#my mind is empty of angsty dialogue

[kenchann]

kris and soul stuff + vessel ( ˃̣̣̥o˂̣̣̥ )

[hischiershoe]

Can I please request “You know, I only came here tonight because I heard you’d be here. How ridiculous is that?" With Luke Hughes. It just screams him.

thank you for sending in! i kind of changed the prompt a bit but not too much Warnings: a little angsty but not really, not a ton of dialogue til the end, one singular smooch

Luke had never been much of a partier. Sure, he would always go when his friends or brothers would drag him along, and he'd try to have fun, but in truth, he would rather be anywhere else. He would much rather be at home playing pool or playing stupid games with a few people at the house. At least, that's how he used to feel until he met you.

The first time you met Luke was a year ago when you'd been dragged to some house party with a group of your friends. They wanted to go because they heard there were going to be some cute hockey players from your university there, and you went to make sure they had a safe way home. When the four of you had gotten there, they insisted you go outside with them because that was where 'they' were.

While they flirted with a group of boys you'd long forgotten the names of, you sat off to the side and scrolled on your phone until they decided they were ready to leave. You felt him lingering a few feet away from you until he actually made the jump to sit next you, making sure to keep a respectable distance between you.

"Hey," You heard him clear his throat, "You okay?"

You put your phone down and let your gaze flit to the unnamed boy to your left, eyes landing on a tall, lean guy who had a messy mop of curls on his head. He was cute.

"I'm good," You nod, straightening your back as you focused on him, "Just waiting for my friends."

"Me too," He chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, "I'm Luke, by the way."

From that moment forward, you looked for Luke in every crowd at every party, and he did the same for you. The two of you spent the entire summer seeking one another, but never taking the next step to further whatever your relationship could've been called. At first, you thought it was fun, thinking of it as a little game the way you'd always seek each other out. Though, you'd hoped that he would ask you for your number before he left for the summer.

He never did.

You tried to forget about Luke, to accept that it was nothing but some sort of weird summer fling without the actual fling part, but that was easier said than done. Before last summer, you never paid attention to the hockey subculture at Michigan, but now that you knew who he was, that became nearly impossible. Everywhere you went you saw his name, his picture, his friends.

It sounded silly to say out loud because you didn't really know Luke, just a version of him that you saw for a few hours, but you couldn't let go of him.

When the next summer came, you attended a few parties in hopes that you might run into Luke again. You'd even asked a few people about him, but you always came up empty. Your friends didn't know about your side quest, but they could tell something was off with you, and they made it their mission to find you something to take your mind off things. Well, someone.

Luke loved playing for Team USA, he really did, but he was so ready to go back to Michigan for the summer. He was ready to relax, to have some time out of some sort of spotlight, to find you again. He hadn't stopped thinking about you since he left for training camp last year.

He regretted not asking for your number before he left, but every time he would try and do it he would chicken out. No matter how many times his brothers or friends would encourage him to finally ask out the 'mystery lover girl', he couldn't bring himself to actually do it.

"I'm not talking to him," You groan as you walk up the driveway with your friends, "I'm not interested!"

"No, you're too interested in your random mystery boy," Josie throws her hands in the air, "Just give Logon a shot! He's really nice and he isn't bad looking. Please!"

Unfortunately for you, you were easily swayed, and that was exactly how you ended up uncomfortably pressed against the brick with an overly chatty boy next to you. To Josie's credit, Logan was nice, but he had barely let you get more than five words the entire time you've spent with him. At one point, you zoned so far out that you didn't hear anything he said until he was grasping at your bicep.

It was then that Luke walked out the backdoor, his eyes subconsciously scanning the crowd for you until they finally settled on an all too familiar side profile. He faltered in his steps, watching as a guy he vaguely recognized stepped closer to you. He couldn't look away, no matter how much he wanted to, he was forcing himself to stay rooted in place.

Luke eventually tore his eyes away from one when one of his college friends called out his name and dragged him back inside, and you were left with no idea that he was even there.

After a while, you managed to escape your dull conversation with Logan and found your friends again. Josie tried to make her attempt at a setup by saying she would be the DD, which made you nearly burst into laughter because she was already a bit too far gone for that to happen. Towards the end of the night, people slowly started to trickle out of the house, but the girls insisted they wander out back with a few others before heading back home.

"Hey, isn't that Luke Hughes," Hope slurs, pointing to a tall figure who was walking towards the boat dock.

It was embarrassing you quickly your head turned, how quickly your feet began to move in his direction with a certain determination to your steps. You can hear the girls talking behind you, making the very clear connection to Luke and your mystery boy. Despite his obvious ghosting from last summer, you still found yourself wanting to see him and talk to him. Maybe even get an explanation if you were lucky.

"Hey," You called out, slightly startling him as you sat next to him, "You okay?"

Luke's focus snapped towards you, his eyes wide and swimming with an emotion you can't quite place. You give him a soft smile as you take him in, noticing that he let his hair grow a little bit longer than he had last summer, noticing how much bigger he had gotten since then.

"Hi," He finally breathes out, his lips forming your name almost like he was testing it.

"Hi, Luke," You softly greet, "Long time no see."

"Yeah," He nervously chuckles as he looks away from you, "Yeah, it has."

Luke's mouth drops open like he wants to say more, but he doesn't. Instead, he grips the edge of the dock so tightly his knuckles were beginning to turn white. His face is barely illuminated by the light seeping down from the house, but you can still see the apprehension on his face. His brows are furrowed and his nose is slightly scrunched up, and it makes you want to pull him in by the shirt collar and kiss him.

"Do you want to know something," Luke suddenly bursts out, though he keeps his gaze in front of him.

"Of course," You curtly nod.

"I just got off a ten hour flight like four hours ago," He admits as he finally looks at you again, "But I came because I asked a friend if you'd be here, and he said yes. How crazy is that?"

Your face twisted with shock, his words ringing in your ears as you stared up at him. He'd been traveling all day and he should be sleeping, but instead, he was here. He came to a party, even though he didn't like them to begin with, because of you?

"Why," You swallow the lump in your throat, "Why because of me?"

"I wanted to see you again," He plainly states, but you can hear the hesitancy in his voice, "I fucked up last year by not getting your number because I was scared, but I didn't want to do that this summer. I was fully ready to ask you when I saw you earlier."

"Earlier," You ask, tilting your head, "Why didn't you then?"

"Well, you looked pretty busy," He scoffed. He sounded... annoyed? For what reason, you weren't sure.

Wait. Earlier you had been with- Oh.

"Luke," You stifle back the amused giggling threatening to slip through, "Are you jealous?"

"What?! No! Of course not," He hastily defends, roughly shaking his head in denial, "It just would've been rude to ask for your number if you're with ano-"

You cut Luke off by surging forward and placing your lips on his. It was a short kiss, nothing too over the top or romantic, but it was enough to render him speechless as you pulled away from him. His eyes were still closed, his lips slightly parted and his breathing shaky.

"I'm not with anyone, idiot," You playfully groan, covering his hand with your own, "I come to every party with the hope that you'll be there, so if you're crazy, then so am I."

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter nine

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.0k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, swearing, making out, mentions of sex, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: buckle up kids, it’s going to be an angsty ride!! also this is basically just dialogue so it’s a little different from the other chapters so far 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝟑 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 – 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟕, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟕

In many ways, it felt like your whole life changed since you stopped being friends with Tashi. Over the last three months, you realised a significant part of your identity was missing. You hadn’t noticed it before you stopped being friends with Tashi, but she made up so much of your everyday life that it was impossible not to feel her absence.

Every memory of her lingered in your mind like echoes in an empty room. Tashi existed in the past tense. She was no longer a part of your life. Letting go was hard, and nothing could fill the void left behind. It was a painful adjustment because your routines and comforts were embossed with her imprint – tennis, school, friendships, your entire life. Every new routine you established was an aching reminder of her desertion. 

No matter how much Art supported you, it felt like you had to learn to navigate the world alone. You knew he was doing his best and loved him so much for constantly putting up with you, but Art-shaped love couldn’t fill the Tashi-shaped hole in your heart. It was irreplaceable, and since nothing could fill the void, it remained empty.

Staying in Art’s childhood bedroom over winter break had been fun for about a day until the both of you realised his room was a shrine to his friendship with Patrick, just as yours was a testament to your friendship with Tashi. Trophies, medals, pictures, and mementoes of their life together littered every corner of his room. This worsened Art’s insecurity that Patrick’s presence shadowed his relationship with you.

One day, when you came upstairs from crocheting with Art’s mom, you were surprised by the sudden emptiness of his walls and shelves. Any evidence of Patrick was scrubbed from his room and his life. 

The sudden end to Art and Patrick’s friendship – which you secretly called Patrickgate but would never say aloud to your boyfriend – was a lingering mystery you had yet to figure out. You weren’t sure if the end of their friendship was just an extension of Tashi’s breakup with Patrick or if something else happened. His visit to Stanford had been so much fun up until the accident, and you knew Art had looked forward to it for weeks, so you had no idea what happened to them.

“I think my parents like you more than me,” Art declared one evening, falling onto the sofa beside you. You were crocheting a blanket out of granny squares with his mom and bonding with his dad about your shared music taste. Everyone agreed that Art had terrible taste in music, so he rolled his eyes and watched his favourite people fondly. 

“Sweetheart, don’t say that,” his mother said kindly, counting her stitches. “We definitely like her more than you.” You laughed when Art whined, leaning on your shoulder and complaining. 

Truthfully, he was happy that you and his parents got along so well. A warm, glowing sensation spread through Art’s chest anytime he saw you interact with them. He smiled as his dad laughed heartily at one of your jokes and noticed a rare sparkle in his mother’s eyes as you exchanged stories about your childhood with her.

Art felt the tight knot of anxiety that had grown over the last quarter slowly begin to unravel. 

As you lay on his bed reading a novel his mom recommended, Art couldn’t help but wish your relationship was always like this. Sunlight streamed through his window, cast a gentle glow over his bedroom, and made you appear almost angelic. Curled up on his bed with your legs tucked beneath you, the corners of your lips curved into a content smile as you turned a page, eyes scanning the words.

Art stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and watched you silently. Your relaxed posture contrasted with the tension that usually lined your frame. The strain of the last three months seemed to fade away, and the emotional turbulence you had both weathered was absent. 

Art let out a quiet sigh. This tranquillity, this slice of peace, reminded him why he was trying so hard to make your relationship work.

“I think I need to steal you away from my parents for a night,” he decided, making you look up from your book. 

“Really?”

Humming, Art pushed off the doorway and approached the bed, saying, “I want you all to myself. Competing with my parents for my girlfriend’s time isn’t exactly the low point of my life but it does defeat the purpose of staying together for winter break.”

Grinning, you dropped your book onto the bed and fell into his arms. “I’d love to do something tonight,” you promised. 

Sitting across from each other in the dimly lit restaurant, you and Art found yourselves surrounded by a heavy silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it no longer held the ease of your earlier days together. Last year, when your relationship was fresh, you could sit in companionable silence for hours, feeling entirely at ease. Art’s presence used to be comforting as he quietly observed you. Now, you stared down at your plate, your mind swirling with doubt and uncertainty.

Your relationship with Art wasn’t working out how you hoped, and you were sure he felt the same. But he never voiced his concerns, thoughts, or feelings. Talking to Art was like trying to scale an impenetrable fortress, every word bouncing back without revealing a hint of what lay inside.

When you returned to Art’s house, you showered and got ready to sleep, climbing into his bed and waiting for him.

Cross-legged on top of his blankets, you stared at the now empty walls of his childhood bedroom. A hollow ache sat deep within your chest. Every poster, every photo, and every memory of his friendship with Patrick had been stripped away, leaving nothing but bare, cold surfaces. The once vibrant room now mirrored the emptiness you had noticed in your boyfriend in recent months.

You knew how much his bond with Patrick had filled his life, just as your friendship with Tashi filled yours, and without them, everything seemed unbearably vacant and bleak. Both of you were so consumed by your broken friendship with Tashi that neither of you gave him the space to process his loss of Patrick.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Art entered his room, hair still wet from his shower. He paused when he saw the melancholic look on your face.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. You never hid parts of yourself from Art. The problem was that he never did the same with you. “Things haven’t been okay for a while now. With either of us.”

Despite the shock coursing through him at you pointing out your unspoken issues, Art tried to keep his expression neutral. His features betrayed only the slightest flicker of surprise. “School’s been busy and our schedules have been crazy, but we’re okay,” he tried to reassure you, closing his door behind him. His parents wouldn’t be coming home until later in the evening but Art wanted the assurance of privacy. “It’ll get better.”

Sitting beside you on the bed with his feet planted on the floor, Art met your eyes and smiled at you. In the past, all it took was the curve of his lips to give you butterflies. Just one glance would make your heart flutter uncontrollably. Now, you could see the sadness in his eyes, the weight of unspoken worries pulling him down. The butterflies weren’t gone, but their wings felt heavier now. You still loved him, but you didn’t want your relationship to become one of unfulfilled potential, lost to the demands of your separate lives and identical scars. 

You couldn’t help but return his smile. “The thing is, I don’t know how things can get better if we don’t talk about them,” you confessed, trying not to upset him. “You know I tell you everything, right?” 

Almost imperceptibly, Art’s eyes narrowed, already taking a defensive stance. “Of course I do,” he said.

“Do you feel like you can share things with me?” you wondered, trying to keep your voice light. You had observed Art putting your care and emotions above everything in his life, and you wanted him to know it was unnecessary. “Because I’m here for you. I feel like you hold everything in and I don’t want you to feel alone.” 

Art crossed his arms as he thought about it. He wore a contemplative look, lips pursed and gaze lingering thoughtfully on the wall behind you. “I don’t feel alone.” Pausing, you gave Art a chance to divulge more about his feelings, but he only looked at you, waiting for you to speak.

You tried not to let your disappointment or frustration show. After all, if Art felt that he needed to tread carefully around you, then you were partially at fault. He had been in charge of helping you hold it together emotionally for the last few months, and there was no space for him to get that same support from you. You both lost your best friends, but you were the only one who received help from your partner.

“Does that mean you don’t miss Patrick?” you asked, tilting your head curiously. “You haven’t talked about him in, like, nine months.”

Art’s brows furrowed deeply, casting a shadow over his increasingly narrowed eyes. “Why are you bringing up Patrick all of a sudden?” he queried, his voice taking on a defensive edge that you had anticipated. 

“Well–” you motioned around his room to indicate how empty it suddenly was– “You haven’t said a word about what happened and I can tell it’s affecting you. I’m worried. I don’t know why you stopped being friends because you never talk to me. He’s your best friend, and one day you just decided that you were done with him. I know how that feels, and I want to understand what happened.”

“Patrick and me not being friends is not the same as what Tashi did to you,” Art pointed out. His jaw clenched, signalling his rising frustration. “I never insulted him or his relationship, we just stopped being friends after the accident. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“If there was nothing to talk about, then you wouldn’t be so affected by me bringing it up,” you argued. “I’ve noticed how your face changes every time someone mentions him, and I think that talking about it might help.” Art said nothing. “Besides, he’s not at fault for what happened to Tashi. While I understand why she wants to draw a boundary between them after going through the most traumatic experience of her life, you’re supposed to be his best friend. He lost both his girlfriend and his best friend in one fell swoop for something he isn’t even responsible for.”

“It was just time, Y/n,” Art replied vaguely. His breathing became deliberate and even, each measured inhale and exhale designed to soothe his growing anger.

