#play voices of the void its fun

[cakesfunhouse]

like girl. its all self insert

[flutteringfable]

i am going to have the cleanest base in voices of the void which is something that is both possible to achieve and normal to want

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

i think i finally realized why ive been feeling so damn depressed lately again

sorry for writing this here. im really hurting actually. im not good. i feel a bit helpless too. idk who to talk to bc i dont want to burden anyons and i donf feel like anything could console me right now

Like. fuck me man. thanks for saving me but. why the hell are you not here. i dont want to do this without you. i hate only being able to remember you. i was supposed to grow old with you, not without you.

And. honestly. even with all this bullshit i say here, all the endless times i spend trying to write down my feelings, abt you, about all the pain ive felt my life, it doesnt get better. not at all. and no words, no poetry takes it away and i truly feel like nobody will ever truly understand how suffocated i felt all my life.

and i want to change thanks to you but. i dont know. nothing's satisfying enough.

no matter what, i truly only feel great when im in that daydream like world you created.

and these past days ive been thinking a lot that. i really wouldnt mind dying right now. not at all. because at least i know what happiness feels like. and i want to stay in that state. probably, even in this life your music will bring me happiness, but i want to be trapped in it.

im tired of being so unseen, and even when im seen, im hurting. but i dont know whats hurting. i think im just really tired thats all.

and. ye. i feel brave tbh. i still havent posted my video to instagram, bc im not brave for that. i dont know. and i feel like a hypocrite bc everything is true that i wrote there but at the same time these are my thoughts currently

in a long while i looked up suicide methods again. i feel so hopeful, but im not really sure if really for the future. jm sorry this is probably alarming. i will probably not kill myself but. idk. im not sure actually. i dknt know what to say. i wasnt cut out for this wordly shit.i feel unlovable but even if im loved, i donf want to be. i dont want anything. just let me stsy in this quiet place snd just. disappear. i wouldnt want my family to hurt if i die but i wont know about it anyways. idk man. i feel strongly i could die calmly this time and thats nice. bc 6 years ago i was terrified, and hurt. but now im content and kind of ready idk man. its not a terrible feeling, its a "this is it, it was nice while it lasted" ig.

there are no clouds in my head actually. i truly dont feel like im thinking irrationally, i feel like this would just be like. the end goal i was looking for. to feel true love once. it was nice.

no goodbye yet bc idk how id kms even if i do. But ill tell u guys if i found something.

[elegyofthemoon]

shaking you're lucky anti entropy visual novel is fucking broken again i think permanently i would not shut the fuck up about that visual novel

[kitkat13001]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆ 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜

>> touya todoroki x reader

>> hero au, starts sad ends cute, established relationship, kinda cheesy touya but wtv 😋

it’s depressing, sitting here in the middle of your apartment all by yourself. if you were with the others, you would be having the time of your life right now. himiko and jin had promised to a throw a legendary christmas party this year. they’d even convinced tenko to go, which was a feat next to impossible. 

but you’re not at the party. you’re sitting here, on the couch in front of the christmas tree, all by yourself in the middle of the apartment. alone. 

you’ve been nursing a cup of hot chocolate to try and fill the empty space inside you, void of warmth, but it’s been cold for a while now. 

there’s christmas music playing in the background on the radio, and like it can read your mind, the infamous ‘all i want for christmas is you’ comes on. the singing voices are almost mocking you, their cheeriness the exact opposite of the way you feel. 

you know you should at least be trying to have some fun. you’ve got messages from all your friends sending pictures of the party, checking in on you, telling you it’s not too late to come over. you still can’t make yourself get up from this couch, and with your attitude right now, its probably best you stay home anyway. 

touya was out on some mission or another. you’d pleaded with endeavor to let him stay, but no dice. it was last minute and he needed the backup. leave it to enji to make his son work on christmas eve. 

you flick the radio off irritatedly, the room going silent. 

you sigh, leaning back into the couch, and turn on the tv, just for white noise. the grinch is playing faintly, but your eyes are closed. 

it’s eight pm. and you’re tired. you don’t remember the last time you were tired at eight pm. 

eventually you drift off in your misery, floating between sleep and consciousness. 

touya rolls his eyes at the obnoxiously loud christmas music coming from down the hall. damn rowdy neighbors. 

his key jingles in the door and it creaks loudly as he cracks it open. touya winces, hoping the noise won’t notify you. 

he’s surprised to find your sleeping form curled on the couch, a cold chocolate on the coffee table and a blanket draped over you haphazardly. 

he sets his things down, the dull thud of his bag hitting the ground and the rustle of his coat being put on the hook. 

touya hums softly, the song from the car radio stuck in his head. 

“i’ll be home for christmas,” he murmurs, pulling the blanket up to cover your whole body. “you can plan on me.”

he sinks onto the couch, maneuvering so your head is resting in his lap. 

“please have snow,” he sings softly, stroking your hair. “and mistletoe.”

he eyes the living room, all the decorations you had put up while he was gone. trying to cheer yourself up, probably. the thought made touya’s heart squeeze.

“and presents by the tree.”

his gaze falls on the small array of presents underneath the christmas tree. there weren’t many, given that it was just you and him in the small apartment, but just the idea of wanting to give each other something was more than enough for touya. 

“i’ll be home for christmas,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “if only in my dreams.”

you give a sleepy mumble and crack one eye open with a lopsided grin.

“you’re not santa claus.”

he chuckles. “no, but i figured this was better.”

you cling to him, nuzzling your head into his torso. your vice grip on him doesn’t lighten. 

“you’re home.”

“yeah, doll. i’m home.”

divider by @/saradika-graphics — more holiday fluff, for touya this time 😋 hope you like. if you want to submit a holiday request, try to get them in this week please! 🩷🩷 - 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢 !

[ghostarii]

HALLUCINOGEN (LOSING YOUR MIND), KAFKA

ʚɞ blurred lines of reality and illusions, meistered by an illusory manifestation of deep desires and wanton bliss bring about an enlightenment far beyond anything holy.

WARNINGS ݈݇- fem!reader, praise, slapping, nipple play, spit, hair pulling, cunnilingus, overstimulation, implied inexperienced!reader, biblical(?) references but no explicit relation, fingering, corruption kink, kafka teasing, minors & non nb/wlw do not interact.

NOTE ݈݇- soo . . . i won’t get into where i’ve been but just know i’m going through a lot And desperately need a distraction. i’ve turned my brain off n wrote this w my pssy so if it gets crazy blame her! jus in need of som mindless horny fun 😞😞

WORD COUNT ݈݇- 3.3k

COLORFUL STROBES FLICKER WITH reckless abandon, jumping in excited juxtaposition to the smooth, dance beat that plays through the speakers. Lucidity fills the room—you’re hyper-aware yet unconscious: watching everything from an existential position and you're drunk off the omnipotence. It coats your body in this mesmerizing feel beyond comprehension. Something so shimmery and soft that you find comfort in it, yet houndingly aggressive that you're thrashed around in its throes. It only amplifies as time passes and you can't feel any fucking better.

Everything feels intense. On a molecular level, you can feel everything, and it’s a sensation that’s beyond your expectations. It's like…subhuman—or, no, rather, extraterrestrial: akin to otherworldly intensities that cannot be created nor replicated on Earth. You are somewhere else, reaching the heights beyond existence that bathe you in sweaty warmth and glittery kisses.

Not Heaven nor Nirvana, but something nameless. Something seedier and gutsy, gnarled in debauched patterns of unholiness and temptations, wrong in every right way, and bad in every good way. Where or whatever it is is uncharted but it is shared— and you’d stay here with her until it fades into nothingness.

You will stay here with her until it fades into nothingness. She is the nucleus of this illusory ecstasy-scape, and in her hands, you are guided along a path of pure, unadulterated, fantasy.

She is made up of raw vulgarity: it in its purest form as something seduces you into her proximity, begging you to bite the apple and see the light.

Just do it, it’d be so easy.

Don’t you want to taste it? The juice…the sweetness…feel the bite in your jaw?…

Put your mouth to it, let it lead you…

The voice in your head is distant yet wholly present. Almost as though it were whispering in your ear while directing your movements, pushing you deeper into the darkness. Where the light doesn't reach and the ambiguity of the following heightens is where it dwells: perfect, round, and red—shiny and plump and enticing—

Doesn't it look delicious?

It does.

Grab it, then.

It's in your hands now. Caressing it, you admire its magnificence. Soft skin, unplagued by irregularities and blemishes, rosy and inviting.

Bite it.

You lean in.

Head cocked at an opportune angle, lips parted readily, you lean forward…

A bite like a kiss…

A kiss like a bite?

Tender nibbles upon contact quickly morph into sloppy openings. Everything slops and clashes together, fighting aggressively in search of a fix. Fill that hungry, haunting void that grumbles in your stomach, aching terribly for sustenance.

You moan for it— whimpering a pathetic Please against her mouth and resting your forehead against hers. “Gimme…”

She laughs, cupping your pouty face in her palms. “Sweet girl,” she says, pecking your lips. “What do you need from me?”

Everything.

Her kisses feel like pillows all over your face. Gentle presses in a scattered manner, showering you with tender affection that blooms in your chest.

