#man i really hope they do because they have such a solid story

[annasellheim]

So this was on the @writing-prompt-s site- so I'm treating it as a writing prompt. (I can't fucking draw right now due to a busted shoulder, so I'm doing a bunch of them because I'm alone, hurt, and sad, and they're fun).

Anyway, the story:

I sat down next to him. I looked at my former student, now an adult. A brilliant engineer. I remembered him. I had really liked this kid. The man in front of me was impressive as hell too. It didn't surprise me at all.

"I'm really, really sorry this hurt you. That I hurt you. What I was trying to do was show you some techniques. My goal was that, later, after you learned them, you could deviate from them and make your own thing.

We have a set of guidelines of things we need to teach. It's a mandatory curriculum, with national guidelines, just like math or science or whatever. But it varies from state to state. And who the hell knows what they do in private school. And the curriculum isn't focused on self expression as much as teaching you how to use fine motor skills and..."

Shit, stop it Anna. You don't need to keep justifying yourself.

I try to remember when he had moved away during the school year. I wonder if I hadn't gotten to the point in the spring semester where I gave my students more lee way, to experiment and deviate from the techniques I showed them. To let them decorate their dishes any way they wanted. To make trees and flowers for different seasons. I wondered if he had been part of one of my first classes, before I figured out how to create a really solid curriculum.

Regardless, I could have been clearer about it. I was new to teaching when I had him as a student, I know that much. I was overwhelmed, and honestly, barely keeping it together for the first, like, 4 years I taught. And there were 20-30 students in my classes. It took me a a while to figure out what works and what doesn't in the classroom.

The most important thing was this man in front of me. He was way quieter and more hesitant than the kid I remembered. I hope I didn't do that to him, but I'm was probably reading too much into it.

I took a sip of my coffee.

"You know what's cool tho? The shit you've been doing at work-"

He looked surprised and snorted.

"What?"

"You swore."

It was my turn to laugh. "Yeah, to be fair I'm not in classroom mode right now.

Anyway, the stuff you've been doing at work, it all sounds like it takes a ton of creativity to accomplish."

"I never thought of it that way..."

"Well, you've been on the forefront of a bunch of stuff because you think outside the box. I'm glad I didn't rob you of that."

We sat next to each other on the bench. He was thinking it over. I was trying to not dwell on the fact that he brought this up, that he had carried this pain with him for 20 years.

"Do you still make art?"

"No, not since elementary school, since my last-"

"Your last required art class. Got it."

I gave him a side eyed glance.

"You know you can get back into it at any time, right?"

He was taken aback, he obviously had never considered it.

I smiled. I've had this conversation before, many many times.

"It's not like a sport or something. You can start at literally any point in your life, you don't need to be young and in peak physical condition. Art ain't basketball.

The cool thing too is that you can choose what you want to make, you're an adult. Nothing in art is required for you to learn. You can pick any class you want, or no class at all."

I gave him my business card.

"If you shoot me an email, I can give you some books to read for you to get started. Not to teach techniques, but exercises that help get you back to the point where you just make stuff. I think a LOT of people stop making art for all kinds of reasons, not just because of a novice teacher. There's been a bunch of stuff that's come out recently to try to help adults make art again. y'know, to recapture the joy of it."

We said our goodbyes. I really hope he thinks it over and reaches out.

Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.

On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.

The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

[crehador]

i had a lot to criticize about the english tl of reverse 1999, so i would be remiss not to say it has gotten a lot and i mean A LOT better in recent updates

don't know if the main story has been cleaned up, but the improvements in the new events/side stories give me hope

it's still not perfect, and in fact seems to contain slightly more typos than before (which is more or less excusable imo, just not the most professional/polished look)

but it is genuinely getting GOOD

they're really nailing the "dog who is a philosophy major" voice for pickles, it suits him so well and is a joy to read

their word choice in the narration is delightful to me too, like the use of "extorted" here conjures up such a hilarious mental image (poor pickles lol)

another example of funny af narration, and also shoutout to *special thinking noise* my beloved. that is just the perfect way to describe it lmao

of course even in these lines there are errors. "package of the can" -> "packaging of the can" "gives off great smell" -> "gives off a great smell" "why would traveling excites charlton" -> "why would traveling excite charlton"

i do hope we continue to see improvements, because yeah the tl is still very much imperfect and not terribly professional-looking, but credit where credit is due! they've already come a long way

[tune-on-in-folks]

Day 11. Yet again I had to force myself to stop editing and rewriting this one. If things seem a little out of place, that's why. Haha. Something about the deer-man has me rewriting over and over. Anywhozle, enjoy a rut fic with the Radio Demon!

Tags/Warnings: fem!reader, deer!reader, p in v sex, top!Alastor, rut, heat, mating, kinda A/B/O because of that, creampie, chasing, blood consumption, marking, biting, reader is very confused. Word Count: 3,550

It was mid-October and the Hotel was alight with activity. Charlie had decided that the Hotel needed to be decorated from the highest floors to the ground-floor lobby. It was one of her latest plans to help with team-building. And who didn’t enjoy Halloween or decorating? Alastor had withdrawn himself from the activities, not giving a really solid reason to why. But since he often didn’t indulge in the activities of the Hotel, Charlie freed him from his duties as hotelier for the time being. And for once, Alastor was thankful to be free of work.

He had been in Hell for many years, so he was well aware that every year, around mid-October, his rut started. It was an unfortunate side effect of being a deer demon. Each season was different as well, sometimes the lust that his rut brought was easily manageable. Other times it nearly suffocated him. He refused to indulge in the primal urges of his body, never once, in all of his years in Hell, taking a mate. This year, he planned to do much of the same. Tuck himself away in his room, relieve the rut himself for as long as it would last, and be done with it.

He didn’t account for you.

You were a deer demon like him, which lent itself to a sort of camaraderie between the both of you. He enjoyed your presence more than he was willing to admit, and found himself caring for you. You softened his edges, made his heart skip a beat. You were intriguing, enchanting, you drew him in. You were a weakness that he refused to disclose to anyone, you included. Alastor knew you were fairly new to Hell, but hadn’t expected you to be clueless about your own nature. About what your very presence would do to him, come mid-October.

A few days ago, Alastor had started to avoid you. Which had hurt, even though you were certain it was unintentional on his part. He was busy, you knew that, and you couldn’t expect him to spend every waking moment listening to your silly stories. But how you missed him. You were thoroughly unaware why he was avoiding you. Unaware of why your very body seemed to crave his presence more than usual. You adored the Radio Demon. While most at the Hotel feared him, you sought him out, wanting to be near him. Everyone else avoided him, which meant he was typically always free for you to pester while helping him with tasks. Your feelings of wanting him near just intensified as mid-October rolled around. And you were starting to get annoyed that he was avoiding you. Your first thought was that he was busy, but then you started worrying that you had done something wrong, maybe insulted him accidentally. You were prepared to make it up to him.

You awoke early in the morning, sweat sticking your hair to your face and a low arousal building in your stomach. You didn’t think too much of it, having woken up much the same, the last few days. You were unaware that you were entering your first ever heat-cycle. So you got up, made sure you looked fairly presentable, and headed out of your room. It was extremely early, no one else was up. The Hotel was eerily quiet, but peaceful nonetheless. You made your way to Alastor’s bedroom, knowing that he rose before the sun most mornings. It was the perfect time to approach him. In the privacy of the early morning, you were certain you could speak to him about why he was avoiding you. You knew he was busy, but hoped he’d spare a moment for you, especially first thing in the morning.

You arrived at his door, raising your hand up to rap your knuckles gently against the wood. The sound was surprisingly loud in the quiet stillness that covered the Hotel. You wondered for a moment, if perhaps Alastor wasn’t up at all, if you should come back later. But then you heard shuffling, your ears twitching as they picked up the sound. The door opened a crack a moment later and Alastor appeared. You took in his appearance, feeling yourself blush at his level of undress. He was in pajamas, the shirt unbuttoned and hanging loosely from his frame. It felt almost scandalous seeing his chest and stomach exposed when he typically wore layers. He froze, his smile straining as he took in your similar appearance. Shorts that were high above your knees, and a shirt that was cut much too low- exposing quite an expansive amount of your cleavage. He shifted forward, aware of your scent, the pheromones rolling off you in thick waves. At the same time he moved forward, your sharp nose picked up his scent. A mix of his cologne and something that was uniquely him. Just the whiff of him had more heat pooling between your legs. Much to your annoyance and confusion.

“May I help you, my dear?” His voice was hoarse, sounding strained as his claws dug into the edge of the door.

“I…” You begin, swallowing as more arousal flooded through you. “I wanted to see if you were alright.”

“Fine.” Was his curt reply, his ears pressed flat against his head as he struggled to maintain control with you so near.

You were in the beginning of your heat and here you were coming to his door, flaunting your scent around him. He had never once smelt something so enticing, something that had his cock twitching to life in an instant. His body craved release, craved to give into his rut. Into the primal side of his nature and breed, much to his annoyance. He was startled by how intense his rut got with you being so near. It was taking everything in him not to pull you into his room and fuck you against the door.

“Is that all?” He asks, moving to close the door.

“No, I wanted to speak to you actually.” You take a step forward, your eyes catching on the sweat on his brow, his typically perfect hair was messy.

A flash of concern runs through you, you wonder if he was getting unwell. You take another step forward, your body responding to his presence, to the scent rolling off him in thick waves. You didn’t understand why he smelt so good, better than usual. You didn’t understand why you were so wet, so aroused. Why you wanted Alastor to pin you against the wall and fuck you. You were completely clueless, banishing your thoughts as best you could. It wasn’t the first time such fantasies crossed your mind, so you thought nothing more of them.

“You look unwell, Alastor.” You say softly, reaching your hand up to brush against his forehead, his skin scalding beneath your touch.

He flinched at your touch, his hand grasping your wrist tightly, pulling it away. Guilt flooded you as you realized what you had done. You were typically so careful, being respectful of his boundaries, and never touching him without his express permission.

“I’m sorry!” You exclaim, face flushed in embarrassment.

Your mind was torn between being apologetic and the distracting feeling of his hand encircling your wrist in warmth. Why did just a simple touch have more heat pooling between your thighs? You needed to get a grip on yourself before you did or said something embarrassing. Alastor’s lips pulled back into a slight snarl, his control over his body slipping. He yanks you closer to the door, closer to him.

“Ah! Al!” You object as he opens the door further, pulling you into his room.

The door slams shut behind you, the lock clicking a moment later. For the first time since you had met the Radio Demon, a cold fear runs through you as you tumble to the floor. You turn around, watching him approach you. His eyes were dark with a predatory look that had you shivering, arousal cutting through your fear.

“You wanted to speak to me, so speak!” He demands, his smile straining.

“I-Alastor, are you okay?” You ask, pushing yourself to your feet, concern for him overriding everything else.

Static picks up around him, the sound deafening as he attempts to control his instincts. “I’m beginning not to be. Pray tell, what are you bothering me for?”

You swallow nervously, ears pressing down against your head as discontent swirls in your stomach. You didn’t like his sharp tone or the fact that he was clearly very annoyed by your presence.

“You’ve been avoiding me. I wanted to know if I’ve done something wrong.” You finally whisper, looking away from him.

Alastor laughs, sounding almost gleeful. The sound startles you enough to look back at him. 

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” He asks, voice strained, radio effect in full swing.

“What?” You ask, head tilting to the side in confusion. “What are you talking about? Have I done something wrong?”

He advances on you, each step full of intent. “My dear, I knew you were new to Hell, but not this new. Are you unaware of what season it is?” 

Your brows furrow as you take a step back. “It’s October.”

He laughs again, eyes crinkling with mirth. “Yes, my dear, it is. And what happens to deers in October?”

You frown. “They mate? What are you getting at?”

Alastor stops in front of you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you against him. “You truly are clueless, my little doe.”

“What?” You ask slightly insulted. 

“You.” He gestures to you as if that would explain everything. “My dear, are in heat.”

“I’m in what now?” You respond, head tilting in confusion once again.

He tilts your chin up with his thumb and pointer finger, correcting your head tilt. “Heat. You’re aroused right now, wanting, craving. Desperate and needy.”

You flush at his words, a bit embarrassed that he managed to see through you so easily. “H-how did you…?”

“Know?” He prompts, his mouth grazing against your lips teasingly. “Because my dear, I’m in the midst of my rut myself. And you smell divine.” 

His lips brush against your neck, his nose bumping against your ear. You squeeze your eyes shut, your breath hitching at how close he is. With Alastor this close you can really smell his cologne and that musky scent beneath it. It does nothing but fan the flames rapidly building in your gut, your arousal growing. His hands find your hips, dragging you closer.

“Alastor?” You whisper, swallowing thickly as his mouth trails against your neck.

“Yes, my dear?” He asks softly, his tongue running along your sensitive skin.

You shiver at his touch, not having realized how feverish you felt until the touch of his mouth cooled your flushed skin.

“What’s happening to me?” you ask, a soft whimper falling from your lips as you pressed against him. “Why do I feel like this? Why do you make me feel like this?”

He chuckled, the sound low and baritone, sending more arousal pooling. “I told you, my dear. You’re in heat. Your body is craving a mate. To be taken, fucked, filled. Bred.”

You gasp, a soft, breathy moan falling from your lips as he kisses up your neck.

“And unfortunately for you, you came to me. So now I’m going to do just that.” He promises.

Your eyes flutter open at his words, at what that means for you. His words were not completely clicking yet, your arousal clouding the logical side of your mind.

“Alastor…” you breathe, meeting his gaze as he pulls back.

His eyes shone with an unnatural light, intensifying the reds and pinks. Alastor turns you around so that you’re facing the pocket dimension in his room, grinding his hips against your lower back. Your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of his erection.

He whispers in your ear, his breath fanning over the skin, making you feel both feverish and freezing all at once. “You’re going to run my dear. And when I catch you, I’m going to claim you as mine. Mate you.”

You feel Alastor take a step back, releasing his hold on you. You glance back at him, a mix of emotions warring within you. It was quickly becoming apparent that perhaps seeking Alastor out wasn’t such a grand idea. Especially when you didn’t exactly understand what was happening to you. Why you felt so feverish, why his scent alone was making you so aroused. He had mentioned deers and their mating season. It clicked in your mind then.

