#but i think sticking to the plan is. probably a good idea

[itneverendshere]

hi! For the bartender!Universe would u mind writing a pregnancy scare? It brings a lot of mixed emotions when they find out she wasn’t pregnant and it ends up a really deep talk about what they want with their future? Thank you so much 💕💕

i got a similiar ask at the exact same time so i decided to combine aspects of both!!! the other request: "this one’s a lil angsty. maybe you have a pregnancy scare and while rafes like super excited for the potential baby, you’re not, the stress of keeping rafe clean and not heading back to rehab lingers your mind".

hope you both enjoy!!!!❤️🫂🤭

 just want you in my life keep you warm at nights - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: pregnancy scare; insecurities

Rafe was sprawled out beside you, his arm draped lazily across your stomach as he scrolled through his phone. You could feel the pressure of his hand pressing gently on your skin, but your mind was a million miles away, your gaze stuck on the ceiling fan.

It felt like everything had been on autopilot for the past few days, your mind preoccupied with one thing—late. Not like a few days late.

More like over a week late.

It wasn’t the first time your period had been irregular, but you couldn’t help but spiral immediately. Rafe and you had been together for three and a half years, living together for a while now and he’d proposed last autumn. But this? This wasn’t part of the plan.

Not yet.

“Hey,” His voice snapped you back to the present, his brows furrowed as he looked at you, concern evident in his blue eyes. “What’s wrong?”

You blinked, trying to force a smile. “Nothing... just thinking.”

He shifted, propping himself up on his elbow to look at you more closely. “Thinkin’ about what?”

You stomach dropped. You hadn’t told him yet. You weren’t sure if there was anything to tell because you hadn’t even taken the test. You weren’t sure if you wanted to. Saying it out loud would make it real. And that terrified you.

Rafe, on the other hand, would probably be thrilled. He’d always talked about kids like they were a given, like it was part of some unspoken future you were destined for. You wanted them too, but the truth? The truth was, the idea of being responsible for another human being when you were still trying to recover from Rafe's scare last year and keeping your shit together now that you’d gotten a promotion at the club—well, it felt like too much.

You couldn’t say that, though. Not to him. So you kept quiet. 

The next day, you stared at the small plastic stick in your hand, heart hammering in your chest as you waited for the result to appear. The bathroom was dead silent, save for the faint drip of the sink, but your mind was anything but quiet.

This one stupid piece of plastic was going to dictate the rest of your life. It could change everything in the blink of an eye. Three minutes. That’s how long it would take to find out if your entire world was about to be turned upside down.

You still hadn’t told Rafe. You didn’t even know how to. His mind was in a good place lately, and you weren’t about to ruin that. After everything we’d been through—the relapse, the rehab, the nights where you weren’t sure if he’d make it out—this was not something you were ready to throw on both of you.

You hadn’t even wrapped your head around it yet. Shit, you could barely breathe just thinking about the possibility. You glanced at your phone, biting your lip as the seconds ticked by.

Almost time. Your stomach twisted into endless knots. He was in the living room, blissfully unaware of the panic attack you were on the verge of having just a few feet away. You could hear him flipping through channels on the TV, probably looking for some show to watch. Part of you felt guilty for not telling him, but how were you supposed to tell him when you didn’t even know what you wanted?

The idea of being pregnant had scared you more than you expected.

Not because you hated kids or anything, you grew up rising Milo for fuck’s sake—it was just the timing. Or maybe it was more than that.

Your mom died shortly after you were born and your dad…well, a drunk piece of shit was hardly a good parental figure. You’d never let yourself think about it before, Rafe had told you how good you were with kids a million times over the years, but you didn’t know how you’d turn out with your own kids. You didn’t want to be anything like them, ever. 

Taking a deep breath, you finally glanced down at the test.

Negative.

Relief took over you so fast it made you feel lightheaded. You hadn’t realized just how much pressure you’d been carrying on your shoulders until it was gone in an instant. Thank God.

Your shoulders slumped as you exhaled, leaning against the sink for support. You felt like you finally could breathe again, like you could relax for the first time in what felt like weeks. There was no baby. No life-altering change. No new responsibility that you didn’t know how to handle.

You closed your eyes. This was good. This was the outcome you needed. No baby, no stress, just… back to normal.

But then, life had a twisted sense of humor and the door creaked open. “Hey, baby, you—”

Your eyes flew open, heart dropping in your chest as you quickly shoved the pregnancy test behind your back. Rafe stood in the doorway, looking at you with his signature confused look—one eyebrow cocked, lips slightly parted, like he’d walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to.

You forced a smile, too wide and too fake, and took a step back, trying to act casual. “Oh, uh, hey! What’s up?” Your voice cracked on the last word, and you internally winced. Smooth.

He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “What are you hiding behind your back?”

Shit.

You tried to laugh it off, shaking your head like it was no big deal. “Hiding? Me? I’m not hiding anything.”

His eyes moved to the hand behind your back. “Really? Because it sure looks like you are.”

You swallowed hard, your brain rushing to come up with some excuse, any excuse. 

But the longer you stood there, the more suspicious you looked. And Rafe was nothing if not persistent when he thought something was up. Before you could stop him, he pushed off the doorframe and closed the distance between you two, his hand reaching behind your back in one smooth motion. Your stomach dropped as he grabbed the test from your hand, pulling it out in front of both of us.

He stared at the pregnancy test in his hand, his eyes widening with realization as he slowly processed what he was seeing. What he was holding. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first. He just stood there. 

“Y-You thought you were pregnant?”

The heat rose to your cheeks, and the anxiety that had been building in your stomach for days came back at full force. You were still reeling from the relief of the negative result, but now that relief was giving up space for guilt. You hadn’t meant for him to find out like this, or maybe not even at all. You didn’t want to drag him into the spiral you’d been caught in, not when things had been going so well lately.

“I... I wasn’t sure,” you stammered, looking down at the floor because it was easier than meeting his eyes. “I mean, I was late, and I just…I didn’t know.”

Rafe’s face softened, the confusion in his eyes giving way to concern as he took a step toward you. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing again, this time for a different reason. The last thing you wanted to do was lie but telling him the truth felt impossible.

“I didn’t want to stress you out,” you admitted, “I wasn’t even sure if I was, and I didn’t want to freak you out for no reason.”

Rafe’s hand was still holding the test, but now he was looking at you with that intensity he always had when he knew you were telling the entire truth. He wasn’t mad—he never got mad, not anymore—but you could tell he was hurt that you hadn’t let him in. You felt awful about it.

“I wouldn’t have freaked out,” he said gently, stepping even closer until he was right in front of you. “You know that, right? You don’t have to do this alone.”

That was the thing, though. Over the past year you’d spent so long worrying about him, making sure he was healthy, that the idea of burdening him again with your own fears had become...strange.

You didn’t want to be another weight on his shoulders.

“I know, I just…” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I didn’t know how to feel about it. And I didn’t want you to—”

“To what?” he pressed softly, his voice so calm and reassuring that it made the stress loosen just a little.

You took a deep breath, “I didn’t want you to get your hopes up, I guess. Or feel disappointed if it was negative.”

He set the test down on the counter beside him, reaching out to cup your face in his hands. “Baby, I wouldn’t be disappointed,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “If it had been positive, great. If it’s not, that’s fine too. We’ve got time. It’s not like we have to figure this out right now.”

The lump in your throat made it hard to speak. “You’re really not mad?”

Rafe shook his head, “I wish you would’ve told me what you were going through. I don’t want you to carry that by yourself.”

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. There was so much you wanted to say, so many fears you’d been holding onto—not just about the possibility of being pregnant, but about everything. About whether you were even ready for kids at all, about what kind of parent you’d be, about whether you could handle the responsibility when your past still haunted you in ways you hadn’t recovered from.

“It’s not just that,” you whispered, “I don’t know if I’m ready, Rafe. And it scares the shit out of me.”

He was silent for a moment, and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, his expression was so gentle, so understanding, that it almost broke you.

“Hey,” he pulled you into his arms. “We don’t have to be ready right now. There’s no rush. When you’re ready, we’ll talk about it."

You buried your face in his chest, letting him heartbeat calm you. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and for the first time in what felt like days, you allowed yourself to relax.

“I-I know you want a baby. But—”

He sighed against your hair, lips brushing your temple, “What I want is for you to be happy. And if this doesn’t make you happy right now, I don’t mind waiting. We got forever, remember?”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want kids—it was that right now, everything already felt like too much. Planning a wedding, keeping up with work, holding your relationship together after what you both had been through, it was all overwhelming. And then the idea of a baby on top of that? You’d grow crazy.

Rafe’s fingers brushed through your hair, and you just let yourself be in his comfort. But the guilt was still there, eating you whole from the inside. You should’ve told him from the start, not carried it all on your own like you always do.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered into his chest, voice muffled. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just didn’t know what to do. It’s been a lot lately.”

He kissed the top of your head, his hands gentle as they held you. “You don’t have to apologize, baby. You’re dealing with enough already.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I think I’m losing my mind.”

The wedding. God, the wedding. You hadn’t even let yourself fully acknowledge how much that had been stressing you out too. You’d dreamed about this day since you were a kid, but now, between caterers, guest lists, dress fittings, and everything else, it felt like a full-time job. And the worst part was, the more overwhelmed you got, the more guilty you felt for not being excited enough about it.

“I just want everything to be perfect,” you admitted, biting your lip. “I want it to be special, but it’s starting to feel like a chore. Like I’m supposed to care more about seating charts and floral arrangements than... than actually enjoying the fact that we’re getting married.”

 “Then let’s cut back. We don’t need some huge, over-the-top thing if it’s stressing you out. I just want to marry you, that’s all that matters to me.”

He always knew exactly how to calm you down, how to remind you what was important when everything else felt a little too crazy.

“But what about your family?” you asked, wiping at the corner of your eyes. “They’re expecting this big thing.”

He shrugged, “They’ll get over it. This is about us, not them. If you want something smaller, we can do that. Hell, we can get married in the backyard for all I care, as long as it’s what you want.”

The sincerity in his voice almost made you want to bawl your eyes out. You took a deep breath, nodding slowly. “I think I’d like that. Something smaller. More us.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he nodded. You let out a sigh of relief, the knot in your chest loosening more. Maybe this was what you needed—to let go of the pressure to have it all figured out. To accept that it was okay to not be ready for everything.

“I love you,” you whispered, leaning into his touch.

“I love you too,” he replied, his forehead resting against yours. “But baby, you have to stop worrying so much about me. I’m okay. I’m doing good, and I’m not going back there. But you’re gonna drive yourself crazy if you keep putting me first and ignoring what you need.”

You blinked, your breath catching slightly. “I’m not ignoring what I need—”

“You are,” he cut in gently, but firmly. “You’ve been doing it for months now. Since the relapse, since rehab. You’ve been carrying all this, stressing about keeping everything together. And I love you for wanting to take care of me, but you can’t keep putting yourself second. It’s not fair to you.”

You wanted to argue, to say you were fine, that it was just what you had to do to keep everything from falling apart. But deep down, you knew he was right. You’d been holding on so tight, so terrified that if you let go, if you stopped worrying about him for even a second, you’d lose him again. 

“I’m just scared,” you whispered, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” Rafe said softly, pulling you closer. “But if you keep this up, you’re gonna lose yourself.”

You closed your eyes, pressing your face into his chest as the tears you’d been holding back finally started to fall. Rafe held you tighter, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. He didn’t try to hush you or tell you to stop. He just let you cry, let you get it all out, like he knew you’d needed this release for a long time. You couldn’t stop. Everything you’d been bottling up for months was spilling out at once.

Rafe held you tighter, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. He didn’t try to hush you or tell you to stop. He just let you cry, let you get it all out, like he knew you’d needed this for a long time.

You pulled back slightly, sniffling as you wiped at your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop apologizing,” Rafe shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize for feeling what you’re feeling. But you’ve gotta start trusting that I’m okay."

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I know.”

"You’re allowed to let me take care of you too, you know?”

You let out a small laugh, wiping the last of the tears from your face. “I’m not great at that.”

“Meh, you used to be a lot worse.”

“Yeah?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, leaning into his familiar warmth.

“Oh yeah,” he smirked, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You used to keep everything so locked up, I’d have to pry things out of you.

His words made you chuckle, despite yourself. It was true. You had gotten better at letting him in—at least compared to before.

“You’ve always been so good at taking care of me,” you whispered, your hand tracing soft patterns across his chest. “But I guess sometimes I still forget that I don’t have to be strong all the time.”

 “You don’t. I’ve got you, baby. I’ve always got you.”

He meant it—every word. This was Rafe at his best, the man who had fought his way back from the darkness, who had become the partner you always knew he could be. The boy you fell in love with, the man you were going to marry and grow old with.

“I’m really trying,” you murmured, blinking back the last of your tears. “I don’t want to keep worrying about everything or trying to control what’s out of my hands. I just want us to be happy.”

“You make me happier than I’ve ever been, and I don’t want you to ever doubt that.”

You hesitated for a second, biting your lip before finally speaking up.

"Rafe?" you said softly, looking up at him. He hummed in response, his hand still tracing slow, comforting circles on your back.

"Are you… are you sure you're not sad about the, uh, not pregnant thing?" Your voice was quiet, unsure. You didn’t know why you felt the need to ask again. Even with all his reassurances, a part of you couldn’t ignore the worry that he might feel disappointed deep down.

He sighed gently, his lips quirking into a soft, understanding smile. "Baby, no," he said firmly, shaking his head as if to emphasize his point. "I promise you, I’m not sad. It doesn’t change anything between us. I told you before—we’ve got time. I’m happy with where we are right now. I don’t need a baby to make me feel complete. You already do that."

You couldn't help but ask again, just to be sure. "Really? You’re not disappointed?"

Rafe sighed softly, moving his hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear as he looked at you with those steady blue eyes. "Not disappointed. Not sad. I’m just glad you’re here. That’s all I care about. I’m fine with whatever the outcome is as long as I have you.”

"You’re really okay with this?" 

He frowned slightly, his hand coming up to gently tilt your chin so you were looking directly at him. "Listen to me. You could never disappoint me. Okay?"

You still had questions, still had insecurities about the future, but for the first time in days, you weren’t consumed by them and allowed yourself to believe that everything really was going to be good.

"Okay."

[signalhill-if]

Public Trello Board & Progress Update

School is finally over, which means I can dedicate much more of my time to Signal Hill! Today, rather than focus on writing, I decided to look to the future. Establish what work has been done, and what still needs to be done, before the demo can be released.

In furtherance of that, I've created a Trello board that I think can help me focus my efforts, and I've decided to make it public so that y'all can check in on my progress (and hopefully keep me accountable to updating the board, haha)

Let me go over each category individually...

Coding

The majority of the items in the coding list are not huge priorities- that's why they haven't been done yet! I've been procrastinating on finishing the last little bits and pieces, so I created this board to keep track of which things still need to be finished.

Leads & Conversations

Tracking my leads and conversations is less about progress and more about ensuring I don't forget about any of them! Most of them are attached to major scenes, but the smaller leads and less important conversations could go missing easily, and I want to ensure that any uncompleted leads in the demo are uncompleted intentionally.

Locations

This is the nasty one. Lots of writing, very little reward. Basically grunt work. Counting up the checklist items and comparing the finished ones to unfinished ones is relatively pointless, as some locations are much larger than others. Suffice to say, Skid Row and The Stacks are almost finished, the Red Light District is about 1/3 done, The Heights hasn't been started yet (oops), and The Graveyard... I'm still not sure about its scope, so while I've completed some progress on it, I'm leaving it for last.

Writing

This is the DOOZY. The current leads clock in at about 23k words (this is not including locations or conversations that occur outside of the lead scenes), and I'll need to about double that to finish the demo. Some planned scenes, such as Test Run, may not actually end up getting included in the demo- however, the goal is to include a total of 6 main scenes, each ranging from 4k to 10k words. In the finished demo, any character will be able to experience every single one of these scenes if they choose!

This will probably continue to be slow going, but we're making some good progress here! My goal from the beginning has been to keep this project focused, even if it's not progressing entirely quickly, and I feel like I'm succeeding at that goal. The demo release is going to take a while because I'm a bit of a slow writer and have a job and school, not because of feature creep! Hopefully, though, I can dedicate myself to writing as much as possible over the next few weeks and knock out a couple of scenes quickly. Fingers crossed.

