#if i find something good i just keep using

[vio1315]

I want to share my white noise solution in case anyone falls into the same niche as me.

I've always liked having a fan/white noise to sleep to in order to block out other sounds, but lately have found my white noise machine has a secret frequency that I can hear sometimes that might be causing me some brain fog issues???

So to remedy this I thought getting something that makes noise with water might be a good idea. But all the indoor ones are really quiet, and it's hard to tell from online listings if people are just putting a mic up close or etc.

(Note, my solution is more about muffling than being loud enough to fully override)

So here's my set up:

I got a tabletop fountain that is meant to simulate rain. While I don't necessarily recommend this one, it's what I have and so what everything I say is going to be based around: [Amazon link]

The 'calming cloud by mindsight'

The first thing to know is that yes! These things are way too quiet. Out of the box, the sound of it was easily overwhelmed by someone in the other room using an electric toothbrush.

So basically I got heavy duty aluminum foil (if you're sensitive to sound I recommend using some kind of hearing protection for this because it genuinely hurt so much) and used a bowl to get the foil in a circular shape. You want the excess to come upwards to block out the sides, because it Will have considerable splash from this. Use a toothpick to put some holes in it, you don't need that many.

Do not use any splash pad, stick that foil right in there and set up the sides to fit inside. For the gaps, I just took a piece of foil and taped it to the top to further block the water from splashing out.

This is considerably louder! Not as loud as a fan, but it's enough to keep sounds from inside my house from driving me insane. Note that the pitch of the water is a little high. You would need a different kind of material to get it lower, probably harder to work with etc. I have tried glass and it is not very loud.

The sound is surprisingly repetitive for something physical like this, so some troublesome holes I blocked off if they were a little too incessant. Holding onto the splash pad is good for this so you can silence any you don't like.

You will need to refill the water as it will evaporate over time. You may even wish to clean the foil eventually or replace it. The one I have will automatically shut off after 3 hours also.

If you use this, please do not put chemicals into the water. I'm not that positive, but this stuff might be something you end up inhaling, so I really feel it's best to just clean it sometimes

Also, yes it is ugly. I find that putting a lampshade over it doesn't impact the sound much.

A lot of cons which is why it's a niche, but the pro is that it does indeed help with the brain fog thing I was experiencing! So maybe someone else could benefit too.

“if you’re sensitive to sounds when sleeping, just use earplugs!” i cannot stress enough that the sensory feeling of having my ears fully blocked AND now being able to hear my own heartbeat and breathing and every other sound that’s happening inside my own body is a million times worse than whatever ambient noise may be keeping me awake

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Warm Us Up

Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary- After a mission gone wrong, you and Natasha are left stranded in a safe house with nothing but a small fire to try and keep you warm, leading you two to resort to sharing body heat to not freeze to death.

Warnings/Tags: Smut 18+ MDNI- Hate/Love, Sexual tension, Resolved sexual tension, Naked cuddling, Dom/Sub, Oral Sex, Fingering

This is an old fic I found from my ao3 so the writing quality isn't that good, apologies but I don't have the time to improve it.

General Master List

W/c- 2.1k

“Fuck,” you growled as you and Natasha walked into the safe house in the middle of nowhere. You and Natasha had been paired for a mission in Siberia even though you didn’t get along meaning that when everything went to shit, as in went to absolute shit, you were left in the extreme climates to fend for your lives. Luckily there was a safe house only a few miles walk from where you were so you both walked in a tense silence throughout the snow.

“Why are you so angry? You’re the one who fucked the mission up,” she snapped at you while u saw a fire place.

“Me?” you shouted back, “I’m sorry but if I didn’t have to save your arse none of this would have happened!” You quickly made a fire with the wood that was left in the cabin and went in search for something to heat you up. Walking through the cold and wet had left you both in soaked suits in freezing climates. Thankfully you had super-soldier serum in your blood meaning you weren’t as cold but that didn’t mean Natasha wasn’t.

“I didn’t needed saving and you made a stupid move!” she screamed back while shivering at the fire place. You searched the cabin while she continued to yell at you and found three large sheets that could warm you up.

“Take your clothes off,” you said making her look at you with an annoyed look.

“Excuse me?” she growled.

“You’re clothes are soaked meaning if you stay in them you will most likely get a bad case of hypothermia and as much as I hate you I don’t need the team on my back for letting you die.” You state while throwing her two of the sheets. “Take them off and put them in front of the fire so they can dry. I’ll do the same but in another room. Call me when you’re done.” She huffed at your commands but listened anyway and quickly stripped herself of the wet clothing leaving her naked in the sheets wrapped around her body. After a few minutes she called you in and you walked with the sheet wrapped around you. You didn’t really think it through when you gave her the sheets as you accidently left yourself the smallest one meaning it just about covered your body.

“So what now?” she asked as you sat near her in front of the fire. Natasha couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering around the skin she could see. Your body was extremely toned due to the intense training you would do every day and she could see the muscles in your back moving as you shivered. She was extremely grateful you gave her more sheets as she was still cold in this but not as cold as you would be.

“Warm up and then try and find a way to get in contact with anyone,” you said and she didn’t miss the way your voice wavered due to how cold you were. Despite having the serum even your body couldn’t deal with low your body temperature was making you shiver uncontrollably.

“Come here,” the spy said and you slowly looked at her.

“What?”

“Come here we can share body heat and use the sheets to stay warm,” she said while watching your body tremble.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you manage out and she answers you by moving in between your legs and settling her body there. She takes one sheet off her self and throws it around your shoulders making the other sheet drop lower and oh.

“Uh Natasha,” you stutter out while she kneels in front of you making sure the sheet is around your bare skin.

“What?” You look at her and she sees the blush on your face before looking down at herself. “Oh,” she says before quickly fixing the sheet and turning so she can sit and rest back against you. You awkwardly keep your arms by your side as you don’t want to make her uncomfortable. You only hated her because she was a total bitch to you when you first arrived and it made you feel worthless. You had the stupidest crush on her and wanted her to approve of you but that never happened so you just learnt to ignore her remarks. You didn’t want to admit your feelings to her because you didn’t even talk to her so how could you possibly feel anything for her? You tensed behind her when she wriggled backwards so her back was fully flush with your front and her backside flush with your core. You stifled a groan at the contact as you had one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen naked in front of you. “What’s wrong?” she asked at your sudden stiffness.

“Nothing,” you breathed out against her neck and she shivered at the feeling. Natasha had to stop herself from breaking. She only pushed you away because she was scared of her feelings and attraction to you. So being here with you was making her extremely wet and she couldn’t stop the little noise that left her lips when your breath touched the bare skin.

“Can I move your arms?” she asked while moving hers hands to hold yours. She felt the slightly raised skin of a scar on your forearm while she waited for your response.

“Yeah sure,” you whispered out. She guides your arms to wrap around her middle. If anyone was too see you both like this they would assume you were lovers wrapped up in the sheets naked by a fire like in some romantic film but that was not the case.

“You know I never thought you would be a cuddler,” you tease, your hot breath making her body feel hot under your touch.

“Well I’m trying not to freeze to death,” she says while turning her head to look at you. Unconsciously you glance at her lips then her eyes which seemed to have dilated.

“I can think of a way to warm us up,” you say while staring at her lips. The next thing you know your on your back with Natasha pressing her lips against yours. She moans into the kiss and moves to straddle you, the sheets falling off both of your bodies. You both groan into each other’s mouth as her bare pussy makes contacts with yours. You move to sit up and grab onto her ass making her sigh against your lips. You break away from the kiss panting for air and you move one hand to move the hair out of her face. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” you rasp out while watching her face for any sort of uncertainty. She threads her fingers into your hair and pulls your back in for a bruising kiss. You move her so her hips straddle one of your toned thighs so she can grind along it.

“Oh fuck,” she moans as you guide her hips along your leg, her clit rubbing against your thigh and her wetness now dripping down the side of it. You break away from her lips to pepper open mouthed kisses along her jaw and neck before sucking hard. Her breath hitches as you suck a mark into her skin and you cant help but chuckle against her skin. You move your kisses further down and take a breast into your mouth while moving one hand off her backside to cup the other breast. You lick and suck one of them while rolling and pinching the nipple on the other before switching to pay them both equal attention. Her hips are starting to buck more wildly and you take that as a sign that she’s close.

“Do you want to come for me?” you murmur at the top of her breasts while a hand moves to rub at her clit.

“Please,” she whimpers while riding your thigh, her hands tugging your face back up to her. “I’m so close please,” she whined against your lips.

“Be a good girl and come for me,” you purred out before crashing your lips to muffle the scream that left her lips. Her hips stuttered as she came on your leg, the wetness now completely coating your thigh. You helped her ride out her high and placed gentle kisses along her jaw and neck while she recovered.

“Still cold?” you tease and she lets out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah actually,” she jokes back and moves her hips so she’s straddling your waist. Your hand slips through her soaked folds and the moan that leaves her lips will forever stay in your brain. You easily slip a finger into her and her hips start to roll and grind on your hand. You return your attention to her breasts while her hands made her way to your shoulders and back. “Fuck Y/n,” she moans as you slip another finger into her core and she tightens around you.

“Fuck you’re so hot when you moan my name,” you groan before biting a mark in the valley of her breasts. You increase the pace your thrusting your fingers in and she moans and whimpers above you as she gets near another orgasm. “You’re so tight,” you murmur while moving to kiss her lips again. You move your thumb to rub circles on her clit sending her over the edge once again. She lets out a string of moans against your lips as she rides out her high. When she’s ready you pull out of her and bring your fingers to your mouth. She watches you with a hunger in her eyes as you lick off the cum on your fingers and moan around your digits. “You taste delicious,” you say before she crashes her lips back onto yours for a feral kiss. She moans when she tastes herself on your lips and pulls away panting for air.

“I think someone else needs to be warmed up,” she says while pushing you so your back is on the floor. She crawls down your body leaving kisses and bites everywhere she could. You groaned when she took a nipple into her mouth and sucked lightly on it, teasing you, before moving to the other. You moved your hands to tangle in her fiery locks and pulled her away from your chest and back for a kiss.

“No teasing,” your tone warning and she quickly listened by running a finger through your dripping folds. You leaned forwards to kiss her and moaned into her mouth when she slipped a finger in. She quickly added another finger and pulled away from your lips to move her head lower. You were already a moaning mess beneath her as she thrusted her fingers in and out of you but when she kitten licked your clit you were fucked. You arched your back at the feeling as she licked and sucked in your clit while increasing the pace of her fingers. It didn’t take long for you to tense and fall over the edge. You came with a guttural moan and she carried on until the aftershocks of your orgasm had finished. She swiftly made her way back up your body and kissed you making you groan at the taste of yourself on her tongue. You wrapped your arm around her and pulled the sheets up so they were covering you both.

“You ok?” you breathlessly asked.

“Yeah just tired,” she mumbled against your chest. You held her close as you both drifted off to sleep.

The next morning you woke up with Natasha fast asleep on top of you and you smiled down at her. You managed to slip out from under her and tucked the sheets around her before grabbing your now dry clothes and putting them on. You searched the safe house for some kind of food and only found some snack bars. You also found out the taps worked and hoped that the water was alright. You went back to see Natasha stir awake and you both ate your ‘amazing’ breakfast in a comfortable silence. Once you had finished you both found a way to communicate with the rest of the team and someone sent the Quinjet to get you.

“I see you didn’t kill each other,” teased Steve who was in the jet.

“Ha ha Rogers,” you sarcastically remarked. While Steve was flying he let the two of you rest after the mission and change into better clothes. What you didn’t expect was for Natasha to come and see you. You felt her presence behind you as she purred into your ear.

“Meet me in my room at 11,” she nibbled on your earlobe before walking away, swaying her hips.

[ishestillapunk]

Still smells like you (pt.2)

pairing: jackson!joel x f!reader

summary: after a vulnerable night on patrol with Joel, you both try to pretend nothing happened, but silence is unbearable.

tags: age gap (30's-50's), slow burn, smut lol, virginity loss, emotional sex, grief, messy communication, oral sex (f! receiving), unprotected p in v (omg who said that), fingering, first time, lightly size kink, self worth issues, unresolved trauma

w/c: 2.4k

notes: you can find the first part to this short story here!

He won’t shake that feeling off anytime soon.

Joel’s stuck with that kind of sick ache that comes after spilling your guts. Like he left a piece of himself behind with you, and now he’s scared you’ll hand it out to anyone who asks what went down on patrol.

Maybe he’s being dramatic. But it wasn’t just anything. Hell, he cried like a damn baby. Broke down like a damn kid because your words knocked the wind out of  him.

“It’d just mean I got somethin’ good to tell those eyes when I see ’em again”

It wrecked him. Even back home, alone in his bed, curled around that old Polaroid of Sarah under his pillow, crying into the mattress like a fool.

Grief’s a weird thing. Real weird.

He even let himself cry about Ellie, who haven’t spoken to him in months. It’s like the world won’t quit reminding him—nothing is his to keep.

He sits on the edge of his bed, rubbing his face with work-worn hands. Sleep hasn’t come easy. Hasn’t come at all, truth be told. Every time he closes his eyes, it’s you… walking past on the street, nodding like you’re no more than a neighbor.

But you’re not.

