#I think he’s so fucked up behind the veneer and that’s so sexy

[wri0thesley]

luocha aphrodisiacs. luocha somnophilia. luocha drugging. if u even care

[kingthunder]

Okay, prompt time! You get a choice:

❛ the most beautiful part is, i wasn’t even looking when i found you. ❜ for Yenskier

or

❛ i broke my rules for you. ❜ for Geraskier.

Have fun <3

You can also read this on AO3.

yennskier, 2230 words, rated T

Jaskier picks his half drunk beer up and then sets it back down. His guitar case sits clamped between his knees under the bar. The bar isn’t as busy as he would like—it’s a Tuesday, and it’s raining—but an open mic is an open mic, and he’s got a new song he wants to test out for an audience, even if it’s a modest one. The beer he picked is really bad, though. The person up at the mic right now isn’t great either, some guy with a ukulele who desperately needs vocal coaching.

“Julian! What are you doing here?”

Jaskier doesn’t even have time to turn before Essi Daven is sliding onto the stool next to him, all blonde curls and big voice. He glances over his shoulder and sees Priscilla sitting at a table in the corner guarding both of their instruments. They must be here for the open mic, too. Typical.

“It’s not like I was drinking that or anything,” Jaskier says as Essi snags his drink and drains it. 

“Wow, that’s disgusting,” Essi says, wiping her mouth. “I didn’t know your taste in beer was as bad as your taste in music. Seriously though, what are you doing here? I never see you on this side of town.”

Jaskier sighs. Essi is a friendly rival in the indie folk music scene and he likes her, but she isn’t exactly the person he wants to be talking about this with. Honestly though, he’s tired and a little heartsick and he doesn’t have it in him to make up an excuse.

“Geralt kicked me out,” Jaskier said. “I’ve been staying with Yen.”

Essi’s eyes are wide. “Oh my god. Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” Jaskier says, and goes to pick up his drink, which he realizes is empty only after he brings it to his lips. He sets it down with a small flush of embarrassment. 

“What happened?” Essi said.

That’s a good question. It all went down a month ago, and Jaskier still doesn’t know how to make heads or tails of it. He and Geralt had been friends and roommates for years. And sure there had been some amount of sexual tension, but it had never been a problem as far as Jaskier was concerned. It was just their baseline, and one that Jaskier was more than happy never to cross because he valued Geralt’s friendship more than any potential romantic entanglement, no matter how ridiculously hot the man was. But then Geralt had a blowout argument with Yen, and she’d brought up Jaskier’s slightly more than platonic interest in him, which was apparently news to Geralt, and Geralt had lost his mind and told them both to get out. And so they had.

Together.

Jaskier doesn’t know how to make heads or tails of that either. Except that he and Yen went out and got very drunk that night and she’d let him crash on her couch as an apology for accidentally making him homeless, and he’d just…

Never left, somehow.

“Geralt and I had some… communication issues,” Jaskier says. “Big ones.”

“But why are you staying with Yennefer? Last I saw, you two were still trying to scratch each other’s eyes out every time you were within a hundred feet of each other.”

“Wellll,” Jaskier says, and devoutly wishes he had more beer, even the nasty one that Essi finished. Possibly enough beer to drown in. God, isn’t it time for his set yet? “She’s not all that bad.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. That woman skins puppies for fur coats, you can’t convince me otherwise.”

“She’s—” Jaskier starts. He sighs. What is there to say about Yennefer fucking Vengerberg? She’s driven Geralt and, by extension, Jaskier crazy for years with her hot and cold antics. She’s volatile and messy and thinks that insults are a good substitute for conversation. She bullies everyone, only she disguises the bullying behind a veneer of “incredibly gorgeous woman with a sexy smile” and thinks no one will notice (well, Jaskier fucking noticed, thank you very much). She’s stubborn and inflexible and—

—and kind in a way that Jaskier never realized, not until he actually spent time with her in private. Quietly sad, and with a deeply buried vein of insecurity that she covers up so well that Jaskier isn’t even sure she knows it’s there herself. He thinks that maybe Geralt never figured it out. If maybe that’s why he and Yen could never quite see eye-to-eye, because they were two strong-willed sad sacks who each thought the other wasn’t one.

“She’s—” Jaskier tries again. He’s not usually at a loss for words, but he doesn’t have any weightless ones on the tip of his tongue. The only ones he can find are too personal. She’s strong but the price she pays for it is too high. She’s lonely. She just wants someone to love her, but she’s afraid she isn’t loveable (and he knows a thing or two about that, doesn’t he?).

She’s a welcoming couch, and late nights eating takeout and gossiping about mutual acquaintances, and the way her lips slide over her teeth when she smiles, and the tense, lovely line of her neck when she wants to cry and she thinks no one is looking and she’s trying not to cry anyway.

“She’s here,” Essi says, gesturing with her chin.

Jaskier turns as the music stops and people start to clap, and there she is. His new roommate and star of his every waking thought for the last few weeks. Yennefer fucking Vengerberg.

The neon of the street signs illuminate her for a moment before the door swings shut behind her, and there are raindrops in her hair, and she looks so beautiful that Jaskier’s heart gives a little lurch. He has to pretend to drain the dregs of his beer yet again to hide the flush in his cheeks, and he tightens his knees on his guitar case. She’s never come to see him perform before. Why tonight, of all possible nights? His throat suddenly feels tight.

Essi pats him on the back, and he must be as transparent as water, because she says, “I see. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, huh? Well, if it doesn’t work out, me and Pris have a couch too. You’re welcome to it.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier chokes out, ears burning.

And it’s a kind offer, it is, even if he has no intention of taking her up on it.

“You’re up,” the bartender says to Jaskier.

Jaskier gives Essi a grimace that he hopes looks at least a little like a smile and climbs the two stairs to the raised platform at the end of the room, guitar in hand. He focuses on fiddling with his tuning pegs. He’s already in tune, but he doesn’t want to see where Yen is sitting. He’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve if he does.

“Hi,” Jaskier says, leaning in to adjust the mic to the right height. “I’m Jaskier. Been going through some shit lately—” (“haven’t we all?” someone yells and Jaskier points at him with half a smirk) “—just like you have. Thought I’d write a song about it.”

And then he takes a deep breath and puts his hands on the strings and starts to play.

And why oh why did Yen have to pick tonight to suddenly develop an interest in his music?

Because the song is about her. Geralt is in there too, but it’s mostly about her. Even though Jaskier never mentions either one of them by name, it’s got to be deafeningly obvious. There’s all this nonsense in there about storms and orphan ships and beauty found in the wreckage, and at one point he sings about “these violet delights” referring to her eyes (what a horrible pun, why had he thought that was a good pun), and an awful attempt to rhyme “bosom” with “lose him” and oh god he’s going to spontaneously combust right here on stage.

At the bridge he dares to look up. Yen is tucked into the far corner, alone, and the look on her face is unreadable. He has to look away, can’t stand to make eye contact through this, and he almost loses his fingering, but he’s a fucking professional and manages to save it.

“The most beautiful part is, I wasn’t even looking when I found you,” Jaskier sings, strumming the final chords. His voice catches a little right at the end, but it’s okay. He’s right at the edge of his vocal range there, and it catches all the time. It’s part of the charm. It’s absolutely not because Yen has gotten up and is already making her way towards him with a determined look on her face.

Okay, so it is.

People are clapping (maybe more than usual?) but Jaskier absolutely does not have the mental or emotional bandwidth to appreciate it right now. He decides the best thing to do is pretend that he didn’t just sing a song about falling in love with his best friend’s ex-girlfriend, or that if he did it’s just a hypothetical situation—he sings songs about the human condition is all, he has that other one he sings all the time from the point of view of a father with a kids, and he’s not a dad is he?—and he hurriedly exits the stage, already taking his guitar off.

Yennefer is there waiting and she looks at him as he avoids her eyes and starts stuffing his guitar back in its case.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Jaskier says, just to get the drop on the conversation. He’s fiddling with the button for the guitar strap, it’s stuck. “Thought you hated music. Well, maybe not all music, but my music specifically. You haven’t talked to Geralt, have you? He broke radio silence to ask me to come pick up some of my stuff, and I know I haven’t written him back, but I was thinking maybe we could go together, strength in numbers and all that, and—hugging, oh we’re hugging.”

She’s warm in his arms and smaller than he expected (everything about her is larger than life in his mind), and his arms go around her automatically. Her hair smells like lilacs, not like violets at all. Did she fit against Geralt this seamlessly? Like the breadth of her was made specifically for his arms?

“I hate your music, you sing-songy little twit,” Yen says, her breath warm in his ear. “I never want to hear that song again.”

“Oh, I’m glad we cleared that up. Because I was just starting to think that maybe—mmmf.”

Her lips are warm too. Warm and soft, and Jaskier sighs into her mouth, and buries his hands in her hair to tilt her head and kiss her deeper.

Someone wolf whistles (Jaskier could swear it was Essi) and they break apart.

“Fuck you!” Jaskier calls out to scattered laughter. His heart is pounding.

They move away from the stage. Yen’s lipstick is smeared and Jaskier touches his own mouth and comes away with burgundy on his fingers.

“That was unexpected,” Jaskier says.

“Was it?” Yen says, eyes probing, and something about the way she says it sends a hot curl of anticipation licking down into his belly. Yennefer fucking Vengerberg just kissed him. Of her own volition. Because of a song he wrote. He thinks he might be able to fly.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Thought for sure you were coming over here to tell me to get off your couch for good.”

“I am.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat, suddenly on the edge of tears. “Alright then—”

“My bed’s big enough for two,” Yen says.

He exhales a shaky breath, relieved, and Yen finally cracks a smile.

“You should see your face,” Yen says, and he’s gratified that even now she’s still taking every opportunity to take the piss out of him. He smirks at her and steps close enough to kiss her again, but doesn’t do it.

“You think I’m that easy?” Jaskier says. “That I’ll just hop into bed with the first person who kisses me?”

“Aren’t you?” Yen says, still smiling.

This is the kind of game of mild insults that they play all the time, but there’s something else there now, a note of uncertainty or vulnerability in her voice that Jaskier wouldn’t have noticed a month ago. He does tonight.

He takes her hand and kisses it, old fashioned and over the top. “Only for you,” Jaskier says. Because he’s looking for it, he sees her eyes soften, and his heart melts for her. He wants to give his heart to her. He wants to believe she’ll keep it safe. Maybe she’ll just gobble him up, but there’s a kind of safety in that too, being tucked snugly inside the belly of the beast where nothing else can harm him.

But he’s getting ahead of himself, like he always does.

“Let’s go home,” Yennefer says. “We’ll see how many other parts of your body look good with lipstick on them.”

Home, he thinks. That word used to mean Geralt, but he realizes that somewhere along the way it’s come to mean Yennefer as well and he smiles.

“Yeah,” Jaskier says. “Let’s go home.”

[howisavedtheworld]

we look good together | kyoutani kentarou

genre: tooth rotting fluff, probably the cutest thing ive ever written,,,kyoutani kentarou x fem!reader, established relationship :D

warnings: cursing, kissing, semi-making out but for like 2 seconds, taking pics in a photobooth

a/n: i got this idea from the photobooth videos on tik tok cus they make me yearn so so badly. decided to write this for kyou bc this little mad dog bitch has me in a chokehold, plus i know everyone likes to think hes like mean as hell and scary (i do too bc like thats so sexy) but when hes in love i promise hes so soft📜✍🏾

wc: 854 

kyoutani ruins your pictures.

not in a literal sense, but you’ve come to the realization that every time you snap a picture with him or of him, whether it’s off guard or planned, he looks effortlessly sexy. 

from the cut of his jaw to the slight pout of his lips, his annoyingly long eyelashes and the fact that you can always see his muscled build through his shirt, your boyfriend is the most photogenic little shit in the whole world.

it doesn’t help that he’s kinda smug about it, snickering when he takes bad pictures of you and watches you whine about how unfair it is.

still, he reassures you, peppering soft kisses all over your skin with his hands grabbing your waist. 

he’ll stare you down, copper eyes boring directly into yours, and he quickly swipes his tongue over his lips before murmuring, “but we look really fucking good together, don’t we, babe?”

you give in, of course. 

it’s not until you find yourself in a ramshackle photobooth in a hidden corner of the mall with kyoutani besides you that you start to understand the truth of his words.

“so….what am i supposed to do?” his head tilts awkwardly towards you, a few creases appearing in his forehead from his raised eyebrows.

you’re trying to adjust your hair in the small rectangular box that displays a fuzzy outline of the both of you. “uhh, i don’t know, ken, you’re the hot one in this relationship.”

“well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean i know what to do in a photobooth.”  

your head whips towards him in shock, blanching at his smirking face. “oh, so you agree with me?” 

“babe,” he grins, turning his face slightly towards the camera. “you know i’m kidding.” 

click.

you immediately wince as you get a glance of the first shot on the larger screen. your eyes are lidded and blurry and your mouth is contorted upwards in offense. and of course, there kyoutani is in all of his glory, grinning stupidly at the camera, showing off the dimples under his eyes, his veneer-like smile, his plump lips and his soft skin. 

“ken,” you whine. “i wasn’t ready!” 

he tries to hold his laughter back before inching closer to you. “here, it’s okay, look at the camera this time.” 

3.

you pout before your eyes turn to the small camera and you muster up your best smile. 

2.

kyoutani slings an arm around you and you lean into him. 

1.

click. 

your entire chest warms at the picture on the screen, noting the way his entire face is turned towards you and his eyes stare at you lovingly. you have the biggest goofy smile on your face, and his arm grips your shoulder.

“kennnn, this one’s so cute.” 

his cheeks turn pink while he sheepishly rubs a hand behind his neck. “i wasn’t even ready that time.” 

the third photo, you both mimic the classic “ice in my veins” pose, lips tucked between your teeth, eyes squinted and hand outstretched.

click.

by the last one, you’re a giggling mess and kyoutani is shaking his head, shyly smiling at how ridiculous you both look.

“okay, last one.” you turn to him, unsure of your last pose.

3.

“shit, what do we do?” his eyes travel between you and the camera.

2.

“uhh,” your voice trails off, awkwardly fiddling with your fingers in your lap.

1.

before you know it, one of kyoutani’s hands is pulling your face into a kiss, his other one instinctively wrapping around your neck.

click. 

you smile against his lips before kissing back, smelling the soft scent of his cologne and tasting the chapstick he applied just before the two of you got in the booth. 

he pulls you closer to him, one firm hand sliding down to rub your thigh. 

you gasp a little, and he chuckles before sliding his tongue against your bottom lip, sucking for a few seconds and pushing his tongue inside your mouth.

you pull away panting, knowing that if you went on for any longer, your body would completely melt into him.

“ken,” you mumble. 

“hm?” he turns your face to him before pressing a soft peck on your lips. 

“ken. public. remember?” you gesture to the photobooth you’re both still sitting in, and he rolls his eyes.

“yeah, well, what are they gonna do about me kissing my hot photogenic girlfriend?” 

you laugh while sliding out of the booth with him, grabbing the photos from the small opening at the base.

he wraps his hand around your waist, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as your fingers trace the cute pink hearts theme around the photos. 

“babe, did you choose that?” he snorts, squinting at the girly theme. 