[princeofhags]

I did the thing

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[waywardsalt]

post-ph rn feels like that image of a horse drawing thats half impeccable and half scribble with how im whittling down the first bit with the possession recovery and the basic group dynamic and most of the early/foundational stuff and anything beyond that is a big uuuhhhhhh

[dearsnow]

THIS CAN WORK

- as you’re trying to forget about him, the man who broke your heart shows up at your doorstep. or in which jake gets yelled at by the entire hard deck. (jake “hangman” seresin x fem!reader, angst -> fluff, reading part 1 is probably a good idea but idk if it’s 100% necessary)

PART 1

word count: 2,032

a/n - the official part 2 is here!! thank you for all the love part 1 got <3 i’m not personally the biggest jake fan but writing this was honestly so fun. i loved exploring the softer and more insecure parts of his personality, so i may have more planned for him in the future 👀

It’s been two days since Jake cut you out of his life, and to say you’ve been devastated is an understatement. You still have his shirts and his stupid nighttime noise maker, and with them, the lingering feeling of his touch on your skin. You’ve already texted to let him know that you’ll drop off his things later, but he has yet to respond. It’s like he’s dropped off the face of the Earth. Good, you think. Let him. But he better at least wipe any memory of himself from your thoughts first.

You’re trying your best to forget, you really are. You took down the pictures of him that hung on your wall, right by your bed, and you’ve shoved the pillow that holds the faint scent of his cologne into the depths of your closet, and the photos of him on your phone are sitting in the recently deleted album. It’s better this way, you tell yourself. You need to get him off your mind as soon as possible and move on to better things, better people. Like a stubborn stain, his presence remains.

But you still want him like you’ve never wanted a single thing before, and it makes you sick.

Jake had never felt worse in his life. As soon as he saw you walking away, he regretted it, but if there’s one thing Jake Seresin hates, it is being wrong. His friends called him every synonym for wrong in the dictionary that night.

“You’re an idiot, Bagman. She was the best thing you had going for you and you just pushed her away like that?” Phoenix scoffed. She had overheard snippets your break-up, and after prompting Penny, she knew the full story within seconds.

“I did what was best for her-“

“No, you did what was best for you.” Penny interjected. “If you can’t make the effort to keep someone so amazing in your life, you’re never going to get anywhere. Relationships require compromise and change on both sides. The whole time you were with her, she was bending over backwards to accommodate you, and you couldn’t even shift to the side a little and give her a pinch of what she needed.”

Jake could feel anger rising in his throat. He knew best, right? No one saw his perspective. No one could feel how unhappy he would’ve made you. He was setting you free. Right? Please, let him be right.

Rooster prodded him in the stomach with his pool stick. Apparently everyone was in on the conversation. “You’ve got that self-pitying look, man. You fucked up. You’ve been fucking up. If you really think you’re not good enough for her, isn’t that a reason to become good enough for her?”

“I just…” For the first time, Jake was at a loss for words. He was coming to recognize that he was wrong. He was so, so wrong, but that felt like a slap in the face. For the first time, Rooster’s words didn’t intend to antagonize him. They were honest, and he hated it.

Bob tried to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Jake pushed it off. “You should talk to her.” He offered. “Tell her your side, and if she’s open to it, work on yourself so you can be good for her.” His voice was soft and soothing, like he was whispering to a wounded animal. Jake felt himself burning up under the gazes of his friends.

“Yeah,” He swallowed hard, finally coming to terms with the fact that he can make mistakes. “Maybe I will.”

You’re humming to yourself, cleaning your apartment’s modest kitchen. The sun is out, shining golden beams upon the shiny counter you’re wiping down. It smells like the nicely-scented cleaner you just bought. The old one smelled too much like him. But, as you move on, so does life. Thinking about it gives you a headache, so you’ve chosen to do anything but think.

A knock at your door makes you put down your rag. You figure it’s just your landlord, considering that you were meant to pay your rent yesterday. You sigh, readying yourself to tell sweet Mr. Hammond that you’ll pay it ASAP.

Your fingers grip the door handle and pry it open. The thing has always been a little too hard to move; old hinges, you figure. Before you can get the door to open fully, you stop in your tracks. Jake.

He’s holding a bag of your favorite takeout with a sheepish look on his face. You consider slamming the door, but it would probably get stuck if you moved it too fast. “Have you come to collect your things?” You ask softly, looking him up and down. He looks like shit. He has seemingly forgotten how to shave, his stubble turning into the awkward length that you always chided him to take care of, and his deep green eyes are laden with sadness. It almost makes you feel bad for him— until, of course, you remember he broke your heart. Calm down, you think, make this quick and easy. Get him in and out.

“No.” He states simply. “I wanted to apologize.” This is a big thing for him, something so new that it sounds foreign to your ears. Jake apologizing? His shoulders are hunched slightly. You resist the urge to put a loving hand on his chest, as you usually did when he was feeling out of sorts.

“It’s fine.” Your voice is quiet, laced with as much kindness as you can muster. “I put all your stuff in a box, if you wanted to pick it up.” You’re still subtly prompting, trying to get him out again.

He places the takeout in your grasp, his pinky finger brushing lightly against your own. You hate how it still makes you tingle. Your other hand picks at the edges of your soft loungewear. Jake purses his lips slightly as you step backwards, your feet shuffling against the linoleum floor. “Can we talk?”

“I thought we just talked.” You respond curtly. He sighs, eyebrows drawn.

“I mean really talk. Just hear me out this one time, and if you want, you’ll never have to see me again.”

You nod slightly, resigning yourself to the fact that you have to get this over with. At least your apartment is clean and sparkling; in your own way, you’re telling him that you don’t need his permission to live a nice life. You can clean, and you can take care of yourself. The takeout finds its place on your small table. You pull out a stool from the side of your island and sit down as the stool’s legs creak underneath you. Jake sits, too, opposite you. His hands are shaking a little, but you turn your gaze up to his face.

You can hear his breaths deepening as he clasps his hands together. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“I appreciate your apology, but that doesn’t really change what happened.” You state. He holds up a finger as if to tell you to wait just a bit. Your eyes pass over his dejected expression, his mouth tilting just the slightest bit downwards.

“I know. I was being stupid, and I see that now. You’re amazing, honey. You’re nice and generous and this genuine kind of comforting that makes me smile. When I’m with you, I feel like I want to be better. And trust me, I do. I want to be so much better for you. When I first met you, I thought that you’d be a fit for Bob or something, that’s how amazing you are. I thought deserved someone like him, someone just as caring, but I fell in love with you instead, and now look where we are.” He chuckles dryly. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I guess I just felt inadequate and stupidly insecure. I know I’m not what a respectable girl like you would want, so I pushed you away and hurt you instead. I didn’t consider your feelings at all that night, and for that, I really am sorry. I don’t know if that explanation changes anything now, but I had to give it a shot; you were never too sweet, I was just too damn bitter.”

His words come out in a ramble. You’ve never seen him so much as stutter, but his confident, calm voice is bordering on anxious. You can’t even believe what you’re hearing.

It takes a lot of guts to say something like that. When you look back on your interactions, on everything he’s ever said or done around you, you finally see it clearly. All he does is build himself up to be this great figure, so much so that people can’t tell that his ego has been sorely bruised. That’s why he shrugs off comfort and security, fucking up every sure thing in his life during the process.

He’s boring a hole into your forehead with how hard he’s staring. His hands are still white-knuckled, holding each other like they’re seeking some sort of solace. The tension in the air is palpable as you take a breath. “Thank you. I… It’s nice to hear you acknowledge that.”

Jake can hear his breathing quicken shakily. That could’ve gone a lot worse. You’re not screaming at him, hitting him, kicking him out, anything that he thinks you should do. You’re just sitting there, nails digging into the flesh on your arm, looking shocked and heartbroken all at once. He takes one deep gulp of air. “You’re welcome. I’ll get out of your hair now.” He stands to leave, but your smaller hand catches his. His palm is damp.

“I’m sorry you ever had to feel that way about yourself.” You say. His small admission of insecurity weighs on you like nothing else. “You’re a good guy, Jake. I hope you’ll take this as an opportunity to work on yourself and find what makes you happy.”

Budding tears prick at his waterline. He hasn’t cried in a long time, but looking at you makes him want to. He wants to slide into your arms and sob, press his face into your neck and tell you over and over that he wants you back. He has to try. He thinks he’ll regret it for his whole life if he doesn’t. “You make me happy,” he hesitates, “and if you’ll have me, I’d like to have you around while I work on myself. I need you. You make me want to be good enough for you.”

You take one step, then another, and he doesn’t protest a single bit as you envelop him in a hug. His muscles relax as he wraps his arms around you, the tension breathing a sigh of relief. “I’d like that.” Your voice is slightly muffled from being pressed into his chest, but he hears you loud and clear. “I missed being with you.”

You missed the way he would cook you breakfast in the mornings with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder and classic rock playing from his phone. He always told you that you’d get the whole experience when you visited him, starting with his lips caressing your collarbones and continuing with breakfast in bed. It didn’t even matter if you didn’t want to leave; he would take you with him, wherever he went. He even got in trouble once for sneaking you on base.

You missed his scratchy morning voice and warm hands and how he always had an arm around you. You missed him caring about you, wiping your tears, and you missed how confidently he showed you off and stood up for you. You missed almost everything about him, if you’re being honest. You thinking you could live without him was but a brief lapse in your sanity.

“I missed you too.” He whispers. “I… I really do love you, darlin’. I’ll shape up, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” You smile.

For the first time in a while, Jake can feel hope pricking at his heart, and you can feel it beating through his shirt.

Maybe, just maybe, you think, this can work.

Taglist: @seitmai

[sepublic]

Insane to me how Eda must've said yes to Luz asking to stay with her at the Owl house, because she could relate. Because at her exact same age, Eda also struggled with a mother who meant well, but was ultimately doing something that hurt her out of misguided intentions. And because she felt betrayed and didn't want to go along with that plan, Eda also ended up running into the woods outside her home, only to stumble across the portal in the ruins of a Clawthorne ancestor’s home, and go through it despite what her mother had planned. And in doing so, she found independence and began her journey into discovering herself.

So no wonder Eda let Luz do the same. Even if she didn't know her whole story yet, Eda must've picked up on a couple details with Luz deeply resonating with her "Us weirdoes gotta stick together" motto, as well as encouraging the Conformatorium prisoners that nobody should be punished for who they are. The way Luz said that, Eda must've realized she was projecting/relating to them hard. So Eda saw all she needed to, and that's why she let Luz stay.

Her telling Luz to go back to her "real" family in the season 1 finale hurts even more because of this, because I wonder if Eda missed her mother at the moment too. So she wanted Luz to have a good relationship with her mother that she couldn't have. She wanted Luz to treasure that while she could still have it. And at the same time, I wonder if Eda felt as if she was betraying herself by being a hypocrite, telling Luz to stay with her mother when Eda herself hadn't done so and would continue not to.

But then Luz stays for Eda's sake, and she helps Eda get back her relationship with her mother. And Eda helps Luz in making a new portal so she regain her relationship with HER mother. All while lamenting, at one point, that Luz is going to go back to her real family in Eda's Requiem. They're both going back to their biological mothers, so they don't need each other anymore as a substitute. Besides, even if Eda's morals made sense to her at the time, she might've regretted letting Luz in and allowing her to be hurt by the coven.

But Luz and Eda's familial and found relationships aren't mutually exclusive, either!!! And Eda has to remember what she told Luz in Separate Tides, that her life changed for the better meeting this girl! Maybe Eda thinks that she needs Luz, but Luz didn't need her. But she really needed another parental figure, not unlike Manny, to give Luz another perspective to work with, so she could eventually go back to Camila and explain in better terms what she needed. And by the time Luz reunited with her mother, she wasn't able to articulate how she felt, due to a number of other factors outside of Eda's control that made her feel too guilty to ask for that.

Eda meeting Camila was so tense on her part, because she likely though of herself as an irresponsible stranger who kidnapped Camila's child and got her so terribly hurt and traumatized; At least, she couldn't blame Camila for thinking that way. Eda probably felt that way about herself, sometimes. But Luz needed her moms to get along, it'd mean so much to her, so Eda brushes aside the self-pity and presents herself as Luz's other family; Similarly, Camila has already opened her mind to the Boiling Isles because she can tell how much this place and its people mean to Luz. So even if they had different ideas on how to help Luz, they've since made their consensus by listening to Luz herself, and have gotten together over this mutual love.

[attapullman]

Bob From Stats | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, dry humping, alcohol, drunken party games, mentions of studying because that gives me PTSD, semi-exaggerated Greek life for theatrical reasons

A Note From Mo: Somehow my frat!Bob, drunk Bob is Rhett, and 7 minutes in heaven ideas all rolled into one fic - wild! Massive shoutout to everyone who listened to me talk about Stats Bob (who is now officially my #2 Bob, I love him) and for supporting this here lil blog. May you find a hobby-horse-wielding future WSO to sweep you off your feet too!

“I hate this. I’m going to quit school and become a stripper.”

Anna gives you a wry look. “That joke was only funny the first time you said it.”

“So you admit I’m funny!”

The two of you have been spread out in the library the majority of the evening. Textbooks, snacks, and highlighters littering the glossy dark wood. You’re on hour five of assignments and your brain is pounding against the front of your skull. Your other classes aren’t too bad, a bit time consuming, but Statistics is a foreign language. Thinking in probable numbers? It was one thing when the nice guy who sat behind you helped explain concepts, but Anna does not have quite the same analytical mind.

The sky outside is an inky black and the library is quiet except for your frustrated huffs. It’s Saturday night. The rest of campus is indulging in cheap beers at Barney’s, slinking along Greek Row, or enjoying tonight’s episode of Saturday Night Live. It’s time to get out of here and crawl into your soft bed. Torturing yourself with Stats homework will be just as painful on Sunday.

“If I buy us a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough, can we blow this off and hang out back at the dorms?” Anna is nodding before you’ve even finished. Stuffing notebooks into backpacks and capping pens low on ink, you’re strolling down the library stairs not even five minutes later.

As the balmy evening campus air hits your face, you already feel fresher. Campus is quiet, late enough that most people are settled into their Saturday night plans. As the two of you near Greek Row, there’s a comfortable silence as you appreciate the breeze through the trees and the warm glow of campus housing windows.

That is, until a low whoop rings out. An undercurrent of boisterous cheering and what sounds like stomping feet. You exchange eyes with your roommate. What is that?

As if summoned, a group comes galloping through the neatly trimmed cypress trees around the corner. They’re stomping their feet in a rhythm, hands held mid-air to imitate holding reigns. Drunken laughs ring out between cries of “Whoa!” and “Steady there, Lucky!” To round it off, the leader of their horse play (literally) is full-on cosplaying as a cowboy, his jeans tucked into boots and a Stetson perched atop his head. 

Wait, is he holding a hobby horse? It’s been decades since you’ve seen those horse heads stuck on a stick. The stuffed felt Appaloosa head is reigned in the cowboy’s hands, where he pretends to spur it back into action. 

Just when you think you’ve seen it all.

The group continues its way toward you and you’re equally secondhand embarrassed and amused. As they grow closer you recognize a few guys from the Pi Kapp house and wave. But it’s Anna who makes the most shocking discovery when Mr. Cowboy tilts his brim up.

"Is that Bob from Stats?" 

It takes a second to look past the brown felt hat and the hobby horse he's taking for a spin, but that's definitely the same pink-cheeked Bob Floyd who has lent you a pencil all semester. 

“Howdy, ladies.” He tips his hat to you, all toothy grin and droopy drunk eyes. "Can I offer you a ride?"

You stare open-mouthed. Shocked. That slow rancher drawl is new. The unbridled confidence is new. Actually, the entire getup is new. For nine weeks you’ve seen him in the same trucker hat and sweatshirt combo while going over homework answers together. What is going on?

He’s clearly in the middle of his house party crawl, bright blue eyes half open behind his metal frames. Just as gorgeous as ever as a tendril of sandy hair curls against his forehead. Normally your reaction to him is tender, a puppy dog crush. But this wild, inebriated version of him? You’re hot under the collar.

“You think there’s room on your horse?” Ever since that first Stats class he’s made your brain feel like it’s on RedBull. The way he noticed you missing a writing utensil and offering you his extra. His kind smile when you get a homework answer completely wrong. Anna hasn’t noticed your crush, but it feels obvious with the way you can barely keep eye contact with him yet are unable to look away. Especially with that stupid cowboy hat on.

