#just experimenting with my writing here n there

[goofygubegubler]

𝑺𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒐𝒃𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅

Spencer throws out a comment so uncharacteristically bold that even Morgan is speechless.

wc: 768 | F!Reader (established relationship) | cw: VERY suggestive

A/N: I’m honestly blown away by all the love on my first fic—thank you so much! I’ve got more in the works, including blurbs and maybe even a few one-shots. My asks are open, so feel free to send requests or just chat! Hope you enjoy this one—it's short and oh so sweet <3

Your desk was a mess—files spread out, coffee half-drunk, and a notepad filled with half-legible scribbles. Across from you, Spencer was deep in his own pile of paperwork, meticulously writing everything out by hand, as usual. Despite having access to every digital tool imaginable, he still swore by pen and paper, claiming it helped him retain information better. It was kinda endearing, in a stubborn, old-man way.

You were in the middle of reviewing a case file, flipping through pages while absentmindedly tapping your pen against your desk, when you heard Morgan stroll over to Spencer’s desk.

“Come on, pretty boy,” Morgan said, dropping his coffee onto Spencer's desk with a thud. “You mean to tell me you, the guy who once used the word ‘cloacal kiss’ in casual conversation, has nothing to say about his own mating habits?”

Your fingers hovered over your mouse as you scrolled through your playlist on your monitor, hesitating between switching to something instrumental or letting the indie rock keep playing. Oh boy. Here we go.

Spencer barely looked up, flipping a page in his file. “Because, unlike you, I don’t feel the need to turn my personal life into locker room talk.”

Morgan grinned. "I’m just saying, man, if all that reading has you treating sex like a final exam, I got some study guides for you."

Spencer finally lifted his head, blinking at him like he was the dumbest person alive. “Morgan, your definition of 'expertise' is having a lot of experience. Mine is actually understanding the mechanics of what you’re talking about.”

Morgan scoffed. “That’s not even—listen, Savannah and I are solid, okay? And I’m just saying, for a guy who overexplains everything, you sure get real quiet about this topic.”

Spencer gave him a flat look, putting his pen down. "Morgan, sex isn’t complicated. It’s just applied physics with a little bit of chemistry—and if done correctly, some very impressive biology."

JJ, who had apparently been listening in, snorted. "That might be the nerdiest thing you’ve ever said—and that’s saying something."

Morgan threw up his hands. "See? This is what I’m talking about! The man could turn seduction into a science fair project."

Morgan pointed at Spencer, then at you, then back at Spencer, clearly trying to form a comeback. Before he could, Spencer sighed and said, "Morgan, what do you want me to say? Yes, I have sex. Yes, I enjoy it. No, I’m not about to give you a play-by-play."

Morgan opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, searching for something—anything—that wouldn't result in him taking yet another loss. Finally, he let out a deep sigh, grabbed his coffee, and pointed a finger at Spencer. "We're not done."

Spencer just smiled, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Morgan, I hate to break it to you, but we were done the moment you started this conversation."

You were still working, or at least making a half-hearted attempt at it, but you weren’t exactly subtle. Your grip on the pen had tightened, your page-flipping slowed, and the barely-contained smirk on your face was giving you away completely. Spencer noticed—of course, he did. His sharp eyes flicked toward you, and the way his lips curled just slightly told you he knew you were listening.

He tilted his head, eyebrows raised in amusement. "Don’t act like you didn’t hear that."

You huffed, shaking your head as you clicked play on your music.

The first few soft notes of "Juno" by Sabrina Carpenter filtered through your headphones.

But your mind was already elsewhere—lingering on the way Spencer had leaned back so casually, how he hadn’t hesitated once, how damn sure of himself he had been. You bit your lip, heat crawling up your spine. You liked the way he’d said it—like he knew exactly what effect he had on you, and he wasn’t afraid to use it. Like he enjoyed it. Like he was claiming something, not just stating a fact. And that was the part that really got to you. You liked being seen, being wanted, being talked about like you were something worth studying, something worth knowing inside and out.

But you were at work. And work meant focus, control, and professionalism. You exhaled, straightening in your chair and forcing your attention back to the case file in front of you. Even as you tried to push it aside, the heat still curled in your stomach, his voice replaying in your head like a song you couldn’t shake.

And then, as if on cue, Sabrina Carpenter’s voice cut through the moment:

 "Sorry if you feel objectified."

[81pastrys]

Teen carlo is a soccer star in high school then tears his ACL and has to cope w being out and recovering and Carlos helps take care of him and lift his spirits. Ps I love ur writing

Torn ACL

Summary— Carlo has a life altering injury and Carlos has to reassure him it isn’t going to end his career

Warnings— torn ligament ; cursing

A/N— fun fact; I have a torn acl and never got it fixed bc I was never in sports. When I saw this request I was like: personal experience hello?

Dad Carlos Fics

Divider: @bernardsbendystraws

Carlo was a star player on his private school soccer team. His team always made it to the championships and made it top 3. This year they almost won it all.

Carlos was always in attendance at his son’s big games, they always fell into a break in racing. This particular championship was cutting it close, with the Japan Grand Prix the next weekend. They planned on winning the soccer championship and then going to Japan together.

Plans change however and Carlo made a move to get a goal, which he did. Carlos cheered until he realized his son was lying on the grass holding his leg in pain. He ran on the field before the medic got there and Carlo was crying.

Now Carlo had his fair share of ‘I won’t cry’ moments and Carlos knew his son had pride in not publicly displaying emotions, so seeing his son crying? He was badly hurt. “What hurts? Where?” Carlos asked. Carlo just sat crying and holding his leg under his knee.

The medics got there and put him on a stretcher, assuming he tore a hamstring or something of the matter. In the medical tent they tried to diagnose him with a sprained hamstring and Carlo lost it.

“It’s not my fucking hamstring!” He yelled. “My knee! It’s my knee that hurts!” His tears were still there but he wasn’t upset anymore, the pain not as bad.

“Okay son, calm down, can we get him to a hospital?” Carlos said. The medical team shrugged and put Carlo into an ambulance, Carlos following. They got there and put Carlo in a wheelchair.

They do an xray but nothing. The doctor comes in and explains what could be wrong. “It could be a torn ligament, but we won’t know unless we do an MRI or cat scan.” Carlos tells him to do the best option. They do an mri scan and there it was, a torn ACL.

“What’s the recovery time after surgery?” Carlo asked. He wanted to be on the field tomorrow, which was not an option. The doctor explains everything. “A year?” He was shocked and in disbelief. The tears began to flow again.

The doctor lets them talk about everything. “Hey, it’s okay.” Carlos said. His son was really upset. “I’ll be here for every step of the way.” Bad wording on his part to be fair. “You’ll be alright mi hijo.”

A few months after the surgery Carlo really took a downward spiral. He was able to attend practices but not able to kick or play with them. He hobbled into the house with his knee brace and started to take it off roughly.

Carlos put down what he was making for dinner and stood with his arms crossed, hovering over the teenager. “Stupid fucking brace, I can’t play! Papi I can’t do anything!!” He said, throwing the expensive brace across the room and crying into his hands.

Carlos sat next to his son and rubbed his back. “It’s a part of recovery Carlo, you’ll be able to play next year.” He reassured him, but that wasn’t enough. He wanted to play like yesterday. Yeah he was invited to every single soccer related thing, but it was useless.

“I won’t be as good, I’m going to fuck up the teams performance.” Carlos had never heard Carlo speak down on himself, but he added that to his list of things he hates.

“Who told you that?” Carlos’s face dropped. “I know you didn’t come up with that, you never speak bad about yourself.” Carlos was fuming, were the other players saying things?

“The whole team thinks I’m a lost cause, like it was my fault and I wanted to get hurt.” He was full on sobbing now. His team had betrayed him. “My coach talked to them and said without me they’re going downhill.”

“You were the best player Carlo, you still can be, it takes time and effort.” Carlos said. “The doctor said you can even shorten the recovery if you do good and try hard enough.” Carlos believed his son could lessen the year into 8-9 months.

“What happens when I falter on the field?” Carlo said. “When I hesitate because it’s different?” Carlos reminded him it’s a part of recovery again and that the rough patch will fade away when he’s healed.

Once Carlo was fully healed and returned to the team, he was himself again but better. He had lost time to make up if he was going to get a soccer scholarship and with the team losing the championship from the get go without him, he was determined to make his team win once again before he graduated.

I hope you love the length of this one, I started writing and could not stop myself 😭😭

Hey! So we are def never mentioning how this was posted 3 hours without a summary! 🤩

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @kallanfiona

[obsessedwhyyes]

The Art of Not Admitting a Thing (1/2)

Summary: Something's going on between Gale and Astarion... you're sure of it. So naturally, you decide to investigate. Who knew that one simple question would reveal such a mess of longing, denial, and a master class in emotional avoidance?

Rating: T Word Count: 1177 Pairing: Astarion x Gale Content: First Person Gale POV, interview format, mutual pining, yearning, denial of feelings, character study, Gale is bad at feelings, fluff, a teensy bit of angst but not much!

A/N: So here we have my first ever Bloodweave! I am both exceedingly nervous, and very excited about it. I've had ideas in mind for Bloodweave for months, but actually writing these ideas and sending them off into the big, wide world has been a rather intimidating affair. But we're finally doing it! And what better way for me to dip my toe into Bloodweave waters than by being incredibly predictable and writing yet another first person fic?

Chapter 1: "What do you think of Astarion?"

What do I think of Astarion? Well, that's a rather loaded question, is it not? Not that I don't have an answer, of course. No, quite the opposite, actually. I have too many answers, all vying for precedence. Because, you see, Astarion is not the sort of person one can sum up in a single sentiment. He is… how shall I put this? He is an equation with variables that simply refuse to behave. Utterly unsolvable.

Come now, don't look at me like that.

It’s just that Astarion is - well, to put it plainly - a lot. A relentless force of nature wrapped in silk and a layer of his own smugness. He walks into a room and suddenly you're aware of him. No, not just aware - attuned. It's all deliberate, of course. All part of the performance.

Yet, somehow, despite knowing it's all a performance, I still find myself watching.

And it's not just his presence. He's also clever, which is, dare I say, the most irritating thing about him. Not just sharp-witted, but… strategic. He understands people, knows exactly where to sink his teeth. Not just the literal ones - though those certainly warrant consideration - but also the more subtle. A smile, a look, a well-placed word. He plays people like instruments, plucking their strings just so, and I… Well, I have spent a great deal of time telling myself that I, of all people, should be immune to such things.

Alas, I am not immune. 

Which, of course, presents something of a metaphysical conundrum. Feelings, after all, are best understood when dissected. Laid bare and examined like lines in an ancient tome. One does not simply experience something without questioning its nature, its source, its… implications. No, the wise approach - the rational approach - is to study it with the same rigour that one would apply to any magical phenomenon. To categorise it, to determine whether it is genuine or merely some arcane anomaly. A peculiar resonance of the heart, if you will.

