#Baltimore Sub

[darkredlightyears]

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GOT THINGS SORTED OUT,,, I AM GOING TO SEE ALL TIME LOW!!!!!!! if you’re going to see ATL at the Baltimore makeup show hmu and let’s say hi!!!!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 8: The New House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, infidelity, kids, parenthood, historical topics like violence and discrimination, Cakes with Christabel, angst?? Who am I kidding. Angst!!!!!!

Word Count: 5.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @gemini-mama @daenysx @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbelll @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Only 2 chapters left!!! 🥰🧁

“I have no idea what he’s thinking,” Christabel tells Alicent, a low furtive murmur around nibbles of a cinnamon French toast cupcake. They are both sitting at the kitchen counter as you scuttle around wiping down burners and handles and knobs, trying not to listen in, unable to help yourself. At the table, Amir is frosting a Lady Baltimore cake and chatting with Criston, who has eaten no less than three miniature cherry pies in the past fifteen minutes. Amir keeps casting you wide-eyed, flummoxed glances. He means: Can you believe these people? No, you can’t.

Alicent sips the glass of sweet tea you poured for her and gazes vaguely around the room. “Oh, you know how Aemond is, dear. He works so hard. He’s so consumed by the Lake Verret project.”

“But shouldn’t he talk to me?” Christabel’s large blue eyes are luminous, persistent.

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Of course he talks to you.”

“Sure,” Christabel says, frowning. “He talks to me about the weather and the garden and the koi in the fish pond. He asks if I listen to Dire Straights or AC/DC. Nothing of consequence, nothing revealing. And he never touches me. Alright, fine, there’s a hand on my shoulder or my waist once in a while, for a moment. There are quick, courteous kisses. But that’s all. And he’s so…so…” She struggles to decide on a word. “Formal!”

“Have you tried the cannoli cupcake yet?” Alicent asks, sliding the plate towards Christabel. “It’s just divine. I absolutely adore it.”

“When we’re apart he says he misses me, but he hardly ever calls. He tells me that he loves me, but only if I say it first.”

“He’s marrying you!” Alicent declares as she restlessly twists her assortment of glittering rings, gold and diamonds and emeralds. “What more is there to say, dear?”

“Surely there must be something,” Christabel mumbles. She obediently samples the cannoli cupcake, carving away a tiny sliver with her fork. “Oh, that is wonderful, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s my favorite one yet.”

They have twelve flavors to choose from, some familiar and some new: vanilla bean and triple chocolate of course, the classics, and then also cannoli, cinnamon French toast, carrot, red velvet, Boston cream pie, apple cobbler, peanut butter and grape jelly, Neapolitan, Louisiana crunch, and hummingbird. Christabel surveys the selection and then looks to where you are vigorously scrubbing an already clean stovetop. “Aemond mentioned something about banana bread cupcakes. Do you have one of those we could try?”

And again, you are amazed by how much he remembers: the very first cupcake from the very first night. “Um…I’m not sure, actually. Amir, didn’t we make a batch earlier this week? Are there any still on the table?”

Amir checks the cake plates, lifting glass covers, until he locates a single remaining banana bread cupcake for your customers. He ferries it to the kitchen counter with great ceremony. “Everyone raves about this flavor! And it’s so quintessentially southern. Perfect for a Louisiana wedding.” You give him a miserable, deadened stare and he offers a millisecond smirk of commiseration. What else can we do? Amir means. And you think: Nothing.

Christabel samples the cupcake, an infinitesimal morsel speared on the very tip of her fork. You recall how Aemond tasted like sugar and honey and cinnamon when he kissed you on the night you met, rough, dominating, irresistible, without the aching weight of disappointments or betrayals. If time was a cobweb you could rip and walk through, you’d be back in that May dusk in an instant, you’d live there forever and never leave.

“That’s it.” Christabel grins as she licks cream cheese frosting from her full, pink lips. “This one. I want a banana bread cake.”

“Mmm,” Alicent agrees, taking a bite. “It has so many dimensions! Sweet with just a touch of salt, light and fluffy but with a certain substantial, rustic quality, don’t you think? It’s the cinnamon, perhaps.”

You make a note on your yellow legal pad—a reminder you don’t need—so you can avoid Christabel’s benign, guileless gaze. “Is there a design you’d like for the frosting?”

“Wildflowers.”

Amir emits a startled gasp before he can swallow it back down. You look up at Christabel. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Just like the vanilla bean cake you made for the engagement party.” She draws blossoms in the air with her fingers, whimsical like a fairytale. “There was white icing and then all these gorgeous flowers in a dozen different colors. You could do that for a wedding cake, couldn’t you?”

“Of course.” And then you amend: “Well, Amir can. He’s our Picasso.”

“You’ll need something for the rehearsal dinner too, dear,” Alicent tells Christabel. Then she turns to you, tugging anxiously at one of her auburn ringlets. “You’re the expert, love. What would you recommend to impress upon our guests all the history and mystique of the Deep South?”

Your mind is blank, your thoughts gnarled up with visions of Christabel meeting Aemond at the end of an aisle. Amir sees this and he saves you.

“A Napoleon cake,” he announces with his best salesman enthusiasm, powerful enough to sweep everyone else along with him.

Alicent claps her hands, elated. “Oh, just like the town!”

“It has layers of puff pastry and rich custard cream, very French, very elegant and sophisticated, but also a nod to Napoleonville. And we can add a cherry jam to make it more romantic, if you like.”

“Doesn’t that just sound heavenly, darling?”

“Does Aemond like cherries?” Christabel asks Alicent. You know he does, but you don’t say anything.

“I think so. We’ll ask him tonight to be sure.” Alicent is opening her clutch purse to get the cash to pay you; she is eager to have this errand finished, you believe. “And can you put wildflowers on top of the Napoleon cake as well?”

“You can have the Declaration of Independence written on it if that is your heart’s desire,” Amir says, then steals a glimpse of you. You’re jotting the order down and then tracing over your own letters again and again.

“That’s the color scheme,” Christabel says a bit dreamily, forever woolgathering. “Wildflowers. And I think you suggested it at the engagement party,” she tells you, appreciative. In your recollection, it was less of a suggestion than a confession of what you once dared to hope for. “Everything has to have wildflowers. Even the dress.”

Alicent groans. “Oh, Christabel, not this again.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so resistant, those dresses were spectacular.”

“Whoever heard of a multicolored wedding dress?” Alicent asks you, Amir, Criston. “It’s absurd. The bride always wears pure white, everyone knows that. It’s tradition! It’s dignified!”

“Well now I get to solicit opinions too.” Christabel reaches into her own purse—a quilted shoulder bag, light blue with red roses and a label reading Souleiado stitched inside—and produces several polaroid photographs. She gives them to you; they are all of her posing in different wedding dresses, stylish white gowns freckled with wildflowers like splashes of paint. “All anyone can talk about is what I should wear, what the guests will expect, what they will chatter about when they gossip afterwards,” Christabel tells you. And in her vast, shimmering eyes you can detect no resentment or slyness, only quiet desperation. “But you’re a real person. So be honest with me, because there’s only one thing I really care about. Will my husband think I look ravishing in any of them?”

“These theatrics,” Alicent sighs to herself, lighting a Marlboro cigarette. Again, she is peering aimlessly around the kitchen. Amir fidgets with the dogwood flower in his hair as he watches you wearily. Criston compulsively eats another miniature cherry pie.

You study the polaroid photos. Each one feels like a split lip, a fractured rib, the shredding elephantine pressure of a contraction. You wait to speak until you’re sure your voice won’t break. “They’re all stunning. But this one…” You place one picture on top of the pile. “This dress was made for you. Just look at your face. Glowing like a lightning bug.”

“Thank you,” Christabel says, beaming, immensely grateful, and she takes the photos back. She seems pacified. “You’re married, aren’t you?”

“I was, yes. Briefly. Not very happily, I must admit. But it was worth it to get my daughter.”

She smiles. There’s no uneasiness; she doesn’t shy away from displays of human frailty. “I’d like a few daughters one day. We could all dress up together and style each other’s hair.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. If I tried that, I’d get my hands chewed off.”

Christabel laughs. She wears a casual blue t-shirt, blue gingham capri trousers, and white flat pumps. Her eyeshadow is a sparkling gold, her mascara flaking onto the apples of her cheeks. She is still marveling at you with those aquamarine eyes when Alicent pulls a list out of her clutch and grudgingly crosses off items with a black ballpoint pen.

“So we’ve got a wedding cake, a rehearsal dinner cake, a dress, a venue, flowers, photographers…I still need to call about hair and makeup…and we need to pick out candles…”

“Where are you getting married?” you ask Christabel.

“The most unique, picturesque, atmospheric place in the entire state of Louisiana, I’m sure of it.”

“We took a drive to visit that church you mentioned,” Alicent says to you. “And it was absolutely perfect. None of our guest will have ever seen anything like it. And it’s so historic! Over 150 years old! The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens.”

Amir squeals, a distressed mewing that he stifles with a feigned cough into his elbow. You stand shellshocked for a few seconds before managing a generic encouragement: “Really! Wow! Amazing! Great!”

Now Christabel is rather melancholy again. She scrutinizes her engagement ring, a large teardrop emerald with a gold band. Her voice is low, like she’s talking to herself. “I just wish…I don’t know. That we had more time together before the wedding, I suppose. Then I think I’d feel like I had more of a handle on things. It’s all been such a whirlwind, such a shock. A good shock, but still. We hardly know each other.”

Alicent prompts her: “You care for Aemond, don’t you, dear?”

“I’m in awe of him,” Christabel replies, a little dazed, a little defenseless. “He’s so clever and gallant. He’s the most inspiring man I’ve ever known. And the scar…it gives him quite a roguish look, doesn’t it? Like a Bond villain. It’s not a detriment in the least.”

“Yes, yes,” Alicent says impatiently, like she’s waiting for the conversation to be over. “Then there’s nothing more to worry about. You care for him, he cares for you, and you’ll have the honeymoon to get better acquainted. Criston, would you go outside and start the Lexus, please?” He dutifully departs.

Honeymoon. Your stomach lurches, the sea in a storm. You can see Aemond’s hands on Christabel’s face, in her hair, skating up her bare thighs. You can hear him moaning her name.

“We’re going to Greece,” Christabel informs you, thinking she’s being polite. “Athens, Mykonos, Santorini, and Corfu. Have you ever been?”

I’ve never been anywhere. But instead you say, forcing a smile: “Not yet.”

When Christabel, Alicent, and Criston have gone, you look to Amir. Your blood has turned to cement: cold, heavy, immobile, trapped. “You realize she’s getting my wedding, right? The one I always wanted. The wildflowers. The candles. The chapel.”

“And she’ll even be taking your favorite dick home at the end of the night.”

You cover your face with both hands and shake your head, trying to clear it, to drive out mirages of someone else’s oasis. This can’t be real. I can’t handle it, I can’t survive it.

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, gently now: “If we’re catering dessert, we’ll have to go to the wedding. The rehearsal dinner too.”

“Why would they want that? How can they not see how insanely awkward and wrong this is?”

He shrugs. “They probably think it’s normal. Wasn’t Camilla at Charles and Diana’s wedding?”

“If one more person tries to talk to me about Camilla Parker Bowles, I’m going to feed myself to the gator.”

“You’ll have to come to terms with it or you’ll have to end it. Those are the only options.”

“Yeah.” And it’s not just about me. It’s Cadi’s life too.

Amir sits down at the kitchen table, crosses one leg over the other, kicks his foot nervously. He rests an elbow on the tabletop and his chin on the knuckles of his left hand. “I hate to give you more bad news.”

You already know what he’s going to say. You’ve been dreading it for months. “You have enough money saved for San Franscisco.”

“I do.”

You exhale, your shoulders collapsing, tapping your fingertips against the counter. The air conditioner whirrs; the cicadas shriek in the trees outside. The house is hushed and still. Cadi is away at horse camp. Each day you receive a postcard in the mail that you assume the employees forced her to write at gunpoint. “When are you leaving?”

“The end of July. I’ll wait until after the wedding, once all the dust has settled. But I can’t wait any longer than that.”

“I want you to be happy,” you say. “I really do. But I’m going to miss you so much. You’ve been my best friend for a decade. You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a partner in life.”

Amir smiles faintly. “Come over here.”

When you sit beside him, he takes your hands in his; and you remember how he visited you in the hospital after Cadi was born, carrying a bouquet of wildflowers he picked himself and a Tupperware container full of crawfish pistolettes. He had been just a casual friend before you found out you were pregnant, one of a group, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t keep him at an arm’s length. Amir was different, and not in a way that you fully understood or accepted yet. But he was the only friend who had no judgment for you when you told him you were pregnant, who cared about how you felt, who wanted to be a part of whatever would happen next. He was the only one who stayed.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” Amir tells you. “I’ve never even been on a date, not once. I’ve never been in love. I’ve never had sex that wasn’t a one night stand in a New Orleans club or the back seat of my Ford Escort because those were the only places we had to go. And I’m starting to believe that people like me can’t have more than that. So I have to go someplace where I can have more, where I will have more. I don’t want love to be something that only other people get to experience. I don’t want to be afraid of leaving my house after dark or wake up every day wondering if someone has broken a window out of my car again. I have to go. There’s no future for me here. If I stay in Napoleonville, this place will kill me, one way or the other.”

Okay, you think. I can let him go. After everything he’s done for me, this is how I can be the friend that he deserves in return. “You should leave, Amir,” you say, tears stinging in your eyes. “I hear you, I understand you. I just wish I could go with you.”

“No, don’t cry, don’t cry! This isn’t the end. I’ll fly back to visit, you know that. Grandma’s still here, you and Cadi are here. And you can visit me too. Maybe you’ll even settle down on the West Coast someday. Eight more years and you’re free.”

You try to imagine your life then: Cadi headed off to college—and she will go to college, you’ve already decided that—and your tether to Willis weakened, closer to 40 years old than 30, Aemond and Christabel nearing their anniversary. How many children will they have by then? Three? Four? And the Lake Verret project will be well-established and no longer in need of so much of Aemond’s attention, and the house they call The Last Desire will sit empty on the lakeshore, warm draughts breathing through it like blood in veins. “I wouldn’t know how to exist anywhere else.”

“You’d learn,” Amir says confidently. “Now, have you ever made a Napoleon cake before?”

“I don’t think so. Not that I can remember.” You consider this. “My mom might have a recipe lying around somewhere. I’ll call and ask her.”

“Yes, do that,” Amir agrees. “If she doesn’t, I’ll try to dig one up at the library. We’ll want to have a few practice runs before the rehearsal dinner. Gotta impress the Rockefellers and their soulless millionaire ilk. Unless you were planning to have a homicidal meltdown and make the custard out of antifreeze or something.”

You chuckle. “No. Probably not.”

