#and boy do i feel kind of empty and hollow with that realization

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Chaotic Dumbassery (Soft Yandere!Friend x Thembo!Reader)

I know I haven't been working on people's submissions, prioritizing kinktober, but I'm having a really tough time and need some light humor in my life

GN!Reader, mild manipulation, mostly fluff ❤️

Hughie was labeled as a "genius" early on in his childhood. At the age of five his parents were already discussing with the local elementary school about starting him off in a higher grade. Despite all of the praises Hughie received from adults, their compliments felt hollow, and the more they pushed him to accelerate his growth realize his potential, the further he felt isolated from the people around him. Emotionally, it was like being trapped as an exhibit in a zoo. They all smiled down at him and cooed, but he could not feel them.

Then, Hughie met (Reader).

Wasting his summer before school began, his parents inside speaking to teachers about letting Hughie skip kindergarten, no one noticed when he slipped out, wandering the empty halls to the playground, where surprisingly a child was playing in the dirt with their parent sitting nearby.

Fat little fingers were poking into the dirt beneath a tree, filling the holes with seeds. Hughie often had no problem speaking to adults, but he didn't have many opportunities to interact with other kids his own age. Nervous to the point of nausea, he approached the kid, gripping his ugly grey polo aggressively enough to stretch out the shirt.

"What are you doing?"

The kid covered in dirt wearing a pizza sauce stained Batman shirt looked up at Hughie with excitement so powerful he could physically feel it burning his face like sun beams. "Planting bird seeds!"

"Oh. Why?"

"To grow birds. Duh." They went back to poking holes and planting the seeds.

The little boy with black curly hair was shocked. He didn't know everything about reproduction, but he knew that birds came from eggs. It was the first time he had ever heard something so preposterous, and it kind of stupefied him. Crouching down to get closer to the strange little kid, Hughie felt star struck. "I don't think that's how birds are made."

"Yuh-huh! Whenever Granny throws seeds out, birds grow, and then in the morning they fly away "

"I think they eat the seeds.."

(Reader's) eyes went wide, dropping their fistful of bird food while whipping around to face Hughie. "Huh?"

"Birds come from eggs."

Standing up quickly, Hughie could see that the kid's knees were covered in bandaids, something he never really needed. They looked down at him like he just told them that Santa wasn't real. "What?!" Before he could reiterate his answer Hughie's arm was grabbed by the much stronger stranger, dragging him over towards the woman sitting on the bench. "Mom!"

"Yes?" The woman smiled with heavy, exhausted eyes.

"Do birds come from eggs?!"

"Yes? Why?"

(Reader) dropped Hughie's hand, their brain malfunctioning under the new information. Hughie started to worry that maybe he had upset them, that maybe he shouldn't have told them the truth, when they suddenly grabbed him by his shoulders, violently shaking him. "What is your name, smarty pants?!"

"Hu-Hughie!" The wild swaying of his head affecting his speech.

"I'm (Reader)! You wanna go catch crickets?"

"Sure-"

"Hughie!" His father's voice cut him off, the smartly dressed man finally finding his son and descending onto the playground. "Don't disappear like that."

"I'm sorry."

"Let's go back inside. The teachers have some questions for you." He said excitedly, motioning towards the school.

Hughie felt a sense of dread. He was smart, really smart, which meant that he knew if he passed the tests waiting for him, he wouldn't be able to be in a class with kids his own age. Which meant that he wouldn't be able to make friends.

"No."

Hughie latched onto (Reader), and decided to act his own age.

"I want to go catch crickets with (Reader)!"

"Yeah!" (Reader) replied, glaring up at the stranger as sassily as a five year old could.

Although that interaction ended with (Reader's) mother apologizing, holding back her child from kicking the man in his shins, and Hughie's father carrying him kicking and crying up to the classroom, it was ended in Hughie's favor. He purposely failed his tests, and when school started up, he was placed in the same kindergarten as (Reader).

The two became inseparable, much to his parents' dismay.

It only got worse as they got older, and even the teachers took notice of Hughie's "double life".

By the last year of middle school, Hughie already proved himself smart enough to get his GED and be enrolled in any university of his choice. But (Reader) didn't know that.

Hughie's mother sighed heavily, finding (Reader) on her doorstep. Hey disdain for the teenager wasn't concealed in the slightest, but it didn't phase (Reader).

"Mornin', Mrs. G! I'm here to pick up the H-bomb."

"I could drive you two." She grimaced. "It's dangerous for two children to walk to school."

"Oh, we won't be walking." (Reader) smiled.

Hughie rushed past his mom, smiling just as brightly as (Reader). "'Sup!"

"Please let me drive you-"

"Bye Mom!" Hughie cut her off, giving her a warning glance before bouncing back to his reflection of (Reader's) joyful attitude. "Let's go, (Reader)."

The two friends ran down to (Reader's) homemade "scooter", an extra wide plank of thin wood with wheels screwed on, painted with flames. It was made by (Reader) and their mom to have enough space for at least three teenagers to comfortably ride, four if they squish together tightly and held on for dear life. It was a hazard, and Hughie loved it.

He loved everything about (Reader), actually. Since he began purposefully fucking up his grades just enough to never get moved up, he had made a good friend group, a group a guys that were a lot of fun to get into trouble with, but his best friend was (Reader). Many people joked that the two were already an old married couple, which (Reader) leaned into, completely unaware of Hughie's feelings. It was strange. And he couldn't explain it to anyone.

(Reader) was his best friend; a sibling; a partner in crime; and someone Hughie recently found himself wanting to kiss silly.

They rode down the sidewalk at top speeds, bumping over rocks dangerously. Hughie wanted to wrap his arms around their waist but couldn't until they picked up their other buds. They stopped by Brody's house, watching him run away from his wooden spoon wielding Grandma, then at Everett's, which finally allowed Hughie the excuse of hugging (Reader). It didn't matter if Brody clung to him similarly; just as long as he was the only one holding (Reader).

The four idiots of Jackson Middle School traveled faster than any of the cooler students on skateboards, speeding recklessly with the force of four teenagers pushing the wooden beast.

Teachers and parents gave disapproving sneers as they barely stopped in time to prevent themselves from crashing into the arriving school buses. Mr. Stone especially.

(Reader) dragged the transportation over to the bicycle rack laughing with Hughie over the fear in the bus driver's eyes when they nearly collided into the side of the bus.

"I don't know why she was so mad, it's not like we were gonna damage the bus!" Brody loudly complained, arms behind his head.

No, it was because we could have gotten hurt. Hughie smiled, not voicing his thoughts out loud. (Reader) wouldn't have this kind of fun with him if they knew that this wasn't his real personality. Calm and studious, Hughie naturally didn't enjoy being outside. He was a nerd at heart, and would prefer reading in solitude to participating in sports. But he would do anything to spend more time with (Reader).

Mr. Stone appeared before the quartet, smiling tightly. "May I have a word, Mr. Gressler?"

(Reader) stuck a finger in their nose. "Huh? He's not on the clock yet."

Everett rolled back his shoulders too try to look bigger. "Yeah, we haven't had breakfast yet."

"I'll catch up with you guys." Hughie waved at them, shooing them away. They left for the cafeteria, still making snarky remarks towards their teacher.

As soon as they were out of sight Hughie's face changed, losing all of his good humor and patience. "What did you want to talk about, Mr. Stone." His teacher's name tasted bitter, so he spit it out.

"Let's go to the principal's office."

They quickly walked through the halls, irritating Hughie. He knew what this was about, and he wasn't interested in the slightest.

Once inside the office, Mr. Stone closed the door, trapping Hughie inside with the grinning older Principal Wells. "Please, have a seat, Hughie." She offered politely.

"No thanks. I need to go to breakfast, so I'd like to make this quick." His hands were in his pockets, and his body leaning on one leg, emphasizing his boredom.

Mr. Stone cleared his throat. "We've been talking about moving your classes around.."

"Why?" His cracking voice snapped.

"We've noticed that.. I believe that your friends aren't the best influence on you." Stone took a deep breath, looking to the principal for assistance.

"After speaking to your teachers I learned that you do exceptionally well when you aren't paired up with one of your friends. If it's a test, or a solo project, your work is incredible. No matter what the subject is, you exceed in every class.. but when you have a project you have to present to a class, in your classes you have with a student named (Reader), you disrupt the day by presenting very odd topics. And when you work with (Reader), you mess around the entire time or create chaos." The principal was referring to two specific instances; Hughie's presentation on how WW2 was responsible for the creation of hentai, and the science fair project he worked on with (Reader) trying to prove that Birds weren't real. Both times he chose the topics just to see (Reader's) face light up.

"Hugh, you're an incredibly bright young man. We want to see you excel." Mr. Stone pleaded.

"I'm not moving up. I'm staying in my classes. We haven't caused any major disruptions that could have interfered with other students learning, and may I remind you that we both got an A minus on that science fair project?" He turned to leave, done with dealing with adults he knew he was smarter than. "And if you move around my classes, I'll go to the superintendent, and the school board. You're discriminating against my fellow students because you believe them to be stupid."

"We never said-"

"I'm not an idiot. They're bad examples on me because we have fun? That isn't the argument you think it is."

"Mr. Gressler, come back here-"

"Unless I'm in trouble, then no. You aren't allowed to prevent me from having breakfast. And if you continue I'll call my mother." Hughie was cold, indifferent. He knew what they were saying, but it was the exact same shit he'd been hearing since he was three years old. He's special, so he's not allowed to act his age.

He left the office and stomped towards the cafeteria. He knew they wouldn't stop embarrassing themselves, but he also refused to back down.

Inside the lunch hall, (Reader) was having a battle with the boys, construction French toast sticks into action figures with pretzel sticks. The sight of (Reader) focused on the fight made Hughie feel funny, releasing an eruption of butterflies. It was okay if he continued lying to his friends, because he could continue playing with them like this.

"Dude, I got you some!" (Reader) held out a plate. They had no idea how much Hughie loved them.

His smile fell, feeling suddenly very hot.

"Dude, you okay?" Everett asked out of concern. "Did you get in trouble or something?"

Hughie couldn't answer, taking the plate silently while avoiding eye contact. Quickly shoving in pretzel crackers like nails, he constructed his own breakfast warrior. "FEEL MY WRATH, LOSERS!"

The friends instantly forgot about their worrying, watching as Hughie's creation punched (Reader's) creation's head off.

It was okay if Hughie kept pretending to be a dumbass, because it was more fun that way. He would gladly sacrifice his entire future to fuck around with (Reader) for the rest of his life. He could see himself, in the future, sharing an apartment with his three amigos, working at some dead end job, playing video games every night after work. It would be better than if he went off to some college and became a lawyer.

If only he could ignore the erratic beating of his heart.

#soft yandere #gn reader #yandere fluff #yandere x reader #bad writing #not proofread #i just need to smile

[totowlff]

chapter five — report card

➝ what is it like to be truly seen by someone you like?

➝ word count: 2,2k

➝ warnings: mentions of smut and aftercare

Everything seemed too far away from Toto.

There was no pain, but there was no pleasure either. There was nothing.

The sweet smell of the vanilla scented candle mixed with the sweat and semen on his skin, somewhere he didn't know where it was. Not that he'd moved to see where he'd come that time, after practically begging to Ava. He hadn't moved an inch since she'd pulled away from him with a smile, satisfied with his obedience.

But why couldn't he feel the same way?

— Toto — a female voice said, softly — Are you okay?

A sound similar to something affirmative came out of his mouth. However, the truth was that Toto didn't really know if he was okay. It was something strange, a kind of emptiness inside his chest, even though his heart was still beating strongly, his pulse was roaring in his ears. It was as if he were completely hollow.

The answer probably didn't please Ava, judging by the expression when her face entered his field of vision. Her lips, which had started the night painted red, were pressed into a thin line, her eyes seeming to analyze him carefully as she brought one of her hands to his face.

— Are you sure you’re okay, Toto? — she repeated, softly.

He nodded, words jumbling together in his head in an attempt to formulate a coherent response. However, that gesture was enough for the woman to give a soft smile, almost as if she had understood something that not even Toto had yet understood.

— You did well today — Ava whispered, her fingers lightly brushing his cheek.

— I did? — he managed to ask, his dry throat making the words come out strangely hoarse from his mouth.

— Yes, very well — she smiled tenderly — You're getting good at this, you know?

— Do you think?

— I know when I'm in front of a good submissive — Ava replied — And you're being an incredible submissive for me.

The last word made Toto smile a little. There was something about the idea of pleasing Ava that compelled him to do his best in that room. And hearing from her lips that he had done well, that he was a good submissive for her was priceless.

— I like it — he cooed, bringing one of his hands to hers.

— Do you like being an incredible submissive?

— I like being yours — Toto replied, in a low voice. His eyes were lost in hers, the brown flecks mixing with the delicate green. “She's so beautiful”, he thought, as Ava watched him with a small smile.

— I also like that you're my little boy — she finally said, before placing a soft kiss on his lips. The gentleness with which she touched him made Toto feel the emptiness being slightly filled. He was not alone, quite the opposite. He had never been in better company, but…

After a few more kisses, Ava managed to get Toto to sit on the bed, leaning back against the headboard while she went to the small fridge that was in the corner of the room and took something from there. He only identified what the woman had brought the moment she sat down next to him.

— That's…

— Water — Ava said, placing the bottle in his hand. Faced with his hesitation, she continued — You need to hydrate, little boy. Drink it.