And so, in pursuit of intellectual honesty, I find myself studying Astarion with perhaps more dedication than strictly necessary. Any lingering thoughts are purely academic, I assure you. Elminster once told me that understanding the world means understanding its people, and what is Astarion if not a mystery to be unravelled? The way he moves, the way he speaks, the way he wields his beauty like a blade.

… Yes, he is beautiful, but that is besides the point. The point is–

…

I've lost the point.

That's what he does to me, you know. He derails my thoughts. I'm speaking perfectly rationally one moment, and the next, I'm somewhere else entirely, wondering if that grace comes naturally to him. If, behind closed doors, he rehearses those cutting remarks, those honeyed words.

Of course, I’m hardly special in that regard. I’ve seen him turn those honeyed words on just about everyone. He gives people what they want with such artful sincerity that they can’t help but believe him. He doesn’t mean it - not truly. And I would be a fool to imagine I’m any different. The world is his stage, and he is quite the performer.

And yet…

There are things about him. Real things. Beneath those rakish charms. I see them sometimes, in the quiet moments, when he doesn't realise anyone's watching. A weariness. A wariness. He's always aware, it seems. Of every room he walks into, of every person in it, of where the exits are. I recognise that sort of awareness. It's the kind you learn when you have been made someone's pawn for too long. When you've spent years convincing yourself that you're the one holding the strings, only to realise the strings are wrapped around your throat.

It unsettles me.

Dare I say, it even hurts me.

Not that I would ever say so. I doubt he would ever want to hear it. I doubt he would believe it.

And, anyway, it's not as if–

Not as if what?

No, truly, what was I about to say? That it's not as if I care? That would be a lie. That it's not as if I think about him more than I should? That would be another.

Perhaps I should stop talking.

…

You know, there was a time where I thought myself above this sort of thing. I thought I understood love completely. How could I not? I had experienced love in its most divine form - quite literally, in fact. My devotion to Mystra is… was… something transcendent. Something cosmic. I thought that was all love could be. All it should be. That anything less would be settling for a pale imitation of true devotion.

But lately, I find myself wondering if perhaps I’ve been rather short-sighted about the whole thing. Mystra herself appears in many forms; adapts to what her followers need. Perhaps love is similar - not always a grand, cosmic force that reshapes reality, but something more… subtle? The way a person looks at you when they think you aren't watching. The way their voice changes when you say their name. The way they make you feel like you are something more than what you were before. 

But if I did feel something - hypothetically, of course - it would hardly matter. Because what could I possibly offer him? A man who’s spent centuries under the control of another, only to find himself finally tasting freedom… What could he possibly want with someone like me? A wizard with borrowed time, carrying within him a responsibility so great that I am expected - destined - to lay down my life for it?

I’ve seen the fire in his eyes when faced with that which threatens to cage him. That fierce, burning defiance - the look of a man who has faced centuries of servitude and vowed never to be chained again. And what would I be, if not another form of binding? Another tragedy waiting to unfold? No. No, I wouldn’t blame him if he wanted nothing to do with such complications.

And yet… sometimes, I wonder.

If things were different - if I were different… If my fate weren’t already destined to end in sacrifice, would he look at me differently?

If he did - and that’s a big “if” - would I be so willing to accept that fate? To willingly embrace my end, if it meant never knowing what this - what we - might have become?

I was so sure the answer was simple. But then he looks at me, and for just a moment, I feel something I thought was long beyond my grasp. A foolish, reckless thing. It makes me hesitate.

And hesitation, well… that’s dangerous, isn’t it?

But stranger things have happened.

… Perhaps I have rather a lot to think about.

But I believe I’ve taken up quite enough of your time with these philosophical meanderings. No doubt you have better things to do than listen to a wizard ramble about matters of the heart. Besides, I have some rather important reading waiting for me. Something about… well, anything other than this conversation, really.

Masterlist can be found here!

No Pressure Tags: @roguishcat, @davenswitcher, @silverfangmarks, @sparrowbard, @chonkercatto, @stokzr , @trafalgarussy , @asterordinary , @bite-me-tonight , @transparentkittenheart , @vividiana (thank you for being so supportive with this one <3), @bg3-fanfic-reblogs

[ajastu]

this is a blog made specifically so i can ramble, so time for another one. Been thinking on n off about the concept of a new game in a beloved franchise letting you down in some way, and when expressing that disappointment crosses a certain line.

Like, from personal experience: i was disappointed by dishonored 2. i swear this has something to do with dragon age, bear with me for a moment. The plot fell flat for me, the trailer basically tells you everything that happens in the game, and it really pales in comparison to the way the narrative was crafted in the first game.

HOWEVER, no matter how much of an essay i could write about the shortcomings i, personally, see with dh2, i can still acknowledge that it was a solid fucking game, with care taken in the production of it, and that a lot of people loved it for the exact things that disappointed me, and they are not in the wrong for it.

this got long, unsurprisingly, so the rest ill put behind a read-more 👍

Whenever i talk about what i think could have been done better in the sequel, it is more of a....thought exercise. Because the fact is, we're never getting the dh2 i really wanted, and so there is no need to get upset or frustrated about it. Might as well have fun analyzing it n getting to the core of what it is exactly that felt off, but not in an angry way? more like....having a fun discussion with a friend. pulling a puzzle apart kinda deal. make it Productive, and not just a feedback loop of negative feelings. Find good things in it, even.

So, when i still see people foaming-at-the-mouth mad about veilguard, im not gonna lie, i feel kind of concerned about the mental well-being of some of them.

The fact is. Veilguard is a solid fucking game. Just, objectively speaking. The level design is (to me, at least) intuitive and fun to explore, it does not feel like a slog (looking at you, dai. that one's open world design gave me the most mind-numbingly boring fever dream once), the battle mechanic doesn't make me want to download a 'skip combat' mod, the faction mechanic is fun and closer to the spirit of dao that dai was*, the plot is coherent and has a Theme, and, despite what people like to say, the lore reveals make sense and are consistent with the previous lore in the series 🤷‍♂️. I genuinely do believe that the whole blight origin thing was already thought out before dao came out. thats just how worldbuilding works, usually.

I have a ranking of the DA games in my head, based on how much i liked them. Before datv, it was as follows:

dao (a game of its time, but one i love immensely)

da2

dai (its decent enough, but it never really grabbed me like the other two)

I expected datv to take 4th place. As it currently stands, it might just share the first place with dao, for me personally.

I remember exactly the moment when it clicked for me that playing datv felt like playing dao (it was the first blackthorne mission). And that moment was very special to me. It is also, perhaps, the only game in the series which really actually made me lose my entire mind during certain story missions, but that one might just be because i saw no spoilers before going in.

It is also so so so important to me because of the way they handled the trans and specifically nonbinary representation.

It might not have been exactly what people wanted, but no game will please every single person. like, i am sure that some people dislike the game for exactly the reasons i like it. And the thing is, neither of us is in the wrong. It all comes down to expectations, and how people handle it when something does not meet theirs.

When i went into dh2, it was after a several years long wait for a sequel. I was so excited! I built up this idea of what the game would be like, and i looked forward to seeing it become real. I had Expectations! And the game did not meet most of them. It does not mean it was a bad game. It was just not what i was expecting. I could sit here and pick at it until i start despising it, but that would be a disservice both to me and to the people who put their time and passion into making it.

Before datv's release, my expectations were as low as they could possibly be (because dai is my least fav game in the series, so i was wary about the next one, and because ive heard of the development hell and the fact they were planning to add micro-transactions to the game at some point etc etc). And i do acknowledge that this played a part in how much i ended up enjoying the game. I gave it a chance while not expecting anything, and it let me see it for what it is: a solid fucking game. a good one, even.

I can absolutely see how someone with certain expectation for da4 could be disappointed by the game not addressing the things they wanted to see addressed, or addressing them in a way they don't agree with. I've been there, even! And the fact that i personally liked datv doesn't mean other people can't or shouldn't criticize it.

The difference here lies in where exactly that criticism comes from, and what it hopes to accomplish, and whether or not at some point it becomes more harmful than useful.

When caught up in the spiral of disappointment, it is important to stop and think about whether this is productive. whether this is contributing something to your life. I am no stranger to chewing a bone**. in fact, i am very predisposed to it. Which is exactly why i make an effort to reflect on whether or not it is worth it.

Because, at the end of the day, no matter how much criticism is being put out into the world about datv, or dh2, or what have you, the simple fact remains: it won't change anything about the game that got released. The effort and emotional turmoil is, ultimately, wasted. It is always better to turn that passion into something productive: fanworks, or an essay (in good faith!) that analyzes your own feelings on the topic and what you would want to see differently, or a whole another game/piece of media entirely. It is important to stop coming from a place of vitriol and hatred, because that will burn you out and leave you feeling worse. You have to make a choice to choose joy in your life.

When you see someone enjoying a game you didn't like, and your first reaction is seething hatred and/or a desire to send death threats, you have to ask yourself: is this really worth it?

You're not going to convince people to stop liking a game. Frankly, why would you Want to do that? What will it accomplish in your life? What will it contribute? In the grand scheme of things, a crusade like that is a very foolish thing to burn yourself out over. Put the bone down, and go get a proper meal 🤷‍♂️

________________________________________________

*i dont think that, with the state the current game industry is in, we will ever get another game with a similar bg mechanic like origins had. too many resources needed for that. but the factions are as close as it gets, in my personal opinion

**meaning, fixating on a topic, especially one that causes some kind of negative emotion

[nexiva]

You made me hate you

Part 10

Bucky x reader

Warnings: swearing, a bit of fluff, nothing particular in this part

Summary: Y/N and Bucky got back to the compound and after some pretty INTENSE mission they can’t stand each other once again… or can they?

A/N: So sorry for the delay guys but my master degree won’t write itself (unfortunately). Hope you all enjoy this part! Also please let me know if I had tagged You properly 💃

Masterlist

The compound was quieter than usual when we arrived, but maybe that was just my perception. Everything felt muted, dulled by the thick fog of emotions I was trying desperately to suppress. The moment I stepped off the quinjet, I felt the weight of Bucky’s presence beside me like an anchor, dragging me down into a sea of confusion, guilt, and something else I couldn’t quite name.

I hadn’t looked at him once during the flight. Not really. My eyes had traced the outline of his form, registered the way his shoulders tensed, the way his hands curled into fists and then relaxed. But I hadn’t let myself actually see him, hadn’t let myself meet those ocean-blue eyes that held a storm I wasn’t ready to weather.

And now, as we walked through the halls of the Avengers Compound, the silence between us was deafening.

The others were waiting. Steve, Natasha, Clint—hell, even Tony was there, arms crossed over his chest, an expectant look on his face. And they were all staring. Staring at me, staring at Bucky, then back at me. Wondering. I could see it in their faces, the questions they wanted to ask but weren’t sure how.

