#double sided queue

[zombiewilder]

day 36: anon suggestion!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) here's a messy sketch dump of some of the ideas I had

[whumpacabra]

Hey. It’s been a bit.

I really did want to do Whumptober this year, and I will eventually finish it, but life just got a little crazy. I’m trying to finish my thesis, keep up with physical therapy, I’m running several donation campaigns and a blog for families in Gaza, and it all just sort of caught up with me these last few weeks.

I’m okay - a little tired, a little sore, sometimes a little overwhelmed - but I’m safe and healthy as far as that matters. I hope you’re all doing alright; I hope to get back to posting. Soon. Eventually. So until then take care of yourselves and take care of each other <3

[crossbackpoke-check]

Dysprosium, Mary Soon Lee

dysprosium, AN 66, is a silvery-white rare earth metal. its name is derived from the greek dysprositos, meaning “hard to get at”, owing to the difficulty in separating and isolating this rare earth element. dysprosium is used to measure neutron flux, to fuel reactors, and to activate phosphors. terfenol-d is a magnetorestrictive alloy, meaning that it changes shape when a magnetic field is applied, and is used to manufacture underwater acoustic systems.

jason “robo” robertson, dallas stars #21 for @simmyfrobby’s nhl periodic table poems <3

[countlessrealities]

@mcltiples sent:

It'd been a few days since their slight disagreement. Though, that didn't stop Rick from portalling into the hideout. Stomping with every movement as he made a beeline towards his counterpart. It didn't matter what the other was doing. All that mattered was what was on his own mind.

Fist grabbed into the fabric of that jacket, using all of his strength to push the other into the nearest wall. Any protest was met with a soft "Shhh," as he began to gently manage any pushback he got.

Bright blue eyes met with identical ones. "We need to talk and it's been a long time coming, but I need to do this and I need to know what we are,"

Before he spoke anything else, he kept himself pressed against the other. Leaving no chance of escape, trapped between his body and the wall. Soft touches of his fingers brushed against the other's chin and jaw in contrast to his overly dominating presence.

"What we have is real, on my end, I really like you and I have for a few months now," From just the slack way his jaw moved and the look in his eyes, one could tell that he was being serious. No façade, no mask. His real self showing through. "I didn't want to, I'm not even..... out of the closet, really..... I've suspected that I've been gay for years now, but I didn't think I'd fall in love with a guy. Myself, to be exact....."

A blush appeared on his face, averting his gaze downwards. "But, I-I guess that I am," He shrugged. "--I-In love with you -- because I just said it and it came out so fucking easy and it doesn't feel wrong, it feels okay to say that. So,"

Shaking his head, he lowered his head. "This is my final love confession, I'll only ever say this once, act like this once. So you can accept it or reject it. I just need you to be as honest as I am with you right now."

{ To your Weird Rick from my Weird Rick // based off of the thing from discord }

After their last argument, Rick had thought that he wouldn't have heard from his counterpart for a long while. It might not have been their first fight, not by far, but something had been different about this particular clash. It had been more personal, it had hit too close to home, it had threatened to reveal something neither of them was obviously ready to admit or face.

Or, at least, that was what he had believed till the moment when he heard those heavy steps echoing throughout his hideout. There was only one person, aside from himself, who could have strolled in so freely. So there was no question on whom it was. What he couldn't even start to guess was why.

Everything happened too fast for him to be allowed to properly react. Or, at least, that was what he told himself when he found himself grabbed and shoved into the closest wall. It was safer than to admit that, perhaps, he had let the other manhandle him because, by now, it wasn't just something he had grown used to. It was something he had come to enjoy, in a sick, twisted, but also longing, way.

His hands shot up to grab his mirror image's arms, in a fake attempt at pushing him away. There was no real force in the gesture, but he had to at least pretend, didn't he? Even with those fingers touching him so gently, so softly, in contrast with the pressure that was being used to keep him in his spot.

He had no idea of what was happening and it scared the shit out of him, even if he would have never admitted it. His guts kept telling him that it was either fight or flight, and he was paralyzed, unable to do either, or even just choose an option.

And then, his counterpart started to talk, explaining his reasons in a way that made it impossible for him to be misunderstood.

What we have is real. I really like you. I am...in love with you.

That last confession was what truly left him stunned, as if his brain had short-circuited, his synapses flaring randomly as he found himself incapable of processing the information. He had been filled, at the same time, with euphoria and dread and he couldn't sort out which emotions was the strongest.

Or, perhaps, he just couldn't accept the reality of facts because it scared the shit out of him.

"First of all, fuck you," he eventually spat out, grabbing his counterpart by the lapels of his jacket and attempting, only half-heartedly, to shake him. "For coming here after everything and dumping this shit on me. Seriously, pal? What makes you think that it's okay to drop this kind of bomb on someone without a goddamn warning?!"

He could have pushed. Pushed his other self away, pushed all those feelings they had shared and were sharing. After all, he had been given a choice and rejection was an option. The easiest on the long term, the safest.

But also the one he would have probably regretted for the rest of his existence.

Love was something he had never known, in any form. Not from his family, not in his marriage, not from the few attempts at friendship he had tried to build, before giving up completely. And yes, for some reason, right now, with this motherfucker, it didn't feel that alien anymore. On the contrary, it felt like something he could aspire to, something he could understand, something he could long for without consequences.

There was the fact that the first and only person who was making him feel all this was a man, but that was a can of worms he had no intentions of opening. Now, or ever, if he could have helped it.

He hung his head, leaning in until his forehead was resting against his mirror image's.

"I hate it. I hate how I want you, no, how I need you in my life. Even when I couldn't stand you, seeing you made my whole fuckin' day," he started again, in a much quieter, more subdue tone. "It's-...I've never been in love, so I can't tell. But...I've never felt what I feel for you for anyone before. I've never...I don't want to picture my life without you now that you're part of it. I don't think I could, even if I tried. So...You want honesty? Fine."

He gritted his teeth, barely managing not to grimace. The tension that coloured his features and gaze, however, betrayed how serious he was and how much effort he was putting into speaking those words.

"I don't know if it's love or...something. I've been trying not to think about it, but there's one thing I know for sure. I want you to stay. With me. So..."

He paused, exhaling a shaky breath.

"...Stay."

[girlwiththegreenhat]

the amount of times in the last couple weeks i've reblogged a post from a mutual just to scroll down and see that i'm the one they reblogged it from is insane. i truly have no memory of these posts

[nemo-writes]

𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 I chapter two

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ chapter summary: your day off opens in a quiet, comforting way. errands and small talk feel almost enough to keep the world steady. but scattered signs—disturbed spaces, cryptic messages—suggest unseen eyes on you.

⤿ warning(s): stalking

⟡ story masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 1.9k

Your first day off in twelve shifts begins the way small miracles do: with sunlight, silence, and the smell of good food.  

You stand in the kitchen, spatula in hand, watching thick‑cut slices of bacon curl and pop in the cast‑iron. A pot of full black beans simmers beside them, spiced with a dash of chipotle, and sourdough toasts slowly in the oven. The kettle whistles; you pour the water over loose‑leaf tea—then carry everything to the coffee table.  

You sink into the couch, remote in one hand, plate balanced carefully on your knees. The History Channel flickers to life on the TV—some World War II documentary already mid-narration. A gravelly voice drones about tank strategies and bitter winters while you dig into your breakfast: bacon, beans, toast, and two sunny-side-up eggs. When the video ends you queue another—street‑food vendors in Oaxaca—then another—an eight‑hour lo‑fi playlist you’ll never finish. Breakfast stretches into morning, warm and unhurried, crumbs gathering on your pajama pants.  

By ten you’re upright, mug refilled, windows cracked to let in crisp river air. You sweep, wipe counters, toss sheets into the washer, and chase a rogue dust bunny across the hallway with the broom. Domestic quiet feels luxurious, almost decadent.  

Suddenly, a sharp voice drifts through the open window. “Again?! Seriously?!”  

You peer through the window and down into the courtyard. Mr. Donnelly—gray beard, Steelers cap—stands by the communal trash corral, hands on hips. Black bags are shredded, cardboard flaps torn open, and yesterday’s takeout containers scatter like confetti. The mess is worst around your bin: coffee grounds, chicken bones, a tea packet glinting foil in the sun.  

You lean on the sill. “Everything okay, Mr. D?”  

He looks up, exasperation softening when he sees you. “Raccoons, maybe cats. Little bandits had themselves a buffet!”  

“Roger. I’ll be right down.”  

You pull on jeans, an old hoodie, and rubber gloves. Downstairs you and Donnelly work side by side, scooping refuse into fresh bags, tying double knots. He mutters about city pest control; you crack jokes about raccoon Michelin ratings.  

Halfway through, he wipes his brow with a sleeve. “Hey—off topic. My daughter mailed me a bottle of turmeric pills, swears they’re good for my joints. That true, or is it Facebook nonsense?”  

“Turmeric can help a little with inflammation,” you say, cinching a bag, “but it’s no substitute for your prescription NSAID—and it can mess with blood thinners, so clear it with your doc first.”  

He nods—ever since you spotted that odd, pearly mole on his temple last year, the one he thought was just an age spot until the biopsy came back melanoma, he treats your word like gospel. “Good to know. She also sent me a link about apple‑cider‑vinegar cures, but I figured that was bunk.”  

“ACV is great on salad,” you dead‑pan, hefting another sack, “and terrible for curing anything else.”  

Donnelly barks a laugh. “Knew it.”  

It’s odd that only your bin is mauled, but he chalks it up to the smell of your bacon‑grease jar and you let the theory stand. When everything’s tidy you hose the concrete, angle the spray under the bins, and he grips your shoulder in a grateful squeeze.  

“You’ve saved my hide twice now—first the cancer, now the critter fiasco.”  

“Just doing the neighborhood rounds,” you reply, stripping off your gloves.  

“Still. I owe you. If you ever need a ride anywhere, you call me.”  

“Deal.”  

You thank him again, head back upstairs for a shower, and let the steam rinse away trash‑day grime—and the faint, nagging thought that raccoons rarely prefer bacon grease to everyone else’s leftovers.  

Upstairs, you kick off your shoes and head straight for the bathroom. Steam is already fogging the mirror by the time your hoodie hits the hamper. You stand under a scalding spray until your shoulders unknot, grit swirling away in ribbons. Shampoo, coconut body wash, a quick exfoliating scrub over the calluses that surgical gloves never let your skin forget—small rituals that reset your head as much as your body.  

Fresh out, you wrap yourself in an oversized towel, pad to the bedroom, and let the day‑off uniform choose itself. You massage lotion into your hands—cuticles forever dry from incessant scrubbing—then slip your phone from the charger to check the time.  

11:58. Perfect.  

In the kitchen you pack a canvas tote: your wallet, a couple of mesh produce bags, the prescription bottle that needs refilling, and that one pair of trousers with a busted hem for the tailor. You make a quick mental note to add swing by the thrift store to the list on your phone; you’ve been meaning to hunt for a new lamp for a good month now.  

