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Not requested. !!First time trying to write sex scenes!!π. Iβm so embarrassed but equally hard. You may notice differences between the normal scenes and the smut cause I usually let my friend fix my mistakes, but she didnβt want to read the gay sex thingπ.
Bruised Knuckles, Broken Walls
Frank Castle x Male!VigilanteReader
Enemies to enemies with benefits, reader has a dick, AMAB reader, angry gay smut scene, oral (r receiving), handjobs, making out, canon violence, cock before taking a cartel down. DNI MINORS, GIRLS, PPL UNCOMFORTABLE WITH SMUT
Youβd been tracking the same bastard for days. A dirty dealer with connections in the cartel deep enough to make you sweat and teeth sharp enough to bite back. Youβd gotten the location, abandoned warehouse in the Narrows, and moved in like always- silent, clean, brutal.
And then he showed up.
You recognized him by the way the shadows bent around him, the skull on his chest catching the moonlight like a warning. Frank Castle. The Punisher. A walking wrecking ball with a moral code scribbled in blood and a reputation for not playing well with others. Especially not you.
βOf courseβ you muttered under your breath as he stomped through the broken door like a bear out of hibernation, shotgun already raised. He barely glanced at you. βI had this.β
βI had it first.β
βYou sure? βCause all I see is a bunch of guys still breathing.β
βYouβre one to talk, Castle. Half the buildingβs still standing.β
It escalated quickly. It always did. Words turned into shoves. Shoves into fists. You cracked him across the jaw, he tackled you into a stack of crates. Splinters, curses, the sound of your bodies hitting the concrete hard enough to shake your teeth.
And underneath it all, something else. Something hot and electric, seething beneath every punch you threw.
He had you pinned to the ground, forearm to your throat, breathing hard. His eyes burned into yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, smell the sweat, the blood.
βYou gonna back off?β he growled. You didnβt flinch. βMake me.β His grip tightened for a beat, then loosened.
That was the moment. That single second when something cracked open. His eyes dropped to your mouth. Yours to his. Breathing slowed. Shifted. Became something else entirely.
And then you kissed him.
You didnβt plan to. It wasnβt soft. It wasnβt sweet. It was teeth clacking, breathless, rough, an extension of the fight. He froze for half a second, like the idea had never occurred to him, and then he was kissing you back with the kind of ferocity that made your spine arch off the floor.
It wasnβt just lust. It was frustration. Power. Rage and grief and too many years of carrying pain like armor. His hands gripped your face like he didnβt know whether to shove you away or pull you closer.
You rolled over, pinning him instead, your knees at his sides. He growled into your mouth, his hands digging into your jacket. You bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, and he gasped against you like it surprised him.
βI hate youβ he muttered, breathless.
βYou wish you didβ you shot back, dragging your mouth down to his jaw, the curve of his throat. βYou hate that you want this.β
βShut the fuck up.β
βThen shut me up.β
He did.
Your back hit the floor again seconds later. He had your arms pinned above your head, the bulk of him pressing you into the cold brick, kissing you like he was trying to bruise the taste of you into his memory. You could feel every inch of him, anger, heat, want, like it was a second skin against yours.
When his hand dropped to your belt, you grabbed his wrist. βFrank.β He stopped. Breathing hard. Waiting.
You didnβt say anything for a second. Just met his eyes, dark, stormy, cracked wide open. You didnβt need to ask what this was. It was obvious. This wasnβt love. This was need.
You let go of his wrist. Nodded.
His hands were rough. Your mouths never stopped moving. There was nothing romantic about it, the way he shoved your shirt up, the way you hissed when your back scraped the bricks, the way you both fought for control with every kiss, every bite, every ragged breath.
You didnβt undress, not all the way, pulling your rough jeans and boxers down enough to free your achingly hard cock, the tension making you feel like it was about to explode.
He kissed you like the world was ending. You held him like it already had. His big, warm and calloused hand wrapped around your shaft, making you shiver and grunt in pain and want.
You kept on making out, swapping saliva and blood as Frankβs thump ran over the slit of your pulsing dick, spreading beads of precum all over the tip before finally starting moving.
You groaned against his mouth, your fingertips pressing into his scalp as Frank roughly pumped your member, letting his big fingers brush against your full balls.