He bites his lip, considering your response, and his buddies all razz him as he drawls out, “There will be if we squeeze in.”

The wink makes your mouth dry.

Someone from the back of the group complains of the cold and the group prepares their steeds to head back to Pi Kapp. Anna explains you’re headed back to the dorms, tone deaf to the sexual tension, and Bob nods with his brow furrowed. 

“Another time then.” His white tshirt practically glows in the moonlight. “Have a good night, chickadees. Get home safe!”

With another tip of his Stetson to you, Bob Floyd gallops away toward another keg. 

You’re sprinting across campus, cursing how late your meeting with your advisor went. There was ten minutes to get across campus and he had spent four of those questioning whether you really needed another semester of French. You make it into the lecture hall with a minute to spare, finding your preferred spot in the lower rows where you can actually see the board. Right in front of Bob.

“What? No cowboy hat for class?” His cheeks flame red, the hope you’ve forgotten about his Saturday antics lost. He looks like himself today, his signature trucker cap keeping the hair off his face. Those friendly ultramarine eyes shyly focusing on his notebook because god forbid he makes eye contact after you’ve seen him gallop across campus on a fake horse. 

He rubs the back of his neck over his soft-looking crewneck, an awkward smile playing on his lips. “It’s at the cleaners.”

You give him an amused grin before settling yourself into one of the classically uncomfortable lecture seats. Anna waves to you from where she’s rushing in, historically always late. The professor is shuffling notes at the podium as she collapses into the seat next to you, nodding her head in greeting to you and to Bob. She raises her eyebrows to you, a “remember when Bob was dressed as a cowboy” gesture, and your lips twist happily. 

“Alright, class, who’s ready to talk probability?” The collective groans and hollers mark the start of lecture. You flip open your notebook and start digging around for a writing instrument in your bag. Like usual, you seem to be missing a pen or pencil when you need one most.

A tap on your shoulder. You turn and lock eyes with the frat boy-turned-cowboy with the shy smile. He holds out a pencil to you. Taking it sheepishly, you mouth a thank you and turn back to lecture. After nine weeks it shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but every week he’s given you a pencil since you whispered shoot! a little too loud on Week 1.

Risking a quick glance back at him, engrossed in the Empirical Law of Averages while he twirls his pencil, you’re not sure you can survive the rest of the semester.

By the end of the Stats lecture on Thursday, you have one brain cell to your name and seven pages of notes. What a brutal class. Midterms were quickly approaching and not a single professor had any mercy. As you pack up your stuff - including the borrowed pencil that would promptly disappear before next class - you make a study plan with Anna for that evening. She brings the chips, you’ll supply the vodka.

“Are you two not hitting the houses tonight?” He looks uncomfortable having interrupted the two of you.

Bob shifts his backpack to his other shoulder, adjusting the collar of his navy blue sweatshirt. Other than when he’s kindly exchanged homework answers before class - or been drunkenly galloping across campus - the two of you don’t speak much. The odd quip here and there, but overall the two of you exist in pencil-sharing quiet. “Everyone’s having pre-midterm parties before buckling down to study.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” You look at Anna encouragingly. As needed as a vodka-infused study session was, one night out couldn’t hurt. And it was Thursday. No classes tomorrow meant you had three days to buckle down and attempt to understand anything you’ve learned this semester. 

She eyes you warily, but agrees that Greek Row sounds like a better option than highlighting textbooks. Bob flashes you his timid smile beneath the brim of his cap. “It’ll be a fun night. Maybe I’ll see you? If not, have a good weekend!” 

As he starts to walk out, a feeling takes over you. “Bob?” You watch him slow down and turn, wide blue eyes watching you from behind those unconventionally cute glasses. “You’ll be at the Pi Kapp house, yeah?” He nods. “Cool. See you around!”

Despite standing next to it the entire conversation, neither of you notice the pencil sitting on the desk, left behind as you head out for your respective weekends.

“What did you say?” You’re practically yelling to be heard over the EDM that Sigma Chi is blaring. They’ve turned their house into a rave with glow sticks, body paint, and music so loud your eardrums must be burst. The beer is warm, your arm has supernaturally purple paint smeared across it, and Anna has been unsuccessfully telling you a story for ten minutes.

Huffing, she grabs your arm and drags you toward the entrance, tossing your cups onto a random hallway table where a heated makeout session is taking place. They move out of the way just enough so the two of you can slip out of the old colonial house and out into the cool night. The ringing in your ears subsides slowly as you lean against the columns of the front porch. 

“House number three? Also sucked. Three strikes and you’re out? Can we go home?” Anna grabs your wrist and pouts. She wanted movie night with vodka and a pizza from Pietro’s. You wanted to blow off steam.

But Alpha Sig had mostly been freshman and Phi Delt, while not a terrible party, had the most smarmy men on campus. The bleeding eardrums of Sigma Chi was preferable to pushing off men in polos just to grab another drink. You just wanted a semi-decently flavored alcoholic beverage - maybe three - while chatting with some friends. You weren’t asking for much.

Allowing Anna to drag you in the direction of the dorms, ready to admit defeat, you slow to a stop seeing the bricked entrance to Pi Kappa Phi. Bob’s fraternity. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

It takes a little convincing, but soon you’re in the warmly lit foyer of the Pi Kapp house. The vibe is more relaxed than Sigma Chi, with a keg in the corner, an array of liquor bottles in the kitchen, and hip-hop softly filling the house. You’re impressed they’ve even gone the extra mile with multi-colored string lights across every surface to brighten up the otherwise dark house. 

“Yooooo, how’s it going?” A drunken loaf of snapback and Deep Eddy envelopes you in a hug. It’s Tyler, one of your freshman seminar PK friends. Exchanging pleasantries - the best you can with someone that far gone - he drags you further into the house. Miscellaneous groups of Greek and geed litter the hallways. Anna sees her friends from Delta Gamma and ditches you, promising to get home safe. Tyler continues on his mission to god knows where.

At least he’s considerate enough to stop in the kitchen so you can grab a whiskey lemonade to sip.

Eventually you’re spat into a sitting room of sorts, groups crowding the ring of sofas while drunkenly jeering at the game. You set yourself on the arm of one, trying to make sense of the theatrics. The latest victim laughs out a “Truth!” before everyone giggles wickedly. Are they playing truth or dare? 

Your eyes gloss over the group, trying to figure out who else you know. A few PK’s you recognize, a girl who smiles but looks unfamiliar, and…a cowboy hat that is a dead giveaway.

Standing up and walking around the group, you tap him on the shoulder. The biggest blue eyes meet yours, a surprised smile splitting his face. 

“You made it!” That deep drawl is back and that tingle reappears on your spine. Bob jumps up from the couch, beer bottle dwarfed in his hand, and comes to stand with you. “You having a good night?”

Ironically, your night is much better now that you’ve found him. He’s back in his cowboy gear, a worn denim shirt tucked into his jeans and those same cowboy boots scuff against the hardwood. You’re tempted to steal the felt hat from his head just so he looks a little bit more like Bob from Stats. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, letting the alcohol be an excuse, you succumb to the obvious question. “I need to know - what’s with the…cowboy?” You gesture up and down, drawing a chuckle from him.

He blushes under the felt brim. “You know I have a slight accent, yeah?” You attempt to stifle your laugh as he incidentally talks in a thicker accent. “When I was a pledge they started calling me cowboy. Saw the hat while I was in town one week, ended up leaning into the joke.”

“And the hobby horse?”

He beckons you closer, bringing his lips to your ear. “Stolen from my little sister over summer break.”

There’s that wink again making your knees weak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and takes another sip from his beer. Despite the party raging around you, nothing else seems to exist past him asking about your night and if you want another drink. You’re wrapped in the warmth of his words, itching to snuggle into his broad chest. 

The spell is broken when “Cowboy Bob!” rings out from the crowd. The entire room is turned to you two. “Truth or dare, man?”

In the background of your intimate conversation with Bob, the truths and dares have reached full raunchiness. People have been stripped of clothes and dirty secrets. A bead of sweat gathers at Bob’s collar, aware that neither option is safe. 

His worried gaze flits to you, as if you hold the correct answer, before tipping his hat back and exhaling, “Dare?” 

It’s gutsy, but if there’s one thing you’re learning about the quiet guy from Stats, he’s full of surprises. The crowd bubbles with excitement, anticipating what dare will be dealt out. Next to you, the wannabe cowboy looks more annoyed than anything. He was enjoying talking to you not in a classroom and with a little liquid courage.

An evil smile crosses the dare-dealer’s face. He knows Bob and isn’t blind to what’s going on. He’s gonna help his buddy out on this one.

His arm stretches out and he points (with the red plastic cup in his hand) to the coat closet at the end of the hall. “Hmmmmm, I dare you to, hmm, play Seven Minutes in Heaven with…” It’s no surprise when the cup-turned-pointer lands on you.

Ice water down your back wouldn’t be as panic inducing. It’s hard to tell who swallows harder, you or Cowboy Bob. Every instinct is telling you to run, but that little voice in the back of your head wins out. As Bob starts to tell you it’s okay, they’re joking, you don’t have to, you grab his thick wrist and give him a nervous smile. You don’t even care what the punishment is for not completing a dare, this stupid drunken game has given you an opportunity.

The dealer of the dare follows the two of you down the hallway, leading the whoops and wolf whistles. Bob’s cheeks flame scarlet in the low light. You keep your chin high and eyes forward. He can definitely feel the way you’re trembling around his wrist.

Whether in anxiety or excitement it’s hard to tell.

The inside of the closet is dark, the faint light under the door casting only the faintest of shadows. Your heart is pounding, blood pulsing through your ears. Bob rubs his lips together nervously. It’s all you can do to not run your tongue along them. 

“We don’t have to do anything, we can just talk.” The way he prioritizes your comfort makes heat pool between your legs. The brim of his hat is as far back as it can go, his eyes tracing the lines of your face as he gauges your emotions. He’s welcome to figure them out, you’re unsure of them yourself. 

His large, warm hand rubs your forearm comfortingly, your skin too cold without his touch. You’re suffocating under his sweat-and-bergamot scent, citrusy and warm.

You bite the bullet. “What if I want to?”

His breath stops. Fingers find yours in the dark, interlocking on either side of your hips. Eyes you know are the deepest blue lock onto your gaze, a million emotions passing behind his irises. Face descending upon the space between you, tentatively showing his intentions. You meet him in the middle, caution out the window.

The kiss is gentle, puzzle pieces slotting together for the first time. He tastes like malt sugar and peppermint. Mouth warm and soft, enveloping you fully in his comfort. It’s even better than what you’ve imagined for the past nine weeks.

Bob begins to pull away, ever the gentleman. Your hand finds his collar, holding him in place. “Not yet, we still have, like, five and a half minutes.”

Despite the low light, his smile lights up the closet.

His lips return to yours in a rush, swallowing your mouth in a passionate heat. The press of his body to yours is delicious. Hands previously at your side meet your hips, lightly squeezing as you moan into his mouth. You reach up and hold the back of his neck, bringing him even closer as your lips toy with the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw.

“You know,” he starts, holding the moan in the back of his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since September.”

You pull back momentarily, a crinkle upon your brow. “Bob, we didn’t start Stats until January.”

He kisses the confusion from your face, his hands wrapping further around your body. “And you looked very pretty in that green dress at the homecoming barbecue.”

Bless your love of school spirit and free food. “Why didn’t you? Kiss me?”

“I don’t normally make a habit of kissing girls I don’t know. And clearly it takes an entire fraternity for me to get you alone.” The way his chuckle bounces against your skin has you squirming. Your schoolgirl crush on him wasn’t one-sided, and suddenly you’re hot for teacher. 

You capture him in another kiss, tongue searching the seam of his lips for entrance. He obliges immediately, groaning as you explore his taste. Four hands roam skin, finding purchase in anything and everything. Your body has a mind of its own as you press against him, chest heaving with your passion. The right shift of fabric on fabric reveals that he’s equally as affected by the chemistry.

Reluctantly, he pulls away once more, threading his fingers across the back of your neck. Takes a moment to capture his breath as he sees the lust in your eyes. A deep breath. “As much as I like you, I don’t want to do anything if you’re drunk.”

Soft fingers follow the line of his arm to where it wraps around your waist. How is he this impossibly sweet? Thoughtful, respectful, and looking hot as sin with swollen lips. It’s unfair.

“I promise I’m not.” You stroke the back of his hand. “Please kiss me?”

His large hands unwrap from your waist and travel down, shifting behind your legs and pulling you up, resting your back against the wall. You tangle your legs around his waist as best you can in the small space, relishing his firm body pressed deliciously close, warm and solid. Kisses smeared across lips and jaws as noises crescendo. You’re panting as you trail down to his impossibly long neck, desperate to cover it in affection.

You’ve barely explored the expanse of skin when the door flies open, the boisterous party sounds flooding in. Reality strikes like a slap across the face. The truth-or-dare ringleader takes you in - legs wrapped around Bob and hands creeping toward your ass - and whoops in delight. Who knew Cowboy Bob had it in him!

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” He crows and reaches forward to slug Bob lightly on the shoulder. 

Not skipping a beat, Bob shoves his friend back and throws up his middle finger. “Fuck off, Milburn.” 

The closet door slams shut, blanketing you again in the intimacy of the moment. You’re looking at him with unsure eyes and he’s praying the moment hasn’t been ruined. He’s waited seven calendar months for this opportunity and his fingers are so close to enjoying the plump squeeze of your ass.

“We can go back to the party if you want?” Your voice is so small, nervous outside of those bold seven minutes. Tentative breaths exist between you. 

In lieu of an answer, he bows his head to give you a searing yet gentle kiss.

That cramped coat closet suddenly is an inferno, his tongue slipping inside your mouth and groaning at the burning sweetness of your taste. Your hands grip his shoulders as you fight for dominance, fingers tangling in denim. Hips brushing together, still clinging to the idea of this being innocent. 

An innocence immediately lost when Bob strikes up the courage and palms your ass. Soft and pliable and perfect to squeeze in his palms. He remembers the exact day you came to class in the tightest jeans known to man (laundry day) and the way he had dug his pencil in his palm to avoid a semi as your curved ass met the lecture seat. Something unavoidable now as you squirm against him, moaning your pleasure against the pulse in his neck.

Nothing has ever felt as good as rubbing against Bob Floyd’s clothed bulge. One glance down and you’re dizzy with arousal. Rutting yourself against him as best you can with your limited mobility, sloppy kisses exchanged as the two of you can barely keep your mouths closed. It feels so good, too good. 

Lost in the moment, one hand slips below the hem of your skirt, warm skin on skin. Any noise from outside the closet dims to a hum. Two hearts beating rapidly as desire fully consumes, directing lips to too hot exposed skin. You murmur your need in his ear. You don’t care where you are, you need him.

Bob tucks a finger under your thong, feeling the slick coating your folds. The whine that leaves him is desperate and gruff. He groans against your throat. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

Undeterred, your lip catches between your teeth, core muscles contracting as you grind your hips forward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t go for a ride.”

He’s immediately on board, teasing you briefly before extricating his hand to support you better against the wall. His hands practically swallow your ass, flooding you with lust. You thrust your chest against him, desperate to touch every spot on his handsome body as your hips begin to grind. 

His hands are sweltering as they trail down, effortlessly clutching the back of your thighs to give you leverage. Your clit finds friction against his jeans and your mouth hangs open as you buck frantically into him.

“Look at you move, cowgirl,” he breathes out, infatuated. The nickname spurrs you on, whimpering against his lips.

One hand clutching his bicep, holding on for desperate life, while the other snakes its way atop the damned cowboy hat that’s stayed on the entire encounter. Gripping the top of it and holding fast as you ride his clothed bulge with everything you’ve got. Denim and lace against your clit, rubbing deliciously as your brain fuzzes. His hot mouth focused at the hinge of your jaw, sucking soft bruises into the skin; moaning when you brush him just right. 

“I’m close,” you whisper against his cheek. Time has stood still, but it’s embarrassing how close he’s gotten you to orgasm with just his clothed cock and strong hands. 

He ruts his hips forward, meeting your thrusts in heavenly synchronization. You’re panting as the pressure on your clit catapults you, so close to the ultimate prize. Whispers of you can do it, cowgirl, cum for me, doing so good riding me, just a bit more, cowgirl fizzle your senses. 

“O-oh!”