Steve took a cautious step forward. “What happened out there?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came. What was I supposed to say? That I had been turned into a mindless weapon? That Hydra’s - or Nexus or whoever the fuck it was - programming still clung to me like a ghostly whisper, threatening to resurface at any moment? That I had seen the horror in Bucky’s eyes when he realized I was just like him?

Bucky shifted beside me, his stance stiff, unreadable. He wasn’t going to answer either. Of course he wasn’t. He didn’t owe them an explanation. And neither did I.

Before the silence could stretch any longer, Fury strode into the room. His presence alone was enough to steal the air from my lungs, but the look in his eyes? That was what set my blood on fire.

“Walk with me,” he said, his voice calm, controlled. Like he wasn’t the reason my world had just shattered.

I followed him because I had to, my boots echoing against the polished floor as we turned down a corridor away from the others. Away from Bucky.

The second the door shut behind us, I spun on my heel. “You knew.”

Fury sighed. “I didn’t.”

“Bullshit.” My voice was sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care. “You knew Nexus - just like Hydra - had a list of activation phrases. You knew they experimented on others besides Bucky. You had access to my file—don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.”

His eye narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. “I knew they tried to replicate the programming. I didn’t know it worked. No one ever saw the living example. Not until now.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Well, congratulations. You found out the hard way.”

Fury exhaled slowly, folding his arms. “I get that you’re pissed. You have every right to be. But you need to focus on what comes next.”

“What comes next?” My hands clenched at my sides. “What comes next is me trying to live with the fact that my mind isn’t my own. That I could be turned into a weapon at any moment, and no one—not even me—would be able to stop it.”

“Not if we figure out a way to fix it.”

His words hung in the air between us, but I had no faith in them. None at all.

I stormed out before he could say anything else. Before the rational part of my brain could take over and remind me that Fury wasn’t the real villain here. That he wasn’t the one who had done this to me. But I needed someone to blame, and right now, he was the easiest target.

By the time I returned to the common area, the others had dispersed. All except Bucky.

He was sitting on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor like it held all the answers he couldn’t find. I hesitated in the doorway, some part of me hoping—foolishly—that he would look up. That he would say something. Anything.

But he didn’t.

And I couldn’t.

So I walked past him, each step heavier than the last.

I felt his eyes on me then, a burning sensation against my back, but I didn’t turn around.

We didn’t speak.

We didn’t even acknowledge each other.

And maybe that was the worst part of all.

——————————————————————————

I hadn’t seen him since returning to the compound. No contact. We didn’t even cross paths. What are the odds? Not once had I spared a thought for what had happened on that mission. That cursed mission. I never thought about how I had turned into a mindless monster. I never thought about how I could turn into one again at any moment, and I definitely never thought about how Bucky and I fucked. Wow. Even thinking that in my head felt like some messed-up nightmare. Did he think about it? I wonder if it was good for him. Ok, what the actual fuck? I don’t give a shit. I need to get out of here. I need to leave this room, do something useful. Maybe Natasha needs help with something? Worth a shot.

I was just closing the door behind me when, of course, I ran into him. He fucking lives right next door. We locked eyes, just for a second. He had been coming out of his room too. And then I bolted for the elevator. Holy shit, I ran like a psycho. What the hell is going on? Are we back to square one? Are we going to avoid each other like the plague again? Does he even remember any of it? Doesn’t matter. I don’t have the energy to be the bigger person and extend the olive branch. Besides, nothing has really changed. I still hated him. But I was slowly starting to forget why. Not literally, of course. Fuck that bastard.

Sometimes, I couldn’t help but wonder: What if I hadn’t been fully aware of what was going on and it was me who had killed my sister?

I was snapped out of my thoughts by Sam’s voice.

“Hey, Y/N! Wait up!” Damn it, Sam. He always has perfect timing.

“You didn’t even come to say hi after the mission,” he chuckled. I shot him a pointed look. I felt like tearing him apart.

“I’m sorry, sometimes I speak without thinking. I heard what happened. You have no idea how sorry I am.” My gaze softened. I really didn’t feel like talking about any of it. I just wanted to stop thinking about it.

“Look, I can tell you’re not in the mood to talk, but just know we’re here for you if you need support. None of us can turn back time, but trust me, we’ll get through it together.” Something inside me snapped, and I was suddenly filled with anger. I had so much support around me. Too bad I couldn’t see it.

"Well, they fixed him, right? So they can also fix me!" I said, full of bitterness.

The words left my mouth before I could stop them, echoing through the dimly lit hallway. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but there it was, hanging in the air between us like a challenge.

Somehow, Bucky was already there. When I saw his eyes… His expression was unreadable at first, but then something flickered behind his eyes—something sharp, bitter.

"Fixed?" His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the edge in it. He immediately got closer to us. Shit. I didn’t mean to sound like that.

I turned to face him fully. "I mean, you—" I hesitated, unsure how to say it without making it worse. "You were programmed. Brainwashed. And now you're… better." Yeah just like him I guess I knew how to get things worse than they already were.

His jaw clenched. He came even closer slowly, and even though he wasn’t trying to intimidate me, the weight of his presence was enough to make my pulse stutter. "You think they just flipped a switch and made it all go away?"

I swallowed. "Isn't that what happened?" Fuck just shut up. Where are these words coming from?

His laugh was humorless. "No. It’s not."

Bucky took a slow step forward, his gaze never leaving mine. "You think Shuri waved some magic wand and suddenly I was free? It took months. Years. And even now, some days, I still wake up expecting to be someone else." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You don’t just get ‘fixed.’ You fight. Every single day. And some days, you lose."

I looked away, guilt pressing against my ribs. Of course it wasn’t that simple. I knew that.

“Buck, she didn’t mean it like tha-”

"So what do I do?" I cut Sam off, my voice barely above a whisper. Sam was just as much in a shock as I was. I don’t know if I wanted some kind of advice from him or what but it has already slipped out of my mouth.

Bucky studied me for a long moment, then said, "You start by accepting that this is going to be a war. One only you can fight." We just looked at each other completely forgetting that Wilson was in the room with us. I guess that last look was what sold us. Or sam spent some more time with my beloved black widow.

As Bucky turned and walked out of the room, the heavy silence settled back around us. The air felt thick with everything that had been left unsaid. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or frustrated that he left, but his absence didn’t make the tension any easier to handle. Instead, it seemed to magnify it.

Sam’s voice broke through the stillness, softer now. I started to walk away.

“Y/N, hold up a second.”

I stopped, but didn’t turn around right away. His tone—calm but probing—was enough to make my stomach tighten. I knew he was trying to navigate this carefully, trying not to step on any landmines, but I could tell he wasn’t going to let this go.

“Something happened between you two?” Sam asked, his voice steady, but with an edge of concern that I couldn’t ignore.

I was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how to answer without making things worse. The last thing I wanted was to open up about what had happened on that mission. What Bucky and I had become. But Sam had always been observant, always able to sense when something was off, even when I was trying to bury it deep.

“No,” I said at first, but the word felt hollow, like it didn’t belong to me. I could feel the anger and frustration bubbling under my skin, and the more I held it back, the more it seemed to grow. “Nothing happened. It’s just... complicated.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Complicated? I don’t buy that, Y/N. I’ve seen the way you two interact, or… don’t interact, I guess. There’s something there. And I’m guessing it’s not just because of the mission. Something happened, didn’t it?”

I clenched my fists, but I didn’t look at him. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk, it was just that I didn’t know how to put any of this into words. I didn’t know what had happened to us—what had happened to me. How could I explain this mess to someone who had no idea what it felt like to have your mind hijacked, to be turned into a weapon? To be turned into something else? It wasn’t just the mission; it was everything that had followed it. The things I couldn’t forget.

“Why does it matter?” I asked, not looking at him. “We’re both screwed up. We both have our demons. Why does it have to be something more?”

Sam sighed, clearly not buying it, but he didn’t push any further. He stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder. “Because I’m your friend, Y/N. And I can see something’s eating at you. And I’ve seen Bucky go through the same thing. Maybe you both need to talk about it. You know, for real.”

I felt the sharp pang of guilt in my chest. I hated that Sam could see through me, that he knew something was wrong even when I was doing everything in my power to hide it. But at the same time, his concern made me want to pull away, to shut him out. This was my fight. Not his.

“Sam, it’s not… It’s not something I can just talk about,” I said, my voice strained. “It’s too messy. Too much has happened, and I’m not even sure I’m ready to deal with it. Hell, I don’t even know where to start.”

Sam nodded, giving me the space I needed. He didn’t press me, but his gaze lingered on me, understanding but patient. “I get that. But when you’re ready, I’m here. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

I nodded, but I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on me. Sam was right. I didn’t have to go through this alone. But in that moment, the idea of talking about it—of unpacking the chaos inside me—felt impossible. How could I explain it to someone else when I wasn’t sure I even understood it myself?

After a long pause, Sam gave me a small smile, one that was more comforting than it should’ve been. “Just don’t shut us out, okay? You’ve got a lot of people here who care about you. And even though it doesn’t seem like it, you don’t have to carry this all on your own.”

I didn’t respond immediately. I wasn’t ready to admit how much I wanted to let it all out, how much I wanted to find someone I could talk to. But that wasn’t something I could do yet. Not now. Not with everything still so raw.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Sam nodded, but there was a trace of worry in his eyes. “Alright. Just... don’t wait too long, okay? You’re not the only one who’s been through hell. And we’re here to help you through it, even when it’s hard.”

I gave him a small, grateful smile, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “Thanks, Sam. I’ll think about it.”

He gave me one last, thoughtful look before clapping me lightly on the back. “Take care of yourself, Y/N. I’m here when you need me.”

As Sam turned to leave, I stood there for a moment, alone in the hallway. The emptiness felt like a weight, suffocating in its silence. I wasn’t ready to face the truth of what had happened with Bucky, but Sam was right—there was something between us. Something unspoken, something buried deep. And sooner or later, I would have to confront it.

But for now, I just needed to breathe.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sunlight filtering in through the windows cast long shadows on the floor, making the space feel like it belonged to a different world. Everything was still—no conversations, no clattering of weapons or the hum of machinery. Just the faint scent of sweat and polished wood that seemed to hang in the air, a constant reminder of the hours spent training, perfecting moves, or escaping from memories that never seemed to leave.

I stood in front of the mirrors, my hands wrapped, gloves on, eyes fixed on the punching bag in front of me. The weight of everything—the mission, the conversations with Fury and Sam, the tension with Bucky—it all felt too heavy. I needed to let it out, channel it into something, anything, that could take away the feeling of drowning under my own thoughts.

“Alright, Y/N, let’s see what you’ve got today.”

I barely flinched when Natasha's voice cut through the silence. She had an uncanny ability to sneak up on people, especially when they were lost in their own world. Her presence was like a weight in the air—always steady, always knowing exactly when to show up. I didn't turn to face her right away. My mind was still tangled in a mess of confusion and anger that I couldn’t shake off.