The heft that controlled your body has now morphed into feather-lightness—as though you weigh nothing and are floating across the Heavens. The colorful lights and bass-boosted music have ceased and you now reside in a dark room, illuminated by a single, dim night table lamp and ambient light leaking through crimson curtains. A bed sits beneath you, soft like clouds and cushioning you as you’re laid down on it, limbs stretched beneath her straddling.

She continues to kiss down your body, leaving your face and heading South to your neck, where her mouth latches and suckles on the skin. Your body has an immediate reaction: your eyes are fluttering closed and your hips are gyrating upwards, where your core catches her thigh and the throb that pumps through it harshens. You gasp out, grabbing the back of her head and tangling your fingers through her plum locks, pulling out the ponytail holder and letting limp curls coil down your forearm.

“You taste so good..so sweet,” she mumbles, pulling at the flimsy fabric of your top until the fabric screeches, a tear forming in the center. She continues to pull until the red garment is split in half, discarded to the side, and leaving you in your white bra. It's decorated in lace swirls and vines across the cups, peeking over in a rosette border that teases your assets. Enveloped in intricacies, you’re displayed beneath her as a decadent confection—ready to be devoured into nothingness. “I can’t get enough of you.” She says.

The silver clasp glints in her eye as it sits between your cleavage, asking for a break as your breasts hold it hostage. “May I?”

“Please,” you breathe out. At your heed, she pulls the hook apart with ease, and your boobs jump out of their confines.

She helps you shrug the material off your shoulders, soon tossing it off the side of your cloud-bed and leaving you bare from the waist up. You don't try to cower under attention. Instead, you revel in it, bathing in the rose tint she views you in and presenting yourself.

Humor is found in your actions, and she can't help but crack a smile at you. Her hand drives up from your navel and passes through the valley of your breasts to grapple around your neck. Fingers immediately press on the pressure points in your neck, making your [already] heavy eyes droop harder and your lips purse and part. You're lifted slightly off the bed, inches away from her face as she hovers over you.

“I don't know where to start,” she says, softly. “There’s so many things I want to do to you.”

“Do it all.” You lean up, chasing the distant feel of her lips. She hesitates to indulge you, going back and forth between leaning in and creating distance, leaving her in a silent push and pull where she defiantly fights the magnetism. “I'm all yours—”

“Mm mm.” She hums, shaking her head. She can't do this, she can't do you.

You nod your head, almost eagerly, chasing her lips. “Use me.”

No. She shakes her head no, leaning further back.

“Take me.” You say, following her actions.

No. I can’t.

“Ruin me.”

Her hand weakens around your neck, and you're quick to grab it, returning it to its place around your neck. Your eyes are polished and wide, wordlessly begging her for attention.

Meek squeaks slip out of your mouth as her grip returns, the pressure she applies being much tighter and more restrictive than previously. Still, your lips still find the courage to pull into a small smile, parting and making way for the whisper your voice has turned into. “Kafka,” you moan out, her name heavy on your tongue, “fuck me.”

She sits before you, sweet purplish hair framing around her pale frame, juxtaposing the deep, salacious fuschia that glares at you. An almost taunting glow emits from her as she ponders her next course of action— should she turn her mind off and act aimlessly, or should she retreat with sensibility? She's already come thus far, she’s already molded you in her palm, she's already invented a paradise for you…it is yours to defile as you please.

If you must beg her so wantonly, as though you’ll die without feeling her version of pleasure, she must forfeit the fight and succeed in the throes of ecstasy. She has been tempted.

Your wish is obliged with care. She pins you beneath her, diving back into where she left off with a searing fervor. Her lips leave stains of her red lipstick smeared across your chest, trailing streakily across the surface until she kisses around your right tit.

A line is drawn by her tongue from beneath your underboob area to your areola, pebbling the skin in her wake. Your nipples perk and harden, the left immediately becoming a target of bullying from her pinching fingers. Sharp, black almond nails cover the bud as she tweaks it harshly, immediately subduing your wince by licking over your right nipple.

Her eyes stay on your face as she enacts so, carefully dancing her tongue over and around it until she sucks it into her mouth, mimicking the suction with the pinch of her fingers. You moan out, throwing your head back and greeting the swirling sight of stars and glimmering streaks. They paint upon a blacked-out view, covering the inside of your eyelids with the visual manifestation of how you feel. Elated. Content. Pleasured. Something you've never felt before and it is…wow.

“Kaf…” you meekly whimper, unable to even say the rest of her name. Your hand presses her face closer to your chest, almost aiming to slowly ease your entire body into her mouth. It feels so fucking good— like nothing you've ever felt before and you don't want her to stop.

Your body is warm to the touch and it feels like your veins are pumping pure stardust. Her tongue swirls and loops around your nipple, slopping spit and vocal vibrations all over the sensitive bud, eliciting the sweetest broken moans from you. They're unabashed and full of weight, carrying the load of untouched desire.

How long have you been waiting for this?

Too long.

Was it worth the wait?

So, so worth it.

What do you want next?

“Touch me.” You don't even mean to say it out loud, but it slips out amongst the flurry of gasps you puff. Hips bucking desperately in search of something only to meet a sufficient source once every few thrusts. It’s not enough, you need the tingle between your legs tended to. “G-Goddammit, Kaf, please…”

She needs not another instruction, simply obliging your request with her hand making work of your pants, undoing the pesky clasps. Separating from you, she uses the opportunity to rid of her shirt, sliding her pants down her legs and kicking it all to the floor. Her hands grab at the belt loops, tugging the tight fabric slowly down your legs while maintaining eye contact.

Don’t take your eyes off me.

She doesn't even need to say it. You know it— as though it were an innate action hardwired into your very being.

You watch her intently as your pants are finally pulled off your legs, leaving the limbs angled up on her chest. Discarding your pants to the side, she runs her hands up and down your legs, kissing down the left from your ankle to your shin, to your knee, to your thigh, over to the other leg, and going back up.

“So patient..good girl. Letting me take my time with you…” she says, breathily. Kissing back down your leg, slowly positioning herself eye-level with your cunt. She licks a line from your hamstring to your panty-clad cunt, eyes still never leaving you. She kisses firmly on the wet spot that stretches over the seat of your white panties, leaving the remnants of her lipstick on the fabric in a kiss mark. You’re hot, throbbing, and soaking— primed for her demolition. “Want me here?”

You nod furiously, pushing yourself into her face. “Need you there.” You correct, hooking your fingers under the band of your underwear and awkwardly shimmying the garment off.

“Needy little thing, aren't you?” She muses, tucking her hair behind her ears. You slowly unveil yourself to her, letting the stuffy air draft over your wetness, pushing shivers down your spine. “Just waiting and waiting..oh, ‘m sorry…”

The prettiest pussy she’s ever seen awaits her attention. Eagerly beating at her, your cunt drools and shines, drowning itself in an overwhelming amount of arousal that even beads off the curve of your ass. All of this for her, only for her, because of her…Kafka might just be the luckiest woman in the universe.

She wedges herself tighter between your legs, feeling the heat that burns in you and smelling the sweetness just waiting to be swallowed. Her eyes go back up to you, catching the tears of frustration building, and her smile breaks wider.

“‘M sorry for making you wait so long.”

Spread ‘em.

You spread your legs wider to make space for her head, immediately throwing your head back when her exhale fans over your cunt.

Her tongue darts immediately toward your slobbering hole, licking up the tracks of arousal that spill down the fat of your ass. She slams her dominant hand down on your cheek, giving it a soft rub as she giggles at your wince-whimper combination. Her tongue draws looping circles around your entrance, slipping down and licking up the stray beads. She then drives it back up to your hole, pushing the muscle into your tight entrance with little force. Your eyes shoot open and you're adjusting to the new sensation, watching her intently as she creates a hard pace: in, out, in, out until she flickers the tip of her tongue over your fluttering hole and licks a flat strip halfway up through your folds before repeating.

The taste of you is already intoxicating. Unparalleled to anyone before you— you are pure and dripping raw ecstasy, lighting her body up in the wake of lightning. She can't get enough and moans into your cunt, rolling and spinning her tongue around your walls.

She hooks your right leg over her shoulder, slinking her arm beneath the limb and slithering her fingers to your neglected clit. Just hovering over the bud makes you shiver and buck into her mouth, so she takes the initiative to drive you fucking insane. Kafka must have some sort of magic touch, or she can read you like a first-grade book, because she presses down on the bud, rubbing it in a smooth back and forth. Your mind immediately short circuits and you're back on that illusory plane, feeling everything with such great intensity that you feel your orgasm building already.

Clenching around her tongue and bucking into her mouth lets Kafka know that you're about to cum. She pulls off, building up a ball of spit on her tongue and dropping it off between your folds.

Her ministrations on your clit cease as she uses her two fingers to part your labia, licking boldly between your lips and collecting a heap of sticky slick on her tongue. She hums contently, swallowing down the fluid with dramatized vocalizations and intense eye contact.

“You taste so good, baby.” She moans, sliding her left hand into her panties. She begins touching herself, grinding on her hand while licking the taste of you off her lips. “Want you to cum in my mouth, okay? Make..a big mess for me,”

She moans out so vulgarly, letting her hand on your pussy falter and tickle over your puffy clit.

