#stop reblogging this without the second reblog i made you're missing the whole joke

[snaxle]

i am not calling twitter fucking x

[astromaki]

part 2 of 5000 $ - shoto todoroki x fem!reader (1597 words)

part 1. (previous)

tw ; minors dni, angst, nsfw, toxic relationship, mention of cheating and breakup, shoto is a complete bastard here

you finally did it.

you broke up with him a week ago. for real this time, not like the last hundred times you'd yelled at him that he was a heartless jerk. just so he could get you into bed the second you calmed down.

no, you threw him in the trash the day after that party. by message, but it was a start.

even your social media status had gone from 'in a relationship' to 'single <3', you'd even reinstalled tinder, and accepted follow requests on instagram from those boys in the same class as you in college.

and shoto seemed to have abandoned you too. no news from him, and you hadn't even run into him on campus in the last few days.

so why did it still hurt to think about him ? why did your lips refuse to say his name ? and why the fuck did your sheets still smell like him despite the many machines ?

so you could tell that you felt a little joy when you saw this message.

he had sent you this two days ago.

and it's been two days, you've been wondering if it was a good idea to see him again right away.

never mind, you were already at his door. besides, you didn't have to talk to him, just take back what belonged to you and go home. it couldn't go wrong ? right ? it's ridiculous, you even had to convince yourself now.

you knocked, once, twice, three times. you could hear someone inside. and you knew he didn't have a roommate. this rich kid could buy the whole building if he wanted.

fuck. you just had to go in and get your stuff, and it's like you were never there. he wouldn't notice you were there.

you opened the door, and were surprised to see a second pair of shoes at the entrance next to shoto's sneakers. which is more like a pair of rather feminine shoes, pumps.

a strange feeling made you shiver. it wasn't like you to track down your exes, but you don't remember seeing a new girl with shoto on social medias.

slight, imperceptible sighs escaped from his room a little further into the apartment. bed squeaks, that male growl you knew all too well.

fuck. fucking hell.

you knew what it was, you knew what those noises were, who was causing them. why he had asked you to come and get those so-called forgotten things.

and yet you still walked to his room, your brain screaming at you to turn around and stay away from that boy and his unmitigated evil. your heart telling you the opposite, to keep going to find out if he still cared about you. no matter how small, you wanted to know, you had to know, if you ever meant anything to him.

or if you were just a joke, that he could throw a little money around.

"shoto, fuck, yes, right there oh fuc-"

you felt tears welling up in your eyes when you finally saw shoto vulgarly fucking a girl in that room, where you used to spend all your evenings.

but that wasn't the worst part. it was that he had taken your best friend to bed, ochako.

"you're so fucking good, i -" he says in a low voice.

he had already created that crack in your heart. but now ?

his blue and gray eyes finally met yours, his gaze was nothing but arrogance and contempt. the only things he ever felt for you. and even though he was fucking your best friend, busy pacing back and forth, he had the nerve to look you up and down. a smirk lit up his face.

and that asshole finally said the three words he never disdained to say to you.

"i love you ochako," he finally said, looking you straight in the eye. you're the best sex i've ever had. "

his words were spoken clearly, slowly, so that they were articulate for you to hear. a mixture of anger, and sorrow suddenly overtook you

as if you had come back to reality, you suddenly left the room. your steps were disordered, you had lost all your balance, gravity seemed to be slightly stronger. your hands dropped some objects on your way.

what was wrong with you? why?

ochako had finally noticed you after her orgasm, and weakly called out your name, as if begging you to come back would make things better. that he was cheating on you was one thing, but with her ? the one who had pushed you to leave him?

you could hear heavy footsteps following you down the hallway to the front door. and a muscular hand grabbed your wrist to turn you around in one simple motion.

obviously, who else ?

"so you just walk into people's houses without knocking now?"

wow, how did he manage to make you hate him a little more every time he opened his mouth ?

"stop it. don't mess with me. you sent me a message to come in today to get my stuff." your voice was firm.

his face was as haughty as ever, yet he already seemed a little more natural and relaxed than the other times. you would have found it attractive if it wasn't after a romp with your best friend.

"ah, that's right. and so it's okay? you got everything? "

his deceptively kind voice made you want to scream. to take anything and throw it at him. he still had this annoying habit of driving you crazy even after you'd broken up. you wanted to hurt him like he'd been hurting you for months.

but your shaky, broken voice didn't reflect your desires. you were about to cry.

"i don't understand why? why you're being so mean to me. i'm not stupid, shoto, i know that you invited me here today just to see you fuck her."

his face hadn't changed, nor had his eyes. he was glaring at you miserably. as usual.

"i was hoping we could talk if i came to your door so we could maybe work things out, get off to a good start." and it's true, that message he sent you had falsely given you false hope. and you had fallen off the deep end.

a slight sigh escaped his lips. that slight sigh that made the cup overflow.

"why do you care ? we broke up, right ?"he said it in such a carefree tone.

