#and SOMETIMES people who I think are cool turn out to be LESS COOL and SOMETIMES I feel like I say or do things that ruin my friends'-

[goldsbitch]

Not on the menu

Making out in public is not something to be shameful, right?

light smut, minors DNI, angst

note: this is my first Franco fic. this man came, served and what are we suppose to do?!

When it feels this good, it's worth breaking few rules.

You and Franco. Very well protected love affair. A fling. Just two young people who somehow end up in each other's beds whenever the opportunity arises.

Working in F2 as one of the production assistants was more exciting than one might think. Everyone would always praise F1, the size of the teams, the budgets, the glam surrounding it. F2 was different, more loose and less on the spotlight. Full of professionals, who just like drivers, worked their asses off just for a chance to progress into F1. But you were just so young, just starting and unlike with the drivers, you had no rush, plenty of time for that in the next years. It was all about learning, getting to know people and also, occasionally, having some good fun. It's hard to keep young people on a leash. Lot of travel involved, hotel rooms and many people mingling around, leads to just one thing. It wasn't special or albeit scandalous to fool around with a fellow crew member, in fact many marriages started like that, no matter the rank or department. Life on the road has its habits.

So when you first ended up on a dance floor with the ever-so-charming Franco at one of the opening events for F2, it was not such a surprise that you ended at his hotel room. Way less wondering eyes and almost no glam was at these evenings, the exact opposite of F1.

By some miracle, you managed to keep it a secret, apart from few closest friends, who served as an excuse for you two to actually hang out together. These few trusted souls witnessed their fair share of tipsy make outs and laughed collectively at your hickeys, which turned out to be his speciality. You never texted, never addressed your fling when sober. Deep down you knew you were curious to see how he was as a serious partner. But he never gave off that kind of a vibe. So you protected yourself, remained cool and decided that this was the peak your relation would ever be, and that was ok enough.

"So what about you and Franco?" a friend of you both asked you, once again. You hated when she did that. In her mind, it would be a great idea to have two of her friends together. But the truth was, she was way closer with him than you were. Nothing wrong with that, but it only reminded you of how shallow your interaction were. In order to keep you dignity while fooling around with a player, you pretended to be one as well. "You know how these things are, it's just physical. I don't think he's the kind of person I'd like to date." False. You knew that, but..! You stayed on the ground, he was just a bit out of your league. Simple as that. Soon enough he was gonna catch the eye of some model and you'll be old news. The whole thing would be way worse if anyone knew that you would actually be open to at least try and date him. It was hard to stop the daydreaming sometimes. "Yeah, that makes sense," was the only thing your friend, disappointed by your response, answered. You only wondered if she had conversations like this with him as well about you.

Life was good that one evening in August. At the time, you had no idea it will the last evening of that era. It was one of the typical dinners the wealthier members of the teams organized, a nice chill place to wind down after stressful days. You were sat few places from Franco, who was charming as ever. Raining smiles on everyone and stealing glances with you.

A text notification - Bathroom?

You gulped, locked eyes with him and gave a small nod. His smile was probably crafted specifically for you, somewhere in the depths of hell. Impossible to resist.

He got up and you followed a minute later, giving a knowing look to your mutual friend. She understood and happily covered for you in case someone else caught on.

It wasn't exactly the right thing to do, lock yourself in a room dedicated for nursing mothers. But better than blocking a bathroom.

"Aren't you a little old to be in this room?" you asked when you joined him and secured the door behind you. He was leaning over a counter, fingers tapping on the top. "I can't help it, I am hungry," Franco responded and gestured you to come closer to him. With a challenging look, you took few steps towards him. "This is a restaurant, you're at the right place."

"The things I want are not on the menu." He was done playing sneaking around and crashed his lips onto yours, as if to prove his hunger. He was just too good with his tongue. Taking you, like his little victim, making you forget the outside world still existed. His hand went to grab your neck, behind your ear, because by then he had figured out that keeping you in check was the thing that made your knees weak. His lips were locked with yours, in heated frenzy, not allowing any breath to be wasted. You knew how to play the game as well, and with a soft bite into his lower lip, drawing a gasp from him, you pulled away slightly, not allowing him to take full control. "Oh," he said, trying to steal another kiss from you while you pulled away more with satisfied smile. "Is this how it is now?" he continued, tone laced with intrigue and challenge. Your tongue reached to lick his lips once again. His hand suddenly lessened the pull towards him. "Oh, hermosa," he whispered, "two can play this game." Butterflies occupied your stomach. He stepped back and to your questioning look responded with another bloody wink. And then, then he grabbed you by the hips and lifted you up in the air and sat on the counter. You gasped, only amusing him more. Lost for words, you only raised your eyebrows. "Better," he said and with audacity only young boys have lifted your shift up. Without much of a thought you put your arms up and helped him get you slightly more naked. His eyes were shamelessly focus on your chest. "Almost there," he said and gestured towards your bra. "Go on. Take this horrible thing off." You chuckled, because as charming and suave he was, taking a bra off was a moment where he failed each time. Desire fueled you into making this quick. Now that you were sat, his eyes were at a similar lever to your boobs and there was something hot about his hungry look, watching you undress even more. Once you were finally fully bare, he observed you and the locked eyes with you once again.

"Pretty," was the only thing that he said before putting his lips on your left nipple for a gentle peck and then on the right one, which received a light bite. He decided to stay focused on that one, few kisses here and there and began to suck on it while his hand pinched the left one. Arrows of pleasure flew into your lower belly. He knew your weakness, he must have because this was sending you into other dimensions. Anything that feels this ecstatic would make anyone crumble. Whatever he did seemed to always work on you. He wasted no time with gentle touches. Not enough time for that. After nearly sending you over the edge with his lips dancing around and sucking on your nipple, moved a bit upwards and went for his signature move - marking your breasts with hickeys so purple it would take a week to heal. You bend your head backwards, trying to contain any loud noises your body wanted you to make in reaction to his actions. Another twirl around your sensitive nipple, bite into your skin and a hard squeeze. You did not want him to stop, too deep in it to think straight. But that must have been his plan from the beginning, because he put you on edge and then back away. You almost let a soft "No..." escape your mouth. With a puzzled look you slowly came down and remembered you were still in public. Heavy breaths and you gulped your way back to normal. He stepped back a bit and observed his mark on you. With an approving nod, he had the audacity to fix his boner up so that it was not so obvious. "Looking forward to seeing you later?" he asked with a tone that indicated the answer was obvious. You just nodded and reached for your bra, hoping his hickey was low enough it would not be visible. But, he had never made that kind of a mistake. You hopped down and gave him one more kiss, a slow and gentle this time, before he parted back to the dinner table. You joined in a minute, after fixing yourself up and trying to make your cheeks less red. Thankfully, there was only one another amused person when you came back to the table. Your friend raised her brows at you and drank her wine as if nothing ever happened.

Everything shower, hair on point, favorite perfume - you were all set and ready for how the evening would inevitably progress. This time you even made sure to clean your room. You got too comfortable with your expectations. Watching his every move, you noticed immediately when his expression changed from a casual smile to focused frown when reading a text on his phone. Was it something serious? Would he confide in later, sometimes it happened by accident. Secrets shared among tangled sheets. He got up and sent you a cheeky wink. You had to bite your cheek in order to stop the smile your body wanted to respond with, a small bruise burning inside your bra.

It took you fifteen minutes to realize he was not coming back from his phone call. You had his number, you could easily text him. But you didn't. And just like that, he was off to F1.

[electricfied-wolf]

it is saturday and I am but a simple highschooler and I am so so tired and it is literally 12:15pm and I want to just sit here and eat my banana pudding

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

UPDATE What's up, it's the proposal guy. You said you wanted to know how this turned out, so I figured I'd tell you. First some context though, because I'm mean and I wanna keep you in suspense longer.

1- I don't wanna doxx us so I'm not telling you where we live, but suffice to say, neither of us are American, and gay marriage has been legal here for less than five years. For both of us, this is the first relationship we've had where marriage was even an OPTION, and I think that's where we've been getting some of that whole 'this has to be a REAL proposal with EVERYTHING' idea.

2- I gotta figure out how to explain this properly. So, I'm pretty used to being the GUY guy in relationships? I was always the one who did the nice gestures, not the one they got done for. Before I met my dream guy, I didn't really notice or care that it was such a thing, I just assumed that's how shit worked. Also, I promised I wouldn't talk a lot about his stuff here, but his last boyfriend before me SUCKED. Anyway point here is, it turns out we both REALLY like feeling swept off our feet sometimes, and a big part of finding each other has been getting to feel special for once? That's a stupid sappy way of putting it the point here is I think all that's what morphed into "I need to be the one getting proposed to, also it has to be completely perfect", and then our Petty & Extra genes got involved.

So I'm sitting in bed thinking about all that up there, and watching all the comments coming in basically being like "Dude, you are BLOWING this" on repeat, and telling me to compromise, and I look up and see him flossing in the bathroom and making all these doofy faces at the mirror, and it's like a switch just flips in my brain, and I'm like "Oh, I'd rather he gets to have his perfect proposal than we both have an okay one". I'm gonna do it.

Morning rolls around, and while I'm 'out for my jog like normal' I hit up a pawn shop for a temp ring (the ring pop thing is cute but NOT HIM). I found one I was at least confident wouldn't get ruined the first time he got his hands greasy (he fixes old machines as a hobby it's hot as hell), got back home, and hid the box in the toe of my nasty ass workout shoes in the bedroom closet, since I figured he'd check there last.

He was still asleep, because he stays up late no matter what and then is SHOCKED he's tired the next day, so I called and booked a table at our usual anniversary spot. (Side note about the 'he picks bad restaurants' thing. This isn't an 'I like Greek, you like Chinese' situation, dude's just BAD at finding places. He either assumes pricey is tasty and I get to eat some overrated gourmet bullshit, or he'll try and find something hip and underground and risk giving us food poisoning again, and he REFUSES to give up and pick somewhere we've been before when it's his turn to plan date night. I'm obsessed with him <3.) Date was set, I'd propose on the 21st.

Some of you might have noticed this, but fun fact! It's currently the 16th.

Last night I'm doing dishes and he's been sent to our room for mug collection duty, and he's taking FOREVER, so I go check just in case he found the ring, because the man's a gift tracking BLOODHOUND. Turns out he hasn't, he's found my Angry Box.

I assume other people have an Angry Box? Basically, we had this huge messy fight right when we first moved in together, and I never wanna let it get that bad again, so I have this shoebox where I keep a bunch of our stuff I can look at if we're fighting and hopefully cool off. There's one of those photo booth roll things, letters we wrote when he moved back with his parents for COVID, the wine cork from our first date, shit like that. Anyway, he's just sitting on the floor staring at it, and I explain about the Angry Box, and then he! Proposes!!! Kind of.

He definitely didn't have anything prepared, because by 'propose' I mean 'ugly cried & rambled at me for several minutes before I figured out it WAS a proposal', but once I got on the same page it was amazing. I said yes, and he had to admit he didn't have a ring for me because he was CONVINCED he'd win and I'd do it, so I grabbed mine because, yeah, he was right. He was like "this is the ugliest ring I've ever seen" and I was like yeah well the plan is to replace it later and he went "No. You can pry this off my cold dead fingers. After I'm buried with it." So I guess it's not a temporary ring anymore.

I'm just gonna go ahead and skip to this morning. I pointed out we still have the reservation, and he said I should propose there anyway because "We can get a free dessert. They have those creme brulee shot glasses you like. And for love, or something" and I said ok deal, but that means you gotta get me a ring to keep it fair, and his eyes LIT UP. When I swung by his work for lunch he was still on the phone with a jeweler and he had a whole page of notes on three other ones. Pray for me.

OH PS: I was RIGHT that he'd been the one behind the cat biting me, but it wasn't about the proposal stuff, it's because I paid my baby sister three dollars to shout 'fuck you' every single time he enters a room she's in for (if you ask me, he should be madder at my sister for charging so little), and he did it by giving her a bunch of treats for biting his hands too, so now neither of us can pet our baby girl without oven mitts on. HOLY SHIT I love this man.

Oh my goddddddd I love everything about this <333 I awwww'd out loud on a voice call, like, six times while reading. You two are friggin perfect for each other and so obviously smitten with each other and I wish y'all all the happiness in the world

PS Are y'all planning to have a big wedding? If so oh boy I can't WAIT to get that one in the inbox

Original post

[taffywabbit]

I finally watched breaking bad (all within the past week or so while I worked, finished it and watched el camino last night) and I'm confident this isn't a new thought I'm expressing or anything but genuinely how DID an entire generation of dudes convince themselves Walter White was cool and admirable and intended to be sympathetic. I know ppl just lack media literacy sometimes but I'm still so confused

I don't think I've EVER watched a piece of media that so blatantly depicts a guy making the worst possible decisions at every turn and having his life ruined for it and not being redeemed or made sympathetic in any significant or lasting way. the kinds of justifications villains USUALLY give that make people consider them "morally grey" or "tragic" or whatever (everything I did was for my loved ones, I did what I had to to survive, once I was in this I couldn't get out, I just needed you to trust me so I could keep you safe, etc etc) is ALWAYS framed as complete self-serving bullshit when Walt says it, and one of the only shreds of personal growth he ever exhibits in the whole series is when he finally fucking admits that. every time he does something even remotely cool or drops a quotable one-liner, something terrible immediately happens that makes everything worse and makes him look like an unreasonable idiot asshole again. by the end of the series the ONLY characters they can still contrast as being morally "worse" than him are literally a bunch of bloodthirsty neonazis who kept a guy in a cage for several months. this show is practically SCREAMING at you the entire time not to admire Walt. why did every dude I knew in highschool have his face on tshirts and Facebook pfps.