Sometimes, his chest tightens at the memory. His hands on your hips, boosting you onto that horse. The way your body felt under his fingers. That feeling hasn’t left.

Makes him feel like a fucking creep.

Joel squeezes his eyes shut to erase the feeling. It ain’t just shame. It’s softness, and softness only leads to hurt.

He exhales long, starts moving again, trying to start another day. The coffee pot’s set from last night. Old habit. One of those things he does hoping to make the mornings feel less empty. Coffee’s rare these days. Precious. But today, he needs it.

Out the window, Jackson’s still the same. Frost, snow shoveled by the night patrols, silence hanging heavy. He shuts his eyes again and sees you. Sitting on that cot, knees hugged to your chest. Saying things that make him feel too seen. 

“I think if somethin’ happened to me after this, I wouldn’t mind much."

The way you looked at him after he raised his voice. Like you’d already punished yourself a hundred times over. Like the words weren’t even yours to say.

He rubs his face again.

"It was just a patrol," he mutters, gravel in his voice. "Got stranded for a coupla nights. That’s all."

But his mind won’t let it be. Not when he still feels your arms around him, your fingers in his hair, your scent in his neck. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t ask questions. You held him.

And on your end, that night hasn’t left you either.

You haven’t taken another patrol since. María never brought it up again, seemed to get the message. Maybe she saw it as a test you failed. You didn’t mind. Your comfort lives inside: The infirmary, the clean routine, the things that are yours.

You saw Joel sometimes. With Tommy. Working construction on the new expansion. Turns out the Miller boys used to be contractors or something like that is what you heard María say. Explains a lot.

Some weekends, you’d spot him at Tipsy Bison bar. Sitting with Tommy and María, nursing whiskey or beer. He’d barely say a word. Just a nod across the room. Sometimes he nodded back. Sometimes that little gesture fucked up your whole night. Keeping you waiting for him to approach or do something.

Something that never happens.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. What happened, what he tried to pretend didn’t. You remembered it with shame—not because of the moment itself, but because of how it still makes your stomach twist.

How he held you. Sought shelter in you.

You don’t get undone that easy. And no one ever looks at you that way. No one wants what you are. That’s just not your place. You’ve made peace with it. But Joel cracked something in you. Without meaning to.

You told yourself it was circumstance. One night. Cold, fear, death talk—shit like that happens to anyone. But your body remembers. It remembers his touch. His weight. His breath. And before you even realize it, your hands are under the sheets, your hips rolling slow, chasing your own fingers. Chasing a ghost.

You imagine him. What’s he like? Big? Long? Thick? Does he know what he’s doin’? Could he ever… make love? And then the guilt. Hot and fast.

He ain’t thinkin’ of you. He saw you ‘cause he knows you.

Because of a weird night on patrol.

Because he cried.

That’s it.

He don’t want you. You’re thirty-three. He’s pushing what—fifty-six?

You barely know each other.

He can’t want you. He can’t want you.

He doesn't know if you snore, or if you drink coffee. If you dream. If you ever loved anyone.

But he wants to. And that pisses him off.

Some nights, after enough rum, Joel lies there in the dark, hands flat by his sides. Like if he moves, it’ll all come crashing down.

"You alright, man?" Tommy claps a hand on Joel’s shoulder, leaving a beer on the long table. Tipsy Bison’s done up for Christmas, the tables pushed together, kids running around, country music drifting from the speakers.

Joel’s eyes are stuck on you. Sitting across the room by the dance floor, drink in hand, not joining the party.

"I’m fine" Joel mutters.

Tommy squints. "Fine’s the name? The new nurse that’s got you actin’ like you seen a ghost?"

Joel downs the whiskey in one go.

"She’s young."

"She ain’t fifteen. Looks thirty to me."

Joel glares.

"Sayin’ it like you broke a law."

Joel looks back at you.

"Ain’t just that."

"Then what?"

"I’m a whole mes–”

"If you start with that whole 'I’m a monster, I hurt everyone I love' speech, I swear—" Tommy leans in. "There’s folks in this town with more blood on their hands than you, and they still found someone to hold ‘em."

Tommy softens.

"I loved again, Joel. Had a kid when I thought I’d never feel nothin’ again. Thought I was done for. But I wasn’t. And you ain’t either."

Joel’s voice drops.

"I ain’t tryin’ to be the guy who lost his daughter, and whose adopted kid don’t speak to him no more." Joel says with his gaze on Tommy’s, eyes getting glassy.

Tommy squeezes his arm.

"That ain’t gonna happen. And I think she’ll understand."

He nods toward the door. You’re slippin’ on your coat, trying to duck out before midnight.

"Go on. Before you lose your Cinderella."

You step into the cold just as folks inside start counting down. The wind bites. You smile faintly. Memories.

"You headin’ home?"

You turn. He’s holdin’ the door open. No jacket. No gloves.

"You’re gonna freeze" you say, answering a question he didn’t ask.

He jogs down the steps, rubbing his hands together. "I’ll walk you."

You don’t say much. Just walk. The silence stretches out, thick.

"Saw you with Tommy’s fam" you finally say.

"I saw you the second you walked in."

You stop. He keeps walkin’ till he realizes you’re not beside him. Turns back.

"I thought you didn’t wanna see me" you say. Voice tight.

"Thought I fucked it all up." He shoves his hands out of his pockets, like honesty needs bare fingers.

"You didn’t say nothing, Joel. I spent day– fuck, weeks—wondering what the hell happened. If it even meant anything."

"I did too." He presses his lips together. "Didn’t know what to say. Felt like a fool."

He steps closer.

"I been thinkin’ ‘bout you every damn day. The way you held me. The way you didn’t ask shit. The way you talk. The way you—" He stops. Swallows. "You think about me?"

You stare at him. Then your door. Then back. You nod toward the house. He follows you inside without a word. You hang your coat. He’s rubbin’ his arms, cold sinkin’ in.

"Shoulda grabbed a coat" you say. Walking to the kitchen.

"Didn’t wanna lose sight of you…" he mutters.

You turn. He’s leanin’ against the island, eyes on the counter, thumb drawing lazy shapes on the surface. Then he looks up. Slow. Over your body, to your face.

"Yeah. I thought about you" you say, answering finally. "I touched myself thinking abbout you ‘cause I’m a fucking idiot who’s never even been touched before. You had me biting my damn pillow ‘cause of one fucking hug."

He closes the distance.

"If you let me, I’ll make sure it ain’t just a pillow next time."

His hands slide up your hips. Rough, steady.

"Joel… I don’t know anything ‘bout this…"

He frowns.

You gesture between you.

"I mean. I’ve never—"

"We ain’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t wanna do" he says gently. One hand cradles your jaw. His thumb brushes your lips.

"But I do. I want to" you whisper, looking away.

Joel studies you. Then leans in. Presses his thumb to your bottom lip as he kisses the corner of your mouth. Your fingers tremble where they rest on his arms. Then he really kisses you. Slow. Solid. He doesn't move until you open your mouth, and then it’s his tongue, his breath, his heat.

He exhales into you.

"Mmh" he murmurs. Voice soft, needy.

He presses you to the island, lips movin’ to your neck. Licks a line up your throat that makes your knees shake. Then, kissing, gasping, tripping, he walks you back to the bedroom.

"The—uh—the hallway’s—"

"Right side. I built this damn row myself" he mutters into your mouth.

Oh.

You’re soaked.

He opens the door. Leads you to the bed. He pulls your sweater over your head slow, taking his time.

When he’s shirtless, you freeze. Your eyes drag over his broad chest, the dusting of gray hair, the hard lines of muscle mixed with softness. Scar beside the navel, bush peeking out his waistband.

A man. An actual man. And you’ve never seen one like this.

Your breath hitches. He kisses your sternum, undoes your jeans, pulls them down with your socks.

"You’ll tell me if somethin’ don’t feel right, yeah?"

You nod. His mouth attaches to your nipples, sucking, then gives soft licks after your body gives a hard jolt. He notices you’re sensitive, and he wants to know more, to discover more of every inch that makes you, you.

"We’re alright" he murmurs. Hands slipping down to your panties. He slides them off.

You press your thighs together. He chuckles soft. He’s feeling it too.

"Open up for me, baby…" He kisses your inner thighs. Runs his nose up the sensitive skin. Hands caress your ass, coaxing you to open yourself to him.

Then, his mouth finds you.

"Fuck, Joel" you cry, fists clenching the sheets.

He licks like he’s starving. Filthy, wet, slow. He draws circles with his tongue on your clit, moaning low like he can’t help it. He feels you push yourself up on your elbows to watch him eat you out. His eyes, dark, filled with hunger, make your stomach melt. His lips wrap around your clit, suckling it, rolling it on his tongue, licking directly on it with the tip of his tongue.

His movements are encouraged by your sounds. Gasps. Breathless. He chuckles a low rumble while he nuzzles his nose against your pussy like he haven’t had anything like this in long.

"That’s it… Let me hear what feels good…" He pulls back. Slips one thick finger inside. Then another. He curls them. Press into that spot that makes your hips jump. His pads massage your walls and make you pinch your brows.

Then he stands. Opens his jeans. Pushes them down.

You look down and freeze.

Oh.

He’s hung.

Not freakishly so. But big. And you’ve never seen one in real life. Just those weird magazines you once found around while exploring before arriving Jackson.

You shift up the bed on instinct.

"Easy" he says. One hand on your thigh. His thumb strokes your clit, gentle. Feels you relax a tad bit. 

"It’ll hurt a sec. But I got you."

He covers you with his body. Heavy and warm. You reach for his ribs. Wide and solid. Your eyes want to go again between you but he tilts your chin to kiss you deep again, his large hand holding your jaw and guiding you to open your mouth, letting him roll his tongue against yours. His nose pushes yours a bit, soft smiles escape him when he feels you gasp.

He slicks his cock in your wetness, dragging the head across your clit.

"Gonna go slow" he murmurs.

He pushes in. Inches. Your body tenses. Your hand presses his chest. It’s a whole lot different than your fingers. It stings and feels as if he’s about to tear the tender skin.

“Breathe… That’s it… You’re doin’ good, sweetheart…” He whispers against your mouth gently while his hand cup the back of your head.

"Wait—it—"

"I got you." He freezes. Way before you ask him to. "Wanna stop?"

"No. Don’t you dare. Just… slow."

He nods and moves. Deeper. No pleasure yet—just stretch, burn, pressure. Then he’s all the way in. Still. Breathing hard.

"Ready?"

You nod, barely. His hand slips between you. Circles your clit and it helps with pleasure to blur the pain.

You smile melted, arching slow, closing your eyes. Your hands fall on his gut, legs open on his sides.

"Yeah. Right there."

He starts moving. Slow. Deep. The pain spasms are there every now and then, but you feel it. You understand why there’s people that love this. You understand why there’s people addict to this. You understand why there’s people who can’t live without fucking.

The ache fades, replaced by something new. Something sweet. Your legs wrap around him. He groans, dips and to kiss your throat. His whole body covers you, warm and broad, hunched over like a damn animal.

Each thrust is steady. Focused.

Your lips are swollen. Your nails claw his back. Your thighs shake.

"W-wait—Joel—I’m—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna pee—"

He grins. Keeps going.

"Joel—"

He hits that spot again. And again. His pelvis brushing directly against your clit, his cock filling you completely as if you were made for him, his sounds. It’s like a sudden bomb ticking about to blow, the pot about to whistle, the thunder after the lightning, the wave crashing on the back.

“Ah!”

You come. Hard. Clutching him. Soaking him. He pulls out fast, groaning and jerking his cock until he spills across your belly. Painting your stomach with his art.

Both of you panting, wide-eyed while staring at each other.

Then, laughter.

Yours first. Loose, breathless, relieved.

Then his. Low, real, comfortable.

Because you both know.

You both know that you want each other.

here it is!!! thanks for reading! i really love fools in love, if you liked it, reblog, comment and like!

kisses!

[lazysoulwriter]

under arrest. - pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: explicit smut, dom!Pedro, handcuffs (Javier Peña’s from set), rough sex, oral (f!receiving), dirty talk, teasing, slight roleplay, power play, aftercare.

You hear the door close, soft thud and keys jingling, and Pedro’s voice drifting through the apartment with that signature rasp.

“Baby?”

“In the bedroom!” you call, flipping a page in your book.

You hear the bag hit the floor before he appears — hair messy from the breeze, black hoodie halfway unzipped, grin already playing on his mouth like he’s got a secret.

“What?” you ask, suspicious. “Why are you smiling like that?”

He tosses something on the bed beside you.

Clink.

Your eyes flick down. Your breath catches.

“…Are those—?”

“Yep,” he says. “Handcuffs. Real ones. From the Narcos set.”

Your mouth parts. “Pedro—”

“Peña’s actual cuffs,” he adds. “They were wrapped in a prop bag and I just… forgot to give them back.”

You snort. “You’re a thief.”

“I’m resourceful.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what do you plan on doing with them?”

He shrugs off his hoodie, walks closer, his eyes dark now. “Use them. Properly.”

You sit up a little. “What kind of Javier Peña cosplay is this?”

“The filthy kind.”

Before you can answer, he’s climbing onto the bed — slow and deliberate — and takes your wrists in his hands. Gently. But with purpose.

