#and all i can think is that the person who wrote that fic is engaged in fandom

[thevioletcaptain]

y'all get that screenshotting fic to publicly make fun of it is straight up bully behavior, right? like. it doesn't matter if you redact the author's name. this is no different to a kid taking someone else's art off the wall in a classroom, walking out into the playground, and holding it up to say "haha look how shit this is"

[aquaticmercy]

Match

Summary : You finally found your intellectual match in Bucky Barnes.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x rare book dealer!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : You and Bucky are nerds (affectionate), mentions of his past. Sexual tension-filled philosophical debate. DC comics exist in the MCU as literature as per the guardians Christmas special lol. Cursing? Steamy not smut. Fluff!!!!

Word count : 5.7k

Note : This fic was inspired by that one scene in FATWS where Bucky said he read the hobbit. I just really like the idea that Bucky really really likes to read. Enjoy!

Rare books were not just a job to you, but a vocation. You spent your days seeking out treasures, preserving them, and connecting them with people who could truly appreciate their worth. Your little shop was a haven of creaking wooden floors and shelves brimming with the worn spines of countless literary works, sunlight streaming through the tall windows.

It was your home.

On a quiet Tuesday, the bell over the door jingled.

At first, you assumed the man who walked in was lost or killing time— maybe a tourist who thought your shop was an antique or souvenir shop (you’ve gotten a lot of those over the years). 

He didn’t fit your usual profile of a customer—no tweed jackets or scholarly glasses. No suit and tie, no clean white blouse. This one was confident, albeit rough on the edges. His leather jacket and heavy boots belonged in a biker gang, his long hair brushing beautifully against his shoulders. But it was his left arm that drew your gaze—a sleek, black metal hand peeking out of his sleeve, rippling slightly when he moved.  

You recognized him instantly: James Buchanan Barnes. 

The former Winter Soldier. 

A man who belonged to history books and legends. Seeing him in person was... surreal. No article had prepared you for the magnetism he carried, no photo did him justice.

Still, you weren’t one to swoon. And you definitely weren’t about to let him see you staring a little too long into his steely blue eyes. 

“Can I help you?” you asked, keeping your voice calm and professional.

For a second, he seemed to weigh whether or not to answer. “I’m looking for a first edition of The Hobbit.”

You blinked.

That wasn’t what you’d expected. 

“It’s in the case over here,” you replied, recovering quickly. You led him to the glass display where one of your most cherished possessions lay nestled, secure and pristine.  

He muttered something like ‘just like I remember’ as he gazed at the book, his voice close to reverence.  

“Big fan?” you ventured, curious.

His lips curved up, into a faint smile. He nodded. “Always admired how he built entire worlds. The languages, the histories.” He hesitated, his voice growing quieter. “He lived through hell in the trenches, too. And from that, he wrote something… hopeful.”

You hadn’t expected that depth of understanding, and your surprise must have been obvious. “What?” he asked, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Didn’t think I’d be the type?”

This was going to be fun, you thought.

You shrugged, trying to suppress a grin, “you’re not exactly my usual Tolkien collector.”

That earned you a sweet, gentle chuckle. “I didn’t think I’d be either, but I’ve always loved books,” he admitted, “They were one of the only constants after...” His voice faltered, remnants of his past briefly flashing behind his eyes.

You didn’t press. Instead, you followed his lead, steering the conversation back to Tolkien. “You're right about the worldbuilding. He wrote a full mythology— linguistic and cultural foundations and all. It’s like he created an alternate history.”

“Exactly.” Bucky’s smile returned, brighter this time. It had been ages since Bucky had an engaging, meaningful conversation that wasn’t about mission planning, let alone about a book. The heated, faceless debates with internet strangers—each convinced they were ultimately correct—definitely didn’t count. “It’s that attention to detail— You don’t see that much anymore.”

After that, the two of you fell into a rhythm, talking easily for nearly an hour. About Tolkien’s works, his love for language, and the way war had shaped his narratives. You even mentioned how Tolkien’s own experiences in World War I echoed the camaraderie and loss found in his stories. Bucky nodded along, sharing personal observations that surprised you—not just because of their insight, but because of how much he genuinely cared.

Back in the day, everyone saw Bucky as the classic jock, and to be fair, he was. But beneath the effortless charm, he was a nerd at heart—fascinated by books, obsessed with science, and captivated by innovation. It was Bucky who had dragged Steve along to the World Exposition of Tomorrow, it was Bucky who was eager to see Howard Stark’s presentation on flying cars. Back then, the future had been his fixation. It had been out of reach— a world of endless possibilities. 

Now, he was drawn to the past. 

He’d fallen in love with reading again. After all, he had a century of literature to catch up on. And with the internet at his fingertips, he had access to more knowledge and stories than he could have dreamed of. 

40s Bucky would’ve had a heart attack from the sheer volume of information he could consume. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just chasing a vision of what might be—he was immersing himself in what already was.

Eventually, the conversation drifted to The Lord of the Rings. 

“Did you read the trilogy?” you asked.

He nodded. “Only a couple of years ago. I didn’t even realize it was published after… everything.” He paused, frowning slightly, as if reaching into the murky depths of his memory. 

Right. You did a quick mental tally based on the books you’ve read about him. The Hobbit was published in 1937, and The Fellowship of the Ring in 1954. Bucky was presumed killed in action in 1945 and captured by a terrorist organization. So, yeah—he’d missed it.

“Hydra,” you said the thought allowed before you could stop yourself.

You winced, bracing for impact. Oh no, you thought, have I crossed a line?

“You read about me?” he asked to your surprise, likely catching you deep in thought. 

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, though your heart still beat out your chest. “Superheroes are a popular topic for peer-reviewed journals and doctoral theses. There’s a whole academic subfield about the Winter Soldier— a lot about your role in the war, too.”

His expression was unreadable, but you thought you saw a flicker of something— amusement? Whatever it was, it eased the tension you had accidentally created, and the conversation resumed.

You’ve read plenty about Bucky Barnes—the sharpshooter of the Howling Commandos, Captain America’s trusted sniper. You’ve probably read more about him in the modern age: scholars debating the pardon of the Winter Soldier, professors discussing the Sokovia Accords— a conflict in which he’d been a major player in. You’d disagreed with the Accords, of course, but that’s a story for another time. 

Right now, your focus was on the man in front of you, talking about Tolkien and his wonderful languages. See, the peer-reviewed articles about him had painted a stark picture: a kind soul turned into a cold, unfeeling weapon. But they neglected to mention that even after everything, he was still a kind soul. In person, it was hard to reconcile the man before you with the image of a killer. 

The paper also failed to mention a pleasant surprise: his mind. You realised now that Bucky Barnes wasn’t just a soldier; he was sharp, curious, a man who loved literature and sought out conversations that challenged him. It was something the world overlooked.

Yet it was there, just beneath the surface.

“Have you read the Silmarillion?” you ventured.

“I tried,” He grimaced. “Felt like reading a textbook. Not sure I even made it halfway.”

“That’s fair,” you admitted with a laugh. “It’s not the easiest read. But it’s worth it, I promise.”

Bucky didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t shut the idea down, either.  

You made a snap decision. Reaching behind the counter, you pulled out your personal copy of The Silmarillion. It wasn’t a rare edition, but it was filled with your notes in the margins, a map you’d sketched for reference, and little Post-its marking key passages. “Take this,” you offered, holding it out to him.

He hesitated, not used to kindness from beautiful strangers. “You sure?”

“Absolutely. Hopefully the notes will make it easier. And don’t even worry about returning it,” you nodded, “It’s probably for the best. I obsess over it too much.”

He took the book, his metal fingers brushing against yours as he did, making your stomach flutter. “Thanks.”

“And if you’re curious about all those papers written about you...” You looked through bookmarks on your laptop, typing ‘James Barnes’ into the search bar. You jotted down a list of academic articles you’d read— some about his time in WWII, others about his unique role as a postwar icon. “Here. If you want to see what people are saying.”

He smiled that kind smile again, folding the paper carefully and tucked it into his jacket. “I appreciate it.”

When he left with the first edition of The Hobbit, your annotated Silmarillion, and your list of articles about him, you found yourself staring at the door long after it had closed, hoping it wasn’t the last time he’d visit your shop. 

—

Bucky started coming in more frequently, always buying another rare book— Hemingway, Orwell, Lovecraft. The pretense was paper-thin, though, and you both knew it. 

Sure, he enjoyed books, but by that point he knew he could’ve gotten cheaper copies on a bid online (rent in a big city was expensive)— and the books he bought weren't even that rare. 

Each visit turned into a lengthy discussion that carried you through the night, far past the shop’s usual closing time.  

One afternoon, he returned something unexpected: your well-worn copy of The Silmarillion. Admittedly, you’d  missed it—  its once-pristine pages now brimming with additional notations—his handwriting mixing with yours.  

“I had to,” he said, an almost sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Your notes made me see it differently. It felt like a conversation.” 

You opened it, thumbing through the pages, your eyes catching his commentary. He had sharp, incisive thoughts: challenging some of your interpretations, expanding on others, and sometimes adding playful jabs in the margins when he disagreed with your analysis.

“This is dangerous,” you said, glancing up at him with a teasing smile. “Do you really want a debate about Tolkienian theology?”  

“I’ve got time, doll,” he said with a grin, settling onto the stool by the counter. Your cheeks flushed at the nickname, hearts doing backflips in your ribcage.

And so, that evening, you indulged in the mind of James Buchanan Barnes, exploring his thoughts and musings about Middle-earth. For the next two hours, the two of you argued about the nature of Ilúvatar’s creation, the Fëanor tragic story, and whether or not Morgoth represented a failure of divine providence.  

“I’ll admit,” he said at one point, leaning back and crossing his arms, “I wasn’t expecting it to feel so... biblical.”  

“It’s a way to think about creation through the lens of fantasy,” you replied, your voice softening as you traced your fingers over the book’s cover. “There’s a reason people get lost in it.”  

He watched you for a moment, his gaze lingering, his smile fading into something softer. 

It wasn’t the only time your conversations would take a turn like this. A week later, gothic monsters were your battlefield.

Bucky leaned against the counter, an old edition of Dracula he had just purchased in his hands, the worn leather squeaking as he shifted. His brow furrowed in that way that always made you wonder what he was thinking— though you had a feeling he was about to pick a fight, again.

“You’re out of your mind if you think Frankenstein beats Dracula,” he said, glancing up, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief.

“I’m not saying they’re even comparable,” you countered, crossing your arms as you leaned against the opposite side of the counter. “They’re completely different genres. It’s not a fair fight. But if it were... Frankenstein wins. Hands down.”

Bucky chuckled, a low, warm sound that made it impossible not to smile. “You think that because you’re obsessed with sci-fi. If it’s got a fake scientist and a lot of regret, you’re sold.”

“And you think Dracula is better because it’s all dark and broody,” you shot back, arching an eyebrow, “sound familiar?” You smirked, mirroring his stance against the opposite side of the counter. “Besides, Frankenstein is a masterpiece—philosophy, morality, hubris—it’s got layers. What’s Dracula got? Melodrama?”

“Hey! Dracula has layers!” Bucky chuckled low in his throat, setting the book down. “It’s about primal fear, wrapped in ancient powers, wrapped again in the clash between tradition and modernity.”

“It is enjoyable, I must admit, but it’s just a glorified soap opera.” You groaned, though your lips twitched in spite of yourself. “Shelley’s work makes you think, you know? It’s art.”

“Art?!” he repeated, stepping closer, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse skip. “It’s a guy making bad decisions and spending the rest of the book dodging the consequences.”

You straightened, eyes narrowing. “It’s about responsibility! The monster is a reflection of Victor’s failure. He’s abandoned and searching for connection—”

“And whining about it,” Bucky interrupted with a smirk, folding his arms. “Dracula doesn’t whine.”

The playful sparring faded when it hit you.

Frankenstein’s monster was created without consent, shaped into something he never chose to be. He was cast out, left to navigate a world that saw him as a mistake. The monster was isolated— burdened by guilt—the question of whether he was defined by the harm he’d done.

“Does he…” you started, gulping, unsure of how he’d react to an outright observation. “Does Frankenstein’s monster make you uncomfortable?”

As you stepped closer, his expression faltered, his eyes dropping to the book in his hands. Slowly, he set it aside, the movement deliberate. You reached out, your fingers brushing against the cold surface of his metal arm before resting there gently. “Does it hit too close to home?” you asked.

He didn’t deny it. A quiet laugh escaped him instead. He shook his head. “You’re too damn perceptive for your own good,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a longing for something you couldn’t quite place.  

Your fingers moved in slow circles against his metal hand, and when it twitched beneath your touch, you knew he felt it—knew he felt you.  

“The monster was never the villain,” you said, a fragile offering meant to soothe him. “He just needed someone to see him. He can be kind, too.”  

His gaze lifted, locking onto yours, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes stole the air from your lungs. For a heartbeat, the world stilled. 

Then Bucky’s smirk returned, smaller this time, as he leaned into your touch as if he craved it. “Nice try,” he said, voice lighter but still soft. “You’re not winning this one. Dracula’s better.”

You laughed, the tension breaking just enough to let you breathe again. “You’re impossible, Barnes.”

—

You were afraid you had scared him off after that, but to your surprise, he returned a week later, albeit a bit bruised from a mission.  

You’d been reshelving old graphic novels that day (First Edition Hergé that you were quite excited by), the quiet hum of the shop wrapping you in comfortable silence, when you caught sight of him out of the corner of your eye. His dark leather jacket hung slightly open, revealing a plain gray shirt that stretched just enough across his chest to draw your eyes. There was a faint cut near his jaw, still healing.  

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft as he approached. His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary. “You look beautiful today. Is that a new dress?”

Your breath caught, and a warmth crept up your neck as you glanced down at the simple, flowy dress you’d chosen that morning. “It is,” you admitted, looking back up at him with a shy smile. “Thanks for noticing.”

“Hard not to,” he murmured, his lips curving into a small, almost teasing smile before he turned toward the shelves.

You busied yourself with reshelving more books behind the counter, but you couldn’t help watching him out of the corner of your eye. His human hand traced idly along the spines, careful not to inflict damage. When he stopped, he plucked a rare-ish pocket 6th edition of Thus Spake Zarathustra from the shelf, his metal fingers glinting faintly in the light of the shop.

“You actually like this guy?” he asked quietly, lifting the book like he was sharing a secret.  

“Like is a strong word,” you said, stepping out from behind the ladder. His gaze caught yours, and there was a flicker of something playful in those blue eyes. Your pulse quickened, beckoning him to the counter. “He was no saint, but hardly anyone is. I… appreciate his contribution. It’s not his fault people misuse his work.” 

Bucky had witnessed it firsthand: fascists distorting Nietzsche's philosophy, disregarding its complexities, and twisting his ideas into a justification for genocide.

His lips turned upward, a lopsided grin that softened the sharpness of his jaw. His stance shifted, leaning against the counter with a practiced ease. His eyes flickered, taking you in, and when you crossed your arms, his gaze lingered briefly, enough to spark a bubbling heat beneath your skin.  

“You don’t think Nietzsche was a proto-fascist, do you?” you asked, tilting your head.  

“God, no,” he said quickly, amusement softening his voice. His grin spread, revealing the faintest cute dimple in his cheek. “I’ve read enough to know better. But I don’t exactly buy the Übermensch thing either. It’s too... self-centered for my taste. The whole idea of being ‘beyond good and evil’ feels dangerous.”  

“That’s fair,” you said, closing the distance between you as you reached for the book in his hand. Your fingers brushed his as you slipped it from his grasp, his touch warm, steady, almost deliberate. His eyes flickered down to where your hands had met. “There are many flaws in his thinking, but I don’t think the concept is inherently bad,” you continued, the air between you charged with tension. You tilted the book toward him, as though showing him something, though you both knew you weren’t really focused on the pages. “It’s about striving for a better version of yourself. I think he wanted people to create their own meaning, not follow blindly.”  

“Maybe,” Bucky murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He shifted closer, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter, the sound echoing in the quiet room. His metal hand rested at his side, the vibranium gleaming faintly as his other hand inched forward, almost brushing yours.  

His breath fanned your cheek as he leaned in, close enough now that you could see the stubble along his jaw, the way his lashes framed those blue eyes. “But there’s something so… wrong about thinking you’re the one who gets to decide what’s right,” he whispered, his voice like a secret meant only for you.  

He was close, dangerously so— that you could feel his breath on your nose.

The bell above the door chimed suddenly, breaking the moment like shattered glass. Dr. Hart, a lecturer from the local university, stepped inside, a bundle of papers tucked under her arm, and smiled in greeting.  

