#yes the i and e keys were broken

[jattendschaton]

my laptop is dead dead dead 😞

[roquebr]

The Fury

Barcelona femeni x reader

Aitana Bonmáti x reader

Summary: When all seems lost, a turnaround can be more impressive.

The rocking of the bus gives me a slight feeling of relaxation, my headphones placed carelessly in my ears, with the sound at the highest volume, hoping to hide the prevailing noise of the place.

The youngest girls on the team are very excited about today's game, it's no surprise that we are heading towards the first leg of the Champions League semi-final, simply the biggest European championship. So it's not surprising when some of them are sitting on their benches with greater concentration than the other side, which is a mess.

Everyone has their own way of preparing, mine being to ignore everyone around me as much as possible until we get to the changing rooms, music being my escape point, I always turn to Brazilian music to be my company during these moments, it's a way of feel close to home.

— Meto o chapéu na cabeça ela perde a cabeça e me fala assim... – When the song approaches the chorus, I feel a nudge on my shoulders, I pause the song and look at the intruder who disturbed me and then I relax, yeah Alexia, she knows about my pre-game ritual and I know she wouldn't disturb me for nothing.

—Hey Ale, allright?

— Yes, sorry to bother you, but we've already arrived at the stadium and the girls are already coming down.

— I lost track, I'm going too, I'm just going to get my things — I give a small smile, thanking him for his kindness.

— I see you're a little out of tune, is everything okay? – He places one of his free hands on my shoulder, with the other holding his belongings. I don't know how she manages to balance everything like that, if it were me, my cell phone would definitely be broken on the floor by now.

— Yes, I'm just concentrating on the game, you know how it is, right?

— I understand, but if you need anything you can talk to me. – I don't answer, stopping myself from just returning a kind look.

We continued walking towards the changing rooms, greeting the workers as I passed.

I know that this nervousness is not just because of the game, but because of the desire to show more than my best on the field, having arrived at the club just under a year ago, coming straight as a standout on the Ferroviária, I knew that from the beginning I had to show more than I expected.

I've had a strong presence in many of the 37 unbeaten games played so far, I've been a regular starter, but apparently I'm not good enough to start today.

As soon as Jona announced who would start before we got on the bus, my spirits immediately dropped, I know he decided the lineup thinking about preserving some prominent athletes for possible future changes of keys, but that doesn't negate my feeling of incompetence to start on the bench.

We arrive at the locker room and I immediately head to my cubicle, my headphones that have been stored for a long time no longer deprive me of Rosalía's loud voice that emanates from the absurdly loud speaker in my ears.

I change calmly, but I decide not to wear socks or football boots for now, I'm going to interpret this as a protest for being on the bench today, a bit childish I know.

I sigh and lean my head against the wall, where my game t-shirt used to hang, I watch my happy teammates as they transform and sway to the beat of the music.

I saw my girlfriend of 1 year, we met in October 2022 at Ballon D'or, I went to the event as Marta's guest after telling her in a free conversation that I would like to have the experience of going.

We talked for just over a month and soon we were dating, excited, right, but the feeling was intense and it happened, at first it was difficult because of the distance because I was in Brazil and she was in Spain, but we got through it together, whenever I could I went to visit her. there. Unfortunately, she never managed to go to Brazil, but I will resolve that during our next “vacation”.

Jona arrives in the locker room and starts his usual motivational talk, honestly I don't feel like listening to anything, with my mind confused I just focus on going to the bench.

Sit next to Alexia with Lucy on the other side, the traditional song of the champions plays bringing a smile to my face, regardless of my wounded pride, every time this anthem plays I can't help but get emotional, it's a dream that becomes childhood reality.

The first half of the game was somewhat disappointing, Barça put pressure on Chelsea's marking but unfortunately the defense did not give in, in the 39th minute came the beginning of our fall, taking advantage of a passing error from Irene that gave Chelsea close possession of the ball. to the area, making a respectable exchange of passes until he found a partner in the area, he deceived Keira's marking and passed to Cuthbert who wasted no time in scoring. We came out at half-time with 1-0 to Chelsea.

The atmosphere in the dressing room is very different to when we arrived, the totally dead Barcelona vibe contradicts the emotion I normally feel, word after word, motivation after motivation, all falling on my deaf ears as each teammate seemed focused on acquiring each lyric. said by him.

With a wave of his hand, Jona takes me aside to talk.

— YN, where are your boots?

— It's in the bank, Jona.

He sighs lightly in annoyance, the stress in his shoulders is visible.

— Look, I know you're disappointed that I didn't start today, but please put your boots on, I'll be with you on the field in about 10 minutes.

— Great Jona, I'll put it on.

Returning to the second half, a little more excited, I ask one of the physiotherapists there to put a bandage on my ankle, Sophia is her name, as I injured my ankle during the game I always put a bandage on it to avoid future injuries.

After Sophia finishes, I put on my socks and football boots, I kiss each shin guard before putting them on.

The second half began, Barça had difficulty getting into the game, then a penalty was awarded in our favor, we celebrated along with the cheers of the fans, this would be our chance to continue in the game.

The referee goes to the Var and immediately cancels the penalty, apparently the referee interprets that Salma's offside hinders the defender, nonsense if I may say so.

At 63 minutes Jona makes 2 substitutions, bringing Alexia and Lucy. Ingrid and Ona sit next to me, respectively tired and disappointed with their performances, I give both thighs a comforting squeeze.

I wait anxiously at the edge of my bench for a while, waiting for the moment when Jona replaces me. In the 74th minute, when Ramirez, Chelsea's striker, missed the chance to expand, my heart almost exploded. Patri managed to disrupt her position well, although he still let her to finish the shot.

— Jonas!! – He doesn’t even turn around in recognition.

— Que saco mano. – I go down towards him who was on the side of the field. — Jona, am I going in now?

— Be patient, YN, go to warm up.

A frown appears on my face, but I do as I'm told, not before kicking the water bottle nearby. My companions give me sympathetic looks, which makes me more stressed.

At 78 minutes, the assistant coach says I'm ready and Jona calls me to the sidelines next to him.

— Listen to me, we need you now in this field, are you ready for this challenge. – She pauses only to give the numbers to the fourth referee who is preparing the replacement panel. — We need to decide this game at home, with our fans who came here to watch us play, with courage and love when we enter the field. I know you are ready for this challenge, show who you are and what you came for.

I can't find words, so I just listen, shaking my head with a determined look. I take the place of Mariona, who wishes me good luck, running to my position, passing my girlfriend, blinking and returning to focus on the game.

Time: 80m

In a quick run down the wing, Frido sends it to Caro who tries to finish, the goalkeeper saves but the rebound goes straight to my side, I don't miss the opportunity and send it into the goal. I see Salma grab the ball so we can restart the game, I run back to position, jumping and calling the fans to play together.

Time: 83m

Patri intercepts the ball in midfield, passes it to Aitana who dribbles the opponent, leaving her mistaken, I ask for the ball and soon receive it. I notice that the goalkeeper's left corner is free, I prepare my leg and take a strong low shot, I see the ball roll quickly as the goalkeeper tries to launch himself too late, then you see the net ripple. We changed the course of the game, but it's still not enough.

Time: 85m

Aitana is having an impressive run taking advantage of Chelsea's neglect, a defender in front of her, with options like me on the left and Caro on the right, with Salma right behind. Aita rolls the ball to me, I take a slight touch to the right and shoot with confidence, the ball takes a threatening curve and soon falls into the net, surprising the goalkeeper.

Now I allow myself to celebrate, I run close to the flag post and slide down on my knees, my teammates hugging me and pulling me everywhere, the euphoria was so much that it felt like we had won the Champions League right there. I felt like crying, I scored my first hat-trick in the Champions League

Time: 88m

We receive a free kick after the Chelsea player almost grabbed Aitana trying to take the ball away from her, Salma takes the free kick which hits Lucy's head, who aims the ball towards the goalkeeper's box. She came spinning through the air, landing perfectly at my feet, I beautifully pushed her towards the goal and fell into the hug. With every second that passed the crowd became louder and louder, if possible.

Time: 90m

The gas had not passed, it was getting stronger and stronger, now with a considerable advantage, we preferred to send the team back. Keeping score is crucial for the second leg in England. Although we are currently more focused on defense, that doesn't stop us from also attacking at every opportunity. The team's confidence increased and we played calmer, making more passes and remaining calm when under pressure.

Caro has the ball on the right wing, looks up and sees the perfect opportunity to cross.

Caro's always necessary crossing makes things easier for me, I wait for her to reach the right height before jumping and sending the bike, when I fall backwards onto the grass my pain is numbed by a very loud vibration coming from the stadium.

Barely having time for anything else, I run towards the small Chelsea fans present in the stadium, stop in front of them and place both hands on my waist, with an arrogant posture, soon my teammates come to me in pure euphoria. Many compliments reach my ears, I allow myself to embrace them as much as possible before we have to return to the starting position.

9 minutes of extra time were allowed, nothing else impressive happened during this period, the 3 characteristic whistles were heard. There were many celebrations after we greeted the rival team. I head towards the referee team who hands me the ball.

Jona hugs me congratulating me on a successful game, the team soon arrives and gives me the idea of throwing myself into the air, I try to run away but I'm not fast enough, after the desperate seconds pass I run to the fans, my spirits were high today.

I ask a member of the coaching staff to hold my ball for me, while I jump into the arms of the crowd, doing my best to sign and take as many photos with everyone as possible, the only limit being the barrier.

I feel an arm go around my waist as I sign a Mapí fan t-shirt. I look to the side and see that it is Aitana, who is already looking at me with her beautiful smile on her face, her bright eyes remind me of the constellations.

I can't help but smile with her, our passionate looks betrayed our enormous passion for each other, which doesn't go unnoticed by the public, to everyone's euphoria and my poor heart, she stands on tiptoe and gives a long kiss to the my lips. , fireworks light up in my belly.

Soon the photo of that moment would be published on many pages, one of them was the official Barça account, and certainly on many fan pages that would blow up my cell phone with notifications.

But I couldn't care less, I played an impressive game and had my girl in my arms, could I ask for more than that?.

!!The inspiration for the character to score 5 goals in 10 minutes came from Lewa, when he played for Bayern he did this feat, so I thought “why not put that in the fic?”!" ... sorry for any mistakes, english is not my main language

[inevitably-johnlocked]

A-Z Sherlock Fan Fiction Tropes Bingo

Ahhh, so I saw this Fanfiction Bingo Card by @swissmissing going around, and even though I wasn't ever tagged, I wanted to do some recs of my own because, like, that's my whole brand LOL. I hope no one minds...🙃 I needed to have a list ready for this Sunday, and this was perfect, LOL.

And because I'm always trying to overachieve on these challenges, I'm going to do full black out, BOTH tropes in each square.

This will be a Combination of my read fics and "to read" fics [to fill in spaces I don't have tags for], which I will append the latter with (MFL) just like so, for those of you who only want fics I've personally read. And apologies, I had to remove some of my standard links to fit them all within Tumblr's link limits, so author names aren't clickable AND I've removed all series' links, so be sure to check out other stories by the authors!!

AND FINALLY, this is a rare list that I DON'T have in word-count order, just so y'all know! I hope you guys like the fics I've pick for y'all. Literally random picks from my lists, based on tag searches, LOL.

AU: A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

Amnesia: I Need You To See Me by Mssmithlove (E, 12,625 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Amnesia, Soldier!John) – After going back to war, John is yet again invalided home, this time with a broken ankle and a chunk of his memory missing, unable to recall the last five years he's spent being Sherlock Holmes' partner and husband. Part 9 of Happiness Awaits

BDSM: Lock and Key Series by 221b_hound (E, 59,509+ w. across 14 works || Series WiP || Post-HLV, Tattoos, First Kiss/Time, Anal, Hand Jobs, Captain John, Cuddling, Sherlock's Scars, Possessive Johnlock, Exhibitionism / Voyeurism, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Masturbation, Sherlock in Panties, PWP, Dirty Talk, Sexual Fantasies, Restraints, Photographs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Assorted Kinks, Sherlock in a Sheet, Sex on Furniture, Domestic Fluff) – John has been back at Baker Street for a year, following the debacle that ended in Mary's death. Things are good. Back almost to what they used to be. Sherlock might wish they were something else, now, but he only has himself to blame, he thinks. It's too late, now, for the things he first denied before he'd ruined any chances he might have had. Sherlock also thinks that people who get tattoos are idiots. But perhaps he's about to learn a thing or two, not least of which might be it's not as late as he thinks it is.

Bodyswap: Inexplicable by emmagrant01 (E, 34,664 w., 6 Ch. || Body Swap, TSo3, Magical Realism / Artifacts, Infidelity, Angst) – So what was in that matchbox, anyway? John and Sherlock find out, the hard way.

Crossover: Perdition's Flames by i_ship_an_armada (E, 63,435 w., 21 Ch. || Star Trek Fusion || Established Relationship, Genetic Engineering, Angst & Fluff, BAMF!John) – Sherlock would do anything to save him. Risk anything. Give anything. His money, his life. His soul. What he does, though, is change both of their destinies forever. Genetic re-engineering is the only option left. It turns out researchers underestimated the life expectancy and potential abilities of genetically re-engineered subjects. The British government and what would eventually become the United Federation of Planets, however, had not. Part 1 of PF Universe

Crack: Fucking Cake by Random_Nexus (E, 12,965 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Humour/Crack, Inanimate Object Smut, Frottage, “For a Case” / “Experiment”, PWP / Kinky, Mutual Pining, Fluff) – Sherlock brings home a chocolate cake, John finds him about to have sex with said cake, then exceedingly weird hijinx ensue. Part 1 of "Fucking Baked Goods" - Sherlock BBC

Domestic: Back to the Start by slashscribe (M, 14,088 w., 1 Ch. || Sherlock’s Violin, Pining Idiots, Fluff, Domestics) – Sherlock hasn't played the violin since John's wedding (which is long since over), and when John returns to 221B, Sherlock relearns the violin as he and John relearn each other. Post S3 fic with an obscene amount of pining, idiocy, and attempts to pawn off tea duties.

Disability: Breakable by MissDavis (E, 117,627 w., 34 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Established Relationship, Major Character Injury, Fluff/Angst, Depression, Paralysis/Disabilities, Hurt/Comfort, POV Sherlock, Mental Health Issues, Drug Use, Happy-ish Ending) – After John is seriously injured, Sherlock struggles to figure out how to help him, keep himself sane, and maybe, just maybe, get their life back to the way it's supposed to be. Part 1 of Breakable Not Broken

Established Relationship: Caught In The Act Series by ShirleyCarlton (E, 9,217 w. across 7 works || Established Relationship, Unintentional Voyeurism, Alternate POVs, Humour, Blow Jobs, Walking in on Someone, Switching, Public Sex) – This is a series of six scenarios written from the points of view of six different people as they accidentally walk in on Sherlock and John having sex.

Enemies to Lovers: Synchronicity by Calais_Reno (T, 46,424 w., 10 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Case Fic, POV John, Bullying, Coming Out, Forgiveness, Drinking/Bars, Boarding School, Drunk John) – John and Sherlock meet again, years after they were school boys together. John hasn't forgotten why he still hates Sherlock Holmes. (MFL)

Future: Uncharted Territory by J_Baillier (T, 19,603 w., 4 Ch. || Dystopian Future / Black Mirror AU || Alternate First Meeting, Angst, Drama, Homophobia, Bisexuality, Technology, Humour, Romance, Near Future, Happy Ending) – The System puts people through a series of assigned relationships in order to determine who their Perfect Match is. John believes that it works; Sherlock really, really doesn't. One of them is probably going to be wrong.

Fluff: A Lifetime Together by LondonGypsy (M, 8,886 w., 1 Ch. || Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Falling in Love, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Pining Idiots, Alternating POVs, Domestics, Retirement) – John and Sherlock falling in love.

Gen: Octopus by glass_rose_paperweight (G, 705 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Fluff, Bed Sharing, Limpet Sherlock) – A week after Sherlock and John finally get together, and John is finding sharing a bed with Sherlock Holmes to be ... difficult, sometimes. If not downright suffocating.

Genderswap: Cockscomb by birdie7272 (E, 115,302 w., 32 Ch. || Femlock / Gender Swap || Light Dom / Sub, Sensual Play, Cocks, Lace, Safe Words, Pining Sherlock, Case Fic, Truth or Dare, Slow Burn, Feminism, Relationships, Sexuality Crisis, Cheating, Power Play, Manipulation, Control) – Lace, whiskey, and a case full of cocks leads to a brand new kind of adventure. AKA The One With All The Cocks… When There Are No Cocks (MFL)

Historical: Enigma by khorazir (M, 289,667 w., 23 Ch. || Codebreaker / WWII / Imitation Game-Inspired AU || Case Fic, Espionage, Period-Typical Homophobia / Sexism, Pining Sherlock, Inexperienced / Virgin Sherlock, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Non-Graphic Violence) – It’s the autumn of 1941, war is raging in Europe, German U-boats are raiding Allied convoys in the Atlantic, the Luftwaffe is bombing English cities, and the cryptographers at Bletchley Park are working feverishly to decode their enemies' encrypted communications. One should consider this challenge and distraction enough for capricious codebreaker Sherlock Holmes. But the true enigmas are yet waiting to be deciphered: an unbreakable code, a strange murder, and the arrival of Surgeon Captain John H. Watson of the Royal Navy. (MFL)

Humour: Equine Arse Anonymity by Kayjaykayme (E, 3,834 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Public Sex, Coming in Pants, Humour, Halloween, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock needs to speak with suspects at a fancy dress ball. He chooses a couple's costume for himself and John. It is logical, practical and well thought out. John doesn't agree and exacts sweet revenge.

Illness: Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst, Promise of Forever) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Imprisonment: THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF JOHN WATSON by skyefullofstars (T, 110,758 w., 24 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Angst, Violence, Whump, Nightmares, Murder, Drug Addiction, Torture) – While Sherlock grapples with his new-found feelings for John Watson, he faces a very real threat: John's kidnapping and shooting at the hands of James Moriarty. And the knowledge that the love of his life is being used to test an addictive drug - at the risk of John's sanity and life. Prequel to THE BOYS OF BAKER STREET. Part 1 of THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF JOHN WATSON

Jealousy: The High Tide Series by stardust_made (E, 15,269 w. across 3 works || OMC, Angst, Jealousy, Developing Relationship, First Time, Romance) – A little favour Sherlock stupidly agrees to do for Mycroft leads to John meeting a handsome, afluent man, who is going out of his way to woo him. Sherlock struggles with the situation and with his own reactions to it.

Jilted: Love Is Series by SilentAuror (E, 36,903 w. across 2 works || Post S3, Alternating POV Each Story, Angst, Unrequited Love, Rejection then Reconciliation, Romance, Mary Divorce, Eventual Happy Ending) – At Mrs Hudson's urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him.

Kids: The Baker Street Nativity by SwissMiss (E, 99,662 w., 23 Ch. || Nativity! AU || Teacher Sherlock / TA John, Pining, Sherlock POV, UST, Angst, Christmas, Music/Song Fic, Anal / BJ’s, First Kiss / Time) –Fusion between Sherlock (BBC) and Nativity! (2009 movie starring Martin Freeman). Sherlock is a primary school teacher and John is assigned to be his classroom assistant. Together, they are charged with putting on the school's Nativity play. What could possibly go wrong? Part 1 of The Baker Street Nativity Verse

Kink: John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times Series by wendymarlowe (E, 247,051+ w. across 45 works || Series WiP || Short Stories, Assorted Tags with Assorted Genres, PWP) – A collection of short imaginings of how Sherlock and John might finally allow their relationship to become physical. Don't be afraid of the giant cloud of tags - each fic stands alone and you can read them in any order.

Long: Free Falling by twistedthicket1 (M, 203,574 w., 38 Ch. || Guardian Angels AU || Guardian Angel John, Fluff and Angst, Humour, Kidlock / Teenlock, Light Mystrade, Passage of Time, Possessive John, Drug Use / Overdose, Victor Trevor, Graphic Bullying, Big Brother Mycroft, Hard Drug Use, Depression, Possessive Sherlock, Possessive John, Panic Attacks, Nightmares/PTSD, Pining, Healing Abilities, Kidnapping, Violence, Torture, Blow Jobs, Virgin John, Emotional Development / Attachment, Mortality, Happy Ending) – All Guardian angels are born with a Chosen human. When this child is born, the angel comes into being to protect and care for them during their life on Earth. For John Watson, all he cares about in the world revolves around his Chosen, Sherlock Holmes. Watching him grow up though, the angel soon learns that God must have had a sense of humour the day he decided to make Sherlock, as trouble seems to follow him like a magnet wherever he goes. John can't decide what's worse, the idea of losing his Chosen one, or the fact that he may be breaking the most taboo law of heaven as he disguises himself as a human to better protect and befriend the beloved detective he's always watched from afar. He was meant to care for him. But what happens when caring evolves into something more? What happens when an emotion an angel is supposed to be incapable of possessing comes to life suddenly and viciously inside John's chest? 

Love Triangle: Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

Magical Realism: The Frost Child by twistedthicket1 (M, 9,994 w., 2 Ch. || Frozen-ish AU || Magical Realism, Christmas, Angst, Fluff, Powerful John) – In a world where people are born with a Gift of varying levels, simple John Watson is the last person one might look at when thinking of any strong Magick capabilities. Hiding comfortably in the shadow of Sherlock's brilliant deducing abilities, John is content to keep it that way...

Major Character Death: I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

NSFW: Caves in the Mountains Are Seldom Unoccupied by starrysummernights & TheMadKatter13 (E, 7,925 w., 1 Ch. || Were-Creatures ||  Werebear John, Pseudo Bestiality, Rimming, Dub Con, Rough Sex, Come Inflation / Eating, Size Kink, PWP, Bratty Sherlock, Rutting) – “This isn’t something to play at, Sherlock,” he snapped. “If it doesn’t work out- what you’re asking of me- we can’t shrug and say 'oh well, at least we tried'. If we do this… I could seriously hurt you. Do you understand? I could lose control. I could… I could kill you.” 

Next Gen.: If Equal Affection Cannot Be by blueink3 (E, 31,156 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Family, Retirement, Grown Up Rosie, Angst, Reunion, Loneliness, Sussex, Fluff, Sexy Times, Happy Ending) – Sherlock fled London a couple of years after John left him in hospital with nothing but an old walking stick and a half-hearted goodbye. Rosie grew up thinking that Sherlock died when he committed suicide in front of her father by jumping from Barts' roof. So it's somewhat awkward when they run into each other in a Sussex general store between the loaves of bread and the Mars bars... (MFL)

Omegaverse: A Fold in the Universe by darkest_bird (E, 152,869 w., 26 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Omegaverse / Prime Universe Crossover || OmegaJohn / AlphaSherlock, First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Dubious Consent, Humour) – Alpha Sherlock and Omega John are in a relationship. Prime Sherlock and Prime John are not. So what happens when a freak fold in the universe switches one John for the other?

Only One Bed: The Cure for Snoring by Goddess_of_the_Night (G, 1,278 w., 1 Ch. || Sleepy Conversations, Bed Sharing, Cuddling, Fluff, Domestic, Platonic / Sleepy Cuddles) – Sherlock and John spend the night in Scotland after finishing a case. The sole Inn in town only has one room left...one bed. This would be fine - if not a bit awkward - if Sherlock hadn't developed a habit of snoring loudly. John suffers through many hours of sleeplessness before he discovers that skin-to-skin contact stops the noise. Part 1 of Dreamscapes

Parenthood: Iris by slashscribe (E, 11,948 w., 1 Ch. || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Post-S3) – Sherlock does his best to make John happy when John comes back to 221B with his new baby after the events of Season 3, but Sherlock has a track record of getting things wrong in this area. This story is an exploration of their gradual shift from friends to lovers, told from Sherlock's perspective, full of a lot of pining and lack of emotional awareness.

Platonic: The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w., 15 Ch. || Case Fic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit...

Queer: Rupert Street by WritingOutLoud (M, 27,262 w., 9 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting || Case Fic, Sexuality, Demisexual Sherlock, Drugging, Smart John, Sherlock Has Internalized Biphobia, Fluff, Angst with Happy Ending, Gay Bar, Flirting, John Manipulates Sherlock to Eat, John Deduces, Arguments, Kidnapping/Torture, Hospitalization, John Whump) – Discharged from the war with nothing but the clothes on his back and a realisation of his bisexuality, John Watson has to learn who he’s become. He can’t afford London on an army pension, but the city is the only friend he has. In an effort to understand his newfound queer identity, he heads to a bar one night, where he stumbles across a mysterious stranger who turns his life upside down. ‘I dug around inside myself, and I'm not quite sure what I found, but it was beautiful and terrifying all at the same time.’

Quest: Licence to Kiss by fellshish (T, 13,739 w., 4 Ch. || Post-ASIB, Sort-Of Bondlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Angst and Humour, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock loves John, and John loves... James Bond. He only made Sherlock watch every single film. Tedious. And now John's birthday is coming up. Sherlock can't tell him how he feels, but he can organise an amazing gift: John's very own spy adventure. Sherlock begs Mycroft for a real case with some extra gadgets. And perhaps some actors pretending to be criminals. What could possibly go wrong?

Retirement: Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

Road Trip: Hitting the Water at Sixty Miles an Hour by what_alchemy (E, 30,568 w., 5 Ch. || Fake Rel., Road Trips, Slow Burn, Mummy Holmes) – “You love your mother, Sherlock?” John watched the muscles in Sherlock’s jaw jump. He nodded in one sharp jerk. “Then we’re going to her party and making her happy.” John let out a resigned sigh. “As a ruddy couple, you bastard.”

