#[ it... it took a while for them to properly learn it ]

[witchy-scribblings]

breakfast is served

togame jo x reader

synopsis ➳ every week is ovulation week when your boyfriend is togame jo.

warnings ➳ blowjobs, straightforward reader, fade to black before cunnilingus (my bad), i wrote this in two hours as a warm-up, lowercase

wordcount ➳ 1.5k

[crossposted on ao3]

sometimes you found yourself marvelling at the duality of things.

you liked storms because, despite their loud thunder and encompassing darkness, you always felt like you had been born anew when the sun began shining once more; storms could be undoubtedly cleansing, if disruptive in their method.

although you had a very low tolerance to spice, you often catch yourself ordering spicy dishes when you ate out because a moderate kick always seemed to be worth the burning tongue.

(and even if you found yourself struggling to finish your dinner, the human black hole you lovingly liked to call “my man” would indubitably clear the plate for you).

in this particular instance, you couldn’t help wondering how on earth the very picture of domesticity that was unfolding right in front of your eyes, nothing but cozy and innocent in nature, could be making you absolutely drench your panties.

togame jo stood with his lower back pressed against the edge of the counter, mindlessly scrolling on his phone while the kettle next to him vibrated furiously with the intensity of the boiling water inside. the volume on his phone was low, and despite this you could tell from the familiar audios that he was steadily going through the onslaught of reels you had been sending him the past couple of days; togame never ever replied to your tiktoks one by one - heck, you’d be lucky to get an emoji at all -, but he did watch them religiously - when they eventually became too many to ignore, that is.

the sunlight filtering through the blinds caught on the small droplets that slowly trailed from the ends of his mullet and soaked into his grey sweatshirt. while you had mourned the loss of his warmth when he decided to get up to take his morning shower, you couldn’t deny that walking past the bathroom on your way to the kitchen and getting to catch a whiff of his shampoo and aftershave was nothing if not a blessed morning treat.

to be fair, it isn’t that much of a mystery that the gentlest of scenes would make you horny, considering how absolutely down bad you were for your boyfriend.

whether he was ignoring you or genuinely hadn’t noticed your presence, you weren’t sure; but you also weren’t about to complain if it gave you the chance to ogle your man and stay exempt from teasing remarks while at it. you continued admiring him from the exposed safety of the doorway while he grabbed the kettle and started pouring water into his favourite mug, droopy eyes betraying how eager he was to finally sup from his green tea.

“how dare you look so soft and fuckable first thing in the morning?”

what had initially been intended as an inside thought was what broke the spell, and the next second you had togame’s baffled stare sizing you up where you stood.

“good morning to you as well.” fuck him and his raspy morning voice; and, despite the way it made your knees wobble, you managed to answer to his smug smirk with one of your own.

“did i lie though?” his shoulders shook with quiet laughter. he locked his phone and put it on the counter. he knew you like the back of his hand, and he recognized the implications of that tone; you hadn’t made it very far into being togame’s girlfriend without learning a little bit of cheek.

“i mean…” he drawled in that slow hum of his, “i wouldn’t say i look particularly fuckable. not any more than you, at least.” the way his eyes roamed appreciatively over your bedwear-clad body wasn’t lost on you. you took it as a sign to properly step into the kitchen, letting the scent of warm, steeping tea and aftershave envelop you the closer you grew. “what i would say is more correct is that you’re insatiable.”

“like you’re one to talk,” you purred, finally chest to chest with him and wasting no time to palm at the visible bulge on the crotch of his sweatpants. gearing yourself up with your best bedroom eyes, you blinked up at him, biting your lip. “can i suck your pretty dick, jo?”

that must have been the right thing to say because his lips came crashing down on yours in an instant, messy and harsh and thankfully uncaring of your morning breath. he muttered expletives into your mouth, and you nearly grinned when you felt him shamelessly grinding himself against your hand. pulling back - and dodging his searching lips -, you brought your whole face to the side of his neck, ignoring the wet tips of his hair drawing transparent trails on your skin as you began to suck and lick and moan right under his ear; his cock jumped inside his pants, begging for attention that you were more than willing to deliver.

“you little…” he breathed, placing a shaky hand on your hip while the other one dove into your night shorts. your voice trembled against his neck while his deft fingers toyed with your slippery slit, finding your clit in seconds and rubbing vicious circles in an attempt to win some high ground, by force if necessary. however, before you could fall further into the hex his fingers were casting, you forcefully detached yourself wholly and dropped to your knees in a beat, bringing his sweatpants and underwear down as you went; togame could only watch with a drying throat and a hammering heart as you lewdly began to deliver kisses to his weeping tip.

“fuck, you taste so good…” you moaned openly, delighting in savouring the mixture of freshly-showered flesh and salty precum, and a low moan caught behind your boyfriend’s gritted teeth in response to your debauchery. mercilessly, you drew wet stripes along the thick vein of the underside, and the helpless kicks of his beautifully flushed cock went straight to your empty cunt. your dominant hand flew to cup his balls, massaging gently as if coaxing something out of him: namely, the loss of his sanity or a thick load onto your tongue, whichever one came first.

eventually, one of his hands arrived at the back of your head, threading thick fingers through your bed hair, but they weren’t demanding as much as they were grounding. you felt togame pry his legs slightly more apart, calloused hand petting your head in a way that felt like reverence.

“fuuuuck.” even when his heart was racing, his speech remained languid, and if you didn’t know better  he would have sounded almost in control. “you’re always so good to me,” he praised, and it earned him a generous attempt at fitting his whole dick into your mouth; if he thought the noise you made when he hit the back of your throat was undignified, he didn’t comment on it, and instead rewarded your eagerness with an appreciative groan. “‘m not gonna last long if you keep this up, pretty.”

coming from a guy who boasted limitless stamina, this statement made your body buzz with pride and desire; heck, who wouldn’t pat themselves on the back a little if a man who could go at it (fights and… otherwise) for hours was about to cream their throat after a few minutes of sucking cock? instead of encouraging him with words, you doubled down on your efforts, covering as much of his pulsing cock as you could with your awaiting mouth. your hands had long been bracing onto his strong thighs, and every little flex you felt underneath tasted like a small victory. your lower face was soaked with spit and togame, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care when you felt his fingers twitching against the nape of your neck and his legs seize up.

“f-fuck, fuckfuck, shit, i’m coming! god, you’re so good, sucking me dry... swallow my fucking load, please, please, oh f-uck!” not like you needed to be told once, but his desperate ramble had you lapping up his cum twice as greedily, enjoying the headiness of nearly being choked on dick while togame took his sweet time, as he often did, riding his climax. after what felt like an eternity, you took his soft dick out of your mouth, delivering farewell kisses onto his overstimulated tip. you eyed him from your spot between his legs and felt the surge of slick pool onto your shorts when you found his half-lidded eyes staring uninterruptedly at you.

“thanks for breakfast, jo,” you cooed, showing him your empty mouth in a lewd display.

“breakfast, huh?” faster than you could process, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the counter, rather than kneeling on the floor. the mug of tea was still releasing billowing puffs of steam, but you had a feeling -if togame’s eyes peering up at you from between your legs were anything to go by- that by the time he was done with you, he would need to remake his precious beverage. slowly pulling the waistband of your soaked shorts down your thighs, he rumbled lowly: “then it’s only fair i get my share…”

[buckysgirl27]

Off To War

Part Ten

40s Bucky x Reader

Summary: Reader and Bucky are married in the 40's. Hydra captures Bucky and commands him to eliminate them. Can he do it? What will happen to future Bucky with this new information.

Trigger Warnings: angst, fluff, Bucky pays attention to us

A/N: Thank you for all the love❤️ sorry it took so long to get this out. I got busy because you know...life. Then when I got back to write...I ended up just staring at the screen😭

Masterlist

Bucky walked you back to your room after the appointment with the doctor. He couldn't believe he fainted. He'd witnessed murder, had murdered and been tortured countless times but was undone by hearing you were having twins. Pathetic.

"I'm sorry about what happened earlier."

You stopped abruptly. Why was he apologizing?

"For what?" You questioned carefully.

"How I reacted to the news. It was wrong and -"

You cut him off.

"No. It wasn't wrong. You were overwhelmed and sometimes that happens. It's ok. You don't need to apologize for having feelings. It's ok."

He nodded. He didn't really believe you. He had to be strong for you in all senses of the word and if he could faint at such a small thing he was definitely compromised. Feelings were unacceptable. He started walking again.

"We're here." He unnecessarily announced as you got to the door of your room.

You reached out to him. Just for his hand but he quickly looked away from you and pulled back.

"I gotta go." He said. He didn't bother making an excuse. He knew you'd see right through it.

He heard you sigh as you turned and shut the door. You were starting to get under his skin. He couldn't let that happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It's like it's two steps forward and one step back Nat." You told Natasha one morning while watching her and Steve spar. Doctor Cho had told you that you shouldn't anymore. You were too close to your due date.

You knew you probably shouldn't be talking about James since Steve was there and he was his best friend but currently Natasha was yours and this is where she was so he could just suck it up in your humble opinion.

"He's in therapy. He wants to make it work." Steve piped up. It distracted him enough that he missed Nat's right hook and he took her fist to his face. Karma, as they say these days.

"Clearly he's not applying whatever he's supposedly learning in therapy if this is what therapy is doing." Nat said bitterly. "He's going to have two kids, has the love of his life back, and he can't even be around her for more than 2 hours without freaking out."

You rolled your eyes.

"Rude. It was 2 hours and 15 minutes."

Natasha gave you a pointed look.

"Same difference."

She and Steve got off the mats to come talk to you properly.

Steve patted you awkwardly on the shoulder. At least your interactions with him hadn't changed much.

"He'll get there. He just needs time."

You rolled your eyes.

"Well, he doesn't have a lot of it left."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You know I hate talking to you Sam."

Bucky turned away from Sam and back to his turkey sandwich he was currently making.

"Wow thanks. Tell me how you really feel buddy."

Bucky glared at him.

"Really though Tin Man. You're breaking her heart. You're gonna be a dad. She doesn't deserve this from you."

Before Bucky could even stop the words from coming out he snapped at Sam.

"Well then maybe you shouldn't have brought her back!"

Sam flinched. He sort of expected it. He had been pushing him a lot recently to rekindle his relationship with you. No luck so far.

"You don't mean that."

Bucky silently turned back to his sandwich, and placed it on his place.

"I don't." He whispered.

Bucky leaned over to one of the drawers and pulled out a pot and filled about half of it with water.

"Watcha doin' there?" Sam asked curiously.

Bucky poured in the pasta from the Kraft Mac n' cheese box careful not to splash any water out of the pot.

"What does it look like? I'm making Mac n' cheese. It's been one of the only things she's been eating." He smirked. "That and pineapple wrapped with bacon. She became a fiend when we introduced her to Mac n' cheese though."

Sam smiled. It was small but at least he was noticing. It was something. He was doing things for you now without being prompted. It was progress.

Sam wondered if this was something Bucky would have done in the 40's. If he was starting to remember himself.

Bucky looked up from the pasta and glared at Sam some more.

"What are you so happy about Bird Brain?"

Sam laughed.

"Nothing. Just not used to seeing you 'domestic' like this."

Bucky's lip twitched up. Barely. You could only tell if you were really studying his face.

"Shut up."

Bucky drained the water from the pasta, added the butter and milk, and cheese packet, stirred it together and then carefully measured it out into a bowl for you.

"Alright man. Go get your girl."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nat had left awhile ago. You were stewing. He was supposed to love you. You had promised each other forever. Not whatever the hell this was. Barely speaking to each other, awkward interacting when you did.

You didn't notice the tears until one passed your lips.