“I’m in heat?” You ask.

He meets your gaze, his smile softening despite the almost feral look in his eyes. “Yes, my little doe. An unfortunate side effect for us. A season you will go through every year around this time. Now do get running, you are wasting precious time.”

You face back towards the pocket dimension. The idea of running from Alastor, of him chasing you and catching you, was just making you more aroused. 

Your feet moved on their own, propelling you forward as you set off. You tried to pace yourself, wondering just how long this chase could go on. You knew you wanted him to catch you, to pull you down into the mud of his bayou, and fuck you sensless. You took a shaky breath, turning abruptly to the left, weaving past trees, jumping over roots. You let the primal side of you take over, knowing your instincts would lead you when your logical mind was still grappling with the fact that you were in heat.

“Here I come, my little doe!” Alastor’s voice rang out, far too cheerful and full of promise.

His voice surrounds you, as though he was right behind you. You speed up, a thrill running through your entire body. Unfortunately for yourself, your body was quickly wearing down. You can feel yourself slowing, the adrenaline you'd started with faltering. At the sound of branches snapping underfoot, you glance behind you. You gasp, seeing Alastor closing the space between the both of you effortlessly. You were breathing hard, your muscles burning with the strain as you ran. Yet he barely seemed to be breaking a sweat. You look forward again, in enough time to barely avoid running straight into a tree. You stumble over a root, barely able to catch yourself. Your stumble is enough for Alastor to close the distance between you totally. He tackles you to the ground.

A fresh wave of adrenaline pumps through you, your body writhing beneath him as he pins you down. You attempt to kick his legs only for him to pin them beneath his. His knee spreads your legs, bumping right against your sensitive core. He pins your hands above your body, his face burying against your neck.

“Got you.” He whispers, rolling his hips against you.

You whine, the fight immediately leaving your body completely as desire replaces your adrenaline. Alastor shifts above you, his claws gliding seamlessly through your shorts and panties beneath. Your clothes fall from your frame in shreds, a gasp spilling from you. The cold, autumn air of the bayou fans over your hot core, only adding to your desire. He shreds your shirt next, his mouth finding yours as he frees his throbbing cock from his sweatpants. You moan as he nudges the throbbing tip of it against your entrance. Alastor sits back, running his cock through your slick folds, bumping into your clit.

“I’m going to mate you, my dear. Make you mine completely.” He presses the tip against your entrance again, rocking his hips forward.

You whimper as he nudges your entrance open, already stretching you with a delicious burn. You try to pry your hands free from his grip as he presses inside you. You wanted to grab ahold of him, to brace yourself as he began to enter you. He was thick and long, much bigger than you had ever taken before.

“Alastor!” You moan, thrashing against his hold. “You're so big!”

He smirks, his ego clearly being stroked, he leans down to capture your lips as he slid deeper inside you.

“That’s it my doe, you’re taking my cock so well. Just a little more to go.” He praises, continuing to push inch by inch inside you.

You gasp, your back arching in an attempt to pull away from him, while also rolling down onto his invading cock. “Too much! Alastor, it’s too much, you’re too big. You won’t fit!”

He chuckles, his mouth trailing kisses and nips all the way down your neck. “I assure you, darling. I’ll fit. And you-” He thrusts forward, raming in completely. “Will take me all.”

Another gasp falls from your lips, your hands twisting in his grasp as he bottoms out. His cock is pressed deep inside you, deeper than you thought was possible. His cock-head rests against your cervix, pressed right against it. His length feels impossibly hot, warming you from the inside out against the chill of the bayou. Alastor slowly withdraws his cock, leaving the tip inside, before he thrusts back into you. His hips snap against yours, causing you to cry out in both pain and pleasure. He repeats the movement, the time between each thrust shortening, until he’s fucking you hard and fast. The ground beneath the two of you depresses from your combined weight. Every thrust moves your body an inch or two away from him, only for Alastor to drag you back down against him. You moan loudly, cries filling the air and drowning out any sounds of the surrounding nature.

“That’s it.” He praises, “Taking me so well. You look absolutely darling on my cock, dear.”

Alastor drags your body up, shifting back on his haunches and bringing you up with him. The change in position allows him to fuck up into you, his cock sliding deeper. Breathless moans fell from your mouth, loud and wanton.

“Alastor-” You gasp, barely able to get out his name with how much pleasure you were feeling. “Please.”

He chuckles, twisting your hands beneath your back. It was unfair how unaffected he looked, as though he wasn’t also getting off to fucking you.

“What is it, my little doe?” He murmurs, pressing kiss after kiss against your neck, rubbing his scent against you.

“I’m so close-” You manage to say, eyes rolling back into your head as he bounces you on his cock.

Your body felt like it was on fire, every touch of his cooled you down while also stroking the arousal in your body. He presses forward, his pubic bone pressing against your clit with every thrust.

Alastor lowers his mouth to the crook of your neck, licking away the salty sweat of your skin. “Then cum for me.”

As though he had complete control over your body, your orgasm rips through you. You yell out loudly, your walls squeezing around his cock. Your release coats your thighs and his lower stomach. The sensation of your walls squeezing around his cock is too much for him. Alastor bites down on your shoulder harshly, drawing blood, marking you. He pulls you down onto his cock as he thrusts up into you, hips stuttering as he spills his seed inside you. Hot ropes of cum spill into your waiting, fertile womb. Your body shivers at the intensity of your combined pleasure. Alastor keeps rolling against you, gently thrusting as he fucks his seed deeper inside you.

“Ah- Al-astor!” You whimper, your body overly sensitive to his every touch.

He slows to a stop, buried balls deep inside you, his teeth still deeply embedded in your shoulder. He pulls away, releasing your shoulder from his mouth. Fresh wells of blood spill from the wound that he quickly laps up. The image of him lapping up your blood, his face covered in it, while his cock was buried inside you, was sinful. You shivered involuntarily, his cock remaining hard inside you.

You swallow down another whimper and voice the question you were dreading asking. “How long does this last?”

Alastor meets your gaze, his expression softening. “The rut lasts about a month, and breeding you can last anywhere from forty-eight to seventy-two hours. But worry not, my dear, I’ll make sure your every need is taken care of for the entire month. You’re my mate now, after all.”

You feel your blood drain from your face as the length of time clicks in your mind. If that was the case then you and Alastor would be locked together for days on end. You adored him, but that was a lot.

“I don’t know if I can do that.” You whisper, your body already feeling sore from just one round with him.

He leans forward, capturing your mouth with his as he kisses you deeply. You can taste your blood on his tongue and are surprised by how much it turns you on. Alastor pulls away a moment later, resting his forehead against yours.

“Fret not, my little doe, you can.” He whispers, his voice dropping an octave lower than you were used to. “And you will.”

You shiver, you were in for a long month.

[mnnuni]

Domestic

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean's perspective of Sam and Reader's relationship; Sam and Reader are two cutie patooties Words: 1450 Warnings: none, very fluffy Author's note: I actually don't know if I love this or I hate it

A solid faithful relationship into the hunters' field was almost rare: if they were married they were either consummed for loss or full of affairs and if they had boyfriends or girlfriends they will fight for the distance or the different visions of life. And then there was the rarity, the true love cases, the one in which they would share their life of hunters as easily as a piece of bread.

Dean Winchester never really believed in those rareness, never really believed in love in general... that was untill he really saw Sam and (Y/N) together.

Their love started slowly, it was one of that things that people would say "we already knew" when they eventually announced their relationship.

Dean was convinced that Sam's heart decided from the very beginning of their story that he would beat out of his ribcage only for her in his entire life; Dean saw it in the way Sam didn't just pass (Y/N) the milk and sugar for her coffee for her second cup of that day on their first case together, but he put them in her mug while she read out loud some articles for Dean. Sam didn't put much thougth in that action, but when she realized (Y/N) blushed because he remebred the exact order and amount of products she used after only one time.

But Dean also knew that he approved of their relationship when it was him that proposed to Sam to pick the impala and take (Y/N) somewhere special, just because she deserved all the effort his brother could put in a date and even more. Sam wasn't so surprised about that because he also saw how Dean had grown fond of (Y/N), to the point she was the only girl ever that didn't receive the "hurt my brother and I will end you" speech but it was the other way around.

When (Y/N) confined in Dean one night he really wasn't expecting what she was telling him, after more than an year of being officially with Sam.

"I know he loves me" that was her premise, and Dean could have screamed "WE ALL KNOW" but he let her keep going "but sometimes i whish things were easier" at this the Whinchester quirked an eyebrow and Y/N started rumbling then "I'm not saying it isn't easy with Sam, I just want to say that ... there's never a period of peace in our kind of lifes and we all accepted this when we decided to be hunters, but sometimes I find myself of dreaming one night together without running from something or cleaning up eachother scars... I need normality"

Dean knew that this was also Sam's dream, his little brother wanted this since Stanford, but he also knew that both of them needed to hunt because that was what gave them the hope to make the world a better place and the adrenaline that every man and every woman would need to go throu life.

After this conversation with (Y/N), Dean almost ran to Sam to order him to organize something special for his lady; he wasn't surprised to find him already writing a list of things he wanted to do with her, "I know I didn't give her the right amount of attention these past weeks, shoul I go for a picnic or romantic restaurant?". Dean tried not to smile at his answer, even if he really admired how Sam could know how his girlfriend felt withouth even say anithing and his commitment to their relationship; "The picnic is cute, but not for this time of the year. No reastaurant. She needs something calm, be domestic dude"

He left him like this to think of something, he was sure his brother would have find the right thing.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day Sam was adjusting one of the bunker's biggest room, he bought a projector and a too big amount of movies -even if he thought that he could never do too much for (Y/N)-

He asked Dean to help him put her favorite couch in there and order a lot of her favourite snacks.

Dean was really proud of how Sam behaved with (Y/N) and for (Y/N), never saw him so whipped for no-one.

When (Y/N) got out of her shower, she was ready to jump into Sam's bed and sleep for two days if she could; instead she found Dean in the kitchen with a blindfold in his hands, "I promise, you will lovee what you'll see after this" he winked and then put it on her face.

"I swear to God Dean, if you're tricking me..." they were walking a pat she never did in the bunker "oh please you love me too" "if you think so...", Dean stopped her in front of a purple metal door and took the blindfold off "oh i know so" he whispered and then proceeded to walk away from there.

(Y/N) was left to wonder what the hell was going on when Sam opened said door and smiled "Hi", it had the same emotion he carried during their first date, (Y/N) smiled too and got on her tiptoes to give him a light kiss. He grabbed her hand and walked her into the room, she would have cried if she realized sooner everything there was in that room.

"You did all this for me?!"

It was clear in her voice that she was emotional in that moment and Sam hated the fact that she underestimated her value for him, "baby, that's nothing. Perhaps I should have done something sooner when I first started to notice you needed some time alone" "thank you". Sam smiled and gave her a kiss.

When they finally settled onto the couch (Y/N) was analyzing every detail there was in Sam's preparation: he put three blankets on the couch 'cause he knew he was too tall to tall for them both be covered entirely just by one and also added few pillows because (Y/N) loved the fluffy feeling of them while watching a movie; he made a little table with every kind of chips the market sold and four bottles of her favorite soda, on the shelf under it there were two or three packages of cookies too. Sam also organised something like fifteen movies, all divided by genre and number of stars (Y/N) gave them when they first talked about it.

Sam chose the first movie of the night -obviously a musical- and settled next to his girlfriend. She was so fucking happy about all Sam had done for her.

(Y/N) put her head on his chest while Sam's arm was around her shoulders, drawing figures on her arms to make her relax some more.

Dean snuck in after the first two songs of the musical and rested with one shoulder leaned on the doorframe to look at them: they were adorable. At first when they were on their honeymoon phase Dean felt the need to puke every two seconds, but now he loved to look at them from afar and be happy of their happiness

(Y/N) lifted her head to look at Sam: he was so focused on the screen,the lights of the scenes illuminated his face in a way that made his eyes sparkle.

"I love you", she whispered and Sam's face turned instantly. She still blushed when Sam looked at her that way, "and I love you".

Dean didn't see the kiss because he closed the door immediately after his brother said those words, that was another of the things that made Dean root for them: they never said "I love you too", like they had to say it just because or to not be in an embarrassing situation; every time they proclaimed their love for eachother they made sure to let the other know how much they actually loved eachother and how they really believed in what they said with that "I love you".

Sam and (Y/N) watched another movie and a documentary, they finished almost all the chips and sodas. After about the half of the documentary (Y/N) fell asleep snuggled up to Sam, who was massaging her head -he already knew that after one cookie she was about to pass out, so he made sure to get her in the most comfortable position and help with his hands in her hair to allow the sleep to finally set-

Dean never got back in that room, because he knew that they would have fallen asleep eventually. He made himself a burger and drank one too many beers, but it didn't matter because that night Dean too slept so well knowing that his brother and his sister were okay.

[daisynik7]

Cure for a Hangover

Pairing: Kishibe x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~3.9k

cw: next-door neighbor Kishibe, age gap (I’m thinking at least fifteen years, Kishibe pushing mid-forties, reader is in her late 20s/early 30s), alcohol consumption, p*rn no plot, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl), blowjob, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, nipple play, pet names (sweetheart, angel, kiddo)

Summary: Kishibe is your mysterious, brooding, and significantly older next-door neighbor. You’ve lived beside him for a while now, only exchanging basic pleasantries out of politeness, never anything more. One night, he comes home drunk, or so he thinks. It’s not his door he’s slumped again; it’s yours.

Author’s Notes: It’s been a minute since I wrote for Kishibe and I really do miss it. This old man continues to do wonders to me, so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks! MDNI divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

Taglist: @batafuraikisu @neverlandlostchild @bloompompom @dprkento @a-listaire @man-knees @demonwoman (bc Kishibe using kiddo as a pet name is living in my head rent free thanks to you)

part 3 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

It’s not often that you’re met with a man slumped against your door, but here you are, staring down at your next-door neighbor, Kishibe, doing just that. 

It’s past two in the morning now, and you’ve just come back from your own night out with your friends. You’re not nearly as drunk as you were three hours ago, after pounding glasses of Chardonnay while watching cheesy romance movies at your best friend’s apartment. And you’re certainly not as inebriated as the man before you, who absolutely reeks of liquor, even from a small distance away. 