She was a returning customer, here to pick up a special edition of Conversation on Botany that you had tracked down for her.

“That’s $40, Mr. Barnes,” You took a small, steadying breath and waved at Hart with a thumbs up that said I’ve got your book.

His lips twitched into a knowing smile. Hr reached for his wallet, pulling out a few bills. As he handed them to you, his fingers brushed yours again.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promised, his voice soft, almost teasing.

—

The tipping point came late one evening.  

You’d spent the last few hours catalouging a shipment of rare books, the shop’s air thick with the comforting scent of old leather, yellowing paper, and the faint hint of dust that always seemed to cling to ancient texts. The shop was silent save for the scratch of your pen against paper as you logged the latest arrival.  

The peace shattered with the familiar jingle of the bell above the door.  

“Shop’s closed,” you said without looking up, your voice automatic, your focus still on the fragile spine of a sixteenth-century text.  

“Good thing I’m not here to shop,” came the deep, unmistakable voice of Bucky Barnes.  

Your hand froze, an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. You looked up, finding him leaning against the doorframe with that trademark blend of casual confidence and smoldering intensity. His black Henley stretched across his chest, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms—a sight you tried not to dwell on for too long.  

“What are you here for, then?” you asked, arching an eyebrow as you tried to sound indifferent.  

“Conversation,” he said simply, stepping further inside.  

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you returned to your work. “You came all the way here just to talk?”  

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he teased, his lips turning into a sly smile as he perched on the edge of your desk. “I was in the neighborhood.”  

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother responding. Bucky always had a way of pulling your attention, and tonight was no different. You tried to focus on the delicate bindings in front of you, but his overwhelming presence was impossible to ignore.  

When he reached for a book from the nearby stack—a copy of Meditations by Marcus Aurelius—you finally gave in.  

“Stoicism?” you asked, your tone light with playful mockery. 

He flipped the book open, his fingers grazing the thin pages. “You’re really surprised? I thought you’d figure that about me,” he said, glancing up at you with a hint of a challenge in his eyes. “Marcus Aurelius had a lot to say about self-control.”  

“And yet here you are…” you replied, gesturing to where he was leaning across your workspace, a soft furrow of amusement on your eyebrows. You decided you could be flirty— eyeing the undone button of his Henley, showing a hint of his skin underneath. “...testing mine.”  

The corners of his mouth curved. “Guess I’m doing my part to help you practice.”  

You shook your head, half-smiling. “It’s not just about self-control, now is it? It’s about accepting what you can’t change.”  

He tilted his head, agreeing with you. “Or a way to stop drowning in things you can’t fix.”  

From there, the conversation unfurled like a thread you couldn’t stop pulling. Philosophy, morality, the nature of good and evil—it didn’t take long before you were fully engrossed, debating with a ferocity that surprised even you. Bucky was sharp, quick-witted, and maddeningly good at challenging your points. Every time you thought you had the upper hand, he’d counter with something so precise, so well-argued, that you couldn’t help but admire his mind.  

As the debate shifted, you sat on your desk, its surface cluttered with books that were hard to find, but not rare enough to be put in a glass case. Your focus was solely on Bucky, who was pacing the room with measured steps, his hands brushing against the edges of shelves every so often as though grounding himself.

“Alright,” you said, leaning forward, crossing your legs. “Here’s a question for you: Should Batman kill the Joker?” 

Slowly, he turned and walked closer to you, his shoes thudding softly against the floor. He stopped just short of your legs, leaning forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours, making your pulse quicken.

Oh, that piqued his interest.

“I should’ve known you’d bring up Batman.” Bucky’s lips curved into a smirk, eyeing up the first print of 90s DC comics in the corner of the room that hadn’t been there two days ago— a fresh delivery, perhaps? You were always very topical, and the recent restocks somehow always made their way into conversation.

“It’s a valid moral dilemma,” you said, straightening, your chin lifting slightly. 

He tilted his head, his expression a blend of amusement and challenge. “Why don’t you tell me?”  

“Of course he should,” You didn’t hesitate, the answer rolling off your tongue with absolute conviction. “The Joker is a mass murderer. Every time Batman spares him, more people die. His refusal to act is just as bad as pulling the trigger himself.”  

Bucky’s smile lingered, but his gaze grew darker, ever so slightly. “So you’re saying Batman’s refusal to kill makes him complicit?”  

“Yes,” you said firmly, leaning in slightly, the heat of the argument pulling you closer. “Batman’s morality is Kantian—rigid rules and all. But if he were more… utilitarian, he’d save more lives. The greatest good for the greatest number. One life to save countless others.”  

“That kind of math doesn’t scare you?” Bucky asked, leaning back as though to put some distance between you, though his eyes stayed locked on yours. “Once you start deciding whose lives matter more, where do you stop?”  

“It’s not about worth,” you argued, the intensity rippling from him unnerving but impossible to look away from. “It’s about outcomes. If you can prevent suffering, don’t you have a responsibility to do it?”  

The silence that followed felt heavier than it should’ve. His jaw clicked a bit, tightening as he considered your words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, shyer.

“If that’s your stance, then maybe someone should’ve killed the Winter Soldier years ago.”  

His words hit you like a punch in the gut, your breath catching. The implication of his statement filled the room, coiling tight around your chest.  

“Bucky,” you said quickly, panic creeping into your voice, your fingers twitching toward him but freezing halfway. “That’s not—”  

The corner of his mouth curved into a small, fragile smile. “Relax,” he said, holding up a hand, his voice dipping into something gentler. “I’m not offended. This is just a debate, right?”  

“It’s not the same,” you insisted, your voice gentler, almost pleading. You stood from your desk, hesitation in your chest as you reached out— you were scared he might pull away, “you were brainwashed.” Slowly, you pressed your hand to his cheek, his stubble rough beneath your palm. It was a wordless apology—a pathetic attempt to comfort, to reach him where words had failed. 

To your surprise, he didn’t stop you. Instead, he leaned into your touch. 

Bucky, slid his arm around your waist, testing the waters. His eyes flicked to yours, searching for any sign of rejection, any hint that he’d crossed a line. But there were none. Instead, the subtle hitch in your breath and the way you leaned into him told him everything he needed to know.

He shook his head, rubbing soft circles on your hip as if to say you’re okay. This conversation is more than okay. “But in the grand scheme of utilitarianism, it shouldn’t matter, right? My life was a liability. More people would’ve been saved if I hadn’t been around to hurt them.”  

His words settled over you like a storm cloud. The silence stretched, your carefully crafted argument unraveling in the face of his lived experience.  

He leaned forward then, bridging the space between you, his arm pinning you in place. “Maybe I understand Batman better than most,” he said, his voice quiet but intense. “Killing someone doesn’t always fix what’s broken. It just leaves you with blood on your hands.”  

Your throat tightened, the words sticking. He was too close now, the tension between you buzzing like a static current.  

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but he heard it.  

“Don’t be.” His words were soft as he pulled you closer. There was always a hint of warmth in his eyes, an unspoken kindness you admired.

The room felt smaller now, more heated. You opened your mouth to respond, but his words had stolen all the air from your lungs.  

He leaned in, his voice dropping. “It’s easy to talk about morality in the abstract. But when you’re staring someone in the face—when it’s a real person, and not just an idea—it gets a lot harder to play God.”  

Shit.

He was right.  

Maybe utilitarianism wasn’t a steadfast rule. Maybe it couldn’t be, not when you factored in the messy, unpredictable depths of human existence. Lives weren’t just numbers to balance on a scale—they were stories, choices, pain, hope. And Bucky… Bucky was proof of that.  

Your thoughts churned as you looked at him.

You felt your conviction unravel. It wasn’t just that his argument was sound—though it was (infuriatingly so)—it was the way he’d delivered it, the personal truth lending it undeniable power. And that’s when it hit you. That’s why you found him so damn attractive.  

Sure, he was gorgeous. The sharp lines of his jawline, the piercing blue of his eyes, the way his Henley stretched over his shoulders like it had been designed with him in mind. But that wasn’t it. Not entirely.  

It was him. His humanity. His thoughtfulness. The kindness that softened the edges, the depth that came from wrestling with his own darkness and coming out better on the other side.  

And he was brilliant. For the first time, you felt like you’d met your match. Someone who met you on your turf and stood his ground, someone who didn’t just nod along or agree to avoid conflict. Someone who could challenge you, who could look you in the eye and make you see the world differently.  

You thought you’d built your worldview on unshakable foundations, but he’d cracked it wide open, and now all you could do was stare at him with the dawning realisation that this wasn’t just attraction. It was something deeper, something that terrified and thrilled you in equal measure.  

He wasn’t just a match for you physically; he was your intellectual equal—a rare kind of connection that made your pulse race and left your thoughts spinning.

Before you could stop yourself, before you could think it through, you leaned forward and kissed him.  

It was impulsive—a collision of lips born from the fiery tension that had simmered between you for weeks. It was everything unsaid, every glance, every near touch that had lingered just a fraction too long, all boiling over in one moment. He froze for the briefest heartbeat, but then something in him snapped. His hands found you, pulling you closer, his grip possessive, almost desperate. Your hands made their way through the soft strands of his hair, landing comfortably around his neck.

The kiss, slow at first, quickly became frantic. Neither of you could get enough. The only thing that mattered was him—his lips on yours, his touch, the way his body pressed against you like a promise. 

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, his forehead rested against yours, his lips curled into a breathless smile. For a second, he could forget about everything that has happened to him. For a second, he was truly, utterly safe in your arms.

“I didn’t think you were the type to kiss someone in the middle of a moral argument about Batman,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his lips grazing yours with every word, sending shivers down your spine.

“And I didn’t think you’d let me,” you replied, your voice laced with a mischievous edge.

His eyes darkened, his smile widening just enough to make your heart race before he closed the distance again, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. This time, it wasn’t careful or calculated—it was raw, fervent, consuming. Your back hit the desk behind you, his hands sliding around your waist and around the curve of your bum, firm and deliberate, setting every nerve in your body on fire. 

“The books,” he mumbled against your lips, glancing at the teetering stack beside you, the volumes threatening to topple.

“I don’t care,” you said breathlessly, and to prove your point, you swiped the entire stack to the floor with a crash. The sound echoed, but you barely heard it over the roaring thump of your heartbeat in your ears. 

They weren’t too rare. You’ll just put them on the discount aisle tomorrow. 

His response was a low, guttural groan, his lips finding yours again, His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make your head tilt back, exposing the sensitive curve of your neck. He didn’t waste the opportunity, his lips and teeth trailing along your skin, finding the spot just below your ear that made you gasp. 

“Did I manage to change your mind this time?” he murmured against your ear, his voice rough and unsteady as his lips brushed against your jaw, then lower, tracing a heated path along your collarbone. 

You managed a breathless laugh, your fingers slipping under his shirt to trace the veins under his skin, his muscles tensing under your touch. “Okay, so maybe ‘the greatest good for the greatest number’ isn’t always the best approach when you’re the one holding the short end of the categorical imperative,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

His laugh was husky, his hands lower to grip your thighs, pushing himself flush against you. “God, you’re something else,” he said, his lips finding yours again, this time slower, deeper, as though savoring you. When he finally pulled back, his voice was hoarse. “Do you want to go on a date?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “You’re seriously asking me that now?” you asked, breathless. With your hands trailing over the planes of his chest, his breath mingling with yours, it seemed a bit out of order, but you weren’t about to complain.

“Yes,” he said, his words dead serious despite the way his hands clutched at your shirt, his lips finding the hollow of your throat. He kissed the spot slowly, firmly, making your legs feel numb. “I mean it,” he added, his voice softer, yet no less insistent.

You let out a breathless laugh, tugging him into another kiss, the kind that left no room for doubt about your answer. “Then yes,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing as you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “We’re going to have a lot to talk about.”

And boy, were you excited to talk to this man— a man who could turn the simplest circumstances into a philosophical debate, someone who wasn’t afraid to dispute your ideals. 

Someone who was your match.

“Later,” he rasped, his voice gravelly with need, his hands trailing up to tug his henley over his head in one fluid motion. The sight of him stole the breath from your lungs, but you didn’t have time to appreciate it before he was kissing you again, his bare skin pressed against you as he lifted your shirt off. “We can talk later.”

-end.

[fruittt-punchhh]

attachment

(couldn’t find image source anywhere, if u know pls lmk!!)

Synopsis: Choso was one of your closest friends - you spent so much time together, others said you were ‘attached at the hip’. But when his curiosity blooms, you are the only one that can help quench his thirst for knowledge.

Characters: Choso Kamo x reader (about time)

Content: Minors Do Not Interact! smut, fem! reader, virgin! Choso (so virgin that he lives in a world where he has somehow at the age of twenty something never heard about masturbating or sexual intercourse), college au, link to prn audio, suggestiveness, cursing, mentions of female masturbation, male masturbation, maybe a tiiiiiny bit of voyeurism, pet/affectionate names, big (pretty) dick! Choso, just our sweet lovey boy Cho in his full glory tbh.

Word count: A solid 6k

Notes: AHEM! there is some spicy audio from twitter linked in this post as well as an SFW image at the end. you’ll know when you’ve reached that point, and it will be emphasized like this, accentuated with '*'. if that's not something you're down for, you can totally scroll past. if you arrrre down for that, i think you'll need to be logged into twitter beforehand for the audio. if you're on mobile, I'm not sure if you'll be able to hear the audio as you read (unfortunately), but if you can, you're in for a treat bitch.

More Notes: i finally have some of my own choso smut on this blog wtf. he is my guilty pleasure omg i mean literally who doesn't love him, more specifically him when he's an inexperienced desperate crying mess???? i really hope you enjoy this one, i have def enjoyed writing it. (side note - the songs i pick for these fics sometimes fit the vibe of what i wrote, and other times it's a song i can't get out of my head. both are the case for this one - i listened to this nonstop while writing so pls enjoy if that’s cool with u). there will be future parts, and if you want to be tagged in those and you’re not already, let me know!!! SORRY TO YAP ILY BYE

(I wanted to upload this at like 5p my time for engagement purposes but then I thought about all the bitches (me) that may work from home, read smut on the clock regardless (me), or simply don’t work rn, so I had to give you the goodness now)

“Y/n, c-can I ask you a question? Like.. a personal one?”

You and Choso were seated on the couch, eyes fixated on the rom com on the screen ahead. It was your weekly movie marathon night - the movie you two just finished was an action thriller that was right up Choso’s alley. It was your pick next, and you went with a classic rom com that had a few more spicy scenes than you anticipated. It left the air in the room feeling thick, both of you clearing your throats and glancing throughout the room as if someone’s parents were present.

You and Cho had been close friends for a while, and it helped that you shared a similar schedule this semester. Although he was a cutie, you had no clue if he shared a similar attraction to you. He was so shy, and while the shy emo boy thing has worked on you before, you felt like you’d do nothing but corrupt Choso’s innocent soul if you were to make a move. You let things play out naturally, enjoying the company he brought and your friendship - but if things went in a different direction, you wouldn’t be opposed in the slightest.

“Sure, Cho - what’s up?” You ask, noting the concerned look on his face.

“Have you ever.. done that before?” He asks, motioning to the screen, and your heart aches with how precious he looks. His eyes flick up at you when your hand rests on his shoulder so you can scoot a little closer towards him.

“Well, yeah.. yeah I have. What makes you ask?”

“J-Just the movie, I-I was just curious,” he blurts, trying not to sound as weird as he felt for asking.

“Well, what makes you want to ask me specifically, I mean,” you press, trying to read his expression through his shaggy hair and long lashes.

He blushes, making eye contact with you again before twiddling his thumbs in his lap.

“I just.. I’ve never done any that before, a-and I trust you, ya’ know? I didn’t know if I was weird for not doing that,” he says, his voice becoming shakier by the second.

“Ohmygod, Cho, no of course you’re not weird! Everyone discovers things at their own pace. There’s a whole lot of stuff when it comes to sex, so it can get overwhelming,” you say, rubbing his shoulder with your thumb to help calm his nerves.

Which was really doing the opposite. Your touch was searing hot on his skin and it worried him. He’s been touched plenty of times, even by you - but it felt like you might melt through his skin if you pressed hard enough. It felt that way on his outer thigh, too; your knee resting on his leg accidentally inching closer to the area he felt every blood cell creeping to.

“Y-Yeah, s’overwhelming for sure,” he says, shifting his position slightly further from you.

“I-I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Begin? Do you have someone in mind you want to do stuff with?” You ask, begging he says no. You felt a little weird for hoping, but you would hate for his first experience to be with the wrong person.

More blood rushes to his cheeks when he makes eye contact with you, quickly looking back to the TV when he sees a hopeful look in your eye.