You never thought you'd mourn him again but you were. The worst part about it was that he was alive and breathing the same air as you. Occupying the same space. Speaking to the same people. And he wanted nothing to do with you.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Your head snapped to it and you stared at it for a second. You wiped your eyes to remove all traced of tears. You debated getting up but ultimately decided to stay put and allow whoever was at the door to just come inside.

"Come in!" You called loudly.

There was a heavy silence before there was a shuffle outside the door and then finally the knob turned.

James shuffled in. Carrying two things. In one hand Mac n' cheese which was exactly what you needed right now and how he knew that you had no idea. In the other was a bouquet of daisies, tulips, and hydrangeas.

The very flowers you had discussed planting in front of your house instead of those stupid roses that everyone else had.

You couldn't help it. You started crying again.

He panicked. Why were you crying? Did he do something wrong? He walked over to where you were sitting on the couch and placed the items carefully on the coffee table.

"I'm ok." you said, noting the look of concern on his face. "Thank you, James." You smiled softly.

He looked a little skeptical but decided to let it go.

He nodded stiffly.

"How did you know I liked this anyways?"

James met your eyes and without blinking said, "I pay attention. Even when you think I don't."

Your breath caught. You didn't expect that. But you remember what Steve told you. Perfect spy, killing machine, ghost story. Of course he would notice everything without you catching on. It's what he was trained to do.

He tentatively reached for your hand. He paused giving you a chance to pull away from him before he placed his flesh hand on yours. Finally.

You sat in silence for awhile. You weren't sure how long. You weren't sure what to say. You didn't want to scare him off. But at the same time there was so much to say. So much that needed to be said.

"Steve told me I killed you."

Your head snapped to him causing you a small bout of dizziness for a couple seconds.

"He did?"

He nodded.

"It took me yelling at him and Sam intervening but yeah. He told me."

You turned his hand around in yours and gripped it tightly with both your hands.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me, James?"

He nodded, slightly.

You let go of his hand and leaned in closer to him and snuggled yourself up against him resting your head against his shoulder. He stiffened at the unexpected contact.

"I'm here now. It's ok."

He then ever so slowly, let out a deep breath and tilted his head to rest it against yours.

"They fucked me up doll. I'm not the same."

You expected this.

"I don't expect you to be."

He took a deep breath, exhaled and lifted his head from yours and you removed your head from his shoulder and looked each other in the eyes. Searching for something that was there a long time ago that may or may not still be there.

"Don't tell Sam. I don't want to give him the satisfaction. I remember us. A lot of us anyway. I told him I didn't when he asked. I wanted it to be just for us for awhile."

You smiled. He was coming back to you. Slowly. But he was. You could wait for him.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was given one mission. Kill the woman. She was a threat to all the organization had worked for. He had been given a profile. It was relatively small. They din't know much about her which he thought was odd considering they had so much on him and everyone else they had employed.

He had never actually read his file of course. He'd seen it sitting on a desk while giving a mission report and it was fairly thick. But this woman's file was barely 1 page.

Still. A mission was a mission and failure wasn't an option. The pain wasn't worth the morality. Wasn't worth the screaming until he couldn't scream anymore. The burning in his head until he passed out. Or the worst part of it, waking up and not remembering anything at all.

He contemplated this on the way to the woman's home. Correction. Cover location. Apparently she and her "husband" were actually working for the UN as government spies. They had to be stopped.

When he arrived at the small home something about it seemed familiar but he shrugged it off. All these homes looked the same and he must have had a mission like this before right? He shrugged off the nagging feeling of something being off and kicked in the door.

He didn't hear any screams but he heard the ruffling of movement somewhere in the house and heard a door shut quietly. Whoever thought they could get away was wrong. They'd get nowhere. He'd find them and end it.

Quietly he made his way down the hall. He heard the heavy breathing of someone and could practically smell the fear radiating off of them as soon as he entered what he assumed to be the master bedroom.

Figuring someone would be smart enough to not hide under the bed he paused at the closet. Maybe they would hide under the bed to throw him off. He checked. No one was there. So he took the safety off his pistol, swung open the closet and as he lifted his arm the female there said,

"James?" With a very confused look on her face. She got to her feet and tried to make her way to him. She looked familiar. Why did she look familiar? It was just from the file right?

"I am the Winter Soldier and you are my mission." Then he shot her.

Mission Complete.

Bucky woke up in a sweat. When he told you he was remembering things he wanted to remember the good things. He didn't want to remember that.

He didn't want to remember how he killed you. How he felt that something was off on that mission and yet he didn't do anything about it. He knew you were different. You were special. And didn't say a goddamn thing about it.

You still forgave him though. He didn't understand that. He killed you and you still loved him. Technically he hadn't killed you yet and now since you had been brought here he never would but in his past he had. His past and yours were the same but different. It was odd.

He sat up from his makeshift bed on the floor and grabbed a t-shirt and some sweats. Some water would do him some good he decided.

He left his room and padded quietly out to the common area kitchen.

He was presently surprised to see you there sipping a cup of tea. He checked the clock. It read 2:08am.

"What are you doing up doll face?" He asked quietly.

"Couldn't sleep. You?"

Bucky paused. He wasn't sure if he should tell you. So he told you part of it.

"Nightmare." He shrugged as he grabbed a glass from the cabinet and then pulled out the Brita water pitcher.

"Oh. You wanna talk about it?"

He shook his head and poured the water into his glass. He brought the cup to his lips and took a sip.

"Not yet."

You nodded.

You set your mug down and waddled your way over to him. You looked at him pleadingly and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Come sleep with me for the rest of the night?"

He looked at you alarmed. That was the last thing he would expect you to say. He knew you weren't expecting anything other than actual sleep but it still caught him off guard.

"I don't know. I might hurt you and-"

You shut him up with a soft kiss.

"You won't. C'mon. Let's go."

You took his hand and led him back to your room. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable so instead of shucking off his t-shirt and sweats like he normally would, he kept them on. Much to your disappointment.

You climbed in and he followed you. He wrapped his arm around you like it was natural. A habit. Something that he had done every night for years and had never stopped doing.

But he had. For decades. And that knowledge ate him alive now that he knew what he was missing.

@ashdino

@goth1c-pinki3-pi3

@svtbpbts

@homiesexual-or-homosexual

@baw1066

@theflowerswillbloom

@lil-riddle-kiddle

@lapii

@greatenthusiasttidalwave

@l1lyfl0w3r

@nostrangerthing

@1000shipsnh

[echo-exco]

Wait I’m confused on Barbara, like she’s seen a LOT and is literally the oracle, how can she not notice readers off out state? I mean she took care of cass for some time (depending on the comics u read) so wouldn’t she see the red flags of readers personality in general? Also how did morashi hide info so well that not even BATMAN or ORACLE who’s whole job is knowing things not see it? I mean damain noticed some red flags about reader, it’s mentioned in his POV that he noticed that readers seemed to have dealt with being hurt before or smt??

Also can I be ur 🪼anon?

Well… that also depends.

Because, at first glance, healer!reader doesn’t give off that impression. She doesn’t come across as a broken, dangerous, or visibly traumatized child. She doesn’t have that “problem aura” like the rest of the family.

Damian noticed it not because she said anything, but because the more passive-aggressive he acted toward healer!reader, the more obvious it became that she genuinely didn’t care. She didn’t even register it as something hurtful. For someone like Damian, that’s unsettling.

But even he is caught up in his own emotional conflict, so he hasn’t fully connected the dots, at least, not yet.

Barbara, on the other hand, has barely seen her. And what little she has witnessed of healer!reader has been from a distance, or through observation rather than interaction. Healer!reader doesn’t confront, doesn’t question, she just stays away. When Bruce tells her she can’t be seen right now, or that there’s no time, she doesn’t insist, doesn’t ask, and definitely doesn’t push. She just accepts it.

Because she’s learned that if something is repeated enough times, then it must be true. When she’s told that now isn’t the time, or that she isn’t a priority… she simply assumes that must be the correct way to feel.

Healer!reader respects authority figures. There’s no trust in them, just habit. She might not fully understand why Alfred asks her to trust him… but she does understand that when an adult says “no,” then “no” is the only valid answer. There’s no room for questions.

Barbara might think it’s simply a case of a girl who never had a stable family. Maybe she imagines this is her first time in a real home, and that’s why she seems disconnected, disoriented, but trying to adapt.

Yes… Barbara would like to get to know her better. But just like Bruce, she’s busy dealing with a much bigger threat: Masashi.

And that’s the cruel irony of it all: Masashi managed to fool Bruce, Barbara, even Tim. None of them even know who Masashi really is, who he works with, what his true goals in the city are… nothing…

And that’s exactly what’s keeping them distant and frustrated.

Of course, Masashi didn’t do all of this on his own, he pulled it off with the help of two other people. I’ll just say one of them is Charlotte, though not in the way most people would expect (Charlotte deserves a better job, someone please get my girl out of there 😔).

Charlotte plays a role similar to Elise’s, and that role is what makes her so dangerous, and so useful, to Masashi.

It’s not just that the adults (and Tim) are distracted, it’s that healer!reader herself avoids them.

While Bruce, Barbara, and Tim have been investigating this criminal for MONTHS, Masashi is simply checking if it’s time to retrieve what belongs to him.

The whole thing is a plan orchestrated by Masashi. Distract the Batfam with her presence, knowing full well they probably won’t be able to properly care for healer!reader. Masashi knows perfectly well that healer!reader will most likely try to keep a low profile and stay away, just to avoid revealing anything about her powers or her past.

Overall, I do want to explore these perspectives later on! I haven’t forgotten about the other members of the batfam. I promise I’ll bring in all the other clear points of view on how they felt before and after discovering the truth about healer!reader.

And of course you can be my anon! I have no problem with you or anyone sending me asks! I’ll try to answer as quickly as possible, and even if I’m slow, I’ll be happy to reply to anything any of my readers want to share! <3

[hozaloza]

Okay, I need to finally talk about my dumb theory I've been thinking about every time it's crossed my mind.

The Psyche Theory

In basic terms, this is all a metaphor for the teenage mental health struggles.

Let me explain.......studios (I had to). Fair warning that none of this is going to make sense because I can't explain things in an organized manner when I'm trying to write down 50 things spiraling around in my brain.

For starters, I feel like the severity of each person's injuries and how long it took for them to heal reflects their own traumas from the past. Maybe it reflects how long it took for them to heal from their pasts.

Tyler

When he was young, potentially 8 or 9, his dad had passed away. It might have been sudden, it might have been a slowburn, but regardless of how long it took, Ethan had passed away, leaving his wife and children alone to fend for themselves. Mariana didn't take this well, and grieved heavily, resulting in her being unable to care for her kids. Seeing that she wasn't going to be able to care for him and Taylor, Tyler took it upon himself to care for the both of them, become the new man of the house.

At the age of 8.

He learned to cook, do the laundry, fix things up, cut hair, everything. For years, he had been taking care of the house. He potentially lost his sense of self, his sense of childhood joy. At 8, he lost his childhood, and became a man.

So having a chance to actually have fun with this group he's stuck with potentially helped him heal. Even if it was just a little bit. But it'll take a while for him to heal properly.

Just like how when he got impaled in the stomach, it took him a lot longer to heal. Heavy and lasting pain equals an as big injury in the phantom dimension. This trauma correlates with his emotional state.

Aiden

For all of his childhood, Aiden had been alone. His parents traveled often, and he spent very little of his free time with either of them. It was sad, lonely, and depressing. However, when he was at his lowest, he discovered a new way to live life...on the edge. Suddenly, he found the adrenaline he had been desperately craving. He had never felt so close to death...he could almost taste the end of the rope.

Who knew whether or not he was aware that he was secretly craving death. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't.

