#And then going back and choosing the ones I want to use it’s utterly ridiculous hhwsjs

[soothedcerberus]

My comic process is “”organized”” chaos

[jj-one]

HATE YOU

this is smut, do not interact if under 18

pairing: enemies to lovers ? (sorta one-sided tho), college au, fuckboy!jungkook x f!reader genre/tags: smut, angst, alcohol usage, dirty talk, lowkey perverted!jk, fingering, piv, unprotected sex (oof), drunk sex, public sex (reader & jk do it at a house party), riding, video recording **pls don’t do none of this irl LMAO words: 2.7k

**old repost from my deleted blog

Hate is a strong word— at least that’s what people try and say. You meant it though, it was a word you didn’t use lightly. Especially when it came to your opinion on 99% of the male population at your school. You couldn’t stand most of them, they all just wanted one thing. Getting into your pants.

You despised hook-up culture with a passion and it didn’t help that most guys who tried talking to you were all the same. You had a special hatred for a particular individual the most though— Jeon Jungkook from your physics class. He was the most arrogant, conceited, egotistical person you’ve ever met your whole life.

Every class he would have a different girl with him wrapped around his arm, walking him to the door like he’s some kind of royalty. The way almost every girl would swoon over him just because he’s good looking was baffling to you. Yeah he may have a pretty face but does that cancel everything else out? Of course not. You���ll never understand why these women would choose to go after someone like him, you felt embarrassed for them honestly.

“Jungkook, meet me after class I’ll be waiting for you!” Some girl shouted through the door to get his attention.

He was sitting two seats from you, looking at his phone while paying no mind to the obvious screaming being directed to him. He was so full of himself it was ridiculous.

“Hey y/n, what’re you doing tonight?”

That voice startled the hell out of you. Who gave Jungkook the right to even be speaking to you right now? Looking over in his direction, you give him an empty stare.

“Why do you care?” You said harshly.

It makes no sense why he would even try talking to you, you’ve never given him any indication you liked him.

“Sheesh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today,” he chuckles, “you should pull up to my party tonight!” You wanted to almost physically gag at the wink he just gave you.

“I’m good.” You shut him down quickly and try moving on but he doesn’t let you off that easy.

“You sure? The whole schools practically gonna be there, you don’t wanna miss out on all the fun do ya?” That annoying smirk on his face was really starting to irritate you.

“I said I’m good, I’d never show up to one of your dumb ass parties.”

“I think you got me mixed up with someone else, my parties are always lit. If you have a change of heart though, I’ll make sure to show you a real good time.”

You scoff, utterly disgusted by his last comment, just about everything he said had sexual undertones to them. His humor was weird and extremely perverted which heavily pissed you off. You couldn’t wait for this class to be over.

“We’re almost here!” Yuna exclaims in the passenger seat.

You were in the back with two of your other friends as you were headed to a party. You weren’t totally up for partying tonight but ultimately your friends were able to convince you to go. You don’t even know where the party is but maybe it’s good to get your mind off things.

“Oh, by the way who’s party is this?” You ask suddenly as Lisa pulls into a driveway.

The car got silent for a second, no one answered your question. It was a bit odd to you the way they all froze up.

“Actually… it’s Jungkook’s party…” Lisa finally spoke, her eyes kept trailing away from you.

“What the fuck? Of all places you choose to go you pick him?!” You felt so betrayed.

They really drove you all the way here just to trick you into coming and now you have no escape plan. They all begged and pleaded for you to suck it up and let loose for just one night. You finally agreed but only under the condition that you want to be far away from him as possible.

“Why do you even dislike him so much? You would think he had murdered someone or something!” Your friend asks.

“I just think he’s a pretentious asshole that doesn’t deserve all the hype he gets.”

They just shrug your opinion off and get out the car. You huff as you open the door and head to the party with the rest of them.

You instantly felt claustrophobic once you go inside. There were crowds of people everywhere. Jungkook was right, everyone at the school was practically here. Loud rap music was blaring through the speakers, red solo cups scattered the floor, people getting sloppy drunk or stoned; the perfect stereotypical house party.

You haven’t seen him yet so that was a good sign and you go up to the kitchen to get drinks with Lisa. 20 minutes pass by now and Lisa was left out of your sight. You have no idea where she could’ve run off to and now you have to search the place to find your friends.

Heading outside into the backyard, your balance was becoming unstable from the alcohol in your system. You were taking shots of Hennessy back to back and it caught up to you faster than you could blink. You sat down on one of the lawn chairs since your head was starting to feel really heavy. You felt a sudden tap behind your shoulder and hear a voice that even when you’re drunk, you can sense with disdain.

“Well, well, well if it isn’t little miss ‘i’d never show up to one of your dumb ass parties!’” Jungkook teases while coming from behind you.

“Get the hell away from me!” You lean away from him to leave you alone but he only came closer.

“This is my house so I don’t need to go anywhere, if anything I think I should kick you out for being so mean to me.” His face inched towards yours further, putting you in an uncomfortable position.

You don’t know why your body felt paralyzed though, it was probably just from all the alcohol inebriating your mind.

“You know, I never understood why you actually hate me. I never hurt you did I?” He says, slightly cocking his head to the side.

His tattooed hand landed on your knee, just planting it there while keeping strong eye contact. You couldn’t speak for some reason, it was as if an enormous lump has formed and got caught inside your throat. He looks down at the skirt you’re wearing and bites his lip, playing with his lip ring.

“Why aren’t you talking? You usually have a lot to say to me, why so quiet now sweetheart? Cat got your tongue?” He continues speaking in that condescending tone of his and you’ve had enough now.

“I fucking hate your guts Jungkook, I absolutely despise you. You’re a cocky, perverted fuckboy that needs to be humbled and finally put in your place!” You snap back at him while pushing his hand away.

“Woah girl chill out, that was a bit harsh don’t ya think? Also, I’d love for you to put me in my place any day.” Yet again, he never fails to make a sexually charged comment.

“You’re disgusting, seriously get help!” You attempt to get up from the lawn chair but he pushes you back down.

“You know, I’ve always liked my girls a little feisty. I find it hot when girls yell at me.”

Either this man has a humiliation kink or is just plain stupid— either way you don’t want to be anywhere near him but he wouldn’t let you leave.

“Please just go away Jungkook, I don’t want you in my sight anymore.”

“Really? Because if that were true then you would’ve been left already,” his hand went to stroke the side of your hair “seems like you really don’t want me to leave.”

His other hand went back to your knee again but slowly trails up to your thigh and goes under your skirt this time. You were surprised within yourself that you were even letting this happen. He leans in to your face, being just a few inches away from his lips. You became almost in a trance by those pink, pillowy lips. You don’t know what came over you but you grab his face and messily kiss him. The movement of your lips colliding and syncing together as he deepened the kiss. He sensually touches your thigh while you moan into the kiss and he squeezes your thigh tightly in response. Looking around to see all the people still here when you pull away from him; you can’t fathom you just made out with Jungkook in front of all these goddamn people. You just lost all respect for yourself.

“You know I’ve always secretly had a crush on you y/n?” Jungkook admits, “I kinda like it when girls are mean to me. Or maybe I just like it when you’re mean, I haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Let me show you how mean I can get then.” You reply, staring up at him with hungry eyes.

That cheesy grin never leaving his face as he hears you speak. The tension only grew thicker and he wasn’t about to waste another second.

“Sit on my lap.” He uses his hands to maneuver you and leans back in the chair.

You drunkenly stumble on top of him, feeling him against you. Your body heat raised through the roof but this time you were sure it wasn’t because of the liquor. You straddle his lap as you go back to hastily making out. His wandering hands kept slipping down to your ass to squeeze it and you were starting to feel dizzy from the way he was kissing you. You feel his touch under your skirt to play with you some more, not caring if anyone’s looking at this point.

“I don’t think we should be doing this.. not here at least. Too many people.” You say when pulling away from his lips.

“I really don’t give a fuck, it’s my party let them watch. Let’s put on a good show for everyone, yeah?”

You know this goes beyond against every moral you’ve had before. You’re about to do the one thing you told yourself that you’d never do.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Agreeing to go along with his narrative.

He lets you in charge now, letting you have full control over the way you get to ride him. You push your panties to the side and he undoes his pants to free his fully hard member. You didn’t realize how much of a nice cock he has, it was well groomed and had the perfect size/width.

“You have a really pretty dick, must I say.” You still can’t believe these words are being said to Jungkook.

“Thanks baby, I can’t wait for it to be in that pretty little pussy of yours.”

He drags two of his fingers down to your core and swipes in a circular motion, smearing the wet slick as he watches your mouth open wide with pleasure. His digits sink into your cunt harshly, pushing them deeper and deeper.

“Fuck! Your fingers feel too good…” you hid your face in his shoulder as he splits you open.

Your eyes hung low and your mind was hazy. Unable to think straight, you just wanted to feel Jungkook inside of you already.

“Need to fuck you nowww!” You yell, almost sounding a bit whiny.

“So do it then cutie. Come fuck yourself on my cock.”

He withdraws his digits out of you and licks the juices off them one by one. His grin would only get wider as you lowered yourself on his cock. You were so soaking wet you sunk down on him easily while resting your hands around his shoulders to brace yourself a bit before moving. Once you regain focus you slide up and down on his shaft nice and slow; making him bite his lip, moan, and curse under his breath.

“Your pussy feels so good… so tight… fuck..” his mind was going blank as you pick up a steady pace.

You were so out of it by now that you were bouncing on his cock in a frenzy. He roughly thrusted his hips back into you while you sloppily rode him. The way he filled you up felt like you were in heaven. You open your eyes for a second, forgetting that you were at a party. Almost everyone was looking at you, some people even took out their phones to record the scene in front of them. It was probably all the alcohol you drank but you didn’t even care anymore, you continued savagely riding him. You’re moaning louder as you slam down into him harder, pulling his body closer to yours. He loudly grunts from your walls aching around him, his cock was throbbing so intensely he felt himself wanting to burst already.

People were beyond shocked to see this happening, it was a wild party but they weren’t expecting all this. You try not to pay attention to everyone and focus on Jungkook so you can make yourself cum. Then out of nowhere, he spontaneously lifts you up while you’re still on his cock. Engulfing those large hands on your ass cheeks to keep you balanced and thrusts into you deep while he’s standing up. You had your arms wrapped tightly around him, you weren’t too scared of falling since he had a strong grip on you. You were taking his cock with each harsh stroke he gave, screaming out his name over and over so the whole party could hear it.

“Fuck yes Jungkook! Keep fucking me just like that, you’re so good!!” You could feel yourself coming close and so does Jungkook. Wet strands of sticky hair cling to his face from all the work he’s putting in, his eyebrows furrowed to concentrate solely on making you cum.

“Gonna cum on this cock for me baby? I feel you getter tighter ‘round me.”

“Yess, wanna cum on your cock so bad please!”

He was hitting all the spots in you just right, the slight curve of his shaft fit so perfectly in your core. Your mouth was back to being jaw locked again, feeling the heat wave of your orgasm coming through. It hit even harder when you were drunk, you felt like you were going to fall out of his arms but he noticed you slipping and pulls you up into a firmer grasp. While shutting your eyes you feel your release take over, cursing and moaning his name repeatedly like a broken record.

“I’m ‘bout to cum ….” He pulls out of you and sets you back on the lawn chair, “look up and open wide for me.”

You open your mouth eagerly for him, he gives his cock a few pumps before releasing his white creamy load into your mouth. You swallow every drop of his cum and stick your tongue out for him to show your empty mouth. He smiles at the pretty sight of you and goes in to kiss you once again.

“This is fucking insane!” One of the random people at the party says.

You recognize the person since they’ve been watching you from the start. To say that you and Jungkook left everyone at that party speechless was an understatement.

“You know people were taking videos of us right?” Jungkook says cautiously.

“Yeah… it’s probably going to end up all over social media now, if it hasn’t already. Oh well, like I care!” You shrug nonchalantly.

Oh you’ll definitely care when you sober up.

“Let’s get outta here?” Jungkook zips his pants back up and takes his hand out for you to grab.

You hold onto him and balance your wobbly legs to stand up. You were both severely drunk but he held his liquor way better than you did. For the rest of the night, the party continued and you ended up finding your friends. They soon found out about you were doing and how you fucked Jungkook in front of everyone there, they were all completely taken aback. You went from hating his guts to him destroying yours— guess that’s one way you can end a burning hatred for someone.

[nomazee]

The thing about Dazai is that he's cruel when he wants to be.

You know this—you've known this even before he admitted in his long-winded way that he's an ex-mafia member. He has a clever tongue, knows how to use it to his advantage when it comes to swooning women or interrogating suspects. He's multifaceted in that regard.

You've only really seen a glimpse or two of his mean streak, a vague memory of when you were ushered out of the Agency infirmary while Dazai was left alone with Kouyou Ozaki that one time. It's best not to think about it, you tell yourself, but all you can think about right now is that you really, really wish he could be that mean right now.

It slipped out somehow—in your rambling, you didn't even notice when you'd stupidly admitting your more-than-cordial-platonic-coworker feelings for him. But you did, and these are the consequences, just not the ones you were expecting.

Fingers twitching, joints tight and stiff in the cold, you look up at Dazai's blank eyes and the flat line of his lips. Stupid. You feel so utterly stupid, and you're waiting here for his response and yet there's none to be given.

What makes it worse is that his eyes are soft. He's not poking fun at you or rolling his eyes or brushing this off. You really, really wish he would, you wish he'd make a joke out of this and humiliate you, you wish he'd run to Kunikida and laugh about it with him and group you in with all the other people he's swooned before, but he just stands there. There's pity in his eyes, or maybe something like careful consideration as he chooses his next words.

"You..." and a thoughtful hum escapes him before he goes quiet again. You hate this. You hate every second of it and you just want him to laugh at your stupid feelings and leave you in the dust so you could cry alone and not in front of him. A burning feeling pricks the backs of your eyes and you're going to die right in front of him, because that'd be much better than dealing with this awful, awful silence.

"I don't think you really mean that."

And you hate him. You hate Dazai, because of course he'd say something like that. In all his self-loathing, he wouldn't think for a minute that you know what you're talking about—that you mean it. You hate him. This is crueler than anything else he could've done.

"I do, Dazai," and your voice is strained, and choked, and your face is hot with embarrassment because this is stupid and ridiculous and just supposed to be a workplace crush gone out of hand. "Just shut up. I do." And when he opens his mouth again to protest, you shake your head and roll your eyes and try not to make this whole thing more dramatic than it's already gotten.

"Whatever. I mean— whatever. I didn't say any of that. I didn't mean it like that. Can you forget it, please, and don't tell anyone, this is awful, Dazai, you're awful, you know."

"I know. I'm sorry."

In your years of working here, you've never heard Dazai Osamu say sorry, not like this. Not with gentle eyes and a hesitant breath. This is ridiculous. You're going to kill him.

"I wouldn't tell anyone," he keeps talking, he keeps talking and you're going to kill him, "That's cruel. I'm sorry."

Cruel. You want to laugh. He would know a lot about that.

[rosary-pearls]

Wyll NSFW Thoughts/Headcanons Part 2

These are a little more specific than the previous ones so hopefully you all enjoy these as well

These are mostly top/dom focused & gender neutral (18+ Obvi)

•Wyll is a dancer and a fighter so he has excellent control over his body. The roll of his hips are precise & intentional; always seeking to draw out the most pleasure for both of you. Only gets sloppy when he's about to come or has been overstimulated •Wyll's default is to be gentle & doting with you, but he'll handle you however you like to be handled. You wish to be treated gently? His touch will feel akin to a rose petal. You wish for something rougher? He’ll pin you down, spank, and maybe even choke you as much as you'd like. He just wants you to feel good & enjoy your time together 

•Concerning rough sex, he has limits for what he's willing to do. He wouldn't be comfortable slapping you in the face, making you bleed, using tools for impact play, or anything overly humiliating. There is also a limit to how much strength he's willing to use if you want to be handled roughly - some bruises and hickies are fine, enticing even. But your body looking freshly beaten? A huge turnoff for him

•I can't imagine Wyll enjoying being on the receiving end of rough sex, I think he wants to feel loved. Be nice to him!!

