❛ new message ✉️ ͜͜͡ ͜͡ ❜ .ᐟ ◟ ͟welcome to lotus’ silly little mind ✱ʾ . ̝ .𓏼ִ݀⳿১ .. read more ⊹ . . .
—–—–— ❛ lotus ❜ . . . she ﾉ they, nineteen years of age and steven grant’s weird wife :p.
⇨ ❛ currently fixated on marvel so it’s likely i'll be writing for them the most rn! ❜
❛ slowly opening requests (bare with me tho, I’m still dipping my toes in the writing scene so i write for whoever gets my brain runnin) i write (n)sfw and do not have a writing schedule as i'm a mentally ill college student haha so posts will be sporadic. I’m also on ao3! ❜
reblogs and comments are so appreciated
❛ please interact with me ❜ ཆི♡ཆྀ
𓄲 ʿ her rules and regulations ♪ ˖ ࣪🪽
honestly the basics.. dni if any of my work makes you uncomfortable.
i am most likely not spoiler free.
please do not use my work for anything i'm uncomfortable with my work being shared on other apps ﾉ websites without my permission.
i am black! so my work will be race neutral or sometimes lean towards black audiences.
i write for fem ﾉ afab audiences and sometimes gn as that's what i'm most confident doing.
i'm sorry if my grammar or punctuation are off! i tend to look over a few things when i write.
lover of anime, kpop, marvel, n’ dc but i only write for fictional, anime and game characters.
lastly please don't run my work through any chat bots/AI, thank you.
We have been forcibly displaced from our homes and now find ourselves without shelter, food, or basic necessities.
We urgently call on kind-hearted individuals and humanitarian organizations to come to our aid.
Every donation, no matter how small, can make a big difference in the lives of our children and families.
🚨Please help us — time is running out 🚨
My name is Mahmoud Al-Halaq, from Palestine - Gaza - I am 29 years old. This message is addressed to every person who carries compassion, kindness, and love in their heart. After 470 days of war on Gaza, the destruction that has occurred, the displacement we have faced, moving from one place to another, and the loss and death of loved ones and friends, I found myself alone without a home or place, and even the prices of food are astronomical. The world has changed so much that life has become gloomy and boring. Therefore, I ask for your help in rebuilding myself, my life, and my family's life anew. You are our remaining hope in life. If there were an opportunity to work, I would not waste a minute nor ask for help from anyone, but I urgently need assistance for my family, my children, and the women to rebuild what has been destroyed and crushed in this devastating and painful war. Thank you for your time and support; we draw our strength and resilience from your support. 🍉
Hello, my name is Karina. I'm organizing this campaign for Mahmoud Alhallaq, whose previous campaigns have been shut down or have had their
💔🇵🇸 My Daughter Was Born Under Bombs — I'm Just Trying to Keep Her Alive
My name is Abdulmajid.
I got married one month before the war.
Those were beautiful days — full of hope, love, and simple dreams.
I dreamed of a small home, a quiet family, and a baby girl I could hold without fear.
But the war came…
Suddenly. Brutally.
My mother was killed.
My brother was killed.
Children in my family were taken by the bombs.
My home was destroyed.
And my work stopped completely.
Then… in the middle of this nightmare, my baby girl was born.
A tiny soul, innocent, unaware of the war.
She cries from hunger, from cold, from the sounds of bombs shaking what’s left of our walls.
Today, I’m a father with almost nothing…
Fighting every day to find flour, milk, or even a small meal to feed my child.
Prices are sky-high — a single 25kg bag of flour can cost $800.
There is no work. No income. No safety. No stability.
I write this from under siege, hoping my heart will reach yours.
My name is Abedmajed Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with what remains of my once large and loving family.
Even $1 can make a difference.
It can feed a child, buy milk, or bring a moment of peace.
Be the heart that reaches Gaza. Be the hand that saves.
📌 Please share this post. Let our voices be heard — not buried under rubble.
Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #537 )✅️
🜼 ⋆ first time fratbf!choso learns you can squirt, he can’t seem to stop abusıng your cunt.
he doesn’t find out because of porn or bragging—he finds out by accident. you’d been grinding on him during some dumb afterparty in his room, shirts sticky with cheap beer, your laughter muffled in his throat when his thumb brushed over you too roughly through your shorts. you’d been teasing him, calling him “baby frat” under your breath because he never actually partied like the rest, and he’d retaliated with this clumsy, desperate pressure between your thighs. the sound you made—it wasn’t your usual.
sharper, shocked, cut off halfway like you didn’t even know it was coming. then suddenly you were wet, soaked beyond reason, dripping down his forearm before you shoved him back and gasped, wide-eyed, face burning.
he stared at you like he’d unlocked a secret level. and that was it. from then on, choso couldn’t stop.
in the days that followed, he cornered you in ways that weren’t even normal boyfriend things anymore. in his car parked behind the frat house, hood pulled low so no one would glance in, fingers pumping you open until your thighs trembled against the dash, until you slapped at his wrist and begged for him to slow down. he’d grunt, “just one more—just once more,” even though it was never once. the seatbelt strap was damp by the time he was done, your voice breaking as liquid gushed against the leather.
he’d lick his knuckles after, shaking, pupils blown, muttering how fucking crazy it was that you could do that for him, only for him.
then in his room, on a wednesday when nobody was supposed to be around, he’d drag you onto his mattress, sheets already stained from the night before, and refuse to let you up. it wasn’t mean exactly, but it was relentless. his hands shaking while he spread you wide and made you watch the mess splatter across his comforter, moaning through his teeth every time your stomach jumped under his palm.
he’d push your hand down, press it against the swell just above your pelvis while he shoved his cock deeper, whispering in that gravelly, half-ashamed voice, “feel that? that’s me—fuck, that’s all me—” until you were sobbing and shaking your head. the headboard banged so loud the guys in the hall teased him for days, but he didn’t care. didn’t even answer back.
by the weekend, it turned into something darker—an addiction that made him clumsy in public. his arm slung over you at a mixer, his lips against your ear: can we leave? just for a second? promise it won’t take long. dragging you into the bathroom, locking the door with fumbling hands, and pushing your panties aside just to chase it again.
his face between your thighs this time, nose pressed hard into you, drinking down everything while you gripped the sink for balance. he’d hum against your cunt when you sprayed over his tongue, messy and shaking, the sound so deep and satisfied that it made your stomach clench all over again.
he wasn’t fratboy-smooth—he was needy. pathetic. every time he made you squirt, it rewired him. his shy loser pride burned hotter. he’d whisper about it later, in your ear when you were falling asleep, about how no one else could ever have this from you. how you were made for him. his knuckles were bruised from jerking himself off when you weren’t around, frustrated because it wasn’t the same unless he could see it, feel it.
and maybe the most shameful part? he started keeping count. muttering numbers under his breath, holding up his fingers to mark every gush he forced out of you until you smacked his chest, whimpering that you couldn’t do it anymore.
he’d smile, crooked and exhausted, but still keep pushing, still rut into you with that low groan of your name, until his sheets, his hoodie, his skin—everything smelled like you. until your body felt wrung out and trembling, his loser pride swelled huge in his chest: my girlfriend. mine. mine.
The first time you get Bucky to record the two of you, he is a nervous mess. The offer to film has his hips stilling in you, his brows furrowing in timid confusion as he tries to comprehend the offer presented before him. He is quick to dismiss the idea thinking that it would taint your image of him, that you would see him as nothing more than a simple man but as you remind him that you are offering, he hesitantly accepts. Bucky fumbles with the phone, suddenly too awkward with the technology but as you hold your fingers over his and angle the phone just right, he relaxes and begins to fuck you again.
“Do you wanna record?” your voice hitches as Bucky slides his cock over your sopping cunt, the heat of his body searing your skin.
“Record this?” he is breathless, too far gone as he continues to rut against you, his hips stuttering with each languid stroke.
You nod, stretching a hand out to the night stand, fingers curling around the phone before opening the camera app. The screen blurry for a second as it adjusts to the low light but soon focuses. Bucky swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, pulling the plush flesh between his teeth in deliberation.
“Are you sure?” the question is timid, blue eyes wide and brows furrowed in disbelief at your offer. “We don’t have to. I can remember this just fine.”
