#THE DESTINY OF EVERYTHING IS TO BE FORGOTTEN

[appleflavoredkitkats]

i will make a proper analysis post for this one day but i genuinely think the "fundy's mind" stream is fundy's magnum opus. it does so much in one short stream. it perfectly portrays the fundamentals of fundy's character while also leaving so much to be interpreted and decoded.

like of course half of the metaphors and mysteries put into that episode hinted his involvement w las nevadas. but, and i think this point stands better considering how his story was executed and concluded, i think the stream was such a perfect encapsulation of the cyclical nature of fundy's abandonment and self-worth issues. it is "fundy's mind" after all.

we see glimpses of wilbur, literal monologues of how he feels brushed aside. i think back then, our interpretations of the books were a little too literal— which was not wrong to assume at the time. fundy was having prophetic dreams, of course it was normal to think he could have been a time traveler or something of that sort.

but, in the present day, i feel like if you look into the texts of these books in a more metaphorical sense, it makes a lot more sense. there's definitely a theme about "waking up" in a metaphorical sense, but the dreams flip this phrase on its head in some sort of way, as if dream!fundy was trying to get fundy to look away from the books.

i posit that dream!fundy demands fundy to wake up because it actually shields fundy from the painful truth deeply embedded in his psyche. meanwhile, sleeping actually causes fundy to dig into this truth more as it causes him to stay into this dream world. so when fundy chooses to sleep, he's not shielding himself away— rather, it represents the metaphorical "waking up", beholding truths that he typically shies away from.

but then what is this "truth"?

well, when dream!fundy gives up scaring fundy off, he confesses to an evil someone who will destroy fundy and everything he ever loved. of course, this pertains to quackity, but here's the thing. if dream!fundy wanted to protect fundy, then he would have obviously warned him about quackity without hesitance.

i'd argue that quackity being some big baddie is half the "truth" dream!fundy is trying to warn him about. then what is the other half that's missing? i think it has something to do with the "you're not real" statements.

those seem like a scare tactic at first. if not, it does not feel like it's meant to be the "painful truth" dream!fundy is trying to shield from fundy because he says it multiple times before the actual "truth" is revealed. but i think the reveal actually becomes more impactful if you read it as "there will be an evil person out there, always, that will make you not real."

and i guess to explain— there's, like i said, a cyclical nature to fundy's issues. he follows someone, dedicating himself to the country until it all inevitably becomes futile in the end. it happens with all iterations of l'manberg and las nevadas. i've always stated that fundy is the embodiment of the nations he's apart of, and he dies alongside it whenever it comes down to it.

so when the book mentions, "you are not real", "this place isn't real", and "but he [those who left him, specifically quackity] is", i feel like it's not just talking about quackity and las nevadas. rather, if we think about it, this is literally the formula in which fundy's arcs literally follow. he becomes nothing alongside the dissolvement of a nation, because those he trusted and followed were real threats.

and what i think this dream hints in particular is that, las nevadas would be the last straw. after this, his existence becomes virtually nothing. he is rendered nothing.

which is literally what happens in the end.

fundy's storyline has always been about being sidelined, always forgotten or used as a punchline for a joke. in this case, i feel that the dream isn't just warning him about this, but rather it's literally his destiny to be forgotten. that is the painful truth dream!fundy doesn't want fundt to know. that's why he sounded so defeated by fundy's stubbornness and curiosity by the third book— he does not want fundy to know that it's literally in his fate that he ends up becoming nothing.

and, well, it's true. the last we see of fundy is when he jumped into the l'manberg crater after cutting himself off from wilbur. it's even stated that fundy didn't die to end it all, but rather to "get away from wilbur". at the same time, we see fundy donate schlatt's sword, one of his prized possessions, to the museum.

he literally cuts off one of the most integral, most defining, aspects of his character— his devotion to nationhood and those who embodied it. and after that, we never see him again. when fundy chose to choose things for himself, to separate himself from l'manberg, physically and ideologically, he's gone.

it's as if he's not real.

we never really know if fundy left for the best or the worst, really. but in the narrative of the dsmp, separating himself from l'manberg literally makes him null. that's the truth his dreams were trying to shield himself from.

[lilliyoona]

Thinking too much about the fate of the scout vets gets me so sad…

Thinking about how Hange can’t even be properly memorialized. There’s no body to recover. It’s been burned into ash and trampled into dust.

Thinking about how postwar Levi might talk with a portrait artist, in lieu of photographs to remember them by. Describing what all of his friends and comrades looked like. Recalling them vividly with his minds eye. And how that one portrait of Hange would be the only proof she ever existed.

He sees the world now through one little eye, he knows it’s the only remaining lense through which his fallen comrades could see what their sacrifices were ever for. He’s the only one left to carry their memory.

He finds no personal glory or triumph in being the hero.

He resumes life with the noble and humble effort of planting trees.

And the world moves on.

[kateis-cakeis]

I'm still out here wondering where we all got the 'promised golden age' from, because it's nowhere in the actual show (I know, I'm still reeling from it, but I checked all the transcripts, watched all the moments where destiny is mentioned, and it's never actually said).

So I just wanna check with the fandom, especially if you were there back in the day, where did this idea of the Golden Age come from????

Because I could understand it if it came from a panel maybe? Somewhere along the way??? But it's definitely not from the show.

And the only place I can find the phrase is from the description of Series 5 Episode 1 that mentions Camelot is basking in a golden age. Which is not in the context of destiny.

If you know anything, let me know, I am begging.

[imastoryteller]

20 Plot Twist Ideas That Will Shock Your Audience

One of the most effective tools in a storyteller's arsenal is the plot twist. A well-executed plot twist can leave your audience reeling, questioning everything they thought they knew about your story. It can turn a good story into a great one, leaving a lasting impact on your readers or viewers. In this post, we'll explore 20 plot twist ideas that will shock your audience and elevate your storytelling game to new heights.

1. The Unlikely Hero:

Turn the tables by revealing an unexpected character as the true hero. This can be someone seemingly insignificant or even an antagonist who redeems themselves at a crucial moment.

2. The Double Agent:

Introduce a character who initially appears loyal to the protagonist but is secretly working against them, only to later reveal their true intentions.

3. The Long-Lost Sibling:

Uncover a secret sibling, separated from the main character in their early years, and use their sudden appearance to shift the narrative.

4. Time Travel Paradox:

Play with time travel to create a paradox that forces the characters to confront alternate timelines or unforeseen consequences of their actions.

5. The Mastermind:

The story's villain is revealed to be a puppet in a larger scheme, controlled by a mastermind who has been operating behind the scenes.

6. The Supernatural Twist:

Introduce a supernatural element, like ghosts or mythical creatures, that the characters and audience believed were mere myths.

7. The Doppelgänger:

A character's doppelgänger appears, causing confusion and chaos as they try to determine who is the real one.

8. The Reversal of Roles:

Switch the roles of the protagonist and antagonist halfway through the story, making the audience question their allegiances.

9. The Untouchable Hero:

Create a seemingly invincible hero who unexpectedly meets their match, forcing them to reevaluate their abilities and tactics.

10. The Forgotten Past:

Unearth a character's forgotten or repressed memories, leading to a shocking revelation about their true identity or past actions.

11. The Betrayal Within:

One of the protagonist's closest allies betrays them, throwing their entire mission into disarray.

12. The Hidden Identity:

A character is not who they claim to be, and their true identity is revealed, impacting the story's direction.

13. The Inception Twist:

Blur the lines between reality and illusion, leaving the audience guessing what's real and what's a dream or illusion.

14. The Time Loop:

Trap your characters in a time loop where they're forced to relive the same events repeatedly until they can break free.

15. The Shapeshifter:

Introduce a character with the ability to change their appearance, creating doubt and suspicion within the group.

16. The Truth About the Mentor:

The mentor figure, who initially seems wise and benevolent, is unveiled as the story's true antagonist.

17. The Lost Artifact:

The much sought-after artifact or treasure turns out to be a fake, and the real item is something entirely unexpected.

18. The Pseudo-Death:

Fake a character's death to shock the audience and later reveal they were alive all along.

19. The Prophecy Reversed:

Subvert the traditional hero's journey by defying a prophesized destiny and taking the story in a different direction.

20. The Unreliable Narrator:

Reveal that the narrator has been lying or misrepresenting events, casting doubt on the entire story's accuracy.

Conclusion:

These 20 plot twist ideas are just the beginning, and by incorporating them into your narratives, you can leave your audience stunned, shocked, and eager for more. Remember that the key to a successful plot twist lies in its execution, so take your time and craft a twist that seamlessly integrates into your story, making it an unforgettable experience for your readers or viewers.

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[ghostgirl101]

Imagine if Paul Atreides claimed you as his destiny: PART Ⅰ of Ⅱ

|| Word Count: 1.5K || Angst → Fluff ||

A/N: I had this as a big idea that I had to get down before the basic headcanons and stuff, so here's my take on our Lisan al Gaib 😎 if you like this then hit me up for some relationship headcanons and the like, I'm up for it all. Enjoy reading or watching the movie if you haven't already - I'm going again lol, and screen X is the best way to experience it fr Also I feel like I should write a second part to this lmao, if you liked what you read?

You weren't one for dreams of destiny.

The dreams you had seemed meaningless, confusing, nothing to do with what ifs and what could. Not like his.

But you always seemed to feel some kind of atmosphere, an aura you couldn't quite shake off, even when you woke up from the darkness. There was no face to go with the voice, the voice in the dark that called to you in whispers that you didn't understand. Beautiful words that weren't yours, but sounded so soft and gentle and powerful, as they reached out to you from distant lands.

You could never place them, pin them down and study them, understand them, until the day the Emperor was challenged by a ghost of a lost House, thought to be dead, left to be forgotten. You stand near the Emperor and his guards and men, the Great Houses looming and listening from higher above, as the Fremen fill up the space to watch the confrontation in spirited anticipation.

The life debt was paid. The late Emperor was overthrown. The ascendancy of Paul Atreides rose and took from the throne to claim it.

His attention flicks from his eyes boring coldly into the Emperor's, to meet yours, his voice smooth and set, full of conviction and force.

"Our destiny is together. I'll take her."

Your eyes widen slightly as his words sink in, blinking through the shock and incredulity that rushes through you and makes your heart race in apprehension and wonder. Though his voice twins with your wandering dreams, you don't know whether to feel fascination and longing, or fear and cautiousness at some greater force beyond your understanding, playing out before your very eyes.