“yeah,” you look up at him, trying to read his facial expression. “do you not like it?” 

his eyes glance at the pictures again and back to your wide eyes and he smiles. “no, i love it. really. told you we look good together. always. right?”

he presses a soft kiss on your forehead and your heart skips a beat. 

yeah, he’s definitely right.

[phoebehalliwell]

Kinda an obscure ship ask, but: Jenny and Kyle? Andy and Phoebe? Prue and Darryl? Kyra and Leo? Billie and Chris? And jumping to next gen: Melinda and Darryl Jr.?

jenny & kyle

vomit / don’t ship / ok / cute / adorable / sexy / perfect / beyond flawless / hot damn / screaming and crying / i will ship them in hell

honestly i didn’t like either character but like who did But it is the excellent pairing of Clinically Annoying Girl and Absolute Pussy Guy which is always fun in my opinion like kyle’s like no haha that’s fine no it’s okay that this happened really it’s no big deal and jenny’s like Hey Asshole Why Don’t You Say That To My Damn Face like. she has so much like gumption i mean our introduction to her is what her busting into the halliwell’s house and running for the phone trying to phone saudi arabia and our intro kyle is like. him being bullied. it’s a fun combo. she’s like let’s sneak out the window they both try and they both fall kyle sprains his ankle

andy & phoebe

vomit / don’t ship / ok / cute / adorable / sexy / perfect / beyond flawless / hot damn / screaming and crying / i will ship them in hell

i really like the idea of the all american teen with the fuck up rebel after those phases have been left behind and it’s like. i’ll always remember this shadow of you and who you represented and i still see it in you i loved you then and i love you now but i’m quite particular about the aus they’re formed in because like. It Has To Be Done Right otherwise the vibes are just weird. i do like their chemistry tho i like how phoebe would just say shit to his face that where’s your warrant scene like hell yes

prue & darryl

vomit / don’t ship / ok / cute / adorable / sexy / perfect / beyond flawless / hot damn / screaming and crying / i will ship them in hell

i feel like they’re both so type a that they’re not quite compatible and she’s so intense and he’s not really for intensity he kinda likes boring he also doesn’t seem that artsy as opposed to prue who literally studied it but like. idk they could still be cute! i liked their energy in all halliwell’s eve

kyra & leo

vomit / don’t ship / ok / cute / adorable / sexy / perfect / beyond flawless / hot damn / screaming and crying / i will ship them in hell

they were fun!!!! i’ll say it they were hella fun obvi going nowhere in spite of the pleo divorce era we’re still trying to heal that broken home but like. they were really fun!!!!!! it’s fun because they meet under these dark grunge circumstances they’re literally in hell she knows he’s a double agent he knows she’s all talk and underneath both these veneers is this desire to find true good true piece also i love the combo of unstoppable flirt vs person who cannot flirt at all so just kind of. accepts it as it comes. and yeah they were sexy too great era

billie & chris

vomit / don’t ship / ok / cute / adorable / sexy / perfect / beyond flawless / hot damn / screaming and crying / i will ship them in hell

i think the issue is billie is too annoying for chris and chris is too frigid for billie like i couldn’t even really see them being friend because chris is like so sober about like almost everything he does whereas billie rarely has a flying fuck to give and she loves talking back and being sassy and drawing out a fight a cat and mouse game whereas chris will maybe get in one line pointing out how they’re wrong and then go for the kill. maybe an eyeroll if we’re extra spicy, but it’s just like. he doesn’t have fun with the craft right it’s not a plaything but for billie it totally is i mean dude it’s magic it’s amazing it’s just. i find them intrinsically incompatible. that being said an au could totally be spun where i could ship them, but it’s like. you’d have to bend over backwards. 

melinda & darryl jr

vomit / don’t ship / ok / cute / adorable / sexy / perfect / beyond flawless / hot damn / screaming and crying / i will ship them in hell

ignoring the age delta which is a shade steep (he’s 1998 and she’s 07 i believe) they definitely could be compatible they’ve both got the youngest sibling thing going for them it’s also like. darryl jr was kind of a late bloomer and obviously not nearly as skilled in the craft as melinda as he’s self taught and she literally has like access to the whole warren line but it’s not like what she sees like with chris or kat or even like henry sometimes pj like the self-consciousness this like embarrassment like you’re not enough you’re too weak for the line you’re not skilled enough your not gifted enough and you’re bitter at destiny for dealing you this hand like. melinda gets heavy doses of that on the regular, so i think meeting someone who was the set up for that and knows that his relationship to the craft is an a natural disadvantage but like. doesn’t care because it’s still a gift man it’s still he can do things no one else can and can like. help people. save people. and he has fuckin magic powers!! like!! there’s a lot to like. i also think dj is one of those people who comes off more reserved until you get to know him, just like melinda, so there’d be that nice journey of clearing that arc and then realizing that the other is actually like really funny and cool and you like spending time with them and their eyes are actually really pretty and now your ears are feeling really hot wow is it warm in here i swear i’m like flushed are you are you flushed too i’m all like. haha the weather amirite?

send me an ship!

[loverontheleft]

The Honeymoon Ones (14)

Moodboard by @a-silver-linings-boyfriend

1.5k words -||- AU!B x Reader

Warnings: language, dirty talk, smut.

I just kinda jumped to after the tour. Don’t worry, if you’re only here for the Greek vacation vibes, I’ll do flashbacks.

-||-

“I love taking care of you,” Brendon groans in your ear as his hands clutch at your hips. “I fucking love taking care of you, Y/n. Especially...oh fuck yes-”

“Especially like this,” you echo his groan, clawing at his fingers. “Fuck, this is insane. You’re so hot. This is so hot, this is exactly what I wanted - oh fuck me, don’t stop, oh sweet Christ-“ you realize you’re babbling when Brendon kisses your neck and slides two fingers into your mouth for you to suck greedily. The image in front of you, courtesy of the full-length mirror opposite the bed, is driving you crazy. He’s on his knees with you nestled into his lap, your back to his chest, both of you entranced by your mirror images.

“You, Ko, have quite the dirty mouth on you,” Brendon manages, and you suck agreeably on his fingers. “It’s so fucking hot, oh my god.” He’s biting at your neck, gasping as you roll your hips back. “I just realized - oh fuck, Y/n, baby, like that, just like that -“ you’re squeezing around him, grinning and laughing breathlessly when you meet his eyes in the mirror.

“You just realized?” You prompt, stilling yourself on his dick and releasing his fingers. He blinks and you tighten around him briefly, relishing the way he grunts and his head falls into the crook of your neck. “What did you just realize, B?”

“We never...talked about what you’re into.” His hips jerk forward and you whimper, reaching back to clutch at him. “Praise...degradation...spanking… whatever. I know you like the dirty talk but-“ he swears under his breath as you force yourself upward before sinking down hard again. “I don’t know what you’re into.”

“I don’t know what you’re into either,” you challenge, grinning at him.

“You,” Brendon retorts playfully and you groan, slapping at his thigh, telling him that’s not fair. “It absolutely is,” he tells you, gripping your hips and holding you in place in his lap and on his cock. You’re both breathing hard when he continues. “The male orgasm is not exactly mysterious or difficult to achieve. My likes and interests matter, of course, but you could give me a disinterested, dry hand job on a couch while giving all your attention to Instagram or the TV or literally anything other than my dick and I’d still come because you’ve got your hand on my dick. It’s physical. I know a woman’s orgasm is more than physical. It’s psychological too. You are the one I aim to please and you are the one who interests me. You can be as physically attracted to me as I am to you, but it’ll never just be as simple as me touching you. I know you've got things you prefer. You’ve said as much. You come first Y/n - in bed and in my heart. If I can make you come, I will definitely come.”

“That,” you drawl, “is the best thing I’ve ever heard. Damn.” You pause for a moment to collect yourself and Brendon smiles at you in the mirror. Tenderly, he wraps up your hair in one hand and sweeps it to one side so he can press soft, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder as you think. “To answer your tentative list...yes, praise. Definitely. Mild degradation. It comes down to tone for me. Telling me I’m such a good slut or a dirty girl in a voice full of awe as I suck you off is great. Condescendingly, not so much. I’m never going to enjoy being called a whore or bitch. Basically, I guess I like dirty praise where I’m called a slut or a freak or whatever- yes. That. Spanking is a meh, but I do like when you get grabby and an occasional slap on the ass is good.” You close your eyes and lean into his embrace. “I think that covers your list, yeah?”

Brendon nods and his cheek rubs against your hair with the movement. “But you’re not limited to that list,” he says softly, reaching a hand down to slick a finger over your clit gently. “You’re welcome to add your own additions.”

You lean back further against his chest so you can angle your hips, pressing into his finger. When you sigh in pleasure, you catch his gaze in the mirror again. You grin. “You,” is all you say, laughing and beaming when he breaks into a wide smile. “I’m into you. And I want to know what you’re into. Besides me,” you tease, wiggling back and forth.

Brendon purrs in your ear, nibbling at the lobe. “Get on your hands and knees,” he tells you. His voice is firm and low, and you obey, because when he talks to you like that, you can’t imagine doing anything else. Together, you both move until he’s settled behind you on his knees, hands curved over your ass appreciatively. “Goddamn Ko, you’ve got the best fucking ass,” he groans, and it’s only when he catches the expression on your face courtesy of the mirror that he backtracks a little. “I don’t mean that I want to - I’m not - wait... are...you?”

“No,” you grin, now that you’ve relaxed from watching how flustered he got at the implication. “I’m not into getting my ass fucked.”

“No - I just meant - for like - taking you from behind. Your ass is amazing to hold onto and grip and - I’m - I don’t want to-“

“We’re on the same page,” you reassure him, wiggling your ass at him teasingly. “But keep talking. You’ve got me on my hands and knees, ass up in the air with your cock deep in me...what do you like?”

“I like it a bit rougher at times,” he admits, tangling a hand in your hair and tugging gently as he thrusts forward urgently. “Like hearing those breathless moans and stifled gasps for me as I fuck you like this, taking you fast and hard. Watching you cling to the sheets, bite and scream into the pillows, lose your mind from my cock - all of it. And grabbing your ass, tugging your hair, pinning you down or holding you up, letting you scratch at my back, claw at my chest, bite at my neck...desperate. Unrefined. Urgent. Needy. Messy. Leaving us both wrecked. But I like going slow and gentle too.”

He pulls out of you and flips you over onto your back, kissing you sweetly as you whine and reach for him. “I like knowing my girl is stressed and I’m going to be the only one to make it all better, to take her apart inch by inch, moment by moment, coaxing her climaxes from her until she’s boneless, quivering, and thoroughly fucked.” He’s lifted one of your legs high over his shoulder and presses himself into you, watching in satisfaction as your lips part in bliss and your eyes flutter shut.

“And then,” he mumbles with his hands on your body so that, when he rolls, you end up gracefully on top of him, “then, there’s times when I know the only thing that’s going to help my girl work through her stress is if she takes it out on me. So I don’t mind behaving for her, as long as she uses that courtroom voice that makes me so fucking turned on.” You raise an eyebrow and he groans, clutching at his chest. “That’s the ‘don’t bullshit me, counselor’ eyebrow, Ko. Shit, you don’t even know how hard-“ he’s cut off when you indicate your joined bodies and he realizes you can feel him throbbing inside you and therefore you do have some idea. “I love it when my girl uses every ounce of authority she’s worked so hard to deserve. I like watching you in lawyer mode, assessing me, studying my body like I’m a misbehaving witness on the stand. You’re going to get me back in line and never crack that professional veneer because you don’t have to. You know exactly what to say and do to get me in your power.” You lean over and thread your fingers through his hair, tugging gently while your other hand scratches down his chest, watching him squirm with pleasure.

He groans again. “I’m telling you, whenever you go into courtroom lawyer mode - your voice and your face and even how you hold yourself - fuck, I - Y/n, I love it so much and honestly, I call it your Mythic Boss Bitch mode. But - I know you don’t like being called a bitch though so I’ll-” you wave him off on this one, telling him that the precursors are perfect. “When you’re in that mode...you’re so goddamn sexy to me in a completely different way. I just want to get on my knees and eat you out and make you come on my tongue til you push my head away and tell me I did well.”

“I will never complain about that,” you tell him breathlessly, grinding down on him and bouncing slightly. “And, as for other stuff I’m into, the way you call me your girl gets me so fucking wet.”

Brendon’s eyes light up and he reaches up to hold your wrists and bring you down so you’re chest to chest. “I’m glad you like it,” he mumbles, nuzzling your ear affectionately. “Because I want you to be.”

[soup-fish]

Hiya I meant to send you asks like forever ago but I'm bad so I didn't do that so here they are now they're from this ask prompt thing you reblogged

Feel free to answer these about any of your OCs cause I don't really remember any except rabbit and Knight so~

1, 10, 25, 29, 33, 37, 46, 50, 61, 63, 78, 80, sorry there's so many you don't have to answer them all, I am just cursed with insatiable curiosity only balanced out by my fear of asking too many questions and being annoying—

Hi!!! You’re not bad!! You’re one of the coolest aliens ever!!!! 

I am absolutely answering them all with multiple OCs because I will take every opportunity I get to talk about them. 

Putting it under a cut because it is LONG and I don't wanna bother.

1. What is their gender?

The Knight: (she/her)

Rabbit: agender but they use (they/them) pronouns

The Apprentice: (he/him)

Dijon: (he/him)

Julienne: (she/her) (they/them)

Monty: (he/him) (they/them)

Diana: (she/her)

Captain Pumpernickel: (he/him)

William: (he/him)

10. What are some of their talents/skills?

The Knight: Swordfighting, Dancing, pottery

Rabbit: Parlor magic, puppetry, Acting

The Apprentice: collecting, Dunescotch [the world's rough equivalent of chess], chemistry

Dijon: cooking, writing, gardening

Julienne: biking, photography, bird watching

Monty: people watching, bingo, garage sales

Diana: fencing, archery, calligraphy

Captain Pumpernickel: Singing, acting, swordfighting

William: whittling, philosophy, accordion

25. What is their biggest flaw?

The Knight: her naivete 

Rabbit: Their reluctance to be vulnerable

The Apprentice: His aversion to change and the unknown

Dijon: his self-pitying nature

Julienne: Her self-centeredness

Monty: his...not quite human-ness

Diana: She’s uptight

Captain Pumpernickel: hooboy where do I start? For one, his complete and utter dismissal of everything that doesn’t contribut to ADVENTURE

William: his lack of ambition

29. How would they describe their own personality?

The Knight: “Hmmm. I try to be as nice as possible and I’ve been told I’m rhapsodic! I don’t think my singing’s that good but it’s a sweet compliment!” 

Rabbit: “Witty. Yes. Sarcastic? Yes. The people’s demon? In more ways than one~ Even hell can’t handle me.” 

The Apprentice: “Simple, studious, and an enjoyer of quiet studying. I tend to be rather straight-forward in my methodology.”

Dijon: “God do I even have a personality? What am I besides a vaguely human shaped pile of mistakes and disappointments?” 

Julienne: “A fun loving fun person!” 

Monty: “Just your average Earth person! Nothing else to see!” 

Diana: “Calm, cool, collected, the perfect dignitary”

Captain Pumpernickel: “AN ADVENTURER! And a lover! Of your mother! Bring out the good ale my good fellows! Your captain has won another battle of the wits!”