It’s intense, the blinding pleasure coursing through your body. Prolonged by the thick bulge still rutting against you, ready to burst itself. Lips tickling your ear as he praises you. You want to live in this perfect moment of bliss. A moment only perfected when Bob’s fingers grip too hard and his hips stutter up into yours. His all-consuming orgasm only muffled by the skin of your shoulder as he rides it out. 

The rhythmic slowing of your breaths is all you can focus on. You breathe in, he breathes out. Small smiles and a blush barely visible in the low light. 

Delicately, like he knows you might break, he releases you back to the ground; taking his time to smooth down your skirt and straight out your top. Your own hands reach up to his chest, fixing the fabric that had bunched up in your passion. Adjusting his fogged glasses to look into his beautiful eyes.

It doesn’t matter how much you clean up, one look at you two and anyone would comment you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.

With one final kiss to your lips, you feel something land on your head. The brown cowboy hat with the rip along the edge. Cowboy Bob showing off his cowgirl.

You tentatively open the closet door, eyes adjusting to the normal light. Painfully aware of the wet splotch on the obvious front of his jeans, Bob holds your body against him as a human shield. The party is still going strong - your antics have not interrupted anything - and you slip toward the front door without notice. Well…mostly, as a few wolf whistles reach your ears.

“It’s not that late, you want to go back to mine? I’m just off Thornton. It’s quiet since everyone is here.” His eyes are so hopeful in the dark night. So desperate for you to say yes. For you to be his cowgirl beyond tonight.

You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, careful to avoid the spot where your bodily fluids have drenched his jeans. “I’m in.” Your smile is blinding. “We have about nine weeks of Stats to make up.”

The brick is uncomfortable behind your back, but it’s hard to care when his lips feel so good. Broad shoulders shielding you from the hallway, trucker hat turned around and glasses in his pocket so there’s not an inch between your faces. Agreeing to meet outside before lecture was such a good idea.

Despite spending most of the time between Thursday night and Tuesday afternoon in Bob’s apartment trying every position in the book (with teasing hollers from his Pi Kapp roommates adding to the soundtrack) you can’t help but steal these five minutes. He looks so cute, to not kiss him would be a crime.

Bob squeezes your hips, lips trailing down your jaw. “What’s on your mind, cowgirl?”

“I’m trying very hard to convince myself that we pay a lot of money to attend this school and should go learn about statistics. Even though I really only want to head back to my dorm and see how sturdy that loft bed is.”

From where his nose traces your ear, a guttural whine leaves him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to go to class.”

You pull back to look at him, fingers tickling the close cropped hair at his neck. God, he makes it so hard to want to be responsible.

“Let’s make a deal, okay? We’ll go to class, learn, and tonight you come over and for every study guide question you get right I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Sound good?” He’s practically panting as he smothers your mouth in another kiss. He’s really good at Stats. A steady stream of students files past Bob’s back, a sign that class is about to start.

You press another kiss to his lips. “Let’s go or we’ll miss out on seats. Plus I need to dig through my bag for a pencil.”

“Do you think you actually have one today?” He smirks, amused. The eighteen pencils he’s lent you say otherwise.

Your cheeks are hot under where he kisses them. “Uh…if I don’t can I borrow one? If you have one, that is.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and holds you closer, rubbing your noses softly.

“You do realize I’ve been buying pencils all semester just to give to you, right?”

Turning his cap around - insides fully melted - you know you’re in this rodeo for the long run.

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[marvelouslizzie]

You're My Desire - Co-written with @notafunkiller

Summary: Your best friend drags you out on a double date. You were supposed to be Steve Rogers' date, but plans change pretty quickly and you end up in Bucky Barnes' arms.

Pairing: 40s Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ NSFW MINORS DNI, first date, public sex, ripped clothing, teasing, rough sex, dirty talk, praise, pet names, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 5.5K

A/N: We really don't have an excuse for this one. We just wanted 40s Bucky to have a good time, you know? This is basically smut with little bit of plot.

Please give my lovely co-writer @notafunkiller a follow. She's also a Bucky Barnes writer and her stories are amazing.

All work is ours, please do not repost or translate without our permission.

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message us. Unless it's hate. That's never welcome.

Read more tag starts after the first paragraph of the story.

Even though you really didn’t want to, you find yourself on a double date with your best friend. She literally begged you to come because she promised she would bring someone for her date’s best friend and apparently she really doesn’t wanna disappoint the handsome soldier.

You're shocked, though, when you arrive at the fair and see Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes in the flesh waiting for you two at the gate.

You were pretty sure she brought you here for Bucky Barnes but it turns out your date is actually Steve Rogers, aka Captain America himself.

You don't know what to do at first, awkwardly watching your friend hugging Bucky as if they knew each other for ages. Even though they met just a day ago. Steve extends his hand politely, which you immediately shake.

It doesn’t take long for you to go inside the fun fair together while chatting casually. Your friend, Cassie, starts asking questions about the war. She loves front-line stories, but Bucky doesn’t seem like he enjoys telling them.

Steve, on the other hand, is very excited to do it, answering all of Cassie's questions as you quietly watch them. You wonder why you said yes to this date. You've never been into soldiers and even less into war discussions. But you love your friend very much even when she ignores you.

You find yourself looking at Bucky while Cassie and Steve start to chat and exchange stories. He kinda seems amused by this development. You shrug looking in his direction, waiting for him to say something. After all, you are both already bored and your friends don't even seem to care or notice you anymore in the first place.

Bucky just smiles and then tries to change the subject. You think he actually handles that topic change pretty smoothly and it sticks for a while until Cassie gets bored of talking about books.

You remark Bucky's sad face, but you don't say anything. Instead, you subtly start to walk slower, hoping he'll do the same. As Cassie keeps talking to Steve, Bucky notices you are getting behind and just slows down a little.

"You're okay? Are your legs hurting?" Bucky asks concerned while looking at her shoes.

“No, no, I’m fine. Just got tired of the war stories, that’s all.” You keep walking slowly.

"Me, too." He sighs. "It's a never-ending subject at this point."

“Well, where there's life there's hope.” You quote the Hobbit instinctively. You hold on to the hope, one day you won’t have to talk about this war.

Bucky gasps, looking at you in a way you never experienced before. "What did you say?"

“I just said where there's life there's hope.” You repeat, surprised by the way he probably recognized the quote. People usually have no idea what you are referring to. Not him though.

"You're a fan? Oh god!"

That starts your actual conversation with Bucky Barnes. It turns out he’s a big bookworm himself. He reads as much as he can, always buying more books that he manages to read.

You didn't even realize how close you are until your shoulders slightly brush. You blush when he smiles, clearly not minding. Still, you feel very conscious about your closeness and quickly look toward your friend, feeling guilty that you are enjoying the company of her date, but she doesn’t seem to care one bit. On the contrary, she’s actually holding Steve Rogers’ arm while talking and laughing.

"You're very beautiful." You hear Bucky murmur shily.

His compliment catches you off guard. You were about to apologize on behalf of Cassie. Yet you find yourself blushing.

"And you love reading. I am a lucky man. I get to talk to you."

“I could say the same thing myself, Sergeant. I much rather talk about books instead of the war.”

"Then you got the right company." Bucky smiles and looks around. "Should we get some ice cream?"

“That would be amazing.” And that’s how you end up separated from Cassie and Steve. Bucky informs them about their plan and then leaves without waiting for them.

You spend the next hour talking and walking around the entire fair. James even won a teddy bear for you. Once in a while both of you act like you wanna find Steve and Cassie, but you definitely don’t care.

"I don't remember the last time I felt so comfortable and good with someone."

“I’m glad I’m not boring the shit out of you.” You know it’s not ladylike to speak this way, but you feel comfortable around him. It’s crazy when you consider you just met him maybe two hours ago.

Bucky smiles. "I can say the same. Steve says I'm quite boring."

“He’s quite boring himself.”

"Is he?" He snorts.

“Yeah. Who knew Captain America would be into war stories?”

"Doesn't the name say it?" He continues in the same joking tone.

“The name suggests he’s heroic and boring but he’s more boring and less heroic than expected. Stealing his best friend's date doesn’t scream honorable to me.”

Bucky is shocked to see her indirectly standing up for him. "Maybe I stole his date, though."

“His date was uninterested from the start and just being nice to her best friend.”

"Is she still uninterested?"

“In him? Yes.” You act like you don’t understand what he is actually asking.

"Well, the feelings are mutual. About the date and now…"

“You were uninterested in Cassie?” You say it in a way that shows you don’t believe him.

"Wasn't it obvious?"

“Nope.” It definitely wasn’t when they hugged each other the moment they arrived.

"I was trying to be polite. She insisted on this… meeting because I helped her out. I was relieved I could bring Steve."

“She sounded very interested in you until Captain Rogers started with war stories.”

"She was staring at his… back ever since we arrived."

You burst out laughing and he joins you right after. It sets the tone for the rest of the night and makes you notice you both don’t give a shit.

*

"I want to show you something," you say after a few seconds and quickly drag him after you until you reach a darker alley close to the last attraction. You drop the teddy bear carefully at your feet. "Hi."

“Hi.” He still seems a bit confused, but it’s so cute. He looks at the teddy bear and then his eyes turn back to your face. You can’t help but smile.

"You're so cute. Has anyone told you that?" You smile in return.

He acts like thinking for a second. “No, not really. Just cute?” He fishes for more.

"And smart." You touch his chest shily. "And kind."

“Hmm, those are not what people notice first.” He moves a little bit closer. “You have something…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead, his thumb brushes the corner of your lips. You wait for him to wipe off whatever you had on your face before opening your mouth and letting your tongue touch his finger shamelessly.

You watch Bucky’s eyes widen out of surprise. He didn't expect that at all. You grab his hand, bringing his finger inside your mouth, and notice how his breathing quickens. Yet he doesn’t stop you.

You let your tongue play for a few seconds until you let his finger go with a small bite. He lets out the lowest moan but not only do you hear it, but you also love it.

"Wow, I…" He doesn't know what to say, all red and excited.

“You what? Do you feel uncomfortable? Excited? I mean, I can stop if you want.”

In response, brave and happy, Bucky kisses you. His tongue is already on your bottom lip asking for permission, which you grant by opening your mouth without realizing it.

The kiss isn’t shy like you expected, and he definitely knows how to kiss. The way his lips and tongue move makes you want more, right then and there.

Your hands go to his neck as you let yourself enjoy the kiss even more. You keep kissing until you feel breathless. When Bucky breaks it, he doesn’t move away. His forehead touches yours as you try to catch your breath.

"This was…"

“I wanna do something if that’s okay…” You say while suddenly getting on your knees. You are wearing your favorite nylon stockings and you're sure they are gonna get ripped, but you don't care.

Bucky thinks he's daydreaming because how can this happen? How?

"What? What are you doing?"

“I think you know what I am doing, Sergeant. Just tell me to stop if you don’t want it, okay?” Your hands move to his belt but you wait for a reaction first.

"Stop. That's not… you don't have to do this. We are having a great time anyway."

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. Is that okay for you?”

He can only nod, totally shocked and excited at the same time.

You unbuckle him slowly. Even though you are in a public place, you're in no hurry. You unzip him while looking into his eyes. When you finally take him out of his pants, he seems speechless. He’s already hard, but as soon as you start to move your hand, he gets rock hard after maybe four pumps.

"Jesus, you're so pretty. You look like a doll on your knees."

You smile proudly. “Tell me what I look like when I do this,” you say before taking him inside your mouth.

He closes his eyes, groaning. Your mouth is so wet and warm. You take it slow at first. Your mouth moves gently while you swirl your tongue around the head.

"Please." You hear him whisper, his left hand resting against the wall behind him.

You move your mouth away from him just to ask “Please what?” Your lipstick is already a little smudged.

"Oh god, keep going. Please, you're such a pretty sight."

“Tell me how I look when you're inside my mouth and I'll continue, promise.” You wink and remind him he still hasn’t fulfilled your request.

"Like a dream. Like a goddess."

“Hmm…” You go back to taking him inside your mouth without making another comment. This time, you move a bit faster than before and start using your hand.

"Your mouth will be the death of me."

That makes you smile but you don’t stop, moving your hand and mouth at the same time, hoping for a good reaction. His hand finds its way to your hair, wrapping it enough to pull a little. That encourages you to go faster, in need for a tighter grip. And you get it: soon, he wraps more of your hair around his whole fist, moaning your name.

“I think I'm gonna…” He sounds so breathy. “You should pull away.”

You look at him, acknowledging his warning, but showing him you are ignoring it. You keep moving fast, making sure your tongue flicks around the right spot every time until he spills inside your mouth. It’s a lot more than you are used to, but you still keep going until he completely empties himself. You take your mouth off, looking into his eyes before swallowing.

"No." He covers his eyes while groaning. "You can't do this to me, doll. Jesus…"

“Do what?” You innocently ask.

He doesn't answer you, taking you by the back of the neck and kissing you sloppily. You don’t get a chance to warn him about the taste and he doesn’t seem to care one bit. He groans into your mouth when he feels your hands on his ass and breaks the kiss just to suck on your neck.

Then you feel his hands between your bodies, trying to pull up his pants again.

You break the kiss to ask: “What are you doing?”

"I'm putting on my pants," he sounds like a kid. "And I wanna get on my knees for you, too."

“Maybe I want something else that doesn’t require you to put your pants on.”

He nods, without understanding what you mean. "Alright. I'll just-" He drops his right hand until it reaches her skirt. "Is it okay?" You nod with a smile. Even though it’s not what you meant, it’s fine.

His fingers immediately go to your underwear and push it aside.

"Fuck me. Look at that." You are really wet and his curses don't help either. "Soaked. Is that for me, doll?"

“No, it’s for Captain Rogers, who bored the shit out of me.” You joke.

You feel his fingers stopping on your slit as he lifts his head. "What did you say?"

“I said it’s for Captain Rogers, who bored the shit out of me. You know that gets the girls wet.” You hope he won’t be offended by this. It’s just a silly joke.

In response, Bucky pushes a finger inside you quickly, his lips curling into a smirk. "Should I start talking about war, too? Bet that would get you even wetter."

You let out a deep breath, relieved. Thank God he isn’t offended. “That would get me dry as a desert, Sergeant Barnes.”

"Should I dye my hair then?" He snorts, moving his finger faster.

“Maybe you should get a shield. It would definitely look better on you.”

"A shield, huh?" Bucky adds another finger, trying to scissor them inside you a couple of times. "Is it too much?"

“Nope,” you say after a moan. “It’s not enough.”

"Fuck, you…" he closes his eyes. "You want another?"

“I want something else.” You smile, hoping him to understand this time.

"Yeah? Like what?"

You grab his cock and gently rub it without saying a word. You are not surprised he’s hard because his erection has been pressed on your leg for a while.

"Fuck. You want my cock, baby?"

“Yeah. Why do you think I didn’t let you pull your pants back up?”

"I don't-" He moans. "I didn't think."

“Come on. You are making me wait while I’m soaking your fingers.”

"Wanna make you…" Bucky interrupts himself by adding a third finger, his other hand going to your clit. "Happy."

“Fuck.” You throw your head back, that felt so good.

"You like this?" He rubs a little more, paying attention to your body. His fingers inside you keep the same pace, though. He isn't slowing down now even if it's the end of the world.

“Yeah, that.” You breathe out. You already feel your legs shaking and you're afraid your knees might give out, but it feels so good, you can’t seem to focus on the concerns.

"Hold on to me."

You put your hands on his shoulders and it helps you relax a bit more. After that, your orgasm comes crashing in like a big wave that leaves you breathless. He doesn't stop moving his fingers until you finish coming, then he slowly pulls them out, making sure to lick them before kissing you.

“You are such a dirty soldier, Sergeant Barnes,” you say with a smile.

"What is dirty about this?" He shrugs. "I'm a good soldier, of course."

“Doing this in a dark alley with me and licking your fingers clean like that. Very good soldier, indeed.”

"Ihm." He buries his head right onto your shoulder and breathes in. "Thank you."

“For what?” You find yourself kissing his hair while asking the question.

"For this evening and this. Thank you for trusting me."

“You are something else, Bucky,” you say while caressing his hair.

"Hmm?"

You kiss his hair and his ear, then move your lips to his neck. “You can thank me later. We are not done yet.”

"Changed your mind?" He smiles. "Want me on my knees after all?

“Maybe later.” You wink. “Now don’t act like you don’t know what I want because I know you want it, too.”

