fickle-fixations

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Aidaaaannnn thank you so much for the comments <3<3<3 I pretty much forgot about this fic but i am like genuinely so delighted that you enjoyed it. I'm glad you see the same things I do in them uhg they're forever my fave goth parents. If i remember correctly this was inspired by someone on maleval tumblr sharing a pic of maleficent wearing a raven skill ring - which i cant for the life of me find now tho. this is the only thing i found and i'm not sure if it's legit but the photo i saw back then definitely was

Keep Me Safe

Diaval’s bird body has become weak and he finds himself in need of a new one. What he wasn’t expecting was being restored by means both physical and of the heart.

Or, two goths falling for each other.

This takes place in the middle of the first Maleficent movie and can be considered a precursor to my Old War Bird series, which I am still working on, slowly but surely.

Word count: 2393 // Warnings: bones, body transfer/rebirth thing, mentions of memories of pain // Genre: pre-romance, hurt/comfort, a bit of angst, a bit of fluff, a bit of adventure

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

“Mistress,” Diaval began cautiously as he and Maleficent neared her home deep in the Moors. 

He held his breath for a moment, waiting to see if she would snap or turn him back into his original form.

She was silent, concentrating  on each step. It still hurt her to walk. Ever since her wings were ripped from her and her back was damaged, it hurt to do almost everything.

“I was wondering if you were aware,” Diaval fumbled, “Well of course you are, but, I thought I’d take it upon myself to remind you,”

“Out with it,” she demanded.

“You see, ravens usually only live about fifteen years. The longest I ever saw was an old bird who lived to twenty, but Aroura is nearly eleven years old now and that would make me quite old for a raven. I can feel myself getting weaker every time I fly and-”

“I’ll get you a new body tomorrow.” 

Diaval halted abruptly. He blinked a few times, his gaze trained on her curiously.

Keep reading

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Thank you @randomfoggytiger!

Bingo! Twice!

Here's a blank card if you want to play!

NP tags: @phoenix-rising-starbird-one, @reallyrallyauthor, @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @ivystoryweaver

@electricbluebutterflies, @ladywynne, @nathanbatemanfucker, @diplomaticprincess

@ominoose, @have-you-seen-my-sanity, @seleneisrising, @campingwiththecharmings

@missdictatorme, @romanarose, @galacticwildfire, @for-a-longlongtime

@coneygoil, @winniethewife, and anyone else who I missed!

[fickle-fixations]

omg this is literally the highest possible compliment I could ever get 😭😭😭😭 uhg you’re too kind!! I’m so glad you enjoyed the fic!!

[fickle-fixations]

hey folks. as you may know if you follow my main blog, i be having mental breakdowns. heavily considering writing a moon boys x reader fic to process. gonna alter the trauma to be a little more broadly relatable. stay tuned maybe.

[fickle-fixations]

what my merrit x reader fic was going to be/hopefully one day will be

me as a writer

[fickle-fixations]

thank you so much!!! 🥰💜😘

Chaos, He Politely Knocked (So I Opened the Door)

Pairing: Jake Lockley x Reader

Summary: The reader is in an established relationship with Marc and Steven, and meets Jake for the first time. Set post-canon.

Hi loves!! Oscar Isaac is ruining my life!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Quick note: I don't want to be a tease so before you read any further, know that this is not actual smut. Also the title is from a beautiful song called Fall: War by The Arcadian Wild you should check it out!! the song is about original sin but i am not calling being with Jake a sin heeheehee

Thank you so much to @shitrandom for beta reading!! 🖤 If you like Moana x Maui you should check out their fics!

Word Count: 1456 // Warnings: my poor writing skills, sexually suggestive, consent is slightly ambiguous/not super communicated but everything is consensual // second person POV, feminine pet names used for reader, written as afab reader but no pronouns or specific descriptions of the reader's body.

Suggested listening: Big Mike's - Dijon

Prequel - I'm a Fool to Hold You

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A soft touch on your arm. A shift in weight on the bed. As you faded into consciousness, you heard the blankets rustle. Your eyes fluttered open.

He was looking down at you, propped up, resting his head on his hand. You blinked a few times and he came into focus. He was so beautiful. They were so beautiful.

“Hi,” you whispered, smiling softly.

The time on the clock behind him showed 4:03, its dim red light was all that lit the room, besides the moonlight that slipped through the gaps in the curtains. 

It was normal for Marc and Steven to have trouble sleeping, but they didn’t usually wake you. You were glad they did this time, though. You wanted to be there for them in every way, in every high and low and twist and turn that life threw at them, and for you, that included staying up with them when the horrors in their head wouldn’t allow them to sleep.