•Definitely into wax/candle play. He loves seeing you tense as you anxiously wait for the hot wax to hit your skin. He’s particular about the wax color, he’ll choose something that compliments your skin tone so you look like a piece of art. He’d blindfold you for the full experience, and when he's ready to move on he'd remove the blindfold and drip one last time, telling you to watch how beautifully the wax melts and runs along the contours of your body. Yum 

•I know this is said all the time but PLEASE grab him by horns. Especially when he's going down on you - he loves it when you show him exactly what you want. When you're kissing, or being playful give them a peck, trace the grooves with your fingers. Remind Wyll they're just as loved as the rest of him, poor guy

•Praise this man - tell him he's making you feel good, tell him he's beautiful & sexy (he still gets self-conscious about his newfound fiend body), tell him you love and need him. During and not during sex

•Wyll can be a tease - because of his heroic & kindhearted nature I think ppl forget Wyll is a lil shit & instigator at times (complimentary)

•He’s never mean-spirited when he teases you, but he’ll get the faintest quirk of the lip, the slightest self-satisfied glaze in his eyes that tells you how amused he is. He never allows his teasing or denial to get to the point where it's humiliating for you - his purpose in doing these things is to make the reward all the sweeter, not an act of subjugation

•WYLL READS SMUT!!!!! And man does this play out in some fun ways. He talks about it in past tense sure, but once he gets to live the soft life again I bet he'd pick it back up. Especially since you, who is reading this, most likely read smut too

•100% down to read them together. He's good at reading aloud, his voice is smooth & he doesn't tend to make mistakes or fumble lines. It becomes a pleasant pastime in the evening, with you resting your head on his lap as he reads for the two of you

•If you read a particularly spicy scene he'd suggest you try & reenact it. aka this man is into roleplay (bard tavs rejoice)

•Yes he loves his rose petals on the bed and sensual baths, but he also enjoys being silly and goofy in bed. He attempts to do a voice for the part he’s playing & it sounds utterly ridiculous & you both break out into laughter and giggling while you're trying to kiss. He's got such a beautiful grin how could you not melt? The silliness just brings you closer & makes the sex all the more special 

•Cockwarming? Cockwarming. Loves just staying inside you to feel close while holding you from behind. Might ask you to read from one of your dirty books out loud while he fondles you, letting you feel his cock gradually harden and lengthen in you. Also likes doing it after he’s come inside you 

•More naughty reading stuff because I love this concept for him. He'd have you read your book aloud while he gently fucks you & wouldn’t let you come until you finish x amount of pages. If you stop, he stops - might even pull out. If you're incoherent, he goes excruciatingly slow until you can enunciate properly

Let me know what you think! Or if any of them should be a fic of their own

[antianakin]

@theneutralmime

Personally I feel like Anakin crossed that line when he decided dictatorship was a good choice of government and massacred an entire village of Tuskens down to the last child. Anakin is unrepentant about BOTH of these things and so I find it hard to believe he can be "saved" at that point in any way that matters.

However.

Star Wars is all about choices. Anakin is making some irrevocably bad ones by AOTC already, he's not a good PERSON truly in AOTC (I find it hard to believe that someone who is as racist, sexist, arrogant, and selfish as Anakin is in this film can truly be considered "good" still). But that doesn't mean he can't still make BETTER ones. He recognizes that he's made a bad choice regarding the Tuskens in the sense that he knows a good Jedi wouldn't have done it, so there's like... a GLIMMER of hope in that, the last vestiges of Anakin recognizing that he's making bad choices. And maybe if someone OTHER THAN PADME "THE ENABLER" AMIDALA had been there with him in the wake of the Tusken massacre, someone like Obi-Wan or another Jedi maybe, they'd have been able to grasp onto that glimmer and help him move back towards the path he can still see but is choosing to walk away from. But what he gets from Padme instead is an excuse. He KNOWS the Jedi would consider it a bad choice, but Padme, like Palpatine, tells him that what he's done is okay, that it's different because it's HIM, because Anakin is SPECIAL. "To be angry is to be human" gets translated in Anakin's head as "It was okay to kill the Tuskens because I was angry over what happened to my mother and this was a normal and natural reaction to have" which allows him to DISMISS what he knows the Jedi would've believed about it as unimportant.

So like. Anakin CAN be saved. That's always true. It just won't be by Padme, or Obi-Wan, or Ahsoka, or even Luke. Anakin HAS to be saved by his own choice. He can be saved because he can ALWAYS make better choices. That's the whole point of his choice in ROTJ. He's been Vader for over 20 years, he betrayed the Jedi, destroyed the galaxy, killed his own pregnant wife, upheld a fascist tyrant, allowed Alderaan to be blown up and forced Leia to watch, enslaved the clones, and chopped off his own son's hand. And he can STILL make a better choice. And that's just as true on Tatooine after the Tusken massacre and on Mustafar after Order 66 as it is on the Death Star over two decades later.

The problem is that Anakin, generally, doesn't WANT to be saved because that requires acknowledging he NEEDS SAVING TO BEGIN WITH, which requires acknowledging he's done something wrong. And Anakin is just incapable of actually being able to admit he's actually IN THE WRONG about anything and constantly finds ways to excuse the things he does and the way he feels in order to see himself as in the right and as the hero of the story because it's easier and less painful.

So when Padme and Palpatine offer him excuses and tell him he's special and it's the Jedi who are wrong, Anakin grabs onto those excuses with both hands and refuses to let them go. He uses them to paper over what he's done in his head so he never has to look at them again and if he does, that he can interpret them as his triumphs instead of his failures. On Mustafar, this becomes particularly obvious. He yells at Obi-Wan that he "turned Padme against him" despite that being an utterly ridiculous thing to think. He tells Obi-Wan that from his point of view, the Jedi are evil, because it's easier to excuse murdering them all if they're the villains. He claims he has brought "peace, freedom, security, and justice" to "his" new Empire, even though he has brought none of these things and the Empire is not his at all.

Anakin is the King of lying to himself about his own crimes because he refuses to do the work of acknowledging his own failures in order to do and be better. So he CAN save himself, but it will only happen when he is actually willing to take that first step. When Padme shows up on Mustafar, that isn't something he's willing to do. When Obi-Wan tries to talk to him on Mustafar, that isn't something he's willing to do. When he sees Ahsoka on Malachor, that isn't something he's willing to do. When Luke comes to Bespin, that isn't something he's willing to do. Anakin CANNOT and WILL NOT make a different choice until it benefits him to do so. And that's exactly what happens. He only is capable of making the selfless choice when he has no other option if he wants to save Luke.

So COULD Anakin be saved on Mustafar? Yeah, sure. He COULD save himself. He just won't. It's not a choice he's willing to make at this point in his life, so it isn't going to happen even though the choice is always available to him.

[kopfkino-o]

you know, the more I look back on it and think about Lucien as a character, I tend to think he is just as indifferent towards the mating bond as Elain. Only he has 100+ years of living in a society that views mates as the end all be all. Plus whatever innate instincts come along with the bond.

Without those instincts or societal pressure? I don’t think Lucien would so much as give Elain a second look. Without the mating bond I don’t think he would even consider her as someone he’d want to go after.

That’s all there is between them. Instincts that makes them both uncomfortable.

And yes, I hear people say that both Feyre and Nesta were resistant to their bonds at first, but they weren’t completely and utterly indifferent.

Feyre thought Rhysand was an ass. But she felt pulled towards him and found herself feeling guilty for the attraction she had towards him. She never lost her boldness or curled into herself around him. They bantered and flirted . They were gave us enemies to lovers.

Nesta thought Cassian was ridiculous. She was punishing herself and suffering through bad mental health causing her to push him away, but that attraction was always there. She never felt uneasy or curled into her self around him. Even when she was still human. They served up rivals to lovers.

Lucien and Elain? They can’t stand to be in the same room as one another. Elain looses her boldness and shrinks into herself around him. Lucien considers the few minutes they’re alone together to be unbearably awkward. He looses his easy charm and effortless swagger when she’s near. He thinks that Elain was thrown at him. Wanted to see her just to make sure she’s “worth it”. He chooses to live away from her in the Human Lands. She chooses to live away from him in Velaris. Elain accepts his gifts but does not gift him anything in return.

There’s no tension there, no simmering hint of something more like there’s been with other couples. Just complete and utter indifference.

And what’s the death of love? Indifference.

[slowd1ving]

UNFORTUNATE BACKUP・゜ MIGUEL O'HARA NSFW

It's just you against fate. Unfortunately, it's hell-bent towards pairing you with the most annoying person in existence ever. Medical Researcher/Field Doctor reader, GN but he is used exactly 1 time warnings: nsfw, violence, tension (resolved), degradation wrote this for my friend a while back so it's not my usual style ;; lowkey clueless abt medical stuff so I'm sorry if that's obvious... this would've done numbers here if I actually posted this when itsv came out but as you can tell I just could not be asked if you've seen this before, it was posted to ao3 like a year ago by yours truly!!! wc: 7.5k

MISC. MASTERLIST . 　⁺ MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Maybe it’s fate playing a silly little prank on you when you don’t see Jessica waiting for you at the abandoned Alchemax you’re investigating. Maybe she’s late? You shift from side to side, wishing you brought your insulating suit to combat the frigid wind sweeping through the clearing where you stand. 

“Jess?” you hesitantly call out, even though you know it’s utterly foolish to do so when you haven’t even surveyed the surroundings. You can’t help but feel a pang of worry at her absence; it’s only the rustling leaves that answer your call. 

“You’re late.” it’s not Jessica’s voice that sounds out from the shadows of the Alchemax entrance. As your eyes struggle to make out who exactly spoke, he steps out into the weak rays of sun. It’s… Miguel? What the fuck is he doing here? Rarely do you ever see him, since the medical research facility is practically a gazillion miles away from his office-cave. 

“Sorry,” you try to inject some sincerity into your tone since he’s your superior, but it’s proving difficult when you’re literally on time . You slowly push open the creaky revolving door (which is ridiculously heavy, but you refuse to let him see your struggle). 

“While you were taking your sweet time,” Miguel pauses to shoulder the door open with practised ease, ignoring your exasperated sigh. “I already surveyed the building for you.” 

Literally nobody asked. You bite back the retort, feeling your face contort into a very impolite expression. Don’t lose your job. 

“Thank you,” you force out, surveying the entrance hall with a critical eye and an infrared detector scope. No signs of biological life here, it seems. It’s unusually quiet; normally these facilities are crawling with anomalies and other beings, which is why this is a job for two. 

“Where’s Jessica?” you ask offhandedly, following Miguel up the emergency stairs. You don’t want to make conversation with this standoffish man, but anything beats the very awkward feeling in the air. “Have you kidnapped her or something?” 

“A comedian,” you can hear him mutter under his breath in annoyance. He doesn’t turn to face you. “She sent me to work with you, since she had something urgent come up back in her home world.”

So she hasn’t just left you for the fun of it. Cool. You don’t say anything in response, choosing to run the objectives of your mission through your mind instead. Find the DNA lab, grab some spider-DNA, then do the same in the pathogen department. Back at base, they’ll be used to drive forward immunity research you’ve been conducting with your colleague. 

“The first stop is here,” Miguel informs you curtly, pointing to the frosted glass door in the middle of the corridor. You wordlessly move to gather your specimens, noting how the room is unexpectedly in great condition. The samples are all fresh too, dating only a month back. Great. It’s unusual, but you’ll take it. It’s the same with the virus specimens you’ve managed to get - the Alchemax was probably abandoned very recently. 

“Done,” you don’t see the point in trying to be amiable when Miguel clearly isn’t. We’re never going to be buddies. 

It’s a very pleasant week that flies past without you seeing him. Even though you’re permanently part of the team, you’re rarely ever assigned an active combat mission since you’re one of the few medics available in the facility. Seriously, why are there so few medical Spiders? Regardless, your line of work means that you won’t be in contact with Miguel any time soon. Or so you hope. But fate likes its silly little jokes. 

“They sent you for backup?” the question flies out of Miguel’s mouth when you step out of the portal into the dimly lit streets of Earth-152. A symphony of police sirens and rain splashing onto the pavement is heard in the background; it’s a fitting orchestra for this annoying scene. 

“Is there a problem?” your fist clenches around the strap of your medic bag as you fight to keep your frustration at a simmer. It’s not often that you’re called in for backup to tackle such a large-scale anomaly (see: never ), but you’re good with combat and injuries. Objectively, you’re an exemplary ally to have when fighting - is this fool denying that? “Or can I do my job?”

“He’s just worried because it’s a big operation,” Jess interjects from behind you. What a relief. She elbows him from where she sits astride her motorcycle, looking pointedly at him. “ Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t say anything as he turns to look at his wristband, which currently projects what appears to be a map of the area. You ignore the slight, turning to face Jess with your brows furrowed. “Any updates?” 

“The target should be appearing within the next few minutes,” she quickly pulls up her own projections to show you a blurry photo of the target. “We’re capturing him alive and heading back to headquarters. Target’s particularly strong, so be careful.”

“Right,” your affirmation is interrupted by incessant red blinking from the map hologram. Your breath catches in your throat at the tantalising prospect of finally fighting. Two streets away. You follow Jess out of the alleyway into the blaring lights of the city, feeling the neon lights soak into your very being . Warm summer rain sluices away all your wariness before your webs propel you to the side of a glass skyscraper. 

The target’s nowhere to be found on the roof of the building he’s supposed to be on. Frustration makes itself palpable in the air and you can’t help but feel the dawning horror of apprehension. What’s going on? 

“Ambush!” your mouth forms the warning just as you spot several clones of the target emerging on the roof of the building. You’re not sure if Miguel or Jess heard your cry of shock, but you can’t check on either of them as the clones of the target start surrounding you. You can’t afford that; your webs are laced with a potent tranquilizer that makes quick work of those in your immediate vicinity. It’s not enough - the hordes that emerge from your peripherals are surrounding you anyway. 

“I’ll take care of these,” Jess’ motorcycle makes quick work of a good portion of the clones - they disintegrate pretty rapidly when hit with the heavy vehicle. “Miguel’s on track to find the main body. It’ll go faster if you also look for it.”

“Right,” you know Jess will be fine; her motorcycle and quick wits will let her tackle this crowd with ease. Find the main body. Your gut tells you it’s not going to be far away. In fact, your senses are urging you to check out the derelict factory a few blocks away. And who are you to ignore them? 

“Where are you, where are you,” you mumble to yourself as you swing towards the building. Its imposing structure almost halts you in your tracks, but you know something is lurking within. The angry clouds swirling above don’t make the situation any less menacing, but you ignore the unfortunate weather. No use in shaking in your boots because of some clouds.  

Luckily, there’s a row of windows in the shadows of the factory by the roof; it’s an easy objective to lithely creep up the side of the building. There. Concealed within the shadows of rusty machinery is your target, leaning against the wall in a too-casual manner. Before he can spot you, you crawl down until you’re not in view - there, you immediately fire out a call to Miguel from your watch. It’s the first time you’ve ever done so, but the situation calls for it. 

“What do you want?” his little hologram’s mask is indented with a sharp annoyance. You should’ve just handled this yourself. 

“I’ve found the target,” you retort with whatever venom you can muster. The two of you are colleagues, for fuck’s sake; there’s no use dismissing others like that in the first place. “You can see my location, right?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I finish off this one,” from what you can see, he appears to be fighting a different enemy, judging from the sharp slashing you can faintly make in the background. “Stay exactly where you are until I arrive. Don’t engage in combat.”

“Sure, sarge,” you end the call with your annoyance slowly brimming over the edge. Who knows how long it’ll be before he finishes off that other enemy? You peer back into the factory, intending to continue your little reconnaissance. Your blood runs cold at the view down below. There’s nobody there, not a whisper of a soul down in the depths of those shadows. 

“Looking for me?” you almost jump out of your skin when a cheerful voice calls out from below. It’s the target, who’s somehow managed to make his way to the side of the factory you’re currently balanced on. 

“Don’t do that,” you spring down to the ground so you can come face to face with the target, clutching your bag to your side. The orders not to engage are still fresh in your mind, but you can’t exactly ignore the situation, can you?

“So, uh,” you begin, noticing the way he leans into the space between you two slightly. Diffuse the situation. Stay calm. His suit is almost as dark as the night itself, and it catches your eye with how it thrums like shaken ink. “Any chance you’ll give up peacefully?”

You already know the answer when he laughs mirthfully, with his head thrown back in sharp amusement. You can almost taste the forceful no that’s about to leave his lips. 

“You’re funny,” his razor-edged smile lacks any sort of laughter as he regains his composure. You brace yourself. “But no.”