William: “Personality? Never heard of it. Wouldn’t even begin to know what the word means. I know no such words such as sarcastic, laid-back, carefree. Nooooo.”

33. What is their biggest fear? How would they react to having to face it?

The Knight: Being ignored and unheard. She’d probably get really frustrated and maybe cry a little as a result. If it really got to her, she’d need help being pulled out of a dark place. 

Rabbit: Abandonment. Their general reaction to it is to put on a veneer of not caring and close off from the outside world more, even going so far as to act annoying and unlikable so that people leave before getting close. 

The Apprentice: Not knowing. Or, by extension, not being able to learn. He’d probably lash out in anger and storm off. 

Dijon: Being an unredeemable person. He faces it every day and he deals with it by being melodramatic in all of his writings and wallowing in misery. AKA, not dealing with it. 

Julienne: People being genuine. They’d probably get really uncomfortable and try to excuse themselves from the conversation or make jokes to redirect the conversation. 

Monty: The republic finding him hiding out on Earth. He’d fight or do anything possible out of desperation. 

Diana: Being a disappointment 

Captain Pumpernickel: Not being able to bang your mom not having adventures with his crew. He'd probably be reduced to a shell of his former self.

William: Not being able to talk his way out of a situation. 

37. How easy is it for them to say “I love you”? Do they say it without meaning it?

The Knight: Pretty easy but she means it when she says it. She's just full of love tbh.

Rabbit: It's really hard for them to say "I love you". Really really hard. Especially at the start of their arc, they would never say it, however much they mean it.

The Apprentice: It's hard for him to say, simply because it's not quantifiable enough. How does one properly explain how much they love someone? He prefers showing love through actions and more direct compliments.

Dijon: It's not easy for him to say, but he says it without meaning it, both knowingly and unknowingly.

Julienne: She doesn't say it often, but she says it to the people she cares about occasionally. She prefers to say it through time spent and physical touch though.

Monty: The Dude Loves Everything. But they also barely understand the meaning of the word so...

Diana: She doesn't say it almost at all, but prefers to use acts of service and gift giving.

Captain Pumpernickel: He never says "I love you" because he usually doesn't really mean it. He'll use some other compliment or compound of it.

William: He doesn't throw it around easily, so when he says it, it has so much more weight behind it.

46. How easily can they express emotions? How easily can they hide emotions?

The Knight: She expresses her emotions a lot and very easily, but she has a hard time hiding them.

Rabbit: They think they're sly at hiding their emotions, but they let micro-expressions slip constantly. If anyone decided to notice, one would

The Apprentice: He's a blank sheet baybee. What is he thinking? Unless it's frustration or anger, you'll never know.

Dijon: He's just kinda sad all the time. He's miserable and everyone notices.

Julienne: She allows some emotions to come through. It's a bit of a calculated effort.

Monty: All of his emotions come through all the time and he doesn't mind.

Diana: Well, she hides her sadness and happiness, but allows her frustration and such to shine through.

Captain Pumpernickel: He expresses emotions very openly and very loudly. He is a dramatic ham of a captain.

William: He keeps a near perpetual smile that occasionally wavers when things go wrong. He doesn't like to open up emotionally.

50. How would you describe their style of clothing? How would they describe their style of clothing?

The Knight: "fun and comfy!" Light armor with room for mobility but colorful

Rabbit: "...sexy" literally naked except a cloak.

The Apprentice: "practical and sensible" like a fucking nerd

Dijon: "presentable" the best time to wear a sweater, is all the time

Julienne: "quirky" quirky.

Monty: "human clothing for humans! :D" weird mixture of 1800s stuff and modern day stuff. Weird guy.

Diana: "regular??? Clothes???" Fancy ballgown at first then swashbuckling but still expensive.

Captain Pumpernickel: "EXTRAVAGANT AND ASTOUNDING" sexy hobo pirate.

William: "only the highest tier clothing/s" ...rags. doesn't care enough.

61. Which season is their favorite season?

The Knight: Spring

Rabbit: Autumn, harvest festivals and such are good for demons.

The Apprentice: Winter, you have excuses to stay inside and work. Plus the vibe is nice when it's harsh outside and cozy inside

Dijon: Summer, fewer holidays and he's not really cold resistant.

Julienne: Summer. They like the general vibe and popsicles and shorts and sunglasses and such.

Monty: Winter, they love the holidays.

Diana: Summer, she likes the heat.

Captain Pumpernickel: Autumn! He just thinks the weather and vibe are RIPE FOR ADVENTURE!

William: Winter! He like staying inside and the cold.

63. What is always guaranteed to make them smile?

The Knight: her partner! Or a silly joke! Or a delicious snack! Or friendship!

Rabbit: schadenfreude

The Apprentice: order and productivity

Dijon: his favorite childhood book

Julienne: her pet rats! Or pet frog!

Monty: A human thing like paperclips

Diana: this one is a hard one. Succeeding at any of her hobbies.

Captain Pumpernickel: ADVENTURE. and friends

William: seeing Diana smile and be free.

78. Who do they consider to be their best friend?

The Knight: The prince!

Rabbit: the Knight

The Apprentice: books

Dijon: julienne

Julienne: no one. Monty is close.

Monty: ALL HUMANS ARE BEST! AND FRIENDS!!

Diana: no one [William eventually]

Captain Pumpernickel: The sea. And his first mate. And his quartermaster.

William: no one [Diana eventually]

80. Are they a morning person or a night owl?

The Knight: Morning person

Rabbit: Night Owl

The Apprentice: Morning Person

Dijon: Night Owl

Julienne: Morning Person

Monty: Morning Person

Diana: Morning Person

Captain Pumpernickel: Morning Person

William: Night Owl

[flatstarcarcosa]

had some thots about au ozai. 

i’ve mentioned before that i hc that in the modern setting, bending is not a first line of defense. it’s the last line. it’s harder than in the main setting, and benders are a lot more rare. 

firebenders get the short end of the stick, because while earth, water, and air benders are pretty much always around their element and have an easier time manipulating it, firebenders aren’t.

they cannot make fire from nothing. there has to be a spark, an ember, something to make flame from. 

so i had the idea that there’s firestarters always on them. ozai has them on his clothes; in the rings on his fingers, the cufflinks on some of his sleeves. he’s got a pair of shoes with firestarters embedded in the decorative metal on the heels. 

it’s why, when i finally reach him after he gets kidnapped, he’s down to his pants, and what’s left of his shirt, and nothing else. the guys that grabbed him knew that they’re hidden all over his fancy clothes, so they made sure to get rid of them. 

but i came up with the idea that azulon had always prepared for that. i’m aware that a lot of this is probably just like, making up how this could potentially work but it SOUNDS cool so i don’t care, and why can’t this ‘modern’ au potentially have technology that surpasses what we actually have irl? korra was stated to be the equivalent of the 20s, and our irl 1920′s didn’t have giant fighting robots. 

mild description of gore below.

i’m thinking azulon found himself in a similar position once when he was young, and decided that needed to be rectified. 

as such, iroh and ozai both have firestarters hidden in their mouths. it’s some sort of special blend of materials, since flint itself is too soft and easily breakable. as soon as their baby teeth fell out and got replaced with their adult teeth, azulon sent them to the oral surgeons. 

it works by having two of the original molars yanked out, one on top and one on bottom. the firestarter material is attached to a small plate and a screw that gets drilled into their gums and jaw, similar to how replacement teeth/bridge work/veneers are done. then there’s an enamel and ceramic material molded around it that’s roughly the same shape/size of the original tooth. 

it’s designed to mostly hold up during normal activities, so that they’re not accidentally setting it off just because they’re eating crackers or apples or other hard foods. 

iroh being the oldest meant he was essentially the guinea pig for perfecting how to do it. it was enough trips to the surgeon he genuinely lost count, and he’s not ashamed to admit he had a couple years when ozai was first born that he also doesn’t remember because he ended up just constantly on painkillers. 

he kicked the pills, he did not kick the chronic ache in his jaw and neck. there was at least twice as a kid where ozai asked why his neck audibly cracks sometimes. 

ozai has grown up with a dislike of dentists, but at least he didn’t deal with the same level of what was just shy of torture like iroh did. 

in order to remove the protective layers of material to get to the firestarter, it involves very intentionally snapping your jaw shut with as much force as possible (it will hurt) and then grinding your teeth to the right to crack the seal (it will hurt more).

ozai’s had to get his starters yanked out and replaced twice. once, was mandatory. it was azluon wanting to make sure he knew how to do it. 

the second time was when he was 19, and faceplanted while trying to finish a keg stand at a frat party. he landed on the side of his face the firestarters are on, and when he sat up and spat out chips of white enamel, he realized he’d opened the damn things by accident. azulon didn’t care that he was drinking under age, he only wanted to know why the fuck ozai was at a normal frat house with ‘lesser’ people. 

so anyway what i got thinking about was that after he gets kidnapped, and after they try to hit a homerun with a baseball bat on his face and he finally wakes up, he realizes the firestarters are still in his mouth. 

he can taste it. they leave behind a really strong taste of sulfur. he realizes that while they mangled his jaw (although he thinks at the moment it’s just dislocated, not that he’ll eventually end up with more titanium and steel than bone when all is said and done) the firestarters didn’t fall out. 

the coating and protective shell is gone, but the damn screws that keep them in place are doing their job. and his kidnappers don’t know about them. 

so yeah anyway, one of the ways he manages to mostly free himself is by just breathing fire and melting people in the hallway. 

he’s only got about one good blast in him at this point though, which is also why he steals a gun and snaps a guy neck with his handcuff chain, because that is also just very sexy and we love to see it. 

[thedragonsexcalendar]

The Sexiest Dragons of all Time

Ask anyone in the entire world (even Irma) and they’ll tell you I’m the biggest fan of top 10 lists.

In the industry, these lists are called “listicles.” Which sounds like the testicles of an anthropomorphized grocery list. Ohhh…new calendar idea!

This list is one of the dumbest things I’ve ever written but at the same time the most important thing I’ve ever written.

A perfect balance. (Keep in mind this is a highly curated list).

1. Smaug from The Hobbit (movie)

The Hobbit movies were horrible but Smaug was fineeeee. He made the list for obvious reasons:

His voice is baritone deep, rich, and exudes pure seduction.

Speaking of rich, he is or at least was one of the richest dragons ever.

He’s also got a massive dick and he’s kind of stupid. Every girl’s dream.

Falcor from The Never Ending Story (Book & Movie)

I felt a bit weird adding Falcor to the Sexiest Dragons of all Time list because he’s such a wholesome Dragon. One could consider him husband material.

The main reason he made this list is that you can definitely call him Daddy.

I feel like he’d be a really generous lover. He’s really kind and thoughtful, but behind that kind veneer is a deep hint of mischievousness which I think is insanely sexy.

He’s impervious to “The Nothing.” So hot.

Lastly, he Looks like a dog so he’s automatically a chick magnet. I would pat his little head while I gently fucked him.

That Sean Connery Dragon from Dragon Heart

The Sean Connery dragon from Dragon Heart was a shoe-in. Arguably the penultimate (I’ve never used that word before) sexiest dragon of all time due to these reasons:

His coarse yet soothing Scottish accent is like a fine whiskey. It burns and soothes at the same time. I bet his cum is just like whiskey.

He recognizes and respects tough men. Definitely an alpha trait. I feel like I could call him up if I ever had my heart broken and he’d validate me but also tell me to buck up.

He would dominate me in bed. I would have no choice. His completely. So hot. He would just take me. Like Jamie from Outlander.

Viserion from Game of Thrones (Movie… and Book?)

Viserion. You know, that one that was fire but then died and was resurrected and became all frosty. He’s the last entry in the list of the sexiest dragons of all time but not the least.

All these dragons are sexy for their own reasons and here are his:

He’s got an ice cold cock (ICC) so if you have any burning STI’s it’d be very, very soothing.

Respects women. Big turn on. I feel like you could tell him to dominate you but then switch it up take complete control mid fuck and either peg him or ride him to completion over all seven kingdoms, with yours and his cum flittering down on the free people as a fine, cummy snow.

He’s Independent now.

That’s it, guys. I hope you agree with all my entries into the Sexiest Dragons of all Time listicle. If you DISAGREE I want to know why in the comments below.

Remember. I did a shit ton of research on this so you better have a bullet proof rebuttal!

Yours,

Kelsey

[monicalorandavis]

Aw shit, SNL is good again

I should say that I wrote that title before I watched the whole episode. The whole thing wasn’t superb but sweet baby Jesus did season 45 come out swingin’ with a sublimely funny Democratic debate sketch. It is also a credit to Woody Harrelson because he carried some seriously unfunny sketches to safe landings more than once. He is by far the best host in recent memory. If they could have him host the whole season we’d be good! Although, I did see that Phoebe Waller-Everything-I-Touch-Turns-To-Gold-Bridge is hosting next week so that should be good too.

Some highlights from the debate sketch included a jaw-dropping impression of Marianne Williamson by newcomer Chloe Fineman. Like Williamson herself, she came across whimsical, enchanted by her own charisma, and even though you’d like to hate her, charming. Fineman is Insta-famous but for good reason. She’s a stunning impressionist and a confident performer. The same can’t be said for Bowen Yang but it was literally episode one and what can you really tell from that? The stakes must be so high. I can’t imagine the nerves getting out onto that stage. A stand-up gig is terrifying enough and then you multiply that by 10,000,000 and...my stomach hurts. While Fineman appeared relaxed and self-assured, Yang’s moments felt tense. And when you consider the hype surrounding him being the first Asian-American cast member, of course he was tense! He’s got a lot riding on him. So now I rescind my criticism and wish to send to him a big Marianne Williamson astral hug in the form of a yoni egg (watch the sketch).

I could give a TED talk on the debate sketch. It truly felt like a return to the SNL of my dreams. Larry David did another stellar portrayal of Bernie Sanders. Kate McKinnon delivered one of my favorite lines as Elizabeth Warren (”I’ve got the energy of a mom to five boys who each play a different sport.”) Then, we got to see past cast member Maya Rudolph shine as Kamala Harris in the most playful, silly, sexy and out of touch nod to the Senator’s sometimes contradictory public image. She’s equal parts boss-lady lawyer and flirtatious “fun aunt”, or as she likes to call it “funt”. I would pay good money to hear Maya Rudolph deliver again: “I’m the kind of funt that will give you weed and then arrest you for having weed...Can I win the presidency? Probably not...But can I successfully seduce a much younger man? You better funting believe it”.

It was comedy heaven.

Last but not least, Woody Harrelson’s neon-white veneered Joe Biden knocked it out of the park. Woody himself possesses a sexual swagger that men and women are drawn to. He’s got a groovy self-confidence that feels comfortable but polite. Masculine, yet sweet. And up until recently, Biden occupied the same safe space. But no longer. Now, Joe Biden is a creepy, hair-sniffing, long-hugger that might make the hairs on your arms stand up if you got stuck in an elevator with him. He doesn’t cross the line because he doesn’t think about the dang lines! Harrelson ratcheted up his sexual charisma a notch or two to edge his way into the creepy zone, delivering perhaps my favorite lines of the entire episode:

Daddy’s here, America. I see you. I hear you. I sniff you. And, I hug you from behind. Now I ask what I ask every time I enter a room: Where am I and what the hell is going on?

