#i’m not ever gonna write anything with this

[hotshotsxyz]

heart is beating heavily

(buddie) (s8 spec) (1k) several people asked for more of this town is only gonna eat you so this is that. unfortunately i am still feeling evil, so please enjoy buck's pov of the same events :) btw the title of both of these fics comes from the song bloody shirt by to kill a king, which i played on repeat while writing these cw: mass shooting / gun violence

Buck’s breath leaves him in a sharp exhale when he hits the ground. It hurts, but not—not where it should. His chest, his back, they’re on fire. His head, though, as violently as he was thrown to the ground, never makes contact with the cement.

The only thing he can see now is Eddie. Eddie, hovering above him, eyes wild. He looks—cornered. Trapped. Only he’s the one pressing Buck into the sticky floor of the arena, not the other way around, and he doesn’t understand why.

“Eds,” he tries to say, but it comes out as more of a croak.

Eddie shakes his head sharply, almost—

Panicked.

Buck takes a breath and it hurts. His thoughts feel sluggish in a way they never really are. He tries to take stock of what he knows anyway.

His body is screaming in pain.

Eddie is afraid. (Why is Eddie afraid? What could possibly—)

They’re on the floor. (Eddie pushed him to the floor. Why would he—)

The space around them is filled with a cacophonous noise that Buck can’t quite identify.

Pain. Fear. Sharp popping noises that make Buck’s ears hurt, and—

Screaming.

Oh.

Buck presses his lips together and tips his chin toward his chest in an approximation of a nod. Eddie exhales, warm against his cheek. His face does something complicated, and then—

I’m sorry, Eddie mouths, and before Buck can figure out what for, white hot pain lances through his chest.

In his mind he screams.

In reality, he bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood. They’re in danger, and he won’t—As long as he’s still breathing, Eddie won’t leave him here. Even if he should. He won’t protect himself, won’t run, won’t hide. The least Buck can do is keep from drawing attention toward them, but in the moment, it feels like the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“—so good,” Eddie breathes into his ear. “I got you; I promise.”

Buck wants to believe that almost as much as he wishes Eddie would just save himself. Every breath he takes is harder than the one before, though, and it occurs to him that soon, he might draw his last. If he has to die, Eddie’s face is a pretty incredible last thing to see. He just wishes it wasn’t twisted in pain and fear.

It takes a minute for Buck to catch up with his own thoughts. Pain. That’s—he’s seen it in Eddie’s expression enough times to know it intimately. Why is he in pain? Eddie presses his cheek to Buck’s before he can interrogate the expression further.

“Slow, steady breaths, okay? You have to breathe through it, even if it feels like you can’t.”

The scrape of Eddie’s jaw against his sends something like a shiver down Buck’s spine. There’s something—something important, but—it feels just out of reach.

“You have to, Buck, I can’t—I just need you to hold on,” Eddie whispers, quietly wrecked.

He’s trying. God is he trying. But it’s—every breath feels like pulling fire into his lungs. With every exhale, he feels a tiny bit weaker, a tiny bit worse. Eddie pulls away slightly, and Buck feels the absence like a missing rib.

“Hear that?” Eddie asks, brushing a thumb across Buck’s cheekbone.

He doesn’t—he doesn’t hear anything other than Eddie, but he’s not sure he wants to.

“We’re so close, Buck.”

Something settles in his chest at the sound of his name on Eddie’s lips, louder than before, drenched in something that sounds like relief. He blinks once, twice, slow and heavy.

“Come on, eyes on me,” Eddie says sharply. And—oh, when did he get so far away?

Eddie pulls the hem of his shirt to his teeth and—oh god. That’s not Buck’s blood. He’s—Eddie’s hurt too, but Buck can’t make his mouth work, can’t even keep his eyes open long enough to—

“No!” Eddie commands. A new pain accompanies his voice. “You’re staying right here with me, got it?”

He has to—has to tell Eddie—he doesn’t—

“That’s perfect, you’re perfect,” Eddie says, eyes shining.

A lump forms in his throat.

“Just keep—c’mon Buck, just keep fighting. I need—you have to be okay.”

He does. He does have to be okay because Eddie’s not and he’s acting like he doesn’t even know.

“Hurt,” Buck forces out.

“I know,” Eddie says, but he doesn’t! “I know it hurts, I’m sorry.”

Buck lets out a frustrated groan. He tries to shake his head, and when that fails, to lift his hand to Eddie’s abdomen.

Eddie turns away from him, and if Buck could scream now, he would.

“Alright,” he says, turning back to Buck. “I’m going to get you onto that gurney. Let me do all the work, okay?”

No! No he can’t! Buck tries to tell him again, tries to force anything through his lips that Eddie will understand. You’re—“hurt,” he manages again. He can’t even lift his hand now. He’s dying and he’s going to take Eddie with him.

Eddie says something he can’t parse, and suddenly he’s moving, being lifted dizzyingly high off the ground. He sees—

A body. A swarm of cops. Uniformed paramedics and EMTs running in every direction imaginable.

One of them, he just needs one of them to look at Eddie. He just needs one of them to see. He’s still walking, still talking. He still has time.

Eddie drops him onto what must be a gurney, and immediately it begins to roll. Buck allows his head to loll away from Eddie and towards—

An EMT! She can—she can do something. She can—

She’s not looking at him.

She’s not looking at Eddie either. She’s looking straight ahead and under any other circumstances Buck would compliment her for her pragmatic understanding of the urgency of the situation. But she’s walking too fast and Eddie’s beginning to stumble.

“Diaz, is that—” Yes, yes! Someone sees him. Someone else knows—

“—were you shot?”

Buck gets his head around just in time to watch Eddie collapse into the arms of a firefighter he doesn’t recognize.

He wants to scream, to sob, to thrash against the restraints keeping him on the gurney. He wants to—

Wants to—

Needs—

Eddie.

[girlsneedff]

NSFW! Minors and Ageless blogs DNI!

Sukuna x f!Reader, fwbs, best friends, Sukuna's a dick, angst, unrequited love, mentions of sex

Word count: 1k

Author's yap: This is the start of the "NOT Over It" series! Should I have started with Over It first? Possibly. But this is my writing project, and I'm gonna do what I want <3

Fun Girl

And now you’re stuck here feeling shitty. And stupid. All because you decided to fall for your guy best friend. Who you know is a dick. You thought maybe, just maybe, that you would have the chance to get with him- to be in a real relationship with him besides the friends-with-benefits relationship that you have while he’s in between girlfriends, and you’re not distracting yourself with flings and short relationships. You thought that because he’s kept you around, you were different. News flash to you: you’re not. And now you’re wishing that you’d never even asked him about that possibility. 

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The two of you were sitting in his car, coming back from the movies. He wanted to see some random action movie, and you would follow him to the ends of the Earth, so of course you went with him. You’re sitting in the parking lot of the movie theater in comfortable silence, both of you just scrolling through your phones, not really ready to return home yet. 

“You know the girl that I was talking to?”

Oh great. You rolled your eyes, shifting to rest your head on the closed window as you responded, while you continued to scroll through your phone. Trying hard to not show him how much hearing about his prospects bothered you.

“Which one?”

“I’m ghosting her. She’s hot, but talking to her is boring. I’d rather shit in my hands and clap.”

“Ryo you’re a dick.”

“A 10-inch one.”

“It’s smaller than that.”

He hits your leg in response. You shrug, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. His body is facing you, his arm resting on the steering wheel. 

“What?”

“You think I'll end up alone?"

Your heart jumps a bit, taking this opportunity to subtly hint at something. Who knows, maybe it would work?

You scoff. “Well at this point, the only girl you’re gonna end up with is me.” You say, trying to sound absent-minded. Sukuna doesn’t even let that sentence, that possibility, hang in the air for a moment before he shoots it down.

“You know there’s no way in hell that’s happening, right?”

You could practically hear your heart cracking, feeling it crumpling in on itself. 

“Jesus, I was just saying.” You say quickly, trying to collect all of the shards of your heart before the hole is too big. Maybe you can glue it back together. He’s harsh- you know this. Don’t let it get to you.