“It would be difficult to blame you.” And he turns on the little pink Panasonic radio: Alone by Heart.

~~~~~~~~~~

In a spacious corner booth of the Olive Garden in Gonzales, Aemond is talking about Lake Verret as you pick at your Tour of Italy and Frank Sinatra pipes through the speakers. You could swear they have the same three songs playing on a loop: Fly Me To The Moon, My Way, Luck Be A Lady, back to outer space again.

“But by total coincidence, Daeron has been researching desalination techniques for his latest article. Apparently there are ways to try to mitigate the damage and reduce the brackishness of the water, so we’re going to be—”

Abruptly, you ask: “Where does Christabel think you are right now?”

Aemond’s forehead crinkles, his fork hovers above his plate of herb-grilled salmon. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and his Marlboro jacket, jeans, Adidas sneakers. “Why do you care?”

“She’s getting the wedding I always wanted, did you even notice? She’s getting married at the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens in Belle River. She’s getting wildflowers and flickering candles.” And she’s getting you too.

“Okay,” Aemond says slowly. “I’m not involved in any of that.”

“I think you are, actually, because you’re kind of the groom.”

“But I don’t do the wedding planning,” he insists. “I have no idea what Christabel has arranged. My job is to be there on the day in a suit and that’s just about the extent of the real estate it takes up in my brain.”

“She’s never mentioned any of that to you? Not once? You’d swear on your life?”

He sets down his fork with a clang and stares fixedly at you. Your waitress glances over from several tables away where she is refilling a couple’s sweet tea glasses. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry you had good ideas and other people liked them. It fucking sucks that you didn’t get the wedding you wanted when you were seventeen. But that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know you yet, and you didn’t know me. You can’t blame me for what Willis or anyone else did.”

“But it’s not fair,” you choke out, sounding weak and juvenile, and you hate it but you can’t stop. “I understand that you’re marrying her, I get that, but she can’t have everything.”

“Look…” Aemond laces his hands together on top of the table, and his voice softens. “Even if Christabel didn’t exist, even if you were from my world, even if you were a duchess or a socialite or the daughter of the president of the United States of America, I still couldn’t marry you.”

You scoff; it’s despicable. “Because of Cadi?”

“No,” Aemond says, like that’s preposterous, like he’d never consider her to be a liability. “Because I have to have heirs.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss with vitriol that stuns him. Now the waitress is gawking. “You’re going to manipulate Christabel into walking down that aisle and then immediately get her pregnant?”

“Why are you mad at me?! I’m listening to you, I’m respecting you! You don’t want to have any more children of your own, fine, completely reasonable, I would never ask you to have a baby and go through all of that again for the sake of the Targaryen dynasty, but somebody has to!”

“You really don’t understand why I would empathize with a teenage girl trying to raise a child when she’s lonely and exhausted and confused about why the man she married isn’t turning out to be who she expected?”

Aemond shakes his head like it’s not a valid comparison. “She wants this.”

“She doesn’t know what it is. She doesn’t understand what she’s signing up for.”

“Everyone from a family like mine goes through this,” Aemond says. “My grandparents did, my mum and dad did, Aegon did, even bloody Charles and Diana did, and now it’s my turn. There are growing pains, but people adjust and it all works out eventually. Christabel will learn to manage her expectations, and once the children are born she can find happiness wherever and with whoever she wants to.”

“But you’ll be with her,” you forced out, voice fracturing, and at first Aemond doesn’t grasp what you mean. “You’ll…you’ll sleep with her. You’ll touch her, you’ll kiss her, you’ll do everything with her.”

“Surely you, as someone who called up a stranger from a personal ad in the Bayou Journal, comprehends that sex can be a solely physical act under the right circumstances.”

“So what, you’ll fuck me and then go home to her? Or you’ll fuck her and come home to me? And I’m supposed to live like that?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s simple, like it’s easy.

You gaze morosely out of the restaurant window. In the distance is a Dollar General, a Burger King, the Kmart where you had to buy your own engagement ring.

“Do you want me to tell Christabel to change the wedding?”

“No.”

“Because if I tell her to pick a new venue, new flowers, new cakes, whatever, she’ll do it.”

“No. She likes her wedding. I can’t take that away from her. She thinks I’m her friend.”

“Cupcake,” Aemond says, tenderly now. You turn back to him. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’m going to be gone for a while, four or five days. I have to fly to Norway and inspect some of the offshore rigs we have up there.”

“In the North Sea?” you ask, alarmed. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I mean, it’s oil drilling. It’s one of the most deadly professions in the world. But that’s how we built our fortune, our legacy. I’ve survived before, I’m sure I will again. If you need anything while I’m gone, you can call the house. Criston knows that you’re to be taken care of.”

“No one else can go to Norway instead of you?”

“I have to go.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my responsibility.”

“Because Viserys told you to?”

“They amount to the same thing.”

“I don’t think you should listen to him.”

“I have to go,” Aemond says again. He takes out his wallet and lays $30 on the table. “But there’s something I need to show you first.”

As Aemond’s red Audi Quattro barrels down Route 70 southbound towards Napoleonville, you say very little to each other. Once you were strangers, and the words flowed easily and your bodies intertwined with effortless need, and now you have known each other for nearly two months and shared days and nights and confessions and yet every ghost filled up the space between you until it was a splinter, a gap, a gulf, a chasm. You miss the person he was when he showed up on your sloping, creaking porch steps back in May. You miss the person you were before you found out about Christabel.

A Men At Work song comes on the car radio, and it takes you a moment to figure out which one. It’s Down Under, a bewildering hit from 1981. “I never understood this song,” you say, staring through the open window as a jungle of southern live oaks, dogwoods, and cypresses rolls by. Rivulets of opaque, slow-moving bayou water snake through the wild green. Pelicans flap their wings in the pink-golden dusk sky. “What’s a head full of zombie? What’s a Vegemite sandwich?”

Aemond laughs, a smoldering Marlboro Red nestled in his left hand. You wonder if once he’s married he’ll wear a gold band on his ring finger, if he’ll take it off when he cheats with you. “Cupcake, it’s obviously about Australia.”

“What?”

“Down Under? As in, literally below the rest of us in the Southern Hemisphere? Head full of zombie means they’ve been smoking weed. Vegemite is a kind of yeast spread they put on sandwiches. I’ve had it, it’s disgusting. The whole song is in Australian slang. Everyone knows it’s about Australia.”

I didn’t. You look out your window again. Aemond takes note and swiftly backpedals.

“But I mean, I can see how an American wouldn’t know that. No big deal, okay? To anyone in the Commonwealth, Australia is like our fuckup sibling. It’s our Aegon. But you guys probably don’t really learn about Australia in school. So…yeah. It’s probably not as obvious as I assumed.”

“Maybe I missed that lesson,” you say. Maybe I missed that year.

In a brand new neighborhood just outside the town center of Napoleonville, Aemond parks in the paved driveway of a ranch house on a three or four acre lot. The yard is bordered by a white masonry fence with chicken wire around the base to keep snakes and gators out. There are a few dogwood and bay laurel trees, and one monstrous southern live oak that’s probably two hundred years old. Aemond cuts the Audi Quattro’s engine and steps out into the twilight.

“Aemond? What are we doing here?”

“Follow me.”

“Why?”

He walks around to your side of the car, opens the door, and leans down to grab your face with his right hand, his fingers hooked around the curve of your jaw. Instantly, there is a bolt down your spine: hunger, warmth, weakness, momentum that is thoughtless like falling from a great height. “Follow me,” he repeats, grinning mischievously. “Right now.”

Aemond has a key that unlocks the front door. Inside is rose pink carpeting and mauve walls, a sunken conversation pit, popcorn ceilings, mini blinds on the windows, closet doors covered with mirrors. You can see your face reflected in them, puzzled.

“This is the living room, clearly,” Aemond says as he continues briskly through the house. As an afterthought, he kicks off his Adidas sneakers so he doesn’t track any dirt inside. You do the same, sliding off your cheap flats from Kmart. He points down a hallway. “There are two guest bedrooms down there, and then a big one at the other end of the house with its own private bath. Here’s the kitchen…” He leads you through it, mint green with pristine black and white tiles on the floor. “And over there is the dining room.” It’s a kind, golden yellow like dawn or sunset.

“Aemond, what—?”

“Bedroom next,” he interrupts, hurrying you along.

At the end of the hall, he opens a door to reveal a sprawling chamber. It is blue like his bedroom in the Targaryen mansion, but not a deep, vivid sapphire color; it is a pale blue like prairie flax or a clear midday sky. The carpet is lush and soft. There are mirrors on the ceiling.

“Those are optional,” Aemond clarifies, pointing upwards. “But personally, I like them.”

“Aemond, whose house is this?”

“It’s yours,” he says.

“It’s what?!”

“Well, technically, it isn’t yours quite yet,” he admits. “I bought it in cash, it will close in a week or two. At that point I’ll sell it to you for $1—the same price as one of your cupcakes, incidentally—and then it will officially be your house. And it doesn’t even have a sinking foundation or any alligators. Imagine the possibilities.”

“But…but…”

“Cadi’s bedroom is green, like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I’ve been told the yard is big enough for one horse, or two very small horses. Ponies, I guess.”

“You cannot buy me a house,” you say, aghast.

“I think I already did.” He holds out the key to you, resting in his palm among lines of prophesy.

You are paralyzed; it takes you forever to find your words. “Aemond, I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“You don’t owe me anything. It���s a gift, not a trade,” he says, the key still lying in his outstretched hand. “Every cent I spend on you, every second I spend with you, is solely because I want to do it and for no other reason. There’s no obligation. There’s no quid pro quo. And that’s what I feel like you don’t understand. I have no logical reason to keep you in my life, absolutely none, aside from the fact that I want you to be here. And I want that with everything I’m made of. I never stop wanting it. So let me help you. Take the key. Take the house.”

His right eye is on you, imploring, commanding. At last, you lift the key from his palm. Studying it like the cryptic letter of a foreign language, you murmur: “You shouldn’t have done this.”

Aemond rakes his fingers through your hair, tilts your face up towards his, skims his lips feather-lightly from your cheekbone down to your lips—though he doesn’t kiss you, only ghosts his flesh over yours, a taste, a taunt—and then up to the curl of your ear. His whispered voice is colored with wicked scarlet desire. “You don’t tell me what to do. I tell you what to do.”

If he yanked off your t-shirt you would let him. If he unzipped your denim shorts and slipped his artful fingers inside them he would find panties soaked through for him. You would let him do anything he wanted to you, here in this glass-fragile liminality before he becomes Christabel’s in law, in body, in inked and inerasable history. But it would not be because you want to, not because you feel ready in your bones, not because you trust him again. It would only be because you could not bring yourself to resist.

Aemond reads this on your face; he stops before you have to tell him to.

~~~~~~~~~~

On July 1st, Cascade Stables is swarming with parents as they descend upon the property to collect their children and meet the horses they’ve spent the past week with. There is a stereo somewhere blaring Your Love by The Outfield; apparently, this does not disturb the horses. You find Cadi beside the stall of a very tall, willowy beast, ears upright and alert, one bulging eye onyx and the other a striking icy blue. Its coat is white with a splattering of rust-colored stains. Even its mane and tail are comprised of alternating strands, dark, light, earth, clouds, cocoa powder, granulated sugar.

“His name is Patches,” Cadi tells you proudly as she pets the leviathan’s velvety muzzle. “He has a wall eye. And he’s a real handful and usually they only allow the experienced campers to ride him, but they let me try and he listened so well I got to keep him all week!”

“Wow, that’s incredible! Good job! Did you learn a lot about how to take care of him?”

“Yeah. They taught me how to feed Patches and clean his hooves and put a saddle on him. And how to hit him with a hairbrush when he tries to bite me.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Right. Okay.”

“Can we buy him? He’s for sale. Probably because of all the biting.”

“Who, Patches?” You definitely cannot afford to board a horse; and then you remember the new house. “I’ll think about it.”

Cadi peeks around you. “Daddy isn’t here too?”

“No, honey, I’m sorry. He had to work. But he really wanted to see the horses and he is looking forward to hearing all about your adventures.” This is a lie—Willis seems only dimly aware of the concept of a horse camp, and he is staunchly incurious by nature—but a compassionate one.

Cadi accepts the explanation readily enough. “Alright. Is Aemond your boyfriend yet?”

“Um.” You thread the horse’s forelock through your fingers to buy yourself time. It seems unwise to try to deceive her again; Cadi will learn about Christabel sooner or later. “No, we’re still just friends.” You pause. She watches you, knowing there’s more. “Actually, he’s getting married this month.”

“What?!” Cadi is shocked, but she’s outraged too. “To who?!”

“To a nice lady named Christabel. And I’m sure they’ll be very happy together.” Another lie. And you think for the first time: If I settle for being Aemond’s mistress, if I let it tear me to pieces…what am I teaching Cadi?

Your daughter doesn’t say anything for a long time. She pets Patches’ speckled face, her own expression tense and thoughtful, lines and worries that should be far beyond her age. At last she says quietly: “Is it because of me?”

You are mystified. “What, honey?”

“Is the reason why you and Aemond can’t get married because of me?”

There is a flash of crimson wrath in your skull—protective, animalistic, wronged on her behalf—but no one to direct it at. “No. No, absolutely not. Why would you say that?”

Cadi shrugs, and you recognize it as her self-preservation, faux-flippant shrug. “I don’t know. One time I heard Michelle’s mom talking about how no decent man wants to deal with some other guy’s kids. And that’s me when I’m at your house. Another guy’s kid.”

Oh, fuck you, Janet. “No,” you say again. “Aemond likes you a lot, Cadi. He cares about you.” He picked out a house that could accommodate a horse for you. “You’re the opposite of a problem. He actually likes me more because of you, I think.”

“Okay.” And she’s relieved, although she’s trying not to show it. “Then why is he marrying someone else?”

“Well…it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

Where the hell do I start? “Aemond and I are very different people,” you tell Cadi. “And we want different things out of life. We like to spend time together, but that doesn’t mean that we’d be able to share our whole lives…homes, careers, values, everything. His family has a lot of expectations of him that I don’t feel right supporting, but Aemond wants to respect their rules. And, you know. He’s a robber baron.”

“But he doesn’t talk about Jade Dragon Energy or oil around me. He talks about history.”

You sigh, watching dust motes swirl through the hot, sunlit stable air, listening to horses nicker and huff. “I know, honey.”

“I don’t even think he wants to be a robber baron. I think he wants to be something else.”

“Like what?” you ask, picking stray bits of yellow straw out of her short, disheveled hair. And remarkably, Cadi tolerates this.

“I don’t know, just…just…” She battles with the words, then finds one she likes. “Free, I guess. Just free.”

[multifandom--mess]

Hannigram Fic Recs! pt.2

Here it is, the big fat fic recs post I've been putting off for like two months but at least that means I had time to read a shit ton of fics. I made sure to do a mix of short and long fics this time around since the first part were all long ones. Enjoy!

part 1

》 The Lamb and His Monster by petrodactyl352 (Explicit)(104k)

Will has always been drawn to the macabre. The proverbial flame upon which he has burnt his fragile moth’s wings time and time again, it’s why he had fallen in love with Florence and why he alone seems to see the beauty in the grisly but exquisite work of Il Mostro. But when he meets a young man in the Uffizi Gallery whose sketchbook is filled with nothing but page upon page of intricate renditions of the Primavera drawn in reverent strokes of pencil, he realizes he may not be alone in his fascination with the Monster. As they lift veils and scale forts and slowly begin to understand each other, Will gets a taste of exactly how bright the cinders of intrigue can burn—and how quickly they can kindle into an inferno of obsession.

(Young hannigram in Florence ahhh this is seriously one of the best fics i've ever read it had to be at the top of the list)

》 Spectral Hearts by mattHughdancy (Explicit) (16k)

Will has a meltdown at a crime scene. Guess who’s called in to help.

(Another top fave of mine they are so fucking cute in this fic 🤧 features autistic Will, and Hannibal just loves him so much oh my goddd my heart exploded reading this)

》 lay like a flood spills away by bleakmidwinter (Explicit)(35k)

Will Graham meets Hannibal, a frequent cruiser, at an open-minded nudist lake. Despite his reservations, Will is drawn to him, but is eventually forced to question his mysterious nature when the lakeside regulars start to go missing.

(I loved this one bc what better setting than a nudist lake. This is just gay as hell honestly lmao bc the lake is all dudes and Will is "straight" at the beginning until he meets Hannibal and it's all downhill from there. Definitely give this one a read it had some hilarious moments too)

》 Doing Things That Friends Don't Do by HigherMagic (Explicit) (39k)

A year after the fall, Will and Hannibal have settled into a fairly blissful, domestic harmony. But Will's imagination has never let him simply enjoy what he has - why should it start now?

(Basically Will trying everything in his power NOT to have sex with Hannibal but of course we all know he can't keep it together. They are so horny for each other in this i died laughing so many times. Also this author is such an amazing writer expect multiple recs from them in this post)

》 Railroad Romance by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles (12k)(Explicit)

Hannibal is still Hannibal, and Will is still Will. Except Will is not part of the FBI and they meet on a two day train trip from New Orleans to Baltimore.

(A strangers to lovers meet-cute on a train. Lots of fluffy moments and of course train sex ensues)

》 Three Stars by beforethedawn (94k)(Explicit)

Three months after the fall, Jack finally tracks them down in Canada and Will and Hannibal have to make a run for it, slumming it through America in three star hotels and eating sub par food.

(Hannigram roadtrip!! This fic was so fun I loved it. They take on the identities of some familiar Mads and Hugh characters ;)

》 Unexpected Delight by HigherMagic (Explicit) (61k)

Will has a kink that he’s deeply ashamed of. Unbeknownst to him, Hannibal has the same or a similar/compatible kink. They get together, and Will is going out of his way as he usually does to seem like his sexual tastes are as “normal” as possible. As a result, Hannibal gets the idea that Will is super vanilla and maybe a little prudish, and not wanting to scare him off, is also keeping his kinky side on the DL. This goes on for while, with them each trying super hard to hide how kinky they are and act as “vanilla” as possible, to hilarious results, all while privately thinking the other one would be super freaked out if they knew since they’re obviously so sweet and normal.

(This whole thing is literally ALL smut 😭😭 but Han and Will love each other to death and the sex is so good y'all omg I had to stop reading multiple times to catch my breath)

》 The Substitute by Devereauxs_Disease (Explicit) (10k)

When Hannibal tells Will he's sick, Will is skeptical. Before he knows it, he's laying in a hospital bed and being told he's going nowhere for two weeks. Will is distraught until Hannibal swoops in and offers to take over Will's courses at the FBI Academy. Will doesn't mind Hannibal showing up every night with a home-cooked meal, but he might just resent Hannibal becoming the most popular teacher at the Academy in just two weeks...

(A seaon 1 au if Hannibal wasn't an asshole had told Will about the encephalitis. This is hilarious tho because the students don't like Will no more when he comes back and they keep asking about Hannibal 😭😭 poor Will lmaoo)

》 When This Old Tired Body Wants to Sing by KareliaSweet (Explicit) (7k)

“Fuck me quicker, darling,” he purrs with liquid insincerity, “God forbid you see my face.” Will never touches him unless it is in the dark. In the daylight he is a ghost.

(Will being an asshole and only fucking Hannibal in the dark ugh 🙄 but things work out eventually so don't worry!)

》 Maybe Tomorrow by Shotgun_sinner (Explicit) (26k)

After recovering from their tumble off a cliff, Will agrees to get Hannibal to Portugal, where the good doctor can start a new life for himself. In exchange, Will can take the boat and return to his life, or start over himself. A storm hits on the open water, leaving them stranded somewhere in the Azores. With no one else on the small island, they're forced to work together for survival, and work through their violent past in order to get along.

(A survival au! I LOVED this and author is another fave of mine. I go crazy for a good stranded on a deserted island trope and this did not disappoint. Also there is an insanely funny part where I absolutely DIED. You'll know when you read it 💀💀)

》 I've Always Been A Daughter by air_of_the_Waterfall (44k)(Explicit)

It's been a month since Will and Abigail ran away with Hannibal. Living in a safe Canadian town, Will and Hannibal are free to explore their newfound intimacy and Abigail has a chance at the future she craves. However, upon meeting Hannibal’s sister Mischa and her daughter, loyalties are tested and insecurities run rampant. The Lecters have an undeniably dark past, and as Abigail and Will fall deeper into its truths, Hannibal’s manipulation and misguided love come to light more clearly than ever before.

(This fic is truly a hidden gem I am so glad I found it. Murder family post-mizumono and also MISCHA LIVES. The plot is so well written and I love Mischa's characterization. Definitely give this one a read, yall it is SO GOOD it deserves so much love)

》 Home is Not a Place by Shotgun_Sinner (11k)(Explicit)

Post-Fall, Hannibal recovers from his injuries. Will takes care of him, and their relationship evolves much more easily than Hannibal thought it would. The only issue is that Will is a constant presence, and he hasn't had alone time in three years. It ends up not being an issue at all.

(This one is so sweet. Basically Hannibal wants to jerk off but he can't because Will is just always there and he hardly gets a moment alone and he'll feel bad for telling him to go away 😭😭 but they finally get together in the end

》 Held in the Highest Regard by HigherMagic (12k)(Explicit)

What happens when a group of serial killers pick the absolute worst targets? Will is already having a pretty rough night, since Hannibal proposed to him and Will said 'No' for reasons he still hasn't quite figured out yet. It's not their fault - they couldn't have known - but sometimes people have to learn lessons the hard way, and Will could definitely use some stress relief.

(If you are familiar with the movie 'The Strangers' then you'll really like this one. I reread it like three times it was so good. Shit had me tweaking omg this is like the perfect au for them)

》 Green-Eyed Monster by CestPasDuBaudelaire (53k)(Explicit)

Will and Hannibal have settled in Cuba and, for the past year, they have been living their happily ever after in a small hidden community for retired wanted criminals. However, at the hazard of a gathering, Will is faced with an unbelievable fact, other members of the community may also fancy his monster of a husband. Then comes Will's spiraling, as he learns to come to terms with a disastrous, chaotic and slowly overwhelming possessiveness. And of course, feelings are never easy to deal with, when Hannibal is involved. A smut character study in three acts exploring Will's possessiveness.