I just don't get it. at least with The Dark Knight's Joker it was like, a feature-length movie and that's it. you spend a lot less time with the Joker and it has a lot less time to delve into his motivations, so there's way more room for flanderization and misinterpretation as people extrapolate the few cool/interesting/sad things they saw into a whole nuanced misunderstood guy in their heads and online. Walter White has 5 seasons' worth of 45min episodes to convince you beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is a miserable fucking loser who ruins everything he touches because of greed and selfishness. if you weren't watching it for that, what WERE you getting out of this. what DID you think this show was about. am I just missing some key piece of context from 2012 or whatever that would help me understand this

[staryuee]

HOW THEY REACT TO YOUR SILENT TREATMENT.

꒰warnings꒱ not proofread … sigh

⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . you and your partner are having a “cooling down period”, a time of détente, after a recent argument. how do they deal with the lack of love from you?

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . diluc, eula, wanderer, ayato, gorou, tartaglia, lyney, wriothesley, neuvillette, arlecchino

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . as a psychology student ☝️🤓 i can safely say that the silent treatment is usually frowned upon due to its connotations with emotional abuse, therefore i tried my best to make it apparent that this sort of silence is within the boundaries of the relationship ( ･᷄ὢ･᷅ ) please communicate with your loved ones if you feel a certain way :)

you and your beloved recently had a pretty bad argument. out of respect for both of your feelings you both decided to have a period of détente to allow a gradual recovery of your emotions and logical reasonings.

there was no need to argue, and there was also no need to be hostile or petty; therefore your silent treatment wasn’t a way to maliciously gain control or make your lover come running back to you, it was a way for both of you to regain composure and come back to the topic when prepared.

that did unfortunately, lead to much less affectionate gestures from both of you. of course there was still the casual “i love you” every morning and night accompanied by a simple kiss, but it never went anything beyond that.

while your lover fully knew why this sort of peaceful coexistence was necessary, sometimes it’s sincerely difficult to not just reach out and kiss you breathless.

you’re so close yet so far, it’s unbearable.

R. DILUC — 迪卢克

master diluc has been rather restless lately.

constant muttering to himself, plucking the dried up skin that stuck out from his badly bitten lips, his gloved hands constantly scratching a non existent scratch; honestly, if the fellow residents of dawn winery didn’t know any better they’d think he was possessed and required an immediate exorcist.

adelinde refuses to see her precious baby sink his eyes into ruin purely because he’s out secretly patrolling once he wakes up in the middle of the night to clear his head. you’re always there with him throughout the night: but why does it still feel so empty regardless?

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST ?

diluc is no pushover or people pleaser; if you were guilty, then you’re guilty and he’ll wait all the time in the world till you eventually own up and apologise (please let that come sooner or later though otherwise he’ll give into ruin and sip alcohol for a breather). otherwise, if its his fault, or no ones and it was a mere misunderstanding, the silent treatment lasts for a day. not any longer not any less; he doesn’t allow it to.

he’s more than happy to wait forever for you but gods if he ever made a mistake that accidentally led you to elongating this supposed transient silence till the end of time, diluc would much rather swallow his pride and give his all to you. you’re worth more than pettiness, and he’ll prove that to you once you wake up and get greeted with all your favourite luxuries and a bright, relieved smile on his face.

EULA — 优菈

you’re beyond delusion if you think this woman won’t turn this into a healthy-ish competition of sorts.

you wish to avoid her for days on end? she’s already used to the world avoiding her mere gaze, she can withstand the somber feeling of having the one person who’s fully understood her as the complex person she is self-isolating from her for a little while.

never mind, no, she literally can’t. come back to her right now. we have problem right? lets talk about it, isn’t that what you taught her in the first place? what do you mean you need a break and want to clear your head for a while to not hurt her feelings? you think eula of all people cares about something like that?

she’d rather you spit at her than withstand another hour of this mindless nonsense.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

she doesn’t apologise unless she sees whatever caused this perilous argument in the first place truly hurt you and you ended up in tears; otherwise whats the use in pointless words when you can easily hug it out and call it a day?

she lets you apologise under the guise of “if you don’t, my vengeance towards you will be greater than my foes”, but in reality? eula is hardly paying any attention to the words slipping past your lips. all she’s thinking about is how she’ll be able to shake off this uneasy tension that’s somehow been created between you two.

WANDERER — 流浪者

you can’t tell which one of you needed this little breather more, after all, you’d hope scara would allow himself to soften after distancing from you after a while, and scara hoped you’d see reason within your argument and eventually, as always, forgive him.

but forgiveness is a two way straight in the way most people subconsciously ignore; does he and could he ever forgive himself? that image of your teary eyed face, the harsh puffs of breath you heaved to prevent any more molten venom to burn his plastic skin, the slight clenching of your jaw, fuck it hurt.

he couldn’t admit it at the time, but right now after being forcefully peeled away from you for about week and forcing auntie nahida to listen to his venting rambles? he wished he just gave it all up and did something: anything at all. kissed you, hugged you, consoled you, swiped your tears away with his thumbs, fluttered his eyelashes on your cheek gently as he whispered an i love you.

yet all he could do right now was wait.

wait until you hopefully came back, he couldn’t face you. if you abandoned him he’d deal with it. the petals on the floor and the hushed whispers of “they love me, they love me not” are just hallucinations from his worried caregiver, he swears.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

never would he stoop so low as to apologise.

verbally. that is. if he’s aware that he’s in the wrong (believe me that look on your face does wonders for trying to figure out whats on your mind) he’ll begrudgingly come up with some covert way of making it up to you. he doesn’t want to be stuck in this immortalised silence forever; believe me, he likes your talking more than he realises and this little test trial of abandonment was more than enough proof that your existence within his life is essential.

if you’re not there standing by his side, what even is the point in that fraudulent pacemaker of his? your laughter is in the same shape of his heartbeat; if you’re not here, he’s just back to being that dumb little puppet cuddled ashore in the slim darkness of the night.

K. AYATO — 神里绫人

bile builds up in ayato’s throat, eyes threatening to spill hazardous tears on his paperwork. he HATES being away from you. yes, you’ll be back comfortably in his arms with a kiss on your forehead soon…but time isn’t making that “soon” come any quicker and it’s killing him.

‘silence’ is only the act of not speaking, right? so he’s technically allowed to sneak in pastries onto your desk when you’ve gone to take a break — he’s also most certainly allowed to write down his frustrations about not being able to be overly affectionate with you and then pitifully sliding them under your door in hopes you’ll read them and maybe write one back.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

he desperately tries to convince himself that if he works long enough, he’ll forget the hollowing feeling in his heart that’s left in the silhouette of you. he puts down his calligraphy pen with an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples with rough motions as if to completely rid himself of any lingering thought of you.

that’ll never work, and ayato thinks you two have calmed down enough so therefore he trudged his way into your room, knocking of course, and sat down with you for a lengthy but beneficial conversation.

without a doubt, ayato will be the one to apologise first. whether it’s a conscious decision or not completely depends on how long he’s been away from you; at some point you just fall back into regular routine completely by accident.

GOROU — 五郎

he’s glad you’ve decided to take this sort of approach to your relationship instead of having a painful battle of the wits with him but right now, he’d withstand a thousand hours of scolding than the way his fellow soldiers worryingly clutter around their little general and ask about his well-being purely because those furry ears atop his bundle of bed hair decided to stay drooped down all week.

but he can’t help it! he’s utterly miserable! you didn’t even give him your complimentary “good morning, have fun at work, be safe” kiss before he left the door in the static quiet of your abode. to top this torture off? you haven’t pet him once, and while he’d normally revel in not being treated like an actual lap dog…you’re a huge exception in that rule!

unfortunately, it’s not like he can just outright demand attention from you merely because he’s feeling a bit down on his luck. you asked for peace, he’ll give it to you. he’s a war veteran but treats you like a flower thats sprouted on a ruined patch of sand.

ehem, but please come back to him soon. please?

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

whatever it takes to get your pretty hand to ruffle through his brunette locks he’ll do, he doesn’t care if the apology consists of him kneeling down on pitifully shaking his head near your thigh with his lips puckered into a pout. shame doesn’t exist within your relationship right? he’s more than willing to apologise first regardless of who was to blame.

if the argument was a little more serious however, he’ll sit down you on your couch that holds so many sweet significant memories within your mind, his head resting atop your collarbone and tail sneakily swishing from side to side now that your heartbeat was so clear to him. he’ll hear you out, talk through it, but more importantly, love and appreciate you.

TARTAGLIA — 公子

nuh uh. you think you’re getting silence with someone like him around? unless one or both of you fucked up really bad, tartaglia can’t see the point in silent ignorance; if you want to ignore him to personally calm down? sure, do whatever you want honey, you’re still getting treated like the other piece of his heart that you are.

if you’re genuinely annoyed he can leave you alone…for maybe two hours thirty minutes max. he loves you so much, talk to him, he doesn’t care if you insult him out of anger, lash out at him if you must. so long as you return into his arms so he can sway you around within his tender embrace and pepper your face with kisses, he’ll be more than happy and satisfied.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

him all day — call it the big brother complex with having to always apologise first whenever he got into a slight squabble or disagreement with his siblings when he were younger, or call it pure unadulterated love for you and the refusal to continue with this pointless staring battles whenever you guys were sitting across from each other.

whatever it is, just know he takes your feelings seriously regardless of the teasing grin across his face when you try not to squirm from the way his hand traveled from across your waist to the slither of exposed stomach. he just wants to assure you that his love won’t ever fade even if it becomes so deliberately one sided. he’s yours, after all.

LYNEY — 林尼

he’s used to eerie silence that bellowed icy winds against his ears, used to the tension that forced out his fight or flight response, but currently all he could do was freeze and overthink. how come this silence seemed so much more deafening than usual?

lyney doesn’t want this worse than capital punishment torture to continue without at least the slightest bit of laughter mingled into both of your days; he tries his best to curve your lips to even the slightest twenty degree lift using whatever he could. silly little flower reappearing trick there, a sneaky kiss to the side of your neck here; just any fleeting desperate attempt for some reciprocation on your part.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

lyney’s used to apologising first given his experiences within the house of hearth and the father herself. so imagine his surprise when you both incidentally stammer over one another as you two splutter apologies helplessly. god he’s so happy your relationship is built open gushes of giggles instead of the splats of tears because if it weren’t for that cute little accident? lyney was sure the second you opened your lovely lips to speak he would’ve teared up.

he missed that voice telling him constant i love yous, the affectionate cradling of his face against your neck and the way you wouldn’t hesitate to hold his flushed face within your cooling hands to comfort him after a particularly stress inducing performance.

WRIOTHESLEY — 莱欧斯利

you left the conversation with an “i love you.” so he knows that you’ll come back to him.

however, the last time he blindly trusted the comforting words of a loved one, it ended with blood on his hands and a lengthy sentence at the fortress of meropide. luckily for his heart and your own, he knows your charms and honeyed words aren’t for show and truly mean something.

wriothesley respects your boundaries and wishes to the t, he won’t speak to you like nothing at all happened but that doesn’t mean he won’t be overly cautious when it comes to your behavioural patterns. if he notices this sentence of silence is clearly taking its toll on you, he will, with no hesitation, talk everything out with you.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

depending on the argument, he’ll apologise first. if it’s rather undeniable that you were the one in the wrong however, he’ll explain his feelings thoroughly until you apologise — the standard. he doesn’t want this silence to end till the fortress of meropide overflows with primordial water so once you see multiple guards on your case more than ever, just know he’d like to talk to you.

NEUVILLETTE — 那维莱特

fontaine has been drenched in rain for the past couple of days. every hour, every minute, every second neuvillette spends alone in his office makes him realise just how grand and solemn it is. everything is so mundane and banal…even the cheerful mutters and chatters of the sweet melusines couldn’t bring a smile to his face — much to the dismay of the little sigewinne who even so kindly brought him a cake to cheer him up…

what makes it even worse is that everything reminds him of you…and oh god the muddied clouds have once again been cursed with rain. this unquenchable thirst for your presence cannot be ignored by a mere sip from his intricate cup and being the ever so carefully mindful iudex, neuvillette sees it more than fit to call this hopeless game of silence to quits.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

regardless of who’s in the wrong, neuvillette apologises first. he’s sorry for letting this go so far, he should’ve just trusted his gut and returned to your side even if it meant having to persuade you with his clever tongue or the coiling of his draconic tail around your leg to pull you sweetly closer.

honestly, if he could, he’d make this a punishment in the fortress of meropide for every couple. you committed a petty, technically non offensive crime? well instead of doing some charity work for the city, you’re not allowed by the side of your beloved for a few weeks.

ARLECCHINO — 阿蕾奇诺

a bunny within the jaws of a spring locked beast thinking it can persuade the tides in their favour with silence? arlecchino is amused you’d think such cheap tomfoolery would work to solve through your problems.

“darling, come here,” she taps her lap with her blood-stained nail, her eyes looking up at you greedily to soak up every single jitter of your movements as you alas fall onto your rightful throne, “my dumb bunny,” arlecchino coos at you with that devilishly low hum of her voice. “do you think the phrases ignorance is bliss, distance brings fondness, truly work within our relationship?”

arlecchino painfully grasps at your waist, that grip only loosening once you comfortably situate yourself on her thighs and lace your arms around her neck per routine. “i’d expect this behaviour from my children at the house of hearth, not you, angel.” she nibbles on your earlobe deliberately, forcing your lips to part just the way she likes. that perfect look of both surprise and desire; it’s a gorgeous display of your vulnerability.

“explain to me your problems, or else we can be at this forever.”

no such thing as the silent treatment when the very epitome of a wordless shadow has betrothed you.