You inspect the scene thoroughly, unsure what to do in this scenario. Kishibe is basically a stranger to you. Sure, you’ve exchanged basic pleasantries here and there over that past year since you moved in. That’s as far as it goes. You have no idea what his profession is, though you have a solid guess as to what it could be, given his work attire and overall physique. While you’ve never run into one yourself, devils run rampart in Tokyo, hell-bent on causing chaos wherever they spawn. Kishibe looks like a Devil Hunter, whose job is to eliminate these monsters. It’s intriguing, that’s for sure, but you’ve never mustered the courage to ask him about it, leaving him to maintain his mysterious demeanor. 

However, right now, you don’t see a Devil Hunter in front of you. Instead, it’s a simple man who is very drunk and very much in your way.

Deciding to help him, because that’s the only choice you have if you want to get into your apartment, you kneel down to search his overcoat, patting the breast pocket for keys. When you find nothing, you move to his pants, retrieving only his phone. His eyes are closed and he’s snoring, blissfully unaware of your predicament in his drunken stupor. You take this time to study his face. He’s looks much older up close; not only that, he’s even more handsome than you originally thought. There’s a prominent scar running from his mouth to his jaw, surely an interesting story behind it. You’re tempted to trace it delicately with your finger, but you ultimately resist the urge, snapping out of it to investigate his phone for any clues. 

There are several missed calls and texts from a person named Kenji. You use the Face ID feature to unlock his phone, thanking the universe that even with his eyes shuts, it works. Not wanting to pry more than necessary, you check the most recent texts for the answer to your question: Where the hell are his keys?

Kenji: you left your keys at the bar, come back now. I’m closing up soon

Kenji: I’m not waiting for your ass

Kenji: I’m leaving, get them tomorrow

You read over the messages once more, groaning quietly to yourself at your dumb luck. Desperate now, you resort to the next logical step.

“Hey,” you say, tapping him lightly on the cheek, rousing him awake. “Kishibe.”

Slowly, but surely, he opens his eyes, half-lidded, struggling to focus on you. “Huh?” His breath is heavy with liquor, most likely whiskey. His voice is deep and gravelly, and you hate admitting that’s it’s almost sexy. Well, not almost. It is sexy. 

Letting the inappropriate thought fade, you say, “You’re at the wrong apartment. This is mine.”

He blinks three times, opening his eyes properly to stare at you, expression confused. “Am I dead?”

You bite your lip, holding back laughter. “No, you’re not.”

“Am I in heaven?”

You shake your head, repeating, “No, you’re not.”

“Then why is there any angel here with me?” He sounds sincere, and you can’t help but break out into a genuine smile. 

“I’m not an angel,” you reply, giggling. 

His lips curve into a cocky grin. “You sure? You look like one to me.” Cheeky bastard, hitting on you while he’s plastered. And look at you, finding it endearing when he does. 

Slightly more relaxed, you slide the phone into his breast pocket, standing up to unlock your door. You can’t just leave him out here all night, so you decide to let him stay with you until he’s sober enough to call a locksmith. You jiggle the keys, turning the knob to open the door, and suddenly, there’s a loud thud, and then a delayed, “Ow.” He’s laid flat in the middle of your doorway, hitting his head on the hardwood. You feel guilty, not having the foresight to see this coming. His body is much sturdier than you anticipated. 

You kneel down, apologizing. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

He winces, rubbing the back of his skull, then gives you a goofy smile. “I’ll be fine. Think I can get a kiss to make it feel better?”

You roll your eyes at him, once again unable to contain your laughter. “I’ll get you some ice. Let’s get you to the couch first, okay?”

Somehow, some way, whether it’s spurred by adrenaline or desperation to finally get some sleep in your own bed, you manage to haul him up by the armpits and drag him the short distance to your couch. You fluff a pillow and place it under his head, making it as comfortable as possible for him. “I’ll get the ice now.”

Before you can stand up, he grabs your wrist, gripping you tightly. “What about my kiss?”

“Nope. Not happening. I bet you don’t even know my name,” you challenge him.

He doesn’t respond, loosening his hold so you can get up. You fill a plastic bag with ice, returning to surround the back of his head with it. Eventually, he utters your name, eyes closed while he relaxes to your touch. He peeks at you with one eye open, waiting for you to confirm. 

You nod, grinning. “So, you do know my name.”

“Can I get my kiss now?” he teases, gazing at you.

You shake your head. “Definitely not. I will not take advantage of a drunk person, that’s fucked up.”

He sighs, exhaling deeply, broad chest rising and falling. “Yeah, you’re right. I knew you were a good girl.”

You try not to hang on to those words, especially the last two, already fluttering below your belly over it. Grabbing his hand to replace yours, you instruct him to keep it there while you return to the kitchen to pour him a large glass of water. Within the short amount of time you’re gone, he falls asleep, his hand barely holding onto to the ice pack. 

You smile to yourself, setting the glass of water down on the coffee table to continue attending to his minor injury. After a while, when you notice that there isn’t any bump or swelling developing, you stop icing him. He snores peacefully in a deep sleep, no sign of waking up anytime soon. As gingerly as you can, you remove his overcoat, draping it over the back of the couch. You set his phone next to the glass of water, for easy access. His tie looks tight around his collar, so you loosen it. Finally, you remove his shoes from his feet, laying them by the front door near your own pair. You’re certain he’ll wake up in the morning, feeling like shit, so you place a bottle of painkillers by his phone in case he needs them. 

It's past three now by the time you’re dressed down in your pajamas and snuggled in bed. You keep the door ajar, listening to Kishibe’s steady breathing in the living room, treating it like white noise to help you fall fast asleep. 

~~~

Kishibe wakes up with his head throbbing. He stares up at the ceiling, not recognizing it as his own. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that this isn’t his apartment. 

He turns, seeing his phone, a glass of water, and a bottle of painkillers on the coffee table arm’s reach of him. Slowly, he sits up, grimacing from the pain, downing all the water in three large gulps. He checks his phone, thankfully still on its last leg of battery. It’s almost eleven on a Saturday morning and he’s sure Kenji, his bartender friend, is already awake, preparing for the day. 

“Kenji,” he mutters, throat hoarse from last night’s festivities. 

His friend first berates him for forgetting his keys, then laughs when Kishibe explains that somehow, some way, he managed to fall asleep on someone else’s couch. He could have woken up in worst conditions, that’s for sure. 

Kenji agrees to stop by after running his errands, in about two hours or so. Beggars can’t be choosers, so Kishibe has no choice but to wait. When they’re phone conversation is over, he sinks back into the cushions, trying to piece everything together from just a few hours ago. He recalls snippets of it, and he grows increasingly embarrassed as the memories play vividly in his brain. He’s certain he called his neighbor an angel, and even more sure that he was begging her for a kiss. How shit-faced was he to compel him to do that? Obviously, very. How could he let his intrusive thoughts blurt out of his mouth like that?

Call it cliché or whatever, but yes, Kishibe is attracted his young, pretty neighbor next door. However, he’s held off on making a move because he doesn’t want to make things between them awkward. Once he crosses that line, their relationship gets more complicated. And the devil knows that Kishibe doesn’t do complicated. So, he’s content with gazing from afar, exchanging basic small talk with one another whenever they pass each other in the hallway. That’s as far as it’s gone with her, and that’s as far as it will go. 

Of course, that’s all fucked up now thanks to his drunken antics from last night. 

Before he can make his move, he hears a bedroom door creak open from behind him. She comes out, looking fresh out of the shower, dressed in skimpy pajama bottoms that are short enough to expose that tantalizing curve right below her ass. Surely, she’s doing this on purpose, right? She has to know how fucking sexy she looks right now, there’s no way she doesn’t. 

He clears his throat, preparing to explain himself right off the bat to avoid an awkward confrontation. But he’s rendered momentarily speechless when she flashes a bright smile at him. “Morning, Kishibe.”

He huffs out a short laugh. “Morning.”

She steps towards him, sitting at the opposite end of the couch by his feet. Her shorts ride up and he’s sure he can see the lacey outline of her panties. Or maybe it’s just his perverse imagination, who knows at this point. “How are you feeling?” she asks, genuinely concerned.

He grunts. “Like shit,” he answers. “But it could be worse.”

“That’s the spirit,” she teases, patting his knee. 

His head pounds from his hangover, though it’s his heartbeat that thumps loudly against his eardrums, aroused by her touch. He has got to control himself. Doing his best to distract her from the raging boner growing beneath his slacks, he asks, “What happened last night?”

She explains her account of the evening in detail, her voice soft and soothing, cautious of his current headache. She leaves out the parts where he embarrasses himself, which he’s grateful for, not wanting to relive the humiliation. When she’s done, she offers, “If you want, you can take a shower while you wait for your friend to arrive. I can get you some towels. I even have a toothbrush you can use.”

He raises a brow at her. “Are you trying to tell me I stink?”

“Do you need someone to tell you that you stink? I thought it was pretty obvious given the state you’re in,” she quips, matching his expression.

He laughs, genuinely amused by her response. “Yeah, can’t argue with that.”

She leads him into her bathroom, showing him how to work the knob for hot water, pointing out the shampoo, conditioner, and soap kept neatly on a corner shelf of her bathtub. She lingers for a bit while he starts the shower, then hands him a clean towel and new toothbrush. “Let me know if you need anything.” 

Surprisingly, he makes it through his shower without succumbing to the temptation to touch himself. As degenerate as he can be, he still has some sense of respect and pride in him, enough to resist masturbating in his neighbor’s shower. He does, however, give her shampoo and conditioner bottles an extra-long sniff.

He dries off, scrubbing his hair with the towel, cleaning behind his ears with cotton swabs, checking his piercings. Towel wrapped around his waist, he brushes his teeth, making sure to go the full two minutes, scrubbing his tongue after. He hasn’t made the best impression so far, so he figures he should try to change that now, if there’s still a chance. Feeling fresh and clean, he stares down at his clothes in a pile on the floor. Even from where he stands, he can smell them, almost like they’ve been diluted in liquor and musk. Without thinking, he steps out of the bathroom, calling out her name. “Got any clothes I could borrow?”

She’s in the kitchen when he comes out, leaning over the stove as she cooks something that smells wonderful. She turns to face him, staring wide-eyed as he stands almost naked in the middle of her living room. Her gaze drifts down his bare body, lingering on his sculpted abs, then at the towel wrapped precariously around his waist. She snaps out of it in time, saying, “I don’t. Sorry.”

“My clothes fucking stink and I don’t want to wear them right now. Mind if I just walk around like this?” 

“Sure. I mean, I don’t mind.” She focuses her attention back to the pan, continuing to cook what looks like scrambled eggs. 

He knows this is a bizarre request, though this day couldn’t get any more bizarre than it already is, can it?

~~~

You’re not exactly sure how to refuse Kishibe’s request to walk around half naked in your apartment, so instead, you agree to it, claiming that you don’t mind. In actuality, you mind very much, simply because you can’t help but fantasize about the delicious sight beneath the towel. One wrong move like a bump to the hip is all it takes to see that pesky cover fall down. Geez, when did you become such a pervert? And for an old man?!

Desperate for a distraction, you maintain focus on the eggs in front of you. While he was in the shower, you decided to start breakfast, something hearty to combat that hangover of his. Scrambled eggs, toast, and sausage, comforting foods to soak up the remaining alcohol left in his body. He makes his way towards you, scooting a chair out from the table to take a seat. He strategically maneuvers himself to not accidentally expose you, though you really don’t mind if he does. Again, perverted thoughts, shame on you!

Finished cooking, you scoop the eggs out onto his plate and the other meant for you. He thanks you, taking a whiff of his breakfast, a small smile on his face. “Smells good.”

You pass him another glass of liquid, this one filled with an electrolyte drink meant for hydration after a night of drinking. “Drink this. It’ll help with your hangover.”

He eyes it suspiciously, then takes a gulp without questioning it further. 

The two of you eat in a comfortable silence, ignoring the obvious tension hanging in the air. From your peripheral, you notice the glint of steel hooked to his ear lobe. Piercings, which you never noticed before. Sexy.

He ends up finishing his entire meal, popping a few painkillers to chase it all down. He even chugs the electrolyte drink, claiming it isn’t so bad. While you take the last few bites of your toast, he excuses himself to brush his teeth again. You’re surprised at how hygienic he is, considering how he appeared before you just mere hours ago, hunched against your front door covered in his own liquor-soaked sweat. You take the plates, stacking them in the sink to wash for later. How much longer is his friend going to take to arrive here? You’re getting nervous, thinking of other ways to fill this gap of time without making your attraction to him so obvious. 

You sit on the couch, turning the TV on to a random sitcom with the volume low, listening to the rush of water from the faucet inside the bathroom. When it stops, you try to find a comfortable position to sit in. It’s only now that you realize how short your pajama bottoms are; they ride all the way up your thighs and you can practically see your underwear through them. It’s too late to change when Kishibe returns, still clad in just a towel, taking a seat on the other side of the couch a safe distance beside you. It’s silent for a brief moment, neither of you knowing what to say in this odd situation. You shift nervously, tugging at the hem of your shorts. 

“Thank you,” he starts, avoiding your gaze, staring ahead at the television. “For taking care of me. Must have been annoying to deal with a drunken old man.”

You smile, relaxing. “It wasn’t so bad. Besides, I couldn’t just leave you out there like that. Someone could have taken advantage of you.”

“Like you almost did?” he smirks, facing you now.

Laughing, you meet his gaze. “You remember that?”

“I do.” He spreads his legs apart just barely, towel draped dangerously over his knee, almost ready to slip.

You swallow hard, avoiding a glance in that direction, heat surrounding your cheeks. “Well, I was a good girl, remember? I didn’t do anything.”

He hums, nodding slowly, eyes drilling into yours. “You were a very good girl.”

Your breath hitches and you find yourself gravitating towards him, scooting closer. He grins, the scar on his cheek curving with it, voice low and seductive. “You gonna be bad for me now?”

“Only if you want me to,” you purr, sliding your hand beneath the towel, up his thigh, arousal pooling between your legs. Fuck it. He wants it, you want it. There’s no denying it anymore. 

