#there is a certain rhythm to your writing that i absolutely adore

[aces-and-angels]

*screams incoherently at the sun*

It's Lincoln x MC angst time again...

Spirit, Stay Gentle (part 1/2) Book: It Lives Within Basis: Lia is gone. Connor is out for blood. Vax's worst enemy is his own Power. (or, horror Connor comes after my MC whilst he fights back anchor explosions.) Pairings: Lincoln x male MC, but Lincoln doesn't actually physically appear in this part, but he is brought up a lot throughout. Warnings: murder, assault, violence, swearing, trauma, injury, guns, blood, and because of the flashbacks, there's also gore and death of all ages and species. Part 1 word count: 2.2k A/N: ILITW MC is called Lila in this, Sif is the name of my ILW MC's childhood dog, Vax is the name of my ILW MC, and this part opens with Connor's POV, but shifts POV mid-part.

Part 1 under cut!

Running, running, running, running– 

Pooling scarlet of officer’s head, shuddering, shuddering, shuddering–

down, 

down, 

down, 

down, 

down.

Shuddering, shuddering, shuddering (savagely, savagely, so–) clattering to the floor like it was made full of lead, lead, lead–

One step, two step, three, what is happening, what is happening, what is happening, what is happening, what is happening to me, legs pump, pump, pumping, BANG, BANG, BANG of the bullet, reverberating out through the trees. 

One step, two step, three, what am I doing, what is happening to me, flash of pink, onyx leather, get him, get him, get him, get him– 

Cracked skin, ash hands, wet, copper– blood, where, why, whose– blood– blood - blood - blood!

“VAX!” Voice that is not my own, should not be my own, but it is my own, deafening, banging, booming, “VAX!”, where’s Lila, is she safe, Noah, Dan, who, what, why, what is happening to me, what is happening to me, what is–

Cyan… 

Drowning…

Everything...

Out. 

Ringing, ringing, ringing, then–

Only cyan, only blue, only cyan, forever true.

…….

"Calm the FUCK down!" 

Vax’s cry echoes across the clearing, falling a harried step backwards. The cerulean markings woven amidst his skin flare to life with his heightening anxiety.

"Calm down? CALM DOWN?! Like you can do any better? Like this isn't all you ever do? You're not even a real person, just some vessel for anger, and you're harping to me about keeping my temper in check?!"

"CONNOR!" His voice is guttural, pleading, a warning bark and a plea all in one. 

He scrambles backwards, not in fear for himself, but in increasing acknowledgement of the creeping bonds of Power that wind their way up his sternum, his throat, his neck, the all-too familiar burning feeling sending his heart a-pounding. 

"You.. don’t... want… this." He grits out as he gestures around, tendrils of smoke haloing his nostrils like some scorned angel of reckoning. 

Then he scrabbles further backwards, clutching his scorching hands to his chest, all too aware of the Power it has to bend and break and burn, all too aware of how quickly, how instantly, how easy it would be to smite out the one good man in this woefully empty clearing out in the sadistic solace of the woods. 

Pure cyan engulfs his hands as he raps one in a violent staccato against his head, trying in vain to tame the rising flame.

"I’LL KILL YOU!" It's not a threat, not a promise, not a scare tactic or a want, or a need, it's a plea, hollow and desperate and wavering and screaming and crying, and fraying at the edges please do not let me kill you, please do not let me kill you, I do not know how to control my Power, please do not let me kill you, please do not let me kill you!

For the sake of Connor, for the sake of whatever frayed hold he has on his humanity, desperately clinging onto a violently snapping thread, Vax stops… Freezes.

Purpose, path, salvation, purpose, path, salvation, purpose, path, salvation–

Calming thoughts… Calming thoughts!

Smother the fire, smother the fire, smother the—

Think of Lincoln. Think of Lincoln. Think of Lincoln!

Hard eyes, dark hair, hands that feel like home when he holds you, hard eyes, dark hair, hands that feel like home when he holds you, hard eyes, dark hair, hands that feel like– like– like…

Burning, burning, burning, burning, and by the nine hells why must the Power hurt so much, burning, burning, burning, burning, burning– ladder of flame climbing up, up, up, up, up– 

Up his arms, up his hands, up his neck, up his skin, burning, burning, burning, burning, and no, no, no, no, no, no, no–!

Hard eyes, dark hair, hard eyes, dark hair, hard eyes, dark hair, hard eyes, dark hair, come on, come on, come on, come on–

Think of Lincoln. Think of Lincoln!

Flesh, searing, sizzling, scorching, smouldering– and fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! 

Think of Lincoln. Think of Lincoln. 

…And so Vax did. And it worked. For but a moment... But then Connor barrelled into him, and his markings flared once more, all thoughts of hard eyes, dark hair, hard eyes, dark hair, hard eyes, dark hair– scattered, flittering up, up, up, up, up, up– like the ashes of his Power, the spiralling smoke of the fires that threaten to swallow him whole as he rips out of, and runs free from the horror’s snatching embrace.

But he grits his teeth, and he tries again, and again, and again, purpose, path, salvation, purpose, path, salvation, purpose, path salvation–

No, you're not a monster, Vax, no you're not a monster, no you're not,  you're not, you're not, you’re not– 

Gruff voice, tied hair, raven marks, gruff voice, tied hair, raven marks, gruff voice, tied hair, raven marks–

And Vax’s voice, it comes, finally, growling, growling, growling, growling– gnashing claws and fangs of the horror - Connor, Connor, Connor, Connor – edging closer, closer, closer, closer–

"I'll take the blame, Connor!” He cries, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking–

“I’ll take the blame – they’ll believe me – I’m not – I’m not – I’m not right – I’ll take the – they’ll believe me!” He hisses, burning, burning, burning, burning–, eyes widening at the expanse of his Power across his flesh, climbing, creeping, crawling, burning in the backs of his atoms, his cells, his neurons, his flesh– 

Vax shakes, and stutters, embers spilling out his nose, his mouth, his eyes, his hands– 

“I'll cure you–  just please stop– I'll cure you– just stop, just fucking stop, just–”

Enraged tears stream down his shaking face, an aquamarine snaking of Power tinging his teardrops electric blue. 

Connor sneers back at him, all fangs and too-long teeth, the man himself, a monster, now, but still… To Vax? The bastion of the pure, the tainted and shattered echo of the man before him a testament only to his own failings, to what Vax could not protect him from, to what Vax failed to do, to protect Connor from, to protect Annie from, to protect Sif from, to protect mom, dad– if they were ever really his to protect - if his name were every really his to bear – if his name were anything other than the very creatures his mother warded him against at night, if the name monster did not sit so pretty and perfect on lips that bloody and stutter and freeze amidst the chilling Power breeze.

"You stole his life, and yet you still don’t know how to act with an ounce of humanity!" The thing wearing Connor’s face jeers, but no, that is Connor now, it is Connor, it is, it is, it is–

"DON’T!” Vax screams, voice piercing through the now whistling winds.

“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!” Vax half-pleads, half-commands as Connor’s taunts persist, fists balled as he takes yet more steps away, trying to keep a tamper down on the fire, the Power, the flames, the fire, the Power, the flames, the fire, the Power, the–

"Connor, you fucking idiot, I am trying to save your life, just– just–" Vax’s wild gaze drops to his arms, two pillars of hellish blue flame thrashing at both sides, flaming and flaring with his emotions.

The drawn-out shell of Connor jibes back at him, his own glowing and furious eyes swirling like whirlpools in his head. His voice is cruel, callous, careless– gaze calculated and cruel as he casts a wicked glance back at the fading and fated man. 

"Mommy dearest never teach you breathing lessons, or what?" The horror nods to the flare of Vax’s nostrils, the warning glow emanating out from his flesh, the tell-tale signs of an anchor explosion, imminent, no deterrent to the not-Connor before him, just a spectacle, a show, a jibe, a joke, a spot of entertainment on a chilly autumn morn.

"STOP!” Vax growls, pleads, prays, before keening quietly to himself “please, please, please, please…”, his knees slamming harshly against the deck as his anguish swipes them out from underneath him.

Mom. 

Mom…

…….

Onyx hair. Raven lips. Pointed bangs. Fatal edge, soft for him. 

"Stay gentle, Vax..." 

She commands, the butterfly on her hand strutting across ticklish flesh.

Stay gentle. 

Her cool brown eyes turn to him, extending the dainty little creature out to grabbing hands. 

Stay gentle… Stay gentle.

"Buttahfwy!" 

She laughs at the toddlers wide-eyed wonderment, tinkling and beautiful and rare. 

Stay gentle. Stay gentle, stay gentle, stay gentle, STAY GENTLE–

All too soon, the memory of her is pulled out from underneath him, browning and blackening at the edges like all the polaroids of his family he had burned through gritted teeth and falling tears, burning away like the memories of his childhood– his memories? His childhood? Lemon drops, Vax, they were lemon drops, Vax– 

…….

The snarling horror before him cares not for his trip down memory lane, racing towards him in a flurry of fangs and fatalistic fingernails. 

One sharp tug, and Connor’s dragging him, dragging him, dragging him, by the nape of his jacket neck, dragging him, dragging him, dragging him– don’t fight back, don’t fight back, don’t fight back, keep the Power down, keep the Power down, keep the Power do—

Dragging, dragging, dragging, dragging, then screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming – what-have-I-done, what-have-I-done, what- have- I– but when Vax looks up, it is not his Power that alights Connor’s soul, twisting his mouth into a screaming vortex, but the sigils of the cabin, searing into him like so many snakes down skin that knows no solace. 

Skidding back, back, back, burnt hands stinging, stinging, stinging, with the splinters of the sable, Vax backs away, but no sooner than Connor was seized by the sigils pain does he stop… Unfreeze from his pillar of hurt… And chase Vax back to his room, throwing his body against the wood of the wall with a sickening crack.

Copper, and red, streaming down Vax’s head, grappling, grappling, grappling, still, with the Power, tamp it down, down, down, down– don’t hurt him as you hurt Noah, don’t hurt him as you hurt everyone, don’t hurt him as you hurt Lincoln, blackened hiss of Power on paint, don’t hurt him as you hurt Lia, the knife of your nightmares and all the words you did not say– and all the words that you did say– do not hurt him, do not hurt him, do not hurt him, do not hurt him!

Calming thoughts. 

Calming thoughts! 

Think of Lincoln. 

One shadow looms against the gloom.

Think of Lincoln. Infernos for eyes, encroaching ever closer, closer–

Think of Lincoln.

The first kick winds Vax. 

Think of Lincoln.

The second sends him sprawling. 

Think of Lincoln!

The third has him face-down on the floor. 

Think of Lincoln…

Connor’s boot stamps across his back.

Think of Lincoln. 

Claws haul him up, then swipe across his nose, slicing, slicing, slicing– a sizzling scarlet line,  ripping open the same very spot another creature once did, in a memoria of pain, of agony, of anguish…

Think of - think of..?

Onyx hair. Raven lips. Pointed bangs. Fatal edge, dulled under the gnashing claws and jaws of the Power. 

Onyx hair. Ever-smiling lips, click-click-vrrr of dad’s polaroid as it spat out yet another photo.

But his arms, they are gone, but his arms - they are bloody, but his arms, they are swelling wells of scarlet, but his arms– they are no more, just like his chuckle, just like his jokes, just like his breath. No more polaroids. No more pictures. No more him, no more her, no more she, no more you, no more me– 

Snow-white fur, blackened snout– that sniff-sniff-sniffing curiosity, always by his side, forever at his side, tail wagging, wagging, wagging, wagging ready to face anything, anything, anything– until that anything was everything and nothing and then she was gone, gone, gone, gone. 

And then… And then, and then, and then, and then, there was her, there was her, there was her, there was her.

Annie, Annie, Annie–

Onyx hair. Little, smiling, innocent face. The sweet scent of strawberries and icecream, the colour of his hair, sundaes overflowing with syrup and sauces, and digging in as she giggled, and giggled, and giggled, but now, as he lays, sprawled, spread-eagled on the floor, lifesblood spilling out of him, she only gurgled, and gurgled, and gurgled, overflowing with red, red, red, red— and oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, she's fucking dead, dead, dead, dead–!!

Scarlet scratches neon against the black, rip-rip-ripping across his front, his lips, his chest, his nose, burning agony suffusing him as he froze– 

Think… Think… 

Quickly, he finds, he can't think of anything, anything at all. 

Think of… Think of.. 

Lincoln? Lincoln… oh fuck, LINCOLN–!

Bloodied and burnt hands fumble across cracked phone screen. 

Calltone dragging, dragging, dragging–

Beep…

Beep…

Beep...

On the third chime, Connor strikes him straight down, sending him sprawling to the floor.

A gruff voice sounds out across the other line, too late, too late– 

Think of Lincoln. 

A strangled scream. A cacophonous crashing. And then? 

Nothing, nothing at all. 

[redvexillum]

Hot damn, I can't believe it took me this long to finally get around to answering this ask. I would like to dedicate this story to @todash-darkness and Ms. 🍑. Thank you for being my friends and always cheering me on even when I get whiny and say "writing too hard!"

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, p in v, rough s♡x, possessive!alastor, alastor is bad at feelings, dual pov, reader is a sweetheart, established relationship, alastor is allergic to feelings, rough ♡ral s♡x, finger♡ng, miscommunication, one sided (alastor) denial of feelings

In the vast, unfathomable uncertainties of Hell, Alastor’s mind was a sanctum guarded by his own design, his kingdom of carefully orchestrated chaos. He adored unpredictability, yes – but only when it danced to his tune, his rhythm, his control. Anything else, anything beyond his boundaries, was sacrilege.  

There was no greater agony, no venom deeper, than the sensation of his world teetering beyond his grasp. His order, his routine ...demolishing right before his eyes.  

One such certainty he held with unwavering conviction was this: your soul belonged to him, irrevocably. He had claimed you in ways that transcended mere words. Every part of you – your thoughts, your desires, your body, and even the delicate cadence of your laugh – was woven into his web, bound and stitched to his very being.  

So why, then, were you here, laughing with that cur, the very embodiment of mediocrity beside you? Why did the melodic lilt of your voice drift toward that miserable fool’s ears instead of his? The sight of you smiling at such filth was an affront to everything he held sacred, and yet you persisted. You continued to share laughter with that loser, indulging his vapid words, his feeble presence.  

From his seat on the single couch, Alastor’s grin cleaved his face, a mask of delight that undercut the roiling fury within. Around him, other souls babbled, meaningless, and insipid, but he paid them no heed. His gaze was fixed solely on you – typically nestled by his side, hanging on his every word as if he held the keys to your reality.  

You, who would meet his stories with wide-eyed fascination, as if his very words spun magic into existence. You, who would follow him, entranced, into his realm.  

But now, now...his hand dug into the flesh of the couch, claws piercing through its plush surface as he fought to restrain himself, to keep from dragging you to his side where you belonged. In his mind, he could feel the invisible chains around your neck, the ones you had so naively accepted, binding you to him to the moment you surrendered your soul – for a little of wretched Hellmutts, no less.  

You were naive. Weak. Ridiculously innocent.  

But you were his.  

His eyes tracked every move you made, his gaze darkening with each soft smile that graced your lips for someone else, each glimmer in your eye cast in that foul creature’s direction. And then – then that trash, that waste of a soul, had the audacity to touch your shoulder.  

Alastor’s heart stilled, a visceral freeze rippling through him as he watched your fingers lift, as if in slow motion, to meet that filthy hand.  

And within him, something snapped. 

An uncontrollable twitch seized his left eye, a slight tremor echoed in the clench of his jaw. Rage coursed through him, an intense, molten fury tightening every muscle until he vibrated with it. A violent energy was held back only by a grin that split his face, frozen, even as his eyes bore into you, unblinking.  