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

[auroralwriting]

hi! here’s a little fic idea or something to maybe toy around with: spencer with a blair waldorf-esque partner (maybe just a similar upbringing?? idk) but yeah, maybe like the insecurity that comes from growing up like that. or like the softness in finally opening yourself up to love where you had to make yourself cold before. idk.

fashion!

spencer reid x fem!reader

an exposing gala finally reveals your hidden wealth to your team, and to spencer

word count: 2.4k / warnings: pure fluff, negative self thoughts, spencer is a sweetie and rossi is supportive dad, no use of y/n, bombshell/rich girl reader

The luxurious life you lived was one you kept hush-hush, private, and behind closed doors for all who wanted to peek in. You knew it was obvious that you came from some money. You went to Yale and got your masters from Harvard. Sometimes, you wore more expensive clothing, like classic Louboutin heels or Dior sweaters.

You kept all of your money and lifestyle private for the simple fact that you didn't want to be treated differently at work. Your teammates, friends, were your favorite people. They were all very humble, sometimes minus Rossi, and so incredibly kind. You didn't want them to assume that Mommy and Daddy bought you this job. That you didn't deserve your position in the FBI.

However, when Rossi invited the team to an expensive gala where you knew people would recognize you, you realized you were absolutely doomed.

"I have no clue what to wear to things like these!" Penelope cried out in faux agony. You and the rest of the girls were shopping in the mall, not a fashion mall, but a regular one, for clothes to wear to the gala. "I don't dress up fancily ever!"

JJ smiled calmingly, "Pen, you'll look gorgeous in anything you wear."

Your brain began to work overtime, fashion knowledge bustling in your brain at a million miles an hour. "Pink," You said. Your voice was always on the cool side, your demeanor stoic like Hotch. You were the fun one, though, and knew how and when to let loose. You liked to think of yourself as highly mature and collected. "A blush pink, not rose. Rose will wash you out."

Penelope blinked in surprise, "Really?"

"Absolutely." You nodded in confirmation.

"Ooh," Emily clasped her hands together, "Do me!"

It took you no less than a second to reply. "Dark red, burgundy, maroon. You suit a darker feminine look." You turned to JJ, raising an eyebrow. "Have you ever considered emerald green?"

JJ paused for a moment, "No, I haven't."

"You should. It would bring out your eyes." You replied with the smallest hint of a smile.

"How do you know all this?" Penelope asked, highly intrigued. "Are you some fashion goddess?"

You felt yourself fully smile, a small chuckle escaping your lips. "I've just always been really good with color-analysis, I guess." It wasn't a lie, color analysis went into profiling, and it came with growing up rich as fu-

"What are you going to wear?" Emily curiously asked, setting her hand in her head.

"I have a few ideas." You nonchalantly replied. "I think I have some dresses at home that will work."

Leading up to the gala, you found yourself feeling anxious anytime someone brought it up, which was all the time. Yes, you knew it was excitement, but it made you nervous to rationalize whether your friends would hate your or not after this. You tried to play it cool, nodding along to the conversations, but one comment really bothered you.

"God, I cannot wait to eye all those rich girls," Derek dreamily sighed, thinking about how much flirting he was going to participate in. "I hear the aristocrat-girls know how to push your buttons."

You knew Derek didn't mean it to be insulting, he was just joking, but it caused you feel a pang in your heart.

As the others continued to talk, you felt eyes boring holes into your body. It was Spencer, probably your closest friend on the team, and the guy you were hopelessly in love with. You'd never admitted it to anyone, the fear of rejection buried deep in your bones. You didn't want to lose him as a friend above anything else.

"Hey," Spencer softly whispered, taking in the look that had settled on your face. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Spence." You nodded, allowing yourself to give him a sweet smile, the one that he knew was reserved for him and him only.

Spencer gave you a suspicious look. "You know Derek didn't mean it like that," He offered, reaching out to squeeze your arm.

"I know," you nodded. "Really, Spence. I'm okay."

The loss of your usual glimmer in your eyes had vanished before Spencer's eyes. He knew you better than that. Something was definitely up.

Even if he was your best friend, he found it hard to gather a good read on you sometimes. No one had ever been to your apartment, knew where you lived, met any of your family, absolutely nothing personal. You went to everyone else's places, met their families, it made Spencer's brain wrap around itself trying to figure you out. You were so open with him, yet so closed off at the same time. It was like you were hiding some deep, dark secret that you didn't want to hurt him. Nonetheless, he trusted your judgement, never prying too hard. He was too in love with you to even consider hurting you.

The night of the gala finally approached. You sat in front of your vanity, finishing up your hair and makeup. Reluctantly, you gave Rossi your address to come get you. He had hired out a limo to take the team to the gala.

As you walked outside, the cool chill of the air was a huge contrast to the heat inside, reminding you of how brutal Virginia autumn's could be. As you opened the door, you let out a sigh of relief when you saw it was just Rossi.

"I had a feeling you didn't want anyone to know where you lived," He remarked, a knowing look on his face. "From one to another, I know when someone has expensive taste. You, my dear, struck me as an aristocrat from day one."

"Does anyone else know?" You asked softly, biting your lip.

Rossi let out a huff of air, "Of course not. But you should tell them, preferably tonight."

"What if they think differently of me?" Your voice felt small, and you noticed the way Rossi looked at you with comfort. It was obvious that this was an unusual way to see you, but deep down, you were a sensitive, caring soul who played the part of the cold, badass agent too well.

"I can assure you, they won't." Rossi squeezed your hand for a moment, allowing you to buckle yourself in.

One by one, the team began arriving. They all looked amazing, of course, but the one that stuck out to you was Spencer in his classic black and white tux. Of course, his eyes couldn’t leave you, either. Mentally, you made a note of this eye-checking out, or eye-fucking, as Derek so gracefully called it.

Penelope was the last to arrive, and she gasped when she saw you. “That’s Prada!” She pointed, her mouth agape.

“My mom gifted it to me on my twenty-first birthday,” You explained, feeling relief when the team played it off as a very generous gift.

The gala was gorgeous, white, gold, and black filling your eyes. Of course, you’d definitely seen better, but it was your first gala in a few years. It was refreshing to see. The team, on the other hand, looked amazed at it all.

“This is the most amazingly spectacular thing I’ll ever witness in my life.” Penelope gaped.

“It really is gorgeous,” JJ nodded in agreement.

Even Hotch was staring wide eyed at the hall. “Hey,” Derek asked. “Why do you not look at all surprised or even any other feeling besides neutral at this? That cold?” Derek teased, unknowing of your true feelings.

Before you could answer, you heard a gasp from behind you. Your name was emphasized. You turned around to see a woman, her early forties, and the worst fucking haircut— Maggie Lowdry.

“My dear! It’s been far too long since you’ve been to a gala. Had us all worried sick you’d vanished, or far worse.” Maggie gave you an elegant hug that you reciprocated.

“I’ve been very busy with work,” You replied with a wide smile. “Maggie, this is my team. My team also includes Agent David Rossi.”

Maggie went wide eyed, “David Rossi! What are the odds Miss Heiress and my favorite author know each other, let alone are co-workers!”

You cringed at her words, sucking in a breath. Rossi chuckled, responding for you. “Not that low, for the area. Please, let me grab you a refreshment.”

Rossi gave you a knowing look, guiding Maggie away. Closing your eyes, you slowly turned around. “Look-”

“You’re rich?” Emily asked, interrupting you.

“Yes, but-”

“For how long?” Derek interjected.

“My whole life, I guess. It’s-”

“What do your parents do?” JJ inquired.

“They both own their own finance companies. This isn’t-”

Spencer’s words cut the deepest, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Covering your mouth, you shook your head, refusing to let tears well to the surface. The look on your face surprised the team. They hadn’t expected you to be so touchy about this.

“I’m sorry, I need air.” You quickly walked away and back outside to catch your breath.

“She’s sensitive,” Hotch began to profile you meticulously. “She puts on a cold front to trick us into thinking she’s someone completely different. In reality, we know she isn’t cold from how often she jokes or laughs and smiles. We know she’s hiding something, maybe a bad past. If we looked closer, we would have realized that this is why she never let us come over, or hardly went shopping with the girls.” Hotch paused for a moment, “She’s scared we’ll treat her differently.”

Emily frowns at his words, "We would never treat her differently because of her background."

"Or because she's rich," JJ added.

Hotch shook his head, "We're all lower-to-middle class. Maybe she thought we would resent her, or potentially believe we assume her parents bought her everything."

"A common stereotype for children of aristocrats is imposter syndrome," Spencer began. "Is that what.. is.."

"Reid, maybe you should go check on her." Derek insisted. "You're her favorite, anyway."

Biting his tongue at Derek's words, Spencer silently agreed as he followed in your previous footsteps. When he exited the building, he saw you sitting on the stone steps, staring into the city.

Spencer softly spoke your name, causing you to look up at him. No matter how hard you tried, Spencer noticed the redness in your eyes. "Can I sit?" Spencer softly asked, gesturing beside you. When you didn't respond, Spencer took that as an opening. He slowly sat next to you, his eyes never once leaving you. "We aren't mad at you."

"Do you think any differently of me?" Your voice was softer than Spencer ever thought he'd heard it before. You'd been with the buero for eight months, twenty six days, and thirteen hours. Even if he knew you well enough, he knew you'd done a damn good job of keeping your own secret.

"Yes," Spencer honestly answered, causing you to look at him wide-eyed as he continued. "I think you're much more sensitive and sweet than you let on to be. Sometimes, we could see the real you if we looked hard enough." You felt your heart beat die down at his words. "I think you're scared that we won't like you anymore because, what, you're rich?"

Your brows furrowed, "Is that not it?"

"Of course not," Spencer chuckled, grabbing your soft, manicured hands. "It doesn't matter if you're the President or anything less than,"

"I thought you guys would hate me," You chuckled at yourself, taking in Spencer's words. You'd been silly this whole time.

Spencer gave you a sympathetic look, "How could we ever hate you?" His thumbs rubbed the top of your hands, just in front of your knuckles. "Plus, I think we all already thought you came from a little money, that or you had incredible debt."

You laughed at his words, causing Spencer to smile brightly. "Maybe some things gave it away."

"Maybe," Spencer warmly agreed, the smile on your face making his heart soar. "Honestly, I know I only feel much better about you,"

"Yeah?" You breathed out.

"Yeah," Spencer confirmed with a nod. "I feel like I'm really starting to understand you. I really think I'm gonna love this you." He paused, taking a deep, supporting breath in. "But, I already do, so maybe that means it'll only get stronger."

Your breath hitched in your throat as your lips slightly parted in surprise. "You- You love me?"

Spencer awkwardly smiled, "Yeah, I love you."

"I love you, too." You admitted, a warmth spreading across your cheeks. "I have since, like, they day I met you."

"I fell in love with you two months and three days after I met you." Spencer replied. He took note of your confused face and decided to help clear up what he meant. "Remember that case where you nearly got set on fire to grab one of the Hutchenson kids from their house fire?"

The memory came back to you in an instant, "That's when you fell in love with me? When I was coughing and covered in ash?"

"When you risked your life to save a child, even after the fact sending her to the first ambulance that arrived despite the fact that you couldn't breathe." Spencer corrected as you shook your head.

"I cannot believe that's when you fell in love with me." You admitted with a small laugh.

Spencer gave you his dorky half-smile, "If it helps, I'm falling in love with you all over again right now." He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ears, "So you get a do-over."

After a moment of the two of you just simply existing together, relishing in the presence of your love, you decided it was time to go back inside. "We need to go back inside soon. Or, I do. My presence is expected."

"Of course, I can't hog you all to myself, can I?" Spencer teased as he helped you stand up.

"You can have me all to yourself anytime there isn't a gala," Spencer's cheeks grew red at your words as you internally cheered. "Plus, now I have a boyfriend to introduce?"

Spencer nodded quickly, "Yes, you do."

"Good," You smiled, slowly turning around to walk back inside. "I hope you know how to dance too, by the way. The waltz is common at these types of galas."

"Wait, what? No, no, I can't dance- hey, wait up!"

[kyber-crystal]

i will follow you into the dark || bradley "rooster" bradshaw

summary: your first instinct has always been to push people away when they get too close, but for some reason, you have trouble letting one pilot go. but little did you know that he had settled into your heart from the start and has no intention of leaving. (in which you have Bradley Bradshaw wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even notice—5 occasions that solidify your love for him, and 1 time you realize it)

words: ~3.3k

warnings: angst (BUT A HAPPY ENDING, I PROMISE), near-death experiences, brief mentions of violence, also my writing LMAO

a/n: hi guys i haven't posted a full-length fic in a LONG time but here we go :) this fic won the vote so it's going up first! hope you enjoy :)

I. meet me in the middle

“Mav!”

You and Maverick turned around at the same time. “Which one?”

“The pretty one,” Rooster stated. 

“Be more specific.”

“I am being specific, Captain.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Fine, I need your daughter.”

“You always need her for something.”

“Sorry, pops,” you grinned and clasped Maverick’s shoulder, and walked over to Bradley. “Come to kidnap me again, Bradshaw?”

“Actually, I’m hungry.”

“Then…go eat? I don’t see what any of that has to do with me.”

“I’m going to dinner, and I want you to come along,” he explained. “So, let’s go.”

“Is that why Cyclone was grumbling about someone spilling coffee all over him earlier? I knew it had to be you that put him in that mood.”

“Doesn’t matter. Come on.”

You looked back at your father, who simply laughed and motioned for you to go. The test flight would have to wait. 

It was 5:30 when you got there, but the usually-crowded cantina had only one other person inside. Rooster didn’t hesitate as he set down his car keys and slid into the booth right next to you.

“There’s a seat right there,” you pointed out. 

“And?”

“You can sit over there.”

“I don’t want to, though.”

“Alright, then.” 

You weren’t even done for the day and already, felt tired and worn out beyond belief. The one thing that had been keeping you going was Maverick’s promise to take you on a Mach 7 test flight. (With the Admiral’s permission, of course. But you wouldn’t be surprised if he had never asked.)