Is Joe Biden the man for the job? We don’t know. But whoever the fuck wrote this sketch sure as hell is.

[funeral-clown]

at last, beth, the triad is complete

gay lawyers

Kevin Punt was an asshole. Violent. Angry. Sadistic.

You know, an asshole.

When Nelson and Murdock put him away for a few years, Foggy started resting a bit easier. Not much, because, well. Drop in the ocean. And. Well. Crime fighting partner with a masochistic streak. And. W e l l.

He didn’t sleep much.

But he slept better after locking Kevin Punt behind bars.

So when his parole hearing came up, he and Matt were quick to retake the case. The evidence was irrefutable, and the last thing they wanted was a monster like him back on the streets. 

Kevin Punt’s family was, to say the least, not pleased.

“Ma’am,” Matt interjected in his best ‘I am a sexy blind lawyer, please give me your attention and listen to me and maybe take your shirt off if you want haha just kidding but seriously listen to me’ voice (although that may just be Foggy’s interpretation). “I’m sorry you have to go through this again. But the fact of the matter is, your cousin was guilty. No one wants to face their family members’ dark side, but in Mr. Punt’s case, his violent tendencies and criminal persuasions make him a danger to the public.”

“My cousin,” the young woman hissed back, tears burning in her eyes like rage, “Was innocent. You’re liars. You’re as corrupt as everyone else in this damn city!”

“Hey,” Foggy began, “I know it’s hard to hear-”

His frankly very soothing tone apparently did not work. It was possible his frustration was poking through.

“He’s innocent! He would never hurt anyone, he’s just confused!”

“Sure,” Matt sighed, exhausted, “He didn’t commit egregious acts of violence. He just stumbled into that store owner with a baseball bat. Multiple times.”

“That’s unsubstantiated!”

“There was VIDEO!”

“Doctored evidence!”

“Miss Punt,” Matt broke through, a hint of his alter ego breaking through the thin veneer of civility, “I offer my condolences again. One can’t choose their relatives, and I admire your support. But I’m going to have to insist you leave.”

She stiffened.

“Fine,” she snapped, “But we’ll see how you silver-tongued lawyers do in court when the truth comes out.”

“Pretty sure we’ll rock it, ok, thanks for coming in! Bye!” Foggy watched as she stormed out the door. “Aaaaand she’s gone. Jesus, the whackadoo apple must consist of the whole family tree.”

Matt hummed.

“It was a little weird though, wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“What she said. That last bit.”

Foggy shrugged.

“You didn’t see it, but she had desperate written all over her. She’s just another grieving family member with false hope. Sad, but not exactly uncommon. I expected her to say fake news next.”

Matt stared at the door, considering.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“Anyway, are you hungry? I could murder some pad thai.”

Matt snorted, and the daily lunch argument began. The strange encounter soon fled to the back of his mind.

For the moment.

-

When Matt came in for work the next morning, his body was still sore from a relatively painful night. Not too much activity, with his reputation, but it just meant the people who were out and about were more prepared than usual. The armor could only do so much against a taser. Still, the ache was good. It was the ache of a job well done, an ache that saved lives. He took a quiet pride in it, in what his body could do. That said, the day would look much better after a cup of coffee.

“Wow,” Foggy remarked fondly, “You look like hell.”

Matt groaned.

“Do you ever get sick of making that pun?”

“Nah,” he said, “It feels fresh every time. Besides, you like the puns.”

“No, they’re childish and lame,” Matt says. 

This is not what comes out of Matt’s mouth.

“Yes, the teasing is a comforting reminder of how far we’ve come since you first discovered my vigilantism. I was afraid of losing you, and the fact that we can now openly joke about it is reassuring.”

Foggy stared, cup halfway to his mouth.

“Uh. Wow, buddy. Thanks for the. Honesty?”

Matt frowned.

“That’s. Not what I meant to say.”

“No, don’t wig out now. It’s kinda refreshing, not having to guess what you’re thinking.”

“Yeah,” Matt said dubiously, “I keep a lot of things private from you because I fear for your safety, and I know it frustrates you but I’m not willing to put you in harm’s way for my own sake.”

Matt glared down at his hands. Foggy’s eyes widened in shock.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Matt’s eyes snapped up.

“Foggy.”

“Matthew,”

“Lie to me.”

Foggy stood up, leaning over his desk.

“What’s that?”

“Lie to me. Something’s wrong. I need to make sure it’s just me.”

He could feel Foggy look him over.

“You look the same, pal. And by that I mean extremely attractive.”

Foggy breathed in sharply. Matt smirked.

“Let me guess.”

“I didn’t mean to say that!”

“Foggy. Something is very wrong.”

“I stole your pillow in college because it smelled like you and it helped me fall asleep!”

“Fog, I. You. Jesus, Foggy!”

“I need to leave right now immediately.”

Before he could stop him, his partner had grabbed his jacket and was out the door.

“Wait!” he called out. But Foggy was already gone.

-

Danny hummed thoughtfully over the phone, staring in consideration at the paper in front of him.

“Well, it’s a good thing you called me.”

Matt sighed.

“I couldn’t think of anyone else, and if I could have I would have called literally anyone else.”

“Hey!”

“Rand, I can’t help it! I’m compelled to honesty!”

“Doesn’t mean you have to be a jerk. Well, more of a jerk than usual.”

Matt grit his teeth.

“You’re a man with the heart of a child and the power of at least a MINOR god, I don’t think you’re very responsible and quite frankly while I’m very proud of the strides you’ve taken with your company and wouldn’t want it in any other hands I’m morally opposed to billionaires.”

Danny nodded, beginning to fold creases into the paper.

“Yeah, sounds like a truth spell buddy. You piss off any witches?”

“None that I know of.”

Danny shrugged.

“I just shrugged.”

“I could hear it.”

“You can hear shrugs?”

“Danny.”

“Look, best I can say is let it runs it’s course. These type of things are meant to teach us lessons.”

“I don’t have time for zen bullshit!”

“Sure, Catholic. Also tampering with the spell might make it permanent. Which.”

“Fuck.”

“Have fun saying your Hail Mary’s for that.”

“Good bye, Daniel.”

“Bye, Matt!”

He waited for the click before presenting the table with a perfectly folded paper football.

“You ready for this, Luke?”

“Oh, I was born ready.”

-

“Foggy,” Matt’s phone politely informed him. “Foggy. Foggy. Fo-”

“Answer,” he snapped.

“It’s a truth spell!” Foggy blurted.

“Yeah, I know. I talked to Danny.”

“Rand? Really?”

“He was on a magical temple for most of his life. How did you figure it out?”

“I just asked Stephen Strange.”

“What?”

“I’m his lawyer. And I never grumble at him, so he likes me better.”

“What did Strange have to say?”

“He said it would probably run about a week, and if he tampered with it it might become permanent.”

“Sounds about the same.”

“You know who did this, right?”

“Punt.”

Foggy growled.

“I am getting really sick of that family, Matt.”

“It’ll be over soon.”

“This is going to make working on the case hell.”

“Why?”

“Because now I have to actively resist telling everyone I know that you’re Daredevil. And I have to actively resist telling you that I-”

The dial tone clicked.

Foggy had apparently found a loophole.

-

It was awkward. They both left the room multiple times. Matt didn’t know what Foggy was keeping secret, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to admit he was in love with him. Even if it was obvious to everyone else.

“You know,” Foggy remarked over noodles, “This curse sucks, but like. It kinda evens the playing field.”

Matt quirked an eyebrow.

“Well, I mean. You can tell I’m lying whenever you want. But. Now I know for sure you’re not lying to me, either.”

“I’m sorry I hurt your trust enough that you worry about that.”

“I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t trust me.”

“I didn’t want to put you in harm’s way.”

“I’d put myself in harm’s way for you any day. We’re bros.”

Matt bit his tongue.

“Matt?”

Matt bit harder.

“Matt, what the fuck your mouth is bleeding! What’s going on?”

“I’m trying to keep things to myself,” he grunted, hoarse.

“Jesus, Matt, do I need to leave?”

“I never want you to leave.”

“What?”

“I never want you to leave.”

Foggy paused, wheeling the chair around the desk to be knee to knee with him. He radiated caution.

“Well. I never want to have to leave you, buddy.”

“I don’t,” Matt choked out, throat closing from the strain of keeping the words down, “Want to be your buddy.”

Foggy smelled hurt.

“What?”

“Foggy. I don’t just want to be your buddy.”

Foggy gulped.

“I’ve been trying really hard, here, Matty.”

“I know.”

“I don’t. Want to misunderstand. But it hurts to not say what I want to say. What I’ve always wanted to say. And I don’t. I don’t want to say it, if you’re. If you’re not gonna say it back. Not gonna feel it back.”

“Foggy,” Matt whispered.

“Matt.”

“I knew you took my pillow.”

“I know you knew.”

“I never asked to switch back.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Foggy’s hand shook as it reached forward and rested on Matt’s. His skin nearly screamed at the sensation, aching all over from the long time sense he had last been touched like this. Carefully. As if he were fragile. As if he could break.

“Foggy,” he breathed.

“I really want to kiss you,” he admitted, half hope and half rue.

“I’ve wanted you to kiss me for almost 7 years.”

“Well,” Foggy leaned in, “Better late than never.”

It was soft, and firm, and a little wet. It was an everyday, normal, average kiss.

Matt lit up everywhere like an electric panel, gasping as the sensation washed over him. Gripping his hair, he pulled Foggy in deeper, opening his mouth in an attempt to steal back his breath.

“I love you,” he whispered into his mouth, “I think I might have loved you my entire life. I just didn’t know it yet.”

Foggy’s hands tightened around his thighs.

“I love you too. I’ve loved you since we first met. I’ve loved you for so long I don’t know how not to love you.”

“Don’t learn,” Matt hissed, fierce. “Don’t learn how. If you left I’d be lost.”

“Don’t worry, Matty,” Foggy laughed, pulling him in closer by his tie, “You’re the fast learner.”

-

The trial wasn’t very long. They presented the evidence, spoke of the victim’s family, mentioned his irrational behavior, spoke of the personal threats they’d received in the mail. 

Every word of it was honest and true.

Kevin Punt did not receive parole.

His cousin stood in the audience, crying as he was taken away, screaming threats.

“It’s true,” she whispered. “He really did those terrible things.”

Foggy lay a comforting hand on her elbow.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

She nodded, sniffling.

“Also, you’re a bitch for placing that spell on us.”

She stiffened, before sighing and nodding again.

“I just wanted him to have every chance.”

Foggy squeezed her elbow and left.

“I guess I deserved that. You make someone speak truth, he’ll call you a bitch.”

“Oh, he would have called you that anyway.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t like it when his privacy is invaded. I should know, I’m Da-”

“MATT. I need you to come take me home until this thing wears off!”

Matt turned towards the door.

“Be right there, sweetheart.”

He offered his arm to the woman.

“Thank you.”

“For what? I need you to lead me to my partner.”

“Oh! Right, I’m sorry.”

“Not a problem.”

Bitch, he added silently.

“We’re going to have victory sex after this,” he added.

“The spell wore off after the hearing!”

“I know,” he was giddy, “I just wanted everyone to know. I’m a very lucky man.”

“That you are, Matt,” Foggy took his arm from the stricken woman and gave his hand a squeeze. “That you are.”

“Did you just wink at me?”

“Yup.”

“Good.”

There were some benefits to honesty.

[artificialqueens]

Not Casual At All: Brave Enough (biadore) - Miss Alyssa Secret

Danny and Roy aren’t ready yet, even if they both want to be. A/N: Emotion and angst in this story from Not Casual At All. -MAS

“What did you want to talk about, pussyface?”

“So…there’s this guy who gave me his number when we were out last week.”

“Yeah?”

“We’ve been uhhh, like, sexting and stuff.”

“…and?”

“He just asked if I wanted to hang out and watch a movie or something. I’m pretty sure he wants to fuck.”

“And Niagara’s a little wet. Of course he wants it, nobody gives you their number and then just wants to watch tv.”

“So…”

“Hmmm?”

“Should I tell him I’m already busy tonight?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If you’re going to go fuck him. Just…”

“What?”

“Nothing, go have fun.”

“What is it?”

“…I-“

“B, talk to me.”

“I just want. I- you’re sure he’s safe?”

“Uhhh, no, but he seemed okay.”

“Right.”

“You’re freaking me out. What’s wrong?”

“Could you- I mean. Just.”

“B. Do you want me to stay?”

“…yes. Stay tonight. Please.”

“Okay.”

That’s how Danny wishes the conversation would go, how it does go in his head (in his heart). It’s the same one he’s had before with imaginary Roy when they’re in his living room and some random hot guy he met wants to hook up.

In his head, Roy asks him to stay and they talk. Maybe not about anything super important, maybe not even the next time or the time after that.

Eventually though, he finally is brave enough to have The Conversation. The one where the conflicted longing and carefully concealed hurt in Roy’s eyes every time he leaves to go fuck someone else boils over and they finally talk about the thing that’s been their constant companion for years. The thing that’s in every hug that lingers just too long, the casual touches that send sparks of something up Danny’s hands.

Instead, it goes something like this:

“Hey B?” Danny looks up from his phone to catch Roy’s eyes. He’s lying on the couch with his feet in Roy’s lap, and they’ve been watching stupid drag queen memes on YouTube.

“Yeah?”

“So there’s this guy I met when we were out dancing last week. And I think he wants to hookup.”

“Now?” Roy’s expression is neutral, and his energy is completely flat, like the air around them is holding its breath.

“Yeah, like he said his roommate is out and we could have the place to ourselves.”

Danny watches Roy close his eyes, something that looks like pain crossing his face for a fraction of a second. It’s gone when Danny blinks.

“Sounds like a dick appointment. Go on.”

“B?”

“It’s that or staying in with this old whore.” Roy is smiling but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Are you sure? ‘Cause…”

Danny trails off, not sure what he was about to say. Roy’s hand clenches the leg of his pants, but that’s the only sign that he’s not sanguine.

“…’Course. What’s it got to do with me?”

“I could stay.”

Please ask me to stay.

He watches Roy’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, like he’s forcing something back down.

“I’m…think I’m heading to bed anyway.”

Please don’t go.

“…okay.”

“Have fun, pussyface,” Roy smiles that empty smile again as he closes the door behind him.

Later, when Danny is balls deep in the guy whose name he can’t even remember, he wishes he could stop thinking.

The guy is hot, definitely his type, but his eyes are smoky grey and not brown. Danny flips him over shoves his cock back in him from behind.

He has a sexy, come-fuck-me voice, but Danny barely hears the impassioned moans that normally would have him hard and hungry. Danny shoves the guy’s head into the pillow and fucks him harder.

Danny watches with a sense of detachment as the guy reaches down to stroke his own cock, back arching and ass tightening. His hands are nice, felt good jerking him off five minutes after he answered the door, but the nails aren’t painted black.

He comes beneath him with a whimper a minute later, and Danny shuts his eyes and grips his hips tighter, fighting for his own orgasm.

The guy doesn’t have to know, is blissfully unaware, that the strangled moan Danny bites back when he comes is someone else’s name.

When they’re cleaned up, he invites him to stay, but Danny makes an excuse about needing to pick up a friend from the bar and leaves.