But his mind did. It always knew.

When he had died in the phantom dimension, he healed quickly because he was used to the feeling of death. He was used to wanting the sweet relief of it.

His mind recovered quickly, because it never actually recovered at all.

It just adjusted to the new situation. Like it had always been doing.

Again and Again.

Logan

Not much to say here, but we can work with what we know about his past. Logan's grandparents were a part of a huge crime group, and possibly taught Logan something about guns as well before they fully retired. Who knows what else there is to the story, of if Logan's parents are involved.

Using what we know about his parents (based off of what Barron said), we'll assume Logan's parents left him young, and this affected him badly since he was most likely young and confused, wondering why his mom and dad left him alone.

It correlates to his injury because while it was pretty bad and hurt him, he soon got over it eventually, and was able to somewhat heal...but the scar still remains, reminding him that he still has some trauma relating to the issue.

Ashlyn

Just like Logan, but slightly different, we just have to base this off of what we've seen so far.

Of course, Ashlyn doesn't actually have a traumatizing backstory, but that doesn't mean she's affected by her past mentally. Considering that she has hypersensitive hearing, this might have caused issues for her growing up. Especially with hearing phantom noises, which definitely can't be something pleasant for a little kid to hear. Though because it wasn't too affecting, her scar also healed pretty quick, but still lingers because of the affects it had on her at a vulnerable age.

...

That's kind of the main topic for this theory. Other ideas I've formed are just kind of what I've observed and tried to apply to mental health.

Honestly, the phantoms are seen as parasitic since they require a host to make it to the real world. But you know what else is parasitic (at least metaphorically)? Mental illnesses.

Like a parasite, it usually never benefits the person. Usually, it's negative or at least affects one's life. So, you could say the phantoms are a symbol of mental illnesses. I don't know how else to really explain it, nor back it up with evidence, but there is the small resemblance.

Oh wait, maybe I can.

The phantoms attack the kids and anyone who is living, and when they are able to get their way, they crawl into the person, using it as their host. I guess that could represent letting a mental illness take over your mind, resulting in harm to yourself.

However, the phantoms had only been able to harm the kids temporarily, never permanently. This could mean that the kids aren't succumbing to their "demons" just yet; they still have some fight in them to battle their traumas. Or something idk.

Also I remember rambling to myself about this concept

I think the regular phantoms represent more "minor" mental illnesses (not comparing how bad each one is, it's just separating from "It's manageable day to day" to "I'm on the verge of ending it all or harming others") while the centipedes are representative of more severe illnesses (Such as extreme depression, selfharming and and that, bi-polar, etc).

Or ig the more severe side of these mental issues.

Logan and Ashlyn got attacked by the regular phantoms, signaling that their traumas aren't as severe and probably healed over time. Aiden, on the other hand, got indirectly attacked by a centipede phantom. We already know this guy is probably suicidal, so....

Other things I should mention are probably the parents and cranes (Y'all should know I can never go a day without at least mentioning the cranes once). Seeing that the parents are in the phantom dimension permanently, but have yet to become infected could conclude that despite being like other typical cases, they're actually still fighting off whatever traumas they have. They're adults, so it's probably likely that the older you are, the less likely you are to get out of the PD. But this idea gets shot down since Lily is in the picture. I guess I could argue that maybe it's the severity of trauma. Banners were in the military, Fields were in a mafia and probably killed people, Mariana literally has a severe mental illness where she believes her husband is still alive to cope, idk bout the Clarks, but they probably got something, and Lily is a little girl, which means she's most likely heavily traumatized from the events.

The cranes? Uh, Ryan lost three kids under his watch and got blamed for it, Charlie....he quite literally said he's mentally ill and beat up people just for the fun of it, Jasmine's related to Maverick, and idk bout Hudson, but I have a theory/hc that he had a wife and kid, but lost them to a tragic event, and the police did nothing to help him, hence why he joined Maverick's cult (I'm also assuming he's in the cult since he got a name drop, and actually told Charlie what was happening). He also has eyes (I've noticed for the most part that unimportant characters aren't given eyes? Even when they're up close, like those guards who were trying to get the kids back during the train jump scene). There were probably times when a bg character was given eyes in the recent episodes, but the point still stands. Anyways, back to the theory...

Also, the Cranes are in a cult. Gasp, really??

Cults are already traumatizing as is. So....

Imma now just list off random miscellaneous things I've thought of just now or earlier on

bullet round lets goooo

-Infected symbolize those who had fallen to their mental struggles

-The phantom dimension is the physical version of the mental state

-Maverick probably wants control of this so he could combine the mental dimension with the real dimension, causing a possible paradox, ending the world??

-If we're going down the "it's just symbolism" path, then this is a representation of teenagerhood struggles. Notice how the only characters who are able to leave the PD are teenagers?? Hmmmm....

-when the kids started taking care of themselves in the phantom dimension, they started to heal physically in the real world. Representation of giving yourself mental breaks to heal??

-Jasmine has a centipede tattoo, could that mean that her issues are severe?? Most likely considering she's brainwashed and being manipulated by her own brother. Also there's smoke (or fire...could be smoke though) behind the centipede. Possibly signaling that she's hiding her issues....behind A MASK. THAT'S WHY I CALLED IT HEALINGMASK--

-Charlie could probably hear the phantom noises? Who knows whether or not he was mocking the parents because he knew about Ash's super hearing or not...but this applies to the theory because again, mentally unwell. Maybe a select few are more connected to their mental consciousness than others? Who knows.

-It's the fact that their injuries only showing up in the PD but not the real world is basically just another way of saying how mental scars may not be physical, but they are just as hurtful as any real scar. (highlighting this one because it's actually more important than I realized....)

🍀Quick edit i forgot to put in but Crayfree made a post in regards to how everything was so fast paced, and that was what inspired me to finally make this post...and I forgot to mention it...

But basically, the quick pace of all these events could also represent how so sudden these types of things happen in life. You don't expect something horrible to happen to you, but it is very much possible. It's literally what happened in the comic. The kids went into a haunted tourist place, not thinking anything about it...and the effect of that situation is that they are now fighting for their lives in a dimension of hell. It happened suddenly, quickly, and mainly quietly.

And it's also just like how them getting kidnapped after two PD deaths was so sudden as well. One minute you're crying, the next you're yelling to be freed. 🍀

Alright, I guess that's all I have for now...I don't know how else to explain this theory, but it's actually pretty fun. I've been thinking about this idea for a while now, and I'm so glad to finally share it omg </3

if you actually read this mess of a post, thank you so much 🙏💖 it's rare for me to actually make serious posts like this that involve the literal main characters (I still like the cranes more....🤑🤑)

lemme know if y'all have any questions about this theory. I'd also like to hear what y'all think about it in general.

okay i need to go work on that animatic now 🚶‍➡️

[aesethewitch]

When I was a kid, we moved into a house that had a huge lilac tree out front. It was mostly rotten, and it needed to be taken down before it fell. It took a while, but eventually, it was gone.

Mostly. A couple years later, little lilac babies popped out of the ground in its place. My mom was determined to get rid of them, because she'd planted a beautiful flower garden there, and the lilac trees would overshadow and kill the whole garden. I insisted on saving at least a few saplings. She said fine, but I had to dig them out and put them in pots myself.

So, I did. I spent days digging little lilac bushes out of the ground and putting them into pots. Some couldn't be saved, but some could. When all was said and done, I had five brand-new lilac saplings. Seven or eight years old, and it was my absolute pride and joy.

Three died due to sun scorching, severe drought that no amount of watering could save, and perhaps just being moved from their place in the ground. But two survived, and I was awfully proud of them! I'd go out and talk to them every single day. I watered them by hand and made sure they were fertilized properly. I learned all about their favored environments, and I was determined to make sure they lived.

One of my mom's friends saw what I was doing with the lilacs. She asked if she could have one to put in her backyard, and I agreed on the condition that she take very, very good care of it.

It's now fucking enormous. I'm talking ten feet tall and bursting with beautiful purple flowers every spring. My mom still gets updates each year as they start to bloom, which she forwards to me. And all I can think is, "That's my friend! Thriving some twenty years on, there it is."

The other tree nearly died, too. It lived in a pot for far, far too long. I wanted to plant it somewhere in my parents' yard, but my mom was reluctant. Eventually, we agreed to put it in the far back garden. It grew okay for many years, despite the shade, but in all these years, it's never bloomed.

Last year, the massive tree casting massive shadows over the lilac and the garden cracked in half and fell. It tumbled into the garden, crushing part of the nearby shed and destroying a few plants beneath it.

It missed my lilac by inches.

The clean-up is long done. The rest of the tree has been cut down, and my lilac has full sunlight for the first time in fifteen years. It won't bloom this year, I know. But it's got new shoots up. It's taller than ever. I spent half an hour a few weeks ago praising it for surviving all this time, dreaming about its future and telling it how I believe it'll become the tall beauty it's always been meant to be.

I think next year, I'll see flowers.

[electricneonbat]

I was 17 years old when Adventure Time started airing. Sometimes I'm still surprised by how much I love this franchise considering that I was way outside of the age group for it

The only thing on earth that was able to knock me out of my Twilight brainrot, and unsurprisingly it was because of the vampire character lol

The only thing more powerful than my Adventure Time or Twilight brainrot is my all encompassing obsession with vampires. It was well before Twilight though, I watched The Lost Boys when I was 5 years old one night and I was done for. I have read every single vampire themed YA book series from the 00s, and then immediately transferred to the adult paranormal romance novels when I ran out of those when I was like 12. Movies, books, TV shows, etc. I love vampires and I will forever be devastated that I'll never be bitten by one.

Marceline is such a compelling character, I love her backstory so much.

[pibsboots]

I've always had chronic fatigue. I remember being twelve, and an adult mentioned how I couldn't possibly know how tired they felt because adulthood brought levels of exhaustion I couldn't imagine. I thought about that for days in fear, because I couldn't remember the last time I didn't feel tired.

Eventually I came to terms with the fact that I was just tired, and I couldn't do as many things as everyone else. People called me lazy, and I knew that wasn't true, but there's only so many times you can say "I'm tired" before people think it's an excuse. I don't blame them. When a teenager does 20 hours of extracurriculars every week and only says "I'm too tired" when you ask them to do the dishes, it's natural to think it's an excuse. At some point, I started to think the same thing.

It didn't matter that I could barely sit up. It was probably all in my head, and if I really wanted to, I could do it.

When I learned the name for it, chronic fatigue, I thought wow, people that have that must be miserable, because I am always tired and I cannot imagine what it would feel like if it were worse.

Spoiler alert, if you've been tired for a decade, it's probably chronic fatigue.

Once I figured that out though, I thought of my energy as the same as everyone else's, just smaller in quantity. And that might be true for some people, but I've figured out recently that it absolutely isn't true for me.

I used to be like wow I have so much energy today I can do this whole list for sure! And then I'd do the dishes and have to lay down for 2 hours. Then I'd think I must gave misjudged that, I didn't have as much energy as I thought.

But the thing is - I did have enough energy for more tasks, I just didn't go about them properly.

With chronic fatigue, your maximum energy is obviously much smaller than the average person's. Doing the dishes for you might use up the same percentage of energy that it takes to do all the daily chores for someone else.

If someone without chronic fatigue was to do all the daily chores, they would take breaks. Because otherwise, they're sprinting a marathon for no reason and it would take way more energy than necessary. We have to do the same.

Put the cups in the dishwasher, take a break. Put the bowls in, take a break. So on and so forth. This may mean taking breaks every 2-5 minutes but afterwards, you get to not feel like you've run a marathon while carrying 4 people on your back.

