#and left off the big ones to avoid that sense of pressure but

[neoneun-au]

i understand the mindset behind promoting novellas and shorter books as a way to get interested in reading again; but i think always focusing on that instead of focusing on immersive stories and books, regardless of length, that will hold your interest fosters this fear of "big books" and then you get stuck in this rut of always feeling like you need to "get back into reading" and always just picking up short, easy things vs books you might otherwise love

[fictionalwench]

Want

Jim Hopper x Reader

Warnings: smut, age gap, size kink slightly, praise, foul language, Jim being fucking oblivious.

Hoppers old.

Or getting there at least.

And he knows it.

   But somehow you're still here in his bed, your youthful cheek squished against his chest, your arm thrown around his middle that he knows isn't as toned as it used to be. 'A Dad bod,' you'd called it. Said it was hot. He'd just rolled his eyes, giving your ass a playful swat.

   You'd met when you began secretary work at the police station. It was a long, pining heavy minute before he ever approached you romantically. You'd flirted with him, or tried, but he couldn't possibly fathom someone as young and vibrant as you wanting him. He'd tried to avoid you, despite working so closely together. That all changed one night when he had to stay late to do paperwork, and you'd volunteered to stay behind to help. He'd tried insisting you go home, telling you he'd take care of it, saying you should get some rest. But you'd stayed, helpfully pointing out that it'd go twice as fast with 2 people.

   So there he was, 1am with the prettiest girl to give him any attention in a long time, your thigh bumping his under the table. He crosses his legs. Partially to put space between the two of you, partially to hide the growing tent at the front of his pants.

The view you'd given him wasn't helping. The white button down you wore was slightly undone at top, unbuttoned in you're frustration, allowing him a view of your breasts swelling past the top of your bra everytime you bent to retrieve your dropped pen.

   You're barely through half the stack of reports and files when you suddenly stand and lean across him, your hair in his face, your chest brushing his arm.

   'Sorry Cheif, just looking for the notes that go with this case,' you explained, flipping through the stack. He let out an involuntary groan, the scent of your shampoo flooding his senses, his cock straining painfully against his pants. If you heard, you never let on, finding the folder you were looking for and sitting back down. Looking back now, the memory makes him chuckle, wondering how he'd been so oblivious to your advances.

   'I'm gonna..ima run to my office quick,' he said, standing and turning quickly, 'left some notes somewhere in my desk. Might be a minute.'

   'O-oh! Take your time!' You told him, but you looked-and it had to be his mind playing tricks on him-disappointed? He shook his head as he hurried off to his office, quickly shutting the door behind him, fumbling with his belt, desperate for some relief from the pressure. He fell back into his chair, giving his throbbing cock a couple long pumps.

   'Fuuuck,' he breathed, precum leaking out of the angry red tip and onto his fingers. He used it to glide his hand over himself with ease, moaning as he imagined it was your spit, your pretty lips wrapped around him, bobbing your head up and down, those big innocent eyes staring into his. Your name tumbles from his mouth, sweet on his tongue.

   Just as he felt his release rising in him, there was a knock on the door.

His door.

That he forgot to lock.

    There was no time to stuff himself back into his pants before you're opening the door and peaking your head in, so he just spun his chair to face front, hiding his lap under his desk.

   'Hop? Everything good? You find those papers?' You asked, knitting your eyebrows together, making him want to kiss the bump that formed between them.

   'Oh, yea, no, sorry,' he said a little too quickly, 'I uh, I think Flow might have had them last, but she keeps her desk locked at night. No big deal.' He shrugged, wishing you'd take his explanation and leave. He was still exposed under his desk, twitching, his release still sitting on the brink.

   Instead of leaving, you stride into the room, shutting the door behind you, 'maybe they're still in here. Here, lemme che-,' you'd walked around the edge of his desk and he'd nearly jumped to stop you.

   'No! That's REALLY ok, it doesn't matt-,' he didn't speak quickly enough, watching in horror as you shut the drawer open next him, finally exposing his dirty secret to yourself. He braced himself, ready for you to scream, ready for you to call him a dirty old man, a pig, ready for the profanities to spill like venom from the mouth he'd wished so many times to kiss.

   But it never came. You just stood there, your mouth open in a small O shape, your clear and intelligent eyes wide.

   'I'm so sorry,' he breathed, and moved to pull his pants back up, his face cherry red, 'God, I'm sorry, please-' you stopped him in his tracks, resting your small, soft hand on one of his large calloused ones. You bit your lip and looked up through your lashes at him, and he swears he's never wanted anyone or anything like he did in that moment.

   'I thought- thought you-,' you spoke softly, fumbling over your words, and then you whispered 'I thought you didn't want me.'

   He pulled you forward by your waist at this, leaning his forehead against yours and breathing out shakily, 'you have no idea how long I've wanted...' He trailed off, brushing his hands lightly over both sides of your face, like you're delicate and precious, like he could break you if he touched you too hard.

He wanted to break you.

   'Can- can I?' He looked at your lips as he asked his half question. He didn't need to finish. You knew what he meant because you wanted the same thing. You nodded slowly and bit your lip again. He threw  his head back and whispered a curse under his breath, and sighed, 'let me do that for you.'

   He kissed you softly at first, his pointer finger and thumb tilting your head by your chin. And then he got hungrier, greedier. He kissed you like you were fresh air and he was a man drowning, his fingers digging so hard into your sides that you could imagine his fingerprints bruising onto your skin, his teeth nipping the soft flesh. He kissed down your jaw and neck, his stubble scratching and tickling your skin in just the right way, and you moaned, digging your nails into his back. He pulled you down onto his thigh, one leg on each side of his, the pressure and friction on your clit making you dizzy.

   'So damn beautiful,' he said it against your skin, like it pained him, and it did. In his mind, this was a fluke. There was no way you'd want him more than once. Sex with an older man, that's all it was. Just a taboo to you.

   So when you ran your hands down his chest and sang his praises, he thought he was going to melt right then and there.

   He put his hands on your hips and began guiding you on his thigh, relishing the way your eyes flit back into your head. 'Yeah sweet girl? Feel good? Come on, ride my thigh, get yourself nice and wet for me. That's a good girl' he growled the last part, ripping open your shirt, the snap buttons coming open with a loud CLACK. He bent his head and softly kissed your chest, sucking and leaving hickeys anywhere that wasn't covered by your bra.

   As if reading his mind, you reached around and undid the clasp, letting both your shirt and your bra fall off your shoulders. He felt his breath hitch in his throat as he looked at you. The moonlight from the window behind him illuminating your skin, your head thrown back and your eyes shut tight as you ground yourself onto him. The need to be close to you was settled in his very bones, every fiber of his being wanted you like an addict wants a drug.

   He had so much he wanted to do. He wanted to sit you on the desk and bury his face between the pillowy thighs he so often found himself daydreaming about. Wanted to see you bruising your knees for him, your eyes glassy while he hits the back of your throat. But all that could wait. He needed you too badly to take his time, to worship your body like the alter it was to him.

   'Want me pumpkin? Hm? Need me to stretch you out good? Make you feel full?' He purred, brushing the hair from your face. You could hardly answer, your mind already so scrambled for him, babbling your pleas and cries.

   He lifted you by your thighs, his hands finding home on your ass under your skirt as he held you above him, ready to lower you down onto him. He couldn't believe his luck as he watched you in wonder, his head falling forwards and into the crook your neck as you lowered yourself onto him, your tightness wrapping around him, ripping a loud, full moan from his throat. He helped you bounce, keeping you upright as you fucked yourself onto him, kissing him hard and deliberately.

   'Jus' like that honey. Fuck, you're so good. Wanted you for so long. Drive me absolutely insane,' you felt him say against your lips. He hugged you tight to him, one hand cradling the back of your head, and bucked his hips up into yours, holding you and cooing sweet praises as he used you, just like he always wanted to. The amount of times he'd imagined this exact scenario at night, when the only one to keep him company was his hand, was uncountable.

   He could feel his orgasam rising again already, and he would have been disappointed in himself if he couldn't feel you reaching your own breaking point.

   'Gonna cum for me? Hm? Gonna cum for your Police Cheif like a good little whore?' Oh, he was loving this. 'Where do you want it baby? Where do you want me to cum? All over that pretty face? On those perfect tits of yours?'

   You're were panting, your face pressed to his shoulder as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

   'Jim- I,' you stumbled over your words, moaning as he hit your sweet spot over and over again, 'pill. Have the pill.'

   His head spun, 'yea? Want me to fill you up with my cum? I wanna see it leaking all over those perfect fucking thighs of yours, oh FU-' he almost loses himself to his own words, hips slamming messily against your ass.

   'Cum for me princess. That's it, be a good girl, scream it for me.'

   And you did, your release white hot. You pulled down the collar of his shirt, biting his shoulder, leaving teeth marks he was still admiring in the mirror the next day.

   He followed you closely, shooting thick, hot ropes inside of you, moaning and cursing, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as you shook against him.

   'Did so good f'me honey. Made me cum so hard. God,'  he buried his face in your neck and breathed in, high off the scent of you and him mixed together.

  

Now, as you stir against him, whining softly in your sleep when he kisses your forehead because he just can't help himself, he smiles softly.

   He might be old, but damn do you love him. And if a few gray hairs don't bother you, then he can keep coping with it.

[turn3tifosi]

VI. the winner takes it all

lewis hamilton x ferrari engineer!reader

lewis and you are no strangers, but the hurt that followed knowing him, makes his announcement for 2025 nothing but dreadful for you

series masterlist | main masterlist

You remember how it all started. The excitement, the passion, the shared dreams, and the relentless ambition. You and Lewis had it all. Or so it seemed. As a top engineer at Ferrari, you lived and breathed motorsport, but it was your relationship with Lewis that made the moments off the track truly special.

It was Monaco 2016, the night before the big race. The sky was clear, and the stars shimmered over the Mediterranean. You met Lewis at a gala, the kind of event where the air buzzed with champagne bubbles and the murmur of high society. Lewis, with his charming smile and magnetic presence, was the center of attention, but when he looked at you, it was as if the world stopped. You talked about cars, strategies, and everything in between. There was an instant connection.

Over time, your relationship blossomed. The thrill of sneaking away for secret dates, the late-night conversations about life beyond racing, and the quiet moments where you could just be yourselves. Those were the times you cherished the most.

One night, as you both lay on the balcony of his apartment overlooking the city, Lewis rested his head on your lap, a rare moment of vulnerability from the world champion. “You know, sometimes I really wish I could run away from all the fame and people, and live a quiet life with you,” he whispered, his eyes closed in contentment.

You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the weight of his words. “No Lewis, you love this. You love the fame and the cameras, it’s me who wishes you could run away from it all. I’m the selfish one.”

But love is never simple, especially when it’s tangled with the relentless pressure of professional success. Lewis's career skyrocketed, and with every victory, every championship, the distance between you grew. You were proud of him, of course, but the endless races, the media frenzy, and the never-ending demands on his time left little room for you.

It all came to a head after his fourth world championship win. The victory party was grand, a glittering affair that went on till dawn. But amid the celebration, you felt like a ghost, invisible and alone. You tried to talk to him, but he was swept away by adoring fans, sponsors, and the endless parade of well-wishers. When he finally found a moment, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and for a moment, you believed he meant it. But apologies couldn't bridge the growing chasm between you.

You tried to hold on, but the nights grew colder, and the days lonelier. Eventually, the strain became too much. One evening, after a particularly brutal argument, you packed your bags and walked out of his life, leaving behind the man you loved and the dreams you had built together.

Fast forward to 2024. Your career at Ferrari flourished, and you buried yourself in work to forget the heartache. But fate, or maybe Lewis has a cruel sense of humor. The announcement came out of the blue: Lewis Hamilton was joining Ferrari for the 2025 season.

The paddock buzzed with the news, but for you, it was a gut punch. The thought of working with him again, seeing him every day, was almost unbearable. But you were a professional, and you wouldn't let personal history affect your work.

The first meeting was awkward, to say the least. You avoided eye contact, focusing on the technical briefing, the strategies for the upcoming season. But you could feel his eyes on you, a silent plea for acknowledgment.