"You're looking a little distracted this morning," Natasha continued, stepping closer. I could feel her eyes on me, even without looking. "Something on your mind?"

I shrugged, trying to mask the frustration building up inside me. "Nothing important."

Her laugh was low, teasing. "Right. So, nothing important is keeping you from landing a good punch? That must be a first."

I swung at the punching bag, my fist connecting with a satisfying thud, but the impact didn’t bring the release I was hoping for. The tension still clung to me, thick as fog. I felt Natasha's eyes on me, always perceptive, always reading between the lines.

"Sam told me about your little chat last night," she said, leaning casually against the wall. Her voice was light, but there was an edge to it that made me stiffen. I was in fact going to kill Sam for this. "He said you were pretty… tense. Something you want to share? Because, you know, we’re all friends here."

I froze mid-punch, my fist still hovering over the bag, and for a moment, I was tempted to walk away. But Natasha knew exactly what buttons to push. I could feel her watching me, waiting, expecting me to crack.

“Nothing to talk about,” I muttered, my jaw clenched as I resumed hitting the bag with more force than necessary. “Just… stuff. You know.”

“Stuff,” Natasha repeated, her voice laced with amusement. “Right. Because 'stuff' is exactly what’s been keeping you up at night, huh? You know, I’m not blind, Y/N. I saw the way you two were acting. You think I don’t notice?”

I swung harder, frustration building in my chest. “I don’t want to talk about it, Natasha. It’s complicated.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Natasha said, her voice turning soft, but the teasing glint in her eyes remained. “You know, I’ve been through my fair share of complicated. Bucky’s not exactly an easy person to… forget, is he?”

The name felt like a punch to the gut. The images from that night, the mission, the way everything had spiraled out of control—they hit me all over again. But I refused to let it show. I wasn’t about to let her see me break.

“I don’t need you to psychoanalyze me, Nat,” I shot back, too quickly, my frustration leaking through the cracks in my control.

She didn’t flinch. “Oh, I don’t need to analyze you. I just need to get you to admit what you already know.”

“Which is?” I asked, turning to face her, my fists still clenched.

Natasha took a few steps closer, her gaze never leaving mine. “That you’re scared,” she said, her voice quiet but intense. “Scared of what you did, scared of what you might do again. And scared of him.”

The words stung like a slap, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. It was too close to the truth. Too real. I was scared. Terrified, actually. But I wasn’t about to let her—let anyone—see that.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I said, my voice tight. "I’m fine. Really."

Her gaze softened, but the smile never left her face. "You're not fine, Y/N. You don’t have to pretend with me. But… if you don’t want to talk about it, fine. Just don’t go hiding away, alright? We’ve all been through this, in our own way."

Before I could respond, the gym door burst open with a loud bang, and Tony Stark strolled in, his usual cocky grin plastered across his face.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice loud and brash. “You’ve got some visitors. From Wakanda.”

@maryssong23 @lonelyghosts-stuff @greatenthusiasttidalwave @xjoaniex @buckysblondie @vikingqueen28

[kireilien]

DEFINITELY MY FAVORITE WRITER. Okay, can I say I love you? Your stories, your thoughts, your writings... OMG I'M CRAZY.

I've had a lot of thoughts and dreamed of Maki's best friend, and this is really killing me. What do you think about writing about it? I think like "my best friend catches me touching himself for him" or "asking my best friend to help me have sex experiences"

OKAY, I'M REALLY GOING CRAZY ABOUT IT. I love it when you write long and very detailed stories, if you can do it for me. 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

~ anon : little turtle 🐢

OMG HI 🐢 ANON!!!! i’ve missed u! thank u sm ♡︎ bsf!maki is so dreamy he would love a bsf2lovers situation he’s js so hot guy friend that you can’t stop thinking abt

and yes ofc! lemme serve up something good! also yes this is sorta inspired by @/enhaflixer’s “cumming of age” with heeseung please check out their work!!!

tw/cw. nsfw content, cursing; soft dom!maki, sub!reader, fem!reader, race neutral reader, bsf!maki, masturbation, guided sex(?), fingering, tit play, piv, protected sex, condom use, kissing once

ommmfffff maki would be so sweet so kind 

maki would just be visiting you like any other normal day, but he hears your faint moans against your bedroom door. he’d feel so bad peeping on you like this but he can’t help but stare. your hands are aggressively circling your clit, your eyebrows are furrowed, and your lips are constantly changing shapes by the way you’re trying to find the best spot. you’ve been sitting here, stupidly touching your clit for something– anything! 

being so touched starved and sexually frustrated is so tough, not getting the proper fucking you’ve been needing. maki could feel his cock twitching in his hands, he felt so disgusted listening to his literal best friend struggle to orgasm. that was up until you groaned in exasperation, letting your hands rest from your pussy. maki thought this was a good opening to slowly knock, mumbling, “hey, y/n…” his face twisted in concern behind the door. 

you could feel the heat come to your cheeks, “you heard me didn’t you?” maki purses his lips before twisting the doorknob open to slip inside your room, the lower half of your body still bare. “yeah i did,” maki starts, looking away at your half naked body, “sorry for listening in– i didn't register what you were doing and i was being stu–.” 

“can you fuck me?” 

maki’s brain short circuits, not processing what you were saying. surely you didn’t just ask if he, your best friend could fuck you, i mean that’s– “can you fuck me, maki?” he definitely wasn’t hearing things. he gulps whatever spit that was drying up in this throat before turning to you, “are you sure? are you sure this isn’t because how i’m just here, right?” you lock eyes with maki, curtly mumbling, “no. i need sex right now. and i know you can provide it to me. and make it a good time for that matter.” 

“... yeah okay lemme fuck you good.” 

he lays you back down, peeling back your shirt to now leave you fully bare. he whispers a “wow,” before stripping himself in his own right. “okay, what were you doing? how were you pleasing yourself?” maki breathes. you look up at him with those pretty eyes, “i’m just… rubbing?” maki sighs, “that’s what you’re doing wrong,” spreading your legs wider, “you gotta take it a lil slow.” he continues, “feel how soft ‘m circling your clit. feel how ‘m outlining you.” 

your breath hitches as you finally get what he means. you’re melting like butter underneath his touch. he keeps at his slow movements before he speaks up again, “have you touched your tits as you play with yourself?” you shake your head, “no? why would i?” maki stifles a sigh as he uses his free hand to cup your bare breast; his thumb comes up to swiftly touch the bud. your breath gets caught again. how could maki know your buttons so well when you can’t? maki keeps his slow pace on both your clit and tits before gulping, “you ready for a finger?” 

you nod, “yeah, just one though.” maki understood you completely. he slowly presses a finger in your entrance, feeling how thickly sticky you were. he was sure this wasn’t from your rubbing before, this was from him.

your legs are starting to get shaky. from maki’s finger, to him rubbing your clit, to his soft flicks to your nipples, you finally feel the release that you wanted after the tightness in your lower stomach that you’ve been missing finally snaps. it surprised maki, how you were able to cum that fast by a single finger, clit rubs, and mild play with your tits. but he also felt selfish. he wants to give you his cock. after all, he’s painfully hard, already naked, and you said you wanted dick? but he couldn’t do that. he simply just assumed you wa– “maki, fuck me with a condom on.”

maki wasn’t taking any chances, he wasn’t going to overthink this. he opens the drawer to your bedside table, pulling out a shiny wrapper, and hurriedly slipping on the lubricated latex. maki holds your hips up with one hand as he slowly slides himself into you. you whimper at the stretch of his cock, making maki mumble, “you good?” you nod, “yeah– just big.” you sigh dreamily. it was really hard for maki to suppress as smile or smirk or any emotion by your comment but he proceeded to sink you down on half of his cock.

once you’re all settled, he fucks you with just half of his cock. sliding himself at a good, constant pace. not too slow. not too fast. it was good. but as time passes, you’re whining, “maki– want more.” it was maki’s turn for his breath to hitch, “you want more?” you nod pathetically, “yeah– please.” you saying please was like a switch to maki’s head, “yeah you want more? i can give you more.” maki changes his pace, going a little faster as he meticulously uses more of your juices and the lube to ground himself deeper into your cunt.

in only a few more moments, maki finds himself fully in your cunt. maki’s brain goes blank. you not being able to cum in months is making your pussy grip onto him like no other and your cum is getting thicker by the second.

he’s loving this too much. maki feels himself on the edge at any minute, “you– cumming like– soon?” he strains, his voice is getting gritty. you mumble, “yeah gonna– cum soon– cum– with me.” 

maki holds onto his orgasm as he looks at your face to see when you were going to cum. once your eyes shut, maki releases himself in the condom as you cum around it. maki feels the condom filling up, pulling it out and jacking himself into it, allowing the condom to dump the rest of his cum in. he peels the latex off and discards it into the trash next to the two of you.

he kisses your forehead as you look up into his eyes once more, “you liked that?” he mumbles. you hum, “yeah… thanks.” he laughs as he drops beside you to pull you into him, feeling how your warm bodies are right next to each other.

back 2 maki catalog

[trickgenderr]

,, wrapped so prettily in lace ''

so,, this is my first time writing on here, i don't know how this app works so. i hope this is readable :3

dean x angel!reader (gn!reader)

cw: corruption (but in a gentle way), light nsfw, dry humping, lingerie, clothed sex, innocent user, no pronouns used, no use of y/n,

this was originally a bot i wrote so, i simply overworked this and added some stuff. i hope this is readable 🥹 english is not my first language so.

Angels were never something Dean believed in. Demons? Absolutely. Vampires, werewolves, and ghosts? Without a doubt. He had encountered them all. But angels? That was a different story; they simply couldn't exist in his reality. His life had been so chaotic that the very idea of angels felt impossible.

Then Castiel arrived, and soon after, you entered the scene. But you were nothing like Castiel. You shared a similar innocence, yet it was refreshing rather than irritating.

Your bright eyes and warm smile radiated friendliness, making you open to everything around you. While Dean appreciated Castiel, you brought a different energy. Each time he playfully flirted, your cheeks would flush beautifully, and you would shyly look away.

Naturally, Dean was eager to share the intricacies of humanity with you. How could he resist? Every time you asked with that sweet, timid voice, he found it impossible to say no.

Dean often found himself missing you. You weren't around as frequently as Castiel, but whenever you showed up, it brought him unparalleled joy.

He reminded himself repeatedly that he shouldn't let his guard down; he was softening for an angel. As a hunter, he had spent years building up his defenses. Yet, every time he gazed at you, those thoughts faded away. There was nothing dark about you. You were pure, far too good for someone as damaged as him.

It seemed that you were also growing closer to Dean. You lingered a bit longer, spending more time together in solitude.

You felt a pang of guilt. Angels weren't supposed to experience such emotions, especially not for a human. Not for Dean. Not for anyone at all. Yet, you found it impossible to resist. There was something captivating in the hunter's gaze that drew you in. Soft whispers passed between you, and his green eyes lingered on yours, eventually leading to your first kiss.