(Top!Will my beloved. Don't let the title fool you, this was so fun to read and I love the community for wanted criminals idea. And possessive Will is always a treat ;)

》 Haunted by Anonymous (165k)(Explicit)

Still recovering from their fight with Dolarhyde, Will and Hannibal escape to New Orleans with Chiyoh's help. But Will is still struggling to accept Hannibal and his own darkness, something that Hannibal has every intention of helping him overcome...

(And finally I leave you guys with this monster of a fic. So sad that the author chose to go anon but if they somehow see this I hope they know how much I love this story. Will is struggling and Hannibal is an asshole at certain points but when is he not? Lots of references to Will's past too and some stuff about his mom that's very interesting)

I hope you guys enjoy these stories as much as I did. If you read any and want to discuss my messages and ask box are always open! ♡♡♡

[weirdbrothers]

Stranger Things Fic Rec

Let me get one thing out of the way: absolutely nobody asked for this. But I love these pairings and stories so much I had to share it with you all. This is heavy on Steve/Billy with some Steve/Eddie sprinkled in.

If you've never read Stranger Things fic, or when you saw this post thought "oh yeah, that 80s kid monster show" I encourage you to give these a try! You don't have to know much about the show besides the bare bones of the plot. (And my ask box is always open for Qs!) If you like angsty teenage boys who are in denial about their feelings and hate their hometown, read on.

Now, on to the porn and depravity!

if i stare too long by @brawlite & @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger | Steve/Eddie/Billy

After the end of the world, Billy Hargrove is a mess. But at least he has company.

Notes: Literally one of my favorite fics of all time, I will never shut up about it. Gay threesomes. Angst. A sweltering midwestern summer. Homoerotic undertones that builds to filthy gay porn. The vibes are all there.

Pressure by Yellow_Blue_Books | Steve/Eddie

"You never did tell me your name," he called at Munson's back. The older man was already in the trees when he turned back around and stated his name, eyes bright and grin wide. Steve never heard it; he couldn't read his lips from so far a distance between them. So instead, he watched Munson walk away; the teen, now wide awake, went to sit on the hood of his car to wait for Hopper to show. On that crisp, cold January night in 1985 - Steve Harrington heard the sound of Eddie Munson's voice for the first and last time. He never even knew his name.

Notes: The only WIP on this rec list, and totally worth the wait. Great characterization. So many little tidbits of information that have me squealing with joy. But also dark and grounded in reality.

chokechain by @brawlite | Steve/Billy (and Tommy is there)

Tommy H. invites Billy to a party at Steve's house. Billy expected hot chicks and booze, but when he shows up, there's only the latter. Steve and Tommy teach Billy that in Hawkins, sometimes you just gotta make do.

Notes: When I think of this fic I literally start sweating its so sexy. The fic that got me hooked on Steve/Billy and gay Steve in general. Its so subtle and gritty and grimy and hot. And Tommy is egging everyone on, yet oblivious, just how I like him.

so good at being in trouble, so bad at being in love by @the-copperkid Steve/Billy

Steve's sophomore year, Billy showed up.

Notes: A fandom classic. The perfect example of Steve/Billy getting together in world, and dealing with their feelings (+ porn, because I'm me and I need porn in all my fic).

We'll Go Down in History by @eternalgoldfish | Billy/Steve

Hawkins High takes a field trip to Baltimore to see historical sites and Steve would rather jump out his hotel window.

Notes: So much teenage angst and tomfoolery in this one! A little more lighthearted than others on the list. Gets to that theme in ST that I love: the idle hands of teenage boys are the devil's playthings.

Dom 4 Hire by @lazybakerart

Steve is naked, on his hands and knees, in the apartment he shares with his high school sweetheart for a man he only just met in person five minutes ago.

Notes: From the second I saw Steve Harrington on screen I knew that boy was a sub dying for someone to call him a good boy. And Billy is just the dom for the job. My only complaint is that I wish this was longer!

Maybe we're something uncool by desert_dino | Steve/Billy

It’s only noon; Billy knows neither of them have work that evening, and their shitty gen-ed biology lab was cancelled. They’ve only been hanging out for an hour, and maybe Billy isn’t quite done fucking around with Harrington yet. Maybe he’ll indulge him.

Notes: Cocky Billy is what the world needs! Great banter and dialogue. Just a snapshot of what I imagine their afternoons would look like, and the teens of Hawkins would be like "why the fuck are they always hanging out?" totally oblivious.

slipping through by sightetsound | Steve/Billy

It was the weed, and the pilfered whiskey from Steve’s daddy dearest they passed back and forth. It was actually how Steve’s eyes caught the moonlight. How his mouth moved when he spoke, and how it curved on a grin Billy would call relaxed when they were alone. Admitting as much felt too much like giving ground, and so it was the weed and whiskey.

Notes: Really bittersweet, heartfelt, and sincere. A different kind of pace for this pairing.

You Get Too Close by @trashcangimmick | Steve/Billy

Steve sits at the back of the bus on the way to a basketball match in Gary. Billy Hargrove sits right across from him.

Notes: Be for real- when we saw that basketball and shower scene we were all hoping it would go in the direction of this fic. Gives me the vibe of an 80s porno in the best way.

Reflecting on the Longest Wavelength by @trashcangimmick | Billy/Hopper

Billy’s heat hits early. Jim Hopper happens to find him before anyone else does. 

Notes: This pairing is a little rouge, I don't see it often and its hard to pin down for me past all the basic tropes. I really like the A/B/O world-building here and find myself returning to it.

[zombiekooo]

Pretty Please? (18+ Hannigram Fic)

Warnings: Mildly Dubious Consent, Mild Blood Play, Dom/Sub Undertones, Aphrodisiac Use, Mild Homophobia, Subspace

(6.7k Words)

Summary:

Will enters Hannibal’s office for the first time, drugged and confused with the effects of an aphrodisiac. He begs for Hannibal whose touch seems to help the impact of the drug, while simultaneously struggling with the fact he is in fact, attracted to men. Hannibal gets the brute end of it, and knows exactly how to satisfy his fascinating new toy.

A/N: Hannibal is Hannibal, also known as the biggest narcissistic and manipulative freak I have ever seen. So, just keep that in mind while reading.

This will be a mini series, maybe 2-4 chapters long. I haven’t decided yet, but read the tags for future warnings ;)

- Koo

Chapter 1:

Will steps into Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s waiting room. The only reason he knew where he was at that moment was because of the glittering bronze name tag that framed the man’s name like a medallion, greeting him on the door leading to the office.

He felt disoriented. Unlike himself. He couldn’t recall how he had shown up to the man’s office in the first place. He had no appointment, no number to call, not even an email to warn the man of his arrival. He didn’t know why he was here. Hell, he had only met the man a handful of times.

Will flinches, the letters of the psychiatrist’s name blurring momentarily. He felt a particular pinch in his side that reminded him of the vivid sensations of pins and needles across his entire body. He was thankful for it though, seeming as it was the only thing stopping him from succumbing to the fatigue that clouded his brain. He pushes back his messy bangs with a weak hand, absently noting how his hair sticks up sloppily from the sweat accumulated on his forehead, and lifts a heavy limb to knock on the dark wooden door.

Courtesy was appreciated by the man, he had remembered that much.

After he knocks, he recognizes the chatter of two voices stopping abruptly. He curses himself for not paying attention. Of course, he would have patients, it was his office after all. So much for courtesy, Graham.

He hears a faint voice muffled by the door. Thick, accented, ridiculously smooth like melting butter. He could almost find himself envying the undeniably attractive voice. Man or woman, it had the same impact, melting their bones to jelly and allowing the tactile doctor to mold them to his liking with those strong large hands, which seemed unusual to have as a psychiatrist. He must work out. Of course he does, he can’t just be rich, handsome and intelligent. He’s gotta be ripped as well.

“Will?”

He could feel the rumble of the syllable, crawling up his throat and forcing him to swallow it back down, trapping it there, storing it away behind his ribs. He soaks in the way it rebeverates down his spine, and a stronger tremble of pins and needles envelops his body. They’re pleasant, he decides.

“Will.”

The pins and needles shifted to his left shoulder, forcing out a hiss from behind his teeth. The entire width of his shoulder tingles pleasantly, not unlike a massage. He feels himself answer the pleasant feeling with a rumble of his own, unknowingly leaning into the source of the pleasant feeling.

“Your name is Will Graham. You are in Baltimore Maryland, in front of Hannibal Lecter’s office. It is 11:21 PM. You are safe. Can you repeat that for me?”

“Hannibal?” Will sighs dreamily. As his eyes flutter open from being half closed, he begins to piece together the figure in front of him. A crimson suit with checkered patterns, maybe with some yellow stitching— he couldn’t focus his eyes well enough to know for sure—paired with a creamy white undershirt. Glossy black shoes tied meticulously, dark slacks with even darker stripes. Cologne. Rich, warm, and spicy but not overwhelmingly so. Just enough to alight his eyelids to flutter open all the way.

“That’s it, very well done.” Hannibal doesn’t exactly smile, but his eyes suggest that he is satisfied with Will’s response. Will lets out a shuddering breath, his heart fluttering at the thought of pleasing the man before him. He doesn’t let himself think too much about that.

“Jessie, I’m afraid I will have to end our session short. It seems I am faced with an emergency.”

Will only then registers the person inside the office, sitting down in a velvet seat. But he doesn’t process the curt exchange of words they share, his unfocused eyes eventually darting back to Hannibal’s eyes, which he notes haven’t once left his own. Then only once he begins to move his legs, does he realize the hand on his shoulder firmly guiding him, and a second tremor of butterfly wings beat at his chest. The same warm solid hand he was just thinking of, long fingers that encompass his shoulder effortlessly. He leans his weight against it, just to test the firmness of Hannibal’s grip.

“Will, please come in,” Hannibal says, unfazed by the weight of his colleague. He simply guides the man inside with a firm hand.

“M’sorry. You had a client.” Will says, looking at the now absent chair. He hadn’t seen the person leave.

“That is irrelevant,” Hannibal replies smoothly. Will can’t help but notice the way his accent becomes accentuated on certain vowels, and it has him looking back at the older man’s face, specifically his lips.

Hannibal studies him momentarily, his expression unreadable.

“Where did you go tonight, Will? It is awfully late.”

Will grunts, shaking his head in dismissal and motioning to the chair across from him.

“Who was that? Didn’t think’ya had customers… er clients, this time around.” He says with an irritated lilt. He couldn’t remember what the person looked like, but if they had the company of Hannibal at this time of night, then it must’ve been something personal. A boyfriend? Or was it a girl? A girlfriend was more likely... Fuck do I care.

“You’re correct, I normally do not have clients at this time,” Hannibal responds.

Will stiffens and shoves his hands in his pockets like a petulant boy. His eyes drop from Hannibal’s face and he shakes off the hand from his shoulder, instantly regretting the solid weight of it. He desperately ignores whatever bubbling emotion is being stirred in his gut. He steps away from the comforting presence of the older man and begins regretting his entire decision to come.

“I should go, dunno why m’here.” Will grunts, shoulders retracting nearly up his ears. He looks down at his scuffed loafers, comparing them to the most likely designer black leather shoes that reflect the orange light from the office. Only then does he realize how pathetic he must look to the man. Dazed, dirty and whiny. Like a kicked dog. He turns to leave, shame nipping at his heels.

“Will,” Hannibal says firmly, his voice descending down Will’s spine, dragging against each rivet of bone. He stills instantly, shoulders hunched and defensive.

“Tell me what happened tonight. You are disoriented, and as my job as your psychiatrist, I cannot let you leave the building until I am assured that you are safe. Both emotionally and physically.”

Ah, right. Nearly forgot.

Jack had assigned Hannibal as his very own psychiatrist. The very reason why he went to a random bar, drank enough whiskey to surely kill some kidney cells, read the email Jack forwarded of Hannibal’s office address, and called a taxi to drag him there just because he wanted to look at the man, and in spite tell him he didn’t need his help, that he wasn’t unstable.

Then forgot all about it because of the damn pins and needles the man gives him just from thinking of his stupid dreamy accent and his fancy clothes.

“Went for a drink.” Will shrugs, refusing to turn around, staring at the closed door. He feels a prod of anxiety from the realization that he’s alone with the doctor.

“And how many did you have?” Hannibal replies firmly, leaving no room for an argument.

Will turns the question around in his head, trying to remember the evening. It’s all blurred and it gives him a headache from trying.

“Three.” He answers. He knew that much.

“Three,” Hannibal repeats warily. Will hears the shuffle of clothes and the waft of that spicy, woody, addictive cologne come closer. His head tingles with a fuzzy feeling just from the scent alone. He tells himself everyone would react the same, despite their gender. They must have put some kind of pheromone in that crap.

“Who were you with tonight, Will? Did someone accompany you while drinking? A stranger, perhaps?”

“Ya, maybe. So what? So were you.” Will drawls, overly conscious of his Louisianan accent making an appearance.

He squeaks in surprise as Hannibal takes a firm hold of his shoulders, spinning him around to face him. Instinctively, Will reaches to hold onto the older man’s arms to prevent him from falling, the room spinning nearly to the point nausea. But then the fuzzy blend of heat and needles shoot from his fingertips, up his chest, then finally simmering pleasantly around his shoulders and the base of his skull. The heat from the touch was nearly too much and not enough all at once, he could feel the way his eyebrows pinch and his jaw slacken. It felt like electricity and raw nerves, every touch so hot it was almost freezing.

“I believe you have been roofied, Will. Tell me what you remember.” Hannibal says matter-of-factly, leading Will backwards until the back of his knees meet the chair and he falls backwards until he’s seated clumsily into it.

Will can hardly process the meaning behind Hannibal’s sentence. Instead, he blinks up at the solid man above him who is looking down at him with deep maroon eyes, bordering on dark red from the influence of his crimson suit.

Fear prickles at the nape of his neck, telling him that the man was a predator— the looming figure ever so intimidating above him, tall and muscular, with broad shoulders and an even broader chest. He can’t recall ever meeting a psychiatrist who had such a powerful figure. The fear didn’t last long, however. A tingly warmth spread over his scalp like a massage as he felt his eyes struggle to maintain focus on the man’s face. He shrinks away from the intense stare, afraid that Hannibal would figure out the undignified thoughts that began manifesting on their own accord.

“Dunno,” Will responds stubbornly, chanting away the blush he feels rising to his cheeks. He eyes the way the man’s throat bobs in silent frustration, then darts his eyes up just long enough to see his expression, but Hannibal’s gives away no hints to his emotions.

“Then, tell me what you are feeling as of right now,” Hannibal replies calmly as he takes a seat across from him.

Will scoffs, “Lazy psychiatry, doctor.”

“Entertain me then, Agent Graham,” Hannibal says, cold and somewhat unsettling.

Will shuffles uncomfortably, tucking his legs against the chair and squirming around in the chair. Suddenly, he feels too warm. His clothes were suddenly too restrictive. He sighs in defeat and looks down at the floor at Hannibal’s pointed shoes.

“Warm… no, hot, actually. I keep getting these tingles everywhere, and fuzziness too. Like wool is dragged against my skin, but like, the soft wool, not the scratchy kind. Y’know?” Will sniffs absently, making an effort not to look the man in the eyes. He’s painfully aware that he’s rambling, so he looks down at his feet, kicking off his shoes and tucking them under the chair.

Hannibal is silent, patiently watching the squirming man before him. Eventually, Will breaks some more under the penetrative stare.

“It’s especially when m’touched. Or, no, I don’t know. It’s not painful or anything, just a bit overwhelming. Feels like m’just a bundle of nerves.” He shrugs.

Hannibal considers him for a moment, allowing the silence to stretch until it has Will squirming all over again.

“How did it feel when I touched you, Will?”

Will chokes and sinks into the chair, his arms crossing over his body defiantly.

“It was fine.”

“Yet, your expression tells me you ache for it back.”

Will feels on the verge of panic. His eyes briefly meet Hannibal’s, and he nearly loses his breath at the wave of neediness his body swoons with. The tingles return, but only a phantom version of them. He aches for them back, aches for the solid strength of the man before him. The firm grip that was on his shoulder, grounding him, accepting the strain Will forced upon it.

“No, m’not— I don’t swing that way, doctor.”

“That was not what I was implying.” Hannibal has a teasing glint in his eye, a ghost of a smile pulling at his plump lips. “Does that bother you? Homosexuality?”

“No- that isn’t-“ Will shakes his head, eyebrows creasing.

“Tell me what happened tonight.”

Will sighs and rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms, hard enough for him to see stars. He doesn’t realize his glasses fall from his face as he does, nor the way Hannibal reaches down to grab them, placing them on the desk next to him.

“Nothing! Really. I just, I went for a drink, I talked with this man… I don’t even remember his name or what he looked like. He seemed attracted to me, but I didn’t… I’m not gay. So I left.” He drops his hands into his lap dramatically once he’s finished, he looks at Hannibal’s sternum with a pout to avoid the man’s eyes. He felt frustrated, like his body was punishing him for not satisfying a craving that his brain couldn’t figure out. Subconsciously, his hands begin to rub at his forearms, simulating another’s touch.

Hannibal hums and leans forward.

“May I try something?”

Will frowns, searching Hannibal’s carefully blank face.

“What? Like what?”

“I want to see how you react to my touch. Skin to skin, however.”

Will’s gut nearly roars with heat, and he feels a sudden wave of shame cascade down his spine from his body’s reaction. He thinks his expression gives away the mixture of desire and guilt, and his first instinct is to defend himself. He bares his teeth and turns his head away from Hannibal’s intense gaze.

“Don’t— don’t fuck with me. I told you, it’s not a big deal. I don’t even know why I came here, this is stupid—“

Will hadn’t heard Hannibal stand up, and suddenly he felt the searing heat of pressure against his cheek. His body reacts without his brain’s knowledge, and he finds himself nuzzling his face into Hannibal’s palm. The pleasant pins and needles return, and the heat— flaring and incredibly soothing— takes over completely. He doesn’t hear the sigh he lets out, only feels the release of pressure from his ribs.

Will feels the way Hannibal hums and a heat in his gut alights like a hungry flame from the thought of satisfying the man.

“That’s it, that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Hannibal coos, as if talking to a hungry stray pup who had just gotten fed.