Just as you bend to lace your boots, the phone buzzes. The screen lights with a photo: Jack's hand—broad knuckles, faint surgical nicks—cradling a steaming ceramic mug. Beneath, his caption:  

4‑minute steep, no boil. 👍  

A laugh snorts out before you can stop it. Jack, with the earnest proof‑of‑completion energy of a dad texting his first selfie. You thumb a reply:  

Gold star, Doctor. Welcome to the leaf side.  

Before you hit send, another buzz stacks above Jack’s thread. The preview text looks like a cat walked across a keyboard: ahsdklfhasdklfhaskl hi.

No name. No profile pic. A number you don’t recognize.  You swiftly block the number without opening the message.  Probably just spam.

Outside, the hallway smells of floor wax and warm laundry tumbling in the communal dryer—normal, safe scents. You lock the apartment, test the knob twice, then head for the stairwell, reciting the grocery list in your head like a mantra: eggs, oranges, rice and a sweet treat, maybe two or even three.

By the time your boots hit the sidewalk, sunlight on your face and the city’s Saturday hum around you, the odd text and the midnight raccoons have folded into a corner of your mind labeled later. Today is still yours, and you intend to spend every mundane minute of it.  

. . .  

When you swing past the Riverfront Market, the parking lot looks like a disaster drill—SUVs circling like vultures, carts jammed in every corral. You mutter a tactical retreat, swing back onto the boulevard, and promise yourself groceries will be the final stop. And so, you knock out your errands with efficiency: trousers dropped at the tailor (“two centimeters, blind hem, please”), prescription refilled, and lastly, a quick victory lap through the thrift shop where you score a tiffany desk lamp for five bucks.  

An hour later, you roll into the same lot to find it blissfully tamer—maybe half‑full, the Saturday rush already migrating to lunch. Perfect. You snag a space near the cart return, grab your canvas tote, and head inside.  

The produce aisle is crisp with the scent of misted greens when a familiar voice rings out behind you. “There she is—my favorite surgical saint!”  

You turn as Dana—her sharp blonde bob swinging over her shoulders—eases her cart into yours with a playful thunk. Her niece, a round‑cheeked toddler in star‑print leggings, claps at the gentle collision, squealing when you reach out to give her belly a quick tickle, thumb and forefinger pinching her marshmallow cheeks just enough to earn a giggle.  

“Hi there!” you laugh, straightening as you look up at a beaming charge nurse. “I thought your day off was reserved for sweatpants and true‑crime podcasts.”  

“Tiny tyrant wanted blueberries,” she says, ruffling the toddler’s hair. “And my daughter wanted thirty uninterrupted minutes, so Nana came to the rescue.” She drops a pint of berries into her cart, then peers into yours. “Real vegetables? Bakery bread? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a functioning adult.”  

“Shh,” you whisper. “I have a reputation to ruin.”

You angle your cart toward the tomatoes; Dana falls in beside you, matching your lazy pace. Her niece lunges for every bright piece of produce, and Dana buys temporary peace with a steady drip of bunny‑shaped crackers. Between grabs you trade life bulletins: you ask with genuine interest about how Benji’s woodworking side hustle is faring—“He finally sold that live‑edge coffee table,” Dana crows, “and now he thinks he’s Etsy royalty”—and she fires back, wanting to know if you ever sent in that application for the citywide cook‑off. You confess you chickened out at the last minute, then admit you’ve been taking weekend pottery instead, which makes her whoop loud enough to startle the toddler. “Look at us,” she says, snagging a ripe Roma, “two adrenaline junkies pretending we have hobbies like normal people.”

Halfway through the avocado display, Dana’s tone slips to mock‑casual. “So,” she drawls, examining you like a crystal ball, “rumor is our favorite former combat medic traded sludge‑grade coffee for—” she waves at the tea section up ahead “—fancy tea.”  

Heat blooms at your ears. “Abbot can drink whatever he wants.”  

Dana’s blue eyes sparkle. “ Just Abbot, huh? Funny—heard you called him Jack on the radio last week.”  

Your mouth opens, shuts. “Slip of the tongue.”  

“Sure,” she teases, easing a grin. “There’s a betting pool, you know. Odds on why the caffeine king is suddenly brewing leaves.”  

“You people will gamble on anything.”  

Dana parks the cart and crosses her arms. “Current theories: secret detox, midlife crisis, or”—she lifts her brows—“a certain pretty surgical nurse’s influence.”  

You snort. “Please. Nothing’s going on. Just two over‑worked fossils hydrating.”  

“Nothing she says, using his first name like a lullaby.” Dana winks. “Spill it.”  

You bag a head of romaine. “He’s…nice. Listens. That’s all.”  

“Uh‑huh. Well, when Jack starts smuggling in single‑origin Darjeeling, I’m cashing out.”  

Before you can reply, Dana’s niece launches a blueberry skyward; it splats harmlessly on Dana’s sleeve and she plucks it off, unfazed.

“Speaking of chaos—yesterday in The Pitt? One guy comes in with a nail‑gun through his boot and tries to livestream it. Robby has to confiscate the phone while Collins hunts for tetanus history. And—get this—one of the med‑students faints into the sharps bin. We’re calling him Porcupine now.”  

You laugh so hard you nearly drop your lettuce. “Porcupine! That’s savage, even for you.”  

“Pitt rules: if you pass out, you earn a nickname.” She scoops animal crackers into her niece’s hands. “Anyway, enjoy your day off. And remember, the house cut on the Abbot‑tea pool is twenty percent.”  

“Fine,” you sigh, pushing your cart. “But if you win, I’m taking half and buying enough loose‑leaf to convert the whole unit.”  

Dana salutes with a blueberry. “I’ll hold you to it, Jack‑whisperer.”  

You roll your eyes, but the name lingers sweet on your tongue as you both trundle toward the bakery—two nurses off‑duty, carts bumping, hearts lighter than any official chart will ever note.  

. . .  

By late afternoon you’re back in the apartment, juggling your against your ribs while your new lamp shines prettily near the entrance. You drop everything on the kitchen table and reach for your phone to tick “groceries” off the to‑do list—only to find three new notifications from the another strange number.

The previews are nonsense again—random consonants, stray emojis, one line that looks like Morse code smashed by a cat. You thumb through, equal parts annoyed and curious, until you hit the most recent message:  

Green suits you, pretty girl.  

A pulse hammers once, hard, in your throat.  

You set the phone down very carefully, as though it might explode, and listen—really listen—to the apartment. The fridge hums. Upstairs pipes clank. No footsteps, no voices, but suddenly every shadow feels occupied.  

Groceries forgotten, you sweep the place like you would on the trauma bay: bedroom closet first (just winter coats), bathroom cabinet (towels and aspirin), hall linen closet (sheets, vacuum hose), kitchen pantry (cereal boxes, nothing human). You kneel to peer under the bed, heart pounding like you sprinted stairs, then check every window lock twice, tugging to be sure.  

Finally you drag the spare dining chair across the floor and wedge its back under the doorknob—an old trick your grandmother swore by. It won’t stop a battering ram, but it buys time. Time feels like oxygen right now.  

Only then do you remember the milk on the counter, sweating through the carton. You shove perishables into the fridge on autopilot, not taking the care to arrange it like you usually would, hands trembling just enough to clink jars together. The phone stays facedown on the table, screen black, as though eye contact might invite more.  

Night falls, the apartment settles.

You brew the strongest sleep‑blend tea you own—valerian, chamomile, skullcap—and pour it into your largest mug. Scissors from the junk drawer go onto the vanity beside your bed, blades half‑open like a steel moth. Overreacting? Maybe. Under‑reacting because you haven’t called the police? Possibly. What you know is this: control is a ladder, and tonight every rung you can hold matters.  

You sip the smooth brew, crawl beneath the duvet, and stare at the ceiling until the tea’s heaviness drags your eyelids down. The phone is silenced, the chair braces the door, scissors glint in the street‑lamp glow. It isn’t much, but it’s a perimeter—thin, improvised, yours.  

You let the darkness take you, counting breaths, willing morning to hurry.

divider credit

[afro-hispwriter]

Interview Shenanigans(TGC)

Tom Glynn-Carney x actress!reader

Request

Warnings- not edited, brief titty grabbing

wc-1.2k

-

Staff members were running around making sure lighting, sound, and cameras were ready. The interviewer was standing off to the side, waiting for their queue. 

Your makeup artist did some more touch ups and the show's publicist gave another talk. 

“You’re so far.” Tom put his hand under your chair and dragged it so your chairs touched. The sudden movement made you grab his shoulder so you didn’t fall. 

“Do you not get enough of me at home?” You whisper.

“I never can.” He flashed you a smile and squeezed your knee. You scrunched your nose at him and kissed his cheek. 

It was so hard for you two to keep your relationship away from the public. Especially since Tom is extremely touchy.

“Everyone take their places.” The producer calls out and everyone takes their seats. The interviewer walked into the small space and shook you and Tom's hand. The producer then started counting down from five. 

“Alright guys, we're going to jump right into it. I know you have had a long day so I have some fun questions and some would you rather.” 

“I'm excited.”

“Fun.”

“You guys have been working together for a couple years now. What's the best thing about each other?” They ask and you and Tom look at each other.

“Ooo that's such a sweet question.” You smile brightly and look at Tom. “Why don’t you go first?” You look at him with squinted eyes and he gives you the same look.

“Fine. I think the best thing about Y/n is how kind she is, she is very resilient and always tries to see the bright side of things and she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” 

“Awww.” You cooed and smiled. “You’re so sweet.” 

“And she is a good cook.” You doubled over slightly and laughed. 

“I know you love it.” You leaned back against your chair and Tom looked at you lovingly and you sighed. 

“Tom, he um.” You start and pause to think.

“Oh whatever should you say since there is so much to choose from.” He says over exaggerating his words making you laugh.

“Tom, he makes sure that I am seen and even if he has nothing to say he still listens, always. I believe we all need someone like that and I am glad I found him.” You grab Tom's knee and squeeze it. 

“Do you fancy me or something?” He says jokingly, making you laugh again and so does the interviewer. 

“He’s just such a good guy and I hope this isn’t the last time we share a screen together.” Tom nodded and lifted his fist up and you gave him a fist bump. 

“That is so sweet, I can feel your chemistry right now.” It was very cheesy for them to say but it made Tom's cheeks burn red and your face warmed. “Now to some would you rather questions. Would you rather go get a pint with Daemon, Joffrey, or Aemond?” 

“Aemond.” You immediately say and Tom’s head immediately shoots to you. 

“Why?” You smirk at him.

“You know why.” He playfully rolled his eyes and leaned back. 

“I would go with Joffrey.” Your eyes widened in shock. 

“And you questioned mine!?” 

“W-Why?” The interviewer asks and Tom goes to answer but stops making you laugh.

“You don’t have to say anything.” You whisper to him

“Well with Joffrey people would leave the pub and it would be quiet.”

“Yeah but I think with Joffery, three pints in and it can get a bit.” The interviewer grimaced. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be near him.” You leaned slightly into Tom. 

“I reckon I can take him though.” Tom says.

“Tom vs Joffrey?” 