“I know you can remember but It’s just so you can have something of me when we’re apart on missions or whatever.” You slip the phone into his hand, your other hand stroking along the sides of his torso, goosebumps in their wake.
Bucky takes a second to think and you swear you can hear the gears turn and tick but as you begin to rut against his hips, fucking yourself on his cock again, his mind his made up.
He holds the phone in his right hand, the left gripping your thigh to hold you open to him, to try and get the best angle possible but after a few thrust he gives up with a breathy giggle.
“It’s gonna be so blurry, my hands can’t stop shaking”
I love the Jordan Li jealousy trope vibe so much I’m just-
Anyways-
I cant stop thinking about a fem!reader x Jordan scene were the reader starts using another girl at a party to make Jordan jealous🫡 I feel like I always see this done with another guy but the thought of it being another girl is just so😙🤌🏻
*combining this with another ask about established relationship jordan*
Your partner, despite being able to sweet talk any exec into giving Brink's department just another million, was not good with words. At least, not with you. It's not like they insulted you, or anything outright cruel - but when they were upset, it felt like nothing was off the cards. Your grades, your bad habits (like procrastinating your dishes or your penchant for never finishing your take-out orders), even going on tangents about your taste in movies. Snide comments were fine, and even endearing, when you two were on good terms - but they stung in the middle of a fight. Even more so when they'd been picking fights for days and blowing you off for no reason.
All this to say, this wasn't the first time Jordan had broken up with you in the heat of the moment. The last time, it had only taken a day for them to come back to try and apologize. And like a fool, you let them.
Not this time. At least, not yet.
It's not fair to you, the way they seem content to say whatever they want and expect you to forgive them. They broke up with me.
And of course, the doubt always creeps in. If they can throw you away so easily - are you just a placeholder? Some girl they can keep around until someone better comes along? Someone prettier, stronger, a better fit. Your powers have no combat applications (your major is actually an independent study allowing you to research most of your days, avoiding combat and acting classes to focus on science), and you'd never thought of yourself as a particularly attractive person. It's easy to feel out-of-place when your partner's closest friends are practically models - and could kick your ass twice over on a bad day.
That's where your thoughts go, as hours turn to days and Jordan hasn't even texted once. When it first crosses your mind that maybe, just maybe, they actually meant it.
Three days. That's how long it takes for them to call - a personal best for them. You let it go to voicemail, and you almost delete it without listening. But you do listen. And it feels just as shitty as it usually does, hearing the strain in their voice as they try to cover up the fact that they were crying.
But you don't call back. Not that night. Or when they call the next night. Or when they start texting - and you put your phone on do not disturb - so your friends stop looking at you like that.
That's also what gets you out the door Friday night after shimmying into your favorite dress, even letting your best friend paint your eyelids a sparkling gold color.
They broke up with me. That's what you tell yourself as you feel guilt rising in your chest, entering the party somewhat hesitantly. They broke up with me, I can do what I want.
You didn't mean to end up grinding on this girl (you didn't know her name, and frankly, you didn't want to know), it just sort of... happened. You were three shots in, comfortably buzzed, and you hadn't even seen Jordan. You'd finally been able to shove your feelings about them into the back of your mind, dancing with your friends, when this girl you'd never seen before made her way over.
You'd thought she was there to pull your friend Lucas away (not an uncommon experience), but her eyes seemed glued to you - and your hips - as you moved to the beat.
It was totally platonic! At first. Then she gives you another shot and her hands are sliding lower on your body, and it's so easy to let her move you closer. Her fingertips tugging gently until you're moving against her, and it feels natural. You're trying not to think about Jordan, and about how (despite how delicious her touch felt) this girl was decidedly not who you wanted to be dancing with.
You used to joke with Jordan that their gaze had a physical presence. That you could feel them looking at you, even in your sleep. But it didn't feel so funny when you could feel their glare burning through you as the mystery girl pressed her body against yours in a move that felt almost too intimate for a public place.
So yeah, you didn't mean to end up grinding on a hot stranger. And you didn't intend to make Jordan jealous by being here. But if the opportunity presents itself...