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, pulling you in for a kiss. His mouth is cool and minty against yours, the remnants of toothpaste lingering in his spit. You slurp it up, hungry for any taste of him. He removes the towel from his waist, shrugging it to the floor, leaving him completely naked. You glance at his lap and bite back a moan, amazed at how fucking big he is, way too eager to have him inside you, desperate to be filled to the brim.

“Not bad for an old man, huh?” he chuckles, wrapping his fist around the shaft, stroking it.

“Not bad at all,” you smile, stripping out of your clothes hastily, kneeling between his legs with your mouth open.

He feeds you his cock, humming when you surround him in your wet heat, swallowing him to the hilt. One hand grips the back of your head, guiding you gently up and down his shaft. “You’re filthy, taking your neighbor’s cock like this. Who knew you’d be such a slut?” he mutters, caressing the side of your face with his other hand. “Touch yourself while I fuck this filthy mouth. Get that pretty pussy wet for me.”

You obey, spurred on by his vulgarity, reaching for your arousal, rubbing your throbbing clit with fast fingers. His cock hits the back of your throat and you guzzle him down to resist gagging, drool leaking from the sides of your lips. He moans, bucking his hips slightly, enraptured by you. With his thumb, he brushes away a tear welling at the corner of your eye, pulling out halfway. “Don’t hurt yourself, kiddo. It’s okay if I’m too much for you.”

You release him completely, moving down to his balls, nuzzling your nose to them. “I can take it, don’t worry.”

He clicks his teeth, beckoning you on the couch, almost like you’re being scolded for something you weren’t supposed to do. You roll your eyes, sitting beside him begrudgingly. He leans close to you, hot on your ear, one hand sliding between your legs while the other continues to stroke his dick. “I want to touch you too. That okay?”

You whine in response, tugging him in for a passionate kiss. He massages deep circles around your clit, fingers squelching from your slick gathering along your entrance. “I want a taste,” he growls, splitting apart your thighs, staring at your glistening cunt. 

You nod, sinking into the couch, relinquishing all control to him. You let your pleasured moans speak for you as he dives into your pussy, eating you out sloppily. His facial hair grazes against you with each careful stroke of his tongue and you ache to see his chin shiny with your cum. Eventually, he slips inside you, pumping two digits in and out, mouth still working your bud. Soon, it becomes too much and you’re gushing for him, whimpering his name with ragged breaths, soaking his face in your essence. 

He chuckles, the vibrations resonating to your clit, causing you to twitch with overstimulation. “That’s my girl, making such a mess for me.”

“Fuck me, Kishibe,” you breathe out, craving to be stuffed full of him. You’re reeling from your high, and if he’s not inside you soon, you’re sure you’ll go insane.

He hoists you up onto his lap, precum oozing from the tip of his dick. “How about you fuck me? Show me how much of a slut you are.”

Too fucked out to argue, you lift up on your knees, position him to your wet hole, sinking down slowly. He slides in easily, pussy sleek from your previous orgasm. It’s better than you imagined, every inch of him stimulating every inch of you. You savor it, rocking against him slowly. He kisses along on your neck, trailing to your nipples to suckle on them. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he moans, thrusting up into you to match your rhythm. “Take this cock however you like. It’s all yours.”

You bounce on him faster, whimpering into his mouth as you kiss him. He palms your ass cheeks, squeezing them in his firm grip, delivering a few loud smacks that echo off the walls of your living room, stinging your skin. “Fuck, I knew you were a good girl. Knew it the moment I met you,” he growls, pressing his thumb to your swollen clit. “Always wanted you like this.”

You kiss him harder at his confession, your chest swelling, pussy fluttering. You’re approaching another climax, teetering on the edge. As if he senses it, he tightens his hold on you, fucking into you faster, deeper. “Come for me, angel. Come on this cock.”

And you do, clenching him with your orgasm, making him mutter, “Fuck, I’m coming. I’m coming with you.” He shoots his load inside you, filling you up, just like you wanted. 

It takes a moment for the two of you to catch your breaths, relaxing into each other’s arms, exchanging soft kisses without speaking. You study his face again, similar to how you did just several hours before, when he was slumped against your door, drunk. You thought he was handsome then, even more so now. “How’s your hangover?” you ask, breaking the silence. 

He smiles, nuzzling his nose to yours. “Much better.”

[ohnoitstbskyen]

... y'all know Lae'zel is acting scared, right?

Video transcription: I've seen a lot of comments on my short about Lae'zel dismissing her entire character because she's mean and… I'm just checking in here… you guys know she's scared, right? She's terrified. She was kidnapped by the worst monster she knows, infected with the most horrifying death anyone in her culture can have, and then stranded on a hostile world, alone, with nothing to guide her except the dogmatic military cult indoctrination of a cruel lich demigod, telling her that her only hope of salvation is to follow Gith doctrine with total unyielding faith. And still she tries to save you. When she keeps insisting that you must get to the Githyanki crèche, it's our only hope, she's trying to guide you towards the only salvation she knows from the parasite, so she can share it with you. And Gith... aren't supposed to do that, saving an outsider is not part of the doctrine, she's breaking the rules trying to do right by you. None of that means she's not being an asshole, she's rude, dogmatic and unpleasant. But everything she does comes from a genuine, very misguided and abrasive, desire to do the right thing. It doesn't make her behaviour okay, but there is more to her character than just "being the mean one."

To expand on this a bit more than I can in a 60 second short, people acting from fear and from their damage is a major theme among the Baldur's Gate 3 companions.

Lae'zel is terrified and falling back on the only thing she believes will give her back some control over her situation, which is the dogma of the military cult she's in. Shadowheart is much the same, amnesiac and grasping on to the only solid thing she knows, which is her faith, which preaches deception, loss and duplicity as the only certain factors in life.

Gale is an inveterate people-pleaser desperately dependent on other people to help him feed his magic addiction, with his overtly affable exterior hiding a rolling boulder of guilt, ambition, greed, arrogance and legitimate hurt. Asterion is... well, no way to really lay out his deal without spoiling, but the boy has been through it and his self-destructive, hedonistic and selfish impulses are all coping mechanism and self-defense all the time.

None of that make their shitty behaviours okay, but in a fictional story, those kinds of flaws and toxic behaviours are what make for interesting stories and characters. I don't blame anyone for finding Lae'zel unpleasant and abrasive, but I do get a bit Old Man Yells At Cloud about people who casually brag about shoving her off a cliff-side, or murdering her because "she was a bitch" or whatever.

Like... being unable to face discomfort in your media is not a virtue, and lashing out reactively against fiction that doesn't validate your power fantasy isn't a flex.

Of course, I saw a lot of those reactions in YouTube comments and on social media, so my sample is biased by those algorithms, but still. A lot of people seem aggressively proud that they never engaged with her story because the terrified indoctrinated child-soldier wasn't immediately nice to them and I can't explain it but something about that reaction feels puritan to me.

[phantoms-world-and-more]

I saw a prompt/ficlet a while ago (I don't remember by who or where) that I'm gonna piggy back off of.

In an attempt to strike a partnership with Wayne Tech., the Fenton's go to Vlad and he gets them invitations to a gala with a solid 'maybe' on meeting Bruce himself.

Naturally, Danny gets bored and decides to push his luck. How much can he get away with before someone gets suspicious? A lot, apparently.

On the bright side, no one in Gotham seems to be able to see through his invisibility.

Long story short, Danny accidentally starts a cult with himself as the object of worship.

Anyway, a few years later and the reveal goes wrong. He flees to Gotham. The ambient ectoplasm in the air, the natural smog, the fact that no one seems to stay dead for long- he'll blend right in. He hopes.

Turns out, since his accidental cult upstart at the gala a few years ago, a building on the border of Crime Alley has been built/repurposed into a church for his followers.

That explains why he keeps getting stat boots.

There's a space in the top of the building that he claims as his home. It becomes his lair, but he still doesn't have a proper haunt.

One night, someone bangs on the doors of the building, waking Danny, and claims sanctuary. Danny opens the locked door (invisible) and beats up the people who barge in after the man. He claimed sanctuary. Danny knows how this Is supposed to work.

Word gets around fast and suddenly, Danny's accidental church has become neutral ground that no one dares try to break.

Batman and Red Hood have conflicting feelings. The building Is neutral, so they can't move anyone in. It also sits directly on the line of Crime Alley and Greater Gotham.

Bruce wants to investigate because something Is in that building that's actually keeping/giving sanctuary.

Jason insists they leave it be because it's not really doing anything to either of them.

These feelings are only amplified when the Joker breaks sanctuary and is beaten and left unconscious on B's doorstep with a note of warning.

.

[eringobragh420]

🖤 Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader 🖤 Summary: Damian shows his girlfriend that he’s not like the other guys she’s dated.  🛑 Warnings: NSFW. Thigh-riding 18+ 🖤 Notes: Spanish translations are at the end of the story. I do not speak Spanish, so if anything is incorrect, please let me know and I’ll fix it! 🖤 Taglist: If you’d like to be added, please click here! 🖤 Requested By: Anonymous. Hope you enjoy! 🖤 MASTERLIST

She didn’t have much to compare him to, but Damian was absolutely the most talented kisser she’d ever laid her lips upon. Again, there’d been only a few men in her past, but Damian seemed as though he’d evolved into some kind of superior man when equated to the previous ones. He held doors for her and pulled out her chair, she’d never once caught him looking at another woman in her presence, he was a hand-holder when his arm wasn’t hanging around her shoulders. And on top of all of that, he was a patient man. Given her previous experience, despite the beautiful angel that was Damian Priest, she found it difficult to initiate intimacy, having never really had to—her exes had been the ones to tell her when she was turned on and what position to fold herself into. Her pleasure had been the furthest thing from their minds. 

Damian, on the other hand, made sure to kiss and lick at every one of the hot spots on her neck and throat, mumbling at how beautiful and perfect she was. She could feel his cock stiffening under her from her straddled position on his lap, and something clicked in her brain like a hypnotist had just snapped their fingers, signaling a change in personality. She put on a brave face—of course she wanted to suck Damian’s dick, but did she really want it to be during their very first sexual encounter? And would it be good for him to critique her skills so early in their relationship? Skills she’d been told were subpar at best.

“Hey,” Damian’s voice drifted into her paralyzing thoughts. Oh, god, she thought, how long had she been staring at him like a goddamn fool? “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing!” she squeaked, and she glanced down, expecting to see actual flames erupting off her cheeks. “Nothing,” she tried more calmly. “I just, um … nothing. I’ll just …” She started to climb down Damian’s long legs, not unlike descending a tree, and her heart froze when she felt his hands on her biceps.

“What are you … something’s wrong,” Damian said, brows furrowing. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to … you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, although whenever those particular words had been spoken to her by her previous boyfriends, they always meant the opposite.

Damian cradled her face, forcing her eyes to his. “I’m not like them,” he told her. “I don’t expect anything from you. ¿Me entiendes? As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

His girlfriend nodded. “It’s just hard … when every guy I’ve ever been with has been concerned about his pleasure before mine … if they even bothered with mine at all.”

Damian’s smile was soft, understanding, maybe a little sympathetic. “I have an idea,” he said. “What if I … put you like this—” She was already in her panties and a t-shirt, so he took her hips in his hands and manipulated them until she was straddling one of his thighs. “—and let you use me to make yourself cum?” The confusion must have been plain on her face because Damian chuckled. “Just move your hips … ” His warm, rough hands still gripping her hips began to deliberately move them back and forth, and she gasped at the shocking jolts of pleasure exploding from her pussy with just a hint of friction against Damian’s solid thigh. “… and make yourself cum. You don’t have to touch me—” He gestured to the armrests of the brand new chair they’d just purchased for his apartment not an hour before. “—and I don’t have to touch you if you don’t want me to.” He folded his hands behind his head, her eyes immediately drawn to his tattooed biceps, and her hips rolled as she felt a gush of wetness surge through her pussy.

It didn’t take much consideration on her part before she started leisurely moving back and forth. She felt safe in Damian’s arms, or on his lap, as it were, and she trusted wholly that he would stand by his word not to touch her or force her to touch him. She’d never been in control like this, or had this much freedom to do whatever it took to make herself cum, and the thought was exhilarating and incredibly arousing. Damian Priest under her, telling her to use him? That would certainly be masturbation material for years to come.

“There you go,” he encouraged, eyes locked on her dampening panties and, consequently, his moistening jeans. “I wish you could see how sexy you are right now.”

She felt her skin ignite again, but her lips curled into a devilish smirk. It was such a strange feeling to have an attractive man tell her she was sexy, and she’d find it hard to believe if that man wasn’t so sincere when he said it, pupils blown as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. Hips still moving, she slipped her fingers under his t-shirt, lifting it up his sculpted abs, and Damian took the cue to remove the item altogether, tossing it to the floor beside them. She bit her lip, gliding her soft hands up his ample chest, planting the heels over his nipples, and her rhythm and pressure both increased.

“That’s it,” Damian moaned, and it seemed as though he were experiencing just as much pleasure as she was. “God, look at you—”

Her mouth covered his before he could finish, and she felt and heard him chuckle as their tongues danced and their lips smacked. Her nails dug into his chest, and the moan that was ripped from deep in his throat was desperate and aroused, and she couldn’t believe he still hadn’t demanded she give at least a little attention to his cock. She could feel him getting bigger and bigger, straining against his blue jeans with the ripped knees, and was he really this excited just by watching her? Flattery overwhelmed her before she could stop it or overthink it, and she pulled away, breaking the kiss with Damian, and she swore she heard a whine escape his perfect lips.

Her smile grew as her trust in Damian grew. After he’d removed his shirt, his hands had gone to the back of his head just as before—he didn’t even touch himself. Her hooded eyes drank in his flexed biceps covered in ink, his chest again, abs, and those delicious Vs at his hips that disappeared into his black belt and jeans. She felt a warmth and a tingling pooling deep within her, and she thought she recognized it, but it had been so long, she really wasn’t sure anymore. Either way, she lifted her own shirt over her head, revealing her breasts without the barrier of a bra. She reached behind Damian and pulled his hands out, placing them on her newly exposed breasts and quickly hardening nipples.

“That’s my girl,” Damian praised, smirking, “use me however you want.” Her hands over his molded them into cupping her breasts, squeezing, and she looked him dead in the eye when their fingers tweaked one of her nipples. She cried out, hips stuttering, back arching, pressing her breasts firmly into his hands. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she confessed incredulously.