“Yeah I’ll just choke him out.” Tom makes the choking motion with his arm and then he dropped them. 

“I'd pay to see that.” You say and Tom laughs and his arm makes its way around your chair. 

“Who would you rather have as your Ride or Die? Jon Snow, Khalessi, or Daemon.”

“Khalessi.” You say immediately again. “Everyone is gone when she is an option.” 

“Your obsession with her is concerning.”

“You can’t blame me.” 

“She is very loyal so I understand.” The interviewer says.

“Im sorry whats a ride or die?” Tom asks, looking between you and the interviewer. 

“It's like me and you.” You say and he still looked at you in confusion. “Like I will do anything for you and you’ll do anything for me no matter what.” You grabbed his knee and you nodded. 

“What were the options?” Tom chuckles.

“Jon Snow, Khalessi, or Daemon.” 

“Oh probably Khalessi then, you know she’s got all the dragons.” 

“Ugh you are so predictable.” You rolled your eyes and he shrugged. 

“I love whatever you love.” He poked your side and made you twist. 

“You’re so cheesy.” You rolled your eyes playfully and looked back at the interviewer.

“Would you rather rule the seven kingdoms of Westeros or be a minister of magic in the wizarding world?”

“Oooo.” Tom lets out.

“Minister of Magic.” You say and Tom nods.

“Likewise.”

“I feel like I would have a higher chance of surviving if I was in that universe.” You say and Toms fingers dipped into the material of your open backed outfit. 

“Well it's still not an easy gig is it?”

“But compared to westeros…” 

“True. There are still a lot of eyes on you.” Then Tom says the stupidest thing. “Wingardium Tapioca or whatever it is.” Your jaw slacked in shock and then your face palmed. Tom looked embarrassed and slapped his legs and started laughing loudly. 

“Oh my gosh Tom.” He grabbed his cup of water and took a sip. 

“I'm going to go cry in the shower after this.”

“Next time we hang out we’re watching all the Harry Potter movies because that was really bad. It's Wingardium Leviosa.” 

“Nerd.” Tom says under his breath in a teasing manner and you squint your eyes.

“Watch yourself sir.” You bumped him with your arm.

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Unfortunately that's all the time we have left.” You and Tom groaned but you secretly knew you were happy it was over. You both held your hand out to the interviewer and Tom's assistant came up.

“The car is outside to take you back to the hotel.” You thanked them and Tom held his hand out for you to grab. Your fingers entwined together and you swung them back and forth to the car. 

-

The hotel room was a welcome sight. Tom threw his hat on the floor and kicked his shoes off. 

“They’ll come by and get these clothes tomorrow most likely.” You say taking off your bottoms, leaving you in your underwear and top. That came off too and so did your bra. Tom stole a look and he smirked and let you put a shirt on. You flopped down on the bed and settled under the covers. Tom was down to his boxers and he settled in behind you. 

“I love you.” He says and kisses the back of your ear and wraps an arm around your waist.

“I love you too.” You twist your head back and pucker your lips. Tom’s lips met yours and he squeezed you. His hand dipped under the shirt and his gingers instantly grabbed a breast and he squeezed. The noise you made was a mix of shock and a moan.

“Tom!” You pinched his arm and he drew his hand back and pouted. “Perv.”

“You love it.” He gave your cheek a big wet kiss, making you grimace and wipe it off.

“Order us some food.”

‘Hmph’

-

Comments, reblogs, and likes are greatly appreciated!

[goldielia]

headcanons: first dates version

includes: jh86, qh43, lh43, nh13, mm16, wn88, ld29, cb98, ws2

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

jack does not like dating people he doesn’t know a least a bit so when he asks you out you’ve been friends for a minute and you’ve been to his apartment a few times. you’re still nervous when you ring his doorbell. he told you to dress casual so you’re wearing baggy jeans and a sweater and it’s your favourite outfit but there’s nerves anyway. they’ve melted away though, minutes into the date, because you’ve ditched the pizza-topping-preparing for hopping onto the counter and constructing the perfect queue of songs to play through the big speakers in the living room. soon enough the both of you are singing and dancing through jacks kitchen, eating half the toppings he’s prepared while throwing the other half on heart-shaped pizzas. all your nerves are forgotten when he twirls you into his arms, leans his forehead against yours and asks you if he can kiss you. (you might burn the pizzas because you’re making out like teenagers but that’s nothing a quick doordash order can’t fix).

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

quinn likes romance but not cliches. your standard dinner and a movie would be too predictable so he tells you to wear your comfiest outfit you want to leave your apartment with and picks you up right on time. you’re both in his car in sweats and hoodies and you make a pit stop at your favourite chinese restaurant (he made you put your order into his phone the second you stepped foot into his car) before he pulls into the drive-in. he tries to keep the movie you’re seeing a secret but once you drive by the sign reading pride and prejudice in big black letters, he watches you gasping quietly and smiling to yourself out of the corner of his eye. if by the end of the night you’ve snuggled up together in the backseat, front seats reclined so you can still see the movie, and he tells you he picked pride and prejudice because he caught onto you quoting it in a text a few weeks back, maybe this becomes the best first date of your life.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

luke needs that slightly competitive edge so he takes you to his favourite arcade. you’re going on a random wednesday night when the sign says closed (luke’s made friends with the guy at the front desk, a college student who’s working a side job to pay his rent) so you’re in there alone. it’s a little awkward at first, you’re slightly nervous and luke’s a little like a shy puppy, talking away until his brain catches up with what he’s been saying but after a few minutes you’ve found the dance dance revolution nearly hidden in the back and it prompts a night of endless giggles. lukes long limbs trying to keep up with the instructions look objectively hilarious and you can’t imagine you look particularly graceful dancing while doubling over and heaving with laughter either. you try out most games in the room, trying to one-up each other and not so subtly staring in the colourful glow of the neon lights. luke orders you two a pizza to share and you find yourselves sitting on the floor of the arcade, stuffing your faces and sharing a diet coke (because it’s your favourite) and somehow you end up kissing each other goodbye (tentatively and very much like the first kiss that it is).

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

nico goes all out. i can’t explain why i think so but once you say yes to a date there’s no holding him back. he takes you to a pretty well known restaurant in new york city, you've never been there so he sends you a menu and dress code ahead of time which you gladly appreciate. it’s semi-nice, jeans and a button up look great on him and the watch on his wrist only adds to it. he’s got a light hand on your lower back when he follows you and the host out onto the rooftop terrace to your table. the people you see along the way are dressed similarly to yourself and nico, there‘s suit pants and button ups and fancy dresses everywhere. you’re pleased to know he described the dress code well and you fit right in (you were slightly anxious in front of your closet a few hours before) and thanks to scouting the menu out beforehand, you know which dish you’re most interested in. you end up splitting two of them, a pasta that’s almost not a diet plan violation and a bowl that most definitely is. he also insists you pick a bottle of wine so you’re pleasantly buzzed by the time you also order a chocolate dessert to share. conversation flows nicely, always has, even when you were only texting, and his very slight accent only adds to his charm. you decide to walk home, the way not being too long (and maybe he wants to spend a little more time with you and maybe hold your hand and maybe bring you to your door and part with a kiss on the cheek, like the gentleman he is).

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

you didn’t know about the term “meet-cute” before you met mitch, but looking back that’s totally what happened with you two. you were out with your best friends dog, they had gone back home for a few days to sort out some family matter and left you in charge of their adorable goldendoodle athena for the time being. with a hot drink in your left hand and her leash wrapped around your right, you braved the cold canadian november wind to spend your free saturday at one of torontos dog parks. you were deeply engrossed into the podcast you’d been listening to through your earbuds and you walked a few steps back and forth to keep warm while keeping your eyes on athena, who was playing idly with a few dogs you met at this park regularly. after a few minutes you noticed she favoured playing with one dog more than any of the others. when you called her over after you’d been getting colder and colder and even athenas happiness didn’t seem worth this torture anymore, her favourite friend even came over to you. it trotted over a few steps behind athena, seeming almost shy as it walked slowly towards you. as you crouched down to clip athenas leash back on, a voice sounded out from the other end of the clearing the dogs had been playing on. a few minutes later you’d found yourself next to the man, who introduced himself as mitch and the adorable chocolate lab athena had been playing with as zeus. it hadn’t taken the both of you long to decide to get coffee together, both of you not wanting to separate your dogs, who kept on playfully nipping and nuzzling each other. you’d ended up exchanging phone numbers over that exact cup of coffee and would later name this your first date.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

willy seems like a huge quality time guy to me, i think he’d like just being able to do his thing while you do yours. it’s how you end up because you try scheduling a date where you both find time for literal weeks but he has to manage practice and games and all sorts of media stuff and you’re busy yourself so you end up on opposite sides of his couch. your laptop on your lap, headphones in, typing away at school work or some project for your job while he takes calls and gives interviews and watches tape on the other end of the cushions, feet meeting in the middle. you indulge in some lingering looks and staring but also a game of footsies. there’s small breaks for a drink or a snack and of course a bit of chatting between the two of you and you’re surprised by how much you got done even though he can be pretty distracting if you peek over your laptop for too long (it also makes it even more rewarding when you both are able to close your laptops for the night and order some takeout for dinner and actually talk).

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

i’m convinced leon hates dating, especially first dates. i think he’d just take you out for coffee or drinks regularly without ever telling you about his intentions, mask it as friends going out together. maybe you were friends with a teammate or a wag before and he started out inviting them as well but soon it turned into just the two of you to the point where you’re creating routines. drinks after wins, coffee after losses. lunches or dinners after special occasions - a hatty or a night with many points. it takes your friend complaining about how nobody ever puts effort into dates anymore for you to realize that maybe you’ve been subconsciously dating leon draisaitl for months. you’re hesitant about it for a few days but you can’t hold yourself back one night so you ask him for a real date, drinks at your favourite bar, one that’s a little bit of a hole in the wall. you’ve discovered it a few, well, dates in and you’ve frequented it ever since, trying yourselves through the drink menu and this time you spend a night actually flirting instead of dancing around each other.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

you’re up early and just getting ready for your day when you receive connors text, “so i kinda broke my jaw last night, rain check on tonight?” and you’re instantly worried. usually you’d watch the blackhawks games but you’d fallen asleep over your work last night. “what do u mean u broke ur jaw? are you okay?” it takes him a while to answer and by the time you’re on your daily commute your phone vibrates again. “in a shit ton of pain and probably needing surgery but doing okay. sorry to have to reschedule, i was really looking forward to tonight :(” it’s your lunch break when you look at your phone again and you find a message by connors sister, who was the one to initially introduce the two of you. “hey, would you mind visiting connor sometime soon? we’re not getting in until the weekend and he’s been talking about your date a lot. he’s really bummed about his jaw so could you maybe cheer him up a little?” you instantly tell her yes and as soon as you’re able to log off you pick up some soup and ice cream and anything you hope he can eat before you make your way to connors. you’ve kept up a steady stream of texting to make sure he wouldn’t be asleep and he truly does look sad when he opens the door for you. after he’s eaten the soup and the two of you have curled up on his couch with the ice cream watching greys anatomy (you find it slightly out of place but he says he likes it because it reminds him of how much worse off he could be) he looks a little more relaxed.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

you’d been taking cycling classes for basically your whole college career, liking the way you could fit so much exercise into so little time, especially during your sports off season. will had seen you leave the cycling room of the gym red-faced and on shaky legs multiple times and never failed to throw you an amused smile or a light chirp. he still didn’t believe it was all that exhausting though, no matter how many times you told him about it so for your first date you insisted on taking him to his first cycling class (and treat him for a juice at your favourite cafe when he inevitably has to admit it’s fucking tiring). you had the actual time of your life, watching your oh-so-athletic-hockey-player-date sweat buckets and gasp for air on the bike next to you and he vowed to never make fun of you ever again for your classes if he could take you ice skating for your next date.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

feel free to let me know if you would like reading other players / scenarios!