“N-No, definitely not. I just want to learn more, f-for when that time comes,” he says, clearing his throat and hoping you don’t catch on to his half-lie.

Phew.

“Well it’s probably best to start with the basics, yeah? Just the simple stuff, then eventually you kind of.. figure out where to go from there, if that makes sense,” you add, and he responds with a simple nod as he turns to face you again, ready to absorb whatever knowledge you have to share with him.

“So… have you ever touched yourself before?” You ask, trying not to wince at how awkward you felt asking him something so personal. But you had to assess how much he really knew.

He furrows his brows in confusion and lets out a small laugh, “Um, obviously - see?” He asks as he pokes his stomach with his pointer finger, and you remind yourself to keep a straight face. You grab his arm to refocus him and he huffs a breath of half-laughter as he notices how the blood in your fingertips pulse against his wrist.

“No, Cho. I mean like.. down there,” you say, motioning to his crotch area with your finger - he still looks confused.

“You know? To have an orgasm..” you ask, hoping he will pick up on your hints.

“Orgasm?”

You sigh, trying to find the right wording to explain this without sounding belittling.

“So, when I said ‘touching yourself’, I was referring to masturbation. I’m not gonna’ teach you how to do that because a Google search will tell you all you need to know,” and he nods feverishly.

“When you do.. sex stuff - like masturbate, have sex, all of that, usually the goal is to have an orgasm. Not always, but most of the time. I don’t know all the science behind it, but when you repeatedly stimulate the nerves in this area,” you say motioning to your groin, “you can have an orgasm.”

“O-Okay, I understand. Is the orgasm weird? Sounds like it,” he asks and you smile.

“No, no not at all. It feels really good. You know how when you have to sneeze and there’s this big buildup, then bam, you sneeze? And you feel so relieved? It’s kinda’ like that, but a million times better.”

“Better than eating your favorite food? Or watching movies?”

He asks, eager to know more.

And you sigh again, “Well, it’s hard to compare it to stuff like that, but it is really pleasurable. It just makes your body feel good, I guess. It’s hard to explain it through words, but now you know a little more - if you’re interested in that sorta thing.”

“No, I think I understand better now,” he says, thankful for your instruction.

“Oh, and if you do masturbate, when you have an orgasm, some fluid will come out from.. down there. But it’s normal and happens to everyone.”

“Fluid? Even girls?”

“Yes, Cho, even girls. It’s different though for sure. For girls it’s more like clear.. slimey stuff? And for you it’s like a white.. liquid? I’m sorry, I’m so bad at explaining shit,” you laugh, rolling your eyes at how stupid you felt.

“No, y/n you’re doing a great job! I had no clue about any of this stuff. Question.”

“Shoot.”

“What is it called? The fluid,” he says hesitantly, still trying to wrap his mind around how making fluid come out of any body part was a good thing. He feels his crotch grow warmer and, out of embarrassment, shifts his pillow to hide his growing problem.

“Oh, well there’s scientific names for it, but everybody calls it cum,” you say as you will the blush to fade from your cheeks.

“Cum. Like ‘come here’?”

“Y-Yeah, pretty much. Just spelled different.”

“Got it. Another question.”

You nod.

“How do you know when to masturbate?”

You were hoping this was one he wouldn’t ask.

“Well kind of whenever you want to,” and his eyes widen, “Let me rephrase that. It’s kind of like using the restroom, right? Something that you do behind closed doors.”

“Y-Yeah, makes sense. But whenever you want to? How do you know when you want to?”

“Okay,” you start, “you know how people in movies talk about being horny? It basically means you’re.. turned on, you want to have sex, stuff like that. So when you feel that way you could do it if you want. For you it’ll be a little easier to tell.”

“How?”

“You know how when you wake up in the morning and your… area is hard?” You ask and he blushes, turning again to look at the television.

“Yes,” he answers simply.

“Well when it is hard, it doesn’t always mean you’re horny - it can just happen randomly. But whenever you do start to feel that way, usually it’ll get hard. But that doesn’t mean you have to masturbate whenever it is that way, you know? Just if you want to,”

He gulps as he shushes the images in his mind of you waking up in his bed beside him, still trying to understand all the information being thrown at him.

“O-Okay. I-I think that’s good, for now, to start at least. Thank you for telling me all of that,” he says with a smile as he tries to focus his attention to the tv.

“It’s no problem, I promise. You can always ask me questions about anything, you know that right?” You say, wrapping your arm around his shoulders to give him a quick squeeze of reassurance.

“Y-Yeah, of course,” he says, voice cracking as he finishes his statement. There was yet another passionate scene appearing on screen, albeit shrouded by covers and dim lighting. The discussion left him feeling hot all over, and the blood rushing southward had only increased. It didn’t help that you pressed your plush chest into his arm so sweetly when you hugged him. Although he had never seen a woman in that way in person before, he knew that if he had to pick, it’d be you. It always would be.

“Y/n, would you hate me if I had to go home? My tummy hurts for some reason,” he says with a grimace, rubbing his abdomen as he looks at you.

You chuckle, “Oh really? It wouldn’t have anything to do with the three pounds of candy you ate would it?” You ask, pointing to the empty wrappers he had shoved into the plastic sack they came in.

“You’re probably right, hah. I’m sorry, I just feel like I need to lay down,” he admits, wiping the sweat he feels accumulating on the back of his neck.

You shove into his arm, to which he responds with a fake ‘ow’. “Ugh, and right in the middle of my movie? You owe me one, Cho,” you say, sticking your bottom lip out for good measure.

He smiles brightly, crows feet decorating the corners of his eyes. “Duhhhh, we can just reschedule for the weekend. I should be free Saturday night if you wanna’?” He asks.

“I’ll have to check my schedule. Don’t leave much room in my calendar for traitors nowadays.” You say with a dramatic roll of your eyes. He giggles and pushes you back, sticking his tongue out before he gathers his things to go.

You reach up so he can give you your usual bye hug before he continues walking to your door.

“I’ll give you double next time, I-I don’t wanna get you sick,” he yells as he scrambles to unlock the door. You start to get up to demand your hug before you hear the door open with a rushed ‘see ya’ later’ as he shuts it.

He rushes out the door, fumbling for his keys before he sits in his car with a huff. He was throbbing now, but you said it was something to do behind closed doors. To be fair, he was scared to try. What if he didn’t do it right?

He wipes his palms on his pants, turning the key in the ignition before he pulls out of the drive. He had so much to think about - there was no time for music. He drives home in silence, replaying the conversation the two of you had as he tries to will his hardon to go away. But each time he thought about it, it would twitch in response to the images of you in his head.

You watch him leave from your kitchen window. He looked okay, maybe a little feverish. With how sudden it came on, you felt like it had more to do with the conversation you two had than the exuberant amount of candy. You did throw a lot of information on him at once though. You want to text him to get to the bottom of things, but he was notorious for texting you back as he was driving, not wanting to leave you waiting for long. You decide to wait until after the shower you so desperately needed.

-

You wrap your hair in a towel and throw on your previously laid out pajamas. You fan your face so your moisturizer can dry as you go to grab your phone off the charger. No texts from Choso, surprisingly. He usually always texted you when he got home.

‘just checking in, how you feeling??🤢’

You can’t even close your phone before a loud ding! echoes in your room.

-

The ride home was excruciating. Now that he knew there was a way to take care of things, he felt helpless not being able to now. At this point, he still didn’t even really understand how to… ‘stimulate the nerves’ - that could mean anything. The knowledge he had now plays on repeat in his mind as he pulls up to his apartment. He checks his phone - it reads a too-bright 9:33.

He goes inside and immediately lays on the couch, not having the energy to go upstairs just yet. He forced himself to sleep. He knew texting you would make him think of the way you smelled earlier, the way you were so suddenly all over him, how your chest pressed into him when you hugged him like you usually do.

It only made matters worse that he dreamed of you - his aching, throbbing problem seemed to be worse now that he refused to take care of it earlier. He rubs his eyes, reaching for his phone to see you texted him about thirty minutes ago.

‘I’m good! Just needed to lay down, sorry I didn’t text you!! I fell asleep when I got back😴🥱’

‘It’s okay bestie!!! Do you feel better now?’

‘Yeah a little bit! Thank you for talking to me earlier’

‘Sorry if it was weird’

‘ohmygooooooddddd dude I told you it wasn’t weird! I’m always down to talk about whatever silly butt’

‘I knowwww🤓I just felt awkward but I didn’t know who else to ask’

‘It’s okay I promise. Do you have any other q’s? Might make you feel less awkward yk’

‘Mayyyybe😟’

‘I’m waiting🙂‍↕️’

Your response made him anxious - he felt like he’d been hard for hours at this point. He knew it had something to do with you, though it was difficult to admit. He had always looked at you fondly, sneaking glances when you weren’t looking, finding reasons to come over, staying up late just to talk on the phone. But he was so new to everything he had no idea on how to take things further, if you even wanted to.

He did want to learn more about you, though - like he always did.

‘do you touch yourself?’

You did not expect him to ask anything like that. He was usually so innocent and coy. It could have been genuine curiosity, although your stomach was telling you something else.

‘ummmmm yes sometimes🤔why’

He did not expect your answer, either. Not that he thought you wouldn’t - you obviously knew enough about it to teach him well. But he also didn’t think you would, maybe he was even hoping you wouldn’t. Knowing that you do made him feel like he could combust.

‘I was just curious!! sorry if that was too far’

He types the message quickly, locking his phone before he headed upstairs. He was determined to learn more - he was so hard at this point it was hurting. He couldn’t keep his mind clear from the lewd depictions of you sprawled out for him so pretty.

He sits into his computer chair quickly, logging onto his desktop before he pulls up an incognito tab. He knew that porn was out there, but he wanted actual educational material.

-

It’s been only fifteen minutes and he feels like he's discovered an entirely new world. He knows even more than he bargained for and he’s seen enough instructional diagrams to last a lifetime. He feels like he has a decent grasp on how to masturbate and even some ways to please others, when that time comes.

He grabs his phone, worried what your response would be to his prying question.

‘no it’s okay! just didn’t expect you to ask but yeah, it can be a great stress reliever!!’

You send the message, hopeful you didn’t sound to forward.

He receives it and the tent in his pant twitches involuntarily. He puts his phone face down on the desk, taking a breath as he attempts to process what you said.

‘also not to change the subject bc we can still talk about whatever, but i really need help on the calc hw🙏😀’

He was too excited at the thought of you so expertly relieving your stress. He imagines you all red faced, panting and falling apart. How sweet you’d sound gasping and whining his name. The thought has him reaching for the waistband of his lose sweats, his long fingers making his abdomen tense when they move further, brushing the trimmed hairs at his base before they just barely wrap around his shaft. He pulls his sweats over his length, gasping at the dry stimulation. His cock springs forward, smacking loudly on his stomach as he winces. He’s been painfully hard for hours now - his angry tip was drooling precum, smearing it underneath his belly button into his happy trail. He grabs himself again, wrapping somewhat firmly around the base of his cock, careful not to squeeze too hard. The diagrams he studied said too much of a grip wasn’t ideal, but too loose wouldn’t provide enough stimulation.

He pulls his hand up slowly, the skin around his tip enveloping the curves of his cock head snugly before releasing it as he moves his hand downwards back to its original position.

‘f-fuck,’ he whines, already overwhelmed by the new sensation. It’s not like he hasn’t felt something similar before - but the new knowledge of what this was, what it led to, left his breath shaky from the anticipation. He moves again, gripping slightly harder as he brings his hand up further than before, almost entirely to the tip as more spurts of his essence leak from his tip to his fingers.

He continues, slowly increasing his pace. Each stroke elicited a noise from him - a gasp or a grunt, and downright pitiful whines that were ripped from the bottom of his lungs. He had never felt so close to nirvana before and he couldn’t help vocalizing* his pleasure as he struggles to keep a steady pace. He tries to stop his mind from drifting, but the snug grip he has on his length as he repeatedly bucks into his hand sends him to a place where every thought is infiltrated with your essence. The way your hands squeeze his shoulder, how the fat of your hips threatened exposure when you wore your favorite pajama shorts, how you were always so warm, how your hair smelled when he hugged you. He reaches his free hand up into his shirt, resting on his heart as he tries to match the erratic beating rhythm with his strokes. He’s nearly crying now, strangled noises leaving his throat so raw and sharp, voice cracking and heaving as he feels an unfamiliar pull in his groin. He’s whining out pitiful cries of your name now in response to the borderline overstimulation of his pretty, weeping cock. Sweat pools on his body as his hips come entirely off the chair to pump messily into his fist, chasing a release he didn’t know he needed.

-

You check your phone again, seeing a message that still read as ‘delivered’. Choso was usually so quick to text you back, almost like he left the screen open to your messages only. You were starting to worry that he may actually be sick with his unusually inconsistent communication. The calculus problem you needed help with was staring back at you on your laptop screen, still waiting to be answered.

You open up your discord to see his status as ‘idle’. However, when you open Skype, you see a little green dot showing he was active in the last hour. Might as well call him here if he didn’t have his phone.

-

Shit. His vision was turning white as he felt every sense in his body ignite before he is lurched back into reality when a familiar chime plays in the background, somehow perceivable over the dull ringing in his ear. The sound is hardly audible behind his pathetic whimpers as he tries to steady his breathing before he answers. He flips his phone over first to see a message from you from a few minutes ago, and he curses a long string of 'fuck, fuck, fuck'.

He answers the call, feeling so stupid for keeping you waiting again. He’s unaware of the state he appears to be in when the webcam turns on, bright desktop light illuminating his red, fucked-out face.

He stutters, still struggling to catch his breath as he wipes the sweat from his brow.

“H- Hi, Hi, y-y/n,” he says, choking out an airy laugh as he puts his head in his hand.

“Were you just -“ you say, putting the pieces together as you take in his image - splotchy, sweat-shined skin, hair stuck slick to his forehead, shaky hands, and bitten, swollen lips. It would explain the inconsistent messaging, the off-kilter questions from earlier, and most importantly, the state he was in now. He was nearly moaning on the call, still too caught up in his obvious state of pleasure.

“I swear, I wasn’t, hah,” he starts, taking a deep breath again as he finds a nearby towel and runs it through his sweaty, disheveled hair, letting out an audible 'fuck' to your surprise - he never cursed in front of you.

“J-Just got back from a run!” He adds with a smile, clearing his throat as he readjusts in his chair.

“I thought you were sick?” You ask, trying to adjust your laptop camera as you sit back into the bed. Choso gasped, barely detected by his webcam mic as your camera twitched downwards in your attempt to reposition. The camera flashed your waist, hugged tightly by your white tank top, which was followed by your full chest, nearly heaving out of the neckline - his breath hitched as he catches a glimpse of your nipples peeking through the thin material. All too quickly the camera is refocused by on your face.

He thought this would make it better for him, having the camera pointed away from your tempting figure. But your clean, soft skin shined so brightly on camera and made him feel like he could melt. He still breathes heavy, trying to find an explanation to your question.

“Yeah, phew - felt like I was getting a fever, wanted to run out the ick, ya’ know?” He says, chuckling nervously after he finishes. He looks down at his gray t shirt, now covered in sweat.

“Gimme’ just a sec’ - gonna change,” he says and you respond with a hesitant ‘okay’. You chose not to tease him although the thought was lingering - he was probably as embarrassed as he’d ever been getting somewhat caught in the act.

He reaches his hand up to his webcam, sliding the privacy shield to your right - only halfway. He doesn’t realize his mistake, his still shaking fingers betraying him. He stands from his desk with a huff, and your hand flies to your mouth as you stifle a gasp. For a brief moment, his pelvis faces the camera before he turns to find a shirt. He’s pulling his sweats up as you’re able to see just a flash of his crotch, light brown hairs decorating his pelvis that come to a head at the end of a sharp, defined ‘v’. In the few seconds, you were able to see a clear outline of his dick pressed firmly into the fabric of his sweats. It looked girthy and he sat so heavy and pretty - the rounded mushroom tip protruding where it rested in the left leg of his pants. There was a darker gray patch near his tip, signaling the problem you’ve suspected him to have since he left your place earlier. He unknowingly continues his show, pulling his ruined shirt over his fluffy hair, flashing his taught abdomen before your very eyes. You could tell he was built under his clothes, and a lot of his time outside of class and hanging out with you was spent in the gym. But the up close viewing on his toned figure was enough to send a heat rushing towards your core as filthy thoughts of him on top of you flash one after the other. He unfortunately turns to find a new shirt, coming back after he finds a white compression tee to smooth over his still damp torso.

He slides the cover left, smiling at the camera with a wave as he announces his return. You clear your throat, trying to refocus your attention to the matter at hand.