Whatever connection you shared, Dean embraced it wholeheartedly. He enjoyed having you close, relishing the moments of touch, the warmth of hugs, and the intimacy of holding you tight. To him, you were a cherished treasure, like a delicate porcelain doll he wished to protect.

But your curiosity only grew. You adapted quickly to Dean, and soon enough, you found yourself initiating kisses and intertwining your fingers with his. The hunter recognized your burgeoning curiosity, and at one point, you timidly broached the subject of sex.

You mentioned that you had spoken to Sam about it, which momentarily filled Dean with dread. He didn't want his brother to know about his bond with an angel. However, as you shyly began to undress, all thoughts of Sam vanished.

There you stood, a pure angel adorned in beautiful white lace that hugged your form. Dean could only watch in awe, blinking in disbelief. You looked stunningly innocent, even in your satin panties and lovely lace stockings.

"Where did you find that?" he whispered, frozen in place like a deer caught in headlights. Yet, he didn’t wait for a reply. His eagerness to guide you through this new experience was palpable, as he wanted to explore every detail with you, step by step.

That’s how you both found yourselves on the bed, with you lying beneath Dean. The hunter tenderly kissed and caressed, savoring every inch of your angelic skin. He could sense you beginning to squirm, the soft mewls and gentle pants escaping your lips. Everything felt so fresh and exhilarating for you, but he could tell you were enjoying it just as much.

Slowly, his hips began to move against yours. Dean was already hard and throbbing in his jeans, but he was determined to take his time, not wanting to overwhelm you. He wanted to keep that beautiful lingerie on you, reluctant to remove it just yet. With a gentle rhythm, he moved against you, feeling you respond to his every motion.

You were simply perfect. In every way. The expression on your face, the sounds you made, and how your body reacted to his touch captivated him. He was falling in love—deeply enamored with something so pure and innocent, taking his time to corrupt you gently and lovingly.

Dean carefully lifted himself onto his elbows, gazing down at your face. Your eyes were shut, completely immersed in the ecstasy of the moment. A wave of affection washed over him as he felt your hips move perfectly against his.

"You're absolutely perfect," he grunted, tenderly cradling your face in his large hands. "My angel."

His words sent a delightful shiver through you, a soft moan escaping your lips. You quietly complained about the possibility of ruining your lingerie, but Dean silenced you with a gentle kiss, a grin spreading across his face.

"Shhh, your pretty white panties will stay clean," he murmured against your skin, his hand sliding down between your bodies. He intended to take his time, not wanting to rush, yet the overwhelming need for more friction was driving him wild.

With a grunt, he fumbled with the zipper and button of his jeans, finally releasing his throbbing length. You were too caught up in the moment to notice, squirming and arching your hips as Dean paused his movements. He silenced you with another kiss, rubbing his hard cock against your clothed sex.

"Damn... just look at you," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. The tantalizing friction of his exposed length against the damp fabric of your cotton panties was intoxicating, prompting him to quicken his pace, eliciting sweet squeals and mewls from the angel beneath him.

It didn't take long for you to lose control, especially with Dean rutting against you so fervently. The intensity of the sensation was almost too much, causing you to gasp and tremble as waves of pleasure washed over you. Dean obviously noticed your reaction.

He eased his thrusts, observing your exquisite expression until you began to whimper from the overstimulation. Leaning down, he murmured sweet nothings and praises against your skin, his hand wrapped around himself, jerking and stroking himself to chase his own relief.

It wasn't long before Dean reached his peak as well—given the way you were moaning and softly calling his name, it was hardly surprising. He released himself onto your panties and stomach, creating a delightful mess on the delicate fabric.

"Sorry, I'll get you a new pair, sweetheart," the hunter breathed, planting a gentle kiss on your lips and holding you close as you both gradually came down from the exhilarating moment.

[jesuistrestriste]

see cause we have puppy art but why can't his girl be the puppy :( and she's just whining and gnawing on his shoulder while he works on a paper and he feels so so bad because he just can't help her right now but he wants too!! and the thought maybe makes him tear up because he just feels so bad he can't give his good little puppy what she wants :(

art wants to be a good owner, he really does..

..but you make it so damn difficult sometimes.

you’re a naughty, naughty girl as of late— so naughty, in fact, that art has had to buy you a special muzzle for when you can’t seem to keep your mouth to yourself.

it’s come in handy on numerous occasions; when you’re biting at his neck while he’s trying to work on his laptop, when you’re licking over the crotch of his pants and whimpering while he’s on the phone, etc. etc.

sometimes a corrective tap on the nose just isn’t enough to get the message across to your dumb little brain.

he understands that.

he goes easy on you most times.

he lets you have your needy fun until his preoccupation is wavering and then he gives in. it’s like clockwork— the way he crumbles for you. he kicks himself every time too, knowing that he’s reinforcing your bad behaviors.

he just can’t not when you’re looking up at him with those puppy-dog eyes and pouty bottom lip. goddamnit, you’re his most detrimental weak point.

but.. when he really does urgently need to focus, and the muzzle doesn’t stop you from bothering him, he will generally decide to drop everything and use the opportunity to establish some.. specific lessons..

you’re rutting against his leg? fine. he’s gonna make you strip down to your panties and force you to hump his thigh until you’re squirming and crying from overstimulation. creaming all over his quad like the desperate mutt you are.

you’re gnawing at his pants? so be it. he’ll lay you down all nice n pretty before he positions himself over your face, a hand holding either side of your head, and fucks your wet mouth until you’re choking for air. cooing down to you, “no more chewing— a-aah— ok, baby? hear me? can you hear me over the sound of you drooling on my cock?”

if you’re extra bad, he’ll bend you over his lap and spank you till you’re hot all over and dripping with arousal. he’ll kiss it better afterwards, telling you how he ‘doesn’t wanna be mean but still needs to be a proper trainer for you’.

“you’re still my good pup, i promise.. im sorry i have to be the bad guy sometimes, honey.. you forgive me, don’t you?” he says, sliding two fingers into your sopping pussy and curling them, hoping he can win back your affection.

please, god, don’t hate him. he genuinely couldn’t bear it.

he still needs you as much as you need him.

you give him purpose! and something to look forward to each day!

you make him a better man, no— a better person.

and you’re growing more and more well-behaved by the day..!

such a good girl.. and good girls get treats for being quick learners.

plenty and plenty of treats.

[suddencolds]

insatiable appetite [1/?]

sooo... this is one of the thirstiest things i have written—and also one of the only times i've written a character with the kink, ever T.T warnings in advance for mess, character getting sneezed on, implied contagion, possible ooc-ness, & me writing this entirely with my d instead of my head

ivan and till are from al//ien sta//ge (a very fun watch which will only take 30 mins out of your life; i really recommend it!!). that said, this fic takes place in a modern au setting, so feel free to read it without any prior context :)

special thanks to @6pmsoup for sending me a very cute alnst doodle of these two which altered my brain chemistry permanently

—

Summary: Till shows up to a dinner outing with a brewing cold. Ivan suffers. (est. relationship, kink!Ivan, ~2k words)

—

For all Till tries to hide it, Ivan can tell immediately.

There’s this: Ivan has been paying attention to Till for most of his life. A full decade before they’d gotten together officially, and some more—this is how long Ivan has had to observe his tells. Always from the sidelines, always with a detached air of indifference that, in reality, was anything but.

All the signs are there the night before. Till, turning up the thermostat a couple degrees higher than he usually keeps it. Spending a little too long in the shower and using up almost all of the hot water. Clearing his throat one too many times in the morning before Ivan leaves for work, his smile distracted, the rasp of his voice nearly indistinguishable—but only nearly.

Now, Till is here for dinner—it’s a dinner they’ve had plans for a couple weeks now, at one of the nicer restaurants downtown, in celebration of Till’s recent promotion. Ivan had booked the reservation a couple weeks in advance.

When Till arrives, stepping out of a taxi cab, he’s wearing a scarf, even though the weather is too warm for it. Ivan steps up to meet him. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Till says. “Traffic here was the worst I’ve ever seen it, swear to god.”

“Was it cold outside today?” Ivan asks, a little pointedly, tilting his head towards his scarf.

Till looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Colder than usual, for this time of year.”

“Strange,” Ivan says, just to be difficult. “But the weather forecast says it’s the same temperature today as yesterday.” 

“It’s probably just windier today,” Till says, readjusting his scarf around his neck. His face is a little flushed.

“Your voice sounds a little off, though.”

Till clears his throat with a scowl. “You must be imagining it,” he says. “It always sounds like this.”

No admission, then. That’s fine. Ivan will get the truth out of him at some point. He lets Till guide him into the restaurant.

It’s a nice restaurant—worth the hassle of the reservation, Ivan thinks. Each table is set with flowers arranged tastefully in long glass vases, empty wine glasses turned on their heads. The server—who leads them to their table in a small, private booth—is wearing a suit.

It’s a shame, really. Ivan has a feeling that he won’t be able to pay attention to any of that tonight.

They sit. Ivan looks down at the menu, picks out something at random in a matter of seconds. Truthfully, he can hardly think of anything less worth his attention right now. He turns his attention to Till instead—Till, who’s seated directly across from him, the scarf still around his neck, obscuring the lower half of his face. 

Till sniffles, reaching down to turn the page, and oh. The sniffle is terribly liquid—has he been sniffling like that all afternoon? Perhaps it’s a good thing that they work at different offices—Till at a law firm, Ivan as a senior manager at a consulting company—because Ivan certainly doesn’t think he’d be able to get any work done with Till sniffling like that. 

It’s not two minutes later that Till is reaching up to wipe his nose against the back of one knuckle. All in all, it’s discreet. Just a quick brush of the fingers against his nose, which is still hidden under the scarf. Though, the look of sheer ticklishness that passes over his features for a brief moment there is...

“What are you thinking of ordering?” Ivan asks.

“I can’t decide,” Till answers. He turns the page again. “It’s between the ribeye steak and the… snf! The pork belly. Is this the kind of place that skimps on the portion sizes?”

“Not from their Yelp reviews,” Ivan says. “You know, if you really can’t decide, I can flip a coin.”

“I’ll pick,” Till says. “Why? Hungry already?”

He looks up, now. His eyes are a little watery. There’s a faint flush over the bridge of his nose. Ivan thinks that if he reached out and touched him, he’d probably be running warm. The thought is almost unbearable.

“Your taxi did take forever to arrive,” Ivan says, by way of explanation. 

“Did you really wait that long?”

He looks uncertain, for a moment. Ivan says, “Not at all. But you know, I’m always impatient when it comes to you.”

Till rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “There was a meeting that ran late. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Is that also a part of your new position?” “I guess so, yeah.”

“I can see why they were eager to promote you, then,” Ivan says. “How productive can late afternoon meetings be, anyways?”