Days turned into weeks, and the tension simmered. It all came to a head one evening after a particularly long day at the track. You were in the garage, going over some data, when Lewis walked in.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice low and strained.

You didn’t look up. “There’s nothing to talk about, Lewis. Let’s just do our jobs.”

He stepped closer, his presence impossible to ignore. “I’m sorry. For everything. I know I hurt you. I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but-”

You finally met his gaze, the familiar pain and longing in his eyes. “You might have won the races and championships, but you don't get my heart back.”

He flinched as if struck. “I know I can’t change the past, but I want to make things right. I miss you.”

The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, but the wounds were too deep. “It’s too late, Lewis. We had our chance.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but you turned away, focusing back on your work. The silence was heavy, laden with unspoken words and lingering regrets.

Working together was a constant reminder of what was and what could have been. Yet, slowly, a new dynamic formed. Professional respect replaced personal tension, and while the past remained a painful shadow, you both found a way to coexist.

Lewis never stopped trying to mend the rift. Little gestures, a coffee waiting at your desk, a supportive word during a tough day. But you held firm, guarding your heart against further hurt.

As the season progressed, Ferrari thrived. The collaboration between the engineers and drivers was seamless, and the team’s performance improved dramatically. There were moments, brief and fleeting, where you saw a glimpse of the man you had once loved, not the racing superstar, but the man who had shared his dreams and fears with you.

And in those moments, you wondered if, maybe someday, you could find it in your heart to forgive. But for now, you were content to focus on the present, the thrill of the race, and the drive to win.

Because in the world of motorsport, as in life, the winner takes it all. And you were determined to be a winner, with or without him.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

can you do black myth erlang shen x reader please 🥺

It hurts. Please, it hurt. Stop!

Are you even speaking? Spears and swords don't stop to fall over you, and you wonder if you can even feel pain any longer.

You just wanted them to stop.

Those are celestial guards, fighters of the gods, and they have no mercy on the mortals, especially the ones that plan to revive the great sage. And you were so unlucky to have lost your friend.

How could it have happened?! Why was it happening?! They didn't see how already in pain you were?! They keep it going, and they laugh!

You just want everything to stop; your vision is just red and dark.

Then a light strike, and you're not in pain anymore. Ah...so is here where you die? You wanted at least to say something to Yuán Fèn and Bajie, maybe a goodbye...

You didn't get the chance to end your mission. You feel bad, mostly for these things.

///

Suddenly, icy air fills your lungs.

It's sudden and painful, and it's mostly a sign that you're pretty much alive but very much hurt. You can't see properly; your vision doesn't work so well. Why can you see only with your left eye?!

You tried to reach your head with your hands but could sense only the pressure of one of them. Something is attached to your face—just the same sensation on your left hand. 

Gauzes, someone had put some bandage on your face and hand. You still tried to move your right harm, but you can't feel so much; did it fall asleep? 

You tried to put yourself up but met only a wave of more pain in both of your legs. You wanted to scream, moan, or anything, but you could only wheeze, coughing from the dryness. 

Only then you felt something—rushing movements—they were fast and so many. Many small people? Or just one thing with so many legs? You couldn't tell; wherever you were was so dark. The rush of the feet stopped when some more heavy ones got closer to you. Someone had held your head gently, raising it from the cuschion where you were, then something smooth and cold touched your lips, a bowl maybe. 

A liquid started to carefully flow in your mouth, avoiding you to suffocate or spill it. It was... so bitter. It felt awful, but your throat started to feel better. It was warm.

You tried to understand who was tending to you, so you kept looking at the looming figure. Were they talking to you? He seemed like a man by his posture and

No, it couldn't be. It must have been a dream or a sick joke. You gulped, but before you could do anything, Erland had already put you back in your bedding.

///

Oh, how much you wished that was just a delirious dream and allucination provoked by the pain. Tò be just the product of your mind, another of those visions that you had during your adventure.

Instead It was true—scarefully true.

He didn't speak too much; he didn't speak at all. He just tended to your wound, fixed the bed, made you drink that bitter liquid of his, and then went back to... something. He was just there, doing something in that desolated place. 

The house was small, very small; the only objects present there were the bed where you were recovering, some big jars, a small bundle of sheets in a corner, and a fireplace, where usually the pot mumbled and boiled something that you guess he was feeding you.

It wasn't like you couldn't do much in your state; the only thing you could do was just sleep and hope that nothing bad could happen.

And when you didn't sleep, you thought.

Why was he caring for you? He was preparing you for a formal execution? Was he planning to kill you in front of all the monkeys and Yuán Fèn? Maybe hunting you for fun?

Every time those worries started to come into your head, you felt nothing but pure fear and pain. You should have died there. It would have been merciful. 

One day you finally broke that silence, the day you realized that the absence of sensitivity in your right heart was because there was nothing there. One of the soldiers had damaged so much your harm that it was cute off.

You started to panic, to move, and to make sounds that were near a lament. Then you felt something nudging and crying next to your face, pressing and lapping, then something stronger trying to stop you.

"You need to stop; your wounds may reopen."

He seemed calm in his tone, and he kept his composure even when you started to punch him in the chest and get out of him and that place.

"Of you're in pain, tell me. So I can fix it. I have medicines, but you need to calm down."

How could you calm down?! You're hair was ripped off! You kept struggling, moving your stump against him, trying to gain anything, but nothing came to you. He realized the situation and stod up.

"Don't worry, I prepared everything."

And so he revealed, inside one of the big jars, covered in the same strange bitter medicine, your severed harm, that was still moving, imitating the movement that you were trying to do with it.

///

And so, things didn't change that much, except that he was taking your limb in a magic option, and he was taking you the same things to heal your wounds.

He said that, by mortal standard, death was inevitabile, but with that medicine he could save your harm and your eye, which you learned was lost, and he just kept it there. The creepyness of the hole organs in a jar aside, you felt like something was clearly wrong.

He was Erlang Shen! The deity that struck down Sun Wukong! The one that had officially killed him! Why was he curing you?!

You couldn't trust him; you could trust Yaoguais and all but him?! NEVER!

"Came on," he tried to make you drink again the medicine; "without it, your body will take longer and the harm won't stick."

"Firstly," you said, moving the bowl away from your."I'm not a paper doll that you can just fix with glue. And secondly, I don't trust you!"

"If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already. Instead, I'm tending to your wounds. Is not trustful enough?"

For him, it was more like taking to a child that refused the cough syrup.

You rolled your eyes; he was right—he could have killed you, and the possibility of being dead by his hand still lingered. Your only option was to play whatever game he was playing and try to get the first chance to escape from... wherever you were. By the look of the outside, where are you back to the New West? The snow was its notable characteristic after all.

After another nudge of the deity, you finally took the bowl from his hand and swallowed in one gulp the medicine. Your face produced a grimace by the savor.

"Ugh! It's so bitter...what did you put in this staff?!"

"I don't make medicine. I take it from the celestial court."

That I take it was more similar to stealing it. But, for your own sake, you held your tongue. When made sure that all the medicine was consumed, he hummed, satisfied, and silently sat near the fireplace.

Now, with a better look, you realized that it wasn't a house per se, but a very small temple. 

"Why did you steal someone else's shrine?"

After that sentence, you thought Mayube would hear him complain about your insolence or just to tell you to shut up. Instead, he kept tending to the fire, using a long metal rod.

"I didn't steal it; it's mine."

"Yours?" You seemed perplexed. "It's so simple. I thought you had something a little more."

He chukled a little without diverting his gaze. "I don't want to attract attention."

What a strange man, you thought, and so you decided to go back to sleep. But still, one question needed an answer.

"When I was on the brink of death," you spoke between the sheets. "You were saying something. What did you say?"

He stode silently, stopped in his thought, then spoke.

"That I won't allow you to die."

///

On your surprise, you found out that one of the most tolerable things there was no one else but Xiaotian Quan, Erlan's loyal dog. Despite his scary look, the jaws that could easily rip of your head, and the fact that it was a deity, that dog was everything but pure joy.

You couldn't understand why, but it just adored you, snuggling to you when the fire died during the night, asking for food whenever its master wasn't looking. How could you resist?!

"You're so nice, you know that?"

Every time the god left the house for hunting, something you learned he did on a daily basis for all of your meals, the duty of guarding you, maybe monitoring your escape, was set on the dog. You obliged to stay in its warm, caressing his mantle and scratching his muse.

"You're very cute... I wonder if you feel lonely here. I would be, but I'm mostly bored."

You sighed, turning in the bed. You tried to avoid thinking about your state and all. Erland said that it was almost time to reattach the arm, but you still need the medicine for your legs and eye.

"I hope Yuán Fèn is all right... I hope everyone is safe. Things were getting off lately. Everything is...."

You massaged your poor eyes with your good hand.

"I really hope that Sun Wukong is worth the pain!"

You didn't want to have doubt; you wished that your faith was strong like Yuán Fèn and Bajie's, but everything was so hard. How could they just accept it? And staying there, medicated by the one that had killed that you guys were trying to revive, didn't help at all. That statement...what wnated you alive? What was his game?

Come to think of it, no one ever came to come for you—not a deity, not a celestial warrior, not a Yaoguais. It was like no one knew where you were except for the dog and Erlang. Was he hiding you? But for what reason?

You stopped thinking about it when you heard the sound of a huge deer falling to the ground and the sound of a knife starting to cut the meat. Does it really need to do it right there!? Even Bajie had so much decency to move away or wait for you and Yuán fèn to sleep!

He seemed too concentrated to care, so he kept going with his work and stopping the dog to come to him and try to take some meat for himself.

It was...almost a cute scene... Blood of the poor deer aside.

"What are you doing in this?" You finally decided to break that silence.

"You need to eat, no?"

"No, I don't..." You covered your face with your hand. "I mean this! Helping me, curing me, and all! Why?"

"I have my own motives. Wich, I prefer to keep to myself for now." He said, giving a small slice of meat to Xiaotian, letting it lick the blood from his fingertips.

"And you? You're clearly not cut out for this; what is it that you searching for in this quest of yours?"

"I just want to go home. They said that, maybe, Sun Wukong knows a way to send me back. I don't know if it's true, but it's worth the shot." 

You didn't even know why you admired it; you just said it. Maybe it wasn't such a big revelation in your head; it's not normal for someone to go back to where you belong, even if this desire wasn't so strong in recent days. He hummed and kept on cutting and putting the meat in the pot on the fire, alongside some water. He didn't say much; he just acknowledged it, you thought.

"And what if I can do that and send you home?"

Your eyes widened as you looked at the man who had just admitted that he could have done that from the beginning, like he was just telling you some directions on the road. But then suspects rose again.

"What's the catch?"

He stopped, finally looking at you, straight in your eyes.

"You stop this foolish quest of yours, alongside your friend. Give up the relics, and I'll send you back. No more fighting, a normal life."

You loved your gaze, looking at your still remaning bandage hand. He could do that; he could send you back. In front of you, stirring a suo, there's your way home ticket. And the price...

A fire started in your chest, looking at him with a newfound vigor.

"Are you basically telling me to give up?!"

"Tò surrender..."

"Then I refuse! Me, Yuán Fèn, and Bajie had made the impossible! The sacrifices that we made, what we had accomplished... NO! I will never betray my friends! I'll find my way home on my own terms!"

"And what if Wukong is not able to help you? What'll you do then?"

"Then...then I'll still search for a way! I'll never turn my back on the Destined One, NEVER!"

At this rate, you really started to fear that he could be angered by your stubbornness and loyalty towards your friend; instead, he rested quite, with a small smile on his face.

He seemed satisfied, and I kept cooking while you decided to stay silent after that outburst. He truly was something hard to get...

After a few hours, the same soup was served to you, and... It wasn't that apprising. It didn't smell bad or have a bad smell; it was just so blended with every one of your senses. It was just boiled meat in some water.

"There, eat now. You still need some energy."

You held the bowl, admiring how some good pieces of meat had gone wasted in some hot water with not even vegetables or some actual condiments. You took a sip of it; the savor was more of some dirty hot water, blood that had remained in the pot, and the disappointment of being fed like this.