Come to me, he thought, his voice a dark whisper in his mind, willing you to hear, to obey, Come here, darling. Come... 

Yet, you didn’t hear him. Not a single glance in his direction, as if the tether binding you to him had snapped. You, with those disgustingly bright eyes, filled to the brim with such boundless, grating cheer – those eyes that never strayed from his, were now fixed on someone else. They were facing the wrong way.  

The ownership he held over you was absolute, and he was certain there was nothing of value in this world next to your name – nothing but your soul. And that? Well, that belonged to him. You were his in every sense, a fact as unshakeable as death itself.  

The thought simmered, rolling over in his mind like a storm. He’d planned to speak with you tonight, to remind you of the boundaries that came with selling your soul to him. A gentle “discussion” about your arrangement, perhaps a reminder of the dangers of your reckless naivety, especially around others’ wandering intentions. After all, what did you understand of the hunger that prowled in the depths of Hell? 

But then you laughed. That joyous sound, brimming with warmth and energy – the very light he’d basked in so possessively – spilled from you for someone else. In that instant, something dark clawed up from within him, overriding every fragment of patience he thought he’d possessed.  

The lights flickered; sinners looked up and whispered, confused, looking up as the room dipped into pitch-black darkness. And in that instant, Alastor’s hand seized you, pulling you into the shadows before anyone would notice.  

The darkness folded around him, dragging you both from their prying eyes, and when he materialized in his room, any pretense of control shattered entirely.  

You’d been talking to a gentleman about butcher shops in Cannibal Town, a respectable topic considering he was a proud consumer of sinner flesh. Though you yourself didn’t indulge, you knew Alastor had a certain...fondness for the taste. This stranger, to his credit, offered genuine recommendations – shops known for prime, fresh meat. You listened attentively, committing every word to memory, already imagining the gleam in Alastor’s eyes when you surprised him with a choice cut of fresh deer sinner’s flesh.  

The best part? Each piece came with the sinner’s full consent. Nothing could be more natural, organic, and you supposed, humane in a macabre way, than that.  

Your smile grew brighter as you pictured his reaction, and out of courtesy, you kept the conversation flowing. After all, Alastor had always instilled in you the importance of politeness, of maintaining grace, especially in the realms of Hell. When the man touched your shoulder and praised your kindness, you felt a warmth spread through you. Kindness was a rarity down here, and it was refreshing to be in the company of someone who appreciated it without ulterior motives.  

But then the lights flickered, and instantly, the room plunged into darkness. Panic flared, voices rising in confusion, and before you could fully process what was happening, a cold hand clamped around your wrist. A sensation, chilling and immediate, enveloped you, and the world melted away.  

When you blinked, you were in Alastor’s room.  

The sudden brightness left you blinking against the light, your vision adjusting. But when you finally looked up, you were met with a sight that sent a shiver down your spine.  

Alastor stood there; his eyes ablaze with a crimson fury that bordered on madness. His grin stretched wider than you’d ever seen, jagged and vicious, as if it had been carved from his very rage. His gaze cut through you like a knife, every muscle in his frame taut with anger. Twin streams of red trickled from the corners of his mouth, and in that silence, you could swear you heard the crackling of something deep within him breaking.  

Before you could even form the words to ask why he seemed so upset, Alastor summoned the soul chain. A sickly green chain flickered into existence, snaking around his wrist, and in the next, you felt a sudden, brutal tug around your neck. Your teeth gritted at the sharp pull, and he yanked you forward until you were barely an inch away from him, his nose almost brushing yours as he bent down to meet your gaze.  

The dial in his chest swung wildly, ticking back and forth like a metronome set to a frenzied beat.  

“Uhm, Alast-” you started, confusion clouding your mind. You knew he was eccentric, yes, prone to outbursts and fits of emotion, but they always carried some purpose, a hidden logic that only he could fully understand.  

“Who do you belong to?” he demanded, his voice frigid and sharp. The chain clinked as he pulled you even closer, the heat of his body blazing through the air between you.  

“Y-you,” you stammered, searching his eyes, your hand trembling as you gently touched his sleeve. “It’s you.” 

For a fleeting second, your answer seemed to calm the storm raging in his gaze, his crimson eyes softening back to their usual dark slits. “That’s right,” he whispered, his voice low and deceptively soft. “You belong to me.” His hand slid to your waist, his fingers digging in possessively. “And yet,” his voice dropped to a hiss, “you had the gall to let another sinner touch you.” 

A wave of bewilderment washed over you, leaving you scrambling to make sense of his anger. Physical contact was far from uncommon in the hotel – just yesterday, Angel Dust had clapped you on the back after you told him a joke. Surely, Alastor wouldn’t be so enraged over something so trivial? 

But Alastor pressed himself against you, his body taut and seething with an intensity that left you breathless. “My, my,” he murmured, voice pitched with a mocking chill, “thinking about that wretched sinner already? Right here, in my presence?” 

“That’s not-” you started to protest, realizing with a sinking dread that you’d indeed just thought of Angel Dust. But surely, that alone wouldn’t justify this terrifying fury, this raw possessiveness radiating from Alastor? 

He let out a bark of laughter, sharp and scathing, before pressing his forehead to yours, his lips grazing dangerously close to your own. “I own your soul, darling,” he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous, velvety edge. You felt his claws inching up your skirt, his fingers scraping against your bare thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “I don’t share what is rightfully mine.” 

Unexpectedly, his mouth crashed onto yours, urgent and bruising, teeth grazing with a hunger so fierce it stole the breath from your lungs. You whimpered against him as his sharp tooth nicked your lower lip, the sting mingling with the taste of blood as his hot tongue lapped over the wound, a low groan reverberating from his chest.  

When he finally pulled back, his lips stained crimson with your blood, he gripped the front of your dress, his eyes blazing. “Who do you belong to?” he demanded again, his tone laced with desperation, as if even your words might not be enough to satisfy him.  

“You. It’s always you, Alastor,” you whispered, your hands gently cupping his face, placing a soft, tender kiss on his lips – a striking contrast to the bruising passion he’d unleashed moments before. “The contract says forever, remember?” You tried a slight, playful grin, but his gaze held none of his usual amusement, his eyes fixated on yours with an almost haunted intensity.  

“The contract,” he repeated slowly, his fingers loosening their grip on your dress. “Yes...that’s right.” His hands trembled for a fleeting moment before he forced them behind his back, his posture rigid. “I own your soul,” he said, voice hollow, “your servitude, I suppose.” 

It was as if he were no longer fully present with you, his gaze dark and distant, a hint of revelation in his eyes that seemed to tear him apart even as he chased it. You could see it, how this realization – this twisted revelation – pained him, even though he seemed oblivious to its source.  

You’d been here before, watched him spiral from bursts of passion to bitterness and then back to his lonely solitude. So, as always, you took that first step forward, drawing closer until your arms circled his waist. You smiled up at him, that bright, open smile he so often brushed off with sharp words, though you knew it softened him beneath the mask.  

He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, a breath escaping as he murmured, “My, you're suddenly so clingy.” But you caught the waver in his voice, hiding behind his usual teasing edge.  

“Because it’s you,” you replied simply, hands trailing up his back until they slid into his hair, guiding him down to meet you. “Besides, you haven’t kicked me to the curb yet, Alastor.” You giggled, only for the sound to be cut off as his lips claimed yours.  

His movement slowed, each kiss lingering, his fingers finding the front of your shirt, hesitating there. “I don’t share,” he murmured against your mouth, his claws grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “This chain,” he whispered, tracing it with reverence, “it binds you to me. I own you.” With each word, he deftly unbuttoned your dress, his gaze smouldering as the fabric fell open.  

“I know,” you answered softly, sinking beneath him as he lowered you to the hard floor, his arms and legs caging you in. “I haven’t forgotten,” you murmured, your fingers trailing down the front of his red-pinstriped suit, savouring the rough texture beneath your touch.  

He stiffened, a flash of raw anger crossing his features. “Then why,” he snarled, his voice dripping with possessiveness, “why let that waste of breath near you? Why laugh, why smile, why seek his company when I was right there?” His words tumbled out, unbidden, raw and unrestrained.  

At that moment, as his heated words filled the space between you, you caught a flicker of shame and horror in his eyes, as if he hadn’t meant to reveal this part of himself. But before he could pull away, you wrapped your arms around his neck, anchoring him to you.  

“No one touches me like you do,” you whispered, pressing soft kisses along his cheek, to the corner of his mouth, until you kissed him fully. And I don’t think anyone else can make me smile until my cheeks hurt.” You laughed softly, fingers combing through his hair, each touch soft and grounding.  

His response was immediate, his lips pressed against yours, his hips grinding against you with desperate fervour. His soft groans mixed with your sighs, and he gently took your wrists, guiding your hands back to the front of his pants. His lips never left yours, his hands tracing a slow, searing path as you undid his pants, feeling the heated weight of him pressing against your stomach as you freed him.  

“Darling,” he hissed as our fingers wrapped around him, stroking from his tip down the length of his hardened cock, slow and tantalizing. The fire in his eyes darkened, his pupils widening to pools of obsidian as he shuddered beneath your touch. “How should I make you remember,” he murmured, voice a low growl, “that you belong to me always?” 

His lips traced down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as his hands slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt to your waist with a deliberate slowness that made you ache. “Perhaps,” he breathed, his fingers pressing against the damp cloth covering you, feeling your desire seeping through, “I’ll make your body remember.”  

Without hesitation, he tore your underwear away, his fingers grazing the slick curve of your inner thighs, drawing a gasp from you as his touch lingered there. “Enough times,” he muttered, his voice thick with want, “That you never forget who I am to you.” 

Two fingers slipped inside, filling you in one firm stroke. The sensation sent a sharp tremor through you, and your breath hitched as your walls clenched around him. “Alastor...” His name fell from your lips in a shiver, and his eyes darkened at the sound, a wicked grin spreading across his face.  

“Shh, darling,” he cooed, his voice a velvet command. His fingers moved slowly, plunging into you with an unhurried intensity, dragging your slice over every sensitive spot before plunging them back in. His head dropped to your shoulder, lips brushing over your skin as he pumped his fingers, his own arousal pressing hot and hard against your thigh. “Tonight, I’ll make certain you’ll never consider anyone else.” 

Pleasure flooded through you, erasing everything except the feel of him, each pump of his fingers building heat within you. You wanted to tell him he was always in your mind, to confess that you’d never once thought of leaving his side. But words tangled and dissolved into moans, as if even trying to say them would break the spell.  

Things like, I like you.

Things like, I cherish you. 

Things like... 

A gasp tore from you as his mouth latched onto your breast, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak as he hummed in satisfaction, the wet sound of his fingers moving within you intensifying with each movement. You arched against him, hips moving of their own accord, desperate for more, clinging to every sensation.  

And just as you teetered on the edge, his fingers slipped free, leaving you throbbing, gasping from the loss of him. He rose above you, his cock fully erect, tip glistening. He lifted his fingers, coated in your desire, to his face, watching with fascination as he pressed them together. A glistening thread stretching between them before he spread too far apart, breaking it with a hungry grin.  

Then, without looking away, he brought them to his lips, sucking each finger clean with slow, deliberate motions, a satisfied groan slipping from his throat as he tasted you.  

“Who do you belong to, darling?” he murmured, eyes heavy-lidded as he gazed down at you. His hands moved to pin your wrists above your head, pressing his hips forward, his cock nudging against your slick entrance, sending a shiver of pure heat coursing through you.  

Your breath caught as he began to push in, the head of him stretching you with a slow, delicious pressure. Instinctively, you tried to shift your hips, to take him deeper, but his grip tightened, keeping you firmly in place. “Say it,” he whispered, his voice edged with a fierce tenderness, his eyes locked onto yours, demanding.  

“You,” you whimpered, voice trembling, and Alastor rewarded you by sliding himself just a bit deeper, the stretch trying to accommodate him making you gasp.  

“That’s right,” he crooned, his grin sharp, eyes narrowed to slivers of wicked delight. “Tell me,” he murmured, his lips brushing hot against your ear, the words like fire igniting every nerve, “tell me how much you want me. Go on.” 

When you hesitated, struggling for breath, he drew his hips back, leaving you painfully empty. Every nerve in your body was alight, humming, craving more. Embarrassment coloured your cheeks, but the heat, the need, drove the words from you. “Please,” you whispered, voice soft and fragile, “please Alastor, I-I want you.” Your eyes closed, the vulnerability tightening in your chest, sending waves of desire flooding your veins.  

The moment the words escaped your lips, Alastor surged forward, filling you to the hilt, his hips flush against yours, a shuddering groan escaping him. His length throbbed inside, stretching and filling you perfectly, leaving you breathless as he began a steady rhythm, each thrust pulling a whimper from your lips.  

“That’s right,” he rasped, finally finding his pace as he withdrew and slammed back into you, your breasts bouncing with every relentless stroke. “Say you want me,” he breathed, his voice rough, almost breaking, with the intensity of his need.  

One hand pinned your wrists above your head, firm and unyielding, while the other squeezed your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, sending electric shocks of pleasure through you. His hips moved in a hypnotic rhythm, the wet, smacking sound of skin on skin mingling with the sharp cries and moans filling the air. Each one tore through you as you clung to him, helpless against the power of his thrusts.  

“I want you,” you cried, voice trembling, head tilted back, your body limp and yielding beneath his strength. Every nerve was alive with a searing stretch, his cock grinding into your most sensitive spot as he drove deeper, forcing pleasure to crest higher and higher. His name fell from your lips in broken cries, each syllable dripping with the intensity of your desire.  

With a raw groan, Alastor shifted, grasping your hips firmly as he rose onto his knees, lifting you with him. Your body arched upward, shoulders and head the only parts still anchored to the floor as he drove into you harder, faster, every thrust meeting no resistance. He slammed his hips against yours, the force of it stealing your breath, pushing you to the brink, an overwhelming spike of pleasure building with every powerful relentless motion.  

Your lips parted, gasping, as his grunts filled your ears, his low, primal sounds mixing with the wet, sinful noises of your bodies colliding. The world around you faded to nothing but the feeling of him, the ecstasy of his touch, and the unstoppable climb toward a blinding, shattering release.  

His eyes locked on the place where your bodies joined, a hunger darkening his gaze as he thrust into you, each movement hitting that perfect spot, dragging every pulse of pleasure from deep within you. Your stomach tightened, thighs shaking, and as he drove in again, the pressure burst.  

You came with a shattering cry, your fingers scraping at the wooden floor, desperate for anything to hold as your walls clenched around him, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing through you.  

He pulled out suddenly, letting your body drop as he rose to his knees, his cock slick and throbbing against your parted lips. His hand wrapped around his length, pumping himself with frenzied strokes as he looked down, his gaze fierce and covetous.  

“I should mark you,” he rasped, his voice thick with need, his cock grazing your lips as he leaned forward. “Make sure my colour stains that smile.” His grin was wild as his hand moved faster, his muscles tense, his breaths shallow and ragged.  

You lifted your head, mouth open to take him in, your lips wrapping around the tip as your tongue swirled, savouring the mingling taste of him and your own desire. A moan tore from him, and he let his head drop back, his hands cradling the sides of your head, guiding himself deeper as his hips moved in slow, deliberate thrusts. His length stretched your lips as he pressed to the back of your throat, the guttural sound of his groans and the slick noises filling the air.  

Your own moans vibrated around him, spurring him on. His hips moved faster, his hands clinging tighter as his moans grew sharper, each thrust sending him closer. With one last hard thrust, he shuddered, and the first hot pulse of his release spilled down your throat. He withdrew, letting the rest spill over your lips, dripping down your chin in thick streams as he marked you. His eyes locked on your face, a wild satisfaction softening his gaze as he watched.  