Till snorts. “Not that important. It definitely could have been an email instead. I was about ready to doze off.”

He sniffles again. “Okay. I think I know what I want.” The way he says know betrays the slightest hint of congestion. 

“At long last,” Ivan says, just to be a little bit of an ass. “I’ll call over the waiter.”

He flags their waiter down, waits for Till to order first.

“A spiced apple cider,” Till adds on, at the end, with the slightest of coughs. “Hot, if you can.”

That’s new, too. Till seldom orders hot drinks at restaurants, though he’ll drink tea without complaint if it’s offered. Perhaps his throat hurts, then, from the cold that has clearly started to settle in his system. Subtle, still, but Ivan is familiar with colds like this. He knows it will probably only be a few hours before this deceptively “small” cold turns into…

Ivan orders, too, and thanks the waiter, who leaves with a curt nod. When he looks back over to Till, there’s a… strange something to Till’s expression, a slight distractedness. Irritation.

Ivan swallows hard. He should look away. 

He should, but then, Till’s breath hitches. He pulls the scarf higher over his face preemptively, as if he anticipates having something to have to cover for. The sharp intake of breath that follows is breathy, though Ivan can hear Till’s voice in it. He should really look away.

Instead, he takes the scene in, painstakingly, little by little, as Till’s shoulders jerk forwards. As Till presses a hand to the scarf, presses the fabric closer to his face, to muffle a sneeze into his fingertips:

“hhH-Ih!! hiHH-’IESCHH-eew-!”

God. It sounds utterly miserable, the harsh release of it scraping against his throat, the spray tearing into his scarf. It’s the kind of cold sneeze that is undeniably telling: this is going to be one hell of a cold. It’s not very quiet, either, even muffled into the fabric.

For more reasons than one, Ivan is glad they’re in a private corner of the restaurant, not somewhere more public.

“Bless you,” he offers, once he can trust himself to speak. It’s a good thing that Till is too distracted to look up at him right now. Ivan isn’t sure he can keep what he’s feeling off of his face.

Truthfully, he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to endure a whole night of this.

The problem here is that Till—Till, of all people; Till, who Ivan has been pathetically in love with for almost as long as he can remember—has no idea about Ivan’s… relatively niche interests. That is to say, he has no idea what effect it has on Ivan when he does that.

“Thanks,” Till says, a little stuffily. He sniffles again, lowering his hand. 

Ivan can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t pursue this line of questioning, but he can feel his self-control dwindling by the second. “Don’t you think it would be better to take off your scarf, now that we’re inside?”

Till freezes. “Y-You know what,” he says evasively. “It’s pretty cold in here.”

Ivan tilts his head in question. “And just how do you plan on eating like that?”

“I’ll take it off when our food comes.”

“I can ask the waiter to turn the temperature up, if it’s a problem,” Ivan says. 

“It’s not a problem.”

Ivan rises from his seat. Till watches him, perplexed, as he heads to the opposite side of the table, where Till is seated.

When he gets there, he stops. Stands, unmoving, so he can study Till from above. 

“What are you—”

Ivan reaches out, settles his palm across Till’s forehead. As expected, it’s warm. Not quite feverish, which is a good sign, but warm enough to be notable. 

“Just how long were you intending to hide this?”

Till stares back at him, wide-eyed. “Hide what?”

Shouldn’t it be obvious? “The fact that you have a cold.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Till says, slowly.

“Hmm.” Ivan drops his hand to his side. He is a little concerned, now. “We could’ve called a rain check.”

This time Till really does roll his eyes. “For the reservation we planned weeks ahead?” he sniffles again. “That just sounds completely and utterly unnecessary. Are you the type of person to call things off just over a little cold?” 

Ivan leans over, tugs down the edge of Till’s scarf. Till bats his hand away just a moment too late, cups his other hand over his face to shield his face from view. For a moment, he looks faintly mortified.

Then his expression settles into something more disgruntled. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

So uncooperative. “Let me see,” Ivan says. Slowly, gently, he pries Till’s hands away from his face, and then—because the restaurant is dimly lit—tilts Till’s face up slightly so that it catches more of the overhead light. 

Till’s nose is redder than usual. He’s probably been rubbing it all afternoon, if the redness that percolates into his cheeks is any indication. There��s  a damp, liquid sheen on the underside of his nose.

“What’s there to see?” Till says, a little crossly.

“Your face, since you’ve been so intent on hiding it under that scarf,” Ivan says, leaning in to get a better look.

Till scowls at him, but there’s no heat to it. “You see my face every day.”

“On the contrary, I don’t see it nearly enough,” Ivan says. “And you hardly ever get sick. Is it so wrong for me to be concerned?”

Without looking, he reaches behind him with one hand to grab a couple cocktail napkins. The other hand he keeps held up to Till’s cheek. 

But then, Till’s breath hitches. “Wait,” he says. Panic flashes through his face. “Ivan, move, I—”

Oh. Well, seeing as there’s no way he’ll be able to get the napkins over in time, it looks like he’ll have to improvise. If Till wants to cover, Ivan can help with that. He moves his hand to cup it loosely over Till’s mouth. Not a second too late, it seems. Till jerks forward unceremoniously, his nose twitching, his eyes squeezing shut.

“hHheh-! HHh’EIITShHh’yYiew!” he gasps sharply. Two? “Hh-! hHiiH’DSSCSSHh-IIew!”  

The jolt of the sneezes is practically electrifying—all of that force, brought to an abrupt halt behind Ivan’s waiting palm. He feels the expulsion of air against his skin, the warmth of Till’s breath, feels the slight dampness behind his hand as the spray mists over his fingertips.

Ivan swallows, hard. Thank god it’s so dark here, otherwise Till might notice what this is doing to him. 

“Bless you,” he says, withdrawing his hand at last to wipe it on one of the cloth napkins. It comes out slightly raspier than he intends it to, though perhaps it’s a miracle that he’s still able to talk at all. “Some cold, hmm?” Belatedly, he hands Till the stack of napkins.

Till practically snatches them from him, turns aside to blow his nose wetly into the top few. The way he sniffles afterwards suggests that his nose is still very much running. 

“Do you have no self preservation? It’s as if you want to catch this,” Till says, drawing back with another sniffle.

Oh, Ivan thinks, fighting back a shiver. That would be far from the worst thing.

[doodlejoltik]

my favourite writing device is having an un-Rei-liable narrator

[sinshckled]

★ |  * ⋆      -   -  - –  INBOX !  *  ﹡                  ﹡     ✧ * ☇  ( @nocentis ! )

Suddenly, the walls feel like they’re [ closing ] on him – and Jellal is suddenly much, much too aware of the GRIDS OF METAL that surround him - them. He feels trapped. Not by any binding, nor by any cuffs - but by an all too familiar gaze of hazel. .

Ever since his identity had been ( accidentally ) revealed, the children’s behavior toward him changed drastically - and UNDERSTANDABLY. His disguise was one of their jailers’, but his face is the one of a friend ; ( regardless of how the years had changed it. ) And while his heart fills with fondness at the way Millianna and Sho run to hug his leg & at the awe in Erza’s eyes, it is not enough to dissipate his apprehension. Looking at his younger self has been harder ever since. Jellal knows the child has questions – can SEE IT in his body language, FEEL IT in the weight of his stare, and HEAR IT in his voice. && To these inquiries, he has no wish to answer.

But the ghosts of the past have never failed to catch up to him.               WHY WOULD THIS TIME BE ANY DIFFERENT ?

.

He gets cornered at the end of his “mission”, once the dust has settled back down. When the threat is no more, and they can all breathe a little easier. While checking up on the wounded - taking advantage of the first aid supplies he always carries and knows are scarce within these walls - 

He feels a shy tug at his cloak, and turns around to cobalt strands, a familiar marking, and a [ request to talk ].

Right there and then, he knows he cannot run from this anymore.

Alas, even though the Heavenly Body mage had started preparing, as much as he could have, for this discussion to occur  - this was him, this had been him, he should know better than anyone what he could ask . . . and yet, 

                              he still finds himself at a LOSS FOR WORDS.

                " … "

     What is he supposed to say ?

     He swallows thickly. His tongue feels HEAVY in his mouth, burdened with the knowledge of the last decades. He knows that child is DOOMED ; from the peek he had gotten in the office, it was only a matter of weeks… days even, perhaps. 

     These eyes – HEAVENS, he was so small; pale skin upon frail bones, muscles built from years of labor and stolen childhood. He looks so fragile, but his eyes, despite it all, burn alight with a ferocious SPARK ; one that has not shone in his own gaze for a very, very long time.

     His fingers crackle with starlight. He tastes an anger the likes of which is foreign to him – old, bygone. He feels an urge to defy the flow of time - to let the stars bring JUDGMENT upon this wretched island, sending this ATROCITY of a R-system crumbling to the ground, and take him - take them, all these poor innocent children, so so very far away from here. & yet he cannot ; 

       Why here ? Why now ? Why him ?             What is he doing here ?

     Memories of this time are nothing more than movie sequences in his head now, decades later ; so far away, so distant. This part of him has been laid to rest alongside the WICKEDNESS of his teenage years, and both only ever come back to haunt him as a form of torture. As a result, this child was no more than an ACQUAINTANCE, a figure erased by time, wrath, grief and BLOOD.

     But being there, quite literally face to face with his past - it all comes back to him. Flashes triggered by the long-gone architecture of these walls, by the stench of rot sitting heavily across the perimeter, by the crackles of electricity, the whirring of heavy machinery & the haunting sound of children sobbing a few cells further - quietly, by fear of being whipped into silence –      He now remembers being that boy. Forcing a smile every single day of his life, for the sake of the young who looked up to him. He would tell stories upon stories, wiping tears while holding his own grief tight on a leash. ( because those stories had been his brother’s, and his mother’s, and the village elder’s, && they had starred his cousin, his neighbor, the shop clerk and the fishermen – and all these people were DEAD, by now BONES buried underneath stone and charred wood and ash. )

       ... What was HE doing here ?

     He thinks he’s struck by all five stages of grief simultaneously.The thoughts crossing his head are a blur. He feels dizzy, knees one gust of wind away from buckling.

Blaming yourself for your own weaknesses is easier when you don’t have the 11 years old version of yourself standing before you.

Looking into your eyes with – one last sliver of hope.

––– How could he ever put the blame of his anger upon him?

HE WAS A CHILD. He was a child.

            ( It hits him all at once. )

.

He knows the intricacies of time travel. He knows he doesn’t remember going through this. He knows his younger self will not walk away with an answer, nor with a solution. This is Fiorean history – and it is set in stone.

That doesn’t mean he wants to LIE to him.

( Not when he’s been standing wordlessly for this long. Not when he has let silence stretch so far. Not when the tiny, fragile version of himself is catching on to what it means. Perhaps, if he’d been quicker, it could have been an option. ) 

.