He only pulled away from your now bleeding lips after what felt like an eternity, his deep, dark eyes looking into yours as you both panted harshly.
The hand that was on your cock raised, brushing and tickling the pubic hair above as Frank made his way lower, now laying face to face with your annoyingly delicious looking penis. βFuckβ you groaned as he pushed your sweat damp hair away from your forehead, your eyes following Frankβs every movement.
He looked up at you, his mouth tentatively close to your lubed member, his big eyes looking into yours just to see how good he was already making you feel. As if on cue, you pushed both your hands into his dark hair, surprisingly softer than you imagined. You have it a tug, inviting him to continue before your balls exploded.
He didnβt waste a second, he didnβt want to go slow. He took half of you into his mouth, making you groan at the tight, fuzzy sensation you got from feeling and looking his thin lips wrap around your veiny cock.
He started nodding his head, eyes never leaving yours as he used his other hand to pump the part of you he couldnβt fit into his mouth. He was enjoying it, the feeling of your hairs on his nose, the wet stickiness on his hand, the precum mixing with the blood in his mouthβ¦it was better than anything else he had ever tired.
You started rocking your hips, fucking into his mouth, feeling your cock curve down his throat. Frank was not gagging, somehow. He removed his hand from your member to go back and focus on your balls as well, as he took you deep inside.
But having Frank all to yourself is too nice to be real. The taste of you was still on his tongue when the noise started, somewhere deeper in the warehouse, the sound of movement. Footsteps. Muffled voices. A groan that was definitely not yours or his.
You both froze. Your back was against the wall, pants half-off, Frank practically welded to you, breath hot against your cock. His fingers were still digging into your thigh, lips grazing your skin. You could feel how badly he wanted to finish. You were right there too, already cursing the interruption.
βShitβ you muttered, dragging in a breath through clenched teeth.
Frank pulled back slightly, forehead pressed to yours, jaw clenched like he was physically holding himself back from finishing what youβd started. His hips were still twitching like muscle memory hadnβt gotten the memo yet.
βWe didnβt clear the whole placeβ he growled, like it was your fault somehow.
βNo shit, Castle.β He glared at you, breath still ragged. You both looked down. Yup. Still hard. Both of you.
You exhaled through your nose, slow and frustrated. βWe gonna finish this or save the city or whatever?β
He let out a groan, half pissed, half desperate, and slammed his fist against the wall right next to your head.
βThis never happenedβ he gritted out, already tucking himself back in, hands shaking slightly.
You adjusted your pants too, biting back a hiss at how sensitive everything still felt. βSure. Never happened. Just two guys bumpinβ dicks in a warehouse. Completely normal vigilante behavior.β
βShut up.β
βMake me- oh waitβ you snapped, wiping his spit from your mouth with the back of your hand. βYou were.β
Frank didnβt answer. Just gave you a look that said βI will end youβ, but with slightly less conviction than usual. Like maybe he was still fighting the urge to drag you back against the wall and finish what you started.
Instead, he stormed off toward the noise. Like a punished guard dog with a bone still stuck in its teeth. You followed, adjusting your jacket, trying not to think about the ache between your legs or the heat still crawling across your skin. Your whole body was buzzing like itβd been jump started then left hanging.
This wasnβt over. Not even close. But for now? Duty called. And your blue balls were along for the ride.
It was season 6 apparently, so this is set in it. I had a middle child Winchester in mind cause of the whole βneglected middle childβ stereotype, but I donβt really mention it cause it has no relevance in the story. Are the paragraphs weird looking and difficult to read?
When Grace Cracks
Castiel x Male!WinchesterReader
Hurt/comfort, angst, betrayal, (found) family, tears (reader explicitly cries), reader gets kicked out, rejection from family
You hadnβt meant for it to get this far.
What started as secret conversations turned into lingering looks. What started as a bond forged in war turned into something rawer, deeper. And when Castiel kissed you for the first time, grace flickering behind his eyes like static, you knew it was too late to walk away. Youβd already fallen. No wings necessary.
He was different when it was just you. Quiet, unsure. Not the rigid soldier, not Heavenβs hammer. Justβ¦ Cas. Your Cas. The one who held your hand like he didnβt know if he had the right. The one who whispered your name like a prayer when the world got too loud.
