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angel-bubbles · 2 years

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a glimpse

listening to 'glimpse of us' by joji and had this pop into my head, hence, ' a glimpse' :) ALSO this is my first time writing angsty stuff and having to actually use tags so plsplspls tell me if i missed anything <3

tags: major character death, grief, (implied) mental health struggles, overall angst, hurt/no comfort

The last couple months have been foggy and confusing for them to say the least. Having to fight for the right to their own memories and now constantly hiding from a department they aren’t even supposed to know about. Having to grieve the loss of the one person they feared losing most, followed directly by the loss of everyone else.

angel's life without david

Angel started the day with an ache in their chest that they couldn’t quite push away. A longing for someone they couldn’t have. The feeling pushed a heavy sigh out of their lungs as they dragged their legs through their morning routine. Most mornings they let their brain wander, having no energy to keep it from doing so.

Glancing at the bed they could see the divot in the mattress where they were meant to find David. His pillow sat in the middle of it,trying to fill the space that shouldn’t have been empty in the first place. No matter how they would lay, Angel always found themself waking up with their head resting on the worn in pillow case, searching for him even fast asleep. The pillow wasn’t warm like him, wasn’t firm like him, it hardly even smelled like him anymore. But it was all they had left.

The two were laying on the couch, pressed close. Angel could hear David’s heartbeat, it was strong and steady, inviting them to nuzzle closer into him before he spoke.

“You’re clingy, you know that?”

“Mm, I’ve never heard you complaining.” Their voice was fuzzy and jumbled from the sleep dancing around their brain but they lifted their head to meet his gaze.

“I never said I didn’t like it, you little snot.” The stern furrow of his brow and his disapproving tone would convince anyone else that he was upset. But Angel saw the glint in his eye along with the upward tilt to his lips and they found themselves beaming back at him, eyes squinty and filled with happiness.

“You should be thanking me ya know, me and my ‘furnace of a body’ as you like to put it, are keeping you nice and warm.” They said as they plopped their head back onto him. David scoffed a little but Angel felt his arms tighten around them.

“You are a walking furnace, I’m not entirely convinced you aren’t actually a fire elemental.” Angel smiled to themselves as they stayed buried into his chest, their sleep dragging them away.

“I just feel safe with you.” Angel whispered, “There’s a sort of safety of waking up in your arms every day. I like it.”

Doing simple tasks became harder, not for increase in difficulty, but for the lack of his presence. They brushed their teeth alone now, there was no chance for coffee to be waiting in the pot, no one to listen to them bitch about going into work just for the sake of bitching.

Now, as they’re running late for the twelfth day in a row they can’t help but long for him to just be here. Even if no words left his mouth the mere presence of him would wake their tired brain.

As they stumbled messily towards the door they spun around and stared at the empty house he left them, feeling their heart squeeze. They had built this house into a home together, and he had left a piece of him sewn into every seam.

They let their eyes settle on a small picture hanging crookedly across the room, something he no doubt would have fixed before they could notice if he were here, and stared at the rare smile on his face.

“Love you Davey. I’ll be home soon.” They said softly, plucking their keys off the hook on the wall. There was no reply as they carefully shut the door behind them.

“I told you this would happen.” David said as he helped Angel dig around their living room. “If you put them in the same spot we wouldn’t be having this issue.” Angel groaned as they shoved their arm into the depths of the couch shooting him a mock glare but saying nothing. They wiggled their hand around for a few minutes before it finally grazed across the metal of their key ring.

Yanking the ring out of the woodworks of their couch, Angel dangled the keys on their finger with a proud smile on their face. “I knew they would be in here.” The pride that came off them in waves caused David to snort a small laugh.

“Uh huh, of course you did you mess. Now leave before you’re even later than you already are.” The words pulled a few curses out of Angel’s mouth as they hurried to grab their things. When they tried pushing past David to get to the door he grabbed their arm bringing them to a stop.

“Forgetting something?” His quirked eyebrow pulled a smile to Angel’s lips as they carefully adjusted their bag onto their shoulder.

“Love you.” Angel said softly as they leaned up and placed a kiss on his lips. The kiss lasted longer than most of their goodbye kisses and Angel groaned as they pulled away. “But seriously they’re gonna have my ass if I don’t leave.” David hummed and turned them around, gently nudging them towards the door. Angel felt his hand hit their butt as they hurried away and they threw a glare over their shoulder just to see a smug grin on his face.

“Love you, Angel. Drive safe.” His words caused them to throw a thumbs up over their head before they quickly shut the door behind them.

On their drive to work they found focusing hard, which was frustrating to no end. Their brain kept drifting to David, and their headache seemed to be blossoming into a migraine at this point. They couldn’t stop thinking about how they weren’t even supposed to remember. The department ordering for memory modification 3 days after David died.

The look in Asher’s eyes as they begged him to find a way was something they couldn't scrub from their memory. Crying on his couch while his mate held them and Asher just stared, wide eyes filled with so much more pain than they ever hoped to see in them again. Brand new alpha faced with his first task, and it's a seemingly impossible one at that.

But he found a way. Pulling strings and finding out that Milo’s mate knew people at the department that were willing to lie for them, so long as they made it believable. The agreed upon story was that the memory modification solely removed magical elements from their memory, something Angel wasn’t entirely against if it needed to be done.

When the department persisted in their desire for a total reconfiguration and removal of any memories regarding the pack and David, however, Angel couldn’t keep contact. They purchased an apartment across town and sold their house to Asher to make it seem like they had forgotten their life there.

Making it believable was hard, DUMP is always three steps ahead and Angel knew that coming back to the house every night was risky. They knew that they should split their time more evenly, but the thought of leaving any more of David behind made it hard to breathe.

They couldn’t contact any of the pack anymore for the safety of everyone. Asher would visit the house a lot in the beginning and if they weren’t home he would leave notes on the kitchen table. For a month or two they communicated that way but as time went on he stopped coming by as often, being a new alpha tends to take up your time.

Angel walked in to see David sitting on the couch, head bent down into his hands as he roughly ran his fingers through his hair. His body was rigid and they found themself bending down in front of him, meeting his eyes with concern.

“What’s on your mind, love?” The words were soft but the groan they elicited was loud and frustrated.

“I wish Ash had a little more faith in his abilities. I didn’t choose him just because he’s my best friend, I chose him because if anything ever happens to me I know-”

“Don’t even say that David.” At the interruption his eyes glanced up to meet theirs again and they softened almost immediately.

“If something happens to me, I know he’ll take care of our family.”

They hit every red light on their route which was causing their frustration to bubble to the surface and forcing tears to sting at their eyes. As they sat at the final turn they let their eyes wander, trying to find something to distract them from the lecture they had waiting for them. Their boss was understanding when they had briefly explained “death in the family” months ago. But the longer their absences and tardiness persist the less forgiving she became. It wasn’t that Angel felt the frustration from their boss was uncalled for, it was that they didn’t know how to get back to normal. Their eyes glossed over while they waited for the light to finally turn green. But, as they blankly stared at their surroundings they noticed the license plate in front of them.

‘MY ANG3L’

“Why do you call me Angel?” They were sitting on the counter swinging their feet as they watched David rush around them, cooking some complicated dish for him and his mate. But upon hearing the question his ears tinted pink and Angel smiled as they watched him shoot a confused glance their way.

“What? Why are we talking about this?”

“For someone who hates sweet romantic shit so much, Angel is a pretty cheesy term of endearment.” David’s face fell into a glare but his ears got a tinge more red as he turned away from them, putting all his focus onto the food.

“If you’re gonna make a big deal out of it I’ll stop-”

“No!” Angel quickly interrupted him, this time feeling their own face warm up as he looked at them with a smirk. The two had a small staring contest, David wearing his cocky grin daring them to turn away first before Angel groaned and slightly shoved him by the shoulder. “Go back to making dinner, you jerk.” David’s laugh echoed around them and they felt their heart warm up. His laugh was loud and full and something they wished they could listen to all day. Even if it was at their own expense.

He never answered the question then, why he called them Angel. It was forgotten in their usual banter and him dragging them off the counter top and down to help him finish cooking.

They heard the honking of the car behind them before they felt the tears on their cheeks. They hated this, whatever it was. The pain of their headache had increased tenfold as they pulled into the parking lot of their office building and let the tears overtake them.

Their head hurt, their heart hurt, and they longed for a life they couldn’t get back. Their forehead connected with the steering wheel as they cried and watched the time tick by, the lecture from their boss looming over them.

“I- I’m so sorry.” Milo said softly, his usually strong sarcastic tone broken and frail. The shock kept the tears at bay but they felt their knees wobbling as they carefully sunk their body to the ground.

“Milo please tell me he’s okay. Please.” He had to be okay. It wasn’t an option for him to be anything but okay. Milo dropped into their vision, his cheeks wet with tears racing down them and the reality hit Angel, tearing their heart into a million pieces and scattering them in the wind. The despair in Milo’s eyes no doubt was mirroring their own. He was gone.

Angel groaned at the memory and quickly pulled out their phone, using it as a small mirror to aggressively wipe their cheeks, trying their best to look presentable. Their eyes were puffy and red, their hair was less than professional and the bags under their eyes were deep set and dark.

Upon seeing their appearance their boss didn’t even lecture them, instead sending them to work from home with eyes full of sympathy. The notion had made their lip quiver and as they watched their boss's eyes deepen with sadness they kicked themself.

“If you need anything you can always talk to me ya know.” She said softly, which caused Angel to quickly nod their head.

“Yeah, yeah of course thank you. And I’m sorry about all this.” Their boss shook her head and waved off the apology before leaning forward on the desk and crossing her arms in front of her.

“Just, be safe out there alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Their voice was raw and they quickly hurried out to their car, the pain in their chest hot and sharp.

“Davey?” They said softly looking up into his dark eyes. He hummed, looking down at them while tracing small circles on their hips where his hands had fallen. “Be safe.”

“I always am Angel. Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you tonight.” He placed a small kiss on their forehead before tucking them under his chin. They were safe with each other. The two of them together, it felt like they could take on the world. Angel never wanted him to leave, they wanted to beg him to stay in their bubble of safety and love. But he had to go.

“I love you.” Angel leaned up and placed a small kiss on his lips and his hand came up, gently cradling their cheek.

“I love you too.”

What a beautifully tragic set of last words.

#heed the tags!!#and if i missed any pls lmk #also feedback is def appreciated!!!#redacted david #redacted angel #redacted asmr #my writing <3 #um chile anyways so #i rewrote this entire thing like 6 times #so many docs with different drafts #this one was titled 'a glimpse; final fucking take idc'#i of course had to throw in my usual sweet stuff that arguably makes it more painful but ya know #i'm very proud of this though #usually when a fic fights me this hard i give up but i didn't!#and im happy with it!#wins >:3

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lesbianranpoe · 19 days

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yall ever think about how kunikida and tecchou are probably both at the airport waiting for partners that might not return

#i live for post s5 airport fics #like.#the different hostilities between groups dissolving bc no one has the energy to fight #the waiting #everyone trying to heal and move on #idk i have so many drafts in my google docs #something about how kunikida and tecchou both have their own sets of ideals #and among the most responsible #and they have to keep going bc they know dazai and jouno wouldnt want them to stop #and stuff #ill write a better post abt this later. idk.#i just think we should have more character study airport fics

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jackactuallywrites · 3 months

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Purely Professional

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Medic Reader

Rating: Mature (nothing too explicit but dick is hinted at)

Warnings: Ghost has a boo boo 😔 (blood, facial injury - split cheek and bruising)

Summary: You are the only medic Ghost trusts to treat him. Also you guys are friends with benefits!

Notes: Yes I do always headcanon Ghost with a broken nose. It’s HOT. Also I’m cleaning out the drafts

Word Count: 1,712

ao3 link

“He’s here.”

You didn’t need to ask to know who the other medic was talking about, nodding thanks to the medic as she left, and you quickly finished up with the young woman you were patching up, “You can take ibuprofen as needed, no more than two pills at a time, and space out the dosage to every four hours.” You wrinkle your nose, “I mean, you know how to take ibuprofen, just basic over-the-counter stuff. But come back if there’s any problems.” She nods, “Thanks, Doc.” You weren’t sure how many times you’d specified the difference between a combat medic and a military doctor, but at this point, it wasn’t worth the air, so you just nodded, gesturing for her to take her leave, “Anytime.” She grabbed the pillbox and made her way out of the room, leaving you to clean up the empty wrappings, tossing them into the nearby bin. You tore off the paper that was covering the bed, binning it as well and then rolling out another cover, making sure everything was fresh and clean. When you were satisfied, you walked out of the room into the waiting room, your eyes immediately landing on the one man who didn’t need to be named.

Ghost.

The intensity of his gaze was intimidating, his dark eyes glowering from underneath the skull mask as though he wanted nothing more than to take down every single person who dared to breathe the same air as him. At this point, the other medics had learned that he wouldn’t accept their help, refusing to utter even a single word until you were free. You leaned against the frame of the door that led into the hallway, beckoning him with a jerk of your head. He rose from his seat, seeming to dwarf everyone else around him as he walked through the room toward you, brushing past you without a word and striding straight into the open examination room, the cold silence seeming to emanate off him like a tangible aura, visibly affecting those around him, the other medics shrinking away from him as he passed.