“Hey yeah, um - the homework, right. It’s number… 26 on the ‘limits’ assignment,” you explain.

“Read it to me,” he demands, breathing finally stabilized from earlier.

You read the equation, explaining the error you got each time you plugged it into your calculator.

His face lights up, “Oh, yeah! That one was tricky, it’s D though. I’ll explain it in class tomorrow if you want,” he adds, desperate to end the call. While he could look at you eternally, the sensitivity he was experiencing had him nearly ripping the wood from his desk topping with his fingernails.

“Awesome, thank you!” You reply, selecting the correct answer before you minimize the tab, wanting to set the call to full screen for a moment.

“Cho, can I come over tomorrow? I know you said we wouldn’t be able to until Saturday, but I can already tell I’ll be bored tomorrow.”

He’s shocked.

“M-My place? We always go to yours though -,” he answers, glancing around at the state of his room to be met with more of a mess than he remembered.

“Well yeah, but we never go to yours though! Figured it could be fuuunnn,” you add, hoping he doesn’t see right through your real intentions. The intentions you had of ensuring he was taught well, far better than you were able to earlier. You feel as if the dots connected before you - his permanent blushed cheeks he wore so proudly whenever you touched him, the longing look in his eyes as you attempted to explain the basics of self-pleasure, and how frantically he had to leave after said conversation. Even if you were reading into this incorrectly, it would be nothing more than another movie night, which you'd never turn down.

He smiles again, nodding as he says, "You know what? Yeah, yeah that would be fun. Just gotta' tidy up before then," he finishes with a laugh, trying to remind himself that asking you to come over right now might be a step too far.

"Oh you know I don't care Cho, I'll take you however I can get you," you say as you search for the blush you expect to appear - and it does.

"Oh, y/n, he sighs, and the slight desperation in his tone made your stomach drop.

“Um, I know I've already said this today but would you hate me if I got off the call?" He asks, not so subtly seeking your permission. "I need a shower bad, hah," he says, putting emphasis on 'need'.

You give him his sought after permission, waving a quick 'bye' before he does the same, leaving the call with a sigh.

-

You breathe deeply, closing your laptop screen with a huff as you decide to leave the rest of your homework until later. If you had enough sense, you figured Choso was still sat on the other side of his desktop, fingers reaching into his waistband to finish what he had started earlier. You enjoyed the thought, imaging how sweet he'd sound when he found release for the first time.

You knew you had plans to make a move tomorrow, but you didn't want it to fall on deaf ears. If Cho was anything, it was oblivious, you think, remembering the poke of his tummy from earlier when you asked if he had ever touched himself. Bless his heart.

You stand to your dresser, pilfering through the countless pairs of boring underwear and bras to find the stash you usually kept for special occasions. You pulled out a whopping ten pairs of panties, all adorned with different lace patterns, bows, and varying pretty colors. You find two of your favorites - a lacy white pair with a tiny bow on the waistband that's entirely see-through, and a pastel pink thong covered in little hearts. You make sure to grab the matching bras that were thankfully clean. You lay them on the bed behind to you, snapping a quick picture before you return everything to your drawer.

You search through a lower drawer, pulling out two random pairs of shorts and some shirts to match. You quickly throw two outfits together, taking individual pictures of each before you shove everything back into the drawer. You sit back in the bed, snuggling under the covers as you pull up your messages.

‘[Attachment: 1 Image]’

‘[Attachment: 1 Image]’

‘HELLPPP’

‘can’t figure out what to wear for tomorrow❗️’

-

He breathes deeply, steadying himself as he stands to his feet. He still had to finish what he started, and a shower probably wouldn’t hurt with the mess he felt like he might make. He strips his clothes, leaving them in the floor as he makes his way to the bathroom.

He makes sure to bring his phone with him, ringer on and volume fully up. He had missed too many of your messages tonight, and he’d be damned if he missed another. He sits his phone on the nearby shower shelf, double checking the ringer was on.

The hot water quickly fogs the bathroom mirror as he looks down pitifully at his swollen cock, still hard and desperate as it cries for attention. He pictured your sweet face beneath him on your knees, doing the few things he could now imagine clearly. He knew you were the expert between the two of you, and he needed you to be the one to teach him what real pleasure felt like when it was given by your deft hands. He wouldn’t dare think of how sickly sweet it’d feel to rut into your mouth, how earth-shattering it’d be to bully his length deep into the goddess between your legs.

ding!

He’s pulled out of his trance, grabbing his phone with a smile as he sees your contact name shine brightly on the screen. He reads your message, then reads the incoming three, trying not to pick the image with the shorter bottoms - but he truly can’t help himself.

‘ummmmmm lemme think’

‘definitely the second one, the blue is NICE🙂‍↕️’ he responds, trying to sound like a regular person that was not at all interested in how your curves would sneak out of the bottom of your shorts.

He steps into the shower, shoulders dropping at the relaxing warmth. He hasn’t stopped picturing your face since he’s been home, but you so graciously gave him more eye candy to gawk at with the silly slip of your webcam. The low neckline of your top burned bright in his mind as he reaches his hand down again, wrapping his fingers gently around his width, leaving his thumb pressed softly into the prominent vein on the side. He wanted to try to mimic what he thought your touch would feel like - the brief flashes he got of your pretty hands typing away at your keyboard gave him all the information he needed to work with. He started slowly, dragging his large hand up before he thumbed his dripping slit, whining your name immediately at the contact. He pictures you again with your knee sliding up his thigh, hand firm on his shoulder while you whisper what he wishes were sweet nothings. He continues his soft hold as he strokes himself so sweetly, just like how he imagined you would. The pitiful noises he made earlier are now increasing ten-fold, loud whines echoing in the shower as he chases his release. He didn't realize how close he was already from the previous edging session he just brutally experienced. His cockhead was spitting now, the over-abundance of precum falling in stringy lines to the shower floor. He feels the pull in his groin again, so much quicker than he did last time, and it’s like he knew this was it.

It’s almost like you did, too.

‘ding! ding! ding!’

‘[Attachment: 1 Image]’

‘[Attachment: 1 Image]’

‘but you’ve gotta help me pick the full fit Cho🖤’ you send, internally squealing as you put your phone face down on the bed, forcing yourself to not look at the time he reads the message.

-

He stills his movements slightly, maintaining your his soft grip, reaching with his free hand to his phone, careful not to soak it as he brings it into the shower. The screen recognizes his face instantly, giving him a sneak peek of the lewd images you so graciously sent him as he feels his heartbeat in his ears - his heart rate increases so dramatically, he sees each pump of blood in the outskirts of his field of vision. He pauses for a moment, tightening the grip on his cock before he starts pumping furiously, nearly drunk on the pleasure as he whines breathy cries of your name. He opens the message and his jaw falls open, his pathetic cries of ‘please’ ‘more’ and ‘baby’ reverberating off the shower walls. In a fleeting moment, his balls clench tight to his pelvis and the pressure he felt pooling in his groin now snapped as his hips lurch forward, painting the shower floor white all for you as he tries to stabilize himself by holding onto the wall. He looks down through his almost blacked vision, surprised at the sheer volume of fluid he felt was being ripped from him. He kept cumming even after his hand had stilled, sharp jerks of his cock overstimulating him with each searing hot pump of liquid. He finally finishes with heavy breaths that threaten to turn into cries as he remembers the messages you sent him.

In his daze, he finds his phone wet in his hand as he rushes for his towel, wiping the screen quickly. Your messages still waiting to be answered that were sent a whole… 4 minutes ago.

‘y/n’

‘thank gou’

‘um’

‘areyou really asking me topick?,?’

Thank you? Was he drunk?

‘thank you?’

‘and yes dummy I’m asking you to pick :P’

And his heart quickens again.

‘thank you for sending me that’

‘I likeit a lot’

‘sorrymy pgones wett’

‘the pink one. please.’

He responds, making sure to type the last message clear as day.

‘why is your phone wet you nasty??’ you respond, laughing to yourself at his tangible nervousness that was apparent even via text.

‘showerrrrr’

‘and I don’t even get a pic back? wowww’ you respond, trying to see just how far you could take this before you head to bed for the night. You expect him to respond with a message filled with emojis as he skirts the question.

He finishes his shower quickly, unwilling to ruin his phone in an attempt to take a shower selfie. He steps out and dries off in a hurry, finding a nearby pair of jogging pants as he rushes back to his bedroom, hair dripping cold water down his back.

‘[Attachment: 1 Image]’ *

The warmth between your thighs grows as you selfishly save the image to your camera roll. You expected anything but his forward response - compared to the previous dearth of knowledge of how he looked under his clothes, you felt like he had sent you straight-up pornographic material.

‘you really outdid me, Cho’

‘who knew you were hiding all that?’

‘I’ll have to think of a way to repay you tomorrow 🖤 you’re so good to me’ you dote, knowing his affinity for praise.

He blushes, smiling hungrily as he types his response, wincing at the feeling when his half-hard cock jumped in response to your words.

‘i literally can’t wait’

pt. 2 coming

[hanaeriin]

蘇枋 ノ LONGING FOR THE HOLY NIGHT.

⋆˙⟡ featuring. god!suo hayato x fem!reader

⋆˙⟡ synopsis. you returned to your hometown with news of your engagement with your long-term fiancé; it was the happiest day of your life. However, everything changes when you encounter a small shrine dedicated to the god who seemed to be infatuated with you, and he seems to have known you ever since childhood...

⋆˙⟡ content. wind breaker (nii satoru) , yandere!suo , potentially ooc , spirited away , kidnapping , mind sensitivity (manipulation) , supernatural , horror.

⋆˙⟡ word count. 2.7k ,, sign up for taglist!! ,, m.list.

⋆˙⟡ note. my longest fic to date...my entry for pixelcafe's spooktober!! you don't want to know how many times I wrote the sentences for this one ahhh...special thanks to my sister, @marizuki for proofreading this!

For how much time has it passed?

Since your arrival, the moon in the sky has remained stationary. Time appears to stand still within the area, but signs of life are still detectable. This strange occurrence begs the question: Who is responsible for this? The person sleeping beside you is the same deity you used to play with during your childhood days. Someone you once considered a friend is the very person who has confined you in this place.

How did this come about? To do that, we must turn back time a few hours...

You returned to your childhood hometown, a modest village in the Japanese countryside where you were raised. You hadn't visited for years, but when you returned to the area, you shared news of your engagement and were pleased with their happiness for you. You let out a disappointed sigh as you realized you were alone, wishing you could have brought your fiancé, but he was busy working on an important project.

“Thinking about him more makes me even more excited to return home now~” you chuckled, a soft blush tinting your cheeks. With a skip in your step, you hummed your favorite tune while sitting on the bus stop's metal bench, leaning against the wall, eagerly awaiting the bus.

“Let's check, when is the upcoming bus scheduled to arrive?” After sitting up, you search for the bus schedule, and when you find it, you let out a surprised gasp, “Woah, not for another hour!?”

In the rural area, it takes approximately fifty minutes to reach the closest train station, with buses operating only every hour. Certainly, being in a secluded location implies there are no establishments, such as cafes or restaurants, where you can relax and pass the time. You wouldn't want to remain there for an extended period when it's bitterly cold outside, especially if you happen to be dressed in thin clothing today. To be truthful, what options do you have while waiting for the bus to come?

“Oh, I know! I can visit the shrine!” you exclaimed when he suddenly came to mind. You should be able to go to the shrine. It was within walking distance after all, and you used to spend a lot of time playing there as a child. You now wonder if he has forgotten about you.

“I hope that Suo has been doing well since I last saw him...” You muttered, picking up your things, and started walking on the roadside. It's been a long time, so it's time to go and visit. Perhaps Suo would be pleased to hear about your engagement.

Upon reaching the shrine, you will find the cherry blossoms in full bloom. At the center stood a small shrine, ancient wooden buildings showing their endurance over time, surrounded by pink cherry blossom petals, creating a beautiful sight.

“Suo!” You shouted his name as you did in your childhood and a gust of wind rustled the cherry blossoms replied. Flower petals gathered in front of the temple and a figure appeared; a young man in a white nagagi kimono, black hakuma, and a dark red haori. One eye was covered by an eyepatch and he flashed you the same smile, asking, “You called?”

Approaching with his hands hidden behind his back, he said, “It has been a while, Dove.”

“Suo! You didn't forget about me?” You had a smile on your face.

“Naturally, I have not. I'm amazed by how beautiful you've become since I last saw you,” He said, tilting his head as the strong wind swept through his long reddish-brown hair tied back in a low ponytail. He appears... extremely heavenly.

“Oh, thank you so much...” You smiled in response to the praise, cheeks blushing as you looked away.

“You never came back, so I thought you'd forgotten about me”

“I could never forget about you! You're my most important friend...”

“Friend, I see...”

You failed to observe his shift in tone and expression when you turned away from him, with your back towards him, “I've been living in the city for a while now, it's been ages since I returned home...”

“I feel somewhat comforted that the town and shrine remain unchanged...” You smiled, evoking memories of your days playing together. How the two of you engaged in various games like hide and seek, tag, and others, practically inseparable whenever possible. One day, when you tried to introduce him to your mother, you realized no one else could see him except you and that he was a god upon seeing your mother's horrified expression.

Since that fateful day, your mother has prohibited you from going to the shrine out of fear that you would be taken away, but you couldn't erase your first love from your memory and decided to sneak there against her will.

You were convinced that your mother was simply concerned because she couldn't see Suo. You trust that he would never kidnap you because of the gentle way he treated you, making it hard to imagine him doing something so ungentlemanly.

“If I may ask, what is the reason for your return?” He gazed at you with kind eyes.

You spun around, your face beaming with joy “I had some big news for my parents and wanted to share it with you too... I'm going to get married!”

“...” He had a puzzled expression as his smile disappeared.

What was the reason for him making that expression? However, his frightening expression quickly disappears, and the familiar smile reappears, “Oh? Congratulations.”

“Um, thank you?” Was it just your imagination? You couldn't tell.

“What does he like?”

“He's a very pleasant man to be with and excels at his job. He always prioritizes my happiness and he is a bit shy, but I adore that quality in him.”

“He sounds like a wonderful person.”

“Haha, yep!” You returned the smile, perhaps it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You were happy to see him acting normally, but then he surprised you by asking “What is his name?”

“His name?”

“I am a god, did you forget that? That is why I can pray for your happiness.”

“Really?! Uh, my name is (name) (surname), and his name is...”

“...(last name) (first name)” He grins with assurance and places his hands in front of your face, blocking your view with them while murmuring, “...You will be happy now” And suddenly, you lose consciousness.

Upon opening your eyes, you immediately realized you were situated under a large, ancient cherry blossom tree. You quickly sat up, scanning your surroundings, but you couldn't spot the shrine nearby. Suo appears before you and confirms that it was not just a dream.

“...W-where are we?”

“A universe exclusively designed for us”

“What are you talking about!?”

At that moment, you recall something your grandmother had told you ages ago.

“Once you are caught in his grip, there is no way to break free because his name is like a spirit. Pay attention, dear child...you should never reveal your name to him, as he is not a human.”

A feeling of shivers traveled down your back as you gazed up at him in fear, “W-Were you the one who just spirited me away?”

“You gave me no other option. Otherwise, you would have returned to that man” He sighed, hands at his back, gazing at the cherry blossoms tree, “It was determined a long time ago that we would wed.”

“You marrying me..?” You gasped with eyes wide open.

“Have you forgotten?” He gave you a confused expression.

Oh, now that he mentioned it, that did bring back some memories, back when you used to promise him that you would marry him in the future. However, the promise lost its significance as you eventually forgot about it. But for him, he could never let go of that memory. Not ever.

“I'll never allow anyone else to have you,” He grinned, causing goosebumps to form on your skin. It was only then that you realized you had mentioned both your and your fiancé's names to him, and you exclaimed, “Did you also spirit him away?!”

“Who?”

“The person I am engaged to!”

“Oh, him? I would not lay a finger on him as long as you are by my side.”

.

.

.

And now we have returned to the present. Looking at where Suo lay peacefully sleeping beside you, with his long eyelashes resting gently on his cheeks and the soft rise and fall of his chest indicating he was in a deep sleep, you saw a chance to slip away.

‘This is my opportunity to escape!’ You stand up silently before hurriedly leaving the shrine to get away. You turned to look at the wooden buildings with a sad expression in your eyes, uttering, ‘I'm sorry, Suo,’ gripping your shirt before swiftly running away to put some space between the two of you.

The silence outside is unsettling, only the sound of your footsteps and panting can be heard. While running, you looked back multiple times to check if anyone was following you, thinking, ‘I need to escape before he notices I'm gone!’ You dashed past numerous torii gates, with only the moonlight illuminating your way, leading you forward until eventually, you spot a glimmer of light.