"I..." your voice falters in uncertainty and disbelief, and you try again. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me well," Paul responds with an undying, stoic certainty that's almost unnerving. "As I know you."

His eyes study you, his Spice-stained blue eyes bleeding into yours, scanning every freckle on your face and curve of your outfit. Assessing you, knowing you, ridiculous throngs of power filling his aura and projecting onto you with his intense stare. You have to fight not to shiver under it, ultimately failing.

"What of me?" is the wisest reply you can think of before the silence stretches into dangerous uncertainty.

"Everything," Paul says evenly, but there's no mistaking the challenge and determination in his tone, almost daring you to reject him, to disagree, a built-up desire of dreamt promises resolving his stand. "I choose you, as my Empress. We will rule together, over the Empire."

Scepticism and bewilderment washes over you and makes your blood heat and stir, retreating into silence as he takes a step closer to you, gazing at you as if you're the most curious, exotic being he's ever seen.

Desire threatens to override Paul Atreides' reason, clinging onto the hope and chance of a narrow way through to light, a light that could only be sought out with you by his side. Without you, there was nothing in sight but pools of blood replacing luscious marine life and oceans running through Arrakis, disarray and disillusion at every turn and infecting every heart.

You were absolutely perfect.

And you were already his, long before this moment, before you and he were born into the world and named. There was no manipulation needed, because everything was laid out for him to take, welcoming him to rule and grow higher and higher. Fate had bonded you and strung you along to here and now, and as you blink up into his bright eyes that narrow slightly at you, frowning softly as if you hadn't understood his demand.

"Do you know what I am?"

You pause for a moment, speaking slowly and cautiously, as the crowd of Fremen and the wary, late Emperor watch on in tense wordlessness. "You are Leto Atreides' son. Former Duke of Caladan."

"What I am," Paul repeats evenly, "not who I am." He stares at you in silence for another beat, before speaking up again. "Do you know of the Bene Gesserit?"

You stop yourself from glancing in Lady Jessica's direction just in time; the runes patterning her skin, her once soft eyes now spiked with an unfamiliar darkness of ages past. Anyone could get trapped in her watchful glare, and her son's holds almost as much intensity.

"No," you decide on hesitantly.

"Kwisatz Hederach," he adds, taking another step forward until you can feel his breath tickling your cheeks, standing above you with unspoken grace and vigor. "I see the future. A part of me is the future."

His hand is suddenly squeezing yours warmly and tightly, making you flinch slightly and glance down at them before looking back up at him.

"In this future, I am with you."

All you can do is stare at him in awe and wariness, not knowing whether to let your curiosity guide you, or distance yourself as far as possible from the boy who reigns over the dunes.

"Why?" you whisper, the crowds seeming to fade around you as you focus on the boy in front of you, his fingers tangling with yours boldly.

"I've seen it," Paul insists, his tone a touch softer in thought and wistfulness. "All of it. When I am with you..." His grip tightens over yours, the fire in his eyes returning. "We're unstoppable."

"And..." your words dry before you can speak them, and you will yourself to go on, unable to break away from the deep blue hues of his gaze. "And without?"

His jaw visibly clenches at your question, and his hand drops yours, shaking his head only answer as he glances away in slight frustration.

"You don't have the leisure of choice. It's all been made for you, written in the sands and stars, and what you need to do is walk in its path. I will show you the way. You have no other. Do you understand?"

The firmness is strong in his words and glare, making you look away from him too, still in a slight stun over the rush of events. In less than a day, your freedom has been stripped to this young man's desires and destiny, entwined with yours. You, who barely knew him until now, only familiar with his voice, his words, that echoed and rang in your head like a lullaby.

But this feels so harsh and strict. The eyes of the former Emporer linger between the two of you, and Paul's army of Fremen stand behind him attentively, some gazing at you in admiration and hope, of their messiah's promised bride. And she is beautiful.

"That's unfair."

"The future is unfair," Paul says calmly, his collected, cool tone wavering for a moment. "But it will be so much worse without you by my side, and I will not accept that. Not for my people... not for myself."

You stare at him in fascination and caution, lost for words. His fingers rise to brush against the skin of your cheek, sending tingles in their wake and making you fight back the automatic reaction, your eyes following his surprisingly gentle touch. Two fingers trace down the shape of your cheek down to your chin, tilting your head slightly upwards. Just one step closer, and your lips would be touching too.

"Name anything," he murmurs to you, the Fremen straining to hear his voice as it reaches you effortlessly, his expression earnest and determined. "Anything. And it is yours. Only if you willingly wed me in turn. Not as a concubine, nor a mistress."

You blink, then blink again, taken aback as a million thoughts and suggestions race through your mind and make your head spin for a split second. You glance at the elder Emperor, who gazes back at you and the infamous Lisan al Gaib wearily, his eyes clouded with sombreness and light spite.

"I... I don't," you shake your head, overwhelmed by an impossible choice. "I don't know..."

Paul's expression softens into a smile you haven't seen before, one that makes your cheeks flush with colour as you watch him; a gentle, amused smile that's somehow familiar and unfamiliar all at once, one meant just for you, as he disregards his surroundings.

"You will know," he replies quietly, "and I will have you, and protect you, rule with you. Love you. As I am meant to."

Paul suddenly brings you closer, pulling you into a searing kiss without warning. The exotic, earthy taste of the Spice on his tongue floods your senses and sends shudders of ecstasy and heat coursing under your skin and hushing the myriad of thoughts buzzing in your mind in an instant.

When he pulls away, all too soon, you find yourself chasing his lips before you catch yourself, and Paul gives you another soft smile, his forehead resting against yours as your eyes lock.

"And as I long to," he finishes against your lips, his words grounded with a look of protectiveness and desire that makes you instinctively relax further in his hold.

⊹⊹⊹

From beyond you both, his mother smiles slightly at the scene, a hand hovering over her rounded stomach.

The first step has been made.

══════════════⊹⊱≼ part two coming soon ≽⊰⊹══════════════

[bmpmp3]

MORE REVENGE Sylvester and Ombeline for Cyellolemon/@cyellolemon and Ghost for Rgbeatboxing !!

[themetaisawesome]

The reason that Miguel O’Hara is one of the best movie Spider-Man antagonists is because he is a Spider-Man who has forgotten almost everything that being Spider-Man means.

Miguel’s grief, his pride, and his biases have so clouded his judgment that anything that goes against his narrow worldview has to be dismissed and put down swiftly and brutally. Miguel is what all Spider-people fear to become: someone who has stopped trying. Someone who believes that it was their pain, and not their choices, that makes them who they are.

MJ: My husband, Peter Parker, was an ordinary person. He always said that it could be anyone behind the mask. He was just the kid who happened to get bit. He didn't ask for his powers. But he chose to be Spider-Man. My favorite thing about Peter is that he made us each feel powerful. We all have powers of one kind or the other, and in our own way we are all Spider-Man. And we are all counting on you.

Getting bitten by a radioactive/genetic/magic/whatever spider doesn't make you Spider-Man. All that does is give you some powers. Miguel believes that destiny chooses you to be Spider-Man, but he’s wrong.

You make yourself Spider-Man, and one person understands that better than anyone.

[kakusu-shipping]

💌 for Dick (Ace Attorney)! What’s the polycule version? Also do you have a 🔪🔪 from that fandom?

I'm never going to get use to calling him Dick everytime it catches me off guard fkgjfdkgd

Send me a 💌 and one of my selfships and I’ll add another character to make it an OT3 and tell you about our polycule!

In universe polycules could be with Raymond Sheilds and Phineas Filch, both character I have a crush on and interact with, but Gumshoe doesn't have a direct connection to, or Maggy Bryde who Gumshoe canonically has a crush on, but I have no strong feelings about. I've also always liked the Phoenix/Edgeworth/Gumshoe polycule but I don't think I would be apart of that. So it's not a very interesting polycule dynamic sense it's more in a chain pattern.

Out of universe I think Gumshoe could fit cleanly into any Polycule. He's a pretty friendly guy, and gets along with about anyway. I could see him forming a crush on Iggy or Raine, but again nothing sticks out as super interesting polycule wise. He's just a good guy, could really slot in anywhere.

Send me 🔪 and a fandom and I’ll tell you about my f/e (fictional enemy; character I would fight with my self-insert)

Oh for sure! My S/I for Ace Attorney is the Baliff, so he for sure has to take down a handful of off the rails witnesses. Larry Buttz being the main one I've tackled that guy so many times...

Actual people I have like, a real gripe against and want to beat up? There's not much, I haven't played the original trilogy in a long time but I don't remember having too many strong feelings about a lot of the big bads, other than Gant and Von Karma but even that wasn't too much. Maybe Dahlila? But something about throwing actual hands with her feels icky. I don't think I could hit her if it came down to it.

I'll have to replay the games and come back to this because I feel like I should want to hit Gant more than I currently do, but he's getting away with it because a lot of his sprites are really cute.

[ayselluna]

Spawn Astarion Recommendations!

So I heard you guys want Spawn Astarion Recommendations too! I heard you :) Apologies if it took awhile it got hard to compile everything I read.

I honestly have read more one shots Spawn Astarion than series tbh. but here are some series I love! These are Astarion x Tav / You / OCs following the story from the game! I'll be happy to make another list for AU's! Another Ascended list is on the way too~ :))

I DEFINITELY RECOMMEND FOLLOWING THESE WRITERS TOO as they have really great HCs and One Shots!

The Arrangement by @fangswbenefits - This is one of the first ones I've read and how she wrote Astarion is just so ASTARION! The lines, the slow burn and the smut are exquisite as hell. I do suggest reading her oneshots too! Her smuts are so good I suggest reading it ALONE. XD ONGOING!

The Fangs Between Us by @feyascorner - Not your typical Lovey-dovey Astarion and Tav. Astarion actually felt betrayed and actually tried killing you! Can love still blossom? is it still there? Would you guys even be friends?! So much angst and but oh so goooood! ONGOING!

Shadows of the Past by @pastshadowsff-blog / PallidMoon - What's an Astarion story w/o the angst? I would definitely be devastated the moment Astarion left me! The process of healing and loving, the confrontations here are soooo on point! Have a good gale on the side too~ ONGOING!

Love at First Knife by @bg-brainrot - DEFINITELY A FAVORITE! Aside from the romance from Astarion and TAV you get the WHOLE GANG TOO! I'm a sucker on everything on this series! I can't count how many times I've re-read this while I wait for my other fics to update. ONGOING? I'm not sure but it gets updated!