The warmth of his release lingered on your skin, drying as your breaths filled the space between you. Your tongue darted out, tasting the lingering saltiness on your lips, and he groaned, his cock twitching in his hand as he watched, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours.  

As if coming back to himself, he gently cupped your face, wiping his release from your skin with his sleeve, his expression caught between wonder and something deeper. His touch was unexpectedly soft, eyes holding a vulnerability he rarely let surface, the unspoken question hanging between you as his gaze searched yours.  

“We could be more,” you whispered, heart pounding as his fingers tilled on your skin, “if you want, Alastor.” 

His movements halted, his gaze slowly focusing on yours, a flicker of confusion slipping beneath his usual veneer of confidence. “I already own your soul,” he murmured, his voice edged with something darker, guarded. “There is nothing more you could give me.” His words were resolute, as if trying to cling onto their simplicity, yet the way his brows furrowed, and his head tilted betrayed a hesitation – a lack of understanding for the weight of what you meant.  

For all his power, Alastor had taken your heart without ever offering his own in return. The notion of “more” was something he danced around, something he coveted without daring to hold. He wanted you fiercely, hungrily even, but in ways he could still control – never in ways that would strip him bare and vulnerable.  

You placed a gentle hand on his thigh, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. With a soft sigh, you felt the truth of it settle heavy between you; until he could meet you on level ground, until he was ready to open himself as wholly as he demanded of you, this fragile back-and-forth was all you’d have. This quiet ache, this unspoken ache, would remain hidden, cloaked in omissions and denials.  

It wasn’t entirely his fault, either, this painful standoff. After all, there were things you held back too – things that lingered on the edge of every kiss, every touch, words that clung desperately to the walls of your heart, refusing to release themselves. The word that waited to change everything.  

Things like, I like you. 

Things like, I cherish you. 

Things like... 

I love you.  

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[thatfreshi]

Hi! Can I request a story about Tav having trouble fighting cause Astarion just fed on her and so he gets worried and protective ofc. Maybe they were ambushed at camp or something? Thank you so much for your work! I really like how you write Astarion

Tw - animal attack, lots of gore, themes of death

Recommended Song: Seek and Destroy - SZA

Against better judgment, you let Astarion feed on you almost every night. It's just one of those things, a sacrifice you make, an act of love. After decades of disrespect, scavenging for next to nothing, you thought it'd be nice for him to have something better than animals. While he always insists it isn't necessary, he never passes you up on the offer. A ritual before bed every night, like a lover's embrace, you've come to adore the feeling of his teeth.

This evening in particular, he took quite a bit. You don't mind, considering you go to bed almost right after. Light-headed, woozy, you're wrapped up in his arms.

"Thank you darling."

His embrace almost feels warm when you're this drained. You almost drift off, but he keeps you awake.

"Tav, you need to eat something first."

You groan, absolutely exhausted, trying to keep him in the bedroll.

"Nooo, I'll just do it tomorrow."

He smiles, moving your hair out of your eyes.

"That's not how it works my sweet. Now, let me get up so I can-"

Goblin war drums. The sound of the percussive rhythms bouncing off all the trees, they're not far off, and Astarion knows they're on the way. Karlach starts making her way to every tent, telling your companions to get their asses in gear.

"Tav, Astarion, let's go!"

"Shit."

Astarion whispers to himself. You're still not fully there, in and out of sleep.

"What's going on?"

Double vision, you see two of your vampire lover get up and start rummaging around for his daggers.

"Just- just stay here Tav. It's alright."

You try to rub at your eyes, desperately wanting to figure out what's going on. Before you can ask again, he's gone, and you hear more war drums outside. You quickly realize it's goblins. They must've found where you've been hiding, but your head is still spinning. Trying to get up and grab your blade, you almost fall back to the ground. Steadying yourself for a moment, you try your best to listen to what's going on outside. It sounds deadly, metal, screams. You hear Shadowheart casting left and right.

When you manage to stumble out of the tent, you're tackled by one of their dogs, or whatever wretched things they are. A scream rips out of your throat, trying to hold the thing off. It bites rabidly at your arm, leaving numerous gashes, until it's thrown off of you and stabbed to death, relentlessly.

"Gods damnit, I told you to stay in the tent Tav!"

You're too worried about your arm throbbing in pain to care about the validity of his argument. He's angry, and perhaps both of you aren't entirely certain why. It's your dominant arm, you can barely move it. Astarion goes to wrap your arm, but is quickly overpowered by the numbers again. They must've sent a large party after the lot of you. Halsin and Shadowheart are running out of magic, already drained. It's bad, but it'll end soon. With a couple more fights and a thunderwave from Gale, the rest of the goblins scurry off, knowing they're fighting a losing battle. Astarion doesn't even stop to loot their corpses, running to your side.

"You're a fucking idiot Tav, you know that?"

Gods, he could sound so mean when he wanted to. You know he says those things out of fear, but they still hurt. Despite how angry he is, he starts ripping pieces of cloth from his shirt, wrapping your arm, which is bleeding far too fast. Shadowheart and Halsin come over to supervise, both out of arcana until they get some rest.

"Yes, the two of you standing over my shoulder is quite helpful. Might as well cheer me on while you're at it!"

His movements are ragged, furious, only making your arm hurt more than it does. He's lost though, somewhere in his head, unable to hear the cries of pain as he's wrapping your arm. You're even more lost than before, your blood leaving rapidly.

"Aster, I-"

"Hush."

He then realizes you were going to tell him you were about to pass out, because you almost immediately fall over.

"Damnit!"

He holds you in his arms, your limb still not fully wrapped.

"If the two of you want to be helpful, get me some actual bandages instead of gawking at me!"

Sure, Astarion hates doing things that require hard work, but he knows how. How many times did he have to do something like this to himself, when no one was there to help wrap his wounds? Shadowheart quickly returns with all of the bandage wraps she has.

"We have to clean it or it'll get infected."

"Well, Shadowheart, I don't know how you think you're going to clean it if Tav bleeds to death."

The two healers decide it's best if he handles this himself. While he obsessively wraps your arm, the rest of the camp watches on, knowing he's too possessive to let them help. He doesn't trust them like he trusts you.

And I trusted you to stay put.

There's no way to give you more blood, not in a way that would work for you. For a moment, he simply thinks that he'll feed you some of his blood, and then he remembers. All he can do is hope you retained enough, that he didn't preemptively kill you by feeding on you tonight. Your pulse is still going, but it's slow, and you're paler than usual.

Astarion begins to think to himself, asking why he ever fell in love, why he ever let himself think twice about you. It's easy to play the game when you have nothing to lose. Second thoughts, always, he's always thinking for two people now. It's been his survival, for as long as he can remember, and now you're lodged in his brain.

"Damn you Tav, I can't do this. I can't lose you like this."

He begins to sob as he holds you, still unconscious. This beckons Gale to come over, often a voice of reason for the vampire.

"You've done all you can. Perhaps we should get Tav back inside? Away from the elements?"

Astarion is too distraught to argue, helping Gale carry you back into the tent.

"The second Shadowheart is awake, she'll be back to check on Tav."

"Yeah, if they don't die from blood loss in the middle of the night."

Gale simply sighs, knowing there's no point in fighting with him. He leaves your pale lover to wallow in his misery. Hours pass, you're still clinging on, and Astarion watches over you, panicking every time he can't see your chest rise and fall, constantly checking your pulse. You're cold, your heartbeat dangerously slow, and he keeps wracking his brain about what else he could possibly do. But there's nothing, only fate, only the gods. He sadly chuckles to himself at the thought of even trying to pray, knowing there's no higher power out there, at least one that cares about him.

"W... what are you... laughing at?"

You ask weakly, oblivious to the horrific stress he's been through. Astarion whips around quickly, wondering if perhaps he's imagining your voice. When he sees your eyes fluttering, lost somewhere between dreams and reality, he rushes to your side.

"Oh gods Tav... you- you really scared me there."

He tries to hold back tears, failing miserably. You try to speak again, but groan in pain as the feeling in your arm starts to come back.

"I know, I know it hurts. It's okay my darling, you'll be alright."

He begins fully sobbing, and you have no idea why, without being awake enough to comprehend the situation. Astarion always tries to be strong when you're weak, but watching you teeter on the line between life and death, it was simply too much to bear.

"You can't pull that shit, ever again my love, I'm so serious. I know I'm normally quite serious, but ever more so right now."

Then, a joyful, tiny laugh. Happiness. Happy that you're alive. The memories of the fight slowly start coming back, the beast that ripped up your arm, Astarion yelling.

"Aster...?"

"Yes my dear?"

You start to tear up a little, still a tad delirious.

"I'm sorry."

And then remembers as well, the things he said, the tone he spoke to you in.

"No, no my love I'm sorry. You weren't yourself, I was being entirely unreasonable. I just..."

He almost can't finish his sentence.

"I'm just happy you're okay. That's enough for me."

Your lover slowly and carefully lays down beside you, pulling you into him, being sure not to let your wounded arm drag on the ground. He holds you for a long time, until Shadowheart wakes at dawn, fully rested and ready to fix your wounds. Astarion vows silently that he'll never let it come that close, ever again.

[winterarmyy]

Promise Me | Part I

When he was sent out for war, Bucky made a promise to his lover that might just last through several lifetimes.

Summary: Y/N kept being reincarnated into the world for seemingly endless of lifetimes with the lasting, vivid memories of her past lover during the 40's, Sargent James B. Barnes. While she thought this was a 'punishment' for her sins, she was also unknowingly oblivious to the fact that James was still alive somewhere, almost forever frozen in the time.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 6.5k++ (hella long bc lots to cover in the story building part)

Pairing: 40s!bucky / eventually tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: just slow induced angst for your daily consumption (i guess?) It has a hopeful ending so don't let the first warning chase you away. reincarnation concept. an attempt to follow exact mcu timeline (forgive if i'm wrong at certain parts). slight religious contents. grief & loss. graphic violence. deaths. mention of suicide. a lot of reader's pov, story building > dialogs (sorry guys).

P/S: Another impulsive writing from me y'all. I hope you don't get bored of this tendency of mine lol. I just need to let the fantasies out before it consumes me. So... anyway, it's gonna be another 3 parts fic cause for the love of god, I cannot commit for more :') Also, my first attempt of writing 40's bucky!!! I'm honestly scared. I hope you like it!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Italy, 1943 – His return

If there was one thing that Bucky should have expected when he decided to be in a relationship with Y/N was it would be that he had to accept her for who she was; stubborn, clumsy, bold, clever, sweet and most certainly the prettiest dame he ever met.

He might have unknowingly signed up for it the moment he quite literally fell for her at one of those Stark's science expo. Bucky had been stealing glances at this one pretty lady in the crowd; adored in soft mint dress that falls right below her knees.

It wasn't even a scandalous dress to wear in public but somehow Bucky was more than ecstatic to marvel at her beauty. There was no such thing as a too long of a stare, especially when she laughed like that; throwing her head in amusement, the loose strands of her curls fall back across her shoulders as they slightly shook to the rhythm of her laughter.

A careless misstep – that Bucky could see from a mile away – had caused her to stagger backwards and twisted her ankle into an inevitable fall. Somehow, Bucky managed to slither his way through the crowd towards her, almost jumping forward to catch her before she landed on the ground.

Not only that he was the one who fell first, but he also fell hard.

So, it was expected that Bucky knew what he had got himself into. At least, that was what Y/N had been repeating in her head to convince herself for what she had done. Now that she was sitting at the back of the wobbly military truck, the fear had slowly started to seep into her, causing shivers to crawl all over her nerves.

Y/N just knew it in her guts that Bucky would be absolutely furious when he sees her but what does he expect her to do when she hadn't receive any letters from him for months now. So, when she heard that they needed more medic volunteers at the Italy base, she signed up without thinking twice about it.

"There has been a recent attack on the 107th. Too many casualties and much more whose heavily injured. You might have your hands full the moment you arrive to the base. There are few rules..." The lieutenant's voice was as rigid just as his demenour when he continued to inform the situation to the troops of medical staff.

No matter how much she wanted to pay attention to his words, Y/N couldn't help but to tune in only at his first few sentences. Casualties and heavily injured. Her hands moved to search for the cross pendent hanging from the necklace around her collarbone, gripping it tight as she prayed that her lover was not categorized under any of those dire circumstances.

What the lieutenant said in that truck could never be more true; as the moment they stepped into the medic tent, Y/N and the others were quickly pulled to assist the fallen men. It was truly heartbreaking and horrid to witness the dreading truth behind what the public posed as the "heroes of the country".

Surely they were proud to fight for the nation but then again no human being should ever had to suffer the consequences of war; not the civilians and certainly not the soldiers.

After seemingly hours of continuous stitching, wrapping and patching up; surrounded sound of groaning pain and the endless cycle of inhaling the distinct scent of fresh blood, burned flesh and the bitter of anticeptic odor; the injured soldiers were finally taken care of and had been put to rest.

Y/N looked around the tent, noting the unorganized mess around the patients; the result of the panic and chaos of the whole situation. A thought came to her mind, she might need to do some cleaning up before writing down medical record for each one of the patients.

That was when the lieutenant entered into the tent, and his stern gaze swiftly analyzed the much calmer scene, "Thank you for your service, everybody. I assume the soldiers are stabilized?"

"Yes, sir." One of the battalion doctor replied as he approached, while the rest of the team watched from where they stood.

The lieutenant simply nodded, "Good." He paused for awhile and looked around,  "Now, have any of you met Captain America before?"

There were bunch of no's murmured around the medical staff, some of them just shook their head as an answer and the lieutenant nodded again, "Well, I guess you are all just darn lucky cause he's here to perform. You are invited to come and join the others to watch, if you want to." He informed.

"Steve's here?" She thought to herself.

As the lieutenant continued to explain some things about accommodation, food and medical supplies, Y/N's head were filled with thought that her dear friend, Steve.

"I wonder if he gotten any words from James."

"Maybe he got letters from him?"

"Or could it be that he was here to find James too?

There were so many questions kept circulating in her head that by the time she snapped out of them, the lieutenant was already long gone and some of the volunteers went out to untangle themselves from the hours of stressful tension.

As a nurse herself, she felt the need to take care of her patients and finish her job before anything else. So, she started to clean up the shredded clothes, bloodied guazes and the other medical tools that needed to be sterilized and put away.

By the time she finished, it finally dawned to her that there was no trace of Bucky in the medic tent. Which means he didn't fall into the heavily injured category. So, there was two left; the one she prayed for and the other that dreaded her to even think about.

Y/N quickly made her way towards the tent where she can find the soldier in charge. However, if she was focused during one of the lieutenant's speech in the truck, she would've heard that she and the others were not authorized to enter certain parts of the base, which include the higher ups' tents.

When she was turned down by the soldiers, she sadly walked away towards the main area where Steve was supposed to perform. The drag of her feet across the dusty sand was heavy; but no more heavier than the burden in her heart.

She watched as her black pump shoes gradually covered with light sand. Finding it odd that a few weeks ago she was standing on the shiny tile of a hospital in Brooklyn and now she was halfway across the world in the middle of the chaos of a war.

The things she'd do for love.

Soon enough, the dry ground was wet from the sudden down pour, turning it into a murky soggy path. Y/N quickly ran towards the main area; where apparently the show was long over. "Did I missed Steve?" She thought as she stepped into the tent where the performers supposed to be.

The tent turned out to be empty as she suspected. There was only the sound of drizzling raindrops above it was left behind.