Oh...!! Finally, you can go back home now! Without hesitation, you jumped straight into the pool of light. The bright light caused a temporary blur in your vision, but it quickly cleared up, revealing only the large Sakura tree in front of you. When you glance back, the Torii gates are no longer in view. It felt like you had suddenly appeared there out of nowhere, causing you to stagger back in shock, “H-How?”

“Dove”

“Eeek!?!”

Upon hearing his voice, you immediately spin around. Suo stood by the tori gate, gazing with disapproval as he asked, “Where have you been? I was searching for you...” His eyes shift towards your shaking form, your face blanching as he suddenly appears in front of you. He held your hand and pulled you close, wrapping his other arm firmly around your waist, asking, “You weren't trying to escape, were you?” Once more, his face displays an identical grin as you remain in his embrace, trembling.

The love of a god is pure and powerful. Escaping such love is not a simple feat.

His arms encircled you while he was asleep, ensuring that you wouldn't escape from him. He lovingly runs his hands through your hair, grinning and saying, “Your hair is incredibly soft.”

“Is that so?” It feels good for some reason, and you are beginning to feel at ease.

“A dove symbolizes peace” He reaches out to you, gently placing his hand on your cheek, looking kind “That's what you are to me... peace”

So, that is the reason he never used your actual name when speaking to you. You didn't pay attention initially when he began using that name, but despite his kind words, you couldn't help but question if he would have taken you away sooner if he had known your real name. You were frustrated with yourself for doubting it any further and revealing it without hesitation. Suo appears to be completely unaware of your emotions as he continues to talk about his past memories.

“As soon as you saw me, you would quickly come running towards me.”

“Is that true?”

“Mhm, you were prone to falling and shedding tears frequently”

“There's no need for you to recall that either!” You blushed and began to stutter as memories you had buried resurfaced, making you wonder if you were such a sensitive child in the past. You can't remember much, but upon reflection, you realize that every time you tripped and fell, Suo was there to lift you. He comforted you, reassuring you not to shed tears while patting your back.

All you can remember are happy memories, you can't recall any bad memories with him at all. Wasn't he always kind to you? He isn't the type of god who would behave in this manner...if you communicate with him, would he comprehend?

“Suo,” you murmured, gazing up at him gradually.

“What is it?” He responded with a questioning expression.

“You're special to me”

“I love you too, (name)”

“If you love me, then please let me go”

He stood motionless, his hand still caught in your hair, gazing at you intently, “Do you... prefer the other world more?”

As your heart beats faster, you remind yourself that you mustn't let fear take over. With the prospect of an eternity here looming, you meet his gaze with resolve and express your feelings quietly. “I wish to return, to be with my fiancé at home. I wouldn't be content staying here.” His lips stayed silent, yet his eyes expanded briefly.

“I'm sorry, but I hope we can remain friends so please don't make me hate-” Just as you were going to end your sentence, you gasped as gentle lips met yours, ‘A kiss?!’ it was a tender kiss that lightly touched your lips. Then he leans in and kisses you more deeply.

He retreats, gazing at you with such fondness yet his eyes look lonely, “No need to speak further. I understand...”

Does he understand your feelings...? What's the deal with that kiss then...

He runs his fingers through your hair once more, “(name), please be happy,” his grin fades as tears flow, he cups your face while you close your eyes tightly and cry. In the next instant, a sudden burst of bright white light dazzles your eyes and before you know it, your awareness begins to fade, “...Hm? "What...?”

Upon waking up, you discovered that you were situated beneath a large cherry tree near the shrine, pondering, “How did I end up here??” You scrutinized your environment, experiencing deja vu as if you'd forgotten something important, wondering if your purpose here was to pray. Your emotions about the situation were a jumble, you have no recollection of anything from arriving until waking up under the tree, “I must have dozed off here by mistake...”

.

.

.

That evening, you returned to the city where you both reside with your fiancé. You were getting dinner ready as you awaited his return, giggling and humming happily while beginning to chop green onions.

DING DONG

“Ah, he's back!” You cried out, placing the kitchen knife onto the cutting board and then shutting off the stove. After that, you quickly walk to the door, still wearing your apron, and greet them with a smile as you open it, saying “Welcome back!”

“I'm back” He grinned upon seeing your frown, you were still adorable despite the upset expression.

“You're late!” You sulked, feigning annoyance.

“I'm sorry, I had to stay late at work,” he said, drawing you near, his hand resting on your lower back as he kissed you on the lips. You gazed at him, confused as he laughed and said, “You look good in that apron.”

“I-I...uhh thanks?” You stammered, turning pink.

He kissed you once more, this time on the tip of your nose, causing you to quickly avert your gaze, feeling embarrassed. ‘I don't recall him being so daring...’ Was it all in your head that he, who never used to be so openly loving and complimentary towards you, was suddenly behaving this way? His personality couldn't suddenly transform overnight.

You attempted to banish that uncomfortable sensation from your thoughts, as you plaster on a cheery smile and say, “Listen! Today I returned home and shared the news of our engagement with everyone!“

“How did everything turn out?”

“Everyone was filled with joy! They would love to see you, you should join me in visiting them next time.”

“That's great, let's plan our next meeting shortly, Do-(name)”

“Now that your parents have given us the green light, nothing can stop us now...”

“Uh-huh!” You vigorously nodded “It's hard to believe... that we'll be together forever.” You hid your face in his chest, feeling a bit timid to meet his gaze, unaware of the confident smile he wore.

So, are you truly able to be with the person you love now?

The love of a god is both pure and powerful.

It's difficult to completely break free from that love...

⋆˙⟡ taglist. @hayatoseyepatch , @ryescapades , @the-original-skipps , @stunies , @nyxypoo , @ambiguouslady42 , @kaq3yma , @pixelcafe-network , @interstellar-inn + @play5withsquirrels ("no blog found")

- ˕ •マ . . . ownership of hanaeriin !! please do no steal, repost, copy, modify , plagiarize or translate any of my works on any platforms.

[bandgie]

Hi! I ABSOLUTELY LOVED your Beast of a Man tarzan!smut. Seriously it was so engaging and you wrote him so well (HES SO HOT AGHH). He's such a hot character idk why others don't write about him, I'm starved for Tarzan fics...

Could you please make a part 2 to the smut? You have such a great/smutty idea going I would love to see you continue it!!

It would mean everything to me!

( ^◡^)

a/n: hi yes thank you so much and ofc! it's been so long since I've written smut on Tarzan so please bear with me! (fic anon is referring to here)

synopsis: You have successfully brought back the ape-man for research. Despite behaving like an animal, he's a lot more human in more ways than you originally thought.

warnings: MDNI 18+, recording during sex, oral (m!), 69ing, semi-public oral sex, cumming in mouth (m!&f!), rough throat fucking (f!rec), cum eating (m!&f!)

2.8k words

"Who the fuck is this?!"

Your colleagues screamed and ran upon seeing who, more like what, you brought back to camp. They hopped up on tables and held up papers as weapons. They eyed you both wearily, on the verge of tears as you stood just a few feet away.

"I think that's a bit extreme," you sigh. 

The ape-man was beside you, clinging onto your leg like a child would do with a mother. He, too, was very wary around these strangers. You could hear him grunting and pulling at you as if keeping you from getting too close. 

Cute yes, but this would mean it would take a lot of work to build trust in the entire group.

Slowly, the fellow researchers began to try and communicate with the man. Talking slowly and softly, just like you showed them to. All of you agreed that this being could be the missing link, the answer to the question anthropologists have tried to find for decades.

It took over a month for everyone to be comfortable around one another, but of course, another issue was raised. 

"So does he just not have a name?" Professor Porter asked. 

As of now, you all were just calling him 'the ape-man' or 'hey you' to get his attention. It never crossed your mind to give him an actual name. 

"We're not gonna name that beast," Clayton butted his way into the conversation. Clayton, as big and strong as he was, seems the most afraid of your new friend. He's hostile, rude, and arrogant. Even if the ape-man cannot understand the words thrown at him, he can feel them.

The best thing to do in these situations was to ignore Clayton, he just loves the sound of his own voice. 

"No," you turn your attention back to the professor. "Not that I know of at least. Should we come up with one?"

"Oh great," there's heavy sarcasm laced in Clayton's voice. "Here you are naming a dog you're not even gonna keep."

"With no due respect Clayton, please shut the fuck up," Terk, the youngest of you, speaks. Terk is small for his age, but he has built. A hairy man who's lively, talkative, and one of the natives that live here. He and the ape-man get along well, a little too well sometimes.

Clayton flips Terk the bird.

"A name for him would be nice, yes." The professor looks as though he's sweating from the tense atmosphere. "Do come up with one dear, I think the missing link would rather you do it."

It's no secret that the ape-man prefers you over the other researchers. He's constantly at your hip, following you like you have an invisible leash on him. Your colleagues, however, don't know how close you two actually are. 

The conversation stays in your head for the rest of the day. A name. A name. Something everyone has yet is unbelievably difficult to come up with. Hundreds of possibilities run through your mind as you carry out your daily tasks. Even the ape-man, who's used to you ruffling his hair, grows confused about your behavior.

Nightfall comes with everyone in their tents and you still haven't come up with a name. 

With a groan, you turn on your side to see the very person who's making you struggle already looking at you. His eyes are dark, but the candle in your tent lights up his features just enough. You reach out and brush a lock of hair out of his face, watching how he moves to try and get you to touch his skin.

You settle with resting the palm of your hand on his cheek, rubbing your thumb over it. 

"A name," you tsk. You narrow your eyes and let your gaze travel over his body. He needs to look like his name, that's a must. "Hey, do you know what a name is?"

He doesn't answer. 

"Something to call you. That's a name. Do you have one?"

He stares at you.

Well, this is going to be harder than you thought. 

Pursing your lips, you say the first name that comes to mind, "Edward?"

He reacts to that. His calm expression turns into a scowl, bushy eyebrows coming together. You quietly laugh and shake your head, "Not that one okay."

"Tony?"

He frowns.

"Taren?"

He pouts.

"Okay, okay. I think I got it...Garrett."

The ape-man groans, mimicking the behavior he's seen you do hundreds of times. It shocks you to see him act so human, so you. It's equally adorable as it is terrifying. 

He's gotten closer to you, a breath away. The proximity used to freak you out, but you've learned it’s how he shows his affection. His trust. 

The ape-man is waiting for you to say a word he likes, a sound that comes off your tongue magically. Judging from your facial expression and earlier absent behavior, this is an important task for you.

You want the name to be strong, versatile, and not easily replaceable. The being you've found is one-of-a-kind, it's only fair his name is as well. You play with a few letters in your head, bouncing them in your mind until you think of one that suits him.

"What about Tarzan then? Do you like that one?"

His pupils dilate, watching your beautiful lips pronounce the word. His word. 

"Yes."

You gasp, sitting up abruptly. Your sudden movements make him panic as he sits up with you. He scans the tent to find an intruder while you sit there stunned. 

He spoke. The ape-man no! Tarzan just spoke to you. He understood language and used it, even if it was just a mere word. A one-syllable answer that has shaken you to your core. 

"Oh my god. You just, Tarzan you just spoke. Holy shit, say it again. I need to capture this on video." You ruffle through your bag looking for your camera. 

Tarzan stops searching the tent and looks back at you looking as confused as ever. Like he didn't just display human speech in a mere month.

Quickly, you pull out the camera and hit record, aiming the lens at Tarzan's hard, yet beautiful features. 

"Repeat what you just said," you look at him through the monitor. Instead of complying, Tarzan stares blankly into the lens. "Do you like the name Tarzan?" You press.

No answer, his eyes flick from the red light to your eyes. 

"Come on! Just tell me whether or not you like the name." You're starting to grow impatient. At this point, you're convinced he's just being an ass.

Finally, he adjusts his seating position. Tarzan glances down at his crotch then back up to you, then back to his crotch. You follow his gaze, trying to understand what he's trying to say. Then it clicks. 

Compensation. If you want him to do you a favor, you have to do him one as well. 

"Are you being serious?" You sigh at him. Tarzan gives a faint nod to you. Even if he can't do so, you swear you see him smirk. Asshole. Setting the camera down, you angle it towards the two of you. Might as well have fun with it.

You crawl your way towards him, parting his thighs slightly before giving him a playful glare, "You're such a man sometimes."

Unlike before, Tarzan wears cargo shorts rather than a mere piece of clothes from last time. Professor Porter made it clear that if he was to hang amongst you all, clothes were necessary. 

They suited him nicely, even now. The way the material hugs his toned thighs, how his cock bulges through the shorts even when he isn’t hard. You couldn't help but run your hands along his muscular legs, finding his crotch.

He groaned as you palmed him, straining to not thrust his hips up. Tarzan learned to be patient with you, especially in the presence of others. Most animals didn't care whether they mated alone or in their pack. Even if Tarzan was raised by those animals, the thought of others hearing the sounds you make for him is repulsive. 

Instead, he has to settle for brushing your hair from your face as you undo his buttons. Delicate fingers unzipping the seam until his half-hard cock sprouts in your face. 

It doesn't matter how many times you've seen his dick, it makes your pussy quiver every time. All you can think about is how perfectly it stretches you, how the tip slides against your cunt deliciously. Your mouth salivates at the memory, and you let your spit drool off your tongue to land on his cock.

Tarzan loves the sigh. A pink tongue just hovering over his length. He also remembers the feeling of your hot mouth on him. The way your lips slowly come closer to the crown of his head, how your breath wafts over him. It feels euphoric when you finally make contact with him, mouth enclosing his flushed head.

It's so warm in your mouth, smooth as you lightly suck on him. The hand on your head slightly grips your hair, a sign that he likes the slow pace you've set. You hum around his cock, taking him a little deeper as you widen your jaw.

One of your hands makes way to grip the base, pulling the skin upwards in a stroking motion. 

This makes his hips jerk, gagging you for just a split second. Your wide eyes look up at him, small tears peeking at the corners. Tarzan gives an apologetic look, but the sight of your teary eyes and pretty lips around his cock makes him fuck up toward you again.

You pull away from him, earning a whine as Tarzan throws his head back dramatically. 

Maybe he thinks you're going to stop as punishment, but it's quite the opposite. Your cunt is sopping from tasting him, even if it was for a brief moment. Even if you have a task at hand, and your camera is still recording for 'research,' you have your own needs to take care of. 

Tarzan is none the wiser as you put a hand on his bare chest and lay him down. He eyes you curiously but lets you push him all the way down before hopping on top. His eyes widen as he's faced with your clothed cunt. Underwear the same color as your tongue that holds the strongest smell of you.

He doesn't need any directions as he dives his nose into you. Tarzan is obsessed with your natural smell. His nose immediately grows damp from your wetness, his tongue poking out to lick the juices that leak out.

Softly moaning, you take a hold of his cock once more. You pump it a few times before taking it into your mouth. It's surprising to see that he's not humping in your mouth like normal, but he's so distracted with your pussy that he can't seem to bother noticing his own pleasure.

It's hard to focus on his hard length as his teeth tear off your panties. You gasp when you hear the fabric split, but it turns into a whine when his tongue finally makes contact with your bare cunt. 

Tarzan has to grip your hips to keep you still. As much as he would love for you to grind on his face, he needs to have his meal first. His tongue runs over your folds, finding that little bud you love so much to be touched. 

He sucks on it and pulls, stretching your clit. Your legs shake and you have to pull away from his cock to catch your breath. Lazy hands stroke his hard-on as you look back. You clench at the sight of his unruly hair peeking above your ass, the sounds his mouth makes as he laps at you.

Turning back to your literal task at hand, you find the energy to take his cock once more. You unhinge your jaw and exhale, taking Tarzan deeper and deeper until your eyes roll back. You hollow your cheeks and suck, moving your head back up until just the tip remains in your mouth, and go all the way back down.

Now Tarzan can feel the bliss of your mouth on him. He moans into your pussy and slightly jerks his hips up, making you gag around him once more. 

Feeling you work so hard makes him want to reciprocate. He shakes his head left and right to try and bury himself deeper. He uses his grip to force you further onto his face. Tarzan's tongue finds the squeezing entrance that he's breached so many times. He digs his tongue into you, finally getting a taste of you from the source. 

He's guiding your hips so you could drag your pussy against him how you like. Tarzan can feel your hips trying to pull away from him as the feeling of his tongue has gotten too much. And it has.

You're trying to distract yourself by deepthroating him, but it's no use. All you can feel is his experienced mouth, how he remembers every detail he knows you like. You can feel your orgasm approaching, and how it builds in your stomach rapidly. 