"Are you sure you're a deity?" 

"What kind of question is this?"

"Because to be one, your cooking skill really stinks. Do you even know salt exists?"

At this point, you really thought that you were done. You gulped a chunk of meat, afraid to look at the face of the man, imagining how enraged he must be after hearing such an insult. You really couldn't keep your mouth shut, did you?! Why did you have to meet all those friendly deities that didn't care about status?! Now you must have angered the ONLY deity that you really didn't want to!

"Umpf, I never cooked for anyone. You try if you're that good."

You raised your eyes and...a pouty child, an kid that his mother had taken away the dough because he was making a mess with the flour. His arms crossed, offended by a remark that was true, by the way, his feet tapping the floor in a sign of nervousness, pinting out that your comment had left a mark on him, and his gaze...fixed on somewhere else in the room, maybe on his dog, enjoying its meal with the head of the deer.

Did you embarrass him?

The next day, he was able to gain some good ingredients. Some chilies, some salts and peppers, even some nice fresh onions. Where did he find them? You'll never know, but you must admit, he was quite good at following your distractions. He was careless and followed every step by your hand, and at the end of the job, he ate the soup in silence, without saying anything after that.

He must have found it quite good too.

///

"WAIT! Wait, wait, wait, please! Can't we ask someone else?!"

"No one will be able to help us. I can handle it; please stay still." He took away from the fire the long and thick needle and the silk string attached to the end of it.

"NO! At least put me to sleep! It's going to hurt like hell!" You tried to move away from the stump, only to be stopped by his hand.

"I could rip off your head; that would be more problematic than harm. I'll be fast, but you must stay still." He removed the bandages from what was left of your limb, positioning the severed arm near it.

You gasped, a small tear escaping your eye. You were scared.

He noticed his free hand handing you a piece of wood.

"In your mouth...you'll need it.". 

///

It was like you never lost it to begin with. The same medicine was now an ointment to apply, and he reattached them to help the regrow of the lost parts. Your legs started to feel better too; you could walk with his help or a cane. Xiatian too was a nice helper in that case, being your support and all when you regain your ability to move.

But you were really bored.

"And what...is this?" He motioned towards the numbers of some mini-Snowman, tall as a doll, that you were stilkl making around.

"I don't like talking to you, so I made some company from myself."

"Ah..." he silently reached you, sitting at your side but never disturbing your work.

"They are people that you know?"

"All of them—me and Yuán Fèn—had met them in our journey. Some of them are good; some of them needed the right way; others are lost."

All of them were made with the same round shape, making them similar, but each one had at least one feature that made it different and special. He pointed out one with some small detail on the face.

"Who's the one there?"

"The third spider sister! She's just so nice, you know? They all have the right to hate us, but she's quite the mediator! She loves poetry, and her dresses are so lovely! I like to talk with her; she kind of likes humans!"

"Oh, the spider Yaoguai...and the big one there?"

"The second prince of the flowing sand. He's sad, but he's always nice to me. I hope he can recover soon with his brother."

"I see...and the destine done?"

"Here!" You held pridefully the small snowman, a stick in his hand, and a happy face. So near to your feet, it must have been the first one you had made.

"You really care for him..." 

"I do! He's my friend! ...a very...good friend." He had noticed that silent spark that screamed to be freed from the bounds of morality and friendship. You too were bound after all.

"Well, they're not perfect, but here they are! All my friends! I hope they're fine."

"And where are you? Where's the Bián huá?"

"Oh...me, eh?... I'm not that cool like them. I can just be the one who makes the funny little snowman."

He raised his eyebrow, noticing how little of yourself you were talking. He raised his hand, moving the snow like a whirlwind. The snow, by moving, was forming a small sculpture with your exact semblance.

"....Show off." You blunter out.

///

"And so, my uncle decided to leave the quarry and let it go."

Your laugh echoed in the small shrine. Erlang never noticed how genuine it was before that night.

"You're terrible! I can't believe they ask of all people but you to take care of Wukong!"

"Well," he said, drinking some wine, "I was the only one with enough power to do so, and..." he chuckled, smiled, looking to the ground, and sighed, "He and I... we were so similar. I know no one could have ever bested me, but him."

The words he said, you wonder, how many times he hopes to express those feelings to someone but never finds the right one? How long he kept those weights on his chest? When he talked, he didn't sound like someone full of glory and of himself for defeating one of the strongest warriors in the universe; he seemed sad, melancholic, and regretful.

"Were you friends?"

"...I guess we were." He then aptted your shoulder.

There, something moved in your head. Everything changed; you were no more on that mountain; the shrine had become a vast expanse of clouds; so many people around you—the same that had hurt you.

There were some... no, they couldn't be the Yaoguasi king?! Why were they there?! And...Erlang...why he's covering his hand?

"You have to go to sleep now; you still need to rest."

And, without being able to express anything, he left you there, asking yourself what you just saw.

/// 

The day passed; your body came back to your old vigor, but something was different that day. The air was thick, the snow was falling, and Erlang Shen, after so many days, had finally started to show more emotions than his natural calmness. He was waiting for something.

"Erlang?" You spoke to him, observing how connected he was in front of the fire. Xiaotian was near him, waiting for something like its master.

"About me... sending you home... forgive my lie, dear one. I do not know how to do that."

You were just reaching him to his small spot, near the fire place that he had started in the courtyard, when you stopped in your tracks after hearing him. What? Was that a lie?

"A...lie?...w-why did you?"

"Many before you came... and all of them were swawed away from this path...but you..." His kind eyes met yours. "You surprised me many, many times here."

It was... a test? He was testing your faith. Your trust in the Destined one? And then again, he kept silent, thinking about these weeks alone with you.

You befriended many Yaoguai, chosen kindness. You, that stode in the center of the storm, still believed so little of yourself.

You were a shining star, not knowing how important you were. You started to be important for many... and for him. But this... this is another story.

"Time is near, Bián huá. He's coming, calling by your bounds and your destiny."

"Wh's co-" you realized. Your eyes started to water, remembering about your precious friend that you never, not even a single moment, had stopped hope he could find you.

"Yes," he smiled at you. "This is our last time together."

"I still have so many questions! I need to know! I...i...." those visions. He was his friend. What did he hide that faithful day?! 

"You'll have your answers... as his own."

Sound of steps in the snow. Someone was running, despite the ice, despite the cold. His fluffy tail, his strong and determined eyes.

Yuán Fèn.

"Keep cover, Y/N. You really don't want to see this fight."

///

That wasn't a fight.

You saw your friend fight—that wasn't one—and you couldn't even say that you were in your right mind because, for the first time, you didn't want a winner, nor a loser.

At the end of the fight, you don't know what happened, but light engulfed you, just like the day Erlang saved you from those celestial warriors.

When the light dimmed, you weren't on the snowy mountain anymore.

The warm light of spring danced between the branches of the plum blossoms; the wind slowly hummed between the trees, the grass tickling your feet. The sound of a creek, the chirping voices of the birds...where you even in the mortal realm. And...he was there.

Your normal gourmet was now an intricate Hanfu, pink like the flowers of the plum trees. He smiled a gentle smile; you questioned if it was real or just a product of your imagination.

"...where....are we?"

"I thought you would like some colors."

He remembered you as a prince and you as a princess, one that wondered if she was supposed to fit in her role. He held your hand, asking you one last time...to trust him.

Slowly, your fingers intertwined together, and there you saw it, another vision...

The truth.

You're hands still together, he held so strongly, afraid to lose these last moments. Your eyes start to water again. Small droplets of tears shined through the light.

"You...you and him...you planned it...all this time you..."

"He was a foolish one...to believe that a status could grant him freedom..." he chuckled, a bitter one like his medicines. "And yet... maybe... I too wanted something like that... yet I never had that kind of courage to do so."

Your throat was close, your legs trembled, and he was there, ready to catch you.

"....You..." Hiccups prevented you from formulating more words, but you couldn't stop. "You...suffered..all alone..all this time..I could never."

You couldn't hold it anymore, but his strong arm girded around you, trying to bring an inch of comfort to your heart. You figured out everything, and what you could only feel now was the immense sadness of his own story.

A friend for him, but a villain for many.

"The Bián huá... meant to change the circle... who could have guessed that even with me, you could find some kindness in the end?"

"NO!" Your hand gripped his white clothes. "You've...you've done it for him! You're not evil! You're not like them!"

He sighed,

sad smile on his face. He revealed your face to the light, caressing the eye that he tended with care. A flower appeared in your hair—a small plum flower, white and pure.

"As I would love to fight him over this treasure... this fight has already been won."

"What...what's going to happen now?"

"My dear, your journey...as his own...is only beginning."

And while everything faded, his lips seemed so soft, like those petals.

He still needs to steal something from him.

///

"I can't understand you! Your plan did work! Then why are you still moping around?!"

After the great fight, only Nezha decided to go and meet the sacred divinity.

"Little brother..." said Erlang in a sad tone. "You couldn't understand..."

The young one looked at his own senior...then gasped.

"Erlang...did you just..."

He didn't respond. He just held that flower and a small statue made of snow.

@sun-jglim

@sleepingdramaqueen

@crimsonflameproxy @everlastingmoonlightsworld @biankanoir

@cromboloni

@miraclecherryblossomsblog

@masksandfeathers @certifiedsimpinggalore

@cinnamonroll-anon @justrandomlypassing @cute-angi @dressycobra7 @virtualexpertanchor

@szynkaaa

@sleepydang

@kishimiest @marcu-bug

@weaverworks

@kirax-the-lazy-girl @luckyangelballoon

@phoenixeclipse-lmkau

@naarra

[bambheez]

nonsense — pt 2 (s.jy)

SUMMARY: previously, jake asked you to teach him how to properly use his big dick. the lesson doesn’t exactly go as planned… PAIRING: bestfriend/roommate!jake x reader (afab) GENRE: smut (minors dni) WARNINGS: smut, size/bulge kink, dacryphilia, masochism/mentions of pain from penetration(?), unprotected sex (pls use protection) WORD COUNT: 1.9k A/N: sorry for the wait but it’s finally here, also apologies for the messy pacing and abrupt ending i seriously had no motivation to finish this lol

read part 1 here

You spent the next week on edge, tiptoeing around the apartment. A part of you hoped there wouldn’t be any awkwardness or tension after you practically pounced on him, crossing the barrier that best friends, and roommates especially, weren’t supposed to. But you were foolish to assume that once Jake came down from his high, he wouldn’t start avoiding you at all costs.

It was painfully obvious. He would come home late at night, only coming to the kitchen to eat while you were in the shower, and locking himself in his room until you left for class the next morning. You couldn’t help but assume he regretted what happened, and you felt an ugly twist in your stomach at the thought that he didn’t enjoy any of it, or worse, that you had pressured him into the act. 

You were quietly cracking open the door to your bedroom, wanting to quickly grab something from the kitchen when the door to Jake’s room, directly across from yours, also opened. You stopped in your tracks, making brief eye contact with him before you were directing your gaze to the floor. If he hadn’t seen you, you probably would’ve closed the door and crawled back into your room.

The pounding of your heart was ringing in your ear. As much as you hated confrontation, you hated the idea of walking on eggshells around your own damn roommate and best friend. The least you both could do was talk it out, deem it a one-time mistake and try to forget about it. You took a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut, leaning against the doorframe.

“Fuck it,” you breathed out. “About last week…”

“Yeah,” he was blurting out before you could even continue. 

You were looking up at him now. He was fresh out of the shower, hair wet and towel wrapped around his neck. Droplets of water forming at the ends of his hair were beginning to fall beside his bare feet from his prolonged stance in the same position. He didn’t miss the way your eyes trailed along the veins that ran up his bare arms. 

You tore your eyes away from his body to make eye contact with him, mentally cursing at yourself for feeling more and more turned on as the seconds passed. However, while you expected him to look anxious or flustered, you found him looking at you with an unreadable expression, almost similar to how he watched you last week, with you on your knees in front of him and his hands buried in your hair. 

