#why the fuck do you think it's happening in the first place

[comicaurora]

So uhh. If you feel like talking about it. As someone who lives in the US, how are you being kind to yourself on this upsetting morning <3

Checked in with my loved ones first and foremost.

It's interesting. The vibe I've been getting from my circle is very different from 2016. Much less… dread and horror at a realignment of the understanding of what can and can't happen here, now, in this place and day and age. More "fuck, guys. again? whatever. enjoy your consequences, maybe you'll manage to learn something this time."

Frustration and anger is not the most positive feeling, or even the most fair one to express, but it is a protective one. It hurts a lot less than most alternatives.

And it's quite a shift. It was earthshattering back then. How could this have been allowed to happen? Why couldn't it be stopped? Why couldn't we stop it? Why couldn't I stop it? Why couldn't everyone see what this meant? Why couldn't I make them understand? Did they really not care? What did that mean about humanity as a whole? Were we so thoughtless? How could anyone be trusted?

It seems… much less earthshattering to see it happen twice. Disappointing, sure. Frustrating. But nowhere near as devastating as the first time I saw it unfold. We already knew it could happen. I've already had time to digest the implications. Now I'm just freshly disappointed.

It also feels less indicative of Crushing Truths Of Reality this time. We've seen shit get bad. We've also seen shit get better from here! We know both outcomes are possible, even inevitable. We know hoping for a better future is always worthwhile. This isn't the apocalypse. It's an unremarkably bad turn of events brought on by unremarkably self-centered well-documented human impulses. It's utterly mundane in its unpleasantness. It doesn't need to be dignified with despair.

A democratic election, no matter the outcome or the side we're on, makes us all acutely aware of how outnumbered we are by people whose worldviews and priorities are demonstrably incomprehensible to us. And the first time you get outnumbered, it's a shock. Defeat is haunting. It didn't matter how badly you wanted it; by the very function of democracy, you do not have the power to override greater numbers. (insert electoral college caveat here)

The second time through, I find myself focusing on a different facet that has dramatically reduced the amount of spiralling I'm doing. I don't expect this to work for everyone, but for me specifically, it helped to crystallize a few thoughts:

You don't have the power to control anyone else. You don't. You can't share your worldview and your revelations with them. You can't make them think or understand anything. You can lay it all out for them, but you can't make them listen, and you can't make it click. A mentor can't make their student learn a lesson; that's why teaching is so complicated and hard. An active choice must be made by the person to enable themselves to understand, and they must put the pieces together in their own mind before it makes sense to them, and the pieces must have been presented in a way that makes sense to them in the first place. Lead a horse to water, can't make them drink.

These elections highlight a disconnect in what different groups of people care about; and no matter how clearly you explain yourself or how passionately you perform, caring cannot be forced on someone. Understanding and connection cannot be forced. You cannot make anything or anyone matter to someone. They have to choose to see how it matters in order to internalize it. If they choose not to, that is not your failing. You couldn't have made them do it by just Explaining Better. They are not your responsibility. They make their own choices. You can't reach inside their head and connect the dots for them.

I'm a storyteller. I make stories and put them out into the world. I hope people get something good out of them, but I have no control over what that something is. I want people to be thoughtful and kind and compassionate and hopeful and see themselves reflected in stranges, no matter their differences. I can craft stories that I hope encourage this. But that is the extent of my ability and the extent of my responsibility. I control no-one's actions but my own, and so while I am not having the best day, I am at least content that I am doing what I can, and I am not shattering myself against impossibilities trying to control the things I can't.

Sometimes, people make decisions that I think are really bad. I can't make that not happen. All I can do is try to make decisions that will result in things I think are good. Today, that means checking in on people, and not assigning too much dramatic narrative weight to an ultimately mundane set of unremarkable bad decisions outside of my control. We'll take life as it comes and help each other out when and how we can. Everything else is out of our hands.

[hoshifighting]

Hello,

So I was wondering, would you be able to write something about cock-warming with Seventeen? If not OT13, then maybe just Hoshi?

This is my first time making a request and I absolutely love your writing! I look forward to seeing your new posts every time I open the app!

Thank you 😊

cock warming with seventeen

seungcheol: he’s gritting his teeth, telling you to “sit still” ina scolding tone. man is holding on for dear life, hands on your hips, fully committed to the whole “stay still” command even though he’s just as worked up. he gives you this look that says “one wrong move and it’s over”—yet he’s lowkey loving how hard it is to keep himself together. eventually, you shift just a little and he’s like, “oh, you think you’re funny, huh?” ready to wreck you right then and there.

jeonghan: he’s the absolute worst tease about it. why would you choose HIM to do that? he got that little smirk, acting all unbothered, whispering about how needy you look just sitting there on him. he’ll brush his fingers over your hips, trailing them up your spine just to mess with you. every time you try to move, he’s like, “uh-uh, baby, stay still.” you know he’s having fun watching you squirm, and he’s definitely making it as drawn-out as possible.

joshua: gives you sweet little smiles while low-key dying inside. he’s got that hand on the small of your back, running his fingers there just to keep you close. he’ll whisper all these sweet nothings, telling you how “perfect” you are, and every time you clench or move a little, he shudders, just waiting for the second he can actually move.

junhui: oh, he’s got no patience. he’s sitting there, already hard as hell, and you’re making it worse with every tiny shift. he laughs it off, biting his lip, telling you you’re “gonna regret testing him.” jun’s the type to nudge your hips a little, just to get a reaction, muttering stuff like, “if you keep doing that, don’t blame me for what happens.” he’s a mess and doesn’t even last.

hoshi: he’s like, “why did we even think this was a good idea?” wiggling around, not even pretending to keep still. every little movement makes him lose it just a bit more, and he’s already breathing heavy, wet as fuck. you both know he’s absolutely hopeless at staying still, but the boy’s trying, just loving the fact that you’re driving him up the wall.

wonwoo: he’s calm on the outside, hands steady on your hips, acting like it’s all fine and dandy, but you can feel that bro is almost melting in that game chair. every time you move, he’s biting the inside of his cheek, giving you these intense, dark-eyed looks like, “don’t test me.” he’ll stay like that as long as he can, but little to go snapping.

woozi: this man is a brick wall, hands locked around your waist, practically daring you to move. he’s got a total death grip on his self-control but gives himself away every time he swallows hard or clenches his jaw. determined to make you stay still until he’s ready.

minghao: so de-stressed, it’s unreal. he’s got his hands tracing gentle circles on your back, just enjoying the closeness but totally into it. every time you shift, he just hums, getting more and more fired up. you can tell he’s feeling it, breathing deeper, pressing you closer, but he’ll still try to play it off. he’s in no rush but is totally giving in soon.

mingyu: man’s a mess, plain and simple. he’s holding onto your hips with his nails almsot, wide-eyed and flustered as hell. he tries to be the big and strong boyy he is, but every little move makes him gulp, giving you these desperate, needy looks. probably ends up blurting, about how much he needs to fuck you.

seokmin: so flustered, you’d think it’s his first time. he’s trying to stay calm, keeping his hands on your hips to keep you in place, but he can’t help it; every time you shift, he’s turning red, letting out little gasps, unable to keep himself from reacting. he’s all, “oh my god, please, just—stay still!”

seungkwan: so worked up, it’s ridiculous. he’s like, “this was the worst idea ever babe!” but his hands are glued to you, like he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. he’s torn between panic and total enjoyment, all red-faced and muttering how he’s “seriously trying here.” you can tell he’s struggling, giving you little pleading looks.

vernon: silent but done for. he’ll just sit there, eyes wide, hardly breathing as he holds onto you, doing his best to stay in control but you can see the struggle. every little movement you make has him gripping your hips harder, like he’s hanging on by a thread. probably mutters, “you’re evil,” under his breath, fully aware he’s about to cum like this.

chan: incredibly sweet, probably nervous but also very into it. he’ll laugh softly, maybe trying to make small talk just to keep both of you calm, but the longer you stay like that, the more it drives him crazy. he’ll whisper, asking if you’re okay, gently reminding you to stay still but clearly enjoying when you clench or ride him a bit, especially when you both start to give in a little. BUUUUUT—he waits for you to break first.

[karaeilishh]

TAKE ME BACK : smut

summary: you're going to a party with your cool girlfriend. When she stops paying you proper attention, you switch to a random guy in a bar. and she won't like it at all...

warnings: dom!billie, sub!brat!reader, jealousy, strap (r receiving), degradation, oral (r/billie receiving), r called a slut many times

w/c: 3,4k

a/n: eng is not my first language! enjoy this dirty shit <33

requests open!

“Hey babygirl. You look upset. Can I please you with a cocktail?”

You roll your eyes once again, sitting on an uncomfortable couch in the corner of some club that Billie brought you to because her friends really wanted to see her. You were on the other side of town and you knew that you wouldn't be home until morning, because it was well past midnight, and your girlfriend didn't seem to be leaving anytime soon. Billie was drunk enough and this evening you regretted not drinking alcohol. At least you wouldn't be so bored and lonely.

You've been hanging around your girlfriend for the last two hours so that she would pay attention to you, but her attention was only on her friends, whom she hadn't seen for a whole week. You didn't know why everything turned out this way today, because usually Billie can't take her eyes off you; You put your head on her shoulder, pressed your bare thigh against her thigh, you whispered in her ear, but you only got: “Babe, later.” Later? Fine. Your patience has run out.

You step onto the dance floor; hungry glances at your beautiful curves. Billie told you to wear that fucking mini dress that hugs every muscle on your stomach, your chest and parts of your thighs. Who can blame other people for their looks when you look like a damn angel? You don't even start dancing; you walk away to someone's brazen whistle; what do these men allow themselves? It's always like with a piece of meat. You want to go to Billie, but the thought of her telling you to just sit in silence again is maddening; you go to the bar. There are a lot of men, but you carefully walk past them and sit on the bar stool. 

“What?” You woke up in a few seconds. There's a guy in front of your face now, no, more like a man. He has an atypical neat outfit for a place like this. The club stinks of other people's sweat and drunk people, but it has a nice perfume. You don't know why you noticed it. His perfume? You can definitely feel it, he leaned closer, repeating his question.

“I asked if I could buy you a drink?” You heard him this time, but you couldn't answer him right away. You can't agree because you're here with your girlfriend, you're taken. But does she even care about you now? After all, nothing will happen if you just talk with someone at the club while your lover is not paying any attention to you. “Please don't tell me you don't drink. I'm not creative for another reason to get to know each other” Actually, you don't drink, but you can agree, right?

“Um, could you get a mojito for me? I don't like strong drinks.” The man nods knowingly and smiles. “Everything for a sweet girl in a bar” He signals to the bartender, apparently they are familiar. 

“Did you hear what the lady said? Mojito. And pour less rum” He turns to you, saying that your mojito will be done in a minute. You nod and thank him, trying to fight the strange feeling in your chest. It's like you're going to be punished for talking to him.

“You're very beautiful, but you're not talkative. I bet you don't go to places like this often?” He tilts his head slightly, as if trying to figure out what and who you're thinking about right now. You adjust your dress and look up at his face. “Yeah, I don't like noisy places.” His gaze darted to your hands resting on your hips.

“I get it. Well, tell me, what's your name?” His voice echoes in your head. You want to tell him that your acquaintance shouldn't go that far, you're going to say “No” when you hear a familiar voice behind you. “No.”The smell of her perfume hits your nose, her tired face with bruises under her eyes is in front of your eyes, her hair is scattered on your bed. Her voice is usually gentle, but not now.

“I'm sorry?” He's not looking at you. He's looking at someone behind you and you know exactly who it is. Her hands are on your waist, on your hips. She's only been here for a few seconds, but she's already been able to claim you. You can't see her face, but you know damn well she's giving your new friend a murderous stare right now. “Apology accepted” The next moment, she drags you through a crowd of drunk and stoned people right to the exit of the club. She's a little shaky because of the amount she's drunk. It's cool outside, but your body is burning because of her. Billie drags you on until you're around the corner where no one will bother you. Your body hit a cold brick wall, her voice cut through the tense air between you, you shuddered. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?”

Your fingertips touch the wall behind you, her drunken breath on your face. You didn't like it when she drank, but the smell of alcohol was never annoying. “I was just talking to him.” You sound quieter and more insecure than you thought you'd be. Your eyes are directed straight to her eyes, hungry and greedy, you are breathing heavily. “Is that why he's ordering you a drink and trying to find out your name? Have you even seen the way he looks at you? If he offered to fuck you, would you be so responsive?”Her voice is loud and a little hysterical. Her hands are in the pockets of her shorts, but you can feel how much she wants to touch you.

“You're exaggerating, Billie.” You look at her, your voice is cold, but everything inside you is burning. You know that she always turns you on like that, even though you hide it. “Am I exaggerating? Are you fucking kidding me right now?” She grins, her hand on your wrist, until she interlaces your fingers randomly. She takes you to the car and you try to tell her that she can't drive, but she shuts you up. “If you act like a slut, I'll treat you like a slut.” Billie pushes you into the car and buckles your seat belt. She's so damn angry, the veins in her arms are bulging, but she still cares about you, and this one makes your hips clench harder. It makes you wet. The air in the car heats up when she slams the door and sits in the driver's seat. Her gaze is focused on the road, but her mind has turned into your home.