When He’s all but Forgotten How to Love Again by @bg-brainrot - okay another one from the same author, at this point just read everything!! okay, but what if TAV died and got reincarnated?! If you got an elf TAV this is definitely one for the books! I LOOOOVE this one a lot. Getting your memories back and seeking your lover out, would it be the same? Would he even remember you?! Surely he will right?! but what if he don't? hmmmm READ IT! ONGOING!

Astarion Talks In His Sleep by  @littlejuicebox - This is a short series but this was just memorable coz WE'LL LOVE EVERYTHING in it. It's one of the happy endings you'd totally wish for and how this story got me gasping and giddy was just chef's kiss! You'll love her DADSTARION series too! I LOVE THIS FAMILY A LOT. :))

Cursed To Put My Hands On Everything by @maladaptive-menace - I recently found this and I got hook immediately on the concept! I also love the titles on this series, as the title says~ :)) So imagine you're doing your mundane things IRL and one tiring night you found yourself Isekaid IN the GAME?! You know you're effed up, how would you survive?! well at least you got your dream come true of meeting the gang in the flesh…specially the Pale Elf~ ONGOING!

Winter Holiday Challenge Fills by @justporo - So this is an all fluff from the Winter Holidays! I know it's not christmas anymore but if you missed it during that time who cares?! READ IT! Get all the fluffiness you need from this series! Check that full masterlist on their profile too while you're at it~ :)) FINISHED!

The Currents of Destiny by @lendeah - You and Astarion fights after he didn't go with the Ascension, left and scorn you to die screaming! But what if he sees all the what if that could happen?! Would his decision stay the same? FINISHED!

An Adventure in Making a Life by @redlittlefoxari - okay something different but maybe a PREGNANCY fic anyone? :D This was one of the fastest story I binged! You both just learned you're pregnant but an invitation from a friend comes forth! Maybe keep it a surprise for the gang? How would this pregnancy on the road takes you? ALSOOOO FREAKING LOVIING HUSBAND ASTARION UGGHH i can't~

I have more authors to recommend but we'll keep this list for now! I urge you to follow these authors too and check their other works.

Let me know if you guys are up for more recommendations! I have more to share! <3 Hope you enjoy reading them as I did! More reading buddies!

[hynzsn]

★ BUTT BOUND ★

☆ changbin + bangchan x male reader 18+ MDNI

-> bully!changbin + bully!bangchan x victim!reader

꩜ .ᐟ smut

contents: dubcon, bottom!changbin + bottom!bangchan x top!reader, big dick!reader, brainwashed!reader, teasing, oral, anal sex, anal fingering, cock riding, talk about their fat jiggly butts, cumpie, degradation, facial, cumshot, moaning, whimpering, grunting, ass slapping

wc: 2.3k

summary: college bullies chan and changbin turn you into their submissive, brainwashed slut. they take turns fucking your mouth and bouncing on your cock with their fat jiggly asses, making you go crazy and melt underneath them until you’re nothing but a complete mess.

a/n - i do not like this at all 😭 but i made a promise to myself that i would post everything i write no matter how bad it is so here it is… hopefully you guys like it better than i do >.<

♡︎♡︎♡︎ likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ♡︎♡︎♡︎

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

the clock ticked towards midnight as you sprawled out on the corner table of the college library, immersed in textbooks. aside from the faint buzz of fluorescent lights and the infrequent rustle of pages, the entire room was silent. in an effort to escape the constant harassment you were experiencing on campus, you became utterly engrossed in your studies. however, tonight, destiny had different intentions.

chan and changbin entered the library as the doors swung wide, their presence commanding attention. anxiety gripped you. in an effort to go unnoticed, you shrank as much as you could. however, by that point, your efforts were futile. they fixed their intense gazes on you like lions spotting a wounded gazelle. "lookie here, bin," chan said with a sneer, his voice loud enough to break the silence. "our favorite little geek."

changbin’s mouth curled into a mischievous grin. "why are you here by yourself?"

"i’m just studying, that's all,” you mumbled. "i have a test tomorrow."

both changbin and chan looked at each other, their faces turning even darker. "you’re always studying," changbin remarked as he moved closer to the table. "it’s pathetic.” chan swiftly lifted you up by the collar and had you standing before you could respond. forgotten, the textbooks scrambled to the floor. "you’re coming with us," he demanded, his hold strong and unwavering. "we have something more beneficial for you to do.”

fear was the factor that stifled your protestations. you were aware that resisting was pointless. you were not only outnumbered, but you were also, without a doubt, outmatched. you let them drag you out of the library with a groan of resignation, your feet faltering as you tried to keep up with their determined pace. the journey to the dormitory was a haze, and your mind was racing with anxiousness the entire time. though you didn't know what they might do, you assumed it was bad. you could feel your heart racing as soon as you reached the door to their room.

after forcing the door open with his foot, chan shoved you inside. the room had a low level of light, and the air was thick with a smell that was foreign to you. your eyes darted around, taking in the sight of the cluttered desks and the unmade beds. you were in a confined space. to show his eagerness, changbin closed and locked the door behind you. his eyes sparkled with excitement. "sit down," he ordered while pointing to his bed with his finger.

despite your first hesitation, chan gave you a forceful push that caused you to fall onto the mattress. you sat there, your heart pounding, as chan and changbin both removed their shirts, exposing their cut abs and showcasing their strong bodies. the sight was enough to make your breath catch in your throat. they were so terrifyingly perfect that you felt even smaller. under their gaze, you felt helpless; they looked like predators ready to attack you.

the first to walk forward was changbin, who exuded an air of self-assurance. he growled at you, his tone dripping with scorn, and said, "look at you. i’m willing to bet that you're already hard and desperate.” he leaned down, grasping your crotch, and fondled your cock through your pants. his fingers traced the outline of your cock. simultaneously with your soft whimper, he erupted into a small belly laugh. "you are such a fucking loser,” he mocked. you were hard. rock hard, in fact. as his fingers began tugging at the waistband of your jeans, he pulled them down your thighs, along with your boxers. The entire length of your enormous cock escaped its confines and sprung free, as changbin and chan observed. it was thick, with a drop of precum glistening at the tip, and stood tall and proud, throbbing with need.

chan exhaled a chuckle. “i knew his dick was big, but fuck, he's huge… i guess we‘be got the perfect toy in our possession, bin.

"definitely. we’re going to milk this big boy dry.” changbin drew his thumb across the tip of your cock as he collected the bead of precum. he then placed his thumb on his lips and pulled away from you. "mmm, he tastes delicious, too."

all you could do was sit there, your mouth dry and your mind reeling. yeah, you had fantasized about this moment countless times before, but the reality was overwhelming, to say the least.

changbin wasted no time. he turned around and undid his pants, revealing his fat, jiggly ass. he backed up toward you with a teasing sway of his hips, his ass cheeks tantalizingly close to your throbbing cock. “you like this, huh? i bet you can't wait to have my fat ass bounce on your useless dick.”

your breath hitched as changbin turned around and lowered himself onto his knees, one of his hands holding your cock with a tight grip. “don’t get too excited; i’m not about to suck your dick,” he spat, grabbing a condom from his nightstand and tore it open with his teeth. "i don’t want you making a mess inside my ass.” with practiced ease, he rolled the condom down over your cock. the latex felt cool against your heated skin, and you couldn't help but shiver at the sensation.

once the condom was securely in place, changbin reached for the bottle of lube that was also sitting on his nightstand, squirting a generous amount onto his fingers. he stood up and turned back around, spreading his cheeks with one hand while the other one slicked up his hole. the sight of changbin’s fingers slipping in and out of his hole caused your cock to twitch in anticipation. changbin moaned softly as he worked the lube on himself, his fingers glistening. looking over his shoulder at you, he teased, "fuck, i bet you've been dreaming about this. too bad you’re just a fucking loser. you’re not even good enough to fuck me without a condom.”

you whimpered in response; your mind was already starting to fog over with desire. you watched as changbin positioned himself over your cock, slowly lowering himself. changbin’s tight heat enveloped you inch by inch, and your eyes rolled back at the overwhelming sensation. “fuck, you’re big,” he groaned, starting to ride you slowly, his ass cheeks jiggling with every bounce. “you like that, you little slut? do you enjoy exploiting your tormentors?"

in response, you could only moan, your hands gripping tightly onto the bed sheets. everything felt like a blur—the sight and sensation of changbin’s ass taking over your every thought. you were becoming mindless, just as they wanted.

chan watched with a smirk as he also pulled down his pants, his own cock rock hard and leaking. "you’re not even prepared for me to get on that cock," he mocked, his voice dripping with malice, despite the promise behind his words. he moved beside you, his hand grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. “for now, i’ll make use of your mouth.” chan guided your head toward his cock without uttering a word, the thick length of his cock slipping past your lips. you moaned around his cock, and the vibrations made chan shudder. “good boy,’ chan murmured, his hand tangling in your hair to control the pace.

meanwhile, changbin picked up the pace, his ass slapping down with increasing speed. each bounce, along with the thrusts of chan’s cock inside your mouth, caused your eyes to roll back for what felt like the hundredth time, causing your brain to melt. in contrast to how you were earlier, you accepted everything they were doing to you without hesitation.

chan found the sounds of you moaning, gagging, and slobbering all over his cock to be delightful. he even went so far as to remove his cock from your mouth, allowing your saliva to connect a string from his cock to your lips as he slapped his cock against your cheek, resulting in a wet and sloppy patch on your skin. “fuck, look at him. he’s such a pathetic, drooling slut. he can’t get enough of my cock, bin,” chan grunted, shoving his cock back into your mouth.

your muffled moans around chan’s cock were all the answers they needed. you absolutely loved this. you were completely lost in pleasure. you were their submissive and slut, and you loved every second of it.

chan withdrew from your mouth, his cock sparkling with your saliva. “move, bin. it’s my turn," he declared as he advanced behind changbin, who was still bouncing on your cock. chan pushed changbin forward, making him come off your dick as he now lined himself up with your cock. bangchan’s ass was slightly more compact than changbin’s, but no less impressive. "let’s get this thing off," he purred, effortlessly removing the condom and tossing it aside. "i don't mind you making a mess in my ass. good pathetic sluts like yourself should be rewarded a little, and what better than to take my ass raw?” with a teasing wiggle, chan lowered himself onto your cock, his ass jiggling as he took changbin’s place.