You were unconsciously rubbing your thighs together and shifting uncomfortably on your feet from his intense stare. A sudden wave of confidence washed over you before you were closing your own door and striding into Jake’s, pulling him with you by his bicep. The familiar lights from his PC gave you a sense of deja vu. 

He tore your grip off him from behind you. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered. You winced, thinking you had misread his intentions and were in the middle of making a fool of yourself.

Jake, on the other hand, was panicking over his inability to exert self control and how you’d react if you found out that he touched himself every night this week to the mental image of your pretty lips wrapped around him.

But it was Jake this time who was mouthing fuck it before he closed the gap between you, hands coming up to grab at the sides of your face and press his lips against yours. You audibly sighed into his mouth before you were a mess of tangled limbs in the sheets, clothes strewn in a trail leading from the door to his bed.

Jake tried his best not to ogle at your bare chest, instead looking down at his own cock, standing tall and proud against his abdomen.

You gaped, reminded of just how big he was.

Jake stopped his movements upon sensing your hesitance, wanting to make sure this was something you wanted and that he wasn’t overstepping any boundaries. He was kneeling on the bed, boxers thrown to the floor while you were lying flat, a pillow under your head.

“I, uh, I’ve never been able to get it in,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish look.

You threw your head back in laughter. “You mean, like, you couldn’t find her hole?” The thought of virgin Jake hopelessly struggling amused you, yet your heart softened at just how inexperienced he seemed.

He winced at your comment, softly chuckling as he shook his head. “No, like I could never fit it in with other girls before.”

Oh. You didn’t even realize that was an actual problem people had. Did that technically make him a virgin still? 

You sat up on your elbows, heart racing at the implication. “What the hell makes you think I can take it, then?”

His eyes widened and he immediately shifted lower on the bed to pull at your underwear, ready to prep you. For some reason, he just assumed you’d be able to take him since you were experienced. He truly had no idea how big he was.

Your underwear was hooked just above your knees as he reached out, dragging two fingers up your folds to collect your arousal and bringing it to his lips. His tongue poked out the corner of his mouth as he licked at his digit, moaning in the process. 

You pulled him by the wrist, his fingers reluctantly leaving his mouth. “What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna finger you first, needa stretch you out,”

“N-no, I can take it.”

“But you just said—”

“I said I can take it.”

The sudden thrill of a challenge, to see whether you were capable of taking all of him, sent a shiver down your spine. 

He stared at the wet patch on the front of your underwear, running his index finger along it. “I wanna eat you out, though,” his lips in a pout. “You taste so good,” he was whining, eyes fixated on your glistening, leaking core.

Your heart did a somersault. “We have all the time in the world for that, Jake,” you couldn’t help but smile. “But I need you inside me— now,” you muttered, your expression quickly turning into one of sultry desperation.

“F-fuck, okay.”

His knees shifted forward as he aligned the head of his cock with your sopping cunt, pushing in at an excruciatingly slow pace. You feel like you’re being torn apart in the most delicious way, the stretch addicting and your mouth falls open at the sensation. You’re usually not great with pain, but you know it’ll all be worth it once Jake starts thrusting into you.

He finally bottomed out on top of you, a shaky breath releasing from his lips. You mentally thanked yourself for choosing this position, knowing very well that you wouldn’t have gotten this far if you were on top. Jake’s eyes were squeezed shut, a visible sheen of sweat across his forehead.

He was embarrassed to tell you directly, but with it being Jake’s first time, it was taking everything in him to not pull out and slam back into you. He wasn’t sure how long he could stay like this, your walls clamping onto him for dear life. 

You swore you could feel him in your stomach. He was pulling out before you could complain, leaving just the tip in so he could compose himself and relieve some of the pain he assumed you were in. A whine left your lips, protesting as you hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him back inside you. He sobbed out a cry of your name, bottoming out again and hiding his face in your neck.

Your slick was doing wonders to aid his cock in and out of you. He licked and nipped between your collarbones as he kept a somewhat consistent pace, his cock nearly slipping out from your wetness each time he pulled back. Lifting his head from the crook of your neck, he peered down at you through hooded eyes, watching as you mumbled mindlessly.

“S-so full, mmph, need—ah, Jake, need you to fill me up, oh f-fuck y-yeah that’s it, harder!” Every word of yours was interrupted by a rhythmic, sharp thrust, causing you to inch back toward the headboard.

He chewed on his bottom lip, mesmerized at the sight of you falling apart on his cock. 

“So perfect, such a perfect cock…” your voice came out in a purr. You were saying it mostly to yourself, yet Jake couldn’t help but moan out at how affected he was by your praise.

“Y/N, I-I t-thought you were gonna teach me, fuck,” he groaned, hips snapping at an increasing pace.

You shook your head, apologetic whines leaving your lips. There was nothing to teach him, at least nothing you could teach him in the state you were currently in. 

The sight of you struggling, falling apart on his cock with tears of pleasure threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes, and the way your cries are beginning to sound more and more desperate brings him to full consciousness, awakening a sudden desire in him.

“Then take it back,” he grunted, 

“Huh?” you were mumbling, eyes barely able to stay open.

“Take it back, what you said about not knowing how to use my dick,”

Your breath hitched at his sudden boldness and change of demeanor.

“Say it,”

You gulped down any remaining pride. “J-Jake, fuck, you’re so s-so good with your cock,” you whined. Technically, you were speaking the truth, but you liked it more when he didn’t know how good he was. You liked your boys a little dumb.

“I’m sorry, ‘n I-I take it back,” you mumbled. Jake let out a squeaky moan at your words. You removed your hands that were clawing at his back to pinch at your nipples while you squirmed under him, and he had to close his eyes again to keep himself from cumming.

His pace was faltering from his enthusiastic thrusts, completely lost in his own pleasure and your needy expressions. Reaching down to thumb at your neglected clit with the limited knowledge he had from previous experiences, he noticed a slight bulge against your skin. 

You were writhing underneath him and he angled his hips upward with another experimental thrust, completely hypnotized by the view of his tip protruding right beneath your belly button. You let out a broken cry at the feeling, your climax building rapidly and waves of ecstasy washing over you as your walls spasmed from the combination of his fingers working against your clit and the weight of him pressing down on his bulge through your lower stomach. 

Just as he was impressing himself at how long he’d managed to last, he’s being made aware of your notable size difference. It felt like he was filling you to the hilt with just half his cock pumping in and out of you. With one last clench around him as you began to come down from your high, he was spilling into you with a strained groan of your name, your tight cunt milking him dry.

[leftneb]

alr amateur in-depth analysis time bc I don't think I can really come to any sensible conclusion provided the state of the dash rn

I have a much more refined version of this now! partially changed my mind on the interviews bit and went more into details of the collision. I'd recommend reading that one

(be warned this got very out of hand I really did just want to look at the contact but then things happened)

regular racing

2. max moves off the racing like

I'm assuming this is to prevent lando from taking the inside line. makes sense so far

3. lando takes the outside (normal racing line as you can see by the tyre marks)

4. max suddenly veers back onto the racing line

this is likely an attempt in blocking lando from overtaking. but at this point they were side-by-side, which means max is just driving into him

the only place for lando to go at this time is off the track

5. they make contact

IMO this was on max, but it definitely wasn't "on purpose" (max also wouldn't try to initiate contact considering it would ruin his own race)

as far as I know this is fairly characteristic of max, he has a sort of "kill or be killed" attitude on track, which usually translates to "either YOU move or we're BOTH crashing out"

either of them could have moved to avoid collision, but they didn't, because they're racing drivers, obviously they're not going to move and give up a win

max basically drove into lando here, absolutely did NOT leave the space

as for the other overtakes/attempts

max already stated that their mistakes (the slow pitstop + his lockup) cost them a lot, these allowed lando to get in a fighting position in the first place

lando was natually going to try and make the most of that opportunity, though maybe a bit too aggressively at times

lando sets up for the overtake, gets blocked

pretty much standard procedure, nothing to talk about here

2. lando overtakes max but locks up in the process and runs wide

you could definitely argue that this was just a bit too aggressive, or that lando was going in over his head maybe

to me the whole "lando doesn't have experience fighting for a win and he makes mistakes because of it" feels a bit like a cheapskate but there's truth to it

lockups happen, especially under pressure (and even more when he's aware he has to run a perfect race in order to beat max)

Lando then says on his team radio:

"he can't keep moving after I've moved it's just dangerous. we're gonna have a big shunt. he forced me to go wide and lock up"

looking at it from lando's perspective I can see what he means here

lando took the inside line and they were practically wheel-to-wheel by the time max started turning, seeing that max is taking a line that would lead them to a collision he panics and locks up

like just imagine you're lando. you've taken the inside line, there is no space to your left, so you're expecting max to leave you a gap. instead he starts turning in on you. you are going to try preventing contact so you break and swerve, you lock up, the only way forward is off the track

from max's perspective I can only imagine this happening if lando was out of his view. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt here

also I think "he can't keep moving after I move" (and the entire radio message) pretty much foreshadows the contact later on

3. lando takes the inside line, max leaves him space by going off the track

we are going car racing. lando is being aggressive here (though I wouldn't go so far as to call it unreasonable) max doesn't break hard but leaves him the space, the only place he can go is off track

you could definitely phrase this as "lando forced max off track"

but you could also argue that "max broke track limits to maintain his position" he COULD technically have backed off, but again, would have been very uncharacteristic of him

post-race statements

I am biased toward lando (and I really hope that didn't affect my analysis too much) but I do think the whole "apologize or we're not friends anymore" sentiment is a bit. side eye.

as much as max was being aggressive at times, so was lando, they both want to win, obviously they're going to be aggressive

it was a hard race, it was a GOOD race, they both made mistakes but in the end it was max who denied them both the win, which is an unfortunate consequence of, yk, racing

generally I think approaching these things objectively is always the most sensible. however, we have to acklowledge that we're talking about some of the most competitive people this planet. they both immediately went to blame the other, they always do

lando implying that he wants to basically break up with max because of this is insane. but so is max refusing to acknowledge that the collision might possibly have been his fault

as a viewer I want to just sit here. eat my popcorn. and enjoy the race, prefferably WITHOUT the entire community going to war about it without any respect for other people. like I'm not saying there should always be peace and love, there is NEVER going to be a race like this without drama but for the love of god don't ACTUALLY want to kill eachother

[nocturnowlette]

The Dragon

The dragon walks up behind me. I'm in a nondescript white room. The walls, floor, and ceiling are all the same material: something ethereal, almost seeming to glow but only when I'm not directly looking. The light emanating from seemingly nowhere seems to infinitely reflect off every surface, making it sometimes hard to tell if the walls are even there, or how big this space really is. Though I haven't turned around, I know it's the dragon. I've seen him before, but I forget where. More importantly, I've felt him before. It feels like it's something I've always known, some part of my DNA, maybe my entire lineage. This dragon's presence is known more to my instincts than my mind. His name is - translated to something I can understand - is Sunny. Though, honestly, I don't think there is a name that can accurately represent a creature like this. He's right behind me now.

I haven't turned around, in a way it doesn't feel necessary. I've known his ears, half cones tapering off to a point at the back. I know his horns, between the two ears, bowed outwards and bending in 90 degree angles. They rise until they're just above the ear, tilting gently forward just past the ears before sharply bending straight backwards, then bending one more time downwards, ending in a sharp point. I know his tail, seemingly large and yet ever-changing in its largeness. Dulled fins, equally spaced, line the top; the bottom half, a lighter pink than his short-furred purple everywhere else, runs with slight waves along its surface. They feel like waves frozen in time. I sense waves of something wash over me. Energy? Pressure? Like a dull droning hum without any sound. It's surrounding me.

As he kneels down behind me, the presence seems to double, then triple in intensity; the air feels tough to move through, and so I don't. Cutting through the invisible waves assaulting my mind, thoughts come flooding to me; Where am I? What is this? What's going to happen to me? A sense of danger starts to creep over me, the hair standing on my back, heart rate increasing- The dragon puts his arms over my shoulders, gently, and places his head over his arm on my left. He seems almost impossibly peaceful. A moving statue. The presence seems to have disappeared entirely, giving me room to think. And yet, I'm paralyzed. All I can really do is stare.

