#SEND ME MORE PROMPTS PLSSSSS

[alienoresimagines]

Omg “classics” for clegan plsssss 🥺

classics - muse a tends to muse b’s wounds with more care than necessary

So. This fic may have gotten out of a hand and may or may not be 14.5k, 7k of which are them making out and smutting 😅 So Nonnie, if you'd like a redo of the prompt with really 100% h/c and fluff, send me another ask and I'll keep it general audience, I promise 🥹❤️ Also a huge shoutout to @soliloquy-dawn for single handedly beating the slump out of me for this fic, I was stuck on 4k for three weeks and then wrote 10k in one, for which I also have to thanks all my fellow sprinters on Discord🥹🫶🏻 And, a happy birthday to @amiserableseriesofevents !!! Thank you for all the wounderful fics you constantly post, the countless sprints you do with me, I wish you all the good in the world 💕 Consider this my humble gift for an amazing person celebrating another year of life ❤️ This is my first time writing an actual smut so I'm really nervous about this one lmao but I hope you'll like it 👉🏻👈🏻🥹

Tell Me You're Going To Be Alright (I Don't Want The World To Turn Without You) | Buck x Bucky

Summary : Perhaps life really only started when he opened the door to his room in flight school and shook hands with Gale Cleven. Perhaps the twenty-four years before that were only to learn how his legs and arms worked to get him to this moment, where he learned how his heart did. Or After the Regensburg Mission, John cannot forget just how close he came to losing Gale forever. He copes how he can, tending to Gale's wounds, and holding him when the adrenaline leaves him and Gale can't keep up the officer façade anymore. He lets Gale take care of the cuts that adorned his face even though John had forgotten them. And then, when all the wounds have been treated, desperation to feel just how alive the other still is settles in, like a wildfire of urgency that not even the presence of their men a few feet away can soothe.

Snippet :

“You did so good, darlin’,” his lips attach themselves to Gale’s temple as another one of those broken noises pierces through his soul. “Brought your boys to safety the best way you could.” He thinks of the mangled body of a radioman and how easily it could’ve been Gale. Tightens his hold until there’s no telling where one of them begins and where the other ends. 

“You did so, so good, Gale.” He keeps on whispering in Gale’s ear, rubbing soothing circles on his back, and pressing kisses anywhere he can reach until Gale isn’t shaking as much anymore, tremors receding and replaced by a heavy blanket of exhaustion that sends him further into John’s chest. John doesn’t budge, stays rooted to his spot like the old oak tree in his mother’s garden, sheltering the house from rain and storms. 

Minutes later, Gale shifts and clears his throat, the sound dulled by John's shirt before he starts to pull away. John’s heart screams and thrashes with wanting to bring him closer once again, but he knows better than to force Gale to lose control, knows the other is probably ashamed that he felt the need to be comforted. The anger simmering in his blood at that is cold and familiar enough for John to ignore it, preferring instead to stroke his thumb back and forth over Gale's cheekbone. A light smile pulls at his lips when Gale leans into the touch, a sigh leaving him as he nuzzles his cheek against John’s palm, as though the space has been carved just for him- John is certain it’s the case.

Read more here

My other Clegan Fics

[bbieangel]

Love the Joel fic!!! plsssss do an Arthur cramps one!!!

Moon Cycle — Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

A/N: I loved writing this! It's my first time writing anything that's not set in the present world so please bare with me <3 And yes, the title is a reference to Melanie Martinez's song :) As always, thank you for your requests and I hope you love it!

Summary: Even when you try to act tough, Arthur Morgan always sees right through you. And, the day you finally allow yourself to feel weak, he's there to help you with your cramps.

Tags: Fluff! A LOT OF FLUFF. High honor Arthur. Self-deprecating Arthur, we all know how he talks to himself. Mentions of his past (Eliza and Mary Linn), reader has a uterus and is menstruating, she doesn't wear the typical clothes that women used in the 1800's (think of it more like Sadie, she dresses like her). This is set before Arthur even knows he's sick.

Word count: 7.8k

Divider by @/peony chance on Pinterest!

Since day one, you had never failed to amaze the whole Van Der Linde gang with your dirty mouth and ways of pissing off Miss Grimshaw. To say the least, they had grown fond of you. And even if you could look after yourself just fine, you laid awake in your cot endless nights just wishing someone was there for you in times where you felt the most vulnerable, needing attention like the dog the gang had adopted. He always ran around, sniffing everyone and looking for any hand that would give him back scratches.

One particular day you had gone out to rob a stagecoach that a guy in Rhodes had told you about. Dutch assigned you to go along with Arthur, the gruff looking, almost giant man. But you knew he hid something else behind his blue-green eyes that often held a hint of tenderness whenever he looked your way.

"Now, stay right behind me, princess."

He muttered as he covered his face behind the rock you were prompted at, making sure the drivers didn't see you.

You groaned. Of course that, out of all of the women in camp, he would call you princess. But he didn't do it for the reasons you thought.

"Call me by my name, Morgan."

You muttered and he let out a deep chuckle, rumbling through his chest and sending butterflies to your stomach. But you wouldn't let your face show that, after all, you kinda liked being called princess by him.

The stagecoach robbery was a success, feeling like a breath of fresh air after what seemed like the gang had been cursed or just ran out of good luck.

Arthur counted the money effortlessly, the flicking of his fingers looking elegant. It was ridiculous, you thought as he you waited for your part.

"Don't forget to give some to camp, princess."

He said, pointing a finger at you. But he knew not to worry about you contributing to the little box Dutch had beside his tent, he had seen you do it more times than anyone else in the gang.