your mind couldn’t handle the shift; the sensation of chan’s even tighter heat replacing changbin’s driving you insane. chan bounced on your cock with practiced ease, his ass jiggling beautifully. “yeah,” he taunted, “you like this, don't you?” he rolled his hips around on your cock, making you moan out, unable to use coherent words to give him a response. your cock was twitching inside of him. you moved your hands to grab at chan’s hips, desperate for more, and you got exactly what you wanted. chan began to bounce on your cock again, this time making sure to come down and take you as deep as possible.

changbin, subtly gaining his composure, moved behind chan, his hand coming down to spank chan’s jiggling ass, causing chan to moan. “fuck, this is hot,” changbin groaned, his free hand reaching down to pump his own cock. his hand continued to slap chan’s ass, each slap sending ripples through chan’s plump cheeks. the sound of skin on skin echoed through the room, mixing with the panting and moaning. you were barely holding on, your senses overloaded by the sight and sensation of chan riding you expertly.

chan’s head lolled back, a blissful expression on his face as he bounced faster, driving you deeper into madness. “fucking loser,” chan taunted with a breathless voice. on the receiving end, you were beyond words; your mind was fixated on the consuming pleasure of having your cock milked dry. every bounce, every jiggle, imprinted itself into your brain, turning you into a mindless and needy mess.

changbin smirked as he observed you, his own cock hard and in need of some attention. he moved to your side, grabbing the back of your head and forcing you to face him. “you’re not done yet, loser. you’ve got two of us to satisfy.” with that, changbin presented his small but thick cock to you. without hesitation, you opened your mouth, welcoming changbin’s cock with eager enthusiasm. the taste and scent of changbin’s cock filled your senses, adding to your brainwashed state.

changbin thrust into your mouth at a brutal pace. “yeah, that’s it,” he snarled, his voice filled with dominance. “take it all, you slut. show us how much you love being our fucktoy.”

chan continued to ride your cock; his pace was relentless. he was a vision of sinful pleasure, his ass bouncing up and down, each movement driving you deeper into submission. “you’re doing so well, slut,” chan cooed, his voice dripping with false sweetness. "takin’ us both like a good little slut."

as changbin fucked your mouth, you found yourself drowning in sensation. you were completely at their mercy; your mind was reduced to a single thought: serve and please your bullies. your hands gripped chan’s hips even tighter as you tried to ground yourself.

changbin’s thrusts became more erratic, his breaths coming in sharp pants. “fuck, you’re good at this,” he groaned. “such a perfect little slut. you’re going to make me cum.” your eyes fluttered closed, and your mind was hazy with pleasure. you could feel your own orgasm building, the tight heat of chan’s ass, and the taste of changbin’s cock pushing you to the edge.

“don’t you dare cum yet,” chan warned, his voice filled with authority. “not until we say so.” you whimpered around changbin’s cock, trying to hold back your impending release. the command only heightened your pleasure, making you even more desperate. you were their toy, their slut, and you would do anything to please them.

changbin’s moans grew louder, and his thrusts became more frantic. “fuck, i’m going to cum,” he panted, pulling out of your mouth just in time. he stroked himself a few times before unleashing his hot release all over your face. “take it, you slut. wear my cum proudly.” your eyes fluttered open, and the warmth of changbin’s cum on your face added to your dazed state. you were completely at their mercy, covered in sweat, and cum. your cock throbbed inside of chan, desperate for release.

chan’s movements became more erratic as he approached his own orgasm. “fuck, you feel good,” he moaned, his pace quickening. “i’m going to cum, and you’re going to take it all. you hear me?”

you could only nod; your mind was too foggy to form words. you were on the brink, your entire body trembling with need. with a final, powerful bounce, chan came, shooting his massive load all over your thighs, your legs, and the bed sheets, his body shuddering with pleasure. the tight grip of chan’s hole around your cock finally sent you over the edge, your own orgasm crashing through you. you cried out, your release filling him as your mind went completely blank.

chan slowly lifted himself off your cock, your cum leaking out of his hole, both of you panting and spent. with a satisfied smirk on his lips, he looked down at you. “good job, loser. you’re good at something besides absolutely sucking in life, being our slut.”

changbin chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. “yeah, you did great. can’t wait to use you again.”

[whollyjoly]

i just want to take a second for the absolute legend, james earl jones, who passed away today.

the voice of darth vader himself.

you defined my childhood (and, honestly, most of my adult life) in a way that cant be put into the words. the terror and fear and power you put behind vader made him such an incredible villain, but also the pain and the loss and the love for his family you voiced made him feel so real and so human, even behind the mask. it's so amazing how voice actors are able to bring such expression, emotion, and life to a character. ESPECIALLY one that solely exists in a mask! there's no facial expression, no visible emotion that we can see. all we have is some basic movements and a voice - and your voice, sir, was what made vader into one of the most iconic characters in all of film and tv history. how you were able to show such power and anger and certainty and resignation and grief and finally, relief? when all you see is a mask? its just...mind blowing.

and your love for the character was so tangible!! voicing vader in countless projects until 2016!!! almost 40 years of such an incredible legacy!!

my favorite star wars movie of the skywalker saga is return of the jedi. in it are my favorite scenes in all of star wars - luke and vader on endor, and then the throne room scene with luke facing off against darth vader and the emperor.

we see vader as such a force for evil across most of the original trilogy. hell, even in the stuff that came out later that you voiced (revenge of the sith, rebels, rogue one) - vader is fucking terrifying.

but there's such an amazing shift in vader when we see him interact with luke for the first time since the reveal of their relationship. luke is trying to convince vader to turn, to leave with him and disobey the emperor. there is such a....weight, for lack of a better term, that you give vader's responses that stole my breath away from the moment i first heard it. you managed to take this villain, this boogeyman of the star wars universe clad in black armor and machinery, and made him feel so incredibly, beautifully human.

and when i heard vader say the line "it's too late for me, son" to luke's pleading, it changed everything for me. the amount of grief held in those words, the pain that you could feel. in that moment, vader changed from a monster of nightmare into something so tragic. it was amazing. it was heartbreaking. it was beautiful.

and i think that was the moment i think i truly fell in love with star wars. and it was because of you.

(and that's not even to mention some of the other incredible lines that made vader such an incredible character!! i think of how young you made him sound in revenge of the sith - that "where is padme?" fucking haunts me. and yes there are so many classic and amazing vader "NOOOs", but the one that really gets me is the one when he decides to save luke, to find the light again, to choose his destiny. the way you portrayed that conflict and resolve with a simple two-letter word? amazing.)

anyways, just....thank you. thank you for your gift, for your talent, for your legacy. you will, quite literally, never be forgotten.

may the force be with you, james earl jones. always.

[zkaus]

At the back of my copy of The Vampire Armand, there's an old interview with Anne Rice talking about creating that novel. I've never forgotten her answer to one of the questions... It haunted me for years.

It gives incredible insight into how and why she wrote such beautiful, brutal and broken characters, and what she endured in the creation process.

BUT before you read this, I'm going to STRONGLY warn you, it goes to very very DARK places

Q: What are your work habits for a novel?

A: Once I truly begin to write, I work obsessively, in twelve-hour days, punctuated by days of long sleep and vivid dreaming. Starting time and ending time are no longer important. I might begin at 9 A.M., or after noon or at eight in the evening. I go from there. I turn on the computer and write, write, write.

My room is a mess. Notes are scribbled on the walls so that I can look up at them at the appropriate moments and insert the date, the name, whatever, when I need it. Books are stacked so high that people have to search for me when they come into the room. Opened books with marked-up pages are stacked on top of one another.

I become suicidal. I go through a horrid despair some time or other before the final page, during which everything seems meaningless—from the dawn of history to the very hour in which I am writing.

I’m intolerable to live with. But I spread myself thin over a number of loved ones and staff members so that no one person has to put up with how intense, hysterical, and miserable I am.

When I get elated and talk fast and furiously about wonderful aspects of history or the characters, or good developments in the story, people run away from me. I don’t blame them.

While the novel is being written, I try to avoid dressing for outdoors. No one can make you go out if you don’t have shoes on. Not even in the south. I wear long velvet robes and soft velvet slippers. I refuse to go out. All food is brought in. I eat hamburgers because they are easy to hold with one hand while reading and holding the book with the other hand.

In the middle of the night I read, sometimes on the carpeted floor of the bathroom, just because it’s warm. I am wretched. I don’t care anymore about being abnormal. Writing is everything. Everything. It seems impossible to write the book. It seems impossible to lift a hairbrush to brush my hair. But I do it. I put on mascara every day that I write.

This period of intense work lasts about six weeks. It’s best that way. My imagination is overheated, and my memory clogged with data of varying importance. If I go over six weeks, I begin to forget things; I feel the loss of intensity and information and I become all the more self-destructive and obsessed.

The end of the book is a big event for me. A big event. I start screaming. I put the hour and the date at the end of the last page. I expect everybody to understand, at least a little. It’s a triumph! The darkness of destiny has been driven back for a brief while. I celebrate. I scream, eat chocolate, and sleep.

Right near the end of writing The Vampire Armand, I realized I had to return to Italy, especially to Florence, and at once I began to make preparations for the trip. As soon as the novel was finished and off to the publisher’s, as soon as it could be accomplished, I flew to Italy. That gave me hope, a way out of a life threatening darkness that often follows the climax of a book. But I still ate chocolate and screamed.

While writing, I don’t want to rest. I don’t want to sleep. Why sleep? It seems stupid, except when weariness overcomes me like a giant cloud of poisonous vapor. Then I sleep fifteen to twenty hours. I tell people to go in and out of the bedroom and ignore me lying there, as if I were dead. I won’t talk on the phone. I won’t open my eyes if I don’t have to. I dream terrible, upsetting dreams.

I want to kill myself. But I can’t. I can’t do it to other people, and I have work that must be done, novels that must be written. So I don’t kill myself. Besides, I don’t think it’s good to kill oneself. It’s a horrible idea. It has a horrible effect even on acquaintances.

I think a lot about people I loved who are dead. I think of how dead they are, year after year, ever more dead.

[thewickedjazzy]

“Stay with me, milaya”

➵Pairing: fyodor x afab! reader

➵Summary: fyodor searches for you across countless lifetimes, witnessing you die in his arms again and again. Yet, fate continuously brings you both back together with each of your rebirths.

➵Tags and word count: 5.3k words. sfw, angst to comfort, slight fluff, hallucinations, vivid memories, delusions, shifting scenes, mental health struggles, dissociation.

➵want to read more for fyodor ?

"There is a cruel irony in the fact that you are bound to return to this world, only to be torn away from it time and again. Seven lifetimes, each one a fleeting moment in the endless passage of time. But even as you are reborn, your fate is always the same—a life cut short, a soul never allowed to rest."