It's only now that you see Kafka: untamed. This is her in her rawest form— lust-gone and hungry. Wasting no time in leaning forward and attacking your clit, sucking the bud with such eagerness that she hollows her cheeks, squeaking our obnoxious sucking sounds that bounce off the walls. The suction is so harsh that you can't help but screech, grabbing her hair and pulling the handful of locks taut against her skull.

You can tell she likes that. So you do it again, simultaneously humping into her mouth.

Be rough.

She tries to pull back but you keep her there, forcing her nose to sit atop the mound of your pussy and asphyxiating her slowly.

Be mean.

“That's it— l-like that..! F-fuck, Kaf,” you sputter, the new flickering of her tongue over your clit eliciting sharp rods of lightning to pierce all over your body. You have no control over the moans that leave your mouth because your body is so beyond itself—receiving a kind of satisfaction never experienced before and it's reveling in that, boiling itself in pure heat and pushing out creamy bubbles. “Fuck—make me cum.”

She forces her head up against the behest of your hand, gasping in a big heap of air. Her face is flushed and wet, wearing the effect your pussy leaves on her, and yet, it still earns a piercing slap that sends her head in the opposite direction.

Oh, good. That was good.

Before you can stumble out an apology, she sneers at you. “Yeah? Is that how you're feeling?”

You didn't mean to do it—you don't know what came over you— “N-no—”

“Do it again.”

Kafka’s word is absolute and you have no room to disobey. You cock your arm back and swing, slapping her with a lot less force than before.

She grabs your hand and forces it to the back of her head, and you instinctively grab onto the hair. “Remember what you do to me…” she says, sticking her fingers into her mouth and suckling on the digits. Just as she pops them out of her mouth and directs them to your pussy, she looks back up at you. “You’re in control. Make me.”

Famous last fucking words.

The next few actions are melted together in a blur of galaxies and tears, ceasing to have a tangible visual but proceeding to wreck your body into oblivion. Kafka has sucked your clit until it's swollen, pleading to be left alone but consistently the target of merciless abuse. It doesn't help that it acts as though it were a self-destruct button—every ministration rendering your body stiff and turbulent: quivering beneath rigid curlings and tightenings.

You’re coasting through the skies with her head working between your legs, sucking the taste right off your pussy until it cries some more. It is an endless cycle of overwhelming pleasure that only builds upon itself, forming into an unstable, grandeur tower of lusty goodness that threatens to come crashing down.

She licks and sucks fervently, determined to yank your orgasm from your depths and taste the purest essence of you. And you are a victim to it— pulling half of her hair into a makeshift ponytail and fucking yourself on her face, desperately chasing the epicenter of your orgasm to make it let go.

“F-fucking me s-so good, Kaf—!” You squeal, feeling your stomach bubble and tighten. “C-close!!!”

Let go.

It's too much. It's so fucking good—good Lord—

Just cum.

Rightthererightthere– “Hnngggh—just like t-that! Shit!”

She sucks so hungrily on your pussy, eating you like a rabid dog on a fresh piece of meat. Her tongue is doing this you can't even describe and the images you see as a result are skewed.

Pretty visuals of clouds raining intergalactic hearts over a foggy sky and lightning streaks of ecstasy fill your fucked up head, imitating the euphoric feeling imposed on your body. You're so close—your body twitches and your eyes cry, pleasured sobs leaving your mouth as everything good attacks you all at once.

Be a good girl. Cum.

Kafka’s eyes roll into the back of her head as she feels your floodgates break— the orgasmic wave pushing out of your pussy and all over her face. The cry that's ripped from your throat is visceral and guttural, tearing your throat to shreds and rendering you a weeping mess.

If getting eaten felt good, orgasming feels even better. It feels cosmic—irreplaceable and delectable from beginning to end. And Kafka fucks you through it, flicking her tongue through your folds and slurping up your juices with a wide smile.

Give in; let it take you.

Stuck in the heat of euphoria, you only float higher to heights uncharted, soaring freely. Light reaches out to you in fragmented rays, calling to you in the galactic darkness to follow its way.

This is goodness. Everything holy and unholy; everything sacred and desecrated; everything clean and everything dirty; a culmination of unchained, terrific bliss right in your core.

It was always there, you just needed it out of you.

Now that you have it, nothing will be the same. So long as it still exists.

[arjwrites]

The Space Between- Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: GN!Reader breaks their arm on a hunt and needs a little assistance. This is a Dean version of my other fic Close (Sam x Reader), as requested by @the-scream-story !

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Injury, nudity, strong references to sex. MDNI!

A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE! I had so much fun writing this. This is officially the end of my writer's block- I am back in business, baby. I hope you all enjoy!!!

“DAMN IT!” Your voice echoed out of the bathroom from behind the closed door, punctuated with the contents of your toiletry bag crashing to the floor. Instantly regretful of your outburst, you prayed that no one had heard your voice above the dull whir of the bathroom fan and the rushing water cascading against the floor of the tub. The last thing you wanted was for one of the boys to come try to play the knight in shining armor to your damsel in distress.

After making some brief mental calculations, you figured Sam would still be out grabbing food, leaving only Dean in your shared motel room. There was no way he heard you, and even if he had, you doubted he would stir from his current position. When you had headed in for your attempted shower, the man was already reclined in a chair, beer in hand, and engrossed in some sub-par TV show. 

Attempted truly was the best word to describe the shower experience so far. Last night’s hunt had landed you with a broken arm, and a long wait at the ER had delayed your return to the motel into the wee hours of the next morning. At this moment, it was 4am and none of you had slept. And you, covered in a mix of dirt, and blood (yours and the creature’s), figured that a quick shower would be the best catalyst for sleep. 

But twenty minutes had passed since you had holed yourself up in the bathroom. There were several obstacles that sat between you and a warm, clean nap. Your dominant arm was confined to a cast, providing a myriad of challenges. First was getting off your clothes. Next was wrapping your cast with the ziploc bag and duct tape combo you had armed yourself with. Then was navigating your shower routine, somehow shampooing your hair and scrubbing blood off your body with your weak hand while trying to keep the other clear from the water. 

It was an impossible task, but asking for help was not necessarily your forte. Plus, you felt horrible having kept the boys up all night because of your injury. Of course, they waved you off, used to the sleepless nights, taking the late hours in stride and going about their usual post-hunt routines (Sam’s supply run and Dean’s beer and motel TV marathon). Though neither of them would ever admit it, you could see the exhaustion radiating off their every movement, and the guilt ate at you. The last thing you wanted to do was to ask either of them to do you any more favors.

But your hopes of soldiering on independently were crushed in an instant. In a valiant effort to singlehandedly take off your shirt, the tight fabric had become twisted over your head, covering your eyes and trapping your free arm against you. And when your balance was thrown off, you stumbled back, foot catching the shower curtain and bringing the tension rod down with a decisive bang. Shit. There was no way Dean hadn’t heard that. 

Your suspicion was quickly met with a firm knock on the bathroom door. 

“You alright in there?” Dean’s voice harbored no sign of annoyance, simply concern. So after a few deep breaths and a moment to wriggle your head free from its trap, you conceded to what seemed to be your only option.

“Dean, can you come in?” 

Nothing could have prepared Dean for the sight behind the door. There you sat, in a pile of shower curtain and shampoo bottles, one arm pinned to your head and the other pinned to your chest. The shower, still running and void of its curtain, had started to spray down on your fully clothed body, adding insult to injury. Dean’s mouth gaped open for a moment, searching for the words, eyes blinking as he took in the scene.

“Look, I need your help. Please don’t be weird about it. Can you just help me get this shirt off and then I’ll just wrap the cast and hop in-” Your nervous rambling was cut off as Dean lifted you from the floor and sat you down on the closed toilet seat. 

“Sweetheart, you’re not doing this by yourself. You’re gonna mess up that cast and I am not going back to that goddamn hospital.” You cringed at the memory of the long hours you, Sam, and Dean had spent under those horrible fluorescent lights. Though his remarks dripped in frustration, nothing about his appearance did- his eyes and lips were graced with the softest echoes of a smile.

You mumbled a few protests but Dean had already set right to work. In a few, swift movements, he had popped the shower curtain back into place, pulled it aside, plugged the drain, and shifted the source of the water down to the bathtub spout. When the water began to pool in the bottom of the tub, he turned back to you. 

“Dean, I really don’t need you to do this. I’ll be fine if I can just get this damn shirt off,” you huffed, punctuating your complaint with a few pulls at your restraint. This was exactly what you had feared, and it made it all the more embarrassing because it was Dean. You felt vulnerable and looked ridiculous, and here he was cleaning up your mess and drawing you a bath? Your nerves wound tightly in your stomach as Dean lowered himself to sit on the lip of the tub across from you. The tiny motel bathroom left little room between the two of you, and your knees brushed against each other in your seated positions. 

