#i refuse to wrote it steven

[firstunmannedflyingdeskset]

Sooooo, I've been writing a DPS fanfiction for like 7 years..

I have written over 100 thousand words.

I haven't published any of it anywhere, or to be honest edited it to be in order 🙃 because I write whatever comes to me. But have it all planned.

It's happy and so sad and so found family and it is the love of my life and my solace and it helped me process so much trauma.

Hence why I'm so scared about sharing it that and worrying about people getting invested and then not finishing it for years as it's been 7 and I haven't finished it 🙃

But would people be interested in a pre to post canon story about the implications of Neil's death on all of the poets?

Its very gay, very heartfelt, with Cheeks (Charlie/Meeks) as the main pairing, it is very sad (lots of trigger warnings) and pretty period accurate like treatment of mental illness (which basically every poet have) but I've been a little (and I mean a little) more nice about gay people than the 1950s would 😅

But it also soars like I love it

Sorry, I'm rambling and not showing that I'm a good writer, I swear I am!! I'm just so passionate about it. So would people read it is basically my question.

AAAAAAHHHHHHH

[ebsdear]

4 dudes and 1 sexy blonde chic

[laniidae-passerine]

also where the HELL was Martha. I won’t pretend like this isn’t a problem with RTD, where the hell is she. it’s supposed to be an ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL, not the doctor and donna show. you can name drop Rose (also beloved) but not bring back Martha WHO WORKS AT UNIT???? okay sure

[skeltnwrites]

Summary: You are there for Steve when he has to face his fear of needles. | 1.1k

TW: needles, medical anxiety, panic attacks, bf steve

A/N: this is based on true events 🥲 also you cannot convince me he doesn't have anxiety about this after rewatching that scene where he is literally stabbed in the neck with a needle

This is the first time Steve’s ever let you drive his car. Not because he doesn’t trust you with it but because he’s happy to be your chauffeur for as long as you let him. He’s always one to refuse when you offer, to grab the keys before you even think about it. He’s a gentleman at heart, even if part of him just likes to drive. But today is different. 

Steve’s practically buzzing in the passenger seat, snapping his foot against the floor mat like a rubberband and tapping his fingers where they are crossed over his arm. And he’s silent, which is weird because he’s always been the type of nervous to not be able to shut up. 

You wrap a hand around his knee, thumb caressing denim. He doesn’t acknowledge it like he normally would, gaze trained on the windshield. His eyes are glazed over like he’s somewhere else entirely. You have to call his name twice before he hums. 

“Wanna get ice cream after?” 

You barely catch his nod.

You’re grasping for anything to get him out of his head but he refuses to talk to you regardless of topic. He’s been more obliging during arguments. 

It’s not surprising that he’s anxious today, you expected it. He’s always been hesitant about doctors and only goes if he absolutely has to. But lately, this hesitation has transformed more into refusal, regardless of reason. This appointment specifically, a checkup and routine bloodwork, has been an ongoing battle with Steve for months. After his dad had a health scare, it was recommended Steve be seen to rule out anything preemptively. You’d given Steve every opportunity to schedule it himself like he claimed he would, but weeks turned into months of procrastination so you eventually phoned the doctor's office. 

Steve stalls in the parking lot. You’d turned the car off nearly ten minutes ago but he’s had to fix his hair twice, retie his shoes, and he even pretended to search for something in the glove box. You’ve been patient, but with only two minutes left until his appointment, you circle around to his side, gently guiding him out of the car. Before he can protest or claim he forgot something, you quickly lock the door behind him.

���Name?” The middle-aged woman at the front desk asks. 

“Steve,” his voice shakes so he clears his throat.  

She pops the wad of gum she was blowing, bemused at your boyfriend. “Steve…?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees.

You swipe a hand across his back, finishing, “Harrington. Steven Harrington.” 

She turns to her computer and begins typing lazily. 

“Oh,” he nods. 

She hands him a clipboard and pen, “Fill this out.”

You lean over the arm of his chair as he writes. His hands tremble around the pen and he stops to scribble out where he wrote his birthday incorrectly. You offer to do it for him but he declines. 

“Steven?” A nurse calls from the other side of the room where she’s propped a door open with her foot. You’re thankful for the short wait so Steve didn’t torture himself for long in the lobby. 

Steve doesn’t move so you squeeze the hand you’re holding, “Ready?”

He neglects to answer you but stands. You release his hand, collecting the clipboard and your things. Steve turns around, frowning and wide-eyed. “Are you coming?” 

“Yeah, baby. Do you want me to?”

He nods as you pass him his papers.

The nurse guides you down the hall, obtaining Steve’s height and weight before reaching a small room smelling of antiseptics. She takes his blood pressure, listens to his heartbeat, and jots down notes on the clipboard throughout. Steve’s breathing shallowly and staring at the floor as she works, focused on holding it together. 

When she leaves to grab the phlebotomist, Steve lets out a staggered exhale and whispers, “I really hate this.” His eyes join yours for the first time that morning, all warm and honeyed. 

You climb onto the paper sheet beside him, sealing his palm between both of yours. “I know, babe. You’re doing so good. Almost done.” 

He cranes over until his forehead meets your neck, eyelashes tickling your skin. You lean into him, planting a kiss on the nearest strip of skin. 

There’s a knock before the door swings open. A new face in the same scrubs. This one is all smiles, however, and chatting up a storm before she even sets her things down. 

Steve sprawls up slowly, eyeing the woman’s caddy as she rambles. 

She familiarizes herself with his chart before getting to work– washing her hands, ripping open the needle packaging, brushing a disinfectant wipe across his skin. It's all happening so fast. Steve’s breath picks up and his eyes dart away to the bland wall beside him. The nurse notices but doesn’t address his fear. She instead tries to distract him, asking him about how you guys met. 

A few words will find his tongue before he’s cut off by a series of gasps. He’s trying so hard to speak but his thoughts keep spilling out in a scrambled mess and that terrifies him even more. It terrifies you too– you’ve never seen him so scared. 

Steve gets a glimpse of the long needle near his arm and flinches away from her fingers. You’re pressing his face into the slope of your neck with your free hand because he keeps trying to watch what she’s doing.

“I need you to stay still, okay, hun? I’ll be so quick, I promise,” the nurse encourages. 

But as soon as her grip on his arm tightens, locking it against the table, he’s losing it. Fat tears are dribbling down his red cheeks and falling onto his lap where you’re clutching his hand. His chest convulses with shallow, uneven breaths, his muscles tensing under the strain of trying to keep his arm still. The needle slides in, and for a moment, his whole body stiffens, but she successfully finds the vein with a single poke and starts draining the blood into a vial.