“What do you need?” Damian asked. “Tell me—”

Acting on instinct alone, she pulled his head to her chest, and he reacted just in time to open his mouth and accept a nipple, immediately tonguing and sucking. Her pussy and his thigh were practically one by this point as she rode him without abandon, a considerable wet spot forming on Damian’s jeans. He dropped the nipple he was working on out of his mouth, leaving it coated in saliva as he attacked its twin.

“I’m gonna cum,” she whispered, arms wrapped around his neck. “Fuck, fuck …”

The orgasm tore through her, wracking her body with shivers and shudders, pussy clenching around nothing but it still felt so fucking good. She rode the waves of pleasure for probably longer than she should have, slowly coming down, eventually halting the progress of her hips. 

“Wow,” she whispered, grinning like an idiot. 

Damian’s smile was just as bright. “Feel good?”

She nodded. “And really soaked.”

“We can take a shower … and you can watch me take care of this—” He grabbed at his bulge, and her hips twitched. “—or you can help, if you want.”

She cupped his face, smirking. “I think I definitely wanna help.”

🎀 ¿Me entiendes? — Do you understand me?

[luludeluluramblings]

dream team back. we’re currently yapping central again (per usual)

both of us are straight up in a tim drake brainrot spiral too!!! he’s a delightful little weirdo. a strange little gentleman if you will.

tim is such a funny little guy!!! he also makes a solid yandere. you can’t outsmart him. you can’t escape someone who can find everything about you. On the upside, I feel like he’d be happy to spoil his darling. also he’d be like, really considerate in weird ways??? I mean like you don’t get privacy (or you get the illusion of it maybe but not actual privacy.)

like yeah you’re always being watched in some way, but the man has committed every single one of your favorites and least favorites to memories. He knows what clothing you like, what specific features you look for in everything, and if he doesn’t, by god, will he learn. He knows your favorite song, and he knows the nickname you went by in elementary school.

Do you think he pretends to be normal and basically sets things up to send reader to be like a little love story?? You meet by chance, and he fell first. He fell a LONG time ago, so now it’s his mission to make you fall too. And Tim Drake ALWAYS finishes a mission. (Even as a baby daddy candidate). He makes himself the best option, even if he’s not the father.

Yandere!TimDrake x PastFriend!Reader x Aiden Cobblepot

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Sooooo, I'm finally and slowly going through my ask box and you two may have sparked an idea just for Tim. I might have to do a Part Two for this. (I'm falling into the WIP trap. Help!) But, I love the thought of the Bat Family have competition when it comes to their darling. Gives them a challenge. Plus, I really wanted to use Aiden Cobblepot for this. I've been wanting to sneak him into something.

A/N: We have neglected!Sib!Reader, but what about a Neglected!Friend!Reader? Fun idea. Tim already knowing everything about you only to find you’ve changed and wants to study you all over again. Only this time he’s keeping you! (I’m very fond of Tim. I think he’s difficult to write for me, but I enjoy the little stalker so much.)

Warnings: Yandere Themes, Romantic themes, Tim can be read as kinda platonic, GN!Reader

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You and Tim were once good friends. Well, he was your best friend. To him you were just a good one. High school buddies that would hang out all the time. At school only. And sometimes the rare gala you saw him at. It was rare you ever actually went to The Manor. You never asked to go. But, you had hoped to be invite.

Just like you had hoped that he might reciprocate that pesky crush you had on him back then. You had felt like it was so painfully obvious. Though it wasn't as painful when you finally figured out he was Red Robin and you waited and waited for him to tell you his secret identity. And, then you would tell him you already figured it out and you would look so cool.

Only, he never did. You both grew distant. You had put so much carful effort into keeping that distance from growing. Inviting him to hang out more. Asking him out for casual coffee. He always said the same thing.

"Oh, damn. I could really go for that right now. But, I'm just sorta busy. Next time though. For sure."

Over and over. He sounded like a broken character. Repeating the same phrase. One that you would hang around after the game was over to reminisce about all the fun adventures you both once had. However this was life not a game. You couldn't just restart and rerun the same adventures.

It made you ache when you finally moved on. When you finally pulled away. Because, Tim didn't even notice you were gone. His life to change. He didn't have to restart anything. You had lost your best friend and he didn't even care. It stung. It stung more than you realizing he'd never reciprocate your feelings.

But, like all things, time moves on and so do you. Leaving the past behind and starting a new game. One that you start to flourish in. Making new friends. Meeting new people. Building closer bonds and more healthy friendships. It had been interesting to realize how dependent you had been on Tim once upon a time. And, embarrassing. You can't help looking back on it with a wince. You almost want to reach out and apologize. But, that would be weird and you both live completely separate lives now. You hardly ever see him at galas now. Mostly because you don't go anymore.

Things, do change. You never expected your new partner would draw Tim's attention back to you. And, in such a terrible way.

You had a rough idea of what you were getting into when Aiden Cobblepot had asked you out to dinner. You figured he was only interested in you for your money or your half-decent looks or your family name and position. You had heard all the rumors about him, but still you went. Mostly, because you knew how dangerous he and his family were. And, you were… presently surprised.

He was a bit of an entitled asshole. But, he wasn't scared of getting dirty. You watched him lead you through the puddles of rain water and Gotham grim in the posh restaurant. He held more concern for you're clothing getting dirty than his, which were more expensive than yours. He paid for the date without flinching at the price. Encouraged you to try his own food from his plate. Talked about fond memories of the things he and his sister got up to as children while asking you about your own childhood.

Admittedly, you were easily seduced because after that the two of you became an item. You didn't even realize how official you were until he introduced you to his sister, Addison, and she was actually nice to you. Extremely nice. She did, however, threaten to kill you if you betrayed Aiden in any way, which was honestly fair enough.

Aiden and you were a bit on the opposite side of things, taste wise and morally wise. But, you both made it work. He continued his life of crime, but made no mention of it around you to keep you legally clean. You shared most of your life with him, letting him have a slight glimmer into normalcy. He liked to take you on fancy dates and show you a good time. You were happy to pull him inside just to spend personal time with each other. Of course, you both made compromises. Aiden had a taste for luxury, and you didn't mind indulging in it. Especially after you beat his ass multiple times in Mario cart. It was only fair you let him take you to a gala some point.

Little did you know that that was how Tim would come clawing and digging his way back into your life.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

For Tim seeing you again was like finding an old precious treasure. His life had gotten so difficult and complicate lately that just a reminded of all those old times was nice.

However, seeing you on the arms of the Penguin's son was a brutal wake up call. What were you doing? Had you hit your head? Was he blackmailing you? Drugging you? Everyone in Gotham could recognize the name Cobblepot and how dangerous they are. And, he remembers how smart you were so you couldn't have willing chose to be there. It's not logical.

For your safety, he reintroduces himself to you. Long time, no see. We should hang out some time and catch up. Only he means it. He can't let this happen. He can't let you fall in with a man like that. You're his friend. He'll win you over for your own sake. Ruin Cobblepot while he's at it because how dare he use you.

Even if you changed. Even if you don't smell the same. If your hair is different. If you dress different. Even if your very laugh had changed pitch, he knows you. And, if anything, he can just re-learn you all over again. It won't take long. He's done it all before. This time he'll savor though. This time he won't let you go as he pulls you back in. You were a good friend, this time he'll make you more.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I’m starting to type up Part Three of Pregant!Reader, but I ended up coming up with another start to it with more drama that would be strictly for the BatBoys. The messed up drama in it sounds fun and challenging, but I won’t do it until I finish what I started with the blurbs I have planned included.

A/N: Smalltown!Meta!Reader Part Nine is going to take a while. I have big plans for it, but Pregnant!Reader is kinda outshining it.

A/N: I will post about the LoungeSinger!Reader and another idea I came up with that y’all might like that I’ll add to the concept list.

A/N: There’s a Tony Part Two coming, but it’s only halfway typed and still not that yandere-y. Need to fix that.

A/N: My asks box is full, so I’m gonna try to empty it, but I host Thanksgiving in my family and I’m also a Christmas nut, so I’m gonna be busy. (I have four Christmas trees in my house currently… But I’m not as bad as my in-laws! They had their trees up BEFORE Halloween.)

[reiderwriter]

Okay, I just wanted to start off and say I love your stories. They're always so good. You've reblogged one of my stories a while, and I actually squealed and scared the crap out of my friend. But yeah, I live you and your stories 💖💖💖

So I read your one story of Spencer being a soon-to-be dad, and I really like the idea of seeing Spencer and reader as actual parents just feeling the emotions. I thought something based around their daughter (because Spencer's a girl dad) hitting a milestone like walking, talking, or something even bigger like the first day of school. I don't know if that makes sense, but either way, I hope you like it!

A/N: I love the idea of new-dad Spencer. He deserves a loving family and a baby so much 😭 I combined this request with one of the prompts for @imagining-in-the-margins Kid Fic challenge which you can find the details for here! ❤️

Warnings: none, just fluff.

Masterlist

You never thought leaving to go for a spa day would be one of the hardest things you'd have to do in your life, but here you were. 

In the ten months since you'd given birth to your daughter, you'd been stressed, lacking in sleep, leaking fluids from places that you forgot could have fluids leak from, and you'd been totally, irreversibly, head over heels in love. 

Both with the tiny little gremlin you'd given birth to, and with the man that you watched become a father. 

Spencer Reid was a great dad. 

He'd had a fair amount of anxiety leading up to the birth, worrying about every detail, talking to geneticists, driving you to and from each check up or attending via video call if he was on a case. After she was born, he helped out as best he could. 

For a man who had delivered a baby before and was absolutely great with his teammates' kids, he couldn't hold her for the first week without an intense look of panic crossing his features.

“Y/N, what happens if I drop her?” 

“Y/N, she sneezed. What if I got her sick?”

“Y/N, she fell asleep, I can't move.” 

A genius with an IQ of 187 slashed to 60 in front of a pretty girl. His tiny daughter had him thrown through a loop he got seriously stuck in. 

He was still helpful, and he got used to all his new duties and tasks within a week, but watching those cute clueless expressions pass over his face now and then endeared you to him that much more. 

He knew everything, but he had to learn this right there with you. 

So yes, leaving for a relaxing spa visit was hard. 

Spencer had been on a case for the last four days, his first since your daughter had arrived and the official end to his paternity leave. You'd been happy to see him get back to it, in all honesty. Spencer’s job, his research, and his work at the FBI were like muscles he needed to stretch. It wasn't that he couldn't live without them, but there would always be a part of him that felt stiff or unsure of himself without the possibilities of a case to unravel or some theorizing to do. 

You were slightly panicked at the thought of being alone with your daughter for four days, but you managed. With a phone call home every single night where he asked you about every single thing your little bundle of joy had done outside of his watchful gaze. 

Now, it was your turn. 

Spencer had insisted on it upon returning from his case. He got four nights of relative peace after 20 months of waking up with the baby, sleeping with the baby, napping when the baby napped, carrying the baby around when it became evident that she was desperately scared of not being the center of attention. 

He came back with a spring in his step, and the deep desire to see you get a solid night's rest the way he'd been able to. 

You'd tried shooting him down, multiple times, to no reward. 

“Spencer, you didn't exactly just up and go off gallivanting. You were working.”

“I was working, and I still got more rest than you. I really needed that sleep and time away, Y/N, and I think you do, too. Now, please, go away,” he'd pulled you into his arms when you'd put the baby down that night to reveal his brilliant plans. 

“Just for the night. Go away for a lovely overnight break. Not indefinitely. I love you.” His panicked confession at the end sent you into giggles, that with a few well times kisses had you reluctantly agreeing to the girls trip he'd planned you. 

The BAU girls had been roped into accompanying you on the trip, which honestly meant that he'd be getting status updates any time he asked for one. 

JJ, Penelope, Emily, and Tara were all going to strong arm you into the car if need be to carry you off to the nearest 5(ish) star Hotel and Spa. 

And that's exactly what happened. 

The man had even packed the bag for you to send you off, had made you breakfast in bed and had run to every sound your daughter had made from dusk until dawn so you didn't have to lift a finger. 

“Y/N, you're resting today.”

“But-” 

“No. No buts. Just rest.”

“At least let me hold her for a second to say goodbye.” He blinked at you for a few seconds before his stubbornly helpful face turned softer, and he quickly handed your daughter back for a small cuddle. 

With a lingering hug, you told your daughter - who absolutely did not care one bit that you would be wandering out of the house soon enough - that you'd be back in the morning, kissed your husband on the lips, and were swiftly kidnapped by JJ and Emily. 

To your credit, you lasted two whole hours before breaking down. 

The drive to the hotel was quick and peaceful, and it felt nice to breathe in the fresh air without having to also check for various baby smells. 

You checked in fast, and all gathered in the in-hotel restaurant for brunch and mimosas, and then it hit you. Another mother walked in with a stroller, and you were blubbering. 

Your bottom lip wobbled, and the rest of the world ceased to exist as you gave in to the emotions. 

You knew, of course, that you were going to have to leave your daughter at some point. It wasn't healthy for either of you to have attachment issues, and you didn't want to hinder your daughters development by sticking too close - but that didn't mean you didn't miss her. 

JJ noticed your watery eyes first. “Oh no, I know that look,” she smiled over her drink, taking a sip. 

“What? What look?” You said, but giving yourself massively away with a good sniff and watery blink. 

“You lasted longer than I did. I couldn't go half an hour without turning my car around and heading back to Henry, and I swear it was only worse with Michael.” 

You giggled a bit as you wiped your eyes. 

“Do you think… do you think we could go back? Just for a little bit. I just want to check on them.”

The women passed a look between them and then nodded back at you, obviously having expected this. 

“Actually, we didn't book any spa treatments until the afternoon. We had a feeling something like this would happen,” Tara smiled at you, and you snorted in surprise as you dabbed away your tears with a handkerchief. 

“We are laying some ground rules though,” Emily said, a stern tone fighting the playful smile on her face. 

“We can peak through a window, but we're not going in. And we're not going to call ahead and let Spencer know. The kid needs to know you feel confident in his parenting skills, and if he's just got the baby settled and you come back in, it won't be easy to calm her down again.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” you said, but you were already halfway to the car by the time you could finish the sentence. 