The long drive home is accompanied by her rapid breathing. You can literally hear her heartbeat. You can see the different scenarios of that night unfolding in her head. All of them are ended by your face pressed against the mattress while she fucks you. Her hand squeezes her hip, she bites her lip and you feel what's happening to her. You know for sure. You gently take her hand and put it between your legs. She swallows hard, her fingers squeeze your skin and you melt under her touch. “You're fucking driving me crazy, you know that?” She parks the car in the garage of your house, and the next thing you remember is her all over your body, when you crash into the bedroom door, Billie, dragging you inside. Your body falls onto the mattress, your breathing is knocked out, and your hair is already slightly disheveled.

“You're going to have to apologize properly, angel.” You're breathing heavily, looking into her eyes with obvious desire. You feel completely naked under her gaze, which screams at you that you are a fucking slut. For her. Billie's movements are feverish as she pulls off her shorts, reaches for your favorite drawer in your bedroom. Your eyes widen when she picks up your favorite strap. His curves were perfect for you, hitting the right spots. You're looking at it greedily. And Billie saw it.

"Such a greedy girl for a dick, don’t you?" She grins as she puts the toy down on the bed next to you. Her body hovers over yours as she devours you with her gaze. Her hand flies to your neck, squeezing tighter than usual. "I wanna destroy, babe. I wanna fucking destroy you so that you learn your lesson." Your mind is drifting because of her words, you want to push her to do it.

"It was your fault." You look into her eyes, clearly seeing something snap inside her. Her grip on your neck tightens and you feel like you're getting less air. "What?" Her voice was so threatening that you were almost sure your underwear was already soaked. You knew that no matter how mean she was, she would never hurt you more than you asked for.

"I said it was your fault. You ignored me all night! What are you-" Your words get caught in your throat when you feel a painful blow on your thigh. You swallow hard, looking into your girlfriend's eyes. You've seen her lose control when you act like this. But how can she blame you when you're so desperately begging her to destroy you?

"You dare accuse me of acting like a slut, craving my attention? Well, you'll get it." Billie's voice drips with arrogance. She knew she should have given you some attention, but she's always been too much of a bitch to admit she was wrong.

She pulls you to your feet, forcing you to stand in front of her as she attaches the strap on her hips and sits on the edge of the bed. "You wanna be a brat, babe? Then I'll have to shut you up." She looks up at you, then leans down and whispers, "Knees."

Right now, you want nothing more than to drop to your knees and take her strap so deep that tears run down your cheeks and your knees are red. "I'm not being a brat." You hiss, looking into her eyes. You know this won't turn out well.

"Didn't you hear me?" She raises an eyebrow and pushes you down, causing your knees to hit the floor hard. You whine, clutching her knees for support. “Angel, don’t make me move your head on my own. I know you want this.”

You gasp at her words, tucking your loose hair behind your ears. You lean down slowly, running your tongue along the length of her cock. Your eyes lock onto her face as you slowly push the strap into your mouth. Maybe your slowness was on purpose. “Come on babygirl, I know you can do better.”

She rolls her eyes, grabbing your hair. Your head moves at an unusually fast pace. You grip her hips tighter, trying to slow her down and suppress your gag reflex. Tears roll down your cheeks as you try to keep up the pace and not choke on the silicone in your mouth. You try to moan her name, but Billie just smirks.

“Good sluts don’t complain, huh, babe?” She pulls your head away from her cock, holding your hair. Your lips are smeared with your spit, your cheeks are wet with tears. You breathe heavily. “You are my good slut, aren’t you? Use your words.”

“Yes, yes I am…” You swallow hard, looking at your girlfriend with undisguised desire. You knew this night would be long, very long. “Very good….”

Billie takes your hands and lays you down on the bed, her eyes wandering over your body, your mess. “Such a beautiful angel for me. Too bad I have to ruin you.” She chuckles and you whine, squeezing your thighs together tighter. She reaches for your legs, lifting your dress up to your waist. Billie smiled at the beautiful underwear you’re wearing . “For me?” She smiles, spreading your legs and pressing two fingers into your soaked panties. “Fuck, baby, you’re dripping!”

You gasp when you finally feel her hands on you. You bite your bottom lip, watching her tease you. “Did you get wet kneeling in front of me? Or was it when I called you a slut at the club, hm?” Her eyes are playful as she looks into yours. You both know the answer, you both know that she doesn’t have to do anything to you to get you wet. “At the club…” You answer quietly and Billie bites her lip. God, she looked so sexy doing that.

"And who are you so wet for, huh?" She takes off your dress over the top, her mouth flies to your breasts. She bites it through the fabric of a lace bra. You moan, throwing your head back. "You, you, Billie… Please!" Your despair causes sincere satisfaction in your girlfriend. She knows that you will never want to leave her for someone else. She will make you squirm under her touch while you repeat that she is the only one for you.

“Good girl. Such a good girl for me,” Billie praises, kissing and biting down your beautiful body. She adored your body. Such a divine and only hers. You could feel the marks on your skin under her touch. “Bils, I need you. I really need you...” You're whimpering, making her smile.

“Do you think you can handle it?” She bites her lower lip, tilting her head to the side. Her gaze makes your body weaken even more. She had no idea what kind of influence she had on you. “Yes, yes I can, I promise!” You get up on your elbows to get a better look at her face.

“What a dirty girl,” Billie giggles, bending down to pick up the edge of your underwear with her teeth. Oh, you were crazy when she did that. Her every action, her every breath and look made you lose yourself in love with her. Even if she was going to destroy you right now. Your woman.

“Baby, you're so wet. Is my girl ready for me yet?” She smiles, easily sliding two fingers into you. Her palm pressed against your clitoris, adding extra friction. Her fingers slid inside you so easily that you were ashamed of how wet you were because of her. “Just shut up...”You exhaled heavily, covering your face with your hands. She laughed.

“Oh, my little slut wants to shut me up? I don't think it's going to work, baby.” Billie abruptly pulls his fingers out of you, bringing them to his lips. She greedily licks each phalanx of her fingers, moaning contentedly. You looked at her from under your eyelashes, still feeling the aching emptiness without her fingers inside you. As soon as Billie cleaned her fingers, she licked her lips, bending over your body. “You need to learn to watch your tongue, angel.”

These words sounded more harsh than anything else. Billie grabbed your hips and turned you over on your stomach. Your face was buried in the mattress and your ass was hanging in the air when Billie left a few ringing slaps on your delicate skin. “Hey!” You're whimpering, looking at her over your shoulder. “Oh, spare me those pathetic sounds.” She presses your head against the mattress, burying her hand in your hair. The tip of her strap teases your entrance, making you gasp with desire.

“Please, Bils...”You close your eyes, praying that she will give you what you want. “Not a brat anymore? It seems you just need a dick to shut that beautiful mouth.” She grins and you feel her cock slamming into you. Silicone slides easily inside you, making you grab the sheets and whimper into the it. After making a few slow thrusts, you feel Billies's hips against yours. She entered completely. “That's it, baby. You take me so well...”

You let loud moans fly from your lips when Billie finds the perfect angle, driving into all the right points. There are new tears in your eyes. A new pleasure. Your hair is disheveled and tangled because of your girlfriend's tight grip, and there is no trace of evening makeup left. She's always made you like this. She destroyed you with her presence, her voice, her gaze, her dick. “Faster...”

Billie grins at your plea, but obediently complied with your request, pushing into you with a new speed. You grab the sheets, looking at her over your shoulder. How sexy she looked. “Where's my sweet angel, huh? You're such a mess, baby.” You whimper when you see how she looks at you.

“Billie... I'm so close...”You're mumbling to yourself, praying that she'll hear. Of course she did. But she was such a bitch tonight. “What? Angel, I don't understand a word...”She was teasing and playing with you. You both knew what she was waiting for.

You want to sigh, but only moans come out of you. On trembling and weak hands, you get up on your elbows and try to talk to her the way she wants. Politely. “Billie, I wanna cum... Please, can I?” You immediately fall back, burying your face in the sheets, when pornographic moans come out of your mouth.

“Mm, such a polite girl... Cum for me” You laugh hysterically, feeling your walls squeeze her strap. It was the best feeling in the world. Your eyes are tightly closed, you literally bite the sheets, arching your back as you cum on her dick. You can't see her face, but you can tell for sure that she's smiling, watching what she's did to you. Not that guy from the bar, not anyone else. She. Only she could do it.

“Jesus, Bils...”You're breathing heavily, lifting your head from the wet sheets. Her strap is still moving inside you, helping you overcome a hard orgasm. “That's it, baby, you did so well...”She praises you by stroking your hair. It's one step from tenderness to rudeness, huh? Her grip tightens abruptly, forcing you to look at her through tears. “God, my poor baby. What a pity that I'm not finished with you yet” You're breathing hard, your mouth is dry, and you're sticking your tongue out like a fucking puppy after her games. Billie leans closer, her face inches from yours, and you already know what she's going to do. You always know what's behind that look. She collects saliva in her mouth for a few seconds and spits on your fucking tongue. As if you didn't ask for it yourself. Her warmth spreads over your tongue and you close your mouth. “Swallow” You obey and she gently kisses your cheekbone. The only thing she did gently this evening.

Billie turns you over on your back, laying your head on the pillows. She settles between your legs, devouring your body with her gaze. “Open wide for me, love” She purrs and you obediently spread your weak legs. Billie runs his fingers through your folds, collecting moisture. She brings her fingers to your mouth. “Suck” You swallow hard and take two of her fingers in your mouth, circling each with your tongue.

While you're engrossed in her fingers, Billie bends down to your pussy and runs her tongue over it, making you sigh and bite her. She hums into your flesh, looking up at you with adoring eyes. “No teeth, baby.” She grins and continues to devour you like a hungry animal.

Your sensitivity made itself felt and you tried to pull out her fingers to tell her, but she just pressed them against your tongue, depriving you of any opportunity to speak. You instinctively raised your hips, warning her. Your legs were shaking with pleasure and pain from over-stimulation. Your heels were crumpling the fabric of her shirt. You almost choked her with your hips. But she was just getting turned on.

Billie tapped your hips, giving you tacit permission to cum again. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, showing you the stars of pleasure. You can't help but bite her fingers again, but this time she lets you, seeing your condition. She helps you get through your orgasm and gets up to put her head on your chest.

“I'm so proud of you, dove... But we'll have to change the sheets.” She starts laughing, and you can't help but pick up on her laughter, even though you're a little embarrassed. You gently run your hand through her hair, removing the hair band that has almost come off her hair. You put the band on your wrist and hug her tightly.

“You know you're my only one, right?”

“I know, angel.”

[endereies]

FEEL BETTER YET? - MS

No Nut November - Day 7

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ When you are on your period, Matt is always there to look after you

Every month you endured pain like no other, your abdomen puncturing you from the inside out. It was only 3am but it felt like you had been up for hours, tossing and turning to find any relief. Painkillers failed to aid you and if you moved too much, spurts of nausea floated around your body.

The one thing you were concerned about was not staining your boyfriend’s sheets underneath you. You had already changed a few times in the night, at that point it was better to stay there. The entirety of your body was pushed against the radiator, locating any lingering warmth you could without having to manually do it yourself.

It was agonising, the fact this had to happen at all to you made emotions sky rocket. The trembles of your body matched the way your breathing shuddered when your stomach clenched.

Just as another tear fell, the light above you flickered on.

“Baby? Fuck…are you okay?” Matt was by your side in an instant, his touch giving you the warm you desperately were trying to clutch onto. He was quietly analysing you and the scene in front of him as his concern increased. Each time you wanted to speak smoothly, the sharp pains constructed you. It just made you whimper in pain and it broke Matt’s heart.

He was used to you having rough periods, but this was on another level. You could breathe. You couldn’t think clearly, your mind fogged with the sheer agony within.

“Why aren’t you in bed baby, you could’ve woken me…you know that…” His tone was gentle and made you sob a few more tears before any words left.

“I- I didn’t want to bloody your sheets..or uh bother you…” You looked away once you saw his face twist into one almost filled with guilt. Independency was idolised by you, he saw it in everything you did. But he wanted to take care of you, this was the small sliver he had and he was going to use that.

“I’ll be back, okay? Just two seconds my love.” Just as quickly as he spoke, he left. The light above remained on, a signal he was still there. Rustling was heard in the distance but once the pain surged it was hard to focus on. Everything was too much. Towels bunched up around you, trying to protect you from the pain, no matter how much it didn’t work.

The sharp pains in your stomach had only gotten worse, even after medication. Every time that Matt crossed your mind it only made you feel so needy, clingy. Like a burden.

Matt returned quickly with his hands full on certain products you couldn’t quite make out. “So first off, I got the chocolates from the fridge I saved for you, and some of those sweets you like to chew…” The packets were held up as he showed them off to you. “I got some of the stronger medications for if you needed to top off with them, uh, I grabbed your socks too and just made a hot water bottle for you. I know last time was a little too hot, so I put some cold water into it as well. “

His gaze finally met your eyes, staring at the pile with tears forming. It was obvious you weren't blinking so that you didn't cry. You knew if you had tried to speak, your emotions would quickly be revealed, if they weren't already by your expression. Your lips switched into a small smile, full of gratitude towards him.