Gradually, his breath starts to even out as he realizes the worst is behind him. Your fingers weave through his hairline and soothing words are whispered into his skin. A few final hiccups escape into your tear-stained collar.

“All done,” she’s patching him up with a cotton pad and tape and even you’re surprised at how quick it was. 

Steve tilts in your embrace to see the damage, unleashing a shuddered sigh. The nurse smiles at him and he offers a wobbly one back. 

Over a bowl of his favorite ice cream, he hesitantly opens up about his fear, recounting his traumatic experience with a Russian doctor. His words are thick with the weight of the painful memory and anxiety lingers through the tremble in his voice. No matter how many questions you have or how much you wish you could take away the experience, you know the best thing you can do is listen and praise him for his bravery.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Alice Cooper - The Black Widow 1975

Welcome to My Nightmare is the debut solo studio album by American rock musician Alice Cooper, released on February 28, 1975, after the break-up of the Alice Cooper band in 1974. A concept album, its songs played in sequence form a journey through the nightmares of a child named Steven. The worldwide concert tour in 1975 was one of the most over-the-top excursions of that era.

Famed horror film star Vincent Price provided a monologue at the end of the song "Devil's Food", which bleeds over to the following track "The Black Widow". After coming up with the arachnid theme of this song, Cooper and his producer Bob Ezrin wrote a mordant introduction that they hired Price to narrate. This introduction sets the tone, as Price takes Cooper through his lair, refusing to release him from his nightmare. Price details the deadly proclivities of the black widow spider, which Cooper then sings about as he plays out his fears.

"The Black Widow" received a total of 68,3% yes votes! Previous Alice Cooper polls: #1 "Poison".

[ramp-it-up]

Any thoughts on what transpired to give reader the nickname Sugar?! 🍬💕

Well, I hinted in the stories that Sugar was really rude to them when they first met and that's why they gave her that nickname and I wrote a whole drabble about it?

(I see what you're trying to do here and it's working.)

Read the Sugar is Sweet and Sugar Cubed fics.

Sugar And the Himbos

Word Count: 690

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader; Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only, Not Beta’d. No SMUT, but Minors DNI anyway. Roommate/Co-worker au, S MUT! Angst, Grumpy Sugar. Meet Cute. "dumb" and "bimbo" used as insults. Steve and Bucky are little shits, but cute little shits.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

The first time you met James Buchanan Barnes and Steven Grant Rogers, you were already in a bad mood.

The Stark Fellows orientation had dragged on for hours, filled with stiff introductions, mind-numbing lectures, and entitled tech bros who acted like they invented fire. Your stomach was growling, your patience was shot, and if one more guy tried to mansplain quantum mechanics to you, you were going to commit a crime.

Then, a deep Brooklyn drawl muttered behind you, "They all look like they got sticks up their asses."

A snort escaped your mouth before you could stop it.

"Shit, did we make her laugh?" 

A second voice chimed in, smoother, lazier, but just as undeniably New York. 

"I think we made her laugh. That’s gotta be a good sign."

You turned, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and took in the two guys standing behind you.

The blond one grinned, blue eyes flashing with mischief, broad shoulders wrapped in a leather jacket, and looking at you like you were the most interesting thing in the room. The other one, dark hair, sharper jawline, and a smirk just shy of arrogant, appraised you with an amused glint, like he already knew exactly how to get under your skin.

And worse? They were both stupidly attractive.

Your gaze flickered between them, your pulse kicking up despite your best efforts.

Blondie had that golden-boy charm, the kind that could talk its way out of a speeding ticket and into someone’s bed without breaking a sweat. The dark one was different. There was something a little dangerous in the way he looked at you, like he already knew all your tells and was eager to play the game anyway.

"What do you two want?" you asked flatly, refusing to let them see the way your body reacted to them.

"Just tryin’ to make a friend," Blondie said, flashing that all-American smile.

You arched an eyebrow. 

"Well, try harder. The objective isn’t friendship. It’s getting that money."

You rubbed your fingers together, watching their reactions.

Bucky let out a low whistle, eyes dragging down your frame before flicking back up slowly.

You snapped your fingers at him. 

"Hey. Asshole. My eyes are up here."

His smirk only deepened.

"Unlike you two, I am not a dumb himbo, so I expect respect and consideration if we are going to be colleagues. The sooner you recognize that, the more peaceful your life will be."

They exchanged a look.

"Did she just call us dumb?" Steve asked, eyes wide with faux offense.

"Did she just call us himbos?" Bucky gasped dramatically, clutching his invisible pearls.

You rolled your eyes. 

"I can already tell you two are gonna be a problem."

"What’s your name?" Steve smirked.

You sighed and told them.

They looked at each other again.

"Nah," Bucky said, shaking his head. 

"Doesn’t fit. Too sweet for someone with a bite like that."

"We’ll call you Sugar," Steve intoned, like it was already settled.

You blinked. "Come again?"

Bucky smirked and took a step closer, just close enough for you to catch the scent of his aftershave. He looked like he had something ignorant to say, but then he just gave a slow shrug.

"It’s ironic. Like callin’ a tall guy Tiny."

"Yeah, and it suits you," Steve added, voice dropping slightly as moved closer. This time, he locked eyes with you, and for some reason, your skin felt warmer.

"All sharp edges on the outside, but I bet there’s somethin’ real ooey-gooey and sweet underneath."

His brows lifted slightly, teasing, challenging, waiting to see how you’d react.

Instead of smiling like you wanted to, you leveled them both with your best unimpressed glare. 

"You two think you’re cute, don’t you?"

Bucky grinned as Steve chuckled.

"We’ve been told something like that before, Sugar. Don’t hate us because we’re beautiful."

This time you did smile.

They were arrogant. Cocky.  And entirely too charming for their own good. This was going to be a long two years. But you could keep things professional.

Probably.

And, as it turned out, they were right.

Sugar suited you.

The nickname stuck.

----

Thank's for the ask, Darling! Hope you liked it :)

[theunsweetenedtruth]

Another Again: Erik 'Killmonger' Stevens x Black!Reader

AN: I can't believe I didn't post this when I redid my master list. This man is toxic af af, I can't believe I wrote this. My records have this as being written Dec 2019 but who knows. Please don't steal my work. Enjoy!