She looked around the area and saw the costumes for the performers were still there; the pleated white and red skirt hanging on the rack, white gloves clipped with them, the captain's shield with notes sticking at the back of it and the iconic blue helmet-mask plastered with the obvious letter of A.

She peeked a little to the right only to see Steve hunched down on the floor, curling into himself just as he always did back when he was left beaten up in the alleyway somewhere in Brooklyn.

A thought passed through her mind; maybe the upgrade of his size doesn't really change his habits.

Y/N walked closer to see him holding his sketchbook on one hand and another was a pencil pressing across the paper. The tip scribled up and down, lining the drawing of a monkey on a unicycle. "I guess the serum does not amplify your art skills huh, Stevie?" she teased as she approached the blonde man.

Steve lifted up his head as he turned towards the familiar voice, "y/n?" His face lit up as he recognized her face. He stood on his feet and pulled her into a tight hug, "It's so good to see you." He sighed, he haven't seen her since his departure to be paraded around the world as the 'symbol of freedom'.

He clearly remembers what he wrote in the letter regarding her wish to volunteer as a medic for the war; practically begging her to not do this and stay home.

But alas, it took awhile for him to process it but when it came to him, he gently pushed her away, "Wait.. what are you doing here?" His brows creased into a worried frown.

Y/N simply smiled as she responded, "They needed help, so I volueentered."

Steve shook his head in disbelief, "I know that." He sighed as a frown deepened across his feature, "Bucky made me promise not to let you do stuff like this."

In which Y/N countered, "And he remind you not to do anything stupid until he get back; so..." she purposely trailed her words for him to draw the conclusion on his own.

He let out a long sigh before concluding, "Bucky's gonna kill us."

Since, Bucky was in the topic, Y/N wanted to take the oppurtunity to asked Steve about him, "About that, have you heard--"

A woman's voice came from her back, cutting in between her words, "Steve?"

Steve nervously distance himself from Y/N as he shyly greeted the brunette, "Hi."

The woman continued to stare at Y/N trying to figure out her role and relationship to Steve but before she could get any strange idea, he quickly introduced her, "This is y/n. She's a good friend of mine at home."

A spark of realization glint through her eyes "I see. I'm Peggy. Nice to meet you." She extended her hand towards Y/N, in which she gladly shook it in hers as she reintroduced herself, "You too. I'm y/n."

After the brief exchange of smile between the two ladies, Steve continued to ask Peggy, "What are you doing here?"

Peggy sighed as she explained, "Officially, I'm not here at all." She paused as she picked her words, "I just came by to oversee the situation after the recent attack."

Although Y/N knew what Peggy meant, she was one of the medic staff that had been stitching up the aftermath of that attack after all. However, Steve on the other hand seemed to be lost.

Peggy further explained, "Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano, more than 200 men went up against him and less than 50 returned." She paused, "Your audience contained what's left of the 107th."

Steve's blues widen in realization that almost looked much like panic, "The 107th?"

"What?" Peggy prompt quickly.

Steve then turned his head to Y/N, "Bucky?" He questioned shortly.

But even she was hoping that he'll know something about Bucky, apparently she was wrong, "I tried to ask but I'm not authorized to enter the tent. I was hoping you heard from him."

Seeing the panic in Steve's eyes, she knew that her lover was no where near the safety that she prayed for. But before fear could set in, Steve sprinted out of the tent, "Come on!" he shouted as Y/N and Peggy ran closely behind him.

When they arrived to the tent, fortunately they had the permission to enter with the help of Peggy. "Well, if it isn't the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan. What is your plan today?" Colonel Philips greeted in a teasing manner.

Steve didn't even bother to greet the colonel as he demanded, "I need the casualty list from Azzano." In which the Philips responded, "You don't get to give me orders, son."

Knowing that arguments won't help the situation, he control his tone of voice and spoke, "I just need one name, Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th." He took a short breath and insisted, "Please tell me if he's alive, sir. B-A-R-"

Colonel Phillips stood on his feet as he walked towards a table behind him, "I can spell. I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count." He paused before turning around to eye on Steve and briefly on the very worried looking nurse next to him.

"But the name does sound familiar. I'm sorry." There was a flash of sincerity in his eyes when he looked towards Y/N.

The optimistic Steve continued to insist more about other possibilities than casualties, "What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?" They went back and forth about the what is the 'right' thing to do, "Yes, it's called 'winning the war'. "

And suddenly sound of the heavy rain fall was all Y/N could hear, then comes the booming of her heartbeat as the panic started to deprive her of any optimism; clouding her judgment to think of anything near to positive outcomes such as Steve.

It was getting harder to breath and the anxiety slowly choked her from within, forcing tears to pool in her eyes. Peggy swiftly took a hold on Y/N, before her knees managed to fall to the ground. The muffled sound of Peggy's voice managed to come through but not enough to wake her from the despair.

Before she knew it, Steve was already gone for an unauthorized rescue mission with the help from Peggy. And ever since, Y/N had spend every waking moment digging her knees into the uneven ground under her tent. Her elbows were bruised from how hard she propped them on the steel edge of the army green cot. Her palms almost dented to shape of the silver cross as she desperately squeeze it between her hold.

She prayed and prayed for his return. For both of her dearest to be safe, to find their way home.

Every part of her body was numb and all she hoped for was to have her prayers be answered. And it seems like God heard her whispers of the night.

Like the others, Y/N was drawn to the commotion as the crowd was getter louder. At first she noticed a few, then the circle of soldiers were geting thicker when the survivors joined the rest of them. There were chantings of "Captain America" that echoed throughout the base and that gave her relief to know that Steve was safe.

But it was not enough to tame her anxiousness. Y/N's focus has never been sharper when her eyes scanned the crowd, she slithered her way between the jumping joy of the soldiers, grabbing onto some men who she mistook as Bucky; until she saw him.

Her heartbeat ramped increasingly as she pushed through the soldiers, finding strength from the blood pumping excitement when she recognize those steel blues and that cheeky smile. Not long before she managed to grab onto his hand and pulled his attention to her.

It was brief but he knew that face anywhere; and suddenly his whole body was engulf into a familiar tight hug that he thought he could never be able to feel again. "James." her voice stuttered even if it was just one word that came out of her lips.

"y/n?" Bucky called her name, almost in disbelief.

God, she never knew that she was able to miss his voice this much.

"Doll, what you doing here?" He gently lead her away, which she reluctantly followed, "I'm here for you." There was no need of lies now that Bucky was here in her arms.

His gaze soften with a mix of concern and joy, "What do you mean you're here for me?" Bucky couldn't help but to let out a short laugh, "Sweetheart, you do realized that you're in the middle of a warzone?" His brows quirked as he reminded.

Y/N rolled her eyes. Of course, she realized that. The moment she saw that form for the volunteer enlistment, she already knew that. But, it didn't stop her to sign up, does it?

She laced her fingers into his, "I didn't come all the way here to fight with you, James." she whispered as she leaned closer, "So, please just shut up and kiss me."

Bucky might have just realized it now; what a stubborn, demanding, crazy little lover got himself. Though at the same time, he had never been more charmed.

Bucky sighed in defeat before running his tongue on his lower lip, "Well then, come here you little minx" he took her by the head and gave her the most desperate yet sweetest kiss she could never forget.

Brooklyn, 1944 – Promises, promises

It was the day that Steve, Bucky and the rest of the Howling Commandos were depolying to the Austrian Alps for one of the biggest mission since Captain's impulsive rescue mission in Italy last year.

Apparently, Zola was on the move and predicted to be passing though the location while travelling on a train.

This wasn't the first time she had sent Bucky away, but the fear of each departure always felt like it was her first; especially when she thought about the promise of death that's chained to a soldier's fate.

The closer the time of departure, the stronger her grip on Bucky's uniform becomes. And Bucky didn't need to say anything because he knows her too well; she won't take any of his sweet words as a cure for her distress.

Instead, Bucky slowly swayed her from side to side as their embrace tightens with need; her face hidden in the crook of his neck while his arms secured around her waist. He had to smile as it reminded him of their late night dance, barefoot on the kitchen floor of his tiny apartment.

He could feel the teasing gaze coming from his back as well as the whistles of the Howling Commandos playfully making fun of him. Bucky was also well aware of the fact that everyone had made theirs bets on when will the Sargent James B. Barnes finally get down on his knees for his little nightingale of a nurse.

Unsurprisingly, Steve might just win the bet afterall. That punk just had know everything about him.

Y/N snuggled closer into him, "Come home to me, James." She whispered against his skin before pulling away. Teary eyes threatened to spill its salty liquid as she looked up at him, "Promise me."

Bucky's charming smile lighten his features as he leaned to press a kiss in her forehead, "I promise."

Brooklyn, 1945 – Loved and lost

Months gone by, entered the new year, and it always felt like eternity for Y/N. She spent nights kneeling next to her bed and days on the church's floor; practically begging to God for the life of her lover, for keeping him away from death.

And the letters from Bucky also come and goes within those few months' time, with his promises of coming home; laced in the words of his longing and love for her.

But, little did she knew, that promise met it's end of the bargain when the dreaded letter came to her hands. It came from the man she met back in Italy base, Colonel Phillips, sending the words of condolences for the death Sargent James B. Barnes during his honourable mission at the Austrian Alps.

But the first time she read to words, it didn't even register in her head. It was as if her brain failed to translate the text; unable to make it so she understood what they meant. Y/N had been re-reading the same lines over and over and over until it finally clicked.

The usually bright eyes of hers were now slowly filled with tears, she was in the state of shock; that even if her brain knew exactly what had happened but her heart wasn't ready for it. 

The tears started to fall down onto the letter. Drip by drip. And all of the sudden she lost every word that she could ever think of. Her silent scream; suffocating her with each breath she took desperately gripping onto the fragile piece of paper, holding it to her chest hold as if that would help to ease the pain in her heart.

Y/N could feel it in her ripping guts. How all the threads of every joyful memories she could ever once recall; they unraveled in a way that broke her to pieces until they were all but a rumpled of strings scattered about her feet.

A sharp fall had forced Y/N down to her knees, skin digging into the hard floor as her hands trembled silently, clutching onto the letter.

At first when she opened her mouth, there was not a single sound came out as her breath ripped from her lungs. Each left her with scars of loss and every waking minute in this reality was just pure pain.

Her body bend forward until her forehead meets the cold floor; that was when she wailed – an agonizing scream that left a haunting memory to the neighbours around her apartment.

She cried like there was too much raw pain inside that she could never contained. She cried like her soul needed to break loose from her skin, desperate to release a loathful rage on the world. 

But it was more than just crying, it was the sobbing of a woman that drained of all hope. She sank on floor, willing herself to be swallowed by the dread and loss. Just screaming out the agonies that been dancing across her vulnerable veins. 

Her chest violently quivered as she was desperately trying to catch the air. She collected every last energy that she had to call out the name of the lover she had loss, "James.." Her gasping breath whispered against the floor, "You promised." 

A month later the nation celebrate to the announcement to the end of a war, but to Y/N it was just another wave of mourning grief to a loss of another precious person in her life; Steve.

Amidst the loud sound of cheering and laughter, she rushed away from the crowd to the place that she had put all her faith into. Stumbling through the empty church and falling at the feet of Jesus' statue, Y/N looked up at the face of God; not with her usual admiration but instead with so much loath, rage and despair.

The night sky was brighten to the flashing light from the firework but all she could think of was how similar the sound of it to a firing canon in the war.

And the thought of Bucky and Steve run through her mind.

She had been nothing but faithful to the lord, religiously prayed for no more than saving the life of people she held dear to her heart.

But, God thought it would be merciful to let them die.

Y/N harshly ripped the cross necklace from her neck, tearing her skin apart in the process. She gripped on the cross in her hands, much like she would few months back but for completely different reason.

The crimson of her blood tainted the white collar of her nurse uniform as she she cursed the all mighty God for what he had done. Ever since, she swore to herself to never be naive to the illusion of God's mercy ever again.

Washington D.C., 2014 – An old friend

Fate is full with irony and God has his way of twisting them for his own pleasure.

When Y/N died in the 60's, old and unmarried, even if she doesn't believe in God anymore, her dying wish was to be able to meet her lover and friend again.

At least one more time.

But lo and be hold, he had different plans for her. Y/N's body did die that night on the hospital bed but her soul never did. It was as if she was woken up from sleep in another body with the same face as her, that's when she realized she has been reincarnated.

Apparently, she was only born in the same family lineage as her original life; whether coming from her younger brother or cousin or anyone related back to her bloodline. And sharing even the tiniest amount of blood of her own, triggers every single memory from her previous life.

This wasn't what she wanted.

She didn't want to live knowing she cannot be with Bucky.

So on the second life, she did the unthinkable. She took her own life, thinking that she would finally leave the world behind but she didn't.

It happened again.

And again.

And again.

So, when she reached her sixth life, she realized that she will never able to meet James and Steve ever again; that was when she went rogue.

Her sixth life was filled with rage and vengeance; to the point that she took the idea of life very lightly. So, instead of living until the old days, she searched for revenge and got herself tragically killed in the process.

Now, the 18 year old Y/N was in her seventh life, with a new name that was given by her seventh parents, "Evelyn" , and the spitting image of her first life. From her dark raven hair to the light brown of her eyes. This time, she decided to try to accept the cruel fate; the cursed that God had placed on her for the sin that she made decades ago.

Y/N walked around the Smithsomian Museum, specifically at the American history section where they put up Captain America's exhibit. It's been how many lifetimes since she surround herself with knowledge of a past that she once lived.

This was the first time, since her first life. And most probably the last time since she was going overseas in a week to continue her studies in Asia.

She walked along the line up display of the Howling Commandos suits, remembering the living flesh of them as she took steps forward to each, stopping in front of Bucky's.

Flashes of him appeared to where the figure stood; the memories was so vivid that she could still feel fabric of his suit against her, the electrifying feeling on his skin on her own.

She ripped her gaze away just to be greeted by the portrait of Bucky, plastered so huge and proud on the memorial of one of the Howling Commandos section. Despite the cracking of her heart, her body move on its own; as they knew that deep down, Y/N's heart will always be yearning for her lover.

Her gaze soften with longing and nostalgic as she slowly blink at his features. His considerably messy hair, that little frown that he does to act mysterious for the ladies, and the thin layer of beard that she loved to leave her lipstick marks on.

Y/N's daydream were cut short when someone pulled her by the arm, startling her into a defensive mode. Her sixth life's habit almost broke through when she nearly flipped the man on the floor but thankfully she stopped herself as she recognized those blue eyes.

The man's face looked pale like he had seen a ghost, as he uttered a name that she haven't heard for decades, "y/n?"

"Steve..." she called his name wordlessly.

She knew he was alive. Everybody does.

When the news came out in 2011, she was merely a 15 year old kid back then. Apparently, the super soldier serum helped him to survive the ice.

She remembered how her parents rushed to her room when they heard the sudden cluttering sounds of panic upstairs, only to find their daughter on the floor looking pale while her cup of iced coffee spilling in all over her study desk as the viral youtube video of Captain America running through New York city barefoot playing on the screen of her computer.

She remembered the feeling of both disbelief and joy that rushed through body as her parents helped her to sit up on her bed. The moment that it sunk into her head, she began to cry. Streams of joyful tears broke from her shaky body, each drop washed the painful burden in her heart as her parents lulled her to sleep.

Y/N never made an effort to meet him after knowing truth. Because who would believe her?

She wasn't Steve.

There wasn't any super soldier serum in her blood. There wasn't any tank of chemical that drown her with power.

She was cursed and now she had to live with it.

Meanwhile, Steve seemed to be trapped in a spiralling confusion of his own. He examined each of her features and he had not a single doubt that she has the same face to an old friend in the 40's.