“I- Thank you…really”

“Anytime, I mean that. I just want to be here for you, no matter what.” You let out a small chuckle, allowing yourself to finally give into his efforts to take care of you, you needed it in the moment. Not that you’d admit that to him. He quickly placed the items on your his bed before returning to your side.

One arm reached under your knees while the other supported your back as he pulled you to his chest. It was warm and it was safe. You almost forgot about the pain. Almost.

He lowered you onto the mattress on your side of the bed before handing you the hot water bottle, along side your medication and a drink. He wanted to look after you, not overwhelm you. Matt pulled back from you, climbing under the duvet alongside you.

“I don’t want you to worry about the sheets or bothering me, just worry about yourself. You’re my priority and I never wanting you to think that ill ignore your pain. Never ever will I do that to you sweetheart.” His voice was barely heard over my breathing and a part of you wanted to ignore it, you couldn’t.

Subconsciously your body drew close towards him, the heat of the bottle inching closer to his skin until your head lay on his shoulder. “Feel better yet?” You nodded slightly. The pain had subsided, the bottle and his words warming the aches away.

“I love you, you know that right?” A soft smile covered his lips, placing a light kiss on your head.

“I love you too..”

This was what you needed.

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerrss @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @jassturn @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @ribread03

© ENDEREIES 2024

[brotherwtf]

I submit this and humbly request your imagination of a scenario

wait wait this got me thinking about frat boy/preppy Gale, someone who's a little shit kind of like how Gale is in canon, quick one liners to easily make fun of people all while looking so innocent

John who's kind of shy, doesn't really talk to people and keeps to himself, but he opens up more with his friends, some sort of tutor and that's why he's always in the library when Gale finds him

Gale's failing english, point blank period, and he needs to save his grade or he's going to get kicked out of his frat, so he finds John in the library and asks for his help.

and John's nervous because he has a couple of classes with Gale, knows he can be outright cruel if he wants to be, knows he has a beautiful girl on his arm, so he hates himself even more when he gets those stupid teenage butterflies in his stomach whenever he sees Gale, all cleaned up and proper and Johns already so far gone

but Gale's a sweetheart, always kind and quiet with John and while he sometimes teases him it's all in good fun, and Johns always a blushing mess whenever Gale sits next to him and he almost can't concentrate on the assignment they're working on

sometimes Marge will tag along, offer up some unhelpful commentary, maybe she mentions something about Johns glasses "they do nothing for your face, hun" and when Gale gives her a look she feigns innocence "what? I'm just stating the obvious," and Johns up and leaving, trying not to look behind him and have his heart broken again

the next time John meets with Gale he wears his contacts, he almost doesn't recognize himself in the mirror but maybe Marge was right, maybe they were the problem, and he hates to admit that he wants Gale to like him the way he likes her

and when Gale sees him he looks confused, like he's trying to place something until he asks "where are you glasses, John?"

"I decided to wear contacts, Marge was right they're not doing anything for me" John shrugs and Gale furrows his eyebrows together

"I thought your glasses made you look cute," and OOPS John's a fucking goner because now he can't talk and he's rendered speechless and Gales acting like nothing even happened as he very casually pulls out his book and waits for John to get his wits together so he can actually be doing what he's supposed to

and it keeps going on like this "that sweater makes you look cute" "I really like those pants Bucky" "did you do something different with your hair? it looks good" all while John is secretly telling him to shut up because he can't handle all of the compliments lest Gale wants him to pass away from all of the compliments

Gale says one day that he broke up with Marge, couldn't handle her negativity, says he likes how positive John is, and then it's quiet for a moment, Gale fiddling with the pages of his book, and Johns freaking out before Gale just kisses him on the cheek, smiles with the faintest blush and runs out of the library before John can even say anything

he texts Gale after, asks if everything's all right, and Gale doesn't respond, doesn't respond for a couple of days and John worries that their friendship is ruined, blames himself for all of it even though Gale technically kissed him first

he's walking back to his dorm one night when he hears someone call his name, and he turns to find Gale running after him, panting and looking like he just ran across campus

"John, I'm really sorry, but I gotta tell you something. I like you, like I like you a lot, and I'm sorry if kissing you fucked up our friendship, you don't ever have to talk to me again, I just felt like I had to say something before you left," Gale confesses, and it's like John was hit with a fire hose

and he can't quite help himself, doesnt know what happened or what came over him, but he grabs Gale's face and kisses him, almost desperately, and he can feel Gale smile into the kiss, hates but doesn't hate how much he loves how it feels to finally kiss him, after so many hours of quietly watching him, it feels so good

anyway I have this sweet hc where Gale just lifts John's glasses whenever he wants to smush his face against John's, pulls them off so he can sloppily make out with him and I just think that's neat :))

[xesiarah]

𓏵 Sickly Affection

Yan!Mafia Boss x Reader

Side notes: started ts when I was taking a shit + I wrote this to cure my wattpad loving younger self leave me alone teehee

Summary: You got sick and your hot obsessive macho bomshakalaka mafia boss husband decided to make it everyone's problem 😈

—

—

You've never thought you'd be paying for your sins this early.

It's as if every single opp you've had in life is suddenly granted a free reign to beat the shit out of you.

You're currently bedridden, at this point, basically anticipating death to arrive, to take you out of your misery and drag you to the depths of hell where you'd honestly feel way better in.

Well, would you look at that. Your husband enters the room with a commanding presence, almost making the sickness dissipate from your body. Almost. He gracefully kneels to check your temperature with his hand. His gaze carries a blend of innocent concern you'd think he didn't slaughter individuals for a living. "Are you absolutely certain you're feeling alright? If you need anything else-" you cut him off, looking at him dead in the eyes, literally and figuratively. "I need ibuprofen and a will to fucking live."

Actually, you were never one to fall ill easily; in fact, you're 100% positive you're as healthy as a horse. But on rare occasions, the severity would escalate to the extent that you would be confined to bed for over a week, or even worse, to the point of hospitalization.

Nothing truly scares you; it's just that ever since you started dating Damon, everything began to feel like your mom's most delicate china dishes, one wrong move and this dude's patience will snap just like that. And he's never one to fuck around with. — Especially when it comes to the one he treasures the most.

So, when you did fall sick, Damon is in need of someone to take his anger out on, and naturally, he targets his own men.

Those incompetent little shits. He has always made sure to have his men watch over you, whether it be in public or when you desire a sense of privacy. He ensures they stay out of your sight. A week ago, he granted you permission to go out, under the condition that you were accompanied by at least three proficient bodyguards, strong buff men somehow turned into your little ladies-in-waiting. — Later on, when he found out that the cause of your illness was just fuckass rain, he was furious. And all because the 3 dimwits in charge failed to bring an umbrella, like, has not one of them thought about waltzing into the nearest store to buy one!? Stupid buttfucks. Seriously, you'd assume that with the amount of money he pays them, they would come together hand in hand.. and with the power of friendship! Manifest an umbrella in order to shield you from the rain.

At present, the three men who looked after you are trapped in the confines of his office. The tension is so thick, it's like leather or rope, which Damon himself could use to strangle these wastes of air. "Why do you fuckers think I hired you?" He's menacingly seated at his desk positioned in the center of the spacious room. The men were paralyzed by fear, just like your forgotten cup of soda left in the freezer - completely frozen. "Answer me," he calmly stated, and by "calmly" I mean he's pointing a gun at them and didn't shoot immediately. That's quite peaceful, don't you think?

"Or none of you will survive out here," he added, his tone dripping with hostility. As if he even had the intention of letting that happen in the first place. The moment your temperature spiked was the precise moment these three idiots were declared deceased. "N-none of us thought it was gonna rain-" The taller of the three spoke, making the unfortunate decision to try to reason with the devil's incarnate, — lil bro didn't even have time to regret it because his brains were blown out almost immediately. "You think being prepared isn't part of the job!?" Damon could feel himself age ten fucking years. How stupid can you be!?

"Leave." He gestures with his hand. With a heavy heart, both survivors were relieved to finally leave. But, they weren't able to even take a few more steps out the door when two gunshots struck them in the head. Their dead bodies fall to the floor in a loud thud. "Assholes." He muttered, messaging his temples and turning to his second-in-command, holding the gun. "You have been so kind in granting them a lengthy existence, boss," he remarked with a smile. Without even sparing the dude a glance, Damon mumbled, "I need y/n."

Of course, he does. You're literally the only one who could reduce this life-threatening man into a lovesick puppy.

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 7

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

WARNING: TW/ the topic of suicide.

First - Prev - Next

CH.7

“You really need to tidy this place up, Stanford. I know you live by yourself, but that’s no excuse to have papers and books scattered around like a dust devil came through.”

“It’s organized chaos, Fiddleford. I know where everything is.”

“And this pile of unwashed laundry?”

“I’ll get to it. Washing clothes is a waste of time, and I’m a busy man.”

“Uh huh, and this pile of unopened letters on your counter? What are all of these, Stanford?”

“Several of our colleagues started sending me letters en masse.”

“And you didn’t open or read them?”

“I received so many at once, it must have been an invitation for a convention. I wasn't interested in attending one at the time. I’ll get to them eventually.”

“These are dated over a year-.”

“Eventually.”

“You’re stubborn as a mule. At least wash your dishes. You’ve been categorizing your notes for the past hour - what are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to find the definitive event.”

“For Stan?”

“Yes. You said that something extremely traumatic caused the memory loss; if I can identify what event exactly caused this, maybe I can fix this. The problem is, however…”

“Is that you’ve handled the situation in the most extreme way you could think of?”

“No. That isn’t it- and that isn’t true.”

“Mhmmm.”

“The problem is there’s too much.”

“Too much?”

“Trauma. He’s offhandedly mentioned terrible things- even when I met him in town, he had three stab wounds and acted like it was no big deal. And the more we ask, the more we prod, there’s more. The ones we heard were just the ones he was comfortable enough to mention, there has to be worse things he will not or can not speak of. And that thought… scares me, Fiddleford. I knew he wasn’t doing fantastic, but it wasn’t… It wasn’t supposed to be this bad.”

“That’s not your fault Stanford - didn’t you say he left home? It is sad he was too stubborn to ask you or anyone else in your family for help, but I suppose you two have that in common yeah?”

“...”

“I’ll admit that might have been tactless of me- Stanford? What’s- Hey! Hey now, it’s okay! It’s okay- I’m here for you.”

“...Five.”

“What’re you whimpering into your hands, now?”

“Five times. He wrote me a list of people who have tried to kill him in the past. There were thirty names.”

“That’s terrible, but not entirely surprising from what he’s-.”

“He listed himself five times.”

(...)

“How could you be so selfish?”

“I’m a selfish guy, I dunno what you want me to say.”

“Why do you only ever think of yourself?”

“Can’t afford not to. It’s dog eat dog out there, you know.”

“Will you take this seriously?”

“Will you tell me what you’re upset about this time? I can’t read minds, and I’ve known you for four days! Throw me a bone here, PhD.”

“You tried to- to take your own life?”

“Yeah. A couple times. Never succeeded, but that’s the story of my life.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you try something like-”

“Okay I’ve had enough of your judgemental bullshit. I’ve been playing along with your ‘missing twin’ narrative, the least you could do is not fucking go there. I’m a homeless criminal on the run all the time. You tell me why you think I’d want to die sometimes.

Use that big fucking brain of yours for two seconds and think statistics - homeless people kill themselves more than ‘regular’ people, so do prisoners and convicts. You’re both? Oooh boy you’re in for a time. You have to fight to survive all of the time, and sometimes… sometimes you just get so tired, you want to stop fighting you… you just want a break from it all. You want it to just end.”

“Stanley…”

“...”

“...Talk to me. Please. I’m not trying to judge you, I just want to understand.”

"...Let's say I am this mystery twin-"

"You are."

"I'm being hypothetical here, listen. Let's say I am this mystery twin of yours. Specs was saying he didn't even know you had a twin."

"How did-."

"You pressed the mute button, not deafen; I could still hear you. Anyways, your best friend didn't know you had a twin. So to your own best friend you never mentioned 'me' over what, at least 4 years or however long it took you to get a degree? Or in the years that followed? Not even once?

If I'm your twin, I can't have been that important for you to do all of this. I screwed something up, and you don't want me in your life."

"..."

"I don’t know what you're trying to prove here- if you’re going through some guilt or pity or whatever. I'm just some drifter! I don’t have anything, and I don’t have anyone. You shouldn't be wasting your time like this. I'm not worth any of the time or effort you’ve put into this. Even if I was who you think I am. Because that guy? That guy fucked up so badly you didn't think about him for ten years. And I'm just as big of a fuck up."

"Is that... is that what you think about yourself?"

"Stanford, that's all that I know about myself."

*Ford abruptly opens the barred door and walks through the forcefield into the cell*

"Woah woah, I'm not looking for a fight-."

*Ford hugs him, Stan just stands there*

"I wish you called, reached out to me, I-. I wish I reached out."

“...He probably wishes he reached out, too.”

To be continued...

[arsonistbunny]

Ok so first of all - this is crazy that it was about 50/50 all the time. Sadly it shows how much Security Breach fucked up (I have watched the interview with Dawko - it's still sad that they don't do something to fix it (the story) up still). Like, I'm not gonna make a pool about it but there are probably as many people who think Vanessa has a twin when to me it's just when Glitchtrap takes control?