"You don't need to worry about me contributing, Arthur."

You said with a soft smile as you both rode back to camp, side by side, enjoying the nice weather and the views.

—

Later that day, you were sitting up against a log in front of the campfire. A bead of sweat fell down the side of your face and into your shirt. Arthur was going to tease you about it, but he held himself back when he saw the slight frown on your face and your knees being held against your chest.

He sighed, knowing that caring about you wasn't the best decision. He couldn't bring himself to like anyone else, not after Eliza and Mary. But that soft, empathetic part of him was stronger than any of his insecurities, and it needed to know if you were okay. Which you clearly weren't.

He slowly sat down beside you with a look of concern on his face, and placed his calloused hand on your shoulder.

"You alright, princess? Did you get hurt? You should've told me—"

"I didn't get hurt."

You interrupted him. You were about to snap at him for teasing you, but when you looked into his eyes, glowing by the fire crackling in front of you, you noticed he was being genuine. So your expression softened, and he saw it, making his heart flutter and long to open up to you more.

"I'm.. I have cramps. It's that time of the month.."

You spoke quietly. You had grown to know it wasn't okay to talk about it, let alone tell a man about it. They found it disgusting, a woman bleeding monthly was seen almost as a sin, something you couldn't talk about.

But Arthur couldn't care less. He had killed people and had seen countless bodies, massacred by some fool. Hell, he'd seen his son be born. He could handle speaking about a monthly small amount of blood coming out of a woman's body naturally.

"I understand. Is there anything I can do for you?"

He asked, and your eyebrows shot up in surprise. Why wasn't he acting disgusted by what you just said? Why didn't he tell you to just suck it up?

It took you a few seconds to answer.

"I—Uhm.. I don't know, actually. Can you help me get to my tent? I think I might've stained my clothes and I don't wanna get teased about it."

You spoke, your eyes darted towards the fire once again. It was fine if he declined, you would understand. But, once again, he surprised you.

"Yeah, let's go."

He said and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, helping you up. He looked behind his shoulder to make sure no one was paying attention to see the small stain in your pants, and led you to your tent.

"I've heard.."

He cleared his throat before speaking, the slight pink tint on his cheeks gave away the soft embarrassment he felt.

"I've heard that peppermint or chamomile tea helps, the ladies were talking about it the other day."

He said and you couldn't help but smile softly.

"Yeah, it does. I just ran out of both herbes."

At that, he raised an eyebrow. Why didn't you tell him? He would've gone looking for some if it brought you comfort. And, against his better judgement, he chose to speak.

"You should've told me. I'll make sure to bring you some."

He spoke gruffly, but unable to hide his growing softness and tenderness for you.

When he helped you into your cot, he made sure to cover you with a blanket before turning on his heels to go away. He figured you might want to be left alone.

"Wait."

You called out to him. You knew better than to call over a man who wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet between anyone's eyes, but a part of you knew he only did it when absolutely necessary. And that he would never, ever touch a hair on your body.

"Can you.. stay a little while?"

You asked, your cheeks turning a cute rosey shade. At that, he gave you a light chuckle.

"Yeah, 'course."

He sat down on the edge of your cot. You could see the sympathetic look in his eyes when your face would scrunch up every time a cramp hit harder.

"I'm not usually like this, I can take the pain—"

"No need to explain to me. I know it hurts and I don't need you to act tough all the time."

He cut you off, easing some of the embarrassment you felt. Maybe it was stress, maybe your hormones were fighting against you, but this cycle felt different. It hurt a lot more, making you sweat as you tried to deal with the pain.

The tension between the both of you only continued to grow, hidden desires behind your eyelids that none of you could speak about. Heartbreaks and loss were two things you were too familiar with, and couldn't bring yourself to experience once again.

So he didn't speak as he laid beside you, carefully, treating you as if you were made out of porcelain and he didn't want to hurt you. His hand went to your lower stomach and began moving it gently, massaging the zone.

You let out a sigh of relief—how did he know exactly what to do? As if reading your thoughts, he spoke:

"Mary told me this works. I didn't figure it out on my own."

He spoke quietly, and you felt kinda bad. How could she be such a fool to break up with such a kind man?

"Even if you didn't figure it out on your own, I'm grateful you know about it."

You spoke softly.

"Can I tell you something, Arthur?"

You asked, you heart pounding in your chest as if it wanted out just to be gifted to Arthur.

"'Course, princess."

He responded, his hand never stopped moving as he saw the look of relief in your face. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he noticed it was working.

"You're a good man. And anyone who doesn't see that, is a fool. A damn, blind fool."

You spoke and his eyes widened at that, letting you take in more of the particular color they had. You were so close to him yet none of you could move.

"I ain't much of a good person, princess. I've done things I'm not proud of, killed folks just because.. There's a price on my head."

He said, looking at you with that self-deprecating look he gave anyone who even dared to call him good. He wasn't good, he was a fool who didn't know how to be kind, how to be good. Or at least, that was what he thought of himself.

But on the contrary, you didn't see him that way, and he knew. So you doubled down, going along with your stubborn nature.

"Well, to me you are good. And nothing will change my mind about that."

You spoke in a firmer tone, placing a hand on top of his shoulder and rubbing it softly. He swore you could feel the way his heart jumped at your small gesture.

After a few minutes of just contemplating each other's faces, trying to read each other's minds, he spoke.

"You deserve someone better than me."

At that, you frowned. He couldn't tell you what you deserved and what you didn't, who you could or couldn't like.