“I’m not saying we’d be in a relationship or anything-”

“Oh yea fuck no. Sorry,” he says, in a way that you just throw the pieces you’ve collected up in the air, damning them all to hell, because you know that whatever he says is going to be devastating as he continues, “but I’d never date you. Ever. You’re not what I’m into.”

You were stunned. Looking back, you don’t know why you were stunned. You know this man. Certified womanizer, number 1 hoe. He’s noncommittal, selfish, rude, arrogant, abrasive. You knew this. So why were you so shocked?

“Oh, so I’m cool to sleep with, but not for a relationship?” You can feel your throat closing up, but you refuse to let him see you get emotional over this.

“We… have fun.”

“Fun?”

“You can’t tell me that you don’t have fun when we fuck.” He looks straight out the windshield, this conversation unconcerning to him.

You guys fuck?

It’s such a harsh way to put it. You hoped he would be softer about it- maybe salvage your feelings. You’re his best friend, for fuck’s sake. His kisses would be so tender as he slowly pushed into you, like he was taking care to not split you apart. The slow fucking and reassurance, the words of encouragement. Though it never lasted long before he’s thrusting into you like he hates you (which now, you’re wondering- does he?), you thought that those first moments were the most important. That they were his true feelings. Dumbass.

“I’m not your type, but you fuck me. How does that make sense?” You finally turn to look at him, your anger and tears combating each other to see which one holds out the longest. Your anger is winning, thankfully.

“Please don’t tell me you’re getting in your feelings about this.” He’s fucking smiling. Rolling his eyes, as if you’re getting worked up over something simple. Because to him it is simple. Sex is simple to him. He gets his rocks off fucking the shit out of anything that moves, and then he moves on.

“I don’t want to know about all of the guys that my girl’s been with. It’s emasculating.” 

“Oh, so you can slut around, but there’s an issue with me having a past?”

“No, there’s not. Because I’m not into you, so it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re such a fucking-”

Immediately you hop out of his car. You quickly start to walk to the sidewalk near the theater, keeping your eyes glued to your phone as you scroll to book yourself an Uber home quickly. Your vision is blurring, but you don’t stop looking at your phone, not giving a damn if cars are rolling through the lot. You may be an emotional wreck, but you won’t allow any man, no matter how in love with him you are, to tell you that he’s using you to your face. You can hear him call out to you- you can picture him leaning on the top of his car with that stupid grin, calling your name as if he doesn’t understand why you would be upset.

You’re that undesirable? But Ryomen Sukuna sees no issue with his past sexual escapades. His charm, and his ability to sweet talk any woman is attractive. 

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

And that leads you to where you are now, sitting in the dark of your room, sniffling and deleting everything in your Photo’s hidden folder.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Classified Affection

Pairing: Konig x reader

Warnings: Fluff with angst, rivals to lovers

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, this is my first time writing for him! Readers Codename is Sprite (To the person who made the Konig ask, I promise I’m working on it, it’s gonna be my longest ff ever I’m trying to do it some justice as my first ever ask I promise😭)

Word Count: 1.3k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

When you first met König, you never expected him to get under your skin. He was the sort of soldier you didn’t forget—a towering, masked figure who dominated the room without saying a word. Even among hardened operators, he stood out, and while others were intimidated by his quiet intensity, you’d seen it as a challenge.

From the first training exercise, your competitiveness drove you to match his every move, and you felt the heat of his attention every time he watched you run drills or execute maneuvers with the kind of agility that earned you the codename “Sprite.” He was precise, silent, and observant, and the rivalry between you quickly became a quiet, unspoken war. The few times he did speak to you, his deep, accented voice held a weight that felt like an accusation—like he was daring you to keep up with him.

Your teams took notice, watching with amusement as you and König constantly outdid each other. Every joint mission turned into a hidden scoreboard: who could cover more ground, make the cleanest kill, hit the mark without hesitation. It was a game, but the stakes felt higher each time. The push and pull between you felt electric, thrilling, and maddening. You wanted to beat him, but you couldn’t ignore the pull in your stomach every time his eyes met yours. His gaze was intense, lingering too long, dark and unreadable.

One night, after a grueling training day, you found him in the gym, lifting weights in silence. You told yourself it was curiosity that made you approach him, not the need to prove yourself yet again. Without a word, you joined him, setting up a bench across from his and lifting the heaviest weights you could manage. König looked at you, his expression unreadable behind the mask, but his eyes narrowed in interest. Neither of you said a word as you worked out side by side, the weight of unsaid things pressing down on you both. His gaze lingered on you, sliding over you like a challenge, and you felt a thrill—part anger, part something far more dangerous—coursing through you.

When you were finally alone, catching your breath, he spoke, his voice low and rough. “Are you always this competitive?”

You wiped the sweat from your brow, meeting his gaze evenly. “Only when there’s someone worth competing against.”

His eyes darkened, a subtle tension passing between you that made you swallow hard. He tilted his head, studying you in a way that felt both infuriating and intimate. “Is that all this is to you, Sprite? Competition?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words didn’t come. He stepped closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, and you held your ground, refusing to back down. He didn’t say anything more, but in that heavy silence, it felt as if he were daring you to break first, to react, to do anything to acknowledge the spark neither of you could ignore. But neither of you moved.

The tension only grew, and on missions, it seemed impossible to separate your rivalry from the intense, unspoken chemistry. That all came to a head on a mission where you and König were deep in enemy territory, tasked with a high-stakes extraction. Your squads were positioned to cover each other, yet as usual, you ended up moving together in sync, keeping a close eye on each other’s every move.

As the mission unfolded, gunfire erupted, scattering your squads. You were forced to take cover alone in a half-destroyed building. König’s voice came through your comms, low and steady. “Sprite, do you have cover?”

The question felt loaded, and you could practically see his frown in your mind. You answered, trying to keep the tension out of your voice. “Barely. But don’t worry—I’ll handle it.”

There was a pause before he responded, his voice tinged with impatience. “Stay where you are. I’m coming to you.”

Minutes later, he was at your side, his presence filling the cramped space as you huddled behind cover together. You could hear his heavy breathing as he checked the perimeter, his body close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, even through your tactical gear. He was a wall of muscle and strength beside you, and it took everything in you not to lean into him, to take the comfort he silently offered.

“You don’t need to babysit me,” you whispered, even as you stayed close to him.

König’s eyes narrowed, his gaze searing as he glanced down at you. “I’m not babysitting, Sprite. I’m watching your back. There’s a difference.”

You bristled at his tone, but there was an unspoken gentleness beneath his words that made your stomach twist. “Don’t flatter yourself, big guy. I can take care of myself.”

For a heartbeat, he didn’t answer, and the tension between you hung in the air, heavy and charged. His gaze drifted to your lips before meeting your eyes again, his face closer than you’d realized. “I don’t doubt it. But that doesn’t mean I’m letting you out of my sight.”

Your heart raced as he held your gaze, the unsaid things between you pressing harder than ever. Then, a voice crackled over your comms, breaking the moment. “König, Sprite, are you two in position? We need you back here.”

You and König exchanged a glance, the usual fire of rivalry dimmed by something softer. With a brief nod, he pulled back, slipping back into the mission. But you couldn’t shake the tension, the feeling that something between you had shifted, your rivalry leaving behind a crack that let something more vulnerable bleed through.

The mission wrapped up successfully, but even after your squads had debriefed, you couldn’t shake the memory of his gaze, the way he’d looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. As the team celebrated, König stood apart, his eyes following you whenever he thought no one was looking. The awareness of him, the pressure of that gaze, was like a live wire humming beneath your skin.

Later that night, you found him in the dimly lit courtyard, away from the others. His posture was tense, as if he’d been waiting. You approached him slowly, words forming in your mind, but they all felt hollow. He looked at you, his eyes softening with a vulnerability you rarely saw. In the quiet, with the stars above and the night around you, the rivalry, the rules, the mission—all of it faded away.

When he held out his hand, you took it, feeling the roughness of his gloves and the strength in his grip as he pulled you close. You could feel his heart beating, his chest rising and falling against you. He was a fortress you’d spent so long trying to breach, and yet here he was, letting you in.

After a long silence, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “This… whatever it is… it’s worth the risk, isn’t it?”

You felt the tension loosen, the heat of his words melting any doubts you’d had. You squeezed his hand, your voice breaking through the quiet. “Every bit of it.”