Bringing the bottle to his mouth, Toto realized how thirsty he felt as the cold liquid began to flow down his throat. He had drunk almost all of it when he stopped to catch his breath.

— I was going to suggest you drink more slowly, but it doesn't make much difference now — she murmured, smiling — Better?

Toto nodded. He definitely needed that. Apparently satisfied with the answer, Ava got up from the bed and then helped him do the same. Then, she took him to the bathroom in the room, indicating for him to enter the bathtub installed there.

— But — he stammered, a little confused with the direction — It's empty.

The remark made Ava laugh.

— I know, little boy. Come in and sit down.

Still not understanding what she was getting at, Toto gave in, getting into the bathtub and sitting on the cold, white porcelain. Then it was Ava's turn to enter, but unlike him, she sat on the edge, with her legs positioned next to him. A few seconds later, he heard the sound of water running towards the drain, as well as the tap being turned to adjust the temperature.

The feeling of water running down his back made Toto let out a long sigh. The temperature was perfect, warm enough that he felt cozy, like he was wrapped in a hug.

— How does that feel? — Ava asked, as Toto nodded — Great. Just relax now, okay? I will take care of you.

Toto just muttered a 'yes', while the jet of water went up his back until it reached his head. Feeling her fingers massage his scalp, he felt his body gradually relax, the muscles that were tense were now looser. He felt so comfortable that he could have fallen asleep right there.

The two continued in silence for some time, while Ava washed his hair slowly, the foam running towards the drain as she rinsed the dark strands.

— Feeling better? — she asked softly.

— A little — Toto murmured, his eyes fixed on the bubbles that were near his feet.

— Have you ever felt this way before?

— What way? — he asked, looking up at her.

— The way you’re feeling right now.

Toto pursed his lips, his stomach churning with tension. It definitely wasn't new to him, but it had never been as overwhelming as that night. But nothing bothered him more than the idea of Ava knowing about it and, in some way, feeling upset or even mad at him for feeling that way.

— What are you talking about? — Toto questioned, trying to emulate some innocence.

— I mean, the sadness you feel. How you feel emptiness, and guilt. 

He blinked. Apparently, he was an open book to Ava.

— I never…

— You've felt this before, there's no point lying to me now.

Toto swallowed. He was cornered.

— I'm sorry, Ava. I'm really sorry. I try not to feel like that, I try to focus on what we did and the good feelings but — his voice trailed off, his throat tightened with anguish — Damn, it's always like this. It's always the same and there are times when it doesn't go away.

— What?

— This feeling of being disposable, of being just a toy for you to have fun with.

Those words made the tears that had been accumulating in his eyes run down his face. Lowering his head, Toto was certain that he’d never looked more pathetic in his life. After all, was there anything more ridiculous than crying naked in a bathtub after another session of incredible sex with a fantastic woman?

— You know that's not how I see you, right? — Ava said, seriously. That made him raise his head suddenly, the fear that she had taken his words as an offense or something filling his chest with worry.

— I didn't want to…

— I never saw you as a toy, Toto, quite the opposite. Domination is something serious for me and I would never treat it as a game, much less fun — she explained — But I understand where these thoughts and feelings come from, so it's okay for you to question that.

— Do you? — Toto asked in a low voice.

— Yes. You're experiencing what is called a “sub drop”. 

Something about that last word made him hesitate for a few seconds. Despite having read a lot about the world of submission in recent months, Toto didn't remember that term being mentioned on some of the sites, much less in the conversations they had had about the sessions.

— What is that?

— It's a reaction that happens in your brain after you leave the euphoric state of the sessions and return to the real world. After such an intense scene, it’s natural for your dopamine levels to bottom out. It makes you feel empty, anguished, exactly as you described to me.

— It is serious?

Ava nodded.

— No, it's not serious. It just means you need more time and attention, that's all.

Something about those words made his heart sink. Toto didn't want to be a problem for Ava, especially in that context. He wanted to be the person who satisfied her, who made her happy and not another source of stress and worry. That would probably be their last date, after all, no woman wanted to sleep with a guy who simply went into depression after coming.

— I’m sorry — he muttered softly, lowering his head.

However, Ava brought one of her hands to his face, lifting him towards her.

— You don't have to apologize, Toto.

— But, aren't you mad at me?

She raised an eyebrow.

— Why would I be?

— Because of this… Thing you said, this sub stuff.

He wasn’t expecting Ava’s reaction to his question.

She smiled. Not one of the mischievous or cruel ones that she sometimes gave him, but a gentle smile.

— I would never be mad at you for that. It’s something completely natural and is not something you have to be embarrassed about. Almost all submissives go through it at some point.

Toto pursed his lips when he heard the word “submissives”. Ava was experienced, having probably dominated many men on her journey through the world of BDSM. However, thinking about them and the way they probably satisfied her better made the anguish rise again in his chest.

— They didn't have that, did they?

— Who? — Ava questioned him.

— Your other submissives. They didn't go through that, right?

— Wrong. Almost all of them have gone through it, and some had much worse reactions. One of them had the habit of leaving right after the sessions without saying a word and would go days without answering my messages or answering my calls — she said, while combing his damp hair back, letting her fingernails drag gently across his scalp — It was at that time that I discovered that dominants can also experience something similar.

— They can?

— It's called a dom drop, but the concept is the same. And just like the sub drop, there is also a way to resolve it.

— How?

— Doing exactly what we’re doing — Ava replied, taking the handheld showerhead to his head and wetting his hair — Taking care of you. Showing you that the sessions are just a role-playing game and that you are not a toy. Showing you that I care about your well-being, above all else.

Toto didn't know what to say after that. There was so much kindness, so much sweetness in Ava's words that he felt compelled to reciprocate in some way. After a few seconds of indecision, he simply put one of his arms behind her legs and hugged her, in absolute silence.

Feeling Ava's free hand stroke his head, Toto felt strangely safe there. It was as if, in fact, he had finally managed to strip away all the labels and expectations that had been placed on him, leaving just a man, naked and raw. A man capable of choosing to submit to the most beautiful woman in the world. A man who wouldn't hesitate to do anything to make her happy.

A man who had finally stopped being invisible.

Ava continued the bath in silence, rubbing Toto's skin gently. The scent of the liquid soap she had spread over his shoulders reminded him of Sardinia, with its cool late afternoon breeze coming from the sea. “Maybe I should invite her to come with me”, he thought to himself, as the water running down his body took the foam to the drain.

After getting up from the bathtub, Toto dried himself off with Ava's help, enjoying the focused expression on her face. Her eyes, still well-lined and with voluminous eyelashes, followed the movement of her hands, which dried his skin with the plush fabric. Her red mouth, with the tip of her tongue peeking out of the right corner, indicated that she was focused on the activity, which made him smile.

— What’s wrong? — she asked.

— None, just admiring you. You look beautiful when you're focused.

Ava gave a shy little smile before asking him to cover up and follow her. Toto figured they would go back to bed to relax, but he was surprised when she led him out of the room in silence. Following her down the dark hallway, he only realized where they were going when Ava turned on the lights.

The place was bright and minimalist, with the same modern touch as in other rooms in the house. However, that didn't make it any less cozy or inviting, quite the opposite.

— Is this your bedroom?

— Yes — Ava replied, as she walked to the bed and settled in it. Then, she patted the pillow next to her — Come here.

Without saying a word, Toto dropped the towel on the bedroom floor and laid down next to her, allowing Ava to pull him towards her and make him lie against her chest. As she gently stroked the back of his head, Toto listened to the sound of her heart beating. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

— Comfortable? — she asked softly.

— Yes — Toto replied, going quiet for a few seconds before adding — Thank you very much.

— For what?

— For seeing me. For really seeing me. Thank you, ma’am.

#toto wolff #wlffog #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x oc #toto wolff x oc #formula 1 x oc #formula one x oc #liowlff #formula one fic #toto wolff fanfic

[lordgrimwing]

Identity #01

Maglor flicked his wrist, sending another flat stone skipping out across the wide pond. He glared at the ripples in the murky water, then rubbed his lower back. Water lapped at his toes. The sun sat low in the trees still, sunrise not long passed, and the air was still gentle against the skin of his arms and face, though the warming rays promised another hot and humid day. He should head back soon, apologize for running off, and get about his chores, those his brothers hadn’t finished yet.

 He threw another stone, this one sinking with a plonk instead of skipping, and made no move to get up from the mossy log, half submerged in the mud. He didn’t want to go home, not yet, and maybe not for the next several days. 

He was fourteen! He could survive on his own in the forest for a few days. He knew which plants he could eat. He could use his knife to make snares or sharpen sticks to catch fish. It couldn’t be that hard. Besides, his Pa told stories about going on hunting trips all by himself when he was even younger. Maglor could definitely stay out here and not go home until he was ready.

But Ma would worry, and Pa would track him down before sunset, probably before midday if he was being honest with himself. They wouldn’t let him hide out here.

He rubbed his stomach. 

He’d eaten breakfast this morning, though he felt a little sick when he got up—he realized why after taking his turn at the outhouse. Now, his belly felt hollow and empty, almost like he was hungry again, but not quite. He also kind of needed to pee again.

He threw another stone, his supply running low.

The ground around the pond didn’t have many stones, but if he got up, he could probably find a handful more that might work for skipping. He thought about it but heard someone splashing through the shallow, mucky water behind him, the cattails rustling as someone drew near to his hiding spot. He stayed put.

“Figured I’d find you here,” Maedhros said, plopping down on the end of the log, the legs of his overalls wet and spotted with mud and pond debris. “You should really pick a new hiding spot if you don’t want me to find you.”

Maglor sighed.

His brother wrapped an arm around his shoulder but he shrugged it off.

“What’s wrong?”

He hurled another rock. It landed in the vegetation on the far side of the pond.

With a laugh, the older boy reached across him, took one of the stones, and skipped it all the way across the water. He was always so good at everything.

“You should have seen Celegorm and Caranthir trying to milk the goat,” Maedhors chuckled. Maglor usually milked the nanny goat but he hadn’t done it today. “I swear, they can’t do anything together. Cara was in tears by the end, and then the goat put her foot in the milk bucket and splashed it all over him!” 

Maglor forced out a stilted laugh when his brother elbowed him lightly, then grimaced and hunched forward, wrapping his arms around his middle.

Maedhros’ voice quieted, the merriment melting away. “Pa’s worried,” He murmured. “It’s not like you to skip chores.” He reached out again, but this time he rested his hand on the other’s lower back and began to rub.

Maglor still didn’t say anything, but he let him continue.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the wind rattle in the reeds. 

“Ma wanted me to give this to you,” Maedhros eventually broke the calm, reaching into the big pocket over his chest and pulling out a bundle of large magnolia leaves folded around something. He offered it to his brother.

Hesitating for only a moment, Maglor took it. “Why?” He finally asked, setting the bundle on his lap.

“It’s a salve. She said it’ll help you feel better if you rub it over your belly and back.” He explained simply.

“I feel fine!” Maglor snapped at him, trying to straighten up so he didn’t look so miserable. He grimaced and curled forward again.

Maedhros kept rubbing his back, unphased by the outburst.  

Maglor’s head fell forward, his black hair curtoning around his face. He felt like throwing up or maybe crying. “I don’t like this.” He murmured, a tear sliding off his nose.

“I can help,” Maedhros offered. “We could go back to the shore, or I could help you put it on out here if you don’t want to get up yet.” He stuttered over the last bit, like he’d been about to say something else but changed his mind at the last moment.

He didn’t have the energy to rebuild the thin veneer of stoicism he’d worn, so without further protest, he undid the button on his pants and untucked his shirt. “Thanks,” He said, still unable to straighten up. 

Maedhros stood, sinking a couple inches down into the mud. He squelched around the log. “I’ll do your back first,” He said.

Maglor held up the leaves and felt his brother’s fingers brush his palm as he took them, then the soft sound of the green covering unfolding.

“Oh,” Maedhros said with a little inhale of surprise. “It’s cold.”

Maglor hiked up his shirt, bracing himself. 

The first cool touch of salve was cold but he was in too much discomfort already to care about this latest bother. His brother’s hand, so much larger than his own even though they were only a few years apart, slid across his back, spreading the cool sensation around his flanks and up his spine. He relaxed, just a little, into the feeling.

After a few seconds, the cold spots began to tingle. 

Maedhros splashed around to the front of the log. “Should I do your stomach too?” He asked.

Maglor nodded. His back felt pleasantly warm now, almost as though he were laying on a sun-warmed rock or had a hot waterskin pressed against it. He held his shirt out of the way and sat taller as his muscles unclinched. 

A groan of relief escaped his lips as Maedhros spread the last of the salve over his belly, sliding his fingers under his pants to spread it as far as possible. Embarrassment colored his cheeks.

Maedhros just smiled at him, folding the empty leaves and stuffing them back into his front pocket. “It’s helping?”

“Yeah,” Maglor said shakily as he let go of his shirt and rubbed the last of the wetness away from his eyes. “I feel a lot better.”

“Great,” His brother squatted and rubbed his hands vigorously in the water, coating them in mud before rinsing them off and standing up. “My hands feel so weird.”

Maglor tucked in his shirt and did up his pants. He still felt a little sick, and the spot between his legs continued to ache, but nothing seemed as bad as it did just a few minutes ago. “Thanks,” He said, leaning against his brother when he sat down next to him.