He freezes. "Wait, you're serious?"

“Of course I am serious. Just don’t finish inside, okay?”

He looks at you again all serious. "Are you sure? We don't have to, I can use my tongue."

“Don’t worry, it’s not my first time and yeah, I’m sure unless you don’t want to.”

Bucky looks at you with puppy eyes. "Uhm, it's my first time."

“Oh god.” Your eyes widen. “I… didn’t consider… that possibility. I’m sorry.”

Bucky starts laughing at your worried expression and kisses your cheek. "My first time with a bookworm doll."

You punch his shoulder. “You worried me!”

That makes him laugh even harder, and you can't help but smile. Because he's extra beautiful like this.

"Why? Do you have something against innocent boys, ma'am? Shame!"

“No, nothing against it. Absolutely would love to teach and corrupt but wouldn’t want that to be your first time.”

"You don't want to take advantage of me, huh? Such a good girl." He surprises you by suddenly lifting you and helping you wrap your legs around his torso.

“Would you like me to take advantage of you?” You kiss his jaw and cheeks.

"Fuck, yes. Yes."

“Then you have my permission to take advantage of me, too.”

He doesn't ask you again if you're sure. Instead, he lifts his right hand to your blouse and starts unbuttoning it as fast as he can. He's so impatient he even manages to rip a button. You just watch him work and smile, hoping the gentleman side of Bucky finally stops holding him back.

He groans at the sight of your hard nipples and quickly leans in to take one in his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper while he uses his tongue to play with your nipple. It feels so good you don't even notice when his hand drops under your skirt. Until you hear the ripping sound.

“What the fuck?” You can’t believe he's just ripped your nylon stockings. They are so hard to find and so expensive!

"Whha?" He doesn't even take his mouth off your nipple as he speaks.

“Do you know how expensive those stockings are?” Your surprise is so clear in your voice. “You owe me a pair of nylon stockings, Sargeant.”

"They were in the way, baby."

“Getting impatient?” You mock a little.

He pushes his hips a little more. "Can't you feel?"

“You still owe me a pair.”

"What about these?" His hands are now on her panties. "How many do I need to buy you so I can rip these off?"

“Just one pair, but if you wanna rip that one, too, this cycle might never end.”

He sighs, contemplating, but he finally decides not to, only pushing your underwear aside. "How do you want it?"

“What do you mean?”

Bucky takes another step until your back barely brushes against the wall. "How do you like this? The sex."

“Don’t try to act all kind and push aside what you actually want to do. That’s how I want it.”

"Do you uhm… like it fast or slow? The pace I mean." He's slowly pushing inside you while he asks, trying to be as gentle as possible.

“That’s exactly what I meant. Do it however you want and we will see how I like it. Don’t be too gentle like this.”

"Talk to me, okay?" He's halfway inside you now, staying still for a few seconds as he leaves small kisses on your neck.

“Oh, I will, don’t worry, handsome. No one can stop me from complaining if I don’t like something.”

"Good girl." He tries different types of thrusts and angles at first, wanting to see what you respond to the most.

“Fuck. Why do you keep saying that?” She moves her hips to make him thrust faster.

"Because you're my good girl. Dirty too." He moans when he feels you. "God, you want it faster, baby?"

“Yes, yes, I do. Please. Move faster.”

And he does, his grip on your ass tightening as he starts thrusting just the way you want. "Fuck, you're soaked. You feel so good around me."

“You feel good, too.” You moan in between words. “And you are strong. Really strong,” you remark because he doesn’t look tired while holding you.

But he doesn't seem to acknowledge that. "I'm so fucking lucky, Jesus." He groans when he feels your lips sucking on his collarbone.

“You didn’t think your double date would end this way, huh?”

"Deep inside you? Not a chance." He smiles, speeding up.

“Maybe deep inside someone else.” You tease on purpose.

Bucky immediately stops thrusting. "What?"

“I was just joking about how we were meant to be on a date with other people.” You hate that you can’t shut your mouth sometimes.

"Oh," he nods, restarting to move. "Well, I can assure you, he wouldn't have done this tonight." He jokes back.

“Fuck me against the wall like this?”

"Fuck you at all. But especially like this. And the language?" He laughs. "Never."

“Oh, so honorable of him.” You keep joking. “Poor Cassie.”

His right-hand flies behind your head to protect it as his thrusts become way too quick. "Fuck. You feel like heaven, I swear."

“God, how do you do that?” You are surprised that he can carry you with one hand. “Are you sure you aren’t a super soldier yourself?”

Bucky shakes his head amused. "That will go straight to my ego."

“You're carrying me with one hand while protecting my head with the other, and you keep fucking me at the same time. I think it should go straight to your ego.”

He groans. "Lower one of your hands now."

“Lower it where exactly?” You don’t understand what he wants.

His hand moves from the back of her head for a few seconds just to bring her fingers to her clitoris. "Right here. Can you rub this for me?"

“Ohh.” You finally understand what he’s trying to do, so you listen and start rubbing yourself while his hand goes back to your head.

"Good, good girl. Look at you." He doesn't even realize how deep his thrusts are because his focus is on your fingers.

“Oh god… It feels so good.” You have never done something like this before. No public sex, no touching yourself during sex, no good girl whispers next to your ear. They all make you feel dizzy.

"Yeah? Just good?" His mouth finds your breasts this time, and you just know he's leaving a few marks there by the way he sucks on your skin.

“You wanna hear how good it makes me feel?”

"Ihmm."

“Oh, you are even dirtier than you are showing, aren’t you, Sergeant Barnes?”

He looks up immediately. "Say that again." He demands.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

"Fuck, you need to rub faster."

“You need to fuck me harder.” You say while listening to his order.

"Harder?" He repeats, shocked, not expecting that in the slightest. But he does as you demand in a heartbeat, biting his tongue because it feels so good.

You have a hard time holding back your reaction because it feels just perfect. You can feel your orgasm approaching.

“Shit, you need to cover my mouth,” you say as quickly as possible.

"Just use me. Bite my shoulder," he suggests quickly, keeping the pace exactly the same.

You wanna say no, because you don’t wanna hurt him but there’s no other choice left. You sink your teeth in somewhere between his neck and shoulder and try to muffle yourself. The orgasm hits you so hard that you are afraid someone is gonna hear you even like this.

"Fuck," he groans, the pain feeling amazing as you keep coming, your legs wrapping even more tightly around his ass.

“Please, don’t stop,” you manage to say and go back to biting him, very aware of the hickey you are giving him, but that doesn’t stop you because you don’t want to get caught like this.

"Can't stop." At this point you wonder how no one noticed you by now. The sound of your skin touching and your groans are not quite silent. But even if they did, you know you wouldn't stop. How could you?

"Keep rubbing, I want you to find pleasure again."

“Again?” You sound shocked because you've literally just come.

"Again." He tries to lift one of your legs a little more. "Please."

“I don’t think I can, but keep going, okay?” You already came twice in a short amount of time. How much more can you do?

"Well, I think you can." He smiles. "Gonna mark me up, baby?"

“I think I already did.” You can see your teeth marks on his neck. You are sure it will turn into purple really soon.

"I'm your property now?" The hand he has on the back of your head quickly grabs your hair and wraps it around his fist.

“Are you?” You like the sound of that and how he’s pulling your hair.

"I am." He's frantically thrusting in and out of you. "Rub faster."

“Fuck,” you mumble while rubbing yourself. You aren’t sure if it’s gonna do anything, but it feels good. “Can I keep you then? You know, kidnap you and hide you in my apartment so you don’t have to go back to the war. We can just do this every day.”

"Fuck, do it." He smiles. "I dare you."

“Should I tie you up so it looks more realistic?” And suddenly all that rubbing starts to feel different, more pleasurable.

"On your bed? Go ahead."

You laugh at how easily he’s convinced, but your laugh is interrupted by a moan.

"Gonna come for me, dolly?"

“I am not sure.” You struggle to speak. “It feels like it.”

He pulls your hair hard. "Please, please."

“You beg so beautifully, how can I say no?” It’s not like your body is saying no, either.

When you finish coming again, you watch with your eyes semi-closed as James takes himself out without dropping you even a little and comes right on your thighs and ripped stockings. You feel the warmth of his come while you both are trying to catch your breath.

"This was… wow."

“This is a hell of a first date.” You find yourself giggling. Did all that really happen? The soreness between your legs says yes.

Bucky slowly puts you down. "You think?" He snorts.

“Oh yeah, very memorable.” You notice that your stockings are completely ruined so you have no other choice but to take them off.

"Fuck, you're dripping." He doesn't look like he's sorry and he can't say he is, either. He's actually very proud.

“Yeah, I am aware.” You laugh while taking them off and using them like a washcloth to clean yourself up.

"You have no idea how lovely the sight is." He winks at you while zipping up his pants.

You bite your bottom lip while looking at him. “Likewise. You look satisfied, Sargeant. Did something happen while you were gone?” You pull your skirt down.

"I got touched by an angel."

You laugh. “So cheesy. You are lucky that you are a bookworm. A really good-looking one, who is also good at bed even though we didn’t even need one.”

"Next time. Maybe we'll break it." He sounds so confident, but not demanding at all at the same time.

“When are you going back?” You find yourself asking. If he’s promising you a second time, you are gonna take it.

"In one week."

You make a sad face without realizing then take a deep breath to help yourself focus on the positive side. “That’s a lot of sex.”

He immediately lifts your chin and presses a kiss on your forehead. "I was joking. We got two months."

“You are such a liar.” You punch him in his shoulder.

Which only makes him laugh. "You like it hard."

But your attention is on his neck, on the spot you bit so hard. The purple spot looks really old and mostly faded already.

"No comment?" He snorts. "We're gonna have a lot of fun for sure."

“I have a question.” Your eyes are still on that same spot. “Does Steve heal quickly?”

"Why? You plan on kicking his ass?"

“Just answer the question, please.”

"Yeah, he does." Bucky shrugs. "One of the perks of the serum."

“Even the small scars or purple spots?”

"Yes." Bucky doesn't even think about it. "Which is great. Why? You think your friend will want to know?"

You don’t comment about his question, instead, touch the spot you bit down so hard. “You are nearly completely healed. My mark has vanished.”

"What?" He asks, confused.

“I bit down on your neck so hard, it was dark red. Now it’s gone.”

"I don't get purple easily. Never did. I guess you have to suck a little more." He smiles leaning in to kiss you again.

“I fully bit you,” you say before he does.

"I noticed." He giggled.

Since he doesn’t take it that seriously you let it go. “Fine. I will prove it to you later.”

"Prove what?" He gives you another kiss.

“That you heal quickly.” You try to fix yourself while you kiss him back.

"Oh, I feel healed every time I look at you."

“You are so cheesy.” Yet you can’t help but laugh. “How do I look?”

"Good boy version or?" He pauses dramatically.

“Both.”

"Good boy version first: you look like an angel." He smiles cheekily.

You snort. “I’m asking if I look decent, Bucky.”

"Angel,” he repeats before dropping his hands to your ass and squeezing. "They won't know you've got fucked against the wall if that's what you're afraid of. But you look strangely content and happy."

“That’s because I had a good date.” You scrunch your nose cheekily.

"Me too. The best date ever."

“Should we try to find our best friends?”

"Oh, sure." Bucky leans in to get the teddy bear before handing it to you.

"Ready for more war stories?"

“No, I’m not.” You hug the bear. “I gotta wash this.”

Bucky snorts. "Poor bear. Got traumatized."

“Traumatized and all dirty.” You don’t notice how close you are to Bucky until you feel him next to you. “Should we keep this a secret from our friends?”

"Do you want to?"

“I meant the having sex in a dark alley part. I don’t think my friend needs to know that.” She definitely shouldn’t know all this.

"We should totally keep that part to ourselves." He smiles.

“I could say that you kissed me or something. I don’t know. Is that too forward for the first date?”

"There's no such thing. You can say I kissed you."

“I was genuinely asking.” You smile. “I normally don’t even kiss on the first date.”

Bucky giggles, his hand squeezing your hip. "I am a lucky gal." You smile back at him until you notice a familiar face.

“Oh, is that Steve?” You point to the tall blonde guy.

"Yes, that's him. But where is your friend?"

“Right in front of him. I can see her dress.” It’s sticking on the side.

"Oh, yes. Gonna drive you home after that if that's alright with you." He sounds so casual like he already did that many times, but you notice something else.

“You have a car and you didn’t think of using it until now?”

"Oh." Redness takes over his cheeks. "I got… distracted."

"You are such an idiot." You start to giggle while walking toward your friends.

"Your idiot now. You got stuck with me for at least two months." He laughs.

"Just for two months?" You test his intentions.

"I can't assume you'd want to wait for me, can I?"

"I will tell your best friend to bring you back home in one piece. He's the hero after all. That should be easy, right?"

Bucky looks at her with a soft expression before kissing her hair. "Guess you really got stuck with me."

"Oh shit, Steve saw you kissing my hair." It’s going to be hard to keep this thing between you two.

"Does it bother you?"

“No, no, no.” You quickly try to explain. “It’s just I’m worried that they might think the worst of me. I mean… questioning our closeness.”

"I dare them." She is surprised by how serious and determined he is as he speaks.

“I would kiss you right now if I could.”

"I won't stop you." He giggles like a kid.

“Our friends are,” you whisper and look at your best friend, who is coming toward you. Cassie is holding Steve’s arm proudly.

"Oh, hello," Steve says. "Where have you been?"

"Here and there." Bucky shrugs. "Did you have fun?"

"Yes!" Cass immediately giggles, joining the conversation. "He has the best, best stories. What about-" She cuts herself off when she notices your appearance. "What happened to your stockings?"

“Oh.” You blush a little, thinking about how they got ruined. “I tripped and ruined them. They looked so horrible I had to take them off completely.”

"Yes, they got really dirty," Bucky confirms with the biggest grin Steve has seen in ages.

"Oh, really?" He lifts his eyebrow. "What a shame."

“Yeah. Sergeant Barnes promised me a new pair. What a gentleman he is.”

"A gentleman indeed." Steve shakes his head, well aware of what you two have done.

You bite your lip and give Bucky a look, hoping at least Cassie has no idea. You are sure the three of you can keep a secret. For now…

You may wanna read the next part: Trust In What Tomorrow Brings

[kitkatt0430]

Been in a Batfamily (in all it's fucked up drama) mood lately and thinking...

Jason gets into town, starts establishing his Red Hood persona, screwing with the Bats and taking over Crime Alley. He intends to use the new Robin to screw with Batman and manipulating Black Mask into reporting the new Red Hood back to the original. And as planned, Joker does not respond well to 'some upstart' using his old moniker.

Except when Joker breaks out of Arkham he can't help but be distracted by Batman and his shiny new Robin. (Has Joker been out while Tim's been Robin at this point? Let's say no for the sake of fanfic purposes.) Now Harley made Joker promise no more killing kids after what happened with the last Robin, made it clear that was a hard boundary for her and she'd leave him for good if he want after any more kids.

Of course, his promise that of course he wouldn't kill anymore kids was a total lie but it got Hartley to go all soft and agreeable for him again and that was what mattered. Besides, he doesn't want to kill this Robin. He wants to see what Batman sees in having child sidekick and take one for himself.

So Tim gets kidnapped by the Joker before Bruce can send the poor kid somewhere not Gotham for his safety. And Joke unmasks Tim because of course he does. And Harley sees how young Tim is and watches Mr. J start electrocuting the kid because surely the brainwashing'll stick if they fry his noggin' a bit first...

And Harley decides this is a boundary for her too. She can't be a part of this and even if it kills her, she's going to save this kid. She knows she can't do it on her own and her first thought is to go find Batman.

Of course, she quickly nixes this idea. Batman isn't ruthless enough and sure maybe he'll make it all the way through Joker's henchmen - admittedly as per usual - and rescue the kid. But then Mr. J will go back to Arkham and even though Harley doesn't want Joker dead... she also kinda wants him dead for this one. For using his promise to her not to kill kids as an excuse to torture children instead.

Next choice is Nightwing but he's out for the same reasons as Batman. Nightwing is somewhat more likely to kill the Joker and could live with it in the way Batman couldn't, but it's not a guarantee and Harley wants this kid to know that the guy who did this to him will never be able to do it ever again.