For a moment, he hesitated, and then his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His mask lifted just enough for his lips to brush against yours, a feather-light, fleeting kiss that held all the weight of what you couldn’t say aloud. And when he pulled away, his hand lingered, as if anchoring you to the promise he’d just made.

“Then we’ll keep it ours,” he murmured, his voice rough but certain, echoing in the stillness.

In that moment, you both knew you’d do whatever it took to protect the secret between you—the rivalry that had somehow turned into something rare and precious, hidden under layers of armor but more real than anything else.

I hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[fauxdette]

Having. So. Much. Fun. Writing. This.

•• PREVIEW••

“You know, I don’t think you’ve ever called me Lainey before,” Elain said slowly.

“Haven’t I?”

“Nope.”

“Well, lots of people call you Lainey; it’s hardly unusual.”

“Cassian calls me Lainey. And now you… apparently.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes.

“Stop projecting.”

“I’m not projecting.”

“You are projecting. Just because you and groomsman number two can’t stop making love eyes at each other doesn’t mean we’re all gonna start pairing up.”

Elain scoffed, even as her heart leapt wildly in her chest. “You’re ridiculous. Azriel and I are just friends.”

“I’m ridiculous? There are grooves in the floor from all the chairs he pulls out for you.”

“He’s polite.”

“Sure, and it’s just a coincidence that he always ends up sitting next to you, standing next to you, doing that sexy brooding thing next to you. Looking at you like he would beg on his knees to—“

“—Nesta!” She snapped. “Azriel doesn’t look at me like anything. He doesn’t—he doesn’t see me that way.”

[kallietell]

I Made You Too Fat

*Gender neutral weight gain POV*

Hey babe, I've got to talk to you about something. And please don't say anything, I know you're gonna try and comfort me and make me feel better and stuff, but just let me get through this. 

You know how much I love your body. I never thought I would meet someone who would let me do this to them, who would let me put all this weight on them, but you’re getting bigger than I ever thought you would. I mean I love it, I literally can’t look at you without wanting to tear your clothes off, but when you first agreed to gain weight for me you only had a little potbelly. You still ate normal-sized meals, you wore a medium. Then you saw what your overeating did to me and it was like flipping a switch. You started to get so fat so fast you could barely keep up. You started eating whatever I brought you and asking for more, started lounging around the apartment in all of your old skin-tight clothes because you knew it drove me crazy. 

Your delivery orders kept getting bigger and bigger until even I couldn't believe it. Remember when you ordered so much pizza that the Doordash driver asked if we were having a party? But it was all for you. And you're so constantly stuffed and bloated with all the greasy fast food I buy you that it's hard to even tell how fat you're actually getting. Your belly is never empty, so I never know if all of this is you or if your tubby gut is just distended from the family-sized meals you let me force down your throat. 

You know how much I want you bigger and fatter, you know how much watching you pile on mounds of blubber turns me on, but at this point, I feel like I'm taking advantage of you. I feel like I'm taking this too far just for my own sick pleasure. I’m porking you up like a prize-winning pig and you’re just letting me, you keep opening your mouth for more like you're completely under my control. Even when you're so full you're panting and gasping because your stomach is too tight and swollen, even when you think you can't force down another bite, you still open up for me and let me feed you till I'm satisfied. It's so hot while I'm doing it, but I always have this tiny little glimmer of guilt because I know you like it too much to make me stop. 

Watching you waddle around with your belly hang wobbling out of the bottom of your shirt and your chunky thighs packed in those tight workout shorts that are ripping at the seams makes me lose it, but also makes me think of when your clothes actually used to fit you. I mean, babe you actually used to workout in those shorts, and now if you bend over too far you can hear the seams pop. 

You've just gotten so lazy and so greedy and it's all my fault. You can't even get on top anymore cause all your jiggling blubber has made you too massive for that much of a workout. I wasn't sure how to bring this up to you, I don't even want to bring this up to you, but after what happened yesterday, I just had to start this conversation. I can't believe you actually got big enough to get stuck in the living room chair. That chair could fit two of me, but you gorged yourself so full that your rounded hips were completely wedged between the arms… 

*I hope you enjoyed this preview of my weight gain POV! You can find the full story on my Patreon. I love writing stories were I can directly tease and praise the reader, and I have a growing library of POV work available (I write at least one new POV story per week, sign up for the Avid Readers+ tier for immediate early access). This story is not EA and is currently posted for all tiers except Basic. Other than that, I have tons of wg fiction available including my most popular continuing series. Thanks so much for reading!*

patreon.com/KallieTell

[ghostgirl-22]

Do you think patrick ever put on a queer/gay movie as a subtle way to get art out of his shell, like "yeah dude ive wanted to watch this movie for ages" and its okay its chill, look how hot they are, look how happy they are

"Is kissing boys different to kissing girls?"

Oh he definitely did… I’m sorry this is so long nonnie!!!

CW: 18+ NSFW | period typical internalized homophobia

—-

Patrick’s lying in Arts bed with his headphones on going through his catalogue of dvds trying to figure out what B movie they can watch and make fun of while they get high. The whole time Art is using his back as a writing surface to finish his math homework.

Patrick pulls his headphones off and drops them on the ground. “It’s Friday. Do you have to do that now?”

“It’s Friday night, we have the tournament Saturday and Sunday so when exactly?” Art says distractedly, erasing.

“On the bus like I do.” Patrick smiles and turns to look at him. Art pushes his shoulder back down. Patrick shrugs and focuses back on his dvds.

“Stay still.” Art demands.

“Forgive me if I’m just trying to get you to have a little fun in our last few months at Mark Reballato Tennis Academy.”

“You know I do actually plan to graduate, right?” Art says dryly.

“So you can go to Stanford?” Patrick says wrinkling his nose in irritation.

Art puts his notebook down on Patrick’s back. “You know Tashi’s gonna be there right?”

Patrick shrugs. “So, just two overtalented people wasting time…”

“Aww so you’re calling me talented?” Art teases.

“You are,” Patrick says. “When you don’t think too much, which Stanford should help you with. I’m sure they don’t over think anything there.”

“Whatever man,” Art sighs. If anything it’ll help my tennis. I think you’re just scared I might steal her away.”

“Not even a little bit, but speaking of her… do you remember how you let me put my tongue in your mouth?” Patrick smirks.

Art goes all quiet like he’s doing homework again but Patrick doesn’t hear the pencil scratching paper.

“You always bring it up like you think I want you or something.”

“You wanted something, I felt it,” Patrick says pushing himself up as Art grabs the notebook off him before it falls.

“Come on man, don’t be gross, that was for her.”

“How is that gross?” Patrick asks, mildly amused, mildly irritated.

“You know what I mean,” Art says. “‘m not gay.”

“You know there’s nothing wrong with it right? Not to mention I’ve seen you before…touched you before… and…I mean remember what we did after she left? Didn’t I make you feel better?”

“We don’t always have to talk about it.”

“We don’t never have to talk about it either.” Patrick counters.

Art takes a deep breath and rests his head against the wall trying to find a way to change the subject. “Dude, if you’re gay just let me have another shot with her.” Is what he comes up with, dumb pretty smirk on his lips.

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Yeah whatever, fine I’m gay…actually that reminds me of this movie you can gayly watch with your gay best friend.”

“I’m just joking. You don’t have to—“

“Well I’m not joking, come on, put this away, loser,” Patrick grabs his notebook and stuffs the papers inside.

“Okay Jesus, Patrick don’t wrinkle it all up.”

“I’m not, chill out. Get the smoke detector.”

Art sighs and climbs off the bed. He steps on Patrick’s bed and reaches up to disconnect the detector from its place on the ceiling. He puts it in the bathroom. Then he shoves a towel beneath the crack in the door.

All the while Patrick’s combing through his dvd case for one random movie he borrowed from Netflix at the start of the year and he’d forgotten to mail it back so they charged him. (That’s sadly how he ended up with a lot of his dvd collection.) He’d watched it once by himself because he thought the main guys were hot and he wanted to jerk off in peace without Art voicing confusion at the idea of him jerking it for a man.

But it had been surprisingly deep for one of those campy queer movies. And of course it was about a guy in love with his roommate which… even for Art’s ability to delude himself wouldn’t be subtle at all.