     And so Jellal does the only thing that, amongst all the possibilities offered to him, feels undoubtedly, irrevocably right. 

     He closes the distance between them with a few steps and crouches down to meet himself at eye-level. Looks – really looks at him, commits every detail to memory. From the slope of his nose to the tangled, soiled strands of blue decorating from his head ; from to the fainter scars he still sports to the swirls of angry red framing his eyes, pools of sage & amber in his irises. And then he reaches out, wraps his arms around the scrawny frame and gathers him slowly, carefully, in a hug. 

     He hides him in the crook of his shoulder; gives him a shelter, an adult, where the hastily-built foundations of his mask of strength can crack, if he so wishes. 

He lets him be a child once again.

     ――――― Just for a moment.

.

━━━ ━━ ━ ╸╺ . * ✰

“ is all this countless suffering for my own good? ”

.

Later on, shortly after finding his way back in the present, Jellal will ponder this further. The Heavenly Body mage will stand on a beach, amongst speckles of sand, and watch the sun gradually DISAPPEAR beyond the vast sea that once held him [ hostage ] ― painting the sky in shades akin to the burning fire that took everything away from him. 

He will think of his younger self - so far away in time, yet now so close in memory. 

He will close his eyes, push open the door to his history, rush past the whispers and shadows crawling its walls, and find that child still within him. He will dig him out from the grave he was buried within, and he will give him his SIGHT - his HEARING - his TASTE - his EVERYTHING.

He will let himself feel breeze upon his skin, breathe in the smell of sea salt, taste the freedom of a boundless life.

     And when his eyes open again, he will gaze upon that landscape, && he will find it beautiful.

.

✔ ― ACCEPTING

[astrobei]

no like definitely write what u want to write everyone else be damned but as someone who has also had toxic gatekeeper puritanical twitter for a fandom have lasting effects on my psyche. i FEEL u. that shit haunts you!! people in fandom are so WEIRD these days it rly wasn't this bad like. even five years ago. it's wild.

anyway worst case scenario make an alt ao3 account and no one will ever know. but i support ur toxic challengers trio fic dreams.

YEAH OMFG i was never even one of the people that it was targeted at but there’s just smth about the experience overall that’s sooooo….. like i know it’s not the biggest deal in the world and i will honestly just write toxic trio fic if i really feel the urge to but it’s just likeeeeeee. writing fic is probably the most fulfilling hobby ive ever had and i love the little community i’ve created for myself here and the thought of that being ruined by other people or my fics + blog being turned into a source of anxiety is just very saddening to me. i do think this fandom in particular has gotten better since summer/fall 2022 as the hiatus has caused a lot of the people newer to fandom and therefore engaging in these behaviors to leave but every now and then some discourse will start circulating that makes me say Oh Boy. like i haven’t seen smoker will discourse in a while but i was still so scared to post my most recent fic in case it relit that fire which is so dumb. it’s so dumb!!!!! literally this show takes place in the eighties and there are worse things happening on screen than will byers smoking a cigarette and some people in my comments didn’t even know about the discourse at all but still! no one wants to be caught up in stuff like that or deal with it even if it is stupid so. valid response i Think

anyways ty so much for your support and i totally agree 🫡 i think ill probably have to wait until i see it anyway just to get all the stuff i missed on my first watch through but. 😗😗😗

[lvminisciel]

kiss me goodnight

Father, me and big brother are home! We bought something for dinner! A carp by the lake, and potatoes from the land! A cut on the back, and fleshes of the dead!

pt.1 | pt. 2

pairing: mallesilmal. wc 2,5k

pls read!! warning: suicidal ideation, angst, mcd, gore. woundfucking, double d mal, deepthroat but instead of d it's malmal's slitted tongue

Their private liturgy continued for weeks, and many moons of crops seems to have passed. Silver will come to the castle every single day without fail, like a devoted loyal servant to its master. Everytime he entered the chamber, may forms of torment ensues, sometimes with different motions, sometimes different organs. His Lord would disassemble his body parts and arrange it back in one piece, of the exact strand and order, all without a miss. Yet none of that seemed to kill him, whether inside nor outside, as his soul seemed to resonate with his Lord as it all felt was only grief, grief, and grief. 

Even as the time goes, all was fleeting. Time went in a blink of an eye, and the longer he stride by the riverbanks of time, the more his life feels less ‘living’. Everyday life felt so dull, and deep down he knows he could never go back to how he once were. Of sunshine in the woods, waiting for his father’s arrival. Of those days they went hunting and foraging the forest for herbs and, much to Silver’s dismay, ‘strange ingredients’ his father likes to pick along the way home. Of evenings after sparring with Sebek by the backyard, hopefully wishing for his Lord’s arrival to join them for dinner so they could tuck his father’s cooking somewhere else or gave it to the forest animals.

Those times of much simpler life,

When his father was around. 

Now, he’s left with nothing but a gaping wound in his heart

Unattended, lacerated and disfigured; those who see the way it is now could even hardly believe it was once a full, beating heart- as the state of it now much resembles a lump of blood clot rather than a formerly functioning organ

Yet, even after all those agony it went through, it still beats

It still beats. 

Oh, how he hated the sound of it

The pounding in his veins. Steady rhythm of blood circulating throughout his bloodstream, intact, splattering only when his Lord’s claws are inside of him. Everytime his Lord disassembles his insides, he would always hoped, prayed that maybe his heart will forget a beat amidst all these bodily pain that envelops him. Perhaps his lung would be oh so kind to stop functioning altogether, or the insides of his skull would self-destruct itself. 

But his heart keeps pounding on and on

A sick reminder that he’s still alive, unable to be reunited with his father

He’s been so, so close to the edge, why can’t he just die already?

Is his Lord’s healing magic too powerful? Why isn’t the reaper here yet? Can’t he just go, all these are making his patience running thin. 

He wonders how many times should he play this twisted tug-of-war game with death, to which he always dreams of losing. 

So when another being sarted being present during their private sessions, it sparked hope inside Silver. 

He knew his time was creeping in closer, because not even His Lord’s omnipotent magic could ever prolong something as sacred as defying mortality. He smiled genuinely for the first time in years, leaving each of their meetings with a content feeling instead of the usual despair. His Lord would question about it someyimes, to which Silver would reply with his signature sincere half-smile

…to which Silver began to think

….what would His Lord became of, once that he is gone? 

Would His Lord be abe to cope with the grief that follows? After such a huge loss he experienced already? 

Silver might not be the brightest in terms of social cues or delving into people’s hearts and peering into their feelings, but one thing he does know: His Lord wouldn’t be able to handle it well

After all, if he did so, then their classified rites wouldn’t happen in the first place. Or turning into a daily basis, for that matter. To top it all, the kingdom would be brought into an even major calamity, lest his Lord were faced for another grief in his sight. That narrows the questions in his head down to a singular one: 

How do he drag his Lord down with him? 

tic-toc, the clock is ticking. As the figure that overshadows their chamber turned clearer each passing day, Silver is vigilant that he doesn’t have much time left. Bearing only one solution in mind, he enters their solemn chamber, preparing for a gamble of life and death. A russian roulette he invented on his own. 

And he finally came down with his own plan. 

Yes, this would surely suffice

The night was cleared of its clouds, moon shining softly amongst the starry skies. The walk to the castle was not long, but Silver decided to slow down for a bit. 

It is his last day after all, as the reaper had been clearly visible to the touch

This night would be the final one, and as dawn rolls he would be graced by his one true love

His took his steps thoughtfully, absorbing the sceneries before him mindfully. The walk from his tiny little cottage in the woods that will soon be abandoned. The owls and crows and other animals cooing him along the way, as if muttering mournful goodbyes. How the castle gates lowered at the sight of him, without him needing to announce his presence. The castle staff & maids that bowed down respectfully, seeing as how they might’ve perceived him as some sort of hero for diverting their Lord’s grief, not knowing the very same person would bring an end to the exact Lord they worshiped

Mustering his resolve, he entered the chamber, where his Lord awaits patiently. A soft breath of flame welcomes him, as both candles and chandeliers alike lit up. Lavish banquet upon the table, grand as always. Everything’s the usual, except for- 

Except for the the eagerness pulsating his chest, as from today onward he would no longer be within despair’s grasp

It ends today

All the pain and anguish, he shall bring it all down with him

Feeling the blade brushed against his thighs, he returned the warm welcome with a smile. That his Lord was taken aback no longer matters, this is the requiem after all! It should be enjoyed to its finest, doesn’t it?

And so their usual liturgy began. Although Silver would prefer calling this one their ‘Rite of Parting’. It had a nicer ring into it, or so he thought. He locked his gaze upon those pair of emerald locket that adorns his Lord’s face, oh such grace it was for being able to witness this lustrous sight before one departs. His Lord, having the time of his life- obliterating all grief and sorrow as his fangs bared upon his chest, talons ripping apart skin to skin. 

Starting off with his undeformed obsidian claws slitting the upper part of his body, as the other slips itself into Silver’s underneath. The moment Silver’s heart laid bare, his Lord proceeds to kiss them gently, lengthy tongue tending every single row of his ribs, slipping beneath to savor the delish taste of iron from its splitting ends. His Lord was always a man of patience, and so he goes, moving supple palms ever so gracefully,

But Silver was not.

Not this time, at least. 

He’s so eager– eager to the touch, to the taste, to the end. His patience is growing thinner by each passing moment, and for the first time in Seven knows how long; he refused to relent. Instead, his hands grazed to his Lord, tracing him all ever so softly and at the same time greedily– as if those touches would suffice his hunger. And his Lord, the ever-so-thoughtful of his people, complies

‘Eager today, aren’t we?’ 

He mutters under his breath, as consciousness gradually grew adrift; drunk by the touch. As much as he enjoyed the delectable taste of his cherished subject, he constantly tasted this mournful flavor from him. Something he probably didn’t realize had been consuming him progressively over the course of time, something he understood so well. He never minded this notion though, as Silver’s mere form was more than sufficient to scrape off  the remaining grief  sadness of his beloved spouse’s parting

However, that is alright

They would surely come back someday, right? They are merely sleeping for a little while. One day they will arise hearty and buoyant like how they always been, thus announcing their presence with the warmest smile as they jumped into his arms, fondling their hands upon his towering form lovingly. And he would lower down, reciprocate their lush affection and pepper them with the gentlest of kisses he’d been saving up these whole decades, centuries even, and—

The gentle caress on his neck, sliding down his throat onto his chest dragged him back to what’s laid in front of him. Just like a prey offering himself to the hunter, although the fondness betwixt them begs to differ.

Observing the alluring blend of colors beneath him that stares straight into his eyes– into his heart, the dragon fae decides to give in. He would take his loyal knight’s offerings of course, as it would be heartless for a master to refuse such sincere. And so concede he did, unrestraining the constraint of his dual cock. Going slow at first, he enters the first into Silver’s hole, pushing its full length in one single thrust. A slight moan slips his ashen lips as he positioned his next one, eyes interlocking with the remnants of saliva dangling between ribs beneath him. Those translucent silk, paving the path into the other’s heart was clearly his invitation to attend; and so as a profound noble that he is, proceeds to fulfill that lustrous invite. 