Warnings: Again, this man is toxic and he puts it downnn

“Ah fuck,” Eric’s voice rang out in the room as he eased his way into you. Your nails scraped against the leather couch cushions before turning into fists, your knuckles going almost white at the feeling of him in you. A smack came down on your backside and you lost a bit of your arch as he pushed deeper. You shakily lifted a hand to press against his chest. It was too much. 

“Nah,” Erik said, twisting your arm into your back and beginning to dig you out the only way he could. “You can take it.” Your eyes closed in defeat, both at him and at finding yourself in this situation again. 

It was bad enough that you and Erik had no established title, that he came and went from your life as quickly as the weather changed. But you weren’t even his only conquest, just one of an unstated amount, an amount that you weren’t allowed to ask about. There was a lot that you weren’t allowed to ask about: his job, where he lived, who he spent his free time with. Tonight when he refused to answer your question about his plans for the night—asked out of genuine curiosity, not trying to keep track of him—you got upset and asked him to leave. 

And yet. Here you were.

It started when he wouldn’t leave and instead proceeded to make himself comfortable on your couch. “I’m serious, Erik. Get out.” He turned the game up in response. Your hands were on your hips and you knew you looked crazy with your hair up in a bonnet but you were perfectly content in your aloneness until he popped up. He came disturbing your peace and he wasn’t even going to stay. You were just a pit stop to another move! You felt yourself get even more mad thinking about where he could possibly be going. Out with his boys? Another woman’s house?? You picked up a pillow from the arm chair. 

“Get. Out!” You said between hitting him. You swung up for another hit that didn’t land. Erik grabbed the pillow and yanked, sending you sprawling over the arm of the couch and into his lap. His left arm clamped down across your back while his right hand delivered a swift blow. “OW!” You regretted the short shorts you’d pulled on when you saw him standing at your door. “What the fuck is your—“ Another hard slap came you clamped your mouth shut. You’d played this game before with Erik whatever the fuck his last name was.

“I’m getting real tired of your mouth,” he said rubbing your cheeks. His left hand snatched the bonnet off your head and dug into the freshly straightened hair underneath. You gave a noise of indignation and he slapped you again for it. “You think you run shit but you don’t.” He pulled your hair while giving three quick slaps to your ass. “What’s my name since you wanna act like you forgot who I am?” 

“Daddy,” you whispered. He spanked you again and you arched into the sensation that was feeling so good to you. 

“Nah you wanna tell me to get out with your whole chest. Say that shit like you mean it.” Three more quick slaps had you yelling. 

“Daddy, oh…oh..daddeee,” you moaned while Erik pounded into you. He still held your arm for leverage and your face was planted into the cool leather, your skin on fire everywhere you touched him. Which was everywhere. He was all over you, inside you, his grunts rang in your ears, his words rattled around in your brain. 

“That’s it. That’s it. Gimme that shit, gimme that—fuck.” You were cumming before you knew what was happening, gasping at the feeling or bursting outwards and then slowly coming back into your body. You felt Erik pull out before cumming on your back and cheeks. The both of you were out of breath, panting with the game still going on in the background and the sounds of the street outside filtering in. He reached over to grab something—your bonnet— and you felt him clean his mess up. You collapsed onto your front exhausted and Erik chuckled as his phone rang. 

“Wassup man.” You rolled over onto your back to look at him. Fully dressed. No this nigga did not just fuck you all his clothes on. “Nah, I’m not busy, just at my favorites’.” His favorites? You fought the warm, fuzzy feelings that threatened to arise. That just confirmed there were others. You watched him stick his feet in his shoes. “Yeah I can be there in five minutes.” He walked out the door. 

Well damn. He didn’t even say goodbye this time. 

————————

It was a couple of nights later and Erik had invited you out with his friends. You were so excited because 1) you guys had never hung out outside of your house, and 2) you had never met any of his friends. You took this as a sign that maybe things were moving forward with Erik. 

You walked in the club on his arm feeling like the baddest bitch. You saw the eyes on both of you—especially Erik—and you preened under the attention. You could feel the heat from the glares of other women who didn’t think you were good enough to be with him. It didn’t matter what they thought; they just wanted to take your place. 

You followed Erik up the stairs to VIP, teetering in your skinny heels. Your legs still felt wobbly from your earlier session with him but he insisted that he liked the way the shoes made your legs look. A cloud of hookah and other questionable substances was thick in the section, giving everything a hazy vibe. You’d pre-gammed while you did your makeup and you fought to breathe through your nose so as not to pass out. 

“Wassup Kill!” A tall man strode over to where you were standing, still holding onto Erik. His dark skin gleamed under florescent lights as he dapped Erik up and his grin was wide, showing off perfect, straight teeth. “You made it! We got all the bitches up in here! And you know your friend is looking for you” Erik’s eyes glanced at you and his friend followed his gaze. “Oh my fault. Who’s this?”

You looked at Erik expectantly but he just introduced you by your name. No title, no information as to your place in his life. At this rate, you would’ve taken that Favorite title if it meant something. You tried not to be too upset; at least he brought you. 

Ray held his hand out and you put yours in his. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said holding your hand in both of his. “Erik talks about you all the time.”

You giggled. “Good things I hope,” looking at the man in question. He was scanning the room and tapping his foot to the bass. 

“Let me get you a drink.” Ray put his arm around your waist, steering you away from Erik, towards the table where there were bottles strewn about. You looked over your shoulder for Erik but lost sight of him amongst all the people who were in the section. You sighed inwardly. If this was how the night was gonna be, then you could’ve just stayed at home. 

Two and a half hours in, you wish you would’ve just stayed in. Erik spent the entire night ignoring you. He sat on top of a different couch, a gaggle of women sitting on the seats below, while you were still situated in the corner armchair Ray had left you in earlier. He rapped along with the lyrics, his golds glinting in the spinning lights, sometimes standing and jigging to a chorus of “aye”. He kept a drink in his hand and took the offered blunts, blowing smoke in the air. But he spent a majority of the night flirting. With the bottle girls, with the women crowded around him and his crew. There was one girl in particular who seemed extremely comfortable around him, gorgeous and holding a confidence you always seemed to lose around Erik. When she danced with her girlfriends, a drink in her hand, she kept her eyes on Erik, performing sexy moves that belonged more in a strip club than the current establishment.  Your blood boiled at Erik’s blatant appreciation of her and insecurity flared. This must be the girl who Erik went to see when he left you and, based on her comfort with all his friends, the one who he liked to bring out and show off. You poured another drink  in your corner. You didn’t want to be that girl who made a scene but it was getting more difficult to watch and you could feel yourself becoming drunk. 