"fuk you shoto. fuck you. you don't even realize how fucking toxic you are! you throw money around to get what you want, you fuck with people and play with their feelings! you're a fucking asshole. and you're a lot like your father for someone who hates him deeply. "

your words of hatred and anger that you had been building up for weeks, for fucking months, poured out on him like a lava flow.

it was mean, it was sincere, and it hurt shoto. it hurt him to see that he had done too much this tim.

his emotionless gaze watched you get angry, cry, push him, hit him, dry your tears that he couldn't tell if they were of melancholy or rage. he saw you push his hand away as he tried desperately to calm you down.

you couldn't see it, too busy screaming and drying your tears, but you managed to wring a sincere expression from shoto.

he was just panicking. he was panicking because he knew he had crossed the point of no return. that not even $5,000 or $10,000 or even $50,000 would bring you back.

his love, full of flaws, who never knew a healthy role model from his parents, would not be enough to make you stay. not to leave him alone.

because we know the cliché, the rich boy who didn't know how to love. didn't even know how to make the one person who always cared about his own selfish self, stay. but that was shoto though. he was that boy who only had toxic love to give.

but please don't leave him for good, he was begging you mentally.

if he had put his pride aside to express himself or even make you understand, maybe you wouldn't have left.

"i hate you shoto todoroki. i fucking hate you. but know that you'll end up alone, you and your stupid money. and i'll be the first to laugh. "

fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck.

" i- y/n just wait- "

he didn't think you'd hate him so much. the young man knew he was just an asshole with a fat bank account. he just thought that by fucking your best friend he'd get you to come back to him, out of desperation, out of a desperate love.

he didn't think he would feel such a pressure on his chest when he saw you slam the door, leaving him alone in the apartment with your best friend and a big hole in his heart.

he didn't think he'd regret his actions. he was a rich guy who always wanted what he wanted, whether it was money or sex. so you were easy. right ?

he never imagined that he would miss your perfume, your exasperating smiles, that he would miss you.

you were barely gone, and he knew he would miss you.

a/n ; i've never written such a nasty shoto sorry 😟 kinda want to leave this story like this...

please lemme know what you thought about this second part, should i make a third one ? (+ reblogs are appreciated <3)

🔖 taglist; @deepestranchgoopdeputy @kizuatonoaiko

[nashibirne]

Intellectual Stimulation

This is a follow-up to my first Mike fic (My Best Mistake), which was a huge flop 🙈 but I hope you like the second part better...if so, please leave me a comment, reblog or like 💜 You can read this without knowing part 1 though!

Pairing: Mike x y/n

Summary: Mike wants to impress his girlfriend by being a little more sophisticated

Words: ~ 1.8 k

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, unprotected sex, dry humping, vaginal sex, creampie, creampie eating

NO BETA! English is not my mother tongue, so expect bad grammar, wrong spelling, chaotic punctuation and clumsy language. All mistakes are mine…

Credits: I don’t own anything related to Hellraiser: Hellworld! A huge thank you to @nix-akimbo for the edit of Mike with glasses. I loved using it for the moodboard, the other pics are from pinterest. I don't know who invented Professor Cavill, but credits to you too because I briefly mention him in this story. I quote parts of "The Picture Of Dorian Gray" by Oscar Wilde.

You can find my other fics on my masterlist.

Taglist (please let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @hell1129-blog @mis-lil-red @agniavateira @kebabgirl67 @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @summersong69 @taebfada @xxxkatxo @artandotherdelights @notabronte @littlefreya @luclittlepond @eldarwen333 @meowpurrbooks @marantha @liliumdream @enchantedbytomandhenry @greensleeves888 @witcherfan @margauxmargaux07 @radaofrivia @m07belzen @a-little-counter-esperanto @starstruckkittyangel @mary-ann84 @sillyrabbit81 @emelinelovesjc @wheretheriversrunintothesea @lam0ureuxq

Off we go...

*********

Premise: Mike and his girlfriend have been together for a few months now and everything could be perfect if there wasn't that one little problem called Professor Cavill. He's y/n's lecturer in English literature and she talks about that boomer with the good looks and the tweed jackets and the dad jeans way too often. Plus Mike has seen the way the old debaucher looks at y/n when they meet him on campus. So in short, Mike is annoyed with the guy who seems to be some kind of intellectual superman, especially because he can't keep up with him. Not a bit. When he met y/n for the first time he impressed her by reciting a poem but unfortunately it is the only poem he knows. He isn't sophisticated and although y/n keeps telling him she doesn't care he feels bad and decides to do something about it.

I take a look around the room one last time and yes, everything looks perfect. It's clean and tidy, I made the beds with fresh sheets, I placed some very pretty flowers on my desk and most importantly, I bought a huge box of vintage books plus a special item at a rummage sale. The books are strategically placed in the room in little piles - beside the bed, on the shelf, on the little table beside my sofa and on the floor in the corner of the room. The special item is sitting on my nose and I really hope y/n is not going to burst laughing when she sees me.

Where is she anyway? Late of course, as usual. I take one of the books and open it to read the first pages again. I want to be prepared in the best way possible. The book is old and the cover looks strange but cool. Antiquated of course but still somehow modern with the half-rotten scull and the snobby looking guy printed in black and gold on it. Very avant-garde, Professor Dickhead would say I guess, artsy-fartsy I say.

When I hear the key in the front door I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and turn around with a big smile.

"I'm sorry, I know I'm late. I missed my bus." She returns my smile, hardly looking at me because she has problems with removing her key from the lock. "You really have to change the lock, baby. One day my key will break off."

"Sure. First thing tomorrow, sweet cheeks."