Today, I had a moderate amount of energy. Under my old system of go till you drop, I probably could have done most of the dishes and wiped off the counter and then been dead to the world for the rest of the day.

Under the new system, I scooped litter boxes, cleaned out the fridge, took the trash out, cleaned the stove, and wiped off the counter and did all the dishes. And after all that, I still had it in me to make a simple dinner, unload the dishwasher, and tidy the kitchen.

It was complete and utter insanity. Just because I sat down whenever I felt myself getting more tired than I already was.

All this to say, take fucking breaks. It's time to unlearn the ceaseless productivity bullshit that capitalism has shoved down our throats. Its actively counterproductive. Just sit down. Drink some water. Rest your body when it needs to rest.

There will still be days where there is nothing to do but rest, and days where half a load of dishes is absolutely the most I can do. But this method has really helped me minimize those, which is so incredibly relieving.

[bunnis-monsters]

🎄NSFW 🎄

warning: oviposition, gangbang, fluff+smut

Your first Christmas with the bee hybrids was… certainly an experience.

You’ve only been queen for a year. Your own little ones are barely toddlers learning to walk and fly, but the babies from the previous queen have grown attached and see you as their mama too.

“Mama, what’s Christmas?”

Oh, the dreaded question. The hive had been teaching the little ones human traditions and simple biological facts to make sure they grew up knowing how to properly take care of their queen.

“Oh… it’s a holiday where the family gathers around, exchanged presents, and then we eat a nice dinner.”

One of your own toddles over, teething on one of your fingers as you speak. “Sometimes during the season, people go caroling or look at Christmas lights. There’s a lot of baking as well.”

They all let out a collective “ooo”.

This was the beginning of the end.

The second Halloween was over, the baby bees were buzzing around, begging their mama for some Christmas fun. It wasn’t fair that the humans got to celebrate such cool traditions while they “wasted away” in their cribs.

“Mama, I wanna make cookies!”

“A-and I want to see Santa!”

“Mama, are we elves?”

Overwhelmed by all of their requests and… odd questions, you quickly roped in the adults in your hive to help you make Christmas possible for your baby bees.

Surprisingly, the hardest part was your subjects trying to comprehend why the little ones should receive a gift from an outsider of the hive.

“This Santa creature… is he safe? What does he want in return for gifts of this amount? I’m not sure we have enough honey to satisfy such a beast.”

That’s when you had to break it to the adults of your hive that Santa was in fact not real, and that all of the presents would come from them.

A few of your attendants whined, burying their faces in your neck and tummy, rubbing their fluff against you. “My queen, he’s not real? We won’t get presents?”

“Oh dear…”

It took the entire month of November to simply gather all of the supplies together, and you wondered if it would be possible to give your babies the Christmas they wanted.

First up on the list was Christmas caroling. They refused to do it in the hive, babbling on about spreading Christmas cheer.

So you hid their antennas under hats, bundled them up nice and warm, and escorted them down a relatively safe human street. The bee hybrids guarded the little ones, buzzing threateningly at anyone that got to close as they sang their little songs.

You watched out of the corner of your eyes as one of them fell face first into a snow bank, their little legs wiggling while being pulled out by one of the guards.

It was difficult not to laugh.

After their caroling, they wanted to play in the snow for a while. You let them play until they were running to you and crying, their little noses runny and their hands cold.

“Alright, let’s go home.”

Through December, you helped them do fun crafts and write their letters to Santa. There was a certain magic in the air, everyone was excited for the big night.

And then it came. Christmas Eve was filled with activities, the first being a special breakfast.

The next activity was baking cookies for Santa. Since you had so many little ones, multiple ovens had to be used just to make enough cookies for them to decorate.

Of course they all ate most of them, unable to resist the sugary treats, but you were able to save a plate full for Santa.

They all gathered around the giant tree the bee hybrids brought into the hive, all giggling and decorating it as others snacked on the Christmas cookies. Seeing your cute little fuzz balls so happy made your heart soar.

The last activity before bed was to watch a Christmas movie, and they all wanted to be snuggled up with you while they waited for Santa.

They all wore little matching pajamas, their wings buzzing and antennas twitching as they curled up with their mama.

“Mama… Christmas is the best…” one of your babies cooed as another nursed. They were still so little, you hoped you’d have many more Christmas memories like this in the future.

Carefully, you untangled yourself from the pile of sleeping baby bees and made you way to the adult Christmas party.

When you opened the door, all eyes were on you. Some were drunk from overripe fruit while others were feasting on sweets and playing games while waiting for you to arrive.

And every single one of them was hard.

“My queen~!”

You were approached by your attendants, who all rubbed around you, desperate for your attention after you had been busy with the babies all day. “We missed you… everyone’s been waiting for our Christmas present!”

All of the bee hybrids cooed and hummed, buzzing with excitement. In exchange for them working so hard to give the babies a nice Christmas, you promised to give them a special treat.

Your body.

Instantly you were surrounded, being caressed and sniffed, your clothes easily coming off. Your hive had been working nonstop all month to make you and the babies happy, which meant you hadn’t been mated with much.

And embarrassingly enough, you craved this as much as they did.

You cried out in ecstasy as one of the bees latched onto your clit, sucking softly as your cunt was being fucked by another. Both of your nipples were being attacked, and your mouth was stuffed with a fat cock.

“Is this okay, my queen?”

“Ahh, my queen, you’re so tight…”

It was a night full of many orgasms, your tummy heavy and full of eggs by morning.

Each bee hybrid got their turn inside of your cunt, and admittedly it was arousing to watch them jerk off to the image of you being fucked by the others, some even sucking and fucking each other because they were too impatient.

But they ended up completely satisfied, lapping softly at your cunt, licking up some of the cum and gently pushing eggs back into your pussy.

You were so, so full and kept cumming around the eggs that it was hard to keep them inside… but your attendants swooped in to take care of the aftercare and make sure you would be ready for the morning.

You yawned, resting against a fluffy bee hybrid as your little ones opened their presents in the morning. They were all so happy, giggling and carrying around their toys to show to their mama.

It was a great first Christmas with the bee hybrids, and each one of them was looking forward to next year!

[navybrat817]

I am warm and full and cozy and thinking about Bucky who has gotten a few pounds on his stomach, not bc he has to bulk for a mission or anything but bc he's save and get three square meals and a snack every day. Lots of love and a pie on Sunday. The dream honestly

Answering this on a Monday but I feel very cozy about it!

Just Right

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky learns to love food again, and his body.

Word Count: Over 750

Warnings: Mentions of HYDRA, recovery, body positivity, reference to oral sex, bit of humor, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I may need to do more of this, and much appreciated for the inspiration @v-wie-was. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky who was now able to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner with snacks in between each meal and dessert after dinner, which took some getting used to.

Bucky who didn’t get to overindulge in foods he enjoyed while he was under HYDRA’s control. He was given enough to maintain his strength and nothing more and he never decided on what they provided. 

Bucky who, when he thought about it, didn’t get to enjoy food since before he went off to war. He ate to sustain and survive and nothing more.

Bucky who had to learn all over again what he liked and disliked once he was free. Being able to choose was overwhelming and he almost broke down the first time he bought plums simply because he wanted them.

Bucky who with his heightened senses learned to appreciate certain smells and tastes and learned which places to avoid so it didn’t feel like sensory overload. He also learned which flavors he could never get enough of and which ones he could only handle in small doses.

Bucky who had to figure out how much he could eat to feel full and not stop because of his old programming. He also told himself not to feel guilty if he had a few more bites because it was more than allowed.

Bucky who met you at the store one day when you both reached for the same plum. That day changed his life. 

Bucky who, like a gentleman, let you have the plum and couldn't stop staring at you since you were so beautiful. 

Bucky who couldn't think of a witty reply when you boldly offered him your phone number in return, so he gave you an awkward smile that you found endearing.

Bucky who was happy you took a chance since you were easy to talk to. You also taught him that food emojis could be… taken a certain way, which he learned when he sent an eggplant and peach together.

Bucky who couldn’t find it in himself to feel embarrassed because he was talking about food, and he wanted you.

Bucky who enjoyed cooking with you and smiled wistfully when he thought about his family. How his mom always put so much love into her cooking. 

Bucky who made a mess of his shirt one day because he was trying to eat something messy and read at the same time. And you groaned because you had just finished laundry earlier.

Bucky who grew to appreciate messes like that because they felt normal.

Bucky who noticed almost immediately when his clothes began to fit differently, eventually to the point where they were too snug.

Bucky who felt slightly worried when he told you his clothes were too tight and had to go shopping. He wanted to be attractive to you.

Bucky who felt his heart swell when you not only told him he looked good no matter what but offered to go shopping with him. 

Bucky who felt handsome trying on new clothes since they fit properly and just right. The confidence grew when he saw your pupils dilate more and more with each outfit he tried on.

Bucky who also heard your heart race faster and smelled your arousal.

Bucky who didn’t get to make it home before you dropped to your knees to worship him. You made sure to place extra kisses on his stomach on your way down.

Bucky who hardly let people touch him, but welcomed your touch and let you paint him like a canvas with your love and desire. 

Bucky who had a huge smile on his face after the mind-blowing orgasm you gave him along with a promise of pie for dessert. He wanted you for dessert, too.

Bucky who associated certain foods with you because, like you, they brought him joy, comfort, and were downright delicious. 

 Bucky who stood in the kitchen while he waited for dinner to cool off and looked down at his stomach with a smile, reminding himself that any extra pound was just more of him to love and you’d love him no matter what. 

Bucky who thought about how comfortable he was in his skin because he was healthy and able to make his own choices. 

Bucky who gazed at you from across the room and couldn’t believe this was his life, that he found peace, happiness, and love. 

Bucky who was crazy about you and couldn't imagine a meal without you. Or his life.

And Bucky who finally felt safe and free. 

Okay, lovelies, what do we think his favorite dessert is? Besides you. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[edenarchives]

♯┆𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 .ᐟ — 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: It was supposed to be harmless. Just a quiet little night in your room, moaning into your pillow, pretending your fingers were his. And then he walked in.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ only, oral (f receiving), fingering, one-sided obsession (reader), reader caught masturbating, overstimulation, pussy worship, rough language, intense Bakugo, no actual sex, no aftercare, unprotected (oral)

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2k

You’d been around Bakugo Katsuki long enough to know better.

Long enough to learn his routines, his moods, the exact sharp edge in his voice that meant “leave me the fuck alone” versus the rare gravel that meant “I don’t really want you to.” You knew how he took his coffee. Knew he hated pickles. Knew he always washed his hands before touching his gear but somehow never managed to wear his gloves properly.

You’d been partnered with him for months now.

Close. Always close. Too close.

So of course, when you got assigned an undercover recon mission that required you to live in a one-bedroom apartment with him for a week, you smiled and nodded like it was no big deal.

Like you hadn’t been secretly, violently obsessed with him since the first time he said your name.

You tried to tell yourself you’d handle it.

That you were a professional. That it was just seven nights.

But that was before you saw him walk out of the shower, towel low on his hips, water dripping down his abs in lazy, smug little trails. Before you noticed the way his hair laid flatter when it was damp, all golden at the tips and sticking to his forehead. Before you saw him yawn and stretch, muscles rippling under his skin like he didn’t even know you were there.

That was when it got bad.

That was when you had to run—literally run—into the bathroom, slam the door, and fuck yourself hard and fast with your fingers, biting your fist to stay quiet while your hips jerked against the tile and you whispered his name like it was a fucking prayer.

It only got worse after that.

The apartment was small. Your room was smaller. The walls were thin. Every time he grunted from a workout, every time he swore under his breath in the kitchen, every time he brushed past you with heat radiating off his skin—you felt it in your throat.

And you never touched yourself when he was awake.

Not because you didn’t want to.