"No one has ever cared about my cramps before. No one... No man has taken the time to try and make me feel better."

His expression softened. How could anyone treat you badly about something that wasn't your fault? But again, he reminded himself, it was 1899. You didn't live in a fair world.

"I couldn't just let you be in pain."

"Exactly."

You said. Everything he did or said was just another reason as to why you considered him a good man. After fighting against your fears, your mind, your insecurities, you leaned slightly closer. What were you doing? You didn't know. But the sight of his lips covered by his always perfectly trimmed moustache was something almost magnetic that pulled at your heartstrings right when you were the most vulnerable and needy.

"Princess..."

He tried to protest. His breathing hitched as he felt you slightly closer, his eyes kept darting towards your plush lips without even thinking. His heart thumped against his chest in a way that almost hurt.

"Do you trust me?"

His eyes shot up at yours. Of course he trusted you, even if a part of his brain begged him not to, he wasn't doing what his brain wanted. He was following his heart at this point, and his heart wanted you. Only you.

"I do."

He responded, his deep voice was now soft.

"Then.. Let me."

You whispered and pressed your lips against his, without giving your brain the possibility to make you think about it twice. You stayed still as you waited for him to pull away, to shut you down and never talk to you again.

But he kissed you back. He kissed you back, and his hand tangled on your hair as he did. Every move, every action was so gentle, so careful. And you couldn't be more grateful for that.

His other hand never left your lower stomach. He was determined to end with your cramps, even if his own hand ended up cramping after massaging your skin for so long.

He didn't leave your side that night. If anything, the whole situation only brought the two of you closer, to the point where he would look for excuses to sleep with you all curled up against him. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding your frame up against his chest. All while keeping a soft smile on his face even when he slept.

Because what started with the two of you being scared of letting anyone else in, ended up with Arthur going out of his way to look for anything that would relieve your pain. He would even ride his horse for hours until he found peppermint.

But in the end: all you wanted was the warmth his body provided you with and his hand pressed against your skin.

[skywarpie]

Heyyyyy! Could I get Copia/reader with “go on. fuck yourself on my cock” from the prompt list plsssss? Doesn’t matter whether reader is AMAB or uses a strap :)

Send me a prompt

will have it as AMAB bc I don't feel like we see enough copia/male reader. Anyway, all under the cut bc well, yea.

This also got very long. Sorry bout that

He's pent up. You can tell by the way he holds his shoulders. The way he's tensed up as he rumages through his file cabinet. He gets like this sometimes. But those times often have something to do with Imperator or Nihil. Sometimes even both. That's when these episodes are the worst.

"Something on your mind, Sunshine?" You lean against your desk, arms folded over your chest. You don't fail to realize how it draws no reaction from him.

Oh, this one is really bad.

"Copia?" The word is barely past your lips before you see the facade slowly beginning to deteriorate . You try one more time.

"Copia."

The file cabinet slams shut, and you watch as the Cardinal rips his biretta from his head. He twists it in his gloved hands and then, judging by the movement, you think he tries to rip it. He gives up and flings it across the room with a muffled shout. Next to go is his fascia.

Copia rips the fabric from around his neck. "I can't breathe in this. I -- I need this to --"

"Hey. Hey." You approach him like a frightened wild animal. "It's okay." A hand softly places itself between his shoulder blades, and Copia just cracks.

You don't even have a chance to register the mood change before he's balling his hands into your vestments, pulling you as close as possible to himself. He buries his face in your chest as a broken sob wrenches from his throat.

It feels like time stands still.

Copia has had mental breakdowns before thanks to those 2 idiots, however, this is different. This is more severe, and as you watch him burrow further against you, you're suddenly worried he may suffocate himself.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." You pull him into a tight hug. Has he always been this small? This boney? There's the dreaded thought that he's missing meals again, but that's not the focus right now.

You walk him over to one of the extra chairs in your office. It takes some coaxing, but you finally get him to sit. He looks so broken and it makes your blood boil with the thought that Imperator has this much power over him.

A silence settles between the two of you as you grab a box of tissues to offer him. He takes one without hesitation as you sit in your chair across from him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." He dabs at the runny black makeup on his cheeks.

A typical response, but you're fluent in Copia speak by now, and know exactly what he needs.

"Come here." You pat your lap. In the time it takes you to blink, he's already situated on your lap, head tucked under your chin. "That's a good boy." You card your fingers through his mousy brown locks, occasionally scratching at his scalp. He'll never say it, but you know he loves it.

The two of you stay this way for some time. After a while, you go back to filing out the paperwork you were originally working on. It's just an added bonus to have him in your lap.

It's when you're halfway through the first packet that you feel it. Kisses along your jawline. They're soft and you can easily ignore them. Well, at least until a hand is stroking you through your pants.

You pull back to look at him. "Copia.."

He bats his eyes up at you. "Yes?"

One you've learned over the last few months, is that Copia is quick to recover from bad situations. Just maybe his idea of forgetting is different than your's. But it's really hard to complain when he's so good with his mouth. Like really good.

The hand cupping you squeezes, and you let out a groan.

"I think I've found a good distraction."

Copia pulls himself off your lap. For a split second, you're upset. His warmth gone, but the second you see him sink on his knees to the floor between your legs, any resentment is gone.

You instinctively widen your legs. You're also unable to think about anything other than how he must have been hand crafted from Satan himself with how well he sits at your feet.