“You trust me?” he asks, voice low.

“Always.”

The cuffs click into place. Cold steel. Not too tight. But firm enough that your wrists are pinned to the headboard, stretched just enough that you can’t touch him back.

He stands, watching you.

Licking his lips.

“Fuck, look at you.”

You’re already breathing faster, thighs pressing together, eyes fixed on his hands as he undoes the button on his jeans.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmurs, crawling back over you. “You, tied up. Needy. Dripping. Nowhere to run.”

“Pedro—” you gasp, arching into him, desperate for any kind of contact.

But he takes his time — mouth teasing down your throat, his fingers slipping under your shirt, peeling it off. Kissing each inch of skin like it’s sacred.

He yanks your panties down, tossing them to the floor, then spreads your thighs with two firm hands.

“You’re already wet?” he chuckles. “Jesus. I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Touch me now,” you whimper.

But he doesn’t. He slides down the bed, his mouth finding your inner thigh instead — licking, kissing, ignoring your begging until you’re writhing.

Then finally: His tongue. His mouth. You.

He eats you like a man starved — slow and filthy, teasing your clit until your thighs are shaking, then sucking hard when he feels you close. His hands pin your hips down, mouth relentless, beard scratch delicious.

You cry out when you come — gasping, panting, your wrists pulling against the cuffs as your body arches off the bed.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going.

Another orgasm builds, faster this time, and you’re blabbering his name like a prayer, thighs clamped around his head.

When he finally pulls away, his mouth is soaked, eyes wild.

“Fuck,” he whispers, stripping fast now, cock already hard. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

He lines himself up, then pauses — hovering, teasing.

“Gonna take it for me, baby? All tied up, nothing to do but feel how deep I get?”

You nod, dazed. “Please.”

He thrusts into you hard. You scream.

It’s rough, and hot, and perfect. He holds your legs open, your arms still cuffed, your body completely at his mercy. You can’t grab him. Can’t pull him closer. And he loves it.

“Such a good girl,” he growls, pounding into you. “You look so fucking pretty like this. All mine. No one gets to see you like this but me.”

You’re crying — overwhelmed, overstimulated, gone.

“Come again for me,” he murmurs. “Do it. Just like this. Let go.”

And you do. Harder than before. Clenching around him until he groans, hips stuttering.

He cums inside you with a deep growl, his head dropping to your shoulder, breath hot and fast.

For a moment, there’s just silence.

Then:

“…So,” you pant. “You’re keeping the handcuffs?”

He laughs against your skin, unlocking them gently, kissing the raw marks on your wrists.

“Oh yeah,” he whispers. “They’re mine now.”

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✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

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[idiotic-syndic]

I ate them. That’s right. I ate the divorce papers, Charles. I ate them with ketchup. And they were good...goooood. You probably want me to get serious about our divorce. The thing is you always called our marriage a joke. So let’s use logic here: If A we never had a serious marriage then B we can’t have a serious divorce. No. We can’t. The whole thing’s a farce, Charles – a farce that tastes good with ketchup.

I mean, wasn’t it last week, your dad asked you the reason you walked down that aisle with me, and you said “for the exercise.” Ha, ha. That’s funny. You’re a funny guy, Charles. I’m laughing, not crying. Ha, ha. I’m laughing because you’re about to give up on a woman who is infinitely lovable.

For instance: Paul. He has loved me since the eighth grade. Sure, he’s a little creepy, but he reeeeally loves me. He’s made one hundred twenty seven passes at me, proposed forty seven times, and sent me over two hundred original love sonnets. He sees something in me, Charles. And he writes it down, in metered verse!

And that’s not something you just find everyday. Someone who really loves everything about who you are as a person. Paul may be insane, but I value his feelings for me.

I would never ask him to sign his name to a piece of paper promising to just turn off his feelings for me forever. But that’s what you’re asking me to do, for you. To sign away my right to...to that sweet voice Charles, those baby brown eyes, the way your hands feel through my hair before bed...

Those aren’t things I want to lose. In fact, I won’t lose them. I won’t lose you. I’ll woo you. I’ve written you a sonnet. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day. Thou art more lovely and more temperate, rough winds do shake the darling buds of may and...”  I’m not crying. I’m laughing. It’s all a big joke. It’s very funny, Charles. I keep waiting for you to say “April Fools.” Then I’ll rush into your arms and... But you’re not going to, are you? No. Of course not. It’s not April.

I, I didn’t really write that sonnet, you know. Paul did. I think it’s good.

You see, the truth...the truth is, Charles, I ate the divorce papers, I ate them, because I can’t stomach the thought of losing you.

divorce themed restaurant menu

dessert: CUSTARDy Battle

yeah that's all i've got so far sorry

[ectoimp]

I think a fun DP AU would be the Fenton parents knowing what happened to Danny from the very start. Like in canon the whole family knows that Danny was 'in an accident' in the lab. Jazz says it, and I really doubt that at that point she would have hidden it.

So if the Fentons were just written as actual scientists instead of the overdone "dumb parents" trope they probably would have, ya know, checked him over for ecto-injuries, since Vlad was injured the same way?? Though I prefer the kids just...telling them exactly what happened first. Because they ALSO arent dumb. They have no idea what dangerous side effects the portal could be having on Danny. I feel like most kids would know that something that serious shouldnt be covered up. And you get to have the juicy guilt of Jack and Maddie realizing that they had caused the same accident twice and this time it had permanent effects on their son (since as far as they know Vlad 'got better' and didnt have lingering effects)

In canon they only ever learn about Dannys power after hes already proficient in using them and his superheroing. But with this they get to see the growing pains. What sort of panic would they have seeing their child falling through the floor randomly. When he does that, sometimes he takes falls that would absolutely break a bone on a normal person, but hes just walking it off.

Theres also their fear of "what if someone finds out our son isnt human anymore". Like...would someone try and take him away from them? So at first they might insist that he not use his powers at all. They might even consider pulling him out of school, but Danny wants to go to school and "be normal". Bonus you could have some misunderstanding, so Danny thinks his parents are just ashamed of their "freak" son and isnt even thinking about it being for his protection.

Its not helped by the fact that they would be doing tests on him to make sure hes healthy, because even though its a really good idea to keep an eye on how his body is changing, it does make him feel like a freak lab rat. Especially since they would probably get excited about learning new things about ghosts...which might make him feel like they think his ghost half is cooler/better then his human half. They arent looking him that way at all though. Not human vs ghost half. Its all just Danny, their boy that they are trying to keep safe. They invent things to keep his powers from going off randomly. But then the ghost attacks start. And then Fentons havent invented weapons yet because they didnt know they needed too. So that leaves Danny needing to fight. (and then Maddie realizes she should probably teach her kids how to properly fight, because Danny cannot throw a proper punch and hes just flailing lol)

[bogwaterparasite]

Saja Boys HC’s!!

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Paring: Saja Boys x Reader(?? If you squint

A/N: I just watched this movie and, Oh MY GOD! I am OBSESSED WITH IT. Genuinely, I feel like the writers did such a good job at portraying the characters and the storyline without it feeling rushed? I would love to see it as a series sometime, or have some sort of sequel/prequel to answer all of my questions!! But for now? I’ll just stick to writing Drabbles about guys who only had a few minutes of screen time.

BTW. This is all simply MY opinion on them, they have no defined personality so literally almost everything could be cannon.

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Baby Saja

★ He’s on his phone, like, a LOT. Not in a brainrotty way, but he’s just rather uninterested in anything else.

★ Nonchalant dread head. He doesn’t care about things too much. Want to hang out in a big group? Ok! Want to stay in and not do anything? That’s cool. Sometimes it can be quite annoying, considering you’ll be the one making the decision half of the time, but he will take the initiative eventually.. (Still, be prepared to be the one who ends up deciding what yall do, even if he started the hangout)

★ No sense of taste. Heavily based on him and the hot sauce contest thing

★ Plays video games. Not a gamer, just uses them to pass the time. He’s awfully good at them, specially fight games, however, he doesn’t like rpg games.

★ For someone who’s nonchalant, he cares about his appearance a little too much. What can I say? A man just wants to look cool

★ Lazy as hell. Like stated before, if you wanted to do something he wouldn’t oppose to it, however, he won’t go out of his way to do something.

★ Doesn’t like hot drinks, don’t ask why

★ Isn’t very fond of animals, they’re too much work and bothersome.

★ Likes soft to the touch things

★ Doesn’t like interviews much, mostly because of the amount of talking you have to do in them

★ Always has something in his mouth; gum, lollipops, soft candy, he always has something there. He don’t like crunchy things tho, the vibrations they send to his head.

★ Heavy gaslighter, like, he enjoys to bother others. Type to hide your things and then act like he has no clue what you’re talking about up until you’re going crazy not being able to find the object

Abs Saja

★ Foodie, but in reality he’s just a fatass. Says he’s bulking but he just likes to eat

★ Prefers sour over salty, does NOT like sweet things

★ Constantly showing off his muscles, specially his abs, lets bffr his whole personality are his abs.

★ During the winter he likes to go on runs shirtless, or he’s just always constantly shirtless.

★ Annoying asf. He’s funny, but in the way that he says the dumbest things constantly and makes you wonder how many times he’s been dropped as a child.

★ Social, but still likes to keep his distance to people. He hates talking about feelings, and if you do try? He’d probably find a way to avoid the situation with a dumb comment

★ Dog person all the way, he’d have a golden retriever named cupcake or world destroyer

★ He’s pushy when it comes to things that he really wants. You’re going to the gym with him whether you like it or not, will sulk if you end up winning.

★ Surprisingly a good cook, but he’s messy as hell

★ Immature as hell. He would laugh at penis jokes, or just any type of middle school joke.

★ Sore loser, yet, he sucks at any game that doesn’t involve some sort of athletic performance.

★ He sleeps with his socks on

★ Self centered. He watches edits of him on repeat, constantly likes posts about him and probably has magazines of himself hung up on his walls

★ Doesn’t like children

Romance Saja

★ He likes cars

★ Reads romance novels, books, fanfiction (SPECIALLY about him) will say dumb corny shit all the time, like cheesy pick up lines from hallmark movies

★ Theater kid, watched Highschool Musical too many times to count

★ He cares about his hygiene a lot. Manicures, pedicures, metrosexual in a way.

★ Huge fashionista, he has a mannequin of himself in order to pick out outfits.

★ He can’t hold his alcohol, EXTREME lightweight.

★ He likes word games

★ He likes to tease people, their reactions are simply too good to pass up on.

★ If you are in a relationship he’d make it a thing to take the role of the knight and shining armor, or just the typical male romance movies role

★ Speaks French

★ Out of all the members, he’s surprisingly the weakest physically.

★ Unlike abs, he LOVES to talk about his emotions. Overshares constantly, can be quite annoying sometimes but oh well.

★ If he were to have any pets, he’d have something that wouldn’t get him that dirty, most likely a fish. He believes they’re perfect companions (even though you can’t do much with them)

Mystery Saja

★ This has been obvious, but the quietest of them all. You won’t hear a peep from this dude until waaaaay later into your interactions, and even then it won’t be much.

★ Animal lover. I don’t believe he would have a pet, but he’s the type to stop while walking to pet a stray or some shit like that. Call him snowy white because he’ll even have insects land on him and he won’t care

★ Very good listener, of course, he isn’t much for giving advise, but he’s always there to hear whatever might be troubling your mind.

★ I wouldn’t say he’s antisocial, but I wouldn’t say he’s social either. He much prefers one on one hang outs, whether it’s outside or inside.

★ He sucks at saying tongue twisters.

★ Artist. He expresses what he doesn’t voice through art, mainly paintings. He tried to sell some as modern art once, but no one bought any.

★ over-analytical over the dumbest shit

★ he barks at people

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I was blanking really hard on Jinu, so I might just group him in with huntrix if I ever decide I want to make one for them! Also, so sorry for the delay on posting, I’m sure half of yall don’t care atp but I still feel horrible about it LOL. I leave for the military in about a month! So, expect to hear absolutely nothing for six months after that!!

Hope you enjoyed! Reblogs are appreciated ^^

If you liked this, don’t forget to check out

Saja boys character building

[revkian-ruins]

Whumpee that wins prompts! I know we all love rescues and endless suffering, but I think there's something to be said about the reclamation of agency that comes with saving yourself.

Stealing and hiding a knife only to stab whumper to death while they're being nonconned.

Whumpee starts acting like they're broken to lure whumper into a false sense of security, and this time, it ~works.~

Personal assistant pet whumpee that gains whumper's trust and more importantly, access to whumper's bank accounts.

Whumpee that manages to get alone time with whumper's innocent family member and reveals what whumper is doing to them. Innocent family member is horrified and agrees to help.

Whumpee that gets rented out to whumper's friends, only to convince one of those friends, maybe one that's slightly more indulgent, slightly less good at remembering to keep whumpee under lock and key, that whumpee really should belong to them.

Whumper that forgets to lock the cage one night.

Whumper that likes to talk while torturing whumpee, revealing things about their past that whumpee later uses against them.

Whumpee whose friends find them already having turned the table, they ask what took their friends so long as they're just about to go wash whumper's blood off their hands.

Domestic pet whumpee poisoning whumper.