You followed him into the room, closing the door behind you, “So, what can I help you with today, Lieutenant?” He sat down on the bed in the room, resting one forearm on his thigh, gesturing with the other hand to his face, consistently a man of few words. You stepped closer to him, “You’re going to have to give me a little more than that.” He grunted, reaching up to take off his helmet, setting it on the bed beside him, and then unclipping the skull mask, revealing the balaclava underneath. Finally, he pulled off the balaclava, revealing his clipped blond hair, and then his face, bruised and bloody, his cheek split open, blood already dried to his skin. His eyes, thankfully untouched, the black paint surrounding them unmarred, were on you, boring into your face as he watched you.

You didn’t waste time, reaching out to probe his face, your fingers gently holding onto his chin as you turned his head from side to side, inspecting the damage. It looked worse than it was; facial injuries always bled more, and though he tensed when you gently pressed his cheek, there was no sign of anything broken. After taking a moment just to be sure, you drew back from him, walking to the medical cupboard and taking out an antiseptic wipe, talking as you did, “You won’t need stitches.” He grunted, and you took this as permission to begin wiping the blood away from his face.

“So,” you began, always one to make idle chitchat as you worked, “who did you piss off this time?” Ghost watched you, his face solemn, searching your eyes before he responded, his voice barely more than a whisper, “Couple guys.” You smiled as you brushed the wipe over his split skin, “You know if you want to see me, you only have to ask.”

All the tension in his face seemed to ease then, his eyes softening as he looked up at you, “I know.” You took this as permission, gently nudging his legs open so you could stand in between them, closing the distance between you, allowing him to reach out in his own time, and after a brief moment, he did, his hands reaching out to gently rest on your hips, his fingers hesitant, still unused to the intimacy you shared. You cleaned up the rest of the blood on his cheek, giving him time to get used to your close proximity as you brought out a small plaster to cover his wound. In a moment of impulsivity, you pressed a gentle kiss to his damaged cheek, your reward his sharp intake of breath and the tightening of his fingers on your hips, pulling you closer toward him.

“You know,” you began, letting your hands rest on his shoulders, “the other medics are going to think you’re sweet on me.” Ghost let his face rest in the crook of your neck, his voice low, muffled by your shoulder, “I’m not sweet.” You smiled, letting your fingers trace over from his shoulders to the back of his neck, “No? What would you call this?” “Desperate.”

There was no mistaking the longing in his voice, the yearning, the way his fingers pulled you closer to him until your body was pressed against his. Already, his fingers were pulling at your shirt, just like he’d done so many times before, secretive fumbles in whatever vehicle or armoury was nearest, all beginning with some injury he only allowed you to treat, all ending with you wrapped up in his arms. You smiled, shifting one hand to stop his fingers on their insistent path underneath your shirt, “I think they’ll notice if I spend forty minutes in here with you.” Ghost didn’t seem entirely put off by the idea, his face tilting up as his lips began to move over your neck, gently nipping at the skin, his voice husky, “You love this being our dirty little secret, don’t you?”

It was impossible for you to lie to him; after all, he was special forces; no doubt he could sniff out every last secret of yours if he truly wanted to. His hand was already moving from your hip up to your cheek, forcing you to look at him as he pulled away from your neck, his pale eyes searching yours, “Admit it.” Every part of you seemed desperate to touch and be touched by him, and you held back a groan, “Yes. Which is why we can’t do anything in here.” His lips quirked in a smirk, “We wouldn’t want them to think you give this treatment to everyone.” You smiled, “I am supposed to be a professional, after all.” His thumb reached out to brush your cheek, “Couldn’t we both use a little unprofessionalism right now?”

The idea was tempting. Too tempting. You could feel those eyes of his melting away your resolve, and you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, biting the inside of your cheek, “What exactly did you have in mind?” There was a wicked look in his eyes, luring you into sin, to submit yourself to his will entirely, “What I have in mind would make too much of a mess and needs more time than we have.” You tilted your head to the side, curious, “So what do we do?” He was quiet for a moment, his eyes flicking over every single facet of your face, your eyes, your cheeks, your lips. He leaned into you, his nose bumping against yours, letting you feel that little ridge where it had been broken. His words were a murmur against your skin, softer than he ever seemed capable of, “I’ll be content with a kiss for now.”

It never seemed to make sense that a devil could be so sweet; you knew what he was capable of, you’d patched him up, you’d seen his medical records detailing what he’d been through, yet here he was, asking you for that simplest of intimacies. You obliged his simple request, leaning forward to press your lips against his, feeling the slight stubble on his skin prickle yours, his hand shifting from your cheek to the back of your neck, the one on your hip moving to the small of your back to pull you closer to him, encircling your body, his lips soft against yours, yet insistent, needy. He pulled away before you, leaning his forehead against yours, letting out a strained sigh, his hand moving from your back to his crotch, adjusting his trousers to disguise the growing bulge there. “The things you do to me.” His voice held some frustration, his fingers tightening on the back of your neck but loosening just as quickly, always in complete control of himself.

You could see the Lieutenant return, the way his back straightened, the grim determination returning to his lips. His hands fell away from your body, reaching for the balaclava and mask he’d put to the side, and you knew your time with him was coming to a close. You stepped back from him, tucking in your shirt, allowing him to resume that persona, covering his bruised face with the black balaclava and then finishing with clipping his skull mask back into place, his helmet finishing the transformation. All that remained of him were those soft eyes, out of place, surrounded by blackness. He reached up with one hand to tuck a loose hair back under your beret, his gloved fingers gently stroking against your cheek. “I’ll be seeing you.”

There was no doubt that he would find you to finish what you’d started here, but for now, he was back to business, standing up off the table and straightening out his uniform. You crossed the room to open the door for him, allowing the outside world view into your privacy, not that there was anything for them to see. He stalked past you without a word, yet as he passed, his hand reached out to gently squeeze your arse, sending tingles up your spine as he left you wanting, trying hard not to look like a lovesick dog as you watched him go.

#jack writes #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod fic #cod smut #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley smut #cod ghost #ghost modern warfare #ghost x reader #ghost x female reader

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joelsdagger · 2 months

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let it flow | frankie morales x f!reader

read on ao3

pairing: sub!frankie x f!reader rating: 18+ minors dni word count: 4.4k (i think something possessed me bc this was originally 1k lmao) summary: you start a new form of birth control which has many side effects but frankie takes advantage of one side effect in particular. warnings: canon divergent, established relationship (reader and frankie are married), sub!frankie, soft dom!reader, body worship, pet names, nipple play, mommy kink, lactation kink, mutual masturbation , praise kink, pre-ejaculation, overstimulation, cumplay, cum eating, fluff. No use of Y/N. No physical descriptions of reader. um i think that’s it? *scratches neck* disclaimer: this is literally for shits and giggles bc a friend and i were talking about sub!frankie having a lactation kink, but we weren’t feeling the whole pregnancy trope so i found a loophole hehe. after extensive research, i found that certain types of birth control that include progestin *can* increase lactation as well as breast enlargement and tenderness, so i tweaked this specifically for the purpose of this fic. i don’t study medicine so some of this isn’t 100% accurate so if anything is wrong just remember this is just for horny fun and i changed some things to fit what i was going for. if this piece is not for you, that’s cool, obviously not everyone is gonna be into the same stuff but please just move along and let everyone else enjoy the fun.

a/n: thank you for all the love on my first fic i was so incredibly nervous about it but yall have been so so kind. technically, i told myself i would post this friday for frankie friday, but the longer shit stays in my drafts the more i start to hate it and the urge to scrape everything grows too strong lol. this one is for kat and lyss who gave me this idea and then we screamed about it til 1am. shout out to @skrunkly-scrimblo and @papurgaatika for beta’ing and literally always saving me bc i can never read my fics from start to finish so they always come thru during the editing process. and shout out to my pinterest QUEEN, @aurasjournal, for helping me with the visuals. thanks for reading i hope you like it <3 super cute divider by @saradika

You’re staring back at yourself in the foggy mirror of your bathroom, assessing your breasts, they’re full, heavy and they ache. This is the fourth day in a row of feeling the consequences of your new birth control and the pain has only gotten worse. “The shit we do….fuckin’ birth control,” you mumble under your breath.

You had switched to a different form of birth control earlier in the week, the IUD route wasn’t working out so well for you. For starters, the pain of getting the IUD implanted was unbelievably excruciating and on top of that, you had ParaGard (the copper IUD) implanted which didn’t have hormones so you were still getting your period. Your periods were heavy and painful and you have been seeking an alternative solution to stop them completely. At your last visit with your gynecologist, you both agreed to switch you over to taking birth control pills.

Your physician had informed you that the pill form was a progestin-only contraceptive that would decrease the bleeding during your menstrual cycle or possibly get rid of it completely if you skipped the placebo pills on the last week of your pack. There was one not-so-tiny problem, you were not told that being on the pill would make your tits swell and you sure as hell didn’t know the damn pill would make you lactate.

Earlier today you practically sobbed to your doctor on the phone.

“Doc, sorry to be blunt but my tits fucking hurt,” you cry, tears welling up in your eyes. At this point, the pain had become unbearable.

“That’s pretty normal hun, it’s a common side effect for some women. As I told you on Monday, the use of a hormonal birth control that contains progestin can increase the likelihood of producing breast milk even if you aren’t pregnant. It’s your hormones adjusting to the pill and it’s going to take your body three to four months to adjust,” your doctor explained.

‘Wait three to four months,” you shout, "Doc, you didn’t mention anything about that. What the hell am I supposed to do?” you ask rashly.

Your doctor hesitates, “Well, we could go back to the copper IUD but then-”

“Then, I’d get my period yeah absolutely not,” you frantically cut her off.

“We could book you to come back in and try another route but I’m booked until the end of the month,” she suggests.

“Of course you are, you’re like the only nice physician in the office, everyone wants to see you,” you laugh bitterly.

“There is something else that may help until we can see you in the office...many women have said that it helps,” she says.

You cross an arm around your chest, wincing slightly as your arm presses tightly against your chest, before dropping your arm back down at your side, “Okay…what is it?”

“You could massage them or have your husband stimulate your nipples,” she says nonchalantly.

“Stimulate my nipples?” you hesitate, your eyes widening at her suggestion.

“Yes, have him use his fingers or-”

“You’re not serious?”

Your doctor chuckles at your curiosity, “Yes, nipple stimulation and other sensual activities, can trigger and release the hormone, oxytocin, commonly referred to as the love hormone. Once oxytocin is triggered, your hormone levels are boosted and then it increases arousal and stress relief. Once it's released into the bloodstream, it helps alleviate breast tenderness and breast pain as well assisting with the flow of breast milk so yes, it’ll help.” she says pointedly.

You stare ahead, wide eyed and mouth agape. What the hell are you supposed to say to that?

“Look honey, many women have come in and told me directly that it helps, believe it or not, it even helps induce labor, but that’s beside the point, many women have been in your position and they have reported that it works. So at least try this out, and see how it makes you feel, just until we can get you an appointment and have you come in and then we can try something else. Alright?” she asks.

“Yeah alright, thanks again Doc,” you huff, your hand rubs at your temple before dragging it down your face.

“No problem hun, keep me updated through the portal,” she says.

“Will do,” you hung up the phone and tossed it on the couch.

That was six hours ago and now you’re standing in your bathroom as you wait for the bathtub to fill up. You read online that heat therapy could reduce some of the pain. While your husband was at work, you sprawled yourself out across the couch with a heating pad on your chest. It managed to ease the pain for a bit until the set timer turned the heating pad off and the second you stood up, the pain worsened again.

To be honest, you’re a little embarrassed to bring it up to Frankie. It's not like Frankie won’t want to do it, he’d be very interested but what the hell are you supposed to say to him. Hey honey, my tits hurt and they’re leaking breast milk. Can you play with them a little so they feel better? He loves to engage in a little titty appreciation but this is a whole different ball game. You really aren’t in the mood to have this conversation with Frankie tonight, unsure of how he would react and possibly causing a bigger issue.

You can hear the TV through the bathroom door, Frankie is watching some game. But when he hears you croak out in pain when you remove your bra, hands clutching at your swollen breasts, he moves lightning fast towards the bathroom door.

“Querida, are you alright in there?” he asks through the door, his hand wrapped around the door handle.

You bite down on your lip, sighing before you finally bite the bullet and admit what’s going on. You crack open the door just enough so he can hear you better.

“It’s-,” You let out another exhausted sigh as you rub your temple, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Remember, a few days ago, I went to my gynecologist and we decided to switch birth control methods?” He nods, eyes full of concern.

“The pills are making my hormones go crazy and they’re making my tits swell and well…” you pull the door open to gesture towards your breasts. “I’m like a fucking pregnant woman but without the damn pregnancy,” you grumble.

You immediately clock the worry on his face but Frankie can’t help the fact that he is practically salivating when he looks down at your tits. You notice his jaw slacken, his lips part as he takes in the curve of your breasts, they have grown a noticeable difference in size. You hear him inhale sharply when his stare drops to your nipples, dark and swollen.