He opens the front door to darkness, locking it behind him and shuffling towards the bedroom with sudden weariness. Danny kicks off his shoes, strips down to his underwear, and climbs under the warm covers.

He sighs, exhaling confusion and frustration and years of friendship always teetering on the edge of something. It would only take one of them moving the slightest bit to pull them both off into freefall, but neither of them is brave enough.

Roy’s on his side facing away, and Danny is careful not to wake him as he presses his own face into the pillows and tells himself that this should be enough, the space between midnight and dawn.

Danny smells like alcohol and sex, and Roy concentrates on keeping his breathing even. He doesn’t need to know that Roy’s lain awake for an hour, silent and thinking. He doesn’t need to know that his heart leapt when Danny crawls into bed with him, and that it plummeted again when he remembers where he’s been.

They fall into fitful sleep, inches apart.

In the morning, Roy wakes up tangled with Danny under the covers and smiles before the anguish descends and he carefully frees himself. He watches Danny sleeping for a little longer before reluctantly turning away.

Danny wakes up to an empty bed, coffee waiting on the nightstand. When he emerges, Roy is already dressed and nothing is different than before. They smile at each other, hiding behind the fragile veneer of normalcy.

Maybe today, Roy will ask him to stay.

Maybe tonight, Danny does.

[ortegatrash]

The Farm Sucks

Name: Léon Bellandini | Puppet: Simba | Villain name: Pride

Daring/arrogant/fighter/lots of contacts/gang leader.

Warnings: Mentions of animal cruelty/death, mistaken for suicidal, implied past sexual abuse and general abuse, memory problems

You were always a bit more defiant than the rest.

It got you punished, and you reveled in it. Because any attention was good. Because it stopped them treating you like you were nothing to them, you would rather being scorned and hated than to be nothing. They were everything, they were your world because you had nothing else and you wanted so badly just to matter.

Every time you tried to escape, they would take you and wash you down with a hose. They took pleasure in forcibly shaving your head and branding you where people couldn't see, like livestock. To prevent lice, they said. There's a patch at the back of your head that doesn't grow hair anymore because of the way they hurt you for their amusement.

A toy isn't satisfying if you can't get emotionally invested in it, after all.

You hate them for everything they've done to you, all the ways they used you and took joy in your suffering. You're never going to be a nobody again.

To complete your transformation you had enlisted Ortega's help in picking out a wardrobe. It meant enduring his delighted teasing and questioning about if there was someone in your life you wanted to impress but you think it was worth it. If he's going to be vain, you might as well take advantage of his expertise.

You're gonna dress well and look good in it, dammit.

And look good you do. Even Ortega was impressed, you certainly have cleaned up nicely since you started working out again and taking care of your appearance. Sharp tailored suits and tasteful, bold signet rings, just the tiniest hint of something a little wicked and dark lurking under the surface.

Now you look like someone worthy of respect. Someone dangerous. Someone who has the money and power to make life very difficult for people who dare crosses you.

Maybe it's a little over the top, but you even got a nice throne gilded with gold leaf put into your base to lounge upon. What's the use of having everything if you can't indulge?

Besides. All the gold and velvet makes your inner child happy.

You certainly look the part of a mob boss by now with treasure hoard of jewellery and enough jewelled rings on your fingers for your minions to kiss they can choose from every colour of the rainbow.

You've got decades of being a tool to overcompensate for and really indulge your vanity. Growing your hair long in a middle finger to The Farm- no more uniform military cuts for you, no exposed barcode on the back of your head.

No more denial of your individuality.

---

It's not all easy. Los Diablos is built on suffering and you refuse to be the victim any longer.

If they won't fight fair, why should you?

...It shouldn’t bother you. Doesn’t, really. They mean nothing to you, these people. They exist only to be something to envy - didn’t someone say once that ignorance was bliss?

It must be nice to be so thoughtless and empty-headed that you can’t see the poison that runs through the city. It’s in the streets, the very veins of Los Diablos - this whole filthy place is sick.

The footbridge creaks as you step upon the rusted metal panels, otherwise deserted. Humans like mindless ants swarm the trains below, a steady flow, a pattern that goes unbroken and unquestioned.

It makes you snort.

How easy it would be to crush them all, just like the ants they look like.

How easy it would be to find someone unscrupulous enough to rig up a bomb with your contacts. How easy it would be to talk your way into restricted areas and plant them all under their very feet.

You’ve had enough experience to know that while explosions and destruction are amazing and fun in the moment, somehow the victory feels hollow. Because it doesn’t matter in the end. There’s just no real point in the short-term serotonin rush that comes with petty destruction, especially if no one of actual worth is watching.

Besides, you...you have standards. You’ll only kill those who get in the way, not innocent civilians.

There’s a strange feeling of dread when you think about it. Making your first kill. Makes you hold your breath as you lean against the shaky railing and watch the giant metal murder machines go by underneath you. Or, well, trains, but they could run someone down just as well as you could just because someone got in the way.

And yet. And yet all you want to do is ravage the world that fucked you so hard.

Who knew it would be so hard to remain cool and collected with power when all you want to do is bring the city to ruin and delight in its ashes?

To see them bow and cower before you as you take over this hellhole?

Fuck, that’s a sexy thought.

“Hey, you doing alright, man?”

You’re startled out of your thoughts. Who?

A man stares at you, dark hand extended out and barely visible in the fading light. He’s treating you like a stray cat that he doesn’t want to scare off.

Oh.

He thinks...he thinks you’re going to jump.

The sigh that escapes you doesn’t fail to catch his attention. “I know life can be hard, but this isn’t-”

It’d be so much easier if he weren’t trying to help. That’s why you swallow your annoyance and impatience and paste on a charming smile. It’s almost reflexive by now to twist his confusion and concern into remembering he was going to be late for his train, why did he just stop just now?

You watch the man sprint down the stairs and miss it by seconds, cursing his inattention. Something in you drives you to reach across mentally, to push that frustration aside. Push it into awe and surprised appreciation at the setting sun behind you, it’s been so long since he stopped to appreciate the world, he knows how it feels to feel hopeless and alone, that’s why he stopped to help-

Help who?

-A silhouette bathed in red, gazing down at the tracks below-

No! you frown and push harder, concentrating on a proper distraction. Fix this problem you just created for yourself. Send out your senses - who could you use? Hm, there’s a young lady by the ticket machine, failed her nursing exam and doesn’t know how to break it to her family. Yes, strengthen that thread - what is she going to do with herself, they’re going to be so disappointed in her. If only she had someone to talk to, a friendly ear, someone who didn’t know her, wouldn’t judge.

Tears, she visibly droops and starts trembling. There’s no one else around except the retiree who’s fallen asleep and the cleaner who’s already disillusioned enough with life that he would just tell her to suck it up.

Yes, that’s right. Sob loud enough for him to hear. He blinks, suddenly taking notice of the girl behind him and losing hold of the muddled confusion that he’d just forgotten something.

There’s something very satisfying in being able to do something like this, you think, watching the girl break down in tears as the man comforts her. As they both are strengthened ultimately by the interaction despite the circumstances that brought them together. The way she tearfully leaves her number in the phone of the blushing man.

It’s all played out just like you imagined.

How...predictable.

---

4am is perhaps more familiar to you than 4pm.

The world is quiet. A still moment in black and white, just like out of those film noir clips.

You breathe in the smoke and imagine your life was as romantic as the films made it out to be.

You have the tailored suits. The tattoos on your knuckles, the underlings to do your every command.

They don't talk about the messiness of seeing life leaving the world in your hands, evaporating like the heat of a cooling body in the snow. A morbid picture, painted in red.

They don't talk about the distasteful things, like evacuating their bowels, the frightening things people will stoop to when brought to their lowest. When you see what people are when you strip away the veneer of civilisation from them and you're left only with a terrified beast.

The way their bodies jerk to the ground reminds you of it, sometimes.

Snowball, you called her. You'd been curious, wary of her at first. Her twitchy nose and soft ears fascinated you but the handlers were watching and you didn't want to risk messing up so soon after last time.

Your mission was to take care of her. A trial bodyguard mission for a defect-filled asset that wasn't much of an asset at all. They were starting to get impatient with you, you know - it was a thin line between daring enough to get away with it and ending up being made 'redundant'.

So you just stood there. Stared at her, munching contently at her carrot.

"It's not going to bite you." The new handler is different from the others. You call her Red for her hair, it's not like they ever identify themselves to you. She doesn't scream at your uselessness when you don't react to their satisfaction, she doesn't get distracted by a colleague and leave you abandoned in a dark room for nine hours because she forgot to put you away.

You still hesitate - does she want an answer? Does she want you to take the initiative? Does she just want you to follow only her stated orders, is this just a test?

You can't tell and that frustrates you.

Reading their minds is forbidden unless expressly stated, but she's tapping her pen impatiently like she's expecting you to draw the real orders from her  brain.

What to do. What to do?

Remain obedient and only react to what she commands you to do? Or make a move, taking the guess that it's what she actually wants from you? It's a gamble on what will get you punished.

...To hell with it. You don't care anymore.

Wordlessly, you step over to the rabbit and kneel down.

Looking back up at her gives you no clues - no changes in expression that would reveal approval or disapproval. That...you're probably okay for now, it seems.

Probably.

Her fur is so incredibly soft under your hand. It feels like you could break her if you accidentally mishandled her.

It's the first thing you ever have for yourself and you love this little creature that is so dependent on you and looks up at you with such dark, trusting eyes.

---

Red encourages you to get familiar with the clients.

So you make sure to practice her orders. And, well, if you spend more time than you need brushing her fur and calming her when she's stressed, that's confidential information between you and your 'client', isn't it?

---

The newest training mission briefing reads as follows:

Your client is revealed to be a mole working for the enemy. Dispatch of them personally.

You're punished severely for acting out and getting caught in the middle of the night sneaking out of the facilities, but Snowball gets  safely past the fence once you distract the dogs into attacking you instead of her.

---

For your disobedience, you're made to dispose of newborn rabbits while they watch.

---

They punish you for sobbing afterwards.

---

They also punish you for assaulting  Red for putting you through that.

---

The dogs always get you when you run. You're not as fast as a rabbit.

---

You lose track of the punishments.

---

Sometimes you forget. You can't help it, they teach you lessons and you keep forgetting and they just get so angry at you

It's better than the darkness

It's better when they're mad, because it's better than being forgotten

You hate being forgotten and you hate forgetting, one day you are going to forget yourself and that's the worst thing of all

You don't even know why they're angry with you but you wake up one day with dried blood on your hands and that handler that touched you never appears again

Red is so pleased with you  though that it doesn't matter. "That's right, little one, you are mine," she tells you. "No one else will ever touch you in my care."

No one else.

---

She makes sure of it.

---

They keep teaching you lessons for all your disobedience and you, you keep on doing it all over again

---

Red's not so new a handler anymore, but they never give you their names. Why would they introduce themselves to a thing?

She's still just Red. She says she loves you and asks you to say it back.

It feels weird on your lips.

---

She gives you a kiss on the forehead for following orders  and being good for once.

You despise her. You love her. She's the first one who ever cared about you as a person - even if only to be cruel to you.

---

You're not a rabbit. You can't run.

No. You are a lion, you will be the one others run from.

Red's the first one you ever kill, you let her live up to the name you gave her and she is just as red on the inside as on the outside

And you cry, cry, and keep on crying because you're so relieved and so heartbroken and you will never understand why you still love her. You don't even know her real name.

"I didn't mean to," you whisper into your pillow, because without her you're so lonely.

But you do. You did. You still do, because you hated her as much as you adored her.

---

You let yourself forget. Let yourself smile, smirk, put all your ruthlessness and charm that they taught you to good work.

You don't want to remember and yet. You still don't want to forget.

---

Your past seems to be catching up to you these days. This time you won't ever be so weak as you once were. They broke you, reforged you, made you into a weapon of their choosing.

And now that very weapon will be turned back on them.

"So. Pride. You are newest rising star in town, I hear."

You let yourself paste on a serene, pleasant smile. "Oh? Have people been talking about me?" you inquire. That's good to know, it pays to know your position within underground circles so you know where you stand. Where you can bargain from. "Why, I'm flattered."

His own answering grin is too cruel, too rough, unrefined. Not as proficient in the whole act of it like you are. "They also mentioned you were a vain narcissist who talks too much."

Your mood shifts to irritated annoyance internally; your face is placid. Friendly. It wouldn't do to show any weakness to a potential enemy. "How strange," you murmur. "Perhaps they have me confused with someone else."

"Yeah, I don't think so, buddy." And now to the threatening tone already. How predictable. "You see, we wanted to give you a little welcome, from us locals here. Want us to be good neighbours, yeah?"

Your noncommittal noise encourages the guy to continue. "Just wanted to let you know that we're the ones in charge of this good ol' neighbourhood here, but we're a little old and traditional. Don't want anything shake up what's nice and settled."

"I see."

Because you do. They're warning you not to mess up the status quo.

Too bad you were always a rebel. "Was there anything else you needed, or were you just going to drone on about your Master's stale old knitting club?" You drone out the words, bored of this already.

The smile he returns to you is a little stiff. "Look. We were hoping you were going to join our... Homeowners Association. You'd have to contribute a small monthly fee, but I assure you it'd be worth it. To keep our front gardens lookin' all pretty, see."

"Not really," you tell him, because this little game of coded words and phrases is beginning to bore you.

There's something of a twitch in his eye when you glance over, but the man actually tries to just pretend you didn't say anything and continues. "Right, so, as our newest member of our little association-"

"I didn't say I was joining."

That truly takes him off guard. "I- What?" he blinks. "Mr Pride," he begins, and you have to laugh at the way they haven't even been able to find out your actual name. "You agreed that by moving into this neighbourhood that you would join the , erm, housing association. It's not optional."

"I did no such thing."

You actually manage to break the man's composure. "You do realise if you don't go along with this, there will be consequences?" he hisses.

"I'm not stupid," you tut, peering at your manicured nails. "I'm aware. I just don't care."

The man ends up leaving with a thunderous look on his face as you greet Ortega. A genuine smile to match Ortega's wave.

"What's that? Are you actually talking to people other than me now?" he teases.

"Just a business associate. He kept trying to sell me a scam."  You frown a little. "But that doesn't matter. Let's go have lunch, shall we?"

---

They make good on their word.

You aren't going to roll over and show them your belly like their pet dog. Let them think you're nothing but an arrogant little upstart. Let them think they can put you down on their command. Just because you’ve never killed someone personally doesn’t mean you’re not a threat to contend with.

They see the man at the top with the smart suits and the rumble of purred threats, deep and low. The King of the Lions, Pride.

They won't be suspecting the panther stalking the shadows.

---

Simba isn't loud or boastful or broken like Léon is. Not so angry, not so easy to fall to passion.

Simba watches. Simba is patient. Once he's got a target in his sight, he never stops hunting it.

Your mind is quieter when you are Simba, and so are you. You don't need to keep talking to drown out the thoughts in your head.

Silence suits Simba. He doesn't need words to assemble his sniper rifle, his dark skin blending in with the shadows. Doesn't need feelings to peer down the sights and wait for your moment.

Now the only question is, is Simba the puppet here or Léon?

Because you're not sure if you know anymore. You're starting to become unsure of who you really are. In the end...are you nothing more than what you made you?