“What’s this?” Art asks.

“The movie we’re gonna watch. This guy is a male hooker but he ends up getting hired by this old guy who mostly just wants his company.”

Art frowns.

“Come on, relax. You can be straight and watch it. Movies don’t turn people gay and you’re not gay…so what’s the big deal?”

Art looks like he wants to argue but decides it’ll just be easier to surrender. Patrick rolls the joint while Art puts it in the dvd player.

It’s not all his fault. Art was raised with apple pie and Americana. He’s a J Crew catalogue wearing, red blooded New England boy. His family is pretty liberal but in the way that they support all of it as long as it remains out there faceless and unknown… far away from their life and their home. Art’s expected to play a sport, go to an ivy, marry a beautiful girl and likely start a career in politics if tennis doesnt pay off. So this idea that life could ever deviate from that makes him glitch out.

All the tension they have between them is so much easier to just bury. Like none of it matters. It’s not supposed to change the trajectory of his cookie cutter life anyway.

Art sits on his bed next to Patrick they’re both leaning against the wall Patricks feet dangling over the mattress, Art with his legs crossed. Patrick lights up the joint and hands it to him.

—-

They’re pretty baked halfway through and Arts fidgety. It’s at a scene where the main character is touching himself watching his roommate in the shower. “He’s hot right?” Patrick asks.

Art takes a breath. “Dude.”

“Yeah I know…you’re not gay.” Patrick smirks, but even in the dim glow of the tv he can see the way Art’s already starting to show in his boxers.

The third roommate catches the main character watching and wants to suck him off. Then while third roommate is sucking him he starts fantasizing about all three of them hooking up, kissing sloppy on the bed.

“Is this porn?” Art whispers. “Are we really watching gay porn?”

“No I wish… unfortunately they don’t show you that much but imagine if me and you and Tashi were roommates.You watching her shower… while I…”

Art makes a strangled noise and Patrick rubs his own cock, smiling to himself. Art’s just getting there but Patrick’s been hard for the last 30 minutes.

“Patrick,” Art whispers. He’s starting to touch himself over his boxers.

“Give me the joint,” Patrick says, softly. It’s their third one. “If you drop it on the bed again we’ll both be in trouble.”

Art hands it over and Patrick puts it out in the ashtray on the nightstand. He moves closer to Art reaching over to help him. Art leans back, letting Patrick take over. Patrick reaches into his boxers. “Mm Patrick… have you seen her naked?” Art asks.

“No,” Patrick whispers. “Just her underwear. But…I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“I feel like I can still taste her lips.” He moans while Patrick plays with him. Patrick can’t help but ease his other hand into his own pants. “I wanna…ah… I wanna… see her all soaped up wet and…” Art continues.

“And…?” Patrick breathes.

“Fuck… can you… can we…do what we did after…”

Patrick smiles and nods even though Art likely can’t see him. He gets on his knees and Art scoots towards the edge of the bed. Patrick takes Art’s boxers down and starts sucking him off. touching himself the whole time.

“Mm fuck,” Art breathes.

He barely lasts 2 minutes before he’s filling Patrick’s mouth with so much jizz. Patrick swallows it down, while listening to Art moaning for him. All the hair on his arms standing up. He rests his head against Art’s thigh making quick work of himself, using part of the sheet to keep it from getting all over the floor.

Patrick settles where he is on the floor, breathless when he’s done. Looking up at the television like it was fucking nothing even though his heart is still racing.

Main character has moved so far away from the threesome fantasy. He’s now angsty and worried about his best friend who’s apparently being pursued by someone else. Some other more wholesome gay man. Patrick ponders rewinding but when he looks up at Art, he’s lying back on the bed, hand casually on the waistband of his boxers, tapping his bare feet on the floor just watching.

Patrick rubs Arts leg idly.

“Who’s this loser?” Art asks of the more wholesome gay man.

Patrick laughs. It’s exactly what he thought on his first watch through.

They end up watching the rest of the film. Again, it’s surprisingly more emotional than the premise (male hooker wants to fuck his roommates). Main character ends up learning to be more open about his feelings in his time chatting with the elder gay client. And the emotional part is hearing the elder gay man talk about what he went through to fall in love with his partner when it was much more taboo and unacceptable. And how even though they meet late in life they still lived such a full and happy life (if too short) before his partner passed. And main character’s roommate even gives him a chance and they go out on a date.

Art’s rubbing his eyes when it’s over.

Patrick gets back on the bed next to him. “That was nice right?”

Art’s clearly trying to hide his feelings so he just nods and when he feels okay to use his voice he says. “Seems kinda deep for you.”

“Well I can be deep,” Patrick smirks. He curls his fingers into Art’s hair. “I mean it’s cool right? They were happy.”

”I always wonder where they imagine movies like this to happen? San Francisco probably.” Art laughs, lightly. He looks away from Patrick and Patrick puts his hand back by his side.

“Well I think it could happen anywhere but good thing you're going to California soon.” Patrick says, just as light.

Art looks at him again and then looks at his lap. “I mean it wasn’t just her that made me feel…” he murmurs.

“Me too,” Patrick says.

“So I don’t know…I mean I’m not gay but…but maybe I’m something else…”

“I definitely am.”

Art sighs. “You make me something else.”

“Is that so bad?” Patrick asks.

Art rubs his hands on his thighs and then leans in and gives Patrick a kiss.

(Had to google if Netflix existed in 2006 😭😭 it did but they mailed dvds. Also I made Patrick lie. Movies definitely make you gay. Look what Challengers has done to me!!)

[kendraontmblr]

hiyaa! I was wondering if you could write something about not having seen carlos for weeks and when you finally join him for whatever tournament he cannot behave, not even in public so let alone in your hotel room 🤭🤭. If that’s okay with you🙏🏼

A/N: hi anon ! ooo, this is gonna be so good. i’m assuming you want some spiceeee. so i got you 🤭 this is my first time ever writing something like this. so hopefully i could give you what you wanted. let me know what you think ! mwah

────────

CRAVE YOU - C. ALCARAZ

────────

Pairing: Carlos Alcaraz x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: [18+] mature content, has sexual themes, romantic undertones, and explicit scenes.

────────

Weeks had passed since we’d last seen each other—weeks of training, tournaments, and distance. The anticipation of finally joining Carlos at his latest tournament had my heart racing. He’d been teasing me with late-night messages and playful words, but it wasn’t the same as being near him.

Text after text kept popping up on my phone, each one adding to the heat between us. “I miss you so much, amor” and “Can’t wait to see you,” he’d say, teasingly followed by, “I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself when I see you, cariño.”

I reread each message, the anticipation growing with every word. My lips parted slightly, and I bit down, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. It had been so long since we were together, and I could already feel the heat of his presence, knowing when we finally came face-to-face, he wouldn’t hold back.

Carlos had personally invited me to this social event, a gathering filled with players, their partners, sponsors, media personalities, and other important figures from the tennis world. It was an opportunity for everyone to unwind, network, and celebrate the tournament in a more relaxed atmosphere. While the event was bustling with conversation and laughter, all I could think about was the chance to finally be with Carlos after weeks of distance—away from the courts, the cameras, and the constant pressure of the sport. The exhaustion of our grueling schedules made it nearly impossible for us to find time to be together, but tonight, we finally had this moment.

As I entered the event’s venue, our eyes locked across the crowd. His smile was everything I needed, but it was the way he studied me, the intensity of his gaze, that sent shivers down my spine. The buzz of conversations and soft clinking of glasses surrounded us, but his attention was solely on me. Despite the noise and movement around us, it was as if we were in a world of our own, and that magnetic pull between us only grew stronger. The distance between us was too far but still close enough to make my pulse race.

I made my way through the crowd, and in an instant, he was by my side. He pulled me into a warm embrace, mindful of the public setting, his lips brushing softly against my cheek. The moment was brief, but his whisper in my ear—softly telling me how much he missed me—sent a rush of warmth through me. He was careful, but there was no hiding the intensity behind his touch and the longing in his eyes.

As we mingled among the crowd, I found myself engaging in light conversation with other players and their partners. The WAGs were a welcoming group, sharing laughs and stories about their experiences on tour. We talked about everything from life on the road to the latest gossip in the tennis world, all while sipping on drinks and enjoying the elegant setting.