Rooster tells the waitress your order without blinking, and you give him a tired smile as a thank you. 

There’s no animated conversation, no loud comments or jokes or anything of the sort as the food comes out, but neither of you mind. Sometimes, all you needed to cool down from a long week was each other’s company and a steaming plate of fajitas. 

The little routine you’ve established falls into place so easily you don’t even have to think. Impromptu dinners, blasting 80’s music as the sun goes down, taking the offbeat path down to the coast with salt in your windswept hair.  Little to no words spoken, and somehow the silence speaks volumes.

But you don’t understand why he’d choose you to do this with, out of everyone. You’d expect him to drift towards someone less damaged. Someone who could keep up to his free and daring spirit and push him to his limits. Someone who had less baggage and didn’t flinch at every little touch. 

But despite all that he doesn’t leave. Even when everyone else around you seemed to, he was always there, assuring you he’d wait no matter what.

“Don’t worry about it.” He places a gentle hand over yours as he hands his card over to pay later that evening. “Let me treat you tonight.”

“Thanks…” 

He holds the door open for you as you walk out and keeps a ghost of a hand against your back the whole way to the car. You’re trying to burrow into yourself, but he doesn’t stop looking at you. The feeling of his eyes on you sends shivers running down your spine and you nervously shift in your seat. 

“You okay?” Rooster places his hand on the headrest as he reverses out of the parking lot. “You seem quiet tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t press any further, assuming that you’re tired and that’s why you’re unwilling to say much. He knows. He understands. “If you ever need to talk, though, I’m one call and a 15 minute walk away. Or 7, if I sprint.”

This makes you laugh a bit. “If you say so.”

II. waiting on you

As soon as you hop out of your plane, he’s the first one there to greet you and pulls you in for a hug. You have no time to react to it because he’s so quick to sweep you up into his arms. You can smell a mix of sweat and coffee and a little bit of raspberries on him, and it helps bring you back down to reality. 

“You saw me a few hours ago, Roos…please let me go…” you mumbled into his shoulder. His grip on you only tightens further. “What’s with the excitement?”

“Nothing. I’m just happy to see you.”

Not knowing what else to do, your hands awkwardly reach up to pat him on the back. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Though you don’t say it out loud, you’re also just as happy to see him—it’s comforting to know he’ll be waiting whenever you return from something. And that, you think, is more than enough. 

Rooster carries your things for you without asking, and you’re grateful because your shoulders feel like they’re going to fall out of their sockets. Once again, he’s standing close by as you go to your quarters, ever the watchman. If he doesn’t have a hand on you, then his eyes will stay glued to you for as long as they can be. 

“Is that my shirt?” he asks as you step out of the bathroom wearing an oversized vintage T-shirt and a pair of jeans. 

“No.”

“It looks better on you, anyway.” He smirks; you fail to notice the way his gaze lingers on you a bit longer than normal. “You ready to go? They’re waiting for us at the Hard Deck. Hangman’s complaining about a rematch or somethin’.”

You lean into his side and smile, and he puts an arm across your shoulders. It feels so natural that you almost don’t notice. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

His eyes never leave you, even when he’s in the thick of the game. It’s impossible to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach every time his gaze flickers over to yours. 

Coyote notices your dazed look and nudges Payback in the side. “How is it that everyone knows that Bradshaw and Y/N love each other except Bradshaw and Y/N?”

“Because they’re stupid,” Payback whispered back.

“Ah. Makes sense.”

“So, we need to do something about it.”

“Hm…I’d say we wait it out. They’re going in the right direction.” A small smile graced Coyote’s face as Rooster pumped a fist up in victory before rushing over to embrace you. “A room full of people, yet all he sees is her.”

“You’re so right, man.”

III. rose-tinted glasses

“What are you looking for out there?” Rooster called out.

“Something pretty,” you replied as you stood by the ocean’s edge, the wind fanning your hair around your shoulders. He’s sure that he’s never seen a more mesmerizing sight. 

“I beat you to it, because I already found one,” he stated with confidence, eyes never leaving you.

“Where?”

“I’m looking right at her.”

“That’s not what I meant, silly. Do I look like a seashell to you?”

“No, you’re even better.”

You laugh once again and resume your search. Right then, a glowing scallop catches your eye, and sand dusts your clothes as you bend down to pick it up. It’s smooth and seems to glow in rose gold amidst the early evening light. 

“Would you look at that,” you breathed out, palm extended to show him what you’ve found. “It’s perfect.”

Rooster encloses his hand around yours, and you can feel the heat radiating from his skin. It’s cold out but you’re not freezing at all because he’s so close. He’s so close. Your heart skips a beat. 

“Wow…it sure is.”

He kneels down with you, and you spend the next few hours making it a competition to see who can find the most unique set of stones. A strange feeling washed over you as you watched his brows furrow in concentration. Never had you imagined to be spending Thursday night with Bradley Bradshaw by the seashore, and yet, it feels like you’ve done this thousands of times before. 

Everything seems to fall into place. 

IV. for you, i’d cross the line 

“Y/N, hey.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter. Move over.”

You shifted on the bench to make room for him and he sat down next to you. This was probably his tenth time playing his rendition of ‘Great Balls of Fire’ but that didn’t matter; the man knew how to sing. You found yourself leaning into him and listening to his heartbeat, and the sensation lulled you into a peaceful trance. 

You took one good look at your best friend. Sweat lined his forehead and his face was bright red from both the alcohol and heat, but still, you were 100% sure that you’d never seen a more beautiful sight in your life. 

The way he seemed to gaze at you made your heartbeat pick up speed. It didn’t matter that he had too one too many drinks in the moments leading up to this, nor did it matter that he was always one to be rather affectionate with you. It didn’t make you love him any less—if anything, it made him all the more endearing. 

“You’re looking at me very…intensely,” you mumbled. “It’s making me nervous.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “A man can’t help it when he’s in love.”

“Was that tipsy you or sober you?”

“Sober me is saying I love you.” He continues playing, unfazed, and the sound of the piano in your ears fades away into nothingness. 

It’s drunk Rooster telling you he means what he says, the confidence boost making him do things he normally wouldn’t. It’s drunk Rooster attempting to serenade you as his warm, alcohol-riddled breath falls against your neck. It’s drunk Rooster talking…but there’s a sober truth hidden behind his words that sends a shiver down your spine. 

You’re nose-to-nose as he starts to sing, and you lose yourself in a sea of gold and blue as his warm thumb grazes over your cheek. As if there’s an invisible string drawing you together, you move closer and closer towards each other. Drunk or not, he was utterly enchanting and you couldn’t turn away.

Once again…you ignore the stirring feeling in your chest at the feeling of his body being so close to yours. 

V. saving grace

You find yourself opening the door to Rooster, who has a bouquet of your favorite flowers and some large Tupperware in hand. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you accept them and step aside to let him in. “What is this for…?”

“Thought you’d want something nice to add to the kitchen. You and Mav need to work on decorations,” he said. “Why? Do you not like them?”

“No…I’m…how’d you know these were my favorite, anyway?”

“I heard you talking on the phone to Phoenix about them six months ago,” Rooster explained, taking his jacket off and hanging it over the couch. “I pride myself on being observant like that. Also…I woke up early to cook you that pasta you always go nuts over when we drive to LA.”

“Oh.” Your heart twinged as you glanced over—that damn pasta was your favorite thing on the entire planet. You claimed that nobody could make it as well as the diner in Newport did, except Bradley himself. (He didn’t tell you how many times it took to get it just right, though. He didn’t want you freaking out over that. And besides, Maverick’s pots and pans that he borrowed had already paid the price.)

He paused for a moment after setting the container down on the counter. “I noticed you went home early today. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” you lied as you put the flowers in a vase. But that was no use; he could see right through your monotone response. “Didn’t sleep enough last night.”

Bradley sees your hands tremble slightly. “Sweetheart.”

That’s all he needs to say before you step forward and lean your head against his chest. One arm finds its way around your waist to pull you close, while his free hand smoothes your hair out. A cracked sob escapes your lips and you squeeze your eyes shut in the hopes that if you kept them closed long enough and prayed hard enough, a guardian angel would swoop in and save you. 

“I’m here, it’s okay, you’ll be okay,” he murmurs. “You’ll be okay.”

“Please don’t go, Bradshaw,” you begged, voice hoarse. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m right here, don’t worry,” he reminds you, his hand moving down to rub your back. “I’ll be here whenever you need me, I promise.” 

You reach your pinky out a bit, and the two of you link your fingers together. 

You’re never letting go, and neither is he. 

epilogue—soul ties 

“I’m trying to shake them off. They won’t let up—shit, I’m hit—”

His panicked voice cuts through the buzz of static and you can feel your whole body go numb. What if he doesn’t make it back… The thought alone is too much to bear. 

He curses under his breath and you hear something like that of a whispered prayer and several mentions of Please let me come home to her. Your heart clenches in your chest and you feel like you’re going to puke. Noticing your sudden uneasiness, Maverick grips your hand to keep you steady. 

“Bradshaw, what the hell is going on there?” Coyote nervously rubs at his forehead as he looks up at the screen. “If you die, we’re all going to kill you.”

“Left engine’s completely blown out. I have two bogeys on my tail.”

You bite the inside of your cheek until the tangy, metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. This couldn’t be happening. There already was a ghost amongst the skies, and Rooster could not afford to become the second…

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, I’m going down, guys—” Rooster curses again, and the earsplitting sound of a large blast interrupts him before he can say much else. 

“Bradley!” you shrieked as you watched his radar signal slowly fade off the screen. “No—”

Silence punctures the air and you finally lose balance, succumbing to the black void of nothingness. 

—

10 hours later, you sit outside the hospital room in the cold hallway, a thin, tear-stained blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Hangman and Phoenix had long since given up on getting you to move, so they took turns sitting with you. 

“You should try eating. There’s In-N-Out nearby, I’ll get something for you if you want,” Jake offered. 

You shake your head. 

“Come on. It’s been all day.”

“No.”

“You’re really that worried about him, aren’t you.”

“No,” you muttered bitterly. 

“You claim to not care, yet you’ve been sitting here for the past ten hours.” 

“I don’t care. This is me looking out for him in the same way any colleague or teammate of his would. This is what I’m supposed to do. What we’re all supposed to do.” 

“Y/N.” Jake sounds a bit more serious this time, and this makes you stop trying to bury yourself within your thoughts. “Listen to me.”

“What,” you exhaled.

"The fact of the matter here is,” he cleared this throat, “Bradshaw cares about you…a lot. Not in a simple and innocent ‘friendly’ way. And if you keep pushing him away like you always do, all 'cause you're scared, you're gonna lose him for good. Losing a good man out of fear is never worth the cost."

Your heart stops.

Every hug, every word and cheesy pickup line, every lingering glance and touch and intertwined set of fingers—he'd fallen first long ago, and pulled you down with him. But you let him, and you'll walk to the ends of the earth if it means he'll hold your hand along the way. And that's when everything hits all at once—the realization comes crashing down like a waterfall. 

You were hopelessly in love with him, the man who brings you flowers every Friday night. In love with the man who holds the door open for you, gives you his favorite jackets, and stays up late or wakes up early to learn your favorite comfort meal (even if it means failing 17 times in the process and ruining Maverick's kitchen), the man who serenades you to classic rock ballads with the taste of rum on his lips. 

This was Rooster Bradshaw, and he was your soulmate.

“But I already lost him,” your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words to say, “I can’t.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That man is going to stay waiting for you until the day his body is buried six feet underground. Deny it all you want, but he’ll keep waiting long after he takes his last breath.”

You let out a long sigh and stood up. “Okay.”

You’re hesitant as you step inside the small hospital room. He’s asleep, but he must’ve sensed your presence and his eyes flutter open. 

“Sweetheart…”

“Bradley.” He moves over a bit for you, and you sit down next to him. “You’re alive.”

“Sorry for not dying. That must’ve disappointed you,” he jokes. If he’s in any sort of pain, he manages to mask it behind a soft smile. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I waited ten hours.”

“You should’ve gone home and slept.”

Closing your eyes, you rest your head against his chest. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that you weren’t okay.”

He hums some tune against the crook of your neck; lips brushing over your skin. “But I came back, like I promised. I’m okay, because you are.”

Helovesmehelovesmehelovesme.

As if he could read your mind, he leans in just that bit closer. You look up at him and your heart somersaults in your chest. 

When your lips meet, everything clicks into place and it’s like you finally found the missing puzzle piece you’d been searching for. He was here all along; it made so much sense. Everything else fades away into the background as you get lost in the feeling of him and him alone. You knew from the moment he stuck out his hand and told you with a million-dollar smile “I’m Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, and I can make a mean lasagna or anything else you want,” that choosing him would be the single best thing you ever could’ve done. 

And you were most certainly right about that now. 

“I kept it, you know.” he murmurs as you eventually break away, “I didn’t think it would last as long as it did, but here it is.”

“What…what are you talking about?”

He fingers dip below the scoop of his T-shirt and he brings out the glittering charm, laying it in his hand. “You gave it to me ages ago. It was a while ago but I still remember the exact time and place. August 5th, 2010, 2:26 a.m. We were both on the verge of falling asleep.”

Your heart grows warmer. “Roos…”

Rooster opens the locket, and inside is a picture of you beaming as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. So young and so in love, but not yet knowing how you felt about each other. 

“I think this is what kept me alive up there. I was in the air long enough to think about and reflect on the fact that I was dying, but I knew I had to come home to you. I was dying, Y/N, but you saved me. If you didn’t come into my life right when you did then I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be telling you that I love you.”

He has you at a loss for words yet again. It didn’t matter that you’d known each other for years because he would always find a way to steal your breath. The once-tiny caterpillars crawling in your stomach had morphed into giant butterflies that never stopped fluttering when he came too close.