Soulmates: The Heart On Your Sleeve by flawedamythyst (T, 5,441 w., 1 Ch. || Soulmate AU || Sherlock POV, Heartmarks, Pining, Fluff and Angst, Semi-S1 / S2 Canon Compliant, Reunion) – Sherlock stared at the imperfect circle on his left wrist in horror, then sat down on his bed with a bit of a thump. After over thirty years, his heartmark was finally showing activity. This was not good.

Slow Burn: Tomorrow's Song by agirlsname (M, 24,645 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TRF, POV Sherlock, Angst with a Happy Ending, Virgin / Repressed Sherlock, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Pining, Jealous Sherlock) – How can he think a relationship with me would be a good idea? I am the sort of person to take a break from my life and when I come back after two years, I expect to find it exactly as I left it. In reality I find it shattered to pieces. (I actually equate you with my life. When did I start doing that?)

Teen AU: The Sky is Full of Fiddles by agirlsname (T, 25,659 w., 6 Ch. || 1895 Teenlock || Romantic Fluff, Bed Sharing, Swedish Folk Music, Dancing, Sherlock’s Violin, Poetry, Skinny Dipping, Summer Love, First Kiss, Proposals, POV John, Gay Surprise) – It's 1895 in the heart of Swedish folk music and dance. During certain weekends, boys are allowed to visit girls at night, wooing them with fantastical poems. If a girl lets a boy into her room they can share a bed all night, fully clothed, to talk and eat caramels together. John is seventeen and looking for a girl to marry like everyone else. He's very surprised when another boy suddenly stands outside his door, wanting to share his bed… (MFL)

Time Travel: The Engine by stitchy (T, 8,294 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Post-HLV, ASiP Do-Over, Sci-Fi, Time Travel) – Shortly after the events of His Last Vow, Sherlock has an opportunity to revisit the night of A Study in Pink and get some perspective on the destiny of he and John's relationship.

Undercover: The Skin Over My Heart by standbygo (E, 8,849 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Hiatus, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, Dog Tags, Military, Homophobia, Gay Bashing, POV First Person Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Undercover, Haircuts, Flashbacks, Touching, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Metaphors, Introspection, Hand Jobs, On the Couch, John’s Past, Angst with Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John are still trying to adjust to Sherlock's return from his hiatus when John's friend Bill Murray brings them a case. Someone is targeting the LGBTQA+ members of Bill's unit. John and Sherlock go undercover at the unit, but when they end up having to flirt to flush out the suspect, Sherlock realizes he's in over his head.

Unrequited: Love Is Series by SilentAuror (E, 36,903 w. across 2 works || Post S3, Alternating POV Each Story, Angst, Unrequited Love, Rejection then Reconciliation, Romance, Mary Divorce, Eventual Happy Ending) – At Mrs Hudson's urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him.

Vampires: Bleed Me Out by antietamfalls (E, 87,987 w., 14 Ch. || Vampire AU || Bonding, Vampire Sherlock, Fluff & Angst, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump, Magical Realism) – John isn’t exactly surprised to discover that Sherlock isn't human. His vampirism doesn't pose a problem, even when their relationship gradually grows into something more. That is, until a deadly revelation about John’s blood sends their lives spinning dangerously out of control.

Villain POV: Genesis by pasiphile (M, 19,521 w., 1 Ch. || Graphic Violence, Moriarty’s Past) – Before he was Jim Moriarty, he was just Jimmy, a street kid with more pain in his past and more ambition in his head than he could handle, and only one other person he could bring himself to trust. Part 6 of This Life Is A Trip (When You're Psycho In Love) (MFL)

Whump: Trapped and Upside Down on the M6 by BootsnBlossoms (E, 4,256 w., 1 Ch. || Whump, Car Accident, Hurt / Comfort) – Everything felt wrong. His hair was going the wrong way. His arms were bent in ways he wouldn’t choose to bend them. His neck hurt and he couldn’t really feel his toes. Something was dripping on his face – and rolling up. A car crash. He had been in a car crash.

Werewolves: John Watson’s Moon by patternofdefiance (E, 11,314 w., 1 Ch. || Supernatural Creatures || Werewolf John, First Time, BAMF John, First Time, Anal, Fleeting Depictions of Violence) – Sherlock finds out John is a werewolf and wants to see the transformation. It, uh, gets really kinky.

Xenomorphism: Forest King by Elphen (E, 141,856 w., 27 Ch. || Magical Realism / Omegaverse AU || Mythical Creatures, Group Sex, Body Worship, Drinking / Impairment, Dubious Consent, Anal Fingering/Sex, Transformations / Shapeshifting, Mpreg, BAMF John, Possessive Sherlock, Celtic Mythology, Paganism, Sherlock’s Violin, Frottage, Illnesses, Caring Sherlock, Netherworld/Underworld, Coping Mechanisms, Paternal Lestrade, Defensive John, Big Brother Mycroft, Insecurity, Self-Esteem Issues, Misunderstandings, Mild Jealousy, Pregnant Sex, Male Lactation, Birthing, Emotional Support, Parenthood, Family History) – After falling out with his sister, John ends up in a Cornwall Midsummer’s Eve celebration in the middle of a forest that’s rather…different. After the hazy night of magic and passion with a pale-eyed man, he goes home to London. He’s in for a surprise when his stomach starts growing and buds appears on his head. Not one to just accept things, he returns to Cornwall to demand an explanation. When he meets the forest king, Sherlock, again, he has to come to terms with not only what’s happened to him but what kind of magical world he’s been thrust into. Plus, there’s the questions of whether he trusts the antlered man and how he'll survive being apparently pregnant. Sherlock isn’t much help. That doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to somehow make John understand his feelings, however, even if he’s greatly hampered by being Sherlock. They slowly move forward but problems beyond their control may arise from an act done with the best of intentions. How will they cope, separately and together? (MFL)

Xmas: Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained by withoutawish (M, 32,961 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mild Gore, Sherlock Whump) – The list that is tacked haphazardly on the refrigerator of 221B reads, ‘Kidney(s), and/or a full cadaver (preferably male, late 30s, under six feet tall), bag of fresh toes, sixteen cow’s eyes (corneas retained), dual exhaust hand –held flame thrower, an unopened first edition copy of Joseph Conrad’s 'Heart of Darkness', and no less than ten abhorrently gruesome murders in the upcoming month.” The one neatly hanging next to it simply reads, “Sex.” One of these lists is not John Watson’s. If John Watson were to put what he really wanted in list form, to live in a land somewhere beyond ‘almosts' now that Sherlock Holmes has indeed returned to him, he would never be able to look his flatmate in the eye ever again.

Zombies: The Hollow Ones by antietamfalls (M, 100,244 w., 23 Ch. || Walking Dead Fusion || Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Slow Build, Emotional Constipation, Protective John, Hurt/Comfort) – The dead walk. Mangled corpses of the deceased rise and mindlessly feast upon the flesh of the living. John wakes up, alone and confused, into the remnants of a city gone mad. He will search for answers. He will find Sherlock at any cost. And he will learn that the living are far more dangerous than the dead. (MFL)

Zoomorphism: How to Build a Heart out of Ashes by Teumessian (E, 144,931 w., 31 Ch. || Changeling AU || Slow Burn, Drug Use, Mentions of Child Abuse / Bullying, Mentions of Student/Teacher Relations, Uni-Age) – In an AU where a small number of the population become Changelings at a young age, at 17 John Watson believes he's destined for Normal life but then the Change takes him and he is sent to the Baker Institute. There he meets Sherlock Holmes.

[formulapookie]

:)

Under the cut to read on tumblr, here to read on Ao3 <3

I'll commit your every scar to my memory rosquez, 6k words

(set 2025)

Marc has been looking at himself in the mirror for twenty minutes now.

Inspecting for every micro feature which signaled he was getting older.

He doesn’t want to get older, he can’t.

All his career, his success had come when he was a kid and he had been nicknamed “alien” for it goddamnit.

youngest pole sitter, youngest podium finisher, youngest winner, youngest champion.

key word being young. 

he doesn't feel old, but older, god yes. Everyday.

A new source of pain coming out, an old one resurfacing, the fear of falling behind, of not fitting in anymore and of running out of time.

All present and heavy on his body, which took the hit every time.

Why he thinks that, he isn’t  sure.

But he feels like he must get everything now or it will all have been useless.

It’s been one year now since he and Vale reconciled, and nine months since they made their relationship official, but only to intimate friends and their families, since Marc was still a target in the paddock, and they both knew that having a gay relationship wasn’t exactly the greatest thing to share in a sport like theirs.

And while the respective families had reacted well (except for a bit of skepticism on Alex’s side) the Academy had been more bitter, especially Uccio, but it was to be expected since he is so obviously in love with Vale since the dawn of time.

The mirror in their room at the Ranch keeps reflecting his toned and muscled body, along with his freshly shaved face and regrowing curls.

If he has to be honest he isn’t the one who brought up the aging thing.

First Vale, at his birthday, after he was officially a Ducati factory rider for that year, telling him he was “growing up”, getting closer to 35.

And it terrified Marc.

Then his brother, joking about him retiring so that he could be the only Marquez on the grid “haste que tu y Mr doctor creéis un hijo con magia y aterroricen a MotoGP” (Until you and Mr Doctor will create a son with magic and terrorize MotoGP) 

And finally Bezzecchi two weeks ago.

He was talking to Celestino, to which he seemed glued to the hip, almost symbiotic, as if they only existed one attached to the other.

“Sta invecchiando comunque, magari Vale con i gusti per i più piccoli che ha se ne trova uno più giovane e meno sfasciato” (He’s aging by the way, maybe Vale with his taste for younger people will find a younger and less broken one) 

“Sei un coglione Marco dai” (Marco you’re a dickhead come on)

“Dico la verità, magari tra una settimana ci porta un ragazzetto di 20 anni che lo guarda con gli occhi a cuoricino e che non sia mezzo pieno di cicatrici” (I’m saying the truth, maybe in a week the he’ll come to us with a 20 year old boy who looks at him heart-eyed and who’s not half covered in scars)

“Immagini? Tanta fatica e poi se ne sbatte un altro”

(Can you imagine? So much trouble and he ends up fucking another guy)

“Sarebbe karma” (Would be karma)

Marc had been hidden behind the door throughout the whole conversation, and a wave of nausea and vomit overwhelmed him, causing him to rush silently to the toilet and throw up.

Maybe they were right. 

He was getting older, Vale had said that himself, joking about his smile lines.

He had started exercising even more, buying more products for skincare and trying to act like he was 20 again.

And suddenly he didn’t feel pretty anymore, he just wanted to ride a couple laps on the dirt track and forget about it.

He looks at himself one last time, not failing to notice the faint line of a wrinkle in the corner of his eyes staring right back at him, menacing.

He puts on his gear, ignoring everyone in the kitchen and heading straight for the track, grabbing the bike with the bright orange “93” plastered on front.

It’s the best way to shut his mind off, it’s just him and the track, the bike being a direct extension of his body.

He completes ten, twelve, fifteen laps then he slips, bike flying out of his hands and his body tumbling down in the dirt.

His arm hurts, but his brain aches more.

Finished finished finished.

He goes to grab the bike to climb on it again when he feels a pair of arms around his body. Vale.

“Are you ok Marc? Do I need to grab your painkillers? I’ll help you back on the bike if-” the older one gets cut off harshly by Marc, who has pain in his eyes

“I can still do things Valentino you know?”

He's angry, his tone bitter and his words harsh.

He’s not like that and Vale knows, he’s tender when they speak, they’ve hurt each other way too much already to be cruel to one another now.

Vale has a concerned expression painted on his face, his eyes quickly running to Marc’s right arm, then to his face again.

“Let me get up”

“Ok but-“

“I want to do some other laps let me do them” 

it’s not a plea, or a begging, his voice is resolute and firm.

Vale is visibly worried, but lets him.

He looks as Marc gets back on the bike and restarts, the corner of his eyes caught by Bezz and Celin giggling between themselves.

Marc gets off the bike after one hour, when his body cannot take it anymore and his brain is foggy enough with thoughts about breaking, turning, speeding.

He leaves the bike in the garage, stripping out of his leathers, the only clothing underneath a sleeveless adherent black top, half dirty from soil and grass.

And just when he was convinced to have sedated the thoughts for at least a good few hours his eyes trace the outline of his scar, dead tissue on his arm.

He goes to their bedroom bathroom quickly, to avoid more sensations to overwhelm him, getting into the shower and turning the hot water on, letting it rinse away scenarios where he’s not present in Vale’s future. He spends at least twenty minutes under the water, washing himself carefully and almost trying to clean away the scars littering his body, obviously without succeeding.

As he gets out of the bathroom he’s only wearing a towel around his hips, and he inevitably meets his reflection staring back at him from the mirror.

He wants so desperately to see the 20 year old wonderkid he used to be, but that’s his past. Marc knows time passes for everyone, it takes from you, sometimes more than it should, sometimes it’s harsher on your body and sometimes on your soul.

He isn’t fucking eighty he knows that but still. He’s grown. He’s not the starstruck kid Vale first met and with whom shared many nights during their rivalry.

He’s a grown man now, he looks different, he can see the tiredness in his own eyes, pain sometimes so much it eats his body whole, the same pain which has him stay awake some nights.

And he knows Vale is older than him but Vale is also Vale and no one in their right mind would ever question his capacities or greatness, not even if he was 90.

And like Bezzecchi said he had a taste for youngsters, full of life and ready to do whatever he said as if it was a command.

He used to be one of those, but now…

He hears his name getting called downstairs for dinner, yells back he’s getting dressed and will soon be there.

He avoids the mirror while changing, his body feels wrong every time he tries to look at it, his face transpires the worry sleeping in his chest.

They all eat together, Pecco is there too, he’s getting used to sharing spaces with his future teammate which is good, but Bezzecchi is there too, casting funny glances at his best friend making them both giggle while sometimes looking over at Marc. He speaks maybe four words during the whole dinner, his brain feeling like it’s underwater and needs to be saved from drowning into the abyss.

As they finish eating he helps clean up the table and when he’s proposed to stay and watch a movie he fakes a headache, heading upstairs and leaving the academy to enjoy their time. 

Not even two minutes later he’s in his boxers under the sheets, back turned to the glassy hell his mirror has become.

He hears the door opening and quiet steps making their way to him.

“Ei amore, everything ok?”

Vale’s tone is tender and caring, something which only surfaced once they reconciled, a side of Vale making him humane, not the cold and distant concept of a God Marc still had in the back of his mind.

It was good in a way, but on the other hand it made him feel weak, like he needed to be spoken softly otherwise he would’ve broken like glass. 

“Si, I’m a bit tired and have a headache, can we just…can we just sleep?”

It was the most obvious of the answers, the fakest one, and yet the only one he could give him at that moment.

Valentino nods, taking off his shirt and pants and climbing into bed, Marc laying his head on Vale’s stomach, feeling the man’s hand stroke his curls gently.

Valentino is tired too, he had to follow an event all day and close a contract for VR46, he falls asleep in a half hour, while Marc has his eyes wide open in the darkness of a night lightened only by a pale moon in the distant sky.

He hears his mind speaking again, telling him how he’s not himself anymore, he’s not what Vale wants and he’s not the best Vale can have, because afterall he is THE Valentino Rossi and everyone wants a piece of him and Vale could feel entitled to request a piece of every one just because of who he is.

You’re not the one Vale deserves.

He could have them younger, prettier, faster, better.

He could have someone he can be seen with, with someone he could bring to races and shit like it was normal to do.

He could have someone who didn’t try to fight him so hard back then.

A new rookie maybe, fast, magnetic, idolizing him.

Vale would have every right to just let him go to find someone who doesn’t look so broken, who doesn’t risk getting more and more broken every week.

Perhaps he wants children.

And well for how much you can adopt kids maybe, no surely, Vale wants his kid to look and be like him.

Marc doesn’t cry, but just because he’s too afraid of waking Vale up, and surely seeing him acting so pathetic would be the last straw Vale would need to leave him and go find someone else.

So he doesn’t, he cries a lot internally, he tries to trace every mole on Valenitno’s body because he’s so afraid that in a matter of time he’ll be unable to see him like this again.

or feel the heat of his body next to his own.

Afraid to wake up without the smell of his shampoo or go to sleep missing the pair of arms that are holding him at this moment.

He manages to fall asleep after more than an hour, thoughts feasting on his brain like worms on a carcass, the same word echoing endlessly in his mind.

useless

He wakes up to an empty bed, no sign of Valentino in the room whatsoever, and he imagines his life could become like this in a matter of time.

He doesn’t understand how those little comments managed to get under his skin so much, he had never been the one to take those things to heart because…

because he had never actually believed any of that shit talk before.

But now he’s the first one to think that, the first to indulge on it. 

He can feel a sense of inadequacy crawling in bed with him, wrapping his hands around his throat and slowly depriving him of the chance to breathe.

It’s burning and it hurts like hell, it’s ugly.

He scrambles to the bathroom, throwing up bent over the toilet, coughing and sniffing like during the worst hangover of his life.

He can make out rushed steps coming to the door, Valentino crouching down to level himself with Marc, stroking his hair and back, worry painted in his eyes.

“Marc, do you want me to get you something? Are you ok?”

Weak, undeserving, not enough

That fuckin voice doesn’t shut up goddamnit, it haunts his mind and poisons everything coming in close contact with him.

What if it can poison Vale?

What if by standing so close to Marc he’ll end up being corrupted by this voice?

No no no, he’d rather suffer alone and watch Vale be happy with someone else rather than seeing him hurting.

Because that’s what Marc is when it comes to who he loves.

Selfless, adoring and ready to let go, because he knows he’s not an easy person to put up with so he never pushes.

“No I’m ok I just didn’t digest dinner well that’s all”

“Marc”

“I told you it was yesterday’s dinner Vale, I’m already feeling better, see?”

And he smiles, the fake PR smile Vale has seen hundreds of times, he could recognise Marc’s true smile in a crowd full of people, his laugh in a room filled with clowns and most of all he could recognise Marc hurting in a massacre.

His eyes are lifeless, a veil of something trapping the joy and happiness inside, not letting them see the sun.

“Marc tell me what’s going on because you’re not ok and I am not letting you leave the room until you’ve told me what’s happening”

“I decide if I can get out of the room or not Vale, you’re not my mom, I told you i’m ok so let me go thank you”

Vale wants to stop him but he knows it would be worse, Marc would shut down and respond robotically to questions he dreads to know the real answer to.

“Marc. I won’t force you ok? But please tell me what’s going on, you look-”

“I know what I look like there’s no need to tell me”

Marc thinks of old, spent, expired, outdated. 

All different words to mean only one thing.

undesirable.

And weak.

He fucking threw up in front of Vale, he almost had tears in his eyes, he had to come up with his fake smile he knew Vale would recognise, he’s so fucking stupid god how can he act like that and hope to still have a chance in keeping Vale.

He gets past him, putting on a pair of joggers and a short sleeved shirt of his and walks out the room, grabbing his biker boots and protective jacket by the entrance and putting them on, ignoring the boys sitting in the living room looking at him with curiosity.

Probably he yelled before, and they heard him.

Amazing.

He slams the door shut behind him and goes to grab his street bike.

Once he’s put the helmet on he’s alone. 

Truly alone.

No other voices or sounds, not even the one in his head.

It’s quiet, like one of the earliest nights he remembers sharing with Valentino, the one in Aragon perhaps, or the many in between races when they could wander off in one of Vale’s secret spots and share everything, even the silence.

He starts the bike and goes for a ride, a long one, he didn’t bring his phone with him so he doesn't know how long precisely.

He comes back home once he’s hungry and beginning to feel tired.

Once again he doesn’t dwell on the academy boys watching him, he can only imagine what they’re saying.

He doesn’t let the thoughts come to him this time though, he just heads straight for the shower and gets ready for lunch.

Vale is an amazing cook, he prepared something that smells delicious, but Marc can’t eat more than half a plate before already feeling nauseous.

He eats everything anyway, he doesn’t want to upset Vale more, so he forces every fork until he clears the plate.

“Vale” it’s Bezzecchi’s voice, he has a strange tone to it “how’s Pedro? didn’t you say he should come to the ranch soon? To see what he’s capable of off track?”

Marc doesn’t want to suppose things, but the way he says the last sentence sends shivers down his spine

20, fast, starstruck by Vale, not half covered in scars.

Check, check, check, check.

The qualities Bezzecchi talked about a few weeks prior are all part of Pedro.

Marc excuses himself from the table for the second time in a row, feeling bad about doubting Vale but also not holding him responsible if that came up to be the case.

He had said it himself he was now the past of MotoGP, and Pedro the future.

Bezzecchi cackles from the table, Celestino elbows him in his ribcage, earning a harsh stare from his friend.

Vale just sits at the table, looking in the direction Marc had disappeared to, trying to understand what was going on with his boyfriend, because he truly has no idea and is scared something had happened outside of the peace of the Ranch, maybe someone finding out about them and threatening Marc to reveal their relationship to the public.

He decides to leave him alone for a while, maybe he’s just not used to having all these people around all the time and needs his space, a moment alone to quiet down his brain.

He spends the afternoon with the boys, racing around the track, checking and analyzing data and talking about Bezz’s newfound harmony with Aprilia.

The clock hits eight pm and they’re all hungry as hell, so the boys quickly make their way to the bedrooms to take their showers and change, since they also decided to go out tonight for a party held by one of Bezz’s DJ friends.

Meanwhile Marc had stayed in the room the whole time, spending half of it crying his eyes out because he couldn’t stop thinking about what if Valentino actually decided to break up with him again and the feeling of emptiness he would feel eventually.

The other half he spent it trying to understand how to make himself look younger for Vale, which clothes to wear, how to act, to talk, to lie when his arm hurt while they were having sex.

Fucking pathetic

He wishes he could tear his brain outside of his skull, anything not to hear that sharp voice commenting his every move and look, he just wants the world inside his mind to shut the hell up and leave him be, at least for a few hours, just that.

A few hours where he doesn’t have to worry about being abandoned by the one person he loves more than life.

A few hours where he can love himself again.

But his brain doesn’t concede him neither those few hours, it’s a machine programmed to drive him insane, unstoppable.

Vale knocks on the door, he recognises their passcode, never changed during all those years spent together.

“Dinner is in five minutes, are you coming?”

“Yes yes, just let me get dressed and I’ll be there”

“Ok, see you downstairs amore”

It cuts deep, the bug whispering in his ear the word amore is just a way to keep him close for need, not driven by real feelings.

He comes down two minutes later, a simple pair of shorts and a t-shirt he stole from Vale not so long ago, still smelling like him.

He smiles softly at the man, sitting beside him, across Pecco, who greets him with a nod.

The boys eat in a rush, not speaking a word, apparently they were supposed to meet some other guys by nine and they’re never going to make it on time.

They practically absorb their food and are out the door in twenty minutes, in Luca’s car off to the bar they set as a rendez-vous point.

And so he and Vale are left alone.

He doesn't know how long it’s been since the last time they were completely alone, not even that annoying guard dog of Uccio staining the environment.

“You’re really beautiful tonight amore”

Lie

“My shirt looks really pretty on you, makes you look smaller”

He doesn’t actually like it

“Want to go upstairs?”

He just needs a release, not you.

“Yeah sure” he’s convincing, Vale doesn’t seem to notice his body twitching when his fingers touch his arm.

They reach their bedroom, Vale guiding Marc towards the bed, hands running under the stolen shirt to go catch on his abs, fingers looking for a strong grip.

They share a sweet kiss, nothing like the ones shared after their battles on track, quick, charged and filled with need.

 Marc knows Vale wants those back, not these ones, too plain and domestic for him to ever like.

So he tries to pull the switch, biting at Vale’s lip, pressing himself against him, backing up until his body is caged between the wall and Valentino, who looks rather surprised at the sudden change of attitude.

“Fuck me Vale come on” it feels dirty, demanding, but that was exactly like he was back then, and he so desperately needs to feel like that again.

Vale’s lips are on his neck, biting and sucking hard, matching Marc’s tone.

It’s not what he wants, it’s what Vale wants.

And that is enough for him, he’ll just try to enjoy what was probably going to be one of the last nights together, and he didn’t want Valentino to resent him for it too.

He’ll just have to relax, think about Vale’s happiness and take it.

After one particularly harsh bite he winces, but so quickly Vale cannot register it while dragging him to bed.

The grip on his wrist is strong, possessive, needy.

It’s what Vale wants, stop being fucking selfish and let him have it.

The voice is right, he cannot be selfish and wish for Vale to stick around out of pity.

He needs to earn his lover back, who cares if he has to do things he doesn’t want to do?

In the end it’s all for love.

He lets Valentino undress him, sharp teeth attacking his nipple, making him moan loudly, he’s exaggerating a bit his actions but it’s for a good cause. 

He keeps repeating to himself this is ok to do, he really wants to please Vale, it’s not bad, he used to like the sharpness and rush of adrenaline that came with battling on track so why should this be different?

He feels Vale’s hand cupping him through his boxers and he thrusts his hips up, eyes closed and hands gripping both on Vale’s hair and back, keeping him there.

“You smell so good Marc, never going to let you go”

And that’s where Marc loses his battle with himself.

He tries to keep it in but a sob comes out anyway, a tear rolling out of his eye and ending up on the pillow underneath his head.