The same friend that he knew died of old age in the 60's.

But, how come the person managed to have the exact same face to hers. Now that he looked closer, she was younger than the last time he saw Y/N.

She looked like she was in her late teens, "Are you really y/n?" His voice was soft as he muttered.

Y/N bit the insides of her cheeks, holding back the urge of telling him the truth, "Sorry, I think you got the wrong person." she tried to untangle his grasp around her arm.

Even her voice was similar to Y/N, and she was looking at Bucky's photo like she knew him.

How could she say that she's was not Y/N?

Steve reluctantly let go of her arms and took a step away after seeing the distress on her face, "I-I'm sorry. You remind me of someone I know." He couldn't take his eyes off her.

She was just too similar looking to someone precious that he left behind.

"It's okay, sir." She smiled gently, like the way she usually does when Steve apologizes for his impulsiveness of picking a fight in alleyways. She looked up to the taller man as she continued, "Thank you for being alive..." she hesitated to call him by his name so instead she called for his other name, "...Captain."

She thanked him sincerely before walking away, leaving Steve to reminisce the memories of his life with Y/N and Bucky as he stared at Bucky's memorial.

The next week, she left the United States for Asia where she planned to spend 4 years studying at the National University of Singapore, leaving her past behind in hopes of moving forward with her life, refusing to care about the avengers shenanigans anymore, including her dear friend, Steve.

New York, 2018 – New norms

When half of the population was wiped out from the earth, two of them was Y/N's parents. And like every other people who had lost their loved ones during the blip, her parents sudden absence truly take a toll on her, especially when she was planning to live a long life with them.

After graduating and getting a decent job in Singapore, she was forced to go back to New York when it happened. Y/N couldn't just let her childhood house left abandoned, she simply can't let that happen.

You would thought a person who had multiple lifetimes would be used to losing someone they love but no. It only gets worst as the years go by.

The more Y/N tried to fit into the new norms, the more that she could feel herself slipping into old habits of her sixth life.

Until that one drunken night when she visited the Smithsomian Museum again after years of forcing herself to forget about him; it took her one look at the potrait of Bucky, she knew what she had to do.

Germany, 2023 – An old nemesis

Nearly 5 years into the blip and Y/N was already becoming a legend in the underground scene. They called her the Deathstalker. She never really knew the origin of it but nevertheless she chooses to stick with the newly founded identity.

With the skills she picked up on her sixth life, she easily became the most deadly assassin in the business. Seemingly in a constant competition of reputation with the highly popular, black widow assassins.

Though she couldn't care less about who was winning the battle, she only cares about tracking anything or anyone related to Hydra.

After that fateful night at the museum, she couldn't help but to think that this must be her calling.

If the curse made her technically immortal, then why not became the hunter destined to slay the monster. They said that Hydra will never die, but so was she. And if anything good came out from this curse, then she might as well use it to avenge Bucky.

And bring the old nemesis to the ground.

Her sixth life was similar to this but she wasn't going to make the same mistake. The flaming greed to have her revenge was too strong back then, it lead her to be hasty and clumsy, which then let her to an early death.

But, she's grown out of those immaturity.

Nowadays, she takes her time and still get the job done flawlessly. Just like she is now, when the soft but dark sound of her chuckle, interrupted the silence that had claimed the room.

The poor man was sitting limp on the chair with his body tied with it. He had been like this for seemingly hours with a knife in one of his thighs, which trembled with the vibrations of his body.

More so, when Y/N twisted them, causing a keen of pain to clawed up his throat and spilled out a hoarse groan.

"Where is it?" Her fingers wrapped around the handle, as she watched the man tossed his head, more with fear than trying to answer.

"I don't like to repeat myself." Y/N slid the blade free, causing a noise he would not forget. The man sagged against his bonds, panting as he watched the blood surged and dribbled out of the wound.

But then he felt the prick against his other leg, wide eyes turning to watch as the knife was held above his skin, Y/N's hand flat against the top, ready to push in. "Where the fuck is it?" her tone was eerie as the voice changer in her mask produced an emotionless robotic effect on it.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The thick german accent seethed through his voice as he grunted in pain.

There was only boredom in Y/N's eyes as she gazes straight into his. A stab of the knife went through his thigh without a warning, until the tip of it almost met the flat surface of the chair beneath it.

The whole room echoed with the sound of the whimpering and cries of his struggle, "Please, I swear to God I don't know what you're talking about." He pleaded as fast as he can, when he felt the shortage of breaths in his lungs due to dealing with the excruciating pain.

"Playing dumb isn't going to help you, mutt." She twisted the knife, pulled out and stabbed it again causing him to fall into an almost delirious state, "Please, please please, I swear I don't know anything about the serum." He blurted out of misery.

There it was.

The thing she wanted to hear.

Y/N's eyebrow quirked in interest, "I never mentioned the serum in our conversation, no?"

He fucked up.

He knew that he fucked up.

But, does it matter when his body was searing in pain?

By the end of the intense interrogation, Y/N finally got the intel she needed to find and destroy whatever was left behind by Wilfred Nagel, who was recruited by the CIA to recreate the super soldier serum.

Those greedy fuckers just cannot stay away from things that shouldn't be meddled with. Even Y/N could see the potential threats of a successful recreation the super soldier serum; they were practically asking for Hydra to revive to its glory days.

And she would not allow that to happen.

She needed to destroy it before its finished.

A loud wail left the man's lips, almost sounded a little strained as he had been screaming in pain for hours. Y/N mercilessly grabbed him by his sweaty chin as she pried his mouth open. Knowing exactly what was coming, the man begged, "Oh lord, please please help me please."

Leaning closer she coldly spoke, "The gods doesn't care about you. Trust me I've been there." With a swift strike, she forced her knife down his throat, and a splash of red tainted her mask, nearly got into her eyes but she managed to blink before it does.

She stood still as she watched him gurgle on his own blood as death collected his soul. Wiping the blood away from her eyelid, she walked out of the abandoned building with a mission to finish; all the while blissfully oblivious to the war that the avengers were fighting to their death on the other side of the world.

Madripoor, 2024 – The most prized asset

The returned of her parents were as sudden as the lost. Though she was glad that they were back, however she had to live a double life now that they kept asking about her job and personal life as they wanted to catch up for the lost of time in 5 years.

Y/N felt bad for lying to her parents but it was for their own good. Now, that she had sent them to a honeymoon to travel all over Europe, she felt better in pursuing her mission without concerns.

Besides the joyful return there was also the awful ones.

Now, that Wilfred Nagel was back from the blip. The serum was perfected to its finest version. And was stolen by bunch of kids protesting for equal rights.

What a fucking mess that was.

But, she would deal with that later. The main focus right now was to find the man itself. There would be no more serums if the source is eradicated.

That was her priority.

With her face hidden behind her signature mask, Y/N walked through the messy crowd as she searches for Shelby's men. This should be a short meeting, since Shelby and her had history together; or more to a favour that she owns to Y/N.

However, when she tried to tune in into the hushed conversations in the crowd, she noticed that the murmurs seemed to be divided into two hot topics; one about the sudden appreance of the Deathstalker, which was herself, and second was surprisingly about the return of another notorious assassin. 

Then when the conversations died down, a fight suddenly broke out. Y/N hold on the handle of her blades from the side of her thighs, as she stiffed into a defensive mode.

While on the other hand, the crowd seemed to be more interested in recording the fight, than avoiding it.

She seemlessly weaved her way through the people, only to see that the action ended with a man choked onto the bar table. The was attacker's face turned away from her, she could only see his figure from the back.

Then, a gleam of gold caught her attention, Y/N squinted her eyes as she analyzed the man's left arm.

It was not the pattern of the sleeve from his suit.

It was his arm.

A black bionic arm.

Which reminded of her of someone she came across in her sixth life; but his arm was a tin foil silver with a red star on his upper side. At the time, he was Hydra's most prized asset, they called him the Winter Soldier.

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: yes, I am well aware that left y'all hanging but I still hope you enjoy this one. Tell me what you think so far, I'm curious if y'all cry at the part where she received the letter or maybe you can comment of something else, I'd still love to hear them ♡

[menagerofmischief]

nsfw alphabet -> nr6

masterlist

nsfw alphabet (a-z) / 18+

nico rosberg x fem!reader

an: this one was a requested a while ago, I never pass up a chance to write for my favorite diva.

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

Nico is someone who values intimacy a lot and he takes aftercare absolutely seriously, he's doing the full experience every time. Bringing you water, snacks, drawing you a bath or taking a shower together and ending up wrapped in blankets with your favorite show playing.

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

His favorite body part of yours are absolutely your thighs, no matter the size he adores them. Will be touching, gripping or stroking at any opportunity, even during public dinners.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Like I said, he values intimacy a lot so he absolutely goes feral for coming in you. It's the best for him, no need to pull out and it makes him feel even closer to you so it's his go to. If you ask him to cum on any part of your body, boobs, face, ass, back, you name it he'll do it but if you leave it up to him, it's going inside.

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

He knows you'd never let him live it down so he doesn't mention it but he has a very secret very special sex playlist of Britney Spears songs which he'd love to play while fucking you.

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

He has enough experience to know what he's doing and is down for learning about every little thing that feels good for you. Hasn't been around plenty but he's a good learner.

F= Favorite position

He mostly prefers positions where he can look at your face because he loves the look on your face when you're close to orgasm. Also likes doggy in front of a mirror.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

He can go either way depending on the mood. Sometimes it's all very lighthearted and you're both giggling other times it's full on deep in the moment and passionate.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

For himself, he keeps it neatly trimmed because he finds that's what works best for him - for you, he's fine with whatever you're the most comfortable with.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

Most of the time he's really romantic and into it, gazing into your eyes and everything. But he can absolutely go filthy and rough if he's has a bad day or something (Lewis) annoyed him much.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

Does it occasionally, especially if he's really pent up but doesn't like doing it alone. If he's away and you couldn't come he's video call you so you can both get off together.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

He likes mirror sex, and is a fan of foreplay. Otherwise he isn't really specific about his kinks and is open to trying pretty much anything at least once.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

He prefers the bedroom but as long as it's a closed space with walls and not too public, he's down to go.

M= Motivation (what gets them going)

He doesn't need a lot to be able to go really, and anything you do that's even remotely suggestive had him ready and needy.

N= No (something they won't do)

Anything that actually hurts you in a definite no. Some roughness is okay to a certain extent but when it feels more like pain and less like pleasure it's an absolute no go for him.

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

Lives for giving you head, and has worked hard to perfect his technique, finding all your sensitive spots and trying to see how fast he can make you fall apart. Really does it for his own enjoyment, seeing as he gets completely lost in it. Would be happy to drown in your pussy.

P= Pace (do they prefer it slow or fast)

Somewhere in the middle. He's not exactly going slow but neither is he going that fast. Will listen to what you tell him you want in the moment, increasing the rhythm of his thrusts as soon as you moan out a "Nico, please faster, baby please!"

Q= Quickie (do they prefer quickies or taking their time)

He prefers to take his time and make you fall apart multiple times, first on his fingers and tongue and then on his cock. But he can absolutely go for quickies as long as it's somewhere private.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

He's down for experiment and trying new things with you. He's happy to try anything you bring up, and if you like it great, if you don't at least you tried.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go)

It depends on how exhausting the day was but he can usually go multiple rounds with little to no breaks in between.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

He's okay with toys, it wasn't something he thought about it at first but after you tried it once he discovered his love for them and all the ways he can use them on you.

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

Mostly he does it unintentionally at first, but once he notices there's a glint in his eyes and a smirk on his lips, will tease you for as long as possible.

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

He moans and grunts, sometimes if you're teasing him he'll whine. Overall he makes really pretty sounds. Also very good at dirty talk but his voice will sometimes crack as a moan slips past.

W= Wild card (random headcannon of any sort)

During the big Brocedes fall out era he has fucked you rough, purposefully trying to make you be loud, all against the wall separating his driver's room from Lewis's.

X= X-ray (what’s down below in those pants)

He's a bit above average for length and around average girth, also has a pretty pink tip, always sensitive and leaking.

Y= Yearning (sex drive)

He's not fully sex crazed but is quiet needy. Ideally 3-4 times a week.

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

Nico will wait for you to fall asleep first, holding you close, his hands stroking your skin, the movement slowing down and coming to a stop once he can no longer fight off sleep, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Absolutely adored your last story!

If you don't mind, I'd like to request something too. What about Miguel's reaction to the reader telling him they are with child? 👀 Feel free to write this to your heart's content 🩷

Have a great day! x

I'm not usually a fan of writing pregnant scenes unless and until it is absolutely required. Given Miguel's backstory, it is definitely required haha. So hope I did your ask the due diligence.

Hope you like it 💖💖💖

---

Magic

The digits in the clock changed with a click. It was past midnight and somehow, you couldn’t sleep. You laid still, soaking in the silence and taking comfort in the soft pale light that filtered into the room.

Arguably with what you learnt yesterday, your mind should have been a warzone but instead it was a question paper staring back at you, waiting for you to choose the right answer. You preferred the battle field. You sighed, the warm hand that rested on the peak of your hip trailed up higher making your skin feel smooth as if you were made of butter.

He pulled you closer to him, even in his sleep he craved for you presence. You had been warned about him, to not marry him and yet you heeded to no one’s advice. Instead, only choosing him when any struggle arose. He was always the answer, you couldn’t be without him and with how he nuzzled into your neck seeking comfort, you knew you held some value in his life too.

So if you were going to choose him again, you were having to say goodbye to a different chapter in your life.

“You're still awake aren’t you?”, he asked you, his voice raspy as he stirred from his sleep.

“How could you tell?”, you asked still laying as you were.

“Reading you has always been a part of my reflex.”, he mumbled with pride as he placed a soft kiss on your exposed shoulder.

You let out a quiet chuckle, now turning towards him to hide deeper into the panes of his chest. Skin on skin, there was no telling where his limbs intertwined with yours. The steady rhythm of his heart only made your throat drier.

“A charmer, even in the dead of night.”, you traced your finger over his collarbone to tuck your hand beneath his arm in the end.

“My spells won’t work on anyone else.”, he spoke with his eyes closed, still caught in the in between.

You didn’t intend to wake him, he was tired as is and now you were keeping him up. It stung you, the one thought that had been on your mind since yesterday. You were failing, in being a wife and now, as a mother.

“Because you’re the magic.”, his words dripped like candle wax, beautiful and yet it burned your heart.

“Only you think so.”, you closed your eyes, hoping to fall asleep as his hand rubbed your back, the soft gesture easing you to relax.

“Puedo preguntarte algo?”, his words had a little slur to them as you hummed in response.

“Why did you hide you were sick this morning?”, the calm in his voice made your eyes pop open as you drew in a sharp breath, now with him holding you so close, he could read you like a book.

“There was nothing to hide, Miguel.”, you were digging a deeper hole.

“It wasn’t all too concerning to trouble you.”, you were now wide awake.

“Mi cielo.”, he murmured.

“Come to me with all your troubles, por favor.”, even as he spoke you could tell this had weighed him down.

You were still thinking it through when he prompted you again, “So?”, he was lulling you to give up the truth.

“Why did you then sneak off to the doctor’s?”, now he was awake too. There was a certain bite to his words, crisp with tension and worry.

You didn’t need to see his eyes to tell that he was afraid, you could feel it in the way his muscles stiffened. The thought propped up again. That you were failing, at being his lover and his wife by keeping things from him.

But was your guilt and fear more important than his feelings?

To have put him through the worry of fearing he was going to lose you too.

He was always the answer, he would give up everything for you if you asked and you would do the same. Selfless for eachother that it often put you in a spot to make decisions for him.