Tarzan feels your legs shake. Your thighs trembling and giving out, full lower body weight on his face. He can taste how the wetness has changed, thicker and tart. Tarzan knows this taste like the back of his hand. You're going to cum, give him that white cream he loves licking out of you.

You've completely stopped paying attention to his dick. A part of you should feel bad for neglecting him, but you can't seem to care as Tarzan's tongue fucks you. Instead, you find yourself humping his face, his mouth following as you approach your high.

You squeal as you come, clamping a hand over your mouth as you finish. Warm gushes out of you, body quivering as the eager man under you happily drinks it all. Tarzan gulps and slurps until he's beginning dripping from the corners of his mouth. 

He takes and takes until you're the one having to tell him no more, that you can't handle another orgasm. 

Tarzan hears the desperation in your voice, the way you plead. It takes strength for him to pull away from your pussy, a soft growl emitting from his chest. 

Then his thighs wrap around your head, securing you in front of his cock. You have no time to question him as you involuntarily take his cock into your mouth.

There's so much pre-cum dripping from the slit that all you can taste is its saltiness. He's throbbing, fucking his hips into your mouth as he holds you still with his legs. 

All you can do is take it. Lips wrapping around his girth as he desperately slides his dick in and out. You gag and silently plead for Tarzan to be gentler, but he's having none of it. Your hands warp around his thighs to steady yourself, your head bobbing uncontrollably to match his movements.

Tarzan twitches in your mouth once, stilling his hips deep into your throat. Tears immediately prick your eyes and fall down your face, and you swear your vision goes black for a fraction of a second before he pulls out. You get the chance to gasp for air as he lines up his cock to your lips again and shoves it back in.

You think you might pass out. You're at the mercy of Tarzan, and he's still unable to see how much stronger he is than the average man. Your mouth is nothing but a fleshlight to him as he makes you choke around him. It makes you feel like a toy, a warm hole for him to fuck his seed into.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

The familiar twitch in his cock occurs again. Once, twice, then three times before he unloads in your mouth. Hot spurts of his cum find themselves in your throat, forcing you to gulp it down. 

Tarzan's hips slow, letting his cock drag against your lips before he finally pulls out. You cough and pant as his orgasm drips from your tongue. 

His thighs release you and you promptly plop down on them. You feel his hands rub soothingly over the curve of your ass, up and down your thighs. And an extra apology, Tarzan presses a kiss to your throbbing pussy. You chuckle and kiss his thigh back before sitting up, hoping off his face. 

You have to crawl to grab your camera, breathing a sigh of relief to see the red light still shining. You aim the lens at his face as he too sits up. You can see the arousal on his face from eating you out, his swollen lips, and messy hair.

"So," you start. "Tell me, Tarzan, did you like that?"

Tarzan's lips quirk into what you think is a smile before he looks at you directly through the camera. 

"Yes."

a/n: holy fuck I dont think y'all know how hard this was. I kinda went all out for the first one so the second one was hard as hell to match lmaooo. I physically and mentally can't do a third installment. this is the final one sowwy also I added some characters from the film! hopefully you caught that, I made Terk human, Tarzan needed a friend even if it's a fanfic

[thebestsetter]

Thinking about Inumaki Toge being insecure about his speech (or the lack of thereof).

I feel like if he could trade a year of his life for sixty seconds without his cursed speech, he would. Without second thought. And specially because of you.

He's had a crush on you for a while (ever since your first encounter), but he'd never admit it. Not because he's scared of rejection, but because he's scared you'll reciprocate his feelings. Because he thinks you deserve better. Actually, scratch that: he knows you deserve better. You deserve someone so much better than him.

"And then you won't believe what he said! He said: 'I can't date you, cause I'm actually your brother!'"

"No way! That's the plot of the movie? How shitty!"

You deserve someone like Yuta. Someone who can make you laugh with their own words, someone who you don't need to strugle to understand what they're saying. Right now, you and Okkotsu are talking about some bad movie he watched. And you're laughing so hard and your laugh is so pretty it makes him wanna laugh too. He wants to engage on the conversation. He wants to say: "That's one of the worst plots I've ever seen! I can take you to the movies to see a real good movie if you'd like to"

But he can't. He can't, but Yuta can. He should let you go so you can be with someone who deserves you. He has no right to be this selfish, making you a slave of a love without any words of affection.

It feels like everytime he looks at you, there's a nagging voice in the back of his head, painfully reminding him that he can't be with you, and there's nothing he can do about it. It's an impossible love.

Hell, even Panda is making him feel envious and jealous. Even though he's literally a panda, at least he can talk to you. Sing your favorites songs with you. And he can't. At least not without cursing someone (and, God forbid, maybe even you. You're the last person he wants to harm)

He wanted you to confide in him just like how you confide in Maki. You always tell her everything. He wishes he, too, could be a source of relief. A shoulder you can rely on. But he can't. He can't, cause the best he could say in that situation is "Salmon", "Caviar" and other stupid onigiri ingredients that have nothing to do with the actual topic of the conversation. Honestly, he would be tired of himself if he was his friend. You don't have the obligation to understand his dialogue. Nobody does.

So, he comes to the conclusion that he should just avoid you. He should give up on loving you, because he doesn't want you to suffer.

"Toge, please! We haven't talked in days! Why did you suddenly stop talking to me?"

He stays silent. That's the only thing he can do, after all. He can't speak. He can't. But he wishes he could. He wishes he could tell you everything that's going through his head, tell you about how he feels like dying when he sees you playing a game with Itadori and Nobara because he knows he'll never be capable of doing that with you normally. If he speaks now, everything that'll come out of his mouth are foods. Speaking now would only remind him about the drift that exists between you both (and there's two options to avoid anyone's fall: you either close the gap or you widen it. He chose the latter)

"..."

"Inumaki, talk to me" (how sad. You want him to do exactly the only thing he can't do. That just makes him remember that he'll never be enough for you. Never)

Also, wow. You're using his last name. He got in a really bad situation, huh? How will he get out of this? How will he stop your (and also his) suffering?

There's only one way. And even though he swore that he'd never use his spell against you, he finds himself lowering his scarf with trembling hands.

"Leave. And don't look back."

~A/N: This is the fic I wrote that I mentioned on my last post!! I know a lot of people have writen abt this b4, so this is inspired by other stories I've read (if you've written something like this and want me to credit you, feel free to send me an ask!!). IT JUST FITS INUMAKI CHARACTER SO MUCHHH!! Like, I can totally imagine him being insecure about not being able to speak. I just thought I should give it a try cause I CAN'T FIND INUMAKI STUFF, so I took matters into my own hands. I don't realy like this, but I thought it would be a waste to not post it anyway

Masterlist

[inbarfink]

So when I wrote down that Big Undertale Meta Post about how Sans probably doesn’t remember RESETs at all and why that’s cool - I got a lot of responses to the tune of ‘that’s probably canon but I’m still gonna enjoy Sans Remember fics because of the angst’. And, well... first I want to emphasize that those are very good and correct responses! Like ‘I acknowledge might or might not be in the text but I am also gonna explore alternative ideas Because I Enjoy Them’ is a Good Damn Position to have! Transformative Fandom is Transformative on purpose! Engage with the text and it’s various analyses but don’t let it chain your creativity or fun!

It’s just that… all of the people saying that they prefer Sans Remembering ‘for the Angst’ make me think that maybe folks are kinda ignoring the incredible angst potential of Sans NOT remembering.

My original post focused on how cool it is that Sans manages to be so on-top-of-things even though he doesn’t remember anything - but let’s not ignore the fact that this situation is also grim as shit.

Through some mysterious super-science or whatever, Sans has managed to discover that his timeline is being RESET and altered constantly (before the Player came along, Flowey had already managed to basically 100% the entire Underground) and he has no memory of what's going on and what exactly is being altered. 

He knows he might’ve gone through the same day over and over and over again thousand times but he’s simply not aware of it. It’s all the helplessness and lack of forward momentum of a classic timeloop and none of the benefits of memorizing occurrences or acquiring extra information. That’s exactly the thing that drove him into his depressive spiral.

That line always strikes me. It’s like… Sans suspects that without the meddling of capricious immortal time gods, he’d be a much happier and motivated person. But he doesn’t know for sure, because he can’t remember how he was in some distant ‘original timeline’. He is essentially fighting to avenge a version of himself that might not even be real.

Like, yes, it is very impressive and badass how well Sans trained himself to notice every tiny little hint that might indicate that a RESET happened - but it’s impressive because the deck is stacked so heavily against him. And it is very impressive and badass how Sans managed to turn his weaknesses into strengths during his Boss Battle - but it’s impressive because these are usually huge weaknesses. Trying to work to solve a timeloop that you can only infer is going on through context clues is quite a hopeless and desperate mission!

Another bit in the Sans fight that I often think about is his unique reaction if you kill him and then RESET to Fight him again.

With how skilled he is at reading expressions, Sans probably knows what that ‘weird expression’ means, he knows the Player killed him once before and is here to try again. And yet he still goes along with the same attack plan he has, the one he knows killed him in that previous timeline. Why? Because he doesn’t know where the flaw in his plan was exactly, he can’t even begin to guess. So he has no choice but to go along with the plan he knows did kill him, because that’s the only thing he has. 

You know, the thing about Sans, is that he always plays his cards very close to his chest. It’s very hard to tell what exactly he’s thinking. That’s probably why so many people do believe he remembers RESET. If any non-Flowey character remembered RESETs, only Sans would be remotely able to hide it so well. But for me? It makes me wonder how much of his Troll who Knows Too Much persona is a bit of an act as well. 

You know, Sans’ deduction requires some keen observational skills - does he ever second-guess his conclusions? Living on constant high-alert that something has been reversed or that someone knows something they shouldn’t requires fostering a lot of paranoia, and that can’t be healthy for him. Is he ever overcome with doubt on whatever something was really an indication of a timeline RESET or not? How does he feel when he realizes something horrible happened on a previous timeline (for example, his brother dying) but he doesn’t know about the context to feel sure that he can stop it from happening again? 

I also think about it in terms of his relationship to Papyrus in general. Sans tends to hide so many things from Papyrus, especially in timelines where the Player is particularly kill-happy...

In part it’s about his perception that Papyrus’ kindness and pacifism is born from naïveté and thus the only way to preserve it is to hide the cruelty and harshness of the world from him (Undyne also does that). But also, with the paranoia and helplessness Sans lives in every day - is it any wonder that he might believe that ignorance is bliss?

I do truly think it’s beautiful how fandom can experiment with cool non-canon ideas! There are probably so many great emotional angsty ideas tied up to Sans remembering RESETs! I just feel it’ll be a shame if people ignore just how dire and depressing Sans’ canon situation also is!

[writer-freak]

Gossiping | Hazbin x Gn reader

Characters: Alastor, Rosie, Vox, Lucifer, Angel Dust, Husk, Cherri Bomb and Velvette

Warnings: gn reader, can be seen as either platonic or romantic for most of these characters, is probably messy and characters could be ooc, english isn't my first language, maybe I will clean this up one day

A/n: Not really that happy with this and wrote this today to take my mind off things but I was thinking about who has the most tea to share in hell and this is how I ended up writing this. Also as a fellow aroace person, I'm probably gonna start writing some platonic Alastor fics.

Alastor:

Doesn't really spill tea himself that often but if he does expect it to be really hot

He often gossips with Rosie though it is mostly her who has something to talk about

So he really is used to listening to someone talking about the drama around hell

And actually, Alastor enjoys some good gossip especially if he can use that information to his advantage

He usually has these gossip sessions with you over a good cup of tea with some low jazz playing in the background

It also isn't unusual for you to go over to Rosie's to invite her into your gossip session

Rosie:

Rosie is the queen of gossip in cannibal town, knowing everything juicy about everyone around

She loves inviting you over to her place for some good tea and pinky fingers to snack on while you exchange drama

Rosie is really interested in others' lives so usually people are just open with her which is why she has so much information about everyone

While she really enjoys gossiping she also is a really good listener and can keep a secret if you need her to

Vox:

Not really that interested in gossip that is more Velvettes kind of thing

But he does try to stay up to date with some people (mainly Alastor) though that is usually as far as his interest in gossip goes

But he can actually tell you some juicy information as he has cameras all around the Pride ring 

But it will not really be a real gossip session as he just isn't that interested in drama 

If you ask he may tell you some things but it will probably be very brief 

So not really a gossiper even though he has a lot of information about people all around Pride

But this only applies to personal gossip everything looks completely different if he can use it on one of his broadcasts 

Drama from famous people around hell is great to get in viewers and sometimes if you really beg him to he will tell you some information before the official broadcast

But I wouldn't be surprised if he told you to just watch the show to hear what is going on

Lucifer:

He doesn't seem overtly interested in gossip especially if we look at the other characters 

But I think he just enjoys talking to you in general so if you have some interesting drama to tell him about he would listen attentively 

He would probably forget everyone's name in your gossip session and you would constantly have to explain to him again who was who

You two probably have these conversations in his suite, you two just chilling together maybe cuddling a bit while you watch something on the TV

Something happens in the show that reminds you of some gossip that you heard about and you need to tell all the details to Lucifer

Angel Dust:

Angel Dust is probably always in the know about the latest gossip and scandals

He just sees quite a bit of stuff on social media and I also wouldn't be surprised if he hears some stuff around the V tower

Also sometimes he hears some things from people he flirts or hooks up with

You two would probably be in his room to gossip just chilling on his bed doing some skincare

Him painting your nails while exchanging anything that you have picked up since your last gossip session

How he tells you about stuff is just so engaging and he also just loves to hear what kind of tea you have

For him, this really is good quality time and just loves spending his downtime with you like this

Husk:

Husk hears so much stuff while at the bar from the hotel's residents

So this is also usually where you tell him about some of the latest hot gossip going on around hell

While Husk has quite a lot of information about the other residents of the hotel he doesn't really wanna tell on them so usually he doesn't add much to these sessions

He is just more the listening guy and doesn't participate in spreading

He will listen to you and if you have something more serious to discuss he is a great person

He just lends you a non-judgmental ear and you can confide in him 

And you know that he doesn't tell anyone about what you tell him

Cherri Bomb:

Cherri Bomb is someone who loves stirring up trouble but I don't think she is that strong of a gossiper

Or at least she isn't really that dedicated to it

With how you two mostly meet up to go out and get fucked up that is also when you exchange some gossip

Like hell yeah she will listen but it's not really something that interests her in the long run

And she is usually drunk or on drugs (but probably both to be honest) 

So don't really expect her to remember everything you told her if you want to update her on something

For her, it's mostly one ear in and out the other 

But that is really only for random people that she doesn't care about 

If it is one of her friends or if you have some trouble she will try to be more attentive and actually help you out

Even if she is high as a kite she would never leave a friend hanging

Velvette :

Velvette usually knows everything about the drama going on online

She really enjoys gossiping and it isn't unusual for her to call you up if she has something particularly juicy

Often invites you over to her place so you two can chill with some food and talk about all the shit going on around you

Wouldn't be surprising that if you two are close she also tells you about insider tea going on around the V tower 

However, she has to trust you that you won't share anything that could actually harm the V's

Even if you tried to spread something about them it wouldn't go far

Divider: @thecutestgrotto

[zepskies]

hi! so I had a question, how long did it take you to build a following on tumblr? how long have you been writing for spn as a whole (I assume you started with it but I’m not sure I meant when did you start writing on the app mostly) and do you think it usually takes as long as it did for you for other people? (I hope the wuestion made sense)

Hi there, lovely anon!

Oh, these are great questions, and I'm happy to answer. I'm going to be referencing this post, as someone asked me a similar question.

I also talk a lot about my beginning fanfic/coming to Tumblr experience and building a following in this interview I did with the @idlingintheimpalapodcast.

That being said, here's how I got started in SPN fandom and on Tumblr, and 6 Tumblr Tips related to how I've tried to grow my blog:

Learn How Tumblr Functions

Create a Tag List

Posting Schedules, Announcements, and Sneak Previews

People are Visual (Use Images & Design Elements) + shoutouts to blogs I looked to for inspo

Support Your Fellow Writers! Reblog/Comment on What You Read & Enjoy

When I Do Get Engagement, I Reply to Comments and Reblogs

Deeper dive below the cut:

Writing for SPN & Starting on Tumblr

To be honest, I'm a bit late to the party when it comes to Tumblr. I've written for many different fandoms over the 15 years or so I've been writing fanfic, but I've been writing for Supernatural in particular since around 2015. I wrote on platforms like Fanfiction.net, and later I moved over to Ao3.

I dabbled with Tumblr starting in 2021 while I was working on a Billy Butcher x OC story for the Boys (And So It Goes). But after watching the last season of SPN, I got the SPN bug again, so I started dipping back into the fandom.