You studied his face for a moment, trying to determine who was fronting. You liked to tell yourself that you could know if you were with Marc or Steven before they even spoke. You never told either of them that it was a skill you were attempting to acquire, partially because you didn’t want them to help you. It was like you were trying to prove to yourself that you loved them enough. That you were good enough for your two gorgeous, intelligent, loving boyfriends.

The way he was looking at you now was unfamiliar. He was stone faced, his jaw clenched, and there was a look in his eyes that seemed part conflicted, and part hungry.

“Hi.” He finally responded, matching your hushed tone. 

There was something different about his voice. 

He fixed his gaze on where his hand rested gently on your arm, running his thumb back and forth across your skin. It bothered you how you still couldn’t read his face.

“Are you doing okay, my love?” you asked, still trying to fight the sleepiness that clung to you.

He didn’t respond. He just shut his eyes so tightly that his eyebrows scrunched together, and shook his head ever so slightly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took in a deep breath. 

You hadn’t even known them for two years, but you knew this wasn’t like them. They were never this indirect. Even when they were struggling, they would usually try to communicate something, so you wouldn’t worry.

“Hey,” you said, reaching out and smoothing your fingers over the creases in his forehead, “Whatever’s going on, you can tell me.”

You felt him lean into your touch, and the tension left his face. He muttered something under his breath. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was still avoiding looking at your face.

“You’re so good for them, querida,” he said, sounding almost pained.

He spoke quietly and his voice was still groggy from sleep. There was an accent to his voice you had never heard before. 

A chill ran up your spine as the realization washed over you suddenly: this wasn’t either of the two men that you knew.

You held your breath, and you tried to push back the questions that were already beginning to flood your mind. You wondered if it was wrong that you felt afraid. 

His fingers had never stopped affectionately brushing along your arm. His eyes finally met yours.

“I can see you, sometimes.” He said it with so much tenderness in his voice, for a split-second you thought that this had to be one of your lovers. A stranger wouldn’t talk to you like that. 

His hand stopped moving. Your arm was warm beneath his touch. A feeling was spreading across your skin from the contact. Not just warmth. Suspense, perhaps. 

He hummed and narrowed his eyes for a moment, like he was searching for the words. 

“Sometimes when Marc or Stephen are here, I’m here too.” He explained.

He looked at you, searching your expression for meaning.

You nodded.

“My name is Jake.”

“Hello Jake,” you replied, trying to mask the hesitation in your voice. 

The way he looked at you, and the way his voice vibrated through your chest had begun to push any fear out of your mind. You told yourself you had to remain on alert. But his eyes-

His gaze slowly swept over your body as he resumed drawing patterns on your skin. Without permission, your body was relaxing under his touch. 

He laid his head back on the pillow to be level with you. He was looking at you like you were the most precious thing on this planet. If he was dangerous, surely he wouldn’t look at you like that, right?

“I feel like I’ve gotten to know you, Y/N” He said, his hand traveling down your arm to loosely hold yours. 

“See, it’s my job to protect them,” he said, “but you- you take care of them in so many ways that I can’t. Thank you for that, querida.” 

He brought your hand up and kissed your knuckles. The warmth had now spread across your entire body, and bloomed from your chest. You had to fight the way that everything about Jake and everything he was making you feel made you want to cling to him - to cling to the body you knew and loved so well. 

“Do they know about you?” you asked.

“No,” he said flatly, “it’s safer that way.”

You realized your hand he had been holding was now toying with the hem of his shirt.

If Jake was Marc and Steven’s protector, and cared so much about them, you felt like you could trust him. That you didn’t have to be afraid. But still, you dared not ask why he was here. The question seemed to be implied.

“I’ve never thought of myself as a selfish man, querida. It- it would probably be safest if I just let you keep thinking I was one of them whenever I’m around.” 

The way his eyes bored into you like you were something to devour sent tingles down your spine.

“But I want to get to know you as myself.” He went on, and brushed a strand of hair away from your eyes. “And I want you to get to know me.”

You took in a shaky breath. You could feel the slick gathering between your legs.

“Would you like that, mi amor?”

He had you frozen. You could feel your heartbeat becoming faster, your breath shaky. All you could do was nod your head yes.

“What do you want to know?” you managed to say, voice hardly above a whisper.

His hand had never left your hair, and was fingering through it like you were already someone adored.

“I want to know what’s going through your head all those times we find you staring off into space.”

He leaned forward ever so slowly, then pressed a kiss to your forehead. You made no effort to push him away.

“I want to know everything that makes you happy, and spend every moment making you smile. Hearing you laugh.”

You closed your eyes as he pressed a kiss to one of your eyelids, then the other.

“I want to know how to read you - I want to know what you’re feeling from just a look.” 

He trailed light kisses down from your temple to your jaw, his warm breath ghosting across your skin as he spoke. Excitement and desire thrummed through your body, and the only thing you could think about now was closing any remaining distance between the two of you. 