But because you didn’t trust yourself not to moan his name like a goddamn idiot.

Tonight, though?

Tonight’s too much.

The tension is chewing at your bones. You said goodnight like always—smile too tight, voice too high—and retreated to your room like a coward.

But you can’t sleep.

The ache between your legs is sharp and constant, and every time you close your eyes, it’s him you see.

So you wait.

You listen.

No footsteps. No water running. No grumbling from the other side of the wall.

Safe.

You move fast—like muscle memory.

Tug your shirt off. Slip out of your shorts. Toss them to the floor as you climb onto the bed and sink into the pillows, legs spreading, knees folding up toward your chest. Your fingers find your heat instantly—already soaked, already needy—and you let out a quiet, desperate moan as you rub slow circles over your clit.

“Bakugo…” you whisper, breathless.

You don’t even realize you said it out loud.

Your mind is full of him—rough hands, sharp teeth, golden eyes dark with want. You imagine him grabbing your thighs, dragging you to the edge of the bed. You imagine him spitting on your pussy, telling you how messy you are. You imagine his fingers inside you—thick, fast, perfect.

You dip two of your own in—just barely—and whimper at the stretch.

Your hips roll. You pant softly. Your fingers work your clit again, slick and messy, pussy glistening in the warm lamplight. You’re already close. Already pulsing.

So caught up in your own filthy thoughts that you don’t hear the knock.

Don’t hear the soft “Y/n?” just outside the door.

Don’t hear the creak of the knob turning.

Until it’s too late.

The door opens.

And Bakugo fucking freezes.

You don’t have time to cover yourself.

Can’t even speak.

Because you’re on your back, legs spread wide, pussy facing the fucking door, fingers halfway inside, slick running down your thighs. And he sees everything.

His eyes lock on your cunt first.

Wide. Wild. Disbelieving.

And for one horrible second, time stops.

You’re still. He’s still.

Then—

He moves.

Fast.

Too fast.

You don’t register it—don’t understand how someone that big moves that quietly, but suddenly he’s there, at the foot of your bed, kneeling, grabbing your thighs and yanking you down until your ass is at the edge of the mattress and your knees are over his shoulders.

You barely manage a gasp.

“Bakugo—!”

But you don’t get to finish the sentence.

Because his mouth is on you.

Hot.

Wet.

Filthy.

He groans like he’s been starving for it. Like the taste of your pussy is something he’s been imagining for weeks, months, years.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he growls against your cunt. “You’ve been driving me insane.”

Your head falls back, a high, broken moan spilling from your lips as his tongue drags through your folds, slow and deep. He licks like he’s savoring it—like he’s trying to commit your taste to memory. His grip on your thighs is bruising, holding you wide open, holding you still.

You’re shaking.

You’re gone.

“Bakugo, fuck—!”

“Don’t say my name like that,” he snaps. “Not unless you want me to come in my pants like a fuckin’ rookie.”

And then he dives back in.

Tongue working your clit with maddening pressure. Mouth hot and open and desperate. He’s groaning against your pussy, rutting into the mattress, feasting on you like you’re the last goddamn thing he’ll ever taste.

And when he pushes two fingers inside you, curling them just right?

You scream.

Your back arches off the bed, hands flying to the sheets, the wall, anything, trying to ground yourself. But you can’t. He’s dragging you under. His fingers are thick and deep and curling exactly right, pressing against the spot that makes your toes curl and your thighs twitch—and his mouth—

Fuck.

His mouth doesn’t let up. His tongue is flicking fast over your clit, lips locked around it like he owns it, like it was made for him. Every suck sends electricity down your spine. Every moan he lets out against your soaked cunt vibrates through your whole body.

And he’s not stopping.

Not to talk.

Not to breathe.

Not even to look at you.

Like he doesn’t need anything except the taste of your pussy.

You try to speak—try to say his name, to tell him you’re going to come—but it breaks in your throat, comes out a wrecked little gasp as your hips buck helplessly into his face.

He growls.

Low.

Hungry.

His arm flings across your stomach, pinning you to the bed like he knows you’re about to squirm away.

“Don’t you fucking run from me,” he mutters, voice hoarse, face soaked, lips brushing your clit before he sucks hard again. “You wanted this, right? You’re gonna take it.”

Your vision blurs.

He speeds up. Fingers thrusting faster, wetter, his palm slapping against your cunt with every stroke. His tongue is relentless now, licking circles, tight and fast and perfect.

And it builds.

Fast.

Too fast.

You grab at his hair, twisting your fingers in the strands, your thighs threatening to close—but he holds them open, shoulders locked, growling against your pussy like a fucking animal.

“I—Bakugo—Katsuki—”

That does it.

You cry out, loud and desperate, hips jerking as your orgasm hits hard, exploding through your core like a live wire. Your cunt pulses around his fingers, clenching, soaking his hand, and he groans like he’s getting off on it—like your pleasure is the only thing that matters.

He doesn’t stop.

Even as you’re sobbing his name.

Even as your thighs shake.

Even as you push at his shoulders, overwhelmed and soaked and wrecked.

“Please—fuck—too much—”

He lifts his head slightly. His mouth is shiny with your slick. His eyes are wild.

“You’re not done.”

You don’t even get a chance to beg.

Because his tongue is back on your clit before the words can leave your mouth—faster this time. Messier. His fingers curl again and you shriek, hips twitching, tears sliding down your cheeks as your body lights up all over again.

“You taste like fuckin’ candy,” he groans. “You think I’m gonna stop with one?”

You sob—head tipping back, mouth open, throat raw.

“Gonna eat this pussy until you pass out.”

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Life imitates art - Dr. Jack Abbot x amputee!reader

Summary: 2.6k words. Jack is sent into a tailspin when the woman he’s been eyeing for months at his amputee support group arrives at the Pitt in a gurney. Based on this request by @seasiren212! (this is now a series! Here's the master list)

Warnings: canon-typical depiction of wounds and medical situations, cancer in remission, some medical jargon, reader’s history of BKA, Jack’s history of BKA & accident, age gap, angst, etc. The most unrealistic part of this fic is a doctor spending this much time with one patient (live laugh love the U.S. healthcare system).

a/n: ugh I cried a little bit while writing this. I’m so passionate about oncology care mwah. Abbot is working day shift in this fic. Surrender yourself to the plot and pretend he’s covering for Robby if you must. Divider credit!

At 23 years old, your leg was amputated just below the knee. You’d been fighting bone marrow cancer for a while now, and you were running out of treatment options. To mitigate the risk of significant metastasis, your oncologist recommended an amputation.

So it was off with your leg.

Before the amputation, you’d spent months in and out of the hospital. Somehow, despite the fatigue, aches, and genuine existential crisis over whether this reality was a fate better than death, you graduated with your Master's degree in art history after completing most of the program virtually from your hospital bed. You got special permission from the dean of your university’s college of the arts to defend your thesis from the hospital. Your nurses arranged for you to use a conference room on the floor and made sure everything was thoroughly cleaned to prevent the risk of secondary infection.

Your IV was hooked up to some medications you couldn’t pronounce, but by now, you’d learned how to wave your arms around wildly without letting the tubing hinder you. The thesis committee didn’t go easy on you during your defense just because you were sick. Good. You didn’t want them to. You’d researched and studied your ass off, and earned the right to defend your thesis. The one you’d spent countless sleepless nights and nauseating days working on. So what if you were presenting at UPMC’s Cancer Center?

The oncology unit staff were the first to celebrate you as soon as you made it out of the conference room with happy tears in your eyes. In the time you’d been presenting, the halls had been decorated with streamers. Balloons surrounded your hospital room, and you were given an elaborate bouquet of artificial flowers. You did it.

The RN who’d been caring for you the longest was the one to push your wheelchair across the stage during your hooding ceremony. The oncology unit staff lined the front row of the audience and cheered louder than you’d ever heard.

“MA” looked pretty damn good after your name in your email signature. The Master of Arts degree hung proudly on the wall of your apartment, a forever reminder of your resilience through it all.

It took grueling months to find the right prosthetic and get it fitted properly, and even more years of physical therapy to allow you to be here today, giving narrated walking tours through the Carnegie Museum of Art.

Jack met you at his amputee support group.

At first, he assumed you were there as a student. You were quiet. Observant. Some of the local clinical psychology degree programs assigned students to attend open support group meetings. The large, structured tote bag that followed you to every meeting supported his theory. He imagined you had a laptop, a textbook or two, and a can of Red Bull in the bag, if he had to guess.

You didn’t take notes like other students Jack saw in the past, but you didn’t seem like the type that needed to take notes in the moment, anyway. You were a breathtaking wallflower at the meetings, it was hard not to notice you. The floor-length dresses that complemented your body and draped across you in all the right places were delicate and dainty. Jack was dying to know if your personality matched your exterior.

If Abbot had to guess, he’d say the mystery girl at the amputee support group was in her mid-to-late twenties, though she didn’t necessarily dress like it. Your wardrobe was all maxi skirts and long flowy dresses, cardigans and cable knit sweaters, statement earrings and small chain necklaces. Jack overheard one of the younger group members complimenting your clothing style one day, describing it as “serving cottage core meets coastal grandma chic.” Whatever the hell that meant.

At one of the meetings, you barely showed up on time. You were flustered and a bit disheveled, blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face, but still beautiful as ever. An intricately decorated lanyard and your employee badge hung out of the purse’s wide mouth.

Your name, MA. Art Historian, Curator, and Guest Guide. Carnegie Museum of Art.

Hmm. Jack wasn’t really one for the arts. He was most creative when figuring out how to perform complex medical procedures in unconventional situations. He was methodical and analytical in his life. He approached situations and his work with scientific precision, but he could be tempted to give the museum a visit if it meant he might run into you.

The Pitt’s ambulance bay was never empty for long. Gurneys rolled in and out of the ER all day and night. After all his years in emergency medicine, few things surprised Doctor Abbot anymore.

Until you rolled in.

Dana was the first to reach the EMTs, taking report as she guided them to an available room. Doctor Abbot watched from the provider desk, his mouth slightly parted as his eyes tracked you the whole way across the Pitt.

The charge nurse barely made it out of the room and assigned the patient to Abbot before he jumped out of his seat and bee-lined to room five. “On it,” he said, to no one in particular. Dana stood back and observed his uncharacteristic movements for half a second with her hands on her hips before returning to her millions of other tasks.

Doctor Abbot pulled back the exam room curtain to reveal you sitting on the gurney, fidgeting with your museum badge and shaking your exposed shoe back and forth.

“Hi, kid,” he greeted, donning gloves. He took note of the prosthetic leg covered in floral designs resting next to your hip. Not a student. An amputee. Abbot hummed inwardly.

“Oh. Hi, Jack,” you responded, surprise gracing your face. You knew he was a doctor; he mentioned working at the hospital a couple of times during support group meetings, you just didn’t know he was a doctor here. You took him in. Frustratingly, he was handsome as ever in his black scrubs with toned, muscled arms that threatened to burst out of his short sleeves, with a badge that read Dr. Abbot. Attending Emergency Medicine Physician. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.

Despite the situation, you couldn’t help but notice that his gray curls were a little more mussed than usual, like he’d run his hands through them at least half a dozen times. You yearned to follow suit.

Mateo followed Doctor Abbot into the exam room not long after and glanced between you and the physician a couple of times, trying to decipher the dynamic. It was obvious the two of you knew each other, but he kept quiet and set up the WOW for orders in case Doctor Abbot needed it.

Jack sat down smoothly on a rolling stool and scooted close to your bedside. Maybe closer than was necessary, but no one in the room objected to it.

“What brings you in?” He swept his eyes over you analytically. You looked fine on the surface, sans the removed prosthetic accompanying you against the bed rails.