The sky is a deep, unforgiving gray, the snow falling gently around him. He stands alone in the desolate landscape, a faint figure against the blanket of white. His breath is visible in the frigid air as he stares down at the burnt-out edges of an old photograph clutched between his slender fingers. The image, though charred, still reveals traces of a face—your face, the one he’s sought in every life.

"Milaya... even now, your features begin to fade from memory, like everything else in this world. But I will not allow time to erase you completely—not when I am so close to finding you again."

His whispers drift on the wind, barely audible but there is an unwavering resolve in his eyes. He carefully traces the faint outlines of your face with his thumb, trying to capture every detail, every curve, every hint of the life that once was. Yet, he knows the futility of it—each reincarnation is a shift in memory, altering your essence just enough to make you a stranger once more.

"This time, my dear," he murmurs to himself, "I will not let you slip through my fingers. I have searched for you across centuries, manipulated the lives of others, all to find you. I will not be denied, not by destiny, not by anything."

Fyodor tucks the burnt photograph back into his coat, his expression stoic as he surveys the snow-covered ground. He is nonchalant, almost detached, but beneath the surface lies a storm—a desperation that he cannot fully suppress.

He begins to walk, the snow crunching beneath his boots as he heads toward the place where he knows you must be. His heart, though often cold, beats a little faster at the thought of seeing you again, of hearing your voice, even if you do not remember him. But he is nothing if not persistent. He will make you remember, one way or another.

Yet there you are, gazing at the sky above you as it transforms into a canvas of burnt orange and fading blue, cinnabar streaks bleeding through the clouds like a watercolor painting. Your thoughts drifted back to a time you thought you'd forgotten—a memory of the day you first met him. It felt distant now, yet the details were so vivid.

He had been unlike anyone you'd ever known. some how he stood out in ways most people didn’t. His features were strikingly beautiful, but it wasn’t just his looks that caught your attention—it was the quiet mystery that followed him wherever he went. His pale skin, almost alabaster, contrasted sharply with his dark clothing, and his eyes—those glowing, enigmatic violet eyes—held depths you couldn’t quite reach. There was often a flicker of pain in them, so subtle it disappeared as soon as it surfaced, leaving you to wonder if you had imagined it.

Which makes total sense. His father 'Mikhail Dostoevsky' was well-known for his austere and viciousness—well after he was granted a nobleman's rank of course— contrariwise, Fyodor was something of a benevolent despot.

The gardens of the palace stretched out before you, a haven full of flowering fragrances, nooks, and crannies of sheer delight.

You caught sight of him standing beneath the glow of the moon, his posture composed as he conversed with his elder sibling. The moonlight cast a soft halo around his figure, making him appear almost ethereal. He seemed unbothered by the festivities around him, his attention focused solely on the conversation. Even in this elegant setting, he exuded a calm detachment, as though the world itself was just an intricate game he was patiently observing.

The path before you was lined with gravel, your footsteps muted by the soft crunch beneath your heels as you made your way through the evening’s parade of guests.

Delicate fairy lights hung in the trees, casting vibrant hues that danced across the faces of those gathered. There was laughter, the clink of glasses, and the hum of casual conversation, but your attention never wavered from him.

As if sensing your gaze, Fyodor glanced your way. His eyes met yours across the distance, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the lights, the music, the crowd. There was something paranormal in the way he looked at you. His lips curved ever so slightly into a familiar smile, one that seemed to say he had already anticipated your approach long before you had made up your mind.

Without thinking, you moved toward him. The space between you disappeared as you stepped into his world, where time seemed to slow. He turned to face you fully, his elder sibling excusing themselves from the conversation as you approached.

“Good evening,” his voice was smooth, a touch of amusement hidden in the depths. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

You hesitated, momentarily taken aback. “You knew?”

“Of course,” he replied, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’ve been watching me for some time now.”

His words made your heart skip, but you steadied yourself. There was always something about him that made you feel as though you were always a step behind, as though he had already calculated every move before you even realized it.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” you said, finding your voice again. “You stand out, even in a crowd like this.”

His smile widened, but it never quite reached his eyes. “Perhaps, but it’s not the crowd I’m interested in.”

There it was again—that flicker of something deeper, something unreadable. You could sense the burden he carried, a burden of his past, his family’s legacy, and the expectations placed upon him. But beneath all of that, there was something else, something that drew you in even as it warned you to stay away.

“Shall we walk?” he offered, extending his arm toward the gardens.

You nodded, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm as you both began to stroll along the moonlit path. The evening air was cool, and the soft glow of the fairy lights seemed to follow your every step.

“What do you think of all this?” you asked, gesturing to the grand event taking place around you, the celebration, the laughter, the excess.

He looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. “It’s fleeting. Moments like these… they’re beautiful, yes. But they fade, just like everything else.”

“But not everything fades,” you ventured softly.

He stopped, turning to face you fully once more. His eyes seemed to pierce through you, reading your thoughts before you could speak them. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but the way he just stood there gazing at you said everything.

“Perhaps,” he finally murmurs, his voice low, “but that’s what makes it dangerous, am I right?”

You weren’t sure if he was talking about the night, about the fleeting beauty of the moment, or about something else entirely. But in that instant, you realized that with Fyodor, nothing was ever simple. He was a puzzle, a mystery, one that you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to solve, but one that you found yourself wanting to.

As you walked beside him, the moonlit scenery unfolding before you, his appreciation for beauty became evident. He had always been drawn to those who possessed a rare allure, and tonight, it was clear that you were his focal point. You were a vision of rare beauty, a one-of-a-kind presence in a world of fleeting appearances.

The scene before you blurs, in an instant, it felt as though time had slowed, and a piercing ringing filled your ears, making you gasp, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of memories.

“He sent you, didn’t he?” he murmured as he tilted your chin to meet his gaze.

Wait.. when did you get here? Where do these memories come from, and why do they haunt you so persistently?

“I’m just following orders,” you replied slowly, bringing your eyebrows together in a slight frown.

“Stay away from this,” he imploded, sighing. “Please, lyubov.” He places a tender kiss on your forehead.

“But fedya...why now? We’re on the brink of ending your father’s relentless corruption,” you argued. “Why give up now?”

But you knew... you know he wants to protect you from the malignant influences of his father’s world. Yet, the very opportunity to dismantle the chains binding him to this sinister system was slipping away. His father’s grip was a malignancy that threatened to stifle all hope.

“Close but no cigar,” he murmured, his chin resting on your head as he inhales your fresh scent.

But he was right. You should've stayed away from those morons ages ago. You made a mistake and paid dearly for it.

In that moment, the same familiar searing ringing in your ears swept across you, pulling you from the depths of your reverie.. it's happening again.

"Fuck, I am such an imbecile." blood spilled from your abdomen, splattering across your trembling hands as you pulled the dagger free. Your back pressed against the cold, damp wall, every inch of movement sending sharp, jagged pain rippling through your body. And slowly but surely, all you can see is the orange sky getting fuzzier and fuzzier as the pain intensifies.

You reached out with a shaking hand, desperately trying to anchor yourself to something, anything, but your limbs refused to obey. Instead of crying out for help, all that escaped your lips is the metallic taste of blood.

“Ah...fuck, not now…” you gasped, the light behind the man standing in the distance, widened with each passing moment. Is this it? Is this how it all ends for you?

You blink, once, twice, trying to focus as everything around you darkens, and just as quickly as you are pulled into this chain of nightmares, you find yourself back in the present as the persistent ringing stops.

Gasping, you sit at your desk, drenched in cold sweat. Your fingers instinctively press against your abdomen, but there’s no blood. No wound. The dagger, the pain, it’s all gone, as if it never existed.

You press harder against your stomach, feeling for any injury, but your skin remains unscathed.

"I need a mirror," you mutter, voice trembling as you push away from the desk and hurry toward the mirror in the entrance. Your reflection stares back at you, eyes wide with panic, face pale, but undeniably yours.

“It’s me,” you whisper in relief, leaning closer, bracing yourself against the cool surface. You reach for the pill bottle on the nearby shelf, your fingers fumbling with the cap as you swallow a dose, desperate to calm the storm inside your mind.

You sit back at your desk again, hands still shaking as you breathe deeply. "It’s fine. I'm okay. It’s all delusions," you whisper, trying to convince yourself.

But you somehow memorise all of these memories like the back of my hand. You call them memories, despite knowing you never actually lived through them, yet they always feel so incredibly real.

They never really leave, do they?

Even now, the phantom ache in your abdomen remains, a cruel reminder of something you’ve never lived through but can feel so vividly. The sky outside your window returns to its soft twilight hues, but you can’t shake the feeling that reality itself unravels around you. Each time you are pulled into those visions, it becomes harder to tell what is real and what is imagined.

While you're sitting there, managing to steady your breath, you wonder—how much longer can you hold on to what’s real when your mind keeps dragging you into a world that feels just as tangible?

You exhale a long, relieved sigh finally calming down as you try to regain your focus. What were you doing again? Ah, yes... finishing your new book.

You type the final words of the epilogue, fingers hovering above the keyboard for just a second longer. The ending comes together, but still, something doesn’t sit right with you... the title. The book is finished, but how can it be complete without the right name? You lean back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head, eyes scanning the screen with tired satisfaction.

You aren’t just any writer, though. Hidden behind your pen name, you’ve become a literary sensation, with fans desperate for even a glimpse of who you really are. But anonymity suits you; fame has never been the goal. The words are the only thing that matter, and the world you’ve built between the pages feels more real than anything else—maybe too real?

Despite finishing the epilogue, something feels unresolved. Titles usually come easily to you, but this one, this book demands something special. Inspiration eludes you. You need a change of scenery... somewhere that can kickstart the creative process again.

With a resigned sigh, you dress quickly, grab your notebook, and head to one of the few places that has become your sanctuary when ideas won’t come: your favourite café.

The café sits nestled on a quiet street, its warm glow inviting you in like your old home. There’s something about the atmosphere, the soft hum of conversation usuallybetween elder people, the scent of freshly brewed coffee, the soft clink of cups against saucers—that always seems to loosen the knots in your mind. You order your usual, find a quiet table in the corner, and set your notebook down, flipping it open to a fresh page.

"The War of Sakura," you scribble, only to strike it out immediately. "No, no, that’s terrible!! Ugh," you mutter to yourself, tapping the pen against your lips in frustration.