Suddenly feeling a little shy under the intensity of his gaze, you bring a hand up to cover your breasts, he inhales once again before speaking, yet you speak before he does, “It’s fine, apparently a bath will help, and I’ve got the water running. I’ll be out in a few minutes babe,” you press, a tight smile on your face.

You see it all over his face, he wants to help but he doesn’t know how. His big, deep brown eyes filled with worry. “Okay baby, I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need anything,” he says quietly, eyebrows still raised. You can sense the uneasiness in his body language but he doesn’t press the subject.

You thank him and shut the door, hearing him step back towards the bed. You slip off your panties and toss them into the hamper, then step into the hot water, sighing as you dip beneath the water.

After a few short minutes, you slowly bring your hands up to cup your breasts, experimentally kneading them. You press your hands more firmly and you bite down on your lip as you try to muffle a quiet moan. Huh. It does help. You continue toying with them until the water is no longer warm and your fingers become pruny.

Dragging yourself out of the water and stepping out of the tub, you pull the plug out, the water spinning through the drain. Leisurely, you dry yourself off, pull a thin white tank top over your head, and drag a clean pair of blue lace panties over your legs.

As you open the door to let the steam out of the bathroom, you grab your fuzzy robe from the hook behind the door, wrap it around your damp body, and head into the bedroom to catch the rest of the game with your husband.

Yet, to your surprise, you find the TV off and instead see Frankie sitting up in bed, one hand tucked behind his head and the other holding his phone as he squints at the screen.

You chuckle as you walk over to your nightstand. “Thought you were supposed to be wearing your glasses?” You tease, your lips forming into a smile.

“I look dorky with ‘em, ‘sides I don’t need them right now,” he mimics your tone and turns his head to watch as you pump some of your cocoa butter body lotion into your hand and work it into your skin.

“So, I did some googling,” he starts, a sly smirk creeping up onto his face as he continues, “It said…messaging them and sucking on them would help.” His eyes are still on the bare parts of your damp skin, completely enamored by how your skin looks in the dim light of your bedroom.

You tense, hands freezing, streaks of lotion yet to be fully rubbed into your skin, “Baby, that’s ridiculous,” you laugh him off.

“No, I’m serious look,” Frankie sits up and moves across the bed, holding out his phone for you to read the article he was studying beforehand.

“I don’t know about this Frankie,” you shake your head, frowning while you avert your eyes from his.

“Come here,” smirking devilishly as he brings his hands up to your arms, pulling you towards the bed.

“Frankie–” you scoff, playfully rolling your eyes at him.

He tilts his head up to look up at you with those big brown eyes that you often find difficult turning down. “Trust me,” his hands rubbing up and down your arms soothingly.

“You know I do, Frankie, the hell did I marry you for,” you tease, you sneak your hands behind his neck and interlock your fingers as you lean down and press a soft kiss to his head.

“Then c’mere, let me help,” he whispers and it sounds more like a plea. He’s pulling you down onto the bed, guiding you to sit up against the pillows. His hands find your robe, untying the knot in the soft belt across your waist. You lean forward slightly while he pulls your robe off slowly, his eyes watching your face, searching for any indication to stop but he doesn’t find any.

He tosses the robe behind him on the bed as he leans down over you, nudging your legs open as he settles himself between your legs. He brings his hands back up to the thin material of your tank top, cupping your tender breasts in his large hands.

“You’re so beautiful, so perfect, fuck–, so pretty baby,” he babbles lowly, goosebumps erupt on your skin, even after years of being married to him he still knows exactly what to say to make you feel so desirable.

He gently squeezes your breasts, his thumb sweeps over your nipple back and forth, you whine softly as your hands find his hair, burying your fingers in his curls. It hurts but it’s pleasurable, the pressure he’s using feels better than what you were doing earlier in the bath.

Frankie pinches your covered nipples between his rough fingers, hardening under his touch, you hiss when he tweaks them tightly, Frankie pauses, his eyes meet yours for a moment, “it’s okay–feels good, keep going,” you whisper to him.

He brings his mouth down to one of your nipples and sucks it through the material with his other hand still fondling your other nipple. “Fuck– that feels good Frankie,” you moan, he whimpers lowly and feels his cock twitch in his boxers. Your eyes roll back in your head, your mouth falls open and he hollows his cheeks, sucking harder around your nipple.

His mouth lets go of your breast, you look down to see the wet patch that formed over your peaked-covered nipple before he hastily pulls the tank top over your head, tossing it onto the floor, Frankie lets out a shameless groan when his eyes hungrily lock on your bare chest like a missile to a target.

He leans in closer, his mouth hovering over your breast. You feel the warmth of his breath over your breast, a tingling sensation sneaks down your body. His hot mouth closes around your pebbled nipple.

“Shit, Frankie,” you arch further into his mouth, and he moans and his tongue flicks up against your peaked nipple, and then he bites down softly, his eyes open, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. Frankie feels a slight warm gush fill his mouth, his eyes slip closed, whimpering around the bud.

You tug on Frankie’s hair, pulling his mouth away from you, your stomach twisting at his reaction when he feels the gush of liquid filling his mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that would happen-”

“Baby, hey, it’s okay. I was just surprised-”

“No I know, it’s just gross,” you frown, feeling the pang of embarrassment in your belly.

“It’s not–it’s not gross. I–I liked it,” Frankie says sheepishly.

“Really?” you ask softly.

He laughs lightly and leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth then another just below your jaw. His beard scraping along your skin as he places wet open-mouthed kisses down your neck, all the way down past your collarbones until he reaches the valley of your breasts once again.

“Relax baby, I got ya,” he whispers against your skin.

Your eyes squeeze shut, your head falls back against the headboard, and your hand comes up to the nape of his neck, petting at his long brown curls. He ducks down to bring his mouth to your nipple, he parts his lips around the bud, his tongue circling around the bud a few times, licking at your nipple, he closes his lips and sucks softly before tugging it between his teeth, he hums around it, making you grasp at the sheets beneath you, a low ache building in the pit of your stomach.

“That’s it baby boy,” you say softly, petting his hair. You open your eyes when you feel him press his cock against your leg, his cock stirring in his boxers at your praise.

He’s loving this, loves the taste of you and loves how good he’s making you feel.

His hand palms your other breast, squeezing and kneading the meat of your tit, beads of milk collecting at the peak. He takes your nipple in between his calloused fingers and pinches it harder between his index and middle finger, the milk pours out from the bud down his hand and onto his forearm.

Frankie feels the warm liquid on his arm, his mouth letting go of your breast, his pupils full of lust never leaving your face as he lifts his left hand up and licks a long slow, thick stripe from his forearm up his hand. Your mouth falls open and your chest heaves at the sight.

“You taste so fucking sweet, baby,” he groans, his eyes closing at the taste of you. His cock twitches against your leg, now painfully hard in his boxers.

He dips his head back down and licks up the milk leaking down your torso up to your nipple. He moans once his hot mouth latches around the stiff peak and his tongue swirls around it. He laps up the warm white liquid he’s sucking out of your breast. “There you go baby, just like that,” you sigh, closing your eyes and your head falls back against the headboard.

One of his knees perches onto your leg, he grinds his cock against the meat of your thigh, he moans deeply, his fingers digging into the flesh of your breasts. “So, needy for me huh, baby boy,” you tut, gripping firmly onto his soft curls.

He whines quietly, and unbeknownst to Frankie, he starts rutting his hard length against your leg in slow, shallow thrusts, you feel a rumble of a moan in his throat around your nipple. At the sudden movement, your head snaps up to see your husband getting himself off against your body, his teeth sinking into your breast.

You’ve never seen him like this before, he’s insatiable and relentless and it makes your pussy pulse and clench around nothing.

“Ohhh that’s it– good boy Frankie,” you moan breathlessly, feeling him suck harder on your breast with a deep groan.

You grab at Frankie’s hair again, your hand combs his hair back while tugging at his hair, gently pulling his head back and he whines loudly when you pull his mouth away from your breast. You catch a glistening sheen on his lips when you direct his head to your other breast.

Your eyes meet his dark, blown out pupils as your thumb rubs his cheek down to the corner of his mouth. You thumb the bottom of his plump, soft lip, wiping the milk off of his mouth. Your thumb slips between his lips and you whisper, “Who’s my good boy?”

He shivers beneath your touch, “I am,” he murmurs softly, his head resting down on your chest once again. Your hand cradles his head and you move your hand down along his head to cup his face.

You watch your husband’s eyes shut as he closes his mouth around your nipple and continues suckling from your breast, “Fuck– Frankie, keep going,” you pant into his hair, your hands still toying with his curls, eliciting another whine from him.

He shifts and begins fucking himself into the mattress once again, seeking any type of friction possible.

Watching your husband getting himself off to your body sends a sharp, hot spark of arousal down your spine straight to your core, your pussy throbbing and your panties now wet and sticky with your slick.

You smirk and bring your lips down to his ear, whispering the word that you know lights a fire within him. “You’re making mommy feel so good baby,” and Frankie whimpers, his mouth swallowing your breast whole, his hips grinding down faster into the mattress.

“That’s it, baby, atta boy, such a good boy for mommy,” you coo into his ear. Frankie lets out a high-pitched whine, his hips stuttering and groaning when he feels himself spilling out all over the inside of his boxers. Your mouth falls open, your eyes wide as you stare at him, realizing he just came simply from putting his mouth on you.

His hips shudder, occasionally jerking erratically, his legs shaking uncontrollably as he hisses from overstimulation, you continue whispering praises into his ears.

While his mouth works on relieving your breast you take matters into your own hands, bringing your fingers down to your neglected cunt. You press your fingers into your covered slit, feeling the wetness of your pussy through the material before pushing your panties to the side. You move your fingers to your throbbing clit, circling eagerly while his tongue swirls over your nipple.

He bites down on the bud a little more harshly, feeling another gush of warm liquid in his mouth, “tastes so good mi corozòn,” he whimpers against your breast, closing his eyes while his teeth nip at the wet bud.

Feeling a cooling wetness from his eyes seeping onto your breast, you briefly look down to find tears stinging his eyes from the pleasure, the teeth marks on your nipples, your skin all wet and red from his mouth.

He continues sucking at your breast, licking up the sweet taste of you into his mouth and moaning around your nipple, savoring the taste.

You slip your fingers into your wet heat with a moan. “So good, Frankie, ohhh– you’re doing so well for mommy,” you gasp out while grinding your hips up into your own hand. He whimpers, his cock twitches, throbbing lightly against the mattress, he’s getting hard just from hearing that word once again.

Your other hand roughly tugs on Frankie’s soft locks, pushing his head further into you, swallowing more of your breast into his mouth.

Frankie was too far gone to notice, but you realize he’s grinding himself into the bed once again, still moaning and whimpering into your tender flesh. You thrust your fingers into your pussy, timing them to Frankie’s thrusts into the bed, the wet squelch from your fingers thrusting in and out obscenely echoes in your bedroom.

“That’s perfect, Frankie— don– don’t stop…shit. I’m so close–” You curl your fingers inside yourself, petting at the spongy spot deep inside while his teeth nip and lick and suck at your tit.

You shout Frankie’s name as your back arches off the bed, legs shaking around Frankie’s body when your orgasm finally sweeps over you.

He pulls off your nipple with a wet pop, moving fast to sit up and back on his knees, his hands making quick work of pulling off his underwear. His cock bobs up against the soft swell of his stomach. He hisses when he wraps a large hand around the girth and he thumbs the wide blunt of his tip smearing the beads of pearly white dribbling out from the slit.

Your tongue pokes out, licking your bottom lip before biting down on the flesh. Your hands massage your breasts, your fingers pinching your erect, sensitive nipples under Frankie’s fucked out gaze.

Desperately, he fists his cock over your figure. “Come, baby. Be a good boy and come for mommy,” you order him while staring into his eyes, dark and dilated, his mouth hanging open as he strokes his cock.

Your low voice and your words are all he needs to bring him over the edge. The thrusting of his hips gets more erratic as he jacks his cock tighter in his hand and increases the pace, the wet, lewd slap from his strokes gets louder, his whimpers and pants filling the otherwise quiet room.

“There you go, atta boy, give it to me Frankie, let it out," you encourage him softly.

Your eyes watch the muscles in his soft belly tighten and his thighs tensing up, his moans growing louder and louder and louder, his eyes roll back into his head, “Fuck– mami,” a long drawn out, agonizing groan slipping past his lips, you watch as his cock twitches in his hand, his hips stammer as long, thick, warm ropes of cum paint your stomach.

“That’s it baby, just like that, you did so good. So good Frankie,” you murmur. He opens his eyes and looks back down at you, still catching his breath while he watches the last of his cum spill onto your swollen breasts, he groans seeing the marks he’s left on your skin. Your tits are covered in splotches of red and teeth marks from his mouth, his come and the milk from your breasts leaking down your chest and onto your stomach.

His hair is a mess, his pupils are blown out, he looks completely in a haze, utterly fucked out. You smirk up at him and click your tongue, “You made such a mess on mommy, Frankie.”

His cheeks warm, the redness creeping down his neck and chest, he’s embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” he mumbles, his hand scratching the back of his neck.

You move your fingers down your stomach, gathering his cum onto your fingers, “Don’t get shy on me now, come here my love,” your other hand reaches for him.

