him about the failed prank, he got a sugarcoated version - the kids obviously didn’t want to admit to having gone too far. So, as far as Camilo was aware, Mirabel had gotten a tiny paper-cut and was being dramatic. When he sees the wound, it’s relatively healed and therefore looks minor, he doesn’t realise he’s been lied to and Mirabel doesn’t correct him.

The tapestry was initially an accident - Parce got his claw stuck and Camilo freed him (he’s obviously not telling people that). However, forgot to mention the damage and, days later, realised that nobody had even noticed. Curious and thinking it would be funny, he kept making the hole bigger and bigger. He grew more frustrated, ultimately deciding there was no point keeping the “dish cloth” because nobody cared about it. And instead they could put a silly photograph up that they could all enjoy, rather than this old-fashioned thing.

#encanto #ask me anything #camilo madrigal #mirabel madrigal #luisa madrigal