She looks at me, surprised by the enthusiasm in my voice and now, on second sight, she sees it.

"Mike! Oh my god…", she says, covering her mouth with her hands, "what the fuck? You look great!"

"You like it?" I give her a smirk and step closer to greet her with a soft kiss on her pretty lips.

"I love it! But why? I mean...you don't need glasses. I'm confused." She laughs light-heartedly and I grin. "It's just clear glass. I thought you might like me looking a little more sophisticated." I wiggle my head with a grin and she smiles, cupping my face with her hands. "I love you just the way you are, but I have to admit the glasses are damn sexy on you." She gets on her toes to kiss me and I hug her tightly.

"So what are we up to tonight? You said you have special plans for us?"

"Just take a look around, I'm sure you can figure it out." I plop down on the sofa and look at her expectantly.

"Umm...well. You tidied up your mess…"

"Yep. But there's more."

"Fresh sheets...wait...the books. You don't have so many books," she giggles before taking a closer look at one of the piles. "Out of Africa?" She raises her eyebrows and I grin.

"Some are for the heart, some are for the brain." I grab the artsy book and show it to her.

"Ooh...I adore Oscar Wilde. The Picture of Dorian Gray is my favorite!"

"I know, you mentioned it when you were talking about Professor Know-it-all's class the other day."

She rolls her eyes and it looks fucking cute. No, wait, it looks absolutely enchanting! I should adapt my vocabulary to my new look.

"Is this about Professor Cavill? Are you still jealous?"

"I'm not a bit jealous but I thought it wouldn't hurt to broaden my horizon by reading some classics and if you want to, we could read some stuff to each other and talk about it? Like our own private book club. What do you think, babe?"

"That's a great idea. Count me in." She kisses me again before cocking her head, looking at me with a smirk. "Fuck, these glasses really suit you, baby. You look so hot..."

"Please, Miss. Show me a little respect. I want to be desired for my keen intellect, not for my extraordinary good looks", I joke with an exaggerated frown.

"Idiot!" Y/n laughs out loud and nudges me playfully, "so you're all brains today, huh? Then bring it on. Read to me like one of your french girls." She plops down beside me and I snicker at her Titanic reference. I love the movie -don't you dare tell anyone-, and she hates it because she finds it boring but she still watches it with me whenever I'm in the mood for it. Okay….she usually falls asleep with her head in my lap after 15 minutes but it's the thought that counts and in return I do some cultural stuff with her, exhibitions and such. We went to a vernissage last week and to a reading in a bookstore the other day. So, you see... it's high time for some intellectual stimulation.

"Of course. Let's see what we've got here", I splay my fingers in an affected manner and grab the frame of my glasses with my thumb and middle finger to adjust them before I clear my throat and start to read, putting an extra dark timbre into my voice.

"The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn."

I look up from the book to see that y/n obviously likes my reading voice. She seems captivated and I like the way she gazes at me so adoringly. "Go on", she says softly and I continue.

"From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flamelike as theirs;"

I read the first few pages and I start to like both, the book and the growing erotic tension between me and y/n. She moves closer to me with every paragraph. After I turn the pages for the first time I feel her hand on my thigh, after I do it for the second time she starts to stroke me through my jeans and I sigh before I concentrate on the poetic words again. While Lord Henry and Basil Hallward talk about bane and boon of extraordinary talent, brains and beauty, I get hard under her touch. I stop reading to kiss her but she shakes her head and nods at the book. "No. Go on, Mike. Read." Her voice is thick with desire now and it turns me on even more but I give her what she wants.

"“Harry,”said Basil Hallward, looking him straight in the face, “every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself."

I moan when y/n decides to straddle my lap. She hitches up her boho style maxi skirt before she sits down and all that's between my hard-on and her sweet pussy now is the delicate lace of her panties and the thick fabric of my jeans. The sexy crochet bralette top she wears is not really helpful. Just Oscar Wilde separates me from her spectacular breasts right now. I'm about to put the book aside but she stops me again. "Keep reading." She rubs herself over my boner and looks me in the eyes with a teasing smile. I think this is a promising start to whatever is going to follow and so I go on and on. She's dry humping me now with slow motions, rolling her hips, riding me with closed eyes. I moan again, I'm so turned on I can hardly speak anymore but I try my very best to keep my girl entertained.

"I turned half-way round and saw Dorian Gray for the first time. When our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale. A curious sensation of terror came over me. I knew that I had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself."

And that's it. That's the moment of escalation. We are no longer able to control ourselves and y/n takes the book from my hands and throws it away carelessly before she starts to kiss me with a passion I've never tasted on her tongue before. While we make out like love-crazed predators she opens my belt and my fly and she lifts her butt to allow me to get rid of my pants and boxers. She takes off her top and I push her panties aside, feeling how wet she already is. Wet and eager to take my cock. She sinks down onto my dick slowly and the feeling of stretching her tight pussy is as sensational as ever. I grab her ass and knead her juicy cheeks while kissing and sucking her boobs and her hard nipples. I know how much it turns her on when I bite those little rosy buds and caress her breasts, one time she even came when I took real good care of her tits while she was jerking me off.