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

[writingroom21]

Auction

Pairing: Hockeyplayer!rafe x bookworm!reader

Summary: When a donation auction gives you the opportunity of your dreams you have to take it. Can't help it when your fantasies come to life.

or

When Rafe finds the girl of his dreams without realizing at a donation auction. Who knew donating a date would lead to dreams coming true.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, cream pie, smut books, let me know if I Missed any.

Wc: 3K

“Cameron, are you even listening?” Coach Benson yells over the chatter in the locker room. Rafe turns his attention to the older man and nods his head. “Yes coach.” The old man narrows his eyes, not believing Rafe for a moment. “Then what did I say?” Rafe looks around and sees the other boys on the team snickering. He finishes up his tie and looks at the coach. “Sleep with the bidder so they want to give more money?” The room erupts with laughter but the older man doesn’t crack.

“Behave yourself, don’t need you spreading anything to anyone.” The room laughs at the coach's joke but Rafe doesn’t. “Be the perfect date and don’t get too smashed. We do not need a repeat of last year.” In the back corner Jeremy let out a groan. “That was one time, let it go.” Coach continues on with his speech that everyone has heard before. He goes over the rules and the order of who’s going up. As captain of the team Rafe is the last one to go up so he is relaxed. 

The rest of the hockey team makes their way to the auditorium in the building next door. He stays back for a little while checking his text. Looking at the time he moves his sticks to the side to shove his clothes in before heading over. The auditorium is full of a bunch of the girls from the college and some heard about it so they are here. He slowly makes his way to the side stage, catching glimpses of the girls sitting waiting for their date. “Up next is Tyler Ritzker! He likes to spend time in the gym working on his muscles. Jesus.” Coach shakes his head. “And showing girls a good time. Can I get twenty bucks!” 

The auction goes on for a little while longer with a break to get some food. Rafe’s about to reach for a pig in a blanket when someone bumps into him. He looks over to see you lowering a book from your face. “Sorry I didn't see you there.” His eyes give you a once over and a small smirk plays on his face. “No worries. Can’t complain when a pretty girl bumps into me.” A small blush forms on your face. You hide the book behind your back and look around for a second. “So are you coming up soon?” You point to the double doors behind you with a sparkle in your eyes.

Rafe takes a small step closer to you, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Why are you gonna bid for me?” He pulls back to watch you biting your lower lip. He can hear people starting to head back. One of the guys from the team slaps his shoulder grabbing his attention. “You heading in?” Rafe nods and pushes him off. But when he looks back you are gone. Taking a step forward he looks around trying to get a glimpse of you. All he can catch is a book and based by the cover with hockey sticks it seems to be hockey related. He heads behind the stage and queues up at the end of the line.

One by one each guy gets called and bid on. There’s one person on stage and then it’s Rafe’s turn. He watches as the people in the crowd hold up their paddles to get a date with Eric. Finally a girl in the front gets her claws on the poor guy. “Now of the main event and what I assume most of you are here for. Welcome up our team captain Rafe Cameron. Rafe is a top player who likes to dirt bike on the weekends. If you’re into a smartass who will give you a headache you are in for a treat.” Rafe throws an arm around the coach and takes the mic from him. “Thank you coach. I also love the beach and teaching someone very lucky how to surf.” He throws a wink to the crowd and a lot of paddles go up.

Coach takes the mic back and starts the bid. “Can I get fifty bucks?” Practically all of the paddles go up. Rafe’s eyes scan the crowd looking for you but he can’t see anything. “What about two hundred?” Paddles slowly start to windle down as the price keeps getting higher. “Let me see three fifty.” Rafe stands there with his hands in his pockets. Coach keeps listing off numbers and it's down to the last two girls. Neither of them are you. His right foot taps the stage as he’s now getting pissed. Why ask if you weren’t interested? Sucks because you were hot. The way you looked up at him had the front of his pants get a little bit tighter. 

“Seven hundred.”

His eyes shot up to see a new paddle in the air and the two girls that were fighting were debating on what to do. “We got seven hundred. Do I hear seven ten?” Rafe watches with a grin as the other two girls lower their paddles. “Deal for seven hundred. That concludes our auction. Bidders meet your prizes at the front to coordinate your dates. Thank you to all that donated. I believe we have succeeded in our goal of the night.” Rafe doesn’t really hear much after as he casually rushes off the stage to find you. 

When he exits the room he sees you off to the side paying your donation and chatting with the lady. You turn around just to make eye contact with him. He starts to walk over to you with a grin as you stay still. Looking around you head closer to the doors so you aren’t blocking the way. His hand finds your biceps guiding you outside away from everyone. “Well isn’t this a surprise.” You blush, fiddling with the book in your hands to distract yourself. Letting out a chuckle you try to calm your nerves. “I did ask if you were going to be going up.” The two of you start to walk towards the ice rink not really knowing where you are going. 

“Yeah but you weren’t bidding.” You shrug and look at the sky to count the stars. “Didn’t want them to think I was competition.” Looking over at you — you send a smile causing you to wrinkle your nose. “But you are.” It’s not really a question, just a silent statement left in the air. You stop in front of the building holding the ice rinks. Staring at the building you bite your lower lip as you think. “I know what I want to do for our date.” The words are soft as you try to get more confident in the idea. “I want you to teach me how to skate.” He looks back at the doors and then at you.

It was a no brainer. 

He grabs your hand, walking backwards he leads you into the building. “Come on. We get access to the rink after hours.” Your eyes are wide as you look behind you and then around the halls as you pass rooms. “Are you sure we won’t get in trouble?” Rafe keeps walking until he reaches a door and opens it. Inside is a bunch of skates and some equipment. “Even if we do, they won’t do anything. Now find your size.” You roll your eyes as you look at the rows of skates. The light in the room flickers as the yellow glow barely lights the room. You place your book down on a table as you try on a skate to see if it fits. 

Rafe takes a few steps and looks at the cover. ‘Pucking Around’ He chuckles at the name thinking it’s stupid. You put the skate back, having to find a slightly smaller size so he takes the opportunity to look the book up. He pulls out his phone and reads the description. For a moment he has a hard time processing what he just read. There’s no way that you are reading that book. His eyes flicker up to you to see you bent over as you put your shoes back on and grab the skates you will use. His pants get a bit harder at the sight of your ass mix with the thought of that book.

Shit what are you hiding from everyone?

The two of you head over to the rink and sit on the bench to put your skates on. “So why skating?” His eyes look at the book next to you and then at you. Glancing up you give him a confused look. “Huh?” He finishes his laces and then pulls your foot over to lace your skates. “Why is our date me teaching you how to skate? Not complaining or anything, just curious.” Your face flushes. “Oh I want to learn how to skate. Plus I like hockey.” A smirk plays on Rafe’s face as he imagines how much you like the sport.

“Yeah? What ‘s your favorite team?” Your face lights up a bit. “Bruins. Sucks that they traded their captian last minute and fucked up the team even more. Their season was already over before the trade but it was such a bad choice.” You go off a little bit more on the team's states overall. “Imagine my horror when they didn’t even make the playoffs this season. It just feels unnatural.” You were so wrapped up in your thoughts you didn’t even realize you were on the ice.

Looking down you almost panic and slip but Rafe catches you. “Keep going. I’m interested in what you think they should have done.” You huff as he skates backwards to help you get the hang of everything. “So many things. First, don't get rid of the captain that everyone loves and makes the team I don’t know. Next not trying to be rude but many of the players suck and they could easily trade them for better players. Why keep people who are not improving.” In time you get the hang of the motion and Rafe lets go of you.

Well only to skate next to you and hold your hand. The two of you go one to talk about different teams and players. “Didn’t take you for a hockey fan.” He nudges you which was a bad idea as he had to stop you from falling. You giggle as you hold onto him to stabilize yourself. “My dad and I watch it all of the time. We go to games from time to time.” Your smile catches Rafe’s attention. He can’t pull his gaze away from it which almost makes the two of you crash into the wall. “Jesus, I thought you were good at this.” You push him lightly. 

He laughs and skates towards you. You squeal as he catches you in his arms and skates around. Lightly you hit his back trying to get him to put you down. “Rafe put me down.” He does a spin and skates backwards with you thrown over his shoulder. “Nope trying to show you how good I am.” You laugh as he lowers you down and grabs your hands to skate with you. “Trust me I never doubted that.” His pants got a bit tighter again. Pulling you in, Rafe cups the side of your face. “How about next, we do something you like.” 

You tilt your head further into his hand with a curious look. “Like?” Rafe stops the two of you in front of the exist where all of your stuff is. He helps you out of the rink, leading you to the bench. “Thinking that we can read this book together.” Your eyes widen when he reaches for it and you try to stop him. Not being fast enough he opened the book up to the page to have a red tab on. Like a slow motion film you watch as his mouth drops open and his eyes practically bulge out of his face. “Holy shit.” You try to grab the book again but he raises it over his head with a tilt so he can still read it.

Subconsciously he reaches for the tent in his, tugging at it to relieve the tension. You groan and hide your face so you don’t have to look at him. “You like this shit?” Turning around you stumble as you try to get away only to be stopped. “Look at me.” Moving your gaze to him you see that his pupils are dilated. “If that was me and you, I wouldn’t hesitate to bend you over that counter either. I’d fuck you until you forgot your name and all you could feel was me.” You moan at the thought and take a step forward. “Yeah?” Your voice rasps out. “What else do you like in this book?”

Without speaking you take the book and open up another red tabbed page. Handing it over to him, you play with the hem of his shirt. “The four of them all fuck in the shower. Something about it is just hot to me. The way they all just want to be with each other.” Rafe’s chest rises and falls with each breath as he continues to read the pages. Lowering the book he looks at you with some sort of look. You hold your breath waiting for what he’s going to do next. “You want to feel that?” You nod your head.

His lips crash onto yours—sucking the air from your lungs. Shit he’s a good kisser. His hands find your waist to pull you in. His fingertips sneak their way under your shirt to graze your skin. Taking a step back he guides you, helping you walk on skates without breaking the kiss. Not being able to take it anymore he slams you against the wall outside of the locker room. His thigh prys its way between your, giving you the perfect place to grind yourself one. His hands roam your body as you find the back of his head to pull on his hair.