The girls pulled up a block away and let you walk calmly back to your front door. 

You'd since agreed to a time limit and not to unlock the door. Emily went ahead to scope out the house, communicating with JJ on the phone who was holding your hand to stop you from wringing them. 

You'd never been a part of the BAU, but somehow you felt like a team member on a case getting ready to stake out a target. 

When Emily gave you the signal, the rest of the girls gave you space, and you ducked down to peer into your ground floor window. 

Spencer was on his stomach with your daughter, and they were having what seemed like a riveting conversation. 

“And so then I obviously got tongue-tied. Like I said, Daddy isn't good at talking to people, let alone beautiful women like Mommy.” 

“Be be be da.”

“Exactly. I really embarrassed myself, actually. I went up to her and said ‘do you have a number?’ and she was so confused.”

“Ba!” 

“Yeah, she sounded like that, too. I kept talking more and more, and she couldn't understand what I meant. She thought I was asking about her age at one point. I was just getting redder and redder, and then she grabbed my hand and led me to a seat at the back of the bookshop because she thought I was sick.”

He smiled down at the infant again, still babbling to herself.

“I was sick, of course, but it was just love sickness. I still am.” 

The tears that you'd delicately wiped away earlier came back hot and heavy now as you resisted the urge to crawl through the window to your precious family. 

Spencer was telling your daughter the story of how he first asked you out, near disastrously, and from the sounds of it, he wasn't done telling stories. 

“I really love your Mommy, you know. She's wonderful.”

“Mmmm,”

“See, you think so too. Everyone thinks so.” 

“Mmmma” 

“Yes, your Mama. You’re just like her, everyone loves you, too.” 

“Mama.”

You heard Spencer's breath hitch as you closed a hand over your mouth to stop a shocked squeal from coming out. 

“T-That's right. Mama. One more time, say mama.”

“Mama,” the little baby squealed in delight, reacting to her fathers utter joy. 

“You're speaking. One more time, Mama.”

“Mama!” 

“Your mama is going to be so mad,” Spencer whispered, grabbing his daughter up in one more careful hug and kissing her face as she giggled delightfully. “We need to keep this a secret. Tomorrow, you'll have you say your first word in front of her, and we'll both act surprised, okay? Promise?”

The gargle he got in response was enough to have your shoulders shaking as the others extricated you from your own front lawn. 

Back in the car, you broke down into giggles and tears, shoulders rising and falling in sobs and laughter intermittently. 

“Is this a total psychotic break or just a symptom of seeing Spencer as a dad?” Penelope asked, nudging you with her elbow as you tried to regain your composure.

“It's… whew, it's okay. We can go back now.” 

“You sure?” JJ asked from the driver's seat, and you nodded once again.

“Yeah. I'm fine now. I'm really good.” 

The women all offered you similar smiles as you drove away, blissful and content. 

[writing-the-stars]

Echoes of Love

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Fem!Reader, Unnamed OC x Fem!Reader

Summary: It had been years since you last heard from Klaus Mikaelson, and just as you were finally ready to move on, he decided to remind you of the love you once shared.

Warnings: Angst (As Always) and Emotional Cheating. Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Hey guys! I'm baaaaaaaaaaack. Did you miss me? It's been far too long. I'm alive and I have been slowly ramping up to my return. Starting with this story! The title, to be frank, is not greatest, but I think this is a nice little story to raise me from the dead. I hope you enjoy and thank you all so much for reading!!! Have a wonderful day!

Masterlist | TVDU Masterlist

You perfect the practiced smile you’ve been working on for weeks. It should be easy for you by now– it should come naturally. Everything about this day shouldn’t feel as forced as it does, and yet, on what was meant to be the happiest day of your life, you could only feel the apprehensive dread pooling in your gut. 

The heirloom gown from your soon to be mother-in-law feels heavier than it should, almost suffocating, magnifying the doubts consuming your mind. This was supposed to be the genesis of your new life, the start of your would-be happily ever after. Yet, that menacing fear of regret whittles away at any persuasion you used to get yourself to this moment. You were so sure this is what you wanted. The venue, the menu, the flowers, the seating– all meticulously chosen for this day. But with the weight of vows looming in the horizon, the word “mistake” seems to have made a home in your mind. Were you really prepared to commit yourself to a lifetime with this man?

He was good and pure-hearted– kind, caring, and devoted. He treasured you, loving you in a way that you could never fully reciprocate. You do have an affinity for the man waiting for you at the end of the aisle and you know he could give you a stable and contented life. Yet, the allure of the security his last name would bring pales when you reflect on the life you are now trying to shed. 

Memories intricately woven with passion and adventure. Each day an unpredictable surprise filled with experiences that reshaped the person you once were. The encompassing romance that breathed new meaning to your life, sparking a deeper fulfillment as you were pushed beyond your familiar boundaries. A chapter of your life where your heart had found its rhythm. And despite the inevitable challenges, especially given his past, you were unwavering in facing them with him, and your life was richer for it. 

That danger of living on the edge wasn’t something you realized you craved until it was suddenly taken away. But that was not a sustainable life, you remind yourself as you latch on to a new flaw in your appearance to occupy your mind. 

Your groom is safe— a predictable and reliable anchor in life. A mundane routine you can easily fall into. He promises stability and security, granting you a solid foundation for your future. Which is why you convinced yourself to marry him. It wouldn’t be the life of fantasy that you longed for, but you would be content. 

“Hello, love.”  

Everything within you stills at the sound of the ghost of your past. Your eyes travel the expanse of the mirror, landing on the reflection of his figure propped against the doorframe of your bridal suite– emulating the way he used to watch you get ready. 

“Your beauty is nothing short of breathtaking.” 

“What are you doing here?” the words a mere whisper as they are pushed through your constricted throat. You force yourself to stare fixedly through the mirror, resisting the urge to turn around. Because if you do, if you physically lay your eyes on him, it would shatter all the progress you have made the past three years. And you're determined not to grant him the satisfaction and reward of rejoicing his return as if his actions did not hurt you.

“I’ve heard about your impending nuptials. I couldn’t possibly miss your big day.” 

You laugh, a hollow sound. After all this time, the man you spent years waiting by the door for has finally returned, just as you've made the decision to move on. Bitterness saturates you at the audacity of this man to appear today of all days, wearing that brazen grin. Did he truly believe he could waltz back into your life after everything?

“Why? So you can stop me from ridding myself of you. Starting over and actually having a shot at happiness.” 

Your voice is sharp– venom drips from every word, aiming to puncture another layer deeper into his calloused over heart. His jaw ticks, the only indication you hit your target. 

“I like to think you were quite happy with me, love.”

You scoff, a pathetic attempt to dismiss the validity of his words. Your gaze returns to your own reflection, beginning to readjust the lacey veil pinned to your head, needing a distraction from the man who has an incomprehensible hold on you. 

“Why are you really here, Klaus?” his name falling from your lips as if your tongue had been molded to say it, “You didn’t come back to town just to watch me get married.” 

He steps into the room– reflection growing as he steps closer to you. 

“I’ve come to wish you luck,” you watch as his turquoise eyes trail your frame before returning to your gaze in the mirror, “Though I can’t help but wish you were wearing that dress for me.” 

Something inside you breaks, setting free a torrent of long-suppressed emotions that had been brewing beneath the surface.

“You threw that away 7 years ago when you left me. I waited for you. For 4 years, I waited for you to come back like an idiot because you promised your heart to me and I was dumb enough to fall for it. And now, once I’ve finally picked up the pieces and I’m ready to start again, you want to come back and take that away from me!”

“I left to protect you!”

“No, Klaus! You left because you were afraid. Because for once somebody actually meant something to you and you couldn’t handle the responsibility of that reality. Because, in spite of all my best efforts, you have it solidified in that warped brain of yours that you are incapable of being loved. That no one could ever truly want to be with you. So what do you do? You run. You push people away to avoid your biggest fear and end up becoming your own self-fulfilling prophecy. Well guess what, Klaus? It worked. You’re alone now.”

You turn your back on the Mikaelson, finally ready to give yourself over to your groom. You open your mouth to dismiss the hybrid, but the words die on your tongue as your eyes meet his. His reflection reveals the glistening of tears brimming in his eyes, on the verge of spilling over, but you know Klaus Mikaelson is too prideful to ever let you see him cry. Yet, the thought of it stills you. You take in the sight of him—his clenched fists, his labored breathing—and for the first time, you truly see him. You see the vulnerability beneath the facade, the depth of his struggle, and it stops you in your tracks. 

The wounded boy who only sought his father's approval and his mother's affection. The scars etched deep into his soul, born from the torment of being a bastard cruelly shunned. The millennia of isolating loneliness that followed—an inhumane punishment for another's sin. Beyond that, you witness the fresh wounds your words have inflicted, reopening the scars you had fought so hard to help him heal. Your vengeful words have confirmed his lifelong fear. Here stands a man who has finally gained everything he ever desired, only to realize he is on the brink of losing it all. It moves you, the sight of his insecurities laid bare just for you

"Say it. Tell me you no longer love me, and I will walk away. I will leave you to marry this man, and you will never hear from me again. I will do that for you. But if there is any part of you that still cares, leave with me. Give me another chance."

You stare at the hybrid, conflict brewing within you. You desperately want to believe him—God knows you do—but if he walks away from you again, your heart couldn't endure another shattering. You glance at your reflection in the mirror, adorned in the gown of a woman whose son you could only truly tolerate.  

Is that really the life you want to live? 

You return your gaze to the Mikaelson, stunned by the single tear rolling down his cheek—his ultimate vulnerability. This simple, profound act compels you to accept what you've always known deep down. You can never truly walk away from this man. You love him too much.

Taglist: @catmikaelson20, @gamarancianne, @hazgold, @devotedlycrookeddonut

If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know!

[rs-hawk]

I don't think i can explain to you the near-boundless giddy excitement I got form seeing EJ on that creeptober list of yours. (If it's not obvious, he might just be my favourite, snort) Looking forward to all of em tho ~!!

He’s GREAT. I used to have so many head cannons about him since so little is actually known. This story is actually based off my hc about his origin. I hope you enjoy!

Creeptober: Day Three

Eyeless Jack’s Obsession

Yandere! Eyeless Jack x AFAB Reader

CW: horror themes, stalking, blood, pain, death (not of reader), hypnosis, breeding, etc

Eyeless Jack was once an ordinary spirit. He lived his afterlife the way most spirits do. Bored and alone. However, that all changed when you bought the mansion in which he resided.

You moved in without ever seeing the place in person, which you soon regretted. The entire place gave you a creepy vibe that made the pit of your stomach twist into knots. At all times it felt like something was watching you. Stalking you. Filling every room with its presence.

And he was. Jack was following you no matter where you went in the house. It was like you were a drug and he was an addict. Being around you made him feel almost alive again. And the more alive he felt, the more he could interact with the physical world.

Soon he was moving things. Taking things from you. You noticed but kept trying to brush it off. You hoped thought that you were going a little crazy. After all, you worked a remote job and lived in this big creepy house all by yourself. You were supposed to fix it up and sell it for your aunt, who hadn’t lived here in decades, but it was hard. Even with the money she gave you, you struggled to make up the remainder.

Eventually though, you did, and construction started. You still lived in the loft like area that was once an attic while the crews worked downstairs. Unfortunately for the construction workers you hired, Eyeless Jack wasn’t as enthused with the intrusion into your space as you were.

On the very first day, a ladder fell over, nearly killing one of the roofers. He was fine, but he refused to return as he said he was pushed. The next time a ladder fell, a few days later, someone did die.

You heard the screaming and the sound of a body hitting the concrete. It took you a few minutes to rush downstairs. Terror filling your body. Did someone really just die on your aunt’s property? Holy fuck. How would you be able to keep living here? That poor man and his family.

While you were panicked, Jack was ecstatic. He hoped now you would send all these other people away so it could just be the two of you again. All he wanted was to be able to have you all to himself again. As he watched you panic, and the other workers calling the cops or trying to scrape their dead friend’s body off the concrete, he realized that he had blood on his hands.

For a few moments, he just stared at it. Vague memories of being alive and kicking blood from a cut on his finger drifted through his mind, but nothing solid. It was too long ago. Too hard to remember. Yet, his tongue darted out to flick across his palm.

The blood in his mouth solidified some of the memories, and made him feel almost alive. In a frenzy, he licked the blood from both of his hands, the coppery and metallic taste filling his mouth. His eyes glazed over and all he could think of was getting more blood. How much could he touch then? Could he touch you?

The next few days were a blur for you as you worked with the company and your home owners insurance to work out the logistics of the worker’s accident. Everyone saw that he just fell. The ladder was properly secured. No one was messing with it. He was acting responsibly. He wasn’t impaired or intoxicated. It was a freak accident.

But you knew. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew. It was because of that disturbing presence in the house.

You decided that you wanted the renovations done as quickly as possible, so after getting some of your money back from the previous company, you hired another. And another. And another. Every time, someone died. It was horrifying. One man came to your house just to survey the land and came across a missing roofer. He looked like he had been ripped open with a man’s bear hands, and, to both your and the surveyer’s horror, all of his organs were missing.

That night you called your aunt and told her that you were done. In the morning, you were leaving. She didn’t even try to protest after you told her everything that had happened. Jack, having over heard your conversation, was furious. He couldn’t lose you.

Over the past few months, he had undergone a transformation. Every bit of human flesh he consumed made him more solidified. More tangible. More alive. However, his face has become mutated and disturbing. Where his eyes once were, were just empty chasms, dripping black blood. His skin turned to a disturbing shade of ashy gray. So, to prevent your terror as much as he could, he carved a mask out of a piece what used to be a blue shelf. Now there was no reason for you to rebuff his affection.

When he made his way up to your room, you were on your laptop. In seconds, he tossed it from your lap, and your phone was pushed off the bed. He was on his knees on the foot of the bed, leaning over you, caging you in with his arms.

A scream welled up in your throat as the black holes bore into your eyes, but a muttering voice soothed the fear away. Your brain turned fuzzy. It was like you couldn’t think for yourself. He tilted his head, which you mimicked.

“A pretty puppet,” he purred, stroking the side of your face with one of his hands.