Whumpee that knows they aren't going to make it out of here alive-- but isn't going to let whumper make it out either.

Whumpees that whumper tries to set against each other becoming secret allies instead, revealing their alliance to whumper only when they take an opportunity to kill them.

Two whumpees from different whumpers conspiring to set their whumpers against each other.

Temporarily freed whumpee getting in touch with a more permanently freed whumpee to learn whumper's secret weakness.

Whumpee blackmailing whumper.

Whumpee that turns their guards against whumper.

[pomegranate-eater]

WHAT A FOOL CANNOT KNOW ABOUT ﾉ YANDERE DR. RATIO

Summary: Trying to break up with Veritas proves to be impossible to accomplish. You provide sound arguments, but he knows how to shoot them down. Unfortunately, he needs you, just as much as you need him — whether you have yet to discover this truth or not.

cw: gn!reader, controlling relationship, dubcon-esque touch, manipulation and coercion, coddling and overprotectiveness, possessiveness, love bombing, diet restrictions, suggestiveness. word count: 5.5k.

Note:  Divider by @/saradika-graphics.

“You ought to do what?” Veritas’s stern voice expresses derision, as if scolding you for yet another idiotic idea of yours.

“I want to break up with you, Veritas,” you repeat yourself grimly. Your arms are crossed as you try to keep yourself standing, feet firmly glued to the floor to demonstrate your oath to your decision and avoid susceptibility to his upcoming counterarguments. The light colors of your living room, carefully designed to be a peaceful mood maker, are also incapable of soothing your ‘wrath.’

He knows what you’re doing – spilling on the floor in front of you are packed bags, you have your shoes on, those two things meant to signal you are supposedly unswerving in your conviction about leaving. All because of one suggestion your closest friend has made: something about your genius boyfriend Veritas Ratio being controlling. He finds your delusions to be laughable, but also in need of being eradicated by a firm hand.

“Well, in such predicaments, one usually provides enough arguments explaining their decision. Care to elaborate?” the taunt in his voice is sufficient enough to amplify your angry fervent.

You inhale deeply through your nose; you are well aware of the obligation to argue your case well enough for it to be taken seriously, based upon logic — not foolish. Your first thought is to make an (objectively reasonable) accusation, but you know better than make yourself appear hasty. “I’ve been concerned about the way you treat me. I cannot help but fee—notice that you tend to make a lot of choices for me or question my own. It feels like I am deprived of autonomy and am being patronized. I recognize your good intentions,” no, you don’t, “but there’s still limits of mine, that if they are being crossed, they will make your behavior unhealthy.”

His behaviour is pretty confusing to your person who’s supposed to know him well as his partner. It is pretty much the antithesis of his persona — the real Dr. Ratio doesn’t serve answers on the silver platter. He’s used to steering people towards right directions by putting them through challenges so they can actually digest their situation, derive conclusions, and learn.

With you, it’s as if he views your independence differently — you stubbornly stick to your ideas, have your own ways of dealing with issues, faulty or not, as they make you, so there’s not much hope for your improvement. You don’t want to be perfect or participate in some unspoken race — and so he makes ideal choices for you, so as to not let his ‘ignorant’ partner lose on any opportunity, or even hurt themselves. 

(From what you eat, and wear for the weather; through checking your locations and asking overly intimate questions; to speaking for you during bigger decisions and choosing which activities are better for your brain.)

This ‘guidance’ is a form of benevolence in his dictionary, as he’d typically judge any other individual like you a lost cause, and unworthy of his patronage. To you, it’s only about being in the palm of his hand, and you’ve suffered enough from his iron grip in the last couple of months — you felt trapped, caged, and so out of control it made you claustrophobic.

Veritas sighs with exasperation; it’s evident he doesn’t share your precarious sentiment, and while you don’t know that, needs to breathe the same air you do. “When I take the wheel, it is not inaugurated with the intention to control you, as you probably assume. The blame about you needing it so often is not to be placed on me, but your disinclination to self-realization, and tendency to risk taking and sacrificing your health. And when I debate the choices you’ve made, it’s out of worry and care. I can shape the delineation of the consequences of your decisions before they’re even made,” he informs you with a rather… chiding tone. 

“Oh, so you think you always know better than me, about you?” you finally snap with indignation. This is all so… humiliating and infantilizing to hear — perhaps he can’t accept you for who you are, or is overprotective — as you can’t possibly be such a failure of a person! You make no more mistakes than others, and not willing to incessantly think about a better life is you saving yourself from the stressful pressure; you’re just being a human.

“Statistically, I’ve managed to reach safer conclusions in the past than you would,” he smiles a little as he says that. He sits down on the couch, subtly showing you he’s still in control, as he’s not scared of putting himself in a vulnerable spot. You wouldn’t be surprised if he were to pull out some sheet with such statistics right now and put his doctorates to a good use.

You have enough of his murky righteousness, walking to be in front of him and shove your accusatory finger in his face. “You can’t know me better than I know myself! And regardless of your supposedly caring intentions, are you going to ignore the unhealthy part? How all of this is coddling, patronizing, dehumanizing about basic freedom?! Because even if I make bad choices and mistakes, this is how I learn!” 

You’ve been feeling so suffocated in this relationship, and you find his treatment detestable; if there’s anyone ignorant, it’s him not acknowledging your suffering and anxiety.

He scoffs. “You are also no child. You had your entire life frame to ponder over your mistakes and align yourself to do better. If you still make minor and, frankly speaking, blunders on a daily basis, I’m afraid you might be the problem, and so it becomes my responsibility as your boyfriend to safekeep you from such.

You put yourself in unnecessary stressful situations, make choices that are bad for your health, and refuse to see outside of your stubborn scope, obstructing better opportunities — all which I help you avoid when I lead you.” 

You are no child yet he treats you like one.

You decide to trail off of the wagon of logic. This isn’t even logic. OF COURSE you are not a perfect human with no fault, yet so is anyone else! Perhaps you do create mishaps and cling to what’s not good sometimes; however, you doubt this ever justifies the controlling and coddling dynamic he’s been serving you for the duration of your entire relationship, foretelling you reaching anti-mundane, anti-ignorant magnificence, in a safe environment. That’s why the universe allows you to operate every right to unleash your dissatisfaction — simply cut him off and leave.

“I’m leaving. I have enough of you, of your reign, of your superiority—” you seethe when you turn around to pick up your bags and march out of the living room on your way to the new life, but then arms wrap around your torso and draw you close to the autonomy sucking ghoul’s chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” surprisingly, your theoretically ex-boyfriend doesn’t sound angry when he murmurs that into your ear — it’s more like a velvet, comforting whisper of a peaceful sea. Your back is pressed against his chest and he keeps you caged to him.

“Let me go, Veritas!” you exclaim all ardent with panic, struggling in his arms.

“I’m afraid my lover isn’t in the right headspace to be using their mind with dexterity. You’re making a big decision when you’re upset at me — not to mention addled with the agitation — whilst without trying to resolve the issue first… even you can admit it’s not the wisest idea, hm?” his voice speaks egregiously for him softly, the juxtaposition to his previous spitfire-scholar manner and vernacular vocabulary. 

You don’t like where this farce is heading — he’s not usually this lenient, even if he’s not necessarily cold like a bad boyfriend would be (he does realize the inclination to be affectionate), and his temper eager to prove you wrong is gone…

“Veri, this decision has been made based on many accumulated memories, not just now,” you deflect, the craving to indulge in his warmth keeping you somewhat calmer. You still squirm in his arms but he doesn’t budge.

“Yes, but even those moments you recall have been potent with big emotions. Since you came to me to express your issue with me only just now, about the break up, I had never seen a chance to fix it. I don’t think such an omission is fair.”

As you stare at the spacious window facing the darkening evening sky busying itself with lighting on the awful neons only overstimulating your muzzy mind, you think he’s partially correct — you haven’t been most straightforward about his overwhelming behavior, but what was there to discuss? If he proclaims to know you well, so you possess knowledge about his game: as long as you wouldn’t try to leave him, he’d do nothing about your complaints, only hold a clincher over your head to say you’re ungrateful. 

If someone is willing to control you for all there is about you, grabbing your stems to make you grow towards completely different directions, you doubt this gardener can ever change. His feelings about how you live come first, ignoring your angst that comes from the dehumanization and your relationship’s enclosure of control has been bringing.

“There’s nothing to fix! You’re just stuck up on being as much in control of my life as possible! I don’t care whether choices I make are more or less stupid than the ones I’d make! You can’t take away my autonomy because you’re bothered by me not being perfect! Do you know how suffocating and overbearing you were to me lately!” the volume of your voice is raised to almost deafening decibels. You trash in his arms again, finally hitting his body with yours so hard that he trips and falls back onto the couch… with you — a mishandled move, as you’re now trapped again, on his lap.

Veritas is momentarily taken aback by the new position, but he then proceeds to take advantage of it, also soaking in your misapprehension of his character. “Being perfect?” his arms tighten around your midriff, and one of his hands cups your throat, not yet squeezing. If he was angry before, he’s raging now. 

Your interpretation of his intentions, whether objectively correct or not, feels like the biggest insult to his feelings and ambitions. He’s assured he hasn’t been trying to make you perfect or control you — instead, his goal was to protect you from your own stupidity and to take care of you and your health… if it helps you reach the best of your potentials, that’s only a bonus. “What you claim is utterly disrespectful, and for how shameful it makes you, expresses your lack of gratitude,” he hisses, as his fingers are beginning to dig into your neck a bit too hard to be considered safe. No, you’re not allowed to leave—

He realizes his mistake when you stiffen up under him and from the angle of his eyes, he can observe some fear — his mind tells himself how asinine he is to let his emotions control him, even if he’s actually afraid of losing you. He lets go of your throat and cups your face instead, the other hand soothing your waist, this time opting for a more gentle voice again, “Look at me.” 

He delicately cranes your head to the side, until you’re meeting with a sight of his face and are resting the back of your head on his shoulder — he peers at you with something pensive yet intense dirty lover’s ownership it’s unsettling to witness. His breath is grazing your skin and you feel inappropriate (involuntary included) for this situation’s arousal. 

“What do you want from me? I have told you, your intentions don’t conceal or fix the unhealthy effects your leadership causes,” you heave a sigh, suddenly feeling exhausted, to the point where you no longer are trying to leave his unwelcome hold — you’re assuming he’ll get weary eventually as well. You really wish you could just grab your things that are now taunting you by lying just a few feet away, but are so unreachable in your position. “You’re too damn pushy. I can’t even eat what I want.” You know you’ll binge on nice snacks once you’re gone.

“Have I ever hurt you?” he asks smoothly, the husky voice spreading vibrations down your torso. You don’t like how the forced proximity is built with the suave tone falling straight into your ear canal. His thumb moves from your jaw to stroke your lower lip, causing it to tremble against your good conscience.

The question still manages to throw you off, and is not incentivizing you when he’s ignoring your main concern. “Not in the most straightforward way. You haven’t physically or verbally abused me; however, this doesn’t mean I feel comfortable or happy with what you do to me,” you say hesitantly, staying vigilant.

“I see. Does your unhappiness imply you weren’t content with me for our entire relationship?” there’s an odd sadness in his tone and eyes. It’s something you haven’t seen in him before, even in his rare but happening moments of failure; you have to dig your feet hard into the floor to not let it sway your perception and make you pity him.

Unlike him, you’re not heartless.

“Of course not,” you scoff, not realizing you’re subconsciously resting your body on his with less tension in your muscles. “I’m not saying you were a bad or neglectful partner. But it wasn’t rainbows and unicorns in the moments I highlighted!”

Your words seem to create something even more wistful in him, a force powerful enough he glides your hair back with a gentle hand. His voice gets even quieter, “I never intended them to feel that way. However, can anyone postulate about their relationship out there having its moments be one hundred percent idyllic?”

You can’t gauge if his proposed perspective is manipulative or he genuinely feels sorry. The question makes you assess your previously stated claims again for a second, but you’re still not giving up. “No, that’d be an utopian dream. Still… if there’s behavior that can be described as unhealthy, it should be taken care of. For me to stay with you, you’d have to leave my own choices for me. You should be allowed to go no further than to counsel me.”

There’s an almost indistinguishable twitch in his eye, but he doesn’t let go of his disposition. He finally grants his hand a fall back onto your waist again, and you look ahead of yourself, not willing to strain your neck. It is when you try to pry off his arms once more, wanting to at once face him properly.

He stops you, infuriating as he ignores your lack of consent to be held for nth momentum; this time it’s worse, as his hands wander across your hips and stroke them, as if possessively. If you could see his face, you’d notice the slightly obsessive hunger for not much of your body, if not keeping you — he really can’t let you get away from him, for he might lose his mind.

(Emotional disturbances due to breaking up would affect his work anyway.)

Your body stills, and you curse him when his action spills sensitivity in that lower area, an unthinking sparkle of something pleasant you are familiar with — he’s always been skilled and dedicated in making you feel good, physically. He also knows how to notice you, all the good parts others can’t, and what sort of worship to indulge them with. Not to mention, his immerse knowledge gives him enough of bargaining chips to manoeuvre your life, body, and mind with ease. “Let me go—” your demand comes with a quiver.