Both of you stand there for a moment enjoying each other. His kisses move to your neck and leave light hickies on there. You moan and pull his hair again when he pinches one of your nipples. “Shit Rafe.” Breaking away from you he takes a deep breaths while resting his forehead on yours. He pulls you into the locker room. Stopping you two, take off your skates and you look around. “Never been in the locker room.” He lifts you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist. “I’ll show you after.” He kisses you again making you forget about where you are.

Shit this is like a dream come true.

Your back hits cold tile making you arch your back. Your chest pushes against his and you accidentally grind into him. He pulls away for a second. “Take your clothes off.” He lets go of you so you can undress as he does the same. You rush to take your clothes off, handing them to him so he can put them away.When he walks back you take in a good look at him. He’s tall and muscular in a buff way. By the way he’s looking at you, he’s doing the same. When he reaches you, he turns on the water. The steam automatically fills the room. Rafe stares down at you, his thumb playing with your bottom lip.

Taking matters in your own hands, you grab his dick giving it a tug. You spit on the tip before you start to jerk him off. “Did you learn that in your books?” You laugh as he nibbles on your collar bone. “Learned a lot of things. My ex used to love it.” The mention of an ex pisses him off and he picks you up. He positions you so that when he thrust he teases your clit. Each thrust teased the both of you over and over again. Rafe played with your nipples as he kissed every inch of your skin.

“Looks like I’m lucky. Got the perfect little slut all to myself.” You moan and lift your hips trying to catch him with your entrance. You’re dying to feel him. “Rafe, please.” Using his arm around your waist, he lifts you as he positions himself at your entrance. Loud moans echo on the walls as he fills you up with each inch of himself. He is big, stretching you more than you ever have been. His thrusts are hard and fast. You’re pressed against the wall with Rafe’s hand right next to your head. Hise lips are so close to yours that you can taste his breath.

Opening his eyes he looks into yours. Water droplets fall from his hair onto his nose. Fuck he looks so good right now. You moan at just the sight of him, throwing your head back a little too hard. He cradles your head bringing you in to kiss your forehead. “You okay?” You moan in response and nod your head. “Yes. Oh fuck yes!” Rafe’s lips are back on your in an instant biting your lip hard. The waterfalls around the two of you hitting Rafe’s back making it red from the heat. Your nails scrap down his back when your orgasm builds.

“That’s it baby. Cum for me.” 

Your body spasms when you finally cum. Rafe buries his head in your shoulder biting the flesh when he starts to cum. His moans are muffled but you can still hear them. He kisses up your neck when he starts to come down. “Fuck you’re amazing.” You giggle and grab his face so you can kiss him. Slowly he pulls out, placing you on the floor so you two can wash up. Just then the door to the showers opened up. “Jesus Christ Rafe I said no sleeping with the bidders.” Rafe covers your body as the coach tries to leave the room with his eyes closed. He looks down at you and steals a quick kiss. 

“Sorry coach. Just couldn’t help myself.”

@haruvalentine4321@namelesslosers@ijustwanttoreadlols@drewsphswife@corpsebridenightamare@actorslover@juniperbaies@fionaswifeyy@dark1paradise@stoned-writer @notafairyteen@theoraekenslover@rafedaddy01@rrafeswhore @10ava01 @selfcontollover07@akobx @rafesbabygirlx @lolasangelz @emmaaas-posts @anacamofficial @theoraekenslover @drewsphswife @illicitpages

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[dreamersofcolor]

welcome to the dreamer's lounge! 💌

this is a self ship blog dedicated to uplifting & supporting people of color in the community! i'm your mod, @taibobo!

things we offer here:

an open ask box for advice, discussing topics related to navigating self shipping as a person of color, gushing about your f/os, and showing support to other POC in the community!

promoting POC self shippers through reblogging their posts and supporting their commissions and mutual aid

imagine requests & submissions tailored specifically towards self shippers of color!

events and raffles that include prizes like free art, letters from your f/o, fanfiction, moodboards/stimboards, + more!

this account is villain / problematic f/o friendly (within reason) and non-sharing friendly (as long as you're respectful and kind towards doubles), but i do ask that any self shippers who condone or engage in adult/minor shipping, RPF, or shipping between related parties please do not interact!

additional rules below:

ask box rules:

though i aim to be a listening ear for those who don't feel they have one in the community, particularly sensitive subjects (SA/CSA, self harm, suicide, incest, police brutality) are prohibited to be discussed in detail, as well as excessive venting about personal issues not related to the self ship community

i try to be understanding of most people's f/o sources (lord knows mine are not free from discourse), i do ask that anyone who self ships from DSMP or any similar minecraft SMP channels and/or from the game clinical trial do not gush about those characters in the inbox! i also won't be reblogging posts with these characters. this is just a personal boundary, i hope you understand :)

non-detailed discussions of 18+ / nsft topics are ok, as long as you let me know at the beginning of the message via a content warning so i can always tag it properly!

just a reminder that i am doing this as a service to uplift people, so hate towards me or any other person is not tolerated!

also, i am just one guy, so please be patient! i have a full-time job, work freelance, and have several other projects on the side, among other things... i'm a busy little guy, so this is just a little thing i wanted to do for fun!

imagine / prompt rules:

i will not be writing any 18+ / nsft imagines or similar posts, nor will i be posting anything containing explicit content! this rule may change or have some kind of exception in the future (maybe some kind of 'after dark' events?), but for now-- SFW imagines only!

no imagines discussing the previously mentioned sensitive subjects in detail. things like "your f/o comforting you during a depressive episode" is fine, but something like "your f/o saving you from an attempted SA" or "your f/o stopping you from an attempt" is not.

promotion rules

i won't be reblogging from any accounts that break my dni or any posts that break any of the rules i've discussed earlier. i'll try my best to support everyone i can outside of that, so if you need any assistance, please feel free to shoot me a message with your post and as long as the rules are followed, i'll reblog / add it to the queue!

tags

#from the clouds: mod post / text post

#user / anon tag: self explanatory, for organization

#mailbox: any ask box submission

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#advice column: for advice

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#slumber party: raffles / events

(divider credit)

[delicatebarness]

You Need Me Now? | Chapter Three

Summary: It's the night of the First Responders Family Fund, and Miss Stark looks a little green. Also, there's a Morgan Stark Cameo

Warnings: This series will be 18+, Minors DNI | MCU Spoilers | Thunderbolts Specific Spoilers | Jealousy | Smut | Dom/Sub Themes | Spit | Oral (M Receiving) | Semi-Public

Word Count: 2326

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: The amount of hours I have spent working on this chapter is uncalled for, and I haven't proofread this, but... that's what @lanabuckybarnes is for ♡ - Please leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue; this is just as much yours as mine. - B

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Outside the First Responders Family Fund—Washington, D.C.

Outside the event was spectacular. The Center glowed with golden light, and camera shutters. Red carpet stretched wide beneath your gold heels, velvet ropes flanked either side, and a queue of sleek black cars. Your shoulders were peppered with cool evening air kisses as you stepped aside from the crowd.

You pulled your phone from the clutch bag you chose for the event, scrolling until you spotted a specific name, and hit call.

It rang once. Twice.

Suddenly, Morgan’s face appeared, her messy hair framing it, the screen casting shadows across her features. “You said you’d show me!” 

“I am, Maguna,” you smiled, flipping the camera around. “Look!” 

You panned the camera slowly across the entrance, letting your younger sister see the theatre of it all. And of course, the massive banner that hung above the doors. 

Morgan’s face lit up. “Whoa! Is that Dad?” 

The banner rippled in the breeze. A full-length print of your dad, Tony Stark’s, silhouette in the classic Iron Man suit, Arc Reactor designed to seem like it was lit up, and text along one side of the banner, reading: Honouring NYC Heroes. 

You flipped the camera back to yourself, spinning so the banner was behind you. “It sure is! He’ll be everywhere tonight, Bug.” 

“As he should be!” she announced proudly, but her smile faltered quickly. Her freckled nose wrinkled. “Do you have to go in now?” 

“In a few minutes, yeah. I just wanted to show you before you went to sleep.” You adjusted the spaghetti strap where it dipped off your shoulder. “I miss you, Morgan.” 

Morgan smiled, her eyes heavy with tiredness. “I miss you, too. And you look really pretty.”

You laugh. “Us Stark’s scrub up well, don’t we?” 

“Yep!” She fell back, her head hitting the pillow. You took a few extra minutes saying your goodbyes and wishing your sister the sweetest of dreams before ending the FaceTime. 

Slowly, you tucked your phone back into your clutch. The gala lights flickering as you let go of your last thread of comfort. 

  You took a slow, deep breath as you turned toward the center. And with one careful heel in front of the other, you walked alone into the pantomime. 

The warm air was filled with the scent of perfume, polished marble, and a lot of champagne. Chandeliers cast golden rains across the room, and everything glittered. There was music, a string quartet drifting in waves. 

People turned as you entered, taking their prying eyes away from the displays of your father’s past. They were already whispering, taking double-takes as you passed. 

You didn’t look at them.

Your eyes found the centerpiece instead—the Avengers Tower ‘A’ glowing at the heart of the hall. Your feet moved on their own toward it, stopping when the entire letter came into view. 

You weren’t the only one drawn to it. Mel—who you recognised as Valentina’s assistant—stood just ahead. She gazed up at the letter like it meant something. Her dark dress, covered by the matching suit jacket, caught bits of gold from the light above. Her hair was pinned back into a low ponytail, her posture proud.

A familiar figure stepping into view caught your attention—Bucky.

The same sharp suit you’d helped him into—and hoped to help out—was still perfect. Every line straight, every button in place. But it was the relaxed, confident way he carried himself that made your breath hitch.

Mel turned toward him, but you couldn’t make out the conversation over the music and the murmur of voices. But you didn’t need to. You saw it in the way Mel tilted her head. The curve of her smile.

The way he smiled back.

It wasn’t the usual practiced, tight-lipped smile he gave to the cameras or strangers. This was softer, warmer.

You didn’t mean to keep watching. 

But you did, and your eyes stayed locked onto them as Bucky reached into his jacket, pulling out a business card. Handing it to Mel, his fingers brushed against hers. A subtle, slightly lingering touch. 

Mel’s brow raised, amused. Or maybe, intrigued.

Your stomach sank.

You weren’t jealous. 

Not exactly. 

But the shift hit you hard and fast. You blinked, dragging your gaze from them. A server passed as you turned slightly, and you snagged a glass of champagne from their silver tray. Giving the man, who couldn’t have been much younger than you, a quick nod.

After swigging the shimmering liquid, you looked back at the ‘A’ that once adorned your home. 

Bucky was gone.

And Mel—Mel has begun walking straight toward you.

With a breezy smile, Mel approached with her tablet and notes tucked neatly to her chest. Her walk was measured, confident. 

But so were you.

Your spine straightened, champagne flute held delicately between your freshly manicured fingers, expression neutral. Mel had a few inches of height on you, and so you didn’t look up to meet her gaze.

“Hi, Miss Stark!” she called out brightly, a little too brightly.