When the girl sat down after the song changed, she settled herself between Erik’s knees. Your heart sank as you watched him settle his hand loosely around her neck. She tilted her head back in his lap and—

No this nigga did not just kiss her in front of everyone as if he didn’t walk in with you. Before you could realize, you’d crossed the room and threw your drink on the both of them. Everyone in the section “ooh’d” and looked at you crazy. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” The girl screeched. She was completely soaked and a part of you felt guilty. She wasn’t the person who owed you anything. You glanced at Erik. His eyes were filled with storm clouds, ready to unleash his fury. All that did was cement your anger. 

“How fucking dare you?! You brought me here but you over here kissing another bitch?” 

“Bitch who the fuck are you calling a bitch?” the girl retorted. 

“I’m not talking to you so stay in your lane before I have to put you there!” She stood up as if she was gonna do something and you started kicking off your shoes ready to fight this bitch and all her friends if need be. 

Erik stood up in the couch and hopped down, stepping in front of her and gripping your arm up. “Get the fuck off of me you hoe ass nigga!” He dragged you out the section, waving off security. His hold was tight and you knew you would have a bruise. You had no choice but to let him pull you out. “How my pussy taste you stupid, ashy knuckled bitch?!” you yelled over your shoulder. 

Erik burst through the front doors and slammed you against the brick wall. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growled out. You stopped short at the look on his face. You’d seen him upset with you but this was straight anger. “I bring you around my friends and you act a complete ass, throwing drinks, and kicking your shoes off ready to fight my friends.” 

“Your friends?? You kiss your friends like that?!” 

Erik chucked and rubbed his jaw. “Look. You knew what this was. Let’s stop pretending this is more than what it is.” Tears began to well in your eyes and he reached for your hands that hung limply by your sides. “I like you. I like the time we spend together. Why try to switch things up? I think we were good how we were.” 

“So why did you bring me here?” There was a whine in your voice you hated but the heaviness in your breastbone wouldn’t stop you from asking. 

He shrugged. “I thought you could handle it.” As if you were a child. He used light fingers to brush away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen. “Maybe we should do this another time.” You nodded looking at your bare feet, with nothing else to do. “Let me call you an Uber.” 

Your eyes snapped up to his. “You’re not going to take me home?” 

“No? It’s my boy’s birthday. I’m not going to leave because you got emotional over something that wasn’t a big deal.” You looked at him and felt dead inside. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. 

But you didn’t say anything. When the Uber showed up a few minutes later, you let Erik kiss you before tucking you into the backseat. You watch the streetlights go by, confused once again how you found yourself in this situation. 

————————

And yet, here you were again. This time you were in an Uber on the way to Erik’s place. It was the first time he’d invited you over and after two weeks of radio silence, you were just happy to hear from him. He texted you wanting to apologize for the situation at the club, a move that shocked you. It was another first, Erik apologizing and you were curious as to his plans, as well as excited to finally see his place. 

You pulled up to an industrial styled building with large windows . After thanking the driver and exiting the vehicle, you looked at your phone to double check that you had his apartment number. Walking up to the box, you rang for his place and a click and buzz let you in the building. The lobby screamed an opulence that you had only ever seen on TV and not for the first time, you wondered what Erik did for a living. Riding the elevator to the top floor, you checked yourself in the mirrors inside. You twirled a few loose curls around your finger to ensure they stayed in place and smoothed down your dress. You would have to do. 

When the doors opened, it was directly into his apartment, where you could smell savory scents that promised a good meal. Erik stuck his head around the corner. 

“Hey baby,” he greeted you, coming at you with a kiss, but you turned your head quickly so he would catch your cheek. You looked him up and down. He was dressed in gray joggers and a white t-shirt stretched across his chest. A kitchen towel was slug across one shoulder. Did he make the food you were smelling? 

“Did you cook or something?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I feel bad about how we left things last time and I wanted to make it up to you.” He grabbed your hand and led you around the corner to the kitchen. It was a chef’s wet dream and there were several pots on the stove with low fires underneath. “I wanted to show my appreciation for you and show you how much I care.” You felt your heart melting without your permission. You leaned up on tip toes to press a kiss to his lips that Erik deepened with a hand to the back of your neck. You smiled when you broke off the kiss, rubbing a hand down his cheek and over the hair there. 

“Baby sit here,” he led you to a dining room table, “and I’ll get the wine and start serving dinner.” When you sat, he pressed another kiss to your lips before moving to the fridge and pulling out glasses. You felt content; this night could be the start of a new side to Erik. 

After a delicious dinner of rice and some kind of stew with meat, Erik gave you a tour of his home. You marveled at all the African statues and paintings, as well as his knowledge about all of them. You had no idea that he was so well traveled. 

You both paused in front of a closed door. “This is my bedroom” he said as he pushed the door open. You walked passed him, admiring the softness of the carpet, the fireplace in the sitting area, and the giant bed that dominated the space. You felt Erik come up behind you and move your curls to the side. “What do you think?” he asked. He pressed a kiss to the base of your neck and you shivered. It wasn’t you intention to sleep with him when you came over. But you did wear a purple matching set in case that was the direction the night took. 

When he pressed you into the mattress, you wrapped your arms around him and closed your eyes. You prayed that things would be different this time, that Erik would realize that your love for him was beyond even what you could control, that he owned you. You hoped that with every stroke he would give himself back to you. 

When you woke up, you could feel that Erik wasn’t in the bed with you. You waited a few minutes, thinking he went to pee. You rolled onto your back spreading your arms out and making bed angels. This was officially the nicest bed you’d ever slept in and you wondered if you could convince Erik for you to spend more time in his place than yours. But when he didn’t return after a few minutes, you sat up and rose from the bed. Grabbing his shirt off the floor, you pulled it over your head and exited the room. 

“…nah it was good as usual….” You overheard Erik on the phone and peeked around the corner. You watched him blow smoke in the air, his sweatpants low on his hips while he relaxed in the armchair. "Hell no I ain't bringing her around no more! She don’t know how to act.”  Your chest hurt; you knew he was talking about you. “I’m just tryna get shorty back under me…yeah that Dana situation had her a lil’ bent but we good now…..nah….I’m just tryna get shit back to the way it was before all that shit happened…see now, I don’t really see her as wifey material…well then shit. Not my wifey.” He laughed. “…nah nah. She sleep.”

You felt as if he had punched you in the chest and your vision became cloudy. There was no moving forward with Erik. Only remaining stagnant, caught up in a loop that felt as if there was progression towards a goal but there was only the cycle of the situation, just another again with him that had no ending. 