And you’re ready, ready for the swift kick that comes flying your way. You easily move out of the way, while quickly slinging a web his way - it only scrapes by his upper arm, unfortunately, but it still has the potential to affect him somewhat. Concentrate. The fight will only last a few minutes at worst; it’s absolutely crucial to keep a clear mind. 

You alternate between throwing calculated jabs and webs designed to trap opponents to create a perfect feint and secure yourself an opening. One second. One second to carefully strike a tranquilizer web directly at the shirt under his suit. You don’t want to touch whatever makes up that shifting suit. What is it?

That question is answered immediately as clones start emerging from its shadows. Shit. You can see why the guy’s taking so long to be captured; it’s incredibly troublesome when he’s got a whole legion of clones available. 

You don’t hesitate. 

Steeling yourself, you fire a tranquilizer web straight at him while sending a kick to his side so he evades it right into your line of fire. The web lands on his cheek, which is an excellent target for the tranquilizer to work its wondrous magic. He’s out cold within a second or so. Perfect . It leaves you with plenty of time to ponder how you’re going to explain to Miguel that you’ve (unintentionally!) disobeyed orders within the humongous timespan of ten seconds. 

He doesn’t keep you waiting long. 

“What did you think I meant when I said to not engage?” Miguel’s annoyance seeps into the air when he sees you standing over the unconscious clone-man. 

“It was self-defense,” you argue, holding your hands up in mock-surrender. He’s clearly sceptical with the way his eyes swivel from the knocked-out target on the floor back to you. “Play it back on the watch!”

“Jessica, he’s been apprehended,” Miguel speaks into his watch briefly, before putting his arm back down. It's an uncomfortable feeling; you don’t think you’ve ever been the subject of such an intense, scrutinising glare. 

“You did take out the trouble,” he finally admits grudgingly; it feels like somewhat of an accomplishment. Somewhat. “Do a better job of following orders next time.”

You fight the urge to mutter expletives under your breath. 

It’s the same song and dance for the next month; fate can’t help but assign you as backup to Miguel’s missions, though it’s strictly limited to medic duties in case someone fucks up. It’s unpleasant - his criticisms of your actions slowly wear down your absolutely bottomless patience like coarse-grit sandpaper pretty quickly. 

You wouldn’t call the next mission a fuck up; it can only really be described as an absolute calamity when you step out into the mayhem. It’s an incessant cacophony of blaring sirens and pure carnage - from what you can gather, a gaping abyss is swallowing the buildings above where it’s situated. It’s a disaster. 

It’s not really a surprise then, when Miguel forces his way onto the hologram projection on your watch to move you elsewhere, your nerves are frayed. 

“Shut the fuck up,” you spit out, scribbling out a list of equipment for an unfortunate intern to bring from the medical facility. You pray what you carry is enough to quench the insatiable hunger of injuries. “Let me do my goddamn job for once.”

You hang up; etiquette be damned in this haze of smoke and debris. Thankfully, there’s no fatalities recorded after the sinkhole is stabilised. On the other hand, the infirmary is going to be very lively for the next week. The movement of your hands can only be described as frenzied with how efficiently you patch up the countless injuries on site - there’s an ever growing mountain of sanguine gauze building up beside you. 

It’s only a few hours later that you’re finally allowed a reprieve. You trudge back to the medical facility where one of your few colleagues who’s actually finished training is running around haggardly to care for the incoming patients. 

“Can you patch up O’Hara?” he nervously asks you, while you feel your bones wither away. You meet his pleading gaze impassively. “He’s been refusing medical treatment from any of the available interns, and you’re the only one who doesn’t crack under that pressure.”

You want to say no. Your mind’s practically begging you to refuse so you can have him out of mind for some time. But looking upon that pathetically pitiful countenance of your colleague, your resolve softens. This man will wilt like a goddamn cabbage if Miguel so much as exhales sharply. 

“Fine,” you concede with a look of defeat; it’s almost horrendous with how quickly he beams at you. 

“After, your shift’s over,” he calls out after you as you grab some ointment, gauze and other essentials. You’re unclear as to how Miguel was injured exactly, but your gut tells you it’s probably just some shallow injuries if he hasn’t been coerced by Jess into coming to the infirmary. Just do the job. You should’ve kept your Spidersuit on below your regular clothes; yet the prospect of sinking into bed right after you treat your last patient far outweighs the vulnerability you feel. 

It’s not exactly a short walk to where Miguel’s room is situated, but the concept of time is one that’s chased away by the sinking feeling in your stomach. It goes by too fast. You really should’ve just refused. Here goes nothing.

Surely you’ll be turned away immediately after you knock? Surely you’ll be able to go back to your own room and forget this ever happened? Surely fate will smile down upon you for once?

Fate truly is a fickle being. 

Your knock on his door is almost immediately answered by an exasperated “ Come in.” You suppress your own exasperated groan as you recognize Miguel’s voice. Cradling the bag of medical supplies in your arm, you shove the door open with your shoulder. It’s dark - which you’d expect - but it still takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the sight-

Rapid heartbeats resound in the back of your head as you make out Miguel’s dim figure sitting on the edge of his bed. His suit is rolled up around his waist, leaving his torso completely bare. Your blood is practically beating up your veins with how quickly it races around your body. What the everloving fuck . The resounding question you have is answered by the dim glow of a syringe in his hands - it’s not exactly a secret that Miguel’s not just a human bitten by a radioactive spider, but it’s the first time you’ve ever witnessed a tangible instant of it.

“It’s you,” he doesn’t move to cover up with a scandalous gasp, but rather stares you down impassively. Who was he expecting? “What do you want?”

“To dress those wounds like I’ve been told to,” you stare right back at him, refusing to let your eyes be cowed into avoiding that gaze. You don’t budge, you don’t shift from foot to foot; your stance is staunchly planted onto the floor of his room. You can faintly see some nasty-looking gashes that look like they were caused by debris, as well as shallow lacerations that were undoubtedly made by a weapon. 

“I’m fine,” he dismisses you, but you can see the shiny skin surrounding some of the injuries. You can’t even feel the resentment that you would normally - if that becomes infected, it’s not your problem. 

“Those might get infected,” you point out, though you don’t really know what’s prompting you to argue in favour of spending more time with him. “I’ll be done in less than ten minutes.”

You suppose that noncommittal grunt is a concession to your superior logic. He stares at you wordlessly as you approach him; he’s rarely ever seen you without your mask and suit, you realise. Silence. Well, it would be silent if it weren’t for your heart desperately pounding away, so much so that you swear even he can hear it. You carefully put your bag down onto the floor. 

He doesn’t hiss or pull away as the antiseptic-covered cloth runs over the gashes; the imperceptible stare that’s on you is disconcerting, to say the very least. He’s cold to touch, even through the thin disposable gloves you’ve donned. It doesn’t fully hit you that you’re touching Miguel’s shoulders and upper chest without getting your head bitten off. Absolutely shocking. 

Those gashes beneath his collarbone aren’t as nasty as they looked underneath all the dried blood - he’s not going to need any stitches, so you can just slap gauze and medical tape over those bad boys and let the platelets do their job. It’s getting increasingly hard to concentrate on the next set of injuries when you can feel the warm air of his breathing near your neck. Shit . Your eyes hone in on what your hands are doing; it’s not enough to distract you from his burning gaze on you. 

“The front’s done,” you pull back, only now noticing you’ve been standing between his goddamn legs . It’s a miracle your voice doesn’t shake at the revelation, but you’re sure that he can hear the deafening way your heart is beating. Say something.  Anything. The silence is all too unnerving. 

“There’s some cuts on my back as well,” he finally says after you’ve surveyed your work and start opening your bag to find the bio-waste disposal bags. You pause. You suppress the urge to rub your hands together maniacally. 

“Alright, turn around,” you laugh internally at the absurdity of the situation - he does nothing but spout frustration at you, yet there are no complaints or criticisms escaping him as he turns around obediently. It’s not a full turn; the angle of his turned back invites you to take a seat beside him on the mattress. Woah there. 

You wait a second or so before realising that, yes, he’s waiting for you to sit down and isn’t actually going to bite your head off for doing so. It’s extremely surreal to sink into the firm mattress beside him; you doubt anyone’s made it this far in this goddamn cave . It’s even more surreal feeling the wisps of body heat brushing against you from the thighs still covered in his Spidersuit: a sharp contrast to his cool torso. 

Be professional. Your eyes skim over the various scrapes littering his shoulders, and fortunately, all of them just need a quick wipedown and a plaster. It’s a lot easier to daub the antiseptic on without his gaze on him; that is, until you become slightly enraptured by the way his muscles tense (almost imperceptibly) at the sting of the antiseptic. You’re not as smooth as you wish, fumbling the packet of plasters while you revel in the fact his gaze is elsewhere. 

“Almost done,” you reassure him after he tenses up slightly after you brush your fingers over your handiwork on his lower spine. Can he feel the way your pulse is absolutely electrified right now? You don’t even like him, but the proximity might just send you into cardiac arrest. 

“It’s fine,” his tone is slightly strained. You raise your eyebrows, but ultimately ignore it in favour of patching up those last few cuts. 

“Done,” you try not to sound too regretful. You hate the way your heart’s beating more and more rapidly; it takes everything in you to quickly gather your materials and stand up from the bed.  

“Thanks,” the begrudging gratitude that comes out from him forces you to look back at him wordlessly. You take the time to search his face with your eyes, noting the slight sheen of sweat on his face. Is he…

“Are you running a fever?” the question escapes your lips as you move closer, whilst the medical supplies are unceremoniously dumped onto a side table. Your hand carefully places itself on his forehead (paying no heed to the very close proximity of his teeth). There’s no actual heat radiating from him, but the way he’s currently looking at you with that half-lidded gaze is making you feel like the delirious one. Why isn’t he saying anything?  

Say something.

The back of your hand slowly moves away from his face, but you freeze as your wrist is grasped by his hand. What is he… His skin is cold, but the prickles left behind on your wrist are burning and spreading all over your body. You’re not breathing; you’re waiting for his next move. 

“You are so frustrating,” he says through gritted teeth - though it lacks any of the usual bite that’s present. He speaks! You can feel his little angry exhale on your hand from where he’s holding it near his face. You still haven’t moved away, instead choosing to observe the way his facial muscles contort into an expression of fervid displeasure. “To think you’d have such an effect..”

The last part is muttered under his breath, as if you weren’t the intended recipient, but you hear it clear as day. What effect? The heavy implication creeps up inside your mind; it wriggles its way through the cracks in your composure. Surely he didn’t mean it that way, right? Surely you’re just annoying? You can feel your breathing get more shallow as his gaze flickers back up to your face - it searches ravenously, focusing on each feature as if it were a long awaited oasis in the arid desert. 

His hand lets go carefully - it’s so unlike his usual brash movements that you almost laugh. Yet, once you’re free from his hold, you don’t make any move to leave again; it’s truly a strange magnetic effect you’re enveloped in. The carmine glow of monitors in the corner of the room is the only weak illumination in the room (it’s making the situation feel way too intimate in your opinion). 

“Do you want me to stay?” your words escape your lips in a hushed voice. You can’t help but feel the addictive thrum of confidence pulse through your veins, your very capillaries . Maybe the unidentifiable emotion roiling within his eyes isn’t an avid dislike of you? You don’t know why you offered. You’re not sure if you even want to know. Still, you can’t help but feel prickles of curiosity at whatever’s making him so flustered. 

Do you know the implications of your offer?

“Do I want you to stay..” his repetition of your question might’ve seemed mocking at any other time, yet the unusual hushed cadence begs to differ. Anticipation. That’s what’s keeping you rooted in place for fear of disturbing this unfolding scene. You’ve never seen him like this - it’s a delicate balance your heart is begging for you not to destroy. 

“After I let you put your hands all over me, and you’re asking if I want you to stay?” he leans slightly closer towards you - you’re extremely glad he’s still sitting and not absolutely looming over you like the tower he is. You can feel your erratic heartbeat pulsate through your entire being at his words. It’s getting incredibly hard to think when anticipation in your stomach gives in to the rising swell of desire. 

“You’re yet to be put in your place, and you’re asking if I want you to stay?” you feel a shiver run through your body at his proximity, yet you’re the one leaning into him now. You’re so close you can feel his breath fan over your neck; it’s the only part of his body that’s remotely warm, so much so that it’s absolutely scorching you. Or maybe it’s the white-hot blood you can feel blossoming on your face. 

His cold hand ghosts over your chin, tilting your face down with nothing more than a brush of his thumb. Please. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch the muscles of his face contort into a slight smile. 

“Do you want this?” his brows furrow slightly. A question. Your veins already thrum with the answer. 

“ Yes ,” you respond, feeling both your brain and heart work together to cheer you on for once. This better not be a dream . You can see the flash of teeth as he smiles, before you’re roughly pulled onto his lap. It’s actually comfortable to straddle his thighs, you note, but you can’t exactly focus on that anymore when he draws you into a searing kiss. 

He tastes of the coppery tang of blood. It’s the first thing you notice as he slots his mouth against yours. The second thing you notice is how impatient he is, probing at your lip with his fangs while simultaneously pressing you up closer and closer until you’re practically melting into him. You don’t miss a beat; you snake your hands into his hair until they’re buried in the thick brown waves. Your fingers slightly pull at the back, and he lets out a small groan into your mouth at the sensation. 

Sharp fangs graze your lower lip ever so slightly, but the pain is immediately alleviated by his tongue running over the cut. He’s sucking on it - evidently, there’s some blood left behind (or maybe even traces of the venom coursing through those fangs). His little pleased hum reverberates within you; you find yourself being flustered more by that than the way he’s rubbing circles into your thigh with his thumb. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he says in a low voice after the two of you pull apart for air. The string of saliva connecting your lips to his is tinted a rich sanguine; the bridge linking the two of you is entrancing, right before it breaks. His words set your very veins ablaze. 

“ Please ,” you don’t even know what you’re pleading for , only that the pace is far too slow for your liking. It seems he feels the same way, since his face dips lower so his mouth can settle on your neck. He’s careful not to fully sink his teeth into your skin, instead choosing to lightly skim them over your pulse points to elicit small gasps out of you. Your hands grasp and twist so he’s pressed closer and closer into you. It’s strange - you never thought that he’d be the one to coax such a reaction out of you. 

“Desperate, aren’t we?” you can feel the infuriating bastard curl his lips upwards as he sucks marks you know aren’t going to fade for days into the side of your neck. The mocking lilt of his question makes all the blood rush straight down - it’s unfair how unbearable he’s being. Your nails are no doubt leaving marks of their own as you let your hands roam the vast expanse of his back. 

Almost involuntarily, your hips move to gain a semblance of any relief, any friction, but the firm grip of his hand on your thigh prevents you from doing even that. You hiss as his sharp nails dig into the skin (if you get tetanus you’re officially suing). 

“What a pathetic little slut,” he coos into your ear; he can definitely hear the way your breath hitches at his harsh tone. You can’t even bring yourself to respond. “Getting turned on from a few kisses?” 

Fuck . 

You can’t even deny it; instead, you turn your head to the side as if you can escape his prying eyes with your embarrassment. It’s futile. You know he can feel your racing pulse against his lips as he once again presses them to the side of your jaw to coax small sounds out of you. 

“I bet you could get off with just my thigh like the filth you are,” his words drip condescendingly, but you can barely hear him over the pounding heartbeat in the back of your head. You furiously bite back the whine that’s emerging from your throat from his fleeting touches. “Will you?” 

“Fuck, Miguel,” you choke out as he moves one of his legs away so you’re completely pressed against his thigh. 

“Get yourself off,” he utters, seemingly bored, but you both know he’s anything but from the way his eyes gaze intently at you. “But first..”

A quick, experimental swipe of his claw-like nails leaves your plain shirt neatly cleaved in two. So impatient . You can’t say that you’ll miss it, but still. You pull the shirt off, until your torso is just as exposed as his. His gaze sweeps over you ravenously. Then, he leans back onto the bed with his elbows propping him up so he can enjoy the show. What a bastard . 

You bite back a groan as your hips stutter forward; the friction is already causing that sensation in your stomach to build up, even if it’s barely anything. It’s probably due Miguel’s eyes raking over you with tightly restrained desire. You don’t miss the way his eyelids lower and he looks away for a brief instant as you keep your eyes trained right on him. The tightness of your pants does absolute miracles to fill your mind with a pleasure-induced haze, so much so that you’re leaning forward and putting your hands on the curves of his waist (as if they were handlebars) to steady yourself. 