And then Harley remembers. Red Hood. Who definitely picked that name not as an homage but as a taunt. Who clearly hates the Joker and all he stands for. Who will... probably kill Harley, let's be honest, but she's not sure she wants to live without her Mr. J even as she's mentally planning out the man's death. So.

Harley makes an excuse to leave. Joker says something about mom doing the grocery shopping to the kid he's electrocuting and hands off a list of random stuff to Harley. She takes it and skedaddles. Heads all the way to Crime Alley. Stands outside it for a long moment. Thinks about the kid Joker's gotten his hands on. The way he screamed and cried and begged for Batman to come save him after the bravado of Robin quickly wore off.

She steps into Crime Alley. And then she does random acrobatics down the street, waiting for the Red Hood or his men to show up.

And they do. The Red Hood's henchmen are quick and efficient in grabbing her and presenting her to their boss. There's a gun in her face and she should be terrified and she is but...

She tells Red Hood about the kid. She drops the fake accent she put on for Joker and let's herself be, for just one last time, Harleen instead of Harley. The doctor who cares and not the killer Joker molded her into. "So kill me or whatever, I know I deserve it for believing Mr. J's lies again. But you have a code. You don't hurt kids. You don't kill kids. And maybe I'm asking too much, but I wasn't there and didn't save the last one. So I'm begging you to save this one."

Jason sees green. He has Harley take him to the Joker's hide out. He tears his way through the Joker's goons and doesn't hesitate to kill the Joker because he's too deep in the pit rage at the man who murdered him to care about his convoluted plans to try and force Bruce's hand, to make Batman finally kill Joker.

On the bright side, killing the Joker himself clears up some of Jason's lazarous pit related anger management issues. On the spot. The down side however is that Jason now has a traumatized Tim to deliver back to Batman - which he'd rather not, Batman cannot be trusted not to weaponize children - without being blamed for the state Tim's in.

He makes this Harley's problem - explain this to the Bats yourself, it's your punishment, Harley - and decides he needs a new plan to say 'screw you' to Batman with. He's gonna win over Robin 3.0 and get the kid to willingly abandon Batman to join the Red Hood Crew. How hard can it be, anyway?

Meanwhile Tim has absolutely figured out Jason is the Red Hood because he's absolutely connecting dots he should not be capable of connecting and formulating his own plan to try and lure Jason back home. Because why would Tim focus on healing from his own trauma when he could prioritize someone else's and compartmentalize the hell out of his own problems. Which is definitely the healthy thing to do and not at all going to bite him in the ass with depression and miscommunications down the line. (They all need so much therapy.)

So now the Joker's dead, Harley has delivered Tim safely back to Batman, (Ivy is about to get an unexpected visitor,) and the Bats are about to start playing four-d chess with each other to try and achieve various goals. Jason is trying to steal Tim from Bruce. Bruce thinks maybe saving Robin means the new Red Hood could be saved from himself after all. Tim is trying to lure Jason back to the manor for Alfred's cookies and oh is that a long overdue conversation with Bruce that is also sprung on him like a trap??? And Dick would just like to thank Red Hood but somehow winds up drunk confessing to the definitely-a-hallucination-of-Jason the whole didn't find out his little brother was dead until after the funeral when Dick got back from space thing and how he's so grateful to the Red Hood for saving this new kid who's just the neighbor's kid but also rapidly looking brother-shaped and why is he so bad at protecting the people he cares about???

(Jason rapidly going from 'drunk Dick is funny' to 'drunk Dick is clingy and cries and oh god he's getting emotions all over me make it stop')

[teapartyprincess4two]

Can you make a Latina reader x Matt sturniolo smut? You can make it up how you want it

Lipstick- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Thick!Latina!reader x Boyfriend!Matt

classification: fluff, smut

inspiration: request^^

translations: embedded within the story!

warnings: 18+, MDNI, literal sex, use of Spanish, Hispanic/ Latino culture mentioned, established relationship, slight cursing, traditional parents, mentions of alcohol, didn’t name any of the side characters, long

summary: Matt’s nervous to meet your family, but after making a good impression you treat him to a night full of kisses and lipstick stains.

—

Matt sits in the living room, nervous hands playing with the keys that hang from his belt loop. Your mother keeps him company, sitting on the sofa across from him as she asks him a plethora of personal and uncomfortable questions. Latina mothers are unashamed to prod into the personal life of others, especially when meeting their daughter’s boyfriend for the first time.

You’ve only been dating Matt for a couple of months, and although he seems like a nice kid, she’s not entirely sure she can trust your judgment just yet. The few boys you’ve brought home before haven’t always necessarily met her high standards. Matt hasn’t done anything to throw her off yet, but she’s sure she’ll find something to dislike. If he manages to stick around long enough, though, he’d surely grow on her.

“So what do you do for work?” your mom asks, momentarily looking up from her latest costura project to catch Matt’s anxious gaze. She expertly weaves the string in and out of the white lace, forming an intricate floral design in the process.

[translation: costura- sewing]

“Oh um… my brothers and I we make YouTube videos,” Matt doesn’t know where to look, he’s afraid to make eye contact but also afraid that if he doesn’t it’ll come off as disrespectful. He’s never been so nervous in his life, and from the look on your mother’s face he can tell that that’s probably not what she wanted to hear.

Your mother scoffs, obviously unimpressed with his answer. “Esta niña, siempre saliendo con los más huevones,” she turns her head towards the stairs. Matt’s been waiting for you to descend for over 30 minutes, and the awkward tension was even becoming too much for her.

[translation: “This girl, always going out with the laziest ones.”]

Matt coughs, taking a quick swig of the water bottle in front of him. He’s nervous, his hands are clammy and he has no idea what your mom just said. What was taking you so long?

“So is YouTube gonna pay the bills?” your mom was abrasive and she knew it, but she couldn’t help it. In her eyes, nobody was worthy enough of her babygirl. Matt remains silent, he doesn’t even know what to say, so she continues, “You know, when you two start having kids.”

The thought of having children at 20 years old terrifies Matt beyond belief, he can feel his hands getting clammier by the second. He understands that it’s a cultural dissonance, though, so he keeps his mouth shut. “We’re not planning on any kids soon, ma’am. We haven’t— Um, we haven’t really talked about it,” his voice trembles slightly, your mom was doing a good job of intimidating him.

Matt takes another swig of his water, his mouth was dry and he felt like his throat was closing up. “Oh, but you’re having sex with my daughter right?” the question is so unapologetically bold that it causes Matt to choke on the liquid, some of it managing to dribble down his chin.

“I’m sorry?” he chokes out, but he heard your mom loud and clear.

Finally, as if on queue, Matt hears footsteps coming down the steps. ‘Finally!’ he thinks, watching as your curvy figure rounds the staircase and enters the living room. Matt shoots up from his spot on the couch, his eyes immediately dancing over your entire body.

You’re wearing a fitted, black bodycon dress that reaches just above your knees. The spaghetti straps work to hold your bust in place, a gold necklace dangling delicately above the curves of your breasts. You push your freshly curled hair onto your shoulders, luscious locks framing your face perfectly. White lace-up sneakers adorn your feet, your ankle bracelet glimmering as you walk into the living room.

Matt can’t keep his eyes off of, every aspect of your being pulling him in and putting him in a trance. Your mom notices Matt’s inability to hide his attraction for you, “her eyes are up here!” His face goes beet red, eyes immediately darting up to your face.

You roll your eyes before sending Matt an apologetic smile, “Ya nos vamos, Ma.”

[translation: “We’re leaving, Ma.”]

“Bueno, mi niña. Pórtate bien,” she warns, bringing you in for a strong, warm embrace. Your mom’s change in behavior is so quick it gives Matt whiplash, but he can’t blame her for being standoffish with him. He understands that it’s her mother bear nature.

[translation: “Okay, babygirl. Be good.”]

You kiss your mom on the cheek, your red lipstick staining her face. You turn to Matt with a big, toothy smile sprawled onto your face. “You ready?” you ask, taking his hand in yours as you guide him outside. He nods and hums in response, squeezing your hand as he trails behind you in a lovesick daze. Your ass jiggles with each step and Matt wonders how he ever got so lucky.

“Sorry for taking so long,” you apologize once you’re in the car, getting situated in the passenger seat. “No problem. You look really beautiful,” he replies, starting the car and doing another once over on your body. You lean over the center console with puckered lips, “kiss?” He happily obliges, your red lipstick instantly transferring onto him. His pants are becoming tighter by the second and you notice it right away. Your relationship is still in its infancy, so even this has you blushing.

“Was my mom nice?”

“Mm yeah, some like that,” he replies with a chuckle, adjusting his pants and beginning the drive to your destination. You know he’s lying, but you’re grateful that he’s courteous enough to put up with your mom’s attitude.

“Just wait till you meet my dad and my siblings. They’re not as bad,” you say, the hum of the car engine and the low music in the background creating a calm atmosphere.

“Can’t wait,” he laughs, and although he’s nervous for when that day finally comes, he’s actually excited to become a constant presence in your life. It might be too early to say it, but he’s definitely falling in love with you, the tent in his pants making it obvious as ever.

—

A year has passed since that day and, as expected, your mom has warmed up to Matt. They aren’t super close yet, but she definitely sees him in a different light. She can tell that he truly cares for you and that what you two share is real, but the real test comes when Matt meets your dad.

Your dad works a lot, the manual labor taking a toll on his body that puts him to sleep as soon as he gets home. So, even if your dad is home when Matt’s around, he’s usually asleep or resting in his room.

Matt was nervous when he met your mom, but he’s TERRIFIED to meet your dad. There are so many factors to take into consideration; the language barrier, the cultural dissonance, the fact that he’s your literal dad! It doesn’t help that your siblings are gonna be there too, all of it makes Matt tremble with unease. But he’s been invited to your family’s cookout so he can no longer postpone it.

It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon. The weather is nice, it’s not too cold or too hot. It’s the perfect day for a cookout, and Matt should feel excited, but he doesn’t. Sweaty hands grip the steering wheel as he anxiously drives to your house. Chris and Nick are being dragged along as moral support, but unlike Matt, they’re not nervous.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you guys. I don’t even think they know I’m a triplet,” Matt’s words are coming out a mile a minute as he places the car in park outside your house. The panic is starting to set, and from the looks of it they’re the first ones here. Usually being on time would make Matt proud, but this just means there will be less people to hide behind.

“Dude, it’s gonna be fine. Plus, maybe Y/n has a cute cousin or something and we can be like brother in laws,” Chris is only half-joking. “Gross,” Nick grimaces, hopping off the car and beginning the short walk to your front door. Chris laughs, copying Nick’s actions and following closely behind.

That just leaves Matt. He’s glued to the front seat, mind racing uncontrollably. If he’s going to do this, it needs to be quick and painless or he’ll just psych himself out. He takes one deep breath in and out, unbuckling himself with such fervor that the seatbelt slaps the door. Once he steps out of the car, he takes a second to anchor himself before jogging to catch up to his brothers, who are already ringing your doorbell.

Three minutes pass and no one has opened the door, so Nick rings the doorbell again. “Allí voy, allí voy!” a voice shouts from inside, the door swinging open aggressively to reveal your little sister.

[translation: “I’m going, I’m going!”]

“Oh it’s just you,” she deadpans, moving aside so they can walk in. She slams the door shut, pushing past the stunned trio until she’s at the foot of the stairs. “Y/n’s upstairs,” she says, waving towards the staircase haphazardly.

“Y/N! YOUR BOYFRIENDS ARE HERE!” she shouts up the stairs, the loud outburst taking the triplets by surprise.

Your sister is a good 4 years younger and the complete opposite of you. She’s a thin tomboy, wearing an outfit so oversized that she’s drowning in fabric. Her style directly resembles Chris’s, chunky sneakers adorning her feet and a backwards hat resting atop her long, curly hair. A long gold chain that she stole from your older brother hangs from her neck, swaying back and forth as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Her makeup is nicely done and her glossy lips are resting in a smirk, she loved embarrassing you.

“Stop yelling, pendeja!” you shout back, head peering from your doorway. Your sister shoots you an unbothered shrug, turning on her heels and disappearing into the backyard. You descend the stairs, immediately hugging Matt and planting a fat kiss on his lips. Within seconds his lips are the same color as yours, your cherry lipgloss tasting all too familiar.

[translation: pendeja- dumbass (feminine)]

“You guys are early,” you chuckle, pulling away from Matt to greet the other two. “You can blame Matt for that,” Nick says, the four of you walking outside to the backyard patio. The setup is simple but nice, rows of foldable chairs and tables lining the grassy lawn. Coolers are up against the walls of the house, each one filled to the brim with soda, juice pouches, and alcohol.

As Matt is surveying the area, he sees your dad, or at least he thinks he does. A tall, muscular man is working the grill. His shiny, bald head reflects the sun and his tattoos are on full display past the sleeves of his ribbed cotton tank top.

Matt grabs your hand, pulling you back slightly, “Is that your dad?” His voice is hushed, afraid to be heard accidentally.

You follow his gaze, “What? No. That’s my brother.”

An audible sigh of relief escapes Matt, and you instantly clock it, “Don’t worry, babe. Everyone’s gonna love you.” The reassuring words momentarily calm his nerves.

Your older brother’s boisterous voice breaks the moment, “Y/n, go get the rest of the carne from the kitchen!” He’s pinching carne asada, elote, and cebolla off of the grill with long metal tongs, stacking it neatly on a metal tray.

[translation: carne- meat, carne asada- grilled meat, elote- corn, cebolla- onion]

Chris is the first to approach your brother, his friendly nature making it easy for him to talk to new people,“Dude, that smells good!”

Your brother is very kind, his scary appearance completely juxtaposing his hospitable personality. He’s wearing baggy jean shorts and black air forces with a matching gold chain and bracelet. The black sunglasses that rest on his face make him look unapproachable, but the warm smile he offers Nick and Chris makes up for it.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” you quickly peck Matt’s cheek, once again staining his face with your lipstick. Matt hums in response, joining the rest of the men around the grill.

“I feel like I’m seeing triple. I didn’t even know there was three of y’all,” your brother jokes, offering them each a firm handshake. Even though they’ve heard the joke millions of times before the triplets laugh.

“Yeah, we get that a lot,” Nick laughs.

“Bet you do. Which of you is dating my sister, though?” your brother asks, but he knows the answer; the red kiss on Matt’s cheek is a dead giveaway.

“That would be this lucky guy,” Nick replies, shaking Matt’s shoulders playfully. Matt’s cheeks burn a bright red and he can’t stop himself from smiling, he truly was lucky. “If the red lipstick on his face doesn’t tell you, then his smile surely will,” Chris chimes in, his finger smudging the makeup on Matt’s face.

Your brother laughs, “Yeah you might wanna wipe that off before el jefe gets back.”

[translation: el jefe- the boss (masculine, a nickname commonly used when referencing one’s father)]

“Oh shit,” Matt mutters, scrambling for a nearby napkin and rubbing it along his face feverishly.

—

An hour has passed and no one else has arrived yet, I guess the triplets didn’t get the memo that Hispanics are almost always fashionably late. Your brother is still working the grill, immersed in an entertaining conversation with Nick about God knows what. Chris, on the other hand, is playing soccer with your sister. He keeps either kicking the ball over the fence or missing it completely, his clumsy actions make your sister laugh uncontrollably.

You sit with Matt at one of the many tables, hands intertwined as you both anxiously await your parents arrival. “He should be back by now,” you mumble, a restless leg bouncing up and down. You knew Matt would make a good first impression on your dad, but you were still nervous.

It’s almost like you summoned him, the familiar sound of your dad’s pickup truck ringing in your ears as he pulls into the driveway. “Is that him?” Matt asks, grip tightening on your palms. “Yeah that’s him. Don’t be nervous, my dad is nice,” you reply, but you’re equally as anxious.

Your dad’s first words do nothing to help your case, you’re just glad Matt can’t understand them, “Vengan a ayudar, huevones!”

[translation: “Come help, lazies!”]

“Lemme go help, you stay here. Okay?”

“No, I’m coming with you.”

“Actually yeah, good idea.”

Matt follows you to the front yard, he’s so beyond nervous that his hands are practically dripping with sweat. Your dad senses Matt’s presence immediately, “Y este pinche güey que?”

[translation: “Who’s this fucking guy?”]

“Pa! No seas feo!” you exclaim, but your dad just rolls his eyes and silently instructs you to unload the truck. He bought more alcohol for the party, because when you’re Hispanic you can never have enough.

[translation: “Pa! Don’t be ugly!”]