You couldn’t think of anything. It was like his eyes had drawn every thought or ounce of individualism from your skull. When he told you to take off your clothes, you did. When he told you to lay down, you did. You couldn’t see his mouth, and his voice seemed to come from everywhere, but you knew that it was him talking.

“Make sure your pussy is good and wet for me,” he instructed, and you obliged.

You began to finger yourself, using your other hand to play with your clit. The soft whimpers and moans that escaped your lips had him gritting his teeth behind his mask. He wanted to take you so badly, but he also wanted it to be perfect for you. His little morsel. He wanted to be apart of you. For you to be apart of him. Forever.

Once your juices began to drip onto your sheets, he finally cooed at you to stop. You did. Despite the frustration and throbbing of your pussy. He was still caging you in with his arms, his form nearly engulfing you. After a moment of watching you squirm, your neglected cunt clenching around nothing, he eased back. Unzipping his pants, and pulling down his boxers, his hard and throbbing cock was shown to you.

Once his hypnotic gaze was broken, your mind began to flood back to you, and the sight of something so massive made you try to scamper back on the bed. However, your loving Eyeless Jack realized that his hold had been broken and grabbed your face, forcing your gazes to lock. Once again, anything in your mind seemed to melt away.

“Spread your legs,” he instructed. And you did.

He slowly slid inside of you, watching your face intensely as it contorted in pain and pleasure. He stretched you out to the point that you felt like you’d burst. Your walls were still throbbing with need, forcing you to clench around him. Clearly to his immense pleasure.

“There we go. Mine. So good for me,” he moaned as he finally sank his cock deep inside of you, his eyes flickering away from your face for just a moment to see how your stomach extended from his cock.

When his gaze returned to you, he saw tears in the corner of your eyes. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to me, won’t you?” he promised, cupping your cheek almost tenderly again. You nodded obediently.

He was only slow for a few thrusts before losing what little of his kind remained. It was clear he wanted to care about your pleasure, but the decades of death and isolation left him desperate for the comfort and warmth your pussy brought him. The tip of his cock slammed against your cervix repeatedly, making you wince. He muttered out apologies, but never stopped. Never slowed down.

His cock ripped you slightly, blood beading along your tender lips. He muttered out another apology about how he’d make it up to you, and all you could do was whisper out an “okay”. It took hours for him to finish, and when he did, he slammed himself deeply inside of you, his cum pumping directly into your womb.

“There we are. Now I’ll always be apart of you,” he smiled, pulling up his mask to press a kiss to your forehead before disappearing.

As your mind came back to you, you winced at the pain, but wondered with a twisted hunger if he would come back for you.

Like this story? Support me on Ko-fi ☕️ ❤️

[cochart]

Some SMT5 Characters in P5T style because it’s cute

I’ve been enjoying P5T during my little self-assigned winter break. I haven’t cleared the game yet, but it’s been a nice distraction.

Below is some of my thoughts on P5T if you’re interested or if you’re trying to decide whether or not to buy.

Overall, the game has been pretty enjoyable. It’s nice to see the characters you’re familiar with again and the story is decent. The art style is cute and the battles are enjoyable. The game is definitely more on the casual side and might be a tad bit disappointing for people who want a proper SRPG. On the flip side, even if you hate SRPG, you’d be able to pick this game up easily. I’d definitely recommend the game for P5 fans.

On the other hand, compared to P5S, the game does feel a little short for the price. I don’t regret preordering the game at all, but if your finances aren’t doing so well at the moment, I’d say wait till it goes on a sale.

1. As a Persona 5 spinoff

As a spinoff, I think it’s a pretty nice game. It’s nice to see the characters you love again in a different context, and the new characters are fun and likable. I’m actually quite impressed by the new characters as it can sometimes be difficult to insert new characters into a well-established franchise without making them overpowered or otherwise upsetting to the existing fans. Both Toshiro and Elle are likable, fun characters with decent stories of their own.

It’s also nice to see your favorite Phantom Thieves again. Overall, the tone of the game is more playful, so you can’t expect an in-depth character exploration you get in P5R, but it still feels like a treat.

2. As an SRPG

I think the game translated the elements of Persona franchise well into an SRPG genre. With 1 MORE and Tribangle system, you really do feel like you’re playing a Persona game. While it might be a tad bit disappointing that you can only use three characters per battle, trying to find the most efficient way to exterminate the enemies with Tribangle is pretty fun.

That said, for people coming from a more traditional SRPG like Final Fantasy Tactics or the Fire Emblem series, P5T can be a little lacking. Part of the fun in an SRPG is customizing units and building your army. In P5T, you level up the Phantom Thieves as a whole instead of individually. I think this was necessary to prevent users having to grind to level up different units, but it also makes it harder for you as a player to customize each unit meaningfully. In FE3H, for example, you can decide whether you want Felix to be a sword master or a wyvern lord. You can also decide whether you’d want your army to be sturdier with a lot of armored units or whether you’d take your chances by raising your units’ agility and hoping that they’d dodge enemy attacks. That you can’t do such customization can be a huge disappointment for people who enjoy SRPG.

On the other hand, adopting such traditional job/class system might have turned P5T into a poor man’s FE. I feel like the developers had to choose between a traditional approach at the risk of making the game look like a FE ripoff and trying to make use of Persona-typical systems at the expense of being a solid SRPG.

Overall, the game plays more like a fun puzzle game than an SRPG. If I were to compare P5T to any game, I’d actually compare it to some of the puzzle maps in FEH. My advice is if you’re looking for a solid SRPG like Fire Emblem, you should pick up a Fire Emblem game.

3. Others

While the game doesn’t feel unfinished—like Crimson Flower route in FE3H in which you feel cheated out of Edel’s story—it does feel a little short. I haven’t gotten to the final boss, but I can look at the level and guess where I am. I’ve been playing this game in bits and pieces, but I’m already 60% finished with the game. I think at this rate, I’d finish at about 35~40ish hours. Keep in mind that when I play games, I eat and drink, so it takes a little longer than it would if I were to focus completely on the game.

One thing that shortens the game is that there isn’t anything to do aside from battling. I know some people hate it when games involve little side activity like walking around and talking to characters—though you can technically talk to characters in P5T when there’s a Talk event—or farming, but I do wish there was something to do. The quests are fun, but there aren’t that many of them.

On the other hand, because you don’t have anything to work for besides getting on with the story, I’m not sure if the developers could have made the game longer without making the battles feel too repetitive. If there were job/class systems or any unit customization available, there would be something to work for, but there isn’t.

I do think there is more potential to the premise of the game though. The Kingdoms of P5T is sort of set up like Silent Hill in that the bosses are incarnations of one’s fear. I think the developers could definitely have expanded on that.

I’ve also seen some complaints that the game is too easy. The game is definitely easier than some SRPG I played. But then, I don’t think this game was made with hardcore SRPG players in mind. Also, despite the game being a bit more casual, I didn’t feel bored playing the battles. So I think the difficulty level might actually be more suitable for the general public. Aside from something like Dark Souls, games of all genres have been getting easier over the years. I know it might be disappointing to people who want more challenging games, but I don’t see the trend reversing soon. I think the best course of action if you want more challenge is to try looking into some indie games.

[celestie0]

Are we gonna have smut in ihm soon?🤭

man it’s really fuckin disappointing and sad to spend 10 hrs out of my week to try to create a meaningful story, one that resonates a lot with me and the things i’ve been through in my life, one that i hope my readers can resonate with and see themselves in, just to get asks like this.

like, picture this. you get super excited to write this story of yours, you plan aaaaaall these secondary plot lines, introduce new characters, create different character dynamics, try to include scenes that strengthen relationships with already existing character dynamics. plan out an ENTIRE story on paper (my ideas doc ALONE for ihm has 13k+ words) and try to leave subtle clues here and there in your chapters to support a build up of tensions that’ll lead to a payoff later on in the series. oh, and this is just the planning part. did you know that it takes the average person 1-2 hrs to write 1k words? the last ihm chapter was 14.1k words. go ahead and do the math, and try to figure out how long it must’ve taken me to write it. without even counting the time spent i spent editing it.

i know that this fandom is so horny brainrot fucked up to the nines, i’ve sincerely never seen a fandom that needs to touch grass more than the jjk fandom. and admittedly, i am also super excited to write more smut in my stories! sex is fuckin cool n sexy! but let me just get one thing straight to you horny anons that send me asks like this: my stories are STORIES first and foremost. they are not VESSELS for your FANTASIES. they are not PORN with PLOT. they are my stories, that i write drawing from my real life experiences. and, hey, news flash, they mean a fuckin lot to me! i’m assuming you didn’t do the math on the 14.1k word chapter thing, but i’ll tell you right now: it took me maybe 20 hours to write ch3 of ihm. something that probs took you 1 hour to read, and then ten seconds to send me this ask. surely your tonedeaf brain can at least understand that i wouldn’t spend that much fuckin’ time writing something if it was just supposed to be porn with plot.

listen, i know that i’m not the best writer. i understand that, after reading all of this, you might be thinking “shut the fuck up bitch, your writing aint alla that for me to respect you. we only care about the smut, don’t you understand?” that’s valid. i’ll respect that. i never claimed to be a great author, or deserving of anything meaningful from you in return. ultimately, it’s my choice to spend the time that i do writing, no one’s forcing me, and i would never expect people to support me either (although i am always infinitely grateful for it and tbh the support is what keeps me writing). but what i don’t deserve is to be sent careless asks that make me feel like you see no purpose in my stories other than sex. other than smut. other than a penis going inside a fucking vagina.

anon, you know what would make me excited to continue writing my story? excited to get to the parts where characters ARE intimate with one another? is if you maybe threw in something as simple as a fuckin “hey i loved that part in ihm ch3 where [x]. thought it was a cool thing to do. btw, looking forward to the smut!” would’ve taken you a solid 30 seconds. it just took me 30 seconds to type that. or? you know what else you can do? go sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and spend 20+ hrs writing a 14k+ oneshot on the smut that you so badly wanna see. it’s your choice. really! i mean it. go be the change you wanna see in this world.

i have never once felt like i deserved any of the support that i’ve gotten. idk how to write pretty prose. or moving stories. i read some other people’s work on this app and i’m genuinely gobsmacked by how talented they are and constantly think how shitty my writing is in comparison. but my thing is that i am at least trying my best to write stories that people feel worthy of reading, because i feel like that’s the kind of respect that an audience deserves. i am trying my best to put my character and integrity into things that i write, even if what i produce ends up falling flat or doesn’t come across. but this ask isn’t an isolated issue. this issue has come up multiple times in the time i’ve had my blog, where people just reduce my stories down to smut smut smut smut smut when are we gonna get smut when are they gonna fuck write more smut in kickoff you should make ihm couple fuck like rabbits in the next chapter oh we better see them do [redacted redacted redacted] or else imma [redacted redacted redacted]. my fics are literally TAGGED with "slow burn romance"...i am fully transparent about it. and while i’ve also gotten so many meaningful heartfelt reactions to my stories (which, btw, were tastefully horny…yes, there is a way to send an author an ask that is tastefully horny while also appreciating their work!! insane wild concept!! /sarcasm), unfortunately these bad interactions will always stick.

like. would you ask someone you knew irl that was writing a novel, when they're gonna write the smut for it? would you tell them to hurry tf up and finish their novel just so that you can read the smut? would you send them your smut fantasies and be like "include this in your novel for ME because I want it "? no. because they'd think you're creepy n weird asf n overbearing then drop you. so why is it okay to do that to an author on tumblr? what happened to manners? what happened to decorum? especially for creators who are making you content for FREE.

if i was an author that wrote purely smut oneshots, i’d maybe kinda sorta understand (still think it's wrong asf, regardless of the content of stories that you write). but i feel like, after the 200k+ words that i’ve poured into my two stories (including the chapters i’ve written that i haven’t yet released) where it’s CLEARLY evident that these stories are much more than smut, i’d think that i deserve treatment a little bit better than this.

i’m done. i’m done trying to be nice. i’m done just silently deleting rude asf asks because i don’t wanna cause a scene. i’m done worrying about hurting people’s feelings, when I’M the one that is getting my feelings hurt while you just get to hide behind an anon.

i. am. just. fucking. done.

[visceravalentines]

a different kind of hang-up

Randy's mom calls while they're in the middle of something, again. Benson tries his best to get Randy off the phone.

2.6k words. canon divergence, boys on the run. established relationship. blowjobs. smoking. Benson being a menace lol he can't handle not being the center of Randy's attention. read on ao3 here if that's more your speed.

Benson just can't keep his hands off him, even when his mom calls.

The phone rings for so long, so long, before Randy can get to it. The second it starts up Benson recognizes the ringtone and tightens his grip on Randy's hips, sags on top of him with his full weight. He pushes his tongue into his mouth with intentional fervor because he likes fucking around with fire and Mrs. Bradley is a five-alarm inferno.

Randy makes a panicked sound and tries to wriggle free to no avail. He taps Benson's chest, but Benson takes the hint and throws it away unopened, snags Randy’s wrist and pins it to the bed.

Randy twists his arm out of his grip and gives him a shove, leans his head away. "Benson–please–I gotta get this." He makes a grab for the phone on the nightstand.

"You really don't," Benson murmurs, taking hold of his jaw with one big hand and pulling his lips back into range.

Randy lets out a frustrated grunt that gets lost in Benson's mouth and shoves him again, harder, with both hands and a knee for good measure. Benson relents, topples lazily to the side and gives him this goofy, satisfied smirk that makes Randy’s stomach do a flip and he just can't deal with that right now.

"You're gonna get me in trouble," he complains as he sits up and snatches the phone.

"Aw." Benson stretches like a cat, folds his arms behind his head, all ribs and armpit hair and lean lines of muscle. "Now wouldn't that be a shame."

"Hi Mom," Randy says, hoping he sounds perfectly even-keeled and normal and not like he's been rolling around with another man in a motel bed. He remembers his erection at that moment, the worst possible moment, and blushes so hard he can feel the blood trading places. He grabs a pillow and shoves it over his lap like she can see through the phone.

"Randy, I don't like this." His mom starts every conversation like this these days. 

Randy bites back a sigh. "I know, Mom."

"This isn't a normal thing. Friends don't ask friends to help them move across the country last-minute without a plan."