He leans in and he’s kissing you again; this time it’s like you’re his sole source of oxygen and he’s in desperate need of fresh air. Your grip on his hand tightens as he deepens the kiss, and you pray to God that your heart won’t explode into a million pieces like it did when you thought you wouldn’t see him again. 

I’ve died and come back to life twice now, Rooster tells himself. 

And both of those times, you’re the angel that magically appears to save him from a certain, unfortunate fate. 

tags, including people who may be interested (sorry if this list seems off, it hasn't been updated in a while hahah): @sarcastic-sourwolf @totomoshi @sebastianstangirl01 @purelyfiction @lunamoonbby @hazelgirl355 @multifandom-fangirl4 @paintballkid711 @buckysbeloved @lyn-lc @spawn0fsatan @milestomaverick @teacactusworld @cherry-waved @ellabellabus07 @vitanileon @lam-ila @criminalyetminimal @whatlovegattado @queenbbarnes @yeehawnana @t-stark35 @thesunsetphantoms @danirose-0420 @callalily2000 @the-untamed-soul @shizzybarnaclee @bananaa @luvfurdogs @shalaniela @unordinare @and-claudia @lgg5989 @katiemcrae @elenavampire21 @joyfullyswimmingface @nyx2021 @cosm1cfae @ellabellabus07 @vane28282 @bittergomez @littlebadariell @tallrock35 @whotfatemywaffles @hoedameronsworld @aerangi @julia-marshal @uwiuwi

(also if you filled out the general taglist form/top gun taglist form and you're not on here, that means i couldn't tag you for some reason)

[skyenish]

You’ve got the same eyes as your mother | Riddle Rosehearts animatic 🌹|

———

I’m not really happy with how this turned out but I’m gonna be honest, I’m just doing anything possible to avoid having to work on stuff I should he working on and drawing is suddenly difficult again, but we keep fighting! Fuck it we ball‼️

(Did you notice I didn’t want to draw the Heartslabyul boys? I love them dearly but they’re my least favorites to draw by FAR, because Ace ily but that hair makes my hands want to explode)

Anyways, here is my little Riddle analisys! Its so tragic to see how much like his mom he’s become. Riddle really isn’t mean or evil, he’s trying to help his dorm in basically the only way he knows how. Perhaps it also shows how abuse victims can become abusers themselves, but on a smaller scale? I am not well read on this topic though, so I hope that’s not insensitive to say. It’s just cool to see how most of the Overblotters become like the people that played a big part in their lives. Azul becomes a “bully”, Jamil becomes a “master” who uses others like servants, Leona becomes dismissive of others, and Riddle becomes like his mom. There are parallels there I think!

You know, Riddle is a very interesting character. Out of all the Overblotters, I’d say he’s the least “evil” person (that’s not to say that the others are evil), in the way that he’s the least selfish, and he’s also the only one who properly apologized. Though, the others also apologized in their own way of course.

Riddle really convinced himself that was he was doing was good, that he was in the right and that he was only protecting the dorm and teaching them the proper way. One of my favorite moments from book 1 was when Riddle cried and apologized, and said that he really wanted to eat that chestnut cake, and he doesn’t like most of the rules! Also of course the line “what rule do I have to follow to make my heart stop hurting”, it truly is devastating.

Sometimes I wonder how Riddle feels when he looks in the mirror, and he sees someone so similar to his mother. He probably feels conflicted, right? He loves her and knows she’s highly succesful, but why does he feel sick at the thought of him being similar to her? I find it interesting how dual and contradictory the overblotters are, and Riddle is no different. I have this headcanon that his housewarden uniform is modeled slightly after his mom, and after his Overblot he changes his uniform, and it resembles her less. I really like Riddle’s character, but I don’t think about him that much. Maybe I should do that more often?

I hope you guys like my interpretation of him and my rambling, and if you didn’t I’d love to hear your interpretation! And if I got something wrong, please correct me in the comments!!

[vaspider]

Since I just turned off reblogs on another post that quickly went from "let's have fun" to "this is fucking awful, I'm taking away this toy," please read this BlueSky thread from rahaeli, who I don't think is on here.

Most of it I've c/p for ease of readability bc BSky's threading sucks.

Okay, it's time again to talk about what the experience of having a social media account with a bunch of followers (*) is like. (* "a bunch" of followers is platform dependent. I'm getting irritating shit at 2k on Bluesky I didn't get until 10k on Twitter.)

(Ugh, wait, nevermind, I hit 3k while I wasn't looking. Anyway.) Someone who has never had more than 100 followers literally cannot comprehend the sheer volume of the responses you get. Even if individual posts don't get a ton of replies, if you post with any frequency, it accumulates.

Once you hit the first degradation threshold, your experience gets a little bit shittier. It's overwhelming volume, but the people who are following you are mostly ideologically, socially, and culturally aligned to you. You have the same concept of social media manners.

You'll get a few duplicate comments, because nobody reads the comments before they reply, but they're mostly from cool people, so you just roll your eyes a little at the same joke five times. You still make friends. You still have fun and can wind up finding neat new people.

And then those neat new people retweet your stuff, and it starts reaching out to an audience of people who are less aligned with what you think of as social media manners. You start getting some replies you find obnoxious: they're in good faith, you can tell, but they just grate on you sometimes.

And then *those* people start reposting your more viral threads, and you get people following you who are three degrees of separation from the people you are most likely to vibe with. And three degrees of separation is the second degradation threshold.

The second degradation threshold is where you start getting the constant, low-grade sand-in-a-pearl annoyances. The person who wants to argue with everything. The 15 people making the identical shitty "joke" that's actually just doing the exact thing you're complaining about, "ironically".

The people who look at a post that contains no question marks and think "there is an implied question here and I will answer it!" and leap to offer the most basic advice that you already thought of because you have existed for more than three seconds and can, in fact, think of the obvious answers.

The people who are spoiling for a fight no matter what, because you used one word in the post that is their particular berserk button and they're going to scream at you for hating waffles because you said you like pancakes even though you never mentioned waffles.

It is constant. It is never-ending. You cannot escape it. Every time you post anything at all, opening the app means wading through twenty garbage replies for every reply from someone who is actually cool and you'd vibe with just fine if you chatted with them.

You want to bitch about a minor annoyance? There will be 40 people all giving you the same useless advice. You want to squee about something you're enjoying that's making you happy? There will be 40 people coming to scold you because that thing isn't morally pure enough.

Every post. Every day. About 75% of the time you compose a post, you will get halfway through writing it and think "I can't deal with the replies this will get today" and delete it. You stop talking about things you enjoy, because you're tired of people shitting on them.

You stop complaining about the tiny annoyances in your life that you want to bitch about, because weirdly enough you already HAVE tried the first fifteen obvious suggestions you're going to get, and you don't want to spend an hour explaining why they won't work to everyone who's "helping".

(But you can't just ignore the "helpful" posts and not engage with them, because then you start getting accusations of being "elitist" and "standoffish" and jesus, lady, we're just trying to help here, why do you have to be so fucking rude and stuck-up, you full of yourself bitch.)

If you are any less gracious to the 40th person than that person thinks they deserve, there is a very good chance they're going to call you a cunt and drag allot their friends in to dogpile you and make the site unusable for at least three days.

The third degradation threshold is when you start needing to regularly call your local police department and politely remind them there are people who get very mad at you online and will try very hard to have you murdered by armed agents of the state and you'd appreciate it if they didn't do that.

I first had that conversation with my local police department in 2003. It's gotten faster now, at least? You usually don't have to start by explaining what social media even is.

Bluesky has tighter thresholds than Twitter did. On Twitter it was nicely exponential: the breakpoints were around 1k, 10k, 100k. Bluesky is running faster. I'm getting Twitter 10k annoyances at a Bluesky 3k. I am trying very, very hard not to switch over into Twitter 10k defensive posting.

I want to leave the defensive posting back on Twitter. I really do. I want to be able to bitch about a thing without having to wade through 20 "go try [extremely obvious thing]". I want to post about a thing I enjoy without 20 people yelling at me I'm bad for enjoyjng it.

There's a difference between arguing about an idea (which I love) and the onslaught of constantly infuriating replies plucking at your last goddamn nerve. And the more "last goddamn nerve" replies you get, the crankier you are, and then people lose their shit at you because you snapped at them.

So maybe let's all start keeping a few principles in mind: 1) if there's more than one reply, check to see if your point has already been covered. If it has, you don't need to repeat it.

2) Even the funniest joke gets old after the 20th time you hear it in 3 hours.

3) "I'm going to jokingly do the exact thing you just were complaining about because ha ha the real joke is I would never do that asshole thing" is never funny, and it is indistinguishable from you actually doing the asshole thing.

4) If there is no question mark in the tweet, think twice about offering "helpful" advice unless you and the poster know each other *mutually*, not just parasocially, you know it's likely to be new info for them, and you ask "do you want to hear how I handle this?" first and get an affirmative.

5) If you are going to ignore 4, ask yourself "is this a suggestion that someone with a reasonable level of generalized adult knowledge would think of trying within the first 15 minutes of approaching the problem?" If so, do not suggest it.

6) Do you really need to nitpick that grammar, spelling, or word choice? Did you understand what they were trying to say before autocorrect mangled it or they blanked on the exact word they wanted and found a close one? If you understood the meaning, don't be their volunteer copyeditor.

7) Is someone excited about a thing you hate? Are they having fun with the thing? Is the thing a front for white supremacist recruiting or organizing the overthrow of the US government? If the answers are yes, yes, and no, respectively, shut the fuck up and let people enjoy things.

8) We are all occasionally That Commenter. If someone you have a pre-existing relationship with replies to you and lets you know you're being That Commenter, it's because they have a positive enough impression of you they don't want to go straight to block. Treat this like the warning sign it is.

9) It deserves repeating: remember the Law of Large Numbers. Even if you only commented once, you may be the hundredth irritating comment that person got that day. Bluesky's terrible threading makes this worse: people don't keep a single thread of mounting crankiness the way they did on Twitter.

9a) If someone's top tweet sounds really annoyed at something, maybe check their timeline or follow back their nested self-QTs to see what level of irritable they're at and over what so you don't step straight on the same rakes they've been dodging all day.

10) However, remember that BSky also doesn't show replies made by people the OP has blocked in a thread. If they post about a pattern that's making them cranky and you look and don't see anything, they probably already blocked the worst of it. They still saw it in their mentions in order to block.

I really cannot overstate how absolutely exhausting and soul-destroying the experience of having a large account can be. It's also somehow still rewarding, or we wouldn't do it. But especially if you're a woman or a person of color or a female POC, that balance is really, really close most days.

And of course, the ones who stay are the ones who do find it still rewarding enough to keep doing it despite the constant irritations.

From here, the thread moves into a conversation about stuff specific to BlueSky, but the majority of the thread is truly applicable to Tumblr as well.

You may be the first person to comment "op lives on a planet without music," or "op has never heard of [thing OP didn't mention for whatever reason]," but you're probably not, and at a certain point, it becomes like someone tapping a sunburn.

So yeah.

[monster-mash-m]

Past my limit

Halsin x Afab!Reader

MDNI

Urggggg I can’t get this big beefy man off my mind it’s actually a problem.

Cw: smut with oh so very little plot, size difference, Afab reader, words like ‘pretty’ and ‘beautiful’ to describe reader, gn reader, pinning, growling, spoilers for act 3, Halsin is at his limit, p in v sex, creampie, biting, established relationship, grinding.

Lemme know if I missed any!

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

It was a cool night in the camp. Everyone was surrounding the campfire, bantering and telling their little stories of the day to one another. You telling Gale and shadowheart about how you got turned into a wheel of cheese at the circus. Of course they laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

You continued to talk and listen in turn, that was until your hairs stood on end, you felt hungry eyes on you. Your skin rose in goosebumps as you turned your head in the direction of the feeling of the demanding stare, and who it belonged to. Halsin. Is eyes trained on you like a predator ready to pounce, his whole body tense, the veins in his arms bulged as he restrained himself.

You smirked and quickly looked away. You and halsin had a little… bet at the moment. You and him were the camps official pda couple and you somehow made a little bet with each other. On who could last the longest without any sexy time. And my, you have not made it easy for the Druid.

Accidentally stopping abruptly infront of him when he’s following behind you, getting him to press up against you. Or timing your bathing time so when he goes to bathe, you’re out of the river putting on a show of drying yourself off. Or how you licked the honey from your hands a few days ago, making intense eye contact with him. All of this, it was driving him crazy that he couldn’t touch you. He started looking like a mad man, not to mention how irritable he had become to others.

So now you’re sat at the fire with a smug grin. Astarion ever the prying type lets out his typical wine aunt laugh “Tav dear, what are you doing to the poor Druid? He looks like he’s about to explode.” You snicker and smirk back “oh I bet he is.” You make eye contact with halsin licking your teeth as you look down to his lips. His eye twitched. Wyll rolled his eyes and Gale let out a scoff at the whole scene, the less open people at the camp.

You stand up “Hm, I think I shall have a walk in the woods, would anyone like to join me-“ before you could even finish Halsin was on his feet and looming next to you “I shall accompany you my heart…” he gruffed out. Everyone giving eachother knowing glances as Halsin practically drags you to your usual…. Fun spot.

You grunt with a grin as he presses you against a tree, his large hands firmly on your squishy hips. “My heart…” his voice strained and full of need. He pressed against you, gods he was already rock solid. He subconsciously began to grind against you, “you’ve pushed me to my limit… every waking moment I’ve wanted to devour you, claim you infront of all our friends… you’re a little minx…” he groaned out with a tattered breath.

“Awh seems like my big Druid can’t stand a little teasing?” You let out a condescending coo with a pout to tease him, push him further. His eyes glowed that dangerous yellow as he let out a low growl that rumbled in his chest “You play dangerous games my dear…”

“Do I?” You purr as you begin to tug on his trousers. “What prizes do I get for playing such games?” One of your hands sneaks down to palm his straining cock before pulling his hot cock out. He shuddered and practically ripped your clothes off, it’s fine I’m sure he’ll get you some more sometime. “You win the inability to walk tomorrow.” He whispered as his eyes glazed over as his growling eyes traced your body. “And I get the prize of taking my hearts cunt.” He chuckled cockily.