But I wasn't really that active on Tumblr until January 2023, when I wrote my first soulmate AU series for Dean Winchester, called Never Say Goodbye (Dean x soulmate!Reader).

That started a very fun journey for me in the Tumblr world, engaging with people and making friends here with awesome people! 💕

Now, here are a few tips on what I've learned in building my following. You don't have to do exactly what I did. This is just my advice based on my personal experience here:

Tip #1: Learn How Tumblr Functions

Everything has been a process of trial and error. I have a professional background in content and social media marketing, so that knowledge has helped me a lot with some elements I'll get into later.

But it took me time to learn the Tumblr landscape. I had to figure out:

Why it's important to reblog -- not just your own work in replying to people's comments, but what you read and enjoy. It's what makes Tumblr go 'round.

The different mobile vs. desktop views and functions.

How to format my posts and use hashtags that would best optimize my fics and posts, based on the most followed tags in the fandom I was writing for.

How to create design elements, like banners, dividers, and headers that matched my aesthetic and the fandom.

Make sure my blog is easy to read, visually, and easy to navigate, technically (links to my masterlists, series masterlists, tag list, my fic library side blog, Patreon, etc.).

I'm still adjusting all these things now and then as I figure out new ways to keep readers engaged, and make my blog as easy to navigate as possible.

Tip #2: Create a Tag List

A tag list is a list of blog users that request to be tagged in your upcoming fics. (See this post on tips for formatting tag lists and optimizing hashtags on posts.)

Some authors don't do tag lists anymore because they find it a hassle (and it can be), but even if you're just starting out, advertise your tag list -- I suggest at the end of a fic and in your bio, your masterlist, and/or navigation page. It will get more eyes on your posts, and hopefully more engagement.

I used Google Forms to build up my tag lists because it's easy to use and it creates a Google spreadsheet for you based on the responses you get (an idea I got from another writer who was doing the same thing). You can also create more sheets within the file to organize the responses by character, for example.

On my tag list, I gave readers options to choose which character they wanted to be tagged on based on the fandoms I write for. I also created tag lists for new series to go with the series masterlist. Like I said above, I created spreadsheets for each of these lists within my tag list form master sheet.

Now, you don't have to do it exactly this way. There are many ways to keep track of a tag list.

Some people may think my approach is too much work, but this was very successful for me in building up my tag lists and increasing my following. Staying organized is key! 🤓✌🏽

I have since created a side blog @zepskieswrites for people to follow with notifications on, since my character tag lists are full.

Tip #3: Posting Schedules, Announcements & Sneak Previews

When my blog started to gain traction from my first SPN series, I knew I wanted to post consistently to keep people's interests. For me, this meant once a week (sometimes more if the mood strikes me), to keep that momentum going. YouTube vloggers do the same thing for this reason. They have a set posting schedule and give announcements.

You don't have to post once a week. You don't even have to have a set schedule. That's just what I did last year to increase engagement, but also because I love to write, I was getting inspired, and I made the time for it!

Remember that writing and sharing your work and being a part of the fandom on Tumblr is supposed to be fun! At the same time, what you get out of something depends on how much time you have to put into it.

Basically what I’m saying is, I’ve put a lot of time and energy into my writing and my blog, but only because it’s been very fun to do it! 😉

Now, going back to being consistent. It can help you! When people know they have content waiting for them by a certain timeframe, and they see that you stick to that deadline, they're more likely to tune in and engage with your work.

Of course, real life comes first, always, and things can derail you, but on the whole I make sure that I keep my word when I say I'm going to post something. Tumblr has a scheduling feature that allows you to schedule posts ahead of time, which I use on a daily basis. That can help you as well.

To try and generate buzz around new stories, I give writing updates or announcements, often with sneak previews, and the dates when I plan to drop the upcoming story. When I'm writing a series, on each chapter I give a preview of the next one, so I can try to keep people invested and waiting for the next chapter.

Tip #4: People are Visual (Use Images & Design Elements)

A huge element of successful content and social media is visuals. The first thing people are often drawn to when they look at a web page, an ad, or any kind of digital content is the picture -- and any other visual elements. Then they look at the title/headline, followed by the rest of the story.

This is why I always lead with the title of the story/headline and a GIF or image at the top of the post for a story. Draw readers in with their eyes to the visual, and then the content. I now create my own design elements, including story headers.

When I got started here on Tumblr, I also took a closer look at how other popular blogs I admired were organizing their masterlists, formatting their stories with banners, dividers, tags/warnings, word count, creating tag lists, and more -- both to create their blog aesthetic and to make it easier for readers to enjoy their work on different levels -- the content itself, and the visual elements.

Shoutouts to some of those writers I looked to, who have a lovely blog aesthetic and organization: @luci-in-trenchcoats @deanwinchesterswitch @deanbrainrotwritings @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

Form and function is a balance, and they should work together. For example, there are some design/post formatting elements that are getting popular now on Tumblr that I personally don't vibe with, because I think it takes away from the reader's experience.

Like making the entire post or story in small case. Readers that have trouble seeing small fonts won't want to read this.

or making everything in the story lower case. this just bothers me for grammatical reasons. guarantee i will be turned off from reading. 😂

Also, most people browse Tumblr on their phone rather than on desktop. (About 62% according to current Semrush statistics.) So certain things that are small in your desktop version will be even smaller on mobile.

If you have a custom blog design, some design elements may not transfer well visually on mobile vs. desktop, and vice versa. So you'll want to check both versions to see how it looks, and possibly make adjustments.

Now, this isn't to say you have to become a graphic designer if that's not your thing. There are plenty of people who share their lovely designs for free, as long as you make sure to credit them if you use one of their banners, dividers, etc. Check out @cafekitsune and @firefly-graphics, for example.

Some of them even take requests. Just make sure to check their bio to see if they state whether they're currently taking requests or not. (This also goes for writers on fic requests.)

Tip #5: Support Your Fellow Writers! Reblog/Comment on What You Read & Enjoy

This is part of the fun when you start truly engaging with the fandoms you love.

Likes are cool. Comments are wonderful. Reblogs with comments are awesome, because not only do they get that engagement/feedback that they can reply to, but the reblog helps your fellow writers get seen. And while they aren't obligated to, they might be more inclined to do the same for you.

You'll also start to develop relationships within your fandom community. This is how I've made many friends and gained new readers on Tumblr -- by reblogging, sharing, commenting on what I liked about the fics I read. 💜

I try my best to support my fellow writers, no matter how new or how popular they are. Just because a writer has a bigger following, doesn't mean they appreciate feedback any less.

Feedback gives us writers energy and fuels us to write more. It can lead to more inspiration, and to continue the series you might be so invested in.

So if I took the time to read something, if I enjoyed it, I'm usually reblogging it and sharing my thoughts, even if it's just a gif or a couple of lines, or a long raving review. 💖

Tip #6: When I Do Get Engagement, I Reply to Comments and Reblogs

Along with supporting my fellow writers, engaging with the lovely people who read my work is just good fun! It's the best part of sharing my work on here and on Ao3. And it lets them know that you value and appreciate them for taking the time to comment and/or comment in a reblog. 💓💓💓

I hope these tips are helpful! Now, to answer your last question...

Do you think it usually takes as long as it did for you

[to build a following] for other people?

Interesting, but the truth is, I'm not sure. My knowledge of content and social media marketing has probably given me a leg up, I think, even though it took me a while to learn the Tumblrscape. I've also been writing fanfic for a long time. Long before I ever heard about Tumblr.

I've spent years studying literature, creative writing, and screenwriting, and putting it into practice. I've spent years writing for other voices besides my own, outside of the fanfic world. Like anyone else, I can only go by what I've learned, my own instincts, my frame of reference, and what I want to write about next.

Like anyone else, I can only hope that what I put out there vibes with people and touches them in some way, enough that they feel comfortable letting me know what they thought about it. 💜

In the meantime, I'll just keep getting inspiration from this guy (and other characters):

[topazadine]

On Fandom Entitlement

It seems every week, there's a new spate of ungrateful fanfic readers complaining about fanfic, whether that's whining that their favorite story hasn't updated or that the work isn't of the same caliber as they would expect from a book they paid for.

"This hobbyist wrote horrible dialogue! Pillory them!"

"Oh no, fic writers use this as catharsis! How horrible!"

I believe this stems from a fundamental misunderstanding of who they are as a reader and what fanfic is as a whole.

Entitled fanfic readers like this have a specific problem: they think they are consumers rather than fellow hobbyists.

Consumers are allowed to expect a certain level of quality from the item or experience that they purchased. (Note well the purchasing aspect.) They have protections under law, are encouraged to leave feedback for the benefit of other consumers, and can demand a refund if necessary.

With fanfic, no money is changing hands - in fact, no money CAN legally change hands, because the writer is dabbling in someone else's intellectual property.

Readers didn't purchase anything, have no legal protections, and can't take recourse if they're dissatisfied, because they willingly chose to engage with the work without any expectation of quality. The reader lost nothing whatsoever by opening that fic other than some of their free time. (Note well the "free" time aspect.)

Many people use this analogy, and I completely agree: reading fanfic is like getting a free meal from a family member or friend. It's not going to be restaurant quality; you wouldn't expect it to be, even if that person is a great cook or professional chef. If you didn't like it, you don't demand they make you something better or refund you, because that'd be insane. You eat it, thank the person who graciously made you something, and keep your opinions to yourself unless they ask you for feedback.

And if you act like an asshole and tell them to their face that their cooking is awful, you shouldn't expect them to make you anything else. Same as fanfic writers often leave their fandoms because entitled readers complain about their work and demand tailor-made fic for free.

Some complain that they'll just read professional work from now on because fanfics are so awful, a la this gem:

What they don't seem to understand is that every writer needs to practice, and fanfic is one of the best ways to do so because there are no consequences.

No one springs from the womb as a literary genius; you need to spend years honing your talents. I've been writing for well over 15 years now, but I only started to become really confident in my skills after writing over 1 million words of fanfiction as practice. I wouldn't have bothered creating my own OCs and writing a trilogy if I hadn't gotten so much positive feedback from readers of my Touken Ranbu fics.

When you're a bitch to fanfic writers and castigate them for imperfections, you are directly limiting the professional literature you'll have in the future. You're telling people that unless they're perfect, they might as well not try at all, and then they don't reach that level. You expect free, professional-grade work that matches your current special interest, then wonder why your stock of new fics to enjoy is dwindling.

YOU are the problem when you waltz into AO3 with a consumer mindset. Not the fanfic writers providing you with free content. YOU.

And frankly, I wish someone would take your internet away until you take a course in fandom etiquette. Get out.

[flawlessflesh]

at arm's length

CW: Discussion of CSA and trafficking

I originally wrote this meta in response to a retrospring anon - These are my thoughts on the impact of child abuse on Thistle's ability to form relationships or feel attraction.

Keep in mind as you read that this is based on my personal interpretation of Thistle as a present-day teen who was trafficked for several years before being taken to the golden kingdom. This meta is canon-adjacent, not canon, and can be considered supplementary info for my fics.

-

Thistle has a heaping pile of trauma centered on interpersonal relationships and intimacy. This, along with his lifespan, inhibits him from forming equal relationships with others, and outside of his very small family group he doesn’t feel safe or capable of reaching out to people or letting people in.

He can feel attraction towards others but he shuts it down and doesn’t act on it because it feels like something bad will happen if he does. I consider him to be more comfortable around men than he is with women because he thinks he knows what he can expect from men (men were the main perpetrators of his abuse, but men like Freinag and Delgal are also the most important relationships in his life), but he has no idea what to expect from women. Best to avoid them. Most of his attraction is towards men as well and that complicates things due to the likelihood that these historical fantasy tall-man societies are homophobic - and Thistle isn’t treated like a man but he also isn’t a woman, so is it allowed? Is there something wrong with him for feeling this way? He doesn’t know. It isn't safe. So he keeps it all to himself.

In my timeline, Thistle doesn’t start puberty until a few years before the kingdom is turned into a dungeon. He never has the typical experience of crushes and childhood romance because he has no peers to engage in them with - his slower aging and his race isolate him. Everyone sees the silly little elf jester first and not the person. All he has is the royal family. Delgal goes through puberty, fools around, gets married, and through it all Thistle only understands that behavior like it’s something he’s read about in a book. He's disturbed by it too, having only had negative experiences with human sexuality, as little as he remembers of it. As an aside, I think when Thistle was brought to the castle he briefly had a crush on the king, but it was a child’s harmless emotion directed towards someone safe who he perceived as having saved him. If you’ve ever had a strong attachment towards a teacher or mentor growing up it was like that, and Freinag wasn’t aware of it and did not encourage it.

This is going deep into headcanon territory now. Thistle was trafficked by the troupe master of the traveling performers who had him before he was given to King Freinag. Thistle has suppressed the entire thing and can’t clearly recall the last twenty years of his life before Freinag. The information he has about that time is what people later told him (“your parents abandoned you”, “you were part of a traveling troupe”, “you already knew how to play the flute and follow instructions well”, etc). Freinag unintentionally replicates the emotional abuse that Thistle suffered — he calls Thistle his child but treats him more like a pet who has to perform for approval, and he is overly physically affectionate while neglecting the very real parental needs Thistle has as a young child. Thistle's hurt is like a barely scabbed over wound that keeps being picked at until it bleeds again.

Thistle grows up with an incorrect idea of how adults are allowed to treat him which leads to wariness towards everyone who is not the immediate royal family. They’re safe, they don’t do anything bad, but he can’t trust anyone else. Plus - he doesn’t like when strangers single him out for being an elf. He wants to fit in so badly and instead they invade his space and point out how he’s different and are always reaching for his ears. The few times he feels attraction he suppresses it on instinct without trying to understanding what it is or what prompted it. He doesn’t want to feel drawn to anyone he isn’t already close to. It’s a self-preservation mechanism and a reaction to the abuse he suffered, and after a while the curiosity is blocked off altogether.

In a post-canon future where he’s found a will to live and is healed to the point where he is interested in meeting new people, I still think he wouldn’t want to have an intimate relationship. It’s like a chasm, a frightening abyss of possibility for new experiences but also for getting hurt, and he has been hurt too many times already. Friendship would be daunting enough - I genuinely think he’d struggle with it - but anything more is equivalent with ruinous loss of control in his mind. Things can get better with time, conscious work, and understanding, but this mindset is where I see him staying for a long while. Thistle doesn’t do well with change or admitting truths to himself that he’s worked very, very hard to suppress.

[olderthannetfic]

This is partly a vent and partly hoping someone reading this can offer some advice or at least insight into wtf the person/people doing this are hoping to accomplish.

Over the past few months, someone(s) has been sending purity policing “concerned” anon asks to people in my fandom, mostly about supposed untagged triggering content. Which sounds like standard anti bullshit at first glance, but there are some really weird aspects to this situation, and I don’t know what to make of it.

First, in both of the cases I’ve seen, the “untagged” content Concerned Anon complained about was comprehensively tagged, way beyond fandom norms. Concerned Anon is complaining about something that isn’t even true.

Second, the people who received these asks seem to me like really weird targets for anon harassment. From what I’ve seen, they’re both really nice people. Not in the Cult of Nice way, but in the welcoming to newcomers, supporting all shippers even the people who ship things they’re not into, willing to chat about even the most wild theory or headcanon you might have without judgment kind of nice. Good stewards of fandom, I guess is what I’m trying to say. So I don’t get why anyone would want to target them. Especially since one of them wasn’t even being harassed about their own work, but about a fic someone else wrote that they happen to like!

Third, if the source material for this fandom were a fic on AO3, it would easily meet the threshold for all archive warnings. This isn’t about Stephen King fandom, but it’s got that level of things antis lose their shit over. Why is Concerned Anon even in this fandom? Why are they ~*so concerned*~ over fic when canon is like that?

Since the first Concerned Anon ask, I’ve noticed a sharp drop-off not just in ~*problematic*~ fic, but in fic in the fandom in general. I know fandom engagement comes and goes and there could be a lot of reasons for that unrelated to Concerned Anon. I can even think of a couple specific reasons it would be happening in this fandom. But the timing rubs me the wrong way, especially since it doesn’t seem like there’s as much a of a drop-off in general fandom activity, and I’m worried the latest set of Concerned Anon asks will have an even more chilling effect on fic writers.

I hate that this is happening. I hate that people who are just out here making fandom fun are being targeted. I hate that it might be discouraging people who haven’t been targeted from writing. I hate the possibility that Concerned Anon is out there harassing other people in the fandom who haven’t responded to them or that I just haven’t seen. I hate that, as a complete fandom nobody, I probably have no power to do anything about this. I hate that the person or people behind Concerned Anon probably aren’t even going to have to face up to being this kind of shitty, because it’s all anonymous.