His hand had moved from your hair to the small of your back. He didn’t pull you any closer to him but just the light pressure there was so coaxing, making you want to draw yourself farther in, to bring your whole body against his where you already knew you fit like puzzle pieces. 

“I want to know what makes you make the prettiest sounds.”

His lips brushed against the corner of your mouth as he spoke. He was impossibly close, but not close enough. Your heart was beating so fast, you thought it might burst out of your chest. Your fists clenched around the fabric of his shirt just to ground you to something.

“I want to know what makes you scream.”

Any remaining resolve you had came crashing down, and you collided your lips with his. He kissed you hungrily. Possessively. He kissed you with so much need. Your hands found their way to his hair and you gripped him closer, moaning against his mouth, your body relieved to finally be entwined with his, where it belonged.

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I'm sorry if it's a bit ass. I've only ever written steamy stuff maybe like 3 times, and it's been a long time since then too. Usually all that stays in the noggin but this one wanted to get out. I decided to publish it tho bc I have other ideas for a prequel of Jake's POV where he's really just a lonely boy who wants to be known and loved by the only person he's ever loved. Between then and this fic, he gets to a breaking point and decides to I guess seduce the reader to get her on board with even just the idea of knowing him. I'm not reducing him to just the sexy alter I promise. He is my favorite boy and I have all these sad Frank Sinatra songs I associate with him.

Also I do recognize this could be considered cheating but we're gonna ignore those implications for now maybe forever. hopefully Marc and Steven would understand that anyone who shares a body and headspace with them has to be equally irresistible

[fickle-fixations]

If u interact with my posts, just know I respond like this:

[fickle-fixations]

omg I'm honored 😭 I always feel like basically no one sees my fics but dang this is way more than I thought even with the fact that I've been posting stuff here for several years. Thanks to everyone who's ever read one of my works 💜💜💜💜

[fickle-fixations]

Thank you! I'm glad you see the vision heehee :D and holy shiiitt as soon as I saw the ladder one I was like that's 100000% Steven he would look at his beloved exactly like that

Howdy babes. got another one for u

Engagement/wedding photoshoot with the Oscars!!!! 🥰🥰🥰 because i am a broken person

Santi - interior: cabin

Leto (like Anselm, not a fan of his face being in photos)

Nathan

Anselm (he doesn't want his face in the photos)

Jake

Marc

Steven - in the museum of course!!!!

Evgeni

Robbie

Poe

William

Club!Blue

Asylum!Blue

Either Blue lol

Laurent

Lucien

Jonathan

Kane

Full pinterest board here

[fickle-fixations]

BRUH i pasted this into a word counting thing bc I didn't want to put it into my google docs and this bitch ROASTED me 😭😭

I'm a Fool to Hold you

Pairing: Jake Lockley x Reader

Summary: One of several eventual prequel drabbles to Chaos, He Politely Knocked (So I Opened the Door.) “What use was an attack dog that knew how to lay down at someone’s feet and close its eyes and wag its tail and dream?”

Word Count: 661 Genre: angst, character study // Warnings: reader is hardly there this one is mostly about his feelings for you, reader is horny tho (implied), Jake's depressingly low view of himself, DID masking, extremely liberal use of italics, minimally edited enjoy my word vomit // no pronouns, physical descriptions, or anything gender-y about reader

Suggested listening: I'm a Fool to Want You - Frank Sinatra

Oh, Jake my tortured, tortured beloved. I've hardly posted lately because I'm really focused on finishing my degree rn but these words just started coming to me and I didn't want to waste them. Enjoy <3

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Jake hadn’t expected to see you when he got home. If he’d known you’d be back before they were, he would have made more of an effort to coax Steven or Marc to the front on his walk from the bus back to the apartment. He especially hadn’t expected you to run out of the room you shared with Marc and Steven (and himself) as soon as he opened the door and throw yourself into his arms, pantsless and musk-scented and so, so warm. He hadn't expected you to attack him with kisses and grasp at his hair, and nuzzle against him like an animal in heat. He never could have imagined something so wonderful happening to him at all. 

He hadn’t meant to front - he never meant to. He almost never meant to. Not now anyways. Not now that Khonshu had been quiet and Marc and Steven were safe and you were in their lives. But on the bus, behind Steven’s eyes, Jake had seen ‘Caucasian male. 50s. Average build. 5’ 10”. Shoulder-length grey-blond hair.’ And he’d known that that description fit almost two percent of London’s population. And moreso than that, Jake knew it couldn’t be him because he’d killed Harrow himself, but this person had ticked just the right boxes, set off just the right number of alarm bells in Jake’s mind, that he’d been ripped forward by instinct alone. 