You smiled, taking another swig of champagne before replying. “Melissa… was it?” 

For a moment, the brightness in her expression dimmed. She didn’t correct you—she couldn’t.

“That–That’s right,” she recovered quickly. “It’s an honor to be here tonight. Seeing parts of history.” 

You hummed, taking the last sip of champagne from the glass. “I’m sure it must be,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “Is this the first event Val has you monitoring?” 

Her smile twitched. “I wouldn’t stay monitoring per se, more like keeping her on schedule for—”

“Ah,” you said, cutting off the sentence gently. “The assistant.” 

A pause of silence settled between you, but only for a second before Mel spoke again. 

“I was speaking with Sergeant Barnes,” Mel turned her head back toward where she had stood with Bucky previously. “He’s very kind.” 

Your brow arched. “Is that what we’re calling it now?” 

Mel blinked, and you watched as the tip of her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek.

You took a step forward, barely even half a pace, and she had leaned back slightly. 

“He’s charming,” you added. Your gaze flickered to movement by the stairs, then back to her. “But you might want to be careful with that one.”

You smiled, letting that Stark confidence reach your eyes. “It was nice to meet you… Melissa.” 

And with that, you brushed past her. Your golden heels echoed softly against the polished marble floor, and you set the empty champagne flute on a passing tray.

You didn’t look back.

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Later in the Evening—Washington, D.C.

You stopped short at the landing, your eyes locking on him, and Mr Gary. Their voices hushed as they moved to a secluded hallway. 

You didn’t interrupt. Instead, you leaned lightly against the wall, arms crossed, just out of their line of sight. You didn’t hear much of what they spoke about. But one word did catch your attention: Assistant.

It was enough to tighten something in your chest.

After one last murmur from Mr. Gary, he turned and walked in the opposite direction. His footsteps were heavy as he didn’t spare you more than a passing glance. 

You waited until he disappeared behind another corner. But then, a strong metallic arm curled around your waist.

Bucky pulled you gently out of sight, back to where he and Mr. Gary had stood. Your back bumped against the wall, your chest heaving. 

He was inches away, brow arched, and looked down at you. “You need to get better at hiding.” His voice was low and dry.

His hand slid over the small of your back, resting against your hip. His hair was slightly disheveled now, you knew he’d been running a hand through it out of frustration. 

His jaw ticked. “You shouldn’t be up here.” 

“And you shouldn’t be gossiping in the shadows where anyone could find you, hear you,” you retorted.

A silent beat passed between you.

His eyes searched yours, and for the first time… you noticed a subtle hint of green and amber within the striking blue. 

“I saw you talking to her, and then I heard you talking about her,” you said, voice low. “Are you keeping information from me?” 

His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes darkened. His hand reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb lingering on your bottom lip with his thumb. “Are you jealous, Miss Stark?” 

You tilted your chin. “No. I don’t get jealous.” 

Another pause.

The space between your bodies pulled you together, heat rolling off you and surrounding him in waves. When Bucky spoke again, his voice rasped.

“Liar.” 

His fingers trailed from your cheek to the base of your throat, wrapping around your neck. His touch was possessive, demanding. From anyone else, you would’ve felt threatened. But from Bucky—it was grounding. Submission, even.

Your lips parted, but you couldn’t find the words to argue. Or lie. Maybe you had been at least the tiniest bit jealous.

“I saw you watching,” he said. “Your whole body shifted when I handed her that card. You wanted to light her up.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“You wanted her to burn,” he growled softly. “And you still do.” 

Your brow furrowed, opening your mouth to speak again, but nothing. You couldn’t deny his allegations. 

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I like it when you get possessive,” he murmured, leaning in closer to whisper directly into your ear. “Almost as much as I like putting you in your place.” 

You inhaled sharply. Heat radiating through your entire body, collecting between your thighs.

“You want to be a good girl for me now?” he asked, his tone leaving no room for debate. He was instructing. 

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, nodding slowly, instinctive. 

“Show me, sweetheart.” 

You didn’t realise you were moving until your knees hit the floor. Your dress pooled slightly around your legs. His jaw was tight, and his hunger bled through his eyes when you looked up, meeting his gaze. 

“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he said. His metal hand rested against your cheek before he brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Hm, the Stark heiress, on her knees for me. And, in the hallway of a fucking fund raiser.” 

You flushed. He was obscene, but so perfect.

The click of metal was loud as he slowly undid his belt. Blue eyes never left yours. Pushing down the zipper, he freed his already hardened cock. 

“Open your mouth,” he said.

You obeyed, head tilting up toward him. 

He watched you, unmoving, just taking in the sight of you. “Wider,” he murmured. 

Again, you obeyed. 

His hand cradled your jaw before leaning down slightly, without breaking eye contact. 

And spit. 

You didn’t flinch.

It was warm against your tongue, and you just let it sit there, waiting for your next instruction.

“Swallow it, sweetheart,” he softly ordered.

You did, before parting your lips again for him. Proving to him that you did as you were told. 

His eyes closed slowly for a moment, his jaw clenching. “Good girl.” 

Then, he pressed his tip against your lips. 

“Now,” he said, threading his hand through your hair. “Show me.” 

The first brush your tongue took against him made your lashes flutter. Your brain was already beginning to switch off as your lips wrapped around him, taking him deeper. 

He groaned in a low breath. “That’s it,” he praised, tightening his grip in your hair. “Use that mouth, sweetheart. Show me how you own me.” 

At first, you were slow. Tracing your tongue down every inch of him, your cheeks hollowing when your lips slid down and back up again. Just enough to tease. 

“Take all of me,” he warned.

There was a hiss through his teeth, his hand bracing the wall behind you. His hip began to rock, and you relaxed your throat, letting him push deeper. Fucking your mouth, relentlessly but controlled. Your fingers gripped the back of his thighs as you moaned around him.

“Look at me,” he groaned. 

Your eyes were glossy, lips stretched, and cheeks flushed as you looked up. Your throat vibrated, spurring him. 

“You’re taking me so fucking good,” he said, quickening his pace. “Fuck, I could come just from watching you.” His hips stuttered, and low, animal-like sounds escaped his chest. “God—just a little more, sweetheart,” he rasped, his thick vein pulsating against your tongue. “Just like—”

His hand gripped tighter, pulling your hair as he came. Spurts of his release hitting the back of your throat, and you took it all. 

“That,” he finally stilled, chest heaving as he loosened his grip on your hair.

You pulled back slowly.

His dark, intent gaze dropped to your mouth. Reaching out, his thumb brushed across your bottom lip, tugging it down gently. Another demand. Only this time, it was silent. 

You parted your lips, unashamed, and offered him the evidence of what you just did for him.

His eyes burned into yours, desire. “You’re going to be the death of me, Stark,” he gave you a low chuckle.

Still on your knees, your lips curled into a knowing smile. Then, purposely with unbroken eye contact, you swallowed. 

“And you wouldn’t have it any other way,” you whispered back.

Bucky stretched his vibranium hand out for you, helping you rise to your feet. His other hand wiped a stray tear from your cheek before smoothing your hair, his fingers lingering for another moment. “Go freshen up, sweetheart,” he smiled, his voice low. “And then, say your goodbyes.” His gaze held yours before he gestured towards the rest of the function. 

Before you could respond, his arm wrapped around your torso, and his mouth crashed against yours.

He wasn’t soft or sweet. It was bruising, a deep reminder.

His forehead pressed to yours when he pulled back. “Don’t keep me waiting, we’re getting chilli dogs.”

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[chososcamgirl]

THIRD TIMES A CHARM INTRODUCTIONS

double d’s & dui’s

masterlist

cw; crude humour, drugs, suggestive, swearing

get charmed!

• yn is majoring in literature, toji does engineering, shiu majors in business & utahime majors in fashion

• they all met at freshmen orientation and now currently in their third year

• they all live together in an apartment off campus omg!!!!!! shocker!!!!!!

• yn works on the campus library as her part time job. the shit she hears on the first floor should not be repeated…

• utahime is pretty known due to her work & her side business of styling influencers

• toji & shiu arent dating actually theyre just doing it for the bit (they say it’s bromance but toji is borderline queerbaiting)

• theyre like troy and abed basically

• shiu and utahime ARE bi tho ayyyeee!!! shoutout my bisexual bitches!!!! i see you!!!!

• toji is midly successful on onlyfans but his dick is never out

• bessy & martha are cars if it wasnt obvious lmfao

• bessy is a ford escort that was owed my yns father and martha is a 2008 mazda rx toji got in a storage bid (it was pretty beat up but she’s nice and pretty)

• shortly after martha got all pretty toji got his first dui, then shiu… queue the groupchate name

• self promo with tridant ayyeee #rip

taglist: @nappingnai @renbittt @s6rine @shokosbunny @agzio180

*if i can't tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Something There ~ Logan's Version

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST / MUSICAL INSPIRED FIC MASTERLIST

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,500ish

Request: Something There was made for Logannn. Logan and reader both teach at the Mansion, he's quite rough around the edges and seems like a bit of an asshole. He's always had a bit of a crush on her, he finds her pretty and smart, but he doesn't know how to tell her that and he doesn't think she'd ever reciprocate his feelings anyways. Until they're forced to work together (classes or a mission), and the close proximity allows a different side of Logan to finally come out. As they warm up to each other, Logan turns out to be sweet and gentle to her, very caring as well - and that kinda surprises her, she didn't know the wild Wolverine could be so sweet! She also keeps up with him, being sweet and playful and gentle in return. ✨ feelings blossommmmm ✨ he's extremely awkward but also extremely sweet and loving. And one day he asks if she'd allow him to kiss her. She says yes and he cradles her face in the most gentle way possible and presses the softest of kisses to her lips. And fucking thanks her afterwards because he's nervous. She teases him about the big bad Wolverine being a softie under all that, he says that it's just for her, asks (more like begs) to be her boyfriend, queue sweet soft kissessss.

At first, you weren’t even sure Logan liked you. He barely spoke during the staff meetings at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. He sat in the corner or leaned against the wall with his arms crossed like brooding was a full-time job. You taught Literature and History while Logan taught some History, Self-Defense, and How-Not-to-Get-Killed-on-a-Mission-101. You thought he was kind of an asshole, honestly, and suspected that he believed your job was just ‘fluff’.

He confirmed it one afternoon when he muttered, “Hope the kids remember you class when someone’s throwing punches at their head.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’ll make sure to add ‘duck’ to next week’s poetry until.”

He grunted, but gave no follow-up remark. You nicknamed him ‘Grumblepaws’ in your head. It was either that or ‘Professor Tall, Dark, and Growly’. 

You said good morning when you passed him in the hallways every day. He responded once, just once. “It’s 7:45 and I haven’t had coffee. You really wanna try small talk right now?”

Logan was clearly a delight. He smelled like leather and cigars and cheap coffee that could double as motor oil. The kids respected him— most because they were scared. And the ones who weren’t scared, tried to impress him with their tricks. You rolled your eyes behind Logan’s back at least twice a week.

