#2.) I can’t think of what to say to people if I don’t blink; whether I’m lying or not

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Did anyone else used to lie on their bed or the ground and stare directly into a lightbulb and/or a ceiling fan when they were a kid?

[byoldervine]

Types Of Writer’s Block (And How To Fix Them)

1. High inspiration, low motivation. You have so many ideas to write, but you just don’t have the motivation to actually get them down, and even if you can make yourself start writing it you’ll often find yourself getting distracted or disengaged in favour of imagining everything playing out

Try just bullet pointing the ideas you have instead of writing them properly, especially if you won’t remember it afterwards if you don’t. At least you’ll have the ideas ready to use when you have the motivation later on

2. Low inspiration, high motivation. You’re all prepared, you’re so pumped to write, you open your document aaaaand… three hours later, that cursor is still blinking at the top of a blank page

RIP pantsers but this is where plotting wins out; refer back to your plans and figure out where to go from here. You can also use your bullet points from the last point if this is applicable

3. No inspiration, no motivation. You don’t have any ideas, you don’t feel like writing, all in all everything is just sucky when you think about it

Make a deal with yourself; usually when I’m feeling this way I can tell myself “Okay, just write anyway for ten minutes and after that, if you really want to stop, you can stop” and then once my ten minutes is up I’ve often found my flow. Just remember that, if you still don’t want to keep writing after your ten minutes is up, don’t keep writing anyway and break your deal - it’ll be harder to make deals with yourself in future if your brain knows you don’t honour them

4. Can’t bridge the gap. When you’re stuck on this one sentence/paragraph that you just don’t know how to progress through. Until you figure it out, productivity has slowed to a halt

Mark it up, bullet point what you want to happen here, then move on. A lot of people don’t know how to keep writing after skipping a part because they don’t know exactly what happened to lead up to this moment - but you have a general idea just like you do for everything else you’re writing, and that’s enough. Just keep it generic and know you can go back to edit later, at the same time as when you’re filling in the blank. It’ll give editing you a clear purpose, if nothing else

5. Perfectionism and self-doubt. You don’t think your writing is perfect first time, so you struggle to accept that it’s anything better than a total failure. Whether or not you’re aware of the fact that this is an unrealistic standard makes no difference

Perfection is stagnant. If you write the perfect story, which would require you to turn a good story into something objective rather than subjective, then after that you’d never write again, because nothing will ever meet that standard again. That or you would only ever write the same kind of stories over and over, never growing or developing as a writer. If you’re looking back on your writing and saying “This is so bad, I hate it”, that’s generally a good thing; it means you’ve grown and improved. Maybe your current writing isn’t bad, if just matched your skill level at the time, and since then you’re able to maintain a higher standard since you’ve learned more about your craft as time went on

[pinkroseblooms]

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Arajin Tomoshibi/f!Reader/Marito Jin

Summary: A misunderstanding leads Arajin to realizing he's not quite over his crush on you; it's even harder ignoring his own feelings when you also manage to peak his volatile boyfriend's interest. A/N: This takes place in a AU without magic and honki people. Suggestive language, but no smut: part 2 coming soon! Enjoy! wc: 2.3k

“Let Arajin go!”

Marito felt something smack the back of his head, right dead center of his bun; he slowly turns enough to see you holding a ladle high above your head. You flinched, but held the utensil higher. Arajin shrugged off Marito’s arm; his soul might have ascended from his body, seeing you standing in the middle of the street.

“What are you doing?!”

“It’s okay; you start running, I’ll hold this jerk off!” Your knees shake, threatening to buckle under you at the glare Marito is casting your way. “Run!”

“Wa-wait! It’s not what you think!” Arajin sputters, hands raised as he gets between you and Marito. “What are you even doing here? Mom said you were on serving duty today; just go back to the restaurant-”

“Ara-teen, do you know this little beast?” Marito’s lips form a slow, cold smile. “That must be it; otherwise, I sure hope she has a good reason for attacking me so rudely on our date.”

“Date?” You blink, lowering the ladle to your chest. “Arajin, you…know this guy? So, he’s not bullying you?”

About ten minutes prior, you, a server at the Chu Chu Chinese Restaurant, had been tossing a couple of trash bags out in the dumpster when your eyes spied Arajin walking past with someone you didn’t know. The taller boy’s arm was slung over Arajin’s shoulders and he was talking animatedly, but your immediate assumption was that this stranger was shaking down Arajin for money or favors. You didn’t know at the time Marito Jin was in fact a gang leader, but currently you’re apologizing profusely for your “attack”; Arajin and Marito sat across from each other at an empty table as you explained to them what was going through your mind.

“I feel so dumb.” You bow your head in Marito’s direction specifically. “I really am sorry, I jumped to conclusions; I’ve been worried about Arajin having a tough time at school and I guess…I assumed the worst. I’m so sorry, Jin-san.”

“I’ll let it go this time.” Marito says coolly, barely glancing your way. “I wouldn’t normally let you live after such an offense, but for Ara-teen’s sake, I’ll excuse your rudeness.”

Arajin gulped: there’s no way he can tell you Marito is actually not only a juvenile delinquent but a dangerous psycho. No, it’s better you don’t get involved in any of this; Arajin’s known you most of his life. His mother and yours had been friends forever and when your mother passed, you had been all but adopted. You made ends meet working at Chu Chu; you were earnest and hard working but something of a worry wart, at least when it came to Arajin.

“You really don’t have to worry about me,” Arajin tries to sound casual and breezy as you set down two cups of hot tea. “Marito might seem scary but he is a…well, he’s very…he would never, uh…” 

Okay, maybe it’s dishonest to try and tell you Marito is a “good” person but Arajin really doesn’t want you to be concerned; if anything, he knows Marito is going to be the first person to throw down on his behalf should anyone even try to hurt him. Now, whether or not Marito will be inflicting any of that pain himself, that’s something Arajin can’t quite say for sure. 

“Is your head okay?” You look around Marito’s head; you lightly touch the spot you made contact with. “I can get you some ice.”

“Wow, you are wound up tight.” Marito slaps your hand away, but it’s more of a light swat than anything. “Ara-teen, tell her to calm down and bring us food; it’s bad enough our date got interrupted, I’m starving.” he whined as you left to fetch them some appetizers. “Also, you didn’t ask how my head was…”

“You said it didn’t hurt though,” Arajin grumbles under his breath, blowing on his tea. “I can’t believe this. What on earth was she thinking?”

“Is she your guard dog? A little beast like her couldn’t hurt a fly.” Marito snickers, teeth baring wolfishly. “Don’t tell me she thinks you need her to protect you.”

“It’s more like…she’d step in to help anyone.” Arajin smiles a little himself; he remembers how hard you were shaking, the real fear behind your bold glare. “She’s crazy, that girl.”

“Hey, who are we talking about here?” You come back to their table with two plates loaded up with food. “Arajin, so mean.”

“No, I didn’t mean it how it sounded!” Arajin scrambles to explain himself. “You were really cool back there actually.”

“Aw, come on, you and I both know I’m useless in a fight; that was all a bluff.” You address Marito. “Besides, he’s the one who looks cool. I really like your hair and piercings.”

“Flattery won’t get you on my good side.” 

“No, I’m serious.” You tell him with some surprise. “I’m sure you get this a lot, but you could be a model or something; of course, Arajin’s still the cutest. He’s off the charts when it comes to being a cutie pie.”

“Ugh, don’t make fun of me.” 

“Come on, no need to be modest in front of your date.” You tease. “He knows what I’m talking about, right Jin-san?”

“I’m an expert.” Marito agrees, fixing Arajin with a knowing look. “You should see how cute he looks when-”

“KNOCK IT OFF!”

“Soooo scary!” Marito cackles. “Is your face red from anger? Or something else?”

“You’re both awful.”

Arajin scoffs but inwardly he’s getting…tingly. It’s almost like both you and Marito are flirting with him, giving him all this attention. He has to remind himself you’re just being nice.

Marito takes a chicken skewer and tears a bite of juicy meat off with a satisfied hum. “Hm, these are different.”

“Oh that one is my recipe.” You grin. “Arajin, do you like it?”

“It’s delicious.” 

“Yay!”

Arajin feels his chest swell at the look of pride on your face; honestly he would happily swallow unseasoned glass shards by the spoonful if you asked him to. You were wrong: if anyone’s cute it’s you. God, he’s only been back for a few months; Arajin thought by now you wouldn’t have the same effect on him, especially now he’s seeing someone. To be fair, with Marito he wasn’t exactly given a choice, but still. 

“Feed me, Ara-teen!” Marito leans over the table and points to his open mouth. “I want a dumpling.”

“You have hands!” 

Arajin’s cheeks flush and he hopes you don’t notice. He uses his chopsticks to take a dumpling and pops it into his mouth, ignoring Marito’s whimper, but hunger wins out and he takes a dumpling for himself. 

“Here, don’t forget the sauce.” Arajin slides the bottle over to Marito. “You always eat too fast and forget to use it.”

“Aw, thanks honey~”

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.”

“Yum!” Marito licks his lips eagerly. “These really hit the spot.”

“I hope you like them; I still feel bad about earlier, so I doubled the portion.” You smile sweetly, hands clasped to your chest. “I made them with lots and lots of love, just for you two!”

Arajin almost chokes when your hands form a heart shape; Marito pauses mid bite as you shoot them with a “love beam” and giggle childishly. 

“Chu!” You blow them a kiss. “Please let me know if you want anything else; have fun on your date, Arajin-it was nice to meet you, Jin-san.”

Arajin can barely stop himself from staring as the skirt of your uniform flounces around your thighs and your hips sway with every step.

“I see how it is.” Marito leans over the table with a sly smile. “Ara-teen, bad boy. You’re practically family, aren’t ya? Does she know about your little crush? Or were you childhood sweethearts? Don’t say it’s so, I’ll be jealous.”

“No, no, no! We’re barely friends, my mom knew her mom, she’s just…”

But Arajin can tell Marito isn’t buying his excuses; of course he’s thought about you that way. 

“I liked her.” Arajin confesses quietly. “She’s cute and she's a good person: I admire her, that's all."

Cute, brave, sweet, and only the most perfect girl and Arajin knows he doesn’t have a chance in hell. Besides, you don’t see him that way; he might as well be your kid brother, the way you fuss and act so protectively. 

“I can see it now: two love birds who grew up together, getting married and running this place, a few kids maybe, real domestic. Blegh.” Marito rolls his eyes. “I bet your mom would be thrilled; is she planning the wedding? You're not just playing with me to pass the time, are ya?”

“You know mom likes you; you shocked her maybe, but she thinks you're funny and cool.” Arajin replies with a small smile. "Not that she wouldn't be happy with anyone as long as they treat me well. The only thing that would make the old hag happier is maybe if you and I and-”

“We all got together? You, me, and that little beast?” Marito picks up a dumpling, almost gingerly with his chopsticks, inspecting it with an odd half smile. “Nah, more like…a nervous little kitten who doesn’t know how to use her claws yet. She needs training.” 

Arajin watches Marito carefully; he’s been acting off all afternoon. More so, at least. 

"You heard what she said: besides, she hates fighting." Arajin remarks, passing Marito the whole plate of skewers. "Go on, these are your favorite right?"

"They're best when you make 'em though." Marito winks, basically salivating as he picks up another stick. "I bet you've had a lot of her cooking, huh?"

"Why do you keep bringing the conversation back to her?" Arajin sighs; his teas gone cold but he's too anxious to call you back over to bring more. "My mom teaches her and she has me for a guinea pig. Actually when she started cooking it was awful."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, always over salted or undercooked or burned, you name it." Arajin recalls various failed dishes he had been assigned to taste test. "She'd do it over and over again though. It was important to her. Mom would tell her food can be an expression of personality; I guess that's why she put so much effort into doing better."

Every time, you would go to him with a hopeful spark in your eyes; even now you're self conscious about how your food tastes. Arajin would say the practice paid off, but considering he would consume poison made with your painstaking care, maybe he's not the one you should've been going to for critiques.

"Her food tastes like her." Marito smacks his lips in satisfaction. "I taste it."

"The saying isn't really literal." Arajin smiles in exasperation. "What are you even tasting?"

Marito leans his chin on his hand; he has a much more subdued expression and the abrupt change on his demeanor isn't lost on Arajin. Marito is being serious.

"Filling warmth."

"Filling...warmth?"

"It's kinda like," Marito drawls. "There's heat in my belly; I already ate so much, I know I shouldn't eat more, but I can't get enough. Don't ya taste it?"

"Yeah, well," Arajin scratches his cheek. "I'd say it's comforting? Something like that."

“So, you do have a crush."

"Marito, lower your voice please!"

"Says the one squealing like a little girl; gotta say, I’m a bit disappointed in you, Ara-teen. All this time and you never tried to claim her? Normally you woulda been kissin' her ass and the ground she walks on, but you're holding back?” Marito asks, almost as if he’s genuinely curious. “You’re so odd: fiery and bold one minute and all shy and timid the next.”

“I mean, we’re…together now, so what does it matter? Come on, it's not funny, Marito. We're on a date but you keep trying to-to goad me into flirting or something.” Arajin glances around, but no one seems to be paying them any mind. “You act like you want me to make a move on her.”

“Maybe I do.”

Arajin watches, gaping as Marito sinks his teeth into the last dumpling; he’s staring towards where you’re speaking with his mother behind the bar counter. You’re nodding, looking fairly serious now, at the ready and eager to help. Arajin can feel his heart fluttering again and he jumps when Marito’s foot slides to tap his own under the table; Arajin looks up but Marito’s eyes are still on you, a strained smile playing on his lips, as if he's trying to not laugh. 