You went back the bedroom, gathering and pulling on your clothes, the speed of your movements coinciding with the racing of your heart. I can’t believe I fell for this shit, you berated yourself. You were worth so much more than being manipulated by this asshole. You grabbed your phone and jacket before exited the bedroom and running straight into the asshole at the root of your frustration. 

“Woah, baby where you off to?” He grasped at your shoulders but you shrugged him off. 

“Fuck you,” you seethed. “I’m not your gotdamn baby. I’m not wifey material remember? I don’t know how to act.” Erik’s face slipped into a mask of indifference. 

“So you listening on my phone calls now?”

You were baffled at the audacity of this nigga. You stepped around him, heading towards the door. “Fuck you Erik. Fuck you.” You slammed the door behind you. 

————————

A few months later and you were in a better place then you were during your time with Erik. Two weeks after you left his place, you were still a wreck, crying on and off during the day and night. But the Vice President of your department of came to you with a job offer you couldn’t refuse. You would be making fifteen thousand dollars more per year, there was more autonomy and you spent more of your time working from home. The added responsibilities kept you so busy, you barely had time to think, much less agonize over what and who Erik could possibly be doing. 

With the new job came a new exercise regimen, including yoga, kickboxing, and even pole and arial classes. You were slowly regaining your confidence and and the male species definitely noticed, if the amount of men who approached you was any indication. 

You were out with your girlfriends to celebrate your new found accomplishments when you finally saw him again. The walls of the restaurant seemed to close in on you, the chatter from your friends and other patrons faded away, and your body froze as tunnel vision kept your focus on Erik. 

He looked good. But that was pretty standard for Erik. His locs were braided back from his face and his black button down strained against his muscles. He had a smirk on his face as he’d heard something amusing but not quite worth his laughter and you looked to his companion. She was pretty; at least you had that in common. Actually, you could say that you had a lot of similarities with his new flavor. You were built similarly and shared similar facial features.

Did he do it on purpose? you wondered. You felt sorry for this woman who you were sure was just a poor replacement for originality. 

All of a sudden, cognac eyes met your own and you were held in place. There was an emotion in them that you couldn’t place—you didn’t know Erik as much as you’d liked to think—and you felt his eyes sweep over your form like a loving caress and you shivered. When your eyes met again, you arched an eyebrow. He smirked. 

It took your friends paying the bill to get you out of your staring contest. Rather than give Erik the satisfaction of knowing he’d—once again—gotten you hot under the collar, you ignored him, standing with your purse and following your friends out the restaurant. His eyes felt warm on your back and if you put an extra oomph in your walk that was no one’s business. 

Later that night, you were pulled away from Grey’s Anatomy by a knock on your front door. Pausing the DVR, you went to the door and looked in the peephole. Erik stood there a brown paper bag under his arm, his smirk from earlier seemingly glued on his face. Confused, you opened the door. He said nothing, just pulled a bottle of Hennessy out of the bag. It was your drink and you couldn’t help but remember all the nights that started just like this one and ended with you limp and satiated. 

You pursed your lips but gestured for him to come in. He swaggered confidently across the threshold and you closed the door behind him, restarting the cycle of agains all over again. 

[garagepaperback]

the eternally sweet @sitp-recs tagged me in her end of year post, and i thought i'd make a strange version of my own <3

i tried writing for the first time this past january and basically didn't breathe or stop until a little over a week ago. i hit my arbitrary and ill-advised goal of 300k; it's been a real lovely, enormously transformative pursuit and i hope to never do it (to this rampant full-throttle extent) again ::)

honestly, i was expecting to make some dulcet little phrases that i could roll myself around in, but i wasn't expecting to meet so many wonderful folks or to have found a few truly dear friends. even less, to have them sculpt the wet mud of my brain. i feel lucky and thrilled to know and be known - by pals, by anyone who finds my work, or by anyone's work that i'm lucky enough to be found by.

because i'm a wildly nostalgic person and avid romanticizer, i made you a mixtape. here's every forever-loop of song that i played while writing this year:

this heaven of mud everyone i know, grizzly bear djohariah + untitled, sufjan stevens

coyote ugly e is for estranged, owen pallett

ready, able make me an offer i cannot refuse, sufjan stevens

isn't a kingdom for scott kelly, returned to earth + silver ladders, mary lattimore lay all your love on me, caroline shaw (a gift sent from @yiiiiiiiikes25) masterpiece (solo), big thief

a barely lit path when i die + family curse, beirut a barely lit path, oneohtrixpointnever :,) impersonator, majical clouds a lungful of air by the fist ne me quitte pas, nina simone objection everywhere we go, bootleg of the sufjan stevens ballet javelin (to have and to hold) string quartets 1 - 4, phillip glass + carducci string quartet

soft doomed, moses sumney

i'm tagging @eleadore, @yiiiiiiiikes25, @flightspathfic, @citrusses, @sweet-s0rr0w, @tackytigerfic, @faiell, @kamaela, @hollyhawthorn, @thehoneybeet, @mintawasalreadytaken + everyone who comes across this. i wanna know what you listened to a lot, or even what you read, watched, felt shifted by in anyway while you wrote or drew or sat very still and were still undeniably perfect.

okay thanks love you too much bye

[throwupgirl]

if steven moffat wrote supernatural he would not only make dean get with several new women over the course of the season to affirm that dean is straight but he would bring lisa braeden back just to make her deans endgame love interest and canon soulmate (and make vague comments about castiel not being able to experience love). if ryan murphy wrote supernatural he would continue baiting with dean and cas in insane ways but refuse to ever make them canon and at most would have unrequited gay cas and tragically straight dean. if david benioff and db weiss were handed supernatural they would kill dean off without even considering his sexuality and make cas a sad vaguely but never canon gay boy about it (he would later also die). if joss whedon was handed supernatural he would say turn up the misogyny i cant hear the misogyny and would try to not only reignite megstiel but also pair dean with jo. if castiel is going to be gay joss whedon will turn him evil before killing him off. if roberto aguirre sacasa acquired supernatural we would not only get destiel kiss destiel wedding and destiel gaysex but also them in the throes of near-divorce and maybe trying to kill each other during a custody battle before settling down fully into a family with jack and claire. but we WOULD have to be ready for him inexplicably making john winchester gay as well

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Steven Beschloss at America, America:

I love my country. I believe in democracy and treasure fundamental values such as justice, equality, diversity, decency and truth. That’s why—as Trump and his fascist regime aggressively pursue the dismantling of American institutions and the destruction of traditional alliances to align with dictators and other authoritarians—I cheer for his opponents. These assaults have caused me to reflect on the meaning of patriotism. I fully realized my emotional and intellectual shift when I heard Canadian hockey fans boo last week during the singing of our national anthem in Montreal. Rather than laugh it off or feel aggrieved, I understood how upset many Canadians are about Trump threatening to turn their country into the 51st American state. Honestly, I was uplifted by the booing because it told me that there are plenty of people there who refuse to humor Trump and his imperial ambitions. I was already aware of the role that our democratic allies can play in pushing back against the hostile interventions of this Trump regime. That was on full display during the Munich Security Conference when Vice President and Trump henchman JD Vance hypocritically attacked Germans for their lack of free speech and democratic commitments by refusing to embrace their far-right, neo-Nazi Alternative for Germany party.