And Vale knows Marc. He knows the difference between a sob due to pleasure and this.

This is not Marc enjoying it so much he cries, this is Marc not enjoying it at all.

He stops, getting up and sitting in front of Marc who has his eyes closed, hands balled into fists and his mouth shut in a rigid and thin line.

He’s fucked it up, he let his own feelings ruin everything again.

He doesn’t want to look at Vale, to see the disappointment and displeasure which surely the older has in his eyes right now.

He can’t bear to see how pathetic he is in Valentino’s eyes.

You ruined it for him, good job.

His head echoes with this thought, he was almost there, so close to faking it perfectly but he had to fucking cry.

He didn’t even cry in front of Vale when he told the world he hated him and he should be off the sport, but he cries for this.

“Marc?” Valentino’s voice is filled with something, it sounds like concern, fear almost.

“Marc, would you open your eyes?” no he can’t he fucking can’t because they’re filled with tears that are just going to spill out if he does, he doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want Vale to see him weak and scarred and broken.

“Amore please, what’s going on? Did I hurt you? I’m sorry if I did just please open your eyes and tell me”

There, now Vale even thinks it’s his own fault, amazing, really fucking amazing, another step towards separation.

Vale is so fucking worried right now, Marc is practically crying in front of him, trying to hold his tears in to seem tough but his body is shivering and his lips already trembling.

If he seriously went overboard and hurt him he’s going to punch himself in the face, he would never want to wound Marc.

“Amore?” It sounds like a plea, and it is, he’s begging for an answer, because he has to know what he’s done wrong.

Was he too harsh? Too demanding? Did he hurt his arm? How many possible things may he have done wrong? 

Marc gathers what little forces he has left and props himself up, sitting on the bed and opening his eyes, but he doesn’t look at Vale.

He wouldn’t be able to see him even if he wanted to, tears clouding his vision and falling on the bed.

Vale grabs the shirt he discarded earlier on the bed, the one with a wrinkled 46 printed in front in a now not so bright yellow font.

“You’re shivering Marc put this on, you’ll get sick if you don’t” he lets Vale dress him, he feels like he doesn’t have control on his body and it makes him go insane.

He always needs to have control, otherwise how can he handle reality?

He finally manages to look up at Vale, and the man can see the pain rooted deep into his stare, and he aches.

He aches because how could he not notice how much Marc was truly hurting? His eyes look like the ones he had back in 2014, after the press conference where he first broke his heart.

God that stare, the haunted gaze he had that day, it will haunt him forever.

A kid, he was a kid and he managed to kill him.

And now he looks like that kid again. Confused, hurt, crushed and dead.

“I-I’m sorry I ruined it Vale, I didn’t mean to I-” he stops, a hiccup interrupting his words “I can’t I’m not what you need right now and I get it” What was he saying? What does he mean not what Vale needed? He is everything Vale needs and way more than what he deserves.

“I just…I thought I could at least still let you have this but I can’t even fucking bring myself to ignore myself for this while”

Vale is so confused right now, because he doesn’t understand. Why is Marc talking like he’s going to fucking die in a minute? Why should he ignore himself? 

He has so many questions but he cannot even pose one, his lips sealed by incredulity.

And Marc on the other hand feels like he isn’t even deserving of an answer, he wants to scream and cry and beg Vale for a chance, but he doesn’t.

Finally Vale manages to speak up, the feeling of instability being suppressed by the need to understand what was killing Marc’s mind.

“Marc, what are you saying? let me have what? you didn’t ruin everything and what’s with the 'I'm not what you need’ thing?”

It looks so real to Marc now, the concern and the preoccupation radiating from Vale.

You failed him, you just had to shut up and endured and you fai-

For the first time this week he manages to shut the voice up, sending it back to the hell it came from long enough to be aware of the fact Vale really cares about him.

He breaks down, crying in front of the man he loves for the first time.

It’s ugly and messy, and he’s fuckinging exhausted, he wants to hold Vale, he wants to be held by him, he needs to feel at home.

And even if he doesn’t say that explicitly Vale gets it, he throws his arms around the boy, keeping him there for a while, not bothering to check how long, he places him on his lap, Marc’s ruffled hair tickling his neck as he continues sobbing into his collarbone, shoulders shivering at every sound.

He gets his head up from Vale’s neck, and fixes his gaze on Vale’s.

“Please Vale promise me you won’t leave me for someone younger and prettier, because I know you could do that anytime if you wanted because you deserve it but please don’t, I know I’m not beautiful like before and that I’m broken now and that you should be with someone who doesn’t hurt himself every week and I know I can’t do what I did before in bed but I swear I’ll try to do it again, and and I get it you could have anyone because you’re you but I only want you please please I love you I can’t let you go I need to be with you I know it’s so pathetic and dumb but I beg of you don’t leave me”

He rushes his words out, one attached to the other not caring anymore if he sounds weak, his face is now completely wet with tears and Vale’s shirt is soaked as well, but he doesn’t care, it feels like he let go of an enormous weight and is finally free.

Vale's answer comes like a helping hand to a drowning person, the hand that grabs yours and drags you out of the angry waves keeping you underwater, your lungs burning.

“Marc I- I don’t even know where to start I mean…why would I ever leave you if you’re the best thing I ever got the chance to have in my life? Why would I need someone younger when I have you and how could I want someone prettier when no one’s more perfect than you?

You’re right you’re not as beautiful as before, you’re far more breathtaking now, and you’re everything but broken, do you think that just because you fell and injured yourself you aren’t attractive to me anymore? Those scars symbolize you never giving up. They are one of the most attractive things you have, amore.

Marc I don’t care if we cannot have that rushed sex we used to have when we raced together, I love what we do now, I adore it, I feel much more connected to you, back then it was adrenaline and desire, now it’s love and need, I wouldn’t trade it for any sum on money in the world you must know this, I would never want to hurt you or force you to have sex with me if it hurts you, ok?

And I don’t fucking care I am who I am, or the fact I could have anyone else because 

I. have. you. 

And you’re the only one I want or need or dream about sharing my life with, you get it?

I love you Marc Marquez and I’ll be damned if I let these thoughts get to you and make you act like that.

I’m never going to leave unless you want me to, because I already left once and I hurt you and myself and I cannot go through it again. 

It was the worst period of my life because I looked for you every night and you weren’t there, because of me.

I should be the on worrying about you leaving me because of what I did, never never never the opposite” 

And now Vale is crying too, his eyes holding onto Marc’s gaze like his life depends on it, like he needs an answer to breathe again, because he too feels like he’s drowning and being brought to safety by his lover.

“You still love me? You swear?” It sounds so feeble and desperate Vale wants to open his chest with his bare hands and gift Marc his heart as proof of his love, because the only way he could doubt his love for him would be Vale not showing it enough, not doing everything the boy needed to feel loved.

“Of course I still love you Marc, I never stopped, and I never will, I want to share my whole life with you, you are my star and I will never let you say those things about yourself again, got it?”

“Even if I’m older now? I’ve got scars and lines and I look-”

“You look perfect. Listen I know I said I don’t believe in therapy and all that shit but I just- it’s just I didn’t like what they told me there and I decided to shit on it, but it actually helped me realize I still loved you and if you need to go there to understand how much I love you I’ll pay for it, I’ll bring you to your appointments and I’ll accept whatever outcome you get from it”

It feels good now, to Marc. It’s like he got dragged out of a stormy ocean onto a tropical beach, sunny, warm, quiet and calm.

Quiet.

No wretched voice demonizing or belittling him, just Vale, the only other presence on his dream beach, so close to him he can feel their hearts beating in unison.

He locks his fingers with Vale’s, a soft smile forming on his lips.

“Yeah I- I want to go, because I don’t want to feel like this again, I need to free my mind. Do you understand me? It’s so full it feels like it’s going to explode”

Yes, Vale knows. He’s gone through it more than he likes to admit, and he just nods, pulling Marc even closer, pressing a sweet kiss on his forehead, feeling the boy relax under his touch.

Marc tilts his head, looking up at Vale, and goes to plant a soft kiss on the man’s lips.

No rush, no lust, nothing except deep love and trust, a feeling of peace hovering over the couple who drifts to sleep together, Marc being able to dream of a beautiful snippet of his life with Vale, them together at the Ranch, not worrying anymore about hiding because Marc is retired and nobody will say anything, Stitch and Shira running after a kid with big blue eyes in the garden, the academy boys discussing who’s the favorite uncle.

Marc and Valentino holding hands, Marc’s head on Vale’s shoulder as they look at the little  girl laughing, playing with the dogs and the grass.

It’s domestic, soft, and quiet.

So quiet.

The only sound being the laughter coming from their friends and families and the dogs panting behind the buzzing girl.

She looks like Vale.

She calls him and Marc picks her up, she smiles, they’re happy.

There’s no need to worry anymore, Vale never left him, Marc neither, they went through Marc’s insecurities together, they didn’t let go of eachother.

In the real world Valentino is smiling, putting Marc to bed, covering him with their sheets, dreaming of the same thing. 

A life, a future with Marc.

[herejusttosufferalong]

Please don’t block me… if this isn’t allowed, please just ignore it but in response to the Anon asking about E timeline, I’ve worked out some but not all the key moments of what folks have reported online…

not sure when he did the social media clean up… or what it was that he removed / archived. Some other anon here said that Louisa Harding also removed Polaroids with E in them from her SM… can’t really piece together why unless it had to do with photos of E and N at Renegade Nell premiere (speculation). I’ve been really wanting to dissect this cuz I just don’t get why folks are assuming they’ve broken up when all signs seem to point the other way. They were apart while he was filming The Witcher which was done on location in a studio in London + other location shoots in EU. Nic was definitely preoccupied with BTON world tour but it’s not improbable for 2 ppl to be together in a relationship while they are away for work… and April to June isn’t that long. Yes he only popped back up on LF’s Insta story in July but who knows how long he’s been back in London…

can we please discussssssssssss?

💜🥃

[brawltogethernow]

—

L fell over from his customary seated position, died in his nemesis's arms, then came to in his customary seated position.

  He fell over.

  "Richard?" said Wammy, the alias he'd been using four cases ago. "Are you alright?"

  "Watari?" he said dumbly, into the floor. Wammy was dead. He hadn't wanted it to be true, but he had been sure when he saw the data kill switch had been flipped, pieces of information slotting together to form a whole even when he didn't want them to. His own hand had carved him into a device that did this process automatically. It was too late to deny facts.

  "What?" said Wammy like he didn't recognize the Japanese alias.

  L pushed himself up halfway off the ground. "Fuuuuuck this," he said, and fell over again.

⁣

"Why me?" he wondered aloud. "Does this happen to everyone killed by the murder notebooks? I can't investigate an infinite multiverse, Weatherby."

  "Probably not," conceded Wammy. He was currently humoring L gamely. L had been able to provide multiple descriptions of future events that would confirm he wasn't cracking up, but none of them had happened yet. He had never been much of one for keeping track of the date regarding matters where someone could do it for him, which didn't help. Well. Wammy would come around.

  L was humoring himself, too, for now. There was no point assuming his mind wasn't reliable. Using his brain to run diagnostics on itself could wait until it seemed necessary. If he was having an Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge moment it was certainly going on for a very long time.

  He ground his molars against each other. The Kira murders had been supernatural, but clearly guided by a hand that either was mortal or thought the same way. So far, this seemed...random.

  "I don't like this," he informed the room, and incidentally Wammy. His latest sugar cube tower collapsed and split into two factions, one falling into his tea and the other scattering across his desk. Tea sloshed out of its cup in futile pursuit of the desk faction.

  He picked up the teacup by the mostly not sticky handle and sipped it, pursuing the grit at the bottom of its basin. He put it down and but his thumbnail. It was slightly sweet. He needed to wash his hands. He added, "Well. I like it better than being dead."

⁣

He sent the party interested in his current case an e-mail with enough key bullet points of the solution for them to clean up what was left of it themselves, which was more than he felt like doing for a rerun of a case. If he were stuck only rehashing already closed cases he might entertain the theory that this was Hell. But the world was wide, he had only lived a year or so beyond this in the first place, and the Kira case was still open.

  He tried to console himself that Light Yagami possessed one of the most ruthlessly brilliant minds L had ever encountered. This did not make him feel any better about being beaten by a fucking child. L was an extremely petty man about things like that.

  (He had been a worse minor. If he had been eighteen as well when faced with such an infuriating suspect, he would probably have been the one instigating physical altercations. He would have broken Light's perfect nose instead of playing around with him, and then maybe he wouldn't be undead.)

  He gnawed his thumbnail, brain too itchy to be content just pressing it against his bottom lip where he could usually stop. He knew on one level of thought he was risking ending up with sore and bloody cuticles, but it was not the level primarily in charge of his teeth and hands when he was stressed. Was he stressed? Extremely, yes. But should he have been? His life wasn't even in danger, nor was Wammy's. Kira hadn't claimed his first kill yet, probably hadn't acquired his weapon, that awful, intriguing, unassuming notebook. And when he did, L could just...

  L didn't even have to do anything. He could just ignore it, and stay ensconced in whatever HQ he chose. Name unrecorded, face unknown, existence not relevant to Light Yagami's twisted morals. He already knew all the key mechanics of Kira. The method, the means—he was sure he'd already known the why. He had all the answers he wanted. Light had given him his answers.

  His true face... It was all the confession L had needed. An honor, even.

  Ha!

  L didn't need anyone's sanction to solve the Kira problem, either. He could steal the notebook. He could hire a hitman.

  Dull pain and the taste of blood alerted him that he'd bitten through his thumb.

  He popped it into his mouth to keep blood off his keyboard. No, he didn't want to kill Light Yagami. He probably should kill Light Yagami, but he didn't want to. He wanted to... To...

⁣

Of the many casualties of the Kira case, there was no one he cared to intervene for he hadn't led to danger with his own hand. (Should he have cared more about Beyond? Eh, he'd interfere if Wammy brought it up.) Even Naomi, who he hadn't spoken to in years, should have no reason to return to her home country if L didn't repeat old plays.

  ...He wondered if he was perhaps taking the wrong lessons about treating people as expendable from the situation.

  He tapped his fingers. Naomi. He had liked her.

  He spent an hour at the keys confirming where she was. The sun had set around him, at some point, leaving him in a black room with the monitor a white inferno at the center. Moved to Burbank, engaged, retired. She must be bored out of her mind in an empty room of her own making. No wonder she had died over this case too.

  He hoped it was exciting first. Light had never mentioned her.

  Focusing all of her faculties on her boytoy only for a killer to take him away... She must have gotten very unlucky to have not proved a bigger obstacle.

⁣

After it came clear that L was reporting his experiences accurately (or hallucinating his confidant's confirmations), Wammy sat silently for a subjectively long minute and forty-seven seconds.

  "What is it like?" he asked at last. "Dying."

  "I don't know, I was kind of distracted," L deflected, because this is true.

  Wammy gave him a blank yet communicative look.

  L bit down on his other, less raw thumb. Why hadn't Wammy come back with him, possessed of his own experience to draw on? Was there another Wammy, elsewhere, who has gone back alone?

  Could it be he really didn't die? No. L was sure.

  Kira had done that, but even spider-scrabbling blunted fingertips at the bottom recesses of the linty pockets of his heart, L couldn't find it in himself to feel too righteously indignant. L was the one who had wanted to win badly enough he'd anted up his allies in their game. He had been cocky. He had been too cavalier.

  "Frustrating," he answered. "Like when you can't stay awake even though you're in the middle of a project."

  The brain, whirling determinedly away even as it stopped receiving fresh blood, as the vision narrowed down to a thin line, a screen shutting off uncaring of whether it was the end of the program.

⁣

He researched relevant players he hadn't been aware of at this point. All were transpiring to be about where he'd have plced them.

  The web of events was elaborate. But that could have been dream logic. He'd tried, but never gotten the hang of, lucid dreaming. He was not sure he would be truly convinced this was happening until he'd discovered a why.

  He hovered his overful teacup not quite at his lips. Next, he could find a backdoor into the TCPD systems, but...maybe...

  He wormed into Yagami Light's computer instead. After 24 hours of passive data collection this provided him with Souichirou's passwords and how Light concealed he was using them.

  It was very amateur, which was the best way to hack an organization that thought it was going to be hacked by professionals. Casual exploitation of loose security.

  It was child's play on top of this to get a day-old visual on Light. L looked at the security photo and felt a thrill up his spine. Ah, death really didn't change me for the better at all, he thought.

⁣

"What's next in the docket?" asked Wammy, tidying up the workstation they were slated to abandon. (L remained on his computer chair and let this happen around him.) He was content to follow L's lead, even knowing he had led them both to their deaths.

  "I want to find out why I've come back in time, and how," said L. "...But I don't have any leads to speak of."

  "Except young Yagami," concluded Wammy, who was not an unclever man.

  "I don't want to return to the Kira case," L admitted.

  "Completely understandable," said Wammy without judgment. He was not an overly moral man, either.

  L fidgeted. Flopped somewhat. "The Kira case is the most interesting case on the planet right now," he said.

  Wammy waited.

  "But I already know how he kills," L sulked. "And dying kind of hurt."

  Wammy's mouth pursed at this. But he only asked, "What are you planning, L?"

  "I'm going to insert myself," announced L, rising and stepping out of his chair. "What do we have in liquid assets right now?"

  "What will this be put toward?" inquired Wammy.

  L rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling and thought about it, chewing his lip. "Shenanigans," he declared.

  He realized he had forgotten a social step and stopped his creep for the exit. He swiveled his head around. "Though Weatherby, if you want to return to the school for a year or two, or perhaps go on vacation—"

  "I'll go where you go," interrupted Wammy, chilly.

  L pursed his lips, finding now he'd began it that this was not the perfunctory check-in he'd taken it for. He said, "I would prefer if you didn't die."

  Wammy sighed. "A similar sentiment is why I will accompany you."

  L turned back around. "I see," he said, nodding. "Emotional blackmail."

  "This time I trust you to take the appropriate precautions," said Wammy.

  "Ugh," said L. "You're no fun."

⁣

To enact his very ingenious and only partially driven by general doubt in reality and spite scheme, L got a job at a pastry chain in Tokyo.

  After less than a single afternoon, the manager deemed L unfit to serve customers (this was correct), so he was shuffled onto glazing duty. He accepted this without complain as, due to the pop-up-cum-cart-style layout of the establishment, this still allowed him a clear view of anyone patronizing the establishment. Moreover, he did not especially want to serve customers.

  He despised the thin plastic sanitation gloves, which felt like rather than protecting his hands they moved the barrier of contaminated flesh up to his wrists, oils creeping and substances splashing upwards, until he wanted to decontaminate his arms up to the elbows and down to the bone.

   It's for the case, he told himself even though there was no case, not really. It was the same process of steeling himself to put discomfort aside for a greater cause.

  The greater cause this time was just bullying Yagami Light.

  This is a cinnamon roll of great justice, he told himself, then held it up to eye level and examined it, debating whether to eat half of it in front of his manager. For great justice.

⁣

His fingers twitched. He solved cold cases from his backlog and sent in tips about them thumb-typed on a PDA on his lunch breaks. He was so understimulated he contemplated playing some stocks, which he was trying to cut back on. He had more money than one person could ever need and than he had any inclination to redistribute responsibly, and also he acclimated to them the way some people did to pachinko.

⁣

The manager sat him down. "I have been informed I can't fire you," he said.

  "Yes," said L, who had purchased the chain before applying for the job.

  "But I want to," said his manager, like it was important L knew.

  "That's fine," said L. He pulled an industrial tub of cold icing over, stuck one finger into it, and licked it.

  The manager's mouth flexed murderously. L entertained himself briefly by imagining this scheme if Light was his manager.

⁣

When Light finally walked in, L had been shuffled back to cashier duty to get him to stop licking the donut icing, where he would remain until customer satisfaction dropped untenably low. With a pull that was gravity-inevitable, they locked eyes across the room, and a realization was clear to L at once:

  He's bored again.

  Without anyone challenging to oppose him, Kira was already getting bored. A smile spread like an ocean oil slick over L's face. Or perhaps like the mysterious and ever-widening sticky spot under the second stove that no one could seem to mop up.

  Everything was falling in line with his loftiest expectations. Light would crawl on his knees right to L. He didn't realize it, but he was desperate.

  And L would lead this insufferable man, in his supplication, right through the mystery floor goo.

  L favored Light with his (he was told) very unsettling customer service smile. "Welcome to Cinnabon," he said.

—

AO3

[rea-can-yeet]

Not me casually dropping part two after a long time of me being MIA. Sorry about that! Y'knowzzz life and all hahahaha! I edited my tumblr pinned post where I put my current status there so yeah if you wanna know what's going on with me you can check it out haha anyway here's chapter two of 'mutineer'! Does anyone still remember this?? Or even this blog??? Oh god what if y'all thought this blog was dead??? Or worse- sagau ain't a thing much now? Wait lemme double check after I post this-

_______________________________________

REMINDER: This is gender neutral for all readers. Sagau stands for Self Aware Genshin Alternative Universe, but this is leaning much towards the God/Creator AU where the characters are aware that they’re being controlled but not aware enough to know that they’re in a game. This story is set in God/Creator AU, imposter AU, and lastly villain AU. This contains religious and cult themes, graphic violence, and probably some suggestive scenes (not this chapter yet, but the series will show some) so viewer’s discretion is advised.

______________________________________

🔻

🔻

♦️

𝕄𝕌𝕋𝕀ℕ𝔼𝔼ℝ

"Damn, Y/n. There you are."

A friend, who she met when they were little and still vibe with even when they first became aerospace engineer students, commented while leaning against the old chipped doorframe. Her eyes landed on s/c skin, the arms to be specific, sweating. Her friend was huffing while holding a wooden bat, hair covering e/c eyes from her view.

She looks around at the damage the h/c haired had caused. Broken glass bottles, wrecked armchairs, holes in the blackboard, mirror shards around the floor, some damaged computer screens, and keys from shattered keyboards near the left cracked wall.

If this classroom wasn't abandoned or owner-less, she would have to use her wealth to bail her angry friend from being punished.

She had to witness Y/n being reprimanded for something they didn't do.

Stealing.

Ridiculous, she thought. Just because you hate a student doesn't mean you get to blame them for stealing your stuff just cuz they happen to be the last one to get out of your classroom, stupid petty karen teacher. If her friend wanted something, she knew that her friend wouldn't try stealing. And besides, she was willing to buy whatever Y/n asked, but she knows that idiot wouldn't like to ask for a lot of money from her. Y/n is greedy, but she knows Y/n is not that greedy. And of course, not greedy enough to steal.

And if the Y/n did resort to stealing, Y/n would have never been caught. She would bet her whole wealth on that.

Not only that, her prototype project for Aerospace Design class was dropped on the floor, breaking it. The culprit? One of the rowdy jocks. The man didn't even apologize and proceeded to run to who knows where while being chased by his friends.

And as if two bad things were not enough, Y/n somehow left a very important item back home; lunch.

That must have been their breaking point. So she had to follow Y/n. It took some time to find them, but she somehow found a Primogem keychain and thought 'Ah yes Y/n must have been here', and was led by crashing and banging noises. That was how she found this abandoned school a few streets away from the main road leading to their university and into the woods.

She knew Y/n's side that they rarely show to some extent, knowing her friend's tendency to be a daredevil, but she didn't think that Y/n would actually go destructive if being angered without a proper cause. There's an inkling feeling, of course, just being proven correct was a whole different feeling.

Her friend got a bad record and is being under surveillance and suspicion, hard work was unjustifiably destroyed, and lunch was left at home.

One bad thing after the other.

"Sorry." Uttered her friend, not much making a move of some sort, not even a turn of a head, still catching their breath.

She only sighs and lets out a little chuckle. Y/n is a nice person, loyal, and dependable. She understands that people have their own bursts of anger sometimes. Though, her friend has a little destructive flavor to it.

"You okay?"

"...Yeah." Y/n takes a few more breaths, taking in a deep one, then exhale. "I calmed down a bit." They say as they stood properly and turned to the person leaning on the busted doorframe that Y/n may or may not have also hit a bit. Dropping the bat carelessly, glass clinking from the impact, Y/n dragged up an armchair that miraculously survived their wrath. They sat down and wiped the sweat from their brow, their friend pushing herself from the doorframe and proceeded to sit on the armchair's table.

"Here." She pulls out Y/n's favorite drink. "Got you your bag and some sandwiches too." She hands them and Y/n accepts them with gratitude. Y/n puts the bag beside the chair and opens their drink.

"So question, how'd you find this place?"

"I have an attraction towards signs that have 'do not enter' or 'danger, not safe' on them if you didn't noticed. Or places with rusty barbed wires in the middle of nowhere." They take a swig of their drink. A breath of relief and satisfaction escapes them after. "This place was abandoned because of a strong earthquake years ago. This place will be bulldozed into a new establishment soon. Until then, this has become one of my 'Escape Places'."

She had to ask about this list of places her friend tends to escape to when she gets the chance later today when they play genshin at her mansion.

"How'd you get in the barbed wire fences anyway?" Asked Y/n as they eat their sandwich, e/c eyes turning to her.

She just takes out her assortment of skeleton keys. "I'm not athletic like you who can jump or scale over wired fences. I went through the gate. The padlock was rusty so it took some time."

Y/n hums, impressed. Then the face of amazement turns to surprise when she just drops the key on Y/n's lap. "You can have it."

"Why???"

"I found a shop that sells these in any color you want. I want them pink so you can have these since I'll be buying new ones anyway."