"Is that so?" You hiss as he frees your hardened cock from your work trousers. The cold air sends a jolt from head to base, but warm lips are suddenly caressing the rapidly purpling head. "Seems a bit of a drastic change. No?" Your brow furrows as he kitten licks at the slit, collecting any pre-cum. "One minute, you're on the verge of a panic attack. The next my cock's in your mouth."

He laughs at that and your heart swells because it's an actual laugh. Something you haven't heard from him today. "I am a good multi-tasker, si?"

You should probably tell him that this is a bad idea. That he shouldn't be sucking you off, but rather working on his frayed mental state that the clergy loves to worsen.

But you don't.

Instead, you watch as he licks a stripe up the underside of your cock. He stops when he reaches the tip, gently sucking. Thats all the encouragement you need.

You grab a fistful of his hair and shove him downward, effectively choking him. His body tenses as he tries to cough, but you offer no relief. Instead, you force him to take you into his throat, growling as you watch him (and feel him) swallow around you.

You spend several moments fucking his face, but ultimately realize that's not how you want this tryst to go. You yank him off your cock and watch the spit from his lips connect to the head as he coughs.

"Undress."

You watch his eyes light up before doing as told.

When he finally stands before you naked, you are able to confirm sadly that, yes, he has been missing meals again. His ribs are practically showing through his pale skin. "Come here."

He straddles your hips, your cocks rubbing together in the process. You watch his eyes roll back in his head. Typically you'd take the time to prepare him, but you know he's still slick and lose from your coupling this morning.

All the more convenient.

"Go on. Fuck yourself on my cock." In situations like this, you've learned it's best to make him feel like he has the upper hand.

Copia leans forward, brushing his lips against yours as he lines himself up. You both groan when you slip inside him with no resistance. He rolls his hips several times as he reacquaints himself with your cock inside him. Breathy 'ahs' and 'ohs' ghosting across your lips from the close proximity.

You take the initiative to smash your mouths together. One hand is on Copia's hip, while the other is buried in his hair, deeping the kiss as you lick into his mouth, tasting him.

He squeaks and breaks the kiss when you pinch one of his pink nipples. Vaguely, the idea of clamps attached to them while you pull him around crosses your mind. But that will have to wait for another time.

He sobs when you bend your head down to suck one into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the bud, teeth nipping slightly. He arches his back into you as he fucks himself on your cock.

You give one last hard suck before moving onto the other one. Your free hand always makes sure to continue abusing the other bud.

"Beautiful." The praises fall from your lips like kisses. Your lips latch onto his pale neck, sucking until there's a purple bruise. "Let go for me, Sunshine." You take his cock in hand, giving him one, two, three strokes before he's cumming over your hand, back arched so much it almost looks painful.

"That's it."

You stroke him through it until he collapses against you.

Then you chase your own high, fucking up into him without mercy. He squeaks and groans with each thrust until your hands are yanking his hips down further on your cock, making sure he catches every drop. His own cock twitches again before his second orgasm hits.

When it's all said and done with, Copia sits in your lap, cock still inside him until you soften and slip free. His thighs are shaking and your large hands run soothingly across the plush skin in an attempt to relax him.

The front of your vestments are coated in cum, but honestly you could care less. Copia seems more relaxed now and thats all that matters.

You wrap your arms around him, placing a kiss on the crown or his head. "Such a good boy for me."

[merakiui]

Now about that Stuck in a room only getting out by fucking prompt… I saw that tag, tell us more about Fatui Scaramouche PLSSSSS

Can you imagine him trying to fuck you with the intention of killing or incapacitating you!!! T_T sex so good it sends you to Celestia (literally). His stamina is endless, so you’re definitely going to be in for a long day.

I think he’d be offended that anyone or anything could ever confine him in a room. How dare this strange, mystical force manage to be greater and stronger than him! Worst of all, he’s stuck with you. >:( maybe you’re just a subordinate, an unimportant underling overseen by the Lord Harbinger, but since you’re with him he might as well put you to use. Scaramouche demands you find a way out or else he’ll give you a way out (death) if you aren’t fast enough. You hurry to try every idea that crosses your mind, desperate to get out before he loses his patience. If the fear of upsetting a powerful Harbinger doesn’t kill you, then he certainly will.

When it becomes clear that nothing is working and words on the wall finally appear, Scaramouche scoffs. This must be some joke. The only way to get out is to be intimate? Please. There must be another way. You’re inclined to agree. No way are you going to strip yourself bare and vulnerable before the Harbinger who has been so ready to strangle you since you first became locked in this room. But time passes and nothing substantial occurs, save for the unbearable stuffiness of the room. Scaramouche doesn’t seem affected by it, but you are and it’s so difficult to focus when you’re sweating buckets in your clothes. So you start small. You shrug your coat off, maybe your shoes and socks next. Scaramouche rolls his eyes at you; you’re so weak.

It isn’t until you have no choice but to render yourself half-nude that the atmosphere…changes. It’s subtle; you don’t notice Scaramouche’s eyes on you until you turn to look at him and he’s staring right at you. He turns away, scoffing about how you ought to stop ogling and use your brain to think of a way out. You’re too busy trying to keep what little dignity and pride you have left intact. Maybe Scaramouche is going insane, but he’s actually communicating a little more. Sure, most of it’s violent death threats and grumblings, but you can at least share his complaints. This room is the worst; both of you can agree on that.

It takes a while before you’re both staring at the wall again, considering the message. You investigated the entire room twice and there’s no sign of any clues that may help you escape. Your key is printed in bold lettering on a wall. There’s no other choice.