“Haven’t you noticed something?” Veritas interrupts your bewilderment with an inquiry, and his right hand dips under your shirt, teasing the soft skin of your stomach, while the other goes up from your hip till the dip of your waist. Both the touch and question stops you in your tracks, as your skin is ignited and screaming for more.

“N-noticed what?” your tone is of a squeak, embarrassingly highly enough. You force yourself to cover his hands with yours, pausing their work.

He doesn’t swat your hands away; he moves his with yours, slyly forcing you to map your own body. “That the quality of your life has significantly improved after you entered the relationship with me, not degraded. Your health included. That speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”

You realize that he is right, as your life indeed is now technically better than it had been before — you score better opportunities, you have someone you can depend on, your life is quite comfortable financially, you feel good physically, and you are loved. He doesn’t do worse things than those occasional instances of dictating. For a moment, your motivation wavers; but then you remember how he’s made you feel for past months, and also, your friend’s words.

(“Some men are like this. They lure you in with affection, undivided attention, and luxuries, so once they know you’re too attached to leave, they can do anything to you.”)

Right, his suggestive touch — it has no place to exist when you’re having such an important conversation! You trash with all the vigor you could muster. “You’re just manipulating me! You’re suddenly being all soft and groping me when I’m trying to talk to you seriously!”

Veritas only sighs, exasperated, muttering, “It was to help you relax, so you can take a more conscious approach. But if you insist…” Surprisingly, he lets you go — even that is up to be questioned, if him respecting your boundaries isn’t some scheme either.

You quickly stand up back on your feet and turn around, not hiding that you’re fuming again. He stands up too and your heart skips a beat. What he says next throws you off.

“Please, give me your hand,” Veritas requests politely, using proper etiquette. So unusual. Typically, his requests are orders, as he finds them to be absolute in their vital importance.

Is he trying to be nicer to you, for you? Is he finally regretting his treatment, once you scared him with the possibility of leaving?

“For what?” you ask with suspicion, tapping your foot with impatience. Perhaps you should just make a run for the door and leave, even if it wouldn’t be most mature-sounding. You’re further dissatisfied at the thought of running into him as your ex at your workplace.

“I want to show you something. It might clear any false conjectures that you seemingly have about me,” he informs curtly. It raises your interest just as he anticipated — of course curiosity can be a strong force, that is, a useful tool for his grasp over you.

He thrives with satisfaction when you submit by raising your hand in the air. He cups it in his, gently as if it’s a brittle porcelain (affectionately like he knows you secretly crave him to be), and places it over his heart — it’s a horse running a race, thrumming and threatening to escape his chest. “Can you palpate how fast my heart is under your fingers? Does that sound like the heart of a man indifferent to you or your misery?”

Your stance on accusing him of malicious conduct has been slightly faltering the entire conversation, as you can’t deny that Veritas is a good debater, knowing how to make you look at things from a different angle — his proof is extremely flattering to you especially. Or rather not as much flattering, as romantically gratifying — to be loved is a most wonderful feeling. The little show is made to be even better when you’re the only person he ever becomes vulnerable with — starting with something simple as you having a chance to see him without his plaster head on, daily at that.

Your friend’s words still ring in your head, however. Your almost-ex is still a genius and he’d definitely know all about what heart tempo expresses what; therefore, maybe know how to adjust its pace to the perfect tune… “You… could be faking it. To make me forgive you.” Yet your fingers twitch on his chest, desperate to give him some pleasure too. 

You want to touch him. It is easy to dream of being back in his arms, safe and loved, saved and loving, be the fool indifferent to his misbehaving — it’s the only way a heart knows how to protect itself from being shattered.

It is only just now that you realize how scared you are to be on your own in the wild again — the truth about how he had made you dependent on him for choosing the safest and most convenient life is terrifying and disturbing. You were forcefully ripped away from the feeling of danger or bigger perturbation in your daily situations, it is easy to feel out of tune with the rhythm of the world. It’s as if you need to go back to baby steps to know how to function properly again. 

Going to work, you can handle it. Shopping, you can handle it. But what if one day, you’ll somehow mess up filling the tax form, and you’ll be accused of fraud, and then thrown into jail— you need him to keep you protected. Or something happens at the guild, and you need him to vouch for you. 

You don’t even think it’s his fault you feel that way — you’ve been manipulated into thinking you were simply living in the dark, your back turned against those dangers, and he has opened your eyes to notice what could have happened due to your irresponsible choices.

Veritas’s eagle eyes notice your discernment and irrationality; still, he only lets out a sigh for what feels like a thousandth time, knowing admitting he has this advantage over you will further frighten you. His hand squeezes on your and actually trembles, unused to being so open, and afraid to let it go should you choose to walk away from his life. “What will it take for you to believe me? Should I ask another genius, maybe Ruan Mei, to prepare a truth serum for me to confess, no matter how… embarrassing it could be for me? Because a lie detector certainly is faulty.”

Your face scrunches and you barely hit his chest as a protest. Lower in the hierarchy of the Intelligentsia Guild, you still had a (dis)pleasure of working with that shady woman too many  times. “I wouldn’t trust that woman, so I would have no guarantee you’re not making some deal behind my back,” you rebut.

“Then Screwllum. You find that man to be trustworthy, no?” his fingers steeple together with yours and your heart jumps — it’s such a feeble and shaky movement you cannot believe he’s being soft. And him willing to make himself exposed in his proposed method…

You do trust Screwllum. He’s strict but fair. 

“You… you’re serious, aren’t you? You would go that far in order to prove your affections for me?” you can no longer hide your hopes in your voice. Amid your anger and wanting to leave, it was easy for not-at-all-old feelings to resurface, mixing into poison with your fear of dealing with things on your own — new for you separation anxiety. Leaving is easy, but dealing with the sadness and paranoia after isn’t. While his questionable behavior is not making you happy, you can’t say the latter of the two is worse.

Maybe, you really have been too harsh on him. Maybe he can compromise about his control, if he does care.

“Yes. If this is the only way, I won’t hesitate to do it, no matter how hard it could be for me to attempt something so… hazardous,” he claims with determination.

You exhale out a shaky and overly carbonated with the previous concerns breath; if he would subject himself to being under the influence of some truth substance, your logic tells you there’s no reason to doubt his love, especially with his heart’s behavior around you. If he wanted you trapped, wouldn’t he have done so easily a long time ago? 

“No… you don’t need to. I believe you, Veritas,” you admit with a forced smile. There’s still something that feels off about the situation, the lingering intensity of his gaze, pushiness, and aversion to acknowledging less healthy monuments of your relationship; but you also have more arguments towards pro than against, and assume he’s willing to ease on his tendencies, as he did admit he didn’t mean to be controlling. A man who loves you, would he really want to hurt you so much? He’s never outright hurt you — and what made you uncomfortable can be negotiated.

You see a tension disappear in his shoulders and he lets go of your hand in pursuit of your face. With that, it’s clear he doesn’t want to say anything else that’s embarrassing, assuming you’re back in his arm — or rather, have never left. But as he’s leaning in for a kiss to seal the deal and let it speak for him and his vulnerable soul, you stop him, “But can you promise me you’ll interfere with my decisions less from now on? It’s still overwhelming.”

Your voice sounds awfully positive, as if you think you’ve got him wrapped around your fingers now, enough for him to regret his actions; it irks him. “Love, we have just discussed that. I’m not doing this to control you nor patronize you. The issue instead is you not being used to being taken care of and stubbornly clinging to your independence,” his voice becomes stern again, but he’s making sure to maintain understanding and some warmth in it. You’re much more volatile now.

“What? No! It’s not a matter of independence but you stealing my autonomy,” you’re up in arms again and he knows he has to soothe you. “I could be more dependent on you and I’d still want you to let me choose. It’s about the principle, a basic human right—”

“Which one of your friends has filled your head with such crafty and repugnant designs?” he suddenly asks and your eyes widen.

“Huh? It’s my own conclusion…” you say defensively. It’s true that it was your friend’s bystander perspective that allowed you to perceive  the mistakes of his you failed to see on your own; however, after this one conversation you had, you couldn’t help but agree. “If others notice that you’re wrong, there must be something true about it…” Sure, some of the choices he’s made for you have improved your life, but it’s about lack of consent here. Not to mention, not allowing you to make errors like any other human is surprisingly more negative than the modus operandi of perfect life, as it takes away from the human experience.

“And I think your friend is just jealous that you are lucky enough to be dating a handsome genius and they aren’t,” he states bluntly.

The suggestion immediately brings up different memories where your friend would have passively joked about how lucky you are, or complaining how there's little of charming, interesting, and intelligent men like Veritas… which contradicts them warning you about him not so much after. Have they been naive at first too, or have they been making you doubt your own partner so they can snatch him for themselves? Sabotaging your relationship?

“I— they wouldn’t do that—” you stutter, desperately chasing to defend your friend’s honor.

“Be honest with me. How many times in our relationship have you truly felt uncomfortable?” he takes a step forward and you instinctively take a step back, overwhelmed by the intensity of his question.

“Well, there were a few instances, and you even control my diet—” you take a few more steps, creating sounds too loud with your shoes for your ears now buzzing with trepidation, not realizing you’re about to hit a wall of the living room behind you.

“A few instances. When no one is devoid of being made to be uncomfortable every so often, me included. What you eat is both nutritious and still tasty. Are you seriously going to let these few, inconsequential moments dim many more positive ones?” You get the message that you are starting to sound ungrateful and spoiled, a bit naive too — yes, him deciding for you doesn’t feel nice, but some sacrifice is necessary for your wellbeing or stability. Relationships aren’t black and white — not every rule will cooperate in every relationship, and not every partner will be perfect. You mustn't create unrealistic standards you’d see only on social media.

As Veritas moves forward again, your back finally hits the wall of the living room, and your only support is with your palms against it. Your breathing rattles when he places his hands on the sides of your head, towering over you and trapping you. It’s the birth of night now, and with no artificial lights yet turned on, you see his irises shine like a molten metal.

His roseate eyes cause you to freeze and turn into a stone as if he’s some god possessing such power, their intensity undeniable — he needs you with him and he’ll have you. For his and your sake.

“Don’t let one fool take away everything from us. You matter to me,” he exclaims his promise with a destructive love and your name, and before you register such, he grabs you by your nape and thigh he slightly lifts, and kisses you to convey and solidify his words.

You don’t reciprocate at first, having your own doubts linger, and you’re further flustered when he steps between your legs; but when his finger rubs that one spot on your neck and his hand wanders up your thigh, it’s easy to sink into his wonders.

You whimper against his lips when his palm on your leg wanders dangerously high, almost seeking out the most pleasurable and sensitive areas. His lips move on yours with undeniable practice, pecking and teasing with a tongue, sucking on your lips; and when you open your mouth to inhale starved air, he inserts his tongue in. 

One squeeze on your leg is enough for your arms to finally wrap around his shoulders and your eyes close; although, it’s still him who has to do the most work, as you remain overwhelmed by the entire discussion.

The kiss lasts for what feels like infinity and yet it’s not enough.

When he lets go of your nape and watches your face painted in yearning, he knows that he now has you. He strokes your cheek, letting the magic of his touch deceive your defenses once more. “Will you stay with me? I’m sure we can reach some compromise; albeit, don’t expect me to let you get loose and undisciplined,” he warns calmly, finding difficulty in not sounding giddy.

When you nod, he thinks how much he hates the way you make him feel — this obsession — as instead of feeling just victorious over you, he also feels his own longing. He’s not against the idea of love as a whole — it’s only human and he can’t judge others for being in love, therefore only human — but he’s not a big fan of it participating in his life, messing up with his head, logic, and perfect schedule.

Regardless, he’s also most elated, naturally. His relationship’s end with you has been rescinded, and he can spend his days with you again. The vivid imagery of you with someone else is upmost abhorrent and should be condemned. Not that he’d let you go; he’s smart enough to bring you back, but wouldn’t it create a peril of losing your trust and love.

“Good, excellent even. Go unpack your things and I’ll make us dinner. Perhaps some wine indulgence won’t hurt today…” he murmurs the latter, thinking of rewarding you for being so compliant and saving him from depression. He helps you stand up properly, knowing you’re putty in his arms after the kiss.

You don’t even have time to whine about how his meal will be all healthy and chosen for you again. (He’d tell you it’s about your wellbeing anyway, and is he wrong, when you’ve been feeling more energized lately?)

As you leave, Veritas pulls out his phone. Through the spyware he has installed on his phone (only a safety concern about you, of course), he watches a new message appear in the log. You accusing your friend and blocking them the next second, as you threaten them so they won’t get in your relationship’s business, is nothing but satisfying to witness.

For the foolish you make him, you also make him feel alive and closer to what being human means, living by your own rules. Stronger than a real fool like you should be, contradicting all he knows about rigorous discipline and logic. You’re the challenge and risk he thrives on and wants to watch develop in real time, the forbidden fruit to feast on; this notion is in some ways also liberating. 

Believe it or not, he does care for you — he just cannot see a beloved person’s potential go to waste, any menace and harm to come, or let your health degrade, as he’d feel a failure of a lover. He also can’t deny the inherent, selfish need to possess you, and keep you away from the world, as if only he can truly appreciate you properly — if he needs you, who is to deny him? 

He’s not letting you go, even if it’s destined to ruin you both.