Although everything on the table has been devoured already, Arajin wouldn't know it from the hungry way Marito scans your face, the way his tongue darts out as if to savor any trace left of the meal you had brought them. He looks ready to lick the empty plate clean: except, his eyes are still on you.

Arajin squirms in his seat and at the same moment, you seem to have noticed them staring. You wave sweetly, smiling at them; Arajin could dissolve into a puddle as Marito reaches under the table to grasp at his knee.

"Hey, ya know what we oughta do? Let's adopt a kitten."

"What?!" Arajin gasps, words cut off as Marito slides his wandering hand further to his thigh. "Stop teasing, this really, really, isn't funny..."

“I thought you liked when I teased you?" Marito giggles maniacally. "Anyway, she did say with lots and lots of love for us. Or are you so worked up you can't remember?"

"I don't think she meant..I-I couldn't-"

"Please, Ara-teen? Pretty, pretty please?" Marito coos and simpers; there's a hint of pink rising in his pale cheeks. “I wanna play with that kitten.”

[cartierdreamx]

𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝕿𝖔 𝕱𝖆𝖑𝖑 *2*

Hi my sweet ones <333, hope you’re well! Sorry for the little wait but I hope the wait is worth it sooo here’s chapter 2, not much to say but I may have teared up a bit writing this and now as I type this my heart still hasn’t recovered, so I apologise in advance hehe. Anyways, I hope you enjoy and if you do, please consider reblogging, following and commenting! Thank you all for your constant love and support! J <33 

If you would like to be apart of a taglist so you know when the next chapter comes out, comment down below or let me know thru asks!! Also please make sure your tags are on, so I’m able to tag you 🫶🏽

Pairings: jenna ortega x fem! Reader 

Warnings: angst cityyy, dark themes, swearing, mentions of weapons and violence and murder. 

This fic is STRICTLY 18+, as it involves adult themes, minors DNI, you are responsible for your own social media intake, which includes reading entertainment which this fic falls under, so one last warning- this fic is 18+. Thank you!  

*though my fics have real people, my fics are just for entertainment and far from reality*

FYI: JENNA IS G!P IN THIS FIC!!

~~

The sting in your eyes was accompanied by an adorning number of buzzes from your phone, annoyed and slightly hangover, mainly from the lack of hydration, because you were no lightweight, you could promise any drinking buddy that, you shove your phone under your pillow, praying that would drown out the buzzing. But, of course, to no avail, whoever or whatever global state of emergency was blowing up your phone, the vibrations so strong, it was tectonic, the buzzes greeted your ears through the bamboo pillow wrapped in silk. Having had enough, you groan and answer a call from Sol.

“Sol, I swear to GOD, someone better be dying.” Your annoyance so clear, it auscultates her ears.

“Y/N! YOU ARE MY STAR GIRL, DYING? THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE EXACTLY.”

Though she can’t see you, confusion paints your face as you slowly sit up and wipe your face, allowing yourself to wipe away the fatigue, after stepping out of Ortega Towers, your little after party consisting of publishing an article, skincare and pyjamas was a blur, in fact, you were so out of it, you considered maybe you hallucinated ever hitting publish. However, the entire masquerade stuck with you, the stench of man who tried to feel up on you left the second you stepped outside for air, but what didn’t was the crown queen of San Francisco, her vanilla essence imprinted on you, so after a night of tossing in turning, no movement could remove her from you. You don’t like it though, and it was ironic, you rejected and blew her off the second you got the chance, but you couldn’t remove her from you. There were fires starting to spark all over your body and the more you deny them, the stronger they burn, funny enough, one grew in your groins. And as repetitive as you sound, you hate it. You hate her. You, hate Jenna?

“What’re you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t act so coy and humble!”

“Sol, I’m like, genuinely serious.” You let out a soft chuckle.

“YOUR ARTICLE, BABES!!, IT BLEW UP, I AM SO PROUD OF YOU, TELL ME EVERYTHING, WAIT NO, GET CHANGED, LET’S GET LUNCH BEFORE WE HEAD INTO WORK. LOVE YOU.”

Without even giving you a chance to breathe, blink or your heart to beat, you hear her hang up, guess you have lunch plans in about 2 hours. Now, about your article, you have no clue what you wrote, only that you couldn’t stop writing the second you sat down, nervousness rivers through your blood, breathing adjacent to your heart rate just thinking about what you wrote, what people think, hell, what Jenna thinks. Oh my God, is she going to kill me? You shake your head trying to rid of that negative thought, Jenna wasn’t like that, she’s above killing innocents, but are you innocent? Mouthing out the last line of your article; … whether it be by her heart, her touch, or her gun, anyone that knows the elusive Ms. Ortega is destined to fall. Your face meets your palm and you’re sure if Jenna or anyone in the family read this, you are sure to meet your maker.

~~

“Wowwww, Jenna, she only knew you for a few hours, but she has every part of you right down to a T.”

Viv giggles as she scrolls through the article, enjoying every little bit of Jenna’s distraught, it was a rare occasion to see the mafia queen like this, and barely anyone could have her like this; a newfound superpower of yours.

“Shut it, Viv, it’s an okay article, and that’s me being generous.”

“I can’t imagine what she’d find out about you if she had stayed for longer.”

“I have no secrets.”

“You’re an idiot if you believe that.”

“Okay, fine, it’s a good article, y/n’s a feisty one.” Jenna finally caves in and shrugs.

“And plus, why do you care about some article?”

“I don’t.”

“Ah, but you do care about her.”

“Shut up, Viv, go make me a coffee.”

Laughter induced tears almost well up Viv’s eyes as she hears Jenna’s commands “oh, buddy she wrote you so good, down to your ego and arrogance, I’m not an assistant, babe, fix your attitude.”

Jenna rolls her eyes at Viv as she blows her a kiss and walks off to complete her long list of errands to complete and maybe some target training later in the day for her own indulgence. Bruce, whose body collected every will to keep silent as he knows he would be putting up with Jenna’s groggy and bitchy attitude all day if she did get riled up enough, but his mental strengths wasn’t as strong as his physicals.

“Bruce, I can see you smirking, knock it off.”

“Sorry, boss.” The 6’8ft, brunette man exclaims, though still smirking.

“You know, you make look and share the same name as Batman, but boy, you sure do lack the mental obedience, quit smirking!” Jenna pouts as she smacks his shoulder, “go scare our shareholders will you, I’ll meet you just before the meeting starts." Bruce chuckles as he leaves Jenna, alone with her thoughts.

And what are her thoughts? You. Rumination isn’t enough to describe how you flood her mind, how you fuel her hunger, how she hates how she doesn’t hate you. But you hate her? As two souls collide, their thoughts are evermore intertwined, and collide was definitely a word you could use to describe the thoughts both of you guys share. What gets her brain twisting the most and her throat closing in is the fact her heart is in denial about what it wants. Jenna would be caught dead before she made herself vulnerable before you made her vulnerable.

She had meetings the entire day but seeing that she’s the ones with guns and glory, no one dare to take her up on being tardy or last-minute cancellations, but despite her arrogant nature, she was respectful, and she was kind to those who deserved it, but even then, her guard was never down.

As her after lunch meeting finishes, she strides up and down the room, looking out into the city, only canvasing confusion on Viv and Bruce’s face.

“Cancel the rest of my meetings, please, Viv. Bruce, take the day off, do whatever you want, I’m heading out.”

Viv and Bruce comply and as Jenna starts heading for the door, Viv can’t help but tease “maybe this time, don’t be a dickhead to y/n, we like her.”

“No promises.”

~~

Allowing the feminine urge to take over, you order a Caesar salad, a huge bowl of fries and a diet coke, such a perfect combo. That, with an extra side of chismosa with Sol, it’s a perfect lunch, however, the topic of gossip was you, you and Jenna that is.

“So, you didn’t hook up with her?” Sol, sighing, sounding deflated and defeated, for some reason she was really rooting for you two, she was so adamant about it.

“Sol, you have some sick delusion running through you, not healthy.” You tsk at her, “besides, I’m sure her sugar bear was enough company.”

Sol gasps so loud out of entertainment she grabs the attention of a few others having lunch. Not wanting people to eavesdrop, you give her a maternal ‘quiet down’ look.  

“Oh, don’t give me that look, I’ve been waiting so long to hear this, tell me more.”

As Sol further indulges in your suffering, you slowly start wishing you two had lunch back at the office or your loft, you were sure other lunch goers used you as a source of entertainment.

Back at the office, a warm standing ovation greets you, with everyone’s eyes and smiles lighting up the second they saw you, maybe they are genuinely impressed, but maybe because they’re all about to get a huge payout from the rising popularity of your article, usually rival companies don’t boost each other’s articles, then it wouldn’t be competition, but yours struck the entire nation, the likes of Buzzfeed and TMZ bowed down to you, making articles about your piece of art. However, as much as it was a piece of art, there’s some part of you that felt guilty about pressing publish, maybe the world didn’t have to read about Jenna’s ego in writing, it could’ve just been left untold, you were the one to tell it. Much like Jenna, your day was filled with meetings, but distraction got the best of you, you barely focused and you couldn’t even tell the higher ups what you plan was next, but nevertheless they were highly impressed with you. So impressed, that there was talk about you moving up, career wise.

At the end of your day, exhaustion kisses your body, you were all Jenna’d out, if you had to speak about Jenna one more time, you were sure to implode, not that you had anything against the people asking you, it was a fair thing to be curious about, but, you wish that maybe this was a one-time thing, that she isn’t your shot to success, that she isn’t running your world, that maybe, you would never hear from her again.

“Hello, Ms. L/N.” A familiar voice speaks, the same person who was anonymous with you on that balcony looking out into the skyline was an arm’s reach. But this time, you waste no time in turning around. A big sigh showcases your defeat, so much for never hearing from her again.

“Miss me?” Jenna teases, definitely not missing her, a plan sparks in that sly mind of yours.

“Hey Sol, look I have someone here who is dying to meet the person behind Bayseyes.”

You see Sol’s jaw drop to the ground as her eyes relay the fact that Jenna Ortega is standing in her building to her brain. “No, I don’t miss you.” You chuckle at her, as you head out, if only you turned around to see Jenna’s reaction, it would have made everything all worth it. Though she was fed up with how well you could turn her down, and she’d let it slide, she was impressed at how well you thought on your feet.

~~

As Jenna relays what happened to Viv and Bruce, she swears smoke spills out her ears as they belly laugh at her failure, their knees weak at every word that leaves Jenna’s mouth, Bruce had to hold Viv and himself to make sure they didn’t topple over.

“Whew, Jenna, she has played you in every way, I love this girl, when she coming back?” Viv teases.

“She’s never coming back.”

“Yeah, clearly, your attempts to reel her in is like fishing with a plastic rod.” Bruce adds, Viv’s face lighting up with pride.

“No, she’s not welcome here.”

“Mhmhm, the same way she’s not welcome in your heart.”

“No, I kicked her out.”

“AH HAH, so you admit she was in your heart.”

“WHAT, NO.”

“Boss…” Bruce cringes.

“WHATEVER, I’M LEAVING.”

The same record plays as she leaves the room, Bruce and Viv hysterically laughing trying to figure out the badass you are.

~~

The next day, it was all the same, this time, Jenna waited for you outside the building with a black Porsche behind her as she leans. As it was all the same, the rejection was no different, blowing her off again as you strut the other way, making sure Jenna saw you roll your eyes at her, more rejection, more laughter and taunts from Viv and Bruce.

3rd times the charm is the saying, yet not everyone is proven to be successful, Jenna was one of them, it was irking her and getting under her skin that she couldn’t bag you, but no matter how much you frustrated her, she would never admit she wants you, she’d lay a blanket over her feelings for you, hiding it as she wants you within her reach so she, herself can make you bleed, the same way you did. But maybe she does want that, maybe all she wants is to see you fall, you don’t know who she is, but she seems to know who you are, well, what she could find out about you. But funny enough, her level of power doesn’t get her through to your hidden files. It was redacted, and not even you knew about them.

Number 4 took a different approach, this time she asks Sol for help, begging her to get you to meet her, and as much as Sol wants to, and trust your gut, she wants to, so bad, her loyalty to you was no match for Jenna, Sol turns Jenna away, and to add a cherry on top, you recruited help from a colleague of yours, he was very handsome, and a gentleman, so you two played pretend in front of Jenna’s eyes, arms linked with laughter filling the barely visible gap between the two of you. This fuelled the fire burning in her chest, a feeling she had never felt before, jealousy, and jealousy is a bitch. Jealousy caged Jenna, how could this feeling make the most powerful woman in America bend at her knees, how could you make the most powerful woman in America suffer with every inch of her. You, y/n, you are the indulgence of her soul but the starvation of her heart. Jenna’s first instinct was to hurt you, hurt him, how could he kiss the cheek of her woman? You’re not her woman. Murder was on the table for him, and torment was on yours. Anything to ease her suffering, but she couldn’t, she can’t, as much as she wants to, and as much as she could do it with ease, you breathing was more important.

Maybe day 5 would be different, you thought as the clock hands strike 6pm, and so you were right, instead of being greeted with the ever-greedy Ms. Ortega, you were met with Viv’s warm embrace and Bruce’s masculine yet warm stature.

“Jenna’s getting her right hands to do her dirty work?”

Viv and Bruce share a smile, “as much as we love to see her wallow in doubt and pity, and finally see her humbled, you’re killing her.”

“And how is that any different to when she has a gun to someone’s head?”

“We know, she deserves it, but, for us could you consider not torturing her?”

“Look, you guys seem so nice and a very lovely pair, but I’m only doing this because she won’t stop, and I’m sure doing this would be a lot more efficient than telling her to stop, and honestly, I’m surprised I’m even alive right now.”