The dragon, whose gaze was near immobile and dull moments before, seems to have the shine of the room gently reflect in his eye. He takes a deep breath in, holding for a short moment, before breathing slowly, slowly out. His breath is a light purple. Due to his snout and head position, the breath is missing me entirely: likely a good thing, perhaps he's purposefully avoiding my nose? We sit there for a while. A few minutes, maybe. He breathes in, slowly, holding it for a moment, then out, slower. I find myself starting to sync with his breaths, so steady that it feels like a gentle rhythm. As much as I don't want to admit it, it's giving some comforting solace in the middle of the confusion. That, and the slight smell of lavender.

The contrast of the artificial coldness of the room and the smell of pure nature is dizzying. Or, something is dizzying. I close my eyes, trying to take in fewer senses and get my mind sorted. He starts to purr. Can dragons purr? Apparently, they can. The rumble has a strong feeling to it, like snoring, but I adjust quickly to it. It reminds me of game controllers and earthquakes and dryers. Definitely dryers. It has that slight rumble to it, like something light is tumbling, and the warmth. I'm surrounded by warmth, like a dense blanket.

The arms around my shoulders are like a scarf, the dragon seeming to be ever closer than before. When did he move? Wait, where am I? Why am I thinking about all of this? I open my eyes. The room looks different. I swear, it does. The color is slightly different, but only in the corners of my vision. A light purple? It smells like lavender. I look to my left again, the breath still steadily pumping out. Is there no ventilation? It feels harder to breathe, like the air is dense. I need to breathe in more, but I'm only getting dizzier. I need to find a way out-

"Breathe in, deeply."

I feel my lungs work on their own, taking a breath that feels impossibly large.

"Breathe out, slowly."

My lungs empty as if there was nothing there in the first place.

My brain feels heavy, exhausted.

"I'm sure it does."

What?

"Don't think too hard."

My thoughts are like molasses.

"Isn't that such a nice feeling?"

It's hard to disagree. It's actually very, very hard.

It feels like I've always loved this feeling.

"You have."

I have?

"Yes. You ask a lot of questions for a pet."

I'm a pet?

The dragon chuckles.

"Of course. Why do you think you're here?"

Why am I here?

"To meet me, officially. You've always known me."

I have?

"You have."

I have.

"There we are. Don't you feel lovely?"

I do.

"Isn't that all that matters?"

It is.

"Good pet. Let's go home, now."

Anything you wish.

[bidoofenergy]

in the middle, alone

based on this post by @quaranmine

(825 words)

Grian can never really deny Jimmy and Joel. He goes along with the big things— teaming up or handing over his time or fighting with Pearl and BigB over that fucking frog—and the little things—their matching jackets or their sunglasses or their fucking name—and minimally complains about it the whole time. Their bed situation was a medium thing; it wasn't going to kill him, but gods did it make his days that much worse.

Joel somehow both overheats and has the coldest toes known to man. Jimmy sleeps curled into himself but stretches his wings out, sticking feathers into Grian's mouth. They both kick. They left him the middle. He hates them for it.

At the end of the day, he makes a show of leaving with Pearl and BigB, back to their towers and frogs. Being alone makes you easy to pick off by any of the other roving groups of Reds. BigB throws an arm over his shoulders and Pearl bumps shoulders with him, both comforting him, both making him stumble.

It's only as they pick their way across the lawn, avoiding pressure plates because no one can quite remember where the TNT is, that Grian realizes he might actually be spending the night there. That's not the worst thing in the world. He'd probably get his own bed, away from other people. But something about the thought of sleeping on his own, not on the destroyed roof of the woodland mansion, makes something settle in the pit of his stomach. Makes things feel a little too final.

"We'll take care of you, Grian!" Pearl tells him, with that bright, sharp smile she only wears in the games. BigB rummages through their chests but in the end only turns up with a single piece of wool.

"Sorry, man," he tells Grian and he sounds like he means it.

"Don't worry about it," Grian tells them. "I'll just sneak back through the forest to the mansion and meet you guys in the morning." For a moment the other two hesitate, glancing at each other, and Grian watches them do the same math he just did: no one's in the forest, the TIES and Clockers have both gone home, he definitely has good gear at his base that he could bring them.

"Stay safe." BigB tells him and he sounds like he means it.

"Don't let the bed bugs bite!" Pearl sings after him, already heading up the ladder.

Grian makes it back to the mansion, perfectly fine except for being damp all over again—why did Joel flood their whole base? He's tired, wrung out from the chaos of the day, and crawls into bed, armor still on. He pulls his sheets up to his chin.

It's too cold. Joel runs so hot and curls in so close that most nights Grian woke up well before he wanted to, drenched in sweat. Grian rips the blankets off the other beds and pulls them over himself. There's no one here to yell at him for it anyway. It's not the warm bulk of two friends, of a set of wings layered over his own.

It's too quiet. Jimmy loves to talk when they go to bed, rambling on about the day or some joke Martyn made or that fucking frog. Joel snores and snuffles into his pillow and is generally just as noisy asleep as he is awake. Now, all Grian can hear is the wind rustling through the wheat.

It's fine. Grian likes sleeping by himself. He hates being in the middle of their ridiculous dog pile—the "Bad Boys Bed Bundle" as Joel had called it, which didn't even make sense. Just this morning, he woke up spitting mad because Jimmy's feathers had found their way into his mouth, again. He's not upset to be sleeping alone for the first time since the games had started. It is not too cold or too quiet or something truly ridiculous like too lonely.

It is perfectly normal for him to be in bed, alone. Two nights ago he threatened to move up to his bread house, he was so annoyed, and Joel had yanked him back down with hands around his chest while Jimmy clung to his middle and apologized and begged in the same breath. He stayed on the rooftop, because he can never really deny them anything, and stared up at the mess of bridges that cut across the sky, Joel and Jimmy still clinging to him.

No one is clinging to him now. No one is on either side of him now. In the morning, he will go meet Pearl and BigB and neither of them will lean on him the way Joel and Jimmy did so easily. He's in the middle of nothing now. He's in the middle, alone. The thought settles in his stomach like a lead weight.

They're dead. They left him in the middle, alone. He hates them for it.

[esperfruit]

Final batch of Thomas and Friends refs for now

Frankie Clarke

Age: 33

Height: 174 cm

James "Hurricane" Stratford

Age: 30

Height: 189 cm

Subordinates of D10 who run a base of operation on the Mainland covered as the local steelworks. The couple is loyal to D10 to no end but they are often seen complaining about their amount of work, how understaffed they are and wish to have some days-off from time to time.

They try to lure innocent people in to get some free labor with Frankie's way with words and Hurricane's muscle. They often do their victims a favour to make them indepted to them. Frankie as the steelworks manager, treats the workers they forced in very poorly as they have to work for hours on end and are trapped at the base and never left out. The workers get severly punished when they displease the duo, earning the two the names "Frankie the Slavedriver" and "Hurricane the Brute". Their misdeeds were put to an end when they decided to bring in a young boy in blue...

Ashima Desai

Age: 16

Height: 164 cm

A young girl that arrived on Sodor from India to go to the Mainland for a big event, her parents were invited to. She ran into Thomas by accident and they did not get along well at the start despite Ashima's attempts to be nice. However, they managed to open up to each other over time, especially gaining his interest because she heard about a legend about a ghostly woman with a golden aura, suspecting it might be about Lady.

Ashima is polite, modest, generous and very confident in herself as she can sense when someone is being rude to her and knows how to handle a situation like this like with her first encounters with Thomas. She has the firm believe that nobody has to chance who they are at the core and that fully embracing who you are will bring you true happiness. After the event and she and Thomas and his friends got into all sorts of incidents, Ashima headed back to India but she and Thomas promised to stay in contact regardless.

Mallard Gresley

Age: 49

Height: 200 cm

The oldest son of the Gresley branch family closest to the main family and Spencer's older brother. Mallard is prideful, arrogant and pompous like most Gresleys but he's more secluded than others and only cares about his own business, seeing no need to participate in their family drama as a very successful position was already guaranteed to him from birth. Because of that, he holds no jealousy against the main family with how content he is with what he has, despite the knowledge that he would inherit everything from the main family in the case it would disappear.

Mallard is so introverted and distant that he can mostly only be seen on big events and nowhere else. He and Scott decided to be on good terms for the sake of avoiding trouble neither of them wants. Despite being siblings, Mallard wants nothing to do with his brothers and sisters aside from business, especially with Spencer, who he views as nothing but a nuiscance with his pettiness and reckless behaviour.

Ace Canley

Age: 18

Height: 182 cm

A newbie ralley car racer from Australia, who goes around the world for events. Ace is carefree, impulsive, stubborn and tents to never consider the feelings of others, dragging others into his reckless actions against their will. Oblivious to it, he is also very manipulative and convinces people with pressure. He can also be lazy like when he made Thomas, the younger and smaller one, push his car up a hill when they got stuck in Africa.

His parents were archeologists, who worked with the Billington's and disappeared alongside them. When he learnt about Thomas 10 years later, he used his world tour as an opportunity to get to meet him and bond over their shared fates. He wanted to convince Thomas to accompany him on his tour mostly for fun and Thomas disagreed at first as this was a bit too much to ask for and he did not like Ace at all, even Lady told him to stay away from him. But when Ace brought up they could find clues about their parents' disappearance, Thomas reluctently agreed. Unlike with Percy, Rosie, Philip and Ashima, Thomas never warmed up to Ace and the feeling that he is a bad to have around never left him for a good reason.

[luciddreamingcrow]

Stupid emotionally unavailable men comforting you after they were Assholes

A/n: I was craving some hurt/comfort, so I made some hurt/comfort, also if you are attached too easily to emotionaly unavailable characters but tired of reading fanfics where they are emotionally unavailable, you are at the right place boo 😘 cuz I misscharacterized them 👏just👏 for 👏YOU!!! (I hope you will be feeling better after some hardcore angst) !!!!!!!!!!Also this isn't proof read!!!!!!!!

Characters prsesent: Al Haitham, Scaramouche, Albedo.

Trope(s): Hurt/comfort, angst and in the end fluff, also it's hinted that reader is (emotionally at least)sensitive and tends to ignore their problems.

Warnings!: it isn't too serious but it's implied that reader is somewhat neglected!

--Song recommended for today is: Waterfalls by Glass animals--

Al haitham

(Pre)Scene:

From the start of your relationship with Al haitham it was expected that problems would manifest eventually and there was no way around it, from his lack of physical presence and him being "strictly" logical it made sense that having a s/o that's emotional compared to him, was only natural for a big personality crash to happen, like right now, while you were having a lot of stress due to the academia pressuring you with projects you were forced to do and having to socialize with people that drain you easily, the only thing in your mind was to go home to your lover, talk to your harts content and let all of your worries out. But the opposite thing just had to occur, because whenever you started to rant for a bit he would inturupt you and criticize your actions and give you "advice" on what to do instead of listening to your troubles, and that's the exact thing that made you break down. As he was rambling on, Al haitham turned his look at you and when he noticed the forming tears in your eyes, his rambling would slowly die down, he would slowly put one of his hands to your cheek to gently make you face him. The moment Al haitham saw your teary eyes avoiding his gaze, he felt how sharply his stomach dropped filed with regret. And the second you started to sob he in a instant embraced you trying his best to comfort you. He truly didn't meant to push you over the edge and he couldn't handle the amount of guilt he felt, but regardless of that his top priority was to comfort you

Headcanons on comforting his s/o:

☾☼☽He would keep this position for a bit longer, trying his best to comfort you by keeping you close to him and running one of his hand on your back and the other hording you close.

☾☼☽After you would have calmed down he'd make sure of how you are feeling and bring you all the things you need.

☾☼☽Of course communication is key so he would insist for you to tell him what he specifically did wrong(he most likely would have figured it out but he still wants confirmation from you specifically)

☾☼☽Afterwards you would cuddle and he'd read you books that he knows you love them.