But in spite of Vance’s arrogance—his remarks came just nine days before Germany’s election—I was buoyed by the pushback of Germany’s president Olaf Schulz and Defense Minister Boris Pistorius. Schulz posted on X to “emphatically reject” Vance’s remarks, underlining his nation’s dark history and lessons learned. “We reject any idea working together with the extreme right and it’s not on others to give us advices to do so,” he firmly retorted. And, “Out of the experiences of Nazism, the democratic parties in Germany have a joint consensus—that is the firewall against extreme right-wing parties.” Added Pistorius: “Democracy must be able to defend itself against the extremists who want to destroy it.” Yes, yes and yes again. We are clearly going to experience more support for human values from Germany’s top leadership than from America’s current leaders who could not care less that their country has long served as a global beacon of democracy. [...] Of course, there are plenty of committed opponents here. On Wednesday, Illinois Gov. JB Pritzker gave his State of the State address, in which he provided a powerful voice of opposition. “There are people—some in my own Party—who think that if you just give Donald Trump everything he wants, he’ll make an exception and spare you some of the harm.” The governor then described an instance during the pandemic when he “swallowed his pride” and tried to work with Trump to get his state the equipment it needed. “We made a deal. And it turns out his promises were as broken as the BIPAP machines he sent us instead of ventilators,” Pritzker recounted. “Going along to get along does not work. Just ask the Trump-fearing red state Governors who are dealing with the same cuts that we are. I won’t be fooled twice.” Pritzker talked about the time back in 1978 when Nazis planned to march through Skokie, Illinois. Permit me to share his reflection on that threat in a town that had “one of the largest populations of Holocaust survivors anywhere in the world.” 

Steven Beschloss wrote in his America, America Substack column that rooting against the dark and twisted vision of Trump’s America is inspiring.

[comrade-emma]

Luz Noceda: Loving Yourself

“All I really wanted was to be understood”.

I’ve decided to write a final essay on my view of this character. I initially identified with her a lot, then joined TOH critical community and began to dislike her, viewing her as a selfish person obsessed with treating everything as akin to her fantasy stories but now I’ve kind of moderated. I think some of her writing could have been better but also don’t think she’s a bad person, Mary Sue or a spoiled brat. In retrospective, I feel like I was parroting a lot of the critical community’s opinions on her character and Lumity, which I wrote an essay on too, but now I have a greater appreciation of her and she still means a lot to me, even if I have a more critical perspective than I did when I was a fan.

To address some of the criticism, I do think the pilot’s version of the story would have kept her more sympathetic than bringing snakes, spiders and fireworks to school which can severely harm people and get someone expelled or arrested. It also does a better job at establishing her as a bullied outcast which the show doesn’t really do until season 3. The show does have some issues with “show don’t tell” and it did seem like the show dropped an arc about Luz becoming more responsible in favor of a wish fulfillment story.

All that said, Luz was still an important character to me. In many ways I am like her, getting too caught up in my fantasy world and being kind of cringe. She means a lot to me because she’ll wear that cat hoodie and gush about her interests with little shame, something I wish I could do. The idea that she’s just a spoiled brat who wants to live out a fantasy is something I used to agree with but it’s something I can relate to wanting myself. Wishing I could be myself and be open about it as well as not feeling like talking about my interests is wrong. Going to a very conservative Christian school from 6-11th grade was a big reason why I stopped talking much about dinosaurs or paleontology for example. I’m still very hesitant to share my interests because I find it easier keeping them to myself.

Being a closeted transfem, I relate to a lot of her struggles. Feeling like you can’t say anything or admit what you want because even if they didn’t intend to, the adults in your life treated your feelings as wrong or shameful. Seeing conservatives ranting about the show encouraging loving yourself or “indulging” your feelings kind of caused me to stop focusing on being critical of the show and looking down on it. People who view loving yourself as wrong because “you are a dirty sinner but Jesus loves you” and acting on emotions like gender dysphoria or queerness as sinful attacking the show for encouraging those things gave me a newfound appreciation of it.

I became critical of the show’s message about self love because of another series that was important to me at a different time, Neon Genesis Evangelion. I felt that TOH’s message encouraged infantilization and refusal to admit you were wrong. Now I think both radically different interpretations of loving yourself are important. Shinji needed to learn that only doing things to get validation was wrong and chose to stop wallowing in self pity. Luz needed acceptance of her neurodivergence and her queerness in a world that treated those aspects of her as wrong or immoral. Luz’s speech about wanting to be understood is one thing that keeps me going as does Shinji’s and Hodaka’s similar monologue from the film Weathering With You.

Do I think the show was perfect? No, it definitely has some writing issues and the way it seemed to trade development for wish fulfillment is somewhat disappointing, hence why I think Little Witch Academia did it better with Akko. But I don’t think it’s bad and appreciate it for what it is. I find Luz easier to relate to than Steven Universe, which is a whole essay itself, because she feels more realistic than Steven who is too cheesy for me. Same with Shinji or Ben from Ben 10. She’s a product of the era that came after Trump’s first term when hate movements were on the rise and the idea of talking a fascist into changing by befriending them had aged poorly. I don’t think she’s a perfect example of character writing and needed some ironing out but she was what I needed and what many others did too.

[djpepitaqueenforpresident]

𐦍༘⋆ Mnemonics - B.Barnes

‘The air could not be filled with Winters vocals, but his ears worked better than fine, and instead of hearing someone he could not remember the name of beg in his skull, he listened to you.’

Summary: In which Bucky walks the path of regaining his memories, and he has to figure out wether you are real or just an apparition of hope his own mind conjured up to help him push through the hard ways of Winter.