But what would he say?

Did you want to put him through the pain of his past by placing a child in his hands?

“Because,”, you looked up at him, to note his gaze was already on you, hooked on your every word.

“I’m carrying your child.”, you let the words slip from your tongue, like you were letting go out the helm of your ship towards what could be the point of it’s destruction.

You were sure, that having lost his daughter once, he wouldn’t want to put himself through that heartbreak again. You watched as he tensed up again, to slowly rise up to rest his back against the head board.

“Oh.”, he said, but you couldn’t tell from his sober tone.

“So nothing life threatening.”, he reached out to caress your cheek.

“No.”, you drew yourself close to him. Ironic, that many believed you lit up his world but he was the fire to your winter. You only found respite in his arms.

“When did you come to know?”, he rubbed his thumb over your cheekbone.

“Yesterday.”, you told him, to which he hummed taking in the information.

But his eyes slid to yours, “Why didn’t you tell me?”, the way his eyes looked pale in the dim light, you not confiding in him had hurt him.

“Miguel, you know the life I come from.”, you turned serious, that somehow in his presence you couldn’t continue to lie anymore.

“What if I’m not a good mother? What if instead of building this family, I wreck it instead?”, you asked, your blood turning cold with images of this fear manifesting in your mind.

“And it would result in you being heart broken, over the child you lost.”, you slumped into the cover like a little pebble, giving in to the pull of your panic.

“I love that you think of me always, mi ángel.”, he reached for your waist to pull you up over his torso such that you could meet his eyes.

“But in this circumstance, you’re wrong.”, his index finger smoothed the wrinkles on your forehead as you fought back tears.

“I can see it in your eyes, you will be an excellent mother. Your love is endless and patient, you made me believe in all this again.”, he gestured to the setting around you.

“So don’t let your fears destroy you.”, he wiped the tear as it landed on your cheek.

“As for me.”, he paused, his eyes turning distant for a second.

“As much as I loved Gabriella as my own,”, he ran his fingers through your long hair.

“She wasn’t.”, he pursed his lips.

“This variant of mine had everything I could only dream off. Replacing him meant I only enjoyed a life that was a lie.”, he tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Which hurt more when I lost it.”, you could see the sadness in his eyes.

“Nothing was real from the beginning.”, he gave you a lopsided frown, which broke your heart as you felt his pain as your own.

“Almost as close to a figment of my imagination.”, he inhaled deeply to sigh.

“But you.”, the sadness vanished and in it’s place happiness restored his features.

“Our home.”, he looked up at the ceiling.

“It’s all real.”, he smiled, his eyes slowly trailing back to you.

“So no, this wouldn’t hurt me.”, he nudged your nose with his as though this was all you had to remember, to never forget that he was sure of this.

“I’ve wanted this, I want this next chapter for us. It's time.”, he confided in you as he closed his eyes to pull you closer, to rest your forehead on his and when you did, the question paper in you mind vanished. It didn’t have the answer you wanted to choose, because in this second you had both chosen to choose eachother.

“You surprise me in the best ways.”, you told him as you reached up to take his other hand.

Holding onto his fingers, you guided his hand over to place it over your womb and when he opened his eyes, there was a new passion in it. A new fervent resolution that what he had now, he would protect with his life, that his entire life was right here in the confines of his arms.

With that burning desire, he caught your lips with his. It was a sleepy kiss that was my no means perfect as the ones in the morning were but it was surely more important. You and him weren't going to be the only ones in this house anymore.

“Like I said.”, he spoke over your lips.

“You are magic.”, he said as he trailed his fingers over your lower abdomen.

So you kissed him again, softly, your hands scaling the incline of his back to hold his neck.

But he pulled away to catch his breath.

“Vamos, mami. You need to have a good sleep.”, he placed you into the side of your bed with a sudden air of discipline, as he had remembered what time it was.

“I’ll make you fresh lemonade in the morning to combat the sickness and also –

“You need your sleep too, papi.”, you cut him off before he began to panic and pulled his hand over your waist as he chuckled to settle into your covers.

“Bien, bien.”, he calmed down settling into the same lazy rhythm with his hand slung over you that finally made sleep arrive sooner than what you both had expected.

[my-writings-and-musings]

Fluffy Earthspark Bumblebee x Reader

@optimal-spark had a fantastic idea for what Bee might call a significant other and I just had to bring it into being, I may make this another writing prompt I loved it so much. Please enjoy this absolute nerd being the absolute cutest.

Bumblebee came online slowly, feeling no particular rush to abandon the comfortable bliss of power down as the sunshine steadily creeped over his vehicle mode through the trees. A quick glance about his surroundings revealed the comfortable clearing he'd found the night before had remained entirely unchanged, and he felt a tiny flash of satisfaction at having chosen such an excellent spot for the two of you to get some rest. He'd absolutely needed it after a solid eight hour drive…

A small bit of movement in his passenger seat turned his gaze to his interior, and his spark nearly melted at the sight. 

You were curled up comfortably on his fully reclined seat, the makeshift nest of pillows and blankets you'd set up the night before all but enshrouding your sleeping form in a cocoon of cozy cuteness. Able to feel the warmth all around your body and the gentle rhythm of your peaceful breathing, Bumblebee was content to let you keep sleeping as long as you liked, especially considering the long day the two of you had ahead. Yesterday had also taken its toll, if the way you'd collapsed into his seat with a barely comprehensible "good night…" had been any indication, and he wanted you rested for the remaining drive. Having the pleasure of your company was what made these trips all the more bearable, even enjoyable at times, and he felt the least you were owed was the chance to sleep in. He had to hold back a chuckle as memories of all you'd done to keep him entertained during the drive cycled through his processor. 

To his surprise, you cracked open your eyes with only a tiny mumble of warning, and he remained still on instinct to see if you were really awake. It was almost impossible not to react when you yawned and untangled an arm to rub your tired eyes, but he managed to keep himself quiet for the sake of the human he adored. 

Lifting your head into the soft morning light and taking a moment to figure out where you were, you narrowed your eyes in confusion before recognition dawned and you smiled in the direction of his visualizer. Pulling a few blankets more tightly around yourself and rolling onto your side, you mumbled a tired but tender greeting. "Morning…"

"Morning." he replied, voice conveying a small smile even in vehicle mode. You settled more deeply into the plush padding of his seat, and he felt his frame straighten around you, the desire to protect this tiny being he so adored eroding all of his usual reservations. Some part of you just brought out all the sentimental feelings he would never have thought himself capable of, and your loving acceptance made him comfortable enough to express them on the regular. Seeing you hug your pillow and snuggle against him filled him with so much tender affection he didn't even think before he spoke next.

"Sleep well, honey?"

The words he'd chosen didn't fully process until after you reacted, head perking up and expression shifting to mild confusion as Bumblebee wished he could have teleported anywhere on Earth or beyond, the sappiness he'd let slip out threatening to overwhelm his neural net with pure embarrassment. Primus, of all the silly terms of endearment Earth had produced, why had he used that one? Was there really nothing less mortifying he could have chosen?!

"Honey?" you repeated back in surprise, sitting up in the chair and losing all traces of sleepiness in the process.

"Uh…" Bumblebee fumbled, so flustered he was certain you could feel the heat. He wanted to drive off at top speed, but was stuck in the situation he'd created for himself and could only flounder before rushing out a lame excuse. 

"I'm sleep talking."

You chuckled and sat up completely, putting a hand on his dashboard to comfort him before he could die of further embarrassment. The touch helped to stabilize him enough for his gaze to return to you, and he found your expression amused but tender as you offered some much needed assurance while playing along. "Well then hopefully you'll remember me saying this when you wake up; I'd like it if you called me that again."

"Really?" he asked in surprise, perking up at the unexpected response to his unintended sappiness.

"Yes." you confirmed with a nod, voice growing a tad bit more mischievous as you continued. "Especially if I get to call you Honeybee."

To his surprise, he was not at all opposed to the idea, and his spark actually did a flip at the delightful term of endearment. The thought of being your "honeybee" had him as giddy as a newspark with their first crush, but having learned his lesson, he kept the feelings under wraps before replying with an almost diplomatic answer that would serve both of you well.

"...Only when the kids aren't around."

"Deal." you replied, laughing again as you stretched out in his cabin. "Now, what's for breakfast, Honeybee?"

[slytherinshua]

LETTERBOY

genre. fluff. subtly vintage/older time period. college au. ft. minji and hanni of newjeans. warnings. kissing. i wrote this on an airplane and its not proofread lmao. pairing. riwoo x fem!reader. wc. 1.7k. a/n. this fics marks at least one fic for every member of bnd!!

You could only think of one word to describe Riwoo. Adorable. With his blue messenger bag that he was always clutching as if it was his emotional support. The way his cheeks flushed whenever you threw him a compliment or the little smile that never left his face after you accepted a cup of his homemade sweet tea. And, of course, his catlike eyes that went wide whenever he was embarrassed. Everything about the boy was absolutely adorable.

You were one of the top students at Hana’s Academy for Girls and the only reason you even knew Riwoo was because he delivered the mail. You got a lot of mail, most of which you didn’t even bother to open. Job offers and special apprenticeships were the contents of most of the letters— the thought of which bored you to death.

There was always at least 1 letter that you looked forward to in the batch, though. It was usually a faded blue colour and sealed with a simple and old fashioned wax seal. Inside were messages from a secret admirer. 

Well, it would be secret if you hadn’t figured out exactly who was writing the letters a couple months in. Riwoo had a charming way with words, you couldn’t deny that. Everyday there was a new letter you found yourself falling deeper and deeper for the boy.

Due to your advanced classes and strict curfew, you didn’t have much time to go out and have fun like the other girls. You had 3 extra honours classes on top of your regular ones, and while the rest of your roommates went shopping or out on blind dates, you stayed in the library writing your thesis.

You were distracted amongst your notes of the lectures you had attended and some resources of studies by renowned professors when you heard an unmistakable rhythm of knocking on your table. You glanced up, already expecting the faces of Minji and Hanni. They had just gotten back from dress shopping downtown. 

“I’m a bit busy right now.” You mumbled out, flipping to the next page of your textbook.

“Y/n you need to see the dresses we found! They’re perfect for the upcoming dance!!” Hanni said excitedly. Both girls were used to your disinterest in events or dressing up since you were so focused on your studies, but they knew you were still listening to what they were saying even though you were writing on your paper.

“I found a yellow summer dress that will go perfectly with the heels my aunt sent me last month-” Minji continued.

“But when we were looking in the store, the yellow dress came in matching colours. We couldn’t just get the yellow one, so we ended up getting all 3. I’m going to wear the pink one. Y/n you have to wear the blue one to the dance— we’ll all be matching!” Hanni insisted. Minji had walked over to the window, peering out of the glass. The sky was darkening as it got later.

You sighed and placed your pencil on top of your open notebook, “I’m not going to the dance, I don’t have a date.” 

“We can find you a date-”

“Speaking of dates, I think your letter-boy is here.” Minji interrupted with a teasing tone, pointing to the window. You froze, attempting to stretch your neck to see out the window from your seat, but it was too far away.

Minji opened the window a crack, “Hey!! Mail boy!” Minji shouted. Riwoo looked up, eventually spotting the open window. “I’ll send her down, there’s still 4 hours before curfew! Take her somewhere nice, she hasn’t eaten dinner yet!” All this was said with a sneaky wink from the girl and your jaw fell open a bit.

Riwoo flushed and then shouted back, “A-alright!”

Once you were certain the window had been shut again, you panicked. “I don’t have anything to wear, why would you ask him to go out to dinner with me?!” 

“You can borrow one of my dresses. We’ll make sure you look like the prettiest girl in South Korea before he sees you.” Hanni assured. 

6 minutes later they had shoved you back into the dorm room, picked a simple pink dress from Hanni’s closet and fixed your messy hair. Minji somehow managed to do your makeup in less than a minute, and by the end of it, you actually looked quite pretty.

“If you don’t ask him to be your date for the dance, then I’ll ask him to be your date for you and say you were too embarrassed to do it.” Minji warned, pushing you out the door. Hanni and Minji exchanged a gleeful high-five at finally getting you to step out of the dorms, that too with a boy.

The air was chilly. That was the first thing you noticed as you walked down the steps of the dorm. It was a pleasant chill, though, and the air smelled fresh. The library felt stuffy in comparison to the cool breeze you felt on your skin.

Riwoo sat at the bottom of the stairs in a brown jacket that you hadn’t seen on him before. He turned at the sound of your footsteps and stood up, a shy smile gracing his face.

“Did you get a new jacket?” You asked, slipping your hand into his.

“My grandpa got it for me after my old one got too weatherworn.” He said with pink cheeks.

“It looks nice on you.” You gave his hand a gentle squeeze since you could tell he was nervous. I’m nervous too, it’s okay. It seemed like he got your message, though his cheeks turned a shade brighter at your compliment.

“I hope you’re okay with soup bread bowls?” Riwoo asked anxiously.

You smiled, “That sounds delicious.”

“I know the grandma that owns a soup shop near here. Her chowders are the best I’ve ever tried.”

The night was all stolen glances and contagious smiles, all because you were with him. Riwoo didn’t lie about the soup being good. You chose a slightly spicy tomato stew in a fresh bread bowl and it was one of the best dinners you had ever had.

After dinner you walked around the streets hand in hand, talking about whatever came to mind. You hadn’t been able to spend a lot of time with Riwoo in the past. Most of your interactions didn’t last more than 20 minutes. He always had more mail to deliver and you had classes to catch.

But all those usual obligations were the last thing on either of your minds. For once, you were living in the moment. You weren’t thinking about your future or any upcoming exams or presentations. You weren’t thinking about all the times you had messed up in the past and what could have been had the circumstances been different.

No, the only thing on your mind was Riwoo. You focused on how his hand felt holding yours, the smile that was on his face (though it had never left from the moment he saw you), the warm butterflies in your stomach and your racing heart.

He was animatedly telling you about the pet kittens he had adopted when he was little; a small black one named Charcoal and a grumpy orange tabby called Persimmon. Everyone in his family had adored Charcoal for his clingy and loving personality, but Riwoo had personally taken care of Persimmon and had developed a close bond to her.

“I always wanted a cat, but the dorm won’t allow pets.” 

“They’re all grown up now, but maybe sometime I can show you Persimmon and Charcoal. They’d like you.”

“I’d love to meet them.” You replied, and then shivered. The night was even chillier as it got later.

“Oh- here.” Like the gentleman he was, Riwoo swiftly slid off his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders. You mumbled a small thank you, feeling flustered.

There was a silence and neither of you knew what to say. You suddenly remembered Minji’s threat earlier. You had to ask Riwoo to be your partner for the dance.

“Would-“

“Y/n-“

Riwoo laughed and motioned for you to go first.

“There’s a dance coming up at the dormitory. It’s a special event cause the girls fought for it so hard. I don’t have a date to it, so I was wondering if-“

“Yes. I’d love to.” He cut you off, knowing you were stalling out of awkwardness. 

“What were you going to say?” You asked.

“Well, it was less saying…” He mumbled, cheeks burning.

“Huh?” 

“Run away if you don’t want me to.” He stalled, fiddling with his fingers. His eyes went back and forth on your face. Lips, eyes, lips, eyes.

You nodded, giving him the last bit of courage he needed to finally press his lips to yours. The kiss was sweet and soft, but mostly it was way too short.

Riwoo frowned, “That wasn’t…” 

“Enough?” You offered.

“Yeah.” He breathed out.

You laughed, hand cupping his cheek because he was so damn cute. You kissed him again, and then again, and even more after that until you were both satisfied.