The entire evening, Carlos was subtle— trying to hold back, or at least, he tried. His hands were on me at every chance he got—resting on my back, grazing my waist, and brushing against my arm, each touch a silent promise of the tension building between us. As we mingled with other guests, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air, but it was hard to focus on anything else but the heat between us. Carlos was talking to a few sponsors, his attention divided, but I could feel his gaze lingering on me from across the room.

And as time went on, his patience began to slip. The lingering touches grew more urgent, more demanding, like he couldn’t keep himself in check any longer. It was clear—he was on the edge, and so was I. The room buzzed with conversations, but it felt as though we were in a world of our own, every shared glance and fleeting touch intensifying the magnetic pull between us.

He would press behind me, his chest lightly brushing my back, and I could feel him—his heat, his desire. My stomach erupted with butterflies, each movement sending a wave of anticipation through me. His lips lingered on my shoulder, and as his breath danced across my skin, I shivered, both from the warmth of his touch and the depth of the connection between us. Around us, the party continued with people chatting and the hum of music playing softly in the background, but none of it mattered. “You smell so good,” he whispered low, his voice sending a rush of heat through me once more.

“Behave, Carlos” I warned, my voice a mix of amusement and desire. But I wasn’t really trying to stop him. He knew it, too, just a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The guests around us were oblivious, absorbed in their conversations, but it didn’t matter to Carlos—he was all in.

I tried to ignore the heat building in my chest. Carlos leaned in closer, his lips brushing against my ear, and whispered, “Dame un beso… [Give me a kiss].” His breath was hot against my skin, making my pulse race, and I felt the space between us close even further. I could feel the pressure building, not just in my body, but in the air around us.

I hesitated for a split second, the pull between us undeniable, before I leaned in, capturing his lips in a slow, teasing kiss. His hands roamed, one resting firmly on my waist, pulling me closer as the kiss deepened. Each touch, each whisper, was a promise of what was to come, and I couldn’t help but lose myself in it.

Every now and then, I’d catch him tugging at the strap of my dress, his fingers grazing my skin, ensuring I felt the tension building between us. His fingers brushed the strap of my dress, letting it slip off my shoulder. The playful edge in his touch made my heart race even faster, but we couldn’t stay in the moment for long. Other people were nearby, oblivious to the tension between us, but we knew—this wasn’t over.

Later, as we sat next to each other, Carlos’ team and a few close friends nearby, he got even bolder. His hand rested on my thigh, gently at first, before it started inching higher, just barely brushing the top of my thigh. I shifted slightly, aware of his proximity, and whispered under my breath, “You should behave, Carlos.” His eyes darkened with a mix of challenge and desire, but he didn’t stop. He was enjoying the game. The subtle game of patience he was playing—and I was losing.

When the day finally came to a close, and the two of us were alone in the hotel room, the tension between us finally broke. Carlos wasted no time closing the door behind him, his hands on me the moment we were inside. No more subtle touches—he was feral, unable to control himself after so long apart. He tightened his grip, pulling me closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You’re mine now,” he murmured, voice laced with possession. “No más [No more]. No more waiting.”

Carlos’ lips found mine almost instantly, urgent and hungry, as if he were making up for lost time. He kissed me deeply, the kind of kiss that made the air between us thicken with desire. Pulling back just slightly, his breath hot against my ear, he muttered, “Te he echado tanto de menos… [I missed you so much] you have no idea what I’ve been thinking about,” his hands now gripping my waist as he pulled me closer.

I let out a shaky breath, a small smile tugging at my lips as my hands ran through his hair. “I think I have an idea…”

He smirked, his eyes wild with longing. “You have no clue, amor… I’m going to make sure you feel it.”

Carlos captured my lips again, the kiss deeper this time, a silent promise of what was to come. Slowly, we moved together, his hands guiding me toward the bed, the back of my knees brushing the edge of it as he pulled me closer, not breaking the kiss, both of us consumed by the heat building between us.

I pulled away slightly, my eyes glinting with a playful challenge. “You’ve been misbehaving all evening, Carlos,” I teased, my voice low and mischievous. I ran my fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. “I warned you, didn’t I? That you’d have to pay for all that teasing.” My eyes never left his as I sank slowly onto the bed, my fingertips trailing down to his belt buckle. Carlos’ breath hitched at the touch, his chest rising and falling, as he looked down at me.

Spreading my legs just enough, I whispered, “Get on your knees, Carlos.”

His gaze darkened at the sound of my request, a smirk playing on his lips as he sank to his knees. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, cariño,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. His large hands found my thighs, spreading them further as his gaze intensified. “But I’ll make sure you remember every second.”

────────

a/n: part 2 ??????? 🤭

with love always,

kendra

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Idk if you do requests, but if you do,

You should write a Slash x Reader smut

Where reader is virgin, and Slash has a corruption kink

Im just gonna leave it at that. 🙏🏼

A/n: trying to get through all my slash requests bc APPARENTLY that’s all I’m good for 🙄 /j I love Slash ☺️

Warnings: smut, fingering (f receiving), corruption kink (I hope, I tried 🥹), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

No one thought he could do it, no one had ever imagined that Slash could date someone long enough to get married without sex, yet here he was.

You met between breaks in tour, it was late and he was high and starving. You were working at a pizza place down the road and helped him get back home after he lost his shoe and keys, although he was most heart broken over the loss of his pizza but that didn’t happen until after he ate it.

He was stupid and his state of mind was evidently altered, however, it only meant it was harder for him to hide how pretty he thought you were.

He came back to your place of work later that week, sober this time, and you actually got to talking which led to dating and moving in.

It happened quickly, only a few months between dating and engagement, which no one was surprised by given Slash and his lifestyle. Your family and friends were a bit shocked that you of all people ended up with him, but after seeing the way the guitarist no one could deny it.

Sure, no one questioned it when Slash announced his engagement soon after announcing his new relationship, but there was a reason.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He asked. You were in his bed, curled up against him while he played with your hair. His other hand had been slowly making its way lower and lower and you thought it was the time to tell him the truth.

“It means I’m waiting until marriage.” You explained. He paused for a moment, and he did try to convince you otherwise a few times, although he always stopped if he felt it was pushing you too far or if he thought you might say yes; you made up your mind years ago and he didn’t need that on his conscience, he loved you too much.

On top of that, he loved the idea of being your first, of being the one to take away your innocence. He wanted to marry you and have you forever, you were his and he was yours.

Which led to now, Slash planting kisses up your neck as you sat back against him. “Just relax, sweetheart, and let me know what feels good, alright?” His soft voice flowed into your ears.

You nodded and he got right to work, nipping at your sensitive skin while rubbing your sides, one hand moving down lower between your legs until he was rubbing your clit and slow circles. Your breath caught in your throat, a shiver running up your spine.

You just had to relax and melt into him turning your head to meet his lips, he didn’t pull away as you kissed him and his fingers moved faster.

His other hand moved down, pushing two fingers into you and making you gasp and moan into the kiss. He didn’t want to rush you so he just kept them there, focusing on your clit with the other hand but he could already feel your walls fluttering around his fingers.

“That’s it, that’s a good girl, just relax.” He said, not changing the pace of his fingers. “Just be a good girl and cum on my fingers for me.” Of course you listened, you couldn’t not cum with the praise that he muttered, filling your thoughts of him and his love for you.

He kissed your cheek as you came down from the high. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, eyes feeling heavy as you looked up at him. “This-this is how you feel when I…” You didn’t need to finish, he knew what you were talking about.

He chuckled and shrugged. “Kind of, feels better for you, guarantee it.” He mused.

“Do I not do a good job?” You asked, slight worry in your voice.

Slash was quick to shake his head. “No, nothing like that, no, just, like…” He sighed as he tried to think of a way to word it. “Biology..?” He said, unable to contain his laughter as he said it. “I swear I read somewhere it was better for women than it was for men.” You laughed at his explanation and moved off of his lap, laying down and nuzzling into your pillow.

Slash gave you time to recuperate, the last thing he wanted was to overstimulate you, he’d do that another time but for now he settled for flopping on top of you. “Jesus, you sound like those pig dog toys.”