So now comes the arduous undertaking that is broaching such a topic to Lord Scaramouche. You expect him to decline right away, as he’s done so for the past few hours, but surprisingly he grabs your wrist and shoves you onto the bed that both of you have avoided ever since you became trapped.

“I’ll kill you if you touch me.” Though he says that, he’s the one with his hands on you, bloodless fingers curled tightly around your wrists to keep them pinned above your head.

You have no choice but to obey. He’s your superior and you’re just the unfortunate soul who happened to be thrown into this situation with him. Although you don’t miss the way he looks over you as if you’re something worth appreciating.

Scaramouche fucks you as if he intends to break you. He has your face pushed into the mattress so you won’t have to look at him. He’s so adamant about that. Don’t look at him. Don’t touch him. Don’t speak to him. Just let him get this over with. But it’s been three rounds now and he doesn’t seem like he intends to stop. You think you may have heard the click of a door unlocking, but it’s hard to approximate when you’re burying your head in your arms and muffling your cries and moans. You feel like an animal in heat, so tacky and hot and insatiable. Maybe it’s the thrill of doing something so intimate with someone who could end your life that has you begging for more. Or maybe it’s because a part of you genuinely enjoys this rough treatment.

So far, he’s fucked you in positions that won’t let you look at him. So you definitely surprise (and alarm) him when you turn over on your back and embrace him while he’s still buried deep. Scaramouche swears he’ll rip you to pieces, but you don’t miss the way his arms cage you possessively in return. You don’t know this—how could you, after all?—but you’re the first person to ever hug him. He hates that he enjoys this. He hates that he’s on the verge of softening up around you. And all because you had the courage to hug him! He’s a mess, but then you’re more of a mess, bruised and bitten bloody. Scaramouche promises both you and himself that he’ll kill you when this is over. But when it ends and you’re both free, he finds he can’t let you go, nor can he give you a brutal death.

You may have escaped a barren room, but you’ve just found yourself in an even bigger cage. And unfortunately this one is far more perilous than a simple room.

Of course it’s a different story if you happen to be a Harbinger as well. :)

[lifeofpriya]

jannik when sending him memes throughout the day-"this reminded me of you" from small but comforting gestures please <3

i feel like this prompt would be so cute & funny with jannik bc hes so chronically offline 😭

PLSSSSS he's such a goofball 😭

Meme Magic

wc: 2.4k

"You're so predictable," you chuckle, scrolling through your phone as you sit in the crowded café. The screen lights up with the latest meme craze, a playful jab at the overconfident gym-goers that always make you laugh. It's a perfect match for Jannik's dry humor. You hit send without a second thought, knowing it'll brighten up his otherwise mundane training day.

Moments later, your phone buzzes with a response. It's him, Jannik. His simple text reads, "Haha, spot on," followed by a string of laughing emojis. The connection you two share is palpable, even when you're miles apart. His rare moments of downtime are often filled with your digital banter, a silent language that's become your love's secret code.

The café's aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the low murmur of conversations meld into the background as you contemplate your following meme selection. You navigate through your collection, pausing on a video of a cat playing a piano. It's ridiculous, but you know Jannik will get a kick out of it. You hit send and watch the loading icon spin, feeling a strange mix of excitement and fondness. It's these little things that keep the spark alive, even when the flame of your relationship is tested by the relentless demands of his tennis career.

Your phone buzzes again, and you eagerly grab it. "Sorry for the lag," Jannik texts, "just finished a killer workout. This was the perfect pick-me-up." His words warm you like a sip of hot chocolate on a cold day. You imagine him in the training facility, towel draped around his neck, sweat glistening on his forehead as he tries to catch his breath. The mundane scene is a stark contrast to the glamour of the courts, but it's the reality of his life, and you're proud to be a part of it.

The day passes in a blur of shared laughter and inside jokes, each meme a thread in the tapestry of your long-distance relationship. You can almost feel the weight of his exhaustion, his muscles screaming from the constant pushing of his limits. Yet, he makes time for you, for this, because it's the little things that keep you both connected.

As the afternoon sun streams through the café windows, casting a warm glow on your laptop screen, you stumble upon an old photo of you two. It's from one of the rare occasions when he wasn't training, a stolen moment at a local fair, both of you grinning ear to ear as you share a funnel cake. The sugary scent of the fried dough still lingers in your memory, making your stomach rumble. You decide to send it to him, a reminder of simpler times and the promise of more to come.

The reply is almost instant. "Miss you," he says, his words a gentle caress in the digital void. You feel a pang in your chest, a mix of happiness and longing. Despite the miles between you, the bond feels as strong as the strings on his racket. You respond with a heart emoji, knowing that words sometimes aren't enough to convey the depth of your feelings.

The café's ambiance shifts, the chatter around you growing louder as the afternoon rush hits. The barista calls out orders with the finesse of a sports announcer, the clinking of cups a symphony of caffeine-fueled productivity. Yet, your world is small, contained within the glow of your phone screen.

You scroll through the archives of your shared moments, each image more precious than the last. There's one of you two at the beach, the sea breeze playing with your hair as you both laugh at the waves.

You tap the send button and wait. The anticipation builds as the message goes through. It's like sending a message in a bottle, hoping it reaches the one person who understands its significance.

This time, his response is slower. The minutes tick by, and the café's sounds grow louder in the silence. The whir of the espresso machine, the clank of silverware, the occasional laughter of the patrons—it all seems to crescendo around you.

Finally, your phone buzzes. "Can't wait to see you soon," Jannik writes, his words bringing a smile to your lips. The beach photo had hit home, reminding him of the stolen moments of joy you two shared. It's not just the memes that keep you connected; it's the shared experiences, the quiet moments when the world outside the bubble of your relationship fades away.