You can go slow without losing out on the mind-numbing friction you’re experiencing - the absolute pressure is slowly driving you to that brink without you having to even try. Still, you can’t help but feel a small gnawing trickle of disappointment; will this end this soon? You push it out of your mind as you continue moving against his thigh - that haze you’re in is too powerful to worry too much about the what-ifs. You succumb to the pleasure, slowly, but surely. 

It’s almost comical as that pleasant haze is snatched away. Even with heightened reflexes, you barely process the swiftness with which Miguel sits up and somehow manoeuvres you so your back is sinking into the sheets of his bed. You can’t help but cry out in disappointment. 

“You thought I’d let you fall apart so easily?” he’s practically purring with that vexing smile on his face - you almost prefer his permanent scowl to this smug expression. Still, being manhandled by him makes your heart drum louder than ever in your ears. “After your constant misconduct ? Open your mouth, whore.”

You open your mouth obediently, and he lets out a pleased hum. You instinctively know what he’s about to do, so it’s not a surprise when he lets a thick string of spit fall into your mouth. You swallow, noticing how his eyes trace over your throat with barely suppressed lust. 

“ Please ,” you choke out, helpless with your wrists pinned to either side of your head. You can hear a dry little chuckle sound out from him. 

“Speak up,” he leans in closer to practically spit the words out. A slight shiver runs through you when his breath ghosts over your ear. “What does the little slut want me to do to him?” 

It’s so utterly laughable; his words make you so goddamn pliant in his hands. 

“I want you in me,” you don’t miss how his body tenses at your bold request. The curve of his throat bobs when he swallows thickly. 

“I’m going to ruin you,” he promises quietly. His head dips low to trail a path down your chest with his mouth - you know you’ll be absolutely covered in marks by the time he’s done with you, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You revel in his touch. You lean into him like a goddamn moth to flame. 

With a swift tug, he pulls down the elastic band of your pants (you thank whatever’s above that they’re spared the same treatment as your shirt). You’re left shivering as his mouth travels to mark up your thighs - he’s practically burning bruises into you at this point. 

Dim red lighting washes over every sharp crevice and line on his face. The sight before you eases the frustration building at the agonizingly slow pace he’s setting. More . It’s as if he’s heard your silent plea; before you know it, one of his fingers slips past your underwear and enters you, coated in what feels to be lube. Fuck . A drawn out string of muttered expletives escapes your lips as he continues at his slow pace. 

“Are you frustrated?” he mocks, resting the side of his head on your inner thigh as he languidly moves his finger. That prick knows it’s not enough; he’s inviting you to beg for it. It’s humiliating, but you can’t bring yourself to care as desperation pools in your stomach. 

“Faster, please -” your words cut off with a strangled moan as he pushes another finger in easily. Your hand desperately grasps his hair to ground yourself, earning a reverberating groan against your inner thigh. Fervently, you pray those walls of his are soundproof; the obscene noises coming from both your mouth and between your legs fill up the room quickly. 

His composure seems to be rapidly slipping as well, judging by how his enthralled gaze is focused on how you’re taking his fingers. His chest is rising and falling erratically, and his eyes flicker between your lowered eyes and where you’re pulling him in greedily. As soon as you increase in volume, he pulls his fingers out, leaving you so unbearably empty . 

The next thing you notice is the neon red ropes that buzz with static energy trussing your wrists up - it can only be his handiwork, though you’ve never been this close to those unusual red webs. You don’t question it; instead, you’re rapt watching Miguel, who’s hooking his fingers around the bunched up material around his waist, and pulling it down ever so slowly as if he’s putting on a show for you. Maybe he is , considering his eyes are right on you and watching your expression with an underlying smugness as you take the sight in. 

He’s blocking out the vermillion glow of those monitors, practically towering over you and making you swallow nervously thinking about how exactly you’re going to take him. That worry pushes its way into the back of your mind as you decide you don’t particularly care when he’s haloed by that lighting as if he were an angel.

He looks like he’s relishing your reaction when he pulls his underwear off; after all, he’s suppressing that dry, mirthful laugh at your widened stare. You can’t help it - he’s massive . You’re enraptured by the small hiss he lets out at the coldness of the lube as he pumps himself, knowing very well he’s just as entertained as you. 

“Scared you won’t be able to take it?” he challenges, parting your legs easily with the faintest pressure of his claws digging into your thighs. His pupils are completely blown out with lust; they’re honed in on you completely as if he were hunting you down. “Like you weren’t desperately fucking yourself on my fingers a minute ago?”

He cages you easily: too easily. You’re so malleable for him already, and he hasn’t even begun. Your wrists are starting to feel deliciously numb from the low buzz of his crimson web, and you can feel your breathing start to accelerate. 

“ Please , Miguel,” whatever scraps of dignity remaining in you aren’t enough to stop you from begging him to do anything . “I can take it.”

And whatever self-control he’s been displaying (hardly any) up to this point swiftly dissipates as he leans in to swallow the moan that emerges when he finally puts the tip in. He’s still moving all too slowly, but the stretch is making up for it. A low whine escapes your throat as he presses in, and you’re teetering between pain and pleasure. 

“Thought you said you could take it,” he lets out an amused exhale into your mouth, not going any deeper to accustom you to the burn. “And I’m only halfway.”

You rock your hips into his and revel in his groans, prompting him to slowly bottom out. Holy fuck . It’s enough to make your mind blur with a foggy haze at the absolute fullness he’s causing. He’s clearly enjoying himself, or at least, his expression is contorted into one of sharp amusement. 

“Faster,” you urge him on. He can feel your wanting in every arrhythmic breath you take. 

“So desperate,” he groans out as you roll your hips to generate any friction. His chest dips down until it’s pressing up against your bound wrists, only adding to that sharp pressure building in your stomach. “I bet you just want to be used like a degenerate toy.”

Please . 

He doesn’t allow you time for thought at all when he starts moving; his pace is unrelenting and brutal, forcing noises so obscene out of you that you’re praying for whatever next-door neighbour he might have. The snap of his hips into yours is slowly building up that aching pleasure, and your back slowly arches so he can target that particular spot better.

You’re very rapidly unravelling, even more so when he bites down into your shoulder. The pain coursing through your veins swiftly devolves into pleasure. You can already taste the blissful wave that’s steadily approaching you. 

His movements become more sloppy as he becomes more vocal at the way you’re taking him. It’s incredibly attractive to watch that carnal desire overtake him. 

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he praises, digging into the sides of your shoulders with his claws. It goes straight to your pleasure-addled mind, even more so when you hear the wet sounds of skin on skin resounding through the room. “Like a personal fucktoy, don’t you think?”

You can’t even say anything in response, wrapping your legs tightly around him so he can reach even deeper than he has. The overwhelming urge to let go is building up quickly in your stomach, and that heat is climbing all over your skin and mind. 

"Fuck, I’m gonna-” you choke out as Miguel angles your hips down with one hand, pressing into just the right spot. He swallows your cries as your mind goes completely blank with pleasure, still moving into you as you reach that climax. His movements draw that euphoric state out for as long as possible, before the waves of pleasure become overwhelming for your fatigued mind. 

“Miguel-” your whine is broken off as he moves into an upright position, digging his claws into your hips as he keeps moving against them. 

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?” he asks mockingly, wiping up a tear leaking from your eye with the rough pad of his thumb. You succumb to the touch, taking him in all his entirety. Your gaze trails from the frustrated lines on his face, lower, to the rivulets of your cum splattered on his lower abdomen, and finally to where he’s staring, completely enraptured. The breath in your throat hitches as you observe the bulge in your stomach fading and reappearing in time with his thrusts. “I’m not stopping until you fulfil your purpose.”

You feel a trickle of trepidation as he pulls back so only the tip remains in you. 

“What are you-” you trail off, noticing the way his lips curl in anticipation. Oh god . Surely, he won’t-

“Getting myself off,” his lethal smile is the most foreboding one you’ve ever seen, before he slams his hips into yours. It hits that sweet spot instantly and you cry out pathetically. He’s got you seeing the very galaxies with how numbed your mind feels. Distantly, you can feel tears of pleasure swimming down the sides of your face, and his own groans of pleasure. 

He pulls back again, leaving you empty once more, and repeats his earlier motion. You’re practically broken over his dick, but the waves of pleasure aren’t letting up any time soon. It seems the sensations are also getting to him; his powerful movements are slowly becoming sloppier by the second. 

“Want me to cum in you, like the slut you are?” Miguel groans out, coming more and more undone. His question makes you tighten around him, which earns you another breathy exhale. “Getting turned on by the very thought of me breeding you?” 

“ Fuck , yes,” you cry out involuntarily. You can feel your heartbeat pulsing its rapid beat in your stomach as he fills you up again and again. His grip on your thighs is slipping as he messily fucks into you. Obscene squelching noises fill up the room, but you’re too far gone again to care if the whole goddamn building hears the two of you. 

You can feel him desperately trying to maintain any sort of grip of control as his hips snap into yours fervently. Over and over, he repeats your name in a chorus as if it’s his lifeline. That aching feeling in your stomach is slowly returning, ardently wanting him to continue his unforgiving pace. 

With a start, you realise the binds on your wrists have dissolved due to his wavering concentration. Immediately, your hands wind their way around his back to steady yourself, scratching harsh marks into the muscles. He lets out a wanton groan at the sharp sensation; his breaths are coming faster and faster, and you know he’s close. 

Your fingers thread upwards through his hair to pull him into you. He breathlessly kisses you, though it’s more a desperate clash of teeth than anything. His lips part slightly in pleasure and he stiffens minutely. Got him . 

You swallow all the noises he’s making, feeling hot spurts of his cum paint your insides. He doesn’t stop moving ; it’s as if he’s making sure not a single drop is wasted. He rides out the high by pulling you ever closer to press against his body. The shuddering halt of his hips against yours lets you know the fatigue’s taken over him, but he doesn’t stop kissing you, and he doesn’t pull out either. 

The salty taste of sweat is prominent on your tongue when you drag it across the skin of his neck, leaving your own marks as a petty form of revenge. He lets out a sharp exhale, but doesn’t protest as he lets you roll him over so that you’re lying on top of him, connected nonetheless. The movement makes him whine , on the other hand, which you know you’re never going to forget. 

“Fuck,” you mumble against his skin, feeling him shift to gaze down upon your head that’s propped on his chest. “You are so lucky I don’t have any shifts tomorrow.”

Your head moves up and down on his chest as he lets out a tired laugh. Wincing, you prop yourself up on your palms so you can sit up and pull yourself off him. He groans lightly at the change, but you attempt to ignore it. 

Carefully, you rise to your knees with a pang of regret at the loss of him in you. When you look at him, he’s visibly entranced by the combined rivulets of fluids streaming from between your legs, as if he’s asking if he really did all that. 

“You can, uh, use my shower,” he offers, sounding extremely unapologetic. “And stay the night if you want.”

You don’t respond immediately, instead choosing to lean into his touch as he rubs small circles into your thighs. A pressing question emerges in your mind, however. 

“Do you always sleep with your doctors?”  

[mochinek0]

All that Glitters, Isn’t Gold

NOT ANOTHER ONE! This has also been on Wattpad for the longest time, but not here. 

Gabriel looks at the list of his son's monthly expenses and shook his head.

How could his son have fallen for the oldest trick in the book? He raised him right. He made sure he stayed healthy, he spoke multiple languages, he had extracurriculars that would look well on any university, got in with the right crowd, at least til he decided he wanted to go to public school. There, he met that temptress -Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She somehow found her way into his son's heart and his bank account.

Suddenly a door slamming brings him out of his daze.

 'What now?' he sighs. 

Gabriel opens his door slightly to see the Marinette grab her coat, as she yells at his son.

"No! I am returning the necklace!" she shouts.

"Didn't you like it? Was there not enough diamonds? Do you prefer rubies or sapphires?" questions Adrien.

"Enough! It's too much!" she shouted, "Yesterday, you bought me $200 worth of chocolates! This, this is too much! We are going to that store and returning it!"

Gabriel watches curiously as Adrien reaches out to her and grabs a slip of paper, before shredding it to ribbons and tossing it in the air like confetti.

"Adrien Agreste! You did not just tear up the receipt!" Marinette shouts.

Adrien stood their proudly, with a smug look on his face, as if he had won.

Gabriel opened the door wider to get a look at the 'show' as he sees the fire in her eyes burn bright.

He watched in awe as she put out the fire raging beneath her skin by taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

"Adrien." Marinette called out calmly.

The smug look on his son's face vanished and he watched as he took a step away from his petite girlfriend.

'Interesting.'

"Adrien. I didn't fall in love with you for your money. I don't need to be showered with gifts. I know Chloe was your only friend growing up, but I'm not her. I don't need utterly ridiculous amounts of jewelry or sweets." she spoke, causing his son to chuckle, "God knows I don't need anymore sweets; even if they were delicious."

"Hah! You liked my gift." his son teased.

" Well I couldn't return it! You opened it and ate one!" Marinette states, as she calms down, " Not my point, I love your gifts, but I don't need so many. Adrien, I am fine with movie nights to the theater or just curling up on the couch as you introduce me to new animes. I'm fine with kicking your butt at videogames every other night--"

"My pride isn't. I will beat you!" he interjected.

"Sure." she says, rolling her eyes. "See. This-" the petite girlfriend motions, pointing back and forth between the both of them, "is what I like. Being us. I'm fine with occasionally and by occasionally, I mean once a month, going to a restaurant of your choosing. I'm fine with something like this" as she hold up the new necklace, " on special occasions, like my birthday and such."

"But what if I want to spoil you?" Adrien questioned.

Marinette smiled and hugged her boyfriend, "Then you can spoil me slowly over time. Now, since you ripped up that receipt, I think it's time to teach you a lesson."

Gabriel stood at the top of the stairs as Marinette threw his son his jacket.

"Where are we going?" asked Adrien, hesitantly.

"To get you Ultra Mega Strike 4." she said, waiting for him to get ready.

"I told you, I'm not allowed to spend anymore this month." stated the younger Agreste.

"Exactly!" smiled his girlfriend, "I'm buying it for you."

"What?" Adrien questioned.

"Yep and to make sure you learn your lesson, every time you buy me something....let's say over $100, I'm going to do the same. Even if it means dipping into my babysitting and sewing funds."

"You can't be serious!" his son shouted.

"Oh, I am." she says, noticing Gabriel at the stairs, "Bye, Mr. Agreste, I'll bring him back shortly."

"Father!" he pleads.

"I believe Ms. Dupain-Cheng has a valuable lesson to teach you, Son. Never underestimate, women." Gabriel smirks, as his son is dragged out by his petite girlfriend, shocked.

'She's not so bad after all.'

TAG LIST: @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @meme991001 @vixen-uchiha @abrx2002 @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @animegirlweeb @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus

[abybweisse]

Hello there, I have been going around asking a few media analysts/theorists the same (albiet kinda contreversial??) question.

soooo i think the likelyhood of Sebas eating o!ciel's soul is hella likely towards the end of the series.

and although i think this isn't a bad ending, i am TERREFIED over how it will play out visually.

In the black butler live-action movie, Sebas kisses our earl in order to eat his soul, and in the end of the season 1 anime, a similar implication was shown.

I mean, I know we can't exactly conclude what scene Yana will draw out for us or even the solid conclusion in general, but do you believe that visually, a "kiss" between both characters will be shown in the manga?

Personally, I would be utterly dissapointed to follow a manga for so long for it to show a whole minor and adult kissing, even if it isn't romantic, because people will interpret it the wrong way (s*baciel shippers) or just be justifably uncomfortable by it (normal kuro fans).

have a nice day!

How will/would Sebastian collect our earl's soul?

Well, keep in mind that the live action movie doesn't even have "Ciel" in it. It's Sebastian brought back to the human realm by a female direct descendant of "Ciel", suggesting that "Ciel" lives to be old enough to have kids. It's implied that Undertaker is out of the picture by now, as the somewhat steampunk reaper is no one we've met before.

In the downright horrible adaptation, everyone in the future, by then, is now Japanese. The girl has to deal with situations that are ridiculously similar to her ancestor's ordeals. Basically, it was like... a way to have that kiss without both characters (or actors) being male, as if that made the age difference no longer relevant. Age of consent in Japan is rather low (like 13?), but still. And they work-in the idea that she has to dress as a boy to be taken seriously by others (and get her inheritance?), just like our earl thinks he has to pretend to be his older twin. This gives those shippers something to work with, despite the fact it's a female actor and a female character.