“Y/N,” a solemn tone escapes Viv, “she’s not like that, you know.”

“I don’t, I don’t know, and like you heard me say before, how could I let her in if she’s everything I stand against. We are two opposing forces, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you want to know?” Bruce steps in.

“Guys, there are plenty of women out there who wants Jenna.”

“Yeah, but none of them are you.”

“And none of them will be me, I’ll delete the article if it’ll help, but I’m sure everyone has their copies, I’m sorry, I didn’t want it to be like this, I didn’t want to attend the ball.”

“No, it’s okay, don’t apologise, we’re sorry it had to be like this, but we’ll leave you be, we’ll talk to Jenna.”

“Thank you,” giving Viv a warm hug, possibly being the last hug, you’ll ever give her and Bruce a kiss on the cheek, more than you’ve given Jenna.

As you leave, Viv turns to Bruce “oh someone is so getting hurt at tonight’s mission.”

He chuckles, “you know how she copes.”

~~

Finally, a chance to breathe and relax, you were out shopping, giving yourself a self-care day filled with everything you needed after the stressful week you just had. Sol wanted to accompany you, hoping to cheer you up, but you reassured her you’ll be fine and that this was something you had to do on your own. Walking past the dress boutiques, a dress similar to your masquerade dress catches your eyes and you can’t help but stop and admire it, but truthfully, the dress reminded you of her, of Jenna, you hate to admit it but there was some part of you that missed her adamant tries at winning you over.

“It’s pretty dress, but nothing compares to what you wore that night.” A voice you know all too well.

“Jenna…” A sigh of defeat leaves your lips.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I just had to see you, y/n.”

“Are you stalking me now?” Genuine question.

“No, no, I was out shopping, well, yes, I had to shop but I knew you frequent here so I took a chance.”

You let out a soft giggle, “I’m not even going to question how you know that but okay, you have me.”

“If I had you, we wouldn’t be here.”

You smile, not knowing what to say, your heart almost breaks for her, you’ve never seen her raw like this, almost as if you make her vulnerable.

“Look, I just want to say I’m sorry, for everything, for every arrogant remark, for every uncomfortable situation I put you in, for playing games with you, for sending Viv and Bruce to do my dirty work, for wanting you, y/n.”

“Jenna,” you grab her hand and caress it, hoping it relieves some of her pain, and maybe now your brain will believe she’s being genuine, and as much as your heart wanted to hold her, you know you can’t. “It takes a lot to apologise, so thank you.”

“It’s no problem, but uh, I know I shouldn’t, but I’d hate myself if I didn’t take this chance, maybe I could take you out to dinner? Apology dinner, on me.”

“Heh, that’s sweet of you to offer, but I’m sorry, I can’t, take Viv and Bruce out for me instead.” You smile at her, trying so hard not to tear up, feeling that choking feeling build up in your throat.

“Do you hate me?” That same question, she asked you that very first night.

“Again?”

“Y/N, tell me you hate me, it’ll make getting over you a whole lot easier, knowing you hate me is a better outcome than knowing you don’t, because if you don’t, my chance of you, my chance of us was out there, but my hands were not strong enough to grasp it, maybe I made the wrong deal with the universe, I don’t want to live a life where we could’ve been, just tell me that you hate me, please, y/n, please.”

If your heart didn’t break before, your heart definitely broke now, this was her, this was Jenna, raw and vulnerable, you wanted to speak, but it seems there was a stronger force out there that withheld you from speaking, instead, you lay your soft hand on her cheek, wiping away a lone tear, so close to Jenna’s lips you could feel her breathing. As she closes her eyes and leans in ever so slightly, you let go, leaving her with a maybe.

Too broken to look at you, Jenna offers “at least let me take you home, it’s getting dark, I know you didn’t drive here, and I know how dangerous the streets can be at this time.”

“I’ll be okay, Jen.”

Maybe it was the right choice, maybe your actions will have consequences.

~~

Too lost in your own world, thinking about what happened between you and Jenna, you don’t notice the looming figure behind you, Jenna occupying you so deeply, you didn’t realise they’ve been following you since you left the mall. Lucky for you, walking past a closed shop with windows out the front, you’re able to see a dark figure behind you, you quickly decipher the figure being a man, but his face is covered so you don’t recognise him. As your heartbeat quickens, so do your steps, actively trying to lose him, you take a sharp turn into an alley, bad mistake. A breath of relief and fatigue exists your lungs as you turn and see he’s not behind you anymore. But.

“Think you could get away from me that easily?” The man appears in front of you, making you jump, but leaving you stuck in place, too scared to run. As you scan his face, your heart sinks, making the connection that this is the same man from the ball, the same one who was harassing you, but Jenna had him thrown out.

“Yeah, now that pretty face remembers me.”

“Please, just let me go, I’ll give you money, is that what you want?”

He scoffs, grabbing your wrist so tight, he may be cutting off circulation. “I don’t care about money, they pay me enough, what I want is you, I want you to hurt.” Suddenly, a sharp sting numbs your face as he slaps you with all his might, knocking you off your feet, you scream.

“That’s right, scream, bitch.” Kicking you in the abdomen, making you give into his wants, screaming more.

“Please.”

“No point in begging now.” He kicks twice more before picking you up by your shirt, you too much in pain to even look at him in the eyes, but the pain would keep going, he holds you up against the brick wall and starts going in for punches, left and right, your nose starts bleeding, you’re sure your ribs are broken, every punch, slap and kick was multiplied by 10, he kept on going, no matter how much you screamed, he didn’t listen.

“Where’s Jenna now? That’s right, she’s not here, can’t go running to her for help.” He was right, you can’t go running for help, you couldn’t, maybe you should’ve gone with her, maybe you should’ve never pushed her away, tears run down your face joining the splatters of your blood on the concrete ground. He starts thrashing you around, making sure every part of you is bloodied, broken, and bruised. “Scream her name, I want her to know you screamed for her, but she was nowhere to be found.”

You were sure you were going to pass out, instead flashing lights come by, there was hope, but that was short lived when you realise it was a large SUV instead of a police car.

“JAMESON, what do you think you’re doing.”

“Sir, I did what you told me.”

“I told you to scare her, not beat her to a pulp.”

“I got carried away.”

“Evidently, I ought to give you to Jenna for this.”

“But she’s your rival, sir?”

“Yeah, but you beat her girl up to a pulp, I don’t need her coming for me just yet, and plus, she’s the key to breaking down Jenna’s walls, making her vulnerable, seeing that you nearly killed the key, you nearly ruined it for us.”

“I apologise Mr. Marcello.”

“Mr. Marcello is my father and uncle, you know better.”

“I’m sorry, Gio.”

“Now, I gotta clean up your mess, hop in the car, killing you now would be a mercy compared to what Ms. Ortega would do to you, oh and drag her in the car.”

“Yes sir, are you going to give me to Jenna?”

“Considering it, if you don’t shut up, it’ll be a yes,” now turning to you, your barely functioning body with a tremendous number of cuts, scrapes, and bruises, “you Ms. L/N are fascinating, who are you and why do you have Ms. Ortega wrapped around your little finger.” Your eyes lacked the ability to focus, and your mind was fighting to stay awake, and you barely heard the conversation between the two men, so it made it hard to figure out who was with you, staying alive was the one thing on your mind. And in this moment, the scariest moment of your life, you doubted life would be in you, once he lays you on the seats, your fight with your mind was over, you pass out, not knowing where they were taking you.

~~

As your eyes focus on what was in front of you, the familiar rooted buildings jumpstarted adrenaline, with indomitable human spirit and a bit of delusion, you somehow make it to the entrance of Ortega Towers. As you collapse the second you drag yourself through the doors, you hear Viv scream.

“Y/N?!! OH MY GOD.”

She rushes towards you cradling you in her arms, begging you to stay awake, to stay with her.

“YOU, GO GET JENNA NOW.” She yells at a young associate.

“But she said she doesn’t want to be disturbed.” He was scared to go up to Jenna and let her know of the situation, fair enough, she’s a scary woman and even scarier to the newbies.

“I DON’T CARE, I’LL TAKE THE HEAT, TELL HER Y/N IS HURT.” He rushes off with speed and not even 3 minutes later, Jenna came running down, you hear her yell something, but your body was on lockdown mode, nothing was working, nothing was focusing. All you know is that you’re in pain.

As Jenna takes over for Viv, so Viv can get medical help, she cradles you. “Hey, hey, y/n, stay with me, okay? Stay with me, please.” She strokes your hair, trying so hard to not let the tears fall, you couldn’t see her like this. No one can. Luckily, Bruce and his crew of soldiers was able to escort everyone out.

You want to, you want to keep your eyes open, but your body was winning this round, and if this is where you’ll die, at least you were in the arms of Jenna. With all your might, you muster up to speak once more.

“I hate you, Jenna.”

“I know.”

~~ 

Thank you so much for your support <3 I hope you enjoyed! 🦦

hehe sorry about the angst, I think this is one of the most angstsiest shit i’ve ever written, and shout out to @lonelym00n cus she had to endure getting tortured as r and getting tortured as herself 😭 (she’s viv). 

it is 5am where im at, im going to sleep, goodnight 🤝

TAGLIST: @somegaybae @omega-horus @lonelym00n @dksjskx @lazyturtle0-0 @jess-1-e @zaclewiss @lostgirl1415 @pitifulbinx @talialeih @amessbian @iamthewoe @aiakuma @user173781 @darkwolf1623 @dvrkhcld

[stardustprompts]

the empire of gold   (  the daevabad trilogy book 3 )  part 2  -   s. a. chakraborty change tenses/pronouns as needed !!  some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying  /  part one found  here. tw ;  death , war ,  violence

‘you are an exceedingly frustrating person to talk to.’

‘she scared me, and I am not a woman who frightens easily.’

‘it’s supposed to be the mark of a wise leader, right? the willingness to make sacrifices for a greater good? but nobody ever asks those ‘sacrifices’ if they’re willing— they get no say in whether or not their kids die for some supposed greater good.’

‘we die, and we bleed, and it’s a debt that the powerful never repay. I don’t want to be part of that.’

‘I have made my loyalty clear.’

‘I find I can get a more accurate measure of a man when he’s not aware he’s being appraised.’

‘you have a very long way to go to earn my trust.’

‘i’m not tossing away (name’s) legacy. i’m completing it.’

‘it feels like you’re keeping all these secrets, like you still don’t trust me.’

‘oh, (name). what have you done?’

‘you court death with far too much persistence.’

‘I do not wish to leave. I am very content here with you.’

‘I want you dead and I want your city destroyed.’

‘the ___ do not deserve your loyalty. no one in the world does.’

‘they are poisoned. they are infected. and you are the disease.’

‘I need to go. there is no other way.’

‘I won’t lose you. not again.’

‘you and I are not the worst of our ancestors. they don’t own us. they don’t own our heritage.’

‘it’s a shame you hate politics. you’d be a very good queen.’

‘do you want me to stop?’

‘it’s like you’re in a competition with yourself over picking the worst time to say something.’

‘look me in the eye and tell me the truth. you promised no more lies.’

‘if saving ___ had meant likely killing me, would you have done it?’

‘so you plan to mock me as I bleed to death? that sounds like terrible bedside manner.’

‘don’t be stupid or reckless or proud. give her what she wants and come back to me.’

‘promise me. promise me you’ll come back.’

‘i’m not here to stop you. everything in my blood screams at me to, but I know I can’t.’

‘there is nothing I wouldn’t give for you.’

‘I am so sorry for the words I spoke before, but I won’t burden you with my regrets or my grief.’

‘I was starting to believe in you, in all these things you’ve been saying about a new ___ and equality for my people.’

‘you made me think it might be possible. that if I ever went home, it’d be as some kind of hero, and maybe all the other things I’ve done wouldn’t matter.’

‘i’m helping you. the right fucking thing to do and all that.’

‘there’s no helping me. i’m not getting out of this. all you’ll do is get yourself killed.’

‘I didn’t ask your permission. and I’m not doing this for you.’

‘(name) said you were coming in peace. the face you are making does not indicate peace.’

‘do you not understand? you have lost. save yourself and what is left of your people before their blood is on your hands.’

‘you’ve gone too far, and I’m trying to bring you back!’

‘you keep doing that. making that face like I’m an enemy you have to guard yourself against. i’m not.’

‘you’re not the only one whose had to pretend to be different. whose had to smile politely when people with power insult the parts of you that you never get to wear openly.’

‘I wish you had trusted me. but more than that, I wish I had behaved in a way that would have encouraged you to trust me.’

‘do you have to do that? sound all reasonable and kind?’

‘I have a lot of experience in loving frustrating people.’

‘if you make me cry, I’m going to stab you.’

‘we need to be able to trust each other if we’re going to fight back.’

‘it was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life, and I didn’t blink an eye.’

‘I know how hard it is to think clearly when someone you love is in danger.’

‘I feared even thinking about the things that would make me happy would destroy them. and it does.’

‘we do not interfere. we seek to avert the greatest harm, to listen to the warnings of the heavens when it’s laws are about to be broken.’

‘you said your people had a proposal for me. so why don’t you state it? clearly, if that’s even possible for you.’

‘let’s not pretend you care about justice when it comes to the internecine squabbles of my people.’

‘please understand. i’ve lost everyone I’ve dared to love. I can’t lose you. not you.’

‘you’re not alone anymore. you don’t have to do this all by yourself!’

‘we can do this together. I don’t need you to save me!’

‘I am not a good man. I am a weapon.’

‘was any of it ever real between us?’

‘I hate you. I hate that I ever had feelings for you.’

‘I offered you mercy once, and you threw it in my face. don’t make that mistake again.’

‘i’m not looking for your mercy. i’m here to save our people.’

‘do you hear yourself? do you have any idea how naïve you sound?’