The café's chatter fades into the background again as you continue to scroll through the digital scrapbook of your relationship. Each meme, each text, each photo is a breadcrumb leading back to the heart of what you have together. You realize that even though you're not physically together, your bond is stronger than ever.

Your thumb hovers over the screen, contemplating what to send next. You decide on a gif of a puppy chasing its tail, knowing it'll make him smile. The send button feels like a tiny bridge, spanning the gap between you two. You watch the message soar through the digital ether, carrying with it a piece of your heart.

The minutes stretch out like a tightly pulled rubber band, and you find yourself lost in thought, recalling the first time you met Jannik. It was at a charity event, and you were both equally uncomfortable in the sea of unfamiliar faces. Your eyes had locked on his, a silent acknowledgment of shared awkwardness. You remember the moment like it was yesterday, his shy smile and the way his eyes lit up when you laughed.

As the café's bustle crescendos, you're snapped back to reality by the vibration of your phone. "Thanks for the laughs," Jannik texts, along with a winking emoji. "They're keeping me sane during these never-ending workouts." You can't help but feel a sense of pride that you're the one bringing a smile to his face, a beacon of light in the grueling world of professional sports.

You look around the café, the faces of strangers a blur as you focus on the digital thread connecting you to your partner. The air is thick with the scent of brewing coffee and the sweetness of pastries, but your mind is with him, in the antiseptic-scented training room where he grinds through his daily routine. You wonder how he finds the strength to keep going, to push beyond his limits day after day.

Suddenly, your phone chimes with an incoming call. It's him, the name on the screen bringing a flush to your cheeks. You answer, and the sound of his voice is like a cool breeze, a sudden relief from the café's stuffiness. "Hey," he says, his tone warm and tired. "I had a break between sessions and I just had to hear your voice."

You can almost feel the weight of his training day lifting as you chat, his voice growing more animated as you recount the mundane details of your own day. The café's background noise fades away as you become lost in his world of serves and volleys, his passion for the sport evident in every word.

"So, how's the book you're reading?" he asks, his curiosity genuine despite the exhaustion seeping through the line. You're surprised he remembers, but then again, he's always had a knack for the little things. You tell him about the plot twist you never saw coming, and he listens intently, his occasional laughter echoing in your ear like music.

The call is a welcome reprieve from the solitary scroll through social media, a chance to hear his voice, to feel his presence. You can almost see his eyes light up with interest as you discuss the book's protagonist, the parallels to his own life on the tennis tour. You share a moment of silent understanding, the kind that comes from knowing someone so well that words aren't always necessary.

"I've got to get back," he says, his voice tinged with regret. "But I'll be thinking of you." Before you can respond, he's gone, leaving you with the echo of his voice and the cold metal of the phone against your cheek. You realize with a start that you've been smiling the entire time, lost in the sound of his voice.

You sigh, slipping the phone back into your pocket. The café's sounds rush back in, the symphony of coffee cups and laughter feeling a little less lonely. You decide to stay a while longer, ordering another drink to savor the lingering warmth of your conversation. The barista nods with a knowing smile, the silent witness to your daily ritual.

As you sip your drink, you can't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. You're not just sending memes; you're providing a lifeline to a world outside the relentless grind of his training. You're the reminder of why he fights so hard, why he endures the pain and the pressure. You're his escape, his normalcy in a life that's anything but.

With a newfound energy, you resume your meme sending. This time, you choose one that perfectly encapsulates the absurdity of your situation: a cartoon character juggling flaming torches with the caption, "When you're trying to balance love and a professional tennis career." You hit send and watch the message shoot off into the digital void, a silent confession of the juggling act that is your relationship.

A few moments later, your phone lights up with his reply. "Story of my life," he says, accompanied by a crying-laughing emoji. You know he's feeling the weight of his next match, the expectations of his coaches and fans heavy on his shoulders. But in this small interaction, you've managed to alleviate it, if only for a moment.

You lean back in your chair, the cushion sighing beneath you, and consider the gravity of what you do. It's not just about the memes; it's about being there for him in the ways that matter. You're his confidant, his cheerleader, his anchor in the storm of fame and competition.

As you scroll through your feed, you come across a meme that's so Jannik it's almost eerie. It's a picture of a cat in a tuxedo, holding a tennis racket with the caption, "When you're so fancy, even your workout gear has to match." You laugh out loud, the sound echoing in the café. The barista glances over with a smile, and you wonder if they know about the world-class athlete on the other end of your screen.

You hit send, and the message zooms away. The anticipation is like waiting for the perfect serve, the moment of suspense before the point is scored. The phone buzzes again, and this time it's a photo from Jannik. It's a selfie, taken in the locker room mirror. He's wearing his training gear, but he's accessorized it with a pair of sunglasses that are definitely not regulation. The message reads, "I see your fancy cat and raise you one cool Sinner."

You laugh out loud, drawing a few curious glances from the café patrons. The sound feels good, a release of the tension that's been building as you juggle your own life with the demands of his. The meme war has become a part of your daily routine, a silent battle of wit and love that you both cherish.

You decide to up the ante. You scroll through your collection and find a masterpiece: a meme of a dog playing tennis, the ball bouncing off its nose in a perfect parody of Jannik's fierce serves. You add the caption, "When you're so good, you don't even need paws to play," and hit send. The message zips away, a digital declaration of your support and playfulness.