You take a sip of your coffee, leaning back in your seat as you stare out the window, hoping for some stroke of genius. Come on, Kurasu Café, work your magic. But the more you stare at the page, the more the words seem to evade you.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice someone sitting down across from you until you catch movement in your peripheral vision. Startled, you blink and look up, eyes widening as they land on the man before you.

It’s him.

For a moment, you’re convinced your mind is playing tricks on you again. The man in front of you has the same striking features, the same quiet mystery, the same piercing gaze that seems to see right through you.

The same man from your memories—the one you’re certain is nothing more than a figment of your imagination, or perhaps a character you’ve written into being.

But no. He’s here, in the flesh, sitting across from you in Kurasu Café.

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly blink, half-expecting him to disappear like a mirage. But he doesn’t. He just sits there, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes, as though he can read every thought running through your mind.

“Excuse me…?”

He tilts his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You looked like you could use some company,” he says with the same silky smooth voice."You seemed… preoccupied."

You stare at him, dumbfounded, still trying to reconcile the fact that he’s real. The man in front of you is every bit as captivating as the one from your memories, as though he’s stepped right out of the story you’ve been crafting in your mind.

“I—uh,” you stammer, your fingers tightening around your pen as though it can somehow anchor you to reality. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

His smile deepens the same one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “No,” he says simply,“but I know you.”

Your heart stops beating for a second. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. How can he know you? And why does it feel like he’s not just referring to surface-level details of your life, but something deeper, something far more intimate?

You glance at your notebook, half-expecting to see the story you’ve just finished reflected back at you, as though it’s somehow come to life.

He leans forward slightly, folding his hands on the table between you. “You’re searching for something, right?”

You narrow your eyes, “And what makes you think that?”

He shrugs, a graceful gesture that seems too perfect, too practiced. “I can always read your eyes, my dear” he replies. “You’re chasing after a truth that eludes you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. There’s something about the way he speaks, the way he seems to know things about you that you haven’t even told yourself. You should feel unnerved, but instead, you feel drawn to him—just like in those memories, you can’t escape.

“Who are you?” you finally ask, hoping it's not one of your delusions playing tricks on you.

His smile softens, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze, it's the same flicker of pain that's so fleeting you almost miss it. He stands smoothly as he places a card on the table.

“Call me when you’re ready to stop running from your life,” he says, turning to leave.

You watch him go, your mind racing as you stare at the card he’s left behind. No name. No details. Just a single word, embossed in gold.

"Remember."

The café around you blurs, the noise fading into the background as you stare at the word on the card, your mind spinning with questions you can’t answer.

And in that moment, you know—this isn’t over. The story isn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

It's now 1:25 am as you sit at your desk, the dim light of the lamp doing little to coax you into sleep. Your eyes fixate on the card that lies on the desk, the single word "Remember" still taunting you. It feels surreal, like the whole encounter earlier today had slipped from reality into something else entirely. Your fingers brush over the card, tracing the embossed letters, as your mind races to make sense of what happened.

Should you call him?

You hesitate, holding the card between your fingers. Who was he? Could he really know you, or was he just one of your creepy fans, trying to unnerve you by dressing up like the protagonist of your story? You’ve heard of fanatics going to great lengths to mimic characters, but this felt different. Something about the encounter stayed with you, gnawing at the back of your mind.

You shake your head, trying to dismiss it. Maybe it was just an elaborate prank, you think. Maybe he was just trying to scare you. Or worse, trying to manipulate you into thinking your own creations are coming to life.

But even as you try to convince yourself, it doesn’t sit right. No fan, no matter how obsessed, could have pulled off what you experienced earlier. The way he looked at you, as if he had known you forever, made your skin prickle. His words had hit too close to home, and the feeling that he understood something about you—something you barely understood yourself—makes it impossible to shake off the encounter.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart as you finally make up your mind. Your fingers hover over your phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dark room. You type in the number from the card, each digit sending a shiver of doubt through your body.

Placing the phone to your ear, you close your eyes as the ringing begins. Once. Twice. Your heart pounds in your chest, every nerve alive with anticipation. What if he answers? What if he doesn’t?

What if he answers? What if he doesn’t?

Just as the ringing starts to stretch into a third tone, there’s a faint click. You hold your breath.

“Hello?”

His voice is calm, like the same smooth, familiar tone from the café.

You pause, unsure of what to say, gripping the phone tighter. “It’s me,” you finally manage to say.

He chuckles softly, as though he expected your call all along. “Ahh my dear...I was wondering when you’d call,” he says, his voice oh god his voice is so soft. “Did you figure it out yet?”

Your heart races. “Figure what out? What’s going on?” you ask confused. “Who are you?”

There’s a long pause on the other end, and for a moment, you wonder if he’ll answer at all. Then, finally, he speaks, his voice low and steady. “You already know who I am,” he says. “You’ve always known, milaya.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The room seems to close in around you, the silence pressing down as you try to piece together the meaning behind his words. You want to argue, to demand answers, but something stops you. It’s as though the truth is right there, just beyond your reach, but you’re too afraid to grasp it.

He continues, his voice softer now, almost intimate. “There are no coincidences. I didn’t come to you by chance. I came to you because we both have known each other for way too long.”

Your head spins. What does that even mean? You glance at your manuscript, the story that had felt so real, so vivid—too vivid. The lines between fiction and reality begin to blur, and the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to separate the two.

“What do you mean we know each other?” You whisper, voice trembling.

On the other end, he chuckles softly, a sound that’s too familiar, as if you've heard it a thousand times before in some forgotten dream. The sound pulls you out of your racing thoughts and back into the moment, grounding you in an unsettling way.

"You’ll understand soon," his voice is calm, though it does nothing to ease the knot forming in your chest.

Before you can protest or demand more answers, he continues, "I’ll come to your place, darling. We can talk then."

Panic flares inside you. Your eyes widen as you shoot up from your chair, nearly knocking it over in the process. “What? How do you—” you begin to ask, but before you can finish, his voice cuts through.

“I know where you live,” he says simply, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your breath catches. “What… are you a stalker or something?” The question tumbles out, half-accusation, half-fear.

But his response is immediate, eerily calm, “No,” he says. “I’m no stalker. I know because no matter how many things change, no matter how the world twists and turns… the place you live, it always remains the same.”

Your heart races, your mind scrambling to process his words. The place you live… always the same? How could he know that? Why does it feel like he’s speaking of something far deeper than just the physical space around you?

“Please, my dear don’t worry about the details right now,” he interrupts your thoughts. “Just know that I’ll be there soon. And when I arrive, we can talk more about what’s really going on.”

The line goes dead before you can respond. You stare at the phone in disbelief the world around you seems to tilt on its axis, and the comforting normalcy of your room suddenly feels alien. You sit in silence, the unanswered questions swirling in your mind as you hear a soft knock on your door.

You rise from your chair with trembling hands, each step towards the door feeling heavier than the last. When you open it, he stands there—just as enigmatic as before, with that same stoic, detached expression.

He smiles when he sees you, and the smile feels almost out of place with his otherwise stoic demeanor. In his hand, he holds a bouquet of red roses. “Good evening, Malyshka,” he says smoothly. “I thought these might brighten your night.”

Confusion knots in your stomach, but you take the bouquet from him, stepping aside to let him in. The roses are fresh, their scent a heady mix of sweetness and subtle spice. “Thank you,” you manage to say, “Please, come in.”

He moves past you slowly, navigating the living room with the familiarity of someone who’s been there more than a few times.

“I didn’t expect you to show up so soon,” you say, trying to steady your voice. “How did you find my place so quickly?”

He turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours with that familiar look. “As I mentioned earlier, some things remain constant, no matter how much else changes. I’ve always known where to find you.”

“And what exactly do you want from me?” you ask, struggling to keep your voice steady.

He sits on your couch, smiling softly “I want to help you understand the connection we've always shared,” he says. “There’s much to discuss, and I believe it’s time we begin.”

You nod, slightly anxious of what he's about to reveal, “Alright. I’m listening.”

He relaxes his posture, his eyes never leaving yours. “Let’s start with the basics,” he begins. “You’ve been searching for answers, and I’m here to provide them. But first, you need to accept that the boundaries between a life and another are not as rigid as they seem.”

With a deep breath, you take a seat across from him silently waiting for him to continue.

“This is probably the sixth time I’ve been through this,” he continues. “my dear...you have an ability—one that makes you reincarnate. It happens every seven lifetimes, and this one is the seventh and final life.”

You stare at him, your mind struggling to grasp the enormity of his words. “Reincarnation?” you echo, incredulous.

He nods, “Yes. I’ve witnessed you die in my arms time and again. Each time, you lose your memories, and I find you again. No matter how many lifetimes pass, I have always been there. In every life, I have been your one and only—your husband.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he speaks. “But… but how? I’ve been experiencing delusions lately, slowly disconnecting from reality. I- I even went to a therapist, thinking I was going insane, but…”

“But what?” he prompts gently.

“But now I’m starting to think those memories were real,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I thought maybe the writing affected me, that I was imagining things. But if what you’re saying is true… I’ve been recalling memories from past lives?”

He nods, his gaze compassionate yet firm. “Those fragments were memories from your past lives. The feelings of detachment, the disconnection from reality—it’s all part of your ability’s process. Each lifetime, you’ve struggled with this, but you’ve always managed to find your way back to me.”

You sit back, feeling overwhelmed. “So, all this time, I’ve been recalling memories from past lives? And that’s why I felt so disconnected and unsettled?”

“Yes,” he confirms. “It’s why you’ve felt like something was missing, even when everything else seemed to be in place. Your soul remembers our connection, but the details slip away with each new life.”

Your eyes search his face, trying to find the truth in his words. “Are..are you immortal?”

He sighs softly, a look of resignation crossing his face. “Something like that,” he admits. “I’m not exactly immortal, but I endure through each lifetime. It’s not without its own pain.”

He stands and moves closer, his hands gently cupping your face. His touch so tender making your heart flatter subconsciously leaning into it, his eyes filled with profound...it's heartbreaking. “You have no idea how much I miss you, milaya,” he says quietly. “How much it hurts me to see you slip away from my arms each time. Every time, you’re taken from me by an ability user. The first time, it was my cruel father who killed you. The second time, it was an assassin with an ability. And so it went, one after another.”

His voice cracks slightly as he continues, “But this time? I will never let you go, moya lyubov. I won’t let anything take you from me again.”

Slowly, he leans in, and you find yourself lost in his half-lidded amethyst gaze, the slight glance of pain in his eyes is now gone. You brush a strand of his slightly long hair behind his ear, your knuckles grazing his cheekbones.