“Es tu novio o que?” your dad asks, grunting as he picks up two cases of beer. He rests them on his shoulders with ease, he’s so strong that it intimidates Matt. “Yes, dad. He’s my boyfriend,” you reply, playfully rolling your eyes.

[translation: “Is he your boyfriend or what?”]

Your dad, much like your brother, is also bald. The greatest differences between the two men are the wrinkles that crease near your dad’s eyes when he smiles, his long bushy beard, and his protruding beer belly. “Nice to meet you,” your dad finally directs his attention towards Matt, offering him a genuine smile as his thick accent butchers the words.

“Nice to meet you too, sir,” Matt replies, picking up a case of alcohol as to make himself useful. Your dad can tell that Matt’s nervous, and even though he doesn’t like the idea of you dating, he decides to take it easy on him. He’s heard stories about Matt from your mom and by the way you look at him, your dad knows he’s the one.

As your dad enters the backyard, absolutely shocked to see Chris and Nick. Never in his life has he met a twin, let alone triplets, “Ay güey! Hay tres? No chingues, creo que me mareé.” Everyone, except for the triplets who have no idea what’s going on, laughs at your dad’s statement.

[translation: “Oh shit! There’s three? Fuck, I think I just got dizzy.”]

“I think he likes you,” you shrug, a sly smile playing on your face. Matt suddenly feels confident, all the nerves washing away.

—

As the hours pass, the party becomes less innocent as everyone becomes more and more inebriated. Matt’s chatting with some of your uncles and cousins, a cold beer resting in his hands. He’s been nursing the same bottle all night, only sipping from it occasionally.

You’re on the opposite end of the lawn, sitting at a table with your chismosa cousin. “Your man is so handsome, prima. If you find another one like that, send him my way.”

[translation: chismosa- gossiper (feminine), prima- cousin (feminine)]

“He does have a brother,” you joke, eyes still trained on Matt. You needed to get him alone in the house, away from prying eyes.

You could think of so many actual reasons you needed him right now, though. First, he was being such a gentleman with your family. He introduced himself and made small talk despite the evident language barrier. Secondly, when you served him a plate, he finished it faster than you’ve ever seen him eat anything. Then, when he got up for seconds, he moaned as the delicious flavors melted in his mouth.

Everyone loved him, and for whatever reason that turned you on. The longer you looked at him, the wetter you became. You’re clenching your thighs together, the sheer thought of him making you squirm. Before you know it, you’re excusing yourself from your cousin and walking up to Matt with a random excuse as to why you need him inside.

“Hey is everything okay?” Matt whispers, hands resting on your hips. His head is crooked down towards you, lips capturing yours briefly before resting his forehead against yours. “Yeah, just missed you,” your breathy words fan his lips as you place a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth and travel them down his neck.

Although he welcomes the feeling, you’re both standing in the kitchen and if anyone were to walk in they’d catch the intimate moment. That’s the last thing he wanted, especially not after making a good first impression, “not here, baby.”

You pout, completely retracting yourself from Matt, “okay.”

“No, wait. I said not here,” he pulls you back in as he looks around the house in search of another secluded area, not wanting to completely abandon your touch.

“Then where?” your voice is sultry and inviting.

“Outside?” it’s the first thing that comes to Matt’s mind, and the suggestion breaks you from the mood.

“Outside, Matt? Really? Like what, like a dog?” you have a dumbfounded look on your face, almost like you can’t believe he even suggested it.

“No, like, in my car,” he dangles the keys in front of your face before pulling you back in for a heated kiss.

The kiss seems to convince you because he’s successfully leading you to his car. The street is dark, only illuminated by a few street lamps, but you find it with ease.

You fumble into the backseat, Matt following behind you giddily. “We have to be quick, okay?” you whisper, pulling Matt in for another kiss by the collar.

“You know I like taking my time with my girl,” you can hear the smirk in his voice, a playful scoff falling from your lips. You scoot further into the back seat, making room for Matt as he situates himself between your legs.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?” he brushes a stray curl away from your face, a gentle hand caressing your cheek. “Hmm yes, but I could hear it again,” you turn your face, kissing his palm.

“You look beautiful today,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss. You mould into each other, your lips fitting perfectly against his. Matt grinds himself down on you, momentarily breaking from you long enough for you to feather kisses along his neck.

With each kiss comes an affirmation, “I’m. So. Proud. Of. You.” It’s too dark to see, but you’re leaving lipstick marks all over him. The praises send blood rushing to his dick as you continue, “You did so good, papi. Just like I knew you would.”

[translation: papi- daddy (bear with me ppl)]

“Yeah? How good?” he eggs you on, relishing in all your sweet words. His hands push your dress up, the fabric scrunching up around your hips to reveal the red lace panties you wore underneath. Matt swears he’s in heaven.

“You did perfect…” your words trail off as you watch Matt remove your underwear in a daze. “How about you show me how good I did?” he grabs your waist, flipping you both over so you’re on top. You let out an excited squeal, your bare cunt coming in contact with his rough denim jeans. His dick is straining against the fabric, begging for release.

You grind onto his clothed penis, one hand resting on his chest as the other pushes your hair out of your face. Matt’s hands instinctively find your hips, a firm grip guiding your swiveling motions.

“Tell me how you want me, baby.”

“Ride me?”

As soon as he says it, you’re wiggling down onto his thighs and unbuckling his pants. Your fingers dance along his erection, teasingly tracing it. Matt bites his lip at the sight, “Please don’t tease.”

“So polite,” you giggle, finally tugging his pants down. His dick slaps against his stomach, the swollen tip already dripping with precum. Your thumb runs across the tip, spreading the lubrication along his shaft.

Matt’s a whimpering mess, propped onto his elbows to get a better view of you. When his hips subconsciously buck into your hand you decide to stop teasing and situate yourself above his crotch, dragging his penis along your wet folds before positioning it right at your entrance.

You’re going so slow, too slow, so Matt decides to take matters into his own hands. He grabs handfuls of your ass, pushing you down onto his dick with force. “Matt!” you gasp, the delicious stretch sending you into overdrive.

He doesn’t respond, instead he pushes and pulls your hips so that you’re bouncing on his cock. Your breasts are jiggling rhythmically, threatening to spill out of your dress. Animalistic grunts fill the car as Matt watches your pussy wrap around him, his jaw is slack and his eyebrows are furrowed in pleasure. Your soft whimpers and moans motivate him to keep going.

“You like that?” The car is rocking with the intensity of your movements, windows becoming foggier and foggier with each breathy moan that escapes your lips.

“Yes!” your voice is high pitched and squeaky, the pleasure choking you up. “Use your words, pretty girl,” he grunts, feeling the familiar wave of pleasure approaching.

“It’s so good, papi. So, so, so good,” you babble, struggling to formulate coherent sentences. Your pussy is fluttering around him, the sensation bringing Matt closer to his breaking point.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum,” he whimpers, large hands squeezing the skin around your hips so hard that it was sure to bruise. You place loving kisses all over his face, especially on his cheeks and the corners of his mouth.

“I love you,” you moan, chanting his name again and again right after. He’s thrusting up into you feverishly, his pace faltering slightly as you both near your climax. “I love you too, princess. So much,” his voice is strained, strong arms wrapping around your waist and holding you in place as he shoots his warm load into you. His affirmations send you into a state of euphoria as your orgasm washes over you.

He’s peppering kissing all over your chest, whimpers escaping his lips as he comes down from his high. You delicately push his hair off of his sweaty forehead, admiring him as he continues his gentle attack on your chest.

“We should probably get back, babe. They’ll be wondering where we are,” you whisper, but he doesn’t want to let go. He wants to stay like this with you forever.

“Let me enjoy this a little longer,” he murmurs, hooded eyes finally looking up at you. Your lipstick is smudged all over your mouth. “Aww baby, your lipstick is all messed up. You look so cute,” he laughs, attempting to wipe some it off but failing.

He shifts slightly, the streetlights briefly managing to illuminate his handsome face. Your kiss marks are all over, a clear visual representation of how much you love him.

“You’re wearing more of it than I am,” you joke, earning yourself a playful slap on the ass.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n: clearly I couldn’t just write a smut right? Lmaoooo idk I had all the characters in my brain & it couldn’t just be smut 😭 hope u enjoy

This is so different from anything I’ve written before so lmk how yall like it & if you enjoy having Spanish in stories w/ the translations in the story💃🏻 also don’t kill me for using papi, i’d gladly call my man papi any day 😋

-L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07 @sturniolololover @missriddle03

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

[emacrow]

So you know the movie Ponyo

What I'm really trying to ask is do you know the mother and the father are like a little thing where the mother looks like an epic Sea Goddess cuz she is and he looks like a sad sickly old man

I'm just imagine that Klarion and Danny

Like Danny looks like an epic beautiful star Death god powerful in the way he moves but it's subtle like he's slowly comforting you to death

And Klarion looks like a crazy witch boy with a cat who look like he's out right feral and about to throw a pipe bomb at you just because he can

I'm just imagining what happens is Young/Dark Justice is worried about Klarion he's been gone for a while and they're wondering what he's planning I imagine they're surprised when they see him with a Lazarus pit

It's a specially surprising when electric entity sticks their head out of the Lazarus pit and starts talking to Klarion as the JLD and YJL hide there waiting for Klarion into demand help our power they watch this being completely start flirting with Klarion

I imagine Klarion and Danny's conversation going like this

Danny: Hello there my amazing chaos what have you came to talk to me about this time

He puts his hands up to pick up Klarion and bring him closer to his face

Klarion: It's that stupid Doctor Fate it's like he doesn't understand too much balance can ruin the order of the world I might love chaos but that would cause a chaos I couldn't even control

Klarion sits down and Danny's hands rubbing his head on one of Danny's fingers as comfort

Danny: Oh my love I could always talk to him and get him to try slow it down a bit if that's what you need

Danny's face turns into one of concern as he says that slowly starting to move around in the bigger than normal Lazarus pit that Klarion found for him

Klarion: No starlight me and Teekl have that old fart handled how about you tell me about your day instead did you find any more stars how is the balance between life and death doing for you

Danny puts him back down as a twinkle goes in to his eyes as he lays down in Lazarus water slowly starting to swim around as he say

Danny: oh Klarion life and death has been amazing and there's a new Star nursery that I found out there it's just wonderful

After Danny says that he pauses for a moment and presents to go underneath the water he comes out looking smaller with white hair and still wearing the same clothing he was wearing when he was larger surprising Klarion by grabbing his hands

Danny: oh Klarion my dear I have an idea how about we let Dr.Fate have what he wants for once in his miserable life let him have order without the balance that he needs that should show him that he needs you should it not

Klarion takes a second to think through It after he does he grabs Danny's hands right back

Klarion: that's an amazing idea Danny I'll stay with you in the infinite realms let's see how Dr Fate work without chaos helping him keep the balance

After that Danny kisses Klarion on the cheek using the the Lazarus pits to take him and Klarion to somewhere called the infinite realms

I'm sorry this is my first time really writing out Klarion I don't know how to write out characters that well I hope it was good that is what I really like is YJ and JLD was just reacting to this conversation since like the plan was listen and find information

You bet damn right that Dr Fate would have trouble keeping the balance, and would probably have the justice league trying to find Klarion because he thinks he up to something but in reality Klarion is in the middle of deep space, playing around with the stars as Danny is molding and feeding the baby star nursery to build a new universe in the making.

Dani is probably with him doing looping loops playing with star dust while Dan beat up any asteroids that had bad bacteria and let some of the good meteorites in that has good bacteria, and frozen water inside of them.

By the the time Justice league figured it out, probably the Green lantern, Hal. He probably gobsmacked and godsmacked straight back where he came form accidentally by Danny's star fueled cape.

[princessbrunette]

i don’t think i’ve ever talked about what it would be like to go on a first date with rafe, so let’s.

only five minutes late, but that’s okay — he had to talk himself out of doing a line. he wasn’t nervous, no — at this point in his life rafe knew he was the man. he carried that demeanour with him everywhere which is what attracted you to him in the first place. it’s just that it pained him to do all the regular courting business. he was proactive as he’d tell you a million times — and if he already knew he liked you, and wanted you to be his, a first date just felt redundant. in short, he wanted to skip all the small talk and jump right into a relationship. rafe was an impatient man.

he knew the game though, and as he did actually want you to stick around — he’d play it.

he’s very gentlemanly. opens doors, tells you that you look stunning, tries to be subtle about flashing the rolex on his wrist. it starts to actually feel fun for him. you make him want to impress you, and usually he doesn’t care what girls think of him.

he takes you somewhere with alcohol and small appetisers. no, he’s not a creep just trying to get you drunk — he just feels it gets things flowing that tad bit quicker. he’s not wrong, because the “and uh, would the pretty girl like a drink?” with that silly little smile works like a charm, and one glass of wine deep and you’re leaning on your hand, hanging onto his every word, staring through your lashes with what can only be described as lust. it’s not your fault — it’s the wine, and rafe is an incredibly good looking man.

he gets bolder as the night goes on, which is nice — you get to see him get more and more open. asking to see his rings leads to comparing hand sizes, which leads to rafe making a not so subtle comment about how much thicker his fingers are, which leads to playing with each others hands in the centre of the table as you continue to talk the evening away.

“people usually ask basic questions on dates, you know to get to know eachother.” you grin, glancing up from where your eyes were fixated on the way his gold ring glinted in the low light.

“oh like, your favourite colour or some shit?” he drawls with his own smirk, knowing you’re both beyond the small talk.

“mm, maybe something more fun. give me a hypothetical situation.” you giggle, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip to stifle it as he shifts in his seat thoughtfully, leaning closer.

“alright, uh…” he scratches his cheek before landing on something and leaning in. you’re expecting perhaps the ‘what would you bring to a desert island?’ question, or something of the sort — so your eyes practically bulge out of your head when he confidently croons out a “if i got you pregnant tonight on our first date, would you keep it?”

he likes watching you stutter and stammer trying to find an answer to something so absurd. you’re not offended, no — the wine fuelled arousal has taken you way past that. just shocked at how suddenly the gentleman mask dropped, even if it was just for a moment. he shrugs, in a friendly way as he leans back. “totally hypothetical. i like to ask the difficult questions, you know? keeps things interesting.”

“i think keeping it after the first date would probably be a bad idea.” you’re all shy about it, like despite knowing what you’re saying is right — you can’t help but doubt yourself. the first of many moments like that with rafe cameron. he licks his lips thoughtfully, like there’s anything else to consider.

“hm. yeah, no. smart girl.” he nods, rubbing a coarse thumb over the back of your knuckles which nearly causes you to forget the conversation. you think maybe he saw the way your eyes involuntarily fluttered at the touch because he chuckles, low in his chest.

“why, were you planning on running?” you tease and he stares at you for a moment, lips curled up like he knows something you don’t.

“running? you’re not gonna be able to shake me, trust that.” it comes out with a jokey tone, but the way he pauses to take a slow drink makes you believe there’s some truth to it.

he drives you home because he’s only had one drink, always on the ball — and helps you out the car on your drive. he says his goodbyes all close and touchy with two hands gripping your waist looming over you, talking all quiet. you’re the one that initiates the first kiss — wanting so badly to invite him inside, but you settle for a kiss because if you do you know you’ll end up on your back — and you can’t bring yourself to do that on the first date. so a kiss it is, but you don’t hold back on rubbing at his chest and arms, pressing your tits to him when he pulls you closer. he even notes how easy it was to make you let out the quietest moans just from a little kissing.

you’re the one who initiates the kiss, but he’s the first to put his tongue in your mouth, cupping the back of your head to hold you down and really get it in there. it’s taking you everything not to invite him in, panties soaked through — but you’re strong and choose to be dignified — staggering away on jelly legs as he smirks and wipes the gloss off his chin. he tells you he’ll text you, and he does. again, he knows how to play the game (and plus, he’s already obsessed.)

you would like to say that you wished things stayed like that, with rafe being gentlemanly for the most part and sweet — but you’d be lying. as rafe reveals his darkness to you, you fall harder and harder.

[pholla-jm]

I feel like Sukuna is the type to have a daughter with her mom's angelic looks and her father's power and personality haha. Can I ask for some cute scenarios of them please? 🙏

Hello! This was such a cute idea! I couldn't think of anything good, but I came up with some stuff. However, if I do come up with more, I'll definitely tag you!