The response is swift. "Now that's the kind of competition I can handle," Jannik texts back with a smiley face. His sense of humor is one of the many things you adore about him. It's what keeps the two of you afloat amidst the chaos of his career and the vast ocean of your long-distance relationship.

The café's ambiance shifts again as the afternoon turns to evening. The scent of freshly baked cookies fills the air, mingling with the lingering aroma of coffee. The light outside fades to a soft orange hue, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. You're lost in your thoughts, smiling at the image of Jannik's face when he reads your latest meme.

Your phone buzzes once more. "Got to go," he says. "Big match tomorrow. Thanks for keeping me sane." His message is followed by a heart emoji, simple yet significant. You know the pressure he's under, the sleepless nights and the endless hours of training. Yet, he makes time for you, for this digital connection that somehow feels more tangible than the distance that separates you.

With a sigh, you look out the café window. The sun is setting, casting long shadows over the bustling street. The world outside seems so far away from the intimate bubble you've created with your phone. You feel a strange mix of pride and anxiety. Proud that you can be there for him, anxious for the match that looms on the horizon.

You text back, "Good luck tomorrow," followed by a string of crossed fingers and tennis ball emojis. It's your silent cheer, a digital good luck charm that you hope will reach him in the solitude of his hotel room. You know he appreciates it, even if he's too tired to respond with more than a thumbs-up.

The café's lights dim slightly, signaling the approach of closing time. You gather your things, the warmth of the laptop and the phone a stark contrast to the cool evening air that greets you outside. As you step onto the sidewalk, you catch the distant sound of a tennis ball bouncing on concrete, a reminder of the world Jannik is immersed in.

The city's pulse beats around you, a symphony of honking cars and chattering pedestrians. You miss the rhythm of his life, the predictable routine of his training days. You miss the smell of freshly cut grass and the thwack of rackets that echoed through the stadiums you'd visited together. But here you are, in this bustling urban jungle, sending him memes and sharing laughs across the vast digital divide.

As you walk home, the streetlights flicker on, casting a warm glow over the sidewalk. Your mind wanders to the upcoming match. You've seen the highlights of his games, the way his forehand slices through the air with the precision of a fighter pilot, the way his backhand sends opponents reeling. But tonight, you won't be in the stands, your voice lost in the sea of cheers. Instead, you'll be watching from your couch, phone in hand, ready to send a flood of supportive emojis and love-filled messages.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Werewolf au + rushed and desperate, messy on the couch because they were too impatient to even make it to the bedroom plsssss

will these two ever get to fuck in bed? unsure......but i love it sooooooo

prompt: rushed and desperate, messy on the couch because they were too impatient to even make it to the bedroom

word count: 572

warnings: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT 18+ONLY MINORS DNI (a little plot, unprotected pinv, creampie, heavy breeding kink, a little cum play) like one mention of weight

They stumbled their way inside between messy kisses and desperate moans. Ripping each other’s clothes off in a frenzy that was only interrupted when Ronnie’s elbow knocked into the floor lamp — sending it crashing to the floor. 

They both froze when the crash echoed through the cabin, Jake’s acute hearing trained on the steady little heartbeat down the hall. Listening for any changes. But when he heard none he sighed in relief before going back to hungrily mouthing at his Luna’s neck. 

It was their first night out since Noah was born. Three months with barely any alone time. It was funny how, as soon as they sat down at the restaurant, Jake was saying that he missed him. And Ronnie couldn’t help but agree. They skipped out on desert and walking around town just to come home early and see him. But that plan changed somewhere between leaving the restaurant and coming inside the front door. 

Now, all they wanted to do was devour each other. 

Now, they couldn’t even fumble their way back to their bedroom. 

Now, Ronnie lay face first on the couch cushions — one hand fisting the soft fabric of the bunched up throw blanket and the other dangling off the edge of the couch, fingertips brushing the hardwood. Jake blanketing her back as he pounded into her at a ruthless pace, pressing kisses into her shoulders, neck, back, any amount of flesh he could reach. It was sloppy and desperate and maybe uncomfortable if they thought about it too much but it didn’t even matter. It didn’t matter in the slightest when it felt this good, when they hadn’t been like this in so long. 

“Don’t — Don’t stop,” Ronnie panted, the pleasure making her vision go white and drool to accumulate on the cushion below her face. “Put another pup in me — unh — please.” 

Jake slowed the roll of his hips, using every ounce of control he had as he pushed his hand between her body and the couch to grip at the soft flesh of her stomach — her body still trying to get back to some semblance of what it was before pregnancy. “You haven’t even lost all your baby weight from Noah yet. You want me to fill you again?”

“I want more,” she whined, making Jake produce some broken noise  as he snapped his hips harshly into her ass. “Keep me pregnant — ah — fuck me full.” 

“God, fuck, yes,” he growled into her shoulder, his hips moving faster as he neared his release. “Want you so heavy with my pups all you can do is sit there and be bred.”

That was all it took to make Ronnie come, a high-pitched whine leaving her lips as her fingers dug into the couch cushions. Her own shuddering orgasm sent Jake into one of his own, his thrusts stunted and short as he spilled his seed inside her. His teeth clamped down on her shoulder to keep in a shout that would surely wake the baby.

He pulled out with a hiss, her cries muffled against the couch cushions. And Jake watched for a moment as his cum leaked from her abused cunt. Then he gently pushed his fingers inside, forcing it all back in as Ronnie writhed beneath him — overstimulated and back arching. 

“Sh — I know.” He soothed, his other hand running up and down the length of her spine. “Gotta make sure it takes.”