Scaramouche (Harbinger)

(Pre)Scene:

I know EXACTLY what would cause the conflict and that would be of course the amount degradation he seems to spit at everyone that he views as lesser of. And no he doesn't view his s/o as lesser of but that doesn't save them from the teasing "insults" he spits at you without a second thought. The incident that triggered the conflict was when he came back from a tiring mission, all tired and craving some quiet and relaxation only to be disturbed by a fatui agent reporting that the said papers must be signed up as quickly as possible. After Scaramouche dismissed the the fatui agent he dug himself to more work in witch there were many other agents or butlers that filled him with more paperwork. After all night of working and getting disturbed by literally everyone did fuel him up witch ended up with Scaramouche giving of passive aggressive comments left and right just to let off some steam out of his system. And that would be for the most simple things such as: your posture, why haven't you been doing this, this, and that, why are you acting so dumb all the time, etc. Of course he didn't see anything wrong with it and kept on going and that is until he heard how you started sniffing under your nose not daring to let another sound of because you didn't what him to start degrading you again or even worse mocking you and all of these thoughts would bring you to the verge of tears. You would suddenly snap out of your mind when you felt Scaramouches hand guiding you a silent private room with a calming atmosphere. As he turned around to face you, even as he felt like he didn't even deserve to be in your presence and just leave you alone, right now he knew he had to stay with you, unless you didn't want him there. He would look at you as gently as he could and ask you what's the matter? what's wrong? Tell him. After you'd voice your concerns about how he treats you without a good reason, he would start reflecting for a second because he didn't expect you to take his "insignificant insults" actually seriously, and the first thing he would do to make things better is:

Headcanons on comforting his s/o:

⋆✭⋆Scaramouche would firstly let you cry your heart out while he's holding u tightly

⋆✮⋆After you would have calmed down he'd start to run his fingers through your hair or soothe you how you prefer, and with a gentle voice correct his previous degrading comments and telling you what you want to hear and need to hear

⋆✮⋆Of course he'd let you vent for as long as you wanted and would be right there besides you listening carefuly

⋆✮⋆Later Scara would offer you some water and food for you to calm down completely

⋆✮⋆And after this event he'd try his best for something like this to never happened again because he's a firm believer that actions speak louder than words.

Albedo

(Pre) Scene:

Ok let's get something clear, Albedo is a really good lover and is attentive in his romantic relationship but despite him being viewed as a genius he does lack communication on a affectionate level not being quite sure what to do on some social situations that involve showing affection and care for the people that he views as great companions because he believes that the said people already know that he views them positively and doesn't feel the need to express it. And that lead to him accidentally neglect his s/o. This situation took the form of the snowball effect, slowly but surely the more Albedo didn't express his gratitude, appreciation, etc started to pile up on you thinking that he was emotionally distant to you on purpose and thus you started overthinking, did you do something wrong to upset him?, and if so what would that thing be. The more you thought about it the more stressed you became and until the end you confronted him about it since there was no way around it. When Albedo heard your concerns for the first time he was really surprised to say the least, his surprise wouldn't last long because he put two and two together and it made sence why you'd have these thoughts running around your head.

Headcanons on comforting his s/o:

≲•≳At first Albedo would explain to you his thought process and reassure you that you have nothing to worry about and you should have asked him from the start try to be more vocal about praising you.

≲•≳After that he would try his best to be more vocal with you even if it was hard for him in the start.

≲•≳Eventually you would be spoiled rotten by this man and sometimes use it to his advantage to tease you, now that he knows what gets you weak in the knees/hj.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Word quantity: high. Word quality: low. You have been warned.

Goo Kim x Reader: School Days with Princess & the Delinquent

Chapter 5 - Please read chapter 1 first!

Index: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Epilogue

“Princess! You forgot your umbrella? You’re going to look like a drowned rat!”

There’s nothing like a one-two punch of an insult with an unexpectedly chivalrous intention to signal his entrance.

Just when you were about to gather enough strength to make the mad dash home through the pouring rain, Goo Kim appears.

(He seems to do that more and more these days. You’ve grown used to his company by your side.)

Any witty retort evades you. You think of him as a saviour standing there; indeed, saving you from looking like a drowned rat.

In his hand he shields himself with a bright yellow umbrella. Overly big and much too colourful. Like him, really.

“As I’m such a kind gentleman, I’ll even walk you back for free.”

“For free?” 

“You don’t know how expensive my time is.”

Expensive? You scoff at this silly statement. This guy seems to have nothing but time, hovering around you for what must be a good chunk of the day.

As the skies turn even more ominous and the downpour grows ever heavier, the appreciation for his unceremonious appearance increases exponentially. Considering you’re one of the last people left in school, finishing up and staying behind after your music club, you actually didn’t expect to see him at all.

You walk by his side, falling in step together.

Goo deftly plucks the violin case from your hand, swinging it around to carry on his own shoulder. A lifetime of good manners ingrained in you, the thanks comes out even as your eyebrows shoot into your hairline.

Perhaps he wasn’t so off the mark calling himself a gentleman.

The rain opens a pandora’s box of sorts.

The first of many of Goo Kim’s casual touches comes, pulling you closer to him, avoiding the storm drenching your side, and he keeps his arm around you. 

You never realised Goo Kim was such a touchy person. Hmm. A better correction is you never used to know anything about him apart from his reputation.

He has made no secret of his disregard for personal space with you; is a clingy, sticky gumball of a person. 

Suffice to say, him also being handsy tracks.

(Goo is familiar with having his hands on other people, although he is more used to bodies quivering with fear as he unleashes savage assaults.)

Home is within reach. 

The walk back is over in what feels like the blink of an eye with Goo by your side and you safely encased under his umbrella, his body helping to block out any remaining errant elements.

His rambling words throughout washing over and covering you like a safety blanket as he drones on about something or another.

You’re both in your own bubble. It’s warm and cosy and you find it’s hard to leave once you reach your front door.

Goo mentally notes the shabby state of the neighbourhood that you direct him to, the worn down facade of your apartment block.

This wasn't what he was expecting. 

This isn’t the home of someone born with a silver spoon in their mouth, of a spoiled little girl with an easy life. Was his initial assessment of you that far off?

You part, saying goodbye as he scratches his head.

Later that night, you still feel the pressure and heat of his arm.

.

.

A terrible combo of homework, school projects and evening shifts stack up for you a few months later.

Knocking you out, tired and completely frazzled. 

In the morning you miss your first alarm. And then your second and third.

With the sun peeping through your curtains, you jerk awake, sweaty and with the sense that something is wrong.

Shit. You are beyond late for school. 

Fuck brushing your teeth, fuck washing your face, fuck combing your hair. You pick up your uniform scattered across the floor, pulling on what you can, cursing your past self for not being more organised.

.

.

Goo takes one look at you and guffaws. Completely dishevelled and brightening up his morning with how much you look like shit.

.

.

"Where's your tie?" He approaches you during the morning free period as you desperately try to run your fingers through your tangled hair nest.

"What?" You snap, still not recovering from your dire start to the day or the disapproving look from the teacher as you slammed the door open and interrupted whatever they were saying.

Hearing Goo's laughter really was the icing on the cake. Your thoughts were resentful as you trudge to your seat, thinking that no matter how many times Goo disturbs anyone, coming and going as he pleases, everyone is too scared to stand up to him. He gets away with it.

The blonde's eyes drop to your collar, and your hand follows, feeling around for your tie. 

Damnit.

It's eerily reminiscent of your first meeting with him.

Except with you, you do care. The straw that breaks your back as the pressure and stress of the last few weeks reach breaking point.

You start to spiral.

"Silly goose," Goo chastises, pulling out a tie from his pocket, "You can have yours back."

Oh. He kept it?

Your eyes start to well up and your bottom lip wobbles dangerously. 

For the first time ever, you see Goo Kim looking uncomfortable. He gives you an awkward pat on the head, anxiously fiddling with his own glasses, before hightailing it out the classroom and leaving you sniffling to yourself.

[love-toxin]

haha.....ha......just thinking.......abt Leon again....haha....

(cws: spicy interrogation roleplay, f!reader, blood, cnc, knife kink, fingering, m on f oral)

...........so what if sexy Leon roleplay but he wants to play a mean ol' detective who needs to extract precious info from this cute lil informant in his interrogation chair </3 it would be so much easier if you just tell him, just say what you know and he won't hurt you, you're such a pretty thing he doesn't want to hurt you anyways <3 ofc he's saying it while he's rubbing your thigh and getting in close, feeling your heartbeat speed up--he doesn't even need a lie detector, does he? you're just giving it all away in your body language? you're not a very good liar, sweetheart. maybe if you tell Mr. Kennedy what he really wants to know, he'll show you how to keep a straight face even under immense pressure.

and if you give him just a little too much attitude in reply, then he gets to pull out the big guns. the knife. so big and intimidating with those razor-sharp jagged edges, this would really hurt that soft skin of yours, and you don't want that, do you sweetie? don't worry, Leon won't make you bleed right away. but he makes sure you know how sharp it is by cutting away your clothes, watching you squirm and your hips lift off the chair as you pull at your cuffs, the cold metal bristling your skin and making you lean more into his warm touch. he lets you check in before he makes a cut with the very tip of the blade, so it comes out smooth--an "L" carved shallowly into your left thigh, in the soft part where nobody else will see it except for him. L for Leon, and L for liar. cause you're a little liar for saying you hate him, aren't you? you're leaving a puddle on the seat when he reaches down to touch you, so you certainly aren't showing him you hate him--especially not when you lose that last little sense of pride and moan for him as he swipes his fingers up your slit, his upper body leaning over you to catch how his fingers glisten in the light while he's exploring other avenues.

are you hiding information somewhere? down here? he has to exhaust all his options, you understand that, right? he has to lift you up and put you on the table for a better look, your bruised wrists unlocked and cuffed right back around the iron bar sticking out from the countertop. he wants to lick that little wound clean anyways, his tongue buzzing with the taste of your blood and how unusually sweet it is. that must mean he's close, surely--and he does uncover more information right away, one lick up the soaked folds of his informant has you fessing up immediately, crying out in incoherent babblings that must surely point towards the truth if he can decipher it. he just has to go deeper, breach his tongue past your opening and keep going even when you're squirming to get away, walls tightening and clenching so hard when he has to hold you down by the hips to get deeper. fingering your clit helps even more, he finds, rubbing it with frantic fervor has you leaking more and trembling less, limbs locked up in orgasm as you shudder and flail out in waves before falling limp. Leon wonders whether or not he's worn you out for the day when you pant so heavily like that, but a finger slipped inside that loosened hole and a little saliva spat into your clit perks you right back up to life, like a revival somehow. you're quite the little actress, huh? pretending to pass out to avoid further interrogation? that's an advanced tactic, love, but you can't outsmart him. he's not done here, no, not even close to it--he has to keep going until he can't get any deeper with that silver tongue of his, and only then will he resort to something bigger, thicker, that will definitely extract whatever information your pretty little self has left to offer.

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Imagine y/n is overwhelmed and gets anxiety panic attacks sometimes with the pressure of being perfect and mean! Konig downgrading them some days really is not helping.

Like they are moody for days, keep avoiding them and work even harder trying to prove themselves appearing tough on the outside, but inside their room they feel they will faint.

One day Konig just has enough and busts into their room but y/n has one of their panic attacks and tries really hard to calm down and it's the first time they see him like that and maybe for the first time Konig is more gentle with y/n?

(the potential of mean Konig is endless but sometimes it would be nice for mean Konig to consider yn feelings for once and not be toxic)

Ooooh the angst 💕and the softness that follows...

"G-Get out, get- get out, get out, GET OUT!"

König frowned. This was the last thing he expected when he came to your room. He'd been sensing things were off for the last week and after being ignored for the last few days, he'd reached his wits end. He wasn't going to let himself be shut out.

Though now that he was staring down the length of a thick wooden broom handle he was seriously reconsidering what your erratic behaviour had meant. He figured you were vying for a little rough play for all your cheek, but now that you were hyperventilating and close to tears he suspected he'd have to change his approach.