"You gotta stop giving me free stuff, I'm being spoiled rotten." The friend just laughs, picks up the keys, and shoves them into Y/n's bag. "You also gotta stop shoving people stuff when they try to refuse."

"Hush my child, eat and replenish. You have to help me farm soon. Those Regisvines are a pain." She zips Y/n's bag shut and sat back. "So... What are you gonna do now?"

Silence came between the two, though it wasn't uncomfortable. Her eyes scanned the destruction caused by her friend. She knew Y/n was a kind person at heart, and they tried their best to be good. To mind their manners, to be respectful. But she knows Y/n gets these impulsive thoughts sometimes. But she knows Y/n is goodhearted. Y/n knows their limitations and where the line is drawn. A very good friend.

But she knew that if being pushed to a corner, left with no choice, being wronged unfairly... Y/n wouldn't just stand by. And if given an unholy amount of freedom or autonomy, in short, freeing Y/n from any restriction or any 'leash', who knows what Y/n might do.

Y/n's chewing could be heard after some seconds before gulping followed.

"Not to worry," there, she saw it, that smile, that fucking smile that only meant one thing.

Throughout the time they've been friends, practically became soulmates, she knew Y/n had a variety of smiles that indicate different things.

A smile that meant Y/n was not okay.

A smile that meant Y/n's up to something.

A smile that meant Y/n's on their last bit of sanity.

A smile that meant Y/n found something interesting.

A smile that meant Y/n is in trouble.

There were many smiles belonging to Y/n where she knew what they suggest.

And this one... This smile meant only one thing...

"I happen to catch a glimpse of that asshole's ID and locker number, I'll be putting that skeleton key to good use. And I got a receipt at the same time the crime happened. But I won't stop at just proving my innocence. I happen to know how to retrieve deleted CCTV footages."

A smile that meant Y/n had won.

.

.

.

.

.

Bennett walks around the edge of Dragonspine in hopes to find any treasure in his ‘adventure’. It may be uneventful, but his optimistic self continued on his path determined that today may be different.

Of course, he wishes to go on adventures with his creator guiding him again. Adventures with the divine one spreading their warmth upon him has always been the best feeling he has experienced, thrilling adventures brightly shining on his path. But he understands that someone as mighty as his god can also have weeks where they’re busy. In fact, he is already grateful to be one of the lucky people graced with their god’s blessings and guidance. Bennett never once thought that he’d be one of the blessed vessels in his lifetime. As if all his bad luck was meant for this very good one.

So while he waits for their holiness to come back, he embarks on another adventure on his own.

It was getting dark, but the moon was kind enough to illuminate his path to the camp he had set up. As he walks along the trees, he notices something swirling in his chest. The same warmth he feels when his creator was visiting Teyvat. His lips formed a huge happy grin as he jumps excitedly around. He awaits for the dreamlike subconsciousness to seep through.

He waits…

And waits…

He stopped to raise his palms, he was still in control.

That is strange. By now, he should have started running around or scaling high mountains, visiting foreign lands, or even doing simple commissions for others. He puts one hand to his chest, and he takes note that the divine aura felt strange, different even. As if the aura itself was thin and feeble, yet, it was not unnoticeable that’s for sure. As if the aura was swaying along the cold eternal winter wind from the near mountain, unlike the warmth that usually resides within him.

As if the aura feels less like an ‘aura’.

He can’t quite put a finger on it yet, but the change in the usual sensation of being guided by his god was concerning. He was just about to leave when he notices something from afar, much deeper into Dragonspine. He squints his eyes at what seems to look like a leg. Was there a person behind that bush? Worried for someone’s well-being to be threatened by the harsh weather of Dragonspine, he immediately runs to it.

But upon arriving to assist the person, his eyes widened at the sight before him. Laid behind the bush was a figure he frequently see around Mondstadt’s church, little statues of them on altars in households around the city. A face that he sees in paintings and on some Bibles. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, not trusting his eyes as they could be playing tricks on him.

There stood before your unconscious body was Benny, eyes wide with only one thought running in his mind.

Is he actually looking at the Creator right now?

He snaps from his frozen demeanor when he realizes that he was supposed to help you. He can’t leave you laying here in the freezing cold. But Bennett was hesitant, not sure how to approach you. He shakes his head from the nervousness, ready to help regardless of what identity you may have.

He kneels beside you, taking note of the rising and falling of the backpack on top of your chest. You were breathing, which was always a good thing to him while he places his hand on your shoulder to gently shake you awake.

He hears you groan, making him sigh a bit in relief that you were not completely out of it. He backs away on reflex as the person he is currently helping gently pushes the foreign and weird-looking backpack to the side. You inhaled deeply, making Bennett realize that the bag must have been making it hard for you to breathe due to its weight.

“H-Hey! Are you alright!?”

He can see your eyes still hazy and unfocused, but the air in his lungs was stuck to his throat by the sensation he was feeling from your waking presence.

It was undeniable to him now.

No wonder the aura felt less like an ‘aura’. Because it no longer felt like an aura, it felt more like …a presence.

He is kneeling beside his god. They’re there, with him, in the flesh.

His god blinks a few times, e/c eyes that he reads about shine under the moonlight. Glimmering eyes that seem to be glaring angrily towards the sky. Bennett stops his staring to avoid being rude and checked your body for any injuries.

“…That’s some rad Benny cosplay.”

You spoke, and Bennett never felt so stunned to hear the same voice that whispers around him to be murmuring coherently in front of him. And their first words were about… cosplay?

You sat up, with his help of course, and you looked closely at him. He sweats while casting his eyes away from you, unnerved to be narrowly stared at by his god. You looked around and Benny can tell that you were confused.

“Okay, what the… This is not my friend’s garden. And I swear it was summer. Why am I seeing snow?” You said as you looked at him, seemingly looking for an explanation. Of course, he is also as lost as you. But he did manage to find his voice and answered.

“Oh, um, we’re in Dragonspine…?”

And your immediate response was to laugh. “And you sound like him too!! Hahahaha! Oh man, and I’m in Dragonspine? Pff! Funny man.”

Benny only smiled while trying to make sense of your words.

“Man, not only does your voice sound similar to Bennett, your costume is so on point! Like- look at the detail! The shop you buy from is literally doing justice for Mihoyo’s drip marketing.” You looked around again, becoming more concerned. “No seriously, where are we? I don’t see my friend or her mansion or the tree house I fell from.”

You turned to the boy who held a nervous and unsure look on his face. “And what’s your name, exactly?”

“You just said it, your grace…”

“… You’re Bennett?” E/c eyes wide as saucers stared back at his green ones.

“Yes. I am. Your grace.”

You stayed seated, ignoring the cold as you stared into his eyes, looking for any traces of a lie. You trust your instincts in evaluating a person, your survival skills were honed by your parents after all. But it was still so surreal. You? in Genshin? No fucking way.

No fucking way.

You're in Genshin.

You see a flaming flower stamen nearby, and a sweet flower. The familiar sky. Dragonspine from afar, HD and all.

No fucking hell.

"... I'm actually in Teyvat."

You were well aware this isn't a dream. Despite your ability to discern reality and dreams, you tried pinching just in case. Yup, you were in your game alright. And surprisingly... you're not actually losing your shit.

Surprised? Sure.

But you can blame it on your survival reflex behavior to be whelmed in an unbelievable situation. You could release your burst of excitement later, right now there was an important matter at hand.

It'd be nice to chill in Teyvat if only you knew how to get out. Yeah, you weren't just gonna decide to stay forever. Teyvat may be cool, filled with characters you simped for and adventure and magic you could only dream of!

But you have a life.

It may not be perfect, it had downs and failures, but you couldn't just abandon that.

You wanted to become an aerospace engineer! Be close to the stars! Further the studies of astronomy! Help humanity reach the furthest parts of the universe, however small your contribution is!

Animes! Shows! Fics! Games! There were so many on your lists that you haven't checked yet and some are still unfinished and waiting for updates!

And also there were some people you want to get back at too. There's no way you're going to hell without settling some scores. You promised that when you're successful enough, there wouldn't be any reasons for you to stay as a goody-two-shoes anymore. And you would have to show those who wronged you who's boss, directly or indirectly, depending on that person and how they slighted you.

So you can't stay. You want to go home.

"Um..." Let out Benny as you turned to him. He was unsure. Not the unsure of someone so strange suddenly showing up, no, you were not that dumb or oblivious. It was much more. As if he wasn't sure what to tell you, movements showing that he knows what to say but is unsure when is appropriate.

He knows something you don't.

He called you something earlier. Your Grace. Were you some kind of high-status person? Is this a reincarnation scenario? Where you wake up one day as royalty who turns out to be the villainess in a novel for someone's amusement while stuck in class?

Nope, you checked yourself, and still in the same state as you were before you and your friend were falling to the ground. Dang, you hope your friend was okay, it looks like you were the only one who got sent here, which was good in a way. You like your friend's company, but dragging her to a place where she could get plummetted by a wild boar? Yeah, your friend would not survive long enough.

So what's with the title? You seem to have some sort of identity already in Teyvat despite being here for the first time, at least with the memories that have served you so far.

Maybe you could ask right now. But you want to butter him up first, get him comfortable. Of course, you know what kind of person Benny is. But with the off chance that Benny would be different than what Hoyoverse has displayed, you want to play it safe. At least, complete the evaluation to be sure that Bennett is the same Bennett that you knew in the game.

"Hey... I'm also at a loss here. I don't know how I got here. But I do want to find a way back somehow. Do you think you know where I could get help?" You asked, smiling nicely.

"I-I-I-!" You notice that he looks so surprised, there was a linger of disappointment too. Interesting, he wants you to stay a bit longer?

"I w..." There was a pause, you noted, "I could show you to Acting Grandmaster Jean. She should know how to help you!" You smiled happily, showing him you were grateful for the help. He slightly gets flustered and says that he has something to warm you up in his bag as an excuse to hide his face.

As soon as he distracts himself finding the item that might have probably been dropped somewhere with his luck, seeing as he's frantically still looking for it, your smile dropped, and stared at him.

He seems to know you to some degree, but he did not explain further, only saying that you should meet Jean for help. He should have explained something, seeing that he held no suspicion on you when you knew his name, and with the title he used for you, there was something. You heard his hesitation before he suggested Jean. He looked like he wanted to say something else. Of course, you could tell that he doesn't have any ulterior motives, but more so that he chose a different action instead.

Is it out of caution? Was he trying to be careful?

You have no choice but to gauge that out of him later when you get him comfortable enough.

_________________________________________

End of chapter 2: Rhododendron

_________________________________________

[violetdrkside]

it took me one shot to make it nonstop

Tattoo Artist Getou Suguru X Reader

Summary:

You are holding your breath, heart pounding, body heating up. You have been hiding a secret from him and now he has you on your knees waiting for the consequences of doing such a thing. Even though his punishments may be harsh you would do anything for him. “So, can you be a good girl and follow my rules and instructions?” he asked. “Yes sir, I can,” you stated as firmly as you could with the feeling of slight sweat dripping down your back. “Only sir?” Fem Reader. She/her pronouns. Physical description vague. 18+ Explicit Content.

Rated E for Explicit.

Word Count: 13.8K

Tags: Alternative Universe (AU), Adult, Content, Dom/sub, Dom/sub play, BDSM, Light Bondage, Consensual Sex, Consensual Play, Use of Safe Words, Master/Pet, Dominant Getou, Submissive Reader, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, Fingerfucking, Piss Kink, Golden Shower, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Choking, Oral Sex, Face Fucking, Rough Oral Sex, Biting, Marking, Cum Eating, Teasing, Orgasm Denial, Face Slapping, Face Sitting, Temperature Play, Degradation, Smut, Shameless Smut

A/N: I would do anything for this man. I swear. There is also something about AU Tattoo Artist Getou that just has been tickling my brain the last couple of years and I can't get it out of my head.

Also there is a golden shower part, but it is very short, you can skip it if you like. I marked the section off using ~~~~~~~~

Enjoy! Please give this one-shot some love by liking and reblogging.

You had been waiting for what seemed like an eternity. It had only been a few minutes, you realized as you watched the clock tick on the wall, your knees and shins seeping further into the cushion you were instructed to wait and kneel on. Every second felt longer, like sand falling through an hourglass. 

Earlier, you had been told to send him a text back when you arrived home and to provide a picture of yourself in your current position. Once the picture was sent, you locked your phone and set it next to you. There was too much anxiety to even be mindlessly scrolling as you waited—and you knew he would be displeased to walk in and see you like that—but you kept the device nearby. If you somehow missed a message or call from him, you would be in much bigger trouble than you were already in.

You knew what you had done, and you honestly were not sure how you’d managed to keep it a secret from him for this long. With him being away on business and you taking your own vacation time, a month has passed since. It was not until this morning when you were both getting ready for work that he saw. You knew he did not want to get into a full conversation about it now, you both had your days ahead of you, so instead he complimented how good it looked pressing a hard kiss to your mouth and gripping your arm snugly above your elbow. He pulled away with a dark glint in his eyes, a slight smile tugging at the edges of his lips, “I will see you after work. Have a good day and be good, doll.” Pressing one last kiss to the top of your head, he stepped out the door. Fuck. You knew you would be in for it later today, but knowing him, it would be worth it. Your phone buzzed shortly after. 

“Make sure to text me when you get to work <3”

You knew at that point today you would have to try and be extra good—you could picture him counting each and every rule you had broken and how he would punish you for each one, ensuring you would take it.

Before you knew it, the unlocking of the door tore you away from your thoughts about the events of earlier this morning, and your eyes immediately jumped to the door, hearing the key turn slowly with a click. In the doorway stood the man you had been waiting to see the whole day. He stepped through the entrance slowly, closing the door behind him. He placed his keys back in his bag as he hung it up on the rack. You remained quiet as you watched him bend over to unlace his black combat boots as he placed them next to yours. He went through the motions undisturbed, as if your heart wasn’t beating in excitement and apprehension. He finally glanced towards you as you remained still a little way from the entrance.

“So, can you be a good girl and follow my rules and instructions?” he asked.

“Yes sir, I can,” you stated as firmly as you could with the feeling of slight sweat dripping down your back.            

“Only sir?”

‘Sir’ was a baseline for you two, and you simply assumed you were starting there because he usually had strict preferences for specific situations. You guessed today was the day you would have to call him more than just sir.

“Apologies, Master Getou. Yes, I can listen to your rules and instructions.” You respond back appropriately, gaze lowering to where his feet faced towards you.

“Well, you can follow most of them… eyes on me.” He commands.

Your eyes immediately snap to his deep purple ones as they grew darker, almost black. You swallow the saliva building up in your mouth. You knew he was going to be hard on you this evening, you just do not know how he would go about it. A silence forms between the two of you as you struggle to not break eye contact. He kneels down to get closer, making sure you still have to look up at him. He reaches his left arm out to you, brushing his thumb over your cheek, continuing the motion as he pushes some of your hair behind your ear. Fingers now brushed under your jawline to your chin where he cradles it, thumb tracing your lips gently. His stare pierces through you, trying to make you lose your composure. Although he knows he has to do a lot more to achieve that, it does not hurt to try. He finally breaks the silence, his voice low and speech articulate to make sure you understand every single word he says.

“Now, imagine this: I haven’t seen my precious darling in a month. I haven’t been able to hold you, kiss you, praise you, truly worship you. I haven’t even been able to have you over my knee, to bend you to my will, or to hear your cries and pleas of pleasure for a month. You followed most of the rules and instructions while we’ve been away from each other, but at some point, you went out on your own and disobeyed me, doll, and that hurts. You know I don’t mind what you do if there is a form of communication. So, tell me, why did you do it, hm?” he asks. You can see the hurt in his face as his eyebrows knit closer together, his lips curving down. You knew when you went to do that and not tell him, there would be a high chance he would react this way, but you had been willing to risk it anyway. He stopped caressing your lip but still held your jaw firmly, waiting for you to answer his question.

“Master Getou, I know I went against your rules—and I am deeply sorry for that—but I wanted to surprise you, sir. I wanted to show my devotion to you, I wanted to show that I am and will always be yours. I thought that, while we were apart, it would be a good time for you to see the commitment I have towards you, that we have for each other. I know this may break your trust, but I will do anything to regain it.”

“My precious doll, you are very good to me, but I will not ignore what you have done. We will talk this through, and you will accept whatever punishment I see fit, understand?” You nod your head. “Now get up and sit on the couch, I will be there in a moment.”

The dark-haired man gets up first, grabbing your phone from the ground. You both know at this point you will not be needing it, and he does not want any interruptions to occur. You wait for him to turn away as he heads towards the kitchen. When you hear him rummaging in the other room, you get up, making your way to the couch in the living room. Your body begins to tingle with excitement for what your Master could have in store for you. The one thing you have learned about him over the years is though he may get upset, he does not like to stay that way for long.

He comes to where you are sitting, two glasses of water and a plate of fruit in hand. He puts everything on the coffee table in front of the couch and sits beside you. You turn your head to look at him; you see him tapping his thigh and you instantly know what this means as you shift your body, placing your legs over his lap. He leans over your legs to the table, handing you a glass of water and putting the plate of fruit in your lap.

“Now drink up and eat. Once you are done, we will continue.” he directs you as he begins to take the socks off your feet. He began pressing his fingers into the top and bottom of your foot, making sure to hit all the right pressure points. Once he learned how much you were on your feet from your job, he always made sure, especially after long workdays, to be extra attentive towards them no matter what the two of you did in the evenings. It was a way he showed his affection to you outside the bedroom. He began to ask you how your trip was, amongst other things. For a moment, you were just two lovers keeping each other company. Occasionally, he would open his mouth, indicating he wanted you to feed him fruit as he continued to give you a massage. You had finished your water and most of the fruit on the plate; he turns to look at you, letting out a sigh.

“Now for the hard part, yeah?”

“Yes, Master Getou.”

“We’ll start with the small offenses. You did not make eye contact with me earlier when I was first talking to you, but I can let that slide. You lied at one point about where you were going or what you were doing while I was away. Then, you proceeded to not tell me about said thing you did for… what was it? Thirty days? It’s kind of impressive you kept something hidden from me for that long, but don’t be proud of that, okay? Now, onto the bigger things: not telling me you were getting a tattoo when your lover, your Master is a tattoo artist, a relatively famous one at that. I hope you did your research before you let just about anyone tattoo you. Which leads me to the next issue: having someone that I don’t know touch you for hours, permanently putting ink into your skin. The fact that it should be me marking up your body in more ways than one, and yet you took that away from me. Don’t get me wrong, doll, I’m not mad about you getting a tattoo, it is your body—but you took away from me the opportunity of doing it myself, as someone else’s hands were placed upon you. Let’s say it was because you wanted it to be a surprise; I still didn’t even get to help you pick the person to do it for you. I have colleagues and friends that I trust to do it… Anyway… did I miss anything?”

You could see the pain in his face; you did not fully realize how upset he would be. You did not think he would even want to ink your skin, knowing that it could cause you pain—and not in ways either one of you would prefer—but now you knew, and you would learn a lesson from this.

“No, Master Getou, you covered everything. Though, pardon me, you do know the person who tattooed me. I didn’t go to a stranger,” your voice was low, but you kept eye contact with your lover.

“You’re telling me someone I know tattooed you and kept it a secret from me? Who was it?”

“You mean you couldn’t tell by the work? But you saw it this morning?”

“Doll, I was more focused trying not to get angry than to look at the art, now who was it?”

“Please Master, please don’t get mad at them. I told them not to tell you, I begged–”

“You begged?” he questioned, cutting you off. Fuck. “You begged someone else? You know I am the only one you should be begging. I guess we can add that to the list too. My, my… you sure are racking them up, doll.” His voice had a slight enthusiasm to it as a dark chuckle built up from the back of his throat. You felt all the air from your lungs disappear as you heard him laugh, eyes wide. All your brain could process was this gorgeous man and how he was going to cause you so much pain and yet so much pleasure tonight.

Before you knew it, he had you in his lap, your legs straddling his, gazes meeting one another. His hands rested at your waist, gripping it slightly. His right hand trailed up your spine to the nape of your neck where his fingers threaded into the roots of your hair, pulling your head back. You try to keep your eyes open as they stare into his now obsidian ones filled with lust and anger, you wanted to admire their beauty, but his touch was starting to be distracting. He leaned closer, placing a kiss where the edge of your jaw met your earlobe. You then felt his teeth scrape where he just kissed you and then place another kiss in the same spot. The hand on your waist wraps around you, further pulling you closer to him. 

“You know, doll, I am a greedy man. The thought of having someone’s hands on you as they hold a needle that penetrates your skin is making me go wild. Do you even know how much I want to be the person who does that? To be able to put my art onto your body? To have you in that way too?” He grunts into your skin. “Now, are you going to tell me who did that tattoo, or will I have to study it myself to figure it out?” He pulls away from you, fingers still threaded in your hair. You look him in the eyes, taking a deep breath as you gather your thoughts before you speak.

“Master Getou, I thought this through. I had to think of who would be the person who'd make you the least mad if I went to them to get this done behind your back. I know you trust this person more than anyone, considering they taught you everything you know, and did your first tattoo. I thought it was only appropriate to go to them.” You kept your composure together as you let out your last words, exhaling deeply, your hands still at your side. You want to reach out to him and kiss him, let him know that you hated hiding things from him, but he had not invited you to do so yet. You remain still. You could see the gears turning as he was processing everything you’d just told him. You cleared your throat to start speaking again. Getou’s eyebrow arched up, insinuating that what you were about to continue saying better be appropriate.

“Yuki also told me to tell you—and remember these are her words, so please be kind to the messenger—but she said, ‘I don’t regret doing this, and in fact, I would do it again. So let dear Suguru know to get off his high horse and if he wants to pick a fight, he can come to me and deal with someone his own size.’”

The man loosens his grip on you and begins to laugh. Your eyebrows furrow as you look at him, confused at his reaction.

“She really does know how to push buttons, doesn’t she… always has and always will, but I can’t deny that I respect her the most. I would say she is the only one that gives me a run for my money when it comes to a fight too. I’m surprised she even had time to take you in, considering she’s even busier now than when I apprenticed with her.”

“Once she realized who I was, she made sure to clear a spot for me as soon as she could. She specifically said, ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to tattoo that punk’s significant other.’ Then proceeded to agree with me that she would probably be the person you would be least angry about tattooing me and considered it an honor I seeked her out. She really does have a soft spot for you, doesn’t she, sir?”

“That she does, only because I gave her a taste of her own medicine, and she did the same to me. I really did learn everything and some from her… Now now, let’s not get distracted. We haven’t even begun yet. Don’t get me wrong, I’m relieved you went to her and not some random person, but you still sadly broke my rules. You may get up and stand in front of me.”

“Yes Master,” you said with a slight smile on your lips. You lifted yourself off him and stood directly facing him.

“Shirt off.” You raised the fabric above your head and dropped it to the ground by your feet.

“Pants too.” You moved a bit slower unbuttoning your pants, dragging them down your legs and placing them where your shirt was.

“You know, doll, I like it when you are obedient. Now turn to the side so I can see dear Yuki’s work on you.”

You turn so Getou can examine your right side along your rib cage. You feel the tips of his fingers tracing around the tattoo, careful not to touch. You can see him out of your peripheral, face stern, almost unreadable as his eyes move slowly, careful to retain every line that was inked onto you. He was studying, taking everything in. You were doing everything in your power to remain still, but you want to know what he thinks of it; does he like it, hate it? You wish you could ask, the silence is almost suffocating as you try and focus on something, anything else. Your eyes are still focused on him, he knows it, and he finally glances up at you. His lips part slightly, then close again. You know he is trying to find the words he wants to say to you, but is not quite there yet. Instead, he asks you,

“When did Yuki tattoo you? How many days ago?”

“35 days ago, Master.”

“Hm. Have you gone back to see her?”

“She told me to come back after two weeks and then I saw her again a few days ago, right when I got back from being out of town. She normally doesn’t do checkups like that, but she knew if it didn’t heal properly or seem up to your standards, she wouldn’t hear the end of it from you.”

“She’s not wrong, and what did she say? Is it fully healed?”

“Yes, it is. I made sure to follow her instructions thoroughly. She said you should send over her favorite bottle of liquor for how nice it turned out and how she made sure it was the exact match to yours.”

“Oh, don’t worry, she will be hearing from me later. Now…” He started as he grabbed your hips to turn you back to face him. “You make this so difficult for me, doll. I had plans to spoil and ravage you until the sun rises… and I thought you were so good…” He is smirking, you know he enjoys punishing you and you are not opposed to it, or you wouldn’t have been with him for this long. You do know that Getou can be mean when he wants to, and you have a feeling that though he may be pleased with the tattoo, he will not let you off this easily.

“…but you really didn’t live up to my expectations…” his left hand was gripping your hip as his right hand was trailing from your knee up to your thigh. Your face was starting to heat up, you were always amazed how his small touches could make your body react like it does even to this day. The hand moving up your leg moved between your thighs, reaching back to cup your ass. His arm grazes your clothed sex as he pulls you closer.

“So, I think thirty spankings, fifteen on each side, along with five markings on your body of my choosing, because,” He paused, smiling, “I will mark you one way or another. What do you think? You may speak.”

“I accept what you think is best for my punishments, Master.” you say, making direct eye contact with him. He grips you tighter and kisses your stomach again, lips turning up, “That’s my good girl. Now turn around.” He releases his hold on you as you face the other direction. At first, you hear rustling and movement behind you, then you feel him moving your hands behind your back. Something slips around each of them moving up to wrists, that’s when you realize from the smooth texture it’s his belt. The leather tightens around your wrists enough to make you feel your blood pump through your veins.