He crawls up towards your side, you slip a coated finger into your mouth and you close your eyes and hum. Frankie curses quietly to himself, seeing your pearly-covered finger slipping into your mouth and back out devoid of sheen.

You bring a finger up to his mouth, your fingertip pressing against his lips, “open,” you order. You take advantage of his jaw slackening, sticking your glossy finger into his mouth and his lips close around your digit. You feel his tongue flatten underneath your finger then swirls it around your finger as he sucks it clean, he closes his eyes, his brows furrow, and he moans at the salty taste.

“See, I keep telling you, you taste good, sweetheart,” you smile down at him, tucking a single brown lock behind his ear.

“You did so good for me baby, made me feel so good,” you tell him while holding his patchy-bearded face. He chuckles timidly before pressing his lips to yours, licking behind your teeth, tasting himself in your mouth and mumbles a faint I love you against your lips.

Frankie pecks your lips again before sitting up and walking over to the bathroom. You hear him flick the light on and the tap turning on and off while your eyes drift shut. You feel the warm wet rag dragging across your tummy and your tits, and then down between your folds as he cleans you up with tenderness.

You open your eyes again when you hear him pad off towards the bathroom once more, watching him toss the washcloth back in the bathroom before he tucks himself into your side and nuzzles his face into the valley of your breasts, the coarse hairs of his beard tickling your skin.

Frankie’s low voice breaks the comfortable silence, “Next time it hurts, you tell me cariño, ‘m more than happy to do that again,” he says shyly, feeling the smile on his face against your chest.

You fail to suppress your giggle, “Yeah, you enjoyed yourself didn’t you, sweet boy?” Your fingers run through his long soft brown curls, your fingertips grazing down his neck, a hint of sweat at the end of his hair along the back of his neck.

“Mhm,” he hums, and you grin into his hair, pressing your lips to his messy curls, your eyelids heavy with sleep. He feels your fingers still, Frankie tilts his head to look up at you, “Don’t fall asleep yet, we’re not done mi vida, I still need to make you come again.”

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales #sub!frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #noelle's workshop

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sorbeau · 3 months

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hi its me again i feel legally obligated to ask about your thoughts on the new riz design (but also extends to al of the other new art for the bad kids too!!!)

HI SHOKO sorry this took so long to asnwer, it feels a little late to the party now but I have lots of thoughts and this has been in my drafts for a hot minute so I'll break my thoughts down in order <3

Fig

GOD DO I LOVE FIG'S DESIGN. It hasn't changed too drastically in many ways, it's largely the same beats with the plaid skirt, leather jacket, biker gloves, and docs, but there's a lot more detail pertaining to her character now. Ayda's feather earring is abviously a huge win, everyone loves to see it, but I love the small details like the added wallet chain on her skirt, the added ear piercings, and her painted nails. If I had to choose something I didn't like, it'd be the color of her shoelaces, which isn't a huge deal bc you know spyre might have different cultural beats, but it's very reminiscent of punk doc lace codes, which were a way to sort of factionize yourself among punks. Fig wears one purple and one red, and traditionally purple means gay pride(which is great and i would've picked it for her too) but red usually means you allign yourself with neo-nazi's and similar groups which. is definitely Not Fig. It's not a HUGE deal but, maybe some more research could've been put into it.

Gorgug

Gorgug's new design is so. Perfect. Amazing. Spectacular. No notes. It's exactly the changes I wanted to see. The goggles, the dirt-covered face, the ripped jeans, the bags and tools, the gloves, the most disgusting worn pair of convers you've ever seen. It's absolutely amazing and the artist has managed to bring all the beats we loved about his original design(his extremely fashionable purple pants) and mixes them perfectly with all of the new facets of Gorgug's personality that have changed and grown theough their adventures. A little detail I love is how the color of his headphones has changed to match with the rest of his outfit better, creating a more cohesive design with the introduction of more red/maroon tones. This was always a little bit of an issue with the old design for me. The colors sort of didn't go together.

Kristen

She's going through a break up. She's at the most chaotic she's ever been and she's trying to fix it. It is so genius to make her jacked. The bright yellow tracksuit is beautiful and exactly something Kristen would buy and wear every day. Plus the tiedye purple sports bra tying in her old church camp shirt aesthetic is brilliant. I'm mourning the loss of her sandals, but the matching shoes to her tracksuit can't be complained about. Not a whole lot to say, I'm excited about how this design will change and reflect her growth this season! Praise Saint Kristen Applebees!!

Adaine

THE ELVEN ORACLE IS COOL NOW!!! I love her jacket, all the patches and the toned down fur lining is absolutely perfect. I also love the cool strapped bags on her hips and legs, it's just a really cool adventurer addition cementing her as a bad ass practical caster. Her entire face seems more assured and relaxed, which is absolutely amazing for her and reflects how her resting state is no longer as addled with panic and anxiety as it used to be. Her hair also seems a lot more her! Not sure how to describe it, but it seems like she's focusing less on keeping herself perfect, and more on just keeping herself, herself! Not very big design swings or changes, but she doesn't need to change, she just needs to be true to herself. (Also. a huge fan of her cool magic circle shirt.) My only gripe. Give her blue hair. And pronouns. And glasses pretty please.

Fabian

That boy is the future of dance!!!!!!!!!! I love the color palette shift for his design, it's a really great way to show how he's grown out of Bill's shadow and embraced his own passions with the grey tones with red and gold accents. Also a huge fan of the fancy robed pants, tons of great movement lines and something a dancer would totally wear. On the same note however, I feel like it doesn't really go with the rest of his outfit. I love how the changes made are geared towards movement and dance(his shoes changing from sneakers to dance shoes is great) but I feel like the changes are all sort of mismatched? The dance shoes look a lot like tap shoes, but the pants look more big and flowy, better for a more leaping and running style of dance, and his jacket has almost nothing to do with dance. It's delightfully artsy and detailed, which is so chic and Fabian, but the shapes of it don't really match up, and especially without a clear view of the front it makes him look like he's wearing half of a matador outfit. I would've loved to see a more dramatic silhouette without the use of the battle sheet(which is absolutely perfect, no notes) with either lots of flowy parts for movement, or a sharp jacket with skinnier pants for that exaggerated silhouette. Again, I think this is really all due to a lack of research, but the spirit of Fabian is still in the room with us. The colors are great, the bandages on his hands are perfect, and the fanciful element is very on point, just needs some better shape language and cohesiveness.

Riz

There he goes, he's gone from gritty detective to gadget-heavy superspy. I LOVE the character choices that Murph made for Riz, he's become even more of a loser and seems a lot less hard and fast, and more generally passionate. In freshman and sophomore year, he was entirely goal oriented, completely focused on completing his mission and solving the mystery, this time around he's still got a mission, but because he can't do it all himself, he's sort of given the opportunity to branch out and explore himself. This is all to say, i love the insufferable loser hipster kid that he's become. He is truly the trinket goblin of all time, I love all his wild little gadgets and jewelry, and all the extra arcano-tech screens on his glasses are brilliant. I'm also a huge fan of his torso gun-holdster, which is a beautiful homage to his detective nature. The undercut is also obviously perfection. The loser teen-boy urge to cut away your beautiful hair for a nerdy undercut is so painfully lore accurate that it's one of my favorite details. It's probably because he's a dork. but I would love to know why he has rolled up pants and no socks. What is that. Why would he do that. ALSO STOP BEING A COWARD D20. GIVE HIM DIGITIGRADE LEGS AND A TAIL. CAT GOBLIN TRUTHERS UNITE!!!!!!!!!!

anyways that's probably the end of my rant for now. I love the bad kids and overall their designs are great. constantly wishing all of my headcannons were real but understanding that the cannon will never relent.

#dimension 20 #d20 #fantasy high #bad kids #adaine abernant #kristen applebees #fig faeth #fabian aramais seacaster #riz gukgak #gorgug thistlespring

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rosie-b · 3 months

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Okay, in my fic workshop, people have been turning in drafts where they use hyphens instead of em dashes left and right. It’s making me wonder how many people just don’t know how to make an em dash, so satisfy my curiosity, tumblr:

Please reblog so I can see what more people think!

#polls #poll #tumblr poll #poll time #tumblr polls #writing

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imaginewarehouse · 7 months

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Human!Sheriff x Reader x Human!Doc Hudson || Drabble

Plot: Flo's diner on Friday Night's is always a lot of fun- there's good food and drink (Which is not out of the ordinary, admittedly), good company (The whole town ends up there at some point in the night), and theirs dancing. You're determined to get the hot old men to dance with you.

Warnings: Age difference I guess but its not a focus point.

I have had this fic in my drafts, finished and all, for years. Since like, 2019-2020, but since I wrote it just for me (Also the reason for the fist person perspective), I had never bothered to edit it- well I finally did and I think its kinda cute ^^

🔆🔆🔆

“What are you two doing just sitting around and drinking over here for?” I ask Doc and the Sheriff, as I sweep off the dancefloor in exhaustion and rest in the chair beside Doc (The material of his blazer grazes my bare arm and I get a little jolt from the innocent touch). Mater’s a sweetie pie, and a great dancer but… boy, does he have more endurance than I do. After I take a second to gather my exhaustion and banish it, I turn to the two men and flash them a smile. “It’s fun out there!”

“Hmm, your exhaustion and the sweat completely bucketing off of you is especially encouraging.” Doc rolls his eyes, and turns to look back at the dancers. Ramone and Flo are dancing smoothly in the middle, like they’re practised, like they do it at home because they just love each other like that- unsurprisingly. Then Sally and Lightning are there, too, Mater’s found a new partner in Guido while Luigi laughs at his friend’s expense off to the side, and Lizzie's talking on happily to Red off to the side. A soft smile rests on my lips, until I turn away from the scene and back to the two men I’m sitting with. Sheriff’s already looking at me, which makes me smile wider.

“Being tired and sweaty is a good sign!” I exclaim, winking. “Sheriff, what about you? Fancy a round with me?” How many innuendos can I make with these men and get away with it? How many until they get it and take me? I’m not saying take advantage… because neither of them would do that- but at least recognise what I’m trying to get at here and ask me about it!!

He chuckles, moving in his bar stool chair to be more comfortable. “That’s a lovely offer, darlin’, but I’m afraid I’d probably just slow you down. I’m not as young as I used to be!”

At this, an opportunistic light switches on behind Doc’s calculating eyes, swivelling on his stool ever so slightly in order to turn that piercing stare on the sheriff. “Yes, he’s missed his last 3 check-ups, Y/N. Anything could be wrong with him.” Sheriff bristles and his expression dissolves into guilt, as he refuses to look at Doc who’s smirking. “Damn hot rods not allowing you a single day off to visit the office, right Sheriff?”

“Uhuh, ri-right.” Sheriff quickly clears his throat, straightening in his chair now to look around at anything other than Doc. As he does that, Dr Hudson glances to me with a quiet, conspiratorial look before taking another drink from his mug, making me giggle quietly.

In a moment, I raise my eyebrows at him. “Why don’t you take a dance with me, then? You must be at the height of health, ey Doc?”

A grunt is his response, as the amusement leaves his blue eyes and he looks away again.

“Come on, one of you? Both of you? I’m not picky- I’m desperate! Mater’s got a new partner and… “I risk a glance at the tow-truck owner and can’t stop a laugh from bubbling up to the surface. “Guido’s a hard act to beat! He’ll never want me back. I’m dying to get back on the floor, though!”

“Guido’s seemed to have transformed miraculously into a sack of potatoes.” Doc states in that slow, gravelly drawl, assessing the dancing couples as well. And it’s true, making me really chuckle this time at his analogy. Mater is just swinging the little Italian around at this point, with absolutely zero help from Guido himself. Guido’s toupee keeps bopping around and slipping out of place.

I stop my chuckling by biting my bottom lip, and scraping it through my teeth as I turn back to them. Sheriff’s stopped avoiding Docs gaze now and is looking at me with him like they’ve won- like together they can ward me off- Oh, ho, ho, though. These two think they’re so clever and victorious. But they haven’t gotten out of this. No, no. I’m determined; I’ll get one of them to dance with me tonight, even if it takes begging!

“You’re right.” I admit, then lean closer into the table pleadingly. “But I don’t want to dance with Mater, I want you two! Come onnnn,” I whine, looking as pleadingly as possible to them.

Doc sets me with a firm, straight lipped look. “And you’ll continue to want me.”

Well, that’s that then.

I turn from him, to Sheriff. When Doc’s mind is set, he usually will never change it. Sheriff, though… he’s a bit more lenient. A softie. A sweetheart. That’s one of the things I really love about him, in contrast to what I really love about Doc; his cleverness, his sternness. Unbelievably sexy qualities.

And I’m right, too. The Sheriff’s looking at me a with worried frown under that moustache and thoughtful deep, dark blue eyes. Oh lord, these men and their blue eyes. They had me my first day here in Radiator Springs.