He’d felt like an idiot. But a well-trained dog will still attack on command, whether his victim was a murderer or the mailman, it was not for creatures like Jake to discriminate. His job was only to come when called. 

But he was still here. And so were you. And he fought the need to pull you closer, and hold you like he’d always wanted, and whisper everything he’d ever wanted to say to you, and treat you the way he’d always wanted to. With stuttering movements, his hand came to rest lightly on the small of your back, and he managed to clumsily gather his thoughts enough to decide that you needed Marc. He was too tired from being on high-alert for the past half hour to mimic Steven’s accent and particular turns of phrase anyways. So he held you with firm, steady hands, and after locking the door, lifted you so you could wrap your legs around his waist. And he’d give you ‘honey’ and ‘baby’ and assuring words in even tones and even more assuring touches. 

But G-d, the ache in his chest when he felt the weight of you against him was almost too much to bear. It forced him to face the fact that you were here with him - so real and warm and lovely and everything he'd ever wanted and everything he didn't deserve. But he - Jake - couldn't be here with you. His heart broke just a bit more, every damn, bitter-sweet time he had to pretend to be Marc or Steven around you, because it wasn’t him that you wanted. It wasn’t him that you loved. But whatever name you called him, whatever mask he’d wear, Jake would take what he could get all the same. And he’d try to tell himself that it was enough. He’d shove down the self-pity and the longing for something more - the longing to have all of you. The longing to hear his name on your lips. The longing to be known. To be loved, like you loved Marc and Steven. He’d shove these things down because creatures like him were not made for affection. They were not made for love. They were not even made to be seen. What use was an attack dog that knew how to lay down at someone’s feet and close its eyes and wag its tail and dream? No one could rely on a weapon that knew how to want. That knew how to love. He feared it was too late for the latter. 

[fickle-fixations]

Howdy babes. got another one for u

Engagement/wedding photoshoot with the Oscars!!!! 🥰🥰🥰 because i am a broken person

Santi - interior: cabin

Leto (like Anselm, not a fan of his face being in photos)

Nathan

Anselm (he doesn't want his face in the photos)

Jake

Marc

Steven - in the museum of course!!!!

Evgeni

Robbie

Poe

William

Club!Blue

Asylum!Blue

Either Blue lol

Laurent

Lucien

Jonathan

Kane

Full pinterest board here

[fickle-fixations]

I'm a Fool to Hold you

Pairing: Jake Lockley x Reader

Summary: One of several eventual prequel drabbles to Chaos, He Politely Knocked (So I Opened the Door.) “What use was an attack dog that knew how to lay down at someone’s feet and close its eyes and wag its tail and dream?”

Word Count: 661 Genre: angst, character study // Warnings: reader is hardly there this one is mostly about his feelings for you, reader is horny tho (implied), Jake's depressingly low view of himself, DID masking, extremely liberal use of italics, minimally edited enjoy my word vomit // no pronouns, physical descriptions, or anything gender-y about reader

Suggested listening: I'm a Fool to Want You - Frank Sinatra

Oh, Jake my tortured, tortured beloved. I've hardly posted lately because I'm really focused on finishing my degree rn but these words just started coming to me and I didn't want to waste them. Enjoy <3

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Jake hadn’t expected to see you when he got home. If he’d known you’d be back before they were, he would have made more of an effort to coax Steven or Marc to the front on his walk from the bus back to the apartment. He especially hadn’t expected you to run out of the room you shared with Marc and Steven (and himself) as soon as he opened the door and throw yourself into his arms, pantsless and musk-scented and so, so warm. He hadn't expected you to attack him with kisses and grasp at his hair, and nuzzle against him like an animal in heat. He never could have imagined something so wonderful happening to him at all. 

He hadn’t meant to front - he never meant to. He almost never meant to. Not now anyways. Not now that Khonshu had been quiet and Marc and Steven were safe and you were in their lives. But on the bus, behind Steven’s eyes, Jake had seen ‘Caucasian male. 50s. Average build. 5’ 10”. Shoulder-length grey-blond hair.’ And he’d known that that description fit almost two percent of London’s population. And moreso than that, Jake knew it couldn’t be him because he’d killed Harrow himself, but this person had ticked just the right boxes, set off just the right number of alarm bells in Jake’s mind, that he’d been ripped forward by instinct alone. 

He’d felt like an idiot. But a well-trained dog will still attack on command, whether his victim was a murderer or the mailman, it was not for creatures like Jake to discriminate. His job was only to come when called. 

But he was still here. And so were you. And he fought the need to pull you closer, and hold you like he’d always wanted, and whisper everything he’d ever wanted to say to you, and treat you the way he’d always wanted to. With stuttering movements, his hand came to rest lightly on the small of your back, and he managed to clumsily gather his thoughts enough to decide that you needed Marc. He was too tired from being on high-alert for the past half hour to mimic Steven’s accent and particular turns of phrase anyways. So he held you with firm, steady hands, and after locking the door, lifted you so you could wrap your legs around his waist. And he’d give you ‘honey’ and ‘baby’ and assuring words in even tones and even more assuring touches. 