You really don't know. But Simba doesn't care. All he needs to do, is, well, his job.

A man walks in front of your vision and seals his fate.

You fire.

---

It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to be visiting her boyfriend.

---

There is a distant gunshot ringing in your ears but you are the one holding the still-smoking pistol.

Which would be all good and well if you could remember why you're here. You try and keep the confusion from appearing on your face as you take in the scene in front of you.

A neat little bullet hole straight to the heart. The woman is scrambling wide-eyed  as she attempts to plug the hole. Unable to comprehend what's just happened.

With the amount of blood pooling, it'd be over soon enough from blood loss. But you're not cruel and because of that, you aim your gun once again at her head. At her frozen face, mouth wide open to beg-

And fire.

She falls to the ground like a rag doll.

You don't even know who she is. Was. But you must have shot her for a reason, right?

Couldn't let her suffer. Had to finish the job. You don't feel any hatred for this woman, she must have just gotten in the way. Somehow the blood on your hands doesn't look real when you're wearing your puppet. Simba's hands are darker, more delicate, more slender than yours. Shake less.

Sometimes it bothers you, these little gaps in time. You keep coming back to awareness like this and it's starting to get a little frightening.

You're not supposed to be the one losing control.

It makes your head hurt. You've fought so hard to be something, be a person and then…

You can't even remember half of the things that made you, well, you. You have emotions and fragments and half-remembered bits stripped of their context. A man without a past, like you were plonked down in the world one day half formed.

A puzzle with all the most important pieces missing.

But for now, you have a mess to clean up. Dirty work for a dirty man like you, but Simba doesn't hesitate like Léon does.  Doesn't mind the blood crusting under those ragged fingernails, so unlike your own polished, clean hands.

---

You keep waking up in a sweat. Terrified and with no idea why.

.

..

There is-

There is blood under your carefully manicured fingernails.

---

The dog park is quiet this early in the morning. Just stare down at your book. Headphones on. Classic 'don't disturb me' look.

It's been ten minutes, you should probably turn the page.

The dogs keep away from you. Maybe they notice your heart rate spiking when they come near. You're not...you're not afraid of them anymore. It's fine.

It has to be. Just...just take in their pure thoughts. There are no dogs, just thoughts, just-

Your first thought is that you're being attacked when you feel something make rough bodily contact with your knee and your body just reacts.

Spoon gives a surprised whimper as your foot makes impact, you’re just trying to stem the panic. It's okay, it's just Spoon, he's not the giant German Shepherds that haunt you.

"Spoon!" Chen barks out, alarmed, a little bit angry. You're not usually this jumpy, you're not usually this bad, you should have seen him coming.

This is too raw to be able to show your face to Chen. That's why you leap up and back off. "Leave me alone, Chen!" you shout, and you hate that you can't control the way you genuinely sound terrified. The unusualness of it makes even Chen frown and look slightly taken aback.

"Léon, what was that just there?"

This is no time to have a panic attack. This is no time to break down. "Just leave me alone, Chen!" you shout. "Stay away from me, keep him away from me!"

You don't turn around to look if he actually does as you ask. You're just trying desperately to flee, over and over and over again, just waiting for the teeth to grab on and bite harshly down on you.

---

You're still waiting for those jaws a few hours later.

---

It's better when they hate you. It's better because you can hate them back, you can lash out and hurt them because you hurt and you just want it to go away

That's why you push them away, because they care. You keep on hurting the people you care about and you're too proud to say you're sorry.

Ortega with his worried eyes and questions left on the tip of his tongue.

Herald, little fly-boy, oh-so-trusting and oh-so-oblivious.

Your crew, your little family you've built up all on your own.

Smirk. Tease. Twist them around your fingers and move them as your pawns. That's how you keep from getting hurt.

You will never, ever, let someone control like that again. Not unless you had planned for them to, not unless you could trust and predict them.

...Stop thinking about Ortega. Stop thinking about how betrayed he'll look if he ever finds out. Stop thinking about how it should serve him right for betraying you and leaving you to die.

Stop thinking about how everything Daniel knows about you is a lie. That you only agreed to train him for your own ulterior motives before he wormed his way into your heart.

Stop thinking about Anathema and the disappointed look on what was left of Themmy's face after…

No.

No, don't.

---

Anathema’s stupid, dumb face won’t leave you alone. Not in your waking hours, not in the silent hours.

Fuck. Fuck’s sake, Themmy. Will you go away if I go and visit you?

No answer. You don’t know what you expected.

---

Anathema’s grave is well tended. The flowers are still fresh.

Your grave is next to his, you know. Your name looks so solemn engraved in such a sober, formal font. Like you were some sort of honoured pillar of the community instead of awkward smiles and messy emotions that spilt out everywhere. Before even those attempts at smiles faded away and all you were left with were the sharp edges that cut into other people’s skin.

The rush of fury at all, all, all this - whatever this is - drives you over the edge. There’s a certain satisfaction in stomping over to your grave and kicking over the flowers. Crushing them underneath your feet.

The same way they crushed you. The same way your bones were crushed on impact.

You’re only vaguely aware of a sense of unease as you pant, too out of it all to focus. There shouldn’t be anyone here to notice you making a scene, what does it matter that you lost your temper?

The mangles mess of stems and petals feel like your life. Something about about it makes you stare. Pause.

Lilies. Your scowl fades away into a genuine frown. Who…?

Ortega knows you’re alive.

That just begs the question, a painful realisation on the tip of your tongue. Who could hav-

-Someone is watching.

Someone is watching you.

The flash of alarm and shock screaming through your brain is the only warning you get.

They knew you were coming-

---

…

….

…..

Anyone watching Simba sleeping wouldn’t notice anything amiss to signify his awakening, no change in breathing pattern, no facial twitches to give him away. For all intents and purposes still all but dead to the world.

The sound of the magpies fighting again outside is too familiar - you recognise them. Feed them on occasion, it gives Simba a reason to be sitting around outside watching the world.

So. Unmoved from his apartment then. Unless they’d gone to the trouble of kidnapping the exact same birds, you recognise their own distinct bird calls by now. The one with croak you named Harry. Harry is currently arguing with his rival, Barry, and isn’t as distressed as a bird would be if someone had indeed taken him from his home by force.

Your breathing is steady, keeping your ears peeled for any signs of an intruder. Letting Simba ‘wake up’ naturally like any other day.

...Good enough.

Fling the bedsheets aside and walk to the window, to the blackout curtains. Stop for a moment to observe. No visible threats - but that doesn’t mean anything in this day and age.

The skies are too blue, it makes Simba’s forehead crinkle. Take in the position of the sun, consider the implications of it all.

This can’t be allowed to let stand, after all.

No one will ever get the best of you again.

[wallstagram]

january - march fic recs

this might be a long one, so hold on for the ride! below are some of my favorite, favorite, favorite fics that i’ve read so far in 2019 - some are new works, some are tried and true ones that I always come back to for inspiration, and some just make my heart so happy, that they made it on this list! 

all authors are listed by their AO3 name but linked to their tumblr, if I could find it!

:: J A N U A R Y ::

honestly, such a busy month for me! i spent most of that month focused on school and working on my own fics, but after having a look at my history, these were the works that stood out as favorites!

like an endless summer by objectlesson 

Or, Louis is a riding instructor at a summer camp, and Harry is a fellow counselor who he’s been successfully managing his crush on for the last two summers. That is, until Harry shows up this year leveled up and lethal, and all Louis’s formerly perfected veneer of nonchalance melts like a popsicle in the sun. 

OKAY. This story is wonderful. I’m such a sucker for summer camp AU’s, and this one is so drawn out and well done. At 87k, it gets slow burn right without becoming boring. Sweet and sexy moments about facing fears and finding love with all your best friends around. I’m also here to rec the sequel palms reflecting in your eyes because YES.

hymns for restless stars by turnyourankle

Every Holiday season Louis has his pupils write down their Christmas wishes for class. He's read almost every wish under the sun, but one girl's wish takes him by surprise. It's for her uncle not to be alone anymore. It's not a wild wish by any means, but Louis had no idea that former teen idol Harry Styles was lonely in the first place.

this is such a sweet, sweet work that is so near and dear to my heart. It touches on some themes that I feel are downplayed by the fandom (but that rant is for another post, haha) so it was lovely to see it done so well. I just love the characterization and how the whole thing flows from beginning to end. It may be ~38k, but as a 25-chapter fic, I’d consider it an easy read over time, and a story I fully recommend. 

:: F E B R U A R Y ::

a firm believer and a warm receiver by objectlesson

a few months ago, Louis had his first heat. It was no big deal, aside from it being awkward and weird and all the other things it was supposed to be. He figured he would present as an omega, so he wasn’t exactly surprised or anything.

But then, last week, Harry had his first heat, too.

---

Or, the omega/omega sleepover fic no one asked for but y'all really, really need.

so - i’m all about non-traditional pairings, and the ABO verse has been full of amazing ones! While this story is shorter than a lot of my recs (at ~ 11k) it is wonderful and the characterization of H and L is wonderful. Highly recommend this one for anyone who likes ABO.

leave your mark on me by fullonlarrie 

When Chef Harry Styles’ unbonded Omega designation threatens to derail his career, he does the only thing he can, and goes in search of a black market bond.

wow. okay. so this is one of those stories that - it just blows my mind that more people aren’t talking about how amazing this is! it weighs a bit more heavy on the oppressive realities of ABO for omegas, and i love falling into a version of ABO that I could really envision being an alternate reality. I love the style of it, and the pace is exactly what it needs to be. About 32 k, nice slow burn. (if you haven’t seen a theme, I love a good slow burn!)

from, your secret admirer by flicker_album

Or the one where Louis is Harry's Tumblr crush so he sends him secret admirer messages for Valentine's Day

I really love the idea of fanboys!H&L. I loved the real-world touches, and I think the prompt is so stinking cute! It’s a nice, light read. I thoroughly enjoyed the style and just the dialogue set. 

fugue by iwillpaintasongforlou

Harry falls asleep a 17 year-old who lives in Cheshire and is probably rockstar Louis Tomlinson's biggest fan. He wakes up 24 with a wedding ring on his finger, two kids, and Louis Tomlinson attempting to wake him up with a blow job. The doctor calls it organic retrograde amnesia, says he might never get back the last seven years of his life. The only thing that feels the same is how he feels when Louis touches him, and maybe that's enough to make him fall in love all over again

i really think of this fic a lot more than i’d care to admit. there are a few (in my opinion) classics in the fandom that I think everyone should read, and this is surely one of them. there’s the perfect blend of angst and falling in love, dolloped with domesticity, learning to trust each other again, smut, and happiness. i often get so lost in this work that I imagine it’s much longer than it really is (at 17k) but it’s enough to really sink your teeth into and get lost inside of. when i need to be filled up as a writer, these are the kind of works i go to - the ones that have stood the test of time and still are wonderful every single time I come back to them.

:: M A R C H ::

somewhere between a minute and a lifetime by dinosaursmate

“Is your passport definitely in your bag?” “It’s definitely there,” Harry huffed. “I’m not stupid.” “I never said you were, love. I’m just asking from experience.” “It happened once.” Louis pressed his lips together and wheeled his suitcase towards the front door. “And… you really aren’t wearing a plug? You swear?” Harry finally cracked a smile. “I swear.” --- Harry and Louis go on their first big holiday, and they have a few surprises for each other along the way.

so I recommend the whole series, but this third installment is surely my favorite, and the one I come back to. i love holiday fics, and there’s something about this spunky couple that has me following every single word the author has written. I love how witty Harry can be in this, and how nothing about their holiday is picture perfect. all to say - for a smut-centered fic, it knows how to balance an amazing plot and really keep me wanting more. it’s also a nice length at 20k, that I feel satisfied but not like i’ve been reading for forever. i’m really hoping a part four is on the way!

the second hand unwinds by fullonlarrie

Louis Tomlinson is one of the first members of NASA's top secret Chrono Exploration Program. When things go wrong and he's sent further back in time than planned, he has no other option than to show up on his ex-boyfriend's doorstep.

this story fucked me up in the best way possible!!! I really read it all in one go, set it aside, and came back to it. Skimmed for the parts i needed to read again, read the entire thing again, and since I read it, it always comes to mind as one of the first fics I’ll recommend out to someone. i already babbled about my adoration for this fic in the comments, so i’ll let you go see for yourself! it’s ~52k of pure gold.

tell me this is paradise by quickedween

Harry Styles has been lucky in love but unlucky in the bedroom with all of her previous boyfriends. When her best friend Niall finds out that she's never had an orgasm, she knows just what Harry needs: Louis Tomlinson. Niall sets Harry up to get sorted out.

if you asked me five weeks ago if i’d ever have a girl!direction fic in my list, I would’ve laughed. for some reason, i’ve never been able to fully immerse myself in the plot, really get into it. I just - I couldn’t take it seriously. until this. this fic rocked my entire world. it’s the shortest fic on my list at ~ 5k, so i’ve read it multiple times and would seriously recommend based off the characterization, amazing smut, and the fact that it turned me into a girl!direction believer. (AND it inspired me to go on a similar journey to the one Harry has - but that’s for a different post!) but thank you for converting me to girl!direction, quickedween!

like a siren in the night by whoknows

“There is an infestation in my home,” Louis hisses, righting himself quickly and pushing his way past Harry, heading directly for the kitchen. He’s rather haphazardly dressed himself, a coat thrown on over a loose flannel shirt and black pants, slippers on his feet.

Harry resists the urge to sigh, closing the door and trailing behind him slowly. “What kind of infestation?”

For all he knows, Louis is going to claim that there’s a ghost infestation. Harry has no idea what the end game is here – all he knows is that Louis has found at least three complaints a week to bring up since he’s been living on Harry’s property, and he’s been living here for six months.

It’s way too many fucking complaints, is what Harry is saying. Especially when most of them are ridiculous to start with.

oh, my heart. i love this fic so much. it’s ABO, and it has the perfect level of angst, love, and everything in between. i love the imperfect relationship between H and L - and i’m sure you will too! such a darling, sexy, and wonderful work! (~25k)

salt and the appetite by sadaveniren

Aka Harry, a popular BDSM blogger, writes a negative review about Louis’ club. Louis wants to have a chance to make it up to him.

so i’m a huge fan of anything sada writes, but the no control club series itself is so amazing! i always come back to it for something that I know won’t let me down, that is steamy and perfect! this work that starts off the series is 14k of smut and all sorts of fun, sexy stuff that H and L get up to. if you haven’t already read it, you must be living under a rock. go check it out!

so, that’s the list! thank you to @sadaveniren, @becomeawendybird, @fullonlarrie, @dinosaursmate, @canonlarry, @flicker-album, @horsegirlharry, and @turnyourankle for writing such masterpieces! stay tuned for my next rec list! if you survived reading this entire post, you deserve a medal

[ollyarchive]

Olly Alexander Is Leaning Into The Gay Thing

BY:  PHILLIP HENRY  10 NOV 2018 

 “I started to hear people referring to me as ‘that gay singer’ and a part of ‘that gay band,’ and I said to myself ‘You know what? I am.’ I decided to lean into the gay.”