Warnings: Ptsd, blood, violence, guns, swearing, murder, sad Bucky

A/N: first time posting my writing in tumblr kinda nervous.

English is not my first language!:)

This’ll be a short fic because I honestly started this without even really thinking every thing through. I only really wrote it for real to satisfy my own melancholia. As its stated in the summary, this story mainly revolves around the time Bucky was still the Winter Soldier and how he found a sliver of peace inside your presence.

Teehee

“…when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her. There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, “Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!” (when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural) ; but when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curioity, she ran across the field after it, and was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.

“In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again…”

Prologue

As far as he could remember, the Winter Soldier had always been alone.

Lonely, with the blood covered fists of pain and hunger to keep him company.

Bucky still heard the screams - his screams - in the back of his mind, a shadow always looming over his shoulder, reminding him of the coldness of his past. His mind was a never ending rabbit hole, filled with trinkets of James Barnes, having no idea how they got in there, and every twist and turn holding unreachable memories.

The only way he could get a glimpse of those memorabilia was in his sleep. But he had no choice in directing his unconscious brain, and was more often than not left screaming himself awake out of yet another murder. Murder done at his hands.

Therapy helped only to a small extend, purposefully opening only one door of choice for Raynor to peek through, while keeping all the other, more hidden and more gruesome doors closed.

He was stubborn like that.

Steven had tried on multiple occasions for him to open up, but was always left frustratedly disappointed with his lack of results. It was something both men needed to get used to, for Bucky had always been the more pliable one out of the two in the past.

He had been without Steve longer than with, and it was like his entire being failed to comprehend the return of his childhood brother. They needed to reread each other, get to know the other through all the abuse and trauma. Like a dialect, a whole new vocabulary despite being the same language.

Looking at Steve now brought him mixed emotions. It was still, without doubt Steve, the blond kid who could not for the life of him stay out of trouble. Who had a mouth more persistent than his survival instinct and who refused to ask for help, always.

But Bucky didn’t need to crouch down to be on eye level with the blond, and his friend didn’t swim in the clothes he borrowed from Bucky. He shared his caramal candies with other people and now had the capability to fight back and actually keep standing.

It was Steve, yes, but was it his Steve?

James Barnes wasn’t even him anymore, so how could the blond still be?

Bucky used to be made from his family, Steven included, blood or no blood. It were his mother’s hands that shaped his, the scent of apple pie and carrot cake apparent in the walls of his home even after her death. It was Rebecca that molded his heart, taught him how to give it and use it. He had his father’s eyes, the man’s positive attitude shown in the permanent crow’s feet along his eyes, a frame of mind Bucky always made sure to bring along with him.

Every person who ever shaped a part of James Buchanan Barnes is now gone. Instead, the pieces were adopted by other hands, folding him so that only the worst parts remained, creating Winter. Bucky wanted nothing more than to shatter those pieces, make room for yet another pair of hands, ones that make him right again. Ones that hold his blood tainted soul but tell him that red is their favorite color.

But, how does one get rid of themselves?

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

reader helping conrad with his panic attack?

I already wrote Conrad having a panic attack so I tried making this one different

Warnings: panic attack, mention of death/grief

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

‘’Have you seen Conrad anywhere?’’ you asked Mr. Fisher. 

You knew the funeral was going to be hard for Conrad. Every day since Susannah’s passing had been hard for him — and Jeremiah —, but when you saw him playing guitar with teary eyes, you promised yourself to not leave his side today. 

Unfortunately, your plan got derailed when Conrad rode home with his father and brother.

Adam nodded, the toll of the past few days on his face. ‘’Yeah, I think I saw him going to the rec room.’’

You thanked him, then took the stairs. 

As you reached the rec room, the door creaked softly under your touch, revealing a scene that tugged at your heartstring. Conrad was sitting on the small couch with his hand over his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

The room felt stifling, suffused with the weight of his distress.

‘’Conrad,’’ you breathed, soft enough for him to hear. 

His gaze shifted toward the door, a few tears streaming down his face. He was trying to breathe, but the air was not going through his throat, stopping him from taking full breaths. ‘’I can’t— I can’t breathe.’’ 

You rushed over to him and sat on the couch. ‘’You’re having a panic attack, Con,’’ you told him, trying to be reassuring. ‘’You’re gonna be okay. Look at me please, just take a deep breath in.’’ You took a deep breath too, doing it at the same time as him to coach him. ‘’In. Out.’’ Your voice was shaky, but gentle, trying to not let your own worry transpire. 

After a moment, Conrad’s breathing became better and he finally calmed down. His emotional state was fragile, though. The smallest thing could roll him back into a panic attack. 

You smoothed the skirt of your black dress and pulled at his shoulder. ‘’Come here. Lay down.’’

Surprisingly, he didn’t protest. Conrad laid down with his head on your lap like a child and let you card your fingers through his hair. 

‘’I’m sorry,’’ Conrad whispered, his sad blue eyes empty as he looked ahead at nothing. ‘’On the drive home with my dad and Jere, I started having this tight feeling in my chest. I ignored it, but it didn't go away. People started to fill the house rapidly, so I went to rec room to lay down and I just...crumbled.’’

You shook your head, refusing his apologies. ‘’It’s okay—’’ 

‘’No, it’s not.’’ A tear rolled down his cheek and fell on your leg. ‘’She’s gone. She…’’ A shackle of sobs struck him, his usual composure shattering from the weight of his grief. ‘’I can’t breathe without her.’’

Your heart broke again, the pain from losing a parent unimaginable. 

You continued to stroke Conrad's hair gently, letting him release his emotions without judgment or pressure. You wanted to say something, but you knew that no words could fully heal the pain he was experiencing. But you were determined to be there for him, to offer whatever comfort and support you could.

At some point, you heard someone come in — either Belly or Steven —, but they didn’t say anything. They just closed the door and left, giving you privacy.

—

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @marzipaanz  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3  @Heartsforneteyamsully  @aerangi  @hallecarey1  @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup

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[deusvervewrites]

Regarding "The Villain must Die"

That made me think about the "Talk No Jutsu" Meme and how many people still make fun of Steven Universe and Naruto because the respective MCs don't just mow down every opponent they meet.

And like, sure, SU was intended for younger audiences and acceptance and friendship is very much the core message so its kind of expected, but that's also why I think its even more impressive how consistent Naruto nails this part:

Naruto is a classic Shounen, an absolute mess of retcons, plotholes, and unreliable narrators that don't even know that they are unreliable, its a brutal and bloody battle-manga that's ostensibly about Ninjas but actually wants to be about Kaiju, and YET!