"Milaya," he whispers, closing the distance between you, his cold lips gently brush against yours, The moment your lips touch, a warm, relaxing spark ignites deep within you, spreading a soothing glow through your entire body. It’s a kiss that feels like coming home, like finding the missing piece of your heart.

Your body reacts instinctively. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. He lifts you gently, your feet barely touching the ground, as he holds you close. His hands rest on your waist, massaging circles onto your skin under your shirt as his kisses start to get sloppier with a sweet, heartfelt heat. It’s as if he’s trying to savor every moment, every touch, to make up for all the years apart.

He gently pulls away, his breath mingling with yours as he murmurs, “You should get some rest, darling,” His words are a tender reminder, and his touch lingers as he softly caresses your cheeks, jaw and chin.

You keep your arms wrapped around his neck, “Please don't leave.”

The Russian man, ever devoted, cannot bear the thought of leaving your side now that you are once again in his arms. With a serene nod and a tender, otherworldly smile, he whispers,

"I will forever be by your side, moya milaya."

A/N: I know this isn’t my best work—I've been dealing with writer’s block lately, especially after spending the last few days working on Kinktober fics. Apologies if any part feels rushed. I also made sure to use past tense for the memories and present tense for the current events, in case you noticed that. Anyway, thanks for taking the time to read this!

[hotnbloodied]

Yandere Streamer X Reader

!Warning! This post contains yandere themes and topics that may be uncomfortable to people who are sensitive to the topic, read at your own discretion.

CW: not proof read, y/n mentioned, gn reader for the most part, power imbalance.

!!READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!! MINORS DNI!!

So tiring, you were ready to go home and just unwind and relax. When you finally got home you tossed your clothes in the hamper and hopped into the shower, the water feeling like it was washing away the sins of the day. After your shower you pop one of your readily prepared meals into the microwave for dinner while you dry your hair. After eating your food with a side of tik tok videos you laid in your bed, mobile device still in hand you get a notification that your favorite streamer was live so you click on it. The streamer was actually someone you knew back in high school named Alex but that might have been too liberal of a term. Both of you never actually spoke to each other but you always admired him from afar. He was always charismatic and funny so you couldn’t help but steal glances at him back then. So when you stumbled on to one of his streams when he was still a smaller streamer you had to drop a follow, since then you’ve been one of his regulars.

The stream starts and he’s doing his thing, he makes you smile and you talk in chat with him and the other chatters. At a point he stops and talks about the meet and greet at a mall that was in your city that he was hosting. You had forgotten about that, but it wasn’t like you had anything to do this weekend so you made a mental note about stopping by.

On the day of the event you arrived a little after the starting time and knew you were at the right place due to the appearance of the crowd. While in line you double checked the care package that you brought for him along with your autograph book. By the time it was your turn you had your camera ready but walking up to him you didn’t expect him to recognize you. “Oh my gosh! (y/n) is that you?” he exclaims. Your face flushes as you respond, “it’s been a while, I didn’t expect you to recognize me.” You gave him the care package you prepared and took a selfie before he signed your book. After parting you took a look at the signature only to realize that he gave you his number. That’s when the texting started.

The day after you started texting him you two constantly texted back and forth, he updated you on everything it felt like and it made you do the same towards him. It almost felt surreal that you were texting someone who was now famous even if it was internet fame. One day he was talking about how he wishes the two of you could hang out in person more so he invited you over to his place, you didn’t think much of it and accepted his offer. But a week later you suddenly get calls from your other friends congratulating you on your new relationship, confused, you asked them what they meant. Links of internet articles and posts were made of you and Alex were sent your way. Frantically, you called him, “what is going on Alex? Is this because I’ve been hanging out at your place?” “Hi Darling! I assumed you saw the news, I just decided to might as well let the cat out of the bag,” he laughed. Your heart drops and you try to steady your voice as you ask him, “did you know this was going to happen?” He giggled, fucking giggled, “if you know what’s best for you darling you’ll start packing and move in with me, I can protect you now that your face is plastered throughout the internet. Unless you think you can run from me? Who are the fans going to trust? Me? A streamer they’ve been watching for years or a nobody?” He paused. “I’ll see you at home darling.”

The call disconnects, but the phone is still to your ear. Your head is downcast and you can’t feel your legs. With one swift motion you hurl your phone at the wall and collapse to the ground. Was this destiny? Or was it a curse?

[hirukochan]

I feel cheeky sending another ask but I lived the interrogation one so much so just 3 so words: snape sex pollen. Perhaps a professor x professor?

(Ps: is their a place that I can support your writing!!!)

Snape x Professor sex pollen coming right up 🫡

Writing is one of my many beloved hobbies; liking, reblogging, giving kudos or commenting is all the support I need! Thank you very much for asking though!

Blue Speckled Mushrooms

(Severus Snape x fem!Professor oneshot)

Words: 2572

Warnings: 18+ Sex Pollen :D - mutual dub-con, some biting, rough smut

Summary: In your continuing efforts to catch the grumpy Potion Master's attention you follow him into the Forbidden Forest - a mistake of perhaps destiny unfolding?

This is play post-war, Sev survives - not that it matters much to the 'plot'

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

It could have been so easy. Gather these blasted Moon Cornflowers and Speckled Blue Mushrooms and return to the castle. It’s all he asks for. Moon Cornflowers and Speckled  Blue Mushrooms to finish the brew currently under stasis in his office. Two plants. Just a few of each. They couldn’t be preserved through either magic or other means and had to be harvested within three hours of being used in a potion and only during a full moon. 

Now usually this is no problem for an accomplished potion master such as Severus Snape. A quick trip to the forest and done. He knows the half-forgotten paths, the safe routes. Knows how to avoid the Centaurs and other nastier beasts that live in the Forbidden Forest.

He does not know how to avoid her.

Irritating, stupid girl.

She took over the History of Magic position earlier that year, one of Snape’s first students he taught after becoming a professor himself at merely twenty-one. A seventh year at the time who already stared at him in the library back when he was a student. 

She just wouldn’t leave him alone!

“Midnight stroll?” She asks with that irritating smile on her stupid pretty face and follows him into the forest.

“What do you want?!” He growls at her. She keeps trying to make conversation with him, keeps sitting next to him during meals or in the staff room, talking. Always talking. Talking talking talking. 

How can a single person be this annoying?

She is still talking. Jesus fucking christ!

“So anyway…what are you doing here?”

“I don’t see how that is of any concern to you.”

“Just curious, is all.” She replies. Stupid girl. And she is still following him!

You have no idea what to do anymore. You’ve tried everything. You’ve tried catching his attention by talking to him, leaving the top button of your blouse undone, batting your lashes at him like a teen on a love potion, you’ve searched his company, flirted like your stupid life depends on it and the cranky bastard doesn’t even recognise it! 

You run to catch up with his long strides, wrapping your cloak around yourself to shield yourself from the cold night air.

You were about to go to bed, just finishing up your rounds through the castle on the lookout for students out of bed when you saw his billowing cloak sweep out of the entrance door. You of course followed him. Curious as to what he was going to do outside but also secretly hoping today’s the day he’ll finally notice your intentions.

Perhaps you have to be less subtle. You thought men like to be subtly seduced but Snape is not like any man you’ve known! Maybe he doesn’t like playing cat and mouse, doesn’t enjoy the chase. 

You’ll be blunt! Yes, if a stroll through the forest at midnight doesn’t do the trick you’ll gather what little courage you have and just make the first step yourself. You’re an independent woman! You don’t need to wait around for Snape to realise you’re interested in him and make the first step.

“Are you gathering ingredients of sorts?” You ask and walk quicker to keep up, pressing your arm against his by walking closer to him. He glares at you.

“Obviously.” He snarls and looks forward again.

“Cool. cool cool cool….um…which ones?”

He audibly grumbles.

“Sorry, I couldn’t understand you.” You smile. He is making it very hard to be attracted to him. Grumbly bastard. Prickly idiot. Why can’t he just fuck you? Shove you into a broom closet and let out his frustrations if you’re so bloody annoying to be around! Why can’t you fall head over heels for someone normal?

Because normal is boring.

Your eyes glide over his sharp jaw, every muscle tensed, about ready to snap, beneath his pale skin that shines in the moonlight.

“I said, you were a daft, simple-minded girl when I had the misfortune of attempting to teach you potions - I very much doubt you’d understand any more now than you did seventeen years ago!”

His venom cuts deep. You stumble backwards. You thought he was clumsy when it comes to socialising, that he perhaps didn’t understand your intentions, not that he loathes you.

“Oh…” You murmur. “Um…okay…” don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry. “Sorry for bothering you.” You turn on your heels and run. He calls after you but you ignore it, disappearing between the trees into the undergrowth, away from Snape because you are about to cry your eyes out like the stupid little girl he sees in you and you are not about to embarrass yourself any further than you already have! You just want to go back to your quarters.

Stupid girl! Insufferable, annoying, bothersome, foolish girl!

Snape runs after her. He considered leaving her to her own fate and capabilities and collect his ingredients but he had been cursed with a conscience. A nasty, biting thing demanding he not let her run to her death in an Acromantula den.

He’ll tear her a new one when he catches up to her! The sheer idiocy! Running into the Forbidden Forest like that! What possessed her.

“Stop running!” He snarls, draws his wand and sends a non-verbal Stupor at her. She stumbles and falls face-first into the flower field spreading over the clearing they had entered during their chase. Snape lifts his spell.

You spin around, furious. How fucking dare he? Isn’t it enough to insult you? Does he have to embarrass you by forcing you to bear your pathetic little hurt feelings to him?

He stands at the other end of the clearing, pale blue flowers reaching to his calves, emitting a gentle glow. He looks furious. The light of the full moon illuminates him from the back, deepening his already sharp features, cloaking his face and body in menacing shadows.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” He snarls and points towards the direction you were running in. “Do you want to be eaten by enormous spiders?”

“Like you give a damn!” You shout and pick yourself up off the ground. Swiftly you brush loose dirt and a few pedals off your robes and out of your hair. The motherfucker stunned you!

“I might be a cold son of a bitch but I am not letting a colleague run to her death - no matter how annoying said colleague is. The way back to the castle is-” A wind picks up. His cloak flutters behind him, the fabric whispering with the motion. Pedals are ripped from the flowers.

His eyes widen.

You tilt your head to the side, brows pulled together. “Severus?”