“Was it time, or was it convenient timing?” you challenged him.

The tension between you mounted as you grappled with Art’s emotional guardedness, yearning for him to break his silence. Even now, when confronted with your direct questions, he let nothing slip past his mask. You wondered if you had done this to him, if you had made him believe that any display of emotion would somehow set you off.

You questioned, “Was it really a natural ending to your friendship, or did you stop being friends because Tashi’s accident gave you an excuse to do so?”

Art sighed heavily, a telltale sign that he was nearing the point where he couldn’t hold it all in. “Why do you care?” he asked slowly and through gritted teeth. “You haven’t talked to him in months either.”

“Not for a lack of trying,” you retorted.

He froze in shock as your words sank in. Standing abruptly, Art took two steps from the bed and turned to face you. “You’ve been trying to talk to Patrick?” His voice wavered, rising a pitch higher than usual. A tremor of shock coloured his words, “Since when? How often?”

You uncrossed your legs and swung them over the side of the bed. “Twice a month since the accident,” you revealed. 

Clenching his fists at his sides, Art wondered, “Does he ever write back?” 

“Once. All he said was that he missed me and he wished us a happy anniversary.”

Art inhaled sharply, the sting of betrayal spreading through him. The realisation hit hard. He had assumed Patrick was out of his life and would no longer influence his relationship with you, and he was naive to have thought so.

“Fuck,” Art grumbled. “Why would you do that?”

“Because he’s my friend, and without you and Tashi I might be his only friend,” you reminded your boyfriend. “He has nobody on tour who he can rely on, he would never reach out to his parents, and he doesn’t deserve to be punished for Tashi’s accident.” You stood, searching Art’s standoffish blue eyes as you approached him, wondering when he would admit his real feelings. “Doesn’t that hurt you? Patrick has nobody.”

“How do you think Tashi feels about you talking to her ex after the accident?” Art questioned, throwing a hand out as if motioning to her. 

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably at the mention of your former best friend. “I don’t know, I haven’t exactly had the chance to ask her, Art,” you said sarcastically. “Why should I worry about what she would think? After everything she said to me, everything she said about our relationship and our inevitable fate?” Feeling cornered, you stepped to the window and looked at the empty street. “If you’re so curious about what Tashi thinks, you should just ask her. After all, the two of you are still friends, right?”

Art groaned, irritated that you brought up a past argument you had. “I already told you we aren’t friends! Sometimes we run into each other and we talk.”

Turning your head, you nodded. “Fine. But that doesn’t change the fact that you think talking to Tashi is okay, but me talking to Patrick is some sort of a crime.”

“Because Tashi isn’t in love with me, Y/N,” Art argued, raising his voice with flushed cheeks. “Don’t you see that Patrick’s just waiting around until we break up so he can swoop in and have you for himself?” 

“Where did you get that from?” The conversation you had started was escalating to a full-on fight. You felt a surge of heat spreading from your chest to your head, your racing heartbeat emphasising your growing anger and exasperation. “I know he flirts with me, I know he messes with you, but you like it! It makes you smile, and laugh, and you play into it because that’s just how Patrick is!”

“I know that!”

You began listing things off on your fingers, “He’s never told me he has feelings for me, he never tells me that we should break up, he doesn’t plant any ideas about you being a bad boyfriend in my head – or fears of infidelity, for that matter,” you added pointedly, reminding Art of the way he tried to make Patrick and Tashi insecure about their casual relationship. “He’s never done anything to indicate he’s trying to get together with me! He won’t even respond to my emails!”

“Good!” Art shouted, his face turning a deeper shade of red with anger as he approached you. “I don’t want you talking to him!”

“Why?!” You shouted back, losing your temper. Months of built-up frustration and disappointment were finally boiling over. “The second you stopped being friends he stopped answering my emails, does that sound like someone who’s trying to steal your girlfriend?” 

“You don’t know him like I do!” Art stared at you, arms falling limply at his sides. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, each inhale like a gasp. Your shoulders rose and fell rapidly, and the adrenaline coursing through you made it hard to slow your racing heart. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered.

“What?”

“You think you know Patrick because you exchanged emails? If you really think he didn’t do all of that because he’s in love with you then he’s totally played you. I know him. He’s relentless, and he’s never going to stop, Y/N. Haven’t you seen him play? He’s the master of the long game, the master of making a comeback, and the master of trick shots.”

You let out a deep, exasperated groan, your eyes rolling skyward in a dramatic display of frustration. “Why is it that we can’t have a single argument without it coming back to tennis? The person you are is not the same as the type of player you are on the court,” you pointed out. “You’re romantic and imaginative and nothing like the way you get when you play tennis. Why are all of Patrick’s qualities diminished to the way he plays a game?”

“Because everything’s a game to him,” Art insisted. “He goes through life like it’s a game and he wants to lose as little as possible.”

“But–”

“–And you,” Art interrupted. “You go through life like it’s a game too!”

“When have I ever treated any aspect of our lives like a game?” you exclaimed angrily.

“Weren’t you playing a game when you lied to Tashi about throwing every match you’ve played against each other for the last five years?” Art challenged you. 

The coldness in his eyes and how he spoke to you was so unlike him. The harshness of his voice sent a chill down your spine, making you feel like a stranger in your own relationship. It was as if the person standing before you was someone else entirely, leaving you reeling with confusion and hurt.

Head spinning, you stammered, “How do you even know about that?”

“Tashi told me. She was really upset about it, too. She was crying and I could barely hear a word she was saying because–”

“–You just said the two of you weren’t friends and that you didn’t speak to her? When did you have the time to have this heart-to-heart?”

Swallowing harshly, Art confessed, “The night of your fight.”

“Fucking hell, Art.” Incredulous, you burst into laughter, shaking your head in disbelief. “You went and talked to the woman who broke my heart the night it happened? What, you just went to her dorm to make sure I wasn’t lying to you about it?” you asked sarcastically, your eyes widening for comedic effect. “Since you seem to think I’m lying about everything, including the fact that I’ve been letting her win.”

Art scoffed. “Come on,” he replied in a harsh voice. “Do you really expect me to believe that you let her win every single game? Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because she wanted it and I didn’t,” you emphasised each word, enunciating as you glared at your boyfriend with tears in your eyes. “From the moment I met her I knew she wanted to be the best. I considered ignoring that and simply winning against her – God knows it would have made my mother happier – but I chose not to.” You wiped the tears from your cheeks harshly. “I let my mother berate me and refuse to let me have dessert and affection and whatever else normal teenagers get from their moms because I wanted my best friend to win. I wanted her to achieve her dream. I didn’t do it to have you, the person who is supposed to trust and support me most in the world, tell me that I lied about it,” you concluded, feeling utterly defeated that Art didn’t think you could beat Tashi. “What about all those times I beat her in training when the scores didn’t matter? Or the fact that I was ranked higher than her last year, even before her injury?”

“You had a great year last year,” Art allowed, averting his eyes when he saw how devastated you were. “But Tashi’s always been tougher than you.”

“Is that what she told you when you went to visit her?” you wondered. Art remained silent, and you inhaled sharply, hurt that he would believe Tashi over you. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this… Objectively, I’ve always been the better player.” Art nodded slowly. It was true; in terms of skill and precision, nobody had you beat, not even Tashi. “So if I’m stronger, faster, and more precise than Tashi, then there is no reason that she should have been beating me all these years. Except for the truth: I was letting her win.”

Art shifted uneasily, his gaze fixed on the floor, hesitating to disclose an opinion he feared might hurt your feelings further. “Everyone knows that tennis is more of a mental game than a physical game,” he began cautiously, his voice tinged with apprehension. “You have a lot of anxiety, and–”

You held up your hand, silencing him as you backed away from Art. “You know what, I’m done. I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that my own boyfriend doesn’t believe me, or the fact that you don’t believe in me.”

“Of course I believe in you,” Art disagreed.

“But not more than you believe in Tashi, right?” you retorted angrily. “Is that what this is really about? Do you want her? Were you disappointed Patrick won the match and got her number? Is that why you kept picking fights when they were together?”

Frowning, Art said, “Stop it.” 

“Is this your grand scheme? Date the best friend and then cosy up to the one you really want when the timing’s convenient for you?” 

“Well, it seems to be working for Patrick,” Art replied, just as venomous as you.

Sighing, you rubbed your forehead. “I don’t want to fight about Tashi and Patrick, I just want to understand what’s going on with you! You never tell me anything.”

“Because I feel like you’re on the verge of falling apart every time I see you!” Art exclaimed, voice edged with frustration. “The last thing I want to do is push you over the edge. We have so much going on and I feel like every time we do something together it ends with both of us being upset, and I hate it. Everything is about tennis, or Tashi, or school, or Patrick, and nothing is about us anymore!”

“I know nothing is about us anymore,” you agreed, your tone a mixture of sadness and defensiveness. “Why do you think I want you to open up? I know I haven’t been my usual sugar-coated self for the last few months, but you holding everything in doesn’t help us. I need more from you, I need you to not treat me like I’m made of glass.”

“Why am I not enough for you?” Art replied, stunning you.

Your chests heaved in unison, panting from the intensity of your argument. Your eyes locked in a charged silence. Art’s hands trembled slightly at his sides, adrenaline still coursing through him, making his heart pound against his ribcage as he met your gaze. You looked away, blinking back tears.

“You are enough for me,” you said quietly. “I don’t know how many more times I can tell you. I love you, of course, you’re enough.”

“Not like that,” he corrected you. Art sighed, his anger dissipating as he watched your growing sadness. “What did Tashi say about our relationship that’s so bad? She said we would get married and have kids and I would have a professional tennis career. You act like that’s the worst thing she could have said to you.” 

Your eyes widened in surprise as Art mentioned your argument with Tashi, your breath catching in your throat. Regardless of how impactful the end of your friendship with Tashi was, you didn’t like to speak about it. Even after all these months, Art only new bits and pieces of your argument. He knew Tashi said something about you having a family with him, and he knew it had upset you, but he didn’t understand the context. The sharp edge of your anger softened, replaced by a pang of guilt as you understood how deeply this detail had affected your boyfriend. 

Tentatively, you reached out and took one of Art’s hands. He let you, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. In a gentle voice, you told him, “I had no idea you thought that. What she said that day has nothing to do with you, trust me. She said it to hurt me because she knows that I’m terrified of turning out like my mother.”

When Art’s eyes opened, they reflected confusion. “She thinks marrying me will make you turn out like your mother?”

“Well, no, she thinks I’ll turn out like my mom if I don’t pursue a tennis career, regardless of who I marry,” you corrected him. “I wouldn’t have a life of my own. There would be no meaning, no dreams, no goals of my own, just me. And I would be vapid and destructive if I ever had kids, just like my mother was with me. It has nothing to do with you, she said those things to hurt me, to scare me.”

“A life with me scares you?”

“No, a life without purpose scares me. Now, more than ever, I feel like I have no purpose.” Your voice wavered when you spoke, barely above a whisper, as if afraid of being heard. “I thought Tashi was the person I was going to live life with, and now I have to rearrange my identity in a way that makes sense without her. She said those things because she knows my biggest fear is to hurt any potential partner or children the way my mom hurt me and my dad. I need more than that for myself.”

“You need more than me,” Art repeated, running his free hand through his hair and sighing. “That’s what I’m saying, I’m not enough for you. It can’t just be me. It has to be me and tennis, or me and law school. But not just me, or our relationship.”

“Is that wrong?” you wondered.

“I just mean– I would drop tennis for you in a heartbeat, Y/N. I would follow you to law school and go anywhere you need me to go with you because I love you. You’re it for me, you’re all I need. But you don’t feel that way about me.”

As your fingers slipped from Art’s grasp, the cold, empty space between your hands mirrored the silent, inevitable end of your relationship.

“I would never ask you to do any of those things. I would never ask you to drop tennis or tell you to do anything you don’t want to do. You have to figure that out for yourself, just like I do.” You could feel yourself getting emotional and sensed the familiar sting of oncoming tears. “You already know what you want. You’re going to go pro, and I will be there to support you in whatever way you want me to–” Art grinned. “But you need to let me figure out what’s right for me, too.” Rather than slipping from his face, Art’s smile froze there, unmoving as his eyes grew colder. “I love you, Art, but I can’t just be your girlfriend. I need to be my own person. I haven’t been my own person since– well, I don’t think I’ve ever really been my own person. I was my mother’s puppet and, apparently, Tashi’s lackey, and now I don’t know who the fuck I am.”

“I know who you are,” Art interjected. His blue-eyed gaze pleaded with you to agree, imploring you to set aside your differences and make peace.

You shook your head. “No, you don’t.”

“I love you, how can I love you and not know who you are?”

“Because the version of me you fell in love with isn’t the same without her best friend,” you explained. Wrapping your arms around yourself as if they would hold you together, your lips curved into a bittersweet smile. “I know that sounds stupid, but I’m different now.”

“I’ll wait,” Art assured you. “You can be her again, I’ll wait.”

You turned to face him, eyes red and swollen from the tears you had been fighting back. “I can’t ask you to do that. You can’t keep feeling like you have to walk on eggshells around me. I don’t know what I want anymore; the major building blocks of our lives are gone, probably for good,” you added, referencing your former friendships with Tashi and Patrick. “And all we do is fight about them.”

“Then we’ll stop fighting.”

“It’s not that easy, Art. Be honest with yourself. Have you been happy?” you wondered. “Truly happy? Tiptoeing around in case you hurt my feelings or say something that will send me spiralling?” Art opened his mouth to respond but stopped, the words caught in his throat. He looked away, knowing the truth was written all over his face. Your eyes filled with tears, glistening as they clung to your lower lashes, your breaths becoming shallow and rapid. “I know you, and I know you haven’t been happy.”

Voice cracking with emotion, Art said, “I just don’t want you to be sad anymore.” He clenched his jaw tightly to suppress the tears welling in his eyes.

“I know. I love you so much for everything you’ve done, but every time you try to heal my wounds from losing Tashi, it hurts our relationship. It’s like we’re being torn open. So please, even though it’s hard and even though you don’t want to, please tell me how you feel.” 

Art swallowed hard. Barely above a whisper, he confessed, “No, I haven’t been happy. We’ve been growing apart since the quarter started, and our shifted priorities have been driving us apart for months.”

“I agree.” You nodded, your expression calm even as a few tears rolled down your face. Soft and controlled, you said, “It’s not working. Right?”

“Right,” Art echoed, his lower lip quivering from holding back sobs. “I feel the gap widening every day and I hate it. It shouldn’t matter that I’m getting ready to go pro, and it shouldn’t matter that you’re still trying to figure out what you want.”

“But it does.”

“But it does,” he parroted.

You sighed heavily, shoulders slumping as you closed your eyes briefly. “I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted,” you declared, feeling drained by the weight of your argument.

Chuckling in disbelief, Art agreed, “I’m so tired.” When he met your eyes again, the fight had visibly drained out of him. “But I love you,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

With a wistful smile, you looked at him, your eyes revealing the quiet pain of loving someone you couldn’t fully have. “I love you too,” you replied gently, stepping closer to him. Tears escaped your eyes as you cupped Art’s face and carefully wiped his wet cheeks. “But if I’m not making you happy, then it’s not working.”

Art nodded. “And you need to figure out your own path and find what makes you happy, too,” he added.

You stood silently, the reality of your decision to break up sinking in. In the dimly lit room, you embraced for the last time, your bodies clinging as if reluctant to let go. Art’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close, while you buried her face in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent you knew you would miss. Time seemed to slow as you stood intertwined, trying to convey how much love you still had for each other.