But today she rides me and I thrust into her hot core with strong movements, rocking my pelvis rhythmically, and we kiss passionately while my hands roam all over her body. I can tell she's about to come by her breath that's going fast and by the naughty little things she whispers hoarsely into my ear. "Yes, babe...fuck me hard, fuck me rough," and "deeper, Mike, I need your dick deeper" or "I'm so close. Can you feel how close I am?" When she stops moving because she cums with a long, drawn sigh, her body trembling, her cunt clenching around my dick, I hug her tightly, pressing her down, forcing her to take even more of me and after a few fast thrusts I cum too, filling her up with my seed and I can't wait to see it drip from her pussy.

I know it sounds a bit pervy but I love to see the mess I've made and to taste our mixed juices on my tongue. She climbs down from my lap and lays down beside me with spread legs and I bend down to lick her dripping cunt clean, lapping everything up with slow, sensual licks while y/n plays with my dark curls, enjoying the sensation of my tongue between her legs.

When we are lying in my bed cuddled up at each other a few minutes later y/n kisses me tenderly. "I'll need you to read to me like this every day now." I smirk and wink at her. "With the glasses?"

"With the glasses", she giggles and her soft laughter sounds the bell for the next chapter of our intellectual stimulation.

[msmarvelwrites]

Season Of The Witch - Part 3

Summary: Your witchy abilities get you in quite a bit of trouble from time to time… But this time you don’t mind so much. 

Pairing: Bucky x reader 

Warnings: Swearing, Anxious reader, implied smut but still 18+ pleasee! 

Word Count: 2.7k

Author's Note: Hey you guys! Hope everyone is having a good week so far! It’s been a long couple few days here, but I’m feeling productive today so here we are. Happy reading! Please like and reblog if youve read, your support means so much to me! 

Thank you forever to @cutie1365​ for all her help and advice on this fic. She’s killing it and you should definitely go check out her work! 

You sat, defeated and mentally drained in the wreckage that was your bedroom floor. After you ripped almost everything out of your closet it was decided, you simply could not go tonight. All you wanted to do was sink into the floor and let the miss-matched fabric swallow you whole without surrender. It could be the idea of spending the night surrounded by screaming thoughts… It could also be the frigid rejection you had received earlier from Bucky, but either way your fate was sealed. It was better if you just bailed. Peter would be disappointed he wouldn't have someone to escape the ‘adult-ier adults’ with him, but he would understand. Wanda, however, would not be so forgiving. 

The knock on your bedroom door sufitialtly pulled you from your own daydreams. 

“Miss Y/L/N, Miss Maximoff is here to see you. Shall I let her in?” The A.I. spoke. You rolled your eyes, a groan slipping from your lips as you hawled yourself off the floor and onto the bed. “Yes, thank you, Friday.” You mumbled. 

Seconds later, Wanda was skipping into your room with a shy grin smoothed over her pink lips. You knew that look all too well, and to this day, it worried you. 

“Hello there friend.” She chimed, swinging the fabric bag she carried onto the bed and taking a seat beside you. “I can see I’ve interrupted your existential crisis.” She chuckled, gesturing to the mess you had made. 

“I’m not going, Wan.” You stated, watching her carefully as she rolled her eyes.

“Like hell you're not going. What’s Bucky going to do without you to shadow?” He chided, eyeing you carefully. She was watching for a reaction, anything to confirm her suspicions. She had probed you for information this time last week. You couldn't hide from her, she knew you too well. Not only in her gifts, but also in spirit. She was one of the first people you really opened up to, and she often used that against you. Especially when trying to discover why you andBucky seemed to be in a much better mood lately. ‘Antidepressants’ was your final answer. 

“I actually don't care what Bucky does. Maybe he’ll get lucky with Steve tonight.” You joked. God you hoped you were joking. 

“Shut up, Y/n. I know somethings going on with you two.” 

“Who two?” Peter inclined striding into your room and flopping onto the bed, his head sitting between you and Wanda as he looked up at her. 

“Y/n and Bucky are doing it.” She indulged him as his face fell. He crawled around so he could look at you dead on, his face contorting into that of disgust. 

“You and- and… Mr. Barnes? No…” He grimaced, shaking his head like he had tasted something sour. 

“No! There is nothing going on between Bucky and I.” you insisted, glaring at Wanda. 

“Don’t listen to her, Peter. She’s a filthy liar. And she’s totally banging Barnes.” Wanda giggled as you shoved her into the pillows. 

“Banging? Oh god no- I’m picturing it… Make it stop!” Peter gagged sarcastically, toppling over onto Wanda as they both fell into a fit of laughter. 

“I don't know why I tolerate you two.” You chuckled, watching your friends writhe on the bed. In a moment of distraction, Peter grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you down on top of him. 

“You know you need us. What would you do, huh? hangout with Steve the ninety year old virgin? And I know you avoid Natasha like the plague because everytime you see her she drags you to the gym… No, no you need us.” Peter smiled, tucking one of his arms under his neck as he shifted onto his back. You laid there on the bed between him and Wanda as you all contemplated that. 

“If I tell you, you have to promise it stays between us. I’m looking at you, Parker. Stark canNOT know about it.” You signed, glaring at him until he nodded. “So… Maybe it's possible Bucky and I might be… I don’t know what you’d even call it… I guess we're trying to…” 

“Is bump nasty’s still a term?” Wanda asked, false innocence in her eyes as she looked at you. Both you and Peter threw your heads back laughing and he elbowed her. 