Will was about to argue, reel back and defend himself, but then a hand is buried in his hair, and he’s being pulled forward into a solid weight. The cheek that isn’t being caressed by a large hand is being pressed into a hard abdomen, wafting with that masculine scent that he distantly notes isn’t only the cologne.

Will practically melts with a moan, his arms wrapping around Hannibal’s waist and hugs him tight as if at any moment his touch will be taken away from him. His brain feels foggy, his eyelids heavy, and even his body feels limp and malleable, encompassed with a pleasant heat. He imagines this is what it feels like to sleep without nightmares.

Will buries his entire face into the man’s stomach, enjoying the way the material of the man’s waistcoat scratches against his face. He takes a large breath of the man’s scent, and again he feels his body succumb to the pleasure of being touched. He knows he should feel embarrassed, humiliated— ashamed even, but he can’t find the energy to.

“There we go pretty boy, that’s it, just relax. I can give you what you need.” Hannibal coos again, and Will can feel the way his baritone voice vibrates against his face.

“Mm’not pretty,” Will grumbles weakly into the man’s body, his words slurred and obscured by the fabric.

Hannibal chuckles, sending another wave of pleasant tingles and warmth down Will’s spine.

“I care to disagree. I think many people believe that you are a very pretty man, Will. Cherubic, even.” Hannibal responds, a smile present in his voice. He drags a couple of fingertips teasingly light against Will’s nape which ignites an intense shiver down his spine, while keeping a gentle yet firm hold in his hair with the other hand. Will presses his face tighter against the man and bites his lip, unable to keep the groan of delight from escaping him.

Will doesn’t respond this time, instead he stands up, temporarily distancing his face from Hanninal’s body. Surprising Hannibal, Will stoops forward with a dreamy look in his eye and wraps his arms around the man’s neck, then buries his face just below Hannibal’s ear and inhales deeply.

“Y’smell so good,” Will drawls, mouthing absently at the exposed skin just above the man’s collar, as if trying to taste the scent. His hands grab at the neat strands of gelled hair and pull Hannibal impossibly closer.

Hannibal allows him, and moves one hand down to the small of Will’s back, the other pressed across his nape. He notes the feverish heat and the light perspiration against his skin. Hannibal dips his nose into the crook where Will’s neck and shoulder meet and inhales deeply. He smells of cheap whiskey, deodorant and dog, but underneath, below his skin, he smells a metallic sweetness alongside the heady musk of arousal. His suspicions have been confirmed.

Hannibal can’t suppress the shiver when Will gently nibbles at his skin, instantly leaving wet kisses and licks as an apology.

He won’t take advantage of Will like this. Especially not when his fascination for the man has nearly tripled after this new encounter. Instead, he buries his desires and saves them in his memory palace for another time.

But, it proves harder to do so when Will begins panting sweet little moans into his ear while rocking his hips against Hannibal’s, all the while Will’s hands explore Hannibal’s back, shoulders and neck.

“Darling boy,” Hannibal says with a mixture of fondness and sternness, gently easing Will’s head from his shoulder. He cups his jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“Mmm…?” Will hums so sweetly, pupils blown so wide that only a sliver of those gorgeous blue-teal eyes are left. His lips are bitten raw, red and plump, gaping just enough to get a glimpse of that teasingly pink, wet tongue that holds so many sharp remarks and brilliance. Hannibal actively fights the way his gut tightens at the desperate expression Will has, wanting nothing more but to dip his fingers inside that pliant mouth and explore the depths of it. He imagines the velvet heat of his tongue and cheeks, the slippery heat that is the cavern of his throat.

“I am going to suggest something, to help you ride through the aphrodisiac you’ve been given,” Hannibal says in an even tone. He allows himself the luxury of pushing Will’s bangs away from his face, relishing in the way Will instantly nuzzles into his palm.

Will only nods clumsily, opening his mouth to lick Hannibal’s fingers, nibbling at the tips. Hannibal has to take a deep breath to restrain the burning in his gut from intensifying anymore. He watches in fascination as Will’s lips wrap delicately around his skin, sucking and kissing his fingers as an apology for the bites. When he pulls off, his tongue lingers behind, reluctant to leave.

Hannibal clears his throat to try and mask the desire thick in his throat. “I have some paperwork that still needs to be done. I would like you to sit by me as I do so.” Hannibal continues, the only thing giving away that Will’s ministrations have any impact on him is the barely noticeable quiver in his voice.

“Y’still touch me?” Will asks against Hanninal’s palms. Looking up through thick dark lashes, eyes round and sickly sweet. Hannibal wonders if Will knows the impact he could have on anyone just by looking at them the way he’s looking at him now.

“Yes, pretty boy. More than what is being done to you now.” Hannibal promises, successfully appeasing him.

“Please,” Will whispers, pressing his groin tight against Hannibal’s. “M’want more.”

Hannibal can feel the outline of Will’s erection against him, and can’t stop himself from shifting his thigh between the boy’s legs and dragging it beneath his balls and perineum. Will cries out loud, dropping his forehead on Hannibal’s clavicle, and grinds desperately on the thigh graciously given to him.

Hannibal huffs a breath through his nose, silently admiring the frantic rock of the boy’s hips against him. He lifts his thigh lightly, nudging his heavy sac and earning a loud, needy whine.

“Ohhh fuck, please! I can’t…I need more,” Will keens, frustrated tears welling in his sweet eyes. He tugs at Hannibal’s hair and dives upwards to bite at his jaw.

Hannibal quickly grabs Will’s hair before he can leave a mark, yanking him back and looking down sternly at the pouting face below him.

“Violent, greedy thing. That is not how we ask for things.” Hannibal chides, pulling Will back further until he’s straining to keep hold of Hannibal’s neck with his arms. Pitifully, Will whines, squirming and trying to fight against the grip.

Will bares his teeth again, but when the grip in his hair turns painful and the playful expression in Hannibal’s eyes turns cold, he stops and goes limp.

“M’sorry,” Will pants. He struggles to swallow, his neck strained at an angle from the way Hannibal grips his hair.

“You will strip for me until you are in nothing but your underwear,” Hannibal states, ignoring the slurred apology and the keening whine that Will responds with. “You will then kneel between my feet when I am at my desk. Understood?”

Another flare of heat in his gut has Will squirming all over again, and he nods frantically despite the restraint Hannibal has by his hair.

“Use your words, boy. Or have you lost your ability to talk?” Hannibal mocks, cruel eyes staring intensely at the teary blue ones below him.

“Yes! Yes m’understand, please Hann’bol!” Will cries, hands already darting down to his belt buckle and clumsily undoing it. His breathing has become laboured, pants through his mouth rather than dignified breaths. All rationality has flown out the window at this point.

“Good boy.” Hannibal praises. The proud gleam in his eye makes Will’s knees feel like jelly, and when Hannibal lets go of his hair, Will has to slouch against the arm of the chair behind him to stabilize himself. The way Hannibal calls him ‘boy’ has his groin straining painfully against his jeans, and it has him doubling his efforts to rid himself of his clothes.

Will watches as Hannibal takes long strides to his desk, elegantly sitting down in the chair and sliding out documents from his drawer. When Hannibal looks up at him expectantly, Will slides out of his jeans and quickly shucks off his shirt, throwing them haphazardly over the arm of the chair. He doesn’t think twice about how needy and vulnerable he must look— naked, sweaty and flushed from head to toe. All he can think of is getting that incredible sensation back on his skin that only Hannibal seems to provide.

Will rounds the desk somewhat tentatively, unsure exactly what is being asked of him. He silently admires Hannibal’s side profile, his dark eyes paying all their attention to the papers in front of him. Will squirms with impatience, panting through his mouth as he continues to drag his eyes alongside the man’s sharp nose, then his plump pouty lips, and down his jaw, finally catching on the prominent adams apple halfway down a sleek yet strong neck. Distantly he feels the alarm bells go off in his brain— the shame and humiliation that comes with the thought of being attracted to a man. But lust and bursting waves of oxytocin cloud his brain from recalling the touch Hannibal gave, ultimately chasing away those anxious thoughts.

Without thinking, Will pushes his way in front of Hannibal, between his desk and the broad chest of the man. Hannibal relents, rolling his chair backwards to look up at the boy in dissatisfaction.

“I expected you to follow my instructions, Graham.” Hannibal sighs in agitation, an undertone of disappointment in his tone. It has Will’s heart churning in what he could only place as guilt. He bites his lip and climbs into the man’s lap, plopping his pert bottom onto the man’s thighs. Watching Hannibal’s expression closely, he sees nothing but cold blankness stare back at him.

“I did,” Will slurs, hands coming up to wrap around Hanninal’s neck, but his wrists were quickly snatched, and shoved behind his back, earning a pained whimper. He arches his back to ease some of the strain, but humiliating enough, it only pushes out his chest and bulging erection, exposing the hard pink nubs and strained underwear to both his and Hannibal’s eyes.

“You’re testing my patience. Did you want to be left alone, is that it? Without my help? Because that surely can be arranged.” Hannibal pulls his arms further back, forcing Will into a near pornographic pose atop him. With his chest pushed out, inviting pink nipples centimeters away from Hannibal’s lips, and a throbbing cock pressed against his stomach. Never did he imagine Will Graham would ever be willingly presented in this way. But what a pleasant surprise it was.

“No! Hann-“

“Wasn’t it just a moment ago when you were trying to convince me of your heterosexuality? What is this now, Agent Graham? You’re pleading to me like a bitch in heat, all for a simple touch.”

Will moans wantonly at the accented curse. Never had he heard the man swear, and the way it was spat at him like it personally assaulted the man by saying it had his hips rolling forward on its own accord.

“Please! M’sorry, I’ll do anything you say, just- pleeease! M’just… just want it so bad,” Will hiccups, fighting away the frustrated and humiliated tears welling in his eyes. “It just feels so good,” He whines, furrowing his brows and looking up through his lashes at Hannibal, blinking away the tears that cling to his eyelashes.

Hannibal’s grip relents and Will falls forward into his chest. A loud needy moan rips through his throat, and he eagerly scoots closer to the man until his naked body is pressed against his clothed one. Will’s arms wrap around Hannibal’s neck, and he lays frantic kisses and licks against his jaw as a thank you. Hannibal silently basks in the attention, particularly fond of the way Will’s facial hair scratches his clean shaven jaw.

“Ohh, please, need’you so much, anni’bol.” He slurs, indulging in the heat that radiates off the man’s body. His fingers plunge back into the soft tresses of once gelled hair, and he begins to kiss down the man’s neck, inhaling greedily of the scent that is the strongest just below his ear. His hips undulate, and he arches his back, presenting his round bottom obscured by blue boxers to try and entice Hannibal’s touch back on his body.

Hannibal allows him a minute of Will’s desperate touches and kisses, allowing his boy to relax. He can feel the way Will’s muscular thighs tighten around him, as if afraid he will leave him at any moment, but when he grants him a gentle touch to his boy’s nape, Will practically melts, body going limp in his arms.

“Miraculous, deviant thing. How fascinating you truly are.” Hannibal whispers, massaging Will’s nape. “How long have you been without another’s touch, I wonder. Desperate enough to seek the companionship of a male, of which you seem quite averse towards in the beginning. What changed? Or have your walls been weakened enough that your true desire has shown?”

Will only hums, and nuzzles Hanninal’s neck with his nose. He was too far gone to comprehend what was being said to him at that moment, only enjoying the way Hannibal’s baritone voice vibrated his body. Hannibal noticed this and laughed, feeling the unfamiliar emotion of something akin to adoration materialize in his body. He distantly files away the emotion to analyze later.

Hannibal slides a hand up the warm sides of the boy, grazing his ribs and running his palm back down to hold onto his hips. Will releases a pleased moan, muffled by Hannibal’s skin.

“Listen to me, Will,” Hannibal says firmly, but without any venom. Will reluctantly moves his head back, dreamily looking into Hannibal’s eyes after momentarily glancing down at his lips, nodding clumsily, pretty curls falling back into his eyes.

“I’d like you to kneel between my feet while I finish my work. I will continue to touch you, darling boy. But I expect you to be quiet and obedient. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, please,” Will responds with a happy sigh, immediately sliding down from Hannibal’s lap and settling between thick spread thighs, but not without grinding his bottom against his thighs beforehand.

Hannibal smirks at this but says nothing, and once Will is comfortably situated between his feet, he nudges the chair forward, trapping him inside the small space under his desk meant for his legs.

“There we go, beautiful boy. Very good.” Hannibal praises, reaching a hand down to gently caress the thick locks of Will’s head, and he pulls him forward so his head is forced to lay on his lap. He instantly feels the way Will relaxes, nuzzling into the fabric of Hanninal’s inner thigh, just in front of the prominent erection he has worked hard to ignore. He feels Will turn his face to nuzzle at his cock, breathing in a greedy breath and exhaling hot air onto it, igniting a twitch from Hannibal’s tip, but he redirects him to lay his cheek on his inner thigh instead.

“You will stay like this until I say otherwise, do you understand? You will not touch me unless permitted.” Hannibal states, tightening his hold on Will’s hair until he receives an answer.

“Yes, doctor,” Will responds. The name has Hannibal groaning deep, and he pushes the boy's head firmer against his thigh, nudging his nose below his sac, and he hears Will moan in return.

“Good boy.” Hannibal praises, his voice an octave lower and gravelly with arousal.

Will relaxes into the position fairly quickly. His nose rests below the doctor’s heavy sac, his cheek warmed by the inside of his thigh, and the heady musk he inhales with each breath is enough for him to feel high. He doesn’t touch himself, somehow imagining that if he did, Hannibal would be disappointed, and the thought of disappointing the man again makes his heart ache. Instead, he keeps his hands atop the man’s shoes, his legs tucked comfortably underneath him, and his upper body resting against the solid length of Hannibal’s leg. He feels as if he’s floating, tingly and warm despite being nearly naked.

The pins and needles have subsided somewhat, and replaced with a pleasant, fuzzy heat that envelops his entire body. The hand atop his head tugs gently at strands of hair, twirling individual curls and smoothing them back down across his scalp, each time erupting waves of pleasant tingles across his scalp and down his back, punching out a moan of delight. Once in a while, Will will nuzzle his face against the man’s thigh, his nose bumping into the sac, earning no reaction other than a warning pull of his hair.

Will distantly hears the scratch of paper and pen, and the occasional crinkle of paper, but the hand in his hair never leaves once. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but judging by the way his limbs feel tight and a bit sore, he’s been here for at least an hour. Hannibal’s voice penetrates the fogginess of his brain, forcing him back to the present.

“Darling boy, are you asleep?”

Will moans sleepily and shakes his head, lolling his head to the side so Hannibal can see his face. He feels the graze of fingers on his cheekbones, so he presents his neck, shivering when he feels the slide of fingertips across his jaw and down his neck, thumbing at the pulsing artery beneath his ear.

“How are you feeling now?” Hannibal asks, pushing his hair back a bit to get a better look at Will’s adorably sleepy expression.

“S’good,” Will slurs, nudging his body forward to press himself tighter against Hannibal’s legs. Will flinches when he feels a hand slither down his chest and pinch at his nipples, seething through his teeth at the sharp yet pleasant tingles that spread across his chest. He never touched himself there before, surprised at how sensitive he felt there.

Hannibal scratches a nail at the perky bud and Will doubles forward, a whine punched from his throat. He looks up at Hannibal with a confused pinch between his brows.

“Have you ever touched yourself here for pleasure, sweet boy?”

Will furrows his brows and shakes his head as if it is obvious, but when Hannibal gives him a disapproving look, he remembers to use his words.

“No… m’not a woman.” He huffs, yet his shoulders twitch and he exhales a shaky breath when Hannibal pinches rather hard.

“You certainly are not.” Hannibal muses, teasingly shoving a shoe beneath the boy’s balls, and lifting it. Will groans and grinds his hips forward, but as quick as it comes, the shoe disappears. “However, men still can achieve pleasure through their nipples similarly to women. Does this not feel good?” Hannibal twists both nipples this time, scratching the reddened nubs with his thumbnails.

Will’s jaw drops open, and his whole body shudders, savouring the orgasmic sensations rolling down his spine. He traps a moan by burying his face in the doctor’s thigh, hands rising to claw at his knees.

It was a feeling he’s never experienced before, sharp, intense pleasure nearly too overwhelming for him to withstand. He could feel the way his cock pulsed, and a tinge of embarrassment broke through the fog in his brain. This isn’t right, I shouldn’t be enjoying this. He thinks before Hannibal pulls him from that thought by a cruel twist of his nipples.

“Tell me, Will,” Hannibal demands, pulling hard and stretching the abused flesh.

Will moans as a second pulse of pleasure from his nipples runs down his spine and thrums at his tightening balls. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this aroused before in his life.

“No! It’s not—“ A harder pinch has him throwing back his head and each one of his limbs trembling. He felt humiliatingly close to an orgasm, despite not being touched where he needed it most.

“No? Then why are you leaking all over yourself? All messy and dirty, just from this.” Hannibal chides, clicking his tongue and scoffing. “I bet you could come all over yourself just from your chest being toyed with. Hm?” The shoe returns, and applies light pressure to Will’s groin until he presses the hard shaft firmly against the boy’s stomach. Will squeezes his eyes shut and his mouth gapes in a silent scream, his head dropping between his shoulders, his body shaking uncontrollably.

“Please!” Will whimpers, raising his head back up to look at the older man with pleading wet eyes and burning cheeks. His thighs quake, curls damp with sweat cascade over his face, and those adoring lips are shiny with saliva. He looked ravishing, to say the least.

“Please what? Begging for a man to touch your nipples and rub your needy wet cock. I wonder what someone would think if they were to walk in right now, seeing you on your knees, pleading and crying in between a man’s thighs, rubbing your face all over his groin like a mutt. What do you think they would say?” Hannibal becomes cruel with his hands, twisting and pinching the deep red buds, nearly drawing blood from the abuse. His maroon eyes hold a suggestion of a wicked smile, the shadows drawn across his face from the lighting make him look otherworldly, dominant and terrifying— beautiful.

Will only shakes his head, his hips now grinding forward to meet the pressure of the sole of the doctor’s shoe. He can feel the way his balls draw up and tighten, the pleasure intensifying and flooding his drugged mind with oxytocin. He’s so close, and his eyes begin to flutter shut, chanting intelligible sounds and syllables that almost sound like ‘Hannibal’ and ‘yes.’