So when you found out about Crowleyβ¦When you walked into that warehouse and saw the sigils, the demon deals, the half-lies and the broken promisesβ¦You said nothing.
Dean raged. Sam paced. Bobby cursed the sky and threw a bottle so hard it shattered the salt lines around the room. And you stood still, arms crossed, mouth shut.
Because you knew. Youβd known. And you didnβt say a damn thing.
βYouβre kiddingβ Dean spat, voice thick with disbelief and betrayal. βYou knew he was working with Crowley?! You knew and you just- what, let it slide?!β
Samβs eyes were wide, disbelieving. βWhy would you keep that from us?β
You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.
Bobby didnβt look at you. Not yet. βWell? You got a defense, or should we just go ahead and call you the traitor too?β
The word hit like a blade.
βCas had his reasonsβ you muttered.
βOh, Cas had his reasonsβ Dean snapped. βHeβs in bed with the King of Hell and your answer is βhe had his reasonsβ? Jesus, Y/N, youβve lost it.β
βI didnβt tell you-β you said, finally looking up β-because I knew youβd react like this.β
Deanβs voice dropped low. βYou lied.β
βNoβ you said firmly. βI chose not to tell you. Thereβs a difference.β
Sam scoffed. βNot much of one when the worldβs ending. Again.β
You wanted to scream. You wanted to rip something apart. But you didnβt. You just stood there, letting the weight of their anger crush your ribs. Because they were right. And they were wrong. And none of it mattered anymore.
It was Crowley, of course. Smirking little bastard with his whiskey and smug satisfaction.
βOh come on, boys. Did you really think he wasnβt keeping secrets? Look at that face. Thatβs the face of a man whoβs been thoroughly divinely screwed.β
Cas looked at you then. Across the room. Like he wanted to speak. Like he wanted to fix it. But he said nothing.
Coward.
When they told you to leave, it wasnβt with screaming. It wasnβt some dramatic brawl.
It was worse.
Dean wouldnβt even look at you. βWe canβt trust you.β
Sam nodded, slow. βYou should go. For now.β
Bobby handed you your duffel. βFamily donβt lie like that, son.β
You stood there, waiting for someone, anyone, to flinch. They didnβt.
Castiel found you that night. You were holed up in some godforsaken motel off Route 9, staring at the ceiling, trying not to cry because your ribs still ached from the way Dean said βwe canβt trust you.β
βYou shouldnβt be hereβ you muttered as soon as he appeared.
βI know.β
You sat up. βSo why are you?β
βI thoughtβ¦β His voice faltered. βYou might want company.β
You laughed, sharp and ugly. βBit late for that, Cas.β
βI never meant for you to get caught in thisβ he said, stepping forward. βI thought I could handle it. Keep you safe. Keep them safe.β
βBy teaming up with the King of Hell?β you snapped, standing. βBy lying to all of us? To me?β
He looked down. βI did what I thought was necessary.β
βSo did Iβ you bit out. βAnd now Iβve got no home and no family because of it.β
Cas flinched. Actually flinched.
You shoved past him, pacing. βI trusted you. I defended you. I took beatings for you, Cas. I lied for you.β
Silence.
And then, quietly, he asked βWould you take it back?β
You froze.
βWould you take back the nights I held you?β he whispered. βThe way we touched? The way I made you feelβ¦safe? Would you erase me?β
You hated that your eyes burned.
βNoβ you admitted, voice cracking. βIβd do it all again.β
His hand reached for yours. You didnβt stop him.
You stayed with him after that. Not because it was smart. Not because it was safe. But because there was nowhere else to go, and you were so damn tired of pretending he didnβt mean everything.
He never said βI love you.β Angels didnβt work like that. But sometimes heβd watch you sleep and brush his fingers over your cheek like you were the last good thing left.
Sometimes heβd sit beside you, eyes stormy, and say βI wish I were human. Just long enough to deserve you.β
And sometimes, you believed him.
Sam called once. Didnβt leave a message.
Dean never called at all.
Bobby sent you an old flask with a note: βStill think youβre an idiot. Stay alive anyway.β You cried over that one.
It couldnβt last. You knew it couldnβt. The war was getting worse. Cas was slipping. The power was eating him alive. And when he told you he was becoming God, you broke.