Now, what do I think about it? To me, he's not William.

From the beginning (Help Wanted), it's been intentionally unclear: is he William? It's a trickster, a malware for sure. But then somehow it seems that a lot of people missed that his keysmash talking is actually copying the tape girl's voice (thanks to an-archaic-archivist for showing me this video???). Which is the first hint that he is the mimic. But then from Dawko's interview, Scott speaks as if Glitchtrap & The Mimic are two different characters - which I really don't like the idea of because they have the exact same motives and capacities. Putting two different villains one after the other with the exact same characterization is.....not a good horse to bet on? It's confusing and unnecessary. (DISCLAIMER. When I talk FNAF, unless specified I'm only talking from a game point of view I am never talking about the books and I will not.)

But anyways!!! Here's my theory from when I tried to crack Glitchtrap!! :)

If you know me, you know I love Princess Quest Glitchtrap. It is a very particular form to give to a character that is a malware mimicking, isn't it? The Princess Quest games all depict floating rabbit heads as enemies, and in the end, you meet an amalgamation of them, with one head that is more aware and in control—Glitchtrap.

And, you know, to find answers you're just gonna go looking at the stuff you've already seen, already know, that might be similar in one way or another. I don't remember what exactly made me think about the Funtime Animatronics but that's where I went. The question of why Circus Baby is also Elizabeth but the others aren't.

When you get under the desk on Night 3, you hear Circus Baby talking and not Elizabeth. You can notice they're not always speaking as one. Circus Baby telling you how Elizabeth died: "I would always count the children– I’m not sure why. I was always acutely aware of how many there were in the room with me. [...] A little girl, standing by herself. I was no longer... myself, and I stopped singing. My stomach opened, and there was ice cream. I couldn’t move—at least, not until she stepped closer. There was screaming for a moment, but only for a moment. Then other children rushed in again, but they couldn’t hear her over the sounds of their own excitement. I still hear her sometimes. Why did that happen?"

Elizabeth as Baby in Pizza Sim: "You played right into our hands, did you really think that this job just fell out of the sky for you? No. This was a gift, for us. You gathered them all together in one place, just like he asked you to. All of those little souls, in one place, just for us, a gift. Now we can do what we were created to do, and be complete! I will make you proud daddy! Watch, listen, and be full."

But Funtime Freddy and the others don't do that. You know, it almost feels like... they're alive. Well that was the point, wasn't it? They're alive but stuck under their coding. Just like when Baby could not disobey the rule of counting the children. From Pizza Simulator we find out what exactly the SCOOPER is and with that, that the Funtimes were all brought to life with remnant, some sort of amalgamation of children's souls, to snap more children's souls.

In Circus Baby's case, 1. she was brought to life by remnant and with this many souls it seems that they all lose their consciousness to one the robot's coding, adopting the robot's coding as their personality. But then 2. when, she killed Elizabeth, this one went to haunt the robot creating a """two people one body kind of situation""", they're both aware as Circus Baby and Elizabeth.

And yeah, this makes me think a lot of Glitchtrap in that case. Because Glitchtrap might be just that. Remnant. An amalgamation of souls. But this one didn't get a robot to 'get their personality' so to speak. So they're dormant. Until they get awakened by being accidentally put into a VR game. They don't know who they are, or what they are. Their whole world is literally just FNAF games at this point. So they get to choose. They don't have a sense of right and wrong. They're choosing the most powerful figure in there: William. They mimic him. They don't realize what is wrong, they're proudly guiding the player on their own level (Pizza Party) to show them their crimes (William's crimes that they reclaimed as part of the mimicking).

They're in a game. When you die, you restart the level. Until Jeremy. They realize the beta testers can actually 'log out' and they have a way bigger world. So they want out. But those beta players get away and never come back (because he's dead). So they gotta step up the tricking game. So they mimic a voice.

And then it works! So they pretend to be Vanessa. They get to be Vanny. They order Vanessa around. And it fails! They get trapped and need to attract someone from the outside - they mimic Gregory. The plan almost succeeds. They mimic Roxy.

When I posted this piece, I saw some people with DID thought this was about DID, and I was not thinking of it, I was thinking of my theory - and I did say (afterwards or before can't find the post) that I'm honored my art gets interpreted in some ways I didn't think of it before. It's actually very nice but most importantly good for you. You deserve to feel linked to characters you like.

Anyways..Scott hit me up I have ideas I can share if you ever feel like you're stuck.

im curious, actually

(rb for a better reach pls)

[wreckrinho]

You got be kidding me… YOU GOT BE KIDDING ME?! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!😭

But seriously I love Cosmo Angst but, this?! THIS?!

I did not expect someone like you to do something like that!

Is Anti Cosmo really that stupid like his son?!

I mean if Cosmo die, he will die! He is Cosmo’s Anit fairy after all!

How heck did Cosmo got caught?!

Where is Wanda?! Is she okay?! I need to see her reaction about her husband that had disappeared!

Poor Wanda, i couldn’t imagine her suffering and looking around but couldn’t find anywhere!

We need to see Peri too! How poor and worrying he is too!

Is Hazel okay?! I hope she didn’t got hurt or something cause she’s his Godchild!

I’m bet all Cosmo has on his mind is his wife and son! Ugh…,😭

I had wanted do Cosmo Angst AU but I couldn’t think of one…

But this…. Wow…

OH MMYYY????? HEHE!!!... uhhh...what do you mean "someone like me"!?!?!? >:( im getting kinda offended here, buddy!!!/j

And oh..Anti-Cosmo, Anti-Cosmo is not stupid, but he was very slow in this regard. How could he have imagined? Anti-Cosmo knew that Cosmo would have, sooner or later, a magical backup... but he didn't imagine it would be so fast. Now, he can't stop reading books on the subject thinking about HOW this happened...the poor puppeteer knows that if the puppet dies his show will end too. He is afraid of dying for the first time in his life.

and about how cosmo was captured? oh you will all see that in the next comic!!

And now about wanda...?? Uh...shes fucking dying from the inside if im being honest-- Her life has become stressful, she can barely use her magic since Cosmo is SO far away from her. She misses her husband, she misses his hugs, his loving kisses... The only thing she can think about is if Cosmo is okay. The stress has become so much that her crown is slowly cracking.

And Peri???? Uhhh...omg---

Peri can't be so present in the search for his father, because unfortunately all the events of the AU take place a few weeks after the end of the first season of Fairly Oddparents A New Wish and he is very sick, still recovering from the extreme magical Backup he had. But Peri is simply destroyed inside because of the news... Wanda tried to make the story lighter, but Peri is completely desperate about his lost father.

...and i think all of you can guess how hazel is, huh?

Shes desperate about it. She wants to help as much as possible, but she can't! She's not hurt or anything... At first everyone thought Cosmo had just gotten lost until 1 day passed... then 2... then 5 days... It's been 2 weeks since Cosmo disappeared.

All that goes through Cosmo's head is his family in fact!!!!... Wanda, Peri, Hazel... he can't think about anything else. Sometimes he dissociates while Anti-Cosmo is controlling him and Cosmo only thinks about his family...Sometimes he doesn't even care about what AC is capable of doing to him, he just wants to go home.

BUT OMG TYSM FOR THIS ASK!!!! THIS WAS SOOO FUN!?!? HAHA I DID NOOOOT EXPECT SUCH A BIG ASK!!!!?!?!/POS!!!!!!!!

[a1ecmcdowell]

good graces — pope heyward x kook!reader!

part of the short n' sweet x obx collection, found here!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤincludes, kook!reader. mean girl!reader. pope is the sweetest pea.<3

❛ want you every second, don't need other guys! ❜

pope heyward was whipped. honestly? sometimes you exploited his love, knowing that whatever you said, he’d fall over himself to try and make happen. like, you were just the best thing to ever happen to him — and that wasn’t even a stretch. he’d told you so. 

so here you were, sitting on his lap while he hung out with his delinquent friends, not hearing a single word that any of them said. they weren’t your friends after all, even though they’d accepted you as such. 

your friends had nothing better to do than call you crazy for dating a pogue in the first place. but what business of theirs was it, getting in between you and someone that worshiped the ground you walked on? 

“what are you thinking about?” pope whispers in your ear, his hand splayed across your stomach, tracing little circles and hearts with his index finger. his other hand, bless him, pulls down the hem of the mini skirt to cover more of your leg. 

you smile over your shoulder at him, planting a kiss on his cheek in the process. “just things.” 

“oh, ‘just things’, huh? those are my favorite things to think about,” he teases, the hand on your stomach tickling along the edge of your hip, just up your ribcage. “don’t like when you go quiet on me, button.” 

button. it always made your heart feel like it was full of warm butterflies when he called you that. because you’re cute as a button, he’d said the first time, when you asked why. 

people didn’t usually think you were cute as anything. they tended to steer clear of you, out of fear of the power you held on figure 8. and, really, they were valid for it. you knew so much about so many people that, well, one wrong look and you’d ruin their life. 

but not pope. sweet little pope drunkenly stumbled up to you one night a few months ago and declared that you were the prettiest person he’d ever seen. through a bunch of slurs and stumbled words trying to make that point, but hey, it counted. 

“why? you afraid i’m thinking of ways to exploit you or something?” 

pope laughs under his breath, like he’s saving the sound just for you, only for you. he always made you feel so, so special. “yes, actually.” 

“you know i’d never do that to you,” you coo, turning a little on your side to face him and pinch his cheek teasingly between your index finger and your thumb. “not my boyfriend.” 

“oh, barf,” jj exclaims from the other side of john b’s porch, his fingers loosely holding a beer can between them. “get a room, will ya? some of us are trying to get fucked up.” 

you shoot a stern glare at him. usually people wither underneath your icy gaze, but jj maybank was a special case of mess, and so all he did was smile at you, sickly sweet and fake. 

no, you weren’t just cruel in this case, rejecting all of pope’s friends. they’d rejected you first. you could make a little more effort to get in their good graces, but why would you? 

why, when you had the approval of the only person you wanted? 

“might exploit him.” you don’t take your eyes off of him, though your words are aimed behind you, at the boy holding you just a bit tighter. 

pope laughs again. “good luck with that,” he hums, “nothing’s ever embarrassed him. we’ve tried.” 

you could do it. surely there was some weakness that you could manipulate. everyone had one, even when they said they didn’t. pope’s was you; yours was dirt mucking up your favorite heels. 

“stop thinking on me,” pope chastises lightly, his hands tightening around your waist, dragging you in closer against his chest. his lips are like butterfly wings beating against the side of your neck, leaving little presses of kisses along your skin. “forget j.” 

your glossed lips puff out in a pout. “i’ve tried. he’s just so damn loud.” 

you rest your hands on top of pope’s over your stomach, locking your fingers with his. he flips one of your hands over, loosens his grip, and plants his mouth on your palm in another kiss. 

he was so, so obsessed with you. you still hadn’t figured out what exactly you did to earn such loyalty, but who were you to deny it, when it was so sweet? 

“they’ll come around eventually,” he whispers on your palm, kissing each of your fingertips, then the inside of your wrist, “just gotta let ‘em get tired of looking for flaws. they won’t find any. not in you.” 

another wash of warmth falls over you, coating you like a soft blanket. god, he was perfect, wasn’t he? 

“oh, i don’t care about their opinion about me,” you say easily, tilting your head over your shoulder again so you could look at him, meet those beautiful dark eyes of his. 

his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. the look in his eyes says that he doesn’t believe you, and honestly, it’s a good assessment. you didn’t like people not liking you. made you want to find some way to ruin them, to give them a valid reason not to— 

“just yours,” you clarify, and it’s as true as pope’s analyzing eyes’s assumptions. 

and when he kisses you, a lingering, soft one on your parted lips, you don’t even hear the mock gagging coming from the blonde across from the both of you. not when pope’s adoration radiates off of him like soundwaves, drowning out everything around the both of you.

[lamb-bait]

my sweet introductions after my little hiatus aside, I think it's about time we dive back into my mind, my desires, and all those repressed thoughts I had to hold back.

today's topic?

edging and denial

being friends, getting drunk, it's just the norm at this point. at some point the way I'm touching you, how I squeeze your arm and rub your shoulder, when I lean down and whisper in your ear and gossip about our shared friends. but that's only because we're close. more than just 'friends', we've gotten to know each other more than anyone else, right? of course. when was it? the first time I raped you? did you even consider it rape?

you haven't told anyone about it, staying quiet, acting like nothing ever happened in the first place - even though I whisper into your ear the horrid things I did to you that night. how I groped you and felt your breasts with desperation, how I forced you to drink even more before urging off your clothes, how I held my phone infront of your bare body and dug my cock inside you. our friends don't really notice us that much, do they? even when I start groping you just a few feet away from everyone else, no one's care enough to look this way. why are you being so quiet? do you like being used this fucking bad?

tugging at your pants as you clench my arm, pathetically trying to warn me that I'm going to far. it's obvious that you're not going to do a single thing about it. returning a smile instead as I lean down and tell you to enjoy your drink, that you can use it as an excuse when I rape you again tonight. promising you that I'll leave a mark, to bruise you and make you cry more than last time. my whispers brushing against your ear as my fingers, rough and warm began to grind against your panties.