However, in s1 of the anime, Sebastian does look like he's about to go in for the kiss of death. That's not necessarily what he's about to do -- he might just get close to our earl's face and literally (and not sexually) suck out his soul. Like... we might see his soul physically ripped from his body and passing through the air from one to the other. But, again, fan service prevails in the anime, so they stop right before Sebastian begins to feed... leaving the intended next move to the imaginations of the viewers.

What worries me is the fact the manga series is also chock full of fan service for shippers. I'm hoping it's a "rip his soul out" scene without locked lips, though I expect their faces to get close, as they have before several times throughout the series.

Chronologically, we have this scene (drawn twice) from ch138 and ch139, depicting when they first made the contract. He gets right into his face (and upside down) when discussing payment.

Then ch62, the infamous bath scene shortly after Phantomhive Manor is restored.

And ch147, just after our earl destroys a roast duck.

There have been other occasions, I'm sure, but these are three very memorable ones... and two are about eating.

It's interesting to note that the only time we've seen Sebastian approach our earl's face upside down (so far) is when clarifying the terms of his payment once the contract is completed.

I would like to see something similarly creepy (like upside down) when it's time to collect that payment... if their faces even have to get close. Reapers collect souls without getting close to faces. Then again, they use special tools and don't eat the souls. However, I imagine that demons don't necessarily have to remove souls through the mouth/nose, either, if they don't want to.

Sebastian, being the "perverted gourmet" that Yana-san calls him, is likely to choose a method that adds some garnishing touch to his meal. I honestly can't say what that might be, other than doing something that brings forth certain emotions (from the master) that enhance the flavors he seeks.

I sure hope that's not kissing.

[ghostmartyr]

I don’t really think Ymir went back on anything her arc built up to, I think her goal was to live a life that she could be proud of, and by saving r&b she followed her principles. It’s tragic but that’s the irony of Ymir, she always wanted to be selfish but couldn’t escape her nature of being a good person. Historia on the other hand…yeah her arc is fucking infuriating

I'm breaking my own commitment to not dip my toes into this, because impulse control what impulse control.

Here's my starting point problem with that:

Ymir does not save Reiner and Bertolt.

At best, her actions get them a pat on the head by their oppressors. They continue to live out being child soldiers for a society that considers them devils. Bertolt dies in their service almost immediately after. Reiner is a suicidal mess whose will to live is bound up in other child soldiers he's responsible for.

No one is saved.

That's a fair tragedy, with someone trying to repay a debt only for it to amount to nothing because the cycles they're all caught up in are larger than any one personal act of altruism. Even trying to good can't undo the harm of systemic cruelty. It's a valid plot for a story like this.

Except Ymir is one of the few characters who realizes how fucked the world is. She's a better person than she ever wants to be, because being good gets you jack shit and she knows that -- but she can't help but lend people the hand she was never given. On its face, that makes her a good candidate for a hopeless sacrifice that saves no one.

The core problem is that, again, Ymir knows how fucked the world is.

You’re going to kill yourself, the ultimate act of submission. Is that how much you want to please the people who treated you like a nuisance?! Ymir, Chapter 40

Ymir kills herself for Reiner and Bertolt, providing the people who left her with decades of living a nightmare a weapon.

Doing stupid shit to help Reiner and Bertolt out tracks. If they hadn't shown up, she'd still be in that nightmare, and she killed their friend.

But she specifically kills herself in a way that aids people who violated her, who will continue to abuse Reiner and Bertolt, and continue to launch offensives that put Historia's life at risk. Ymir has the knowledge to understand that she's not saving anyone from anything here.

There are many potential layers of story that could have been approached with this, but the bottom line for me is that Ymir's most solid convictions are all ignored when she goes with Reiner and Bertolt. There are facets you can examine to make it make sense, just as there are all kinds of things you can examine with Historia's reversal of her arc. It's always a tragedy when someone fails their principles so stunningly. It's the Bad End coming as was dreaded.

It's just that the story does not examine any of it. It's taken as a given that Ymir goes through with this, leaving us with Ymir killing herself for people who hate her in order to give Reiner and Bertolt a temporary reprieve that only condemns them to a familiar suffering.

Even then, you could make a case for characters doing stupid things if the story at least admitted that it was a ridiculously bad idea on all fronts. Our protagonist's arc is built on that. Eren makes bad choice after bad choice after bad choice and every character in his vicinity rightly goes "what." Characters can utterly fail the best of themselves and it can still be a compelling story.

With Ymir, there simply is no story. She chooses to die, and it's taken as inevitable that a character who is so anti-fate and so anti-dickheads would die in a way that benefits a "fate" she rejected and a bunch of dickheads.

Ymir kills herself, and it makes Marley happy and saves no one. She knows enough about the world to understand that.

I do not personally think that the story should get credit for tragic irony that amounts to "what if everything went to hell" without actually bothering to come up with a why for everything going to hell.

Eren's a tragic disaster; Ymir's a dropped thread.

[ashfae]

A03 meme

A03 meme time, except I've been writing and posting fanfic to the internet since before A03. And before fanfiction.net. And before Geocities. And before the World Wide Web. There's fic of mine with ASCII doodle illustrations somewhere out there where the wild BBSes once roamed…I was tagged by @moveslikebucky; thanks Buckie, here goes. <3

how many works do you have on Ao3? 54. (and yes if we added in all the fanfic outside of A03 it'd be a larger number but I can't be bothered to consolidate it all)

what’s your total Ao3 word count? 341,744, which is better than I was expecting, yay.

what fandoms do you write for? At the moment it's just Good Omens, but there's been a lot of Dragon Age, some Lord of the Rings, and way back in the day there was Harry Potter and a lot of anime. I am toying with dipping my toe back in LotR, there's a thing I wrote ages ago that's entirely finished and just needs editing and I've been meaning to get it out there for ages. It's long though, so that'd be a commitment.

what are your top five fics by kudos? What Custom Strictly Divided (507) Like an Echo Far Away (415) (this one wasn't in the top five last week when I first started writing this post! So I think @mielpetite gets all the credit for boosting it with amazing fanart) What Comes From Your Hand (402) Give Me Your Illusions (346) Nightswimming (307)

do you respond to comments? Yep! Sometimes just with "Thanks!" or hearts but I try to. Though they get away from me sometimes and then I do a bunch all at once.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Definitely Warmaiden, which is my "What if Éowyn got the One Ring?" fic, from an idea that occurred to me one day and wouldn't leave. Clearly that doesn't end well for her, or anyone. From GO fandom it's probably Silent Night, which I still want to expand into a larger fic to be a set with Give Me Your Illusions. Someday, someday.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Most of them! But for the happiest I'd say Swan Lake Revised, cowritten with @mostlyjustgoose. And if we ever get part three up it'll be even more happy. And smutty. Very smutty.

Do you get hate on fics? Very rarely. I've been lucky there.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Oh here's the irony. I used to do a lot a lot a LOT of online roleplaying and mygod I wrote smut. So much. So. Much. I don't do as much rp these days but even so the threads I have going are still frequently pure filth. But in fic, much less so, even though I want to. Why it all gets channeled into rp and not as much into my fanfic I do not know. Honestly I want to write a lot more of it. Smut forever!!

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Sometimes, when I have a good idea. But the craziest one I ever wrote, ages ago, was a pure crackfic for my 21st birthday, where I imagined a bizarre party for myself in which LOADS of fictional characters (mostly from anime) showed up so I could make them interact in wacky ways. It was utterly ridiculous but amused me. Making all the characters voiced by Megumi "She's Everywhere!!" Hayashabara meet up and wonder why they all sound alike, for example. Also I wish I'd written an Artemis Fowl breaks into Gringotts to rob it fic before I became so disillusioned with both Artemis Fowl and Harry Potter. Heigh ho.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yep. It was impressive how lazy the person was about it too, they stole all the html as well. Someone brought it to my attention pretty quickly.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Twice, yes. Into Portuguese, as I remember.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Hi @mostlyjustgoose, I adore you, please co-write things with me forever. <3 Our baby is Unusual Strings, a reverse omens AU love story, and it's SO. CLOSE. to being done. So close. Aughhhh. I love our angel!Crowley and demon!Aziraphale so, so much.

What’s your all time favorite ship? Aziraphale and Crowley, Faramir and Éowyn, Hiccup and Astrid. Don't make me choose between those three, my head will explode.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Shut up shut up I will finish all of them ALL OF THEM I SAY…sigh. Beauty and the Battousai. Though I should probably mention A Demon in the Dreaming and The Queen Bee. (they're plotted and outlined and parts are written aaahhh come on ADHD meds help me out here)

What are your writing strengths? Dialogue, definitely. I'm good at putting humour into things. Got compared to Patricia Wrede once and honestly, life goal achieved there. I can do memorable phrases and descriptions and edit well.

What are your writing weaknesses? What is plot. Why does it hate me. Why are my original characters one-dimensional cardboard. What is worldbuilding and how do I do it without getting stalled into paralysis. Baaaah. This is why my original novel will never be finished and I keep running back to fanfic instead.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Hoo boy contentious subject! I love reading it so long as it's translated somewhere in the footnotes, I'd be happy to write it if I knew other languages, the question of whether it should be italicized or not has apparently Officially been settled by The Publishing Industry on the side of Not.

First fandom you wrote for? Oh gosh I think it was the Dragonlance books by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. The first that ever got shown to other people was Ranma 1/2 though.

Favorite fic you’ve written? It's still What Custom Strictly Divided. Though Unusual Strings comes very close.

Gaaah I'm always worried I'll tag people who don't want to be tagged so, erk, um...if they're willing, @racketghost, @indieninja92, and @holycatsandrabbits! And you, if you're reading and want to do this, please say I tagged you. I meant to really, honest. ;)

[ninemelodies]

candle in the dark

also on ao3 astarion & tav, gen, no warnings. astarion finds tav awake really late one night. it's not a problem, until it is.

As he steps out of the trees, Astarion realizes there is something different about the camp. When he had left to hunt, the camp had been quiet and dark. The campfire was banked down to embers and everyone seemed to be asleep, or, at least, in their own tents. 

It took him a moment to realize that the difference was coming from Tav’s tent. The opening had been pinned up slightly, letting in the cool night breeze and a candle flame flickered in time with the wind. This wouldn’t normally be something worth noting - Tav had a habit to stay up just a bit later than the rest of them, but this was different. Dawn was in a couple of hours and they were still awake? 

It wasn’t like Astarion cared about Tav, not really, but they were the first person to be on his side once news broke that he was a vampire. So maybe he owed them, just a little bit. Maybe it was just because he wanted to make sure they stayed on his side. It didn’t really matter. Plus, in the off chance that they had fallen asleep with a candle burning, he had to make sure the idiot didn’t burn down their whole camp.

Quietly, Astarion creeps over. Through the tent flap Astarion can see Tav, lounging on their back and reading a book. 

The book Tav is holding looks like it has been through hell. The cover is torn and water has made the pages wavy and brittle. Tav doesn’t seem to mind. They flip through pages at an impressive speed. Astarion would think they were just skimming if it weren’t for the way they would pause sometimes, brow crinkling and frowning, as they parsed out a more complex paragraph. 

Astarion watches them read about ten pages before he decides to step inside Tav’s tent. “You know,” is all he manages to get out before Tav jerks and swears (in a much more colorful manner than Astarion had expected). 

The novel slips from their grip and lands on their face. They pick it up gently and stare at Astarion as they set the book to the side. “What are you doing here?” they hiss. 

Astarion eyes them carefully. Yes, he had startled them, but there’s something else in the hunch of their shoulders, in the harsh set of their mouth. They’re acting guilty , like Astarion had caught them with their hands down their pants. He smirks. “I was just going to tell you that you were broadcasting an invitation to every pest in the area.” 

“Like you?” Tav mutters, under their breath. 

Astarion chooses not to respond. 

When he doesn’t reply or turn to leave, Tav sighs and throws their arms over their face. They lay there for just a moment longer, before they take a deep breath. “Thank you, Astarion. Did you need anything else?”

When Tav put their arms over their face, their hair shifted, revealing the smaller pointed ears of a half-elf. Anyone with elf heritage could see in the dark, and Astarion knew, from personal experience, that reading a book without a candle would be no issue. The whole situation begins to strike him as utterly ridiculous. “You can see in the dark,” he states, incredulously. “Why are you reading by candle light?” 

The portion of Tav’s neck visible above their collar flushes a light red. They mutter something in response, so quick and quiet even Astarion couldn’t make it out. 

Astarion takes a step closer and crouches down next to them. “I'm sorry, darling, I didn't catch that. You’re going to have to speak up.” 

Tav sighs again, long and put out. They pull their arms away from their face and sit up to glare at Astarion. “I said that my mother told me my eyes would go bad, if I continued to read in the dark.” 

“Human?” Astarion guessed. 

Tav nodded. “She raised me on her own, I don't think she believed me when I said I could see just fine in the dark.” They shrug. “It doesn't matter anymore, she died several years ago, but I just…can’t shake the habit.” 

Astarion blinks at them. He's not used to Tav making offhand comments like that, ones that were kind of sad. That was his job. Rather than dive into, well, all of that , right now, Astarion deflects. “Well, far be it from me to judge your habits. However,” and here he leans forward, firmly inserting himself into Tav’s personal space. To keep his balance, he rests one hand on the book Tav had set aside. “I insist you get some sleep, seeing as how you are half-human and also our fearless leader. It wouldn’t do to have you die in battle because of some book, hm?” 

Tav stares at Astarion. Astarion does not miss the way their gaze drops from his eyes to his mouth and then back. Good, Astarion thought, it meant his plan to secure his own protection was working. However, this time he had a different reason for teasing Tav - he needed them distracted. 

Astarion grins at Tav, before standing up so suddenly that they lean away from him. 

“No, I suppose not,” Tav says, tone far more guarded than it was a moment ago. 

“Good,” Astarion says. He holds up the novel he had snagged so that Tav can see it. “I'll just be taking this with me then. You can retrieve it in the morning.” 

Tav’s eyes widen as they realize what Astarion is holding. They go to lunge for it, but Astarion is faster. He is outside of Tav’s tent and heading towards his own before Tav can even stand fully. 

“Sleep, darling,” Astarion calls over his shoulder. “If you die because you’re too tired to function, I will not be reviving you and I will make sure no one else does either.” 

“You wouldn’t dare,” Tav challenges. 

Astarion pauses and turns on his heel to look Tav in the face. “Are you entirely sure that’s something you want to test?” Tav's lips press into a thin line and Astarion knows he’s won. “No, I didn't think so. Now, sleep .” He waves his hand in a shooing motion and Tav rolls their eyes, but they do turn to head back into their tent.

By the time Astarion makes it to his tent, Tav’s tent is dark, the flap still pinned open for the breeze. Astarion can’t say for sure they’re asleep, but at least they’re trying.  

Astarion ducks into his tent and sets the novel gently into his pack. It seems important to Tav. He will keep good on his word and will return it in the morning. He is not a good person, not moral by any standards, he has stolen many things, some of them extremely precious and personal, but for some reason, the idea of doing that to Tav makes something dark settle in his stomach. It’s not good for business, he tells himself, if he makes Tav mad, then he will be on their bad side, and everything he has worked for so far will have been for naught. 

In the dull light cast by the moon, Astarion stares at the novel he had stolen. Dawn was still a few hours off, and he had been awfully bored lately. With a sigh, he settles on his bedroll, pulls the novel out, and begins to read. 

***

That’s how Tav finds him the next morning. Astarion finishes the last page and looks up to find Tav standing in the entrance to his tent. Tav’s green hair is frizzy, tangled, and mushed on one side where they slept. The bag that he can see under their eye (the other is hidden behind a dark green tattoo), is still darker than Astarion would really like it to be considering he’s staking his life on this person, but small steps. An hour or two of sleep was better than no sleep. 

Tav blinks at him, slow and groggy like they had woken up and wandered their way to Astarion first thing. “Did you…did you read it all?” they ask as their eyes drop to the book Astarion is still holding. Their eyes flick back to Astarion’s face and a frown settles across their face. “So you can stay up reading and I can't?” Tav crosses their arms and leans their weight onto one leg. 

“My dear, I am an elf. I don't sleep , I trance, and I had already done so before I went hunting last night.” Astarion stands and hands Tav their book back. “So yes, I can stay up reading and you can’t. It was a rather good book.”