Maedhros tentatively put his arm around him again, then gave a comforting squeeze when he didn’t object to the touch. There were surely chores waiting for them back at the house, but neither of them made any move to get up. 

A duck landed in the middle of the pond with a splash.

“I hate when this happens,” Malgor admitted, gently kicking his feet in the water.

He felt Maedhros rest his chin on his head. “I’d hate it too if I just randomly started bleeding. Though, I’d probably think I was dying and run to Ma rather than out here.”

Maglor tilted his face up and saw his brother turning red with embarrassment at his own words, blushing all the way up his ears. It made him laugh a little. Maedhros didn’t usually get flustered. “Ma says the longer I drink my teas, the less this’ll happen. I keep thinking it’s been long enough…” His voice trailed away.

They sat in silence as the sun steadily rose over the trees. A frog croaked somewhere in the cattails. 

Maedhros looked up at the bright sky. “Should we head home?” He asked.

“You can go.”

He looked at him with concern.

Maglor shoved at his brother’s shoulder lightly. “I’m okay,” He protested weakly. “I just need to be by myself for a bit.”

“Alright, see you later,” Maedhros stood, slowly slipping his arm from the other’s shoulder. He sloshed to the bank, pushing aside the plants growing nearly higher than his head. He looked back once, when he reached the edge, smiled, and then disappeared. 

Maglor sat on the log for several long minutes before standing.  

#sometimes you have to inflict a situation on a blurbo #maglor is going through it right now #and let maedhros be a good big brother #as he always is #trans masc maglor #and of course i had to add that part about Cele and Cara #the silmarillion #maglor #maedhros #old gods au #grimwing writes

[mr-miss-anonymous]

What if it had been First Aid instead of Ambulon, right?

Super original idea, I know, but hear me out, it’s a good topic. Here’s some bullet points to chomp on:

• Believe me, I do think Aid would’ve also died, but I don’t think he would’ve died in the same way. I see Pharma cutting him in half (NOT lengthwise dear lord), panicking when he realizes Ratchet has absolutely no trouble piecing him together and is coming for Pharma next, cuts things short and takes off with First Aid, who… well, he’s sort of fixed. Not quite though.

• Cue this awful cat-and-mouse game. Pharma’s off his fucking rocker, Ambulon just wants his boyfriend fellow medic back, Ratchet just wants things to come to an end already come on Pharma, and First Aid? Oh, wouldn’t you like to know.

• When things finally come to an end, it’s a sort of last-minute thought. A sort of “oh yeah, right! Here’s your reward 🙃” sort of thought. Pharma lives—there’s no one to kill him anymore. When he’s being taken away to be judged by the highest council (and likely be sentenced to death or something who knows), everything is fine and dandy, but suddenly Ambulon is like “wait, WAIT. Where’s First Aid?”

• I can’t quite explain the look Pharma would wear better than the panels before First Aid blasts his head off. He’d probably have to think about it for a second, First Aid? Hm… First Aid… oh, yes, right! With all the chaos and madness, he just about forgot about the poor guy! First Aid’s back at Delphi, for, uh… who knows what reason. Out of the way, really. Primus bless!

• First Aid is, in fact, at Delphi, just as Pharma said. It’s a very, very sad sight, and Ambulon almost wishes he hadn’t stepped through that door. Curled up in the fetal position with a frame grayer than the dead patients they buried months before and covered in a pool of long-dried energon that coats his frame, the berth, the floor, it isn’t clear whether First Aid died due to wounds that weren’t properly treated, a lack of fuel, or the deadly Messatine weather. The repairs are clear where Pharma melded his two halves back together, but apparently he hadn’t cared enough to actually finish the job. One way or another, First Aid died a slow, painful, lonely death.

• Unlike First Aid, Ambulon ends up processing things a little differently. Where First Aid’s reactions were PANIC, then NUMBNESS, then ANGER and RAGE, then ANGUISH, Ambulon is just… sort of hollow. He doesn’t really know how to feel about it. Everywhere he goes, though, he sees him. He sees First Aid in the way the newest medic, Velocity, puts her compassion and willingness to learn to good use. He sees First Aid in the small smiles of passing mechs and the kind little things that go unnoticed by most. He sees First Aid in the empty space of their once shared room, because of course they ended up sharing a room amongst the entire ship.

• Unlike First Aid, Ambulon doesn’t blame himself. He doesn’t blame himself, no, but he wonders more often than not what would’ve happened had the roles been reversed. Maybe, if he had been the one to die under blade, maybe if he had been the final victim of Pharma’s psychotic spiral, maybe… maybe maybe maybe…

• There’s no use in contemplating the past and obsessing over what-ifs. But boy, does he try anyway.

#transformers #love this what-if and had to share my own thoughts #going to bed now I’ve got an early shift and I’m soooo sleepy #but anyway. enjoy? #first aid #ambulon #pharma #delphi headcanons

[imagines--galore]

||The Ties That Bind|| Prologue

Summary: He taught her its better to live through a day then fight through it. She taught him to hold on to hope and believed in him when he felt hollow and empty. Just like his armor. Law of Equivalent Exchange. They both exchanged something of equal value. Yet neither of them realized that what they had given the other was something one could never put a price on.

Pairing: Alphonse Elric x Willow Hawkeye(OC)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. Adventure. Family.

A/N: I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for so long that I thought I should finally post it so here it is I guess.

This was certainly not how Berthold Hawkeye had envisioned meeting his niece for the first time. Truth be told, he had never brought himself around to envision it seeing as his sister, Felicity, was not on speaking terms with him.

Not after the death of her best friend and the mother of his daughter, Victoria.

Felicity Hawkeye and Victoria Berkley had been inseparable since the day they met. Through thick and thin they held on to one another. And with the amount of times Victoria would come over to their house, and the times Berthold would be forced to walk her home with his sister after dark, it didn't come as a surprise when he started to fall in love with the golden haired girl. Victoria too had begun to develop a certain affection for the secluded young boy who, despite his cold and rude exterior, would dote on his younger sister and show kindness in the most surprising of ways especially when he would use Alchemy to help the townspeople.

It took quite a long time for them to admit their feelings for one another, and it took a huge amount of effort from Felicity who had recognized the feelings well before either of them had and had made it her mission to bring them together. When asked why she would go to such lengths she had simply shrugged and replied, they make each other happy.

And they had been. Victoria had changed him for the better and she had loved him before that change. When they were blessed with a little baby girl, with hair as bright as sunshine, Berthold couldn't believe how lucky he was.

But then a dark cloud overshadowed their happiness. And it all began with Victoria fainting in the middle of the day for no reason.

The doctors tried everything they could. But the sickness spread, till one day, with a peaceful smile on her face Victoria Hawkeye died with her husband, daughter and best friend at her side.

The man sighed as the sadness and ache of losing his beloved wife settled into his heart. Nearly ten years had passed, yet he still missed her. Grieved for her. Every single day. It was that grief that made him throw himself into his research for Flame Alchemy. It distracted him from the emptiness that was inside him. Made him forget about everything and everyone else. His sister had left a week after Victoria was buried. And then it had been just him and Riza.

A daughter he hardly paid any attention to.

Why?

Because looking at her, he was reminded of the wife that had left him.

Left them.

And his heart couldn't take it.

So when he received the news that his sister and husband had died in an Ishvalan attack, leaving behind a daughter who was barely a few months old, he had decided to take her in his home. Perhaps Riza would not be so lonely with a little sister to play with. Sure his apprentice was living with them, but the man doubted the boy had anything better to do other than to study.

Besides, the Master had told his Apprentice the day he started that there was to be minimum interaction between him and his daughter.

Little did he know the seeds of friendship had already been sown between the two lonely children.

Berthold glanced down at the birth certificate, barely glancing at the name before shifting his gaze on the date of birth. 12th February 1901. Only three months old then. How young to have lost both parents in a single night.

"Riza, please see me in my study."

The fourteen year old nearly dropped the cup she had been washing, her eyes wide as she turned to glance at her father. But he had already disappeared and judging by the slam that followed, he had gone into his study.

Something was wrong.

Her father almost never asked her to see her in his study. The last time that had happened was when he had decided to take on Roy Mustang as his apprentice. Quickly drying her hands the girl walked out of the kitchen and down the corridor, pausing when she saw Roy standing outside the door as well. He cast her a confused look as she joined him, to which she only shrugged. Roy knocked lightly.

"Enter."

The door squeaked as it was pushed open by the sixteen year old boy. Roy paused at the threshold to let Riza walk through first. The girl gave him a small smile before entering the study, Roy closing the door after him.

Her father was standing with his back to them, looking out of the only window in the room. There was nothing out of the ordinary in his study though. The books were in haphazard piles, papers were trailing off various tables with alchemy circles and scribbles drawn in various sizes. The only thing out of place was a basket sitting on top of his desk.

"It would seem that we will be having a new person joining us." He spoke, still looking out of the window.

Roy glanced at Riza, their confused expressions mirrored one another. There was a beat of silence, before it was broken by a soft cooing sound coming from the desk, along with a chubby hand being waved from within the confines of the basket.

A baby!

Without a second thought Riza strode forward pulling the basket towards her to peer inside. Sure enough a baby lay swaddled in blankets of a pale pink, indicating to her gender. The baby stared up quizzically at the new face, just as Riza stared back.

"She is your cousin. Daughter of your Aunt Felicity. My sister." The man explained, the heaviness of his tone making his daughter glance up at him.

"Her parents died in an Ishvalan attack. And I adopted her out of the duty I have to my sister." The man explained. Roy kept his distance, watching everything carefully. This was a family matter and he would not interfere. Another beat of silence.

"Whats her name?" Riza spoke softly, her eyes training back to the baby who was still looking at her. With a jolt Riza realized why her eyes looked so familiar. They were the exact color and shape of her own eyes. The tuft of light brown hair was unlike her own blonde locks, but there was no mistaking those eyes.

"Willow Hawkeye." The man responded, now turning around to watch his daughter and niece meet for the first time.

Tentatively Riza reached out to the small hand that was reaching for her, small coos echoing in the otherwise silent room. Tiny fingers grasped her own, the grip firm. The baby girl seemed to find this amusing because she gave Riza a gummy smile.

"Willow." The girl whispered, carefully lifting the baby out of the basket and after a second of fumbling was holding her in the crook of her arm, supporting her head and keeping a firm grip on her small body. Instantly the baby snuggled closer, seeking out the warmth her body provided.

"She is family Riza. And since I have taken an apprentice to teach, it will be up to you to care for her." Perhaps they would be able to form a bond strong enough to withstand anything. There may be a big age gap between them, but with the way they seem to have taken to each other, the old Alchemist knew these two would stand by one another through thick and thin.

The young blonde nodded. "Yes, Father." With that, she placed Willow back into the basket, and carefully picking it up in both arms walked out of the room.

"Roy!" The man barked, sensing his apprentice was about to follow after his daughter. The young by winced at his tone.

"Yes Master?" The respect was ever present in his tone as he turned to the man.

"See that you don't let helping my daughter with my niece get in the way of your studies."

Roy stared, eyes wide. How had he known….

"Leave."

The young boy did not need to be told twice. With a backwards glance he was out of the study, the door closing behind him. Without a second thought he raced off to find Riza and the newest member of the Hawkeye family.

Little Willow Hawkeye.

#fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fullmetal alchemist #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fmab #alphonse elric x reader #alphonse x reader #alphonse elric #alphonse #edward elric #alphonse x oc #alphonse elric x oc

[tsnbrainrot]

now that the three specials are over, i got a bit nostalgic and watched some eps from season 4, but then i just decided to do a whole rewatch of classic rtd.

i just finished the girl in the fireplace, and i know its been said before but wowzers it really is modfat's prototype for the doctor/amy/river era, huh.

i havent watched it since the first time which would have been in 2010, and even then i remember how struck i was by how out of character the doctor felt, and how out of place the episode feels tonally. like when the doctor realized he was stuck in france, its like he completely forgot rose and mickey were trapped on an empty space ship, didnt even spare a thought for them. and they felt like two kids he was babysitting the whole time rather than actual companions.

it made me realize that part of what makes blink and family of blood so good was that the actual doctor was barely present so he didnt have a chance to mischaracterize him lol

oh boy oh boy do i feel all of that anon !!!!!!!!!!

you're right: it's been said to DEATH and by more eloquent people than me, but looking back gitf truly was a giant red flag re: some unbearable m*ffatism (as was the library two parter lbr). which is kind of funny because, despite being a HUGE tenrose girlie, 15/16 yo me looooooved that episode back when i first watched s2. but i feel like with every single rewatch since that first one i get more and more and more annoyed by it. m*ffat hated rose and it really shows etc etc. there are still some elements of it i really enjoy (the monsters kinda fuck and the concept of them trying to fix the ship with human parts is great, as are the whole time window thing. i love when eps blend historical & futuristic. also the soundtrack SLAPS). and i do think as a tenrose supremacist there's a lot of ways to interpret it that REALLY works for their relationship: it's right after the sarah jane ep and the doctor being truly confronted with rose's mortality/having to potentially leave her/lose her like he lost sarah for maybe the first time. (at least the first time as ten??) so him bringing mickey on board and then flirting with someone else to put distance between them/hide from his feelings is something i can work with. and it also works as a condensed echo/parallel of what tenrose's romance MEANS for the doctor; a blink of an eye and she'll be dead. but i dont think that was intentional on m*ffat's part. i'm just doing the heavy lifting.

overall, there's just a bunch of moments where you're kind of going: wtf the doctor wouldn't say/do that ????? even if he wasnt in love with rose (which he IS), he'd CARE that he left her alone. i can buy him leaving to save all those french people cos he wouldn't let innocents suffer.... but he'd be UPSET he lost ROSE and THE TARDIS??? it's bullshit. but then, i hate the way m*ffat writes ten in general (dont get me started on the 50th). and tbh i STILL don't understand why madame de pompadour even ends up falling for the doctor in the first place? it's completely shallow and superficial, like most of m*ffat's romances. it's like he's always trying to write a love at first sight/fairy tale story but he doesn't give it much substance so you're left with something completely hollow. it's emotionally empty.

anyways, he was much better at writing standalone eps than showrunning (imo), but even they haven't aged as well as some others rip.