'such a disgusting little lamb, aren't you?'

the gentle back and forth, touching you while we occasionally then our attention to our friends and how I slip my fingers away when your grip on my arm starts to tighten, your legs quivering, tensing. letting your mind think that me raping you would be the only way to get rid of this horrid, prolonged torture.

[A small taste, as I return.]

I hope a taste of my continued thoughts are enough to feed you ~ my precious lambs.

With love and devotion to my lambs,

Your dearest Shepard

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Reunited 4

Part 4

Pairing: modern!Sihtric x reader with a side story of modern!Sigtryggr x reader

Authors note: it's probably a bad idea to post it today, but fuck it ... I'm having too much fun writing this. And don't tell me I didn't warn you - it's gonna be a ride 😅.

Warnings: heartbreak, use of alcohol, very suggestive (lowkey smut)

Summary: It was supposed to be a short two week trip that turned into five long years apart, just because your best friend couldn't keep her mouth shut. Will the reader and Sihtric manage to repair their broken relationship and find their way back to each other? Or will the reader decide to stay with the handsome and talented Sigtryggr?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Word Count: 4,1 K

The whispers started small—a passing comment from a mutual acquaintance here, a vague mention in the industry gossip there. Gisela had done her best to shield you, brushing off any mention of Sihtric with a casual dismissal, redirecting your attention to new projects, exciting events, or people who would, in her words, "help you look forward, not back."

But eventually, the whispers grew louder, impossible to ignore.

You hadn’t been looking for updates on Sihtric, but it was almost as though the universe itself had decided that you wouldn’t be able to escape his shadow. It started with a model at a shoot, casually mentioning that she’d seen him out one night, barely able to stand, clinging to the arm of someone you didn’t know. The words "worse than I’ve ever seen him" lingered, simmering in your mind.

At first, you ignored it. Sihtric wasn’t your concern anymore, you reminded yourself. He had made his choices, just as you had made yours. But more stories came—different people, different places, each one painting the same picture of a man who was unravelling, barely holding himself together. The Sihtric they described was a stranger to you, and yet those stories struck a painful chord deep in your chest.

One evening, as you sat across from Gisela at your favourite café, her attempts to distract you from the topic finally fell short. You’d reached your limit.

"Gisela," you said, interrupting her as she rambled on about an upcoming exhibition. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

Her eyes widened, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. "Tell you what?" she asked, feigning innocence, though you both knew exactly what you meant.

"About Sihtric." Your voice was steady, but there was an underlying tension. "About what’s happening to him."

She sighed, placing her cup down with a slight clunk. “I didn’t think it was something you needed to hear. He’s not your responsibility anymore. You deserve to live your life without his shadow looming over you.”

"But he wasn’t always like this," you replied, voice barely more than a whisper. "I know him, Gisela. Or I thought I did."

Gisela reached across the table, her hand finding yours. "You did know him. But that’s not who he is now. Whatever he’s become, it’s because of his own choices."

���Gisela,” you said, setting down your coffee and looking her in the eye. “Do you think… Maybe my refusal to speak with him made things worse?”

Her brow furrowed, concern and frustration blending in her gaze. “What do you mean?”

“All these stories about him… spiralling,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the rim of your cup. “He just wanted to talk, you know. And I just showed him away in the worst way possible. I can’t help but feel that maybe, if I’d just been willing to listen to him, he wouldn’t have ended up this way.”

Gisela shook her head, her expression firm. “You can’t think like that. You have every right to protect yourself. Talking to him wouldn’t have changed anything. He’s responsible for his actions, not you.”

You glanced away. “But our last conversation, Gisela. I can’t stop thinking about it. The way I turned him away, how angry and cold I was. Maybe I was… too harsh.”

“You weren’t harsh,” she replied, squeezing your hand. “You were clear about your boundaries. You have every right to those, especially after what he put you through. Don’t start blaming yourself.”

Despite her reassurance, the memory of that day lingered in your mind like a shadow. That look in his eyes, the desperation just beneath the surface, how he had struggled to find the words. And how you had shut him down, leaving him standing alone on that set, without a chance to explain himself. It had felt empowering then, taking control of the situation, reclaiming your peace. But now… now, you weren’t so sure.

“Maybe,” you whispered, almost to yourself, “I should’ve just listened, if only to give us both some closure.”

Gisela’s gaze softened, but her voice remained steady. “Closure doesn’t come from reopening wounds, and that’s all he’d do. He’s gone too far down this path—he’s not the person you knew.” 

Gisela squeezed your hand. “You have every right to protect yourself. You don’t owe him anything—not after what he put you through. He’s doing this to himself, and I don’t want to see you dragged down because of him again.”

You didn’t answer. Wrapping your hands around the warm coffee cup, you stared into the swirling steam rising from the dark liquid. Why does everything have to be so damn complicated? 

That night, alone in your apartment, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Every time you closed your eyes, fragments of that last encounter on set replayed in your mind: Sihtric’s hesitant steps, the way his voice had cracked when he’d asked to talk, the look of devastation as you’d turned your back on him. You’d told yourself it was for the best, but was it really?

You picked up your phone, fingers hovering over the screen.

Before you could think it through, you sent a message to Gisela.

"Do you think I should try talking to him? Just once?"

The three dots indicating her reply popped up immediately, and then her response followed, firm and direct.

"No. That chapter is over. Don’t reopen old wounds."

You put the phone down, staring at the empty space in your living room as her words echoed in your mind. Gisela was right, of course. She had been there through it all, had seen you at your lowest, helped you pick up the pieces of your life, reminding you of who you were outside of him. But this wasn’t about reopening wounds. This was about understanding. For your sake, and for his.

With a steadying breath, you made a quiet decision. Tomorrow, you would reach out, you would go to the set and talk to him—not to rekindle what was lost but to speak out, to lay the ghosts of your past to rest. Maybe it would bring peace to both of you, to let you finally close the chapter for good. 

You arrived at the set the next morning with that quiet resolve still fresh on your mind, the familiar hum of voices and equipment doing little to settle your nerves. Today, you would finally speak to Sihtric. 

Maybe it wouldn’t change anything, and maybe it would leave you feeling just as hollow as before, but at the very least, it might ease the nagging feeling that had taken root since your last conversation. There was no script in your mind, no clear sense of what you would say. Just a need for… something. Resolution, maybe. Closure. Or perhaps, deep down, a glimmer of hope. What? No, shut up! You almost slapped yourself in anger. What hope?

As you waited, you glanced at the door every few minutes, each time your heart skipping a beat, only to settle back down when he didn’t appear. The seconds stretched into minutes, each one adding another layer to the knot forming in your stomach. 

You had run through a dozen different ways to start the conversation in your mind, but none of them felt right. How do you confront someone you’d once loved but had shut out entirely? What could you even say that would bridge the distance between you after everything that had happened?

You clenched and unclenched your hands, feeling more foolish with each passing minute. A part of you cursed yourself for not following Gisela’s advice, for not simply letting it go. “Leave it in the past,” she’d said, her voice filled with quiet insistence. And yet, here you were, waiting for a man who’d hurt you, hoping he’d arrive so you could dig into the buried pain between you both.

What was it you expected to hear? A confession, an apology, an explanation? The truth was, you didn’t know. You just felt as though you couldn’t move on with this weight still hanging over you, with the sense that you had played some part in his downward spiral. Was it really closure you were looking for, or did some part of you, a part you’d never admit aloud, still care for him, still believe there was something worth salvaging?

The chatter of the crew buzzed around you, but you barely registered it. Occasionally, you caught snippets of conversation—small whispers about Sihtric, talk of his “new habits” and frequent no-shows. The makeup artist mumbled something under her breath about his inconsistency, a sigh of exasperation barely audible. 

You stayed, doing your best to keep a composed front, pretending to focus on the tasks in front of you. But beneath the calm façade, a familiar ache simmered—a sinking disappointment, perhaps even a touch of anger, that he hadn’t shown up. You tried to tell yourself it was about professionalism, about the wasted time, the disrupted shoot, but deep down, you knew it actually wasn’t. You’d finally been ready to talk, to face the unresolved tension between you, and Sihtric had left you waiting, his absence a silent answer in itself.

As the hours stretched on and the last hopes of his arrival slipped away, the emptiness grew. The loss felt oddly profound, a quiet ache that lingered, as though something vital had slipped through your fingers, even if you couldn’t name what it was.

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

Just as you finished slipping on your heels and checking your reflection one last time, a soft knock echoed from the door. You opened it to find Sigtryggr standing there, a calm, admiring smile spreading across his face as he took in your appearance. His suit was impeccably tailored, the dark fabric accentuating his tall, lean frame, and his long hair was pulled back in a way that softened his strong features.

“Wow,” he said, his voice warm as his eyes lingered on you. “You look… incredible. Absolutely stunning.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips as you glanced down, a little flustered by the way he looked at you. “Thank you,” you murmured. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He chuckled, reaching out to take your hand, and his fingers were warm and steady around yours. As you turned to grab your purse, he tilted his head slightly, studying you with gentle curiosity.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your hand. “You seem a bit… distracted.”

You took a breath, glancing at him before looking away, feeling the weight of the day’s thoughts pressing down on you. “I’m fine,” you said, though the words felt weak even to your own ears. “It’s just… been a long day.”

Sigtryggr’s expression softened, his gaze unwavering as he searched your face. “If there’s anything you need to talk about, I’m here. No pressure—just… if you want.”

You felt a warm reassurance in his words, his genuine concern like a balm to your lingering unease. You managed a small smile, grateful for his presence. “Thank you. Really. I… I appreciate it.”

With a gentle squeeze of your hand, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “No need to thank me,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Tonight’s about enjoying ourselves. Let’s make it a good one.”

You slipped your arm through his and offered him a small smile, feeling a comforting sense of calm settle over you. Sigtryggr’s quiet confidence grounded you, his warm presence lifting your spirits just enough to face the fashion show you’d agreed to attend with him.

The venue buzzed with energy, lights flashing as photographers captured the evening’s best-dressed attendees. You and Sigtryggr moved through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with designers, editors, and models. 

The night felt almost surreal, as if you were floating through it, your worries temporarily forgotten as you lost yourself in the glamorous whirlwind of conversation and clinking champagne glasses. But then you spotted him.

Across the room, Sihtric was leaning against the bar, a glass dangling from his hand, his face flushed and his eyes somewhat unfocused. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair dishevelled, and his grip on the camera strap on his shoulder was loose, like he had already forgotten that he even had it. 

You froze as he caught sight of you, his gaze narrowing before flickering over to Sigtryggr. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, but then he began making his way toward you, his movements slightly unsteady.

“Is that him?” Sigtryggr asked, catching your tension. His tone was gentle but alert.

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away as Sihtric approached, his expression dark and unreadable. The familiar ache twisted in your chest, but you straightened, bracing yourself for whatever he was about to say or do.

“So,” Sihtric sneered as he stopped before you, eyes flicking dismissively between you and Sigtryggr. “You didn’t waste any time, did you?” His voice was laced with bitterness, words slurring slightly as he swayed on his feet.

“Sihtric, don’t do this,” you said softly, hoping to defuse the situation, but he ignored you, his focus shifting fully to Sigtryggr.

“And you…” He tilted his head, eyeing Sigtryggr with disdain. “Think you’re so much better than me, huh? Perfect little prince, sweeping in and saving the day.”

Sigtryggr’s face remained calm, though you could feel the tension in him. “I think it’s best if we all take a step back,” he replied evenly, his hand settling on your shoulder in a reassuring gesture. “This isn’t the time or place.”

But Sihtric’s eyes flashed, his face twisting into a sneer. “You think you can just step in like I never meant anything?” His voice grew louder, heads turning as people began to notice the unfolding scene. “She was mine, you know. You’re just a cheap replacement.”

You felt Sigtryggr’s hand tense, but he kept his composure. “You’re drunk, Sihtric,” he said quietly. “Go home. Let’s not make this uglier than it needs to be.”

But Sihtric’s face hardened, his expression an unsettling mix of pain and fury. Before either of you could react, he lunged forward, his fist aimed clumsily at Sigtryggr’s face. His movements were sluggish, heavy with the effects of alcohol, and Sigtryggr sidestepped effortlessly, catching Sihtric’s arm and stopping him in his tracks.

“Enough.” Sigtryggr’s voice was firm, his grip on Sihtric’s arm steady as he pushed him back, keeping his own emotions in check. “Go home. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

The words struck Sihtric like a slap. He staggered, his face flushing with humiliation as he looked between the two of you. For a fleeting moment, you saw the vulnerability beneath his anger—the brokenness and regret lurking behind his bloodshot eyes.

“Fine,” he muttered bitterly, wrenching his arm out of Sigtryggr’s grip. His gaze lingered on you, the weight of everything unsaid filling the space between you. “Enjoy your perfect life,” he spat, his voice cracking slightly as he turned and stumbled away, nearly knocking into a nearby table on his way out.

The crowd, still buzzing with curiosity, watched him go, a hush settling over the room as people exchanged whispers and glances. You stood there, heart pounding, torn between anger, pity, and an ache you couldn’t quite shake.

“Are you alright?” Sigtryggr asked, his voice steady, his hand gentle on your shoulder as he guided you toward a quieter corner, away from the prying eyes.

You shook your head, you were far from being alright. Sihtric’s words, his reckless behaviour, the way he’d looked at you—it was like seeing a stranger in the shell of someone you once knew. The man who had stood beside you tonight was unrecognisable, and yet, the guilt still clawed at you, lingering in the pit of your stomach.