[belli5]

let me love you .ᐟ ೀWS²

And if it feels right promise I don’t mind and if it feels right promise I’ll stay here all night

╰ Synopsis After dinner with Will, Will pulls over on the way home. In the quiet of the car, things heat up in the backseat.

Tags/contains Fluff, smut, Will Smith x fem!reader, creampie, p in v, car sex, public-ish(??), reconciliation sex, 18+, NSFW content below.

➺ from Sera, to you📨. Decided to actually write part 3 for “glimpse of us” and decided to go for smut because this is the right way to make up with someone after being apart too long(jokes, actually talk it out, guys😭.)

masterlist ᥫ᭡ please reblog this fic if you enjoyed it! Please do NOT rewrite/repost my work anywhere else without permission! ➜part two: So close, yet so far. ➜Part one:Hoping I’ll find a glimpse of us.

It had taken you hour and a half to decide what to wear. This was dumb. It was just dinner. Not a first date. Not a big deal, not a shiny life altering moment. It was just dinner.

With Will.

With Will, who once pulled you into a dark parking lot just to kiss you because he couldn’t wait. With Will, who once memorised your coffee order without asking. With Will, who you’d love. Who you still love.

You stood in front of your open closet, still barefoot, wrapped in a towel, hair half dry from the shower. Your bed was graveyard of discarded outfits, too casual, too cold, too desperate.

You hated how much you cared but then you wouldn’t be yourself.

In the end, you landed on skirt and a top that hugged your shoulders in a way you liked, and a delicate gold necklace. You touched it once as you looked at yourself in the mirror. It was the same one you wore the night Will first kissed you. You hadn’t done that on purpose, not really.

Your phone buzzed just as you were swiping on some mascara.

Smitty 🩷 outside when you’re ready.

Your chest tightened. Were you ready? No. Not even close. But you grabbed your coat anyway.

He was standing beside his car, dressed in a black sweater and dark jeans, hands in his pockets, shifting a little like he was nervous too. When he saw your, his face lit up in that quiet, thoughtful way he had, like the smile started in his eyes and made its way down.

“Hey,” he said, as you walked up. “You look… really nice.”

“Thanks,” you said softly. “So do you.”

It felt like old times. It felt like strangers. It felt like both, somehow.

He opened the car door for you, and you smiled despite yourself. Once he got in, you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. His hands on the wheel. The way his hair curled just a little behind his ears.

“You made a reservation,” you teased, lightly. “So formal.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “didn’t want to screw it up. Figured you deserved an actual table and not like takeout from the back of my car this time.”

You laughed. “To be fair, that takeout was really good.”

“Yeah, but you deserve better.”

That silenced you. It hung in the air between you both, soft and awkward and sweet. You turned to look out the window, hiding the little ache in your smile.

The restaurant was beautiful.

Dim lighting, warm wood accents, candles flickering in little votives at every table. He’d clearly asked for something quieter, more private, away from the front windows, back toward a corner. You sat across from each other, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

“You’ve been here before?” You asked finally.

He nodded. “Yeah, once. Macklin picked it for his birthday. Thought it might be too loud, but it’s not bad.”

A beat passed. “You okay?” he asked, his eyes flicking up to yours.

You nodded. “Yeah. Just… nervous, I guess.”

He leaned back slightly. “Me too.”

That surprised you. “Really?”

He gave a short laugh. “Yeah. You kidding? You’re the only girl who ever made me care if my shirt had wrinkles.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too big. “So you’re saying this is a high stakes evening?”

He looked at you then and something in his voice softened. “I guess it kind of is.”

Once the food came, the tension eased. It always did with Will. That was the thing about him, he made the hard things softer. The scary things manageable. He asked you about school, about your friends, about your new class schedule. He listened and he remembered details.

When he talked about hockey, it was animated but humble. He didn’t brag, he didn’t overshare, he just told you what you asked, and when you teased him for being too modest, he rolled his eyes.

“You realize I’m like, kind of good,” he joked.

“Oh, I’m aware,” you said. “Trust me, my professor made us do a current events presentation first semester and you were the headline. It was so awkward.”

He grinned. “You used me for school?”

“Only a little. I got an A.”

“Well, then you’re welcome.”

You both laughed, and for the first time that night, it didn’t feel weird. It didn’t feel like you were playing pretend. It just felt like you both.

After the plates were cleared and the server brought over two small espresso cups and a shared chocolate mousse, the conversation drifted into quieter waters.

“I’ve missed this,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Will looked up. His gaze was steady, almost too much. “I’ve missed you,” he replied.

You stared at him, heart thudding. “You don’t have to say that,” you said.

“I’m not saying it for no reason.” He replied pausing.“You don’t have to say it back,” he added quickly. “I know it’s… I know it’s complicated.”

It was complicated. God, it was messy. But as you looked at him, you didn’t see someone who had hurt you. You saw the boy who used to draw hearts in the fog on your car window. The boy who always checked if your water bottle was full. The boy who, even now, was watching you like you were the only thing in the room.

You could feel your old self reaching out. The one who used to love him freely. Who never second guessed.

“I do miss you,” you said finally.

Will’s shoulders dropped just slightly, like a breath he’d been holding finally left him. You didn’t need to say more.

As you both left the restaurant, the cold night air hit your cheeks,

You both walked toward his car in silence, but it was a comfortable one this time. When he opened the passenger side door for you again, you paused, your hand on the frame. He looked up at you.

“I don’t know what this is,” you said softly. “Or what it’s supposed to be.”

“I don’t either,” he said honestly. “But… I’d like to find out.”

You studied him, the sincerity in his voice, the quiet patience in his eyes. And finally you felt brave enough to let herself hope, sliding into the seat.

The car ride after dinner was quiet, but warm.

No awkward silences, no rush to get home. Just the sound of tires on the road. He didn’t say much, and you didn’t push him to but the glances you exchanged said everything.

Every time you looked over at him, his jaw clenched just a little like he was thinking. Holding something back. You were doing the same.

You were sure he wasn’t driving you home, but it’s not that you minded. Will turned the car down a quiet road that curved out toward the edge of the city. The lights dimmed behind you both, the hum of cars and people faded. All that remained was the low rush of the highway and the sound of tires rolling over gravel.

He pulled into a narrow lookout spot, one of those hidden little places above the water, where the stars felt closer and the world felt far away. There were no other cars, no streetlamps. Just the dark, the distant shimmer of city lights, and the ocean stretching endlessly below.

Your brows lifted. “You okay?”

He looked over at you like he was trying to memorize your face. “I didn’t want to take you home yet,” he said softly.

You turned toward him, heartbeat quickening. “Why?”

He exhaled. Looked over at you like you already knew. “Because the second I do… this ends. And I—I’m not ready for that.”

Her lips parted.

He shook his head slightly. “I know we’re not together. I know this isn’t some perfect moment where everything’s fixed. But I can’t—” He stopped, voice rough. “I can’t sit this close to you, look at you, smell you wearing that perfume, and act like I’m not losing my mind.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I missed you so much it made me sick,” he continued. “And now you’re here. In my passenger seat. And all I can think about is how badly I want to touch you again.”

Your stomach flipped. He reached over, cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

Then he kissed you and everything went quiet. Your hand curled into the front of his shirt. He tasted like heat and longing and something deeper than just lust. Something aching, familiar, desperate.

It wasn’t the first time you’d kissed but it was the first time in months. The first time since you stopped pretending you didn’t miss each other.

The first time it felt like this. When you kissed him back harder, he groaned softly into your mouth. “Back seat. Come here.”

You barely made it between the seats before you were climbing into his lap, knees braced on either side of him as he pulled you close. Your arms locked around his shoulders. His hands were already tugging your skirt up your thighs, lips finding your neck, kissing, then sucking just below your ear like he wanted to leave proof of this.

You gasped when he did, grinding down against the hardness in his jeans. “Will—”

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured against your skin. “How many times I’ve thought about this exact moment.”

His tongue flicked against the hollow of your throat before his teeth grazed the skin again, rougher this time. You moaned and tilted your head back, giving him more access.

He took it gladly, biting, sucking, leaving marks down your collarbone that made your thighs squeeze tighter around his waist.

Then you pulled back just enough to flip the script. You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, then you kissed down his jaw, slow and teasing, before sucking at the side of his neck, hard enough to make his hips jerk up against you.

He cursed under his breath. “You’re evil.”

You smirked against his skin. “You love it.”

And he did. Your hands slid under his shirt, pushing it up and off. You kissed down his chest, trailing your tongue along the lines of his collarbone while your hips continued to roll against him, taunting, unhurried.

He couldn’t help it. His hands gripped your ass harder, guiding your motions as you rocked against him, your thin panties rubbing over the bulge in his jeans.

You slowed down, like you wanted to torture him, like you needed to drag this out, just because you’d been apart for so long and now that you had him again, you didn’t want it to end too fast.

He felt it in the way you kissed him, the way you moaned into his mouth but held back just enough. You were savoring it, savoring him.

“Take your shirt and skirt off,” he whispered, voice wrecked. You did, slowly pulled the shirt over your head, revealing soft skin and a black lace bra that made him swear under his breath. You lifted yourself from his lap to pull down the skirt.

Then your panties followed, and then his jeans. And then he was finally free, hard and leaking, his hands trembling with restraint as you reached between you both to stroke him slowly.

“You’ve been thinking about this, huh?” You whispered against his jaw.

“I never stopped.”

You lined him up and sank down slowly, inch by inch, until you were seated fully in his lap, your thighs trembling as they adjusted to the stretch.

Both of you gasped at the same time. Your fingers gripped his shoulders, digging into his skin as you started to move—slow, dragging your hips in long, rolling grinds that made his head fall back against the seat. “Fuck, you feel like heaven,” he groaned.

Your lips curved. “You missed this?” You only said it because you wanted to hear it from him.

He looked up at you with dark eyes. “You have no idea.”

You clenched around him deliberately, making him gasp. He grabbed your hips tighter. “You’re such a brat right now.”

You smiled, breathless. “I’ve had time to think.”

He grabbed you by the back of the neck, pulling you back down for a kiss that turned messy, open mouthed and wet, all tongue and teeth. You whimpered into him, hips moving faster now, thighs flexing as you rode him with more urgency.

The car windows fogged up, the air turned thick with moans and breath and skin slapping skin. Each bounce of your hips had him groaning louder, chasing the heat curling low in his gut.

You started to fall apart, soft moans turning to breathless whimpers as his hand slid between you both and circled your clit, fast and sure.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your lips. “Come on, baby. I’ve got you.”

Your body tensed and then shattered. You came with a high, broken cry, legs shaking, nails raking down his back as he held you close through it. The tight squeeze of you around him pushed him over the edge moments later, hips bucking up as he spilled deep inside you with a strained, guttural moan.

You didn’t move right away. You lay against his chest, both of you panting, slick with sweat. His hands stroked your back slowly. Your lips pressed soft kisses to his collarbone.

Neither of you said anything for a long time. Eventually, you whispered, “That didn’t feel like just sex.”

Will tilted his head, kissed your temple. “That’s because it wasn’t.”

[the-undeadwriter]

Hi, hope you’re having a good day. I wanted too request a yan! Batfam with a reader who just stays in their room 24/7 and makes art (could be painting,music,sculptures,etc.)

Hehe, this was fun to write >:)

Warnings: neglect, not really any yandere behaviour in this, reader is gn! Possibly part 1, we’ll see how I feel :)

Requests are open!

Art had always been something just for you.

Even before your mother had died, you spent most of your time drawing on whatever paper you could find, scribbling away with an odd assortment of crayons and pencils your mother had snatched from her job as a waitress.

After your mother had passed away, you threw yourself into your art. In your eyes, it kept you afloat, kept you from drowning in your grief more times than you can count. And, considering who your father was, you finally had the funds to use good materials.

Art was your therapy. Sculpting, painting, sketching… anything you could get your hands on.

You didn’t even really care that Bruce rarely spoke to you— you were too busy joining art competitions your school held. You were too busy sneaking into the music room and learning simple Melodie’s on the piano. Any anger, sadness or resentment you felt was channeled into your art.

You weren’t completely fine with being ignored— no child would ever be fine with being neglected— but you learned to deal with it. At least your method of coping wasn’t dressing up in Kevlar and fist fighting the mentally ill.

Besides, you weren’t completely alone! You had Alfred there to drive you to school, buy your supplies, feed you…

And, for a while, you had Dick. He was almost an adult, and angry at Bruce and the world, so you didn’t speak with him a lot… but he was there for a while.

Jason was the brother you spent the most time with. He was only two years older than you, bright and happy and there. He was a great muse, focus point, model, and brother.

When you made your very first sculpture, a little Robin, he kept it in his room. Showed it off to Bruce and Alfred and displayed it proudly on his bedside table.

Then Jason went away.

You stopped painting robins after that.

Your art took a turn then— no more vibrant colours. Jason had taken that light with him.

That little clay robin now sits in your room, high up on a shelf. Away from harm.

Tim came next, practically your age. He never acted like you were the same age though. He had this… air about him. Like he was more than you. You’re not sure if it was intentional.

He didn’t consider himself part of the family then. You can… somewhat understand his mentality. He was only there to keep Batman in line, not watch over the only biological Wayne child. You never even turned your gaze towards him with the intention to catalogue, analyse, or capture his image in any manor.