[woahajimes]

do you have any headcanons of the young justice boys putting their hair up? (from your crop top wearing bart hcs)

um yes i do thank you for asking

it all started with cassie. duh. cassie’s hair was getting longer to the point in which she could do a ponytail (something she’d never done. ever. her hair was always really short and she likes that, except a few weeks earlier she promised her mom that she didn’t need a haircut this year so it was a-okay to use the money on a new skateboard)

cassie started putting her hair up (either ponytails or pigtails or bandanas) 

so OBVIOUSLY, everyone else copied her (no its not called “young justice” its called Cassie and her Boys™)

That’s a lie. Cassie got so sick of wearing bandanas/headbands or having her hair up in ponytails (she always forgot to have a hair elastic because her hair was NEVER THAT LONG and then she got mad at the boys for not having any hair elastics) that she demanded everyone else put their hair up

kon: why don't you just cut your hair? cassie: oh gee that's a GREAT idea, KON! I wonder HOW that didn’t even cross my MIND jeez kon you are so sma- NO KON ITS BECAUSE IF I CUT MY OWN HAIR MY MOM SAID SHE’LL NEVER BUY ME A SKATEBOARD EVER AGAIN *NOR* TAKE ME TO CUT MY HAIR

tim was the only one that paid any attention to her therefore he bought them all matching bandanas!!!! 

he was the only one that actually used those which sucked bc it cost him ten whole dollars ($10) and there were four different colours (green, yellow, pink, blue)

tim got so used to the headband that it stressed him out to not have one. he eventually grew to hate having his hair in his face (not hate but like. it stressed him out a bit yk)

he once saw bart trying to eat a pizza with all his hair in his face and tim couldn’t take it anymore. he basically forced a bandana around bart’s head 

kon was a smug little bitch and he was like “well thats for having long hair suckers. cassie and i are the only smart ones to have short hai- oh. wait. cassie doesn’t have short hair anymore.” and then she hit him (andd put a bandana on him)

cissie saw all of them matching bandanas and she was like (jokingly) “awww what’s next? painting each other’s nails?” and then tim showed his nails and was like “jokes on you we already did” (only like two fingers on one hand tho)

sometimes they’ll take their bandanas off and their hair will be pushed back and idk it looks funny sometimes

they’ll eventually lose the bandanas. trust me. 

(i was gonna add this in the tags but i didnt have room so basically tim got the yellow one bc he got first pick, cassie got blue bc she likes it, bart got green bc its better than pink, and kon wears pink bc he didn’t have a choice)

[wndrcarol]

#9 with Mommy!Nat plsssss

prompt: 9. “I don’t care how good it feels you’d better not cum until I tell you to.”

warnings: mommy kink, strap-use, cursing, dom!nat, sub!r, ya know the whole nine

a/n: prompt is bolded! 18+ readers please!

“Please-” you breathed out, digging your nails into Nat’s back as she thrusted into you.

“Uh, uh” Nat said, leaning up and taking your face in her hand, her fingers squeezing your cheeks as you let out another moan.

“Brats don’t get to come, kitten” she said, letting out a small moan herself watching you underneath her. She looked down and the sight of her strap disappearing inside you only made her let out another moan.

“But mommy-“ you said again before a high pitched moan left your lips. Natasha slowed her thrusts before sitting up and throwing your leg up over her shoulder. “Fuck! It feels so good”

“I don’t care” Natasha started before thrusting faster into once more. “How good it feels. You better not come until I tell you to. Got it?” She said, looking down at you as you moaned out, feeling the knot get tighter by the second.

“Answer me” Nat said sternly before you nodded, gasping as she hit a certain spot, making your toes curl.

“Yes mommy” you moaned out as Nat smiled.

“That’s my girl”

-

feedback is appreciated!

for prompts: send in # and dialogue line!

prompt list

[lilwritingraven]

couple's vacation headcanons for ur choice plsssss! 🥺💗

Yes my wonderful friend!! Thank you for loving my girl so much!!! 💖

Pairing: Audry x John

Send me a prompt and I'll give you some headcanons!

🏖 : Audry's first ever vacation was with John, due to her being so secluded by her parents, and just starting her career while with Staci

🏖 : of course John made it extravagant, taking her to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower and have dinner at the top. (Audry just wanted to see the ocean)

🏖 : Dirty hotel sex, beach sex, wherever they're at sex

🏖 : When Audry has her baby, John immediately tries to take them to Orlando Studios in Flordia. Audry politely reminds him their newborn can't even ride the rides yet.

🏖 : John makes sure they go somewhere for vacation every year.

🏖 : Jacob invites himself along, meaning Joseph and Faith also have to go. Audry loves the family time, John hates the intrusion.

🏖 : Audry absolutely enforces family pictures every time. ("John, pictures are the only things we'll have left one day.")

🏖 : Audry's favorite vacation was the one they took to Georgia, getting to learn more about John's past. (Don't ever tell him though.)

Bonus: Audry x Elliot vacation headcanon 😉

🏖 : Elliot makes sure Audry has the best vacation ever, taking her on a cruise with the finest cuisine. But the island they land at has the cutest baby animals you ever did see. Audry died from happiness that day.

[kjmhj0429995486]

Send me suggestions plsssss<3

hiiii i want to start writing more so i’m looking for suggestions!!!

pretty please send me suggestions for any wayv shinee or exo ship and i’ll write a little drabble (and maybe more haha i get carried away sometimes)

open to just abt anything! also willing to do y/n if i like the prompt

loveeeee writing pining, mild nsfw, crack but like cute?, and fluff but open to anything