Sigtryggr’s arm slipped around you, as he led you toward the exit. “Let’s get you out of here,” he murmured, his tone soft and protective. 

You nodded, grateful for his presence  and the two of you walked out into the cool night air, Sigtryggr’s hand lingering at the small of your back, guiding you with an ease that felt natural. 

He turned to you with a soft smile. “It’s still early,” he murmured, his gaze drifting over your face. “Would you like to come to my place for a nightcap?”

As Sigtryggr's question hung in the air, a shiver coursed through you, both from the chill of the night and the deeper question his invitation held. His face, framed by the soft glow of nearby streetlights, showed only openness, yet your mind raced. 

Your heart quickened, battling with the silent questions tumbling in your mind. What did you want this to be? Sigtryggr was unlike anyone you’d ever met—a quiet intensity wrapped in kindness, the kind of person who saw straight through you, not as if judging, but as if he truly understood. A part of you had been starving for this kind of connection, so different from what you’d known before, but was it too soon? Could you let yourself open up to someone again, let him see the parts of you you’d worked so hard to piece back together?

And then, a thought cut through the haze, sharper, clearer: What would Sihtric think if he saw you now? A pang of anger flared beneath your skin, surprising you. Why should it matter? Even more so—why would he care? But the questions lingered, twisting like thorns in your mind. Why did he keep finding his way into your thoughts, haunting you with his absence, even though he was gone from your life for good?

Admitting it hurt more than you wanted to acknowledge. He was gone. The reality pressed down like a weight you’d been struggling to lift. This was the perfect moment to close that door, to step into something new, to let someone else in… Or, you could keep waiting, letting the ghost of him drift around you, keeping everyone else at arm’s length, forever just out of reach.

With a soft, steadying breath, you looked back at Sigtryggr and found him still there, watching with a quiet patience, not pressing or urging, but simply waiting. His expression held nothing but warmth, a silent invitation in his eyes that felt as gentle as it was genuine. His presence was calming, without expectation, without judgement. In that instant, the idea of stepping forward didn’t seem so daunting.

Your heart lifted, and you found yourself nodding, a smile tugging at your lips as you met his gaze. “I’d like that.”

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

Sigtryggr’s apartment was just as you’d expected—filled with art and an understated elegance that spoke to his style. Soft lights cast a warm glow over the room, and as he poured two glasses of wine, you took in the paintings lining the walls, the sketches scattered across his workspace, small glimpses into his creative world.

He handed you a glass, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending a shiver up your spine. You took a sip, the wine rich and velvety, warming you from the inside. You could feel his gaze on you, intense yet tender, and when you looked up, the air between you grew charged, a subtle current building with each passing second.

“You know,” he began softly, stepping closer, “I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you looked tonight. Or… how beautiful you look now.”

His hand reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering, fingers grazing your cheek. You felt your breath hitch, the gentle way he was looking at you sparking something within. Without overthinking, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a soft, hesitant kiss.

Sigtryggr responded instantly, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he deepened the kiss, his mouth warm and inviting. The wine glass slipped from your hand onto the table as his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. You melted into him, the heat between you building, his kisses growing hungrier, more insistent.

He led you toward the bedroom, his hands never leaving you, each touch filled with gentle urgency. When you reached the bed, he paused, his eyes searching yours, as if asking for permission, making sure this was what you wanted.

You answered by pulling him down to you, and he responded with a low, pleased hum, his mouth trailing down your neck as his hands found the zipper of your dress, sliding it down slowly, his fingers grazing your bare skin, igniting every nerve.

Clothes were shed, piece by piece, until you were both exposed, bodies pressed together, skin to skin. His touch was tender yet commanding, guiding you with an instinctive rhythm that left you breathless, each kiss and caress drawing you further into the heat of the moment.

Every brush of his fingers felt like fire, igniting sparks across your skin. His hands traced a path over you with a careful, reverent touch, as though he was discovering you piece by piece, memorising every curve and every reaction. His breath mingled with yours, soft and warm, as his lips explored places you hadn’t even known craved attention, gentle but unyielding.

You arched your back against the mattress and moaned loudly as he thrusted into you. Your fingers wove into his hair, pulling him closer, and he responded, his mouth tracing a path along your jaw, down your neck, igniting a trail that left you gasping, clutching him as though he were an anchor in a sea of sensation that you thought almost forgotten.

Sigtryggr moved within you with a steady, skillful rhythm, each thrust deliberate yet intense, his gaze locked on yours, simmering with a passion that left you utterly breathless. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, a loud moan escaping your lips as pleasure surged through you, erasing any lingering hesitation or self-consciousness. Whatever doubt or embarrassment you’d felt about revealing how touch-starved you were melted away, replaced by a powerful wave of heat and sensation that overwhelmed every thought, leaving you lost in the intoxicating bliss he brought with each movement.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, his hands roaming over your body, igniting every nerve he touched. His touch was confident, demanding mixed with softness and careful attentiveness, his focus solely on you, on every little reaction he coaxed from you.

The pleasure inside you coiled tightly, building with each movement, each shared breath, and the way breathless moans spilled from your lips only seemed to spur him on. He responded with a low groan, his pace quickening as he drove you both toward the edge, his presence grounding you even as he unravelled you entirely.

When the two of you finally lay together in the quiet aftermath, limbs entwined, Sigtryggr pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his hand tracing soothing patterns along your skin. The silence between you was comfortable, his warmth enveloping you as you nestled into him, feeling safe and content in his embrace. Your breathing slowed, each gentle stroke of his hand pulling you closer to sleep. 

But as your eyes grew heavy, a familiar image intruded—a vision of Sihtric, broken and desperate, his face etched with the same raw pain and bitterness you'd seen at the event. His haunted eyes, full of anger and longing, stared back at you, and his words echoed in your mind, refusing to fade: “She was mine.”

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

Morning light filtered softly through the blinds, and you blinked awake, stretching slightly before noticing Sigtryggr���s arm still draped around you, his peaceful face turned toward yours. A small smile tugged at your lips as you remembered the night before, and you let yourself relax, sinking back into the moment. But just then, the sound of a key turning in the lock jolted you both out of the haze.

The door swung open, and a woman’s voice called out, her tone full of urgency and familiarity, sending a chill through you. “Sigtryggr?”

You froze, exchanging a startled look with Sigtryggr, who looked just as caught off guard. She called his name again, her footsteps growing closer as she moved through the apartment and toward the bedroom. Your gaze flew to Sigtryggr, wide-eyed with surprise, but before either of you could speak, a young woman appeared in the doorway, her eyes landing on you in bed with him.

With a yelp, you instinctively wrapped the blanket around yourself, heart racing as the reality of the situation hit you.

“Stiorra,” Sigtryggr started, his tone a mix of apology and guardedness as he sat up, tugging at the blanket to cover himself too.

[skateordiebitch]

friends with benefits dom + him falling first please 💜 love ur work

softly || D.F. x reader

'touch you softly, i call you up late at night know that it isn't right, but, you could be my one and only'

summary: dominic is having a hard time being friends with benefits with you.

omgomgomg i love this request so much. this was so cute to write! and i'm glad you guys are enjoying these <3 also this was the perfect excuse to write a clairo inspired fic! this song + dom is perfect. #needthat

It started out as a joke.

Friends with benefits. Totally, completely casual. You had both been single for a while, both a little tired of dating apps and awkward first dates, and somehow one night—after far too many drinks—it just happened. 

It was after a party. You were both buzzed, laughing over some inside joke as you stumbled back to your apartment.

He was there to make sure you got home safely, but the moment you walked in the door, there was this split-second shift. 

You noticed how his gaze lingered a little longer than usual, how his hand brushed your arm and stayed there a second too long.

Neither of you pulled away.

One thing led to another, and suddenly, you both woke up in your bed with an unexpected add-on to the friendship.

The next morning, you both laughed it off, joking about how it didn’t have to change anything. It was just a one time occurrence.

“We’re adults,” he said, shrugging as he poured himself a cup of coffee in your kitchen, acting as if he’d done this a hundred times before. “We can keep this chill.”

And for a while, you did.

After that, it was just this fun, easygoing thing. He’d show up late at night, both of you finding excuses to hang out even on random weeknights. 

You’d catch up on your days, binge-watch shows, and then somehow end up tangled together on your bed.

The plan was straightforward: hang out, have fun, no strings. 

Just two friends, enjoying each other’s company with a little extra… well, benefits. 

But as it turned out, there was just one problem with the whole arrangement: Dominic.

The first sign that Dominic was in over his head came one night when he “randomly” texted you at two in the morning. You were half-asleep when your phone buzzed, the bright screen nearly blinding you in the dark room.

Dominic: Are you up? 

You squinted at the screen. 

You: It’s 2 a.m., why?

Dominic: Can’t sleep

You: Poor guy. Try closing your eyes.

Dominic: Welllll there’s this movie I’m watching, and I think you’d love it. Want to come over?

You rolled your eyes.

He was either lonely or bored—or both.

But nonetheless, you found yourself grabbing your hoodie and stumbling out the door, heading over to his place.

When you arrived, he had popcorn ready, and that ridiculous grin on his face as he let you in. 

“I wasn’t actually trying to sleep,” he confessed with a shrug. “I just thought you’d be fun to hang out with.”

“Oh, thanks. A true romantic gesture,” you teased, laughing as you settled next to him on the couch.

The movie started, but after about fifteen minutes, you noticed Dominic wasn’t paying attention to the screen.

He kept glancing at you, looking a bit too interested in whether or not you were laughing at the jokes, whether you were enjoying the movie as much as he thought you would. 

At one point, he just flat-out turned to you, all serious, and asked, “So, like, how funny do you think this movie is? Scale of one to ten?”

You tried not to laugh, because he looked genuinely invested in your answer. “Uh, a solid eight?”

He let out a deep, relieved sigh, muttering, “Good. That’s the right answer. I fucking love this movie.”

You thought it was funny at first, but it didn’t end there. 

—

The next sign came a few days later when he texted you about some concert he’d been invited to.

Dominic: Got tickets to this gig on Friday. Wanna come?

You: Sure, sounds fun. 

When you met him at the venue, he greeted you with that huge grin again, the one that made his whole face light up. 

As the music started, you noticed he kept looking over, checking if you were enjoying the show, if you were singing along to the right lyrics. 

It was cute—almost… sweet?

It didn’t hit you until he reached over during a slower song, grabbing your hand in a way that wasn’t playful. It was gentle, kind of tender. You glanced at him, eyebrow raised, but he just gave you a little shrug, like he hadn’t just broken your “casual” rules.

"You're... holding my hand?" you asked, trying to keep it light.

"What? I can't hold your hand now?" He shot you a look, playfully defensive, like he was daring you to say no.

You didn’t pull away, but you did notice the heat rise to your cheeks.

Casual didn’t look like this. Friends with benefits didn’t just go out to concerts together and hold hands during slow songs.

—

A week later, you’d been texting Dominic about some ridiculous thing that happened at work, and he sent a laughing emoji back with a “Bought us wine. I’m coming over.”

By now, this was just part of the routine. 

It was like he’d found his own drawer in your life—always welcome, always around. You’d make up any excuse for him to stop by, and you knew he’d find one too. 

But that night was different.

He showed up with a bottle of wine, and you ended up sitting on your couch, laughing over something stupid, your head falling back onto his shoulder at one point. It was just a natural touch, but the air around you shifted. 

You both noticed it.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in, and before you could think, his lips were on yours. It wasn’t rushed or uncertain; it was like he’d been waiting for the right moment, and here it was.

The kiss deepened, and you knew, in that second, that whatever line existed between friendship and… more?

You’d just crossed it. But neither of you stopped.

You leaned into each other, your laughter fading into something deeper and more intense. 

One thing led to another, and soon enough, you were in each other’s arms.

The morning after, you both agreed it was “just another one-time thing.” 

You even laughed about it, pretending it didn’t mean anything, but there was an undeniable thrill in knowing Dominic was the one slipping out of your bed, giving you that cocky little grin as he made his way to the door.

—

After that, it turned into a regular pattern. 

He’d text you late at night—sometimes with something as simple as “Can I come over?” or “What are you doing right now?” There was no pressure, no expectations. 

When he was with you, everything felt easy, like the world outside didn’t matter.

You two would watch bad movies, watch him make music, or just hang out in your apartment, letting the hours stretch late into the night.

Every time he left, it was with that same easy, familiar grin.

“See you later, alligator,” he’d say casually, as if he’d just borrowed a cup of sugar and was on his way back to his own life.

It wasn’t just about the late nights, though. The in-between moments started piling up too. 

He’d show up at your favorite coffee shop just because he “happened to be in the neighborhood,” even though it was a twenty-minute detour. 

You’d run into him at parties, and instead of mingling, he’d end up right by your side, laughing at your jokes, touching your arm, his hand finding the small of your back whenever he leaned in close to whisper something.

It was in the little things: he’d linger a bit too long, look at you in ways friends probably shouldn’t. He’d bring over snacks he knew you liked or share little pieces of his day with you, like he couldn’t wait to get your take on whatever had happened. 

Once, he even showed up with a small bruise on his arm and told you some ridiculous story about how he got it, his grin widening as he saw you roll your eyes.