He dives into you neck and begins to kiss and suck, missing your scent, your taste, the way your skin melds with his so perfectly. He grunted as he hoisted you up, making you wrap your legs around his firm but soft hips. You gasp, feeling his pre dripping cock slide between your ass cheeks. He resisted the urge to thrust as his hands gripped onto you greedily.

He pulled away with a smirk as he admired the myriad of hickeys on your neck and collar bone “mh… nod isn’t this better my heart?” You nod with a love struck face “Halsin please… I know I’ve managed to stay calm but… gods I miss you… your fat cock, I want you to fuck me. Hard, and now.” You gaze up at him, your words making his heavy cock twitch. “Yes my heart, what kind of partner would I be to not oblige?”

He carried you to a soft patch of grass and laid you down, hovering on top of you. His one of his hands instantly trails to your wet cunt “Mh, I’m glad to see the feeling is mutual…” he chuckled to himself as he sunk a finger into your fluttering cunt slowly. His breath hitches as yours does, he bites his lip as he watches his finger disappear. “Oak father guide me… I can’t hold back much longer, if I do… I might truly lose myself…” he muttered.

The man was impatient, he needed to be inside of you like now. Only problem was, he won’t fuck you until he knows you’re stretched enough to take his thick cock. He grunted impatiently as he grabbed your hips and pulled them upwards until your head was inbetween his thighs, his cock resting against your neck and cheek. Your back pressed against his chest and legs on his shoulders “Ah Halsin wha-Ahh-“ you gasp out before you could ask him what the fuck he was doing.

His thick tongue licked a slow stripe up your glistening cunt. He groaned at the taste “sweeter than the finest fruits nature has to offer my heart…” he growled before digging in. He resumed his fingering, slowly adding more and more until he was 4 fingers deep. All while his lips were wrapped around your clit with eagerness, sucking and licking with urgency.

Your body tensed as wave after wave of warmth built up in your abdomen as Halsin brought you closer and closer to the brink. He was practiced, he knew where and when to poke and prod at your sensitive slit. You noticed quite a large amount of pre smudging against your cheek. “Halsin- please-“ you pleaded. He looked up from his meal. “Need you in me now, fuck me full of your cum.” With that he froze. His eyes narrowing as he let out a low as fuck growl. He pulled away from your dripping cunt licking your juices of his lips “yes my heart.”

He immediately complies as he lays you down again gon your back. Not wiping away the pre on your cheek since he had more important matters to attend to. He immediately lined the angry red mushroom tip of his cock up with your excited entrance. “Brace yourself my love.” He hummed out gruffly as he groaned, slowly pushing his pre covered tip in.

“Oh gods… my heart your cunt is always so tight for me…” he huffs out as he isn’t even half way in. You let out a shaky moan at the feeling of being stretched out by his second leg. “Fuck halsin… I swear you’ve gotten bigger…” he lets out another breathless chuckle as he slowly stuffs you full. He grunted after he’s finally bottomed out in you. Waiting for a moment or two for you to adjust to his fat cock.

Soon after you begin to squirm “Halsin… fuck- hurry up and ravage me already.” You hiss out demandingly. He just laughed again at your demanding tone “I’m just making sure I don’t actually break you my heart.”

Soon he begins to move his hips slowly, it was clear it was hard for him to hold back, sweat rolled down his hairy chest as he gazed at you intensely. You keened out at feeling his heavy girth drag against your clenching walls as he moved in and out slowly. “I’m going to go faster now my heart…” he whispered lowly. You only able to respond in a nod as he began to pick up the pace.

Soon not after he’s ramming into your cunt like a feral beast, he has your legs pressed against your chest as he hits every deep spongy spot in you. Making you mewl his name as you scratch his back. His heavy breeder balls slapped against your ass as his hips went at a rapid pace. His muscles tense in delight everytime he heard a lewd squelch of your cunt being stuffed. “Halsin- I’m close- fuck” you groan out throwing your head back as he bullied his cock in and out of your pussy,

His own thrusts becoming sloppy and erratic as he got closer to his own climax “my heart… fuck-“ he swore out in bliss as his abdomen contracted, along with yours. You both let out whorish noises in unison as you gush around his cock, your walls spasming, sending him over the edge. His leaking cock trembled before his hot load shot into you instantly. He grunted and began to slow his hips “Silvanas really blessed me with such a beautiful partner…” he gasped out as he gulped in air to catch his breath.

You hum and smile goofily “gods I needed that good fuck .” He once again chuckled, pulling out, his seed oozing out of your used cunt. “That’s it my heart… “ he hummed gently as he finally pulled all the way out. “You lost.” You say with a cheeky smirk, making him roll his eyes.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Urg love me that man.

Hope y’lot enjoyyyy

[orionremastered]

Hybrid/shapeshifter golden tiger reader as a vigilante with batfam? I really love your writing :0

They're so PRETTY how did I not know they existed before???? Also I love shifter fics bc who doesn't

Masterlist

Part Two

Golden

Being a shifter is bad in this day and age, at least until the shifter is mature enough to shift on command. Before then, young shifters can shift with any strong emotion, especially negative ones like anger and fear.

Most shifters mature when they turn into adults, which means they're either taught to become temporary psychopaths or are homeschooled until they're mature enough.

You, like many shifters, were the latter. Now that you're in university and studying biology, living in your own apartment states away from your parents, you're free. So incredibly free.

Free to be you, free to talk to people who interest you, and free to fight the lowly criminals of Goth- wait, what?

It was an accident, you swear. You couldn't bear to hear that poor little girl's blood-curdling screams (you hadn't understood what the phrase meant before, but you sure do now) any longer, so you shifted and almost, but not quite, mauled the man to death.

"Pretty kitty!" she had called you, and from then on you vowed to look after the young kids of Gotham, especially when going to and coming from school as well as at night (if you weren't studying). Sometimes you simply lay in the bushes of a park and watched over the kids as they played on the playground.

They remained your main focus (though you did save others, you mostly watched over the young children) even when the press got wind of the golden tiger shifter vigilante. "Golden" is what they called you, and it was certainly better than other names the press had given vigilantes before.

The local bat population had gotten word of your existence beforehand and had tried to even just get a glimpse of you, but you were too quick. After the press got wind, they amped up their efforts.

You've decidedly had enough of your studying and walked out of your apartment, climbing into the window of an ashy-smelling abandoned building, the charcoal staining your fingers as you moved into the dark to shift.

One could guess what happened to the building, but it didn't have anything to do with a golden tiger climbing out its window on a cool early spring night, the snow thawing slower than usual. There weren't many people on the streets at this hour which you were glad for.

You take your normal route today, going through the less fortunate neighbourhoods where kids are most commonly found. Slushy snow drenches your paws in cold water as you leap onto the next roof and climb down the stairs on the side of the building.

There's a bundle of blankets placed gently into a plastic bucket. You nudge the bundle with your nose gently and when the wailing begins you huff. Another abandoned baby; it's the third one this month. A mother you can't afford a child or is scared for the child's safety when it comes to the father.

Your teeth close around the bucket and you begin carrying the baby to the hospital in Crime Alley, a long trek from where you picked the baby up.

You hear something. Whispers. Your ears rotate to find the source of the sound which would be impossible for a human to hear.

"That's the tiger?"

"No shit," the second voice hisses, much older than the first. "What else could it be? A cow?"

"Whatever," the first one replies. "What do we do? Think that's a baby?"

"Probably. I say we take the baby and bring it to the hospital."

You turn your head to where the sound is coming from, impeccable vision allowing you to see Robin and Red Hood perched on a building above you.

"What about the- how good is a tiger's hearing?"

You do trust these vigilantes but not more than you trust yourself. You flick your tail and continue walking, a few corners from the hospital. The sound of their grappling hooks as the vigilantes follow you are only able to annoy you.

There's the hospital, just at the end of the street. You take no more than two steps before Red Hood steps out in front of you. You aren't surprised as you could hear him the entire time.

"Can I have the baby?" He asks, hand outstretched as he gestures for you to hand it over.

Your eyes narrow and you turn to see Robin behind you.

"It'll be easier for me to get it to the hospital," he explains. "They won't react calmly to a tiger carrying a baby."

He had an unfortunately valid point. The other times where you'd brought a baby into a facility, people freaked out.

Reluctantly, you gently place the bucket on the cold pavement and step back, letting the vigilante pick it up.

As Red Hood takes the baby to the hospital, you turn fully to face Robin. He's short and you reach up to the start of his ribcage.

"You're not an easy tiger to locate," he says. "It takes a few idiots."

You make a sound akin to a laugh, turn your head and vanish into the alleyway beside you.

Robin curses himself for not getting to pat the tiger. He'll be damned if his siblings get to first.

[levenlike11]

a little lovesick satoru drabble after that horrible suna one, i really hope this is better.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"oh god, here he comes." shoko sighs as gojo is nearing you, geto following close behind. you look over your shoulder and quickly turn back when you see the white haired, extremely annoying male.

"y/n-channn!!" gojo sings and throws himself on you, giving you not an inch of space to breathe with how he pushes his head and hair on your nose.

"hello satoru," you push him but fail to make him move so you pull his hair.

"OUCH! why would you do that to meee!?" gojo whines and stands up, turning around to look at geto who's grinning, amused by the situation.

"don't laugh at me! i'm suffering here." he pouts and shoko lets out the laugh she had been holding in.

"it couldn't have possibly hurt that much. stop overreacting." you say which only seems to make him sadder.

"now you announce me a drama queen, how will my heart ever recover?" he raises his hand to cover his face dramatically, contradicting himself. he never misses to give you an oscar worthy acting, so talented they would hire him to play in a shakespeare theater if he applied.

"you'll be fine." you mutter and open your book again, mumbling a curse under your breath when you realise you lost the page you were on.

"see, now i have to go through all the book to find my page." you sigh but gojo doesn't seem to care, still busy whining about how rude you are towards him.

"you never act this way with shoko, or geto. he's much less handsome than me- no offense bro." he turns at geto, who doesn't seem to mind the comment enough to argue back. it's just gojo and his usual dramatic-ness after all.

"because shoko is my best friend and geto is a really nice guy, who is definitely more handsome than you by the way." satoru quite literally throws himself on the ground after hearing those words come out of your mouth.

"i'd rather die than hear those words again coming from the love of my life." he closes his eyes. he looks like the people playing dead to fool a bear.

"i told you to stop calling me that, and it's the truth, he's much much more handsome, and cool, and strong.." you start counting but gojo cuts you off.

"i'm gojo satoru, mind you! the one with six eyes and stuff you know. i'm literally the coolest and the strongest."

"this is why they don't like you back." shoko chuckles and you sigh, putting your book down again. he doesn't look like he'll let you read at all.

"gojo-" "satoru, please. i want my love to call me by my name." "i am not your love, satoru, please leave me alone. i already told you i don't like you." he has called you a sadist multiple times. even 'the cruelest person on earth'.

"you do, actually." he smirks, "you looooove me. how could you not?"

"i currently do not feel anything positive towards you. i might start hating you if you don't get up soon." you'd be surprised how quickly he gets up after that.

"no, please don't! we still have to marry and buy a house with pets and raise kids together-" he gets on his knees and hugs your legs in front of him.

"slow down satoru, we don't even date yet." you laugh at this antics. he's the most stubborn person you've ever met, dedicated to get you to like him romantically. it's not like you really hate him, you sometimes even think you might like him back. just a little bit. but it's fun seeing him like this, so desperate for you. (it makes you feel nice.)

"yet?!" he springs up, grinning from ear to ear. "so we might date in the future?"

"not if you keep doing this."

"what if i take you out to dinner?" you act like you're thinking about it.

"maybe if you also take me to the bookstore later and buy me ice cream."

"GETO, DID YOU HEAR Y/N? we might go on a date!" he jumps on geto, hugging him tight. shoko and you are practically dying of laughter at this point.

"get off of me." geto pushes him away but also smiling, seeing how excited satoru is and happy since two of his close friends are finally about to get together. he's also glad he doesn't have to suffer while watching these moments on first row with shoko. (they don't know it'll be much worse and annoying after you start dating though.)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

☆ hope you enjoyed reading! please feel more than free to leave feedback and have a great day/night!🫶🏻

[maddyjones2]

On not idolising creative people

In the wake of the various recent allegations involving Neil Gaiman, people have been both very sad that someone who they looked up to as an inspiration has, allegedly, turned out to be something less than entirely admirable, and are now looking to see who is now left that they can rotate into the spot of “the good dude,” i.e., that one successful creative guy who they think or at least hope isn’t hiding a cellar full of awful actions. One name I see brought up is mine, in ways ranging from “Well, at least we still have Scalzi,” to “Oh, God, please don’t let Scalzi be a fucking creep too.” Which, uhhhh, yeah? Thanks?

I have many thoughts about this and I’m going to try to make sense of them here, as much for myself as anyone else, so this may be messy and discursive and long (seriously, 3600 words, y’all), but, well, welcome to me. So, ordered by how these things come out of my head:

1. Stop Idolizing Creative People. Creative people are easy to idolize because they create the art you love, and that gives you permission to feel things, and to see yourself and your desires reflected in that art. That is a powerful thing, and from the outside, it can feel like magic, and that the people who do it are tapped into something otherworldly and admirable. Plus, they often get to have cool lives and get to know other cool creative people. They do things that are removed from the day-to-day aspect of a “normal” life, and they’ll even post about them on social media where you can see them. Sometimes, independent of their art directly, they’ll speak about their life, or life in general, and they’ll seem wise and considered and kind. I mean, what’s not to like?