With a softer tone, he asks if they are too tight, to which you reply no. He turns you back around as he guides you to kneel on the couch next to him, helping maneuver your body so you are now laying face down across his lap. your head faces the side away from the couch, away from his body, from him. You knew this was just the beginning of Getou bending you to his will. You know you have to clear your head of all other thoughts so you can focus solely on your Master’s words and touches because failing to do so will have consequences. If there is anything the man whose lap you lay across hates more than rule breaking is unfocused, divided attention. If he puts in the effort to pay attention to you, your body, your needs, and your wants—then he wants the same from you. His fingers trail from the back of your neck down your body as he begins to speak again, this time his voice is sterner, and more articulate than before.

“Remember, thirty spankings. I will expect you to count each one of them with me. Fail to do so and we will start over. We will restart over, and over and over until you get it right. Understood?”

“I understand Master Getou..”

“Your safe words are?”

“Green, yellow, and red.”

“Good girl, not so stupid now, huh?” He smiled, brushing your hair condescendingly, “Let’s begin.”

Even though you prepared yourself for the first spanking, knowing it would probably hurt, the roughness of his hit still took you by surprise, a small gasp leaving your mouth as you uttered “One.” trying to ensure it was loud enough for him to hear over his own voice. You inhale slowly, another slap to your left cheek, “Two.” You can already feel the sting starting to form, but it lessens as you feel Getou rubbing your ass. His hand moves away again, inhale, you thought this time, feeling the sting on your right cheek, “Three.” you say as you exhale. 

You made it to fifteen, his slaps weren’t as hard as you thought they would be, but they were precise. He had his other hand laced through your hair, occasionally rubbing your scalp, which helped you focus on your breathing.

“You’re doing so well my doll. So well, I think it’s time to take these off.” You feel his fingers slip into the waist of your underwear gripping them delicately as he pulls them down your body slowly. Your ass can feel the coolness of the room now, the feeling of being exposed has a chill run up your spine causing your body to shudder and your hands to move in your restraints. Noticing it, Getou reassures you.

“Shh, don’t squirm now, you have been cooperating so well so far. You don’t want to start over now, do you?” A loud smack echoed in the room; your body felt it before your mind registered the hit Getou landed on your ass. You knew his spanking was on the lighter side before, but the difference was drastic. Your mind finally caught up and you trembled out the words, “No, Master… sixteen.”

“I’m glad you’re still with me, but sadly that one will not be a part of the count…” he starts, you feel his fingers up your legs again trailing slowly just like his words, “…it’s good your mind can keep up…” his fingers are between your thighs now, you are doing everything to keep still, you can feel every single touch he has left on your body. “…because your punishment is taking up what I really want…” his fingers now grazing your sex, the vulnerability spiking further, you try to remember to breathe, to keep still. But it does not help as you feel two of his fingers pushing past your lips, gently rubbing, a deep breath leaves your lips, but before you know it the pressure of his fingers is gone, replaced by a dark small laugh that ignites your body. “Fuck you’re so needy already. Doll, this is a punishment. Yet, here you are being a greedy little slut.” He cooed, enjoying it so much, the sight of you, desperate for his hands and touches. “But it’s not fair for you to enjoy your punishment, not when your little act infuriated me—you went behind my back and disobeyed. Can you get that in your little head?”

“I understand, Master Getou. I am sorry.” you were partly sorry, enough to let him hear you apologize but not enough to not enjoy his punishment. Another loud smack echoes through the room. “Sixteen,” you choke out.

“Good. Then you will take whatever I see fit until I am satisfied.” You feel his hand meet your other cheek, your body reverberates from the impact, fully understanding his frustrations with you.

“Seventeen.” You gritted through your teeth,“Yes Master Getou.”

“You let someone defile you with their art, you should let me defile you how the fuck I want. Makes sense, right?” You can feel fury radiating off his body into yours as he lands another hit to your ass. The sting is more prominent since he is letting you feel the full pain each spanking.

“Eighteen. Yes, Master Getou, it makes sense.” You were not fully sure where he was going with his punishments, but you knew you would have to go with it as much as you could.

“Now, let’s finish this up, so we can move on, we have a whole evening ahead of us.”

You made it through the thirty spankings, but just barely. By the last five or so you knew he was putting his full strength into each hit to throw you off. There were points where the smacks landing on the full of your cheek vibrated through your body, making it hard to even say anything as you were more focused trying to blink away the tears building up in your eyes and keeping steady breaths. Getou lightly gripped your now red ass and massaged it for a moment as he loosened his belt that kept your arms bound behind your back. He then told you to stand back up, and you did slowly, trying to feel your legs again as the soreness from your behind began to spread and ache. You moved slowly as Getou watched your every move, observing how your body took his punishment so far, and yet still at ready to catch you should you lose your balance. You were proud to have made it through, so you straighten your back and stand in front of him, waiting for his next commands. Unwavering. Without getting up, he ordered you to hand him his glass from the coffee table.

After handing it to him, he quickly drinks the liquid. You admired how beautiful your Master was as the rays from the sun set shined through the window behind him. Part of the black locks he kept down absorbed the sunlight, he looked ethereal and at this point you knew you would do just about anything for him. He rose from the couch handing you the empty glass back for you to put on the coffee table. As you did, he stood next to you. He peered down and grabbed your chin between his thumb and index finger so you both were closer, he asked, “You still want more, look at you leaning into my touch. You really are insatiable.”

“I cannot help it, Master Getou.”

A short kind smile drew itself on his lips, “Good. Then, follow me.” He says, letting go of your chin as he turns around and walks past the kitchen towards the bedroom. You followed him to the bathroom connected to the bedroom and stood where he told you too, while he turned the water on in the shower. He began to take off his shirt and at this point the only thing you could do was stare at him and think about how much you wanted to touch him, hold him, kiss him, run your fingers all over his body and make him yours.You could not help yourself and asked if you could help him undress, to which he replied, a fake nice look on his face, “No. Only obedient subs get to touch their Master.” He paused, “Which you have been nothing but..” He smirks knowing how much you want to help him, to gain any affection from him, but you were aware you had to be patient and work hard for him to calm down.

He begins to take off his pants and you continue to admire his toned body, adorned from head to toes with tattoos. You catch a glimpse of your matching one and admire it, loving to see how it matches yours exactly. You were so happy with how well Yuki really did to make yours the twin of his. He stands up straight up and looks up at you again. He steps closer, looking down at you, his face showing no emotion, then with one side of his mouth curving up he says, “Let’s not touch works of art, hm?” he pulls the rest of his hair down taunting you, knowing how much you want to thread your fingers through it. Your fingers are twitching ever so slightly by your sides, as the smell of him becomes more prominent with his hair framing his face, moving forward as he looks down at you.

“This.” he hooks his right index finger through your bra strap, pulling it, letting it snap against your skin, “It comes off. Then you step into the shower.” You unclasp your bra and drop it on the ground. You open the glass door to the shower and step in. You face the wall and the shower head, letting the water run down your body. The water felt so soothing on your sensitive skin, you let it run through your hair, cupping some of it and splashing it on your face, trying to get yourself to focus, trying not to think too much about how much you might have hurt Getou. You could see deep in his eyes how he wishes to have been the one to tattoo it on your pretty skin. Especially such a large meaningful piece like the one Yuki did for you, but to have it match almost exactly like yours meant a lot to you. 

Of course, you know one day you will let him put his art on your body. You longed to be connected to him in that way as much as he did and it would mean so much to both of you, but it will come soon, for now you know that each of you will have to deal with the current circumstances. 

All of sudden you feel an arm wrap around your waist and another on your upper body as a hand lightly grasps your neck. Then, a piercing sting was felt on your left shoulder. You realized it was Getou biting you and your eyes opened wide with a gasp leaving your mouth as water still poured down on you. You could feel his canines dig deeper into your flesh, almost breaking the skin. The nerves he hit spread down your arm and in your neck almost going numb. Before you know it you were moved facing the other wall away from the shower head, Getou still holding onto you. Your body is still warm, from where he is pressing against you, but freezing and making you shiver upon touching the cold tiles of the wall.           

“I thought I would remind my doll that I. Am. Still. Here,” he whispers into your ear, causing a chill to run down your spine. You were so lost in your thoughts that you missed Getou entering the shower, not giving him eye contact, or even acknowledging him. Shit. “I am going to have fun defiling you. Marking you as I please…” He grazes his teeth against your skin before biting another time, this time more gently, “Claiming you back.”

“Yes, Master Getou.” your chest is heaving, recovering from the pain you felt in your left shoulder. He pulls you closer, nipping at your ear, his hips hitting your butt, causing soreness from his earlier ministrations.

“You did agree earlier that you would take whatever I would give you, doll. I’d be disappointed had you disagreed.” he snickers, front teeth digging into your neck. You let out a sigh, the pleasure so strong that it brought you right at the edge of the cliff. You were so close, but as you were about to reach your climax, it was ripped away from you as he bit down on the right side of the crevice where your neck and shoulder met. He ensures with the bite that he digs his canines deep into your skin. You are trying not to yell—you want to, you do—but your pride will not let you. You bite your own teeth into your lip to muffle the sound of any scream trying to be released.

“That shouldn’t hurt too bad. Didn’t you get a tattoo, one that took hours, on your ribs nonetheless. This should be nothing compared to that.”

He was not wrong per se, but the pain is different. The bites he leaves are sharp, fast, piercing. The tattoo took so long, with prick after prick, but at times you could dull that pain for a short bit. There is no way you can ignore this one. You know your Master wants you to react to every single punishment he gives you. He wants you to be aware of everything he does to you and your body. You feel his hand trail down your body and you wish it could stay like this, him holding you close, feeling every part of him as he feels you, but you know right now you cannot. He grabs your hips and shifts you so your back is now on the tiles of the wall. The shower head next to you, you can feel the droplets of water hitting the floor on your legs. 

He still has a grip on your hips, his mouth now on your neck again with teeth slowly making their way down to your collar bones, going further to your breasts. He makes sure his body is not as close as it was before. The feeling of teeth along your now cool skin makes you shiver and roll your hips forward more into his hands. He pushes you against the wall more and you hear him scold you quietly. His right hand moves up your body, cupping your left breast. His warm mouth travels to meet where his hand is. You close your eyes and move your head upwards, anticipating another bite. He makes sure to avoid your nipples, aware of how sensitive they were. You were not prepared for the feeling of his teeth digging into your skin. You were careful not to bang your head into the wall behind you, but the pain took you by surprise, almost making you weak as you tried desperately to dig your fingers into something, anything to grab on to. You groaned, “Fuck…” Getou looks up at you, seeing tears fall from your closed eyes. This time, he licks and sucks at the bite, trying to soothe the pain, bracing your body with his other hand the best he could. 

Getou kneels further down, balancing on one knee, his face level with your hips. He tells you to look down at him and you do. His hair is damp, his muscles tense as he positions himself below you. The subtle eye makeup he wears is starting to smudge, but makes him seem all the more intimidating. The way he looks alone is enough to drive you wild; if you were not in so much trouble already, you would grab onto him and push his face further in between your legs. He grips your right thigh, moving it further apart from your other one. He digs his fingers into your flesh more and grips your other hip again, making sure you are steady. He tells you to hold onto his shoulders and you do not argue with him as you touch him for balance eagerly. His tongue presses to the inner part of your leg and licks up. It tickles, but at this point any touches Getou gives you, you take. You realize how desperate you are starting to become. You just want to have this man already, but you know he is dragging out these punishments on purpose.

He starts pressing small kisses to your inner thigh, the tenderness feels so good, you had been waiting for such touches ever since you saw him again. With his warm lips on your skin, he could only hope to cover your whole body with his kisses. He sucks lightly on your plump skin giving it more licks, your stomach starting to tighten. You just want him to continue like this forever. Giving him a proper good look, you smile, thinking that he looked so good doing this, being yours. Seeing him like this, you only wish you knew what he was thinking. Was he as obsessed with you as you were with him? Was he as high on you as you were on his touch?

You tighten your legs on his shoulders as you feel his teeth bite the most prominent part of your thigh, shooting up your body like electricity. His lips forming a shit-eating grin, showing how content he was with his work so far. This time he ignores any response you have to his biting and moves to your left thigh.

Immediately he bites it, giving you no time to recover from the last one. This one he made sure was the biggest and deepest one of them all. He was still careful to not draw blood, but he made it deep enough for the bruise to start forming immediately. Your chest is moving rapidly from the pain Getou’s mouth and teeth has caused on your body. You are trying hard to not slip down onto the floor of the shower. You want to say you are almost at your limit, but you want to keep pushing forward, you really do. You need to show him you can be good, you need him to forgive you. You need him.

Getou would not shame you if you wanted to stop, but the fire that was forming in your body was craving more. You two had been away from each other for so long that you wanted to have him every single way you could. In and out, you tell yourself as you slow your breathing, guiding yourself to calm down your breathing. With just one look into Getou’s beautiful eyes, you let him know you are able to continue. “Atta girl.” he says, making your heart skip a beat.

He stands back up, glancing at your body and admiring his work. Quickly, your Master had your wrists pinned in one of his hands above your head and you felt two of his fingers dip to the opening of your sex.

“Insatiable little girl. But if you would take all that I give you…” You do, and you prove it by wrapping your lips around his fingers. He lets go of your wrists and grabs your waist to move you further away from the shower head. Now, you are in front of the ledge that is in the shower, back onto it. He pushes firmly on your shoulders, urging you to kneel down. Your eyes immediately shoot up to him when he says your name for the first time this evening, and even if he was being stern, you always loved the way your name rolled off his tongue. Your wide eyes meet his to make sure you are giving all your attention to him and once he knows you are, he begins to talk again.

“Now, I gave my pretty little doll water earlier, and I thought that might have been enough to hydrate you, but it seems you are still being a needy little slut. Good thing your Master loves to give. To provide, even. So keep your head up and eyes on me.”

“Yes, Master Getou.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Such a good little doll, yet so thirsty and Master is feeling a bit…” Sighs of pleasure. Then a satisfied smile on his lips.

It took you a moment to understand what was actually happening. But as you felt more warm liquid drip down from your neck onto your chest down the rest of your body, you realize it was not water.You could see the shower head behind Geto’s body, he was like a shield. The smell is what got you and made you realize he was peeing on you. You both have done many things before, but this was definitely a first. You had seen it on his list of kinks, it was on your ‘maybe’ and on his ‘yes’. You kept your head up the best you could trying to avoid any of his piss getting on your face. Unfortunately, some got on your mouth from it bouncing off your chest and you try not to flinch, knowing it could make the situation worse for you. Getou’s face is painted with a smirk, his eyes narrowed on you. His smug look alone makes your stomach flutter, you groan slightly, silently. How can he look so good while humiliating you in the worst way?

Finally, the warm stream comes to an end and all you can do is sit there, looking up at your Master. You feel disgusting, in shock, this was unexpected so why were you aroused? Why did this usually vile action of his make you close to begging for it again? Your body is covered in bruises, long-since-gone saliva and piss—you are now also starting to become sore as your body settles in a more comfortable position but cannot get past what happened. Pleasure rises in your body seeing how satisfied your Master looks and fuck, seeing him so pleased only turns you on even with his piss running down your body. If anything you are so happy to have made him feel like this you were ready to tell him to do it again. You would do anything for your Master.

“Oh fuck, you’re being so fucking good to me, my pretty doll. My filth all over you, it’s shameful, it’s degrading, it’s all mine. You are mine. You’re on your knees, covered in your Master’s piss, my fucking piss. Mmm, but it’s not enough.” He shakes his head, “Not for my insatiable girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He grabs the shower head from behind him and points it down on you. Your body jolts from the cold water hitting your skin, goosebumps beginning to form all over. You close your eyes as you feel him spray you down from head to toe, washing away the traces of himself on you. The constant change in temperature is starting to make your head spin as you try to focus on being in Getou’s arms.

You wonder if he will give you any relief. You wonder how much you must beg, ask for his forgiveness. You have hope he will be a little kinder to you, maybe he already forgave you after his punishments. The stream of cold water ends, your skin still feeling the icy prickles coursing through your nerves.

A hand wraps around your bicep, pulling you up to your feet. If it wasn’t for the help, you’re not sure if you’d be able to stand up due to the soreness settling in your body. He pulls your arms around his neck as he wraps his left arm around you, holding you in place. You feel him lean down to give you an open-mouthed kiss, his tongue slipping in to twirl around yours. His right hand wanders down your body, grasping at every curve. He moves both of you back until you feel your legs hit the ledge. He grips your hip, then moves his fingers between your thighs. He rubs one of the spots he bit you in, making you moan into his mouth from the dull pain it brings you. He presses your body closer to him as his kisses deepen more, lips pressing harder against each other.

His index and ring fingers begin to graze your outer lips and make your back arch. You can feel the wetness build up as he moves his fingers closer to your entrance, making sure to avoid your clit. You open your eyes and gaze at him through wet eyelashes as he looks down, smirking at you.

“Fuck, doll, no matter what I do, you are still wet for me. Begging for more with those doe eyes of yours. You really are my very own whore.” he says as he slips his middle finger inside, making you bite your lip. He continues to speak as he moves his finger in and out of you.

“I pissed on you, humiliated you, marked you mine and yet it still seems like that’s not enough!” He grinned, “You savored me marking you like a dog, I can feel how wet you are on my fingers. You really are enjoying my punishments, aren’t you?” he says mocking you, slipping his ring finger into you. You let out a whimper you were trying to hold in, his words making your body heat up again. His fingers stop.

“Answer me.” His face is serious, eyes glaring at you.

“No.”

“No? Careful, you’re missing something there.”

You did not call him Master, but replied, “No, I did not enjoy you marking me like a dog.”

“Are you sure?” He gritted through his teeth, “Because you have been wet since I started your ‘punishments’” He emphasized the word, both of you knowing it was nothing but. “You’ve always been rather the masochist, huh?”

“I just…” As you begin to speak, he starts moving his fingers inside of you again, now hitting the spot he knows that drives you wild.

“You just what, hm? Use your words, whore.” Between his words and fingers, you could only gasp attempts at words. Your Master truly knows how to really make you come undone.

“What Master likes, I will like. What makes you happy makes me happy—please continue, I need you. I’m sorry for what I did, I just–”” Your grip tightens more around his neck, you bury your face into his chest. Even though he loves it when you are begging, it does not make it any less embarrassing. He pulls his fingers out of you, interrupting the pleasure that was starting to build in your stomach. The arm that was wrapped around your body trails up, his hand at the nape of your neck, large fingers lacing at your roots, pulling your head away from his body.

“Then why did you let someone else defile you? You know I’m the only one allowed to touch you.”

“Because I wanted to surprise you. Yuki is your friend, she is talented, I knew she wouldn’t mess up—I knew she would make it match yours perfectly!”

“Are you saying that I couldn’t match it perfectly, that I don’t have the skill to make yours look exactly like mine?”

“No Master, don’t twist my words, I know you could have! You are beyond talented, it’s just—it’s just that Yuki tattooed your original piece, I thought she could tattoo mine” You paused, “I wanted that bond… I wanted us to have it.”

“You thought you should let her tattoo your first large piece instead of me?” Venom is lacing through his words. Before you could blink, he had you facing the other way, back towards him, your right leg now propped up on the ledge. He then enters you in one long push, knocking the breath out of you, making you put your hands out in front of yourself and on the wall to prevent yourself from hitting it. “Let’s refresh your memory and remind you who you belong to.” He said that as he wrapped his left hand around your neck, propping his right leg behind yours for more leverage, digging deeper inside you.

This made you gasp out of breath, having him already so far inside of you. It had been so long since you last felt him that you immediately clenched around his cock, instinctively. This landed you a smack on your inner thigh.

“Oh no no, you don’t get to enjoy this. I know my little pet is needy but this is for me. This is just for me. You’re my free-use hole tonight, okay?”” He says as he continuously moves his hips to match the emphasis on his words.

You try to focus on anything but the feeling of his cock moving deep in and out of you. Anything. Maybe the patterns in the tiles, the way your breath is hitching every time he snaps his hips against you, even the small grunts that get closer to your ear as he leans forward. 

None of it however can distract you from how good his cock feels, grazing every part of you. Your stomach starts tightening more and more, aching for release as you try not to clench again, feeling yourself become wetter.

“Look at how my cock fills you up.” He emphasized each word once more, “It’s making sure your pussy knows who it belongs to.” He suddenly stops his fast rhythm to ensure you feel every single inch of him and you do. The hand around your neck moves down to your stomach, pressing down on it, intensifying the feeling of him moving inside of you. You are nearing your climax, wanting to release desperately. And desperate you were. You start to beg, eyes pleading, mouth barely forming any words.

“Please Master Getou, please, just let me cum. I belong to you, only you, please, please Master, please.” As you beg more, he picks up the pace again pressing harder against, ensuring there is no way you cannot feel him in every way. You are close, you know are gushing more around as you clench around him again. A wave is about to crash around you, then it immediately dissipates as you feel yourself now empty with a smack to your clit making you jolt, and cry out with the echo of Getou whispering, “No” into your ear. The feeling of his breath did not help, the pain on your used clit did. Your orgasm was gone.

You’re nearly crying from the sensitivity ringing through your body. You feel his warmth leave you as he moves away to turn off the shower, telling you to get out. Stepping out of the shower, your Master follows behind you, steering you to the bedroom. The cooler air hits your body, goosebumps starting to form on your skin. You try to keep yourself warm by wrapping your arms around yourself, but it does very little to help. Your eyes are met with his chest as he stands in front of you, your mind wondering what he could possibly do next.

His fingers are now on your cheeks as he pushes them together, making you pout as he directs your face to his again. Fear is curling up your spine as you can see his eyes so dark, finding difficulty in distinguishing where his pupils start and where they end.

“Tell me my doll did not try to go against my command. Tell me my fucking doll did not try to fucking cum.” The small curve forming on his lips with his eyebrows arching up sends a fire through your body that’s doing everything to stay still, gazing up at Getou.

“No, Master.” you plead. He tuts at your response. “Little brat is a liar too?”

“Please sir, I wasn’t going to cum without your permission, I promise!” You know it was a half lie, you almost did cum without him giving you permission, but being away from him for so long has made your body desperate for him.

“Now why are we lying? I know how your body reacts, how it feels, how to control it.” He pauses and gives you a tight smile, “To think you did not learn anything from my punishments….” His smile is wide, almost uncomfortably so, and the way it seems to sharpen at the edges runs chills through your body. It’s like a storm brewing, tense and unforgiving. The sting you feel across your face is like lightning striking down a tree branch, but unlike the branch, someone is there to catch your quivering body. His large hand settles deep in the back of your hair, with his other arm at the base of your ass, pulling you up. The change in position, being on your toes, keeps you alert, staring right at the eye of the storm.

Your Master is silent, his warm breath fanning across your cheeks with a smile. The tears that roll down your face cause your cheek to prickle more, your body throbbing from the stillness you can only hope to be released from. The wetness on your face increases, and you think there are more tears falling, but instead it is Getou’s tongue licking up your cheek, collecting every droplet from your eyes.

“Do you think those tears are going to stop me? If anything, it’s fueling me to teach you more fucking lessons. At least you’ll remember them. Or… we could try one last thing, are you listening?” He pauses, looking at you. You could only give him a soft nod. “A good girl equals a good fuck toy, a fuck toy does not fucking cum. So I’m going to use you again, and if you cum, well… You’re not going to like it if you cum.”

“Please…” you feel your voice falter, the strength you had earlier washed away by your Master’s continuous maneuvering of your body. “I’ll be a good girl, please, use me.”

“Is my little doll tired?” He asked rhetorically, pouting at you, “Good, you won’t give me too much of a fight then.” The grip in your hair is still tight as he makes you lower down to your knees, the tightness in your legs dissipating as you settle into the plushness of the carpet. The coldness in your body starts to numb down even as droplets of water continue to roll down your skin. You ignore the exhilaration pulsating in your limbs.

Your mind is further away, as if the storm swooped it in one go. Your thinking is slowed, eyes more focused on looking up at the stature of the man who fascinates your body. He tells you to open your mouth wide, and you do. The hand that isn’t threaded in your hair is holding his cock right in front of your mouth, an offering. Your mouth takes him as your tongue circles around it, stroking the underside of his head and pressing into his slit.

You hear Getou sigh, an indication of his enjoyment. He urges your head to go deeper, tongue coaxing the veins along the way. He pushes hard, your nose now grazing his happy trail; you feel your throat tighten up as you start to gag. He continues to hold you down until you can hardly breathe, tears coming out of the corners of your eyes.

He pulls your head back, his cock completely slipping out of your mouth as you start coughing, struggling to take in as much air as you could. Your eyes are wide when making contact with his, trying to look for any sign of approval. He lets go of your hair and taps your cheek, “I thought you wanted to be useful? You’re gonna have to loosen up that throat so I can fuck it properly.” You start to nod your head frantically in agreement; his hand is back on your head, shoving you down his length again. This time, he goes much quicker; you can’t help moaning as your lips wrap around him tighter, unable to do any other movement to please him. Almost losing your balance from the pace he has set, you place your hands slightly behind yourself, gripping the threads of the carpet. Your head tilts up, allowing for some relief to the pressure on your throat. He holds you down once more in place and now you can really feel the full length of him down your throat. 