“Bum leg,” you sighed. This was embarrassing. Even when you leaned back against the gurney, unsuccessfully attempting to relax, you never broke eye contact with Jack.

“Figures. Mind if I take a look?” Abbot replied without missing a beat. He rubbed his chin, eyes darting between your face and the raised slope of your leg underneath your dress.

You hesitantly pulled up your skirt to reveal the angry red skin surrounding what was left of your knee joint. For some reason, exposing your thigh felt intimate, even in the hospital. It didn’t look good, and it admittedly had Jack concerned, but he wouldn’t let you know that. At least not yet. It didn’t look like cellulitis, at least not on the surface. There was no wound weeping or skin dimpling. He’d still run cultures just to be safe.

“Are you resting your leg often? Do you remove the prosthetic?” He ran through a slew of questions. Sure, he knew more about amputations and prosthetics than the average physician, but he wanted to know more about your story.

“Well, I’ve given roughly 8 hours of walking tours through the museum every day for the past week, plus 2 hours today,” you rattled off your schedule. It was strenuous, but this was the life you worked and studied and fought to build for yourself. You had no regrets.

Jack gave you a stern look, and you shrank under his gaze. You almost reminded him that he was being hypocritical, with his 12-hour shifts at the Pitt, but decided against it.

“What else?” He pressed. You sighed.

“I can put my socks and sleeves on, but they’re tighter than normal. The prosthetic will fit on, but it hurts.” The a lot was silent, but you both knew it was there. “I was limping this morning, and I eventually fell while giving a tour,” you continued. Doctor Abbot immediately scanned you for signs of any other fall-related injury. No bruises or bumps as far as he could see. “But a guest caught me. And the museum director insisted that I get checked out. Even though I’m fine,” you finished, exasperated.

“You and I must have different definitions of ‘fine,’ my friend,” Jack exhaled and leaned back, just far enough to not topple off the stool.

A comfortable silence fell between you two while Jack weighed treatment options. This was more of an outpatient specialist matter, but he was glad you came in. He’d learned more about you in the past 15 minutes than he had in the past 3 months of staring longingly at you during the amputee support group meetings.

Mateo felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He cleared his throat and started preemptively entering orders in your chart.

“Cultures? For cellulitis rule-out, Dr. Abbot?” The physician nodded thankfully to the nurse. Jack didn’t miss the flash of fear that crossed your face. Doctor Abbot ordered an ultrasound as well, just to make sure there wasn’t an underlying abscess forming, potentially evidenced by the edema at the end of your limb.

You cleared your throat. “Could you also run a CBC?” you asked, wringing your hands together. Abbot nodded again and stood, dusting his hands on his pants to keep them busy.

“Why?” It wasn’t accusatory. He’d do it anyway if you asked for it; he just wanted to know why.

“I’m in remission. Bone marrow cancer. Doesn’t hurt to check for signs of recurrence when funky things happen,” you shrugged, though you were obviously tense as you gestured to what was left of your left while pulling your dress skirt back down.

The room went silent.

That definitely would’ve been added to your chart’s medical history if you hadn’t come in by ambulance and instead had the pleasure of meeting Lupe at registration.

Up until now, why you attended the support group meetings wasn’t Jack’s business. Now, you were his patient. Your health and history were absolutely his business now.

Doctor Abbot offered a small smile and agreed to the additional test. You didn’t want his sympathy, he knew that better than anyone. He knocked on the door frame on his way out with a promise to be back shortly.

For a minute, Jack pondered what it would’ve been like to know he’d be losing his leg before it happened. When he had his accident, the decision was made for him. The blood loss had been near fatal. He’d long since passed out when the military medics realized they were forced to decide between his life or his limb, the lesser of two evils. He wondered if he had the time to plan a new reality beforehand, if things would be any different. Any better. He didn’t think they would.

He thought you must’ve been young when you were diagnosed with cancer. You were young now, notably younger than him. He wondered when you had the amputation, how old you were—how young you were. The ‘stump’, as you called it, was healed. The multiple incisions left silvery scars on your marred skin. You had lived without the leg for quite a while now.

Mateo drew your blood panel and cultures. He carefully added the bottles and tubes into a stat biohazard lab bag with the promise that an ultrasound tech would be by soon.

“Good news and bad news,” Doctor Abbot strolled back into your exam room with results as soon as he could, true to his word.

“Good news: Blood cultures were negative and the CBC was all within normal limits. And the bad news,” he continued, scrolling through your chart on an iPad before looking up at you. You nodded with a sharp inhale and gripped the gurney’s side rail, prepping for whatever diagnosis he might deliver. His eyes softened.

“Bad news,” he said quieter, “is you’ll need to stay off that leg for a while. At least until some of the inflammation goes down. I’ll leave the specific guidance up to your prosthetist. But for now, doctor’s orders are to cut back on the 8-hour walking tours. You got a wheelchair?” He asked with his arms crossed over his distractingly broad chest. He was solution-oriented, but not convinced you would heed the medical advice. You were strong-willed, that much was evident.

You groaned and threw an arm over your face to cover your eyes. You thought of the wheelchair you’d shoved to the back of your closet years ago. After a few beats of silence, you nod. You’re not happy about the plan of care, but you agree to it nonetheless.

“Do you have someone to take you home?” Jack asked, shuffling your discharge paperwork to keep his hands busy. Otherwise, he might give in to the urge to reach out to you. 

Everyone you knew was either working or busy. Internally, you felt like a burden. The people in your life didn’t feel that way, but it didn’t make the guilt go away. You chuckled inwardly. What doesn’t kill you gives you a dark sense of humor.

“I’ll figure it out,” you replied nonchalantly, already opening the rideshare app on your phone. Jack frowned. If he weren’t in the thick of his shift, he’d offer to let you hang around in the lounge and take you home himself, but that wouldn’t be for another 5 hours. At least.

“I’ll come check on you after my shift,” he resigned. It wasn’t a question or an offer.

“You don’t have to do that,” you looked up at him from beneath your lashes, shocked that he would even suggest such a thing.

“I insist. It’ll make me feel better knowing you’re okay,” Jack replied without missing a beat. So he cares about you. Hmm. His hands found his hips, only adding to his inherent sass factor.

“You don’t know where I live,” you retorted. The banter was fun. God forbid a girl take advantage of her amputation to flirt with a silver fox trauma doc.

“I’m literally two taps away from finding your address in your chart,” Abbot smirked. He wasn’t lying. A couple of gestures on the iPad later, he was parroting your address back at you.

“Fine. But you better bring food with you.” It was your turn to leave no room for argument. You eyed him up and down, watching the way he squared his shoulders with confidence.

“It’s a date,” Jack replied easily, without thinking. You couldn’t tell whose cheeks were more flushed, yours or his. He didn’t dare take it back, though. Either way, you agreed.

“It’s a date.”

a/n: At the risk of sounding desperate, I'm begging y'all to leave comments and interact with my work. The likes are so super duper appreciated but I kind of feel like I'm posting into a void when 99% of the engagement is likes with no comments. anyway!! COMMENTS ARE REALLY APPRECIATED!! They keep me motivated to write more <3

Find more of my writing on my master list.

Turn on post notifications @thesewordsxupdates to get notified when I release new fics.

[genderqueerdykes]

since a lot of people don't have the opportunity to interact with irl queer spaces, i want to point out yet another reason why "lesbian spaces are for women ONLY" doesn't work. attending a queer space for the first time, especially while questioning your identity, is scary. you don't know the terms or lingo yet, you don't know exactly how you feel about your queer experience, you're still discovering yourself. a lot of people bring friends, or even family, to queer spaces for support. sometimes those friends and family are cishet

the first time i went to my university's pride organization, i took my cishet ally best friend. the first time i went to my current city's trans resource center to ask about starting testosterone HRT, i took my cishet ally best friend. neither time were either of them questioned. nobody saw either of them as a threat. they were welcomed just like i was.

like i don't get why this causes people to hiss like cats, but this is very, very normal, and encouraged because, here's the really important part: when those cishet folks are treated warmly and with an open reception, this creates allies. the most important part of irl queer spaces is the alliance. this part is completely lost in online queer spaces.

my college's pride organization was called "[university]'s Gay/Straight Alliance" this was 15 years ago before we moved toward using "queer" or "LGBT" as an umbrella term and were still using Gay as an umbrella for all queer experiences. the terms could be updated to something more inclusive, but the point still stands that the was on emphasis queer/non queer alliance. you were more than welcome to bring your non-queer friends and family. you were encouraged to come in and ask questions if you were not queer, but wanted to learn more. it was a space that welcomed everyone.

like, sometimes, the supportive ally parents of queer children show up, too, and we have to let them in. why would we ever sacrifice educating cishet parents on how to properly treat their children for the sake of "keeping the space for [identity] ONLY"? why would we deny cishet family members the education they need to gender and address their family members correctly? to learn more about our culture and accept us?

this is the literal lifeblood of our community. we need to open our doors to allies. we need to allow people to bring their friends and families, it's how queerphobes and non queer people come to accept and humanize us. all queer spaces need to be this accepting. and besides, we should never alienate people who are just coming out, or used to identify with a gender that doesn't "Belong" in your community. that's just not how we work around these parts.

[arionaleilani]

will byers deserves better than this

[nanaslutt]

oh my god please make another part of gojo teaching us that was so good holy shit

Gojo teaches you how to touch him<3

Pt. 1 here

contains: fem reader, guided jerking off, experienced gojo, size kink if you squint, so much dirty talk, corruption kink, overstimulation, first time making out, gojo walks you through everything, cum eating

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

“Wanna learn how to touch a dick?” his question rang in your ears like a flash grenade had gone off. He was referring to himself right? You had to remind yourself how to breathe at how anxious his question made you. Touching yourself had made you embarrassed and self aware enough as it is, so touching someone else? The thought made you feel mortified.

Gojo must’ve picked up on your anxiousness because he used his big hands to rub comfortingly up and down your forearms, “Hey, if you’re not comfortable we can always stop here, you’ve already done so good.” He comforted.

Gojo might be unserious 99% of the time, but when it came to making you feel safe, he really nailed it. You came to the right person in asking for help with this kind of thing.

"N-no, I think I want to its just.. I dont know what im doing." You confess, even though he already knew. Gojo giggled, making the weight on your shoulders lift a bit at the sound, "Baby, I know, thats why Im gonna teach you, if you’ll let me." He smiles, leaning his body forward so you could see his face-- the visual of him smiling eased your nerves slightly.

"Right.. but what if I'm still not any good?" You say, shyly. "I almost came in my pants just watching you cum so.. I'm pretty sure you will do juuust fine." He confessed, making you huff out a laugh. "O-okay, what should I do?" You asked, turning your body so you were facing him, reaching over to grab your previously discarded panties while you waited for him to answer.

"The first thing you can do is forget about these," Gojo took your soaked panties from your hand, making you scoff as he twirled them around his finger before pocketing the fabric as quick as he snatched them, "The view of your little pussy is so cute, don't want these to get in the way of this eye candy." He praised, making you blush and look away from his intimidating gaze.

He brought his hand up to your face after pulling his hand out of his pocket-- caressing the side of your cheek comfortingly, "Come here." He instructed, sliding down on the headboard so he was propped comfortingly against the pillows, "On my lap," He adds when you hesitate to move twords him.

You situated yourself comfortably on his thighs, right under his crotch, you placed your hands on his lower stomach, staring at his intimidating bulge while you waited for his words to come. "You wanna start by touching it over his pants, just like you did for yourself." He instructs, speaking generally.