#rtd era who is SO good tho #i also did a rewatch this year (to prep for the 60th) and !!! #i love it sm #i keep trying to talk myself out of doing another one kfngdjkgd #doctor who

[comfreyhollywings]

soldier, prince, darling.

what is a relationship without a prior motivation to lead you forward? what is a relationship without your identity? if this person were to be stripped away from your life, would you still have an internal compass? an ambition? 

i once read a story about the rat king and the nutcracker. the clocksmith and how he created his characters. it resounded in my head when i had said to a friend of mine through discord that:

‘while im not discounting that there are things in this world left to fate/universe, we can hope for it to be kind all we like but if we're not taking agency.. then it leaves the question if it's truly beneficial for us. we can only leave things at the hand of fate for so long until we realize we're stagnating, i guess.’ 

in the clocksmith, the whole plot of this story is how a nutcracker comes to life by this girl named clara. i believe it took inspiration from the actual fairytale of the nutcracker, but it took a twist. the nutcracker was imagined so much by others, he had no real identity. first it was from clara, and then her brother. when left to himself; the narrative took a spin where he took on the narrative himself. that his clocksmith truly did love him. as a father. 

then he became a real boy.

something about the story struck me hard then. it still applies now, where i feel more puppet and marionette strings rather than a real human girl. 

at one point; and still to this day, i believe i relate to the nutcracker. i have realized you can receive all the compliments you’d like at once; people can tell you what you’d like to hear. but it still isn’t enough. it isn’t enough to fill in the emptiness, the hollow inside your heart demanding for more. 

are you my soldier? are you my prince?

the words still ring in my head. i get complimented for my looks; a pretty flower in the midst of my relationships. but nothing but that. a flower. 

are you my darling?

i..

i’m nothing. 

i’m neither solider nor prince. i’m not a darling. so who would i be devoid of someone telling me what i am? all this time, i had been pleading for someone to tell me “who am i? what am i? what is my purpose in this world?” and the answers have all varied. 

i think maybe i’m me. i’m me without having to put a label on it. i’m not for everyone to enjoy and that’s okay. i’m not a flower. i’m me. this is a fully realized human being, not a fucking flower for people to admire. everyone is not meant to adore me nor like me. i’m not a thing, i’m a person. 

____

have you heard of the fairytale of the nightingale? this story talks about a rather plain nightingale singing the most beautiful songs, garnering the attention of others until an invention rivaled it. a fake bird, bejeweled and gilded in gold recording back waltzes rather than the original nightingale songs. the original nightingale, disliking it though adorned with jewelry itself on its plain form, left its cage immediately. 

a cage is a cage despite its appearance. it may seem comfy with gilded golden seams over it, but it is still doing harm. no matter how beautiful it may seem. 

does this relationship, my fantasy of a relationship, cage me or set me free?

i believe only i can find the answer for that. 

you can’t be truly living if you’re not living for yourself. 

#inkskinned #spilledink #vent poem #spilled ink #inspiration from leigh bardugo's grisha fairytales #grishaverse #shadow and bone writing stuff

[septembersghost]

Hi! Sorry for bringing this up and I hope it's not triggering, I just keep thinking about these words you said: "{…}which has made my only recourse a wide chasm of separation, and that's a loss in its own sense. sometimes i think it's a relief to not allow it to take up as much space in my heart and mind, and other times i feel a stinging anger and deep, persistent grief that it had to come to that point. it's VERY hard to separate from something you love and are invested in that has also become a source of pain". The first time I read them, it made me cry. I sooo know the feeling. A small story again (and sorry for it being too personal), five years ago, when I was struggling with a particularly bad depression episode, Dean was there for me. If it wasn't for him, I know I would've done something very stupid, something… irreversible, but he saved me, single-handedly pulled me from the brink. He used to be my comfort ever since. Spn used to be my comfort. Seasons 13, 14, 15 especially and the finale brought that full-on depression and mental breakdowns back. It sucks and hurts that, as an act of self care and healing, we had to cut ties with the show. And that means, by a certain extent, to detach from Dean too :(( He's not part of the show for me or the part of the narrative, nor has he ever been, but even so, there is a level of distance and the connection I felt before is essentially lost now and things don't quite work the same way. I still love him, he is still my dearest boy, I still have his framed self-made portrait (which I drag with me wherever I go), but it's not what it used to be. There's a kind of detachment to it. I tried to rewatch spn a few months back, but I can't. And I wish I could say that it just was too painful and that's why, but no, what hurts even more is that I couldn't, didn't want to care or be invested anymore. I used to care so much. And now it's just… this hollow emptiness, this indifference. It's like what Mike in BCS said, one moment you're gonna wake up, you're gonna brush your teeth, go to work, and then you'll realize you haven't thought about it at all. One evening last year I realized that I haven't thought about spn for a long, long time. Then I burst into tears because it felt like saying goodbye, really saying goodbye this time, and it hurt, and I didn't want that, but I don't know what else could I have done rather then complete separation. There's a line from a song that stuck with me forever. "I'm writing a book on how to stay conscious when you drown {…}/ I'm writing a chapter on what to do after they dig you up/ On what to do after you grew to hate what you used to love". It's SO indicative of my (former) "relationship" with spn (the whole song is, given that it's unironically called How Not to Drown), and your words reminded me of that . It's just… I understand you and I love you ♥ You're the only person I can safely talk to about those things. I wish I could give you a hug right now :(

never be sorry, darling, and i hope you don't mind me posting this. i have a lot of emotional posts and very personal stories linked to this, so you've come to the right place and are definitely not alone.

Dean was there for me. If it wasn't for him, I know I would've done something very stupid, something… irreversible, but he saved me, single-handedly pulled me from the brink. <- anyone who's been here since the end of 2020 and well into 2021 is probably tired of me discussing this, but...same. dean was with me from the very onset of my illness, and through some very dark times and terrible moments, real traumas and losses and grief. he was one of my closest constants and a talisman of bravery and strength for those fifteen years, and i can pinpoint some specifically difficult moments where he helped me hold on, or gave me a reason to remember i had to. i've discussed this endlessly with other mutuals too, who felt similarly and turned to spn for comfort - it is not, at its core, a comforting story, it's in fact quite often the opposite, something that unearths fears and directly examines wounds, but a lot of us found a home there anyway, even if it was a haunted one. and we found resilience and courage and an unfailingly loving heart. it's not a secret i despise d*bb era overall, but i could never give the show up, because of him. it's also not a secret (considering it's...why this blog exists...) that the finale drove me to some measure of an emotional breakdown which took me quite a while to even begin to recover from, and felt like such a profound loss that it had not only a detrimental mental effect, but a physical one too, in that it actually affected my illness issues for a bit. the fracture i experienced in november 2020 is only comparable to real grief and heartbreak i've experienced, my mom watched me weep that night and has told me how terrible it was for *her*. i've been over and over it in posts, i've been over and over it with friends, but the ache never actually goes away. once that full year had passed, i got the point where i had no choice but to bury it, in a way. to separate from it in order to protect myself. there certainly IS a level of healing and self-care in that, and i KNOW it's healthier than obsessing and crying about it, i know it's better to put it aside, but that in itself has been a hard choice, because it feels a little like letting him down in letting it go.

that means, by a certain extent, to detach from Dean too :(( He's not part of the show for me or the part of the narrative, nor has he ever been, but even so, there is a level of distance and the connection I felt before is essentially lost now and things don't quite work the same way. I still love him, he is still my dearest boy - honestly, did you extract this directly from my brain? it feels like i could've written it, and there definitely is a transcendence he has apart from the narrative, it was one of the first things i tried to assert and cling to, and no one has the place he has to me in that chamber of my heart, but ultimately the detachment still came. i've had people say that's letting d*bb win or giving the ending too much credit, and i did try to defy that for a while, but ultimately that was more damaging. as it stands now, i can't rewatch either - traditionally, i ALWAYS watch the pilot on my birthday, since it's also the show's anniversary. year after year, that was a part of my day, even last year. i planned to do it this year too, and when it came down to it, i just couldn't press play. last year, when i was still rewatching (i got to 11x01 and then...the comment we talked about before happened and it halted me so abruptly and dreadfully in my tracks, and like, fractured something in my head, and i never restarted it), there was an acute and constant pain in it, but it felt essential to keep. after releasing that somewhat, it was chased by those hollows and shadows instead. what hurts even more is that I couldn't, didn't want to care or be invested anymore. I used to care so much. And now it's just… this hollow emptiness, this indifference. this, so much. the indifference is...it isn't necessarily worse than being angered or agonized, but it's still terrible and unsettling. it's a lack of something. love and grief are intertwined, but what do you call it when you only have a rattling emptiness?

it's serendipitous you would send this today, because on the song topic, i was looking for something else altogether on my old-old blog, my very first blog here, and exactly ten years ago, on september 27, 2012, i rewrote the lyrics from "begin again" to be about him. it sounds silly now, red wasn't even out yet, the song was released as a promo single, and it was so beautiful and cathartic, and somehow i connected it to him, and his meaning, and to hopes that i had. being reminded of that today probably should've been more shattering, but instead it just felt...distant and memorialized. thinkin' all love ever does is break, and burn, and end...like the emotions encased themselves in amber. at some point, it became it's time to go - fifteen years, fifteen million tears...that old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in my soul. sometimes it still does creep up on me and knock me back, but more often there's a terrible numbness to it. it felt like saying goodbye, really saying goodbye this time, and it hurt, and I didn't want that, but I don't know what else could I have done rather then complete separation. yeah. the separation is protective, but it's still a real sorrow and a loss. i'm trying to believe someday it will shift, and something warmer and brighter in it will come back to me, but even if it doesn't, i know all the words that i wrote and love that i expressed was true and still has worth and still resides in me, even if i have to keep it differently.

there are reminders of him around me - the journal on my desk, his little plush, etc - and that's meaningful, i'm glad i have them, and i keep him and the valuable parts of the show embedded here on my blog to prevent losing that altogether, but it's like there's a mourning veil around it.

thank you for sharing and feeling safe enough to tell me this, i understand more than i can say and i love you too. i'm hugging you so tightly from afar. 🖤🖤🖤

#snowstormserenade #letterbox #every time i write about this now it feels like a eulogy and an exorcism #dean feelings #bubble wrap around my heart #spn for ts

[skottysmock]

When I watch the sun set it is both beautiful and sad. It’s nice to look at and think hey my sweet boi is warmer now. It’s sad to think how far away you are though. How I’ve missed you for so many years. I left and you left an empty space beside me. I let you carve your way in beautifully and artistically and now I sit with my mould that no other can fit into. I carry my heart like a sack of dead kittens that I had promised one last adventure too. I have been kissed and held and I feel nothing. I am hollow and yet somehow heavy. I miss not just you but where we are from. I fall to my knees in mud and let the rain speckle my face as I look at the trees and I almost feel at home for a second but the empty space near me feels deeper. I hear the songs from Wolfmother and think of when I found them as teenager. Sitting against a wall wondering why it felt so comforting and so familiar. I feel nauseated at the thought of not remembering. I feel sick that I forgot and yet part of me never did. Somewhere in my unconscious brain a full memory of you and what we used to do remains. It’s like having a ghost in my head. A haunting I wish I could call out to let me hear and see and feel like I once did. Sometimes I can summon you. That comfortable feeling you used to leave in my chest. Nothing leaves me feeling that safe. I wait for you in the shadow of the earth scared and heavy clenching onto the little scraps I have left of you. Perhaps squeezing too hard. The sadness of realizing why I felt so comfortable and familiar staring into your eyes and those pictures of you. The sunset makes me homesick. The little things I do that are ingrained in me from where I came. It’s all sickening and heavy and empty and I don’t even have a quiet space to tell you of my empty heaviness in many words and so I just repeat myself and read this over again hoping I said what I was trying to say. I suppose I kind of did.

[theboywhocriedinsilence]

12/19/23

I'm not doing well, the past few weeks have been yet another dark period in my life. So much happening... most of which I can't bring myself to discuss even in an anonymous setting like this…it's not YOU… it’s me, and the fact that I can't seem to admit the truths to myself. I'm falling apart, I know it. I feel myself slipping. I am aware of the panic building deep inside of me. I know what the trigger is, but I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to “fix” it and Everything feels like it’s upside down, I cry one minute and I laugh the next. Sometimes it starts as a laugh and ends as a cry. And I wonder how much strength and will power I really possess, taking a moral inventory, trying to figure out who the I am.