The soreness in your jaw is beginning to settle in. You try to ignore it, listening to the sighs he lets out. He pulls you away once again, your tongue dragging, making sure to feel every part of him. He grunts, “Fuck, it’s much better like this. You really are a fast learner.” He looks down at you and mocks, “It’s hard, isn’t it? To keep yourself from cumming, huh?” A pat on your head, condescending one, he adds, “But you don’t deserve it, I know it and you know it, right? You’ll have to work harder.”

He slides out of your mouth and you keep it open, eyes gazing up as you feel them glazing over, just like any of your conscious thoughts. The only thing you can do at this point is nod your head. The more he puts himself into you, the more you lose your composure. Words are becoming harder to voice; you let your tongue slip out slightly, wetting your lips. A string of saliva drips from your mouth and you see him smirking as he leans down closer to you.

He presses his thumb onto your tongue, letting the mess seep out more down your chin. His thumb follows the trail down your neck. “Look at you, being my good pet,” he says, leg wedging your knees further apart. You sink down further, flush to the carpet, leaning further back on your hands. “Put in the work and I’ll give you a treat.” He stands back up fully, inching closer to you, setting his hand on the back of your head again.

Your lips wrap around him tightly, eyes meeting his in an instant. You raise your eyebrows in an unvoiced question, and he nods in approval. You begin to bob your head up and down slowly, taking charge and making sure he feels your mouth on every part of his cock. You swallow him down all the way as you close your eyes and try to breathe. You feel him twitching as he lets out a groan, the wet sounds from your mouth getting even louder. You pull away, reaching your limit. 

One large breath—that’s all the luxury you get.

The grip on your hair tightens again and you can barely keep up as he fucks into your throat faster. You do your best not to gag every time he bumps the roof of your mouth. Moans are flowing out of both of you, along with obscene, wet sounds. You close your eyes tighter as the pace increases, knowing he is close, forcing your mind to give in and go blank. Getou lets out a loud grunt, and you can feel him shatter. He cums into your mouth and you must remind yourself not to swallow it right away, to make sure you collect it all. He slips out of your mouth as more of his release drips to the corners of your lips, down your chin and neck, and flowing to your chest.

Your eyes slowly open. Through wet lashes you see your Master, chest heaving, eyes narrowed, and that cocky grin that always makes your stomach start to flutter. The hand that is not placed on your head runs through his hair as he gazes down at you. The glint in his eyes tells you that he is admiring his work. Opening your mouth, you stick your tongue out and present it to him, savoring the salty liquid before you are allowed to swallow. He leans over closer to you, your chest heaving as you try and catch your breath, managing to still prop yourself up with your hands. You see the string of clear liquid leave through his lips and fall onto your tongue, mixing in with his cum.

“Now swallow and enjoy every drop of it.” he commands, and you do as you feel his cum and saliva flow down your throat. Once you do, you stick out your tongue showing him there was nothing left. The hand that was behind your head moves to your face, his thumb rubbing your cheek as his index and middle finger on his other hand runs up your chest and neck, collecting the rest of his cum.

“Stupid pet, don’t waste the rest of your meal.” He coos at you, placing his fingers on your tongue with the sticky liquid. You close your mouth, wrapping it around them, tongue swirling around and ensuring you get every drop off. He looks at you with amusement as you clean off his fingers and once you do, he slips them out of your wet cavern. “Such a good, obedient whore for my cock.”

You nod your head and whisper, “I can do better, Master,” throat sore and raspy.

“Good to know, because I’m not done with you yet, I have much more to teach.” His voice is stern, mixed with excitement. Your eyes widen as you study his handsome features, but before your brain can register anything, he picks you up from under your arms and throws you over his shoulder, walking towards the bed. You are becoming dizzy from the blood rushing to your head; you let out a grunt as you feel your ass being slapped then groped by Getou’s large hand. Suddenly, you feel yourself being thrown, your back hitting the mattress, your body relaxing slightly as you lay there.

You feel the mattress dip as Getou climbs on it, moving his body to hover over yours. He begins placing wet kisses along your neck, going down to your chest. His lips are everywhere, kissing every bruise and bite mark along with your untouched skin. He goes down to your left breast, kissing it, his mouth wrapping around your pierced nipple. A moan leaves your lips, back arching, letting him wrap his other arm under you to pull you closer.

You can feel his tongue playing with the metal bar that goes through your skin, sending shivers along it. He pinches your other nipple as he continues to lick and suck at your left one. Another shaky moan is released and you can feel yourself getting wetter, clenching around nothing. Your breaths are getting heavier, wanting to curse him for how talented his mouth is, but it feels so good every single time.

“Already so worked up? I’ve barely done anything.” He grins, “Always so responsive, always so needy.” His words are sweet, but poisonous from how they affect you. His mouth is always affecting you, because all that he says has you feeling so many ways.

“Please Master…”

“Words.” He continues his licking and sucking. “No, wait,” He laughs, “Are you trying to rush me? Doll, I’m only getting started on my meal.” He bites down lightly at your right nipple, pulling at it, making you gasp. “Remember. This isn’t for you, and I’m gonna enjoy this at my slow, painfully slow pace. You may beg, but that’s alright. I enjoy some music while eating.”

He continues the torturous trailing of his tongue on your nipple and skin, now biting around it. Your hips start to roll, searching for any stimulation, and as they do, you feel Getou’s hand slide down your body, stilling them down. Your body shudders as he kisses further down, nipping at your sides. Sliding down further, he wraps his hands around the base of your ass and pulls you closer. He props your knees up, feet planted on the mattress, spreading them wide. He starts to plant kisses traveling up your thigh, biting at the inner parts. Your arms are above your head, fingers gripping into the pillow, the anticipation becoming unbearable.

Your whimpers grow in volume as he inches closer to your sex. He continues his touches on your leg and you try to not squirm, but it is nearly impossible. Your hips keep moving and he stops his bites on your thigh to berate you.

“Move and I stop. Understood?”

You let out a sound of acknowledgement and nod. He slides his fingers up stopping at the top of your inner thigh, your leg twitches slightly.

“How many times should I repeat myself? Use your words.” He continues to stroke his fingers along your thighs.

“I understand, Master.” your breath is shaky along with the words you try to push out from your mouth.

“Mmm, there we go… such a learning curve!” His smirk widens, the obsidian of his eyes shining as the sun is starting to set. The remaining rays cast through the window catch the darkness of his hair and eyes, clinging to it just as he clings on to you. Pulling at the small of your back, he drags you closer, spreading your legs wider. You feel the stretch go through your aching thighs, heels digging further into the mattress. He pulls you up slightly and places a pillow underneath, propping your hips up.

You see him on his knees between your legs, the last of the rays emphasizing each of his tattoos and muscles. Your breath hitches as you try to inhale deeply, acutely aware of the way his eyes scan your entire body as you are exposed to him, and for him only. Burning shame is painting your face and you try to hide it by turning it to the side, hand coming down to cover yourself. As you do, you feel his strong hand bringing yours over your head, clasping both wrists together as his other hand cups your face back to his. 

“Stay… I want to see your every expression while you watch yourself drip on my tongue.“ He then smiles, “I will need you to tell me two things, but they’re one and the same, really. Who this pretty pussy belongs to and who’s making you feel like this—just repeat my name, you know, in case you’re too dumb to understand.”

“Yes, Master.” You say quietly, but you know he heard you as he leans away from you, letting go of your face and hands. He leans back again, gathering his long strands of inky hair, putting it back in a neat ponytail near the top of his head. You keep your eyes on him as his muscles flex, moving the strands of hair out of his face. He could be sculpted into a statue like this, you think, admiring his beauty as you prepare yourself to meet your maker.

He leans in closer between your legs, the tingling sensation spreading through your body with the tension of his skin brushing against yours. With a swift movement, he glides his index and middle finger along your center, barely applying any pressure. The goosebumps begin to surface as he swipes up again, gathering some of your wetness on his fingers. He brings them to his mouth, slipping them between his lips as he licks off your arousal. The moan that escapes you seems to be the fuel that ignites him as the last rays of sun dance gently in his eyes, knowing he has you as one the brightest shining stars. His fingers, now wet with his saliva, press and toy with your hole. He coos at you,

“I don’t know how much of you is going to be left once I’m done, because I sure am hungry,” the last part he says slowly, enunciating each of his words, still grazing his fingers along you. You want to beg, you do, but you know it would not change his course.

Finally, he bends down, licking a long stripe along your folds, tongue pressed flat and hard. You whimper from the warmth and sweet relief, but he still teases, avoiding your most sensitive parts. The tip of this tongue continues to move around as he sucks and kisses in between. Before you can process it, a loud moan rips from your throat as his tongue swipes up on your clit and lips suction around it. Your body pulsates in a never-ending rhythm, the pressure pooling in your stomach.

Your fingers itch to grip onto his strands, but you stop yourself from doing so. Instead, they spread out to each of your sides, nails clawing at the sheets as your back arches further. You can feel your  arousal dripping further down you as you continue to moan. The man causing you so much pleasure does not miss it and moves his tongue to lick it up, making sure not to miss a drop. At this point, your neck is uncomfortably curved back, your eyes staring at the wall above you. 

“Master Getou, Master Getou, please, please…” you start pleading to him, incoherent babbles as your hips rock into his face. His hands are latching onto your waist trying to keep you still, but as his tongue starts moving quickly in and out of your entrance, your body only begins to writhe more. You can feel the heat and pressure increasing as he continues this game of his. Your orgasm is starting to build up fast as your breaths and moans flow out quicker. You start to clench when you feel his tongue flick on your nub again and just as you are so close, ready to let go of everything, you feel it fizzle away as the warmth of his mouth and tongue does too.

You groan loudly as your body settles back into the mattress, your frustrations pooling where your pleasure should have been by now. You’re whispering pleads over and over again, hoping he will give you something, anything.

“It feels good, doesn’t it? Mh? It’s nice…nice doesn’t mean you can relish in it, doll. No cumming, not yet.” he says as he is leaning over you again, his lips close to your ear, but also making sure your bodies are barely touching. “Now who makes you feel so, so good?” he coos at you.

“You, Master Getou.,” you choke out.

“Well taught pet. I’ll give you one opportunity to cum, so sit on my face.” He says as he pulls away and goes to lay down next to you on his back. You turn your head to look at him, wondering if he means it, but in the back of your brain you know it does not matter because you would do anything he says.

“I easily grow impatient. Perhaps a countdown will help? Three–”” he says with the corner of his lips slightly turned up.

You begin to push your body up slowly, feeling all your muscles flexing and tightening trying to make the mere crawl on your way to him. He feels so far away from you when your entire body is this tired, his eyes never leaving you, drawing you in closer. He lays there waiting with his hands behind his head, biceps flexing. His lips stretch out into a lazy smile seeing your effort in coming near him, getting closer to his domain.

You know that although he says he is giving you control, you will always be in the palm of his hand, bending to his will, letting it swallow you whole. Your legs finally straddle his shoulders. You’re holding yourself up as much as you can as you look at the view below. His eyes are still peering at you, looking at every inch of your body. His hands come out from behind his head and you feel them sliding up the back of your thighs, grabbing at your skin as they go up to your waist. His fingertips fuse with your skin as he grips you tighter.

His voice ripples through you, making your body more alert.

“Finally. I am famished.” Each word he emphasizes makes your body almost drop over him, but he keeps hold of you as he pulls you close so you are now on top of his face.

Unlike before, his tongue is quick to lick every part of your pussy. Tracing every single line, every fold. His fingers move as if he wants to weave them in between your ribs, to have you intertwined with his body in every way possible.

You start rocking your hips, wanting more. His nose hits your clit over and over again, making little whimpers slide from the back of your throat. His moaning and hot breath against you has your stomach tightening as your arousal increases. As his tongue moves in and out of your hole, your hands graze up your own body, your fingers starting to trace your nipples lightly.

A low moan leaves you as Getou’s lips suck hard on your clit and one of his hands clashes with one of your ass cheeks, making you pull harder on your nipples. Sweat starts pooling at the nape of your neck, your body prickling with warmth. The sensation is starting to become too much to bear.

You can feel your wetness growing as Getou starts sucking on your skin, the sounds gradually escalating in the room. His hands make their new home on the back of your thighs, gripping them tightly, securing your spot on his face. Gasps are flowing through you as you start to clench around his tongue. You’re feeling each sound he vibrates against you, tongue still flicking and sliding on every crevice followed by his lips.

You are not sure if you can hold it in any longer as the fuzziness starts taking over your head and the shaking of your legs is beyond your control. His lips are now on your clit again sucking hard and you nearly scream from the pleasure that shoots through your body. This is the closest you have been to letting go all evening and it feels so good, you wish you could be in this position all the time. You are ready to release all the buildup and all the tension that has been stored in since the beginning of the evening.

Your high has been ripped away from you again. You are now on your back, pressed into the mattress. You are heaving, chest rising quickly, the vibrations of your body stopping completely. The tears rolling out from the corner of your eyes fall down the side of your face and you can feel the wetness pooling in your ears. The frustration rises through your body as you have been denied your orgasm yet another time. You want to crawl away, curl up and hide somewhere, knowing Getou may not even let you reach your peak. You would get away from him, you really would, but the soreness of your body is settling into the deepest parts of your muscles, making it difficult to move. And in any case, you know Getou would only drag you right back. 

“Oh? Is my pet crying? Try harder, add more tears, it’s bound to make me merciful, right?” he says condescendingly, “I did tell you this was not about you, but you are so greedy you let your silly brain make you believe you would cum! Hah!” 

You continue to lay there in your hazed state, trying to grasp the words Getou is saying to you. You are trying to listen, but the exhaustion is starting to kick in, your mind wandering somewhere else. A grunt leaves your mouth as you feel your body being rolled over, stomach now pressing into the mattress as your head is turning to one side. The warmth of Getou’s body is over yours, chest onto your back, his arms caging in on either side of you. His lips brush against your ear; kissing, licking, biting at it as he continues to talk to you.

“Tired?“ This time it was him, your boyfriend, not your Master, you could hear it in his voice. Lowering his tone, it was like a confession as he spoke, “You know we can stop at any time. If you say you are done, then you are done and I stop. We can relax for the rest of the evening.” He smiled sweetly, “Limits are there to be respected, for both of us to enjoy this. Don’t push yourself to an extreme you would regret, sweetheart.”

His words start to resonate with you and there is a part of you that is honestly exhausted, who would love nothing more than a hot bath and to curl up in bed, but the other part of you still wants more. You still wanted to feel everything Getou has to offer you. You find the strength to answer him, “I can take more, Master.””

“What is your color?”

“Green.”

He smiles, “I knew my little whore had some spunk to her,” he says as his teeth dug into your shoulder. “Now what do you want more of?”

“All of you. I am yours…” You know you are breaking the scene by not calling him Master or sir, but you also know showing your sincerity and want, your need for him to continue tells him you could keep going.

“That’s my fucking girl. Always so good for me. You know how much I love to be in my pussy,” the huskiness in his tone makes your stomach flutter, your heart beating quicker as his lips brush against the side of your face.

His body still flush against yours, you feel one of his hands travel down, pushing your legs apart slightly as he begins to brush two of his fingers on your heat. Your body twitches slightly from his touches; everything is so sensitive, but the feeling of pleasure rising again was tasting so good.

“Look at my pussy, always so wet for me. Always so sensitive. How can it always be dripping for me like this? Does your pussy need me that bad?”

“Please Master Getou, please please I need you. Please stop teasing, I need you inside me. It… it’s all yours… just…”

“Of course it’s all mine,” he says as you can feel the tip against your opening, “Look how… responsive my pussy is for me…” he continues to say, pushing himself more into you. You moan from the stretch of his cock filling you, pulsating around him. Once he is all the way inside, your back arches into him more, making him hit even deeper than he already is. His hand comes back near your face, pads of his fingers brushing against your lips as you taste yourself. Your mouth wraps around his fingers more, sucking as he begins rocking his hips slowly against your ass. You release more moans as his fingers greedily press against your tongue, coaxing all the sounds out. You continue to arch and move your hips to meet his, trying to feel every bit of him inside of you. The warmth in your face grows as he continues to kiss and bite at your ear and neck, whispering how your pussy is his and his alone.

His thrusts start to become faster and deeper, your hands reaching out to grip the sheets as whimpers and gasps leave your mouth to fill up the room, combined with his heavy breaths. Removing his fingers from your mouth, they make home onto your neck, holding it snug in his grip. You begin to clench more around him as his thrusts start to hit a pleasurable spot. You wish you could grip him tighter and hold him in place, where he can continuously rub against that one spot only.

“Look how my pussy wants to hold onto me. She is so needy, isn’t she? And you are too, my little pet?” he states between ragged breaths. You are not sure if you can form anything coherent to answer him back as he keeps sliding in and out of you, making you gasp.

“She… she is so needy… only for you. All yours, Master… it’s all yours…” you manage to breathe out.

You feel him rise and you groan as the cold air hits your back. His arm pulls at your waist as he brings you up with him, and you settle on your forearms in the new position. His other arm wraps around your neck and shoulders, pulling you up so your back is pressed against his chest again.

He holds you tight in between his arms, ensuring your movements are limited. You feel his pace quickening as your body rocks with his, the sound of skin slapping and rubbing against each other grows louder alongside both you and your Master's moans. Your knees are barely on the mattress with him thrusting so powerfully and holding you so close to his body.

His fingers start to slowly rub circles on your clit. You cannot help but let out a high pitched gasp. The pressure you feel between your legs and your lower stomach becomes greater and you feel yourself gushing as he twirls his fingers around your nub more, keeping up his pace. His other hand grabs your jaw and turns it back towards him giving you a passionate open-mouthed kiss. Lips and teeth crash together in a fight of who wants more of the other. You are teetering on the line of it not being enough and all too much, all at once. Getou is sliding in and out of you at such a pace that your vision goes dark. He puts more pressure on your clit and the wave is beginning to consume your body.

You let out a grunt, thinking you are finally letting go, but are shocked by your body crashing into the mattress. When your eyes finally adjust, you notice that he is balancing his weight on one of his knees, his other leg extended out in front of him with his foot pressing on your head. You start to feel a warm, thick liquid on your back; he has found his release. You groan again as you have been denied for who knows how many times.

“Doll, all your attention is on me. It should always be on me. Now remember, I’ll leave a longer lasting impression than that tattoo ever will.”

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A/N: Well I hope you all enjoyed the fic. So the backstory of writing this was a challenge from the discord server I am a part of. We were talking about what fictional character you would basically let them do anything. I of course chose this God of a man. Then it went on to kinks and what would be hard nos or hard yeses or maybes. So obviously the piss kink get brought up and it started it as a joke, but then it formed to a challenge and 13.8k words later, here we are!

Please give this fic some love, it will be greatly appreciated!

Crossover Post on ao3

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[planetharrie]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Waiting from Home

In which Harry comforts Lucille after she finds out some terrible news about her sister.

Warnings: Contains very slight mentions of vomiting.

⭐️

When Harry received a dazed call from his girlfriend in the early evening, (barely) explaining she was in hospital, he all but pounced from the sofa he was sunken on.

He’d messaged Lucille just after 7 P.M that night, wondering about her whereabouts,

‘Hey, where are you? Dinners ready :) x’ was his message and he balanced his phone on his thigh, Lucille’s contact open so that he could read her message when it came through. Her iMessage bubble popped up, Harry watched the three little dots fade in and out as she typed before they disappeared all together.

He frowned and picked up his phone, ready type a second message to prompt her to reply, when a banner notification popped down. Lucille ICE read the caller ID and Harry’s thumb automatically pressed accept.

“Hullo, Lovie. Is everything oka—” Harry was interrupted with a sniffle and muffled sob, “Luce? Wha-What’s wrong? Talk to me—”

“Harry—”

“Yeah, Baby. ‘M here, are you alright?” Harry sat up and leant his elbows atop his knees and clutched the phone tight to his right ear. He was met with broken sentences and blubber as his girlfriend attempted to explain the situation from the other end of the receiver.

Usually, Harry would have the patience to allow others to cry and calm down a little before speaking, but in this case, he was so concerned he was getting slightly frustrated with the incoherent responses.

“Lucille, Love, I’m here. Just try and explain—”

“Hospital—I’m i-in the hospital.” Lucille muffled another sob before sucking in a deep breath, “Harry, I—”

Harry was on his feet in an instance, his left hand frantically feeling his joggers’ pockets for his keys. “Fuck, Luce. Do you need me? I-I’m coming, Love—”

“No! No, i-it’s okay. I’m in the,” she took in a shaky breath, her speakers going distorted for a second. “I’m in the waiting room. It’s Sam.”

Harry slowed down, his hand hovering over the front door handle. “Sam? As in your sister, Sam?”

“Yeah! Oh god.” Lucille’s voice broke, seemingly still in shock that it’s her own sister that’s in A&E; she honestly hadn’t processed it until Harry had asked. She began weeping again and Harry’s heart shattered. His eyes trail up to the ceiling as he blinks back his own sympathy tears and swallowed the anxious burn at the back of his throat. He sucked in a short breath and lowered himself to sit on one of the bottom stairs; he had to stay calm, collected and supportive for Lucille.

He found it almost challenging to hold back his own flurry of tears; hearing his wife sob through a speaker, alone in a cold and bare room alone was fucking torture. Knowing he couldn’t simply scoop her up, hold her, kiss her head, whisper caring and comforting words into her hair. Knowing he couldn’t make her feel safe at that very moment made him feel sick. And not only that, but his sister-in-law was also in a bad way; he didn’t know any details but Sam was very important to him too. They were close, basically like biological siblings. She was important to Lucille so she was vital to Harry.

“Alright, Baby, it’s alright. . . just take a deep breath for me,” Harry listened to her regulate a couple of breaths before coughing and a taking some more. “That’s it, Luce, well done. You’re going to be okay. .”

She hummed into the mic and sniffed.

“Now, do you need me to come down to St John’s? Is that where you are?”

Lucille began nodding but quickly realised Harry couldn’t see her. Now she felt stupid. Her emotions were high and beyond regulated and her face crumpled with tears streaming again. She couldn’t focus on a thing, and after not replying to Harry for a good 20 seconds, she got spooked when he spoke again.

“Luce?—”

“Yes, it’s St John’s Hospital. B-but no, you’re okay. I’m okay. Y-you don’t have to come, Harry.”

Harry frowned and shuffled on the step, “Are you sure? Lucille, I hate the thought of you there alone.”

“I’m not. Well, I won’t be; I think my brother-in-law is on his way, so Luke will be with me.” Lucille explained, her voice far more calm and understandable. “I’ll be okay.”

Harry sighed and rubbed his face, staring at the gap between his feet. His heart physically throbbed at the thought of his wife sat alone with her own thoughts in a silent room. He wanted to be there. But Sam’s partner, Luke, would hopefully be there soon. He was a great guy and Lucille felt safe with him.

“Okay, i-if that’s what you want, Love. I’ll come pick you up then?”

“No; I’m going to be here a-awhile, Harry. I don’t want to keep you up, you have work and—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Lucille. I don’t care about work, right now. All I care about is you and Sam. I’ll stay up for how ever long you need.” Harry’s voice was short. He hadn’t intended for it to come out so sharp and impatient as it did. “Sorry. I’m just worried, Love.”

There was a slight pause on Lucille’s side before she audibly swallowed. “I know, Harry. Look—Luke‘s just arrived. He’s messaged me to met him at the entrance. I’ll be okay. I’ll get a taxi home.”

“Lucille—“

“I’ve called Stacey, I think she’s going to come keep me company; don’t worry. I better go ‘cause Luke’s waiting. I love you. .”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and reluctantly accepted defeat. “I love you too, Luce. I’ll see you later.”

Then the call ended. Harry dropped his phone to the step bellow him and he rubbed his face until it went red. This was sick; he felt like such a shitty, useless husband not being at his wife’s side. But he reminded himself that this is what she wanted and he must respect that.

She has her brother and best friend with her ,

she has a her brother and best friend there,

her brother and best friend are there, she is not alone. .

Was what Harry had to rhyme to himself for the rest of the night to calm his anxiety. He refused to go to bed. He refused to get changed into his pyjamas. He refused to eat the food he made for the both of them. He refused to continue on with his evening, their evening, without Lucille.

So he sunk into the sofa, put his ringer on as loud as possible and stared aimlessly at the flicker of the TV for the remainder of the night.

At around 11, later that same night, Harry woke up to his phone ringing; he must’ve dropped off to sleep at some point.

His eyes squinted, adjusting to the blue light streaming at him from the telly and his phone. The caller ID once again had Lucille ICE flashing at him and he sat up.

He accepted the call and blinked. “Lucille?”

“Hello, Harry?”

“Who’s this? Stacey?”

“Uh—yeah, hiya, it’s me. Look Harry, I’ve just rung a taxi for Lucille. She really needs to come home.”

Harry frowned and sat up even straighter, “I offered to come collect her but she said no.”

“Yup, yeah she told me but she’s stubborn as fuck.” Harry nodded to himself, “anyways, she’s not in great shape. Her eyes are bloodshot and she was practically falling asleep in the chair. She refused to eat and drink anything. She really needs to come home.”

“Yeah, of course. Thanks, Stacey, I’ll look out for the car. Um,” Harry paused and recollected his thoughts, “did—did you hear anything more about Sam? Do we even know what happened?”

Stacey sighed, indicating it wasn’t great news. “Hit ‘n run basically. There’s not severe injuries, thank fuck, but she’s got a few broken bones, concussion. .”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. It sounded awful but he was relieved that no catastrophic injuries took place. A hit and run, how terrible. .