He just started finding reasons to come over—forgotten keys, a jacket he “thought he’d left” at your place, even a fake request to help him pick out an outfit for an event. 

Before he knew it, he was coming up with any excuse just to be around you.

Late nights no longer existed, anymore.

He’d come over just to sit with you, sharing little pieces of his day, watching you tell stories with that animated expression he’d come to love.

He even caught himself scrolling through your social media photos late at night. He told himself it was just boredom, but he knew it was more than that.

He was smiling at every picture, lingering on the photos he hadn’t seen before, surprised at how happy it made him feel to see you smiling, even if he hadn’t been the one to make you smile in those moments. 

He was horrified at how soft he was starting to feel, how easily his walls were crumbling around you.

Then came the jealousy, which took him by surprise.

You had a date one weekend.

You’d casually mentioned you had a date one Saturday night, throwing it out there like it was no big deal, like it was just another thing on your calendar. 

“Oh, I’ve got a date on Saturday, by the way,” you’d said, in the same tone you might use to say you were running an errand.

Dominic had laughed it off at first, brushing it aside with his usual carefree attitude. "A date?! Wow, Y/N."

You crook a brow at his unexpected response, "Yeah. You know, where two people go out in a romantic way?"

"Oh yeah? Good luck with that,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. 

But as soon as he walked out of your place, something twisted in his chest. 

What if this guy could make you laugh the way he did? What if this guy somehow managed to charm you enough that you’d forget all about him?

When Saturday night arrived, he found himself in a strange haze. He couldn't bring himself to go out or relax at home; everything felt wrong. 

He spent half the evening pacing his apartment, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, almost willing you to text him, to cancel or say the date was a bust. But nothing came.

Finally, he gave in and texted you.

Dominic: So… how’s it going? He better be treating you right, or I’ll have to step in, you know.

It was half-joking, but he realized how badly he wanted to know. 

He wanted to make sure this guy wasn’t someone who could genuinely make you smile, who could maybe offer you something Dominic hadn’t been able to.

When you didn’t respond immediately, he felt a surge of irritation, frustration, maybe even… heartbreak? 

Something that shouldn’t occur with a friends with benefits situation.

He’d never been this worked up about a text before, but knowing you were out with someone else—someone who wasn’t him—itched under his skin in a way he couldn’t ignore.

The next morning, when you finally texted back, his chest tightened. He read your message:

You: The date was fine, I guess. Nothing special.

Relief washed over him, a mix of satisfaction and maybe even pride at hearing that this guy hadn’t managed to sweep you off your feet. He tried to play it cool as he typed out his response, determined not to let you see how much it mattered.

Dominic: Fine, huh? Guess he didn’t have my charm. 😏

You responded with a laugh emoji, and he let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. 

But then you dropped a bombshell.

You: I mean, we’re going out again next weekend, so maybe he’ll impress me then… ;)

That one stung. 

He stared at your message, barely able to process it.

He knew you had no obligation to him—you were both just friends with benefits, no strings attached. 

But somehow, the idea of you giving this guy a second chance, letting him try to “impress” you again, felt like someone twisting a knife in his chest.

The following week, he tried his best to keep things normal. 

He wanted to keep pretending he didn’t care, that this wasn’t affecting him. But every time he thought about that date, he felt this overwhelming need to do something, anything, to prove that he could be more than just casual with you. 

—

When Friday night rolled around, a day before your second date, Dominic found himself at your place again, claiming he just wanted to hang out, watch a movie, keep things casual. 

But his mind was racing, running through a million ways to steer the conversation back to your date, even though he was half-scared of what you’d say.

Eventually, after a few drinks and a lot of pointless chatter, he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“So…” he started, trying to sound casual as he glanced over at you, “you excited for your second date tomorrow?”

You blinked, caught off guard, and shrugged. “I mean, it’ll be fun. He’s nice, you know?”

Dominic fought to keep his face neutral. “Nice? Wow, high praise,” he teased, though he knew his voice had an edge to it.

You smirked, giving him a look that suggested you were onto him. “Oh, no… Are you… jealous, Dom?”

He scoffed, trying to brush it off. 

“Jealous? Of some guy who’s, what, ‘nice’? Yeah, totally,” He said sarcastically.

Dominic shook his head, though the look in your eyes said you weren’t convinced. He quickly added, “I mean, come on. What could he possibly have that I don’t?”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back and giving him a playful smirk. “He’s actually interested in getting to know me, for one. He’s not a friend with benefits.”

That one hit harder than he expected. Dominic could feel his face fall, but he quickly forced a grin. “Oh yeah? He thinks he’s got a shot with you, huh?”

You laughed, clearly amused. “I don’t know, Dom. Not every guy can be like you.”

And just like that, a flicker of hope bloomed in his chest. He knew it was risky, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Well, maybe I don’t want to be just… a friend.”

You looked at him, something flickering in your eyes. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, every instinct telling him to back down. But after a week of seeing you with someone else, he couldn’t ignore how much he wanted you to know. 

“I mean… maybe this whole ‘casual’ thing isn’t as fun as it used to be,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stared at him, visibly caught off guard. “Dominic…”

“Just think about it. You don’t have to say anything now,” he added quickly, his heart racing. “If this guy doesn’t turn out to be ‘nice’ enough, maybe there’s someone else who could be… better.”

The look on your face told him you were considering it, and for the first time, he realized he was ready to put it all out there.

You looked at him, eyes narrowing as you processed what he’d just said. His gaze was steady, sincere in a way you weren’t used to seeing from him.

Dominic had always been so easygoing, so perfectly fine with keeping things light and free of emotional weight.

The sudden vulnerability in his eyes threw you off.

“Dom…” you started, trying to keep your voice steady. “Are you saying, you want more than this?”

He took a deep breath, as though weighing his words, but he didn’t break eye contact. “Yeah, I guess I am. It's stupid, I know we said casual... And I kinda fucked that up.”

You blinked, his words settling into you like something warm and unexpected. “No, I just didn’t think you were the ‘commitment type.’”

“I didn’t either,” he admitted with a laugh that was half-nervous, half-relieved. “But then again… I didn’t plan on feeling this way about you.”

He looked down at his hands, a little embarrassed, as though he’d finally taken off a mask he’d been wearing for too long. 

“I thought we were just having fun, you know? But somewhere along the line, it started feeling different for me. I couldn’t shake it. Then you mentioned that date, and I tried to play it cool, but…” He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Turns out I’m not that cool.”

You smirked, but there was a softness in your expression. “So… you are jealous?”

“Yeah. Yes, I am,” he said, without hesitation this time. “And not just jealous. I’m… scared. Scared that you’ll find someone else who’s ‘nice,’ someone who’s ready to give you all the things I used to think I wasn’t built for.”

He reached over, taking your hand and giving it a squeeze.

“I just… I don’t know,” he rambled, looking away, as if embarrassed. “Lately, I keep finding reasons to see you. Even when I’m busy. It’s like… everything reminds me of you, or something stupid like that.”

The confession hung in the air between you. A silence filled with a mix of tension, relief, and a trace of disbelief. 

Dominic had always been confident, always been the one to crack a joke and brush things off when they got too heavy.

Seeing him open up like this made your heart ache in the best possible way.

“I just… I want to be more than your backup plan,” he continued, his voice raw. “If you’re looking for something serious, I know I don’t exactly have the greatest track record, but… I want to try. With you.”

Your gaze softened, and you let out a slow breath, letting the weight of his words sink in. “You really mean that?”

“Yeah.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “I can’t stand the thought of being just the guy you text at midnight. I want to be the one you look for, the one you trust with all your bad days and big dreams. I want to be… more. For you.”

For a moment, you felt every possible “no” and “maybe” dissolve under the warmth of his gaze. 

There was a vulnerability in him that mirrored what you’d been feeling for so long, but hadn’t dared to say. 

Because Dominic had always been Dominic: the friend with benefits, the no-strings-attached guy who’d been safe and uncomplicated. But now…

“Maybe we’re both a little late figuring this out,” you murmured, your voice soft. “But, Dom… maybe, I want that too.”

His face lit up, relief flooding his features, and he laughed softly. “Really? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“No,” you said with a grin. “I mean it.”

There was a beat where neither of you spoke, just a long, loaded look, and then he stepped forward, closing the space between you.

His hands moved up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you, a mixture of disbelief and elation in his eyes.

“So… what do we do now?” he whispered, his lips just inches from yours.

You let out a laugh, a weight lifting from your chest.

“I think this is the part where you kiss me, Dom.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His lips met yours in a way that felt like the beginning of something entirely new—soft, deep, a little hesitant, but full of a certainty you hadn’t felt before. When he pulled back, his eyes were bright with a quiet, fierce determination.

“Guess I’m officially off the market,” he murmured, a smirk spreading across his face. 

“And you’re all mine,” you teased back, feeling the thrill of letting those words finally leave your lips.

From that point on, ‘casual’ flew right out the window.

[grimforks]

while i understand why people dont want to or wont vote for Kamala, i cant help but feel those people are being extremely fucking ignorant and stupid. what do you think will happen if she loses? do you think trump will handle the genocide any better? he wont. and you have to know he will be worse. you have to know that he will do everything he can to directly support israel. and he will do it *loudly*. dont let trump's relative silence on the genocide during the campaign cycle trick you into thinking not voting for Kamala will be better for the people of Gaza

then, consider the impact on your community (which really should be first priority but whatever). do you understand the attack the republicans have planned against every minority in america? the impact that will have on women? gay people? trans people? non-white people? they are fighting to erase is from society. to send us back to the 1950s. so many of *your* community, those directly around you, will die if the republicans get office again. and it wont just be during the next four year term. republicans stack courts, put policy into place, completely overhaul our societal structure, and they ensure the damage will be felt for *decades*.

it is a noble cause to fight for the survival of the palestinians, to want so badly for them to live and flourish as they deserve to! i am really truly disgusted and depressed with how our political parties have chosen to turn their backs to it, but fuck *me* it feels you all have lost sight of your own lives! the lives of your family and friends and neighbors! please for just a moment think of those directly around you, and of yourself too.

it sucks having to vote for someone who is not on the same page as you, but the other option is a man who thinks Hitler was a great guy. and really unfortunately if you dont vote for Kamala, you are in essence voting for the fascist Hitler fan.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Incidentally, if you've ever wanted your Durge to fight like Bhaal for some reason - or would like to have Bhaal hunt them down in person if they resisted him - Bhaal's usual in-person tactics are wandering the area in stealth assassinating a bunch of guards (usually sowing panic, sometimes allowing them to scream leaving the bodies on display or even giving them a slow death so their comrades can watch them die) and then entering open combat with what little is left and then just really casually killing them all.

Knives is good, but killing people with your bare hands is best. Never be ashamed to just fucking punch people.

Bhaal also flat out doesn't care about healing, as you may have seen in the feral ending, and will keep fighting until the physical body collapses. Also gets more aggressive when an opponent manages to land a hit: he kills you, not the other way around.

Furthermore: be unkillable. Just fucking refuse to die no matter how many killing blows your opponents give you until they're literally yelling 'why won't you die??' at you. So ultimately all hitting Bhaal back does is make him murder you harder.

For textual illustrations, I collected some sections of Bhaal's fight/assassin scenes because I could. Also Cyric and his beloved pony:

"There's something beyond the outer curtain," he said, trying to gain Cyric's interest. He removed his scabbard and placed it upon the dusty banquet table. "Or so the watch says." Cyric had little concern for what lurked outside the walls to frighten his men. He decided to change the subject and asked, "How is my pony? That fellow carried me well, considering how hard I rode." "With rest it'll recover - provided someone doesn't kill it first," Dalzhel said, returning to the fireplace. "There are those who grumble that it has eaten better than the men." "It's proven more use!" Cyric snapped. The pony had carried him nearly one hundred and fifty miles over the last three days. A war-horse could not have done better. He considered threatening death to anyone who touched the pony, but rejected the idea. The order would breed resentment, and someone might take up the challenge.

You hear that, Cyric. 'Someone.'

I like to imagine Mask is laughing her head off in this scene, considering she's almost definitely aware of Bhaal lurking in the shadows spying for Myrkul and murdering two guys and listening to this conversation, and she knows exactly what he's going to do having heard that.

Sometimes Bhaal doesn't even kill them. Immediately.

Two of the men were pointedly looking away from the well. Since it still provided water, it was the one item the castle's periodic inhabitants kept in good repair. A moan, low-pitched and feral, issued from the well's depths. Tied to the blood-smeared crossbar was a gray cord that descended into the dark pit. Dalzhel stepped forward and grabbed the cord. Without speaking, he began to pull. An anguished scream rang out deep down the well. Dalzhel allowed the cry tocontinue for several seconds before dropping the cord. "What was that?" Cyric asked, peering into the black depths. "Edan, we think," Dalzhel reported. "He's still alive," Fane added informatively. "Every time we try to pull him up, he screams." Though he had seen many slow deaths, and had caused one or two himself, Cyric's stomach turned as he tried to imagine what had happened at the other end of the rope.

Cyric peered inside. Alrik faced the corner, kneeling in a pool of his own blood. He held his hands cupped in front of his stomach. A barbed, wooden tip protruded from his lower back, suggesting that a stake had been driven through his body. Because of the barbs, the stake could not be removed without dragging Alrik's intestines out with it.