“You’re hurt and I’m helping you. Take it from me, you don’t need to pull the tough guy routine all the time. It’s not gonna help anyone.” It was as if the intensity of his eye contact had taken hold of your entire body. You were frozen in front of him, caught off guard and melting quickly as warmth swelled in your heart. This felt different than the usual Dean. In a way, him helping you in your vulnerabilities seemed vulnerable of him, too. And there was no denying your feelings for the man. In the short few years you had hunted with the brothers, you had developed a soft spot for the older Winchester that you had vowed to never let see the light of day. But your heart was beating hard and fast against your chest, because here he was, right in front of you, reaching in to unbutton your shirt…

You shook the thoughts from your head, recognizing the tenderness of the moment. Off came your shirt, which Dean haphazardly folded and placed on the counter. The intensity that buzzed between the two of you raged on unencumbered for a while. It made you nervous to look at him even a second longer, so you turned your gaze to your jeans, working at the button with your free hand. Dean sat back, letting you work for a moment, before stepping in to help and to dissolve the tension with a joke. 

“This might be the longest it’s ever taken someone to take their pants off for me,” he chuckled to himself as he popped the button free with ease.

Your head snapped up to him, your expression tinged with annoyance, but Dean didn’t miss the blush that tinged your cheeks and the smile that threatened to breach the surface. He knew you were unhappy with the situation, a bit anxious and uncomfortable, so he figured he would do what he did best- crack a few jokes. Plus, he had come so close to kissing you right then and there that he needed a way to distract himself. 

Dean always knew how to make you laugh. It was one of the things you liked most about him. So any nerves you had about being naked in front of Dean Winchester were easily melted away because you couldn’t help yourself from laughing the whole time. Like head-thrown-back, full-body-shaking laughter. What had started as a challenging and tense situation had boiled down to just simply hanging out with Dean. 

He had lowered you into the tub, you clinging to his arm for dear life, until you were sat down, the bubbles in the water providing you just the right amount of coverage to make you feel even more secure. Once you were settled in, Dean took a step back, sitting down to let you get to work. He knew you would want to retain a bit of independence, so he let you work on scrubbing whatever you could with the arm you had, only stepping in when you needed his help. The time was filled with conversation about the previous hunt, wonders about what Sam could possibly bring back for food at this hour, and plenty of shared laughter at Dean’s jokes. 

“So I see you don’t have a lifeguard here at your beach,” Dean said, taking on a dramatic tone as if he were playing a character. 

“Dean, what are you-” 

“No, no, no. You’re supposed to say, ‘I’m not at the beach, this is a bathtub.’” He wagged a finger at you as he corrected your response. 

“What the hell are you talking ab- Oh my God! DEAN!” Realizing the origin of the joke he was making, you used your free hand to splash him with the warm soapy water. But you couldn’t even feign frustration- your laughter gave you away. 

Things continued on like this for a while- you and your washcloth scrubbing dirt and blood from every corner of your skin, Dean cracking jokes, and occasionally stepping in to offer a hand.

“Look, let me do your hair for you. How the hell are you supposed to do that with one hand?” Dean interjected as you attempted to lather shampoo in your palm. 

He kneeled on the floor next to you, taking the bottle into his hands. As he worked, you took time to notice the sensations around you, to ground yourself in the moment. You watched soap bubbles take flight as you moved through the bath. You felt the warm water lapping at your skin, and the gentle circles Dean’s fingers made on your scalp. You could smell the clean scent of the soap that filled the tub, the floral perfume of the shampoo, both mixed with something you could only describe as Dean. He smelled like some combination of the beer he was drinking, his usual cologne, and the lingering sweat and dirt of the day’s hunt. Rarely were you close enough to Dean to be able to smell him, but whenever you did, you relished in the moment. But at this particular moment, his proximity was drawing all of the nerves back into your system. Dean was hovering over your naked body- you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he worked his fingers through your hair. Beyond feeling his touch on your skin, you felt as if you could feel him- his presence, his essence. It was so intimate, so romantic, that your heart swelled and your mind raced to a million and one places. Nevertheless, you remained anchored in the bath, the water and bubbles serving as a shield and the only thing that served to separate the two of you. 

When you were finished, all the suds rinsed off your body leaving you squeaky clean, you weren’t sure how to feel. Dean had slipped out of the room to grab you a towel, and though you remained in the tub filled with the warm water and the air hung hot and heavy with humidity, the lack of his presence still made the room feel cold. Sitting alone with your thoughts, even for such a brief moment, you had realized the extent of your feelings, the irreparable mark Dean had left on your heart. In your head, you rifled through a library of moments you two had shared, picturing this morning’s events sliding into place on the shelf as the newest edition of the series.

Stepping back into the room with the towel, Dean handed it over to you before plucking the plug from the drain and helping you rise to your feet. You braced the towel underneath your broken arm and used the other to wrap it around yourself, hoping to restore even a shred of your decency- though there was little point in that anymore. Now there sat a power imbalance in your relationship with Dean- he had all the cards in his hands. So when you stepped out of the tub, you stood square in front of him, determined to level the score somehow. 

You lingered for a moment, both of you locked in an intense stare, feeling goosebumps radiate your entire body. At first, you attributed these to your drastic change in body temperature since stepping out of the water, but when you noticed a similar sensation rising over Dean, your perception shifted. Dean cleared his throat.

“So, uh, you want me to help you get dressed?” Dean rubbed at the back of his neck to settle the hairs that had been raised under your intense look.

“Not really.” You murmured in response, looking to him through lidded eyes. The unusual burst of confidence in your system inched you closer and closer, until there was nothing that separated the two of you but the thin towel you had wrapped around your frame. 

You channeled every ounce of what you were feeling into your gaze, praying Dean could read your thoughts through your eyes as if you were an open book. When he reached a hand up to cup your face, you knew the message was received. With a slowness that was almost painful, he leaned his forehead against your own, drawing his lips nearly to yours before rerouting them to your cheek, just slightly above their initial destination. After planting the softest kiss, his lips lingered, hovering ever so slightly above you. Dean was in limbo, as if he couldn’t decide whether to pull away and return to safety, or lean in to seal the deal. But you made the choice for him when your hand snaked around the back of his head and pulled him down to you, closing the gap between your lips. 

The kiss was everything you had hoped it would be, and yet, nothing you could have ever imagined. Dean was soft and gentle, so cautious of your injury, but you could feel the intensity so thinly veiled below the surface. The energy flowed from both of you, as if you were cautiously exploring something so new and dangerous, yet so incredibly desirable and magnetic. Something needed to break the seal, to throw your cautions to the wind.

You wanted to kiss Dean Winchester forever, and he shared the sentiment. So the only thing that could break you two away was the brief moment when you took a calculated step back. Confusion twisted into Dean’s face, before melting away into desire when you let your towel fall to pool at your feet. He took his own step back, reaching behind him to turn the lock on the bathroom door, before closing the gap between you- the very last time there would ever be space between you and Dean Winchester.

[withleeknow]

Can I req something for the milestone event with lee know using this prompt „time passes slower without you.”? ✨

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

patience is a virtue, everybody knows that.

you know it too. the only issue? patience is a virtue that you don't have.

you're an impatient person by nature, born with an inherent restlessness within your bones that keys you up more often than you'd like to admit. in school, you were always thinking about your next degree. with work, you're always thinking about the next big thing, the future position you'll hopefully land once you gain enough experience. you're always waiting for something else, constantly looking forward to the days ahead instead of living in the now. it's a personal flaw, you're well aware of this.

it happens when it comes to even the most mundane things. what cafe should you try next weekend, even if you're not even half done with the caramel macchiato you're holding in your hands? what movie should you watch next, even if the one playing on your tv screen hasn't gone into its second act yet?

your impatience already flares up on a daily basis, but it's even more amplified and unbearable whenever minho is away. it doesn't help that he's often gone for weeks, if not months on end. you're always counting down the days until he's back before he's even out the door.

"just one more week, yeah?"

his words hang heavy in the silence of your bedroom. your phone is on speaker, set against the pillow next to yours so you could pretend like he's here with you when you close your eyes. you try to facetime every day even if it's only for fifteen, twenty minutes. just to catch up on each other's day and at least see each other for a while before you go to sleep. it's bittersweet, being able to look at him and hear him talk but only from the digital void of your phone.

even though you tend to hide from him how you really feel, how much you actually miss him and wish for him to be back by your side, you think it must still bleed through from time to time. be it the subtle way your voice drops during conversation or how your eyes glaze over with sadness just a little bit when you stare at his handsome face for too long on video call.

you know minho is trying to comfort you. he wouldn't be a very good partner if he can't tell that his own girlfriend is having a hard time without him, would he? and it's not like you bitch and moan any chance you get. no, you always try to hide it from him because it's not his fault that he has to be away sometimes, not like he's choosing to leave you just for the fun of it.

you know his gentle reminder is meant to mitigate your ache, but it only makes you be more aware of how time doesn't seem to pass when he's not here. the clock stops ticking the second he's gone, and you feel like you have to drag yourself through every minute of every hour and repeat the process for days and weeks and months.