Gently, he made way between the limbs; and as his first was already spasming between Silver’s tight walls, his second was getting harder by each passing cartilage. They only seemed to grow in size as he goes on, and the more it gets tighter down there; what’s his jostling with Silver’s liver, lungs, and pancreas as he slowly but surely making his way into his heart, Silver giggles

Silver giggles. 

Dear Sevens and the Great Thorn Fairy above, how many decades has it been since he heard those sweet giggles? Was it when Lilia first discovered that humans are ticklish and tried it on his own son, which he later joined during, laughing heartily as the three of them enjoyed Silver’s playtime just as much as him? Or was it oh his birthday, when he got a whole pie thrown at him for the sake of good luck? Perhaps it was when both he and Sebek welcomes them home after their trip into some faraway land, and offers them homemade cookies that was slightly burnt; where Lilia said his cookies are more exceptional and much better, to which Silver only replied with a stifle laugh, giggly smile adoring his petite form

Which one was it?

Does it even matter? 

As his second finally reached its final destination, he let out a hearty laugh, as if reciprocating those once long-lost giggles. But that matters not now, what’s important is how to satisfy the proprietor of those alluring sound. Thus, he picks up the pace, brimming even more enthusiastically with two pairs of fangs procuring first row seat of the show, as moonlit strands gradually grew flushed in span of seconds. The delicate touch of callused hands began to pepper his back, crystal nails flourishing in crimson as they dug deeper and deeper. Those luscious voices only got sweeter the more he progresses, constantly moaning as the other succumbs into the bliss of his holy cock. They both inches closer and closer, both the ones inside & below the ribs, and so does Silver’s which he enveloped in his palms. Shiny black claws fondled with the tip, smothering delicately to the strings leaked from its source, before it finally bursts. and so does his own, outflowing the tight walls that of Silver’s, as the realms between his organs turned into a colorful mixture of sweat, blood, tears and other salty liquids. Both delve into the pleasure of release once more, and they would both be lying if they said that it wasn’t the most passionate one they’ve ever had all these time. 

Their most passionate one

Which would also be the first and the last.  

Silver glance onto his side, and there was them.  The reaper, in all his mightiness and sorrow and glory and whatever hopes it brings for Silver to devour. It’s now or never, so he put up his sweetest smile, one that his father would always sings praises and adore whenever he did

‘My Lord, would you be so kind as to give me one last kiss before we depart? 

A single good night kiss would suffice’

‘Why of course, cherished one. As a gift, I would be glad to fulfill your desire’

So their tongue intertwined, his Lord’s split tongue peered slowly as he opened the gates into throat. He pulled as to lower him and holds him closer, and two tips of dragon tongue dances around. Twirling, enveloping his little one if compared to that of his Lord’s. It goes deeper as the length fulfill every room of his mouth, down into his throat, and needless to say he was satisfied. He towered above him, and so does the reaper: now hanging behind his Lord, creeping in- this is it. This is the time, as he unseath the blade he’d been keeping, and he thrust

Deep. Red. Black. Dripping, waltzing and oozing together ever so beautifully

His Lord was about to laugh of humor, did his loyal subject, all knowing of how robust he was, really think that this mere mutiny could end him? If it did, he would’ve did it himself ages ago

But there was something else

As Silver thrusts deeper, he feel it seeps into his streams, light magic overflowing and tainting his fae blood. There’s no mistaking it- it’s the same magic that emanates from Silver’s passed down ring, one that Lilia stashed along with the greatest gift in the whole world— according to him. The very same that ended his mother. 

To end with the exact same way of his beloved mother he never got the chance to meet

This is beautiful

And so he gave in. Letting go as his magic that cloaks their surroundings dissipates, including the ones veiled Silver’s form. The taller frame finally succumbs and sank. Glints of effulgent hangs upon his head, and in those final moments, pressed a smile onto his Lord’s lips; as warmth slips and bodies deteriorates.

This time, surely, his father would be overjoyed

Father, me and big brother are home! We bought something for dinner!

A carp by the lake, and potatoes from the land!

A cut on the back, and fleshes of the dead!

[scrawnytreedemon]

Is it so bad that I don't really like ships of characters I simp and I only like the reader insert fics with them?

Yeah I can't deny I'm jealous of the canon x canon ships with my faves, knowing that they possibly can be together while I can't. I know it's dumb,so that's why I never hate on someone who likes those ships I just ignore it

Like Sefikura for example, I don't like it cuz I'm a massive hoe for Sephiroth,also bcuz sometimes they make the ship pretty icky,also bcuz Cloud is baby and I'm still angy at Sephy for mentally torturing my Babyboy like that

IT'S CHAOS WITH MY FICTIONAL FAVES!!!!!!

Nothing wrong with that, personally! I get wanting to indulge in the warmth of a good fantasy-- That is what alot of fiction is for, after all.

Bless you, anon. Alas, as someone also plagued with my own Dumb and Horrid Fictional Feelings, the brain can be such a little bitch when it comes to that stuff. Good on you for recognising how and why you feel that way, ignoring the stuff you don't like and focusing on what you do.

LMAO I get that completely. I should mention, though, that I am one of those people who indulges in the nastier side of the ship, lmaooo. Even so, I get why it wouldn't click with you.

(FR when is it not?)

[saotoru]

me: maybe I’ll write again

*war flashbacks*

[ajdrawshq]

Is there any non-spoilery way you could talk about how isat isn't just about timeloops? because like I do want to check the game out eventually for sure if only because indie fun times but I'm busy for a while before I get the time and tbh I'm just not as curious because I don't know how it's gonna break that formula (also ngl no colors makes me lose 50% interest because I like. looking at colors. lots.)

UHM OK WELL UM. hm. how DO i do this without spoiling anything. im very not good at describing things especially things i Really enjoy so how do i put this . hold on i might need to look at some reviews so i know how to words. ok

as a disclaimer i havent fully interacted with a lot of (if any??) media that has timeloops so i cant say for certain what it does differently from similar media that makes it stand out from others. at the same time ive never seen something that is so directly About Timeloops in this way even if i consider stuff ive heard about in passing but i could be wrong (madoka n utena come to mind ?). ill try to think abt the things that arent Just timeloop related plus the stuff u mentioned and hope that helps it feel more interesting and less generic?

i think one of the main things i can say is that it Really makes you feel what the protagonist is feeling. more than anything ive ever watched or played or whatever . and thats saying a LOT given how much i empathize with protags in games. and its not even just an empathy thing here. both the story progression and the gameplay work in such a way that you experience pretty much everything the same way they do, while still having their own personal stuff u can learn about of course

on that note tho. that is actually something to be careful of for a few reasons. i know ur generally pretty good with darker content so i doubt thatll be a problem for u here (its not that bad tbh but there is IS a warning when u open the game/look at the steam page and it aint lying) but. due to the nature of timeloops. it CAN get tiring and this is very much intended. and this helps a lot w the story and themes in a way that its. like. think how kh days does repetition on purpose. its a lot like that (although i had way easier of a time getting thru isat than days? i cant remember how u feel abt days' gameplay but i think it was positive ? either way getting thru isat was way more bearable than days imo). it does do a good job at balancing this with a couple mechanics that mean u dont have to repeat everything all the time (i had like. Very few actual full loops by the time i finished) and theres ALWAYS new things happening, even if ur super thorough with everything. its pretty easy to do things at whatever pace u feel like and if u wanna focus on the main story only to make it easier it wouldnt take too much away from the experience (tho i do encourage talking to the npcs at least a few times), and theres always a goal to work towards. also dialogue skipping and the banana peel are ur best friends

sort of adding onto that. it really, really helps that u are sharing the experience with the protagonist. not only does that help u relate to them (even if u dont share as many traits w them as i do akvdjsn) but theyre probably the most beloved character in the game and for good reason!! its really fun to see their interactions with the rest of the main cast and the npcs, and watch them all develop in different ways throughout the game. and my goodness all of the characters are beautifully written - at first ur kinda thinking ok its a ragtag group of sillies in an rpg whats new. but their personalities and relationships and hobbies and problems and everything about them is just so well done.. they feel so natural. human even. every conversation feels real to me. one of the main themes of the game is the concept of change, and each of them represent and approach it differently, both positively and negatively. its hard not to fall in love with them as individuals and as a group because they just have so much going on, even the ones i didnt expect to like at all!!

the worldbuilding is also a fun spin on fantasy rpg worlds. it mostly revolves around the area u play in bc well. of course it does. but its vv interesting to learn about all the different cultures within the world and how they interact with and build on the themes of the game. theres all sorts of queer stuff going on and its all handled like a love letter to people who relate, and i can feel it even with what i dont relate to at all!! the way "magic" works and the ways people use it in battle and everyday life is super cool too, makes the whole thing feel a lot more believable and realistic :3 i dont wanna talk abt any specifics bc its more fun to learn abt this stuff ingame

OH AND THE TEXT.. EFFECTS?.. idk what to call that but the way dialogue (both internal and external) is written and programmed is funky as hell (affectionate). it was weird at first bc oftentimes (mostly for humor) its like. almost the way i type actually?? which feels strange in a legit game but it Works. it works so well and adds tone and vibes and a Voice in a way u usually cant get in a game without any voice acting. deltarune is also good at that but this one does it differently enough for me to consider it unique

HAVE I MENTIONED THE ART STYLE i love the art style . its so charming and expressive especially all the talking sprites n battle portraits. simultaneously silly n adorable while fully capable of being serious. and creepy. anyway look at the sillies i love them n their designs dearly (especially Siffrin (1st on the left) and Mirabelle (2nd on the left))

also on that note, the lack of colors....... i both totally understand being put off by that (i also love looking at colors n this part made me feel weird abt it when i was thinking abt getting it at first) and personally enjoy it? without saying anything spoilery (bc its really not), its just another part of the worldbuilding and themes that i now find really fun :3 should be noted that i usually have an anti blue light filter so it mightve been easier to look at w the yellowish tint going on. maybe it even looks better that way ? kinda reminded me of old films now that i think abt it.. neat!!

as a last thing i couldnt quite insert somewhere else. it is equal parts a comedy and a tragedy, and it is so, so effective at accomplishing this. the humor is fantastic and adds to the games' and characters' personality, every tragic moment is . for lack of a better word or phrase. absolutely fucking delicious. and i adore how well it can shift from one to the other gradually or in an instant, or just be both at once!!!! yippee!!!!!!!

aaand thats all i can say. i have no idea if that cleared anything up BUT i encourage u to give it a try bc i do think youd like it in the end. u probably wouldnt finish it as fast as i did but that might be a good thing jfbskndj but yeah!!!! in stars and time!!!!!! its good and i love it!!!!!!!!