You picked your hands up from his stomach, hovering them a couple inches over his crotch before taking a deep breath and biting your lip. "How should I.. touch it?" you ask uncertainty laced in your words. "Wrap your hand around it the best you can and rub," He tells you, placing his hands on your thighs and rubbing his thumb on your skin for comfort.

You held your breath before you made contact with him, making him hiss air into his lungs through his teeth at the feeling of properly being touched after so much tension. You softly rubbed him up and down, gulping at how big he felt in your hand. "You can rub a little harder, it's not gonna break," He laughed, making you blush and whisper out a quiet 'sorry' as you briefly made eye contact with him, quickly averting your gaze back down to his crotch.

You gripped him through his pants, stroking him rougher now but still slowly, up and down. You took a peek at his face from under your lashes, watching him lick his lips and blink rapidly, his eyes focused on your hand at work on him.

"Yeah, yeah, just like that." He praised, keeping his eyes glued down between the two of you. You felt your face heat up when his cock jumped against your hand, it felt so hot even through his pants. The thought of seeing a real dick, unobstructed by fabric was making your head spin.

The man underneath you truly thought he would've came the second you touched him, it was a miracle from the heavens that he had managed to hold back and not bust in his pants at the first contact.

Your inexperience turned him on to no extent. He just loved the idea of corrupting you, showing you all of the amazing things you could feel, everything that you've been missing out on. He swore he would ruin you for anyone else—make you addicted to him so you never even thought about doing this with anyone else.

"D-does this feel good?" You ask genuinely, you had noticed his expressions and reactions to your touch—and they seemed like good ones—but you had no idea how someone was supposed to react when you touched them like this, hence why you asked for his confirmation.

"Feels better than you know." He grinned, his body running warmer the longer you stroked him over his pants. "It feels so big." You confessed, unaware of how your words went straight to his head and dick.

"Yeah?" his smirk grew as he felt his own ego inflate at your words, not like he needed that. "Yeah.." You meekly replied, "It keeps twitching too," you told him like he was unaware. "I know baby, means you're doing a good job." He praised once more, making you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Wanna see it?" He asked after he deemed that you had been touching him outside his pants for an adequate amount of time. You swallowed hard, stilling your hand on his cock as it continued to jump under the weight of your palm. "Yes, please." You answered, sliding your hands up his shirt and feeling his hard abs before you slid them back down to hold onto the hem of his pants. "Should I take your boxers off too, or?" You question, hesitating.

He smiled at you, giving you a short nod. You grabbed his pants and boxers alike, beginning to pull them down his body— gojo lifted his hips up to aid your efforts, jaw dropping in an open-mouthed smile when his hard cock sprung up and slapped against his abdomen.

Your mouth opened in a small o shape, running dry at the sheer size of his now unobstructed cock. There was a string of pre that had already dropped down against his abdomen, connecting the two.

It looked as thick as it felt, a nice upwards curve to it, and the tip was flushed a pretty pink color. It was the prettiest and only dick you’d ever seen.

“You like what you see, cutie?” he teased, making his cock jump as you stared between the appendage and his penetrating gaze. “Fuck.. y-yeah.” you confessed, feeling yourself start to throb between your legs at the new visual.

“Go ahead an touch it, the same as you did before.” Gojo instructed. You slowly reached out, wrapping your hand around his length, noticing that your fingers couldn’t wrap all the way around his girth.

The man underneath you couldn’t resist as he thrusted his hips up into your hand, biting his lip at the direct contact. “Your hand is so fucking soft” He praised, “Go ahead and spit on it for me, it doesn’t feel very good when it’s dry.” he told you.

The gears in your head were still turning at what you were actually doing right now. Without saying anything, you leaned down a bit, collecting the saliva in your mouth before you spit right onto his cockhead, making him gasp.

You brought your hand to his tip, rubbing it around in circles before sliding your hand down the length of his cock and coating it in your spit, easing the slide. “Fuuuck, just like that, shit-“ Gojo cursed, tipping his head back against the pillows and squeezing his eyes shut.

“S-squeeze harder at the tip,” he instructed, remembering he was supposed to be teaching you, so staying silent and moaning probably wouldn’t do you much good. “T-the tip is more sensitive than the rest of the cock, so make sure to pay more attention to it.” he tells you.

“Is it kinda like the clit?” You ask, which makes him giggle before he responds, “Sorta..” he answeres, staring at the ceiling in thought before he continues, “Yeah actually, pretty similar, but if you spend too much time on just the tip it can get a little too sensitive.” He explains.

“Sensitive how?” you ask, continuing your slow but heavy strokes on his cock, using the knowledge he just told you in squeezing harder against his tip. “Why don’t I show you?” he says.

“Take one hand and keep stroking me just like you’re doing, with the other, lay your palm flat- yeah just like that- then curl your hand over the entirety of my tip, and rotate your wrist in circles.” Gojo instructed, digging his nails into your thighs prematurely as he braced himself for the intense overstimulating pleasure that was about to come.

“This won’t hurt you right?” you ask, getting your hands into place but keeping them still as you awaited his answer. “You’re so sweet~” he cooed, “I’ll stop you if it’s too much.”

With that, you started, quickly jerking the length of his cock while rotating your wrist over his dick in quick circles. Immediately his body started reacting, back arching and abs clenching uncontrollably as he bit his lip and dug his nails deeper into your skin to keep himself grounded.

“K- haaah- keep g-going-“ he moaned out, his legs jerking and twitching underneath you as you kept up your antics. “Fuck! f-fuck-“ The white haired man squeezed his eyes shut as his body spasmed without his permission.

Your cunt was throbbing at how you were able to bring a man as strong as Gojo to this state. “Ngh~” he was whining and moaning against the sheets, head thrashing back and forth as he tried to keep his voice down.

You never wanted this to end, you finally understood what he meant when he said he was worked up from just watching you play with yourself, as you felt your cunt clench, slick dripping down your leg from your tight hole.

His large hand came down to stop your wrist, panting heavily he spoke, “O-okay, okay- fuck, that’s enough.” He groaned when the pleasure quickly became too much. "S-sorry, are you okay?" you choked, once again making him smile at how sweet you were. "I'm just fine baby, it's just a little overwhelming," He said, releasing your wrist and placing his hand back on your thighs.

"Did so fucking good though, listened just like I told you to." He smirked, gripping your thighs and making you look up at him through your lashes. You pouted out your bottom lip a bit in embarrassment, trying your best to not look away from his intimidating gaze. "Alright, class is back in session, go ahead and pick up where you left off." He continued.

You released your hand that was caressing his tip, going back to jerking him off steadily with the one hand. "Don't forget about the balls either, you just wanna massage them softly," he instructs after a couple seconds of your continued ministrations. You nod, acknowledging his words before you spit on your other hand, and bring it down to his warm balls.

"Oh shit- haha- didn't even have to tell you to spit." He says, amazement laced in his words, "You had n-nothing to worry about, you're doing so fucking good." He reassured when you started to expertly roll and massage his sack in your hand, timing your motions perfectly with the jerking of his cock.

"Cmere baby," He asked, growing needier and needier at the more stimulation you provided him with. You tilted your head at him, confused, making him laugh. "Come give me a kiss, pretty thing." He clarifies. You hesitate slightly, You've kissed one or two people before, but you've never made out with anyone per se, which is what you were assuming Gojo wanted right now.

"Follow my lead, I'll show you how to make kissing feel as good as sex." He boldly said, making you blush. You released your hold on his balls, opting to place your hand against his hard chest for stability as you leaned forward, not stopping your ministrations on his cock. He gave you a toothy grin, his big hands coming up to grab your waist before he opened his mouth, huffing out a small laugh before he pressed your lips together.

He immediately took the lead, moving his lips against your own, massaging his soft lips with his. He groaned into the kiss, which made you reciprocate the sound, whining into his mouth. Where you normally would've pulled away by now, Gojo instead opened his mouth against you and pressed another kiss to your lips, repeating the action, and continuing the kiss.

You unawarely squeezed his cock harder at the stimulation, you had no idea that kissing could feel so erotic. When Gojo felt your fist tighten up around him, he pulled back half an inch from the kiss, panting slightly against your lips before he spoke needily, "Faster baby, give it to me faster." He rushed before conjoining your lips once more, rougher this time.

You felt him poke his tongue out and lick against your lips, "Open your mouth for me, baby," He said to you between kisses, to which you complied. He took this new opportunity to lick his tongue into your mouth. You thought French kissing would feel gross and unpleasant, but this was nothing of the sort, it really felt like he was fucking your mouth. He expertly massaged the inside of your mouth with his warm appendage, making you throb between your legs.

You remembered his words; which had told you to follow his lead; as you reciprocated, darting your tongue out and intertwining it with his, and it felt even better. "Mmmmm" Gojo hummed against your lips when he felt your tongue join the fun. Hips lips suddenly attached to your bottom one, slowing down the kiss briefly as he sucked it into his mouth and bit it between his teeth, smirking before he let it go, chasing your lip as it bounced back to your face.

You had switched up your technique on his cock just seconds ago, rotating your wrist over his entire cock, and pulsing your grip to imitate your pussy walls, giving him harder strokes when you slid your hand down him; you were having fun with it, and it must've been working.

Gojo pulled away from the kiss, allowing you to sit back up as he panted heavily, his cock was steadily dripping more and more pre onto your fingers, easing the slide against his cock while you jerked him off. "Did you like that?" He asked, referring to the kiss. "Y-yeah, I didn't know kissing could feel so good," you replied honestly, making him smile.

"I know~ made your pussy feel all needy again, huh?" he said, having noticed the wetness that was coating your inner thighs, his words sending a wave of sudden awareness through you, making you want to cower away. "Aww, don't get shy on me baby, look at me," He started, "I'm the one getting my cock jerked off, about to fucking burst," The man giggled, "If anyone should be embarrassed it's me~"

"You're about to cum?" You asked, those words being the only ones that made it into your dizzy head. "Yeah, and it's all cos' of you, didn't even have to give you that much i-instruction, you're a pro." he praised, making you look away from his gaze and instead focus on his cock in your smaller hand. "You wanna make me cum?" He asked.

"Wanna watch you cum.." You replied, making him laugh breathlessly as he felt your words go straight to his balls, "Oh don't worry, you will," He informed you, tipping his head back once more against the pillows, and letting himself really feel as you stroked your fingertips along his lower abs, while keeping the steady and mind numbing pace on his cock.

"Fuck, wish I was cuming inside your pussy," He suddenly moaned, catching you off guard with his words as he gripped your hips with his large hands. "Would fill you up so fucking full." He babbled, inching closer and closer to his high with every stroke, slightly thrusting up into your warm hand.

proofread-----

"If I try hard enough, your little hand starts to feel like your perfect fucking cunt," He groaned through his teeth, "but I just know you would be so much warmer and wetter- fuck-." He moaned at his own words, working himself up as he dropped his chin forward to look at your hand on him, his jaw opened in a small o shape.

"You want that? Huh? Want me to split you open on my cock and fill you up with my cum?" His words had gotten so filthy and shameless, and so fast, it was giving you whiplash. You nodded meekly, not trusting your voice right now as his words alone made you feel like you were going to cum. But that wasn't good enough for Gojo. "Gotta hear you say it baby, need you to tell me you need it." He groaned through his teeth, making your body move above him as he thrust his hips upwards, helping you fuck his cock with your hand.

"Y-yes Satoru I want it." You said, meaning every word, "What do you want?" He rushed out, trying to hold back from cumming to hear you say those magic words. His balls and shaft alike were twitching so strongly against your hold, getting ready to release his seed. "W-want you to come inside me, please give it t-to me." You blushed at your own words, the embarrassment worsening when he groaned shamelessly at them. His pretty eyes rolled back in his head as his orgasm crashed down on him. "Fuck- coming-" he warned before you felt his warm seed start to cover your hand.