The moment you parted, your lips gravitated to his. You kissed him. Art nudged his nose against yours, lips, hips, and chest hard against yours. He gripped your waist, tugging you closer as your hands tangled into his hair. You could barely think about your breakup. Too busy kissing Art harder and deeper as you begged each other to say goodbye, to be together and love each other despite everything that happened. The passion and urgency of this moment filled your veins; every heartbeat was a drumbeat, echoing in your ears as you stole this moment with him.

Art Donaldson wasn’t your boyfriend anymore. The thought was almost unimaginable.

Nothing else mattered. Not the pain of mourning the loss of Art’s love or the hollow emptiness of losing another person who had once filled your days with laughter and happiness, the boy who had been the warmth in your coldest, loneliest moments. For now, the breakup wasn’t real yet. You existed outside of reality, broken up but not yet having separated your life together. You were still his, and he was still yours.

But that wouldn’t be the case for much longer.

Art’s strong body pressed against you, firm hands trailing up your waist and raising the hem of your t-shirt as he went. “I still care about you, despite everything,” he declared, his voice filled with longing and desperation. “I’m sorry. I do believe you, and I believe in you.”

You nodded, resting your forehead against his. “I know. I’m sorry too.”

Pressing kisses to his neck, you paused to pull Art’s t-shirt over his head. He exhaled shakily, hooded gaze intoxicated as he drank in the sight of you running your hands down the planes of his chest and tracing the contours of the muscles in his abdomen. His eyes worshipped you like a sacred idol, filled with awe and adoration. Art reached for your face, a thick air of anticipation growing between you as his lips ghosted yours. His lips left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck and across your collarbones, almost mirroring the movement of your hands on his body. You shivered. Each feather-light touch of his mouth ignited a spark in you. 

When you reconnected your lips, Art’s arms snaked around your waist and pulled you flush against him. You sighed happily against his mouth, and the sound seemed to make Art realise what was happening. As if an enchantment had lifted, he broke the kiss, staggering back and covering his mouth.

“Fuck,” Art swore. 

He placed both hands on his burning cheeks. Art’s chest was just as flushed as his face, and his damp hair was a mess of unruly curls. Catching your breath, you looked at him, waiting to see what he would do next. Your head spun from the kiss you shared, and you were sure your lips looked just as red and raw as Art’s. Whenever you kissed him – or even just sat beside him – Art needed to be touching as much of you as possible. Your shoulders, hands, arms, thighs, and waist were rarely free around him. His hands always roamed freely, wanting more, more, more.

Art’s distance and the absence of his touch were a stark reminder of your breakup. 

Taking a deep breath, Art met your eyes, and the intensity of his gaze made your knees weak. No matter how desperate he felt, he was being cautious with you. After all, you had just broken up, and he wasn’t sure if break-up sex was the best idea. 

“I can’t– I need to go,” Art blurted, lowering his hands. His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape from you, the only person he couldn’t stay away from. “I have to go before I– Otherwise, I’m going to–”

“Stay,” you pleaded. Your pulse thrummed beneath your skin like a racing river, each look from Art igniting sparks of nervous excitement.

He exchanged a meaningful look with you. “Is that a good idea?”

“I want to say goodbye,” you confessed, your voice wavering. “I want to feel what it’s like to be loved by you one last time.”

Art’s lips immediately found yours, kissing you as if his life depended on it. “I do love you,” he promised. “You’re still mine for tonight.”

[brattyspence]

So...brattyspences Cafe event...

I'm thinking everything bagel with these two lines of dialogue (you can pick who says what.) "I think someday you'll hate me. You'll cut me open and find a garden of rot where my heart should be." "When I cut you open, all I'll find is that we match." Oooh! And toasted please! I want angsty angst! - 🦝 (claiming the racoon emoji because irl inside joke with my friends)

order #5 | see my event here

a/n: thank u raccoon anon!! come back real soon pls

tags: angst, unofficial relationship, protective Spencer, emotional wreck reader, reader needs therapy, me too, comfort

Things have always been complicated between you and Spencer. Maybe it's the famous line, ‘right person, wrong time’-- or at least that's what you believe.

He’s good. There's not a thing wrong with him. He’s gentle with you. He's not pushy. He looks out for you when things are hard. But somehow, you can't seem to accept his presence, and he can't understand why.

The team has already filed out for the night. Manila folders are put away, bags are packed, lights are tuned off. From his desk, Spencer can see that the round table is still lit, door open, and you're still occupying the space.

You've been different recently. Withdrawn, moody, uninterested in socializing. He knows that you need space, but he can't ever help himself from trying to get you to open up.

Your blank gaze at the empty table in front of you breaks when you hear footsteps in the doorway. You don't need to look up to know who it is, or what he wants.

“You heading out?” You ask. You inhale to a weighted sigh, and run your hands over your head as you collect your thoughts.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Just came to check on you.”

“I’m leaving too.” You push yourself away from the table, and draw your jacket off the back of the chair. After tugging it over your shoulders, he’s still there, waiting.

“Rough case…” he starts.

“Spencer,” you huff. “We don't need to do this. You're tired. I'm tired. Let's just go home.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he replies. It's false, and you both know that. “Just checking on you.”

“You don't have to.”

He knows this all too well. Your immediate defensiveness when he’s hit the nail on the head. You let your fierce independence get in the way of accepting help, and it goes on too long. You’ll burn out soon and retreat back into your own world.

“But I do.”

“You don’t,” you reply. Your tone bites. “Just let it go.”

As soon as you make the first step towards the door, he's already ahead of you, blocking the doorway. Even his arms crossed, you only find worry where upset should be.

“Spencer. Please,” you huff.

“No,” he shakes his head. “No please. This has gone on long enough. Talk.”

“About what?” You say. It borders on whining.

“Whatever this is. You're not you recently. You're worrying everyone.”

“It's none of your business, Spencer–”

“But it is,” he insists. “I don't understand why you can't let anyone in. Especially me.”

You try to put on your brave face for him, staring back up at him with your eyes narrowed. It doesn't work for long. He can see the way your bottom lip begins to tremble ever so slightly, and in some sick way he’s relieved.

“I just want to go home,” you reply. “Please, can you just please drop it?”

When there’s no give in his persistence, you can't help from letting your walls crumble. You try–fingertips pressed to eyes, breathing deeply–to pull yourself out of the spiral. You don't fight back when you feel him pull you closer, even though you really want to.

Minutes pass like this, the air still and room quiet. You’re trying to figure out how to get out of this without leaving him worried, but your thoughts are too crowded by the weight of the day and the thousands of other things on your mind.

He waits to press further until you're calm, or at least more than you were before.

“Why are you so adamant about pushing me away?” He asks.

You’re not sure there are enough words in the English language to warn him about why involving himself with you is a bad idea. He’s already seen enough of you that he should get it by now. You're cold. You shut people out. You struggle to process things that everyone else seems to do with no issue. You're a lot.

“I think someday you’ll hate me,” you mumble. “You’ll cut me open and find a garden of rot where my heart should be.”

“When I cut you open, all I'll find is that we match.”

[vossprime]

20 Questions: Writing Edition

Tagged by the Inquisition herself ( @inquisitornocturn ), thank you, this looks so fun!

How many works do you have on ao3?

23!

What’s your total ao3 word count?

102,210

What are your top five fics by kudos?

Mechanical; Medicinal (Rogue Trader)

Absolute / Obedience (BG3)

Systematical; Sacrificial (Rogue Trader)

I don't know where to put my hands (Metro 2033)

Blood in the Water (WH40K)

What fandoms do you write for?

WH40K, broadly speaking.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I try to respond to all of them simply because they spark an endless well of joy in me and most often inspire me to say something in return. Also whenever I comment I love replies as well, so I try to keep that going.

What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Once I fucking sit down and continue Blackwater Days you will all see-

From my recent ones, on the principle of want (RT, Achilleas x Heinrix) comes to mind. Not for the plot, necessarily, which is more sorrowful than angsty, but the last line:

For a moment Heinrix wants to kiss him awake, kiss him goodbye.  The Interrogator breathes once, twice, then turns on his heel and leaves the room.

It was a deliberate choice to contrast Heinrix with his title here, that was my special little treat to myself. I gain another health bar anytime someone points it out.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Ironic, given the title, but Bellicose Hearts (Horus Heresy). It was written as a gift and a challenge for @mortallyperfecttimemachine and the theme was humor and fluff, so it ended on a nice note. A photo together. The remembrancers are happy. Keeler is there. Karkasy is alive. Isstvan is far away.

Do you get hate on fics?

Not directly! My comments are locked to registered accounts only, that seems to dissuade the obvious bots and trolls. Always fond of the ask I got that was just a "👎" tho.

Do you write smut?

In theory yes, in practice I have been told my smut is just character studies in disguise. My most popular fics stay the ones that were exclusively written with my [redacted] though.

Do you write crossovers?

Not really - most often they don't hold any appeal for me.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No, but I'm already being vagued /j - SOON.

What’s your all time favourite ship?

You're asking someone who has a brain like a sieve and triple-wields ships until polyamory is the only sensible solution :D

What’s the wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

None. I plan to see everything through. If it takes 10 years, it takes 10 years. Farseer grindset.

What are your writing strengths?

Prose, poetry, evocative imagery.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. Who came up with this. Is it not enough to communicate through 4-6 intricately crafted metaphors and call it a day? Hell world.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

Provided I am writing in English, I provide translation in the footnotes and try not to have it drag on for too long. I do enjoy some language variety in fic, though. Dirty Talk in another language? Elite. Sadly I come from the language the absolute least suited for writing this.

First fandom you wrote for?

The first one I published for was Metro 2033, the book. The first one I wrote was for a mobile game called The Arcana. Don't judge me, a bitch saw tarot themes and a pointy-toothed nonbinary vivisection freak and decided he just might. A true freak from day one - you can tell why I like Tervantias.

Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

I'm going to level with you. It will always be the last one. I grow and evolve with each piece and whatever I have last put out will be my pride and joy at that very moment. However, Blackwater Days (which I still plan to bring past chapter 1, it's just sitting in my drafts all disjointed and none of like 5 chapters empty but none ready either) will always be close to my heart for how much planning, fantasizing and worldbuilding happened around it. Those three hour discussions with my roommate on military strategy are sacred.

Tagging: Let me gather my irl squad for a second: @definitely-not-iorveth @mortallyperfecttimemachine , @goofgoofdildo , @ineadhyn , I'd be really interested to hear if you feel like it!

[starrypawz]

20 Writing Questions

Tagged by @ml-nolan (thank you 💜)

tagging (if you want) @ladyshivs @blasphemous-lies-and-deceit @thee-morrigan @kittlesandbugs @ejunkiet @impossible-rat-babies and anyone else wants to do this

How many works do you have on AO3? - 124*

*this is in fact not every fic I've written, I've been writing fic for quite a long time and not all of it made it over to AO3 and so there's chunks of it that just exist on my tumblr and my old ff.net

What's your total AO3 word count? 313,698

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Pride-Full Good Omens 341

A Little Death Hades 304

Oh Don't Talk of Love the Shadows Purr Dead Boy Detectives x Sandman 277

Five Times Hera and Kanan touched (Plus one time they tried but were interrupted) Star Wars Rebels 146

Loud so Everyone Can Hear Star Wars Rebels 86

(Honestly with those last two I'm really not sure why they are as popular as they are but ya know I think I just had really good timing for once, they are both really old fics from like 2016 btw so reader beware)

What fandoms do you write for?

The Magnus Archives, Fallen Hero, The Passenger have been my main ones for quite a while

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I need to get better at it, I tend to get a bit 'head empty no thoughts' or just the classic 'Oh I'll do it later... oops I didn't'

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

You know I'm not really sure?

Only one coming to mind right now is Albatross by way of 'ends with Gerry having a panic attack'

Also maybe these two FHR fics

I'm just not really an angst writer so most of my stuff tend to end if not like 'happy' endings fairly neutral.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Yet again kind of hard to pick an outright one since my fics tend to have like neutral to happy endings

Do you get hate on fics?

I wouldn't know, at least no one has said anything to my face.

Do you write smut?

Yup

Do you write crossovers?

I guess Don't Talk of Love counts but also it's like 'is it really a crossover when it involves a spin off of a series'?

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Had the whole 'ao3 got scrapped for AI training' thing if that counted?

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes with @beholdme once upon a time

What's your all-time favourite ship?

I can't pick but won't deny Morticia and Gomez are up there and probably explains a lot about how i tend to write ship fic

What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I don't actually have anything I think? Most stuff that sparks me enough to get turned into a fic gets there eventually.

I would like to write some BG3 stuff but although I have ideas they've just been rotating like they're in a microwave but nothing has been strong enough to actually become a fic yet

What are your writing strengths?

I've been told I'm pretty good at conveying intimacy/realism when writing relationships (which is imo impressive considering i'm an aroace hermit tbh)

I also seem to be pretty good at getting character voices down after a while if I say so myself

What are your writing weaknesses?

I've never been very good at doing longer writing projects hence why I basically just write one shots/drabbles , I also get stuck on transitional scenes a fair bit and I'm really prone to 'start writing and then oh no im going to try that again...' and getting stuck in a bit of a loop

I'm also a bit of a weenie who tends to stay away from whump and angst, if i ever do write anything angsty the moon and stars have to align just right

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

Not something I'm confident enough to do as I'm only fluent in English, so if I did want to do that I'd need to enlist some help if I didn't want it to be google translated awkwardness

First fandom you wrote for?

When I was like a wee little baby child I kind of wrote Neopets fic as it was (and I'd assume still is) a thing to basically turn your Neopets into OCs so I guess that counts?

Favourite fic you've ever written?

I can't pick I love all my children equally

Recently though I was pretty happy with Remember What the Dormouse Said even if seemingly no one else noticed it 😂

[thelordofgifs]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you @sallysavestheday and @grey-gazania! I was eyeing this one and hoping for a tag, some great questions here.

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 51, although one's a podfic.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 250,683. More than half of which is from last year alone!

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently exclusively the Silmarillion, with the occasional little LoTR ficlet.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? the fairest stars, Inflection, an ancient song, all those that follow, Ilimbë. I'm always surprised by an ancient song's popularity – it was a pretty low-effort ficlet – but a solid list nonetheless!

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes, always! (Glances nervously at the pile I've accumulated in the last couple of weeks of travelling). I love replying to comments, though. It's so nice to be able to engage with all my lovely thoughtful readers and their excellent thoughts!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? ever an anguish that pursued is pretty bleak. before the black gale is also a tragedy of sorts, though I'm not sure that makes it qualify as angsty as such.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Ilimbë ends quite joyfully, although while writing the final scene I did have the shadow of their unhappy future in mind! I think the cleaving's ending is also quite happy, or at the very least cathartic.

8. Do you get hate on fics? No, thankfully! All my readers have been very kind and appreciative <3

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Three fics so far! All of which were gifts for friends, and made me push my boundaries a little. I'm proud of all of them, though! Smut is less scary than I used to think :)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? No, never! If I did, it would probably be more of a retelling/AU than straight-up having characters from different fandoms meet.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not to my knowledge!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No – I fear I am rather too much of a control freak for this, and would rather not inflict myself and my pedantry on an unsuspecting co-writer.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? Russingon... it's the forbidden romance and the doomed nature of it all and the fact that love wasn't enough to save them :( also the murders, of course.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? boats against the current, the "Maedhros doesn't swear the Oath" AU I blithely started back in 2022, is simply not going anywhere at any sort of speed. Perhaps this is the year! Let's see.