‘you think I had a choice? I had no one and nothing!’

‘I did not want this violence. it will haunt me to the end of my days, but I will be damned if it was for nothing.’

‘surrender. you cannot defeat her. it will be easier.’

‘oh, (name). you always did underestimate me.’

‘i’m sorry you and I didn’t grow up in a time of peace, where we could have lived happily together.’

‘I mourn, truly, the kind of relationship we could have had.’

(name) didn’t break me. you won’t either.’

(name) didn’t break me. you won’t either. I will never surrender to you.’

‘you have your mother’s/father’s spirit. it got her/him killed too.’

‘i’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.’

‘you have hurt me. you left me.’

‘my entire life is a lie.’

‘you were all I wanted. I dreamed of seeing you again every night.’

‘I do not believe you. because I know you. and you are a liar. a thief.’

‘talk to me. tell me how to fix you.’

‘if you are looking for absolution, you won’t find it from me.’

‘I genuinely believe she wanted better for her people and her city. she just got very, very lost.’

‘I wish I had more time with her. I had so much I wanted to say.’

‘you may have to battle with words and with your very beliefs. but it it worth it. your life is worth it.’

‘your life is worth it. don’t let it be made into fodder for those who will never be in the trenches.’

‘you rip me apart. I was ready to kill you. and then you had to go and do the right thing.’

‘if I could go back … it breaks my heart to think of the different path we might have taken.’

‘you have earned your happy ending. let me do the same.’

‘you don’t get to make me laugh while you’re breaking my heart.’

‘find your happiness. steal it and do not ever let it go.’

‘I am sorry to be such a disappointment.’

‘you say you trust me. so trust me.’

[marvelmusing]

Imagine your friend, Billy Russo, offering to take your virginity

Part 2

A direct follow up to Part 1 - Read Part 1 HERE

Warnings [18+]: smut, unprotected sex (unseen discussion where they both consented to this), soft dom!Billy vibes, praise kink, dirty talk, size kink, riding, mild spitting kink, creampie, discussion of kinks and proposition of friends with benefits situation.

»»---------------------►

Billy presses the button for the penthouse suite, and the chime sounds different as the doors slide shut. Then Billy’s hands are on you, and you can’t think about anything else.

The skirt of your dress is short, you had deliberately picked the shortest you owned for this particular occasion. Billy barely needs to lift the fabric up before his palm cups your pantie-clad mound. His fingers move in firm, groping circles, catching against your clit and no doubt feeling the wet patch soaking through the lace.

You tilt your head back as sparks of pleasure flood through your body. No one has ever touched you like this. Part of you had been afraid that your friendship with Billy would make him treat you like a flower. Like something delicate and fragile and pretty - not someone you’re desperate to fuck.

Somehow, Billy can almost read what you’re thinking. His smile is dark as he watches your hips grind against his hand, but his expression falters slightly when he hears you whine and plead for him as if he might leave at any moment.

He takes your hand from where it’s clasped tightly around the golden rail in the elevator, and presses your palm against his bulge. Eyes widening, you look down. He’s so hard, and he feels big, although you don’t have anything to compare it to.

“You feeling what you do to me, sweetheart?” You nod though you can barely concentrate on his words as you moan.

“Yes, Billy.”

Whether you’re answering his question, or simply encouraging him to continue touching you, neither of you know.

The elevator chime registers in your mind, but before you can process it, Billy is tugging you into the penthouse. You follow where he guides you, but frown when you land on the couch.

Billy sits down next to you.

“You wanna practice kissing?” You blink a few times, trying to process how you went from being felt up in an elevator to kissing 101.

“I’ve kissed people before.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never kissed me.” He shrugs, reaching down to unlace his shoes. “Didn’t think you’d want our first kiss to be during sex, that’s all.”

You slide your own shoes off, dropping them to the floor with a huff.

“Billy Russo, you are unbelievable.” His brows lift, as if for a moment he doesn’t know what you’re going to say. “Only you would get me this wound up.” You remark, gesturing to your entire body and Billy grins as you continue. “And then try and be all cute about our firs-”

He cups the back of your neck, cutting your words off with his lips. Billy’s lips are soft as he kisses you, and he moves his mouth slowly against yours as if he’s trying to steal back every breath you’ve ever taken. His other hand holds your hips in place, preventing you from grinding against the couch or shifting your way into his lap.

“Billy.” You whine against his lips and he eyes you with a sympathetic pout.

“I know baby, I know. Let’s get you naked, hm?” He reaches around your body, pulling the zipper of your dress all the way down. He looks up at your face, and you nod quickly.

Your dress is tossed onto the floor. Billy’s eyes don’t watch where it lands, his gaze is fixed on you - sitting in front of him wearing only your panties.

A burning flush rushes under your skin, and you fiddle with your fingers as you fight the urge to cover yourself. Billy wouldn’t want you to hide from him, and you don’t want to really.

He takes your hands in his own and prompts you to stand in front of him. You breathe out a soft laugh when he guides you into twirling around for him. His eyes are sparkling when they meet yours again.

“So fucking beautiful.”

He guides you into his lap, your legs spread wide as they bracket his thighs. Billy kisses you again, firmer this time, and both of his hands squeeze at your breasts. You squirm, and he swats your thigh playfully.

“Stay still, sweetheart. I’m tryna make you feel good here.”

He rolls both of your nipples between his fingers and you gasp, arching your back as you try to rock your hips against his. The tiniest amount of friction has you whimpering, you can feel your clit, swollen and throbbing with need.

Then Billy drops his head down, and his tongue flattens over your breast as he licks a curling stripe around your nipple before he sucks it into his mouth. He takes as much of you into his mouth as he can and your eyes roll back into your head as his teeth graze over your skin. The wet heat of his tongue flicks over your hardened nipple, and you clench hard around nothing.

Once you begin to think he’s finished tormenting you, he moves onto your other side, giving both breasts the same amount of mind numbing pleasure. The whines and moans that fall from your lips increase in volume, and you have no care at all. Billy is the only one who can hear you here, and from the feeling of his erection digging into your thigh, he’s just as wound up as you are.

Billy pulls back, searching your face for something. He must find it, because he then orders,

“Bed, now.”

Without a second thought you’re obeying him. The entire floor is open plan, so it’s only a few steps before you’ve reached the bed. Before you sit at the foot of the bed, you let your panties drop onto the floor, glancing over at Billy.

Billy’s eyes darken as he watches you from his seat on the couch.

“Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

You do as he says, opening yourself up to him, and your entire body warms when he walks over and crouches down in front of your aching pussy.

“Good girl.”

A sharp inhale is the only sound from your lips, but you know he can see your pussy clenching in response to his words. You shiver when a single finger traces over the top of your thigh, and you can feel the weight of his eyes on you, studying every twitch and shift of your body.

“You like this, baby? Like when I call you a good girl?”

You nod, your cheeks burning. He squeezes your thigh, prompting you to answer him properly.

“Yes, Billy.”

“Look at you, covered in your own mess. You like when I stare at your gorgeous little pussy?”

“Yes.” He hums approvingly, pressing a tiny kiss to your thigh.

“Good girl, telling me what she likes. What else would you like, baby?”

“You. Please Billy, I need you.” You plead.

He taps his fingertip just above your clit, and you whine, bucking your hips eagerly.

“You need me here?”

“Yes, yes Billy please.”

With a single finger, he parts your folds, tracing a delicate circle around your entrance. You sigh at the brief contact, but look back at him sharply when his finger leaves you. His hands push your thighs even wider, opening you up to him completely. You whine at the loss of his finger - however brief the touch had been.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and his voice is dripping with faux sympathy.

“Oh sweetheart. Did you think I was gonna make you cum on my fingers?” You nod with a pout. He chuckles darkly. “There isn’t a chance in hell I’m gonna have my fingers be the first thing inside you.”

Right now you don’t particularly care which part of him is going to be inside you, as long as he hurries up with it. Although, the thought of his cock slipping into you does have your eyes fluttering closed.

“The first time you cum will be on my cock, but I don’t know if you’re wet enough yet, baby.” He remarks with a small sigh. You know he’s playing with you, but you’re too needy to do anything but beg.

“I am, please.”

He shakes his head, his jaw twitching slightly, and you frown when he hovers his face directly above your pussy. Then a drop of spit falls from his lips, landing on your clit. You whine at the feeling of something finally touching you where you’re aching. As his spit slides down between your folds towards your entrance, you can’t stop the shudder that wracks your body as you moan.

Your eyes are half-lidded as you watch him smirk, your entire body tingling with a dizzying amount of arousal.

“Think you’re wet enough now?” He teases. You hold his gaze for a long moment, before you shake your head, and his hold on your thighs tightens as he raises a brow in surprise. “No?”

“No,” you say breathlessly with a small smirk. “I don’t think I am.” Something dark sparks in Billy’s eyes as he lowers his head. When he spits on your pussy this time, there’s more force behind it, and you tip your head back as you moan with your eyes closed.

You open your eyes when you hear the rattle of a belt buckle, and are greeted with the sight of Billy dropping his trousers. He tugs at his tie, throwing it to the floor, his eyes never straying from yours. With a hurried efficiency, he unbuttons his shirt and discards that too.

Once he drops his boxers, and grasps hold of his cock you feel both parts aroused and nervous. He was right, he’s so much bigger than your fingers.

When Billy circles around the bed, you’re confused. Then he sets himself down at the head of the bed, resting against the mountain of pillows there. You’re still lying down, and tilt your head back to look at him. Upside down, you still manage to meet his eyes as he strokes his cock.

“C’mere sweetheart.”

You roll over, and crawl towards him over the bed. He helps to situate you in his lap, and you realise what position he’s intending to take you with. Your cheeks warm at how close you are, face to face, and your soaked, clenching pussy inches from the hard, leaking tip of his cock.

“You’re sure?” You ask, feeling a little self conscious. It feels like you skipped the beginner stage and jumped straight to intermediate - which might have been fine if it wasn’t your first time.

“So fucking sure.” He answers immediately, then he explains, “Want you to be in control of this, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Take whatever you can handle, and don’t be scared to stop.” He rubs his hands over your thighs. “We got all night.”

He holds his cock steady in one hand, allowing you to position yourself above him. Pressing your hips down, you feel your pussy tightening immediately around his cock, and he hisses. You freeze, scanning over his face.

“You okay?” You ask softly. He moans quietly and nods.

“Can’t believe you’re letting me do this.” He admits. “Can’t believe that I’m the one splitting this tight little pussy open for the first time.”

His words flood straight down between your legs, and the burning stretch of his cock isn’t enough. You need him deeper. Sinking further down onto his cock, you whine at the feeling of being filled so completely.

“That’s it baby. Taking the head so well.”

You blink at him, before you look down. Sure enough, he’s barely halfway inside you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you whimper, and Billy breathes out a small laugh as he observes your surprise.

“Billy.” You whine.

“You need some help?” You nod hurriedly, eager to take more of him but certain your own body doesn’t have the strength for it. But Billy does. Both of his hands settle on your waist, and slowly, watching your expression carefully, he pulls your hips down onto his cock.

You’re gasping and shuddering once he’s fully seated inside you, and he wraps his arms around your body as you process how full you feel. Billy presses kisses along your collarbone and up your neck, murmuring a tender,

“Good girl.”

You whisper his name blissfully, and he smooths a hand over your head affectionately.

“Move whenever it feels right, baby.”

Once you finally feel adjusted to the feeling of him inside you, you roll your hips, testing the motion and feeling very satisfied when his cock shifts against your walls, his pelvis brushing over your clit. Soon you discover that the more force you put into it, the better it feels.

Billy’s fingers dig into your hips, helping you to rock yourself forwards. It’s only when you slide back that you gasp. His cock is soaked with your slick, and pulling back is easy enough for you. You both choke on a moan as you begin to bounce properly in his lap.

“That’s it sweetheart, fuck yourself on my cock.”

His words have you clenching hard, making it harder for you to continue with your thrusts. Luckily, Billy keeps hold of your hips, helping you along. Every moan and whimper from your lips seems to fuel Billy into giving you more and more pleasure.

The stubble on his chin grazes along the soft skin of your breasts, and he lowers his head to take one of your nipples between his lips, prompting you to cry out his name. With one hand he continues to guide your hips, whilst the other reaches down to rub at your throbbing clit. Your breathing is ragged as pleasure floods through your every sense.

Whenever you think the pleasure will be enough for you to climax, your pussy clenches around Billy’s cock and you whimper, unable to finish.

“You close, sweetheart?” You nod hurriedly, but tears of frustration prick at the corner of your eyes. You’re so close, but every time you think you’re about to peak something stops you.

“Billy, it’s too much, I can’t.”

“You’ve cum before, haven’t you?” He asks breathlessly, watching your eyes with an intensity that has you squeezing hard around him. You nod, and Billy nods along with you, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’ve done it before, you can do it again. It’s exactly the same, just cum around my cock, sweetheart.”

He’s right. But it’s never been this intense, you’re afraid that once you fall apart you’ll never be the same.

“I’ve got you sweetheart. Let it all out.”

The whole point of doing this with Billy was because he made you feel safe. Billy would look after you. It’s his words that give you the reassurance you needed to give in to the pleasure.

Nails digging into Billy’s biceps, your pussy shudders around his cock and his arms are the only thing holding you up as you succumb to the euphoria of your orgasm. You’re aware of Billy rolling his hips, and he’s panting as you continue to milk his cock.

“Can I?” He asks in a whisper. You nod,

“Yes.”

A deep groan rumbles in his chest, and he spills inside you. You like the feeling more than you thought you would. A shiver runs through you as the combined mess of your orgasm’s leaks from your pussy. He continues to rock his hips against yours, prolonging the pleasure for both of you. It’s only when you whimper at the sudden sensitivity that he stops.