“You will look at me while you come, boy. You will remember who gave you this pleasure. Of the man who was kind enough to accept your pathetic, whorish act. Then you will thank me afterwards, understand?” Hannibal pulls Will forward by the nipples, breaking the delicate skin open with his nails and drawing little droplets of blood, barely enough to coat his fingertips. Will stumbles forward with a cry, his legs forced to spread around the shoe pressed firmly against his crotch. His hands land further up the doctor’s thighs, and his neck strains further upward to meet eyes with Hannibal like he was told to.

“Yesss! Ohh fuck! Please, doctor, pleaaase!” Will chants, looking through lidded eyes right into the dark pits of maroon eyes, highlighted with what appeared to be a tinge of red. He finds himself lost when looking into those eyes, as if he is floating and losing all awareness of his surroundings. Floating on nothing but solid, firm hands that give him immense pleasure and security— safe and warm in between the cradle of Hannibal’s thighs.

Hannibal’s mouth flickers open in a smile, revealing sharp, glittering white fangs. “Take your pleasure, then, darling boy.”

As if a dam was broken, Will’s orgasm rips through him, forcing his body to double forward, his eyes still locked onto Hannibal's as his hips stutter and his balls draw tight, a high pitched cry ripping from his chest. He feels the powerful force of his cum shoot into his underwear, seeping through the fabric and onto the sole of the shoe he grinds on, creating an uncomfortable stickiness with each stroke of his hips, but the flood of chemicals in his bloodstream makes it hard for him to care.

Even after the initial intense waves have passed, he can feel the pleasurable tingles engulf his body, specifically in his balls and chest. He continued to ride his orgasm through the cants of his hips against the shoe, panting and shaking while maintaining an unfocused, yet direct eye contact with the older man above him, staring down at him in amusement, still teasing the boy’s nipples.

In a lazy orgasmic haze, he moans his gratitude, mouthing and licking at the bulge in between Hannibal’s thighs in appreciation. Hannibal’s eyes darkens, but he allows the ministrations for a moment, groaning deeply at the feel of Will’s warm mouth through his slacks. Then he cuts Will off by digging his nails back into his nipples, earning a high pitched moan muffled by Hannibal’s clothed cock, sending pleasurable vibrations through Hannibal’s balls.

Once the sensation crosses the line of overstimulation, Will keens his chest upward, trying to escape the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure.

Hannibal grants him the mercy and lets go of his nipples, then abruptly pulls Will up into the his lap. Will falls forward into the man’s broad chest, boneless. The pleasant tingles remain throughout his body and brain, and he settles into a comfortable position atop Hannibal, his face buried in the man’s neck and inhaling that familiar comforting scent of what he can now identify as spiced cedar and coffee grounds. He feels a large hand at the back of his head, encouraging him to press himself tighter against him and breathe more of his scent in. Will doesn’t question it, all too happy to comply.

“You did so well for me, beautiful, darling boy. Exposing yourself to me and allowing me to bring you to your pleasure. Obedient, precious, cherubic thing.” Hannibal praises, his deep voice like a soothing melody to bring Will to sleep.

Will exhales a big sigh, a happy groan escaping his chest. He presses a sloppy kiss against Hannibal’s neck, then quite literally, passes out.

Hannibal smiles to himself.

Oh the fun he will have with this magnificent boy.

[the-gay-cousin-666]

I'm back on my bullshit with a random aftg/andreil idea (this will be long)

So I'm thinking this happens like a year after the canon story, so it's the last season with all the og Foxes.

It's in the middle of a match and they're winning by a big margin, the Fox goal is bulletproof because Andrew is guarding, and the opposing team is Pissed.

The Foxes are getting checked right and left, insults are flying around and escalating.

So, after another particularly cool shot, Neil gets checked a little too hard. They both go down, sticks clatter to the ground, the ball bounces off and the other guy scrambles after it.

But Neil doesn't get up.

He stays laying right where he fell, flat on his back, not moving an inch.

Andrew reacts in milliseconds, sprinting across the field, screaming at Matt who was closer not to take Neil's helmet off because he might have injured his neck.

The court goes dead silent. Neil is unresponsive and Andrew is kneeling above him, fingers twisted in his jersey.

"Come on, junkie, wake up," he whispers. His voice is shaking and he doesn't care that everyone can hear. He's restraining himself not to shake the living hell out of Neil to wake him up, only because he's dead afraid he might hurt him further.

It takes only a minute or two for Neil to open his eyes, but it feels like ten years to Andrew.

Neil frowns at Andrew and squints against the overhead lights. "What?" he asks, like he hasn't just given everyone a heart attack.

Suddenly there's sound around them again. Wymack is screaming the other guy's head off, Dan is asking Neil if he's in pain over Andrew's shoulder and Abby is telling him to be careful as they help him sit up.

Neil insists that he's fine, and Andrew fights the urge to knock him out again. "Try and say that again," he warns instead and tugs at Neil's jersey.

He looks to be fine, though. Other than a headache, there is nothing wrong with him.

Abby wants him to go to a hospital, but Andrew tells her to knock it off after Neil freaks out a bit because Baltimore is still fresh in his mind.

They both get subbed because there is no way Neil is going back to play, even though the look on his face says he wants to, and Wymack doesn't have to ask Andrew if he'll finish the half.

So they get changed, and go sit in the foyer to wait until the game is over.

Neil has his head rested on Andrew's shoulder to ease the headache, running his thumb over Andrew's hand that is again gripping Neil's shirt.

"If you don't stop trying to dig yourself into an early grave, I'm going to help you with it," Andrew says, and Neil humms because he knows what a remark like that means.

He also knows better than to say sorry, so instead he turns his head slightly and kisses Andrew's neck.

"150%"

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hey,

Could you write an NBC Hannibal One-shot, where fem!reader was a surgeon like him, who worked along side him for a couple of weeks and later meets him after he nearly got crucified in Baltimore. After Hannibal get‘s released from the hospital, they start to get to know each other.Maybe in the end there is some fluff and smut (if you are comfortable)

Hannibal X Reader: Stitches and sweet kisses

Warnings: wounds, brief mentions of death, smut, fluff, penetration (p in v), mentions of oral, pet names, soft sex, rough sex, sub x dom (if you squint), praise kink, breeding kink, female reader, no use of y/n, female anatomy.

Word count: 2,7K

You were used to odd patients. It was a common occurrence in your line of work but you never expected this. He has been rushed in by an FBI officer and immediately taken to a room. He didn’t need any drastic surgery. His wounds were not extreme but he had lost a lot of blood and was having a hard time breathing. You should have handed him over to another doctor but the moment you laid eyes on him you’d recognized.

You only worked with him a week but you’d never forget him. You’d been one of the surgeons in the room when he lost his first patient. A little girl, no older than six. She had a tumor that needed to be removed but there had been complications during surgery. You couldn’t save her. Everyone took the loss hard but it seemed to have hit Hannibal the hardest. A day after the incident you saw him walk into the main office with his resignation. You never saw him again. 

Until today that is.

There were holes in his palms and a large purple bruise around his neck that told you that there had been a rope around it. Your curiosity peaked the more you worked on healing him. He looked awfully vulnerable like this. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity. Once you’d fixed him up as best you could and put on some medication for his pain you made your way to the FBI agent outside his door. You expected they wouldn’t tell you what you wanted to know but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“What happened to him?”

“Someone tried to kill him. Jack Crawford was the one who found him. They say the guy had him positioned like Christ on the cross. I mean what kind of sick fuck does that?”

You turned back to look at Hannibal through the small glass of the door. He was out cold due to his medication but his face held a deep sadness in it.

“What kind of sick bastard indeed.”

The days passed quickly. Whenever you weren't working on healing people or helping around the hospital you found yourself hanging around Hannibal's room. You’d go in to check on his vitals but you’d soon find yourself pulling a chair next to him, your eyes traveling over his face as he slept. He was always unconscious when you were around but you couldn’t help but talk to him. As weird as it sounds it felt easy to be around him. He was the small break in the chaos of your life.

One day when you’d been taking his vitals his eyes fluttered open. You watched him look at you, his eyes traveling around the room before falling back on your face. You gave him a small smile, continuing your work. He watched you take his pressure and jot some things down on his clipboard.

“I bet you don’t remember me.”

“I never forget a face.”

“Some memory you must have.”

“It normally doesn't fail me. Though I do have a hard time with names. I can't seem to recall yours.”

You introduced yourself to him with a smile. 

“Ah yes, how could I forget.”

Hannibal continued to look at you as you moved around the room. A small frown made its way to his face as he began to remember when he’d last seen you. He would never forget that day no matter how hard he tried. His heart rate spiked a bit at the memory causing you to look at him in concerne.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine. Remembering is all.”

You seemed to understand what he meant immediately, your own face twisting to match the sadness he felt inside. He didn’t remember much about you but he knew you were a good doctor. He’d walked past you on the day after the surgery and had noticed the tears in your eyes. You’d felt the loss of the girl just as much as he had. But unlike him you’d continued your work.

“How do you do it?”

“Sorry?”

“How do you keep working after…”

He couldn’t even bear to say it.

“It wasn’t easy. I took a month off. Started going to therapy before finally feeling ready to come back.”

You tugged up a chair, taking a seat next to him. Hannibal turned to look at you, his eyes focused on your face. 

“I’ve lost a lot of people but I've saved a lot too. I guess that's just how it is, you know? Do what you can and try your best to keep going. Therapy helps a lot. I still go every week, it helps to talk to someone about your shit you know?”

Hannibal let out a small laugh causing you to look up at him with curiosity.

“Did I say something funny?”

“No it’s just that…well…i’m a psychiatrist.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I became one after I stopped being a surgeon.”

“How is it? I bet it must be hard.”

“It is. Some days are easier than others. But it’s like you said, I help people. That feels good.”

You move closer to his bed, your hand moving to grab his. Hannibal watches you tug his hand into yours. You look down at the bandages that cover his palm, slowly beginning to remove them. He observes the way you trace your finger over his stitches gently.

“You’re healing really well. I’ll probably be able to remove these in a couple days. How does your neck feel?”

The purple had faded but you could still see small marks where the rope had sunk into his skin.

“Is it still tender?”

You leaned over his body, your fingers moving across his throat. Hannibal lifted his head, giving you better access. From this angle he could see very little detail of your face. His breath seemed to give out for a moment, his mind entirely focused on your proximity to him. You turned your focus over to his face, your eyes meeting him. There was a deep gentleness in the way you gazed at him, it made him feel exposed. But not in a bad way. 

“You okay?”

“Yes. I apologize. I’m distracted.”

“It’s alright. I have to go but if you need anything just tell them to call me okay?”

“Alright. Thank you.”

A couple of days later Hannibal was finally released. You’d walked into his room expecting it to be empty but instead you found him standing near the window. You walked over to him, stopping beside him. He turned to look at you, observing as you watched the world outside for a moment before turning to face him.

“I must tell you that as much as I love your company we aren’t a hotel.”

Hannibal smiled at you, causing you to mirror his expression.

“I’m glad to leave this room. I couldn’t take the white walls anymore. Though I must admit I'm sad I will not be seeing you everyday.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. You enjoyed your time with Hannibal immensely but you’d always thought that when he was healed your daily chats would come to a bitter end. Never in your wildest imagination would you have thought that he’d want to continue your contact outside of the hospital. 

“Would you join me for dinner? It’s been awhile since i’ve had a proper meal and i would love your company.” 

“I’d be delighted to. What restaurant did you have in mind?”

“Actually I was thinking I could do the cooking. It’s one of my passions you see. I’ve missed it just as I've missed having some real food.”

“You’re full of surprises aren’t you Dr Lecter?”

“You can’t even begin to imagine.”

He had been right about that. After your dinner you and Hannibal continued to keep in touch. With time your relationship grew into a friendship and soon enough you found yourself falling for the doctor. He wasn’t anything like you’d imagined him to be. He had a seemingly unlimited amount of knowledge that he was always eager to share with you. He’d have you over for dinner whenever he could, always enjoying the company and your fascination for his cooking. He’d come to your apartment from time to time, it had become a place where he could have a break from the hard days. You were always more than welcoming to him. And then one day he found himself sitting on your couch one evening, nursing a bottle of wine as the two of you listened to music. 

You were sprawled out on the couch, your legs resting on Hannibals. The only sound that could be heard was  of the music that played from your radio and your voice humming along to the tune. Hannibal took in the sight of you. Your eyes were closed, lips moving to form the lyrics of the song. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to share a home with you. His feeling for you should have startled him, after all he’d only known you for a little while. But there was this sort of connection he seemed to share with you. He often wondered why of all the possible doctors that could have attended him that day at the hospital you had been the one to heal him. Perhaps it was a way of some greater force telling him you were the missing piece he’d been searching for. 

Your eyes opened slowly at the feeling of Hannibal's hand on your thigh. You gave him a lazy smile, shifting your body up.

“What is it?”

“Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“You.”

Your eyes widened, heart hammering inside your chest at Hannibal's blatant confession. Perhaps it was the wine you’d been drinking or maybe it was the adoring way Hannibal was gazing at you but in a flash you crawled over to him placing a soft kiss to his lips. It was a slow kiss, tender and full of emotion. Hannibal cupped your cheek keeping your lips attached to his until he felt like he couldn't’ breath. You break the kiss, panting for air. A giggle escapes your lips as you look at Hannibal watching the corners of his eyes wrinkle as he smiles.

“You’re so beautiful. Did you know?”

You flushed at Hannibal's words, head moving to look down at your legs. Hannibal placed his finger under your chin forcing you to look into his eyes. You gaze up at him through your eyelashes, a blush littering your cheeks.

“No need to be shy, pretty girl. It’s just me.”

You didn’t know what had come over him but this Hannibal wasn’t one you were used to seeing. He seemed much less put together than usual. There was almost a homey quality to him. You lifted your body off the couch. Hannibal watched you stand his eyes gazing up at you curiously. You placed your hand out to him. He looked at your open palm for a moment before giving you his hand. You tugged him off the couch pulling him towards the hall.

“Where are you taking me dove?”

You turned to look at him with a sly grin, legs never stopping their movements.

“To my bedroom. Obviously.”

Hannibal was used to seeing you in a specific sort of light. Whenever you two would go out together you were always soft spoken and quiet, often opting to listen to him talk rather than initiating conversation. In the bedroom however you turned into a whole different person. 

Your pussy fluttered around his dick as he moved into you. Your head fell back on the pillow with a moan.

“Fuck you feel so good Hannibal.”

He moved slowly, trying his hardest to be as gentle as possible. He knew your body was starting to become sensitive after all the hours he’d put into teasing you. He’d made you cum on his tongue and fingers twice before allowing you to take him in your mouth. And after fucking your throat in such a rough pace that he'd managed to make tears well up in your eyes he wanted to show you he could be gentle too. Your legs wrapped around his waist, the heels of your feet digging into the skin of his ass.

“Hannibal deeper please i-ah ugh- want to feel you.”

“Shh dove, take it slow. Can’t have you tiring yourself out.”

Hannibal leaned down, his teeth finding the shell of your ear. You whimpered as he nibbled at the skin. Your fingers clawed at his bare back trying your hardest to make him move closer into you. You were insatiable for him. Completely at his mercy and he knew it. It's why he was taking things slow. Whispering sweet nothings to you and telling you how much of a good girl you were being to him. Every time he praised you he felt your pussy grip onto him like a vice. He enjoyed the feeling just as much as he enjoyed seeing you cum. But there were limits. And you were about to discover Hannibals.

In truth you didn't expect your words to affect him so much. It was more something that turned you on then something you thought he’d enjoy but the moment the words left your lips you knew you’d hit a nerve.

In the best way possible.

He was moving at a glacial pace and you just couldn't take it any longer. You grabbed his face pulling him into a rough kiss. You tugged at his bottom lip a smirk appearing on your features as he gazed at you in hunger.

“Want you to fill me up Hannibal. Want you to put a baby in me.”

That had been the tip of the iceberg. In a flash Hannibal had flipped you around his hand shoving your face into the pillow as he lined himself up with your entrance again. Your body jerked forward as he began to thrust into you. He was going so harshly you couldn’t help but grip at the sheets. Hannibal had, all of a sudden, become more vocal than he had been the entire night. 

“Feel so fucking good dear.”

His groans and grunts followed your screams of pleasure and pretty soon you were feeling your orgasm sneak up on you. Hannibal seemed to feel your need to cum his hand moving to grip at the flesh of your hips in an even harsher manner. He tugged you closer to his body, holding you still for a moment. He took in the feeling of your walls pulsating against him, his eyes closing.

“Hannibal please!”

How could he deny such a sweet thing like you? He couldn’t. So he started moving again, his free hand itching towards your clit. He maneuvered you in a way his tip could hit your g-spot perfectly and in a matter of seconds you were cumming around him. He continued to fuck into your body even as you sagged into the bed. You felt him twitch inside you before he came with a grunt of your name. 

After a while Hannibal pulled out of you, throwing his body next to yours. You lifted your head off the pillow to look at him observing his chest rise and fall rapidly as he tried to regain his breath. You shifted your body so that you were lying on your side, your legs angled in Hannibal's direction. He turned to look at you, giving you a smile before tugging you closer to him. He buried his noise in your hair taking in your scent. The two of you fell into easy slumber, both completely spent.

The next morning you woke up to a sweet smell. You rose for your bed tugging on a robe before making your way to the kitchen. You smiled as you caught sight of Hannibal. He was wearing your apron but his ass was completely on display for you. You walked over to him, giving him a sharp smack on the ass. He jumped at the action, turning to look at you. You simply grinned up at him.

“You cheeky thing.”

“You know you love it.”

He did in fact love it.

Actually, he loved everything about you.

“Whatcha making?”

“Pancakes.”

“Yum. How can I help?”

“Grab the eggs from the fridge for me.”

“Okay.”

The two of you moved in perfect union as if things had always been like this. And perhaps they always would be.

[naep2nii]

.𖥔˚ OPEN YOUR EYES . . .

⋆˚ ༘ do you think bout me too?. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

MUSE (뮤즈) is a South Korea - based coed group under WEVIUS ENTERTAINMENT. The group consists of 15 members (from oldest to youngest) : Kim SeoYun (Seoyun) , Park YeoJin (Yeojin) , Sajani Deshmukh (Janni) , Luciana D'Ambrosio (Luci) , Hana Kawasaki (Hana) , Kim JaeJin (Jaejin) , Kim JaeMin (Jaemin) , Kento Matsumoto (Kento) , Iman Kane Collins (Iman) , Callaghan Brennan (Cal) , Uyming Zhao (Ming), Cho YuRi (Yuri) , Kim JiYoung (JiJi) , Carmen Solana Valladares (Carmen) , Dumebi Michelle Afolayan (MiMi). The group is made up of 3 sub - groups : ALLURE , UNITE , and INSPIRE. They debuted on June 20th , 2021 , with their EP " A Wink and A Smile and The Land is Ours " , and title track " MOTO PRINCESS " . The group has grown a massive following for their fresh and unique music , multi talented members and unfiltered image.