And you couldn't deny, it felt good. Even though this wasn't the first time you two had an "off" phase, this was the first time you'd ever acted like you were single. I am single. They broke up with me. You have to remind yourself that it's their own fault. They should feel bad!
And yet, you can't help but feel guilty. Or angry. It's hard to tell which feeling is stronger - your guilt or your resentment. So you keep dancing, and try to shake the weight of their gaze.
And it's almost working. Her lips brush your throat, her hot breath tickling your neck, and you sigh, your eyes fluttering closed. You can almost forget that it isn't Jordan you're dancing with as you lean your head back onto her shoulder. But when she goes to get another round, another body takes her place immediately.
You know who it is before they even touch you, their cologne sending a thousand memories careening through your mind. Memories of long nights, romantic dates, and walking home from class. Memories of bad fights and the cold mornings that followed.
"Princess." They practically growled, and you weren't sure if you'd ever heard them quite like this. "You know you shouldn't go out alone." Their lips ghost over your neck, just where the girl's had been, and you hate how right it feels, even now.
"I'm not alone." You manage, and you try not to wince at the hoarseness in your voice. "I came with my friends."
"Lucas and Kelly? They left." Jordan's answer comes too quickly, and you realize they must've been here for a bit longer than you'd realized. "About three shots ago, if I recall correctly." They move even closer, if that was even possible. "You really should pay better attention to your surroundings, princess."
You know they can feel the way you shiver and press closer to them as they talk. You know they know the effect they have on you. They always have. But you can't give in. Not this time. You can feel your will weakening, and you have to force yourself not to melt even more in their embrace. They broke up with me. You remind yourself.
"I've been in good hands." You say, trying to sound nonchalant. "Speaking of..." You make a show of looking for the girl - even though you think you'd rather eat your own foot rather than leave Jordan's embrace before you have to.
"The bartender's showing her out." Jordan murmurs tightly, and you know you should be furious that Jordan bribed the bartender to get your dance partner kicked out, but you couldn't muster the anger. They guided you out of the party and to a bench outside, their body curled around you like a shield.
"If you think this changes anything-" You begin, but your protestation sounds weak, even to your ears. "You can't keep doing this to me, Jordan." You wanted to sound firm - like you were giving them an ultimatum. But it sounded more like a cry - and maybe it was. But you take a deep breath through your nose and try to sound stronger. "Either you're in or you're out. You can't just throw me out when you get tired of me, and then come back when you -"
"Is that what you think is happening? That I've been breaking up with you to play at being some kind of fuckboy?"
"I-" You start, your brow furrowing slightly.
"I'm not running to someone else, fuck, princess, I'm running from how I feel about you! Isn't that obvious? I fucking need you, and it's fucking terrifying. How-" They step away, running their hand through their hair. "How could you think I could ever be tired of you?"
"Everyone else is! God, Jor, I'm nowhere near as interesting or powerful or attractive as you or any of the people you hang around. Why would you settle for-"
Your face is cupped in their hands before you can finish your sentence, their eyes staring into yours like they're trying to read your thoughts. "I don't settle, princess. I never have." They said firmly, and then their lips are on yours, and you can't think of anything but Jordan. They still taste the same. All cigarettes and cinnamon gum and everything you'd been missing.
Usually, you'd be embarrassed about making out in public, but the alcohol in your veins and the Jordan of it all has you straddling their lap without a second thought. You're not sure when they shifted, or why, but you're grateful to have her bob to tangle your fingers in as you deepen the kiss, and to have her neck under your teeth as you nip at her throat.
"You know, Tara has had her eye on you for awhile. Or so I've heard." They said, trying to sound more casual than they did.
"Was that her name?" You murmur, your lips traveling up their throat to their ear. You smirk when you feel them shiver under you. "She doesn't dance as good as you."
"She's a dance major." They say, and you wonder if they'd looked her up before.
"Maybe she doesn't know my body as well as you do." You murmur, pressing closer to them as you tug their earlobe with your teeth, making them shiver under you again.
They shifted before practically pulling you with them to their dorm. And they spent the night showing you just how special they thought you were.
I’m writing a wanda fic and I was curious to know if you guys preferred it to be a three ish chapter series with like maybe 1-2k words per chapter or a 3-6k word one shot?