I offer my hand across the table to him, and up the ante with my cute pleading look, which I hadn’t even known was possible. I do so by adding a little pout, and it does the trick. Sheriff heaves a great sigh and drops his large hand into mine, getting out of his chair. He rolls his eyes. “Hot damn… “He mutters something about the lord saving him, as I get up from my seat with the biggest beam on my face and springing into place next to him like a slightly overexcited puppy, before returning his gaze to me. “Remember what I said, I’m not as springy as I once was. And, I was never a very good dancer in the first place, so- “

“Let’s go!” Now that I’ve got him up, I’m not about stand here and listen to him talk himself out of this again, so I take us off to a spot on the floor. When I turn back to him and let go of his hand, I flash him a bright grin and think out loud in anticipation as the song ends and we wait for the next one to play. “Besides, the point of this is not to look good, it’s to have fun! Wanna have fun with me, Sheriff?” Okay, so I might have gone a little far with that last comment as the poor, sweet man goes a little pink, but I pretend not to notice that and just listen out for the first few beats of the next song. Before I can make the first move and pick up his hands again, as the song’s a bit boppy and perfect for twirling, he takes up mine first and then, before I know it he’s dancing with me. It’s so much fun!, he’s not half bad at dancing like he let on- there’s a little bit of funk and we slip out of time every now and then but that just makes us laugh. And he twirls me!! He twirls me!!! I’m also starting to think he was just being modest, with all that ‘I’m not as springy as I once was’, crap. Sheriff’s in shape! We’ve been dancing for the past 8 songs and he has not once needed a break or looked like he would be needing one any time soon.

It’s so much fun that I nearly forget to want a drink, or a break myself. The music is so hillbilly it’s fun, the laughter is elating, and the company is addictive. Every time a song ends, he’ll dip me and I’m not afraid that he’ll drop me; he’s strong, and his grip on me is firm. I laugh quite a bit when he does that, and when I get to twirl, and at some point he throws his hat off to Doc, and I’m surprised there’s still a Ford-Pines-Tom-Sellick-level head of hair there. Man, does this place know how to grow ‘em…

We go on like this for a few more songs, until he reminds me to get a drink and a rest for a moment and see how Doc is doing. “Hey Doc, I don’t think you should be worried about Sheriffs health, he’s fitter than me!” I exclaim elatedly as I collapse back into my seat beside him, exasperated but not really. Tired, yes, but annoyed, not at all.

“Hmmm,”

“Still don’t wanna get a dance in before the night’s over Doc? It really is fun!” Sheriff pours us both some water from the jug Doc ordered for us, laughing a bit because of the left-over endorphins, and I nod along intently.

“Yes, the offer’s still on the table until the last song ends. So, keep that in mind.”

“Sure.”

I giggle, widening my eyes exasperatedly at Sheriff over my cup as I take a sip, before Doc starts up a conversation about Chick’s latest Lightning slander in the news.

6 songs later, and the night’s about to end, sadly. I watch, quietly and honestly tired, as Ramone goes up to Red and requests a certain song, quietly. I guess it’s something special between him and Flow, but as the slow song starts to play, Sally and Lightning dance too- and I’m actually perfectly content and happy in just sitting by and watching, when a shift beside me catches my attention and I look to see Doc getting off his stool and stretching his back. “Ah… this is much more my speed. Y/N?” He raises his hand in front of my face without looking back from the dance floor, and I raise an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“You said the offer to dance was on the table until the last song. I believe this- is the last song.” A slow grin spreads across my face, and I cautiously, tiredly hop off my own stool, taking his hand in the process.

“Sure is!”

“Now, Doc, I’d’a thought you’d be up for something faster!” The Sheriff teases after us, with laughing eyes as he sits comfortably still in his seat.

A tiny smile graces Doc’s face, making me feel squirmy like it always does. “Yes, but my physical ability extends only to the minimum of what a driver’s required to be. Dear, now shall we?”

“Mhm, yeah, we shall!” I agree, grinning cheekily at him and waiving quickly to the Sheriff as Doc walks me onto the floor and swings me around to face him. The song, slow and easy, plays on around us as he fixes his hands carefully on the okay zone around my waist and mine find his shoulders. As we sway around the floor, I wonder; Will I ever get to do this with them as my men? Go out dancing as a date?.. Will these two ever realise how much I really like them?

When Doc grins again I wonder, if he actually already does know.

#Sheriff x Reader x Doc Hudson Drabble #Sheriff x Reader Drabble #Doc Hudson x Reader Drabble #Sheriff x Reader #Doc Hudson x Reader #Sheriff (Cars)#Cars Sheriff #Doc Hudson #Drabble #Cars x Reader Excerpt #Cars x Reader

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chrollohearttags · 10 months

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not even to wake up in a haterrific mood on such a beautiful morning but I feel like I gotta say something. Especially when I’ve been seeing a multitude of posts critiquing black writers and seeing so many of amazing moots leave. (and reminder that the anon button is OFF so you will argue with the wall or get that ass cussed out publicly, your choice. And if you feel brave enough to come to my DM’s, I got something there for you too 🤗 so feel free) but I am so so so SICK of seeing these very unnecessary and annoying standards being placed on black writers. I’ve said this once and I’ll say it again that the goalpost keeps moving for us. It went from the toxic, plug, sneaky link, etc fics are harmful and damaging to us as black women to now I’ve had the displeasure of seeing that modern AU’s in general are problematic and we should write more canon AOT stories (I wish I was making this up). Don’t know about you but I want no parts of that depression fest. Especially because the ONE black person was basically observed like some type of mystical being. I’ll pass on the whole ‘why does your hair feel like that’ and a handmade’s mammy tale of tending to a war criminal’s wounds in a jail cell. Regardless, all of this is rooted in a respectability and projection issue. Because as I’ve said before, none of these critiques started until the TikTok girls started publicly bashing black writers and using them as a ploy to get views because doing it to other groups who write the SAME tropes with a “digestible” packaging would’ve gotten them backlash. So as does everyone on this hellscape of a planet, they use black women as a punching bag and laughing stock to garner engagement. Now you’ve got an influx of people regurgitating these same things and making others feel bad for what they write. I’ll be honest, a lot of these tropes/stories that I see, they’re not exactly my niche, mainly because I don’t smoke, I don’t do parties and stuff like that so I can’t resonate with it (don’t come at me, I got asthma and social anxiety, bitch 😭) but that doesn’t make me love/wanna read them any less. I love seeing different perspectives and being in another set of shoes for a while. There’s nothing wrong with that because as long as black women/enbies are happy and confident in what they write and it’s not causing harm, I’m going to support ten toes down because we need representation, we need that community and I’ll be damned if I turn my nose up in the air at anyone just trying to express their creativity. What I WON’T support is a bunch of hateful, nasty spirited shrews parading around in clean girl cosplay and bashing others to be seen as acceptable and ‘one of the good ones.’ Not liking smut doesn’t make you a better reader/writer, not liking modern AU’s and ‘overused’ tropes doesn’t make you some prophetic, divine person and sitting up in anons and on the dash, reporting fics because YOU personally don’t like them doesn’t make you superior. And running everyone else off of here won’t make your writing any better. What does it make you is a loser, a cornball ass bitch and a lazy bum. Because the energy you exert into being haters, you can simply open a Google doc or draft on here and write what fulfills you. Be the change you want to see in the world or whatever they say. Also, a lot of us ARE writing these very scenarios you all are claiming you want to see. We can also see the notes count in comparison to the ones being deemed so horrible so again? You as the consumer determine what’s popular and not. We’re only going to write what’s going to be seen. Anyways, black women/femmes/enbies, I love you. I love your stories, I love your portrayals of our favorite characters whether they’re a drug dealer or a doctor, I love seeing y’all on my dash and I hope that you continue to grow in your writing journeys. I hope that you write what brings you joy and block out all the bullshit. Stay safe and have a wonderful weekend! 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

#and sidebar: I may have a tip to get around these community labels but I don’t want Big Mama T to catch on so feel free to DM me #if it hasn’t already been tried #cherry chats 🍒#I just want everyone to have a safe space to create #no one should feel ashamed about what they write #and no one should have to leave or close their anons because people are a special breed of stupid #and I wish I could say it was other races doing this #but I don’t believe it is #I believe all these gripes are coming from within the house and it’s so sad to see #I want us to be better fr #this world hates us as is and tearing one another down makes it worse #writing rant #cw vent #cw rant #anyways I’m going to enjoy my morning and pack orders #have a blessed one and stay hydrated

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wrencatte · 7 months

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I don't know about you, but that "I'm so scared." panel is haunting me....

Please excuse all the weird errors of all kinds. I once again wrote this on my phone in tumblr drafts...at work (😅😅).

I won't know how many words this is until I can get it in a doc and clean it up for ao3 posting

Bruce closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, steeling himself.

Dick had a tendency to go high. Jason's tendency is to go low. He tucks himself under tables and in small spaces that adults usually can't fit into. The Cave has a lot of places to hide under (and has a lot of places to climb onto, high into the sky where fear is just a memory and your parents bodies seem so far away) and Bruce has scoured the more obvious places before finding this one: the work table, where he dismantles and fiddles with gear.

And where Jason has taken to messing with his own gear, absolutely fascinated by the intricate mechanisms that made it all work. The kid is an absolute gearhead along with his love for literature, several books on different engines and vehicles have started to migrate to his room.

So Bruce crouches on his knees and peers under the table. The table is deep for toolboxes and a set of drawers on top, and Jason has managed to shove himself in the darkest corner, curled up in the smallest ball possible. He's hit a slight growth spurt in the last few months, leaving his elbows and toes sticking out from the shadows. His face is tucked into his knees. His breathing frantic and hitching - but still so impossibly quiet, like he's spent years teaching himself to cry silently and Bruce's heart breaks all over again at the reminder

(This isn't the first time Jason's cried since he came to live in the Manor, and every single time Bruce never knows unless he's right there when he starts or if he walks in on him mid-sob. And Bruce hates it.)

Bruce's broad shoulders block the light, and Jason flinches into a tighter ball, toes disappearing in the shadows.

"Hey," Bruce starts then stops and doesn't continue for a long moment. Jason stills like a rabbit caught in a fox's gaze, barely perceivable quivers. He exhales slowly. His knees ache on the worn thin rug that's meant to keep dropped things from rolling away. He settles down, legs crossed, hands up on his knees to show he's unarmed, though who knows what Jason's actually seeing. "Want to come out from there?"

Jason shakes his head.

"That's alright," Bruce assures him even though it can't be comfortable down there. "You don't have to so anything you don't want to do."

Jason's next breath is the loudest thing he's ever heard since he got hit with the fear gas. A new batch, more potent than the last. Half a dose could give an adult a heart attack. Jason got one-eighth of a dose via a broken mask and a second too late realization. Hell, they didn't even know he'd actually gotten hit until they made it to the Cave and Bruce turned around and he was gone, the analysis beeping behind him with the announcement that their current anti toxins would be ineffective.

He has a new anti toxin slowly being pieced together by a program and under Alfred's watchful eye, but that does nothing for him right here, right now, with Jason too terrified to make a sound.

Bruce doesn't talk much - he's never needed to - but he sits there and he starts talking. First about a case, of a long ago Rogue that had a funnier gimmick than most and did surface level property damage more than anything else - but eventually he found himself talking about the Justice League, about their unprecedented expansion, about various antics some of the newer heroes get up to.

He doesn't know if Jason's listening or even hears what he's saying. The boy doesn't uncurl. Doesn't make a sound. He hopes that he's breaking through the living nightmare somehow, but he also knows that hope doesn't mean anything.

But he keeps talking anyway.

During a lull, when Bruce's mouth is dry and his throat hurts and - Jason shifts just the tiniest bit. He peeks out from behind his knees, eyes glittering in the dark, and stares at Bruce with pupils blown wide from fear and drugs, chin trembling. Bruce feels like the kid is looking into his soul and finding him lacking, but he opens his mouth anyway and croaks out,

"I'm scared," soft and wavering, thick with tears and the type of brokenness that lends itself to helplessness.

It's a little bit like a confession. An admittance he doesn't want to make but he has no choice but to make it.

"I know," Bruce says gently. "We can fix that, though. It may seem like it, but you don't have to be scared forever."

He holds out a hand, warm and inviting in that same way he did towards the kid sitting across from him at a rickety outdoor picnic table, one who'd just finished inhaling a subpar batburger and fries, one who'd just fifteen minutes ago had even caught jacking the batmobile's tires and had the moxie to whack Batman in the stomach with a tire iron.

The kid then had eyed it warily. And didn't take it, just took a sip of his drink and quietly agreed to let Batman set him up in a warm house with warm meals and clean clothes and the most comfortable bed ever with the 'person I trust the most' - which isn't Bruce Wayne, but one Alfred Pennyworth.

The kid now eyes the hand warily. And takes it. Lets Bruce help him from under the table and lets Bruce fold him into a tight hug, his face tucked against the man's neck, breaths sobbing and hitching.

"I'm so scared," Jason repeats.

"Not for much longer, Jaylad. I've got you."

"I'm so scared," he says out loud, but there's no one around to hear it.

Jason's both grateful for it and collapsing inward when there's no assurance that'll all be over soon, that it won't be forever, that dad's got him. He drops to his knees with a gasp, heart thudding so hard he can feel it in his throat.

He's alone.