“Jesus. .”

“Oh, that taxis here. Luce, cmon stay awake for me, time to get you home, Babe.” There was a groan and some muffled movements coming from Stacey’s call. “Gotta go, H. She’ll be with you shortly, bye!”

Harry tossed his phone to the side and stood up. His blanket fell from his upright body and crumpled to the ground. He picked it back up, deciding he’d wrap Lucille up in it when she arrived home to keep her warm.

In the 20 minutes it took for Lucille’s taxi to arrive home, Harry had got the bedroom and bathroom ready for her. He’d made the bed all comfy, with a few of her collected Jelly Cats sat up waiting for her. He’d turned on only one lamp so that it was dim and cozy; Harry did not want to overstimulate or overwhelm her.

In the bathroom, a bath had been run with lavender-scented bath salts scattered in the warm water. Lucille’s pink flannel and matching towel were folded neatly on the closed toilet seat along with her pyjamas. Harry figured a quick warm bath would make her feel better; it would relax her a little bit before bed and she’d hopefully feel a little better within herself with clean hair, a clean body and—ultimately—a clean(er) mind.

As Harry went to shut the bedroom blinds, he spots a black taxi pull up onto the driveway, it’s headlights seeping in through the windows. Harry bounded down the steps and jogged out to the car.

He went to the passenger-side window and tapped on the glass. The driver rolled down the window.

“Hey buddy,” Harry handed him a folded £20 note. “cheers mate.”

Harry shuffled sideways and opened the rear door. Lucille sat behind the driver, her head slumped against the door, eyes fluttering shut. He knelt a knee on the seat and reached in for her, scooping his arms under her knees and around her back.

“Cm’ere, I’ve gotcha. .”

Lucille cradled in his arms, barely awake. Harry kicked the car door shut gently and thanked the driver once again through the passenger window and hurried them both inside.

⭐️

“Everything’s going to be okay. .” Harry cooed softly to his wife as he gently washed her face with a damp flannel. Lucille was slumped against the side of the tub, her small hand being used as a pillow to protect her head from the hard porcelain. “You’re going to be okay, Lovely.”

He ran the flannel across her forehead and looked down at her eyes. They were distant. Almost like there was nothing behind them; no thoughts, no emotion. The flannel was dunked back into the bath water before it trailed softly over her pale shoulder and down her arm.

Her naked body was curled up against the side and her long hair trailed down her back, wet after Harry’d washed it.

He took his eyes off Lucille for the first time in a little while to squeeze out the excess water from the flannel and drape it on the edge of the tub. Harry’s attention is back on his wife in an instant and he reaches over to cup her shoulder. His green eyes scan her pale features, searching for something; anything,

He hummed and copied Lucille’s position, using his left hand as a bony pillow for his cheek as he rested it on the bathtub. His finger softly rubs her damp skin and begins to hum a song softly.

Her eyes slowly wonder up to his and Harry gives a small smile, reaching up to stroke her cheek.

“Hi there.” He whispers. Lucille blinks slowly and Harry took that as her way of saying hello back. “Are you hungry, Darling? Do you want some tea? Toast?” His whisper continues but he notices a slight shift in her eyes. They went from content and sleepy to a slight panic-like glimmer. She began sitting up, her face looking flustered.

“Harry—“ she choked out as she used all of her strength to life her chin over the side of the tub, where she suddenly coughed and vomited onto the bathroom floor.

Harry’s hands immediately went to her back and forehead, supporting her weight so that she didn’t slip and fall. He rubbed a small circle on her back to coax anything else up. Lucille coughed over the small puddle of, well, nothing. It was mainly water. She was left panting, her eyes wide like saucers as she realised she’d just been sick.

“Oh, it’s okay, Luce.” Harry cooed, stroking back her wet hair. “let’s get you out of here, hm?”

10 minutes later, Lucille is tucked in in bed; wrapped up in her favourite pyjamas and the quilt tugged up to her chin. Harry is laying next to her, on top of the duvet, soothing her hair back and waiting for her to drift to sleep.

It had been a long, difficult and scary night for the both of them but especially Lucille. The best thing for her was rest. Harry figured he’d try getting her to eat in the morning. He then remembered he still had the bath to drain and the small puddle of vomit to clean up but that could wait.

The stress-induced vomiting had honestly scared him; the fact that she only threw-up maybe a mouthful of digested water made Harry feel sick himself—he hated the thought of his wife not being able to eat anything because she’s so sick with worry and anxiety.

“You’re so strong, Lucille. I hope you know that. Your sister is strong too and she’s going to be okay.” He whispered to her, despite her being fast asleep. He listened to her breathe, soft and faint snores coming from her nose.

Getting tired himself, he left the bedroom and went in to tidy and clean-up the bathroom before climbing back into bed—for real this time. Harry leant over and pecked the softest kiss on his wife’s forehead, not wanting to wake her before cozying down himself and letting his body drift into a slumber.

⭐️

[janmisali]

Cyrillic English (more detailed description)

a while ago I made a post showing off a system I came up with for writing English in Cyrillic, while still preserving the wacky features of English orthography we all know and love. I never actually bothered formally defining how it’s supposed to work though beyond just a few key details, so let’s do that now!

most letters are replaced one-to-one. while there is some consideration given to how words are pronounced, it’s important for spellings that don’t make sense in the Latin orthography to still not make sense.

(this chart ignores digraphs, which I’ll get to in a sec)

most of these mappings are the exact thing someone who knows how to read the Cyrillic alphabet would expect, but here’s some things worth pointing out:

the two transcriptions for c are used for “hard c” (/k/) and “soft “c” (/s/), with c /s/ transcribed as though it were pronounced [ts]

in the original post I transcribed “language” with дж for “soft g”, but since the pronunciation of g in English is far less predictable than c, having a separate thing for soft g feels too much like it’s fixing broken spellings, so I’m retconning that out of this system

e is written with the “soft sign” when it’s silent. much like silent e in English, the Cyrillic letter ь is something that used to be pronounced as a vowel but now indicates a change in pronunciation of other nearby letters

for those used to Russian spelling, yes, е is being used for normal e and not for “ye”. since e in English does cause “palatalization” on consonants before it (soft c and g), I think this is fine.

h is transcribed as though it were pronounced /x/, but see below for digraphs

the distinction between k and q is lost, with no special case given for <qu> (it’s just transcribed as though it were <ku>)

s is always с, even when it’s voiced

u is transcribed with ю when it’s pronounced like /juː/, as in кють “cute” (or reduced versions of this as in прессюрь “pressure”), and with у in all other contexts

w is given the letter ў (short u), a letter that doesn’t appear in Russian but really is just the most sensible way to write /w/ in Cyrillic

x is transcribed with the sequence кз (kz), regardless of pronunciation

y is written as й (short i) as a consonant, including when it appears as part of a digraph as in плай “play”, and as ы (yery) as a vowel

this stuff is pretty basic. the biggest change is with digraphs. languages written with Cyrillic don’t use digraphs nearly as often as languages written with the Latin alphabet, so those should be dealt with.

the digraphs ph, th, and ch were introduced into the Latin alphabet to transcribe the Greek letters phi, theta, and chi. when they are pronounced the way they are in Greek loanwords (regardless of actual etymology), these three digraphs are transcribed using the Cyrillic letters that directly descend from the Greek letters they are meant to represent. this includes the archaic letter ѳ (fita), the most direct analogue to English <th> in the Cyrillic script.

for normal ch (and the “soft” ch of relatively recent French loans, while we’re at it), the letter ч is the best fit, and similarly ш makes perfect sense for sh.

wh is transcribed as though it were always pronounced /hw/, including in words like “who” where it definitely is not /hw/.

gh is either transcribed like normal g (when pronounced as such) or as /x/. х is used when gh is silent (as in ѳроух “through”) or pronounced like /f/ (as in роух “rough”), transcribed according to the historical pronunciation of these words.

then finally, while <ya> is not really a digraph in English in any meaningful sense, using Cyrillic and not making use of the letter я just feels plain wrong, so it’s used for words like Янкее (Yankee).

these digraph rules depend partially on pronunciation, not entirely spelling, so like “lighthouse” is лихтхоусь with a тх rather than *лихѳоусь with a ѳ.

[plscallmeeren]

P E R S O N A L P T 2

Jessica Jones x Reader

Request: yes

Summary: you're a natural born fighter (martial arts, fire manipulation) who fought for money and enlisted in SHIELD to avoid jail, then got kicked out again. You now reside in Hell's Kitchen

Warnings: s mentions ig; unedited

Word Count: 1.3K+

Jessica stared at her phone. Your name was almost as daunting as the numbers beneath it. She didn't really need help. She never did, though. And somehow that would be worse.

(Y/n) (Y/l/n).

Her lips barely moved as she shaped your name once again. What a strange curve that one syllable was, what a sharp point, just like your tongue.

She groaned. This wasn't helping. Maybe she needed to remove you from her system? Entertain the possibility once, so that you could be forgotten forever?

Jessica dismissed the tempting theory, as she had so far. Too good to be true. Far too good.

But what else could she do? Her concentration wavered in every respect; she couldn't help but wonder whether you would judge her for her late-night drink, what sleeping habits you might have as she took notes of a case's.

(Y/n) (Y/l/n).

Damn it.

She picked up the phone.

•••

You stared at your phone. One missed call from Jessica Jones.

How could you have missed it? Such an important thing, such a reverent moment. And why had she called? Had she needed help? Had something happened, and it was your fault not to have shown up?

"If you're ever in a jam even you can't handle - or don't want to handle - give me a call."

You picked up the phone.

It rang.

It rang again.

And again.

You cursed; the majority unheard of. You picked up the keys you had just put down and headed for the door, not one glance back.

Her business card crumbled in your hand, though you hardly noticed.

•••

The door that advertised her agency was broken, clouded glass held together by stubborn duct tape. There were no signs of a fight from the outside, but who knew where she had even called from...

You pressed a palm against the lock, pushing with all your might so that the door spring open.

"Hello? Are you here?" you called, adamantly refusing your voice to waver. Where else would you look if she wasn't here? You had no idea where she went...

"How did you get in here?" a voice behind you asked, and before you knew what you were doing, you had spun around, hands outstretched as if to fight.

Jessica.

The name sounded so right, so fitting now that you knew it. Every inch of her screamed it - she was her name, nothing else.

"I- You called."

"Yeah, that doesn't answer my question."

"No, I- I called back, and you didn't pick up, and considering I told you to call me if you were having any problems... I guess I got worried." You stared at her, subconsciously checking to see if she was alright. Her cheeks flushed.

"Well, sorry, no need to save me," she said cruelly, inspecting the lock on her door for damage before turning back to you. "But I guess now that you're here..."

"Yeah?"

"Well. I don't know. I've been thinking about you," she whispered, trying to sound seductive and coming across far too needy. But surely, that would have you stripping in no time, right?

You didn't budge, and just like last time, it was her who did the familiar approaching, the brush of the hand against an inch of your body.

"I've been thinking, too," you said slowly. "It's quite the distraction."

"My thoughts exactly."

"What do you propose?" you husked, and a shiver ran down her spine when you placed a gentle row of digits against her hips, almost as if to keep her at bay.

"Get it out of our system, how does that sound?"

"It sounds good," you chuckled. "Too good."

She blinked slowly, then walked away. You were far too difficult to convince. And yet... and yet no one-night-stand made her feel the way she did when you came bursting in like some brute, just because she hadn't answered the phone. That was pretty nice.

You couldn't stop staring at her, feeling more and more ridiculous at having broken in as you did. Her shiny black hair curved around her shoulders, face pale but shining beside those dark eyes.

"I should go," you said steadily, though it seemed suspiciously close to a question, that traitorous intonation.

"You should," she agreed, and you told yourself five lies so that your feet would move. One, you would see her again. Two, she didn't like you. Three, she was playing, and you refused to be played. Four, there were others like her. Five, (the biggest one,) you didn't care either.

She waited only until the door closed behind you to pull the liquor bottle closest to her even closer. She stared at it. Maybe you would come back, bursting in again. She stared a little longer, then put it away. Not today, she thought, never wondering how long today could be.

•••

Thursday night.

You wondered whether she would be there. You didn't care, though. Yes, she was beautiful and clever and mysterious, but those were just words. Nothing that couldn't be projected into nearly anyone.

She wasn't there. You couldn't hide the disappointment from yourself. You sat down, shoulders slumped and height stolen, beer for once not just for fun.

You closed your eyes. There she was again, Jessica. Jessica. Jessica. Not like you knew her. Maybe someone else did. Here, behind your lids, in a private theatre, she wore a summer dress and a big hat, and she was smiling. Laughing. Laughing like there was nothing else to do. Occasionally, the image shifted, and she would once again be wearing her leather jacket and grey pants, but always she was laughing.

She was laughing even, when your mind undressed her, at first not sensually, only exposing some cherished vulnerability. Not for long, however, as you imagined waves of her body, the mould of your palms holding her...

"Didn't see you there," her voice erupted nearby, and it took you a moment to understand you were not dreaming it. "Didn't take you for a daydreamer."

"Only when there's something worth daydreaming about," you replied easily, opening your eyes. She licked her lips, unsure whether you meant what she hoped.

"What's that? Your man-cave?"

"Oh, so I strike you not as a dreamer, but as someone who has a man-cave? How flattering."

"I give you only the truth."

"Now that, I believe." You held each other's gazes, for a moment, until you couldn't stand it. "Okay, admit then, that you secretly enjoy watching Next Top-model or whatever and listening to Fleetwood Mac."

"I'm not ashamed of Fleetwood Mac."

"I'd hope so, but thought I'd give you an easy one. What about the other."

She glared at you, proceeded to mockingly play with her nails. "Well, at times, I enjoy trash talking..."

"Knew it." She laughed. It was better than you imagined.

Beers came and went, and all the while conversation was good, fun. You didn't spare too many thoughts on what had happened last week.

"I'll be right back," she said eventually, taking off to the barely existing bathroom.

You sat silently for a minute. It was unbearable, knowing she was nearby, and yet not near enough. You sprang up, headed to the bathroom yourself with no eligible reasoning.

You opened the door, and there she stood, yet again. Surprised, slightly, but not really, just drying her hands.

You were practically cornering her in the tiny space, looking down at her; the dim light from the old glove highlighting only the accents of her features. You could have swooned for the first time in your life. Your hands found her waist - a lifeline, you told yourself.

"We've gotta stop meeting like this," she whispered, the smile audible in her voice, even if you couldn't see it.

"Yeah, we've got to."

Your lips were on hers and her hands were in your hair and every part was better and still.

Still it wasn't personal enough.

[phantomdoofer]

Una nuova vita

Walking up the stairs, Sergio wrung the sweat from his mustache. Mio Dio, what a day. First his day job in construction had run long - there had been another accident, and only Sergio's extreme speed had prevented deaths. I told him again and again that crane was about to break. As it was, the clean-up had taken much longer than expected, because his boss was too busy trying to blame them for his mistakes. The word of some immigrant nobody doesn't mean much, though. It wasn't like he wasn't trying. He and Margherita were both working towards the citizenship test, but that cost money. And with the bambino on the way, we have to be careful.

Then, when he arrived at his night school, his teacher had been totally unforgiving of his lateness. "Sergio, if you want to be a chef, you must be better than this. It must be your life," he had said. Oh yes, he thought sullenly, all of us are famous retired chefs with all the time in the world, you don't have a family to raise... he quashed that line of thinking. He knows, Sergio, he knows. But he cannot show favoritism. Some of the other students would take advantage.

He sighed, and fumbled for the key to their little apartment with tired fingers. One day, we'll have more than this. He quietly opened the door, slipped inside, and closed it behind him. He turned and shuffled down the tiny hallway to their common room. He was a large man, and the apartment was tiny to him.

He saw Margherita sitting in the recliner, looking tired. Despite being pregnant, she was working hard too - they couldn't afford not to. She moved to get up and greet him - she was not showing much yet, but she was so tiny it already shifted her weight.

"No, no, amore mio, siediti e riposati." He gently pushed her back into the chair, then leaned to kiss her forehead. The chair was sized for him, and the tiny woman was engulfed in it. But it was the only comfortable chair in the house. "How was-a your day?"

She sighed. "I found out today they offer leave for mothers. The other women told me. The supervisor said they were surprised I had not already put in a request. It even offers pay!"

Grazie a Dio per quello. "Good. I was-a worried how we would support ourselves while you took care of the bambino. I know your-a friends have offered, but..."

She smiled. "I know. You worry too much, Sergio." She patted his hand. "People take care of people."

He reached out and gently caressed her belly with a large hand. "I know. But I can't-a help it. We came-a here seeking a new life, away from your family... and-a their ways." He frowned. They had not approved of her marriage to a poor commoner. They had tried to hide her, but she had broken free, reached him, and they had left for a new home. "I can't-a help but worry. We have no support here. What if something-a happens to me at the workplace? Or to you?" He leaned on the arm of the chair; it creaked alarmingly.

She punched him in the arm. "Sergio Spaghetti, fermare. We will make it. One way or the other. Besides, it's not like you aren't working hard to improve yourself. How was school?"

He smirked despite himself. "Bene. It seems I did-a inherit the family talent. The insegnante is harsh, but I have-a done everything he asks and he can find no fault. His nipote Bruno is-a so jealous." He laughed. "Despite only being five. That one will-a be something else, I can tell you. Better already than-a some of the students. But proud. His nonno chastises him constantly." He shrugged. "The final test is-a next week, and the insegnante told me privately he expects me to have-a no problems. He's already put in word for me at one of his restaurants, a pizzeria." He rubbed his wife's belly again. "That boy makes me wonder how this one will turn out."

She smiled. "We'll know soon enough, Sergio. In time." She struggled up from the chair. "Come. I made some spaghetti for us. I know how you like it."

He smiled. After pizza, it was his favorite food. "You know me so well."

She laughed, the sound dancing in his heart and lifting it up like nothing else. "Of course! I wouldn't have run away with you if I didn't want to spend my life with you!" She punched him in the arm again, too hard.

He rubbed the spot. She was small, but she hit like a truck. "Dolcemente, donna, dolcemente! I need that for work," He laughed.

Laughing together, they sat to eat. It's not much yet, he thought, but I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

~~~~

"Oy! Sergio! You got a phone call!" one of the other pizzaiolo called.

Sergio quickly put down the crust he was tossing and dusted his hands. "Sto arrivando!" He picked up the phone. "Pronto!"

Margherita's voice answered, calm and tense at once. "It's time, Sergio. The contractions have begun."

His stomach clenched and fluttered and tossed all at once. He tried not to panic. Oh Mio Dio! "I'll-a be-a there at once, amore mio!" He hung up the phone.

His boss was standing behind him. "The contractions have begun, I assume?" He grinned. "Don't worry about here. Go, man, go!"

"Grazie, signore, grazie!" He quickly whipped off his apron and hat, hung them on their hook, grabbed his effects, and dashed out the door. He was halfway down the block before he realized he'd taken off on foot, instead of taking the car. He skidded as he turned around, blazing back at inhuman speeds, jumped into the vehicle, and took off as fast as he could. Stupido, stupido! Did you intend to carry her to the hospital in your arms? While he had inherited his family's signature speed, he only had normal human strength, and while above average, Margherita was much stronger than him due to her family's own talents. If the bambino inherits both our talents, we'll have to keep him in a concrete crib!

He screeched to a stop outside their apartment. Margherita was already waiting, looking remarkably composed for a woman in labor. She's always been the strong one.

She opened the door, handed him her bag, and got in. "Grazie, Sergio, we must hurry. My water has already broken."

Tha ratcheted his anxiety up several more levels. Oh Mio Dio, it could be any moment! He threw the car in gear and headed to the hospital.

~~~~

Sergio struggled to get on the scrubs he'd been given. They were designed for someone a bit less... weighty. But they wouldn't allow him into the birthing room without them. He understood, but he was frustrated. They could arrive any second! I want - I have to be there! He hopped on one leg, growling as he restrained his temper, muttering a string of virulent Italian curses under his breath at the scrubs' designer. He wanted to just shove his foot through the damn thing and be done, tear or no. It was caught on his shoe. He finally managed to work the foot through, and Sergio practically broke through the wall to get into the delivery room.

Margherita was already well along, her face covered in sweat. She groaned as she pushed. He rushed to her side, engulfing her tiny hand in his. "Amore mio, cosa hai bisogno che io faccia?"

She turned and tried to smile, but it became a wince of pain. "They're almost here, amore mio. Just... hold my hand."

He nodded. She focused on breathing and pushing. He tried not to jump out of his skin with fear and concern at every twitch and breath. How women manage this I'll never understand.

Finally Margherita released a huge breath, and a loud, shrill cry filled the air. "It's a boy! And listen to the lungs on him!" Indeed, the small figure seemed to be downright furious, his face red as he wailed his displeasure to the world.

Sergio was enchanted. Our son. It had had a sense of unreality until this moment. And now, he was here. Small and angry and full of life. As the doctors cleaned the newborn up, he turned to Margherita. She looked tired, but triumphant. "It sounds... like he took after Mama in regards to his mouth."

He laughed and kissed her forehead. "Infatti, amore Mio." When he'd been courting her, her mother had run him away from their home many times, tossing curses that would peel the paint from the walls. "You'll-a have to teach him some of her favorites."

She laughed as the doctors put the newly-swaddled baby on her chest. The three of them locked eyes. The baby still looked angry, but he seemed to already know who they were.

Margherita smiled and looked at Sergio. "We did it, amore mio."

He laughed. "This little salsiccia is all-a your work, Margherita. I just showed up."

"Non dire sciocchezze, Sergio," she said, "this one is ours, together."