But please consider that this is all an extremely mediated experience of this person. The art is the edited and massaged result of hours and days and weeks and months of work, into which the work of many others is also added. My novels originate from me, but it’s not just me in there, nor is the final form of the novel an accurate statement of who I am as a person, not least of all for the simple reason that I am not trying to tell my story in my novels. I’m creating fictional characters, and the world in which they make sense, for the purpose of the story.

Despite how it might look from the outside, this is not sorcery. It’s years of experience at a craft. It’s not magic, just work. A completed novel (or any other piece of art) won’t tell you much about the specific, day-to-day life and inclinations of the individual who made it, other than a general nod toward their competence, and the competence of their collaborators. Likewise what you see of their lives, even from the illusorily close vantage of social media, is deeply mediated. Lives always look admirable at a distance, when you can only see the lofty peaks and not the rubble at the base — especially when your attention by design is pointed at those lofty peaks. There’s much you don’t see and that you’re not meant to see. The vast majority of what you’re not meant to see isn’t nefarious. It’s just not your business.

Now, before I was a professional creative person, I was an entertainment journalist who spent years interviewing writers, directors, movie stars, musicians, authors and other creative folks. Since I’ve been on the other side of the rope, I’ve likewise met a huge range of creative people from all walks of life. Please believe me when I assure you that creative people are just people. Richer and/or more famous? Sometimes (less often than you might think, though). Prettier and/or more charismatic? Especially if they’re actors or pop stars, often yes! But at the end of the day they are just folks, and they run the whole range of how people are. By and large, the day-to-day experience of getting through their life is the same as yours. Outside of their own specific field of work, they don’t know any more about life, have no more facility for dealing with the world, and have just as few clues about what’s going on in their own head, as anyone else.

They’re just people. Whose work is making the stuff you like! And that’s great, but that’s not a substantive basis for idolizing them. It makes no more sense to idolize them than to idolize a baker who makes cookies you like, or the guy who comes and trims your hedges the way you want them to be trimmed, or the plumber who fixes your clogged drain. You can appreciate what they do, and even admire they skill they have. But holding them up as a life model might be a bit much. Which is the point! If you’re not willing to idolize a plumber, then you shouldn’t idolize a creative person.

(“But a plumber doesn’t make me feel like a creative person does,” you say, to which I say, are you sure about that? Because I will tell you what, when my sump pump stopped working and the plumber got in there, replaced the pump and started draining out my basement which had an inch of standing water in it, that man was the focus of all my emotions and was my goddamned hero that day. My plumber that day did more for me than easily 90% of the great art I’ve ever experienced.)

Enjoy the art creative people do. Enjoy the experience of them in the mediated version of them you get online and elsewhere, if such is your joy. But remember that the art is from the artist, not the artist themselves, and the version of their life you see is usually just the version they choose to show. There is so much you don’t see, and so much you’re not meant to see. At the end of the day, you don’t have all the information about who they are that you would need to make them your idol, or someone you might choose to, in some significant way, pattern some fraction of your life on. And anyway creative people aren’t any better at life than anyone else.

Which brings up the next point:

2. Fuck idols anyway! People are complicated and contradictory and you don’t know everything about them! You don’t know everything even about your parents or siblings or best friends or your partner! People are hypocrites and liars and fail to live up to their own standards for themselves, much less yours! Your version of them in your head will always be different than the version that actually exists in the world! Because you’re not them! Stop pretending people won’t be fuck ups! They will! Always!

This sounds more pessimistic about humans than perhaps it should be. When I say, for example, that people are hypocrites and liars, I don’t mean that people take every single opportunity to be hypocrites and liars. Most people are decent in the moment. But none of us — not one! — has always lived up to our own standard of behavior, and all of us have had the moment where, when confronted with a situation that would become an immense pain in the ass if we stuck to our guns, or demanded the inconvenient truth, decided to just bail instead, because the situation wasn’t worth the drama, or we had somewhere else to be, or whatever. We all choose battles and we all make the call in the moment, and sometimes the call is, fuck this, I’m out.

Every person you’ve ever admired has fucked up, sometimes really badly. Everyone you’ve ever looked up to has secrets, and it’s possible some of those secrets would materially change how you think about them, not always for the better. Everyone you’ve ever known has things about them you don’t know, many of which aren’t even secrets, they’re just things you don’t engage with in your day-to-day experience of them. Nevertheless it’s possible if you were aware of them, it would change how you feel about them, for better or for worse. And now let’s flip that around! You have things about you that even your best friends don’t know, and might be surprised to learn! You have secrets you don’t wish to share with the class! You have fucked up, and lied, and have been a hypocrite too!

You are, in short, a human, as is everyone you know and every one you will know (pets and gregarious wild animals excepted). And all humans are, charitably, a mess. This doesn’t mean there aren’t good people or even exemplary people out there, since there are, along with the ones that are, charitably, a real shit show. What I am saying is that even the good or exemplary people out there are a mess, have been morally compromised at some point in their lives, and have not lived up to their own standards for themselves, independent of anyone else’s standard for them.

One of the aspects of being an “idol,” I think, is that higher standard that other people expect of you — that in every situation where the aspect they idolize you for is in play, you will act in a manner that is right and correct by their standard, which of course you will likely not know about because you don’t actually know them (or often know that they exist). This is, by definition, an impossible standard to be held to — you didn’t agree to it, or to engage with it — and an impossible standard to hold other people to without their direct consultation. Every human made to be an idol is destined to fail at the job. You don’t even have to have feet of clay! You just didn’t know you were on a pedestal to begin with.

(This does not excuse shitty action. The fact people should not be idols in the first place is not exculpatory for the choices one makes on one’s own. If you’re sexually assaulting people, or being a racist or sexist or homophobe or other flavor of bigot, or using your situational power coercively (as just a few examples), then hell yes you are going to be called out on it. And to be clear, it is not unreasonable, to put it mildly, to expect people not to sexually assault other people, or not to denigrate other humans for being who they are, etc. But this only adds to the point about idols, now, doesn’t it. You don’t know what you don’t see, and you don’t know what you’re not seeing, until it is hauled out into the light one way or the other. If it is hauled out into the light at all.)

I don’t think anyone should idolize anyone, ever. It’s not great for them, and it’s not great for you, they probably didn’t ask to be idolized (and if they did, holy shit, fucking run), and in the end unless you’re so completely wrapped up in their lives that they have no secrets from you — which is never — you don’t know enough to make that call. People do it anyway, and then disappointment happens, but they shouldn’t have done it in the first place. Stop idolizing people. It’s not fair for anyone.

What to do instead? Enjoy their work, if they’re a creative person. Appreciate the kind and good aspects of their life that you can see, and the decent actions they undertake in public, with the knowledge that what you see of them is a mediated and elided version. Understand that we all have a different version of ourself for every person we meet, and that every person we meet has a different vision of ourselves in their head, and very often, those two versions are not the same. Like them, based on what you know of them! Love them, if it comes to that. And when and if you learn something new about them that you didn’t know before, let empathy guide you to a new understanding of them and what they mean to you.

And now, taking all of the above into consideration:

3. Absolutely 100% do not idolize me. I don’t deserve to be idolized because no one deserves to be idolized, but also, holy fuck, I do know me and I’m a mess. There have been lots of things in my life that I’ve done that have not been admirable or kind. I can be petty and shitty and competitive and cruel. I am lazy and inattentive and when I let things slide (which is often), I end up jammed up on my responsibilities, which makes me irritable and no fun to be around. I have a temper which goes from zero to sixty almost instantaneously; if I’m not actively paying attention to it, I can become a sudden, unreasonable rage monster, which is a burden to people I love, and I hate that fact about myself (pro tip: don’t travel with me, the rage monster comes out a lot then).

I can be controlling and demanding but I want other people to handle the details, i.e., executive asshole. I am strategic in a way that can be bloodless. When I’m insecure I brag a lot, which is unflattering. If you cross me, I won’t go out of my way to make your life miserable (that would require effort on my part), but I will absolutely enjoy when you take a literal or metaphorical tumble down the stairs. God knows I’ve enjoyed the failures of the people who have spoken ill of me, almost as much as I’ve enjoyed the fuming, spittling rage they’ve felt when I’ve succeeded. I spent years cultivating a snarky persona online and while that was fun (for me), I’m increasingly aware that when the tally is added up for Who Ruined the Internet, I’m not necessarily going to be where I want to be on that particular ledger.

And these are only the bad qualities of mine I wish to admit to you at the moment. There are others, I assure you.

So, yes: Who wants to idolize me now?

“But you seemed so nice when I chatted with you online/met you at the convention/saw you at that one place that one time.” Well, thank you, I’ve been in the public eye in one manner or another for three and a half decades now and I understand my assignment; my public persona is friendly and engaging and sociable and mostly fun to be with. It’s not a fake version of me — I am all those things! Honest! — but, again, it’s a mediated version of me designed not only to be a positive experience for the people who meet me but also to get my actually introverted ass through a whole day of events at a convention/festival/book tour/whatever. When I’m done I collapse into an introverted hole. When I came back from Worldcon this week, I slept for 15 hours the first day I was home. It wasn’t just because of jet lag or con crud.

I rather famously call my public face “performance monkey mode,” and likewise what I say about my (current) online mode is that I’m cosplaying as a better version of myself, one that is kinder than I used to be online, and more patient than I am in the real world. If you meet me when I am “off” then you will find that, again, these versions of me are me, just with some things dialed up and other things dialed down. But even that is still a different version of me than, say, the version of me which is at home (which is in fact extremely boring; that version of me doesn’t talk much and mostly stays in my office).

Many of you who have followed me over the years are familiar with me saying things like this, of course, and are likewise familiar with me pointing out that there are a number of things about my life that I don’t mention in public, for whatever reasons I choose. But it’s also true that I’ve been actively online for 30+ years now, and people feel reasonably confident that they have a good bead on me and that there’s not much about me that will surprise them or change their understanding of me. So to bring home the point there are indeed things you don’t know, allow me to surface just one previously unaired fun fact:

I have a concealed carry license.

(Or did; it expired this year and I didn’t renew it, because Ohio changed its laws so that you no longer need a permit to conceal carry in the state. These days in Ohio you can just wander about with a handgun stuffed down your trousers without training or licensing because that’s a real good idea, now, isn’t it. Nevertheless, the license is not necessary anymore so there was not much point in renewing it, although if the law had not changed, I probably would have renewed.)

Why did I have a concealed carry license? Well, ultimately that’s not important. The point is I had one. I didn’t talk about it before because, among other things, the point of a concealed carry license (to me, anyway) is that its existence is not meant to be known by anyone other than that great state of Ohio itself. I am aware, and this is a dramatic understatement, that I am not a person most people would expect to have had such a thing. That the fact I had one will cause a number of people to reconsider what they know about me, for better or for worse. Which is also my point. All y’all have just learned this thing about me! Think about all the other things you don’t know!

Oh, God, this is where Scalzi starts admitting to terrible, terrible things. No. I feel pretty confident I live a tolerably ethical life. Part of the reason for this is that I have what I think is a decent operating principle, which is: If I’m thinking of doing something, and Krissy called me right then and asked “what are you doing?” and I would be tempted to lie to her about it, then I don’t do that thing. Because Krissy is the most important person in my life, and I don’t want to lie to her about what I’m doing (I have lied to her exactly once. She knew instantly. I haven’t bothered lying to her since). This is not replacing Krissy’s ethics with my own; it’s me knowing whether by my own ethics, I would be ashamed to tell to her what I am up to. It works very well. As such, the Krissy Test is an operating principle I highly suggest to others, although I’d suggest replacing Krissy with whomever your life is most important to you.

Be that as it may, my ethics are not universal and some others might not find them sufficient, for whatever reason. I am well aware I still disappoint many people, and that there are people who find my life choices, known positions or public statements (or lack of them, as the case may be) problematic, or who simply wish I would be other than what I am. I can’t help them with this, but again, this is the point. Given the fact that I am a fallible human who has an entire stratum of his life not visible to the world — and the strata of his life that are visible cause significant numbers of people to be irritated and exasperated — is it not better just to not hold me up as an ideal person, or the “good dude,” much less an idol of any sort?

I mean, shit. What Would John Scalzi Do? Solidly half the time, I have no fucking idea. I have to think about it, whatever it is. I have to think about whether I know enough to do or say something about it. I have to decide whether it’s something I want to engage with at all, and whether my engagement with it is something that would be of value to anyone, me included. I have to decide whether engaging with it is worth the shit I will get for it. And then I have to figure out what it means that I am engaging with it, since like it or not I’m a Dude of Reasonable Significance in My Field. I try to be a decent human, when people are looking at me and especially when they are not. But I also know me, and all my flaws and weaknesses and compromises.

What Would John Scalzi Do? The best he can, in the moment. Is that sufficient? For me, yes, most of the time. Is that sufficient for you? That’s up to you.

The point to this all is that people are just a big fucking mess, including the ones you might for whatever reason find admirable. I am no different than anyone else, and you should not be under the illusion that I am anything other than a shambling collection of flaws embedded inside a human form, which also, in its defense, has some pretty excellent qualities as well. We’re all this way! You too!

And while I want you to like my work, and to enjoy the version of me that you see here and elsewhere, don’t put me, or any other person, on a pedestal. Pedestals are wobbly and and don’t give actual humans a lot of room to move. We will inevitably fall off. Keep us with our feet on the ground. That way, when we stumble, there’s a chance we can get back up, and keep going.

— JS

[eevees-hobbies]

Heloo I just read your post about the bold reader and I was like HSKFMMSDKDK

can I request hayato suo with the reader who can make him flustered and put on in his place?? Like she leads the relationship? Thank you!! Nsfw or sfw is fine:3

Authors Note: Hi, Anon! I wanted to take my time thinking about this specific scenario because while I don’t consider myself a Suo girlie, I love writing for him, and I’ve grown to love the version of him that I’ve crafted. I probably have him one degree away from being a Yandere, if we’re being honest. Anyway, I’m turning this into a thirst response for now. Still, I also might continue this at some point because it deserves the time and respect to dive deeper into the complex relationship that Reader has with Suo.