“It’s my favorite,” Tav says. “There's a sequel, but the main character is different. The hero of this book is important to me, I can -” like they realized they were rambling, Tav cuts themselves off and presses the book closer to their chest. 

Astarion raises a brow, but whatever Tav was going to say, they don’t. “You can, what? You relate to the main character?” Astarion asks. “That’s rather concerning, given that he seems to seriously lack any common sense. You would think he wants to die, given the way he throws himself into any dangerous situation with no hesitation.” Tav stiffens across from him and it does not escape Astarion’s notice. Has he hit just a little too close to home? Would Tav hate him if he pressed just a little further? He hesitates before asking, “Is there something you want to talk about?” 

It’s not something Astarion would usually offer. It’s not like he really cares, he reasons, this is all just part of the plan to butter Tav up, to keep himself on their good side. And yet, there’s something nagging at his heart, telling him that this is serious, that there is an open wound that could fester if left alone. 

“No,” Tav says, shaking their head. “There’s not.” 

Well fine, if Tav didn’t want to talk about it, Astarion wouldn’t be the one to make them. What sort of person would he be, forcing Tav to spill their secrets when he’s keeping so many himself? Astarion knew the answer, of course. That's something the Astarion under Cazador’s control would’ve done. That Astarion would’ve pressed and sliced to the heart of the matter, until his mark was bleeding out and in need of comfort only he could provide. Knowledge of his mark’s insecurities, fears, and secrets gave him power and made them easier to manipulate and lure back to Cazador. But Cazador isn’t here, and Tav isn’t someone he’s trying to lure to their death.

Outside of Astarion’s tent, the rest of camp begins to stir. Astarion can hear Gale setting up for breakfast and Lae’zel sharpening her sword. 

Astarion cocks a hip and turns his most charming smile towards Tav. The weird moment that had grown between them had dissipated. “I'd get back to your own tent, less you want everyone to make their own assumptions about why you’re walking out of my tent, first thing in the morning, looking like that .” He examines the nails on his hand. “Not that I mind, either way, pretty thing that you are.” 

Tav seems to realize the implications as soon as Astarion mentions it and they hurry to back out of his tent. Red has crawled up their neck and settled into the tips of their ears, but their brows are furrowed and the corners of their mouth are downturned. It was the same face they had when they were reading, last night, when they had to slow to parse a more complicated paragraph. They’re looking at Astarion like he’s something they can’t figure out. Astarion isn’t really sure how to feel about that. 

“Yeah, sure, you’re right. Uh.. thanks for not…destroying my favorite book, or whatever.” They clutch their book close to their chest like a shield, turn on their heel, and scurry back to their own tent. 

They don’t emerge again until Gale calls for breakfast, and when they do, they look more put together than they did standing in Astarion’s tent this morning. They don’t bring any of it up again that morning, and they continue to not bring it up for about two weeks after that. 

In the meantime, their merry band takes out the leaders of the goblin army, save a bunch of tiefling refugees and reunite Halsin with the rest of the druids. They run into a vampire hunter and Tav does not turn Astarion in (to his mild surprise, no one else does either). They save a pregnant woman from a hag and they rescue some people from a burning building. 

Every little favor they could do, Tav would do. They weren’t always the nicest about it, either, which was the best part. Sometimes Astarion still grins when he thinks of the way Tav had shoved Minthara into that chasm or frightened that little tiefling kid to tears after rescuing him from harpies. In Astarion’s opinion, Tav was just enough of a bastard to make this adventure palatable. 

In those two weeks, Astarion doesn’t find Tav awake that late again. 

Of course, he doesn’t really check, why would he? There had been no more candles burning late into the night, no more tent flap left open, so Astarion assumes that Tav had been sleeping like a normal person should. He’s almost forgotten about the whole thing, until Tav nearly falls in battle. 

They were clearing some ruins of goblins when it happened. Astarion had been on a higher level than the rest of the battle, and was using his advantage to pick off the goblins that were swarming Karlach and trying to pull her down. He let loose another arrow and watched as it slammed into the side of a goblin’s throat, sending blood spraying onto Karlach’s boots. She didn’t seem to notice, preoccupied as she was with cleaving two other goblins in half. 

In front of Karlach, Lae’zel was fiercely holding her own in the open doorway, stopping a stream of goblins from entering the room and overwhelming them. Astarion couldn’t have helped her even if he wanted to, and he very much doubted she would appreciate it if he accidentally made her a pin-cushion. 

Tav was… Where was Tav? 

Astarion stepped forward, positioning himself just outside the torchlight, and scanned the battlefield. His eyes search for a flash of green amongst all the blood on the ground. He finally finds Tav in the back of the room, kneeling on the ground and struggling to reload their crossbow. Their sword has been knocked out of their hand and gleams a dull silver a few feet away from them. 

There are three goblins approaching them, weapons drawn. Tav glances up from where they’re frantically trying to pull back the bolt on their weapon and hastens their movements when they see how close the goblins are. Panic makes their fingers clumsy and they drop the arrow they were trying to load. When they reach for another, they find that there are no more. They throw the crossbow to the side and their eyes glow as the boom of Thunderwave ripples outward from their outstretched hands. 

The thunderous wave of force hits the three goblins square in the chest. One of them drops immediately, blood trickling out of its ears and eyes rolled back in its head. The other two barely stumble and continue advancing. 

Astarion moves before he can think. He fires an arrow at the goblin on the left, the one who looks a little worse off, and then he vanishes in a flash of white light. He materializes in front of Tav, dagger in hand. He’s lunging forward before the goblins have even realized he’s there. He stabs the one on the right in the throat before he yanks his dagger free and replaces it with his teeth. 

The arrow he had fired before moving finds a home in the eye socket of the other goblin. It falls with a clang, all its armor bouncing off the stone. Astarion pulls back from the goblin he had bitten, its throat still clamped right between his teeth. It gurgles, once, twice, hands reaching to try and stem the blood flowing from its throat, before it too falls. 

He spits out the flesh in his mouth and scans the battlefield again. Karlach swings her ax in an arc, catching the last two goblins surrounding her in the side and sending them sprawling. The one who took the brunt of the blade does not get back up. She brings the ax down on the head of the other with a wet crunch. Lae’zel is pulling her sword from another goblin. She eyes the pile of corpses in the doorway with disdain. 

Satisfied that it’s as safe as it can be, given their circumstances, Astarion takes a moment to take stock of himself. His hands are bunched into fists at his side, the grip on his dagger so tight it almost hurts. He grinds his teeth and takes a deep breath through his nose. He's angry, he realizes. So, so angry. He does not examine why. He also does not examine the second emotion wrapped in that anger, the one that’s making his stomach flip and his throat tight. 

Instead, he whirls on Tav. “What in the sweet hells were you thinking?” Astarion yells. His voice echoes off the stone around them, catching the attention of both Karlach and Lae’zel. 

They wisely do not approach. 

Astarion bends to furiously wipe his dagger on the shirt of a dead goblin before he sheathes it. He straightens and stalks to where Tav’s sword has fallen. “You almost got yourself killed!” He gives the sword a swift kick, sending it clattering across the stone in Tav’s direction.

Tav picks up their sword and sheaths it before standing. Their crossbow is already hooked to their hip. “I'm sorry!” Their hands are up as they try to calm Astarion. 

But Astarion isn’t listening. “I guessed you had a death wish, but I didn't think it was this bad! Goblins? Really? That's how you want your adventure to end? With a piddling little goblin dagger in your chest?” A rational part of his mind knows that they can always just bring Tav back, either with a scroll or by asking Withers, but that’s not the point . 

“I wasn't trying to die!” Tav snaps. 

“Like hell you weren’t!” Astarion snaps back, “I've seen you cast Thunderwave a hundred times at this point, and it has never been that weak!” 

All the fight seems to drain from Tav in an instant. They curl in on themselves just slightly, arms crossed and hands tucked under their armpits. They stare at Astarion and Astarion glares back. Now that he’s not yelling, Astarion can properly look at Tav. He immediately notices the exhausted glaze in their eyes and the dark bags under them, visible even through their tattoo. 

“Not trying to die,” Tav mumbles. “Just tired.” They sway a little and then their knees buckle, pitching them forward. 

They’re saved from hitting the ground only because they hit Astarion first. 

***

Astarion hears Tav’s breathing shift, recognizes the increase in their heart rate an instant before their eyes open. If they’re surprised to see Astarion sitting in their tent with their book in his lap, they don’t show it. 

For a minute they just stare at each other, daring the other to break the silence first. The only noise comes from the wind blowing through Tav’s pinned open tent flap. In the end, it’s Tav who speaks first. “If you’re going to yell at me more, you can leave.” Their eyes shift to the roof of their tent and they study the pattern in the fabric.

“That's a lot of gratitude for the person who kept you from face planting into stone.” 

Tav sighs and when they speak their tone is flat and tinged with sarcasm. “Thank you for saving me from a broken nose, Astarion.” After their thanks, they wait, shoulders tense and hands fisted in their bedroll. 

They’re waiting for Astarion to yell at them again, he realizes. He blows out a breath between his teeth. “I'm not going to yell at you again, even if I think you deserve it for being an idiot .”

Their shoulders relax and they release their fists. “If you’re not going to yell at me, then why are you here? No offense, but I didn't think you really cared that much.” 

Astarion gently sets aside Tav’s book before he leans forward. He settles his elbows on his knees and rests his chin on his interlaced fingers. “What makes you think I don't care?” Mentally, he’s going over their interactions, trying to find where his facade had slipped, where he had even remotely managed to imply that he wasn’t interested in Tav. 

There weren’t many things that Astarion felt he was good at, but lying and manipulation happened to be one of them. He had to be good at them if he wanted to survive under Cazador, and at the moment he wasn’t coming up with any reason for Tav to doubt his act.

“Because nobody ever cares about me,” Tav replies. There’s no question in their voice, no hesitation. They state that depressing piece of information like it’s a fact, something set in stone that they’ve always known is true. “I've been lied to, asked out or strung along as a joke enough times that I know when something isn’t right.” 

Astarion straightens. He hadn’t really expected for his plan to be found out like that, but he figured there was no point trying to lie about it now. He’d already crossed the line and yelled in Tav’s face. They were probably just waiting for the chance to throw it back at him and kick him to the gutter. “I won’t lie, it started out like that,” he agrees. “I thought if I could seduce you, get on your good side, then you wouldn’t kick me out of camp, you wouldn’t let anyone else here stake me in the night.” He studies Tav’s face for a reaction.  

Again, Tav does not show any signs of surprise. “You didn’t have to pretend to flirt with me to get on my good side.” They laugh softly. “You’re a bit of a bastard, but I like you enough without all of…that.” They wave their hand in a vague, all encompassing gesture. Tav’s smile shifts, grows small, fragile, and bitter, and Astarion feels a pang of regret for being the cause of the change.

That realization surprises him. Why does he feel like that? When did he genuinely start caring about what happened to Tav, about how they felt? He thinks back to that second feeling when he thought they were about to die, the one he had hidden underneath the anger, the one he ignored by lashing out. 

“I was…” he grimaces but forces himself to continue. “I was worried about you, at the ruins.” 

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Tav replies and Astarion throws his hands up with a huff.

“You don’t believe me?” Astarion demands. He nearly grinds his teeth into dust when Tav confirms that they don’t, in fact, believe him. It made sense, he had been lying to them for weeks now, there was no reason to suspect he wasn’t lying now. Except, now they’ve got these funny little parasites in their heads that are telepathically linked. Astarion reaches forward with his tadpole at the same time he says, “Open your mind, I can show you.” 

And Tav does, they let him in just enough that he can feed them the memory of seeing them kneeling on the ground with goblins approaching them. He lets them feel the anger, the physical reactions, he lets them see everything in that span between when Astarion had spotted them and they collapsed. When he’s done, he pulls his mind back and settles with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

“Oh,” Tav says. “You really were worried.” 

“Yes!” Astarion nearly shouts. “I’ve spent 200 years lying to people about every emotion I've ever felt. 200 years of stamping anything truthful into the dirt so that I could survive. Worrying about someone, caring about someone, would’ve gotten me killed. It still might!” Astarion doesn’t really know why he feels the need to explain, to defend himself and the reasoning behind his actions when he had just shown them . He stops, takes a deep breath and levels his voice back into a normal volume. “This is new to me. I don't know how to do this,” he gestures between them with one hand. “Whatever this is.” 

At some point during his rant, Tav had sat up and was staring at him with wide eyes. “Astarion -”

Astarion holds up a hand to stop them. “I don't want to talk about it right now,” he says. “This isn’t about me.” While it’s a true statement, Astarion just wants the spotlight off his past. He’s divulged enough tonight, and now it’s Tav’s turn. “This is about your appalling lack of self-preservation skills. What happened today?” 

Tav fidgets with a loose thread on their pants. “Told you, I was just tired.” Their eyes slide to the book Astarion has set aside and then back to the thread on their pants. “I've never been able to sleep well, but with everything that’s happening it’s been so much worse. It's like I can feel the tadpole in my brain, all the time .” They start to reach for the side of their head, but change their mind and instead tuck their hand under their leg. “I've been reading to distract myself from it until I'm so exhausted I can't keep my eyes open. After you found me that night, I didn't want another confrontation so…” 

Astarion makes a noise of understanding. Escapism is not something he’s unfamiliar with. “You’ve been reading in the dark, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” they reply. They shrug and finally look Astarion in the face. “I guess it just caught up to me today.” 

A flash of irritation makes its way through Astarion at the casual way Tav seems to shrug the whole thing off. Like it’s absolutely no big deal that they almost died today because they were too tired to reload their crossbow or cast a stronger version of Thunderwave. Astarion doesn’t say any of this outloud. He had said he wasn’t going to yell at Tav. “I would rather say so,” Astarion says, instead. “As the rest of this group of weirdos has decided to make you de facto leader, and I value being alive, which is somewhat contingent on your survival, you will get some sleep.” 

Astarion reaches over and shoves Tav’s shoulder. They fall onto their back on their bedroll with a soft oof . “You can’t sleep without a distraction, fine, but you are going to lay there, close your eyes, and let me read.” He is not asking. He is telling. Tav opens their mouth like they’re going to complain, but Astarion silences them with a glare. “Shut up or I'm leaving, and I'm taking the book with me,” Astarion says, and it comes out a little harsher than he actually means it, but he’s not going to back down now. 

He waits a moment, but Tav voices no argument, so he picks up Tav's book, opens to the first page, and begins to read in a soft voice. 

In the space between one sentence and the next, he hears Tav whisper, “I’m glad we’re friends, Astarion.” Astarion pretends he doesn’t hear it and continues reading. 

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dream - Chapter Ten.

BESTIES! Who wants a double update? It’s here, you’re getting one! I figured I would, since the next two chapters are a little shorter, both coming in at under 3k in the word count. Going forward, I think we’ll do a 40 note unlock for a double update, and a 30 note unlock for a single one. Sounds fair, doesn’t it? Well, I hope you enjoy what I have in store for you here. Looking forward to your thoughts, as ever :)

Previous chapters - Prologue  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine

Tag list - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed (note: those not engaging will be automatically removed from the tag list, FYI)

Words - 2,648

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

“He’s still acting strange with you, then?” Angel asked, winding noodles around his fork. They were at the Chinese restaurant Keri had said she wanted to take him to, discussing her current predicament with Aaron.  

“Well, kind of,” she began, poking at the pastry on one of the spring rolls before her. “He’ll ask what Rachel, Frankie and I are talking about, and if I say you, then he’ll just close up, or make some remark. He still has you pegged as a scumbag.”

Angel looked entertained by that. “Some people think I am, and if that’s what he wants to believe without ever actually meeting me, then that’s up to him.” He scratched his beard, shrugging. “I ain’t losing sleep over it, neither should you.”

“I’m trying not to, but it irritates me. What you do doesn’t have anything to do with him,” she stated, Angel chewing through his mouthful of food quickly, reaching to cover her hand with his.  

“Don’t let it bother you, especially when he’s only looking out for you. You just don’t like it because it probably throws up a little conflict for you too, doesn’t it?”  

She felt a little uncomfortable at his presenting of the truth like that, but decided it was best to be honest. “A bit, if I’m real with you.”

“All you gotta know is the following; what I do and who I am are very different things, alright?” He paused then, Keri sipping her iced tea, nodding. “How about the other guy in your group, Ash, is it? Does he think the same?”