“Did you just compare me to a pig and a dog toy in a single breath?” You demanded, voice coming out strained as you were being crushed under him. He really wasn’t that heavy and he wasn’t putting all his weight on you but it wasn’t easy breathing either. “And you still expect sex?”

Slash snorted at that, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. “I’m not expecting shit, I-I’m helping you sleep..?” You were married the night before and spent time travelling and sleeping on the way to your honeymoon, having woken up not long ago and feeling the need to consummate the marriage just as you’d always imagined. To a point, anyway.

He was stupid but it worked and you pushed back into him, moaning as you felt his hard cock against you. He slipped into you, drawing moans out of the both of you. He waited for you to adjust to him, his fingers had helped but it wasn’t the same. No, this was much, much better.

He began moving his hips, his thrusts quickly picking up speed until the room filled with the sound of skin on skin and your loud moans mixed with Slash’s low grunts and groans. “Fuck, listen to yourself, a virgin and already so fucking loud and needy for cock. My cock, sweetheart.”

“Yes! Yours, only yours!” You said, pulling your knees up. You were trying to get on your hands and knees, doggy style, but he put a hand on your back and kept your face mostly shoved into the pillow. Not that you mind, it just put him at that perfect angle where he repeatedly hit that spot that had you seeing stars.

“Oh, that’s a good girl, keep- fuck, keep saying that.” He said, giving your ass a quick smack. He was so pent up, he wasn’t trying to be rough with you but he couldn’t keep himself totally in control, not after all this time.

“Ngh! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Feels so good!” You whined, feeling that same knot from earlier building in your gut. Slash’s thrusts were quickly losing their rhythm as you squeezed him, sucking him in and bringing him closer to the edge as well.

He made sure you came, letting you rolled onto your stomach after he pulled out, hand going to his throbbing member so he could jerk himself off, hot strings of cum spurting onto your stomach before he flopped over beside you and pulled you to his side.

He gathered some of his cum on his fingers and brought them to your mouth, letting you lick them clean. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?” He asked breathlessly.

“Tired.” You responded after a moment, nuzzling into him.

He chuckled and nodded. “Sleep then, we’ve got the whole month and then the rest of our lives.”

[rafesbabyg1rl]

Hiii pretties! Welcome to my blog!! Please keep things positive and stay slutty my friends!!!

~If you have any requests, please feel free to leave it in my inbox!!!~

Masterlist: The Watcher (Part One, Part Two, ...)

you can read the rest if you wanna like know more about me n shit ig

Hello!! I'm Kay, or K, kat, whatever you wanna call me. I'm literally just a girl. I am a freakkkk. I do be a bit of a stoner y'all, and I usually am high when I write, so if I make a mistake, I'm blaming that. I'm from the United States (unfortunately) and I only speak English. This is a safe place; I am always here if anyone wants to talk. I do not discriminate; I do not spread hate. I do not and will not tolerate hate or unkind behavior towards me or others here on my blog. Like seriously guys I have bad anxiety, so please be nice and don't make it harder for me.

This is pretty much solely for Outer Banks, Rafe Cameron to be more specific. But, feel free to talk to me about other things!

Other things I'm interested in/passionate about: Taylor Swift, veterinary medicine, Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul, The Walking Dead, 13 Reasons Why, Supernatural, Jurassic Park/World, Harry Potter, The Maze Runner, The Hunger Games, comedy movies (Seth Rogen & James Franco). I love cold weather, books, and cats. Music is life and I listen to a little bit of everything so feel free to send songs.

I AM a student, so just keep in mind that I may be inactive because I’m in CLASS or doing work; because I will prioritize that over tumblr (well, i try). Other times I’m inactive because I am sleeping, or because I’m busy with LIFE. I am not tied to my tumblr and blog. I’ve had only positive experiences here so far, but I know that fanfic writers are often mistreated by readers, but guys we are all just people.

If you want me to hurry up and publish new work, don't tell me that, just interact with my blog and compliment my writing and that will motivate me more than anything else ever could. Also ASK AND REQUEST PLEASEEE!! I really enjoy and appreciate new ideas and feedback from other people's brains. I also appreciate constructive criticism. Don't be mean about it, but if you dislike or disagree with something, tell me politely. I like hearing feedback and am always working on improving my writing.

Seriously y'all, please please PLEASE do NOT be hateful. Do that on your own time, not here. I will not tolerate unnecessary attitude and hate. I believe in forgiveness, and I know that mistakes and misunderstandings happen. I will treat anyone and everyone with kindness and respect unless I have reason not to (really hoping I don't).

Who do I write for? I only write for Rafe Cameron. However, I'm not opposed to writing a little or sharing thoughts about other Outer Banks Characters!

What do I write? I will write literally almost anything. There’s no such thing as too much for me, so request away please. ------ As for darker topics, I will write them. Actually, a large portion of my work will include darker topics/themes/kinks, etc. I will write sensitive subjects too. But just because I live for that shit, doesn't mean everyone else does so I'll do my best to include warnings on all my work for any content that might potentially be triggering for others.

(Small warning: mentions of my mental struggles and self-destructive habits) I've always struggled mentally. I've always felt as though the way my brain works is different from everyone else; like something is wrong with me. But after many many years, I now have a better understanding of myself and how my brain works. Not to dump this on y'all, I swear I have a point, but I have diagnosed depression, anxiety, and ADHD. These things are all a big challenge I face in my day-to-day life and are often the leading cause of why I may take longer to write and publish things. I may take breaks, so don't worry if I'm not active, I will be back at some point. And I'll try my best to update you guys on when I'm gonna be less active or vice versa. Another way my mental health effects my writing is because when I write, a lot of the time my personal experiences or feelings will end up incorporated within my work, since well, it's all coming from my brain. I mostly write for myself to express my thoughts and feelings, having others read and actually enjoy my work is just an added bonus. But personally, I have struggled with self-harm for about one third of my life. I often get ideas for new works revolving around this theme and may publish things about it eventually. Themes such as mental illnesses, self-harm, abuse, insecurities, EDs, suicidal thoughts, unhealthy relationships (obv), toxic household, etc. will have a reoccurring appearance throughout my works. So just be prepared, I guess.

And like I said before, if anyone needs to talk, I am ALWAYS here and I am a very good listener.

Everyone is more than welcome to message me or leave anything in my inbox. Whether it's to chat, request something, ask something, literally whatever is welcome!! (Except hate I don't fw that)

Thank you for visiting my blog, I hope you enjoy! As always, be kind and stay slutty!

[a-little-unsteddie]

rated m for mature themes. allusions to sex, but no sex, and references to drugs/alcohol

so i had a thought of like. sex worker!steve and famous!corroded coffin? please forgive the inaccuracy of party bus happenings, i have never not even once been in one. anyway. corroded coffin just got platinum or something for their album, maybe it was their first official album or maybe it was their second or third album who knows but! it is their first ever platinum and to celebrate chrissy (their manager) rents a party bus as a surprise with both male and female sex workers, and steve is one of them, lots of alcohol, no drugs harder than weed, wayne had kept eddie on the straight and narrow thus far.

it was just the band + chrissy, + their driver/security combo hopper, and then the three or four dancers. steve and eddie instantly click, steve having a good idea of who eddie was as part of the preparation before this specific party bus.

it wasn’t unusual for celebrities to rent the buses, so steve thought he was prepared for whatever the night had for him. except eddie immediately trips upon seeing steve because of how distracted he is by the prettiest boy he’s ever seen in his lifeand steve is immediately endeared, helping him stand back up with an amused smile.

“careful, baby, don’t wanna damage that pretty face of yours,” he says, watching in glee as eddie flushes at the words, and struggles to put together anything coherent for a moment before regaining his composure.

“sorry, sweet thing, i was blinded by your beauty,” he freely admitted, a flirtatious smile adorning his face. steve laughs sweetly, and eddie knows that he wants to be the cause of that laugh as much as possible.

the rest of the band (+ chrissy and hopper and the other dancers) watches on in exasperation as they proceed to spend the rest of the night flirting and dancing around each other, steve not willing to go further then some light petting before the end of his shift, eddie desperate to get his hands on steve properly, but loves the sweet dance that they’re doing too much to push for more, definitely understanding steve’s hesitation.

come morning they’re ready to pounce on each other and the moment that steve is technically off the clock he demands eddie to tske him to his hotel room so they can have some real fun.