≡;- ꒰ WHO AM I ? ꒱

BASICS!

~ stage name : MiMi (미미)

~ birth name : Dumebi Michelle Afolayan

~ nickname : bibim

~ birth date : may 13th, 2004 .

~ zodiac sign : taurus

~ MBTI : ENFP

~ birthplace : lagos , nigeria .

~ hometown : lagos , nigeria / calgary , canada .

~ residing in : seoul , korea .

~ nationality : nigerian - canadian

~ ethnicity : african

~ languages : english , yoruba , korean , (semi - fluent) japanese

~ sexuality : pansexual

CAREER!

~ profession(s) : idol

~ group(s) : MUSE , ALLURE

~ group position(s) : maknae , main dancer , fotg

~ representative emoji : 😼

~ titles : ace of kpop , korea's dancing queen , universal it girl , 5th gen it girl , princess of all trades

~ company : WEVIUS Entertainment (2019 - present)

APPEARANCE!

~ height : 175.3 cm / 5'9

~ weight : 52 kg / 114.6 lbs

~ piercings : both lobes , belly button

~ tattoos : "made with love" in calligraphy , lower back / "handle with care" , mid back

~ blood type : O

~ resemblance claim : rei - ive / hanni - newjeans

~ voice claim : teenage ariana grande

MISCELLANEOUS!

~ MiMi has 1 brother and 1 sister. Her brother is currently a famous youtuber , and her sister is still in highschool.

~ Her favourite colors are hot pink and azure blue.

~ After going viral for a highschool talent show performance , her and her best friend Jiyoung auditioned for an upcoming company in South Korea called WEVIUS Entertainment.

~ Her and two of her fellow members, JiJi and Carmen, look uncannily alike.

~ She has a passionate hatred for sugar (except in drinks).

~ Her favorite season is summer.

~ She is scared of clowns and mascots. She is wary of animals, but she’s slowly warming up to the group pets.

~She's currenty rumored to be dating Cal , UNITE's maknae.

~ Her favourite genres of music are uk drill and baltimore club.

~ She has a passion for creating and she loves to help with the group's comebacks whenever she can , whether it's choreographing , designing stage outfits , or sometimes even co - directing music videos. She plans to become a creative director full time if being an idol doesn't work out.

GALLERY!

[acommonloon]

Eh it’s just words, yeah?

When I saw Upland post about a new sparkling golden ale to be released today, called rāe, I hummed - ray a drop of golden sun. I did, I’m weird. Right?

I struggled a bit today to find my place after the work was done. I first drove to a fav place that had 64 beers on tap but after looking the list over…twice . Nah

Instead I rolled the dice and had lunch at a chain. They only had two dozen or so beers but at the very top of the list was the beer of the month- Dogfish Head’s Sea Quench Ale. I’d had it before and remembered it to be a salty, limey, delight. It was 90deg out so yeah.

When I ordered the chop salad, sub seared salmon, the bartender asked how I wanted the salmon cooked. Ehhhh “No one’s asked me that before.” I admitted. She smiled and said, same until I worked here. Tbh I was thinking it would be over temp regardless, so I just said medium. It came out well done. Just words.

During my meal, I watched the Orioles and the Yankees ply and swapped words with three old gals at the bar who happened to be from Baltimore and were in the Navy.

After a stop at my local bottle shop, where Angie found me a sixer of the Sea Quench I’d enjoyed at lunch, I decided I’d see if Upland had their new golden ale available for take away.

It wasn’t in the coolers at the front so I plopped down at the huge empty bar and waited to be noticed. The bartender looked alarmingly young. She had a piece of cloth tied around her head, subduing long black hair, dangling earrings, and she was tall and thin. When she greeted me, I asked for the new beer.

She took two glasses to the taps and began to fill them both. One glass was a typical Belgian style goblet and a stream of golden liquid began to fill it. The other one was this.

A tall tulip filled with a lemon colored draught. Oookay.

The beer was good even if it wasn’t really golden and the sparkling carbonation was softer than any golden ale. The combo of lemon and ginger was/is a proven winner. When the bartender came back, she asked how I liked it. I said I did. Then I stupidly asked if she knew Dogfish Head’s Sea Quench.

She rush away saying she hadn’t been to the DogFish Head.

Well no. I thought. It’s in Delaware. I was going to compare/contrast the two beers but…just words.

Anyway.

I’m enjoying both at home this evening. The rāe presents a pillowy soft carbonation like a flat soda, the lemon and ginger combine for a balanced finish, not really sweet or bitter. It’s a bit of a thirst quencher, a shower beer, a lawnmower beer. The Sea Quench is even less aggressively carbonated with the lime and salt combo finishing more salty. It’s a margarita beer.

Just words.

Both are lower alcohol beers I’ll be glad to drink over the weekend with lots of words.

[purpleshadow-star]

What are your favorite aftg fics?

I don't even know where to start!

Here's a list in no specific order (these are all andreil btw):

First up, The Odds Are Never In Our Favor by @witchkingofanmar (MalikShah on Ao3). I've mentioned it before and I'll mention it again. It's a Hunger Games AU that is arguably better than the original Hunger Games trilogy. This one is absolutely one of my favorites. I've reread it over five times at this point.

Next is In My Defense, I Have None and quicksand and The Bachelor of Baltimore by @likearecordbb (likearecord on Ao3). Honestly they have a lot of fics that I love so check their Ao3 page out. All of these fics are so fun and entertaining while having the right amount of seriousness and they're all so amazing. I've read them all multiple times. In My Defense, I Have None is a high school fake dating au, but not in the way that you think. quicksand is a college au feat. Kevin and Neil as brothers and Andrew doing his best not to fall for his roommate's (Kevin) brother (spoiler alert: he fails). The Bachelor of Baltimore is an arranged marriage au where Neil is presented suitors by his father and has to choose someone to marry in order to form an alliance, and Andrew is one of thoes suitors... and a mafia leader (that's not the right word but I cant think of it right now so... close enough).

Next up is California Drifting and Soulbound by @elesary (elesary on Ao3). I follow a lot of their fics so just check them all out. These two are incomplete, but I jump for joy whenever they're updated honestly. California Drifting is a loose Pacific Rim au and Soulbound has Witch Andrew and Familiar Neil. I love both of these fics so much.

Next is The Foxhole Force by @luna-moon-26-20 (Luna_Moon_26_20 on Ao3). This one is also currently updating, but I can confidently say it is one of my favorite fics of all time. It's a Power Rangers au and it is absolutely perfect. The characterizations and the plot are amazing and I literally drop everything and read it every time I see that it updated.

Then there's heaven and hell (were words to me) by @sporadichearttcollector (sporadichearttcollector on Ao3). I've read this fic so many times, I honestly love it. It's a superpowers au where Andrew is a villain... for the most part... and Neil and the rest of the Foxes are a heroes. It's so entertaining and I highly recommend it.

Last is Your Perfect Imperfections by RidingBubbles on Ao3 (not sure if they have a Tumblr, if they do I couldn't find it. If anyone finds it let me know and I'll tag them). I've been saying this a lot but this is another one of my absolute favorites. This one is also incomplete, but have reread it multiple times already. It's a bdsm au with Dom Neil and Sub Andrew (technically Andrew's a dom but he subs for Neil). It's really very good and there's actually a lot of fluffy andreil which I loved. Go check it out!

I've definitely left out a bunch of amazing fics, but these are the ones I could think of off the top of my head! 10000/10 I recommend all of them.

Thanks for the ask!

[20th-century-railroading]

Baltimore & Ohio - Riverdale, IL by d.w.davidson Via Flickr: A Western Maryland caboose brings up the rear of a westbound B&OCT local freight from East Chicago, on the Barr Sub, in July 1986.

[tomorrowusa]

No matter how remote, bizarre, or ridiculous, Republicans will try to twist reality to fit their conspiracy theories.

Under Elon Musk, Twitter/X has spiraled out of control with MAGA freaks taking full advantage of the lack of content moderation. Just when you think Twitter won't get any worse, it gets worse.

The slow death of Twitter is measured in disasters like the Baltimore bridge collapse

As conspiracy theorists compete for attention in the wake of a tragedy, others seek engagement through dubious expertise, juicy speculation, or stolen video clips. The boundary between conspiracy theory and engagement bait is permeable; unfounded and provoking posts often outpace the trickle of verified information that follows any sort of major breaking news event. Then, the conspiracy theories become content, and a lot of people marvel and express outrage that they exist. Then they kind of forget about the raging river of Bad Internet until the next national tragedy. [ ... ] On Tuesday evening, I called Lisa Snowden, the editor-in-chief of the Baltimore Beat — the city’s Black-owned alt-weekly — and an influential presence in Baltimore’s still pretty active X community. I wanted to talk about how following breaking news online has changed over time. [ ... ] Here are some of the tweets that got attention in the hours after the collapse: Paul Szypula, a MAGA influencer with more than 100,000 followers on X, tweeted “Synergy Marine Group [the company that owned the ship in question] promotes DEI in their company. Did anti-white business practices cause this disaster?” alongside a screenshot of a page on the company’s website that discussed the existence of a diversity and inclusion policy. That tweet got more than 600,000 views. Another far-right influencer speculated that there was some connection between the collapse and, I guess, Barack Obama? I don’t know. The tweet got 5 million views as of mid-day Wednesday. [ ... ] Here are some of the tweets that got attention in the hours after the collapse: Paul Szypula, a MAGA influencer with more than 100,000 followers on X, tweeted “Synergy Marine Group [the company that owned the ship in question] promotes DEI in their company. Did anti-white business practices cause this disaster?” alongside a screenshot of a page on the company’s website that discussed the existence of a diversity and inclusion policy. That tweet got more than 600,000 views. Another far-right influencer speculated that there was some connection between the collapse and, I guess, Barack Obama? I don’t know. The tweet got 5 million views as of mid-day Wednesday.

When people are mostly interested in "flooding the zone with shit", it is useless to even try to refute their falsehoods.

It doesn't matter that the Dali is not US owned but instead has ties to Singapore and Denmark. And the construction of the Francis Scott Key Bridge took place almost entirely during the administrations of Republicans Richard Nixon and Gerald Ford when DEI did not even exist as such.

With conspiracy theories there are always loopholes and sub rosa circumventions to account for the obvious lack of clear evidence.

To MAGA Republicans, facts are irrelevant. All that matters is how fast their lies travel through online platforms. And one of those platforms, Twitter/X, has been lubricated by its far right owner to accelerate those lies.

If you haven't already, quit Twitter/X and encourage others to do so ASAP. Migrate to Mastodon or Bluesky and enjoy the comparative sanity on those platforms.

[misslavenderlady]

The Boy is Mine 🤬

Michael/Female!OC

Summary: Michael has had enough of Sis stealing the attention of David, so they hash it out and get very aggressive. But while they certainly hate each other, they can at least show a little love~

This is a collab I did with @ghoulgeousimmaculate. It features her OC from Party The Pain Away, but takes place in an AU where Michael is still in the Lost Boys. This has references to her stuff, and takes place in the modern world, not 1987! We did equal work for this, so please like and reblog Ghoulie's version!

WARNINGS: Nsfw/18+ Readers Only, Dark Fic, Jealousy, Anger Issues, Physical Aggression, Rivalry, Insults, Verbal Abuse, Physical Violence, Fighting, Vampire Powers, Flirting, Vaginal Fingering, Pussy Spanking, Dom/Sub, Riding, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Missionary, Choking, Risk of Sub Drop, Aftercare, Hurt/Comfort

Credit to @skeletonfumes for the vamp gif

August of 1987. That's when David came into Michael's life and completely changed everything. What was supposed to be a simple move to a beach town turned into a whirlwind of horrors and bloodshed as he learned that his friends were actually vicious vampires. His transformation into one of them happened in such a short amount of time. 

35 years later, Michael was still stuck in the body of an eighteen-year-old. At first, he was furious with David for making him what he was now. A monster that roamed the streets only at night, constantly hearing whispers from strangers talking about how he wasn't one of them. He should hate this life. Sometimes he really did. 

But as hard as he tried, he couldn't fight the connection he had with David. Decades ago he would have laughed at the idea of soulmates. Now he felt he would die if he ever left David's side. The sense of Stockholm Syndrome was strong, but he didn't care. He was David's and David was his. 

That was until a certain girl from Baltimore came into their undead lives. 

Sis. David’s wife and a constant thorn in his side. He and the boys met her at a concert about four years ago. They initially marked her as a meal, but fate had other plans. By sheer dumb luck, she escaped and left them with empty bellies for the evening. It was rare for a meal to slip through their fingers, so naturally, David and the boys became obsessed with hunting her down.

Thanks to Marko’s social media prowess, they were able to find the girl and invite her on a date. Michael came along for the ride for the food, but the evening ended with the ebony beauty cradled in David’s arms, blubbering about her demons. 

David loved innocence and vulnerability. All the boys did, hence why that one moment of fragility drew David to her. Fast forward and now Michael had to share his soulmate with his wife and 2-year-old daughter—an eternity he did not expect when he made his first kill back in the 80s.

Michael's hotheadedness had followed him into his second life. While once upon a time his anger and frustration were put on David, that temper was now focused right on Sis. He could handle sharing David with all of the Lost Boys. He could handle David fucking any pretty young thing that came their way before going in for a bite. 

He couldn't handle Sis. 

There was a deep hatred for the girl. It boiled and simmered in his core, slowly growing with each passing year. In his eyes, she had stolen the love of his life. She turned David into her own personal hubby, and it broke his heart. Michael would always put on a happy face for David, but under the surface he was consumed by pure anger. 

He would often glare behind her back, staring deeply as he tried to figure out what made her so special. Was it the cutesy voice? The long locs? The soft skin? The voluptuous body….

Okay, so there were other feelings for Sis in the mix, but Michael would never in a million years admit to it. She was the enemy in his eyes. He hated her. If he wasn't careful, all of that jealousy was going to get the better of him. 

One night, Sis strolled into the room, gliding in that tantalizing way she always did. The so-called Queen had returned from a hunt—her full lips and chin smeared with blood. The gore on her skin and the stench of lust filled the room as she traveled. The brunet vampire couldn’t help but watch her hips sway as she walked, temporarily becoming mesmerized by her seductive gait. 

He snapped himself out of the deadly trance after a few moments. He rose to exit the room, a coping mechanism he’d adapted to keep his sanity when the vixen wandered too close. Michael hadn’t made it to the door before he heard a sultry coo that caused rage to boil in his chest.  

“Good evening, Daddy,” Sis purred as she boldly perched herself in David’s lap before kissing him on his nose. “Did you miss me?”

David absolutely adored hearing her call him that. For Michael, it was like nails on a chalkboard. 

Michael wouldn't lie, he had his own set of daddy issues from his father's emotional neglect and lack of desire to take custody of his kids in the divorce. When he got more comfortable with his sexuality, Michael found himself calling David that name in bed quite a bit. It just fit the leader all too well.

So when he heard Sis call his beloved that, it made his blood boil. Seeing her sit on his lap like a spoiled little princess was making him fume hotter than the fires of hell. 

It didn't help that David was completely focused on her. He smirked devilishly, taking out his handkerchief to wipe her stained face. The way he caressed his wife's cheek made Michael feel extra possessive. He should be the one getting touched by David. Not her. That little bitch.

Michael seethed, glaring at the spectacle in front of him. The sight of seeing her fawn over his mate drove him insane. He was sick of it, and tonight he was going to put her in her place once and for all. 

He turned on his heel, strolling over as the little tramp giggled and ground her ass on David’s lap like an animal in heat. Michael boldly cleared his throat, standing in front of the couple with his chin up and chest out. 

“Sis, may I speak to you for a moment?” Michael requested to the fledgling vampire, sporting a look on his face that said he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The curvy woman giggled, waving Michael away as she nibbled at David’s neck. “I’m busy at the moment. Maybe later.”

Oh no. He wasn't going to be having any of that bullshit.

In that moment, Michael felt the fire burning hotter and brighter inside of him. If someone were to look close enough, they would probably see smoke coming out of his ears. He wasn't going to play second fiddle to some bimbo. 

In a flash, he reached out and grabbed hold of her shirt. He yanked her off of their mate's lap, tugging her upward like she was a doll. She squealed in surprise at such an action, and David watched Michael with curiosity. 

Long ago he had done something similar with David when he was looking for Star. Now Sis was the one that was going to feel his wrath. 

"I don't think so, little girl," he growled. Michael was older, stronger and far more devoted than her. He was going to make that perfectly clear right now. 

"Playtime with Daddy is over. My nest. Now." 

Sis looked at Michael with doe eyes, her inner submissive momentarily triggered by the dominant action. But she quickly gathered herself and yanked her blouse from Michael’s grasp before standing on heeled feet. She smoothed her skirt, petulantly looking down her nose at the grumpy brunet. 

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, lover boy?” Sis cooed as she eyed him from head to toe. “This better be important to interrupt the—ahem—massage David promised,” she giggled, shooting a mischievous glance to David before strutting past Michael towards the tunnels. Sis disappeared into the darkness, leaving only her scent trail behind. 

Michael followed suit, leaving David to ponder the tension between his two most prized possessions. He had an inkling about what was going on. He’d keep an ear out because that’s what a good Alpha does, but he figured the two would quickly air their grievances and pound out their frustrations. He lit a cigarette, crossing his ankle over his knee as he nosily waited for what he knew would come. 

Meanwhile, Sis sat crossed legged in a wingback chair in Michael’s nest. The large furnishing dwarfed her petite frame. With her striking good looks and elegance, she looked like the Queen she was.

But Michael wasn't going to be swayed by her beauty. He was just as much of a powerful vampire as the other Lost Boys. He was going to make it abundantly clear to her what was going to happen. No more nonsense. 

"You think you're real fuckin' cute, don't you?" he asked, eyes narrowed and arms crossed. 

"I dunno, I've been told I'm downright adorable quite a bit~" 

Sis smirked back at him as she nestled into the chair more. It pissed Michael off seeing her so comfortable in his space. It was like she was trying to mark her territory or something. 