"one week is too long," you say quietly. "time passes slower without you."

seven days. one hundred and sixty eight hours. ten thousand and eighty minutes. it's practically nothing compared to the time that has already passed, but that doesn't mean that you get to miss him any less even though it's only a two-hour flight away.

minho doesn't really reply directly to what you said. instead, he tries to distract you with anecdotes of his day - like a funny looking pigeon he saw on the street earlier or a cute photo of soonie that his mom sent him. it works a little. he considers it a success when you crack a smile and giggle at his theatrics.

he keeps the conversation light until you're biting back a yawn and he knows it's time to let you get some rest. even when you're saying your goodnights, neither of you mention what day it'll be tomorrow. you're sure that in the morning you'll wake up to messages from him - not entirely poetic because it's not his specialty, but they'll still be infinitely and wonderfully sincere. you don't bring it up in case he feels guilty, and you think he doesn't bring it up because the reminder that he won't be here might make you sleep restlessly tonight.

you fall asleep with a little bit of a heavy heart, and wake up when the sound of your doorbell ringing fills your apartment at precisely 7:06am. the other side of the bed still cold and devoid of your minho, but it's not the first thing that you notice like you do every morning.

no, the first thing that you register today is the vivid discomfort of having your peace disturbed so early on when it should be a day that you get to spend feeling nothing but comfort and contentment. or at least, as content as you can get without minho here. you carry that irritation with you all the way to the front door, wild bedhead and all.

the door swings open.

you're a deer in the headlights and suddenly your displeasure is vanished, gone in a second like it was never there to begin with.

"surpriseee!"

a sheepish greeting.

you rub your eyes, then pinch yourself on the arm.

you're not really sure what happens next. it's all just a blur of tears and ugly sobbing as you launch yourself into his arms, almost making him knock into the suitcase that's still perched right beside him. the bouquet of peonies in his hand becomes an unfortunate victim as it falls to the floor after the impact, but minho leaves it be, in favor of holding you as tightly as you're holding onto him.

his fingers tangled in your hair, your arms wound around his neck securely like you're afraid you're still dreaming and he'll disappear if you let go. you don't question why he's here; you just accept that he is.

minho peppers warm kisses to your cheeks, your jawline, your forehead and your lips. it's graceless and it's damp from your tears but neither of you could bring yourself to care. he murmurs with an upward quirk of his mouth where he's pressing his smile to your lips, all affection, all love. "happy birthday, baby."

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all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 28.03.2024]

[otomestatus]

know it's for the better; manjiro s. / reader

an: wanted to write an original work on this blog and this has been consuming my little thoughts!

Your eyes flutter open, welcoming the light from the afternoon sun. Your cheek was rested upon the flat surface of your desk as your arms encircled the circumference of your head. Blinking once, twice, your vision was met with a mop of soft blonde hair also laying on your desk. The owner of said hair had his face hidden in his arms, his body rising and falling gently with each shallow breath. The classroom around you was painted in a reddish glow as the sun began its descent in the horizon. Birds chirped, leaves rustled out the window, and you felt at peace. Slowly you rose in your seat, your finger gently reaching out to poke the top of his head.

“Hey, Mikey…” You speak barely above a whisper, your tone light and feathery. He shifted and hesitated to poke his head up to meet your gaze. He stares at you with this groggily look in his eyes.

“Whaaat…?” Mikey groans, his hands coming up to rub the sleep from his eyes. There is a dull ache in the hollow of your chest as a full view of his face enters your sight. He’s tired and no doubt going to complain about being hungry, but you’re losing yourself in your own thoughts. It’s the way his blonde hair frames his face and how his dark lashes flutter each time he blinks. You had always known the truth. Ever since you were kids you had always known and will always continue to know. It was an irrefutable fact that you were unequivocally, undeniably in love with Manjiro Sano. So as you sit here and admire the way the afternoon sunset blankets his face in its warm glow, you can feel your heart stutter. You hesitate with your next words, but you know the day must come to its end.

“We should head home…” It’s a murmur, but it’s loud enough for Mikey to hear. You don’t know when you’d become so shy.

Mikey hums, propping his elbows up on your desk and cradling his head in the palm of his hands. He looks unconvinced and a small part of you had been hoping it meant he wanted to spend a little longer with you. To sit in the comfort of each other’s presence and talk idly about anything and everything in between. You are holding your breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I don’t have anything to do until later so I’m fine.” He grins, wide and warm, and your cheeks dust a gentle pink color. There’s something in his smile, something so bright. Yet, something so distant like a far off memory from a moment lost to time. You want to cup your hands around his cheeks and hold him there. No rhyme or reason, you just want to bask in that smile for as long as possible. You adore it more than could be described with mere words. The ache prodding in your sternum is a testament to all the ways you have loved him so. All the way you will continue to love him. And, perhaps, that is the problem.

“You okay? You’re just staring.” There’s a slight tilt to his head as he stares at you, curiosity brimming in his dark eyes. You flinch.

“Oh… Yeah, just…” You hesitate before continuing, “You’re pretty.”

You don’t know what compelled you to say it. And maybe you’ll never know either. However, Mikey’s surprise quickly dissipates and invites a wide, toothy grin in its wake. You expected him to laugh or make fun of you for such a compliment, but his expression is anything but displeased. He chuckles, “Haven’t heard that one before.”

There’s something familiar in the way he says that. Your mouth opens slightly then shuts again. Your head turns slightly to look out the window. The sky is void of clouds and there’s a distant sound of children playing. It’s all so familiar, all so tender. His voice brings you back to him.

“You get it, don’t you?” He asks, his smile never wavering. You don’t understand or you do, but you don’t want to. It’s easier to pretend. However, he’s staring at you, eyes knowing yet their emotion is completely unreadable. A child screams and laughs in the neighborhood across the street. A breeze dances through the open classroom window. You understand.

“I saw it on Takemichi’s face.” You shift, sitting straight up, your own expression blank. Across from you he leans back in his own chair. His eyes appear gentle as if they’ve fully reached acceptance. You hadn’t, though.

Mikey laughs, “Yeah, that’s Takemitchy! Always showing exactly how he feels.”

He isn’t fazed when you don’t laugh, or frown, or even chastise him for finding humor in it. No, he knows you like the flowers know spring and the animals know winter. He knows you like how the stars know the moon. There is not an inch of your personhood Mikey does not know. You want to feel vindicated, but you don’t. That surprises you. The sun hasn’t moved an inch. The sky is still vibrant hues of orange and red and the cicadas play their tune.

“Manjiro…” You begin.

Mikey grins, “I always liked when you called me that.”

“Huh?”

“Manjiro. I always liked when you called me Manjiro.” He’s looking at you longingly and you’re looking at him with such a sadness that threatens to swallow you whole.

You exhale softly, “I’ve always liked you.”

“Liked?” He hums. You don’t tense. There’s no reason to.

“Loved.” You admit, “I do. Still.”

He seems to ponder this. Silence fills the air and this classroom feels almost suffocating. His head lulls back, his dark eyes staring up at the ceiling tiles. You rest your left hand on your desk and pinch your index and thumb together-- the nail of your index scratching lightly at the side of your thumb to nervously pick the skin. That ache in your chest is amplified by the wave of nostalgia crashing into you.

“I really wanted to hear that before I go.” Mikey’s tone is laced with despondency. There’s a lump in your throat and you can’t swallow it, you can’t get rid of it. Just like how you couldn’t get rid of the love you held for him all these years. Maybe even for the rest of your life. Your bottom lip quivers, but you force a sharp inhale to maintain your composure. The cicadas are quiet, the children are gone, and the leaves of the trees aren’t rustling in the wind. There is just an eerie quiet and your own grief blossoming along your ribcage.

“So you’re leaving?” It’s a question that you don’t want to know the answer to, but you ask it anyway. Mikey lifts his head up to meet your eyes. They are your favorite sight.

“Yeah, I’m leaving.” And it sounds so final, so permanent because it is. You gasp and your eyes prickle with tears you were desperate to hold at bay. That was a fool’s goal after all.

“Do you love me?” Again, a question, but this time it’s important you know. You need to know.

Mikey’s eyes fell to the desk in front of him, “How could I not?”

You’re stifling a sob and he’s staring at you with a tenderness you want to slap off his face. Deep down you knew it. The moment Takemichi came by your apartment after arriving back from the Philippines, the moment he locked eyes with you and sputtered out a desperate apology. Twelve years and you were bleeding out from all the love and grief you tried to keep inside. Twelve years of wondering where he was, what he was doing, and why he was destroying every piece of a past you longed to go back to.

“I don’t want this to be a dream…” You choked out between sobs, hiding your face in your hands so he cannot see the tears you shed for him, “Manjiro, I don’t understand…!”

There’s the sound of fabric shifting and the chair scraping against the floor before his hand connects with your head, fingers combing slightly in your hair. It makes you cry harder. It would be easier for him to rip your heart out, but he’s kind and he’s gentle. He’s your Manjiro.

“Know it’s for the better.” He leans down and whispers these words into your ear. Before you can even respond, your body jolts awake and alone in a twin sized bed you had grown to hate. The rain outside your window beats down against the glass. Your alarm clock reads 2:31 AM. In this tiny apartment you begrudgingly call you, you are inconsolable. You are a weak heart. So you turn and shove your face into your pillow, screaming into the soft plushness of it with all the pain you’ve bottled up in these twelve years. For the first time in all those years, however, you finally feel as if you can breathe.

[flutteringfable]

because ive been more focused on cleaning the base than getting signals in votv, im just imagining getting a million emails from dr bao like "BRO STOP PLEASE JUST DO YOUR FUCKING JOB"

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Mindfuck - Cassandra Nova x male!Reader

A/N: this was a fun request to fulfill. Gonna be honest, I did not have the same experience as the anon requester, but it was enjoyable to write all the same

Written for this request

Dividers by @/enchanthings

CW: Deadpool & Wolverine spoilers (sorta), fourth wall breaks (kinda), killing mentions, Cassandra’s hand/mind powers, explicit sexual content, smut, handjob, mindjob (I got no clue what you’d call this tbh), Cassandra calls Reader pet, kissing

900 words

“Well, well, well.” The woman stops in front of you. “Look who we have here.”