"No!" A high screech followed. It did not fade, even after the man's throat should have gone hoarse. Cyric turned toward the gatehouse, unsure of what he would find. Few humans were capable of the efficient brutality with which Alrik and Edan had been tortured. Still, the thief moved at his best pace. If he appeared frightened of the murderer, his men would no longer be afraid of him - and that was an invitation for mutiny - Dalzhel and Fane followed close behind. By the time they reached the gatehouse, the scream was no longer audible. A dozen men had gathered in the stairwell, standing in a line running up to the second floor. Their torches cast a flickering yellow light on the walls. The men did not even notice Cyric when he arrived, so Fane bellowed, "Out of the way! Stand aside!" When the onlookers made no move to obey, Fane muscled a path up the stairway. Cyric and Dalzhel followed, eventually reaching a doorway. Five men stood inside, staring at a crumpled form in the center of the room. A dark pool was spreading about their feet, and the barest whisper of a croak came from the shape on the floor.

-

Cyric and his lieutenant were thinking along the same lines. During his life, Cyric had known many evil men. Not one was capable of what he had seen tonight. "Have the men gather in groups of six," the thief ordered. "One group in the great hall-" A terrified whinny sounded from outside, interrupting the instructions. "The stable," Dalzhel observed. The men mumbled, but stood still and waited for their orders. Again, the pony whinnied, this time sending chills down Cyric's spine. "We'd better have a look," he said, cringing at the thought of what they would find. The men on the stairs reluctantly started to ward the stable, Cyric and Dalzhel close behind. By the time the hawk-nosed man reached the ground floor, the pony was quiet. As Cyric stepped into the courtyard, a ghostly wail whistled through the castle. Outside the stable, ten men stood with their swords drawn, peering inside and clearly reluctant to enter. Cyric slopped his way across the ward and pushed them aside. Grabbing a torch, he entered the stable, his sword arm aching with the desire to lash out at something. The pony lay dead in its stall, a withered and puckered hole over its heart. The lips of its muzzle were twisted back in horror, and one eye stared directly at Cyric. Dalzhel approached and stood next to his commander. For a moment, he observed in silence, wondering whether or not Cyric was mourning the beast's death. Then he noticed something on the beam over the stall. "Look!" A circle of drops had been drawn in blood. Cyric had little trouble recognizing the Circle of Tears.

This is exactly how I play BG3 from the perspective of areas full of not-yet-hostile enemies:

"Milord, Captain Beresford bids me inform you that two guards are absent from the outer curtain." Deverell frowned then asked, "Is it still raining?" The page nodded. "Aye. The drops are as red as blood and as cold as ice." The boy could not keep his fear from showing itself in his voice. Deverell stopped whispering. "Then tell Beresford to worry no more, and we'll discipline the derelicts come morning. I've no doubt the guards are hiding from the strange weather." [...] The page entered again and approached Lord Deverell. In the room's silence, it was impossible not to hear his whisper. "Milord, Captain Beresford orders me report the absence of three sentries from the inner curtain." "The inner curtain?" Deverell exclaimed. "There, too?"

-

The halfling had no idea what it was that the guards were fighting, but he knew that it had torn through them with frightening speed. [...] The guards knew little more about their opponent than Sneakabout. Orrel had seen something crawl down a dark corner of the inner wall. A moment later, a timid-looking man had stepped out of the shadows and walked nonchalantly to the keep's entrance. Orrel and another guard had stepped out of the foyer to challenge him. He had knocked their halberds aside, then slipped a dagger out of his sleeve and killed them both with a single, long slash. A third guard had yelled an alarm, which had also proven fatal. The stranger had thrown a dagger through the guard's throat, silencing him in midscream. Fitch, the sergeant, had ordered the survivors to retreat inside. He felt foolish for running from a lone attacker, but the smooth efficiency with which the man killed left no doubt that he was no ordinary assassin. Because their assignment was to protect the keep tower, Fitch thought it wisest to retreat and bar the door, then send a man to call for help. His strategy didn't work. The doors were thick and heavy, designed for strength instead of manoeuvrability. As the sergeant and a guard pushed them into place, the stranger stepped out of the foyer. The guard died an instant later, the attacker's fingers wrapped around his larynx. Brandishing his sword, Sergeant Fitch yelled his last order to the men on the stairs. "In Azoun's name, keep him downstairs!"

To Adon's left, the stairs descended in a gentle, clockwise spiral. Five feet down, another torch hung in a sconce, casting its dingy light upon the cold stone steps. Where the stairwell curved out of sight, the shadows of four Cormyrians were retreating up the stairs. Each silhouette held a polearm. Judging from the shadows, it appeared a single man was pursuing them. One of the Cormyrian silhouettes lunged. A flurry of activity followed then a weak chuckle rolled up the stairs. An instant later, a man screamed in agony. The other three guards retreated another step. Their chain-mailed backs were visible to Adon now, but the attacker remained unseen. Adon could not believe a single man pressed so fiercely, but the shadow appeared to be nothing more. [...] A clamor arose outside the tower as word spread that the keep was under attack. The tattoo-headed man turned to listen for an instant then calmly returned his gaze to the two guards in front of him. The stranger stepped forward, slapping their halberds aside as if the weapons were no more than sticks.

He also has stupidly high AC:

The remaining live soldier shifted to the other side of the landing, then raised his sword. The guard was deliberately giving the god an opening so Adon could attack. Heedless of the trap, Bhaal stepped forward, and Adon swung his mace at the avatar's head. The god easily ducked the blow. Before the Cormyrian could slash, however, the Lord of Murder punched him in the abdomen. The man barely retained his balance and stumbled back on the landing [...] The Cormyrian obliged with a vicious overhead slash. Bhaal sidestepped it easily, moving backward toward Midnight's chamber. The magic-user's door flew open. Midnight stood in the entrance to her room, dagger in hand. She had been watching the battle in silence, cursing the loss of her spellbook and waiting for an opportunity to strike. Finally, it had come. She thrust the blade into the avatar's back. Bhaal's eyes widened in surprise. He started to turn, and Adon seized the chance for an easy attack, smashing his mace into the avatar's ribs. The god's knees buckled and he tumbled down the stairs, roaring in a rage. The avatar came to rest six steps down, Midnight's dagger still planted in his back. "Is he dead?" Midnight asked. Bhaal rose and glared at the magic-user, cursing in a language no human could duplicate. Without paying any attention to his wounds, the Lord of Murder jumped for the landing. The Cormyrian yelled and leaped to meet the avatar, blade flashing. Bhaal met the guard in midair, blocking the soldier's swordarm with a bone-crunching blow and simultaneously driving his fingers into the man's throat. The avatar reached the landing with the guard's gasping body in his hands, then dropped the corpse down the stairs without a second thought.

Bhaal lifted a hand and felt the wound. His fingers came away bloody. Without so much as turning around, he kicked backward, catching the cleric in the ribs. Adon flew into his chamber, crashed into his bed, then crumpled to the floor gasping for breath and wondering how he would ever pick himself up.

If you don't have a knife at hand, stabbing them with your own broken wrist bone is fine:

Without warning, Bhaal stopped and spun on his pursuer, jabbing at Cyric with the sharp bone protruding from his severed wrist. The fallen god followed the jab with an open-handed strike from his other hand. [...] Cyric was at Bhaal's back. The thief attacked with a vicious slash he hoped would cleave the avatar down to the breast bone. But Bhaal heard him coming and, easily breaking free of Dalzhel's hold, pivoted out of the way. The God of Assassins caught Cyric's arm, then used the thief's own momentum to throw him ten feet into the brush. As Cyric sailed past, Dalzhel snatched his sword off the ground then plunged the blade into the avatar's rib cage. Bhaal snarled and kicked the Zhentish soldier in the stomach.Dalzhel fell backward and landed with a crash. The Lord of Murder casually plucked Dalzhel's sword from between his ribs and tossed it aside. Then he leaped onto his opponent's prone form, thrusting the splintered stump of his wrist into Dalzhel's throat. Dalzhel screamed once then fell quiet.

Just wholesale beating the living daylights out of an opponent is also good, and I think this might be one of Bhaal's favourite memories (and fyi Cyric did not win the fight between them. Mask did):

Cyric slashed. Bhaal easily dodged, slapping the thief's sword hand aside. Cyric kicked, hoping to keep his attacker away. The avatar blocked the foot, then stepped in close and clipped his opponent's jaw with a fist as hard as stone. Cyric's ears rang and his head swam. He tried to swing his sword, but Bhaal hit him once more. The thief felt his body going limp. The Lord of Murder struck his jaw again, then his stomach, then continued pummeling Cyric until he dropped his weapon and flopped to the ground in a half-conscious heap. While Bhaal battered Cyric, Adon and Kelemvor rushed toward Midnight.

[endiness]

the showrunner does not hate jaskier. and just to note considering that this isn't the first time i've seen you leave a comment like this on posts about geralt and jaskier's friendship, or rather the lack thereof as the show did drop the ball on their friendship (in s1 and to a lesser extent s2; s3 resolves this, imo, as does the brief sirens clip):

"All the grunts, I either added or I didn't say anything and just grunted instead. It was often up to the other actors to go, 'I think he's not gonna say anything now.'" — Henry Cavill

"Henry likes to cut his lines, 'cause he's lazy. No, he literally just likes to cut them. He likes to do more up here [frames his face with his hands] and just with face and hmms and grunts. There's a lot of hmms, and so I often have to take a lot of his lines and turn it into a lot of my stuff so that the plot happens." — Joey Batey

"Joey did all the work, I just had to take the right look and… we had a ready-made 'comedy.'" — Henry Cavill

"In the books, they are very, very close friends. That is so obvious. They speak to each other fondly. The opportunity is different in this story because Jaskier turns up and he’s not an immediate player straight away. We sort of had to show that essence of Geralt and Joey playing the complete opposite, which creates a wonderful dynamic. If I were to play it more directly like the books, it wouldn’t quite have the same sense of two fated friends. They’d just be like, “Hey, buddy!” Instead, Geralt cares deeply for Jaskier, whether he wants to admit it or not." — Henry Cavill

"I didn't even cut that much. Just little bits when someone says how they feel, I thought if Geralt says nothing, and maybe the well-known grunts or hmms and sometimes the occasional f-word, people can take from that what they will." — Henry Cavill

"I wanted to make [Geralt's voice] something which carried a lot of weight when you say very little. And I found my natural accent didn't quite portray what I wanted Geralt to portray in those brief moments. Whether it be a grunt or a single word or a couple of words directed at a bard." — Henry Cavill

"Henry tends to cut his lines, say less, which means I have to say more. So I had to improvise quite often." — Joey Batey

yeah, js, but if anyone was responsible for fucking up their friendship in s1, it was likely henry cavill more than anyone else as he would cut his lines especially in scenes with jaskier and to the point where joey often had to take his lines and improvise just in order to move the plot along. plus! by henry cavill's own admission, he didn't want to play them all "hey buddy" with each other which is actually the thing that was severely missing in their friendship in s1 and what was really the problem. because just a reminder to everybody, but the problem with their friendship in s1 was not actually geralt being an asshole to jaskier as there were times in the books where geralt was perfectly capable of being an asshole to dandelion:

the problem with their friendship in s1 was that there was not enough balance to any moments of contention in their friendship and that there weren't enough light-hearted, fun moments with them and that there wasn't enough warmth between them on geralt's side of things and that there was not enough sense and indication given that geralt actually cared about jaskier. which as we've already established was something that was probably greatly inhibited by how henry cavill didn't want to play them with that dynamic in the first place and how it's kind of hard to build up a friendship and not have it come off as extremely one-sided when one half of said friendship won't say his fucking lines.

and at least imo, chances are he's the reason why their friendship still wasn't the best in s2 even with geralt coming off as slightly warmer to jaskier than he did in s1 as henry cavill, basically, didn't want to play geralt with any character flaws in s2. and it's kind of hard to address the mountain and move past it in a way that's satisfying if the show couldn't, y'know, actually acknowledge that there was any wrongdoing on geralt's part given that henry cavill didn't want to play geralt with any flaws. (and just a reminder, but the only reason why geralt was more verbose and emotional in s2 (and s3) wasn't because henry cavill just cared oh so much about the sanctity of the books and the source material. it was because he got dunked on by reddit for cutting geralt's lines in s1 and either saying nothing or just grunting instead thus making geralt's characterization inaccurate to the books. if he had not gotten dragged by reddit for doing that, he never would've advocated for a more verbose and emotional geralt in subsequent seasons in the first place.)

also, js, but i don't exactly think it's a coincidence, either, that geralt and jaskier's friendship only really starts to feel like a friendship in s3 and that there's really a sense that geralt cares about jaskier and that their friendship isn't one-sided when that's the season henry cavill seems to've had the least amount of influence over. nor do i think it's a coincidence that geralt and jaskier also come off as genuinely being friends in the sirens of the deep clip, despite it being set during s1 when their friendship was at its least convincing on the live action show, given that henry cavill wouldn't've been involved in the production of sirens at all and thus wouldn't've had any input on it and given that doug cockle, who voices geralt in sirens, can actually act and emote with voice and despite not even physically being in the scene with his co-star, still manages to have chemistry with him. js.