It's just not a good time;

I suppose I should just leave it at that.

I have good ideas,

but not enough heart to stick it out.

Or maybe I’m just not good enough, period?

That's how I feel... not good enough...

not smart enough, or pretty enough,

or thin enough,or rich enough,

or successful enough,

I’m not good enough.

Not Good Enough.

I long to be good enough,

yet that dream has not been realized,

and I wonder if it ever will be.

Lately, I feel nothing...

except emptiness, and hollow...

I can't for the life of me figure out what's wrong.

How did I get this way?

What led to this?

What's wrong with me?

Why can't I make sense of it all.

I think I'm broken.

I feel a heaviness in my heart

something is trying to happen far away

within a part of me I don't remember how to find.

I feel lost

I'm just wandering around within my mind, waiting.

Wishing for someone to tell me what to do and how

but there’s no one to help me.

I cannot allow myself to trust, to lean on anyone.

Been there, done that,

it only ends in more pain, more shame and hurt.

I am on my own with this.

So I write about it,

because that's what I know how to do

and the writing pacifies me

and teases me out of my own thoughts.

I have so much hurt and anger

it’s bubbling to the surface.

Everything around me, and the very fact that I have to go on in the midst of it, whispers to me of my own failure and horribleness as a human being. I know all that I tell myself is not true, but this is not the kind of thing I can just tell myself to stop and be happy.

I see myself as a child. I see a little boy sitting in a dark corner, hugging his knees and trying to be as small and "out of the way" as possible. When he looks at me, his eyes are full of a terrible anger- rage, sadness and pain. he is scared. I have never seen myself so dark. But he is undeniably me, and he must have existed during that time of my life. I have ignored him, I choose to ignore and neglect him, because he did not fit the image I held for others. he makes me think about everything that happened to me. So much anger, so much hurt. he was rejected, hated, abused; never good enough. he was insulted, ridiculed, heart broken, ignored, and left to the back of my mind. The pain from the aftermath is unspeakable. I try to list the things my father said to me- not to relive the memories but to seek guidance through the suffering I never could when I was actually going through it. I try to describe the pain and it's so overwhelming that no words will come. I don't know what to say to him this child . I don't know how to help him exist, how to let myself be angry and hurt, how to bring to life all of the things that I've repressed. I want to express it all, but I don't know where to begin. And I look for something anything, a book, a person, a therapist; anything to show me the way. I suppose there is no way, no road map, nothing but fumbling in the dark, at least that’s been my experience. I try to ignore him, but every night when I close my eyes and I see him, but I cannot sit with him or tell him I am here for him. I am unable to tell him that his pain is real and that he has every right to be angry. I cannot help him or stop his anger or pain. I don’t know how. No one has ever shown me how. And he wants, no he needs, something, and I don't know what to do, or how to help him. I am so tired of walking this road alone.

I am tired of the pain and anger,

but they are mine- a part of me.

And I don’t know where to go from here.

Or if there is anywhere to go from here.

I will never be good enough.

#depressing shit #ecsxpe #rage #dealing with depression

[wolloollow]

Introduction

Hello!

I don't really pursue any specific purpose for making this blog, but I kind of do actually.

My name, Wolloollow is made of the word hollow. The orginal form was Wollohhollow, hollow written in reverse (wolloh) followed by hollow.  Hollow represents the void, emptiness, the unmanifest and wolloh it's opposite represents everything, all creation and the manifest.

For aesthetic purpose the letter H was omitted thus Wolloollow. 

Actually I was thinking about using Potato God or Supreme Potato as my username but unfortunately I realized I had already made an account long ago.

So here is a place to express myself, as lately I feel like I can't even express myself to myself let alone others. Here I will share what I know, what I am doing and sort of a dairy. There will be some manifesting and shifting ideas, as I feel like there is a huge lack of it here. People do talk about manifesting money, beauty or shifting to hogwarts and stuff. But I have rarely seen more crazy manifestations such as summoning a fairy or teleporting. Or even some kinky manifestations like imagine if head patting someone made them Cum !!! Like being in public with your specific person, pat their head and say who's my good boy/girl? For how long can they keep quiet?

I will not be going over the very basics of loa, void or manifestation. Posts are written assuming you are already familiar with these concepts. I do not recommend my blog as an introduction to such concepts. 

[db-reviews]

#106 - SZNZ: Autumn - Weezer (2022)

Oh boy, let’s dive into something way different than what I normally cover. Now I do not like making negative reviews but with this release, I just have to talk about this EP. I don’t know why, but something in me wants to review this hunk of junk.

I and Weezer are two things that can surprisingly go together in the right circumstances, and in others, it sort of falls flat. All their albums, for me (Except for Raditude and SZNZ: Summer), are fairly alright, with my favorite being Ok Human. To me all their albums pretty much sound the same, nothing all that big and complex, nothing that screams amazing rock material. They are a band that I know, and that is all I can say. I think we all know how Weezer started and the entire history of the band so I won’t dabble in the known, however, I will talk about the unknown. See this year they have been releasing 4 EPs based on seasons, cultivating an hour-long concept album. This concept of an album based on seasons has been done a lot before, like this year we got an album about that same concept, Urskog by Kaipa, and in the 70s there was a very influential folk album of Les Cinq Saisons by Harmonium, which I believe was the first critically acclaimed album to do something of this nature. Weezer isn’t the first, and they won’t be the last. For the EPs they released that build into this big concept album, so far they released Spring, which I think is the best one since it blends the orchestral wonder of Ok Human with a more baroque sense of sound, and Summer which, like Summer it’s annoyingly musty. Now we get into Autumn, and this one is…how do I put this nicely…dreadfully weak.

The band in recent years has been experimenting with genres and the like, but they always retain some kind of power pop rock dynamic to their sound. This is evident with Can’t Dance, Don’t Ask Me. Screw Captain Beefheart or The Shaggs, this is the most annoying rock music I have ever heard. Oh god, the drums are way too loud, the guitars sound alright but they do not get any respect, and that ear-piercing keyboard…ugh! Honestly, this album suffers heavily from the mixing. All the instruments do not sound right in the music, and everything just feels like a headache to get through. I will say I do slightly enjoy the part from 1:43-2:25 but it is way too short that it becomes half-baked. It is not good at all.

This honestly goes towards every other track on this album too, so much so I would have to repeat myself pretty much over and over again. Get Off On The Pain is an annoyingly sterile rock tune, What Happens After You would have more points for me but it ultimately falls flat because nothing ever develops, Francesca is way too lackluster for its good, and Run, Raven, Run has such a good title but they ultimately blew it on creating another very lacking power pop rock tune even when it could have been one of the best on this album especially when it had that almost ballad piece in the middle. All these songs are underdeveloped, way too underdeveloped mind you. I know this is an EP so nothing is truly ever gonna be fully realized, however, I have heard dozens of EPs that have songs that try to be less half-baked. That is the keyword for this album, half-baked. No song here feels done, and honestly, they feel like they needed much more time to sit through, and I bet they are underdeveloped because the band had to get something out and done with so they can work on their last season EP (which I hope would be better than this pile of garbage). Because of this, there aren’t any songs on here that feel like actual full songs. They feel like nothing. Much like the marble statue head of Rivers Cuomo, it is empty and hollow while everything else is stunning.

Now, I have been lying somewhat. There are two songs here that do feel a lot better and dare I say I like these songs. These songs are Should She Stay Or Should She Go and Tastes Like Pain. Should She Stay is sort of a traditional Weezer affair, but I think what makes it nice for me is the bouncy attitude on here. That swinging drums are a treat here I believe and are mixed properly as opposed to what was with all the other tracks. Tastes Like Pain is honestly the best song here. I dig the more theatre kid, almost Dear Hunter in vein music on here that feels very fun to listen to. I still have my gripes with these songs, since I still think they suffer from the whole problem of these songs being half-baked, but these songs definitely have been in the oven for a bit longer and so feel like actual songs and not proof of concepts of what the band would create. I know Weezer can create something special, and with these two songs this EP could be so much more, but where it stands for me it all feels like a bundle of hogwash.

This is one mediocre effort if I do say so myself. I cannot deny the band’s potential, but here they do not fully grasp what they want to do or make, and even if they do they often fall into the muddy puddles of creating music for the sake of music and not creating music to create something amazing in artistic form. I think if they went and reworked most of these songs and fixed the mixing to be less obtuse then this might be a fun work they put out, but since they cannot do that now I think the only option now is to pray that the winter EP will be so much better than this.

1.5/5

#music review #album review #pop

[seven--secrets]

fragile || wakaru || trial results reaction

.

"...Himeyuri-chan, it’s alright. You don’t have’ta apologize for anything. Ryou-kun an’ I... We both wanted it to turn out this way, we really did, so please don’t be sad. ‘m just sorry...that we couldn’t do anythin’ for you.” That they’d put you in this position at all. Unwittingly making you play a role in their death; they hadn’t realized it would be so hard for you, to condemn them for taking the life of someone that so many others depended on, and it doesn’t feel fair. It doesn’t feel fair that the ones who are hurting the most from this decision are the ones who have already lost. 

People kept using words like selfless and kind, but they can’t--Wakaru just can’t see it that way when Himeyuri is ripping out her own heart like this. When the professor is safe, while Himeyuri may carry this guilt with her for the rest of her life. When they’ve forced her to watch them die...they’d never thought about that. And their heart aches and groans and dulls, and they want to reach out and hug her but she is so so far away.

Maybe there would still be time later...they have 17 minutes.

So their eyes drift to the other side of her instead, to Yuuto--and they offer up a smile that feels somehow more empty, somehow more hollow than the one that had haunted Wakaru in the In Between. They seem to look past him, straight through him—to the boy that once burned too brightly, freshly smothered in cinder and ash, and it all comes so easy. They open their mouth to speak to him, to the ghost that they once saw. To try and reassure him in the only way they know how. It’s okay, Yuuto-kun. It doesn’t matter anymore—but Kanna grips their hand so tightly, like a prayer, and they can’t bring themself to say it.

And as much as they didn’t want to see her drown with them...they can’t help but feel a little relief in it. A cruel, selfish little piece of happiness. If it’s like this, if it’s for you, if you want to stay by their side even through the unforgivable...then they can keep their head above water for a little longer.

They can listen to Chioko’s earnest advice without hurting. They can accept it all for what it is. They can’t do much with it now, with only 17 minutes to spare, but maybe in time they can settle in on it. Even if she couldn’t accept what they’d done, she was still willing to offer some form of kindness, huh. Holly, too...

“Thanks… I’ll do my best, Naganuma-kun. Mikkun…”

They don’t want a new beginning. They don’t want to be apart. They don’t want to be separated from you. From the professor, from the garden and the warmth of your hand, and they don’t want to become a fish trapped in the water while the world they love is passing by. They don’t...want to fight... But maybe soon a day would come when their soul could take those words to heart. They’ll try to remember until then, to tuck it away somewhere in their heart for safe-keeping, so... 

At Holly’s offering, Wakaru fidgets a bit.

“Uhm...the professor’s contact information, I left it with Dante-kun just a little bit ago, if you could...” Their eyes flicker to Riley when the words leave their mouth, wondering if she saw. Wondering if that would just end up being another knife in her heart—wondering how they managed to keep making the people they care for bleed, well after the blade left their hands. 

“I can’t think of any mementos he might want, so... Just bring ‘im whatever you can, if that’s alright. I didn’t...write any letters or nothin’ like that.” There weren’t enough words in the world. They could unfold every paper crane they’d crafted here, every wish they’d ever made, fill each and every page to the brim and it still would fall just short. Beyond that simple fact, Wakaru just wasn’t well-versed in making tragedy seem beautiful. In making a goodbye feel like a love letter. They didn’t know how to apply beauty to pain, or hope to the darkness. That was Ryou. 

Perhaps they should have asked for his advice then, as he prepared to rest among the flowers. Waiting patiently for them to steady their hands, steady their breath, to administer an eternal slumber. Something from a fairy tale. 

Hey, Ryou-kun... What can you say, what do you do—what can you give to someone who gives you the world? The person who makes flowers bloom in heart and head and hand. For the flower you never wanted to wilt, is it enough to just give your life? Should they have done something more?

I would have preferred that you try to get away with it if you had to, done anything else. I-

Something different…?

Hey, Ryou-kun... How do you say goodbye to someone when you don’t want to leave them? How are you meant to say you’re sorry to the hand that clutches yours so desperately, the voice that wails out your name--to the tears flooding the room from all corners, when there aren’t enough words in the world? When there’s only 17…16…15…14…13…12 minutes left.

They wonder if they should have asked him one—two, three more times, if he was absolutely sure. If his answer would ever change, if only they’d kept asking. If only they had the words. If maybe they should have tried a little harder to save him, instead of the people he wanted so desperately to save.

But, in that moment...it just didn’t seem possible. They were both so deeply afraid. Just wanted it to stop, just wanted the suffering to end. That fear and pain that had always been buried somewhere so deep down, that neither of them had ever been able to properly express—echoing off one another only to grow in volume and merge together in some horrific amalgamation, so much larger than the sum of its parts. For Ryou, because his family relied on him so deeply. If he’d failed him, even once, he wouldn’t ever be able to forgive himself. Not for something of this magnitude. Not when he wanted so badly to promise them all the world.