βNoβ you whispered. βCas, please. Donβt do this.β
βI have to.β
βYou donβt!β you yelled. βYouβre not saving anyone. Youβre destroying yourself!β
He looked at you then, really looked, and his eyes were full of stars and pain and something ancient and breaking.
βIβm sorryβ he whispered. And then he was gone.
You didnβt see him again for weeks.
And when you did, when that door creaked open in yet another abandoned hideout and he stepped inside, he was different.
Dimmer. Bleeding grace.
βI was wrongβ he said, voice hoarse. βAbout everything.β You stood, heart pounding. He collapsed into your arms before you could say a word.
It took time. The others still didnβt trust you, but when Cas gave up the power, when he started trying to fix what he broke, they started to soften. Slowly. Grudgingly.
Dean nodded at you once. Didnβt say anything. But it felt like a bandage.
Sam offered you coffee one morning. βYou okay?β You werenβt. But you said yes.
Bobby slapped the back of your head. βNext time? Tell us the damn truth.β
βYeahβ you muttered. βNext time.β
That night, Cas curled beside you in bed, colder than usual. Grace flickering low.
βYou still love me?β he asked. You looked at him, hand on his jaw, eyes locked. βYeah. Even now.β
He closed his eyes. βThen I will never leave again.β
I just NEED a Spencer Reid x male reader fic,please please. Something fluffy..
I had NO idea, this is what my brain birthed
Chapter After Chapter
Spencer Reid x Male!Reader
Fluff, domestic, emotional intimacy, reader is not part of the team, cuddling, safe space, Reid with glasses
Youβre not sure how this became your routine.
Maybe it started after a long case, after a late dinner where Spencer had fallen asleep on your couch with a book still open in his lap, glasses slipping down his nose. Youβd covered him with a blanket, turned down the lights, and left him there, just for a moment, only to find he looked so peaceful that you didnβt have the heart to wake him.
Now itβs every Friday. No matter the chaos of the week, no matter the case or time zone or bruises, he finds his way to your apartment. Book in hand. Soft knock at the door. And you let him in. Every time.
He never calls first. You think itβs part of the ritual now, part of the comfort. Like heβs testing fate and it keeps saying yes.
Tonight, he shows up in a sweater too big for him and socks that donβt match, eyes tired but warm.
βHeyβ he says. βHeyβ you reply, stepping aside so he can slip in. You donβt say much else. You donβt need to.
He drops his bag by the door like it belongs there and you already have the kettle on. He notices. He always notices. βChamomile?β he guesses. βPeppermint. You had a headache last night.β He nods. Doesnβt argue.
Spencerβs not much of a talker when heβs not working. People always think he is because of the facts, the numbers, the fast talking profiling machine. But when itβs quiet, when itβs just you and him, he rests in silence.
He sits on the floor while you take the couch, back against the cushions, legs stretched out. His book is open before heβs even gotten halfway through the tea. You sip yours and scroll on your phone, glancing up occasionally. Watching him read is like watching a sunrise in reverse, bright eyes slowly dimming, body curling inward, until heβs curled up like a comma.
He always falls asleep before finishing the chapter. Every. Time.
You drape the blanket over him again. His hairβs messy. Lips parted just a little. One hand still loosely holding the edge of the page like he didnβt mean to fall asleep but couldnβt help it. You sit beside him on the floor, book resting between you like a bridge youβre both afraid to cross.
Itβs been months like this. Soft edges. Unspoken things. Late-night routines that look a lot like love, if you squint.
But youβre not sure. Maybe this is just how Spencer shows comfort. Maybe he needs you because youβre safe, not because he wants you. Youβve never tried to find out. Until now.
βHeyβ you whisper, nudging his shoulder gently. βSpence.β
He hums, barely opening one eye. βWhat time is it?β
βLate.β
βDid I fall asleep again?β
You smile. βYou always do.β
He stretches slowly, blinking up at you, still soft and warm and half-dreaming. βSorry.β
βDonβt be.β
Silence again. Not heavy. Just full. And then, before you can chicken out, you say it.
βYou know you donβt have to keep pretending this is about tea and books, right?β
Spencer pauses. βWhat?β
βI mean, youβre here every Friday. You fall asleep in the same spot. I have a blanket with your name on it and I literally buy tea based on what mood youβre gonna be in. And I like it. I like you. I just donβt know if this isβ¦ something.β
You donβt look at him when you say it. You stare at the book like itβll save you from your own words.