--

People pop up in the inboxes where the owner can get their comments in front of more eyeballs.

Of course they want to poison the blogs of the welcoming fans who get the newbies writing fic.

The way to combat them is for those bigger blogs to either ignore them entirely or to politely but firmly tell them where they can shove it while pointing out that they're a liar.

They're a toxic blight on other people's inspiration, and the "nice" blogs should tell them so. The failure to do so is going to have at least as much of a chilling effect as their shitty comments themselves.

[moonshynecybin]

do you have any motogp fic recs?

yeah sure man. im gonna keep it simple (ao3 only) because i am a capricious bookmarker and refuse to wade through the weeds of tumblr fic as im not a natural tagger. no order just vibes. all of these i love and reread !

cant change that, cant change you by kingsquarding

Marc at the ranch for the (second) first time.

this fic is the platonic ideal of marc and vale post reconciliation being TOGETHER and at the RANCH and trying to make it WORK but they are also. still being a little messed up. themes include: guilt. injury. marc trying to get vale to stop treating him like glass and FUCK HIM already because he doesnt want to admit that their relationship/his body has changed since he was twenty. delicious.

Che Spettacolo! by serve_cunt

“What do you think,” Vale says, and leans against the doorframe. “Will he come?” Uccio stays silent. Of course he will come, he wants to say. In what world does he stay away? In what world can he resist?

sending uccio to the cuck chair. outside POV rosquez always hits for me becuase they match each other's freak in so many ways its fun to see what antics they engage in as obsevered by someone more normal. in this case. uccio. also helps get around vale's shit ass communication because its him through the eyes of someone who KNOWS that vale is being WEIRD. even if marc doesnt. fun and SEXY. academic au by the same author ALSO slays

of crashing and burning (and falling for you) by Anonymous

It has always been Marc and Valentino, Valentino and Marc. Two rivals inseparable on- and off-track throughout their careers, their story so closely intertwined they might as well have been the same person, dominating their beloved sport between the two of them. Then Marc breaks his arm, Vale loses their championship, and they are left trying to pick up the pieces. AKA a rosquez same age AU.

someone wrote out. elle and i's same age au. and it was so perfect i legit struggle to answer asks about this au now because im just like. its in the AU !!! its all here !!! really nails vale in this specific scenario imo... all the love and resentment and self-imposed walls and. my favorite of all. the exact way these guys talk in press conferences. like their exact diction. hits the spot beautifulperfect

arms out like an angel by yekoc

“Does Marc still work here?” he asks. He can’t think of the word for performing. “I dunno, man,” the guy says. “Sorry, I’m new.” Vale blinks at him. “Find out,” he says, and then, annoyed at himself for the impatience, “if you can. I came a long way.”

the efficiency of word choice in terms of characterization in this one really moves me... every line has implications !!! sexy ones even !!! and theres so much baseline CHEMISTRY and inability to really STAY AWAY from each other but also. a tense little undercurrent of slight misunderstanding and hurt that makes it stand out... i also just love fics where marc pushes back just a lil and vale has to like. figure out what to do with that. in a horny way. yekoc's bezzcele also goes crazy if you wanna think about nipple piercings as much as i do

All I Wanted by agnst-crrnt

The first time it happens is just after Marc’s 10th birthday. He’s about to complain to his parents about how Álex always finishes the milk and then puts it back into the fridge, when the faces of his parents’ blur in front of him. Marc closes his eyes, trying to make it better and grabs onto the edge of the table. He can hear his mama ask him if he’s okay, before everything stops. or Rosquez Time Travel Au, where Marc randomly gets teleported through time, always ending up somewhere around Vale

hey thats my friend. rosquez time travel au as ive said my favorite thing to think about maybe EVER !!! really love the strict marc POV on this one and how you REALLY see the. youre in love so you go. and his just. his ceaseless romanticism and optimism wrt to vale and their relationship that fits this fic concept SO well. guest appearances from pedrenzo as well yayyyyy

i give into the fall series by lestelledreams

Her and Pol were good; they did win a gold at Junior Worlds after all, and that’s not something anyone can just go out there and do. But her and Valentino – they could become great. Mar’s never been more sure of anything in her life. or, The first year of Mar's and Vale's partnership.

genderbend figure skating au where marc gets to have all his weird injury complexes explored AND it gets slutty AND we get to see his freak ass ambition. imagine if motogp was a pairs sport (like actually not just in a fake way) and marc had the option of pairing up with vale. imagine how crazy he would go trying to make that happen adfhdflk

a hundred ninety-nine degrees by hardlythewiser (sequinedfairy)

“You should fuck me again,” Bez says. It trips out, all his defenses worn down by the long, annoying day of meetings, by the feeling of Cele above him, pressing him down into the couch, by Cele’s bright clear gaze. Above him, Cele doesn’t smile with his whole face, scrunching up his eyes, like he did the first time Bez asked. He doesn’t smile at all, just keeps looking at Bez. “Really?” he asks. “I didn’t know – did you like it, last time?”

cele tops lets GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. some fics just. have an ability to pierce directly towards what actually and precisely makes a pairing or a situation or a dynamic SEXY, while also revealing a new facet of said dynamic that i've never thought about in depth before. this is one of those. fuck him!!! make him cry !!!! perfect !!!

i was having a sweet fix of a daydream of a boy (whose reality i knew was hopeless to be had) by babynflames

In Motegi 2005, Hiroshi Aoyama wins his first race during his home GP, Dani Pedrosa gets second while hiding a fractured humerus and Jorge Lorenzo is handed a one race ban for riding in a irresponsible manner after nearly colliding with Dani and causing de Angelis to abandon the race, leaving the third position to Casey Stoner. The haircutting is incidental.

dyke PEDRENZO. fic that is fun and funny and filled to the BRIM with the kind of homoerotic tension you can only have between two teenage dykes in direct competition who dont even know theyre horny about each other except they REALLY kind of do. also. the best sports rpf to me always engages with a sport on a sociological level... also just love the writing style on this. direct and avoidant at the same time. very dani in sexuality crisis to me aljfdhl

[ffcrazy15]

"Just Write For Yourself"

I think the thing that gets to me the most about the whole "just write for yourself!" response to writers complaining the lack of engagement in fanfic, is that it makes me realize that there's a fundamental misunderstanding between writers and readers of how much work writing fic is.

Like, there are 2-3 scenes in any given oneshot or chapter that I want to write. I usually write those first. They'll take me a couple of, very enjoyable, hours at most.

And then I have to go back and write the whole rest of the fic. Which is work. And it's usually not immediately enjoyable.

For example, one of my best fics on AO3 is a Star Trek fanfic called Rascal'ed. This was one of the fics that was easiest for me to write, one of the ones that just possesses you until it's done. It took me less than five days to create.

And I still had to go back in and fill in blank spots and cut bad prose and revise the dialogue.

If you want to see what a difficult fic to write looks like, like my fic Leap of Faith, here's what I do for my stories that I actually plan out:

And that's just the planning. I still have to write the damn thing. And there are things in the above layout—which is just for Chapter 1, mind—that got changed between this and the final published version of the chapter. You can see that the title of the story itself was changed at some point.

So when people say, "write for yourself, not for engagement!" What I personally hear is: "I as a reader do not understand how much work writers put into getting a story into a publishable form, and I also do not realize how easy it would be for them to write the couple of scenes they enjoyed writing and then to let it sit forever in their drafts."

(Of these eight fics—averaging more than 20 pages each—only two of them ever made it to AO3. The rest remain unfinished and unpublished.)

And for the record: I, personally, have wonderful readers. Kind, attentive readers who leave me comments engaging with the work. And it's because of them that I continue to publish stories! Like, I don't want to sound like sour grapes here, because I know that I get way more comments than many great writers out there.

But I've seen, across the board, writers trying to express that they are just not getting the engagement that they desire and expect for the work they put in, and people responding with "you shouldn't expect engagement; just write for yourself."

And the thing is, I know they're not trying to be rude. I know that! Of course they don't know how hard we work, who would have ever told them? We can't blame them for not knowing what they've never been told. Which is why I just felt the need to get out here and say:

Writing fics takes a lot of work. A lot of work. Hours upon hours of unpaid labor. Any fic that you see on AO3 or Fanfiction.net or Wattpad, is not something someone wrote solely for themselves. They could have just daydreamed about it, or written a couple of scenes and then left it unfinished. But they chose to put in the hard work it took to finish it. Because they wanted other people to read and engage with it.

Please engage with it.

Because if all fic writers ever hear is "you should just write for yourself"—we might start believing it.

[longing-for-rain]

What's the context as to what's going on exactly?

I assume you mean the people sending me death threats over a fanfictions I wrote (which is like... the 3rd? 4th? time this has happened now), but to summarize:

Ironically, I initially made this blog with the intention to just be very lowkey and post headcanons/silly posts/art and not engage in discourse.

At some point, I got an anon angry at me for mentioning how I viewed some of Aang's behavior towards Katara as toxic masculinity and answered it.

A kataang shipper reblogged the (properly tagged) post to whine at me even more, so I replied back with sources and maybe a little too much humor than she could handle, so she cried that I was a meanie and blocked me.

Had a few more experiences with Zutara haters reblogging my posts, making me increasingly annoyed.

I started writing more Zutara metas and criticizing canon more openly.

My posts got popular, popular enough that angry kataang stans started sharing screenshots of them around on here and Twitter.

I made fun of one particularly insane kataang stan who went on a few of my posts, and even into my DMs to screech at me for being every type of -phobic under the sun because I don't like Aang/Kataang. She still periodically blocks and unblocks me so she can shoot more of her brain vomit my way, and accuses me of harassing her for reposting screenshots of her unhinged comments to laugh at. She also accidentally followed me while trying to send an anon one time (I assume, since those buttons are close together) which was hilarious for someone who claims I bully and stalk her.

Recently, a bunch of kataang shippers got butthurt over a post I made referencing how Katara is drawn differently (it was a response to an Anon mentioning a much older post measuring the size of Katara's eyes and jawline) to make her appear younger during "romantic" moments with Aang. I commented on how I found it a creepy contrast and like how much more natural and human she seems while not with Aang, or with Zuko.

Another whiny brat kataang reblogged the (again, properly tagged) post calling me a pedophile, colonizer, racist, and whatever else his little rotten brain could come up with, and posted (without any trigger/content warnings!) out-of-context screenshots of a fanfiction I wrote exploring themes of sexual violence. This was apparently supposed to be "evidence" that I have a "fetish" or something, which needless to say, is an absolutely disgusting thing to say to a survivor talking about her experiences of sexual abuse, especially when you're a man who has never experienced that.

That brings us to why everyone is discoursing over the fic: Claws of Ice. Keep in mind, the majority of these people haven't read it, don't understand any of the context, and felt it was appropriate to leverage my trauma against me in the name of a ship war. The man in question is still crying about how he's the real victim here because I was apparently too mean to him when I responded to his accusations that I'm a pedophile and that my story of assault is a fetish to him, which is exactly the kind of male entitlement you'd expect.

So yeah! That's why they're all so obsessed with me, and throwing around every possible Bad Person accusation they can think of about me, but I really don't take it too seriously with that in mind. I was very nervous about posting this story in the first place because it was so heavy and personal and I was unsure of putting these themes out there, but the backlash has been oddly reassuring. The two biggest haters are that manbaby I mentioned, and that obsessive stalker who keeps spamming the atla-confessions blog with anons that are very obviously her while pretending she's trying to "calm down" the fandom, neither of whom can seem to formulate a coherent sentence. Like if that is the opposition, pretty sure I'm in the right here.

[abbysdruidess]

˜”°•.˜”°• headcanons about you and abby's wedding - modern au •°”˜.•°”˜

wc: 1.1k

warnings: wedding w modern au(obvs), crying, tooth rotting fluff, allusions to sex, no use of y/n

a/n: lmk what you guys think of this one and whether you'd like more of reader and Abby in this universe! don't hesitate to send any requests<33

this is sort of on theme with a previous fic where abby proposes to you, this one can be read as a standalone though:))

❦ after the proposal, you guys hurrying too much to get the wedding off the road and on the rails- you're still extremely proud and giddy to call each other your fianceé, and you've sent about 100 pictures of your wedding ring to everyone.

❦ it isn't until one night where you're having dinner over at jerry's that he brings up the wedding preparations and you're like oh shit, you two kinda need to haul ass and start sending invites.

❦ you decided on a small affair, only your immediate families and close friends over. I imagine that in the insistence of your future brother in law Lev you sent out RSVP invitations that were ocean themed with cute little sharkies on the front that say in a vast ocean of people we found each other(💀). A lot of people found them pretty funny though, and Lev was pretty excited about them.

❦ on par with the beach theme of your engagement, you decided to have the wedding on a beautiful beach resort in the beginning of June-not too hot, not too cold;)-with the ceremony and the reception on the shore.

❦ of course, you couldn't leave out the bachelorette party! You and Abby travel to Vegas with your respective friend groups for a weekend of clubbing and partying in general. And lets be fr, someone from either of two groups ends up getting lost and you have to recover him Hangover style. Thank God you didn't arrange for it the day before the wedding.

❦ the days before the upcoming event are mostly a blur, both of you making last minute arrangements about the food, the flowers, the music. Your gown with the final adjustments is delivered and you have to hide it in a fridge box in the basement so Abby won't take a peek.

❦ "But baaabe, I just wanna see what it looks like! You know this stuff about bad luck isn't actually legit." "I know, but it will be more exciting to see the final look at the wedding. I promise you."

❦ finally the big day is here! And let me just say, as a very emotionally constipated person, you'd probably be a little teary eyed all day long. When you put on your gown and look at yourself in the mirror and realise that holy shit, I'm about to marry the love of my life, my Abigail, she wants to spend the rest of her life with me. And this just hits you all at once and a few tears run down your chin.

❦ if you have any wedding traditions from your culture that you'd like to honour, Abby would be 100% down for it. It makes her feel closer to you, and part of the new family she's going to be in. She also really likes listening to its origins and what it's supposed to represent. In my country, we do this thing where the wedding squad writes all their names down in the couples' shoes and by the end of the night whoever's name is the most smudged is the one who's going to get married first. Let's be real, if they did this, it'd probably Manny whose name had almost disappeared and he'd freak the fuck out.

❦ once you're ready to walk down the aisle, and you glance at Abby you let out a small ᵍᵃˢᵖ at the sight, with Abby dressed to the nines and a glowing expression on her beautiful face. Her mouth also formed a little O at the sight of you, ready to become her wife, looking so so happy and a slightly teary eyed.

❦ during the actual ceremony, you two keep stealing glances at each other, smiling kinda goofily like :]. You two are goobers fr.

❦ for the vows, I think the game establishes that Abby is a big bookworm, so she chooses something perhaps from Emily Bronte or Jane Austen. Of course this isn't the entirety of what she wrote, she just finds it more accurate to express her love for you through someone's else perfectly adept words.

❦ once the reception kicks in, you're carefully wiping tears from your eyes so you don't smudge your makeup, and take some photos with the wedding party on the beach. You're accepting everyone's congratulations for your newlywed status, and settling down to prepare for your first dance.

❦ you had decided on dancing to Por Una Gabeza, and had actually rehearsed the slow tango a couple times so your movements are synchronised. By the end of the dance, you're in each other's arms, cheek to cheek simply enjoying the moment.

❦ by the time you've finished you meal, the party is in full swing, and you join in for a few dances until you decide on a cake break and allow Yara to be Abby's dancing partner. By the way, your wedding cake? Exquisite, chocolate ice cream with strawberry.

❦ I also imagine you guys doing the whole tossing the bouquet thing and -surprise surprise!-it ends up on Manny's lap on accident. He almost leaves.

❦ by the night, you're both clinging to each other, ready to resume your lives as Mrs and Mrs, and also ready to break into the bridal bed. Seriously, you can feel Abby's fingers feeling up your thigh and she's been whispering the things she wants to do to you all night. By 2 in the morning you're home, very much exhausted by the preparations and the emotional high, but also very ready to let Abby peak what's under your bridal gown.

❦ for wedding gifts to each other? She hands you two tickets for some exotic island you guys always talked about going, and make it your honeymoon. You get her an antique vinyl record player, because she had always been going about getting something to listen music to while cooking. Needless to say you both love each other's gifts:D

❦ a week or so after the ceremony you receive the photographs, and Abby makes it her duty to hand them on every corner of the house. Seriously, at some point, you could see a photo of you two in your field of vision pretty much about everywhere.

❦ her favourite one remains in her desk, one where you two are about to leave, sweaty and drunk, the camera capturing your musky faces as you sit on her lap clinging for dear life. It's so sweet and endearing, and it reminds her why she married you in the first place.