Especially if he didn't want to get whacked with your shaking broom.

"Schatz, this is no way to act. Grow up and tell me what's wrong."

"What's wrong? What's wrong is that you've barged into my room when I thought that it was made clear that I WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE!" you screeched, swinigng the broom toward him.

"Oh, have you? I don't remember you asking me for space, and last time I came here you were quite happy to let me in. Why don't you try using your words, Schatz. Now put down that broom before you embarass yourself."

"No! No, I won't put the broom down and I won't sit and talk with you. I don't want you in here, now get out!"

You'd valiantly hoped you'd shift him, but a small part of you knew that there was no getting him to walk away. He stood resolute and tilted his head, giving you a warning look with his eyes, narrowing them the longer you continyed to defy him.

The intensity of his glare made you feel like a melting ice cube placed far too close to a burning flame. Your body was heating up as your breathing increased and before you could think to help yourself you were becoming wracked with shivers. The cogs in your mind were whirring on overtime and your entire body was losing control with the mental malfunction.

Some foreign force took a hold of your body and you threw the broom toward König.

He clearly wasn't expecting it, he'd never had any reason to expect your defiance afterall. He jumped when the broom hit him and stared at you in wide eyed shock. Afterall, you'd always been his 'perfect treasure' up till that point, something he'd often call you even after he'd spent entire days in your ear telling you how short you came on everything, how inadequate you were, how it was good thing you had him to help you or otherwise you might not make it.

Normally you lived for the degradation, loved that someone cared enough to set expectations for you and hold you accountable when you didn't meet them. However, the last two weeks you weren't feeling like your normal self. No, normal you knew that you were one of the top performers, you knew that you were the best there was, but last few weeks you'd felt every bit as inedaquite as König liked to say you were.

You crumbled then and waited for his wrath, shrinking to the ground in foetal position. Your breaths came quick and fast and your tears ran down your cheeks like hot shower spray, endless and irritable on your oversaturated skin. Through it all you kept your eyes shut and tried to mute out the bear you'd just poked, hoping that your death would at least be swift under his big paws.

Though the blowback didn't come.

"Schatz," König whispered, his low unfamilliarly gentle tone breaking through your loud sobs. "Come here."

You shook your head and cried louder, hoping he'd just leave without seeking his retribution. You couldn't fathom him wanting anything else in that moemnt. He'd given you no reason to expect any kindess, and at that point you knew you weren't strong enough to take anymore of his ammunition. It would kill you.

"Mein Schatz. Please."

König waited a moment longer, but after that he was done standing by and watching you dissolve into a shadow of who you really were.

He stepped forward, his heavy boots thudding hard aginst the wooden flooring, ricocheting through your ears. König leaned down and gathered you in his arms, trying his best to unfurl you from your curled up armodillo style defense mechanism. Not that you were making it easy.

At first you kept your hands wound tightly round your legs and after realising that was failing you started to lash out at him. You kicked and slapped and even tried to scratch him, but you were doing nothing to phase him. In hindsight you realised that you were probably doing more damage to yourself hitting his thick armour than you were doing to him. That said, it did feel good at the time.

"Enough! Enough of this. Hold still and let me help you, darling."

"N- noooo!" you howled. "Don't hurt me."

"I'm not going to hurt you, silly thing. Now do as I say," he tutted, holding you tightly against his plated chest. "Breathe with me now. In. Out. In. Out. In...and out...in...out."

At first you continued to fight him, but after a few seconds of uselessly squirming against him, you gave up and folded over. His soothing rumble broke through the discordant static in your mind and slowly you began to breathe with him.

You body stopped its shivering and your lungs began to fill with air just as they should again. You could feel your lungs expanding like balloons in your chest and let the air out of your mouth with a relieved whoosh. Your body was returning to normal.

You whimpered your last cry and took another shaky breath in, flickering your eyes open like a newborn foal. The world felt like a dreamland in that moment, your head was a little fuzzy and the room around you seemed like it was only just shifting into the correct focus. Though when you looked up at König, the site that greeted you was enough to send your mind slamming back to reality.

"There. That's better isn't it?" he said gently, looking down at you eyes filled with warmth and intensity.

You'd never seen him look at you like this. Like you were actually the perfect treasure that he spoke of. His eyes were sparkling lagoons, shining out of the holes in his hood and his hands, now that you'd taken a quick look down and seen them, were slowly stroking you the same way one would stroke a precious crystal. You'd barely even registered the feel of them, he was being that gentle.

"König...?"

"Yes, Schatz?"

"What are you doing?"

"What does it seem like I'm doing?" he chuckled, playfully reaching up and stroking his thumb over your cheek.

"You're...you're being nice to me," you said lamely.

"Even I am capable of being nice," he said, eyes crinkling at the sides. "However, you should've told me something was wrong rather than waiting until things got this bad. I am happy to sit with you a little while until you feel better, but when that time comes I want you to tell me exactly what's gotten you feleing this way. Alright?"

"But- but why? I thought that you would be dissapointed in me, why would you want to sit here babying me after I just did somethign so stupid?" You asked, the scene of the broom flying tortuing your every thought.

"Because your mine, and you're my treasure. I expect a lot from you, but I will never ever stand by while you break. Believe me when I say this, I care for you. I care for you very much. Now quiet. Stay in my arms for a little while....we will talk about this all later."

"But-"

"Shhh...later."

[feralbutfluffy]

50: Muriel

Chapter 50 (!!!) of Too Wise to Woo Peaceably

The sun was streaming in through the windows when Muriel made it back to the bookshop.

They circled the nest of blankets and cushions still on the floor and picked up a few, gripping the corners between their knuckles. They crossed the shop floor and flung three of them in the general direction of the sofa.

Two of them collapsed against the sofa cushions in a haphazard fashion. One of them bounced off and slid under the desk.

Muriel was too preoccupied to care.

They traipsed up the spiral staircase and flung another three cushions into the bedroom. Only one of them found its home on the bed.

Muriel didn't even notice.

More kissing!

What did that mean then? The angel and the demon weren’t back to themselves! Crowley was still hurt, and there was still tension, and they were still so... snippy! But also (apparently), kissing?

Muriel didn’t understand it! They were making everything more complicated than it needed to be. Crowley was, as Maggie had once put it, “head over heels” for Aziraphale (this made no sense to Muriel since so far as they could determine, heads were almost always over heels? Unless they were lying on the sofa with their ankles hooked over the armrest, which Muriel sometimes did while reading).

And Aziraphale... There was so much love there, but Muriel wasn’t even sure he was fully aware of it? It was paved over with so much fear! And guilt? And they weren’t at all sure, for example, that Aziraphale knew how awestruck he sounded when he spoke about Crowley!

... It was very much not the way he usually sounded when he spoke to Crowley (annoying).

Muriel frowned, chewing the inside of their cheek. They skipped down the staircase trying to figure out how to reconcile the discrepancy, when a knock on the glass of the door startled them. 

Nina was peering in, and when she spotted Muriel she waved and pointed at the lock on the door. Muriel darted over and opened it with a welcoming smile. “Hello!”

Nina sidled into the shop. “Muriel! Where've you been?”

“Here? Well. Here some of the time? And the rest of the time I was… elsewhere!” Muriel took a big breath and blew their cheeks out, wondering if that was the right answer.

“Alright! Keep your secrets! Not gonna pry! Just wanted to check you’re okay. I suppose I got so used to you dropping into the shop after your hangouts with Crowley, that when you didn’t show…” Her eyes were questioning, and Muriel found themselves avoiding them, looking at bookshelves and lamps and a metal horse and really anything but Nina.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Muriel said and tried for a reassuring smile, wondering if there was any way to explain how their Wednesday had gone so spectacularly topsy-turvy.

Probably not.

Nina leaned her shoulder against the bookshelf behind her and frowned. “You’re fine? Is the emphasis implying Crowley isn’t?”

Black feathers, broken and scattered.

Incomprehensible angles folded into a crumpled heap.

Savage, brutal red smeared in a room of pure, blinding white. 

Muriel felt their smile wobble and fall (oh no), and Nina’s eyes narrowed. She pushed herself off the bookshelf and strode over to grip Muriel by the shoulders. “What is it? Is he alright?”

“Mmm... Well he wasn’t alright for a bit, but we fixed it. He’s much better now!” 

At least they hoped he was; Aziraphale had seemed rather annoyed about him telling Muriel about the new kiss.

Nina’s hand pressed a rotating pressure into Muriel’s shoulder (lovely!) and looked over their head into the middle distance. “I’m glad to hear it. He’s prickly as hell but we’ve a soft spot for him, God only knows why!”

Muriel privately agreed that God probably did know why. God knew everything!

“Where is he now?”

“At home?” said Muriel, thinking the bookshop was really far more homey than the grey level smoothness of Crowley’s expensive flat. “I left him with A-” Muriel stopped themselves, then continued after a brief moment of thought. “I left him with Mr. Fell.”

Nina’s eyes lit up at this bit of news and she immediately propelled Muriel to the sofa by the shoulders, pushing them down and curling up next to them with the grace of a large cat. “Mr. Fell is back? Are they…?” Nina raised her eyebrows suggestively and made a circular gesture with her hand.

Muriel had no idea what that meant. “Are they?” They repeated uncertainly. “They… are?” 

It must have been the right answer because Nina whooped and grinned, then nudged Muriel with her elbow (friend-like!) and said, “Wait til I tell Maggie, she will legitimately explode! ”

Muriel didn’t think that sounded like a good thing, but Nina’s tone of voice was so elated that they decided to ignore the words and focus on the feeling. They smiled at Nina. They weren’t sure what they had done to be the cause of such joy, but they were glad to have done it!

“You know,” said Nina, leaning in towards Muriel, “We were absolutely bloody positive we’d screwed it up for a while there.”

“Screwed what up?” Asked Muriel, thinking of nuts and bolts and screwdrivers and allen keys.

“Their whole relationship. I know we haven’t really talked about this, but that day that Mr. Fell left the bookshop… Well, we sort of wound up having a chat about their whole thing. Only with Crowley mind you, because Mr Fell was out, but-”

“You spoke to Crowley about Mr. Fell?” Muriel breathed (intrigued!).

“Yeah. Yeah, Maggie thought it would be a good idea and I went along with it because…” she shrugged and her cheeks turned a bit red, “... well, I went along with it because Maggie thought it would be a good idea.”

Muriel thought the fondness in Nina’s face when she said Maggie’s name looked familiar.

“Anyway, we came here, and Crowley was alone... We really just wanted to tell him it wasn’t alright for them to go mucking about in our lives, doing weird spells or whatever-”

Spells, mouthed Muriel silently, and stifled a laugh. Did they think Crowley was a fairy? So silly!

“... And so, yeah. Basically we told him he needed to actually talk - like really talk - to Mr. Fell, to tell him what he was actually thinking.” Nina looked out the window. ”Next thing I knew I was watching him leave in that mammoth car he drives - alone - and I haven’t seen either of them since. Which is a pity; few enough people I legitimately like, but I liked them! Meddling sods...” She smiled affectionately.

Muriel was thinking a great many things and wondering which should be their reply.

Poor Crowley!

Or 

Oh, I think you might have caused a kiss!

Or

I think he might have talked to him, but it was probably the worst possible time and it didn’t go very well?

Or

Oh. No, they don’t really talk anymore. Well except now because Crowley nearly died, and we had to rescue him from Heaven, and he was unconscious, and then he got better, but then Aziraphale basically killed our manager with a sword, and now Crowley can barely walk - again - because I think proximity to Aziraphale affects his brain and he does truly stupid things around him? But they kissed again! Earlier today!

Muriel sighed. They supposed the question of whether the new kiss was another truly stupid thing remained to be seen. They had certainly both been acting stupid enough when they had left them!

They eventually settled for, “Oh I think they did talk, but Mr. Fell had just been given news of a promotion and he needed to relocate for it? And I think… I think his good news about the promotion sort of got muddled with Crowley’s talking? I think they weren’t really hearing each other...”

Because they were stupid.

“I think they were both just too... in their own heads? Does that make sense-?”