16. What are your writing strengths? Dialogue and characterisation! I'm good at emotional beats, I think.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Description... I tend to write VERY minimally and then have to go back on edits and add in some descriptive language so that the entire story isn't just two talking heads in an empty room. Always very pleased when people compliment my descriptions for that reason – they take conscious effort!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Fine if it's footnoted, I think. I tend to avoid it on the basis that all the dialogue I write has been "translated" from one of Tolkien's languages anyway; and I don't know any real languages well enough to write fic in them.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Harry Potter, although I've soured on the fandom now for obvious reasons :/ For a while I used to think that I could still enjoy the books I loved so much growing up while separating them from the author, but she's so continually hateful and bigoted that I just... can't gain any enjoyment from the franchise anymore. Which is painful, but I'm glad I have the silm fandom to absorb all my creative energy now!

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? the fairest stars! My weird gremlin baby, I love it so. I never expected to care about this fic as much as I did, but I've poured so much thought and heart into it that it was perhaps inevitable. And it's taught me so much about writing cliffhangers :)

No-pressure tags for @eilinelsghost, @searchingforserendipity25, @welcomingdisaster, @that-angry-noldo, @swanmaids, @echo-bleu, @jouissants, @tanoraqui and anyone else who, like me, was eyeing this one hoping to be tagged – @ me and say I tagged you!

[captain-of-silvenar]

F, G, H, M, and S for the fanfic asks!!!! <3333

Hi Bishop! Thanks for the ask!

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

From Chapter 2 of First Impressions, referencing Yera wanting to go into the abandoned Raven Rock Mines:

“And what's to say the opposite? Maybe there is something lurking in the mines that caused it to close off and no one's been able to find out. Maybe just one last look around will be our luck instead.”

“Says someone who sounds like they want a cave-in. I thought you hired me to be a guide?” Teldryn asked.

“As you are, and I am putting my trust in you right now that you're the mer for the job and will keep me safe. So how is an old and empty mine anymore dangerous than a cave we'll explore later outside the Bulwark?”

He wasn't going to fall for this, this had to be a kind of test. His judgment couldn’t have been this wrong to tie himself to someone willing to go blindly - literally! - into an old mining shaft abandoned for nearly a century just for fun. No, he was putting his foot down like he's done before and holding his ground.

“If you need me to spell it out for you, I will,” he started. “Who knows how long those walls have eroded away and are structurally unsound at this point. And if we ignore that, I'm sure all those nooks and crannies are filled with all sorts of skeever or whatever beasts crawled their way in from the outside. Should we get in a cave-in but survive then we’d have no way of getting back out on account of the fact there’s only one way inside. You can try to convince me, sera, but there is no way I am getting anywhere near those mines or Azura help me-”

* * *

"But mark my words, these mines hold a secret that could put Raven Rock back on the map."

I enjoyed writing this scene for a few reasons. The comedic timing of cutting way to Yera absolutely dragging Teldryn toward the mines was too good an opportunity to pass up.

And also it showed the kind of personality Yera has to the audience at the moment. Maybe reckless, maybe over confident, but self assured in her own worth to speak of it jokingly in the face of Teldryn giving actual advise about risks.

Plus it's funny to put characters in situations. Always put your characters in situations, it's for enrichment.

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

I very much write out of order. I've tried writing from start to finish a lot in my life and I always get stuck and never get to the scene I want to write. So I just learned to skip right to the part I want to write the most and then backtrack to see if I can make it fit.

Most of the time I can, sometimes it just doesn't work but words written down are better than lost in your mind.

H: How would you describe your style?

I would say that I'm very scene orientated. I like to set the stage and describe the feeling of an area before jumping into it. I also do like a character focus perspective and how they interpret things through their own lens.

What might be overlooked by one character, another would latch onto and mentally describe it for the audience to understand what makes the character tick or gleeful.

I'm also always open to trying out different things and seeing how it works out. I've always written just for myself but I'm working on breaking out of it and sharing my work online, just to get a new experience.

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

I might've spoken about it in the tags of another post, but I got this fic with a Maormer/Mermaid brewing in the back. Mermaids were my childhood obsession so I just revived it and now it's half of what I think of these days, haha.

Another is this really strange and angsty/whump fic I have between Yera and Miraak. Of a premise where he wins, absorbs her soul, and the consequences of eating another soul that eats other immortal souls. What happens when two of them are placed in one body? Bad things I'll tell you!

And one I do have published but hasn't been updated in a few years is The Telvanni Master fic on Ao3. It follows my character Lorana Alithar and how she is viewed by several characters with different degrees of familiarity. Writing a story about her, without ever having her speak as the main voice. Really fun!

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

Enemies to lovers; bodyguards to lovers; found family; star-crossed lovers; a lot of romantic tropes haha.

When it comes to fandom tropes, I'm actually not quite versed in them or I kind of ignore them. Comes with the territory of just sitting in your own writing and not really delving deep into the fandom territory.

But a good trope where a character has to self-reflect and evaluate themselves against new information is tasty and good to explore.

ask meme can be found here!

[sightofsea]

20 questions for fic writers

I got tagged by @leonardcohenofficial!!

I'm gonna tag @fieryphrazes / @moonyinpisces / @hyruling / anyone else who wants to do this!

1.How many works do you have on Ao3? I have fifteen!!!

2. What's your total Ao3 word count? 377,875 words which is. A lot! Wow!

3. What fandoms do you write for? across ao3 and ffnet I've written for doctor who, good omens, mash, it's always sunny, pacific rim, our flag means death, supernatural, the big bang theory, phantom, and atla.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? take the bones, begin anew / small infinities and all that / each flower has wept and bowed towards the east / affection and other cravings / all you left me was a pearl

5. Do you respond to comments? at the beginning of a fic/if there aren't too many comments, then yes! and if someone has something particularly insightful say or they have a question. after that it sort of feels equivalent to writing thank you cards, and I feel like responding with small platitudes is sort of an empty gesture.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? that depends! a lot of people consider the end of small infinities angsty, but I see it more as bittersweet. out of my complete works, I think "a sadness runs through him" is just a complete angst fest. my old doctor who oc fic that will sadly never be complete also had kind of an angsty ending which can be delved further into here.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? most of my fics end with two people living happily near some water but I think "stories for other people" thematically has the happiest ending

8. Do you get hate on fics? not really! maybe one or two weird comments on "all you left me was a pearl" for stede's wooing technique, and then I know a lot of people don't like the whole turned human thing for small infinities, but I feel like that's more preference than hate

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? yeah! not pwp but I love a good sex scene and exploring the inner workings of desire

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? very long ago on a different platform I wrote a danny phantom and atla crossover that was never completed, and also in said doctor who oc fanfiction there was a Sherlock crossover. I don't think I'd write any crossover fic in the future unless it was a universe merger or perhaps a multiple versions of canon meshing sort of thing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that I know of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? I think?? small infinities got translated?? maybe???

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? nope! it'd be Shrimpteresting to try it out, with someone I respected and knew to be consistent.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? hard to say!!! I think anything I've written for is an all-time favorite. maybe johnlock??? since it re-wrote my brain a bit at the tender age of 14?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? my johnlock magnum opus is always rotating in my mind but the way it's unraveling I doubt I'll be able to put it to paper successfully; I really really wanna finish my it's always sunny fic also bc I have all the plot points mapped out, but I sort of wrote myself into a corner on accident. both of these could be solved if I just sat down and watched enough of either show to pickle my brain in them again, but the mood hasn't come to me yet.

16. What are your writing strengths? i think said brain-pickling is one: I think I try my best to replicate the tone of whatever media I'm writing for and character voice. I feel like I do pretty well with dialogue. I think I have a good sense of humor and teasing out themes to work with. I tend to write a bunch of unconnected scenes until a common thread emerges, and I think I'm good at piecing them together in a way that makes sense.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? like maddie said before me, I also don't write linearly, and so half the struggle with my writing is figuring out how to create actual plot out of a bunch of vibes-based scenes. i'm also not consistent; I have to be in a certain mood to write. i'm extremely fickle. I tend to stick to certain formulas/themes and should try to branch out more. I'm horrible at describing action, and so sex scenes of mine can be a real slog, I think. i use the em dash far too much.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I think it can be done well, but can sometimes hinder the reader and often can be mistranslated. If I'm writing in another language it has to be phrases I'm familiar with enough to have a go on my own. I usually end up doing a lot of research.

(Side note, just while we're on the topic: I think when people write for sign language they don't include any of the physicality of it, which is a detriment to core of the language, and also ignore how blunt it is, which tends to annoy me. People tend to treat it as English+ instead of a whole other language that differs greatly even between English speaking countries and don't put the research in that they would for other languages. I'm definitely not an expert--I'm not deaf/hoh, I only use a little bit when my jaw acts up, but it really pisses me off lol.)

19. First fandom you wrote for? I wrote a big bang theory fanfiction when I was 14 and none of you will ever find it and I stand by my actions

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? all you left me was a pearl, only because it's the most fun I've ever had writing something and also the horniest thing I've written. which isn't saying much, but I take pride in it.

[akamikazae]

Tagged by the wonderful @konohamaru-sensei ❤︎₊ ⊹ty

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

5 (one is technically art so..I guess 4) 

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

241,616

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Naruto ! (on ao3)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Love me Mercilessly -464 Lm Art -137 Rose Colored Glasses- 82 The Rabbit by the River- 39 Anon fic - 200

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! It means a lot to me when ppl leaves comments—even if it’s just a <3 or :) so I always try to respond back or thank them for taking the time to leave me something nice

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Uhhh that I’ve posted—probably rose colored glasses, just because the ending is sort of vague and open ended. Or  the one I posted anonymously is sort of angsty actually 

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I guess the long fic once it’s finished…Or some other unposted wip, 17th cent. Japan au will prob be the happiest actuallyy

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven’t yet, so thats nice lol 

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yuh, I guess 'porn w plot' lol idk I just like to mash it into my stories when possible, I think it can add to the relationship dynamic in fun ways 

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nope

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Doubt it 

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

Rather selfishly probably my KakaOc—if not I love GinRan and KakaObi

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Uhhh idk maybe my hashimada fic, I was super jazzed about it in the beginning and idk what happened, my mind is blank, head empty when I think about how to continue…Maybe one day

16. What are your writing strengths?

….. 0_o

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

All of it. I think I get repetitive with my word usage or the the like rhythm and pacing of my sentence structures. Also action sequences are really hard. I think my dialogue is kinda eh too

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Um no thoughts, im not like against it or anything, I just don’t at all trust myself—or google translate—to properly write another in language. But I guess I sometimes will include certain words, or have alluded/implied to characters speaking in another language

19. First fandom you wrote for?

First ever was ATLA, it was written down in my lil notebook  in gel pen, the dialogue was color coded aha, that had to have been like 2006. First I’ve posted online was for Nart in 2022 

20. Favorite fic you've written? uhh maybe the unpublished Kashi-Kami 17th century Japan au, she’s an Oiran and he’s a Samurai. Of the published stuff I guess the long fic. I always enjoy little bits of my stuff rather than the whole story.  I have zero idea who to tag, so if you see this and wanna do it please do ! <33 and feel free to tag me so I can see :)

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

Javier is standing before you. No shirt on, jeans unbuttoned. Sweat on his golden chest still casting an ethereal shine. He’s holding a fresh glass of water. Your dehydrated body salivates. He’s not a mirage in a desert, though. His shirt is still on your floor with yours. 

he's still here!!!!!!!!!

“That fast? Without a shirt?” 

it's probably weird for me to take out a single piece of dialogue like this but i just feel like this specifically really caught me as something that encapsulates his voice

He pulls you towards his broad frame and holds you tightly. Pressed against him, chest to chest, you listen to his deep, slow breathing. Skin to skin, he co-regulates you like a baby, fragile in his arms.

this is the only that i want with a man, not kidding, like i could do a self-psychoanalysis here but i can *feel* this right now. it hurts it hurts it hurts (i hate that my love language is physical touch! i want him to do this to me!)

You wait for his rejection. An excuse. A line. A wink and a slap on the ass. A reason to stop fighting and drown.

yes, yes, yes. even tho reader is the opposite of me, like i am an open book and in a relationship will give myself to someone fully just like that, i love this. the juxtaposition, her thinking she wants him to play it off (us both - me and reader- believing he will) but admitting that she *does* truly want to let her guard down

A little light shimmers behind your ribcage.  The light in your chest flickers again. It’s dim, but still, it could guide someone through the dark forest of viscera in your chest cavity to your heart.

this partially gives me a feeling specifically related to disco elysium (dolores dei with her golden lungs) so that might not mean anything to anyone else, but even without that, this imagery is so beautiful. the dim light, guiding him to her heart.

He runs his thumb across his bottom lip in thought. You wonder if that’s one of his tells. It’s kind of a slutty one,

slut slut slut!!! it's that moment where he's flirting with christina and says that he "just wants to talk"

“I don’t think so,” he decides, “maybe early on.”

i love angsty javi :(( who tried so hard and failed (at least in his own mind)

Time weighted down by the tension. You pause. His hand is heavy, dead weight in yours, letting you have him.

the thing about time again. so good. and him giving himself over in the same way that reader did during part one

But his cock refuses. It pokes and prods at your soft belly and lower back. Teasing. Begging to be scolded for disobeying. Protesting in opposition to Javier’s earnest affection.

this is so real. he can't help being kind of a horndog (if you will), but he's such a lover. javi falls in love with every woman it's canon

“No, baby, you can touch your greedy cock, not me.”  A whiny little groan comes out of him, prickling with need.  “Slowly,” you add, watching as he obeys. His hand pumps slowly.

add this to the list of things i want do to him

You bite sharply at his nipple, and he yelps and gapes at you. You straddle his waist and give him a stern look.

stop making me think about his nipples!! i want to bite him so bad!!!!!!!!!! istg

“When your cock is in my mouth, my pussy gets jealous. She’s too empty,” before he can respond, you drag his hand through your obscenely wet folds.

i'm so bad at writing reader talking dirty (because i'm such a quiet person in a sexual environment) and holy shit this was so hot!!!!!!!!! i love her

A single thought crosses your mind like a brilliant marquee on an empty boulevard.

gorgeous gorgeous line of imagery

But you like having him spread out on your mattress in the morning. You’d like to hear more of his voice.

don't ask why this made me tear up (my period lol) but for some reason "you'd like to hear more of his voice" makes me feel something. it's like how she doesn't care about her ex's on the answering machine bc she's already moved on (but also like a million other inexplicable emotions for me)

“A ride, hm?” His voice melts over the top of your head. You’re not listening to the words. Floating in a cloud. Just the baritone of his voice keeping you in the air. “C’mere, I’ve got a ride for you, cariño,” he growls into your hair before pulling you all the way on top of him. You shake with airy laughter, sitting up. Your laugh lights up his eyes. He looks at you like he wants more.  It’s enough.

yes, yes, yes. such good characterization of him. and i love the way they feed off of each other, the chemistry (reminds me of javi and helena where you can just *feel* it emanating through the screen)

if you know anything about me, you know that i *hate* happy endings (usually). i love when people don't end up together bc i'm a miserable woman inside BUT i really liked this! because it didn't feel over the top, it was so subtle, not like a love at first sight (nonsense) situation but a realistic progression

10/10

Maladaptive Coping Mechanisms 

Part 2

Pairing: Javier Peñal x f!reader

Summary: Looking for an escape from a horrible day, you take a sexy stranger home from the bar. 