One day, the Professor paired the two of you for a joint project— a collaborative lesson series— between your respective fields. Charles claimed it would ‘foster interdisciplinary respect’. You and Logan were confusing on literature and field readiness.

Logan grunted when he heard the idea. “I’m not doing this ‘cause I want to,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly. “I just don’t want the Professor in my head about it.”

You smiled politely. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”

He stared at you for a long second before muttering, “I do.”

You blinked, taken back. “That’s… somehow the least comforting thing you could have said.”

He simply smirked.

“Okay,” you said, flipping through a few lesson plans. “I was thinking we could co-teach a unit on The Odyssey and survival tactics. Blend myth with skill. Make it engaging.

“You want me to talk about fightin’ a cyclops?”

“No, I want you to talk about how Odysseus survives. Resourcefulness and adaptability.”

He scratched his chin. “What’s that poem where the guy gets eaten by a sea monster?”

“That’s Beowulf. Not exactly the takeaway I was going for.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms. “I still think this is stupid.”

“And I think your hair looked like it lost a fight with a lawnmower,” you snapped back, then froze. “Sorry. That was—“

But Logan laughed. Like an actual laugh. “Alright, Teach. Maybe this won’t be complete hell.”

“There’s something sweet, and almost kind

But he was mean and he was coarse and unrefined…”

That was the closest you got to friendly for a while. He was still gruff and impossible and sarcastic.

“I don’t need a name tag,” he murmured as you peeped for a student open house. “If they down’t know who I am, they haven’t been payin’ attention.”

“Right,” you scoffed, “because you’re such a warm, inviting presence.”

“I’m plenty inviting.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “As long as you like the smell of cigar smoke and blood.”

“Charming.”

“And I don’t do bulletin boards.”

“I figured. The glitter might mess up your ‘grizzled mountain man’ aesthetic.”

He grunted, but his lips twitched. Barely. But there all the same. Then, something shifted. It wasn’t dramatic, just subtle.

Logan started waiting for you outside your classroom after classes. He carried your books without being asked. He started asking questions during planning times— real and thoughtful questions. His snark mellowed into something more playful and his scowls softened when he looked at you.

One day, after a particularly chaotic lesson involving foam swords and a Homeric battle reenactment, you caught him staring.

“What?” You asked, breathless and laughing.

He looked away, going gruff again. “You’re good with them. The kids. You got a way with ‘em.”

You smiled. “Thanks, Logan. That means a lot.”

He looked like he wanted to say more but walked off instead, rubbing the back of his neck and grumbling under his breath.

“But now he’s dear, and so unsure

I wonder why I didn’t see it there before…”

Small changed continued. Logan brought you coffee one morning, just how you liked it.

You blinked at the cup. “Wait. How did you—?”

“Kid in your homeroom mentioned it once,” he told you, gruff and grumbly like he regretted admitting it. “Figured you’d need it.”

You sipped it. “You know… you can be nice.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“She glanced this way, I thought I saw

And when we touched she didn’t shudder at my paw…”

On a scouting mission to upstate New York— just the two of you— things deepened. The car ride was six hours of teasing, sarcasm, and surprisingly comfortable silence.

“Do you always hum when you drive?” You asked at one point after a bit of silence.

“What? No.”

“You were humming.”

He scowled. “You’re imagining things.”

You smirked. “Was it Johnny Cash? I think—“

“Drop it,” he demanded, his tips of his ears turning red.

That night, the motel was a dump with one creaky bed and a questionable heater.

“I’ll take the floor,” he said before you could argue. “You need the sleep more than I do.”

“Chivalry, from you? What happened to the guy who growled at me over a bulletin board?”

“He’s still here. Just… shut up and take the bed.”

A few hours later, the room had grown cold and the questionable heater definitely didn’t work. You were curled up in a ball on the bed covered in the thin blanket.

“I can hear your teeth chattering,” Logan grumbled in the darkness.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

He sighed and sat up, taking in the sight of you on the bed. “You cold?”

“What do you think?” Logan stood up and crawled onto the bed. “What are you doing?”

“Shhh. Just… don’t make this weird.” He timidly wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his body.

You melted into him. “You’re a furnace.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Do you—“

“No questions. Just shut up and sleep, okay?”