[stuckinapril]

I want to read books I want to write more I want to play the piano I want to sing in key I want to delve into fashion history I want to travel I want to publish research papers and I want to become a surgeon and I’m supposed to do all that in this one wild and beautiful life

[chimerahyperfix]

This loop has to be the one. Nevermind that you said it last loop, and the one before, and the one before that, and most of the ones before that. THIS was the one you'd stop the King in his tracks. You push a few of your many potions to the side to make room on your desk. None of them worked to stop him, so they were useless. He's still about twelve, fourteen? hours away, so you have enough time to make the bomb, eat and take a fat nap before you go pick a fight. Maybe this time, it'll work! It has to!

You've gotten better at making the Craft Bomb. It hasn't blown up on you before you intended to use it in... a long time. You can make it fast enough, now, for it to still be light outside! You've become silent while you work, which Mirabelle has told you is ''worrying'', but you don't see why it is. Are you really that loud? (Yes. You are.)

It's hard work. Soft light bathes your desk, your work, you. You reach out, past your potions, and grab your water bottle. Take a big swig, and

Hmm. That's not water.

How. HOW do you keep making this mistake. You look at the bottle in your hand, and sure enough, it’s one of the potions; your water bottle is shoved in the back of the collection of other containers. The taste is caustic, your throat begins to burn. You shouldn’t be this calm for having just drank something that’ll kill you in a handful of minutes, but it’s happened before. Despite the pain you don't bother trying anything. Just push the finished bomb to the side and lay your face against the wood of the table. Feel the blood start to pool in your mouth and dribbling out, staining the wood. Mirabelle, or Euphie or whoever comes in next, they can use it this loop. It's not the first time you've drank one of the many, many dangerous potions on your desk, and it's probably not the last. Maybe you'll actually clean the crabbing thing off before you work.

Whatever. You have next time. You have all the time.

Perhaps a bit too much, actually.

[anna-scribbles]

h-how do you ever finish any of your work? genuine question because you seem to be productive despite your agreste syndrome and I need to learn your ways. but also how do you ever finish any of your work

unclear. last night i stayed up and finished a report worth 25% of my grade at about 5am, arrived on time for my 9am lecture, and spent about half of it zoned out while thinking about seventeen year old emilie agreste. and i was one of the most active participants in the class discussion

[mumblesplash]

man i’ve had pretty serious art block before in the past but it was always more a lack of inspiration/irl stuff draining all my energy, currently Not having art block but getting hit by my first bout EVER of feeling like i just straight up can’t make anything that’s good enough and oh my god how do people deal with this

[sanasanakun]

What if I wrote a fic about a redeemed!Durge who saved Baldurs Gate/hero stuff but is unable to celebrate that night cause he’s still uneasy about his past AND the fact that he (personally) killed his previous life’s closest friend/lover???? (Gort). So, the companions are like “bruh get down here stop moping,” but he’s just chillin on Elfsong tavern’s roof or w/e. And then he realizes..that since the Netherbrain is dead that means all the tadpoled people got un-poled👀👀 including the Flymms👀 and he gets so irrationally angry despite not even understanding why cause he shouldn’t care anymore. But he can’t help himself and he goes back to Flymm’s cobblers under the cover of night and he delivers his own form of brutal (almost unnecessarily violent) justice himself (I mean, he is still The Dark Urge after all. Jergal removed the absolute need to murder, but he didn’t take the batshit crazy part lmaooo). Anyway I’m not gonna write it cause I have an 80 page thesis to do but what if, huh?

[finderseeker]

Here’s that thing I spontaneously started writing for some reason. I go where my whims and capricious focus take me. I got sick of editing and rereading so I’m just posting it. This is set in the DDAU. It’s not long after things got worked out between the two sets of Dingsasters. Maybe a couple months. Windy is struggling.

Edit: changed it so the signed dialogue is no longer in italics sincee it’s the primary language.

————

“You know, in my world, you are a bartender as well.”

Grillby eyed the human man sitting as his bar. He was flushed, a sure sign that he was officially buzzed. Grillby knew this instantly, despite the man never having drank here before. After all, Gaster— his Gaster— was the same way: his face flushed when he drank. Of course this man was the same; The two were the same person, after all.

That was what Gaster— Wingdings— said, anyway. And, truth be told, Grillby could see it. This human had the same mannerisms, the same gestures, the same posture, the same expressions, the same name signs. If that alone weren’t enough, there was another monster with a human counterpart: Asteri. He hadn’t know the woman well, really, before all this. If he had stopped to think, perhaps he might have recalled seeing her as a little girl with her parents, half a century ago, but the family didn’t visit Snowdin often, and visited his restaurant even less. Besides, shapeshifters were easy to mistake.

The main reason he could use her and her human counterpart as evidence that this whole “alternate universe” business was real was that he had re-met her, now as an adult studying dog language in Snowdin, right around the same time that his best friend of over 400 years nervously introduced him to a human he was sheltering, who had the same name. Not only the same name, but the same voice, the same hair, the same style of dress, the same mannerisms, and the same alcohol preferences. The reasonable conclusion was that it was simply a particularly strange coincidence, but no, things with Gaster were never that simple these days. Of course it was something absurd like an alternate universe. The skeleton had always been a little too trusting— even of humans, even after everything— so Grillby initially took the story with a grain of salt. But as time went on, and Gaster spent more time with her, apparently details that reinforced the factuality of it came to light.

Not that Grillby saw either of them often. That was simply the nature of his friendship with Gaster, after so many years: long stretches of silence, occasional visits that picked up as if no time had passed, and, every once in a while, periods of frequent and excited contact. Those tended to happen during high stress situations, intense lows, or major breakthroughs. He would have assumed that sheltering a human would have been a large enough event to merit frequent contact, but no, nothing much came of it. And he, like always, never pushed. So when the next time the two visited, months later, and they held hands, well… that was Gaster’s business. But he believed his friend’s explanation about different universes, and just like when they asked him the first time, he agreed to keep an eye out for another human.

Except he didn’t see one. Not until nearly a year after his initial introduction to the human Asteri, when Gaster introduced a lanky, disheveled human man. Grillby had heard the announcement, of course, just like everyone else: that there were two humans living in the underground, and they were not to be harmed. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time besides being relieved Gaster would no longer need to hide the woman he obviously had feelings for, that she had apparently found her friend, and that both of them were so peaceful in comparison to the last time a human had fallen, decades ago.

Meeting this second human, all things considered, Grillby should not have been surprised when his oldest friend introduced him as his own alternate self. Despite this, he immediately felt an odd sort of defensiveness well up on Gaster’s behalf. Grillby and the human man had stared at each other for a few moments, both processing this meeting. Then, something had clicked for the human, and the precise way he lit up with that dumb idiot grin was so familiar, so immediately recognizable, Grillby barely needed any more evidence to be convinced.

Oh, sure, he had about a million questions about the whole situation between the four of them— two Asteris, and two Gasters, all of whom had now met each other, apparently— but they would tell him what they needed to, when they felt ready. He didn’t ask questions. This many years of bartending and people-watching had given him both the ability to read people and the patience to mind his own business and wait for an explanation. People loved to talk, and there were far more ways to say something than with words. He was the silent companion, always there to listen but never to pry. A keeper of secrets, and a staunch minder of his own business.

Nothing about today had seemed especially different, except that the human Gaster had wandered in all on his own a while ago, hesitant but trying not to seem uneasy. (Trying to hide it was futile though; Grillby had known his counterpart for centuries and could read his body language like a book.) But he said nothing as was his custom, simply nodded in greeting and acknowledgement, and let the man sit where he liked and order if he wished.

It had been nearly a 40 minutes by now, with naught a word but to order something Grillby wasn’t familiar with, then brandy as a reluctant compromise, and two refills. Only now, nursing that second refill, had the man finally lifted his head and signed anything beyond that.

“You know, in my world, you are a bartender as well.”

Grillby eyed him. That was certainly one way to start a conversation. It was indeed tempting to take the bait and tug the line, but he had many years of patience. He waited silently, as always.