Long rope after rope of his cum coated your hard, making you moan with him at the erotic sight. His abs were clenching under your hand, body twitching and back arching slightly, similar to how your own did when you had cum, as you fucked him through his high. You kept jerking him off even after the spasms of his body ceased, and his cock started to soften in your hold.

His large hand shot up and gripped your wrist harshly. "C-careful," He laughed, heaving air into his lungs, "It's so fucking sensitive right after we cum." He said.

"Shit s-sorry," You blushed, releasing his dick from your soiled hand as you stared at his seed that covered it, amazed by how much there was. "Don't be sorry baby, I haven't cum that hard in my life, and all just from your hand" He laughed, rubbing his large hands up the length of your torso while he let himself catch his breath, his soft cock resting against his tummy.

An idea popped into your head, remembering how he had sucked off your cum from your own fingers after he made you finish, and it made you wonder what he tasted like too. Absentmindedly you brought your hand up to your mouth, not paying attention to the man below you as he watched your every movement with bated breath, knowing exactly what you were about to do.

You let your tongue poke out from your open mouth, licking up his seed at tasting him on your tongue. It was bitter, but not overwhelmingly so, there was something almost sweet about it, which made you suck your fingers completely into your mouth, swallowing his seed that coated them.

Gojo watched with a slack jaw at the show you were putting on, his cock twitched to life as he watched you eagerly lick up his cum. "Fuuuck." He drew, bringing your attention back to him as you popped your fingers out of your mouth, giving him a small smile that made his brain short-circuit.

"I have so much to teach you." He grinned, caressing the side of your face as you closed your eyes, and leaned your face into his hand.

pt.3

[timmydraker]

When patrolling together, Red Robin and Robin get cornered by the Joker.

They aren’t too worried at first considering he’s seemingly only got a dozen men and others are on patrol, but then they see what the men are holding.

Joker had made a new Joker venom and they are seemingly the test subjects.

Damian is instantly ready to fight, but Tim is running the odds through his mind and it’s not good. They have a good chance of getting out, they are trained after all, but not without one or both of them getting the venom and who knows how long it will take to make a cure of a new concoction.

Tim can’t let that happen.

Jason, Barbara, himself…

Damian will not be added to the list of people of people tormented by this mad man.

With coms being out of reach as the two went into a private channel so they wouldn’t get in trouble for bickering, and their every move being watched, Tim had few choices.

Tim swallows and pushes Damian behind him, standing tall with his chin up even as his hands start to shake.

Damian starts to protest but Tim is speaking first, “Let him go and you can-… can have JJ back.”

The way Joker starts to grin even wider, slow and painful, is the most unnerving sight Tim has seen in a long time.

Joker laughs loud and starts clapping.

“Oh joy, oh joy! This is more fun than I thought! Always so good at surprises, JJ!”

His laughing doesn’t stop as Tim shakily turns to his little brother, who’s almost eighteen but still little even as he grows taller than him, and holds onto his shoulders.

“Robin, I need you to listen to me. You have to let me go with them or you’ll get hurt, okay? You have to promise me you won’t follow us because I can’t let you get hurt like me and-“

One of the goons takes the chance to knock Robin out and lets him slump into Tim’s arms.

Just as he begins to panic about them hurting Damian or bringing them with him, Joker comes up behind him and wraps an arm move his shoulders, “Don’t worry about him, JJ! Little Robin number… whatever, will be just fine! Batsy will find him and take him back to his nest, while we…” - Joker leans in so he can whisper in his ear - “have a little family catch up!”

Tim nods, not finding it in himself to smile or play along yet, but keeping up his end of his offer.

It takes one day of shocks after his forced make over for him to settle back into the role he learnt the first time. Last time it took two and half a weeks for him to give in and learn his part properly, and then a few more days before he was rescued, but this time it feels almost natural as he puts on a big grin and starts a familiar giggle.

He thinks of Damian, who may have been turned into Joker Junior Junior or some other absurd name, and tells himself it’s worth it to protect him from any more trauma.

Tim is kept for a month, playing house with a mad man who makes rants about JJ’s mother leaving him for a woman and being tortured every time he doesn’t laugh quick enough or seems just a little distant.

When he’s found he doesn’t realise. He’s just sitting there at a dinner table with straps on the chair keeping him down. He’s laughing loudly, knows if he stops he’ll be hit or shocked or forced to drink some kind of toxic chemical until he pukes up blood. He can’t stop, because Papa will be mad and he’s scary when he’s mad and mama isn’t there anymore.

When he process the change of scenery he finds himself in a hospital bed in the cave.

JJ and Tim are so blurred into the same person that when he sees Damian he has no idea who he is at first. He almost expects someone younger, the little boy who first showed up, because that’s the little boy he gave himself up for.

But when Damian stared back at him and starts to tear up Tim finds himself remembering who he wants to be.

He pulls his little brother into his arms, jostling Alfred the Cat, and sobs into his hairline while ignoring the green in his periphery and praying he doesn’t start to laugh.

He fails, but Damian doesn’t give up on him.

[novvabee]

Hi,

Could you do a romantic poly!marauder (without peter) x reader where they are in a established relationship and maybe James (I just imagine it coming for him) having baby fever and dropping hint at it to make the others want to a start a family ?

omg! I totally can see James wanting a family like straight away, but the others are kind of hesitant. Hope this fits your vision ❤️

Oh baby, baby fever

summary: james wants a baby

cw: suggestive? talk about starting a family

James had been more needy and cuddly in the past couple of days. He was holding you closer, tighter to his chest in the mornings, being incredibly sweet. And this is James we’re talking about. He normally treated you like royalty, but he had somehow stepped it up after spending the day at work with you.

You had been a nanny for a family for about a year now, and you were loving the job. The family was so kind and generous, and they often felt like an extension of your own family. The children were no different. They were the sweetest kids with the most patience and understanding that you had ever seen in a child. There was a boy, Liam, who was 5, and a little girl named Ruth, 4. They were the reason you loved your job, getting to see them and care for them was the best job you could have ever asked for.

Two days ago, you had planned a trip to the zoo for the two, and were so excited to spend the whole day with them. James, who had the day off, offered to come with. He argued that it would be better to have two adult sets of eyes to watch over the children, safer, and you agreed. You didn’t know how the children would take it at first, him being a stranger, but just like everyone else seemed to, they took to him instantly.

Liam was so happy to have a boy to rough around with (though james was about 3 and a half feet teller and much, much stronger) and Ruth seemed to develop a bit of a crush, having James tie her pink sparkly shoes, hold his hand to cross the street, listen to her jokes and animal facts she had learned, and hold her favorite stuffed animal when she got tired of holding it herself.

James never once complained. He played and laughed with the kids, he carried both, one in each arm, whenever they asked, he bought them each a toy from the gift shop with his own money when they asked. He was doing amazing.

There was a different side to James that you saw. You were used to the kindness and warmth of him, but this was different. He was so gentle with them, it came so easy to him. You noted the moments he would get down to their level to hear them properly, to make sure they felt heard even though they were mostly talking nonsense or silly kid things. He lifted them up to see the animals without them having to ask, he just knew they wouldn’t be about to see over the fence. He made sure they had water and snacks whenever they wanted them.

It took a lot of pressure and stress off of you, put some ideas into your head… you thought that he would make a great dad.

And it seems, James had the same thoughts. The next day he dropped his first hint. All four of you and your boys were lounging about on the couch and watching movies. The day was quite glum out and you all wanted to curl up and use each other for warmth. You were curled into Remus’s side, James laying on you, his head on your chest and body between your legs, Sirius’s head in Remus’s lap. You were a big puddle of happiness. While watching a particularly boring part of the movie, James began running his hands along your sides, under your shirt. You didn’t mind, his hands were always so warm and soft. It gave you goosebumps in the best way. He moved his hands from your sides to your stomach, right under your belly button. He was dragging his fingers along your bare skin before looking at your stomach and kissing it. He laid his head back down and watched the move like nothing, continuing to rub your sides, but you knew what he was after. You knew what he was thinking and why. 

The next hint was dropped while you were all in the kitchen. Remus finishing cooking dinner for you, and the three of you waiting patiently at the table. You had somehow stumbled into the conversation of which teachers you had crushes on when you were younger. 

“Oh come on, Minnie had that authoritative thing going for her.” Sirius confidently announced over the noise of the kitchen.

“McGonagall? Sirius, what is wrong with you?” Remus looked over from the stove, baffled. You giggled and went to stick up for Sirius.

“I don't know,” you joked “She had sort of a milf vibe don't you think?”

The boys all laughed. James replied with a smirk from across the table“You’d know all about that Y/N, wouldn’t you?”

You tilted your head at him and furrowed your brows but chuckled “What do you mean Jamesie?”

“I just mean,” he starts, Remus serving you and Sirius both plates, “It takes one to know one.”

You all started laughing heartily at his comment.

“James mate, I think she’s lacking the main component for that.” Sirius teased.

“What do you mean?” James asked.

“She's not a mother.” 

“She could be,” James said slyly, a smirk cutting across his face.

“Woah woah” Remus said at the same time Sirius laughed a “What are you planning Potter?” you just laughed, you knew exactly what he was getting at. You were letting him have his fun before the seriousness sets in, before that very real, very important discussion happens. 

The next hint was dropped during game night. You had all decided to play a few games like Overcooked and Mario Party. It was quite a fun night full of swearing and playful anger. It was a good outlet to yell at each other without it being serious or mean in any way. A great way to let out all of your competitive energy. You were playing a round of Mario Party and losing, bad. Every mini game the boys seemed to team up on you. “Fuck me!” you let out.

James took this as his sign to slide in behind you and wrap his arms around you “You know that can be arranged, love.” he drawled, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. 

Remus and Sirius shared a look. “What’s gotten into him?” Sirius asked.

“He wants to have a baby.” you explained. You weren’t sure how the other boys hadn’t picked up on it. It wasn’t exactly something that  you had all talked about yet, you just liked being together, the four of you, having fun and sharing a life with each other. You weren't sure about… a baby. 

The whole room turned attention to James, who seemed to have turned shy. “I just-,” he started, “I think that… Y/N would make a wonderful mother, and I think I would be a pretty good dad? And I love children, I want one. I’m not saying, I mean, I-I don’t know…” He finished, unconfident and a little deterred.

You sighed, sitting up and readjusting to sit in his lap, facing him. “Jamie baby,” You said, taking his face in your hands, “look, you would be an amazing dad, the best dad in the world. But honey, I don’t think we are all ready for that right now.” you looked over to Sirius and Remus for agreement, they nodded and encouraged you to keep going. “James, we’re still really young. And I know you had a lot of fun with the kids I nanny, but that is different. Those are someone else's kids. Kids that we can have fun with and do fun things with them and then send them on their way back home where they scream and cry and throw tantrums. They aren’t always so perfect. And you’ve never had to change their diapers or deal with them when they're sick and when they are inconsolable. It was fun, but there is a whole other side to parenting, a hard and serious one.” Sirius opened his mouth to make a comment at that but Remus nudged him in the ribs and shook his head. “So baby, I am not saying no. But I am saying not right now. Is that understandable?” you asked.

James looked at you and nodded, you could tell he knew it wasn't the right time, but deep down that is something he wants. You kissed his cheek to try and cheer him up a bit, you know he would need a little bit to be sad, but that he would inevitably come around.

Remus, noticing that James was still upset, came up with a proposition. “How about we work our way up? We start small and then see where we are after. What if we get a cat or a dog?” He suggests.

Sirius squinted his eyes and said “How about a plant?”

James chuckled, the sound making your heart feel less heavy. “I would like a cat…”

“Damnit” Sirius said under his breath.