He's alone and there's a fear in his chest, invading his lungs, burrowing in his bones. It's going to be there forever. Forever and ever until he dies from it because this isn't a new life, this isn't a gift or love. This is a death sentence. Jason puts a hand to the ground to heave himself up but the thought of walking onto those streets makes him gasp and choke and the fear cycles in on itself from fear to adrenaline to fear fear fear. Never ending. Ramping up bit by bit the more Jason breathes and trembles and, fuck, he's terrified.

Jason scrambles backward on his hands until he hits a shelving unit that rattles. It feels like a knee to the spine, holding him down, driving in, and he sobs quietly. Quiet like he always is when he cries because there's never been a point in being loud about it. Being loud just got attention and attention was always bad.

And he's back to where he was fifteen minutes ago before Marquise - Scandal - showed up and dismissed him and walked away before he could explain. Knees tucked to his chest, arms around his legs, trying to convince himself to stand up, to just go already. His chest heaves. The space gets humid from his tears. He feel like he's going to pass out, dizzy and nauseous.

He's too exposed like this, Jason thinks. Realizes. Fears. (And that fear feeds back into itself, and he hates, hates this so much, but that's not enough. The hate isn't enough to override it.) The room is half trashed and covered in rubble, and he's a whole foot taller than he'd been as a kid, but there, right there -

Jason fits there. Here, under a metal table that has his mask sitting innocently on top. It got wedged against a wall, propped up slightly by some concrete. He tucks himself under it and stays there.

And thinks about - nothing. Because if he thinks about anything - like Batman across the rickety picnic table, offering him a warm house and warm food. Like Batman scolding him for doing something reckless and scaring the shit out of him. Like Bruce sitting on the floor, so patient and understanding and telling him that this fear is only temporary.

Like Batman throwing batarang and the thick spray of blood. Like Batman throwing a punch hard enough to shatter his helmet. Like Batman ripping the insignia off his chest and dragging him across a rooftop.

Jason can't help the whimper. He tips over to lean against a table leg and gasps around the vice around his lungs.

He won't make it out of here. He'll hyperventilate himself into unconsciousness and someone will find him, wearing most of his Red Hood suit, and that person will kill him. Or they'll call the cops and he'll end up in Arkham and he'll die there. There is no normal life. No identity in Metropolis for him. Even if he did make it there, he'd be dead at the first villain attack, unable to defend himself as his aderenaline surges and the fear sets in.

He never expected Bruce to be this so fucking naïve. Cynical idealism? Sure. But not this.

"Hood?"

Jason doesn't acknowledge his name, or the voice. Purposeful footsteps crunch on debris, announcing their path from the hole in the wall to Jason, getting closer and closer.

And closer.

Until there's a shadow of legs blocking the scant light. Until the figure crouches down and there's Nightwing, peering under the table with wide, concerned eyes. He's not wearing his domino, Jason notes almost distantly. His body doesn't feel like his own anymore for all that he can feel the cool metal table against this temple and the rough feel of his pants in his clenched fists.

All there is, is the fear.

"Jason," Dick says with his own kinda fear.

He's reaching under the table, not holding a hand out for Jason to take, for Jason to choose for himself - and the man doesn't know the significance of that, but something in Jason settles anyway at the stark difference.

Dick goes all the way, cupping Jason's face like he does with them all - a pinkie under the jaw for the faint hint of a heart beat, a thumb across the cheek for comfort, his palm to lean into and let him carry the weight. And Jason does lean into it, trembling and shuddery, wet eyes closing.

"C'mon, let's get out from under here." He guides Jason forward until he's spilling into his brother’s arms, face pressed into his shoulder. The Nightwing suit is too tight to grip so Jason wraps his arms around Dick instead, clinging to him tightly. Dick hugs him back just as hard, rocking back and forth.

"I'm scared," Jason whispers - an admittance he has no choice but to make.

Dick hugs him tighter, pulling him into his lap like he's a child. Under a difference circumstance it would be comedic - Jason is broader and taller than Dick - but right now he's just small.

"I've got you," Dick says gently.

He doesn't know why, but that juat makes Jason cry harder.

#jason todd #bruce wayne #dick grayson #gotham war #my writing

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olderthannetfic · 7 months

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I've had a few commenters on my fics be surprised that I do plot outlines, make a timeline of events, and make Word docs going over everything that's canon for the character that's relevant to the story (particularly useful for comics' canons where there's multiple continuities and you need to get the details of a specific version straight). Personally, I have a lot of issues with remembering things later on while writing, so this combats my ADHD. I don't think most people would find my level of planning enjoyable. But surely most people do some planning? It just makes things easier to go, "okay, here's my beginning, my middle, and my end" as a plan than to sit there going, "I hope I come up with an ending eventually". Or at least, it's easier for me. Is that a universal experience, a neurodivergent one, or a "your mileage may vary regardless of neurodivergence/lack thereof"?

*cackling*

Guys...

"Planner" vs. "Pantser" is like the most basic division of writing styles ever and is covered constantly on every writing blog and in every writing how-to book and...

From what I have seen, your average prolific writer of genre fiction who also writes articles on craft tends to be a planner, though not always at the extreme end of that spectrum, but there are plenty of famous authors who are extreme pantsers. I remember some Isabelle Allende quote about "Write one good page a day and at the end of a year, you have a book".

I don't think it's as simple as writers of plot-forward genres vs. genres about the human condition, but in terms of people producing writing advice, it does often break down that way. (Also, it's a lot easier to write how-to guides for plotters than pantsers in some ways, so that probably skews the numbers.)

The big difference between fic writers and pros who are pantsers, from what I can tell, is that the pros 1. have a lot more experience with needing to finish big projects by a deadline and successfully doing so and 2. don't usually post serially, so revision of the full work is possible after they've written the first draft and discovered what the story is about.

(There are pros who do post serially to great success, but my impression is that many of them are planners.)

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thesiltverses · 7 months

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You folks have so many worlds inside your brains! Do you have any tips for keeping your different ideas organized?

I have a bunch of story ideas but they are starting to clump together into something like The Amalgamate from A Lonely Broadcast.

This is a really interesting question, because for me a big (and very useful!) part of creativity lies in amalgamation; it's taking old discarded story ideas that weren't working in their own right, and finding new and exciting ways to stuff them into a new idea - as background elements, as one-off episodes, as secondary storylines or characters.

The obvious example that comes to mind is Douglas Adams raiding his own Dr Who scripts to write his novels.

Or to give one example of ours: S1E4 of The Silt Verses was a short story idea I'd had about a bickering couple tramping through the New Forest in the UK, and the boyfriend (who keeps marching ahead and insisting he knows the way) ends up getting transformed into a deer and pursued pitilessly through the woods by a hunter-god, while the girlfriend escapes.

And it wasn't working, because 1) the story arc is just 'douchebag man dies horribly, non-douchebag woman runs away and lives', which feels predictable and 2) because it's a two-hander, there's not really a mechanism to gracefully explain what the antagonist is or how its curse works.

So I left it alone for a couple of years, we were writing TSV, and I thought - oh, maybe the girlfriend isn't the protagonist at all, maybe she can be the antagonist instead.

But the key ingredients there are time, space, and prioritisation, and it sounds like your frustration lies in having all these ideas at once and losing the shape of them because they all start to blend into one.

I guess from what you're saying, I'd advise you: decide which of your story ideas is a sapling, and which are seeds.

The sapling is the idea that feels furthest along, is the strongest-defined, and has the most space to grow. Focus on that one, build its shape, get it really clear in your head. Try not to get distracted, give yourself time alone with it.

The more clearly you've defined this idea and the more detail you have, the less you'll be tempted to bring in extraneous or muddled elements from other drafted ideas.

(To avoid said distraction, the key for me is really terrible file management.

I use an unfoldered Google Drive system, so that the 'recent documents' and search function are the only way to find my work. I keep all the documents relating to my sapling project open in different tabs, so that they always refresh back up to the top of my recent docs.

That way, any irrelevant seedling draftwork is rapidly buried in the drive, and I'm not going to spot it by accident while navigating to my current work. I have to be actively thinking about it to remember it exists.)

When your creativity's starting to feel strained or the initial plot and character momentum is no longer there, take a step back and check in on your seeds.

Maybe a couple of them are looking like they could be set aside and earmarked as a future big idea, maybe a few more don't feel quite as strong any more.

Dissassemble the bad seeds, atom by atom. What was the really good part of this idea? What can you gainfully repurpose? Take those components back to the sapling and see if you could benefit from jamming them into exciting places further into the storyline.

Since your sapling was already so strongly defined, they should add interesting new dimensions to it rather than confusing it (in theory).

I don't know if that helps, but I hope it does!

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chuuyascumsock · 7 months

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Okay soooo i kindaa had a silly idea and ran with it…. Fem!dazai who’s a monsterfucker with an AFAB!reader who is ALSO monsterfucker?

-Imagine fem!dazai finding out her s/o is a monsterfucker~

Imagine the two of them on Dazais bed just rambling on to eachother and then reader just says “honestly sometimes id just love to be fucked dumb by a tentacle y’know?”

And dazai just nods like “yass girll me too~” but she has this sneaky look in her eye.

-“Zai?whats up??oh no…what did you just think of🤨”

-“Oh no just…hold on”

She goes over to her closet and picks up a box and brings it back to the bed and opens it.

And lo and behold its fuckin filled with an assortment of monster-dicks.

Reader then looks up at dazai like 😳

And all she says is “ive got way better than a tentacle babe~ take your pick”

And when reader can’t pick on,she just covers their eyes and makes em pick one.

Imagine the rest of the night she just uses them all on you so you can find your absolute favorite…

Well at least that’s the excuse she made to get you on board.

Imagine dazai just goin to townn on you with each and ever one in the box,trying some of her favorite ones twice(just to make sure you get a proper feel for it ofc! she definitely doesnt love seeing your face scrunch up and relax as each one enters your pretty little cunt,each one a different shape,size,length and girth.)

Imagine her going so deep,it rubs against your cervix…imagine cumming so many times that at this point neither of you have kept count accurately.

Imagine her stimulating your clit with a little bullet vibrator as she thrusts the foreign shapes into you revelling in the way you moan out her name and grip the sheets,your toes curling and your back arching.

Imagine her using a vibrating one and just keeping it inside you,buried to the hilt and making u beg to have it pulled out.

Imagine her running her finger along the edge of your cunt,gathering some of your slick and demanding that you clean the mess off her fingers in exchange for taking it out of you.

Imagine by the time your done you feel so sore and exhausted that you can barely even get up to go have a post-coital shower.

Imagine waking up the next day to see that each and every one of the little gadgets had been haphazardly thrown back into their box. Only your decided favorites lying nicely cleaned and dry on your night stand.

Imagine getting just a little sweet revenge on her and buying her one she doesnt have just to use it on her until she cant walk. Honestly I doubt she’d mind~ I mean she gets to skip work the next day, AND she gets to be your little pillow princess~ It was a win win situation!

I hope its okie and not too much😭

ALSO IM SO SORRY I DIDNT KNOW U WERE LACTOSE INTOLERANT!!!!

Lets just imagine my icon is um lactose free cheese?(is that a thing?)

Anywho! OMG GOOD LUCK FOR YOUR EXAMS!!!! Ive got exams on monday too #A Levels🥲 I BELIEVE IN YOU!!!! YOUVE GOT THIS!!!!

Stay safe! Study well and i believe in you!

-🧀

DEAR LORD 🧀, WANT SOME WORD COUNT LIMIT WITH THAT ESSAY 😭⁉️

I love how dedicated you are lol.

But you’re missing the part where Fem!Dazai would get a double sided monster dildo just to share with you so you could fuck yourselves stupid on it. And she only gets more enthusiastic about it when your pussies meet in the middle and your clits rub against each other 🤭

OOOO ALSO BONUS BUT UHM, I HAVE A FEM! CHUUYA x READER x FEM! DAZAI SMUT DRAFT SITTING IN MY DOCS THAT WAS ORIGINALLY GOING TO BE WHAT I POSTED INSTEAD OF JUST THE FEM! CHUUYA SMUT 😶 I had the idea written down but I never wrote it. (I want to though.)

#casual asks #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai smut #fem dazai

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joeyquinndrabz · 1 year

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Inked- Joseph Quinn x Reader

TW: none im trying to give you guys a break from the angst I have in my drafts 😭

Being a tattoo artist was a dream you’d had since you were a kid. Your friends would laugh and tell you to ‘get real’ but you knew it’s what you wanted to do and so you did. Your grandfather was a tattoo artist in London and became highly respected by the whole city, everyone wanted a tattoo from your grandfather and so did you. When you were 18, he gave you your first tattoo after years of pestering. His talent was impeccable and his art was your inspiration. You soon began an apprenticeship at his shop and , it must be in the genes, because you’re very good at it too. Of course you were aware of the privilege you had due to your grandads high status, but it didn’t mean you didn’t have to work hard. It took years of practice to get to the level you’re at now, but being 28 and working alongside your 68 year old grandad was the gift that kept on giving. His guidance was still so important to you and your relationship was unbreakable. He wasn’t your stereotypical elder male tattoo artist, his style was still the same as it had been in the 70s. Checkered button ups, flares, docs and a very impressive moustache. He was ridiculously cool, your grandma was the same. A stylish woman with a blue rinse on her grey hair and she was always sporting a pair of new glasses. She worked on the front desk, greeting each client with a smile and being the first point of contact to ease that anxiety many of them had. It was a family run business and a great one at that.