They've been through this so many times he's lost count. At least his story gets more solid every time he repeats it. "I told you, Brian doesn't have a support system. I'm just trying to do a good deed." Brian is Benson, because Benson can't be Benson, because Benson is wanted for murder. 

Randy feels the mattress shift behind him and stiffens when calloused fingers brush against his skin. His mother's list of grievances fades in his ears as Benson worries at the waistband of his jeans. 

"Randy," Benson sing-songs softly at his hip. "Tell her you're in the middle of something."

Randy waves him away, tries to ignore the scratch of his beard and his lips on his skin and tune back into the conversation at hand. "You’re a kind and responsible boy, honey, people will take advantage of that." 

"I understand, Mom, but I'm–"

He feels the pinch of teeth on his waist, jerks and bites back a yelp. 

His mother is alarmed. "Randy? Are you okay? What happened?"

Randy scoots down the bed away from Benson, shoots him a dirty look. Benson rolls onto his back, runs a hand through his hair and flashes Randy an upside-down grin. 

"I'm fine, Mom. Stubbed my toe."

"Sorry," Benson says innocently. "You look fucking delicious, what do you want me to do about it?"

"Are you walking around barefoot? I raised you better than that, Randy. Where are you even walking, aren't you still driving?"

"Yeah, we just–we stopped to grab some food and…stretch our legs a little bit." 

Benson sits up suddenly and Randy flinches in anticipatory distress before he even speaks. "We can stretch something else if you want," Benson offers with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Randy grits his teeth and ignores him, picks frantically at the seam of the pillow in his lap. 

"I bet you're eating like absolute garbage. All that fast food isn't good for your long-term health, you know. God knows you had plenty of that at–well. God knows you've had plenty of that." 

She clears her throat, recovers from the near-miss of mentioning the incident. The new incident. She’s had years of practice at sidestepping the elephant in the room, but nobody’s perfect, and this is a much bigger elephant. Randy has to admit that it's convenient, not having to dodge questions because they aren't being asked. 

"Where are you now?" she says by way of a subject change.

Benson crawls across the mattress on his knees and winds his arms around Randy’s waist, leans heavy against his back and sets his chin on his shoulder. He smells like sweat and nicotine. Randy grips the pillow like a lifeline. 

"We're, um…well, I think we're–"

He knows where they are. He knows exactly where they are. Eighteen miles outside of Glasgow, Kentucky. He knows where they're supposed to be, too, according to the fake route he mapped to sate his mother's anxious curiosity. He just can't quite remember what he told her last time, because his brain's still sloshing around in oxytocin and Benson’s kissing his neck, rubbing his chest, thumb catching on his nipple again and again. 

"I-I think we're about 40 miles from Benson," he says loudly, as though the volume adds certainty. 

"Benson?" his mom repeats, sounding alarmed, and Benson chuckles in his ear. 

"Careful," he mutters. 

"Branson!" Randy elbows Benson off of him and stands up, stumbles away from the bed. "I meant Branson. Sorry, I fuc–I messed up." He cringes.

Benson laughs, delighted. "Randy Bradley," he says in a mockery of Mrs. Bradley’s disapproving tone. 

"Randy Bradley," his mom says like an echo. "Watch your language." 

"Sorry. I’m sorry." Randy stalks away, pacing the length of the tiny room, shooting Benson a look of combined irritation and desperation that ultimately reads as pain. "It’s been–I didn’t sleep well last night." 

"You gonna tell her why?" Benson asks slyly.  

Randy flushes red hot, throws the pillow in his direction and misses by a mile. 

Benson winces. "Yikes, babe." 

He flops on his stomach and reaches for the cigarettes and lighter on the nightstand. His back is crosshatched with pink scratches, a familiar set of eight nail marks etched into his love handles. Randy feels a detached sense of something like pride in spite of himself. 

"We gotta work on your aim. Tone up those arms." Benson makes a jerk-off motion to help paint the picture. 

Randy drags a hand across his face. His brain is fraying at the seams. "You can’t smoke in here," he mouths at Benson, who looks him dead in the eye as he lights up and smiles around the cigarette. 

His mother is waxing vitriolic about the dangers of sleep aids. Randy heaves a harried sigh. "No, Mom, that’s–I don’t even know where to get benzos." 

"I do," Benson says helpfully. Randy shakes his head. Benson apparently takes this as an expression of doubt rather than exasperation. "I do," he insists. 

"So how many more days until you get to San Diego, hmm?" his mom says. "You’re not making very good time, honey. Just because you don’t have a job to come back to doesn’t mean you can just roam the countryside like some deadbeat hippie." 

"I know, Mom. It–it’s about the journey." 

"Fuck yeah it is," Benson agrees. 

"Brian’s never been out of Louisiana and neither have I, so we’re…we’re just seeing the sights together." 

"And how long will you be seeing the sights?" 

Randy leans against the wall, knocks his head back against the plaster. "I guess…I don't know. I’ll keep you posted, but…we’re not really on a schedule." 

Benson gets up from the bed and pads over. He invites himself into Randy’s space, boxes him in against the wall, touches his face, touches his ribs. He blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth as he looks him up and down. 

Randy can feel his own heart thudding in his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of his body and its proximity to Benson’s. It’s Pavlovian, almost, the way he draws him in like that. Derails his thought process like a punch to the gut.

"So what, this road trip just goes on forever?" 

"No, Mom." Benson hooks his fingers into Randy’s waistband. Randy meets his gaze, kind of forgets what he was saying. "Just, uh…just until we get to California, and then…and then back again." 

Benson takes another drag and exhales slow, opens his mouth and lets the smoke curl up and out. Randy breathes it in on reflex. His mouth waters. 

"Hang up the phone," Benson murmurs. His dark eyes are on fire. 

"It–I–I’ll be home before you know it," Randy says. 

Benson leans in and sideswipes Randy’s jaw with his chin, worries at his earlobe with teeth and tongue. "Randy." His voice is gravel and satin. The cigarette glows between his fingers in Randy’s periphery. He reaches further into his pants. "Hang up the phone," he whispers. 

"I hate to say it, but I just don’t believe you, Randy," his mom says. Her voice drips with disapproval, cold around a core of genuine concern. He knows she’s biting back so much more that she’d like to say, and he loves her for that. For trying to give him an inch even though he’s taking miles and miles. 

"I promise I’m okay, Mom," he says, tilting his hips towards Benson, who puts the cigarette between his lips and starts unbuttoning Randy’s jeans. "I would tell you if I wasn’t. I just…this is just something I need to do. Something I–I want to do." 

Benson catches his eye, winks at him. "Hang up," he mouths as he sinks to his knees. 

"Randy," his mom sighs. He closes his eyes and can picture her shaking her head. "I just worry about you, sweetheart." 

Benson’s pushing his shirt up and tugging his pants down and dragging his tongue up the ridge of his hip. Randy can feel the heat on his waist from the cherry between his fingers. In another life, that would scare him so bad it'd make him sick, the chance of getting burned. He feels differently about it now. Knows Benson won't hurt him, not without cause. Knows he could take it if he did. There’s something seductive about that, the power of that. The trust.

Of course, Benson’s hand on his ass and spit on his skin count for something too.

"Randy? Are you there?"

"Yeah…yeah. Sorry. I know that, Mom, I know you worry," he says. "And I’m sorry about that." 

It sounds hollow, even to himself, but he means it. He wishes it was different. That he didn’t have to lie. But that’s not an option, not for Benson, and he can’t be without him. They’re a package deal now and he likes it that way. Wants it that way. Wants him.

"Please, baby," Benson mumbles against Randy’s stomach. He sounds as desperate as Randy feels.

He bites his lip, combs his fingers through Benson’s greasy hair. "I gotta go, Mom. I’ll call you at the next stop." 

"Promise me." 

Benson takes one last drag on his cigarette before he holds it up for Randy to take. He blows soft and slow along the length of Randy’s dick, runs his hand down the back of his leg. 

The smoke wafts up to his nose and Randy white-knuckles the phone. He’s so hard he can’t think, can’t possibly wring one more coherent sentence out of his lust-addled brain. "Yeah, I–I promise, Mom. I love you." 

"I love you, honey." 

Randy ends the call and throws the phone in the direction of the bed. He misses again, dimly registers the thunk as it hits the wall. 

"Fuck, Benson," he breathes at the same time Benson says, "Fucking finally," and wraps his mouth around him. Randy groans and slumps against the wall, lets Benson pull his hips closer. He likes being put where he wants him. 

"You're gonna get me in trouble," he says again, bringing the cigarette to his lips. He needs it bad after all that. He thinks he can taste Benson’s spit in the filter and he closes his eyes, lets his brain go blank. 

Benson comes off his cock with a pop and looks up at him. "But I always get you back out, right?" His tongue slides in circles. 

It's miraculous every time he does this, puts his mouth on him like this. Randy's wished for a miracle for a long time. This wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but who is he to turn it down, with its long lashes and bad language and hands all over him all the time?

"S-so far so good." 

Randy takes another drag, feels the high sweep up and over him. It makes him dizzy, makes him giddy. Erases any guilt about lying to his mother and makes him feel good, better than ever, or maybe that’s the man on his knees in front of him. 

Benson tilts his head, takes him in. "You’re hot when you smoke, by the way." 

Randy chuckles weakly. "Yeah?" He doesn’t do it, not often, usually can’t let go of the voice in his head screaming cancer. But Benson showed him how and he doesn’t cough anymore and in fact, he likes it more every time he tries it. "My mom would lose her mind." 

Benson pulls a wry face. "About the smoking, huh? Just the smoking?"

Randy smiles shyly. "Maybe some other stuff too."

"What can she say, she raised a fucking degenerate. And I, for one, am glad she did." 

With that, Benson decides the conversation is over and puts his mouth to better use. Randy gasps and moans as he takes him slow, inch by inch, hot and wet and relentless. 

He braces himself against the wall. He can barely stand, legs already shaking. Benson’s always telling him he’s easy, and he can’t tell if that’s supposed to be good or bad, but either way, he likes being the way he is. Benson’s fingers dig into the meat of his ass and hit a bruise, sending a sharp thrum of that off-key pleasure straight to his dick. Benson might be right. He might be a degenerate.

He flicks the cigarette butt into the nearby sink and makes it, which is lucky. Maybe his aim isn't that bad after all. Benson has him down his throat to the hilt, which is also lucky. He knows that someday their luck might run out, like gas, like cigarettes, like his mother’s patience, but it sure doesn’t feel like it, not now.

Randy puts his hands on him carefully, the way he showed him, cups his skull and scrunches his hair gently like he's precious, because he is. Benson makes a sound that strikes at his core and he almost loses it right then, but he doesn’t. Not yet. For a second he thinks about miracles, and then he can’t think about much of anything anymore. 

The list of things he can't mention when his mother calls gets a little bit longer. 

[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

Review Time: Goodcat Code

Note: This is my personal take to Sylus' most recent memory. Nothing has been confirmed by Infold, so this is just full delulu mode as I dive in to Goodcat Code. Spoiler Alert for those who hasn't seen the memory yet.

I actually don't know how to fully describe MC and Sylus dynamics on this memory. While the plot of the memory is solid at it's best, their relationship here is really kinda shaky specially on MC's part. So I will have the review in 2 parts. "The Good Part" and "The Bad Part".

The Good Part

As mentioned, the plot of this memory is solid and the twist at the end is surprising but expected because it's Sylus.

The attention to details and the research on different kinds of teas are amazing. The whole memory exude luxury and wealth. It really screams Sylus.

Probably the best part (for me) of this memory is when Sylus almost never fight his cat urges. I really enjoy that part with the Seagull and Parrot. He really does manhandles them and it its hilarious. Can you imagine having to fight of a 6'2 fully grown man to free the birds? (I'm 5'2 by the way. I really can't Imagine having to wrestle Sylus to save the birds. He can easily knock me out)

And the cherry on top of this memory is how Sylus is shown to be a pure gentleman. We can definitely say that MC can be the death of him. (He will actually let her even help her kill him. He did it once already) He can never deny her. He's really down bad even showing (again) the soft side of him.

And how can we forget the kindled part? This is the first time that he really does touch MC. But I must stress on this. He is never pervy or inappropriate with her and that little circling motion he does with his hand on her back is just perfection. He is indeed touching her but it is soft, sexy, and very intimate. I applaud MC for not being swayed. I will totally break with that touch and have goosebumps everywhere.

I mentioned this as well on my previous entry, Sylus is a very old school type of guy and that little moment he have with MC on the speedboat screams Gentleman and Old Money. he can really make the most of any given situation and turns it to something romantic.

The Bad Part

I hate the way infold portray MC in this memory. He never ask Sylus opinion before creating a plot for her mission. It's like she knows that Sylus will do everything for her and his opinion doesn't matter.

If I count it correctly, Sylus mentioned being sold to other women 6 times making it obvious that he is not comfortable with the idea of being with other woman and being emotionally betrayed that MC can easily plot that without hesitation. It's actually twisted! I actually felt bad for Sylus.

MC flicking his forehead and called him Opportunist! Again why?! MC rented him off the cat café like he's an object, asking him to find Snowy Owl, make him act like her butler, and order him to woo another women. MC make him do it all without asking his take on all of this. He even mention "I never agree on any of this". So who is the opportunist one? Really?! REALLY?! It is totally a mood killer. I don't know how they phrase it on other language but this scene totally ticked me off. It's Like MC suddenly becomes one of those who mischaracterize him. I just simply dislike it. I just hope they phrase it better or left it out altogether. It's very unnecessary.

And that collar, though MC is taking claim on Sylus, its just part of her plot. I don't know but Sylus's laugh after MC brings out the collar sounds so disappointed.

The Conclusion

I feel like the love between Sylus and MC are still one-sided (at least in this memory) The lack of communication and asking permission (on MC's part) makes it looks like she is taking advantage of Sylus' feelings for her.

I am deeply moved on how slow burn their story is showing how patient and gentlemanly Sylus. When the preview was revealed, I honestly thought they are making progress as he was now touching MC only for my delulu to be shattered by MC's words and action. Not once she acknowledge Sylus saying he was being sold to other woman.

While I do love the kindled part of this memory, this is certainly one of my least favorite. Radiant Brilliance is easily better because they are mutually pinning for each other.