English actor, pop star, and frontman of the synth-pop band Years & Years Olly Alexander has found himself growing more and more comfortable with his sexuality as it relates to his artistry. Having just released the band’s sophomore album, Palo Santo, this summer, Alexander says he found himself embracing his identity, and “the multifaceted nature of it.”

“You know, inside I’m still kind of this scared gay boy that got bullied at school,” he tells INTO. “But having the kind of response we got from audiences and success that we had after the first album, I felt more comfortable, confident, and okay being more explicit.”

At the age of  28, has been out publicly as long as Years & Years has existed, ignoring the advice of his media trainer who encouraged him to keep his sexuality out of public persona.

And Palo Santo is a reflection of that; the album takes a more direct route when addressing his sexuality, using more male-specific pronouns in the lyrics in comparison to the band’s first album, Communion. Alexander has also been much more free in discussing his sexuality, advocating for HIV screenings, promoting safer sex practices and even supporting anti-LGBTQ bullying campaigns.

Seated in the corner of a New York cafe wearing a Rihanna T-shirt and lounge pants, Alexander’s confidence and charisma exude a certain type of energy that grows as he speaks about the things he loves with such candor.

In just a few hours, Alexander would be performing a sold-out show at Terminal 5. He’s grateful for where he is, sharing thoughtful sentiments as he talks about his fans and his work. He knows that at this point in time, when so many queer people have the wind in their face, right now, it’s at his back and he can soar brightly into the future.

As the main songwriter and leading visionary for Year & Years, Alexander is pushing himself not only as an artist but also as a public-facing advocate.

“Obviously, the UK is stuff I’m most familiar with, but globally we’re all kind of witnessing this dumpster fire descent to Hell,” he says. “Though, I don’t always think it’s that bad.”

“Personally,” he continues, “I didn’t ever imagine I’d be engaging in advocacy the way that I have, but I just find it so meaningful. It makes me feel like I have a purpose in life. Getting out of bed and feeling like you’re working to create positive change is a good feeling.”

One of the hallmarks of poor advocacy is arrogance, a self-centeredness Alexander seems hellbent on avoiding. Being a white gay man comes with a lot of privileges, and he is aware of that, referencing it often as a limitation of his own worldview. He’s chipping away at the underpinnings of our how oppression operates with a precision and consciousness you might not expect from someone who had been cast in an Academy Award-nominated film before being old enough to to vote, acting alongside Dame Judi Dench (“a naughty grandma who only drinks champagne,” he says of his one-time co-star) in his early twenties before launching his international music career. Still, he notes, “This [advocacy]  has been a journey for me and I’m still learning every day.”

“There are so few queer people taking up space in media or in a public forum and I feel like there is a responsibility to use it properly, because people are listening to what you say and so many people aren’t being listened to,” Alexander says. “Silence is complicity. You have to come with something.”

He seems exasperated by the idea that everyone isn’t working to liberate others from their struggles.

“We can’t really step outside all of society’s rules and things that govern us anyway. Like white patriarchy, just because we’re gay that doesn’t go away. We have all the same structural oppressions that exist outside of that. We’ve chosen to band together because we’ve had to and there are so many benefits to that, but we’re so diverse and it makes us ripe for conflict.”

Right now, Alexander is concerned about the Gender Recognition Act in the UK, a proposed reform of the act that will make it easier for trans folks to self-identify.

“It’s created this insane hysterical discourse in the UK media and public. It has been a full-on assault on trans people in a way that’s so horrifying. It’s front page news in the media every day.” Alexander says. He likens it to the fear-mongering that gay people have gone through in the past. He wants to use his privilege to do everything he can to help.

It’s not all just talk for Alexander, who’s well aware that change doesn’t come through just bloviating on platforms to crowds who already espouse your beliefs, but through action that helps others be heard. He’s working alongside other public figures including Sir Patrick Stewart to pay the travel costs of UK citizens who want to attend the march that will be calling for a referendum on the final Brexit deal. Those in opposition to Brexit, which has been scrutinized heavily by many for it’s classist and xenophobic motivations, have been advocating for a second vote on the plan, confident that the majority of citizens don’t really support it.

“We can hide behind this kind of veneer of sending a tweet or retweeting someone’s post or saying ‘I’m woke,’” he says. “But are we really doing the work?”

Behind that motivated and eager passion for change is a gay man still exploring facets of his sexuality with zero fear and even less shame. He giggles in excitement with a “Yay” as he reads over my list of topics filed under “GAY SEX STUFF.”

“I use Grindr now, but I didn’t use it in my early twenties because I was going out and meeting men at clubs and hooking up that way,” he says. “Then I was in a couple of monogamous relationships, so I thought it was gonna be weird, but also a sort of initiation [into modern gay culture].”

That fear didn’t stop him from pursuing that desire to meet men for hookups and fun. “I’ve managed to hook up a couple of times through [apps], but it’s difficult because it’s hard to establish trust,” Alexander says. “People are like ‘Are you using a fake picture?’ or ‘Are you really Olly Alexander?’ And that becomes less sexy. I’m also not about to send a dick pic.”

Being a celebrity in a digital dating culture surely has its struggles, but he’s found that Grindr’s utility serves as a comfort for him in a different way.

“I like to open it up just to see that there other gay people around me, because I travel quite a lot. Sometimes [just so] that gay people are so visible to each other,” Alexander says. “We’ve created networks to find each other.”

In these kinds of social networks, queer people also find ourselves shaping the way we view each other and ourselves. Alexander finds the apps to be a place where so much time can be wasted just soaking up the attention and he isn’t above the kind of validation that connections made through such apps can provide.

“It’s like a dopamine hit when someone likes you or sends you a nice comment and I really understand how that feels good, but then following that up seems like hard work,” he says. “Then you’re like, ‘Oh, but what about someone else?’ It becomes this sort of endless appetite for sexual desires and I think that’s kind of changed the way we view intimacy. I don’t know if it’s for better or worse, but it’s definitely made some interactions harder.”

He’s not wrong. The apps can soak up so much time for those who love being bombarded with validation, but it’s not true for everyone. While it has made access to the type of intimacy that gays had to “work harder” to get in the past easily accessible, for many people, it provides a space where they can feel more confident than in the crowded and judgmental spaces that are gay bars and clubs. Also, perhaps, it’s just highlighted the way we’ve viewed intimacy all along.

His growth and journey with intimacy have changed over the years. He speaks as someone who wants his relationships to be as progressive as his politics. Unsatisfied with the idea that gay relationships need to fit cultural norms, Alexander discusses his most recent open relationship as a challenge that turns him on more than causes him fear.

“It presents a different set of challenges than you experience in a monogamous relationship,” he says. “In a monogamous relationship, you have like one rule which is: don’t cheat, basically.  In an open one you literally write the rulebook yourself, so you have to communicate with your partner a kind of endless list of potentially hard to talk about topics. Who are you allowed to sleep with? How many times? Are you allowed to see them more than once? Is anal okay? Is it just oral?”

Aroused by the idea of these difficult topics that many people would find a hassle to breach over and over, he thinks the ideas difficult to talk about in an open relationship greatly outweigh the simplicity of establishing monogamous trust. His light fetish seems to be emotional masochism that leads to self-discovery.

“In lots of ways, confronting those issues with someone and being able to get into the nitty-gritty of things, you have to go into some really emotionally intense and raw places,” Alexander says. “Those kinds of feelings are what make them more of fit for me than something monogamous which isn’t quite right for me. I’m glad I did it, because I learned a lot about myself and how I deal with aspects of intimacy.”  

Olly Alexander is an explorer, expanding his boundaries and expectations. He speaks openly about his love of daddy porn, smiling in recognition of the cliche. Alexander is curious and demanding of the content he consumes. “[All I want] is for the people to look like they’re enjoying it and for their dicks to be hard,” he says. “Obviously, whoever is fucking their dick is gonna be hard, but if someone is being fucked, I also want them to have a hard dick. Maybe I’m wrong. I’m sure they might still be enjoying it, but when I’m doing it I’m hard. I just like to see both people turned on.”

For Olly Alexander, sex as a gay man should be free of shame and be easier to talk about. He opens up about a sexual experience gone awry: “I guess a lot of people in the US are circumcised but most people in the UK aren’t.” He uses his hands to demonstrate how the frenulum (colloquially called a “banjo string)” is attached to the penis.

“One night, I was in the hotel with my boyfriend and we were having sex. I fell off the bed and basically tore this string right off,” he recalls. “ It was like a crime scene in the hotel. Obviously, like my dick was erect and had so much blood rushing to it so it was like fountains of blood squirting everywhere.”

Alexander and his partner at the time ended up in an emergency room shortly thereafter where his attending nurse recognized him and began talking about his music. Even in that awkward circumstance, he manages to be so excited that someone knows and loves his music.

They should love his music. It’s incredible in its range but most impressive in storytelling.  The performance later that night is electric — the audience hanging onto every word and Alexander consuming every bit of that energy. It’s as if without it, he’d be incapable of finishing the performance.

In a sheer white leotard, shiny black pants, and large bedazzled necklace that borders on gaudy, Alexander leads the audience through Palo Santo. Alexander’s voice rings throughout the three-story concert hall filled with young queers belting every lyric to the band’s hit single “If You’re Over Me.” He leads the audience and his bandmates through an electrifying set, running around with a rainbow flag he was gifted from a front-row audience member.

“I just want everyone having a good time,” he tells the crowd.

They absolutely are.

Images via Getty

[ao3bronte]

Smutember: Bondage

Masquerade on AO3

3: Bondage

They've gone and done their hero song and dance. They've posed for reporters, signed autographs, kissed babies; it's only when their Miraculous begins to run out that they turn tail and head for the rooftops to hide in the closest shadows they can find.

It's a rooftop patio in Montmartre this time, blissfully empty considering the time of night on a Tuesday. Marinette detransforms behind a particularly vigorous tropical plant and slips on the Ladybug mask she keeps in her pockets for nights like these, nights that are becoming more and more frequent as of late.

“It's a school night you know,” Chat mentions quietly, already waiting for her. He says it more for her benefit than anything; he could sleep when he's dead. Speaking of which...

“I am going to kill you,” she whispers, and it's that menacing twitch of her eyebrows that does it for him, his cock suddenly hardening under the sudden wave of pleasure/lust/fear that washes over him when she stalks his way, effectively pressing him against the railings.

"LB…" he croaks and she's suddenly all up in his face, both hands caging him in. She presses herself against him, dressed in nothing but a halter top and a pair of pink linen pyjama shorts, and moves in for the kill.

"Twice I asked you to get out of the way. And did you listen?"

Marinette grabs him by the v of his cotton t-shirt and tugs hard enough to make the seams whinge, bringing them nose to nose, "No, you didn't! You could have gotten yourself killed, or worse!"

Chat swallows, "I don't think there's anything worse than that, to be honest."

Marinette scrunches her brows together, "You could have gotten us both killed, that's what! And for what, the opportunity to one up me in a pun contest?"

Chat can feel the tendrils of doubt twisting in his stomach with the knowledge that he'd most definitely been in the wrong this time, "I'm sorry."

"Oh, you'll be sorry all right," she says and that spark in her eyes comes full circle, igniting his rapidly smouldering flame. It wasn't the first time Ladybug had gotten herself worked up after one of them nearly biting the dust, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Chat hadn't realised that a 'near death experience' kink was a thing until Ladybug came along and lit up his world like a five-alarm fire.

Let's just say the masochist in him revelled at the challenge.

Livid, she physically drags him over towards the main bar and backs him onto one of the huge loveseat sectionals dotting the patio. The backs of his knees hit the cushions and he collapses backwards, his body falling helplessly as she stands and observes her handiwork. He's sprawled and hard for her, his lips wet and wide as if parted to speak and—

"I don't want to hear another word out of you," Marinette threatens, shucking her shirt and shorts unceremoniously. She's needy with it, the conflicting desire to fuck him senseless and silence him with her mouth waging war on her senses. She can feel how soaked she is with the way her thighs slide together with every small motion she makes.

Her lips curve wickedly.

"I am going to punish you," she purrs, climbing on top of him. He loves the way she talks sometimes, the way she takes control after a near miss on the battlefield, "And you're not going to be able to do a thing about it."

He's about to ask for clarity when she presses a finger to his lips, dipping the pad of her index finger between them. He sucks it in eagerly, laving it with his tongue and teeth, devotedly trying to convey his desires. He hopes she'll sit on his face again and he can almost taste her with the way she's staring at him, watching him suck her desperately and zealous for more. He can see her arousal reflecting off her thighs and silently begs to be buried in them.

Marinette sits up and slips her fingers beneath the waistband of her panties, slowly pulling them down. Adrien follows their path with his eyes and feels his breathing hitch in his chest, his own arousal straining at the seams of his jeans.

"So sit back and keep your mouth shut," she says and Chat can't help but die inside in the best way when she talks likes this, and god, she is so sexy, her panties hooked around her knees, her arousal practically dripping down her skin. He wants to taste her so bad...

 Marinette rises and lets her panties slip all the way down to her ankles. She steps out of them, gathers them into her fist and promptly shoves them into his mouth.

The shock of having something rammed into his mouth aside, Chat's arousal nearly hits a fever pitch when his brain catches up with what's happening. Her panties inside his mouth, a makeshift cotton gag and oh fuck, he's ready to come all ready and she isn't playing around.

“I'm going to do all the talking tonight,” she says, climbing back on top of him, "And the only noises you're going to make are these ones.”

She grazes her fingers over his straining cock.

“And these ones.”

She undoes the button and the zipper of his jeans, shimmying the fabric down passed his ass.

“And these ones.”

She mouths his erection over the fabric of his briefs and Chat can't believe the noises coming out of his mouth, the noises only she seems to be able to carve out of him.

“Do I make myself clear?”

Marinette shifts herself forward and straddles his waist with her thighs, eyeing him appreciatively. Disheveled and more dazed than she’d ever seen him, Marinette can’t help but revel in the power she holds over him, dominant and unwavering. It’s a role she falls into naturally, their team dynamics magnetised when it’s just the two of them, two teenagers with raging hormones and matching sex drives.

Chat blinks slowly and nods, wide eyed and fraught for release. Marinette tugs his briefs down and spares them the pomp and circumstance, lining herself up with his cock and dropping down.

“Mmff!”

Marinette steadies herself on his chest and briefly chides herself for being so hasty, biting her tongue at the sting. She can feel Chat’s shameless moan through his skin, can feel the way the purr comes from his chest and reverberates straight to his cock and she thanks every star in the sky for blessing her with a cat Miraculous as a sex partner. She rocks her hips ever so slightly, aggravating the sting and stimulating her simultaneously and the pleasure/pain dynamic is delicious.

“I wish you could see yourself right now,” Marinette groans, setting the pace of her thrusts a little too slow and if Chat’s pupils weren’t already completely dilated, they certainly were now. He tries to visualise himself in his mind’s eye from her perspective, flat on his back and wanton, making lewd, needy noises with every thrust. His cock twitches inside her and Marinette grins, tweaking his nipple with her fingernails. She loves seeing him so helpless beneath her and it only spurs her further.

She picks up the pace, grinding down and shifting until she’s seeing stars with every thrust. She’s got that spot just right and Chat can sense she’s close, gripping her hips in the way he knows she likes. He thrusts up inside her and it’s her turn to throw her head back with abandon, uninhibited and brazen. It’s enough to break through the veneer of control and allow her to go full tilt, riding him until she forgets the burn in her thighs.