For Wakaru...because they’d depended on the professor so deeply for all this time, please let them be the one to take the burden from you, who is so much like him. Just this once, they can do it. For him, and for you. You can lay back and close your eyes, and they’ll take care of the rest. You can rest now. If it’s them, they can make sure it doesn’t hurt. They know how—they’ll inflict as little damage to your body as possible, because it’s the only comfort either of them can think to offer to the rest of the class. Because your family will never have to wonder if you suffered. Nothing gruesome...nothing brutal, nothing cruel.

Hey, Ryou-kun... Was it really alright? Was it not just an act of cruelty after all? Have you not begun to regret it, now that the tide has receded and the shore is visible once more? As long as you don’t have any regrets, it’s fine, so please...

Their eyes wander the room once more, drifting aimlessly, before eventually returning to Holly.

“…If you could use that to find him once y’all leave here, and tell ’im that I had a lot of fun, and made friends with everyone…” Wakaru pauses, eyes wandering to the floor and only a little relieved to find it hadn’t become flooded with tears. Ah...the more time passes by, the more they don’t want to go. 17 minutes really is a cruel thing. They squeeze Kanna’s hand as tightly as they can.

They did have fun... They really liked being your friend. It’s all past tense now, huh. 

“Just tell ‘im…that I didn’t suffer or nothin’ like that. That I wasn’t in any pain. Just...that it’s thanks to Dr. Hatori that I could live every day smilin’, so... I was happy, right to the end. ‘cause the things he taught me, the things he gave me…they made me strong.”

Hey, Ryou-kun... That’s fine, isn’t it? But Riley rises from her seat, and they freeze in place.

Wakaru had always tried to follow the professor’s advice, when he said that saying thank you is almost always better than saying sorry. That if you can try to find a way to say thank you instead, you should. That your appreciation holds more weight than your guilt, that you should always try your best lift others up instead of pulling yourself down. They aren’t sure what to do though, not sure what to say when they can see Riley cracking beneath the weight of it. The guilt of things outside of her control, the feeling of failure.

They remember being in a room of the onryo’s design, when water flooded in from all sides and they were too consumed with fear to move or think or even breathe, and Riley lifted them up onto her shoulders to try and keep their head above water even when it meant she’d be trapped underneath. They remember when silent tears rolled down their face after reading Sayuri’s letters without understanding why, and Riley hugged them so tightly that their feet left the ground, and they felt like a child again and they laughed, and they—and they remember when, just moments before, they’d weakly pulled their arms around her and told her that everything would be okay.

They told her that everything would be okay, and...this is what they meant by that, huh. The best possible ending. This is what it looked like. Hesitantly, achingly slow, the 17 seconds it takes for them to gather the courage to pull their free arm around her again.

Hey, Ryou-kun... Could you tell them where the beauty in that story was supposed to lie? When the little mermaid gave it all up, and returned to the sea...

“...’m sorry, Riley-chan...” They aren’t the words she wants to hear, they know, but it’s all they can say. They’re sorry, they’re so sorry for hurting you like this. For making all of your efforts to be kind to them, to understand them, to make them feel safe, to go out of your way for them all amount to nothing but dirt and blood and tears and a garden full of wilted flowers. 

And the girl who loved the flowers is somewhere out of their sight, and her hand now feels so familiar in theirs that they can’t tell if it’s even there. Has she finally decided to let go, now that they’re in the arms of someone else? They give another cautious squeeze, the relief that their hand isn’t empty just yet offering enough courage to continue.

“I never once felt like...you wouldn’t’ve been there for me if I ever needed somethin’, or that you let me down, or nothin’ like that, y'know...? Ryou-kun too...” They don’t know what to tell Riley to make this okay. Maybe there’s nothing that can, and the thought makes their fingers grip into the back of her shirt. To lean into her hold for a moment and listen to a heart that still beats so strongly, even when breaking apart. Relying on your strength one more, one more time. It’s the only thing left that they can think to give you. Because like them, you have so much to give. 

...I feel safe. They’d told you once, following your lead into the darkness. This time, they’d be walking on their own, but... If they can borrow just a little of your strength, then they should be alright.

“Thank you...” They finally whisper, leaning away enough for you to decide whether or not you’re willing to let go. Enough for them to look around, to take it in one last time. The dust is beginning to settle, it feels like. The reality sinking in, and they aren’t sure how many minutes they have left and it’s the uncertainty that’s the worst of all. Sometime soon, without warning, they’ll surely be ripped away whether you’re holding them or not. 

I’m so so-rry, I’m so…

Which inevitably brings them back to Kanna, and they can’t say anything to make her tears stop or save her mother from despair or bring the flowers back in her garden and stay until they bloom. It’d be nice to see them bloom. their eyes drift back down, back down, losing focus and settling back down to the hand that’s clasped to theirs. At some point, they’d decided that they were allowed to hold her hand whenever they wanted. When was that? Hey... How do you say goodbye to someone when you don’t want to leave them? How are you meant to say you’re sorry to the hand that clutches yours...

“...I’m just happy you’re here...”

Hey, Kanna-chan… In a world where on that night, when the realities of your pain felt so heavy, if they had just run straight to you instead—do you think it would have been different?

#wakaru #chapter 3 #trial 3 #submission

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Guest Side Story

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson Rating: T Word Count: 3214

Summary: Sam told Bucky not to flirt with Sarah. But this is her house, so Bucky's pretty sure she makes the rules.

Bucky’s missed white lies. Ones that don’t hurt anybody.

“Is that cigarette smoke I smell on your coat, James Barnes?” “No, Ma. ’Course not.”

“And you’re sure this dame knows it’s my arm she’ll be on?” “Sure, Steve. She’s been after me to fix the two of you up for weeks.”

Stuff like that.

Past few years, Bucky’s either been transparent or a brick wall, all lies or all truth. Which one he loses more sleep over just depended on the day. The most human thing, he’s learning, is to work with a little of both: fact and fiction. Give something here, hold something back there. Lying doesn’t have to be mean-spirited and telling the truth doesn’t have to make him feel hollow and guilty. Maybe you can only realize this kinda thing when you find your way home, even if the home isn’t yours.

Bucky’s standing in the kitchen listening to Cass teach him how to fish. It’s purely theoretical, no gear involved, just the overexaggerated motion of Cass’s arm as he mimes casting. Laughing, Bucky lightly grabs the boy’s elbow before it can collide with the refrigerator on an especially big swing. Cass downsizes his demonstration without pausing the excited flow of his instructions.

AJ catches Bucky’s eye; from the look on his face, he’s beginning to suspect that Bucky might already know how to fish. While Cass is focused hard on his hands pretending to show how to fit live bait onto a hook, Bucky smiles at AJ over the smaller boy’s head and raises a finger to his lips. White lies. Let Cass believe he’s the expert.

When Cass is winding down, Bucky moves around him with a grin, carrying an empty plate to the sink.

“I got it!” AJ declares, whisking it from Bucky’s hand and pumping a squirt of dish soap in the center while his other hand runs the hot water.

Cass slotted the Pop-Tarts the plate lately held into the toaster for him (no better end-of-the-day snack, Bucky was told) and now AJ’s cleaning up. They’re a hospitable family, all day long. No phoniness, no insincere offers of help that they’re hoping Bucky won’t take them up on. He actually had to race the kids to the shed to store a toolbox earlier. On the boat, Bucky has room to put in the effort for the Wilsons, but inside the walls of their home he’s not allowed to do a damn thing because he’s a guest. Per square foot of property, he doesn’t think he’s ever been treated this well in someone else’s house.

“Fine,” Bucky concedes, “but I’m doing all the dishes tomorrow—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And don’t get up early to drink a glass of orange juice and try to wash it before I’m awake, ’cause I’ll be listening.”

The boys giggle and Bucky leans against the counter, hovering while AJ hands the plate off for Cass to wipe dry and pretending not to listen to Sam and Sarah talking in the next room.

…But there isn’t a full wall separating the kitchen from the living room and Sam knows Bucky’s hearing’s good, right? He doesn’t think they’re discussing anything that private and if Sam’s annoyed with him later for what he supposes Bucky might’ve heard, Bucky’ll just offer up another white lie and swear he couldn’t hear a thing. And Sarah… Sarah wouldn’t think any worse of him if she knew. Bucky imagines she’d have a lot of compassion for his frequent urge to give Sam a hard time just for the hell of it. He flicks a quick glance over his shoulder, just to see her, and concentrates on what they’re saying, giving himself vague permission because he overheard his name.

“This was your idea,” Sarah’s saying. “You brought the stray cat home, just like when we were kids.”

“Don’t compare him to something cute,” Sam complains. Bucky’s mouth tenses to keep his smile from spreading too far.

“He is a guest in my home, Sam, and he’s more than earned it after the work he’s been putting in with the boat.”

“And what about the work you’ve been putting in watching him do that work?”

“Sam. Grow up.” Sarah’s voice is playful and Bucky almost turns, wondering what her expression looks like.

“So you’ve just been appreciating his skill with a wrench and some sandpaper,” Sam says skeptically.

“If I’m also appreciating his shoulders in that shirt— if—” she emphasizes when Sam tries to interrupt, “—it’s nobody’s business but mine.”

“Ok, you definitely can’t have him sleeping on the couch.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Try to sneak him to my bedroom after lights out? With you listening, trying to catch us? Uh uh. Your sister is a grown woman with two children, a home, and a boat she couldn’t manage to sell, and she can lust where she damn well pleases.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh and AJ gives him a funny look. Kid’s too perceptive.

“He’s tricky,” Sam lectures. “You can’t see it, but I do. I’ve been around him a hell of a lot more. You think he smiles like that at everybody? If he smiles at me at all, I gotta assume he just looked up and saw a meteor hurtling towards where we’re standing and is only smiling because we’ve got seconds to live and I won’t be able to tell anybody.”

“You are hilarious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re telling me your friend is charming. That’s what you’re describing. Don’t I deserve to be charmed? Where else is he gonna sleep, huh? With you? In one of the boys’ little beds while they share the other one? Because I know you’re not suggesting we skip the pretense and put him right in with me.”

Sam lets out a noise of obvious frustration.

“Time to intervene,” Bucky tells Cass and AJ, leaving them to swap confused shrugs in the kitchen as he saunters into the living room.

“Hey,” Sam greets stonily, arms crossed over his chest.

Just for fun, Bucky decides to be all the friendlier.

“It’s so great of you to put me up. Thanks, Sarah. This beats a hotel by a mile.”

“Our gourmet kitchen does offer an impressive range of sugary cereal,” she jokes. “I might even cook you boys a special breakfast tomorrow before you head back to the dock.”

Bucky’s grin widens.

“Oh yeah? I wouldn’t wanna—”

“No, it’s no trouble—”

“Well, that would be—”

“Both of you stop it,” Sam orders.

“Sam, go outside,” Sarah orders right back. “Play some tag with your nephews.”

“Sarah, I’m beat. We’ve been working on that boat all day.”

“Mhmm, you and the rest of the neighbourhood. You worked all day and you come home and there’s still two kids to entertain. But guess what?” She smiles deviously at her brother and throws a few fake punches at his stomach. “You’re Sam Wilson, the Falcon! Looks like you’re special after all. Me and Bucky here know you’ve still got some gas in the tank. Go on.”

Sam looks fairly planted to the spot as he glares from his sister to Bucky, but he eventually moves with a lurching step.

“I’m gonna be right outside,” he warns.

Bucky sidesteps out of his path and says nothing, though it’s hard to resist the instinct to egg him on.

“We’re gonna have a super-secret discussion about which towels he can use,” Sarah goads at her brother’s back.

Sam ignores her, corralling his nephews in the kitchen and guiding them out the door into the fading daylight with a hand on each of their narrow backs.

“Great kids,” Bucky observes.

Sarah nods, watching her family disappear, then turns to him.

“We’re not really gonna talk about towels.”

“No?”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise in surprise and delighted anticipation until Sarah grabs a folded blanket off the back of the couch and passes it to him.

“We’re making up the couch.”

“Oh.”

This is ok too. Actually, really nice, standing next to Sarah and unfolding the blanket as she stuffs a pillow into a clean case. Her eyes find his already on her and he swears he almost blushes; he’s been smoothing out the same crease in this blanket for a good thirty seconds with no result, just watching her easy movements, the way she flips her braids back when they fall forward over her shoulder.

“I hope you’re comfortable,” she says, lingering once they’re done.

“I woulda slept on the floor. A closet, even, like Harry Potter.”

“You read Harry Potter? Don’t tell the boys—they’ll be bugging you to play wizards with them.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, I just watched the movie.”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

“You really better not bring it up then,” Sarah advises. “They’d try to tell you everything at once.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to get in out of my depth.”

It feels like a significant look they exchange after his words. Bucky wants it to be—he thinks he does—but he feels awkward, romantically clumsy. Heartstrings tied together like shoelaces, waiting to trip him up. He’s been telling himself she’s only being kind, but after eavesdropping on her conversation with Sam, he knows she’s interested. In his shoulders at the very minimum. Was that right? His shoulders? Just in case, Bucky does his best to square them. Can’t hurt.

He’s fucking ecstatic when Sarah does glance down briefly, her gaze returning to his face with something flustered in it. Sure, she’s a mom and she runs a business, but it’s like she told Sam: she deserves to be charmed. Bucky’s not entirely sure he’s doing it right though.

“So,” she says, “Sam was just being a pain when he tried to convince me you can’t sleep on the couch because you’ve got a bad back, right?”