But G-d, the ache in his chest when he felt the weight of you against him was almost too much to bear. It forced him to face the fact that you were here with him - so real and warm and lovely and everything he'd ever wanted and everything he didn't deserve. But he - Jake - couldn't be here with you. His heart broke just a bit more, every damn, bitter-sweet time he had to pretend to be Marc or Steven around you, because it wasn’t him that you wanted. It wasn’t him that you loved. But whatever name you called him, whatever mask he’d wear, Jake would take what he could get all the same. And he’d try to tell himself that it was enough. He’d shove down the self-pity and the longing for something more - the longing to have all of you. The longing to hear his name on your lips. The longing to be known. To be loved, like you loved Marc and Steven. He’d shove these things down because creatures like him were not made for affection. They were not made for love. They were not even made to be seen. What use was an attack dog that knew how to lay down at someone’s feet and close its eyes and wag its tail and dream? No one could rely on a weapon that knew how to want. That knew how to love. He feared it was too late for the latter. 

[fickle-fixations]

AAAAAAHG this is such a compliment i'm glad you like it!! :D I was so surprised to see notes on my fic account lol it was a very lovely way to start the day <3 thank you so much for reading!

Chaos, He Politely Knocked (So I Opened the Door)

Pairing: Jake Lockley x Reader

Summary: The reader is in an established relationship with Marc and Steven, and meets Jake for the first time. Set post-canon.

Hi loves!! Oscar Isaac is ruining my life!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Quick note: I don't want to be a tease so before you read any further, know that this is not actual smut. Also the title is from a beautiful song called Fall: War by The Arcadian Wild you should check it out!! the song is about original sin but i am not calling being with Jake a sin heeheehee

Thank you so much to @shitrandom for beta reading!! 🖤 If you like Moana x Maui you should check out their fics!

Word Count: 1456 // Warnings: my poor writing skills, sexually suggestive, consent is slightly ambiguous/not super communicated but everything is consensual // second person POV, feminine pet names used for reader, written as afab reader but no pronouns or specific descriptions of the reader's body.

Suggested listening: Big Mike's - Dijon

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A soft touch on your arm. A shift in weight on the bed. As you faded into consciousness, you heard the blankets rustle. Your eyes fluttered open.

He was looking down at you, propped up, resting his head on his hand. You blinked a few times and he came into focus. He was so beautiful. They were so beautiful.

“Hi,” you whispered, smiling softly.

The time on the clock behind him showed 4:03, its dim red light was all that lit the room, besides the moonlight that slipped through the gaps in the curtains. 

It was normal for Marc and Steven to have trouble sleeping, but they didn’t usually wake you. You were glad they did this time, though. You wanted to be there for them in every way, in every high and low and twist and turn that life threw at them, and for you, that included staying up with them when the horrors in their head wouldn’t allow them to sleep.

You studied his face for a moment, trying to determine who was fronting. You liked to tell yourself that you could know if you were with Marc or Steven before they even spoke. You never told either of them that it was a skill you were attempting to acquire, partially because you didn’t want them to help you. It was like you were trying to prove to yourself that you loved them enough. That you were good enough for your two gorgeous, intelligent, loving boyfriends.

The way he was looking at you now was unfamiliar. He was stone faced, his jaw clenched, and there was a look in his eyes that seemed part conflicted, and part hungry.

“Hi.” He finally responded, matching your hushed tone. 

There was something different about his voice. 

He fixed his gaze on where his hand rested gently on your arm, running his thumb back and forth across your skin. It bothered you how you still couldn’t read his face.

“Are you doing okay, my love?” you asked, still trying to fight the sleepiness that clung to you.

He didn’t respond. He just shut his eyes so tightly that his eyebrows scrunched together, and shook his head ever so slightly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took in a deep breath. 

You hadn’t even known them for two years, but you knew this wasn’t like them. They were never this indirect. Even when they were struggling, they would usually try to communicate something, so you wouldn’t worry.

“Hey,” you said, reaching out and smoothing your fingers over the creases in his forehead, “Whatever’s going on, you can tell me.”

You felt him lean into your touch, and the tension left his face. He muttered something under his breath. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was still avoiding looking at your face.

“You’re so good for them, querida,” he said, sounding almost pained.

He spoke quietly and his voice was still groggy from sleep. There was an accent to his voice you had never heard before. 

A chill ran up your spine as the realization washed over you suddenly: this wasn’t either of the two men that you knew.