They hugged around the little bundle, a family at last.

~~~~

Later that night, Sergio carried the little bambino as he fretted. Margherita had fed him before falling asleep, but he was restless. He seemed to be relaxing in his father's arms, though.

Sergio walked to the window. A full moon shone down upon them, giving them its blessing. He looked down at the infant, sleepy but still awake. He could still barely believe it. "My little bambino." He kissed the tiny forehead, and with a final huff, they fell asleep. "So, what will we call you?" He looked back up at the moon.

Unexpectedly, Margherita spoke behind him. "You mentioned once you thought you might name him for your grandfather."

Sergio turned. "I thought you were asleep."

Her voice grinned. "I was, but some little bambino viziato woke me up. Something we should get used to." He heard her sigh. "So? Why not call him that? He was named Giuseppe, was he not?"

Sergio looked down at the sleeping child. Somehow, that doesn't quite fit. He seemed to be a perfect mix of the two of them - not huge, but not tiny. Perfect, in his own way. But so small. Then it hit him. He turned. "What about 'Peppino?'"

"'Little Giuseppe?'" she said. She was quiet a moment, then smiled. "I think I like that, yes. Are you satisfied with that?"

Sergio smiled. "I am." He looked back down at the infant, bathed in the moonlight. "Peppino Spaghetti. It has a nice ring to it."

Husband and wife and son all rested, content, in the dark of the night.

<<Previous/Next>>

[splendentmoon]

Incorrect Quotes /3/

Third part!!!

YAY!!

Enjoy!✨

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

-Reactions of the team when they say 'I love you'-

MK: Thank you family!

Spindrax: oh no

Yin: Feels fake but okay

Jin: -A nervous mess-

Red Son: Can I get a refund?

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

Jin: Plan G time.

Spindrax: You don't mean plan B?

Jin: No, we tried plan B a long time ago. I had to skip plan C due to technical problems.

Yin: What about plan D?

Jin: Plan D was that desperate attempt to disguise himself half an hour ago.

MK: What about plan E?

Jin: Red Son dies in plan E.

Red Son: what?!

Spindrax: I like plan E.

Red Son: excuse me, WHAT?!

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

-Everyone is standing around the broken coffee pot-

Yin: So. Who broke it? I'm not mad, I just want to know.

Everybody:

MK: ...I did. I broke it.

Yin: No. No, you didn't. Jin?

Jin: Don't look at me. Look at Red.

Red Son: What?! I didn't break it.

Jin: Hey, that's weird. How did you know it was broken?

Red Son: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken.

Jin: Suspicious.

Red Son: No, it's not!

Jin: I don't know if it matters, probably not, but Spindrax was the last to use it.

Spindrax: Liar! I don't even drink that shit!

Jin: seriously? So what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?

Spindrax: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everybody knows it, Red Son!

MK: Okay, let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Yin.

Yin: No! Who broke it?

Everybody:

Red Son: Yin... Jin has been blaming everyone, it's obvious who it was.

Jin: SERIOUSLY?!

-everyone starts arguing-

MK, being interviewed: I tore it up. I burned my hand, so I punched him.

MK: I predict that within 10 minutes they'll be at each other's throats with war paint on their faces and a pig's head on a stick.

MK: .........the good thing is that they are not going to blame me......on the other hand..........they will destroy the house.....

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

DBK, entering his house: Hello, people who do not live here.

MK: Hello.

Yin: Hello.

Jin: Hello.

Spindrax: Hello.

Red Son: I gave them the key to my house just for emergencies!

Spindrax: We're out of candy.

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

Red Son: *Posts a very low quality image in the group chat*

Spindrax: If I had a dollar for every pixel in this image, I would have 15 cents.

Red Son: If I had a dollar for every ounce of anger I felt in my body after reading this, I would have enough money to buy a cannon to shoot you

Yin: Actually I did the math, Spindrax would have $225, not $0.15.

Spindrax: oh

Jin: If I had a dollar, I would buy a can of soda :)

MK: while you're there, could you buy me an orange juice please?

Jin: sorry, I only have one dollar

MK: :(

Yin: Hey, I just realized my friend is right, Spindrax would have $22,500 because it's a dollar per pixel, not a penny

Jin: If I had $22,500 I would buy a can of soda and a juice

Yin: You can buy anything you want with $22,500

Red Son: Yes, and they want soda and juice

Yin: Apply juice to what

Red Son: Directly in the forehead

Spindrax : Great talk everyone.

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

MK: The dumbest scar stories, come on!

Spindrax: I burned my tongue once drinking tea.

Yin: I once dropped a hair dryer on my leg and burned it.

Jin: I have a piece of graphite in my leg from accidentally stabbing myself with a pencil in first grade.

Red Son: I was getting a cup of noodles out of the microwave and my hand fell off and I got burned really bad.

MK: ....

MK: I have so many scars both physical and emotional...

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

MK: We have to distract these guys.

Spindrax: Leave it to me.

Spindrax: Centaurs have six limbs and are therefore insects. discuss!

Yin, Jin and Red Son: -Immediately start arguing-

MK, looking in horror: Oh, this. I don't like this I don't like this at all.

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

-The squad is at Red Son's house-

Spindrax: Ohhhh, everyone has their own oven?

Red Son: ...N-No...

Red Son (laughing): How many ovens do you think I have?

Spindrax (pointing to his kitchen): Three, I thought!

Yin: I see a-

Red Son (pointing at a device): This is a microwave.

Spindrax: Oh, well, I-

Red Son: Hey, wait, wait, actually- wait- -plays with the microwave buttons-

Red Son (Amazed): It Has a Bake Setting!

Jin: Ohoho, you learn something new every day!

MK: Shall we do "rock, paper, scissors" to see who picks first?

Red Son: Now I just found out I have more ovens than I thought, we don't have to "rock, paper, scissors" anything!

Red Son: I'm someone who has four ovens...

Red Son (stronger and too happy): I'm someone... who has FOUR OVENS...

Red Son: I didn't know it was so rich in ovens...

Jin (pointing to another appliance): Also the toaster oven!

Red Son:

Spindrax: Ohhh, toasty boy! Four-Five ovens!

Red Son:

Red Son (fucking ECSTASY): I'M SOMEONE WHO HAS FIVE OVENS

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

Yin: Red Son can't see well without wearing his glasses!

Red Son: Yin, look, I wore the glasses for many years. My eyes are much better now. Look.

Red Son: *points to MK* MK.

Red Son: *points to Jin* Jin.

Red Son: *points to Spindrax* Sasquatch.

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

Red Son: I swear to god I'm the only one here with a brain cell.

Yin, MK, Spindrax and Jin: ALL HAIL to the guardian of the sacred brain cell!

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

-the squad is at a dinner in a restaurant, but someone has been murdered-

Red Son: You're acting pretty nonchalant about someone whose life is on the line. Who's to say you're not the killer?

Spindrax: It's a murder, not a tax audit. I'll be fine.

Yin: What about MK? Nobody ever suspects MK!

MK: Well, what about Jin? They have a weapon!

Jin: Red Son has a knife.

Red Son: Yeah, for fun, not for murder! -stabs Yin in the arm-

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

Yin: Who the hell broke the toaster?

Spindrax: It was Red Son.

MK: It was Red Son.

Jin: Red Son broke it.

Red Son:

Red Son: ... SONS OF- PROMISED IT

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

-When MK disappears for an hour-

MK: Did you forget that I only went to buy juice? Did they really drop everything and come here for me? How did they get here so fast?

Jin: Various traffic violations.

Yin: Three counts of resisting arrest.

Red Son: Approximately thirteen cans of energy drinks.

Spindrax: Also, that's not our car.

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

[deanwbigbang]

That’s a wrap for Dean Winchester Big Bang 2022! Below the cut, you’ll find all the fics and art created this year! Check them out and leave their authors and artists some love!

See you next year!

Number One Preference by RogueTranslator | art by Solstheim dean x cas, T, 11.9k

CASTIEL, the Complex Artificial Symbolic and Tactile Intelligence capable of Emotional Learning, is a personal AI under development at The Sandover Corporation. In hopes of impressing the company’s leadership, Sam’s tech team spends the summer of 2032 installing CASTIELs in the homes of executives. Dean, a Senior Vice President of Marketing who happens to be Sam’s workaholic older brother, is one of those executives. Though Dean starts out skeptical of personal AIs, he and CASTIEL soon become fast friends, and Dean begins developing a new marketing strategy for CASTIEL that emphasizes the bonds between machines and humans. But when the board of directors finally makes good on a threat to shutter the CASTIEL program permanently, Dean has to rely on all his skills as a marketer to get them to change course and save CASTIEL.

fic | art

Through This Dark Tunnel by YohkoBennington | art by DWImpala67 dean x sam, M, 8.2k

After a hunt went wrong, Sam is left to pick up the pieces. Trying to put them back to who they were while considering a change in their lives proves to be a whole new set of obstacles he thought they were done with.

fic | art

broken glass (a million pieces of lumpy meat) by swordofsun | art by imjustgonnareblogthis dean x cas, T, 8k

Dean takes Jody's advice and allows himself to be broken. Just for a little bit.

fic | art

Final Days of Eden by tendency | art by ncdover1285 dean x cassie, T, 11.1k

Dean’s got a great girl he’s in love with, and he’s managing to split his days between working at a mechanic’s shop and hunting while still having plenty of time for Cassie. He could definitely see spending the rest of his life like this (if only he could stop feeling so guilty about the lies he has to tell her).

fic | art

Take the Long Way Home by Amypond45 | art by MidnightSilver dean x sam, M, 10.3k

Dean grew up an only child. When his parents die in a car accident, he returns to Lawrence to sell the family home and move on with his life. Then, one day, a Tall Hot Dude pulls up in a crappy used car.

fic | art

Enspelled by zaffre | art by R-ifann dean x cas, T, 5k

Rowena curses Sam for the Winchester’s involvement in Crowley’s death. Now it’s up to Dean to learn magic to save him. It’s just that easy and just that hard.

fic | art

Straight Boys and Queer Hearts by Out_of_nowhere | art by PetraAmia dean x reader, E, 6.6k

You have a one night stand with Dean Winchester, not expecting it to be anything more. To your surprise, Dean wants to see you again. The thing is, you know about guys like Dean, and how relationships with guys like him usually go.

fic | art

Figure It Out As I Go by jld71 | art by DWImpala67 dean x sam, E, 44.4k

After discovering that he’s pregnant with Sam’s pup and thinking that Sam doesn’t want him because Sam has never made the move to claim him, Dean decides to leave Sam and the safety of the bunker to start a life on his own with his pup.

fic | art

Summer Blues by MiracleofWinchester | art by art rover dean & sam, M, 11.2k

As Dean sits here alone in the dark of this summer's night, going through some sort of an introspection journey deep down memory lane _ as he’s finding himself doing more and more for a while now _ as he tries his hardest to make sense of things. Of memories. Yes, Dean thinks; hindsight is like looking through a sharp, new set of eyes. Sometimes disorienting, yet the closest thing to crystal clear. ——— Or Dean Winchester spends one summer night down memory lane. it's nothing much, just his entire life really. or maybe get would go through just a few key moments down the line.

fic | art

Hush by Squeevening | art by alexiescherryslurpy dean x benny, E, 9.7k

Here's what might have happened in Purgatory between Dean and Benny. This fic is a happy-for-now, because I've watched this show very carefully, *especially* the breakup scene between Dean/Benny and Sam/Amelia, shot with equal weight, where Dean says ADIOS - which he only says to lovers the morning after - and you cannot tell me Dean and Benny weren't CANONICALLY dating. :-D Anyways, this is sweet and hot and I found it incredibly addicting, not because of the sex, but because of how endearingly pathetic Dean gets before he figures out how to ask for it.

fic | art

Heaven is a Place on Earth by Bexgowen | art by Solstheimart dean x sam, E, 64.7k

Dean Winchester is a lonely, repressed ad-man whose only vices are his 1967 Chevy Impala and the sex worker he sees every week. When Anael unexpectedly cancels Dean's appointment with her at the Heaven and Hell themed brothel, Dean agrees to make an appointment with another of Heaven's angels. A male angel, who goes by the name 'Castiel', and who unlocks desires in Dean that he thought he had buried deep, deep down. But there is a darker side to Dean: a side that Dean discovers when he ventures down to Hell and meets a demon named Alastair. Will Dean listen to the angel on his shoulder and follow his heart, or will he succumb to the temptation of the demon on his back?

fic | art

The Michael Sword by deansmultitudes | art by zxro dean & cas, dean & michael, M, 6.3k

There’s no stopping the apocalypse. Best Dean can do is make sure that the slightly better side has a fighting chance once Lucifer wears Sam to the prom. He makes a decision—he’s going to say ‘yes’ to Michael. And there is nothing that can stop him; not Sam and Bobby locking him up in the panic room, and most definitely not Cas’s fists bruising his body, drawing blood, bouncing him around that dark alley like a rag doll.

fic | art

[kyzveryown]

K I N G D O M H E A R T S | R E : W O R K S E R I E S DIVERGE: CHI + BACK COVER — The Foretellers, Ava

Ava was the youngest of the Foretellers and, despite her young age, she was adept at magic – even being able to cast grand spells. Still, she was naïve. As a Daybreak native, she lived a mostly sheltered life free of any exposure to darkness. It was hard for her to imagine that a calamity such as the darkness scourge existed, even much less that there were realms beyond the skies of Daybreak. In her eyes, things couldn’t have been as bad as they’d seemed. Ava, like many, was spoiled by the light’s grace. However, that gave her the freedom to be her spunky and cheerful self. Her heart was so pure it was infectious, but that’s what drew people to her, and what allowed her to get close to others.

Having received his request the day prior, Ava ventured to the Master’s chamber. When she arrived, he was deeply engrossed in an alchemic experiment. He was unusually silent, which was a rare occurrence. After finishing up his notes, he turned in his chair then slapped his thighs.

“So, you're curious about the Book of Prophecies, right?”

“Huh? Uh, well, maybe. Is that the reason you asked me to come by?”

“Hmm, yes and no. The Book of Prophecies is a golden trove of information. But unfortunately, that's all it is. It can't prevent catastrophes from happening, and it can't change anything. However,” The Master paused for a second, then wagged his index finger. “Knowledge is key. And with enough knowledge, you can do just about anything ‒ even tip the scales of destiny. So, the Book of Prophecies is a must have! Unfortunately, that's what makes it extremely dangerous. In the hands of someone with dark intentions, they can turn our reality upside down.”

“That’s why you keep the Book hidden?”

“Yeah, it's a bummer though. I don't get to read it at all” the Master pouted, palming his cheek. “Just imagine the kinds of juicy secrets that are in there?! So many things to know like, for example, my face under this hood! The Book knows what I look like! If you were curious enough, you could find out just how dashing and drop-dead handsome I am! Who knows, I could be an Adonis under here!”

Ava frowned. “Uh, Master, what you look like doesn't matter.”

“Huh?” The Master replied in a softened and dejected voice. He lowered his head then whimpered while clutching his chest, “My spirit is broken, and my heart is irreparably damaged.”

“I didn't mean it that way. You're our Master, and we value you and your guidance. So...”

The Master lifted his head for a second, then leapt from the chair to his feet, stroking his chin. “Of course, you do!! I mean, I am amazing. Hehe.”

Ava couldn’t help but frown again.

(Didn’t take long for him to snap out of it…)

“Anyway,” the Master continued, looking down at her. “Having limitless knowledge opens the door to infinite possibilities. And who doesn't want that kind of power? In fact, I can think of one group of dastardly creatures that'd absolutely LOVE to get their hands on it. Care to guess who?”

“Hmm…the Darkness?”

“Bingo!” he nearly shouted. “Like I said, whatever the book records will happen. Well, that is, unless someone comes into possession of it and starts throwing everything out of whack. So, in preparation for that eventuality, I have an mission for you and only you.”

“Uh, me?” Ava asked, confusedly pointing to herself.

“Yes. You might be the only hope of keeping the light from expiring.”

“Light expiring? W-What do you mean? And why me??”

“Because you’re like a light that never stops shining.” He said, then placed his hand on her shoulder. “A little candle whose fire never fades even in darkness. And you’ve got a heart stronger than anyone that I’ve ever come across. Who, better than someone like that to carry on the legacy of the light? Hmm?”

“Uh huh. You’re just trying to butter me up, aren’t you?”

The Master chuckled. He tapped her shoulder then took a step back. “More or less. The fact is, is that you’re the only person I can turn to for such a huge undertaking. The others simply aren’t reliable enough. This is something that you, and only you, can do.”

Ava paused for a moment. On the one hand, knowing he’d had that much faith in herbmade her happy. But on the other hand, the “important mission” he was coaxingbher into didn’t inspire much confidence. After all, she had no idea what the “mission”bwould entail, and she lacked the experience the others had. Still, she couldbsee that he was being sincere. The Master was never one to take serious matters lightly. So, having thought about it, she made up her mind.

“All right, if you say so. What is it that you need me to do?”

“It's simple – forget the notion of unions, find keyblade warriors with potential, and nurture them until they've fully matured ‒ in secret, of course. Then, when the time comes, send them off to another world. They will keep the light alive.”

Ava lowered her head and gripped her robe’s sides. “Are you sure that I’m right person for this?”

The Master gently lifted her head with his hand. “Ava, you're the only person for this. I know you can do it, and I trust you wholeheartedly. If I didn’t have some faith in you, then I wouldn’t have taken you under my wing. So, lighten up. This is your big break.”

“I understand but...you said that the Book falling into the wrong hands is something that could happen. But from the way you’ve been talking, it almost seems like you know something will happen. I-I'm not doubting you or anything! It’s just that…if someone does find the book, then…”

“Let me guess, you want to know what’s inside the Book that’s sooo dangerous, right? Hmm, I guess I could give you a hint. But you have to promise me one thing…” Suddenly, his voice darkened. “Don't get involved in anything going forward – not even squabbles between the others. You hear?”

“O-Okay. I promise.” Ava nodded.

“All right then. Tell me Ava, what is the one thing that people fear the most?”

She thought to herself for a moment. “I guess...the end of life? Or the darkness, maybe?”

“Good choices but no. The answer is rather simple.”

The Master bent down to her level then whispered into the side of her hood.

“It’s the truth.”

[schmedterlingfreud]

Welp, I really think I'm in the middle of another good ol' burnout. It's been a long time since we saw each other, you and me, old champ.

This time, in addition to being painful, exhausting, it was also almost embarrassing, because I was about to have a crisis in the middle of my work shift. The worst and most difficult part of it went on for about an hour and a half -- two hours, maybe -- but that didn't stopped me and I continued to work. The scene is as pathetic to imagine as it was to play it in my shoes. My swollen and red eyes; tears held back between quivering eyelashes; patches of redness that gradually spread on the cheeks and the tip of my nose; the trembling of my lower lip; and the repeated sucking noise from my dripping nose.

But I didn't cry. Not even a tear runned down my cheek. I continued to work in the bubble of scorching heat being hold by the factory walls. Putting packages in the cartons, stacking the cartons, taking the pallet away -- all of this with the miserable face of someone who has just been scolded by the shift boss in the locker room bathrooms. Maybe it would have been better. I would have inspired more compassion.

I carried on. I carried on as always, despite the desire to grab my hair, to fall on my knees on the cracker-strewn floor, and to scream, even louder and louder than the commotion of the wrapping machines. “It's okay,” I kept telling myself, blowing slow and deep breaths through my mouth. "It's okay. Keep working, finish your eight hours, and then you can go home and vent as much as you want, even streaming a tears flood in your car during the road trip." And the idea was tempting, indeed. Just figuring it made me feel better. Getting into the car, leaning against the steering wheel squeezed in my hands, and screaming until feeling my head deflated, until all the horrible voices that gave me no peace were broken. "Pathetic, pathetic, lame, weak, failure, useless, you're just a failure…"

I held back tears out of pride and professionality -- we were still working, after all. But there was a moment in which I sincerely considered the idea of ​​grabbing one of my closest coworkers, one of those who I don't even like too much, and then falling into her arms, simply letting her hold me for a few minutes. Crying on her chest, sobbing until my throat hurts and my eyes melt. I was looking at her from afar, thinking, "Please, E., please, come here and hug me. Just for a little while, just for a minute, but come here and hold me, let me feel just a little bit of love." Obviously that didn't happen.

Then things got better. During the midnight break I was already began to feel better. Bad voices faded, my mind was calm but still fogged. A very typical situation: "You're not youself when you're hungry, here, have a Snickers." But the pain remained. And I know it will return, sparked by the smallest thing, the smallest thought, the simplest and harmless image.

Maybe I should take a break from writing, if I'm so distressed about it, but I don't want to. The thought of not writing makes me a thousand times more anxious than the thought of writing and getting a burnout from it.

I'm scared because I've already lived through a period like this, and I came out of it badly, broken and exhausted. I'm still broken and exhausted, despite everything I did to heal from it.

That time it was way worse, yes. That time I understood what it meant to burn myself out to the point of being consumed. Making writing an obsession, depriving myself of sleep or food in order to remain with my hands on the laptop keys and continue tapping and working, to the point of exhaustion, trembling and crying with fear at the idea that something could stop me from continuing. Being victim of that little voice that tells you: "If you stop now, no one will read you anymore. If you stop writing, if you don't spend every single minute of your free time writing, your failure will be your own fault. You don't want to have regrets, right? Do you know what will happen if you give the impression that you are slowing down? All your readers will disappear, no one will ever read what you write again, and all the efforts you have made so far will have been in vain."

Scary as Hell, right?

Needless to say, it didn't end well. I burned like a fucking match, and I'm still paying the consequences -- my permanent self-harm scars are there and will be with me for the rest of my life.

I'm scared because I feel like I did then, and the images that flash in my head are the ones that pushed me to those horrible actions years ago.

I even started taking Xanax again after years of abstinence, without telling anyone. I dip it from old supplies, in fact. I hope it hasn't expired. If it is, it's working anyway, so let's rejoice! It's not a good thing to have to rely on meds, tho. It's not a good thing to be unable to control your anxiety and obsessive thoughts after all this time.

I feel like it's the same, I still feel broken like I was that time, and yet I also feel different. I'm not in a depressive state, absolutely not. In fact, since I moved away from my old home, I feel much more lively and productive than before, both in terms of housework, leaving the house to go to work, and in terms of writing. I write a lot more, and I do it with more energy. Maybe this is exactly why I feel the burnout approaching. I'm giving it my all, I'm burning more than ever, with no one to feed me with more wood.

It's a recurring image that I also had in my past years, when I happened to stop and think about my most intense writing periods, when I used to sacrifice my body and soul for my stories, but without ever managing to achieve what I aspired to. I felt like an exploited and withered old cow. The agonized cries, the old and sore skin, the peeled hooves, the dried up udders yet red from the constant chafing marks. She is milked every day, without mercy, deprived of the last drop of milk, and forced to nibble only on a few tufts of dry grass, without being offered anything else.

What recognition did I hope -- and still hope -- to receive? I'm still wondering that.

It's no readers's fault if I don't feel fulfilled, at all. The real problem is that writing is my whole life. I have a "real" job, of course. I need a roof and a meal, and I don't lack these things. I chose a job that doesn't require passion or emotional involvement -- I work in a fucking factory, for fuck sake! -- because it allows me to concentrate all my mental energy on the only thing that gives me true happiness: writing.

I have no friends. My family is broken. I don't have a social life. I don't go out to have fun and I have nobody to go out and have fun. When I'm at work I think about what I'll write when I'm at home, and when I'm at home I use all the time I have to write and work on what I'll publish online. "You have to do it" the little voices tell me. "If you don't write until your soul is dry, then you can at least say you tried with all of your strenght."

I tried. I'm trying. Why then can't I be happy?

From this point of view I feel a bit like Joe, the main character of "Soul", the Pixar movie. He has dedicated his whole life to music. Music is the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up and the last thing he thinks about when he goes to sleep. Having reached middle age, despite having sacrificed his entire life in the name of his passion, he still cannot feel satisfied. He suddenly realizes that he has never really lived. Then, finally taking the opportunity he has been chasing for all his life, he realizes: "Is that all? Now what?"

I'm starting to understand him more and more.

The satisfaction I got from my writing and my stories was never enough. There was never a moment when I found myself thinking, "This is what I wanted. This is the recognition I expected to receive. This is the satisfaction I hoped to feel all along." I don't want to feel this way. I feel so so so ungrateful, but still…

It happens to me many times, reading stories online, seeing authors write sentences like: "Wow! I didn't expect all this warmth from you readers! The success of the previous chapter was truly unexpected! When I started this story and this adventure, I never expected to receive all this support and all this enthusiasm." In the comments section, to testify to this, hundreds and hundreds of different users who are enthusiastic, showering them with kudos. So many readers the author doesn't have time to answer to all of them.

I used to be happy to read famous stories. They inspired me, involve me, gave me the desire to improve and to write like that. Now I only feel a rotten and terrible envy that makes my stomach burn and crawl.

The character I most associate with this feeling is Antonio Salieri. The character from the movie "Amadeus", not the real musician Antonio Salieri. For him too, like Joe from "Soul", music is everything. Salieri sacrifices everything to achieve the success he feels he deserves in the musical field. He even takes a vow of chastity. My everything for my success! There is nothing else in his life, nothing worth living, other than the pursuing of that dream. Then here comes Mozart, who takes music as a game, so naturally, without forgetting everything else in his life, and who still achieves more success than him. And poor Salieri ends his life in madness, forgotten, crushed under the weight of his mediocrity.

The point is, I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong. I love writing so much. I love sharing my work and I hope readers will partecipate to my enthusiasm with me. When I see that this enthusiasm falls on deaf ears, like a stone in a well, I feel a part of me crumbling and collapsing with it.

Maybe I should just… stop setting expectations? I've been writing for as long as I can remember. I've been posting and sharing my work online for more than 13 years, and I feel like I've accomplished nothing, like there's something wrong with me.

I'm a shitty person. Not just to say so. It's just what I am. I am selfish, cold, closed in my solitude, not inclined to affection. Maybe that's why I don't have any friends, duh? Furthermore, I have a shitty job that offers no career opportunities -- but that's okay, I knew the deal, this is what I chose. The only shred of value I see in myself is what I pour into my writing. But this writing has no recognition. Does that mean I'm worthless in every way?

In all these years, I have crossed and spaced many genres, I have written shorter stories and longer stories, fan fiction and originals. No feedback has ever proportionally repaid all the work and effort I put behind my words.

Maybe I simply don't have the sparkle? Maybe I'm just a mediocre author? Maybe I have to resign myself that what I write will never appeal to a wide audience as much as I want it to?

At this point I feel obligated to mention one final storytelling comparison -- Mashiro and Takagi from "Bakuman".

Same old story already told with Joe and Salieri. All life and youth sacrificed in the name of one cause and one dream, in this case not music, but manga. To achieve success, they sweat, fight backlash after backlash, and even find themselves envious of other manga artists. Of Nizuma, the genius, who doesn't seem to make an effort to be the number one. But also of Hiramaru. Hiramaru hates his job, he hates working hard and he hates drawing manga, yet he succeeds. He does it well and is more successful than Mashiro and Takagi who instead spit tears and blood on every page they write and draw.

Their editor often warns them, faced with their desire to be successful: "Just deal with it: what you do well is not suitable for the bigger public, but only for a niche audience, so you will never be able to compare yourself to other authors like Nizuma who instead are able to capture much larger segments of the public. Put your heart at rest, continue to draw with your audience in mind, and be satisfied with it."

I'm not so presumptuous as to compare myself to truly talented authors like Mashiro and Takagi, of course not. Because at this point I'm thinking that my writing is just as bad that it doesn't even deserve a niche audience.

And I know that the situation is going to get worse from now on, for one simple fact. I'm getting old. The older I get, the more I distance myself from the fandom target, that is, a younger audience who will consequently be looking for thoughts and ideas that align with the minds of their generation. And that's okay. But for whom should I continue to write, then? Just for myself? Should I resign myself to the idea of ​​continuing to scream into the void for the rest of my life?

But what can I do about it? This problem may seem insignificant, yet my pain is real and it is consuming me as it has consumed me once before, devouring my thoughts, burning in the center of my head, and shattering every beat of my soul.

Now, I know that despite everything I will carry on. I will continue to write, despite the pain, and I will continue to look for my happiness, my fulfillment. Trying, in the meantime, not to return to "bad old habits" to vent the pain and frustration that would otherwise eat my brain away.

... fuck, I need a Xanax so bad, right now.

I wrote this text to vent, but I hope it can also help someone else. And please: don't take it as a whine or a complaint. I love my readers, even if they're few and even if sporadic or quiet. You are truly the only smiles of my days, the only thing that is worth continuing to sit down and type on the word document.

I'm not looking for sympathy, I'm not looking for pity. Maybe just a little… solidarity?

Do you writers (or artists!) also experience similar feelings? Do you also feel like your efforts are in vain? Do you also feel like you are constantly looking for approval that never comes? Have you also faced bad burnouts? Please, if you have any stories and experiences to share, I would be so happy to hear them. To support each other, perhaps. Or to have a little vent, to feel better and not so alone.

If you made it so far and if you read all of this: you rock! You're amazing. Please, have a candy, stay hydrate, and treat yourself well. 🍬

You deserve it. You are worth it.