Bucky sighs but keeps smiling. It’s natural in her presence.

“I’d say that’s him making old-man jokes about me.”

“I apologize for my brother and his bad manners.”

“Ah, he’s not totally wrong,” he concedes, perching on the arm of the couch. “These last few birthdays have required more candles than you could fit on a cake.”

“Then you just have to get yourself a bigger cake.”

Bucky laughs.

“I guess optimism’s pretty much a family trait?”

“We work at it. They say you need to take the good with the bad, but they don’t tell you that means creating the good out of nothing a lot of the time, if you want any at all. The Wilsons worked that out some time ago, so we mostly do alright.”

“It’s a good feeling to be around,” he tells Sarah earnestly. Clearing his throat, he gets to his feet. “Feels good, being around you.”

“We’re… I’m happy you could stay with us.”

The light’s softened in the room and her voice has gone with it. Bucky shifts on his feet.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he assures her.

Sarah’s eyelashes flutter when she looks from his mouth to his eyes. Probably too try-hard to bite his lip now. God, Sam thinks Bucky’s so suave with Sarah, but it feels like he’s only got one move and it’s fucking smiling. Some Casanova he is. Sarah, meanwhile, is beautiful and authoritative and generous and moving closer to toss the pillow he’ll rest his head on tonight onto the couch.

“Anything else you need to be comfortable?” she asks, gaze slipping from one of his eyes to the other. “Another pillow? Pajamas?”

“I’ve got some, but…”

“But?”

Sarah gives him a questioning look and Bucky starts summoning the courage to make a move. He’ll touch her waist—no, take her hand. He’ll cup her sweet face so there’s no doubt what he means.

“But,” he picks up, “if I get cold in the night…”

There’s longing in her eyes, Bucky knows it, but Sam bangs in the screen door right then, one nephew squealing where he’s been slung over Sam’s shoulder.

“Well,” Sam announces loudly to the house at large, “that’s it! No more gas in the tank! Everybody get to bed!”

Sarah appears sorry as she steps back. Bucky almost reaches out to pull her in, to take another shot with another lousy line. Shit, he’s bad at this.

“There are more blankets in the hall closet,” she says, and slips away.

“Thank you,” he calls after her.

Sam walks past, Cass still dangling upside-down over his back while AJ runs ahead, and watches Bucky like a hawk (or some other bird of prey) as he digs through his overnight bag. What’s Sam expecting him to pull out? A strip of condoms? Bucky extracts a green toothbrush and holds it up with an expression of fake wonder. Sam rolls his eyes and heads off down the hall.

They are going to bed early, barely 9pm. That’s probably late for the kids though. Bucky’s pleasantly weary after a day outdoors, more working than talking, feeling like part of something as the Wilsons’ community came together to repair the boat. Seeing Sarah throughout. Flashing Bucky a smile while she spoke to a neighbour, grasping his outstretched hand to let him help her aboard so she could see their progress, checking Sam’s work like she’s his foreman while Bucky grinned and watched the siblings good-naturedly pick at each other. Sam was probably out like a light and Bucky should be too.

He’s not.

He can’t get to sleep right away, but it’s peaceful to lie here on the couch, on his back, while the house gets dark and darker. Sarah left the nearest window cracked for him and a gentle breeze washes in with the chirp of insects. Bucky’s already looking forward to being woken by the sun streaming through in the morning. It’d be good to get from now to daylight in a single stretch of sleep; that’s what he fantasizes about while he lies on his back: no nightmares. His head’s propped up by the pillow he tells himself smells like Sarah, though it probably just smells like her laundry soap.

It’s hard to put his finger on what’s missing, why he can’t fall asleep, until he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps on carpet. They’re too close together to be Sam’s—either hesitant or made by child-sized feet. Bucky cranes his neck around, expecting to see someone walk past on their way to the kitchen for a glass of water. His gaze roams over nothing for a minute, then he slumps back as the footsteps retreat. Maybe it was Sam after all, getting up to look in on his nephews or something. It’s the sorta thing Bucky would do if he were an uncle; he’d treasure the time with those kids, try to remember everything about his visit so he could hang on to it when he found himself half a world away, in Berlin or Riga or Madripoor.

He’s settling, trapping the blanket against his chest with a heavy hand, when he hears the footsteps approach again. Then back away seconds later. Slowly, Bucky starts to smile to himself. It’s Sarah. Can only be her. She’s either trying to psych herself up to come in here and talk to him and failing, or trying to resist venturing down the hall and succeeding.

On her next attempt, she gets closer, and Bucky sits up, kicking the blanket aside, and drops his feet to the floor in anticipation of her rounding the corner. He’s nervously gripping the couch cushion on either side of his knees when she does.

“You sneaking past Sam?” he asks quietly.

Sarah jumps, pressing a hand to her chest.

“You scared me. I wasn’t sure you’d be awake.”

Bucky shrugs, dreamily fixated on her smile. One of her neighbours turns on their porchlight and now Sarah can probably see his smile too.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

“Shoot. Did you need something else?”

Kinda funny how she’s pretending she was coming out here for another reason and is just making a detour for him. He knows better, but he’s got enough remnants of being a gentleman not to call her out on it.

“Nah. It’s nothing to do with you.” Bucky stares at her a few seconds and changes his mind. “You know what? Actually, it is you.”

“What is?” Sarah asks with a hushed, confused laugh.

“The reason I can’t get to sleep. Sarah…”

But she smiles and does what he did to the boys earlier—holds a finger to her lips.

With the confidence of a woman at ease in her own home and her own body, she steps forward. She wore a yellow t-shirt today, but the one she wears now is pale pink. It’s loose and worn and reveals the strong, elegant curve of her shoulder when she moves and it slips. Gazing up at her, Bucky shifts until he feels the back of the couch. His hands hover in the air as Sarah digs one knee, then the other, into the cushion on either side of him. She lowers herself onto his thighs.

Moving slow like the hour, deep like the black sky, Bucky runs his hands up her back.

Sarah’s palms land on his shoulders and, smiling, she confesses to him, “I like these.”

He’s smirking when she ducks her head to kiss him.

Now that he has her here—on his lap, in his arms—Bucky forgets every way he wanted to touch her earlier. How he was gonna woo her with tender contact applied just right. Well, thank god for Sarah. She sets the pace of the kiss and, when his hands go still at her upper back, reaches around to bring one of them back down to her waist. He can feel that there’s no bra beneath her shirt.

“Rusty,” he breathes when their mouths slide apart.

“You were on that old boat all day,” she reminds him. “You know I’ve got patience for rusty.”

Still, Bucky wants to do a little better, prove that maybe he’s what she had in mind when she decided he was worth smiling at. He cradles Sarah closer, pulling her in, dipping his fingers into the valley of her spine when she arches into him. They kiss firmer, then faster. At her quick nod of encouragement, he moves his hands to her hips. Lower.

“Sarah?” Sam slurs sleepily from down the hall. “You outta bed?”

Sarah presses a hand to Bucky’s chest and pushes off his lap, other hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. He chuckles too.

“As the Falcon, timing is one of his greatest strengths.”

“And as his sister,” Sarah counters, “it gets on my last nerve.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna say that, but…” Bucky grins.

“Sarah?” Sam calls out again.

She sighs.

“Is he trying to wake the boys?” She takes a step away from the couch, wearing a regretful smile. “I better go.”

Bucky catches himself before he can blurt out I’ll miss you. Overeager fool.

“See you in the morning?” Sarah checks, something shy about her now, but not in a bad way. Cautiously hopeful, Bucky thinks. He’s been feeling that way himself.

He gives her one more smile for the road.

“You bet.”

#my writing #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #Bucky Barnes #bucky x sarah #Sarah Wilson

[cow-smells]

Knock It Off (Eli “Hawk” Moskowitz x reader)

Request: Do you think you could write something about the reader being in cobra kai, and she’s new to everything and little more quiet and reserved, but she’s talented and sensai lawrence likes her for that, and hawk takes a liking to her and constantly flirts with her in class and sensai lawrence is like protective of her and always tells him to knock it off even though you secretly like it? (anon)

A/n: I really enjoyed this request!! I feel like I could go on forever on this dynamic. Is this me projecting my lack of a father figure on to a fictional character? Perhaps.

Words: 1216

Warnings: none

read this on AO3

It took .003 seconds from you entering the dojo to when his eyes caught on you, and the theatrics began.

    “Hey,” Hawk nudged Miguel, shrugging off the top of his gi nonchalantly, as though it wasn't an obvious attempt to obtain your attention. “look. Recoloured the hawk to Red. Gotta keep him up with the times.”

Miguel didn't even have to look back to ask. “Y/n's here?”

    “Is she?” Hawk asked, his voice higher than usual – as it would get when he lied. “Didn't notice.”

That doesn't stop him from approaching you a millisecond later, his torso still bare. You're talking to Aisha when Hawk strides over, fist bumps Aisha and turns to you, giving you a long once-over.

    “Y/n. Looking fine as usual.” You can't help the blush that creeps up your cheeks. “You girls coming to the party at the canyon tomorrow night? I can come get you on my bike,” he finishes, looking at you.

You smile and part your lips to answer but sensei Lawrence beats you to it. “Students. Fall in!” he yells authoritatively as he eyes you and Hawk.

Not missing a beat, you all cut your conversation immediately to fall in to rows. Sensei Lawrence has Miguel warm up the class. Right after he commands you all in to an open square, standing at the open side to referee. “Tory. Aisha.” sensei calls, and no one needs an explanation as to what's about to happen. The All Vally tournament was closer than ever and Sensei had you all sparring constantly.

    The girls drive a hard fight, but eventually Tory takes the win. Both roughed-up Tory hands an arm out to Aisha, picking her up from the mat before bowing and returning to their respective places.

    “Y/n.” Sensei calls and you step forward. You were only three girls in his class so you were used to fighting the boys. You weren't shaken by it by any means – you were good – but the boys tended to go easy on you, fearing for your delicate hollow bones – despite you being fully capable of winning without them holding back.

    Both you and Sensei Lawrence scan the crowd of boys, trying to catch the eye of someone with the nerve to take you – when Hawk steps forward, signature cocky grin on his lips. “May I, Sensei?”

You loved how Hawk showed Sensei proper respect, knowing that outside the dojo he wouldn't ask anyone permission for anything, he'd just take or do what he wanted. Caring for Sensei Lawrence as you did, you appreciated Hawks matching adoration of your teacher.

    It looks like Johnny might turn him down before he says, “You may.”

    You and Hawk step towards each other and a surge of excitement rushes through you as you bow to each other. You take a fighting position and block when Hawk sends the first punch. Before he can recover you attack, spinning on your heel to deliver a kick so strong it knocks him over.

Usually Hawk jumps right back in to action when sparring with anyone else; but now he slowly peels himself off the mat, hand on his chest where you hit him. “Damn, Y/n. Was that a spinning back kick or am I just falling for you?”

    “Knock it off,” Sensei roars in annoyance, the heat in your cheeks rising furiously. You return to a fighting position without responding, trying to drown the whole thing out.

Hawk obeys Sensei and the rest of the fight goes by as any fight would, Hawk treating you as an equal – definitely not showing mercy, which, despite the pain, you appreciated – eventually ending with him straddling you on the mat, delivering a final hit to your chest, just under you clavicle. It wasn't a strong one, but it didn't need to be. Tournament rules declared him winner. Johnny called Hawk's name in triumph, but Hawk didn't seem to care. He was reluctant to get off you, the intense eye contact you held holding him back from breaking away.

    That is, until Johnny grabbed hold of his shoulder and forced him up and away from you. “Bow,” he commanded, and the intense irritation in his voice was unmistakable. You do so shakily, even though you know Sensei's irritation is not towards you. Sensei Lawrence had a soft spot for you, always had since you joined – and you reveled in it. He knew about your home life situation, and together with your quick learning and dedication to his teachings he quickly grew fond of you, and together with the fondness he became protective, as though you were his own.

    The rest of the class goes by uneventfully, apart from a bloody nose and chipped tooth, nothing that was foreign to you all at this point of your intense training.

The class dispersed. People headed out or to the locker rooms to change as Johnny called, “Y/n. My office.” You follow him in.

    “Is he bothering you?” Johnny asks, not bothering to close the door. You didn't need to ask who “he” is.

    “N-no,” you admit, slightly blushing as you do. If anything, you were enjoying Hawks attention on you, his actions fueling your crush on him even further.

    “Are you sure?” Sensei Lawrence goes on. “because if he is, I-”

    “I'm sure,” you quickly interject. You slowly shut the door behind you as you confess,  “actually, he kinda asked me to a party tomorrow. I'm going to say yes.”

Sensei's brow quirks. “You are not going to a party with that boy.”

    “Why not?” you ask like a disgruntled child at Johnny's words, holding them as a command though to be realistic – he had no power over you. No power that you didn't willingly give him.

    “Look, I-” Johnny begins to say, thinking back to the things he used to do as a teenager at beach parties, bringing girls along on his bike. “I don't like it.”

    “What's so wrong with Hawk?” you frown. “He's one of your best students.”

    “That's unrelated. Look, you can get in to all kinds of trouble at these types of things.”

You try to suppress your smile. “Don't worry about me, Sensei. I won't get in to trouble, promise. Besides, you wouldn't have this conversation with Miguel, would you?”