You know who she is. By her appearance, if not her voice. Cassandra Nova. Charles Xavier’s twin sister. Most of the Void’s citizens have a death grudge against her.

You find her rather attractive, actually. Most of their insults had been about her personality, or her actions, but the really foul ones had been about her appearance. You’d been expecting some wizened old hag, not the beautiful woman before you.

“It’s been quite some time since a Reader was in the Void.” Cassandra crouches to be eye-level with you. It feels vaguely condescending. Probably because you’re on your knees. You’re kinda into it.

“And quite a handsome one at that,” she muses. “Pity you’ll be dying soon. I’d have rather liked to keep you.”

“D-Dying?” Your voice comes out higher than you’d intended. You cough and try again. “Dying? What do you mean, dying?”

She raises an eyebrow, a small smile playing across her lips. “I’m going to kill you, of course. Right after I look into that interesting little brain of yours.”

“What—“ You don’t get a chance to finish. She reaches out and pushes her fucking fingers into your brain.

You choke on your own spit, eyes going wide. The blood leaves your head, leaving you dizzy and feeling weird.

Memories flash behind your eyes. Your childhood. Your life. Your trip to the Void.

You finally find your voice, intending to spit something out. Probably a scream.

Instead, you moan.

It catches you both by surprise. She pulls back, staring at you. Your face heats up and you stutter a bit. “Uh… S-Sorry?”

She grips your chin and forces your head back. Examining you with interest. “You’re not afraid. How peculiar.”

You do a mental check. Weirded out? Yes. Confused? Very. Turned on?

You can feel your dick straining against your pants. Can feel the throbbing of it. You haven’t been this hard since you saw your first pair of tits.

“Nope.” You croak out. “Definitely not afraid.”

“Interesting.” She lets go of your chin. “I think I’m going to keep you after all.”

You swallow. Give her a weak smile. “Does that mean you’ll do your hand thing again?”

Cassandra just smirks.

The guy carrying you throws you into the bed with a little too much force to not be deliberate.

You wince and Cassandra clicks her tongue. “Gentle, Pyro. We don’t want to break my new pet now, do we?”

His glare towards you does not make you feel any better. Pyro just scoffs and stalks out of the room. You’re left with Cassandra, who takes her time approaching the bed.

She lets her coat fall to the ground, revealing her outfit underneath. Your mouth goes dry and your dick twitches.

Being manhandled by Pyro hadn’t exactly been your idea of sexy, but being here with Cassandra? There’s definitely interest going on.

You lick your lips and hope your voice comes out normal. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I’m going to learn your secrets.” She settles onto the bed next to you, reaching out and tracing her fingers across your forehead. “And then I’m going to play with you.”

You don’t get a chance to even nod before her fingers are back inside your head. It feels just as weird as the first time. You can feel them inside your brain, probing around as images and memories flash through your mind.

She’s more thorough than last time, sifting through your memories more slowly. As if she’s looking for something.

Vaguely, you’re aware of her pressing you down to the bed. Of a free hand tracing its way down your chest.

You’re more focused on the hand fingering your brain. On the way your dick throbs in your pants. You let out a weak moan.

And then the first scene pops up. Your first teenage fantasy, filled with giddy emotion. Then another. A moment filled with passion and temptation. Then another and another.

You feel fingers toying with the zipper of your pants. A hand dipping below your boxers as memories play through your head. You cry out, arching up into her touch.

It’s too much, all at once. Your body pulses with heat, with need. Cassandra strokes your dick, digging her fingers deeper into your brain.

“Please, please, fuck!” You babble, thrusting your hips up erratically chasing your rapidly approaching high. A couple more memories, a few more heavenly strokes, and you’re cumming so hard your vision blurs out.

It takes you several gasping moments to come back to your body. You can feel a cool hand caressing your cheek, soft words being spoken.

Your head feels woozy. Your thoughts, thick and sluggish. You feel fantastic. The aftershocks of pleasure jolt through you, making you shiver.

“How was it, my little pet?” Cassandra coos. “I’m going to pull all that Reader knowledge from your brain. Make myself the strongest being here. And all you have to do is lie there and submit.”

You moan softly. Weakly. That offer sounds far too tempting to give up, especially if she’s going to do that again.

So you just nod, your tongue heavy in your mouth. “Alright…”

She smiles and leans down to place a kiss on your lips. “You’re going to be a perfect pet.”

You feel too pleasure-drunk to do anything but agree.

[deadly-glamourtail]

(Spoilers, I mean it!) Wouldn't be a crossover between In Stars and Time and Hollow Knight without doing at least some bosses.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 with the team.

These eight drawings were super fun! Maybe I'll do actual ISAT art later, or Art Fight will take my entire free art time, who knows.

Bigfrin was why I kept going in the first place, and Mal Du Pays was such a lightbulb moment. Details and rambling about crossover lore below!

Remember me rambling about using Nightmare as a replacement for the color Red in the first part? Well, there it is. Hallownest or not, the lore is still clear that the Dream and Nightmare realms were separated long ago, so Siffrin's wish connecting them and putting non-Grimm related Nightmare Essence into the waking world is still, uh, pretty huge.

Between regular Grimm and NKG, it felt right to take inspiration from the latter to do The Playing One. Because they'd be a huge boss in this crossover too, the dagger would also transform into something inspired by the Coliseum Fools' weapons, for visibility. And, since Dream Essence appears as Whispering Roots in the waking world, the best equivalent I could get for Sif's hat was a Nightmare Lantern, though much simpler.

With Mal Du Pays... It took a while to work out.

The first thing that comes to mind would be using Void, but that seems to be something too intrinsic to Hallownest (we know anywhere deep enough could hold Void and worshippers, but ISAT's plot isn't going down, but up). So I thought of regular Dream spirits, didn't seem to work, until a wiki dive got me in the perfect place.

Nosk can read minds and craft perfect facsimiles of important bugs found in memories, and shapeshift arms or wings as necessary to bring down their prey - maybe it's even smarter if not Infected. It was perfect! If they are a well known species, I'd probably follow the nomenclature from HK and call it Repeating Nosk, instead, but let's go with the Sadness for clarity.

Nosk is simultaneously Mal Du Pays and the ghosts in the House. In every loop, they take notice of the group, and put in fake Siffrins in their path to try and separate them. Because this never works, either because they're careful or the whole Memory of Ghosts scene, it goes on just as unexplained, since Nosk can just shred the disguise and blend perfectly into the black walls.

Until, of course, Act 5. There's no team, and now there's a single living bug other than the King for Nosk to prey on. But, since this is Act 5, Nosk reading into Siffrin's mind and becoming aware of all the loops, all the self-hatred, an incomprehensible stretch of extremely similar time breaks it bad.

Sif never notices that the ghosts are now really messed up, with stained clothes, broken masks and barely an attempt to use the same shape. In turn, Mal Du Pays won't strike because it's now aware that it wouldn't work, so, they wait.

Not sure how the fight would happen in the waking world in this crossover, but I wanna say the King sees it coming and lets it happen because he's an asshole like that. Mal Du Pays can't defeat Siffrin in a fight, so it waits until they're too exhausted, and does its thing.

Does it have a voice? Or does Sif take one look at the shells moving around and hallucinates the rest? Could go either way.

Either way, the team would have one hell of a fight in this version.

[amethystpath-writes]

Could you please write a story where a fae and a human have been friends for about a year. However, the human finds out what the fae is, and freaks out, thinking the fae is toying with him or wanting to make him his servant or something. When in reality, the fae had always watched humanity from afar, and just wanted to play along to see what it was like to have genuine friends?

Always excited to see you in my inbox, love! <3

Listening to Stars

******

"You lied to me?" The human's voice cracked, and the fae felt the emotion like a whip.

"I would never," he responded, void of tone. It took control from the fae, to not respond how he wanted. To cry, or to yell, or to do anything with an overtly amount of emotion. He wanted to say, 'I would never lie to you; I can't,' but that felt like rubbing the fact in his friend's face.

"I never said I was human," he said instead, and instantly came to regret it. Rather than stopping while he was ahead, and possibly keeping his friend, the fae continued. "I wanted a friend! A real one. The fae..." He looked at his feet, not able to look the human in its eyes, then shook his head. "The fae are full of trickery and deceit. I didn't- I can't be friends with them."

The human could only scoff in return, obviously hurt by the fae boy, hurt that the fae would keep this a secret for so long. "You think I don't know your ways? That I haven't been warned all my life of the games you play?" He muttered to himself in the next moment. "A year. A whole year." It was surely meant for the human's ears only, but the fae heard it and wondered if his freind wasn't upset at himself as much as him for being fooled. Not fooled. I wasn't tricking him.

"Of course," the human started again, "a year is just a blink of the eyes to you. How many of you were in on this?"