You kept quiet and slowly drifted to sleep due to Logan’s warmth and the humming he thought you were too gone to notice.

~~~

Back at the mansion, everything was different and yet, still the same. Logan teased less and helped more. His scowls were still there, but softer. He still didn’t talk much, but when he did, it matter.

And one afternoon, while you both supervised a Danger Room session, he turned to you and said, “You’re real smart, y’know that?”

Your breath caught in your throat for a moment. “Logan… was that a… compliment?”

He blushed. It was barely noticeable due to his facial hair, but it was there. “Yeah…”

“New and a bit alarming

Who’d have ever thought that this could be?”

You teased him once, after he helped you pick up a pile of essays you dropped. “You keep this up, and I might start thinking the big bad Wolverine is a softie.”

He looked right at you, serious. “Just with you,” he mumbled.

Your heart skipped.

“There may be something there that wasn’t there before…”

It happened on a quiet evening. You’d stayed late in the library again, papers to grade. A copy of The Iliad was open on the table. You were mid-ship of lukewarm coffee when you sensed him in the doorway.

“You really don’t rest, do you?” He ask, leaning against the frame.

You looked up, smiling. “Only when I’ve tortured enough students with essay prompts.”

He stepped in, hands shoved in his pockets. “This place gets real quiet at night.”

“I like it. It’s peaceful.”

He leaned against a shelf near you, watching you carefully. “I, uh…” he nervously cleared his throat. “Can I… ask you something?”

You lowered your pen and gave him more of your attention. “Of course.”

He looked nervous. It didn’t suit him. “Can I… kiss you?”

Your breath caught. “…yes.”

He stepped closer, slow and careful, like he was scared to break the moment. His hands came to cradle your face as he crouched down to your level. You could feel the heat of him, the hesitation in his movements. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, rough hands softening just for you. The kiss was featherlight. A whisper, more than a demand. When he pulled back, he didn’t move far.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You laughed quietly. “Thank you? Logan, you’re adorable.”

He groaned. “You’re gonna make fun of me now, aren’t you?”

“Only a little.” You kissed the corner of his mouth. “So… does this mean the Wolverine is mine now?”

He grunted with a nod. “If you’ll have me… please.”

You grinned, tugging him down into another kiss. “I’m not letting you go.”

“It’s so peculiar… wait and see

There’s something there that wasn’t there before…”

[andrevasims]

TS2 Deadly Mods Made Autonomous

This is a collection of mods I mentioned in my Death Mods post, but edited by me so that sims will do them autonomously (under certain conditions*).

DISCLAIMER: I have never modded before. I didn't follow a tutorial, and I only figured out how to make these by copying other peoples' mods. If something breaks or doesn't work, feel free to alert me to it, but I honestly don't know if I'll be able to help fix it.

I playtested these quite a bit, but aside from essential mods that prevent townie/NPC generation & corruption, I didn't test how they work alongside any other mods during the process.

I recommend HCDU to double check for conflicts, since like I said I don't know how to mod myself.

All of the mods I've edited are together in one .zip folder, but below is a list explaining what each one is and a link to their original versions.

Since these are only edits of pre-existing mods, you can't have both at the same time. I didn't change any GUIDs.

*EXTRA NOTE: So it seems that because of the "certain conditions" part I edited into the mods (to prevent sims from autonomously killing everyone at every free moment they had), it seems that the way I did it has the unfortunate side-effect that you cannot direct sims to do the action yourself unless the conditions are met. Those conditions being Hunger motive in the orange or lower for the werewolf/zombie/vampire ones, and Fun being in the orange or lower for the witch one.

Sorry for the annoyance, but as per my disclaimer this is the first time I've done any modding ever so I don't know how to fix it.

• AutonomousEFXRavage (both files in the .zip are required, one says TEST at the end) - Werewolves will autonomously do "Werewolf.../Ravage" when their Hunger motive is in the orange or lower. The interaction won't appear on the pie menu until they've reached this level of Hunger. They may also choose to eat normal food instead, so it's not always a guarantee as their first option.

• AutonomousLBFDeadlyNeckBite* (both files in the .zip are required, one says TEST at the end) - Vampires will autonomously do "Deadly Neck Bite" when their Hunger motive is in the orange or lower. The interaction won't appear on the pie menu until they've reached this level of Hunger. They may also choose to eat normal food instead, so it's not always a guarantee as their first option.

*NOTE: Myself & some other users of the original mod had an issue where the interaction would never appear on the pie menu at all. I had this as an ongoing issue for quite a while during playtesting of the other mods, until it randomly started appearing with no apparent changes to my Downloads/mods/game. idk why this happened or why it changed, so I just hope it actually works if you try to use it.

• AutonomousMeduzaZombieEat - Zombies will autonomously do "Zombie.../Eat" when their Hunger motive is in the orange or lower. The interaction won't appear on the pie menu until they've reached this level of Hunger. They may also choose to eat normal food instead, so it's not always a guarantee as their first option. When they're doing the interaction, it appears in the queue as "Attack." The sim being attacked will have the queued interaction "Be Attacked by Zombie."

• AutonomousPandorasimsThunderboltNOREAGENTS - Not only is it autonomous, but I also made it so no reagents are required to cast it. It's only a spell option for maximum level Evil Witches with 10 Magic Skill. If they're only 995/1000 towards Evil, it will not appear in the pie menu. Evil Witches will autonomously do "Cast Spell (Pandora).../Evil.../Thunder Bolt (Kill)" when their Fun motive is in the orange or lower. I also added that casting the spell will fully fill their Fun motive.

• AutonomousSWCrateOfThrowingAxesPart1/2 - There are 4 parts to this mod, but I only needed to edit 1 & 2 for the autonomy. All 4 parts are included though. It has the same level of Fun advertisement as reading while relaxing on a bed (so sims won't choose it over other Fun things if they have extremely low Fun), with a bonus amount of advertisement for Grouchy sims. It doesn't actually increase the Fun motive, I just needed to choose something to entice sims to use it.

DOWNLOAD: SFS | MF

11/19/24 EDIT:

I made a different version of AutonomousSWCrateOfThrowingAxesPart2 that replaces the throwing animation with the "throw wildly" animation.

I named it AutonomousSWCrateOfThrowingAxesPart2Wild, but they are otherwise both the exact same file so CHOOSE ONLY ONE. Part 1, 3, and 4 didn't need to be changed for this, so you can keep using the same files from my original download for those.

DOWNLOAD: SFS | MF

[always-just-red]

HIIIIII congrats on 200 followers!! Can I have a Zayne smut fic pleasee?? Like the reader sees him wearing scrubs for the first time and she finds him hot or (reverse) him seeing the reader in uniform for the first time? Thank you!!

Sorry it's taken me so long to get around to this! '200 followers' is like a punch in the face reminding me how long this has been in the queue haha, but thank you so much! ❤ I don't write smut I'm afraid but this is a quick lil build-up to a cliff-hanger, so if any of the talented smut writers out there wanna write a part 2? Go for it! And tag me so I can read it link it here for everyone to enjoy!! Smut writers, I summon you!!! ✨🔥✨🔥✨✨

Professionalism

Zayne x Reader ❄

Summary: You love a man in uniform! Or... well, scrubs or whatever.

Genre: Suggestive (not smut sorryyy)

Warnings/Additional tags: still PG i guess since it cuts off before anything happens? gn!reader, established relationship, inappropriate workplace behaviour (shame on you Dr Zayne!!)

| Word count: 1.7k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

You’re not quite sure when this game started, but you’re going to win.

It was unassuming at first— harmless, even innocent little acts that slipped into something else altogether, as they so often do. Almost like falling in love: it snuck up on you. Coincidences— a chance meeting in the park, an accidental brush of two hands— become suddenly calculated. You take the reins from fate; you walk in the park where he takes his lunch, and he takes his lunch in the park where you walk. How fortunate it is, that you’re always running into one another.

Yes, this has been like falling in love. And neither one of you is naïve.

It’s dark outside the hospital. The stars are contesting the scattered, infinite lights of Linkon and you watch them through a window, finding meanings and shapes. They’ve a warmer glow than the cold, white, clinical lights in here.

“Could I get you something while you wait?” Yvonne asks, peeking over the top of the reception desk. She sounds anxious, and you can make a pretty good guess as to why.

“I’m fine. Thank you, though, really,” you smile cheerfully back.

She humours you with one in return. “I’m sure Dr Zayne will be along shortly,” she titters nervously, trying to fill the quiet. “He was with his last patient of the round when I spoke to him. It shouldn’t have been too much trouble, he must be— ah! Dr Greyson!”

The man was just passing through, face buried in a clipboard, but he stops at Yvonne’s greeting.

You lift a hand. “Hey, Greyson.”

“Hey!” He squints at something he’s read. “What a coincidence! I was just saying to Zayne it’s been a while since you paid us a—” he looks up and loses his train of thought. 

“Visit?” you finish.

“Umm… yes,” he chuckles, with the kind of reluctance that tells you he can’t decide if he’s falling victim to some prank. It’s the same anxiousness you’ve inflicted on poor Yvonne. He tests the waters with a: “Rough day at work?”

You beam at him. You’re sat with your usually pristine uniform marred by swathes of half-dried blood, too dark to be human. Not one bit of it is yours. By some miracle, you managed to perfectly dodge every swipe of that Wanderer’s claws today. Rolled out the way of every flying piece of rubble. “You should see the other guy,” you say, then double back, “well, the other thing.”

Greyson gives a stiff grin, still sceptical, but you’ve almost won him over. Nonchalantly, you reach for one of two brown paper bags at your side, then hold it out to him. “Here, for you!”

He tucks his clipboard under his arm, then comes over and takes it. There’s a soft crinkle as he unfurls the top. Sneaks a glance inside. His face lights up. “Thank you,” he enthuses, his hand diving in to retrieve a large chocolate-chip cookie— one of many. “Yvonne, would you like—”

She holds up her own paper bag. Greyson chuckles again, tucking into the treat. Like Zayne, he’s prone to working through his breaks, and you know he’s so often starving. Midway through a bite, he looks up at you, frowning. “Is this a bribe?” he mumbles, cheeks so full you almost can’t make out the question.

You smile at him pleasantly.

He chews slowly— connecting the dots. “No questions asked?” he guesses with a raised eyebrow.

“No questions asked,” you nod.

It’s a fair trade. The cardiac surgeon thinks it over, his eyes narrowed at you behind his glasses. He takes another suspenseful bite of the cookie. Chews. Swallows. Then there’s the broadest grin you’ve seen yet. “Works for me! I don’t want to know.”

With a nod to Yvonne, he carries on down the corridor, shooting you a knowing wink as he passes. You adore that man. Hell, half the hospital staff feel like family. You’d lay down your life for them, but you also delight in having them wrapped around your finger, albeit, with the help of a cookie or two.

You’re so busy watching Greyson leave that you don’t notice his absence has already been filled. Not at first, anyway, but then you feel it: hazel eyes on you.

You turn to meet them. Zayne stands, one hand curled around a small stack of paperwork, the other retrieving his glasses from his face. He tucks them into his breast pocket. “What a pleasant surprise,” he says, and the enthusiasm has been carved out of his words and replaced with suspicion.

“Hey, doctor,” you tease, lifting the last of your care packages from the coffee table. “Thought I’d join you for your break before I head home. Do you mind?”

His gaze flits over you, and it isn’t the honourable inspection he’d claim it to be if you dared call him out on it. He’s trying not to look again. “Of course not.”

This would usually earn you a sheepish smile, or a kiss on the cheek, but you’re angling for something else today. Victory. Look at him: he knows.

Like you said, neither one of you is naïve.

…

All right— knife to your throat?— you have an inkling as to how this started.

It was a more honest version of this: you’d stopped by the hospital, a few months ago, to boost the morale of a certain doctor and his hard-working team with some coffee from down the road. The machine in the staff room was broken, and by multiple accounts: made shitty coffee, anyway. So you often found yourself, hot drinks in hand, trying to catch Zayne on one of his few breaks.

(You miss that old coffee machine. They’ve replaced it, now.)

One morning, you were a little too late. Zayne had been called on to assist with a surgery, and you almost clashed in the corridor— you hadn’t recognised him at first. He was out of his usual attire: dressed head to toe in his medical scrubs. Despite the rush he was in, he made time to flash you a gentle smile. Said you could wait in his office; he wouldn’t be long.

You never did give a coherent answer. There was something about seeing him like that— so professional, so in his element. Off to save someone’s life, probably. Gods, he was amazing, and he just looked so, so good. 

Zayne knew from the start, of course; he’s so perceptive when it comes to you.

You used to feel guilty— positively sinful— until you caught that look in his eye, one day after work. You’d gotten to his place, kicked your boots off while he watched from the couch, enamoured, but you hadn’t noticed. You’d been complaining about a Wanderer. You were a mess: your hair, your uniform.

You remember looking up, and there it was. A flicker of something dark in his gaze.

He was quick to disguise it. Always quick to disguise it, because he’s a gentleman.

It’s been an unspoken war of attrition since then, and you’re both determined to outlast the other. You pick and choose your battles; there are times Xavier tries to drag you to the Association’s medics for surface scrapes and bruises, but you turn him down: you have a doctor at home, thank you very much.

Zayne tends to every wound with tight lips and steady hands. You’d feel bad, but…

He sometimes turns up to your dates still wearing his lab coat. (He left his regular coat at home again, and it’s cold outside, isn’t it? A lab coat is better than nothing.)

Last week, he really pushed his luck. He was demonstrating a new experimental technique in the operating theatre, and Greyson insisted you come along to watch. It was so innovative, he said. Zayne was working something of a miracle, he said.

So here you are, fighting back.

“Well?” Zayne asks. He’s sitting back in his chair while you ‘straighten’ his tie.

You’re perched on his desk, not listening. “Hmm?”

He catches your hand gently, using it to pull you closer, so you’re forced to meet his eyes. His tone is low. “What did I just say?”

You glance down again. Chuckle: “Something about responsibility?” 

A finger lifts your chin, tilting your gaze back up. “It’s inappropriate,” Zayne says.

“What’s inappropriate?”

“You know what you’re doing.”

“No,” you mutter, and the finger on your chin can’t keep you from staring at his lips. You speak a whisper of enticement: “Tell me what I’m doing.”

Will he do it— say it— after all this time? Put it to words so that it might finally be acted upon? Break, you will him, looking into his eyes, because the last stunt he pulled pushed you over the edge, and you can’t hold on much longer. It’s starting to hurt.

All in. You are going to fall, so you’ve got nothing to lose by trying to bring him down with you.

“It’s just a uniform, Zayne,” you smile innocently. “But if it bothers you that much… I could always take it off.”

Your doctor stares at you, his expression refusing to melt. Then he lets out a sigh. In the beat of a heart he’s up out of his chair, striding away from his desk, away from you.

“Zayne?”

Now he’s not listening. He’s by the door, taking his lab coat down from a hook and threading his arms through the sleeves. He fixes the cuffs, straightens it, but that’s where the motions of habit end. His fingers don’t make it to the buttons, and of course you notice; you’re not naïve.

Zayne turns to you, and there’s no disguising that look in his eyes and its common counterpart: a rare, inevitable smile. Complete surrender. He locks the door with a click.

Ha.

You were always going to win, weren’t you?

[slut4sugu]

daydreaming about satosugu x figureskater!reader

a/n: this was in my queue for a min oops

♡ suguru always laces your skates for you and kisses your knuckles before a comp, and satoru who's singing your praises about how stunning you look in your dress. Insisting you give him a twirl before you do your routine.

♡ satoru insist on calling himself your "only manager" as he keeps track of your routine and training schedule better than you do at times, and quickly becomes a nerd about different spins and artistry.

♡ satosugu who always tosses you a white rose after every performance and practice despite Gojo's murmuring about how you should've gotten a whole bouquet.

♡ Suguru who warms your hands before every routine — holding them in his big palms and blowing warm air gently over your fingers, even if he pretends it’s just for practicality. “Cold hands ruin precision,” he mutters, but you see the small smile he hides as he rubs circles into your palms.

♡ Always attends your practices, Gojo records clips with exaggerated commentary, while Suguru quietly takes somehow perfect pictures of your most graceful moments, storing them like treasure.

♡ Suguru being the more subtle supporter—watching your every move from the stands, arms crossed, lips in a firm line… but the second you're off the ice, he’s by your side with your jacket, tucking your hair back from your face, whispering, “You were breathtaking.”

♡ Whilst Gojo literally screams your name from the stands, even if it gets him scolded. “GO GORGEOUS, DO THAT SPINNY THING.,” he yells, not caring if he’s surrounded by judges or press. Suguru just sighs beside him, but his smile gives him away.

"god she's so hot." "yes she is, but do you have to shout it next to the broadcasting cameras satoru.." "I think you know the answer to that sugu."

♡ satosugu who had a clip of them go viral on Twitter for two weeks straight. (Mainly because of how hot they were + that they both were plainly bragging about your talent)

It started with a fan-recorded video at your last regional showcase. The camera was supposed to be on you, but instead it zoomed in on the two tall, stupidly gorgeous men in the stands yelling louder than your actual coach.

Satoru was wearing a fur-lined coat that definitely wasn’t appropriate for the indoor arena, dark shades pushed up in his hair as he leaned over the railing screaming,

“THAT’S MY BABY. YOU SEE THAT SPIN? SHE’S A GODDESS. LOOK AT THAT EDGE CONTROL!”

Meanwhile, Suguru stood beside him all-black turtleneck and trench coat, silent applauding every double axel you flawlessly completed. Eyes full with adoration and love as he watched you skate.

The internet lost its mind.

“what the actual fuck.” “the way they speak about her like she’s venus incarnate 😭😭” “i don’t know if i want to be her or date her or cry.” “how tf did she find both of them? Last time I checked their always sold separately what fucking store did she go to.”“ I need someone to look at me the way the dark haired guy looks at y/n”