You held your breath, and you tried to push back the questions that were already beginning to flood your mind. You wondered if it was wrong that you felt afraid. 

His fingers had never stopped affectionately brushing along your arm. His eyes finally met yours.

“I can see you, sometimes.” He said it with so much tenderness in his voice, for a split-second you thought that this had to be one of your lovers. A stranger wouldn’t talk to you like that. 

His hand stopped moving. Your arm was warm beneath his touch. A feeling was spreading across your skin from the contact. Not just warmth. Suspense, perhaps. 

He hummed and narrowed his eyes for a moment, like he was searching for the words. 

“Sometimes when Marc or Stephen are here, I’m here too.” He explained.

He looked at you, searching your expression for meaning.

You nodded.

“My name is Jake.”

“Hello Jake,” you replied, trying to mask the hesitation in your voice. 

The way he looked at you, and the way his voice vibrated through your chest had begun to push any fear out of your mind. You told yourself you had to remain on alert. But his eyes-

His gaze slowly swept over your body as he resumed drawing patterns on your skin. Without permission, your body was relaxing under his touch. 

He laid his head back on the pillow to be level with you. He was looking at you like you were the most precious thing on this planet. If he was dangerous, surely he wouldn’t look at you like that, right?

“I feel like I’ve gotten to know you, Y/N” He said, his hand traveling down your arm to loosely hold yours. 

“See, it’s my job to protect them,” he said, “but you- you take care of them in so many ways that I can’t. Thank you for that, querida.” 

He brought your hand up and kissed your knuckles. The warmth had now spread across your entire body, and bloomed from your chest. You had to fight the way that everything about Jake and everything he was making you feel made you want to cling to him - to cling to the body you knew and loved so well. 

“Do they know about you?” you asked.

“No,” he said flatly, “it’s safer that way.”

You realized your hand he had been holding was now toying with the hem of his shirt.

If Jake was Marc and Steven’s protector, and cared so much about them, you felt like you could trust him. That you didn’t have to be afraid. But still, you dared not ask why he was here. The question seemed to be implied.

“I’ve never thought of myself as a selfish man, querida. It- it would probably be safest if I just let you keep thinking I was one of them whenever I’m around.” 

The way his eyes bored into you like you were something to devour sent tingles down your spine.

“But I want to get to know you as myself.” He went on, and brushed a strand of hair away from your eyes. “And I want you to get to know me.”

You took in a shaky breath. You could feel the slick gathering between your legs.

“Would you like that, mi amor?”

He had you frozen. You could feel your heartbeat becoming faster, your breath shaky. All you could do was nod your head yes.

“What do you want to know?” you managed to say, voice hardly above a whisper.

His hand had never left your hair, and was fingering through it like you were already someone adored.

“I want to know what’s going through your head all those times we find you staring off into space.”

He leaned forward ever so slowly, then pressed a kiss to your forehead. You made no effort to push him away.

“I want to know everything that makes you happy, and spend every moment making you smile. Hearing you laugh.”

You closed your eyes as he pressed a kiss to one of your eyelids, then the other.

“I want to know how to read you - I want to know what you’re feeling from just a look.” 

He trailed light kisses down from your temple to your jaw, his warm breath ghosting across your skin as he spoke. Excitement and desire thrummed through your body, and the only thing you could think about now was closing any remaining distance between the two of you. 

His hand had moved from your hair to the small of your back. He didn’t pull you any closer to him but just the light pressure there was so coaxing, making you want to draw yourself farther in, to bring your whole body against his where you already knew you fit like puzzle pieces. 

“I want to know what makes you make the prettiest sounds.”

His lips brushed against the corner of your mouth as he spoke. He was impossibly close, but not close enough. Your heart was beating so fast, you thought it might burst out of your chest. Your fists clenched around the fabric of his shirt just to ground you to something.

“I want to know what makes you scream.”

Any remaining resolve you had came crashing down, and you collided your lips with his. He kissed you hungrily. Possessively. He kissed you with so much need. Your hands found their way to his hair and you gripped him closer, moaning against his mouth, your body relieved to finally be entwined with his, where it belonged.

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I'm sorry if it's a bit ass. I've only ever written steamy stuff maybe like 3 times, and it's been a long time since then too. Usually all that stays in the noggin but this one wanted to get out. I decided to publish it tho bc I have other ideas for a prequel of Jake's POV where he's really just a lonely boy who wants to be known and loved by the only person he's ever loved. Between then and this fic, he gets to a breaking point and decides to I guess seduce the reader to get her on board with even just the idea of knowing him. I'm not reducing him to just the sexy alter I promise. He is my favorite boy and I have all these sad Frank Sinatra songs I associate with him.