"In on...this wasn't some elaborate plan!" The fae felt a heat like fire rise to the tips of his ears. "You all think we have the answer to everything, don't you? That our magic makes us so knowledgeable that we're bored and turn to trickery to entertain ourselves."

"Sounds about right."

Heat spread to the fae's hands as he clenched them in tight fists. He wasn't sure exactly what he was mad at. It could have been himself for hiding this secret for so long, ruining any chance of continuing to be friends with the human. If he had been transparent from the start, this moment could have been avoided. Then again, how could he blame himself when it was at the rest of the fae which created this perception of their entire race.

“What will it take?”

“What?”

“What will it take for you to believe me?”

Thinking, the human squinted. “Show me what you really look like.”

What he looked like? “And what would that prove?”

“Nothing, I just want to see.”

He didn’t change his appearance. It would just confirm his likeness to his human friend and push him away even more. “I’m not going to-”

The human shrugged. “I guess I’ll be going then. Have fun tricking the next”- he gasped.

Pale blue skin, freckles like stars, and a wicked point of the ear.

“So, can you really read the stars like they say?”

“Read them?” The fae’s brow lifted, and for two reasons. One, reading the stars? What did that even mean? Two, he expected a larger reaction from his friend, with all his demanding and suggesting there was so much distrust between the two of them.

“Yeah, like a book. They say fae can hear the stars, the stories of their creation and demise.”

A rumour. Humans loved to make those about the fae. Then again, this wasn’t the worst one he’d ever heard them spread.

“I thought you hated my kind. Now all of a sudden you want to know if we can speak to the stars?”

“Listen, not speak. You can hear their stories, but they don’t respond. The fae have their limits,” the human boy explained.

“Fae can’t hear the stars!” What an elaborate lie to create about something the humans know nothing about. “Your kind fears mine and here you are saying we talk- listen- to the stars? What do you even know of fae that’s true?”

A new argument sparked. “And what have you heard of humans?” Or so the human boy thought. He expected his friend to say something about pitchforks and torches or maybe even the fights that break out in pig pins, outside of village inns.

“I heard you make music. That you hold balls just to sway to said music and that there are people who specialise in twirly clothes. There are others that specialise in decor, plates of would coloured with berries or little…what did she call them?”

“She?” the human interrupted.

Memories flitted across the fae’s mind, but he kept his answer simple. “There was a girl, years ago, that ventured to our borders. The others fooled her into walking the way she came, but I followed her to a human town. She was a friend.” He stopped for a moment, looked the human boy in his eyes. “I did trick you, and I’m sorry, but I didn’t deceive you with magic. I knew your kind already. You make better friends than what the fae do.”

The anger from before melted away, and in its place was a melancholic blanket. It shrouded the fae boy’s mind, draped against his shoulders, and stained his teeth as he spoke.

“We can say goodbye now,” the fae said. “I won’t expect to see you again.”

“Your friend from before, do I know her?”

He didn’t expect the human boy’s to ask. In all honestly, he wished he wouldn’t have. “You did.” The pain he felt thinking about her was almost too much. At times, he would remember the human boy’s relation to her. At these times, the fae would make an excuse to go home, then hide somewhere deep in the woods so his own mind wouldn’t find him. They didn’t know about his relationship with the humans, but they knew something was odd.

“As in ‘used to?’ Was she from my village?”

“Your home,” he specified. “Do you remember the kid that visited your home, a friend of your sister’s?”

The human boy’s brows drew together, confused at the change of subject, no doubt. “When she was alive, yes. He was visiting his relative in another nearby village. Did you know them both?”

Nodding, the fae explained, “I knew her. I was him.”

Crickets chimed around the two of them, reminding both of the setting sun.

“It’s getting dark. I should go home before…anything happens.”

“The wolves don’t touch these woods.” But he understood. He hid beneath a guise, then did it all over again. “Take your time. I’ll be listening to the stars in the meanwhile. You can raise your torches and pitchforks.” He smiled as he caught the human’s eyes.

“So you don’t listen to the stars. You listen to my mind.”

“Only the second time I’ve done it, actually, but we’ll talk another time. Go home, friend.”

[justalittleficsideblog]

I loved the fics of mammon and Satan protecting mc from creepy demons!! could you do one with Lucifer?? That would be amazing thank you!

Hello my dear anon! I hope this meets your expectations! Thank you so much for support of my other works <3

Lucifer - An impromptu ballroom dance leads to something else

wk - 1.5k

warnings: None!

Classical music rang through your ears as you side stepped into the banquet with Lucifer. His arm politely grasped onto yours, being ever the proper gentleman as you floated over towards Diavolo and what you assumed to be the human world equivalent of nobility.

Exceptionally dressed and demon forms on display, the nobles were quite an intimidating looking bunch.

And you and Lucifer were headed, straight. Towards. Them.

“Ah… lucifer..”

“Easy. This entire thing is more of a showoff from Diavolo. You being here and showing face is important for RAD,” he chides. Despite his remark, he looked unsettled himself. Without his brothers around he felt a unnerved at the mass of demons that seemed to be eyeing you like some sort of prize mare.

He would have to be careful, it’s not that he thought he wouldn’t be able to protect you, oh no. However, he knew tonight would demand much of his attention, and without Mammon or Beelzebub here to act as a chaperone… it made him nervous. He could only hope Barbatos would attempt to divert his attention away from his young lord and keep an eye on you.

He couldn’t help but feel a bit of fluttering build up from his stomach to his chest as you squeezed in a bit closer to him as the crowd became denser. Like he was your source of strength.

“Ah!,” the future king himself exclaimed as they neared. “Welcome, Lucifer! MC!”

After making introductions with the nobles, you decided to try some of the desert options that were out. Barbatos’ cooking was exceptional, and you would hate to miss the chance to compliment his efforts for such a grand event.

Slipping away from Lucifer, who nodded at you when you skipped over towards the table, you surveyed the options in front of you.

Finally deciding on what looked like a fancy, gothic éclair, you reached towards it with a plate in your hand. A clawed hand brushed yours, causing you to jolt back in surprise.

“My apologies!” you flushed, hoping your manners were up to par with what was expected here.

A deep, raspy chuckle came from the demon, “There is no need for that. It seems we have similar taste in fine baked goods, hmm?” His voice was melancholic, deep, and enticing with the way he slurred his vowels.

“I dare say I agree,” you joked back, snatching the éclair and placing it onto your plate. “I never see people eat here enough at things like this.” You gestured towards the vast sea of people.

The demon hummed in agreement, “Barbatos’ cooking is not something to be taken lightly. His baked goods are the stuff of legends.” His movements were snake-like, quick and reflexive.

Suddenly, a light, cheery violin piece began playing. Couples and demons took to the floor, glasses of demonous abandoned to the waiters and on tabletops as they took to dancing.

“Do you care for a dance?” the tall demon raised an eyebrow in your direction, his void-black features reflecting off of his jeweled horns that draped down the sides of his face.

“As fun as it looks,” you sighed. “I cannot say that I’m particularly gifted in that department.”

“Come,” he beckoned, an arm outstretched. “A pretty thing such as yourself should not be a wallflower.”

You looked around for Lucifer, feeling nervous and almost vulnerable without his presence. Deciding it would be rude to decline, you nodded your head and grasped his massive fingers on your own as you took to the floor.

The music has changed its course, faster now than before. You felt the demon encircle a hand around your waist, pulling you in closer. You shivered when you felt one of his claws lazily dragging across your back, digging into your spine.

“I must say,” he started, spinning you around and catching you, his face suddenly very near your own. “You smell even sweeter up close.”

He twirled you, the rush of it making you dizzy for a moment, pushing your hand onto his chest to stabilize yourself.

The rush of warm breath on your neck made you shiver. You jolted back, this wasn’t Lucifer. He may have the same suave movements and rippling power that emanates off of him, but this was not your Lucifer.

“I think that concludes the song,” you chuckled nervously, eyes scanning the crowd for Lucifer. They landed on Barbatos instead, your eyes widening.

Come on Barbatos, help me out here!

He merely bowed his head slightly before blending into the crowd.

“Now, where are you running off so quick?” His clawed hands grip your wrist tightly, his body towering over yours as he cupped your chin in his hands. You noticed his cape was slightly obscuring your view. The sudden feeling of claustrophobia overtook you, your breaths coming ragged as he leaned in closer, his lips grazing your neck, moving up, up, up..

“Mind if I cut in?”

You froze solid, eyes darting up towards one of the most powerful demons in the devildom. You scrambled back, realizing the position that this demon had put you in.

Shit! Did Lucifer really think that…!

“I do mind, actually.” The demon stood taller, obviously irked that someone had intervened with his plaything. “We actually were just—”

“My sincerest apologies, Lord. But I can assure you that you will not be continuing with them tonight,” Lucifer’s voice was calm, cool even. But his stance was scary, his wings flared and eyes burning with untapped aggression as he locked into the other demons.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, goosebumps running across your back as he placed his gloved hand between your shoulder blades. You had never seen him this ruthless, even with his brothers.

Before the demon could make a scene with Lucifer, he tugged you deeper into the dance floor. One hand resting politely on the side of your hip and the other clasping your hand he led you in a gentle waltz alongside the other couples.

“I do apologize,” he sighed, eyes downcast. “I had hoped that me being here would divert some attention away from you but—”

“Lucifer, how did you even know where I was?” you were puzzled, you had searched the crowd for him recklessly, but you had only seen…..ah.