“That’s awful.” Peter giggled, pointing his finger in his mouth and gagging. 

You spent the next hour explaining what was really going on between you and Bucky. How you were definitely not ‘bumping nasties’ and that it was just pure and new and so, so incredibly hot. 

“You have to go tonight.” Wanda sighed, holding up a little black dress infront of the floor length mirror.

“And do what?” You huffed, falling back on the bed and worrying on your bottom lip. “Bucky basically ran out of the room the moment I brought up the idea of-”

“Bumping Nasties?” Peter piped up, to which Wanda rocketed a pillow at his face, the crimson current sizzling around it. 

“Yeah, that.” You chuckled, letting your face drop in your hands. This was just embarrassing. You’d never been so hung up on a guy before. But then again, Bucky wasn't just some guy. 

“If only you could know what he was thinking…” Wanda smirked, turning on her heel and silently asking Peters approval of the dress. He shrugged in response, gaining a frustrated eye roll from the redhead. 

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t mean to listen in… It’s an invasion of privacy.” 

“That's never stopped you before.” Peter argued, a goofy smile plastered on his lips. 

“Listen, read his mind- don't read his mind. It doesn't matter. The guy is obviously crazy about you. He’s always so dark and gloomy but lately the guy actually smiles. I heard him laugh the other day,” Wanda smirked, sitting beside you on the bed. “At one of Sam’s jokes.” She finished. 

“Yeah, Y/n. You gotta go. Do it for us. Also because you're the only one who will sneak me booze under the table.” Peter chuckled, his bottom lip wobbling as he pleaded with you. 

“Fine. But only because drunk Peter is the better Peter.” 

Wanda nodded her head in agreeance, grabbing the fabric bag off the bed and throwing it in your lap. “Perfect. Wear this, I picked it out specially for you…”

The thumping sound of music vibrated through the hallway as you tangled yourself in the orange and black tassels hanging from the door. You always liked Halloween as a rule, but Tony’s parties were starting to put a damper on your fun. 

You had thought that Bucky would have met you at your room to escort you to the event. He knew how badly you dreaded going, but he never showed. Maybe you had read him all wrong, you thought. Maybe this was all in your head, piecing together his thoughts into something you wanted to hear rather than the truth. Maybe the dress that Wanda had picked out for you was starting to cut off the circulation to your brain because it was getting harder and harder to think straight… Or was that just the music drowning out your mindless babble. 

“Good evening, beautiful.” Peter hummed from beside you. His presence startled you as you hadn't heard him coming. He held out his arm offering it for you to hold. “Are you going in?” 

The question hung in the air for a moment before you finally nodded your head, swallowing hard and taking his arm. It was moments like this that you were thankful for Peter. Truthfully you knew if he wasn't standing right there you might have ran for your life, bunkering down in your room in a blanket fort. 

“Such a gentleman.” You cooed, resting your head on his shoulder as he walked you into the party. 

“Nah, just a friendly neighborhood spider man. It’s good for my street cred, nothing more.” You brushed you off, pulling you into the buzzing room. 

Voices filled your head, swirling around you as you tried to concentrate on just one. There had to be at least a hundred people here tonight. They crashed over you, swarming in your mind like bees in a hive. It had been forever since you had been in a crowd like this and the anxiety was starting to coarse through your veins. 

“Hey. You're alright.” Peter assured you, pulling you across the room and over to the bar where Sam and Nat sat, laughing at something Tony had said. 

“Well if it isn't the wicked witch of NewYork.” Sam called, pulling you into his chest. “Your shadow is around her somewhere. Probably off staring longingly at Steve.” He chuckled. You rolled your eyes, gnawing at your bottom lip as you scanned the room. Lo and behold, Bucky stood in the corner of the room with Steve, his eyebrows fused into a knot as his friend spoke something you couldn't make out over the booming music. 

“He’s looking more pissy than usual.” Nat snorted, watching you as you gawked at the man. You didn't notice the small smirk that had appeared on her lips as she pieced together your frustration. 

“Nah, that's just his resting face.” Tony quipped, pouring a tall glass of liquor and sliding it across the bar to you. You picked it up, lifting it to your lips and downing it seconds later as you clanked it back on the counter. 

“Keep em’ coming. You guys are loud tonight.” You mumbled, your brain already beginning buzz as you forced your friends on ‘mute’. It was like a constant sit-up, you liked to describe. Eventually your body would cave and their thoughts would rush in, but the alcohol helped numb the ache and kept them at bay. 

With another double in hand, you decided the liquid courage was exactly what you needed to confront the ‘gentleman’ he so eloquently had put. 

As you closed in you noticed Steve elbowing Bucky, altering him of your presence. At the sight of you, his face fell, his eyes darting to the floor. 

“Evening geriatrics.” You chuckled, downing your drink as mustering every fiber in your body to make eye contact with the ethereal man before you. To your dismay, he was staring back, his eyes a violent thunderstorm you were on the verge of losing yourself in. You swallowed hard, clearing your throat and attempting to calm your nerves as you scanned him over. 

“Bucky. You look… Nice.” You choked out. His navy blue dress shirt was tucked neatly into his dark washed jeans, his hair perfectly placed in a way you knew had taken him forever before he was content to leave his room. The idea made you smile, but only for a moment as the sinking feeling crept back into the pit of your stomach. 