Also I do recognize this could be considered cheating but we're gonna ignore those implications for now maybe forever. hopefully Marc and Steven would understand that anyone who shares a body and headspace with them has to be equally irresistible

[fickle-fixations]

Eeek!! Heehee tbh im honored that someone would reread my stuff 🖤🖤🖤

Do you ever just have your brain turned to absolute mush by a character and then you hear a concept and then your brain just smashes the two together for no apparent reason? Yeah.

Behold my first completed and published """"work"""" in years:

Imagine being a manager at a strip club, where Anselm only has eyes for you

warnings: inaccurate depiction of sex work, mention of public sex, me being out of practice/bad at writing, possible poor characterization of Anselm bc he's so hard to hear and there's so little to go off of

Special thanks to all the Moon Knight/Oscar Isaac writers on Tumblr who introduced me to him, especially @iolaussharpe-24

Anselm is bored one day and goes to a strip club with his men

He’s not really into the strippers

You’re like the handler? Of the girls. You’re not in charge but it’s your job to take care of them - providing them with supplies they need, negotiating services like private dances with clients, roaming the shadows of the club and reporting patrons to security when they engage in untolerated behavior

You notice Anselm hanging back, sipping a drink and politely shoo-ing girls with a wave of his hand, as his men revel in the performances

You knew his type. The way he felt no need for attention in a place designed to give men attention. He was a man who wanted for nothing.

You strike up a conversation with the man

“It’s not often we get one of you in here - someone who’s not interested in the dancers. My girls are the best in the city.”

Anselm had to admit, the club was very high class and the girls were putting on quite a show, but he just wasn’t interested

“I’m a powerful man miss,”

you offered your last name

“Miss L/N. If I wanted women all over me, I would have them. I would have any woman I want.”

 He went on. “I simply felt incredibly and uncharacteristically generous tonight and decided to indulge my men.”

He gestured to the group of men, all in black suits, who were crowded around the main stage

You were starting to see dollar signs in the glint of the colored lights as it refracted in his whiskey glass. You were going to turn this man into a regular client

You leaned against the arm of the seat next to him

“That is quite generous of you, but I’m still surprised you’re not having any fun for yourself, even if it’s not with them, Mr?” 

“You can call me Anselm.”

“You know watching isn’t cheating, Anselm.” you smiled playfully. There had to be another reason he wasn't throwing money at the girls himself. No one could resist your girls. “I take it you have someone special back at home?”

He grinned, more like a predator bearing its teeth than a smile

“No, I don’t Miss L/N, but like I said…”

He looked you up and down, his gaze lingering on your hips. You’d never seen a man look with so much lust at a woman in a button down shirt and dress pants while in a room full of naked women.

He continued, “I can get anyone I want.”

You tried to move past the comment and make conversation with him. You talked for about an hour. You hadn’t meant to ignore the rest of your job and spend that much time on him, but he was fascinating, in a way. You spent much of the conversation listening to him tell you funny stories about his men and how incompetent they were. His stories were accented by some tangents about his obscure interests, and some remarks about current events in the city, about which he would ask your opinion and listen attentively. Any passerby who didn’t know you might have thought the two of you were on a date - the way you laughed at his anecdotes and seemed intrigued by nearly everything he said. You were caught off guard when the topic shifted to you and he asked you some questions about your work. Even your longest standing, high-class clients had never even thought to get to know the person who supplied their entertainment. It made you suddenly realize you weren’t on a date, and had work to get back to. 

You stood, and took a business card from a small case in your pocket

“It’s been lovely chatting with you, Anselm, but I should go and check on the girls.”

“Ah, of course. And likewise, Miss L/N.”

You offered your hand for him to shake, but he just took it lightly in his own for a moment and nodded before letting go.

“I hope we’ll be seeing you and your men back here soon.” you said, and handed him your card. 

He tucked it into a pocket on the inside of his suit and patted it gingerly.

“Yes,” he said, “You’ll be hearing from me.”

He called you two weeks later, asking if you offered any in-home services for private parties. 

You’d been surprised to hear from him directly. You hadn’t expected him to call at all, and high-rolling clients usually had assistants make such arrangements for them.

You told him the price and the rules, including that some members of your own security would have to be present. 

He didn’t hesitate at the price, and said that he would deal with his men himself if they got out of line, though he eventually consented for you to have two of your security staff present “Only because I like you Miss L/N.”

At the party, he again paid no attention to the dancers, or even his guests, and just sat talking with you in a corner, away from the lights but close enough that you could still keep an eye on things

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” 

He’d asked about three times now, and you again reminded him that you were working and couldn’t

“Well we’ll just have to do something about that, won’t we? How about we get a drink tomorrow, without all these lovely ladies present. You can leave Miss L/N at home; I would like to get to know [your first name].”

“I’ll check her schedule.” you said, keeping your professional tone though you couldn’t fully stop yourself from smiling

“I have a feeling she’ll be free, Miss L/N.”