“I’ve no idea, since we haven’t seen him for more than a half hour at a time, if that, for the past few weeks. He’s two years above us and currently coming to the end of taking his master's degree in biochemistry, so he’s literally absconded to his room or the study suites at college as he prepares for his finals in April. I doubt he’d take an issue, though. You guys have a common ground, a love for Harley’s,” she explained.

“Oh yeah?” Angel was interested at that. “What does he ride?”

She sat and thought on it, trying to remember, knowing she could only come out with something that was going to make her look utterly ridiculous. “Erm, it’s red. That’s about all I can tell you.”

He laughed softly at that. “You’re too cute.”  

“I am as my Instagram bio states, Provo village idiot.”

Her words sparked something in him then, something he’d been meaning to ask for a while. “Speaking of you Insta, I need to know what made you choose the profile name you did. I mean, I know I was boring and just chose my name and birth year, but yeah, kinda curious to know how girl where photo came about?”

Keri was laughing softly before she’d even spoken, remembering the event that had led to it well. “I changed it after something funny that happened about a year ago. We have these students who came over from Thailand at our college, doing some long-term exchange programme through their church, and they’re the sweetest kids but back then, their English was still a little bit basic at best.  

“So, one of them, Trinh, his name is, asked me if I could take some photographs of him to send to his family back home of him up in the mountains where the scenery is so breathtaking, so I agreed. Anyway, I said I’d print the ones he’d chosen, but between our busyness with studies, it took me a while to get them done, and he was obviously quite excited about seeing them, so ran up one morning in the hall and shouted, ‘girl where photo?’ at me. It sounds like he was being rude, but he was just so excited, and he couldn’t remember my name either, so yeah, that explains it. Frankie couldn’t breathe! Every time he sees me now, he yells it at me. It’s our thing.”

He laughed, resting his fork down when he’d finished, Keri taking another bite out of one of the spring rolls before her. “So, tell me how the love of photography started, then. You know, out of all the things we’ve talked about so far, I don't think I ever asked that."

Sitting there listening to her explain how she’d first come to love taking pictures with her grandmother’s old wind on camera when she was four, excitedly visiting the local one-hour photo place with her to get them developed, Angel smiled widely all the way through. He couldn’t help but note that he’d never felt so comfortable with someone in such a short space of time, the way they'd fallen into easy conversation, like two old friends becoming reacquainted after a period of separation.

How he felt when he was with her in his sleep was definitely mirrored by the reality of such, Keri seeming to settle well despite – as he could tell clearly – being quite nervous earlier as they’d left the airport. She’d almost crashed into a concrete post on her way out of the car park.  

As for Keri, if only Angel knew how well she was hiding the fact that inside, all she could hear were panicked honking noises. Supressing her nerves was a battle she was mostly winning, but boy, she was working her ass off to keep it all hidden. Yes, she felt comfortable with him, and he was just a nice as he’d seemed thus far, but she still couldn’t believe he was sitting across the table from her.

This man, this completely irresistibly gorgeous man, a man she would have considered out of her league, was sitting there looking like he was honestly enjoying getting to know her. Her inner self? Anxious. She revealed those thoughts too after they’d left the restaurant, Keri stopping in at Frankie and Jaime’s apartment so she could leave her car behind and Angel could drop his bag inside, taking an Uber down to The Lounge.

“So, how’s it going?” Frankie asked, Keri greeting them both with a kiss while Angel went to the bar.  

“Help! He’s too hot for me, I’m out of my depth and only just holding it together to act like a normal person and not spiral into one long calamity Joe parody of myself!” she hissed, seating herself on the opposite couch, a narrow table dividing them.  

“Love, you need to cease with these thoughts,” Jaime began, reaching to squeeze her wrist. “You have no idea how much of a knockout you are, do you?” Here they were, Keri’s usual nerves and self-doubt when it came to men, especially in that moment, walking in with a very attractive one, the kind of guy that looks wise, she should have always aimed for, rather than selling herself short because she didn’t believe she could do better.  

Keri waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head. “Stop, I am not!” Just then, Angel arrived back with them, placing down a pitcher of margaritas before a surprised looking Frankie and Jaime, and the same with beer for him and Keri, plus two glasses he pulled from his back pockets. He indicated he’d be back, returning with exactly the same order again.

“You trying to get us wasted there?” Frankie asked, arching an eyebrow.  

“Ah, shit. She sussed me,” he laughed, before pointing back at the bar. “Your local ice hockey team just walked in, so I double ordered everything. Ain’t nobody getting close to that bar between the big dudes and all the hockey groupies down there.”

“I believe the term is puck bunny,” Jaime spoke, pouring out a fresh drink for her and Frankie. “And you say that like you’re not a big dude when really, you’re what? Six three?”

“Yeah, about that,” he confirmed, passing a beer to Keri. “I feel like a damned giant compared to this one.”  

“Everyone is a giant compared to me and my five four tininess.” she laughed, cringing a little. Their conversation moved on, the girls all getting to know Angel a little better, laughing hard at stories of his youth, some of the antics he found himself involved in, the kind of life he’d had so very different from theirs. He enjoyed it, too, in turn hearing about them, learning of their lives, yet there was only one person he craved alone time with in order to do more of the same.

“What?” he questioned hours later when they’d returned to the apartment, Keri grinning to herself beside him, both all bundled in a comforter and blankets to ward out the chilly February cold. When the heat went off in the apartment, the temperature dropped quickly, and boy, you felt it.  

“Nothing,” she spoke softly, shaking her head. “I'm just having a 'holy shit he's right there' moment again. It's good, but still weird.”

He could identify with such. “Same. I can't believe I'm here either.” His smile reached his gorgeous, dark eyes, reaching to squeeze her shoulder. “So, tell me things about you that I don’t already know, then.”

Her eyes widened a fraction, and it made his pulse skip. She was even lovelier than her pictures or presence in his dreams had alluded to. “Gosh!” she began, combing her hair away from her face with her fingers. “I don’t even know where to start!”  

“Alright, I’ll ask, you tell?” he suggested, Keri nodding.  

“Okie dokie, and you answer too!” And so, they began.

“What’s something you have more knowledge about more than anybody else you know?” Oh, that was an interesting choice. Thinking on it, he didn’t seem the type who’d be interested in run of the mill, getting to know you small talk. And as she replied about her love and knowledge of Nikon cameras, with Angel asking interesting specifics, she truly saw that he was much smarter than he appeared in how he articulated himself.  

His wasn’t academically smart, but she enjoyed how direct he was, how original the questions were that he asked of her, and how perceptive he appeared to be. Therefore, she matched him, knowing that he wouldn’t be the type to be pacified by asking what his favourite movie or colour was. In truth, neither was she.  

“If you could sit and spend an evening talking to anyone from history, alive or dead, who would it be?”

He beamed. “Yo, that’s a fuckin’ great question.” He took a pause, considering his options. The fantasy woman of his early teens, model Helena Christensen immediately popped into his head, but it would be gauche to reply with a beautiful woman, and he could do much better than that. “Che Guevara. I admire those who don’t play by the rules in order to achieve a better balance where power is concerned. Rebellion and revolution, people who stand up against oppression, I think it’s brave and bold, amazing even, the ripple effect that one person and their ideas can cause. How about you?”

Her reply was immediate. “Annie Leibovitz. The way she captures so much personality of her subjects in her photography, making the images so deeply personal, almost like they’re just a moment captured in a sequence of motion. Her images might be still, but they move. They have vibrance, some of her works even remind me of Renaissance paintings. She’s truly masterful.”  

“I guess there’s a lot more to photography than there appears at first glance, right? It ain’t just about pointing a camera at your subject and clicking. I think it’s a really interesting art form, although I know very little about it. What’s your favourite picture you’ve ever taken?”  

Immediately, she reached for her phone. “This one got taken off of my Instagram, even though I censored the boobies, but here.” Clicking on the image, it enlarged, Keri turning her phone to show Angel the photograph of Frankie, naked but a Pride flag wrapped around her waist, one hand holding herself up as she swung from the overhead bars of the black iron fire escape outside of the apartment, the other hand raising her middle finger, a cigarette hanging from the corner of her glossed pout. “It’s just her, unapologetically her. I captured the entire essence of Frances Scarvo in one picture, which was my aim.”

Angel studied it, loving the details, the light, the way the shadows fell over her lithe muscles, the shaft of sunlight shining down onto the tall building glinting the defiance in her eyes. “I fucking love it, you’re right, the way you’ve captured so much of her in it. I mean, I don’t even know her, but what I’ve noticed in her, her total confidence and pride in being an out lesbian, her humour and her strength, it’s all here. It’s unapologetic, just like you said. You should print this for her and frame it.”

“Already did,” she revealed. “It’s hanging in the bedroom, next to one I took of Jamie in a bubble bath. One I ended up slipping on the edge of the tub and falling into with her fully clothed. I just about had chance to throw my camera at Frankie and save it, rather than save myself.”  

He laughed softly, imagining it. “Calamity Joe strikes again, huh?”

“Don’t you start calling me that, too!” The laughter they shared was so natural and easy, Angel loving that she didn’t take herself too seriously, her slight clumsiness a source of her own amusement just as much as it was everyone else’s.  

He reached for her, thumb skimming her cheek, the gesture small, but big enough to make her heart flutter. “It’s good to see you relax a little at last. I’ve noticed it, how hard you’ve been working to not let your nerves get the better of you.  

Shit. And she thought she’d fooled him. Angel Reyes, it seemed, was even more perceptive than she’d realised. “I want to be like I am with you in our dreams,” she began, Angel raising an eyebrow in a manner that bordered on lascivious. “Not like that!” she admonished playfully, slapping his chest with the back of her hand. “Well, not yet, anyway. You get what I mean, though.”

At the suggestion of those connotations manifesting in reality, he felt a little flicker of arousal stir within his depths. He couldn’t help it, the attraction he felt only strengthening in reality. “I do, I understand.” He’d keep it in check, though, for her comfort. “Okay, I thought of something else. If you could visit any period of time in history, when would you choose and why?”

“One of the prehistoric ages, so I could witness dinosaurs, the cretaceous period in particular. As long as in this hypothesis I could be somewhere safe, I’d love to sit and view them, the triceratops, the velociraptors, the tyrannosaurs rex. Can you imagine how incredible that would be? I have so much awe about them. There’ve been quite a few remains found in Moab, so I like to visit whenever I have time, go and see the skeletons in the museum there. I never get bored. How about you?”  

All the way through her explanation, she’d noticed his smile widening, his reply confirming what she was beginning to think. “Exactly the same. All that shit is fascinating. You gotta take me to that museum! I’ve never been to see the bones in person before, but looking at pictures, the scale ones that show just how huge they were, it’s mind-blowing, trying to imagine something that big ever walking the earth.”

Finding something they were both geeks over kept them talking for a long time before their conversation eventually moved on, 2am rolling around, and neither feeling even remotely tired. Even if they were, they wouldn’t have been prepared to have called time on something they were enjoying so much.  

[bougiebutchbitch]

Please, Boug, won't you share some batjokes headcanons?

My headcanons are still marinating! Some of these are a bit unpolished, as a result.

I will say, I flipflop greatly between loving the unhinged main-comics-canon Joker who is utterly amoral and irredeemable and will gladly blow up a bus of schoolkids to catch his darling's attention (so long as the set up’s funny), and preferring the way-more-redeemable and fuckable versions in Telltale & White Knight, etc. The fandom feels pretty divided in terms of preference there, so some of my headcanons might not be everyone's cup of tea!

With Joker from the main comics, he and Batsy EITHER never fuck and their entire relationship is built on intense sexual repression and Batman only realizes how much he wanted to fuck this ridiculous clown AFTER Joker dies and then broods about that for the rest of his life

OR they both jerk off furiously after every fight, in their respective hideouts

UNTIL one time after a long battle that had a lot of collateral - enough to push Batman into his trademark cold, brutal (and, if you ask Joker, sexy) fury - Batman slams Joker up against the wall. Joker pulls his usual flirt-chicken routine, puckering up, asking if he gets a kiss now. He expects to be clapped in irons while his darling's lips twist in a sneer. Not to be rammed back against the wall, Batman's mouth crashing into his so hard it might as well have been his fist.

The resultant sex is violent and ugly. Bloody and raw. Batman is horrified at the monster Joker can bring out in him, repulsed by Joker himself, disgusted at how much he enjoyed it. As for Joker, he almost dies because Batman gets so rough - which is to say, he has a whale of a time From there, you have a bunch of fun directions you can go in!

Joker taunts Batman about this for the rest of forever but they never fuck again because Batman is in such epic denial, and Joker eventually gets so mad he blows up the entire city in recompense

Batman remains in epic denial, but they absolutely fuck again. Bruce tells himself he keeps fucking the clown precisely to prevent fate following that first route. Maybe he's right. But Joker doesn't believe him, and somewhere deep down, neither does Bruce.

They start properly going at it after every fight but Batman is sure to keep it impartial, dispassionate, just a physical release. Joker's content with that for a while, but eventually he starts feeling kinda used and hurt. He tries loads of 'couples therapy' (talking to Batsy, shooting him with various weapons, then when all else fails, blowing shit up). Nothing works. Eventually he hits the point where he does that whole dynamite double-suicide with Batman from the Catwoman comic, telling Bruce in his last words that he's tired of laughing. Batman has a chance to get away before Joker blows himself up, but chooses to go out with him.

THEN WE HAVE TELLTALE

Telltale John Doe and Bruce stay friends while John's in Arkham (following the vigilante ending). Bruce comes to visit every week, bringing chocolate milkshakes with lots of sprinkles once he's assured by the docs that it won't mess with John's medication.

John eventually gets let out on good behaviour to have full run of the grounds, etc. On that first day, he's so ridiculously touch-starved he almost starts crying when Bruce claps his shoulder (in a friendly, bro-like way) to congratulate him on how well he’s doing. They spend the entire hour with John piled on Bruce's lap, face buried in Bruce's neck, arms and legs wrapped around his 'friend', begging for Bruce to give him a big full-body hug.

Cue Bruce having a very awkward flush of feelings.

Only - fuck. John's not the most stable guy. Now Harley's out of the picture, Bruce is the person he's closest to in the entire world - he's literally his only friend. John is obviously kinda attached to him, but as he's still shut in the asylum and doesn't really have much choice of a dating pool, the last thing Bruce wants is to take advantage.

Meanwhile, John, who has slowly been falling in love since the day he first met Bruce, is trying to keep his cool around Bruce and not act like a lovesuck puppy whenever he's near. Or at least, no more like a lovesuck puppy than usual. After all, Bruce is Bruce! He's awesome and rich and handsome! He's gotta have people - girls, pretty girls - hanging off both arms. Hell, in half the pictures, he does. Why would he ever be interested in a weird, gawky Arkham inmate?

TL;DR: MUTUAL PINING AGAIN, BUT WITH SEVERAL FEWER SPILLED PINTS OF BLOOD

OH AND BEFORE I FORGET -

In any universe, Joker gets kinda sick of seeing Bruce with girls all over him in the paper. And as killing people to get his attention doesn’t go well, he instead very blatantly hooks up with some other guys - like Lex, or Harvey, or even Killer Croc - to make Batman jealous.

And despite Bruce’s fervent wishes otherwise... it absolutely works.

[aphelea]

in the archives

Writer's block is finally gone, so now y'all get even more, extra late Tiertice content. Written for day 4: ink of @tiertice-week-2023.

Summary: Two letters filed under Contigency of Death or Exile in the Black Swan archives. Hand-written.

Ao3

BLACK SWAN ARCHIVES - CONTINGENCY OF DEATH OR EXILE

In the event of the death or exile of TIERGAN ANDRIN ALENEFAR/GRANITE, the following letter will be delivered to PRENTICE ENDAL, currently residing in [REDACTED for archival purposes]. If he is not alive to receive it, this letter will be burned. 

Letter begins. 

My dear Prentice,

I hope you never have to read this. 

Let that be said—I may be foolish, and reckless, and utterly unconcerned for my safety as you so often enjoy telling me, but I swear to every unmapped star that I have never, never wanted to hurt you. And to lose myself would be hurting you, so in some roundabout way…well, I’m alive as I write this, Prentice, and I intend to stay that way for a very long time. (I promised you forever, and you know I’m not one to go back on my promises.)

But, if you’re reading this, then somewhere along the way I must have failed. Maybe I slipped, maybe I was careless—whatever it was, it doesn’t matter. What matters is, I know you, and I know you’re fighting the urge to scream at me and the world and at everyone around you. And if I begged you to let me go, please, you’d only be more upset. 