Like Daughter, Like Father

IMAGINE: LIKE DAUGHTER, LIKE FATHER GENRE: FLUFF cw: not proof read. mention of blood and killing *****************

Everyone thinks that Sukuna would have a son, and spend most of his time with his son. 

However, the universe decided to bless him with a daughter instead. 

And she definitely took her mom’s looks. An exact copy and paste. 

Like an angel sent straight down to heaven. If you took one look at her, she looked so innocent and peaceful. 

However, anyone that spent time with her knew that she was just like her daddy. 

In fact, you knew that she was going to be such a daddy’s girl when she said her first word. Well, more like shouted. 

Sukuna was about to leave to walk around another village, leaving you and your daughter at the castle. 

You could tell that she was getting upset by her wiggling movements and grabby hands towards her father. However, that didn’t really stop Sukuna. What came out of your daughter's mouth next definitely made him stop. 

“Daddy!” She shouts and Sukuna stops. His body was slightly tense, like he was processing what he just heard. 

His little girl, shouting his name. Almost like she was beckoning him over. His brain was telling him that no one tells him what to do. But his heart and body was telling him something different. He couldn’t just walk away from his child. 

He turns around, a bit surprised with the look on her face. 

Her eyebrows were furrowed, lips turned into a pout and she was glaring at him. 

“Awe, you said your first words.” You coo at her. “Daddy.” She says again, but more stern. “Ooh, sounds like someone is mad.” You start to tease. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes and walks back over to you and his daughter. He takes her from you, her body being enveloped in his arms. Any child would probably be scared to be held by him. But she wanted it. She wanted to stick right by his side. 

“Daddy.” She says again. “Tch, what do you want, brat?” 

Her glare just hardens and you laugh.

“Oh, this is too good. Looks like you’re spending the day with her.” 

You were amused with how much your daughter is like Sukuna. She always sported a serious look on her face and she glared at every single person that she didn’t know. Sure, she took your looks. But she stole his whole personality. 

“Huh?” Sukuna looks at you a bit shocked as you start to leave the room. 

“Make sure to bring her back alive.” Your daughter wasn’t even paying attention to you as you left. All of her attention is on her daddy, already planning on how to make his life harder. 

***********

“Where is that brat?” Sukuna mumbles as he walks through the hallways. His steps were a bit faster than usual, as he looked for his daughter. She for some reason thought it was a good idea to play hide n seek even though Sukuna said no. 

However, she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Now Sukuna is slightly stressed out as he looks for the tiny half human/curse. 

“If you don’t come out, your mother is going to kill me.” 

It was silent for a couple of minutes, and then he heard the teeny tiny patter of feet coming towards him. 

He turns around, looking down at his daughter. 

His eyes widened seeing that she was covered in red. His brain immediately goes to the worst. He walks up to her, bending down to her level. 

“Kill?” She repeats. “Yes. Kill. Something that your mother is going to do if you did something bad.” He mumbles as he inspects her for any cuts or wounds.

He was relieved seeing that it wasn’t her blood. His thumb smudges at one of the red stains, bringing it to his mouth. “Cranberries?” 

“Cwanbewies.” She repeats with a large smile on her face. 

Sukuna lets out a sigh of relief. “Where did you even get cranberries?” 

“Kitchen.” Sukana nods his head. “Wait, how did you get in there? What about the servants?” 

She’s silent for a moment, like she's thinking about her answer. “Kill.” She says.

“You kill?” He asks and she nods her head with a proud look on her face. 

She didn’t exactly know how to communicate that the servant got in the way of her cranberries. She just simply got rid of the obstacle. 

Sukuna looks down and sees that there is indeed blood staining the bottom of her yukuta. Sukuna smiles, proud of her actions. 

Then, you popped into his head. You were the exact opposite of these two. And he already knows that you would not be happy. 

“Okay, don’t tell mom.” “Tell mom?” “No.” “I tell mom.” “I just said no.” “Mom!” “Shut it!” “No, you.” 

Sukuna covers her mouth, his hand covering most of her face. He stands up, picking her up in the process. He looks around, looking for any sign of you. 

He was relieved that you didn’t hear what was going on. 

“Listen. You don’t say a word, and I’ll get you your favorite chocolate.”  Her eyes lit up and she nodded her head. “Alright, good. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐍

ㅤㅤno outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni, romance, valentines day, strangers to lovers

word count: 1.2k

summary: when your friend sets you up on a blind date, you had no idea how impactful it would be.

warnings: piv, oral (fem receiving), praise, mild dirty talk, ngl this is mostly smut dvbfdvbd

a/n: hello @always-andromeda!!! I was your secret valentine!! 💘💘💘 sorry I'm slightly late but I hope you had a spectacular valentines day, and I hope this fic of a dream of a man will make you happy!

A blind date. 

A goddamn fucking blind date. 

You still can’t believe you said yes and thought it was worth risking your mental stability for a date with a man you’ve never met, nor seen before. The agreed time was 7 pm, Valentine's Day, and lo behold it was 7.15, and still no sign of the famous Joel Miller. 

“This was stupid,” you mutter, looking around the crowded bar. You got stood up that’s for sure. You should leave, go home, and snuggle up with your favorite book under the bed. 

You're already seated at a cozy booth, nursing a half-forgotten drink as you contemplate your escape plan. Suddenly, a voice cuts through the chatter of the bar.

"Hey there."

You turn, startled, to see a man standing before you. He has a slightly sheepish grin on his face, as if he's been searching for you for a while. He repeats your name, a bit firmer this time, probably thinking he might have had the wrong person. Swiftly your eyes move up and down his frame, broad shoulders, broad chest— His dark, tousled hair frames a ruggedly handsome face, with tired, yet alert, eyes that seem to hold a thousand stories. 

"Yeah, that's me," you reply, trying to hide your surprise. "And you must be Joel?"

"Guilty as charged," he says with a soft smile. "Sorry, I'm late. Traffic was hell."

“That’s alright. . .” 

He raises an eyebrow, still smiling, “You sure that’s what you think? You looked right about to leave, honey.” 

"Well, I... I was just... considering my options," you stammer, feeling a bit flustered under his scrutiny.

Joel's smile widens, and he chuckles softly. "I'm glad you decided to stick around," he says, his voice warm and reassuring. "I promise to make it worth your while."

There's a sincerity in his words that puts you at ease, and you find yourself relaxing in his presence. Maybe this blind date won't be such a disaster after all.

"I'll grab us some drinks," Joel offers, standing up from the booth.

You nod, grateful for the distraction. "Sure, sounds good. I'll have a Negroni."

As Joel heads towards the bar, he glances back at you with an amused twinkle in his eye. "Don't run off while I'm gettin’ them now," he teases.

You let out a laugh, feeling a warmth spreading through you. "Don't worry," you reply, meeting his gaze. "I'm not going anywhere now that you're here."

He’s a single dad. 

A contractor. 

And most importantly, he’s eager to take you home. 

In the short amount of time that you got to know him, you feel as if this blind date was a key moment in your life. You already know this wouldn’t be the only time, and by the way he’s kissing you right now, you know that he feels it too. 

You had done the most cliche thing possible, asking if he wanted to come upstairs for a drink. 

All hell broke loose as soon as you closed your apartment door. 

His tongue is deep in your mouth as he sucks on your bottom lip, teeth nipping at the tender flesh. His large hands are under your skirt, squeezing your ass. You moan wantonly into his mouth, your eyes rolling all the way back into your skull. You’re burning and all he does is fan the flames. 

“Look at you, so good to me making those sweet noises,” he pulls his mouth away only an inch, making you feel the fan of his breath. His lips are shining under the dim light. “Make some more pretty girl. Make me hear all of it.” 

Without warning he slips two fingers between your folds, circling them around your clit. Your insides clench, more wetness gathering between your legs. Another moan rips from your throat. Joel gives you a half smile, eyes growing dark the more you let go and fall. 

“Can’t wait to take you apart again and again and again,” his lips ghost your cheek, mapping a road to your ear. You shudder against him. “Where’s the bedroom?” 

It takes you a second to understand the question. At least you thought it was a second, his deep laughter makes you think otherwise. “You really know how to make a man feel good about himself, sweetheart. But as much as I would love to fuck you on the floor, a bed would be better for a sweet thing like yourself.” 

“If you continue sweet-talking me like that I might just combust.” 

“That’s the plan darlin’,” he murmurs as you guide him. “I can’t wait to taste your mess.” 

As soon as he strips you down and lays you on the bed, he takes his place between your legs. A man of his word. He’s still fully clothed, you only managed to unbutton his jeans but that was it. He grinds down into the soft flesh of the bed as his tongue dips between your folds, licking and slurping, he moves up to your clit and sucks the sensitive nub, making you shout. 

“Let go, sweetheart. Need you to come at least once before you take me.” 

He sucks your clit again and again, applying pressure with his tongue, he slips in two fingers, curling them at just the right angle—

“Fuck—Joel, I’m—“

“Come for me, darlin’. Give me what I asked for and make me a happy man.” 

With a gasp, you let go, your whole body trembling as Joel continues to work his magic until you're left breathless and spent. He gives your clit one last lick before pulling away, a cocky grin on his face. 

"Damn, you look beautiful when you come. I can't wait to see it again," he says as he leans in for a quick kiss, before getting up and shedding his own clothes. You take a moment to admire his body before he's on top of you, his lips pressed against yours again. 

With each kiss, each touch, the fire between the two of you only intensifies. You don't even notice when he slips a condom on and pushes inside you, the pleasure taking over. 

Joel's thrusts are slow and deep, his hands gripping your hips as he moves in and out of you with increasing speed. You can feel the pressure building in your core again.

"God, you feel so good," Joel groans, his breath hot against your neck as he kisses and nips at your skin. "I can't get enough of you."

You feel the tight coil in your stomach unravel again, and you cry out as you come for a second time. Joel follows soon after, collapsing on top of you as he catches his breath. 

He rolls off of you and pulls you into his arms, both of you covered in a light sheen of sweat. You lay there in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Joel speaks up. 

"Can I be honest with you, sweetheart?" 

"Of course," you reply, turning to look at him. 

"I haven't felt a spark like this with anyone in a long time. I want to see where this goes," he says, sincerity in his voice. 

"I feel the same way," you admit, smiling at him. 

Joel's fingers brush your cheek before leaning in for a soft kiss. You can't believe your luck, finding someone who could ignite such a passionate fire in you. You know this is just the beginning of something special between the two of you. And you can't wait to see where it takes you.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

“I don’t think that is what God wants. And I don’t think you want it either.”

This line of Aziraphale’s in the Job minisode keeps sticking out to me. Because this is the heart of the problem, right? This is how Aziraphale can see Crowley so completely and also not at all.

Because yes they suck at open communication and yes it’s because they had to hide their relationship for thousands of years and have so so so much trauma and fear to work through. But ALSO they actually do have a profound difference in how they see the world that keeps coming between them, and it’s not just theoretical but deeply personal to both of them.

Because Aziraphale still wants to believe that God is good. He can’t let go of that because his whole identity is wrapped up in being an angel of the Lord, and if God’s not good then what has he been doing for his entire existence?

And so when bad things are happening he falls back on This cannot be what God wants. The whole of season one, he refuses to believe that God could really want the world to end—even though we now know he knew this was a possibility before the world even started. He keeps going up the chain of command, trying to find someone to intervene. “That’s why I’m going to have a word with the Almighty and then the Almighty will fix it.” As if God doesn’t have all the information or hasn’t been paying attention.

And really, the events of season one reinforce this worldview for him. Because if the Archangel Fucking Gabriel isn’t sure what God wants, then maybe God did want them to stop Armageddon. Maybe it was Aziraphale and Crowley who were doing God’s work after all.

He’s gotten as far as realizing that Heaven’s orders are not the same thing as God’s will, but he still hasn’t detached the concepts of Good and Right from God in his worldview.

Crowley is a good person who does the right thing so he must still be an angel deep down. “I know the angel you were.” The only way Aziraphale can conceptualize Crowley saving Job’s children is, “Come on, you’re a little bit on our [God’s] side.” So Crowley’s fall was a mistake; Crowley belongs in Heaven, where he was so happy before the Fall. Why wouldn’t he want to be an angel again? And yeah maybe Heaven sucks now but God is still good, so there’s hope that the system can be reformed with a change of leadership, and Heaven can be made to actually do good, the way God always intended.

But that’s not how Crowley sees the world at all. He is operating with an entirely different understanding of reality. Because he figured out a long time ago (at least by the time of the Job job, but probably long before that) that you can’t base your sense of morality on what you think God wants. Not just because you don’t know for sure, but because sometimes God’s plans are fucking awful. God in Good Omens is not kind to Her creations. She doesn’t tolerate questions or doubts or disobedience. She’s capricious, turning on the creatures She made and killing a bunch of them when She’s in a bad mood. She punishes indiscriminately and disproportionately. She wagers human lives like gambling chips. The kids were supposed to be dead no matter who won the bet.

I think it’s interesting that Crowley is the one who introduces the idea in season one of “What if the Almighty planned it like this all along? From the very beginning.” That’s probably a comforting thought to Aziraphale, soothing his anxieties about going against Heaven right when he is feeling acute distress at the idea of no longer having a side. (And, in that particular moment, no longer even having a bookshop.)

But it’s not a comforting thought to Crowley. Have you seen what happens when God has a plan for you? It fucking sucks. Woe betide you if you’re the Barbie God decides to play with today. (At bare minimum, you’re coming back with some burn marks and a weird haircut.)

I’ve brought up the line “There are no right people. There’s just God, moving in mysterious ways and not talking to any of us” before, and I tend to focus on the “there are no right people” part. But also, there’s just God.

Aziraphale tends to draw a distinction between God’s will and Heaven’s orders when it suits him, and collapse that distinction when it doesn’t. Crowley almost never differentiates between God and Heaven. There’s just God, and She’s not going to explain why this is happening or listen to pleas for mercy (although Crowley still tries). You can’t trust Heaven or Hell, and you can’t count on God to show up and make everything all right. Sometimes God is in fact the reason that things are not all right. You’re on your own.

(And. Look. Crowley is right on this one. There are certainly aspects of their relationship where they’re both equally responsible for things being a shitshow, but the text is pretty unambiguous about Crowley, a demon, having the most accurate read on the nature of God in the world of Good Omens out of any of the metaphysical characters.)

Crowley rebuilt his entire sense of self, alone, after the Fall. He created himself anew and developed his own moral compass and sense of identity independent of both Heaven and Hell. “The angel you knew is not me.” When Crowley does the right thing, that’s not his angel-ness shining through; that’s just Crowley.

And from a like, trauma recovery point of view, it’s actually very healthy for him to have the realization that sometimes God’s just kind of a dick. He didn’t do anything to deserve getting kicked out of Heaven. None of them did. Just God messing them about because She didn’t like being questioned, or She wanted to see what would happen, or She needed two sides for Reasons and didn’t much care who was on one or the other, or She’s playing some fucked up little game for Her own amusement. (And if there was some Great Plan that required Crowley to fall…well, that is also fucked up. Because it doesn’t matter if there was a reason. It still hurt.)

And while Crowley in general is extremely patient with Aziraphale and his slow, halting journey away from Heaven…it’s gotta sting, every time Aziraphale doesn’t want to believe that God could be cruel, when Crowley is standing right fucking there. It’s gotta hurt when Aziraphale refuses to see something that Crowley knows to be true through his own lived experience. Because it should be enough. What happened to him should be enough to make someone who loves him walk away from Heaven and never look back. And it isn’t.

But of course Crowley is one hundred percent not going to talk about this, if he is even fully self-aware about having these thoughts, because it’s far too painful and vulnerable. (He talks to plants, goats, God, and no one in a bar at the end of the world, but never to Aziraphale.) And so he says “Tell me you said no” and “I think I understand a lot better than you do” because he can’t say Choose me. Just this once, choose me and he can’t say Believe me.

And Aziraphale is not going to think about all this and work it out for himself, because he has a massive lump of denial centered around exactly this thing, that sometimes God hurts people who didn’t do anything to deserve it. I’m sure he’s thought about the Fall in abstract terms, enough to be afraid of it, but not in terms of this is a thing that happened to a person I love. And he has certainly not allowed himself to draw any conclusions about the nature of God from it, because that is far too scary a prospect.

And so they’re stuck. Until they can figure out how to remove this massive landmine from the center of their relationship, they are going to keep having the same fight over and over again, and they’re going to keep hurting each other without fully understanding why.