He rose, and walked behind where you sat, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Like I told you,”

He leaned down until his beard brushed your cheek and you felt his warm breath on your ear as he whispered: “Anyone I want.”

After your first date you couldn’t get enough of him, and he seemed to feel the same, as he hired your girls several more times in the next few months, holding extravagant parties and spending an overwhelming amount of money, seemingly just to spend time with you.

After a few of these parties you made arrangements to take your own car the next time he hired you.

That night you wore a dress that was shorter and had a lower neckline than usual. It was still all black, to keep you out of sight in the shadows.

“The entertainment is here, Mr. Vogelweide.” one of his staff told him

He turned to greet you, but as soon as he saw you he froze. He in-took a sharp breath, his posture straightening, and his mouth opened ever so slightly on its own accord. He rarely got to see you in anything besides your very conservative outfits, which were designed to not pull any attention to yourself that could be going to the dancers. 

He placed a hand on the small of your back as he walked you further into his home.

“I didn’t realize clients were allowed to see you like this, Miss L/N.” he said in a hushed tone

“It's only because I like you, Mr. Vogelweide.”

When the last of the girls were leaving, Anselm rose to walk you out, but instead you went to the bar and got a drink.

“I thought you couldn’t drink while you were working.”

“I’m not anymore.”

"You little minx."

From then on, his hands didn't leave your body for the rest of the night

You soon ended up on his lap, instead of your usual place by his side, with his hands roaming your thighs and his face buried in your neck as you played with his hair.

“I hope your other clients… don’t get… this kind of service.” He said, his words punctuated by kisses along your neck

Your hand cupped his cheek, guiding him away from your neck, and smiled, shaking your head before you leaned in to kiss him.

Throughout your career at the club, you’d worked almost every night because you didn’t trust anyone else to watch out for the girls, which left you with little time to spend with Anselm outside of his parties. After he had hired your services a few more times you had eventually been able to convince the owners to promote one of the dancers who wanted the job to be your second. The exorbitant tips that Anselm left after every party didn’t hurt your case.

Now that you had her help, you spent most of your free nights with Anselm. And most of those mornings. And many of your days.

He invited you into his world; his secret kingdom within this city, whose reach stretched throughout the world

When you found out what he did for a living, it didn’t much faze you, and you knew that was because you were so blinded by your love for him. You could deal with the moral implications in hell. 

He rarely threw his extravagant parties anymore. He had never much liked the parties themselves, only the woman who came with the hired entertainment. 

The few times he did, it was for the thrill of taking you, as you sat on his lap in that shadowy corner that was fully yours now, just like he was. It was where you had spent so many hours in conversation - where he had first given you his heart.

I may get rid of this later and make it better but idk it really made me feel like posting something for once

thanks for reading 😘

[fickle-fixations]

Reblog if you're a writer who re-reads their own work for funsies.

[fickle-fixations]

Author's Note

This is really hard for me. I just deleted two of my fics, which are probably some of my favorites I've ever written, and I feel like I owe it to anyone who happened to like them to explain why.

So, I'm a Christian, and I got baptized last summer, which was me saying I was committed to God in every aspect of my life and I would make Him my number one priority. Not because I felt like I had to but because I genuinely wanted to. This past fall/winter I feel like I severely broke my commitment and abandoned Him. I want God, the being who cares about me and loves me and wants the best for me more than anyone in existence ever could to be my priority again. I want to remember what it felt like to desire closeness with the One who made me and died for me.

This winter I've been reading a looooot of smut fics, and I wrote a couple, and that wasn't a problem until recently. I didn't see it as anything bad until probably late December. I don't know why porn/smut is a sin. I don't fucking get it. And I'm kind of saltly. But I've come to the realization that it is. And I don't want to be actively doing something that the One who wants only the best for me said 'hey that's really not healthy for you to do.' So I deleted the fics, because if my Father says it's not healthy I shouldn't be putting that out into the world either.

I've come to love the fanfic communities that I'm in so so so so sooooo much, and the feedback I got on one of the fics made me feel so appreciated. I don't want to leave the community, but I'm going to step back and gain the self control to only engage in SFW stuff. There are so many NSFW writers who are so talented and have beautiful stories that are interwoven with the NSFW content, but that's just not healthy for me to engage in, at least not right now.

I want to make it clear that I don't judge NSFW readers and writers. Y'all keep doing you and living it up for me <3. These past few months have just been so unhealthy for my relationship with God and other aspects of my life like I've gotten severely addicted to the internet and my sleep schedule is effed and my attention span is effed and my whole dopamine situation is so out of whack.

maybe no one will even notice that I deleted the fics. I also feel like I needed to put this out there for my own accountability.

[fickle-fixations]

it just be like that I guess