“What will you wear to the dance?” Riwoo asked, lying down with his head in your lap, your hand gently playing with his hair. It was dark and only a streetlight illuminated the park.

“Apparently Minji and Hanni found cute dresses. Mine’s blue. What about you?”

“I’ll borrow my dad’s suit. I don’t have anything better. I hope it’s okay.”

“You look amazing in anything, don’t worry.” You kissed his forehead.

“When is your curfew…?” Riwoo asked suddenly. Your heart dropped.

“10 pm. What time is it now?”

“10:30.”

“Shit.”

Riwoo chuckled at your hushed swear and sat up.

“I’ll walk you back.” He offered out his hand and you grinned, lacing your fingers with his.

“Will I still get letters from the mysterious ‘R’?” You asked, swinging your arm back and forth.

“You knew?”

“Wasn’t that hard to figure out, sweetheart.”

He flushed at the nickname and nodded, “W-we’re here.”

“So we are. Saturday at 5 pm, okay? Don’t be late or I’ll break up with you.”

“I won’t.” He assured you and you smiled.

“Thank you for the soup and everything.” You kissed him one more time before scurrying up the stairs, leaving him with a thumping heart and giddy smile.

↳ boynextdoor taglist: @rizzshimura,, @captivq,, @icyminghao,, @yeonjuns-redhair,, @metalchick529,, @schmocolateschmchip,, @kpoprhia

[yandere-sins]

Good Afternoon! If seen your spiels and tales for a while now and may I just say I adore it all, you’re quite talented in your work and you should be proud of yourself! I aspire to write as well and I’m wondering if you have some tips for the long run?

Hey!

Here are my latest posts with links to the ones where I actually went a bit more into details about what I recommend doing.

For the blog

For writing

Honestly, not much has changed, at least for me. It would be interesting to find out whether the tagging rules truly are still the same from the past but from recent experience I can tell you that posting regularly is the key to building a following. But at the same time I know now, more than ever, it's just not doable under normal life circumstances unless you find a rhythm to write and use the queue to schedule your posts.

If you want to write yandere stories specifically, personally, for me it's very important to be balanced. Like a super strong yandere is always cool, but it's cooler if they are so delusional that they will end up hurting their darling with their strength. Or a manipulative yandere is fun and tricky, but if it turns out they are deadly afraid of being left alone and are a bit pathetic about it, that's yummy! Also, depending on the darling, the yan's personality might change as well. I guess what I want to say, balance out the parts of the story to keep it more "realistic" and less Mary-Sue-Behavior. Not always possible or necessary because an OP yan has its benefits in certain situations, but it makes for a good story if there are some flaws in everything.

Also use the tropes. As harsh as it is, no idea of yours will ever be completely original. But I love retellings of ideas! And so do others! I don't care how many more times I read the same "chased by a monster only to be pinned down to the dirty ground" I will literally inhale these stories!!!! I love them!!! And you will put new words and new spins to it, so it will never feel dull!! So yeah, absolutely nothing wrong to lean into tropes and cliches. It might even be very beneficial for bringing your writing closer to people.

For warnings, I'd say, depending on if you do requests or your own work, always warn everything you find problematic in your own works before the story starts and add warnings if someone asks for them. For request, do the same if you derail from the original request too much to not warn (like, have sexual acts/gore/etc. suddenly even though it wasn't specifically requested). I'm not a fan of warning if the request is very clearly what the story will be, but do as you are comfortable. It's your blog. In the end, no one can tell you what to do, but of course don't be mean about it.

Doing requests is fine, but doing your own ideas is also fine. Of course, starting out with only your original ideas can be hard if you don't have a community built already, but you can always mix fanworks with OG writing. I know it's tempting to say "others do it too and they manage to just write their own things" or "I don't want to write for fandoms" but it will be very hard if you do. It's just the truth, tumblr isn't for original content in writing, it has always been for fandoms and blogging and art. It got better over the years but it still is.

Following up with this is: don't compare yourself to other writers/artists on here please, honestly, if you keep finding yourself discouraged by how much more likes and interactions they get, you should unfollow them. It's harsh. I love the stories and the writers of some blogs here, but I had to prioritize myself. Sometimes I sneak back to check out what I missed, but it will still get whiplash and compare myself.

In the same notion: If someone is mean or an idiot in your asks just block them and move on. Drama can entice people to interact with you, but it's not the kind of interactions you want constantly. And it honestly ruins you vibes if your blog becomes dramacentral. It's okay to speak out sometimes and make it clear that you don't want certain kinds of interactions, but feeding the trolls will only end in more and more and soon you feel bad and your followers feel bad, while the trolls are thriving. 9/10 cases it's just not worth it. Block and if it was a crossed boundary, let your people know afterwards unrelated to an ask.

And most importantly: pease just have fun. Put your ideas out there for the sole reason that no one will ever put them into your words the way you would. Of course it's impossible to ignore likes and interactions because it really does fuel the motivation. But I wish you two that you can create because it makes you happy. The rest will follow.

[fernlessbastard]

Oh man, I'm excited! Writing is definitely a pain in the ass (I've taken many years of novels, creative writing, debate, etcetera). Your story is incredibly enthralling and so accurate in regards to characters, I'm surprised anyone would find anything (such as repetition of certain words) bothersome.

Nonetheless, I do understand wanting it to be perfect and I hope reading/proofing over it goes well for you two. ❤️

-🎲 anon

Thank you so muchh

And don't worry, it's not that my boyfriend finds it bothersome and such - it just knows that I'm an insane perfectionist about my writing, and if I later find some repetition or a wonky sentence I will proclaim that I've brought dishonour to writing as an art form and I'll never write again (I'm a little bit dramatic like that UwU--) (also I'd definitely end up writing again, it'd just take like a long time and I'd rather finish IUTMTM before the death of the universe/lh)

To be fair it is in a decent part that perfectionism that lets me write the way I do. Like, yes, writing badly is much better than not writing, and I do my best to live by that, but editing is a different issue - I've had at least 7 drafts of chapter 2 as of now (and I only change the draft when I decide there's a big part I want to rewrite from scratch)(I actually could post like the first draft here - that could be interesting, idk, I'll maybe consider it)

But yeah, I will slave over a draft until I've squeezed everything I humanly could out of it, in which case either I think it's actually genuinely good and I enjoy reading it (and I'm very critical of my work), or until I decide it's hopeless, and just simply rewrite it completely from scratch, either keeping only specific passages, the general idea, or sometimes nothing at all

Tbh I think it's got to do with the fact that it's not a medium that's "native" to me, so to speak. Losing Face was my first actual piece of writing, with my previous "attempts" (mostly stories for school) consisting of like, much less than a thousand word each. I started writing a dnf/xdnf smut after my bf dared me to, which got abandoned at 2k words (I low-key wanna post that at some point too as a little crack one-shot, but i'd have to decide if I want it to be an actual piece of writing, in which case I'd have to finish it, or if I just want it to be a "look, this is where I started" kind of thing). I was praised for my art, so I gravitated towards that, and the more I did, the more embarrassed and ashamed I felt of my unrealised "affair" with writing. I'd write elaborate descriptions of headcanons and scenarios, fishing for compliments to have an excuse to actually write something. I don't remember how I started truly writing, but it absolutely had to do with the support I always get from my partner. And oh god, how I adore writing. I've always loved telling a story, but what truly makes me obsessed with it is playing with language itself. I love painting mental pictures. I love elaborate metaphors. I love portraying ugliness in a raw way that paradoxically makes it strangely beautiful. I love the words that don't just express their message through literal meaning, but also through how they visually look, how they sound, what core and pre-/inter-/suffix they have, how many syllables they have (my favourite go-to example is in Will Wood's "Front Street" - "the gnashing teeth will masticate the bones from the flesh"); I love using those words to juxtapose feelings (such as describing something as both raw and ugly, and yet beautiful exactly because of that). I love portraying ugliness in a raw way that paradoxically makes it strangely beautiful. I love playing with rhythm and momentum and run-on sentences, I love playing with formatting, to make the text flow on the page, I love using subtle sarcasm and making fun of the characters and their flawed logic through a flat narrating tone, and I love sprinkling characters' unreliable, subjective thoughts with nothing to distinct them from the rest of the text aside italics (I think it's much more immersive, adds to a "pov" lets the narrative evolve with the way characters think, and allows for a better flow of the text that ""(...)" he thought"). I love having a narrator with that subtle sass where the "insults" are indirect. When I write, I have several tabs open with thesauruses and dictionaries, not because I don't know the words I use (I make sure to keep my language authentic and to not overuse complex words just because - they all have a purpose, and 99,99% of the words I look up I already know), but because if I look up synonyms/translations then I have all the possible words in front of me and I can compare exactly how they look and sound (I'm heavily visual, ironically enough). I love pulling from more common Polish metaphors/sayings to form a more elaborate, non-obvious sentence/metaphor in English, and I love using translating as a tool to look for synonyms/replacements that maybe aren't an obvious alternative. I love writing scenes that feel genuine and real, and including the "ugly", human parts. I love writing flawed characters, I love describing their inner worlds, I love writing their streams of consciousness - I love turning them into real people (to the best of my abilities).

I love writing for the process. And it's funny, cause I don't exactly have that with art always. I'll be honest - I don't always love sketching and doodling. I do love watercolours. I'm sure it's honestly visible in how I paint, but playing with colours, layering, shading, shapes, undertones, etc is just my favourite thing in the world. But doodling by itself? Heavily depends, and a good portion of the time I just want to see the doodle ready, or to skip to watercolours, if I'm painting (although recently I've been getting better at just enjoying the process). But writing? Sure, sometimes I just want it over with, but the only reason why I'm able to go through all the drafts and countless edits is because just like with watercolours, I simply love the process of perfecting it, even if it gets frustrating.

TLDR I absolutely adore writing as an art form, holy shit it's literally so cool and language is even cooler and just

Writing<333

OH also btw I have since checked my document, and I misremembered - chapter 2 is 8k words--

[oatflatwhite]

Hi 😁 I absolutely adore your writing. I'm just wondering do you have any writing tips. If your willing to share your secrets that is.

What's your writing process? How do you stay motivated to write? How would I go about improving my own writing?

Thanks so much and no pressure to answer 🥰

hi anon <3 wow, this is such a kind thing to say and such a surprise to find in my inbox! sorry it's taken me a few days to answer.

it sounds obvious but my best writing advice is to just write. practice really does make, if not perfect, then as close as you can come to it. i've been writing fic since 2011 and writing in general for a whole lot longer and the rhythms i have learned - the way i like to structure sentences, how i approach dialogue, honing characterisation - are all just from that process. over and over. it might be boring or frustrating but keep at it if you want to write and i guarantee you will improve!

also, read!! fic and actual books, cross genres, time periods, literary styles. i am so influenced by authors i have read over my whole life, even if just a certain turn of phrase has stuck out to me, the way they write a relationship, the style of prose, all that kind of thing. it's natural to take in these kinds of things and transform them into your own words - inspiration, not imitation! and most times it's done unconsciously anyway. plus, reading expands vocab, an expanded vocab gives you more to work with when writing - and so on.

in terms of my writing process........ i am lacking in anything hard and fast lmao. i write when i feel like writing. sometimes i can sit at my computer and force some words to come but often it will only happen - or i will only write stuff i actually like - when i want to. i walk away otherwise. don't be afraid to put the pen/keyboard down. i do want to make some kind of career as a writer and obviously if that's a path you want to go down too sometimes walking away isn't exactly an option - but take care of yourself as much as you can, listen to your mind and your body, because you'll enjoy yourself more writing when you actually feel like it! plus, stepping away from a project for a while can help you come at it from a new angle and work through problems you had no idea how to approach before.

i'm sorry all this advice is so general!! i hope it helps at least a little. good luck with everything <3

[mariamariquinha]

What's behind...

Still on that road, I’m back for some background inspiration/maybe I’m little too much into music/my guys have personal playlist stuff. Today we’re going to Versos de Placer, this piece of messy cops and dead bodies and Horacio Carrillo. 

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

Versos de Placer - Colonel Horacio Carrillo

Yeah, well, we all know the synopsis of this story, right? A Colombian man with dubious ethics and a gringa with daddy issues who have sex. It’s my first Carrillo’ fic and we all know how much I adore Maurice in Narcos. Boom, boom, let’s goooooo 💃

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

VERSOS DE PLACER - MAYE

Well, I think the name said it 😂😂😂 But it’s kinda curious and delightful to use that song as my first big break on Tumblr, especially with Carrillo who’s a character I personally like a lot. I mentioned an excerpt from it when I made a moodboard for this fanfic a while ago. 

Versos de Placer talks about finding an unexpected love, something that no one was looking for but found in a remarkable and true way. Although the story has not yet been so evident in this regard, I have been reinforcing important signs of the characters' expectations and yearnings for this feeling.

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Yo que no te busqué (I did not look for you)

Sin querer te encontré (I accidentally found you)

--

Me escapó (I run)

A dónde tú estés (where you are)

Una y otra vez (over and over)

More than just the classic “Found you on my worst, you gave me new meaning”, I believe that Carrillo is the type of character who doesn’t mind love. It’s just there for him, sometimes, and he gets used to it since he lives a life of danger, like he rationalized it. The relationship he builds with reader is purely rational and even in the moments of desire or sentimental sharing, in the end they both don’t know what is the next step - they just know something is there and it’s good. 

TÚ - MAYE

Like most writers, I was kind of in a moment when I started writing Versos de Placer. I'm not there anymore, but for all intents and purposes I can say that this particular singer was an inspiration. Firstly because she sings in Spanish and secondly because she's good - I thought that made sense.

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Todo lo que pasa es relativo (Everything that happens is relative)

Pero cada vez que estoy contigo (But every time I'm with you)

El tiempo se detiene (The time stops)

Y desaparece (And disappears)

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Ya no me hace falta nada más (I don’t need anything else)

Si lo más difícil de encontrar (If the hardest to find)

Lo encontré contigo (I found with you)

Writing to certain couples is like catching glimpses of a future. If I could define a timeline of the story, Versos de Placer would begin and Tú would end, like a moment in which they move from uncertainty to an absolute truth. I'm a sucker for love stories with happy endings - with fidelity, devotion, contact. And perhaps someone may disagree, but I see Carrillo as the type of man who doesn't love unless it's like that, because as I already said, for him love is a palpable feeling and there was no other way to experience it than in total effort. 

This song has a soft, hopeful tone, like a calm, warm love - like driving down the road with the sea breeze on your face, no music but the sound of the wind. I think they both deserve it. Carrillo deserves it.

CHAN CHAN - BUENA VISTA SOCIAL CLUB

Latin culture is very rich - A LOT. As a Latina woman, I love learning about everything Latin American countries have to offer and I like to talk about it whenever I can, as a historical reparation or just... because. I won't dwell on this, everyone already knows.

I chose this song, but I'm not going to put the lyrics because it's not necessarily what they say, but the intention behind it. Buena Vista Club is a Cuban group and the music, in general, portrays the experience in Cuba. Still, the choice of instruments, the vocal intonation, the musical rhythm, everything always led me to a Carrillo who, unable to consume foreign culture beyond what was strictly necessary, would listen to this. On days in a good mood (rare and very vague) he would hum the song while doing everyday things.

This song is an experience. Listen if you can.

INTIMIDADE - LINIKER E OS CARAMELOWS

Liniker is a Brazilian trans singer who has already become a reference and probably a part of the history of my country. I adore her. Like, she's a goddess. I think that anyone who would think about learning more about our music should start or at least go through her work.

This song is a production with the band that accompanied it, the "Caramelows", and they had such an incredible repertoire.