For a moment, you hear nothing. And then he speaks, voice quiet. βI didnβt think I had to say it.β
Your head turns.
Heβs watching you, eyes softer than youβve ever seen them. He pushes his glasses up his nose and tugs the blanket tighter around himself like heβs nervous and small and sixteen years old again. βI thoughtβ¦maybe if I said it, it would ruin this.β
βSpencer.β
βIβve been in love with you for monthsβ he blurts, face flushed. βI didnβt mean to. It just happened. You make space for me without asking for anything back and I didnβt know how to say I want more without risking losing what I already had.β
Your heart trips over itself. You donβt say anything. You just reach out and take his hand, cold fingers and all, and squeeze. βYouβre such a nerdβ you murmur.
βI know.β
βAnd Iβm in love with you too.β
βI know.β
You roll your eyes, laughing, and he leans into you, head on your shoulder, the blanket now wrapped around both of you. The book is forgotten. The tea is cold. But none of that matters.
For the first time, the silence isnβt holding anything back.
gossip girl is basically from a group of friends from Manhattan's elite , Gossip is a gossip site powered by the elite itself, Nate is like the good guy/golden boy of the group, the reader is georgina's brother (she is one of the bad girls in the series) the reader is like he is brave to everyone but with nate he would be almost an angel) they are friends to lovers, they know each other since childhood,I'm not very good with ideas, but I wanted something like they both fought because the reader saw Nate at the bar with Serena (a girl that Nate was in love with and was a little upset so he ignored them both), until the Does anyone give him some kind of warning? Then he magically runs to the reader's house taking his favorite candy (marshmallows) and there is a declaration from both of them and you can choose the ending, (a second part with hot would be cool, but I don't want to ask too much so do what you can.
Rushed, short, wrote it after like 10 months, completely different style than all my old worksβ¦Iβm so sorryπ
Gossip Isnβt Always Wrong
Nate Archibald x Male!Reader
angst + fluff, friends to lovers, jealousy, gossip girl drama, me not knowing anything about the show, no smut-just sweet boy feelings and a kiss, my friend helped me write it cause she watched a couple episodes of GG
It started with a picture.
Gossip Girl had done it again, bless her (or curse her). A blurry, but obvious shot of Nate at some dimly lit bar, Serena curled in next to him like they were the stars of a soap. βGolden boy caught with golden girlβagain? XOXO.β
You hadnβt even read the whole post before chucking your phone across the room. You and Serena were just starting to become something, something not friendly, not just childhood nostalgia. And now this?
You werenβt mad.
You were furious.
But you were also confused. Because seeing Nate at that bar with Serena felt like two knives to the gut. One labeled βjealousβ and the other βcomplicated feelings I never asked for.β
You liked Serena. Who didnβt? She was sunshine dipped in champagne. But then Nate showed up, your best friend since childhood, literal golden boy of Manhattanβs elite, with his stupid soft voice and dumber ocean eyes. And now your feelings were a mess.
The thing is, you werenβt usually like this. Not with Nate. With everyone else? Sure- brave, sharp tongued, kinda terrifying. You were Georginaβs brother, after all. But Nate brought out that soft part in you that you hated to admit existed. And seeing him with Serena felt like a knife to it.
So you ghosted. You holed up in your bedroom with a bowl of marshmallows, because yes, you were dramatic and emotionally constipated. When the doorbell rang.
You werenβt expecting him.
And yet, there he was- Nate Archibald, rain drenched and breathless, holding a bag of your favorite marshmallows like he was offering you peace.οΏΌ
βI donβt like Serena, not that wayβ he said all in one breath. βI swear. I was upset, she was being nice, I thought you hated me, and I panicked. But I shouldβve come to you. I wanted to come to you.β
You blinked. βYou bought me marshmallows?β He held up the bag. βNot organic. I know you hate that crap.β
Your heart did a stupid little flop. Everyone knew your preferences, but hearing from Nate feltβ¦different.
Then, without saying a word, you reached out and shoved it into his mouth. He flinched back, startled, biting down on reflex.
βChew.β you said, deadpan. He blinked, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk. βWhuh?β
βChew.β you repeated. βYou talk too much.β His muffled laugh escaped around the marshmallow as he finished it, still staring at you.