Warnings: smut, pwp, dom reader/sub jav undertones, switch reader/ switch javi undertones, oral sex, piv sex, AU unprotected sex has no risks bc it's fic, pwp but some feelings involved, pet names, dick & pussy pronouns,

Notes: still practicing, would love feedback, constructive criticism, or delusional inspiration <3

thanks to @miss-oranje-disco-dancer for your thoughts on part 1, i hope this part lives up to the first, and to @gothcsz for encouragement, and the kind anon who asked for part 2

WC: 5.3K

AO3: here

Part 1: here

It hurts gasping to catch your breath. Lungs filled with water. Eyes shut so tight a dull headache starts behind them. Every second feels like an hour. In your empty room, alone in your bed. Drowning. Sweat cooling and drying on your skin as the airconditioner hums. A sticky, wet pool of come between your legs. Damp, sweaty sheets. Great, add them to the laundry pile and everything else from your life you’d like to toss out the window. And over what? A man you said ten words to before your smile and fingers digging into his bicep begged him to fuck you? 

When you open your eyes, you can still see his staring back at you deep, warm brown. A new mirage to haunt your mundane existence. You can still hear his baritone voice scratching your ears. You blink and blink, but it doesn’t fade. Javier is standing before you. No shirt on, jeans unbuttoned. Sweat on his golden chest still casting an ethereal shine. He’s holding a fresh glass of water. Your dehydrated body salivates. He’s not a mirage in a desert, though. His shirt is still on your floor with yours. 

You scowl at him, drawing a confused look from him. 

“Something wrong, cariño?” he asks pointedly. 

“No.” 

He sets the water down but doesn’t move closer. He gives you a look. Like he knows your ‘no’ was bullshit. How would he know? He doesn’t know you. Irritation creeps in, replacing the suffocating emptiness. He places a hand softly on your thigh. Gentle so you don’t bolt and run into the street to get hit by an unsuspecting driver in the dark, unable to see you until their headlights flood your eyes and reflect. 

“Thought you’d left,” you answer quietly but honestly. You don’t know him. Why do you care if he thinks you look pathetic? 

“That fast? Without a shirt?” 

You shrug. 

“You want me gone?” He asks, revealing nothing about his own desires. Stoic and frozen to avoid bias. 

“No,” you shake your head, grab the water, swallowing and swallowing. It's so cold it hurts. You hope it never runs out. He can’t see who you really are if you’re hiding behind a glass. Despite your wishes, the glass runs dry. Javi takes it from you and sets it down. 

You look at the man in front of you with sober eyes. He’s incredibly handsome. Without being fueled by blind rage, alcohol, or a contagious horny fever, you aren’t quite as confident. In fact, you suddenly feel overcome with vulnerability. A cord of insecurity wraps around your throat, constricting. You reach for another cigarette to escape the sensation, but Javi intercepts. He takes your hand in his, pulling you towards him until he gets you out of bed and standing before him. He pulls you towards his broad frame and holds you tightly. Pressed against him, chest to chest, you listen to his deep, slow breathing. Skin to skin, he co-regulates you like a baby, fragile in his arms. 

You fight against it. Feeling pathetic. Unable to bare your fangs. Unable to slash with your claws and push him away. He holds you too tight. A heavy lump in your throat renders you unable to speak. Too raw. You’re lost at sea. Circling a whirlpool of dark thoughts. You wait for his rejection. An excuse. A line. A wink and a slap on the ass. A reason to stop fighting and drown. You shouldn’t care if he leaves or ruminate on what he says. He was a distraction. A hot, talented, unforgettable distraction. Another cigarette to burn down to your fingertips and discard in the pile of ash. 

As if, once again, he could hear your hurricane of thoughts bellowing and howling for your attention, Javi shushes you. 

“Quiet.” He runs his fingers up and down your spine. A little light shimmers behind your ribcage. His touch is soothing, and his voice is grounding as he hums into your ear about how soft your skin is. You inhale, your face pressed against his body. He’s spicy, earthy, and smoky. You bite and lick at the flesh you can reach. A barely there noise rumbles in his throat, only for you, only for the ear flush against him, flesh and blood. 

“Shhhh,” he murmurs, “enough.” The light in your chest flickers again. It’s dim, but still, it could guide someone through the dark forest of viscera in your chest cavity to your heart. You shudder. Letting someone follow that beacon through the labyrinth to your jagged, glowing soul? No. What if they see the ugly shape, naked and scarred and bruised? What if they know what you need? What if they give it to you altruistically. 

A stony scowl sets in place. Corners of your mouth weighed down and brows drawn tight. You break out of his hold. Rough and harsh against the warmth between your bodies. 

“How do you know?” You demand an answer. 

“Know what?” 

“Why are you shushing me?” 

“Too loud up here,” he taps the pad of his finger to your temple. A fissure streaking down your stone barricade.

“How do you know?” 

“You have tells.” 

“You don’t know me like that,” you jab a finger at his chest. Hostile and baiting. 

“I’m observant,” he says like it’s a reasonable explanation, unperturbed by your bristling. You stare at him expectantly, waiting for more. Might as well cross your arms and tap your foot. Observant? What the fuck does that mean? 

His hands flex at his sides, his mouth twitches, and then he rolls his shoulders, staying loose and relaxed. Like some thought just rolled through his whole body. “I’m not a good guy,” he says like it’s a fact. Not a threat or self-deprecating. Neutral. 

“But, I know what I’m good at,” he continues, “you clench your jaw, start breathing shallowly, and your eyes–” 

“Got it. I’m a walking billboard,” you cut him off sharply. 

“No.”

You stare back at his face. Unreadable. You wonder what his tells are. 

“I’m observant,” he repeats. You raise an eyebrow at him. “And,” he pauses, “I may have some special training and experience.” 

“In …observing?” 

“Something like that.” 

“What are you Javi? A PI? Secret agent man? FBI?”

“DEA.” 

“DEA?” 

“Formerly.” 

“Formerly? Did you get fired? Caught on the take? Testing the product?” 

He snorts at you. You cracked a smile out of him. It softens you. A playful ease reemerging.  

“Retired.” 

He’s a man of few words, it seems. His walls have a strong foundation. You scrutinize his face and body swiftly and blatantly. 

“You either have some freakish age-defying genetics, or the DEA retirement age is earlier than I thought,” you muse, earning a little huff of air that sounds like a stifled laugh from him. 

“Chose an early retirement; resigned.” Something else is on the edge of his tongue. It doesn’t formulate. 

“Did you like it?” You ask with sincerity. He blinks. Unprepared for that question. Shit, was that the wrong thing to ask? You notice the lines in his face. He runs his thumb across his bottom lip in thought. You wonder if that’s one of his tells. It’s kind of a slutty one, you think to yourself, suppressing a smile as you focus on his mouth. His lips. Soft and plush. The way they fit against yours– 

“I don’t think so,” he decides, “maybe early on.” 

You smile up at him, “s’good that you’re out of it then,” you say with an assertive nod. 

He nods back with a deep exhale. Release. Like he’s letting go of something, but his eyes seem unfocused now. Another tell? Maybe you need special training to know. He seems far away in his head. Withdrawing. No, you want him to stay present with you. You liked how it felt when he appeared connected. Here. With you. You liked his confidence. The chemistry egged you on like you both were in on a secret. You think you might know how to bring him back. Plus, he needs it, you decide. You aren’t done with him, and he hasn’t disappeared completely. You readjust internally. More. You’re still smiling, but with an edge he hasn’t caught yet. 

“Hey, Javi?” You purr. 

“Hmm?” Still faraway. 

You pick up one of his hands in both of yours and kiss each finger. Watching his face. Looking for the light behind his eyes. The tactile sensation draws it out like a stagelight, he’s fixed on your mouth. The size of your hands around his. The hunger in your eyes when you look through your lashes at him. 

“What else are you good at?” You drop your voice. Your demons chitter and flap around the room. Maybe they’re chasing his. You drag his fingers down your body. Slowly. Both your heads droop, chin to chest, watching the private show. Just for you, except it’s for him. Between your breasts, down your soft belly. Lower and lower. Breathing your shared hot air. All you can hear is the fan in the airconditioner and your pulse. Time weighted down by the tension. You pause. His hand is heavy, dead weight in yours, letting you have him. You reverse, tracing back up, the same path, until you’re about to kiss his fingers again, but instead you wrap your lips around one and suck. 

“Fuck,” his eyes widen briefly, and his jaw hangs slack. You pull off his finger wetly. Alluring. You don’t have to act. The expression forming on his face brings out your devious seductress. Smiling, wide. You bite your lip, toning it down. Batting your lashes at him. You’re like an image from a dream he’s been having since he was a teenager. He hopes he doesn’t wake up from it. 

“Javi?”

“Yes.” 

“What else are you good at?” you repeat. Tolerant of his lapse in responding. For now. 

The switch flicks. He regains autonomous control of his limbs. Hands curl around your form, until one rests along the back of your neck, fingers slid into the hair at the base of your skull. The other wedges between your legs. Hot against the sticky mess you’d been forcing yourself to ignore since he first got out of your bed. He’s here, back. 

“Good at making a mess of this pretty little pussy.” 

“Mmm,” you agree. His voice unlocks something ravenous. 

“Good at making you come wrapped around these fingers,” he slips and swirls them through the mess between your legs. Obscene. 

“Mmm.”

“Good at filling you with this cock until you forget how to say anything ‘cept for ‘please, Javi’,” he declares as his other hand wraps yours around his growing length. 

“Yes.” 

“Good at giving you something to feel,” he continues on. He is no longer a man of few words; he’s not a laconic lover. A filthy little devil dances on his tongue. He’s a willing vessel. Tugging at your hair and slipping through your folds. 

You giggle airily, and he pauses his running list of sex skills, waiting for an explanation. What could possibly be funny to you right now. 

“Giving me something to feel,” you slip between another giggle. “Right now,” you pull at his wrist, “I feel like we could use a shower before we keep going. We’re messy.” 

He laughs with you, and you adore how his eyes crinkle when he smiles wide. 

You wash each other in the shower with care. Roles reversed from the cab of his truck, you sternly demand he behaves in the shower, citing an unreliable hot water tank. It’s hard to resist fooling around covered in soap, but he holds up his hands in surrender. He promises to behave. But his cock refuses. It pokes and prods at your soft belly and lower back. Teasing. Begging to be scolded for disobeying. Protesting in opposition to Javier’s earnest affection. He’s gentle washing your back. Vulnerable letting you wash his. It’s rejuvenating. He cleared your mind earlier, and gave you something to feel, with care and attention. You commit yourself to returning the favor. You’ll give him a break from whatever led him to brooding on a barstool. 

You have a feeling he doesn’t give up control very often. He’s such an attentive listener, though. He’ll do great, you decide. 

He knows something has changed. Wretched observant thing he is. 

You are busy thinking, but you don’t have the same look on your face as you did at the bar or when he came back to your bedroom after getting more water. Your mind is racing, but with vigor. It radiates through the hot steam. A sparkle in your eye. Fluid movement. As if it were all premeditated, you dry off and direct him. 

He’s bewitched by the riddle of you. Bold and quick witted, but raw and honest. It’s easy to notice when you’re lost in your head, but he can’t predict you. Time speeds up and slows down in your presence. Like he was knocked out cold, face to pavement. Then thrown in the backseat of a speeding car, but it’s on a cross country trip. When he makes eye contact with you in the rearview mirror from the backseat it’s unnerving. Is he your hostage? Were you the getaway driver? 

You catch him drifting away. Naked and wet in your too bright bathroom, exposed like he’s on an operating table under the bright fluorescent lights. You watch as he towels off on autopilot. 

He realizes he wants to stay longer, not because he knows the broken look from your face earlier, but because something else already stitches you together. You’re peculiar. Direct. Expressive. His speed. Some unspoken understanding, resolute and vibrant. Cutting through the void of the unknown. Real. He can read when you disappaer, but he can’t predict you. 

Javi shakes his head to himself, lost in this train of thought. You’ve known her for a few hours. A couple drinks, sex, and a shower, he reminds himself. He also knows how you taste and how you feel wrapped around his cock, whining please, and that thought fans the flames. 

Enough. You decide. He needs this. 

He smells fresh and sweet from your body wash as you lead him back to your bedroom. He pulls your back into his damp chest, running his hands along your body and nearly purring in your ear. Good.

You whip around and take a step back, surprising him. He hesitates. You’re analyzing. Calculating. Your eyes drag over his body. His big brown eyes and kiss-swollen lips register that you pulled away from him. His hands flex like a predator, ready to grab and pull you back to him, but restrained. His cock reaches out towards you unabashedly, shouting for your attention. 

You can’t help but feel the smile you feel pulling at the corners of your mouth. 

“Javi?”

“Yes?”

“Are you good at following orders?”

“Nope.” 

You laugh, surprised by his quick honesty. 

“Kind of oxymoronic,” you ponder. 

“How?” 

“Well, now I don’t know if you should earn my favor for answering honestly or if I should prepare a punishment if you’re going to misbehave.”

Something flickers across his face. He swallows it. 

“Let me try again.” You move closer and cup his cheek in your palm like he did to you when you first sat on your bed for him. You look into his eyes and speak softly, “You gave me what I needed earlier. Made me feel so good I forgot everything else.” He waits for you to continue, but you feel his chest puff with pride. “I’d like to give you what you need now, Javi.” He swallows again. You wondered if he’d have a quip for that, but he looks so serious. Focused. 

“But first, I need to know if you’ll be good for me, Javi. Can you do that? Can you be good for me?” 

You feel him melt slightly, into your palm, nearly imperceptible the weight shifting into your hold. 

More. The wildfire within you is lit. Blazing. 

“Yes,” he nearly whispers. A flush of heat crawls up his chest. 

“Can you follow my orders?” 

“Yes, mi reina,” he said, consenting. That’s new. 

“Mmm,” you purr at him. 

“Does your pretty cock know that?” 

He blinks with a thin veil of confusion at you. Uncertain. 

“Yes,” he confirms. 

“Look at me,” you order. 

You sink to your knees in front of him. You ego does flips in your stomach. He looms over you, but you hold the reins. You pepper little kitten licks up the underside of his shaft, holding his eye contact and pausing. You rest your soft cheek against his thigh. He’s tense. Waiting to know the rules. 

“Does he look greedy to you?” You study the precome weeping from the head of his cock inches from your face. 

“No, mi reina.” 

“No?”

You avoid his crying erection and impishly toy with his balls. Lazily, you kiss and lick and suckle at them for your own enjoyment. And when you stop, you feel the weight of his gaze, and his unanswered questions, the payback. 

“So good for me watching and not touching,” you praise. “But, baby, look. He’s drooling like a rabid dog.”

You swipe up a trail of the glistening fluid with precision, doing nothing to relieve him. He swallows tightly, his body buzzing with tension like a livewire. He finds it easy to dole out pleasure, direct his energy towards someone else, drown in unraveling a woman’s desires. But your knowing look at him is unnerving. Rattling his bravado. You move with precision, intensely. 

“Tell me, Javi,” you peer up at his face, “do you have a greedy cock?” 

You’re going to ruin him. 

“Yes,” he relents through an exhale. You’ve found it. Kept locked in a cage. Leashed in the dark. How did you find it? Did he lead you there? 

You tilt your head at him. 

“Yes, mi reina,” he adds. 

“Say it for me, baby,” you push. 