Also, my friend Evie did an excellent job encapsulating a similar ask using her style, and I can’t recommend that piece (and everything else she makes) enough. 

Let’s get into, babe 💕

Content Warning: Fem! Reader x Hayato Suo. Teasing, dirty talk, fem! receiving oral, obsession, overstimulation, hands-free orgasm. Minors Do Not Interact

Word Count: 1.1K

Control is paramount to Suo’s identity as he’s very well aware of what happens when he loses control: people can get seriously hurt or worse. So it’s essential for Suo to remove any variables that might compromise his cool—and sometimes detached—demeanor. He keeps people at arm's length with ever-changing stories and blatant lies, and it works because no one has come close to cracking the mystery that he is.

But the variable he couldn’t control for? You. 

At first, he found himself avoiding you. You brought out feelings within himself that he’d always try to swallow like bile threatening to come up. Vulnerability? Good for others but not for him. 

When he couldn’t avoid you because you were absolutely everywhere—you weren’t everywhere, you two just have a gravitational pull towards each other like a planet to its moon—he found himself increasing his meditation. 

He’d close his eyes, willing himself to breathe, clear his mind, and…there’d you be. As clear as day in his mind's eye with your sweet smile, the sound of your infectious laughter that makes his heart flutter, and your intoxicating smell. 

As soon as you started to permeate his thoughts, even during the sanctuary of his meditation sessions—something that had never happened before—he knew he was a goner.

And if someone affects you this badly, they have to be yours, right? It would be absurd to see you with any of the imbeciles that pine after you. He almost laughs himself silly at the thought of them thinking they have a chance with you: his love, his moon, his reason for breathing, his everything. 

If you’re familiar with my work, you’ll know how I describe your intimacy with Suo. He’s a pure pleasure dom; if you’re not coming undone on his tongue or fingers until you’re a sobbing and begging mess, well, he simply has to try harder, and Suo has the stamina to back that threat up. 

He considers himself an expert of you, your body, and what makes you cum so intensely that his well-equipped arsenal of depravity has you doing your damnest to crawl away from him and to safety.

“Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done with you, Dove. Now get back here and spread your legs like a good girl.”

And you’re into it because Suo is your type of crazy—what you two have simply wouldn’t work if that weren’t the case. If a man isn’t obscenely infatuated with you, is he really your man, am I right? 

But sometimes a girl likes to be in control, ya know? And outside the bedroom, you have Suo wrapped around your finger. You say jump, and he asks if you want him to do a backflip on his way down. You use that sweet little voice to ask him for a kiss? He’s on top of you in an instant—and even to Suo, an instant isn’t quick enough. So, while he may have control in every aspect of his life, you are a dangerous variable that supersedes his free will.

But inside the bedroom? He’s much less willing to let you take the reigns; in fact, it might even be a point of contention initially. As you reach for his waistband, you underneath him entirely naked, and he, fully clothed as he comes up from between your thighs, preparing to plant a kiss on your luscious lips; he stops you as your finger coils around the elastic, silk fabric of his pants.

“What are you doing? This is about you.”

So, in what scenario will he finally let you take over? If you ask nicely, bat your eyelashes and use your sweet, honey-coated voice, perhaps, but that’s not always guaranteed to work. 

The best chance of getting what you want? When Suo has been working at your pleasure for hours, so much so that his cock is twitching in his pants, eyes shrouded with dark, swirling shadows of desire, and he’s ready to ruin you by sinking into you—he’s uncharacteristically more easily influenced in this state. He’ll do anything you say because, god, he just wants to feel you in any way he can; lips wrapped around his cock? Yes, please. Deep in your silken, cum saturated guts? God, please don’t make him beg because he just might. 

So when you tell him to lay down for you, and he falls backward onto the bed without questioning your intentions, you can finally have your way with him. 

And as you hover over his face, flirting your swollen pussy lips over his hungry mouth, ruby-toned eyes staring—pleading—up at you between the warmth of your plushy thighs for a taste, you’ll know that you’ve got him right where you want him.

“Eat my pussy again like a good boy, Hayato, and maybe I’ll touch your cock.”

His breath will hitch because fuck he loves when his sweet girl talks filthy like that, and as his tongue once again dives into your folds—his licks desperate—he’ll buck his hips into the air imagining the feel of your pussy—his pussy—wrapped around his dick.

And if you continue to talk to him like he’s a plaything for you—like his pleasure is an optional afterthought at best and unnecessary at worst—until you get what you want in a tone that almost sounds like you’re above him? His eyes are rolling back, and his hands are clawing at the sheets under him.

“Suo, I just want to fuck your tongue with my pussy all night. Will you let me, baby? Let me use your tongue to cum?”

“Y-yes, baby, use me, please. I’m yours to have.”

And before you know it, at some point between the licks, the whimpers (from him), and his bucking into the air, he’ll groan into your cunt because that intense feeling that he was so desperately trying to stave off finally washed over him and he just couldn’t help himself. You’ll look behind you, eyes bright with amusement and something a bit more sinister, as you watch geyser upon geyser of cum shoot from his hiccuping, over-sensitive cock until his seed smothers his well-groomed pubic hair, abs, and puddles beneath him. 

You’ll be so proud of yourself for reducing the Hayato Suo into a hands-free orgasmic mess. 

But here’s a warning: Suo will only be more insatiable after that, flipping you over with ease, making you wonder how in control you truly were, and after a heated kiss to your lips and feeling his already hardening cock dragging against your folds, you’ll be right back to where you started: at the mercy of someone who thinks that pleasure is infinite.

[chestersturniolo]

𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘥𝘴

Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader

•the heart wrenching notion of right person, wrong time •

warnings; none apart from no happy ending!

••••••••

It was a cool evening, the kind where the air was crisp but not cold enough to make you shiver. You sat on the park bench, as the sun started to set. You could hear the soft rustle of leaves and the distant noise of the main streets, but all you could focus on was Matt sitting beside you.

Months had led up to this moment—months of late-night conversations, spontaneous adventures, and sharing parts of yourself you hadn’t shown anyone else. He was the kind of person who made you laugh without trying, who knew when to talk and when to simply sit in silence with you. And yet, here you were, on the verge of saying goodbye.

“Timing is such a cruel thing, isn’t it?” Matt said softly, breaking the stillness between you. His voice had that familiar warmth, but there was a heaviness to it now, a sadness.

You nodded, struggling to find words for a moment. "Yeah…it really is”

Matt turned to look at you, his blue eyes catching the last bits of sunlight. The conflict in them was clear—he wanted this as much as you did, but there was something bigger, something neither of you could change. “If things were different—if we’d met just a year from now, maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’ve thought about that a lot too. But it’s not a year from now…It’s now…”

Matt looked down at his hands, his fingers tracing the edge of the bench. “I can’t ask you to wait for me. It’s not fair. My career... this move... it’s going to change everything, and I don’t even know what that looks like for me yet. I don’t want to drag you into something uncertain”

He was leaving to pursue his youtube career with his brothers in LA — a dream opportunity, something he’d worked so hard for. You were proud of him, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. The timing, as always, was off. The universe had a funny way of bringing people together just to pull them apart again.

“I don’t want to hold you back, either” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “You deserve this, Matt. And I... I have things I need to figure out too”

It wasn’t a lie. You had your own ambitions, your own dreams you were chasing. But that didn’t change the fact that, right now, sitting next to him, you wished things were different. You wished the rest of the world would stop for a while, so the two of you could just exist here, without all the complications.

Matt sighed and leaned back, looking up at the sky. “You know what’s funny? I’ve never felt more connected to someone than I do with you. But life… life just won’t wait”

You turned to him, heart aching. “What if we’re making a mistake? What if we’re letting something slip away that could’ve been—”

He cut you off gently. “No, don’t think like that. What we have... it’s real. But sometimes love isn’t enough to change the timing of things. Maybe we’re supposed to meet again when the time is right”

The words stung, even though you knew they were true. Maybe it wasn’t forever. Maybe someday, when your paths crossed again, things would fall into place. But right now, you were at a crossroads, and you couldn’t walk the same path.

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. His fingers laced with yours, and you sat like that for a long moment, neither of you wanting to let go.

“When you leave tomorrow...” you started, your voice trembling.

“When I leave tomorrow, it doesn’t change what we had” he finished for you. 

The tears you’d been holding back finally slipped down your cheek, but you quickly wiped them away, not wanting him to see. “Do you think we’ll find our way back to each other someday?”

Matt smiled, but it was a sad smile. “I really hope so sweetheart….but if we don’t, at least we’ll know that for a while, we found something extraordinary , something real… eachother”

You nodded, knowing this moment would stay with you no matter what the future held.

As the sun disappeared completely behind the horizon, you knew it was time. Time to let go, even though it felt impossible.

The silence between you grew heavy, the weight of unspoken words filling the air. Matt glanced at you, his eyes searching yours for a moment,as tears started brimming in his own.

He leaned in slowly ,placing his lips into yours, soft and tender, a kiss that held everything you couldn’t say. It was a kiss filled with goodbye, with love, with all the moments you’d shared and the ones you would never have. Time seemed to stop around you, and for that brief moment, nothing else existed. Just the two of you.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel his breath against your skin. His hand cupped your face gently, thumb brushing away the tear that had slipped down your cheek.

“I love you—” he whispered, his voice trembling. 

“—I love you with my whole heart”

Your chest tightened, the weight of those words sinking into you. You felt it too, every ounce of what he was saying. “I love you too”

But you both knew love wasn’t enough to change what was happening next.

Matt hesitantly stood up, offering his hand. With a small sigh you wrap your hand around his, pulling yourself up.

He pulled you close, kissing you one last time, the taste of salty tears from both of you lingering.

You both slowly pulled away,

“I’m going to miss you” you whispered.

Matt squeezed your hand gently before letting go. “I’m going to miss you too-“ be breathed, trying his hardest to hold back his tears, but failing miserably as they continued to fall. 

“-Maybe in another life,huh?” he sniffled.

You left out a soft sob at his words, tears streaming uncontrollably. Your bring your hand up to your chest, laying it comfortingly over your aching heart. 

All you could muster was a small nod 

“Another life” you whisper.

You both stood for a moment, just looking at eachother. Trying to memorise every detail. 

Matt placed his hand on your cheek, before leaning forward, placing a lingering kiss to your forehead. He pulls away, as his thumb brushes back and forth. His teary eyes met yours, both of you silently saying goodbye. It was too painful to say out loud. You both knew it, and you knew eachother knew it. So you stood silently, letting your gazes say it all. 

Matt slowly started walking backwards, his eyes still locked to yours, with a small smile and sniffle, he turned around. 

As he started walking away from you, you couldn’t hold back the sobs, wrapping your arms around yourself as a form of faux comfort.

Matt stops in his tracks, the sound of your cries ripping his heart to shreds. He stands still, his back still facing you.

“Don’t look back Matt” you call out, voice trembling. 

He stayed paused, for what felt like an eternity. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the conflict in his stance. But finally, he took a deep breath and hesitantly continued walking, each step heavy with finality. You watched as his silhouette got smaller , and eventually disappeared into the dark, carrying your heart with him. 

••••••••••••

A/N; i’m actually distraught after writing that wtf😭 probably the saddest thing i’ve written and i hate it but love it at the same time. thankyou for reading loves!!

- 𝑺𝒂𝒈𝒆 ♡

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[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hi So I go to a Christian school so get tonnes of sex misinformation on the daily

but the other day my bible teacher was talking about porn addiction (bad start I know) and I wanted to know if what he said was in any way accurate

he said that when someone first sees any kind of pornagrhaphic content it sticks in their mind and that’s all it takes to want to see more, does this have any basis in reality whatsoever?

hi anon,

well, yes and no.

if you enjoyed what you were looking at - if it made you feel aroused, if it was interesting to look at, even if it was funny! a lot of erotica is funny! - then sure, it may stay in your memory and make you want to see more. you know, the same way that having a tasty little snack might make you want to have another tasty little snack, or watching an episode of a cool TV show might make you want to watch another episode, or listening to a great new song might make you want to listen to it over and over. porn doesn't have a unique death grip on your brain, your brain just likes things that are exciting and enjoyable. being turned on can feel good, and there's literally nothing wrong with that - on a biological level we're wired for it, since sex is necessary to pass on our genes and continue the species. and even if the sex we're interested in isn't reproductive (sex alone, sex where no one can get pregnant, sex with protection against pregnancy, etc) your brain doesn't care - that shit feels good regardless. so, yes, wanting to return to things that make you feel aroused is as normal as, like, wanting another sip of a tasty drink or to keep playing your favorite video game. as long as it's not taking over your entire life, it's harmless.

crucially, it's not like this is a power that all porn has over every person. porn that does nothing for you - kinks that aren't your kinks, actors or characters using terminology that turns you off, scenarios that simply aren't sexy to you - is incredibly easy to just look away from, and it's not like you're doomed to an instant boner every time you see something even a little bit sexual. people read erotic novels or fanfic in public all the time, and on this very website it used to be incredibly common to encounter gifs of random porn among your scrolling (still possible in some corners of tumblr, but less frequent now). it was very simple see two (or more) people hardcore boning on the dash, say "huh," and then just keep trucking, no worse for the wear.

in my experience I've found that the people who have the most difficulty with obsessing over sexual images are the people who have been most thoroughly trained to think of sex as deviant and dangerous, which makes it very upsetting to see and difficult to get out of your head. folks who are able to conceptualize sex as just a thing that happens that people do sometimes tend to have much less trouble with those kinds of repetitive thoughts.