He holds onto you for a long moment afterwards, allowing you both to bask in the afterglow and give your bodies the chance to recover.

Once the two of you are cleaned up, and settled under the covers, you press a soft kiss to Billy’s bare chest and rest your head there as you say quietly,

“Thank you Billy.”

He kisses the crown of your head.

“Thank you for trusting me. You did really well today.”

His praise sets off a pleasant glow in your chest, and you nuzzle your face closer against his warm body. Billy’s fingers trail down your back, rubbing soft circles over your shoulders as he considers his next words.

“If you ever wanna try anything, you can come to me you know.” You frown, before prompting an explanation.

“Anything?”

“Toys, kinks, roleplay. Whatever floats your boat.” You go quiet as you think over his words. “It doesn’t have to be anything serious.”

“And we can still be friends?” His arm tightens slightly around you, as if the thought of letting you go alarmed him.

“Course.” You can hear the smirk creep onto his face. “Just friends that sometimes try out fun sexy things together.” You smile, and his voice turns more serious as he asks, “If that’s what you want?”

You nod, and some unnoticed tension leaves Billy’s body. Shifting slightly, you turn to look at his face, finding his dark eyes already on you.

“As long as you want this too.”

He traces his knuckle over your cheek with a soft smile.

“I’ll always want you.”

»»---------------------►

Billy Russo Tag List: @blackbirddaredevil23 @rafaelakelley @theysayitscrazy @nyx2021 @skybridgerton @dragon-of-winterfell @chickensarentcheap @stardustmorozov @sweetwritingfanficfriend @witchcraftandwit @ladyofsoa @ily2lia

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity

[beyondthegame]

gonna kiss cypress on the mouth fr

Part 2? I feel like this is a call for part 2 to this.

-

“It’s funny.”

Cypress blinks. “Enlighten me.” They haven’t looked away, they almost look as though they’re in a daze.

You pause for a moment. “I only knew of you when I got this shirt,” you utter. “Yet, even now, I can recall every trophy you won when you wore this.”

They nod a little. “I won a few.”

“More than a few,” you shoot back. “I can list them easily.”

Cypress’s hand unclenches the shirt between their fingers. “You don’t need to. I don’t play football anymore. The job to win trophies is yours…and the team’s job, obviously.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Playing football?” Cypress questions.

You shrug a little. “All of it. The football, seeing people wearing your shirt—“

They arch a brow. “I mean, you’re here. You’re standing in front of me,” Cypress breathes out, as if the proximity between the two of you is easy to handle and doesn’t have their mind swirling through multiple possibilities.

“Sure. But I’m not your fan.”

Cypress snorts. They make the effort to stand this time, careful to ensure their fingertips don’t brush against your side. “You’re not?” they ask playfully. “You wound me.”

Your eyes roll. “Only because things are different.”

“Because you now play for the team I used to play for?” Cypress’s question is the safe option, the one that points out what’s both different and the same between the two of you.

They fail to bring up the secret glances between you, the gentle smiles, the comfortable conversation; alongside all the other things Cypress has overthought time and time again.

“Amongst other things,” you answer vaguely, pulling Cypress from their train of thought.

They scoff. “I won’t ask you to elaborate again.”

“I wouldn’t,” you murmur, “because I don’t think you’d tell me the truth either way.” You take a step closer. “Because I think this,” you say, pointing between the two of you with your index finger, “is something you need to question and figure out.”

“Hm, is that so?”

You nod. “Because, now, I know you. And you know me. And if you’re feeling anything at all, I don’t think it’s just because I’m wearing your surname on my back.“

Cypress rolls their eyes in frustration: at themselves for what they’re about to do, at you for being completely right and for digging out that jersey in the first place.

“I assume you’re done?”

You let the silence engulf you before nodding. “Yes.”

“Good.”

You’d describe what happens next as a whirlwind: the damned shirt is back in Cypress’s grasp, their fingers purposely glide over your hips, and before you know it; they’re tugging you forward and crashing their lips onto yours.

Cypress’s grasp against you only tightens, they are flush against your body, and you can’t tell whether this is a kiss of only pent up frustration—or one of feeling, and longing, and desire.

You go with the latter.

[bylerbigbang]

nosebleeds from epiphanies (i took full in the face)

Fic by @wheelersboy | Art by @boycattj and @starsarefire824

Teen | 15k words

“I think you’d make a good priest,” Mike says, after a moment. His face is serious, but there’s an almost joyful sincerity in his eyes.

“Yeah?” Will asks, flattered.

“Yeah. You know how people say they can see God in someone?” Mike asks, and Will nods. “I can see God in you.”

or

Hawkins, Montana, June 1988. When Lonnie Byers catches his youngest son in the arms of another boy, he calls in that favor owed to him by rancher Jim Hopper in Lenora: Will must work as an unpaid ranch hand and learn to "man up." Mike Wheeler follows him to the creepy ranch with electrical problems, like any best friend would.

Warnings: Period-Typical Homophobia, Blood and Gore

Read on Ao3 | View Art (1) (2)

Read an excerpt below:

“Why did you come?” Will repeats. “You didn’t have to do that. I didn’t ask you to come. You could have stayed in Hawkins.”

Mike furrows his brows and juts his chin forward. “I wasn’t going to just let you go by yourself. Who knows…what would happen?”

Will pauses. “...What would happen…if you were in Hawkins alone?”

Mike looks up at him. Looks him straight in the eyes. “No. What would happen to me if you were here alone.”

Will shakes his head. “You would be fine. You would’ve managed, like you always do.”

“So what are you saying, that I shouldn’t have come?”

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it.”

“Will…we can’t talk about that right now.”

“Well, when can we?”

“Will. Why?”

“Because I want to talk about it.” Will braces himself.

“Well, I should have said never. We can’t ever talk about this.” Mike scoots closer to Will. “This is one of those things, Will, that we’re not supposed to talk about.”

“Why, what’s going to happen?” Will challenges, suddenly feeling brave.

“We could—” Mike nearly shouts. He takes a breath, and then lowers his voice. “Someone could find out,” he says calmly. “People get beaten. People get sick, Will. They don’t…they’re not happy.”

“Mike, I can’t—some people can’t just…ignore it. I don’t think this is anything that will just go away. Pretending to be something else makes people unhappy, too.”

“Well, this sounds like a lose-lose situation. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” Mike says, resigned.

The wind howls through the valley, and Will clutches his hat to keep it from flying off.

“You don’t really think that, do you?” Will asks quietly. He doesn’t know what answer he’s hoping for.

Mike looks down at his hands, fidgets with his gloves. He swallows hard, clears his throat. “Father Frank said that if a man experiences any unholy…feelings…that he can’t suppress, then he should devote his life to God and join the priesthood.”

Will contemplates this response. “You really believe a man like that is…damned?”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore.” Mike removes his gloves and tosses them on the ground in front of him, hard.

Will watches Mike’s face as he blinks slowly, his mouth twisted in distress. He so badly wants to believe Mike is wrong, that there is a way they could be happy—whether that’s together or on their own. Deep down, they both know Father Frank is right. Damned to hell for following his heart. Condemned to a lonely life as a priest if he follows the Bible. He chuckles, in spite of himself.

“What?” Mike questions, clearly thrown off by Will’s reaction.

“Oh, nothing, it’s just—” Will laughs again. “I can’t imagine you being a priest.”

Mike raises his eyebrows. The corners of his mouth twitch. “That’d be terrible, I think.”

“Terrible for you? Or for the Church?”

Mike bites his lip. “Both,” he admits.

They share a laugh. It feels good.

“I think you’d make a good priest,” Mike says, after a moment. His face is serious, but there’s an almost joyful sincerity in his eyes.

“Yeah?” Will asks, flattered.

“Yeah. You know how people say they can see God in someone?”

Mike asks. Will nods. “I can see God in you.”

Read more on Ao3 >

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Twenty-Nine (Part 2)

“Mad,” Izzy is saying, “Where does the time go, really? How is it the end of August already? The year just flies by, doesn’t it?”

“You sound like an old person when you say things like that,” I point out as I spray down my desk with multi purpose cleaner. 

“When you’re my age you’ll get it. One day I was twenty two and then I blinked and I was twenty seven. It will happen to you too.”

“I’m sure it will,” I flip quickly through a paint water stained notebook of old sketches and then decide to chuck it into the bin, “Or maybe not, maybe I’ll be young and sexy forever.”

“Right.”

Simon comes up the stairs carrying his lunch, “Oh, you’re still here,” He deadpans, and I grin at him, “Not moved out yet, Simon, sorry to disappoint.”

“Yeah I was hoping you’d be gone, never to darken this door again by the time I got back from Subway.”

“Nah, you’ll miss me.”

He laughs, “I will.”

“We’ll all miss you,” Izzy said, “You’ve been the most perfect addition to our little team here, I don’t want to think about how it’s going to be without you.”

“Messier,” I say, looking at Gabriel’s desk space, tidy now, but not for long, “and without a desperate intern to get your stupidly specific coffee orders.”

“Ugh! Devastating,” She throws her arms around me in a tight hug, “Simon, can’t we keep her?”

“No,” He smiles and leans back against his desk, “I wish we could, but NCAD awaits, right Evie?”

“Mm.”

“But I will say that you’ll be missed, not just by us but by our clients. You’ve made some important people very happy this year, and I have to give you props for that. There’s a lot of things we really couldn’t have done without you.”

“It’s this creative brain,” Izzy declares, knocking on my head. “She’s a genius. We should crack her skull open to figure out the mystery.”

“If you ever want a job, Evie, you know where to come,” says Simon, “Like, no hesitation, there’s a desk for you at Mezzotint, I’d give you a job right now if you wanted it. Or a glowing reference for anybody else who wants you.”

“Though they might have to fight Simon for you,” Izzy grins. 

“Thank you, I’ll… Yeah like I’ll think about it. I’m not totally sure what I want to do yet, you know, whether I’ll go back to college or not. There’s a lot of things to mull over.” Izzy lets me go and I continue putting my things into a cardboard box. “Like, maybe I’ll hit you up for a reference, I don’t know.”

“I’ll give you one either way,” He shrugs, “Tell them to call me any day and I’ll chew their ear off about how badly they need you.”

“But you wouldn’t work anywhere but Mezzotint,” Izzy says, “You’re too loyal for that.”

I laugh, “Yeah, maybe.”

“Nah, maybe she has bigger plans,” says Simon, “Better things to do than illustrate a few birthday cards and draw signs, right Evie?”

“Well, we’ll see,” I say cryptically, “You never know what I might be thinking of next…”

Izzy cackles, “I love it, so mysterious. Well, reach for the stars, girl, you could succeed at anything you wanted to. I swear to God, fuck NCAD, you don’t need them.”

“I’ll tell them you said that.”

“Five years and you’ll be on the cover of some artsy magazine, and we’ll all read it and be mad jealous of you.”

“Yeah, but don’t forget where you came from,” Simon grins. “You’re a Mezzotint girl first.”

Time moves slowly in the liminal space between finishing my internship and going back to college. It’s like wading through syrup, the same feeling at that strange, timeless week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, and I wonder what I ever did with my free time when I had it before. 

Jude stays over every night in order to save me from the strange terror of my empty apartment, as well as himself from the equally strange terror of his empty home now that his family have taken to the beach house for the last weeks of summer. I start to get a taste of what it might be like to actually live with him one day. He cooks every meal and I do all the laundry. It’s an easy rhythm we fall into, but besides those minor responsibilities we mostly lounge around pretending we’ve forgotten about our exercise regimes and fucking indiscriminately on every surface of the house. It’s fine, some day soon I’ll have a new housemate and we won’t be able to do this. We’re just taking advantage of the situation.

It’s comforting to turn around and see him there, watching TV while I read a book in the kitchen, shaving his face while I shower, cooking eggs in the morning with the radio playing when I come downstairs hungry. 

“Wow, you’re perfect, aren’t you?” I say as I wrap my arms around his bare torso and plant a kiss between his shoulder blades. 

“I’m just giving you a taste of the good life. Look at all you could have.”

I laugh and pinch a crispy rasher from the plate beside him, “Mm, yeah, the ‘if I drop out of college and move to another continent’ life.”

“All I keep saying is that you wouldn’t regret it.”

“Is that what this is all about, then?” I tease, “You’re on your best behaviour so that you can manipulate me, right? And then as soon as you have me in your dastardly clutches you’ll try to turn me into a Born-Again Christian wife who cooks and cleans and-”

“Yes,” he whirls around to circle my waist with one arm and kiss me, “That’s what I’m doing, I actually fucking hate cooking, this is just part of my plan to ensnare you.”

I gasp, “I can’t believe it, it’s all been a ruse! All of the sex and the sweet talk, you’re going to take it all away from me.”

He scoffs, “No, c’mon, not the sex, not even the evil version of myself would want to give that up.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Now that you’ve brought it up, do you feel like it now?” He keeps one hand on the frying pan while he boldly slides the other down the back of my pyjama shorts, “I can hold the eggs for a few minutes.”

I laugh, “No, sorry, I need food now.”

He gasps, “Offended.”

“It’s Friday, remember?”

He nuzzles into my cheek and gently bites my earlobe, “No I’ve no clue what day it is anymore, they’ve all just blended together.”

“Well it is,” I grab his cheeks with one hand, “I have therapy at eleven.”

“Oh! I forgot, well, eat, quick,” He passes me a plate and starts loading it up with eggs and toast and then gives me a cup of black coffee that’s so strong that I have to assume he made it for himself before deciding I needed it first. “You should ask Helen what she thinks about Los Angeles,” he says. 