“I’ll leave you two, to… Talk.” Steve waved his goodbyes, pulling you into a side hug and whispering in a hushed tone, “Take it easy on him.” 

With that, Steve was gone, leaving you alone and vulnerable. 

“You look incredible.” Bucky hummed, his eyes falling down your form, but his face remained unreadable. 

Don’t just stand there, do something… Apologize… Kiss her… God, just stop staring and- 

“I should apologize- for earlier. I shouldn't have run out on you like that. It won't happen again.” Bucky mumbled, his hands, vibranium and flesh stuffed in his jean pockets. You were caught off guard to say the least. You were ready, guns drawn to defend yourself, but there stood the infamous Winter Soldier, cowering before you like a lost puppy. Your eyes softened as a small smile pulled at the corner of your lips. 

“Why did you leave?” You finally spoke, “I didn't mean to push you… Bucky, rushing is the last thing I wanted to do. If you want to-”

“No!” He blurted. 

“No?” 

“You're not rushing me. Damn, doll. I’m trying my best here, but you're walking around in that dress, with those lips and all I want to do is…” He trailed off, his eyes falling on your best as he worried on his bottom lip. 

“So its my fault?” You gawked. 

“No!” He almost shouted, lowering his voice when he caught a few unwarranted eyes at his tone. “It’s my fault. Y/n, I’m trying so hard to be respectful. I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m completely out of my depth here. This used to be so easy and now… The rules have changed and I can’t keep up and all I know if I want to throw you over my shoulder right now and haul you back to my room and make you mine. I just… It’s just that I’ve never…” 

You gaped at him, caught off guard by his confession as you waited for his next words, but his thoughts broke through the air before he could speak. 

Never used my arm as anything but a means to an end… You’re going to kill her with it… How can she see you as anything but a monster…? Doesn't she know how easy it would be to lose control…? It would take minutes… Seconds… 

“Bucky…” You hummed, your hand resting on his metallic arm as you pulled him from his self destructive thoughts. His eyes pleaded with you, boring into your soul. “Dance with me.” 

He stared at you, opening and shutting his mouth, trying to speak. It wasn't a question, but he nodded anyways, allowing you to pull him into the crowd of people swaying back and forth to the lulling music. 

You took the lead, lifting his metal hand and placing it on your hip. You intertwined your fingers with his flesh hand, stumbling forward as he pulled you in, his strength startling you a little. 

Oh, god…. Be gentle… Don’t break her, you ass. 

You chuckled, resting your head against his chest as you relaxed into his form. His heart beat drawing out the incoherent thoughts around you. You swayed back and forth like that, until Bucky’s breathing returned to normal again. Your hand trailed down from his shoulder to his cool metal fingers. They tightened around your waist at your touch as he stiffened, holding in a breath. 

“I’m not afraid of you…” You hummed against his chest. “That’s what you said to me… ‘I’m not afraid of you.’” You recanted the conversation you had had those weeks ago outside your room. 

“I’m pretty afraid right now.” He admitted, resting his chin on top of your head as he breathed you in. 

“You won’t hurt me, Bucky.” You assured, running your fingers up and down his arm, listing to it whirl as he moved. “See? We’re dancing. You're holding me, and I’m not broken. I’m right here.” 

Gently, you placed your hand on the side of his cheek, meeting his eyes. He swallowed hard, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared back at you. You would have given anything to kiss him right there, to melt into him and ease his mind like only he did for you. 

“I don't remember how to dance.” He signed, pain dripping from his words. 

“I can teach you.” You smiled into him, the smell of his cologne enveloping your senses. 

“And can you teach me what you like?” He asked, his voice a low gruff in your ear. “Where you crave to be touched, and kissed and moved.” 

His voice sent a shiver down your spine, the hairs on the back of your neck standing as his lips trailed down the shell of your ear. His words sent a heat straight to your core as his breath fanned across your cheek causing a blush to creep up your chest. 

“You have to sneak me out of this party first.” You chuckled, trying (and failing) to steady your rapid heart. 

“Baby, you're hanging with a strained assassin now. Let me teach you a thing or two...” He bragged, his pink lips pulling at the corner of his mouth into a smirk. 

________________________________________________________________

@kalesrebellion​

@projectcampbell​

@calwitch

@sycochick​

@sassy-pelican

@mollygetssherlockcoffee​

@amateuratheart​

@officialmarvelbaby​

@fairislesheets

@a-really-bi-girl​

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@cutie1365​

@whateveriwant​

[starlight-writes-stuff]

hello, can i do one of the song request things you wrote about a bit ago? she/her pronouns, with dream, and based on the song 'daisies' by ryan caraveo? also, if you're doing an anon list, can i be 🧿 anon?