His run as Robin brought Steph and Cass in. Steph was… loud. Vibrant. Far too bright for your taste at the time. You couldn’t bear her attempts at friendship. You only made one piece when she was there— a sprawling city skyline, in hues of purple and black.

When she went away too, you added a single white dove in the foreground.

Cass, on the other hand, was much like you. Quiet. She, like you, had an eye for the arts, but her medium was through ballet and dance, unlike your paints and music. One day, you snuck into her practice and sketched her. Spins and jumps decorated the page you had brought.

You never let her see it.

Then, suddenly, Jason was back. But different. Changed.

He was taller. Stronger. Angrier.

You didn’t know it was him at first. When he finally came back, officially, he…

Didn’t see you. Not anymore.

He never asked about that little Robin sculpture. Never asked what your latest project was.

You were almost eighteen when Damian was dropped off at Wayne manor. You didn’t see him for a week after he arrived, too busy with a competition. When you did finally meet…

He attacked you. Pressed a sword against your neck and called your mother a whore.

You avoided him after that.

Dule was moved in pretty quickly after that, but you didn’t get to speak with him much. He was nice enough, and you knew he’d be a good hero. You just couldn’t bring yourself to get attached.

Then. You turned eighteen. Then. You graduated and got accepted into an arts university.

You made one final painting in the manor.

A gilded, golden bird cage. With broken bars and a missing bird. You left it in your room, for Alfred to find.

And then you moved out with the help of your friends. Moved across the city and into a dorm. Cut all ties with the Waynes.

You thought that was it.

You thought you were free.

You thought they wouldn’t care that you left without a word.

You were wrong.

[michhawk]

I Yield

(Beach Section Part 1) Ex - (G)-IDLE Soojin x male reader smut

Tags: Cunnilingus, Body Worship | Words: 1,9k

I yield.

That is the only thought that came across your mind when you see her.

Soojin, with all its beauty and glory, standing there with you in the room, just the two of you.

Can you feel all the excitement? The anxious feeling you must be familiar with knowing that the only thing stopping you from indulging yourself of her is some flirtatious words and maybe some foreplay.

“Hey, are you just going to stare?” Soojin asks, snapping you of your imagination.

“Is he nervous? Alright, let’s do something to loosen him up, after him.”Soojin thinks to herself.

Get your mind together, you got ONE shot at this!

You brace yourself and you walk closer towards Soojin. Your heart can’t seem to be calmer, you think by how loud the sound your heartbeat makes, Soojin might heard it. In truth, Soojin can see it all over your face, Soojin just finds it cute as she throws a little smirk.

You close your distance with her and pull her into a hug. You can get a good a feeling of her slim body. Her back, her waist, and especially her soft cute ass. Soojin can tell your intention, and she tries to get a good feeling about it.

“Mh-hmm,” Soojin murmur as the result of you squeezing her ass. You take it as a good sign, a sign of acceptance, a sign to keep going.

Soojin’s hands are not idle as she does the same squeezing your ass and slapping it.

*SMACK*

“Ugh,” you grunt. Yes, now you are sure Soojin does not wish to wait around.

Soojin then goes to wrap one of her arms around your neck, pulling you into a kiss. The kiss contains a lot of passion. You can understand Soojin’s feeling that she wishes this to happen the first time you and her inside this room.

You put your mouth to hers and begin kissing her. Putting out your tongue, so does she. You both continue exchanging saliva, feeling each other presence in the moment.

For a good minute, you and Soojin continue to touch around each other, feel the heat continue to build up around each other. Your hand keeps switching between squeezing her ass and brushing her pussy through her underwear.

Soojin squirms every time she feels your hand playing with her pussy. Each time your hand squeezing her ass, Soojin feels hornier and thus making the kiss hotter.

After some more touching, she pulls out from the kiss.

“That was nice, how about we continue on the bed?” Soojin asks. You can see Soojin’s face is red fill of excitement and eagerness. And in Soojin’s mind she can only think about sex.

You and Soojin walk to the bed in the room. You both sat down and just stare at each other for a moment. You can feel it in the air, the pent-up emotion to just jump on her and go wild. But you know you need to do a proper preparation to fully satisfy her.

Thus, you begin pulling her by the chin closer to you for another kiss. Then you go to kiss her cheek and slowly moving towards her ear. While doing so, you use one of your hands to fondle her tits and your other hands to untie her bra.

Soojin is letting out heavy breath because of the feeling of your touch on her tits. While the feeling is certainly captivating, she also wants to do some work on you. Using her hands, she strokes your now erect cock through your boxer.

“Mmm, so hard for me, eh?” Soojin ask with her sultry voice.

You hear what Soojin says, but you choose to not answer her verbally. Instead, you choose to show her how horny she makes you feel right now.

You start by moving your kiss to her neck area, giving her some love bites while at it as well. By doing so, you hear Soojin’s gasp, a sign you do something right. Then you go on to kiss your way downward to her now expose tits.

Soojin closes her eyes, just feeling everything you do to her body. Occasionally she imagining how you will take her through this session. Feeling your mouth on her tits, she lets out a gasp and occasional moan. She can feel herself lost in her own thoughts, and when she realizes, she is already laying on the bed, one hand playing with her nipple and the other is on your head trying to tell you to keep going.

You really like nibbling on her tits. Sometimes you give her nipple and her chest a lick to show your appreciation of her body. You can feel her hand on your head, gripping your hair slightly.

While Soojin is playing with her nipple, you continue licking her chest and her side boob. You also use your free hand to play with her pussy, rubbing it through the cloth. Every time you take a small bite around her chest, you can feel her hips goes up and down trying to rub her pussy to your hand.

Soojin still letting you do your things; she only lets out occasional moan telling you to keep up with your work. She also feels your tongue quite active in terms of pleasuring her. Soojin then open her eyes slightly to see that you lift her left hand up showing her armpit. She feels a little self-conscious but curious on your next action.

You want to show Soojin, how grateful you are to have her here right now. You want to show how lucky you are to have her, laying on her back right now. What you do after lifting her hand is something Soojin never expects.

After putting out your tongue to lick her side boob, you slowly move your head towards her arm. While still licking her, you continue to move your head closer to her armpit.

Once you arrive, you take a whiff before you go on to lick her armpit furiously.

Soojin gasp and moan by your sudden aggression, she never expects such act to be shown by people like you.

“Isn’t it kind of sweaty? How is he liking it?” Soojin thinks to herself.

But those thoughts don’t linger long, because your finger does not want to lose on the aggression itself. Soojin lets a heavy sigh feeling your finger trying to penetrate her pussy through the fabric cloth. Soojin closes her eyes again, feeling your enthusiasm on her armpit as well as your skilled hand work on her pussy.

After you feel enough on her armpit, you move your attention towards her pussy.

Your hand that was on her underwear doesn’t feel dry, meaning Soojin is turn on enough. Thus, you go ahead and move your head towards her pussy, by licking her tummy all the way to her thighs area.

Soojin opens her eyes, to see how you will take the next step “worshipping” her.

She sees you caressing her thighs. Opening the way to her pussy slowly. But you don’t go to her pussy yet.

Instead, you linger on her thighs. Licking it and kissing it.

Soojin sees your action and only lets out a small moan each time you get your mouth close to her pussy entrance. At this point, she can tell you are not someone who is just thinking about pleasuring themselves, someone who is selfish. She can see how caring you can be.

While you are busy licking and kissing her thighs, you can also hear her whimpers every time you get close to her pussy.

Without wasting anymore time, you latch your mouth to her clothed pussy. You don’t want to take it off yet, just a little more to tease her. Soon she will feel irritated and will force you to go and claim her pussy.

Soojin gasp by your sudden movement to her pussy. Even though she still wears her underwear, she can feel your wet tongue trying to eat her. She doesn’t have time to take a second to think about how you should go on, at this moment she is lost in her own mind seeking only pleasure.

After a few seconds enjoying yourself between her thighs, it is time to get a bit more serious.

You go ahead and pull her underwear, revealing her dripping wet pussy. Looking at it can make anyone hungry, and you are no exception.

After you come back to your senses, you instantly latch your mouth to her pussy. Now without any obstacle, you can freely explore her most erogenous part. You can say that she has that tangy taste to her pussy juice. You like it.

Soojin can’t seem to get a break from constant moaning and gasping due to your aggressive behaviour.

And now that your mouth and her pussy is truly connected, Soojin can’t seem to think straight anymore. She can feel your tongue exploring her insides, sometimes flicking her g-spot causing her hips to buckle up.

You are enjoying this moment full of lust and desire to taste her.

You notice her reaction when you put your lips on her clit, or when you lick her sensitive spot inside her pussy. Because of that you continue in pleasuring her, by hitting those sensitive spots to trigger more reaction of her.

Soojin’s mind can only focus on one thing and that is to reach her orgasm.

With you focus on working her pussy using your mouth, Soojin uses one of her hands to pinch and play with her nipples while the other gripping your hair to give you a signal that she wants to cum.

You can tell by her hand gripping your hair getting harder, and her hips constantly pushing her pussy to your mouth, Soojin is close to cumming.

With that you speed up your work, switching between licking and sucking her clit, to furiously licking inside her pussy.

Soojin can’t hold it anymore, she grips your hair harder, almost feels like she is trying to pull your hair.

“Auuh, I am CUMMING!” she exclaims.

Soojin reach her first climax of the night, her body tense up and quiver riding through that feeling.

Soojin heart beats real fast, and she can feel it. This is what she has been waiting when you and her step into this room. And you deliver.

You suck up her pussy juice, tasting the result of your passionate work throughout her body so far. My, it tastes so good.

You enjoy licking her pussy before lifting yourself up to see that Soojin still laying in trance after cumming.

“Hey, earth to Soojin?” you ask with a non-serious tone.

“I admit, you are good with your tongue.” Soojin replies with ragged breath.

Soojin is placing one of her hands over her eyes, she still trying to get her mind together.

“When you lick my armpit, is that your fetish?” Soojin ask still with her uneven breathing, just trying to make a small talk.

“I guess…” You say back with a low tone voice, while moving closer besides her.

When Soojin removes her hand from her eyes, she sees you laying besides her, with the looks of waiting for her to get ready for the next step.

Soojin pulls you for another kiss, this time it is slightly softer than before, as she is trying to regain her focus.

While kissing you, Soojin use one of her hands to reach into your boxer to stroke your cock.

You know that the session is still not over, you have not got your fair share of pleasure, well besides licking her body.   

But for now, the thoughts of making her your woman will have to wait. You may feel overwhelmed, but by doing what you can do best will eventually lessen the burden you put yourself into conquering the problem.

================================================

Author's Note: THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE OF THE PREVIOUS WORK, IT WAS MY FIRST EVER SMUT, AND NEVER EXPECT THAT MUCH ATTRACTION.

Anyway, this one is a draft i had beside the previous work, hope you guys like it, yet this is not over, as there supposed to be part two!!!!!

STAY TUNED!

[batsandbirdbrains]

All your posts about Dick being younger than everyone thought at first is making me think of a scenario farther in the future, with all the batkids playing never have I ever or something, and Dick's real age comes out. And none of them really bat an eye at it first, because at this point Dick is a legitimate adult. But later it dawns on them just how young he was when he first started and DID BUCE EVEN KNOW???

Okay but the batkids getting together when they’re like all in their 20s. Dick is supposedly 28, Jason is 26, Tim is 23, and Damian is like 18ish.

And what’s the question god I’ve been wracking my brain trying to think of a good one.

Okay it’s lame but I’m gonna go with Tim saying “Never have I ever smoked a cigarette before I was a teenager” because they all knew Jason had an unfortunate experience with a cigarette when he was 12 and they always make fun of him for it.

But then Dick takes a drink and they all hound him to find out how he had a cigarette before he was 13 when he lived with Bruce, the world’s biggest helicopter parent.

“Roy got a pack when he was like 18 and all the Titans tried one. They were pretty good, actually, but I coughed like hell for like five straight minutes,” Dick tells them. Then he snorts and laughs and adds, “Wally threw up.”

“Wait, how old were you?”

Dick starts counting on his fingers, then shrugs.

“Like, ten? Maybe eleven?”

“Isn’t Roy only five years older than you?”

And Dick realizes he fucked up, and he tries to start back pedaling and laugh it off and say he misremembered, but they all hound him for it.

“Wait, Roy is 33 right now,” Jason argues. “How fucking old are you, Dickhead? Because your math isn’t making any sense!”

“Just leave it alone, Jason!”

“No, no,” Tim pipes in. “If you were ten when an eighteen year old Roy gave you a cigarette, that means you’re 25 right now.”

“Shut up, Tim! No one asked you to do math!”

“Oh my fucking God, Dick-for-brains, are you younger than me?” Jason gapes at him, then gags. “I am NOT the oldest here! No! I refuse!”

“Then fucking leave it alone then!”

“Does Father know?”

They all whip their heads towards Damian, who’s swirling around the bottle of beer they let him have. He raises an eyebrow at all of them.

“No,” Dick eventually says, his voice strangled. “And no one is going to tell him.”

“What’s in it for me?”

Dick narrows his eyes at Damian, who’s smirking at him.

“You’ve been hanging out with Jason too much.”