“Barbatos.”

He nodded. “He quickly alerted me to the situation.” He gently led you in a twirl, “I am truly sorry, I should’ve kept a better eye on you.”

“I’m alright, Lucifer. I just wanted to be away from the crowd a bit and well… I guess the desert table is not safe from creeps, either.”

His gaze hardened, a frown appearing on his face as he gently trailed a thumb along your jaw and down your neck, where he must’ve seen the demon… uh… making his moves. You shivered.

As the dance went on, you now had your back placed against his chest, arms crossed as he delicately held your form. You noticed his wings were curved in towards you a bit, the feathers tickling your sides.

“Relax, Lucifer. No one here is going to eat me.” You brushed a wing away from you.

“I just might.”

The hall suddenly spun, now upside down in your vision. You gazed up, realizing Lucifer had lifted your leg up as well, hugging it close to his side.

“Lucifer..” you whispered, hands clasped around his neck.

“When I saw his hands on your body, on your face, I was ready to tear him limb from limb. If Diavolo hadn’t made me snap out of it in time…,” he trailed off as he stared down at you through his thick lashes, bringing you back up again.

His hands cupped the sides of your face, and they met your own as you cradled his hands against your flushed cheeks.

“Pride may be my sin, MC. But you might truly be my demise,” he leaned dangerously close to you. He winced, almost like he was in pain at your proximity.

“Let’s go to the balcony,” you needed the rush of cool air to settle your nerves. He led you to the terrace, his wings gently surrounding you as the wind caught your hair. Ever the protector, he was.

Your elbows landed on the railing, breathing in the night air deeply as you felt Lucifer’s gaze on you. Feelings be damned, you grabbed his gloved hand and slowly removed his attire. Bringing his knuckles to your mouth you gently kissed the back of his hand, your own thumb gently rubbing against his calloused one.

“Juts be thankful there were no females asking you to dance, Lucifer,” you brushed your shoulder past him. “Things would’ve gotten really ugly.”

Grinning, you walked back into the party, leaving behind quite the flustered Lucifer leaning against the railing, his wings sagging a bit as he felt his face scorch.

[theriverbeyond]

what series scratch the same "itch" as TLT for you? Recently finished the trilogy and feel empty and have found nothing to fill the void in my chest (lol) that TLT had in the weeks I was reading it. I have already experienced homestuck, when thhey cry, and most of the other "big names" of similar media. Any format works as long as its good. I like morally grey characters (Ianthe), well written female leads, character driven narratives and lesbians (in that order.

1. Princess Floralinda and the forty-flight tower (by Tamsyn Muir. excellent audio book narrated by Moira Quirk, same voice actor as TLT)

2. All of Tamsyn Muir's other novellas and short stories (The magician's apprentice, The house that did 16 loops of time, undercover, chew, the deepwater bride, etc)

Next up is entirely my personal and extremely picky and subjective preferences of brain zing, ranked in order of me remembering them

Chainsaw man manga (i read this 5x back to back when I first got into it in 2021. part 1 is complete, part 2 is still updating. part 1 can be experienced as a complete work. the anime is very good but the first episode is not as good as everything after it)

This is how we lose the time war book (feels sorta like fanfiction but the prose is gorgeous)

Interview with the vampire tv show (it's fun, it's camp, there are a lot of gay and bisexual people making really terrible decisions and being very hot)

Gurren Lagann anime (my favorite anime of all time. the women characters are not good, as is typical of many animes. the bathhouse episode can be skipped in its entierty without losing any plot. the overall story is really good and gives me that zing)

Arcane tv show (i watched this in full once and every since have just watched a caitvi + jinx whump clipshow but it did give me that zing. i do not care about the men)

Fullmetal alchemist manga or FMA brotherhood (really good and at this point a classic. royai is the queerplatonic campal blueprint i will not be taking critique at this time)

Revolutionary girl utena anime (watch the sub, do not watch the dub, the dub didn't make them gay. it's really good but heavy TWs and also it is paced like a 90's anime so: slow with a fair amount of filler, which can be good or bad depending on your preferences)

I have complicated feelings about Baru Cormerant and recommend reading up on content warnings if things like violent homophobia and very intimate portrayals of being a colonized subject are things that would upset you. It felt a little too personal to my life for me to like... think it was "fun" or whatever like it felt uncomfortably personal (and also subjectively I didn't super enjoy the pacing of the latter 2 books) but it did make me feel a lot of things and think a lot of thoughts. if the blurb sounds like something you are interested in then I recomend giving it a shot and then you can decide what you think of it yourself

Ancillary justice book (liked this one a lot, but havent felt motivated to read the sequel)

Other fun Studio Trigger animes such as Promare, Cyberpunk 2077, Kill la Kill

Nausicaa and the valley of the wind manga (the movie is good but the manga spanned 10 years, is gorgeously rendered, and goes MUCH more in depth especially wrt climate philosophy and such)

Slay the Princess video game (on steam but also I got into it just by watching letsplays online. It's really good and REALLY interesting, i love how it uses the visual novel format to its story advantage to pull of some incredibly cool story twists. Highly recomend!)

I feel like I am forgetting things that made my brain zing. My childhood special interest was CATS the musical (stage play and 1998 recorded production) and i definitely got brain zing from that but I don't think it has a lot of taste overlaps with tlt. this post really went off the rails but in my defense, it is after midnight

[death---dealer]

Thanks to my slutty friends on Discord ( thank you all i love you ), I'm trying something new. i am not leaving the planet of the apes fandom i promise JUST EXPERIMENTING.

❗❗Below content has HEAVY SPOILERS FOR DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK IF THAT IS A GODDAMN PROBLEM I'M NOT RESPONSIBLE IF YOU SPOIL IT FOR YOURSELF. THANKS. ❗❗ If you guys like this, i can write more if not then we're leaving this as is lmao.

Channing Tatum!Gambit x Female!Reader.

The exponential way that he flicked cards between fingers was amusing, the lightened shade of purple captivating your senses that it was difficult to quite pick out where the Ace of Hearts was going to land despite it holding itself stagnantly with sheer force of motion.  There was a smile on your face as a card, not the one that had been playfully teasing its existence literally weaving its way through Remy’s right hand, finally slid in front of you on the hardened and not polished wooden bench used to play. Not exclusively, you stared at the Mutant in front of you with a smug smirk as you plucked the card that slid along the coarse surface with ease due to his power sauntering it to you. 

The table was also used to eat when you were together and feeling chummy, the slower days in the sad existence of cast-outs when the others were not there and you and Remy were forced to be lookouts together. Never fun, the accent was difficult to decipher and you would blow through an entire bottle of Jack Daniel’s just trying to decode the phrases he used. Mixing in and out of Cajun French never helped, but it always left you feeling oddly comforted when the brunette referred to you as ‘Bele’. The table used for explosives here and there when a card had found itself too close to your hand when you reached for the playing deck to draw.

Playfully, you knew that he’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you after being in the Void for over a year now, but there was never certainty in the existence beyond time and away from actual realities. Counter-intuitive, it was used to knives embellishing themselves and carving our bits and pieces of chipped splinters from your first encounter with the  Mutant known as Gambit when you were found in the woods after being casted from your own safety net of a Universe.

“You know, my mom told me never to play cards with a thieving backstabber.” There was a cut in your voice that drenched Remy’s ear with minor flirtations, sharper than even a knife or his favored card to use to slice and dice. Narrow green irises that appeared darker, almost red in the firelight that crackled nearby on your expression, casted shadows of disillusion playing against them as he placed himself a card down.

“M’ Momma…” His head tilted to the side, the quaff of hair moving adjacent with the muscles in his neck, exposed for once to cater to your feasted eyes, skin that was not often left for the taking. The cowl of his head piece, the mirroring face plates around his ears and sweeping against his forehead were forgotten in place of comfort in the dead of night. Remy was handsome, and he knew it. At least, he appeared at times when you two were alone. It begged the question of what his true ability was. Charisma? Maybe, if you could understand him more frequently.

Allure? Most definitely otherwise you wouldn’t be there playing cards with him to begin with and you’d have joined Elektra on night patrol as you so often did to get away and get fresh air.  “Well, if I knew tha’ woman…” The left dealing hand rose itself up as he made a nonsensical gesture with it, swirling through the air before falling back onto the deck of cards and with one strategically placed shuffle, his hardened but teasing expression was alit with lavender cased with more pinkish hues to tease the smile that had ridden against his cheeks, “She ha’ told me… Neva… To play them cars’… With Bonne a rienne.”

“You know I can’t understand you when you talk like that, it’s all a slurred blur. You sure you need to be drinking that?” It was evident that what he had said was meant as a insulting intrgue. Pointing towards the freshly cracked bottle of Whisky next to the stocky build of Remy with your nose, you smiled as he trailed and mimicked your stare with a chortle.

“Tha’ makes m’ sound more clear. Bele,” He leaned inwards, the deck of cards that always sought his favor falling straight onto the table, face down. “Y’should know tha’.”

“Hm,” It was your turn to lean in, the holster that held your knives shifting with your weight as you drifted upwards, “Still can’t understand a word, you Cajun Bastard.”