He takes a shallow breath. You grin at him like a Cheshire Cat. 

“I have a greedy cock, mi reina, a greedy disobedient cock.” Unlocked, you pocket the key. You’ve unleashed something within him. His feels a swirl of sick pleasure twisting in his core. 

“Yes,” you exclaim with a bright look that gives him a rush. He wants to keep making you look like that. 

“You can touch.” You reward him. Too easy. 

He reaches for you, and you swat at his hand. 

“No, baby, you can touch your greedy cock, not me.” 

A whiny little groan comes out of him, prickling with need. 

“Slowly,” you add, watching as he obeys. His hand pumps slowly. You can’t resist. Holding out your tongue, you move close enough that his rosy head taps against your wet tongue just long enough to get a taste. You hum. Pleased with his obedience and the taste of him. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, closing his eyes tightly. 

“Your eyes stay on me, though,” you remind him gently, with leniency for his current state of executive functioning. 

“Would you like to know a secret?” You tease as you stand up and lean into his ear. 

“Yes,” he pants. Breathy and gravelly. Delight coats your expression, you 

“I like your big greedy cock,” you lilt. 

A soft whine is pulled from his throat. You frown dramatically at him. Causing him to pause his tense strokes and his brow to furrow. You love the intoxicating feeling of having him at your mercy. 

“But you already knew that,” you admonish, shaking your head at him. 

“Already knew that,” he repeats. You’re not sure he could tell you what he just agreed to know. 

“Not a very good secret then, I guess,” you think aloud. You’re light and lucid, bouncing around him as he’s anchored in the quicksand of your spell. 

“But do you know,” circling behind him, you press your soft tits into his back, and you continue to rasp towards his ear, “how wet my pussy is now? Just from the idea of taking your cock down my throat? She’s about to drip down my legs.” 

“Fuck,” he pants again and stops moving. You feel like the sun. You urge him to turn towards you as you crawl onto your bed and lay in the center. His eyes flick all over you, wanting to see everything. 

He’s fighting to figure out where to lock his eyes. It feels euphoric to see how openly aroused he is by you. 

“Did you know that?” You repeat. 

“No.” 

“S’what I thought,” you reposition yourself, “you wanna see for yourself?” 

“Yes,” he answers rapidly. Eager. 

You show him. Parting your legs to display the evidence. So wet and tender for him. 

You’re locked in a timeloop. When you see his eyes flood with lust, and his body tenses, your desire swells in your core, flooding your glossy folds. When he sees your glistening sex fluttering and pulsing, it nearly brings him to his knees. A horny sisyphian wet dream. Turning each other on. But, crucially, you know how to break free. 

“You wanna taste?” You ask. 

“Yes, please.” Good manners. 

He starts to move towards you, and you press him back. 

“No, baby, lay right here, and I’ll give you a taste.” 

He’s obedient. Settling next to you. For a moment, he has the urge to drag you by the hips to sit on his face. To take you for himself, no games. But then he hears your sweet voice praising him and feels overcome with a dizzying sense of validation. 

“So perfect, baby, look at you,” you continue showering him with adoration. You’re mesmerizing with your sweet scent, wet lips, and your glassy eyes. Too good for him. He doesn’t deserve your attention like this. 

You see the crease between his brows as he starts to overthink. Enough. You bite sharply at his nipple, and he yelps and gapes at you. You straddle his waist and give him a stern look. 

“Stay here with me, Javi,” you order, ”don’t disappear in there.” You tap a finger lightly against his temple. He nods. 

You hover over him and slip his swollen head through your folds, easily coating his length. He shudders and groans. So openly vocal and responsive to you. That’s good. I like to hear you, baby. You use him as you please, like a toy circling your clit. But it’s everything about him that saturates you in pleasure. 

“Feel so fucking good,” you praise before pulling back and shifting down between his legs. 

You lick and suck your arousal off of him. Loud and messy. You climb towards his face. “Open,” you place your hand under his jaw, “taste,” you murmur before feeding your tongue into his mouth. Kissing hungrily he lets out desperate, deep groans. Relaxing into your movements he simply accepts what you give and lets you feel his uninhibited reactions. 

He finds you vexing and tantalizing. Letting him touch and taste, but not directly. He’d have half a mind to argue with you—despite having tormented you just the same—but how you light up and laugh when you best him fills him with a more profound desire. He likes how you look when you’re in charge. He likes that he just has to keep up. He likes being all consumed by the present moment, so caught up in you he can’t think about anything else. 

You break away, seemingly satisfied with his participation thus far. You’re ethereal and glowing above him. 

You slide down and return to your retribution. Teasing by lightly drawing your fingers around his leaking cock as it lies against his lower abdomen. You revel in delight over his muscles tensing and flexing, and he huffs impatiently as you increase the intensity of your vengeance. You trace the same outline with your tongue; you use his moves from earlier, breathing warm and cool air over his length and watching it twitch. 

You stare up at him as you run the flat of your tongue from his balls up to his tip. He looks wrecked, staring back at you, and you feel powerful, holding his attention.  

He catches the flash of a smirk before you slip your mouth around his tip and nearly overwhelm him with the warm slip of your tongue and the pressure of your mouth wrapped around him. 

“Fuck,” he rasps. 

You don’t let up, swiftly taking him further down. You focus on breathing and working him into the back of your throat, then back to just the tip. Your saliva drips and coats him as your hands work in time with your bobbing head. It’s messy, and the noises are pornographic as you pour your enthusiasm onto him. He’s cursing and groaning while you continue on, and you can’t take the sight of him anymore. You pull off him and crawl up the bed on your hands and knees. You sit up and pick up one of his hands. 

“Javi, I have a problem,”

“Shit, what?” 

“When your cock is in my mouth, my pussy gets jealous. She’s too empty,” before he can respond, you drag his hand through your obscenely wet folds. 

“Fuck,” he chokes out. It must be his favorite word. 

“Mhmm,” you agree. 

“Use me,” he says in a hoarse voice. 

“I intend to,” you reply. 

And you do. You ride him with an unrestrained vigor. You start bouncing up and down, tossing your head back to give him a little show. You drive him into a frenzy as you freely describe how good he makes you feel. And when he looks wholly fucked out, you taunt him for looking so pleased when his body is yours to use. 

When he breaks, you feel his hands caress your body greedily. He squeezes at your hips, and he gapes with stars in his eyes at your tits perfectly filling his hands. He gropes at your ass and digs his fingers into your plush skin, pulling you down harder onto him with each bounce.

You consider how you might torture him further for touching without asking, but decide you just need to see him come undone. A single thought crosses your mind like a brilliant marquee on an empty boulevard.

He remains happy to obey as you instruct him to swap positions. 

“You’re going to keep fucking me hard and deep while I come on your cock,” you order as you trail your hand down to your clit to your liking. 

“Yes,” he agrees. “Come. Come on my cock.” He chants raggedly as you do. Your orgasm ripples across your body until the oversensitivity hits, and you press your hand into Javi’s chest. He pauses, hovering over you. You breathe as you come down and observe the exertion written across his features. 

“Again,” you state, and he slides back into you. “I need it now, Javi,” you continue. “I need you to come. Fill me up. Just like you promised.” 

You can’t get there with him again fast enough, but don’t need to. You just want to feel him deep inside you, releasing everything he’s got. And he’s more than willing to follow orders. He thrusts into you deeply until his hips jerk, and you can feel him pulsing inside of you as he comes. 

“Please, take it.” You make out in between words that he smothers in your skin.  

When he collapses on top of you, and your fingers rake through his hair, it’s as if he turns to liquid, and your soul absorbs him up. 

You hum contentedly at him and push until he rolls off. 

You order him to stay in bed before you’re off to clean up, bring him a towel, and of course, refill water glasses for both of you. As you walk into the kitchen, you see the flashing light on your answering machine. You didn’t notice it when you got home earlier, but it reminds you of the reality of the night. You know it’s a scathing message from your ex for walking away hours ago. 

You feel a thread of annoyance, but it doesn’t escalate as you return to your bedroom. 

Javi is where you left him and watches you with a funny look in his eyes as you carry on about your tasks until you return to his side. He likes seeing you move about your space, naked and unhurried. How insistint you are about taking care of him, it feels natural. 

“What?” you grill him for staring. 

“Nothing, nothing,” he assuages, raising his hands in defense. 

You like how he looks in your bed with his dewy skin and mussed hair. 

“Seems like you can be good at following orders,” you note.  

“Depends on who’s doing the ordering, I guess” he shrugs, and you roll your eyes. 

You offer him a cigarette and notice the time on the clock on your nightstand. 

“It’s late,” you state, and he nods, taking a long drag. 

“Stay,” you suggest, hoping it doesn’t sound needy. 

“That an order, mi reina?” 

You didn’t expect to hear that endearment outside of sex. It makes you float. 

“Yes.” 

“Good.”

He’s there. In the morning when you wake up. Taking up too much space in your bed, sprawled on his stomach. Trapping you under a heavy arm. Snoring hot air into your shoulder. His body is a furnace, the sheet balled up towards your feet, leaving his bare skin exposed to the morning light. His smooth back and the curve of his ass are candid and honest next to you. You figured he would’ve disappeared before you woke up. Like a cryptid. You thought you’d be searching for any trace that he was real. Fortunately, you are surrounded by evidence. He is real, and unguarded. And somehow weighing your whole body down with just one arm. You squirm trying to check the time and he stirs. You still. 

“Morning,” he grumbles. Of course his morning voice is sexier than you could’ve imagined. 

“Morning.” 

He peels his arm from your skin, releasing you. Free to stretch you reveal the ache in your shoulders from sleeping in that position with a groan. The room smells like sweat and sex, with faint notes of your shampoo and his aftershave lingering on your pillows. You instantly miss his touch, despite the fact that you were overheating from his warmth. You wait for a clue. What happens next? He was supposed to be temporary. A high you chased. Just a distraction, help you avoid reality and your emotions. But you like having him spread out on your mattress in the morning. You’d like to hear more of his voice. 

He flips onto his back and scoops you under his arm. Oh. Head on his chest. You hear the strong beat of his heart in his chest. You might as well try. 

“You want–” “Can I–” 

You both laugh, your head bumping into his chest. You urge him to go first. Reveal his hand. 

“Can I take you to breakfast?” he asks, “maybe after another shower,” he adds considering whatever fluids are still pasted to his skin. 

You couldn’t have resisted the smile spreading on your face if you’d been warned ahead of time. You know he feels it pressed against his skin. 

“I was going to offer to make coffee, but that does sound better.” 

“Good.”

“Plus, I could use a ride back to my car. It’s still outside the bar.” 

“A ride, hm?” His voice melts over the top of your head. You’re not listening to the words. Floating in a cloud. Just the baritone of his voice keeping you in the air. “C’mere, I’ve got a ride for you, cariño,” he growls into your hair before pulling you all the way on top of him. You shake with airy laughter, sitting up. Your laugh lights up his eyes. He looks at you like he wants more. 

It’s enough. 

[bastetwastaken]

Hey, I love your writing and admire all your fics! Congrats on your mass of followers, you deserve it! <333

Because of you, I've been inspired to start writing my own works. So thank you for that :D

I saw that you were taking writing requests! Could you please do 36. or 37. with the puzzleshipping boys?❤️❤️❤️

If it's not too much trouble, (and if you do end up choosing 37) I thought it could be fun with a twist like Atem clowning Yugi for cheesy or nsfw stuff he said while drunk the previous night (?) Just an idea to add to the prompt that I had!

Thanks for creating and being awesome! <33

Oh that's so lovely of you to say!! I wish I knew who you were so I could thank you properly <3 <3

I'm so glad to hear that you're writing your own works, that's amazing and I'm sure you're doing an absolutely wonderful job! Keep having fun with it and I sincerely hope that it brings you joy <3 <3

These prompts are both so fun, so I kinda used both since one works as just dialogue and doesn't require much setting. ^.^ also your idea of Atem clowning Yugi is wonderful, a twist on an otherwise angsty prompt which I am grateful for <3 They're in an established relationship here, but Yugi being drunk and with no filter opens way more doors for them.

Enjoy! And thank you again.

36. "Good morning, my love" and 37. "I am not proud of the things I said to you"

.........

He woke with a dry mouth, aching bones and the worst headache of his fucking life. A groan left his lips as he rolled onto his back, stretching his limbs out in an attempt to bring life back to his body. 

He blinked several times, trying to clear the blurriness from his eyes and the fog from his mind. After a few more tries, he was finally successful enough to see the room he was lying in was not his own. 

A moment of panic seized him but it quickly passed when he recognised the pictures on the walls, the guitar in the corner and the small cat curled up on the bed with him. 

He had no idea how the hell he’d gotten to his boyfriends last night but here he was in Atems bed…but without Atem? 

His boyfriend wasn’t next to him, the bed was empty…not even the extra pillows were where they should be and he frowned, fighting the urge to just roll back onto his stomach and go to sleep once more. 

With only a little reluctancy, he pushed himself up and swung his legs off the bed, frowning at his lack of clothes. Him waking up naked in Atems bed had been a common occurrence for the past few months but he usually remembered the previous night. 

No matter, he was in his boyfriend's home, this was fine. No cause for concern.

He reached for the drawers next to the bed, pulling out one of Atems oversized sleep shirts and retrieving his own underwear from the floor. His head swam when he stood up and he had to give himself a moment before he attempted to walk toward the door, but he managed to leave the room eventually. 

He made it to the living room where he could hear the quiet sounds of the television playing after stopping off at the bathroom to freshen up and he smiled when he caught sight of his boyfriend sitting on the sofa. 

“Good morning, my love.” Atem said softly as he shuffled into the room. He hummed in response, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to rid them of the blurriness of the previous night's alcohol. “How do you feel?” 

Yugi huffed out a laugh as he fell onto the sofa opposite his boyfriend, pulling his legs up and closing his eyes, curling into a ball. 

“Like complete shit.” He said. 

“Oh, my love.” Atem said sadly. “Do you need anything?” 

“Putting down.” 

“Sorry, not an option.” Atem said with a laugh. 

“Fine.” He huffed. “Coffee then I guess.” 

“Of course.” He heard Atem laugh again before he felt the sofa move as he stood up. He felt a kiss pressed quickly to his head, then he heard Atem walk away from him. 

He moved slowly, rolling onto his back, stretching out a little more before daring to open his eyes again. This time, they were less blurry and he didn’t feel as much like the room was spinning so for that he was grateful. 

Thoughts slowly crept into his foggy mind and he wondered how the hell he’d managed to get to his boyfriends in one piece. He’d intended to go home, he knew that. He even remembered walking most of the way with Jou but then he’d obviously just veered off at some point and found his way here. 

As of yet, he was still to remember exactly what had happened once he got here though.

He looked around the room and then sighed happily, dropping his head against the back of the sofa, leaning against a soft thick blanket. As he did, he looked to the other end of the sofa where Atem had been sitting and realised the pillows he’d noticed were missing from his boyfriend's bed were there instead and he groaned. 

“What’s up?” Atem asked as he walked back into the room, two steaming cups in his hands. “Is everything alright?” 

“I made you sleep on the sofa.” He said quietly, watching Atem put the cups down on the table before him. 

“Oh, you didn’t make me but yeah.” Atem said, dropping back onto the sofa next to him. “Uh…you were a little…handsy last night and I thought it was best to stay separate.” 

“God.” He groaned, closing his eyes just so he didn’t have to look at the smirk on Atems face. “You should’ve stayed. I wouldn’t have minded, I can tell you that.” 