“That’s no way to speak about your elders, Dickie!” Jason says with glee. When Dick glares at him in return, Jason holds his hands up in surrender and backs away. “Just kidding, just kidding.”

“This information does not leave this room,” Dick warns all of them. “I know where you all sleep. Don’t test me.”

“Damn, dude,” Tim whispers. “Fine, fine. What do you want, a blood pact?”

“Are you offering?” Dick asks, pulling a wing ding out of his pocket.

“Do you just carry those around?” Jason asks, laughing.

“Obviously. Now everyone hold out your palms.”

“Spit pact, spit pact!” Tim begs. “Don’t make me mix blood with the demon brat!”

“You’re just jealous my blood is superior to yours!”

Jason is the first to spit into his palm, then he holds his hand out.

“Just put your fucking hands in, gremlins,” he orders. Then he shudders and turns to Dick. “No, I do not want to be the oldest. You can keep the role. This secret dies with us.”

“That’s what I thought,” Dick says haughtily, spitting into his own palm and holding his hand out too.

Tim and Damian both groan and whine, but they join the spit pact with the other two. No one ever tells Dick’s secret.

[mechncheese]

Do you have any tips for drawing transformers/simplifying transformer designs :0?? Your art retains their 3-dimensionality without sacrificing their posability and all this while using 'simple' looking shapes, it's genuinely very satisfying to look at

Thank you ! One of the biggest challenges for me when I first got into drawing transformers was trying to keep their movement from being too stiff while keeping their design robot-like so I'm glad that it reads as fluid to people !

I'm used to drawing organic characters, working with simpler designs, and emphasizing movement and flow so this was definitely new territory for me !

I'll talk about my simplification process below !

The easiest way to go about simplifying transformer designs is reducing them to their basic shapes and then building them back up. You can see it a lot in G1. Since G1 characters are designed to be animated (and also look like toys) they can't make their designs too complex so it makes a good starting point when breaking bots down.

The comic designs are a different story. Because it's a different medium, artists can go ham with details.

IDW Thundercracker has a lot going on ! You can see all his mechanics and joints, he looks a bit overwhelming to draw !

G1 Thundercracker is more blocky and simplified, definitely less intimidating to draw, he's mostly just cubes

When I simplify transformers, I break them down and then gradually add details. I think about it like carving out a statue, you have your block of marble and you carve out details until you're happy. You definitely do NOT need to draw every detail, I always leave out a bunch of detailed parts in favor of simplicity.

Let's simplify IDW Thundercracker, if you break him down into shapes, he is also just cubes. The red underneath is my initial sketch and the blue outline is just there to show the shapes.

It also helps to have an understanding of perspective and the way 3D shapes work.

I'd say this is the base for him ! He follows almost the same base as g1, we're keeping it blocky but I do take liberty to taper parts of the body like towards the knees and or along the arms to give my pose some fluidity. Then we shove on his details bit by bit

A lot of it is just picking and choosing design elements you like about a character and finding ways to make it fit onto the design. Thundercracker's IDW design has these cool ribs that go along his torso and I tried to include that while simplifying it.

Something I try to avoid is shoving as Many details as possible onto a design. It can make the design look cluttered and busy and that might be good if that's what you're going for but it's just not for me. I find that more details make it harder to pose my robots so I keep it minimal.

Applying color also gives you a good look at how much room your design has. Here's TC colored !

I could stop here and call him done but I think he looks a bit too spacious so I'm going to add some more details. Here's where I get a bit wild and kind of just do what I want. For me, the references are a base and as I get further along down the design I add seasoning to taste. More plating, different hues and colors, bits and baubles, and artistic flare. Here's where I wind up !

I'm happy with this ! I think Anymore detail and he would be a bit too cluttered (his wings are already reaching the Clutter Point for me)

As you draw more and more designs you'll develop an eye for what you like ! The world is your oyster and you can always go back and redesign/adjust !

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

What's Left of Me is Yours

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Established Relationship)

Warnings: stalking (non-graphic but escalating), emotional distress, possessiveness, dark Bucky, reference to past Winter Soldier conditioning, implied violence, breakdowns, morally gray themes, reader called baby and is referred as his girl once

Summary: You didn’t want Bucky to know about the stalking. Not just because you were scared but because you knew what it could cost him. What it would pull out of him. But the second he finds out someone’s been watching you… he gives you a truth that chills you deeper than the fear ever could.

You didn’t mean for him to find out. You knew what it would do to him.

You’d worked so hard to hide the anxiety--the notes left under your door; the photos sent from an untraceable number. The feeling of being watched even while brushing your teeth. You didn’t want to be a burden. Didn’t want him to slip.

Because Bucky doesn’t just protect.

Bucky destroys.

So you lied.

For weeks, you lied.

Until tonight.

Until you stepped into your apartment and found the photo on your bed. A picture of you walking to the corner store. Alone. Vulnerable.

Scrawled across the bottom in smudged ink:

“You're even prettier up close.”

Your knees gave out. You don’t remember calling him. But you must’ve, because when you look up, Bucky is crouched in front of you, hands shaking, eyes like ice cracked wide open.

Now Bucky’s been hunted before. He knows the look of prey. And from the way your shoulders twitch. The way your head turns just a bit too often on crowded streets. The phone gripped like a weapon you’ll never use. He knows you’re being someone's prey because he’s seen it in the mirror. That quiet fear. The dread that stalks you even when you’re not being followed.

“Baby,” he whispers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your lip trembles. “I-I didn’t want it to be serious, didn't want you to worry. I didn’t want you to go back to… that...that place.” That place. The part of him you never name. But he’s already there. He rises to his feet. Paces once. Twice. Then stops, fists clenched at his sides.

“I need you to understand something,” he says. Voice low. Controlled. Terrifying. “If someone’s watching you, if someone thinks they can follow you, threaten you, touch you. I will find them. I am looking for them. And when I do—” His voice drops to a whisper. “There’s no line I won’t cross.”

Your heart pounds in your throat. “Bucky—”

He turns to you. Not frantic. Not angry. Just… honest.

“I would become him again. Happily,” he says. “I would be the Winter Soldier all over again if that’s what it takes. If that’s what keeps you safe. If that's what keeps you happy and out of harm, I would tear the trigger words out of the earth and let them take me if it meant you’d never be afraid again.”

You stare at him, stunned. Frozen.

“I’d choose it, baby,” he breathes, stepping forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’d lock away everything good left in me, every bit of peace I’ve clawed back, and become the weapon they made me if it meant you’d sleep through one night, if you could go to the store without looking over your shoulder.”

You don’t notice the tears flowing until you hear your voice crack. “You can’t say that.”

“I mean it,” he says. “And I know how fucked up that sounds. But you’re everything. You’re all the good I have. I’d do anything to keep you safe. Even if I’d have to be a monster again. You are mine; nothing can hurt you.”

You collapse into him, fists twisting in his shirt, sobbing into his chest.

And he just holds you. Quiet. Fierce.

“Whoever he is,” Bucky says darkly, “he’s already dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He didn't sleep that night. You don’t notice, he holds you through the dark like always. But the second your breathing slows, and your body goes limp against his, he gets up. Silently, smoothly. Like he was never human to begin with. 

By morning, he has your stalker’s name.

By noon, he knows all his habits, knows where he works, where he goes after work, knows where he lives, hell Bucky now knew where his mother lives.

By evening, Bucky has stood close enough to smell his cologne and imagine how his windpipe would feel like with his metal hand wrapped around it. How it would feel between a metal thumb and forefinger.

But he doesn’t touch him. Not yet. Predators don’t just pounce. They plan. And Bucky had lots of plans for his newest prey.

You don’t notice anything right away, not until the texts stop. Then you realize there were no more gifts. No more photos. No more notes. For the first time in months, you felt your shoulders relax, and your lungs fill with air once again.

However, somewhere in the city, there was a man who was hardly breathing. A man with a bruised throat, a few broken ribs and a lot of broken fingers. That man was told two promises, his body cringed into itself hearing the eerily calm, eerily quiet tone that the soldier that just finished torturing him contained. "If I ever find out that you are scaring my girl again...I will be the last thing you ever see. Honestly if you ever breath near her let alone look in her direction again no one will be able to find what's left of you."

Bucky left the man in a random back alley; he wiped blood off of his knuckles as he walked home to you. A smile creeped onto his face knowing he is keeping you safe once again.

He walks into the apartment and finds it dark and still, the only noise coming from the air conditioner in the window. Bucky eased his way through the small home; he kept himself quiet assuming you were asleep. Once he ends up wrapping himself around you like a barrier, he kisses your head and whispers:

“I’ll never let Hydra take me again. But if it’s for you, fuck baby… I’ll go willingly.”

What he misses is the small smile you fight back from hearing his vow. You know it should terrify you...and it does but it also saves you all at once.

If you like my work please let me know! Reblogging, commenting and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Request are open <3

Tagging:

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[rainrot4me]

creepypastas and sex toys?

Heheheheheheh

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

Handcuffs & Vibrating Plug.

Jeff doesn’t usually plan ahead—but when you surprise him with toys, he’s obsessed. Especially anything that lets him control your pleasure.

He’s got a thing for binding—rough leather cuffs, maybe a collar—and that evil little vibrating plug you made the mistake of letting him try.

“You’re not tapping out already, are you?”

Toys are a challenge to him. And he wins challenges.

✦ . ticci toby

Remote-Controlled Vibrators.

Toby’s manic energy turns ravenous when toys are involved. He LOVES anything he can control from a distance.

He’ll hide a vibe under your clothes and turn it on while you’re mid-conversation. In public. No shame. In the middle of mission-planning while riding in a truck full of proxies.

“Keep talking. Pretend nothing’s happening.”

The way your face changes drives him insane. If it’s got a remote and makes you squirm—he wants ten of them.

✦ . eyeless jack

Silicone Restraints & Blindfolds.

Jack’s a sensory fiend. He likes silk, satin, leather—anything that removes one of your senses so he can overwhelm the rest.

He especially loves blindfolds, paired with soft restraints and slow, dragging touches.

“Don’t guess what I’m doing. Just feel it.”

Toys for him are about control, but also intimacy. He uses them to draw things out, to make you feel how deep his attention runs.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Gags & Rope.

Tim doesn’t mess around. He’s into full scenes. Rope-work that takes time. Knots that mean something.

And the gag? That’s not just for show. That’s to hear your muffled sounds and see the way you fall apart. He gets all hot and bothered by you drooling around it.

“You’re beautiful like this. Every damn inch.”

He keeps his gear clean, prepped, folded in a locked box. He’s not new to this—he’s just very quiet about how much he enjoys it.

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

Vibrating Dildos & Camera.

Oh, Brian. You already know. He gives you that look—like he’s done terrible things in the back of his mind—and you’re about to be in them.

He loves teasing toys. Loves toys with apps. Loves filming you squirming and whispering,

“Smile for me. Just like that.”

You’ll find yourself forcefully sat on a thick dildo, hips not allowed to move as he watches you clench and with upon it. It’s a slow fall apart, but a satisfying one to watch back on later.

✦ . kate the chaser

Clit Sucker & Mirror Play.

Kate’s not ashamed of loving her toys. She’s got a drawer full, and she’s not shy about using them with you.

Her favorite? Clit sucker, mirror nearby, arms held behind your back. She wants you watching.

“You’re gonna sit there and see how good I make you feel.”

She loves domination, but also wants you to enjoy every second of being hers.

✦ . ben drowned

Console-Controlled Auto-Thrusting Machine & Phone Play.

You give this digital menace one toy that syncs to an app or console and he loses his mind. A dildo hooked onto the end of a machine, thrusting into you as fast as he pleases.

He’ll program patterns. Link it to boss fights. Set it to speed up every time he gets a kill in PvP.

“Oops. You better hope I don’t win again.”

He lives for this dynamic. Video game punishment and reward system—just for you.

✦ . clockwork

Strap & Dildo Collection.

Natalie is precise and powerful—and when she brings out the strap? You’re not walking right for a while.

She keeps a collection. Custom colors. Textures. Sizes. She lets you choose. Sometimes. Definitely has a Bad Dragon subscription.

“Pick the one you think you can handle. Then I’ll show you how wrong you are.”

She cleans her toys like they’re sacred. Because in a way? With you—they are.

✦ . laughing jack

Edging Toys & Feathers.

Jack’s a playful menace. He uses toys like they’re part of a circus act: feather ticklers, clit pumps, vibes with too many settings.

He loves anything that makes you beg. His whole thing is anticipation and delay. He enjoys running tassels across you and seeing the goosebumps rise.

“Aww, did you think you were gonna finish? Silly little treat.”

If it buzzes, pulses, writhes, or wiggles—he owns it. You’re not leaving until you’re seeing stars.

✦ . slenderman

Restraint Furniture, Paddles, & Soundplay Toys.

Slender has the luxury edition of everything. He doesn’t do “cheap” toys. His tastes are refined, devastating, and deeply curated.

Bondage furniture, paddles, glass toys. He uses sound toys—ones that hum so low they make you ache. He likes to spank you hard enough little beads of blood appear on your skin.

“Be still. Let me watch you come apart.”

You never even see him move. You blink, and the next thing you feel is pure ecstasy.

꩜ .ᐟ