So I won’t say that. Instead, I’ll tell you that I miss you, even as the only part left of me is a memory. And when you forget me—as is inevitable, with our lives long as they are—I’ll still love you, from every part of me that has ever known love. 

There isn’t really a point to this letter; you know Leto insists on us writing them. After all, there’s nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know—except that I’m sorry, if you can find it in yourself to believe me. 

(Please tell Wylie and Cyrah that I’m sorry, too. Maybe you can also tell them the truth, finally. I think they deserve it now.)

In truth, though, the only thing I want to tell you is this: forget about me. You have an eternity to live and to love; and so long as this letter exists in my hand, my memory is sufficiently alive, and you can walk away. 

Damn it all, Prentice, please just walk away. 

I promise, I’m not worth losing you, too. 

All my love, 

Tiergan Endal

-

In the event of the death or exile of PRENTICE ENDAL, the following letter will be delivered to TIERGAN ANDRIN ALENEFAR/GRANITE, currently residing in Solreef. If he is not alive to receive it, this letter will be burned. 

This letter was removed from the archives as of [DATE REDACTED]. 

Letter begins. 

Tiergan, 

I’ve never been much of a poet, really, but I’ll tell you this: Loving you has made me one. 

It sounds ridiculous, I know. But when I watch you, I think the only way to fully describe who you are is with poetry—you’re Tiergan and you’re everything; the king of every sunset and the queen of every sunrise, the stars themselves personified into one, ever-gleaming halo of a person. 

I don’t know when you’ll read this letter, but I’m sure it will be soon. I’ve heard rumours of the Cognates’ research into me, and while they’ll never find the information they’re looking for, I have no doubts that they’ll find enough information to send me to Exile if they so choose. And you and I both know what they will choose. 

And when that happens, well. Here’s this letter, for you. A final apology in my own hand. 

I know a part of you never fully forgave me for becoming the Keeper. I know you think that I’m incapable of walking away—and hell, you might be right—but I need you to understand something, love: I did this for us. Every lie I told, every secret I kept, it was for you. You are the world that I swore to protect, all those years ago, and I don’t regret any minute of it. 

So, yes, be angry at me, I know I deserve it. But don’t say that I did this for nothing, because I didn’t. I did it for you, and the children I’ve sworn to protect. And if the Moonlark gets to live another day without the Council’s wrath looming over her…well, then. My job is done here. 

So, yes, if you’re reading this, it’s too late to save me. But maybe it always was. Maybe I’ve been doomed to this fate ever since I laid eyes on the faults of our world, maybe I should’ve known I was done from the moment I laid eyes on you. 

All that aside, however, I’m grateful that I got to spend the little time that was my life loving you, and Cyrah, and Wylie. 

The world is better with you three in it. 

…Don’t forget that, darling. Please. 

Yours,

Prentice

[loverontheleft]

Sore Winner (revised)

Original request: here’s a prompt Brendon comes out of the bathroom and he appears to be naked; like he’s got his dick out you know, then you look down and you realize he is wearing nothing except for bright pink crocs.

-I think you were kidding, but I’m not-

Brendon x reader

Warnings: language, dirty talk, sex, spanking.

Word count: 2.7k➡️2.8k

-||-.

You’ve woken up, checked your phone, realized what day it was, and abject terror has instantly struck. Brendon knows it too; he’s just rolled over and taken you in his arms, kissing your neck. “Ready for today, my love?” His voice is scratchy with sleep, and you could turn in his arms and shove him on his back and sink down between his legs and blow him, just to have him moan your name in that voice—except. Except. Except it’s against the rules.

“Is it the end of the month already?” You ask breathlessly, hoping for an error, a reprieve, something. He nods, still kissing your neck and shoulder, fingers running over your side.

“It sure is, babydoll.” He lets his tongue caress your earlobe. “And I’m so fucking ready.” He rolls onto his back, stretching and groaning. You watch needily, whimpering as his erection proudly tents the sheets. He’s just begging to get blown, teasing you with his cock like this. “I’ve got a really good one this month. I mean, a really good one.” He sits up, running a hand through his hair. “God, this is it. This is my month, I can feel it.”

-||-

You’re downstairs, wandering aimlessly from room to room before dropping onto the couch with a dejected sigh. “Alright, think,” you say aloud, rolling onto your back to ponder. “The rules are simple.” You review them.

“Rule one—it has to be the last day of the month, and both parties have to be awake. No springing it on them at midnight. Done.” You check it off mentally. “Rule two—anything purchased must be less than ten dollars; receipts should be available as needed.” Another check; you haven’t bought anything. “Rule three—all parties must still make seduction and sex a priority.” Check. You both want each other; there’s no issue there. “Rule four—no oral sex, because it pushes us both over the edge…How the fuck did this even start?”

You ask the question to no one; Brendon has been in the studio as soon as you finished breakfast. Brendon. This was all his stupid, yet hilarious idea.

-||-

“Doll, I have an idea,” Brendon murmured. You turned and kissed him, legs wrapping around his waist, moaning when you felt him hard against you. You reached down and tried to guide him into place, thrusting down to take him. You gave him a frustrated look when you couldn’t get more than the head of his cock in you. “Along those lines, yes,” he said with a grin. “I want to play a game.”

“I love games,” you purred, running a fingernail down his chest and squeezing around the tip. “Count me in.”

“Don’t you want to hear the game first?” He gave you a knowing smile. “We have great sex, right?” You nodded, unsure of where this is going. “We always say how sexy we find each other, and then follow up with some ridiculous thing to prove our point. For instance, yesterday you told me I could read the phone book and you’d come. No touching, just me reading it aloud would be enough.”

“Yeah…?” You tried to focus, but you needed more of his dick in you. You managed to wiggle down and get the head plus a solid inch inside you, but you needed more.

“I think, once a month, we should each try one ridiculous thing of our choosing and see if we can still make each other come.” He looked pleased with himself and his smile grew when you laughed delightedly. “There will be rules, of course. But the main objective is to make the other come while doing or wearing something utterly ridiculous. The first person to come loses.”

-||-

“It was a hilarious idea,” you muse, staring at the ceiling. “Can’t fault him there.” And, you admit to yourself, you’ve had some insanely hot, but mostly just insane, sex as a result. But this month Brendon is so confident, and you have no idea what to do. You don’t want to lose, even if nothing happens. There’s no wager or bet or stakes—just bragging rights. But you’re both fiercely competitive, and you’ve won the last two months. You’re unwilling to give up your title without a fight. “What the fuck can I do?”

You’re still pondering when Brendon comes in from the backyard and gives you a longing stare. “I’m gonna go shower, love. You should get in bed.” He must have been playing drums because there’s a sheen of sweat over his face and arms, his shirt is clinging to his chest, and his hair is a mess. Good, you think. He’s been hard at work, and the harder he works, the harder, and more, he wants to play after. And if the eye-fucking he just gave you is any indication, he left the studio with the intention of playing hard. Wait.

“Fuck.”

-||-

You stand outside the bathroom door, listening closely. “You better not be in there jacking off to keep from coming later,” you warn. He laughs and calls back that while he wouldn’t dream of cheating, he also doesn’t need to cheat to win.

You swear under your breath and head for the Halloween closet, grasping at metaphorical straws and literal costume pieces. Surely there’s something in here you can use. The shower is still going, and you’ve got a bit more time. But you could have hours left; it wouldn’t matter. You've got no inspiration. Absolutely—oh. Well, that’s an idea. Would it—?

The shower stops running, and you scamper back to your room, stripping and climbing into bed. He didn’t tell you to strip, but you don’t feel like wasting time.

When he comes out of the bathroom, you’re curled up in bed, waiting for him. It’s always satisfying when he dries off in the bathroom and then comes to the bedroom naked. You love seeing him naked; love getting to take him in fully—especially his cock. You love watching him react to you.

“You look good, fresh out of the shower,” you tell him, patting the spot next to you. “Highly fuckable. You always look good and you always look highly fuckable, but right now, in particular, I want your cock in me.” He grins and walks closer— that’s when you see them.

Your mind stalls out; you’re horrified, amazed, amused, confused, and concerned. “Brendon, what the fucking fuck are those?” He laughs and places a foot on the bed next to you. Since you can’t blow him anyway, you rip your focus from his cock, which is showing interest in your nude form and causing your mouth to water, and stare at his feet. “Where the fuck did you get bright pink crocs for less than ten dollars?”

“Your mom,” Brendon deadpans, and you roll your eyes. “No, I’m serious; these are Cathy’s. She said I could borrow them for as long as I needed. I don’t think she knew what I was going to use them for, though.” He winks at you and you keep staring. “Oh yes. I’m going to fuck you while wearing your mother’s crocs.” His face turns smug. “Told you it was a good one.”

“I have a good one too,” you counter, tugging him into bed and straddling him. “And I really want to fuck you, so if you could—” he grabs your waist and rolls you both over so you’re under him and his mouth is working over your neck. Meanwhile, his fingers move down from your waist to your hip to your thigh before hitching your leg up higher so you can feel his hardness against you.

“You’re bluffing,” he murmurs. “You’ve got nothing.”

“Nope, I figured something out,” you sigh happily. “I’m wet enough that you could just—oh fuck,” you whimper when his fingers delve deep. “Yes, play with my pussy, rub my clit, fuck me,” you gasp, writhing under him.

“Oh, trust me, I’m going to. And you’re going to come so hard, even with me wearing your mother’s crocs.”

“Okay, listen, you’re gonna need to stop mentioning my mother if this is going to happen,” you warn him, and Brendon grins, promising to not mention Cathy again as he shifts his hips so he’s aligned with you and you prep yourself since the delivery here is key. It’ll set the tone for the entire—he pushes in, and you grab his hair, bringing his mouth close. “I’m carving pumpkins, it’s almost Halloween.”

His hips go still, and he gives you a strange look. “What?”

“All my friends are wondering what they’re gonna be,” you elaborate with a grin. “What’s wrong, B? Thought you were going to fuck me.” He nods decisively; his fingers are in your hair and his hand on your thigh tightens as he returns to his steady pace. You’re desperately trying to focus on the lyrics and not let yourself come already, but he’s using all of the tricks that make you come for him; lifting one of your legs and pushing it towards your chest, sucking on and biting at your neck, moaning your name, telling you how good you feel on his cock, how badly he wants to feel your hot cunt squeeze his dick when you come on him.

“Fucking love you,” Brendon groans in your ear, “even when you’re quoting my lyrics at me, distracting and strange as it may be.”

“The monster mash is playing, you’re—oh fuck—” he’s grabbed your hips and is angling you slightly so he can grind against you every time your pelvises are flush together. “Moving to the beat,” you manage, “and now we’re going to teach you—”

“It’s March, you know that right?” Brendon asks breathlessly. “Your song choice doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t matter; it’s getting to you.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“I’m totally fi—”

“To do the trick-or-treat.”

“I swear to god, if you move on to my chorus, I promise I will spank you with one of your mother’s crocs.”

You grin up at him. “We agreed you wouldn’t reference my mother anymore while fucking me. You know I have no choice now.” He groans and rests his forehead against yours, hips still rocking hard against you, mouth on yours to try to muffle your next words. “Everybody scream—”

“I’m gonna make you scream,” he tells you, tangling his hand in your hair and tugging. “I’m gonna make you scream my name while I fuck you hard from behind.”

“Promise? Everybody scream, it’s almost Halloween.” You’re panting, biting your lip, waiting for him to lose it. His thrusts have gotten shallower and sporadic, and you think you might just win. He’s been pushing himself over the edge just by trying to fuck you into silence; all you’ve had to do is remember lyrics and stay composed as best as possible.

“That’s it,” he growls, nipping at your neck. “Hands and knees.” He pulls out of you roughly, and together you flip yourself over so you’re burying your face in your arms, ass in the air, waiting for him to take you again. “You just love pushing me, don’t you?” You can hear the amusement in his voice. “Bad girl.”

“Mmmm,” you agree. “And bad girls should be punished.”

“And punished you will be,” Brendon promises you, and you can feel him grab at his feet, tugging. “Fucking pink crocs,” he says with a laugh, rubbing your ass gently with his hand. “Tell me to stop if you need me to.”

“And what if I want it harder?”

“Tell me that too.”

You’re grinning into the pillow and you wiggle your hips at him. “Do the trick or treat, do the tri—oh Jesus fuck,” you moan when he rocks back into you and spanks you hard with the shoe. “That stings,” you gasp, and he makes a concerned noise. “I didn’t say stop. Liked it.”

“My freak,” Brendon groans, and you squeal with pleasure when the shoe makes contact again. He’s thrusting hard, his other hand wrapped around your waist and lightly teasing your clit. “You still okay, baby?” He murmurs this, his tone soft and tender and you brace yourself with your forearms and grind back against him, moaning your confirmation. “Good.” He pulls almost all the way out and you hear the whistling of the air through the holes in that damned shoe before the contact.

“Fuck,” you moan, “that one hurt more. Not so hard.”

He instantly drops the shoe and flips you over, kissing you gently. “I’m sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your lips, one hand cupping and caressing your face while the other runs over your body before sliding down your back and rubbing gently at the tender skin. “What do you need? Tell me what you need; I’ll make it happen, my sweet girl.”

Your breathing is ragged. “I need you to fuck me,” and you arch your back so his dick, currently pressed between the two of you, twitches, hot and slick and hard. “And I need you to spank me because, fuck it makes me hot, but not as hard as that last one—Jesus, that rubber stings.”

“I can do that,” he promises as his forehead rests against yours. “I can do all of those things.”

“Yeah?” You turn under him, purposefully rubbing your ass against his leaking cock, moaning and whimpering as you do. “Gonna spank me, gonna fuck me good, fill me up, get me moaning your name, begging to come on your cock?”

“Fucking love you,” Brendon groans again, clutching at your hip and kissing your neck. “Goddamn, you’re so fucking sexy, grinding up on me, begging me to fuck you, like I’m not about to bury my dick in your tight pussy, shit.” He’s breathless, his voice tight and constrained. “You’re sure you want me to spank you?”

“It’s almost Halloween, everybody scream.” You barely get the words out before his arm tightens around your waist and he jerks your hips up so he can fill you. “I haven’t, oh god, Brendon, yes, fuck me like that just—I haven’t learned my les—oh motherfucker, that feels so fucking—”

“Who’s bringing up her mother now?” Brendon says with a laugh and you can hear the smile in his voice. “You haven’t learned your lesson,” he agrees, and he’s fumbling for the shoe he dropped earlier. “We should fix that, yeah?”

“There’s a devil in the corner—oh my god,” you shriek, “fuck yes, do that again.” The shoe swings, and his hand tightens in your hair near the roots; he tugs just as the shoe hits, and you’re biting your lip trying not to come. “Baby,” you gasp, bucking your hips back needily. “Spank me, fuck me, make me come.”

“You wanna come?” Brendon’s voice is a low purr behind you and he spanks you twice more, smiling to himself when your sounds of pleasure move from high-pitched squeals to lower moans as you fuck yourself on his cock roughly. “You wanna come, even though you’ll lose?”

“I never lose when you make me come,” you quip, giggling to yourself and moving your hips in small circles. “Besides, you forget I know you, Bren. I can feel you. You’re close. You’re so close to filling my pussy with your cum, fucking me hard and fast and rough, spanking me, pulling my hair as you come in me. Come in me, Brendon, spank me and come in me. Spank your bad girl and fill up her pussy with your cum.”

“You,” and the shoe hits, “are,” and it lands again, “a bad,” and a third time, “girl. Love you so much though, my bad girl.” His words are choked out, his voice tight, his hand on your hip tighter. He’s still spanking you, and you’re moaning his name, begging him to come in you.

“Not gonna come first,” Brendon grunts, spanking you one last time before dropping the shoe and bringing that now-free hand to your clit and teasing. “Fuck, I can’t—can’t come fir—oh shit, I’m gonna—in you, oh fuck; take it baby, take my cock, good girl,” he groans, and you both let out a moan of pleasure as his climax rushes through him; you gasp your victory before letting go and letting yourself come.

-||-

“I won,” you point out breathlessly as you both collapse back into the bed after changing the sheets. You’re clinging to each other, touching lazily, and stealing occasional kisses. “I won. You were so confident, and I still won.”

“No one likes a sore winner, babydoll,” Brendon teases sleepily, kissing your jawline while his fingers draw small circles on your stomach.

“Listen, if you didn’t want a sore winner, you shouldn't have spanked me with my mother’s croc.”