“Hmm.” He felt Atems hand come to rest on his knee. “Maybe not, but still. I’d never take advantage of you.” 

He nodded, opening his eyes again and returning the soft smile his boyfriend gave him. Of course he’d expect that from Atem, he had always been such a gentleman. 

“I’m sorry.” He said. “I know I was probably a fucking nightmare to deal with.” 

Atem shook his head and turned to face him properly. 

“Well, I mean, when you got here and after I was over the uh, pleasant surprise of you hammering on my door and waking me up at three in the morning, I asked if you’d had a good night.” Atem said, a smile creeping onto his face. “And you answered that by saying ‘I swear to drunk I’m not god.’ and I knew then that you’d need some very careful handling.” 

“Oh no.” He groaned, sinking further into the sofa under him, wishing the ground would just swallow him up and he didn’t have to deal with the whole awkwardness of this situation. 

Atem didn’t need this, they hadn’t even been together that long. Sure, they’d been friends for years but actually dating? That’d only been a few months. He was cursing his drunk self for allowing this to happen and vowed right then to never let himself be left unattended ever again. 

“I don’t mind.” Atem said with a laugh. “Honestly, you said some pretty funny things.” 

“I almost don’t wanna ask.” He said. 

“I definitely wanna tell you though.” Atem laughed softly. “After all, I had to deal with it first hand, it’s only fair that you share in that.” 

He didn’t respond, he only covered his face with his hands and sank further into the cushions under him. 

“You seem to get very philosophical when you’re drunk.” Atem said conversationally. “You were very concerned with the plight of the river last night. You asked why they always run, and what the point is, then you proceeded to tell me that there’s no point at all to them running since they never seem to get anywhere-” 

“Atem please.” He groaned. 

“Oh, and you also told me about a new friend you made, a guy who looked good in a skirt and wanted to go travelling.” Atem continued. “I’m sure you told me that you’re off to Australia with him next week.” 

“Fuck.” 

“But I think the best things you said were about me.” Atem told him. 

He slipped his hands slowly from his face, looked back at his boyfriend and tried to read his reaction but he couldn’t quite manage. 

“Oh?” He asked, curious despite himself. Desperately hoping he said nothing out of order. 

“Yeah.” Atem smirked at him. “You almost cried when you found out I had a boyfriend.” 

“I’m a fucking idiot.” He groaned again and moved his hands back over his face. 

“Yet I love you anyway.” Atem said softly. “You told me that I was too hot for my boyfriend, whoever he was, that I should be with you instead cause you’d treat me right. You told me that I’d never get a better fuck. Guaranteed.” 

“Oh my god.” He whispered. Shame eating away at him. How could he be so…stupid? He should have gone home, he wished he’d gone home. 

“Then you proceeded to take off your clothes and throw yourself on my bed.” Atem continued. “What was it you said? Oh yeah! You told me to climb on and enjoy the best ride of my life, that you wanted to see me lose myself above you, to watch my beautiful body as I bounced on your co-” 

“I am not proud of the things I said to you.” He muttered, cheeks burning with shame and embarrassment. He’d never say something like that to Atem even if they were true and they were definitely things he’d thought about before.  

“Oh I don’t know…maybe you should be.” Atem said softly. 

He slid his hands away from his burning face, looking back at his boyfriend again. He saw the shy smile Atem was giving him, the way his hands moved restlessly in his lap. 

“Should I?” He said quietly. 

“Well, I mean, um…” Atem stopped to take a breath then gave him a soft smile. “You’re pretty well spoken when you’re drunk so that’s something to be proud of…and maybe I’d like to hear you be more confident in yourself, to be…told what to do.” 

He hesitated for a moment, unsure if Atem was joking or whether he really meant it…but the nervousness in his posture told him he did. 

“Ah…” He said, mouth dry for an entirely different reason now. “Well, yeah, I can…maybe, try that, yeah.” 

Atem laughed softly and looked away from him, leaning forward and grabbing both cups, handing him one. 

“Anyway, shelf that for now.” Atem told him as he took the cup. “A discussion for when you feel better.” 

“Oh, yeah.” He nodded eagerly, glad for the break. Maybe now he could convince himself to calm down enough to speak coherently. 

“You can stay here for as long as you like by the way.” Atem said softly. “I don’t have any plans today and I was gonna see you later anyway.” 

“Ugh. I was gonna take you out somewhere.” He said regretfully, knowing that he might not be in a state to do that anymore. 

“Oh I don’t mind.” Atem said happily, putting down his cup and shuffling closer to him. “Spending time with you is always nice, no matter where.” 

“Even if I’m a drunken mess?” He asked. 

“Even if you’re a drunken mess.” Atem said softly with a quiet laugh, moving to rest an arm against the back of the couch, a finger tapping Yugi's nose gently. “Even if you’re a hungover mess too.” 

“I’m so lucky to have you.” He said softly, putting his own mug down and shuffling into a more upright position. “Really, I’m so lucky.” 

Atem smiled at him, moving closer again. A hand came to rest on his knee and he covered it with one of his own. 

“And don’t you forget it.” Atem teased. 

“Like you’d let me.” He huffed, leaning closer and pressing his lips softly to Atems. 

He felt his boyfriend sigh softly, leaning into him and moving to slide a hand into his hair. He deepened the kiss, pressing Atem back gently and moving with him, pushing him down against the sofa easily. 

Atem laughed happily against his lips, legs moving to wrap around his hips as he drew him into another deep kiss. 

...........

Fancy asking me to write a little thing? My asks are always open, so feel free to slide on in and give me a silly little prompt <3 You can find a list of them and some info here- Link

[thedarkmistress16]

Yandere!RDJ x Kidnapped!Fem!Reader- A Sweet Night

Didn't realize this would get so angsty on expansion (this was another old one that I got back to). Have fun! Reader wears a dress, but genders don't play a big role here.

Gif-Inspired Dialogue Prompts:

"Gorgeous as always, sweetheart."

"Try the wine."

"I'm not staring- I'm admiring your beauty. I always have."

"You really are too cute for your own good, my dear."

"Now why would you ever want to leave me?"

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

After seating himself opposite of her, he sighed and took a moment to drink in her appearance before flashing a charming smile. "You are gorgeous as always, sweetheart." His voice had lowered for her benefit; dipping low enough for her to almost forget the events leading up to this moment. She shook her head, fighting off her growing blush. Wining and dining on a reservation is one thing, accosting her in the bathroom to chain her leg to the table for a surprise meal is another. And his incessant winking was not helping her bruised pride. The widening of a Cheshire smile, however, told her he already saw right through her. "You really are too cute for your own good, my dear," he laughed pleasantly, despite her already conflicting expression. She had no idea what the evening would entail, nor the reason for his insistence on a candlelit dinner with preparations laid out like they were celebrating a holiday. Shit, was this an anniversary thing? She did not want a reminder of how long she’s been here or would appreciate it- spoiling or not.

A pleading glance was sent his way, but he seemed to be in his own little world, fiddling with the arrangements. She turned away to take in a breath and reorganize her thoughts. She turned back to unexpectedly find his eyes already pouring into her soul. Frowning deeply, she turned her head away from his unwavering gaze. “Can you stop staring?”

He blinked and copied her expression in one fluid motion as if her question surprised him. Curious, she studied him with one of her eyes. He muttered, "I'm not staring-” letting the sentence hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “I'm admiring your beauty.” He composed himself with a fierce certainty and clarity that almost floored her when his eyes settled back onto her. “I always have, ever since I first saw you, and it’s about time you knew that."

She really didn’t want to believe him. She wanted his interest in her to be nonexistent and to be curled up on her favorite cushions in a place she called home. A place she once called safe. Until him. Until he laid those brown eyes of moody hues upon her with a certain look that she wasn’t accustomed to. A look, where even then, her mind told her was something she could go on the rest of her life without experiencing. A look that ensnared her even now, at the behest of all her red flags and everything she knew about suspicious behaviors.

They stared at each other in silence until he looked away and coughed abruptly, clearing the tense air as his hands busied themselves with the wine bottle. "Try the wine." With a slightly strained smile adorning his face, he held up the aforementioned drink close to his profile and gazed at her expectantly. After taking in the rest of his expression and vaguely cataloging the picture as an imaginary headshot of sorts for an ad campaign, she trepidly offered up her glass for him to pour. His palm happily enveloped her fingers as the other tilted the glass of liquid to tap against her empty one.

The flow of burgundy was too loud in this space, only bringing more attention to how silent the rest of the house was. How it felt more intimate. She almost blushed before she caught herself. If she gives an inch he’ll take a foot. And then some. Grimacing, she dropped her gaze to his transparent wine glass. While she had no desire to become less sober in his company, she opted to fake sips to please him and later gain the upper hand as his intake increased. Perhaps she could lift the front door keys off his person when he was conked out…

She drew back her glass autonomously when he released her hand and she almost missed him lifting his, partially filled to a similar volume. “Cheers” She blinked at him, not prepared to celebrate anything and quickly pondering what would constitute such a moment. He attempted a closed-eye smile, but even for a toast, he couldn't manage to take his eyes off of her. It was always difficult for him to do so when she was solely in his presence, she gathered. “To us. For being in each other’s company.”

It was vague- too vague.

He was planning something, or she wasn't supposed to be privy to whatever he was thinking. And for a seemingly bland and forgettable toast. If she let herself, a shiver would've completely traveled down her spine, but prevented herself from doing so. The last thing she needed was to appear tense and encourage alertness when he seemed relaxed, aside from his focus on her.

She narrowed her eyes, but ultimately decided that fighting him on more of his double meanings wasn’t worth it tonight. Perhaps it didn’t mean anything at all and she was wound up too tight- maybe that was the reason for this surprise. Maybe this was an innocent dinner he wanted to dress up because that was just who he was; Robert was nothing but extra for the things- and people, in your case- he claimed to treasure. Though she didn't find it in herself to care about questioning him either- she lacked interest in favor of getting through the night and retiring upstairs. Even still, apprehension coursed through her veins as he looked at her expectantly.

“Do you not like it? It’s a good year,” he mused, still inspecting her. She had forgotten to even take a sip of her wine. Did he already..? Did she not notice? She blinked, but couldn’t do more than sit there. His expression changed, not by much, but it was certainly more… intense. That made her reluctantly bring the glass to her lips. “Or are you not hungry?” She hummed, her lips transmitting vibrations on the transparent surface it was still in contact with. Just a little tilt more and she’d be in the clear. “Or, my dearest, are you hungry for something else?”

Her spit-take, while it didn’t cause a spill outside the stemmed glass, made a mess of her chin. She surely felt like she had jumped clean out of her chair with the way he said that. She knew full well to be wary of Robert’s wording. Usually, anything said in that tone meant incessant proximity and teasing for a time, fueled by her expressiveness. For an unknown amount of times since she’s known him and engaged in conversation, she wished her reactions were mild at best. Even better, nonexistent entirely, next to him not existing in the same plane of reality as her.

She absentmindedly licked her lips and realized she drank more than she intended.

And now she was tense all over again, despite her mental insistence of mimicking his nonchalantness. She wouldn’t put it past him to spike the wine before opening it, even though she had no clue on how that could be managed in the first place.

Staring at his face, she was becoming more unnerved at his silence by the millisecond, more of the reality of him and her and the whole situation crashing down on her like a tsunami.

“I think I should go-” She moved to stand and stumbled before catching herself by gripping the tablecloth, and she fought between chalking it up to wanting to get the hell out of there and potentially being drugged. The color of the material was like the wine but brighter, she noted, and for some reason, it made her head spin unpleasantly. Where had she seen it before?

“What’s the rush, sweetheart?” She almost stopped herself from speaking entirely, but the words fell out of her mouth on autopilot as their eyes remained locked.

“I need to lie down.”

Now he was downright predatory. Even as he leaned back in his seat, he had this aura that oozed confidence. Her breathing picked up, barely registering he can clearly see all of her responses. He sighed, almost wistfully, as his attention was focused solely on her.

"Now why would you ever want to leave me?" The context was too ominous to sound pleasing, even with the effort he put into his tenor, despite not being anywhere close to her ear for the full effect. He was still sitting across from her, smiling almost nonchalantly, blinking ruefully, and it was then she was able to place the meaning behind his words.

Her spine straightened, and she promptly turned to flee without a second thought.

What welcomed her was the cold, hard reality of the dusty hardwood floor below her.

A cry rung out through the silent kitchen upon impact, full of panic and immediately accompanied by sharp intakes of breath. Her knees were completely unprotected, courtesy of the dress she wore, and traitorous tears sprung in her eyes.

A presence knelt beside her and graciously lifted her up to stand, but she was unable to keep her balance without leaning into him. She was steadied again, barely, and she cringed at the throbbing burn on her kneecaps. While it seemed he was trying to express care, he looked at her like nothing happened, smiling softly. Like she wasn’t in dire pain and humiliation and anger and anguish.

She didn’t care if she wasn’t bleeding, she wanted to get away from him, have her wounds treated, and pass out on the bed to forget the whole thing.

But she felt no energy at this point- even doing so much as to lightly push him away did nothing to sway his hold. At a loss of what to do, the only things she could focus on were the stinging in her watery eyes, the blossoming bruises on her body, and his unwavering stare that she tried pleading to.

“Robert-”

He shushed her, and used his hands to manipulate her delicately. She was swaying now, shuffling to his lead as his head leaned down to press his skin against her hairline.

Silence, then a kiss between her brows that left a tinge of wetness behind.

“Why leave when I have all you need?”

It was barely a whisper, but she heard it as clear as the rattling of the linked chain clinking against the table leg. Feeling another surge of tears, she buried her head in his shoulder, chest shaking sporadically. One hand caressed her back, and he began humming a tune in his throat.

She didn’t respond.

~

[velvetcloxds]

SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT | S.B.

Pairing: Post Azkaban Sirius Black x Reader- no reader pronouns used

Word count: 1.3k

Requested by: anon

Warning: nightmares, a little angsty but mostly fluff, dialogue-heavy?

Summary: Reader helping Sirius adjust after he escaped Azkaban

The remnants of Sirius’ time in Azkaban were still tugging at his mind, they always would be, though, some days were harder than others. Some days, the shadows would creep out along with the sun and find a hiding place in his dreams. You’d learned to recognize the signs. Sirius would hide it well, as he’d always been able to do, but you knew him better than he’d ever allowed himself to admit, and you’d always be the first to notice his façade slipping.

“Thank you for coming,” you smiled, Remus doing the same as he walked with you to the door, pausing to spare a glance in the direction of the living room, brows furrowed as he watched Sirius take another sip from his glass, unsteady hand nearly spilling the drink all over his clothes.

“How is he adjusting?” Remus asked softly, sympathetic eyes evaluating his friend’s every move.

“Some days are better than others,” you replied, tone matching his as you already knew the sight he would meet. “I’m taking good care of him, Rem, promise.”

“I know that,” he assured you and gently squeezed your shoulder. “I wouldn’t doubt that for a second, Y/n. If there’s anywhere, I’d trust him to be safe, it would be right at your side,” he sighed. “I worry about him, is all, after what he had to endure. I can only imagine.”

“Another, please,” you heard your husband demand, the elf merely nodding in understanding before rushing to the kitchen to retrieve another bottle of fire whiskey.

“I should-“

“Yes, of course,” Remus agreed, sending you away with another squeeze to your shoulder, gaze following you as you sat down on the arm of the sofa next to Sirius.