It’d been a busy day, it was a Saturday and you’d tattooed a lot of people and a lot of different things. You were getting ready to pack up when your Grandfather could be heard chuckling out in the corridor. There were two different male voices that followed and curiosity killed the cat, you wanted to find out more.

“Ahh this is my wonderful granddaughter I’ve been talking about. She’ll enjoy this one lads.” He chuckled at the two mystery men as he pulled you in for a side hug. “Enjoy what?” You questioned, smiling at the two strangers. “It’s slightly embarrassing but we got very drunk and stick and picked out initials onto each others feet but they’re not looking the best.” One of them told you, you noticed the curtains he was sporting and the slight permanent smirk that was stuck on his face. “Yeah not our brightest idea.” The other man laughed, you noticed something different with this one. He was looking directly at you, admiring your tattoos with each passing of his eyes. It was cute. He was cute.

“Let’s get you lads sorted, I’ll do yours Wesley and Y/N can do Joe’s. I won’t make you do them both kiddo you’ve been here since 6.” Your grandad aimed the last bit at you, you smiled and nodded before taking Joe into your part of the studio.

“I’m really sorry about this, I didn’t know you’d been here that long. I’m more than happy to get it fixed another day.” The man who you now knew as Joe was rambling and you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Honestly it’s fine, if you were coming in for a back piece then I would’ve said otherwise but I’m sure we can fix this in no time.” You smiled at him as you handed him the consent forms. “Do people genuinely come in last minute for things like that?” He asked whilst signing all the needed paperwork. “You’d be surprised, we don’t actually do walk ins but my grandads had a rule that if he likes your ‘vibe’ then he’ll allow it in some cases.” This caught Joes attention, looking up at you from the clipboard to give you a massive smile that you could only assume was because he’d realised he met your grandads criteria. “He’s a cool man.” Joe continued to smile as he handed you the papers back. “He’s my favourite discussion point, the man’s a walking, talking 70s masterpiece.” You laughed and soon heard him joining in with you. “I’d kill to have him as my grandad, you’re very lucky.” Joe was admiring the art on the walls, walking closer to his favourites then standing back with a tilted head to take it all in. “I’m forever grateful for him, he’s the reason I do what I do.” You smiled to yourself, getting ready to fix the drunken scribble on his foot. “Looks like you’re pretty bloody good at it too, love.” He turned to face you, admiration on his face. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” You shyly smiled back before asking him all the boring questions required.

Joe was now sat on the tattoo bed, showing you the tattoo in all its glory. “I mean.” You tried to find the words but struggled with a chuckle.

“Yeah I know I think Wes was shaking a little bit.” Joe grimaced before laughing with you. “It’s an easy fix don’t worry, are you okay for me to start?” You asked, in a weird way hoping he’d say no so you had more time to talk to him and hear more about his life. But he was ready, he told you he was more than ready and watched you as you got to work.

“You ok?” Looking up from the W and to Joe, you’d expected him to flinch or say something about the pain but he didn’t. Instead his face was plastered with a picture perfect smile. “Peachy keen darlin’.”

You were aware of the blush spreading on your face so got back to fixing the W and soon you had finished, wiping it down and wrapping it up.

“There we are, all finished.” You beamed and watched as Joe admired it in the mirror. “It’s perfect, thank you so much.” He mirrored your expression, happy there was now some symmetry to his drunken decision. “You’re more than welcome, grandad will sort out the payment and everything when Wesley’s finished.” You explained as you began cleaning up your station.

Soon the pair were at the front desk, paying for their tattoos and laughing with your grandad. You were still cleaning up so hadn’t realised they’d left due to your fixation on making the studio ready for you tomorrow morning.

“Knock,knock.” Your grandad announced his presence and walked in with a massive grin on his face. “What’s got you smiling so wide?” You laughed at his animated demeanour as he slowly approached you with his hands behind his back. He sat on the bench and smirked, before pulling his hands from his back to reveal a piece of paper and five £20 notes. “You got a big tip and a new admirer.” He laughed before handing you the money and the note. “But it was a tiny tattoo?” You were in shock, complete and utter shock.

“Read the note.” Your grandad pressed, leaning forward in anticipation. “Grandad!” You exclaimed,laughing at his eagerness. “Oh Cmon kiddo I’m dying over here.” He laughed back.

You opened the note and scanned the page with your eyes, a smile growing after each letter.

I’m sorry if this is totally inappropriate and i completely understand if you rip this up but just wanted to say I really enjoyed getting tattooed by you today and I’d love to get to know you more. Here’s my number, again I’m sorry if this isn’t appropriate I just think you’re pretty incredible and I’d love to get to know you more.

The tip is because you’re a brilliant artist and I hope you treat yourself with it and get something to help ease the stress of today.

All the best,

Joe

XXX

You grabbed your phone and copied the number into your phone immediately, passing your grandad the note before going outside to ring Joe.

“Hello?” He answered, anxiety evident in his voice.

“I’m leaving here in 10 minutes, fancy sharing a couple glasses of wine with that tip?” You had no idea where this confidence had emerged from but nether the less you were extremely thankful for it.

“Darlin’ that’d be a dream.”

#joseph #joseph quinn #joseph quinn one shot #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader fluff #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn x y/n #imagines #fanfic

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bridgeportbritt · 1 year

Text

The Guide on Starting a Royal Story

I’m often asked about tips on starting a royal story and I see more and more popping up which is great! So, I thought I’d compile all my tips into another tutorial! More tutorials here.

Storytelling Starters

So, I’d figure I’d start with just starting a story and then dive more deep into the royal parts of it because at the end of the day, your royal story is simply a story. I’m no expert on storytelling but I’ll tell you what’s helped me tell my story for the last two years along with tips I’ve picked up from some great storytellers here on simblr!

Let’s break it up into the 2 major things your story needs - plot and characters.

Plot

Plot is the story in which you want to tell. The thing I love about storytellign on simblr is how your plot can evolve in many different ways. Many of us have no plans to stop telling our stories, so the storylines grow and change with our characters.

To get started with creating a plot, I have an outline that I create for each chapter of my story. I use Google docs and simply write out the scenes and color code them based on if I’ve taken screenshots, drafted posts, or published a post. You don’t have to do it that way but that is what works for me. Others use tools like Milanote, some do their outlines in a notebook. Find what works best to help you work out your plots.

If you need inspiration, there are so many amazing stories here on Simblr. You can find the Royal Directory here. But, you can really get inspired anywhere - tv shows, movies, even from real life. That’s the beauty of inspiration, it can come from anywhere.

Characters

It’s hard to say whether to start with the plot or the characters because they are both so essential to the story. The best thing you can do for your story is to understand your characters. From their personality, likes and dislikes, what makes them tick, what their background is. Stuff that makes a person who they are.

Those attributes that you give your character will work together with your plot. How your character reacts to certain situations based on who they are can even drive your plot. Which is why establishing them both is really important.

Again, inspiration can come from anywhere, simblr, media, or real-life. You can also Google character building questions to help you.

Now, let’s get Royal storytelling specifically! Since this is getting long and will only get longer. I put the rest under the cut!

Royal Storytelling Starters

Okay, let’s get into the Royal stuff, shall we? There’s quite a few things you want to establish in your story if you’re focusing on a Royal family. Please note that you can always change things as you go and make things up as you go along, but I will say that establishing some things earlier on will help you in the future.

Your Country

The thing about royal families is they govern a whole country of people, usually a country that is completely made up. So, if we’re making up countries, we’ve gotta establish the things that make that country, that country. Here’s some places to start:

1. Names - What is the name of this new land? Does it have other countries, states, cities, capitals? Those also need names. It’s common for a lot of things to have names such as palaces, historical buildings, objects like tiaras. If you struggle with naming things, you can always try a name generator!

2. Geography - What kind of land is this? How big is the land? What about the climate? What kind of seasons does it have? Are there any natural landmarks like mountains, rivers, etc.? I’m terrible at this kind of stuff and made a lot up as I went. And that’s okay! There are even map generators that can help you!

3. Society - What are the people like who live here? Is there anything that bonds them together on a national level? Think state colors, flags, holidays, etc. What’s the population? Are they educated? What kind of work do they do? The best part about this is you can go as in-depth or not as you like!

4. Economy - What kind of system do they use? Capatalism, socialism, etc. Do they import and export goods? What’s the average income? What kind of money do they use? Dollars, pounds, simoleons, etc? Is the economy doing well or poor?

5. History - Your country had to start somewhere. Maybe your story starts at the beginning or hundreds of years later. How was the land founded? How did it go from what it was to what it is today? How old is the country? Are there places where people can learn about the history? Museums, monuments, tv shows, movies, etc.

Now, don’t let these things scare or overwhelm you! Trust me, sometimes these things develop with time and you don’t need to figure it all out before you start. Get a comfortable head start and worldbuild as you go!

Your Government

Alright, let’s move onto government which I felt had to be it’s own section because there are Royal sims after all. Your country’s government system is important because it will impact your family. So, here’s a few things to consider:

Your Government System - Your probably doing a monarchy system, but there are even different types of monarchies. So it would be a good idea to do a bit of research on which one yours falls under. Keep in mind, that you can even make up your own kind of system. You don’t have to follow what’s already established.

Political Affiliation - Many countries have some sort of party system (ex. Americans have democrat and republicans and a few smaller parties). I know that most people don’t want to get political, but in some instances you may find it neccessary. But, still keep in mind that you can totally make this up.

Laws and Such - Who establishes the laws? Who enforces them? These are some things you need to think of. Is it your royal family or monarch? Do you have some sort of parliament system. This kind of falls within the government system part, but mainly you want to establish the role of your monarchy and those they work with to govern your country.

Your Royal Family

Alright, let’s get to the fun parts - Your Royal Family! This is why you’re here. You want to slap some tiaras on a sim and send them to the next gala! But, hold on a second. Let’s establish a few things in our families first:

Titles - When it comes to royals, titles are very important. Some titles are given based on land ownership, family heritage, birth, etc. You want to give your royals titles and establish how they are styled (ex. Her Majesty or Her Imperial Majesy). You also want to create a system for titles such as if someone dies, who gets their title?

Dress code - You’re going to soon find out that dress plays a huge role in royal sims. Many have strict dress codes. Your dress code can look however you want it to look. You may also want to keep in mind traditional or national type outfits based on your country.

Roles - What exactly does your royal family do for your country? Support causes through engagements, engage in political lawmaking, host foreign diplomats? It’s really up to you. You can create some interested storylines based on duty, as well!

Religion - I added this to Royals because I realize that a lot of Royals base their pretty much entire existence on religion. So, I think it’s important to note. Of course, like politics, it’s a touchy subject so you don’t have to do it. Want to make something up? Go for it! I’ve been using the Jacoban religion from the Sims Medieval which has been much easier! You can find my guide on that here.

Royal Sims Community

There is an awesome growing community of Royal Simmers! All of which help us tell our stories, collaborate, and overall have fun. So, here’s a few things of note!

Royal CC and Poses

Tiaras, clothes, jewelry, etc. - @melonsloth, @batsfromwesteros, @glitterberrysims, @normalsiim, @thesimpireblr, @royaltysimblr, @threethousandplumbobs, @rustys-cc, @sifix, @ice-creamforbreakfast,

Build/Buy - @thejim07, @felixandresims, @anachrosims, @themarblemortal, @strangestorytellersims

Poses/Deco Sims - @samssims, @royalhouseofcarrington, @novapark, @whitmoreroyals, @reigningsims, @clanmacarthur

Tips on Collaborating

Royal Simblr Event/Collab Etiquette

Guide to Interacting

How to Send Sims

How to Host an Event

Collabing with Others

Royal Sims Discord Server

If you’d like to join the royal sims discord server, send a message to myself, @thealbionroyals, @whitmoreroyals, @trentonsimblr, @thebaillieroyals, or @royalhouseofcarrington. There are 5000 more tips and tricks in there plus it’s where we all hang out to talk about royals, get feedback, and collab!

In Conclusion

This post is so long, but I thought I’d give some parting advice as you start your journey into the crazy world of Royal Sims!

1. Get a Process Going that Works for You

When it comes to storytelling, it’s probably a fun hobby for you that you want to dedicate time to. My biggest tip is to find a storytelling process that what works for you. I recommend something that allows you to be focused without stifling your creativity. And it’s okay if it changes or if you do things differently from time to time.

2. Take the Pressure Off

It’s easy to put a ton of unneeded pressure on yourself. But, it’s always been important to me to have fun and use this as a creative outlet. Creativity is very fluid. There is no right or wrong way to be creative. Perfection does not equal creativity. It’s also really hard to be creative when you’re miserable.

3. Interact and Find Your People

For me, this one is the hardest one to do and took some time but I’ve made a lot of great friends here! It started with me following their stories and engaging with them, then I started my story and we’d engage with each other, then I headed over to discord for more interaction. And through that process I’ve found a lot of cool people who motivate me and inspire me daily! Don’t be discouraged by people having their own friend groups or feeling like an outsider. All friendships take time to form but if you put the effort in and connect with people genuinely, it’s really awesome and makes storytelling even more fun!