Then, finally, you stepped in, grabbed the front of his soaked jacket, and kissed him. It wasnβt soft, not at first. It was frustration and longing and βI hate that I love you so muchβ all crammed into one messy, rain damp moment.
But then it was soft. Like breathing again. Like all those childhood summers with him, running barefoot through parties you were too rich to enjoy, had led to this.
Later that night, Gossip Girl posted a new photo. Blurry. Slightly grainy. A boy with marshmallows in hand. Nate Archibald, kissing him like the world might end tomorrow.
βLooks like Georginaβs brother just made the eliteβs golden boy melt. Sweet. XOXO.β
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i love castiel⦠can you write an angst or hurt/comfort castiel x male reader?
during season 5 (was it 5 or 6 π) where heβs working with crowley and the group just found out, and considered him an enemy. and then despite this reader chooses to continue his secret relationship with castiel. and sam, dean, and bobby find out about it through crowley or balthazar, and get infuriated with reader to the point where they feel they canβt trust him either, and ask him to leave.
and would it be weird to ask if you could make the reader a winchester brother?
thank you ππ
Absolutely in LOVE with this. Would the reader be the oldest, middle or youngest child? Am I free to choose if it ends happy or sad?
Iβve gotten a new job and Iβm feeling less bad, so I have time at night to writeβπ»πΆπ»
I also think Iβm gonna delete the older fics cause I donβt like them (I hate them actually, but donβt want my older self to feel badπ’) and donβt want to rewrite that mess they are.
Click this to see my main post (it features my masterlists, fandoms I write for and such)
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Iβve never seen Gossip Girl, but if you tell me something about the plot of the show and about the story you want Iβm absolutely happy to write for him. I honestly just know the actor cause he acted in the boys
Hello! I hope youβre having a lovely day. I donβt know if youβre not taking requests, but I read your requirements if thatβs what theyβre called. (I donβt know lol)
But I have an idea that I hope is acceptable and youβre comfortable with writing! Could you maybe do a Newt (from Maze Runner) x shy!quiet!fem!reader who doesnβt talk much? But she likes Newt so sometimes she had the courage to talk to him but itβs kinda quiet just so he can hear her?
But one day she overhears Minho and Thomas (or whoever else doesnβt matter to me) or whatever talking bad about her and making fun of her so sheβs all sad and ANGST because I like to make myself cry. Since sheβs sad she goes all quiet again because they made fun of her being quiet and all shy so she just decides to shut down all together? I want Newt to ask her whatβs wrong or whatever but you can have some fun with it and write the ending however you want. As long as itβs a happy ending? Itβs totally okay if you donβt wanna write it, just let me know Iβll understand. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and I hope you have a wonderful day!!
(Also I hope itβs not too much Iβm sorry.)
Guys sorry, I write for male reader only, as i unfortunately said already many times.
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She made me realize that my lack of energy to write is (other than ADHD and everything else) caused by me being uncomfortable writing some things. So, so, sorry, but I really find myself uncomfortable while writing gn reader, fem or trans male reader (only the ones where the reader being trans is like the main thing, ex. reader having dysphoria, reader healing after bottom/top surgery, reader being comforted as heβs bullied/ashamed/beaten up and other angsty things just cause heβs trans). Iβve always tried to be open to write anything, just to not make anyone feel excluded or uncomfortable or make myself look like a terf or sumβ¦but I really do not feel comfortable.
1. Englishβs not my first language. When I tried writing gn reader I would always come up with masculine leaning words, I felt like I would always accidentally make the reader too masc.
2. Iβm scared that I might offend someone. Scared I might write something wrong.
3. I really donβt feel comfortable anymore to write about real people (ex. Kpop idols, actors and such). It makes me rather uncomfortable.
In conclusion, Iβm sorry but Iβll only write cis male reader or trans male reader where the fact that heβs trans is not the main topic of the fic (hope that makes sense, Iβm writing this in a rush). Iβll change my request post and add the things Iβm comfortable and not comfortable writing, and Iβll only accept requests that I like/donβt feel uncomfortable writing.
Another thing, people asked me to write fics about underage characters. I get that some of my readers are underage, but Iβm not. Writing about underage people makes me uncomfortable, very much. So I wonβt write those fics anymore, so sorry for taking so long to say that.