"I don't like you. Ever since you showed up, you've been nothing but a pain. I only went along with the flirting because I wanted to hunt your ass and make you dinner. You really pissed me off when you seduced David all those years back." 

That certainly caught her attention. Sis raised an eyebrow and sat up straighter. She was growing quite curious at such a bold confession.

"Oh is that right, Mikey~?"

"You're goddamn right it is!!" Michael snapped. "David was mine first! I fell in love with him before you were even born!"

The more he went on, the more Michael's temper worsened. His mother would be furious to see him talking to a lady like this. He was usually so respectful of women, but right now he was just thinking about how much Sis got on his nerves. His words grew harsher as he went on. 

"You have no right to throw yourself at him like some slut! Just because you dress like one doesn't mean you can act like one too."

Sis laughed, letting out a deranged saccharine cackle before addressing Michael. “Looks like someone’s jealoouuss,” Sis sang in a crazed tune as she leaned forward in the chair, her mannerisms mimicking Marko’s melded with David’s. “How dare you speak to me that way. I’m your Queen.”

“You’re my pain in the ass.” Michael spat.

“Am I really?” Sis taunted as she stood to her full height, crossing the room to stand in front of Michael. “Because that tent in your pants tells me otherwise. Looks like you have a thing for me after all.”

Michael growled, towering over Sis to emphasize his displeasure. His power over her. “Watch your mouth, little girl.” 

Sis laughed, smirking up at Michel with her baby doll face. “I will do no such thing. You wanted me, and now you’ve got me, so I’m going to tell you about yourself. Because I see you for what you are. You’re jealous. A jealous little Mama’s boy with Daddy issues. You lost your first Daddy in the divorce, and now you’re afraid you’ll lose this one. But the caveat is you already have. David is mine. And deep down inside, you know that, and it drives you crazy because you can’t see what he sees in me. Can’t see why I’m the keeper of his heart.”

“Damn right I can’t, you bitch. What makes you so fucking special?” He whispered with malice. “All those years. All those years I put in, and you come along and get a ring? His hand in marriage?”

“I can easily show you,” Sis enticed with glowing golden eyes, her hand slithering to stroke his manhood through his pants. “There are many reasons why David’s addicted,” she flirtatiously teased.

Michael hissed, flustered from the titillating sensation that her dainty hands caused. He felt his loins stir beneath her palm, and he was disgusted. The nerve! Michael stepped back, adjusting himself through his pants. He glared at Sis after, baring his fangs as she wheezily giggled at his expense.  

“Flustered by little ol’ me?” She jabbed as she batted her eyelashes. “Such a shame for a big bad vampire to be afraid of a little fledgling. What a willowy spine you have. And if you’re wondering, that’s another reason why David chose me. Because I’m strong. Daddy wanted someone with a backbone.”

“That’s rich coming from the woman who withers like a flower in the rain when she’s in Marko’s presence.”

Sis scowled, hissing at Michael with rage. “Master may make me weak in the knees, but when I was human, I fought a better battle than you ever did. Now run along,” Sis dismissed as she waved him away again. “Star probably needs you to kiss her boo-boos. Daddy promised to massage me from the inside, and that’s where I’ll be until sunrise.”

Sis haughtily brushed past Michael, pettily knocking into him and throwing him off balance for a moment. She strolled towards the exit with a click of heels and a whole lot of attitude as she dismissed Michael for the chump she thought he was. Despite his advanced age, she saw him as beneath her. She was Queen. She was David’s wife and the mother of his child. Michael couldn’t compare.

Still, he wasn't going to let her go without a real fight. 

"Oh no you don't, you little bitch!"

In a flash, Michael latched onto Sis' wrist, dragging her back into his room and throwing her up against the wall. He made quick work to box her in. His hands pinned her arms up to her sides and he stuck a knee in between her legs. Sis let out a squeak when the muscle brushed against the lining of her underwear. 

"One, if you ever talk about Star like that again, I will break your neck like a goddamn toothpick," Michael hissed, fangs on full display. "Two, you must be really stupid if you think David likes you more than me."

Sis growled, feeling riled up and feisty from how Michael manhandled her. If it were any other Lost Boy, she'd cower in fear before submitting. Michael didn't hold any command over her, so she wasn't going to bend to his will.

"Release me, asshole!"

"No. You're gonna listen to me," Michael continued. He tightened his hold on Sis as he pressed his toned chest to hers.

"Unlike you, David wanted me since day one. He stared at me across the boardwalk like I was the most perfect thing he'd ever seen. You ever seen that Jim Morrison mural in the cave? He clearly prefers tall, strong types with brown curls. I'm his perfect mate. No amount of bargain bin dresses and stripper heels is gonna change that, girlie. 

Michael leaned in, whispering into her ear. He wanted his words to be heard loud and clear.

"And that pisses you off, doesn't it?" 

“What pisses me off is your lack of a fashion sense. The last time I checked, Valentino wasn’t bargain bin. It was high fashion. Let’s start there. A desert rat like you probably can’t even spell Valentino, let alone know what style is,” she sassed him. Sis was ready to verbally tear Michael a new one.

“And it’s not just about looks, Mikey. It’s about wit and intellect. Yes, David may enjoy a nice big hunk of stupid meat every once in a while, but you’re an intellectual bore otherwise. David may have wanted to take a bite out of me, but my mind kept him engaged. Keyword—engaged. Because once again, if you were the perfect mate, he wouldn’t have married me. He chased me across the country just to keep me by his side. And by his side is where I’ll stay because I sacrificed too much to be with him and the boys. So I don’t give a shit about how you feel about me. As far as I’m concerned, you can twirl on splintered wood.”

“You’re not that bright, princess, you didn’t know they were vampires for six months.”

“And you drank blood out of an unmarked bottle the first night you met because the boys peer pressured you. You’re not exactly an intellectual god yourself.”

Both of the vampires felt the familiar urge of a fight brewing. The urge to spill blood and wrestle one another until there was only one victorious winner. The more they battled with their words, the more they wanted to fight with fists. 

"How about I show you how I've got plenty of brawn over your ditzy little brain~" Michael growled. 

With the might of his vampire strength, he spun Sis around, throwing her off the wall and back towards the massive picture hanging from the wall above his bed. Billy Idol. Something that reminded him of David and a piece to honor the leader's own musical tastes. Sis crashed into the picture, cracking the glass as her back hit the rocks behind it. 

Michael's eyes flashed a bloodshot gold and his fangs dripped with saliva. His claws were out and ready to scratch her up some more.

Sis was letting her own wild side out. She had fallen onto the floor below, small flecks of glass caught in her hair. It didn't frighten her and neither did Michael. If he wanted a fight for David, he got one. 

"You're gonna get it now, pretty boy!" 

Sis sat up. Her eyes blazed and danced with madness. Rage. Her manicured claws and fangs elongated as she rose from the floor to confront Michael. The brunet vampire had 35+ years on her in strength, but she had agility to her advantage. She tapped into her speed, crossing the room and punching Michael square in the nose. Appearing only as a blur when she did so. She sent him flying, the stunned vampire landing flat on his ass by the entrance of his nest. 

“Let’s try that again, Mikey. Where I’m from if you wanted to survive, you had to have hands."

Michael stood up, licking the blood that dribbled from his nose before lunging at Sis. She met him midair, the two snarling and snapping at each other as they wrestled for dominance. Michael had Sis by the throat again, preparing to toss her across the room once more, but she swiped him across the face. Michael growled dropping his rival on her back, his bed breaking her fall. 

He threw himself on top of her and they rolled around on the bed. Both refusing to stay down for the count. Sis growled lowly as she grabbed at Michael's shirt. Her nails dug into the fabric, tearing them to shred as she scratched down his back. He shivered from the sensation, reminded of how David had scratched him the first time they had a brawl. 

He forced her hands off of his body, pinning them by the wrists above her head. With the other, he grabbed at her shirt too, tugging her upward and destroying the material. Both of them were exposed, as there was no fabric left to stay in place. 

They both breathed heavily, chests heaving as they glared at each other with sinister, inhuman eyes. 

"Homewrecker."

"Bastard."

"Cunt!"

"Jackass!!"

The two of them were practically spitting their insults in each other's faces. Their cheeks were flushed and with every moment, they were getting closer to one another.

"I hate you, Sis."

".....then why is your dick poking me~?"

Michael froze, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Sis was right. He was hard as a rock. He couldn’t deny it.

“I—um…”

“Oh, Mikey…” Sis cooed as her bare bosom heaved. “I think we’ve gotten to the root of our problem. Sexual frustration can be a bitch,” she teased as she trapped him between her shapely thighs, locking her ankles tight. “When was the last time David tickled your pickle?”

“It’s been a while because you’ve been a greedy little tramp.”

Sis giggled. “Awww…I’m sorry. Could you ever forgive me? How about I make it up to you?” She sultrily cooed as ground her pelvis against Michae’s manhood. “I have a feeling I can make you my best friend.”

Michael was utterly failing at finding the right words to say. He loathed how his body was betraying him. Sis was clearly proud of herself for making him act with such arousal. He wanted to tear her throat out for this, but he also couldn't deny that her grinding felt so good. 

It took a while to get used to the polyamorous nature of the pack. Human expectations of monogamy had lingered for a while, but he grew comfortable with sharing the pleasure with the others. Sometimes it still hurt a bit to see Star bouncing on Paul's lap or David swapping spit with Dwayne or Marko. But at the end of the day, he was a vampire. And vampires needed to share their love. 

Fighting back the attraction for Sis was the hardest adjustment. She really was a bombshell, even if she stole David's heart. The frustration certainly was there and he needed to get it all out. 

Fine. He would have it her way. 

"You are not my friend," Michael sneered. 

Even with his cold words, he grabbed her hips and pulled them towards him in a heated fit. He ripped her skirt as if it were wet tissue, growling when he saw the curvy figure underneath the clothing. 

"But if fucking is what it's gonna take to make you shut up, then so be it."

Michael spit on his fingers before diving his hand down into her panties. He was going to make her scream as loud as possible. 

He slipped his fingers between her plump folds, seeking out the swollen little gem that was her clit. He traced his thumb over the bundle of nerves, sending a shiver down the Sis’ spin. Michael teased her, rubbing her in delectable circles only to pull back when she really started enjoying herself. The sadistic vampire within him wanted her to beg. To see her sniveling beneath him like she did with the other boys. Just to prove that he could. 

So he toyed with her, flicking her nub and vibrating his hand. Sis wiggled and panted. The most adorable moans faling from her pouty lips. Michael didn’t want to admit it, but it was a tantilizing sound. One he could definitely get used to. He hated her voice—everything about her. But that moan she released when he was in control stirred something deep inside. 

Michael kept up his devious ministrations, while Sis bucked her hips, desperate to find release when he pulled back. Her clit and her walls feeling horribly neglected. 

“Say the magic word and I’ll let you cum, princess.”

“Fuck you.”

"Fine. Guess we're doing it the hard way."

Michael ceased his motions altogether. Before Sis even had a moment to whine about his hand moving away, he brought it right back down. With a firm, open palm, he slapped her pussy as hard as he could. The smacking sound echoed off the cave wall.  

"Aahh!!! Fuck!!" she screeched, a pathetic whimper falling from her mouth. 

"Thought you liked getting spanked, ya little whore~" 

He slapped the sensitive, wet area again, hitting even harder. Sis was shaking like a leaf, the pain of the strike and the stimulation of her sensitive pussy blending together. She hated seeing Michael so smug, but his domination was only bringing out her submissive nature even more. 

Michael's palm was getting bright red. His skin was glistening from her wetness. The mewls of pain and pleasure were only making him harder. It felt like his cock was going to tear the fabric of his pants. 

"Say. It."

"FUCK. YOU."

Sis roared out as she fought back for control. She wiggled out of his grasp and grabbed at Michael's hand, stopping the spanking right away. Her inhuman strength clenched at him hard, threatening to break the bone.

Her speed aided her yet again, and she threw Michael off of her, pinning him down underneath her. She planted herself right on top of him and pushed her hands on his toned chest. Seeing that wild look in his baby blue eyes made her cunt ache more than the spanking. 

"The queen is in control now, fucker," she hissed. 

Sis tore the thick denim of Michael's jeans right down the middle, destroying his briefs in the process as well. His cock practically sprang to life when she did so, showing off each and every delicious inch of the massive size. 

Sis licked her lips. “Not bad,” she purred as she eyed Michael’s impressive manhood. Sis loved to be filled and all of the boys were blessed with Dwayne being the KING. She was pleasantly surprised to see that little Michael wasn’t so little. “Maybe that’s reason why David keeps you around,” she cruelly jabbed. A little payback for Michael’s nasty quips.

The brunet growled and Sis giggled as she gripped his dick by the base. Her golden eyes shimmered with mania. Michael paled, laying still. He may not have had a formal education like Sis in her human life, but he was intelligent enough to not taunt her while she held his manhood in her palm. 

“Smart boy,” she whispered as she hovered over his dick. “Smarter than I would have given you credit for. 

Sis lowered herself down, moving teasingly slow to prolong Michael’s torture. Payback was a bitch. Michael hissed as he was enveloped in the plush, velvety warmth of her body. The engorged ridges of her walls making his toes curl. He wasn’t even fully inside her and he felt like he was going to explode. Now he kind of knew why David liked her. 

Michael stared in awe as she engulfed him, her pussy devouring every inch of him. They both moaned as their pelvis’ met. Michael collapsed into the mattress and Sis threw her head back. Her eyes fluttered closed. Her long lashes kissing her chubby cheeks. 

“Oooo, Michael,” Sis whispered with distorted vocals. “You feel so good—but I know I feel even better,” she taunted as she leaned forward, her lips curling into a sadistic smile.

FUCK. Michael gulped. She heard his thoughts. Sis heard him. He was horrified.

But he couldn’t dwell on it. He was ensnared by mindblowing pleasure. His eyes rolling into the back of his head. Sis gyrated in his lap, manipulating her spine in inhuman ways. She growled like an animal, using her agility to ride a Michael in a way he’d never experienced.

"Fucking hell….~" Michael sighed out. By some miracle, he was able to get ahold of himself and fight the urge to spill inside her prematurely. He had given away his dirty thoughts to her, but he'd be damned if he was going to let her humiliate him like that. 

Michael was usually a very sweet lover. The first time he was with Star he made love to her, giving the most gentle touches while he took care of her. He was a pretty romantic guy, even if he was a little shy and awkward from time to time. 

But he wasn't making love. He was fucking. Sis was nothing but a warm body for him to enjoy. That's what he was telling himself as he grabbed hold of her hips. His fingertips were pressed in enough to bruise the skin. He wouldn't dare let go of her body while he was inside of her.

"Yeah…dirty girl likes getting her guts re…rearranged…doesn't she?" 

Michael took another shot at spanking her, his palm striking her rump while she rode his cock. The feminine sighs that poured from her mouth made his length twitch inside her. 

"David fucked me in the same…fuck…same position for our f-first time….said we…fi-fit perfectly together. Said my name soooo sweetly~" he taunted the vampire queen. 

But Sis didn’t miss a beat. She knew what Michael was doing. He was determined to hurt her. To so-called prove that David didn’t love her. But she knew the truth. David truly loved her. She could see it in his eyes when he caressed her cheek. When he slipped inside her. And when he held their child.

“Mmmm…” Sis moaned as she bucked her hips. “D-David told me that t-too…that we fit so p-perfectly…the n-night we made Eva.”

Michael snarled. That was one thing Sis did have over Michael. She gave David a daughter. An heir to the throne. 

David was an excellent father. You wouldn’t think being a parent would even interest his mate. But when he saw how hands on David was when Sis was pregnant. How he fed her. Cradled her when she was sick and in pain. How he held her hand as she gave birth. The look of joy on his face when he held the squalling babe for the first time. How he thanked her before kissing her sweaty forehead. 

Michael was already jealous of Sis, but when she gave birth that sealed his hatred for her. Seeing the three of them have their own little family—without him—was when he gave birth to his own offspring. Rage. He’d kept it bottled up this entire time. Leaving the pressure to become explosive. But he was ready to shake things up and remove the cap now. To finally erupt and let go.

Grabbing Sis by the throat, Michael quickly turned himself over, flipping Sis on her back. She squealed in surprise, her hands flying up to her throat to grab his wrists. She clawed at Michael’s pale flesh in an attempt to pry his hands from her petite neck, but she couldnt free herself. She had no choice but to lay under him while he pounded into her, the brunet now fucking her at a vengeful pace. 

“You think you’re so special because you can create life? All vampires can create life, you bimbo. You just need a little blood and the right kid. If David wanted more children, I could give them to him easy. How the hell do you think the boys got Laddie?”

Sis hissed, but it turned into a wail when Michael reached down inside her. Stroking her deeply. The brunet vampire smirked when he saw her bite her lip. Her large eyes looking into his with wanton yearning. He had unlocked the sub within her again. 

“That’s it. That’s the Sis I like,” Michael teased as he continued to ruthlessly use her body for its pleasures. “The quiet, docile one that’s afraid to go to the toy room.”

While Sis was slipping into her more submissive mindset, she wasn't as deep in as she would be for David or the other boys. There was still a spark of fight in her. It melted together with her need to please, and she did the only thing she could think to do. 

Sis reached upward, hands placed on either side of Michael's face in order to pull him in for a kiss. Michael made a noise of surprise, but didn't get distracted enough to stop his thrusting. For a moment, she was tender, but soon her kisses became fierce. Hungry. Eager to make him shut up.

The two of them growled and moaned, serpentine tongues rolling over one another as their bodies moved. There was a silent agreement between them to let this moment happen. Hatred, anger and jealousy were shared, but they wouldn't leave one another unsatisfied.

"Who's your daddy now, bitch?" Michael teased with his mental connection to her. 

"Not you, but I'll cream on your cock like you are~" Sis playfully responded. 

The firey spark between them was getting hotter and hotter by the minute, their loathing for one another acting as fuel to the fire. It was pushing them both closer to the release they needed. They could both practically taste the pleasure that was coming. 

The room was thick with the smell of sex. The lewd sounds of their lust reverberated around the room. Through the tunnels. When they reached climax, their little tryst wouldn’t be a secret. The whole pack would know of their affair. David would know.

But they didn’t care. All that mattered was this moment. The two of them and their bodies grinding against each other. Their lips crashing against each other. The pressure that built inside. And the bliss that came from it. 