Nina nodded, looking concerned.

“... and then they kissed!” Muriel blurted out.

Nina blinked twice before a slow, wide smile broke over her face. “They kissed? Really? Christ! Imagine that!”

Muriel wasn't sure Christ would want to, actually.

Nina picked up her phone and typed something, still smiling into the screen, before placing it facedown on the sofa between them. “Sorry! Had to tell Maggie. She’s obsessed with Mr. Fell, thinks he’s an absolute angel.”

“Oh,” said Muriel very seriously, “he is.”

A bang as the door to the shop bounced on its hinges and then Maggie was hurrying over, hands flapping, eyes wide and sparkling. She stopped beside Muriel and took a deep breath, “Really? Are you serious? They kissed ?!”

Muriel sat up a bit straighter. These two humans were really putting a lot of importance on The Kiss, which wasn’t wrong exactly, because they did think it was important, but also it wasn’t right, because it wasn’t the sort of kiss they were imagining, probably. Muriel wasn’t sure how to untangle all of this excitement and delight without unwinding it into a large heap of disappointment.

“Yes, they did, that's actually why I was asking you so many questions about kissing when I first took over the shop-?"

"Oh yeah!" Nina laughed and turned to Maggie, "Remember I told you they were absolutely obsessed with kissing? God, the questions! You were relentless!"

"Yes, but it wasn’t-” Muriel tried to cut across.

“Maybe it worked!” Nina was saying to Maggie. “I think you were right, angel!”

“No, it was-” Muriel hated trying to interrupt.

“Took them long enough!” Maggie crowed, clapping with delight.

Muriel held up their hands, palms out. “No no, no! It didn’t work! ”

Nina and Maggie turned to them. “What? What do you mean?”

“Well, Crowley tried to talk, but then Mr. Fell sort of interrupted to tell him about his… promotion… and wanted Crowley to, ah, relocate with him? But Crowley didn’t want to, and then Crowley told him, I think, what you said? That is, he told him what he was really thinking? Only whatever he said made them both really very angry and upset, and they both nearly cried, and then…”

Maggie and Nina were looking increasingly horrified. Muriel ploughed on.

“... Crowley sort of grabbed him and kissed him, but not like a nice kiss? Like an angry, sad, desperate, heartbroken, griefstricken kiss? Almost like a punishment? Although I’m not sure which of them was being punished because they really did both look really upset? And then Mr Fell left and Crowley went home and they didn't speak for a very long time...”

Muriel trailed off.

Maggie’s face melted into an expression of utter sadness. “Oh,” she said, blinking away a tear. Nina jumped up to rub Maggie's back in small comforting circles (kind!). 

Muriel twisted their fingers together.

“We really thought we’d helped!” Maggie wailed. “Maybe we shouldn't have said anything! Maybe we said the wrong thing? Oh, that’s so awful!"

Muriel thought of Aziraphale sending them to check on the demon, and how sad the mention of Aziraphale's name had made Crowley in the first few weeks of their tentative arrangement.

"It was quite awful. They were both very, very sad."

Nina brought her arm fully around Maggie and stroked her upper arm. "But you said right now they're at Crowley's place? Together?"

Maggie brightened. "They are?"

"They were together when I left so... Maybe?" Muriel paused and thought of something they had read about called the Schrödinger's cat paradox. Really, until Muriel could get back to the flat, they had to believe that Crowley and Aziraphale were there together! But also, maybe not there together? One of them might have killed the other! Or they could be kissing again?

Schrödinger's spiritual beings!

"Well there you go then, I'm sure they'll patch things up!" Nina's optimism sounded a bit forced but Muriel didn't contradict her.

Maggie sighed. "I hope you're right. They probably just needed to get back in touch."

Muriel thought of the new kiss and made a noncommittal sound. 

"The course of true love never did run smooth," Nina said, and they recognised it at once.

"A Midsummer Night's Dream!" Muriel beamed. 

One of the funny ones!

[elliemarchetti]

To Start Anew

A spontaneous Elucien drabble for the prompt jasmine from my alphabet of flowers prompt list in honour of the first day of spring. This story was born from a flash of inspiration, so I didn't have time to either proof read or submit it to my beta.

Words: 731

Elain was cutting her jasmines when she sensed Lucien's presence nearby. She heard his heart beating in the distance, felt him getting closer, until the constant pulsations were drowned out by the sound of his footsteps on the gravel driveway. He didn’t need to make so much noise, she knew he was able to move as silently as a cat, but he was doing it to alert her of his arrival, so she could avoid her undesirable mate by hiding in the kitchen or retreating to her rooms. Today, however, she had no intention of doing so. She had all winter to think about her attitude and she had concluded she acted horribly. She hadn’t behaved as the kind person her friends and family knew and loved, and although it was the Inner Circle’s pressure that pushed her to be so rude, she still owed him an apology and a demonstration of how amiable she actually was. That’s why she was picking her jasmines, but her elaborate plan B probably no longer mattered since he was here. Not that Elain hadn’t been warned with adequate advance of his arrival, on the contrary, perhaps Feyre gave her too much time to orchestrate her plot to be alone with him. She didn’t really feel guilty for having suggested to some of Velaris’s less well-off citizens to insist for an emergency meeting with the High Lady, after all the issue had to be addressed sooner or later, but she had relied on timing and the twin’s cooperation so that Lucien wouldn’t be notified of the cancellation of his visit. Evidently, now she really had a reason to wait with bated breath for the familiar creak of the gate.

She turned only when she was sure to be within earshot, but when she met his guarded gaze, her resolve faltered. He was perfect, with his red hair collected neatly in a low ponytail, which left his angular jaw and high cheekbones exposed. His skin was more golden than when she'd last seen him, and even the long scar that ran across his face seemed less noticeable, more blended. He was wearing a green suit, with a jacket awfully similar to the one he'd given her years ago, when she'd just been Made. The golden embroidery on the wrists highlighted well-groomed hands, strangely free of calluses, with tapered fingers, more suited for a lover than a warrior, but after all, if the gossip Elain had picked up had any truth to it, Lucien knew how to be both, and was extremely skilled either in the art of love and that of war. The thought, for some reason, made her blush.

“Good morning, my lady,” he said, bowing his head slightly, maintaining the distance she herself had imposed and now made her ache so much.

“Hello Lucien,” she ventured, her voice almost too small. He made her uncomfortable, and he intimidated her, but maybe it wasn’t such a terrible thing, maybe the sense of crumpling in her insides she felt every time she saw him had nothing to do with negative emotions. On his part, Lucien was so amazed in hearing her say his name he stopped on his tracks, giving Elain the opportunity she had been waiting for months. At first, she moved a little uncertainly, then her legs took courage, and with a few steps she was next to him, with a basket full of his favourite flowers in her right hand.

“Unfortunately, Feyre had to go out urgently and I’m afraid she wouldn’t return until late afternoon,” she started, studying his face in search for hints on how he felt about the whole situation. “She apologizes for not being able to warn you in time, but I guess it’s no big deal since you’ll see each other tomorrow for Nynsar.”

“Actually, by tomorrow I figured I’d be back… you know, to Spring…” Lucien began, but Elain cut him off, telling him he just couldn’t miss the treats Nuala and Cerridwen helped her to make.

“Do you want to try a slice of our apple pie?” she asked, incredulous at her own brazenness. “If a maid is the one serving it there shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“No, no problem my lady,” he stammered, and Elain smiled, ecstatic at the idea of ​​having caught him off guard with her invitation.

“Please, just call me Elain.”

[ladygatuna]

Chapter 04: Some things never change

"So, you have a rich father?" Veronica's mocking voice echoed through the cave. Lydia rolled her eyes, imagining another jar of pickles flying toward her friend. "I always wanted a rich friend to support me!" Veronica's laughter filled the space, reverberating off the damp walls.

Lydia sighed tiredly. "Why are you like this?" she asked, while Veronica made a face and stuck out her tongue, like a naughty child. If she could, she would have flipped the bird too.

"You're rich now, let's go to a stripper club?" Veronica shouted the last part, making her voice echo throughout the cave. Lydia blushed from head to toe, sensing Bruce's presence somewhere in the shadows. "I've always been curious about these houses!"

Despite her embarrassment, Lydia couldn't help but smile. She missed these moments with Veronica, even if it was just to relieve the tension that the last conversation had left behind. Many tears were shed in that discussion, full of thorns that needed to be removed, even if they hurt. It was a conversation they should have had years ago, but Veronica always avoided it. Facing monsters was easy; Opening up as a person, without the spider mask, was the real battle.

"I see you're better already, idiot!" Lydia stood up, stretching. "If you need help, there's a button next to your right hand!" She showed a small device to Veronica, who just waved.

"Where am I exactly?" Veronica tried to lift her head, but her body was numb. Hatred for Miguel burned in her eyes.

"It's a secret place, only trusted people know the address." Lydia received a hopeful look, like that of a child about to be given a special mission, only to crush the hope afterwards. "And you're not one of them, spider lady!"

Veronica made a face, eliciting a laugh from Lydia.

"I'm your best friend!" Lydia shrugged, adjusting the IV on Veronica's arm. Soon she would need another bag.

"You could be a doppelgänger. I need time to trust." Veronica snorted, turning her head, ignoring her friend. "I'm going to take a shower. There's a handsome man waiting for me in a warm bed!" Lydia whispered, only for Veronica to hear.

"Having a handsome boyfriend doesn't give you the right to be jealous, you idiot!" Veronica shouted, hearing Lydia's laughter gradually disappear.

The room was silent, only the sound of equipment filling the space. The hours passed, boredom set in. Without television, all that was left was to sleep, and so Verônica did.

Later, the sound of the door woke her up, but she kept her eyes closed. She felt safe there. A firm hand held hers, making her startle. She opened her eyes to find a figure dressed as a bat.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," said the figure, but Veronica continued to look, scared. "I just wanted to check your signs."

She nodded, still paralyzed by fear. The man turned on the light, momentarily blinding her. When the light adjusted, he didn't look as scary, although still large and muscular.

He went back to what he was doing, measuring her blood pressure. Looking closer, Veronica noticed the symbol on the uniform, the same one that shone in the sky when she arrived. Maybe the bat wasn't a big mobster. The idea of ​​a crime boss dressed as a bat made her laugh, catching Bruce's attention.

He gave a questioning, lifeless look. His laughter died.

"I had a funny thought about bats," Veronica explained quickly, fearing she would anger anyone who was so close to needles and medicine. Bruce went back to what he did.

"Can you move your body?" he asked without looking at her.

"Just my fingers, which is a miracle. Last time I thought I would be vegetative for the rest of my life!" She laughed, but Bruce remained serious.

"So, have there been other times?" He grabbed a bag of blood from the refrigerator at the end of the room, looking at it with intimidating eyes. Veronica just nodded with her head lowered.

"Spider side effect?"

"Depends on the spider," she said, turning her head as he approached with the needle. "He was the leader of my old group. He can produce this toxin. We fought and he bit me a few times." A cynical smile appeared on the bat's face. "My luck is that I have great stamina."

"So, you had a fight with your leader?" he asked, trying to distract her from the pain of the needle.

"He thought that because he was a leader, everyone had to agree with him!" Veronica suppressed a groan of pain, holding back tears.

"So, you came back because you were expelled?" He got bandages from the closet.

"He lost. I could have stayed, but I was tired of solving problems that weren't mine." Bruce murmured, affirming, as he changed the bandages on his back. Veronica shivered when she felt his hot breath, his hands covered in leather.

She tried to focus, but years of struggle and isolation made her senses flare at the touch. Sure, she'd had boyfriends, but they didn't last. She He had a weakness for troubled and dangerous men, always ending up in maximum security prison.

Her last boyfriend was two years ago. Since then, she has promised not to get involved with anyone else. But she was still a woman, susceptible to the same old tricks.

She prayed that the dressing change would be over soon.

"I'm done. The others, your friend will do. Is that okay?" He helped her lie down.

"Yes sir!" It came out as a whisper, her face burning with embarrassment. Bruce left, turning off the light, leaving her in the dark with her shame.

Some things never change.