“I assume she thinks what everyone else thinks: That it’s overpriced and a haven for violent crime.”

He snorts, “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to her about it. Maybe she’ll have something wise to say.”

“As is her job.”

I split the yolk of my egg thoughtfully, “Did the movie studio give you a time limit to make a decision about the internship?”

“I told them I needed to think it over, but, um,” he clears his throat, “ideally I’d be able to give them an answer by Monday, you know?”

“I know,” it’s a bit hard to swallow my food all of a sudden, “just, Monday is soon.”

“Yeah. I suppose I just don’t want them to risk taking the offer away.”

“And London?”

“Nothing again today, so I mean, unless they give me some crumbs early next week, I…” he trails off. 

“I’ll see what Helen says,” I decide, and he cooks for himself while I finish my breakfast

Beginning // Prev // Next

[yourfavoritebookclub]

WINGLEADER: A Xaden Riorson POV Fanfiction

CHAPTER 2

Violet turns on her heel and I watch as she follows her friend up to where a second year named Amber is taking tally. 

I can’t peel my eyes away from her back as I wave on the next candidate. 

My thoughts wrestle with each other. I’m so overwhelmed that I can’t pick out any singular emotion.

Amber is speaking animatedly to Violet now, but I can’t hear what they’re saying because my ears are ringing and my chest is threatening to cave in on itself. 

And I’m still staring.

I’m still watching her as she takes that step up onto the parapet.

Right as the wind begins whipping around us.

And dammit if she doesn’t confirm all of my suspicions when her small frame shakes with the force of that harsh, rain soaked wind.

Someone is speaking again, but I still can’t hear past the ringing in my ears.

I blink once.

Twice.

“-that kind of balance. I pity whatever wing you end up in.” The tone is unmistakably mocking, bordering on cruel.

My eyes turn from Violet's, and lock onto the man behind her.

“Name?”

“Jack Barlowe,” he points his index finger at Amber.

“Remember that name,” he takes that same pointer finger and aims it at his chest, “I’m going to be a wingleader one day.”

Like hell he is. I’ve had enough of Jack “The Future Wingleader” Barlowe already. 

“You’d better get going, Sorrengail,” I say irritably. 

Violet looks over her shoulder at me and takes in what I’m sure is the world’s most shit eating look, except this time it’s not because of her.

My glare turns into a grimace as Jack lunges towards Violet’s back, “Unless you need a little motivation?” He taunts.

She lurches forward and begins moving. 

I involuntarily step towards the parapet, my shadows pooling in between my knuckles.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and will my feet to stop moving.

But my eyes don’t leave Violet’s figure. 

Her steps are small, and though I can’t hear what she’s saying, she’s mumbling quickly to herself.

I continue filtering candidates through to the entrance but my body has gone on autopilot. 

My mind is filling up with half formed, incomprehensible thoughts. Logic is failing me.

My ears have gone back to ringing, and that torrent of emotions comes flooding back. 

I’m angry. 

And something else entirely.

I’m scared. 

I’m scared. And I think it’s because of the girl on the parapet, her figure getting hazier as she walks through the rain.

Behind her is Jack, and though I can only see his silhouette, I still notice when he stops in his tracks on the thin stretch of stone.

What is he doing?

He turns around in one graceful movement and is facing all of us at the entrance.

My stomach rolls as his intentions become clear.

As the candidate behind him comes face to face with Jack Barlowe. 

Jack’s hands fly forward, snatching the boy by the straps of his rucksack and tosses him over the edge.

Death happens.

And there will always be Jack Barlowes in the world. I’ve seen enough of them come through the war college. But it's still a grim reality to witness in action. 

Jack turns himself back around and continues along the parapet, finger pointed somewhere ahead of him.

Towards Violet.

It feels like something cold and bitter is coating the inside of my mouth. It’s hard to breathe.

I don’t know what’s happening inside my mind, but I know I need to get the fuck out of here.

Now.

I turn toward Garrick and give him the clipboard in my hands. He must see the torment on my face, because he takes the clipboard without question and gives me a subtle dip of his chin.

I make my way down the turret, head up and strides sure. 

My body is urging my legs to move faster, my mind rearing to a full on sprint. I clench my jaw and maintain my pace.

Violet is fine.

I don’t particularly care whether or not she makes it. 

“Yes you do.”

Of course Sgaeyl chooses now to finally reemerge.

“Thank you Sgaeyl. Very helpful.”

“You’re welcome.” She snorts.

“Do you think that this is–” I pause, focusing on my feet as I wind past people on the turret steps.

“Do I think that this is, what?” She asks gruffly.

I can hear the laugh she’s trying so hard to contain.

“Do you actually think that this is funny?” I snap. Sgaeyl starts to fully laugh now. A growling, breathy laugh. 

A deeper, throatier voice speaks into my mind, “I didn’t know your rider was so empathetic, Sgaeyl.”

And there’s Tairn.

I’m currently thanking Malek that I’ve spent the majority of my life keeping my thoughts and feelings locked up tightly inside my mind. Between the nausea that’s pulsing in my stomach and the pure annoyance I’m currently feeling at my dragon and her arrant mate, I’m way too close to snapping.

“Mind your manners Wingleader.” Tairn says darkly. I curse inwardly at the slip in my mental shield and tersely say, “goodbye lovebirds” before building a thick stone wall around my mind.

[just-horrible-things]

'Verse: Resistance Story: Unlikely Salvation, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Arc 2

Riot, pt2 [Prev | Next]

There are breaks from the noise. Whether that means anything’s changed, or it’s just that even the cops have gotten sick of the continuous wailing and turned their sirens off, it’s hard to know.

It’s a welcome reprieve, regardless. 

The news focuses on the police response, and sometimes on the damages. Once a shot of a witch or warlock throwing fire – followed by the familiar rhetoric. Lawless, reckless, dangerous magic users, out to harm anyone who crosses their path.

Ariadne understands why the focus is what it is, what the objectives are. But the lack of actual information is deeply frustrating.

The acts of vandalism are spreading. Anger is catching like a flame, drawing more and more people into the streets. Anger at landlords, at big business, at everyone who has enough. Warlocks angry at regular folk, the poor angry at the rich, young people angry at everyone and everything.

Somewhere, most likely, a mob is forming. When the numbers in the street hit a critical threshold, more people start to pour out from the cracks to join them, drawn in by the allure of a large enough group to feel invincible.

They don’t show that on the news. It would be counterproductive.

They do show a police line, which implies a crowd – or the threat of one. But it’s a tidy, by-the-books line without a rioter in sight, almost certainly drawn up specifically for the cameras. No one’s yet thrown paint at them.

Ariadne makes eggs for lunch, and spends a while contemplating the contents of the cupboards. They have cans that they almost never use, bought on the vague gut feeling that a kitchen should have cans. It’s unlikely they’ll be stuck inside for days, but she still wishes she’d paid more attention when mom used to stretch the food out to make it last.

She works out again, because there isn’t much else to do indoors. Then, driven by boredom, she fixes up the torn hem on that one pair of pants, and a t-shirt with a seam that’s coming undone, even though the only thread she has is black.

Alex watches her with something like fascination, but he doesn’t comment.

There’s another gunshot in the middle of the afternoon. Just one. Alex and Ariadne are silent and still for long minutes listening for more.

Ari checks the news again, but apparently the weather segment is higher priority than the ongoing situation. She leaves it playing, and returns from the bathroom to find Alex scowling at the newsreader’s plastic smile.

“Have they used the r-word yet?” He shakes his head. “No surprise.” They hate admitting that anything is out of control.

It gets worse as evening draws in – or nearer, which is functionally the same from their limited perspective. Sirens again, and beneath them through the cracked-open windows the noise of the crowd, the swell of raised voices, shouting, chanting.

Ari closes the windows, and pushes down the irrational urge to tape over the cracks. It’s unlikely to keep any more noise out anyway. Alex watches, and winces a little at how hard she slams the sash closed.

“This is why I didn’t want to live here,” she grouches, unwisely. “Because of too many warlocks?” Alex snaps back with surprising vehemence. “No. Because of the violence.” “Because warlocks are violent.” “It’s not just warlocks –” she exhales sharply in frustration, and Alex’s tiny flinch makes her wince too. “All I mean is, I’m thinking about our safety. I just want us to be safe.”

“We can’t afford to be safe. Just like they can’t.” A gesture at the TV, currently off. “Yes we can,” Ari insists. “There are quieter neighborhoods.” I grew up poor, she almost says, but she bites it back. She probably had more than Alex did.

Alex glowers at the closed window. “I should be out there,” he says. Ariadne blinks at him. “What, rioting?” “No.” A flat look. “Helping injured people.” “Alex, no.”

If there’s something of a challenge in his stare, it’s a little wide-eyed too. Guilt rises like bile in the back of Ariadne’s throat.

“Haven’t you given enough?” she asks. “Don’t risk getting caught by the cops.” She feels like an asshole for saying it, because she knows before the words are out it will make him wince like that. Her tone turns pleading. “Let’s just stay inside and be safe. I’m sorry I said the wrong things, again. I’m sorry. Can we just try to stay safe?”

There are more raised voices in the street. Not fighting, not here. Not yet. Just calling one to another, back and forth – but with an electric, slightly wild energy. Are they on their way to break something? To look for the mob?

“Okay,” Alex says, voice small and defeated. “I’m sorry,” Ari repeats. “I won’t say any more stupid shit. Let’s put a movie on?” “Yeah,” he agrees. “Okay, let’s do that.”

Ari has a couple of packs of popcorn in the back of a cupboard. The price is ridiculous for the scant handful of calories, but sometimes you need a treat. She lets Alex pick a film while she watches the paper bag inflate in the microwave. When it’s done, she tips it into a bowl.

Alex accepts her offering with a quiet “thank you”. And when she settles at the other end of the sofa, he says “c’mere?”

She scoots over, and he puts an arm over her shoulders and pulls her in in an almost possessive gesture. 

It’s all kinds of fucked up, but some of the tension in her eases just from the physical contact. They’re still okay. This still works.

He’s picked an action movie, and the soundtrack masks the noise from outside, and Ari doesn’t quite forget but for a while she can put it to the back of her mind.

Alex invites himself into her bed that night. He’s welcome. His arm across her ribs and the weight of his head on her shoulder force her not to toss and turn, but she doesn’t sleep. The rioters quiet down in the small hours, but she keeps thinking she still hears their voices, just on the edge of perception.

She isn’t sure how much Alex sleeps either, but it’s more than she does. He twitches with dreams, on and off, and once wakes with a start, grip tightening around Ari’s ribcage.

He lifts his head in the dark, and asks, “Ari?” “Yeah,” she answers, soft as she can manage. “It’s me.” Sorry. A pause. “Not interrogator?” “No, just Ari.”

Gradually, hesitantly, he settles back onto her shoulder.

“I can go, if you want,” she offers. His bed is vacant. Or she could find something better to do than fail to sleep. “No,” he says, “stay.”

Morning brings no respite. Ari almost throws the remote at the TV in frustration. 

She looks round to see Alex staring.

She puts the remote down carefully, inhales slowly, and forces her shoulders to relax. He looks away, but she sees his hands go to the edge of his sweater to fidget at the hems. Irritation and guilt itch across her skin.

She can control herself. She has to. She has no right to be annoyed.

He doesn’t join her in exercise this time. So Ari does angry push-ups until her wrists hurt too bad to carry on. When she showers she sets the water as cold as it will go. 

A neighbour knocks on their door to ask if they’re going out. She has a duffel bag over her shoulder, a ski scarf round her neck ready to pull up over her face, and a pair of heavy duty goggles on her forehead. She has enough goggles to spare, she says.

Alex looks tempted. Ari says no firmly and closes the door in the woman’s face.

“Idiot,” she grumbles. “What if we reported her?” “Are you going to?” “Fuck no. We don’t –” We don’t want any contact with the cops. “I don’t – want to do that kind of thing anymore.”

Sirens roll past, loud enough to be in their street. Ari laces her fingers together and squeezes until the bones threaten to snap, because otherwise she’s going to punch a wall. And that really might break something.

Somewhere in the distance, the mob is singing in that godawful, bone-thrumming way that crowds do, where everyone is out of tune but the melody still somehow rises like a spectre from the averaging of their mistakes.

She longs for a treadmill.

“Are you… okay?” Alex asks, with the wary edge that suggests he might half-want to append a sir. “Yeah.” “Your wrists…” She looks. They’re a little swollen. She hadn’t noticed. “May I?” “No.” It comes out too short. “I mean – save it. I’m okay.”

He retreats to the kitchen, looking hurt.

They have canned soup for lunch. It’s not bad, but Ari isn’t tasting it.

“I’m sorry,” she tells Alex. “I’m sorry I’m on edge. I’m not mad at you.” “It’s fine,” he says, but she doesn’t believe him.

And then the rattle of automatic gunfire has them both leaping out of their seats.

It’s over in a second or less, but the screaming lasts longer. They stand, wild-eyed and frozen, until it ebbs out of earshot again.

Less than a km. But not so close as their own street.

“I-I have to,” Alex says, breathless, just as Ari starts to move again. “Alex, no.” He shakes his head, backing away from her. “Don’t tell me no,” he says, and turns, and almost runs toward the door.

“Alex! Wait! Wait for me, I’ll come with you, wait – we’ll stick together, I’ll bring the first aid kit.”

He hesitates just long enough to look at her, and whatever that is in his eyes, it makes the risk they’re about to take worth it. 

He nods just once, and then they’re both in motion.

Guns, one each, in the hastily-buckled concealed holsters she insisted they splash out on rather than tuck pistols into waistbands. Alex ties a scarf round his face like he’s done it a thousand times, and tosses another to Ariadne. She grabs the first aid kit, and he only needs to bring himself.