They were so close. Sis tightened around Michael, her walls squeezing around his thick shaft, his engorged veins massaging her in the sweetest way. Michael pumped into her with vigor, ferally fucking her like an animal. His fingers kneaded her flesh. Leaving mottled bruises on her smooth ebony skin from his immortal strength. His hands marked her as his for the night. 

Meanwhile, Sis clawed his back. Leaving bloody slashes and welts down the pale flesh. Making him hers. 

"Aaah!! Mi-Michael~!" 

Sis hadn't planned to say his name. She wanted to keep it out of her mouth and just enjoy the pleasure as it was. But she couldn't stop it from flowing off her tongue. It sang out so beautifully as she finally came.

The clenching of her pussy and the overwhelming warmth was already too much for Michael to handle. Hearing the curvaceous beauty cry out his name was what triggered his own climax. She would definitely tease him for such a reaction later, but he didn't care at that moment. 

"Fu-Fuck…fuck, Sis..~" he growled while spilling inside of her. Warm cum painted her deep within, officially marking her. Michael trembled terribly as the aftershock hit him. 

Time slowed to a halt for the two of them. They were a sweaty, bloody, naked mess on top of Michael's bed. As they breathed heavily, the brunet boy slowly opened his eyes to get a better look at her. He could find another flaw to poke fun at while she laid out in her afterglow.

But any meanness was snuffed out when he realized that something was wrong. Sure, Sis was most certainly hit with the euphoria of her climax, but there was something in her eyes that told him she was at risk of a sub drop. They had been so harsh and cruel to one another, and now she was going to feel worse. He didn't even think before jumping into action. 

"Hey hey…it's okay," he softly hushed her. "Stay right here. I'll go get something for you."

Michael carefully slipped out of Sis before rolling off the bed. He quickly shrugged on his robe and ran to the cave’s emergency stash of blood. He grabbed a sleek glass bottle filled with the blood of one of the many unfortunate souls that came to the cave to ‘party’.

He quickly trotted back to his nest and slipped into bed next to Sis. The fledgling vampire had rolled over onto her side and curled up into a ball. Michael had to act fast. He carefully placed his hand on her shoulder, coaxing her to sit up so he could tend to her. She obeyed, rolling over and upright as he desired. Michael uncapped the bottle and held it in front of her full lips for her to drink, providing support like a parent would their newborn baby. 

Sis drank, greedily draining the bottle within minutes. Blood dribbled down her chin, and Michael grabbed a napkin, wiping her face just as David had moments ago. The irony, he mused. 

Michael chuckled, and Sis flashed a weak smile, thanking him in a tiny voice. She moved to leave his bed. To gather the shreds of her clothing and return to her own nest, but before she could, Michael grabbed her wrist. Authoritatively, but with a hint of tenderness. He could see she wasn’t fully herself, and she needed just a little bit more T.L.C.

“Hey,” Michael gently whispered, “you’re in no condition to head back yet. Lay down for a moment. It’s okay.”

Sis hesitated, prepared to fight back, but she eventually acquiesced to his request. Laying back on her side. Her back faced him. Not out of rudeness, but out of awkwardness. And Michael understood that. But he still inched closer to her and wrapped his arms around her body. Spooning her from behind. 

"You're surprisingly great at giving aftercare considering you said you hated me a few minutes ago," Sis softly muttered. Michael was actually relieved to hear the sass. That meant she was starting to get back to her normal self. 

"I may be jealous, but I'm not a monster. I wasn't gonna let you go without care after something so intense." 

Sis was grateful Michael was being kind. There was no way they'd be best buddies or fall in love after this, but it was still a kind gesture. Nestling into his arms as he gently held her solidified the temporary truce they had agreed to. 

The two of them had a lot more in common than they realized. The human lives they lost were still fresh in their minds, as was the pain of losing their identities. David had put them both through their own personal hell, yet they still loved and adored him. They even both held onto human values like vulnerability and kindness. Even if they would constantly fight for the attention of their mate, they could at least see eye to eye on other things. 

"You're a total attention whore…but at least you've got amazing pussy" 

Sis snorted at the lewd compliment Michael gave her. It felt good to be able to laugh again. Her body shook with the soft giggling. 

"And you fuck pretty damn good for an annoying little shit," she whispered back. Michael bit his lip but couldn't stop his own snickering. The good mood was just too contagious. 

While the two of them relaxed together, Michael pulled her a little closer. They would go right back to their rivalry after tonight. She would be David's doting, hot wife and he would be David's handsome pet. The two vampires would forever long to be their Sire's one and only love, but for now, that didn't matter. 

They were both part of the pack. No matter what you felt for everyone else, you took care of one another. That would never change. 

Tag list: @britany1997 @6lostgirl6 @juss-soupp @finalgirlm @american-idiot-jpg @michael-after-hours @nerdy-spooks

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

Summary: A hot tip turns into a hot night.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

Characters: Soldier Boy x unnamed female character/female reader (1st person POV) x William Butcher

Tags/warnings: Dirty talk, name calling, rough sex, Dom/sub, slapping, spanking, bruising, like I said it’s rough, forced orgasms, Butcher refers to himself as Daddy and Ben mocks him for it, rimming, anal, come marking, squirting, choking/breath play

Author’s notes: supercock is for @wayward-and-worn. The rest is for @glassjacket and @brrose-apothecary

Gonzo journalism is an energetic first-person participatory writing style of journalism that is written without claims of objectivity, often including the reporter as part of the story using the first-person narrative, and it draws its power from a combination of social critique and self-satire. The word gonzo is believed to have been first used in 1970 to describe an article about the Kentucky Derby by Hunter S. Thompson, who popularized the style.

As previously mentioned, I have a thing for hot guys who are trash humans who wouldn’t be welcome in my mom’s dog’s house out in the backyard. With Butcher, though, I've convinced myself he wasn’t all bad, just on the surface, which worked for us both; that story helped me sleep at night.

Soldier Boy, on the other hand-

“Hands and knees,” he barks before turning to Butcher. “And you, on your back. Get your face up in that filthy-soaked pussy.”

It’s rumored that Soldier Boy performed black ops for the U.S government in the 60s and 70s; that he used a fire hose on civil rights activists in Birmingham and led the Kent State massacre. My boss at the Baltimore Sun told me he had a source in the 60s who claimed to have evidence that it was Soldier Boy who assassinated President John F. Kennedy. That source was found face down in the Potomac the very next day.

Regardless of how bad he is, Butcher and I obey his orders.

“Beautiful view, love,” Butcher mutters, and I hiss when his mouth connects with my cunt. His whiskers are rough and his lips are plush. He uses his tongue to lick through my seam and wraps his hands around my hips to guide me over his face. I let my head hang and close my eyes to just feel.

Then the real fun starts.

“Fuck!” My eyes fly open and my head pops up when the supe smacks my ass.

He drags his nails down my back and my skin breaks into gooseflesh. I shake and sob when he smacks me again and again before grabbing a handful of my hair to painfully jerk my head back. His voice is deep and low in my ear as he arches over me.

“I’m gonna eat this juicy ass of yours and fuck it raw, princess.” He uses his teeth to drive the point home, clamping the shell of my ear then the side of my throat, my shoulder, and the skin of my back as he makes his way down. “This ass is a work of art, can’t wait to get my dick inside you.”

Butcher smoothes his hands from my hips to wrap around my thighs so his partner in crime can grab my cheeks and spread them open. He spits and licks my back hole just as Butcher works my cunt with lips and tongue.

I close my eyes again as they move me over each other, both making lewd smacking sounds and moaning.

“So hot and dirty,” Soldier Boy mutters against my hole then spits again and works the tip of a finger inside me.

I gasp and clench, and my back tenses, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he twists his finger, screwing it deeper, and nips at the curve of my ass.

“Yes,” I whisper when he starts to thrust that finger hard. He smacks me again and squeezes a super-sized bruise into my other hip, eliciting a shout from my chest and tears from my eyes.

Butcher slips two fingers inside me and sucks my clit. “C’mon, love,” he breathes. “Come for Daddy.”

“Get him nice and messy, princess.” Soldier Boy speeds up the finger fucking into me, slamming hard enough to jolt another shout from my lungs as Butcher uses the wide pads of his fingers to gently massage my g-spot.

Before I know it, I’m coming and convulsing over Butcher’s face.

The supe doesn’t wait for me to catch my breath before dragging me to the edge of the bed.

“We need lube.” He pulls my hips up high and slides one big hand between my open thighs to stroke my clit.

“In my bag,” I breathe.

Soldier Boy chuckles as he pitches forward to whisper in my ear. “Guess you get what you came for, huh?”

I shudder from the promise and the sound of his voice. He hooks a thumb inside my ass as he circles my clit with his thick fingertips, making me whine.

Butcher makes his way back to the bed with the bottle of lube and condoms from my bag. “Yer positively debauched, love. A thing o’beauty.”

“Butcher,” I whisper, trying to maintain some kind of connection to reality. But the real reality is... I want them to help me forget about reality, if only for a few hours until I get my story and get the fuck out.

As Butcher steps up onto the bed, the other man wraps his hand around my throat and starts to squeeze. “Close your eyes and feel what I’m doing to you,” he whispers. “Think about what I’m going to do to you.”

He slowly releases his grip, then, and stars explode behind my closed lids. My body convulses again, just like before, but longer.

Butcher crouches in front of me and cups my chin to hold me steady, looking into my now open eyes to check-in.

“I’m good,” I tell him and he nods once before standing.

I hear a condom wrapper tear and the lube cap snap open. Butcher watches as the supe opens me up and steadily pushes forward.

“Ahh!” The sting is delicious from being barely prepped and his size. My body flushes with heat and I’m panting like a dog. As he sets a rhythm, pulling me back onto his cock, Butcher cups my chin again and feeds me his own.

The push and pull between them is more intense than I even expected. They’re both incredibly strong, of course, but they’re also effortlessly in sync, sharing my body as if we’ve done this a million times before. It’s practically spiritual.

“Wish I had a camera so I could always remember the way you look being our little fuck toy,” Soldier Boy mutters, abandoning my clit to reach up and push at the back of my head, making me swallow Butcher’s cock deeper. “That’s right, good girl.”

Butcher groans and backs up, slipping from my mouth and I cough. He squeezes his angry-looking cock at the base and swears. “Fuck.”

“Coming already?” the supe smirks, hoisting me up so his broad chest is firmly pressed to my back. “Maybe you should sit this one out, slugger. Take some notes.”

Butcher growls as he steps off the bed before crossing the room to the small kitchenette table and chairs. His cock is hard and tall. He squeezes it again as he shakes a cigarette from the pack and lights it.

“Man, her ass is so tight,” Soldier Boy needles at his benched comrade as he cups my breasts and pulls the nipples taut. “At this point, I don’t even have to fuck, she’s doing all the work. Hot little bitch bouncing on my dick.”

Butcher snarls as I fuck myself on the superhero’s cock. I can’t help but join in the torment. It’s the least I can do.

“He’s so thick and hard, Butcher, so deep.”

“You hear that, Daddy?” Soldier Boy mocks Butcher’s nickname for himself. “She loves my cock. Don’t you, princess? I’m going to make you come like this, and then I’m going to fuck your pussy ‘til you show us how good you can squirt. Understood?”

I nod and fuck him harder.

He growls in my ear and bites down on my shoulder. “What was that?”

“Yes! Fuck!”

I feel like I’m about to boil over. I’m so hot and full, and everything is too much. And then I come again.

I fall back on all fours, only because he’s still holding my hips as he pulls out. Then he lets me slump to my side and peels off the empty condom. “On your back. I want to feel it when you squirt and I want to see your face.”

He climbs on the bed and I gingerly move to my sore backside. My ass stings from his game of slap and grab, and my shoulder blades are scratched from his teeth and fingernails.

He tucks himself between my legs and settles on his haunches. “You are so fucking filthy.” He dips in and kisses my mouth and my jaw and scrapes his teeth down the column of my throat as he slips the head of his cock up and down my slit. “Ready, doll?”

I loop my arms under his arms, around his waist and nod. He rises to kneel and hooks his hands under my knees as he begins a shockingly gentle pace, leisurely swiveling and sliding. I feel every bump and curve of him stroking my insides.

“Shit,” I breathe, skating my hands up his torso and across his beautiful chest and shoulders. He is so smooth and powerful.

“Talk to me,” he urges quietly. “Tell me how good I make you feel.”

“Everywhere, like a white-hot rod splitting me in two. So wet, how...”

“Mmm. Fuck,” he groans, then calls to Butcher. “Get over here.”

Butcher appears in my periphery, stroking his still hard cock, and watching me take a supercock like a motherfucking pro.

“When she comes, me and you,” he looks up at Butcher. “We’re going to give her exactly what she wants.”

Butcher nods and they both look back at me.

“OK, pretty girl, you ready?” Soldier Boy asks, snagging my gaze from Butcher.

I nod, dragging my hands back down to his slim hips. “Yes.”

“Say it,” he presses, driving into me slow and hard.

“I want it,” I reply.

“You want what?” He picks up the pace.

“I want you to make me come again,” I whimper.

“How?” He’s fucking me so hard now that I can’t contain my gasps and grunts.

“Hard and wet,” I gasp.

He nods and opens my legs as wide as they’ll go. “Smack her clit,” he tells Butcher, as he rails into me.

Butcher strokes himself with one hand and taps a few times, lightly, then harder, and harder again until it hurts so fucking good.

“Jesus fuck!” I shout undulating in the air under the control of a hundred-year-old super-powered mercenary.

“Fucking take it, you’re gonna come so hard.”

My skin burns hot and my muscles go rigid. I explode with a silent cry and spurt over Butcher’s brutal touch.

My cunt convulses violently around Soldier Boy’s cock and he pulls out. He drops me to the mattress and tells Butcher, “Do it.”

I lie limp and gasping for air as they jack themselves until they’re both coming over my belly and breasts and throat.

The supe groans and flops to his back, running a hand through his hair, and Butcher stumbles to the chair for another cigarette.

“Better get some food and water in you before round two.” Soldier Boy rolls off the bed and crosses the room to join Butcher for a smoke. He lights two and brings the second to me.

“I could use a shower and a nap. You two together are fucking insane.” I groan as I sit up to accept the cigarette. “I think we ripped a hole in the fabric of the universe.”

“Best fuck of your life, I get that a lot.” He turns back to Butcher, who has been oddly quiet this whole time. “We’ll take it easy on her next time, right? Give that hot little ass a rest.”

Butcher smirks then looks back at me. “Whatcha hungry for, love? I’ll order somefin’ delivered.”

I exhale as I answer. “Thai?”

The supe scoffs. “Uhh, no. Burgers. Or pizza. Fucking Thai...” he mutters, reaching across me to stub out his cigarette on the nightstand. “Get some more reefer and beer, too, and I’ll get our dirty girl cleaned up.”

Butcher opens his Grub Hub app as Soldier Boy stands and extends me a hand. I stub my own cigarette out before accepting his offer, and he leads me to the bathroom for a shower.

PART III

More Soldier Boy and/or Butcher

IF YOU LIKE WHAT YOU'VE READ, PLEASE REBLOG AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK!

[pikespeakzinefest]

✴️IS PRESS✴️ ispress.co instagram.com/is.press 🔹Denver, CO 🔸Bio: is PRESS publishes art books and zines on the nexus of art and everyday life that deploy accessible narratives with a sophisticated DIY aesthetic and letterpress covers. 📘📙📓 ✴️JEFF WASHENBERGER ART✴️ tumblr.com/jeffdraws instagram.com/ferret250 🔹Denver, CO 🔸Bio: I work in the library by day, and make art by night (and by day). I hope I can use my powers to spread peace and happiness. 📘📙📓 ✴️JOHN DISHWASHER✴️ johndishwasher.org instagram.com/johndishwasher 🔹Los Angeles, CA 🔸Bio: Author of "The Zinester Manifesto: A Novel of the Underground." I made my first zine in 2017. 📘📙📓 ✴️KELS CHOO✴️ kelschoo.com instagram.com/kookookchoo 🔹Colorado Springs, CO 🔸Bio: Kelsey Choo (she/they) is a Hawai‘i-raised artist self-publishing comics, zines, & other art in Colorado. Working in a variety of mediums, their comics & illustrative works are inspired by nature, nostalgia, whimsy, but mainly monsters & magic. 📘📙📓 ✴️KILAH STORM✴️ kilahstorm.com instagram.com/kilahstorm 🔹Colorado Springs, CO. 🔸Bio: Kilah Storm is an author, illustrator and professional puppeteer. She has published a zine collection titled The Canine Bible and has hundreds of fans who follow her fan fiction: Avatar Strife and Harmony. All of her zines centers around animals. 📘📙📓 ✴️LIZ BROWN✴️ instagram.com/lilibet_wenge 🔹Colorado Springs, CO 🔸Bio: Liz Brown (she/her) is a librarian with a love for all things risograph. Originally hailing from Baltimore, MD, she occasionally writes dispatches from library conferences in a zine series called Notes from a Sub-Sub. She is the slow hiker who likes to pick up rocks to check for critters. She is also passionate about comics, creative reuse, games, Halloween, puppetry, and snail mail. 📘📙📓 ✴️MARA GERVAIS✴️ maragervais.bigcartel.com instagram.com/_maralane 🔹Davis, CA 🔸Bio: Mara Gervais is queer, gender-fluid non-binary, and from the Central Valley in California. They love zines, risograph printing, skateboarding, and eating spaghetti! 📘📙📓 ✴️MISS CBENAV✴️ cbenav.com/links instagram.com/miss_cbenav 🔹Midwest 🔸Bio: Cristina 'Miss Cbenav' is a recent graduate who utilizes art and writing to make illustrated stories, letting the crafty world of zines to explore her creativity. 📘📙📓 ✴️NASH'S COMIC✴️ 🔹Denver, CO 🔸Bio: My name is Nash. I'm 11 years old. I came up with characters and make comics with my dad. He writes scripts and I do the art. I've sold my comics at Pike's Peak Zine Fest. People like them, and it was so fun. My new issue #4 has a new character. 📘📙📓 ✴️NIKO WILKINSON✴️ Nicois.gay instagram.com/nicothepoet tumblr.com/nicothepoet cohost.org/nicosuave 🔹Colorado Springs, CO. 🔸Bio: Nico Wilkinson is a poet/zinester/printmaker based in Colorado Springs, CO. They're the organizer of Keep Colorado Springs Queer, an open mic founded in 2016. They enjoy letterpress and relief printmaking. 📘📙📓