welcome 🧿 anon ! i just have to say ,,,,,, this song is immaculate ?? so good ?? will be added to my playlist ?? the concept of this song works perfectly for a fic - i love it so much . thank u for requesting and i really hope u enjoy ((((:

daisies - ryan caraveo

AYO LOOK AT THESE : 2.3k wc , so much fluff ur gonna puke , but nothing other than that . reblogs are always appreciated ! <3

xoxoxo , starlight 

☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁

she earned her grades and i finessed mine

but not so obvious, a c minus is just fine //

she planned for college, i schemed and plotted

---

her friends are pretty, my friends are goonies

but maybe it could all work out like in the movies

---

she like daisies, i'm like gloom

without my rain, she couldn't bloom

she need me, i need her, too

                                                     ☁ ☁ ☁

you and clay (or dream, really. everyone in his life called him that except for you; it was a nickname he couldn't seem to rid himself of) couldn’t have been more different- and yet, the sandy blonde boy had managed to work his way into your head and wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. every time he touched you, whether it was accidental or on purpose, you felt your entire body go up in hot, white flames. your nervous system seemed to light up around him; even the sound of his voice made your heart skip and stutter. when you thought about him, the world didn’t seem so dark anymore. 

when you moved to florida at the beginning of the semester, you’d made yourself a promise: no boys. no hookups, no flings, no situationships. you’d been hurt too many times, and you weren’t in the market to put yourself back out there. and then you met clay.

the two of you were dead opposites. he lovingly described himself as a stereotypical ‘teenage dirtbag’: a lowlife kid who’d struggled through school and had a shitty home life, but has somehow made it into college. he cheated on all his tests and didn’t do assignments; he’d rather skate all his problems away, surrounded by the pack of slobbering boys he called his friends. his idea of a good time was running from the cops. clay was everything that you weren't- carefree, blissfully clueless, and entirely too calm for his own good. 

your whole life you’d been the ‘good girl’: straight laced and perfectly dressed, an academic superstar and all around teachers pet. you came from a happy middle-class home, and your parents kept up with you in a family groupchat. you’d done just the right amount of  extracurriculars to rise above everyone else in your class, but not enough to make you look pretentious, and spent most of your time volunteering. on the off chance that you had an ounce of spare time, you wouldn’t be caught dead at a house party; no, no, you were practicing piano. 

your friendship made no sense, and yet, here you were.

being clay’s friend meant you were never bored. even while he was living through hell at home, he was funny and sweet and brave. he was the first to get you two into trouble and the one to talk you out of it. he was spontaneous and alive and had a good taste in music. once you started to notice the light he got in his eyes as he flew down hills on his skateboard, the way he laughed so hard his voice would dissolve into silence, or the way he would suck on his straw after getting slurpees, you couldn’t stop. then you started to notice every perfect thing about him and it only made it hurt that much worse when he would cry. you started doing anything and everything you could to protect that light in his eyes, to make sure no more tears would ever fall from them.

but you didn’t want to be clay’s friend anymore- you wanted him, in every sense of the word. you wanted all his time and attention and love and affection. you wanted to be that one that made him smile that stupid, crooked smile of his, and make him laugh until he couldn’t breathe. you wanted clay to look at you the way he looked at life- like a challenge, a puzzle that he wouldn’t stop messing with until it was solved. you wanted to call the lanky, troublemaking boy yours, to take him somewhere where he would never hurt again and love him until he wasn’t broken anymore. against all odds you had fallen for clay, hard, and you didn’t know how you were supposed to get up.

little did you know, clay was feeling the same way. 

                                                     ☁ ☁ ☁

it wasn’t odd for clay to just show up at your dorm. it was pretty common, really. he seemed to pop in more and more these days, sometimes with friends, sometimes without. you’d more or less been adopted by the group of boys; as far as you’d been told, they had all been friends since childhood. growing up together, the clan had earned the name ‘feral boys’- one that you didn’t want to know the backstory behind. as far as you knew, they were all loud and slightly aggressive but overall sweethearts, and they’d taken you under their wing once it had become painfully obvious that you had no other friends. again, it was an odd pairing; clay, george, alex, nick, karl and… you. but it worked, to say the least.

clay didn’t have any of the other guys with him this time, barging into your room unannounced. you’d been trying to get him to knock for forever, but none of your protests had stuck. 

“clay!” you exclaimed, throwing a pillow at him. you were sitting in your bed, typing away at a psych paper that had been plaguing you for days. “what if i had been naked?”

he fell onto your bed, shutting your laptop with one of his long arms. “then it would be my lucky day.”

scoffing, you rolled your eyes at him while you prayed that your flushed face wouldn’t betray you. his answer made blood swoosh in your temples, your heart skipping a beat before lapsing into an upbeat sort of rhythm. “yeah, sure- good to see you too. what do you need?”

the blonde boy grinned up at you. “since when do i need a reason to stop by? you like my company,” he boasted. clay wasn’t wrong; you loved every moment that he was around, even the most mundane ones. something about him made you feel more alive.

“are you working on something important?” he asked, his voice taking on an unusual sort of tone.

you lifted a brow at him- clay’s voice very rarely changed from his confident, over easy tone, so when he did, you were going to call him out. “no,” you mused, drawing the vowel out. “why? you seem weird.”

clay’s face morphed and fluctuated before he pulled a tight smile. “you really don't miss anything, do you?”

“nope,” you said brightly, transferring your laptop to the nightstand by your bed. clay was jumpier than usual, shifting his weight and repositioning himself three times before finally sitting up, leaning against your wall. he bumped his knee against yours and the slight, innocent touch sent butterflies out of your stomach, soaring into your chest.  