“Stay where you are!” He hisses, sending droplets of spit flying. You look around, confused, searching the dark rows of trees for some beastly critter about to attack but you find none. Snape’s eyes are pinned to yours. His chest is heaving, his breath seems shallow. You take a step forward to which Snape instantly backs away, keeping his wand pointed at- you?

“What’s going on?”

“To the castle! Go back to the castle!”

“I am not your student! You can’t give me orders! And to think I’ve been trying to go on a date with you for months!”

“You have to go back to the castle now or- what?” His wand hand sinks a little. A crease forms between his brows. You’ve never seen Severus so puzzled.

“Year really…” You mutter. “Back in school too-”

“I am not in the mood for jokes or pranks.”

“It’s not!” You take another step forward. Severus’ back hits a tree. The wind picks up. A sweet scent reaches your nose, infiltrates your mind, swirls around your brain like vapours of a potion-

Weren’t you cold?

You were! Yes, you were- but it’s so hot- when did it get so hot?

“Stop that!” Snape snarls again.

“Stop what?” You roll your eyes and pause- your cloak lies in the flower field three steps away from you. You have unbuttoned your robes, revealing the white blouse and dark trousers underneath- when-?

“Go. back.” He has his jaw clenched, teeth pressed together. His nostrils flare, his eyes flick down to your chest and he seems to struggle to force them back up.

“Are you hot too?” Your fingers pry open the buttons of your blouse without you even noticing or you’re just not thinking about it…

“Go-”

“What’s happening?”

“Pollen-”

“What?”

“Where you shit in Herbology too?!” He snaps and you glare at him about ready to-

Your blouse slips off your shoulders and falls to the ground. “Stop- you don’t want this-”

“What? What is this?”

“A rare flower.” His voice sounds pressed, as though he’s struggling to speak, to breathe, to exist. He has his back moulded to the tree, clutching at the bark with his hands, straining to keep his eyes on your face.

The button on your trousers is open.

“The pollens they emit to the air to spread and form these dense fields- they have a unique effect on humans-”

“Which effect?”

“Can’t you tell, stupid girl?”

Your trousers push past your hips.

“You should be running from me, not stripping for me.” His eyes graze over your body, standing in front of him in only your underwear, devouring the sight. His eyes trace along the curves of your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake…Heat rushes to your core.

“Sex pollen-” You gasp, noticing you’re standing a mere arm's length away from him now.

“The rather crude colloquial name - yes.”

“Severus- what-”

“Too late, stupid girl.” He snarls and the next moment he’s on you, pouncing at you like a wild beast. His woodsy, herbal scent flows around you, mixing with the sweet smell of the damned flower. His hands grip your arms roughly, blunt nails dig into your flesh. Severus swirls you around and pushes you against the tree. Bark scratches against your skin, stabbing into it but you don’t even notice.

It’s like a trance has taken over your mind and only one thing matters. 

He.

Severus’ mouth latches onto your throat. A million tiny explosions rush over your skin where he touches you and you moan, a feral sound ripped harshly from your throat, echoing over the empty clearing. Severus growls in response, even more feral, even less human. His teeth scrape over your throat. His hands roam over your body, squeezing your breasts, your thighs. Then he tears at his own clothes, shedding layer after layer with a quickness and urgency that has your head spinning.

“Stupid girl.” He repeats and kisses up to your jaw, your cheek. Heated, open-mouth kisses that leave your skin marked by his saliva. 

You place your hands on his shoulders, searching for something to hold onto, something to pull you back into reality, your head spinning, skin exploding, core hurting. You’re so aroused, so need it fucking hurts.

“Severus-” You moan. His hands find your thighs and he lifts you up. Your legs wrap around him on their own accord.

“You should have run when you still had the chance.” He snarls against your lips, his breath brushes over your skin. “You’ll regret this.”

“Shut up and fuck me, you prick!”

Your lips meet in a violent clash of teeth and tongue. You’re pretty sure he bites you or perhaps you bite him. None of it matters anymore when you feel his prick against your soaked entrance. You’ve never been so wet- never so wound up- so desperate for sex-

You cry out when he enters you, a forceful thrust that buries him to the hilt in your twitching channel. He is big. Too big under different circumstances perhaps. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He pounds into you, spearing you open, using his grip on your waist to bounce you on his cock in sync with each of his thrusts.

You cling to his shoulders, your nails drawing blood, fingertips running over old scars, exploring the surprisingly defined muscles of his lean stature.

Your breasts bounce, rubbing against his naked chest, his lips lay claim to yours, your face, your neck, your chest.

He stumbles, his left side giving in and you tumble to the ground. You’ve seen that happen before. The venom of you-know-who’s snake has left him with some permanent damage, not only the huge scar on his neck.

You don’t care.

You push him down to the ground, your hands on his chest and move your hips, lifting them, letting them slam back down, riding him. You throw your head back, your eyes closed, lips parted as his cock drags along your inner walls with delicious friction.

“So- so full-” You moan. Your breasts sway. Severus catches them, squeezing them with such pure delight on his usually reserved face. He twists your nipples between his fingers, revelling in the noises he coaxes from you.

“You could have had this so much sooner, idiot.” You hiss and grind down against him before lifting your hips up once again.

“Wha-?” His puzzled expression is almost cute.

“I’ve been trying to get you to ask me out for months!” As though to reinforce your discontent with his lack of romantic interest you pick up your pace. His head drops back into the flowers. The pale blue petals glow in his inky black hair.

“How was I supposed to know?” He asks, bucking up to meet your movement.

“I was flirting!”

“I thought you were acting especially stupid for some reason.”

“Arsehole!” You dig your nails into his chest but Severus seems to like that. His eyes squeeze shut, his lips part, pleasure drawn into every wrinkle of his face.

“Why didn’t you just ask me out?”

“Would you have said yes?”

“I’d have called you stupid. Perhaps laughed at you. Slip poison in your tea.”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t think you do.” 

Quicker than you can follow his movements you’re underneath him and your legs on his shoulders. Your head is still spinning when Severus starts pounding into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the clearing, accompanied by your and Severus' animalistic, feral sounds of pleasure.

“I don’t-” You moan and dig your fingers into the dry soil underneath you.

“I know.”

“You’re supposed to say me neither.”

“I do whatever the fuck I want, sweetheart.”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

His balls slap against your arse. His hand drops between your bodies, his fingers find your clit, run over it once- twice-

You see stars. Dots of light exploding all over your field of vision and pulling you into darkness, bringing the complex system keeping your body alive and moving to an abrupt stop. Your lungs refuse to fill with air, your brain crashes, your limbs tense, your whole body forced into a contortion made of carnal desire and the world-ending pleasure Severus Snape brings you.

You twitch. Then you inhale sharply, filling your lungs with air, shuddering, whimpering under Severus who spills inside you with an ear-splitting grunt and then slumps down above you. On top of you. Your legs found the ground somehow. His cock still inside you, throbbing, slowly softening, you lay in the dirt like a starfish, feeling dizzy, overwhelmed and confused.

“Friday.” Severus murmurs, his lips brushing over your cheek as he speaks. “Dinner. Be ready on time or I’ll leave without you.”

“Mh?” 

“You really are dense." He grumbles. "Your date, stupid girl. Friday.”

[candiehearts]

“Wanna Marry Me?”

Paring: Mercenary Wade X Bartender F!Reader

Summary: After leaving special forces, Wade finds himself as a Mercenary, always going to a specific bar for his jobs. However instead of giving his friend a dickwad greeting, he’s meets the new pretty bartender, and he’s instantly awestruck.

- Drabble, Deadpool M.List, Navigation — other works!

Warnings: Dirty Talk.

Taglist: Just ask to be added.

Wade sighed as he placed the gold card onto the bar, or more accurately slammed. He could feel the bruise on his side start to form. His target had slammed a chair into him, it made Wade shooting him all more rewarding.

Speaking of rewards, he better get the actual amount of money he was promised — if not then he needed to talk to HR. Did they have a HR?

“Give me a glass of whiskey, on the rocks.”

A glass of ice was placed in front of him, and he saw a stream of liquor pour into it.

“You look good in a tie.” Either Weasels voice got a lot more feminine, or that was a chick. Both choices heavily viable.

Once the stream stopped, he looked up to the bar tender. He felt his breath hitch at the sight of you, you wore a very thin tank top, and he could see the lace on your bra under it.

You had beautiful eyes, and he engraved every single detail of your face into his head. Now that’s a pretty lady.

Wade swallowed, hard and hoped no one noticed how sweaty his hands got. He looked down, to his shirt that he had the sleeves rolled up, and his very loose tie. Both of the had blood all over.

He looked back up at you, his drink forgotten, and he promised to win you over. “Wanna marry me?”

What the fuck? Is all Wade could think of. Yes he was trying to make an impression — but this?!

“Excuse me?” You were very concerned for the mercenary. The man definitely had made his mark, and it wasn’t every day you were proposed to — especially without a ring. So concern didn’t even cover it.

Fuck it, and roll. Is what Wade repeated in his head as he opened his mouth again.

“I mean, is that not the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard?” Okay he was actually rolling with this, but as he continued to stare at the girl he couldn’t help but think maybe getting married to her wouldn’t be so bad. Clearly his subconscious and dick agreed.

“A guy proposing to a stranger? It might’ve been better if you were some stalker and already had a ring prepared for me.” You couldn’t help but be amused at this situation, confused but amused.

“Oh well I can come back in a week after I’ve followed you home, and jerked off to you in the shower.” He took a sip of his drink, thinking to himself he really needed to learn when to shut up.

You laughed as you cleaned one of the drinks glass. The bar was significantly empty, and weasel could manage on his own for a bit. Just enough for you to run down to the court house with this handsome stranger.

You couldn’t believe you were actually considering this. You really couldn’t, but here you were wanting to do it. To take a risk — and everything in you screamed to go with this man.

“Look, I didn’t mean to come off so strong.” Before he could continue you cut him off.

“Okay.” You placed the glass down and looked at him. “Okay?” He couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“Let do it — just one thing.” He stood out of his stool, and even though it was stained in blood, he was thankful he was at least wearing a suit.

“That is?” Please don’t change your mind, he silently pleaded. Everything in him wanted this. “I should probably know your name, and I should stop a get a dress from a store.”

Wade smiled at you, he didn’t believe in any of that stupid destiny mushy stuff, but maybe it was fate. Maybe that’s why he was feeling like this.

“Wade Wilson.”

You walked around the bar, and grabbed his hand, shaking it.

“Y/N.” Wilson.

A/N: This is really short, but it was just a small idea I had.

© CandieHearts