The man sighed inaudibly and studied Grillby with a sort of look he had seen before. Asteri— the human one— always treated him with an odd sort of familiarity when she visited (which was more often than he expected, frankly), as if she already knew him. Sometimes he caught her looking at him with what he had long since learned to recognize in patrons as nostalgia. Bittersweetness. Except hers was a little different in a way he could never put a finger on. She never said anything though, and as a bartender he never asked. Now it made a little more sense: he had a counterpart too, and the two humans knew him.

That look was different on this face, though. Where Asteri looked a little sad, but mostly fond, this human version of Gaster looked far more stricken.

“You are quiet there, too.”

Human Gaster smiled a little, but it slipped almost immediately.

“Not quite this quiet, though.”

He swirled his drink around and stared at it for a moment before taking another sip.

“You used to be quite reactive, when we first met.” He chuckled, just once. “You are still learning to keep your expression neutral when customers say outrageous things. You were getting much better at it.” A bright, genuine smile split the gloom he was projecting, for a moment. “You opened your own restaurant, much like this one! It was just taking off… when Asteri and I fell.”

The smile was gone just as quickly, replaced by an even more despondent expression.

“I was supposed to visit. We moved away, after university. I had to cancel my trip…” He sighed. “No. I did not need to. You were coming to visit us the following month, and so I reasoned…”

The human blinked watery eyes and laid against his arm on the bar, hands falling still.

“I wonder what you thought,” he signed after a few moments, small like a whisper, and a few tears rolled onto his arm. “When we disappeared.” He blinked slowly, looking somewhere that wasn’t here. “I wish I could tell you I am safe. That I am sorry. I wish…” His eyes watered anew and his jaw quivered. “…I could tell you that I miss you.”

He rolled his head so his face was pressed into his sleeve, and sniffled softly.

Grillby stared at him, genuinely surprised for the first time in a while.

Oh.

This man— they called him “Windy” —was undeniably Gaster, but Grillby had only acknowledged that fact on its own. But it didn’t exist in a vacuum. This wasn’t just “now there’s a human Gaster too.” This was also “Gaster thrown into a strange new place,” “Gaster grieving something enormous,” and right now, most of all, “Gaster without his best friend.”

He knew how his Gaster— Wingdings— was. He knew how bad things were when they were young, how much he needed support. After so many years, he knew it wasn’t self-absorbed or presumptuous to say that Wingdings needed him. It was mutual. Of course it was. No longer needing to constantly be around each other didn’t change the fact that once upon a time, they only had each other. It didn’t change how integral they were to each other’s lives, even to each other’s development as people.

So what if Wingdings just disappeared?

What if the last time he visited really was the last time?

What would he do if his best friend and only anchor throughout the centuries were suddenly gone? No explanation, no clues, nothing.

Sparks, he’d be devastated. Heartbroken would be an understatement.

And if it had happened back then, when they were both still settling into who they were? Grillby wouldn’t even be the same person. Wingdings just another monster erased after the war, but the only one he’d been side-by-side with through it all; the reason he hadn’t allowed himself to succumb to the numbness that came with killing; the person who had kept him kind, kept him compassionate. The only friend he’d allowed himself to have in a world where caring had always, inevitably gotten him hurt.

He would have been utterly inconsolable.

But Wingdings, Wingdings was far more tender-hearted. He took every loss so hard, every time, even after more than four centuries. Grillby couldn’t imagine Wingdings would ever be alright if anything happened to him. Not now, not back then. No partner could ever fill the space they took up in each other’s lives. No happiness could replace each other’s friendship. It wasn’t a romantic thing; They had just known each other longer than anyone else.

Grillby blinked, mentally shaking himself out of his thoughts, and glanced around his restaurant. It was sparser than usual, being a weeknight. His attention turned back to the human in front of him. He may not know Windy, but he knew Gaster. He may have a policy of silence, but he always made an exception for his friend.

He scooped a glass of ice and nudged Windy’s arm with it. Windy lifted his head just enough to look up with bleary, red eyes. The ice in the glass was half melted when he reluctantly took it.

“If Gaster disappeared, I’d be pissed," Grillby signed flatly as the glass was taken. Windy wilted again. Grillby's expression didn't change, but a crimson shimmer of worry and guilt flickered through his flames. "Wouldn't think bad of him though."

Windy searched his face, probably struggling to read it, as most people did. Fire elementals didn’t tend to have a lot of facial expressions; it had more to do with brightness, intensity, and color. Most monsters didn’t know that. A human from a world without monsters certainly wouldn’t. Indeed, Windy didn’t seem to find whatever he was searching for, and his eyes fell once more as he sipped his ice water.

“I’m sorry for unloading this on you.”

His signs ran together and stayed close to his body, like he was muttering.

“This must be so uncomfortable for you. I- I apologize for being so selfish. I should not have come and said all this.”

He made to get up, shoving his hand in his pocket to fish for his wallet. Grillby reached out to grasp his shoulder, stopping him. He looked up. Grillby paused, not entirely sure what he had intended by this gesture. Seeing Windy sad like this was like seeing Wingdings from long, long ago. It made his heart ache.

“Not selfish,” he said. Another moment of hesitation, then, “It’s good you came. Stay.”

Windy’s jaw trembled again, and once more Grillby was struck by how uncannily similar his expressions were to Wingdings’, somehow, despite having skin and muscle. Windy hesitated, torn. “I should get home…”

It was a weak protest, and Grillby knew Gaster well enough to know when he needed to be pushed and when he needed to be left to it.

“Sober up first.” A reasonable excuse.

Windy hesitated once again, but then nodded and got back on his barstool.

He took another sip of ice water.

Grillby wiped out a cup.

It must be strange, he thought, to meet someone who you know, but who doesn’t know you. If he were in Windy’s position…

He set the cup aside and eyed the other man once more. “How do I look?”

Windy looked up, confused.

Grillby nodded toward him with his head. “Human.”

“A-Ah! Well…” The other man cracked a smile. Success. “You are shorter, but otherwise have the same build. You have pale skin, and freckles. You keep your hair long, except in summer. It is usually tied in a high ponytail. It is wavy, and—” He chuckled softly— “fiery orange.”

A sliver of violet wove its way up through Grillby’s flames, and he crackled pleasantly. After a moment of consideration, he leaned forward closer and dimmed, just a little, pointing to his face. Windy squinted in the heat, but after a second his eyes widened and he grinned.

“Freckles! I did not realize you could—” He caught himself and waved his hands sheepishly. “Ah! That is to say, I know so little still, I find that my reasoning frequently returns to the principles of my own universe. I was not aware that a being made of fire could… could have freckles.” His smile split his face despite himself.

There was a flicker of violet in Grillby’s flames. “What else?”

Windy lit up even more. “We are the same age, but while I am often mistaken as being older, you have a “baby face.”” He giggled a little. “You cannot grow facial hair save for patches of stubble, either, and we have had more than one silly argument about it. In university, you would come home and complain about how many customers asked if you were old enough to be tending a bar to begin with.”

Grillby raised nonexistent eyebrows. “We lived together?”

“Yes, for a few years. You see, the living arrangements on campus…”

⁂

By the time Windy left, it was late. He was smiling though, and that made Grillby feel better. By then, Grillby had learned many things about his human counterpart and the world this other Gaster had once lived in. He learned that human Grillby liked the cold weather too, preferring snow over sun; that his name there was a nickname (his real name was Gilbert); and that there was no war they’d ever had to fight, only academic and social struggles. It sounded like a much nicer past.

Grillby had told him to come back soon— they needed to settle on a different way to sign his name, after all, so it wasn’t the same as Wingdings’. Windy eagerly agreed; both of them being “Dr. Gaster” to everyone at work was difficult enough.

“You can pick me a new one,” Grillby had offered as well. “If you want.” He shrugged. “Don’t have to.”

It seemed that Windy liked the idea. He had launched into over-explaining himself immediately upon agreeing though, as if Grillby would be offended by it when he was the one who brought it up. He held a hand up to stop him. “I already know.”

He was Grillby, but wasn’t Windy’s Grillby. It was as simple as that. That fact wouldn’t change. They knew different versions of each other who had lived very different lives. At the heart of it all, though, they were the same, and that was what mattered. There was nothing he could do about this other Grillby, no replacing him, just like Windy could never replace Wingdings. They didn’t have the same history. They weren’t each other’s oldest and dearest companions. No. But they could still be friends. It was a start.