She’s first out the door, wishing for the neighbour’s goggles as it closes behind them.

[Next]

[flowersfortheghost]

Ghostflower week day 2

tags: @ghostflowerweek2023

summary: Gwen can’t find Miles after he went off to save his dad. But when she does find him, things seem to not have gone according to plan.

—

Gwen swung around Earth-1610's New York, desperately trying to find Miles. She had checked pretty much every spot she knew he could be at, but no luck. Their last conversation was something that kept her worrying about where he was.

—

“Miles? Where are you going?”

Gwen and the other spider-people with her had just found and saved Miles from Earth-42. They had brought him back to 1610 where he was supposed to be. Miles only had one goal; to save his dad.

“Gwen, I have to. I can’t lose him.”

Gwen knew she shouldn’t stop Miles. “Please, stay safe.” Gwen said before giving him a soft kiss, just in case she never got to see him again. “I promise I’ll be okay.”

—

Then, Gwen's spider-senses went off. She looked around, but no sign of Miles, or anyone else. Was there a possibility that there was something happening? Or was someone in danger?

That thought only worried Gwen even more. She quickly started swinging around Brooklyn. After a few minutes of swinging around, her senses went off again. She was getting close.

Eventually, Gwen found Miles. But something was wrong, Gwen could tell. “Miles? What happened?” She asked once she approached him. Miles didn’t respond, but Gwen saw that Miles was upset.

“He died, Gwen…”

Once Gwen realized what Miles meant by that, she immediately sat down next to him. She knows losing a loved one is hard, she’s been through it. She took her hood and mask off, seeing as Miles had his mask off. Gwen saw the tears running down Miles’ face and hugged him. No one was there for her when she lost Peter, so the best she could do is make sure Miles has someone there for him.

“I could’ve saved him…” Miles spoke softly while hugging Gwen back tightly. “I should’ve saved him. Why couldn’t I do that?” Gwen recognized this feeling. She felt her own tears form in her eyes but blinked them away. She didn’t say anything and just continued to hug him tightly.

“Please, don’t ever blame yourself.” Gwen whispered after a minute of silence. She was talking from experience and she didn’t want Miles to go through what she went through. He didn’t deserve that. “But it’s my fault. I needed to save him, but I didn’t.”

Gwen didn’t know what to say. She had told herself stuff like this too and it hurt to see it again, but from someone who doesn’t deserve to think like that. The two just stayed silent, both hugging each other tightly while Miles cried on Gwen’s shoulder.

After a while, Miles broke the silence and let go of their hug. “How did you get over the death of your friend?” He asked quietly. She didn’t want to lie to Miles, which meant telling him the truth. And she didn’t like the truth.

“I never really got over it…”

Gwen didn’t like to admit it. It’s always something that’s going to be with her, whether she likes it or not. And it hurts her to see Miles going through that as well. “Mind telling me about your dad?” She asked softly.

“He was a good dad towards me…”  

[pastelwitchling]

If anyone else dared order him around, they’d be lucky to just get a cool glare and a threat to lose their arm. But with Michael, Alex grinned like the command was sexy, tempting. --- loving all the love with these boys. There's a built-in prompt, if you want a 5+1! Those who try to order him and are denied, and the bewilderment that comes when Michael orders and Alex thinks little/nothing of it. Maybe just pecks his cheek and says "you're cute when you're bossy" or something 🥰 --KK

***

               1.

               Alex was one of the easiest people to get ahold of. Liz learned that back in high school, when she’d be crying in the girls’ bathroom as the workload overwhelmed her once again and she needed a second to breathe. Alex would show up not long afterwards, like he’d sensed his friend needed him.

               Even after Liz had gotten back, Alex somehow knew when she was suffering from serious inner turmoil and showed up, like an anchor to steady her through dangerous waters, whether or not he knew the effect he had.

               Yeah, he was easy to get ahold of. Getting his attention when Michael needed him at the same time though, that was next to impossible. And Michael, the bastard, had been very vocal about needing Alex since they’d started dating.

               “Damn it, Michael,” Liz huffed, “I just need five minutes with him!”

               “Five minutes turns to ten real quick,” Michael said, blocking the front door so that Liz couldn’t go in. “He’s resting, Liz, for the first real time in years. That means no requests, no favors, and no just five minutes either.”

               “But –”

               “What’s going on?” Alex appeared behind Michael, brows knit and hair rumpled like he’d just woken up.

               “Nothing,” Michael said with a warning glare at Liz, but she was already pushing past Michael’s arm.

               “Alex, I need your help.”

               Alex blinked. “Er – sure.”

               “No!” Michael argued, frustrated. “No helping, Alex. You promised me this week.”

               “Just give us a minute,” Alex dismissed, putting an arm around Liz’s shoulders and leading her inside. Liz stuck her tongue over her shoulder at an irritated Michael.

               Alex brought her into the living room, and before they even sat down, Liz was telling him in her usual speedy explanation about what she’d found in her latest genetic samples.

               “But the equipment I have barely functions long enough to take a closer look at my findings.”

               Alex frowned. “Why not just ask Eduardo to use the Deep Sky labs again?”

               “Because the stuff that I need is high-level clearance,” she said, “and I don’t have that. You do.”

               Alex nodded, understanding. “So you need me to go in and do the testing for you.”

               “You’re the only one allowed up there.”

               “No,” Michael said, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. “That’s at least a couple hours of work. Alex, no.”

               Alex didn’t look annoyed or frustrated. As he rested his chin on his palm, he smiled at Michael like he thought him adorable. Without batting an eye, he shrugged a shoulder at Liz and said, “Sorry, Liz, I can’t this week.”

               “Alex,” Liz glared at Michael, determined to win this fight. “I really need you to do this.”

               “You’re not going anywhere,” Michael told him.

               “Yes, you are!”

               “Liz,” Alex’s smile dimmed, the amusement dying down at her tone. “Overstepping.”

               Liz faltered. “S-Sorry, I’m sorry. But come on, Alex –”

               “He’s staying,” Michael said firmly, and Alex sighed, that loving smile once again tugging at his lips like he just couldn’t help it.

               “I’m staying,” he told Liz. “I’ll help next week.”

               Liz clenched her jaw, but understood. She stood to leave, stopped at Michael’s side, and demanded, “How do you do that?”

               Michael raised a brow. “Do what?”

               He seemed so genuinely confused that Liz could only throw her hands up in frustration and storm out.

               2.

               “I say stay off your leg, you hear overwork yourself,” Kyle grumbled, taking Alex’s temperature. “I say take it easy, you hear fight like hell. I say take your damn medication, you hear FORGET ABOUT IT FOR A WEEK!”

               “Yeah,” Alex sighed wearily, eyes fluttering as his head rested against the back of the couch. “I get it, Kyle.”

               “No, I don’t think you do,” Kyle snapped, and his anger turned to fury at the high degree. “Damn it, Manes. You really did a number on yourself this time.”

               “He’s gonna be fine,” Michael said, clearly as more of a reassurance to himself since Alex didn’t seem the least bit concerned. All he seemed to want to do was curl into Michael and bury his face in his boyfriend’s chest.

               “I know that,” Kyle said, looking around for the bottle of painkillers he’d brought with him. “It’ll just be a few days of headaches and nausea, so have fun with that – where are those damn pills?”

               Finally, Kyle found them at the bottom of his bag, poured out two, and held them out to Alex. “Drink,” he ordered. “Now.”

               Alex groaned, cuddling deeper into Michael’s chest. “Piss off.”

               “I swear,” Kyle said through gritted teeth, “if you weren’t my best friend . . . Alex, take the pills.”

               “Later,” he mumbled. “’M too tired.”

               “Alex –”

               With a sigh, Michael took the pills from Kyle and held them out to Alex instead. “Take ‘em,” he murmured, and Alex peeked his eyes open just briefly. He heaved a long sigh and Michael’s arm around him tightened. Then he wordlessly took the pills, and he must not have been kidding about being tired because every bit of movement looked like it cost him, his very bones weighing him down.

               But he did as Michael told him and swallowed the pills, then buried himself deeper against his boyfriend and settled there like he never wanted to move again.

               Kyle shook his head, and looked to Michael. “How do you do that?”

               Michael had an arm around Alex’s shoulders, his other in Alex’s hair, holding him tight against him. “Do what?”

               But Alex stirred briefly in his sleep, and Kyle didn’t want to risk waking him up. So he just gathered his things, gave Michael a few whispered instructions that Michael pretended to ignore but Kyle could see he was quickly memorizing in his head, and left.

               3.

               Maria drummed her fingers on the bar counter, waiting for Alex to show up. As soon as he walked through the door, Michael’s arm around his waist, Maria dragged him, and therefore by consequence, Michael, to the bar.

               “Finally,” she huffed. “I’ve been calling you all day!”

               “I left my phone at Deep Sky,” Alex said, taking a stool. Michael sat down beside him, instantly bracketing him between his legs, like he instinctively needed to be touching him at all times. “Why, what’s goin’ on?”

               “Doesn’t matter,” Michael said through a tight smile, “because you’ve been working straight for the past three days, and you’re taking tonight off, remember?”

               “This is important,” Maria said, to which Michael rolled his eyes and muttered, “It always is.”

               Alex raised a brow. “Maria?”

               “So you know how my visions have been a little wonky lately?” she said. “I realized your feelings are usually the strongest in Roswell, I never even had to try to know how you were feeling, especially when you were, like, sad so –”

               “Stop,” Michael said suddenly, unusually angry.

               “I didn’t even finish, Guerin.”

               “I don’t care,” he said. “You’re not having Alex stay here and wallow in his own misery so that you can read him better.”

               Maria frowned, hurt. “Michael, I need to fix my powers.”

               “No, you don’t,” he snapped, “and not using Alex.”

               “Guerin.”

               “Alex, I’m not asking,” he demanded.

               “Neither am I!” Maria argued. “Alex, you’re going to stay right here.”

               Alex’s expression darkened. “Don’t,” he said quietly, “tell me what to do again.”

               Maria faltered. “I –”

               “Ever.”

               She swallowed at the cold look, and nodded. Michael touched the back of his head, and Alex’s expression softened at once. “Go pick out a song,” he told him. “I’ll get us some drinks.”

               Alex swallowed, like he was snapping out of some furious haze, and nodded.

               Maria watched him go, her heart hammering. She felt like she was on the precipice of a rickety bridge, about to plummet. She thought this anger had been building up against her for a while, and didn’t dare take the wrong step now to feel its full fury.

               She whispered, “How do you do that?”

               Michael’s expression, unlike Alex’s, hadn’t softened towards Maria in the slightest. “What?”

               She caught his look and shook her head, deciding she didn’t want to know how Michael had managed to keep Alex’s heart while she’d lost it so completely.

               4.

               “Man, I’m amazing,” Isobel marveled as she looked Alex over once again, the long coat she’d just created perfect on his broad shoulders and strong arms.

               “Do you have to touch his chest like that?” Michael demanded through gritted teeth.

               Isobel turned to her brother, unimpressed as her hands roved Alex’s chest to his silent laughter. “I’m trying to develop my sewing skills, Michael, and part of that means making sure my clothes down overshadow his . . .” she grinned dreamily at Alex, “gorgeous physique.”

               Alex’s laughter burst out at that, and Michael came between them in less than a second, pushing Isobel’s hands off his boyfriend.

               “Oh would you relax?” Isobel rolled her eyes. “I’m just teasing.”

               “Tease someone else’s boyfriend.”

               “No,” she said with a hmph. “I like Alex best. Step aside please.”

               “Is,” he growled, frustrated, “we’ve been at this for hours.”

               “You can leave anytime you want.”

               “I’m not leaving without Alex.”

               “I really don’t mind, Guerin,” Alex told him, hugging Michael’s waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder. Not for the first time, Isobel marveled how at ease Michael seemed with just a single touch from his airman.

               “But I do,” he said. “I don’t want to leave without you.”

               Alex considered him, his smile soft and loving and – oh no. Isobel knew what that meant. She stomped her foot. “Alex,” she said at once, sensing his resolve, “no! I still need a model! I command you to stay here.”

               Alex raised a brow and snickered, like whether or not Isobel meant it that way, he was taking her order as a joke. Then Michael raised his chin. “Alex,” he said, “we’re leaving.”

               Alex sighed, his eyes sparkling a little too fondly for Isobel’s taste, and he shrugged. “Sorry, Is. We’ll finish up tomorrow, okay?”

               Even as a question, his tone booked no room for argument. As he went to take off his coat and grab his leather jacket, Isobel looked to Michael, furious.

               “Okay,” she huffed, “how do you do that?”

               Michael shook his head, exasperated. “Do what?”

               He was playing dumb, Isobel decided, shaking her head. He had to be.

               5.

               Max tapped his fingers on his steering wheel, watching the alleyway carefully.

               “I thought stakeouts were supposed to be more fun,” Michael said, breaking the silence.

               Max sighed. “I said they were long. Not fun. You okay back there, Manes?”

               Alex, who was sitting in the backseat, his eyes on his phone and an earbud in, raised a thumbs up. Michael looked over his shoulder at him. “You should’ve let me take the backseat.”

               “More leg room,” was all Alex said, focusing on his screen.

               “Dude,” Max said, “if you’re going to be this antsy the entire time, you shouldn’t have come. I told you to go with Dallas.”

               “And leave Alex here?” Michael scoffed. “Yeah, that was gonna happen.”

               “I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

               Alex looked up, brows furrowed. “I feel the sudden need to remind everyone that I’m an ex-military captain. In case you forgot.”

               “I didn’t,” Max said, “that’s why I needed you. Not Mr. How Much Longer.”

               “I asked that once,” Michael argued.