“Hi, darling,” you mused, gentle hands sifting through his curls as you took the newly filled glass from his hands and placed it on the side table. “Did you have fun?” you questioned carefully, and a lazy smile slipped onto his lips.

“Hmm,” he hummed, and he looked to the now empty doorway. “It’s always nice to see old Moony.”

“It sure is,” you paused as your hands found his. “Shall we go to bed my love?” the question received the same reply as it usually did, a mere nod and a fallen smile as he rose to his feet, arm slung around your waist as he stumbled to the bedroom at your side.

Sirius was hesitant, he always was around this time of the day. He’d hold it off for as long as possible, but he could only distract you for so long, he could only avoid the certainty of his dreaded nights for so long. He paused, preparing himself as if it would do any good other than prolonging the inevitable

“I’m right here,” you reminded him softly, his tired eyes barely meeting yours as he offered you a soft nod, your hands on his waist as you guided him to his side of the bed. “Want to keep this on?” you asked as your fingers tugged on the hem of his t-shirt.

“Please,” he breathed, a sullen tone to his voice as he gritted a response, a sound you’d grown accustomed to. “You shouldn’t stay,” he mumbled as you lifted the blanket for him to settle down and though your frown was prominent, you’d need more to convey your disapproval of his request.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Y/n, please,” he sighed, dragging his eyes along your path as you walked around the bed to get in next to him.

“Sirius, we have this discussion every night.”

“It has been a long day,” he admitted and with the touch of your hand to his chest, you felt his entire body tense, contrasting the usual reaction your comfort provided.

“Exactly, why I should stay,” you nodded lightly, gently moving the blanket higher over his body as he rested his head on his pillow, eyelids heavy from the strain of a day lived in the past. “Get some rest, my love, I’ll be here if you need me.”

He breathed a sigh of defeat, hand reaching blindly in search of yours, soft sighs escaping his lips when your fingers entwined with his.

You’d watched him for a while, considered his breathing, his careful shifts as he tried to the best of his abilities to fall asleep, success only being reached once you hesitantly moved closer to him, nimbly guiding him into your arms for as long as his sleepless dreams would allow him to, but the terrors found him, they always did.

“Sirius,” you breathed carefully from the other side of the bed, hand hovering over him as you considered touching his squirming figure, remembering how much worse it made the situation the previous time. “Sirius, you need to wake up,” you commanded, louder and with more urgency as tears met the surface of his cheeks, trails of wetness being created as he shifted against the pillow, body tense as he forced his hands together. “Sirius, please,” you begged shifting onto your knees as you delicately pried the blanket off him, pausing when his startled eyes met your own.

“Y/n?” he gasped, hands doing what yours wanted as he desperately searched for your touch. “Y/n,” he concurred with a relieved sigh as he pulled you down to him, still heaving as your head laid atop his chest, heart thumping in your ear.

“You’re safe,” you whispered, kissing his chest lightly, hands still tightly gripped in his as you allowed him to hold you as he deemed most comforting. “You’re safe, Siri, we’re at home and I’m here, you’re safe.”

You repeated the little statement of assurance more than you’d even realized, only faltering when he relaxed in your hold, hands freeing yours only for them to fall into his hair, fingers tugging at the curls and scratching his scalp to soothe him.

“Do you think it’ll be like this forever?” he mumbled after the silence of the room became suffocating, his fingers tracing soft trails up and down your arm. “Do you think I’ll live the rest of my life haunted by moments I had been sure I'd ran from?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted sheepishly, breaking at the tone of his voice, the hopelessness, the exhaustion. “I wish I did. Wish I could take it all away. Wish I could take away all the pain, scare away all your demons.”

“Some demons are part of you,” he countered, your mind racing with words to object but he used his pointed finger to carefully lift your face to force your gaze to meet his. “Though, angels tend to follow behind them,” he noted with the whisper of a smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t believe I’ve ever expressed how much it means to me that you’re here, that you’ve so stupidly decided to face the shadows with me. Anyone else would’ve left and surely they’d have deserved better- you, deserve better.”

“There is nowhere else I’d rather be than in the darkness with you, ” you explained, and he raised a brow. “Shadows cannot exist without light, Sirius, and I don’t know when, but the light will find us again.”

“Oh, I think it’s closer than we know,” he mused, shaking his head as he leaned down to kiss you, smiling against your lips as he hovered close. “I love you, angel.”

“I love you too, Siri.”

_____________________________________________________________

General Harry Potter taglist: @oliverwoodmarrymepls @cupids-crystals @mirclealignr @pepper-up-potion @bentleywolf29 @natashxromanovf @mysticsblog112 @ferretboysupremacy @saintlike78 @wlfstxr

Sirius Black taglist: @remusluvr

Join my taglist

[lokisprettygirl]

I’m saying this to; 1 hopefully help you improve, 2 be a more constructive (and a little more kind, even if it feels like I’m ripping you apart) than the negativity you’ve been getting, 3 get you even more motivated

But I hate your way of writing.

Form wise, not a big fan of having multiple dialogues from different speakers in one paragraph. When you do that it feels like they’re not needed, out there or incomplete. If you separate them, you might be able to see where you can maybe elaborate more or put descriptions in between to make the scene a little more whole rather than making it feel as if the characters are in empty space sometimes. Personally too, I hate the omniscient feeling cause its supposed to be the “reader”’s point of view therefore “you” might not be privy to other people’s thoughts and motivations. That might pass it you just put an OC but for me it’s odd. Maybe mess around with that and see how well you can make the reader interpret body language or something.

Character wise, is off and on. You can actually get away this this cause you usually deal with “reader” fanfic but at some point it’s hard to say it is a “reader” cause of added specificity. Which can suck for longer work. But sometimes your “readers” can be just be a bit. Most of the time they have backstabbing friends/acquaintances or have rivals you can have obvious comparisons to that elevate the “reader”’s personality or sometimes lack of it. Sometimes you forget that people have limits, especially when you’ve taken them out of the norm but you still keep hitting your “reader” with twist after twist after twist, sometimes with out reprieve and you hide behind the “sometimes things/life just hits you.” And you’re right, some people come out of that happy and healthy but most times people are stress, depressed, anxious and jittery cause even if it’s a happy change it’s still a BIG change from their norm. And sometime you either don’t give time to process or resolve it.

Those are just some of my complaints. If they look/sound mean or too much to you then you’re not the only one cause even to me. But you’re riding a praising high, which is good praises are a good motivation to keep writing. But sometimes they don’t give points of improvement, you may or may not want, or sometimes they don’t give you an “oh maybe I should try that sometimes”.

However, I have to say you can capture an audience. Ideas can certainly keep loyal followers grounded and you have both in spades. Sometimes you can tell you’re juggling with too many but most of the time you know you chapter focus. You’re very good at picking and choosing ideas and scenes for a chapter and letting certain scenes hang (though not those ones where it’s back to back cliffies cause of more angsty past reveal). I’m talking about downtimes where you’d cut the chapter of a high point of let’s say domestic routine, pillow talk or when character are working together rather than against each other.

Also, I really admire your drive to write. It’s refreshing getting back to back updates sometimes. And I always wonder where you get motivation or will to do it. It’s probably knowing that what you write is being read but I feel like there’s more cause I bet you have somedays when you wanna go “nah, I’ll update next week”. Then on top of that you’re writing is quite concise despite maybe writing the chapter the day of when you update. Things are in order when you read the chapter usually there is no confusion or questions how the chapter went. I assume you might have a mind map ready.

So anyway, take whatever I wrote with a grain of salt? Okay. Might take note, maybe implement it? Glad to be of help. Again, I know these can sound harsh, but I know you can take it. I hope to have balanced it out with your good points (hopefully).

But even if you did not take it this well, what I hope to further inspire is to write and improve but a little more guided. It’s not meant to discourage you but make you see a different perspective of possible places of improvement. I would still look forward to what you’ll bring to the table. But, again, sometimes the praises you get is motivating but not constructive and the negativity you’ve been getting is not warranted (nor constructive either), those ones will being you down. Don’t let it. Go write, improve and thrive.

You know I don't mind constructive criticism. And I can often sense when someone wants to offer a genuine criticism and when someone is trying to put me down intentionally. That being said.. since you criticised my writing.. as a critic there's something you can improve when you're critiquing an aspiring writer (even though I'm not one, it's just a hobby)

1. Don't start your criticism with.. I hate your writing.

I am hoping it's just me and you didn't send this to other fanfic writers because I don't think you understand how disheartening that can be to read as a writer. It doesn't matter how much you praise the write later on, that sentence would stick with a person. It's like me going to tom Hiddleston and saying.

I hate your acting style but hey I like how you can cry on command. You see me point? He would stop listening to me after I told him that I hate his acting.

Now coming back to me. Someone already told me separate my paragraphs and I have been trying to do that when a fic or a chapter is dialogue heavy. However as a newbie who has been writing from 4months now, I am not really conscious about it all the time when I'm writing. I have never taken a creative writing class. In Indian public schools they don't really teach you to write or write fictions.

My fic always fluctuates between reader's pov and then Loki's pov. It can be confusing I assume? But nobody told me so before so I wouldn't really know. In real life sometimes you talk back and forth when you're conversing with another person. There are no long pauses or head scratches or smirking involved. Sometimes you just talk.

When I started writing I had no idea how annoying it must be to read long paragraphs with multiple people talking at the same time, when someone told me I tried to improve it and if you read my current fics you would be able to see that .

Now your second criticism makes no sense to me and I apologise in advance for that. But Who in the world haven't had a backstabbing friend? A cheating partner or suffered something traumatic in their life?

My ex broke up with me, then he hooked up with my best friend, I got a physical life long condition around the same time, a belittling condition that made me unable to achieve my lifelong dream but i was back on my feet soon after, that's real life right? BUT How am I supposed to give that break to my characters in a fan fiction or a story ? I can't describe each and every thing in detail, the characters can cry and then I skip time because after a point it becomes monotonous, you know what happens when you add unnecessary details in a story? It becomes boring and people lose interest.

Thank you for your good points about my writing.

I really want to thank my regular readers because they are the reason why I'm able to update frequently because nobody would want to update a fic if nobody is reading, I can just keep them in my draft and read myself if nobody else is interested. So all thanks to them.

Also I have a very good imagination, but I have always sucked at story telling. Sometimes I get so frustrated because in my mind I have this extraordinary narrative but I'm unable to pen it down because it's just not my talent. Now some people here advised me to use a beta reader of Collab with others, But I can't.. I have always been a lone wolf, I like doing my own thing and I won't give it up or reveal it to others. I'm also very possesive about my ideas and I don't like sharing it with others before I write them myself, if it's good people like it and comment, if it's not my fics get no engagement and that's okay. Sometimes your fics just suck, nothing to feel bad about. You win some you lose some.

I don't often have a mind map or outline, I don't even think about scenes beforehand because I can't enjoy writing if I have repeated the scenes over and over in my head a million times. I just start writing and it flows from there, I have never planned a cliff hanger in my life. It just happens and that's the talent I possess I Guess.

Thank you for your criticism, I understand your points but you might want to pick your words carefully so the person receiving your criticism wouldn't feel discouraged. I know it might not have been your intention but it came across like that so I hope you take that away with you. Plus the timing couldn't have been better, because I feel like people are being negative to me for no reason these days, I don't understand why, is it because my series is doing well? Or what I don't get it. But that's not your fault dear.

Hope you continue to read whatever I write next. Thank you 💚

[calxide]

calx’s experiments #1 plans for my upcoming smaus

aye, thanks for 400+ follows! consider this as a special hehe. i will add my thoughts, opinions, concepts, ideas, and outlines in this post.

the smaus that will be discussed in this post are MIXED SIGNALS (kazuha's), CHEMISTRY (albedo's), TWO WORLDS APART (ayato's), PROFESSORS OF LOVE (zhongli's), and another kazuha smau. spoilers ahead!

✧ー MIXED SIGNALS :: ft. kaedehara kazuha x GN!reader

since this won (tbh i'd still publish it sooner than the others if it didn't lol) i continued outlining it and... unfortunately, it didn't turn out to be as light-hearted as everyone might expect it to be so i decided to make two (2) kazuha smau.

before talking about the other smau, i'd like to discuss my plans for this one. (i will be talking about the other kazuha smau at the very end)

this will be a very short smau (i think) so i decided to make a Tagalog version of this one (currently suffering, i regret this decision but it is what it is). narratives/written chapters are going to be written in full English except for the dialogues. the dialogues and texts may be different from each other, but the context and meaning will still be the same as i will not try to translate them directly.

also, don't expect to see the group chat that you saw at calx's experiments #1 main post ー i'll be posting a teaser soon (slay 💅). i won't discuss it much so,, have these tags and warnings instead lol

‎

✧ー CHEMISTRY :: ft. albedo x FEM!reader

TW bullying

i haven't planned much as of now because i want to finish mixed signals first before anything else. i'm still not sure about the length of this smau; it might be longer than mixed signals but shorter (debatable) than abyssal love.

idk what to discuss so have this:

y/n, the reader - you, comes from a rich family. she doesn't really do well in her academics but still manages to get good grades — which her classmates really hate. they blindly assumed that she pays the prestigious school to let her stay and give her good grades. however, albedo knows that that is not the case, therefore, he decided to help. the synopsis is subject to change.

‎

✧ー TWO WORLDS APART :: ft. kamisato ayato x FEM!reader

my notes for this smau is... e m p t y. well, oops, anyways. i really want to work on this smau as soon as possible but i gotta be patient ! also, are you guys good with idol!ayato x photographer!reader? still thinking about what y/n's job should be. do tell if you guys have any suggestions <3 i may not have much for now but expect a shit ton of angst

ayato is a famous idol/actor in inazuma. during his travel in their neighboring country—liyue, he saw a young woman crying. he approached her and offered her a handkerchief and— ok nvm im not gonna spoil anymore kbye

anw, i won't be making a tagalog version of this bc i'm too lazy (🤡), and, expect this to be longer than abyssal love bc there will be so much pining.

⠀

✧ー PROFESSORS OF LOVE :: ft. zhongli x GN!reader

‎if my notes for the ayato smau is empty, well, i don't have notes for this one.. HAHAHAHA what i have in my mind rn is just a cute lighthearted story,, bc i need a break... 💪

y/n and zhongli are both famous professors for their intellect and strong passion for teaching. students would always see the two of them hanging out together, and they thought that they would make a good pair — leading to almost everyone to ship them.

venti is the #1 supporter of the yn x zhongli agenda and supports his students shenanigans when it comes to the two <3

‎⠀

✧ー ENIGMA [stc] :: ft. kaedehara kazuha x FEM!reader

TW death, car accident

this was supposed to be mixed signals but it will be very angsty so i was like NOOOO ok imma just make this into another smau. THUS, the birth of this smau. ALRIGHT!!!!!! get ready for angst AND i'm giving y'all some second lead <33

y/n once live a happy life with her loving parents alongside their blooming business — but all those were gone because of a mishap that occurred one rainy night. throughout the years of finding the truth about the tragic accident, y/n found herself falling for her childhood friend, kaedehara kazuha. kazuha had always been by her side since the day her parents passed away. never did he leave her side, he was always there to support her. but... why?

AAAAA i wanna shout bc i want to do this one SO BADDDD i want to finish every smau that i'm supposed to do so i can get started with this one. i might publish this alongside Professors of Love but i think i'd be able to start this during the summer vacation (april ?) of 2023? i hope i won't be busy by then so i can do this :'))

tags sneak peek!!!!!