Johnny sighs, realizing he's fighting a losing battle. Grabbing his keys from his desk, he motions you out. “Come on, I'll give you a ride home.”

You feel a strange kind of contentedness as you leave the empty dojo with Johnny, who rattles his keys in his hands.

    You definitely don't expect to see Hawk waiting outside, leaning on his bike with an extra helmet in hand.

    “Hey,” he says and looks timidly from you to Sensei. “I – was wondering if you want a lift home.”

You open your mouth to reply, before shutting it and looking to Sensei pleadingly. He frowns. “Fine, go,” he huffs, acting annoyed. “Don't do anything I wouldn't.”

You send a final smile to your sensei before skipping over to Hawk, taking the helmet from his hands and mounting the bike behind him, your arms curling around him as you take off.

#cobra kai #cobra kai imagine #eli moskowitz #eli moskowitz x reader #eli moskowitz/reader #eli hawk moskowitz #eli hawk moskowitz imagine #hawk cobra kai #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai/reader #johnny lawrence #Johnny Lawrence imagine

[write-like-you-mean-it]

Streets (Shalnark x Reader)

This is a commission piece from @pastelbear12. It is a part 2 to Pretty Little Psycho. If you would like to commission me, here's a link to my commission page. I hope this kills you Sophie.

Pairing: Teasing!Shalnark x female reader

Warning: Teasing Shalnark, bondage, public sex, choking, daddy calling, very dom Shalnark, this is pure smut.

Word Count: 2610

You let your head duck under the red rope as you held tightly to the blonde in front of you. His face lit up with a wild, untamed excitement. You felt a tight squeeze on your wrist which matched the same tight lipped grin. Shivers ran down your body at the choice you made.

“Hey Shal,” called one of the men still stuck in line. The taunt left his face as Shanark faced his peer. The taller and muscular blonde who’s name was Phink motioned towards the entrance of the club. “You know the boss’s mission.”

Shanark waved away the notion. “You have enough people. Tell the boss I’ll be back later.” His gaze flickers to your own. “I have a more important mission to attend to.”

The music bumped through the speakers as Shalnark dragged you across the floor towards the bar. Not much was different between the two places beyond the line to enter was much shorter and there was a lack of a friend by your side. If you’d not been caught up in his hazel eyes, the terror may have set in by now.

Heavy bass swam between dancing bodies, flirty conversations, and frat boys chugging beers. You could almost hear it over the steady beat of your own heart. Your breath was shaky from the walk over and getting caught looking too long at the blonde man.

“What do you want? He asks while leaning his back against the bar. His arms planted across the empty space of the bar. “Or would you rather I pick for you?”

“I would-” You didn't have a chance to respond as Shal caught you off guard. Although you were going to respond, you didn’t know what you were going to say. Would you allow him to choose for you or would you rather choose something for yourself.

“Or are you worried I’ll spike your drink?” His eyes flicked up and down your body as if he was taking in a beautiful view. “Don’t worry. I’d like you to remember who will leave bruises all over your body tomorrow.”

An involuntary whimper forced from deep within your core. His words made your choice for you. “You can choose.” You almost couldn’t recognize your own voice. It was hoarse as if your throat was starving for water and squeasy as if you needed to gasp for air.

Shalnark reaches over to bush his thumb over your burning cheek before lightly gripping your chin to look up at him. “Seems like you may need water more than anything else. Wouldn’t want you to be too dehydrated for me.” You squirm away from his touch only to have him hold your jaw tighter. “I didn’t say you can look away, did I?”

“No,” you whisper. Shal’s thumb moved to your lips. They part when his finger presses lightly on the bottom lip to wetten them with your own saliva.

He chuckles: “Good girl.”

The blonde stranger’s words catch the breath in your chest which causes you to inadvertently cough and squirm away. “I’m sorry,” you mumble as you try to find a safe hiding place for your eyes that’s not the burrowing gaze of the man in front of you.

“No need to be sorry, princess,” he says while motioning to the bartender. He orders two waters. Shalnark ignored the rolling eyes of the worker,

“You didn’t order anything for yourself?” you question.

“No. I want to be coherent too. Any drinks and you may squirm away from me too much.” Your weight shifted between your feet. Before the bartender could return, Shalnark leaned in right next to your ear and mumbled “not that you aren’t already squirming for me.”

Your lips part to respond as the bartender sets down two bottles of water. Shalnark picks up both and hands you the other one.

“Anything else for you two?”

“Not now. But keep an open tab. I’ll be back for more.” The bartender takes this as his cue to find other patrons who will pay more. Your partner uncapped the lid and drank the full bottle down with almost no stops.

“Trying to impress me?” you tease while upcapping your own bottle. You take a few sips to try and cool your heat-filled cheeks.

“No,” he says while looking disinterestedly at the plastic in his hand. “I’ll need an excuse to use the restroom later. It’ll look suspicious if I take you to the bathroom the moment we walk in.”

Your nose scrunches while putting the bottle back onto the counter. “Why would you..?”

“Don’t tell me you’re that oblivious, princess,” Shalnark says. His tongue reaches out to wet his lips. The blonde’s pupils were blown as he leaned over the bar and into your space; making sure there are no gaps between you. Fear sends a chill down your spine. “I’ll want to take that pretty dress off and do unspeakable things to you.” Your grip tightens on the plastic as some of the water splashes onto your dress. “Ah now you have to come with me. We have to dry off.”

Shanark’s hand rested once again in your trembling hand as the bottle was left on the bar. Part of you hoped you’d never see that bottle again.

The swinging door finally closing was the last barrier between the two of you. Shalnark roughly gripped the clothing that guarded your hips and pulled you into a rough kiss. His force knocked the wind out of your chest. His body cages you against the door; although, that’s not what you would call it. Your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck

For his stature, you weren’t expecting his hands to be forceful enough to pull you against his own. You could have sworn you heard a tear of fabric as Shalnark looked for the skin of your back or hips. You wouldn’t be one to look at it until much later. Instead, you focused on the warmth pressing on his lips and warm breath against your own.

“Shal,” you groan while hiking your legs higher. He took the cue and pushed his full weight into your to lift your body so that you can wrap your legs around his waist. Your dress shifts up to around your waist.

You whimper while feeling his cock pressing into your thigh. Thick enough to feel it was semi hard. Your hips inadvertently grinded against the man. Shalnark pulled away from your lips with only a string of saliva and a whine to replace the once filthy noises.

“Did I tell you to grind against my dick?” he asks. His grip tightens against the small of your back.

“No?” you question. Your mind is a little hazy and lustful.

“No…” Shalnark’s voice trails off with a commanding expectation.

“No, master?”

“Better. But I’m looking for a word that starts with d.”

You could feel yourself absentmindedly closing your legs to gain any friction on your already wet pussy. “No daddy. You didn’t say I can grind against you.”

“Good girl,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. He peppers soft kisses against your lobe before ripping the little piece of fabric against your cunt. You squirm to try and close as the cold air hits your unclothed pussy. “Now. Hands up.”

You cock your head but comply. Shalnark shifts to hold you up by pressing your weight into the door. Your hands dangle above only for him to use your ripped underwear to tie your hands together. He ties them tightly while crossed. “Better,” he grunts before letting you down from his waist.

Shalnark strips the thin shirt and places it on the door knob. Your body trembles from the cool of the room mixed with fear of what could happen. He places a chaste kiss on your lips which leaves your head spinning and wanting more.“Knees, kitten,” the blonde commands and you follow.

When your knees hit the floor, you felt the force of the inability to use your hands. No matter how hard you tug, you cannot get released. You realized how under control you were of this strange man. The realization made your thighs slicker with your own wetness.

“Good little slut. I’ll treat you so nice if you suck my cock well.” Shalnark reaches a hand into your hair and tug it enough to look up at him. He chuckles at your open lips and doe-eyed look. The spider uses his other hand to pull out his throbbing cock. His tip was angry, red and leaking.

You wet your lips before kitten licking his tip. Shalnark hissed at the sudden touch. Curses escaped his lips and the grip on your hair tightened. You take this as a cue to keep doing a few test licks.

The salty taste edged you on to do broad stokes at the underside of his head. Without warning, the man shoves his cock into your mouth. “I’m done with your teasing kitten,” he grunts. “Treat me right.”

Your cheeks hollow as he pulls out of your warm mouth. Your tongue keeps flat against your jaw as Shal sets the pace. At first he’s kind by not shoving his full length in your mouth; however, this kindness doesn’t last.

One push is a little too far and causes you to gag around his length. This pushes the spider to go a little deeper. Your gag reflex would be your betrayal. Shalnark grips the back of your head to guide you at the pace he wants while your hands dig into his thighs. You could feel the trembling of his cock before he pulled away from your lips. Saliva runs down your chin and neck. Soon enough you kept your mouth open and let him use you.

“Fuck you got me too close princess,” Shalnark grunts while helping you to your feet. “Let me treat you to the same.”

At first, you were excited. Then you realized he didn’t cum. You got him close but not enough. Your eyes widen as he kisses your burning lips. “No daddy. I want to cum.”

“Good use of your word kitten,” he mumbles while dragging you to the sink. “I’ll let you cum if you do good. I promise.” His eyes twinkle with some miscivious thoughts.

He uses the sink as a way to prop up your body. You pray that it will continue holding your weight as Shalnark lifts your right leg over his sanding shoulder. This position creates a throbbing pull on your muscles.

A single finger dips into your dripping cunt. He’s teasing the outside as you quake against his touch. You pull at your restraints in hopes of helping him give you something to clench your walls around. “P-please,” you whine.

“Please what, princess?” Shalnark questions.

“Please touch me, daddy,” you cry. Your hips buckle against his touch. Shal hums but compiles. He moves a finger inside your warm cunt which causes you to gasp. Your back arches before hitting the glass of the mirror behind you with your exposed back.

Shalnark curls his finger and touches the spot that sends stars around your eyes. His finger picks up speed while moving in and out of your pussy. Whimpers and whines fall from your lips with little regard for who could hear.

Another finger is added to the one. His pace picks up. “Princess, you’re not ready for me yet. You have to take three of my fingers before being able to handle my cock.”

You whine again. Two felt like enough. You were spread and drowning in your own pleasure; yet, he refused to touch the bundle of nerves. You clenched down on his fingers. “You do that princess and I’ll make it four,” Shalnark whispers. Your pussy made slapping noises with each thrust of his hand.

For all you new, you could be covering his hand with your juices. You wanted to complain but Shal spread you more with a third finger. You clench at the small pain even though he slowed down.

“Doing so well, kitten.” Tears pricked your eyes. Soon Shal could move his fingers without you tightening around them. He took this opportunity to pull out his fingers and lick off any of the remaining juice.

He tears the underwear that holds your wrists. You had no objections as the binding was starting to hurt your arms and wrists. An acceptable pain that would leave bruises for days to come.

Before you could gain composure, Shalnark flips you over to look at yourself in the mirror. Mascara ran down your face from the tears of pleasure and slight pain. Your pupils were blown and lips plump from the barrage of his thick cock. The once beautiful dress was pushed away so that your tits were hanging out. You looked like a sweaty whore; however, your partner only looked hotter. Sweat dripped down his face and wetted his hair. He was filled with determination.

Your once bound wrists were tied by one of his hands behind your back. He uses the other one to line up his cock at your entrance. He traces your lips with the tip of his cock before pushing in. “Fuck,” you grunt while pushing your face more into the mirror. Shalnark uses the momentum of pulling your wrists to bounce you further on his dick.

“Oh princess, you feel better than I imagined,” your partner grunted as he slid out only to push back in. The hand not bound to your wrist slaps your ass at the same time his cock slammed into you.

He did this a few more times until the stinging pain was replaced by Shalnark fucking into you faster. Your whimpers turn into soft screams. Lewd slapping of skin and a few of the spider’s grunts echoed in the small bathroom.

Shal reached up to twist your head to look at yourself in the mirror. “Look at you princess.” He sticks a finger into your open mouth. Drool pools on the end of the sink. “Look at how much of a whore my pretty princess is. Drooling for my cock.”

His hand slid from your mouth to your neck. Lifting you up so that your back is flush against his chest. The hand that was on your wrists was repositioned to your clit. He rubbed rough circles in hopes that the growing tension in your stomach would break.

“Fuck ‘m close,” Shalnark grunts. His hand at your neck tightens around your airway while making it hard to breathe. It was all too much. Your clit, Shalnark’s hand, his thick cock fucking into you.

For the moment after you came, you swore you saw stars. Shalnark pumped a few more times into your cunt until he squirts his cum inside. He bites down on your neck to keep him from moaning. It wasn’t until he was coming down that he finally allowed you to take in the precious oxygen you desperately needed.

Shalnark’s teeth were replaced with soft kisses to your sweat covered skin. He pulled out of you once he and you had come down from your collective highs. Your shaking legs were covered in a mixture of your own cum and his. You shiver from the loss of him filling you up.

“Can you walk, darling?” the blonde questions.

“Yes?”

“Good because we’re going to a hotel. I’m not letting you go.”

“What about our bar tab?” Your question felt hoarse and tired. You had no more fight in you.

“Fuck the bar tab,” Shalnark says while handing you his shirt. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk tomorrow.”

Masterlist

#shalnark #phantom troupe #shalnark x reader #shalnark x you #hxh #hunter x hunter #shalnark smut #a writes #hxh smut #hunter x hunter smut