               “Whatever,” Max said. “Alex, I need you to go across the street, into the diner. You can keep monitoring the heat signatures from there.”

               Alex hummed, understanding. “Widen our radius.”

               “Exactly.”

               “Can’t do that.”

               “Why not?”

               “You guys have a bigger target on you back in here,” he gestured with his chin at Michael, “so I’m not leaving him alone.”

               Max held up his hands. “I’m right here!”

               “And no offense,” Alex said, “but the last time you were in a car involved in an alien chase, you nearly drove yourself under a truck.”

               “I will keep Michael safe,” Max promised. “Go.”

               “Nope,” he said indifferently, returning his attention to his screen.

               “I’ll be fine,” Michael said, frowning, as if he didn’t like the idea of not being right at Alex’s side either. “Go.”

               Alex held Michael’s gaze for several seconds before he sighed, leaned forward to peck his lips, and left the car.

               Max watched him walk across the street, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “How do you do that?” he asked.

               Michael huffed, and smirked humorlessly. “Do what? Do what? What’s with everyone?”

               Max stared. “Are you kidding me? How do you get Alex to do whatever you want him to?”

               Michael blinked, looking legitimately surprised. “Alex does whatever I want him to?”

               “You’re lying,” his shoulders slumped. “There’s no way you haven’t noticed.”

               “Haven’t noticed what?” Michael defended. “So he listens to me a little more than everyone else, he’s my boyfriend.”

               “Michael,” Max argued, exasperated, “you’re the only one he listens to!”

      ��        “I –” Michael cut off abruptly. “Really?”

               He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “I love you and all, but you’re an idiot.”

               Bonus.

               Michael glanced surreptitiously at Alex as they drove back home after a long day. The stars lit the sky, but none of them were brighter than Alex’s face, his sparkling eyes, even as they fluttered, exhausted.

               Michael couldn’t stop thinking about what Max had told him. Did Alex really do whatever he wanted him to just because it was him giving the order?

               Licking his lips, his heart hammering, Michael hesitated for only a second before he parked on the side of the road.

               Alex’s brows furrowed and he looked to Michael. “What’s wrong?”

               Michael swallowed, then spread his legs just a little bit. Alex’s eyes fell to the movement, darkening, and before he could ask again, Michael commanded, “C’mere.”

               Alex looked a little startled, and just when Michael thought he would dismiss the order, tell him that they could wait till they got home, that he was too tired tonight, Alex undid his seatbelt. His eyes stayed on Michael’s as he climbed over the console and settled on Michael’s lap, hands on Michael’s shoulders.

               Michael tilted his chin up. “Kiss me.”

               Alex wasted no time, taking Michael’s face in his hands and crashing their mouths together, kissing him like he’d been starving for him all day, even though Michael knew he was tired.

               He pulled away, curious and half-drunk with power already. He wanted to see how much further he could take it.

His eyes locked onto Alex’s, and he commanded, “Take my belt off.”

Alex bit his lower lip and moaned, pressing their foreheads together roughly before his hands tugged on Michael’s belt and in seconds had it off. Michael couldn’t take it anymore. He took Alex’s face in his hands, running his thumb across Alex’s lower lip only for Alex to swipe his tongue out and lick it.

Michael groaned. “How do you do that?” he demanded. “How do you do this to me?”

Alex grinned, shy and mischievous all at once. “What am I doing to you?”

“Making me crazy,” he whispered, one hand slipping under Alex’s shirt as the other tugged at his hair. “What if I – what if I wanted to pull out the truck bed and sleep with you right here? Out in the open, under the stars? Would you let me?”

Alex was already leaning in for another kiss, breathless. “Anything you want, baby.”

Michael was going to die. “Why do you obey me like that?”

The word seemed to turn Alex on as much as it turned Michael on. He brought his hips down, grinding them into Michael’s. “I want to obey you. I want to do everything and anything you tell me to.”

“Anything?” Michael panted.

Alex kissed his jaw, down his neck, scratching down his clothed chest. “Anything.”

Michael grabbed his hips and roughly pulled him in against him. “Then get in the back of the truck,” he commanded.

[sparxwrites]

(*part 2 of converting my moneys to half of your equivalent but it is worthwhile*) humbly requesting a percy de rolo fic with whatever inspires you from : lunar, probability, temptation :]

want a lil fic like this one? you can get one here!

Percy’s always been good with numbers. With probabilities.

He’s had to be. His work, his fighting style, his survival… all of it demands calculations. The dimensions of a gun, the probability of a misfire, the volume of black powder required. How many bullets to bring, encumbering weight versus potential need. How much he’s got left to give in a fight. Whether he can afford to take that blow. Whether he can afford to take that blow, for someone else.

So, in his last few hours – surrounded by his family and friends, free of pain and peaceful, content – he runs the numbers on the probability of ending up somewhere… suboptimal, upon his death

He figures the numbers aren’t on his side. He’s made a lot of deals with a lot of things more on the side of shadow than light. He’s been rude to the faces of several gods. Those both have to count for something, and not for anything good.

He doesn’t think he’s going to regret it, if he’s right about where he’s heading. He did what he had to, to protect the people he loves. But he still did it. The balance of probability is not in his favour.

Which is why when, between slowing blinks, his familiar bedroom full of family turns into the familiar darkness of what lies beyond, he isn’t surprised to see a beak looming over him. It’s expected. He ran the numbers. He knew this was coming.

He finds he doesn’t regret it, either. He kept his family safe, both his families, and that… that’s what matters, in the end.

“Hey, Freddie,” says the beak, though, and that– that gives him pause. He doesn’t remember Orthax sounding like that. Doesn’t really remember Orthax speaking at all, last time he was dead. Just remembers the pain. “I’ve been waiting for you. It was a bit of a pain in the ass to convince Her to let me come get you personally, but, hey. Perfect service for the better part of a century entitles me to a half-day off, don’t you think? Or, well. Near-perfect service, anyway. That little thing with the Wish, and you and Stubby, notwithstanding.”

Percy is silent for a long, long moment. 

He can’t stop staring. Now, through the gloom, the features make themselves known – a pauldron of mushrooms, a cape of feathers, a mask of white bone. Dark eyes, like a crow’s, gleaming through the mask sockets.

This is not Orthax.

“…Vax’ildan?” he says, quietly, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. “I– you–”

To his horror, he begins to cry.

The figure in front of him sighs, and crouches, a fluid and familiar motion made all the more dramatic by the cape swirling out behind. “Aw, shit,” it says, and reaches up to pull the mask off. Underneath– brown skin, dark hair left loose over his shoulders, small braids full of bone and feather towards the front. Dark eyes. Soft lips. A skull, tiny, birdlike, hanging from the lobe of one pointed ear. “Freddie… oh, buddy. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s not so bad, being dead. I promise.” A pause. “Grog’s already here. Tarry, too. And Stubby’ll be here before you know it.”

“…You’re not Orthax,” says Percy, eventually, with a great shuddering breath. When he raises his hands to wipe his eyes, his fingers no longer ache with arthritis. His left elbow no longer clicks. His hands, full of tremors ever since Dr. Ripley, are steady at last.

Vax’s expression softens. “No, Freddie,” he says, and does not ask why Percy thought he might be. “I’m not.”

They sit there, for a while, in the darkness. In silence. There are no words to say between them – not right now. Not yet. Instead, Percy cries until the relief settles into his bones, until his lungs no longer ache with fear. He cries until he knows he’s safe.

Vax does not try to touch him, or hold him. Instead, he sits with him, still and quiet and steady. He bears witness. And, when Percy is finally done, finally wipes his eyes one last time and lifts his head to look at Vax – Vax smiles.

“C’mon, buddy,” he says, getting to his feet and offering Percy a hand. With only the slightest hesitation, Percy reaches out and takes it. Vax pulls him up. “Let’s get you to where you’re going, huh? Grog’s been so impatient, waiting for the rest of you. I know he’s got Tarry but, well. You know Tarry.” Percy does, indeed, know Tarry. “He’s gonna be delighted.”

Percy’s fingers curl around Vax’s. Vax smiles at him, gentle, kind – at peace in a way he never was in life. Tentatively, Percy smiles back.

And then, with a flutter of wings, they are gone.

[theangryjikooker]

If you think pjms are looking at Jk as competition, hating on JK etc then you clearly haven't seen what Jk solos have been doing since FACE was announced. From trending nasty hashtags against Jm, recruiting blinks for the same (mind you, the same ones who say the most nasty things about JK too), making s/a & rape tweets about jm, linking him to bangpd, harassing a Korean journalist who tweeted nice things about Jm's album and so much more. Called him nasty names over 2 versions and 2 remixes. And celebrated when billboard deleted 120k sales from LC and making it fall on the chart to 45 in the second week.

And now JK has more versions for his song, more remixes, more ads, playlisting, every damn payola available and add Scooter to the mix. And literally Bangpd and Scooter handing him an album on a silver platter.

And look now 3D fell to 58 in the second week, on BB.

What are you expecting? Pjms to be saints? Solos are solos. JK is getting dragged now, it's all thanks to his own solos. Should have stayed minding their business.

I am not supporting any solos, but pointing out that JK solos have been very nasty for a while now.

I’m laughing my ass off because in another ask I have another anon literally linking me to everything JK-related and making a comparison. Solos are such a joke, I can’t stand them.

And you missed the point entirely. If PJMs want to rage against the machine or seek justice for their fave, that’s their prerogative, but I’m not going to sit here twiddling my thumbs and not give them hell back for coming here unsolicited.

They’re mad because I don’t talk about Jimin enough, or they’re mad because I’m not singing his praises, etc. My point is they have no clue what an opinion is and instead of opening their gaping maw at people actively shitting on Jimin, they’re going after everyone who isn’t constantly validating their feelings about Jimin. GTFOH.

And the irony of all this, whether you like it or not, is that solos can sometimes be an extension of their faves. In the same way fans attack “opposing” members/groups instead of their fans, the more people are going to equate Jimin with his solos.

If I didn’t have have my full brain intact, I’d make that correlation too out of spite. Now imagine that social media is full of dumb fucks who have a one track mind and are willing to pick sides and change sides because everyone has their own agenda, and solos just set themselves up for an endless fight that amounts to nothing.

[lungs-and-gills]

find the word tag game!

@writinglittlebeasts tagged @joyful-soul-collector which is my main, to find the words deep, trouble, probably, and fall! Very exciting, lets crack in:

Deep (I've used it 60 times....which I guess makes sense considering it's the Literal Ocean but still lol. Here I chose #14)

“I’m gonna need you to stop looking at me like that,” Tatum said, glaring at Art. Art blinked, and rearranged his face into what he hoped was a more neutral one. 

“I--Sorry, it’s just… I didn’t think you killed people,” Art said, feeling stupid as the words left his mouth. 

“We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” Tatum said dully. “We’d be dead ten times over.”

In that moment, Art saw a horrible darkness in Tatum’s eyes, somehow deeper and more terrifying than he’d seen before. Tatum had absolutely no remorse for killing. He didn’t care in the slightest. 

It was only when he looked at Loch that the darkness faded.

Trouble (only 3 times! Here's #2)

“But… that doesn’t make sense,” Tatum said, trying to wrap his head around it. “Having dark skin doesn’t do anything to them, it’s not hurting anybody--”

“It’s less about whether Seven’s skin offended them or something, and more about how Seven’s skin color made it easier to hurt them. Like I said, people don’t care as much about people with dark skin, and that includes people like the police. People hurt and kill and kidnap and do all kinds of horrible shit to people with dark skin, people like Seven, people like me, because they know they won’t get in trouble for it,” Art said, now looking angry. Anger looked odd on Art’s face, he never usually saw Art angry. 

But it made sense. Just thinking about the fact that apparently, people thought of Art like this as well was enough to make Tatum’s blood boil.

Probably (#34/36)

“Maybe they were hidey spikes. Like the Hug Fish.”

“The Hug Fish?” Art said with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yeah!” Loch said, his eyes turning bright. “Tay says they can hide their whole body, like a octopus! Right, Tay?”

Tatum smirked and nodded. 

“…do you mean cuttlefish?” Art said with a small laugh. But Loch frowned at him as he took another bite. 

“No, pretty sure it’s Hug Fish. But Tay says if we ever see one then we probably can’t hug it. Hug Fish only hug fish.”

“Do they now?” Art said, now clearly trying to keep a straight face for Loch. 

“Yep.”

“Well, that’s good to know.”

Fall (#23/28)

He took it hesitantly, staring at the strip of meat with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. Not that it didn’t look delicious, it did, he was more disgusted with the fact that he wanted it so badly. Eventually he sat up fully, and after an encouraging look from Tatum, took a bite. 

It was the most amazing thing he ever tasted. The fish seemed to fall apart in his teeth, the texture not at all the slimy, odd feeling he remembered from having fish as a child. The thing that surprised him the most though was--

“It’s sweet!” Art exclaimed. Tatum laughed at the look on his face, cutting him another piece with his knife. 

“Yes, these ones are sweet. Different parts kinda change on the sweetness, I usually like the tail more on these ones, it’s not as sweet as the head and fins.”

“What do the fins taste like?” Art said. Tatum cut one off and handed it to him. When Art ate it he nearly choked. It tasted like he’d just eaten a spoonful of molasses. “Oh god--jesus, good thing we don’t eat the heads, I don’t think I could handle more than a couple fins.” Tatum just smiled and handed him another piece.

Well that was fun! So for everyone I tag, and anyone who wants to in general, I want you to find tired, weapon, red, and pierce.

No pressure tags: @lukey-the-pup @betwixtbeasts @tracle0 @polyaubergine @albatris @sarah-sandwich-writes @leave-her-a-tome @lettersandinkstains @thel3tterm @musicofglassandwords @snarky-drabbles