He keeps his left hand on her hip and slips the other one between her legs, his thumb targeting her clit and rubbing it relentlessly. She bites her lip to keep herself from screaming and braces herself on his chest, grinding down on him so he stimulates that spot inside her again and again and again and again and—

“Ah!”

She comes first and the visual stimulation is enough to send Chat flying off the edge, his hips losing control. He forces himself to keep his eyes open as he comes inside of her, her facial expression one of pain and pleasure and bliss as her muscles quiver around him, milking his cock and his orgasm and fuck, it feels so good. His mind goes blank, his body clenches then goes slack, and he loses time for a while.

When he comes to, she’s lying limp against him, panting and exhausted deliciously spent. He can feel the tension leave her body as she closes her eyes and tries to control her breathing, always fighting for control. He picks the panties from between his teeth and vaguely imagines taking control over her for once, of fucking her the same way she just fucked him and it’s enough to send another wave of desire to his thighs.

“Merde,” he breathes and he feels her nod in agreement beside him. It’s the first time in a week since they’ve been intimate and it’s felt like a lifetime, what with being shipped to Milan for the weekend and then the mounting stress of final exams. Just another springtime in Paris, he thinks reverently, not entirely unaware that they just fucked like animals in heat. It’s been a bit of a problem these last few years, what with the effects of the Miraculous rubbing off on them, and he’s thankful Ladybug came up with the masks idea so they could scratch that itch with each other.

After all, that’s all they were doing, right? Scratching an itch? She’d never seemed romantically interested in him before…

Chat sighs. Being friends with benefits had never seemed so dull.

[birdiethebibliophile]

{fic} Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed (part 2)

Word Count:  2.5k Relationship:  Lucien/Cassian Characters:  Lucien, Cassian, Rhysand, Feyre Warnings:  Depression, PTSD, also just a lot of regular Sadness, Abuse

Here on AO3.

__________________

Cassian had made Lucien exchange cell numbers with him before Feysand got back. So far he was very nearly regretting it – despite Lucien’s obvious skill as a photographer, he kept sending Cassian blurry pictures of guys lifting weights at the gym with the caption is this u.

But finally, Cassian had a chance to use number as he’d intended.

When should I pick u up? he texted to Lucien bright and early Monday morning.

id hopd ud forgotten about that he got back five minutes later. He was surprised Lucien had responded so fast – he’d expected him to be asleep, as any sensible person should be at the god-awful hour at which Cassian awoke.

Nope, sorry. What time?

He was still waiting for Lucien’s reply when his 6am Tai Chi class started to trickle in, so he put his phone in his bag. Once he’d waved all the businesspeople too hipster to do yoga out the door nearly an hour later, he grabbed it again, expecting a text from a few minutes after his own. Cassian frowned when there was no message notification on his phone. He decided to give Lucien the benefit of the doubt. For now.

But by eleven he was done with that nonsense.

If u don’t tell me what time 2 pick u up I’m going 2 come and park outside ur house.

He grinned as his phone pinged not five minutes later:  come by at 1 tmrw. u suk.

Cassian grinned. ;) See u at 1.

At exactly one o’clock, Cassian pulled up in front of the apartment complex. I’m here, he texted.

cant be. all i see is the ugliest ass truck iv ever seen.

Cassian decided, in lieu of texting back, to lay on the horn.

Almost immediately, the door flew open, and Lucien practically fell down the stairs in his rush to get to the truck. Before he got in, he went over to the driver’s side and pounded on the roof. “Cut it out, you ass.”

Cassian released the horn and rolled down the window. “Happy to see me?”

“Shut up,” Lucien grumbled. He went around to the passenger side, wrenched open the door, and flung himself into the seat.

“So, where are we going?” Cassian asked, starting up the truck.

“Just start driving. I’ll tell you where to turn.”

“We going to a strip club, Lu? Because I gotta say, I’m all out of singles,” Cassian said, glancing over with a grin. “Also, put your seatbelt on.”

“You’re not my mom.”

“Yeah, but I’m driving, and I’m not moving until your seatbelt is on.”

“God, Cass.” But Lucien buckled himself in. “There. Happy?”

“Yep,” Cassian said cheerfully.

“Take a right at the first light.” Lucien settled back into the seat, staring out the side window.

“Gotcha.” Cassian tapped the steering wheel lightly. “So. You were up early today.”

“So were you.”

“Yeah, but I’m up early every day.” Now that Lucien was sitting next to him, Cassian could see that the other man looked paler than he had before, his golden-brown skin pasty, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Lucien muttered.

“Well, as I said, I’m always up early, so… if you ever need someone to talk to…” Cassian ventured. “I teach a class at six, so I’m usually up at four-thirty or five.”

“Take a right on Aspen,” Lucien said. “Then get on the freeway going east. You don’t want to talk to me at five in the morning, trust me.”

Cassian turned onto the on-ramp. “Pssh. All I do from when I get up until the class is shower and drink a smoothie.”

“A smoothie.” Lucien’s voice dripped with incredulity and sarcasm.

“Hey, what do you have against smoothies?”

“Nothing. I love smoothies. I just thought you’d be the guy that eats, like, a pound of bacon a day.” He leaned over and ran a finger down Cassian’s forearm. “I wouldn’t think you get like this from smoothies.”

Cassian’s face warmed. “I usually grab breakfast at the café on 15th,” he said. “That’s where the bacon comes in.”

“Never been.” Lucien turned back to the window.

“Great hashbrowns, fresh orange juice. Coffee so strong it’ll take the roof off your mouth. You should come sometime – I know Rhys’s coffee is shit.”

Lucien snorted. “Yeah, tasted it once, never again. I think he and Feyre get Starbucks most days. Must be nice.”

Cassian glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“To have the money to get a five-dollar latte every morning,” Lucien said, a bitter note in his voice.

“Yeah…” Cassian let out a brief breath. “I get you there.”

“You’re going to want to take Exit 285,” Lucien said. Then, unbidden, “I don’t have a fucking penny.”

Cassian didn’t respond. There was that tension to Lucien again that told him not to ask questions.

“Not a fucking one.” Lucien leaned over further and laid his cheek against the window. “Tamlin always just paid for everything… if Feyre and Rhysand decide they don’t want me living with them anymore, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Shit, man,” Cassian said. Lucien’s voice had gone very soft again. “You can always crash at my place.”

“Thanks,” Lucien said. “I just… God. I hate him.”

“Tamlin?” Cassian asked.

Lucien didn’t respond. “Here,” he said. “Exit here…”

Cassian shifted gears as he headed in the direction Lucien indicated. He waited for Lucien to resume, but he didn’t, just continued giving directions.

 “We’re here.”

Cassian looked at the sign:  St. Joseph Medical Center. Then he looked at Lucien. The other man’s back was hunched, and he was steadfastly not looking at Cassian. Or getting out of the car.

“Lu?” Cassian asked quietly.

“I come here for therapy three times a week,” Lucien said after a moment.

“Depression?”

Lucien nodded, eyes still downcast. “And PTSD.”

Cassian nodded as well. “Want me to walk you in?”

“No, I… I’m good.”

“How long? I can stay here.”

“About half an hour. You sure?”

“Totally.” He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a paperback. “I keep trashy novels in here for exactly this kind of situation.”

“All right. If you’re sure.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. Get your skinny ass out of the car,” Cassian said with a grin.

A smile ghosted over Lucien’s face. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll… be back soon.” He slipped out of the truck.

Cassian watched until the clinic doors shut behind him.

 “So. How’d it go?” Cassian closed his book and tossed it into the backseat.

“Fine.”

Cassian waited, but that was all Lucien said. “You sure?”

He closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

Cassian started the truck. “Seatbelt,” he said. “I’m taking you to that café.”

Lucien buckled in without opening his eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I am, and my next class doesn’t start for an hour,” Cassian said, pulling out of the parking lot. “Also… feel free to tell me to fuck off, but are there any triggers I should know about?”

Lucien let out a soft sigh. “Yelling. Things… breaking.”

Cassian’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Anything else?” he said. “Or… anything that helps when…” He trailed off.

“Talking softly helps,” Lucien said. “Um…” He almost seemed embarrassed. “Don’t… don’t touch my face unless I say so, but the backs of my hands are okay.”

“I’ll remember that,” Cassian said.

Neither of them said another word until Cassian pulled into the café parking lot.

He opened the truck door, then paused. “You don’t have to come in,” he said. “If you don’t want to.”

“What, and miss seeing whether this place lives up to your hype? Not a chance,” Lucien said.

“I’m buying you a cup of coffee, then. Since I insisted on dragging you here.”

Lucien hesitated for a second, discomfort written on his face, then nodded. “I’d like that, actually,” he said.

“I bet a drink would help more, but two is a little early for alcohol, so coffee will have to do,” Cassian said.

“I owe you,” Lucien said. “First you drive me across town, and now –”

“Hey.” Cassian interrupted, putting a hand on his arm. “You don’t owe me anything. Friends can do favors for each other. No debts, no bargains. Okay?”

“I thought we weren’t friends.” But Cassian could hear something fragile in Lucien’s voice under the veneer of snark.

“Too bad,” Cassian said bracingly, swinging out of the truck. “Apparently we are now.”

“God.” Lucien dropped to the ground. “You’re so…”

“Charming? Annoying? Awe-inspiring? Sexy?”

Lucien flushed. “…nice.”

Cassian felt a lurching in the pit of his stomach. The fact that Lucien felt a need to comment on that, when all Cassian was doing was driving him to an appointment and paying a dollar fifty for a cup of coffee… “That’s me,” he said. “Nice. Rhys might say nauseatingly so.”

“I don’t blame him there.” Lucien followed him into the café, looking around with a raised eyebrow. “Nice place.”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, and I don’t care,” Cassian said, sliding into a booth by the window. “Hey, Janine.”

“Hey, Cassian.” The waitress who’d headed over as soon as they walked in the door set two cups on the table and filled them with coffee. “The usual?”

“Yep. How’s the sourdough today?”

“Even if I said it was moldy, you would still order it,” Janine accused.

“Called out,” Cassian admitted. “Take it easy on the toaster this time. My friend here has a sensitive palate.”

“You got it.” The waitress winked at him, then headed back to the kitchen.

“Cream and sugar?” Cassian asked Lucien.

“I told you I wasn’t hungry,” Lucien said grumpily. “…Just sugar.”

Cassian stirred a spoonful of sugar into Lucien’s coffee and pushed it across the table. “I know. They burn my toast every time. I thought maybe that would get them not to.”

Lucien studied his surroundings. “My eyes are bleeding. I’ve never seen so much linoleum and blue-and-white check in my life. How do you stand it?”

“Are you kidding? This place is the best. All the fun of the fifties without the racism.” Cassian grinned as he dumped half the jug of cream into his coffee.

“Good thing. Neither of us would be allowed to be here in the fifties.”

Cassian lifted his eyebrows. “I bet you could get in, with all that pretty hair. And then you could sneak me in.”

Lucien looked Cassian over from head to foot, slowly enough that Cassian took a hasty gulp of his coffee. “Sneak you in. Sure. Sounds doable. It’s not like you stand out or anything, after all.”

“Okay, yeah, that probably wouldn’t work,” Cassian agreed. “So let’s just enjoy the fact that you don’t have to smuggle me in under your coat like a watch dealer.”

Lucien choked on his coffee. “A what?”

“You know, when the guy opens his coat, and he’s like, ‘hey, buddy, wanna buy a watch?’”

“Cassian?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know I am, but what are you? Thanks, Janine,” Cassian added as the waitress slid a plate in front of him.

“You want a warmup, hon?” Janine asked Lucien, tapping her coffeepot.

“Oh – thank you,” Lucien said, letting her refill his cup.

“’Course. Any friend of Cassian’s is a friend of mine,” she said with a wink.

“We’re not friends,” Lucien said weakly as Janine walked away.

“Don’t mind her,” Cassian said, digging into his food with almost indecent enthusiasm. “She means well.”

“I don’t,” Lucien said, and he shifted slightly in his chair. “Mind her, that is.”

Cassian followed Lucien’s gaze to his plate. “You sure you don’t want any?” he asked.

“Well… I wouldn’t say no to a piece of that toast,” Lucien said, biting his lip. “And a few of the mushrooms, maybe.”

A smile blossomed on Cassian’s face in spite of himself. “Here – give me your saucer.” He took the dish and piled it high with mushrooms, balancing a piece of toast on top. “There might be some residual bacon grease – hope you don’t mind.”

“Not really. It’s just meat itself I don’t like.” Lucien pulled the plate back towards him.

“Can’t say I relate, but okay,” Cassian said, licking his fork clean. “You can have an egg, too, if you want. I have three.”

“Ugh. Fine,” Lucien said. “But I’m using my own fork after what you’ve done to that one.”

“What – this?” Cassian licked the fork again, more slowly.

Color rose sharply in Lucien’s cheeks. “Ass,” he said, stabbing one of Cassian’s eggs and transferring it to his saucer.

“I should start a swear jar,” Cassian said. “That’s at least the third time you’ve said that today alone.”

“Only if I can start a filthy innuendo jar,” Lucien snapped, spearing a mushroom with unwonted venom.

“I bet I can fill my jar before you do,” Cassian challenged.

Lucien groaned. “Not another bet. Rhys said that if I spent any more of the allowance he’s giving me on, quote, ‘idiotic bets with my idiotic brother,’ he’d cut it off.” It was clearly a joke – Cassian knew that – and yet…

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Cassian said quietly. “That you have to rely on them like that.”

Lucien concentrated on cutting a mushroom into halves, then quarters, then eighths. “They’re being so generous to me. More than I deserve, that’s for sure, after the shit I let Tamlin do to Feyre. But sometimes…” Cassian sat quietly, letting him gather his thoughts. “Sometimes, it just feels like a transfer of prisons. I don’t have to worry about –” He cut off. “– about a lot of things anymore, but my life still… isn’t my own.”

Cassian nodded. “How so?” he asked quietly.

Lucien set his fork and knife down with a soft clink. “I have to rely on them for everything. I have no car, no money, no job. No… nothing.”

Cassian heard in that I am nothing, and his heart twisted.

He’d been right, the other day, about two things:  first, that it was indeed like Lucien was Feyre’s and Rhys’s child, or at least that they thought of him that way. And second…

Lucien didn’t just look like he should be stuck in a tower. He was.

“What would you need?”

“What?” Lucien looked up, and his good eye was dull, the russet-brown of the iris hooded in shadow.

“What would you need to feel like your life was your own?”

Lucien stared at him for a second, then blinked. “I… don’t know.”

“I think you do,” Cassian said quietly. Challenging him – pushing him just enough. At least, that’s what he hoped.

Lucien took a small bite of the food before him, chewing mechanically. “I guess the first thing would be to have a job,” he said at length. “An income. And… maybe a bank account of my own.”

Cassian felt hot anger roil in his stomach for the first time (though somehow he doubted it would be the last), along with the thought that he wanted to kill Tamlin. But he pushed it aside. That wasn’t important right now. “And you think that would help?”

“…Yeah. I think it might,” Lucien said softly.

“Then I’ll help you find a job,” Cassian said. Then he grinned. “In fact, I already have an idea…”