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Vem me visitar de madrugada (Come visit me early in the morning)

Colocar tua mão em mim que eu deixo (Put your hand on me and I'll let you)

Sem pressa você chega e fica (No rush, you arrive and stay)

Eu finco afeto nesse peito (I plant affection in this chest)

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Soma, mas não some, fica e a gente dorme (Add up, but don't disappear, stay and we sleep)

Incenso a casa com alecrim (Home incense with rosemary)

The name of the song is very intuitive - Intimacy. To stay together. To share. I don't know, it makes sense. In a context where Carrillo is a man with many rough edges, I think a good thing about many stories is to explore this. It's not my focus, but I can certainly recommend others that address the subject better. This song is more of a recommendation, an immersion into what a relationship with Carrillo could be if nothing were... Well, if we created him. 

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P.S.

I'm taking steps back with my posts here, but I'm not on hiatus. I've been owing this for months and only now have I found the strength to finish it, so you can imagine what my pace has been like lately. This IS NOT an apology, even though it's not a secret (I've always been very clear about my pace), I'm not sorry either. Sometimes life happens and that's normal. 

I'm specifically working on Bossa Nova, because I also took steps back with Versos de Placer for the sake of the story; as I said above, I'm not at the same point as I was when I started it. 

I have a request on my list that I will do as soon as I can. The second part of the last chapter I wrote of Versos de Placer will come out when I'm ready, because it's going to be a turning point and as we're in the final stretch, I want to be more sure of what I want to do. You understand.

The weather is strange around the world, so take care! I'll be around, but a little more off. 

Stay safe!

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No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers​

@thesandbeneathmytoes​

@616wilsons​ ​

@nessamc​

@thoroughlymodernminutia​ ​

@padbrookcottage​ ​

@mysoulisasunflower​ ​​

[mallowmaenad]

back when i was trying to get back into brute forcing game dev (i am very stupid) I had aspirations of making an RPG in the Doom engine inspired by stuff like Strife, Hedon and Lycanthorn as well as a Hylics mod my friend was making for Doom which gave me the idea to make it about a cartoonish wizard that used spells with goofy hand gestures in place of regular weapons. I got disheartened when I was told about the limitations of DoomBuilder and my depression and then my life when to absolute shit before I could do anything but hold onto my soul like the safety rail of a rollercoaster car. I still thought about it a lot in the back of my mind, about enemy types like necromancers that would turn dead enemies into animated skeletons, a large battle between two castles the player would get into, secret forest mazes, magic items that would give you a double jump or a hover, the Doom Eternal-like rhythm of strafing and swapping spells for certain enemies, even a small class system that affected your starting gear and a plot about animated dolls and the sheltered life of a wizard's apprentice. Inventory would be managed in a "mind palace" where you could also check your quest progress and find secret levels taking place in the player character's psyche. One of the spells in this drawing is "shooting star," where you hold down the fire button to conjure more stars and release to fire them one after the other or press alt fire to release them all at once in a shotgun-like spread.

I have a friend who might teach me rpg maker which I'm excited for but I don't think it's what would fit what I had in mind for this game. Maybe with some encouragement and guidance I'll return to DoomBuilder or something similar. I'd like to, but thinking about doing it and actually doing it are two different things. I think when I started making music I was imagining it'd be this game's soundtrack, I know making a game on your own especially the open world zelda-meets-dragons-dogma adventure game I had in my head is incredibly difficult, but I think I could at least do the music, graphics, writing and maybe a portion of the actual meat. It'd look a bit ugly on purpose like if a team of deviant art users were tasked with rebooting a 3DO game with an insultingly mediocre stab at imitating the works of graham kartna, toby fox and some of niel cic's older stuff like what he was doing under the name Deporiatz.

I don't know. Ive felt stupid all of my adult life, I hate being stupid and learning is hard, I've been extremely insecure about my art ever since ny ipad shattered and I could no longer draw with the same polish I had before, last time I asked for art criticism I was told "this looks like you don't draw very often" by an artist I really adored and that kinda put me in the muck about it. I still draw I just rarely post it out of anxiety. Idk I guess I'm trying to rip some sort of band aid off and see what happens. Probably nothing, the number of people who will see this are probably in the single digits and ill probably delete this post out of embarrassment in a few days, but the thoughts will stay with me.

[emphyrean-paracosm]

Ahem...

so uhhhhhhhhh I've been writing for my "ocs" for the book I'm writing and uhhhhhhhhhhhh

pls accept my minuscule offering for not posting for a long time there

I'm trying to get into a rhythm I promise I've just been doing a lot of poetry and I'm not soups proud of my narrative writing capabilities but I'm trying

anyways here, your offering:

"Your mine." her lips trailed up my neck her voice gravely and low and oh so deliciously salacious as it reverberates against my skin- and god be damned the things I would let her do to me- my body involuntarily shudders at the thoughts now flooding my mind against my will

 "That is what you wanted right? To be mine? So entirely? So completely that there wouldn't be a thought in that pretty little head of yours except for the single fact that you are mine... you want me to devour you, don't you?" She asked her lips now millimeters from my ears. she was luring me in and she knew it. she then pulled away just enough that her face was in front of mine my eyes immediately snapped to meet her gaze, the look on her face caused something within me to snap and then combust.

"Answer me, darling, should I devour you?" She tilts her head with that smug expression that makes me weak every damn time painting itself upon her lips. I swallow back every ounce of common sense.

  "Please..." My voice comes out weak so weak that it elicits a low rumble of laughter from her chest as she presses herself closer to me so we're chest to chest and all I can feel is her body heat spreading across me "Please, what? My pretty little rose."

My face feels hot and I have to decide between sparing my pride or letting my desires rule me, as always when it comes to the demon in front of me my desires win out.

 "Please... Please devour me Ashtoreth, make me yours completely." I ask and it feels more like a croak of lust than actual words. That stupid smirk on her lips only grows as her head dips to my neck and I feel my brain go blank as her lips tease the tender flesh. her lips ghost across and I'm certain she can hear the racing of my pulse as she lets out a deep exhale almost like a breathy sound of absolute desire. 

"You're so warm, meine schatz, and intoxicating. What I would do to keep you like a dragon to its hoard... in my room with me all day my hands on every inch of you, treating you with such adoration, till your mind is completely gone, till you understand no mortal could ever please you like I can." She almost rants between pressing her lips to my skin, her sharp teeth grazing just barely however it's enough to send me reeling. The power she had over me with just her words and actions was so very terrifying yet enticing.

thanks for reading love you allllllll <333333

-phyr out

[ethanhuntfemmefatale]

Thank you! I love sharing thoughts about film because I love to hear other peoples too! I’m sitting here reading yours and just thinking YES!

Yes!! (lol) about the music in the cab for both Annie and Vincent! I love that too, the easy rhythm of the groove armada song and the seeming contrast of the stilted formality of the Bach when Vincent gets in the cab. I love that the beauty of that music is undeniable and permeating to the point of what you said - Vincent’s cab ride also ends up feeling like a meet cute.

You’re right about the diner scene in heat feeling like a thesis. Thief has a diner scene (again, lol, michael mann 💖) that to me felt like a manifesto of a Mann protagonist, and he refines that through Heat and Collateral, increasing the extremity of it each time. They look at what a certain kind of man - state raised, foster homes, institutionalised, put under extreme pressure, instability and violence at an early age, might to do survive in the world, and how lonely and isolated that could make them as adults. The constructs and fantasies they might enact around themselves. It’s funny because the detail he gives in Thief I almost can’t help but carry through to Neil, and the detail he gives Neil I can’t help but carry through to Vincent. It’s like he’s built this shorthand for a protagonist and when you watch them together you recognise them in each other. I certainly feel they enrich each other.

The thing that really eats me alive about both Heat and Collateral is their endings. You’re right about the unravelling and the depth of care in them. Both Vincent and Neil have developed these self philosophies about action and control and violence to ultimately, I think, protect themselves from further harm. Vincent’s confession/not confession about his childhood is also one of my favourite moments for all the reasons you said - it is so multilayered, but there feels like a truth of a cruel beginning in it. Neils steadfast loyalty to his crew (that he claims not to have) and his quiet insistence that he will not go back to prison has the same effect I think - an extrapolation of a hard life. So they become the men, the personas, they are. Hannah and Max break these personas into parts and show up their fault lines almost accidentally through a vested if inexplicable interest in their connection. In both endings, despite leading a life of strict deprivation and isolation that becomes their construct of masculinity, both Vincent and Neil do come to harm. And as they sit dying the person most opposed to them in the world, who is also their closest human connection, stays with them. And they both in their own way reach out for that connection. It’s the feeling of a realisation, the unravelling, coming too late in the day. In a way it’s a comfort: how do you keep going when the very scaffolding you’ve built to navigate the world starts to crumble. But it’s shattering too, because even as hard and cruel as their lives were the very last thing they look for is a small, soft reassurance, and it is an incredibly human moment from the character each film seemingly positions as being parallel-to-but-not-quite human. Could literally scream about it lmao.

I’m writing first draft dissertations no one asked for over on letterboxd like once a week if that’s somewhere you’re at? If not my tags are usually where I go to have a periodical meltdown about whatever film I’m being consumed by at that moment and you’re always welcome to pick me up on it if it’s something you want to talk about :)

i was not on letterboxd when i got this ask. i am now on letterboxd. my username is vincentthekid (lol) and i would love to see the first draft dissertations if you wouldn't mind telling me your username! I absolutely adore this ask i feel emotional every time i read it. especially love your point about the way that the connection between max/vincent and vincent/neil feels inexplicable, but both max and vincent (hanna) do put in concerted effort at some point or another to understand the man in front of them, or behind them in max's case, lol. and in that attempt they end up revealing cracks, like you said, almost without meaning to. also love your point about the music, the bach is very vincent, the precision, the aesthetic sense.

thief is a fucking good film. god damn michael mann how do you do it. i definitely see what you mean about the way those three figures inform each other, and also the way they seem to intensify from one movie to the next. vincent is a very different man from frank mostly because I would say he fully commits to the philosophy that starts to dissolve for frank pretty early, the mindset where you don't care what happens to you, so long as you give as good as you get. (neil is set between the two poles, wanting rest and relief and love, but mostly in the abstract.) vincent's job also feels...oddly glamorous compared to frank's, the swanky bars and briefcases and anonymity, and definitely more dramatic. and since we're not in his head, the cracks that form in his persona feel more striking and almost unnerving in their unexpected vulnerability. it also occurred to me that collateral is the only film of the three that (i might be wrong, but i think im right) doesn't involve any set pieces inside a house or apartment, the inital hit was at a hotel i wanna say? maybe it isn't, but at the very least we never see a home for our core characters. that choice takes away the tension of Thief and Heat between domesticity and othered/isolated criminality, in favor of a different dialogue between max and vincent which focuses solely on the world of outsiders, the world of the city instead of the suburbs, full of isolated people who don't know each other. Examining the constructs they set up to keep themselves from reaching out. Asking whether it's possible to connect in that world, Despite, in the same way that connection between the domestic and criminal world of Heat always happens Despite.

I was really struck watching Thief by the fact that Frank in some ways reveals what is waiting for a version of Vincent that survives the unraveling of his worldview, and incorporates the possibility of human connection, even a desire for it. Both Neil and Vincent die before they can really go down that path, Vincent before he would ever think of even looking towards it, Neil walking away from it intentionally to face his final conflict. But Mann puts a lot of thought and care in Thief into exploring what happens to that type of character if they fight for a happy ending, and for all that Frank survives the narrative, it's bleak. That being said, there is something striking about that happy ending being a kids-and-wife-and-house fantasy. I almost feel like Collateral through its rejection of the domestic fantasy entirely (both parents presented in the narrative being somewhere on the flawed-to-abusive spectrum, the only love interest being the kind of woman who pulls all nighters in her office instead of going home) reframes the conversation, opening the possibility of an escape from isolation that doesn't rely on domesticity.

unbelievably good movies!!!!!!!!!!!

[kuraitsune]

WiTH YOU, AND ALWAYS

PARiNGS - ...Ike Eveland, Shu Yamino, & Alban Knox(seperate) x GN!reader

MENTiONS - ...just you and the already mentioned boys~

SUMMARY - ...how would he react if he found out you enjoyed collecting figurines and plushies?

READER'S PROFiLE - ...you are someone who enjoys collecting figurines and plushies! as stated above <3 you're also a part of NIJISANJI EN for all hcs! established relationship with them

DiSCLAiMERS - hcs! in no way am i a professional writer, i just like english lol. please know that these writings are a work of fiction and are the appearance and persona of the character! not the person behind the screen.

IMPORTANT NOTE - hi hi! by the time i post this, it's my birthday! so i decided to write something of my oshis~ :) please enjoy~

ike would ask you about every figurine that you have!

because yk, he also collects them

but when he discovered that you also kept plushies on display, the novelist is in adoration for you

thinks it's cute that you collect them <3

you also had the nijipuppets that the corp sent you

you sometimes put your oshis in a shrine ritual-like thing(i'm watching y'all)

when you two are on an off-collab, you'd show ike each figure and plush you have with a fiery passion

he can't help but smile at your ranting on and on about your hobby

he might even bring a few of his carefully packed in his bags

the true question is, would he buy a figure or plush for you if you absolutely wanted it?

yeah, 100%

he understands the desire for them and he'd ask you "if you were able to get any figure or plush you want, what would it be?"

just for scientific reasons, yk

and then a box arrives at your door, with a note

"you may have said that you didn't want me to spend money on you, but i say this is a gift from me to you, darling"

shu thinks it's adorable that you have so many figurines and plushies just because they make you truly happy in your home!

you had teased him a bit with a shu figure that you commissioned and put the figure in a carefully decorated place in your room

he didn't know what to say(then again, he loves your loyalty and pride in the sorcerer)

he also learned that you enjoyed custom plushies and figures more than regular ones

only because you thought that if it was customized, it'd be one of a kind and be more special!

when he visited you, you had a beautiful display of the entirety of NIJISANJI EN, sorted by group! you had each member have one plush and one figure each

his eyes sparkled, amazed at your dedication to the agency!

since custom figures/plushies are much more expensive than regular ones, he thought maybe he'd give you something just from him!

it took about 2 months for it to be made but he assured you that it was going to be worth it

the package came in when you and shu had another off-collab

with his iconic v-shaped smile, he watched you fondly as you open the package, revealing an adorable figure of the two of you by a cherry blossom tree

"for you, babe. your dedication never fails to amaze me"

alban supports your love for plushies and figures!

it was surprising to him that you actually made them yourself!

what a talent, huh?

he likes watching you focus hard on making a certain plush so that it didn't look weird or out of place

thinks it's mesmerizing

sneakily asks for you to make one for himself

rolling your eyes, you really can't say no to him. so you obliged anyway

as you carefully cut out the required fabrics on stream, alban tenderly watches your every movement

even though he literally could just watch you in your sewing room

but it's okay, because he can support you through the chat <3

the phantom thief specifically watches how smooth your movements are

only to be working on something very special, just for you!

you can't even stop him from working all throughout the day(with breaks, per your begging for him to take breaks)

it's like how focused he is with playing a certain rhythm game, his bi-colored hues follow his every movement

legit just cat behavior(you wouldn't mind anyways)

when it was the day he gives you the plush

he'd be all smiles and laughs before he actually gives you it fully

"babe! you're so talented and amazing... so i made you a chibi plush of myself! hehe~"

NOTE - lol i forgot about the footer message, but here we are again! thank you for the 100+ followers since i've been writing here on tumblr~ i'll try my best to keep the flow of writing~

and it's also my bday today as stated above already! if anyone also has a bday today, happy birthday to you too! have a great week to all :D

DO NOT: repost or copy any of @kuraitsune's works! sharing is fine with credits.