4. Have fun!

I can’t stress this enough! Actually have fun with what you’re doing. Don’t make this creative outlet a job or set ridiculous expectations for yourself. Don’t think your blog needs to be like anyone else’s to fit in. I think most people here can agree that they very much don’t fit in which is why they’ve turned to a space like this. You will go longer and be less bored when you have fun and not pressure yourself.

#tutorial #bridgeportbritt #community stuff #hopefully this helps someone #royal simblr #royal sims #Let me know if there are any other guides you'd like!#jacoban guide coming next!

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maxislvt · 2 years

Text

So Persuasive

Summary: You and Wanda had very different work ethics. You worked hard and took your time with every assignment and made sure it was perfect. Though Wanda rarely found herself matching your intellectual passion, it was something she adored about you. Sometimes your passion for knowledge would get in the way of your passion for her, and she couldn't let that slide for too long.

Warnings: 18+, Smoking, hot boxing, corruption kink, car sex, semi-public sex, strap on usage, stoner Wanda, and sex while under the influence

A/N: I just got back from vacation like two days ago and I didn't have enough brain juice to write chapter four Her Body Is My Coffin just yet so I finished this old draft instead. (plus I think I'm sh*dowb*nned and I don't want it to flop more than it did the last two chapters so if you see this and enjoy it please reblog it)

There were many things that Wanda loved about you. Some big, others small and personal. Your bed was always made with three stuffed animals snuggled in underneath the covers. The doc martens she had bought you had laces that were a little too long — Wanda's docs conveniently had laces that were a little too short. Your favorite pair of boxers were a size too small, but you had refused to toss them out unless you found the exact pair in an appropriate size. Your innocence was easily her favorite thing about you. Wanda had been your first, well, everything. Your first girlfriend, your first kiss, and your first time. There was a special kind of trust between you two. Though Wanda would never hurt you, she couldn't help but take advantage of it at times. It was so much fun to fill your sweet head with dirty thoughts and watch you crumble under the weight of your own lust.

She was careful to never cross any boundaries. All she did was convince you to expand them just a tiny bit. Just a little of "practice" here and there until you were too excited to deny her. That's how she took your virginity. Make-out sessions got heavier. Then she'd grope you from time to time. Soon, she was grinding against you with no restraint and, not long after that, you were begging for her to go all the way. It wasn't half as torturous as the six months prior to that, but she still found time to tease you. The sight of you so needy and vulnerable was addictive. Wanda found herself poking at your limits very often after that. There was one in particular that she just couldn’t get you to budge on.

Smoking weed was a bit of a tense subject for the two of you. You never stopped Wanda from smoking, but you refused to do it yourself. You were so adamant about it, Wanda almost crossed it off her list. However, once you two talked it out, it was back on the table. Not because you had loosened up and didn’t care. Simply because your reasoning for not smoking was rather childish. It wasn’t because you didn’t want to risk failing any important drug tests or worried about developing a dependency, but rather that you didn’t want your parents to find out. It was adorable, truly. You were twenty years old and more than eight hundred miles away from your home, but still worried about what your parents would think if they caught you smoking weed. If that was all you carried about, how could she not play temptress and drag you down that path?

Besides, you needed a little break. You had thrown yourself into planning some fundraiser for the track team. She cursed herself for letting Pietro rope you into his misadventures, but this would be her redemption.

You were artistically spread out on the couch with your face mere inches away from your laptop screen despite the glasses perched on your nose. If it weren’t something she had bared witness to several times before, she would’ve found it cute. Now, she just worried if your back was okay bending like that for so long. The number of stained glasses littered on the coffee table alongside two, now empty, boxes of graham crackers was a common sight that Wanda was starting to hate. Though she found your obsession with the crackers adorable, they were by no means a sustainable meal and you’d been living off of them.

“Hey, sweet bear,” Wanda whispered sweetly as she slipped into the empty space on the couch. She pulled your legs into her lap, forcing you to sit up right. Her fingers were quick to rub circles on the exposed skin of your calf. “I think it’s time for a break, yeah? You’ve been working so hard lately, I don’t want you to burn out.” A gentle smile spread across her face as you stopped typing for a brief moment. Normally, you’d shoot her down and insist you needed to get whatever project you’d been focused on done. It was a small step in the right direction that you were at least considering taking a break.

You smiled back at Wanda. “I’m almost done, I got one more page on this proposal and I promise I won’t do anymore work for the rest of the break.” Your smile faded in sync with Wanda’s as she sighed. “Come on, you know how much this means to your brother, I can’t let him down.” You changed positions so you were sitting shoulder to shoulder with Wanda. “I know I’ve kinda ditched you to write this and I’m sorry, but it’s all I have to do this summer. I promise you'll have me the rest of the break after this!" You gently squeezed your girlfriend's hand.

Wanda huffed out and pulled you impossibly closer to her. Giving you room to work wasn't unreasonable, but Her fingernails softly dragged themselves over the skin of your exposed thigh. "I promise I won't have you out all day, we can just take a ride out and have a picnic. You'll be back before dark." Her hand inched up your thigh and gave it a firm squeeze, then she gave you the cutest pout she could. Despite her dominant role in the relationship, she found herself waiting for your commands quite often. "We can even go to Dairy Queen if you want, but you have got to get out of the house."

You looked down at your laptop, briefly glancing over the document. It wasn’t your best work, but Pietro wasn’t paying you and Wanda was certainly more important. “Fine, but you’re paying for everything and you have to let me shower first.” You smiled and pressed a firm kiss against Wanda’s cheek. Before you could run off towards the bathroom, you were forced back down on the couch and pulled into a proper kiss. You would’ve teased your girlfriend for being so greedy, but it was a much needed kiss. So needed in fact, you found yourself peppering her face in a few more. “I really needed this,” You said between kisses. Eventually, you freed Wanda from your affection and ran off to shower.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

After a proper shower and trashing all the snack wrappers you had stacked up, you and Wanda were off on a much needed free roam. Your favorite music filled the air as the two of you talked about anything and everything. Just sitting in the passenger seat with Wanda’s hand placed confidently on your was enough to make everything right again. The worries of budgets and posters disappeared when you were in the car with Wanda.

Though you enjoyed watching the cars fly by and the neighborhoods merge into one another, you were most excited to be in your favorite spot. It was undeniably suspicious and you were beyond skeptical when Wanda first took you. Before you two came along, it was nothing. A questionably open space in the middle of the woods with next to no foot traffic. Now, there was an old picnic table you used for a little more than just eating, a small tree Wanda had crudely carved your initials into, and an elephant path from how many times Wanda tires constantly rolling through. Had you not tried — and failed — at camping there already, it would've been a third home.

"I take it we're not getting home before dark," You asked jokingly. You were curled up in the passenger seat with a milkshake in hand and a thick blanket wrapped around you. These moments were not rare by any standard, but they were invaluable. The peacefulness of untamed nature was something you loved even as a child, but Wanda was your favorite part of it all. The warmth that radiated from her body pair was forever comforting and you could never get enough of the way she would praise you. You were Wanda's little bear cub and she made it known.

"Nope," Wanda said before blowing a puff of smoke out her mouth. It never made sense to her how you refused to smoke but were happy to hotbox with her. She originally thought you just had a high tolerance or didn't notice you had gotten high in the first place. However, when she turned to face you again, it all made sense. "You're staring," She said. Wanda rolled up the window as she took another hit. She leaned over to kiss you with tight lips. Then she pulled back just to blow the smoke in your face.

You were whipped. Pupils blown out, mouth agape, and mouth dry. For a moment, you thought your heart was going to explode out of your chest or maybe you'd melt first. Your hands nervously fiddled with the blanket wrapped around your body. Watching Wanda smoke always had some hellish effect on you. Whether it was in the car, in her bedroom, or out at a park — it never failed to turn you on. "Okay, well, now you're staring too! So now we're both weirdos," You quipped.

"I see how it is, sweet bear," She said as she took another hit from her blunt. "You want me to do all the hard work while you get to sit there all wet and adorable." Wanda reclined her seat as far back as she could and patted her lap. She watched as you carefully climbed over the stick shift and sat down in her lap. "Awe, you're my perfect bear," She whispered softly. Her hands snaked around your waist and pulled you closer. Wanda's hips rolled forward, making sure you felt the little secret she kept packed in her sweatpants. "It's not fair if only one of us is having fun. Can my good bear make it fun for me too? I promise I'll make it extra fun for you."

You lifted your hips as a burning embarrassment spread across your face. "Wanda, we're in public…" Despite your complaints, you don't stop Wanda's hands from removing your shorts and boxers. The smoke was making your head fuzzy. All you could think about was the toy buried underneath Wanda's underwear. Reason was quickly becoming nothing more than a tiny voice in the back of your head and nothing more. "What if we get caught?"

Wanda guided your hands to pull her pants til her boxers were exposed. It was entirely your own doing that her boxers followed suit. "There's no one else here but us, cub. Just relax for me, please?" Her hand tugged at your shirt so you were just mere inches away from her face. "I won't let anyone see, I promise." She pulled you the rest of the way forward so that your lips crashed together. The hand gripping your shirt moved upwards to the back of your neck. A muffled grunt escaped her lips as she began grinding against you.

You whimpered into the kiss. The untouched wetness in between your legs quickly became unbearable in the heat of the car. "Wanda, please," You begged as you gripped her shoulders. One of your hands aimlessly reached down in space between you and your lover. Your hand wrapped around the thick toy only for Wanda to push your hand away. "No," You whined out, "I need it…please don't be mean." Your heart dropped to your stomach as Wanda gave you a smirk.

Wanda's fingers ran up and down your folds with ease. "Awe, my little bear is so needy," She said, her voice becoming raspy from the smoke. "I'll give you whatever you want, but I want to make sure it doesn't hurt." Her fingers slid into your pussy with ease. You had been stretched out more than enough, but Wanda couldn't resist the urge to be inside you. There was no greater pleasure than watching your slick drip down her hand all the way to her elbow. You got her higher than any drugs ever could. "You're so wet for me. I love that and I love you. I love you so much."

You could only nod and whimper in response. The smoke had gone to your head and the only thing on your mind was Wanda. You moaned, feeling the tip of Wanda's strap parted your lips and rubbed against your clit. "Wanda, please, I'll be so good." Your pleas were finally answered as the thick toy slid down and began stretching your velvet walls. "Fuck, that feels so good," You said breathlessly. Being filled up was something you craved desperately. Wanda eased you down the toy with her hand pressed firmly on your lower abdomen.

Wanda chuckled at your use of profanity. "You're such a messy thing when it comes to this dick," She whispered directly. Her hands slid back down to your hips and began thrusting into you. Her thrusts were slow and drawn out. "You hear that, sweet bear? All those dirty noises are coming from your pussy and I've barely even touched you." She reveled in your moans and the squelching of your hole. "I'm gonna have to walk around with my sweet bear's cum all over my pants. Then everyone will know how needy you are for me." Wanda would never embarrass you in such a way, but there was no harm in teasing you.

Even with your face buried in Wanda's neck, you could see the smirk on her face. Maybe it was the weed, but you could only moan at the thought. Wanda agreed to be private about your sex life for the sake of your pride, but suddenly the thought of everyone knowing was euphoric. "Mhm, your needy teddy," You groaned out in a dazed state. Your hips began moving on their own, stuttering and struggling to keep up with the tortuously slow pace Wanda had set for you. "No one else can touch me, just you."

Shock didn't even begin to explain the way Wanda felt. It was rare for you to respond to her dirty talk. Needy whimpers and soft groans, maybe a soft whine whenever she accused you of being a pervert, but never did you say anything back. "Oh, little cub, you don't even know what you do to me," She groaned. Her thrusting became more erratic, desperate to see you fall apart. "Come on, sweet bear, let mommy see you cum."

You grumbled something under your breath before leaning back to look Wanda in her eyes. The secondhand smoke had given you a new burst of confidence. "Please don't stop, I'm so close and it feels so good!" Your words slurred together and it only got worse once your orgasm rolled over your body. The strength in your arms had all but evaporated and you ended up falling smack against Wanda's shoulders. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as Wanda continued to pound into you. "It feels so good," You whimpered with a hoarse voice.

"It sure looked like it did," Wanda teased as she pulled out of you. The sight of your cum stringing out and dripping down her strap was something that would never get old. She let your cum drip down onto her lap. "You look so good when you're all messy." Her hand blindy reached into the drawer attached to her center console to pull out a towel. It wasn't the best aftercare, but she just needed you to stay together until she got home. She was careful not to touch you too much. You were high out of your mind and she wasn't sure you could handle any more stimulation. "You're my perfect little bear cub." Wanda begrudgingly guided you back to the passenger seat and leaned over to buckle you in.

You nodded contently as you rested your head against the back seat. Your mouth was painfully dry and your head was starting to hurt as the afterglow of your orgasm wore off. "I want another milkshake…and a chocolate croissant…and chicken nuggets, I'm really hungry and my head hurts. Am I pregnant?"

Wanda chuckled at your highness. "No baby, you're just a little high that's all. Just relax okay?" Her hand carefully massaged your thigh as she began to pull off. "I'll get you all the food and Tylenol you want once we get home."

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