Naruto talking with his opponents and seeing them as humans and making them his allies is a unshakeable constant that runs through the entire series. No matter how much worse or powerful the villain, no matter what they might have, done, Naruto refuses to see them as less than human, he will ALWAYS try to reach out to them.

This gets to the point where one of the final villains actively mocks him for this, makes fun of how many of the previous villains were actually manipulated by him, how he has seen Naruto do this dozens of times so it wont work on him, and guess what?

Naruto does it anyway.

And it fucking works.

They still kill (or seal/lock away forever) the occasional villain (though often in battles in which Naruto himself is absent), but for how chaotic and messy this story sometimes got, it is really impressive that they kept this part up and did it so well.

That manga is an absolute mess, but god damn, do I ever love it for it!

One of the essays I was thinking of when I wrote that was based around the Diamonds from SU and how SU takes the stance that killing is wrong and then pushes it to the logical conclusion and says, "Yes, even now."

[br1ghtestlight]

some of the contestants stereotypes are crazy though cuz theyre issues that have been hinted at (or not even implied at all) laid bare for all to see?? like "inconsistent" "thinks he's worthless" "forgets what she knows" Wtf is your problem cobs. im gonna kill you

personally i feel like since cobs was the one who killed the final group of contestants at hotel oj and none of the previous kills had anything written on them (by toilet). i think cobs wrote on themself himself as his interpretation of their flaws/why they're "broken" vs what mephone necessarily intended when he originally created them. which is also why they're all so negative. i dont think any of them are inaccurate but i don't know if mephone intended all that when creating them (especially bomb being "false alarm" which only makes sense AFTER you see his performance in season one and not when creating him)

kinda similar to the scene in the steven universe finale when white diamond is listing all of the gems "flaws" where like. she's not WRONG but its obviously done in such a spiteful way while refusing to acknowledge any of the good in pink's creations

⬆️ this is basically cobs w/ the contestants

[ivystoryweaver]

Based on this request from @i-still-dont-like-your-face "I'd be interested in what you'd come up with for 'Making new traditions' for the non-holiday prompt list for any of the moon boys"

^ I wrote 2 answers for this ask. Read the fluffy drabble.

Summary: You and Jake don't celebrate the holidays in his car

Pairing: Jake Lockley x gn!reader

Word Count: 805

Content: nsfw, language, smoking, mentions of holidays but reader and Jake don't celebrate (and prefer it that way), oral- m. rec, creampie, car sex/semi-public sex implied

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Years had passed since Jake had even thought about a holiday as anything other than a night to drive people around shit faced from holiday parties. Christmas Eve was no big deal to him and he couldn't remember the last time Steven or Marc celebrated Hanukkah. December was just another month and that was fine by him.

He met you at a Halloween party. He wasn't celebrating that one either - he just wanted to make some good money.

Then he saw you.

You shared his cigarette and fucked him in his back seat. Nothing completely new. Honestly, he never planned to see you again but apparently, you ran in the same shady circles and kept the same ghastly hours.

By late November, you frequented his back seat (and his front seat, and the hood of his car). And you had somehow become the only one.

Jake asked if you had Thanksgiving plans. You told him he could stuff you full.

December rolled around and, honestly, Jake dreaded the thought of being dragged to a holiday gathering of any kind, especially one involving family.

He was a lone wolf.

Except he'd become a bit attached to you.

One night, he was driving you around, when the radio trolled an ancient Yule tide carol.

You groaned and asked to turn the station. Jake smirked to himself, obliging you, secretly pleased that you asked and didn't turn it yourself.

But there was one thing he had to know. "Have any holiday plans?"

"Like you fucking care," you chuckled, dragging your fingers up his inner thigh temptingly.

"I care if it involves me."

"Why would it?" You shrugged him off, boldly cupping his crotch.

He smirked.

"You do any of that shit? Christmas trees, menorahs? Or anything?" His breath hitched as attempted to ignore the trace of your fingertips raking back and forth.

"Or nothing," you flatly returned, rubbing him insistently, feeling him grow hard beneath your palm - the thick weight of him straining against his slacks.

"Don't see the point. December's just a month."

Silence engulfed the cool leather interior of Jake's car as you drove by a huge display of holiday lights.

You didn't even notice them as you popped the button of his trousers and dragged the zipper down.

"Fuck," he groaned as you pushed your fingertips under layers of fabric to find him hard and leaking for you.

Despite that fact that Jake was driving in a populated, holiday-lit area, you unbuckled your seatbelt and leaned over to swirl your tongue over his tip.

"Jesus...I'm driving," he hissed, the reflexive jerk of his hips 'accidentally' pushing his cock up into your waiting mouth.

You sucked hard, holding him inside your hot cavern, giggling around his length as you felt the car swerve and come to a stop.

"Fucking hell," he moaned as you stubbornly wrapped your hand around his base and swallowed his tip, bobbing your head up and down so intensely that Jake's gloved hand slapped the window.

"Mierda," he grunted, his other hand gripping the nape of your neck to shove you down.

You gagged so hard you couldn't think straight, but Jake was finishing what you started, his thick hips bucking up into your mouth deliciously.

You had planned to tease him a little but his gloved grip held you in place. You obliged him, refusing to tap his leg for a breather, loving to feel him lose control.

And he did, right down your throat. You swallowed every hot drop greedily, pulling off his softening member with a pop.

"Well, that was fast," you teased, licking your lips clean from the mess dribbling down them.

"Almost crashed the fuckin' car," he grumbled, stuffing himself back in his pants. Glancing around, he noticed a family of four strolling by, admiring the holiday displays around them.

"Guess we could have picked a better spot," you admitted, noticing how nothing was hidden with lights this bright.

Jake's eyes found yours and he winked.

"We can give 'em a show."

You found yourself laughing, which wasn't something you really ever did in December.

"I think we should," you agreed, climbing across his lap without invitation, and sealing your mouth to his.

Your body melded with his under the bright lights, and you went right on making out until eventually Jake was ready to take you right there in the front seat, not stopping until you both slumped against the seat, exhausted.

"We should do this every December," he joked a while later, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Make it a tradition."

You curled up on his chest, spent and sated.

"You still want me around next December?" You questioned, your voice sounding smaller and more hopeful than you intended.

He cupped your face and turned your gaze up to his. "Yeah. I think I do."

Non-Holiday Prompts - check out this list, OP did a great job with it

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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