“clay, what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice taking on an embarrassingly gentle tone. you realized that he could be having issues at home again and your heart sank- that would explain his odd demeanor. your chest flooded with affection for the boy, your heart achingly soft as you grabbed one of his hands. clay quickly turned your palm over in his, playing with your fingers as he spoke.

“i want to talk to you about something.”

you froze for half a second, swallowing hard. your throat was dry as you opened your mouth to speak again.

“okay. what’s going on?”

biting at his bottom lip, clay’s face flushed with blood. his cheeks took on a rosy sort of pink tone, and he pulled his eyes from yours as he let out a long exhale. he allowed his gaze to settle on the ceiling, tracing the pattern of the old popcorn ceiling with his pupils. 

                                                     ☁ ☁ ☁

you secretly loved moments like this- moments where clay was too preoccupied within his own head to realize that you were staring, studying his face. he was the kind of boy you could only describe as pretty, all high cheekbones and bright eyes framed by long, golden-brown lashes. you stayed like this for a moment longer, drinking him in; you’d be thinking of him like this for weeks. every time you got a chance to look at him like this, you added another mental painting of him to your art gallery. in some paintings, he was surrounded by soft orange light, usually sitting on a curb or the lip of a halfpipe. in others, clay was painted on soft blue tones, shadows reinforcing the hollows of his face. 

there was one common thread in all the mental works of him, though: he was never looking back at you. in your mind, clay would only ever see you as a friend- the slightly odd girl that had fallen in with him and his groupies. you truly believed that he only perceived you in small quantities- only ever seeing you when you made a rather good joke or fed him something. the rest of the time- the majority of the time you two spent together- you thought clay seemed so enamored by his own mind, or that he was was too busy doing something else to pay you any attention.

                                                     ☁ ☁ ☁

clay pulled his mouth to one side, face scrunching up before he dropped your hand, letting it fall on the bed.

“i’ve been thinking about a lot of stuff lately.”

you blinked, then looked back at clay, unsure of what this meant. his whole body seemed to stiffen as you looked over him- he seemed uncomfortable, which never happened. you dropped your gaze to your duvet and busied yourself with tracing over the floral pattern, your mind seemingly exploding with thousands of thoughts per second. you, for the first time in your life, felt strained around clay, and it scared you more than you’d like to quantify.

“oh. what kind of stuff? do you want to… talk about it?”

“yeah. no. not really, but i’m going to make myself do it. this thing- the thing i've been thinking about- if i don't get it out,” he said, stressing the words as if they had some sort of deeper, more intense meaning, “will just… consume me. you know?”

you did, but you weren’t sure if it was in the same way that clay was meaning. “sort of.” clay groaned and tangled his hands in his hair, tugging at the roots before letting his head fall into his palms. he made another frustrated noise then pushed himself up and off of your bed, beginning to pace.

something was glaringly wrong; clay only paced when he couldn’t release in any other way. even so, his pacing was more aggressive than usual, more stomping than stepping. clay was quickly working himself into a hole, and you were watching him spiral. you knew that he would only rile himself up more, past the point of stopping himself now. 

pushing yourself to standing, you grabbed one of clay’s wrists- his skin was hot to the touch and you could feel his heartbeat, strong and erratic, thumping under his skin. 

“clay-” 

his lips were on yours, hot and rough and needy and the slighted bit desperate as he knotted a hand in your hair, the other cupping your jaw. you froze for half a second, shock flooding your system, before kissing clay back even harder. you were entirely overwhelmed and you could feel the sharp spurs of desire cutting through your blood, replacing it with the yearning you’d been suppressing for months. his tongue tangled with yours, quenching the thirst that you’d only been adding to with an ease, and a small whimper escaped your throat. 

clay seemed to realize how hot and heavy things had become in a matter of seconds and pulled away, running a thumb over your lips as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“oh?” he asked, his usual cockiness returning with a force. you weren’t able to form words- much less piece together a whole sentence- so you settled for pressing another kiss to his lips, answering him in the only way you knew how

                                                     ☁ ☁ ☁

the two of you stayed like that for a while, communicating through rough, sugary sweet kisses, hands on hips and chests and necks. after you’d kissed until your lips were sore and you were both out of breath, clay had given you a concerned sort of look.

“was that too much- or too one sided?”

“what? no!”

clay had laughed at the way you’d defended yourself, peppering your face with tender pecks. “so you really do like me, huh?”

“i do. i really do, dream,” you stressed, pressing a kiss to the boys scruffy jaw.

“ew,” he groaned, hitting you with the pillow you’d thrown at him earlier that afternoon. “don’t call me that.”

“why not?”

clay had readjusted, wrapping an arm low around your waist and pulling you to his chest, looking you dead in the eyes. “you’re the only person in my life that calls me clay, you know that? and for some reason, it fits. you and me just… fit. we work. we’re so different that we fit together like a complicated sort of puzzle piece.”

your heart swelled and you looked over clay with pure adoration. “we do seem to work well together.”

“ever since you came into my life, it’s like, i can't function without you. like you’re- you complete me, in a way?”

emotion seemed to drown you, and you pressed another kiss to his lips. “the yin to your yang,” you murmured against his neck, burying  your face in his shirt. 

“i will break up with you if you say that again,” he said, laughing, but you knew it wasn’t true: your story was just beginning.